Archive of Our Own ^beta

It had been a week since the Operation Mincemeat project had officially concluded. A week since they had gotten the word that their crazy scheme had worked, and Hitler was indeed moving troops out of Sicily.

A week since Charles had found out that, while he hadn’t been spying on them, Monty had indeed risked their mission for his own gain. Not that he had seen it that way. Charles still couldn’t quite believe that he had managed to stand up to Monty. But the whole… spy-fiasco had made the celebrations rather strained. While Monty had quickly returned to his usual bravado, Charles couldn’t quite shift the unease over the betrayal. And it had been a kind of betrayal, certainly. It seemed that Monty’s whole “do you trust me” spiel did not go both ways.

It wasn’t that he would have loved to hear all about Monty’s film and his potentially disastrous meetings with his brother, but it had stung to know that, even though Charles had been right there when Monty handed over the film script, Monty had done everything in his power to hide it from him and make him worry rather than putting as much trust in him as he had put in Monty.

It made all the fears that had started to raise their heads over the previous weeks that Monty might be manipulating him increase tenfold. Monty had said that they were a team, but was that just another manipulation? Charles had thought that they had become friends, but was that ever true?

The easiest way to disprove this would have been, of course, if Monty had, at any point over this past week since they left the basement behind, come to him to see how he was dealing with it. But he hadn’t. They still worked in the same building and Charles hadn’t seen him once.

He had seen Jean almost daily, mostly when she brought the tea round. Not that he would ever ask her to, but she said that since she was still forced to make tea for other agents occasionally, she might as well make it for someone she liked and who would thank her for it too.

He’d seen Hester as well. She’d been in the background during his wrap-up meeting with Colonel Bevan, smiling and nodding at him in a way that seemed almost proud. Monty hadn’t been there for that meeting either, but Bevan had told him that Monty specifically hadn’t been invited, because he was also taking the opportunity to appoint Charles as the head of a new research division.

It was strange, being so highly regarded all of a sudden. Especially since, when this whole thing started, he hadn’t even been able to look Colonel Bevan in the face. Now he had a few agents working under him, doing research on whatever MI5 currently needed. They looked up to him, just based on the few details about his operation that had started to seep through, now that the invasion of Sicily was underway.

Of course, none of these were the agents who had so rigorously mocked him before, these were all newer agents. Fleming and the others were still working with Monty. They probably knew a lot more about Operation Mincemeat by now than his own agents did. Monty had probably told them all about it in a bid to gain their admiration. He’d probably also greatly exaggerated his part in the entire thing.

Charles shook his head. That wasn’t fair, Monty had played a great part in it. But whenever he thought about Monty telling the story, Charles could feel a terrible fear, like dread pooling deep in his stomach, that maybe Monty wasn’t mentioning him at all. That while Charles was spending so much time thinking about Monty, Monty hadn’t thought about him once since leaving. Considering how they left things, Charles wouldn’t be surprised, even though the thought made him insanely uncomfortable and, if he was honest with himself, which he was trying very hard not to be, it devastated him to think that his entire friendship with Monty might have really been nothing but a lie. A manipulation to get him to give Monty what he needed to become a hero in the eyes of Britain. Just a few weeks ago, he never would have believed it, but hadn’t Monty treated him exactly like Haselden? Told him nothing he didn’t need to know and called him a genius whenever he needed Charles to do something for him.

He clenched his fist. He really didn’t need to be thinking about this so much. It was just hard to stop. He looked at the clock. It was well past five. He hadn’t even noticed that all of his agents had left. This wasn’t really the high-pressure work that required night shifts, at least not currently. Charles sighed and rubbed his eyes. He really should be more focused on his work; this wasn’t like him at all. He wasn’t usually one to half-arse things, that had always been… Monty. There he was again.

Charles let himself fall back in his chair to stare at the ceiling. He really couldn’t spend five minutes without being reminded of Monty in some way. And Monty was probably off getting drunk with Fleming and the other big shot agents and regaling them with tales of how he had gotten the “bug boy” to do most of his work for him. Charles scowled. He didn’t like the thought of Monty calling him that. He even missed hearing Monty call him Charlie, of all things. He hadn’t particularly liked it at first, but it had just become such a Monty-thing, that he had grown quite fond of it.

And the last time he’d heard it was probably when Monty had said goodbye to him.

After toasting the success of Operation Mincemeat and cleaning up the basement, Monty had wanted to continue the celebrations at the Gargoyle club. For old times sake, he’d said. Bevan and Hester had already excused themselves to do some organisational wrap-ups to their operation; Charles had wanted to go with them, but Jean had held him back and handed him another glass. Charles could see that she didn’t really feel like drinking with Monty, now that everything was out in the open, but she had looked at Charles and he could only shrug his shoulders, not really sure what he wanted. And so they went.

He could still see them, sat around a table in the corner, Charles squished in between Jean and Monty. Monty had tried very hard to get them to properly celebrate and take to the dance floor, but his joyous insistence somehow made the air even more tense between them. Jean had quickly downed her drink and excused herself, saying that she needed to get home to her mother, who’d be wondering where she was. She’d hugged him goodbye, while barely even looking at Monty and then she was off.

Charles hadn’t known what to say, he hadn’t even been able to look at Monty, really. He’d thought Monty was a spy. Monty wasn’t a spy. Monty had almost sold them out anyway by sharing his film script of their operation with his communist spy of a brother. And he hadn’t trusted Charles with it. Even down to the end, he’d rather pull rank on him than be honest about something that he himself apparently didn’t even think was wrong.

At this point, Charles’ throat had closed up so much that he couldn’t even finish his drink. He just got up and told Monty that he should leave too. He wasn’t ready to face the thought that Monty might not care about him at all and most importantly he could not be having this spiral with Monty right next to him. He had been halfway out of the booth when Monty had grabbed his wrist. He hadn’t even realised until that point how much his hands had been shaking and that his blood was rushing in his ears so loudly that he had to focus to hear Monty tell him to sit back down. Charles could only shake his head. He remembered that it had made the room spin a bit.

“Come on, Charlie. One more drink. Or maybe some water?” Monty had said and he had kept on refusing until Monty’s grip on his wrist had tightened just a little. “Please, Charlie,” he’d thought he heard Monty say. But it had been so quiet and the music and the rushing blood in his ears so loud that he thought he must have imagined it.

Still, he finally looked at Monty’s face for what felt like the first time that evening. In the moment, Charles remembered feeling surprised by how desperate Monty seemed to look. But he must have imagined it, because a second later, when an “I can’t,” left his mouth, that could have been whispered or shouted at the top of his lungs for all the control he’d had over his body at that point, the look was gone from Monty’s face. He'd just gotten up as well, left his unfinished drink on the table too and said he’d walk him out.

The walk out of the club was a blur in his mind, it wasn’t until they had stood out in the cool night air that his head finally started to clear. It might have also been related to the fact that that was when Monty’s hand finally left his arm after leading him, like a blind man, through the throngs of the club’s patrons, but Charles didn’t want to think about it.

He also didn’t really want to think about the fact that Monty’s quiet “well this is it then,” had sounded so strangely final.

There had been an awkward pause, like they were both waiting for something to happen, for someone to break the silence or to make all this tension between them go away, but nothing happened. After what felt like an eternity, but was likely just a few seconds, Monty raised his hand.

“Well, goodbye then, Charles.”

“…goodbye, Monty,” he’d whispered and shook his hand. Then they’d both left in separate directions.

Charles tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. Monty hadn’t even called him Charlie, when he’d said goodbye. The formality of it all stung his eyes and made his ears rush all over again.

A sudden knock at the door made him jump out of his seat and wipe his eyes with the back of his hands. “Yes?” He shouted in a way that he hoped didn’t sound as off pitch as it did in his head. The door opened and Jean poked her head in. The tension left his body.

“I figured you’d still be here! I’ve got tea!” She smiled at him and brought a tray with a pot of tea and some mugs to his desk. “I was supposed to top up the tea at the office next door but unfortunately I took so long to make it that they’ve all left now, silly me!” She laughed mischievously. Charles gave a weak smile in return.

“Are you alright? You look a bit pale.”

“Oh, I’m alright. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jean raised an eyebrow at him. When he didn’t reply for a few seconds, she set off to leave again.

“Wait,” he called. “Do you, maybe, have time to- chat. For a bit.” He looked around, floundering a bit. “Share the tea?”  

He held his breath for a few seconds, until Jean finally turned around, grinning.

“I thought you’d never ask!”

As she pulled over a chair from a nearby desk, Charles started pouring the tea. It wasn’t until this point that he realised that she had, in fact, conveniently brought two mugs. It still surprised him a bit, every time he was confronted with the fact that, while Monty might not, Jean very much still sought out his company.

He went on to hand her one of the mugs and had a sudden realisation.

“Has some other agent got my mug again? I don’t think I’ve seen it since… Well, since our basement days.”

Jean looked down at the mug he’d passed her and shook her head. “No, I don’t think I’ve seen it since then either. It hasn’t been in the kitchen whenever I’ve had a look. And I have checked.”

“That’s strange. Must be dirty in some office somewhere. But this isn’t really the right time to have another mug made.”

“Not really a priority during war time, is it?”

They both laughed, Charles more genuinely this time. He took a sip of his tea.

“How have you been?” He started, hesitantly. “Do you… do you ever find yourself halfway down to the basement in the morning, too?”

Jean gave him a sad smile.

“Well, no. Not exactly. But I know what you mean. I miss it too. I hate that I’m back to making tea, even though Hester has been doing her best to let me take more responsibility, where she can. She’s started taking me to meetings where the daily schedule is fixed and explained how to assign girls to different jobs and all of that. It’s something at least. Better than the last few weeks, where my most interesting “job” was trying to get something out of Monty.”

The mention of him made Charles almost choke on his tea. He sputtered a little, then decided that it was now or never. “Speaking of Monty, have you seen him these days?”

He tried to sound casual and it must have worked, since Jean kept going in an annoyed fashion.

“Yeah, I have. I mean, it’s not like we’re sitting down for dinner every evening anymore, but I’m still forced to bring him his bloody tea, aren’t I?” She rolled her eyes. “Well, not him specifically. But his some of his meetings. Weren’t you part of some of those before?”

Charles’ eyes widened.

“Well, yes. I honestly didn’t think anyone had noticed, really. I was never… a big part of the committee, so Colonel Bevan has said to focus my efforts on this new research division, that’s why I… haven’t really seen Monty.”

Jean nodded in understanding. She continued, a little more gently than before. “He’s… He seems fine. Bit more quiet than I’ve known him to be, but then again, I’m not usually in there for very long. And I don’t think he knows what to say to me anymore. He’s even thanked me for giving him his tea! Can you believe it? But can’t look me in the eye and certainly hasn’t apologised for being– well, you know what I think of him. I can’t really say that I would mind, at this point, never seeing him again. Have you really not seen him at all since…?”

“Uh, well… no. Not at all since the club.”

Jean laughed again and rubbed her eyes. “What a strange day that was.”

“Yeah,” Charles said, having another sip of tea and rubbing his fingers across the surface of the mug.

It felt a bit strange not to feel the slight bump where his face would usually be. He looked down into the mug. His reflection stared back at him. He looked exhausted. He sighed and was about to tell Jean that he should probably head home, when she started talking again.

“You know, you could just go talk to him, if you wanted. He’s in the building every day.” She looked at him expectantly, but sensing his hesitation, she continued. “Or… You’re still technically part of that committee, right? You could just say that you wanted to be up to date on what was going on there and go to a meeting. You wouldn’t have to say a word to him.”

Charles opened and closed his mouth several times to reply but couldn’t find the words. His brain was suddenly running at a mile a minute. How had it not even occurred to him that he could check in on Monty without making it clear that’s what he was doing? He did have every right to be there, but since he was a department head here and just a glorified secretary there, it wasn’t really on his schedule. But it could be. He could see if Monty noticed him now. Maybe he’d even say hello. Maybe just showing up was all he needed to do to get Monty back in his life. He’d certainly see him again. And maybe everyone else would respect him a bit more too now, maybe he was wrong and Monty had been talking him up.

His throat was suddenly very dry. He downed his tea and breathed deeply to try and get his heart, which had somehow started to beat rapidly with his rising anxiety and excitement, to calm down. He looked at Jean, who sported a slightly bemused expression. His lack of response must’ve been telling enough. She smirked.

“Well, tell me how it goes. I hope you find what you’re looking for.” She sighed and got up. “I’m afraid I have to go now, there’s a meeting at half past that I’m supposed to deliver tea to.”

“Oh, I’m sorry if I’ve been…”

“Don’t be! It was nice catching up! I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Uh-huh,” he nodded. Then she was out the door.

Charles stared at the closed door for a bit before putting his hands on his desk, gently running his fingers over the wood grain. He nodded to himself. Yes, he’d do it. He’d stroll into the next meeting as if he was one of the boys and see what Monty was up to. He did not have to wait for Monty to do everything for him, he was well past that.

Charles took one last deep breath before getting up to pack up his stuff, he knew that there was no more productivity left in him for the day. Maybe once he’d gotten this whole Monty business out of his system, things could return to normal. Once he was done, he grabbed his briefcase and headed home for the night, trying very hard not to think too much about what showing up to the meeting might be like.

The next morning, Charles found himself hiding in a corridor just off the entrance to the meeting room. He’d overthought it, of course he had. He’d hardly gotten sleep over the thoughts of what it would be like to walk into that meeting.

Thoughts of Monty smiling at him, patting him on the back and acting as if they were still in the basement planning Operation Mincemeat. Thoughts of Monty jumping up from his chair to greet him, because he’d missed him too, or maybe of Monty coming in late, spotting Charles in the back and forgoing his usual spot to sit with him. But the more he’d thought about it, the more he had started to worry. What if Monty just didn’t acknowledge him at all? What if he snickered with the other agents over why Charles had suddenly chosen to show up again? What if he realised that Charles was only there for him and made fun of him for it? Or even worse, what if he was back to treating Charles like they’d hardly ever met? What if that one week had been enough to completely forget that there had been other people involved in Operation Mincemeat?

And once he’d finally fallen asleep, of course he’d dreamt that he’d also shown up to the meeting without trousers.

Charles’ hands tightened on the side of his legs, grasping on to the fabric, both to curb his anxiety and to reassure himself that he was, in fact, wearing his clothes. He could hear the bustling going on in front of the meeting room. He’d ducked into the corridor away from the entrance of the building, so very few people actually walked past him and none of them had spotted him yet. He told himself that he wanted to make sure that he was not roped into any uncomfortable conversations, but the truth was that he was listening out for Monty. He didn’t truly know what he wanted to hear, but he figured maybe he could compose himself a bit between hearing him for the first time and seeing him for the first time in what was now over a week.

Would he sound the same? Greet these people the same as he'd greeted Charles every morning? Would there be any indication that Monty was maybe hoping to see him too? Then again - what would that even be? It wasn’t like Monty would be coming in every morning saying something like: “Have any of you people seen my good friend Charlie today? I was wondering where he’d gone off to, but I’m sure he’s off somewhere doing very smart things, the clever chap.”

Just as Charles started to really get lost in his thoughts again, he caught what he had been waiting for. “Montagu,” someone said, in what he assumed to be a form of greeting. Several other agents repeated the sentiment, but try as he might, Charles could not make out much of a response among the brief cacophony that unfolded. He couldn’t even be sure to have made out a grunt in between all the greetings that belonged to Monty, let alone any sort of verbal response.

When the door finally closed, taking all the voices with it, Charles cursed under his breath and fell back against the wall he’d been hiding behind. Of course, Monty would come in fashionably late and, of course, the entire meeting would just be waiting for him to start. And now Charles would either have to walk in, in full view of everyone, very late to the meeting or… give up entirely. He hadn’t even heard Monty say anything, this had been no help at all.

With another deep sigh, Charles peeked out around the corner from his hiding spot towards the meeting room. No one was in sight, most early meetings in the building would now be well underway. He crept up to the door and tried to listen out for Monty’s voice, but he could only hear the monotone drone of the morning briefing. 

The more Charles stood and listened, the more his anxieties began to rise again. Any moment, someone could come by and see him listening in on a top secret meeting and then he could only try to explain that he did have the security clearance to be in the room, he just – wasn’t. What would Colonel Bevan think if he found out that this was how Charles was spending his time a mere week after essentially being promoted? What would Monty think, if he found out? No, Charles definitely could not keep this up over the chance of hearing Monty say something behind a closed door. For all he knew, Monty had a sore-throat or something and couldn’t say anything. He should come back for the next meeting, change his strategy, maybe get there early to be in the room before anyone else arrived and then strive to look busy. Yes, that was what he –

Suddenly the door opened, and Charles froze. Oh no. In front of him stood Reggie, who likely looked even more surprised than Charles to find someone on the other side of the door, before composing his face into a sneer. But he couldn’t hear whatever biting remark might have come out of Reggie’s mouth, because there, right over his shoulder, he could see Monty. Leaning back in his chair, casual as ever and seemingly bored out of his mind. He hadn’t noticed him yet, maybe that was better than figuring out what would happen if he did. Charles wanted to move, wanted to do anything, but he was frozen to the spot, looking over Reggie’s shoulder into the meeting room and soaking up every little thing about Monty that he could see. He was looking forward, pretending to be very attentive, while throwing tiny pieces of paper into a mug that was placed on the desk in front of him. Aside from the boredom, he looked just fine, Charles thought. Somehow that made his heart clench up painfully.

He was ripped out of his thoughts by Reggie snapping his fingers in front of his face. “Hey! I said, what are you doing here, bug boy? And you’re supposed to be smart?” Reggie laughed and Charles felt an embarrassed blush creep up his neck. As he was trying and failing to come up with a response, he briefly looked over Reggie’s shoulder again – only to be met with an uncomfortably familiar and insanely blue pair of eyes. Oh. Monty had seen him. Monty was looking at him.

Charles inexplicably blushed even more and could feel himself start to panic. He knew that this was his fight-or-flight response starting to kick in. He felt very much like he was a deer staring straight into the eyes of a wolf and he wasn’t sure if it was the entire situation or just Monty’s gaze on him that made him so afraid all of a sudden. He’d wanted Monty’s attention, hadn’t he? But not like this. Not when, at the edges of his consciousness, he could hear several of the agents laughing at him. He couldn’t even be sure that Monty wasn’t laughing at him, all he could see was his eyes staring back at him.

After a brief eternity, Charles took all his energy and ripped his eyes from Monty’s. He mumbled something along the lines of “oh, just passing by, I’ll get out of your way,” before turning and walking off as quickly as he felt he could, without looking like he was running away, which he very much was. The rushing blood in his ears was back and he felt like he might as well not be wearing his glasses with how unfocussed his gaze was. Deep under the rush, he could almost imagine Monty calling him back, but he wouldn’t. Of course, he wouldn’t.

Charles didn’t really pay attention to where he was going, instead focussing all his attention on not throwing up in the middle of an MI5 hallway. It wasn’t until a door closed behind him, that he realised that he’d walked himself all the way down to their basement office. He briefly marvelled at the fact that he didn’t fall down the stairs on his way here, before crumpling to the floor and curling in on himself. He thought he’d gotten better about standing up for himself, but somehow he had been more composed before Operation Mincemeat ever happened than whatever had just happened.

He sniffled softly and did his best not to start crying in earnest. Why did it all have to become so complicated? Hadn’t they all been in here not that long ago, having a grand old time coming up with a fake life story? Couldn’t they have stayed like that forever? Just them all and Bill Martin, cracking jokes and going out every night to collect more receipts. Of course, Charles couldn’t really wish for the war to go on forever. Or for their mission to fail or be prolonged, too much had depended on it. But he missed the easy camaraderie he had felt with all of his team and especially with Monty before everything had gone up in flames. Before he started to suspect that Monty didn’t see the same things in Charles that Charles saw in him and before he started to worry that Monty might even be betraying him. Them.

Charles suddenly felt incredibly exhausted. He wanted to worry about what Colonel Bevan might think of him essentially ditching his agents to play hooky over Ewen Montagu. He wanted to worry about what someone might think if they found him here, but he just did not have the energy left. He just dragged himself over to where he could lean against the filing cabinet and promptly fell into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

It wasn’t until several hours later, that he was woken up by someone softly calling his name. For a brief moment, he almost thought that it was Monty, who’d come to find him, but as consciousness slowly returned to him, he recognised Jean’s voice.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he mumbled, opening his eyes to stare blearily up at Jean who was standing over him, a slightly pitying look in her eyes and a mug of tea in her hands.

“I figured I might find you here, when you weren’t at the meeting or at your desk. I’ve brought tea,” she said, crouching down to push the mug into his hands.

“Thank you, Jean,” he replied after taking a sip of the pleasantly scalding tea. “I… um… I couldn’t do it. I couldn't go in.”

“I gathered that.”

“No, but– I saw him, Jean. I saw him and he saw me and I just– I don’t think I’d want to know if he didn’t… If we were never actually…”

Charles could feel himself losing composure again, quite quickly, so he pulled the tea to his nose and took a deep breath. The warmth and the strong, leafy smell calmed him a little. He was insanely grateful that Jean was just giving him the time to get his thoughts together. If it had been anyone else, the thought of being so vulnerable would’ve made him run, but she had a calming effect on him these days. Especially since he didn’t have Monty to go to anymore.

“Look, I know that you think that Monty is… an arse. And you have every right to, but… I miss him, Jean. I miss the way that things were before-“ He could feel himself once again suppressing tears. He felt rather pathetic about it all, clutching the mug in his hands like a lifeline.

When he didn’t continue, Jean sat down beside him and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’re okay, Charles,” she said, comfortingly. “You don’t have to be angry at him on my behalf. I think we both know that he’s really messed some things up, but… he needs to figure that stuff out on his own. And you don’t need to feel bad about wanting him in your life. You two were always much closer than he and I were.”

“Were we though?” Charles whispered, still holding his mug close. He took another sip of tea, then looked at the mug. “Still haven’t found mine then, have you?”

Jean’s eyes widened. “That’s what I– When I was in the meeting room just now, clearing up all the used mugs and all that with some of the other girls, I– I think you should go in there. Now, Charles. I, uh… I think it might help you.”

“What?”

“Trust me, Charles. Please.” She looked deep into his eyes, somehow, once again, seemingly willing him to go snoop on Monty.

“He’s not… still in there, is he?”

“No,” she chuckled. “There shouldn’t be anyone in there now. But I do think that you should go.”

“Why though?”

“You’ll know when you see it, I promise.” Jean comfortingly placed her hand on his knee, before slowly getting to her feet. “I should go now, Hester wanted to see me before the end of the day and it is getting late.”

“Give her my regards, will you?” Charles said, briefly pausing before adding: “You won’t… um… tell her about this, will you?” He gestured to the entire room, not exactly sure if it was his lack of productivity or his feelings for Monty that he wanted her to hide, but she just smiled and nodded at him.

“Your secret’s safe with me,” she promised and then headed up the stairs with another wave at him.

So, Charles was once again left alone with a mug of tea and a mission. Somehow, he hoped this was not becoming a pattern, especially not a pattern with such disastrous results as there were this morning. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, to curb the slight stress headache that was developing, before taking another deep breath. He got up off the floor and took his mug over to the table. He sat himself down, determined to finish his tea, before doing whatever it was that Jean wanted him to accomplish, and looked over at the blackboard. It had been wiped clean, but he could still make out some of their plans. His own handwriting, mixed with Monty’s, and occasionally there was also the more cursive letterings of Jean and Hester. They’d done good work here. Whatever happened next, he’d always have that.

Sip by sip, he finished his tea, going over all the things that had happened in this room, good and bad. Even with all the stress that worrying about the success of the mission, as well as Monty, had given him, in hindsight he found more good than bad. This had been a room full of people who’d supported his madcap idea, wholeheartedly, even if they didn’t always see eye to eye with each other.

Once his cup was empty, he too made his way back up to the main halls of the building. He had no idea how late it actually was, not really wanting to find out how much time he’d wasted. But he figured, if Jean had said the room was empty, then it would still be empty now.

Soon he found himself, once again, in front of the door to the meeting room he’d seen Monty in just this morning. After briefly listening and not hearing any noise at all inside, he entered. The room looked just like it had the last time he’d been here. There were files scattered all over the large desk in the middle of the room, with a few more files and assorted knick-knacks scattered around the cabinets and smaller tables on the edge of the room. One of these tables at the back of the room had been where he used to hide himself, when he was here to take notes or try to present one of his ideas.

Charles strolled around the desk, seeing the various notes still scattered on the various surfaces of the room until he came to where Monty always sat, just opposite the door, where he could keep an eye on everything, but would also be the first thing that anyone entering the room would see.

There wasn’t much left on the desk by his chair, but behind him on the filing cabinets were a stack of notes and a lone mug, with some pens and scraps of paper inside. He examined the top sheet of paper and found it filled with various quotes from their basement days. It had things that Monty had said, but also things that he, Hester, Jean and even Colonel Bevan had said, all of them attributed correctly. Charles was surprised to find himself tearing up a little at the relief he felt when he found that, even if it was likely for his terrible idea of a film, Monty had in fact thought about him. And he was also a little relieved to not find a stack of highly classified documents out in the open, but then again, Monty probably still took those home with him.

But something was still nagging Charles at the back of his mind. He didn’t actually think that this was what Jean had wanted to show him, because hadn’t they been talking about… He hesitated, then grabbed for the mug, promptly almost dropping it again, when he turned the mug around in his hands to see his own face staring back at him. This was his mug! Monty had kept his mug. Put pens in it and everything so that it wouldn’t be cleared off, when Jean and the other girls did their rounds. And considering he’d seen him flick papers into it just this morning, he placed it on the desk while he was here and working. With the back to the entrance and his face facing him.

Charles could feel himself blushing based on how strangely intimate that sentiment felt and when he put his hands to his hot cheeks, they came away wet. Against his wishes, the tears he’d been holding back all day were suddenly flooding down his face. He grabbed for Monty’s chair and let himself fall down, still holding the mug like it was a precious gift. The more rational part of his mind tried to tell him that it might just be a souvenir and nothing particularly sentimental, Monty was known to just take things, but for once he didn’t listen. This was the clearest evidence, short of Monty telling him himself, that the man actually missed him as much as he was missed.

With one hand gently cradling the mug and the other covering his mouth, Charles just let the tears flow for a few minutes. He felt like the weight of the world was lifted off his shoulders, just by virtue of this one mug and he couldn’t quite explain why. He didn’t really want to. But what he did want, more than anything, was to talk to Monty. He wiped his eyes and looked at the clock at the back of the room. It was a little after five. If Monty had had any other things to do today other than this meeting, he might still be here, but he’d be leaving at five on the dot, if he had any say in it.

Without letting go of the mug, Charles jumped up and started running. He wasn’t the most athletic type, but he ran like his life depended on it, shouldering past people in the hallway like a man on a mission. And he was, he supposed. He felt like he needed to reach Monty’s bike before the other man did or he might not feel quite this brave anymore the next chance he got. He raced out of the building, around to where Monty usually kept his bike and almost ran straight into the man. By this point he was panting so hard that he couldn’t quite speak and had to support himself on his knees, but all the commotion did catch Monty’s attention. He turned around from where he’d been chaining his briefcase to his bike and came face to face with a wheezing Charles.

Monty certainly didn’t look put off to see him, mostly just surprised and, now that Charles knew to be looking for it, a little guarded too. And he looked tired. Much more tired than he’d seen him even when their mission had been on the line.

“Ch- Charles,” he coughed to cover up the awkwardness. “What are you doing here?”

Charles tried to answer, but it only sent him into a genuine coughing fit.

“Are you alright?” Monty asked, evidently getting more and more worried. “What do you need, Charles?”

He looked back up at Monty to see him with his eyebrows furrowed in concern, his hands hovering somewhere within the vicinity of his shoulders, but not quite touching him. The care that both the gesture and the fact that he seemed almost afraid of overstepping his boundaries showed, once again brought tears to Charles’ eyes and he had to fight to not throw himself straight into the other man’s arms.

“Charles, what’s wrong?” He seemed to be getting genuinely frustrated and after several seconds of deliberation, Charles felt his hands finally land on his shoulders, grounding him. “Charles, breathe, okay? Deep breaths, Charlie.”

At that, he couldn’t really hold back anymore. He threw himself forward and wrapped his arms around Monty, having just enough focus left to make sure not to smack him with the mug he was still holding.

“Oh- okay,” Monty breathed out. Charles could feel a slight tension in his body loosening as Monty, slowly and carefully, placed his arms around him too.

For what felt like minutes, neither of them said a word. Then Monty cleared his throat.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what’s brought this on?”

“My mug,” Charles sniffled into his shoulder.

“Um… Sorry, what?”

“You kept my mug.” Charles said, a lot more clearly this time. Immediately, he could feel Monty stiffen in his arms.

“Oh, um… I did.” Monty swallowed. Charles could feel the motion against his own shoulder and despite the fact that he was worried he’d misunderstood something terribly, it sent a slight shiver down his spine.

“You…” Charles hesitated but didn’t loosen his grip on Monty. He gathered his courage and continued: “You missed me, Monty?”

He could feel the way Monty sighed and let the tension subside against every inch of his body. Even Monty’s grip on him tightened just a little.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did, Charlie,” Monty whispered. “I missed you.” His right arm started slowly stroking Charles’ back. He wasn’t even sure Monty was aware he was doing it and it made him smile and his heart stutter a little.

“I- um…” Monty continued, his voice even more raspy than usual. “I thought you might not– Um… Well, I’m sorry, Ch-“

“Not right now, Monty. Please,” he stopped him, tightening his own grip. “We should talk about that, but not right now.”

“Okay.”

They continued holding onto each other for a little while, until Charles finally loosened his grip and Monty followed suit. They looked at each other and Charles could only describe the look in the other man’s eyes as hopeful. Hopeful. He never could have imagined that that was an emotion he could elicit, and in Monty of all people. It felt magical and he didn’t want to let him go just yet, even if he had the feeling that they would be seeing each other again soon. Charles cleared his throat.

“Monty-“

“Yeah?”

“Um… How do you feel about maybe… going out? Now? Together, I mean.” Charles blushed and continued before Monty could even think to reply: “I mean, I have been reliably informed that five o’clock is just in time for happy hour.”

Monty’s laugh was sudden, loud and entirely happy. It made Charles smile too.

“Well, I’m sure we’re well past five o’clock now.” Monty grinned. “But I wouldn’t say no to a drink. How do you fancy the Gargoyle club?”

“Oh dear God, Monty, anything but that.”

They both laughed.