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There was a play happening on stage, that much Charles was sure of. He’d held the tickets in his hand, two of them missing their foils, but their strategy of buying four in a block had worked to convince the staff to let them all in anyway. Monty and Jean passing themselves off as Bill Martin and Pam in a game that he’d often bore witness to, but never quite understood, and another girl from the typing pool that Jean had set him up with on his own arm. Try as he might, he could not come up with the name she had introduced herself with. In his addled mind, everything he could come up with sounded more like a restaurant than an actual person that he was, technically, currently on a date with. He knew that she was seated to his left, could just about make out her shape in the corner of his eye, if he really tried, but his attention was entirely focused on the person to his right. He wouldn’t dare turn his head or even move his eyes off the stage to look, but he could feel the heat radiating off of Monty. It was taking all his restraint not to move any closer.
He had been surprised when upon shuffling into the row they were now seated in the middle of – Bill had, of course, splurged on the best seats in the house for his new fiancé, or so Monty had argued, when justifying the purchase to Colonel Bevan – Monty had pushed in front of Jean to enter the row right behind him. Charles had assumed that they would be sitting paired up by couple, which he supposed they still were, but it seemed strange to have the girls at the edge of their little group. When he’d shot her a look over Monty’s shoulder as they were sitting down, Jean had certainly seemed as confused as he was, so this wasn’t part of their game. But they had both shrugged their shoulders and decided not to make a fuss about it. There was no reasoning with Monty, he’d said so himself. As the other man had gone on and on, regaling the girls with talk of how the actor they were going to see tonight was apparently the best the West End currently had to offer, Charles assumed that he’d probably just wanted the best seat in the house for himself. It certainly had nothing to do with the fact that somehow, over the past couple of days, things between them had gotten rather different.
As they were waiting for the news to drop that the submarine had completed its mission and subsequently that Bill’s body had washed up in Spain, there wasn’t much for them to do. Charles had tried to account for further problems that might arise; bothering anyone he could about all the contacts and spies and agents that might come into contact with the body and the briefcase in Spain, as well as trying to get up to date information on weather conditions around the coast of Huelva and how they might affect the drop-off times for the body. At first the agents he’d come to had been very happy to help, supplying him with a list of known German and British operatives around Huelva and subsequently Madrid, at least two of which had not been on the list that he’d already had for weeks, and the news about favourable weather conditions had initially been reassuring until he realised that the weather might still change in the coming days. So, when he had come back the next day and the next, slowly but surely, he had been unofficially banned from interacting with almost every other office in the building until news had come from Spain that the plan was moving forward. Monty, who had spent most of that same time on other assignments, scrying documents and moving fake spies around, had come by the basement office at least twice a day to stop him from pacing a hole into the floorboards.
It had been nice that, even though at this point his focus should reasonably have been on his other spy work that he had not been able to focus on enough during the planning stage of Operation Mincemeat, Monty still took the time to check in on him, who still did not have the capacity to focus on the success of anything but this one mission. After the first time Monty had come in to find him talking to himself and walking in increasingly frantic circles, he’d even taken to bringing a mug of tea with him whenever he came down. He’d sit Charles down in a chair and just talk to him for a few minutes, telling him that their work simply could not fail in a way that both made Charles a little jealous of the amount of self-confidence the older man had, but was also without fail, exactly what he needed to hear.
At first, Monty had sat down in the chair opposite him, but by the third day he’d taken to leaning on the desk next to him and placing a hand on his shoulder as he talked, a gesture he was sure was meant to be reassuring, but instead made it rather hard for Charles to focus on any of the words coming out of Monty’s mouth.
That had also been happening more and more. It was like Charles’ brain was short-circuiting every time Monty got close to him or paid him special attention. The feeling was quite strange and unsettling. Normally his brain would be running at a mile a minute on a given topic, but all of a sudden, it would just be empty. All he could hear was his own rapid heartbeat and all he could see was Monty. Still, he didn’t want the feeling to end, no matter how uncomfortable it should feel on paper. Because with it came a warmth that spread all the way through his body and was just incredibly pleasant, to the point of being a little addictive. He knew, of course, what that feeling was, though it had taken him months to truly recognise it. It had been there for a while, in the back of his mind. Even before, when he’d hardly said a word to Monty while they were both working in military deception and meeting with their committee once a week. The confident, blond man had seemed quite intimidating then, and still did sometimes, but he’d been intrigued and would’ve introduced himself if he hadn’t been quite so sure that the two of them would never find any common ground.
Only he’d been wrong about that. Somehow, though he was sure it had been at least a little self-serving, Monty had become his champion. Monty was the one above all others pushing him to pursue his ideas, recognising him for his intellect and taking him under his wing. Early on he didn’t really know why the attention made him so flustered or why he’d gotten so defensive when Monty had taken Jean on board and started paying attention to her as well. For all intents and purposes, he should’ve been the one championing Jean. They’d had so much more in common than he had had with Monty, both wanting to show that they could do more than people expected of them. And he and Jean had, eventually, become good friends and she’d championed his work just as much as Monty did, but back then he had felt strangely replaceable and, if he was being honest with himself, a little jealous.
He knew, of course, that even if he wasn’t as much of a mess as he knew himself to be, there were many reasons that he could never mean as much to Ewen Montagu as the man had begun to mean to him. Reasons that also meant that he himself hadn’t even realised how much Monty meant to him until a little over a week ago, when they’d gone out drinking together after a long night and day of dropping Bill off with the submarine crew up in Scotland. Neither of them had gotten much rest on the long drive there and back, though neither of them had been driving themselves. Even Monty had seemed a little more nervous than usual at times, even if that just meant that every time that Charles had looked over at him, he’d been awake and looking out of the window. When it was all said and done and they arrived back in London many hours later, they had both been loath to part, so he had taken Monty up on his offer of going out for a drink to toast Bill Martin.
He still remembered how they had sat at opposite ends of a small table at the Milky Pig and how Monty had asked him question after question about himself. He had been a little surprised, even after all this time, by how much interest the other agent was showing in him. It hadn’t been that long since the other man hadn’t even known his name, let alone the fact that they had regularly been working in the same room for years. Normally the attention would've made him close off, but through a mix of a lack of sleep and the fact that he didn’t feel like there was any intent to ridicule him behind the questions, it instead made him open up a little. But he’d been scared, so very scared, about all the things they had done and all the things that could still go wrong. And Monty hadn’t belittled him for it, he’d just asked him to forget, just for one night.
Looking into the other man’s eyes, something inside him just wanted to agree. So, he did.
Monty had taken his arm and dragged him all throughout the West End to bar after bar and to have drink after drink. Things got fuzzy pretty quickly. He wasn’t really accustomed to drinking. Before their operation, he would have had a small bottle of ale at most, though recently on their outings for Bill’s wallet he had most often gotten two drinks in a night. “When you’re drinking on his majesty’s dime, Charlie, you can’t just have one,” Monty had always said. But that was nothing compared to the amounts of beers and cocktails he’d had that night. All he could remember after the second or third bar were flashes of moments. Things Monty had said, some dancing, some… roulette? He truly had no idea and didn’t even know for sure how long they’d been out. At some point the memories of getting closer and closer to Monty all night blended right into his dream.
In his dream, they were still out together. Dancing together and sitting close together. And he’d talked about something or other and Monty had just listened and smiled at him and at some point, the other man had laughed, but not at him, he was just happy to be in his company. And it made him feel all fuzzy inside and he’d looked at Monty and looked at his lips and suddenly his eyes were closed and he wasn’t looking anywhere, instead he was kissing Monty. Kissing him hard and desperately and like this was all he ever needed, and he knew that it was a dream because Monty was kissing him back and he felt so soft and so warm and suddenly a hand was cradling his face and then- he woke up.
He woke up to a racing heart and a pounding headache and he was sure it wasn’t just the intense hangover that was making him feel like he was about to throw up. He could still feel the press of Monty’s lips to his, a phantom sensation that made his head spin even as he was lying down. Because he wanted to do it. He wanted to kiss Monty. How had he never realised? But he couldn’t. Of course, he couldn’t. It didn’t matter that he- no, in fact, that made it worse. That made it much worse.
His breathing was getting out of control, and he was quickly getting more and more nauseous. What would Monty think if he knew? He’d never speak to him again! Maybe get him fired or even arrested. Charles had only just realised that the other man might not simply tolerate his company and that they had actually become friends. He couldn’t lose him now. Couldn’t think that instead of the indifference he’d experienced before or the comradery he was experiencing now, Monty might actually hate him for this. It wasn’t right… was it?
Charles was feeling hot, and the blanket on top of him was feeling so much heavier than he was used to, that it was making him feel trapped. He wanted to get up, get out of bed, get away from this feeling and try to forget he’d ever had that dream. Maybe head to the bathroom and throw up, just for good measure. But as he tried to move, he realised for the first time that it wasn’t just the blanket that was so warm. There was an arm, wrapped tightly around his midsection and softly, barely audible over the blood rushing in his ears, someone was snoring right behind him.
He had tried to rack his brain to figure out how he might have ended up in bed with someone, but he came up short. Taking deep breaths while attempting to calm himself, he looked around and realised that the room too, blurry as it was, aside from the bedsheets, was entirely unfamiliar to him. The need to get out became even more pressing and he started to shake as he tried to extract himself from the grip this stranger had on him, getting more and more desperate until the arm around him suddenly vanished. Charles had almost fallen straight out of the bed with the force he had used to try and get free, but a hand quickly grabbed his shoulder and gently pulled him back until he was lying spread out on his back, before disappearing again. A shape appeared above him, far enough away so as to not crowd him, but too far for his eyes to be able to focus on it.
Charles had closed his eyes then, trying very hard not to cry from the overwhelming amount of fear and stimulation he was feeling. He was still shaking, and his pounding heart was all he could hear until a hesitant hand on the side of his face pulled him back. Slowly the face above him, now much closer, swam into focus, as the other person carefully placed his glasses on his face. His panic subsided slowly as he looked into the eyes of Ewen Montagu. Trying to ground himself, before he began overthinking again, he had simply studied the other man for a few seconds. His blond hair had been falling uncharacteristically loose across his shoulders, he was close enough that it was almost brushing Charles’ face. He was wearing a red tartan pyjama shirt, top button unbuttoned. His brows were drawn and his beautiful blue eyes were flitting all over his face, seemingly looking for something. Finally, he drew his eyes to Monty’s lips, knowing it would bring forth the desire to lean up and kiss him, and steeling himself against it. He took a deep breath, moved his eyes downward and found, to his great surprise, that the other man’s lips were moving. He blinked, tried to ignore the rushing blood and throbbing headache and concentrated on Monty until he could hear the words that were coming out of his mouth.
“Charlie? Come on, Charlie, you’re alright. You’re okay. Breathe, just look at me and breathe, alright? You’re safe, Charlie.” Over and over again, Monty had tried to reassure him, tried to pull him out of his frenzy and back into the present. Repeating the words until Charles finally nodded.
“I’m okay,” he whispered. “I’m… what am I doing here?”
“One step at a time, Charlie,” Monty had said, blissfully quiet. “I’ll go and grab you some water, I’m sure you’ve got the hangover of the century.” He had laughed, softly, and Charles could feel himself blushing. Without a conscious decision on his part, he had reached forward to grab Monty’s arm as he had disappeared from his field of vision to get up. Too dizzy to properly move himself, he had only turned to look at the other man on the edge of the bed pleadingly. The way Monty’s eyes immediately softened made his heart clench painfully in his chest and made his pull his hand back as though he had been burned.
“It’s okay, Charlie. I’ll be right back. You’re at my house, in my room. Just rest for another few minutes, alright?” Monty had smiled that gorgeous, crooked smile at him and disappeared.
Though the rest of the morning was a bit of a blur too, Charles could still remember how his mind had raced the second that Monty wasn’t there. All the calm and focus that the other man had brought, disappeared the moment he had been alone with his thoughts and the terrifying realisation, that he liked this. He liked being this close to Monty. There was no pretending that the dream hadn’t happened anymore, now that he was painfully aware of how much everything Monty did and everything he was meant to him.
He would have been scared that he had said something about these strange feelings of his last night, if it hadn’t been for how calm and caring Monty had been ever since he woke up. There was nothing in the way that Monty acted around him, that suggested that he was in any way uncomfortable. In fact, he had almost seemed more comfortable around him. There had been an openness in his gaze that Charles had never seen before. An openness, that almost reminded him of the Monty he had seen briefly in his dream. A Monty he had kissed. He felt his face heat up once again, and could feel the knot in the pit of his stomach tighten, making him once again very conscious of the nausea that was still plaguing him.
Charles remembered the fear that he’d felt that entire morning. Fear over what he had discovered about himself and fear about what might have happened the night before. When Monty came back, he had explained to Charles that the reason he had ended up here was because he had somehow gotten too drunk to remember his own address, so Monty had placed him on the back of his bike, which he had left at MI5, and taken him to his place. He couldn’t remember a thing about it, but over the past few days, he had sometimes caught himself imagining what it must have felt like, to have his own arms wrapped around Monty’s waist.
The only other thing he remembered, was finding Jean’s picture on his desk. It had been the same picture that was in Bill Martin’s briefcase on a submarine at this very moment. The same picture that Monty himself had told her to destroy all other copies of. It had dashed even that tiny bit of hope he had felt, buried deep inside his heart, that maybe he hadn’t dreamt that kiss and that maybe Monty was so gentle with him that morning because he cared about him too. Because if there was someone he had his eyes on, even in this very operation, then it certainly wouldn’t be him. He already played at being engaged to Jean and he was, Charles had to remind himself, because it was easy to forget sometimes, already married. So, Charles did his best to quell his treacherous thoughts and when Monty insisted on walking him to the nearest bus stop, had reached out his hand for a handshake, rather than going in for the hug that Monty had tried to initiate.
Raucous laughter around him, brought Charles back to the present once again. He quickly tried to laugh along and hoped that no one had noticed him zoning out completely. He was glad to find himself with his eyes still glued to the stage and that they hadn’t strayed to Monty next to him. However, as he noticed the armrest digging into his side, he had evidentially slid as close to the other man as he physically could. His hands, which he was wringing in his lap, itched to touch him. He’d deprived himself of even the most casual of touches over this past week. Everything that hadn’t been initiated by Monty himself had been out of the question. He was longing for the closeness and casual touches they had started to share before his revelation.
He glanced around a little. It was dark and no one was paying him much mind. Even the woman next to him, seemed very focused on the stage. Certainly, Monty would be too. Certainly no one would notice or even think twice about him moving his hands just a little closer. He held his breath and, ever so slowly, slid his right hand to the side of his leg, where he could just about feel the warmth coming from Monty the strongest. He wouldn’t touch him, but he could get a little closer, couldn’t he?
His hand was almost in place when something like terror shot all the way up his arm. He had expected at most to feel the loose fabric of Monty’s trousers on the back of his hand, but what he found instead was bare skin. As he tried to jerk his hand away, another hand grabbed it and linked its fingers with his. He just barely stopped himself from gasping at the sudden contact. His skin was tingling where Monty was touching it.
Just underneath the armrest, where no one could see it, Monty was holding his hand.
Charles wished he knew what was happening on stage. Had Monty been so moved by it that he’d grabbed the nearest hand? Did Monty assume that Charles had gotten emotional and was looking for reassurance from him? He had no idea and at this point no hope of ever hearing another line of this play. His heart was thundering so loudly, he was afraid someone else might hear. Or that Monty might feel in in his hand, which felt like it was throbbing with the beat, because of how his entire attention was focused on it.
He let out a shaky sigh and allowed himself to close his eyes however briefly. He didn’t know what he had done that had prompted Monty to hold his hand, nor did he know how long this play was still going to last, but he certainly wasn’t going to try to pull his hand away again. That would only make Monty more suspicious. Instead, just this once, he would enjoy it without questioning it.
He only wished that he had been sitting to Monty’s right, so he wouldn’t have to feel the cold metal of the band around his ring finger.
It had been a reflex more than anything. That’s what he was telling himself. Charlie’s hand had touched his and disappeared again so quickly and he just didn’t want to lose that contact. It didn’t matter that he’d been rubbing his legs all evening, itching to touch the man next to him. That was entirely irrelevant – after all, Charlie had practically been the one to initiate the hand holding, despite the fact that he hadn’t touched him all week.
Ewen wasn’t stupid. He’d noticed that, while he hadn’t been pushed away again, like he had been that morning, the younger man had been keeping his distance whenever he could. He still needed him, obviously, that much was clear in the way he clung to his every word whenever they talked and pretty much begged him to reassure him at every given opportunity. But the easy closeness that they had found over the past few months had all but evaporated. Where they would usually be close enough to bump elbows and knees whenever they were in a room together, since that night Charles had always made sure to keep just a little space between them. It would have worried Ewen, if he hadn’t been so sure that Charlie didn’t actually remember much about that night. And he was sure. Wasn’t he?
Involuntarily, he squeezed Charlie’s hand just a little and could see the man stiffen in the corner of his eye. He wanted to curse himself for his lack of self-control. It wasn’t enough that he’d practically barged in front of Jean to stay close to Charles, now he was making the man uncomfortable and that was, quite frankly, the last thing he wanted. He breathed deeply and forced himself to loosen his grip on the other man’s hand. Not enough to let go, just enough to give Charlie the option to take his hand back, should he want to.
A couple of seconds passed. Ewen had almost forced his attention away from his hand and back to the stage, when he could suddenly feel the grip on his own hand tighten ever so slightly. In an instant, he was drawn back to Charlie, his heart beginning to beat entirely too loudly. He wanted to close his eyes and savour the moment. The slight pressure and warmth would’ve surely made him weak in the knees if he hadn’t already been sitting down. As it was, it only made him think of the last time Charlie had so openly shown affection towards him.
They had been several hours into their bar crawl. Sitting at a table in the corner of a bar, the sounds of conversations, dancing and music all around them. But Ewen’s focus was entirely on Charlie, who was sitting pressed flush to his side and explaining something or other about how the blackouts were affecting the local moth populations. He wasn’t really listening to exactly what Charlie was saying, but the way his eyes were glowing with excitement, even in the dim light of the bar and how energetically he was gesturing, which regularly brought him even closer to Ewen, was drawing him in. He had never imagined getting this invested in the man, who he had hardly ever paid attention to until a few months ago. Charlie had melded himself into the background of every office he’d entered, quite the opposite of his own boisterous personality. And if he had ever been mentioned by the other agents around MI5, it had been with nothing but mocking derision and a sneered “bug boy.” He’d once laughed along with them - now hearing someone, especially Charlie himself, refer to him by that name made him want to start a fight with anyone who’d ever made the other man doubt himself.
Charlie had been talking for a good long while now and showed no signs of stopping. Ewen felt himself smiling at the enthusiasm radiating off him. He’d known that Charlie could talk for hours on end but had hardly ever seen it. After all the derision, he usually held himself back from sharing his passions so openly, especially when it pertained to the topic of things like insects. But that night, the alcohol had made him bold, and his heart soared to see Charlie so carefree in his company. Getting to know his little genius with all his quirks was a joy he’d never expected to get to experience.
Ewen had been glad for the darkness and Charlie’s inebriation, because he could feel the warmth in his own cheeks, every time that Charlie pressed closer or put his hands on him in emphasis. They had started the night in two separate chairs on opposite sides of a table, but with every pint and every cocktail, the distance between them had started to close up. Now, as Charlie was pressed into every inch of his side, there wasn’t a breath of space between them. He could feel the gentle fizzing on his skin everywhere they touched, like warm champagne running through his veins, mixing with the gentle buzz of the copious amounts of beers, ales and liquors he had consumed. He had been very grateful for his substantial tolerance for alcohol. If he had felt even half as drunk as Charlie seemed to be, he certainly wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from kissing the other man.
It had not taken long for the begrudging admiration he had felt for Charlie upon first reading his pitch for Operation Mincemeat to turn to genuine fondness for the somewhat awkward, gangly man. The more he saw of him, of his care, kindness and determination, the more he found his own thoughts preoccupied by him. There was a softness to Charlie, that drew him in. His loud and somewhat shrill laugh, that had once been startling and a little off-putting to him, had suddenly shifted into something he couldn’t wait to hear again and again. And Charlie had been laughing a lot that night.
It had broken his heart to see Charlie so scared and unsure at a moment when they should have been celebrating his achievements. It made him want to show him just a little of his own vulnerabilities. He couldn’t exactly open up completely, but it seemed to have helped Charlie to feel understood. And maybe a little less alone, he hoped.
Over the course of the night, the alcohol and partying had been slowly loosening Charles up, bit by bit. It was amusing and slightly worrying to see how quickly Charlie could be cajoled into anything from gambling to participating in a rousing round of five finger filet. A couple of bars in, he had to be the one to stop Charles from shouting out details of his operation to anyone who would listen, dragging the other man away from whatever man or woman he was currently entertaining. Charles’ gait had also developed into even more of a lollop, stumbling from place to place and eventually letting himself be supported entirely by Ewen’s shoulder wherever they went. Even over the overwhelming smell of alcohol, which he certainly did not usually associate with the other man, he could feel himself getting slightly intoxicated by the scent of earth, greenery and something simply and unmistakably Charlie.
Meeting his brother with Charlie in tow had been a strange experience. By this point, the two of them had made quite the mirror to Ivor and his wife, with Charles hanging off of his own arm in much the same way to stop himself from falling to the ground face first. Ewen knew that his brother and his brother's wife too, most likely, weren’t exactly surprised to see them like this and he didn’t really feel like correcting them. Of course, him and Charlie weren’t… like that, but, unlike his mother, Ivor would not be running off to write a letter to his wife informing her of his perceived infidelities nor would he ever think to take Ewen’s interests in men to the police. Even when they got into fights, they both knew that the other had enough dirt on them to have them both put away for life, so they just had a few drinks together, had maybe thrown a punch or two in their youth, and gotten over it.
The time around Ivor had been a little uncomfortable, but mostly fun. Especially because he had been sure at this point that Charlie would not remember any of the embarrassing stories Ivor was clearly trying to humiliate him with in front of, who he likely perceived to be one of Ewen’s “conquests.” It had already been hard to explain at first, that the infrequent dalliances he’d had with men around the office and the occasional strangers didn’t mean he cared for his wife any less. He’d loved her, when he married her and was still quite fond of her, only he’d gotten lonely over their separation and something made him go back to his days at private school, where he would have, sometimes, found himself having clandestine and intimate relations with some of his fellow students. None of it had ever meant much to him. That was, not until Charlie.
From seemingly one moment to the next, Charles had made his heart beat like it never had before and made him feel all of sixteen with how his wits seemed to desert him around the man. He longed to be close to him, longed to know him in a way that he hadn’t even begun to until that night. When he looked at Charlie, all the awkwardness, that would normally make him roll his eyes and laugh, suddenly seemed charming. He wanted to have the time to study his eyes, run his hands through his hair and hold him close. He was sure too, that he could get Charlie into his bed if he wanted to. The other man seemed at least somewhat interested in him and felt comfortable enough around him, but that wasn’t what he wanted. And it wasn’t just his wife or any regard for his own continued existence outside of a prison that made him hold himself back. It was the fact that he knew that he could never have what he wanted with Charlie. Even if Charlie wanted it too, by the time the war was over, Ewen would once again be married and he could not do that to him. On top of that, if they were caught by the wrong people, and being in secret service meant that there could always be misgiving eyes on them, he could not risk Charles’ job, much less risk getting him incarcerated. Sure, he tried to encourage some reckless behaviour, was even willing to break the law a bit if it meant that their plan, Charlie’s plan, got through, but he’d never wanted to do something that he couldn’t potentially take the fall for.
By the time they had said goodbye to Ivor and moved on to the next bar, Ewen had managed to drown his worries in another couple of drinks. That was how he had found himself once again forgetting to keep his distance and getting lost in the splendour that was Charlie’s monologue on moth migrations. It had been entirely hypnotic. Ewen figured that those last few drinks might have finally been catching up with him a little, when he was so fixated on the way the bar lights created shadows on the other man’s face, that he didn’t even notice that he had stopped talking.
“Do I have something on my face?” Charles was waving his hand in front of his face, waking Ewen from his stupor.
“Uh, no,” he said, eloquently, wanting to slam his head on the table, just a little.
“It’s just, you’ve been… uh…” It almost looked like Charlie was blushing. Ewen was sure he wouldn’t have noticed, if he hadn’t been observing him quite so closely. He swallowed heavily, as Charles continued, slurring his words a little: “You’ve… uhm… you’ve been… staring. At my face.”
Ewen could feel himself bristling a little at having been caught. The lie was at the tip of his tongue, establishing a bit more of their professional distance by saying that he’d become bored and just zoned out of whatever Charles had been saying a while ago, so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t even notice that he was staring. It would, after all, only have been half a lie and that was barely lying at all. It was only knowing that Charles was probably far too drunk to remember any of this, that made him speak truthfully.
“Alcohol makes you brave, Charlie. It’s just… nice.” He cleared his throat. “I- I mean, it’s nice to see you… not holding yourself back. You should do what you want more often, Charlie. It suits you.”
“What I… want?” Charlie stared at him. He let out a soft, slightly embarrassed laugh, trying to break the sudden tension in the air, but nothing changed. It was as though Charlie was… stuck, somehow. Ewen had just begun to worry that maybe he had overstepped somewhere, he knew he was prone to sometimes, when, out of nowhere, he felt rough lips hit his own.
He had felt the kiss run like a bolt of electricity all the way through his body and for what felt like ages, he could do nothing but memorise the feeling of chapped lips on his and a beard scratching softly at his skin. It wasn’t a perfect kiss, by any stretch of the imagination. Charlie’s glasses were bumping against his forehead and the booth was so cramped that instead of holding him, Charles’ hands were simply pawing ineffectively at the back of his shirt. But it was incredible and as Ewen could finally get himself to lean in and kiss back with just as much enthusiasm, the entire world and every reason he’d had for why they shouldn’t be doing this disappeared from his mind. That was, until he raised his hand to the other man’s jaw, who let out a deep moan, that simultaneously made him want nothing more than to hear it again, but also made sirens go off in his head. As he remembered that they were, in fact, in public, he forced himself to gently push Charlie away. The dazed look in his eyes as they blinked back open, almost made Ewen go straight back to kissing him until he took a cursory look around and caught the eye of a man, skulking near the entrance to the toilets.
His blood ran cold at the thought that he’d been so careless that they had been caught in their first kiss, running through different ways that he could get Charlie out of here unseen, when the stranger smiled softly, briefly put his hand over his heart in a way that would have looked like he was simply scratching his chest to anyone who did not see his face, and then disappeared with a nod to them.
Ewen let himself fall forward onto the table with the tension leaving his body. He was shaking a little from the sudden influx of adrenaline. He allowed himself a few seconds to take a deep breath, his gaze focused on nothing but the wood grain and stains right in front of him, before gathering himself. He pushed himself off from the table getting up and reaching out his hand to an entirely confused looking Charlie.
“Come on,” he said, sounding much more sure than he felt. “I think we should get out of here.”
Charles had looked at his still slightly trembling hand for a moment, before taking it to let himself be pulled up too. Ewen knew that he should reasonably let go of his hand, after such a close call, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Instead, he used it to lead them both out of the bar and into the dark streets.
Once he was sure that they were entirely alone, he let himself fall against a wall and softly stoked his thumb across the back of Charlie’s hand. They had gone as far as they should tonight, likely too far, and it was time to put a stop to it, before they did something they would regret. Tilting his head to look at Charlie, who was still standing in the middle of the alley he had pulled them in, looking rather lost aside from the fact that he still held onto his own hand like a lifeline.
“I think, it’s probably about time we call it a night, don’t you?” He tried to smile, but wasn’t sure he quite managed it. Charles, for his part, looked entirely crestfallen. His eyes widened and he looked so young and vulnerable, with his rumpled shirt, messy bun and both of his hands now holding onto Ewen’s like he didn’t ever want to let go. It made him want to weep, but he knew he had to be the sensible one for once.
“But- but Monty, please don’t- I don’t…” Even in the darkness of the blackout, Ewen could see tears shimmering in Charlie’s eyes. “I don’t want this to end, Monty,” he whispered.
Ewen closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his free hand and breathed deeply. He couldn’t leave it like this. He knew he couldn’t.
“Look, Charlie,” he said, looking imploringly at him. “We’ll talk about this in the morning, alright? When it’s not… however late it is, and you’re not drunk and you can actually think about this. If you remember, Charlie, you come to me and we’ll talk, I promise.” He reached out to take both of Charlie’s hands in both his own. He knew there was a large chance he would not have to keep that promise. He wasn’t sure which would be worse in the long run.
They had stayed like that for a little while, neither wanting to let go.
Ewen cleared his throat. “So, uhm… let me walk you to some bus or tube. How will you get home from here?” Charles was staring at him blankly and he was beginning to see a problem with this situation. “Charlie. Please tell me you still know how to get home.”
“Uh…” Charlie said, rather unhelpfully.
Oh, why did he not know where Charlie lived? Why had he, in his need to keep a semblance of professional distance between them, not given in to his desire to memorise it, when they’d stopped in briefly on their drive to drop Bill off just last night? After all this, there was still no way around it. He’d have to take Charles home.
Getting him back to MI5 had been easy, but getting a man who was unbalanced on his best days to sit on the back of his bike drunk, was a whole other question. Ewen had figured that this would be much faster than waiting for one of the busses that ran through the blackouts to show up, but he hadn’t accounted for the fact that having Charlie’s arms wrapped around his waist with his head resting softly on top of his own was distracting enough to almost make him crash the bike twice. Somehow he got them back to his family’s house in one piece and even managed to quietly shuffle Charlie down the stairs into his basement room without making too much noise.
He didn’t really want to leave Charlie somewhere he couldn’t keep an eye on him, so there was no choice but to share his bed. He plopped the other man down onto it, told him he’d be right back and ran off to the nearest bathroom. He brushed his teeth and splashed some cold water on his face to calm himself. He could do this. He could be fine sleeping next to Charlie. After they’d kissed. He looked up at the mirror. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, but underneath his messy hair, tired eyes and sunken cheeks, his lips still felt a little swollen, like he could still feel the kiss on them. He sighed, shook his head to clear it, took the pins and ties out of his hair until it was flowing free and took two sets of pyjamas out of the hamper in the corner of the bathroom.
When he re-entered his bedroom, however, Charlie was already sleeping soundly on top of the covers in just his undershirt and boxers. Ewen found himself blushing, but forced himself to do his best to manoeuvre the other man under the covers, his hands tingling every time they touched bare skin. Turning away from his sleeping form, he quickly donned his own pair of pyjamas at least, before steeling himself to climb under the covers with him.
Several minutes passed as he was tossing and turning, trying to keep a respectable distance between them. Finally, he gave in, slid as close to the other man as he could, and wrapped his arms around him. Charlie would never know that he hadn’t done this in his sleep, would he? Ewen moved one of his hands gently to the centre of his chest and let the feeling of his beating heart lull him into a deep sleep.
The morning after had been rather chaotic. He woke to Charlie panicking in his arms and had to slowly calm him down while struggling to keep his hands off him. It didn’t seem like Charlie remembered much about the previous night, hadn’t even remembered how he had arrived in Ewen’s bed of all places.
A rather insistent knock on his door had drawn him away from Charlie and he had positioned himself right between the door and the frame, knowing full well who was on the other side and why. His mother looked like she had been up for hours, already having traded her light morning dress for a heavier one. Her brows were drawn in anger as she tried to look past him into the room.
“Don’t tell me you’ve brought another one of them home,” she hissed. “I figured you’d gotten over that in the past few months. Don’t tell me it’s that girl from the photo!”
Ewen was almost relieved that she had never actually seen any of his guests enter or leave his room. Even though it annoyed him to no end that he knew she was telling his wife about Jean, his one relationship which he was open with his wife about, he wasn’t quite so sure that his mother wouldn’t have him carted off to an asylum if she found him in bed with a man. He could hear Charlie moving around behind him and realised that it was only a matter of time until his mother would see him, if he didn’t act soon.
“It is, quite frankly, none of your business now, is it?” He sneered, not able to hold his anger and annoyance in. “And for the record, no. I did not have a torrid affair last night. I hope that satisfied your curiosity.” He slammed the door in her face and let his head fall against it. He could softly hear her grumbling in indignation on the other side, before he heard her move away, steps receding up the stairs.
Knowing that he wouldn’t have long to get Charles out the back entrance, he figured any conversation that might arise about the previous night could happen at a later date. He dragged Charlie away from where he was standing at his desk, made him down the glass of water he had brought him earlier and get dressed as quickly as possible.
When he’d finally gotten the right bus line out of Charles, he’d brought him to the nearest stop, leaning in for a hug, which they had done more recently, only to be stopped by Charlie reaching out a hand for a handshake. It had made him slightly worried about what might have been going on in his head, but he didn’t want to make any trouble, so he let it go.
Over the following days, as he kept visiting Charles in the basement, while taking care of his more pressing assignments up top, he slowly worked himself closer and closer again. He didn’t really know what it was that had made Charles close up, it didn’t seem to be a matter of fear or trust. He hoped that, whether it was the kiss or not, Charlie would bring it up eventually. So he just did his best to be as helpful as he possibly could.
Sudden movement around him made Ewen aware of the fact that he had blacked out for the entire rest of the play. Everyone around them had already stood up for a standing ovation, with him and Charlie following suit shortly after. His left hand immediately felt cold and empty, as they both joined the audience in their clapping. He looked to his right and found a grinning Jean, bumping his shoulder. It didn’t seem like she’d noticed his… absence. He was glad that she’d had a good time.
After the bows, when the curtain had come down again and the audience was starting to leave, was when he finally allowed himself to look over at Charlie. Their eyes met, both a little shy and uncertain. Ewen wanted to say something, but before he could the typing girl grabbed Charlie’s arm and pulled him along, as their row was emptying. Fighting the jealousy in the pit of his stomach, he instead gave his most charming smile to Jean to lead her along in kind.
He struggled a little, to keep up with Charles among the crowds. Only barely managing to stay close enough to not lose him until they had reached the street. Whether they talked about it or not, he didn’t want to let him go just yet.
“So,” he said, once they had managed to regroup, “I say we go and have a toast.”
Charlie seemed to hesitate, looking anywhere but at him. “I… um… I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Monty.”
“Come on, just one drink, ey? For Bill?” He tried to smile, turning to the girls instead. “What do you say, ladies? Drinks on me?”
“Oh, alright then! I think we’ve all been tense enough this past week, don’t you, Charles?” Jean, who was still holding onto his arm, smiled encouragingly over at Charlie, who could only sigh and nod at her enthusiasm.
So Ewen led them through the streets of London. He walked straight past several bars, feeling the pull deep in his stomach and knowing where he needed them to go right now. He hadn’t even consciously made the decision until he stopped them right in front of the unassuming entrance to the Dying Swan.
“Is this really where you want us to go, Monty? There was a really nice bar we walked past just around the corner that, you know, actually had windows?” Jean tried to sound sarcastic, but it came out sounding rather worried. Ewen patted her arm in reassurance.
“It’s not as bad as it looks. In fact, I’ve had some pretty good nights here,” he said, looking at Charles to see if there was any sort of recognition, but there was nothing. Still, he knocked on the door and after a brief moment the door opened.
The man at the top of the stairs was looking at them rather suspiciously. “What do you want?” He grunted. So, this wasn’t one of the members who knew him, but he knew the game.
“We’re here to hear the song.” Ewen said with a smirk. The man looked surprised, but let them pass, nonetheless.
The rest of his party looked rather surprised too when, at the bottom of the stairs they entered into a dimly lit bar, with oak tables, velvet lined chairs and benches and a small stage that a band was performing on at the other end of the room. Ewen quickly led them to a table for four near the corner of the room. As everyone was seated, his eyes caught on a small booth, hidden from the view of most of the patrons. A young couple was sitting there now, dressed in a black suit and white flowing dress respectively. They looked happy together and it made his heart ache just a little. When he looked at his own table, Charlie was looking at them too. He swallowed.
Quickly, he took the drink orders and slipped away to the bar to clear his head a little. As he was waiting, a man approached him.
“He’s looking at you, you know?”
Ewen almost jumped, his general nerves almost made him shout at whichever stranger had decided to disturb him, until he turned to look at him. He recognised the soft smile on the man’s face from a couple of nights ago.
“It’s you,” he said, slightly dumbfounded.
“Look, I’m not gonna tell you my name and I’d prefer not to know yours, but I know we’ve got something in common,” he looked Ewen up and down, catching briefly on his left hand, which he’d placed on the bar, before throwing a glance over his shoulder. “I don’t know all the details, but I figure things are more complicated than you’d want them to be.”
He tried to cut in, but the other man continued on. “All I’m here to say is, you two looked a lot happier last time. And I don’t know what the rest of this constellation is about, but you should know that he’s looking at you whenever he thinks you can’t see.”
Ewen turned away, as his drinks were placed on the bar. He closed his eyes and sighed. “I know. I know that he does. But this isn’t good for him. I wouldn’t be good for him.” He pulled his wallet out of his suit pocket and threw a large note on the table. “For the drinks and whatever my friend here orders. Keep the change.”
He grabbed the tray in front of him and turned back to his table. Charles was sitting in between Jean and the typing girl, looking at the ceiling. Before he could leave, a hand touched his shoulder.
“It’s your business, not mine,” the man said, suddenly sounding a lot older and very tired. “But if you asked me, it’s a lot worse thinking about all the things you never did.” He let Ewen go then and turned toward the bar.
A shiver went down his spine, but he schooled his features into a happy look and moved towards his friends. He placed the tray down on the table, as the conversation between the girls died down, took his whisky and raised it up in a toast: “To Major Bill Martin”
The others all echoed the same sentiment, even the other girl who, now that he thought about it, had taken notes during a briefing with Bevan or two. He was sure she didn’t know much, but she didn’t seem too unfamiliar with the name. Charles still didn’t meet his eyes again.
The conversation flowed easily, though it had only really been three of them that held it. No matter how much he or Jean tried to get Charlie to engage, he didn’t seem to feel like it. Rather than work, they discussed the play. Ewen had never been so glad about the fact that John had told him all about when he saw the play a week ago for almost an hour. No one would ever think he hadn’t been entirely attentive.
As they were finishing up their drinks, he kept sneaking glances at Charles. He was holding his beer in both of his hands and looking quite dejectedly downwards. He longed to be able to reach over and take his hand. Maybe if they’d been alone or at least if he’d been entirely sure that it would be welcome, but they weren’t and he wasn’t.
Soon, there was nothing to do, but to head to the nearest bus stop, where Charles and the girls would take a bus, while he would go on to pick up his bike from where he’d left it behind the theatre. He really had hoped that tonight would go a little better, but he was worried that he might have undone all the progress he’d made in the past few days to get back behind Charlie’s defences.
The girls took the first available bus, thanking them both for the nice night, with Jean telling them she’d see them in the morning, when they’d wait to hear if the body had been dropped tonight. Ewen could see Charles stiffen next to him. As the bus drove off and they were left on their own, the tension he could feel in the air increased tenfold. A few seconds passed in silence.
“Look Charlie-“ “Monty, you don’t-“
They stopped and looked at each other. Ewen laughed and relaxed a little when he saw Charles smiling a little too.
“Let me-“ Charles started, before closing his eyes and trying again: “What I was trying to say is… you- you know you don’t need to wait with me, right?”
He frowned. This was the last thing he’d wanted to hear. It seemed talking about them was out of the question, if Charlie didn’t even want him here.
“I- it’s fine.” He took in a sharp breath. “Look, Charlie, I just wanted to say, I know you haven’t been able to get any information on the weather conditions around Huelva in days and it’s been driving you up the wall. I don’t know for sure if the submarine will get there today or tomorrow, of course, but I went to have a talk with the… tide people today and they assured me that, if the weather stays as it is, there shouldn’t be a delay of more than an hour with your expected tidal times, so you don’t need to worry about that tonight, okay?”
Charlie blinked at him. His eyes had gotten wider and wider as he talked and at this point, Ewen wasn’t entirely sure that was a good thing. He was saved from any more awkward silences as the next bus rounded the corner, dimmed lights just becoming visible.
“Anyway, er… They should have the updated tidal charts on our desk in the morning, so you can look over them yourself.” He looked at Charlie, a little more visible in the light from the bus. He had hoped the effort he’d gone through would make him happy, but he just looked from him to the bus, as though he was unsure about something. “Well, get home safe yeah, Charlie?”
He tried to smile at him as he took a step back, but before he could, Charlie grabbed his wrist and pulled him into a quick hug. “You too, Monty. Thank you,” he whispered in his ear. His voice was sounding a little chocked up, but Ewen had no chance to respond before the other man let go of him again and jumped onto the bus, a mere second before the bus started moving again.
As he waved to a retreating Charlie, he wondered once again, where they stood. He did not know, but he had hope that somehow, they would be okay.