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It’s funny how war brings the most unlikely of people together. You had Ewen Montagu, although he preferred Monty, who would probably expect you to thank him for the honour of being in his presence. He was the most cocky and self assured individual you’d ever met. Then you had Charles Cholmondeley. A bird who could never fly due to his eyesight. His shy demeanour and introverted nature often made him the target of Monty’s playful teasing. Charles was taller than Montagu, his height adding to his gangly and awkward presence, making him seem even more out of place than he typically felt.
Yet somehow they became one hell of a team, they had a great level of mutual respect for one another. Yes they greatly got on each others nerves, Charles still hadn’t entirely forgiven Monty for stealing documents to write a film script to feed his own ego, and there was a mutual agreement to not discuss what happened on the eve of the 29th April. But they were in a happy place now. It was July 15th, the invasion had been a roaring success there wasn’t really anything left for them to do until they got their next assignment. Unfortunately, that next assignment would most likely split them up.
One particularly chilly evening, especially for mid July, Monty suggested they take a break from their work and visit the Gargoyle Club, a popular spot among the city's elite, known for its lively atmosphere and eclectic mix of artists, writers, and thinkers. Charlie, though hesitant after what happened last time they went out, agreed, secretly thrilled at the prospect of spending more time with Monty outside the confines of MI5, he only hoped that any awkwardness that may come of them being reminded how this ended last time could be avoided.
As they walked through the dimly lit streets of London, the air filled with the distant rumble of artillery and the occasional wail of sirens, Montague kept the conversation light, recounting humorous anecdotes and cracking jokes to put Charles at ease.
“Do you remember much of the Gargoyle Charlie? Or were you too intoxicated by that point last time to remember it?”
Charlie.
That was another thing, only his mother had ever called him Charlie, yet Ewen had decided essentially straight after meeting him that he would simply also call him Charlie.
And he didn’t mind.
“I remember vague parts, nothing too clearly though” Charlie said quickly, moving very swiftly away from the potential topic of Ivor Montagu.
As they turned a corner, the wail of an air-raid siren suddenly cut through the night, piercing and urgent. The streets erupted into chaos as people scrambled for cover, the distant sound of bombers growing louder with each passing second.
"Bloody hell," Monty muttered, grabbing Charlie’s arm. "We need to find shelter, quick."
They dashed down a side street, the sky above them lighting up with the flash of anti-aircraft fire. Montagu's eyes scanned the area frantically until he spotted a small, abandoned shop with its doors ajar.
"In here!" he shouted, pulling Charlie along as they dove inside just as the first bombs began to fall.
The shop was dark and musty, its shelves lined with forgotten trinkets and dust-covered curiosities. Monty and Charlie found a table and scrambled to get under it, the sound of explosions and shattering glass echoing around them. The fear and adrenaline coursed through their veins, but the close proximity brought an unexpected comfort.
"Are you all right?" Monty asked, his voice barely audible over the din outside.
Charlie nodded, his breathing heavy. "Yes, just a bit shaken."
Monty placed a reassuring hand on Charlie’s shoulder, his touch warm and steady. "We'll be fine, Charlie. We just need to wait it out."
The air between them crackled with tension, the unspoken feelings that had been building for months now teetering on the brink of revelation, and the night of the 29th April felt as though it was happening all over again.
Monty’s gaze lingered on Charlie’s face, the flickering light from a nearby streetlamp casting shadows across his features.
"Charlie," Monty began, his voice soft and earnest. “We should talk about it.”
Charlie’s heart pounded in his chest, his eyes meeting Monty’s. "What ‘it’, Ewen?"
Monty looked at him in disbelief. “You know exactly what ‘it’ I am talking about, the..”
“Why here? Why now?” Charlie interrupted.
Monty took a deep breath, his hand sliding from Charlie’s shoulder to gently cup his cheek. “Because…. I care about you, more than just a colleague or a friend. And I don’t want to die having not told you that.”
Charlie’s breath caught in his throat, his mind racing as he processed Montague's words. "Ewen, I..."
Before he could finish, Monty closed the distance between them, capturing Charlie’s lips in a tentative kiss. It was a kiss born of months of suppressed desire, of late-night conversations and shared fears.
Charlie responded hesitantly at first, but then with growing confidence, his arms wrapping around Monty’s neck as they lost themselves in the moment.
When they finally pulled apart, both men were breathless, their hearts racing. Monty’s voice was a soft whisper. "I've wanted to do that for so long."
Charlie smiled, his shyness melting away in the warmth of Monty’s embrace. "Me too, I just…. thought you hated me.”
Monty laughed at the absurdity of it all. They were confessing their feelings to each other while hiding under a table during an air raid, and yet Charlie thought that Monty hated him? That was definitely the strangest part.
“Charlie, we literally had sex. How could you think I hated you?”
“Because we didn’t talk about it after….”
“I didn’t want to rush and push you away!”
“We are idiots!” Charlie laughed.
They held hands in a comfortable silence, well as comfortable as possible while fearing for their lives.
When the raid finally subsided, Monty and Charlie emerged from the shop, their hands still intertwined. The streets were littered with debris, the air heavy with the smell of smoke and destruction, but they faced it together. Turns out they could face anything together when they actually communicated.