Chapter Text
“Monty, are you going to be at Ascot for opening this year?” John asks from halfway across the canteen, brandishing a used teaspoon in the direction of the referent. God. He and Charles had just wanted to run up to grab some tea because the typing pool girls were too busy with “urgent missives” for the “Joint Chiefs of Staff.” He by no means needed to be trapped in conversation with these maniacs.
“Yes, I believe Ivor and dear Hel have the family box reserved,” Monty says, waving his hand as he pours hot water over the tea bags into his and Charlie’s mugs from the, thankfully, already prepared, kettle. Still, his curiosity gets the better of him, and he adds on, “Why do you ask?”
“Is your sister going to be present?” John asks, which earns the Lieutenant Commander the attention of the room. This includes a look of confusion from Charles, who snags his mug from the counter, and Monty apparently neglected to mention he had a sister to.
“I believe Joyce will be if the Fair Captain can get leave,” Monty responds, before his brain catches up with itself. Why on earth did it matter if his sister was present?
“No, not Joyce, the other one,” John hand waves in between bites of his biscuit as Monty cocks an eyebrow in confusion, considering he only has one sister. “Quite fit, looks rather a lot like you.”
Ah. This is rather uncomfortable.
“Yeah, didn’t she come to Ascot every year?” Fleming chimes in.
Right. Nightmare’s more like it, isn’t it?
He’s altogether unsure if this is meant to be harassment or if his colleagues were just this big of morons.
“Went off to America, I’m afraid,” Monty bites back curtly, trying with every fibre of his being to keep his composure and not accidentally shatter the mug in his hand by applying too much force with his grip. Crafting a believable lie through an inconspicuous smile, he adds, “Visited some family and ended up married to some wealthy industrialist’s son, you know the story.”
“Pity, she was rather fit,” Reggie adds on.
Fleming, apparently needing to get in on the dogpile, laments, “An American, too? That’s ghastly,”
“The man’s not even getting a title out of it,” John utters, offended by the mere thought of it.
Morons, then, which is better than being malicious, isn’t it? He supposes he should be glad that they’re that daft enough not to have put the pieces together, lest it become the scandal of the war office, but still? God. It doesn’t make it any easier.
He’s pulled from his thoughts by the quiet interjection by the genius at his side, as Charlie pipes in meekly, “If he loves her, that hardly should matter.”
Charlie’s right. It shouldn’t matter. But to this crowd? It wasn’t further from the truth. The trio of morons chuckle among themselves which only further clips the scientists wings. God . He wants to step in and help, but before he can manage to come to Charles’s defense Reggie inquires “You never met Monty’s sister did you, bug boy?” through a laugh, It is something that would be an innocent question coming from anyone else, but is likely an attempt at finding a way to demean someone when it comes out of this particularly infuriating man’s mouth.
“I’m afraid not,” Charles says, almost despondently as he stirs the cream and sugar into his tea.
“Well, you cannot exactly go to Ascot when you’re halfway across the world, can you?” Monty says heartily with a forced levity, as he claps Charles on the back and prays that the other man understands his intention that they should be getting back to the basement. Immediately.
“You’d have liked her, Cholmondeley,” Fleming says, tapping his pen to his mouth in thought before pointing it in Ewen’s direction. “Looked rather a lot like Monty.”
“Right, but if you already think Monty has a fire under his arse at all times, you couldn’t imagine her,” Reggie tacks on with a scoff.
“She sounds rather remarkable, a woman worthy of wooing,” Charlie says almost reverently, which irritates Monty for a reason he can’t quite place his finger on. He’s not jealous of, well, that version of himself. That would be ridiculous.
“Come now, you couldn’t pull someone like her,” Reggie chastises, punching Charles on the shoulder and causing the scientist to jump. Splashing some tea on himself and the counter in the process, he lets out a small hiss, wincing as the scalding water hits his skin. Already hypervigilant given the conversation, Monty makes his way to the freezer to grab some ice to wrap in a towel.
“It’s a right shame she’s tied the knot, would have married her myself,” John regales with a boast. “She was interested enough.”
“I’m sure. I’ll send my regards,” Monty says brusquely, forcefully shoving past the man as he goes. With the guerilla ice pack under arm, a cup of tea in one hand, and the other on Charlie to urge him out of the canteen, Monty tries to evacuate the premises. Charlie follows in suit, allowing himself to be manhandled by the Lieutenant Commander to make their way back to their safe haven of a basement and away from this idiocy.
Catching the crestfallen look on Charlie’s face, Monty hazards it might be because of the ribbing he was given earlier by the others about not being able to score the lovely hypothetical lass. In an attempt to cheer him up, Monty says with his usual sauve and nonchalant air, “Don’t look so blue, Charlie. You’re the exact sort of man, I— she’d go for.”
“You don’t need to lie to raise my spirits, Monty,” Charles bemoans with a pout, grabbing the ice from under the other man’s arm and applying it to his forearm. Under his breath, he rambles, “It’s not like I’m liable to pursue a wo— a married woman , at any rate.”
“Not a lie, my little genius,” Monty hums, throwing an arm around Charles’s shoulders and giving him a friendly nudge on the chin. That was the first truth he’d told all morning: his hypothetical sister would court Cholmondeley in a heartbeat if given the choice. She’d be daft not to. Anyone would be.