Chapter Text
Ewen Montagu had decided that the only thing that could possibly make this day better was getting his coworker drunk. He’d only ever seen Charles Cholmondley drunk once and it was a night he remembered fondly through a haze of whiskey and wine. Over the years he’d come to the conclusion that alcohol had a tendency to change people, some people got happy and relaxed after a brandy while others got rageful and bitter, but Charles simply became more him. It was as if the entirety of the scientist was turned up to 11, and Monty found it awe-inspiring to watch.
Which was why he found himself using every ounce of his signature Montagu-charm to convince the other man to go out with him after a particularly horrible day in the office. “Come on, Charlie, we’ll have a jolly good time! Just like last time.”
“I don’t remember the last time, so how do I know we had ‘jolly good fun’?” Charles questioned, a somewhat guarded expression clouding his face.
“Because I do remember it - well, most of it - and it was certainly jolly good fun! You do trust me, don’t you Charlie?” Monty didn’t have to wait more than a second before Charles nodded in response, “See! So, we’re all sorted. Tonight shall be a night to remember, or not remember. I suppose it all depends on how good a dancer you are, my genius.”
Charles’ brow furrowed, “What does my ability to dance have to do with any of this?”
Monty felt a genuine smile take over his face, “Nothing - and everything.”
“I- I that doesn’t answer my question.” Charles huffed, “Where are we going?”
Monty grinned even wider, “Anywhere the wind blows.”
—
Charles’ cheeks were thoroughly flushed after his second brandy, and Monty most certainly was not staring. He was also definitely not thinking about how nice it would be to see Charles attempt to tango again.
“...and then there’s dungbeetles, they can drag around 1140 times their body weight! Do you know how impressive that is? It’s like if a human was able to pull six of those new double bus things they started making a few years ago.”
“I could do that.” Monty announced, not necessarily because he believed it, but because he wanted to see Charles’ reaction.
It was better than Monty could’ve expected. Charles tipped his head back and laughed loudly, without care, and so unbelievably Charles that he felt a matching smile spread across his own face. Seeing Charles like this always left Monty in absolute awe of how his eternally anxious friend never seemed to actually care about how people perceived him. Charles would worry himself into a tizzy about whether his ideas were good enough or if his latest operation would be truly brilliant - hell, Monty had once found the man fretting over the idea of having to go to the breakroom when it was full - but all of these concerns were resolutely internal. He didn’t seem to notice or care about what anyone else said about him, he only ever wanted to prove himself to himself, to live up to his own expectations.
Ewen was quite jealous if he was being honest with himself.
To distract himself from that particular thought, Monty drained the last of his brandy and slipped from the plush booth to buy them another round. The club they’d ended up on was a smaller establishment, all warm colours and classical music. He vaguely recalled that Hester didn’t live too far from here. A sudden urge to leave and find somewhere dingier, brighter, and louder - the sort of place Monty frequented in his younger years before the war and work occupied his every waking moment - bubbled up inside him. He wanted to get lost in a tidal wave of bodies, feel the music beating loudly in his chest, and, most importantly, have Charles by his side as he did so. The blonde was fizzing with excitement as he weaved through the tables surrounded by men adorned in expensive suits and shiny shoes - just as Monty himself was armored in - and made his way back to their booth.
“Charlie, I think we make this our last drink before moving on. What do you think?” Monty announced.
“Where are you planning on taking me?” Charles enquired, a skeptical eyebrow raising.
Mony grinned, “I don’t know yet! But, I promised you a good time and I always deliver.”
Charles said nothing for a moment, mind seemingly wandering, before a curious look passed over his face. Monty knew the look, had seen this exact look pass over the other man’s face a thousand times during their time in the basement, it was the look Charles got when a question occurred to him that he hadn’t thought to ask before. “Why does everyone call you Monty?”
That, well, that caught him off guard, “It’s my name, isn’t it?”
“No, your name is Ewen Montagu. Monty is a nickname. I’ve never heard anyone call you Ewen before, not even your brother.”
No one had ever questioned him on the matter before, and Monty suddenly found himself hating how oddly perceptive Charles could be at times. Sure, the most obvious of things could fly right over the other man’s head, but he had to notice this. “Well, why does everyone call you Charlie?” He countered.
Charles tilted his head, “They don’t. Only you and my mother do.”
Monty wanted to lie, to come up with something believable enough that Charles would stop looking at him like a puzzle missing a piece, but the brandy sloshing through his veins made that increasingly difficult. “I- I just prefer it. I have my whole life I suppose.”
“Do your family call you Monty when you go home? Are they not also Montys?”
Ewen took a long sip of his drink. Curse Charles and his stupid kind and curious eyes. “No, my parents call me-” He cut himself off and took a deep breath, “My parents call me by my birth name. As does my older brother, Stuart. Ivor, as you’ve seen, likes to refer to people as whatever relation they are to him, so I’m simply ‘brother’. Joyce, my sister, calls me Ewen. She’s the only one who really does.” Hester did too, he supposed, but only ever in private. Something to do with ‘having a professional working relationship’, whatever that meant.
“Birth name? Ewen isn’t your name?” Charles questioned, spilling his drink a bit as he took a swig.
Monty wanted the ground to swallow one of them up. Either would do, so long as this conversation ended right here. He took another drink of the amber liquid that seemingly acted as truth serum on him. “I changed it. Didn’t like what they gave me, didn’t feel right.”
“And Ewen does? Or do you still prefer Monty?” The taller man asked earnestly, and Monty couldn’t help but feel relieved that he was having this conversation with stupidly kind Charles Cholmondeley, who only cared about what Monty was comfortable with, and didn’t pry to find out more about the past.
“I- I like them both. More people know me as Monty, I suppose. Ewen feels a bit more… private. Almost like a different person, but still me.” It was the most honest he’d been in a long time. He blamed the alcohol. Monty was how the world knew him, abrasive, loud, intimidating, and brash, but Ewen was who he was when he was truly himself. Ewen was who came out when there was no one else around and he got to exist without putting on a show of who he was expected to be. He hadn’t really made an appearance in a while and he wasn’t entirely sure what would greet .
Monty decided they needed a change of scenery before he told Charles and Charles’ stupidly pretty eyes too much. “Right!” He announced, clapping his hands together, “Let’s go somewhere a bit more… exciting.”
—
The two men slowly made their way down the street towards a part of town that was usually avoided by people of their status, but Monty wanted to have a bit of fun. Status be damned.
A canopy of muted stars hung above them, and the streets were almost completely empty, a side effect of the recent bombings just a few miles away. So, Monty and Charles found themselves alone as they walked, their shoulders occasionally hitting off of each other as they staggered slightly. The city hummed slightly, the quiet evidence of existence that couldn’t be quashed no matter what, but was otherwise silent. This relative-silence was filled by Charles’ ramblings about some new butterfly species that had recently been discovered, and Monty found himself only half-listening, too busy staring at the stars and looking for the familiar shapes of the constellations.
He had spent countless sleepless nights looking at the night sky when he was a kid, back in their country manor where the stars shone brighter than they ever did in the city. It was something he hadn’t really had a chance to do in years, and the practice was oddly peaceful.
Ewen was so preoccupied staring at the sky that he almost didn’t notice that the city had gone quiet, leaving only Charles’ voice to fill the night. He halted, confusion rising, quickly replaced by fear.
“Monty, are you-”
Charles didn’t get a chance to answer before Monty shoved him into a narrow side street with all his might. Despite his short stature and thin frame, Ewen Montagu was deceivingly strong and Charles was thrown completely off of his feet. Monty didn’t have a chance to follow his friend before the world erupted into pain.