Work Text:
Hester sat at her desk, staring out her window, lost in thought. She had been awake and working for nearly a week straight. Her lack of ability to focus on anything was annoying her greatly, but the thought of slowing down on her work raised gooseflesh on the back of her neck.
Hester continued to work, completely lost in thought. She tended to completely block out her surroundings when busy, something Tom commented on so often that it had been a joke between them.
Once, they had a lot of those.
Work was consuming her so greatly that Miss Leslie was forced to clear her throat to snatch her attention. Hester jumped once she saw her, revealing that Jean was holding a stack of files almost bigger than she was.
“Miss Leggatt?” Jean asked.
“Oh, yes, I'm sorry, dear. What can I help you with?”
Jean dropped the files onto Hester’s desk with a small sigh of relief and offered a small, secretive smile. “These are for you, ma’am. From Colonel Bevan.”
“Ooh, I wonder what they say…” Prezzo teased from the other side of the room. Hester rolled her eyes, but she didn’t quite mind the gentle teases from her girls about her romantic situation with John anymore, at least not now that there actually was a situation to be teased about. With a fond smile, she began sorting through files. Hester noted their information to the best of her ability in her sleep-deprived state, prioritising working as quickly as possible.
A small piece of paper fell from between the pages, torn from a notepad. Italia marched over, leaning in to see it.
“Back to work, Miss Beryl.” Hester reprimanded lightly. Italia quickly retreated, giggling.
It was a simple pencil drawing of the view from John’s right-facing window. Hester recognised the style immediately. A brief image passed through her mind of John sitting at his desk, drawing to take a break from his own ridiculous workload. Jean, who was closest to her, gasped excitedly, once again snapping Hester out of her own head.
“He draws pictures for you?” She squealed, “That’s so sweet!”
“Don’t you have some work to do, Miss Leslie?” Hester asked lightly. Jean realised that Hester wanted to be alone, so she nodded. Hester and John had talked; they wanted to keep their relationship on the quieter side. Hester hadn’t even wanted her girls to know; she still didn’t know how it got out, but she thought with a bit of pride, it is incredibly hard to hide things from her girls. They had known her feelings for John for quite some time. After all, it had been Jean who spurred her into action in the first place; Hester might never have asked John out had it not been for her intervention. Once she finally did, Prezzo and Italia somehow found out, and soon everyone in the office knew. It had been a secret for all of two days.
“Sorry!” Jean replied, running back to her desk. On the way, Bella stopped her and whispered something in her ear, which made her cheeks turn pink.
“Bella!” She whisper-shouted.
Hester shook her head, returning to her work. She had so much work to do. You’d think, now that the allies finally seemed to be on track to win the whole war, that the amount of work she had would decrease, but no, she was busy as ever, if not more.
The words began to swim in front of her eyes after a few minutes. Her mind felt foggy, her hands were starting to shake, and she was just so tired. Her gaze drifted to the right of her typewriter, back to the drawing John had sent her, and her mind once again lifted her out of her cramped workspace and back into her thoughts. She wished she were with him; everything seemed more manageable when the two of them were together. They could work through enormous stacks of papers in minutes. She vaguely wondered if he would come visit her himself today, but no, he was too busy to spend his time with her instead of in his office. Her thoughts became distant, and even they became too hard for her to focus on.
Hester's eyes slid shut practically against her will, and she faintly heard someone shout her name before the exhaustion took over and everything faded.
Hester's office had been a sanctuary for John ever since she had started working for him.
It had started, as all things do, with the tea. Hester would brew a pot for herself, first when she arrived in the morning, and then after lunch. It was a routine, something Bevan soon learned they both found safety in.
Less than a week after Hester had started working at MI5, John had walked into her office while she was brewing her afternoon pot. John didn’t recall being offered it, but he soon found himself with a mug in his hands, talking through the flight plans drawn up by the then-new Ewen Montagu, clever on a base level, but so riddled with errors that he managed to imply one could walk from Russia to Japan.
Afternoon tea soon became their routine, and his visitations were no longer limited to scheduled times or events. He would walk to her office to work at her desk, or simply to drop by, more often than he went almost anywhere else in the building.
Hester would likely refer to it as an anchor point, a way to keep from drifting. Although he wouldn't put it like that. Metaphors were more trouble than they were worth.
But Mincemeat had been a disruption. A disruption with positive results, but still a disruption. And in the chaos, tea time had stopped. That was possibly a part of why John had blown up at Montagu.
Still, they had each other, even if it wasn’t as constant anymore.
But God, if that didn’t hurt John more than he could express. Even now, after the success of the operation, they hadn’t resumed their meetings. A side effect of two very schedule-oriented people removed from their routines for months.
He had been working non-stop for what he thought was about twenty-four hours, although it could have been days. There was no clock in his office for exactly that reason, and he had stocked up on coffee and bread rolls from the canteen. He preferred it this way. Less noise, no Fleming.
He had a flash of a memory unflattering sketch of the man that he had passed to Hester during a lull in a meeting. She was in her half-irritated reaction, although John knew she would not be appreciative of that comment.
He was drifting in and out of focus, remembering that moment, when the realisation dawned upon him. They hadn't spoken since he had started work. That morning. Which was fine. Only slightly atypical. But that, combined with the stress and exhaustion of the day, brought on a crushing feeling of shame.
His thoughts were interrupted by a frantic knock on the door of his office. He rose to answer it, but Jean Leslie swung it open by herself. He could have sworn he had locked it. Her eyes were wild and frantic.
“Colonel Bevan!” She saluted stiffly. Her breathing was ragged.
“At ease, Miss Leslie,” John said, “Has something happened?”
Miss Leslie looked up at him before unleashing what Hester might've called ‘quite the impressive run-on sentence’. “I don't know what happened. Hester just– She passed out, and she isn't hurt, but I'm still really worried about her, and since you two are so close, I thought you'd be the right person to go to, and– oh God, I just ran into your office. I didn’t even wait for you to– Damn it– wait, no, sorry. I’m sorry, Sir.”
In any other circumstance, John would've wondered if she had ever once breathed in her life. Not now, though. Right now, he was practically vaulting himself over the desk. He heard Jean’s footsteps racing behind his; he supposed all her practice of running up and down the halls of MI5–which often earned her a reprimand from Hester— was finally coming to good use.
When they arrived in the typing pool, Hester’s secretaries—Prezzo, Bella, and Italia—were standing near Hester's desk, looking worried.
Seeing Hester slumped over on her desk made John's heart sink for a brief moment. John’s hands started shaking as he tried to suppress the awful thoughts running through his head.
John remembered promising himself that he would never let anything bad happen to her, that he would protect her to the best of his abilities. He didn’t like seeing her like his. He took a deep breath and approached her desk. Putting his hand gently on her back, his brain finally registered that Hester was, in fact, breathing. Although he could have noticed that just by looking, it gave him some solace to feel the constant reminder beneath his hand. He crouched down a bit—the first time he ever had to do so to get on Hester’s level, he briefly mused—even though he knew he’d regret it later.
Gingerly, he reached out for Hester’s arm but hesitated as he realised they had a bit of an audience. Keeping his hand on her back, he looked up at the MI5 secretaries and cleared his throat.
“Do you mind?” Bevan snapped, and the ladies scattered. He usually wouldn’t be so short with them, but he was tired and worried, and still attempting to recover from his shock. He could feel Miss Leslie’s presence lingering behind him, but he didn’t mind her as much; he knew she wouldn’t disturb them or say anything rash regarding the situation.
He placed one hand gently on top of hers. Touch had gotten more and more common between them, but this was the most affection he’d ever shown towards her in public, well, if you don’t count Montagu walking into his office unannounced… twice. He wasn’t thinking of that, though; making sure Hester was alright was his priority. Still, in times of crisis, he was always hesitant to lay a hand on anyone.
Despite the contact, John's mind was still racing. He didn’t know the procedures for fainting, and had even less of a clue what had caused it.
No. That wasn’t true.
He had sent a memo to Hester three nights ago, via Miss Leslie. He had hoped she would come by his office, or send a letter back at the very least. Instead, he had received a scribbled note on a piece of receipt paper that read: ‘All’s well.’ Accompanied by a messy drawing of a heart.
That worried him; the idea that Hester would write something so brief and imprecise was enough for John to know that something was wrong. She was exhausted, most likely. He remembered seeing her in the office during many of his later shifts, which must mean that she, like him, had spent more time in the office in the past week than she had at home. Knowing the effects of that, as he had observed in himself, he knew Hester would be struggling. He kept intending to check up on her, but had never gotten around to it; he just didn’t have the time to take a break from his work. He felt a little guilty about that and made a mental note to find more time in his schedule to check in with her in the future.
She still hadn’t stirred, so he picked his hand up off her hand and moved it carefully to her neck so as to get her attention, but not to startle her too much.
“Will she be okay?” Miss Leslie asked from behind him. He wanted to reassure her, but he wasn’t certain of the accuracy of any answer he could give.
“Hester?” He said in a volume just above a whisper. That finally got to her, and she slowly lifted her head.
Hester finally stirred.
“John… what?” She said, her words slurring. He quickly moved his hand from her neck back onto her hand, which he briefly noticed was holding the small drawing he had sent to her just minutes ago.
“Hello, love.” He breathed, finally letting go of some of his tension. Hester sat up straight, looking around her. She took in her surroundings, noticing that the Misses Cheryl, Meryl, and Beryl, although back at their desks, were still staring directly at her. Hester straightened out her shirt and hair, trying to make herself presentable again.
“What happened, John-” She looked past John to Miss Leslie, who was still standing behind him, looking very worried.
“A- Are you alright, Miss Leggatt?” Jean asked cautiously, keeping her voice low.“I’m quite alright, Miss Leslie.” She replied, trying her best to seem so. When Hester realised the fear wouldn’t leave Jean’s face, she added, “You needn’t worry about me, you should get back to work.” Jean looked like she was about to cry.
“You're always worrying about us; you need to let us worry about you, too.” She said, her voice shaking. Hester was taken aback; she hadn’t expected that response. Her still-recovering mind couldn’t quite come up with an answer, so she just sat there, processing. Jean seemed to decide that Hester would be in good hands with John and turned to leave.
John looked at her, concerned, and she looked right back at him, her face slowly falling as Jean scuttled away, leaving the two of them alone.
“Did I– Did I fall asleep?” Hester asked, although she already knew the answer. She turned her face towards her desk, hiding her creeping blush.
“May I?” He asked quietly, with one hand reaching out. Hester nodded, leaning into the touch as he rested a hand on her shoulder. “You should go home,” John said. “I’m quite sure that Miss Leslie can take charge for the rest of the day.”
“No, no,” Hester shook her head. “There’s so much work to be done and-”
“No, I won’t hear of it. I won’t have you killing yourself through exhaustion.” John asserted, Hester still looked hesitant. “The longer you force yourself to remain awake, the harder it will be for you to do your work. I know you do better work when you’re well rested.” John knew that bringing up the quality of her work would sway her. If there was one thing Hester cared more about than getting all of her work done, it was getting it done right.
Jean burst back into the room, startling both Hester and John. She was holding a mug of green tea, which she quickly offered to Hester.
Hester laughed tiredly. “Thank you, Jean.”
“Colonel Bevan’s right. You really should go home. We can be left alone for one day, I’m sure.” Jean declared, Hester shot her a look, “I mean– I promise I won’t let the other girls blow up the office! Or Monty, if that’s who you’re worried about.” She added quickly.
“How on earth–”
“I may have … had my ear pressed to the door. I didn’t want to interrupt you two!”
Hester shook her head fondly, turning the warm mug in her hands. She could faintly feel a raised shape over the ceramic - clearly one of the several with Cholmondeley’s face on it.
That gave Jean an idea.
“Miss Leggatt? Do you remember when one of us would fall asleep at our desks while we were working on Mincemeat?” She asked softly. “Remember what you'd always tell us?”
Hester nodded.
“Go home and sleep, you'll do better work if you're rested. We will manage for the rest of the day.”
Jean looked at her sadly.
“Please, Miss Leggatt?”
She sighed, finally acquiescing. “Alright.”
John helped her up, holding her hand once again.
“I’ll walk you home.” He smiled.
Hester tried to ignore the cooing sounds from her girls as the two of them left, Hester leaning on John's arm the whole way home.
Hester rested her head on his shoulder as he unlocked her door. She had given John the key to her flat about a week ago, after he’d started walking her home from their nights out, and he had been using it liberally ever since, not that she was complaining. The moment she crossed the threshold, she realised just how much sleep had been calling to her.
“I’m sorry,” John said, standing in the doorway of Hester’s bedroom as she burrowed under her blankets, “But I do need to get back to the office for a bit.”
“Alright,” She didn’t even try to force the traces of disappointment from her voice, “But come back to me as soon as you can. Please.”
John smiled, “Always,”
Hours later, the door to Hester’s flat opened with a soft creak.
“Hello,” She said, slurring her words slightly and blinking sleep from her eyes, “How’d it go?”
“Fine,” John shook his head, “Montagu is– I’ve dealt with him. For now, at least.”
John leaned in to press a chaste kiss to her lips.
“You are a miracle worker, love,” She said softly, “And thank you.”
“For what?”
“Coming to see me. Making me leave, I never would have done so on my own. I don’t know, I suppose. Just all of it.”
John shook his head fondly and kicked his shoes off, neatly climbing onto the bed next to her. It wasn’t made for two people, so Hester had to squeeze to the side in order to accommodate them both. That somehow made the situation even more charming.
“You don’t need to thank me, dear, it’s what I’m here for.”
John’s eyes sparkled, despite the dim lighting in the room. Hester rested her head against his chest, sighing contentedly as she felt the soft vibrations from him speaking. He carefully pulled the many hairpins from the bun her hair was always in, placing them gently on the nightstand.
“Good night, dear heart.”
This time, Hester didn’t try to force herself to stay awake.