Work Text:
It was a Tuesday in November, and Charles was abnormally happy.
Not that there was anything wrong with Tuesdays, nor that there was anything wrong with Charles being happy. In general, he was content with his life; he had his own flat, cooked and cleaned for himself, and spent his days doing whatever he could to help the war effort. Every day he'd wake up, get dressed, take the Tube to work, and arrive at MI5 ready to plug away at whatever he had been assigned that week. Recently, his work had been dedicated solely to Mincemeat, though surprisingly, his new project hadn't changed his typical workday so much as it had changed the people he most frequently interacted with. Now, he spoke with Hester, confided in Jean, worked with Monty... suffered the occasional rude comment from public school boys he wished he wasn't forced to see on a daily basis. All in all, though, Charles was generally content with his work at MI5. Things were finally going well for once, now that they had gotten a head start on the Sicily invasion. There wasn't any reason he shouldn't be happy; that is to say, it wasn't an entirely out-of-the-ordinary thing for him to be.
That being said... it was a little bit strange. Excessive, maybe. Or at least it felt that way to Monty. Out of nowhere, Charles had shown up to work extraordinarily pleased; Monty could tell from the wide grin on his face that he was a man with something to be proud of. Yet for some reason, instead of hiding his joy, Charles was wearing it out in the open. Had he been acting like this yesterday, too? Monty seemed to recall him having been just as happy on Monday, though he couldn't be sure. Monty had been doing some very important business that day, part of which involved him spending time out of the office to produce various receipts for Major William Martin's wallet, and hadn't seen much of Charles as a result.
Well, then, Charlie was happy. Good for the man, of course, but it didn't mean much to Monty personally. So the way Monty's eyes kept drifting back to Charlie in the break room that morning - well, no one could blame the man! It wasn't as if there was anything better to look at while he sipped his tea. Monty checked his watch again... hm. Nine already. Well, he could wait a little longer to start his work.
Monty watched as Charles walked over to the counter with his mug in hopes of making some tea for himself. Reggie was stirring his own mug with a teaspoon, John standing off to the side with him, when they both saw Charles enter the room with that cheery look on his face. He was smiling wider than Monty had ever seen him smile before, and he kept fiddling with his hands in that cute way he always did when he was excited. (Not that Monty himself found it cute; it was just objectively so.) Reggie and John shared a knowing look and a grin. Monty was somewhat distanced from the scene, but anyone who was paying any attention at all could have seen the way the looks on their faces shifted from idle boredom to awfulness the instant Charles happily walked over.
John took the first move between them, stepping towards Charles slyly and drawing out the words, "Say, Bug Boy..."
Charles flinched, not having noticed the two of them beside him. His smile faltered slightly at the nickname they'd chosen for him. Still, it was a good day. He was having a good day. He wasn't going to let these two ruin the good day he was having.
Charles took a breath. "My name is Charles."
John frowned. "Well, I know that, Bug Boy." Reggie laughed at that, and John cracked a smile, too. "Anyway. Just saying hello, that's all. Although, I did have one question, just one question..."
"What?"
Reggie took over, grinning. "Well, what's got you so... I don't know, ah, so... smiley, all of a sudden?"
Charles nodded, a little dumbly. This was good. John and Reggie were taking an interest, if only in their own, albeit somewhat impolite, way. And the three of them were all smiling and laughing. This was good; this was a normal conversation. A perfectly normal interaction between three smart, hard-working MI5 men. He could handle normal interactions.
"I've just received some good news," Charlie responded. Then he turned red and quickly added, "About this thing I'm trying to get published in-"
"You're getting something published?" John interrupted to ask. Charles would have frowned at his rude manner of interjecting in the middle of Charles's sentence, but, well, he was asking questions. That was rather a good sign, right? Maybe Charles shouldn't have doubted their friendship so much. After all, John and Reggie were clever, well-educated men just like him. They might actually be interested in his science and such. Well, they might, if one chose to ignore everything they had previously said about Charles and his interests. Charles swallowed, choosing to ignore it.
"Yes," Charlie said. "I wrote a piece about-"
Again, he was interrupted, this time by Reggie. "Getting his own writing published, well, well, well... better than Fleming, isn't he?" John and Reggie both rejoiced loudly at that. To tell the truth, Charles didn't like speaking about people harshly behind their backs, but in that moment, he would have given anything to gain a bit of respect from the other two men. So he, too, forced out a polite chuckle.
"The difference, Reggie," John said, continuing the joke, "is that Fleming has gone and written something daft about underwater cars, while Bug Boy here has gone and written something daft about- oh, I don't know, about-"
"-about some rare species of grasshopper, I assume," Reggie interrupted joyfully, now laughing just as much as John was. Well, that was rude. But, Charles thought, he didn't have many options besides continuing the conversation. John and Reggie's track records with him were littered with numerous instances of insulting, name-calling, ignoring, and rather a lot of pushing and shoving. All of which, of course, had been directed towards Charles himself, and made him a little scared of what might come of this conversation. But it would have been worse still to remove himself from the interaction, as much as he wanted to do exactly that. So he didn't.
"Actually, well, um, it's the- it's the common toad," Charles corrected, at a volume somewhat quieter than how he had been speaking just a few seconds ago.
"Yes, right, that common toad," Reggie parroted back at him, now yawning. He took another sip of his tea, stirred it lazily, then innocently added, "But the thing is, actually, that nobody cares about your stupid bugs and toads at all."
"I'm sort of shocked he was able to get published in the first place," John snickered as if Charles wasn't right there in front of them.
"Yes, well, you have to give the publisher some grace," Reggie said, "perhaps they only meant to put it in the comedy section, with all the rest of the jokes and cartoons." Both men chortled loudly again, as if Reggie had just said the single funniest thing anyone had ever heard of. Charles was beginning not to find the interaction funny at all. He really just needed to make his tea and get to work on Mincemeat, but these two refused to let him go.
Monty frowned. Watching this all unfold from the far side of the break room was proving to be more disheartening than entertaining. John and Reggie were his coworkers, his work friends, even, but did they really have to be so mean to Charlie? He would have stayed and listened to whatever frog thing it was, Monty thought. Wouldn't he? Or would he have laughed along with John and Reggie, ignoring Charles's feelings and going for the easy target? An all-consuming part of Monty wanted to believe he would have listened to Charlie no matter what. But he couldn't pretend he hadn't done worse to others in the past.
"Mr. Montagu," a stern voice behind him piped up. "You're needed downstairs." Monty knew even before turning around that it was Hester - that fine old girl, always keeping him on time! As much as he despised her tendency to tell him off for trivial things like sitting on desks and turning in his reports weeks late, he had to admit that she always did well at supporting Monty and all the other men as they worked to win the war. That was her job, after all. That, and something about the typing pool.
Monty gave her his most courteous of grins, then nodded and followed her down to the basement out of which Operation Mincemeat, well, operated. Just before they left, Monty peeked one last time at what was going on between the three other men in the break room. Charles seemed to be almost as far against the back wall as physically possible; he had probably been taking nervous steps backwards since the conversation had turned sour, though now that strategy had backfired and there was nowhere else for him to go anymore. Poor thing, Monty thought vaguely. Turning away from the break room, but still not closing the door, Monty heard a final few slivers of John and Reggie's booming voices:
"Come on, Reggie, surely you aren't implying the world isn't simply desperate to read about Fleming's shiny little spy?"
"Oh, quite right, I imagine that'd at least be more entertaining than some boring story about boring frogs in a boring forest, written by some boring boy who-"
Monty shut the door fast, pushing down the pang of guilt he felt for not having intervened or helped Charles in any way. It would be fine, he told himself. Charlie could handle himself. In the meantime, Monty had very important things to do. There was a war to win, after all.
~~~
Monty carried his mug of tea downstairs and into the basement. Or, more accurately, Monty carried a mug of tea that could have technically belonged to anyone, but that he had chosen from the cupboard for himself that morning. He should really buy his own mug one of these days, Monty thought somewhere in the back of his mind, as he leaned back lazily onto his chair at his desk. That might do something to change the number of times every week he was told off for borrowing someone else's. Monty yawned. It was proving to be quite the slow, sleepy morning for him. Charlie's morning had seemed to be full of joy and pride and beaming in the halls of MI5 as if he had just done something absolutely brilliant - like winning the lottery, or maybe the war. Speaking of winning the war, there was actually quite a lot of work for Monty to get done, and Bevan wanted detailed, up-to-date reports on absolutely every step of the way. Time for him to get to work.
Then, Jean walked into the room and sat down at her chair; a perfect distraction! Monty decided he could start working in just a minute. First, though, he had a question.
Monty stood back up from his desk and walked over to where Jean was sitting. "Jean?"
"Morning, Monty," Jean half-spoke, half-yawned in his general direction. She sounded tired, too; Monty knew for a fact she had worked late last night, though for the life of him Monty couldn't figure out what Jean would need to be doing at MI5 after hours. What work could she possibly have to do without any men to bring tea for?
"Jean, have you spoken to Charlie at all this morning?"
Jean blinked and thought for a moment. "Yes, we did. He said hello when he came in, then he went into the break room for tea. Why do you ask? Is he alright?"
"Oh, no, he's fine," Monty replied, hoping Charles was indeed fine. "He looked very pleased this morning, that's all."
Jean nodded. "I did notice he seemed rather happy. Had high spirits yesterday as well. Good for him, then, yeah?"
"Yes, good for him," Monty said, though his mind was elsewhere. He returned to his desk, then sighed and leaned back again. What a boring day he was having.
Charles walked into the basement.
Actually, not really a boring day at all, Monty thought as he sat back up in his chair. Yet another perfectly timed distraction from his work; if people kept walking into the room, Monty didn't think he'd be getting anything done all day. He watched Charles go through the motions of a typical workday - closing the door behind him, heading towards his desk, setting down his briefcase, and... staring back at Montagu, who quickly realized he had been the one staring in the first place.
"Charlie, good to see you," Monty grinned, putting on his usual charm and confidence so as not to make the staring-at-Charlie thing too awkward. "Might have liked your company yesterday! But I suppose you had better things to do here than going on another shopping spree for Bill's wallet."
Charles didn't smile back at him. In fact, it seemed as though his mood had worsened, not improved, at Monty's carelessly loud attitude. Looking closer, Monty could see the sorrow in Charles's face. "Just whatever I'm assigned. Whatever I can do to help things move along."
Monty's grin threatened to slip off his face; instead, he strengthened it, forcing his signature Montagu charm back onto his expression. "Of course, Charles my genius, we're always in need of brains like yours!"
It sounded rather sarcastic and belittling, Monty realized far too late, as any remaining spark of that morning's happiness faded from Charles's expression. "Yes, Monty," was all Charles said, before sitting down and getting to work on a hefty pile of files and documents that he needed to... whatever you do with various files and documents.
Monty frowned. He opened his mouth to say something else, but quickly decided against it. Unfortunately, at the moment, Charles only seemed interested in his work. Work; that was something Monty should be doing right now, instead of sitting here wondering what could have possibly ruined Charles's good mood. Surely a few mean comments from a couple of coworkers couldn't have hit him that hard? Then again, it was John and Reggie. They'd done worse to their inferiors before. Monty shuddered and tried not to think about what he might not have seen when he left the break room. No. It was fine; Charlie was fine. If something truly serious had happened, Monty would have found out about it by now. It was time for him to begin actually working on something and stop worrying about silly workplace drama.
The rest of the workday continued just as it had started for Monty; that is to say, it continued to be an absolute bore of a day. He could have had more fun watching paint dry on a fence. At least then he would have been allowed to spend some time outside in the sun, instead of sitting around all day in this dreary, stuffy basement where Monty experienced firsthand the reasons why it had been left unused for years. Monty sighed for what felt like the millionth time that day as he reorganized the various files on his desk, all of which had some level of importance regarding Bill's submarine vacation to Spain. He hadn't predicted when he launched the operation that he'd ever have to do so much research on arbitrary winds and coastlines; it was becoming increasingly obvious that pulling this off would take more than just a genius idea and a dead body.
It was maybe fifteen minutes until the end of their workday when Monty got the chance to speak to Charles again. While Montagu had been writing things down with Jean and Hester in a dimly-lit basement all day, Charles had spent his workday in various meetings with all sorts of important people. Monty didn't envy him; from their earlier interaction, he could guess that Charles had been sitting in meeting rooms feeling miserable, trying to give Mincemeat a fighting chance against whatever their boss's bosses thought would make for better top-secret operations. Monty's suspicions were proven correct when Charles made his final appearance in the basement, looking completely worn out from the day's work.
"Monty, could you hand me Bill's pilot certification?"
Monty lit up and straightened his posture at the sound of Charles's voice, which sounded almost as tired as Charles looked. He flipped through various falsified documents before finding the right one and handing it to him. Right. Now was his chance to take another stab at talking to Charles. This time, Monty told himself, he wouldn't spoil the conversation by saying something accidentally offensive.
"There you go," Monty said almost too loudly. "Rough day?"
Charles almost half-laughed, in an exhausted, pathetic sort of way. "Yes, I suppose you could say that."
Monty smiled at him, in a way he meant to be reassuring but probably came off as just his typical arrogant grin. "You seemed so happy this morning. What's got you so down now? If you don't mind me asking, that is."
"Just stressed about work, that's all," Charles responded automatically. Politeness was the way to go here, not vulnerability, he reminded himself. "Although..."
Charles didn't continue. A second or two might have passed before Monty became impatient and pried, "Although what?"
"Well-" Charles winced. "Maybe it's silly."
"It isn't silly," Monty replied on reflex alone. Dear God, was he being... reassuring? No, definitely not that. It was just his curiosity, that was all. Yet, regardless of his motivations, Monty couldn't help but ask again. "What were you happy about this morning?"
"I, um, I received some good news today." The room was awkwardly silent for a moment, before Charlie added, "I'm getting some of my research published. In a biology journal. Hopefully."
So that's what he had been trying to convey to John and Reggie earlier that morning! His own work being published in a biology journal - well, that was something to celebrate. Monty's smile only grew. "Charlie, my genius, that is remarkable. What about?"
Confused, Charles racked his brain for any semblance of reasoning as to why Monty would be so interested in his research all of a sudden. No one actually cared about his silly science article. No one actually wanted to know. Right? Wasn't that what the other men had told him? But here was Monty, calling him a genius, saying his achievement was remarkable. Asking to know more about his article. Since when did Monty care?
"Toads- it's, um, it's about newly-discovered behaviors of common toads." God, it sounded stupid to say aloud. Charles was beginning to regret having said anything about his work in the first place. Even in the best-case scenario, Monty would just shut him down as John and Reggie had done. There was no reason to believe he was really interested in something stupid, like his boring common toads.
Monty, on the other hand, was quickly finding himself more and more intrigued by Charles's common toads. "Go on," he urged, and he could have sworn he saw Charlie's eyes light up at the social permission to do exactly so. At first, Monty had only encouraged him to continue out of politeness, and because he felt a little guilty for how John and Reggie had spoken to him earlier. Now, Monty could clearly see that the more interest he took, the better Charlie felt about his work and his interests. That was the goal. Getting Charlie to keep talking was the plan.
"I did the research and wrote it all up a year or two ago," Charles explained, all the while cursing himself internally for still talking. His brain was yelling at him at a thousand decibels to just shut up, that Monty doesn't care about toads, nobody cares about silly toads. "It's sort of fascinating. You see, the toads, when they're old enough to start families, they-"
Charles frowned, his own sudden lack of speech taking him by surprise. He couldn't find the words to describe- no, he definitely knew the words to describe this. He had written essays upon essays about it. He just... couldn't speak, all of a sudden. Charles tried to talk again, but to no avail; every time he opened his mouth, it suddenly felt so stupid. Stupid and dull and meaningless, far from being groundbreaking or even remotely important. John and Reggie were right, they really were. His work was boring, it was stupid - what word had they used? Daft, and they were right, his research was just silly and daft. His head ached like never before. He couldn't stop thinking about that morning, couldn't get it out of his head. John had said it was a wonder he even managed to get published at all - Reggie had called his research a joke, said it belonged in some comedy segment - and they were both right, weren't they? His work didn't amount to anything. He didn't amount to anything. He never would.
"Oh, Charlie," a calm voice faded in. "Calm down, now, don't cry."
Charlie felt the familiar wetness of tears on his cheeks, now trailing down towards his neck. Was he crying? Was that Monty's voice trying to comfort him? Oh, God. Charles knew the answers to those questions, but he didn't like it. Here he was, sobbing in front of his superior for no good reason other than having suddenly clammed up while trying to talk about his toads. He loved his toads. He had devoted so much time to them before the war. Now, they just felt so wrong.
"I'm sorry," Charlie managed to choke out through tears, all the while refusing to look back at Monty. In the midst of his panic, they had ended up sitting next to each other on the floor, their backs leaning against the sides of their desks. "I don't know why I'm crying, I'm sorry, it's so stupid - oh God, I'm crying in front of my superior, I'm-"
"That's alright, Charlie, just breathe." Charlie still didn't look up at him; nonetheless, Monty continued. "I'm hardly your superior, you know. You're the brilliant one!"
That got Charles to look up at him. Tears still streamed down his face, though he wasn't actively sobbing and stammering, which Monty took as a win. Finally, something was working.
"And, might I add, the one with all the good ideas. You might call it stupid, but really - I mean, who else around here is smart enough to get their own research published in scientific journals? Not one of us but you, Charlie."
Oh. Well, when Monty put it that way, yes, it did make him seem rather... smart. And maybe a little proud of himself. Like he had been feeling that morning, before... everything else.
Charles swallowed, then wiped the tears from his cheeks. "Thank you, Monty. That's kind of you."
Monty flashed him a bright smile. He'd known from the start that his genius would feel much better eventually; he was only glad to have helped in some way. "It's true. I'd love to know more, if that's alright."
Charles blinked. "Really?" He paused, trying to comprehend this. "John and Reggie said..."
Something in Monty's face changed, and his smile dropped. Nothing had happened in the break room besides a bit of obnoxious teasing and joking, right? Had Monty misread the situation?
"What did John and Reggie say?"
"Nothing," Charles quickly clarified. "Just that... my work is meaningless and I'm a joke, and what I write is worse than Fleming's novels. They made me feel like... like..."
Charles couldn't find the word to finish his sentence, but it was clear Monty had gotten the full effect of it regardless. Monty's brow was furrowed, and his mouth was open in shock. He hadn't realized just how bad their bullying had been that morning. God, he should have said something.
"Well, whatever it was, they're wrong," Monty said pointedly. "And just because they can't see the genius in your ideas doesn't mean I don't want to know more. Go on, what were you saying about the toads just then?"
Charlie inched closer to Monty, who immediately threw a protective arm over his shoulder. Reluctantly, he picked up where he had left off, explaining about the frogs and his research and how difficult it had been to get published. Monty listened eagerly. It was nice to know that Charlie's ideas were finally being listened to; it was nicer still to be the one to do it. Making Charlie feel better was quite possibly the most rewarding thing Monty had ever done. That realization was a little shocking, but it was true.
"-And I could tell the toads were behaving differently somehow, so I thought maybe - Oh, Monty, it's nearly half past five. We should be leaving work by now."
Monty frowned, then checked his watch in disbelief. To his shock, it really had been that long. "Hm. You're right, I should be getting home. And on a cliffhanger, too..." He could see Charles stifle a laugh at that. "The truth is, I'm frankly riveted, Charlie. Do you think you'd mind coming over to mine for the evening? Maybe continuing this over a drink?"
"I'd love to," Charlie answered eagerly, the affirmative response leaving his mouth before he could even think about it. Monty smiled at him and gestured for him to follow, and suddenly Charlie was the happiest he'd ever been. He had someone to leave work with. He had someone to talk about his toads to; more than that, he had someone who'd listen. What else could he possibly want in Monty?
~~~
That Friday morning, Charles practically burst into the basement with pure delight. He was holding something made of paper - a newspaper, maybe? - and grinning like an absolute maniac. Monty was beginning to smile, too; this workday was about to start on a good note, wasn't it?
"Monty!" Charlie exclaimed, his eyes lighting up as if Monty were a freshwater river in the middle of the desert. Monty was exactly who he'd wanted to see. "Look here - that's my name, that's my work, it's finally gotten published!"
Monty looked over where Charles was pointing, his eyes skimming over the text on what he now understood was a scientific journal. A fairly prestigious one, too, which only made Monty all the more proud of his genius. Monty's smile turned into a wide grin as he leaned over to sit by Charlie and read the full text of the research along with him. He'd heard it before, of course, almost word-for-word three days prior. But, as it seemed, toads were very fascinating to Monty now. So was sitting this close to Charlie as they read over his paper together.
He really was a genius, Monty thought. Maybe it was about time he invited Charlie back to his flat for more drinks and conversation. It would be rude of Monty not to extend a second offer, and things had gone so well that Tuesday evening. Besides, there was nothing Monty loved more than spending time with the man he cared for the most. He'd never wanted anything more.