Chapter Text
They only have to meet the chap briefly. ‘Operation Mincemeat’ has to be their priority, and Johnny’s clearly loathe to pull them away from it, even to meet an American with useful intel. The thing is though, as much as everyone would love to be working twenty-four-seven for King and Country, Ewen’s team are currently between tasks they can actively pursue. That means that they’re down in the basement office trying to find things to do, with Hester and Jean helping other departments with bits and pieces while Ewen reads the papers and daydreams, and Charlie worries himself into a nervous disorder. So really, a trip up to old Bevan’s office is a nice little break.
He tries to persuade Charles of this as they ascend the stairs and Ewen knocks on Johnny’s office door. “It’ll do you some good, Charlie, get you out of that basement with the dust and the mould—”
“There’s mould?!” Charlie claps a hand to his chest. “You said there wasn’t!”
“Well, it’s just a little patch—”
“Spores aren’t always visible, Monty! Haven’t you heard about Stachybotrys chartarum in Russia?!”
“My brother’s not mentioned him, who is he?”
It makes Charles flounce most adorably and Ewen fights not to smile. It wouldn’t do to let a colleague know of his… fondness.
“Oh come now, you’re being silly, you know it’s not a person, I’m—”
“Enter!”
Saved by the Bevan. Not that Ewen always wants to be saved from Charles’ gentle reproach. The man always strikes the right tone. Scolding enough to make Ewen feel cheeky, but concerned enough to not feel like he’s being spoken down to. Unlike their esteemed boss, who is chatting to the American intelligence who—
Oh damn, that’s Rankin. Their eyes meet and Carl Rankin is startled for a split-second before getting his poker face back on. Ewen would like to say he didn’t break his own stride, but then Johnny clears his throat. “Montagu?”
“Yes sir, sorry.” Ewen clears his throat and steps forward to shake the American lieutenant’s hand. Broad, strong hands, but Ewen knew that already. “Ewen Montagu,” he says, hoping the man doesn’t say or do anything suspect. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Pleasure’s all mine,” Rankin smirks. Bastard.
Ewen wants to say ‘yes it bloody well was’, for the sake of his ego, but it would be a lie anyway. While many men took personal insult at being expected to spread their legs in the bedroom, Ewen had acquired a taste for it towards the end of his Eton days. Still, it wouldn’t do for that to become gossip – it was important the men he worked with didn’t know, and almost as important that the men he dallied with believed he was begrudgingly doing them a favour by being on the receiving end. You never know in this life when a favour might need to be repaid.
“Hello, hi, I’m Charles,” Charlie blusters into the interaction, reminding Ewen of where they are. Bloody American smiles. Next time they need a wartime distraction they should just send a boatload of these handsome buggers over to smile at the Germans.
Rankin finally lets go of Ewen’s hand and shakes Charles’, more briefly. “Good to meet you.”
Ewen looks towards the ceiling and takes a deep breath. He just has to keep calm. Play himself like it’s a role, like he’s rehearsing the script he’s writing. One short meeting, then he’ll probably never see Carl Rankin again.