Work Text:
Monty had received the memo that morning:
mandatory routine medicals for all field-cleared staff.
He’d smiled, nodded, made some sarcastic quip, then spent the next hour pacing in the corridor, trying not to be sick.
Hester didn’t ask what was wrong.
She just appeared beside him in the corridor, calm as ever, holding a file and a cup of tea.
“You’re making the corridor anxious, Mr Montagu.”
He tried to smile. “Sorry. Got a bit of a hangnail.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Is the hangnail responsible for the panic attack you’re having?”
Monty’s smile faltered. He looked down.
Hester was quiet a moment. Then she said,
“Did you know nurses can carry out basic medicals?”
Monty blinked. “I—no?”
Hester handed him the cup of tea.
“They can. And wouldn’t it be lucky if we happened to know an excellent, discreet, fully qualified nurse?”
Monty stared. “Margaret.”
Hester gave a small, satisfied nod.
“Already spoken to her. She won’t ask any questions you don’t want to answer.”
Monty stood very still for a moment.
Then cleared his throat.
“…I think I might cry and that’s deeply unfair.”
Hester gave him a very dry look.
“Do that and I’ll schedule a follow-up.”
–
Margaret had heard about Monty before she met him, mostly from her mother who spoke of him with a mix of fondness and exasperation.
But the first time they actually met properly, it was in the small, clinical side room Hester had arranged for the medical.
Margaret was already there, setting out her notes, professional and calm.
When Monty stepped in, looking like he wanted to bolt, Margaret stood up, gave him a warm smile, and said gently:
“Mr Montagu? I’m Margaret. It’s really lovely to meet you.”
She gestured to the chair.
“We’ll keep this simple. I’ve got the checklist, but you tell me what’s comfortable, and we’ll work from there. Alright?”
Monty sat, still wary, still tight with nerves.
“You—you know?”
Margaret nodded once.
“Mum told me what I needed to know so I could look after you properly. Nothing else.”
Monty swallowed hard.
“You don’t… mind?”
Margaret looked at him with a calm certainty that reminded him very much of Hester.
“I’m a nurse. I take care of people.” She took out her stethoscope. “Pop your shirt off for me.”
He shrugged off his jacket, then his shirt, neatly folding it in his lap. His hands hovered at the hem of his undershirt.
Margaret didn’t rush him.
She kept her attention focused on the clipboard in her lap, casually adjusting the stethoscope in her hand, as if nothing at all unusual was happening.
After a moment, Monty took a breath, braced himself, and pulled the undershirt over his head.
Margaret didn’t comment. Didn’t stare.
She saw the bindings—tight, worn, flattening what he didn’t want to carry—and she simply said: “Deep breath in.”
She methodically worked through the checklist, rolling her eyes at some of Monty’s quips until, finally, it was done.
“You’re cleared.” She handed him a slip of paper. “I’ll pass a small tin of barrier cream to Mum for you. Should help with the skin irritation.”
Monty looked up sharply. Not defensive—just surprised.
She offered a small smile.
“Chafing’s not just uncomfortable, it’s dangerous if you ignore it.”
Monty nodded quickly.
Then paused.
“Thank you. Really. You were… better than I expected.”
Margaret smiled kindly.
“Everyone deserves to feel safe in a medical room.”
And Monty, not usually one for sentiment, found himself blinking very hard.
“If you ever want to do something irresponsible like go for drinks, I’m paying.”
Margaret laughed. “It’s a deal.”
–
Hester was alone in her office, sorting through a rather uninspiring stack of paperwork, when the door creaked open.
She glanced up to see Monty standing there, looking slightly flushed, hands twitching at his sides.
“Mr Montagu?” she asked mildly. “Is something—”
Before she could finish, he crossed the room in three long strides and wrapped his arms around her in a sudden, wordless hug.
Hester froze for half a second.
Monty didn’t hug people.
Hester didn’t get hugged, not by colleagues, and certainly not by Monty.
But then she felt how tightly he was holding on, how much unspoken relief was in that grip, and she softened, tentatively lifting her arms to hug him back.
After a moment, Monty stepped back and cleared his throat awkwardly.
“That was weird, sorry. Don’t say anything.”
Hester adjusted her glasses, looking him over.
“I won’t if you won’t.”
Monty gave her a grateful little smile, eyes still slightly damp.
“Thanks for… you know. Everything.”
Hester nodded, expression gentle.
“You’re very welcome.”