Completely self-indulgent writing for this chapter. I try to avoid that, but I've got a hankering. Feel free to skip. But I guess there is some value in Mavis questioning her prejudices and growing a bit.

Rhinoceros

Mavis hurried down the street. As she ran, she checked her watch. Bugger! She was going to be late. Again!

Doubling her efforts, Mavis hopped over some rubble, barely breaking her stride. At least there wasn't any snow to slow her down today. If she was late one more time, she'd be transferred for sure! She had just been transferred to radio duties and thoroughly enjoyed it. But if she kept this up, she'd be back in the mailroom.

Finally, Mavis arrived at Intelligence HQ. She checked her watch again. 2058. Two minutes to spare.

With a sigh of relief, Mavis climbed the steps.

"Let me get the door, Corporal."

Mavis looked over her shoulder to see Captain Sinclair jogging up to meet her. She raised an eyebrow.

"You're running late, too?" She was shocked.

Sinclair grinned. "I do exist outside of work," he answered wryly as he opened the door.

Mavis felt her cheeks grow hot. "I know. But…" But, honestly, she had never really considered that. Since she started working with him three months ago, she had never seen Sinclair outside the building. He was always there before she arrived and stayed after she left. To her, he was as much a part of the building as the walls or the floor.

"But you're never late," she finally said as she entered the building.

"I try not to make it a habit," Sinclair replied. Together they walked up to the front desk to sign in. "But I went to the cinema and it ended later than I had thought."

Mavis tilted her head. She imagined he was the type to eschew the frivolities of the hoi polloi in favour of the thick old books in his office which he often read. "What did you see?"

"The Glass Key. It was rather good. Have you seen it?"

Mavis shook her head. "I think the last film I saw was Road to Morocco. It was… a comedy." She felt silly for saying it. It made her feel so terribly uncultured compared to him. And, of course, she was.

Sinclair nodded. "Far better than Road to Zanzibar, I thought."

Mavis blinked in surprise. Was it possible that the upper-class were just as uncouth as the Cockney Londoners they looked down on?

Since entering the service nearly two years ago, Mavis' insular bubble of East-End acquaintances had burst, giving her the opportunity to meet people from all over England and from all walks of life. At first, it intimidated her and forced her to admit she had a rather large chip on her shoulder. Oh, her brother had provided for her the best he could– she always had respectable clothing, food to eat, a roof over her head, and an education– but they were still poor. Still guttersnipes. Still Cockney. And every time she met someone from a better class, she prepared herself for a fight. If they didn't like her, then tough; she didn't care one whit what they thought!

She had mentioned this all to her brother in a letter. If I can get along with a Frenchman, you can get along with a few toffs! was the reply she received. She didn't think it was quite the same thing. France might have been a different country, but the upper-class lived in a completely different world.

But, slowly, she had softened. They were all English, after all. And there was enough fighting in the world that they didn't need to be fighting each other. And, while she was never ashamed of who she was, she realized that, if she put in a little effort to smooth some of her rougher edges, opportunities were in her grasp. So she worked hard to mask her accent, to watch her language, and to walk a little lighter. That was one thing she noticed: all the posh girls seemed to walk on air.

She didn't know if her efforts had contributed to her transfer, but if they did, she was glad she had made the changes. Radio work suited her. But it had also put her in a completely different circle. She had thought the other girls in the mailroom were genteel, but her new unit was something else. Captains Anderson, Sinclair, and Trafford all had public school educations and– if they did indeed leave HQ– probably spent their free time hunting foxes and shooting pheasants. And most of the other girls like Green and Pitt had probably been debutantes who wore pretty dresses and bowed before the king. Mavis had made some inroads with the girls, but they seemed to recognize her as an imposter. Their friendships seemed to stem more from their amusement at her efforts than anything else.

There was that chip on her shoulder talking.

Mavis sighed as she signed her name under Sinclair's before heading to the lift. It opened right away and Sinclair stepped aside to let her enter first.

Once in the lift, they stood in silence. Mavis glanced up at her companion. They had never really spoken about anything but work, but the door was opened and she decided to risk engaging in further small talk.

"Do you enjoy the music, or the comedy? Of the Road Shows, I mean," Mavis asked, though both were on the same level of sophistication.

"I enjoy a good laugh," Sinclair said with a shrug. "I confess to enjoying Dorothy Lamour the most." Mavis' eye roll at Sinclair's comment was unparalleled– she supposed men were men, no matter what class they were.

Sinclair must have seen her action and chuckled. His amiable demeanour, however, faltered when he checked his watch. "Anderson won't be happy."

Mavis only hummed in response. Of all the men in charge of her unit, she liked Captain Anderson the least. She found him to be especially stuck-up and haughty with a smarmy sort of smile. He often looked physically pained to have to speak with a lowly East-Ender like her, no matter what efforts she put in to masking her Stepney upbringing. Thankfully, she didn't have to work with him often– he worked during the day and Mavis generally worked at night with Captain Sinclair, who came across, on the surface at least, as far more agreeable… for a toff.

The lift opened and the two walked towards their section. Once there, they saw Anderson checking his watch.

"You're late, Tugs."

"Sorry, old chap," Sinclair said as he helped Mavis out of her coat. Mavis left him at the door to make herself some tea.

"I'm sorry, too," she said as she passed Sergeant Pitt.

Sergeant Pitt just sighed and shook her head. "I don't mind so much, but it seems the Captain has a date."

"Sergeant Pitt!" Anderson said, sounding aghast. "I told you that in the strictest of confidence!"

Captain Sinclair tsked. "We're in intelligence, Sergeant. We're not supposed to betray secrets. Bad form."

"Oh blimey," Mavis muttered as she fixed her tea. She pitied the poor girl who had to endure a date with Captain Anderson. No doubt he would spend half the time talking about his large estate and beloved poodle. Of course, Mavis had no idea if he had such things, but if anyone did, it would be Anderson.

She finished fixing her tea just as Captain Sinclair came up beside her. "No milk or sugar?"

Mavis shook her head. "A little sugar. Just a dash." She took her drink and headed for her desk while the captain set about making his own.

"Did anything important come through?" Sinclair asked over his shoulder.

"No," both Anderson and Pitt reported.

"Any word from Nimrod?"

"Not today."

Sinclair turned and frowned. "It's been a week; he should have made contact by now. We'll have to notify General O'Malley and come up with another alternative."

"Pity," Anderson said as he checked his watch.

Mavis didn't know exactly what they were talking about. But she had heard the name Nimrod before. And she knew the last package they had sent him– whatever that might have been– had been damaged.

"Sergeant Pitt, arrange a meeting with General O'Malley," Sinclair ordered.

"Right." Pitt nodded and then turned her attention to Captain Anderson. "You ought to go, sir. You don't want to be late for your date."

"No, of course not." Anderson grabbed his jacket off the stand. "The lovely Lady Fairfax awaits."

Mavis rolled her eyes. Of course he had a date with a titled lady. Her eyes settled on Captain Sinclair, who seemed frozen, his teacup almost at his lips.

"I beg your pardon?"

"What was that, Tugs?" Anderson paused, already halfway out the door.

"Lady Fairfax? Lady Lydia Fairfax? Daughter of the Earl of Galbury?"

Anderson nodded, a smug smirk on his face (as if he were capable of any other kind!). "Of course. She's only the most stunning creature in all of London. Do you know her?" Sinclair's jaw tightened, but he didn't answer. "Too bad, old chap. A dozen men have tried to court her, but the best won out." And, with that, he was gone.

"If she is going with him, she must be the most desperate creature in all of London," Mavis huffed.

"Mavis, really," Pitt drawled, "there's no need to be jealous."

"Me? Jealous over him? You're barmy."

"I've seen Lady Fairfax recently in the society pages. She really is quite lovely," Pitt said with a shrug.

"A regular beauty and the beast, then," Mavis said.

Mavis hadn't noticed that Sinclair had left until his office door suddenly slammed shut.

"Good heavens!" Pitt exclaimed. "What was that all about?"

Mavis rested her cheek on her fist and waved her other hand in the air. "Men." Again, men were all the same, no matter their class. "He was probably after the same girl and is sulking."

"Yes, I suppose," Pitt said.

"He's handsome. He's rich. He'll find someone else," Mavis said flippantly.

Pitt gave Mavis a reproachful look. "That was cruel, Mavis. Believe it or not, us 'toffs' have feelings."

Mavis ducked her head. "Right. Sorry." That chip of hers was still there, along with her prejudices.

The two women worked in silence without much happening until the end of Pitt's shift when they exchanged good-byes. Soon, Private Green arrived and took up residence at her desk. Sinclair hadn't emerged from his office the entire time.

It wasn't until Mavis' shift was almost over that she dared to take in a few papers for Sinclair to sign.

"Come," came the reply when she knocked on the door.

Mavis slipped into his office and set the papers down. "I just need you to sign these," she said.

Without looking up, Sinclair grabbed the papers. Mavis pulled on her fingers. He really did look miserable and she felt a pang of pity.

The captain finished signing the papers and handed them back to her. He went straight back to the rest of his paperwork without a word.

"Captain?"

"What?"

Mavis hesitated. He sounded like he was in no mood for games. But she felt the need to cheer him up, if only a little. If only for Green's sake. And if he truly was a fan of the Road Shows, he might appreciate a bad joke.

"What do you get when you mix an elephant with a rhino?" Sinclair didn't answer, but Mavis pressed on. "Elephino."

Sinclair's pen scratched across his paper. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Puns are the lowest form of wit, Corporal."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I'll dismiss myself, sir."

"Corporal." Mavis paused at the door. Sinclair still had his eyes on his papers. "Don't be late tomorrow."

"I-I won't, sir," Mavis stammered, feeling completely stupid. But then she caught a wisp of a smile on his lips.

"And be sure to come with a better joke!"

Elephino. 'Hell if I know'. Get it? Get it?

All right! So it's dumb!