(1940-01-06) Just a Minute Mr. Postman
Details for Just a Minute Mr. Postman
Summary: Faulkner barges into Guy's office to discuss a mutual friend.
Date: 6 January 1940
Location: RAF Biggin Hill, Outside London

Unless he's flying, Birdie Faulkner is usually one of the more laid back of chaps. But he doesn't look it today, as he removes his hat and throws it on the desk in the day room before knocking on the door to Guy's office fiercely and then pulling it open. He looks to the Squadron clerk, an enlisted man, and says, "Personal matter, old man, you understand. Give us the room, would you? I hear the NAAFI's got some fags in, regardless of the play on the name."

Guy looks over to the clerk, "Push along for half an hour, Jenkins. Grab a cuppa, and so on." He leans back in his chair, "Birdie?"

Faulkner closes the door behind him, "I've just had a letter from Miss Lee." he says. He looks momentarily guilty, "Not to put too fine a point on it, but we've been close, if you understand."

Guy mmmhmmms, "Rather thought that might be the case. And? Tough luck, if she's given you the heave-ho!"

"Always so supportive, old man." Faulkner says, pulling up a chair and sitting down, "That's not exactly the case, though." There's an elephant in the room, and Birdie doesn't seem quite willing to tackle it. He reaches into his blouse pocket and pulls out his cigarette case, and there's a slight tremble in his hand, which is uncharacteristic for a man who is usually stone cold in the cockpit of a Spitfire. He exhales smoke through his nostrils like some sort of dragon, and then finally says, "She gave me two letters, actually. One she just sent me, which worries me because it makes it sound like she might do something stupid. And another that said if she ever disappeared suddenly, I should talk to you, because you know. About what she actually does for a living, so to speak."

Guy's brow lifts, and he gets out a cigarette case, "Mmmmm?" He says, cautiously, "She dropped me a line. I've sent her a wire, and I'm going up there this weekend."

"To wherever it is that I wouldn't be able to go?" Faulkner asks, pursing his lips slightly as he leans back and takes a long drag off his cigarette. "She said that she thinks I deserve better, and that…" He reaches into his blouse pocket for the letter and then puts it on Guy's desk, "Bloody hell, man, I'm worried about her, that she'll do something self-destructive." He pauses again, and then says, "And yes, she said you knew about her other world, and that you would know how to contact her."

Guy gives a little sigh, "Well, that pushes things forward a bit. I rather think my leg is going to play up a touch, old man."

"I'm not sure how you mean?" Faulkner asks, looking curiously at his boss as he ashes his cigarette and leans back, looking more worried than he usually does. It's obvious that he actually cares about this, as opposed to just making protestations for form's sake.

Guy gestures to his leg, "I have a specialist. Up in London. Might need to have a little trip to see him. Awfully sorry, old man. Can you hold the fort?"

"Aye." Faulkner says, with a nod, "I think I can do that. Wouldn't want you lame when Jerry starts trying to creep over the wall to murder us in our beds. Think you can wait for a hand delivery?"

Guy says, "Shouldn't both abandon ship, I'm afraid. I'll take the train. Can't really drive myself if my legs bad. But… St Mungo's is getting used to me."

"No, I mean do you mind playing postman and taking a letter from me with you." Faulkner explains. "And I'm not sure I know what a Mungo is. And I probably prefer not to know."

Guy says, "Oh, St. Mungo's? Just a hospital, old man. And yes. Yes, of course I will."

"Right, then. I'd best get that done, since you'll be needing to head out." Faulkner stubs out his cigarette and stands. "Thanks. I'll have Jenkins come back, you'll need a ride to the station."

Guy gives a nod, "Don't worry, old man. I'll sort things out."

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