Chapter 1 – Some say love

Some say love, it is a river, that drowns the tender reed.

Some say love, it is a razor, that leaves your soul to bleed

Some say love, it is a hunger, an endless aching need

I say love, it is a flower and you, it's only seed

- The Rose, Bette Midler

Peter Newkirk stared across the compound, looking at his new commanding officer, a Colonel Robert E. Hogan.

He patted Corporal Louis LeBeau on the shoulder and laughed, obviously ribbing the Frenchman, silhouetted against the white ground and harsh barbed wire, and his dark eyes glanced up briefly, towards barracks 2. Newkirk's own blue eyes widened as the colonel winked at him, making him part of the joke, before returning to the conversation at hand.

Bloody 'ell. An officer with a sense of humour. Impossible.

Still, the Englishman allowed a small smile to flit across his face, as his hands habitually shuffled a deck of well-worn cards, leaning against their Barracks, his legs crossed at his ankles, his cap pushing his dark hair into his eyes,

Worth giving him a shot, I suppose.

The colonel had arrived two weeks ago, shot down not more than a couple of miles from camp, and he was taken into the Kommandantur and left, smiling, ten minutes later.

He walked over to where he had been instructed to go, Barracks 2, and Newkirk and LeBeau had exchanged a glance, peeking from the dirty windows of their hut, realising they were going to have to be on better behaviour with a new commanding officer taking the little office off to the side.

He walked with confidence, taking in the new camp around him, scanning the prisoners, out for their daily exercise. Brown hair was messy, falling into his eyes, his crush cap at a slight angle, its eagle glinting in the weak sunlight. The brown leather jacket looked loved and well worn, the pants tailored to fit his well-built form. The colonel didn't stop out there though, he kept walking and before Newkirk knew it, he was in Barracks 2, and silence fell.

"Good morning," the colonel said and received mumbled replies in return, "don't let me stop you," he added, devil-may-care grin firmly in place, motioning to the activities the men had been doing before, ranging from commenting on their latest pin up girl to playing cards.

The men followed his instructions as asked, not being in charge, therefore not willing to introduce themselves to the new officer, happy to wait for their previous commander to do it for them. Newkirk glanced at Louis, who shrugged as if saying, another day, another officer, mon frère, and Newkirk sighed, rolled his eyes and then moved himself up onto his bunk.

For some reason this caught the Colonel's attention and he turned bright eyes onto the English corporal, "Colonel Hogan," he said, holding his hand out and for a moment Newkirk was lost. Officers don't shake hands with corporals. This one seemed to want to though, and Newkirk realised he must look like a right fool with his mouth hanging open, staring at the colonel,

"C-Corporal Peter Newkirk, RAF, sir," he replied, managing to get his hand out and make the colonel smile, narrowing his eyes when he heard Louis make a sound like a laugh which was covered up by a cough. The colonel turned to the French man and held his hand out, "Bonjour Corporal," he said and Louis grinned back, despite the terrible accent,

"Corporal Louis LeBeau, Free French, sir," he said, thinking that maybe this commander wouldn't be so bad after all,

"Nice to meet you,"

They turned as the barracks door opened to admit their previous highest ranked NCO, "You must be Sergeant James Kinchloe," The colonel said, extending his hand again, forgoing the salute. Newkirk was pleased to see the ever stoic black man was outwardly astounded at this show of equality from the colonel and he took his hand,

"Please, sir, call me Kinch," he replied and Newkirk decided to pipe up with,

"He must like you, it took me a month to get 'im to let me call 'im that," he said and found himself looking back into eyes amused at the snort from the sergeant.

From there things seemed to happen very fast. Within days the colonel had shown himself to be a competent and, of all things, a caring leader. He had already learnt the names of everyone in their barracks and was progressing through the other barracks too. He was fair in breaking up scuffles and much to everyone's surprise and to some idiot's disgust, he was neither prejudiced nor was he racist.

Newkirk found himself keeping track of all these things. Somehow, he, Louis and Kinch were the ones Hogan had taken to the most, relying on them for information about the camp, asking for their advice on where to place a troublesome prisoner.

It was a four weeks after he had settled in, two weeks after the winking incident as Newkirk was wont to call it in his head, when he had called the three of them into his private quarters. He begun by asking them how long they'd been together. Then he proposed the most ridiculous thing Newkirk had ever heard in his life.

Would they, he asked, be interested in running an underground espionage unit right out of their home away from home? He went on to mention that he had been sent here, not accidentally shot down. That he had chosen the three of them specifically for their skills and their aptitude.

Not bloody likely, mate, was Newkirk's mental response. He nearly said it out loud too, having never had much love for any form of authority or for officer's penchants for getting men killed, when Hogan then said it was voluntary, and he would understand if they said no.

LeBeau looked to Kinch who turned to Newkirk. The RAF corporal's eyes were sapphires, glinting in the night as they widened, realising that his mates were actually considering it.

"Er, well," he managed, oh very smooth, Peter, and it didn't help when Hogan chuckled, his hat falling slightly crooked as he walked to the bed and sat down, stretching out and looking at them, waiting for their reply.

Newkirk scanned the room, noting that LeBeau had a thoughtful look on his face and Kinch looked like he had already made up his mind and as he turned towards the others, the English corporal felt Hogan's gaze on him, as if the Colonel could hear his turbulent thoughts.

Unsurprisingly, it was Louis who replied first, "Colonel,"" he paused, "I have known you only short while, but I feel as if I would not mind being shot with you, because this isn't going to work, but it's better than sitting around here," he finished and there was that grin again, Newkirk thought, directed squarely at LeBeau. Big, and disarming, the colonel turned it on Kinch, who nodded,

"We're here to fight the German's aren't we? Let's do this together," the sergeant stated, and then everyone was looking at Newkirk.

"Well?" Louis asked, the little Frenchman's face alight with the possibility of mischief, because honestly, Newkirk thought, LeBeau was at heart a child, a lover and a passionate man. He should never have been dragged into this war,

"Well what?" the English corporal snapped back, feeling the pressure, always particularly snappy when he didn't know what to think. When these feelings – inclusiveness, importance, friendship, camaraderie – were all pushing for attention and he simply didn't have the ability to deal with them all at once.

He never even wanted to be here in the first place. He wasn't cut out for taking orders and every CO he'd ever had made sure that he knew his place. So what if he was struggling to understand this new officer. So what if every time Hogan so much as looked at him he felt, for possibly the first time in his life, a need to meet the expectation in those eyes. A need to actually do something for someone else who wasn't his family. A desire to show the Colonel that he could do his part. And maybe it terrified him at the speed at which Hogan's approval had taken such precedence for him.

"You can say no," the colonel reminded him softly, "and the only thing I would ask of you then is your discretion," but Newkirk almost felt more than heard something else in the colonel's voice.

Something there that was almost – challenging him. A siren call, tempting him into the dangerous. Into the unknown. Dark eyes that may as well have been the dark clouds above the Thames with the Blitz not far off. Newkirk could feel himself being drawn in and the words were out of his mouth before his mind could fully catch up,

"I'm in,"

The colonel lit up like a Christmas tree and Louis hugged him from the side, Kinch grinning at the corporal as if maybe, if they worked together, they wouldn't be dead before Christmas.

It was four months since that fateful day and now, they had a tunnel system beneath the camp so vast, Newkirk couldn't believe it. Kinch had his own radio area. LeBeau had a place for extra cooking ingredients. Newkirk had a tailor's area set up, and they had contact with London.

They had turned from a stagnant, pointless German prisoner of war camp into a transfer and escape processing centre and even now, down below, there were downed fliers going through tomorrow and most amazingly, Newkirk reflected, he, LeBeau, Kinch, Hogan – they were all still alive and there was only one reason for that.

Their colonel was brilliant. Daft, but brilliant, Newkirk chuckled to himself in the tunnel, working on the suit jacket he needed to have done by the end of tomorrow.

He was everything they needed – kind, compassionate, creative, unorthodox.

Newkirk felt himself flush slightly as he caught himself thinking of the colonel again. This 'as got to be unhealthy, Peter. He felt utterly inadequate around Hogan sometimes. He caught himself just watching the colonel think their plans through. Brown eyes liquid, the mind behind them turning, twisting, and always plotting. And if Newkirk found himself trusting the colonel more and more, it was only natural, he decided. So what if it took a year for him to get anywhere near as comfortable with LeBeau and Kinch. The colonel was a charmer. Not that the corporal had been charmed, per se. More just – aw, you're fooling no-one Peter.

And if Newkirk thought that the colonel might feel just as comfortable around him too, he quickly brushed those thoughts away. He wasn't so full of himself to think an officer of Hogan's calibre would actually consider him an equal, a friend. You're useful Peter. And as long as you stay that way, he'll keep you around.

Because hoping for any more would be beyond any of the luck Newkirk's ever had in his life and there really was no point in getting all wound up about something only to be brought crashing back down to reality. Too many disappointments in his life left the corporal sceptical about any such true happiness.

Five months in and Hogan found himself almost at home on the ratty old mattress in the tiny room that was his. Outside he could hear his men. If anyone had told him that this would be his role in the war, he would have laughed at them. He was a pilot. He was not made for sneaking and lying and espionage.

Yet here he was, with his own unique team of three and if he had it his way today, it would be four, the additions of a munitions man he could trust all they needed to really get this thing of theirs moving,

"Sergeant Andrew Carter, reporting as ordered, sir," the man, boy, Rob. He's just a boy, entered the room, his hat in his hands, his jacket battered over a still more damaged looking jumpsuit.

The colonel absorbed this information as the young sergeant stood, his blond hair falling into baby blue eyes. They weren't as brilliantly blue or fiery as Newkirk's but they were still a frightening shade of blue.

And just why do you remember the exact shade of Newkirk's eyes? The colonel shook that thought away. Unique, that's all. Rare shade.

Carter was briefed and within a week, like an excited puppy, he joined their ragtag team.

Now, Hogan watched from his door frame as Newkirk alternated between exasperated and amused with Carter and how LeBeau was making sure the too thin boy was eating and how Kinch took to Carter's earnest smile almost immediately as the young American settled into the camp.

I can't believe they're really mine, he thought, watching as Carter won gin again, and Kinch threw down his cards in disgust as the other men laughed heartily and then that was when it happened. As the colonel stood there, his hands tucked securely into his pockets, he suddenly found his heart doing something very odd, likely a result of too much stress, he figured, because what was the alternative?

Newkirk glanced up through his eyelashes, as if out of habit, towards the Colonel's cabin, and the colonel was glad he was there this time, if this was something that happened often, to catch the flash of blue and the hint of a smile, before it was hidden again as the corporal's looked down.

Then he realised he had been standing there and smiling slightly for far too long. He shook himself and turned around, back into his office to plan how to get the next lot of fliers off to London.

They were definitely his now, and he was going to try his best to protect them.

It would seem he would also need to try his best not to let nostalgia or any other odd emotions get to him either.

Another month was gone and the Heroes were really a swinging underground unit. Night after night downed fliers kept coming in, and London kept up the praise. Kinch reported to a thoroughly amused barracks, and a completely embarrassed Hogan, that they were now known as Hogan's Heroes.

"And they 'ad bloody well remember it!" Newkirk added, throwing an arm around his CO, to much clapping from the assembled of Barracks 2.

"Alright, alright," Hogan held his hands up to silence the men, "we've done well. We really have," this was met by more cheers, more muted than they normally would be, cautious of attracting the attention of their jolly guard, Shultz, "but," he continued, "tonight is going to be the real defining moment of this unit,"

Newkirk felt his belly do a backflip as the Colonel reminded him of their latest mission. The looks on the other's faces told him that he was not the only one. Carter seemed to swallow reflexively, as if thinking about the bombs waiting downstairs. LeBeau was looking directly at the English corporal and the corner of his mouth turned up, but it was belayed by the tension in his shoulders. Kinch was as unresponsive as ever on the outside, but after a year and a half together, Newkirk was able to see the tight set of the sergeant's jaw, letting him know that he was definitely not alone in his anticipation.

London had sent word that there was an anti-aircraft unit about three miles from where they were, doing serious damage to their squadrons and asked them if they could do something about it. The colonel said yes. The men said he was mad. Then they heard the plan.

Hogan ordered Carter to make three time bombs, each with a timer of thirteen hours. It would be timed with the arrival of a bomber squadron from England, so it will appear that one of the planes destroyed the unit. They were to 'borrow' a truck from the motor pool, and, dressed as Gestapo, led by Captain Hoganmeyer, they were going to deliver a very special wine casket. Placed directly under the wine cellar as indicated by the underground on the maps they managed to acquire, it would knock out communication first and then start a chain reaction with the ammunition in the house just next door, taking the entire site with it.

It was so unlikely, it had to work, figured Newkirk. The corporal took a moment to just look at his colonel, jacket off, standing amidst them as he went over the plan one more time. Newkirk was to be with the Colonel tonight, and, though he hated himself for it, he was hoping that he could show the American that he was worth the trouble. That he was more than a thief and a pickpocket. Newkirk had a feeling he should give a bit more thought as to why he was so desperate for this approval, this acquirement of Hogan's praise and attention, but then the Colonel was looking at him and asking him to repeat their part,

"Er, right sir," he said, getting to his feet, pulling his long blue greatcoat closer around him, "you an' me, we're going to be the officers, leading these three," he pointed to Carter, Kinch and LeBeau, "into the compound," Hogan nodded, "once we're in, I'll order them to take us to the cellar, we have an important delivery for General Himmer, and that it must be placed in the cellar by us and only us,"

"Good, then what?" the Colonel asked, pacing his customary route in front of the single table within the slightly overcrowded hut,

"Then carter sets the charges once we get the boxes in the right underground room, an' then we get the 'ell out of there," Newkirk finished,

"Alright excellent," Hogan said, clapping Newkirk on the shoulder, just as Shultz swung the door open, announcing,

"Roll call! Raus! Mach schnell! Raus, Raus!"

The customary grumbles were targeted at the fat sergeant, and Newkirk rolled his eyes as Shultz kept yelling, pushing him a little as he walked past and out into the bloody freezing night, you bleedin' stupid krauts.

Newkirk fell into formation and glanced at the colonel who stood next to him in the line, looking as frustrated by the cold as he was.

God, what I wouldn't give for a night I didn't have to spend half an hour standing in the snow waiting for Klink.

It was, in fact, an hour that Klink made them stand at attention, the Kommandant having been distracted by the arrival of another colonel from Berlin, before he finally dismissed them.

They hurried into their barracks, their legs stiff and hands and face numb.

"Filthy Bosche," LeBeau spat, hurriedly placing logs into their stupidly ineffectual heater.

"Goodness, doesn't Klink know it's cold out there?" Carter chimed in and Newkirk sent a scathing glare his way as LeBeau rolled his eyes and Kinch deigned not to dignify that. Carter looked momentarily confused, and Hogan just sighed,

"Never mind, Carter," he said, and Newkirk could see despite the words, the Colonel was not actually annoyed at the young sergeant, "everyone into your beds, Kinch get down to the tunnels, LeBeau, Carter, Newkirk, get changed. We're heading out the emergency tunnel in ten,"

Everyone snapped to, responding to the Colonel.

Newkirk grabbed his new uniform from the trunk, hidden within his spare uniform. He shrugged out of his outer layers, grimacing as the cold assaulted him,

"Gosh, it's so cold," Carter complained from behind him,

"Too bleeding cold to be standin' 'round 'ere in me underwear," Newkirk replied, earning himself laughter from the other men, which just as quickly was silenced by a thud on the door and a "Ruhig! Quiet in there!"from Shultz, outside.

The prisoners complied if only to keep the man from coming in to see the three agents finishing with their unnecessarily complicated bloody uniforms, or at least Newkirk thought so as he did the top and extremely tight top button up, grimacing at how it chaffed against his neck. He could have easily sewn these himself, but the Colonel thought it would be best for the most authenticity possible, so they 'borrowed' these clothes from the laundry in town, all thanks to their favourite veterinarian, Schnitzer. The gestapo men who had dropped it off for cleaning would not be back for a week, giving them plenty of time to get it back. Unfortunately, it also meant the fit was slightly off. Newkirk's was too tight and LeBeau's too long, while Carter's was a little loose on the waist.

Newkirk finished and jammed his own clothes into his trunk, turning as the Colonel came out in his Oberst's uniform and felt his breath catch in his chest. Long legs, in tight fitting slacks, knee high boots, a crisp white shirt and black blazer, hair uncharacteristically messy and cap in hand, the Colonel closed his door behind him and grinned cockily at them. If Newkirk thought he saw something flash across the Colonel's eyes when they glanced past him, it must have been a trick of the semi-darkness.

Pushing the strange moment away, what is happening to me?, Newkirk followed his mates down the ladder into the tunnels, hearing the colonel behind him, telling those left behind to "have fun and remember mom said no talking after twelve!"

They waited patiently as the colonel closed the trap door, their eyes adjusting to the cavern quickly, the support beams they so carefully erected flickering in the light from the oil lamps on the wall,

"Alright, let's go," Hogan said, and they moved off towards the central cross roads, Kinch having turned their radio off, waiting for them there, with their weapons and packs. They buckled their guns, grabbed their torches and followed the colonel down their longest tunnel.

Newkirk felt his heart flutter in his chest as for the first time that night, it truly hit him about what they were going to do. The danger, the fatal ending if they were caught – and then he felt a smile spread across his face, this is what you were made for, he told himself as he emerged into the night and then made a hasty dive for a bush as the searchlight swept past where he had been standing not a second ago. A rustle and the colonel appeared over him,

"You alright?" he asked. Newkirk nodded and the Colonel offered him a hand up. Together they moved off, and the Colonel set a fast pace towards the place where their cars were parked. Andrew tripped in front of him and he righted the clumsy sergeant before returning to his own thoughts, the darkness of the night enclosing them in a shield against the danger of patrols.

He was really not sure what his reaction to the Colonel was tonight. It was safe to say that he had literally never felt as completely blindsided as he did when the Colonel stepped out. Like the guv' was the only man he had ever seen wear a suit with such poise. Ugh, what am I thinking? Newkirk shook his head, disgusted with himself. And why tonight? When they all needed to be one hundred percent on their game, why did his stupid mind have to take a moment to- to appreciate? Is that what he was doing? Appreciation was okay right? Appreciate that the Colonel cut a fine form. It shouldn't surprise him. The colonel wasn't such a hit with all the ladies for no reason after all. So why in god's name was he so caught up in the Colonel's new look? Newkirk sighed out loud, his circular thoughts providing no answers and unintentionally drawing Carter's attention,

"Boy, are you nervous too? I'm nervous. I dunno, Peter, this is all so different to dropping bombs," he whispered, falling back so that he could talk to the Englishman and Newkirk felt the corner of his mouth turn up. Carter certainly had a knack for being the only man in their outfit who could express how he was feeling out loud and thus result in making them all feel a tad better for it,

"I know, mate, me too" Newkirk answered, surprising himself with the lack of sarcastic reply and was rewarded for it with a smile from the munitions man,

"Boy, that makes me feel so much better," he replied earnestly, stumbling again, looking at Newkirk rather than the ground and the corporal rolled his eyes,

"Watch the ground, yer numpty," he growled, grabbing Carter's elbow to steady him again and the sergeant grinned bashfully, hearing the affection underneath the name calling.

They arrived at the truck within another ten minutes, and he climbed into the cabin with Hogan. The colonel glanced at him as he reached for the keys, moving to turn away, but then snapped his gaze back to Newkirk again, and the corporal froze,

"What's wrong guv?" he asked,

Hogan reached out and Newkirk was confused until the colonel touched his cheek and mild pain flared, "why didn't you tell me?" Hogan sounded angry, his words quiet but serious, rubbing his hands with Newkirk's blood on them onto his pants and pulling out a handkerchief.

Newkirk raised a hand to his sore cheek, and was amazed at himself that he hadn't even noticed,

"I didn't realise," he mumbled and was surprised when Hogan pushed his hanky into Newkirk's other hand,

"Use this," the colonel said, starting the truck and sending them lurching forward. Newkirk was once again surprised but replied with,

"Colonel you know the cleaning lady hates blood stains,"

"I'm sure you can charm her into not giving us a lecture," Hogan chuckled back and Newkirk smiled as he held the cloth against his cheek.

Half an hour later, they were climbing out of the truck and were setting the dynamite up underneath the anti-aircraft site's main building, just at the critical point. Kinch had remained in the back of the truck monitoring a mobile radio, hooked to their home made headphones, listening for the slightest hint that they had been rumbled as imposters. LeBeau and Newkirk were standing guard at the entrance, while the Colonel helped Carter to arrange the sticks and to connect the last few wires. They worked quickly and hid the entire thing in a wine box, before moving the other real bottles of wine into place around it,

"One for the road, mon colonel?" LeBeau asked hopefully and Newkirk added,

"Yeah colonel, a little wine never 'urt anybody, seems such a shame to waste it,"

The colonel rolled his eyes and nodded to LeBeau, who shoved it into his jacket and followed their CO out.

They were back at camp in another half an hour and as the sound of planes overhead echoed, they were safely within their bunks and all "present and accounted for, Herr Kommandant!" at 5am when a small gestapo officer by the name of Hochstetter screamed at Klink to make a surprise roll call.

Stumbling back into the barracks after a prompt dismissal by the Germans, Newkirk followed LeBeau, Kinch and Carter into Hogan's office, and grinned widely as the Colonel threw his hat onto the table and turned around to look at them, gathered in his doorway,

"We pulled it off!" Carter exclaimed, stealing the words form Newkirk's mouth and the Englishman clapped the sergeant on the back, throwing his other arm around Louis, who raised a fist with a "Vive la France!" while Kinch merely laughed along, making the Colonel chuckle as he leant his hip against the table, the lamp above swinging where he had accidentally hit it before,

"Well done," he said looking at them and Newkirk felt like someone had lit a spark in his chest as it warmed under the Colonel's praise. Judging from the blinding smiles of everyone else, they were equally pleased, "now go get some sleep, guys, tomorrow we have more work to do," they turned to file out, wishing the Colonel a goodnight as they went and Newkirk was about to congratulate Carter on his bombs when the Colonel called out,

"But a word with you first, Newkirk?" and the corporal suddenly felt a moment of worry. Was the colonel mad at him? Had he done something during their mission to jeopardise all of them without realising it? Newkirk stopped and turned in the doorway, walking back inside and shutting the door behind him as Kinch left.

The colonel was looking at him with a serious expression, "Peter," he began and that was when the corporal felt like he was in deep trouble, "if you are ever hurt again in the field, please do not wait until your uniform is stained with blood to tell me," the Colonel pushed off the desk and walked to his bunk, his eyebrows furrowed, his tone irate,

Newkirk let out a pent up breath, that was not where I expected this to go, thought I had done something wrong on the actual mission, "blimey, Colonel, I told you I didn't know," he said, and Hogan's eyes narrowed,

"How can you not notice that your cheek was bleeding?" he asked, his voice taking on an incredulous tone.

I was too busy thinking about you, Peter replied in his head, and my own weird reactions, but out loud he replied, "I was preoccupied, 'appens when you could be shot as a spy, you know," realising it was a flimsy excuse but frankly not able to come up with a better one, and falling back on the old snark in the absence of anything else,

The colonel sighed, "Listen," he gave up on walking and instead took a seat on the bottom bunk, "sit," he ordered and Newkirk found himself complying, taking a seat across from the older man. The colonel ran a hand through his black locks and then fixed Newkirk to the spot with a stare, "I know you've not had much luck in the way of commanding officers," Hogan began and Newkirk opened his mouth as comprehension dawned on him where the Colonel was going, but Hogan held a hand up, predicting what the corporal was going to say,

"Don't bother telling me that doesn't affect the way you see me," Hogan said and Newkirk shut his mouth, blue eyes finding it hard to keep looking at the unusually serious expression on his colonel's face, "they mistreated you, cast you out for past offences that has nothing to do with your admirable courage and aptitude for the RAF,"

Newkirk felt his face flush as he realised the Colonel really wasn't kidding when he said that he had a complete history of their lives,

"And they certainly didn't stop to see that you are in fact a better man than anyone has ever given you credit for,"

The corporal felt his world tilt slightly off its axis, and knew his face was beet red.

Hogan chuckled at the frankly endearing look of rabbit in headlights that Newkirk was projecting, the corporal so unused to praise from anyone, "but," he continued, "I do. And I respect you for it. And I want you, I want the others, to be able to trust me enough to tell me if you are hurt, or you need a break,"

"Yes sir," Newkirk found himself saying, still struggling to get around this – friendship – oh my god, friendship! – that Hogan was so freely offering.

Silence hung in the room for a moment, and Newkirk found himself replying, "I – thankyou sir, I've never had anyone be so…" Newkirk found he didn't have the word for it and Hogan laughed for real this time.

The colonel pushed himself off the bed and clapped Newkirk on the shoulder, "Good. Keep that in mind. Now get some shut-eye, I need you awake tomorrow, we're convincing Klink to play in our orchestra again, sacrifices for King and country and all that,"

Newkirk merely nodded once and moved to the door,

"Oh and Peter?" Newkirk turned to watch the Colonel unzip his jacket,

"Sir?" he asked, and received for his trouble a gentle smile,

"Night,"

"Night, Sir,"

If Newkirk hadn't been confused before, he definitely was now.

Two surprise escapees from Stalag nine had found their way to them and the colonel had him down in the tunnel working on a suit for the second man who was six foot three and thus did not fit anything they had pre-made.

It also gave the English corporal far, far, too much time with his own tumultuous thoughts.

Just me bloody luck. Start work as a spy and get a commanding officer that's so nice, I don't actually know what to do about it. Dammit.

Newkirk shoved the needle into the fabric with more force than was necessary and yanked it through, bringing together the seam of the sleeve and the shoulder, the lamp light flickering in his sharp movements, the air cool and damp.

Around him echoed the escapee's voices from further down the tunnel accompanied by LeBeau's accent, telling them what to expect and teaching them the basic German phrases they may need if questioned by anyone.

Newkirk sighed and let the suit jacket drop to his lap.

In the six months that the Colonel had been here, the corporal had felt as if he were riding a train that had lost its tracks. Sometimes he felt like he had been thrown into a bucket of ice water and other times like the heater had accidentally turned into a bonfire, washing him with waves of heat. There was only one constant through all of that and that was his ever present, thrice damned, confusion.

Never in his entire life, had Newkirk felt so overwhelmed by any sort of relationship in his life, not with his family, not with his friends and blood 'ell, not even with me lovers. Wish Mavis was 'ere. She always seems to know what to make of these stupid feelings. Peter felt a stab of regret at the thought of his sister. Always meddling where she should learn to leave well enough alone, she was his older sister and he loved her and damn did he miss her surprisingly sage advice. However, wishing for her here would help nothing at all, so he sighed again at the fruitlessness of these thoughts.

Hogan, he knew was unique and he supposed it should make perfect sense that his reaction to Hogan was unique. The man never could seem to do anything the normal way.

It was thus that Newkirk found himself arriving at a decision. He was going to stop questioning himself all the time. If he kept this up he was going to go 'round the bend. And he was not going to discuss this with the Colonel either. It wasn't a trust thing so much as it was not wanting to do anything to upset what may be the one of the greatest units he's ever been a part of.

Yes. This will work.

And with that Newkirk pushed his conflicting emotions to the back of his mind and instead focused on getting the angle of this sleeve just right.

Hogan cracked his back as LeBeau left the room and stretched out his cramping fingers. Being commanding officer was not always fun. There were lists for the Red Cross and rosters to be made, men to be checked on, and always, always, a smile on his face to be had. For if he wasn't smiling why should the others smile?

Hogan let out a breath as he raised his arms above his head. Be a good example for them and you'll be rewarded, he told himself, they need you. If only it weren't so bloody hard not to complain about the cold, the food, the beds, the showers.

Hogan stopped that train of thought. He had known becoming an officer would demand sacrifices. To need to be more than a man, so longing for the chance to act human wasn't going to cut it. No wonder he found himself spending so much time harassing Klink. At least there, he was not expected to be always composed and always strong; Klink was too blind to notice the difference anyway.

The only good thing about this rat hole were his men and after their first mission almost a month ago they proved themselves beyond his wildest imagination, and it can get pretty wild, he found himself smirking.

They behaved dutifully, efficiently and even Carter was managing beautifully, mission after mission. He could hardly believe it himself, honestly. He was as eager as the others to get word from London on what they thought about their latest demolition job.

London…an image of a blood-smeared face suddenly intruded into his thoughts and Hogan found his heart skipping several beats, the momentary fear of that night slamming into him as he remembered, irritated at himself at the potency of the feelings even after all this time. Anger also joined in as he remembered Peter's easy dismissal.

Forgotten about it my ass, he thought, savagely signing the latest requisition for more food and less sawdust in their bread, I may throttle Peter's previous commanders myself for instilling this distrust in him. Hogan blew out another breath, staring at the paper but not really reading it.

In the last seven months, the Colonel had found himself drawn to the Englander's quick wit and devious charm, and he found he was worried how quickly the thought of the other man being injured could wind him up,

Same for all my boys, he assured himself and upon deeper introspection he was glad to see that was indeed the case, but still, he knew that when it came to Corporal Peter Newkirk, RAF third squadron, he would have a harder time in trying to get over something happening to him and it scared him.

This was not a business for emotional attachments. Yet he already felt an almost fatherly protection towards Carter. And for LeBeau and Kinch an admiration of how much crap they took in this line of work, the stress of rescuing downed fliers, the challenge of role-playing their way through espionage and sabotage. And for Peter…an affection that was quickly being expressed in an arm over the shoulder or a hand around the waist.

I'm a tactile person, Hogan tried to assure himself, yes but this is getting ridiculous, he found himself pointing out, and he frowned, Shut up, he told himself, knowing full well telling himself to shut up was the first sign that all was not as it should be.

He played with the pen in his hands.

He could sit here all day, every day, wondering about the new relationships he was forming. Or he could get to work, and remember to be a little less obvious about his - bias? Damn. No! Yes. God help me, bias – towards Peter in everyday situations. And it shouldn't be a problem.

I hope so anyway.

Hey guys!

Thanks for reading. So it's going to be a multi-chapter story, even though I intentionally only meant to write a oneshot (what a shock), but I will try and be prompt with updates. The second chapter is already in progress - angst be coming :P Our poor Newkirk.

Also shout out to Bits and Pieces and misanthrope1 even though this is the first thing I've written for this fandom and they don't actually know me. I just needed to express my love for both their works and honestly just wanted to get writing in this great fandom.

See ya soon,

Love 3