Spoilers: Takes place pre-series, and after "Dedication", but I think you can get by without reading that first.

A/N: I hadn't intended to write a sequel, but then I started to wonder what Magnum would think when he finally got his hands on Robin Masters' first book.

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"But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate – we can not consecrate – we can not hallow – this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract." ~~~ Abraham Lincoln, "Gettysburg Address"

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Thomas Magnum closed his eyes and blew out a frustrated breath as he shifted in his bed, trying to get comfortable. It had been so long since he'd slept in a bed that, nearly a couple of weeks later, he was still having a little bit of trouble readjusting. Then again, he could barely remember several of those days, so did they really count?

Thomas couldn't imagine how anyone would ever be comfortable in one of these beds. The plastic-covered mattress, the almost overly-starched feel to the sheets, and the antiseptic smell which pervaded everything were as difficult to ignore as all of the other distractions both in and out of his room.

After the current antibiotic cocktail had finally started to win the battle against the infection he'd been fighting, he was finally beginning to feel more human again. Unfortunately, his sleep schedule was still completely out of whack. Apparently, you can sleep too much, because it was the middle of the night and he couldn't sleep.

Looking at the clock on the opposite wall wasn't helping either because he couldn't stop keeping track of information he either didn't need or didn't want. He didn't need to know exactly how long he'd been awake or how long it had been since a nurse had stopped by to check on him. He most certainly didn't want to keep track of the shift changes of the various hospital personnel, no longer needing the information now that he and his friends were with friendlies after their near-miraculous escape.

He shifted position once again, and felt a twinge of pain from the wound Nuzo had to cauterize with the help of a bullet. It was that wound which had become seriously infected and had doomed him to a much longer stay at Landstuhl* than his brothers, who now had a modified outpatient status. It was a novelty to have a space to himself after so many days, weeks, and months of being in close, cramped quarters with his friends and the other POWs, but he still found himself worrying about them when they were out of his sight.

Not wanting to turn the TV on and possibly disturb someone who might actually be sleeping in a room nearby, Thomas decided to try and count ceiling tiles once again; hoping this time the task would be boring enough to put him back to sleep. At close to the mid-way point of his task, and still not feeling tired enough to sleep, a nurse walked in making him lose track.

The nurse, noting he was awake, approached his bed with less caution than normal. Apparently, he'd had a bad reaction to being startled while still quite feverish. He only had a vague memory of the incident, and still felt guilty about it, but on the whole he tried not to think about something he'd not really been able to help.

They chatted while the nurse did her thing, the woman asking if he was having trouble sleeping and if he wanted something to help. This wasn't the first time he'd had trouble sleeping and doubted it would be the last. Last time, he'd made the mistake of asking for a sleep aid and had heavily regretted it, because the drug had made it next to impossible for him to wake up from the nightmare he'd become trapped in. Since then, he'd not been too keen on sleep aids, and thankfully, unless the lack of sleep began to interfere with his continued recovery, his doctors had agreed they wouldn't force any upon him and discuss their use with him when and if one became necessary.

When the nurse finishes, she nods once to him and heads towards the door. At the door, the nurse turns back and says she would be right back with something that might help. Several minutes and an attempt to figure out where he'd left off in his counting ceiling tiles game, the nurse returns with a book in hand.

Thomas notices the book doesn't have a slip cover, making it impossible at first to know its title, something the nurse has yet to mention as she gushes about how good it was so far. Apparently, it was a new author to the genre and the book had become a number one best seller in the States. Finally, she had been able to get a hold of a copy, and had been reading it on her meal breaks. If he promised not to lose her place, then he could read the book when she wasn't. If it didn't help him fall back asleep, then at least it should keep him entertained.

Willing to try anything at this point, Thomas agrees to her proposal. The nurse hands the book over and Thomas shifts it to look at the spine. It took all of his training in intelligence work to not react to the title and author: The White Knight: Queen's Gambit by Robin Masters.

He thanks the nurse for the loan, and waits until she leaves before opening up the book, wondering why the main character was no longer called "The Paladin." Then it hits him. More than likely it was all about timing, and he was guessing Robin had learned about their FUBAR'ed mission and capture not too long before submitting the book's draft for publication.

At first, he was a little worried about his identity having been compromised, but nothing in the book's dedication or acknowledgements gives his identity away or mentions any classified information. Whether that extended to the plot's details remained to be seen as he opened to the book and began reading. Even though he knows it's based on his and his friends' adventures, Thomas gets drawn into the plot and action sequences, and enjoys reading the book. He makes a mental note to call Robin the next day and congratulate him on his first book, and maybe ask him a couple of important questions.

Reality sets in soon after and he stops reading. Would he be able to make that call? And if he was allowed, then shouldn't he contact his mom first? Have their families even been informed yet? The guys had yet to mention anything about a debrief or being in contact with their families, so maybe they had to go through an initial debrief first? Before continuing to read, he resolved to find out that information the next time he saw one of his friends.

However, regardless of how good the book was, his still-healing body eventually reasserts itself. He must fall asleep while reading, because the book was nowhere to be found when he woke up. He could only assume the night nurse took it back; hopefully he would get a chance to read more the next time she was on shift.

He falls back asleep again, and wakes up some hours later to Rick sitting by his bed. When he sees Rick, it occurs to him, that his friend could easily get him a disposable cell phone. He'd had a dream about his mom, and suddenly couldn't wait to talk to her. And afterwards he might call Robin to get the full story about the code name change.

When he asks Rick to get him a cell phone so he could call home, his stomach is suddenly in his feet at the sudden change in his friend's whole demeanor.

And he knows.

His dream had been trying to tell him why he'd not heard from his mother, and why the others had yet to mention their families. They had been made aware of his situation, and had had to wait for him to be on the road to recovery before telling him the devastating news.

His mom is…is gone.

His mom had died not knowing what had happened to him or if he even lived. He would never see her again. Would never again hear her speak in lilting Spanish. Would never again receive one of her patented hugs which inevitably cut off your air supply.

As he struggled to adjust to his new reality, all thoughts of calling Robin Masters about The White Knight were driven completely out of mind.

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Robin was typing furiously, trying to capture the essence of the latest scene he had in mind for his second book. He was a little behind in meeting his deadline, and for a similar reason as to what had happened with his previous book.

Just as with his first book, he'd been blindsided by the news he'd heard on TV – some POWs had escaped their captors and were rescued by managing to run into a patrol of soldiers from the U.S. He'd immediately thought of his friends, hoping and praying the story had been referring to one or all of them. Though, he knew for certain, if one did not make it, the odds the others would've survived weren't that great.

Having been embedded with the four men, he knew them fairly well; they would never leave one of their brothers behind unless they had absolutely no other choice. They would die for each other, so it was not too out of the realm of possibility it would be all or none with the four of them.

As the hours and then days dragged on, no further information about the POWs had been released, and it was driving him to distraction, affecting his ability to concentrate on his writing. He'd made several attempts to find out more details, but had been thwarted at every turn. It seemed there had been a complete news blackout regarding anything further about the escapees. The only thing he had managed to learn was that they had yet to be transferred back to the U.S. and were likely still recovering from their ordeal in Germany.

The distraction had cost him precious time he didn't have in terms of making his deadline. He'd had all the time in the world to work on his first book, but now that he was a number one best-selling author, he had to produce a second one in far less time. Eventually, he'd had to stop obsessing on that news story, reminding himself he wasn't an investigative journalist any longer.

After he'd a done a quick read through of the past couple of chapters, he'd resumed writing, finally getting back on track the past couple of days.

Robin finished typing a sentence and sighed. He sat back in his chair and considered the White Knight's next move. An idea occurred to him, and he went searching for a particular set of notes from his pile of research, some of it left over from his previous book. The action only reminded him of how disappointed and angry he had been, and still was, with his former research assistant, Evan Butler, who had tried to sell a draft of his first book. If the research still wasn't so helpful, he would've trashed it long ago.

He had just found the page of notes he needed, when someone clears their throat. Looking behind him, he sees his personal assistant with what seemed to be his phone in her hands.

"Lani, I thought I told you I didn't want to be disturbed today," Robin said.

"I know but…"—Lani stepped farther into the room—"there is a call on your personal line."

"Who is it?"

"There was no name on the caller ID, but the phone number is an international one. I think the country code is for Germany."

Germany? Who did he know in Germany that had his personal number?

"Did they give a name?" Robin asked. He picked up his likely cold cup of tea and took a sip.

"Yes, the man said 'Tell Robin that Paladin is calling.'"

Robing inhales at the wrong moment, causing him to choke upon his tea. As he coughs to clear his throat, he thinks: Paladin? Who in the hell…? Better yet. How in the hell…? He'd never revealed the fact that the White Knight character had ever been known by any other name.

Then it hits him.

The call was from Germany by a man calling himself Paladin. Was it possible that—

"Are you alright?" Lani asks, having come over to his side.

"Yes"—Robin clears his throat again—"I'm fine. I'll go ahead and take the call. Please make sure I'm not disturbed for anything short of a natural disaster."

Lani nods as she hands him the phone; he waits until she's gone before hitting the mute button so he could be heard by the caller on the other end of the line.

He takes a breath to calm his nerves, and says, "Not many people know about the Paladin."

A familiar voice he'd not heard in over 19 months replies, "But even fewer were supposed to know about the White Knight."

"Thomas? Is that really you?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"Nuzo? Rick? TC?"

"They made it out too."

Robin's shoulders sag, and he blows out a relieved breath before murmuring, "Thank God," and hearing a quiet, "Yeah," in return from Magnum.

They're both silent for a few moments, and Robin once again leans back in his chair, not knowing what to say next. The journalist in him has so many questions, but he has no idea where to start, and he knows he needs to be a friend first.

Eventually, he asks, "Did you really just call me to ask about Paladin?"

Thomas sighs on the other end of the line. "I was given a book to read in the hospital, and imagine my surprise when I see it's called The White Knight: Queen's Gambit by Robin Masters."

"I know, Thomas. In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have done it, but I'd just heard about the search for you guys being called off. Reading between the lines, everyone in the military thought you were dead. So…I…decided to change it. The publisher added the Queen's Gambit part."—Robin sighs and rubs at tired eyes with his free hand—"I thought it would be a fitting tribute to my friend."

There's silence on the other end of the line for a few uncomfortable moments before Thomas says, "Thanks, man."

Robin could hear the emotion woven into the words. Despite their simplicity, they sounded heavy, pregnant with multiple meanings attached to them. His journalistic instincts were telling him there was a story behind some of those meanings. Perhaps someday Thomas would tell him about them.

"There's something important I need to know," Thomas continues. "We've only had a short debrief so far, but the main one is coming in the next couple of days. I haven't had the chance to finish Queen's Gambit yet, so you need to level with me on something."

Robin was puzzled. How could he possibly know anything that would help with his friends' debrief? But, it was Thomas, so there was no way he wouldn't do his best to help. "Whatever you need, Thomas."

"Being embedded with us, I know you were privy to some classified details. Please tell me you altered, disguised, and changed things enough that they're unrecognizable as anything directly related to my missions and team. With everything else going on, I really don't need to be blindsided with that during my debrief."

He couldn't help but be a bit surprised, and a little offended, at what he'd just heard. Magnum knows him; knows how important journalistic integrity is to him. Yet, when it sinks in, especially the tiredness in Thomas's voice, Robin understands why his friend had to ask him that. After revealing the code name, what else had he revealed?

"I swear to you Thomas. Your stories and my time embedded with you guys gave me ideas, but I know not to play too close to that line. Your code name was the only thing that was based entirely on reality."

"Sorry, brother. I had to make sure. Things have—"

"I get it. You don't have to explain." Silence stretches out before them once again. He's a little disturbed by how unnaturally subdued his friend is, though he understands it's likely due to the man's time as a POW. Suddenly, an idea comes to mind. "Are you getting leave time? You should come out here for a visit."

"Where's here?"

"Hawai'i. I've got plenty of room at my place if you guys ever need a change of scenery."

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Story Notes:

Consecration – The action of making or declaring something. Usually a church, but I'm using it in a more secular sense.

Landstuhl – The full name is Landsthul Regional Medical Center, which is located in Rheinland-Pfalz, Germany and located near Ramstein Air Force Base. It is the largest U.S. hospital outside of the United States where it serves as the sole military medical center, and is the evacuation and treatment center for all injured U.S. Servicemembers and civilians.

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The end.

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A/N: Many thanks to Celticgal1041 for proofing. Any remaining mistakes are my fault.

Disclaimer: Magnum P.I. is not mine. I'm just borrowing the concepts and characters for a little while.

Thanks for reading!