Hogan sat at the head of the table, idly tracing figures into the
wood with a finger while sipping a cup of coffee. Stop that, he thought to
himself. You don't want them worrying about you.
He tried to keep his personal feelings out of sight, especially from his closest friends- Kinch, Newkirk, LeBeau, and Carter. Lately he had intense bouts of guilt, and he did not need his men worrying about anything other than the upcoming mission. Besides, telling them would only make them have more misgivings about their commander, and inevitably the question would arise why he felt guilty. He wasn't up to explaining it… not yet… maybe not at all.
Finishing his coffee, he sighed and looked around. Directly in front of him, Carter and Newkirk were currently playing cards, their concentration resting on their hand. Kinch was down below, monitoring the radio and trying to teach Baker about the piece of equipment. Twisting around he saw LeBeau stirring soup in a large pot on the stove. Again he sighed. Usually around this time, he would be keyed up, ready for anything, but instead here he was moping around.
" 'Ey, is everything alright, guv'nor?" Newkirk asked. Looking up, he noticed that the corporal and the sergeant he was playing cards with were peering at him concernedly. Shaking his head at his own stupidity, he nodded.
"Yeah, just bored," he replied. Newkirk chuckled, obviously thinking of some comeback he could use on anyone else but his commanding officer, and Carter smiled.
"Back home you'd never get bored! Where I lived, there were-" the young man began. Again, Hogan felt the pangs of hurt. They have the right to know. You should tell them, his mind told him. Another part of him argued, Does it affect them in any way? They don't have to know! In mental agony, he cradled his head in his arms, drowning out the sound of Carter's bubbly voice; which is why he jumped in surprise when a hand dropped on his shoulder. Bringing his head up again, he realized that everyone had stopped talking, and all eyes were concentrated on him. Idiot, he thought.
"Are you sure you're alright, mon colonel?" the Frenchman asked.
Muttering angrily under his breath, he managed a terse, "I'm fine," and shrugged off LeBeau's hand. The others shifted uncomfortably, but the sound of the tunnel entrance being opened broke the silence. "What is it, Kinch?" the colonel asked, looking up at the radioman coming out of the bunk.
"Nothing-can't the teacher have a break without everyone thinking he's up to something shady," the man joked. Newkirk grinned and answered with a mischevious sparkle in his eyes,
"Nope. Anyone but you. We KNOW you're up to something shady all the time." Kinch grinned and wiggled his eyebrows before taking a seat at the table next to Carter.
"Actually, I came here for some coffee," he said, reaching for the coffee pot and a cup. Pouring the pungent brown liquid out, he breathed in the fumes deeply. "Ahh, good ol' cheapo deluxe coffee." Hogan gave a small smile at the man's sarcasm. He must be in a good mood today. The commander made to remark on the suddenly sunny disposition, but was interrupted by a robust,
"Mail call!" The guard, Schultz, was soon on the floor, cowering under the barage of men scurrying for letters from home. Hogan reached out a hand and the German gratefully took it, nearly pulling the man helping down with him. Wiping off his uniform, he smiled at the cries of thanks from the men as they read their letters. He was a family man at heart, and to him, the prisoners were more like little kids. Giving a smirk, Colonel Hogan realized they basically were.
Schultz shot a look at Hogan before opening the door and hurrying out.
"Hey, colonel, did you get any mail?" inquired Carter. Hogan lifted one envelope, carefully positioning his fingers to hide the return address. Well, it was real smart telling them you lived in Connecticutt. At least you could've told them the truth on THAT much. Again the guilt threatened to consume him, and he retreated into his private quarters to read the letter from his "mom".
Dear Robbie,
I haven't heard from you in a while. How are you? I love you and hope you're well.
Davie hasn't written in a while, and I'm concerned. Has he written you? I haven't received any letters yet from the air force, for which I'm grateful. I don't think I could bear it to know if either of you has died.
Robbie, I know you don't want to hear this, but your father died a week ago.
Hogan stopped and read the letter again. His dad was… Heaving a loud sigh, he bowed his head and found himself drifting off to sleep on his desk.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Hey, Colonel, come on. It's time to go," a voice pulled him away from his nightmare. Nightmare? Can it be a nightmare when it really happened? he wondered.
Rubbing his bleary eyes, he yawned and stretched the kinks out of his back. "Go where?" He fought another yawn. Kinch frowned at him, and suddenly it registered where he was. "Sorry, Kinch. I guess I was more tired than I thought…"
"Well, you don't have to go, you know, Newkirk and LeBeau can do it alone," Kinch began, but stopped when he noticed Hogan had his head back down on the desk and was snoring softly. Smiling and chuckling softly, the sergeant tiptoed silently out of the room and informed the patiently waiting men of the slight change in plans.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Carter nodded and Newkirk had to grab his arm and pull him along down the ladder. Traversing through the gloomy woods at night was not Carter's idea of an adventure, but it was better than being at home, sitting around, doing nothing. Shrugging, he followed the figure clothed in black until they reached a large barn. Newkirk put a hand out, warning him to stay back, before looking around and started forward cautiously; tramping behind him, Andrew entered the barn where two men were waiting. One, a rather old gentleman with streaks of gray in his hair, was a well-known underground agent that regularily helped the group from Stalag and the other man was a Lt. Colonel, slightly older than Colonel Hogan. He had hazel eyes under thick sandy brown hair and was slightly taller than their commander.
" 'Ey, now, is this the man we're supposed to be helpin' out?" Newkirk asked softly, gesturing with his Luger to the waiting Lt. Colonel. Turning to look at the man, he quickly added, "Sir." The officer smiled congenially and shrugged. Carter found himself smiling. Good, not big on military stuff. He himself was just one rank below officer, and rarely pulled rank on anyone, regardless of situation.
"Ja, his plane was shot down and he wandered to our barn. It is a good thing it was us, and not some other," the elderly farmer beside him explained.
"Well, we better go, then. Uh, if you'll follow me, sir," Carter said hastily.
"Lead the way," the officer said in a deep voice, following the young man as he and his companion made their way back throught the forest to the tree stump.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Meanwhile, Hogan was sleeping restlessly, tossing and turning his head ontop the desk.
~- Rob arrived home one day, trying to skulk quietly so his dad wouldn't know he was there. But his father waited in the front door and when he saw the 14-year-old look around he grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.
"Why are you late home from school, boy?" the man sneered in his face, fumes of liquor pollution the air where he breathed.
"I went to see-" He was cut off as his father hit him across his mouth, sending him flying across the room. His head struck the wall with a loud thunk, and he reached a hand up to feel blood on his mouth. His father didn't allow him time to get up, and he felt himself being picked up again, and a fist slammed into his face. Wincing, he felt a tear roll down his face from the sudden agony. Heedless of the pain he was causing his son, his dad struck him again, and- ~-
Hogan awoke with a start, and instinctively touched his lip, expecting an unfamiliar tenderness. Heaving a sigh of relief, he realized it was just a nightmare, another one. He's dead… the bastard's finally dead. His mother had died when he was young, and his father had quickly lost his job due to the effects of the Great Depression. Reaching out for comfort, all he found was booze, though he could ill afford it. When he was sober, he had a hangover, and usually forgot everything that had happened the day before. Robert Hogan snorted, remembering his father asking where he had gotten his bruises, and why there was caked blood on his face. He also remembered how he answered, and how his dad would yell at him for getting into a fight. Just to escape the pain, he would run to his friend's house, Davie's. Growing up in New York, the apartments were generally close together, and he could always go there. Davie's dad had left his mom and him a long time ago, which was probably why Rob had connected with him. That and Davie found him one day, crying outside the apartment. Drifting back, Robert remembered his best friend's words.
~- "Hey, kid, what's wrong?" the guy asked. Rob glanced up, startled, and with the back of his hand he wiped the tracks of his tears off his face.
"Nothin'. Nothin' at all," he had answered. The guy snorted, and crouched down in front of him.
He said, "Don't lie ta me, kid. Ya don't cry over nothin'." ~-
Yeah, you don't cry over nothin'. Biting out the words, he had said he had gotten into a fight with some other kids, just like the excuse he gave his dad. But the guy hadn't bought it, and kept pressuring him until he told him the truth.
~- "C'mon, kid. Mom's got some food that'll fix ya up." Rob looked up suspiciously.
"Sure she won't mind you bringin' a stranger to dinner?" he asked. The guy rolled his eyes and hauled him up, carefully avoiding touching any of the yellow and black bruises spreading out over his arm.
"Mom wouldn't mind if I brought in a whole bunch of crooks for dinner- just as long as you keep your elbows off the table." Smiling at the guy, Rob followed faithfully, looking forward to a meal that you didn't have to steal to get, or beg your dad for a bit of money he hadn't spent on boozing. ~-
Hogan grimaced. Davie's mom hadn't minded, but later asked his new- found friend where "that dear boy Robbie" had acquired his bruises. And Davie told her. He had forgiven his friend later, after Ms. Caton had sworn not to tell anybody. She kept her word, too, even that night when…
~- One night after visiting with Davie, when he was about 16, Rob had come home particularily late, and was surprised by his dad when he reached the door. Before he could even open his mouth and explain why he was late home, his dad hit him, harder than usual. Groaning, he looked up, and noticed a glint in his old man's eyes-one that hadn't been there before.
"Dad, are you ok?" he asked tentatively, but the only reply he received was a vicious kick in the ribs.
"Shut up, boy," his dad growled in slurred words. He'd hit the bottle hard that night. He socked Hogan again as the boy staggered to his feet. "You're the reason she died!" Suddenly it dawned on Rob. Of course… today was the day Mom had…His thoughts were interrupted as he felt his head snap back when another fist smashed into his cheek. He slid down the wall, and with a jerk, realized his arm was lying at an awkward angle. He had to get away from his dad; he didn't think he'd live if he didn't. Coughing, and leaning against the wall heavily, he made it to his feet, and barely managed to stay balanced when a punch caught him in his ribs. Whirling around, he pushed his father, who fell down heavily. Cradling his arm, Rob ran out the open door, into the street, and made his way to Davie's house.
"Please, open the door, Ms. Caton," he said aloud as he looked around nervously.
"Robbie, what are you-" the lady paused. "Your arm," she said softly. Dashing past her into her house, Rob hid his broken arm and tried to put on a grin.
"It's fine," he reassured, but she obviously did not believe him. Before she could say anything more, a voice from behind made him jump.
"Hey, kid," Davie called, but stopped short as he noticed his friend's bent arm. "Robbie," he began. Rob winced-whenever Davie called him that, it meant something bad. "Maybe you should go to a hospital. That looks pretty bad." It didn't take a genius to figure out that if Rob went to a hospital, they'd ask questions, and then they might check on his dad, and send him away…
"No!" he cried vehemenantly, holding his arm tighter, though wincing as pain shot throught the limb. "I can't." Shaking his head worriedly, Davie ordered him to sit down on the couch, and went to talk to his mom, who frowned at him and left the room. She returned after a moment, carrying bandages.
"Here, Robbie," she said quietly, and created a splint for his arm. Davie had gone out of the room, though where, he couldn't tell.
"Where'd Davie go?" he asked her, his deep brown eyes gazing into her hazel ones.
"He went to make a phone call," she said firmly, then questioned, "What happened?" But Rob wasn't distracted.
"To who?" he asked. She unconciously bit her bottom lip-a sure sign she was lying-and looked down.
"Just to a friend," she answered. Jumping up, Rob glared at her.
"To someone who'll take me away, right?" She didn't answer. Shaking his head with disbelief, he raced out the door.
"Robbie, wait!" he heard her call after him, but he ignored her and ran. He didn't know where he was going, but anywhere was better than there. ~-
So that's how he joined the Air Force. He lied about his age and joined the Air Force, just to get away from people who said they were his friends, and then turned on him. It wasn't fair. Hogan shook himself out of the memories when a knock on the door alerted him.
"Come in," he called, his eyes never leaving his desk.
"Uh, sir, we brought the guy in, and he said he wanted to see you," Kinch said slowly, as though something were puzzling him.
"Why didn't you just tell him I was busy?" Hogan said irratatedly. Kinch looked more confused than ever.
"He asked for you by name… Colonel, he called you," a brief pause, "kid."
Not quite believing it, Hogan crossed the room with large strides. "What's he look like?"
The startled sergeant hurriedly said, "Sandy brown hair, sort of tall, and-"
"Hazel eyes," the Colonel murmured, half to himself.
"That's right, sir. Do you know him?" Kinch questioned, but his commander brushed past him and crawled down the ladder as fast as he could. In the darkness below, he heard a familiar, deep voice talking loudly.
"But I know he's here, and trust me, he'll want to see me," the voice protested.
Hogan strode out into the open and said, "Yes, he will." The man previously talking turned around, and took the fist that hit him squarely in the face with his left jaw. The man staggered back, clutching his jaw. Smirking, he stared at Hogan.
"Well, Rob, I expected that," Davie said. He gave a small laugh, but Hogan stood glaring at him. Newkirk, Carter, Kinch, and LeBeau exchanged glances and began slinking off, each mumbling excuses in turn for their hasty exits. "So how ya doin'?" His New York accent was still strong. Of course, Hogan thought bitterly, he didn't have to get rid of it.
"I'm fine. Have been for a long time now." Davie, now a Lt. Colonel, flinched.
"Ya nevah wrote me-ya could've at least told me if you were ok," the fellow officer said.
"Why should I have? You wanted to have them take me away," Hogan took a step closer. "You called them, the day I left!" Davie's eyes darkened, and he looked away.
"Robbie, I… Listen, no kid should have had to go through that, and when he broke your arm," Davie began, but was interrupted by his friend's bitter voice saying,
"It would've been over. He would've stopped. The only reason he was that way that day was because it was when Mom died."
Davie shook his head. "But how long until he forgot that you were his son? How long until he just kept hitting, until you didn't get up anymore? Robbie, it was only a matter of time." He paused, but no reply came. "I just wanted to help. Say, you don't have an accent anymore."
"Yeah, well, great job you did," Hogan said, effectively distracting the man's attention elsewhere. "What did you tell your mom anyways? I got a letter from her today, wandering how you were. She said you hadn't written in a while."
"I guess the mail hasn't gotten through… Rob?"
"Yeah?"
"How come you told those guys you were from Connecticutt?" Davie inquired. Hogan waited a minute before quietly answering with a question of his own.
"How'd you know I told them that?" Davie shrugged.
"I told 'em I knew you, that we grew up together, but that one guy- the blond-"
"Carter," Hogan broke in, a small smile appearing on his face.
"Yeah, him, he said that you grew up in Connecticutt, not New York. How come you lied?" Davie cocked his head.
"These guys are my friends," he stressed the word, and Davie bowed his head, as if accepting something he didn't want to, "and I just... didn't want them to know about… they don't need to know."
"Right. So what's for dinner, kid?" Davie changed the subject. Hogan grinned, remembering a time when he hadn't been angry at Davie, when he had been his best friend.
"Anything you like, as long as you keep your elbows off the table," he quipped, earning a cuff on the shoulder from his friend. Davie turned around.
"Well, I don't see any crooks behind me, so I guess I can come." Laughing, he added, "Though there is one beside me, if what they tell me is true." Thinking about stealing, about how he used to get a meal hit deeper than he expected, and Hogan's smile faded.
"Yeah. C'mon," he motioned towards the ladder. Davie gave him a sympathetic look before scurrying up the ladder to the outside world.
He tried to keep his personal feelings out of sight, especially from his closest friends- Kinch, Newkirk, LeBeau, and Carter. Lately he had intense bouts of guilt, and he did not need his men worrying about anything other than the upcoming mission. Besides, telling them would only make them have more misgivings about their commander, and inevitably the question would arise why he felt guilty. He wasn't up to explaining it… not yet… maybe not at all.
Finishing his coffee, he sighed and looked around. Directly in front of him, Carter and Newkirk were currently playing cards, their concentration resting on their hand. Kinch was down below, monitoring the radio and trying to teach Baker about the piece of equipment. Twisting around he saw LeBeau stirring soup in a large pot on the stove. Again he sighed. Usually around this time, he would be keyed up, ready for anything, but instead here he was moping around.
" 'Ey, is everything alright, guv'nor?" Newkirk asked. Looking up, he noticed that the corporal and the sergeant he was playing cards with were peering at him concernedly. Shaking his head at his own stupidity, he nodded.
"Yeah, just bored," he replied. Newkirk chuckled, obviously thinking of some comeback he could use on anyone else but his commanding officer, and Carter smiled.
"Back home you'd never get bored! Where I lived, there were-" the young man began. Again, Hogan felt the pangs of hurt. They have the right to know. You should tell them, his mind told him. Another part of him argued, Does it affect them in any way? They don't have to know! In mental agony, he cradled his head in his arms, drowning out the sound of Carter's bubbly voice; which is why he jumped in surprise when a hand dropped on his shoulder. Bringing his head up again, he realized that everyone had stopped talking, and all eyes were concentrated on him. Idiot, he thought.
"Are you sure you're alright, mon colonel?" the Frenchman asked.
Muttering angrily under his breath, he managed a terse, "I'm fine," and shrugged off LeBeau's hand. The others shifted uncomfortably, but the sound of the tunnel entrance being opened broke the silence. "What is it, Kinch?" the colonel asked, looking up at the radioman coming out of the bunk.
"Nothing-can't the teacher have a break without everyone thinking he's up to something shady," the man joked. Newkirk grinned and answered with a mischevious sparkle in his eyes,
"Nope. Anyone but you. We KNOW you're up to something shady all the time." Kinch grinned and wiggled his eyebrows before taking a seat at the table next to Carter.
"Actually, I came here for some coffee," he said, reaching for the coffee pot and a cup. Pouring the pungent brown liquid out, he breathed in the fumes deeply. "Ahh, good ol' cheapo deluxe coffee." Hogan gave a small smile at the man's sarcasm. He must be in a good mood today. The commander made to remark on the suddenly sunny disposition, but was interrupted by a robust,
"Mail call!" The guard, Schultz, was soon on the floor, cowering under the barage of men scurrying for letters from home. Hogan reached out a hand and the German gratefully took it, nearly pulling the man helping down with him. Wiping off his uniform, he smiled at the cries of thanks from the men as they read their letters. He was a family man at heart, and to him, the prisoners were more like little kids. Giving a smirk, Colonel Hogan realized they basically were.
Schultz shot a look at Hogan before opening the door and hurrying out.
"Hey, colonel, did you get any mail?" inquired Carter. Hogan lifted one envelope, carefully positioning his fingers to hide the return address. Well, it was real smart telling them you lived in Connecticutt. At least you could've told them the truth on THAT much. Again the guilt threatened to consume him, and he retreated into his private quarters to read the letter from his "mom".
Dear Robbie,
I haven't heard from you in a while. How are you? I love you and hope you're well.
Davie hasn't written in a while, and I'm concerned. Has he written you? I haven't received any letters yet from the air force, for which I'm grateful. I don't think I could bear it to know if either of you has died.
Robbie, I know you don't want to hear this, but your father died a week ago.
Hogan stopped and read the letter again. His dad was… Heaving a loud sigh, he bowed his head and found himself drifting off to sleep on his desk.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Hey, Colonel, come on. It's time to go," a voice pulled him away from his nightmare. Nightmare? Can it be a nightmare when it really happened? he wondered.
Rubbing his bleary eyes, he yawned and stretched the kinks out of his back. "Go where?" He fought another yawn. Kinch frowned at him, and suddenly it registered where he was. "Sorry, Kinch. I guess I was more tired than I thought…"
"Well, you don't have to go, you know, Newkirk and LeBeau can do it alone," Kinch began, but stopped when he noticed Hogan had his head back down on the desk and was snoring softly. Smiling and chuckling softly, the sergeant tiptoed silently out of the room and informed the patiently waiting men of the slight change in plans.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Carter nodded and Newkirk had to grab his arm and pull him along down the ladder. Traversing through the gloomy woods at night was not Carter's idea of an adventure, but it was better than being at home, sitting around, doing nothing. Shrugging, he followed the figure clothed in black until they reached a large barn. Newkirk put a hand out, warning him to stay back, before looking around and started forward cautiously; tramping behind him, Andrew entered the barn where two men were waiting. One, a rather old gentleman with streaks of gray in his hair, was a well-known underground agent that regularily helped the group from Stalag and the other man was a Lt. Colonel, slightly older than Colonel Hogan. He had hazel eyes under thick sandy brown hair and was slightly taller than their commander.
" 'Ey, now, is this the man we're supposed to be helpin' out?" Newkirk asked softly, gesturing with his Luger to the waiting Lt. Colonel. Turning to look at the man, he quickly added, "Sir." The officer smiled congenially and shrugged. Carter found himself smiling. Good, not big on military stuff. He himself was just one rank below officer, and rarely pulled rank on anyone, regardless of situation.
"Ja, his plane was shot down and he wandered to our barn. It is a good thing it was us, and not some other," the elderly farmer beside him explained.
"Well, we better go, then. Uh, if you'll follow me, sir," Carter said hastily.
"Lead the way," the officer said in a deep voice, following the young man as he and his companion made their way back throught the forest to the tree stump.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Meanwhile, Hogan was sleeping restlessly, tossing and turning his head ontop the desk.
~- Rob arrived home one day, trying to skulk quietly so his dad wouldn't know he was there. But his father waited in the front door and when he saw the 14-year-old look around he grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.
"Why are you late home from school, boy?" the man sneered in his face, fumes of liquor pollution the air where he breathed.
"I went to see-" He was cut off as his father hit him across his mouth, sending him flying across the room. His head struck the wall with a loud thunk, and he reached a hand up to feel blood on his mouth. His father didn't allow him time to get up, and he felt himself being picked up again, and a fist slammed into his face. Wincing, he felt a tear roll down his face from the sudden agony. Heedless of the pain he was causing his son, his dad struck him again, and- ~-
Hogan awoke with a start, and instinctively touched his lip, expecting an unfamiliar tenderness. Heaving a sigh of relief, he realized it was just a nightmare, another one. He's dead… the bastard's finally dead. His mother had died when he was young, and his father had quickly lost his job due to the effects of the Great Depression. Reaching out for comfort, all he found was booze, though he could ill afford it. When he was sober, he had a hangover, and usually forgot everything that had happened the day before. Robert Hogan snorted, remembering his father asking where he had gotten his bruises, and why there was caked blood on his face. He also remembered how he answered, and how his dad would yell at him for getting into a fight. Just to escape the pain, he would run to his friend's house, Davie's. Growing up in New York, the apartments were generally close together, and he could always go there. Davie's dad had left his mom and him a long time ago, which was probably why Rob had connected with him. That and Davie found him one day, crying outside the apartment. Drifting back, Robert remembered his best friend's words.
~- "Hey, kid, what's wrong?" the guy asked. Rob glanced up, startled, and with the back of his hand he wiped the tracks of his tears off his face.
"Nothin'. Nothin' at all," he had answered. The guy snorted, and crouched down in front of him.
He said, "Don't lie ta me, kid. Ya don't cry over nothin'." ~-
Yeah, you don't cry over nothin'. Biting out the words, he had said he had gotten into a fight with some other kids, just like the excuse he gave his dad. But the guy hadn't bought it, and kept pressuring him until he told him the truth.
~- "C'mon, kid. Mom's got some food that'll fix ya up." Rob looked up suspiciously.
"Sure she won't mind you bringin' a stranger to dinner?" he asked. The guy rolled his eyes and hauled him up, carefully avoiding touching any of the yellow and black bruises spreading out over his arm.
"Mom wouldn't mind if I brought in a whole bunch of crooks for dinner- just as long as you keep your elbows off the table." Smiling at the guy, Rob followed faithfully, looking forward to a meal that you didn't have to steal to get, or beg your dad for a bit of money he hadn't spent on boozing. ~-
Hogan grimaced. Davie's mom hadn't minded, but later asked his new- found friend where "that dear boy Robbie" had acquired his bruises. And Davie told her. He had forgiven his friend later, after Ms. Caton had sworn not to tell anybody. She kept her word, too, even that night when…
~- One night after visiting with Davie, when he was about 16, Rob had come home particularily late, and was surprised by his dad when he reached the door. Before he could even open his mouth and explain why he was late home, his dad hit him, harder than usual. Groaning, he looked up, and noticed a glint in his old man's eyes-one that hadn't been there before.
"Dad, are you ok?" he asked tentatively, but the only reply he received was a vicious kick in the ribs.
"Shut up, boy," his dad growled in slurred words. He'd hit the bottle hard that night. He socked Hogan again as the boy staggered to his feet. "You're the reason she died!" Suddenly it dawned on Rob. Of course… today was the day Mom had…His thoughts were interrupted as he felt his head snap back when another fist smashed into his cheek. He slid down the wall, and with a jerk, realized his arm was lying at an awkward angle. He had to get away from his dad; he didn't think he'd live if he didn't. Coughing, and leaning against the wall heavily, he made it to his feet, and barely managed to stay balanced when a punch caught him in his ribs. Whirling around, he pushed his father, who fell down heavily. Cradling his arm, Rob ran out the open door, into the street, and made his way to Davie's house.
"Please, open the door, Ms. Caton," he said aloud as he looked around nervously.
"Robbie, what are you-" the lady paused. "Your arm," she said softly. Dashing past her into her house, Rob hid his broken arm and tried to put on a grin.
"It's fine," he reassured, but she obviously did not believe him. Before she could say anything more, a voice from behind made him jump.
"Hey, kid," Davie called, but stopped short as he noticed his friend's bent arm. "Robbie," he began. Rob winced-whenever Davie called him that, it meant something bad. "Maybe you should go to a hospital. That looks pretty bad." It didn't take a genius to figure out that if Rob went to a hospital, they'd ask questions, and then they might check on his dad, and send him away…
"No!" he cried vehemenantly, holding his arm tighter, though wincing as pain shot throught the limb. "I can't." Shaking his head worriedly, Davie ordered him to sit down on the couch, and went to talk to his mom, who frowned at him and left the room. She returned after a moment, carrying bandages.
"Here, Robbie," she said quietly, and created a splint for his arm. Davie had gone out of the room, though where, he couldn't tell.
"Where'd Davie go?" he asked her, his deep brown eyes gazing into her hazel ones.
"He went to make a phone call," she said firmly, then questioned, "What happened?" But Rob wasn't distracted.
"To who?" he asked. She unconciously bit her bottom lip-a sure sign she was lying-and looked down.
"Just to a friend," she answered. Jumping up, Rob glared at her.
"To someone who'll take me away, right?" She didn't answer. Shaking his head with disbelief, he raced out the door.
"Robbie, wait!" he heard her call after him, but he ignored her and ran. He didn't know where he was going, but anywhere was better than there. ~-
So that's how he joined the Air Force. He lied about his age and joined the Air Force, just to get away from people who said they were his friends, and then turned on him. It wasn't fair. Hogan shook himself out of the memories when a knock on the door alerted him.
"Come in," he called, his eyes never leaving his desk.
"Uh, sir, we brought the guy in, and he said he wanted to see you," Kinch said slowly, as though something were puzzling him.
"Why didn't you just tell him I was busy?" Hogan said irratatedly. Kinch looked more confused than ever.
"He asked for you by name… Colonel, he called you," a brief pause, "kid."
Not quite believing it, Hogan crossed the room with large strides. "What's he look like?"
The startled sergeant hurriedly said, "Sandy brown hair, sort of tall, and-"
"Hazel eyes," the Colonel murmured, half to himself.
"That's right, sir. Do you know him?" Kinch questioned, but his commander brushed past him and crawled down the ladder as fast as he could. In the darkness below, he heard a familiar, deep voice talking loudly.
"But I know he's here, and trust me, he'll want to see me," the voice protested.
Hogan strode out into the open and said, "Yes, he will." The man previously talking turned around, and took the fist that hit him squarely in the face with his left jaw. The man staggered back, clutching his jaw. Smirking, he stared at Hogan.
"Well, Rob, I expected that," Davie said. He gave a small laugh, but Hogan stood glaring at him. Newkirk, Carter, Kinch, and LeBeau exchanged glances and began slinking off, each mumbling excuses in turn for their hasty exits. "So how ya doin'?" His New York accent was still strong. Of course, Hogan thought bitterly, he didn't have to get rid of it.
"I'm fine. Have been for a long time now." Davie, now a Lt. Colonel, flinched.
"Ya nevah wrote me-ya could've at least told me if you were ok," the fellow officer said.
"Why should I have? You wanted to have them take me away," Hogan took a step closer. "You called them, the day I left!" Davie's eyes darkened, and he looked away.
"Robbie, I… Listen, no kid should have had to go through that, and when he broke your arm," Davie began, but was interrupted by his friend's bitter voice saying,
"It would've been over. He would've stopped. The only reason he was that way that day was because it was when Mom died."
Davie shook his head. "But how long until he forgot that you were his son? How long until he just kept hitting, until you didn't get up anymore? Robbie, it was only a matter of time." He paused, but no reply came. "I just wanted to help. Say, you don't have an accent anymore."
"Yeah, well, great job you did," Hogan said, effectively distracting the man's attention elsewhere. "What did you tell your mom anyways? I got a letter from her today, wandering how you were. She said you hadn't written in a while."
"I guess the mail hasn't gotten through… Rob?"
"Yeah?"
"How come you told those guys you were from Connecticutt?" Davie inquired. Hogan waited a minute before quietly answering with a question of his own.
"How'd you know I told them that?" Davie shrugged.
"I told 'em I knew you, that we grew up together, but that one guy- the blond-"
"Carter," Hogan broke in, a small smile appearing on his face.
"Yeah, him, he said that you grew up in Connecticutt, not New York. How come you lied?" Davie cocked his head.
"These guys are my friends," he stressed the word, and Davie bowed his head, as if accepting something he didn't want to, "and I just... didn't want them to know about… they don't need to know."
"Right. So what's for dinner, kid?" Davie changed the subject. Hogan grinned, remembering a time when he hadn't been angry at Davie, when he had been his best friend.
"Anything you like, as long as you keep your elbows off the table," he quipped, earning a cuff on the shoulder from his friend. Davie turned around.
"Well, I don't see any crooks behind me, so I guess I can come." Laughing, he added, "Though there is one beside me, if what they tell me is true." Thinking about stealing, about how he used to get a meal hit deeper than he expected, and Hogan's smile faded.
"Yeah. C'mon," he motioned towards the ladder. Davie gave him a sympathetic look before scurrying up the ladder to the outside world.