This is just an idea that randomly came to mind. I hope you like it! I'm so sorry if anyone is OOC at all. If Newkirk is, it's explained in the story.
By the way, if you recognize the character, it's not mine. :) I couldn't remember the name of the female traitor, so I just said "the girl" or "her."
The name of the story comes from a verse in the Bible. It's in Proverbs 7:7-9 "And beheld among the simple ones, I discerned among the youths, a young man void of understanding,
Passing through the street near her corner; and he went the way to her house,
In the twilight, in the evening, in the black and dark night:"
¡Es solo por la gloria de Dios (It's only for God's glory)!
~\•/~
The lights were off in barracks all around the stalag. Almost every prisoner was fast asleep in his bunk. The only one who was still awake lay staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. It was not as though he was not tired. His eyes were burning, and he had had an exhausting day, both physically and mentally. He would have tried to drift off again, but every time he closed his eyes, he could see his colonel berating him for disobeying orders, getting into trouble in the first place, and nearly getting their whole operation blown or his friends looking at him with disappointed stares.
He moaned, rolling over to face the other men. He could hear the soft, even breathing of LeBeau, the quiet snoring of Kinch, and the incessant mumbling of Carter, along with various and sundry sounds of other people. Fulbright was sick, so he was snorting. Holland was tossing and turning. Stevens was coughing. Then there were the usual sounds, such as footsteps, the soft rumbling of voices, the occasional barking of a dog, and possibly a nightingale or two.
Slapping his thigh in frustration, Newkirk finally accepted that he wouldn't be sleeping anytime soon. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. All the pent up emotions from earlier were now flooding through him. Now, he could no more contain his emotions that Carter could "borrow" Schultz's watch. Then again, he had been through a rather trying time. First, he had been worried and scared when he had been found out at that girl's place, then he had been stunned and dejected at being told he was to be transferred to Stalag 6, after which he was excited about escaping back to camp, betrayed by that girl, and finally relieved that it was over. These were accompanied by his sadness for disobeying, and his fear that he would never be with his mates again.
No one could hear him, so Newkirk let it out. Tears came streaming down his cheeks in rivers. He was too emotionally drained to push his feelings to the dark recesses of his mind anymore.
~\•/~
Carter turned over in his bunk, half-awake. He had thought he heard crying, but that could not be right, could it? I wonder what it is, he mused. A choked sob broke through the fog, waking Carter up all the way. Hey! That's coming from Newkirk's bunk! I should see what's wrong!
Ever so quietly, he sat up. The crying immediately got quieter, but failed to cease completely. Carter stood up and looked at the figure sitting hunched over on the bed. He almost didn't recognize the Englishman, but, in the dim light, was able to make out his face, wet with tears. "Newkirk? Are you all right?"
The figure looked away. Finally, though, he spoke, his voice deeper and huskier with emotion. "I'm fine, mate."
"Well, you don't look fine, boy." Carter was worried, and it was showing through in his voice. Putting one foot on his bed for a leg up, he deftly scaled the top bunk and sat next to Newkirk. "What's wrong?" he could not help but ask. It pained him so much to see his friend like this.
Newkirk tried so desperately to put on a façade of being swell, but was unable to get a grip on himself. Finally, he was able to croak out, "Well, Carter, today's been a rough one, that's all. What with leavin', an'," here he sniffed, "comin' back with 'er, a bloomin' Gestapo agent, an' almost gettin' 'Ochstetter on our tails, . . . an' disappointin' the lot of you . . ." He trailed off. "Well, let's just say that it 'asn't been one of m' better days." He sniffed again, much to his chagrin.
"Peter, we were worried about you. Sure we were mad at what you did," Carter stopped when he felt Newkirk stiffen. He decided he should just continue, so he did, "but that doesn't mean we hate you! Why would we do that? We were just so relieved everything turned out well, and yet annoyed by your bringing her here, that we took it out on you." He slinked an arm around the corporal and gently pulled him closer.
Strangely enough, Newkirk didn't protest, but continued sobbing softly. "I could've lost you, mate! I would've been away from here without you four! I don't think I'd've been able to stand it! You guys are m' mates! I don't know what I'd do without y—"
Carter cut him off by hugging him. He could tell that his friend was so tired that he was not fully aware of what he was saying. His emotions were talking. "It's ok, Peter. It's ok." He could feel the tears soaking through his pajamas, but did not care. This was his friend here. Carter rubbed small circles into Newkirk's back, making soothing noises and saying it was "all right."
Finally, the sobbing stopped. Newkirk sat up and wiped his red-rimmed eyes. Looking at his feet, he muttered, "Ta, Andrew." He was angry with himself for showing so much vulnerability in front of Carter. Well, that and he was also feeling a bit sheepish.
"You're ok, boy. It's all right to have feelings, too, you know." Carter's voice reassured him greatly.
Newkirk's light blue eyes brimmed with tears again, his vision fogging up. What had he done to deserve s great friend like Carter? Though he was not a praying man, he sent s prayer of gratitude to God, anyway. Ta, Lord, for givin' me mates like Andrew 'ere. Now, 'e may seem like a bit of an idiot sometimes, but 'e's the best mate I could ever ask for. And with that, he relaxed.
Not a minute had passed until Carter felt a weight on his shoulder. Looking over, he confirmed that it was what he thought it was. Newkirk's head lay there. His eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply. Carter sighed, looking at his friends peaceful expression. He put an arm around Newkirk again, noting how he smiled in his sleep, and then grinned himself. He put Newkirk's blanket on them both. "Sleep tight, buddy."
~\•/~
A few hours later, Hogan emerged from his quarters. He had heard a sound outside the barracks, and had this urge to check and make sure his men were all right. When he got out there, he noticed all of them were asleep. Wait just a cotton-pickin' minute. Why's Carter up there?
He approached Newkirk's bunk, surprised to see Newkirk and Carter both sitting side by side, asleep. Newkirk's head had lolled onto Carter's shoulder and was propping up Carter's own head. Carter's arm was around Newkirk, as though he had been comforting him. It was certainly seemed that way, for Newkirk's cheeks shone with dried tears, and Carter's shoulder was damp. Newkirk's blanket had once been wrapped loosely around then, but was now slipping off their shoulders. Hogan smiled and bent down to get Carter's blanket to put around the two. After doing so, he thought, I should've expected Newkirk to be so shaken up by this whole fiasco. Thank God he's back. It just wouldn't be the same without him. That done, he went back to his quarters, smiling.
~\•/~
If anyone noticed anything strange in the morning, no one said anything to either of the occupants of that bunk, which was something for which a certain Englishman was very grateful. He did notice, however, that LeBeau cooked him a heartier, more edible breakfast and Kinch had left a handkerchief on his bunk that morning.