Important context for this story before reading: Carter married his high school sweetheart Mary Jane shortly before being drafted into the USAAF (hence the wedding ring). He has only been away from home for about six months.
Each of the prisoners eagerly opened their letters from friends and family back home. Receiving these letters, no matter how trivial the news was inside of them, helped keep the prisoners grounded. For the Heroes, such letters helped them to focus on their mission and purpose for remaining at Stalag 13.
The prisoners took turns sharing tidbits from home with each other, filling the barracks with chatter and laughter. But in the midst of it all, Carter remained surprisingly quiet. He usually was one of the first to share, telling about all that was happening with his family in Bullfrog, South Dakota, or what his wife, Mary Jane, was up to in Indiana.
Newkirk, being his bunk mate after all, quickly noticed the lack of excited chatter from the bunk below. Looking to Lebeau and Kinch at the table, who suddenly seemed to notice as well, Newkirk stole a glance down to their newest friend in the camp.
"You alright there, mate?"
Carter, lost as he was in reading his letter, looked around and realized that he had several pairs of eyes on him, including Hogan's.
A simple, "Yeah," was all he could muster before folding the letter back up and placing it in his pocket. He forced a smile, almost succeeding in leaving no trace of the solemn expression he previously wore. "I'm just… gonna go for a walk."
No one pressed for more information as he left the barracks. In fact, only Newkirk, Kinch, Lebeau and Hogan noticed him leave in the midst of all the din.
Kinch sighed, looking back to Carter's now empty bunk. "Looks like Carter got his first bad news from home."
Newkirk climbed down from his perch on the top bunk. "Poor sod," he said, casting his own lighthearted letter from home aside. "What should we do?"
"I think you should talk to him, mon ami," Lebeau said, looking to Newkirk. "He seems more comfortable around you than anyone else."
Newkirk snorted. "I can't imagine why."
Lebeau smiled, reminiscing about how Newkirk grew to be his closest friend from the beginning of his time at Stalag 13, in spite of his initially surly demeanor. "I can't imagine why either, but here we are." Newkirk looked up at his friend, mirroring his smile as he thought back to how he treated Lebeau when the Frenchman first arrived in the camp.
"The first months in a prisoner of war camp are difficult for anyone. But it is not so dark when you have friends," Lebeau continued.
Kinch nodded grimly in agreement. "Carter looks to you as an older brother, Newkirk. Whatever his letter said must have been painful for him to not say anything after reading it."
"He needs you right now, mon ami. He needs a friend."
"They're right," said Hogan, moving closer to the trio. "If any of us are going to be able to get through to him, it's you, Newkirk."
Newkirk sighed. Puzzled as he was over the fact that Carter considered Newkirk his closest friend in the camp, he knew the others were right. If Carter was going to open up to anyone, it would be him.
The Englishman nodded resignedly and stood, not being one for heart-to-heart conversations but recognizing the importance of them when needed. Without saying anything, he donned his greatcoat and made his way out, grabbing Carter's bomber coat as well since the younger man had left it behind in his haste to leave the barracks.
A quick scan of the compound revealed no sign of Carter nearby, so Newkirk made his way throughout the camp in search of his friend. He eventually spotted the American sitting outside the recreation hall, shivering slightly. Whether it was from the cold or something else, Newkirk didn't know. He feigned ignorance, however, and presumed the former.
"'ello Carter," he said, overly cheerful. He pretended to not notice the tear stains left behind on the younger man's face as he handed him his coat. "A bit cold out here to be without a coat, innit?" Maybe he'll open up without too much prompting, the Englishman hoped.
"Yeah, thanks," Carter said as he gratefully accepted the extra warmth. When he didn't say anything more, Newkirk withheld a sigh and slowly sat down next to his friend.
They sat in silence for a solid minute, which, Newkirk noted, was probably a record for Carter. The silence was surprisingly uncomfortable to Newkirk, even though he longed for it nearly every single day since Carter had come to Stalag 13. Come on, Andrew. What's eating at you? Just tell me. But when Carter made no signs of breaking his record of silence anytime soon, Newkirk forced himself to speak up.
"Look, mate, I'm not really good at this," he began, wringing his hands to let out his nervousness under the pretense of being cold. "But if you ever need to talk to anyone, I'll listen."
Carter nodded slightly, but remained uncharacteristically quiet. During his silence, Newkirk had the chance to contemplate for the first time what news might've been revealed in Carter's letter. Is a family member sick? Did something happen to the drug store where he worked before the war? Newkirk blanched. Or worse… is something wrong with Mary Jane?
"Carter," he began, hesitating at the dark question he was about to ask, but his curiosity and worry for his friend getting the better of him, "did something happen to Mary Jane?"
Another tear suddenly slid silently down Carter's cheek, somewhat confirming Newkirk's suspicions. After a pregnant pause, he finally spoke.
"Mary Jane and I got married seven months ago, and I was drafted a month later." He stopped, gathering his thoughts before continuing. Newkirk had a terrible feeling about where this was going, but he remained quiet and focused in an attempt to not to jump to any conclusions.
"Three months after that, I end up here at Stalag 13. And three months after that, I get this letter from Mary Jane," he said, pulling the letter out of his pocket.
Newkirk looked at the folded letter sadly, assuming that it was a Dear John letter. Except this was worse, because poor Carter was married to the girl, not just dating her.
The words Carter uttered next were the last that Newkirk expected to hear.
"Peter… Mary Jane was nearly seven months pregnant. But she lost the baby."
Newkirk was shocked. A Dear John letter from your wife would certainly be terrible… but this? This was inconceivable. How could something like this happen to a kind young man like Carter? Before he could ponder the matter more, Carter continued with a wavering voice.
"I didn't even know she was pregnant," he said, gazing out to someplace far beyond the barbed wire. He suddenly looked down at the letter in his hand again and smiled. "Mary Jane said that she was going to surprise me with a photo once the baby was born." Tears once again began to stream down Carter's face as he closed his eyes and whispered, "It was a girl."
At a loss for words, Newkirk simply shifted closer and put an arm around Carter's shoulders. The two sat in silence for a moment; Carter grateful for Newkirk's presence, and Newkirk simply grateful that he had something to offer.
"I'm so sorry, Andrew," Newkirk said softly after a minute, using his free hand to pat Andrew's arm. "And nothing that I or the lads say will be able to make the hurt go away, but just know that we're here for you." They stayed that way for a few more moments, Newkirk gripping Carter's arm in a comforting gesture.
Eventually Carter's tears turned to muted sniffles. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, turning to Newkirk and smiling slightly. "Thanks, pal."
"Anytime, mate," the Englishman replied. He slowly released his hold on the younger man but intentionally remained seated close to him.
"I just can't figure out why my heart feels so broken." Newkirk looked at Carter, puzzled. "I mean, how could you lose something you never had?"
"Oh Andrew, you have every right to be sad. It's okay to grieve. You may not have had her for long, but you still were going to be a father to a little princess. And that doesn't happen every day!" he exclaimed, nudging his friend gently in the ribs.
Carter smiled proudly. "You got that right."
"You know, mate, clumsy as you are, you'll still make a great father someday." Carter cast a sidelong glance at Newkirk, who was displaying a genuine smile without a hint of it's normal cheekiness.
Carter smiled again, looking down and nodding to himself. Although the smile still didn't quite reach it's full potential, he was practically beaming considering the circumstances. "You may not think it, but you sure are good at it, Newkirk."
"What?"
Carter turned to face him one more time. "Listening." Being a friend.
Anytime, mate. Anytime.
Author's Notes: This was my first attempt at writing any Hogan's Heroes fanfiction. In fact, it's my first attempt at writing anything at all in quite a while! Reviews/feedback are appreciated in case I decide to write more in the future.