A/N I've really been wanting to write some h/c. We'll see how this turns out :)
So, for this first one, I'm giving Newkirk a severe case of Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). It's basically a winter funk. Usually the symptoms are mild: irritability, vague unhappiness, anxiety. But severe cases include symptoms such as: Feeling hopeless or worthless, low energy, insomnia, changes in appetite, agitation, extreme reactions to other's opinions, depression, and possibly suicidal thoughts.
Special thanks to Arwen2712 for advice on the French sections. Your help was invaluable!
1.
It had been four days since he had last slept. But he couldn't allow himself to rest. The nightmares might be present during the day, but dreams attacked with a vengeance at night. The dark swirling of his mind reminded him why he could not sleep. His demons attacked him; great black wings pushing waves of despair, cruel talons puncturing his soul with hopelessness, a spiked tail whipping him with dread.
Newkirk didn't know why this happened to him. But it did. Whenever the weather grew cold, his thoughts grew dark. It was worse here in Germany, for a number of reasons; hunger, cold, not to mention being held prisoner in a foreign country. Before Colonel Hogan had come, Newkirk had seriously considered making the pain leave, permanently. Although he could function much better now, and his friends still hadn't realized there was sometimes some other reason for his pessimism, the overwhelming emotions still came, every winter, as always.
This week had been particularly bad. At roll call, Newkirk had barely remained standing. It was getting harder to control the tremors in his hands. When he had been called out by Hogan for being a Debbie Downer, he'd rushed out as quickly as possible to hide the irrational anguish he knew was showing in his eyes.
Right now, Newkirk was curled up behind the delousing station, near trembling with groundless anxieties. Staring off in the distance, he was contemplating some very serious topics when he very nearly jumped out of his skin as a red beret popped into his line of vision. "Bloody … Louis, you just about gave me a 'eart attack!"
LeBeau did not seem apologetic in the least. "Well, if you weren't hiding, I would not have frightened you." He answered heatedly. As the Frenchman started to turn away, Newkirk's bloodshot eyes caught his gaze. Probably one of the most observant heroes, LeBeau also noticed his friend's slumped shoulders and bowed head.
Newkirk's gaze was again raised when LeBeau settled beside him. The Englishman became defensive, putting himself on guard for the inevitable "buck up". "What do you want?"
LeBeau looked him in the eyes and simply said, "What's troubling you, mon ami?" And that was enough to break him. Newkirk had to look away to hide the tears. Such an honest, plain question had never been posed to him before. Most people who had attempted to "help" him had told Newkirk to calm down (like he wasn't already trying!) or assumed that he wanted others to stay away and avoid him.
"I … eh, I don't have a short explanation. It's complicated."
"I have time."
So Newkirk began to explain. The gloom that weighted on his heart. The always underlying anxiety. The terrible ideas that stayed with him. The feelings of panicterrorloneliness.
LeBeau sat in shock for several seconds, then quietly swore. "Triple Buse! Bougre d'âne! Pourquoi tu ne me l'as pas dit avant?* You idiot!"
Newkirk braced for the inevitable verbal blow.
A small arm snaked around his shaking shoulders. LeBeau pushed Newkirk's chin up, forcing him to look into the Frenchman's eyes. "Newkirk. Never hide something that important from me again." Newkirk withered inside, waiting for the rant about his weakness.
Instead, he heard something he couldn't believe. Was LeBeau saying sorry? "For what?" A visibly bemused Newkirk asked.
LeBeau smiled sadly. "That I never noticed you needed help. I have known you longer than any of the others. I have no excuse. Will you forgive me?" All Newkirk could do was nod his head in gratitude for this friend he didn't deserve.
LeBeau smiled again, this time genuinely.
The two men continued to sit in silence for a while, Newkirk with his eyes closed, trying to enjoy the short burst of sunlight. He could hear LeBeau moving positions. Eventually, Newkirk cracked an eye open. "You can leave, mate. You don't 'ave to watch me sit 'ere."
LeBeau protested half-heartedly.
"Really, mate. I'll be fine"
"But I don't want to leave you alone."
Newkirk rolled his eyes. "You obviously have better things to do."
Lebeau looked offended. "Newkirk, tu sais que je te considères comme mon frère?* Nothing I could be doing right now is more important than spending time with you."
Newkirk's answer was drowned out by the voice of Hogan calling Lebeau. "Unless, of course, mon colonel is wanting me to bribe Shultz," LeBeau sighed. He made to get up, then stopped. "Oh! Je viens d'avoir une idée brillante!* You should help me cook Shultz' food!"
Newkirk viewed the barracks skeptically. "I'm no chef."
A smile so big it almost looked deranged appeared on LeBeau's face. "I can fix that! We can do it in an hour or two."
If only.
Three hours, five arguments, one Brit narrowly escaping a concussion, and one nearly fuming LeBeau later, the results of their labor were produced: three Scotch eggs and one small Yorkshire pudding. Although a disapproving Frenchman almost vomited, the comfort food longed for by the resident barbare culinaire* had been finished.
Shultz appreciated the different food (though he did say that apple strudel was much better). Even though LeBeau might have refused to touch the "food" with a stick, his main goal of preoccupying Newkirk had been achieved. And if one of the eggs and half of the pudding had mysteriously disappear, Shultz never found out.
*According to Arwen2712, the first insult means Newkirk is being really stupid without meaning to. The second has something to do with being a donkey. The last sentence means "Why didn't you tell me before?"
*Don't you know I consider you a brother?
*Oh! I just had a brilliant idea!
*Culinary barbarian