A/N: There are times when a writing partner goes above and beyond the call of duty. This was one of them. Thank you, Xav, for always being honest with me, and helping me improve my stories, even when I kick and scream. Even when you don't always get what I mean. You are the best!

Stalag 13

Carter's POV

Have you ever said something really stupid? I mean something really, purposefully hurtful and mean? I have, and not just when I was a little kid, either. I mean, I suppose everybody does it once in a while when you're little. Nobody's perfect, right?

No, I mean, I said this hurtful thing where I wanted to hurt this guy's feelings and it's weird, because he's one of my best friends and everything. Normally, I would never ever want to hurt him for anything. But, I don't know if you can understand this, but sometimes, Newkirk gets on my nerves. I love the guy dearly. But he is what my mom calls a "Debbie Downer." And sometimes that really bugs me.

The other day, he was in a really bad mood. It was just after morning roll call and I was playing with Felix at the table. Felix wasn't hurting anything. He was just sitting on my shoulder, eating some crumbs from my slice of toast. All of a sudden Newkirk started griping that I shouldn't have been feeding a stupid rodent when there wasn't hardly enough sawdust to go around in the first place. Usually, I just ignore him, but I was a little sore from where I had fallen out of my bunk after a really awful nightmare in the middle of the night. Ever since I had woken up on the floor with a sore shoulder and scared about what I had seen in my dream, I just wanted to go home. And now, all of a sudden I was sick of Peter's attitude.

"Felix isn't hurting anything, you know. It's not like I stole your hunk of bread and gave it to him! So why don't you just shut your trap and stop whining all the time, Newkirk? Sometimes I don't know why I even put up with your crap!" And with that, I put Felix in my pocket with his bread and stomped out of the barracks and headed to the bench behind the delousing station.

Kinch's POV

I had been reading at the table next to the stove when Carter blew up at Peter. Col. Hogan was over talking with Klink, or he would have been out of his office like a shot, believe me. I watched as Newkirk's green eyes hardened as he stared at the door Andrew had just slammed. His expression was unreadable, as he stood and stalked over to the escape bunk. He slapped the latch viciously and dropped into the tunnel with a thump that echoed loudly in the silence of the barracks.

I sighed and looked around at the others, who were staring back at me, their eyes wide. I realized they were as confused as I was by what had just happened. I knew, as SIC it was it one of my duties to smooth things over at times like this. I also knew Carter and Newkirk.There were times it was best to let our two problem children blow off steam before attempting damage control. I smirked slightly. "Just let 'em alone, guys. They'll work it out. If not, I'll talk to them." There were nods of agreement, and I picked up my book again and dived back into trying to figure out whodunit.

Newkirk in the Tunnel

Down the tunnel, Newkirk paced furiously, and smoked one cigarette after another. He had been trying to ration his smokes to only two or three a day, since the Krauts had been stealing most of their Red Cross packages lately, but he didn't care. He was hurting, and the nicotine helped. Who in the 'ell did Andrew think he was sayin' that to him? The bloody bastard! Carter put up with him? Other way around more like! And so Peter Newkirk continued to pace and smoke, muttering a variety of colorful invectives that would have definitely burned his best friend's ears off had he been there.

Carter's POV

I leaned back against the wall of the delousing station and fought to control my breathing... I knew I was wrong... I knew I should never have said something so mean... but, still... I closed my eyes and just tried to block out everything around me. I hated everything about this place, and sometimes it got really hard not to show it. But what good would that do? What good would I do the others if I actually showed them how scared I really am? How close I had actually come to walking away when Mary Jane had written that awful letter? Sure, I told everyone I wanted to go home and try to talk to her out of marrying that air raid warden, but that wasn't the truth at all. I mean, yeah, it hurt. But the truth was, I would never admit to anyone that I hadn't wanted to go home because of the girl. That just would not have been right... I want to go home because I'm scared.

I have been over here just as long as Newkirk. I have been somewhere in Germany since 1940. Even though nobody here knows that... it's true. I had been in ground combat... had worked with my unit as a code talker right in the middle of some of the worst fighting there was. I was never up in the air at all, even though that's the cover. Never on a bomber crew. And I am way younger than the guys here. I just got into this camp six months ago... and I can't let anyone know anything about any of what I am doing. And I just want to go home.

I opened my eyes when I felt the bench shudder slightly and Kinch sat down next to me and offered me one of his cigarettes. We smoked in silence for a few minutes before he looked at me. "Spill it, buddy. What's going on?"

I slanted my eyes over towards Kinch, knowing he was watching me. He never said much anytime, but he never missed anything either. Sure enough, his warm dark eyes were regarding me as he blew smoke rings silently. He had asked his question, and I knew he would simply wait me out.

"Guess everybody's mad at me, huh?"

He smiled faintly and shrugged. "Dunno. Not interested in what everybody thinks. Just wanna know what you think."

He stared off in the distance and chuckled quietly when a couple of the dogs growled faintly as two of the guards marched by their kennel. At least our dogs have taste.

I sighed and tried to work through my current problem. Peter was like a rock. Never afraid of anyone or anything. I'm one of his closest friends. I wondered what the tough Englishman would think if he knew what a coward I really am... "Damn, Kinch. I know I shouldn't have jumped on Peter like that, but...sometimes, everything just gets to me. I mean..." I broke off, afraid to say what I really meant.

I had forgotten just how perceptive our SIC really was. He field-stripped his cigarette butt as he spoke. "You know, you two are more alike than you realize."

I frowned. "How do you mean?"

"You are both tough as nails and scared to death at the same time. You do the job you have to do despite the fact you're scared. You don't let fear stop you. You handle your fears differently, but basically, the fear comes from the same place."

I stared at him. "Yeah? And where's that?"

"Fear of rejection, Andrew. Peter strikes first so no one gets a chance to hurt him... he uses pessimism to push people away. You deflect possible rejection with optimism... you pretend nothing bothers you, even though it does. You are literally two sides of the same coin."

Kinch stood up and walked away before I could say anything. He tended to do that. I frowned as I thought about what he'd said. Could he be right? Could Peter be scared too? I ran my hand through my hair as I considered that idea. I scoffed then, because that just couldn't be right. No. Newkirk was a lot of things, but scared wasn't one of them. But I did owe him an apology. I also knew exactly how to offer it.

I walked back into the barracks and headed over to my footlocker. Newkirk wasn't around, and I figured he was probably down in the tunnel. I didn't really look at anyone else, and no one said anything. Kinch simply looked up from his book and smiled absently. He hadn't said anything to the others. He wouldn't. I know that. Anyway, I dug around in my footlocker and found the item I had stored for a rainy day. It wasn't a hurricane today, but it sure was pouring. And I knew this would make a pretty good peace offering.

I slapped the bunk latch and dropped to the floor of the tunnel. I heard Newkirk mumbling to himself down one of the dead-end tunnels. He had taken the lamp off the radio table and was sitting on an overturned keg. It didn't take a detective to follow the trail of cigarette butts to see where he had been pacing the tunnel and now he was just sitting and bitching. I figured he was pretty much at the point where he would be ready to talk. I hoped. "Hey. Newkirk, can I talk to you?"

Newkirk's POV

I looked up and there stood the ruddy git. The verra one I had just been gripin' about. I sighed. "What ya want, lad?"

He shuffled his feet like a kid caught out by the headmaster. "Well, see, mostly I wanted to say I'm sorry about what I said to you up in the barracks. I shouldn't have lost my temper. I don't really think you whine all the time. Just sometimes. And you really are the bravest guy I've ever met. You're not scared of anything ever. So, umm, I just wanted to give you something, because I know what you do when you get upset."

Without giving me a chance to respond the bloomin' idiot thrust a pack of Lucky Strikes into my hands and practically raced out of the tunnel.

I stood there with my jaw practically scraping the floor. Me? Brave? That kid needed to have 'is head examined! Cripes! Now what was I supposed to do? I frowned at the pack in my hand, and did the only sensible thing that came to mind. I sat back down on my keg, opened the pack and lit up.

I chuckled as the smoke as it disappeared into the darkness. The kid had ruined a perfectly good mad. I suppose the only decent thing to do now was to go up and find 'im, and beat the pants off 'im at gin…

~The End~