A/N: LOOOOOOOOOOOOVE! HH is looooooove!

Updated 12/8/2011: Thanks to Belphegor for the French assistance!

Disclaimer: I don't own it. Just the entire series on DVD. Yum.

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It had been a week since their liberation from Stalag 13. American commandoes had taken the camp with overwhelming force hours after Berlin fell.

Newkirk didn't remember much after that; life had been a blur of top brass asking extensive questions and the rescued POWs being slowly moved to London.

Once there, the men of the camp had been treated like kings—single rooms, new uniforms—they weren't discharged; the war was still on, after all, and pilots were needed in the Pacific arena.

The Heroes were served excellent food, but they found themselves craving prison fare more than once.

Newkirk couldn't understand why he wanted brown bread, why he almost missed hearing Schultz wake them up each morning for roll call. He didn't want to ask those things aloud. Luckily, on their first night in London, Carter asked for him.

"Colonel?"

"Yes, Carter?"

"D'you think they've got any brown bread?"

There was a pause, and Carter looked sheepish.

"Now, why would you want to eat that, Carter?"

"Well, sir…I guess I just got used to it."

Another pause.

"I'd like a piece too, sir."

Carter swiftly turned his head to the right to look at Newkirk, who had just spoken.

Down the table, Kinch slowly pushed his plate away from him.

LeBeau glared at Newkirk from across the table, took a bite of pastry in protest, and then looked like he was going to cry as he hid his face behind his cup to drink. He slammed his drink down in frustration and crossed his arms.

Newkirk knew not to say anything.

No one looked up from their plates.

"I'll be right back," Hogan said, rising from the table.

"It shouldn't be like this. It's not supposed to be like this!" Carter moaned.

"You'd think that with all of LeBeau's fine cooking we'd be used to civilian food." Newkirk looked up expectantly at the Frenchman as he spoke. Louis allowed a smile at the compliment, then said, "We didn't eat well that often, mon ami."

"It looks like it's going to take us a while to get used to having normal lives," Kinch said.

Normal lives. The words hung uncomfortably in the air.

"I miss Schultz!" Carter suddenly exclaimed. Everyone laughed.

"'Ey, why don't we go visit 'im after 'es been cleared?" Newkirk chuckled. "With all we've said about 'im, they might as well make him an Allied hero!"

"Pauvre Schultz," LeBeau grinned. "I'll send him an apple strudel tomorrow."

"Ach-TUNG!" A voice boomed through the doorway, and everyone was instantly on their feet.

"Bread?" Hogan cheerfully asked as he walked into the room, carrying a massive tray of the stuff.

"Bloody hell, Colonel."

Hogan laughed.

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That night, the first spent in a real bed in more years than any of them cared to think upon, Newkirk couldn't sleep. He couldn't understand why. The bed was comfy, there were no patrols going past his window, no spotlights periodically tracing the floor, no one else in the room…and then he realized that the things that should have made it hard for him to sleep were the only things that could help him.

He drowsily stumbled into the hallway and promptly collided with LeBeau.

"Qu'est-ce que tu fabriques?" hissed his French comrade.

"Can't sleep," Newkirk muttered. Louis calmed down a bit.

"Me neither," he shrugged.

After a minute Newkirk spoke.

"Is it wrong that all I want to do is grab my blanket and kip out on the floor with everyone?"

Lack of sleep had lowered his inhibitions and self consciousness.

"Y'know, so I can hear everyone and know they're all there and safe and if anything happened I could protect them?"

He leaned against the wall in exhaustion.

"I don't know if I can do this, Louis. We did nothing but talk about going back to our lives, but now that we can, I'm not so sure I want to."

His face was angled towards the ground. LeBeau leaned against the wall facing Newkirk before replying.

"Everything changes in wartime," he said softly. "No one is going back to a normal life. People have died, towns have been destroyed, factories have been converted—it's going to take awhile and nothing is going to be the exact same as before the war. You know that."

Newkirk was silent as he slid down the wall to sit on the floor. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest and curled his knees into his body.

Louis went back into his room for a minute, then returned with a blanket. He sat down next to his friend and threw the blanket over them both.

"There. I'll let you protect me tonight. Happy?"

Newkirk grinned, head on his knees.

"You know," LeBeau continued, closing his eyes as he leaned against the wall, "If you want, Pierre, you can come live with me in Paris until you get used to the world."

"What's wrong with London?" Newkirk asked without moving.

"The food is terrible, and the girls aren't as attractive." Newkirk grinned again at LeBeau's reply.

Time passed before either spoke again.

"Louis?"

"Mmmm?"

"You awake?"

"What do you think?"

"Louis, what about the others?"

"What about them?"

"What if we don't see 'em again?"

"Imbécile. Of course we will see them again. What a stupid question."

"But what if we don't?"

"Newkirk. Stop thinking and go to sleep."

And he did.