A/N: Wow! I wrote this unsure of how many people would read it because I wasn't sure how many people there were in the HH fandom. You guys pleasantly surprised me. I even got three reviews, which really helped to push me to get this next chapter posted. I know it's been a while... but I've been busy with college, and work, and volunteering in like three different places at my church. (And getting caught up on the Marvel Cinematic Universe).

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but my OC.

The next morning, everyone rose at dawn for roll call. Only Carter remained in bed, snoring lightly. He started at Hogan's call to order, and, had anyone been watching him, they might have seen the grimace that passed over his features at the pull to his bruises. It was gone in a moment, though, as he remembered the importance of making sure none of his friends found out about what actually took place during his German "Dinner Party." He ended up being five minutes late to roll call. No one commented on it. As a matter of fact, no one talked to him all morning. It wasn't until late afternoon that his presence was acknowleged, when General Schmidt came to get him for another "get together" as he called it. It was then that Newkirk spoke up.

"Try not to give 'im anymore information than you already 'ave, yeah?" There was a bitter edge to his voice that gave away just how frustrated he truly was about the day before. Carter could only manage a nod, before following the General, a nasty feeling brewing within.

When they reached the cooler, Carter noticed that they were alone. Perhaps the General hadn't planned to hurt him today. He doubted that was likely, but one could always dream, right?

"On your knees!" Schmidt commanded as soon as they entered a cell. He went down to his knees, pure fear keeping him from resistance.

"What, uh, what are we going to do today?" Carter licked his lips, which had strangely and suddenly gone very dry.

"You are going to tell me everyzing you know about zhe secret operations at Stalag 13," Gestapo agents were never known for beating around the bush when it came to getting what they wanted.

"Oh. Well I already told you that I can't tell you anything," Carter swallowed thickly. "But, um, I sure could go for some nice German bratwurst." A boot came slicing through the air, making solid contact with his ribs. He coughed, but refused to allow even a hiss of pain pass his lips.

"How many tunnels do you haff in zhis prison camp?"

"Can you clarify the question?" Carter creased his eyebrows. "I'm not quite sure what you mean."

"Does zhis clarify sings for you?" a couple more blows fell on his back. He shook his head.

"Not really, sorry." he was pushing his luck, he knew, but it was either be snarky, or silent. He didn't feel much like saying nothing. The redness of the General's cheeks turned almost purple with rage, and he lashed out again. Then, he stepped out of the building for a few moments. When he returned, the guards from yesterday were with him.

"Take off his uniform," Schmidt commanded. They complied, almost joyfully, thankfully leaving Carter in his boxers for some semblance of dignity. A long, thin, rope was produced. From where, Carter wasn't sure, but it certainly didn't make him happy.

"Stand up!" Carter complied wordlessly, fear clutching at his insides with a vengance. The rope curled through the air, landing on his back and sending a red hot pain up his spine. He couldn't help the cry of pain that escaped past his lips.

"You like zhat?" Schmidt smirked. "Haff some more." Again and again, the rope was sent flying through the air until he had lost count and could only focus on trying to breathe. After a bit, he placed his hands on one of the walls of the cell to brace himself and keep from falling over. The whip was merciless, creating deep lacerations on his back that he knew would not heal easily. Finally, the General let up. He motioned to his guards, and they took hold of Carter's arms, pulling him away from the wall, and facing him towards their commanding officer.

"Do you haff anyzing to say now?" he questioned.

"I can think of a few colorful words" A swift jab to the ribs silenced him.

"Put your uniform back on," Schmidt gazed at him with disgust. "Vhe vill talk more tomorrow." The soldiers released him, and he fell to the ground trembling. Tears pricked at his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. It took him a good ten minutes to get his uniform on, and buttoned. As soon as the last button was attached, Schmidt forced him to a stand and pushed him forward. On the way to the barracks, the Seargant tried to steady himself. By the time they reached their destination, he had regained full control of his movements. No way was he giving anything away and getting his teammates hurt. He put a smile on his face, and tried to look as though he had just gotten through enjoying himself. When the barrack's door opened, the rest of the prisoners were engaged in a game of poker.

"Auf Wiedersehen! See you tomorrow!" General Schmidt called out, patting him firmly on the back. Carter gasped, but made no other indication of the pain that laced up and down his back at the gesture.

"Of course," he replied. "Always a pleasure." The general left abruptly.

"What'd you tell him this time?" were Hogan's first words after the Gestapo was gone.

"Oh, uh, nothing new," Carter bluffed. "We just enjoyed each other's company. You know, the Germans are quite proficient at making sausage." Hogan fell silent, and directed his attention away from Carter. The poker game continued as though he wasn't there. Later that night, the men were getting ready to work on some of the stuff they had recieved from London. Hogan sent Carter out to be on watch for Krauts coming to the barracks.

"Obviously we can't trust you to hear about our plans," Hogan's words hurt, even though they were true. "Who knows what you might blab about to your new German friend." He stepped outside, into the frigid winter air, arms crossed in an attempt to keep at least some body heat near him. It was a full two and a half hours later that someone finally came out to let him know he was allowed back in. Once inside, he collapsed onto his bunk, shivering, and fully intent on falling directly asleep. Luck, was not on his side, as Hogan ordered him into his room. He brought his blanket with him, fully intent on trying to warm up, and not worrying about how pathetic he would look to the Colonel.

"Carter, I'm disappointed in you," Hogan started. "Selling us all out for some sausage, and a girl? It's unlike you."

"I know C-Colonel." His teeth still chattered from the cold that had settled within his bones. "S-sorry." he closed his eyes as a wave of dizziness passed through him, waiting for his equilibrium to even out.

"You're a good man Carter," Hogan commented. "Just try not to let it happen again, okay?" He pat Carter on the back. The Seargant wanted to scream at the pain that passed through his body.

"M-may I g-go to bed now?" Hogan dismissed him, and he walked to his bunk. He climbed in, fully clothed, the appeal of sleep stronger than the appeal of comfort. He would feel better in the morning, he was sure. You always felt better in the morning, right?

Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and if so, let me know!