Once Hogan and Newkirk reached the bathing hut, the colonel turned on the water before placing Newkirk's hands on the knob and closing the curtain.

"Keep your face in the water," he said.

Newkirk obeyed. A minute later, a towel touched one of his hands, and he rubbed at his eyes. When he was finally able to partly open them, he looked down at himself to see his nightshirt and exposed skin covered in tar.

"Oh, blimey!" he said.

"Newkirk? You all right?" Hogan said from the other side of the curtain.

"Yeah…I think so, at least." He undid the buttons and let the nightshirt fall to the floor, where he kicked it into a corner. He was annoyed to find that the tar had spilled inside his nightshirt as well, and he spent quite a while scrubbing. When he was finally finished—or rather, gave up—he shut off the water, and two bigger towels were handed inside to him. He wrapped one around his waist, and the other over his shoulders.

"How are your eyes?" Hogan asked him after he stepped out. "Oh…not my smartest question."

Newkirk walked over to the closest mirror and looked at his reflection, dismayed to find a black tinge clinging to his skin…not to mention parts of his hair! His eyes were red and swollen, and he looked totally awful.

"Are you sure you didn't swallow any?" Hogan asked again.

Newkirk used the mirror to see inside his mouth, and he was grateful to see no blackness inside. "Pretty sure."

Hogan sighed. "That's a relief."

Newkirk wholeheartedly agreed. "Uh," he suddenly said, looking around.

"What?"

"What am I supposed to wear to bed?"

Hogan blinked, having forgotten that, as a prisoner, Newkirk only had one nightshirt. "I'll be right back. Stay here."

Newkirk nodded and watched as the colonel ran out. He sighed and sat on a bench, fighting against himself to avoid rubbing his eyes.

Hogan came back a few minutes later, and Newkirk frowned at the pair of white pajamas that the colonel was holding. "Whose are those?"

"Does it matter? Put them on."

Newkirk took them and obeyed. The fit was slightly bigger than he needed, and the pants were an inch or two too long. He raised his arm and squinted at the sleeve, fingering the smooth material. "These 'ave to be Klink's!" he said.

Hogan smiled. "Ten points."

"But 'ow didja get 'im to lend 'im to me?"

Hogan chuckled. "It wasn't too hard. He was reluctant, until I asked him if he really expected you to sleep naked."

Despite himself, Newkirk blushed slightly. "Oh, thanks, Colonel. I'm so glad that this traumatic event for me was able to generate some laughs."

Hogan let his smile drop away, and he put an arm around Newkirk's shoulders. "Sorry. You know that we have to go to extremes sometimes to get what we want from our dear Kommandant."

Newkirk nodded, as they left the hut. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, to his relief. "Me nightshirt," he suddenly said.

"Leave it. We'll clean it tomorrow."

Newkirk raised a hand to rub his eyes again, but Hogan grabbed his arm and lowered it. "Uh uh, you can't do that."

"They're burnin' like there's no tomorrow. 'ow am I supposed to go back to sleep?"

Hogan gave him a sympathetic expression.

Newkirk sighed again.

They reached their barracks a minute later, and everyone was still awake, waiting for them.

"Oh, mon ami," LeBeau said. "Your eyes!"

"Don't remind me," Newkirk said, squeezing them shut for a minute, hoping that it would achieve something similar to rubbing.

Hogan led him over to the table, which had also been moved to avoid getting wet from the hole in the ceiling.

"Do they hurt?" Carter asked.

"They're burnin'," Newkirk answered, automatically bringing up a hand to rub them, which was again intercepted by Hogan. The Englishman looked around the barracks, seeing the moved bunkbeds.

"You can use my extra bunk," Hogan said.

At that, Newkirk gave a humorless laugh. "That's what LeBeau suggested I do, before light's out."

"Listen to me, next time!" LeBeau said, with a smile. "Andre also suggested you switch bunks with him. I bet you're glad he didn't take you up on your offer, Andre!"

Carter opened his mouth to answer, but Hogan cut in before a long-winded conversation could start. "Break it up; Newkirk could use some rest. Come on," he said, taking the Englishman's arm.

But Newkirk shook his head. "It's no use, sir," he said. "I'll never be able to sleep with me eyes burnin' like this. I might as well just sit out here."

LeBeau glanced at Hogan for a minute. "Maybe some tea will help?" he suggested, going over to the stove. He already had the water boiling, and in less than a minute, he placed a cup on the table before the Englishman. "It's not too hot, so you can drink it all now," he said.

"Thanks, Louis," Newkirk replied. He picked up the cup and drank the entire thing down…and one minute later, almost fell off the bench.

"Whoa!" Carter exclaimed.

Hogan grabbed Newkirk's arm and held him up. "Good thinking, LeBeau."

The Frenchman smiled.

"You drugged his tea?" said Kinch.

LeBeau nodded, with a shrug. "You heard him; his eyes are burning so badly that he cannot sleep. I couldn't let him suffer."

"I'm sure he'll thank you tomorrow," said Hogan. "Let's bring him into my room." He and Kinch carried him in, and laid him on the bottom bunk.

Carter and LeBeau followed them in. "I wonder how long it'll take before he looks normal again," Carter said.

No one answered at first, as they stared at Newkirk's tar-dyed skin.

"Who knows," said LeBeau. "But I'm sure he'll be the subject of a lot of jokes for a while!"

TBC