A/N: For all the Newkirk fans in memory of Richard Dawson.

Newkirk sauntered into his favorite neighborhood pub on the East End of London with a carefree smirk that hadn't shown since before the war. Several friends he hadn't seen in years welcomed him home heartily with a pint in his hand before he even made it to the bar. Three weeks ago, Sherman tanks rolled into Stalag 13 liberating the camp. Then they spent two weeks at a Lucky Strike Camp before being brought to London for debriefings. Yesterday his Mum and sister Mavis met him at Allied Command Headquarters for a long overdue reunion. Tonight he would spend with his old mates drinking and catching up before starting long debriefings in the morning.

"Peter," a silky voice called his name.

"Well hello there," Newkirk said as he turned to see who greeted him. She looked familiar but he couldn't remember her name.

"Ruth Thomas," she supplied seeing the question in his eyes.

"Little Ruthie all grown up," Newkirk's eyes twinkled. She was no longer the lanky teenager who used to play with his baby sister that he remembered, instead a beautiful woman with attributes he could appreciate.

"How long have you been home?"

"A couple of days," Newkirk watched as her red hair caressed the top of her shoulders.

"Didn't know they gave so many medals for prisoners of war," her fingers touched the cascade of medals adorning his chest.

"Wasn't always a prisoner," he knew better than to say anything about the operation. "So tell me about you. Anyone special in your life?"

"Too soon to tell," she batted her eyes at him then stood going over the jukebox.

Newkirk picked up his pint taking a drink while watching her walk away musing about her legs wondering about where they disappeared under her skirt. She stopped at the music box, picked a song, placed a coin in the slot, then a song he'd never heard before began playing. Ruth turned back towards him in a sexy pose crooked her finger summing him over to the dance floor. He nearly choked on the beer in his mouth as he put the glass down. With a grin on his face, he walked over to the dance floor which wasn't much more than a few tiles in front of the jukebox. He held his hands out to properly hold a lady during a dance, she moved close to his body wrapping her arms around his neck, so he moved his hands to hold her close to him.

"You dance like an angel," he said smelling her hair.

"Seems like you haven't lost your step in your time away," she whispered into his ear. "You must think me bold."

"I appreciate a woman who knows what she wants and goes after it," holding her close was stirring interest in his body. The last time he'd danced had been eight months ago in a dive in Hammelburg, where he met up with an underground operative. It turned into a night he'd always remember as he woke up in the operative's arms the following morning. At which time, he had enough time to make it back before roll call, but his will power failed with a lovely bird kissing his neck. Even the tongue lashing the Gov'nor gave him for missing morning roll call a couple of hours later couldn't dampen his spirit.

"I have a confession," she pulled back slightly looking into his green eyes. "I knew you'd be here tonight."

"Glad you came," he smiled looking deep into her blue eyes.

"Nothing could have kept me away," she laid her head on his shoulder continuing to dance even though the song had quit playing.

Newkirk didn't expect this tonight, he thought he'd have a few beers, tell a few yarns, and perhaps toss some darts catching up with his old mates. Not that he was complaining mind you, this night could turn out much better than he expected. Someone put another coin in the box as the music started playing again. He wrapped his arms tighter around Ruth wondering how he was this lucky. The music stopped again so they found a booth in the back of the pub as the waitress brought over a pitcher of beer.

"What was it like being a prisoner?"

"Cold. The weather never seemed to warm up the entire time. I'd lie awake at night dreaming of home wondering how everyone was faring here," he said. Random nights of men huddling together two or three to a bunk combining body heat and blankets to make it through the freezing nights flickered through his mind. Then nights that the team was out of camp committing sabotage blowing up some bridge or war factory caused a smile, which he couldn't explain to Ruth. "How was it here?"

"We survived, did what had to be done. Many nights Mavis and I spent huddled together in the bomb shelters. Every time our conversations would turn to worry for you, hoping you were safe and not mistreated. We both found work supporting the war effort," Ruth couldn't tell him yet that she worked for Mama Bear and recognized his voice across the radio nearly three years ago. He'd asked her to contact Rita Nottington, but what she couldn't tell Newkirk at the time was that Rita had been killed in an air raid. Later, she heard the radio message he broadcasted for Berlin Betty giving the Allies important war information, afterwards did rumor control at home ensuring he had no consequences*. He'd find out soon enough as she was schedule to assist with Papa Bear's team debriefing. She'd talked the bigwigs into giving the team a couple of days down time before diving into the debriefings. Then she looked down with sadness, "Those awful pictures that came out a few weeks ago."

He reached across the table taking her hand, "I wasn't in any camp like those."

She looked up at him nodding her head as a quiet understanding passed between them as they were both from the East End. A moment later, she rubbed a finger over the top of his hand. "I have a flat not far from here and no roommates tonight."

"It's gettin' a mite crowded in here," Newkirk said standing up and holding her hand. As they stepped out into the warm summer's air, he put his arm around her shoulders. There was four years difference in their ages and as kids that was huge, but now he was twenty-six and she twenty-two so the age difference meant nothing. He couldn't believe his luck. Here was a beautiful woman who wanted to be with him and she knew who he really was, not whoever he was pretending to be for the operation. Nothing could have removed the grin from his face.

In a few minutes, they stood on the stoop of her flat. "I have another confession; I always had a crush on you."

"I knew, but thought it was a school girl crush," Peter said as he closed the door behind them.

"I'm no longer a child," she wrapped her arms around his neck kissing him as only a woman could.

"Definitely not," his lips came back down onto hers. Clothing fell off as they made it to the bedroom making love at first with desperate need. Then later in the night, their loving making was a slow soul touching experience.

Lying in bed with Ruth's head on his bare chest Newkirk smiled happily. "Not how I expected my first night out to go."

"Any regrets," she turned looking into his eyes.

"None at all," he kissed her. They lay in each other's arms enjoying the feeling without speaking. Suddenly his chest felt weird and he wasn't sure what was occurring at first. Ruth moved off of him watching with horror. It didn't take him long to understand he was having a heart attack, he'd seen too many men die of them in the last months at Stalag 13. The extreme cold combined with barely any food took its toll on the men's bodies. He didn't realize how worn down his body was from the conditions they experienced for so long. Such strenuous exercise might not have been the smartest thing he should have done.

"Peter," she cried out.

His eyes met hers. "It's okay luv, no regrets. What a way to go," were his last words with a smile on his face as he passed away.

Episode Related: Is There A Traitor In The House

* Ruth is the unnamed RAF soldier who gave Newkirk her measurements.