Peter remembered the small but firm hands that gently took off his wet clothes, the warm cloth that wiped him clean, the strong arms that lifted him out of the bunk, wrapped him in a dry blanket and held him. He breathed in the musky smell of a tall, muscular man who now sat crouched on a stool as others bustled around them. He nestled in his lap, head pressed into the familiar neck, feeling his stubble, hearing the steady thump of his heartbeat. Dark brown eyes, he thought. Warm brown skin. He felt protected.

LeBeau and Carter quickly stripped the bed and wiped down the rubber mattress cover while Hogan bunched up the sheets and nightclothes. Cleanup could wait till morning. Now, in the middle of the night, what they need most was calm. It was warm in Hogan's small office, warmer than in the big barracks room, and the faint smell of urine hung lightly in the air. Hogan inched open his shutter to let fresh air in. Kinch laid Newkirk on the bunk, patted him gently, and took off through the tunnels, on his way to get Wilson.

Peter only had a few items of clothing. None of the POWs had much, except for Hogan, whose well-to-do family kept his locker piled with underwear, pajamas, bathrobes and bed linens. So when Carter came back from the barracks room empty handed on his quest for dry underclothes, Hogan dug into his locker and produced GI-issued shorts and a t-shirt for Peter. The Corporal was a little smaller than Hogan, but these would do.

Peter laid passively as they dressed him and tried to get a few words out of him. When they covered him in Hogan's warm blanket, he rolled onto his right side, clutched the corner tassels in his left hand, covered his face with it, and put the tip of his left thumb between his lips. That was better. No one could see him, because he was hiding.

Only they could see him, and Hogan cringed at the sight. He reached over and gently pulled the thumb from the Corporal's mouth. "No, Newkirk," he said softly. "You can't do that. You're a soldier."

Wilson had arrived back on the scene to watch Peter's hand struggling against Hogan's insistent pull. "Leave him, Colonel," he finally said, moving closer to the bed. "It won't do him any harm." Wilson crouched by the bunk as Peter stuck his thumb, just the tip, back into his mouth. The medic searched Peter's face for a sign of recognition, but found none. "I don't think he knows where he is," he told Colonel Hogan. "He's just trying to soothe himself. It's not forever, Sir. It's just for now."

Hogan reluctantly backed away and crossed his arms, watching carefully as Wilson gently placed a hand on Newkirk's head. "Hey, son. Can you tell me your name?"

Peter's eyes were wide open, but he gave no response.

"Do you know where you are, son?" Wilson continued.

Peter's eyes flicked nervously toward Wilson, then darted away.

Wilson stroked his head. "It's all right, Peter. Just relax. We'll take care of you." He closed his eyes and stuck his thumb a little deeper.

Wilson stood to confer with Hogan. LeBeau took a seat on the bunk beside his best friend, next to his head.

"Fais dodo, Pierrot," he said, brushing his hair from his eyes. "Go back to sleep."

Peter up looked sleepily into LeBeau's warm eyes for a long moment, then withdrew the thumb from his mouth and put a finger to his lips.

"Shhh. I'm Peter," he said softly. "We're inside my Mummy's wardrobe. Now be quiet or they'll hear us." He closed his eyes again.

"What did he say?" Wilson asked, returning to Peter's bedside with a syringe in his hand. He reached under the blanket to wrap a tourniquet around the Corporal's arm so he could find a vein.

"We're hiding in the garde-robe," Louis said, gazing at Peter with a soft smile. "He's told me of this dream before. Pierrot, Jamie and Michael can't hurt you any longer. You have new brothers now, compris-tu? And we will all protect you." He stroked Peter's cheek.

As the smell of alcohol hit Peter's nostrils and the pinch of a needle pricked inside his right elbow, he winced and cried out. "Ow! Louis? Is that you, mate? Why is my face all wet?" He swiped his left arm over this eyes. "Don't let the Gov see me like this. Cor, I'm such a crybaby sometimes."

Louis laughed. "He is right here, you idiot. He has seen and it is OK. Welcome back, mon pote."

"Oi. 'Ave I been away?" Peter asked. "Wilson, what the bloody hell did you stick me with?" he asked, pulling his arm back angrily as Wilson tried to apply a bandage.

"He's back," Wilson said. "Shut up, Newkirk. You're going back to sleep." He was right. A split second later, Peter's head hit the mattress with a plop.

XXX

When reveille sounded nearly four hours later, Peter awoke and stretched. Why was he in these strange clothes in Hogan's spare bunk? He saw the Colonel standing at his sink, shaving. He was always up early, just like LeBeau, who routinely prepared warm water for both of them so they could have a good close shave. Peter preferred sleep and scruff.

Peter sat up and instantly felt woozy. "Oh, me loaf," he moaned. "I feel like I've been pub-crawling."

Hogan came over to the bunk, still lathered up, and pushed him back down. "Lie still," he said kindly. "You haven't been drinking, but you had a couple of sedatives and they'll give you a hangover, without any of the fun." He crouched down. "Do you remember anything?"

Peter's head was swimming, but he remembered. "Yes, Sir," he said. "You told me about Laura and about me D-Da. And about them two," he spat out, not even attempting to say his brothers' names. "But I still don't understand 'ow it all 'appened. Isn't J-J-J-J," he tried.

"Jamie," Hogan said.

"Yes," Peter said gratefully. Most of the time he wanted to finish his own sentences, but sometimes it helped if someone else could fill in a word. "Isn't he still in North Africa?"

"Italy, actually. But yes," Hogan said. "He's in the brig at Army Central Command in Italy."

"All right. But then 'ow c-c-c-ould 'e… what c-c-could 'e do to Laura from there?" Peter asked.

Hogan nodded. "Michael committed the act, Peter. At Jamie's direction. With help from your…"

"My Da," Peter said, tearing up. "And then 'e killed 'im too? I always knew Mmmmmichael was vicious but I never thought…"

"Peter, Michael did not kill your father," Hogan said softly.

Peter was dumbfounded. "But then who did?"

Hogan raised a hand and went to towel off his face. He could finish his shave later. He sat down on the bunk and pulled Peter up to sit beside him, hoping that with a little support he wouldn't be so woozy. He wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close.

"Peter, this is tough. Your father took his own life while he was in detention in London. He was arrested as an accessory in Laura's death, and he ended his life in his prison cell," Hogan said softly.

Peter leaned into Hogan, biting his lip and tightening every muscle in his face. Then he exhaled hard. He was not going to cry. Not again, not now, not for him.

"Coward," he said. "He was a bloody coward. The things 'e did to my brothers and me. It was different when I was little. I would sit on 'is lap and listen to stories. But after me mum died… oh, bloody hell, no I won't." The tears were rolling again, but he was wiping them away.

He pulled away from the Colonel and composed himself. "I'm all right Sir. It is a bloody shock. Both of them gone, Mmichael and J-Jamie locked up." He stopped himself. "Did you 'ear that, Sir? I said their names. Michael and J-Jamie." In case it was a fluke, he tried again. "Michael and J-Jamie."

"You sure did. Good boy," Hogan said, clasping his arm. He pulled his chin toward him. "They can't hurt you any more. You understand? They cannot hurt you."

Peter nodded, eyes wide. "Yes Sir. Thank you, Sir. Thank you from the bottom of my 'eart." He leaned into him again and allowed himself to melt into the Colonel's warm embrace. He wondered what it would have been like to have a Da who took care of him like the Colonel did and fought back a sob. "Gov," he said softly, not entirely sure why he was speaking. Hogan just hugged him closer and planted his chin on top of the Corporal's head.

After a long moment, they stood. "OK?" Hogan asked, holding the younger man's shoulders. Peter nodded in reply as a few tears escaped down his cheeks. Hogan face softened to an expression Peter had never seen before. The Colonel pulled out a handkerchief, dried the runaway tears, and then— to Peter's utter surprise—placed a fatherly kiss on top of his forehead. "It will be all right," Hogan said softly. "You're my cub. I'm going to take care of you now."

Hogan smiled, patted Peter on the back and returned to his shave. Peter wiped his eyes and started to regain his bearings. He realized he was dressed only in underclothes that weren't even his.

He charged into the main barracks room, bellowing. "Where in bloody 'ell did LeBeau 'ide my uniform this time? LeBeau!"

Hogan could only smile with relief as Peter tore past him.