Hi all!

Considering I haven't updated this story since last December, and I'm worried about what feels like a half-dozen plots going on right now (in real life as well as the story), please feel free to give me a holler if something doesn't make sense. :)

To quickly sum up the past chapters - our heroes find Barnes in the hospital, when Cohen ends up there with pneumonia, Hochstetter and Co. have set up shop at Stalag 13, and Stein and Fischer, a couple Nazis trying to figure out where Barnes (using an assumed name) belongs, are also bunking at Ye Olde Homestead.

All the best, and stay safe.

Wilson took Hogan's arm in his, tilted his head to the side, and frowned. "Gosh, Colonel, your handwriting's awful. Collapsed lung... " He paused. "Ribs 11 and 12 broken…" He raised an eyebrow. "Busted his left ankle, dislocated his left shoulder. Hoo-ey. I hope that's all of it?"

"I think so," Hogan said. "How soon could we get him out?"

Wilson raised an eyebrow. "With or without considerable pain? You ever had a collapsed lung?"

"Can't say I have," Hogan replied dryly.

"It hurts. To put it nicely. I mean -" Wilson sighed. "He'll be fine, eventually, they'll probably want to release him in a few days assuming his lung heals up like it should, I doubt they want to keep him for more than they have to, but even after he's out he needs to take it easy for quite a while."

Hogan frowned, deep in though for a moment. "Could we move him if we had to?"

The medic sighed. "Colonel, I'd really rather you didn't."

"I would, too, but if the need arises…"

Wilson shook his head. "If it's absolutely necessary, I suppose, yeah, but that's not to say Klink won't figure it out once he sees the poor guy limping and wheezing about." He paused and sighed. "It'd be a lot better if you waited, Colonel, just to let his body patch itself up a bit more, and besides you don't know how long he's been in the hospital - it could have taken a while to even find him. And broken bones need weeks to even start to recover, not to mention everything else. Without any idea how serious it is, you could really hurt him." He finished his speech with a pointed look, crossing his arms and squaring his shoulders.

Hogan nodded thoughtfully. He stood and walked to the sink to scrub the ink off of his arm.

He twisted the knob and frowned. "Your sink out?"

"Oh, no, sir." Pasternak said. He jumped down from his bunk and knelt down by the sink, fiddling with the hose until water trickled from the pipe. "Say, Colonel, next time you talk to the Kommandant you might suggest getting Hut 8 a new sink? The faucet's broken, and it either leaks or it's all clogged up, 'cuz' Wilson keeps using it to clean stuff."

"Yeah, he dropped a needle in there one time and poked all sorts of holes in it before we got it out," Mikhailov added. "We've got it all taped up."

"No, it was a scalpel." Ross shook his head.

Mikhailov frowned. "But I thought the needle broke, cuz Wilson couldn't even use it once we got it out."

Ross paused, and frowned, and Peterson sighed. "It doesn't matter what it was, fellas, either way our sink's shot and we all know who's to blame."

As eyes turned to him Wilson grunted and flung his hands up. "After all I do for you."

There was a chorus of protests and Hogan smirked. "Well, no promises, but when I get the chance I'll be sure to mention the depraved residents of Barracks 8 to Klink. See you around." He loosely returned the slew of half-salutes from about the room, nodded to Wilson, and left.

He reentered the barracks and Davis waited all of two seconds for him to close the door before asking, "Well?"

"He should be fine, Wilson says," Hogan assured them, "As long as nothing goes wrong."

"What's that mean?" Carter frowned.

"As long as the Gestapo doesn't catch up to us," Hogan said, "In which case it won't matter what condition he's in right now, we'll all be in the same boat soon enough."

There were several soft, disapproving grunts from around the room, and Davis dropped his head into his hands, muttering something that Hogan couldn't quite catch but sounded at any rate to be exhausted, frustrated, and a bit scared.

"It'll be okay," Hogan said, not at all convincingly. "We'll figure something out. We always do."

"Sure," Davis said sourly. "Every time someone's half-dead in an enemy hospital disguised as a Gestapoman and nearly -" He broke off, running out as his ramble turned into an angry mutter, and stood up abruptly.

"Barry," Newkirk said, and Davis shook his head.

"I'll be okay. I'm - I'll be back." He strode out.

There was a long bit of silence, and surprisingly enough it was Addison who broke it.

"This place sucks."

Two days later, Hogan was quite sure the tension in the barracks was so awful it would combust if somebody's toes got stepped on. Certainly, nobody was mad at anybody else, but Davis didn't appear to have gotten much sleep at all, if any, and snapped at anyone who lent themselves to being snapped at. Nobody liked being snapped at, but were doing their best to let it slide, partially because everyone was too tired to deal with it and partially because they knew how worried Davis was. That wasn't to say they weren't worried, but Davis would go to Hell and back with Barnes and, in a way, already had.

But Hogan could tell they were all getting fed up with each other, and he would gladly admit he was more than a bit worried about what would happen if and when things did fall apart. If only he had someone to admit it to.

Apparently Colonel Klink was having similar issues, and would happily moan about them to anyone who had ears. This turned out to be Colonel Hogan, whom he called into his office for that exact purpose.

"Hogan, allllllll of my officers are complaining to me," He moaned. "Gruber requested a leave. Schmidt requested a leave. Baer lodged a formal complaint. Berger has not turned in any of the reports I needed from him. I've hardly seen Berger, as a matter of fact. Hogan, my camp is falling into anarchy!"

"Uh-huh." Hogan was wary when he said. "My men aren't so happy with it either." He had already spotted the small black disc stuck on the underside of the edge of Klink's desk, and Klink, he was sure, knew about it too, if not the exact location.

Klink either didn't hear him or didn't care. "And all Sergeant Schultz reports from the enlisted men are complaining, more leave requests, and one threatened desertion."

"Desertion?" Hogan feigned interest. He was in fact staring at a sliver of wood on the leg of Klink's desk and wondering at the chances of it getting lodged underneath someone's toenail, and then the chances of that someone being a Nazi. "Who was that?"

"Corporal Theiss."

Hogan snorted. "Theiss couldn't find his way out of a well-lit barrel, Colonel, he's not going anywhere."

"Hmmf," Klink rested his head in his hand, frowning at his cigar. "At least Stein and Fischer are leaving."

"Really?" Hogan asked, trying not to sound too interested. "Hey, they ever figure out what the deal was with that fella, umm -"

"Baumgartner," Klink said. "No, they didn't, but they don't have any more time to waste on him. As soon as he is released from the hospital he'll be well enough to figure it out himself. Speaking of which," He sat up with a heavy sigh. "Cohen is being released this afternoon."

Hogan sat up. "You couldn't have mentioned this earlier?"

Klink just grumbled something unintelligible. "Schultz is leaving to go get him at three."

"Fifteen hundred, you mean."

He waved a dismissive hand.

Hogan stood up. "Well. Thanks."

Neither of them mentioned that Hogan planned on going along with Schultz. Klink was gullible and excitable, but he had been smart enough to get promoted to Colonel.

"Dismissed, Colonel Hogan."

"Right, see you around."

As Hogan left, he heard a sigh of long-suffering from Klink.

He glanced at Helga. "Klink's really taking this well."

Helga hid a smile, and glanced over at the filing cabinet.

Hogan nodded in understanding, waved good-bye, and left the building.

A moment later he slipped back in, tiptoed over to Helga, placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, and left again.