The Colonel pushed him away, causing James to fall to the ground yet again. He was getting very acquainted with the floors in this barrack. "What the hell did you do that for?" the Colonel asked, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his bomber jacket.
"You wanted to know what disease I have. Well, I showed you," James spat back. His heart felt like it was about to break a rib. He knew he could be shot on the spot. But how else would Colonel Hogan believe him? The man had little reason to trust his word.
"Mono?" Carter implored, referencing the nickname "Kissing Disease".
"No," James sighed. "Homosexuality." He let the word hang in the air a moment before continuing, "The Germans call it a disease. Disease of the soul they said. They gave us pink triangles as signifiers of that."
"Blimey, so you did lie to me," Newkirk said, earning him looks from the others. "When I was taking his measurements, he told me that the triangle meant he was a tough prisoner to deal with."
"And you didn't think to mention that to us?" Hogan asked, placing his hands on his hips.
"I asked him not to tell. I thought you wouldn't want to help me."
"Why didn't you just tell us in the first place that's what you were arrested for? When Klink called me in I could have ran some diversion."
The tears started up again as he tried to stay calm. Words jumbled into sounds that just sounded like babble. James dissolved into a mess of water and bones on the floor, covered by his coat. He held his head in his hands as salt rubbed into the bandage. He could already picture what waited for him: the truck full of dying bodies, dogs snapping at his calves, and the gates to Stalag 13 closing behind him. The truck's engine roared over the wails of other prisoners, and the faces of the unsung heroes disappeared into the falling snow.
A gentle squeeze on his bony shoulder brought James out of his delusion. The strained face of LeBeau stood over him. "Come on, Monsieur, you look like you could use a cup of tea," the Frenchman cooed, helping the boy to his feet. Crystal blue eyes shot daggers at Colonel Hogan as the duo turned to leave. A bond that had been made earlier between the soldier and civilian seemed to snap at that moment.
LeBeau set the boy down at the table and put the kettle on the stove. James placed his hands in his lap to hide their shaking. He could kiss his ticket to England goodbye. Hogan would tell the Commandant and he'd be gone within the hour.
The smell of cinnamon reached his red nose as LeBeau set down a cup of tea. James mumbled a thank you before trying to keep the contents of the cup from spilling all over him. Steam assaulted his lips as he sipped. What little didn't dribble down his chin tasted quite nice. LeBeau pulled out a handkerchief and offered it to James. He took it and dabbed at the excess.
LeBeau then started talking to James in French about nothing and everything. Anything to get his mind off of what had happened with Colonel Hogan. James replied back in broken tongue. It had been years since he last spoke French, and even when he lived there he only had a basic grasp of the language. Though the familiar slowly calmed the boy down. His hands rested along the sides of the cup which now was almost completely in his belly. It warmed every tired muscle in his body.
Noticing the cup was empty, LeBeau stood up and refilled it before sitting down and resting his chin in his palms. The Corporal sighed heavily before asking, "You know the Colonel is not like the Germans, oui?" James noticed the other switched back to English.
"Could have fooled me," James muttered. "I always heard that Colonel Hogan was a calm and collected man. In there I swear he looked just like a German rat." His hands clenched into fist. LeBeau squeezed the non-bandaged one and tsked.
"He was just trying to protect his men."
"By treating me like scum…" the tears welled up again and James sniffled to keep them at bay. He was about to go on when the other men exited Hogan's quarters. James only got a glance at Hogan before he walked out the barracks with Kinch and Carter in toe. Newkirk decided to take a sit across from LeBeau and crumpled his hat in his hands.
"Kinch and Carter are going to take a walk with the Colonel to try and cool his head," Newkirk explained. James kept his mouth shut from snapping back with a remark. He heard the shuffling of cards and looked up to see that Newkirk had taken out a deck. He shuffled them quickly, yet no card fell from the deck. "Wanna play a round?"
James shook his head and looked at his tea. The smell of cinnamon wafted back up to him. The sweetness laced his lungs with its secrets. Beside him LeBeau hummed a popular French tune while Newkirk dealt the cards. "Will Colonel Hogan report me?" James asked as the two men picked up their cards.
"I don't know about that one, lad," Newkirk sighed. "He's proper mad, but at different things than just you."
"But still me," he noted.
LeBeau slapped down a card into the pile which allowed Newkirk to light a cigarette before drawing from the deck. "A smidge, yeah. But so am I," the Brit said, blowing out smoke above their heads.
The cinnamon started to smell sickly. "You too…?" After all that, he barely had one guy on his side. Hell, if he hadn't of spent so much time in France, LeBeau would probably think him an American floosy.
"Well of course. You lied to me," the Corporal explained while placing two cards into the pile. "This operation we got here relies on a few key things. One of them being trust in your mates."
"If I told you the truth, you would have gone straight to Colonel Hogan," James protested. That sweet lace began to buzz in his lungs.
"And told him what?" Before the young man could respond, LeBeau called something out that made the Brit grumble. He picked up five cards from the pile before selecting some to dish out. "Our job is to get blokes out of here."
"Soldiers, you mean. Or people with information. What good is a prisoner to you? And on top of that a queer!"
"Tranqullité, mon ami," LeBeau warned.
"Do you see how ruddy you look?" Newkirk slapped his cards down on the table to indicate the poor condition the boy was in. "You looked even worse last night when Andrew and I carried ya in. The only thing that would stop Colonel from helping ya is if you were a spy."
Hot, fiery cinnamon burned the congealed snot locked in James' nose until it started to run like a faucet. Same with his eyes. LeBeau picked up his handkerchief and handed it back to James. The kid buried his face into the soft fabric and tried to muffle his cries. He'd blown it. No straight man wanted to be kissed by another man. Especially one as decrypted as himself. However, not all in James' mind was forgiven as he had seen the spark of a German officer in Hogan that was not soon to go away.
Newkirk sighed and shook his head. "Come here, lad," he said, drawing the kid in for side hug. James fell easily into the half embrace of the British Corporal. He felt another set of arms wrap around him and knew it was LeBeau. At least he knew two people were on his side.
A/N:
I won't be at home most of the day tomorrow, so I thought I would publish the chapter early. I really value my update schedule and don't want to fall behind.
