"You're very quiet today, mon pote." LeBeau slid onto the bench next to Newkirk and pushed a mug of ersatz coffee in front of him.

It wasn't a question, and Newkirk was glad of that. It was a simple and accurate observation. He nodded at LeBeau and smiled tightly as he scooped up the cards from the game of patience he had spread out before him. He responded quietly: "Some days are just hard."

In fact, he'd been stumbling over every word for two days now, and it was frustrating, embarrassing, and exhausting. He didn't know why his stammer suddenly got worse, and he didn't know when it would improve. If anyone else had been present, he would have straightened his back and made a wisecrack. Instead, he folded his arms on the table and laid his head down to rest, counting on LeBeau to understand.

And he did, because a moment later, LeBeau's hand was on Newkirk's back, rubbing gently between his shoulder blades.

"Where did everyone g-g-go, anyway?" Newkirk asked softly. He had been so deep in his own thoughts that he hadn't really noticed when the others left the barracks after a busy morning of chores.

LeBeau cocked his head to lift his ear. "I hear volleyball. And a new batch of record albums arrived from the Red Cross. The Colonel went to see what they had, and I'm pretty sure Kinch and Carter tagged along."

"Oi, j-j-jazz. I d-don't care for th, uh, th, uh, th, uh tha, tha, that."

"I think I like it more than you do, but you know the Americans. They're crazy for it."

Newkirk nodded. He sat up straight, dislodging LeBeau's hand, but shuffled closer to him on the bench so that their elbows touched.

They sat together in silence, their ease in one another's presence articulating all that needed saying. When he was alone with LeBeau, Newkirk felt no need to speak to be understood.

"Did something happen?" LeBeau finally ventured.

"No," Newkirk sighed. "It w-w-wasn't luh, uh, luh-like that." He leaned on his elbows, closed his eyes, and yawned.

"Tired," LeBeau said.

"I am now, yes," Newkirk replied. After a long pause, he added, "Th-th-there was one thing."

XXX

(Earlier that afternoon)

Carter and Newkirk emerged from the tunnel bickering. They'd been cleaning out the guest quarters when a message came in over the radio.

"I can give the Colonel the message, Newkirk," Carter was saying. "I heard how hard those Js were for you."

Newkirk was studiously ignoring Carter as Hogan strode up to them. "Did Kinch get something?"

"Yes Sir," Newkirk replied, twisting away from Carter as he held out a tiny slip of paper. "W-word came in from J-J-J-J… J-J-J-J… J-J-J-J-J… that agent whose code n-name is the, the wife of J-Jupiter."

"Juno? That's unusual." Hogan took the slip of paper and read it with concern on his face. Newkirk observed him, wondering how much of that frown was about the message and how much of it was about how badly he was stammering. But Hogan's expression betrayed nothing as he handed the slip of paper back to Newkirk with a simple instruction: "Burn it."

Newkirk whipped out his lighter and complied, but not before Carter weighed in again, sympathy written all over his face.

"That sure is a tough sound for you, that J. But don't worry. It'll get better."

Newkirk knew what he wanted to say, but he kept quiet. He felt like arguing. He wanted to tell Carter that if he would just listen, he would realize that J wasn't actually the problem. J was coming out fine, thank you very much. He could say J for hours, apparently, and that was what was frustrating. Getting past J was proving difficult. But there was no point saying any of that. He knew he was just cross.

"Maybe you're just tired," Carter continued. "We were out late last night, boy."

"I'm not tired, Andrew," Newkirk muttered, spitting the word like he needed to get the taste of it out of his mouth. Inside, he wanted to scream, because of course he was tired. He was tired of being diagnosed, observed, talked over, and corrected. He was tired of having his speech commented upon, even if it was by his well-meaning friends.

"You did a really good job just now, Newkirk. You got all the words out when you said, 'I'm not tired, Andrew!' That was just perfect!" Carter smiled sunnily.

"You don't have to tell me that," Newkirk replied. He knew Carter was only trying to help, but he still wanted to throttle him.

"Carter, that's enough," Hogan said firmly. "Newkirk, my office."

XXX

They shuffled inside and Hogan shut the door.

"How are you doing today, Newkirk?"

"I'm fffffine, Sir. R-really, I am."

"OK, but I can't help noticing…"

Newkirk cut him off. "I know. I'm st-st-st-stammering a l-lot. It j-j-j-j…" He sighed, trying not to look too exasperated. Why did he keep trying to say "just" when it was obviously hopeless? "It happens sometimes," he said softly, knowing that modulating his voice would help. "It's b-been two d-d-days now and I wwwwish it would stop."

Hogan tucked his hands under his arms, tighter than usual. "I want to take your word for it, Newkirk, but there have been times when there really was a problem even though you said there wasn't. So I repeat, how are you doing?"

Newkirk huffed out a big breath. "Alright, I'm r-ruddy aggravated. N-n-n-nobody goes around telling Carter, 'Oh, look, you w-walked extremely well today. You didn't fuh, uh, fuh, uh, fuh, uh, fall down once.'"

"No, they don't," Hogan agreed, unable to hold back a smirk. Newkirk was right; Carter was accident-prone, and while he took some ribbing about it, nobody harped on it. That was just how Carter was, and everyone accepted that.

Newkirk read the amused expression on Hogan's face and he could feel himself relax as he continued. "I know he's tr-trying to be kind. But it's t-t-t-tiresome when someone's always p-p-p-p-pointing out your flaws."

Hogan nodded. That had to be irritating, and it did happen a lot to Newkirk. Hogan himself had learned to be quiet and just let Newkirk finish what he had to say without commenting on it, but it had taken time to understand what was going on. Plus, he was a trained officer, and Carter was Carter. He had trouble not talking, and he didn't always know when to put on the brakes when he started getting under the other guys' skin.

"What would happen if you just told him that when you're feeling less irritated?" Hogan asked.

"I suppose that would help, yes, Sir." Newkirk knew he would have to explain his thoughts to Carter eventually, but it didn't feel possible at the moment when he was wrestling with every word. And anyway, something else was bothering him. "Th-there was one other th-thing th-th-that happened with him, Sir." He winced. The words all came out, but the way his tongue kept sticking on his th's was so annoying. It wasn't a sound he usually struggled with.

Newkirk looked up at Hogan, frustrated by how inarticulate he was being today, and then decided in a flash that he might as well bite the bullet. He felt a little sick to the stomach as he spoke: "Could, could Carter c-c-c-come in, Sir? So I don't have to say it all tw-tw-twice?"

Hogan nodded and went to the door. He opened it and gestured to Carter, who entered and shut the door behind him.

Carter looked around nervously as he took a seat at Hogan's table, across from Newkirk. As Newkirk started talking, Carter could feel himself turning pink. It was about a conversation they'd had a day earlier.

XXX

Newkirk and Carter had just been corrected by Corporal Fleischer, the toughest guard in camp, for doing a poor job picking up trash in the compound. After they performed the work to his satisfaction, Fleischer hauled them in front of Sergeant Schultz to explain themselves. Newkirk, to his dismay, found he couldn't even sweet-talk Schultz. The words simply would not flow, and he had to let Carter speak for him. Carter, however, was shaken by Fleischer's angry demeanor. He couldn't find the words, and bumbled his way through an apology.

Although they got away with just a warning, Newkirk was angry with himself, and the sight of Fleischer grinning at him and shaking his head as he stammered made it worse. Clearly Fleischer thought he'd scared Newkirk, which he hadn't; Newkirk was thinking about what a sod Fleischer was. He just hated showing any sign of weakness to the enemy.

"Blimey, I c-can't get a word out today," Newkirk muttered as they walked back to the barracks. "It's impossible."

"Me neither, Newkirk. Did you hear me? I stuttered too."

Newkirk looked at Carter with a withering expression. "Really?" he said, his voice dripping. "How on earth did I miss that?"

"Oh sure," Carter said. "I could hardly say anything."

"I did notice you got tangled up. You've said before that Fleischer makes you nervous, but you got through it." And spoke for both of us, Newkirk thought.

"He sure does, boy, and I stutter all the time when I get nervous. Like if I have to stand up in front of people and suddenly I can't remember what I was going to say. I just start repeating myself!"

"You don't say," Newkirk said dryly as he looked around for an escape route. There were some conversations he'd had over and over in his life, and this was one of them. It was right up there with "did you forget your name?" and "calm down, take a breath, talk a little slower."

Carter laughed. "That's a good one, Newkirk – 'You don't say.' That's right, when you can't get the words out, you definitely don't say!"

"Yes, well, well, well how wonderful that you can llllaugh about it. And apparently know you a lot about st-st-st-st-stammering. S-silly of me not to have n-noticed."

The sarcasm went right over Carter's head. His mind was fully focused on finding similarities between his experiences and Newkirk's. "Yeah, I guess I didn't realize that I have a stutter too until just now. But you know, my dad was the same way. It probably runs in the family."

"Hmm," Newkirk snorted. He did not want to continue this discussion. He spied LeBeau across the compound puttering in the vegetable patch. Although pulling weeds was one of Newkirk's least favorite activities, he knew an opening when he saw one, and he wanted to get away before he said something unpleasant to Carter.

"Oh, I ssssee LeBeau over there," he said softly, gesturing with his cigarette hand. He patted Carter on the arm. "I'm off, m-mate. I pr-promised Louis I'd help with the we, we, weeding." Great, Newkirk thought. Now he sounded like he was reciting This Little Piggy. Even lowering his voice wasn't helping.

"I'll come with you!" Carter said brightly. "Nothing beats getting your hands dirty in a garden!"

"D-d-didn't Colonel Hogan say he n-needs you right after ch…ores?" Luckily, he had. They were running low on chemicals and Hogan wanted to get Carter's inventory.

"Oh, yeah, that's right. Jeez, I'd forget my head if it wasn't screwed on. See you later, Newkirk," Carter said as he continued on his way to the barracks.

XXX

Sitting across from Carter, with Hogan's encouragement, Newkirk said his piece. "You don't st-st-stammer, Carter," he explained quietly. "And I can't st-stand it when p-p-people say they do when they obviously d-don't."

"Well, it sure feels like I do!" Carter said defensively. "What do you call all that babbling I was doing?"

Newkirk felt a sting at the word "babbling." It hurt to think that was how he sounded to Carter, but he let it pass. "I c-c-call that normal speech, actually, Carter. Everyone stumbles ssssometimes. Everyone gets nervous. But I don't st-stammer because I'm nnnervous. I just st-st-stammer."

"Yeah, but when I'm nervous and I can't find the right words and…"

Newkirk cut him off. "I st-st-stammer whether I'm nervous or not, Carter. And it's not j-j-j-just sometimes. It's every day."

"Yes, but when I get wrapped up in my words…"

"You don't have any c-c-cadence or rhythm changes or any tics or anything that s-suggests a pr-problem with your speech, Carter. You get tangled up sometimes. That's not a st-st-stammer."

"Are you sure?"

Newkirk let out a big, exasperated sigh. "D-d-do you wake up thinking about your stammer, Carter? Do you plan every sentence before you say it? Do you monitor your blocks and repetitions all the time to anticipate what tr-trap you might fall into? Do you dread th-that expression people get on their faces when they're shocked by how much you're struggling to speak? Do you cr-crash into bed some nights and want to cry because t-t-talking is j-j-just exhausting sometimes? Do you w-wonder every minute of the day why this happened to you when it's so much easier for everyone else?"

Carter looked stunned. "No."

"Then you don't st-stammer, Carter. I pr-promise you, you do not stammer. So st-stop saying you do. I know you're just tr-tr-tr-trying to show you understand, and I appreciate that, but you can't understand by imagining that it's the same thing as being nervous now and then or searching for a word occasionally. The best way to understand is to pay attention to what I'm saying instead of how I'm saying it."

Carter went quiet, then finally spoke up. "Hey Newkirk?" he said softly.

"Yes?"

"You hardly stammered at all just now."

Newkirk made a guttural sound and buried his face in his hands. Hogan intervened.

"Did you hear what Newkirk just said about listening to what he's saying instead of how he's saying it, Carter?"

"Yes, Sir."

"That's what he means. Don't point out that he's stammering or not stammering. He already knows."

"Oh, right, sorry." Carter studied his hands. "So we can't ever talk about it?"

"No," Newkirk replied, barely containing a shout. "When did I say th-that? You can ask me all the questions you want. Qu-questions, mate. I can answer qu-questions, and I wish you would ask me! What I don't like is when you or anyone else points my st-stammer out to me over and over as if you're the bleeding expert on what is normal and acceptable."

"OK," Carter continued, trying to absorb what Newkirk was saying. He waited a moment, then asked: "Why aren't you stuttering much now?"

"Because sometimes that j-j-just happens, usually when I'm pissed off. And I can't explain why." Newkirk looked at Carter sympathetically and laid a hand on his arm. "That's the hardest part. It's unpredictable. Some days I'm fl-fl-fluent, and some days I can't st-stop stammering." He leaned back and lit a cigarette. "This week's been awful, so I suppose stuttering less now brings the average to something more typical."

"Does anything help?" Carter asked.

"Not really," Newkirk answered. "Sometimes j-just being quiet for a while can m-make a difference. I don't know. If I figured that out, I'd have my own st-stammering cure clinic, wouldn't I?"

Hogan stood up and both men rose with him. "OK, Carter, give it some thought. I need to talk to Newkirk for a minute, but you're dismissed."

"Thanks for listening, mate," Newkirk said softly as he departed.

"Any time, buddy," Carter replied. He looked at Newkirk with big, sincere eyes as he departed. Carter would never hurt anyone, at least not on purpose, and Newkirk knew that.

Hogan gestured to Newkirk to sit back down. "Was that it? Did you say everything you needed to say?"

He had, more or less, but Newkirk wanted Hogan to know that HE understood. "People don't understand what a st-stammer is, Sir. Everyone wants to tell me that they went through it, that they understand it, that speech therapy helped them, or that they grew out of it. And I won't lie, it drives me mad."

Hogan put the pieces together: "Because they're downplaying something that you struggle with every day."

"Exactly! The only thing Carter can com-compare it to is not even close to what I experience. I don't know if he's saying it to comfort me or ease his own discomfort. But str-struggling once in a while to think of a word... well, I'd take that arrangement in a heartbeat. 'Tisn't the same thing as struggling to br-breathe and get through a sentence and then do that over and over again every bloody day."

"People shouldn't try to sell you on the idea that they also stammer to make you feel better or to make themselves feel less awkward around you. They should just try listening instead," Hogan said. "I hear you loud and clear."

XXX

"I had to ask Carter to stop pointing out when I'm st-stammering a lot. And then we talked about what a st-stammer is, and what's it's not. He thought he might have one too."

"Carter?" LeBeau laughed. "He has no idea, does he?"

"No, but he means well," Newkirk replied. "Colonel Hogan helped a lot, but I'm knackered."

"It's a long uphill climb for you every day, isn't it?" LeBeau asked quietly.

"Yes. Like I said, some days are b-bad." Newkirk yawned. "All I can do is keep climbing the bloody mountain, grabbing on to them rocks, and tr-trying not to fall." He tipped his head to rest on top of LeBeau's. "You're really the perfect height for this, you know," he snickered as his cheek pressed into his friend's beret and closed his eyes. "Very comfortable."

"I'm happy to be so convenient at holding you up," LeBeau snorted.

They sat in silence for three or four minutes. When Newkirk started snoring, LeBeau shook him awake.

"Hey! I have my limits! You weigh too much to sleep on me like that!"

"Sorry mate," Newkirk replied as he stood and stretched. "Hey LeBeau?"

"Oui?" LeBeau answered as he got to his feet.

"Thanks for the talk. It helped."

"Pas de souci," LeBeau responded. Not that they had said much; only a few sentences had passed between them, but it didn't matter. They understood one another. LeBeau lit a cigarette and handed it to Newkirk, then pointed with his chin toward the door as he lit another for himself. "Shall we take a walk before you fall asleep again?"

"Oui, d'accord," Newkirk replied.

"Mon Dieu, Pierre, stop slaughtering my language," LeBeau responded as he pushed Newkirk toward the door. They were laughing as they stepped out into the sunshine.