Newkirk drinks. And smokes. And gambles. And cheats at cards.
But his worst habit, by far, is his propensity for getting sick.
As soon as someone gets so much as the sniffles, everyone knows Newkirk will catch them, too, only twice as bad.
It wasn't always like that. But those first two or so years in captivity, before Colonel Hogan came, did a number on him. Too little to eat, too many beatings, too much time in the cold, damp cooler. It all added up and took its toll.
But he's British. And so, except for the bit of Cockney cheek he's obliged to give, he soldiers on, accepting every assignment that comes his way until he just can't hide his coughs or his fever.
It's admirable- in a stupid kind of way.
LeBeau, of course, dotes on him: feeding him soup, wiping his sweaty brow, and concocting magic poultices to draw out the poisons in his lungs.
Kinch, steady as always, reads to him in his smooth, rich voice, putting him to sleep when the fever conjures up nightmares and makes him restless.
Hogan keeps a watchful eye. He doesn't let himself show how concerned he is, but everyone can still tell. He lets Newkirk sleep in his bunk, giving him the good pillow and the warmest blankets.
As for Carter, he makes himself scarce. Ostensibly it's so he doesn't annoy Newkirk and make his condition worse. But, in reality, he's hiding.
He hides because he just can't bear to watch. Because he knows that a simple chest cold can take a turn for the worse. And he knows that it's all too easy to end up six feet under in a grave at the edge of camp.
He knows what it's like to lose his best friend.
So he does what he can to stay away. He'll stand outside in a snowstorm, smoking furiously, rather than listen to Newkirk wheeze in his bunk. He'll spend all day in the rec hall, reading everything. And yet nothing. He'll stay down in his lab and muck about with all sorts of dangerous chemicals that could blow up in his face rather than let Newkirk's sickness destroy him.
He'll do anything just so he doesn't have to go through that again.
And when Newkirk eventually recovers, as he always does? It should make it easier—put his mind at ease for the next time. But it doesn't. Because he knows, too, that everyone's luck runs out eventually. Especially when they're associated with him.
He tries to wall off his heart so that, if it comes down to it, it won't have a chance to break again. But that's just not his nature. He can't help but be drawn in by Newkirk's charm and sarcastic wit. He can't help but be his friend.
So he tries a different tactic.
Newkirk's a swell guy, but he doesn't have a lot of patience. So Carter starts pressing his buttons. He supposes Newkirk's always found him a little annoying, but after several bouts of sickness have come and gone, Carter really leans into it. Every chance he gets, he makes a stupid remark, tells a long-winded story, or fouls up a mission just enough to make things a little more difficult without outright sabotaging it.
It works. It takes a while, but it works. Their last winter together, Newkirk does nothing but snap at him. Insult him. Bully him.
It makes it easy to disassociate. To stop caring when Newkirk gets sick. To stop worrying.
His heart is safe.
And he tells himself that he supplied the bricks and mortar, but Newkirk built the wall.
An explanation, perhaps, for why Newkirk's just downright nasty to Carter in Season 6. Ever notice that?
This has been kicking around in my google docs for a while. It's a tag to my longer story, Journey of a Little Deer. And also an acknowledgement of our tendency to give Newkirk the sniffles. Which is a trope I can get behind because it makes a lot of sense. Four years in a prison camp can take its toll on a guy!