Hi, my dear readers!

Thank you so much for the big feedback. I knew that you would love the last chapter and I, just like I promised, a few more sweet and emotional scenes are about to come. The two colonels with grow closer more and more, and how much will be seen in the new chapter.

I can promise some fun, some 'awwww'-scenes (with a big rollercoaster on both sides) and also the beginning of a 'new chapter' in both men's life at the end. I hope, you're going to like it.

Have fun and a nice weekend,

Love

Yours Starflight

Chapter 21 – A dam breaks…

Yes, Klink's presence was registered by Hogan's subconscious and it helped keep the nightmares at bay – at least to a certain degree. Yet the colonel wasn't that badly haunted by them, like he had been before. In the following three evenings Klink always returned an hour after they had bid each other good-night and lay down beside the younger man – giving him some hold simply by just being there. The first morning after Burkhalter's and the doctor's visit, Hogan was baffled to find the Oberst beside him again, then he got used to it. The third night, he even woke up as Klink slipped under the covers and whispered a grateful "Good night, Willie", before he quickly dozed off again.

During the days the men mainly remained in their own beds and tried to get better. Schultz made his reports, and some of the Heroes stopped by in the late morning or in the afternoon to spend some time with their superior and friend, who slowly began to come out of his exhaustion. At the third day the swelling in his face had lessened enough to allow him to use his right eye at least a little bit again. It was nothing more than a slit, but it was visible again. The bruises were still pitch dark, but the scabs were dry – a good sign. Wilson changed the colonel's bandages every day now, and made certain that his superior took his medicine and that he got his injections whenever he should. He also took care that Klink got them, too, and after three days both men's bronchitis began to lessen. The fever sunk, in Klink's case, down to an almost normal level, only Hogan's temperature remained higher, but this was no miracle. The immune system had to heal more than 'only' a bronchitis and the still lasting, lightly high fever helped, but also tired the American.

Hogan slept a lot and even if his slumber wasn't always peaceful, the large amount of time he rested was welcome by body and soul. He had pushed himself to his limits over and over again during the last almost three years since he had arrived in Stalag 13 to begin his mission as 'Papa Bear', and him having been more or less constantly in danger was taking its toll now. To know for once that his men – his dear friends! – and he needn't fear getting caught, revealed or shot, did wonders for him.

He was also glad when Klink told him of Oberleutnant Schmidt's visit and that the younger man differed a lot from Hochstetter – he had even warned them of the former major's wrath and oath of revenge. Maybe Schmidt could be a kind of ally, and even if not, at least the young man was honorable. Hogan was also thankful that his belongings had been given back to him. He hadn't taken much with him as he started his mission in Germany and the only reason he'd had a gala-uniform and even nightclothes with him was because he had all his luggage stocked in the plane when he was shot down. Having his wristwatch – a gift from his brother – and his wallet – a gift from his father – back meant a lot to him. And the leather bomber jacket wasn't such a big protection against the coldness of the winter, but it was enough to remain a little bit warm. He was indeed grateful that Schmidt had brought those things back to Stalag 13.

Klink visited Hogan whenever he had to leave bed to go to the bathroom, and used the chances given to 'warm himself up' afterwards by slipping beside the younger man under the blankets whenever the American was awake. And if Hogan slept, Klink did the same to 'chase the demons away', like he explained. The open care the Kommandant showed stabilized Hogan's mind and soul even more, and without being aware of it, he not only relaxed utterly in the older man's presence but even let his guard down more and more. And in his current state it was almost a blessing not to be forced to think over every word he spoke.

Both men talked a lot with each other – about their youth, their times at the academies or about their hobbies. Like this Hogan learned that Klink not only loved playing his violin – as bad as his playing was – but that he also liked reading, strolling through museums and going to theaters. The Oberst also told him about Germany – about the Lueneburg Heide in North-Germany near Hamburg that bloomed in lilac at the end of August; about the North-Sea and its famous tides; about the Mecklenburg Lake District northern of Berlin, the middle Rhine-river and its many mystical legends, the Saxonian Mountains and the Alps. Hogan, on the other hand, told him more about the states that made up the US, about his hobbies of going fishing, playing baseball and playing the drums. Klink was baffled that such a dynamic man like Hogan loved sitting still for hours to do some fishing, but somehow it suited the American. Hogan's character was far more complex than the Kommandant had ever thought, and to hear that the younger man enjoyed quietness but also loved making a lot of noise by playing the drums made sense in a strange way. And during the incident with the avalanche over a week ago he had heard with his own ears how Hogan used the drums for a wild, yet rhythmically perfect beat – and he played damn well.

Here and there one of them fell asleep during those talks, and if it was Hogan, Klink mostly stayed until the colonel woke up again or the clock told him that someone from outside would come soon. He loved watching over the younger man's sleep and being able to lay a soothing hand on his shoulder whenever his slumber became less peaceful. If it was the other way around, Hogan remained absolutely still when his German counterpart had dozed off, and quit any teasing afterwards. The colonel knew that Klink was exhausted, too, because in his own way he had worries similar to Hogan's: The welfare of his men, what would become of them if Germany lost the war – and it was really looking like this was the most likely outcome by now – and how to take care of everyone within the camp with the rising prices on the market and the decreasing nourishment he could get for them. So Hogan deigned to allow the older man his rest when he could finally get it.

Yet both men were careful to not be caught in a situation that could be compromising – even if there was absolutely nothing ambiguous about it. One of them (Klink) hid his love and desire perfectly behind his well-trained mask, and the other one (Hogan) was unaware of Klink's feelings.

Then, around midday of the fourth day, it happened. Both men had fallen asleep side by side and were deep in dreamland, when they were woken up by LeBeau – who stood at the door and stared wide-eyed, shocked and gasping for breath at the two sleepers.

A torrent of French left his lips while he was resting his clenched fists on his hips. His eyes shot daggers at the two colonels, who'd come around because of someone swearing like a trooper.

Groggily Klink looked up, saw an enraged LeBeau only a few meters away, closed his eyes again and groaned, "What an odd dream. I imagined the cockroach standing in my sleeping room, grousing like my Aunt Elisabeth."

"Then we're both having the same dream," Hogan mumbled without turning around or lifting his head. "Because I hear him, too."

LeBeau glared at the two officers. There they lay, like it was the most natural thing in the world that two men share a bed – and above all two men who were currently on different sides during a war. Two men who were technically enemies!

Well, that they both didn't take this whole 'enemy-thing' really seriously had become very clear during the last almost three years – and especially during the last days. Hogan and Klink had developed some strange kind of friendship, all right, but THAT here went too far!

"Mon colonel, I really appreciate that the Kommandant was so nice as to let you stay in his quarters to heal, but isn't there any other room left for him other than sleeping at your side?" The little Frenchman really sounded more than indignant.

"That's my room," Klink murmured while he pulled the blanket higher.

"You took the guest room," Louis griped; forgetting rank and his position as a POW. "It's against the law that you two are sleeping together!"

"We're trying to sleep," Hogan grumbled; careless in his drowsy state. "That means, if someone who beefs like mad could shut up for once."

"But…" LeBeau was interrupted by his superior again, who added hoarsely yet almost wryly,

"And, by the way, we're sleeping together – not with each other."

Louis LeBeau was really a philanderer, and he had no problem with flirting around, making ambiguous comments and speaking of 'beautiful nights' whenever the topic came up. He also was anything but prudish, and always called himself a 'Frenchman who knows about l'amour more than any other people'. But hearing Hogan's dry reply while the colonel lay beside his German male counterpart, made LeBeau flush deep red.

Yes, there was still a little distance between the two men, and because Hogan had been able to wear the top of his pajamas now for two days, his upper body wasn't exposed like it'd been before, yet the two made a picture far too intimate for LeBeau's liking.

After a few seconds of being utterly speechless, he found his tongue again. Crossing both arms firmly in front of his chest, he glared fiercely at the two officers. "If you want me to lose all appetite and therefore my fine taste for making delicious meals, mon Colonel, then just continue! Mon Dieu, I really don't know what image is worse – you two…"

"Why are you shouting like this, LeBeau?" Schultz, who had accompanied Louis in the hopes of snatching something from lunch before it was served, stepped beside him, looked into the room and then down at the little Frenchman freaking over something. "What's the matter?" he asked guilelessly.

"What… what the matter is?" Louis didn't trust his ears. Was Schultz blind? "Just look at those two!" he snapped; pointing a finger at the bed in outrage.

Schultz, who of course knew why LeBeau was beside himself like this, did what he could best: Play the innocent. And, after he had realized that his superior and Hogan spent most of their time together, he had already come up with an excuse should the two be caught. Just like now.

"Joa mei, the two are in quarantine and because the chamber is too small for two beds, they share one – which is, by the way, wide enough to offer them both room. So, no reason to upset the apple cart."

LeBeau glanced up to the large Bavarian. "Quarantine? Who came up with that idea?"

"Well, that was me," Schultz admitted proudly; smiling. Then he turned serious again. "Come on, let us prepare something for our two sick Hascherl (Bavarian slang for cute little children)."

LeBeau gave him an irritated glare. "I'm almost really having second thoughts about cooking them something at all." He raised his voice. "You owe me, Colonel. I need brain bleach to forget this sight."

"Don't be so pathetic," Klink murmured, already half asleep again.

"Pathetic?" LeBeau's voice had risen by an octave. "You two are lying in bed like a long-married couple, give me the shock of my life, and then you call me 'pathetic'?"

"The next time you and Newkirk stick together, I'm going to ask you if I can be your maid of honor," Hogan's voice came from the other side of the bed.

LeBeau promptly stuck his tongue out – after all, his superior couldn't see him, groused something in French, turned around and left. "I'll serve myself with your Schnapps, Colonel Klink! I need it or there will be no lunch," he stated.

"Whatever you want," the Kommandant grumbled, then his already foggy mind became clear again and he raised his head. "But leave something for me, or you're in trouble!" he yelled – only to cough again.

"Please, be quieter," Hogan moaned. "My head is still aching."

"Stop thinking so much, then your headache will lessen," Klink sighed and lay back again.

"Can't. It's my nature."

"For once your 'nature' should shut down – after all, you're still sick," the Oberst deadpanned.

"Can an eagle stop flying?" the American grumbled.

"Just look at me and you'll get your answer."

"You're just grounded but that you can still fly was clear to see during our trip to London," Hogan murmured, assuring.

"Thanks."

"Welcome."

Schultz watched them, amused, before he left the room and closed the door. "Really, those two not only lie there like a long-married couple, they also bicker like one," he chuckled.

LeBeau, who had poured himself a glass of Cognac, filled a second one for the large Bavarian, and ranted, "Please, Schultzie, no comparison like this – or I will get a headache."

Hans only smiled. 'If you only knew the truth, little friend, then you really would get a headache!'

*** HH ***

LeBeau made them lunch, woke them by drumming a wooden spoon against a pan like he would operate a gong, which made a hellish noise, and shot them dark glares while serving the meal. Because Hogan's muscles and sinews in his shoulders and upper arms were doing better, he was finally able to shave and afterwards eat by himself. Therefore he joined Klink at the dining table. And the little Frenchman almost threw another fit, as the Kommandant offered Hogan his thick, red housecoat and the colonel accepted it.

"I can't sit at the dining table clad only in my pajamas, LeBeau," he sighed while Louis served them lunch; frowning the whole time.

"You've your own housecoat, mon Colonel. One word and I will bring it."

"Thanks, but this one here is warmer."

Klink, who had just spread the napkin over his lap, commented wryly, "I think I know an American saying that fits our cook here perfectly at the moment: Don't get your knickers in a twist."

"That's an English saying," LeBeau said acerbically. "But please, get comfortable with each other. I'm sure Burkhalter totally agrees that you two are best buddies now."

To his – and Hogan's – surprise the Oberst didn't get nervous because his superior was mentioned. Klink remained utterly relaxed. "The general knows that Hogan is staying here at the moment and he even ordered me to make certain that the colonel gets anything he needs to heal."

"Even your housecoat?" LeBeau asked, almost scandalized.

"Why not?" Klink replied while helping himself to some water he poured into his glass from a carafe. "His own isn't here and, by the way, that thing really is very thin." He suddenly looked pointedly at LeBeau. "If you dislike it so much, maybe you should make use of your many talents, 'Yvette', and make him a new one. I'm sure you have some spare fabrics from which you can tailor a housecoat."

LeBeau stared at him; knowing that Klink hinted at the chaotic wedding of Burkhalter's niece last year that the Heroes had used to free and smuggle an Underground agent out of Germany. Hogan had stated that LeBeau was in truth the famous French tailor 'Yvette', using the female name as a pseudonym to stay anonymous in France. Of course Burkhalter, always ready to boast at every given chance, had ordered LeBeau to make a wedding dress for his niece – a possibility for the Heroes to get the Underground-agent out of captivity by sewing a second dress the man had worn during the escape.

Hochstetter had pointed out exactly that still unsolved riddle to Burkhalter while trying to convince the general that Hogan was Papa Bear, and the general had afterwards talked with Klink about it. The Oberst had understated everything to cover for Hogan – like before – yet the detailed information he learned about the incident during the talk had confirmed once again that his senior POW was anything but the innocent boyish man he acted as. Klink didn't guess anymore, but simply knew by now who Hogan was for real.

Hogan stiffened. 'You have some spare fabrics'? Highly alarmed he cleared his throat and forced himself to chuckle. "How should we get cloth, Colonel Klink? We don't even have…"

"Your theater productions, Hogan," Klink said without looking up from his plate. "LeBeau and I think Newkirk, too, have tailored enough costumes for the little performances within the last years." He glanced at Louis. "And the wedding gowns you made for Frieda, General Burkhalter's niece, spoke their own language. You are good with needle and thread, and so is certainly Newkirk. So, if you don't want to see your superior wearing one of my clothing items, you should maybe use the free time you have to help him out with a new housecoat." He smiled, yet there was a certain gleam in his eyes that made LeBeau more than careful. "And, if you're already swinging the needle, you also can make him new pajamas. His are overdue for a washing, but in his current state he can't sleep naked. We still have the torn parachute of the pilot who was shot down last year. You can use this silk, if you want. I'll order Schultz to bring it to you."

LeBeau gaped at Klink, while Hogan, who was watching his German counterpart alarmed, tried to appear relaxed and careless. "Thank you, Kommandant. This is very thoughtful of you."

Klink's glance found his and for a long moment both men shared a firm look with each other, before the Oberst waved one hand nonchalantly. "You're welcome." Then he continued to eat.

Hogan slowly took a deep breath as he suddenly realized one thing more: Klink had referred to the gowns LeBeau had made. Therefore the older man knew that there had been two wedding dresses which could only mean…

Hogan felt his mouth going dry. The Oberst knew more than he admitted; this much was becoming more and more certain. And for once Hogan didn't know what to do.

*** HH ***

He couldn't sleep, either during the afternoon or in the evening. His mind was turning in circles while he tried to figure out how much Klink knew or not – if the Oberst simply made some guesses by mixing hints together or if he really was aware of some 'activities' his POWs did straight under his nose. First Klink revealed to LeBeau that he knew about the penicillin-case a year prior and now he let on that he also had cognizance of the existence of a second wedding dress during the whole wedding-drama last summer. Then there was still the incident of Klink seeing Hogan in a German uniform last year, and…

Hogan groaned silently into the next pillow. These three things would have been more than enough to let Klink take some action, but he never did. Either the Oberst had no real proof (except for Hogan wearing a Luftwaffe-uniform in the middle of Hammelburg), or for reasons unknown, he had covered for Hogan and his men which led to the question of what Klink was really up to. The ignorance troubled the American a lot.

Yet, odd as it was, the colonel began to relax as Klink slipped into bed beside him in the late evening, just like he had done all five nights prior. Still it was somewhere after midnight as Hogan finally fell asleep.

This night wasn't a peaceful one for him like the others before. Despite Klink's warm presence, the uncertainty over how much the Kommandant had learned of the Heroes' missions and the fear of what would happen if Klink really had found out the truth wriggled their way into Hogan's subconscious – and the nightmares returned.

Again he was in the cellars, helplessly delivered to Hochstetter's cruel relishing in getting vengeance. And, like before, the prospect of being branded seemed to dominate all images and memories.

Screaming, trashing around and trying to escape non-existent chains, he finally woke up – bathed in sweat, breathing heavily and trembling like a leaf in the wind. An arm was wrapped around him, a hand was comfortingly stroking over his left underarm and gentle words were being whispered in the darkness.

With a shaking hand Hogan wiped his face. "Sorry," he whispered; ashamed of the weakness shown. "Sorry for disturbing you again."

"I won't repeat myself that you don't have to say 'sorry' for suffering nightmares," Klink answered quietly, before he turned half away and switched on the little lamp on the nightstand. Watching the younger man closely, he recognized the last flickers of horror in those dark eyes, while he thought he could still hear the desperate pleas Hogan had been shouting in his sleep. Instinctively, he lay one hand back on Hogan's shoulder; recognizing the still slightly higher-than-normal body temperature that radiated through the thin material.

Groaning, the colonel closed his eyes and stroked through the strands of his messy hair with trembling fingers. "God, I hate this!" he whispered. "I hate what this damn swine did to me – that he even invades everything without being here in person."

The hand on his shoulder began to move in soothing circles. "Give it time, Robert. You've been through hell and such an experience always leaves tracks."

A humorless laugh escaped Hogan. "Dear Lord, I don't even just nag at what he did to me, but even at what he didn't do – or didn't get the chance to do." He slowly shook his head. "God, Robert Edward Hogan, get a grip! He didn't do it, so finally overcome it!" he hissed at himself.

'He didn't do it…'

Klink had a very good idea as to what Hogan was referring to – and it seemed to trouble the younger man more than anything else. And this made one thing very clear: Klink couldn't wait anymore until Hogan could maybe come around to speak of it on his own. The American needed to let it out as soon as possible.

"Robert," he said softly; tightening the gentle grip on the younger man's shoulder. He moistened his lips because what he had to ask already made him sick – imagining that what he thought might indeed be true gave him the chills, but Hogan's peace of soul was more important. So he took a deep breath and quietly asked, "Did… did Hochstetter really try to brand you?"

Hogan looked at him and balled his fists. Somehow he feared putting it into words, but as he saw the soft yet firm gaze Klink gave him – the silent promise to be an anchor once more – something in him gave in. He gulped and nodded carefully. "Yes," he rasped. He saw Klink's eyes widening in alert and continued hoarsely, "He threatened me with a poker in the form of the double S-rune and said he would brand every inch of my body if I didn't give him the answers he desired."

"What?" the Oberst whispered in shock. Yes, he had assumed that Hogan's nightmares the days prior and his frantic behavior during the first night after his rescue were based on a real experience, but to get affirmation that Hochstetter had been ready to accomplish such a cruel thing made him ill.

The American moistened his lips. The horror that still lurked deep in him; the returned tension reasoning in his new worry about his men and himself; the terror that had overcome him while being in the hands of Hochstetter – everything finally burst out of him as the dam broke.

"I… I pleaded with him to contact you – said you could confirm that we two had been playing chess the evening I was supposedly seen in Hammelburg. He didn't listen – even enjoyed my despair. I… could already feel the heat at my side and… and then… there was this young man… Schmidt. He… he distracted Hochstetter, told him something about a telephone call and…" He turned his head away as he felt his eyes beginning to sting. "He would have done it," he whispered. "He really would have done it! After the two years we know each other, after everything that happened, he really was about to…" He swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. "Last summer he thanked me for saving his life and only a few days ago he would have branded me. And later he was… killing me." He shook his head and pressed his lips into a thin line; fighting against the rising lump in his throat. "He was really killing me," he whispered; his voice sounded forlorn in his own ears. "If it hadn't been for you, I… I would be dead now."

Klink could only look at Hogan in horror. His gaze wandered over the bandaged rib-cage of the younger man; imagined how the irons would have burnt themselves in the soft skin, thought of smelling the burning flesh and hearing the agonized screams – and felt bile rising in his throat. He needed all self-control to swallow the urge to vomit, while his belly began to churn.

Hogan took a deep shuddering breath. "And… that was not all," he continued, even against his will. He didn't want to voice his memories, but the pain and fear he had lived through flooded out of him like water that finally found a way to break through a barrier. The words left his lips without any control as he told about the icy, inhumane display of contempt and glee the guards showed while they beat and kicked him in the tiny cell he was held when not 'questioned'. It hadn't been less frightening than the blazing hatred of Hochstetter, whose taunting, mocking, sneering and threatening made it absolutely clear that there wouldn't be any mercy. Rather the opposite. The major had used the already inflicted injuries to heighten Hogan's pain, even smiling while doing so – relishing in his victim's agony.

Hogan wasn't aware that a few tears had escaped his burning eyes while he had been talking – but Klink saw them. And every shiny little drop was like a knife plunged into his chest. He knew how much it had to cost Robert to speak about it at all; he felt him trembling and heard the stutters which interrupted his flow of speech. Acting on pure instinct and not giving a damn about decency, he closed the distance to the younger man and wrapped his arms around him – trying to give him some hold in the storm of emotions which were about to blow him apart.

As Hogan finally came to the end, he felt utterly exhausted and empty – as if something that had congested him, like stones, had been removed. It was relieving but also wearisome. Unaware of it, he had relaxed into the gentle embracing arms around him; his head rested on the older man's shoulder, one of Klink's hands was in his hackles and moved in the attempt to comfort him. Only as he felt the hot stinging in his eyes, his groggy mind began to focus anew.

He gulped again. He would NOT cry, for God's sake! He was one of the youngest full colonels in the US Airforce and had been entrusted with a mission not many men would be able to carry out. He wouldn't weep because he'd gotten some bruises. He had known the risks when he accepted the mission. And, by the way, what should Klink think of him? The German officer who had proven to be a real friend despite the war between their countries and had risked his life to protect and to save him. Should he, Hogan, keep lying there and crying like a little girl? No, never! He wouldn't grant Hochstetter this victory, he wouldn't embarrass himself and he certainly wouldn't make Klink uncomfortable. The Oberst deserved better after all he'd done for him.

Rising his head, he also lifted his right hand and wiped over his eyes, before he began to straighten his shape a little bit. He glanced at his German counterpart; his worry whether Klink knew something about the mission 'Unsung Heroes' forgotten for the moment. "Thank you, Wilhelm," he whispered gratefully. There was no need to explain that he thanked the Kommandant for the silent support he had just given by simply holding him. "Danke, it helped a lot."

Bemused, he saw that the older man had pressed his lips into a thin line. He was pale like a tablecloth and his breathing was uneven while there was a fire burning in his eyes Hogan had rarely witnessed. To say the truth, he couldn't remember when he had ever before seen such a fierce expression in the Oberst's gaze like this one. He couldn't know that this was the very same glance Klink had when rescuing Hogan from Hochstetter – forcing even Burkhalter to develop some respect for him.

"Willie?" Hogan asked, concerned; once more skipping any formalities. They had no place here in this moment. Everything was too private.

Klink tried to get a grip on his raging feelings – on the sheer fury that whirled through his heart, mind and soul. He had known that Robert had gone through hell, but this…

Unable to sit any longer, Klink squeezed gently Hogan's shoulder and neck, threw the blankets away, rose and paced for almost a minute; not caring that he was barefoot, only wearing his nightgown and that his ring of hair was tousled. Hogan, who was still numb after the emotional hurricane he had just been through, was distracted by the Oberst's reaction. Confused, he watched him; realizing that the older man was brimming with rage.

All of sudden the Kommandant stopped, turned towards him and pointed one finger at him. The light of the little lamp enveloped him – almost gave him the look of an angel of vengeance. "I swear to you, if this sodding bastard comes near you ever again, I'll send a bullet into his insane brain or wrench his neck! How dare he to use such methods on you. How sick can someone be to get such ideas! Imagine this, getting joy out of hurting other people and fouling them up beyond all recognition. Right, he hadn't gotten the chance for the latter – thank the Lord – but he would have done it. I'll have his head for it – literally. Burkhalter can demand whatever he wants from me, if only he makes use of his friendship with Himmler one time more and achieves Hochstetter's execution. This sick bastard has forfeited any right to walk on Earth!"

Hogan had seen Klink furious before, but never this enraged. Well, a few days ago, in the woods, after Hochstetter had left him – Hogan – to die, the Oberst had been beside himself, too. But right now the older man was trembling with wrath, and the colonel didn't want his German counterpart to suffer even more after-effects than he already did. He knew very well how much such an emotional fit afterwards demanded from mind and body. He had just experienced it himself.

"Anything he wants? Be careful. Know that his price could be you marrying his sister," he softly deadpanned to lighten the mood. He had to get Klink out of his fuming state. It would only worsen the older man's condition.

At the mention of Gertrude Linkmeyer, Klink went stiff like a pillar of salt. With dread, the Oberst looked at the American. The mere thought of sharing his life with that shrew made him almost nauseous. The only person in the whole world he wanted to be bound to for the rest of his life sat before him in his bed, bandaged, bruised and traumatized. But he had sworn to protect the younger man, no matter what, so…

He gulped, winced and grimaced as if he were in great pain, before he murmured, "If this is the sacrifice I would have to make – so be it."

The colonel stared, thunderstruck, at him; his foggy mind became clear. There were only two threats Klink had always reacted to with almost panic: Being sent to the Russian Front, and marrying Burkhalter's sister. Yet he would accept one of those two fates only to make certain that Hochstetter would be liquidated? Why? Because only then the major would no longer be a threat to…

"Don't tell me you would endure such a fate just for me," Hogan whispered.

The glance Klink gave him baffled the American. For a moment there was such softness – even tenderness – in those blue eyes that it took Hogan's breath away. Then the Oberst's face became almost neutral while he turned his head away. "The world is sinister enough at the moment. We all would do a little bit better without this demon in the shape of a human being," he only said, before he took a deep breath.

This whole last minute triggered something in Hogan's mind – deep down and hidden. Something moved in the edges of his soul; a knowledge that had been hiding behind his calculating and analyzing thoughts for several days now; maybe even longer. Yet he couldn't get a grip on it – again. But one thing was for certain: Klink was no less troubled than he was. And, like before, Hogan didn't like to see the older man like this. Somehow, along the path they'd been forced to walk together for almost three years now, he had come to care for his German counterpart. And, he had to admit, he maybe cared a little bit too much for him by now.

"Calm down, Wilhelm. As you said: It's over," he murmured.

"Ja – for now. Otherwise…" Klink began to cough again, and like it was contagious Hogan had to cough, too.

Clearing his throat and wiping his nose at the sleeve of his nightgown, Klink forced himself to calm down. He knew that Robert didn't need his wrath now, but his composure. So he decided to use the short interruption as a distraction, and sighed, "Just look at us. We're really a pair; coughing in duet." He smiled shortly at Hogan, who gladly took the opportunity to smirk half-heartedly back – only to groan in pain.

"Dammit, I can't even grin without it hurting," he complained and covered his bruised right cheek with one hand, before he had to cough again.

The scorching fury was decreasing in Klink as he looked down at the heap of misery Robert was at the moment, and his protectiveness kicked in again. "I'll make us some tea. There is no more milk, regrettably, but tea with honey is healthy and calming, too."

Hogan carefully laid back. "You're spoiling me," he said quietly.

Klink took a deep breath. 'You have no clue how much I really want to spoil you – to worship any part of your beaten body and to kiss every bruise and injury better,' he thought, before he chased the yearning away like so often before. Instead of giving into his need for cherishing the one he loved, he simply chuckled. "Don't get too used to it. We can't hide in this little room forever."

"No, of course not – but I wouldn't mind it if we stayed here in this bed until this damn war is over," Hogan sighed while closing his eyes. If Klink and he would remain in this separate little world there would be no danger of revelations, uncomfortable questions and new threats.

To Hogan's surprise he didn't get any replies, and so he glanced back at Klink only to see, in the light of the lamp, that the older man had blushed crimson red.

"Willie?" he asked, confused.

His voice seem to shake the Oberst out of the rigidity he had fallen into. "N-n-n-nothing, I'll be back in a few minutes," he stammered and almost fled the room – leaving behind a very thunderstruck Robert Hogan.

What, for God's sake, was the matter with the Kommandant?

*** HH ***

Klink kept his word and brought them some tea that, indeed, calmed the symptoms of the cold. And afterwards both men slept peacefully. The next morning Klink woke up to find himself one more time wrapped around the younger man, who was still deep in dreamland, and he enjoyed those stolen minutes until he knew that time was up. Soon Schultz would come and there was really no need to present the sergeant with another highly ambiguous scene.

Following a certain routine that had been developed by now, Klink went to the bathroom first, then woke Hogan who took care of his morning toilette before Wilson showed up to attend to them both. They ate breakfast and then the two officers returned to their beds. As it seemed, Klink would be able to resume his duty tomorrow or the day after, but Hogan would be forced to take it quite slowly for longer. And it began to bother the American. He was a man of action and being on bed-rest had started to make him restless. It gave him too much time to think, which was never good.

Then fate took the matters of a bored Hogan in its own hands.

In the late morning Schultz appeared and carried a larger-than-usual envelope with him, which he gave to his superior. "From General Burkhalter," he said. "It's addressed for your eyes only, so I thought I should bring it immediately."

Klink sat up in bed and took the envelope. "Thank you, Schultz," he nodded. "Is everything all right in the camp?"

"Everything is perfectly alright, Herr Kommandant," the large Bavarian affirmed with one of his typical half negative, half positive wagglings of his head, while smiling like an eager boy.

"Good, good," Klink murmured; his attention already fixed on the papers he had taken out of the envelope. It was a short letter, signed by Burkhalter, and a thin file comprised of a few sheets. Unfolding the letter, Klink quickly read it and grimaced afterwards. Glaring at the file, he grumbled, "Why couldn't he have sent this a few days later? Robert just went through a roller-coaster last night, and after he'd finally let it all out and had maybe found some peace, he'll be confronted again with all the shit he tries to forget!"

Schultz wasn't the brightest candle on the cake, but he wasn't stupid. You didn't need to be a genius to know what the file contained. "It's the official record of Colonel Hogan's report concerning the whole mess with Hochstetter, isn't it?"

Klink nodded slowly. "Yes. General Burkhalter wants him to read through it, correct it if there are any mistakes and afterwards give it to me to be sent back to Berlin." He sighed. "And he wants me to write my own report which he'll present at the trial together with everything he witnessed."

Schultz rubbed his neck. "Isn't this a good thing? The general will make certain that Hochstetter gets what he deserves."

The Oberst made a face. "Of course it's a good thing – yet I don't know if Hogan is ready to read this shit at all."

The large sergeant's face softened, while understanding shimmered in his round eyes. "Just ask him. If he needs a day more to come around, I don't see a problem with it."

Klink glared at him. "Schultz, Burkhalter demands the signed documents as soon as possible and…"

"And you're still restricted to bed, but he wants your official report together with Colonel Hogan's signed statement. So you can only write the report when you're no longer ill which will take a few days more – days the colonel can use to compose himself better."

The Kommandant looked at him, baffled. "Schultz, sometimes you have very good ideas."

Promptly the Bavarian stood to attention and proudly lifted his chin. "Danke!"

"But this doesn't mean that you can walk around all stuck-up now ," Klink scoffed.

This time it was Schultz who made a face. "If this is all, Herr Kommandant…"

"Yes, dismissed," the Oberst nodded and watched how Schultz was about to leave the room. Out of an impulse he said, "Thank you for coming – and for your consideration concerning the whole situation."

He received a warm smile, accompanied by the words, "Get better soon, Herr Oberst," then the sergeant vanished. Taking a deep breath he took the envelope and began putting the file and letter into it again, when he heard a soft noise at the door. Looking up, his gaze found Hogan who stood there – arms around himself, unsteady on his feet, but with his typical curiosity in his eyes.

"You eavesdropped!" Klink stated. There was no doubt that the American had listened to every word. "And given the fact that your German is really good and fluid, you understood everything."

"I couldn't avoid it. The doors were open – and you weren't exactly whispering," Hogan shrugged, while he watched the older man closely. "You're worried about my mental state."

"I'm worried about your whole condition, Hogan. After I learned all that happened to you, I'm utterly baffled that you can hold it together like you're doing. But that's what you always do, right? Go on, no matter what." He looked towards the window that showed gray skies and the shadows of the nearby woods behind the wires. "I admire you for your strength – your stubbornness." He glanced back. "I said it a few days ago and I'll say it again: You're the strongest man I've ever met."

Hogan cocked his head; ignoring the uncomfortable stinging and throbbing of his injuries. At least the bronchitis had retreated a little bit so that the only unpleasant experience during breathing was the pressure of his broken ribs. "You say I'm strong, yet you don't want to give me Burkhalter's transcript of my report."

"Robert," Klink sighed; sounding frustrated. "Like it or not, you had a breakdown last night – one that was necessary for the healing process, yet…"

"Was that the reason for you asking me if Hochstetter had really tried to brand me?" the colonel interrupted him, flabbergasted; figuring the Kommandant out once again. "You wanted me to let everything out so I could get better afterwards?"

This time the Oberst shrugged. "Dr. Birkhorn made it very clear to me that you're bottling up everything and that this could become dangerous for you. He advised me to get you to talk, yet I was uncertain as to when the best point of time would be. I knew that you needed some more distance to the whole shit you've been through before you could speak about it, but on the other hand time was your opponent. And after your nightmare I thought it best if you would finally get it all off your chest." He looked straight into the widened brown orbs three meters away – and felt some amusement rise in him as Hogan blurted out,

"You manipulated me! You… played me off!"

Despite the serious situation, Klink couldn't contain himself anymore: He had to laugh quietly. "How does your own medicine taste, my dear Robert?"

The colonel groaned and let his head sink into the neck. "I don't believe it," he complained, while shortly looking at the ceiling before he glared back at the older man. "You got me!"

The Oberst was still chuckling. "Yes, the tables were finally turned for once – but I had your best interest at heart as I used the chance to get you to talk."

Hogan rubbed his temples; grumbling inwardly as his fingertips touched the still present mull. "Never thought you would outsmart me one day."

"Oh, I had a very good teacher," Klink nodded, self-pleased. "Okay, just right now he looks a little bit like a boy caught with his hand in the candy-box and patched up like after a boxing-fight, but he is still a constant challenge that brightens my days."

His American counterpart glanced at him with big eyes – and to Hogan's surprise he felt heat shooting to his face. Klink was teasing and complimenting him in one. Even more, the older man just said that he, Hogan the nuisance, brightened his days. Holy Heavens, he had never thought that Klink could be this sweet.

And, once again, where did this description come from? 'Sweet'? Well, the Oberst was maybe right to worry about his senior POW's mental state.

Clearing his throat, Hogan, with uneasy steps, closed the distance to the bed and sat down on its edge. "Wilhelm, I do appreciate your concern, but I'm not made of glass." He reached out for the envelope. "Give me the file. The sooner I've read through it the sooner I can go on."

Klink hesitated. "You just had…"

"… a ride on an emotional roller-coaster, I know. But this damn thing won't use its breaks until the round is over – means, I've to finish everything to put it behind me," Hogan interrupted him softly. "Give me the blasted file, Kommandant. I'll look if Burkhalter is really such a good secretary that he made the right notes of everything I told him, and if not I'll have the pleasure of correcting him. Then I'll hand it back to you, you write your report and then, when the documents are on their way to Berlin, we can both finally close this damn chapter once and for all. Then we aren't confronted with daily memories of it." He saw how Klink's gaze roamed over his face and throat, and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know, every look in the mirror brings the memories back. I know that I'm not my usual handsome self, but the bruises will fade in a few days, so…"

"Handsome self, eh?" The Oberst didn't miss the chance to bicker a little bit. "Never call me vain again!"

Hogan stared at him. "I… I never called you… How do you know?" he demanded, as Klink lifted one rebuking finger and tut-tutted at him.

"Easy, I know that Schultz calls me vain, Schultz talks a lot with you and the other men in Barracks 2 and like this you learned of it. And, by the way, you were here a few times whenever I made myself ready to go out. I saw your glances in the mirror, my dear Robert. You consider me vain." He pointed at his balding head. "There isn't that much left of my hair, I know, but I'm proud of the rest."

Now it was Hogan who had to chuckle; his eyes betrayed a warmth he wasn't aware of. "Only the top is balding. And, what is the old saying? Hair has to make room for a brilliant mind." He got the wanted result: Klink began to laugh. "And, by the way, you're not that bad looking," the younger man added; winking at the Oberst.

"Don't flatter me, you rascal," Klink smiled. "I don't buy it all the time, you know." Then he became serious again, while looking down at the envelope. "Do you really want to read it so soon? I could stall for some time and…"

"The sooner the better," Hogan nodded and took the envelope. Rising, he slowly headed to the door. "I'll give it back to you after I've read it."

Feeling uneasy again, Klink began to pull the comforter away to rise. "Shall I come with you?" he offered.

The American glanced back over his shoulder to give a dry comment, but as he saw the real concern in the older man's eyes, he quit every thought of sarcasm. The open sympathy he could see on Klink's face touched him. "I'll be okay, Willie. And if not, I'll call for you." With those words he left – and the Kommandant moaned quietly.

"We both know that you won't call, no matter what, you stubborn mule!" He lay back again; ready to join Hogan if it should become necessary.

TBC…

Well, Klink knows 'his' troublemaker and is rightfully concerned that Hogan will 'eat anything' instead of seeking support and a safe harbor. Even after the night prior, which will lead soon to Hogan's beginning realization what really drives his German counterpart. 'Willie' simply revealed too much within his reactions and his gazes, but first both men will reach a crossroad that will change everything for them – and for the Unsung Heroes.

I hope, you liked the last chapter, too and – like always – I'm curios about your opinions.

The next chapter will be published in the second half of the next week.

Have a nice rest of the weekend,

Love

Yours Starflight