A lack of sleep in the past several days had induced a drowsiness that claimed Franz quickly, regardless of his uncomfortable position. The darkness and quiet lulled him into what he wasn't sure could be called sleep, but certainly wasn't wakefulness. He rested much better than he had before because the uncertainty was gone. It wouldn't be pretty, but he knew where he was going and what would happen, and at least he had that. In war, not many people did. So he napped in the silence—until he realized it was no longer quite silent.

He opened his eyes and saw a dark form in front of him, quietly cleaning its knife. He jumped, heartrate sky-rocketing. It was Newkirk. He couldn't call out. Even if someone heard him, they were likely not to stop him. Or to be too late. He pulled at his handcuffs and rope and trembled. This man wanted to kill him, and had his chance. Newkirk lazily looked up at him, and Franz realized, no matter what he did, he couldn't stop it. He couldn't convince this man. Enemies killed each other. This was what happened in war. He tried to steady his breathing and face his killer bravely.

Newkirk didn't lunge, though. He put the knife away.

"You're not—?"

"Orders." The look he gave said orders weren't exactly the most convincing things anyone had used to sway him. He shifted and looked Franz right in the eye. "You wanted to kill 'em. You hate 'em."

At this point, Franz had abandoned much hope of making it through the war. At least he would correct Newkirk. "No. There was a reason I tried for the diplomatic service, that I became an aide. I'm just loyal to my country. You're loyal to yours."

That angered him. "Say it, say you wanted to kill them! You hate Americans, Frenchmen, Englishmen."

That struck Franz as more strange than anything else. "Why?"

To keep himself from yelling, Newkirk cooled his anger into burning coals. He was silent for a long while, perhaps deciding whether to tell him. He looked down at the cloth in his hands, then back up. "Because if you're not a bad man, I shouldn't 'ave been tryin' to kill you."

"That's not how it works. We are all just doing what we must." Newkirk said nothing, so Franz continued. "We follow orders, we try to survive, people get in the way. Even if we don't want to, we must. I don't hate them."

"No?" Newkirk sounded skeptical.

"No. In fact, it was quite interesting listening to you all talk in the tunnels. The Frenchman, he is quite passionate, isn't he?" He began to remember back to the conversations he'd overheard. "Kinch is always quiet. Your colonel—Hogan—he's endlessly clever. Carter makes everyone laugh. He—even made me laugh. And everyone here trusts you."

~HH~

Newkirk stiffened as if he'd been slapped. That was what Hogan had said. He realized several things then. Franz was scared for his life, especially after that knife stunt he'd just pulled. If he was afraid Newkirk would kill him and was still saying things Newkirk didn't want to hear, Franz believed them. He was sincere about every accurate thing he'd said of the team. And he was still using their names, not their nationalities as Newkirk had tried to get him to. He saw them as people, not faceless soldiers belonging to other countries. He saw who they were and believed it. He knew Newkirk was loyal. You have nothing to prove.

All the fight left him. At a sudden loss, his mind cast about. This couldn't be, though. He was a general's aide. Maybe he didn't hate the others. But he had to hate Newkirk.

"You said you would kill me. Surely you hate me."

"I said I hadn't told you I wouldn't kill you. It seemed we were operating on the assumption that I was going to knock you out and leave you safely there, but I didn't know what I'd end up having to do. I have a…personal obligation…to keep my word. I didn't want you to think I'd promised I wouldn't kill you and then I ended up killing you."

"At least you hate me for capturin' you…" He counted. "Three times."

"No. We're all just doing what we must. You did your job well." He breathed out. "You would have done it better if you had killed me. You had the chance."

Newkirk was astounded. He wasn't mad at his capture. He was scared. And resigned. He didn't hold it against him. He wasn't blaming him.

Newkirk nodded. He stood and left.

As he soft-footed it back to the barracks, Franz realized Newkirk didn't have permission to be down here.

~HH~

Carter rolled over in bed. He flinched as he put weight on his bruised shoulder. He lay flat, trying to go back to sleep. Hmm. Something was missing. He froze when he heard the ladder go up.

When Kinch had brought LeBeau up, Carter had gotten the explanation. Franz had choked LeBeau and tried to make a run for it. He had almost succeeded. And Franz was down there alone now. Or he was coming into the barracks now. Carter almost hyperventilated before he tried to remind himself that there wouldn't be any reason for him to come here instead of leave out of the stump. But maybe he was trying to reveal them from the inside.

Carter didn't have any more time to think about the possibilities. Whoever had come up the ladder was approaching his bunk, and he was petrified. The person stepped on the edge of his bunk and lifted himself up. Was he after Newkirk? Carter had to say something.

"Newkirk!" he hissed. The person froze. He was more frantic now. "Newkirk, wake up!" Why was he only whispering? He started to pull himself out of bed. A hand clamped down on his mouth and pushed him back down. He flew into a panic, struggling, wondering if he was going to be the next one.

"Carter! Shh! It's just me!" Newkirk? "Calm down. It's me, your bunkmate."

Carter stopped struggling, relief surging through him. Newkirk removed his hand. "Newkirk…what?"

"Go to sleep, Carter."

"Why were you in the tunnels? Is the captain out?"

"No. It's fine, go to sleep." Newkirk went to get up, and Carter felt something hard and cold brush his leg.

"Newkirk, is that your knife?" A terrible thought occurred to him. "Did you—?"

Newkirk sounded weary. "You know I always keep me knife on me."

"But, not always. Why were you down there?"

There was a silence. Then, there was a challenge in his voice. "Why do you think?"

"Um, well. I mean—you couldn't—wouldn't… Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"You know." Carter felt mightily uncomfortable.

"Say it."

Newkirk wouldn't kill someone unarmed. He really hated the guy, but…well, he wouldn't. "You…didn't kill him. No. You didn't."

Newkirk sighed and shuffled his feet. "You're right." He climbed into his bunk.

That couldn't be all? "Newkirk, what did you do?"

He turned over in bed. "Talked."

He obviously didn't want to discuss it. Carter creased his brow and tried to go back to sleep, but he kept looking at his watch.

Carter thought. Newkirk talked to Franz. He brought his knife, and he'd be really mad after what happened to LeBeau. And he was the one that really wanted to hurt him so he wouldn't cause the Underground trouble. It really sounded like that's what Newkirk had done. But Carter knew Newkirk wouldn't lie to him. Not about something like this. And he wasn't mad when he came up. He was tired. So they talked. And Franz, of all people, talked him down. No. He didn't just talk him down. Newkirk… forgave him. That's the tone of voice Newkirk had. It hadn't been there for the last several days. Newkirk really had been starting to scare Carter. But now all the anger was gone.

He looked at his watch again. 2349. He'd go down with Hogan.