The next time Newkirk opened his eyes, he was very confused. He found himself lying in a bed in an unfamiliar room, and he didn't know why. His head was aching a little, and felt floaty. It took extreme effort to turn his head, and he blinked unseeing at a row of cabinets that lined the wall.

He wondered if he was dreaming, and tiredly closed his eyes again, figuring he'd wake up if he went back to sleep. Part of his mind knew that the odd notion didn't make sense, but the other part of him didn't really care. All he knew was that the bed was soft, and the blankets were warm. Wherever he was didn't matter, as long as he was safe.

Safe. Am I safe? he thought. I must be, if the Colonel 'asn't seen fit ta rescue me. Something nagged at his mind. Colonel? Do I know a Colonel? The nagging feeling disappeared, and the floaty feeling increased. I know a lotta people…London's a big city. Where's me mum? He frowned, even with his eyes closed, wondering why he'd suddenly thought of his mother. He felt more confused, but before he could continue the internal conversation with himself, he suddenly realized that someone else was in the room.

A hand felt his forehead and gently pulled back the blankets. Cool air rushed in, and he shivered. He felt something touch his chest and move to a few different places, before the hands replaced the blankets.

Thanks, mum, Newkirk thought.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Colonel Hogan walked into the Kommandant's office, strolling over to the door and knocking.

"Come in!" he heard.

Opening the door, Hogan walked in and sat at the desk, placing a covered plate on top.

Klink looked up, frowning in confusion. "What is that?"

"It's from the men, sir," Hogan told him. "In appreciation for letting Newkirk go to the hospital."

Klink lifted the cover, and his eyebrows rose. "Apple strudel!"

"LeBeau just made it, it's still warm!" said Hogan.

Klink reached for a piece and ate it, his eyes closing as he went, "Ummm!"

Hogan snagged a piece and shoved it into his mouth before Klink saw.

Klink reopened his eyes and shook his head. "This is delicious!" he said, not even thinking to ask where they'd gotten the ingredients.

"They'll be glad to know you like it," Hogan said, standing. He looked at Klink for a minute, knowing full-well that another Kommandant would've refused treatment for a prisoner, and let them suffer instead. "I wanted to thank you personally, sir, for letting Newkirk get the help that he needed." He snapped to attention and gave a salute…one that was a far cry from the sloppy, mocking salutes that he usually gave.

Klink was surprised, and saluted back. He watched, amazed, as Hogan left, before eagerly digging back into the strudel.

Hogan headed back to his barracks, knowing that their show of appreciation—and his show of respect—would keep Klink on their side in the future if something like this ever happened again.

"This is wunderbar!" Hogan heard, as he opened the door. As expected, he found Schultz sitting at their table, with the men surrounding him.

"You deserve it," Hogan said, sitting across from him.

Schultz paused in chewing. "Oh, Colonel, I only did what anyone would've done."

Hogan shook his head. "For a fellow German, yes. For the 'enemy'…no," he replied, thinking of all the cases he knew of where Allied men were abused by doctors, and even been denied medical care.

Schultz took a gulp of the coffee that LeBeau had just poured him, before suddenly turning serious. "There are many evil people in the world, Colonel. I am not, and could never be, one of them."

Hogan smiled. "We know, Schultz. We've known that for a long time."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Newkirk found that he was awake long before he opened his eyes. There were the soft sounds of someone moving through the room, and he blinked, seeing the man come info focus.

"Hello dere, Peter," said Dr. Siegfried, reading the chart at the end of his patient's bed. "Und how are you feeling?"

Newkirk didn't answer, blinking a few more times as he tried to remember why he was lying in a German hospital.

The doctor hung the chart back on the nail and walked forward, bending over the bed.

Newkirk watched him walk closer, still blinking blearily when his eyes had trouble following him.

Siegfried noticed that his patient was having trouble with his vision, and he didn't need any extra light to see that Newkirk's pupils were too small. It was a side effect seen commonly in a person taking morphine, but it could also be the first sign of depressed-respiration, caused by the drug. His patient seemed to be breathing all right, so there was nothing to do but watch him and hope that nothing would develop. "How do you feel, Peter?" he asked again. "Does your head hurt at all?"

Newkirk felt disoriented. "A little," he finally answered.

Siegfried took out his stethoscope and listened to Newkirk's heart. "Zee morphine ees starting to vear off; you need another dose in one hour. Any new symptoms?"

Newkirk wasn't sure how to answer that. "Umm…" he said.

"Any other pain?" Siegfried clarified.

"No…is there anythin' else ya can gimme instead?" Newkirk asked, feeling lightheaded and closing his eyes.

"Besides morphine? Why is zat?"

"Don't like it," Newkirk answered. "Makes me float." He inwardly frowned, realizing how odd his sentence had sounded. "An' talk funny."

Siegfried nodded. "Morphine can have unpleasant effects, but since you have already had two doses, I do not think ve should change it to somezing else."

Newkirk sighed, and floated away into a doze. He suddenly dreamed that the door to his room opened, and two German men walked in, discussing meeting Papa Bear that night, and capturing him. Siegfried asked why they were there, and they answered that they'd accidentally gone into the wrong room.

Newkirk watched as the men quickly left and Siegfried started pacing, looking nervous. It took Newkirk a couple of minutes to realize that his eyes were open, and he hadn't been dreaming. Darn morphine, he thought. It took another minute for him to realize what he'd heard the German men say, and his heart leaped into his throat. Catch Papa Bear? Tonight?

Siegfried was still pacing, and a sudden thought struck Newkirk's fuzzy mind. It looked like the doctor was upset over what the two men had said…and there was only one reason how that could be.

"German winters are so cold."

The doctor stopped pacing, in shock. Did Newkirk just give him the code that was devised in order to recognize other Underground agents, or was he simply stating a well-known fact? After what he'd just heard those two strangers say, he decided that it had to be the former. "Not as cold as Hitler's heart," he said, and held his breath.

Relieved to hear that answer, Newkirk struggled to sit up. "We gotta warn Co—Papa Bear!" he said, almost saying Hogan's name.

Siegfried rushed over and grabbed his shoulders, holding him down. "You cannot get up!" He was so intent on preventing his patient from moving, that he didn't even have time to be surprised over the fact that Newkirk obviously understood the German language.

Newkirk lay limply, blinking his eyes against the sparkly colors that had just invaded his vision…one of the reasons why he hated morphine so much. "Ya hafta warn 'im, then…"

Dr. Siegfried shook his head mournfully. "I cannot go…I am zee doctor on call tonight."

Newkirk raised his right hand to his head, feeling dizzy, which he knew was yet another wonderful side effect. "Get me up," he said. "No one's gonna nab 'im if I can 'elp it!"

"You don't even know vhere to go!" The doctor blinked. "I don't even know vhere to go!"

Newkirk sighed. "Yes I do. I know exactly where 'e plans ta meet 'is contact."

Siegfried was surprised to realize that Newkirk actually knew Papa Bear, unlike himself. "But you should not move," he protested. "Spinal taps are not easy on zee body…they often cause a severe headache if zee patient gets moving too soon, und vith you already suffering from migraine, doing anysing strenuous could make you vorse!"

Newkirk sighed again. "I'm goin'…I hafta."

Siegfried realized that he had no choice but to let him go; Papa Bear was too important to lose. "But you might not make it, in your state."

"I'll make it," Newkirk vowed, sitting up with the doctor's help. He sat there for a minute, blinking his vision into focus and wishing that his migraine hadn't needed the assistance of such a strong drug. "Where's me clothes?" he asked.

With a sigh, the doctor grabbed a cotton ball and tape, before sitting beside him on the bed and taking Newkirk's arm, gently removing the IV and bandaging the hole. He went to the closet and grabbed Newkirk's clothes, tossing them onto the bed and reaching to unbutton his patient's pajama top.

"I don't need help," Newkirk said, reaching up to do it himself…and only succeeding in fumbling with the buttons.

"Yes you do," Siegfried said, pushing his hands away. "Morphine affects motor function."

Oh, Newkirk thought. He had no choice but to accept Siegfried's assistance, and when he was finally dressed, the doctor helped him stand up.

Newkirk tried to stay upright under his own power, but the drug had other ideas and made the room spin around him.

Siegfried held onto his patient tightly, his instincts telling him not to let the Englishman go. "Won't you change your mind?" he asked, even thought he knew the answer.

Newkirk took a deep breath and summoned whatever strength he could, forcing himself to stand up straight. "No," he said. He looked towards the window, blinking when it appeared blurred for a second. "I'll be goin' out that way," he unnecessarily said, pointing with an unsteady hand.

Siegfried sighed. Newkirk was in no shape for this 'mission'. "Do you know vhere you are going?" he asked.

Newkirk's eyes looked glazed, and he appeared to think, before nodding. "Ta save the guv'nor," he answered, not realizing that the doctor meant the location, not his objective. He started to walk towards the window, stumbling a few steps.

To save the vhat? Siegfried thought, assisting him over to the window and opening it for him. He took Newkirk's arm and stared at him for a few seconds. "Make sure he brings you back here aftervards!" he said, giving Newkirk's arm a shake to ensure that he was paying attention. "Otherwise you vill be considered an escaped prisoner, und you und I both vill be in very bad trouble!"

The glazed look faded from Newkirk's eyes somewhat, and he appeared to come back to himself. "Don't worry, mate," he said. "The last thing I want is that kinda trouble."

"Good," Dr. Siegfried said. He helped Newkirk climb out the window, still feeling reluctant, but knowing that he had no choice.

Newkirk somehow made it out the window, standing against the wall of the building for a minute before looking around, blinking in the darkness to get his bearings.

With a sigh, Siegfried watched as Newkirk walked off, praying that the young man wouldn't get himself killed...

TBC