My thanks, as always, to Marilyn for beta-ing.
"You haven't told him?"
"Not yet," Kinch sighed, watching Carter conceal his blond hair under a black knit cap.
Newkirk turned from his locker, a grin shining in his darkened face. "Not like you to put off such things," he teased.
"Procrastination," Carter chuckled, reaching into his locker for his gloves. He pulled them on, flexed his fingers in the cool leather.
"I prefer to call it exercising discretion," Kinch tossed back, slightly defensive. His stomach was performing somersaults at the thought of sending them out, but London had been adamant. The fuel depot had to be destroyed tonight, with or without Hogan's approval. Kinch knew which he preferred.
Newkirk closed his locker with a nudge of his shoulder, his hands occupied with securing his gun belt around his waist. "So when you going to tell him, then, mate?"
"When the time is right." Kinch glanced at Benson, Broughton and Jones, standing just inside the doorway. All three were fully kitted out for the night's mission, their faces somber beneath the oily camouflage. They'd been unusually quiet and watchful, leading him to wonder if they'd sensed his uneasiness.
Carter looked up from double-checking his bootlaces and looked toward the doorway as movement caught his eye. Tivoli had appeared out of the tunnel behind Benson, Broughton and Jones, looking like a tall, black-haired ghost. Carter and Newkirk glanced at each other, sharing their surprise at seeing him dressed for the mission. It wasn't uncommon for six men to go out on an assignment such as this. What surprised them was that Tivoli had apparently been added at the last minute.
Newkirk faced Kinch, a hint of apprehension in his voice. "You expecting trouble?"
"It's only been a week. An extra gun seemed a good idea," Kinch answered evenly.
Carter glanced back at Tivoli. Arms crossed and feet braced apart, the big Italian confidently returned his regard.
"Am I interrupting?"
Everyone turned toward the tunnel. Kurt stood several paces back from the doorway, medical bag in hand, coat draped over his arm. Kinch waved him in.
"Wait here," Kinch told him, motioning to a chair. "I won't be long." He led the others to the tree stump exit, where he quietly reminded them of their orders and wished them good luck. They trooped up the ladder and disappeared, and he retraced his steps, gearing his mind from one worry to another.
HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH
"How is he?" Kurt demanded as soon as he set eyes on Kinch again.
Kinch gave him an arched look. "Isn't that supposed to be my question to you?"
Kurt scrubbed a hand over his face. "Yes. Well. In this case, I feel it best to have observations other than my own." He shrugged. "These are not typical circumstances and it may be difficult for me to stay completely objective with this patient."
"And we won't?" Kinch asked, his grin only slightly pained.
A wry smile came and went on Kurt's face. "Have you had success getting him to talk with you?"
"Oh, yeah," Kinch said, his voice turning sarcastic. "About anything except Marta and what happened that night."
Kurt leaned back in the chair, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I was afraid of that."
Kinch grabbed the other chair at the table and straddled it, folding his arms atop its back. "He's just not ready."
"His recovery can be negatively affected by his state of mind," Kurt reminded him, index finger tapping the table with each word.
Kinch sighed. "You know how he is, Doc. Trying to force him before he's ready isn't the way."
Kurt held his gaze for a long moment. "You are right, of course."
Kinch stood, gestured in the direction of Barracks Two. "Come on. Let's go see him. Who knows? Maybe he'll surprise us by talking our ears off."
Kurt snorted. "I will believe that when swine grow wings and fly."
HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH
Caught in the web of a nightmare, Hogan watched helplessly as it happened all over again.
His finger tightened on the trigger, the barrel of the gun tracking Marta as she tried to run.
Hogan groaned in his sleep, unable to stop it, unable to save her.
The gun went off, the bullet sped out of the barrel in a flash of light and smoke. The last instant before the lethal missile struck, Marta's eyes locked with Hogan's; filled with fear, bewilderment, and accusation.
NO!
Hogan jerked awake, trembling and bathed in clammy sweat. He sagged back into his pillow, giving himself time to recover from the nightmare's effects, then carefully rolled his head toward the room. It seemed to take a long time before the fuzziness faded from his vision. He scanned the room, noting Kinch's book upon the desk, an empty bowl, and O'Malley's stethoscope. A pail sat near the wall, a cloth draped over its edge.
He twisted onto his side, wincing as his sore shoulder took his weight. Pain pulsed through his body, but he had no intention of letting it stop him. Gathering strength and breath, he threw back the blankets and dragged his feet over the side of the bed. The room spun and dipped and a buzz started in his ears. He clung to the edge of the bed, head down, breathing slow and deep to keep from passing out. The darkness faded from his vision, the buzz died, and the room and its contents gradually settled.
He contemplated the distance to the locker set against the far wall. Normally, it was three steps. In his present condition, it looked closer to ten.
Stubborn Irish will got him on his feet. By the time he reached the locker, sweat was dripping down his face and he was breathing hard, every muscle weak from exhaustion. Bracing a hand against the locker, he opened it and looked into the mirror mounted inside. His eyes widened as he saw himself.
He looked gray as a day-old corpse with sunken, mud-colored eyes. His black hair didn't help matters. It was plastered to his sweat-damp forehead, accenting his unhealthy color. Hogan glowered at the gaunt stranger in the glass.
One look at you and Hochstetter will turn you and your men into corpses. Get off your butt, clean yourself up and do your job!
"What are you doing?"
Hogan's head jerked toward the door. The movement threw off his shaky balance and his knees buckled. Kurt and Kinch flew to him, catching him before he hit the floor.
Several minutes and a lot of fussing and lecturing later, he found himself back in bed, completely worn out, yet still determined.
"I need to be up," he told them, thinking his argument would carry more weight if his voice didn't sound so weak. "The longer I'm down, the more chance there is of someone discovering what's really wrong with me." It was the longest speech he'd made in a week. And it had taken just about everything he had left.
"Someone like Hochstetter?" Kinch asked, eyeing him.
Hogan nodded.
Kinch gave him a tight smile. "Let me worry about him."
Kurt propped a shoulder against the bunk frame. "Kinchloe is capable of taking care of Hochstetter or any other problem that might arise."
Hogan couldn't argue with that. Kinch was capable. More than capable. Any argument would only give the impression that he didn't trust in his second's ability. A wave of guilt swept over him as he suddenly noticed how drawn they both appeared. Kinch had been handling everything and the strain was starting to show. Kurt looked much the same, and Hogan knew his friend had to have been running himself ragged between the hospital, the farm and Stalag 13.
"Sit down, both of you."
"Even flat on his back, he orders everyone around," Kurt muttered to Kinch.
"My responsibility doesn't end just because I'm off my feet," Hogan snapped, anger flaring in the depths of his eyes.
Kinch suppressed a wince at the reminder of responsibility. This was probably the best opportunity he'd get to inform Hogan of London's decree, especially since the men had already left for their mission. Plus, there was the added benefit of having a doctor present in case Hogan's blood pressure went sky high.
"What's wrong?" Hogan demanded, studying him carefully. He didn't like the tense set of Kinch's shoulders, and more than once, had glimpsed his second checking the time.
"London refused a delay. The guys left thirty minutes ago for the fuel depot."
A chill went straight through Hogan's chest. He bit out a curse, worked to get his sluggish body upright. Kinch gently pressed him back. Hogan pushed uselessly at his hands, frustrated, angry and scared for his men.
"They'll have an extra gun protecting them," Kinch explained, breathing an inward sigh of relief when Hogan gave up the fight. "I sent Tivoli along as insurance."
"They will be fine, Colonel." Kurt pressed two fingers to the inside of Hogan's wrist, frowned at the galloping pulse. "Calm down," he murmured.
"I'll check if Baker's heard anything." It was too soon for news of any kind, but Kinch was willing to make the effort for a chance that it might ease Hogan's worry. He turned to go, briefly making eye contact with Kurt.
Kurt had wanted a chance to talk with Hogan alone. He had it.
HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH
With Kinch's departure, a brittle silence fell over the room and its remaining occupants. Kurt suddenly found himself grasping for something to say. Hogan lay only feet away yet the distance felt more like a vast chasm - one Kurt was uncertain how to bridge. He glanced down at the medical bag at his feet and decided that doing his job might be the best way to start.
He removed the stitches from Hogan's shoulder and examined the ear, took his temperature and blood pressure and checked his heart and lungs. All the while, he kept up a steady stream of talk about what he was doing, what the weather was like, what had been happening at the Krankenhaus – anything he could think of to draw Hogan out and spark some interest. And while his fingers and mouth were working, Kurt was also busy observing. He didn't like what he saw. Hogan's ribs were starting to stand out like his mother's old washboard, the shadows under his eyes were darker, and his gaze never quite rose to the level of Kurt's face.
Examination complete, Kurt tucked his instruments back into his bag - at the same time mentally switching gears from doctor to friend. Hogan chose that moment to break his self-imposed silence, his voice low, rough and determined.
"I am getting out of this bed."
Sighing to himself, Kurt shifted back into doctor mode. "We will discuss this when you are able to keep food down and stay awake for more than ten to twenty minutes at a time."
Hogan's head snapped toward him, angry, dark eyes finally meeting Kurt's. "The only way I'm going to build my strength back up is if I get out of this room and walk."
Kurt gave him a long, level stare. Hogan huffed in annoyance.
"Look at me! I look like a zombie --"
"Zombie?" Kurt parroted. "What is a zombie?"
Hogan glared at him. "A walking corpse."
Kurt's eyebrows hit the ceiling. "Corpses do not walk! It is a complete impossibility!"
Hogan sank back on his pillow, breathing hard from carrying his end of the conversation and butting heads with one as hard as his own. As he lay trying to find the air to continue, he was painfully aware of a pair of electric blue eyes taking note of every weakness.
"Kurt . . ." Hogan paused, calming his roiling emotions with a few deep breaths that pulled at his wounded side. "This is not up for discussion. I have a duty to my men to get my butt out of this bed and back into command. And I'm doing it whether you agree with me or not."
"Your duty is also to yourself," Kurt threw back with some heat.
"My men come first," Hogan snapped, half-rising off the bed. Pain gnawed at his shoulder with hot teeth, dropping him back onto the bed. "Always."
Kurt's gaze fell to his watch. As much as he wanted to continue this, he didn't have the time. He had his own duty to attend to. "I am due at the Krankenhaus soon."
Hogan's head bobbed in a definitive nod. "Good. Stay away."
"What?" Kurt sputtered, completely taken aback.
"It's too dangerous . . . for you to keep coming back here . . . so often. I'm doing okay now." At Kurt's snort of disbelief, he sucked in a quick breath and quickly added, "I'm going to be . . . fine. You said so . . . yourself."
Kurt shook his head, frustrated. Hogan had never been an easy patient and Kurt doubted he ever would be. "You can hardly catch your breath now."
"Because I've been . . . flat on . . . my back for the . . . last week!"
"It is too soon to be pushing yourself so hard."
Hogan's colorless features hardened. "If that's what it takes . . ."
"You run the risk of a setback, of losing ground you have gained."
"I'll risk it."
Kurt gave his head a hard shake. There was no winning this argument. Realizing time was short, he tossed his doctor's persona and moved on. He had messages to deliver.
"Mutter and Vater miss you."
Hogan went still, his expression undergoing subtle shifts.
Kurt continued, dutifully reciting his parents' messages word for word. "They want you to know that they love you. Mutter said that she can hardly wait to hold you again."
A flicker of emotion passed over Hogan's face and his gaze shifted to the end of the bed.
"I have my own message for you, Robert." Kurt waited for a response but got none. "Marta's death was an accident."
"I fired. She died," Hogan bit out, his gaze still turned away.
"I have forgiven you. Mutter and Vater have forgiven you," Kurt pressed on, determined to breech the steel wall of Hogan's self-recrimination. "You must do the same."
Hogan's only response to that was a slight tightening of his mouth.
Kurt reluctantly checked the time again, then bent down and grabbed his medical bag. "I must leave, Robert, but I will return." He paused at the door, throwing Hogan a smug look over his shoulder. "And 'I am doing it whether you agree with me or not.' "
As he walked through the common room and descended into the tunnels, Kurt wondered if his words had been perceived as promise or threat. He decided it didn't matter. He would return and when he did, he hoped to find Hogan had taken that final step toward healing.
To be continued. Thank you for reading!