24. And the hour runs through the roughest day

Countess Elizabeth took the coffee tray from her maid and she personally passed around the cups. The day was just starting, but things were all going bad already. Of the group of four, only Schultz and Newkirk had come back. She took them into the library, the warmer room in the house. She sat patiently until the sergeant gathered strength to tell her their ordeal. Newkirk stayed by the fireplace, unable to take part in the conversation. He did not even bother to look at them to read their lips. His eyes were fixed on the flames and the whimsical figures their shadows made on the carpet.

"What are you going to do now?" Countess Elizabeth asked Schultz.

"Go back to camp, I suppose." The sergeant sighed deeply. "I still don't know how the kommandant will take the news, he'll go crazy." He rubbed his forehead with one hand and turned to Newkirk. "Are you going to take your tea?" He immediately remembered that he could not hear him.

Newkirk felt a hand on his shoulder and he started. He moaned as he turned. "D-don't touch me!" He stumbled and had to seek the wall to keep his balance.

"Are you all right?" Schultz could see the color fading quickly from the corporal's face. He had to rush to catch him before he fell on the floor.

The following hours were excruciating for the sergeant. Newkirk's temperature began to rise fast, sending him into episodes of hallucinations or total unconsciousness. Schultz sat beside him, sponging his face with cold water. Newkirk screamed; he called Hogan as he replayed the accident in his mind. When he opened his eyes, he screamed in pain.

"Don't touch me!" He crawled up on the bed, away from Schultz.

"I won't, I won't." He sat back on the chair. "Talk to me, Newkirk. What do you feel?" His voice was saddened. He understood what he must be going through. Hogan and his men were so close, like a family. Losing Colonel Hogan should be devastating. Even he felt like he had lost a close friend.

Newkirk shook his head. He closed his eyes and rubbed them with his fists. "It hurts... I feel like burning up inside... Hurts!"

Minutes passed and Newkirk was asleep again. He rolled his head on the pillow, mumbling and moaning. He opened his eyes and everything was dark. He tried to think but his mind had gone blank. He tried to move and excruciating pain invaded every inch of his body. He remembered the explosion, the building falling on them. Seconds later, it was over. He woke up with a scream.

"Colonel?"

Schultz came running into the room. He turned on the lamp on the table and found Newkirk sitting up in the bed, with his eyes fixed in the darkness. The corporal's condition had begun to deteriorate.

Schultz kept trying to reach him one more time. "Newkirk," he said touching the corporal's hand.

Newkirk jumped as though hit by a bolt of lighting. "Don't! It hurts! It hurts!"

"I know, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Schultz stared at him. He was getting desperate, trying to find a way to help him. This young corporal, along with Carter, LeBeau and Kinch were more than friends to him. They were like his own sons, what happened to them would affect him too. Nothing troubled him more than seeing Newkirk in so much pain. "Newkirk, please, can't you talk to me?"

The Englishman lied down again. He kept his eyes closed as though deliberately avoiding Schultz. "It hurts so much... It hurts so much!"

Schultz could not do anything else but leave him alone.

"Isn't he improving at all?" Countess Elizabeth asked the sergeant when he came out. "I hope you don't mind. I called one of my physicians. He'll be here in no time."

"Oh, that's wonderful, thank you. I don't know what else to do. He has taken this tragedy too hard." Schultz managed to smile politely. Deep inside, he was completely drained. "I have to prepare our things to go back to camp now."

"You might rest, Sergeant. Stay for today. I assure you that Corporal Newkirk is in good hands."

()o()o()

Darkness was his friend now. He could not see a thing. If he could not see, he did not have to talk. Talking hurt... Thinking hurt... There were times when he wanted to scream, to throw out all that pain. But he was too tired, too bloody tired.

What were they thinking, snatching him from the Stalag just like that? They had threatened him with his own life and his friends' lives only to engage him in this task from hell... Who did they think he was anyway? What a bloody thief he had proven to be. Nobody told him it would be like this... He felt used. He felt betrayed... He felt guilty...

Poor Colonel Hogan, he would never know why he had actually died... But, whose fault was it anyway? Why did he feel so badly about it? Why did he wish to die before having to tell Kinch, Carter and LeBeau that their beloved commander and friend had died? What a waste... what a senseless, stupid waste...

Newkirk shuddered but did not cry. He was alone, in the dark but he could not cry. He sat back against the headboard. The room was too big. When his eyes got used to the darkness, shadows began to dance around him. "No more ghosts... no more ghosts, please..."

His mind drifted back to Hogan... Did he know he was going to die? At the end... was he scared? It had not been a day since they left the camp... No one knew he was not coming back...

Did it hurt, Gov'nor? Did dying actually hurt?...

He wanted to cry... he made fists with his hands hoping for the pain to bring out some tears. He felt a thousand pins and needles piercing his skin. He might have screamed but he could not hear it. He could not shed a tear... He did not know he was awake until the lights went on and Schultz came back to his side.

Schultz walked in slowly with a bowl of soup in his hand. Newkirk was still sitting at the top of his bed, his back against the wall. He trembled when the sergeant came to sit on a chair nearby. At least, the young man looked more awake now.

"Don't touch me!" Newkirk warned him in a whisper.

"I won't. Just let me stay here for a moment, all right?" His voice matched the pain in his heart. He could not stand so much suffering. "Here, you haven't eaten yet." He showed him the bowl and offered him a spoon.

Newkirk leaned back. "I ain't hungry."

"I think you are. Just try it once. It's delicious."

"Not bloody hungry!" he pushed the bowl. Fortunately, Schultz had anticipated something like that and saved the soup before it spilled on the floor. Newkirk closed his eyes. "Go away!"

Schultz tapped on the bed and Newkirk opened his eyes again. "You need to eat something. I'll go away as soon as you do that. Don't challenge me, Englander. I've been a Vater much longer than you've been a son."

Newkirk smirked. "Can't hold the spoon."

Schultz took the bowl and got closer. He filled the spoon and smiled. "What do you like, the plane or the chou-chou train?"

Newkirk gave a snort of laughter. It sent painful waves all over his body. He hugged himself and sighed. "I'm in the RAF, remember?"

Schultz fed him two spoonfuls. He had prepared the third when he saw the corporal staring at him. "What is it, Newkirk?"

"I'm sorry," Newkirk said.

"What for?"

"I've been so much trouble."

"Newkirk, you've never been trouble."

"Liar," he half smiled.

Schultz breathed deeply and nodded. He had made Newkirk smile. "Well, you are a little mischievous, ja. But we are used to it." He looked at the corporal, pensive again. He let the bowl on the table and lowered his voice. "Do you want to cry?"

"Can't," Newkirk whispered.

Schultz leaned forward to make sure Newkirk did not miss a word. "Listen, Newkirk. I'm much older than you and I've lost more friends than you. I know that crying helps to relieve the pain."

Newkirk shook his head. His jaw trembled and his teeth chattered. "I can't..."

"What do you feel? What can I do to help you?"

Newkirk's expression seemed to soften. "H-he trusted me... I told him to trust me and now he's dead..." He lowered his eyes and shook his head. "Why wasn't it me? Why did it have to be the colonel?"

Schultz put his hand on the bed, near Newkirk but without touching him. "Maybe," said he in a deep sigh, "because he didn't want to be in your place right now. He made sure that we were safe... You see? Dying is less painful than staying behind."

Newkirk winced in pain. He leaned back again. "What am I going to do now, Schultz? How am I gonna tell the lads-?"

"I can tell them for you, if you want to." Schultz smiled softly.

Newkirk shook his head. "Just be there with me when I tell them."

Schultz leaned forward again. "I will never leave you alone, Englander."

There was a knock on the door. It was Countess Elizabeth with a man in a suit.

"This is Doctor Ritz," said she. "He came to see you."

Newkirk was not pleased with the idea. He knew that his illness did not have a cure in a rational world, but a doctor could be the way to bring peace of mind to everyone else. "Schultz?"

"I won't move from here." The sergeant gave his chair to the doctor and stood next to the bed.

"Now, young man. Try to relax, I just want to check your vital signs, all right?" The doctor grinned kindly as he took Newkirk's wrist.

The first contact made the corporal scream. He yanked his arm away and crawled back. "This is not going to work!" He shielded himself with his right arm. "No, I can't!"

"He's in so much pain. We haven't been able to touch him at all," Schultz explained.

"What kind of pain? Where?" The doctor asked Newkirk.

"Sharp... deep... searing... everywhere..." Newkirk gasped.

"I need to check your heart and pulse. I'll try to do it as fast as possible," the doctor said, putting on his stethoscope.

Newkirk clenched his teeth anticipating the pain. He was reaching for Schultz's hand when the door opened abruptly.

"You can't get in!" Countess Elizabeth yelled at Spike who, dressed as a priest, had just come leaping into the room. "Who let you in the house?"

"You, last night, remember?" Spike grinned. "One invitation, that's all it takes. Didn't you read Dracula?

"But it's still daylight!" the lady protested.

"I left my blanket in the living room, hope you don't mind," he said. "I hate limits and boundaries."

"Spike?" Newkirk frowned. "How come-? I saw you d-"

"Die?" He rolled his eyes. "Immortal here," he shrugged. "Do we have to go through that every time we talk? Very few things can kill us."

"Are you a priest now?" Newkirk dropped his head backwards, against the headboard. He feared a straight answer from Spike. "Wait, I don't want to know."

"That's how you receive your best friend?" He raised his hand to show him a paper bag. "I brought you some tea."

Schultz narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You brought him tea?"

Spike glared. "It's a British thing, all right?" He looked at the doctor and the lady. "You mind, me and my friend would like some moment of privacy here."

"But-" the doctor protested.

"This is unacceptable." Countess Elizabeth turned to Newkirk. "Is this indeed your friend?"

"Acquaintance," Newkirk shrugged painfully. "Just give us a few minutes, I'll kick him out meself." He saw Schultz was about to say something. "It's all right, Schultzie. I'll be fine. Thank you."

"Don't worry about anything, son. I'll be right on the other side of the door." He passed in front of Spike and shot him a threat with his eyes.

The vampire smirked and tilted his head.

"You're not his favorite person." Newkirk winced in pain as he tried to get in a more comfortable position.

"I get that a lot," Spike said, moaning as he sat down.

"You're hurt." Newkirk stared at the vampire's face.

"Oh, I just broke my leg in three parts. It's already mending," he said. He put the bag on the table.

"Are you getting me drunk again?" Newkirk crossed his arms on his chest.

"Wouldn't be a bad idea, would be?" he snorted.

Newkirk saw a somber shadow in Spike's eyes. "Sorry about Drusilla... she was quite a-"

"She's not dead," he said almost as a protest. "Well, I mean, she's not gone."

"Spike, she was with the colonel and-"

"She's not gone!" Spike sprung off the chair and for a moment, Newkirk thought he was about to switch into his game face. Instead, the vampire sighed and paced around. "I would feel it... I'm sure that if she wasn't here anymore, I would feel it."

Newkirk nodded. The tension in the room caused spasms in his muscles and he moaned involuntarily. He took a deep breath. "You went away, why?"

Spike sat down again. "I've got things to do. People to see... time to think..." He opened the bag. "I brought you some tea."

Newkirk stared at the steaming glass. "It's blue," he wrinkled his nose.

"Tastes good, you should try it." Spike held the glass out to Newkirk.

Newkirk raised his hands for Spike to see the tremors. "Can't touch anything. It's just too painful."

Spike grinned. "All right, the plane is leaving the airport-"

"Spike!" Newkirk glared. "Don't start with your rubbish or I won't mind the pain of connecting me knuckles with your bloody nose."

Spike laughed. "Sorry mate, couldn't help hearing that giant Teddy bear feeding you some soup. You're so pathetic right now." He helped Newkirk to drink a sip. "Are you in pain?"

"Bloody hell! That tastes like garbage!" Newkirk covered his mouth. "You said it was good."

"I lied." Spike shrugged. "Hold the glass. You can do it."

Newkirk obeyed. The pain in his hands was more bearable now. "Where did you get those clothes?"

"I ate a priest." The straight face lasted no more than two seconds. He laughed at Newkirk's look of disgust. "Kidding! Blimey, you believe everything I say!" He laughed some more. "After I freed myself from under the debris, my uniform was a mess. I went to the nearest house, which was the priest's and grabbed some stuff."

"Black suits you," Newkirk chuckled and drank more tea.

"Yeah, it highlights the baby blue of my eyes... So I've been told. Vampire, no reflection in the mirror," he smiled and touched his cassock. "Good for walking in the streets, no one stops you to ask for your ID."

"Naturally." After a moment of silence, Newkirk changed his expression. "Why did you come back?"

The vampire leaned back on the chair. "I need your help to get Dru back."

"Back from where? There's nothing left in there." He put the glass on the side table. He leaned back and gasped.

"How do you feel, Newkirk?" Spike smirked. "How have you been since, let's say... last night?"

Newkirk shuddered and put his hand on his chest. "The red giant... Red Sun, he did something when he touched me, didn't he?"

"Well, yeah..." he said pushing the glass towards Newkirk again. "Those horsemen are very playful, you know? While White Dawn freezes you inside out, Red Sun does the opposite."

Newkirk paled in panic. "He fries you inside out?"

"That's a way to put it." Spike sighed. "Drink your tea, Peter."

"Am I going to-?"

"No, it's just another annoying thing about Baba Yaga, she doesn't take what she hasn't asked for. It would make you uncomfortably hot and achy for years to come unless-"

"Unless what-?"

"Unless you drink the famous Blue Rose tea." He picked up the glass. "To the last drop, mate." He watched Newkirk drink until the glass was empty. The corporal grimaced in disgust and Spike laughed. "It doesn't work if you throw it up."

Newkirk began to feel much better almost immediately. He stared at Spike and nodded. "Thank you, mate."

"Thank you? I broke my back seeking for those bloody roses. You've got no idea what I had to do for them," he chuckled. "I'm a soulless vampire, I don't do good deeds for nothing." He leaned over. "I need you to come with me. I just saved your life, mate. You can't deny me a favor."

"You really believe she's there, don't you?" Newkirk felt suddenly sleepy.

"She's there, Peter..."

Newkirk blinked. He was unable to lift his head anymore. "I can't keep me eyes open..."

"You need to sleep now," Spike helped him to lie down. "Think of what I said. I'll be back for you at dusk."

Newkirk did not hear anything else. He opened his eyes one last time and the vampire was gone.

tbc

Certainly you didn't think I was going to keep you waiting for too long ;)

Only three chapters left...

See you soon.

Thank you for keep on reading :)