12 down. To purposely ruin. Eight letters.

Kinch chuckled to himself as he penciled sabotage into the crossword puzzle. The irony felt very humorous, but that also might be because it was about four in the morning. No more messages had come in from London, something Hogan and the crew would be happy to hear when they got back…should they have been back yet? For a moment, images of the team captured, dead, or worse, hovered in the musty tunnel. Kinch shoved them aside in favor of other worries. Had he remembered to put the coffee pot on? He would hate to deal with the boys after a mission without their coffee…and he imagined they wouldn't be too pleased with him either.

He checked the list off in his mind again: nope. He HAD turned on the coffee pot, no messages had come in from London, and the medical kit was within reach. If anything had happened to the team while they were out, he would be ready for it.

It didn't sound like any of that was the case. The sounds of thumping in the tunnel and quiet laughter came up through the tunnel as Newkirk, Lebeau, Carter, and Hogan made their way to the radio room.

"All I'm saying is boy, it was lucky the Gestapo showed up when they did! That frauline looked like she was about to draw and quarter Newkirk all by herself!"

"Now, look, Carter, I think you're mistaking the passion in her eyes for rage, I was just getting friendly with her when.."

"Oh, so that slap was nothing personal, mon pote? It looked angry enough to me!"

"Okay, men, knock it off," Hogan said good-naturedly as they all stumbled into the radio room, already shedding various pieces of clothing. "Don't leave the uniforms on the ground, either; just because the Germans are sloppy doesn't mean we have to be."

"Would save me a good lot of time, it would, if you fellows would clean up your act a bit," Newkirk complained. "Do you want to know how long it took me to press your collar just so, Carter? Because if you did, you wouldn't have been flipping it around like that."

Hogan made his way over to Kinch, who raised a questioning eyebrow. "Success. Close call, but the countess was sufficiently distracted when the Gestapo showed up for us to get the pictures we needed. Carter will develop them and then, Kinch, send the details off to London."

"No problem, Colonel."

"I'm not sure about that, Gov. I'd say all that snogging also had to do with why she was so distracted," Newkirk said. "Honestly, I told you, that dirty work isn't for you officers. Let us enlisted men handle it."

"For king and country, eh, Newkirk?" Kinch asked. "What a sacrifice that would be."

Newkirk glanced over at Kinch, a look of mock offense on his face. But was it mock? Kinch wasn't sure. The sergeant shrugged it off. He was being stupid. It was four in the morning, and he was clearly too tired. A long yawn escaped that he tucked away as he helped Nekirk hang up the uniforms in what they'd deemed the "costume closet".

The banter continued on long after the photos had been hung to dry and the team moved back up to the barracks. They climbed the ladder and shut the door on the secrets in the tunnels, and Kinch tried to leave his thoughts among them. At this point, it was five and sleep was pointless. Rolecall would be in thirty minutes, so coffee would have to do.

Lebeau grabbed the pot and brought it to the table as they all filled their cups. "Who are you and what have you done with Sergeant Kinchloe?" he said, passing the pot. "You willingly used your phone tap?"

Kinch laughed, filling a cup before passing it on. He couldn't help keeping an eye on Carter's face as he took the pot.

"Thanks, Kinch," Carter said, smiling and filling his cup. "Card game?"

"Bold of you to ask after the way I cleared you all out last time," Newkirk said as he slapped the cards on the table. "What are we betting, ladies and gents?"

The card game continued, but Kinch knew he was only half present. He was exhausted. The team had been a mess all month. First, Newkirk had been dealing with his cigarette problem. Then Kinch had to put out the fire when Lebeau almost exploded (again). Carter had also nearly blown himself up, and Hogan needed help with his insomnia. That, and all the other little things that the team needed to stay well. Officially, he kept the machine well-oiled and running. Really, though, he cared for his friends. He'd never known anyone quite like them, and it made him feel warm to know that he could help them in even small ways. To have friends who treated him as an equal, who cared for him like he cared for them, made a world of difference.

These men were his friends. They'd proven it over and over again. They'd stood alongside him when bullets were flying, stayed up late with him when he was on radio duty, been his sparring partners even as he accidentally punched a little too hard. And yes, sometimes he had nightmares that they were only using him, that they only liked him because he helped them when they were struggling. And yes, he knew those nightmares were stupid. And the whispers in his ear that he would never be able to prove that he wasn't expendable, that he belonged, that he was a good friend, well, those were stupid too.

Was that a glint of disgust in Carter's eye as he reached for the coffee pot by Kinch's elbow before pouring himself another cup? Was it resentment in Lebeau's voice as he teased Kinch about how he'd missed out on all the excitement tonight? Did they think less of him? He felt his eyelids slipping shut even while playing cards. The attempted mind reading was exhausting, and of course, it was mainly the exhaustion that was making the doubts so bad in the first place.

Roll call came and went, and the men finally went to bed. Kinch drifted off trying to remember the list of things he needed to do when he got up, and hating that he was too tired to remember them all.

-0-

"Surprise!"

Kinch started awake. Four wide faces stared down at him, adorned in shiny foil party hats. The fear that the Gestapo had come from them dwindled. Hochstetter might be ridiculous, but he would never allow himself to wear one of those hats.

"What is this?" he groaned. "And can it involve more sleep?"

"Unfortunately not," Hogan grinned down at him, that uncomfortably devious glint in his eyes. "If we let you sleep much longer, it won't be your birthday anymore."

His birthday. It was just about the beginning of July, wasn't it? He had been so busy with everything else, he'd completely forgotten.

"You guys didn't need to make a big fuss…"

"Of course we did!" Lebeau said, the green and silver hat slightly crooked on his head. "Besides, it gave me an excuse to make a good beignet recipe. Your mother was mysteriously asked by the Allies to send them hers."

The smell wafted over to Kinch's nose and he felt his eyes sting. For just a second, his mama's arms were wrapped around him.

"It's a good thing we conveniently had a meeting in town that we had to go to," Newkirk said, winking and waving a few streamers. "The countess was quite 'elpfully located near the decorating supplies. It also gave us a bit o' an edge that you decided to sleep the day away."

Kinch swung out of his bunk to find the whole barracks festooned with streamers, the rest of his barrack mates smiling at him. "But why…"

"Because you're our friend! Here!" Carter shoved a card into his hands. "We got all the guys to sign it too!"

Kinch skimmed. He was sure the guys had great things to say, but he only really cared about four notes.

To my mate Kinch,

You're one of the most stubborn, steady people I've been pleased to have the acquaintance of, in this pit or elsewhere. Not many people would put up with me and my bad habits, let alone stand by me with them. You're a fine mate, and I'm lucky to have a friend like you. I'd hate to get on the wrong side of your fist! Hope you have a lot more brilliant years outside of this hell hole.

Best wishes,

P. Newkirk

Mon ami,

I moved into Barracks 2 and was sure everyone would be uncouth. I was at least partly wrong (I cannot speak for certain Englishmen). I'm lucky to bunk with you, a fellow French speaker! Your kindness is an inspiration. Come by my restaurant after the war and I'll make you some real beignets. You deserve them.

Cordially,

Lebeau

Hey buddy!

Happy birthday! I'm so glad we ran into each other in this awful place! You always make me laugh, and that's saying something here. But even if we weren't stuck in the middle of Germany, you would be one of the funniest guys I know. And you know, North Dakota and Michigan aren't so far away! Someday, you could come visit and be the funniest guy in Bullfrog, with the best mustache.

Love,

Andrew

Kinch had been expecting general birthday greetings. Maybe thank yous. But not people telling them they liked him for who he was. Of all the notes, though, it was the last one that meant the most.

Dear Kinch,

I don't know what I would do without you as my second in command. And that's not just because of all the stuff you do, which I'm thankful for as well. It's because our friendship has come to be a bright spot in this ugly war. Your honesty and dependability are unique. I just want you to know that you don't need to prove anything to us. We're grateful for you as you are. Have a wonderful birthday, Sergeant James Kinchloe. I'm excited to share it with you.

Sincerely,

Robert Hogan

The stinging in his eyes intensified. Kinch looked away briefly, and his brothers respectfully turned away.

"Did you say something about beignets?"

The evening was full of good food and laughter and teasing and friends. For once, an evening that had nothing to do with sabotage.

Self-sabotage. Now that was a kind Kinch was uncomfortably familiar with. Thankfully, Hogan's heroes didn't let him get away with it.

A/N This story started because I loved the concept of mama bear friends. Two years of writing and a GAD diagnosis later, and it has turned into a story about anxiety. During the Reviewathon, dust pointed out that we hadn't really seen Kinch as a character in this story, and I realized it was because I hadn't fully thought through why I love the mama bear concept and what it means to me. It's been really cool to see how the story and I have developed in the eight months since I published it. Thanks for coming along for the ride! I really appreciate it.