New Fic

[misanthrope1.livejournal.com]

Title: Strange Bedfollows
Series: Hogan's Heroes
Pairing: Hogan/Newkirk
Rating: PG-13

Strange Bedfellows


Hogan slammed his office door and glared at the walls. Damn Newkirk and his constant protests! Hogan paced the room. Over the past two weeks, Hogan’s irritation with his English corporal had grown by leaps and bounds. Newkirk more than did his share--all his command crew did. Yet his cheekiness and flippancy was driving Hogan past his limits. Why this was, Hogan wasn’t sure but his thief was continually on his mind lately.
Hogan sat down and tried to rationally figure out what was going wrong. Why was Newkirk driving him crazy? He wasn’t any more obnoxious than before yet Hogan found his nerves on edge everytime Newkirk and he butted heads. Newkirk had become more attentive, more watchful. Many times Hogan had looked up to find the Brit’s green gaze just flicking away from him. Hogan barely would catch it yet it was there. Hogan breathed deep. He needed to be serene, unflappable. This morning had started poorly and he hadn’t helped by reacting like he had. Hogan stood and walked into the barracks.
Kinch, LeBeau, and Carter all looked at him warily. “Where’s Newkirk?” Hogan asked, mentally wincing at his own curt tone.
“In the tunnels, Colonel,” Carter replied.
“Working on uniforms,” LeBeau added.
Hogan nodded and opened the bunk. He glanced at his men. “Don’t disturb us,” he ordered. He headed below, hearing the bunk close over his head. He found Newkirk stitching a uniform, carefully repairing tears. Hogan watched a moment, studying the deft hands. Then he stepped forward and Newkirk looked up, a lock of black hair falling over one eye. Hogan picked up the coat. “Nice work.”
“Thanks, gov.” Newkirk grinned and opened his eyes wide in one of his innocent looks. Hogan’s stomach twisted. He knew then he should leave, continue this another time. His fraying emotional control and Newkirk’s levity meant fireworks in the making. Yet he plowed on.
“About this morning,” he started.
“I was pointing out flaws,” Newkirk quickly defended.
“I know. I just think you can point them out in a better manner.”
Newkirk stared at him. “It’s me, gov’nor. You know I’ll do my part.”
“I know. Just try to be a little diplomatic, all right?”
Newkirk grinned again. “That’s your job, mate.”
“Then make it easier for me. Stop aggravating Klink at roll call.”
“The ol’ Bald Eagle needs a poke now and then.”
“And that poke nearly earned you a week in the cooler.”
“Made the lads laugh.” Newkirk stood up, pulled another uniform from the rack.
“That’s not the point.” Hogan grabbed his emotions. “You know Klink’s on edge and you have to push the envelope.”
Newkirk’s grin widened impshly. “Someone ‘as to push it, gov. ‘Sides, ol’ glass eye deserved it with his spiel about us losing the war.”
Hogan bent his head, rubbed the bridge of his nose. “He was just trying to get a reaction.”
“So I gave ‘im one. I was just being helpful.”
“Stop being helpful!” The roar made Newkirk jerk away, smacking against the wall. Hogan inhaled. “Just hold the remarks awhile, all right?”
Newkirk eyed him leerily. “If you say so. Sir.”
Perhaps it was Hogan’s imagination. Perhaps the sneer he heard was all in his head. Perhaps Newkirk was, in his own way, stating his CO was being an ass. Or maybe he was simply remembering his place and was trying to show respect. Whatever the reason, that sir snapped Hogan’s control. He grabbed Newkirk, shoved him hard into the tunnel wall. “Just have to get the last word, don’t you?” Hogan stood nose to nose with his astonished thief. “What does it take to get you to shut up?!” He felt Newkirk quiver under his hands. Inspiration struck. Hogan tightened his grip and slammed his mouth onto Newkirk’s. It was short yet long enough for Newkirk’s pupils to dilate and his mouth soften. Hogan felt the yielding and slowly pulled away. Newkirk shuddered as Hogan removed his mouth.
Newkirk felt his stomache flip. He clasped the German uniform tightly, staring at his CO. Hogan watched him with an unreadable face and Newkirk stared back. For the first time in his life, he was utterly bereft of words or actions. Hogan’s dark eyes began to twinkle and he grinned. He reached out, touched Newkirk’s cheek in a gentle, odd almost caress and then left, whistling. Newkirk sat down and shook.
LeBeau opened the bunk at the bang and Hogan leaped out whistling. LeBeau blinked. Colonel Hogan grinned. “Any more coffee, LeBeau?”
“Oui,” LeBeau stammered. “Are you all right, Colonel?”
“Just fine.” Hogan poured a cup of coffee and disappeared into his office, still whistling. LeBeau practically threw himself into the tunnels. He found Newkirk staring at a German uniform. Newkirk’s eyes glittered and red flushed his cheeks. LeBeau looked closer. Fine trembling racked Newkirk’s hands.
“You are ill,” LeBeau fussed. “You have caught a cold.”
“Huh? Oh, hey, LeBeau.” Newkirk shook himself. “I’m fine, mate. Just thinking a bit.”
“Did mon Colonel snap?”
“Right around the bend.” Newkirk shook himself again, began stitching.
“Did he yell?”
“A bit. I’m OK, Louie.”
LeBeau frowned, unconvinced. Newkirk continued sewing and LeBeau finally went upstairs. Over the next few days, he watched his friend closely. Eerily quiet, Newkirk seemed in a state of curious reflection. Neither angry or upset, Newkirk merely watched a much cheerier Colonel Hogan constantly. After two days of a practically mute Newkirk, LeBeau broached the subject to Kinch and Carter. “He is tres odd.”
“I’ll say.” Carter nibbled a bit of chocolate. “He’s barely said anything in two days.”
“That is unusual.” Kinch sipped some coffee. “Perhaps the Colonel yelled some sense into him.”
“But he does not seem angry. He seems simply quiet.” LeBeau frowned. “Has he spoken to anyone?”
“Not me.” Carter sat on his bunk. “It’s weird. He’s usually just waiting for Colonel Hogan when I see him.”
“The Colonel must have cracked down hard.”
“But mon Colonel is not angry either. He’s been happy.”
Kinch nodded. The door opened and Colonel Hogan entered. “Hot one today,” he said. “What’s going on?”
The men all looked at each other and LeBeau mentally sighed at the guilty expression in his friends’ faces. “Nothing, Colonel,” Kinch said.
“Uh huh.”
“Maybe we should ask the Colonel,” Carter said.
“Andre,” LeBeau groaned.
“Well, Newkirk isn’t talking to us,”Carter said.
“What’s wrong with Newkirk?” Hogan asked.
“No one knows. He’s not talking,” LeBeau said. He nervously picked up a mug, poured a cup of coffee. “Mon Colonel, perhaps you were a bit too hard on him. Newkirk is tres annoying but he means no harm.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Hogan said with a peculiar smile. “Where is he?”
“The tunnel,” Kinch said.
“OK. Don’t worry, he’s fine.” Hogan found Newkirk in the small “room” where uniforms and guns were stored. Hogan blinked. Each uniform hung neatly, all cleaned, and the weapons all smelled of gun oil. Newkirk deftly sewed a Gestapo uniform. “Wow. Good job down here.”
“Just a little spring cleaning.” Newkirk stared at the uniform. Hogan hid a smile. The usually rambuctious corporal had been extremely subdued lately.
Hogan leaned against the wall. “You all right?”
“Course, gov.”
“I can get Wilson.”
Newkirk’s gaze flew up. “I’m fine,” he exclaimed.
“We’re going out tonight. Abwher or SS?”
“Sir?”
“Choose.”
Newkirk shrugged. “I have more SS.”
“SS it is.”
Newkirk looked at Hogan. “Gov?”
“Yes?”
Newkirk shook his head. “Never mind.”
Hogan chuckled and laid a hand on Newkirk’s back. “Are you done?”
“Yes.”
“Come on up. You must be hungry.”
Newkirk sighed and Hogan felt the muscles tremble. “I could use a bite,” he said. He stood and Hogan gestured. Newkirk glanced at him with an odd expression in his eyes then looked away. They left the tunnel.