what_we_dream (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
what_we_dream) wrote2011-03-06 06:58 pm
what_we_dream) wrote2011-03-06 06:58 pm
Entry tags:
Hogan's Heroes: The Heart of the Problem
Title: The Heart of the Problem
Series: Hogan's Heroes
Pairing: None
Rating: PG
Warnings: Animal death; angst-fest
Notes: Part of this supernatural AU. Why am I writing thiiiiiiiis?
Summary: Newkirk learns more about Carter than is good for him, but stays anyway.
Spring was always a busy time. As soon as the snows melted they inevitably got a run of men escaping, eager to get out after waiting months for clear ground. Although it was only just March and further snowfall was definitely a possibility, for now the snow had melted and the tunnels were rotating heavily through escapers. Currently their guests were a squad of Yanks from Stalag 5, four corporals and a sergeant who had sweated out three months of snow sitting on a completed tunnel, and having finally escaped, were full of demands and complaints. The pent-up frustration and anger was practically visible in the air around them, hot and red and uncomfortable, and Newkirk avoided them as much as possible. He wasn’t quite sure whether the colonel had picked up on his distaste or not, but he had given Newkirk jobs which kept him out of the way of their visitors.
At the moment, Newkirk was taking inventory of the most recent shipments from London, and was down to the explosives. Which meant checking in with Carter.
The curtain separating the chemist’s lab from the general tunnel network was pulled closed, but that was standard procedure. The best practice was to peek around and see if Carter looked busy, and if so to tiptoe away and come back later – or, if possible, to send someone else to check for you. Newkirk, clipboard under one arm, sighed and pulled back a corner of the heavy blanket that served as the curtain: the lab bench was unoccupied. He twitched back the curtain further, and leaned in.
“Carter?”
“Down here.”
Newkirk stepped in and glanced around the corner. Carter was sitting on the ground beside the mesh fence that served as one end of Daisy’s run. The rabbit was sitting on his lap, eyes closed, while Carter stroked her back absentmindedly. Newkirk felt himself untensing unconsciously, his shoulders and spine relaxing, and ran a hand through his hair to hide his smile.
Carter looked up, eyes bright, and smiled. “What’s up, Newkirk?”
“Inventory. Fuses and timers.”
“Oh, right.” Carter didn’t move, continued petting the rabbit in long, even strokes. He felt calm and relaxed – completely at ease. Contentment washed over Newkirk in a warm, gentle wave, and he soaked it up like a sponge “Well, whaddya want to know?”
Newkirk ran down the list, pencil-tip against the paper, making notes as Carter gave them. Their inventory was fairly simple, just a large stock of standard parts. Anything unusual they either made out of the spares or had shipped specially. Newkirk finished the list and handed the board over to the sergeant. “Sign.”
Carter took it and scribbled a line at the bottom, handed it back. Daisy twitched her ears, one eye opening slowly and then closing again unconcernedly.
“How is she?”
Carter glanced down. “Oh, fine. But I think she should be going soon. The frosts’ll be over in the next week or two, Schultz says. She’ll be wanting to get out and start a family.” He was smiling, but the quiet pang of loneliness stung like a razor-cut.
“She’d be ‘appy to stay with you,” pointed out Newkirk. It was true. The rabbit was wild; would hardly tolerate anyone near her and dove into the burrows dug into the tunnel wall for her by Carter when the men walked by. But she would come to Carter, would happily sit in his lap for hours while he chattered away to her like she was human. Probably because, as far as Newkirk could tell from his genuine interest in and affection for the rabbit, to him she was.
“Nah, that’s not fair. She’s got her own life. Now that winter’s over, she doesn’t need somewhere nice and warm to live. She’ll be wanting to make her own burrow for her kits, if she can find a nice guy.”
Leaving Carter alone again. He had plenty of human friends, but as far as Newkirk could tell it wasn’t the same thing. Was like substituting potato for meat. Or maybe, for most people, a rabbit for a human.
“Maybe she’ll come back next winter,” said Newkirk. “Although frankly I bloody well ‘ope we won’t still be ‘ere for it.”
Carter smiled. “Maybe she will, and bring her kids with her. I’d like to see them.”
-------------------------------------------------------
By the end of the day Newkirk had finished the inventory and handed it in to Kinch. Hanging around in the communications room, he discovered that the Americans were set to go out that night, with LeBeau and Olson guiding them to their first rendezvous with the Underground network. He couldn’t say he would miss them.
Bored, he stepped out into the corridor, intending to go back up to the barracks. Instead, he ran smack into Carter, giving off an uncomfortable goose bump-raising uncertainty like a train did steam.
“Hey, Peter, have you seen Daisy?”
“What?” Newkirk blinked. “Uh, no. What, did she get loose?” He glanced around at the ground, as if expecting to see the rabbit running by.
“No, the pen was closed.”
“Maybe she tunnelled out. You know, decided to get going a bit early.”
Carter shook his head, certain and impatient. “No, she wouldn’t do that.”
If it had been anyone else, Newkirk would have laughed. But Carter knew the damn rabbit better than he knew most people.
“So someone took her out? I dunno, Andrew, no one ‘d do that.” None of the men went into Carter’s lab uninvited. Most of them wouldn’t go in even when invited.
“She’s gone,” repeated Carter, confusion solidifying into icy concern.
“Alright. I’ll ask around. You keep lookin’. Maybe she just went to stretch ‘er legs and got lost.”
Carter was clearly unconvinced, but he hurried off anyway. Newkirk sighed and shook his head. Looking for a rabbit in a warren. Well, he’d done stupider things.
-------------------------------------------------------
Newkirk checked with the guys in the printing room, then the mint, and then the tailoring shop. Predictably, none of them had noticed a small brownish rabbit in dark tunnels. He walked back to the chem. lab and checked the rabbit’s run. Just as Carter had said, there was no break in the wire, and getting down to his knees and shining a light in the burrows hollowed out in the tunnel wall, he could see that none of them had broken through to the corridor beyond. Either the rabbit had jumped the fence – not impossible – or someone had taken her out. He sighed, and set out to find LeBeau. With his nose, he might have better luck tracking the rabbit down.
-------------------------------------------------------
LeBeau turned out to be in the communications room with Kinch, going over the plans for the Americans. Newkirk leant back against the wall to wait until they had finished.
“Anyway, LeBeau,” said Kinch, spreading a map out on the table, “the rendezvous point will be Charlie 5 – you know, the old oak tree. Be careful of the 23:00 patrol; they’ll be cutting across towards the main road.”
“I don’t understand why we can’t just use the watching stone, it’s easy to find and the patrols never cut across the route.” LeBeau tapped the map, frowning.
“Yeah, well, one of these days someone’s going to pick up on the fact that we’ve practically beaten a path to it, and then we’ll be in trouble. Oh, hi, Colonel.” This last was addressed to Hogan, who strode in from the direction of the barracks 2 ladder while Kinch was talking. The C.O. nodded.
“All set to ship out?”
“The men want more supplies. They say they’ve had enough of nearly starving, sir.” Kinch shrugged, eyes dark. Even his steadiness was tinged at the edges with vibrant impatience, thin and sharp like saw teeth.
Hogan frowned, unimpressed. “Yeah, well, they’ll take what we’ve got. It’ll be enough to get them to the coast. We’re not a green grocer’s. Besides, they’ve had two days of feeding up here.” He crossed his arms, and glanced down at the map. “Oh, Charlie 5, huh?”
“Yes, sir,” said Kinch, “We figured…”
Newkirk stopped listening, and turned to LeBeau. “Hey, Louis. ‘Ave you seen Carter recenty?”
The Frenchman glanced up, eyebrows raised. “Not in the past few hours. Why?”
“’Is bally rabbit’s gone missing. Think you could –”
He didn’t have a chance to finish. Boiling, roiling, pounding rage slammed into him in a crushing wave of roaring murderous fury. It crashed down over his shoulders, searing him to the bone. Newkirk stumbled and gasped for breath, light and sound momentarily eclipsed. He came up against the cold tunnel wall and pressed his forehead against it, trying desperately to cool his suddenly feverish skin.
“ –kirk? Newkirk? What’s wrong?” LeBeau’s voice filtered in, thin and unclear through the heavy throbbing in his head.
Newkirk straightened without bothering to answer, pushed past Kinch and Hogan at the entrance to the communications room and broke into a staggering run. He had no difficulty knowing which way to go; it was as easy as finding the sun in the sky.
Someone was going to kill someone.
He shifted up into a sprint and ran through the curved corridor, boots pounding on packed dirt. Realised even as he followed the rage that he knew where he was going. The mustering area.
Newkirk slammed around the corner, and skidded to a stop to stare at the tableau in front of him. Standing on one side of the room were the five Americans, looking surly and just slightly uncertain. Across from them, with his back to the exit, was Carter.
And in one of the Yank corporal’s hands, the limp corpse of a rabbit dangled by its long back legs.
Oh bloody hell.
“You murderers,” spat Carter, his rage a knife in the air. “You cold-hearted goddamn killers!” Newkirk could feel the fury all around him, black and thick as oil and just pouring off him. Feel nothing but that, covering the sergeant, drowning him. In a second he would jump, all teeth and claws, for the Yanks’ throats.
Newkirk stepped sharply forward and grabbed Carter. And then, concentrating, reached out again to grab at his rage and rip it down so hard Carter stumbled in his grip. “They killed her,” he hissed through gritted teeth, fighting Newkirk’s grip. Newkirk hung on to both him and his anger, forcing Carter back and his emotions down.
“I know, I know,” he murmured, wrestling the man back. Kinch appeared from behind him to give a hand, all strength and cold pity. Out of the corner of his eye, Newkirk saw Hogan stride past them towards the men, saw LeBeau watching from the sidelines with wide eyes and knew he must be almost as affected by the sea of emotions bubbling in the tiny room as Newkirk was.
“C’mon, Carter, the colonel’ll take care of them.”
Carter’s raw rage was cooling now, flowing almost seamlessly into freezing, icy sorrow. He slumped in Newkirk’s grip, falling back against the corporal. Newkirk let out his breath in a long hiss, and let the sergeant’s emotions slip away through his fingers. Carter shivered, and pushed away.
“You can let me go,” he said, turning away.
“Carter –”
“I’m okay now.”
Newkirk reached out for him again. “Carter…”
Anger flared minutely, a candle in the wind. “Just leave me alone.” He turned and marched off down the tunnel, hands in his pockets.
-------------------------------------------------
Newkirk was in the communications room drinking tea sweetened with a week’s worth of sugar rations when the colonel came in with LeBeau. He was holding the rabbit in the crook of his arm.
“Kinch is taking them out with Olson,” the colonel said, sitting down and pulling the tea pot over to pour himself a mug. “He won’t do anything stupid.”
“There is stupid, and then there is deserved,” said LeBeau darkly.
The colonel shrugged. He looked weary, but he felt cold and wretched, like November fog rolling off the sea. “They were strung-up and frightened, and they didn’t know any better. I’m not saying it was right,” he added sharply, cutting of LeBeau’s exclamation, “but they don’t need their throats ripped out.”
“That also is a matter of opinion,” said the Frenchman, glowering. “You did not sense Carter’s rage, and his grief. It might have been Newkirk they killed, or one of his sisters.”
Hogan sighed and took off his cap to run a hand through his hair. “And that’s another problem. What do I do about him?”
Newkirk looked up from his tea. “In what way, sir?”
“Well, obviously I can’t just go and offer him a new rabbit, can I?” The question was almost rhetorical.
“No sir,” replied Newkirk immediately. “Louis’ right. To Andrew, Daisy was a person – a friend.”
“Right. So what do I say? ‘Sorry, Carter, I couldn’t court martial them for killing a rabbit even though it was your friend?’” Under the irritated sarcasm, there was nothing but acid-bitter self-directed anger.
“No, sir,” said Newkirk again, more softly. “He’ll understand. Just… just be sincere.”
Hogan stood and picked up Daisy. “You’d better come along, Newkirk. No one wants to face sincerity from an officer alone.”
-------------------------------------------------------
Unsurprisingly, they found Carter in his lab. He was sitting at the bench with his back to the entrance, surrounded by bubbling vials. The colonel cleared his throat, and Carter turned. His face was so covered in sweat from the flames that it was impossible to tell if he was crying. He stood and wiped his sleeve across his face.
“Sir?”
Carter’s eyes dropped to Hogan’s arms. Behind the colonel, Newkirk flinched and gritted his teeth against the icy pain, like a knife to the heart.
“They’re gone, Carter,” said Hogan quietly, passing the small bundle of fur to the sergeant. “I’m sorry about this.”
“Yes, sir,” whispered Carter.
“I can’t put in a reprimand,” continued Hogan, rough-edged self-recrimination like road rash. “There’s no violation in the books to cover it, and it would look…”
“Silly?” Carter looked up with a bright, brittle smile. “I understand, sir. It’s my fault, anyway. I never should’ve kept her here.” He glanced down at the rabbit cradled in his arms. “Thanks for bringing her back.”
“Carter , I’m sure – I’m sure she was much safer down here with you than out there with the foxes and owls. And probably happier, too.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Carter again. Hogan nodded and clasped the sergeant’s shoulder briefly. “If you need anything, let me know.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hogan nodded again and stepped out. Newkirk was waiting for it, but he still had to lock his joints to keep from swaying when Carter let the lid off his emotions with the departure of the colonel; they crashed into him like the waves off a breakwater. This was why he never went to funerals.
Carter glanced at him, and gave an awkward and twisted smile. The ocean of anger, grief and guilt receded slightly. “You should go; I’m okay. And I’ll just make you miserable.”
Newkirk shrugged. “We’ve all gotta be miserable sometime.” He glanced at the test tubes, still bubbling away. “Are those okay?”
“What? Oh, yeah. It’s just some cleaning stuff for LeBeau. Nothing dangerous.” He sat down on the floor beside the run, where he had been sitting earlier. Newkirk, aware that Carter’s definition of dangerous was several sticks of dynamite away from the man on the street’s, sat down beside him with a wary glance at the lab table.
“It was nice of the colonel to come by.” Carter stared off into the distance, hands resting still on his knees.
“’E’s worried about you.”
“He doesn’t understand,” said Carter, matter-of-factly.
“No. But he tries to,” replied Newkirk in the same tone.
Carter turned to look at him, blue eyes bright in the flame-light. “Do you?”
“I only know what people feel. Not why.”
“Is that enough?” Carter looked down at the rabbit in his lap, and grief cut into Newkirk’s throat like a wire. He wrapped an arm around Carter’s shoulders, and tried to lock out the other man’s feelings, to separate himself, to breathe.
“No,” he said, staring narrowly at the wall while Carter fell to pieces beside him and cut them both with the shards. It’s too much.
END
Series: Hogan's Heroes
Pairing: None
Rating: PG
Warnings: Animal death; angst-fest
Notes: Part of this supernatural AU. Why am I writing thiiiiiiiis?
Summary: Newkirk learns more about Carter than is good for him, but stays anyway.
Spring was always a busy time. As soon as the snows melted they inevitably got a run of men escaping, eager to get out after waiting months for clear ground. Although it was only just March and further snowfall was definitely a possibility, for now the snow had melted and the tunnels were rotating heavily through escapers. Currently their guests were a squad of Yanks from Stalag 5, four corporals and a sergeant who had sweated out three months of snow sitting on a completed tunnel, and having finally escaped, were full of demands and complaints. The pent-up frustration and anger was practically visible in the air around them, hot and red and uncomfortable, and Newkirk avoided them as much as possible. He wasn’t quite sure whether the colonel had picked up on his distaste or not, but he had given Newkirk jobs which kept him out of the way of their visitors.
At the moment, Newkirk was taking inventory of the most recent shipments from London, and was down to the explosives. Which meant checking in with Carter.
The curtain separating the chemist’s lab from the general tunnel network was pulled closed, but that was standard procedure. The best practice was to peek around and see if Carter looked busy, and if so to tiptoe away and come back later – or, if possible, to send someone else to check for you. Newkirk, clipboard under one arm, sighed and pulled back a corner of the heavy blanket that served as the curtain: the lab bench was unoccupied. He twitched back the curtain further, and leaned in.
“Carter?”
“Down here.”
Newkirk stepped in and glanced around the corner. Carter was sitting on the ground beside the mesh fence that served as one end of Daisy’s run. The rabbit was sitting on his lap, eyes closed, while Carter stroked her back absentmindedly. Newkirk felt himself untensing unconsciously, his shoulders and spine relaxing, and ran a hand through his hair to hide his smile.
Carter looked up, eyes bright, and smiled. “What’s up, Newkirk?”
“Inventory. Fuses and timers.”
“Oh, right.” Carter didn’t move, continued petting the rabbit in long, even strokes. He felt calm and relaxed – completely at ease. Contentment washed over Newkirk in a warm, gentle wave, and he soaked it up like a sponge “Well, whaddya want to know?”
Newkirk ran down the list, pencil-tip against the paper, making notes as Carter gave them. Their inventory was fairly simple, just a large stock of standard parts. Anything unusual they either made out of the spares or had shipped specially. Newkirk finished the list and handed the board over to the sergeant. “Sign.”
Carter took it and scribbled a line at the bottom, handed it back. Daisy twitched her ears, one eye opening slowly and then closing again unconcernedly.
“How is she?”
Carter glanced down. “Oh, fine. But I think she should be going soon. The frosts’ll be over in the next week or two, Schultz says. She’ll be wanting to get out and start a family.” He was smiling, but the quiet pang of loneliness stung like a razor-cut.
“She’d be ‘appy to stay with you,” pointed out Newkirk. It was true. The rabbit was wild; would hardly tolerate anyone near her and dove into the burrows dug into the tunnel wall for her by Carter when the men walked by. But she would come to Carter, would happily sit in his lap for hours while he chattered away to her like she was human. Probably because, as far as Newkirk could tell from his genuine interest in and affection for the rabbit, to him she was.
“Nah, that’s not fair. She’s got her own life. Now that winter’s over, she doesn’t need somewhere nice and warm to live. She’ll be wanting to make her own burrow for her kits, if she can find a nice guy.”
Leaving Carter alone again. He had plenty of human friends, but as far as Newkirk could tell it wasn’t the same thing. Was like substituting potato for meat. Or maybe, for most people, a rabbit for a human.
“Maybe she’ll come back next winter,” said Newkirk. “Although frankly I bloody well ‘ope we won’t still be ‘ere for it.”
Carter smiled. “Maybe she will, and bring her kids with her. I’d like to see them.”
-------------------------------------------------------
By the end of the day Newkirk had finished the inventory and handed it in to Kinch. Hanging around in the communications room, he discovered that the Americans were set to go out that night, with LeBeau and Olson guiding them to their first rendezvous with the Underground network. He couldn’t say he would miss them.
Bored, he stepped out into the corridor, intending to go back up to the barracks. Instead, he ran smack into Carter, giving off an uncomfortable goose bump-raising uncertainty like a train did steam.
“Hey, Peter, have you seen Daisy?”
“What?” Newkirk blinked. “Uh, no. What, did she get loose?” He glanced around at the ground, as if expecting to see the rabbit running by.
“No, the pen was closed.”
“Maybe she tunnelled out. You know, decided to get going a bit early.”
Carter shook his head, certain and impatient. “No, she wouldn’t do that.”
If it had been anyone else, Newkirk would have laughed. But Carter knew the damn rabbit better than he knew most people.
“So someone took her out? I dunno, Andrew, no one ‘d do that.” None of the men went into Carter’s lab uninvited. Most of them wouldn’t go in even when invited.
“She’s gone,” repeated Carter, confusion solidifying into icy concern.
“Alright. I’ll ask around. You keep lookin’. Maybe she just went to stretch ‘er legs and got lost.”
Carter was clearly unconvinced, but he hurried off anyway. Newkirk sighed and shook his head. Looking for a rabbit in a warren. Well, he’d done stupider things.
-------------------------------------------------------
Newkirk checked with the guys in the printing room, then the mint, and then the tailoring shop. Predictably, none of them had noticed a small brownish rabbit in dark tunnels. He walked back to the chem. lab and checked the rabbit’s run. Just as Carter had said, there was no break in the wire, and getting down to his knees and shining a light in the burrows hollowed out in the tunnel wall, he could see that none of them had broken through to the corridor beyond. Either the rabbit had jumped the fence – not impossible – or someone had taken her out. He sighed, and set out to find LeBeau. With his nose, he might have better luck tracking the rabbit down.
-------------------------------------------------------
LeBeau turned out to be in the communications room with Kinch, going over the plans for the Americans. Newkirk leant back against the wall to wait until they had finished.
“Anyway, LeBeau,” said Kinch, spreading a map out on the table, “the rendezvous point will be Charlie 5 – you know, the old oak tree. Be careful of the 23:00 patrol; they’ll be cutting across towards the main road.”
“I don’t understand why we can’t just use the watching stone, it’s easy to find and the patrols never cut across the route.” LeBeau tapped the map, frowning.
“Yeah, well, one of these days someone’s going to pick up on the fact that we’ve practically beaten a path to it, and then we’ll be in trouble. Oh, hi, Colonel.” This last was addressed to Hogan, who strode in from the direction of the barracks 2 ladder while Kinch was talking. The C.O. nodded.
“All set to ship out?”
“The men want more supplies. They say they’ve had enough of nearly starving, sir.” Kinch shrugged, eyes dark. Even his steadiness was tinged at the edges with vibrant impatience, thin and sharp like saw teeth.
Hogan frowned, unimpressed. “Yeah, well, they’ll take what we’ve got. It’ll be enough to get them to the coast. We’re not a green grocer’s. Besides, they’ve had two days of feeding up here.” He crossed his arms, and glanced down at the map. “Oh, Charlie 5, huh?”
“Yes, sir,” said Kinch, “We figured…”
Newkirk stopped listening, and turned to LeBeau. “Hey, Louis. ‘Ave you seen Carter recenty?”
The Frenchman glanced up, eyebrows raised. “Not in the past few hours. Why?”
“’Is bally rabbit’s gone missing. Think you could –”
He didn’t have a chance to finish. Boiling, roiling, pounding rage slammed into him in a crushing wave of roaring murderous fury. It crashed down over his shoulders, searing him to the bone. Newkirk stumbled and gasped for breath, light and sound momentarily eclipsed. He came up against the cold tunnel wall and pressed his forehead against it, trying desperately to cool his suddenly feverish skin.
“ –kirk? Newkirk? What’s wrong?” LeBeau’s voice filtered in, thin and unclear through the heavy throbbing in his head.
Newkirk straightened without bothering to answer, pushed past Kinch and Hogan at the entrance to the communications room and broke into a staggering run. He had no difficulty knowing which way to go; it was as easy as finding the sun in the sky.
Someone was going to kill someone.
He shifted up into a sprint and ran through the curved corridor, boots pounding on packed dirt. Realised even as he followed the rage that he knew where he was going. The mustering area.
Newkirk slammed around the corner, and skidded to a stop to stare at the tableau in front of him. Standing on one side of the room were the five Americans, looking surly and just slightly uncertain. Across from them, with his back to the exit, was Carter.
And in one of the Yank corporal’s hands, the limp corpse of a rabbit dangled by its long back legs.
Oh bloody hell.
“You murderers,” spat Carter, his rage a knife in the air. “You cold-hearted goddamn killers!” Newkirk could feel the fury all around him, black and thick as oil and just pouring off him. Feel nothing but that, covering the sergeant, drowning him. In a second he would jump, all teeth and claws, for the Yanks’ throats.
Newkirk stepped sharply forward and grabbed Carter. And then, concentrating, reached out again to grab at his rage and rip it down so hard Carter stumbled in his grip. “They killed her,” he hissed through gritted teeth, fighting Newkirk’s grip. Newkirk hung on to both him and his anger, forcing Carter back and his emotions down.
“I know, I know,” he murmured, wrestling the man back. Kinch appeared from behind him to give a hand, all strength and cold pity. Out of the corner of his eye, Newkirk saw Hogan stride past them towards the men, saw LeBeau watching from the sidelines with wide eyes and knew he must be almost as affected by the sea of emotions bubbling in the tiny room as Newkirk was.
“C’mon, Carter, the colonel’ll take care of them.”
Carter’s raw rage was cooling now, flowing almost seamlessly into freezing, icy sorrow. He slumped in Newkirk’s grip, falling back against the corporal. Newkirk let out his breath in a long hiss, and let the sergeant’s emotions slip away through his fingers. Carter shivered, and pushed away.
“You can let me go,” he said, turning away.
“Carter –”
“I’m okay now.”
Newkirk reached out for him again. “Carter…”
Anger flared minutely, a candle in the wind. “Just leave me alone.” He turned and marched off down the tunnel, hands in his pockets.
-------------------------------------------------
Newkirk was in the communications room drinking tea sweetened with a week’s worth of sugar rations when the colonel came in with LeBeau. He was holding the rabbit in the crook of his arm.
“Kinch is taking them out with Olson,” the colonel said, sitting down and pulling the tea pot over to pour himself a mug. “He won’t do anything stupid.”
“There is stupid, and then there is deserved,” said LeBeau darkly.
The colonel shrugged. He looked weary, but he felt cold and wretched, like November fog rolling off the sea. “They were strung-up and frightened, and they didn’t know any better. I’m not saying it was right,” he added sharply, cutting of LeBeau’s exclamation, “but they don’t need their throats ripped out.”
“That also is a matter of opinion,” said the Frenchman, glowering. “You did not sense Carter’s rage, and his grief. It might have been Newkirk they killed, or one of his sisters.”
Hogan sighed and took off his cap to run a hand through his hair. “And that’s another problem. What do I do about him?”
Newkirk looked up from his tea. “In what way, sir?”
“Well, obviously I can’t just go and offer him a new rabbit, can I?” The question was almost rhetorical.
“No sir,” replied Newkirk immediately. “Louis’ right. To Andrew, Daisy was a person – a friend.”
“Right. So what do I say? ‘Sorry, Carter, I couldn’t court martial them for killing a rabbit even though it was your friend?’” Under the irritated sarcasm, there was nothing but acid-bitter self-directed anger.
“No, sir,” said Newkirk again, more softly. “He’ll understand. Just… just be sincere.”
Hogan stood and picked up Daisy. “You’d better come along, Newkirk. No one wants to face sincerity from an officer alone.”
-------------------------------------------------------
Unsurprisingly, they found Carter in his lab. He was sitting at the bench with his back to the entrance, surrounded by bubbling vials. The colonel cleared his throat, and Carter turned. His face was so covered in sweat from the flames that it was impossible to tell if he was crying. He stood and wiped his sleeve across his face.
“Sir?”
Carter’s eyes dropped to Hogan’s arms. Behind the colonel, Newkirk flinched and gritted his teeth against the icy pain, like a knife to the heart.
“They’re gone, Carter,” said Hogan quietly, passing the small bundle of fur to the sergeant. “I’m sorry about this.”
“Yes, sir,” whispered Carter.
“I can’t put in a reprimand,” continued Hogan, rough-edged self-recrimination like road rash. “There’s no violation in the books to cover it, and it would look…”
“Silly?” Carter looked up with a bright, brittle smile. “I understand, sir. It’s my fault, anyway. I never should’ve kept her here.” He glanced down at the rabbit cradled in his arms. “Thanks for bringing her back.”
“Carter , I’m sure – I’m sure she was much safer down here with you than out there with the foxes and owls. And probably happier, too.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Carter again. Hogan nodded and clasped the sergeant’s shoulder briefly. “If you need anything, let me know.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hogan nodded again and stepped out. Newkirk was waiting for it, but he still had to lock his joints to keep from swaying when Carter let the lid off his emotions with the departure of the colonel; they crashed into him like the waves off a breakwater. This was why he never went to funerals.
Carter glanced at him, and gave an awkward and twisted smile. The ocean of anger, grief and guilt receded slightly. “You should go; I’m okay. And I’ll just make you miserable.”
Newkirk shrugged. “We’ve all gotta be miserable sometime.” He glanced at the test tubes, still bubbling away. “Are those okay?”
“What? Oh, yeah. It’s just some cleaning stuff for LeBeau. Nothing dangerous.” He sat down on the floor beside the run, where he had been sitting earlier. Newkirk, aware that Carter’s definition of dangerous was several sticks of dynamite away from the man on the street’s, sat down beside him with a wary glance at the lab table.
“It was nice of the colonel to come by.” Carter stared off into the distance, hands resting still on his knees.
“’E’s worried about you.”
“He doesn’t understand,” said Carter, matter-of-factly.
“No. But he tries to,” replied Newkirk in the same tone.
Carter turned to look at him, blue eyes bright in the flame-light. “Do you?”
“I only know what people feel. Not why.”
“Is that enough?” Carter looked down at the rabbit in his lap, and grief cut into Newkirk’s throat like a wire. He wrapped an arm around Carter’s shoulders, and tried to lock out the other man’s feelings, to separate himself, to breathe.
“No,” he said, staring narrowly at the wall while Carter fell to pieces beside him and cut them both with the shards. It’s too much.
END