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Der Meißel der Seele	By : Wertiyurae Category: G through L > Hogan's Heroes Views: 1599 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the television series that this fanfiction is written for, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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- 23
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Physically, Klink felt better than he had in days. The Schnapps had really done a lot to make the pain he was feeling seem much less important. Of course, when he’d gotten up the energy to search for his monocle - which he’d finally found under the coat rack -, the bending hadn’t been exactly comfortable but now? He barely noticed it anymore unless he moved quickly. Even then, he regarded it with little more than mild irritation.

Mentally, he didn’t feel much of a difference. The tone of his thoughts hadn’t changed from when he’d started - apathy, rage, and hopelessness were still the predominate emotions swirling around his head. Either his tolerance for drink had gone up since the last time he’d drunk this much or that state of happy incapacitation he’d been trying for was harder to reach without friendly company.

It struck him as very unfair. All he’d wanted was a little peace. All he’d wanted was to forget for a while. Had that been too much to expect?

Apparently so. For all that the alcohol was numbing his body, his mind refused to calm. Dark, disturbing thoughts coiled and snaked through his brain, whirling in confusing, ever constricting circles. There was a resolution buried somewhere in the mess but he was hesitant to actually try finding it.

He was afraid of where he might be led to.

Unfortunately, it was really very simple. If he had to go to Berlin with Adler, he’d go insane. If he refused to go, Adler would hand him over to the Gestapo. If he was handed over to the Gestapo, especially if they thought he had any plans of assassinating the Fuhrer, he’d be tortured before being allowed to die. If he could get away from Adler long enough to attempt running away, there was nowhere he could go.

His choices seemed limited to say the least.

Going with Adler to Berlin was completely out of the question. Even if he had no concerns over his physical health (he couldn’t imagine how he’d feel after a few weeks of Adler’s treatment when he felt this bad already), Klink was positive that his mind wouldn’t survive.

Adler alone would have been bad enough; being surrounded by the Gestapo in addition to Adler was hardly an encouraging prospect. He felt close to snapping as it was and he was with . . well, not friends but subordinates who, probably, weren’t looking for a reason to stab him in the back. Klink doubted he’d even be able to function in Berlin with both Adler and the Gestapo to contend with.

He also had to wonder, and he did this with reluctance, whether continuing to let himself be used by Adler would be worth the anguish he was going through under those conditions. When he’d agreed to the original deal, he had done so with the belief that staying alive was worth the price he was being forced to pay. That his life was worth more than the humiliation of letting Adler take what he wanted.

Even after Adler had . . . modified the arrangement, Klink had still kept his part of the bargain. Though his life seemed to steadily lose value every time he and Adler - every time Adler collected, he hadn’t been prepared to simply throw it away after what he’d already paid. It was that fact that would have kept him paying until Adler decided he’d had enough. Klink hadn’t been able to bear the thought of going through all this for nothing.

Besides, Adler had to leave eventually. Even if he came back, Klink could have some peace while he was gone.

But now? Now, it was a whole other story. Yes, despite how he felt about himself, Klink still didn’t want to be tortured and killed by the Gestapo, but how could he justify this new cost? Paying so dearly - his health, his sanity, all his control - and for what? To exist as nothing more than Adler’s plaything? That was no life he wanted any part of!

Why not? A dark part of his mind whispered. Don’t you enjoy what he does to you?

Klink gulped down some more liquor, closing his eyes as it traveled down his throat. That was one of the things he simply could not understand about all of this. He hated being touched by Adler. He hated the feel of Adler on his skin. Being kissed by Adler made him feel ill. Being sodomized hurt. And yet, despite his efforts to deny his arousal, he still lost control. Why should he have to fight not to feel anything - shouldn’t the fact he was being forced by a man he despised be enough?

Clearly it wasn’t but he couldn’t think about that now. Klink could feel Adler’s hands on him, could almost hear the disgusting sounds the other man made. If he didn’t turn his thoughts elsewhere, he was going to vomit and that would be a waste of liquor.

Regrettably, the only other thoughts his mind could latch onto weren’t much more pleasant. His apparent enjoyment of Adler’s attentions aside, Klink did not want to spend the rest of his life as Adler’s puppet.

And he was beginning to doubt that there was much point in sticking it out even if Adler didn’t insist on taking him to Berlin. He had to wonder what exactly Adler planned to do once he got tired of the games. Could Klink honestly expect Adler to just let him go once he became bored? Assuming, of course, that Adler didn’t manage to “break” him in the meantime?

Judging from what he knew of Adler, he had to admit that that outcome was far too optimistic to put much faith in. More than likely, Klink’s ‘reward’ for letting Adler use him would be being tossed to the Gestapo when he ceased to amuse. The swine had no honor, that much was obvious from his choice in hobby.

It was starting to look like it didn’t matter what he did - it always seemed to lead him back to the Gestapo interrogation rooms. God, was there anyway out of this that didn’t end with him being murdered!

A thought wormed into his brain and he found himself staring down at the bottom desk drawer with a nervous flutter in his stomach. There was at least one way. He set the bottle down, afraid that he might drop it as his hands became nerveless. Hesitantly, feeling almost as though he was watching through someone else’s eyes, Klink took the key out of the top drawer and set to unlocking the bottom one.

Not including some fumbling before he found the keyhole, the drawer opened with a minimum of fuss and he saw what he’d expected to see right away. Heavy in his hand as he drew it from its hiding place, the Luger looked just about the same as when he’d first put it away. Maybe a little dull from being uncared-for in a locked drawer, but not any worse for wear.

A couple titters escaped him. How could it be “worse for wear” when he hadn’t touched the thing since he’d put it in there! It had been so long since he’d handled it, he wasn’t sure if it was even loaded. Well, the answer to that question was fairly simple to find. The magazine slid out of the pistol easily and the smile left Klink’s face when he saw the bullets peeking back at him through the side.

Sweat beaded on his forehead as he forced the magazine back into the pistol. The resulting click seemed very loud and he flinched at the noise. His thoughts turned dark and he idly rolled the pistol from one hand to the other as he felt himself sink into the gloom.

There was really only one way that all of this could end, wasn’t there? He refused to play Adler’s games any longer; Adler would give him to the Gestapo. Adler became bored of him; Adler would give him to the Gestapo. Being handed to the Gestapo was a death sentence, a slow one. And, if he went along with Adler to Berlin, he might as well be dead.

So, what was the point in waiting for the inevitable? Why continue to let Adler use him? Why collect any more evidence of his deficiency? Klink already knew how this, this farce was going to end - why should he prolong this humiliation if he was just going to die no matter what he did?

This way would be so much simpler. Just cock the hammer, squeeze the trigger, and it would all be finished. A bullet to the brain would be a lot less painful than whatever end the Gestapo could devise! He didn’t appear to be using his brain much lately anyway - no major loss there. It would be so easy. It would be so -

Hastily, he slid the magazine out of the pistol again. His hands were moist and trembled badly as he eased the bullets, one by one, out of the magazine and dropped them on the desktop. Once it was empty, he slipped the magazine back into the Luger and let out a shaky sigh. There. Now, if he had a sudden urge to end it all, it would take him a little more time to actually go through with it.

Klink wasn’t sure if he was brave enough, desperate enough, to actually aim the pistol at his head and pull the trigger but he saw no purpose in tempting himself. And he was tempted. He was frightened by just how tempted he was.

However, while committing suicide would put a quick, fairly painless, and very permanent end to his problems, he didn’t want to take his own life. He wasn’t a particularly religious man but he still wasn’t anxious to find out what was waiting for him on the other side. Killing himself wouldn’t erase what had already happened. No number of bullets in his head would change what he’d become.

Well, unless my aim is very bad, Klink reconsidered, one bullet will probably do the trick.

Shaking his head sharply, he reminded himself that he had no plans to find out. He wasn’t going to kill himself. Maybe his life wasn’t worth much anymore but it was about all he had and he wasn’t going to throw it away rashly. The only way he’d even consider doing such a thing was if he had no other alternative.

But, realistically, what were his alternatives now? It seemed like his only choices were waiting to be murdered or committing suicide. If those were his only choices . . . maybe suicide wasn’t such a terrible idea. At least he’d have some control over his death; his life seemed more or less out of his hands right now.

Although, if he did settle on suicide, he had no intention of dying alone. If he picked death, Adler would die first. Klink would see to it.

Being put down like the animal he was was the least the beast deserved. A man like him really deserved a much more hideous death than the quick one Klink had in mind but Klink was not depraved enough to give it to him. He was not like Adler and, whatever depths he was currently plumbing, Klink would not let himself descend to Adler’s level if he could possibly help it.

Unfortunately, as satisfying as it would be to rid the world of Adler, Klink knew that, once he’d done so, he’d have no choice but to commit suicide. About the only think that could be said for the Gestapo was that they looked after their own. The sickening irony of being arrested by the Gestapo after everything he’d done to avoid that fate wasn’t lost on him. Adler’s murder would definitely earn Klink a seat in an interrogation room.

Torture was enough of a reason to want to avoid that but there were other considerations as well. They’d want to know why he’d done what he’d done and, eventually, he would tell them . . . everything.

While Klink didn’t have the closest relationship with his family, he didn’t hate them. He certainly didn’t hate them enough to want to tarnish the family name; a full accounting of what had gone on between him and Adler would do just that. No one would care that he’d had to be blackmailed to agree to it. All that would matter was that he’d had rela - no, might as well make it plain - that he’d had sex with a man.

That would be more than enough to make him homosexual in the eyes of the Reich and anyone else that mattered. His family would have to deal with the close scrutiny of the authorities as well as the disgust of their neighbors when all of this got out. Homosexuality, in addition to being unnatural, was also considered a crime. Klink just wondered which of his crimes the authorities would be more concerned with: that he’d had sex with Adler or that he’d killed him.

And, if he survived whatever the Gestapo put him through, would he be sent to prison for Adler’s murder or to a work camp with the other of the Reich’s undesirables? Or would the Gestapo just quietly dispose of him to avoid the embarrassment of having it known they’d had a homosexual in their ranks? The last was the most optimistic outcome because then his family would be spared that same embarrassment but why take that chance if he didn’t have to?

Far better for people to believe that he’d simply snapped and gone homicidal.

Far better if he wasn’t around to be interrogated.

“Sir?”

Startled, Klink almost dropped the pistol. He managed to keep hold of it but he was flustered and disconcerted at being caught so completely off guard. He hadn’t even heard the door open! “What are yo-!” Looking up to see whom he was yelling at, he bit back the rest of the diatribe.

The distress on Hilda’s face convinced him to make an extra effort to sound cordial when he tried again. “Ah, I mean, what can I do for you, Fraulein?”

She hesitated, looking very much like she regretted having entered the room at all, before smiling a false smile. “Colonel Hogan is here to see you, Kommandant.”

“Colonel Hogan?” Saying the name made Klink’s face go hot with mortified embarrassment. He still couldn’t believe that he’d imagined kissing the man - clearly, his mind was a strange, twisted place. Fortunately, there wasn’t time to worry about that at the moment. What could Hogan want? It seemed as though Klink should already have some idea but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Did he even want to see Hogan? No, but did he really want to spend the rest of the day being pestered by the Senior POW if he refused to see him now? Since the answer to the last question was no as well, Klink figured he might as well find out what this was all about. “I - I suppose, I mean, there’s no reason I . . .” Shaking his head, he wondered why he was having so much trouble stringing a sentence together. “Yes, I’ll see him.”

Hilda was soon replaced in the doorway by Colonel Hogan who looked tired even if he was smiling. That smile faltered almost immediately and his hand froze mid greeting. He seemed disturbed by something, practically gaping.

Wondering what could have unsettled Hogan so completely, Klink followed the other man’s gaze down to the Luger in his hands. Realization came to him a moment later and he dropped the weapon down on the desktop, feeling as though he’d been caught doing something shameful.

“What do you want, Colonel?” Klink asked, both to hide his chagrin and to get this meeting over with. He didn’t feel tense - with the alcohol he’d consumed, Hogan would have to do something a bit more threatening than just standing there to make him tense - but he felt very . . . aware of Hogan.

His expression. The way he was slouching. How close he was to the desk. The fact that his cap was crooked. The color of his eyes.

The whole affect made Klink profoundly uncomfortable.

Hogan’s gaze moved up to Klink’s face and he frowned slightly before giving a little shrug, all nonchalance again. “Well, sir, I was hoping to get my Sergeant out of the cooler, for starters.”

Ah, so that was it. Klink leaned back in his chair, feeling a dim complaint across his spine, and considered. Being so busy with his transfer plans and having already shown his displeasure the night before, Adler probably wouldn’t bother pursuing the matter any further. There would be no harm in letting the young man out, and not doing so would break the spirit of his and Hogan’s agreement if not the word.

Klink wasn’t turning out to be much of a man nowadays, but he was determined to at least keep his word. Even the silent ones that he hadn’t actually said. That, and he didn’t want to owe the American any debts just in case he wasn’t around long enough to pay them.

He stood and immediately thought better of actually walking out to the cooler himself. While the pain in his hips and backside had lessened, it was still present and no longer the only problem. Klink wasn’t incapacitated by any means (despite his efforts), but he wasn’t sure if he could keep his balance without a nice sturdy desk or wall for support.

Stumbling around his office was one thing; stumbling around out in the compound was another entirely. He was supposed to be an example for the men, after all. Time to delegate! “Fetch Fraulein Hilda for me, would you?”

When Hogan left, presumably to do so but who could be sure with him?, Klink grabbed for the bottle of Schnapps and contemplated taking another sip. He had raised the bottle up to his mouth, deciding that there was no reason to stop now, when a sudden bout of vertigo made him reconsider.

As much as he’d like to drown out his thoughts, he didn’t want to vomit. This drinking thing didn’t seem to be working the way he’d hoped it would anyway. Setting the bottle back down, he looked to the doorway and saw that Hogan had returned with Hilda in tow.

The frown turning down Hilda’s mouth told him that his aborted sip hadn’t gone unnoticed. Klink felt a flash of shame for what this must look like - that he’d pawned his work off on her so he could spend the morning drinking . . . Which was technically true, now that he was thinking about it. Pretending not to notice her silent disapproval, he got down to business.

“Fraulein. Please tell Corporal . . .” Now, what was that man’s name? Schwarz? Weiß? Roth? He was almost positive it was some color. Maybe Gelb? No, it couldn’t be Gelb!

“Do you mean Corporal Braun, Kommandant?” Hilda asked, her obvious disappointment now mixed with concern.

Klink wasn’t sure what she was concerned about but he was glad that he’d been right about the Corporal’s surname being a color. While it was a minor achievement at best, it was nice to be right about something. “Yes! Tell him to release Sergeant Carter.” Then he thought a bit more and added, “If he gives you any trouble, you just, you just send him to me, all right?”

She seemed torn for a moment, still worried and still unhappy, before nodding her assent. “Yes, sir.”

Watching her go, Klink cringed when she shut the door just a little too hard. He’d have to make this up to her somehow. Right now though, he had other matters to attend to. Well, one matter, anyway. He’d have to have this conversation with the POW eventually so why not take care of it now?

Might as well let Hogan be prepared for his impending transfer. Not that he’d need to be; Klink was certain that the American would have the unlucky soul who replaced him jumping through hoops in no time. Still, it seemed only courteous to let him know.

“I have some, some good news for you, Colonel,” he said with as much of a smile as he could manage as he sat back down.

“Really, sir?” Hogan tilted his head and grinned. “You mean you’ve finally reconsidered letting us build that bowling alley?”

“Bowling alley? I don’t remember anything about a -” Klink cut himself off with a sigh, realizing that Hogan was just pulling his leg. Again. Was it possible for that man to be serious? If all American officers acted this way, Klink had to wonder how they were managing to hold their own in this war!

“No,” he said dryly, trying to regain his train of thought. He was feeling a little disoriented now that he was actually having a conversation. Maybe the Schnapps was affecting him more than he’d thought. “General Adler has decided he’d like to try transferring me to Berlin.” He paused to gauge Hogan’s reaction to the news and thought there was something odd about it.

After failing to figure out what it was, he continued on, forcing his tone to be light, “In as little as a week, you might not have me around to annoy anymore.”

“That would be a shame,” Hogan said, sounding strangely sincere. “No one could ever replace the Iron Eagle.”

If he hadn’t known better, Klink might have thought he was being serious. As it was, he had to stop himself from applauding Hogan’s acting skills. Although, seeing as the American had already gotten what he’d wanted out of this little encounter, why he was bothering with the false sympathy was a bit beyond him. “Yes. Well. That’s all the news I have for you. You are dismissed.”

Not waiting to watch him leave, Klink picked up the Luger and set to reloading it. He figured, if it came down to using it, he ought to be prepared. He hoped he’d be able to think of some other way but he saw no reason to risk being caught with his pants - to be caught unawares. Also, it wasn’t a good idea to just leave a bunch of bullets laying around. Dangerous and messy.

If only he could get his fingers to coordinate a little better . . .

“What are you going to do with that, Kommandant?”

Hogan was still there? A quick glance up confirmed this. It also confirmed that Hogan was closer than he had been before, right up to the front of the desk. “Nothing that’s any of your business,” Klink answered gruffly, trying not let his suddenly shaking hands further impair his progress. Looked like he’d been wrong: despite the alcohol, Hogan could make him tense just by standing there. “Is there something else you want?” he asked when he didn’t hear the other man walk away.

“Sir, I was thinking . . . It’s been an awfully long time since we’ve talked.”

Klink raised his head, feeling his brow furrow in confusion and disbelief. Why did Hogan look so ill at ease? And, a ‘long time since we’ve talked’? Hogan wanted to talk? With him? About what? “What could we possibly have to talk about, Hogan?”

Then, deciding that he had no energy, mental or otherwise, to deal with Hogan’s games, Klink returned his attention back to his reloading. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. Dismissed!” With great effort, he managed to coax a fair number of bullets into the magazine before Hogan made his continued presence known.

“Sir, I think we really need to talk about this.”

Something in the American’s voice made Klink look up again even though he wasn’t sure what ‘this’ Hogan was referring to. He was immediately struck by how serious Hogan was. Klink had seen him be everything from flippant to earnest and, even when he was trying to be somber, Hogan usually had a gleam of humor in his eyes. That humor was missing now and Klink wasn’t sure what to make of its absence.

Except that it made him nervous. Very nervous.

Being scrutinized so closely, so seriously, made the sick terror the Schnapps had suppressed return with a vengeance. It didn’t help that the appraisal in Hogan’s gaze wasn’t just a figment of his overtaxed imagination.

All right, so Hogan wasn’t leering at him or raking his body with his eyes like Adler did - it was more of a calculating expression than anything - but that realization did nothing to stop the sweat from collecting in Klink’s palms or the blood from pounding in his ears.

What could he do if Hogan decided to try something? All he had was this pistol and, even if he was prepared to use it on Hogan, by the time he could ram the magazine back into the Luger, the American could have already -

Klink shook his head sharply. Hogan was not going to jump him. He wasn’t. In all the time he’d known the man, Hogan had never shown him that kind of interest. Besides, if the couple times he’d caught the Senior POW with his hands on his secretary were anything to go by, Hogan was as normal as they came.

That doesn’t mean anything, Klink reminded himself with a grimace. After all, he’d thought he’d been normal too before Adler proved him wrong. Either way, what was he so worried about? He’d already imagined kissing Hogan - surely, the idea of the real thing shouldn’t disturb him so much.

“Colonel Klink?”

Noting the blend of anxious impatience in Hogan’s voice, Klink realized that he’d let his mind wander again. He offered the American an apologetic smile, doing his best to focus on his eyes rather than his mouth. “I’m sorry, Colonel.” Then, worried that he was seeming too friendly, he strived for a more business like tone. “So, what is it you want to talk about?”

Hogan’s lips thinned to a grim line before the rest of his expression followed suit. When he spoke, his tone was flat but with a hint of challenge. “Would you mind telling me what you’re planning to do with that gun?”

Klink frowned down at the Luger, perplexed. This was the second time Hogan had asked about it. Why was he so, so worried about the thing? Surely, Hogan didn’t think he planned on using it on him! Even taking into account Klink’s rampant paranoia, Hogan had no reason to fear that. In fact, he didn’t have a reason to think he had a reason!

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Klink reassured him as he picked up the final bullet and edged it into the magazine. “But if this is all you want to talk about, I’d like you to leave.” Sliding the magazine back into the pistol, he watched it transform from an unwieldy paperweight into a deadly piece of precision engineering.

After a terrifying moment of temptation, he gently set the Luger down on the desktop. It had been a close thing but the desire to see Adler go before him was stronger than his want for things to end. If he was going to die, he wanted it to mean something.

“I don’t think I should do that, sir.”

Ire was starting to overcome Klink’s discomfort and he peered at the American through narrowed eyes. “And I don’t think I asked your opinion. I think I asked you to leave.” When Hogan made no move to do as he’d been asked, Klink’s hand clenched into a tight fist. “You are dismissed!”

Infuriatingly enough, Hogan had the nerve to look frustrated when he was the one who couldn’t follow simple directions. “I’m not leaving until you answer my question.”

Klink didn’t know what to think of this stubbornness but the outright insubordination was exasperating. “Hogan, I know I told you I’m going to be transferred but I’m not gone yet! You still have to do what I tell you and I told you to leave.”

“I would love to leave,” Hogan said, his tone caustic and condescending. “And I would, if I could trust you not to do something stupid.”

“Something stupid? Something stupid?” A part of Klink wondered what on Earth the American was going on about - what stupid thing did Hogan think he was going to do? Why should he think he might do something stupid in the first place?

However, that part was all but buried beneath Klink’s growing indignation. Where did Hogan get the idea that what he did was any of his concern? And, ‘Trust’? What did trust have to do with anything! “You do not have a say in anything I do.”

“Maybe I don’t,” agreed Hogan before his eyes hardened with steely determination, “but I’m still not going to let you do something stupid with that gun.”

“What?” Klink was absolutely flabbergasted. “What do you mean, you’re not going to let me?” His indignation flared into real anger, hot and unstoppable. Just who did Hogan think he was! “Since when do I take orders from you?” He stood, ignoring the vertigo easily, and jabbed a finger at the American. “Sometimes I think you think you own this place.”

Hogan’s mouth was open but Klink was not remotely interested in hearing anything he had to say. Every shred of his earlier terror had been sublimated into a desperate fury. Klink was sick of people thinking that he was theirs to control! He absolutely wasn’t going to take this from Hogan - Hogan was his prisoner for God’s sake!

“Well, you don’t!” Klink exploded, pounding the desktop with his fists as he leaned over it. “You don’t own this camp and you don’t own me.” It was bad enough there was nothing he could do about Adler’s talons in him; he refused to let Hogan dig his claws in too!

But there was something he could do about Adler’s talons, wasn’t there? Yes. Yes, there was. Suddenly, the Luger was in his hand and he held it aloft. “You don’t own me.” Klink could feel himself trembling with rage as he glowered at a pale Colonel Hogan. Good, let him be afraid; Klink was sick of that too. The only thing that could have made this moment better was if it was Adler standing in front of him looking so pale.

Adler. Just thinking of that beast made Klink’s grip on the Luger tighten. “Adler, that swine, doesn’t own me either and I’ll be taking care of him soon enough. A couple shots ought to be enough to put him down, don’t you think?” A faint voice warned Klink that he was saying too much and that he should stop now but he was too far over the edge to pay it the least bit mind.

“And after I’m through with him,” he continued on, his tightening throat making his voice hoarse, “one bullet should be enough for me - unless I miss. Then I’ll need a few more!” He started laughing harshly, hysterically, morbidly amused by the idea of missing such an easy shot. Of course, if anyone could miss a point blank shot to the temple, it’d be him.

And Hogan was. Still. Standing. There. Klink’s laughter trailed off, his vision becoming blurry as something dripped down his face. Why was he still standing there? What was he playing at? What kind of game was this? It didn’t matter: Klink was sick of all of these damned games and he wasn’t going to play this one any longer. “Just get out of my office,” he snarled, thumbing back the hammer and aiming the Luger squarely at the other man’s chest. “Schnell!”

“Are you going to shoot me if I don’t, Kommandant?” Hogan asked quietly, looking and sounding remarkably calm considering the question.

It was that completely unexpected calmness that snapped Klink from his rage as Hogan’s question penetrated his mind. He blinked at the American and realized what he was doing. Then he realized what he’d said and he felt the blood drain from his face. “No,” he whispered, the enormity of what he’d just done and what he’d might have done stealing away his strength. “No, I’m not going to shoot you.”

His heart was a leaden weight in his chest as his legs buckled and he collapsed into his chair. Dear God. He brought a hand up to his face and felt the cool barrel of the Luger he was still holding slide across his cheek. Stricken, panicked, Klink threw the weapon away, not wanting the thing anywhere near him. He recalled a vital instant too late what a bad idea throwing a cocked and loaded pistol on the floor was.

The relief he felt when the Luger didn’t go off when it hit was fleeting. He looked up at Hogan, feeling as though he might be ill. “Hogan, I . . .” What did he think he was going to say? What could he possibly say now? He could have shot the man. Dear God, he could have killed him! His finger had been on the trigger; one slip and it would have been done. As much as Hogan frustrated him at times, he didn’t deserve to be murdered. He wasn’t Adler, after -

Klink felt sick all over again as he remembered what he’d said. Could he have possibly made his intentions any clearer? Inwardly cursing his big mouth and whoever had invented Schnapps, he wiped his eyes with his jacket sleeve. What was he supposed to do? How could he take those words back! Hogan knew now and -

And what? A fatalistic calm descended on Klink and he almost smiled. So, what if Hogan knew his plans? It wouldn’t make any difference. What could Hogan do about any of it? He was a prisoner; no one would listen to him. Who would he even talk to? Adler? That assumed he’d bother saying anything. That assumed he’d care enough to try.

Which was nonsense. Why should Hogan care what happened to him or Adler?

“Kommandant?”

After all, what were two dead German officers to an American POW?

“Sir?”

A good start.

“Ko- Klink, are you still with me? You know I can’t take being ignored.”

Klink noticed the omission of his rank but felt too mentally exhausted to care much about the disrespect. The world was spinning ever so gently, a headache was forming behind his eyes, and he knew that they would only be getting worse. Maybe he owed Hogan something for pointing a gun at him, but he couldn’t talk to him now. “Please. Go back to your barracks. Or go bother Schultz for a while. Anything. Just do it somewhere else.”

“Anything?” Hogan asked, rubbing his chin in a faux thoughtful way, before shaking his head in mock reluctance. “No, better not. I think I’m going to stick around for a while.”

After the rage of only minutes before and his horror at how easily he’d lost control of himself, Klink couldn’t even summon up a flicker of frustration for this answer. “Fine. Stay,” he said wearily as he pushed himself up onto unsteady feet. “I’ll leave.”

He’d only taken a couple steps before Hogan came to stand beside him. Why did he have to be so damn stubborn? Was he incapable of understanding when he wasn’t wanted? Klink turned so he could speak to him face to face and realized that Hogan was much closer than he’d thought he was.

“What do you want, Colonel?” Klink despised himself for sounding so afraid. For being so afraid. He had nothing to be afraid of. Even if he did have something to fear from Hogan, considering his behavior of late, he’d probably enjoy it.

“How about a game of chess?” Hogan suggested, his tone lighthearted even if his lighthearted expression seemed suddenly forced and pained. “It’s been a while since we’ve played.”

A faint, wistful smile tugged at Klink’s lips. Ah, for the days when the idea of being less than three feet away from a man didn’t make him want to bolt - for the days when he could actually look forward to playing chess. Then he frowned, feeling completely bewildered.

Chess? He’d told Hogan not five minutes before that he was planning on killing someone before turning the gun on himself and the man wanted to play chess? Sure, Klink hadn’t expected Hogan to actually care too much but the way the American was acting, as though Klink hadn’t said anything at all, was surreal. That surreal feeling was helped along by another bout of spinning. He put a hand on his forehead, vowing never to drink this much again as he waited for it to pass. “I think, I think I’ve had too much Schnapps to be much of a challenge for you.”

“Good.”

Further bewildered by this strange response to his excuse, Klink lowered his hand so he could see Hogan’s face. “What? Why is that good?”

Hogan’s answering grin was wide. “Maybe I can win today; I get tired of losing to you all the time.”

Klink looked away, refusing to let himself be taken in by the man’s charm. Hogan was lying and it wasn’t even particularly convincing. He didn’t know what Hogan really wanted but there was no possibility that he only wanted to play chess! “I’m not interested in playing chess,” he said, making no effort to be civil, “and I don’t want your company. All I want is to be left alone.”

Silence stretched between them for several long seconds. Klink had been about to try a different tact when Hogan beat him to it. “At risk of setting you off again, sir, you’re clearly in no condition to be left alone right now.” His tone allowed no argument without being imperious; he spoke as if he was merely stating a simple, incontrovertible fact.

With what Klink had said and done earlier, he could grant Hogan had every reason to believe what he’d said. Maybe he was even right. However, the only plan Klink had at the moment involved getting some sleep and sobering up before he did anything else he could regret. Although, with everything that had happened today - was it still only morning? - he doubted that sleep would come easily. Or be very restful.

But, before he could attempt it, he had to get free of his shadow. “Colonel Hogan, I don’t know why my welfare is suddenly a concern of yours but, I assure you, there is nothing to worry about.”

Hogan raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “So, you were just kidding when you said you planned to off yourself?” He shook his head, looking almost insulted. “Forgive me if I’m a little skeptical.”

Klink winced at the blunt phrasing but conceded the accuracy of it. So, that explained why Hogan didn’t want to leave but that didn’t explain why he didn’t want to leave. What difference should it make to Hogan whether or not he killed himself? Why was he pretending to care?

The American’s eyes widened and he let his arms fall. “Why am I pretending to care?” he repeated, looking completely taken aback and letting Klink know that he’d thought at least that much aloud. Stepping up to face Klink head on, Hogan reached out and rested his hand on Klink’s shoulder. When he spoke, he sounded genuinely curious and, perhaps, a little hurt. “What kind of man do you think I am?”

Klink shuddered, both at the touch and at the fears the question brought to mind. He wanted to back away, get out of Hogan’s grasp, but he couldn’t make his body move. He wondered if he was too scared to move or if he didn’t actually want to. “I,” he swallowed hard, wishing he could force out something stronger than a whisper. “I don’t know.”

Hogan’s eyes softened while his hold tightened - not tight enough to be painful but enough to remind Klink uncomfortably of Adler’s hands on him. “I’m not a liar, for one thing,” a brief self depreciating smirk, “at least, not about something like this. I meant what I said about the place not being the same without you.”

Before Klink had a chance to digest this statement, a cheerful smile suddenly broke onto Hogan’s face as he moved his hand down to grab Klink’s elbow. “Come on, sir. If you’re not up to chess, I’ve got a deck of cards.”

Caught off guard by this sudden change in the conversation, Klink offered no resistance when Hogan started leading him to his quarters. Once he realized what was happening, he considered trying to fight it before deciding that he was tired of fighting with Hogan. Let him have his way - Klink was becoming used to men having their way with him. And, if all Hogan wanted from him was a couple games of chess, he should count himself lucky!

Still, regardless of whether Hogan’s motives were as benign as he’d claimed, Klink would enjoy having the guard who brought his lunch take the POW away if he insisted on staying that long. That might remind Hogan who was supposed to be giving the orders around here.

But only ‘might’ because the man was incorrigible.
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Der Meißel der Seele