Chapter Text
The tunnel was quiet - almost too quiet.
Only the low hum of the radio broke the dull silence that had settled over the room like a damp veil.
Hogan sat in Kinch's seat, his elbow leaning on the table, his head slightly lowered. The headphones hung loosely over his shoulder while his fingers wrapped the cable around themselves, lost in thought, and then let it slip away again - again and again. A soft crackling sound, as if from another world.
Newkirk leaned against the next beam, a cigarette between his fingers, its embers slowly diminishing. He took the last drag, as deep as he could, and closed his eyes for a moment. If only these things were longer, he thought as he stubbed them out.
He bent down slightly, reached under the table and pulled out a small screw-top jar hidden between the cables. With a soft click, he twisted open the lid, tossed the smoldering cigarette butt in, and just as inconspicuously put the jar back in its place.
“I'm guessing Kinch doesn't know about your little... garbage dump right next to his sanctuary.” Hogan's voice was calm, almost monotone, but the sarcastic undertone was unmistakable.
“What an observant, clever boy you are.” Newkirk's grin was barely visible in the darkness, but it was unmistakable.
He stepped slowly behind Hogan, placed his hands on his shoulders and began to apply his fingers with gentle, circular pressure. Hogan felt the tension release from his neck - almost reluctantly.
"It's going to be all right. I have a good feeling." Newkirk's voice was deeper now, warmer.
He knew exactly what Hogan needed. And even better: he knew when silence was better than words. But today was not one of those times.
Hogan exhaled softly through his nose. His shoulders slumped slightly. Newkirk's thumbs found the exact spots where pressure had built up over the days.
Damn, Hogan thought. The man is really good at this. But to say that? Impossible. His ego was already hard to contain.
“I know... it's just been a lot lately.” Hogan's voice sounded hoarse. “I've barely slept.”
“Maybe... when the three of them are back... we'll lie down together.” Newkirk's voice was very close to his ear now. "I'll massage you some more and you'll fall asleep. Does that sound good?"
Hogan didn't answer right away. Just a soft, approving hum that eventually faded into a tired “Mhh, that sounds very, very good.”
“London sometimes expects too much of us.”
Hogan left this statement by Newkirk uncommented.
Time passed slowly, as if the tunnel itself had been holding its breath. Newkirk continued to massage until he realized that Hogan was leaning back a little more with each passing minute. Finally, he felt the full weight of the colonel pressing against his chest. His head tilted slightly, his eyes closed - he had fallen asleep.
Newkirk smiled.
A tender calm settled over his face. He himself stood in the most uncomfortable position imaginable, his back arched, his legs tense, but he didn't move. Let him sleep.
It was perhaps an hour later when he heard it: the muffled scraping of shoes in the distant tunnel, then voices - quiet but quick.
Newkirk raised his head slightly. They were back.
He knew Hogan hated to show himself vulnerable or even asleep during a situation like this - even in front of the boys. Gently, he placed a hand on Hogan's cheek. The skin was smooth, as always. Shaving every morning as a small, stubborn act of self-respect in the midst of chaos.
Softly, almost like a breath, he whispered, "Rob... wake up. They're back."
Hogan's eyes opened immediately, clearly. The officer was back. In one fluid movement, he straightened up, stroked his hair, put on his cap, like a soldier who had never slept.
He looked briefly at Newkirk, an unspoken thanks passed between them. He just nodded.
At the same moment, Kinch, Lebeau and Carter appeared in the tunnel - covered in sweat, breathing heavily. The relief on their faces was clear.
“There you are...” muttered Hogan, stepping towards them.
And although his shoulders were now straight again, Newkirk could see: The colonel wasn't just their leader for that moment, but simply a human who needed to take a deep breath.
"Oh man, that was close. We had to really run, soldiers were hot on our heels and then the bridge boomed in the background and it was gone. Fortunately, we were able to lose the guards quickly. But Colonel, you should have seen the blast!" Carter beamed.
"Thank you Carter for these detailed insights. Did you also meet with Little Red Riding Hood beforehand and exchange the papers?" asked Hogan.
Without saying anything, Kinch pulled a few sheets of paper out of his jacket and handed them to Hogan. He leafed through the collection and nodded.
“Very good, this is an updated list of generals, officers and majors who are currently and in the distant future on the move here in the region.”
Newkirk leaned over Hogan's shoulder and studied the sheets as well.
Name, rank, service number, then a photo of the person and a short text. The underground had done all the work.
“You've done well, then off to bed.” Hogan said, still engrossed in the sheets.
The three men didn't need to be told twice and ran towards the clothes room to change.
Newkirk, on the other hand, was still standing behind Hogan, resting his head on his shoulder.
“Don't you think it's time for us to go to bed too?” Newkirk mumbled into Hogan's shoulder.
He sighed deeply, closed the papers and nodded. “Yes, it had better be.”
He gave Newkirk a quick weary kiss and then headed towards the ladder. He pulled Newkirk by the hand behind him.
Before he opened it, the two of them waited for Lebeau, Kinch and Carter so that they would only have to open the trapdoor once for everyone.
Once at the top, the heroes had to find their way in the dark so as not to draw the guards' attention to the barracks.
By now it was well past midnight, so there wasn't much time left to get a good night's sleep. Hogan waited with his door open and watched the others go to bed in the dark.
After everyone was in bed, he closed his door and lay down himself.
It really had been an exhausting week.