Work Text:
Hogan is stuck in Germany, again. The conditions are notably better this time, he thinks, looking around the festive bar with a twinkling Christmas tree in the corner, and the mug of cold beer in his hand.
All trains to Paris are stuck with no information on when they'll be able to run again. But the hotel bar is full of people celebrating the holiday festivities while the storm rages on outside.
It's weird to be back in a country with such a mix of memories. They'd been successful and had a lot of good memories that most POWs didn't, but they'd had the bad too. The loss of friends, mistreatment, horrors.
When the war ended, not all pow camps were informed immediately, but obviously Hogan's people knew anyway. They still had to wait for the administration to set up trains for everyone. And funnily enough that period felt more like the typical POW experience than anything else. Boredom and waiting while those from different countries got their letters at different times. Hogan had clearly had some sort of influence on the process because his letter didn't come with the other Americans, his came last after he'd seen every other prisoner safely on their way home.
On his last day, in the final group of Belgian soldiers, Klink waited for him to say something. To insult him, to criticise him, hell—to thank him, something. But every time it looked like he was about to walk up, he changed his mind, and soon enough they left for the train station in a flurry of activity, and that was that.
Hogan's memories were hard to untangle, especially as his own stories had gotten grander and more positive with each retelling. No one liked stories of failure or half-wins, so Hogan's own recollections were becoming blurred with the daring facade he recounted to others. His team got braver and more intelligent, and the Nazis got more villainous and bumbling.
Hogan almost chokes on his beer when he spots the most bumbling of villains himself eating dinner by the back wall. Thankfully, he is able to cough silently and doesn't draw attention to himself, giving him time to decide what to do. Klink either hasn't spotted him or is pretending not to, so it's up to Hogan to make the choice: slip away or say something.
He'd chickened out at the end of the war and hadn't even said goodbye like a goddamned coward. It was honestly uncharacteristic, and it vaguely haunted Hogan—the one thing he could never be brave about was his own real feelings. It wasn't like he needed to confess everything, but letting the man think he hated him or cared nothing was cruel after Klink had been so good to them. Hogan was sure some of their plots had been overlooked with plausible deniability, and their camp conditions had been to the letter of the law. Other camps had not been as fortunate.
As he mulls into his wine, he spots Klink putting on his coat. He must have seen Hogan and ate quickly; he had a full plate a minute ago.
Hogan makes the decision before the chance walks out the door forever.
"Colonel Klink." Klink is surprised to be approached by this man.
"Colonel Hogan. What are you doing in Dusseldorf at Christmas time?"
"My train was cancelled. I can't believe we ran into each other. Come, have a beer with me."
Klink's eyes go wider, and he sputters, "Oh, I don't know, it's getting late and I should probably get home before that storm gets worse."
"That storm's not going anywhere, sit with me." And of course, Klink is pulled by the tide that is always Hogan.
It's too easy to fall back into genial chatter about their lives. They'd always found conversation with each other almost too enjoyable, and to do so for the first time without secrets and hidden purpose is liberating.
Hogan is telling a story from his recent trip to Poland and gets pulled out when Klink says his name in exasperation.
"Oh you can call me Rob now, I'll feel like I'm still at work otherwise."
Klink sits back for a moment. "Me as well, Wilhelm is fine."
And Hogan is back into it, weaving his tales. As Klink watches the man in front of him animatedly gesture as he tells of his exploits, all his old feelings slowly rise to the surface. It's gentle. He'd almost expected to be overwhelmed when he first saw the American, but he supposes time has calmed all things. This is manageable and almost enjoyable. Not the company—that's undeniably pleasant. But reminiscing in what might have been is, for the first time, sweet instead of painful. Klink can feel grateful that he had the opportunity to know this man, rather than bitter that they had been on opposing sides of a war.
Through all of this, Hogan has mentioned his daughter, but not his wife, and Klink is interested. "Will you be back home with your family in time for Christmas?" He's not subtle in his curiosity, and Hogan smiles sadly.
"No, Joanna and Barb are with her parents. It's better that way."
"Won't she miss you?" Klink probes.
"No, the divorce was finalized last year. Which is what you were really asking, wasn't it."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"No, I'm not trying to make you feel bad, it ended well, almost too well? It's not a sore spot except—" Hogan pauses and Klink waits patiently for him to continue, feeling that interrupting would disrupt Hogan's train of thought. "Except, you know how you have an idea of what your life is going to be, and then when you get there it's nothing like what you expected. Or maybe it's exactly like what you expected but none of it makes you happy the way it's supposed to. I don't know. I love my daughter more than words can express. And I'll probably always love Barb, but it wasn't fair to either of us to keep trying to be the perfect couple on the surface and grow hollower inside day by day."
Klink takes a long drink while Hogan looks out the window.
"I think a lot of people learned things about themselves during that war. Things they might have preferred not to know. I often wonder what would have made me happy if it had never happened."
Hogan is talking about all of it. The good, the bad, the violence, the lying, the spying, the manipulating, and the pride at being good at it. He's also talking about the thin thread that hangs between them, which has never been spoken about or even acknowledged.
Klink hesitates before he speaks, scared to say the wrong thing.
"For me that war only confirmed what I already knew. Perhaps because I had already been through it all. Thankfully, I don't feel I disgraced myself, even if I can't say the same for my country."
Klink is unsure how to address what Hogan has so tentatively brought up.
Hogan does it for him, "And did you never marry?"
"No, I know I'm a bachelor."
"And you know who you are."
"I do. I have for a long time. I found no point in lying to myself." Klink is secure in his life choices.
"It's hard for a man to come to terms with who he is in a world that always wants something from you."
"To be true to oneself is a sacrifice. For some more than others."
The philosophy for the sake of the public is beginning to grate on Hogan. He finishes his beer.
"I have a bottle of good whiskey upstairs. Why don't we open it up?"
What Hogan is really proposing is to talk openly, and Klink is unsure if it's a good idea.
"I do feel I should get home before the weather turns worse, it could get bad out there."
"Nonsense. Another drink won't make a difference."
After more politesse, Klink finds himself once more inexorably swayed by the force that is Hogan.
Hogan has swiped two glasses from the bar, and lord knows how he got ice, and he pours a generous drink for each of them as they sit in the armchairs by the window. The snow is swirling in torrents past the glowing streetlights that are nearly obscured.
"I always did what others wanted. I did it my way—I had a visceral inability to do things by the book—but it was always to please others. To prove myself." Hogan has already stood up to start pacing.
"I felt the opposite. I tried to stay perfectly in line so no one would look too closely." Klink relaxes against the chair and sips his drink. It's bizarre to be having a heart-to-heart with a former POW, and in particular, the man he's thought about more times than he can count.
"Have you ever—" Hogan breaks off, and looks unwilling to finish. He's about to move on and ignore that he asked anything when Klink responds.
"I have. I'm actually surprised if you've never."
Hogan just shakes his head.
"It wasn't uncommon in camps."
"I know. I just, I was an officer, and honestly, I didn't have the excuse, we had no trouble seeing the girls in town."
"Ah, I see." Klink understands, Hogan's competency made it harder on him.
"When did you..."
"Throughout my life. At school, in the military, a few men in town. Nothing that ever lasted. I thought I was in love the first time. I would have run away like a silly romance novel, and absolutely scandalize our families. Thankfully, he had more sense than I."
Hogan takes all this in. No one has ever talked this openly around him. He knows that some of that is because he was so careful to be such a ladies man.
"Did you ever want to..."
Klink is amused now, "Hogan, I have never seen you struggle with words so much."
"Rob."
"Rob. Of course I did. You were infuriating and interesting and attractive to boot. And you always paid such attention to me. I didn't flatter myself to think it was for any reason other than than your sneaky plans, which I knew more about than I let on, but the attention was nice nonetheless."
"It wasn't just for the plans." Hogan looks like he can't believe he said that out loud. "I thought it was, but looking back, there's so many times it actually would have been better to avoid you, but I always had to involve you."
Hogan goes to pour himself another drink. Klink declines, still finishing his first one.
"I felt awful about the way I left."
"Oh? It was such a busy time and everything was such a mess," Klink demurs.
"No, you deserved a goodbye, and I'm sorry for being too much of a coward to do it."
"It's okay, I wasn't expecting anything."
"That's because you're too much by the book, and you never do anything that might be surprising." There's a bit of venom in Hogan's voice, and Klink rises to the bait.
"Would you have preferred me to take advantage of a prisoner of war?" Klink snaps back before he realises that Hogan's nervousness is making him lash out in an attempt to end the interaction before it gets even more personal.
"You'd rather hide from everything."
"Would that be more or less honorable than running from your problems?" Klink stops himself and takes a breath. "I think, during the war, we both thought that doing nothing was the only appropriate option. But the war is long over."
Hogan has stilled in his pacing, calmed by Klink's even demeanor.
"I suppose it is."
"And we are both free men who can make decisions for themselves, and deal with the consequences."
Hogan meets his eyes. "And right now we are in a hotel room in Germany with a storm raging outside."
Almost on cue, the lights flicker and as they look at each other in the dim light, they go out entirely. They are in complete blackness. It feels like the tension has snapped and both of them suddenly feel so tired.
"Oh dear," says Klink.
"Well you can't go home with no street lights in a storm like this."
"It would be ill-advised."
"You can stay here if you'd like."
"Thank you."
"I don't—I don't think I can find my suitcase to get you any pajamas."
"I don't think they would fit anyway." Klink feels his way to the bed and begins removing his shoes and pants. Hogan can't see what's happening but he can hear the rustling of clothing and the clink of a belt. Klink leaves his underwear on and climbs under the covers.
"Come lay down. It'll start to get cold soon."
Hogan sits on the edge of the bed and hesitates.
"Just take off your shoes and get under the blankets. You don't have to do anything but sleep."
Hogan nods although no one can see him, and does so.
Klink is silent but Hogan's mind is racing. He can't stop asking questions.
They end up talking for hours in the stillness, the outside world kept at bay in the velvet blackness.
When they awake in the morning, timid sunlight is filtering through the window and the storm has passed.
Klink finds himself wrapped tight on one side by Hogan who has pushed his shoulder underneath Klink's. He's still breathing deeply in sleep, and Klink watches him in a way he's never had the chance to before. Thoroughly at peace and not putting on an act.
Hogan begins to stir.
"Guten morgen."
"It's too early, don't tell me you're one of those nutjobs who still wakes before sunrise."
"Sorry. Too many years in the military."
"My head hurts. I hate being old. Two glasses of whiskey and a few beers and I'm done in the next morning." Hogan is still wearing his shirt and pants and looks thoroughly wrinkled.
"Just wait ten more years when you're ancient like me."
"No, I'll never be that old," he jokes.
Klink feels that they've reached something new, but there's still a chance that Hogan will disappear from his life again forever now that the spell of last night is over.
"How are you feeling about last night?"
"I think I have an honesty hangover. Is that a thing?"
Klink shrugs.
"I think it's a good thing though. Most of that I've never told to anyone."
"It's good to have someone to talk to."
"You know, I'd like to have more than that."
"When are you leaving Germany?" Klink is nothing but a pragmatist.
"I don't have to. We could spend—I mean, I don't want to impose if you have plans for Christmas."
"I don't. I usually have Christmas dinner with Shultz's family and that's about it. He'd love to see you for what it's worth."
"Good old Shultz hey? How's his family? And his business?"
"Both are doing very well, the family seems to grow larger every time I see them, grandchildren and cousins, I can't keep track.
"And I would very much like to spend Christmas with you."
Hogan smiles. The angle is awkward and he has to rearrange but then he leans forward and kisses Klink.