Work Text:
It was a scene that had been seen many times during the history of Stalag 13. Colonel Robert E. Hogan sprawled in a chair opposite Colonel Klink's desk, a lit cigar between his fingers and a lazy smile on his face. On the other side of the desk, the aforementioned camp Kommandant kept his strangely wise gaze fixed on the medical supply requisition that had been Hogan's latest excuse for interrupting visiting his German counterpart.
Despite the crisp winter day, the window remained half open, music (the real deal, not the orchestral stuff or the wailing that Klink liked) drifting playfully in on the air.
As a reward for not causing any undue trouble during their last work party (not counting the unfortunate sabotage of some train tracks preventing crucial troop movements - which Klink suspected but couldn't prove was Hogan and his men), the Kommandant had generously allowed an afternoon of entertainment in the Rec Hall. And with some extra persuading from Hogan (the reason for yesterday's visit to the Kommandantur), Klink had even released a few of the confiscated Tommy Dorsey records he had kept back from them.
Hogan knew that the Kommandant had only agreed because the records kept the prisoners occupied, and Hogan quiet as he listened. And, as far as Klink was concerned, that bliss was well worth the cost.
The moment the opening strains of a very familiar Tommy Dorsey song hit his ears, a brilliant smile lit up Hogan's face. The senior POW turned to the handsome, balding man sitting at the desk opposite him.
Klink stubbornly ignored him for the requisitions.
If they both didn't love the challenge so much, he might think that quite rude. Instead, Hogan's head tilted like the caged eagle General Biedenbender had accused him of being.
Trained as he was to the slightest movements of his full-time troublemaker Senior POW, Klink undoubtedly knew that Hogan's gaze was fixed unerringly on him.
"What do you want, Hogan?" Klink sighed, failing to sound even remotely irritated.
Hogan gave a leisurely shrug. "Old bubble-head to surrender?" he suggested idly, knowing that, at least, would get Klink's attention back where it belonged.
"Hooogaan!"
Deep brown eyes twinkled innocently, a half smile twitching Klink's lips.
Now that he had what he wanted, Hogan could continue. "They're playing our song."
"Well, what do you expect me to do about that?" Klink retorted, his eyes dancing behind his monocle. "Shall I send them to the cooler? Confiscate the records again?"
Hogan smiled the infuriating grin he often wore when he had a brilliant idea. "Well, for starters, you could pretend for three minutes that I'm more interesting than your paperwork."
Klink made a squeak of offence. "You brought me this requisition, Hogan. You said it was urgent."
"Yes," he agreed affably; he had the Kommandant right where he wanted him. "But now I'd like to requisition about two and a half minutes of your time."
Confusion was obvious in the slight widening of Klink's entrancing eyes. "Was?"
Hogan would love to think that Klink's automatic response in his native tongue wasn't adorable, but he'd be lying. It was adorable, not that he'd tell the Kommandant that - he'd be restricted to his barracks quicker than he could quote the Geneva Conventions.
The American Colonel rose to his feet, reaching his hand out to the older man.
"Dance with me."
Klink blanched, his gaze darting out to the empty compound. "Are you trying to get us shot?"
Hogan pouted, turning on his puppy dog eyes. He slumped back in his seat, looking as miserable as his incredible acting skills allowed. Experience taught him that - no matter how inadvisable - Klink had never been able to say no.
"Verdammt, Robert," Klink cursed, rising to his feet. Capitulation had always been one of the Kommandant's most graceful talents. "Let's dance, then," he added, sounding as enthusiastic as he had when faced with marriage to Gertrude Linkmeyer.
"You don't really want to," Hogan sighed, pouting a little more.
Klink's sigh momentarily drowned out the melody. Hogan almost felt a little twinge of guilt at pushing him so much. But he wouldn't if he didn't know they'd enjoy themselves.
From somewhere, the Luftwaffe Colonel found an untapped well of patience. "Please, Robert," he began softly, audible just for them two. "Would you do me the honour of dancing with me?"
Hogan's shrewd gaze found Klink's outstretched hand, hearing the sincerity in his voice. And yet, Hogan couldn't resist poking the German eagle a little bit more (it was his nature, after all). "If you're sure," he said.
Fondly exasperated irritation crossed Klink's aristocratic features, his name escaping his lips on a frustrated expulsion of air. "Robert!"
Before Klink changed his mind, Hogan quickly reached for the still outstretched hand. "I thought you'd never ask," he teased, rewarded with an exasperated chuckle.
"Why do I put up with you?"
"Because with me your life is never dull," Hogan quipped easily. And because you care for me.
"I wouldn't mind a quiet life every now and then," he replied, the warmth of his hand at Hogan's waist cutting off the clever retort that had formed on Hogan's lips.
It took a few moments for their hands to get comfortably situated (and for Hogan to cede the lead to Klink) before they began to sway gently to the distant melody.
Klink tilted his head towards the window, a flash of sadness crossing his face. "Our song is ending."
He sounded so forlorn, Hogan couldn't help smiling reassuringly.
"Don't worry, Will, I've got it handled."
A frown creased the perfect sky of Klink's forehead, vanishing seconds later. "Your men," Klink stated, shaking his head.
Hogan just hummed idly in reply. Really, Klink should be used to the lengths Hogan went to while planning things by now.
There was a brief but slightly too long silence, and then their song started over again.
Unknown tension melted from Klink's frame, the two Colonel's melting back into each other.
There was no one else in the world; no responsibilities, no war - just a small stretch of carpet, a faint melody, and the warmth of two bodies holding each other tight. Grounded eagles they both might be, but for a few precious minutes they both flew again, floating on air together while Tommy Dorsey played their song one last time.
".... It's always you..."