Pleasure of love lasts a moment, pain of love lasts a lifetime.

*

Klink says, “A child changes your life, you know.”

He stares at the chessboard. It stares back. Inanimate objects. They don’t mean a thing. Nothing-

“So they tell me,” he replies casually, without looking away from the board. “What does that have to do with chess?”

Klink continues, as if he hasn’t heard Hogan’s reply: “Think about it. You created it. You. And then you always think you will be able to teach them later. Teach them to be smarter, faster. Play chess, perhaps.”

The German reaches across and opens the cigar box. He takes one out, offers Hogan one. Hogan keeps staring at the chess pieces, but takes a cigar. Sticking in his mouth, he says, “You seem rather introspective today, commandant. Have you gotten some poor girl in a family way? Maybe a nurse at the hospital?”

Klink raises his eyebrows, remembering the nurses. He only returned from hospital yesterday, after a lengthy stay that had come about through dodgy timing with bombs, dodgier plans and Klink’s usual bumbling way of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. In fact, it was that whole fiasco that led Hogan here. He doesn’t feel like playing, but he can’t help but feel he owes it to Klink after what happened, even if Klink doesn’t know it was his fault.

Klink lights the cigar with the silver desk lighter and leans across to light Hogan’s. Hogan can see him puffing on it from his peripheral vision as he tries to strategise.

“No,” he answers. He let the cigar dangle in his mouth and starts polishing his monocle. “Not that I know of,” he adds.

Hogan smiles slightly. “Well you can’t have all that many women to keep track off,” he mutters.

Klink hears him, but just gives a small half shrug, replacing his monocle in his eye. Hogan glances up, suddenly paying attention. This is out of character, he notes. An out of character Klink means trouble. It means things are changing, it means there could be consequences-

“Are you thinking of starting a family, then?” he inquires casually, letting Klink take a useless pawn.

Klink snorts. “In the middle of a war, Hogan? What kind of fool do you take me for? Don’t,” he hurriedly amends, “answer that.”

Hogan smiles more widely this time. Except it feels brittle and false. He’s really not in the mood to dance. Neither, apparently, is Klink, judging by how suddenly mellow and deep-thinking he’s become. He moves his knight to a position that will benefit nobody, trying to think of a way to casually ask Klink what the hell’s going on.

Before he can, however, Klink says, “I remember the last war.”

It’s a stunningly confusing leap of logic, and it leaves Hogan reeling for a moment before he regains his wits. He realises that he ought to be paying attention. Klink is strange today. It wouldn’t do to miss something important.

“The last war?” he responds intelligently.

“Yes. The first one. It wasn’t the first one then. It was supposed to be the last one.” Klink toys with a bishop but ends up moving a pawn.

Hogan should take it. He should. Instead he moves the knight back to its original position. “It’s always supposed to be the last one,” he mumbles, and then stops, because he hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

Klink cocks his head, studying the board. “Yes,” he agrees slowly. “It always is. I don’t suppose you remember it. You would have been a child.”

“I was twelve,” he says, a little more sharply than intended. He doesn’t know why that riled him. I don’t suppose you remember it.

Klink raises his eyes, glances at him, and returns his gaze to scrutinise the pieces. “Young.”

“Well we all were once.” He can’t fully hide the sarcasm.

“I suppose.” Klink sounds doubtful.

There’s a long pause. Hogan takes a rook. His head hurts and he’s tired. He doesn’t want to be sitting here, playing chess. He’d much rather be-

- anywhere other than here.

“I was married, once,” Klink says, conversationally.

Hogan stops dead. He looks up. “What?”

Klink smiles softly. “Yes. I was very young.”

He forgets about the chess game. He takes the cigar out of his mouth and stares at him. “What happened?”

Klink shrugs. He takes Hogan’s useless knight. “She died,” he finally replies. “In the influenza. She and my daughter.”

Hogan keeps staring at him. “I’m sorry, commandant,” he finally manages.

“It was a long time ago.” Klink blows out some smoke and looks up at Hogan.

“I didn’t know,” he says stupidly.

Klink smiles again, that soft out of character smile. “Why would you? Nobody does.”

He hesitates. “Why not?”

Klink considers it, cocking his head to one side. “I suppose there is just nobody here I would think to tell. There are levels, Hogan. Officers- German officers- aren’t usually in the practise of telling their subordinates their life story.”

Hogan stares at him. “Not a lot of trust, is there?” he says cynically. He moves a pawn, replacing it on the board too hard. It makes a loud thunk as it hits the board.

Klink doesn’t reply. He moves a piece. Hogan lets the silence reign as he in turn moves another. Thunk. Queen takes pawn. Pawn crawls forward. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk-

“Do you know what I did?” Klink says suddenly.

“When?” Thunk.

“When I found out my wife and daughter had died. Check, by the way.”

“What,” he grinds out, trying to get out of check, “makes you think that I care?”

Klink goes on as though he hasn’t spoken: “I went home and cried. For a long time. My family cried too. And my friends.”

“Good for you,” he mutters. He finds an escape. Thunk.

He stops. He realises that he’s angry. He realises that he doesn’t know why. He looks at the board and he can’t remember whose turn it is next.

Klink starts, “I remember-” but he cuts in.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asks hopelessly, looking up for the first time in ages. “Why? Commandant, I’m very sorry about your wife and daughter, but you said it yourself: it was a long time ago. And I’m the enemy, and I- I don’t understand why you’re telling me this,” he finishes desperately.

There’s a pause. Hogan realises he’s in check again.

“You don’t,” Klink says, “tell your subordinates your life story. It’s not about trust. It’s about what is proper.”

He shakes his head, uncomprehending.

“You don’t tell them about your life at home- not the important things- or, well, anything, I should say. I don’t. You wouldn’t.”

“How would you know?” he spits, feeling angry again.

“I can tell,” Klink replies simply.

He’s still in check. Could it be checkmate? Can he get out of this one? Does he even want to try, to prolong this heart-to-heart-?

“Look,” he starts, but this time Klink interrupts him.

“We censor your letters,” he says.

Hogan stares. “Hate to break it to you, but we censor yours too,” he returns flippantly, getting his anger back under control.

Klink looks at him. “Hogan, as an officer I had to censor letters while I was in hospital.”

“What-” he cries angrily, trying to find a gap to free his king, “- is your-”

He stops. A realisation dawns.

“- point?” he finishes, far less heatedly.

Klink says, “I fell apart. But I wasn’t in a prison camp, and I wasn’t far from home. And I didn’t have to be the leader for my men, and I didn’t have to pretend-”

“I’m not pretending,” he snaps.

“You didn’t tell your men,” Klink points out.

He doesn’t bother asking how Klink knows. It’s evident they don’t know. “It’s-” except he doesn’t know what to say.

The pause lingers. “The death of a child is a terrible thing,” Klink says softly.

He can’t get out of it. He knocks the king over and drops his head into his hands. “Why are you doing this to me?” he mumbles, without looking up. “Payback for all the things that we did to you? All the times-?”

Klink stands. “I just thought,” he says, “in light of what happened- and where we are, and what the world is right now- I just thought that you could use a moment. Alone.” He crosses the room.

Hogan doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want to know that they’re the same, he doesn’t want Klink to be three-dimensional person, he doesn’t want Klink to be so goddamned compassionate, he doesn’t want to be here, he doesn’t want the world to always resort to war, he doesn’t want to feel this-

“Does it get better?” he suddenly asks, despite himself. “You know what they say- time-” He doesn’t usually stumble over his words this badly. “Does it get... easier?”

Klink pauses as he opens the door, looking back. “Easier? Perhaps. Eventually.” He thinks. “But better? No. It never gets better.” He looks at his enemy sitting at the table, head in his hands, king still rolling slightly on the chessboard. Hesitantly he adds, “I’m sorry, Robert. I’m really sorry.”

The door closes softly.

Hogan stares at the chessboard. A tear splashes silently onto the fallen king. It’s crazy; he’s about to lose it completely, he can tell, just fall apart and howl and howl and howl-

But before he does, all he can think is that nobody ever calls him Robert anymore.