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So, this was the peace they had all fought for.
The long years of war - sabotage, roll calls, secret assignations in the dead of night - given way to this.
Something more and yet something less.
He had always wanted to visit America (although it hadn't been visit so much as emigrate), and as 1947 crawled to a close, here he was.
Not in Palm Springs or Hollywood as he might once have hoped - although Hogan's tales of his preflight training did make it sound wonderful, and he definitely had plans to go someday - but here.
Here. A warm bar filled with cigarette smoke and the sound of life. Life that almost could have passed him by.
A life that a man who ought to have been his enemy gave back to him.
Outside, a cold east coast winter raged on; so similar and yet so different from those they had endured at Stalag 13.
Inside, no storm waged within the former Commandant. He sat, invisible as ever, in the dimmest corner of the bar, nursing the same glass of whiskey he'd ordered on arrival.
Oh, it was odd indeed, coming to a bar and not drinking. But the drink had never been his purpose here.
For want of a better term, Klink was watching. Guarding. Keeping an eye on the men who - even now, long after the war had finished - he still viewed as under his protection.
Tonight, as every year, they gathered (first in London, then Paris, now Connecticut), celebrating the approach of the Yule.
They were there, not three feet from him, and yet oblivious to his presence.
Klink did not mind. He was not their concern. Not tonight. Tomorrow, yes, he would be welcomed with open arms - as much for their Colonel's sake as his - but not tonight. Tonight was for the Heroes.
Klink had no part in that.
Newkirk and Carter bickered in their old companionable way - now brothers in law as much as in bond. Their argument as playful as it was entertaining for their friends. LeBeau interrupted with little asides that kept the conversation fresh, going over old in-jokes and memories that only the Heroes understood.
And, on the other side of the table, facing towards Klink's unobtrusive table, Kinchloe and Hogan were sitting back, content to enjoy the show.
Klink hid a small smile, hearing Kinch get dragged into the conversation (something about whose fault it was for not setting the timers - Klink had no idea, but his money was on Newkirk), swirling his whiskey absently around his glass.
Newkirk's laughing voice carried over to Klink's corner, teasing young Carter about impending fatherhood - something the Englishman had already greeted with giddy aplomb, Kinchloe's steady tone reassuring that he'd do just fine.
As long as he didn't accidentally cause any explosions around the kid. Or so their beloved Colonel interjected to laughter.
Klink raised his eyes back to the rowdy table, weary blue eyes meeting glittering brown.
Hogan was staring right at him, that same warm, cocky smirk curving his lips.
Of course the Colonel knew he was there, Klink had never been fool enough to believe otherwise.
There was so much Hogan could have done in that moment. He could have scowled at his observing of their revels. He could have called out and beckoned him to join them.
But that would imply that Robert E. Hogan didn't know exactly what had brought Klink here tonight, away from his modest, private cottage and the security it afforded him.
Hogan simply raised his glass, inclining his head in simple acknowledgement. A toast between two Colonels.
Klink raised his glass in reply, allowing the warm liquid to heat his insides the way Hogan's smile was doing for his heart.
With one final, eye-crinkling smile, Hogan turned back to his men, tossing out a comment that had LeBeau's cheeks reddening.
And Klink took that for the acceptance it was.
Tomorrow, Wilhelm would be attending a yuletide gathering to last until the next. Tomorrow, he would be welcomed into the Hogan's home, amidst the men he had once kept imprisoned - outwardly at least.
Tonight, Klink watched over Colonel Hogan and his Heroes, trusted to keep an eye on them and make sure they returned home safe and sound.
Just as he had in another time and another place, back in Stalag 13.