Disclaimer: own nothing / claim nothing / profit nothing All errors are mine; no Beta

Spoilers: As always potentially any episode

Author's Note: Character speaking in " " Inside information between a character or two and the reader in Italics

Prologue part 1 of 2

Foyle was headed to Sam's Uncle Aubrey's vicarage. It had been a rough two years and he hoped she would soon be able to start her life anew. He spent most of the drive to Aubrey's remembering the events since Hilda Pierce's funeral.

Sam had lost the baby in mid-March and neither she nor Adam had handled it well. No one could blame them; it was a difficult and sad time all around. A few of months later, in the summer 1947, Sam was pregnant again; their hope renewed and optimism flourished. She had insisted on remaining active as a volunteer with a local reconstruction committee including organizing and decorating a hall for a large fundraising dance, in late autumn of 1947. She was moving up and down a ladder, pinning crape streamers to the window coverings; nothing strenuous. Sam had been sure to have some else move the ladder from spot to spot and hold it steady as she climbed up and down. All of a sudden she felt a sharp pain and nearly fell from the ladder. She managed, with the help of her ladder helper, Susan, to make it safely to the floor and then a nearby chair.

The day before Foyle had extended an invitation to Sam for tea the next day. As another sharp pain struck, Susan asked, "Should I call someone Mrs. Wainwright?" All Sam could think was Christopher was due soon to take her to tea. She was suddenly aware he would likely arrive after she had left for the hospital and didn't want him left to wonder or worry. When Susan repeated the question Sam said, "Mr. Foyle" through clinched teeth as pain struck again. Susan hadn't waited to hear more and hurried off to phone the man requested. As it turned out he was walking through the front doors as the she was reaching the phone at the front desk. Before she could have his number looked up, she heard him introduce himself and ask for Mrs. Wainwright.

Susan reached out and grabbed Foyle's arm; too familiar an action for a stranger and he started to voice his objection.

However, before he could begin, she turned to speak to the girl behind the desk; as she drug him by the arm down the corridor toward the dining hall, "Eleanor, call an ambulance, Mrs. Wainwright is hurt."

Foyle wrenched his arm from the young woman's grasp and charged ahead of her as he called back over his shoulder, "Where is she?"

"Through those doors at the end." Susan hollered after him as she continued in the same direction.

He reached Sam just as another stab of pain struck and she reached out to him, her glistening eyes full of fear and her voice pleading in desperation, "Sir! Please, it can't happen again! It just can't!"

Foyle knew immediately what Sam was referring to and how terrified she must be. She had not called him 'sir' since the first time they had seen each other after she had asked him to be her baby's godfather. They had met for tea one afternoon a week or so later and he had insisted she get in the habit of calling him 'Christopher'.

He remembered the look on her face when he had reasoned, "It wouldn't do to have the child grow up calling me Uncle Sir, now, would it?"

Sam had burst out laughing, but quickly clamped her hand firmly over her mouth as a look of embarrassment overtook her features and other people in the restaurant began to stare at her.

The humor filled memory quickly became bittersweet as he gave her his hand and was stunned by the amount of pressure she applied; her face contorted in another wave of pain. He wasn't entirely sure how he had managed to get a chair under himself; but, he had and he moved it as close as he could to Sam's chair. She had a crushing grip on his hand but he knew whatever pain he felt had to be minimal compared to Sam's agony. He slipped his free arm around her shoulders and tried to give her more support than the chair was providing. Her grip relaxed and she was able to catch her breath just a bit as he told her an ambulance had been summoned. He noticed Susan was standing on the other side of Sam and gave her a questioning glance.

The woman nodded her head vigorously, "Yes, there's one on the way. Anything else I can do?" She asked anxiously.

Foyle felt Sam's grip begin to tighten again and asked, almost too sharply for it to be considered a question, "Some cold water and small towel, please?"

Susan was off just as Sam clamped down on his hand, rather painfully, once more.

Tears began to spill over her lower lids and his heart felt as though it were being clinched as tightly as his hand. He could think of nothing encouraging in that moment so, he opted to simply affirm his presence, "I'm here Sam. I'm here."

Soon there was a flurry of activity. Susan was pushing a bowl of cold water, with a small towel floating in it, at him. Sam had clinched down on his hand again. Two ambulance attendants had materialized, seemingly from nowhere and were trying to move Sam to a stretcher. And Sam was trying to say something to him through the most recent jolt of pain.

Foyle offered Susan a rather absent, "Thank you." as he plucked the small towel from the water and squeezed out the excess as best he could with one hand. The attendants were lifting Sam, but she would not let go of his hand, so he moved with them. As they carried her down the corridor Foyle walked along side, with Sam clutching one hand, he used his free hand to wipe the dampened cloth around her face; swabbing perspiration and tears from her skin.

His focus was completely consumed by Sam and the intensity of the event. Foyle spared no thought for anyone or anything else. He continued to reassure Sam of his presence and that she would soon be in the care of the doctor. It wasn't until they had reached the hospital, and a couple of nurses had pried Sam's hand from his, to assume his position in reassuring her and wiping her face, that he began to think beyond Sam. The first thing he did was to find a phone and try to locate Adam. Three calls later, he had finally reached a hotel clerk who confirmed 'Mr. Wainwright' was indeed in a meeting in their adjoining restaurant and assured he would be given a message 'straight away'. Foyle had no way of knowing the hotel clerk's idea of 'straight away', was as soon as the meeting was over; not a moment before. Foyle watched a doctor emerge from the room Sam was in as he was finishing the call.

The doctor asked if he was family and he answered unequivocally and without hesitation, "Yes. We are family. My name's Foyle"

The report was brief and direct. Sam had lost the baby and would need to remain in hospital, at the very least overnight, probably a couple of days. She had lost a considerable amount of blood and was physically and emotionally exhausted.

Foyle had asked if he could see her and the doctor had replied, unwittingly, "I'm afraid we must keep her visitors to a minimum. However, she keeps calling out for Christopher and it …"

After being so sure he wasn't going to be permitted to see Sam, he almost jumped in surprise when he heard his name. He offered his hand as he interrupted the doctor, "I'm Christopher! Christopher Foyle."

They shook hands as the doctor tried to clarify, "I'm sorry, I thought her name was Wainwright?"

"Correct. Mrs. Samantha Wainwright."

"And, you're Foyle?"

"Yes."

It was obvious to Foyle that the doctor thought he had been misled, even before he spoke. "You said you're family?"

"Family, yes." his assertion clear and firm.

"Not married?" The doctor's face still held a look of suspicious disbelief.

"No, not married. I just left a message for her husband. May I see her now? Please."

The doctor merely stepped aside and Foyle took it as permission. He stepped into the room and quietly made his way to the bed. Sam looked so small, fragile and terribly vulnerable; his chest constricted at the sight of her. Foyle sat with her for several hours. Sam had opened her eyes once, shortly after he had entered her room, as he had placed a chair near her bed. He told her he had called Adam and would stay with her until the younger man arrived. She had thanked him through a constricted cry, as she swiped at her tears with the bed sheet. He had handed her his handkerchief before he reached to hold her hand.

The moment Adam walked into the room Foyle got up to leave. He saw the doctor walk passed the door of Sam's room.

"Doctor?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for allowing me to stay with Sam for so long this afternoon. I don't suppose that was strictly according to policy around here."

The doctor offered him a tight smile, "No, it's not, but you're welcome, Mr. Foyle." Then his expression became puzzled. "The two of you are not married?"

"We are not." Foyle returned; his answer succinct but his curiosity was piqued. It was the second time the doctor had asked and the man seemed confused both times. "Why do you ask?"

His expression said the question caught him off guard but the doctor answered immediately, "Uh, because she kept calling for 'Christopher' throughout her ordeal."

Foyle nodded, not sure he could trust his voice right away. With a swallow to ensure his throat was moist, he suggested firmly, "Probably, because she knew I was here. Came in with her actually."

The doctor looked unconvinced, "Could be." He shifted a bit, clearly uncomfortable, and said, "Mr. Foyle I must be off, now. I will check in on Mrs. Wainwright in the morning and give you, er rather, her husband an update. Has he made it in yet?"

"Thank you doctor, we would appreciate that. Yes, Adam is in with her now."

The two men shook hands again and the doctor was off. It didn't even occur to Foyle that the doctor had not spoken to Adam before leaving for the night.

Adam took exception to everything Foyle had done or not done; being with Sam, not calling until after reaching the hospital, failing to ensure Adam got the message immediately, not insisting on speaking to Adam directly, talking with the doctor; requiring Adam to get the doctor's assessment through him. Adam was especially upset that Foyle and Sam had 'been holding hands and whispering' and Foyle had been 'stroking her face' when he entered her room.

Sam had awakened a few times but Foyle had told her Adam was not there yet and encouraged her to rest, sleep if she could. She had awakened again a few minutes ahead of Adam's arrival. That time she had immediately started talking about the baby, in a very brief period of time she was overcome emotionally and started to cry. Foyle continued to hold her hand, spoke reassuring words softly, encouraged her to calm down and cautioned he did want to get kicked out for upsetting her; all while he picked up his handkerchief and dried her tears. She whispered back she would try to stay calm and begged him not to let them make him leave. That was all that was happening the moment Adam walked in; however, the younger man obstinately refused to listen to any of Foyle's explanations about anything.

Following Sam's release from hospital Adam expressed further upset at her insistence at continuing to 'work' and putting the baby at risk. He was angry at the loss of another child but wanted for them to try again right away. Adam was angry about a lot of things and he was taking it all out on Sam instead of supporting her.

Adam directed his ire at Foyle many times as well. The older man did not take the jabs personally. He viewed them as Adam's way to exercise his anger over the loss of the baby. However, Foyle was extremely upset by the younger man's treatment of Sam as though she had not suffered any loss and was to be held at fault.

The breaking point came one evening in November 1947, a few weeks after Sam's hospital stay. Foyle had been invited to dinner. Soon after the meal started Adam had insisted on discussing their trying for more children. It was obvious Sam was terribly uncomfortable with the topic being discussed in front of him and equally obvious Adam was not going to be deterred. Foyle had considered making an excuse to leave but when Adam had raised his voice and would not be dissuaded, he glanced at Sam. The single look told him, embarrassed or not, she needed him to stay. Foyle then suggested he see to the coffee while the couple spoke in private. Although, he was a room away, he still heard the entire conversation. Adam had grown louder when Foyle had left the room and Sam quieter; beseeching her husband to lower his voice since he wouldn't agree to postpone the conversation for later.

They reached the point where Adam demanded to know why she was so adamant about not trying for more children. "Wasn't that what you had always said you wanted? That is until you were forced to choose between having my baby and continuing to work with your precious Mr. Foyle?"

That comment spurred Foyle to movement and he headed for the door that connected the kitchen and the dining room. Only to be frozen by Sam's voice, small but deeply heartfelt as she told her husband; apparently for the first time, that she had not only lost the two most recent babies but had suffered through multiple early term losses the first several months of their marriage. She went on to say that she couldn't just 'try again' as Adam had suggested, because her doctor had said it was unlikely she would ever carry a child to term.

Silence.

The only sounds Foyle heard were the ticking of a nearby clock and the thrumming of his heartbeat as his blood pulsed in his ears. While he debated whether or not to re-enter the room, he heard Adam.

His voice, low, forcibly controlled but with a hint of volatility, "And I suppose your Mr. Foyle has known this, for what, months? Just one more thing you've told him before me. Guess I should at least be grateful you told me about the last two pregnancies before you told him. Huh?"

Adam's last words were partially drowned out by the movement of his chair from table and the motion of him heading for the front door. When the reverberation of the slammed door reached his ears, Foyle immediately returned to the dining room to find Sam, still seated at table, with her head down and cradled in her hands.