A/N: Set immediately after "Plan of Attack." Slightly AU, assumes Edith and Paul broke it off some time during the year Meredith was the DCS at Hastings.
The lads were all so grateful to have Foyle back as their DCS that they'd insisted on taking him out to the pub, and he couldn't bear to tell them no. After several rounds of toasting, the hour grows late. One by one, the younger officers filter out, until finally only Milner and Foyle remain, each with most of a pint left and in no hurry to return to an empty house.
"So, er… you and Sam?" Foyle says, chewing his cheek the way he does when interrogating a suspect.
Milner blinks. "Sorry, what?"
"Well, it doesn't take a genius. After all, she's attractive and bright, and you've been..." Foyle shrugs and continues, "unattached for some time."
"Sir, that doesn't –"
Foyle cuts him off. "And the entire station saw the way you looked at her when she walked in this afternoon, not to mention the way she looks at you."
Milner has the good sense to look sheepish, at least. "I told her we'd never be able to fool you."
"Right, well, understand this, Milner. You're the most capable officer I've ever worked with and you are my right-hand man. However, if I hear so much as a hint that you are anything less than a perfect gentleman to Miss Stewart, I shall learn to work left-handed. Is that clear?"
Foyle's eyes pin Milner to the chair and the hair on the back of the younger man's neck stands up. But Paul Milner has faced down greater challenges than DCS Foyle and he returns the gaze without flinching. "Crystal, sir. I assure you my intentions are honourable."
"Good," Foyle nods, and changes the subject.
Two days later, Sam is driving Foyle home when he asks her to pull over. Sam eyes him with a worried expression. "Is something the matter, sir?"
Foyle takes a moment to give her the once-over and then says, "You and Milner?"
Sam's face flushes and she stammers, "I, er… know what it looks like and especially after that business with Andrew and the American, you must think I'm…"
The corner of Foyle's mouth turns up and he shrugs slightly. "It's quite all right, Sam, you're a young woman, and Hastings has a dearth of young men, and Milner is..."
"Very handsome," Sam blurts. "Sir."
"Right," Foyle says, chewing his cheek again. Not for the first time, he wishes Sam were a Samuel instead of a Samantha; much as he enjoys her company, having a woman around creates a great deal of awkwardness. Still, Christopher Foyle is not the sort of man who avoids saying what needs to be said. He takes a deep breath and presses on.
"Well," he continues, "I can see that the two of you are happy, and I'm glad of that. But understand this, Miss Stewart," he says, eyes locked on hers.
"Yes, sir?" Sam replies meekly.
"I expect the two of you to conduct yourselves in a professional manner at all times, and I don't think I need to tell you that Milner isn't just our colleague, he is my friend and a war hero, and just as you deserve to be treated well by him, he deserves to be treated well by you."
"Of course, sir. Perfectly clear," Sam replies, anxiously running her hands over the steering wheel.
"Good. Home, then."