A/N: Again, thanks to two of my betas: Em and dances above.

This story started many months ago but if not for emma de los nardos, it would never be finished.

Summary: Sam thought she was doomed to love from a distance. Then one night, she finds love, up close and personal.

It was early morning. The sun was shining and a light cool breeze ruffled the sheer curtains. Birds were chirping outside, welcoming the new day, and small sounds of activity by neighbors preparing to leave for work filtered in through the windows. Except for a slight headache forming, Samantha Stewart, curled up on her left side, was as comfortable as if she were in her own bed at her parents' home. She stretched languidly, relishing the tingling feeling of flexing and contracting muscles. Afterwards, she brought her feet back up and was startled when they touched bare skin—a bit hairy, but bare skin nonetheless. It was then that she realized she also was quite naked, sans pajamas and panties. Holding the sheet to her bare breasts, she looked behind her to find another body, also somewhat bare, lying next to her but facing the other way. Still, she'd know that curly greying hair anywhere; she'd certainly studied it enough times through the past six years.

What had she… they done? Ooh… now what? Should I wake him?

If she didn't immediately remember what had happened the night before, would he? She recalled being at a gala, a ball, for the recognition of police officers who stayed at home during the war to protect the home front not only from the Germans, but from those who would take advantage of the war to carry out their own nefarious designs. Ms. Pierce had invited her. Because of Sam's service in the MTC and as a police officer's driver during the war, she would be as welcome as any of the police officers. She was now working at Whitehall in a secretarial position—well, more in the role of personal assistant to Ms. Pierce, who had been promoted to a position of oversight of field agents.

She went to the gala, but without an escort. A peripheral advantage of the end of the war was the relative abundance of women's clothing again. With her first month's pay at Whitehall, Sam had bought herself a number of new frocks. Last night she'd worn a shimmery lavender dress with a fine white cardigan draped over her shoulders. She knew that she looked stunning, from the glances she had given herself in the mirror at her flat, but she still felt odd attending the gala all alone. She felt odd, that is, until two blue eyes met her brown ones from across the room. She hadn't expected him to be there; the last she'd heard he was still in America. And the last he had heard, she was going to be married. She hadn't done, but he wouldn't know that.

He'd made his way across the room to her (albeit slowly as friends of his stopped to welcome him home and to the party). When he finally stood in front of her, she realized she was standing alone; Ms. Pierce had left her side. At the time, it hadn't registered, but in retrospect it felt a bit as if she'd been set up.

"Sam."

"Sir."

"You know, I'm not your boss anymore." He grinned at her and she grinned back.

Somewhat shyly, she said, "Old habit."

"I didn't know you'd be here."

"Ms. Pierce thought I should be, since I did work so closely with the police."

"I didn't realize you knew Ms. Pierce."

"I didn't know her before, not really. Just through association with you."

"Mmm… so she just invited you out of the blue?"

"No. She, well, she knew of me through you and had heard I was looking for a job. With her promotion, she found she needed a personal assistant."

She'd seen that look on his face dozens of times in the past. He was struggling to put the pieces together; something was missing and he'd not yet figured it out. But she knew he would. It would take a moment maybe, but the question would be forthcoming. She stared out at the dance floor, where the last song had just ended and a waltz was starting. Just as a young officer was making his way over to her, Foyle asked her to dance, holding his hand out for her, which she readily took.

She'd never seen him dance in all the seven years she'd known him. She wasn't disappointed. Waltzing with him would forever be a pleasure she'd not want to pass up. As they made their first turn, he finally asked the question she'd been waiting for him to figure out.

"Since you were in need of work, am I to understand that you and Adam are not married?"

"Yes. He—we broke off the engagement a few weeks after you'd left."

"I'm surprised, Sam. I thought you were happy with him."

"I thought so, too."

She didn't elaborate, leaving Foyle again to wonder why. Sam watched his face, the furrow of his brow and his characteristic biting of his cheek.

"You didn't love him."

"No," she sighed. "And he found it out."

"So, he broke off the engagement?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry, Sam. I really did think…" He realized he was about to repeat himself.

"I was, but it wasn't going to be enough that I was content to be with him. At least… not for him."

Foyle stopped dancing rather abruptly in the middle of the song. Another couple nearly careened into the two of them. He grasped her elbow and led her off the dance floor. Glancing both ways, he found an open terrace doorway and again led her to it and into the cool night air. She wasn't sure what to expect, but his huff of exasperation was something she should have anticipated.

"Why would he think you were only content to be with him?"

Sam didn't answer straight away. She couldn't just blurt out that she was in love with her former boss and always would be; that he was the only person she felt she could ever love.

"Sam?"

She didn't know how to answer him. The question was rather direct and she knew he expected a direct answer. "I…he…" Frustrated, she turned away from Foyle and placed her hands on the balustrade.

"I thought I'd come back from America and find you happily married," Foyle said, then mumbled, "I counted on it."

She only heard that last because he was facing her, it was said so low that if he'd been facing the other way, she'd never have heard it.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

He looked startled, and it confirmed for her that she wasn't meant to hear his muttered statement. But he didn't answer. Instead, he did what she'd done, placing his hands on the balustrade. She took a chance.

"Adam thought I was… am in love with someone else."

Foyle had been holding his breath, but at her words, he exhaled slowly. "Who is he?"

He wasn't asking if Adam was correct about Sam being in love with someone else; he knew that answer.

Swallowing, she ducked her head and said quietly, "You."

He didn't move, he didn't say anything. Neither of them did, until another couple came out onto the terrace.

He cleared his throat and nodded to their left. "Let's walk a little."

They'd walked only a few paces when he said, "Sam, I'm old enough to be your father."

"Yes, but you're not." Her tone flat, she didn't raise her voice. "You didn't answer my question."

He harrumphed and stopped. She'd walked a few steps further, not realizing at first that he had stopped. She turned to face him. Screwing up her courage, she lifted her chin and said, "You've never held back from correcting me before, sir. So, am I correct in assuming that you meant that if I were married you'd be less inclined to… to… to have feelings for me? Romantic feelings?"

Now he felt like the proverbial deer in the headlights. She'd guessed correctly and he couldn't start lying to her now. But he also couldn't answer her, so he nodded. She turned from him and took a few steps, her hands now clenched at her sides.

"Sam?"

"How long?"

He didn't answer.

She turned back to him, hands still balled. "How long have you felt… that way toward me?"

"I don't know. I started to realize it when you took ill from the Anthrax, but I'd started developing feelings for you when you stayed in my home."

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words formed, just stammering. "That long?" she finally managed to gasp out. It had been nearly five years ago. They had worked together nearly every day since, until the war ended and he'd traveled to America. She'd then gone to work in London. Together, every day – and he had never once mentioned it.

He nodded, and then stepped forward until they were within arms' reach. "You'd been out with my son, Sam. You then moved on to the American. I didn't realize, before you were ill, how deeply I felt. It wasn't until I talked with Farnetti when you were in hospital that I realized how jealous I was of him. When you broke it off with him, I… I've never known that kind of relief. You don't know."

"I do know. I just felt it moments ago when you admitted to having feelings for me. I thought I was doomed to love someone who would never feel as I did about him." She couldn't help the tears and turned away so he wouldn't see them. But he had. She felt his arms encircle her, the warmth of his chest against her back, cocooning her against the cool night air.

"I do love you, Sam," he quietly murmured into her ear. She felt another bout of tears coming, but then he continued, "But the fact still remains that I'm twenty-five years older than you. You're the same age as my son… and he's married, already expecting my first grandchild."

"Is that supposed to make me forget how I care about you?" she asked passionately. "Does it really change your feelings for me? You've had them all this time, so has the thought of our age difference changed them somehow?"

"No."

"Do you really think that if I were to marry someone else that you would stop loving me or I would stop loving you?" She lifted her head, tilting it to look him in the eyes. His mouth was only a few inches from hers, and he had to resist the urge to kiss her.

He sighed, "No."

"No, we wouldn't," she affirmed. "As my mother was so apt to tell me when I was younger, 'the heart wants what the heart wants' and there's no use fighting it."

They stood in the moonlight, staring out at the stars. He pulled her closer, gently rocking her until her tears finally subsided and she sniffled. "Sa—"

"Did you know that Ms. Pierce was married?"

She could feel him shake his head.

"Well, she was. He was thirty years older." She let that sink in a moment before she continued, "He passed away just before the start of the war. He was eighty-eight."

He began to rock her gently again, in time with the music from the ballroom. "What would your parents think, Sam?"

"They'd be… concerned, but would come around quickly."

"Sam, really? You think they'd—"

"I did say they'd be concerned. There'd probably be a hundred questions, but they'd understand once they saw how we felt." She smiled, remembering her parents' story of how they met. "You know, my father is fifteen years older than my mother."

He chuckled. "Well, I guess that's enough for me."

She pulled away and swirled to face him. With a look as serious as if they were discussing a murder, she asked, "Do you mean that? That we'll give it a try?"

Just as seriously, he grasped her face with both his hands and said, "No." She started to pout until he continued, "I meant that we… should… get married."

Her eyes darted furiously back and forth over his face, and then she smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck and cried out, "Yes!"

A/N: Part II is written by emma de los nardos.