A/N: Some of the dialogue comes directly from "All Clear" which is of course the rightful property of the creators of Foyle's War.

May 1945

For several minutes, maybe even a quarter of an hour, he stands in the street and stares at the house where he'd been born, trying to lend sense to how it has remained the same while everything else is irrevocably changed.

Finally he forces his feet into motion, across the street and up the steps, a sudden memory of counting them aloud gleefully when he was still young enough that he had to hold Mum or Dad's hand leaves him feeling dizzy and he grabs the handrail to steady himself.

His head aches in the way he was becoming terribly familiar with and he breathes slowly until his vision has cleared again and then he resettles his kitbag on his shoulder and takes his key out of his pocket.

He can't get it in the lock. Andrew curses under his breath, if he can fly a spitfire and not get shot down he ought to be able to unlock his own front door.

He blinks and extends his hand again, intent on getting the key into the lock this time, except that the lock isn't there any more, the door is open and Dad is staring at him; "Andrew?"

"Hello Dad" he smiles but the motion forces tears into his eyes so he looks down at his hands instead, fumbles his key back into his pocket and holds out his right hand. Dad takes it immediately, his grip firm and the calluses familiar.

"I thought you were in Malta?" Dad's voice is rough with emotion and Andrew swallows hard and then licks his lips preparing to speak only to start violently as the shrill ring of the telephone sounds from inside.

Dad's hand is suddenly on his elbow, his grip almost painfully tight, keeping him from pitching down the stairs. "Steady on"

The telephone rings again and the pain in his head spikes as the adrenaline hits his system, he takes a deep breath and tries to force down the bile that is creeping up his throat.

Another ring and Andrew leans to the side, desperately trying to angle his body away from Dad as his breakfast makes an unwelcome appearance on the top step. "Andrew!"

He wants to speak but another spasm jackknife's him forward again. "Alright…sshh" Dad's voice is as comforting as he remembers and suddenly there are tears in his eyes again.

By the time the retching has passed Dad is beside him, his left hand gripping his belt firmly, his right resting on his forehead. The palm of Dad's hand is pleasantly cool and Andrew instinctively presses against it, trying to find some way to counter the pain and pressure that is building in his head and sinuses.

"Alright?" Dad asks softly and he forces himself to nod, "Right let's get you inside then" and Andrew suddenly remembers that he's in full view of the street and blushes deeply. "Nothing anyone hasn't seen before Andrew, mind your step now…"

In no time at all Dad has him settled on the settee and Andrew closes his eyes and rests his head back, willing the throbbing pain away. After a pause he hears Dad's walk to the door and then back to the kitchen, by his second trip Andrew has deduced that he must be dealing with the mess on the step and blushes for a second time; it wasn't the arrival he'd planned on but so few things went as planned during war.

"Andrew?" Dad's voice is gentle but Andrew's head still jerks up.

"Dad, sorry I…"

Dad shakes his head, "Couldn't matter less. Do you think you're coming down with something? Caught something on your way back perhaps? You didn't feel warm but I thought I'd give Dr. White a call, see if he can drop by later."

Andrew runs a hand over his face, wincing slightly as he inadvertently catches his tender sinuses. "You don't need to call Dr. White, I'm not ill" Dad raises a disbelieving eyebrow and Andrew sighs, "I…it was the telephone Dad…just the telephone…" His voice is gruff, his throat sore and scratchy, and his words seem to hang in the air in the ensuing silence.

Dad gives him an assessing look and then nods "You feel up to tea?" Andrew shakes his head, gaze fixed firmly on his knees, "Water then, I'll be back in a moment." Dad walks away and Andrew closes his eyes again.

He hears Dad approaching and looks up, taking the glass of water with a forced smile, "Thanks"

Dad nods and crosses to his chair sitting down while Andrew takes a cautious sip of water, "So is this just a visit?"

"Not exactly"

"You've been reassigned?" Dad's voice is carefully neutral but Andrew sees a flicker of emotion cross his face before he looks back at his shoes.

He buys himself some time by taking another sip of water and then rests the glass on his knee and takes a deep breath, "No. I'm not flying anymore…not allowed to fly…" He feels more than sees Dad tense and hurries on, forcing the words out of his protesting throat. "I got a cold a few weeks after I got to Malta, nothing serious but I couldn't seem to shake it…turns out it was sinusitis…"

He takes another drink of water to keep from rubbing at his temple; "A few days in hospital took care of the worst of it but it's mucked up my eyes…" There's a sharp intake of breath from Dad and Andrew looks up with what he hopes is a reassuring smile, "I can see fine Dad, just not well enough to fly a spit…can't focus my eyes fast enough…" He shrugs "So they sent me home."

Dad doesn't speak and Andrew sips his water and listens to the seconds tick by on the mantle clock. "So you're out of it?" Dad asks finally, an unfamiliar note of uncertainty in his voice.

Andrew nods, "Yeah, I made it." He'd never imagined that those words could make him anything but relieved and happy but there is an ache in his chest and a lump in his throat. The water doesn't help with either.

"Do you think it was worth it Dad?" It's a childish question and he feels foolish as soon as the words leave his mouth but another part of him is desperate for the answer, Dad's answer. He already knows what Wing Co would say, all of his superiors and the Prime Minister for that matter, but there is only one opinion that really matters to him at this moment.

Dad hesitates, as if he's weighing his words even more carefully than he usually does, "Well… we've all paid a price, some more than others, but I have absolutely no doubt whatsoever."

Andrew nods and takes another drink to avoid having to answer. "And I'm very glad you're back" Dad's voice shakes a little and Andrew looks down so Dad won't see the tears in his eyes. They sit in silence until he's finished most of the water and accepted Dad's offer of tea.

Dad has put sugar in his tea, probably the last of his ration knowing Dad, and Andrew considers commenting but decides against it instead resolving to savor every mouthful. He can feel Dad watching him but he doesn't feel up to conversation; explaining why he's home now, ahead of all the other lads, has left him feeling wrung out.

He takes another drink of tea and closes his eyes, relishing the taste and the silence. It doesn't take long though until the silence begins to make Andrew uncomfortable; it feels so unnatural after the continual bustle and noise of the airfield.

He glances at Dad, frowning slightly at how much he seems to have aged since he last had leave. Dad's hair is almost completely gray and receding and the skin hangs more loosely on his jaw, a result no doubt of 5 years of rationing.

"Thought you'd be at the river? I mean it is Saturday isn't it?"

Dad nods as he takes a sip of tea, "It is, went for a bit earlier but didn't catch anything worth keeping." Dad glances at the clock and sighs; "I've got a committee meeting in half an hour so I had to pack it in early. Sorry to rush out when you've just arrived."

Andrew shakes his head, "Not like you knew I was coming"

Dad tilts his head acknowledging the point, "You run out of paper?"

It's mild as rebukes go but Andrew still sighs, "No, there just…there wasn't anything to write Dad. Every day bled into the next and half the lads bled into the sea." He winces at the harshness of his own words, "Sorry"

Dad tilts his head and quirks his lip in a way that Andrew knows means 'Don't worry about it' and they lapse back into silence. Finally Dad glances at the clock and makes a face before finishing the end of his tea and getting to his feet, "I need to go but I shouldn't be late, we could get dinner out?"

Andrew forces a smile, "Alright"

"Not much in the way of lunch here I'm afraid, do you need some…?" Dad sticks a hand in his pocket and Andrew shakes his head.

"No, thanks Dad I'm fine. I'm sure I can find something. I'm not that hungry and if we're going out later…" He trails off with a shrug.

Dad nods but there's a worried furrow between his eyes and he pats Andrew's shoulder as he goes by murmuring, "It's good to have you back son" so quietly that Andrew isn't sure if he's hearing things.

He stays where he is until he hears Dad reach the landing and then forces himself to take his cup through to the kitchen. He's standing in the lounge looking at Mum's photo when Dad comes back down and when he turns around Dad looks like he'd been about to say something but had thought better of it.

Andrew forces a smile and sticks his hands in his pockets to hide the way they're trembling, "Sam coming for you?"

Dad shakes his head, "Not on the weekend. I can walk it's not far."

"Right, see you later then" Dad nods and puts on his trilby, giving him one last long look before turning and leaving the house.

Andrew stands there for a moment; he knows he ought to take his kit bag upstairs and try and get settled but the idea of lugging it up the narrow flight of stairs makes his head throb. He's been up since dawn and the exhaustion that has been his constant companion since his first posting sweeps over him so suddenly that he has to sit back down.

He squints at the clock as he shrugs off his jacket, folding it carefully over the back of the settee before toeing off his shoes. It will be several hours until Dad's home again, he'll have a quick nap and then get settled and cleaned up for dinner.

Andrew jerks awake, the sound of footsteps interrupting the recurrent nightmare of watching one of his friends crash into the Channel, and then blinks uncomprehendingly at the scene before him; Dad in his shirtsleeves, a blanket over one arm and a book in his other hand.

"Dad?" His voice is rough from sleep and he scrubs a hand over his face, dreading the moment that he'll wake up and find himself staring at the wall of the barracks.

Dad gives him an apologetic look, "Andrew, sorry I woke you."

Andrew blinks again as he looks around, taking in the details of the lounge, Mum's photo, the chessboard in the corner, the crack in the plaster from an ill-advised wrestling match when he was 10.

"Dad how…?" his voice sounds unsteady to his own ears and it must to Dad as well because his face softens and he quickly crosses to the settee, setting the blanket and book on the floor before perching by Andrew's hip and laying a hand on his shoulder.

"You're home Andrew, it's not a dream son. You're home now."

Dad's voice is warm and confident and Andrew feels the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. He puts his head back down, shifting slightly to get comfortable "It's good to be home, I've missed it."

Dad smiles, his lips pulling down at the corners as he stands and leans down to pick up the blanket before turning and proceeding to spread it over Andrew "I've missed you too Andrew. Go back to sleep son, I'll still be here when you wake up."

Andrew frowns slightly, something niggling at the back of his mind, something he was supposed to do. "Shh…you're alright" Dad's hand gently brushes the hair back from his forehead and Andrew closes his eyes and lets the murmur of his father's voice lull him to sleep as if he were a boy again.