Title: Five Times Sam and Foyle Kissed

Author: TartanLioness

Summary: Five times that Sam and Foyle could have kissed.

Number One:

"Sir!"

Foyle turned around, his awkwardness around Elizabeth Lewis immediately forgotten when he noticed the concerned look on Milner's face.

"I thought I should come find you," Milner said hurriedly. "It's Sam."

Foyle felt like a cold hand had gripped his heart. Bad news in a time of war were often really bad news and for a moment every worst-case scenario his policeman's mind could conjure up flew through his brain before he could force them away.

Sergeant Brooke was waiting for them in the car and as they drove to Sam's place, Milner explained the situation as he'd been told it by the duty sergeant.

Being scared for one's loved ones was a part of being at war – Foyle had tried it before and spent a lot of time worrying about Andrew. Nevertheless, he wasn't prepared for the sheer terror that filled him at the thought that Sam might not have survived the raid and he cursed his police training which supplied his mind with plenty of images of people who had died in raids – broken bodies lying among rubble, faces that suddenly turned into Sam's covered in soot, her blonde hair mattered with rain and blood… Foyle closed his eyes tightly and shook his head. They'd received word that it was not a serious hit – little material damage. But they'd received no word on casualties (and Foyle hoped that in this case it was a matter of no news being good news).

The second he stepped out of the car, Foyle let his eyes sweep over the front lawn, settling on the young woman there. Sam was staring into space, her face streaked in soot and her white nightgown peeking out from under her coat. Relief spread through him and although he knew that there might be other people wounded or dead, he couldn't make himself be a policeman at the moment. He wanted to let himself be partial, to not worry about anyone but the woman he hadn't realised he cared so deeply for.

"Sam, are you all right?" Foyle asked as he crouched down next to the young woman. The look of surprise as she noticed him didn't hide the pain in her eyes as she stood and apologised for not reporting for duty.

Foyle quickly reassured her that it didn't matter and told her to sit down, his eyes fixed on her, worry shining from them.

"Are you all right?" Milner repeated Foyle's question from before and this time she answered, affirmative.

"I shouldn't be," she continued, something dead in her voice. "I was lying in bed."

"Anybody hurt?" Foyle asked, somewhat reassured that she was at least physically okay and finally able to care about the rest of the world. He was ashamed of himself. It was his job to care about the people of Hastings and not be partial and yet it had taken him this long to worry about anyone other than Sam.

Foyle's heart was aching as Sam explained about her roommate, Jenny Wentworth, who had been killed.

When she finished, Foyle told Milner, "Get her to the station, would you?"

"Actually, sir, I'd rather stay. Would you mind talking to Mrs. Harrison?"

When he'd spoken to Sam's landlady, always with an eye on Sam, who seemed to be taking this harder than she was trying to pretend, he sent Sgt. Brooke to the car and Milner to take a look at the house. He stayed with Sam, looking at her worriedly. Sam averted her eyes, but finally took a deep breath and said, "She was standing outside my door. I didn't want to get out of bed and she was trying to get me to come with her. She was trying to save my life, sir. I mean, I know I shouldn't be thinking like that, but it's just not fair."

Foyle crouched next to her again, biting his lip. Reaching out his hand, he lifted her chin to make her look at him. He had expected tears, hurt, pain. He had been prepared for the usual sparkle to be gone. He wasn't prepared for the total deadness he saw.

"Sam," he said softly, his voice pained. And then he did something he'd never thought he'd do. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly, not caring who saw them.

He felt her chest heave and was almost relieved to hear a strangled sob escape her throat as she clung to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

And then realisation hit him. The woman in his arms was not his driver, not his colleague; nothing but a woman he loved and the idea of losing her was as terrifying as the idea of losing Rosalind had been. With the realisation came a persistent prickling behind his eyelids and he closed them tightly, trying to hold back the tears.

"I could have lost you," he whispered quietly, holding her even tighter.

When Milner left the broken house after a thorough look, he saw them. Foyle was on his knees in the grass, his arms around Sam, kissing her gently. They seemed oblivious to the world around them, and the world let them be, understanding the need for closeness.

The end (of this bit)