A/N

So it's bread week, starring none other than Christopher Foyle - who was a pain in the ass to write. Co-starring Andrew Foyle, who, as usual, kept butting in.


"Oh, Mr Foyle! Sir! I'm most dreadfully sorry!" Christopher mentally counted to ten even as he began to brush the flour off the front of his shirt. Sam was clutching her now empty flour jar to her chest, a horrified expression on her face. She stretched out a hand before snatching it back – an abortive attempt to help perhaps.

"It's alright." He shook out his apron, which, fortunately, had been on the receiving end of most of the flour. "No harm done." Not strictly true, he would be shedding flour for hours now, but there was no point in getting angry with Sam. It would be too much like getting angry with a puppy, mean and ultimately pointless. Even now she looked stricken. "I thought I told you to call me Christopher." He gave up on removing any more flour and tried to remember what he had been doing before he had collided with the whirlwind that was Sam Stewart.

"Yes, you did Sir. I mean… Christopher." Sam always seemed a little nervous around him, although not with anyone else. Andrew said it was because she respected him and wanted to impress him. Christopher was certain his son was trying to wind him up. "I really am sorry."

Christopher felt himself softening towards Sam. "No harm done," he repeated. He smiled at her to show that he meant it, what Andrew would call his crooked smile. Sam smiled back, but it was a lame attempt at a Sam Stewart smile, not even close to the blinding, mega-kilowatt smile that lit up her whole face. Christopher could feel his own smile sliding off his face, morphing into a frown. It was clear that he wasn't going to make anything better right now, and they were in the middle of, well actually the beginning of, a competition.

"Shouldn't you…" he gestured to the jar she was still hugging.

Sam looked down at the jar as if she had completely forgotten its existence. "Oh! Yes, of course." She spun around and headed for the stores with none of the energy that had caused her to careen into him. Christopher frowned after her, before turning back to his bench.

He caught Andrew, at the bench in front of him, gazing after Sam with a concerned expression. Christopher shook his head. He had no idea what was going actually going on between his son and Sam – Andrew was, unusually, keeping things fairly close to his chest. All Christopher knew was that Andrew had managed to wrangle Sam's phone number from her last weekend. All that week, whenever Christopher had rung or tried to ring Andrew, he had been talking to Sam. Or texting her. Or messaging her on some social media app. Still, as long as they were both happy, he wasn't going to interfere.

Even as Christopher thought this, Andrew decided to head off to the back of the tent where Sam was. Good. Maybe he would be able to cheer her up. And keep her from causing anymore chaos.


Bread was one of the first things he'd learnt to bake. Bread was simple yet challenging, easy to make but difficult to master. Once he'd managed to make basic loaves, he'd gone a little wild with variations. Andrew, still quite young, had once complained, why couldn't they just have sliced white bread like everyone else? Christopher had taken his small son by the hand, led him to the kitchen and taught him how to make soda bread, sparking a love of baking in son that matched his own.

Even when Andrew had grown, and they didn't always see eye-to-eye, they'd always had baking in common. In fact, it had been Andrew that had entered Christopher into Bake Off at the same time as himself. A joke, he had said. Maybe it had started that way, but Christopher believed in doing a job properly once he'd started. Unlike his son, who still seemed to be treating the whole thing as a bit of a joke. Still, he'd experienced a fond sense of nostalgia when he'd realised that Andrew too was making soda bread. As he mixed in his ingredients, he seemed to see small hands beneath his in the bowl, seemed to hear a childish voice asking what next Dad?

He was knocked out of his reverie just as he placed his shaped bread on his baking tray, with the sudden appearance of a finger that prodded a deep indent to the otherwise round loaf. "Andrew!" he glared at his son, who was grinning unrepentantly.

"Oh Dad! You just looked so serious for a minute there." Christopher carefully reshaped his bread, smoothing out the dent left by his troublesome son. "Thought you might be getting misty-eyed over the soda bread."

"Haven't you got better things to be doing?" He was snappish, shaken out of an emotional moment he was now aware had been caught on camera.

Andrew's grin became softer, affectionate. "Nope, I'm all done. You taught me well."

Christopher sniffed. "We see at the judging."


"What can I say?" Paul stood with his hands on his hips, looking at Mary who was carefully chewing her small piece of bread. Christopher waited patiently, head tilted, one eyebrow slightly raised. "That's fantastic." Christopher offered a polite smile, inwardly relieved. "A perfect example of soda bread."

Mary nodded in agreement. "The garlic and pesto just work so well." She gestured to the loaf. "I was worried that the colour meant that the crust would be tough, but it's not." Christopher nodded.

Paul held out his hand, and Christopher shook it firmly. "Well done, Christopher." Christopher acknowledged the further congratulations of Mary, Sue and Mel with a dignified nod. They walked away to their next victim, the camera crew trailing behind and Christopher allowed a small smile to grace his lips as he looked down at his loaf.

"See Dad, I told you." Christopher rolled his eyes at the sound of his son's overly chipper voice. "The soda bread won the day." Andrew appeared in front of him, walking backwards. "For you and me both." He looked ridiculously pleased with himself.

"It's only round one, Andrew, no need to get ahead of yourself." Andrew scoffed, and turned around to walk beside him.

"Come on Dad, celebrate a little. You got a Hollywood Handshake." Christopher couldn't help his lips twitching. "Oh, I know, you don't like him that much, but still he is a master baker and he thought you were pretty good! That has to count for something?"

Christopher nodded. "Suppose it does."

"Oh, you're hopeless!" Andrew threw up his hands in disgust. "Anyone else would be shouting it from the rooftops, but not Detective Chief Superintendent Foyle."

"Retired." He had always derived a perverse sense of amusement from teasing Andrew. Andrew had so much of Rosalind in him, all emotion and activity. Christopher remembered the bewilderment he'd felt, being left to take charge of this little boy who was so dissimilar from himself – yet they had made it work, bantering back and forth, each giving as good as he got.

Andrew shook his head, annoyed. "Retired. How could I forget?"

The corner of Christopher's mouth twitched upwards and he chewed it to hide his smile.

"Mr Foyle, sir!" They both turned to see Sam jogging up behind them. Christopher was amused to see Andrew's face light up. "Well done!" Sam was all sincerity, and Christopher wondered if she ever actually remembered that this was supposed to be a competition with them on opposing sides. She was always so pleased for everyone's achievements.

"What about me?" Andrew had puffed up a little, squaring his shoulders. Sam spared him a look.

"Well, you did very well too." Her response was a concession to Andrew's pride and it was clear his son knew it, deflating when she didn't gush over him as his previous companions would have. Christopher decided, then and there, that he liked Sam, very much.


4 identical baguettes in two and half hours. If he'd been a more demonstrative man, Christopher might have reacted much like his son, who did a fist-pump as Sue announced the technical challenge. Of course, this meant the camera crew zoomed in on him straight away. From his position across the aisle, Christopher, collecting his ingredients, could hear every word Andrew said.

"One summer, Dad and I spent a holiday in France with this family and they taught us both to make baguettes from scratch. This couldn't be a better technical challenge for bread week." Christopher shook his head. Listening to his son, you would think they had already won. Always did try to run before he could walk.

"So, really, it's a competition between you and your father?" Christopher carefully kept his face neutral, certain that the angle of the camera had shifted to include him in the background of Andrew's shot.

"It's always a competition between me and Dad. It's just this time there are a few other people here as well." Christopher could hear Sam scoff from the bench in front of him.

"The rest of us are just to add background variety I suppose." Milner's voice was dry. Christopher half turned, and gave a what can you do shrug. Milner smiled back and got on with mixing his dough.

"Christopher." In the short time that he'd had his back turned, Mel and the camera crew had moved over to his bench. "Your son was telling us about your holiday learning how to make baguettes…" She let her voice trail off, waiting for him to fill in the blanks.

"Well, it wasn't the main purpose of the holiday." He refused to play ball.

"But, you did learn how to make them to a professional standard?" It was true that the family they'd stayed with had sold his baguettes in the shop.

He shrugged. "I'm not sure you could call them professional." Mel frowned, giving him a look that said work with me here. He sighed. "But I did practice them a lot, as did Andrew."

He was rewarded with a smile through only slightly gritted teeth. "How old would Andrew have been?"

He had never liked talking about himself, but there were some subjects that were more painful than others. Still, he knew what he'd signed up for. Best to do it on his terms, direct the conversation himself. "Well, um, it was not long after his mother died, so he would have been 8 or 9."

Mel's face softened with sympathy and Christopher felt a similar softening in himself. It wasn't her fault really, she was just doing her job. "It must have been important for you to do something together at such a time."

"Yes." He sounded curt, he knew, but Rosalind was just so difficult to talk about, even now.

"Did it help you come closer together, do you think? Baking?" Mel was carefully steering a course between finding out about him, and by extension Andrew, without trying to lay everything bare. He had always liked Bake Off for that. He hated those documentaries or competition shows that tried to wring every last tear from their participants.

He thought about her question. "It was something to do." He couldn't explain it further. At the time he'd needed to do something, and Andrew loved cake, so Christopher had learnt to bake. The Andrew had learnt to bake, because it had kept him out of trouble. Well, for a while at least.

Mel touched his arm gently. "Sometimes you need to keep busy." He gave a brief nod. "And now, you're rivals?" Her voice lifted, clearly, she was trying to switch the mood of the conversation.

"Yes. Apparently, it's just us two and everyone else is just background decoration." He heard Milner snort a laugh behind him, and his lips twitched. Mel also smiled.

"He's very confident." Christopher couldn't work out from her tone whether she was impressed by Andrew's confidence or not. She would be a difficult witness, she kept a lot to herself.

"He often is." He poured his dough into the square tub he'd carefully oiled earlier. "Sometimes with good reason."

Mel grinned. "We'll see how it works out for him today." The camera crew took that as their cue to leave but Mel lingered. "Christopher. I know you don't really like these bits we do, about you and your family, but this is a tv show." He met her eyes squarely. "Believe me, I don't usually go around asking really personal questions of people of only met a couple of times before." He nodded. "Please. Just… give me a little, and then we'll leave you alone."

He nodded again. "Alright."

She patted his arm. "Thank you." She then jerked her head in Andrew's direction. "He gives them plenty to work with, so you just need to play off that really. The audience with love the banter, so the director will focus on that." She really was just trying to her job, no need for him to make it unnecessarily difficult for everyone involved.

"Understood." She moved away, and he popped his dough into the proving drawer.

"It's very invasive." Milner's voice was quiet, almost impossible to hear over the noise of the other bakers. "Having the camera there. If it was just Mel and Sue, I think it would be ok, but with the camera…" Christopher didn't think it would be ok even with just Mel and Sue, but Milner was right, the camera made it so much worse. "Still, I think she right. If you keep up the banter with Andrew, they won't bother with anything else."

"Well…" Christopher titled his head to the side. "Yes, but for how long?" For a moment he wasn't sure Milner understood what he meant, but then the taller man smiled.

"If he took it seriously, he could go far."

"Andrew hasn't taken anything seriously for years." It was a disappointing truth, but aside from his work in the RAF, Andrew really didn't try hard at anything.

Milner's smile turned sly. "He seems to be taking Sam seriously."

Christopher scoffed. "I think she's the one not taking him seriously." He checked that Sam wasn't listening, but she seemed to be trying to move her dough from her mixer to her tub. It really shouldn't look like that. "Do him some good."

"It can be hard." Christopher glance back at Milner, who looked contemplative. "A job like his." Christopher remembered then that Milner had been in the army up until two years ago. "It's so serious, so intense, there doesn't seem room for anything else."

"True." Christopher knew that Andrew had suffered in his work. His sensitive son wasn't really cut out for the career he'd chosen, but Andrew had always had tunnel-vision about flying and Christopher had been unable to persuade him to contemplate any other work. "You managed it though?"

The corner of Milner's mouth twisted humourlessly. "Not unscathed."

"No." Christopher looked back at his son, leaning against his counter and chatting to Sam, who was trying to pick dough off of her fingers. His beautiful son. And his inner demons. Not all scars were on the outside. "I don't think anyone comes away unscathed."


Father, son, one and two. Not bad. Christopher sipped his whisky at the bar of the hotel in peaceful contemplation. Andrew's and his baguettes had turned out perfectly, almost identical. Christopher had squeaked the win due to better colour, Andrew, impatient as always, having taken his out a moment or two too early. Still, it was nice to know the boy hadn't forgotten everything he'd learnt.

He was alone, more or less, in the bar. Most of the other contestants had gone to bed, exhausted after the day's challenges. Bread week wasn't for everyone. Andrew, he believed, was somewhere with Sam, who had had an up and down day. Her Mexican bread had been fine, but she had come last in the technical. It would be criminal if she was to go out this week, she was far too good to go this early.

Milner, too, had had a bad technical, coming second to last, something that had clearly annoyed the quiet man. Perfectionist. Good in for consistency but tough when it came to trying something new.

He glanced up at the sound of voices. Sam and Andrew had walked into the bar. They didn't seem to spot him, in his darkened corner, and sat at the bar. Their low voices carried across the bar.

"You'll be alright Sam. You'll pull it out the bag tomorrow, you always do."

"Yes, but how often can I do that? I'm just hopeless at the technical challenges."

Andrew rubbed Sam's shoulder comfortingly. "There's bound to be a technical soon that you'll ace."

Sam laughed, but didn't comment. "Sam, you're good enough to win this thing."

She turned to him. "Well, what about you?" Andrew withdrew his hand and shrugged. "Andrew, you're doing alright this week, but…"

"Don't worry about me Sam, I'll muddle along."

Sam smacked the bar counter with the flat of her hand. "Muddling along isn't good enough Andrew! You're so much better than that but you just won't try."

Christopher watched his son's body language go defensive. Shoulders rising, back stiffening. Andrew always hated being told he wasn't good enough. "That would be one less rival for you." Andrew's tone was tight, fierce.

Sam matched it. "I don't care to win against people who aren't actually trying."

Andrew rounded on her. "Would you care if I left?" Andrew clearly cared about the answer, but was trying to sound like he didn't.

Sam match his question with one of her own. "Would you?"

C'mon Andrew! Sam's gaze was fixed on Andrew, waiting for his answer with an intensity that gave away how much the answer meant to her. This was Andrew's chance, if he would just take it.

"Well," Christopher closed his eyes, recognising his son's tone of carelessness. "I only ever entered to annoy Dad. Never thought I'd actually get here." Oh Rosalind, I've failed you! Our son's an idiot.

He opened his eyes to see that Sam had turned away from Andrew, perhaps to hide the disappointed expression on her face. Although, if she'd stayed facing him, she might have seen that Andrew's face held a mixture of frustration and self-disgust.

After a moment, Sam excused herself and left the bar, presumably to go to bed. Andrew stayed at the bar – ordered a whisky and knocked half of it back in one swallow. Christopher decided it was time to intervene.

"Waste of a good whisky." Andrew whirled around, surprise writ large on his face.

"Dad!" Andrew's expression became furtive. "Did you…? Before…? With Sam?"

Christopher looked down at the almost empty glass in his hand. "Witness you… turning her down?"

Andrew scoffed. "It wasn't like that!"

"Wasn't it?" He glanced up at his son.

Andrew had the grace to look ashamed. "I don't think I'm good enough for her."

"No, you're not." Andrew looked hurt. "But then, wasn't that exactly her point?" Christopher kept his gaze steady on his son. "That you're not good enough for her… yet." Andrew visibly swallowed. "That you need to try, to make an effort."

"Alright, you've made your point." Christopher raised his eyebrows at his son's snappish tone, clearly hit a nerve.

"You going to do something about it?" Andrew glanced at him side-long. Christopher met his gaze blandly.

"None of your business really, Dad." He watched his son visibly pull up his defence of carelessness and knew that this conversation was at an end. He could only ever push Andrew so far before leaving him to make the rest of the way himself.

"Alright." He turned towards the door. "Goodnight."


"Um. Christopher…?" Christopher closed his eyes momentarily at the sound of Sue's voice, before glancing at her. "Can I ask why you're stood on a box?"

The corner of his mouth twitched as he held back a smile. "Of course you can."

Sue waited expectantly, before realising he wasn't going to say anything more. She gave him a I know your game look, and shook her head, her quiff flopping forward across her eyes. "So, Christopher, why are you stood on a box?"

He contemplated whether to answer her, and then remembered his conversation with Mel the day before. "It's better to knead the dough."

"Ah, I see!" Sue replied with her usual enthusiasm. "And that works does it?"

"Well… It does for me." He refused to admit that he needed the extra height, especially with these benches.

Sue glanced across the aisle to Andrew, who was currently thwacking his dough rhythmically against his bench. "Your son prefers a different method though?"

Christopher's mouth twisted before he answered, "helps him work out his frustrations." Sue grinned, recognising the implications behind his words.

"Trouble in paradise?" she asked, gesturing vaguely in Sam's direction.

"Couldn't possibly say." He was disturbed by the wink Sue gave him before she waltzed away to talk to Edie. He shook his head and continued to knead his dough.

"You're bound to get Star Baker, Mr Foyle." Sam blew at a lock of hair that had fallen into her face, before pushing it away with floury hands, leaving another smear on her face. "You're a wiz at bread."

He admired the bread snakes she was creating for her Showstopper. "Not so bad yourself."

Sam laughed. "I'd have to create something very special to make up for that technical yesterday." She shook her head in remembered dismay. "That was an absolute disaster!"

He was too polite to agree with her. "You'll be safe though. Chance to try again next week."

"I hope so!" Sam grinned at him as she continued to shape her snakes.

Christopher glanced over at Andrew. As expected, his son was watching Sam, paying scant attention to the herb bread he was supposed to be making. Christopher waited until Andrew caught his eye, and then raised his eyebrow. Andrew flushed and quickly turned back to what was in front of him.

Christopher tutted, the boy was never going to sort his act out. Well, it wasn't his problem. Right now, he needed to concentrate on his own Showstopper.


"Well done, Dad!" Christopher found himself enveloped in a fierce hug. It still startled him that his son was taller than him, even after all these years. He returned the hug, just as fiercely.

"I told you Mr Foyle! I knew you'd get Star Baker!" Andrew pulled away, stepping back to allow Sam to take his place. She didn't hug Christopher, but held her hand out. He stared at it for a moment, before shaking it firmly. "Congratulations, sir!"

"How many times have I told you to call me Christopher?" Sam smiled and blushed, trying to apologise.

"He means 'thank you'" Andrew interjected. Sam glanced at him briefly, not quite able to meet his eye. Andrew ducked his head slightly, trying to catch her gaze. She studiously avoided him.

"Thank you, Sam." Christopher directed her attention back to him, breaking the awkward moment. Sam looked relieved. He started to move towards the exit.

"Did you know sir, er, Christopher, that every winner of bread week has gone on to win the whole competition?" Sam caught up to walk beside him.

"I did not know that." He glanced over his shoulder to see Andrew trailing along behind them, looking like a lost puppy. Well, it was a tough, but necessary lesson for him to learn. Sam also looked, and her face softened, before she took a deep breath and turned back to him.

"Yes sir. I looked it up." Clearly, she was never going to manage to call him by name.

"Well." He saw the camera crew waiting ahead and realised that he would have to give some sort of post-win interview. "There's still a long way to go."


A/N

I hope that was ok for all you Foyle lovers out there. He's a slippery character, with like, zero storylines to steal from! So it became quite introspective and focused on his relationship with Andrew. Still, I got him on a box!