TITLE: Fool

AUTHOR: BlueCardigan

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Foyle's War and am not making any money from this.

A/N: Yeah, turns out that I can write so long as I have a tonne of work to procrastinate. Still un-beta'd, so the comma abuse is mine

Paul Milner was never the expressive type, even as a child. He was a solemn, thoughtful boy who became a quiet, thoughtful man.

History has proved that while it may not show in his face, he is more than capable of devotion.

His wife Jane had despaired of his habitual impassiveness which got harder to break every year. When they were courting she had been charmed by his heartbreakingly sincere words though they were few, and flattered by his intense stare which he could never really help. She imagined herself the goddess worshipped by a silent poet. The romance of it soon wore off for a woman who demanded more than her very human lover was capable.

Jane hadn't the stomach for the realities of his work as a policemen, though it had seemed so dramatic and wonderful in a fiancé. There was no meteoritic rise in the ranks to boast of to her friends who had married rather higher, no medals or press clippings to display proudly. Paul was no poet, and not the type of man she considered a hero. He was just a … street plod.

For Jane the war was the last straw. She had rather enjoyed being alone, not having to face that sad, stupid face when she came home late, no one to please but herself. She enjoyed visiting her sister, who was always happy to go out at night to whatever entertainment was available. Then, horror of horrors, her husband had come home but not as he left. Still not a hero but damaged instead. She had never forgiven him for that.

It's a raw hurt, but it protects him for a while.

With Edith, who was his own age and more importantly did not seem to command the same depth of feeling, it was somehow worse. Paul was already a little damaged and knew better than to be unguarded in his love. Edith, however, had understood rather better than Jane the type of man Paul Milner was. She saw the quiet dedication to his work, which did real honest good in the world. She had been flattered that such a good man would remember her fondly, be so kind. Edith had been prepared to marry him, to stand by him even when things looked their worst and he had that horrid label of murderer affixed to him.

It was to her everlasting shame however that she hadn't understood his character just a little better.

While she scorned the world on his behalf she did have her own dark doubts and it wasn't until she spoke of them to him, trying to make her loyalty to him and to their love clear that she realised how wrong she had been. He would have done the honourable thing but she had seen the hurt she had done. She saw in his face what she had suddenly known herself. Their love, that sweet infatuation of their youth was not enough. Though he would never say it, probably never so much as think it, she was not enough.

By the time Sam comes to know Paul Milner he feels he is damaged goods in more ways than one. He could protect himself now, if Sam had been anyone other than who she was. The problem is Sam has a way of breaking through barriers like they aren't even there. He suddenly wants to smile, so long as it's with her. The old feelings for Edith were safer than his growing … affection for Sam, a brief reprieve when he starts to hope he could be content, if not totally happy.

There is recklessness or boldness in Sam that Edith does not possess; Edith would return warm regard for warm regard. He imagines Sam would not be content with something so half hearted.
With Edith gone, his marriage gone, he has given into small temptations like imagining. It's only little, trivial things that are so small and petty he is half embarrassed even in his own head. Sam's things on the dresser. Her cup of that sugary muck she calls tea next to his stronger cup. Her soap in the bathroom and coat in the hall. He imagines her singing in the kitchen as he comes down the stairs in the morning. Nowadays Sam haunts him like a ghost, but as he suspects it is the closest he will ever get to her he cannot bring himself to stop. He has no illusions that she could return his love.
He simply imagines the little symbols that would mean she was really in his life because he knows now he loves her and does not know if he will ever love again.
Paul justifies it with what he knows for certain he isn't imagining. She does like him as a person, which is novel in itself. She catches the half smiles which is all he can manage these days, actually hears when he is teasing her. She sees him.

He can hold his tongue, school his expression, be so very careful with every action, but she seems to understand him somehow.

Which is why it shouldn't surprise him when one day she looks at him, and she knows.

Ok, there may be a follow up, or I may nap. It's either/or at this point.