She was asleep by the time he was allowed in the room so Christopher contented himself with sitting in a chair next to her bed, watching her. He sat a vigil for hours, watching her every breath it seemed. The sisters came and went, checking on her and appearing busy with adjustments to her medications and such. Usually he received little more than a glance and a smile from them, but one looked at him askance, as if she didn't believe he was Sam's father. Which of course, he was not. But it reminded him to be careful. He'd been holding her hand and occasionally brushing his fingers along her jaw. Sometimes he talked to her and his words were certainly not what a father should say to a daughter. But thankfully the suspicious sister had not overheard that.

Sam woke in the late night, or early morning, Christopher wasn't entirely certain. All he knew was the relief he felt when her eyes opened and she looked at him. She seemed confused at first, her eyes questioning. He took her hand in both of his and spoke softly. "You're in hospital. The radiation exposure is what made you ill."

She nodded lethargically. "Is it bad? Like before?"

It took Christopher a moment to think what she was referring to. But of course, she was remembering when she had anthrax. "No, not like that," he hurriedly assured her. "Doctor's given you some medicine. But Sam..." He sighed, not wanting to tell her but knowing he must. "Yyou've lost the baby."

She stared at him as if she wasn't comprehending, making him wonder if he needed to repeat it. But after a moment her eyes blinked and then he saw some tears form. "I'm sorry its gone but..." she looked away and blinked again. Staring at the wall, she finished in a whisper, "part of me is relieved."

"Understandable," he said quietly, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

"I didn't want it to ... die," she sniffled.

"Of course not. The doctor had to make a choice, love; and I told him to choose your life and continuing health over the baby. "

She nodded and released a deep breath and turned her head to look at him again. "Will I... can we... "

"He said you must rest after this. But in time, he thinks all will be well."

She seemed to be content with his answer. She looked down at her hands, a look of contemplation setting into her features. After a few moments she revealed her thoughts. "Good, because I want to have babies... your babies." She looked up at him again with such hope in her eyes, such longing, he thought his heart might stop.

Christopher wasn't quite so sure about having more children. He was a bit past all that, he thought. But as much as he doubted his own aspirations about the matter, he was equally certain he would agree to anything that made Sam happy. It would only hurt her for him to give voice to his worries just now. She was looking at him with such expectation that he knew he needed to respond, but how? "Wull, certainly looking forward to the effort," he finally said. "Don't know if I'm quite ready for the middle of the night awakenings if we succeed. But my darling, we'll take whatever joy we're granted."

A tired smile graced her lips as she closed her eyes, soaking in his sentiment. "Wish we were someplace where I could kiss you for that."

His smile grew unhurriedly down. "Soon enough, Sam. Jjust happy to know you'll be alright, will take my pleasure in that."

A week later Sam was out of the hospital and back in her flat, frustrated with Christopher's insistence that she rest. He spent the days with her, not allowing her to do much beyond reading, listening to the wireless, and resting. As evening approached, he would prepare a supper, eat with her, clean up, and then depart only to return the next morning in time to prepare a breakfast. And to add to her frustration, he would engage in nothing more than chaste kisses when he arrived and left. After three days, she'd had her fill and told him she was tired of being treated like an invalid.

"Might be but the doctor said you ..." He was quickly cut off by another outburst from her. "I know what he said and I am resting but I am so tired of these bloody walls, I think I shall scream."

Christopher watched the frustration twist her face, her dear sweet beautiful face that he'd come to cherish so deeply. This wasn't her usual frustration that created a somewhat endearing pout in her features. No, this was an angry, ugly frustration and he understood that she needed an outlet for it. "Wull, what would you suggest, then?" He asked calmly, hoping she'd come back with a reasonable answer.

"Oh," she huffed. "I don't know... anything. I just need to get out of this flat for awhile I think." She huffed again and looked down at her hands, then let out a long sigh. "I'm sorry. It isn't your fault that this happened."

"Not all, but I did allow you to help me with the investigation and that led to your stay in the hospital."

She looked at him contritely. "I'm sorry. I haven't given a thought to what you might be feeling in all this, other than..." Suddenly the floor was interesting and captured her attention, her face becoming a picture of regret.

"What is it, Sam? What's really bothering you?" His tone was gentle but firm.

She chewed at her lower lip, a miniature of a habit he was sometimes guilty of, although he tended to catch the inside corner. Still gazing at the floor, she took a quick breath. "It's just that... I keep expecting... now that the baby is gone... I keep wondering how long it will be until..." She grew quiet again.

"Wondering what, Sam?" He thought he knew where this was leading but he wanted her to say the words, to admit her fear and more importantly, he wanted to respond convincingly.

"Now that I... I'm not pregnant there's no need for you to... to marry me, is there? I keep expecting you to tell me that ... that it was all a mistake and you don't want...to marry me." Tears sat in her eyes, held back by determination, one that Christopher had seen in her at other times but not quite so forcefully.

Closing his eyes from the pain of her words, from the pain he knew she was feeling, he nearly wept himself. "Oh Sam," he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. "... wanting to marry you was never about the baby or what happened to you. I do love you, more than I let myself admit for the longest time because I thought it improper. Probably still is, but I can't deny it any longer. Expressing myself has never been easy, not with... such deep feelings involved. I'm such a failure, couldn't even hug Andrew and tell him I love him when he left for the RAF. And now, I've failed with you. I'm sorry that I've left you wondering; that I haven't made you feel secure enough in our plans. But I promise you, my darling, it was never about the baby and the fact that it was lost doesn't change anything for me. We're scheduled with the magistrate for Thursday and don't know about you, but I plan to be there. Even had a new suit made."

She looked up at him, her eyes shining with the unshed tears. "You do love me, don't you? I mean, to have a new suit..." she said with a grin. This time it was he that cut her off, with a kiss, a real kiss on her lips, one that was deep and full of emotion, leaving no doubt as to his feelings.

I've been rereading the wonderful FW stories on this site. There are a few sitting out there, alone and forgotten, waiting to be finished. Just a hint to any of those authors that we'd love to see those stories resurface. With the series ended and no noises about any specials, fanfiction is our only hope to keep the FW world alive. And I know that having new stories feeds my own plot bunnies and I imagine it inspires others to contribute to the world of Foyle's War.