Sam's joy was briefly interrupted by the now too-familiar pain resurging through her neck and shoulders. She'd been attempting to raise and wrap her arm around Foyle's neck, but was forced to stop, if only until the pain subsided.
Noticing this, Foyle's hand drifted down her back to rest on the painful joint he'd located earlier. Now, however, he wasn't afraid to touch her. That is, within the bounds of decency.
Gently, he held her closer, stroking her spine and resting a long, heavy kiss on the top of her head.
'Perhaps it's a good thing,' he said, unexpectedly. 'Someone's telling us to get some sleep.'
'No,' she groaned before she could stop herself.
Foyle smiled and closed his eyes for a moment, before slowly releasing her from his grasp.
'C'mon. Let's get something for that ache of yours,' he said standing and offering her his hand.
'Gah– it's awful!' she moaned as they walked to the kitchen. Foyle put the kettle on before rummaging through the cupboards for a soft towel.
'And so inconvenient. I don't know what could have happened.'
'You hit the wheel quite hard, Sam. I wouldn't be surprised if you've sprained something in the process – which is why we're taking you to the surgery first thing,' Foyle said, setting a clean towel in the sink and drenching it in scalding water. He then took a pair of long-unused tongs from a nearby drawer, and began to wring it out.
'What's that for?' Sam asked apprehensively.
'Don't worry, it'll cool down soon enough. It's all I could think of for now, and I find it helps.'
Sam seated herself at the table and became increasingly aware of how late it was. Still, she didn't want to go to bed. She didn't want to leave his company so soon after the conversation they'd just had. She wanted to stay with him, though she knew she couldn't ask for such a thing.
As Foyle finished preparing her hot compress, she started to remove the pins from her hair. The relief she felt letting her hair out of it's tight curls was marvelous, almost negating the ache needling at her neck.
Foyle turned to speak, but stopped himself for a moment, observing Sam removing the pins. Leaning against the sink, he crossed his arms in front of him, his eyes shining with admiration. She caught a glimpse of herself reflected in the kitchen window, and was appalled by the state of her tresses. Foyle, however, thought her beautiful - even when she was unkempt. Especially so, in fact.
'You look... lovely,' he said, once he'd found the right word.
She scoffed, waving off the compliment.
'There's no need for flattery, sir, I know I look dreadful. I feel dreadful,' she said, resting her elbows on the table as she hide her face in her hands.
'Never mind. We'll soon have you out of that uniform.'
He hadn't meant his words to come out this way, and he swiftly turned, under the pretext of testing the state of the compress. Sam noticed his ears appeared very red. She felt a slight tingling sensation in her veins. Still, his discomfort made her smile.
'That's, er... not what I meant,' he said sheepishly.
'No, of course,' she said, staring down into her hands. They were twisting together again, just as they had earlier, though she wasn't quite sure why. Something felt strange, as though she wanted something from him, but didn't know what...
They were silent for a moment before Foyle finally picked up the still-steaming compress. He rolled it up quickly, and walked over to hold it to her throbbing neck. She couldn't see him behind her, but she heard a rustling as if he were shifting his weight. She then felt his strong jaw tickle her as he kissed the sensitive spot between jaw and ear.
When he gently nibbled her ear, her shoulders gave her away, raising up around her neck - which was very inconvenient and uncomfortable. She was unable to control herself, however, as the hair on her arms and neck seemed to suddenly stand on end, goosebumps raising up her spine.
Foyle felt the chill. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, seating himself in a chair next to her, and playfully growling into her hair.
Sam laughed, despite the soreness slowly creeping back up her spine. Her sudden stiffness warned Foyle not to be too rough with her.
He was only too happy to do so, though he had to admit privately, it was rather less fun...
'Sir-'
'Sam... please, don't... call me that,' he said awkwardly, and she could see his hooded eyes cautiously peering up at her from beneath his mortified brows. '...Nnnot at this particular moment.'
'I'm sorry, s-...I'm sorry.'
'Don't be,' his eyes smiled again. 'What did you want to say?'
'Wait, what do I call you now?' she asked, momentarily distracted now.
'By my name, I'd imagine. Or anything else you see fit,' he said, slowly returning to kissing her jaw. 'Continue.'
'Detective Chief Superintendent-'
'Worse' he murmured.
'-I was wondering... what happens now.'
He stopped his nonsense and straightened up, seriously considering her question.
'Well... Nothing, if you don't want to.'
'No, I mean in general,' she said, her heart suddenly jumping at his uncharacteristic misinterpretation.
Indeed, he seemed ashamed for having misunderstood her, and attempted to ignore his reddening ears again.
'...What do you want to happen?" He was looking very seriously into her eyes.
'I want for us to keep this going,' she said, her voice becoming soft and shy. She was starting to feel self-conscious all of a sudden.
He nodded, then took a deep breath.
'I'll admit, I want that as well. Even though I know it could get me sacked,' he said.
'Good thing you wanted to leave the force, then,' she smirked. He chucked again.
'Yes, I suppose so,' he said, somewhat quietly.
There was another pause, then...
'I do want to, though,' she whispered, forcing her retreating gaze up to meet his.
He didn't misinterpret her this time.
His face became serious once more, and his brows lowered, almost sternly. He swallowed before speaking.
'Sam, I wasn't trying-'
'No, I know. But I do.'
He was quiet, and his eyes wondered down to rest on her hand on her knee.
'Sam...'
'Yes?'
He appeared to be having trouble finding words, but finally he managed it.
'I don't want you to feel you have to. You don't. I'd be happy to wait.'
'But I wouldn't,' she said, feeling her strength returning.
She started to smile, though his eyes still showed his concern.
'Are you sure, Sam?' he asked softly.
She answered him by leaning in and kissing him, softly, but with intent. It seemed to translate well, for his hands rose to hold her sided and draw her closer to him.
'Agh!' she grunted suddenly, as her neck twisted slightly wrong.
'Let's wait until you're better,' he said. She thought she heard anxiety in his voice.
'If... If you don't want-... I'm sorry. You're right, we shouldn't,' she said quitely, losing all her former confidence.
Did he not want her now? Was she pushing him away? Her fears were multiplying by the millisecond, and she chided herself inwardly for having appeared over-eager.
Foyle, naturally, was reading her face and felt a pang of guilt.
'That's... not quite what I said,' he muttered, scratching his temple as he thought of what to say to reassure her.
'I just meant... Look, Sam...'
She couldn't look, she was too busy hiding her embarrassment.
'Sam, please look at me.'
When she couldn't, he tilted her chin toward him to meet her eyes.
'Sam, to be perfectly honest, I'm afraid of you waking up in the morning and... regretting it,' he said, his voice becoming a whisper as he struggled to complete the sentence.
'I'm utterly certain I won't, dearest,' she said, deciding on her name for him.
Her use of the word sparked a surprised glimmer in his eyes.
'You can't know that,' he said, hoarsely.
'I may not be able to tell the future, but I can tell you that I love you. And right now, I know that I want... to know you better,' she said. She couldn't quite bring herself to use the more direct language others seemed to use to define what she wanted. She was a vicar's daughter, after all.
Growing up, she had always firmly believed she would wait until marriage. In fact, she'd believed it up until this very moment. Now, she couldn't quite explain it, but she knew it would matter just as much now as it would once they'd married.
Married... what a lovely prospect, she thought for a moment.
Foyle had considered her words, and gave her as comforting a smile as he could manage, taking a deep breath.
'My God, so do I,' he said suddenly, leaning in to kiss her neck.
Her hand reached up to run her fingers through his hair as she held him tightly.
He lifted her out of her chair and carried her out into the hall, leading to the stairs. Before they could ascend the stairs, however, Sam broke their kiss and looked up at him seriously. He saw a tinge of fear in her eyes, and it squeezed at his heart. He knew what she was going to say, and he'd been hoping he'd never hear it.
'You should know... I haven't, ehm...' she couldn't bring herself to make eye contact as she struggled to find the words.
'This, ehm...'
He looked up the stairs toward the bedroom, brows creased, as he considered whether to cut her off there. A ghost of a smile crept to the corner of his mouth. He decided to be merciful.
'I know' he said gently, before meeting her eyes again.
She was surprised, but quickly realized she shouldn't be. After all, he was nothing if not observant.
'Sorry,' he added, somewhat sheepishly, 'It's a... force of habit.'
'Is it that obvious?' she asked, smiling curiously.
'When you know what to look for,' he said, his eyes lost in hers, examining them closely as though he were looking for it now.
'You don't mind?' she asked, so quietly he wondered if she really wanted an answer.
'I won't pretend it doesn't matter,' he said as gently as he could. '...But that's only because I want to do you justice.'
What he didn't say was that this applied not just to their present situation, but to all aspects of his life. Ever since she'd joined him at the wheel, Foyle had always felt protective of her. It was natural, he'd told himself, and indeed it was. After all, she was a very young woman in a decidedly unfriendly world.
However, he'd soon come to find he payed more attention to his actions when Sam was present. He felt her eyes on him when he wasn't looking, and so he'd begun to read reports more slowly. To dress more particularly. Even to chastise his officers for using foul language in her presence. All of it, he realized, was for her. He wanted everything to be right for her, and that included himself. He still wasn't sure if he'd achieved his goal, though something must have worked.
'You always have,' she said kindly, kissing him on the cheek. He smiled again, their eyes agreeing with one another, as they climbed the stairs to his bedroom.
