TITLE: Fool
AUTHOR: BlueCardigan
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Foyle's War and am not making any money from this.
A/N: Last one, written while on meds for tonsillitis and no sleep.
Long ago, he likes to remember it as very long ago, Paul Milner saw a little sachet of bicarbonate on his wife's dresser and thought nothing of it. By the time he even suspected the significance the sachet had disappeared with the blithe aside that it was just a stomach ache apparently. Though it's not much longer after that moment that his wife stops even pretending to want to come home, he sees enough of her in that time to know that there is to be no happy news. He hadn't given it much thought at the time and tried hard not to think of it later but there is no escaping that he had, for the very smallest amount of time, been presented with a possibility of true … joy. There is no escaping that it was snuffed as quickly as it came.
It's a dark little memory and he tucked away just over a year ago to never bother him again. It had no place in this new life he had, that he and Sam were building together.
The memory bothers him now though. It itches at the back of his mind as he sits on the ridiculous over-stuffed floral monstrosity of a chair Sam insisted on moving into a corner of the bedroom and stares at the little envelopes on the dresser. He would have noticed it if it was there before today; he uses this chair to sort out his leg in the morning and always takes a minute to look at the dresser and enjoy seeing her things mixed in with his. Her little bits and pieces reflect her so well, she has all the economy of a vicar's daughter but she likes colours and beauty so everything there is bright and well cared for. They seem even brighter as they tumble over and between his things which could be kindly called spartan at best.
It's only when he reaches over and picks up the little envelope that he realises his hands are shaking, which is almost novel for a man who has been steady since birth. There's only a little left in the folds of the paper but there is no doubt it is bicarbonate and Paul doesn't know what to think. As a careful man, as a policeman, he knows that clues are only as good as their context. The footprint in the mud may as easily belong to a gardener as a burglar if the weather has been right. Sam may simply be unwell, she had been a little peaked the last few days. It doesn't mean… anything.
It's just that he always hoped to be a father. Truth be told he longed for it. It is hard for him to consciously bring up this old want; it seems so ungrateful after all the unexpected happiness he has been blessed with (still has trouble really believing), but it is there nonetheless. He adores children in his own quiet way, wanted a houseful of them if he were to honest but even one, just one would be…
He rubs his eyes to ease the sudden sting. He's being ridiculous.
It's the first thing that pops into her head and as usual it comes straight out her mouth before she can think to phrase it better.
"I suppose this is what I get for marrying a policeman."
She's so sure he's added everything up that she misses his startled look completely.
"Well, I should have been more careful I suppose leaving the evidence and that. I just wanted to be sure, but well, it's getting a bit obvious and frankly I don't think we have that long before it's obvious to everyone else."
It's a bad habit of hers, she gets so busy speaking her mind she forgets to check he actually knows what she is talking about.
"It really is too bad though, I had a nice dinner all planned for Saturday so you could be properly braced, don't worry one of father's recipes, not one of mothers again, I learnt that lesson with the roast although really who knew meat could go that colour!"
She considered asking him to pretend to be surprised later because otherwise the little present she had for him was going to be a bit of a let down. It is then it dawns on her that he actually does look a little, well, pole-axed. The penny drops.
"Oh gosh," she murmers, "You didn't actually guess did you?"
He really has the perfect face to imitate a stunned fish when he's shocked and he definitely is now.
Well, now she thinks about it she shouldn't be that surprised that he hadn't noticed. It seems sometimes that he is as new to being in a marriage as she is, the smallest things make him stop and stare at her like she's put on a gold cloak and starting belting out opera or something. He hasn't noticed yet that the chair and its little side table she demanded be moved up here have been chosen very carefully for a man whose war wounds make it hard for him to do things like tie his shoe laces easily, nor has he noticed how all the bits and bobs the leg needs been carefully placed in reach. Sometimes it is like he isn't at all used to having someone really care for him, which isn't that far off the mark probably. The first time he came into the kitchen to find her making breakfast and that it was his favourite no less he got such a look on his face… Sam sometimes feels the totally unchristian urge to go to the late woman's grave and just kick the stone or something. God knows the Edith woman could have used a good slap. Violence isn't truly in Sam's nature, despite what Mr Foyle likes to suggest on occasion, but she could give it a bally good go.
Even now he is hesitant to let her see the space where his leg should be.
Though, oh dear, it appears that he has stopped breathing totally she knows that the gears are ticking away and she has precious seconds to salvage her lovely surprise. She darts to the dresser and pulls open her underwear drawer, rifling through with careless abandon. Despite being married almost a year he still blushes when he unexpectedly comes across her in a towel so she knew it was one place he wouldn't accidently look, it was perfect to hide her present.
She whoops when her fingers close around the little wrapped package and she feels suddenly like Christmas, birthday, and Guy Fawkes Day were happening all at once. Sam hoped he took this well, though given his colour right now she wouldn't be surprised if he fainted off his chair and then what would they do?
Paul feels light-headed as Sam presses a gift-wrapped box into his hand; her face is glowing as she sits on the arm of the chair and slings her arm around his shoulder and giving him a tight affectionate squeeze. Paul is aware of the blood rushing in his ears and later he assumes it's something about being a policeman that makes him note the paper used has clearly been saved from her birthday by his thrifty wife. His hands are still trembling as he undoes the jaunty little bow and the paper rips because he can not get them under control but at last the box is open and Paul holds in his hands … white booties.
He hasn't managed a coherent thought since his wife entered but some part of him notes how absurdly tiny they are, dwarfed totally by his hands and the down soft wool catches slightly on the callous of his fingertips. So very, very tiny. He looks up at Sam, his amazing, astonishing wife, and she has never been more beautiful as she smiles at him.
"Oh Sam," he breathes and his voice is barely recognisable as his own, "Really?"
"About 2 months," she says in her wonderfully direct way, "I wanted to be sure first."
He's never been good with words, he knows that he will never be able to fully express how much he loves her. He wishes more than ever that he could somehow tell her, find the words so that he could be sure she understood what she means to him but all that comes out is a stream of worried half sentences Sam will mimic at many family gatherings in years to come. Sam laughs at her uncharacteristically flustered husband but allows him to settle her into the chair proper and tries to soothe him as he frets over her health. When he finally stills out of sheer confusion, totally at a loss about what to do now she stands and holds out her arms, embracing him tightly despite his initial panic about hurting her somehow. His wife. His child.
Sam will be an excellent mother, he has no doubt. The room across the hall could be the nursery. The back yard is small but does boast a tree that may support a swing. He thinks about the teddy bear he saw while in town a few weeks earlier and the sound of a child's laughter to join Sam's singing on Sunday mornings. He hopes the child has Sam's eyes.
He smiles like a fool for three days straight.
A/N: This was mostly unplanned and totally un-beta'd. Let me know if there are any mistakes.