A/N: Thanks again to everyone who reviewed. I am finding it a rather odd experience to have my story on a public forum so I'm not sure if it will leave it up or not but here is another chapter while I decide.

Again very kindly edited by LauraRaposa, so a big thanks to her.

I still own nothing and really hope you enjoy it and let me know what you think

Chapter 3

A knock at the front door shook Foyle from his reverie. He glanced up and was shocked to see it was growing dark outside. A quick check of the clock on the mantle showed it was 4:15 p.m. He had been sitting here on the settee for over two hours.

He looked down at Andrew, still fast asleep on the settee his breathing deep and even. Foyle chewed at his lip slightly. He hated to disturb his son's slumber, but he couldn't wait any longer to do the blackout and with Andrew's head in his lap it seemed unlikely that he would be able to get up without disturbing him.

He frowned, and then again heard the knocking that shook him from his daze. Who in the world could that be? Then he remembered Hugh Reid say he would drop by when he left the station. I really should go let him in. He was about to rise when he heard a key snick in the lock. Ah, Hugh still had his spare house key from that week I stayed in London. I must remember to ask for it back, not that it matters…

"Christopher? Are you here," asked Hugh as he came through the hall hat in hand.

Trying to pitch his voice softly enough so it wouldn't disturb his sleeping son, he responded, "Yes, Hugh. I'm in the lounge."

Seconds later, Reid appeared in the doorway. "Christopher, are you alright? I wouldn't have let myself in but I was worried. Not like you to have not done the blackout and…" He broke off as he caught sight of the sleeping Andrew stretched across the settee, his head resting in his father's lap.

He looked down at Foyle, noting the weariness in his face with concern. Andrew was obviously knackered, but Hugh was grateful the boy didn't appear to be hurt.

"Christopher?" Foyle looked up and saw the rest of Reid's question written plainly on his face. He looked down and saw a slight frown creasing Andrew's face, so he ran his hand through his hair to settle him before he addressed Reid.

"Hugh, I'm dreadfully sorry to ask, but would you mind doing the blackout? Frightfully rude of me I know, but I'd really rather not wake Andrew just at the moment. I'll explain things after but it's getting rather late."

Reid nodded at once, "Of course, Christopher, no trouble at all. Is he alright?"

While Andrew didn't look injured, he couldn't deny the worry in Foyle's eyes when his friend looked up at him.

"He's exhausted but otherwise he's fine - or will be. I hope to God he will be."

The last was said just above a whisper but Reid caught it and frowned. Clearly something had happened with Andrew that had shaken Christopher. He desperately wanted to ask but knew that he needed to get the blackout done first.

"I'll see to the blackout then."

Foyle shot him a grateful look and said, "Thank you, Hugh, I do appreciate it."

In the 15 minutes that it took Hugh to draw the curtains and prepare the house against the Jerrys, Foyle remained on the settee to comfort Andrew but also to decide just how much to reveal to Reid about Andrew's AWOL status. He wanted to be completely honest, but he hated the idea of placing his friend in a position that would jeopardize his career.

He continued to mull his options as Reid re-entered the room to report that the blackout was complete.

"Thank you, Hugh. So sorry for being such a poor host."

"It couldn't matter less, old man," said Reid. "Now, what's your pleasure? Tea or scotch?"

"Which ever you prefer although I'm afraid you will have to fetch it yourself," said Foyle. "As you can see, my son has me rather trapped here."

"Scotch it is then. I've been counting on a glass of your Glenlivet all day!"

Foyle smiled, "Right. The glasses are just…"

Reid waved him off. "I know, Christopher. It's hardly the first time I've helped myself to your scotch."

In minutes, both men had an inch of single malt in a crystal tumbler, and Reid was seated in Foyle's favorite chair, studying his friend carefully over the top of his glass.

Hugh had been concerned about Christopher ever since he had rung his house early this morning to say he was taking the day off. It was so unlike him to take anytime off especially when he had a case. The implication that it somehow revolved around Rosalind concerned him, too. He felt dreadful for having missed the actual day. He usually took Christopher around to the pub for a drink after his friend visited his wife's grave. But it slipped his mind this week.

Moreover, Hugh couldn't remember the anniversary of Rosalind's death affecting Christopher this badly in recent years. So what was it about this year that moved his friend to need a day off to recover?

He was able to reassure himself somewhat that if something had been truly wrong over the past few days someone at the station – most likely Milner - would have noticed and informed him. That thought had kept him from rushing straight over to Steep Lane this morning as soon as he got off the phone.

But when he had arrived this afternoon to find the blackout not done and no one to answer his knock at the door, the worry returned with thundering intensity. Had Christopher gone out to the pub early enough in the day that he hadn't done the blackout? Had he fallen ill? The last thought had worried him sufficiently to dig out the spare key Christopher had given him and cautiously open the door.

Of all the likely scenarios played out in his brain, he wasn't prepared to see Christopher, with a far away look in his eyes, sitting on the settee with his grown son fast asleep across his lap.

The memory of the haunted look in Christopher's blue eyes, and his murmured words "I hope to God he will be" made Reid shiver. There was clearly something wrong with Andrew and it had shaken his friend deeply.

Hugh cleared his throat and said, "I didn't know Andrew was down. I thought you said he hadn't been able to get away for the, errr, anniversary."

"Err, no, he turned up unexpectedly last night," said Foyle, as he took a sip of scotch and returned his eyes to his slumbering son.

Reid sighed in frustration. Christopher Foyle could be an enigmatic man at times and this appeared to be one of them.

"Come on, Christopher. What's the matter?" said Hugh. "Andrew's not just tired, is he? And it wasn't because of Rosalind that you needed the day off, was it?

Foyle sighed and rubbed a hand across his forehead. "No, it wasn't, Hugh, and I'm sorry to have lied to you, its just…" He paused to take another swig of scotch before continuing. "It's just that I really didn't want to leave Andrew on his own today, not after last night."

"Then why didn't you just tell me that, man," asked Reid. "Why bring Rosalind into this?"

Reid was very confused. Of all the men he had worked with during his police career, Christopher Foyle had to be the most doggedly honest, yet he appeared to have purposely lied to him. This had to come back to Andrew. He couldn't think of anything other than his love for his only son that would make Christopher willingly skirt the truth.

"Sorry to have lied, Hugh…I truly am, but it was with good intentions. You see, Andrew didn't just turn up unexpectedly, he's gone AWOL."

Hugh's mouth dropped open. Andrew Foyle, who had loved all things that flew since he was barely old enough to run? The boy, who despite his joking, charming manner, was just as morally upright as his father, deserting? It just didn't make sense.

"But why, Christopher?"

Foyle spoke softly as he looked down at his sleeping boy. "He's seen so much, Hugh, so much death. Do you know he told me he flew nearly 30 ops last week?"

"Thirty? Christ, that's more than four a day!"

Foyle slowly nodded. "Yup, he's the veteran in the squadron now…has to go on almost every op because he has the most experience - or so he tells me." He chewed on his lip for a moment before continuing. "I didn't want to tell you he'd deserted because I didn't want to get you in a pickle with the higher ups, they'd expect you to report him of course."

"Well, they can just sod off," Reid said indignantly. "You have to know, Christopher, I would never…"

Hugh sounded concerned, but Foyle cut him off before he could continue. "Of course, I never doubted you, Hugh. I was thinking about you, Elaine and the girls, really. I know it could hurt your career with the force if this got out."

Reid nodded as he understood and appreciated his friend's concern. He dropped his eyes to the boy, now a man, sleeping with his head in Christopher's lap.

"Is he ill, Christopher?"

Foyle shook his head. "Just exhausted. Actually, he's beyond exhausted really. I've never seen him so tired. Do you remember in France when it felt like everyone around us was either dead, dying or trying to kill you?"

Reid nodded. He was a few years younger than Christopher so he had only spent a few weeks at the front but it had been enough to leave him with nightmares to this day. He knew Foyle spent three years in France, although this was the first time he'd ever heard him speak of it directly. Hugh shuddered to think what type of horrors his friend had seen in that time.

"I think Andrew's reached that point," said Foyle, his voice shaking slightly. "I don't know how to help him, Hugh."

Seconds ticked by as both men took a bracing swig of scotch.

Reid hadn't seen that look of helplessness on Christopher's face since Rosalind died, and he felt just as left-footed now as he had then. The thought of one of his girls experiencing anything like he had in France was one of his worst nightmares.

He looked at his friend and realized with horror that it had to be one of his, too, one that he had seen come true. The thought was sickening, and it was a full minute before he could collect himself enough to speak and even then his voice was rough.

"You're doing it, Christopher. You're letting him know that he is not alone. That even in the middle of this bloody war he can still come home and be safe. And most importantly you are here. You will let him be or at least try to be a young man again - not an experienced fighter pilot leading ops - but a 22 year old who has been through hell."

Foyle nodded. A part of him knew that Hugh was right, but it still didn't seem like enough.

"Are you alright?" Reid felt it was a foolish question for it had been clear from the moment he'd walked in the house that Christopher was anything but alright, but he still had to ask.

Foyle nodded again. "Yes, I will probably be in tomorrow but that will depend on Andrew."

Reid finished his scotch, "No rush Christopher, I mean it. Stay as long as he needs you. We'll carry on. Now, can I get you anything?"

Foyle shook his head, "No, thank you, Hugh, and thank you again for your help this evening."

"No trouble at all, I assure you," said Reid, as he rose from the armchair. Now, if you're sure I can't get you anything, I should head home. I do try to get in before the girls are in bed if I can. Ring me up tomorrow and let me know how Andrew is doing. Don't feel like you need to come in if you're needed here, alright?"

"Right, thank you, Hugh. I really do appreciate this."

"Just focus on taking care of him, Christopher. I'll see to everything else." He crossed to the settee and placed a firm hand on Foyle's shoulder as he passed. "I'll see myself out. Good night, Christopher."

"G'night, Hugh."

The front door opened and closed leaving them in silence except for Andrew's quiet breathing.