A/N: Thanks to LauraRaposa for editing and to everyone who has reviewed. Reviews really do make my day. We are over halfway in the story now, hope you are enjoying it.

Chapter 12

Foyle had just finished setting the table in the dining room when he heard Andrew's motorbike roar up to the door. He must have gone to see Rosalind. I wondered what took him so long. The front door opened then closed and he could hear Andrew taking off his coat in the hallway. It was much quieter then his son's usual entrance, and Foyle couldn't help but worry about his son's state of mind.

"Andrew," Foyle called out from the dining room.

His son strode into the lounge looking somewhat wind blown. "Dad, sorry I was out so long. You have eaten?"

"No, not yet," said Foyle. "Good walk?"

Andrew ran a hand through his unruly hair. "Yes, I figured I should fetch my bike so I went…well you know."

He ducked his head shyly and Foyle nodded. He had been fairly certain that Andrew would end up in the churchyard at Rosalind's grave. Whenever his son felt truly conflicted he would end up there.

Visiting his wife's final resting place had always proved helpful during Andrew's childhood. After an argument Foyle would often walk to Rosalind's grave to clear his head and usually found that Andrew had beaten him there. It had always been neutral ground. It was as if Rosalind had been there to mediate as they had often reached a compromise standing in front of her headstone.

Foyle shook his head to clear the memories and looked up at his son. Andrew looked decidedly worse then he had earlier. He was pale and his eyes looked suspiciously bloodshot. That could, of course, have been a result of his windy ride here although Foyle doubted it. Mostly he just looked tired and so much older then his 22 years. God Almighty, I hate this damn war.

He cleared his throat. "Right, well, Hugh will be back soon, so you'll probably want to go wash up."

Andrew frowned. "Mr. Reid is coming over for supper?"

"Yes, in a way. He came over for a drink while you were out and kindly offered to go 'round to the pub and pick up something for all of us to eat."

"But what about Mrs. Reid? She's alright, isn't she?" Andrew's confusion was suddenly tinged with a little bit of fear. He knew how quickly things could change with war or no war, as he thought about his own mother. He swallowed and firmly pushed the thought away. "Dad?"

Foyle heard the fear in Andrew's voice and knew that he was thinking of Rosalind. "Mrs. Reid is fine, Andrew. She, Margaret and Grace have gone up to visit Elaine's mother and left Hugh to fend for himself. So he decided to come over and avail himself of my Glenlivet."

Andrew drew a deep breath and nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak for a moment as he fought down the memories of what had been, before the war at least, the worst time in his young life.

He nodded again and forced a shaky smile. "Well, you do have good scotch Dad."

Foyle returned the smile. "Yes, well, between you and Hugh I won't have any scotch for much longer and it's bloody expensive these days. Anyway tea's ready if you want some?"

Andrew smiled but shook his head. "Thanks, but I'd better wash up first. I won't be long."

Foyle watched Andrew retreat up the stairs before he turned his attention back to the dining room table.

Ten minutes later, Foyle had just put the teapot on the table when he heard Hugh's knock at the door. He went to open it and found his friend balancing three brown paper-wrapped packages in one hand.

"Hugh, let me help you with those," said Foyle, as he reached out for the packages with two hands.

"Ah, thank you," said Reid as he shrugged out of his coat and moved down the hallway to hang it on the rack. "I thought I saw Andrew's bike outside?"

Foyle nodded. "Yes, he got in about 10 minutes ago."

"Will he join us then?" Reid was relieved that Andrew was back. He had known that Foyle would not relax until his boy was back under his roof.

Foyle gave Reid a skeptical look. "Hugh, how long have you known Andrew?"

"Umm, since he was 7 years old, I suppose."

"And when has he ever turned down food? He's worse than you are."

Reid smiled somewhat ruefully, "I suppose you have a point there, speaking of which…" He nodded inquiringly toward the dining room.

Foyle nodded back. "Make yourself at home. Everything is on the table. I'm going to wash up and fetch Andrew."

Five minutes later, Foyle felt restored after his quick ablutions. He knocked on his son's door. "Andrew?"

The door opened and he smiled up at his son who had changed out of his RAF uniform into a jumper that looked rather small for him and suspiciously like one of Foyle's own. "Hugh's back with supper."

Andrew nodded and smiled back. "Right-o. Excellent. I'm starving."

Foyle smiled, "You always are, son. Now, come on, we'd best get down there before the tea gets cold.

Reid had poured tea but left the pub dinners wrapped to keep them warm. He had just contemplated putting another log on the fire when he heard footsteps on the stairs. He looked up and smiled as the Foyle men entered the room.

"Andrew! Good to see you," said Hugh as he took in how pale and worn down the lad looked. No wonder Christopher was so worried.

"And you, sir," said Andrew as he forced a smile and reached across to shake Reid's hand. "Right. So, which one of these is mine?" He asked as he studied the packages on the table.

"Take that one there," said Reid as he pointed to parcel. "Your father said you didn't have any particular preference so I got you some fish 'n' chips. I hope that's alright?"

"Rather! Haven't had any in ages! Base food is alright, but it's not the same," said Andrew as he unwrapped the bag and grabbed a hot chip.

Reid and Foyle both smiled at Andrew's honest enthusiasm. And Reid decided that the extra three shillings were definitely worth it, just to see some happiness on the faces of both father and son.

Dinner passed pleasantly as Reid provided some amusing anecdotes from the station, most of which Foyle had not heard given his relative lack of contact with the constables.

The relaxed mood continued after dinner, and once the washing up was done they settled comfortably in the living room each nursing a glass of scotch. They made small talk for a while before Reid checked his watch and decided it was a good time to take his leave. He looked across at Foyle and was pleased to see that a bit of the gloom had been erased from his face.

"Well, I'd best be off, gentlemen," said Reid. "I've got an early shift tomorrow."

He stood and held out a hand to Andrew. "Please take care of yourself, son."

Andrew had risen with his father and shook Reid's hand warmly. "Same to you, sir. Please give my best to Mrs. Reid and the girls."

Reid smiled and nodded. "Thank you, Andrew, I will."

Foyle followed his friend out into the hallway as he retrieved his outerwear.

"I'll let Milner know you won't be in until Monday," Reid said in a hushed tone ready for an objection from Foyle. "No, I insist, Christopher. You haven't had Andrew home in weeks and some rest would do you good. I can handle things at the station."

The compassion in Reid's voice was plainly evident. Foyle inclined his head, touched by his friend's concern. "Hardly the first time I've been tired, Hugh."

"No, but it doesn't mean you don't need the rest," Reid insisted as he shrugged on his overcoat. "I'm serious, Christopher, the work will keep. Take some time. Go to the river."

Foyle ran a hand over his head, and then nodded. "Right. I give up. Thank you. But do me a favor and have Milner ring me in the morning. I hadn't expected to be away so long and I want to hear if some issues were sorted in my absence."

"Of course. Shall I have him ring around 9 a.m?" Reid asked as he reached for his hat.

"Yes, that would be fine," said Foyle as he put both his hands in his pockets. "Can't thank you enough, Hugh."

"Ah, don't be mad, man," laughed Reid. "Thank you for your hospitality…and your scotch."

"I'm serious, Hugh, thank you. You've been a great help to me these past few days and I truly appreciate it."

Reid placed a warm hand on his friend's shoulder. "Don't mention it, Christopher. I'm just glad he's alright."

Foyle nodded and said softly, "So am I." The grip on his shoulder tightened briefly.

"Goodnight, Christopher. Get some sleep," Reid said as he turned to walk down the steps.

Foyle locked the door and turned back toward the lounge where he found Andrew fast asleep in his chair by the fire. For a minute everything seemed right with the world. He leaned his back on the door jam, closed his eyes, dropped his head and offered up a silent prayer of thanks for the safe return of his son. He then slipped quietly into the room, picked up his book from the desk and took his own seat by the fire.