A/N: Thank you for all the reviews! They are very much appreciated! As always the credit for the editing goes to LauraRaposa

Chapter 13

Christopher Foyle opened his eyes the next morning and was greeted with the sight of his son sleeping peacefully in his childhood bed. He smiled fondly at the sight, it more then made up for the fact he had spent another night in the armchair next to Andrew's bed.

He stretched and felt his back twinge slightly. Getting too old to spend more than a night or two sleeping in a chair. I was younger was Rosalind was ill. He looked at Andrew again and emotion welled in his chest for his boy - his brave, heartbroken, brilliant boy who had grown into a man in the heat of battle. Foyle knew Andrew would be scarred by this war like his father had been on the battlefields of France so many years before.

Every time Andrew, as a young boy, asked him about the last war, he replied that it was beyond explanation and he hoped his son would never have to find out first hand. Unfortunately, that was not to be. Andrew had bravely flown off to war and returned to his father tired, broken and consumed by guilt. So if Foyle had to sleep in an armchair to ward off his son's nightmares, he would sit there for as long as Andrew needed him.

Foyle rose, stretched and crossed to the bed to look down on his son. As he did, he was reminded of the events of the night before. After Hugh left, both Foyle and Andrew, sated by a warm fire, hearty dinner and fine single malt, dozed in the lounge. The elder Foyle, who had a burning desire for his bed, quietly took the glasses through to the kitchen and completed his nightly rounds.

He shook Andrew to wake him and shepherd him upstairs to his room. As his sleepy son undressed for bed, he rallied and asked, "How do you do it, Dad?"

"Do what, Andrew?"

"Make them stop."

"Make what stop?"

"The nightmares."

Foyle closed his eyes for a few seconds to collect his thoughts. "It will get easier, Andrew. It just takes time. I wish I could do something…"

Andrew shook his head and looked up at him. "But you do, Dad, that's just it. Since I've been home I've slept better then I have in weeks. I've hardly dreamt at all. That's why I asked."

Foyle didn't know how to respond, so he settled himself on the edge of the bed and softly carded his fingers through Andrew's hair. "Don't worry about that now, son. Just sleep."

Andrew quieted, and for a moment Foyle thought he was asleep until he mumbled, "Dad?"

"Yes, son?"

"Stay?"

"Yes, of course. I'll stay until you are asleep. Just rest now."

"But what if they come back?"

"What if what comes back, Andrew?"

"The dreams." Andrew shivered. "I see it all the time… Rex's plane crashing…I'm so tired, Dad."

The exhaustion and pain in his son's voice were so thick that it was several minutes before Foyle felt he could trust his voice. "Go to sleep, Andrew. It's fine, son. I'm here. I won't leave."

Andrew relaxed at his words and mumbled his thanks before burrowing further into his blankets with a contented sigh.

Foyle continued to run a hand through Andrew's hair, and murmured softly, "Ssshh…that's it…I'm here…mhm…you're alright…mhm" and other soothing nonsense words that he used to put Andrew to sleep as a child. Within a few minutes, Andrew was fast asleep.

Foyle, also weary from the day, waited a bit by the bed before he returned to his own room to change and collect his eiderdown. He slipped back into his son' room, pulled the armchair close enough so he could rest his feet on the end of the bed and settled in for the night – with one ear open.

Andrew woke up only twice, but thankfully before he could get worked up, Foyle soothed him back to sleep.

DCS Foyle checked the clock by Andrew's bed – 7:30 a.m. He still had an hour and a half before Milner was due to ring to bathe, dress, shave and eat breakfast. He looked back down at his slumbering son and tucked the bedclothes around him before he headed for the lavatory.