A/N: Thanks to LauraRaposa for editing. I own nothing but my imagination.

Chapter 16

The ride to the hospital passed in silence. Andrew stared out the window and fidgeted with his cap while his father watched him surreptitiously out of the corner of his eye. It was clear that Andrew was nervous about his visiting his injured friend Greville Woods, but Foyle could not summon the words to ease his son's anxiety. So he said nothing. He hoped his presence alone would bring Andrew some comfort and support.

As he stared out at the countryside from the back seat of the taxi, Foyle remembered some years ago his son had confided that "scary things didn't seem as scary" when his father was around. At the time, Andrew was 6 years old and frightened about getting his inoculations at the doctor's office. But Foyle hoped that 16 years later his son would still feel more at ease with his father nearby. It was, after all, the real reason why he offered to join him today.

Although Foyle wouldn't be opposed to a chat with Sir Michael Waterford, whose homestead Digby Manor was now the RAF burn hospital, he didn't want Andrew to face the wards alone. It had been hard enough for Foyle to keep his expression neutral when he and Milner had passed by the beds earlier that week. The sight of so many injured young pilots, some of them severely disfigured, disturbed both police detectives, but especially Foyle. Who was acutely aware that his son could join their ranks at anytime.

Foyle didn't know these men but Andrew did – if not personally than through their shared experiences. It was the same way Foyle felt toward Sir Michael, a fellow veteran of the Great War, although they did not serve together. The men were bound by memories of their service but were reluctant to share their stories. It was too painful and far too long ago.

The worst tales of war were always left untold. Sometimes a veteran speaking to his comrades in arms would offer up that he had "seen action at Ypres" or "spent most of the war in Belgium." But there was no need to elaborate. Old soldiers didn't need to re-live the horror of the battlefield with each other - or anyone else. Usually a tone of voice or single glance was enough to shut down the curiosity of those at home.

Foyle knew that Andrew hadn't told him the true extent of his sorties and dogfights except when his childhood friend Rex Talbot died. He would sometimes offer up oblique comments such as "We're flying a lot right now" or "The sortie went well the other night. Good for the new chaps to get a bit of experience."

It was the young men in his squadron - and those pilots who filled the beds at the burn hospital - who knew the details that Andrew didn't say aloud. They talked amongst themselves. No one else would understand.

Foyle worried that if Andrew saw these badly injured young men - especially with his guilt over Greville Woods – any progress they had made over the last few days would be lost and they would be back to the night his shattered son walked through the front door on Steep Lane.

However, Foyle knew that to try to dissuade Andrew from this visit would be pointless. After all, the squadron leader was his father's son – duty-bound. It made Foyle proud but it didn't stop him from trying to protect his son. He only hoped his presence would make the visit "not as scary."

Foyle was torn from his reverie when he felt the taxi come to a stop on the gravel drive. He glanced up in time to see Andrew close his eyes and take a deep breath before he pushed the door open and stepped outside the car.

When Foyle turned back to look at Andrew after he paid the driver, he found him with his shoulders squared, head up, brown eyes alight with good cheer. What just happened here? Is this confident pilot the same war-weary man, bowed by guilt and sorrow that had came home 3 nights ago?

Foyle blinked slowly trying to think of an explanation for the immediate transformation when Wing Commander Turner's words came back to him: "He's taken his role as squadron leader very seriously." The last few days had made it abundantly clear to Foyle just how seriously Andrew had taken that role. But the lengths his son was willing to go still left him slightly breathless.

It was clear Andrew believed it was his job to appear optimistic and strong, especially during this hospital visit. Foyle felt his heart swell with pride to know Andrew had grown up to be a good man just as he and Rosalind hoped. The proud father dropped his head and closed his eyes for a tick. When Foyle looked up, Andrew was smiling at him with a cheeky grin that reminded Foyle of his 6-year-old boy – without the short pants.

"Shall we, Dad," Andrew asked, as he nodded toward the hospital entrance. Foyle nodded, shot him sideways smile and together they walked to the door.

With no one to greet them, Foyle directed his son through the great hallway to what he remembered was the largest ward. They were nearly there when a young nurse stopped them and asked, "May I help you, gentlemen?"

Foyle, who usually takes charge of these situations, opened his mouth to reply – but his son beat him to it. Andrew flashed the nurse his brilliant smile and replied, "I hope so. I'm Flight Lieutenant Foyle and this is my father, DCS Foyle." The older man smiled and tipped his trilby politely.

"We hoped you might be able to tell us where we could find Flight Lieutenant Woods," Andrew continued as he smiled again. Foyle noticed the nurse's face flush a bit and he had to fight off the urge to roll his eyes.

"Of course, Flight Lieutenant, if you'll follow me I can take you there, now." She and Andrew fell into step and chatted pleasantly while Foyle brought up the rear. He was pleased that Andrew seemed like his old self again but he wondered how much of it was an act.

A few beds in from the door, Andrew heard someone call out his name.

The Foyles and the nurse stopped at the foot of a bed where a young man lay, heavy bandages covering the whole right side of his body. Andrew stared at the injured pilot for a few seconds before recognition flashed in his eyes. "Will? Will Middlebrook?"

The patient nodded and Andrew approached the side of the bed smiling, hand outstretched. He paused when he realized that Middlebrook's right hand and arm were swathed in bandages and held in place by a sling. Drawing back his right hand he instead offered up his left and said, "Good to see you, Will. Last I'd heard you'd been posted up north."

"I was, well, until I end up on the wrong end of a dog fight," said the injured pilot. "Been grounded for a few weeks now…bloody Jerrys. Hope you've been giving them hell."

"Doing my best," Andrew nodded. "Forgive me, Will, this is my father Detective Chief Superintendent Christopher Foyle. Dad, this is Flight Lieutenant Will Middlebrook. We trained together in Scotland."

Foyle approached the bed, his left hand extended. "Pleased to meet you, Flight Lieutenant."

"And you, sir."

"Will is the best chess player in the service, Dad. I don't think I won a single game in all those weeks of training," said Andrew.

Will laughed. "You always were one to exaggerate Foyle. I'm hardly the best in the RAF."

That bit of humility drew a guffaw from another bandaged up pilot in the next bed. The patient leaned over to Andrew and said, "Don't listen to him, man. He's beaten everyone in this place at least twice and made it look easy."

"I can believe it," laughed Andrew who turned to his father and said, "Better watch out, Dad, or you'll be next!"

Will, who had been studying his blankets with a rather sheepish expression, looked up with interest, "Do you play, sir?"

Foyle nodded. "I do, although I'm a little rusty at the moment with Andrew being away. No one to play against."

"Well, if you ever feel like a game you should drop by," said Middlebrook. "Gets rather dull around here. Most of the lads aren't up to playing much, and the nurses don't even know the rules."

Foyle smiled. "Well, thank you. I just may have to take you up on that…"

He was about to continue when Andrew broke in: "I say, why not have a game now? You have the time don't you, Dad?"

"I absolutely do," nodded Foyle as he noticed Will's eyes brighten at the anticipation of a competent challenger. Poor lad, he's clearly bored out of his mind, and if he's anything like Andrew, he must hate being cooped up.

"What do you say, Will," asked Andrew. "Then I will finally know who's better. I know I'm rubbish, but if you can beat Dad than I won't feel so bad about it."

Will laughed and nodded with enthusiasm. "Love to. If you're sure you have the time Mr. Foyle? I wouldn't want to keep you."

"Definitely have time, Flight Lieutenant," said Foyle. "Besides if you're as good as they say, it won't take long anyway. Now, is there a board about?"

The nurse helped the patient sit up, and together she and Andrew fetched a card table and a chair while Foyle gathered the pieces and the board. By the time Andrew took his leave to go see Greville Woods, both chess players were deep in concentration over their next move.