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

Getting close to the end now. Only 2 more chapters to come. I hope you are enjoying the story.

Chapter 18

DCS Foyle was engaged in doing one of the things he did best: listening. He hadn't expected Will Middlebrook to open up as he had, but it was clear the injured pilot desperately needed to tell someone what had happened.

It was a déjà vu moment for Foyle. Some months ago in a different hospital, he had listened to another injured soldier – his now-sergeant, Paul Milner - describe the battle at Trondheim where he lost the bottom half of his leg.

Like Milner, Middlebrook stared blindly ahead and recalled every minute of the horror like it had happened yesterday. The pilot's voice wavered at points, and a few times he fell silent for several minutes. But Foyle stayed silent. He knew that if Middlebrook got through his story once – the first time was the hardest - he could finally start to put the incident behind him.

Foyle was concerned that after all these weeks this was the first time Will had told anyone about the events that led him to this hospital bed. Don't they encourage the wounded to speak to someone around here? Isn't that part of the healing process? Where are the boys parents?

As Middlebrook continued to be lost in his thoughts, Foyle remembered the words spoken in his office earlier in the week by Wing Commander Turner: "We ask so much of them." That's a bloody understatement. But these young men - with the fate of their country and their own lives in the balance – bravely just do what needs to be done.

"And then I woke up in hospital, Mr. Foyle," said Will. "I don't really remember much about my first week there. The doctor said it was pretty touch and go for a while but once I recovered a bit they sent me here to the burn hospital."

Middlebrook paused and forced a smile. "It's a pretty good crowd here, but I do miss my squadron."

Foyle nodded and smiled understandingly, "No doubt. I'm sure Andrew would, too."

Will fiddled with a loose thread on his blanket. "They won't tell me if I'll be able to fly again, sir. Every time I ask they just say, 'We'll see.'" He looked up at Foyle. "That means no, doesn't it?"

Foyle chewed the inside of his cheek for a few seconds and replied, "I don't know about that, but it sounds like you've made good progress."

"I just wish they'd tell me," said Will, anger rising in his voice. "I can handle the truth. I'm not a child!"

Foyle knew he would have to tread carefully to maintain the younger man's trust.

"Truthfully, Flight Lieutenant, I believe the doctors would tell you if they knew. But these types of injuries take time to heal. It wouldn't do to tell you one thing and then be wrong, would it?"

"No, sir," Will said seeming to deflate against his pillows. The anger had stolen the last of his energy and his voice was tired and tinged with pain.

Foyle frowned in concern, and caught the eye of a nurse at the end of the ward, who nodded and began to make her way towards them. As he looked back at the young man in front of him, Foyle cleared his throat. "Well, it looks like you could do with a bit of a rest." Middlebrook began to protest but Foyle held up a hand. "What do you say to another game of chess next week?"

"Really, sir? You'd have the time?"

Foyle smiled at the eagerness in Will's voice. "Certainly have the time. So, if you're up to it, I'd like a chance to even things out."

Will smiled back. "I'd like that very much. Thank you, sir."

By this time, the nurse had reached the bedside and Foyle rose. "Right. Now I had better go see what sort of trouble my son's gotten into while I've been here."

"Tell him goodbye for me won't you, sir? It was jolly good to see him again."

Foyle nodded. "I will. Until next week…" He retrieved his trilby from the end of the bed, smiled at Will and the nurse and stepped away.

He watched as the nurse fussed around the younger man. She eased him down then began to take his temperature and pulse. She caught Foyle's worried gaze and smiled reassuringly. She waited another minute until Will had settled, and moved back down the ward.

As she passed Foyle, she said, "Don't fret, sir. He's fine. Just needs a bit of a rest. That chat with you probably did him more good than any medicine we've got here. He's been fussing for a while but wouldn't tell us why. The pilots don't like to seem weak, you know."

Foyle nodded. Damn military discipline for teaching these young men to think that acknowledging the trauma they've been through was nothing short of cowardice. He shook his head and shot one more look at Will. He was relieved to see that the boy appeared to be asleep, then walked off in search of Andrew.

He heard Andrew's voice before he saw him, and came to a stop as he rounded the corner. Andrew was reading aloud to a patient with a bandage over one eye.

The detective assumed that the man in the bed must be Greville Woods but he didn't want to interrupt. Maybe now would be a good time to see if Sir Michael was about. He had just turned to leave when he heard Andrew stop reading. Foyle looked back to find that his son had risen and looked like he was saying goodbye, so he waited.

A moment later, Andrew strode to join him. "Well, hello, Dad."

"So did Woods like whatever you were reading?"

Andrew looked confused for a second. "No, no, that wasn't Greville," he said with a shake of his head. "It was Lieutenant Harding but he seemed to."

Foyle's brow wrinkled in concern. Just how many of Andrew's friends were in this bloody hospital?

"Another friend from training, is he?"

"No, just met him actually," said Andrew. "Greville was knackered so we didn't talk long. And when I came back, you and Will were talking, so I didn't want to interrupt. I saw Harding squinting at a book and thought I might give him a hand. Turns out he's been flying with the 209th. A couple of our lads went up to give them a hand a few weeks ago."

Foyle nodded silently as they walked toward the door.

It wasn't until they had called for a taxi and were waiting out on the gravel drive in the afternoon sunshine that Andrew spoke again. "Is Will alright Dad? He seemed to be earlier, wanting to play chess and all." Andrew trailed off and thrust his hands into his pockets, to keep from pacing.

Foyle studied his son with concern. It was clear that this visit had been hard on Andrew just as Foyle had feared it would be.

"Yes, more or less," he replied. "He's a very good chess player to be sure. Have to see if I can do better next week."

Andrew glanced up with a small grin on his face. "So, I take it, he beat you then?"

Foyle nodded and flashed his sideways smile. "Yup."

Andrew's cheeky reply was lost by the arrival of the taxi, and the discussion quickly shifted to where they should go for dinner.