A/N: You know, when I wrote my little story last week, I meant for it to be a one-off; yet I forgot to mark it as Complete. Then I was so touched and inspired by the lovely comments I received, I decided to keep going—and I already have the third installment outlined! I think it helps to keep the chapters quite brief. Thanks to my beta/collaborator, Giulietta C, who always makes it better!

Andrew Foyle sat gazing out to sea from his third-floor window, chewing thoughtfully on a pencil end. He was endeavouring to write, but it wouldn't do to wake Baby Iain with the clatter of typewriter keys; besides, there was something he found rather soothing about the light scrape of the pencil, especially if its graphite point had a flat side. He liked the way the thickness of the letters varied as he scribbled.

Snoozing in the bottom bureau drawer lay three-month-old Iain Joseph, settled in his nest of little flannel blankets. Ellie was asleep too, this quiet Sunday afternoon, in what had once been Andrew's room.

So he'd seized this moment of quiet to work on an essay for his history tutor. The relative peace of Hastings in March 1947 was a welcome change from the bustle and distractions of post-war Oxford, where both Town and Gown—not just the city, but its student body also—were swollen with the ranks of returned soldiers.

However, looking after his little sister and brother for a long weekend had not proved quite as grand a chance to meditate and concentrate as Andrew might misguidedly have hoped.

Only a month and a half to go, and he'd have his degree at last. If only one of his job prospects would open up, he might be able to provide for…

And just as his thoughts returned softly to the dark liquid eyes of Madhirakshi Raju, he heard a plaintive, sleepy voice from the doorway.

"Andoo."

"Mm! Ellie? Awake already?"

The youngster padded woozily in, knuckles punishingly rubbing her eyes as she yawned. Her elder brother marvelled anew at how tall she seemed for her age; she'd inherited Sam's lanky build. It seemed to him as if she literally added a fraction of an inch every time he glimpsed her.

"Or perhaps not quite awake," Andrew chuckled as he swung her up to his knee.

Ellie eyed him with sober countenance. She was usually a quiet little thing, and he was glad for the low volume of her voice now, lest the infant wake as well.

"I couldn' sleep cos I was thinking," she told him, and once again he found himself charmed at her startling clarity of speech. Not that she didn't have her incoherent moments, usually when giggling and larking about. But when thoughtful, she could be as grave and as concise as a solicitor. It randomly crossed his mind that she might easily become one, should she set it as goal, given the sharp analytical brain of one parent and the practical good sense of the other.

Andrew soothingly rubbed her small back, the brightness of its red jumper almost obscured by his open hand.

"Thinking, or worrying?" He asked the child respectfully.

"Woying?"

"Worrying. It's… Um, well, not being afraid, exactly. But not being completely happy. Dad is great at it."

Ellie scrunched her brow and one side of her lips quirked upward slightly.

Jesus, when she does that she looks just like him!

She shrugged, setting wee gold curls a-bounce. "I love Iain, I do…"

Andrew raised his chin and checked on the individual under discussion. Fast asleep.

"He's a good little brother, isn't he?"

Ellie nodded, but still looked pensive.

"But… sometimes they are all busy, and I'm lonely."

The tears in her eyes squeezed Andrew's heart.

"Oh, Ellie." He hugged her. She snuffled a little against the pleasant lightweight flannel of his shirt.

"Babies are…" he frowned. What were they? "They need so much attention, and I know it must seem sometimes as if he's getting it all."

Ellie didn't nod this time, but he saw an affirmation in her eyes.

"You know, when I was small like you, and later when I was bigger still, I was the only one. No baby brother or sister, growing up."

Her eyes widened to contemplate such a plight. "Were you lonely, Andoo?"

He crumpled his mouth. "Sometimes. But I don't really remember feeling that way until my mum died. After that I was very lonely. I was a big boy by then, though… Anyway, Ellie, the point is, once Iain's not a tiny baby anymore, you will feel as if Dad and Mum are paying you more attention. Babies are… demanding!"

"What's 'demarding'?"

"They cry and they can't do anything for themselves, so they take up a lot of one's time. Still…" Andrew shifted the coltish three-stone package to his other knee, and gave her his most encouraging grin, "they can be fun to take care of—they have so much to learn, and they do such funny things."

Ellie's eyes danced in spite of herself. "When Mummy left he made a funny sound, and his eyes were ever so big!"

"Perhaps if you helped Mummy take care of him? Do you think she would mind?"

Mummy, he thought with a smirk. How very odd it was to share the reference to "their" mother when said mother was some three months older than he.

Ellie shrugged again, and chewed her lip. "What if I drop him?"

Andrew laughed, which clearly puzzled his serious little sister.

"Mum would probably put him in your arms while you sit down. In time you'll be bigger and it will be easier, even when he grows, too. So you try that," he said decisively, sliding the child down so they could both look down upon a fussily vocalizing, if still asleep, Iain.

Christopher and Samantha were seated at a table in the slightly damp garden of Hugh Reid's Devon cottage, where—for the first time since Iain's birth—they had come to fish and rest and just be a childless couple for three days, blithely minimizing all the usual worries that accompanied new parenthood.

He laid a warm hand over hers as she fidgeted, and smiled with wry understanding.

"What is it?" he asked gently, whereupon she gave him a sheepish small grin.

"Well… it was lovely of Hugh and Elaine and Andrew to make all this possible, but I can't seem to prevent myself from wanting to telephone Andrew every few hours."

Christopher's lopsided grin made her laugh. He leaned forward, stroking her palm with his thumb, "But you said—"

"I know. I needed some time to not be a mother. And Friday night was…" she blushed and grew a dreamy expression, remembering the honeymoonish spirit of their first night away. Her quiet husband's level of hidden passion still overwhelmed her.

Foyle shut his eyes in pleasure as his own warming recollection rushed over him.

"Mmm." He patted her hand. "Wwell, I know, Darling. We both still fret a little bit. Feel like starting back tonight instead of tomorrow?"

Sam bit her lip, mulling it over. She knew Ellie adored Andrew, and that both children were in safe hands.

"I'm just being silly," she assured him. "What could possibly happen?"