Chapter 5

See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer, Spoilers, and Warning

Foyle phoned Sam a few more times over the following two days. By the time he arrived back at Aubrey's, all was fairly well settled. Sam was asleep on the couch so he and Audrey remained outside to talk. They heard Christina, through the tiny opening in the window, in Sam's room upstairs. Foyle slipped quietly through the house and upstairs. As soon as he had executed a quick nappy change, he collected the child; wrapped her in a blanket, before he slipped her inside his coat and brought her outside. She was still sleepy, so he soothed her restlessness with his practiced coaxing stokes to her face, ear and neck; successfully easing her back to sleep. Aubrey watched as his grandniece nestled her face on one side of Christopher's neck and stretched her hand out and up around his neck to flex her tiny fingers against the hair behind his ear. The older man was heartened by how gentle and adoring Christopher was with Sam's daughter and how totally serene the child was in his arms. Foyle gently swayed with her, keeping her bundled in her blanket and wrapped inside his coat. The two men continued their conversation awhile longer before Christina woke in earnest. To Aubrey's utter amazement she didn't start crying as she had the other times she awoke the past couple of days. Instead she wiggled slightly and then gave a small grunt when she was still held as before.

Foyle smiled as he repositioned her, "IIII know, up where you can take it all in."

Aubrey marveled at how deftly Christopher maneuvered the child and kept her, mostly, within her blanket. There was a grace as well as a conservation of movement in the man's actions that spoke to either a great deal of experience or a purely natural ability with children. He would not hazard a guess either way; it was enough to know his friend was clearly capable and comfortable in his interaction with Christina.

The vicar was brought out of his ruminations by the sounds of Christina babbling. He watched as she made the noise again and rocked herself towards Foyle a time or two. As he held her intense gaze, Foyle emulated her sounds, eliciting a giggle from the little girl. She reached a hand out to flip her fingers against his lips as he repeated the noise once more. Another giggle from her and a smile from Foyle as she stopped the motion with her fingers and took another turn at the babbling sound. Foyle twitched a finger against her lips and she squealed in delight at their game. They continued to take turns; generating more and more amusement for the trio. After a few moments, Christina suddenly became distracted by the deep discoloration across Foyle's nose. It stretched more than half way around each eye; framing them in dark variegated colors across his top and bottom eyelids. For moment each man thought she was frightened and would soon start crying. Aubrey himself had flinched when he first laid eyes on the swollen, distorted skin on the bridge of Foyle's nose as well as colorful bruises around his eyes; deep varied hues of purple were streaked with red and blue accents. It soon became apparent that the little girl was intrigued, and not the least bit repulsed, by the unusual sight.

She reached her hand up to touch the bruising, but Foyle quickly intercepted her movement and stilled her hand in a gentle grasp. "No," he said firmly and then kissed her knuckles before he lowered her hand and released his hold.

The little explorer was not easily deterred and reached up again, with the same result.

A slightly firmer, "No." was accompanied by a sterner expression from the man sporting the bruise who placed another kiss on her hand before he tucked back into her blanket.

A decidedly unhappy grunt expressed the child's displeasure at being impeded in her desired exploration.

Aubrey watched as Foyle looked at her, sighed softly, gave his head the slightest shake, and then reclaimed her hand. The older man was not certain if he had read it in Foyle's expression or if he had actually heard his friend say, 'Just like your mum.' Foyle carefully drew a finger out with his thumb while securely wrapping the other wriggling little digits inside his own firm grasp. He moved the tiny hand very slowly toward his nose.

As he inched her hand closer he punctuated the movement with, "Be careful", "Easy", "Touch soft." and steeled himself against the potential for great pain if she suddenly moved or took abrupt control of her arm and hand.

However, between her deep fascination with the discoloration and her entranced attention to his voice she seemed altogether mesmerized. Christina was completely willing to let him control her contact with the strange markings on his face. Foyle lifted her hand a little higher than the bruised area, eased her finger to his forehead, and then gently stroked it down to the abused flesh along his broken nose. He felt rather entranced in the moment too; mesmerized as he watched her eyes and facial expressions telegraphing her fascination with the sensations she felt. Foyle knew the area was considerably warmer even if not quite feverish anymore. In addition, the texture was decidedly unnatural; ranging from quasi firm where swollen to an almost sponge like feel down sides of his nose where the tissue had previously been stretched mercilessly by the medical packing. Christina's eyes widened and then her little brow furrowed, followed by a a look if reignited curiosity.

Foyle glanced quickly from her to their companion and back again. "Care to be part of the exploration?"

"No, thank you. I have felt a broken nose."

Foyle grinned and fought the urge to chuckle. "No. I was thinking more along the lines of giving her an undamaged nose for comparison."

"Oh! Yes, of course." The vicar's astonished tone betrayed the surprise he had tried to mask with impassive agreement.

When Aubrey stepped close to them Foyle eased Christina's hand to the older man's nose and repeated the slow motion from forehead across the bridge and down the side of his nose. He tucked her hand back into her blanket and rested his hand over hers, just in case she suddenly opted to return to her explorations. The little girl looked from one man's nose to the other and back again several times.

Foyle felt her fidget in an attempt to free her hand, "Christina?"

He spoke her name firmly and when she looked at him he very slowly reduced his pressure on her hand and eased his hand away, holding her eyes with a cautioning gaze the whole time. Ready to halt her hand if need be, he gave her the freedom to control her own movement.

When she started to pull her hand from the blanket he firmly reminded, "Easy."

She immediately slowed, but did not completely halt, her movement. With her hand freed she held it up and sort of half splayed half twitched her fingers. When she turned her eyes to him Foyle recognized yet another of her mother's all too familiar expressions reflected in her gaze.

Her eagerness was unmistakably clear and he couldn't help but caution her again, "Be careful. Touch soft."

She allowed him to curl her little fingers down and didn't resist as he maintained a hold on her single extended finger; firmly pinched between his thumb and forefinger. Part of his brain cautioned him not to trust her; she was after all still just a baby. But, as with her mother, he couldn't help himself even as something deep inside reasserted how irrational it was to trust in one so young. Allowing her to move her hand at her own speed, but not releasing his hold on her finger, their hands eased in unison back to his battered features.

Just before she could actually make contact he gave one final, very firm, warning, "Be easy"

Foyle braced himself as an inner voice questioned whether she even understood what 'easy' meant. The tiny finger grazed his skin and was applied with a bit more pressure than he had but it was not any more uncomfortable than before. Christina followed a path down his nose similar to the one he had and then turned to look at her grand uncle. The older man leaned forward to allow her to feel his nose again. The men exchanged a brief knowing look and Foyle released the child's hand.

Each man spoke a caution, "Be careful" "Touch easy" and waited together, holding their breath to see what she would do.

Instead of one finger her entire hand was opened; fingers splayed wide. As easy as her own coordination would allow she pressed the whole of her hand against the middle of Aubrey's forehead and then pulled back slightly, lifting the heel of her hand from his face. Her fingers trailed down his face in a surprisingly slow movement; however, it was obvious by the older man's expressions, it wasn't as gentle as he would have wished. Foyle was amused by Aubrey's reactions and strained composure while allowing the little girl to explore his features. Foyle's amusement quickly shifted to staunch self-preservation when Christina suddenly pivoted, swinging her arm about, with obvious intent to return her fingers to his face. He made a grab for her hand as he reflexively turned his head from her reach. His attempt to clasp her hand was less than successful, but it at least allowed him to stop the forward motion of her arm. Feeling around cautiously, not daring to risk turning his head back to her, he grasped hold of the offending limb and tucked it back in the blanket. As he slipped his hand free he adjusted his hold slightly, effectively pinning the child's arms between them.

He hugged her and spoke calmly, "That is enough for now." She wriggled desperately but he maintained his hold and continued in the same patient tone, "Listen. You can be easy with my nose later."

For that he received a grunt of disagreement.

His tone hitched up a bit in sternness. "Christina. I said enough."

The little body instantly stilled, accompanied by a tiny sigh.

"I think you have exhausted your 'careful' and 'easy' for the moment."

He held her firmly, stroked her back and softly hummed to her for a few minutes. Once he was sure her excitement had settled, Foyle eased his hold and reposition her once more; allowing her the freedom to move her arm.

She watched his eyes as she drew her hand from the blanket and started for reach to his face.

He stopped her motion with two words, "No. Touch." and gave her a stern look that held her eyes.

She stared back, hand frozen in midair. The two men watched her as the little wheels in her brain silently turned. The intensity of her gaze diminished slightly and her hand slowly dropped to her side.

Foyle kissed the side of her head and then whispered in her ear, "That's my girl."

Sam came outside just as Foyle kissed Christina's head, "There you all are! I thought I heard voices out here." She carried a small toy dog in one hand.

When Foyle turned to face her, Sam's eyebrows shot up and her eyes widened, "Christopher! What happened?!" She rapidly closed the distance between them.

Amusement shined in his eyes as he held her gaze and said, "Be careful. Easy. Touch soft." and he saw the bewilderment flood her expression.

Confusion clearly evident on her face, she asked, "What?"

Foyle patiently explained, with a glance down to her daughter and back, "We have been having a lesson in how to be careful with a broken nose."

"I see." Was all the reply he received, as Sam handed Christina the little dog.

He couldn't help the smirk that tugged at one corner of his mouth, when he continued. "And I know you are just like your daughter. You will not be satisfied until you have touched and investigated said broken nose for yourself." Again he glanced at Christina and back, his expression saying 'set a good example'. Foyle held her eyes as she eased her hand toward his face, "So, be careful. Easy. Touch ..." his voice faltered, at the expression in her eyes and the tenderness of her oh so light touch, and he breathed a barely audible, "soft."

Her fingers tenderly brushed the edge of the abused skin before drifting to his cheek to softly caress and then cradle his face.

"Adam?" The name was flat on her lips, as though she were asking if the injury were caused by a thing; not a person.

One brow arched slightly, "No. Er, couple of Good Samaritans." He shrugged as if to apologize, although not knowing what he thought he was trying to apologize for.

"I'm sorry, no matter who did it." Sam's thumb stroked his cheek and he involuntary leaned into her caress.

Not wanting to move from her touch but acutely aware they were not alone, he gave her a half smile as he eased the tiniest fraction away from her. It was only far enough to break their contact but he felt an instant sense of loss. The look in Sam's eyes signaled she was about to ask for more information. He glanced down to the child in his arms and then gave her his best 'not now' look. Although, Foyle knew both the adults deserved to know what had happened, he just couldn't bring himself to discuss anything in front of Christina. Whether she comprehended what was said or not, didn't matter to him, he would never speak disparagingly of her father in her presence.

Christina was happily engaged in her inspection of her dog as Aubrey cleared his throat and suggested, "Why don't we go in and start tea. It's a bit early, but I suspect since you two girls have just had hearty naps; you are sufficiently hungry to warrant tea a little early. Huh?" Without waiting for an answer he led the way into the house.

As the older man started the tea preparations, Foyle offered to help and Sam relieved him of her daughter. She carried Christina into the living room and secured her in the improvised play area, Sam and Aubrey had devised at the start of their visit. Sam returned to the kitchen and between the three of them fixing tea did not take long; even though Sam and Christopher frequently peeked through the doorway to check on the babbling, content, little girl.

Foyle inquired into Christina's need to eat. Sam assured him she had eaten well before her nap and would be just fine with a small bit of cake and a spot of milk when they were finished.

As the trio sat down to eat, Christopher invited his companions questions. He had no desire to retell the events in any detail but felt he could satisfy their need for information while preserving his need to minimize how much he shared. The better part of their conversation revolved around the maneuvering involved in the legal aspects of the situation and what was next for Sam to deal with. She was after all, no matter how emotionally detached from him she felt, the widow of an MP. There were procedures to follow and certain social proprieties to observe.

Aubrey attempted to shoo the couple out to the parlor to discuss the finer details of what was to come. He instantly found himself out voted. As a compromise, he offered to tend to his grandniece's snack. Before he could be vetoed again, he hastily gathered the items he would need and quickly scampered out the kitchen door. With an impish expression of satisfaction on his face he left as the couple chuckled in the wake of his departure.

Sam and Christopher worked in companionable silence as they cleared the table and staged the items to be washed.

With twirl of a dish towel Sam asked, "Wash or dry?"

"Ordinarily, I'd say dry, but you're more familiar with where things belong."

"Right. Dry and tuck up, here I come." She announced to the counter as she flipped the dish towel up to her shoulder and retrieved another to lie on the counter beside the sink.

Foyle shook his head as her spot of humor. While he washed and rinsed and Sam dried and stacked most of the items, tucking a random item in a close by home now and then; they spoke in hushed tones about exactly what her next steps should be. They planned out the details of Adam's funeral, including when and where he would be buried. It wasn't planned in as much as Sam said what she thought would be best and Foyle concurred. This led to what would need to be done regarding their home and Adam's other assets. None of the topics took them much time; their individual neutrality and sense of detachment kept the drag of emotional or sentimental attachment to a minimum. They were both sorry that Adam was dead. Sorry his life and the Wainwright's marriage had come to the ends they had. However, the pervasive sense of relief that Sam and Christina were safe seemed to temper whatever grief was present; muting and shadowing the effect it would have otherwise had on their decision making.

When only the flatware remained to be washed, Sam began to move about tucking the remaining crockery items away here and there. She moved behind Foyle a few times to retrieve an item or two and then back behind him to put each one away. He was positive there was plenty of space for her to move between him and the table without touching him, he. Yet, he distinctly felt her brush against his back a couple of times. Then as she reached for one of the last few items on the counter, she didn't quite step passed him as Foyle deposited the last of the flatware on the towel covered counter. Sam stopped short of the counter and briefly pressed a light touch to his back for balance as she stretched the remaining distance for the item she wanted. At that moment he knew he had not imagined her earlier touches. Although, her hand was light enough to not affect his physical balance it was more than enough to upset his emotional equilibrium. While she tucked the item into a cabinet off to the side, he swiftly rinsed and dried his hands without moving from his place at the sink. The next time she stepped passed him he pivoted and let one hand lag a bit behind. Sam stopped when she saw him move and held still as his hand caught up to his turn and he rested it just above her waist. The hand settled almost as though in a dance posture, except at her side more than her back, he settled his hand in the curve of her waist. She held his eyes but didn't move until he gave her an entreating look. That was all it took; Sam swayed toward him and he enveloped her in a firm hug, holding her as close as he possibly could. She surprised them both when she began to cry quietly against his shoulder. Foyle murmured every comforting phrase he could think of.

After several minutes she managed to mumble, "I'm sorry." as she pulled back to look at him.

"Not at all."

"I just ... It ... "

He said nothing, merely nodded and drew her back into his embrace. Holding her close, stroking her back and continuing to offer words of comfort; he simply held her and let her cry.

Once she quieted he said, barely above a whisper, "I understand, Sam. It's all been so much to take in with things happening so quickly. It can be nothing less than overwhelming."

Her head rubbed against his shoulder as she nodded and continued to cling to him.