Chapter 6

See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer, Spoilers, and Warning

After Christina was put to bed, Uncle Aubrey excused himself to his upstairs study. Sam was seated on the couch by the time Foyle returned to the living room. He had originally thought to occupy of the chairs but made his way over to sit next to Sam instead. As he relaxed into the cushions, Foyle extended an arm to Sam who gave him a quick smile of thanks before she leaned against his side. He rested his arm, with hers, down along her side.

"What am I going to do?"

"We, Sam. I told you the other day; I will not walk away from you again."

She brought her arm up and hugged him, as if to say she wouldn't let him walk away either.

His arm drew her to him a little tighter as he continued, "Biggest mistake I've made in recent years, and that's saying something." The attempt to try at lighten the mood earned him a soft smile and small ragged sigh; it wasn't a full chuckle but it was enough in that moment. Foyle found her hand, that was draped across him, and gave it a squeeze as she rested her head against his shoulder, "I will not make that mistake again. Sam, you've been my driver, my typist, my assistant, my sounding board, my companion, and my friend. Always, my friend. And I didn't do right by our friendship these last few months." She squeezed his hand and he faltered just a bit, "I ..." he looked at their joined hands and then pushed his head back a little to see her face. "I'm sorry, Sam. Truly sorry." He hesitated in the thought to touch her cheek only to have Sam stretch herself against his chest in an attempt to wrap her arms around him, even though he was partly pressed against the couch cushions. Foyle shifted so he could pull her closer and then felt about for her hand that was still wiggling about at his side. Gently pulling at her fingers he directed her hand to his chest.

When he covered her hand with his he heard her clear her throat and then the quaver in her voice, "Christopher?"

The hesitant quaver and beseeching tone tugged at his heart; he didn't trust his own voice, "Mmm?"

"What are we doing?"

Foyle knew full well there was much more to her question than the four spoken words. But suddenly feeling the coward and suffering the insecure thoughts clouding his mind he feared confessing his feelings beyond what he had already could prove as hurtful to Sam as his absence had been. He hedged, "We're each hugging a friend." The level, controlled, delivery of his words surprised him. It was silly, but he felt a strange sense of pride at having offered her a logical answer in an unaffected manner.

Sam nodded her head against his chest in acknowledgment then remained still for several minutes.

He could feel the warmth of her breath, through his shirt; across his chest, each time she exhaled. The warm sensations alternating with the cooler ones waved over him in an almost hypnotic rhythm. A sense of peace began to pulse through him in time with her breathing. Foyle closed his eyes in order to focus on the quiet moment they were sharing. Absorbed in relishing the calm, peaceful, comforting feeling of holding Sam he was unaware that he had sighed in his contentment.

Sam's voice floated to his ear on a soft breath, "Christopher?" Her quiet, dreamy tone caressed his name.

Foyle's eyes snapped open, but absolutely nothing else moved, save for his heart rate that reflexively quickened at his start. Had he really heard her or was his mind tormenting him with the sound of Sam's voice speaking his name in such an affectionate manner?

He had just about decided he had imagined it when he felt Sam gently tap twice on his chest and repeat, "Christopher?" just the slightest bit louder but with the same soft caress.

Foyle wrapped his fingers about hers and replied simply, "Sam?"

Was he dreaming? He wondered, as he was certain he had, without intending to, said her name in a matched tone of caress. No, he was not! Sam's warm brown eyes sought his as she raised her head from his chest and held his gaze. A myriad of thoughts must have been bouncing through her mind because he could see the rapid changes reflected in her gaze. There was no deciphering her thinking at the moment so he gave her a questioning arch of his brow, instead of asking 'What?'

"What if ..."

He watched as uncertainty flash about her eyes, "'What if', what Sam?" Hoping she would be encouraged by his gentle nudge, he waited. Again her face reflected what he could only guess was a war of thoughts going on in her mind. Finally, he saw her expression settle into one of full determination.

"What if, I would rather be kissing my friend?"

Blinking seemed to be the only movement he could manage, and he wasn't entirely sure he was doing that very well. His eyes tried to read her expression between the shuttering motions of his eyelids.

"Is that wrong? I mean, I know that, that I am only recently widowed, but it's not like we, I mean ... Well, is it?"

Swallowing was added to his all too short list of abilities at present. Foyle opened his mouth to speak, but found that was not yet something he could add to the list and closed his mouth again.

Sam misinterpreted his lack of response from shock and surprise as one of abject rejection and started to withdraw from his embrace.

"I guess it is. I'm sorry. I didn't mean ..."

Christopher was relieved when his arms tightened about her as he wished them to. And, his head began to slowly move side to side. He held her eyes with his; feeling as though his life depended on the limited form of communication. The arms that had pulled her back to him, further cooperated by drawing her upward; lifting her so her head was level to his. He heard, rather than felt himself plead, "Please. Sam."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and closed the small gap between them. Her kiss was soft and tentative, yet warm and electric.

In all too brief a moment Christopher was forced to end the kiss. He pulled his face back from hers; discomfort etched his features as he looked at her, "Sam, I ..."

Again she started to wiggle away, an apology hastily sprung from her lips, "I'm sorry! I ..."

Pain infused his features as his heart clinched in near heartbreak for the fear and anguish he saw in her eyes. One arm flexed to hold her to him, his other hand snaking up between them to reach her face. As his palm lightly caressed her face, the stroke of his thumb intersected the path of a tear.

Christopher brushed his lips against hers and closed his eyes, "Shh." Came his whisper before he opened his eyes and eased his forehead to hers; holding her gaze as gently as he could. "Do stop apologizing, Sam. Please?" A traitorous lump in his throat, gave his voice a betraying tremor. His focus locked to hers; the request reinforced in his eyes. He couldn't stand to witness more of the pain he was seeing in her; it wracked his insides unmercifully.

Her head waved his in unison, ever so slightly, with what he took to be a nod.

"I do not find you, this, wrong. Understand?"

After a pause, she generated another synchronized head motion.

Christopher stroked his thumb across her cheek again, wiping an errant tear, "Good." A silent prayer ran through his mind in the hope that he was not about to make a huge mistake. "Wasn't going to say anything just now, thought you had enough to contend with, at present." He drew in a breath and sighed in exhale. "Sam, I, that is, you were not the, er, only one wanting to kiss their friend tonight." It turned out to be much more difficult than he had imagined with her looking so beseechingly at him. Tilting his head to one side, he guided her head to his shoulder, and then with another deep breath he continued, "I want us to always be friends, Sam. And, even though there may be some who may take exception, I would very much like for us to see if our friendship might become something more." He let his words settle for a moment and focused on his breathing.

A few breaths later Sam's head rose from his shoulder and her eyes pierced his. Her voice was filled with wonder and disbelief, but was hardly louder than whisper, "Really?!"

A smile tugged at each corner of his mouth as he drank in the moment; she wasn't recoiling, he hadn't said too much; hadn't made a mistake.

Emotion and relief threatened to mute his voice completely; "Really!" he swallowed and nodded his head in one short affirming motion.

Sam shifted so she was half seated and half reclined next to him. Having seen the expression on her face and the telltale glint in her eyes, he knew there was soon to be a flood of questions directed to him. Foyle shifted so he was similarly situated and facing Sam. The intimate posture, their heads resting against the couch as they faced each other, brought an image to his mind. The vision caused his chest to constrict in a pleasant crush of hopeful emotion. Could that really be their future? Quiet intimate talks, in their bed, shut off from the world outside; just him and his Sam?

Her voice with its hint of incredulity broke his reverie, "Why did you pull away, then?"

Foyle answered, with two words, simply and honestly, "Couldn't breathe", he gave a wiggle of his fingers toward his nose.

Apparently, that one answer served to satisfy her remaining questions because she closed space between them and gingerly traced the outer edge of his bruise with one finger and then slowly trailed feather light kisses along the same path.

Sensations of care, tenderness, and love emanating through Sam's soothing ministrations nearly overwhelmed him. Her touch was so light and delicate Christopher wasn't sure it was more than just her breath along his marred skin. He wanted to look at her, but she was addressing her attentions to his eyes so frequently, with a caress of her finger or lips, that he kept them closed.

It seemed impossible to feel calmed and energized all at once, but that was exactly how Christopher felt. They had come home. The fact they were sitting on the couch in her uncle's vicarage made no difference, they had each found their way through everyone to each other. No matter where they were from that point forward; together, they would always be home.