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Within The Reach of Her Hand	By : Hazeleyed Category: 1 through F > Foyle's War Views: 3196 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Foyle's War is a copyright product which does not belong to me. No infringement is meant, no money being made. Characters used for entertainment only.

Chapter List
- 1-Within The Reach of Her Hnad
- 1
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Disclaimer: Foyle's War is a copyright product which does not belong to me. No infringement is meant, no money being made. Characters used for entertainment only.

Author: hazeleyes57

Setting: After the season 7 uranium episode, where Sam wonders if she will ever have a child. I haven't seen the ep yet, but I'm killing Adam off (evil grin).

Rating: M, NC17, 18, take your pick.

Pairing: Sam and Christopher. A/U.

A/N: Title comes from the quote attributed to Mother Theresa: Love is a fruit in season at all times, and within the reach of every hand.

I had no plans to upload this fic as it was just for fun, but three dear friends convinced me otherwise. CB, CD and SL, you know who you are, take your bow. Thank you for the advice, the beta work, and the kick up the bum. Kudos. Any mistakes here are mine alone.

Within the Reach of Her Hand.

Former Chief Inspector Christopher Foyle, now simply Mr Foyle, opened his front door and was momentarily stupefied by the sight on his top step.

“Sam?”

But Sam in a state he had never seen before. It was raining heavily and she was drenched from head to toe, but he had the distinct impression that she was unaware of her situation.

“I'm sorry, I...I just didn't know where else to go.”

He'd already realised that she was acutely distressed; the tears were not obvious on her wet face, but were profound in her voice. He had opened the door wide to usher her in, but she hadn't moved.

“For God's sake come in out of the rain, Sam.”

Sam looked down at her feet as if she was only now noticing her state.

“I'm wet...”

Foyle recognised shock when he saw it and made his voice firm.

“Come inside, and let's get you warm and dry.”

Sam stepped into the hall automatically and Foyle closed the door behind her. Her clothes were dripping and a small puddle was forming around her shoes. Gently and with great kindness, Foyle removed her coat and hung it up on the hall stand to drain harmlessly on the lino.

Unusually quiet and compliant, Sam allowed herself to be ushered into the front parlour and seated next to the fire, which Foyle promptly stirred with the poker to produce more heat. Shrugging out of his thick winter cardigan, he wrapped the warmed wool around Sam. She took hold of the garment and hugged it close. He took the folded tartan blanket from the back of the armchair and placed it over her knees. After a moments deliberation he poured out two fingers of malt and placed in her hands. Her teeth clattered against the glass as she drank.

His voice softer now, Foyle placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Catch your breath while I go and put the kettle on. Kick your wet shoes off when you're ready. I'll be back in a minute.”

Sam nodded jerkily and took another drink.

When Foyle returned he was carrying a dressing gown and a pair of striped pyjamas. He was surprised to see Sam's wet clothes on the hearth, but she was perfectly decent in the cardigan and blanket. She looked at him a little anxiously, but some of the old Sam was back in her eyes.

“I hope you don't mind..?”

“No, of course not. I've brought you some clean pyjamas and a spare dressing gown to use. You can get changed here in the warm while I pour the tea. Would you like something to eat?”

Sam shook her head.

“I couldn't. I just couldn't.”

Foyle nodded.

“I'll shut the door on the way out and give you a few minutes to change.”

Sam's voice was still quiet.

“Thank you.”

Less than ten minutes later Foyle knocked on the door and entered at Sam's request. She was wearing the borrowed clothing and her hair was beginning to dry. He placed the tray of tea on the table nearest Sam's elbow and poured her out a cup, adding two sugars and stirring it in briskly. She accepted it with a small smile of thanks, her cheeks beginning to show a little colour.

Foyle noted that the whisky tumbler had been drained dry. He poured out another finger, just in case it was needed.

They drank their tea in silence save for the hiss and crackle of the fire. Sam didn't offer any words and Foyle didn't ask. She would tell him when she was ready.

Some time later, when the small mantle clock had chimed at least once, Sam looked at her former employer and dear friend. Her eyes were bleak and already filling with fresh tears, but she managed to stop them from falling.

“Adam...Adam is dead.”

Foyle closed his eyes for a long moment, hiding his shock and dismay. When he eventually looked at Sam, his blue eyes were warm with sympathy and compassion.

“I am so very sorry to hear that.”

“I was...I was waiting for him and I spotted him on the other side of the road. He...he saw me at the same time and stepped out into the road – just one step, waiting for a car to pass. It was all so quick, I mean, one minute he was smiling at me, then this little boy ran out from behind a parked car. The driver swerved to avoid the boy and hit Adam instead. Not the driver's fault, not Adam's. It was chaos. The boy crying, his mother screaming. I think I was shouting something quite stupid, like 'No!' over and over. But Adam said nothing, nothing at all. He was already...gone...when I got to him.”

Sam started crying in earnest, the shock spilling over at last. She wiped her tears away, but more followed immediately.

“I'm so sorry, I just had to tell someone, just to make it real. My husband is dead. Really dead. I saw it with my own eyes and I still don't believe it.”

Foyle's heart was breaking just a surely as Sam's and he did the only thing that made any sense. He opened his arms and she flew into them. He held her as she cried, and felt like weeping too.

Eventually Sam quietened to the occasional sniff, but she made no effort to sit up away from Foyle's arms. When she started to speak, her voice was soft, as if she was speaking to herself.

“We had such plans, and now none of it will happen. I have lost my husband and my future. I'll never have the family we wanted. There'll never be a child to hold in my arms.”

Foyle felt as if he were eavesdropping, but he couldn't let such despair remain hanging in the air.

“I know you don't think so now, Sam, but you're still young, and one day, someone will be there for you again. You'll live another life and dream another dream. This isn't the end.”

He could feel her shaking her head against his chest.

“Yes, it is. I can't bear the thought of going through all that again. You of all people ought to understand how I feel. You never married again.”

Foyle was shocked at the vehemence in her voice, but he acknowledged that she had a point. After Rosalind died, he had no desire to marry again, and by the time he had thought of the possibility of meeting someone else, it would have been long after any thought of more children had occurred to him.

“I do understand, Sam, but it was different for me, I -”

Sam sat up abruptly, pulling partway out of his arms.

“Of course it was different, you at least had a child to keep you going. I don't, and I can't!”

Tears threatened again, and Sam grabbed the whisky, tossing it down without thought.

Foyle frowned.

“What do you mean, you can't?”

Sam subsided, deflated.

“Adam...” Her lips quivered, but she soldiered on. “We'd been trying for ages. Nothing happened. I can't have children.”

Foyle was moving into uncomfortable territory, but this was Sam so he made an effort.

“Perhaps it wasn't...erm...you?”

He felt her freeze in his arms as his comment sank in. She was silent for several moments, but then she relaxed again, and he wondered what was going through her mind.

Eventually Sam pulled herself upright, and Foyle leaned back a little to assess her state. She smiled briefly.

“Thank you for that. It was a kind thing to say. But it's over now, I won't marry again, and PWP is not an option.”

“PWP?”

Sam briefly smiled again, thinking of her father.

“It used to mean Pregnant Without Permission, but I was thinking of Pregnant Without Partner. My father would never forgive me.”

“N...no, I don't suppose he would.”

The clock chimed again and Sam looked at it. She appeared surprised at the time.

“I'm so sorry, I had no idea I'd got here so late, I didn't think...”

Her lower lip quivered again and Foyle briskly interrupted her train of thought.

“Don't give it a thought. I've made up the bed and aired Andrew's room, you are welcome to stay as long as you need.”

Sam looked so touched by his thoughtfulness that Foyle thought she was going to cry again, but she managed to keep hold of herself. She stood up at the same time as Foyle, but she swayed dizzily and clung on to his arm.

“Gosh, that whisky has gone straight to my head.”

Foyle pursed his lips with amusement, and his voice was dry.

“Not surprised the way you sank the second one, especially on an empty stomach. Very disrespectful to such a fine malt.”

Sam appreciated that Foyle was gently teasing her and summoned a little smile in gratitude.

“I shall bear that in mind.”

Foyle helped her up the stairs when it became clear that Sam was very woozy, and she clung to him as the only safe harbour. She slid into Andrew's bed without demur, and smiled as her former boss tucked her in. The crisp linen sheets were warm by her feet.

“You put a hot water bottle in for me!”

Foyle smiled at the surprised, drowsy words.

“Of course, first class for my best driver.”

“Y'nonely driver...”

“That may be true, but I couldn't have gone anywhere without you.”

Sam's eyelids were fluttering closed.

“S'true.”

Reflecting that he should really walk out of Andrew's bedroom and leave Sam in what little peace she could find in slumber, Foyle nevertheless remained where he was for a few minutes, looking at Sam's pale face. He felt the same hopelessness that has assailed him after Rosalind's death. He wanted to do something to help Sam in her worst hours, but nothing he was able to do for her would bring Adam back.

Foyle reached out and switched off the bedside light, plunging the room into darkness. Years of practise when Andrew was a nipper enabled him to get to the landing without stumbling over anything. He pulled the bedroom door partway closed and turned on the light in his bedroom at the front of the house. If Sam awoke she wouldn't be lost in the dark.

He went quietly downstairs, banked the fire in the front room and put the guard in place. He collected the wet clothes from the hearth and hung them on the pulley in the kitchen, went back for the dirty cups and the whisky tumbler and then returned to the kitchen. He rinsed everything ready for the morning and filled the kettle with fresh water. He went about his evening routine, making sure the front and back doors were locked, and turned out the downstairs lights after a last look around.

Once he'd finished cleaning his teeth, he turned the landing light on should Sam wake in the night for the bathroom. He checked that she was all right by the light outside Andrew's bedroom, returned to his room and changed into his pyjamas. Once in bed, he didn't bother picking up his book, he was too distracted to read. He turned out his bedside light and belatedly noticed that the curtains weren't quite closed. The earlier rain had stopped, and moonlight cast a pale glow across the foot of the bed.

His heart ached for Sam and her troubles. Adam had been a personable young man with a lot to live for, and he'd made Sam quite happy as far as he knew. He'd missed their wedding while he'd been in America and although he had the satisfaction of returning Howard Paige to face justice for murder, he had regretted not being present at the marriage of his driver and, dare he admit it, friend.

He hadn't known that they were having difficulty in trying for a baby, he, like others, he supposed, just assumed that Adam and Sam were just being careful. Not that he'd given it much thought at all. Like many people do, he had idly wondered if their married life was all it could be, hopefully satisfying and loving. His lips creased with amusement as he imagined Sam jumping into a sex life the way she had in everything else; with great gusto and an unquenchable lust for life. Sam would have looked enchanting with that pale skin and those charming freckles. He recalled the first time he had seen her in civilian clothes and marvelled at how different she had looked out of uniform. He hadn't realised just how, well, squashed, the uniform had made Sam, and had had to avoid staring at her. He did remember being lost for words; fading away with 'umm', as usual. She had taken it as the compliment he had been unable to voice and given him a lovely smile.

Feeling himself becoming aroused at the direction his thoughts were taking, Foyle resolutely turned over, tucked his hands under his pillow and tried to get to sleep.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep or whether or not he was still dreaming when he became aware that he was not alone. He reached for his light, but Sam's hand stopped him. He was feeling quite drugged with sleep and struggled to comprehend what was happening.

“Sam? What's the matter? Are you ill?”

“No. I'm so cold, I can't sleep on my own.”

Foyle, suddenly wide awake, sat up.

“You can't stay here Sam. Go back to bed, and I'll sit with you until you get to sleep.”

She shook her head stubbornly, but her voice was quiet.

“No, you'll get cold too. Please don't turn me away, I couldn't bear it.”

Foyle was still trying to get Sam to go back to her room when she lifted the bedding and slid in beside him. He backed away, already resigned to the fact that she was staying. He didn't have the heart to throw her out, and besides, what harm would it do? Who would know?

Seconds later, he wasn't quite so sure. Sam followed him and lay against his side, moving his arm so that she could get even closer.

“Sam, this isn't a good idea.”

The moonlight had moved up the bed since he had fallen asleep and now it illuminated Sam's face beside him. He could see the stubborn set to her expression, but in a moment of startling clarity he also saw the desperation underneath. Her next words nearly stopped his heart in his chest.

“Kiss me.”

While he was trying to come up with something that wouldn't make him sound like an old maid clinging to her virtue, he clapped a hand on the one trying to undo his buttons.

“Sam, you are still suffering the effects of shock and the whisky. I can't let you do this.”

She appeared to ponder this thought for a moment.

“Okay, I'll do the kissing then.”

As good as her word, she leaned in and planted a scorcher on his lips. He was so distracted by the sudden onslaught of powerful sensations that he found himself responding despite himself. As soon as he realised, he pulled away sharply, feeling both guilty and bereft.

Sam had decided that actions could speak much louder than words, so she moved her left leg over his and ran her foot down his shin as she slid her hand across the exposed part of his chest before dropping a kiss there.

Foyle had no doubt that he could overpower Sam and dump her on her backside on the floor, but he was very loath to do so to a woman in such pain. He frowned in indecision, torn between what was right and proper, and what Sam wanted. And for some extraordinary reason, she wanted him.

Another kiss landed on his cheek.

“Sam, Sam, stop this at once. You are drunk, you're not thinking about this.”

Christ, now he did sound like a virginal schoolteacher.

She nibbled his ear.

“Not drunk. Finished thinking, thank you.”

Desperation entered Foyle's voice as he fended off the wandering hand, which was now perilously close to his cock. The same cock that was mutinously hard, despite his good intentions.

“Sam, you have to stop, you are not in your right mind. You are grieving, for God's sake woman! Think about what you are doing!”

She paused, and Foyle thought that he'd got through to her.

“Already thought about it. Still want you...”

Foyle's mouth opened to deny this possibility, when her next words stopped him in his tracks.

“Have done for years, but you dinn want me. You ran away to 'Merica, leaving me 'lone. Married 'cos he asked me. You didnn'!”

Sam took advantage of his shock and her hand gravitated downwards to claim her prize. Her whisper was quietly exultant.

“Your mind might not want me, but your body does!”

Foyle was in no position to deny her comment, as she was in full possession of the...er...facts.

But that didn't mean he wasn't going to try.

“Yes, well, my body is not making my decisions for me...”

Sam's grip was firm but gentle as she moved and Foyle gasped. It had been a very long time since anyone's hand but his own had touched his cock, and he had forgotten just how good it could be.

“Dear God woman! Please stop.”

While I still can.

Sam's breathy laugh was something he never expected to hear – ever.

“Just relax, I won't hurt you...”

Foyle didn't have enough hands to fend her off; she seemed to have acquired extra from somewhere. It was like wrestling with an octopus, although admittedly a very attractive affectionate one. As fast as he moved to stop one hand, another dived in elsewhere. What was worst however, was that he really didn't want to fight. It would be so easy just to give in to Sam's demands and satisfy them both. To his alarm he felt his pyjama cord give way and the bottoms begin to slip.

Fine.

“Sam, please just stop for one moment.”

She hesitated for only a fraction of a second at his sombre tone, but it was all he needed. He grabbed both of her wrists and wrestled her on to her back, pinning her with his body.

Perhaps not the wisest move.

He levered his chest up to look into Sam's face.

To his surprise, she just smiled as if she had planned the whole thing. Her legs parted and there was nothing he could do to prevent his hips from pushing down on her. She rocked her hips against his arousal and sucked in her breath as he ground against her. Sweat popped out on Foyle's forehead as he fought to remain still.

“Sam. I'll do what you seem to want, but only on the condition that I know you are doing this of your own free will, and not because of grief or alcohol.”

He felt her body 'give' under his and she opened her eyes. The moonlight gave her an ethereal glow and her dark eyes glittered as they met his.

“I know what I'm doing and I won't blame grief, or alcohol -or you- tomorrow. This is the first time I feel I've been in my right mind for a long time. Please let me have just one night of...of comfort, so that I won't feel so alone.”

Sam tugged gently with her arms and Foyle released her hands, propping himself on his elbows instead. He felt a lot more intimate with Sam now that he wasn't distracted by her shenanigans, but he still hesitated.

Sam pulled his head down to hers and kissed him. The almost hesitant tenderness disarmed him completely when he had been expecting forcefulness. When at last the kiss ended, Foyle was breathing quickly, and he knew that he was lost. He would do whatever she wanted. He initiated the next kiss and this time he coaxed her mouth open to delve deeper, teasing at her tongue with his. It seemed to go on and on, and he recognised, with pleasure, that she was responding with the same fervour as he. When finally they had to part for air, he knew from her ardent 'Christopher!' that Sam was with him and not seeking solace with just any man. While they had been kissing, Sam had run her hands down his arms, sweeping the loosened cotton jacket off him. He had shrugged out of one sleeve, then the other and she had flung it aside. Now he leaned back on his heels and looked down at Sam. She had come to him only wearing the jacket of the pyjamas and her knickers. He quirked an eyebrow as he touched the first fastened button between her breasts. Sam glanced at him with a secret smile and nodded silently as she rested her hands on his bare thighs, but her gaze soon returned to his prominent erection. She moved to touch it, but Foyle vetoed the gesture as he pulled back to remove the underwear down and off her legs. Once they were discarded, he moved back to resume undoing the few remaining buttons, finally revealing the pearl-pale breasts with their pertly puckered tips just waiting for his attention.

“So beautiful...”

Kneeling over her at first, Foyle took the tip of one breast into his mouth and sucked gently, running his tongue around the turgid flesh that seemed to harden further under his touch. He leaned closer and transferred his attention to the other breast, giving it the same loving attentiveness he had given to the first. At last he allowed his weight to rest on Sam and she writhed under him, massaging his cock between their bellies. Knowing that this was a one night only affair, Foyle was determined to make it last as long as possible, and give Sam everything he could. He kissed and caressed her breasts, occasionally returning to the fervent kisses of earlier, before he paid homage to her neck and shoulders, and the delicately formed bones below her throat. Sam was beside herself with arousal, unfamiliar with such thoroughness in her lovemaking experience. She squirmed excitedly, trying to line his cock up so that she could get him inside her. Although this was usually the bit she liked least because it was often a little painful but thankfully over quite quickly, tonight she had hopes that it would be different. Foyle had other ideas though. He moved off to lie at Sam's side and slid a hand down from her lips to one breast then the other, then across her belly before sliding gently down to the Titian curls below. With unerring skill, he found a spot that had Sam's back arching off the mattress in delight, making her exclaim with pleasure. Foyle frowned momentarily, wondering why Sam seemed as much surprised as aroused, before he moved on towards his destination. He could feel that Sam was more than ready as he slipped a finger inside her, gently testing the way. Much as he would have liked to have made love to her all night, it had been a long time for him and he was pushing the limits of his restraint as it was. As he moved back between Sam's thighs, she threw her arms around him like a woman reaching for rescue, almost sobbing with apparent relief.

“Yes, oh yes, please!”

Foyle lined himself up, gently pushing at Sam's outer lips until he was sufficiently in to let go and slide the rest of the way home. It was simply perfect in every way. He fit in her like a glove, the gentle pressure exquisite. He rested momentarily to savour every sensation, but Sam seemed like a woman possessed. He grinned inwardly – she was! Her hips were rocking, trying to encourage his movement, and nothing loath, he indulged them both. Pulling back until he was nearly out, he pushed back in more quickly, then repeated the slow retreat and quick return several times. He quickly realised that he was going to come too soon if he kept that up, and he wanted Sam to come first if at all possible, so he changed to a simpler, slower rhythm. Only a few minutes later, almost no sooner was the thought in his head, he felt Sam tighten around his cock. Her hands clutched frantically at his shoulders as she stiffened against his thrusting. Her head pushed back into the pillows as she keened in ecstasy. Foyle thrust harder, his grunts of effort adding to the earthy beauty of their mating. The slap of their skin, the ripples that caressed him so intimately, the panting in his ears, it was all more than mere man could stand. The conflagration flared in his loins and he thrust twice more, forcing his seed deep inside her body as he came explosively, spilling himself in the same intense, euphoric outpouring that Sam, even now was still experiencing. He thrust again and again until Sam's cries died away. They collapsed together, breathing heavily, sweaty and sated.

Foyle heard Sam mumble something so he dragged his head up to look at her, while savouring his cock softening inside her. She was laughing and crying and trying to cover him with kisses. He was somewhat concerned at the tears.

“Sam? What's the matter? Are you all right?”

She stopped kissing him to exclaim.

“All right? Am I all right? You're asking me that, after that? I'm a darn sight more than all right. That was bloody marvellous.”

Foyle couldn't help but smile sleepily at her response.

“Well, umm, good. That's...erm, very good then.”

“Oh, I'll say. So that's what all the fuss was about!”

Foyle was somewhat shocked, but his suspicions had been confirmed. This hadn't happened to Sam before. Ever. Her first orgasm had been with him. He reluctantly moved off to Sam's side, already missing the intimate connection of their bodies. He tucked her safely into the crook of his arm, unwilling to let her go far, before he pulled the blankets back up over them both.

Sleep was already dragging Foyle into the dark, but he took one of Sam's hands in his and kissed the palm.

“My dear one. We will talk in the morning, everything will be okay, you'll see.”

“I know. I trust you with my life.”

For Sam, this night had been a revelation. The first time that making love had not been painful had been nothing short of wonderful, but what followed beggared belief. Everything made so much more sense now. She felt warm, energised and yet completely relaxed. Tomorrow would still have to be faced, and it would be awful, but for now she could rest and feel safe for a little while. Spooned in Christopher's arms, she felt the first stirrings of hope that the love she had locked away when he left for America would once more be within reach of her hand.
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Within The Reach of Her Hand