Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I'm just borrowing things for a while and I promise I'll put everything back exactly how I found it when I've finished. Well, almost exactly how I found it. ;)
"So you never needed me?" Sam asked somewhat heatedly. She'd just learnt that Foyle could, in fact, drive, as he had taken Milner and Edith to the hospital because the baby was due, and she was feeing more than a little put out.
Foyle looked straight at her. "I wouldn't say that."
Sam could only stare. She opened her mouth to ask what he meant when Andrew burst into the empty station. "Come on, people are dancing in the streets!" he said enthusiastically, but then he looked at his father and Sam, and realised he'd just intruded on a private moment between the two of them.
A surge of irrational jealousy shot through him, and Andrew forced himself to calm down. After all, Sam had been one of his father's only companions for…well, years now. They were allowed to have a moment to adjust to the fact that they wouldn't be working together any more. In fact, they might not even see each other any more.
"I'll be outside when you've finished," Andrew said, smiling tightly.
Sam flashed him a quick grateful grin before turning back to Foyle, intent on asking what he had meant before, but he spoke before she could. "You should go, Sam. Dance. Enjoy yourself."
"Aren't you coming, sir?" she asked, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice.
"Er, no. This is a time for young people."
"Poppycock, sir," Sam replied instantly. "It's a time for everybody, and you're hardly geriatric."
Foyle raised an eyebrow slightly. "That's not what you've said before."
"Yes, well, people change, don't they?" Sam said. "After all, you said you couldn't drive."
"I never actually said that," Foyle replied.
"Close as," Sam grumbled, not willing to lose the fight.
"Has Andrew changed?" Foyle asked, his tone deceptively mild.
Sam looked at him. "Yes, he has, and one day, some girl will be jolly lucky to become Mrs Andrew Foyle. But I told him, and now I'm telling you, sir, we're just friends."
"Now, are you coming out to join the party or not, sir?"
"I already told you."
"You gave me a very poor lie, sir, about you being old," Sam replied, unfazed by the glare she was receiving from him. "Like you not being able to drive."
Foyle sighed. "You're never going to forget that, are you?"
She grinned. "Not on your life, sir."
Foyle smiled slightly, and then they lapsed into silence. "Sam, why are you insisting that I join the party?" he asked after a while.
"I'll tell you if you answer my question first, sir."
"You haven't asked one yet," Foyle protested.
"Before Andrew came in, I said, 'so you never needed me'. You said, 'I wouldn't say that'. What did you mean, sir?" Sam asked, her tone and expression serious.
Foyle sighed and started pacing, his eyes glued to the floor. "You're right, Sam, I could have driven myself, but I was told I had to have a driver. I was going to argue the point until you showed up." He started walking in the opposite direction. "You were like a bright ball of sunshine, Sam, that just bounced into my office, and I couldn't turn you away."
"A bright bouncing ball of sunshine?" Sam repeated in an amused tone.
"Well, your hair is the right colour," Foyle replied, looking at her. "After a while, I looked forward to seeing you, like I did with Milner. The two of you kept me from feeling alone while Andrew was away."
Sam smiled. "Well, in that case, you're welcome, sir."
Foyle inclined his head, stopped pacing and stared at the floor again. "But it was you, Sam, that - I - needed. To make me smile. To - to make me - feel - alive. Just by being yourself."
"Sir…," Sam said, blushing and shuffling her feet awkwardly.
"Not any more."
"Beg your pardon, sir?"
Foyle finally looked at her. "You don't have to call me 'sir' any more, Sam. You don't work for me now."
"Mr Foyle is jolly long to use as a form of address," she protested.
"You could call me Christopher. That is my name, after all."
Sam blushed even harder. "Alright, si- Christopher. I'll try."
Foyle smiled. "Good. Now, are you going to answer my question?"
"Which one was that, sir?" Sam asked.
Foyle shook his head. "Why do you want me to join the party?"
"Oh, right, that. Well…I'd really like it, si- Christopher, if weculdsharadace." The last part was badly mumbled.
"What was that, Sam?"
Sighing and finding some courage from somewhere, Sam repeated what she had said. "I'd like it if we could share a dance…Christopher."
Foyle's eyebrows shot up. "Outside?"
"That's where all the music is," she replied. "But we can dance in here, if you like."
"There's no music," Foyle pointed out, taking a step towards her.
Sam looked around. "No, there isn't. But you could always sing."
"Well I don't think you want me to sing," Sam told him.
"Erm, no, I don't."
Sam sighed and pouted. "No dancing, then?"
"I didn't say that." Foyle stopped in front of her, bowed slightly and held his hand out. Sam could only stare for a moment before she took it. "I thought we could make our own music."
"Hmm, I like that idea," Sam replied, smiling. But after a few seconds, she stopped. "No, this isn't working."
"I told you parties were for younger people," Foyle said.
"No, no, the silent dancing thing was good. This…." Sam gestured to the distance between them. "…is the problem."
Foyle frowned. "I see."
Sam stepped closer to him, one of his hands hovering near her waist, the other joined with her hand. Sam stopped with her almost touching his. "Is this okay…Christopher?"
Foyle tried not to show his nervousness. "Let's see how we go, shall we?"
They started dancing again, and while the setting was far from private, the moment they had created and were sharing was intimate in its own way. Sam laid her head on Foyle's shoulder and sighed happily when he leant his cheek against her hair.
Andrew walked back into the building, wondering what was keeping Sam and his father, and he stopped dead when he saw them. Interrupting seemed like a rude thing to do, and Andrew was about to leave when he heard Sam speak.
"I'm going to miss you, sir," Sam mumbled, her voice cracking with emotion.
"It's not like we won't see each other again, Sam," Foyle replied.
"It will be if I have to move back home with my parents, and that's looking jolly likely right now."
"Do you want to stay in Hastings, Sam?" Foyle asked.
"Well, yes. I have more reasons to stay than to not."
Sam laughed. "I know that 'hmm', sir…."
"Christopher. What are you thinking?"
"That there has to be a way you can stay in Hastings," Foyle replied.
"Well, maybe there is," Sam said. "But right now, I don't want to think about it. I want to enjoy the party and the end of the war, and the dancing."
Foyle stopped. "Do you want to go outside?"
Sam looked at him. "Only if you're going to come as well. I want to dance all night long with anyone who wants to dance…but especially with you."
"Well, I'll see what can be arranged," Foyle replied with a straight face, pulling her back into his arms and starting to dance again.
Andrew slipped out of the building quietly, shaking his head. It was so obvious to him now; there was no way he could win Sam back. It was his own fault, really, but she was lost to him forever. He didn't want to try and label the relationship Sam had with his father, but whatever it turned out to be, Andrew decided he wouldn't stand in the way or try to ruin it.
Sam came running out a while later, the smile on her face the most infectious he had ever seen. "Come on, Andrew, let's dance!" she said. Andrew noticed that she had dragged her father out of the building and hadn't once let go of his hand.
"No, thanks, Sam," Andrew replied, smiling.
Sam's face fell a bit. "Why not?"
"I already have a dancing partner."
Andrew grinned. "My father." He grabbed Foyle by his free hand and proceeded to try and waltz with him. Sam had no choice but to let go of Foyle - she was laughing too hard to hang on.
Everybody was dancing with everybody in the streets, nobody was left out, and their laughter was their own music.
All clear at last.