@flashfictionfridayofficial
He keeps an eye on Andrew those first weeks, once he's back, back to stay with the war in Europe over at least, and invalided out or as good as six months for his eyes to heal as well as they might to go back to flying. With any luck he'll be demobbed without seeing any more of the war.
The tension in him every morning when he comes down for breakfast, the jumping, nearly running contained to a flinch with an effort, the white eyes when the phone rings through the house - which doesn't happen that often, but often enough.
Oh Andrew...
He's supposed to be retiring, but murders and crimes still happen. But so do fishing days, he brings Andrew with him when he can
He glances up at the blue sky before stepping into the river "Good day for it." At his side, Andrew nods dulley, mechanically. He gets the sense the boy would have done that if he'd said they'd be thick with thunderstorms in half-an-hour.
When he looks back over his shoulder a few moments later, Andrew has crumpled down onto the bank, head in his hands and buried in his knees, shoulders shaking as he cries.
Foyle wades out, sets the rod down, crouches next to him, an arm over his back, drawing him into his body "Oh Andrew...sshhh, ssshh"
"I can't get away... from it." Andrew gulps out between his sobs "Every morning I wake up... and I'm listening for the engines...counting sortees. The phone..." His whole body shudders at that and he cries harder still.
Cry Andrew, let some of it out
"I know it's over," Andrew half-shouts, mostly at himself, seeming about to knock his head on hisknees "I heard the radio, I was out all that night. I Know...so why won't it stop?"
He looks up, so lost, broken, bewildered, a little boy again.
Because you spent the better part of four years in it Andrew, when it meant life and Death, can't turn survival off that easily
"It will, in time." He says softly "Bit by bit, but it will." God knows, I was waking up still on trench clock, waiting for the sound of rifles or shells, even before we got to "Morning Hate" time. Hastings was so quiet.
At least I had my job, changed a bit as it was, you haven't even got that.
















