Note: Apologies for the wait - format issues have made the posting of this chapter problematic. Hopefully now it's all sorted out.
This chapter is more, em... well, it's another M-rated chapter xD I've also included a bit of jealousy in this chapter, as requested by Veve. I hope you like it.
As always, thank you to you loyal readers who have stuck with this story, despite its author's unpredictable schedule. I hope you enjoy this final chapter - and please don't hesitate to make any requests for stories you'd like to see played out - I'm happy to add my spin to whatever you'd like to have further imagined in the series. Much love and thanks!

Sam laughed as she looked about for a private place to retire to with her policeman.

'Why don't we move further downhill?' she said quietly, though no one was there to overhear them. 'There's no one about and… well, I don't know… might be rather exciting.'

Foyle was shocked by this suggestion. Such exhibitionism was very un-Sam-like.

'I'm surprised, Sam. Didn't think you'd be willing to get yourself hauled in for public indecency.'

'I'm just not sure how many options we have out here,' she said.

'Perhaps we should… retire to the car?' he said, wincing slightly as he considered it. There was something unsavory about the thought – something problematic, associating their police vehicle with such unprofessional activity.

Sam briefly considered this as well, but mainly wondered how the relative discomfort of the seats would suit the occasion.

'Do you think it's a good idea, sir?'

Foyle pretended not to notice the slip into professional verbiage.

'Wull, like you said – not many other options. Not unless you'd want to wait until we get to town-'

'No,' she interjected, rather too hurriedly for her liking. She felt embarrassed by the brashness of her response, so much so she didn't see the small laugh it brought to Foyle's lips. With every moment she continued to surprise him.

He had to admit, it pleased him to see her so eager. He marveled at her wanting him so much.

'What about the woods?' she asked suddenly, eyeing the forest and hedgerow that stood a hundred yards to the west.

Foyle furrowed his brow skeptically, shaking his head.

'I wouldn't think it'd be too comfortable.'

'Jolly romantic, though,' she said. In her earliest days working with Foyle she'd had to fight back occasional fantasies of him ravishing her against an oak tree.

Despite himself his eyes gave away his amusement. He secretly agreed – it would be very romantic.

'Would there be insects, do you think?' he asked.

She thought for a moment.

'We could bring the blanket,' she said. 'And if there's any trouble we can just… relocate.'

Without another word he stood, adjusted his hat and handed her up from her spot on the picnic blanket. Then they quickly stowed the basket and dishes in the boot of the Wolseley before looking about and making a swift jaunt toward the woods.

Foyle's mind was racing. What if someone catches us? He thought. God forbid, there could be a hunter or fisherman passing by at any moment.

They crept into the woodland cautiously, Foyle all the while looking out for notices of property ownership. There weren't any.

Soon they found a particularly protected spot, where low-hanging tree limbs created a nearly perfect hideout – shaded and densely shielded from the field by wildflowers and brush.

The scent of the bay willow leaves beneath them was wonderfully earthy, mixing with the aroma of forest soil and damp moss. The scent made their impromptu trip to the woods feel somehow more beautiful – as though all senses were catered to.

They swiftly spread the blanket beneath the low tree limbs and returned to one another's embrace.

Sam ran her fingers through Foyle's hair and under his hat as he laid her gently across the blanket.

It had been a long time since he'd last felt giddy with anticipation like this and the feeling was rather invigorating. Their last excursion together had been slow and cautious, explorative in the early stages but passionate in its conclusion. This time they were unafraid, and Sam's hands were fervently caressing him as he removed his jacket.

'Sam, in your planning for this "picnic," did you happen to stop by the chemist before we left Hastings?' he asked, feeling his heart race.
Sam froze.

'…Oh, dear,' she said quietly, her eyebrows twisting into an expression of agony. 'I didn't think to.'

'It's alright,' he said gently, bending down lower to kiss her while his hand traveled into the pocket of his waistcoat, 'because I did.'

Sam suddenly remembered an odd moment earlier in the day, when – before setting off from the station – Foyle had insisted on running an errand down the street. He had assured her he would be back shortly, telling her to return to her tea and leave it to him.

She smiled before kissing him hard on the lips, pulling him to her with such passion he was momentarily stunned. His breath burned in his lungs when she came up for air.

'I wondered why you didn't ask for the car,' she said breathily, her eyes glowing with affection. It struck her as intensely meaningful that he'd thought to prepare for just such a contingency, for she knew he was not one to make such plans lightly.

He took a deep breath to steady himself.

'I thought it would be… indecent, should you be spotted in the car. Wouldn't want people to talk,' he said, giving her his downturned smile.

As he was talking Sam removed her uniform tie. Helping her unbutton her shirt, Foyle began trailing kisses down her neck to her shoulder, paying particular attention to the spot he'd learned was most sensitive. The sensation sent goosebumps over Sam's arms and elicited a girlish chirp from her throat that made him chuckle before running his hands under her and slowly unzipping her skirt/

'I take it we're not on duty now, then,' she said, smiling even wider and tugging her skirt up her hips.

'I am,' he murmured as he rolled up his shirtsleeves, his lips not far from her ear.

'Just the nature of the job's changed a bit.'

Something about the way he was removing his watch thrilled her – he was planning something.

It took a moment for Sam to catch his double entendre, but as she did she felt her face flush warmly. She noticed that though he was looking downward to his work, a coy smile played about his lips, twisting them into that pleasing crooked position she loved so much.

He set off brushing slow, deliberate kisses down her torso. The sound of him shifting about her seemed almost loud when contrasted to the stillness of the wood around them. Everything was peaceful and from a distance the birds were still practicing their music.

Sam shifted into a sitting position, which stopped Foyle in his exploration, and she reached to remove his tie. He stopped her hand with his and brought her wrist to his lips.

'Can I tell you something?' he asked smoothly, eying her.
'Of course."
He paused momentarily to kiss his way up her arms.

'I was worried I wouldn't make it to the chemist this morning,' he said, a slight chill running over him as Sam ran her hand down his back.

'Oh yes?'

He nodded silently, kissing her soundly on the lips.

'But I had a thought-' he continued breathily, 'a contingency plan, really. Had a dream about it last night.'

'What was that?' she asked.

The mischievous smile twisted his lips again and there was something unusually meddlesome in his eyes that fascinated her.

'Why don't I show you?' he said, poised and ready to act upon her instruction.

She had no idea what he meant, but she trusted him wholeheartedly.

'Is it as lovely as you make it sound?' she asked sheepishly, trying to sound mature and mysterious – and not succeeding.

He smiled wider as he thought for a moment, then raising his brows as he considered his response.
'I've been told so, yes,' he said.

She nodded, and as she did so she wondered why he closed his eyes in this manner – like he was suddenly relieved or praising God.

His hands traveled around her hips, anchoring her to him as he pulled her legs on either side of him. Then his kisses seemed to travel further than before, until she realized her legs were over his shoulders.

What on earth -? She wondered, before suddenly being seized by the overwhelming sensation of his attentions. Her legs buckled slightly and she gasped despite herself.

She didn't know how to react. She knew that her body enjoyed it, but something in her conscience bristled.

'Em… dearest,' she attempted, pausing for breath. 'Isn't it rather… unpleasant to be so…-' her felt her face turning red but didn't care, 'so involved?' she finally managed.

He chuckled deeply, his hand traveling back up her thigh toward her knee.
'Quite the opposite,' he murmured, not looking up from his work.

'Do you want me to stop, love?'

'Never' she sighed, much to his delight.

So he carried on, amazed and gratified by the strength of her response. When she'd brilliantly fallen from grace he rested his brow against her pelvis.

She was surprised to find they both were laboring to breathe.

'How did you learn that?' she asked breathlessly. She heard a smile in his voice, though it was obscured from her view.

'A long time ago, Sam. Haven't done it in a while, but, em…,' another steadying breath 'I remember it always seemed to do the trick.'

When he met her gaze his heart swelled to see her blissful expression.

'My god, you're lovely,' he said, shaking his head gently in disbelief.

'As are you, you wonderful man,' she smiled.

It wasn't long after that they found use for the provision he'd brought.

-
The drive back was infinitely more cheerful, as was to be expected. At one point, in an unprecedented move that momentarily shocked Sam, Foyle leaned over and switched on wireless, Vera Lynn's soprano vibrato trilling out of the dashboard.

Foyle's arm stretched across the back of the seat, looking so relaxed it made Sam want to laugh. The romantic overtures of Lynn's words (~I've never loved anyone the way I love you. How could I, when I was born to be just yours?~) compounded with the sun-shiny country drive seemed almost farcical in the light of the hour or two they'd just passed on the roadside.

For his part, Foyle wasn't ignorant of it either. Still, he found that he was suddenly feeling younger – perhaps even Sam's , how simple things can take years off you,he thought.

During long trips like this Sam often yammered for a while, telling stories from her time in MTC training or asking countless questions about the cases Foyle was working on. But today there were several moments when neither of them spoke for miles at a time.

At Sam's insistence Foyle even cracked open one of the crime novels Sam had brought back from her Uncle Aubrey's. Such stories were, at times, exasperating to Foyle – on occasion he'd find himself interjecting his own observations (That's ridiculous, you've no basis for that accusation!) - but he decided to put aside his distain just this once, and to read aloud to Sam. Sam was in heaven, and Foyle would occasionally pause between paragraphs, lost in admiring her beaming expression.

At one point Sam noticed his unusually long pause and looked to see if he had fallen asleep. She saw that in fact he was awake, his eyes cloudy and smiling as he leaned against the back of the passenger seat. He quickly looked out the window, but his attempt at subtlety was futile. She smiled.

'Penny for your thoughts?' she said.

He huffed a chuckle before reaching up to scratch his brow, embarrassed.

'Nothing important," he said.

She refused to accept this answer.

'But if wereimportant…?' she prodded.

'Thennn…" he bit his lip as he thought. 'I'd have to tell you that, em… I was thinking about the future.'

Her heart seemed to stop and restart at this.

'What about it?' she asked with a false ease and casualness, feeling her neck go hot.

'Wull, just… picturing you in a few years' time, you know – maybe a mother with children…' he said this cautiously, mot looking at her. The smile in his eyes hadn't completely vanished, however, and as he trailed off again she felt certain he was looking back on this image of domestic Sam-itude.

'Well,I'd like to have children, but I suppose you've got to have some say in the matter,' she said in a businesslike manner. 'Do you think you'd like to have children again?'

His brow creased as he pictured it – pregnant Sam waddling around the house, arguing that "of course she'd still drive him! She's pregnant not useless!"The image made him smile.

'Might have to relearn some things,' he said slowly, 'but I think the idea of having a small Sam running around the house could be interesting.'

His mild-mannered language didn't sit well with Sam at first, until she realized that he was now beaming at her.

'Does that mean we're getting married, sir?' she asked.

'Sam, I thought we agreed you wouldn't call me that,'

'Oh yes, of course. Sorry.' She straightened her shoulders and tried again.

'Do you want to get married, then?'

This time he laughed fully.

'God, Sam, you can't make it easy, can you?'

'I just thought you'd like to be frank about it. After all, I'm not having children out of wedlock-'

'No, of course not!-' he closed his eyes in supplication. She smiled again. She was enjoying herself, he noted.

Then they were quiet again.

'Let's get some tea,' she said suddenly, nodding toward a small café on the outskirts of the next village.

'Then we can talk properly.'

They pulled up to the café, Sam removing her gloves and hat as they walked in.

It was a casual eatery of sorts, and as was expected there were very few people dining – only a few women and a pair of elderly ladies sharing tables by the windows. There was a till by the back, where a young man quickly caught sight of them and came to the door.

One thing Foyle had to admit – during wartime there was usually swift seating.

'Do you suppose they've got any battenberg? I'd kill for it,' said Sam, not noticing that Foyle was hardly paying attention.

'Sam, I hope what I said wasn't too sudden,' he said, his eyes exposing his deep unrest.

'No, not at all,' she said. 'I've imagined you with children many times.'

She said this as though it was nothing, but for Foyle it struck him powerfully.

'You have?' he asked softly.
'Oh yes!' she continued. 'Of course, it wasn't much of a possibility at the time, just a fantasy. I wondered what you were like with Andrew when he was small, and I found I liked what I imagined.'

'What did you imagine?' he asked.

Sam's eyes became more earnest when she saw how serious he'd become. Her tone reflected the shift in tone, and they were soon staring deep into each other's eyes.

'I'd imagine you were a wonderful father,' she said. 'Wonderful men generally make wonderful fathers.'

He swallowed, hoping it wasn't too noticeable that his heart was beating in his throat.

'And… what about our ages?' he asked, almost breathless. 'You can't say it doesn't matter.'

'It doesn't to me,' she said. 'And besides, your eyes are quite lovely – I'd like to see them as often as possible.'

This got him, and before he could stop them he felt his eyes water as he absorbed her words. Sam wanted to have his children.

'They'll be a nuisance, you know,' he said, fighting until he could better control himself.

'Granted it's been a while, but that's something that will never change.'

'We can handle it,' she said calmly.

They were interrupted by the waiter, who took their orders on a small notepad. Before he left he closed the notebook and looked at Sam directly, his expression sheepish.

'I beg your pardon, miss,' he said, shifting from one leg to face her more directly, 'but I was wondering if you live around these parts. I've never seen you come in before is all.'

'Oh! No, I'm out in Hastings,' she said, smiling.

The waiter smiled, and when he saw his smile Foyle instantly disliked it. The expression in his eyes when he looked at Sam suggested he was interested in more than just her personality – particularly the way he looked her over now.

'Well, if you're ever out here again, I hope you'll stop by again. I'd be glad to take you to the pictures, if you're free,' he said, handing her a slip of paper.

Foyle's eyes lowered to the table and he chewing the inside of his lip, trying desperately to hide his disdain.

Sam was clearly uncomfortable, and while that was sometimes amusing to watch he found it thoroughly unnerving now.

'Oh,' she said awkwardly, taking the paper reluctantly.

'Uh, thank you… but you see, I'm already stepping out with someone.'

Foyle looked up from his spot on the table, his eyes warm, a hint of a smile creeping into the corner of his mouth.

The waiter was unperturbed.

'Ah, well, what he doesn't now won't hurt him, 'eh?' he said arrogantly, picking up the empty bread basket to return it to the kitchen. As he turned to leave his final gesture was enough to make Foyle close his eyes in frustration: he winked.

Sam scratched her temple nervously as she looked away from Foyle. He didn't know what she was embarrassed about.

After a few short moments of silence Foyle looked into her eyes.

'Well, that was interesting,' he said, lightening the mood. She smiled a crooked smile at him before drinking her tea.

'I'm sorry about that,' she said.

'Don't be. Not your fault you're attractive.' She felt herself go warm and fuzzy when he said this, though she tried to maintain an expression of modest incredulity.

'I don't know about that,' she said.

'I do,' he said matter-of-factly.

''Course, it might have been more effective if you'd said you were engaged.'

She set down her teacup.

'I don't know that I'd want to joke about that sort of thing,' she said, not quite realizing his point.

He tried again.

'What if it wasn't a joke?'

She scanned his eyes - of course he wasn't joking. He wouldn't joke about something like that.

She felt lightheaded, but she somehow didn't mind just now.

'Really?' she murmured breathlessly. He nodded, blinking one slow blink and smiling beautifully.

She kissed him across the table, not caring how the old ladies made nasty faces at her from across the room.

They sat in silence as she held his hand.

'I take it that's a yes?' she said, his eyes crinkling happily. She nodded, her eyes watering as she returned his smile.

'Absolutely."

It was very late when they arrived at Foyle's house, but neither of them minded. The drive back had been wonderful, and they decided to settle in for the night as soon as possible – Sam's neck was starting to twinge again, and Foyle was utterly exhausted.

But as they lay together comfortably, they both felt unutterably happy. The moonlight streamed in through the windows, casting long shadows across the floorboards.

'Well, at least one good thing came of the SOE's meddling,' Sam said dreamily as she rested in his arms.

He looked down at her curiously.

'We wouldn't be here now if they hadn't,' she said.

She laid back down on his shoulder, and as he stroked her hair he thought about this for a moment. It was true, in a terribly ironic way. It was also strangely powerful, this notion that an attempt on their lives had ultimately brought them together. Perhaps it was the appreciation of how valuable life was, or perhaps the crash had simply been the catalyst the universe employed to set fire to the emotions He and Sam had been too afraid to acknowledge. Whatever the case, there was a beauty to it that could not be denied – cruel, stunning beauty.

In his daily work Foyle had developed an almost clinical view of romance. Certainly he'd had his share of it in the past. But since Rosalind died he had witnessed countless crimes of passion, crimes of the heart, murders for the sake of love. As such, his experience with romantics in recent years had been instances wherein he was forced to balance duty to the law and his understanding of the human condition. He had become accustomed to weighing love on Justice's scale. How cold that seemed now.

In addition, the loss of his wife had left Foyle feeling empty, lonely for years. Letting go of that emptiness had proven difficult for him, even when he first realized he had feelings for Sam. In his mind falling in love had become a betrayal or a negation of the seriousness of his love for Rosalind. When he thought of how he'd almost lost Sam, as well, he saw what a disguised blessing the accident had been. It had woken him from his complacency, gradually nudging him back to life. It was a reminder that he was still alive.

Now, Foyle felt as if he was suddenly washed back into old, warmer tides – returned to a previous state of being he thought was long gone; he was experiencing romance without remorse.

His eyes became misty at the thought, and though he hoped Sam hadn't noticed he could feel her looking up at him inquisitively. She brushed her hand across his jaw, gently drawing her thumb through the cleft of his chin.

'Are you happy?' she asked gently, almost whispering.

He softly huffed a chuckle in response before looking down into her eyes.

She felt a tingling sensation all over at the warmth in his eyes. God, how much she loved him.

'Very,' he said finally. He blinked slowly, almost suggestively, and she smiled widely.

'Jolly good' she said at last. And after she gave one last kissing upon his neck, she drifted off into much-needed sleep.