Work Text:
Paul brings Foyle a cup of tea as soon as the doctor leaves and sits on the side of the bed to watch him drink.
‘You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,’ Foyle protests, his voice thickly nasal through the congestion, but he holds the cup close and breathes in the steam as deeply as he can without making himself cough.
Paul doesn’t bother to respond; instead, he looks around the room, trying for the dozenth time that morning to see it through the eyes of a stranger. He thinks he’s picked up or put away or disguised everything that makes it obvious two people -- two men -- share this space but he’d been in a hurry and he can’t be sure.
‘Paul.’ Foyle’s hand is fever-hot but dry and steady on his. ‘Doctor Garnett has known me for thirty years and been working in Hastings for forty. I don’t think there’s anything in this room that would seriously shock him.’