This is a relatively short one shot, written as an alternative ending to Series 6, Episode 6 'Yahrzeit'. I didn't like the way that episode ended at all, and so have written a new one in which Sarah doesn't play a role. It does however take place at the Jewish cemetery. Think the beginning of the scene at Mel's grave and you're in the right place. The fic is Boyd/Grace with an exploration of the Boyd/Mel father/daughter relationship. It was written as I have slight writer's block with my ongoing fic 'Halos'. I will get a new part of that up soon. I hope.
A gentle breeze was blowing; it was February, cold and grey with a soft smattering of rain. The last of the winter. Cold suited Detective Superintendent Peter Boyd. His manner exuded coolness; his personality was wrought with ice and he knew it. He knew that he was too hard on his team, to hard on himself. He knew that his words hurt those who he could consider his friends. He knew that, for Grace especially, his insults cut through their souls as a dagger slices skin. And for that he was sorry. Strangely, being sorry made him feel calm, a state he couldn't achieve unless remorse had tamed the ugly monster inside him. He felt reassured that his heart could still experience emotion. It felt good. And yet Peter Boyd wanted to explode. He wanted to scream and cry and pound his fists in rage. He wanted to tear something… anything apart and paint it red. He wanted to damn his demons and condemn them to a life in chains. He wanted to feel the fire inside. He wanted to burn for her and to cry for her. He was here to find her, to find closure, to find something… He needed something.
He stalked between the blue-white stones, standing like broken angels in the silent cemetery. But they weren't angels. Not to him. His monster would only rest when he had found his angel. The one he hadn't been able to save. The one who deserved to be remembered above all the rest. The one whose life should not have been extinguished. Anyone but her, anyone. He had purposely blinded himself to his grief until now. All the feelings of sorrow and resentment and regret had built up inside him and were threatening to explode, to pour from him in streams of bitter tears. He could feel their fury spitting at his eyelids. He unclenched his fists, revealing brutal white marks on his skin. As the blood flooded back it soothed the pain and soaked him with relief. The dam had not yet broken. His defences were not totally destroyed. He felt safe.
It was late when he found her. The grey of the sky had deepened, as if ink had stained its surface. There was no sunset for him. He did not deserve it. The rain had started again, a little harder, a little more real. It rained for her, wept for her. The droplets trickled over her name as if to comfort her. Amelia. For her the world should have cried. Should've bowed their head in reverence. Should've lit a thousand candles for her that never went out. And yet it felt as if only he cared. He sank to his knees before her. For the first time Peter Boyd was humbled. Humbled by a woman who was more than he had ever been.
It was a dark evening, the sky was covered in soft clouds and the rain was falling faster as the air became cooler. The last of winter. Dark suited Dr Grace Foley. Her job required a fascination with the morbid and the dark, she felt a certain power in it, and she was drawn to it like a moth to a flame and she knew it. She knew that she was too forgiving of others, too forgiving of herself. She knew that she should stand up to Boyd, to release the feelings of inadequacy that haunted her. She knew, though, that for him she could forgive anything – it might be a mistake, a weakness – but she could. And for that she was angry. Strangely, anger gave her a feeling of relief; her monster was not tame for every second of this existence. She felt reassured that despite her quiet demeanour, she could feel white-hot anger. It felt good. And yet Grace Foley only wanted to cry. She wanted to scream and cry and fall to the floor consumed by sadness. She wanted to tear something… anything apart and paint it black. She wanted him to fight away her demons and condemn them to a life in chains. She wanted to feel ice inside. She wanted to grieve for him and cry for him. She was here to find him, to find closure, to find something… She needed something.
She wandered between the blue-white stones, standing like broken men in line for the guillotine. But the weren't truly broken. Not to her. Her monster would rest only when she had found her shattered man. The one she hadn't been able to save. The one who deserved to be comforted above all the rest. The one whose grief should not have been allowed to lie unchallenged. Anyone but him, anyone. She had purposely blinded herself to his pain until now. All the feelings of sorrow and resentment and longing had built up inside her and were threatening to explode, to pour from her in streams of bitter tears. She could feel their fury spitting at her eyelids. She clenched her fists, wanting to carve brutal red marks on her skin. As the blood was stopped from flowing it numbed the pain and drenched her with relief. The walls had not yet fallen. Her defences were not totally destroyed. She felt safe.
It was late when she found him. The grey of the sky had turned black, as if oil had soaked its surface. There were no stars for her. She did not deserve it. The rain was pelting her body now, harder, oh so real. It poured for him, wept for him. The droplets trickled over his back as if to comfort him. Peter. For him the world should cry. Should bow their heads in respect. Should light a thousand torches for him that will never go out. And yet she felt as if only she cared. She sank to her knees beside him. For the first time Grace Foley was humbled. Humbled by a man who was more than she had ever given him credit for.
Grace held Boyd in her arms as he cried. She kissed his head and stroked his back. The rain soaked them, the droplets falling as needles, piercing their skin with an icy fury. Tears stained her cheeks as well as his, like oil on satin. Tears mingled, his… hers… the rain… Neither knew. Boyd raised his head, anxious to heal her pain too. As he adjusted his arms, she slipped into them, her head against his chest, her hands in his. He kissed her head and stroked her back. He twisted her fingers in his and brought them to his mouth. They stayed entwined for an eternity – it might only have been hours but it was their eternity, their moment forever.
They left Mel when dawn began to paint the sky with the gentle blues of a new day. They had both been tender, but always careful never to step beyond the boundaries of what was acceptable. It was a deep understanding that ran between them, a newfound love and longing. It wasn't much, but it was something special. The new day had brought new promises. Another case, another investigation, another journey. Another journey that would be travelled together.