Title: Collateral
Rating: K
Disclaimer: It all belongs to the BBC, but I'm willing to buy my share (of the Boyd&Grace-kind, please)
Spoilers: S9 "Care"
Summary: The aftermath of "Care" - an episode add-on
Note: Please note, that this is a one-shot. I have absolutely no intention to continue this, unless I'm hit with time/boredom/an idea that nags me until I write it. Since it is fairly unlikely, please don't ask for more chapters.
Enjoy.
Collateral
The silence in the car is oppressive on the way back, and if there had been a chance for it, she would have found an alternative way back to the office. It's situations like this that make her, for the lack of a better word, mad.
Years of experience - in the job and with him - but when something like this happens, she doesn't know how to handle it. In all honesty, she is in shock right now.
He's in shock himself - that's probably the only thing that keeps her from flying off the handle and ripping him a new one.
They have Karen and Abigail in the backseat, both of them shell-shocked, their faces stony. There are no tears in them, not now, maybe not ever. It is unfathomable what they've gone through these last days, what they've lost. She watches Abi, wondering if there is any amount of therapy that will save this girl from being an irrevocably broken soul at 15.
That takes precedence now, over her anger, her disbelief, her helplessness.
Behind them is the van with Eve, also carrying Max's body. On a purely selfish level, she wonders how she is supposed to write that report. How exactly shall she describe what triggered the final explosion?
She doesn't look at him during the drive and once they arrive at the office she ostentatiously ushers mother and daughter into her domain, basically shutting the door in his face. For a moment he stands there, shocked yet again, but then he turns and disappears into his own office. She doesn't need to look to know that he closes the blinds, just like he closed off his expression.
Sarah brings tea, her face a question mark. It's the first time she's encountered this particular situation and to an outsider, it must appear not only like a complete role reversal, but also out of character - Grace pissed off and Boyd hurt and subdued; to a stranger it must look like the world has gone mad.
Sarah only knows that they have a habit of creatively handling the rules, but she doesn't know what has happened to bring this about. Spencer only takes one look at them and steps back. He can read this particular tension from experience and carefully avoids further upset.
They interview Karen and Abi without Boyd, just a preliminarily record their accounts of the events. As traumatized as they are, much more is not possible.
Grace knows she is that - traumatized - as well. Beyond the interviews, through which she gets on adrenaline alone, and the common courtesy of saying "Good Night", she doesn't communicate any more. It's a trance like state she's in, like being under water. Her reflexes, her senses are dulled, and with a last shred of sensibility, she leaves her car in the car park and begins to walk.
It's ambling down the streets, other people not registering. There is the angrily honking horn of a car as she crosses a street which provides a moment of reality, but it doesn't last. It's more ambling and finally a taxi ride.
She doesn't know how much she paid - too much, surely - but at last she is home, sitting on the sofa. Her trench coat is wet, as are her shoes, and there are droplets of rain running over her face. She didn't really notice that it started to rain while she walked.
It had been dry this morning - when it happened.
None of it matters now. Four dead people in just a few days, Boyd directly responsible for the last one - it's a terrible result. They'll have a hard time defending that; she won't know how to explain Boyd's behaviour.
She hasn't seen him for the rest of the day and is glad for it, because she didn't know how to deal with him. In fact, if she could, Grace would prefer to avoid an encounter even the next day. It is cowardly, she knows, but she fears she'd just fly off the handle at him. What he did this morning, all that happened in that abandoned house, proves that Boyd hasn't heard, hasn't understood, hasn't accepted anything she's ever told him.
Under different circumstances, Grace would search for an explanation, or an excuse, but at this point she is too numb to do that.
The rain droplets begin to dry on her skin in the warm air of the house. It itches, irritates her, just like her wet shoes.
She kicks them off, forcefully pulls off her coat and throws it onto the armchair. It's all so bloody useless and so bloody senseless. What was Boyd thinking? Was he thinking at all?
And why is she analyzing what he, who didn't even stop to consider the consequences of his actions, thinks - now that the damage is done?
Four dead people. Four!
She falls back into the sofa, half-lies in it, and decides that she won't get up from there for a while. Moving is exhausting, it requires active behaviour and after today, Grace doesn't feel like performing any activity. Unseeingly, she stares into the distance. Before her inner eye there are flashes of the green plastic bag - the green a lot more intense than it usually is. Of Karen's grunts, her own as she fought to get it off of her. Abi's face, Max's face.
It all blends into each other and starts to rotate so that she has to close her eyes. It doesn't help much. If your mind could experience vertigo, this is what it would look and feel like.
The door bell rings, much to Grace's surprise. For an insane moment she believes to know who is outside, but immediately dismisses the thought. He wouldn't come by, not tonight. She knows him well enough to imagine him sitting in his flat, or possibly still in the office, and the whisky supply dwindling while he broods over the mistreatment he thinks he's received. Quite possibly he even thinks up excuses, explanations, justifications.
No, it's not Boyd outside and even though she is absolutely convinced, it hurts to think that the last months did have so little impact on him. Maybe it's Eve asking what has happened, or Spence wanting to deal with his own anger, or even Sarah demanding an explanation. It strikes her that she is tired of being the sounding board or the peacemaker every time.
Today especially, she doesn't feel like indulging anybody on anything. For all Grace cares, the world can just sod itself.
However, the door bell doesn't let up - or better - whoever is outside doesn't let up. Why, she can't understand. The house is still dark, she didn't bother to turn on any lights, and since she doesn't react, she could just as well not be there. Still, the ring is persistent and if she doesn't want to have the neighbours go ballistic...
Wearily, she pushes herself off from the sofa - it's a lot more difficult than usual, which she blames on the hard day, not age - and trudges towards the front door. Whoever it is will be told directly, harshly and very impolitely to bugger off!
She rips the door open...and stares.
It's still raining and as wet as his clothes are, he's been standing outside for quite a while. It starts all gentle and nurturing instincts in her and she doesn't really have the energy to tamp them down. Which he knows very well.
"You are wet," she states the obvious.
"It's raining," he replies and one has to wonder if they want to win a competition at the most inane statement of the year.
They are silent after that, even avoid eye contact, and the atmosphere becomes charged with...what? Unease, tension, embarrassment?
"It's still raining," he says after a minute or so.
As if she didn't notice.
"What do you want?" she asks, and it is neither very friendly nor welcoming.
He recoils for a moment, she can see that, and half expects him to turn and leave it at that, but instead, he looks up into her eyes and grimaces slightly.
"We need to talk, Grace."
Thank you for reading. Comments would be greatly appreciated.