Advent
...
Friday 30th November
It's getting late and they seem to be running out of wine. Grace speculatively eyes the now nearly empty bottle she unearthed after the squad room emptied around them and they moved to her office to continue theorising about their latest suspect list. She wonders how much longer he's going to want to stay.
He's sitting behind her desk, scribbling idle notes while she lounges in a chair opposite.
"How do you work with so much crap cluttering your desk?" Boyd asks, sitting back and stretching his arms above his head.
"How do you work in such a utilitarian, sparse, characterless space?" she immediately retorts. He grins at her, slow and easy, and she feels a shiver run down her spine.
"What's this for?" He holds up a thin rectangular cardboard box with a picture of a snowman on the front.
"It's an advent calendar," she yawns, helping herself to the last little bit of wine. The look he gives her is so typical she could see it before it crossed his features. "It's Kat's," she shrugs, taking a sip. "She bought it for her nephew and forgot to take it with her."
"Why is it on your desk?"
Grace ponders the question, savouring a sip from her glass. "No idea," she finally settles on. "She and I went out to lunch with Eve while you and Spence disappeared to wherever it was you disappeared to today." She gestures lazily with the hand holding her glass. "When we came back, it just ended up in here."
He studies the cheerful picture of the snowman, vaguely recalls once watching the cartoon.
December. Christmas. Holidays.
Memories.
Loneliness. Irritation. Overwhelming sadness.
Too many people, too much hassle.
"I hate Christmas," he mutters, thinking of the string of holidays he's spent alone in recent years, with only a whiskey bottle for company, and his silent, brooding thoughts.
She says nothing, watching him with clear, quiet eyes and an understanding expression. For a while they go back to theorising; including and excluding potential suspects based on what they do and don't know so far.
The clock ticks remorselessly on and Grace yawns again, fidgeting in her chair.
"Have you had enough yet? It's getting late," she finally enquires, bored now and increasingly weary.
"Getting tired, Doctor Foley?" he asks, gazing steadily at her, his dark eyes intense and intent. She knows that look; knows it very well indeed. She likes it too.
"I'd say it's definitely getting closer to bedtime," she replies artlessly, for she can also play the game. His answering smirk brings the shivers down her spine back again. Getting to her feet she moves behind the desk to straighten the clutter he has impatiently pushed aside.
"Can you believe it's December tomorrow?" she murmurs absently, glancing at the calendar as she shuts down her computer. "The year's almost over."
"Good riddance," he tells her, signing the form in front of him, capping his pen and gathering his notes. He looks up, sees her questioning look and shrugs. "What? You can't pretend it's been a great year."
He's right, and she nods. She understands. It's been inordinately long and tough for both of them and she won't be sorry to see the New Year in either, but there are some good things that have come out of the last few months.
"It's not been entirely bad, though, has it?" she says, not sure if she's asking or telling. He regards her calmly, the weight of his gaze heavy as he reaches out and captures her hand with his, gently pulling her closer.
"No," he replies, absolutely truthfully. His fingers brush across her cheek before sliding into her hair, combing through the soft strands as he smoothly tugs her into his lap. His lips are infinitely tender as they seek hers, his other arm curving around her back, holding her snugly against him as his fingers slowly, delicately trace along her spine. She's lost in seconds, her rational mind shutting down as her senses take over entirely.
He pulls back, and she's gratified to see she is not the only one who is more than just a little dazed.
"Definitely not entirely bad," Boyd murmurs, and his tone is rough, husky. His fingers are still stroking gently through her hair. He leans forward to kiss her again, firmly intoxicated in the warmth of her, the taste of her, and somehow one kiss becomes two, two turns into three, and they are lost again.
"Let's go home," she breathes against him eventually. His wandering hands still, and his arms tighten briefly around her, holding her close, secure, before he lets her go with a sigh. There has very definitely been one good thing to come out of this year, he muses, absorbedly watching her as she slides into her coat, fastening the buttons against the icy winter night. Possibly the best thing to ever happen to him.
His eyes fall on the advent calendar again; a countdown to Christmas, towards the end of the year. A fresh start. She's right though, it's not all been bad. Some of it's been good. Very, very good. And maybe what's still to come will be too.
Getting to his feet he watches her swing the strap of her bag over her shoulder, slide her hands into thick gloves. Standing by the door, she raises an eyebrow at him and he grins in response, switching off the desk lamp and following her out. He has a sneaking suspicion that he's actually going to enjoy Christmas this year.