Disclaimer: I do not own the copyright for Waking the dead or its characters – all rights belong to the BBC

Content: Boyd and Grace

Rating: K

Thank you for taking the time to read this fic. Sending massive *hugs* to the OHT who are cracking friends – sorry life has been a little hectic for me lately. Here's to special times in London very soon xx Special thanks to Joodiff for doing what Joodiff does so incredibly well! Hope you all enjoy!

The Rose and Crown

The telephone number flashing on my phone and the corresponding name are familiar. Heartbreakingly so. I allow it to ring a little longer than usual, mostly due to surprise, or shock, I can't quite decide which.

The shrill of the continuing tone pierces through my reverie prompting me to tentatively push the accept button.

"Hello," I answer weakly.

"Hi, Grace; it's Boyd."

I take a steadying breath. Peter Boyd. He doesn't need to introduce himself; I could pick out his distinctive voice in a gabbling crowd of hundreds having spent most of the previous decade listening to him. I smile against the handset. If you'd asked me five years ago if I would miss the gruff sound of his voice I would have laughed, probably in your face. The man who almost daily found a reason to yell, more often than not at me, has successfully made my pulse race once again just by finally deciding to telephone. It's been too long since I heard his voice.

"Hi, Boyd, this is a surprise; everything okay?" I attempt to keep my tone light and to hide my joy at speaking to him again. It took me a long time to adapt to not having Boyd constantly in my life. It was a wrench. I mean, how do you go from spending virtually every day with someone, knowing how they think and feel to suddenly having a massive void in your life where they once were. It happened overnight. One day we were tying up a case, the next it was over. Done. Finito. I think it took me longer to adapt than the rest of the team. Maybe it was an age thing, or just the simple fact that I despise change. I did adapt eventually, of course, but that's not to say that I liked it. It was a painful journey to say the least.

"Hmm, yea I'm fine," he replies. "You alright?"

"Yes; yes, I'm very well thank you."

"Good. Listen, the reason I'm calling is I wondered if you were free to meet up this afternoon?"

His invitation startles me. It's been two and a half years since we've seen one another. My heart skips as I answer. "Erm, yea, I can be. What time were you thinking?"

"Around noon, Rose and Crown?"

"Okay, I look forward to it."

"See you later then," he says and hangs up.

I stare inanely at my phone long after he's rung off. Boyd wants to have lunch with me. It's exciting and strangely terrifying. We've been friends for many years, good friends for a lot of them. When he moved on from CCU it felt like the right time for me to go too, so I resigned my post and semi-retired. Of course we both promised that we'd stay in touch but neither of us made the effort, so one week ran into another, and before I knew it over two years had passed.

It was hard, in the beginning. I used to think about him almost incessantly; it's difficult to shake a man like Boyd out of your hair. I found myself getting annoyed at him for not contacting me. Told myself that he obviously didn't care for me as much as I did for him when I was so easily forgotten. It ate away at me, exposing the insecurity I'd fought so hard to hide. So I forced myself to forget him and move on. On the whole I've done exactly that and it's very rarely that I think of Peter Boyd now.

The Rose and Crown on Park Lane is a place we both know well having shared many lunch times sampling their menu and laughing at how out of place this old traditional English pub looks in upmarket Mayfair. We'd found it quite by accident one day while out on a case, and preferred it over our local that was filled with other jaded coppers constantly complaining about something or other. Here we were anonymous, just another late middle-aged couple enjoying lunch together. I haven't been back here since the CCU days, but it hasn't changed a bit, including the bar staff.

"Hi Jill!" I smile fondly at the young blonde-haired barmaid behind the counter. "You're still here I see." I'm relieved to see a friendly face. I've been so nervous about this meeting since Boyd called and have already changed my outfit three times before finally deciding on a flattering navy skirt and blouse.

It takes a few moments for Jill to recognise me but as she does she returns my smile. "How are you? And where've you been? It's been ages since you've been in."

"I retired a few years ago..."

"Aww, really? Well it looks like it's agreeing with you. You look amazing."

"You're very kind."

"It's true. You're a great advertisement for retirement. And what about the tall handsome bloke you used to come in here with? He hasn't been around either."

"Boyd? He's working in security as far as I know; we kinda lost touch. Actually it's him that I'm meeting this afternoon."

"And you choose this place for your reunion, that's so cool. It really is great to see you again; can I get you a drink?"

I don't normally drink this early in the afternoon unless the sun is particularly hot and I'm relaxing in the garden with a good book and no plans for the rest of the day, but today I definitely need alcohol to calm the unexplained jitters in my stomach.

"Chablis, please; a large glass."

Jill nods knowingly and retrieves a chilled bottle from the fridge beneath the bar. I watch as she pours the liquid into the glass and ponder why Boyd has chosen to call now.

It's just like him to ring out of the blue and expect me to drop everything to meet him – and how right he is. No matter how venomously I deny it, it's been that way for as long as I have known him. He calls, I run. I'm so weak.

Glass of wine in hand, I find a table in the corner and wait. The decor of the old place hasn't changed much either. The pub itself dates back over four hundred years and I imagine that when refurbishing they tried to keep with the feel of the past centuries which has resulted in dark woods and reds all around the place. I like it. It's familiar and reminds me of fond times.

I take my mobile phone out of my bag and place it on the table. Boyd was always a stickler for being on time when it involved him waiting, but he didn't apply the same rules when he was the one running late – which in my experience was far more often than he would admit to. So I sip my wine and wait.

The early afternoon sunlight cascades through the window in heavenly beams highlighting the small particles of dust in the air. I watch as they dance freely, swirling this way and that in the atmosphere. The sun is warm on my face, winter finally giving way to the fullness of spring. I consider tidying the borders of my small garden later in the afternoon should the weather hold. It's supposed to be a nice weekend, if the weatherman is to be believed. Lost in my plans I don't hear him approach.

"Hello, Grace."

My heart immediately skips a beat before I even turn my head towards him. His voice so familiar it warms my soul even more than the May sun. I wallow in the moment a little longer than I should before lifting my eyes to meet his but as I do I feel my mouth involuntarily drop open at his appearance.

"Hi, Boyd," I finally manage when the power of speech returns to me. "...It's good to see you." I rise from my seat to greet him and can feel my skin redden as he bends to gently brush a swift kiss against my cheek before motioning me to sit again.

I'm glad of the firmness of the seat beneath me as my legs appear to be devoid of strength and full of nervous tension. Still I continue to appraise him. He looks well; very well in fact. His hair, completely silver, is a little longer than it was when I last saw him, but it is immaculately styled and the goatee beard I loved so much has also made a reappearance, trimmed and evenly framing his face beautifully. But it is how he is dressed that I find most intriguing.

"You look well," he says as he sits, apparently oblivious to my curiosity. "Obviously time away from me has given you a new lease of life."

I study his face carefully wondering if he is merely opening with banal pleasantries or is genuinely being serious. That's the thing with Boyd, when it came to compliments paid to me I was never quite sure.

"Thank you," I offer in reply, "you're looking well yourself... if not a little over dressed, even by Mayfair's standards."

I smile, amused as he drops his head and looks down towards his clothing, for Peter Boyd has arrived at the Rose and Crown pub dressed in a dark grey morning suit complete with cravat. His gaze returns to me and I wait for an explanation which he offers quite easily.

"I'm supposed to be getting married today..."

Tbc …