Happy Christmas 2017!
A/N Many thanks to Got Tea for the Beta. Without all her never-ending encouragement, help, and kind support this wouldn't be here
Under the Mistletoe.
_
It's getting late, though the music still plays softly, filling the squadroom with the same few annoying tunes – Christmas songs – time and time again in an endless line of repetition. It irks her, for she is definitely not in the right mood.
Christmas decorations are even displayed around the room; some hanging from the lamps, some taped to the walls and some are casually laid across the tables, and a cheerful atmosphere of holiday warmth permeates the air of the basement room. None of it improves her mood. Neither does how messy the room looks with mugs, cups, and glasses of different kinds, scattered around the desks and containing the leftovers of coffee, tea and wine.
Grimacing slightly, Grace sips her mulled wine, gazing at the few elated people still around from her remotely placed chair at the back of the room. Spence and Kat are engaged in what seems like a very cosy chat in a dark corner of the room, a jolly group of admin staff are loitering by the copy machine, and, seated in her own office, a couple of detectives from CID on the second floor are tied up in a rather loud dispute. Eve is nowhere to be seen, but she definitely wouldn't leave without a hug and good wishes so she must still be around somewhere.
The repetitive songs, the ridiculous decorations and the constant stream of cheerful people passing by their domain over the last couple of hours to wish them all a Merry Christmas – it all annoys her today. It shouldn't, she knows, but it does…
She knows why.
It's the bloody mistletoe hanging from the ceiling just outside Boyd's office. The mistletoe he just can't seem to avoid whenever he leaves his office. She has no idea who put it there, but he's certainly capable of nurturing such an idea himself. Simply for the fun of it and from what she's seen so far, he's made a very good use of opportunities it provides him.
She's jealous, and she knows it.
No, she definitely can't find the right Christmas spirit this year, feeling as neglected as she. She's fully aware of that.
Suddenly she notices Boyd entering the room. Damned man looks so relaxed and...joyful…
Gazing around, apparently in search, he soon sees her, aims in her direction. It really doesn't help, not at all, even though she knows all too well he's not really to blame. At least, not completely.
"Why are you sitting here alone?" Peter Boyd – apparently quite cheerful and elated himself – gives her a big, charming smile as he approaches her. With a mug in one hand, he pulls a chair closer to hers – not too close, of course – and settles beside her, shoulder to shoulder, straightening his long legs out in front of him and resting his mug lightly on his thigh. Avoiding looking directly at her, he slowly sweeps his gaze around the room, spending a moment in silence before tilting his head in her direction though his eyes are still roaming, not fixed on anything specific as he says, "You don't look too happy... "
A non-committal, "Mm-hmm," is all she's willing to offer him at the moment.
"Grumpy?"
She's annoyed. Hurt even... How can he ask? He must know, surely… Isn't it obvious?
Remaining silent, she deliberately ignores him.
Nodding speculatively, he continues. "Judged by the face you're pulling, you certainly aren't even enjoying your drink."
Knowing all too well he won't stop until she responds, she answers reluctantly. "Could be worse, I guess." She starts slightly elusive, but goes on, pulling a face. "It's way too sweet and by now," she shrugs slightly, "it's lukewarm... disgusting…"
A sigh escapes her. She may as well give up after all; it really isn't his fault. Not completely at least. Besides, bearing a grudge against him for long is hard. "Relaxing, legs up on the sofa and a glass of a good red would really be nice right now. Why ruin a good wine with fruit and spices? It's just a trick to hide that the wine is cheap."
Yet she reaches out for the cup again, folding both hands around it without drinking. Avoids facing him.
Nodding slightly in agreement, he offers. "Yeah, a glass of whiskey or just a beer would be nice, but whatever." He shrugs. Raises his mug in a toast. "Cheers, Grace. Merry Christmas."
When she doesn't respond, he pauses for a moment, then suggests, "Let's sneak out and go home. Have some real Christmas cheer."
"Oh, ready to leave already?" She can't help it, and the words are out before she really thinks about them.
Boyd frowns as he turns towards her, studying her, his expression bewildered, as he asks a confused, "Meaning?"
"No more kissing under the mistletoe?" she replies, tartly.
Still frowning, he looks just a bit like a lost little boy without a clue what he's done wrong as he asks a slightly too sharp, "What are you talking about, Grace?"
"You. Kissing just about every female in the bloody building!"
"Oh, I see..." A laugh escapes him. "Nah, don't believe I missed anybody today... Every bloody woman in this damn station seems to find some sort of excuse to drag me under that wretched weed some fuckwit placed in front of my office door."
Sending him a sideways glance, tone more emphatic than she really intended, she asks, "Every woman?" Folding her arms around herself she turns away from him again.
"Yes! Even half the new DC's from the top floor have managed to find their way down here with an array of excuses. And I've never even spoken to most of them."
"Is that so?" Questioningly, she raises a single pointed eyebrow.
"It is indeed." Shifting uncomfortably, he mumbles, casually turning away from her, seemingly looking at nothing in particular. Raising his hand to his forehead, his fingers push the soft strands away, traveling through his thick grey hair. He starts looking flustered – agitated and tense, even – and she knows that he knows.
"Well, I noticed..." She replies with a snort. "Kat got her peck on the cheek earlier, DS Liz Anderson, too, and your oh-so-very-good-friend, the sergeant from the front desk even got a loud, big smack on the mouth. Eve got a kiss on both cheeks... even a hug..."
"Oh, I see." The tense muscles in his shoulders and neck loosen up as he begins to relax. Teasingly, he looks at her, raising a questioning eyebrow. "Jealous are we? Keeping an eye on me?" Staring suspiciously down his mug, he swirls the contents slowly around, apparently trying to decide whether or not to drink it. Suddenly tipping his head back, he empties the mug in one go before placing it on the desk.
"Even Maureen-bloody-Smith," she spits out, not able to help it.
Rapidly, his head turns in her direction. "Not by my choice, and you damn well know it," he replies emphatically. "The vicious woman took me by surprise, and besides, I'm not in a position to refuse a superior officer, am I?"
"Mm," is all she says, as her lips press into a thin line. Unwilling as she is to accept it, she still knows fully well he's right. "Maybe that's why you looked like she dragged you to the scaffold. It certainly was a sight worth watching – very entertaining." It's a lie, and she knows it. Knows that he knows it, too. Looking down again in her cup, not ready to face him she give up. Whispers, "You still kissed her, though."
Distractedly, a slim finger travels slowly around on the edge of the cup as he speaks again.
"What could I do? Hardly fight off the wicked crone…" Frustrated, he throws his arms out in a gesture of despair. "The damn woman even sneaked a hand under my fucking jacket, not to mention what she tried to do with her th- !"
"For God sake, please, spare me the horrible details! I don't want to know," she mutters. "It was hard enough watching it." Annoyed, she leans forward, forcefully dumping her mug besides his, splashing the contents on the desk.
"You believe I enjoyed it, eh?" He reaches for her shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly, trying to persuade her to turn towards him. "Look at me, Grace. Please."
She's lost the moment their gazes connect; lost in the warm depth of his dark eyes. But she already knows. Knows he isn't to be blamed for what happened today.
"Of course not. No..." Dropping her gaze, unable to keep the close connection, she asks softly. "But what about... me?"
"What about you?" It's nonchalant stated, and there's a gentle smile playing on his lips.
"Aren't you going to kiss me under the mistletoe?"
"You?" He shakes his head in disbelieve. "Oh no, Grace. Not you. Definitely not here." He laughs softly.
"Why?" Leaning back, she can't help it but feel hurt, angered, let down, even. "You've kissed everyone else. Last year you had no problem with it," she points out.
"That was... before... you know. It's just not possible this year, Grace. Simply. Not. Possible."
A long pause passes without words. His eyes are burning hotly with a fierce fire, making her shiver slightly with anticipation, despite the unresolved issue resting between them.
"Why?"
"You know why… I can't just give you a little innocent kiss nowadays. That's… impossible." He swallows, before continuing quietly but with force. "It'll end up in so much more, and that in front of all this lot… No way, Grace. No way! You know damn well where we'll end up."
"You've kissed me once before in public, though. In a police station, and under mistletoe, too." A teasing note is clearly visible in her voice, she knows, and she's starting to feel much better about it all now, too.
"That was years ago, Grace, and I haven't forgotten." He smiles softly at the memory. "The first time we met. At Wandsworth Police Station."
Giggling softly, she remembers, "You sat on the corner of a desk, playing with a yo-yo, caught me by surprise and dragged me under the mistletoe…"
"Where you eagerly responded to my kiss, even twined your fingers into my hair..."
"So much more hair to hold on to back then."
Straight-faced, he asked, "Are you implying I'm going bald?"
"No, of course not. But back then, in the beginning of the eighties, your hair was so much longer than today, and curly, too, if my memory doesn't fail me." She laughs. "Okay, Boyd. If you have no intention of kissing me here, I suggest we leave. Whether you enjoyed your little encounter with the lovely DCC or not, you've certainly got some serious grovelling to do after leaving me to watch that!"
Getting to his feet, he reaches for her hand to help her up and looks down at her, mirth sparkling in his eyes. "And the best way to do that is...?"
Taking the offered hand, she gets up and then starts walking towards her now empty office to get her coat. "Use your imagination. I'm sure you'll come up with something." Chuckling, she nudges him gently in the ribs as he joins her. "You better do, or... "
"Or?" Stopping abruptly, he pulls her close, sneaking his arms around her waist.
Not intimidated, she smiles coquettishly up at him. "As I said, use your imagination, Boyd."
"Mm, home it is, then. Your house or mine?"
"Does it matter, as long as there is a mistletoe?"
"Do we need really it? So far, we've managed kissing to perfection without the bloody thing..."
Even though his deep brown eyes are laughing down at her, his gaze burns with such a simmering hot intensity that she is immediately filled with not only joy but also with the anticipation of what awaits her when they again are shielded behind closed doors. It makes her certain she definitely doesn't need a mistletoe to get not only her kiss but also so much more than that, and she's absolutely no doubt that the wait will be worth it...