Title: Blue Skies

Rating: T (some a little higher, but not too much)

Disclaimer: I do own nothing except my joy in writing this.

A/N: Over the last month I've participated in a little writing challenge, that offered a prompt every day and required me to write a story (between 100 and 1000 words) for that prompt. Though I did not manage all, I wrote a few which I'd love to share with you here. Hope you enjoy them.

Prompt 1 was this stanza:

I was blue, just as blue as I could be
Ev'ry day was a cloudy day for me
Then good luck came a-knocking at my door
Skies were gray but they're not gray anymore
("Blue Skies" by Irving Berlin)

Enjoy!

"Waiting"

It's typical fashion that it rains relentlessly. Summer in London lasts for two days in July and three in August. It's only June, so they aren't entitled to blue skies. It's grey and dull and wet and depressing.

She's not having a good day, which is quite frankly to be expected. She rarely has had a good one since this nightmare started; she's just better than most at hiding how she feels.

He is a far cry from having this ability, never deals well with close and personal signs of human mortality. It's different in their job, but on a personal level, he's stereotypical in his avoidance.

Maybe that's why his insistence to accompany her was such a surprise. She's told him that it isn't necessary, that she could manage on her own, but he didn't budge, insisted, and she's known him for too long not to see the futility of her efforts.

So, he sits in the chair next to her, has been sitting for a good half an hour already. He's not a patient man and so the waiting must drive him nuts. It works for her. Every minute is like an hour and she isn't sure how much longer she can stand it. But surprisingly, he still just sits and stares into the distance. At times his hand strays over to hers for a quick brush or squeeze, and the small contacts drive her blood pressure up. It is for a whole different reason than why she's actually here and she counts this as a small blessing.

He doesn't like hospitals, neither does she.

Yet they've spend days, weeks here.

She's tried to be upbeat about the situation, cautiously optimistic as the doctors say, but the surgery didn't do the job and the first round of radiation treatments didn't either. If the second doesn't work... She hardly dares thinking of it.

Chemotherapy is worse than anything she can imagine, and for a brief moment she wonders if she wouldn't rather die than go through the hell that are the side effects. The thought has been with her for days now, ever since she's had the blood tests done. She hasn't voiced it, because they - he most of all - would go mental over it.

She hasn't slept well, hasn't been able to focus, really. But taking time off has been out of question, not only because they are in the middle of a case - and have a deadline - but also because it would have made matters worse, giving her time to think even more.

He's been solicitous, even more so than usual, but so have been Spence and Eve. Between them she's barely had a quiet minute, especially since the Linda Cummings-disaster, and at times that almost made her scream in frustration. But she's grateful nonetheless, relieved that she doesn't have to go through this alone.

It explains, in a way, why he is here. Boyd would never say it out loud, probably isn't even thinking it, but he'd never leave her alone in this situation. So, he sits. And waits. And now takes her hand. She gives him a tremulous smile that intensifies in its nervousness as she sees the doctor's assistant walking towards them.

Boyd squeezes her hand and she's surprised to notice the tremor. But it could be her own fear manifesting itself, so she doesn't call him on it. Instead she gives him another, hopefully encouraging smile.

Unexpectedly, he doesn't just smile back crookedly, but pulls her into his arms and holds her tight, pressing a kiss into her hair. It's almost her undoing, fear and stress and worry coming to a head. Her knees buckle, but he still holds her tightly against him.

"Good luck," he whispers, and those two raspy syllables ring in her ear. But more than that it's his warmth and solidness, and the smell of his after cologne, that stays with her as she follows the assistant.

Less than ten minutes later she'll be out of the office, her grin as wide as humanly possible. She'll feel a lightness she hasn't known since...God knows when.

Though her face will probably already answer all questions, he'll still gets up expectantly and put all curiosity and hope into the three letters of, "And?"

It's possible that she'll give a verbal answer, but it's more likely that tears are running down her cheeks, despite her wide smile. It will be enough to give him the answer and more than enough for him to do something that is so untypically Boyd that she only now realizes just how much her illness has affected him.

He'll pull her into his arms, his embrace almost crushing her ribs. He won't let go for minutes, not even when he'll raise her chin to look at him. Her knees will go weak again, but this time for a completely different reason.

She won't be surprised when he kisses her in the hospital hallway. She won't surprised when he does it again. And again.

She won't even be surprised when he doesn't let go of her as they leave the building.

What will surprise her is the fact that it isn't raining any more.

Thank you for reading. Comments would be greatly appreciated.