Title: Triangle
Rating: K+
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Not even the eternal line "F*ck me, it's Billy Corkhill! (I was thinking it though)
Summary: Grace is in hospital after the events in "Solidarity" and she has two visitors.
Notes: Firstly, I'd like to thank and blame Gracebe for the title and the general idea (and for many, many other things *hugs*). I'd also like to thank CatS81 for Waterloo Bridge ;-P; and Teddy78 for the general support and being a constant source of entertainment. Also...Joodiff for her awesome stories. And last but not least ShadowSamurai83 for the beta and encouragement.
This story, an add-on to "Solidarity", just had to be written. It might be a little soap opera-is, but with that guest star...seriously? I've rarely been so hyped-up for anything, just by reading a guest star's name. And I'm still sore that they didn't even touch! I wanted a frame for my Billy/Sheila-anniversary icon!
Enjoy!
Triangle
He doesn't like hospitals much. Actually, he doesn't like anything that even remotely reminds him of authorities. Considering his latest encounter, it is understandable.
It seems a little stupid after what he said during their last meeting, but still, he is here now, came as soon as he heard. Not right away, admittedly; he's spent a bit of time grooming himself and finding some of his better clothes.
He's seen the other man, and though he probably doesn't stand a chance anyway, he wants to make an effort at least, not look like a total bum in comparison. She'd never say, but he guesses that she's flown a little higher than the likes of him over the last years. Working with the police, who'd have thought?
The thought is neither here or there; he's come to make a visit to an old friend who's ill. The fact that the old friend is a woman and there's a lot of history between them doesn't really matter, does it?
Tentatively, he knocks on the door to her room, not knowing whether she's asleep or not. It would probably be good, he figures, avoids an awkward conversation. She did say that she didn't mean to mean something by their keeping in contact, after all. She might not be pleased to see him again so soon.
Her voice is soft through the door, but she's awake and knows someone is there, so he doesn't have an excuse to turn and leave. Even more hesitant than before, he opens and peers inside before actually walking in.
"Murray?" Her smile is genuine, though he thinks he detects a hint of disappointment. Could be wrong, though, because she keeps smiling as he walks closer to the bed. Single room, he's impressed.
"Hi, Grace," he says quietly, looking at her with a tentative smile. It's not as easy as it was 28 years ago. "Heard about your..." He doesn't finish, just points to the bandage that hides her surgical scar.
Grace keeps smiling and shrugs, a little embarrassedly. "Didn't plan on making a trip to hospital and ending up in surgery."
He smiles at first, then sobers. "I didn't mean..."
"It's not your fault," she replies gently and holds out her hand for him to take.
They haven't touched like that in such a long time, but he doesn't hesitate and closes the distance.
"It was an accident," she reiterates. "Nothing you could have done or not."
"But you were hurt."
"It happens, Murray." Grace is adamant and it reminds him that she isn't exactly the girl from the rallies any more. He isn't the young man, leaning against a wall in Marble Arch station any more either, but she has changed so much that he can barely reconcile it with his memory. She's a classy lady now, established, well-off, respected. He's dug up a bit of information about her and it is really a long way from Maggie's shitlist to having personal - and apparently amicable - contact with the upper echelon of the plods.
He's silent for a while, trying to make head and tail of all this. It doesn't work really, but he guesses it will be a long time before the world really makes sense to him again.
"Thanks for getting me off, with Lucy, I mean," he says after a while.
Grace smiles and shakes her head. "I told you I believe you. I meant that."
"But it's not the same thing - being innocent and proving it. You know that, working with the plods and all."
"No, it isn't."
"But you believed me."
She nods. So he moves from the chair beside her bed to actually perching on it and taking both of her hands in his. He remembers the smoothness, even though there are now calluses from age. They are warm and she doesn't pull back, just smiles slightly, and so he stays where he is.
"Why?"
Grace shrugs. "Holding on to my illusions, I guess, that not everything back then was a lie. I didn't have many left." There's a melancholy air about her that brings out the thick dialect they grew up with.
Murray smiles. She hasn't forgotten - the rare concession to their shared background. "How do you feel?"
"Like I recently had emergency surgery."
They look at each other, then snort briefly. The hectic movement can't be good, bringing back the pain she is in. She grimaces and he squeezes her hand tighter. She squeezes back and gives him a somewhat shaky smile.
"You okay?"
While Grace slowly regains her equilibrium, he takes a moment to take in her room. A private one, several get-well-cards - three, he counts - and a bouquet of fancy flowers in a vase. With slight embarrassment, Murray looks at the small assortment of wild daisies he picked on the way to the hospital. Meagre doesn't even begin to cover it.
Grace, feeling his sudden lack of focus, follows his line of sight.
The small bunch, in desperate need of a little water, makes her smile. From most men this would be cheap, with Murray it's just him.
"Can you put them into water?" she asks and he almost jumps from the bed, suddenly nervous and awkward.
He's put on a suit, something she's never seen him in, and she has to admit, he still is a striking figure if he wants to be. It's been 28 years and she noticed the first moment that they have been a lot kinder to her than to him. But then, she didn't have the death of a man from her hands on her conscious. It occurs to her that she hasn't even asked him what he's doing now, what he's done in the intervening years.
Between her almost tearful accusation of being abandoned and trying to prevent him from going to jail, actually solving the case and emergency surgery, there simply wasn't time for idle chit-chat.
It seems like an oversight now, but with her withdrawal in Hyde Park, she isn't sure she can ask.
Murray's back with a glass of water and carefully puts in the daisies. It still looks a little odd, but she nods when he places them on the nightstand.
"It's good," she says and offers him a bright, genuine smile.
Sitting back down, he shrugs. "It's not much. Not like this big bouquet over there. I just thought you might like something...from the park."
Grace doesn't stop smiling. "The kids from the office spoil me," she says as she points to the colourful arrangement. "They always splurge their money on flowers when I'm in hospital. I keep telling them it's not necessary, but they don't listen."
With her words, Murray relaxes. Even though she hasn't mentioned a husband, there's the ring on her finger, and there was that plod who was awfully protective.
"They care for you," he offers, the burning question not really answered. Flowers from colleagues, the get-well cards probably too, but it doesn't mean that she's...well...available.
"I know they do. I could just do without the hospital."
"It's really..." The guilt hits again. "You wouldn't be in this, if..."
"That's bollocks, Murray." Grace shakes her head, beginning to feel exasperated. There'll be another conversation like this, at some point, maybe, and she isn't looking forward to it. "You didn't do anything wrong. I'm just a clumsy old biddy."
He wants to protest, if it weren't for the smirk on her face. "Not old," he mumbles instead.
"But a biddy."
"Of course not!" Her smirk widens and he feels caught. And a little embarrassed at how easily she can play him. "A classy lady, you are," he fumbles and feels even more awkward than he did as a gangly teenager during the dance classes his mother insisted upon. It doesn't feel any better than back then, the awkwardness, the embarrassment, the inferiority.
So they lapse into silence.
"Why did you take it back?" he asks after a while. It isn't an accusation, not even much of hurt feelings, even though she can see that it hit him hard. It's not like Boyd, who can turn the most innocuous of statements into finger pointing. And while she's instantly uneasy with herself, she finds this a nice change from the usual.
Shrugging, she grimaces, in what she hopes is a sheepish expression. "I thought...I don't know...I wanted to be honest, I guess."
"Why?"
Once again, Grace shrugs. "It seemed like we had enough lies and enough unfinished business. You wanted me to be honest and sincere and I knew that I was making a promise I would probably not keep."
"Because of that copper?"
He sits up straighter as he asks, even though it sounds as if said in jest. It isn't, and they both know it. Years, decades might have come and gone and there is absolutely no right on either side, and he isn't even... Well, he is jealous, a little.
"What makes you say that?" There is a bit of a flush in her otherwise pale face.
"Bloke didn't like me much," he declares, making her chuckle.
"He doesn't like many people. Treats even fewer nicely..."
"...Except you."
"On occasion." She doesn't really want to elaborate, considering that it would fill weeks of ceaseless talking to just recount the events in her acquaintance with Boyd. To explain them would probably take even longer.
"Looked at me as if he'd rather beat me up than 'interview'. Gave you a hard time?"
Grace shakes her head. "Sorry if he was rude."
"It's alright." He smiles. It really is. He can't explain it, but there is something between men when they step onto the turf of another. No woman, psychologist or not, will ever understand that.
They sit like this for a while longer. He keeps holding her hands and drawing patterns on them. She doesn't mind, doesn't pull back, doesn't stop this slight smile.
His request from a few days ago still stands, but somehow they both think and know that Grace will take back taking things back. It sounds complicated - a little. But isn't really.
She yawns and he takes that as his cue, even though she demurs.
"I'll be back, Grace," he promises, but catches himself immediately afterwards.
Before he can say anything, she has nodded and squeezed his hand. "Make sure that you do, Murray. Please."
As he leaves the room, her smile firmly before his inner eye, he realizes that couldn't help but promise.
Thank you for reading. Comments would be greatly appreciated.