Disclaimer: I don't own 'Waking the Dead' or any of its characters, the BBC has that honour – I'm just taking them out to play for a bit.

Pairing: Boyd/Grace.

Rating: T/M, for adult themes.

Spoilers: S9, 'Waterloo'.

A/N: This came to me out of nowhere – it was inspired by Gemenied's amazing story, 'Stolen Moment' and is a post-'Waterloo' snapshot from the perspectives of Eve and Grace respectively…detailing the interruption of a very intimate moment between our favourite psychologist and Superintendent! This is for my wonderful kindred spirits, shadowsamurai83 and Gemenied – thanks for everything, ladies; hope you enjoy :)

Eve

Oh, Christ. I'm actually frozen to the spot. I'm willing myself to open my mouth and say something, say anything, but the seconds stretch by agonisingly and all I can do is stare. It's an understatement to say that I'm embarrassed but part of me is also highly amused. Not to mention relieved that they've finally seen sense after such a bloody long time dancing around each other. Of course, the very fact that I've interrupted them might well send them scurrying back into their respective safety nets of repression but it's done now and there's no going back. Even if I wished with every fibre of my being that there was some way of making myself walk into this room even a mere minute later. I raise a wry eyebrow. Yes, a minute would definitely have been enough time.

As it is, Peter Boyd is hurriedly trying to do up his belt and Grace Foley is rushing to smooth down her skirt, and they are each wearing expressions of utter mortification which they are clearly trying to mask with feigned nonchalance. Grace's skin is beautifully flushed and even Boyd's cheeks show a hint of colour, the result no doubt of their recent exertion, and each of their breathing is slightly laboured as they try desperately to regain their composure.

Boyd is the first of us to recover, a boyish grin ghosting across his features as he leans back against his desk and folds his arms. "Eve?" he inquires in a low tone, the deep baritone of his voice vibrating through the breadth of his chest.

I clear my throat and force a brightness to my tone that I definitely don't feel. "I was just sorting out my stuff in the lab. Thought I'd pop my head in and say goodbye."

He levels a sceptical look at me. "At midnight?"

I shrug; an attempt at levity. "I didn't realise anyone else was here to start with…."

His eyebrows quirk upwards. "Hmm. Neither did we."

The images that race behind my eyes at his words make me blush like I haven't done in years and I drop my gaze to the ground, willing it to swallow me whole but knowing that unless the laws of physics can change by sheer force of will, I'm stuck with no escape route. I want to look them both in the eye and tell them how happy I am that they've finally succumbed to what was obvious to me within the first five minutes of meeting them but the electric tension in the room is stifling and I'm uncharacteristically dumbstruck. I suppose catching two of your soon-to-be ex-colleagues practically in flagrante will do that to you, regardless of how glad you are that there might be a glimmer of hope for them in spite of current professional circumstances.

I blink out of my reverie and plaster a smile to my face, painfully aware that the awkwardness will only continue to elongate the longer we stand in each other's presence. "Right, well, I'll leave you to it, then," I say and then instantly regret what I've unintentionally implied, wincing as Boyd starts to smirk and in turn amused by Grace's less-than-subtle nudging of his ribs.

The profiler approaches me momentarily, pulling me into a gentle embrace and I feel anguish flood my heart as I realise just how much I am going to miss the people I have come to regard as family over our past five years together. Grace in particular, the nominal matriarch, has always held a fond place in my affection, and as she squeezes me in her arms I have to swallow a stubborn lump that's formed in my throat.

"I'll call you," she whispers softly as she moves to pull away and I'm awash with warmth as I absorb her glow, the contentment settling within the depths of her sapphire eyes.

"You'd better," I reply, fully aware that she'll catch the indicative flicker of my eyes towards Boyd, a mischievous grin forming across my face as her cheeks flush an even more endearing shade of rose.

The man in question approaches me then and I'm more than a little surprised when he brushes a kiss across my cheek, his uncharacteristic affection compounding my sense of loss, but I feel my smile broaden as we part.

"Stay in touch, Eve, alright?" he intones gruffly as he steps back towards Grace, and I have a strong sense that he's holding back from wrapping a proprietary arm about her waist.

"Will do," I say, giving each of them a final smile before taking the opportunity to exit the room, unable to stop myself from rubbing a hand across my eyes once I'm safely over the threshold.

I start to laugh softly, despite my best efforts to the contrary and I move swiftly away from the door, lest they hear me though in less than five steps I wonder why I bothered; it's muffled but Boyd's throaty chuckle is clearly audible, as is Grace's responding mirth and I feel my grin expand with happiness as I make my way through the bullpen. For five years I've watched them alternately draw together and pull away, always teetering on the precipice but never allowing themselves to fall, and the knowledge that they may finally be surrendering to the deeply repressed desires of their hearts and bodies is intensely gratifying. And from the look in their eyes, I'd wager that said surrender is likely to be a permanent state of affairs from here on in. Bloody good luck to them.

Grace

He's just beginning to soften inside me, his breathing still erratically ragged against my neck, when we hear the unmistakable sound of someone crossing the bullpen, their footfall light and quick, and we look at each other in a sudden state of embarrassed panic. Oh, God. I thought we were alone in the building and by the look on his face so did he. He swears softly into my skin, rapidly slipping from my body to hastily tend to himself, and I instantly miss the intimate feel of him, new as it is. My body's still tingling from his determined ministrations, warmth pulsing through my bloodstream in an enveloping post-coital glow, and I'd give anything not to have to rush, the notion ironic given the somewhat undignified speed at which we raced through the act itself.

I don't think either of us meant for it to happen at all, if truth be told. We'd each come here independently to pack up our respective offices, the lateness of the hour deliberate on my part so that I could vent my grief alone if I needed to whilst surrendering the past nine years of my life into soulless cardboard boxes. I'd seen his light on, his mutual presence not really surprising me, and had immediately entered his domain to check on him, my heart lightening at the unexpected peace that seemed to be emanating from his being. I had honestly thought he'd be a mess, however guarded, but he actually had a quiet sense of acceptance about him, his posture relaxed, his body language open as we began to talk, and then to debrief. I still don't know how we went from that to his mouth devouring mine, to his hands holding me firmly against his desk as he deftly manoeuvred us both out of our underwear. But frankly I'm not sure I care. I've been wanting him for more years that I'd like to admit and been in love with him for almost as long, and for us both to finally be at a point where we could let go….To say it was overwhelming is probably an understatement.

None of my fantasies, however, have ever included an interruption by a third party but nevertheless, that's what's about to happen now, whether we like it or not. With shaking hands I tug at the stubborn material of my skirt that's bunched around my waist, forcing it down across my hips and thighs just as Eve enters the room, and I watch the blood drain from her face as she realises in an instant exactly what she's walked into. She always was scarily perceptive, a gift that I'm sure she's cursing right about now. Oh God, all I can think about is the fact that my underwear is still somewhere discarded on the floor and I find myself praying that she won't spot it, relief flooding me when I see Boyd's foot move to kick it swiftly beneath his desk.

I'm also grateful for his smooth recovery when he opens his mouth to address our unexpected guest, their conversation slightly stilted even if Boyd is smirking fit to burst; bloody man. I have to dig him sharply in the ribs when Eve makes a somewhat Freudian slip about leaving us to it; his grin could rival that of the Cheshire cat.

I step forward to hug her, acutely aware of the unmistakable scent of my body, of his emanating from every pore of my skin, but needing to connect with her physically despite the resistance of my mortified psyche. Her lithe, slender body folds easily into my arms and I'm struck by just how much I'm going to miss seeing her every day, the sense of loss that our time together is at an end ripping anew across my heart.

"I'll call you," I murmur gently as I pull away, sadness wrapping itself about my vocal chords such that I'm unable to say anything further to the woman I've almost come to regard as a surrogate daughter over the years.

"You'd better," she replies devilishly, the implication that she wants to be kept in the loop regarding my fledgling…whatever this is with Boyd abundantly clear and despite the fact that I'm over sixty and had considered myself beyond such things, I feel myself flush deeply, my reaction fuelling a broadening of her warm smile.

Boyd surprises us both, I think, when he moves to kiss her cheek and she promises to stay in touch, though she's clearly itching to leave the room. She moves swiftly and I hold my breath until she closes the door gently behind her. For a second there is silence and I can feel the tension coiling in my stomach, can feel it radiating from Boyd in waves…and then we hear her muffled throaty laughter as she steps away from the threshold, and suddenly, spectacularly the air clears. He laughs deeply, huskily, pulling me towards him so that my own mirth is caught against his chest, his arms encircling me as our bodies quiver with a pressure release of an altogether different variety than previously.

I pull back slightly to look at him, absorbing the amusement shining in his charcoal eyes, my heart threatening to explode through my chest. "God, we really picked our moment, didn't we?" I say eventually, his responding chuckle tugging my mouth into yet another smile. "Nine bloody years, Boyd…and this is when and where we decided it would be a good idea."

He snorts. "I'm just glad it was Eve. I think Spence would have had heart failure on the spot."

"Or we'd be spending the rest of our lives paying for his therapy."

He groans theatrically in reply and then bends down to brush his mouth across mine…and, my God, even the barest touch of him sends fire crackling along my nerves again. I always knew that once the floodgate was opened my craving for him would be utterly insatiable and I'm gratified to see that I was right.

"Let's go home, Grace," he says softly, and I'm floored by the intensity of his voice, the depth of emotion burning intensely in his eyes. "We'll come back for all the boxes in the morning."

"Whose home?" I ask, almost sure of what he's implying but needing absolute confirmation, anticipation prickling through my skin.

He shrugs lightly. "Whose do you think would sell for more?"

I smile, unable to contain my joy. "Yours."

"Then your place it is. I'll put mine on the market first thing tomorrow."

"Peter…."

He kisses me again, more firmly this time and I can't help but moan softly against his mouth. "I don't want to talk. I just want to go home…and take you to bed."

I raise an amused eyebrow though his words make me almost weak at the knees. "Actually to bed?"

He grins wolfishly. "Unless we get distracted somewhere else first."

I laugh, unbridled happiness radiating through my soul as I extricate myself from his arms, feeling our mutual elation subside only slightly as we move to retrieve coats and bags, the remainder of our personal belongings, the remnants of our professional lives, already packaged carefully into their cardboard prisons. I take his hand as I watch him gaze slowly around the empty shell of his office, aware that this has been much more than simply a workplace to him. I smile too brightly and he takes a shaky, centring breath before leading me from the room without a further backwards glance. It's an uncomfortable truth that we're walking away from the only certain thing we've had in our lives for a long time. But I'm fiercely hoping that what we're heading towards will eclipse it. In every possible sense of the word.

FIN