DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.
Happy New Year to one and all! :)
End of an Era
by Joodiff
Amused, Grace leans a little closer to her companion and murmurs in his ear, "We're being watched."
"We are?" Boyd says, frowning slightly. He glances up for a moment then snorts. "You'd think after all this time they'd have far better things to do."
She chuckles in response and sips her drink. They are very definitely being watched, and not just by Eve and Spencer who are standing by the bar. Some of the other former Cold Case Unit staff in attendance are more subtle about it than others, but there's a swirling frisson of palpable anticipation in the air, as if a good section of the assembled crowd are expectantly waiting for something. Oh yes, there's a definite undercurrent in the room, and Grace is fairly sure she knows exactly what's behind it. This isn't just New Year's Eve; for some this is also the much-delayed last hurrah, the end of more than a decade of comradeship and hard work. After all, a few of the people present were an integral part of the now-disbanded CCU from the very start. Still others have been around for almost as long. Even those viewed as relative newcomers were once enough of a part of the odd, dysfunctional family to be casting quick, furtive glances in their direction.
Quietly, she says, "Well?"
Boyd shoots her a sideways look. "What?"
She rolls her eyes pointedly. "You know as well as I do what they're waiting for."
"And they're going to continue waiting for it, too."
"Oh, you're so cruel," she chides him, only a little exasperated. "What harm could it possibly do now?"
His expression speaks volumes. "What, now I've finally thrown my entire career away in a fit of pique, you mean?"
"I didn't say that," Grace tells him calmly.
He grimaces. "That's what you're thinking, though."
She sighs patiently, watches as he takes another deep swallow of whiskey. "We both know you weren't going to stick it out at Hendon, Detective Chief Superintendent. You're just not cut out to be a teacher. Look, do we really have to argue about this tonight?"
"No," Boyd says simply, leaning back in his chair. He raises his eyebrows at her. "Well? Go on, then. Give me one good reason why we should pander to their prurient fascination with our private life."
"It would be a charitable act."
Again, he snorts, but in amusement rather than disdain this time. "I doubt Spence would see it that way."
Trying her best to hide her answering smile, Grace inquires, "So? Are you going to kiss me, or not?"
"In front of this lot?" Boyd asks. It's very definitely a rhetorical question. "Not."
"Coward," she teases him.
He shrugs his broad shoulders nonchalantly. "If you like."
"Everyone knows we've been…"
He gazes placidly at her, a clear glint of mischief suddenly visible in his dark eyes. "Yes…?"
Inspiration strikes from nowhere. Triumphantly she says, "'Seeing each other'."
The fierce grin he gives her in reply comes with teeth. "Oh, good save, Grace. Well done."
"It's New Year's Eve," she points out doggedly after a moment. "We haven't seen half of these people for months and the chances are we'll never see most of them ever again. Why not give them something to gossip about?"
"I don't perform on command."
"No?" she asks slyly. Something dangerous and surprisingly erotic momentarily sparks between them.
Boyd glowers. "You know exactly what I mean."
Knowing the question will infuriate him, she asks gravely, "Are you embarrassed, Peter?"
He glares even more forbiddingly at her, dark eyebrows drawn heavily down. "Oh, for God's sake… why are we even still talking about this?"
"You are, aren't you?" she needles him with a deliberate smirk.
"Piss off, Grace. Go and annoy someone else."
"It's nearly midnight, you know."
"Good. Leave me in peace and go and sing Auld Lang Syne with Eve and Spence."
It's really no more than she expected, his absolute refusal to play along with her. For all his fiery temperament, Boyd is not a demonstrative man. Nor is he a sentimental one. Truth be known, Grace rather likes him that way. Strong, stubborn and extraordinarily taciturn in matters of the heart. A man's man. She can recognise a lost cause when she sees one. Getting to her feet, she pats him gently on the shoulder. "All right. Stay here and sulk if you want to. I'm going in search of champagne."
"Go on, bugger off," he growls at her, but the animosity is entirely feigned and she absolutely knows it.
Pulling a face at him, Grace heads towards the bar, picking her way through the noisy crowd. Certainly not everyone present is from their former unit, but almost everyone is from the ugly, utilitarian Metropolitan Police building that grudgingly housed the CCU for years. Police officers, technicians, civil staff; many of whom she recognises and exchanges a smile or a nod with. The Royal Oak always has been renowned for the unique character of its clientele, and for years it has been willingly hosting private parties of one kind or another for its formidable neighbours. This one isn't much different. Except for some it's rather more than just the celebration of an incoming new year. For some it's the final page of the very last chapter of –
"Grace," Eve calls loudly, interrupting her reflective musings. "Come and get a glass of bubbly."
She misses Eve a lot. Misses her pragmatism and her dark, sardonic sense of humour. Misses her intelligence and her unrivalled ability to quickly grasp the essence of any conversation, no matter how bizarre. In just a few days, Eve will be gone again, heading back to Manchester and the new life she's built for herself there. Smiling a little ruefully, Grace joins her erstwhile colleagues at the bar, murmurs words of thanks as a slender champagne flute is pressed into her hand.
It's Spencer who nods towards the solitary figure still sitting at one of the small circular tables at the very edge of the room. "What's up with him?"
"Performance anxiety," Grace says flippantly. Then she shakes her head. "Actually, if you want the truth, I think it's finally beginning to dawn on him that he's well and truly burned his bridges this time. They're calling it garden leave at the Yard, but I think we all know what's coming."
"Tell him to hold out for the gold watch," Eve says, not altogether seriously. "Anyway, I thought we decided – no shop talk tonight."
"We did," Grace agrees. "What's the time, Spence?"
He glances at his watch. "Just gone five to."
The background music abruptly dies away, its presence barely missed amongst the amount of laughter and chatter that fills the room. Someone starts eagerly calling for attention as the bar staff helpfully turn on the radio in preparation for the traditional midnight chimes, and Grace is forcibly struck by the swell of cheerful camaraderie in the room. Another thing she misses. Semi-retirement is suiting her remarkably well, but it's strange to no longer be an intrinsic part of a close, dedicated team. She wonders if Spencer and Eve feel the difference as keenly as she does. Perhaps not, given that they are still concentrating hard on their careers, still working diligently to achieve the kind of success she's already enjoyed.
A loud, boisterous but somewhat ragged countdown announces the impending New Year, and Grace can't quite help joining in with it. The excitement is infectious, if ultimately meaningless. Even Boyd is finally on his feet, she realises. On his feet and heading steadily towards them through the crowd. He looks a little like Moses parting the Red Sea as people rapidly and instinctively move out of his way, and the thought stirs a distant memory that still makes Grace smile years later. The daunting Mrs Baptiste inexorably bearing down on Boyd much to his obvious alarm. So many years ago now…
The chimes have started, almost drowned out by the wild hubbub of cheering, laughter and shouting as people raise their glasses and spontaneously embrace each other. Grace willingly succumbs to the atmosphere, exchanging a fierce hug with Eve and then with Spencer. At the back of her mind she is very aware that this might be the very last time they all share such an occasion. Things change; life goes on. The familiar sound of Big Ben is lost in a loud, enthusiastic and painfully tuneless rendition of Auld Lang Syne. End of a year, end of an era. Brand new year; brand new life. Somehow in the middle of the good-natured fracas Boyd has reached her side, and when Grace smiles at him, he immediately smiles back.
None of it is better or worse, she realises. The new world is just… different.
"Happy New Year, Grace," he says, and though his voice is quiet and the singing is very raucous, she hears him perfectly. She smiles again, decides to take the liberty of stretching up to kiss him lightly on the cheek. Very demure. Humour sparks in his eyes, a little wry, a little self-deprecatory. Boyd understands – and appreciates – the restraint of the gesture. Maybe that's exactly what finally spurs him to live up to his reputation for impetuosity and unpredictability. That, or his innate, if generally well-hidden, love of drama, of the grand gesture. Either way, in the middle of the bedlam he's suddenly cupping her face gently in his hands as he seeks her mouth with his.
It's breathtakingly tender, but it is not a fleeting kiss. It's thorough, it's exploratory and most of all it is very, very deliberate. As her surprise gives way to fervent reciprocation, Grace is only vaguely aware of the stunned silence that instantly falls around them and rapidly spreads through the assembled throng like ripples on the surface of a pond. Most of her is too lost in him to appreciate how quickly and absolutely the room becomes still and silent – but just for a few astonished seconds before another crashing wave of noise takes over.
It's a long time – a very long time – before they draw away from each other, and even when they eventually do, their joint gaze remains locked. They are, as they have always been, their own little island. Just the two of them, and everything between them that has been good and bad, wonderful and hurtful, blissful and resentful. Just… them.
Nearby, a voice – recognisably Spencer's – says loudly and disgustedly, "Oh, God…"
Some wag somewhere in the crowd starts to applaud, but when Boyd raises his head and looks round pointedly the sound quickly dies away, replaced by far more general laughter and chatter. Suddenly no-one seems particularly keen on looking in their direction.
"A charitable act, eh?" he inquires dryly.
Grace smiles up at him. Quietly, she says, "Now we can walk away."
"End of an era?" he suggests, echoing her earlier thoughts.
"End of one, start of another," she tells him.
Boyd shakes his head. "Oh, please…"
Beyond his shoulder, Grace can see Eve openly smirking at the pair of them. On impulse she winks at the younger woman, and isn't at all surprised to see Eve raise her glass in salute. Unselfconsciously slipping her arm through Boyd's, Grace says, "It's time to go."
"It is?"
She raises her eyebrows meaningfully at him. "It is."
He catches on fast. She likes that about him, too. He nods solemnly. "I'll get my coat."
Things change, she reflects, but, yes, life goes on. And change is not necessarily a bad thing. Not at all.
- the end -