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: Hmm. Well, this was original intended as an MA-rated, PWP…and it may still turn into that…but for the time being, this chapter will be rated T; for language.

Spoilers: Nothing specific. But I guess this is set between S8 and S9, after Kat has left the Unit but before Sarah joins.

A/N: With gracious thanks to Joodiff for the idea (though I don't think I'm even remotely doing it justice!)…and to Shadowsamurai83 and Gemenied just because :) I'm so very glad to have met the three of you!

"Tell me again what the hell I'm doing here?"

Grace Foley shivered beneath the raspberry check of her winter coat as she stepped out of the bitter gale and into the small wooden hut, pulling the thick woven wool tighter about her slender frame and frowning irritably at the structure's sole occupant. She had received a hurried phone call two hours previously, asking her to come to the woods and despite protesting strongly to the prospect of an evening spent out of doors in the depths of winter she had eventually, grudgingly agreed and set off in her car, her heart sinking further with every mile she drove away from her house and its comforting warmth. Her mood had deteriorated immeasurably as she had parked up and begun to walk in the direction in which she had been instructed, the bare branches of the surrounding trees swaying ominously in the inky blackness at every turn, and by the time she reached her destination she was chilled to the core of her bones and thoroughly annoyed. Damn him, she thought testily. Why does he always think he can just snap his fingers and I'll jump to order…?

Peter Boyd looked up from his seated position and gave her a wry smile, the electric lamp at his side casting flickering angular shadows across his features. "Good evening to you, too."

She sighed, fighting a powerful urge to roll her eyes. "Seriously, Boyd…."

"Take a seat, Grace."

The psychologist held his gaze for a second longer before releasing her breath in resignation and moving to sit beside him, wondering briefly at the lack of seating before being instantly grateful for the haphazardly scattered blankets he had arranged on the ground to stave off the cold. She grimaced as she surveyed the cramped conditions of their surroundings and drew her knees defensively up to her chest.

"Couldn't Eve have built anything bigger?"

He grinned as he turned his head to face her. "Not claustrophobic, are you?"

"No, but…."

"It's fit for purpose. I didn't want anything too conspicuous."

Grace raised an amused eyebrow. "Well, it's certainly not that."

He grunted. "Did you bring the files?"

She reached into her bag and retrieved the overflowing manila folders to which he referred, placing them immediately onto his knees in lieu of a table and stifling another sigh. "I still don't see why we couldn't have done this in the office."

Boyd exhaled noisily. "Because we ran out of time; you know that."

"Yes, well…perhaps we should have made time. I'm too old to be sitting in a draughty contraption that looks like it resembles a twitcher's hide."

"Look, you don't have to stay for long, alright? I just want to go through the profiles and then you're free to get off."

"What, and leave you here by yourself all night?"

"I'm not by myself. Spence and the lackey he's roped in from CID are the other side of the site in a similar draughty contraption."

Grace drew her coat further about her body as a biting wind whipped through the observation slit in front of them almost on cue. "God. Who's the lucky man?"

Boyd grinned. "Woman, Grace. You don't really think Spence would choose to be holed up a close quarters with another man, do you?"

The profiler rolled her eyes. "How on earth did he persuade a woman to do it?"

"Oh, God knows; probably promised her dinner…or more likely an all-nighter of a slightly more romantic variety."

She nudged him with her shoulder. "Behave."

His smile widened. "It wouldn't be out of character, would it?"

The profiler shrugged, their upper arms connecting once more. "He's a free agent, Boyd."

"We'll just skirt over the whole issue of professional integrity, shall we?"

"Probably best."

Boyd took a breath, his professionalism falling rapidly back into place as he addressed her. "Can we go over the profiles, then? I need to know what kind of person or persons would come back to a site like this."

Grace squared her shoulders mentally and nodded, the reason for her presence in the hut instantly reasserting itself. "Okay….As you know, the site of a murder is a powerful one psychologically, it has a lot of draw for a killer, particularly a pathological one such as the individual who I think we're dealing with here."

He waved his hand dismissively. "Arm-chair psychology, Grace. What else?"

She looked at him in exasperation. "He's not a book, Boyd. You know damn well that I'm basing all of this on past cases, research statistics et cetera."

"I just need to know if he's going to show up, that's all, and how he'll behave if he does."

"You're asking me if he'll bring another victim here."

"Essentially. I want to know if a three-handed stake-out was a realistic move or a completely naïve one."

"Which is exactly why we should've had this conversation in the office. The nice, warm office, I might add."

He groaned loudly. "Cut me some slack, Grace."

"I've been doing that for close to ten years, Boyd. My patience is starting to wear thin."

"I just need a yes-no answer: is he likely to bring another girl here tonight or not?"

Grace threw up her hands, catching him accidentally on the shoulder. "It's not as straightforward as that. Human beings aren't that definitive, as well you know."

"But you definitely think he'll turn up in some capacity or other, even if it's just to check the site again?"

She shrugged. "If he's as pathological, as obsessive as he appears to be then he'll need the kill site to be perfect. If it's not he won't be able to do it; simple as that."

He gave her a lop-sided grin. "Criminal psychology for beginners?"

Grace was unable to prevent a returning smile. "It's nursery school stuff."

"Christ, you know where to punch me where it hurts, Grace."

She rolled her eyes and nudged him anew, the teasing sarcasm lacing his tone causing a further thaw in her mood. "Shut up."

His grin broadened. "Is that it, then?

"What?"

"That the extent of your input on this?"

"On the killer? Yes." She gave a long-suffering smile at his reactive groan. "But like we discussed before, because of the media attention it's possible you might get other people showing up here as well, people who get a kick out of investigating a murder scene."

He grimaced. "At eleven p.m.?"

"It's possible. As we've seen over the years, nothing piques the interest of certain members of the public like murder."

"Great. So a three person stake-out was definitely an idiotic idea."

Grace raised an eyebrow. "Not to mention a complete breach of Met guidelines."

He gave her a sideways glance. "Don't start with the lectures, Grace."

She ignored him. "I always thought you had to do stake-outs in pairs."

"I made an overriding executive decision."

"Ah," she said mildly, realisation flooding her tone. "Meaning you couldn't find any willing female officers to shack up with you; is that it?"

He grinned boyishly. "None that could make it at such short notice, at any rate."

Grace shook her head and tutted in mock disapproval. "You're pathetic."

"I am," he agreed, smiling. "But at least I know it."

She returned his smile briefly, ignoring the odd constriction that lanced across her chest at his words. "What are you going to do if you doze off?"

"Keep setting an alarm for every ten minutes."

"Seriously?"

"Well, what else?"

She held his gaze for a long moment before sighing heavily and shifting beside him to more comfortably arrange her limbs. I'm going to regret this, she thought ruefully. I just know it…. Aloud, she said, "Pour me some tea and pass me a blanket, would you?"

Boyd raised his eyebrows in astonishment as his eyes tracked her movement, his mind acknowledging the intent behind her actions. "What are you doing?"

"What's it look like?"

He shook his head emphatically. "You don't need to do this, Grace. I'll be fine."

"We'll work in shifts," she said firmly, reaching across him to retrieve a soft fleece blanket from the pile at his side and arranging it carefully across her legs. "That way, each of us stands at least a partial chance of getting some sleep."

"Forget it," he replied bluntly. "You're not a copper, Grace, and I don't want to be responsible if something happens."

She grinned. "Well, at least that was more polite than drawing attention to my age."

"I could do that too, you know. Don't think I wouldn't stoop to it."

"Oh, I'm sure you would."

"So, go home then, before I have to."

She shook her head. "Just pour me some tea, Boyd, and stop trying to pick a fight."

He groaned loudly, fully aware that he was beaten, and turned briefly away from her to pour two mugs of steaming tea from the flask on the ground beside him, his fingers brushing hers gently as he handed her the offering. "Don't complain about getting cold…," he warned gruffly.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"….Or about getting a numb arse."

Grace chuckled. "I'll keep it to myself."

"And don't think this is a perfect opportunity to get me to open up, Grace. I refuse to spend the whole night being psychoanalysed."

She held up a placating palm. "Fine. Anything else?"

"Yeah: no dribbling on my shoulder if you fall asleep."

Laughter bubbled out of her and filled the small space between them, her heart lightening as he followed suit and for several moments their combined mood was one of jovial elation before they gradually sobered once more.

Boyd turned to look at her, his dark eyes suddenly serious as he spoke. "You need to promise me you'll stay put if anything happens. I mean it."

Grace smiled fondly at the intensity of his concern. "I'm nearly sixty-five, Boyd. I'm unlikely to go charging through the woods in the dark after a suspect, now, am I?"

"Just promise me."

"I promise. Just so long as you promise to keep the heroics to a minimum, should an applicable situation arise."

He gestured dismissively. "I know my limits, Grace…."

"Do you?"

"…and I've got absolutely every intention of leaving any pursuits up to Spence, if I can help it."

"Good."

"The beatings, of course, I can do myself."

She elbowed him gently in the ribs. "That's not funny, given your track record."

"This man has murdered four girls that we know of, Grace…."

"So beating him senseless would be justified, would it?"

"I'm sure I could wrap it up as self-defence."

Grace rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Stop trying to wind me up."

He grinned boyishly. "I'm not."

"Ten years we've been doing this back-and-forth thing, Boyd. It's so ingrained it's almost a default position."

"Oh, come on; you get as much of a kick out of it as I do."

"Ah; so you're admitting you do it for kicks, then?"

"Well, not always."

"But sometimes?"

"Of course. And don't try to deny you do the same."

She shrugged. "Mostly I'm just trying to get you to see things from a different perspective."

"But you always do it in a Devil's Advocate kind of a way that drives me crazy."

Grace raised a wry eyebrow. "Works though, doesn't it?"

He exhaled derisively. "It does not."

"It does, Boyd. You may not always agree with the alternative opinion but at least I get you thinking about it."

His scowl deepened, though his tone was mild. "Just…drink your tea and keep your unfounded theories to yourself, will you?"

She grinned widely and took a long draw from her mug before toasting him sardonically and surveying him once more. "Happy now?"

He grunted, giving her a sideways glance. "Do you really want to go down that road, Grace?"

"Should I save it for the early hours instead?"

"No," he said firmly, turning his head to look at her intently. "Don't tell me you're already planning on breaking the no psychoanalysis rule?"

Grace raised an eyebrow. "You're the one who mentioned happiness, Boyd…which tells me that unconsciously you actually do want to talk about it."

"It's overrated…."

"Happiness or psychoanalysis?"

"Take your bloody pick."

She shook her head slightly. "You don't really mean that…."

"Don't I?"

"Well, we'll agree to differ over the psychoanalysis…but happiness is a fundamental human desire, Boyd. We're all striving to get there and…."

"I don't know if that's true, you know. I think most people just stumble blindly through life without even really considering whether or not they're happy."

Grace inclined her head in acknowledgment. "There may be some truth to that."

"And then by the time you do realise you're miserable it's too late to do anything about it."

"That's a bloody depressing way to look at the world."

"It's accurate, though. You wake up one day and suddenly you're pushing sixty, you're hurtling towards retirement and it's like…looking into the abyss."

She blinked, her chest suddenly awash with sadness as she looked at him. "You're serious? That's honestly how you feel about the prospect of retiring?"

He shrugged and took a sip from his mug before speaking again. "I can't imagine not working….It's…completely alien to me."

"It's not on the immediate horizon, though, is it?"

"I'm already past the thirty-year mark. I think the only reason I've been allowed to continue is because we're hidden in the dungeon where no-one can see."

"Well, that and…," she broke off and sighed. "You're bloody good at your job, Boyd."

He grinned crookedly and turned to face her. "Am I?"

"You know you are."

"Despite the unorthodox methodologies, the use of…physical coercion…?"

"I don't condone it but…ultimately you care deeply about justice and that fact exonerates you most of the time. I mean, yes, you take it to extremes but only because seeing justice done for the victims of these crimes is so central to your moral universe."

"Right…."

"Ah; you're worried that once you retire your life will have no meaning?"

He sighed deeply, the extent of her perceptiveness not at all surprising him. "Something like that."

"Alright…so maybe over the next few years you need to work on building a focus outside of your work…."

"In terms of what?"

"Perhaps…re-establishing familial relationships, getting back in touch with friends…." She broke off and drew a breath, fighting the increasing discomfort twisting painfully in her stomach as she considered her proceeding words. "I don't know, Boyd…finding a woman?"

He blew out his breath and allowed his head to drop back against the solid wood of the wall behind him, his eyes closing briefly. "Some bloody hope of that."

"Why?"

"Jesus, Grace," he grimaced. "Do you really need me to list the reasons?"

"You see, you're sabotaging yourself from the off, there."

"Why? Because I'm more than aware of how utterly crap I am with members of the opposite sex?"

"Oh, come on," she scoffed lightly. "You're not trying to tell me there's been a shortage of available women lining up at your door over the years?"

"I'm not exactly beating them off with a stick, Grace."

"But you probably could be if you wanted to. That's what I'm saying."

"What; that I need to…open myself to the possibility?"

"Yeah."

"And a few months, a few years down the line when I eventually get around to telling them that I'm divorced, that I had an affair, that I've never been able to maintain a successful relationship with a woman….What then?"

Grace shrugged, deliberately injecting a casual note to her voice. "Well…if she loves you…she'll be able to look past all that, won't she?"

"Will she?"

"Of course; and it's not as if all of us don't come with baggage, Boyd. Especially by the time you get to our age."

He groaned and ran a hand across his features. "Oh, Grace….I'm just not sure I've got the energy for it, you know? Meeting someone, getting to know them, all that pissing about while you work out if it's what you really want…and then for it all to go down the pan because I say or do something stupid that seals my fate just when I'm starting to feel…whatever it is I'm meant to feel in that situation."

"But again, Boyd, you're making that fatalistic assumption that it will all go down the pan."

"I'm just basing it on years of bitter experience."

"You're not the same person you were when you got married all those years ago. God, you're not even the same person as you were during your relationship with Sarah….and there's absolutely no reason at all why you couldn't make something work with someone new."

"I wouldn't just be doomed to repeat the same mistakes again?"

"Not if you're aware of those mistakes and why you made them."

He exhaled noisily. "I can't help thinking that uncomplicated casual sex would be a hell of a lot simpler than all of this deep-and-meaningful crap."

Grace rolled her eyes though her features softened into a smile. "But not as fulfilling in the long run."

"Speak for yourself."

"In the long run, Boyd," she repeated firmly. "I'm not talking about a few minutes of stress relief, I'm talking about a lasting…."

"A few minutes?"

She elbowed him sharply at the teasing lilt to his voice. "Grow up."

"I'm serious. Sex was the one thing I was actually good at in my relationships, Grace, so it makes sense for me to…."

"What? Forgo the rest of it? Closeness, intimacy, companionship…?"

"You can get all of that with sex, can't you?"

"Yes; but, in my experience, only when there are actual feelings involved. Otherwise it's just physical and…."

"Oh, right; and for women, sex always transcends the physical, is that it?" His tone was scathing.

"Well, not always; and I can't speak for all women."

"For you?"

She turned her head to look at him, electricity flickering through her veins at the suddenly soft edge to his voice, the almost unreadable expression hidden in the depths of his obsidian eyes, the intimate turn in the direction of their conversation. "Most of the time," she answered carefully. "Though I was married for close to fifteen years…and as you can imagine not every encounter throughout that time was all about emotional attachment."

He grinned mischievously. "Sometimes it was just for the sake of it?"

"We had three small kids, Boyd….Sometimes it was just a matter of finding a spare couple of minutes and space to ourselves."

He laughed loudly. "So all that bullshit about intimacy and closeness…."

"You can still have intimacy and closeness…."

"During a quickie? Give me a break, Grace."

"It's all about context, Boyd. In the context of a loving relationship, even something like that can help re-establish your bond."

He was quiet for several moments, allowing her words to filter through his consciousness before giving a conciliatory grunt. "Well….unsurprisingly, I bow to your superior knowledge on the subject."

"Hm," she replied sardonically. "Nice to know the extra years have given me an edge in certain areas, then."

He laughed. "Just what are you admitting to here, Grace?"

She held up a hand in the flickering darkness. "Absolutely nothing. I've probably already said too much as it is."

"A psychologist saying too much? Isn't that a contradiction in terms?"

Grace yawned loudly, deliberately. "I'm not getting drawn into this in the middle of the night."

"Coward. Just when things were getting interesting."

"I'm struggling to keep my eyes open, Boyd. Keeping my brain engaged properly is a step too far."

He smiled, relenting instantly beneath the genuine weariness of her tone. "Go to sleep, then."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I'll wake you in a couple of hours."

She smiled gratefully and settled herself back against the wall of the shelter, pulling the blanket further up her body in an attempt to banish the icy tendrils of winter air from seeping into her skin, her heart undeniably warmed by the solid closeness of his body, the comforting sensation of his outer thigh pressed flush against hers. Within seconds she could feel herself drifting serenely towards unconsciousness, the rhythmical cadence of his breathing providing a reassuring contrast to the disquieting stillness that pervaded the rest of the black night.

TBC