"Catalyst"

Grace Foley sat in her darkened living room, listening to the rain hammering against her window. She squeezed her eyes closed, tears falling freely down her cheeks as her thoughts replayed the events of the past day. The sickening thud of Mel's body as it hit the bonnet of the car, the expressionless eyes as she lay broken and bloodied on the ground, her beautiful blond hair matted against her lifeless skin. How could this happen? Grace felt the pain across her chest increase as the futility of the situation and Mel's loss hit her anew and she began to sob unashamedly into the blackness, her head dropping into her hand, her shoulders shaking. A sudden noise startled her from her sorrow then and it took her a few moments to realise that someone was knocking rapidly at her front door. Grace pulled a tissue from a box on her coffee table and tried to wipe the remnants of grief from her face before getting up and walking out into the hallway.

He stood before her as the door opened, his silver hair soaked flat against his head, his clothes dripping, his body trembling. Grace blinked, her mouth falling open in shock at the identity of her visitor.

"Boyd?" She asked softly, incredulous at his presence on her doorstep.

Peter Boyd looked at her, his eyes dark pools of sadness. "I...Grace..."

"Did you walk?"

He nodded shakily and she paused before replying, her confused mind unable to take in his shivering form. She shook her head to try and clear her thoughts, forcing her perplexed body into action.

"For God's sake, Boyd, come in. You're soaking."

She reached out and took his arm, encouraging him into the house and he staggered towards her, into the warm hallway. She guided him into the living room, her hand on his back, his skin chilling her fingers through his shirt.

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?" She asked softly as her eyes took in his body more closely. "It's pouring..."

"I just needed to feel something, Grace...I started walking and I..." He trailed off, his face forlorn as he looked at her.

Grace felt her heart soften at his obvious distress. "Oh, Peter..." She paused briefly, gathering her thoughts. "Wait here, I'm going to get you some dry clothes. Then we'll talk, okay?"

"All right."

She disappeared from the room then, leaving Boyd alone with his racing thoughts. I killed her...I killed her...I killed her...He collapsed to the floor, his legs suddenly unable to support his weight as guilt flooded his chest. Mel's face appeared vividly in his mind, her kind blue eyes compounding his pain. Oh God, Mel...Please forgive me...

Grace walked back into the room at that moment, concern creasing her features as she took in his crumpled form. She rushed to him, dropping the pile of towels and clothes at his side as she knelt in front of him.

"Boyd..."

"I killed her."

"Oh, Peter, don't..."

"She was my responsibility..."

Grace pressed her fingers to his lips to silence him. "We'll talk about this when you're not about to die from hypothermia."

She picked up a towel from the floor and gently wiped his face before he took it from her to displace the water from his hair.

"I brought you some clothes, they were Jack's..." She explained, gesturing to the vestments at her side.

He looked pained. "Grace..."

She smiled sadly. Mentioning her late husband's name was always difficult. "It's all right."

"I can't..."

"Yes, you can."

She unfolded a t-shirt from the pile and offered it to him. "Go on. I'll leave you to it."

Grace moved to get up from the floor but he placed a hand on her arm to stop her. "I think I might need some help, Grace, I...can't seem to stop shaking."

She paused, then nodded slowly. "All right."

"I wouldn't ask unless..."

"I know."

Grace placed her hands on his chest, her nimble fingers beginning to unbutton his sodden shirt, his skin clammy to the touch. She took a breath, her heart racing as more of his muscled chest became exposed. For God's sake, she chided herself, this is hardly the appropriate time...

She handed him the black t-shirt before helping him into a v-neck sweater of a faded charcoal grey. Silently she stood, pulling him to his feet with her. She took a deep breath, unsure of her next move.

"Boyd..." She started. "Your trousers, you really ought to..."

He smiled slightly. "Yeah."

"I'll go and put the kettle on." She said, handing him the dry pair of trousers in her hand.

"Thanks, Grace."

She smiled, relieved that the colour was starting to return to his face. "I'll be back in a minute."

He nodded, watching her walk from the room before beginning to peel the sodden fabric from his legs. Shivering, he picked up a fresh towel from the pile and began to dry his dampened skin before climbing into the trousers, which had belonged to the late Jack Foley, marvelling briefly that they appeared to be approximately the same size. Momentarily, Grace returned to the room, two cups of steaming coffee in her hands. She handed one to Boyd, who was now seated on the couch, before sitting down beside him.

"Feeling better?" She asked gently.

He sighed deeply before responding. "Not really."

Her own sigh matched his. "I didn't think so."

"Not that I'm not grateful, Grace." He gestured at his newly clad body.

"No, I know."

He sipped his coffee, letting the silence between them elongate before speaking again. "I let her down. In the worst possible way."

Grace placed a hand on his arm. "No, Peter."

His voice was quiet, monotonous. "Well, what else would you call it, Grace? She died because of me, because I wasn't there to protect her."

"It wasn't your job to protect her. She was a Policewoman, Boyd, an experienced Detective. She knew the risks of the job."

"I know that." He sighed again. "It doesn't make it easier."

Grace smiled sadly. "I don't think anything will make this easier, Peter. For any of us."

"I keep seeing her face." His voice was a whisper now. "I can't get it out of my head."

"Neither can I."

He fought the emotion rising in his chest, his voice cracking with the effort. "I feel sick when I think of her."

"Oh God, me too." She whispered.

He let out an anguished cry, hot tears falling from his eyes, shoulders shaking with his grief. Grace prized the mug of coffee from his hand and placed it onto the table with her own before pulling him into her embrace. She stroked his back, her fingers massaging his neck, desperate to soothe his pain as he sobbed. She felt her own grief well once more, her chest heaving against Boyd's as her tears began to fall unbounded. Boyd pulled her closer, his lips in her hair, one hand moving to caress her neck. They continued to hold each other tenderly for several minutes until their sobs gave way to soft whimpers. Pulling away slightly, Boyd cupped Grace's face gently in his hands, his thumbs wiping away the tears from her cheeks before tracing her mouth. She realised his intention a fraction too late as his face moved closer to hers, until their lips were mere centimetres apart. Grace took a shaky breath, her heart pounding in her ears.

"Don't." She managed softly, despite the protestations of her body as the years of suppressed desire for her friend suddenly caught up with her.

"I need..."

"Not like this."

He moved imperceptibly closer until they were breathing each other's air, the ragged sounds the only noise in the quiet room.

"Grace..." He whispered, his nearness such that she felt the air vibrate against her mouth. She swallowed, feeling her resolve beginning to crack at his proximity.

Before she could protest further, he suddenly closed the gap between them, capturing her lips with his in a searing kiss. Despite herself, Grace began to respond to his insistent passion, her mouth opening to allow him access, and she felt him groan deeply as he explored her warmth with his tongue. Grace kissed him back, desperately, his taste causing electricity to crackle through her body, culminating in a deep ache low in her abdomen. She gasped as his hungry mouth sucked and nibbled down her neck, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses against her skin. His tongue found her earlobe then, sensually tracing its outline, his breathing shallow and irregular as he whispered against her sensitive flesh.

"Oh God...tell me to stop, Grace..."

Grace's mind whirled, her body spiralling further into a red haze of arousal, as he continued his ministrations of her ear and then her jaw-line. It's just comfort he wants, something to dull the pain, to ease the guilt, to deaden the loss...You're just a convenience to him, a warm, willing body...For God's sake, push him away...

All rational thought left her as his hand moved to her breast, squeezing firmly, his thumb teasing her nipple through the thin material of her blouse.

"Don't stop...I want you so much..." She groaned, and she felt him smile against her neck as he eased her gently back against the soft cushions of the couch.

Grace blinked awake as the sun flickered through the curtains, the initial confusion at her surroundings beginning to fade as her mind gradually rose to alertness. She sat up slowly, grimacing at the stiffness in her shoulders and neck as she leant against the arm of the settee.

"Good morning."

His voice was soft from the other side of the room and she looked up to see him sitting in an armchair, clad only in boxer shorts, one bare leg crossed over the other. Grace became suddenly aware of her own semi-naked body and she felt her face colour as she reached for her discarded trousers, trying to cover her modesty.

He raised an eyebrow, his eyes shining at her obvious embarrassment. "I got a pretty good look last night, you know."

Grace sighed, dropping her gaze. "What are you still doing here, anyway?"

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." She paused, uncertain. "I thought you'd wake up and realise...that you'd made a mistake."

He rose from the chair and walked towards her, taking a seat at her side. Grace couldn't look at him, her heart pounding as she folded her hands together on her lap.

"Grace. Look at me."

Grace's gaze remained fixed on her hands. "It's all right, Boyd. I...I understand."

"What do you understand exactly?"

She sighed. "That you needed comfort...a distraction from..."

"Oh God, Grace. Do you really think that's me?"

She looked up, her eyes connecting with his for the first time, desperately searching for sincerity. "The state you were in last night, Peter...I could've been anybody..."

He sighed deeply, reaching out to squeeze her clasped hands, noting that her knuckles were white with tension. "You know that's not true, Grace. Grief may have been the catalyst for what happened but it wasn't just about that. Believe me."

"Then what was it about, Peter?"

Boyd paused. "I think...maybe what happened with Mel made me think about...well, how short life is and..." He trailed off, sighing.

"What are you trying to say?"

"For God's sake, Grace, you know how I feel about you,..."

"Do I?"

"...how I've always felt about you."

Grace shook her head. "Peter..."

"You don't believe me?"

"I don't know...I didn't exactly expect this to happen."

He laughed softly. "Neither did I."

"So, what do we do about it?"

He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the mouth, relief flooding him when she didn't pull away. "How about we take it one day at a time, eh?"

She smiled slightly. "And how does us working together fit into that?"

He shrugged, grinning. "I don't know."

She couldn't help but return his infectious smile. "It's not like you not to have a plan."

"We'll work something out."

Her face was radiant as he leaned in to kiss her once more and he felt warmth spread through his chest, the depth of feeling for the beautiful woman in his arms overwhelming his senses as she returned his kiss enthusiastically. He knew he would always miss Mel, would always feel guilt gnawing at the back of his mind because of the circumstances surrounding her death but he also knew that Grace – wonderful, compassionate Grace – would always be there to share his pain and that, together, they could move forward and find some kind of resolution and peace.