Disclaimer: "Waking the Dead" and its characters belong entirely to the BBC. I just enjoy taking them out of their comfort zones to play once in a while.

Spoilers: Nothing specific, set a few months after the end of Series 7.

Pairing: As always, Grace/Boyd

Notes: I originally planned this as a short one-shot but it's kind of turned into a bit of a longer fic! I'm not entirely sure where it's going so please bear with me! :)

Stella Goodman smoothed down the emerald organza of her knee-length dress and gazed in satisfaction at the room around her. The large bar had been fashioned perfectly, exactly how she had imagined for her party, the numerous tables adorned with vases of fresh flowers and bottles of crisp champagne, cheerful balloons and banners decorating the walls, upbeat music pulsing enthusiastically from various speakers. She felt a brief flutter of panic as she pondered exactly how she was going to pay for it all on her somewhat meagre Police salary but she dismissed the thought just as quickly, her heart swelling at the sight of her friends and family as they stood together throughout the room, sipping drinks and conversing. Well, what's turning thirty for if you can't push the boat out? She thought, forcing down her anxiety and smiling widely as the latest guest to arrive crossed the room to greet her.

"Happy birthday, Stella." Grace Foley's expression was warm as she greeted the younger woman, brushing a gentle kiss across her cheek as Stella embraced her in welcome.

"Thanks, Grace." She replied as she pulled away, gratefully accepting the bottle of wine Grace had handed to her in a sparkling silver bag.

"How does it feel, then, hitting the big three-oh?" The psychologist asked, sapphire eyes shining, her face creasing with a smile at Stella's groan. "As good as that, eh?"

"Just sounds so old, that's all."

Grace laughed. "You wait 'til your next milestone's double that. Then you can talk to me about feeling old."

Stella grinned broadly. "You sound just like my mum."

"Is she here, your mum?"

The Frenchwoman nodded happily. "Yeah, she arrived this morning, I'll introduce you as soon as you've got yourself a drink."

"Just as long as her English is better than my French; I think my limit might be 'Je m'appelle Grace.'"

Stella laughed loudly, reaching over to the nearest table to pour a generous glass of champagne, which she handed to Grace, before letting her gaze flicker briefly to the door, her eyebrows raising in question though she tried to keep her voice level. "Is Boyd not coming?"

Grace gave a barely audible sigh, forcing herself to smile. "I'm sure he will, Stella. He's probably still in the office, that's all."

Stella was incredulous. "On a Saturday night?"

Grace shrugged. "You know what he's like."

"I suppose either that or on the phone to Sarah..."

Grace felt an odd constriction across her chest at the mention of Peter Boyd's American lover but she forced the sensation to the pit of her stomach. "Yeah, there's always that..."

Stella took a breath, the flicker of pain in Grace's eyes not at all lost on her but she smiled brightly, determined to move the subject away from that of her boss and his conspicuous absence. "Anyway, Spence and Eve are around somewhere." She said, "Propping up the bar, last time I saw them."

Grace grinned. "No surprise there, then."

"None whatsoever."

"I suppose I'd better go and say hello. I'd offer to buy them a drink but I'm afraid they might bankrupt me."

Stella laughed. "All right. Help yourself to food whenever you want it."

"Thanks, Stella. I'll see you later." She touched the younger woman gently on the arm then began moving towards the bar, stopping briefly along the way to talk to various Police Officers she vaguely knew before spotting her immediate colleagues, their faces animated in conversation, their fingers curled around pints of amber liquid. Spencer Jordan gave a low, appreciative whistle as Grace approached, enveloping her briefly in his arms in greeting when she reached him.

"God, Grace, you should wear party clothes more often." He said as he pulled away, onyx eyes sparkling cheekily as he looked her slowly up and down, a broad grin spreading across his face. "Give me and Boyd something nice to look at in the office from time to time..."

Grace slapped his arm playfully and rolled her eyes. She had, somewhat apprehensively, chosen a silky skirt of an intense midnight blue with a matching top, the material closely following the contours of her body, a shimmering scarf in a paler blue knotted about her neck. "Very smooth, Spence. Ten out of ten."

"Well, you know me. King of the smooth."

"I'm old enough to be your mother."

He laughed. "Grace, if my mother looked like you do tonight..."

"You'd be giving Oedipus a run for his money?" Eve Lockhart completed his sentence with a smile, the amethyst pendant at her throat swinging gently as she moved to kiss Grace on the cheek.

Grace laughed loudly. "You two need another drink, then, seeing as you're still coherent enough to be bringing Freud into the conversation?"

Eve nodded in grateful acceptance while Spence groaned theatrically. "Look, if you two Doctors are gonna go all intellectual on me, I'm gonna trade you both in for the bimbos in the corner, all right?"

Eve gasped in mock horror. "Surely not. And there's us thinking you were into intelligent women."

"Not on the weekend, Eve..."

Grace grinned. "Oh, I see, so on the weekend it's all about one thing and one thing only, is it?"

Spence gave an exaggerated wink. "I'm young, free and single, Grace..."

"We should talk about that one day, you know, Spence."

"What?"

Grace's blue eyes were shining. "The psychological damage strings of casual relationships can do to you over time."

He shrugged. "I'll believe it when I see it, Grace."

Eve took a large gulp from her fresh pint of lager before giving a throaty chuckle. "She's right, you know, Spence. Give yourself ten years and you'll be one of those sad forty-somethings hanging around night clubs, dribbling over teenagers in short skirts."

"Either that or you'll suddenly see the light and end up with a semi in the suburbs, a wife and two point four children." Grace added.

Spence laughed loudly. "It'll never happen. Give me dribbling over teenagers any day."

Grace shook her head and patted his arm. "You're a hopeless case, you know that? Bloody hopeless."

"Trait of the gender, though, isn't it?" Eve asked playfully, a mischievous sparkle dancing in her eyes. "In my experience, men are commitment-phobic wannabe letharios well into their forties..."

Grace took a breath to reply but was interrupted as Spence gave another groan. "That's it, I'm definitely defecting to the bimbo camp if this is gonna turn into a men-bashing session..."

The profiler held up a hand, a placating gesture. "Sorry, Spence. We promise to behave..."

"Where the hell's Boyd, anyway? I could do with some back-up here before you two start burning your bras and defacing Stella's birthday banners with slogans for women's lib."

Eve gave a throaty laugh. "Now, there's an idea. Haven't done that since I was a student."

Grace grinned. "Me neither."

"Oh, God, what have I started?" Spence lamented, taking a large draw from his pint glass as the two women laughed together, shoulders shaking in mutual mirth.

Momentarily, Eve was composed enough to speak again, her attention focused on Grace as she did so. "Seriously, though, where is Boyd? He did say he was coming, didn't he?"

Grace gave what she hoped was a casual shrug. "He didn't say he wasn't, put it that way."

"But you don't know for sure?" Spence asked.

"I'm not his keeper, Spence."

"No, I know, but..."

He broke off as he registered a warning glance from Eve; raising the subject of their boss had become an increasingly tense activity with Grace in recent months though he had been unable to uncover exactly why. Bloody women. And they think it's us who are difficult to deal with...He mused, Grace's soft voice breaking him momentarily from his thoughts.

"Speak of the devil." She said, Eve and Spence following her gaze to the entrance to the room where Peter Boyd had appeared, his dark plum shirt half-hidden by a black jacket, a small blue envelope in his fingers. Grace fought down a sudden, intense fluttering in her chest as she registered his attractive appearance and she raised her hand towards him in greeting, hearing Eve laugh loudly beside her as Boyd was suddenly accosted by Stella and several of her friends.

"He's in for it now, you know. It took Spence ages to get away from that lot." She said.

"Oh yeah, it totally ruined my night, being surrounded by all those gorgeous French girls." Spence retorted sarcastically with a roll of his eyes, causing Grace to smile.

"Boyd'll think he's died and gone to heaven." She said. "All that ego-massaging, he'll be completely intolerable if he ever makes it over here."

"Actually, I don't know about that." Eve said, narrowing her eyes and nodding towards their boss. "It kind of looks like he's in need of rescuing, if you ask me..."

Spence gave a snort. "Please. Since when has any man needed rescuing from the potential of hooking up with some fit, young...?"

Grace's eyes widened. "Spence!"

"What?"

"You really have got a one-track mind on the weekend, haven't you?"

"I just mean, with Sarah back in the States, who can blame him?"

Eve rolled her dark eyes. "I'm telling you, Spence, he's clamouring for a way out over there, his body language is all wrong. Don't you think, Grace?"

Grace looked at her friend steadily, the feigned innocence in her expression not fooling the profiler at all. "I gave up trying to read Boyd's body language a long time ago, Eve..."

"Well, in this case, I think you should make an exception. You don't want him to start shouting, do you?"

Grace gave a lop-sided smile, knowing she was beaten. "Fine. Pour me another glass of champagne, then, and let's get this over with."

TBC