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. 'Someone you use', as performed by Vonda Shepard, was written by and belongs to C.G Carter, H.T Anglese, K. Mann & T. Stough.
Content: Drama, Angst.
Rating: T/M, for language, adult situations.
Spoilers: This story is set in series 8 but before Grace's cancer diagnosis so anything up to, but not including 'Endgame' is fair cop, I guess.
A/N: Firstly, an apology for not updating 'Ebb & Flow' in so long – I've been immersed in all things baby for the past six months but now my son is a bit more settled into a routine, I may finally have a few minutes a day to write! I will get to 'Ebb & Flow' as soon as I can but in the meantime, I hope you enjoy this; it's been in my head for a while so it's nice to finally get it down! It's also my first attempt at a song fic so please be gentle with me! :) The lyrics are from the song, 'Someone you use', as performed by Vonda Shepard, and to me it has always embodied the Boyd/Grace relationship...See what you think...
Just a shoulder to cry on
That's all I've been to you
Just someone to rely on
When your world is empty and blue
I can't do this anymore. Grace Foley opened her eyes slowly in the inky blackness, the sudden sentiment filling every inch of her consciousness, consuming the fibres of her mind, constricting the flow of blood about the contours of her heart. She could hear him moving quietly around the room, his footsteps soft within the deep pile of her carpet as he bent to retrieve his trousers, his shirt, his underwear. Grace forced herself to breathe evenly, calmly, concentrating on the steady rise and fall of her chest, determined not to alert him to her wakefulness. She felt her stomach tense, her throat tightening as she heard him tentatively say her name, his subsequent heavy sigh causing anguish to tear through her soul. It was the same every time and yet with each occurrence it pained her more, each act of dismissal causing sickening shame to lap greedily at her stomach as she considered the perpetually destructive cycle of her own behaviour as well the intensely hurtful pattern of his; she had never, not once in six years, denied Peter Boyd and the knowledge made her want to howl with despair.
She sighed heavily into the darkness, rolling onto her back as she heard him close the bedroom door behind his retreating form. The trouble was, and had always been, her deeply complicated and contradictory feelings for the man in question. Their relationship, such as it was, had begun well enough, she mused; they had met close to eleven years previously in a strictly professional capacity, and she had been instantly drawn to him, to the vulnerable and stricken person he was so careful to bury deep beneath layers of bravado, of confidence, of borderline boorishness. She had also been desperately attracted to him physically, the intensity of her desire more than surprising her; she had not felt so affected by a man since her late husband, and Jack had been gone for more than a decade. For years she and Boyd had teased and flirted with each other, testing the boundaries of their feelings, driving one another to the edge before always pulling back, and Grace had been left frustrated and confused, unsure of his sentiments towards her beyond those of a good friend. She smiled slightly as she recalled the night that had tipped the balance. The team had finally found the time to celebrate Mel's promotion, had spent an enjoyable evening in one of London's more upmarket curry houses before the younger members had announced their intention to move on to a wine bar, Boyd's predictably reactive groan causing them to laugh riotously...
... "Oh, come on, Boyd, what's the worst that could happen? You might enjoy yourself?" Frankie's dark eyes were sparkling, her pupils slightly unfocussed owing to several large bottles of Indian beer.
"He's got to be careful, Frankie." Mel slid her arms into her coat, nobly helped by Spencer, her elfin face alight with joviality. "If he enjoys himself too much the universe might implode."
Boyd laughed loudly, shaking his head . "I think that's a little unfair, Mel."
Frankie exchanged a broad grin with her friend. "It's a school night, Boyd. She's right on the money."
"Spence, for God's sake get them out of here before they get themselves the sack." Boyd implored the younger man, the gravitas of his tone at odds with the light infused through his eyes.
Spence grinned widely, throwing a brotherly arm about each of the women's shoulders. "I'll make sure they get home before they turn into pumpkins."
"Oh, Spence, we're already way beyond that point..." Frankie's voice became fainter as he ushered them from the restaurant with a groan, Mel waving apologetically back over her shoulder towards the table. Grace returned the gesture before taking a sip from her wine glass, chuckling softly as quiet descended upon the surroundings once more, her eyes flickering towards her one remaining companion, absorbing the uncharacteristically relaxed slant to his shoulders, the slackened poise of his limbs.
"I don't envy them the hangovers tomorrow," she remarked, her smile broadening as she watched Spence's final attempts to escort the younger women through the restaurant door.
Boyd shrugged, taking a long draw from his wine glass before settling back beside her on the bench seat. "It's well deserved."
"I know. Mel did brilliantly and it's about time they let their hair down."
"Besides which, they're young, Grace; you remember the days, don't you?"
"Where you could be three sheets to the wind of an evening and then get up for work the next day?" She grimaced, recollections of her heady student days flickering through her mind. "Barely."
"Oh, come on. I bet you could still drink any of them under the table."
She raised an amused eyebrow. "You casting aspersions on my reputation, Boyd?"
He held up his free palm as he drained his wine. "Wouldn't dream of it."
"Good."
"Another bottle, then?"
Grace shook her head incredulously, surprised laughter bubbling through her body. "What's got into you tonight?"
He grinned. "What, so the younger generation are the only ones allowed to have a good time, is that it?"
"No. It's just unlike you to be so..."
"What?"
She looked at him steadily. "Cavalier."
Boyd rolled his eyes, ignoring the challenge in her tone. "Is that a 'yes', then?"
"To what?"
"More wine?"
She laughed again but her voice was firm. "No, Boyd. I need to get home."
He groaned with mock disappointment. "Somehow I knew you were going to say that."
"So, there you go; you could make a fortune as the world's first mind-reading copper."
"Very droll."
She smiled and stood up, nudging his knee with hers to encourage him to move his legs from her path, fire ripping suddenly through her body as his palm in the small of her back propelled her gently forwards, his frame close to hers as he rose from his seat behind her. Wordlessly he helped her with her coat, his hands guiding her arms into the sleeves before coming to rest lightly at her waist, his breath in her hair as he spoke once more, Grace feeling herself shiver at his continued and unexpected proximity.
"Let's get a cab."
She turned to face him, her breath catching in her chest as she registered the barely disguised lust in his dark eyes, the intense timbre to his voice. She took a deep breath, trying desperately to slow the pounding of her heart. "Boyd..."
"What?"
"We live on opposite sides of the river."
"I'm aware of that."
"Are you?"
"Grace..." His hand had risen to her cheek, his fingertips stroking her skin tenderly, his pulse quickening as he watched her eyelids flutter closed, the breath escaping from her body in a soft sigh as she unconsciously leant into his touch. "How about a nightcap?"
Reluctantly she opened her eyes to look at him, forcing her desire to the depths of her stomach. "To go with the rest of the booze tonight, you mean?"
"Well, that wasn't quite what I..." He sighed with frustration as he caught the uncertainty in her expression, his palm falling from her face. "You think I'm drunk."
"I think you're not quite in control of your actions."
"Oh, for God's sake, I could be less subtle if you'd rather."
"Boyd..."
"Let me take you to bed, Grace."
She gasped, all rational thought swiftly racing from her mind as he hooked a hand about her waist, pulling her roughly towards him, his lips descending to hers in a single, fluid motion. The kiss was brief, a mere brushing of his mouth against hers but it was enough for the hint of his taste to fill her senses, and she had to remind herself to breathe as he pulled away...
Grace sighed deeply as the memories washed over her in erotic waves; they had all but lost control in the taxi ride to his house, Boyd's determined palm caressing her thigh firmly beneath her skirt, her own hand slipping inside his shirt to stroke his chest, their tongues duelling as each passionate kiss melded seamlessly into the next. They had fallen through his front door in a red haze of arousal, his hands clawing impatiently at her clothes, and she groaned as she recalled the feel of his tongue nuzzling attentively at her neck, flickering lustfully against her nipples, lapping skilfully between her legs . The sex had been explosive and exhaustive, his prowess awakening nerve endings Grace had never before known existed, and she had fallen asleep thoroughly sated in his arms, a blissful sense of happiness pervading every contour of her soul. The next morning he had been predictably cooler and although it saddened her to her core, she had tried to project an air of casualness, of nonchalance, telling him she would see him at work before kissing him swiftly and leaving the house, tears cloying thickly in her throat as she walked to the nearest Underground station. He had later apologised, Grace forgiving him instantly despite herself, and they had made tentative plans for dinner that never came to fruition; a week later Mel was dead and Grace had felt the world collapse around their shoulders.
I'm just someone you call dear
Any time you choose
I'm just someone you run to
Someone you use
He had come to her that night, desolate with grief, distraught with guilt, and she had readily obliged him, wanting to soothe his heart, to be the balm for his battered soul. She had forced away the warning voice in her head, had sublimated her own desires with his needs and when he had risen from her bed in the early hours, she had used every ounce of strength not to sob into the warm space he had left.
I'm just a fool you can love on
Any time you choose
I'm just someone you run to
Someone you use
She felt bitter tears spiking the corners of her eyes at the memory. That night had marked the beginning of six years of cyclical behaviour; every time he faced a new crisis, or the resurgence of an old one, he would turn up on her doorstep and without hesitation she would take him in her arms. There was a brief lull when had had been dating Sarah and Grace had suppressed her devastation, catching herself when she became aware that she was drinking more frequently and working longer hours. She had decided unequivocally not to fall back into their chronic holding pattern once his affair was inevitably over, her sense of self-loathing multiplying the first time she had allowed him to return to her bed. She had felt utterly pathetic, utterly used, her heart splintering as she tried to ignore the intense shivers of her body beneath the weight of his arousal, the torrent of heated whispers against her ear.
I'm just someone you run to
I'm just someone you use
Don't you know when you need me
My little heart just can't refuse
For God's sake, Mum; you're nothing more than his bloody fuck-buddy! How can you not think more of yourself than that? How can you not think you deserve better? She winced painfully as she recalled the vehemence of her eldest daughter's words when she had finally broken down, the pressure of six long years of secrecy, of confusion, of intense heartache suddenly and completely overwhelming her one evening the previous month...
... "I don't know, alright? I just...I..."
"Are you in love with him?"
Grace sighed, running a shaking hand across her red-rimmed eyes. "Gina..."
The younger woman frowned deeply, her mother's lack of denial troubling her. "Christ, you must be to let him treat you this way."
"It's not as straightforward as that."
Gina gave a contemptuous snort. "Of course not. He's a complicated, tortured man, who..."
"He is, Gina. Whether you like it or not."
"And that gives him free rein to do what he likes, does it? To shag you whenever he damn well feels like it?"
"Do you have to be so crass?"
"Well, how else would you describe it?"
"You make it sound as if I don't have a choice."
...
But I do. I do have a choice. I can choose to end this. Swallowing the lump that threatened to constrict her airway, the anguish pulling at her stomach, Grace rose swiftly from her bed and hastily wrapped her dressing gown about her naked frame, determination swelling through her chest. With a final deep, centring breath she opened the door, padding quietly along the landing and down the stairs. Peter Boyd looked up as she approached, halting in his efforts to don his jacket, his rugged features creasing into a frown.
"You alright?" he asked softly, his concern deepening as he noted her pale skin, the indigo circles beneath her expressive eyes.
"No," she replied almost inaudibly, her voice catching, her chest rising and falling in a heavy sigh. Momentarily she looked up at him, their eyes locking intensely, and Boyd felt his heart splinter at the sorrow in her expression. "We need to talk."
I'm just someone who loves you, baby
I can't win and I can't lose
I'm just someone you run to
I'm just someone you use
TBC
