Here is the Grace/Roland story I promised you. It's set after the most recent episode (spoiler ahoy!) and espouses my whimsical headcanon (be warned). Hope you like- I might be open to the possibility of writing more, but please understand it's term time and I'm quite pressed at the minute.
It was darkening as she closed the door behind her. In the candlelight of Roland's office, she put her lantern out, placing in down on the table beside the door.
He looked up from his desk at the sound of her entering, saw who it was, continued reading his notes with the touch of a smile on his lips.
"All quiet?" he asked her.
"As it can be," she replied, clasping her hands nervously, drawing her thumb firmly along the inside line of her palm, pressing the pad of her thumb hard against the bone for a second, "We are pressed without Sister Livsey."
"Don't think I don't know that," he reminded her tiredly, sitting up in his chair to look at her, letting out an audible sigh, "But that's really beyond our control now," he told her, "I'll not lie, I'll be glad when Sister Quayle's leave is over, for all our sakes."
She took a deep breath to stop herself replying without thinking, hoping we would not notice. But his eyes narrowed just a fraction, in spite of her efforts.
"What is it?" he asked her.
Her thumb was pressed flat against her palm, her finger pressing down against her knuckles.
"Nothing," she managed.
He was still watching.
"You look tired," he told her, not unkindly, a concern that he did not have to speak in his look, "I had hoped things would get easier for you when you weren't having to nurse Major Ballard night and day, but if anything-... Forgive me for saying," he asked her when she did not reply.
"You are well within your rights, Sir."
His expression flickered, the cold formality of her tone startling him and he looked at her with a more unguarded concern now.
"What is it, Grace?" he asked her, standing up, resting the tips of his fingers on the surface of his desk, "Did the major say something to upset you?"
"The major said many things," she replied curtly, "Very few of which had the power to upset me."
There was a long pause. He watched her softly, waiting for her to say more.
"Roland, you don't seem to realise I grew up among far more fearsome things than tigers and elephants," she told him at last. She could not bring herself to lift her eyes from the floor, could not meet the worry and confusion in his eyes.
"Like what?" he asked her, "Tell me."
"Like prejudice, and hatred," she told him, her voice quivering, "Like men with guns."
She heard him exhale sharply.
"Grace-..."
"The major did bring me some news in fact," she told him, looking up, as matter-of-factly as she could.
"Oh?" he asked.
"Some news that was rather upsetting. He told me of the death of a rather dear old friend."
"Oh, Grace, I'm sorry," he told her, "I'm sorry I imposed myself-..."
"You don't understand," she told him sharply, finding tears stinging her eyes, "A dear friend."
There was a silence.
"I was going to have his child. Once."
Another silence. She had no idea what had compelled her to confess to him, only that the words were out of her mouth and there was no pulling them back now, no more embracing them secretively, no more hiding in them.
"There was a chance that it would have... come out," she told him, the shadow of Margaret and her impending return hovering ever behind her eyes, "It was better that you had it from me. I know I can trust you to keep my confidence, even if it does alter your view of me."
She fell silent, and her eyes returned to the floor. She could not speak any more.
"I can't say that it was something I expecting to hear," he admitted, he was closer now, the change of direction in his voice made her look up, her eyes looking for him, "I'm still sorry," he insisted softly, moving to stand before her.
"Thank you," she muttered, not looking at him.
"You don't want my pity, do you?" he asked.
"No," she replied, "I don't."
There was a silence. He just stood before her, waiting for her to be able to speak again. His body blocked out the light and she stood there in his shadow, smoothing the line of her palm with the pad of her thumb almost distractedly.
"The most frightening thing," she told him quietly, "Was that in our house the only passion than was ever on show was anger. I thought that's what strong emotion was, just anger. Amar showed me that it could be love as well."
"Grace-..." his breath whispered in a harsh breath across her face. Somehow it managed to soothe.
And then he took her hand, cautiously, tentatively, reached out and took it from where it fidgeted with the other and just held in between both of his. The movement startled her, she looked at him in confusion and her breath hitched, only in time to capture air before his lips pressed gently against hers. The kiss was brief and chaste and he withdrew, looking rather abashed, still holding her hand.
"I love you, Grace," he told her softly.
"I know you do," she replied equally quietly, "Do you understand that I couldn't have returned your feelings until I knew about Amar?"
He nodded.
"Of course."
Her free hand reached out, touching his chest carefully. She could feel his breathing under his shirt, his heartbeat. She smiled at its fluttering. He released her other hand as she gently pulled it away, only to rest it on the top of his arm. Drawing herself closer to him, she encouraged him to put his arms around her. She could not believe they were here like this, that he had said what he had after what she had told him. Carefully, she leaned forwards and returned his kiss.
Please review if you have the time, I'd love to know what you think.