Disclaimer: I do not own Waking the Dead or any of its episodes or characters. I'm just borrowing them for a trip down the pub- I promise I'll return them (sober!) in time for work tomorrow.

Pairings: Boyd/Grace

Spoilers: Series 1- Set sometime between Episode 3 ('A Simple Sacrifice') and Episode 4 ('Every Breath You Take')

Rating: K+

Notes: This is my first WtD fanfic, so please be kind! Reviews and constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated. I don't pretend to be an expert on how the Metropolitan Police work, so this is just focusing on characters rather than cases. Please let me know if I've 'captured' the characters well!

Chapter 1: Resignation

Peter Boyd's good day was ruined half-way through by a letter. It had stared up at him from his desk as he strolled back into his office around lunchtime. Naturally curious, he had reached over and opened it as he sat down behind the desk. The further he read, the further the smile vanished from his face, replaced by a frown. With an indistinct choking utterance, he turned back to the beginning of the letter immediately upon finishing to ensure that he had read it correctly, hoping that it would miraculously change in content before his eyes. But no, each word remained exactly the same. Allowing his hot temper to catch up with him, Boyd flung the letter down on the desk and strode to the door, throwing it open.

"Grace!" he yelled authoritatively, closing the door with a bang as he returned to his seat.

In her office, Dr Grace Foley sighed and closed her eyes momentarily. She had been expecting the summons all morning, but that did not make them any easier to respond to. Slowly she rose to her feet and made her way next door, knowing full well the consequences if Boyd were kept waiting.

"You know, I could hear you through the wall," she commented with false humour as she entered his office. "No need to walk to the door."

Boyd waved aside the feeble attempt at humour with the letter, which he dropped on the desk in front of her, glaring over the top of his glasses. "What is the meaning of this?"

Grace took a seat opposite Boyd and pushed the letter back towards him. "I thought I made that clear, Boyd- it's a letter of resignation."

"I can see that!" he retorted angrily, removing his glasses and folding them with a snap. "But why?"

Grace looked down at her hands, then back up to his face. "Because I don't think I can do this job any more."

Boyd sat back in his chair, shaking his head disbelievingly. "You don't think you can do this job any more," he repeated slowly. "Grace, you've been a psychological profiler half your life- why is it suddenly so impossible to carry on?" He stared hard into the blue eyes in front of him, willing her to change her mind or at the very least to give him an answer he could work with.

"It's not the job in general that's the problem," she explained slowly, willing him to understand.

He stared at her without comprehension. "So what are you saying?"

Her eyes flickered closed for a second before she looked back at him. "It's this job," she concluded with a vague wave behind her in the general direction of the main office. "I'm sorry, Boyd; I just can't keep on doing this job."

With one foot he pulled his chair closer to the desk, leaning forwards to rest his chin on his hands. "Why not?" he asked levelly.

She stared calmly back at him, holding his gaze, fighting to keep her focus. "It's too hard. Seeing the rest of you walking into danger day in, day out… It's just too much. I can't do this any more."

He bit the corner of his lip hard in a struggle to control his face. "But we need you, Grace," he said quietly; causing a quick flutter of animation in the warm blue eyes opposite.

"We?" she queried sardonically in a characteristic way; and Boyd found himself nodding as he elaborated.

"The team needs you. I need you!" Up until this moment, Boyd had not realised just how much he relied on Grace's expert judgement, even temper and almost constant good humour to solve cases.

Grace felt her heartstrings flutter at the almost childlike appeal in his tone and expression, and fought to keep her composure. "You can hire another profiler…"

Keeping his temper was always a struggle for Boyd, and this time he snapped, banging his hand down on the desk as he retorted. "I don't want another damn profiler!"

She flinched at the impact, and he forced himself to take deep breaths and calm down.

"They wouldn't be you, Grace."

Again she felt her heartstrings tugged. "Peter, please…" she begged quietly, and her rare use of his Christian name moved him.

"Seeing me stabbed really affected you deeply, didn't it?" he asked softly, and she nodded.

"Watching you, and knowing I couldn't do anything about it… I can't carry on like that, Boyd. When he pushed that blade into you, it was like he was stabbing me as well."

Something in the back of Boyd's mind clicked and he sat back in his chair again, gazing at her thoughtfully.

"So it's like that, is it?" he queried, and she fixed her focus on the desk, unable to meet his eye. "Grace, look at me," he ordered, straightening up; but still her eyes remained cast down.

"Look at me," he repeated with more authority.

This time she raised her head and regarded him as steadily as she could; fearing she had said too much. He leaned forward as he sought to reassure her. "Grace… If that's what we both wanted, nothing could stop us."

She raised an eyebrow. "I note your use of the past tense… Point taken."

She was rising to leave with as much dignity as she could muster when he tutted, shaking his head. "Dr Foley, your grammar is out of practice! That was the conditional tense."

She sank back into her seat again, regarding him with dry amusement.

"And what might the conditions be?"

He smiled, melting her resolve before he even asked. "Just two. One: that you promise not to leave. And two: that you let me take you out for a drink after work tonight."

A slow smile crossed her face to echo his, and she nodded slowly. "I suppose I can just about manage that…"