The Laws of Love and Rage.
What started out as constructive discussion has once again turned into fierce argument, with Boyd marching around in Grace's office, his disgruntled voice raising a fraction with each successive objection.
''Do sit down for God's sake!'' Grace snaps, piqued by his inability to restrain his temper. ''Your stomping is giving me a headache already.''
Boyd returns a surly scowl, but obeys and starts leafing her report, his face expressing utter discontentment.
''Why the hell you always have to make things complicated!?'' he demands defiantly.
''Since when have our cases been simple?'' Grace bites back, understanding well that the main 'complication' is the fact that she dares to doubt his favourite theory, oppose and criticize him openly - that's what riles him up.
''We already have a suspect, we just need to prove that he did it,'' Boyd sticks to his guns. ''Jackson killed those women. Trust my hunch on this one.''
''And what exactly is this firm 'hunch' based on?'' Grace retorts unyieldingly, ''personal antipathy, if I'm not mistaken, right? By the way, I do share your dislike towards the man in question, and I'm not excluding him completely. Still, taking into account all the information and evidence at our disposal you must agree that several other persons fit the profile much better. That conclusion I reached after thorough analyses - it's all there in my report. You have read it through, haven't you?''
Boyd's eyes flash defiantly. ''The part which was in English I did. I really haven't got time to look up every third word in the dictionary.''
''Perhaps I should rewrite it then and include a glossary of wide-known terms of psychology?'' she suggests with sarcasm.
The file lands on her desk with a thump. ''Please do. Keep it shorter and more concrete, if possible, and adding some actually useful ideas instead of all that...'', he makes a disparaging grimace, ''… psychological mumbo-jumbo won't hurt either.''
Grace is about to loose her temper as well. She sacrificed her whole weekend trying to help their investigation out of the dead end where following Boyd's notorious 'hunch' has brought them and there's the reward - her two days' worth of work gets thrown into her face like that.
''I'm a just a psychological profiler,'' she reminds him sharply, ''and contrary to your opinion I haven't got the crystal ball to show me all the answers. It's not my job to serve you ready solutions on a golden plate, but to point you in the right direction. And in case you don't find my ideas even worth considering, I really can't help you, I'm afraid.''
Boyd opens his mouth for another loud and slighting comment, but changes his mind, grunts angrily and storms out of her office, nearly taking the door off the hinges, its rattling glass in severe danger of breaking. His usual conduct when shout-down-the-opponent approach isn't likely to bring any result and manhandling is not an option either.
Grace glowers after him, mouthing an expletive. It's next to impossible to bring her to a point of using expressions like that, but Boyd certainly has the ability. She reaches for the mug on her desk and takes a big sip. Her tea has turned lukewarm during their argument, but there's a large spoonful of honey in it and something sweet has always helped her regain calm and composure. But still - damn the man! And men in general...
As long as she can remember, there's always been some representative of the opposite sex to make her life difficult. Starting with her brother who used to think that being a boy and a scant year and a half senior was enough to make him her superior. She can still clearly remember Freddy sitting on a tree branch, looking down at her haughtily and declaring that girls are no good for anything because they can't even climb trees. That day she learnt how much truth was in the old adage 'don't get mad, get even'. The quarrel ended with her being on top of the old maple tree in their back yard. The fact that her father had to run through all their neighbours to find a ladder tall enough to help her safely down didn't decrease her triumph in any way. She had proved her point to the cocky boy.
Proving herself to her father, who unquestionably loved her very much, but sadly shared the old-fashioned convictions according to which spending money on the education of a girl would be clear waste, was of course much more arduous. She swallowed the tears of disappointment, worked with double obstinacy and dedication, excelling in her studies and getting the scholarship. And she did earn her father's complete respect and approval, being the first one in the family to go to the university.
Ironically, having reached her big goal, she discovered that several of the professors, whose books she had read with such admiration turned out to be narrow-minded in real life, stubbornly considering criminal psychology unsuitable for a fragile woman. Not recoiling from direct sabotage even, trying to make her change her mind and choose some soft and more 'feminine' field to major in instead.
Luckily by then she already knew how to handle such obstacles. She proved them all wrong.
And that's exactly how she's dealt with every sceptical, self-conceited or chauvinistic policeman she's encountered on her career path.
What makes everything harder with Boyd is that for some reason his opinion counts much more than others' and therefore his insulting words cut deeper.
It doesn't mean she's going to leave things like that. She's always figured out a way how to get the message through his thick scull without sacrificing any of her ideas. If rewriting her report is what it takes to achieve it this time, she'll happily do it right away.
Grace is about to set to work, but gets distracted by the loud male voices from the squad-room.
Boyd evidently doesn't master the technique of working off his irritation in some constructive way, and steamed up as he is, has clashed with Spence. It's not very hard to guess who started the argument – Boyd undoubtedly felt his authority undermined by her recent criticism and is now re-establishing his leadership by reminding everybody that he's got the say around here. Judging by what she can hear, the quarrel goes over some absolutely trivial technical detail, as usual. It's not a secret that Boyd has reached his current status the hard way, obstinately working his way up rank after rank despite all obstacles, and seems to consider it his duty to teach his subordinates the same valuable lesson.
The other party isn't completely innocent either, the frequent recurrence of the term 'sir' in Spence's defiant answers having nothing to do with showing respect.
The half-shut blinders block her view, but she knows that the confrontation of these two strong male egos is never just angry exchange of words, they're challenging each other with baleful stare as well.
It's all totally ridiculous - both grown, intelligent and educated men... and fuming exactly like her mother's two tomcats. As it happens, one of the pets of Grace's elderly parents is silver-furred and the other bone black in colour, that only heightening the uncanny resemblance. The primitive male rivalry, be they feline or human, is very much the same, making Grace snicker at her extremely wicked thought how a certain radical procedure might have the same positive effect on both cases. A theory that's never going to be tested though - two fur-balls enjoying the firm protection of her 89-year-old father, who keeps declaring that as long as he shall live no-one can 'cripple' his pets; and the bullies in the squad-room can undoubtedly use every human right in their defence.
Fed up with the squabbling, Grace intends to interfere and suggest taking the 'cat-fight' somewhere where they won't disturb other people.
The deafening bang of Boyd's door declares the row terminated at least for a while. A moment later Spence leaves the squad-room, slamming the door shut with equal vehemence, perfectly following his role model.
On mornings like this Grace really wonders what on earth is keeping her here, when she might be doing research for her new book or giving lectures to well-behaving and eager-to-learn students at Oxford instead.
Luckily the entire day does not pass in the same key. First positive news are delivered by Eve - the long-waited test results provide them with a new lead. In the light of this Spence and Stella mange to squeeze a lot more information out of their so far tongue-tied witnesses. The case at hand doesn't look hopeless any more and the former tense atmosphere in the squad-room changes for the better considerably.
All the new developments tend to support Grace's theories and she could easily have her 'I told you'-moment, but there really isn't any reason to rub it under Boyd's nose. He's had some time to think things over in the solitude of his office and has already realised how unjustified his former over-reacting was, his face clearly showing he regrets it.
Direct apologizing isn't Boyd's strong side, but he's got his own methods of putting things right.
Calling a truce with Spence is relatively easy, as the DI doesn't have the habit of holding grudges for long. Some due recognition for his efforts and contribution, an appreciative word from his boss on the right moment, and by the end of the day the hatchet is buried.
Boyd waits until the younger colleagues have left before moving on to stage two of his making-up mission. He knows well that a few flattering words won't be enough to dispel Grace's umbrage over his way out of line conduct in the morning. His approach is much more refined and the peace-offer includes quite an irresistible dinner invitation.
Though attracted by the proposition, Grace responds with a shrug, making the face that she isn't particularly interested. She can't let Boyd get away that easily on principle.
Her reluctance doesn't discourage him. He gives a sigh, as if truly regretting being forced to use such tactics, and repeats the invitation with a smile. And that smile is truly expressive, perfectly conveying the 'I know I'm a bad boy – can't help it- but you still like me, don't you!?'- message.
Grace knows two people who master that unique all-conquering smile. One is the 9-year-old son of her neighbours, a charming little mischief-maker who has escaped many a punishment just because she hasn't got the heart to report all his pranks to his parents. The other is Peter Boyd. How he has managed to preserve that little boy's smile in him despite everything he's been through she really has no idea. But one thing she knows for certain - a man capable of such sincere smile can't be rotten to the core.
''So...?'' Head tilted a bit, the lingering smile all the more persuasive.
She's never been able to resist that smile and tonight is no exception. She really 'hates' the man for having such power over her.
Boyd's knack of choosing excellent restaurants is well-known. The one he takes her tonight is a relatively recently opened Italian place Grace hasn't visited before. She likes it instantly. The atmosphere is elegant and cosy at the same time, the corner table they get ushered to ideal for quiet undisturbed conversation. The service is fast and attentive and delicious foods and wine only enhance her conviction that this place is going to become her true favourite. She doesn't regret her decision to come here in any remotest way. A perfect way to spend the Friday evening, compensating the long and stressful working week to a big extent.
Boyd clearly enjoys everything just as much. It almost seems as if the mask of brusque and gloomy DSI was taken off and left hanging on the rack with his long dark coat and an altogether different man – relaxed, smiling, talkative - has escaped the hard and grim crust.
She hasn't seen Boyd like that for a long time, but she has sure missed that side of him, missed spending time with him in unconventional atmosphere too. They used to do it so often years ago – go to some pub or restaurant after a long day at work, sometimes having a hearty meal, sometimes just a glass of wine or brandy, the 'main course' always being witty conversation, the easy and good-natured banter they both enjoyed. And they didn't just discuss work issues, they talked about everything, about life...
For various reasons these encounters became scarce and gradually stopped altogether. After Luke's death it was only natural that Boyd needed some time and space. Grace really wishes they could pick up the old habit again, is fully prepared to show her own initiative to ensure that, because she really likes the Peter Boyd sitting opposite her tonight. Much more than likes, to be completely honest...
One thing that never changes is Boyd's complete unpredictability. Without the slightest warning, when she least expects, he just opens his mouth and spoils everything spectacularly with one single sentence.
''Oh, by the way, before I forget,'' he starts casually, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip from his wine glass, ''Sarah sends her greetings to you.''
''Sarah?'' Grace lifts her eyebrows in astonishment. That name hasn't been mentioned for a long while. She forces a tense smile on her face. ''She called you?''
''We met yesterday. She was in London the whole week. Planned to stay for the weekend as well, but unexpectedly got orders to fly to somewhere in the Middle East. Some classified operation – she couldn't talk much about it.''
''I see,'' Grace mutters, staring the gold-rimmed plate in front of her to avoid eye contact, thoughts racing through her head.
She briefly wondered how he could possibly arrange a table in such a fancy and popular place at such a short notice. Now everything makes sense. The booking was undoubtedly made days ago and all this luxury and resplendence was intended for Sarah. Knowing Boyd's style, he must have had grand plans for the whole weekend. Getting stood up definitely hurt his pride - no wonder he was in such a bad mood all day and took it out on everybody around him. There wasn't much point in cancelling the table though - why not entertain an old colleague a bit on a Friday night, especially when some cracks in their working relationship needed smoothing. Her company being a cold consolation of course, compared to what could have been, but at least the food is not bad...
The annoyance and irritation Grace experienced in the morning seem trivial compared to the all-consuming anger rising in her now. And most of that rage is self-directed. What a pathetic old fool she really is, constantly wanting to see and believe something that just isn't there, after all these years still cherishing the silly hope that he might ever see anything more than a colleague, a friend at best in her. Not going to happen. Served her right to learn it once again the hard way.
She pulls herself together, using all her social skills not to betray her sudden drastic mood change.
''Is something wrong with your cake?'' Boyd inquires, eyeing suspiciously how she pokes her dessert with the spoon. ''Mine is absolutely delicious.''
She excuses herself with late hour and fatigue. Whether he believes it or not she doesn't really care. He won't figure out the real reason behind her sudden loss of appetite in his blissful obtuseness anyway. All she wants right now is to end this evening and get home. Away from him.
Better part of the night she spends on ruthless self-analyses and the following weekend working out coping strategy. She can't carry on like that any more, some major change is needed. For a moment she even considers giving in her notice, but casts that possibility aside quickly. Doing that she would openly admit her disability to control herself, to keep professional and personal apart. Taking the easy way out is not her style. As Boyd himself once suggested very succinctly - she is a grown-up and a psychologist, she's got to handle it. She will. From this day on she's going to keep their relationship strictly professional, take him as any other random colleague and stop attributing excessive importance on whatever he says or does.
Grace starts the new working week, fully determined to stick to her plan, no matter what. Her will-power is put to test pretty soon, Boyd not being Boyd if he didn't say or do something borderline sooner or later. At some point Grace can't ignore it any longer and has to interfere, but her reaction is very calculated and far more reserved than usual.
The younger colleagues don't seem to notice anything different, but Boyd is clearly surprised to receive so modest 'back-feed'. He looks rather disappointed, and like a petulant toddler who's deprived of attention, throws a tantrum. Seeing him through, Grace doesn't let herself be provoked in any way.
That confuses Boyd even more. He gives up his hopeless attempts to rock her imperturbability, but keeps casting suspicious glances and eventually turns up in her office, confronting her with the direct 'Is everything all right?' question.
''Why? I'm fine.'' Without lifting her glance from the case file she's reading. The very same she always gets from him.
He lingers, clearly not satisfied.
Grace removes her glasses and turns to face him, leaving every impression how very displeased she is with the disturbance. ''Anything else...?''
''No... not really. I'll leave you to your work then.'' Boyd retreats to his office and stays there for the rest of the afternoon.
Suits her fine. As far as she's concerned Boyd could do whatever he pleases as long as he does it in a civilized way. The headquarters of the CCU is exceptionally quiet and peaceful and such completely positive change convinces Grace that she's doing the right thing. She should have taken such neutral approach a long time ago already.
The new approach doesn't exclude being polite, so before going home she still pops in his office to saying good night.
Boyd's sitting at his desk, eyes glued to the screen of his laptop, so lost in whatever he's busy writing that he fails to notice her before she accosts him. He nearly jumps and slams down the laptop's lid, as if truly fearing that she might be able to see anything from the doorstep.
Such caught-at-mischief schoolboy reaction makes her snort amusedly. ''I hope you are not up to something illicit here.''
Boyd gathers himself fast enough to come up with a proper response.
''Just started putting down my memoirs,'' he announces with a wide grin. ''Don't expect to get to read anything for free - you have to buy the book that I'm going to publish when I'm retired. But I have to disappoint you – it's not going to happen any time soon. I have every intention to use the manuscript as a means of extortion if anybody in the upper echelons should get ideas of kicking me overboard before my time.''
She rolls her eyes at that, though on the second thought she wouldn't put it past him actually.
Next morning Grace can't help noticing the tell-tale dark shadows under Boyd's eyes. He usually looks like this when he's spent the night behind his desk, without going home at all. That he's got different colour shirt than yesterday and fresh shave are definitely not the indicators to rely on in such matters.
The routine team meeting passes without major dissensions. After that Boyd disappears behind the closed door of his office again and everybody else seems to be engaged in some paperwork. Deceptive quiet before storm.
One phone call is enough to break all hell loose. The reaction speed of the CCU core team could offer proper competition to any flying squad really. The issue that it comes at the cost of some shouting, a few dropped things and knocked over coffee cups is completely irrelevant.
Having no business to take part in direct police work, such is tracing suspects, Grace is left to hold the fort.
The motherly streak in her manifesting itself, she starts to clean up the mess created by the head-over-heels departure. She pushes the astray left chairs back under the desks, picks up the pens and papers from the floor and collects the unwashed coffee cups on a tray.
Having put things right in the squad-room, she takes a peek in Boyd's office as well. Just in case. Last week he jumped up quite the same way and stormed to a meeting that had slipped his mind, forgetting to save the file he'd been working with. And when he returned later and discovered that several hours' worth of work was lost, the whole world except him was to blame naturally.
Looks like the same thing is about to happen today. In order to prevent the prospective bellowing and cursing, Grace just intends to go, click 'save' and close the laptop.
Her eyes almost involuntarily slide across the rows of text on the screen. Some sort of letter apparently.
With a salutation 'My Darling Grace'...
Definitely not the adjective he habitually uses in messages meant for her.
With the grim presentiment that she's about to become the victim of some wry practical joke, Grace takes a seat to explore Boyd's written work more closely.
It starts as some old-fashioned love letter, with the ludicrously ceremonial declaration of his affection that's enough to bring a smirk to the corner of her mouth, reinforcing her suspicions that it all has to be Boyd's idea of a joke.
The ridiculous style gets abandoned quickly, and what follows is the most sincere and intimate confession she's ever read, revelation of his deepest feelings, hopes and dreams. A lot of it she can completely relate to, the subject all too familiar to herself. Grace has never actually considered Boyd capable of such unrestricted self-expression and she doubts he'd be able to get himself to say things like that out loud. It doesn't matter. One thing she doesn't doubt in is that every word he's put down is truly meant. There's much-much more than she's ever dared to dream of. By the time she reaches the final, yet unfinished sentence, she's got happy tears in her eyes. Should Boyd step in this very moment, she'd just run in his arms and kiss him senseless, regardless whether the whole gossip-hungry Met might stand lined up behind him to witness everything.
The squad-room door does open, but not for the man she'd love to see there.
Sergeant Murphy looks rather uncomfortable with his task.
''Dr. Foley... I've got bad news I'm afraid... Members of your team got involved in a shooting incident...''
The pastel green colour of the waiting area walls was probably chosen in good intention to offer some soothing and calming effect. It doesn't work for Grace, she finds it oppressive. As is the specific smell and background noise of hospitals. The hands of the old-fashioned clock high up on the opposite wall seem to be glued in place, the weird time anomaly of hospital waiting rooms holding true as always.
All her companions have found themselves some sort of past-time.
Eve, who used to train in this particular hospital while studying medicine, has got lots of friends and acquaintances amongst the staff. Every now and then some familiar face passes by and she jumps up to go and exchange greetings and a few words.
Stella, over-emotional due to her French temperament and literally on the verge of tears at first, has told Grace countless times how exactly everything happened. That seems to have calmed her down, she's discovered a stack of out-dated magazines on the small corner table and is busy leafing them now.
Spence keeps walking up and down the corridor, engaged in endless work-related phone calls. He tries his best to be as matter-of-fact as becomes to the acting CO of the unit, but traces of recently survived shock are still showing. No wonder – it was him trying to keep his boss from bleeding to death until the ambulance arrived and paramedics took over, the dried blood stains on his shirt and trousers a grim reminder of these nerve-racking minutes. Something about him reminds Grace of her own son during the incredibly tough days in another hospital where his father was loosing the fight with cancer - that same desperate resolution on his face to be brave and act like a man, come what may. She repels such comparison out of her head quickly. Things are completely different this time. Boyd's not going to die. Yes, he has lost a lot of blood and the bullet is in a tricky place, but luckily no major organs were damaged and the surgical team performing the ongoing operation is one of the very best. That's the inside information they've obtained via Eve's contacts. There's every reason to hope for the best.
The tormenting waiting is finally over and two green-clad surgeons – a well-known middle-aged female consultant and much younger, but very businesslike male registrar come to talk to them. Their message is laconic but encouraging. The operation went without complications, Boyd's blood pressure and heart rate are normalising, so the prognosis is good and full recovery could be expected. They conclude with a statement Grace has heard in connection with Boyd several times before – once again he's had lots of luck.
Boyd is still heavily sedated and remains in ICU till morning as a precaution, so all they get is a glimpse of him through the door window.
He looks intimidatingly pale, even compared to the background of bright white sheets. The IV drips, monitors and wires around him make no pleasant sight either. But he's breathing himself and the nurse keeping an eye on the monitors by his bedside comes to assure them that all his vitals are stable and he is doing as fine as could be expected.
All this doesn't appease Grace's gnawing guilt. Her behaviour, her stupid attempt to prove something was what kept Boyd sitting up previous night, writing his letter to her, and the lack of sleep resulted in his almost fatal miscalculation. She has secretly loved him all these years, there have been occasions when she's been raving mad at him - how could she ever think that she'd be able to keep pretending being indifferent. Realising now how ridiculous this whole concept really was, Grace tries to comfort herself that at least she has a chance for correction of mistakes. She will use it, definitely. She stays awake most of the night, staring the ceiling of her bedroom in the darkness, and goes through in her head all the things she wants to tell Boyd as soon as she gets the chance. Maybe tomorrow already, when he's regained consciousness and taken to general ward. Then they can talk about everything. No more hiding and pretending, not after such a tough reminder how fragile life really is.
Hurrying down the long hospital corridor next morning, Grace is immensely relieved to hear the familiar loud and arguing voice. It works much better leading the way to the right room than the vague directions she got at the information desk.
Boyd is propped up against pillows, his left shoulder heavily plastered. The wires and IV drips are gone and she's glad to see that some colour has returned to his face. The young male doctor she remembers from last night is standing by his bedside and seems to be quite in trouble, his every attempt to explain the importance of bed rest in the healing process encountering eager and defiant protest. Boyd's reluctance towards hospitals and doctors is notorious, but Grace realises that there's an additional aggravating issue with this particular one. The young registrar can't be much older than Boyd's son would be. Since Luke's death Boyd doesn't seem to be coping at all with well-doing and successful young men of that particular age, facing a harsh reminder of how things might have been so unbearable apparently, that it makes him take his bitterness out on them.
How hard things like that can be Grace knows far too well herself, having passed the doors to the maternity ward on her way here and experienced once again that even so many years later, being happy mother of two and proud grandmother of three by now, the pain and grief over the one she'll always be missing won't ever diminish.
The young doctor leaves and the initial obligatory 'How are you?' and 'Does the wound hurt much?' questions get asked and receive expectedly grumpy answers. Then they both fall silent.
''Is it Wednesday today?'' Boyd suddenly asks.
''Wednesday, the 20th,'' she nods, supposing recent recovery from general anaesthesia and heavy doses of painkillers to give way to such question.
''You should be home packing for your trip then!''
The fact that Boyd remembers their conversation several weeks ago when she asked for days off to attend a conference, comes as a complete surprise.
''It really wouldn't be considerate of me to leave in such circumstances,'' she fends him off. ''There'll be other conferences in the future.''
''Nonsense,'' Boyd declares bluntly. ''Spence and Stella can manage fine on their own and there isn't any need for you keeping the vigil by my bedside either.''
''I had no idea of being that useless,'' she remarks, rather offended.
''That's not what I meant,'' he hastily mitigates his brusqueness. ''Don't get me wrong - I really appreciate you being concerned and coming here to see me. I just don't want you to give up your months-long plans when there's no urgent need for that. And work-wise - there's nothing to prevent you from going either. The majority of our cases won't need your immediate attention in next few days. Everything's pretty clear with the Morrison case as well, he pretty much nailed his coffin pulling out that gun when we came to arrest him.''
''Thank God he didn't nail your coffin...'' It comes out spontaneously and far more emotionally than Grace intends. Boyd doesn't miss it.
''No chance of getting rid of me that easily!'' There may be a trace of arrogance in his voice, but not in his eyes and definitely not in the way his hand reaches to squeeze her fingers reassuringly.
A nurse pops in to remind him it's time to take medicine. Boyd withdraws his hand quickly, tossing a hostile glance towards the intruder.
He swallows the pills brought to him with a grimace of utter disgust, and done with that, suggests rather grumpily, ''You'd better get going now, Grace. I'd like to keep chatting with you very much, but you see what this place is like - no chance of exchanging two sentences undisturbed.''
She can't but agree with him on that. This really isn't the time and place for heart-to-heart. The main thing is for him to get well again and then they can sort out everything else.
''Maybe I can bring you something from home?'' she remembers to ask on doorstep.
''Spence can do that. You make sure you won't miss your plane. Enjoy your conference,'' he waves her off.
There's plenty of reason Grace should to do as told - excellent performers, all subjects discussed truly interesting, plus a chance to meet again lots of old friends and former colleagues she hasn't seen for ages. And yet she finds it quite impossible to concentrate on anything, unable to draw her thoughts away from the man she left in hospital bed. Like a teenage girl having a crush really. There isn't much point in staying, so she spontaneously decides to skip the last day of the conference and return to London on Thursday evening.
Foggy weather and delayed flight ruin Grace's hopes to pay Boyd a short visit before the end of the visiting hours, but first thing next morning she's on her way to see him.
She doesn't find Boyd in the room he used to be. The two young nurses who have just started their shift have no idea what's happened to him. Their task is to prepare the bed for someone new.
A myriad of worst possible scenarios crossing her mind, Grace suddenly notices the familiar young doctor in the other end of the corridor and all-but runs to him to get some answers.
''Patient Boyd left the hospital about an hour ago.''
Grace can hardly keep from bursting into laughter. Regardless whether intended as a noun or an adjective, the word 'patient' would be the last to go with the name Boyd.
''We strongly advised him to stay here till Monday,'' the registrar continues sternly, ''but we can't keep anyone here against their will, can we?''
''And he walked out of here entirely on his own?'' she asks, shaking her head incredulously.
''No, we wouldn't have allowed that. He had arranged a colleague - Spence, if I caught his name correctly - to bring him clothes and pick him up. ''
Grace thanks the doctor for the information and hurries back to her car. She needs to take some time before starting the engine - not a good idea to plunge into the rush-hour traffic, steamed-up as she is right now. And she really is royally pissed off with Boyd, though she should have of course suspected him to be planning pranks like that. Knowing well that Boyd's home won't be the place to find him, Grace decides to go to work right away. Driving across the city leaves her plenty of time to prepare a proper scolding for him.
Everything in the basement headquarters of the CCU seems to be back to normal, with DSI Boyd in his office, combed and shaved, wearing the purple shirt that becomes him so well. If his left hand wasn't in a sling to protect the injured shoulder, nothing would betray the fact that he came here right out of hospital bed.
Spence is standing by his boss' desk, spreading one document after another in front of him, bringing him up to date with everything. The pair of them reminds very much of an anxious schoolboy who's come to show his report card to his stern father.
Grace hasn't got time to enjoy the scene and marches in the office straight away.
Boyd greets her with a surprised over-the-glasses look.
''Weren't you supposed to stay away for three days?''
''Aren't you supposed to be in hospital, recovering from surgery?!'' she retorts instead of answering his question.
Boyd grins slyly.''Got parole for good conduct!''
''That's not what I heard. I just talked to your doctor and he wasn't pleased at all with your decision to walk away.''
''That doctor-to-be '', Boyd bristles instantly, ''hasn't seen half as many gunshot wounds during his brief career as I have ...''
''That definitely isn't anything to boast with!'' Grace snaps, much annoyed by such arrogance. ''Then tell me, experienced policeman as you claim yourself to be, why didn't you put on the bullet-proof vest, going to arrest a potentially armed and dangerous suspect!? Out of vanity I'd offer! And now you're apparently trying to prove to yourself and the rest of the world that you're tough enough to walk around with the raw wound. A grown man and acting like some teenage schoolboy...'' She shakes her head angrily. ''Honestly, it's your injury that saves you, otherwise I'd really give you a smacking right away!''
Spence has real trouble restraining his merriment.
''Don't you dare to giggle here!'', Grace makes a threatening movement towards her younger colleague, who instantly ducks his head between his shoulders in mock fear. ''You're supposed to be the acting CO of this team – you're not entitled to take any orders from someone on sick leave. I expected you to have a bit more common sense than letting him talk you into his preposterous plans.''
''Come on, why make such a big number out of it - I'm not doing anything harmful here,'' Boyd attempts to justify himself with an innocent face. ''Just sitting and reading – the same things I've done past couple of days in the hospital, both activities totally approved by the 'doctor' you have so much confidence in. And as you can see - I'm taken excellent care of...'' He rewards Stella, who comes half-running with a cup of appetizingly smelling coffee, with a flattering smile. ''You have no idea what effort it took to get any of those lazy nurses to bring me a cup of that dubious brown liquid from the corridor vending machine! It's pure luxury here, compared to that. And everything else is under control as well, I'm not that stupid...''
''Really!?'' Grace needles.
''They changed my dressings this very morning and new check-up is scheduled for tomorrow'', Boyd continues, paying no attention to her sarcasm. ''I've got an abundant share of antibiotics and painkillers,'' he indicates at the row of little bottles on the verge of his desk, ''which I'm dutifully consuming. Besides, I have every intention to take things as easy as I can. If manhandling somebody really becomes unavoidable I know who to call - you seem to be all in favour of corporal punishment these days.''
Grace gives an exasperated sigh and heads to her office. How could one possibly reason with somebody as incorrigible as Boyd.
Rearranging things so she'll be the one to take Boyd home instead of Spence goes relatively easy, both men obviously realising that there are certain occasions when arguing with a very determined Grace is pointless.
When she insists on stopping at a supermarket, Boyd still makes some faint attempts to protest, referring to all the frozen microwave meals in his fridge. She over-rules him with resolute declaration that she won't let him eat anything of such questionable nutritional value before his wound has completely healed.
Boyd's stubborn attempts to offer assistance in the kitchen result in broken salad bowl and a large pool of olive oil on the counter. Having to accept the fact that with only one good hand he really isn't of much use, he grudgingly concedes to take place on the couch and watch TV, allowing her to prepare their dinner undisturbed.
Enduring the notorious hospital menu for several days had to be quite an ordeal for Boyd. He consumes everything put on his plate with impressive speed and hunger, lavishing Grace with praise for what sure is a tasty home-cooked meal, but hardly anything that special.
She makes them both herbal tea when they've finished eating. No chance of Boyd getting any more caffeine after all that binge coffee drinking at work.
He doesn't complain. Full stomach always seems to make him much more pliant and acquiescent than he is otherwise.
''I really haven't deserved all that trouble you see pampering me,'' he remarks with contrite face, cautiously taking the steaming mug from her, ''I feel so bad for letting you run to the hospital all in vain the morning. I should have let you know about my plans to leave. I actually did think about sending you a message, but that boy-doctor kept lecturing and then Spence came already... ,'' he explains apologetically.
Grace contemplates him with an inward smirk. It doesn't happen every day that Boyd so openly admits having done something wrong.
''OK. You're forgiven this time,'' she nods indulgently, sipping her tea. ''Just as long as you don't forget sending me some more important letters.''
He frowns quizzically, not sure what she's referring to.
Grace puts her mug on the table. Time to stop beating around the bush and get over with the the conversation she's been preparing for the whole week.
''I know all about your 'memoirs'.''
Boyd looks thunderstruck. ''But how...?'', his expression becoming one huge question mark.
''Don't worry, I didn't have to break your access codes or do anything else illegal. You forgot to close your laptop when you all stormed after Morrison. Anybody who walked into your office accidentally could have read it all, starting with the cleaning lady and up to ACC Smith.
Boyd groans and closes his eyes briefly at such a terrifying thought.
''Luckily there wasn't anything but me,'' she reassures him. ''And since I was marked as the recipient, I hope it wasn't that big transgression to read it.''
'I never meant to send it to you... not like that...'', muttered barely audibly.
''I certainly hope so,'' Grace smirks, ''you and me aren't exactly the generation to exchange love letters via e-mail. I'd prefer mine hand-written and on scented paper.''
Boyd's so all over the place, he doesn't seem to realise she's just teasing him. ''It's not a love letter... just some things I wanted... I needed... to get off my chest...''
Learning that his big secret is revealed so unexpectedly seems to shock him a great deal and Grace allows him to take some time.
''Aren't you interested at all what I have to say about all that?'' she finally probes, when the silence threatens to last for too long.
Boyd gives a deep sigh. ''Petrified of that,'' he admits honestly.
''...that I might turn you down?'' Grace suggests with sympathy.
''The opposite rather.''
''Isn't that what you want then?'', she asks in complete confusion.
Boyd doesn't answer right away.
''One can't always get what he wants, can he!?'' It's not clear whether this bitter statement is meant just for himself or for her as well.
''I've never had any illusions that I might stand the slightest chance with you,'' he continues, eyes downcast ''and coming clean how I really felt about you would have meant loosing a good friend and colleague. You deserve much better than me. That's why I never seriously considered what exactly I would say to you... not until last week and the almost unreal possibility that you might see Sarah as some competition, that you might actually be jealous of her, regardless that the little meaningless fling we had is ancient history... ''
''Is it?'' Grace stings with unconcealed ire. ''You managed to convince her that she 'deserves better' as well?''
No need for her revelations and confessions any more, Boyd's expression clearly shows that he has finally figured out the nature and extent of her feelings for him.
There isn't any joy and happiness over the discovery in his eyes. For some reason the most strong-willed man Grace knows seems to have accepted with hopeless resignation that his dreams are unrealisable.
''Oh, Grace... I'm afraid we'll never be able to make it work. Can't you see how complicated it would make everything? ''
Not that infuriating excuse again...
''It most certainly would.'' she agrees, her voice acerbic. ''And that's of course the last thing we want... you want, isn't it? You're the man of,'' she stresses the word disdainfully, ''simple solutions - I'm perfectly aware of that. Don't worry, I'm going to make it easy for you...'' She clenches her teeth for a moment and swallows convulsively to fight down the burning lump in her throat. ''You'll escape the aggravating company of my problematic person right away. Then you can carry on with your wonderfully simple life.''
She's on her feet already, her eyes frantically trying to locate her bag, shoes and coat. Dramatic storming out has never been Grace's style, but on this occasion she sees no other option, and God forbid her for having to come back here to collect some forgotten thing.
Boyd is still talking, still admitting to explain something, but Grace doesn't want to hear any of his unquestionably noble reasons. All she knows is that he filled her heart with so much hope and then nipped everything in the bud in most cruel way, depriving her of strength and will to fight for her happiness. And that's something she'll never forgive him.
''I hate you!'' Right this moment she sees Boyd as the embodiment of every man she has ever loved and trusted, but who betrayed her in return. To give him a push is just an instinctive childish reaction, something a little girl would do to get the big upsetting boy out of her way.
Normally Boyd wouldn't probably blink his eye at such a pathetic attack, but his injury makes him a lot more vulnerable and he yelps in pain.
Grace freezes, terrified by what she's just done. ''Oh God, Peter... please forgive me, I didn't mean to... ''
''I deserved it all right.'' A chivalrous thing to say.
It's not all right for Grace. She breaks into uncontrollable tears, feeling so sorry for causing him pain and sorry for herself, realising that all her defiance and determination won't ever be enough to help her get over that man.
Boyd clearly doesn't expect such uncharacteristic reaction from her and seems to be at loss for a moment.
Then his free arm moves around her shoulders and he pulls her into soothing embrace, lowering his face to brush the top of her head with a gentle kiss.
''Please don't cry... Gracie...'', murmured against her hair with infinite tenderness.
All her life she's passionately hated anyone ever daring to call her like that. Now it comes from a man she'd least expected to use such a silly pet-name and she loves him dearly for that.