This story has been sitting unfinished for a very long time now, and it's thanks to a comment made by Gemenied that I found the inspiration to keep going with it. Huge thanks are due to missDuncan for friendly badgering and stubborn, patient cheerleading, and to Joodiff for continually reminding me why I love to write, and for taking on such an epic betaing task. Massive hugs to you both.

Happy Birthday, Gemenied. I hope you have a lovely day. Enjoy. :) xx

Secrets

…

"For the last time, Katherine, no!" growls Boyd, increasingly irritated by the insistent pestering being directed his way, and therefore accordingly disinclined to continue the conversation that seems to be serving no purpose other than distracting his attention away from other far more important tasks, and irritating him. Severely.

On the other end of the phone, his sister sighs heavily. "For heaven's sake, Peter, you can't spend Christmas on your own. Not again," she snaps, every bit as impatient, headstrong and aggressively determined as her younger brother.

"I'm not going to be on my own," he retorts, desperately hoping to end the call and the whole inconvenient matter. Katherine snorts derisively in his ear.

"Please," she sneers, "I really don't want to hear about your idea of pleasant… company." She pauses, and Boyd unconsciously grinds his teeth, wondering how to shut her up without causing full-scale open warfare. The last time he and Katherine fell out over a year went by before they managed to even look at each other again. It was an unpleasant situation, and one he really, really doesn't want to repeat, but he has absolutely no intention of doing what she wants. It's just a shame that they are so similar in temperament.

Evidently, Katherine doesn't want to argue with him either though, because he hears her take a long, very telling deep breath before abruptly changing tactics.

"I'm sorry," she apologises, "that was uncalled for. But, Peter, really, the kids want to see you. I want to see you. So does Andrew." Their older brother – idolised by both during their youth – has been missing for most of the last year, having recently retired and been off travelling the globe with his wife. But, tempting though the thought is, Boyd is resolute.

"No," he repeats, but with considerably less vigour. "Not this year, Katherine, I'm sorry." She'll be furious at his refusal, and it's unfortunate, but he's not going to change his mind. If the circumstances were different, he would be drawn by the offer, but they're not and he isn't. He won't be.

"Damn you, Peter," she snaps at him. "Why can't you just think about someone else for a change? Christmas is for families and whether you like it or not you are part of this family. I get that last year was dreadful for you, I really do. We loved Luke too, you know, and we'll never forget him, but for God's sake, you can't just shut everyone out of your life and go on pretending that –"

"It's not about Luke," he interrupts her.

"Then why can't you just accept that we all –" she begins, but he's given up and tuned her out, knowing she will be thoroughly intent on berating him into submission if she thinks she needs to.

Returning to the onerous task of signing a batch of paperwork heading for the CPS, he manages to forget he's even on the phone until one particularly persistent line of questioning about spending the holidays in stubborn isolation filters though into his consciousness, making him sigh in heavy frustration and wonder what he can do to get her not just off the phone, but also to leave him alone as well. He has absolutely no intention of explaining his current circumstances to her, no matter how well-meaning she may be. But as the tone of her attack changes, picking up a hint of that pressing bullishness that is just a touch too familiar, his patience finally evaporates, and with it any sense of communicative endurance.

He's had enough. He knows from bitter experience that Katherine will keep badgering him unless he ends this. He'll just have to deal with the consequences further down the road. Bluntly, and regrettably rather rudely, he cuts her off mid-rant.

"I said no, Katherine, and I meant it. I have to go – I'm busy. Have a good Christmas. Goodbye." Hanging up the phone he tosses it angrily onto his desk and stalks out into the squadroom. Right now a glass of whiskey would be very much appreciated, but he'll have to settle for a coffee instead. Waiting for the machine to produce its results, he glares irritably out at the empty room and wonders why there is no one available to shout at when he really needs it.

…

When he attempts to pull onto his drive later that evening he finds, much to his annoyance, that there is already a car parked in his customary spot and he can't stop the heavy groan that escapes as he recognises not only the vehicle itself, but also the driver and the passenger. Impatient as ever, Katherine gets out before he's even brought the Audi to a full stop and she stands staring at him, the fingers of her right hand tapping an edgy, staccato beat against her thigh. Andrew is more reserved, easing slowly from the passenger side and waiting quietly as Boyd shuts off the engine and takes a deep, lingering breath in the hope of summoning some scrap of the patience he is undoubtedly going to need.

The two of them make quite an imposing picture standing there, and if he didn't know them and was the type to be easily intimidated, he can imagine he would be. He and Andrew are the same height, but his brother is much broader and still heavily muscular, even thirty odd years after his rugby career ended. They share the same eyes, but Andrew's nose clearly bears testament to having met more than one unkind fist over the years.

Katherine has the appearance to match her personality; in her bare feet she's three inches taller than her brothers, and has the kind of outrageously statuesque curves that only really belong in airbrushed magazines and Hollywood films. Her features are dark and prominent, her eyes piercing; Boyd's seen her in action in a court room only once, but he'll never forget it. She's what his brother once termed, 'lethally elegant'.

"I see you brought reinforcements," he says without preamble, the moment he is out of the car, not giving Katherine any chance to get the first word in. "You could have saved yourself the trouble. I said no." He's glaring at his sister, not at all wanting to have this conversation with her again today, or any other day, for that matter, but he reaches out to his brother and they exchange a warm handshake.

"You look good," Boyd says, appraising the relaxed, healthy appearance of Katherine's intended mediator. Tanned and healthy, Andrew grins cheerfully; he's always been as easy-going as the other two have been prickly and volatile.

"Cheers. You don't!" he replies. Boyd doesn't take offence. Brutal honesty has always been a core value between the three of them. He shrugs. He's tired, and he knows it shows. It's been a long, hard few months.

"Too much to do, not enough time to do it in," he replies, walking to the front door. It's far too cold to hang around outside any longer than necessary, and the gentle breeze from earlier in the day has become much more biting.

"Bloody hell," gasps Katherine as they troop through the door, "it's freezing in here, Peter." She's not far off the mark. The thermostat is set somewhere in the vicinity of twelve degrees; just enough to keep the house healthy and ticking over while it sits empty and disused. It's really not that much of an improvement on outside.

There's a large pile of post on the floor and Boyd scoops it up, carrying it through to the kitchen where he dumps it on the table to sort into two piles; needs attention, and for the bin. Andrew leans against the door, looking around in casual interest while Katherine slips straight back in to her earlier argument.

"It's Christmas, Peter – Dad would turn in his grave if he knew you were intending to ignore the rest of us and hole up here on your own."

"I've already told you," Boyd replies, with remarkable restraint, "I won't be alone. Nor will I be here."

"Oh for God's sake, why can't you ever do anything without an argument?" she demands, irritably stalking the length of the room before pausing to examine the dust gathering on the window ledges.

"Coming from a barrister, that's bloody rich," he barks back. Katherine turns to glare furiously at him, and there's real venom in her gaze now. She opens her mouth to reply, but Andrew gets there first.

"Enough," he orders, his voice firm and uncompromising, but no more elevated than usual. It's a tone they both learned to listen to the hard way when they were kids. Katherine's eyes narrow, but she stops talking. Andrew looks at them both, and then sighs. "Peter, I agree with Katherine. Christmas is family time. Always has been. Why are you so adamant you won't join us?"

"I can't," replies Boyd instantly, which is the truth.

"Why not?" snaps Katherine. She runs a finger along the surfaces and lifts it to her eyes to inspect. "God, this place is dusty. And cold. It's almost like you don't live here."

Boyd shrugs. "I don't." He turns back to sorting his post. There's more of it than usual; typically he drops by the house once a week or so to check on things, but with recent events it's been closer to three weeks now.

They both stare at him – he can feel their eyes boring into the back of his head. "Where do you live?" asks Andrew, curious.

"Finchley," he replies absently, having found an envelope of interest.

"Wonderful," sighs Katherine, with just a touch of the childish dramatic flare she's never quite managed to outgrow. "But I still don't understand why you have to be so difficult."

Abruptly his patience evaporates. "I'm not being difficult, Katherine," he grinds out, just, and only just, managing to keep his voice from rising ominously. "I told you I can't come, and that's the end of it. I won't be holed up here, and I won't be alone, so will you please just drop it?" She's not going to, he can tell, and he really doesn't want to deal with it right now.

Andrew attempts to save him with a different question. "Why don't you live here?"

It's been a long day, he's tired, and all he really wants is to go home. It doesn't even occur to him that he has ceased to think of his own house as home. The fight slowly draining out of him, he leans back against the table, half sitting on the edge as he stares down at the envelope in his hands. Studying each individual letter that makes up his address, he wonders what to tell them. Neither of them will be easily satisfied, but he can't help feeling as though he's being backed into a corner and forced into admitting something that he's just not ready to share with anyone yet.

"Peter?" Andrew is milder than Katherine by far, but there's still a note of insistent concern in his voice as he tries to gently prod a response.

A wave of sadness flares, almost overwhelming in its sudden intensity, and Boyd feels his grip inadvertently tightening, creasing the letter. "Because," he replies, quietly and without really intending to, "I live with Grace."

Even Katherine picks up on his sudden subdued calm; she's softer by far as she probes for more information. "Who's Grace?"

Boyd feels a smile break through as he thinks of her. It warms his entire face, something the other two can't fail to notice. "She's… everything. My best friend. My other half. My… she's everything."

"Then why don't you bring her with you?" suggests Andrew.

Boyd shakes his head. "I can't."

"Why not?" Katherine is still frustrated, but she's also very perceptive and is quickly beginning to understand that there is something else at play in this situation.

Boyd sighs heavily, knowing there's no way out of this now. "She's not well," he explains, desperately hoping they will leave it at that. He really doesn't want to get into the details, just wants to get out of here and go home.

"Does it matter?" Katherine wants to know. "Half the kids have whatever bug is going around, but that's no problem. Everyone will be so full of excitement that a few sniffles won't bother anyone."

"She hasn't just got a cold," Boyd snaps angrily, and he's on his feet again and pacing the room rapidly without even knowing it. "She …" Even after all this time though, he still can't say it. He just can't. "Her immune system is totally compromised. An infection could kill her. It's nearly happened before already."

"What is it, Peter? What's wrong?" asks Andrew quietly, observing the mix of deeply frustrated anger and gripping, miserable fear simmering within his brother.

Boyd looks up, holds his gaze steadily. He swallows and tries to speak. "She's got…" again his voice trails away, and for a moment he closes his eyes tightly, hands clenching into fists as he fights to keep his voice level, his wavering emotions under control. "She's just finished chemotherapy," he finally says.

The silence is absolute. Deafening. And it stretches for a seeming eternity, before Andrew finally speaks again. "Has it worked?"

Boyd turns away, walks to the window and stares out into the dark. He can see nothing. The metaphor is not lost on him. "We don't know yet," is all he manages, before the silence takes over again.

"I'm sorry," Katherine finally tells him, and there's a great deal of honest compassion in her voice.

Boyd's too tired for this. For the arguments, the explanations, and the pity. Especially the pity. They've purposefully said nothing to as many people as possible to avoid exactly this kind of situation. Grace didn't, and still doesn't, want a fuss. She wants peace and quiet, and to deal with it all in as uninterrupted a way as possible and that's more than fine with him. The less people who know means the less people pushing in where they aren't wanted or needed, or trying to clumsily offer help that isn't helpful. Maybe it's uncharitable, and a small part of his mind has occasionally pushed and nagged at him regarding that decision during moments of weakness, but his priorities are crystal clear to him. Grace is what matters. Grace is who comes first, and Grace is who he will protect and help, and look after with everything he has.

Feeling old and tired and thoroughly battered, he looks at them both and shrugs. "It is what it is," he sighs wearily. "I can't change any of it, though I've wished it often enough," he adds, and neither of them miss the bitterness in his tone. He shifts his eyes to Katherine. "So I'm sorry, but it's just not going to happen. Not this time. Maybe next year, if we're lucky."

…

Driving home, his thoughts assault him in a chaotic tangle that's every bit as angry as it is raw.

He didn't lie to his siblings, but he was a little economical with the truth. Yes, unnecessarily exposing Grace to infection is a bad idea, but she's far more likely to suffer from a bug related to the bacteria she's already carrying somewhere in or on her own body. The kind of thing that lives in everyone, but that she just can't currently fight off. The idea of it is a daily torment to him. And she does seem to be developing something of a cold; she was a little warm this morning, and sneezing a lot. He's been hoping it was just dust or something in the air, but considering their luck it's highly unlikely.

Their luck… he scowls without thinking about it, automatically slowing for a junction and flicking on the car's left hand indicator. Their luck, which has so far been anything but good.

We have each other, he grimly reminds himself, as he has done repetitively for months now, hoping against it all that the one good thing to come out of this entire brutal saga will be the thing to get them both through it.

The light turns red and he's forced to a stop, staring tiredly out at the traffic around him.

Christmas with his family would have been nice, but his choice was absolutely the right one to make. He didn't lie, an infection could kill her. But that's not why he refused.

No, the real reason he doesn't want to go is the sheer chaos of it all.

Katherine and Dan have three kids and five grandkids, and Andrew and Marion have two sons, two grandsons and twin three-year-old great-granddaughters. And that's without the added insanity of the in-laws. The whole group together is loud, exceedingly rowdy, and very boisterous. Holidays, birthdays or any other occasion requiring a mass gathering is never a relaxing affair. Ever. He has trouble coping with them on his best days; Grace would be overwhelmed in minutes. Next year – if they get a next year – it could be wonderful, but this time she's simply far too fragile.

They talked about it, and much the same as her birthday – which sadly fell on one of the absolute worst days she's had – Grace said she just wanted to spend the time with him and forget about the rest. He was happy to agree. Uninterrupted time spent with Grace, just the two of them, is extremely valuable and absolutely treasured. By both of them.

No, he muses, glaring at the absurdly, obnoxiously bright orange hatchback blocking his path as the traffic lights change, they might be his family, and he definitely loves them, but he'd far rather spend the day quietly and peacefully this year.

Pressing his foot down on the accelerator and pulling away from the junction he tries to ignore the other matter. The unspoken one. The one that weighs heavily on both of them, and though they don't talk about it, they are both well aware that the other is thinking about it. What if this is it? What if this is the only Christmas that they get to spend together? If the chemo hasn't worked, what then? For all their joint determination, and all their desperation for the promised future together, she might not recover. She might still… die. And then what? It remains untouched subject, but it's very definitely on both their minds. No matter how much they try to ignore it.