Disclaimer: I do not own the copyright for Waking The Dead or its characters – all rights belong to the BBC – who incidentally should just bring it back!

Content: Boyd and Grace – Character death

Rating: K

When I started I thought I'd have a go at writing one fic turns out this is now my 30th! Thanks so much for sticking with me.

With hugs and thanks to the OHT and to everyone who happens to read this. Massive thanks once again to Joodiff for being such an expert.

A/N I probably should insert a tissue warning here as this deals with a character death.

Teardrops

The thinly veiled light begins to emerge through the narrow gap of her curtains tentatively announcing the dawning of another day. She lies awake but perfectly still on her bed, the luxury of sleep having been denied to her for yet another night. Her mind, full of self-preservation, continually warns that unless she finds rest soon she will make herself ill. She knows that she can't continue much longer, not in her current state. Yet for all the protests that her body makes it refuses to give her the respite she so desperately needs. Not that she wants to find peace, not here, not like this. If and when sleep finally comes she cares little if she wakes from its dark embrace.

Another tear falls silently down her cheek soaking into the pillow beneath her. She doesn't attempt to stem it, nor does she move to wipe it from her face, their constant presence now something she is accustomed to. At least the uncontrollable sobbing has ceased, for now. Though of herself she has had no power or even the desire to stop it, her body is simply too exhausted to continue pouring out its deep rooted grief. The numbness that has replaced her constant weeping is unexpectedly comforting, like a shield of protection hemming her in and preventing the full force of pain from ripping once again through her body.

She has experienced pain before and believed that she had suffered every heartache that could have been bestowed upon her, but nothing has come close to this. Nothing she has faced previously has prepared her for the remorseless anguish now coursing unimpeded through her body. This pain is insurmountable and has unforgivingly wrapped its vice like grip around her heart, crushing every piece of hope and beauty within. The dark desolate grief has overtaken her like a murderous weed choking the life from her body and causing her to spit every kind of hatred towards the world. Hatred she didn't even know she processed until now.

She blinks rapidly against the invading light, the only physical acknowledgement towards this unwanted intruder. The light that promised so much, but with its dawning came the reality that no matter how brightly it shone it would never be able to dispel the darkness that now encompasses her soul. One moment was all it took for its inky blackness to envelop itself suffocating around her heart. Driven by the increasingly incessant sense of loss it has simply continued to apply a pressure so great she can hardly bear it. The intensity surprised her, as did the speed at which it appeared. One heartbeat was all it took for hers to be decimated.

Her body heaves once again under the force of the sob that rises powerfully from deep within. Her memory continually betrays her, tormenting her with images of one brief moment in time that is now burned into her conscience for eternity. The sound, the smell, the sight of him unmoving, the deafening silence. Silence that seemed to last forever until it was shattered by an ear-piercing cry. A cry so raw and painfully heart-breaking it would crush the most hardened soul. She knew it was emanating from the depths of her being, but was completely powerless to contain it. Her senses had tried to shut down in a desperate bid to protect and shield her from the full horror, unable to function under the enormity of the weight of pain that had instantaneously seared through her. She knelt beside him, her tears falling freely as she took his hand. His dark eyes searched for hers, drowning in a pool of fear.

"Ssshh don't try to speak Peter," she comforted him gently stroking his face as her tears still fell.

His eyes silently held her gaze and she drank in every last second of him. His breathing laboured, she knew what the conclusion would be and that it was terrifyingly close and she saw the same fear reflected in his eyes. His eyes flickered shut.

"Boyd, please, don't leave me, not now….."

Excruciatingly slowly, his deep eyes opened once more, locking steadfastly on hers. She knew him, knew that he would be fighting with everything he had. Gently she leaned closer to him until she could feel the coolness of his face against hers.

"I love you so much, Peter ….." she whispered softly as she tenderly caressed his face, "…I always have. I am so sorry that I have waited until now to tell you. Forgive me, please, just stay with me."

His lips pulled lightly as he attempted to smile. Stoically he struggled to fill his lungs with as much air as he could, wincing loudly as his face crumpled in pain. His breathing shuddered as he gasped, fighting for air.

He tried to speak but his words were inaudible, the shallowness of his breath stealing them away. But she heard them resound in her spirit. His eyes were still firmly fixed to hers, his gaze telling her everything she needed to know. Reciprocated love poured steadily through the dark gateway, from his heart to hers. Silently everything she had never told him emanated unbridled from her spirit. Every emotion she had ever felt, every unintentional touch that had sent shivers up her spine, every breath he took that sent her crazy, the undeniable deep-rooted love that she felt, all flooded from her eyes in a tide of love and regret.

Her heart broke as the pang of remorse over took her. Why had they waited until it was too late? What merit was there in it? Why hadn't they just been honest about how they felt years ago? Gently she reached down and brushed her lips softly against his, her tears falling freely onto his face. She wanted to tell him he would be okay, wanted to heal his pain, but she knew that nothing either of them could do would stop the inevitable now. They had stood beside the dying too many times to fool themselves. Sometimes a little knowledge was unbearable.

His eyes began to lose focus, and uncontrollably she released another unrestrained sob from deep within her soul as for the last time she lost herself in their darkness. Softly they closed for eternity.

The devastation was swift, crushing her immediately in its wake. Wave upon wave of pain battered her body relentlessly as she cradled him tenderly in her arms rocking him gently back and forth. She pulled him close to herself, he was so still, so motionless. His face looked more peaceful that she had seen it in years, almost serene. Finally the demons that had held him captive and ruthlessly tormented him for so long had released their grasp and he was at peace, but her agony had only begun.

She gently caressed his face as she continued to hold him, his beard soft under her touch. She allowed her fingers to trace a path across the lines that the years had etched into his face. Time had been very kind to him. She lowered her head slowly and kissed his lips gently. With every breath she took she silently willed life back into his body hoping that somehow they both would wake from this nightmare and find themselves locked in the embrace of lovers. But it had been no dream. The pain she had felt far surpassed anything that even the darkest nightmare could bestow. The hurt was very real, and it had ripped and torn violently at her soul. So many moments stolen from them all lay desolate in blood-stained tatters around her.

She heard Spencer's familiar voice distantly repeatedly calling her name, his arms embraced her as he attempted to release her grip on Boyd. She felt herself fight against him, the incessant anger spilling over as she refused to let Boyd go. Someone was screaming, their sorrow evident in the pitiful distressed wail that reverberated around the dank room.

"LET ME GO, GET OFF ME! I'M NOT LEAVING HIM."

She recognised her own voice and watched solemnly as Spence backed off, but it was as though she was watching a play, observing the heart-breaking scene that the writers had scripted to wring out every piece of emotion from the audience. She saw Spence recoil, his face reflecting the horror that she felt before he too finally crumpled under the weight of his own grief. Boyd was dead, and they were sinking in the tide of helpless realisation.

His funeral had been a horrendous ordeal that she had to force herself to endure. Through the years she had counselled many family members and friends who had been bereaved about the benefits of attending the funeral of a loved one in order to receive closure. But as the cold hard wooden pew dug unrepentantly into her slight frame she realised that no funeral could ever close this aching gap that was now left in her life or fill the bleak emptiness that embraced her. There was nothing that could bring closure to the feeling of loss she was experiencing.

Grace suppressed the nauseous feeling that threatened to overwhelm her as Maureen Smith began to read a short eulogy. Her stony hardened voice precise as she told the congregation, comprising of some of the Met's finest, what a valued and loyal officer Boyd had been.

'Why the hell didn't you tell him that then when he was alive you sanctimonious, self-righteous, two-faced cow'

Grace inwardly seethed. He would have hated this. Hated all the pomp and ceremony that the funeral of a high ranking officer who was killed in the line of duty afforded. She closed her eyes, an imperceptible smile pulling on her lips as she imagined him, standing bold as you like in the middle of the church, his face like thunder as he raised his middle finger in defiance to them all before launching into a tirade of abuse telling them exactly what he thought of them. It took every piece of self-control she processed not to stand up and do it herself.

The sombre lyrics of 'I Vow to thee my Country' echoed gravely through the old church building as Boyd's coffin made its final journey past her. The desire to reach out and touch it, to touch him just one more time, burned a caustic path deep within her. Her breath caught painfully, her tears now falling uncontrollably as she saw Spencer's mask drop as he past them, his strong shoulder bearing the weight of the coffin of his former boss and mentor. For all their differences, she knew he loved him and knew his grief was heartfelt.

Grace felt the warm embrace as Eve wrapped her arms around her, drawing her to herself. She knew that Eve needed comforted just as much as she did, but she was unable to offer any. Instead she felt distant, detached from everyone, completely alone in her desolation. She had no doubt that they were hurting, that they too loved Boyd, but their love was not like hers. They didn't know how it felt to share the deep connected bond that had existed between them both. They didn't know the pain of loving someone so deeply yet having to deny themselves daily of expressing it. They never saw the raw agonising acceptance of how things had to be fleet across their eyes during the moments when it almost became too much for them to contain. Theirs was not a life now filled with bitter regret at the folly of two troubled souls who let so many chances pass them by. No, she was completely alone in this torment and her mind was besieged night and day with the remorse of what might have been.

The cold icy wind blew relentlessly against her as she stood by the edge of his grave. The top brass had all left talking with them their hypocritical sympathy. Only they that mattered remained, standing silently in private contemplation. Grace, Spence, Eve and Frankie. His team. His friends. The vicar prayed quietly.

"Earth to earth, ashes, to ashes, dust to dust. In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life …."

Spence stepped forward throwing a small handful of soil onto his coffin, slowly followed by the others. One by one leaving until she was finally alone. Her tears traced a path freely down her cheeks as she stepped forward to carefully drop a single white rose where he peacefully lay.

"I miss you so much," she said wiping the tears from her face before continuing, "and I will go on missing you every day of my life. Sleep well Boyd," she whispered. The footsteps behind her were familiar as Spence approached.

"You ready?" he asked quietly. She simply nodded in reply and allowed Spencer to put his arm around her and lead her away.

The days that followed were a blur, lost in a haze of heartache and alcohol. She drank in an attempt to numb the pain, but with sobriety came a fresh surge of grief and devastation. Sleep became her enemy, the night bringing with it visions of his deep brown eyes burning into her, gentle caresses that she would never feel, and words they never shared, all of which were cruelly ripped away from her with the morning light. So she fought against it, night after night lying silently awake waiting for the morning light, her only signal that a new day had begun.

In the distance she can hear the shrill of her telephone, it isn't the first time it has sounded, and just as before this too, like the persistent ringing of her doorbell every night, will remain unanswered. Her own voice, now barely recognisable, fills the cavernous space of her lounge as her answer machine picks up. Cheery, upbeat and in control, she struggles to remember the last time she felt like that, it all seems such a lifetime ago. Eve's voice echoes through the morning air, obvious concern hanging from every word. Grace knows she will ring again, and again, until eventually she'll convince Spence to call around to gain entrance in the fear she's done something stupid. They're worried about her and ordinarily she'd be touched, but she won't think about them now, she can't. She doesn't want to see them, can't see them. They remind her of him, and she misses him. She misses him with every heart-broken fibre of her being.

She doesn't care what happens to her now. There is nothing left for her to give, nothing more to grieve - nothing that life or death can bestow on her would be as devastating as his loss. The ultimate desolation of Grace. The perfect heart-break. Her soul is dead, suffocated under the weight of pain and she is drowning in its wake.

The sun now blazes triumphantly through the blinds, igniting a kaleidoscope of colours which dance upon the iridescent rays, but it is as if it has never been to the solitary unmoving figure as teardrops wild and unbridled welcome yet another dawn.

Fin