Disclaimer, Pairing, Rating & Spoilers: See Chapter 1
A/N: There is a little nod in this chapter to Jayneysuk's excellent fic, 'Insane Commitment' – thanks, hun, for one of my favourite stories ever! And again, many thanks to shadowsamurai83 for the beta :)
2010
Detective Sergeant Katrina Howard threw down her pen in frustration and glared hotly at the retreating back of her boss, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. The ever increasing pile of paperwork on her desk had grown by almost another foot seemingly overnight and despite the lengthy hours she was beginning to spend cooped inside the walls of the bullpen, she never felt as though her progress came close to matching her dogged commitment, her determined work ethic. She sighed again, the air escaping noisily from her lungs, and she ran a hand through her mass of curls before settling her chin against her palm. This is getting ridiculous.... Without pausing to further consider the rapidly declining path of her thoughts or the wisdom of her actions, Kat rose resolutely from her chair and approached the closed door of her boss' office, tapping forcefully on the glass and peering into the room before waiting for a reply.
"You got a minute, sir?"
Detective Superintendent Peter Boyd looked up at his subordinate over the top of his reading glasses, his rugged features creasing into a frown as he absorbed her serious expression, and he gestured at her to step fully into the office, his dark eyes following as she slumped into the chair opposite his.
"What's going on?" he asked momentarily, concern pulling at his senses as he surveyed the tensed hunch of her shoulders, the figurative dark storm cloud swirling oppressively about her head.
Kat took a deep breath, berating herself mentally for the sudden twinge of nervousness in her stomach which she fought desperately to suppress. "I...I just wondered if...."
Boyd sighed loudly, his frustration evident as he ran a hand across his face. "For God's sake, Kat, spit it out, would you? I'm right in the middle of something here."
She looked at him evenly, the reason for her presence in his office reasserting itself clearly in her mind. "That's just the point. You're busy, I'm busy, and I'm sick of spending every bloody evening and weekend stuck in here trying to catch up on paperwork."
The older man's dark eyes hardened. "If you've just come in here to moan like some petulant teenager, you can...."
Kat fought a powerful urge to roll her eyes. "I'm not moaning, sir, I'm just trying to tell you that it's not working. That it hasn't been working for months."
"You're going to have to be more specific, Sergeant."
She leant forwards, sincerity etched onto her delicate features. "Spence left this unit eight months ago. I know he's been in and out since then to offer his assistance, but I've basically had to cover the work of two detectives and...frankly, sir, I'm not paid enough."
Boyd folded his arms across his chest and regarded her silently through narrowed eyes. "You want a new DC."
Kat threw up her hands. "A DC, another DS, I'd even settle for a DI, Boyd. Just someone to help take the pressure off a bit."
A smile began to twitch at the corners of his mouth. "You think you could take having another senior officer in here after eight months on your own?"
The DS felt her gut coil defensively, self-righteousness prickling up her spine. "I managed alright with Spence, didn't I?"
He gave a conciliatory shrug. "Yes, you did."
"I don't think it's an unreasonable request, sir."
Boyd sighed. "It's a question of budgets, Kat. You know we're not exactly the Met's most popular unit, the...."
"With respect, Boyd, that's not my problem."
"Well, like it or not, as a member of this team, it becomes your problem by extension."
"So, what? I'm just meant to muddle on the way I have been?"
"I might be able to get you a PC on secondment...."
Kat blew out her breath. "For how long? A month? Three? It's not exactly a long-term solution, is it?"
Boyd willed calm to his bloodstream, snippets of Shakespearian dialogue floating unbidden through his mind. "I'm aware of that."
"I'm asking for your help, Boyd, your support. I'm not willing to work like this any more."
The DSI felt his patience evaporate suddenly, diffusing through the air and away from his control. "Does the word 'recession' mean nothing to you?" he snapped abruptly.
Kat rolled her eyes. "Meaning I should be grateful I have a job at all, is that it?"
"Meaning that the people who control the Met's purse strings are getting more stringent about what they spend public money on and investing in cold cases isn't exactly top of their priority lists just at the moment."
"That's a poor excuse, Boyd."
"That's reality, Kat. I don't like it any more than you do but it's just the way it is."
Kat looked at him unwaveringly. "You're telling me to put up or shut up."
"I'm telling you I'll look into the possibility of a PC secondment but that I can't make you any promises."
The younger woman sighed, pressing her hands to her thighs as she stood and paced to the office door, half turning back towards her boss, the words forming on her lips before she could stop them. "You know, sir, I'd take you more seriously if you were actually honest instead of feeding me the party political bullshit."
The DSI's expression darkened dangerously, his chestnut eyes glittering, his voice low as he replied. "Meaning what?"
"Why can't you just admit that you don't want to replace Spence or Stella?"
"It's got nothing to do with that...."
"And you talk about me facing reality, when the hell are you going to...?"
"Get out," he barked sharply, cutting her off abruptly, feeling anger and frustration surge through his veins as she slammed the door forcefully in her wake, the frame shaking violently behind her.
"Shit," he breathed quietly into the oppressive silence of the now empty office, pressing his thumb and index finger to his eyes, trying to force away the throbbing headache that was suddenly threatening to overwhelm him. "Shit, shit, shit...."
"Problem?"
Boyd glanced up irritably at the interruption to his profaning, his eyes falling on the familiar figure of Doctor Grace Foley as she leant against his door frame, her eyebrows raised in question.
"Don't start with me." He groaned as he watched her enter the room and take a seat on the couch, crossing one slender leg over the other, her hands folding serenely in her lap as she looked at him, her face a mask of tranquillity.
"Want to tell me what that was all about?"
He sighed loudly and squeezed his eyes closed. "Not really."
"Hmm. Perhaps I shouldn't have phrased that as a question."
He smiled across the room at her despite himself. "Well, it's too late now."
The psychologist looked at him steadily. "Did Kat want to talk about her workload?"
Boyd made a face. "What is this, some kind of female conspiracy? I'm overrun by bloody women in this team."
She suppressed a smirk as she continued, determination lacing her tone. "Was that what Kat wanted to discuss?"
"The office of the Valkyries?"
Grace rolled her sapphire eyes. "Boyd."
"She wants a new DC, Grace. Or in point of fact, she wants anybody, of any rank; she wasn't too particular about it."
The profiler was silent for several moments before she raised an eyebrow. "Well, it's about time, don't you think?"
The DSI groaned loudly, theatrically. "Not you as well."
Grace held up her palms. "I'm just saying it can't have been easy for her these past few months. We've had lots of cases, loose ends to tie up, and she's been juggling all of it by herself."
He looked at her scathingly. "Well, not quite by herself, Grace. I'm a detective too, as it happens."
She studiously ignored his tone. "Yes, but in a supervisory role. What Kat needs is help on the shop floor, as it were."
He sighed. "It's a question of money. I'll never get the funds approved for another officer, it's as simple as that."
"Have you tried?"
"I know the bean counters, Grace. I'd be wasting my breath."
"Well, I think you should at least make an effort. It's not fair on Kat otherwise."
"I said I'd try and get her a PC seconded to the unit. It might be the best I can do."
She regarded him quietly with her head on one side, watching the emotions flicker briefly across his features before he wrestled them back within his control. "You seem awfully reticent about this, Boyd, more than just concerns over budgets, it's...."
"Oh, for God's sake, why do women always think there's another level to everything?!" He stood up suddenly, moving to pace irritably before her, beginning to gesture with his hands as he spoke. "It's got nothing to do with my reluctance to replace Spence or Stella, alright? So don't start down the psychoanalysis route with me, Grace, I'm not in the mood."
"Is that what Kat thinks?"
"What?"
"That you're having a hard time employing someone new because of how you feel about Spence and Stella?"
"It's irrelevant, Grace, because it isn't true."
"You had the same trouble after Mel, remember?"
Her voice was soft, her tone washing in waves about his consciousness and he closed his eyes briefly, aware of his feet halting their movements of their own accord. "Spence isn't dead," he said flatly, despondency catching at the edges of his words.
"You know I wasn't talking about Spence."
He sighed heavily and dropped onto the couch beside her, his arm and thigh flush against hers. "Yeah."
She laid her palm gently against his knee. "It's okay to admit it, you know."
"Hmm." The noise reverberated from deep in his throat.
"And once you have admitted it, you'll find it a damn sight easier to employ a new officer for this team."
He shook his head, unconsciously picking up her hand in his and stroking his thumb across the velvet softness of her skin. "I wasn't making it up about the money. Even getting the funding for a DC might be pushing it."
She focussed her gaze on her lap as she spoke again, keeping her voice steady as she tried to ignore the shivers of her body beneath his ministrations. "So a DI would be completely out of the question, then?"
Boyd looked at her, frowning as a ripple of suspicion passed through his chest at her avoidance of his gaze, and he pulled at her hand to draw her attention. "Don't tell me you've got someone in mind?"
Grace shrugged her slim shoulders evasively. "I might have."
"And how long were you planning on keeping that to yourself?"
She glanced at him. "Until you decided you were ready."
"Or until Kat started to push me."
"Yeah. Whichever came first."
"You know I can't necessarily employ this person just on your recommendation, Grace, don't you? Whatever insights you might happen to have on their personality or their relationship with their mother or...." He sighed dramatically and broke off at her slow smile, fully aware he would be unable to refuse her. "Oh, go on, then, put me out of my misery. Who is he?"
She smiled, her eyes dancing mischievously. "Why d'you assume it's a 'he'?"
"It had better bloody well be a 'he', Grace, I'm feeling significantly outnumbered these days."
The profiler stroked his fingers playfully. "Ah. You feel we're a threat to your masculinity, is that it?"
"There's nothing wrong with my masculinity." He smirked teasingly, his dark eyes shining. "As well you know."
Despite herself, Grace felt heat beginning to creep into her cheeks and she cleared her throat, forcing herself to ignore his rapidly broadening grin as she withdrew her hand from his, an attempt to restore their professionalism. "Yes, well, that aside.... The 'he' in question is DI Daniel McCaige, currently of Finchley Flying Squad."
Boyd frowned, searching his memory for recognition. "McCaige? How d'you know him?"
"I worked with him on various cases when I was a freelance consultant, mostly murders, serial killings, anything involving a psychological element, as you'd expect...."
"He any good?"
She looked at him derisively. "I wouldn't have suggested him if he wasn't."
"What made you think of him now?"
The psychologist shrugged casually. "He rang me last month to ask my opinion on a case. Just got me thinking, given our current staffing situation."
"And why d'you think he'd be persuaded to leave the glittering and glamorous world of CID to join us in our poky basement office?"
"I think the type of cases we deal with he'd find...interesting. And challenging."
Boyd surveyed her critically, half turning in his position to take in her posture, her body language, noting her deliberate avoidance of his gaze with a frown. He shook his head after several moments, tutting with disapproval before beginning to speak once more. "You're holding out on me, Grace. What's the catch?"
She rolled her eyes. "Why do you always assume there's a catch?"
"Come on. How long have we known each other?"
"Daniel's a good officer, Boyd. We'd be lucky to...."
He moaned in frustration. "Oh, stop it. What aren't you telling me?"
Grace sighed heavily, weighing the wisdom of her next words against the edges of her mind before speaking again. "Just...promise you'll hear me out before you go off on one, alright?"
Boyd blew out his breath. "Christ, it must be serious."
"Well, no, actually, it's not all that serious. In fact, it's a plus as far as I'm concerned, I'm just not sure you're going to see it that way."
He held up his thumb and forefinger a minute distance apart. "Grace, I swear, I am this close to striking him from consideration altogether...."
"Okay." She took a deep breath. "He's a psychology graduate. And he's almost finished a PhD in criminology, I've been his second supervisor."
"Oh, God." Boyd groaned loudly, the prolonged sound of pain reverberating about the walls of his office, and he dropped his face to his hands before rising once more to look at her, shaking his head firmly whilst trying to ignore the flickers of hope dancing in her radiant blue eyes. "Absolutely no chance, Grace. I'm not having two psychologists on this team, end of story; I have enough trouble with the one I've got."
The profiler sighed wearily, ignoring the slightly barbed tone to his words. "First of all, he's fundamentally a copper, Boyd. He's just fascinated by psychology and, if anything, it's made him better at his job, he's...."
"Oh, come on. You're saying Kat and I are somehow deficient as police officers just because we don't have fancy letters after our names or the ability to spout mumbo-jumbo at the drop of a hat?!"
She looked at him evenly, her voice steady. "Stop trying to pick a fight, Peter. That's not at all what I said and you know it."
"It hasn't helped him that much in his career if he's only made it to DI, has it? How come he hasn't risen through the ranks to the top brass?"
"Because it's not what he's about. He enjoys grass roots detective work, coupled with a need to know what makes criminals tick psychologically. Surely you can see that's an asset?"
"It's not a bloody asset if he comes in here and starts throwing his weight around, is it?"
Grace looked mildly amused. "And what makes you think he would do that?"
"Because those type of people always do, Grace, especially those type of coppers."
"Oh, there's a ridiculous, narrow-minded stereotype if ever I heard one! Have you ever actually met a policeman with a PhD, Boyd?"
"Yes. The Chief Constable and he's a mark one tosser."
Grace felt the corners of her mouth begin to twitch but she fought to keep her expression neutral. "You need to get over yourself. Call Daniel in for an interview and save the judgements for then, alright?"
"You know, last time I checked, Grace, I was the head of this unit, not you."
She laid a hand on his arm. "I'm telling you, if you let your completely unnecessary insecurity about this get in the way...."
"I'm not insecure. Let's be quite clear on that."
"....you'll be missing out on a chance to change this team for the better."
He groaned loudly and leant his head back against the wall. "Why d'you always have to be so melodramatic? He's not God, is he, or am I missing something?"
The profiler smiled brightly, fully aware that she had won the battle, and she patted his leg briefly before getting to her feet. "Give him a ring, Boyd, he's on the Met database. Do it today."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, alright," he conceded irritably. "If that's what it'll take to get you off my bloody case for five minutes...."
Grace's smile broadened as she made to leave the office, her fingers closing about the door handle before his voice stopped her and she turned back to face him.
"Will I see you later?" he asked gruffly, clearing his throat as he stood and walked back towards his desk, his eyes focussed on his paperwork in preference to catching her gaze across the expanse of the room.
She shrugged slightly, the shift in direction from professional to personal conversation marginally disconcerting her. "I thought you were planning on working late."
"I am. I've got a lot to get through this afternoon."
"Okay, well...."
"I could drop by afterwards, though."
Grace raised an eyebrow. "I might be in bed by then, knowing your insane commitment to this job."
Boyd looked up at the playful flirtation of her tone, feeling their eyes lock as he grinned wolfishly, his heart beginning to thud slightly harder in his chest. "Well, keep it warm for me, then."
"Don't I always?"
His smile widened. "See you later, Grace."
She returned his expression in equal measure before stepping from the office and Boyd was unable to prevent his eyes from instinctively tracing the curves of her body as she walked away. God, I've wasted so much time, he thought wistfully as he watched her close the door behind her, the expressive blue eyes he loved so much sparkling before she turned away. Her operation for cancer and their traumatically painful encounter with the psychopath Linda Cummings eight months previously had provoked a sudden and blinding realisation of his feelings for the profiler, powerful emotions which had initially confused and overwhelmed him. He had known Grace for more than a decade, had been her colleague for almost as long, and yet it had taken several of her recent brushes with death for the clouds to finally be lifted from his vision. He smiled slightly as he recalled the evening she had fallen, sobbing with relief, into his arms after receiving the positive news that her cancer had been halted in its tracks, that the aggressive invader had been entirely and successfully eradicated from her being by the operation alone. In the aftermath they had made love hurriedly, desperately, clinging to each other as their bodies sought release, as their souls sought completion, and he had poured his heart into hers, the culmination of ten long years of repression, of transference, of denial.
His chest flooded with affection as he recalled the feel of her warm body in his bed that morning, her short hair tousled with sleep, her scent filling his senses as he breathed her in, easing her back closer towards the turgid thickness of his erection, a deep groan escaping his lips as he entered her easily, sensually, her soft gasps conveying her pleasure as he pressed gentle kisses to her neck. Shit, he thought suddenly, blinking himself back to reality as his body began to respond eagerly to the memory, I'm never going to get anything done if I carry on down that road.... Sighing with frustration, he reached for his computer mouse, reluctantly forcing his mind away from his lover and towards the task she had set for him, his thoughts beginning to solidify in his mind as his focussed professionalism reasserted itself. Alright, DI Smart-arse, he mused darkly, as he navigated into the Met database for the person in question, let's see if your golden reputation is all it's cracked up to be....
