Disclaimer, Pairings, Content, Rating & Spoilers: See Chapter 1.

Grace stood in front of the full-length mirror and appraised herself critically, intensely irritated by the apprehension nagging at her gut as she fingered the chunky pendant at her throat. She was unquestionably gratified by the prospect of her new temporary assignment, flattered by the faith shown in her by the upper echelons of the Met, yet she was unable to prevent tendrils of anticipation from snaking into her chest as her mind projected forward to the task ahead. With a sigh, she smoothed the soft material of her tunic against her body, smiling in reflex as she felt warm arms encircle her waist, familiar lips nuzzling at her neck.

"You look gorgeous," Peter Boyd mumbled hazily against her skin before settling his chin into the curve of her shoulder and surveying their mutual reflection, their eyes locking in the plane of mirrored glass.

"Thank you," she demurred wryly, sighing gently as he squeezed her body flush against the breadth of his bare chest.

"Not nervous, are you?"

"A bit," she admitted, giving his reflection a sheepish smile. "It's been a long time since I worked with anyone other than you lot."

Boyd exhaled noisily, dismissively as he raised his head to address her more directly. "Three retired officers, Grace; how difficult d'you think they're going to be?"

"It's not that."

"Sandra Pullman, then?"

She pulled a face. "Of course not. I'm looking forward to working with her."

"So…?"

"It's trying to fit in with another team, Peter; a close-knit one, by all accounts."

He frowned in disdain. "You're the master at all that touchy-feely crap."

"A back-handed compliment if ever I heard one…."

"So just do your thing. You'll be fine."

Grace paused thoughtfully. "Imagine if the shoe was on the other foot and someone like me was coming into our team from UCOS…."

"UCOS doesn't have a profiler: that's the whole point."

"I said imagine."

He pretended to consider her words and grinned. "Jesus Christ. I'm not sure I could handle two of you."

She swatted the forearm that held her steadfastly about the waist as he chuckled. "I just meant you'd instantly be on the defensive."

"Not necessarily."

"You would, Boyd. You'd be looking for a hidden agenda from on high and you'd shoot the poor messenger in the process."

"I'm still not convinced there isn't a hidden agenda with all this…."

She held up a palm. "I'm not interested, alright? I just want to concentrate on doing a decent job on the case and not get bogged down in the politics."

"It's not politics. It's about preserving the integrity of our unit."

"I don't think that's in question, is it?"

He shrugged darkly. "I wouldn't bet my life on it."

"We've co-existed with UCOS for years, Peter ; why should things change now?"

"Recession? The coalition government? Budget cuts?" He regarded her in consternation. "Want me to go on?"

"Not particularly."

"It's just highly suspicious that Strickland's doing this now, that's all. Not to mention the hand Maureen Smith must have had in it."

"You're forgetting that neither one of them is my boss…."

"Of course I'm not…."

"…so they couldn't have done any of this without my agreement. And if you recall I actually agreed quite readily."

"Hmm," he intoned seriously, though his dark eyes were shining. "So you did."

The profiler tutted long-sufferingly. "Is this where you do your alpha male bit, then?"

"I don't want to lose a key member of my team…."

She groaned in frustration. "For God's sake, Boyd, it's temporary."

"It had damned well better be, is all I'm saying. Any hint that this is the start of a merger…."

"I told you. My focus is on this case, on providing the insight that might help to solve it; anything else will just be background noise."

"That's very blinkered, Grace."

"Well, until I know differently, it's how I'm going to proceed." She frowned as he grinned widely and dropped a kiss onto her shoulder. "What?"

"It does it for me when you get het up."

"That wasn't…."

"Even slightly het up."

The psychologist elbowed him sharply in the ribs though her tone was mild. "Grow up, Boyd."

He laughed loudly and released her, padding back towards their bed and picking up his immaculate mauve shirt. "What time are they expecting you?"

"Any time after nine."

He grunted. "Bloody part-timers. Though what else can you expect from a bunch of…."

"Oh, stop it. Just put your bloody shirt on, will you?"

He laughed again in amusement, the deep sound resonating about the bones of his chest as he slid his arms into the garment, striding back towards her before affixing the buttons. "Better?" he asked rakishly, a predatory expression dominating his strong features.

She rolled her eyes at the rough huskiness of his tone, though grudgingly acknowledged the quickening of her heartbeat as he stepped further into her body space. "You're incorrigible."

He grinned wolfishly and bent to kiss her, his hands readily tracing the familiar curves of her waist and hips as they mutually lost themselves in a brief moment of intensity before reluctantly separating once more. "You'll be fine," he assured her quietly, sincerely, his palm rubbing soothing circles across her back as he held her still close to his body.

"Thank you." She smiled warmly, pressing a gentle kiss to the warm skin of his chest. "Though don't think this means I'm going to be your spy."

"I didn't think that for a minute."

She chuckled, shaking her head at the roguish glint in his eye and disentangling herself from his arms as she moved to collect her handbag. "Get dressed, Boyd."

He waved his hand dismissively and sank back onto the bed, stretching languidly as he appraised her from the prone position. "Get out of here, for God's sake."

She laughed affectionately, swinging her bag across her shoulder as she headed towards the door. "I'll see you later."

"I'll be expecting regular updates."

"'Bye, Boyd."

The sound of his resonant laughter vibrated richly about the caverns of her heart, banishing her remaining trepidation as she descended the stairs and walked calmly through the front door.


Sandra narrowed her eyes as she surveyed her computer monitor, reaching for her long-forgotten cup of coffee and grimacing at the now unpalatably tepid liquid as she took an absentminded sip. She had arrived early that morning, determined to organise her action plan for the case before the appearance of their temporary new staff member, and it had amused her greatly that the rest of her team had apparently thought likewise; the boys had been uncharacteristically punctual, each settling quickly at his desk with little procrastination or grumbling and leaving her to retreat to the sanctuary of her office. Admittedly, she mused with a sigh, she had done little in the way of actual work since sitting down at her desk; her colleagues' paranoia about the motivation behind Grace Foley's imminent arrival was weighing heavily on her mind, despite her efforts to the contrary, and she had spent the past half an hour reading up on the various members of the CCU. Helps to know who we might be up against if the brass decides it's either us or them….She shook her head firmly, jolting herself sharply away from the deeply unwelcome notion as her eyes roamed across the employee photograph of her counterpart on the screen before her. Peter Boyd's fearsome reputation was legendary across all departments of the Met, his relentless approach to securing justice having ensured the phenomenal success of his unit, and Sandra exhaled forcefully as she took in the intense dark eyes and strong jawline, trying to ignore the increasing sense of anxiety gnawing at her gut.

"Earth to Sandra."

She blinked at the sound of the familiar voice as it brought her acutely out of her reverie, and looked up to see Gerry standing in the doorway, his brow creased in a frown as he looked at her. "Sorry; did you say something?"

"Nothing important, luckily, since you were away with the bloody fairies." He stepped across the threshold to survey her more closely. "What're you thinking about?"

She gestured briefly towards her computer monitor and sat back in her chair with a sigh. "Peter Boyd."

Gerry shook his head in mock disapproval and moved to stand beside her. "I've told you before, Guv: it's better the devil you know."

"Not like that, you idiot," Sandra shot back readily, cerulean eyes twinkling as she pretended to regard the photograph before her, head on one side in consideration. "Although…."

"Oh, leave it out." Gerry complained mildly, pulling a face. "Anyway, if the rumour mill's to be believed he's happily living in sin with our soon-to-be profiler…."

"I was joking, Gerry..."

"Though how that twat managed to pull such a classy bird as Grace Foley I'll never know."

She laughed, amused. "I didn't think you knew either of them."

"Come off it, Sandra; the whole of the Met knows about Boyd."

"And Grace Foley?"

The former Sergeant shrugged. "Brain the size of Britain, by all accounts. So what the hell she's doing with Boyd is anybody's guess."

"Just don't tell her she's a 'classy bird' to her face, alright? I'm trying to down-play the notion that UCOS is a haven for dinosaurs."

Gerry grinned mischievously. "You worried we're going to show you up?"

"I'm always worried about that."

"What's wrong with being called a 'classy bird', anyway?"

The Superintendent rolled her eyes, sarcasm dripping from her tone. "Nothing, Gerry. I'm sure it'll work like a charm."

"'Course it will. Don't think I couldn't give Superintendent Arsehole a run for his money."

She laughed and took a breath to reply but was interrupted by Jack calling her name from the bullpen, and she rose to her feet, gesturing for Gerry to precede her as they walked back to join their colleagues.

"Front desk just rang," Jack explained promptly. "She's on her way down."

Sandra mentally squared her shoulders, forcing a bright smile as the main door swung open momentarily and in walked a petite, well-dressed woman, her dark blond hair styled artfully about gentle cheekbones, expressive sapphire eyes sparkling as she enquired, "Superintendent Pullman?"

"Doctor Foley?" Sandra stepped forward to shake the older woman's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Grace," the psychologist corrected gently with a warm smile. "Likewise."

"And it's Sandra," the policewoman replied in kind, gesturing towards each member of her team as she made the introductions. "Jack Halford, Brian Lane, Gerry Standing."

"It's good to finally put faces to names," Grace said as she shook hands with each in turn. "Ridiculous that we've never met before, don't you think? Eight years our units have worked in parallel…."

Sandra shrugged. "I think it says something specific about this case that it's happening now."

"Either that or it's a bleedin' conspiracy," Gerry called over his shoulder as he moved towards the kettle. "Your DAC and ours conniving to make sure we don't rebel and form one giant super unit. Or…."

"Or set us against each other," Brian said. "I wouldn't trust the brass as far as I could throw them."

"In any regard," Jack added flatly, though his smile was playful. "Welcome to the pleasure dome, Grace."

"A veritable sanctuary for positivity and optimism," Brian grinned.

Sandra rolled her eyes as the profiler gave a gentle chuckle. "I promise they're not always like this."

Grace inclined her head. "Shame. I've always thought a healthy suspicion of authority was a good thing."

"See?" Gerry's expression was triumphant as he beamed smugly towards his boss. "She's going to fit in just fine, Guv."

"I don't doubt that for a minute," Sandra replied with a smile, addressing the psychologist once more. "We're glad to have you here, Grace. I'm sure your expertise is going to be invaluable."

"I wouldn't go that far," the older woman cautioned gently as she sobered. "I have to confess, I've only been given the briefest outline of what the case actually involves."

"Let's have a cup of rosy, then, and we'll fill you in." Gerry's tone was upbeat as he handed the profiler a steaming mug and guided her towards the sofas, the others following swiftly in their wake.

Grace gratefully took a seat and a fortifying sip of tea. "It's the Epping Forest double murder case from the Nineties, isn't it? Siblings buried in the forest with no means of ID."

"Except now there is a means, of sorts," Sandra answered, walking towards the white board and gesturing towards a custody photograph. "Melanie Laplin, convicted prostitute, has been identified as the mother through the DNA database."

"Ah; has she been questioned?"

"Yeah, the Guv'nor and I went yesterday," Gerry chimed in from his position on the opposite couch. "Waste of bloody time."

"How so?"

"She was…cold," Sandra explained. "Just kept saying over and over how she wanted to see her children."

"But she couldn't give us any useful information about what might have happened to them," Gerry said with a dismissive wave. "For my money she's the prime suspect until we know differently."

Grace looked thoughtful. "That might be a bit premature…."

"Just because she's a drug addict and a prostitute, Gerry, it doesn't necessarily follow that she's also a child killer." Brian's tone was liberally laced with disdain as he regarded his colleague.

"No, I get that, I do. But there was something off about her, didn't you think, Sandra? She was kind of disconnected…."

"That's not uncommon," Grace replied. "If she's already unstable then a trauma like this could be enough to tip her into dissociation."

"So her lack of an emotional reaction might just be her way of processing it?" Jack asked.

"Exactly."

"There's precedence, though, isn't there?" asked Sandra. " I mean, it's not completely unheard of for a parent to kill their children."

"No, but without anything more to go on at this stage I think we should reserve judgement." The profiler leant forward to survey the board. "I'd like to speak to her myself, if you've no objections."

"I thought you might say that." The Superintendent smiled. "I've booked another visit for this morning."

Grace nodded in satisfaction. "Was there anything useful on the bodies in forensic terms?"

"Not a bloody thing," Brian replied, with a heavy sigh. "They were fully clothed but no trace fibres could be found…."

"It was the Nineties," Jack interrupted. "The techniques that exist for that sort of thing now just didn't back then."

"Or no-one tried very hard," Gerry suggested ominously. "If they were thought to be from a poor background…."

"Was that established, then?" Grace asked.

"Yeah, from the clothing they were wearing, and from the PMs," Sandra replied. "They were determined to be significantly under-nourished and vitamin-deficient."

"Poor little things." Grace's tone was empathetically bleak and she took a breath before addressing the Superintendent anew, agonised anticipation lacing her throaty alto. "Any evidence of a sexual element?"

"None, thank God," Sandra's grim relief was evident in her expression. "The only injuries sustained were the fatal ones: a single laceration to each throat."

Grace raised her eyebrows. "Nothing defensive?"

"No," Brian replied. "Though toxicology did seem to indicate the presence of heroin in their blood, which might account for that."

"Which brings us right back to the mother," Gerry stated flatly. "She had easy access to smack…."

Sandra raised a palm. "It's circumstantial, Gerry."

"It's a connection."

"So, what we're saying is," Jack interrupted swiftly before the characteristic bickering could escalate, "that they were taken by person or persons unknown and injected with heroin to subdue them, before being taken into the forest and murdered."

"Hm. The original investigation made the assumption that they were killed in the woods," Brian stated in reply. "But that's not necessarily a given. It could just have been a deposition site."

"True." The older man nodded in concession. "Not that we can probably determine which this far down the line."

"Either way, according to the original case notes, it was clear that some care was taken over the burial…."

"Care?" Gerry's tone was incredulous in its disgust. "If that's meant to be a joke, Brian, it's not a bloody funny one."

"Of course it's not a joke," the Northerner replied with a frown. "The bodies were shrouded, Gerry, with the limbs carefully folded in. They weren't just thrown into the ground and dumped."

"Whoever this was brutally murdered two children! However they disposed of the bodies is irrelevant, isn't it?"

"Not necessarily," Grace edged in calmly as she leant forward towards her new colleagues. "Potentially it can tell us a great deal about the perpetrator's state of mind and/or his relationship with the victims."

"With all due respect, Doctor, it doesn't make any sense to me; you don't do that to someone in the first place if you care about them. Especially not if they're children."

The psychologist's voice was compassionately soft. "It's not quite as simple as that, I'm afraid. The human psyche is complex and fragile; cause-and-effect doesn't always work in the way you'd perhaps expect it to."

"This is exactly why we need Grace's input, Gerry," Sandra stated firmly.

"Oh, I'm not knocking it. It's just hard for a thick ex-copper like me to get his head around, that's all."

Grace smiled and appraised the former Sergeant. "But you weren't really thinking like a copper there, were you? More like a father?"

Gerry grinned at her perceptiveness. "Guilty as charged, your honour; four daughters."

"Two daughters and a son." The profiler briefly touched her own chest, her slight smile bathed in a shared warmth of common ground. "So of course it's hard for you to imagine how anyone, especially a parent, could do something like that."

"So you do like the mother for it?"

"I'm not saying that at this stage. Not until we've got more information."

"Yeah, well…just wait 'til you've met her."

"Which is exactly where we're going now," Sandra interjected decisively before turning to address Brian. "Did you manage to track down any of the neighbours?"

The ex-DI nodded. "Three of them."

"Good; so the three of you can take one each, then."

Gerry tutted in feigned reproof. "What is this: girls versus boys, or something?"

Grace chuckled. "It's been a long time since anyone called me a girl, Gerry."

"Mere slip of a girl, Grace."

"For God's sake," Sandra groaned in exasperation, though she smiled despite herself at her colleagues' obvious amusement. "Let's get out of here, Grace, before he really starts to lay it on thick."

"I've got plenty more like that up my sleeve, you know," Gerry called after them riotously as the women collected their things and headed through the office door, his boyish grin broadening as he caught the sparkle of mirth adorning the profiler's expression before turning back towards Jack and Brian. "What do we think then, lads?"

The ex-DI shrugged. "She seems to know what she's talking about, any road. Even if she is here with an agenda from on high."

"Bloody gorgeous as well."

"Trust you to focus on that rather than what's in between her ears."

"I'm only a man, Brian."

"I'm only a man, Gerry; but that doesn't mean I feel the need to objectify women at every possible opportunity."

"Oh, lighten up, Brian," Jack said mildly. "I think Gerry was merely stating a fact."

"And I was merely stating that it's possible to appreciate a woman for all her attributes, not just her physical ones."

"So you do fancy her, then?" Gerry teased.

"Esther not-withstanding, of course he does; we all do," Jack interjected as Brian sighed, his eyes twinkling in merriment. "She's the very definition of 'thinking man's crumpet'."

"Yes, well….I wouldn't let her or Sandra catch you saying that, if I were you," the former DI warned.

"Not half," Gerry affirmed enthusiastically with a mock grimace. "They could each have a pair of testicle earrings with a pair left-over for display."

Jack laughed. "And then of course there'd be Peter Boyd to contend with."

"Worse than madam when she's on one?" Gerry exhaled dismissively and shook his head. "Nah. Not a chance."

"Well, rather you than me if you want to put it to the test."

The ex-Sergeant pretended to consider. "On second thoughts, maybe I'll leave it for another day."

"Very wise," Jack replied sagely before rising to his feet and retrieving his coat. "Shall we away?"

"Bagsie the neighbour who's the merry widow."

"Not a bloody chance. Come on, Brian; I'll drop you at the first address."

The three men donned their outer garments and walked cordially from the office, their continuing conversational banter echoing jovially about the walls of the staircase as they ascended.

TBC