Grace


Their bedroom.

It's always been her favourite room.

A quiet sanctuary; it's a place to relax and unwind. Warm, easy colours, soothing and comforting. The bed wide, deep and very soft – a luxurious place to fall asleep and dream, to rest and read, to make love.

It's a place that belongs only to her and Boyd, where she – and he – can hide away from the world and let all their barriers and walls fall away. Where they can simply be themselves.

No one else ever enters this room, and Grace likes it that way.

The light is warm, an intimate glow. It's uneven, because only her lamp burns into the darkness, his having been extinguished some time ago. It's just enough to illuminate her book – a novel tonight – and to leave his skin warm and honey-coloured when she glances down at him occasionally, as she moves from page to page.

For a moment her eyes linger on his sleeping form, watching affectionately as his chest moves, his eyelids flutter as he dreams and mutters, a few random words meeting her ears but making no sense whatsoever.

Easy, normal.

So effortlessly, easily domestic, and she adores it. As much as she has always shunned conformity, found difficulty in sustaining conventional relationships with conventional men, this time… This man…

He's everything to her. Everything.

She treasures the peaceful intimacy in moments like this one.

He's unguarded, vulnerable in his sleeping state, and the urge to slip further down the bed and slide beneath his arm, her back pressing up against his smooth, warm chest is almost too much to resist.

She doesn't though, instead stays exactly where she is.

For tonight she cannot settle, cannot fall into a deep, encompassing slumber.

She's tried, and failed.

Sarah wants him, Grace knows. Has seen it in the other woman's eyes, watched it in her unconscious posture. Her reaction to things said and done. Watched the way she watches Boyd.

It put her hackles up at first, until she realised that for some reason Sarah was – is – fighting it. As though the other woman is caught in-between and in two minds.

She's not worried, for he is hers, and hers alone. Just as she is his.

Always. Forever.

But…

There's a lot of anger simmering beneath wounded skin. Sarah Cavendish is not happy with her new assignment; that much was abundantly clear from the very first moment she stepped into the basement.

She's broken, too, and in need of help.

Help, and time. Time away from prying eyes, from people who ask questions and point fingers and whisper in the corridors, behind backs, in corners, everywhere she goes. Whatever happened to Sarah, it was significant, Grace knows.

PTSD is obvious to the trained eye.

And Sarah is looking in all the wrong places to deal with it. That much is obvious too.

She doesn't want to think about what horrors the other woman saw in counter terrorism. Can't even begin to imagine it. Is incredibly grateful Boyd has never expressed an interest in that kind of work.

She wouldn't deal well with the strain of worrying about him that much, day in day out.

He's been so stressed the last few weeks. So much more than normal, and it worries her terribly. Saddens her to see him suffering, to see him so unhappy with the way things are slipping from his control.

Grace knows what Boyd has put into the unit, just how much it and the rest of his career have cost him personally, and it hurts to see him hurting.

Sarah is dangerous. Grace can feel it. She's worked with the police for years, has watched the change of time slowly affect the institution, and she knows that officers – especially female officers – do not get to the rank of Superintendent at such a young age without being incredibly ambitious. And lucky. Or well-connected. Or very underhand in a way that bodes trouble for those around them who pose any kind of perceived threat.

And Sarah… she is a complete unknown. Grace has searched, has discreetly asked the right people over coffee and in the park, yet no one can tell her anything worth knowing.

Irish, went to university, joined at twenty-one. Trod on a lot of toes, met the right people. Has been a shining star ever since. Disappeared into counter terrorism ten years back. Good leader, slightly strange character. Likes men.

Nothing more.

It's frustrating, incredibly so, and alarming too.

Sarah Cavendish is an unknown, a dangerous woman. She's angry, she's damaged, she wants – on some level – Boyd, and she's been hidden away, under his command.

Grace would gladly pay to know what Maureen Smith's endgame is, where all this is leading. Because this, whatever it is, is certainly strategic.

Boyd is an asset to the force, and his record proves it over and over again. The unit provides good publicity whenever it is needed. Whatever that woman's vendetta against him is about, Grace would bet it's something personal, and personal is always so much more treacherous than professional.

It pays to be a smiling face, a genuine listening ear, and over the years Grace has made many friends, and many more acquaintances, has cultivated a reputation as a kind and trustworthy sympathiser. It pays, because all sorts of information reaches her: petty gossip, scandalous half-truths, and real information, quite often as detailed as she likes. Much of it is freely given, but sometimes, through the art of conversation management, it arrives without the teller intending to share, or even being aware that they are.

Sarah is a mystery, as is Maureen's agenda, but other things have reached her lately, left Grace saddened by the picture it all paints.

The CCU is running on borrowed time, she's sure of it.

The reasons are obscure, though, make very little sense. Don't form a picture at all, not even an abstract to try and work with.

One thing is definite though, and that is that Sarah is not just hiding in their unit to recover. Willing or not, knowing or not, she is a spy.

Some, Grace knows, want Boyd out, while others simply want him moved. Sarah is the way to do it.

She hasn't told him. Any of it.

He knows about Sarah's dual assignment, for they have discussed that many times; both realised it, understood it, vented about it.

But he doesn't know what else Grace knows, what she's heard, listened to.

She should tell him.

Knows she should.

But she can't.

Can't let him bear the weight of any more stress than he already does.

Putting her book aside, Grace gazes down at the man who has been curled beside her, heavy and torpid since not long after collapsing on top of her, sated and spent, his heart hammering in his chest and his breathing shallow and erratic as he whispered her name, arms clutching her possessively to him, as though he'd never let her go again.

She'd clung to him, tried to hide herself away in his strong, encompassing embrace. Wanted to stay there forever. But reality is a harsh mistress, and as he slipped into slumber her mind refused to stay quiet, to let her body fade into unconsciousness beside him.

She wants to tell him, doesn't believe in secrets, but still she's holding off.

Because she loves him. With all her heart.

Tomorrow morning the alarm will go off early, but they will not get up and rush off to work.

The best part of a fortnight is stretching out ahead of them, just for them. And that is… special.

She doesn't enjoy hiding, but she likes the privacy they have.

Treasures their time together.

Two years…

In his sleep Boyd mumbles something almost coherent and Grace looks down again in time to see him reach out, wrap his arm around her, palm coming to rest on her hip. The gleam of gold on his finger makes her smile, warms her heart. It's a silly little thing, but when he's able to wear it, the sight of his wedding ring always has that effect on her.

She studies the delicate golden band adorning her own finger, turns it gently with her thumb, watching the slender threads of silver that wind their way through the heart of the metal, the two colours irretrievably interwoven.

He chose it, wouldn't let her see it until he placed it on her finger.

Two years.

Illness, anger, intense fear. Nightmares, weakness, endless appointments. Laughter, adventures, company. Love, lust, unity. Burdens shared, memories built. A joint future secured.

Would it be so bad to retire, she muses? She doesn't think so.

They've worked hard, and they have the rest of their lives ahead of them. Together.

There's so much promise…

Would she convince him of the same?

She thinks, eventually, maybe, yes.

She thinks that despite the stubbornness, he is getting tired.

Perhaps they will offer him something else, maybe even promotion, and he will take it and run with it, enjoy it all for a little while longer. She could work part-time on other projects, try a few things she's always wanted to, has put off until later. Whenever later is.

It won't be forever, but it could be enjoyable.

It will never be the same, though.

But maybe… maybe that's okay.

Maybe he needs it.

Maybe they both do.

Do they?

Boyd mumbles again, fidgeting beside her, and Grace reaches for him, rests a soothing hand against his face, runs the pad of her thumb slowly, very slowly over his eyebrow, whispering his name. He settles, and she smiles, combs her fingers through his hair with infinite tenderness, watches him relax, welcomes the peace that returns to his expression.

The CCU is running out of time, in more ways than one.

The higher-ups are waiting for a screw up, a reason, a fault or flaw, just as they have done for years. It could go on and on, perhaps. Even indefinitely, maybe. But while it does, Grace knows Sarah is struggling with her conscience, with what she saw when standing out in the rain, spying.

The other woman is warming to their team, slowly relaxing out of the spotlight and pressure, but Grace is watching, and she can see the fierce battle raging inside whenever those grey eyes land on her and Boyd, the barely veiled accusation hiding there.

Sarah doesn't know that she was seen. That as the kiss ended and Grace raised her head, the quick movement and flash of blonde hair caught her eye.

To tell, or not to tell…

So far the balance is in their favour, Grace thinks, but what will it take to tip the scales against them and send the messenger running to her master, convinced she is doing the right thing?

The heavy weight in her heart that tells her whatever it will be is coming, and soon.


A big thank you to everyone who read this story, and especially those who reviewed. I've had some feedback expressing a desire to see this extend beyond Solidarity, so although this story ends here, I am considering a sequel and would like to hear your thoughts regarding that. Many thanks. Got Tea. :) xx