Clarity and Salvation

Chapter Ten

Grace rearranged the folders on her desk, more in frustration than for any logical reason, and checked her email for what must have been the fifth time in as many minutes. They were nowhere. The case was going nowhere. The visit to her house had revealed nothing and other than a bag of clean clothes she had left with nothing more than she had arrived with.

In the last twenty four hours there had been no more parcels, no more emails and no more bodies. The last of which she was relieved about.

Despite yelling, harassing and flirting, Stella was no closer to discovering the whereabouts of at least twenty of Grace's former patients. She and Spence had spent most of the day on the phone, finally reaching the same conclusion as Grace, while Eve re-examined the bodies, hoping that they would give her something more to go on. So far it was proving fruitless.

Boyd was another day closer to his inevitable breakdown, exhausted and frustrated. The more questions he asked, the more worked up he became. Grace couldn't help but smile as he passed her office every so often quoting the Tempest, peering in the window to casually check on her when he thought she wasn't looking. She cringed as she heard the tell tale sounds of him throwing things across his office or the yelling at the team when he couldn't locate a piece of evidence.

They were all a little keyed up, lack of sleep making it all the harder to deal with and for her it was personal and invasive and there was nothing she could do about it.

For her part, Grace had been speaking to former colleagues, trying to connect the two dead men, so far two of the other case files were in the same group therapy, and untraceable. It was a start but they were a long way from finding a murderer or figuring out who might be next.

The sound of voices filtered through the open doorway of he office and she looked up.

"Night, Grace."

"See you later."

"Night."

"Night all," she called in response, watching as the younger members headed out for the night.

After yet another long frustrating day, Boyd had taken the unusual step of sending everyone home, instructing them all that he didn't want to see any of them in the office before lunch the next day, which as it was a Saturday and they had hardly been home all week seemed reasonable enough.

"Are you ready?" he asked, leaning against the door frame, his coat draped over his arm.

Grace grinned back at him. "Are you sure you are?"

"We're just grabbing groceries. In and out." His plans for a evening in front of the television had disappeared out of the window when Grace had suggested they head to a supermarket. Her instance that they should eat something other than take away would normally have had little effect but her enthusiasm at the idea of cooking had been enough to convince him.

She rolled her eyes and grabbed her belongings to follow him, wondering how he had managed to live alone as long as he had.

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Peter was fast regretting his decision. Pushing the trolley down the aisle, one handed, the other clutching his phone to his ear, he swerved to avoid a harassed mother. His body language left no-one in any doubt that he didn't want to be there or that it was something he enjoyed.

Grace disappeared at intervals, returning to drop more food into the trolley.

He rolled his eyes at the stream of fruit and vegetables, pasta and rice. "How many people are we buying for?" he grumbled as she walked back towards him.

"When was the last time you actually shopped?" Grace asked, throwing in a loaf of bread and oil.

"When I ran out of coffee," he grumbled in response. "No, Spence. That was to Grace. . ." He continued to carry on his conversation with Spence as he followed Grace towards the centre of the store. "Yeah, mother hen does spring to mind." He grinned mischievously. "Of course this could be what marriage is like."

"In your dreams," Grace remarked, heading down the alcohol aisle.

"She'll have you bringing her chocolate and flowers soon," Spence teased, wondering if there was more to the arrangement than just Boyd being protective.

Boyd considered it, he would just about consider anything if it would take her mind off the last few days.

She returned with two bottles of wine and a bottle of scotch, good scotch, and he smiled appreciatively. "Spence, you're not telling me anything I didn't already know. Go home. Eat something . . . Find yourself a nice young lady and . . . Yeah, I'm channelling Grace."

"He's not still working, is he?" She asked, hovering.

"Yeah."

"If he's not careful he's going to be late for dinner." Grace said loudly, knowing full well that Spencer had a hot date. She checked the trolley one last time. "Ok, we're done."

He glanced down into the trolley.

"It's on me, Boyd."

"Yeah, like that's going to happen," he scoffed. "I'll pay. You cook."

"Sounds fair."

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It was beginning to resemble normality or domesticity, or it would if either could remember what it was like. On the drive home they would inevitably fell into the category of two colleagues car pooling, discussing work and plans for the following day.

Once they were inside his apartment they became different people, playing out roles that were bringing them closer, chipping away at the small things that made their friendship so awkward.

Leaving him to unpack the groceries, Grace disappeared into her room, returning some minutes later to find a large glass of cabinet sauvignon on the counter.

She took a lengthy sip, waiting for him to finish strategically wedging food into his fridge. "Do you want to take a shower while I do my thing?"

"Your thing?" he asked with a sexy grin.

Grace rolled her eyes dramatically "You have a one track mind. Worse than Spence. I'm going to cook. I'm going to put on some music. I may even sing."

"You want to be alone!"

She did but only because she needed to feel like she was at home. A little music would clear her mind of everything she had seen in the last few days. Cooking would help concentrate her mind on something. And with Boyd occupied elsewhere she could pretend she was in her own home and not a guest.

"Ok. I'll take a shower, make a call or two. . ." He watched amused as she half filled a tumbler of whiskey and handed it to him.

"It's going to take me a while to make dinner." Cooking was Grace's way of relaxing, not that she bothered much just for herself these days and Boyd wasn't one to appreciate the nuances of a good meal but at least he enjoyed the food.

"What if I need a top up while I'm. . .?"

"Then you'll have to wait," she said with a smile, opening the refrigerator door and extracting food from his neatly arranged shelves.

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Grace settled herself on the couch, stretching out until she could dangle her feet over the edge.

"Comfortable?" Peter asked, glancing up from his Evening Standard.

She gave him a small smile. "Very."

"Mind if I turn the lights down?" He placed the paper on the side table and walked towards the light switch.

"No." Closing her eyes she allowed her mind to wander, surprised when he lifted her legs and placed her feet in his lap.

They sat in silence, his hands lightly resting on her feet as he watched her relax. "Why aren't you sleeping?" he finally asked, his patience running out.

"Sorry?" she opened one eye hazily.

"You were roaming the apartment again last night."

"Did I wake you?"

"It doesn't matter." Boyd shook his head. He had briefly debated getting up and joining her in the Living room, but talked himself out of it. For all his faults and his lack of perception when it came to women, it was obvious that Grace wasn't ready to talk to him. "Is it the case?" Gently, he began to rub her feet, not in the least bit perturbed by the intimacy of the action .

"Sometimes people don't sleep because they just can't sleep," Grace said, her voice drifting through the semi-darkness.

"And this is what they taught you?"

"Boyd, sometimes you learn more about life by living it." She flexed her foot as he stopped his ministrations, nudging him when he didn't start again immediately.

He grinned to himself, his thumb massaging the top of her foot.

They slipped into silence again, sitting side by side, his fingers lightly kneading her feet, her gentle breathing calming to him. There was a strange tension in the room, one that wasn't uncomfortable but one neither could quite decipher.

"When you stop talking I worry," Boyd commented, his head resting on the back of the sofa.

"When you stop talking you start yelling."

"Is that really what you think of me?" he asked, his tone a mixture of concern and bemusement. It was a question he frequently asked of her and one she seemed unwilling to answer.

"I think maybe you should have talked more, maybe you should have undergone more counselling," Grace began, not wanting to admit how she felt about him, how much she thought about him. "I don't think you found the right therapist. To achieve anything you need to have a connection, trust the person you're baring your soul to, and you have to want to reach the source of the problem, Boyd."

"Like you and I have."

She smiled. "Yes, like we have."

"I talk to you."

"To an extent. But you hold back."

"Like you are now," Boyd countered.

"Touché." Grace tried to stifle a yawn, unsuccessfully.

"Go to bed," he suggested lightly, wanting her to open up to him but not willing to push her.

"I'm comfortable here," she mumbled, sliding further down the couch. In truth Grace didn't want to go to bed. Alone she worried. In his presence she felt safe.

"Then go to sleep." It wasn't the most comfortable position to sleep in but if she slept, was settled, he could handle it for a night.

"Wouldn't you be more comfortable in bed?"

Boyd bit back a cheeky retort.

"You're too old to sleep sitting up, remember," she offered, closing her eyes again.

"We're both too old to stay awake all night. So don't worry about me, just go to sleep."

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