A/N: First of all, thank you for the compliments for the last chapter - I'm glad you enjoyed the ride. I am not sure, it will be quieter in this chapter, so warnings from the previous one remain. I'm specifically informing you of more graphic sexual detail (If that bothers you, please skip the cursive parts). Once again, my thanks go to Shadowsamurai83 for the beta and advice. In this chapter I am also using lines from Shadow's story "How Am I Supposed To Live," in case they sound familiar to you.

And now, please enjoy

Almost There - chapter 11

"It's not like you to hide out in the toilet." Eve leant against the wall of the ladies room and watched the older woman, who was slumped against the wall of a stall and staring into the distance.

Grace grimaced. "I'm doing a lot of things that aren't like me at the moment." Looking Eve directly in the eye, she continued., "Got a smoke for me?"

"You gave up nicotine decades ago. Booze could help, but I don't have it either."

"Pity." Grace shook her head. "Only prolongs the inevitable, though."

Pushing herself away from the stalls, she went over to the sinks to splash cool water onto her wrists and face. A quick check in the mirror showed that it didn't really help. She looked like death, waxen complexion, dead eyes, hair lanky, and her face full of tension lines. Not a pretty sight.

"Is he still there?" she asked after a minute of unpleasant self-perusal.

Eve shook her head, her expression compassionate. "He marched out a few moments after you."

Though Boyd had been far out of line, especially with his personal attacks, Eve felt for him. Of course, he shouldn't have said those things, all but calling Grace.... Eve shook her head. Shed heard it once, she didnt really want to relive the memory. Boyd didn't deal well without Grace and he didn't deal well with those men who were fluttering around her. Whatever had happened last night ran deep and had been hurtful, triggering today's explosion.

It was a painful thing to watch how Grace and Boyd hurt each other, always had been. The connection between them ran deep, which was why they could cut each other so profoundly. It had always badly affected the atmosphere in the team. Unfortunately, only the two of them could resolve their issues; but Boyd was still not getting the problem and Grace was no longer building him bridges.

"He wasn't lying, you know." Grace sounded bone-tired. "About my leadership in the case. I messed it up."

"Not really."

"Eve, you don't need to lie to spare my feelings."

The scientist sighed. "You didn't really make a mistake...."

"But?"

"The case isn't going anywhere.... And it isn't because we were told how to go about it from the very beginning."

"We didn't conduct a proper, by-the-book investigation, which we should have. I didn't think of the basic rules for a police investigation, because I was so busy with all these men...." Her voice and her expression sarcastic, Grace heaved a sigh. If it would help, she'd start pacing.

"You kept them off our backs. Especially Boyd's back and part of his problem is that he knows it," Eve insisted. It was indeed part of the problem. Boyd in his continuing ignorance didn't hear what was screaming in the face. "And I think you were working ahead, nonetheless. You outlined a profile for Healy, am I right?"

With her face covered by her hands, the profiler nodded. "Yeah. He rubbed me the wrong way, I guess. I thought something was off. Instinct, Boyd calls it."

Smiling, Eve stepped closer and gently rubbed the older woman's shoulder. There were times when even Grace needed reassurance and just a wee bit of praise, and she rarely received it. It would go a long way for the rest of the investigation.

"Why don't we go back to the team, take your profiles and start working anew with what we really have?"

With a grateful smile, Grace nodded and followed Eve out.

*

It was raining, not that it was unusual, but he had not picked up his mac or taken an umbrella and therefore he was slowly but surely getting wet. For the moment, he didn't even realize it, his thoughts churning and his stomach performing wild turns of anger.

Even now, Boyd could feel the pull of his own heated words, the rush of spewing them at somebody. Dressing down somebody had something liberating at times, it took the pressure off. Only it hadn't worked and it hadn't been just anybody.

It was Grace; and he had thrown every piece of venom at her that he could. Of course, there was a basis to his accusations. They were getting nowhere with the case and it frustrated them all greatly. But the layer of facts was thin at best and non-existent in reality. It wasn't even a real fight, because he didn't give her the chance to say anything in her defence.

All Boyd had wanted to do with his tirade was hurt Grace. Seeing all colour drain from her already pale face had spurned him on, seeing her frame shake given him some perverted kind of satisfaction. The slap she dealt him had done nothing to stop the anger. He still wanted to hurt her, in a way, make her pay for the pain of last night.

Why had she done it? Why led him on like that and then...?

The flush on her cheeks was most becoming, combined with the wonder in her wide eyes, it made her look innocent and youthful at the same time. Despite the gruelling cases, the gore, the violence she had seen, the destroyed lives she had treated, she could still look like a child seeing its first fireworks.

His index finger held her jaw while his thumb brushed over her flushed cheek. He skin was soft, heated through the flush. Age had given her skin lines and wrinkles, erasing the total smoothness and elasticity those cosmetics ads promised, but he found even that appealing. It was her, made her an alluring contradiction.

The darkness was broken by streetlamps and a few late car lights, throwing shadows over them. It made her eyes sparkle in the lights.

He didn't know why, but leaning over and kissing her was the most natural thing in the world.

As his mouth touched hers, the softness of her lips took his breath away. It wasn't a passionate kiss, merely a touch of lips to lips, gentle and feathery, but it was like a flame had touched the fuse. This first touch followed a second, and a third, and a fourth. Still lips to lips, but then he pulled her lower lip between his and nibbled, went back for another, and for more. There was a moan resounding in the car, but he didn't know whose it was, didn't care. And then his tongue met hers and this time he did moan.

She tasted incredible, he thought, sweet and tangy, like fire and ice and everything in between. His hands moved without thought and without hesitation, beginning to map a path from her face over her neck and shoulders to her breasts. Touching her like this was natural, like an organic thing to do. Touching her was also highly addictive.

Every touch made him crave another one, and she all but melted into his hands. Her fingers weren't idle either, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck, her other hand grazing lightly over his beard. It gave a tingling sound like electricity crackling. Their tongues dancing, they moaned, breathing heavily.

Breaths and hums and moans wove together like a symphony of sounds, the only ones apart from the blood roaring in his ears.

With one hand he cupped her breast, feeling the weight, feeling her arousal in the hardening of her nipple against his palm. It provoked an instant reaction in him, his erection growing as well, and his other hand went to the back of her neck, crushing her mouth to his to deepen their kiss.

"Grace...," he moaned into her mouth, his hands working more feverishly, despite the obstacle between them. Damn, what wouldn't he give for a bed now, or any flat surface. "Jesus, Grace! You're so...."

She pulled away, suddenly, once again staring at him wide-eyed and flushed. Even in the darkness, he could see that the flush had spread down the fairly deep cleavage of her shirt. The thought that this was due to their kisses, his touches drove his arousal up further and with a groan of "God, Grace!" he pulled her in for another crushing kiss.

For moments or minutes, there was nothing but the feel of her mouth against his, her body under his hands and the rush of arousal and desire.

Suddenly, however, Grace pushed him away, almost shrinking from his touch. Breathing heavily, her entire body shook. She held a hand up to keep him away, as she shook her head and whispered hoarsely, "Don't do this to me, Boyd."

*

When Grace entered the meeting room again, she felt embarrassment creep up hotly. It had been years since she had entered any professional situation with such dread, including the moments during the Greene-case.

Spence, Tim and Colin stood, giving her a tight smile, while Stella walked forward and hugged her. The gesture almost did her in again, tears threatening to finally spill over.

"I'm sorry," she choked out and pushed Stella back a little. Giving the others a look, she smiled thinly, still fighting against the tears. "I am really sorry."

"Don't." Spence shook his head and came over to touch her arm gently. "He was out of line. Very much so." The disgust was barely concealed. As much as it had always been part of their relationship, and Spencer felt that he knew a bit of the reason why Boyd lashed out at Grace like that, nobody was allowed to treat her like this. Not even - and especially not - Boyd. "He behaved like an utter bastard!"

"No, Spence," Grace demurred. "It wasn't like that."

"It was! You don't need to defend him anymore, Grace. We know you left because of him. You left after a you talked to him all those months ago and if he behaved like this back then, it's no wonder."

Shaking her head, Grace place a soothing hand on Spences shoulder. "Lets not talk about Boyd's behaviour here. Something else is more important: Was he wrong with the thought that the investigation leads nowhere?"

"It's not your mistake!" Tim interrupted.

"I am leading this investigation, that makes it my mistake. I did not make sure we looked at the case from all angles. We followed the outlines we were given and didn't question them. You didn't, because you trusted me to do it. Which I did not!" She took a deep breath and smiled ruefully. "But the case is not over yet and so we are going to pull our heads out of our behinds.... Well, I will.... Spence, Stella, you get me all information that you can find on our esteemed Mr. Healy! Colin, Eve, I know it's not your general area of expertise, but time is short and I need to know everything there is to know about anybody connected to St. Anthony's. Stella and Spence will help you once they are through with Healy. I want to hear about every skeleton anybody there has in any closet!"

Everybody jumped into action, rushing towards computers and phones, pads and pens at the ready. Grace allowed herself a small smile.

*

He still didn't know where he had been so off the mark. He didn't know what had gone wrong. One moment he had been kissing Grace and was well on his way to have his first car sex in almost forty years, and the next moment she had accused him of exploiting her. She had pushed him away, shaken her head when he tried to talk to her, and all but fled from his car, leaving him in a state of shock.

Their fight over Mel's locket came to mind as a moment in their acquaintance when he had been equally shocked. But that had been part professional, part friendship-type. This was different.

Maybe he shouldn't have kissed her. Maybe he shouldn't have touched her so intimately, but how could he have stopped himself? Grace had been so responsive. Like she had wanted it, wanted him.

Making a frustrated noise to the heavens, Boyd marched on down the wet street, not caring whether he stepped into puddles of water or was soaked through from cars driving by. The rain beat down in sheets and he couldn't care less. It was the same as it had been all those months ago when Grace had ambushed him in his house, demanding an explanation for his plans to move to America.

It had been cold and rainy back then as well, and there had been a myriad of emotions tumbling over each other on her face. The anger, the hurt, the all-out rage, the love, the pain, the resignation all mixed into one major stew of emotions that she hadn't held in check and he had ignored as he said his piece.

"Nothing else keeping me here." Those had been his words and if there had ever been a moment when he had drawn blood from Grace without actually cutting her, then it had been that moment.

"I haven't got anything left to give!"

"Don't do this to me, Boyd."

The words circled and meshed, churned and washed over each other, into each other.

"You don't get it, do you?" No, he wasn't getting it and it made his blood boil in anger. He wasn't a bloody psychologist, he couldn't know what people thought by what they didn't say or do. That was Grace's job. She did some magic thing and knew what and why. She always did and let him know, just like that day.

"For fuck's sake, Grace! What do you want from me?" he groaned into the rain. Instead of an answer the rain pelted down harder, forcing him to quicken his steps and look out for a place where he could take shelter from the rain.

"I haven't got anything left to give!"

"Don't do this to me, Boyd."

"Don't do this...."

"Don't...."

He threw himself against the wall of a gateway, ready to punch the concrete in an explosion of frustration. Why did Grace have to be so enigmatic and vague? Why kiss him and then run away? Why slap him and disappear? Why allow him to comfort her and hang herself on other men at the same time?

Behind him, there were hollow voices, teenage boys, and he was about to shout at them to piss off and leave him alone.

He was too busy trying to understand what he couldn't. He was a mess. Grace and he were a mess; and he had not made it better by yelling at her and basically calling her a whore. The thought made Boyd cringe. Over the years he had accused Grace of many things. During their rows he had called her nosey, interfering, useless even. He had belittled and demeaned her work, her profession, her training. He had ignored her advice, done the opposite and blamed her for it. He had ignored their friendship and trampled on her loyalty to him. But never, ever, had he accused her of selling herself.

Mortification rushed over him at the thought, his last words and her slap rushing back to the fore of his mind.

Jesus...,

The boys' chatter growing louder seeped into his painful musings, grating on his nerves. It wasn't a good thing to happen, not with the state he was in, and they were just boys.

"You know, it will be so much fun to see Healy's face. Bastard won't be so smug anymore...."

"Arsehole deserves it. Coppers should take him, not us...."


Thank you for reading and as always, comments would be greatly appreciated.