God only knows
Pairing: Grace/Boyd
Rating: T
Summary: After Boyd rescues a woman, he can't get the terrified look on her face out of his mind. He and the team try to find out why. Set sometime after season 5.
Author's notes: Special thanks to shadowsamurai83 for the beta
Disclaimer: Waking the Dead belongs to the BBC. I'm taking them for a kick and a giggle but promise to be back before the main game.
CHAPTER 13
"Thanks." Simon Farr-Jones paid the barmen for the drinks.
Steve Banks, Richard Aldridge and Simon Farr-Jones headed for a secluded booth, then sat down.
"To Ian." For the last three years, the first drink was always a toast to their absent friend, Ian Powell, who'd died of cancer three years ago and was sorely missed.
Someone had left an evening paper behind and Richard flicked through the pages. He stopped when he recognized the policeman and pointed to the photo. "Here's that arsehole, Boyd."
Simon spun the paper around so he could read the article. It briefly outlined how a woman that DSI Boyd had pushed out of the way of a car a couple of days before had committed suicide. There was a standard file photo of Boyd and grainy CCTV shot of Helen Chandler. Now Simon knew why he'd been in that building. Helen Chandler had been the crazy woman in the lift. But why had the policeman accused them of practically killing her?
"Helen Chandler? Do you recognize her? Not today in the lift but ten years ago?" Lowering his voice, Simon asked the others. Boyd accused Steven of something that happened ten years ago. It could only mean one thing.
They all thought back.
When they'd been in school, once a month, they'd played cards for money in Ian Powell's large flat. After they all started University, one day Ian had suggested they should make it more interesting by having a better prize, a girl. They'd all came up with the plan to abduct nobodies. They'd have their night of fun and then drug her so she wouldn't remember what had happened. It had been perfect until Helen Chandler. They still had their monthly card nights with a similar prize, but now they could afford to use high-class escort girls that were very willing.
The trouble was that none of them could remember Helen Chandler. For the entire time they had her, they'd kept a hood over their face so their victims wouldn't have been able to identify them. The only time they'd raised the hood had been to put the gag on their mouth. It was possible that Ian had been the one to do it.
"There have been so many. How can we be expected to remember one more tart like Helen Chandler?" Richard laughed.
"Yeah. With a young one like her, she'd have been very tight."
"Not after you finished with her, Simon."
All three men laughed. It was the standard joke that Simon was the horse among the friends.
"Boyd doesn't know anything. I've put in a complaint. That should get him off our backs."
"Look, don't worry about it, Steve. This slut is dead. Whatever she had on us is gone now. We'll all be fine."
"Simon's right." Richard smiled. "My shout. Another scotch?"
After a few minutes, they didn't notice the couple get up from the booth adjacent to theirs and leave the pub to call their friend, Mary Carr.
- - -
With the dishes done, Grace and Peter had retired to the couch with a fresh bottle of red to watch a documentary on the History Channel. They'd kicked off their shoes and had rested their feet on the coffee table. Grace had nestled into Boyd and his arms had wrapped around her holding her close.
As the credits scrolled at the end of the show, Peter closed his eyes and sighed. They'd been so engrossed in the show that he hadn't realized her hand had snaked under his shirt and her fingers had been feathering slow circles over his skin as she watched the show.
Hearing him sigh, Grace looked at Peter. He was a mess - all battered and bruised. Tape held his broken nose together and he snored as he breathed. The dark rings under his eyes weren't caused by a lack of sleep. He was going to have two black eyes when he woke up in the morning. Sir Martin had been right. He needed time to recover.
She started to pull away from him but his hand stopped her.
He was enjoying her caresses. For the first time, he felt completely relaxed. His rational mind would've said that was probably due to the combination of his pain medication and the wine, but his heart would've said it was due to the wonderful woman by his side.
Grace knew they'd both be asleep soon – too much wine and a tough week contributed to that. But from experience, they'd regret falling asleep on their couch. It wasn't good for their backs or their demeanour the next day. "Come on, Peter. Let's go to bed."
"I'm quiet comfortable here."
"To bed."
"Hmmm.…" Peter's fingers tenderly made their way down her neck.
Playfully, she slapped his hand away. "No. Bed. Now." Grace wormed her away from him and stood up. "Maybe if you're good …." She teased and then spun around, suggestively swaying her hips as she walked away.
Cheeky, Peter thought and followed her up the stairs. She was good. Very good.
They snuggled together, holding one another for several minutes, not moving, just enjoying being close.
Peter's hand then slowly wandered over her bare side, just skimming over her soft curve of her hip. In the moonlight, her pearl white skin almost glowed. Wanting to kiss her, Peter started to move closer but had to stop. He groaned in pain and flopped back down, frustrated. His knee and left arm still bothered him and protested at the move. "I'm sorry."
"It's all right, Peter. Lie still." Grace kissed his cheek. She'd seen all his bruises and scrapes when he'd undressed and it was no wonder he was in still in pain. She propped herself on her elbow and her fingers stroked his cheek. "I love you, bruises and all, and I'm wouldn't to trade you in for a younger model like Hassell did."
"Really?" Boyd thought the same. Being with Grace had been the best thing to happen in his life, and besides, he'd already had midlife crisis anyway.
"Well, if Fernando Torres walked through the door then it would be a different story," Grace teased.
Boyd laughed. "Stella says Cristiano Ronaldo is the hot stud. Not that I notice that sort of thing."
"If you like arrogant prats who use way too much greasy hair product. Besides, I have a rule. If I can't go out with a United fan, there's no way that I could have anyone who played for United. Yuk!"
"Phew …. I'm safe." Boyd had to smile. Their relationship may never have started if he'd been a Man U fan instead of a Chelsea fan. He'd have willingly switched allegiances to Liverpool if it meant being with her.
"You are." She leant in closer and kissed him softly and lovingly as much as his broken nose would allow. "Most definitely." Afterwards her hand traced around a nipple, gently tugging at the few hairs that surrounded it. Slowly, her fingers made the way down is flat stomach. Her warm breath tickled his ear, and in between nibbling on his earlobe, she whispered intimate details of what she wanted to do to him in a couple of day's time when he felt better.
Groaning, Peter closed his eyes, imagining their lovemaking and his arousal grew. His skin tingled wherever she touched him.
Grace smiled when Peter moaned with disappointment. She'd detoured down his leg and pulled the quilt over them instead of stroking him. After kissing him again, she nestled back into his shoulder. "Get better, Peter, and then I'll do all that. Whatever you want. I'm yours. I love you."
That was all the incentive Peter needed. After tucking the quilt over her shoulder, he held her close. He realized that Grace had been the only woman he'd ever truly loved with all his heart and soul. She'd been the only woman who he'd ever felt completely comfortable with and really opened up to. He'd never been this way with Mary, even before Joe had become a rebellious teenager. Sometimes he didn't deserve her, like what happened with Banks, but she'd understood what he'd been through and had forgiven him. "Grace, I love you, too."
"I know. Go to sleep."
"Good night, my love."
Over and over, in his dream, Boyd tried to grab Helen Chandler's hand, but each time he missed, and had to watch her fall to her death. Suddenly the nightmare just got worse. Helen had morphed into Grace and she'd jumped. Now Peter screamed, "NO! Grace …. "
Covered in sweat, he bolted upright. His heart pounded and he panted. Fully awake now, he turned toward where Grace laid on her side, fast asleep, reassured that she was still there, very much alive, and it had only been a bad dream. He felt a little foolish having a nightmare, but it had terrified him thinking that Grace had died.
Parched, he quietly pulled back the quilt and walked to bathroom to drink a glass of water before returning to bed.
Grace rolled over. "Are you okay?" She'd felt him toss and turn, and then scream out her name.
"Just a nightmare."
She squeezed his hand. "Helen?"
"Yes."
"Do you remember that Chinese proverb I said to you when I first started to work with you?"
"Back then you were very fond of proverbs."
Grace smiled as she nodded. She'd used them as a way of getting to know the enigmatic DSI Boyd. "This one was the one that if you save someone's life, you are responsible for them for the rest of their life."
"I remember. Marina." Marina Coleman had been a troubled girl who had been unable to accept her father's death in a car crash. He'd dragged her away from what he'd thought was a burning car that turned out only to have been one of her experiments that helped to show that her dad hadn't committed suicide. He'd been drawn to her just as he'd been drawn to Helen Chandler but he couldn't really explain why.
For Grace, the psychology was straight forward. Guilt was at the heart of his nightmare. Boyd felt guilty that he couldn't protect Helen Chandler, and this was compounded because it was very unlikely that Boyd would ever be able to arrest Banks and his mates. "Look at me, Boyd." Grace didn't wait for him to do it. She turned his head toward her and said with complete conviction, "You didn't push Helen off the building. You didn't make her jump. Those men who raped her did. So you shouldn't feel guilty about it. But I understand why you do, and you're not the only one to feel guilty too. I keep thinking that I should've driven her to the counsellor myself, but I didn't. As the Yanks say, hindsight is a bitch sometimes."
Boyd thought about it, and as usual, she was right about Helen Chandler. But that wasn't what had made him scream in his nightmare. "You're right, of course, but it was you."
"I'm sorry, I'm a nightmare." Grace grinned.
Boyd had to laugh. She could be. Always pushing him, needling him, teasing him, but he wouldn't have her any other way. He needed her to keep him sane. "No, Grace. You were in it."
"Me?"
"At the end, you'd replaced Helen and jumped."
"Oh, Peter." That must have been horrible. She'd have woken up screaming too if she'd dreamed about Peter jumping to his death. She rolled in closer and whispered reassuringly, "That'll never happen. I'm very happy at the moment."
"I know, and I am too. You have a lot to do with that." Wanting to forget all about the nightmare, Peter kissed her hair. "But you've also been in my dreams too."
"Not Cate Blanchett?"
"No."
"Really?"
"All right. Just the once or twice, but they're mostly of you. Of us. Together." A wry smile grew on his face. "But I could say the same for you and Fernando."
Grace laughed. He'd been right. Just before he'd woken her up, she'd been dreaming about a certain Spanish Liverpool forward. It was an occasional fantasy of hers, but most of her dreams revolved around the handsome man lying next to her. Sometimes she still couldn't believe how lucky she was that a good-looking man like Peter was with her. "Me? You're sure?"
"Yes, you. You're the most beautiful profiler I know."
"What about that Greta what's her name?" She now felt a little silly that she'd been jealous because he'd flirted shamelessly with Greta Simpson.
"Who?" Peter stroked her cheek and then kissed her lovingly, leaving her in no doubt exactly how he felt. "Grace, I love you."
Content, Grace sighed, allowing herself to be carried away by his tenderness. It wasn't something that one usually associated with Peter. The Peter she knew was just as passionate as the DSI Boyd was at work, but directed in a different direction. He's an intelligent, quick-witted man, a fantastic lover and a closet romantic - all the things that she liked in a man. Like the few other serious relationships she'd had, he had his faults just as she did, but she loved him with everything that she was.
She glanced over his shoulder. It had to be some ridiculous time in the early morning and it was. It was just before two. "Love you, too. Now go to sleep, Peter."
"Okay." Boyd tried to gather her in his arms, but she was having none of it.
Grace rolled away from him. If they stayed cuddling together, they weren't going to get any sleep. They'd continue caress each other as they chatted for God only knew how long. "Mr Torres is waiting for me. Go to sleep."
Boyd chortled. "All right. 'Night."
- - -
TBC