Disclaimer & Spoilers: See Chapter 1

Rating: M, for language, violence, sexual situations.

A/N: I'm afraid it's another warning for this chapter – again, the subject matter is very dark so please, please don't read this if you think it's likely to upset or offend you. I know I've put them through the wringer a bit with these couple of chapters; it was kind of challenge to myself to see if I could write them convincingly in an extreme situation and in the fallout from said situation. I hope I've managed it ok but please feel free to let me know if you think I should stick to writing banter/smut/run-of-the-mill angst, as is my usual way! :) Also, there is a little bit of this chapter that was inspired by The X-Files episode, 'Irresistible' – see if you can find it! :) I'm eternally grateful to the lovely shadowsamurai83 for the beta – your help on this fic has been invaluable, hun, so thank you xx

Grace felt oddly disconnected from her body, as if she were floating serenely in the space inches above it and calmly observing the horrific scene beneath her, unable to directly experience the pain, the degradation, the humiliation. Robert Britten was atop her, his hips thrusting wildly, his hands pinning her firmly to the bed, his fingers leaving angry purple bruises on her upper arms as she watched herself struggle desperately, kicking her legs violently in a futile attempt to break free. She was peripherally aware that she was screaming, her tearful cries echoing hopelessly around the wooden constructs of the warehouse, her chest heaving as she gulped lungfuls of air into her body, further fuel for the desperate sobbing which was escaping unbidden from her lips. Momentarily, she turned her head away from her immediate oppressor, her gaze becoming focussed on his older sibling, who was sat several feet away, his thin fingers wrapped tightly about himself as his hips pulsed enthusiastically, his face ablaze with rapture, his voice spitting poisoned obscenities in her direction. She watched as she squeezed her eyes firmly closed against the vision, and allowed herself to drift, her thoughts turning to her children, her heart fracturing with sorrow at the notion that she would no longer be a part of their lives, that she would not see her grandson grow up, that she would never again be able to express her intense love for each of them. Her tears fell heavily, soaking her cheeks as she pondered the bitter blow her life had dealt her, the excruciating hopelessness of her situation, the futility of every lost opportunity she had allowed to pass her by. Intense regret filled her chest as she thought inevitably of Peter Boyd, her soul splintering with the realisation that she would never get to express the depth of her feelings, that she had allowed her fear of rejection to rule her and the invisible barriers existing between them to dictate her behaviour. She took a shuddering breath, her whole body trembling with the effort. I wish I'd told you how I feel...how I've always felt...how much I...but it's too late now. It's too late for wishing, for hoping, for dreaming. It's too late for anything. Oh, God, I want to die. I just want them to kill me so this will be over...Please just let me die, let it be over, let it be....

The brakes squealed loudly on Boyd's car as it skidded to a halt outside of a large warehouse, its bulk partially obscuring the sun as it blinked cheerfully through the clouds. Boyd took a sharp breath as he noted the presence of another car, his hand moving instantly to his mobile and dialling the familiar number. That's got to be them, it just has to be, he thought desperately as he listened to the harsh ringing against his ear briefly before Spencer came on the line, his deep voice tense.

"Boyd?"

"I'm here, Spence. And there's another car parked up."

"Britten?"

"I'd stake my life on it."

Spence swore softly. "We'll be there in fifteen, max. I'll call for local backup as well, see if they can be there sooner."

"Good."

"Don't do anything stupid, Boyd."

The DSI snorted, swallowing his instinctive anger. "This is Grace, Spence. Grace."

"You think I don't know that? But you getting put on a murder charge for pummelling Britten to death would really be the icing on the fucking cake, now, wouldn't it?"

"Don't you dare lecture me, you little shit, don't you dare!"

"Just don't lose it is all I'm saying. Take it easy, yeah?"

"Just get here, Spence. Fucking get here."

He punched the phone angrily then, severing the connection as he stepped from the car in a blaze of heat, his anger, his anxiety threatening to overwhelm him as he strode towards the entrance, a tiny glimmer of relief filling him as the door opened easily beneath his palm. Silently he stepped forwards into the darkness, his stomach clenching with tension as he listened intently for any signs of inhabitation, and he trod quietly down the corridor, his heart pounding as he lay his palm against another door. Taking a deep breath, he shoved hard against the knotted surface, the wood splintering easily with the sheer force of his exertion, and he burst into the room, bile rising instantly into his throat as he took in the nightmarish scene before him. Grace was lying flat on the bed, tears streaming across bitter purple bruises on her cheeks, a crimson nightdress bunched around her hips as man thrust hard against her body, David Britten looking on in ecstasy through heavily lidded eyes as he stroked enthusiastically at his groin. As if in slow motion, Boyd heard himself roar, his body barrelling forwards, his hands clawing at Grace's immediate attacker and ripping their bodies apart, his fist pummelling viciously into the younger man's face as he lay cowering on the floor, his shoulders shaking as he raised his hands in defence. In three steps, Boyd had crossed the room to where Britten was desperately trying to stand and move away, hindered by the presence of his trousers about his ankles, and he hauled the man roughly to his feet, pounding a clenched fist into his stomach and then into his jaw, blood spurting immediately and coating Boyd's knuckles in rich red fluid.

"You fucking bastard!" he spat venomously as he punched at Britten almost instinctively, his fist connecting repeatedly with the man's prone body, the satisfying force of the impacts fuelling his anger further.

Britten looked up defiantly from the floor, his pale eyes gleaming, even as he spat blood from his mouth. "Finally got here then, did you, Boyd? Finally worked it all out?" He laughed harshly, flinching away from another blow aimed towards his face. "Well, too fucking late! Your precious Grace is just another one I can add to my list, another conquest I can fantasise about! How does that feel, Boyd? How does that fucking feel?!"

It feels like agony, you sick bastard, like complete and sheer agony! With his heart pounding loudly in his ears at the realisation, his stomach twisting painfully with guilt, Boyd delivered the final blow to the side of the man's head, only peripherally aware that the screaming, the obscenities reverberating around the warehouse were falling unchecked from his own mouth, that his eyes were blurring with tears. He realised with a start moments later that he had beaten the younger man unconscious and he held two shaking fingers to his neck, desperately searching for a pulse, relief flooding through his veins as he felt one throb strongly against his digits. With disgust, he shoved Britten into a crumpled heap on the ground and began to move towards the bed, his limbs freezing with shock , his heart stopping in his chest as his eyes became focussed on Grace as she knelt atop the rumpled bedclothes; her deathly pale skin was punctuated by vicious welts of red and purple which accentuated the delicate bones of her face and body, her eyes were haunted hollows, bright with unshed tears, her hands shaking violently as they struggled to re-adjust the nightdress, to regain her modesty. Boyd approached her slowly, desperate to help but conscious of startling her.

"Grace...," he breathed, so softly he was unsure she had heard him until her eyes flickered to his and he felt his heart shatter.

"Boyd?" Her ragged voice was laced with confusion, as if unable to process the reality of his presence in the room, and she blinked rapidly, her eyes searching his face for confirmation, for reassurance.

"It's alright," he whispered quietly, his voice shaking despite his efforts to regain control. "They can't hurt you anymore."

Her gaze flew wildly to the floor, where Robert Britten lay curled into a quivering ball, his arms covering his head protectively, while his older brother's body formed a crumpled mass of blood, of crushed limbs, of bruised flesh. "Boyd...."

"Let me help you," he said, taking a tentative step towards her and standing before the bed, his eyes never leaving hers as he placed his hands gently onto her waist, tugging on the silken material gathered there and beginning to drag it downwards across her hips.

Within seconds, she was sobbing uncontrollably, tears cascading down her face, pushing his hands roughly away as her own continued where his had left off, her cheeks inflamed with embarrassment at his act of compassion. "I can...manage," she heaved huskily between sobs, her chest shuddering.

Boyd held up his palms towards her. "Alright," he said gently. "Alright, Grace. But I'm not going anywhere, do you hear me? I'm not going anywhere...."

"Boyd!"

The eerie quiet in the room was broken suddenly by Spencer's booming voice, and at once the makeshift bedroom was overrun with people, half a dozen uniformed officers rushing to assess the scene, their highly trained eyes absorbing their surroundings, taking in the bloodied man on the floor, the broken woman kneeling on the bed. Spence and Stella were at Boyd's side in an instant.

"Oh, God," Stella breathed softly as she took in Grace's appearance, the grey pallor of the profiler's skin, the dried blood streaking her features.

"We were too late." Spence's voice was strangled as he fought desperately for control, his hand reaching out instinctively towards Grace before he caught himself. "Jesus Christ, Boyd...."

The DSI took a deep breath before addressing them. "Get an ambulance, Spence." His tone was flat, emotionless, the words catching against his throat. "Then arrest Robert Britten for rape and organise an armed guard for the hospital for his brother."

Spence stepped infinitesimally closer towards his boss and steered him away from the women, his eyes flickering to David Britten's prone body on the ground. "Did you do that?"

Boyd looked at him steadily. "Grace was completely traumatised so there were no viable witnesses. Maybe his brother did it to him before I got here. Okay?"

"Boyd...."

"Okay, Spence?"

The DI held his gaze momentarily before giving a small nod of silent support. "Maybe you're right."

"I'm glad we're agreed."

He clapped Spence gratefully on the shoulder then, encouraging him to turn away, to begin the tasks he had been assigned before he moved back towards Grace and Stella, his heart softening as he watched the younger woman drape her own jacket carefully about the profiler's shoulders, Stella's palm rubbing soothing circles across her shivering upper back. The DC's worried eyes met his and she stepped away, into his earshot.

"Sir, she needs to go to hospital. I think she's going into shock."

"Spence is calling an ambulance."

The Frenchwoman looked pained. "Will they need to...? Only she wants to take a shower as soon as she can, she's...."

Boyd barked a humourless laugh and shook his head, his chest contracting painfully. "I saw what he did, Stella. If there's ever a trial, I'd have to be fucking well dead to not go in the box."

"I know, but...the chain of evidence...don't we need to have physical proof of...?"

"I don't care. She's been through enough."

The quiet vehemence in her boss' voice was enough to convince Stella of his determination and she gave a small nod before turning away and walking towards Spence, a final backward glance over her shoulder in the direction of Grace. Boyd rubbed a hand across his face, a headache forming rapidly behind his eyes, and he moved back to the bed, his stomach twisting with guilt as he watched its lone occupant stand shakily from its silken surface, her hands grasping the edges as she struggled to maintain her balance. Boyd took a step towards her but she held up a hand to halt his approach.

"I'm fine, Boyd...."

The DSI shook his head gently, his dark eyes searching the distressed depths of her blue ones as he moved almost imperceptibly closer. "You don't have to do this," he whispered softly, unable to prevent the anguish from crushing his throat, the tears from welling hotly in his eyes.

"I'm fine."

Without taking his eyes from hers, he closed the final gap between them, feeling her palm quiver against his chest, then fall in defeat to her side as he stepped into her body space and enveloped her in his arms, holding her weight as she began to collapse, shaking, silent sobs wracking her entire body as she fought desperately for control. Boyd's hand found the back of her neck, his fingers caressing her skin in gentle motions as his other arm held her firmly to his body about the waist, his lips murmuring comforting words against her hair as he tried with every fibre of his being not to sob his relief, his guilt, his agony into the soft contours of her body.

"I'm so sorry, Grace," he breathed raggedly against her, his words rasping throatily as he willed himself not to spill his soul's complete despair, to unburden his own pain.

"No...need...," she murmured haltingly, her words muffled against his chest as she took another raw breath, the air rattling noisily through her skin, her bones, her lungs.

"Every need," he replied hoarsely, pressing his lips to her hair in a gentle kiss.

"Not your fault," she whispered back, allowing her cheek to rest softly against him, undeniably comforted by his warmth, the presence of his solid body absorbing her pain, her anguish, her humiliation.

"Sir?" Spence's gentle voice broke them from their mutual grief and Boyd turned to face him, whilst continuing to hold Grace flush against his body, her back to the younger man. The DI's hands were gripped firmly about Robert Britten's upper arms, the man's head bowed almost to his chest, his shoulders slumped in a concave curve. "Mr Britten wants to say something before he's taken away."

Boyd blew out an angry breath, instinctively pulling Grace even closer towards him, a desperate need to protect her filling every pore of his body. "I'm not interested."

"Please." Britten's voice was thick, rasping against his vocal chords as he lifted his head slightly though his eyes were still riveted to the floor.

"Get him out of here, Spence...."

"I need to...I want to...apologise...."

Boyd raised his voice as he felt the woman in his arms begin to shake once more. "I'm not going to say it again, DI Jordan."

Spence tugged roughly on the man's arms, forcing him to begin walking towards the door when the prisoner cried out anew, shouting anxiously over his shoulder, his voice a cacophony of desperation. "I'm sorry, Dr Foley! I never meant....He made me do it, he's always made me do it...but I never meant to hurt you, to hurt anyone!"

"Spence!" Boyd was yelling now as he turned Grace away from the torrent of words, her whole body trembling against him as Robert Britten continued, his voice strained and haunted, even as the DI steered him roughly to the exit.

"You have to believe me! I can't spend the rest of my life in prison for something I'm not responsible for! Dr Foley, you have to help me, you have to...!"

As Spence shoved the man through and the door slammed loudly behind them, Grace let out an anguished cry, her body contorting with grief, and Boyd felt his heart shatter, his soul rupture. Oh, Jesus...I don't think there's any way back from this.... Squeezing his eyes closed, he pulled her ever closer into his embrace.