For the ten year anniversary, here is my contribution. I can't claim to have been a fan at the time as I didn't truly discover the programme until later on, but I still think it's incredibly sad that something so good was cut short. Here's to the enduring love of these characters and this wonderful little fandom. With thanks to Joodiff for beta services, as always. :) xx
Autumn
…
Despite the crisp freshness of the air, the sun is shining steadily as Peter watches the river and lets the unrelenting, steadily reliable flow of the dull, murky water drag his mind back through all the years it was simply there for him as a grounding force.
A steady presence.
A reminder that moving forward is the only option. No matter what the circumstances are.
And dear God, is he glad that he did.
The slight shiver of his companion is caught by the corner of his eye, but caught nonetheless. Automatically, he steps up behind her, wraps his arms around her waist and holds her close. Nuzzles the side of her neck.
"It never changes, does it?" Grace muses, staring out at the water and the landscape through which it carves its enduring path.
"Nope. Just more infernal buildings completely devoid of any type of architectural presence."
He feels more than hears the laugh that runs through her. Knows she is agreeing wholeheartedly with him.
After so many years, they don't need to speak to communicate. But then, he asks himself, did they really ever?
Another arctic blast of wind rattles down past them, and he's about to start raining threats down on their absent friends when a shout makes him look up.
Spence, older, greying, and a little heavier-set than he was last time they met up him, but exuding a happiness that was never truly there when they were colleagues. Right behind him is Eve, still slim and long-haired, still quirky in her dress and edged with the peculiar air of one with too close an affinity to death.
The pair swoop down on them, and there is much hugging and laughing and smiling, but then Boyd sees that shiver again and orders them on, setting the pace as they walk to a pre-planned destination for lunch.
It's a place all of them have used over the years.
Outdoors, but sheltered.
An escape from the darkness, a breath of fresh air.
Too much concrete, not enough light…
Unbidden, he remembers that night vividly.
Wonders if they do, too.
And somehow, whether by accident or design, they pass that place as they walk.
As one, they pause, silence falling.
They take the steps together, every one of them gazing quietly about.
Remembering.
It's been a decade now, but all four would honestly say that in some way, those years before defined them.
"It still bloody stinks up here," grumbles Peter, finally breaking the tension, the hint of pain that still lingers for them all.
They laugh, all of them. Deep and hard and united, just as they were back in those long-ago days when being a team mattered more than anything. When they had something between them, a cause and a purpose, that was truly special.
…
"How have you found lockdown?" Grace asks Spence as they relax around a picnic bench, hot drinks and a takeaway lunch spread out before them.
"Not much has changed in major crime," he shrugs. "The budget is bigger, the crimes are bigger, the investigations take longer, but most days I go home on time. Adelle would have my balls if I didn't."
Peter chuckles, can't resist a little teasing about his former right-hand man finally choosing to settle down, marry a younger woman and have kids.
"How are your boys," asks Grace.
"Glad to be back at school and football with their friends."
"You enjoyed home schooling, then," smirks Eve.
"Absolutely not!" shudders Spence. "Adelle did the teaching while I was at work, and I entertained them in the evenings. Rain or shine, we were in the park working off their energy and using that exercise allowance. And walking the bloody dog."
"Not a dog," crows Eve, "how very normal your life has become…"
"Shut up," is the response, though it is delivered in good nature. "Besides, you're the one who shocked us all by walking straight into a relationship and ending up pregnant within six months of the CCU… ending."
Eve shrugs, pragmatic as ever. "It wasn't supposed to happen, but sometimes accidents are the best thing to ever occur in our lives. I wouldn't change Cara for anything."
"Have you been teaching from home?" asks Peter, scepticism taking over. He can't picture it, he really can't. Images of Eve and her daughter poking around graveyards flicker into his mind and he suppresses a shiver.
"I have," Eve grins. "She loves science and reading. She's a complete mini-me in jeans and tee-shirts. No sense of fashion whatsoever, but she's always got grubby hands and knees from studying something in the garden or the pond."
"How did you fit it all in?" Spence wants to know. "You're still working, aren't you?"
"Yes. I lecture at the university but that's all online at the moment, and while the body farm is still running I have assistants there now, so if I can't get in they take care of things. And if I was called in to cover for another pathologist Cara either sat in the staff room doing her homework, or Mike took her if he could."
"He's a good father to her?" queries Grace, reaching for her tea. She's always wondered, and now the question slips out before she can stop it.
Eve nods resolutely. "Oh yes. It was blindingly obvious we weren't meant to be, but we're adults and Cara is the priority. He has her Wednesday evenings and every other weekend, but if he's available he'll take her to his if I need to go in. And she gets to see more of her brother and sister then, which I would never argue with. She's very shy."
"Pictures?" asks Grace, a hopeful look in her eyes.
Eve laughs, the sound enveloping the table and their little group. "I emailed you less than a week ago, Grace!"
"I know, but still…"
Eve produces her mobile, shares the bright, happy images of her and the little girl who is truly her double, from looks, to attitude, to expressions.
"You need to come and visit when all this madness is over. Both of you," Peter says, the words coming from nowhere. It doesn't surprise him though; these were his people, through thick and thin.
Under the table, a slender hand lands on his thigh. Squeezes in another unspoken conversation.
Promises are made, and then the inevitable foretelling and guesswork surrounding the virus that has gripped the world and altered their lives in so many ways.
"Anyway," interjects Spencer suddenly, "what have you two been up to? Hiding away from the world down there in Dorset?"
"Hardly," scoffs Peter, "we've been bloody busy looking after the grandkids."
Spencer laughs, then shakes his head in glee. "I would pay to see that," he smirks.
"It's true," adds Grace, her eyes shining. "Rose is a critical care paramedic and her husband Harry is away for four to five months at a time, so we have her three quite a lot."
"Grace does the schooling, I do the entertaining of the younger ones," adds Peter.
"Your turn," demands Eve. "Photos!"
Grace flicks through her smartphone, the purchase of which was motivated by the camera and the instant sharing of pictures with her daughters. "Rose's boy Finn is nearly nine now, and Alice and Ava just turned seven; we set the den up as a classroom when lockdown started because Harry had just gone back to sea and Rose was working so much overtime. And then we ended up adding Emmy's two as well, because Oliver works in A&E and was never home, and she's a teacher and was still going in for the key worker kids."
"Daisy is only four, so she stayed with me, and Leo is…" Peter pauses and looks at Grace, grimacing. As expected, the laughter is there in her eyes as she gazes back at him.
"Five," she supplies. "Getting on for six."
"Right. He did half a day with Grace, then the rest with me."
"And you haven't killed them for being… well… kids?" asks Spence, the disbelief in his eyes and tone all-too visible.
"Why on earth would we," asks Peter, perplexed. "They're our grandkids. They're marvellous."
"I want to kill my boys on a daily basis," is the response. "I love them, of course, but Christ they're a handful."
"Ah," smirks Grace, "but you're the parent. We're the grandparents – it makes all the difference. They work hard at school for me, because they get to play and run riot when they're done. Peter is the master of tiring small children out so that they go to bed when they should."
"You?" Spence is incredulous, and even Eve is laughing.
The pathologist is the first to speak again, a wistful look on her face. "You've changed so much, especially you, Boyd."
Peter steeples his fingers, considers them both. "I was a father," he finally points out. "And before it all went so very wrong, I had a happy little boy who followed me everywhere. I've had a little bit of practice with children. Being a grandparent, it's… well, one day hopefully you'll both find out."
There is a sober silence, each of them reflecting again on the long, tortured days in the aftermath of Luke's death. But then, inevitably, talk turns to more cheerful things and they laugh and joke and tease, catching up on all that has passed in the intervening time.
"Have any of you had Covid?" Spence eventually asks. "I've had to isolate a couple of times, but that's it. One CID team was completely wiped out by it, though. And let's not even talk about the poor response teams."
"Asymptomatic," shrugs Eve. "Two weeks at home with my girl, watching David Attenborough and turning the kitchen into a laboratory."
There's a momentary silence as the younger ones look at them, and for a few seconds Peter wonders if Grace will admit to the truth.
"I was in hospital for a while during the second lockdown," his wife finally acknowledges. "But I was lucky – it was nowhere near as bad as it could have been."
"It was still bloody terrifying for me, though," he growls. Automatically, and without conscious thought, he reaches across and loops an arm around her shoulders, tugging her into his chest for a hug. He will certainly never forget how weak and grey she went, struggling for air as they stood in the kitchen one morning, making breakfast.
"Grace," breathes Eve, her expression horrified. Peter gets it, he really does. He doubts any of them have truly forgotten the horror from all those years ago.
"Emmy got it from someone at the school, and it went round all the kids like wildfire and before we knew it, we were both ill as well," Grace shrugs. She's remarkably calm about it, was even at the time.
"You too, sir?" asks Spence.
"Boyd," he corrects, automatically. "Or Peter. Yeah, it was like a very bad cold. In bed for a week, fretting about this one being alone in hospital." He tightens his grip on Grace, drops a light kiss on the top of her head. "Fortunately for us, she was in the same hospital where Oliver is a trauma consultant and he was able to get her mobile phone to the ward so we could video call and message."
"We played endless rounds of some bloody awful trivia quiz," remembers Grace, fondly.
"Yeah, and even on oxygen you still managed to beat me most of the time." Peter rolls his eyes at their companions, but it's all for show. In truth, he was more grateful than he'll ever be able to express for all the silly games, all the text message challenges, and the truly dreadful social media videos they shared and remarked on whilst they were separated.
With every year that passes, the thought of something happening to her scares him more and more.
"But you're back to normal now?" There's a hint of worry in Spencer's eyes, one that tells Peter he's never stopped worrying about Grace, either.
"Oh, you know me," smiles Grace, "fit as a fiddle. I'm back to normal and very grateful for it."
Eve is staring across the table, eyes intent, expression unreadable. "Mm."
"Well," revises Grace, "occasionally I still get out of breath if I climb the stairs too fast, and my sense of smell and taste is only eighty percent back to normal, but otherwise there's no lasting effects."
Eve still doesn't look convinced, and Peter doesn't blame her. But on this occasion, he lends support to the defence. "It's the truth," he confirms, squeezing a little tighter where he hasn't let go of his companion. Looking down at Grace, he smiles, glad to see her happy and comfortable, her cheeks rosy and her eyes bright with the joy of finally being allowed out into society again, of meeting up with dear friends.
She knows he's looking at her, and glances up, giving him that look that's only ever been his.
"It's never failed to amaze me how two people who used to fight so much could be so in tune with one another," observes Eve, her lips twitching slightly as she watches them.
"Oh, we still fight," grins Grace.
"But only when the grandchildren aren't around, and only so we can make up afterwards," he laughs.
"Please," Spencer visibly squirms in his seat. "I don't want to know."
"For God's sake, man," Peter snorts, rolling his eyes. "We were shagging for years before the team was disbanded."
"I really don't want to know," is the pained protest. "I still sometimes struggle to picture the two of you as a couple."
"Spence, they're perfect for each other. How on earth could you have been so oblivious to that?"
"We've been married ten years next year," Grace points out.
"That long?" muses Eve. "Wow, where's the time gone?"
"It's ten years since the unit was disbanded," Grace counters.
"Ten years today, in fact," says Peter quietly.
Silence falls, instantly.
They all pause and stare at him; his former team, his comrades in arms.
"Today…"
"Yeah." He looks at the table, the crumbs of their finished meal.
He's not quite ready for this to be over yet, and from the three faces around him, they aren't either. Gathering detritus, he makes up his mind. "Let's go for a walk," he suggests. "For old times' sake."
…
The sun has long since set and their companions are gone, but somehow the river has called them back again.
The river with its twinkling lights, its reflections, and its ethereal night-time darkness.
"I don't miss London," murmurs Grace as they stop to stare out, "but I still love the Embankment and the river at night."
Years ago, he'd have scoffed at her. Mocked her silliness, perhaps, but still tolerated it because he loved her.
Now…
Now he has everything he ever wanted, and he's had a decade of happiness and peace to soothe the old wounds and settle the sharpest spikes of his character.
He's in a good place, and he knows it.
The autumn years of love and fun and relaxation. A family, time together, that lack of responsibility and ceaseless demands on their time.
When he married her, he promised her everything, but in reality, it is she who has given all of that to him.
And this year, this long, hard year, is finally almost over. The world is heading back towards normal. They have their health, and one day soon they should be able to do all the things they still want to do.
And that's all he can really ask.
Gently, Boyd turns Grace until she is facing him. Stares down into the enquiring blue gaze that is still the first thing he looks for every morning when he wakes.
The knot of emotion in his chest is too complicated for him to explain, so he doesn't bother trying. Instead, he rests a hand on either side of her face, brushes a thumb across her cheek; slides his fingers into her hair, tangling them deep as he cradles her head.
Leans down and kisses her slowly, but deeply. Takes his time to gently remind her of all that she is to him.
When they part, quite naturally and easily, he finds her hand, the left one. Produces from his pocket something he found a while ago, and slips it onto her finger beside the wedding ring he agonised over, before finally designing himself.
"I was saving it for next year," he tells her. "For your anniversary gift. But after this year… I couldn't wait. I wanted you to have it now."
It's a simple silver band, elegant and understated, with tiny diamonds embedded within the metalwork.
"We still have quite a bit of forever left," he smiles, "and I thought I should remind you."
There are tears in her eyes, so he wipes them away. "I don't need reminding of that," she whispers, her arms sliding around his shoulders as she stands up on tiptoe.
Leaning in for another kiss, he supposes that neither of them do.
But that doesn't mean that he isn't going to show her anyway.