Set after the end of Solidarity.
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Huge thanks go to Got Tea for help, support and the beta.
Happy birthday to Joodiff. Have a great day. Miss you all and hope, we manage to meet again this year :)xx
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Guilt.
Palm on the door handle, Peter Boyd closes his eye for a moment and takes a few steadying breaths. He doesn't like hospitals. Hates everything about them. All the smells and the sounds stir up memories of bad times best forgotten. An old phobia that has escalated throughout his time in the force. Too many deaths and too much suffering there. Grace knows about it, and he's sure she got some obscure, complicated diagnosis for it with a very long name, but no matter how much he dislikes being here. Today, now this is something he has to do.
After all, it's his fault Grace is lying in there and he has to face her. Needs to see her and explain his reasons. But most of all, he needs to beg for her forgiveness.
He did manage to come yesterday. It was late, though, almost midnight. Couldn't escape the office before the case was closed. Bloody Sarah Cavendish didn't return to the office after she disappeared, announcing she was going to the hospital to be there while Grace went into surgery. She stayed away without a word, leaving the rest of them to finish and close the damn Piers Kennedy case.
After a short update on Grace's condition, the nurse allowed him a few moments with her. It didn't calm him at all, quite the opposite. Stoned from the anaesthetic and painkillers, she lay in the bed looking so pale and fragile. Her normally so lively and telling face terribly still, not a muscle moving. The ugly big white spot covering her left temple, an indisputable proof of his deed, burned deep into his mind and added to the burden of guilt and self-loathing that was already heavy on his shoulders.
Now, he feels a little better, but not much. Since yesterday, from the moment Grace collapsed in the hallway outside the squad room – maybe even since Murray Stuart caused her fall in the park – he's been in shock. His chest is tight and his heart still beats ferociously.
With a gentle push, he opens the door and steps inside. Soft light falls through the window, making the room inviting, and there's a quietness, a peaceful silence that sweeps around his frayed nerves and calms him, making him relax a bit. His gaze immediately focuses on the bed, taking her in.
And there she is. Sleeping again. This time, though, Grace is half seated, partly lying against the raised headboard, supported by a pile of pillows. Her head, slightly tilted to the right, is resting on the pillows, an open book is in her lap. Evidently, she's suddenly been overwhelmed by fatigue but given what she's been through the last twenty-four hours or more, it's understandable. The book, though, is a good sign, indicating that she does at least feel somewhat better. Briefly, he considers removing it before it starts sliding down from her lap but, as her right hand rests on the pages, he decides not to. A cannula is still attached to the back of her hand, and from his own experience, he knows all too well how much even the slightest movement can hurt. Better let it be than interrupting her slumber.
It's doesn't matter. He can wait. She needs all the rest she can get to recover.
Indecisively, he stands for a moment in the middle of the room, feeling awkward with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. What the hell is he to do with them? The bloody room already looks like a flower shop.
One more reason to dislike hospitals.
Eventually, he simply dumps them on the bedside table, pulls a chair closer to her side, sits down and patiently waits for Grace to wake up.
Why the visitor chairs in such places are always so damn uncomfortable he doesn't know, but it's certainly very hard to find a position that's bearable to sit in for long. Trailing his fingers through his hair, he slopes forward, legs spread and feet solidly planted on the floor, and ends up with his elbows resting on the knees.
Suddenly a wave of dizziness overwhelms him and, sighing deeply, he burrows his face in his hand, taking a few steadying breaths and slowly letting the air seep between his lips in an attempt to focus his mind and ease his tense muscles. No doubt, his blood pressure has been sky-high the last day or so. A cardia arrest is not what he needs right now.
He's so damn tired, his mind and body completely drained. For most of the night sleep eluded him, and when finally he fell into a restless doze, dreams about Grace together with Murray-fucking-Stuart hunted him, mixed with visions of Grace falling in the park and her unmoving body on the floor in the CCU. Boyd lost count of the number of times he woke up, shaken and covered in a cold sweat.
This morning he had to present himself at New Scotland Yard to account for yesterday's incident and to be castigated by the ACC. They didn't need his explanations, though; the upper echelons seemed well informed of all the gory details and had already formed their opinion. Clearly, someone – Spencer or Sarah, probably both – has been telling tales.
He sighs. It's not that he has even the slightest problem admitting his responsibilities as head of the unit, but even so...
Besides, he knows, and feels to the full, that he and he alone persuaded Grace to meet Murray Stuart in the park, therefore the fault is his and he's fully prepared to pay for the consequences. He doesn't give a shit about their opinions, either the bloody-top-brass or his minions. All that matters now is Grace.
He closes his eyes for a moment and, breathing in her familiar scent, he finally manages to just about find some equilibrium when a quiet knock disturbs him. Opening the door, a woman asks if he would like a cup of tea. Turning his head, looking up, he smiles at her and happily accepts the offer.
No rest for the wicked, it seems. Tea, though, might be good for him.
"One or two mugs?" the lady inquires, with a little nod towards Grace.
"Two, please. One white, the other black."
She disappears again and he gets to his feet and receives the filled mugs at the door. Back beside the bed, he places one mug on the table before sinking down onto his chair, wrapping his fingers around the other, and taking a much-needed sip.
"I could murder a cup of tea."
The unexpected sound of her voice makes him lower the mug, and over the rim, his gaze is immediately caught by a pair of sapphire blue eyes.
Astonished, he can only whisper her name. "Grace."
"Boyd." Her eyes flicker a bit and, a weak smile forms on her lips. "Aren't you too busy at the office to be here?"
Leaning forward, he puts the mug on the floor, and carefully takes her hand with his. "Never too busy to see you, Grace. How are you doing?"
"That's new, Boyd," she chuckles softly, then, struggling slightly, she manages to get herself up more upright and adds, "I'm okay, I think. My neck is sore, though." She gently moves her head from side to side, easing the strained muscle. "But I would feel so much better if you had a cup of tea for me too."
"Here, you are." Passing her the other mug, he twists and turns his own between his hands and falls into silence, until the words finally burst out of his mouth. "Can you ever forgive me, Grace?"
"What do you mean?" she probes, "Forgive you for what?"
"For everything! Take your pick." He gestures in the air at nothing in particular. "Your fall, your injury, for forcing you to meet with fucking Stuart in the first place!"
"That's not on you, Boyd," she snorts, before continuing firmly. "I'm a big girl, perfectly capable to make my own decisions, you silly man. I don't need a knight in shining armour to protect me."
Agitated, he shifts on his seat. "That's semantic, Grace, and you know it. I persuaded you and as head of the unit your safety is my responsibility and I failed."
"Stop it! It was an accident. Accidents happen." Leaning towards him, she places her index finger on his lips. "There's nothing to forgive. End of story." Sinking back again on the pillows, she sighs and closes her eyes for a moment, then angles her head to catch his eye. "There's something else, though, I find much harder to excuse and condone."
"Eh?" He frowns. "I don't understand." Studying her confused, he asks, "what can I possibly have done that's worse than risking your health and life?"
"Well, how come I woke up after surgery with Sarah at my bedside?" she inquires wryly. "It wasn't her I needed here. It was you."
"I'm so sorry, she simply announced she was going and didn't come back. None of us tried to stop her. I don't think we even knew what to do ourselves. But I understand perfectly well if you feel I let you down..."
"No, I can imagine. She really doesn't know her place in the unit. Now, end of discussion, I'm teasing you, Boyd." She holds up a placating hand attempting to stop his objections. "No harm done," she shrugs, "or as well as. My doctor tells me I'll recover and that's what's important. In a few days, you can pick me up, drive me home and spoil me, Peter." Smiling tenderly, she reaches out, cupping his chin. "And that's all that matters."