Gifts
...
Friday 7th December
He wakes first on Friday morning, and he's genuinely glad about it. A quick glance at the clock tells him there is plenty of time yet before they need to get up, and he takes a few moments just to observe her. She's incredibly peaceful – she never fidgets or moves around much – and he can't help but watch her. There is something about her when she's sleeping that he can't quite put his finger on, but whatever it is, it draws him in every time.
Propping himself up on his elbow, he watches the way her features twitch slightly as she begins to stir. Smiling to himself, he leans down and brushes his lips against her shoulder. She sighs softly and opens her eyes, looking up at him.
"Hi," she mumbles, voice thick with sleep as she blinks heavily.
"Good morning," he replies, fingertips stroking across her temple, moving stray strands of hair away from her face.
She yawns and turns into his touch. "What time is it?" she asks, drowsily.
"Early," he murmurs, still tracing her features. Her eyes slide shut and she rolls toward him, snuggling into his chest. He curves an arm around her, fingers now sketching the length of her spine. She shivers and presses herself closer. She is tucked tightly against him, her face hidden as daylight begins to seep into the room. He lowers his head, runs his lips across her neck and feels her hum with pleasure.
"Grace," his voice is soft, gentle, and she turns, looks up at him. She moves, wraps her arms around him, warm hands sliding over his skin as her lips seek his. It's slow and languid and very thorough, that kiss, and when they pull apart he whispers quietly in her ear, "Happy Birthday, Grace." She smiles up at him and pulls him closer still.
…
He walks into her office mid-afternoon carrying a mug of tea for her and a coffee for him. He's sent Kat and Spencer to Hounslow to chase up a possible new lead and Eve is firmly ensconced in her lab, happily playing with a brand new and disgustingly mouldy corpse, leaving the two of them alone in the squad room.
Grace is sitting on the floor, leaning back against a chair with her legs curled to the side. There are piles of notes, files, records, articles and other miscellaneous scraps of paper spread out around her; the contents of just one of the three large crates chronicling the mental health progression of Marcus Gregory, who yesterday moved from somewhere in the vicinity of their list of possible suspects to being definitely involved in the grisly, decade-old unsolved murder of Kiera Hall.
"How's it going?"
"Well… all I can really tell you at the moment is that Gregory has been in and out of psychiatric institutions for most of the last thirty years. And if I ever get my hands on the person responsible for this mess," she gestures to the files spread out around her and the two additional boxes still awaiting her attention, "we're going to have a serious chat about filing and organisation." He can't help a small smirk at the vehemence in her tone as she delivers the last part of her statement, though he hides it quickly when she looks up at him, exasperated.
"I brought you a present," he tells her, offering the mug before carefully lowering himself to the floor and taking a seat among the haphazard piles.
"Thank you." The heartfelt reply is accompanied by a warm smile as she takes a sip and sighs in gratitude. "Mmm… lovely!"
"I wasn't talking about the tea," he says, reaching into his jacket pocket and producing the McVitie's Digestives he filched from a desk draw, waving them enticingly.
"You bring me the nicest things," she grins, her eyes sparkling with laughter. He hands over the biscuits, enjoying the warmth of her touch as she slowly and deliberately runs her fingers over his before taking the packet. He watches her dunk a biscuit in her tea and wonders, not for the first time, how he got so lucky. How, after so many personal disasters, after he had given up on ever again finding someone to love, and love him back, he finally found the right person. The one who had been there all along.
"Do you want help sorting all of this?" he asks, because he would far rather sit on the floor in here with her than return to his desk and the overdue expense accounts that are waiting for his attention. She looks at him, easily reading his mind, and nods, indicating the piles she has yet to wade through and explaining the method of categorisation.
He goes to work, and they sit quietly, sipping their drinks and munching on the biscuits while she picks her way through the deluge of available information. They have perfected the art of companionable silence over the years, and they revel in it. There is no need to speak; they just quietly enjoy each other's proximity as they work.
He has an almost obsessively neat and organised nature, and very soon the mess of paper is starting to resemble a workable field of study. He fetches another of the crates and starts to work through that as well. It's a tedious job, though, and one from which he's easily distracted.
Observing people is another art form they have both perfected over the years, in his case very often practiced by watching her. His eyes trace her body, taking in the soft, gentle curves he is so well acquainted with, before his gaze is drawn back to her face. Her eyes have the focused, intent look that indicates she's concentrating hard on whatever it is she is doing, and she's biting her lower lip, also a sign her attention is occupied. Her free hand is fiddling with the cap of the blue biro she has been scribbling notes with as she reads, an indication that something doesn't quite add up.
Elbow propped on the chair he's leaning on, he tilts his head, resting it in his hand.
"Grace," he says softly, still watching, still completely absorbed in her.
"Hmmm?" She's still reading, the page in her hand one of many from the thick folder in her lap. He waits until she finishes the paragraph and looks up at him. She slides her glasses off, her eyes silently questioning.
"I love you," he tells her, softly and very honestly.
It's quiet, unadorned and straightforward, his statement, and it's the absolute truth, but from the stunned look in her eyes as she stares at him, it's categorically not what she was expecting him to say. He doesn't tell her very often – neither of them are guilty of overusing the words – and he thinks that it is his fault, that she is following his example.
The squad room is empty, they are very much alone and there's only a stack of medical notes between them, so Boyd, without a moment's hesitation, breaks the most fundamental of their rules. He leans toward her, closes the gap between them, and, right there in her office during working hours, he kisses her. It's gentle, exquisitely tender and an affirmation of everything he feels about her.
Pulling back, he sees the shocked, dazed look that's still in her eyes, and the reflection of everything he's just tried to convey to her. He can see her struggling for words, wanting to return the sentiment for him and he shakes his head slightly, gently pressing a finger to her lips. He doesn't need her to say anything; he already knows.
Still staring at him, she can feel her heart pounding with shock. Her chest feels tight with emotion, the warmth of happiness. She takes slow, steady breaths as he returns to his task, glancing up now and then to look at her, a deep, content smile on his lips and in his eyes.
Her mind wanders, and she thinks about the birthday gifts from him, from her colleagues; all lovely items chosen with care and her tastes in mind. In celebration of her special day, there will be the traditional drinks this evening at their local haunt, and he has promised to take her out tomorrow evening when they will be uninterrupted and have all the time they want to linger over dinner together. It's traditional and it's wonderful, and she enjoys it – they all do.
But then her thoughts turn to this moment, right now. Sitting on the floor of her office with him, working through one of the more mundane tasks of the job together, simply because he wanted to spend the time with her. Because he loves her, and she loves him.
Sometimes, she thinks, the things that cost nothing are the best gifts of all.