Disclaimer: I do not own the copyright for Waking the dead or its characters - All rights belong to the BBC

Content: Heartache, angst, friendship

Rating: T - just to be on the safe side,

Hello everyone, this is the first time I have done anything like this, so please forgive me as I feel my way around. I would really appreciate any feedback/advice that you have for me - like I said I haven't written anything before so would love to hear from you. Thank you and I really hope you enjoy x

Beyond Grace

Chapter 1

"No!" Boyd's voice was hardly auditable as he whispered into the emptiness of his office whilst trying to control the rush of nausea that was swiftly overtaking his body. Unable to sustain the urge any longer he quickly dropped the envelope onto his desk and ran to the bathroom banging his thigh on the desk as he passed. He had been doing this job a long time, had seen many horrifying, sickening things over the years, but not many had filled him with such a sense of horror, of dread, of panic, of fear of ... loss. He barely made it on time, as he lifted the toilet seat he felt the burn in his chest travel into his throat as the contents of his stomach refused to be contained to their rightful place any longer. He felt the beads of sweat gather on his forehead, his legs shaking unable to hold him upright any longer. Suddenly he found himself dropping to his knees as he continued to wretch.

His eyes betrayed him, continuing to flash to his mind the image that he had just witnessed. "Please God, don't let it be true, this can't be happening" he groaned. He felt a tear fall, slowly and quietly. It was soon followed by another until he sat in the toilet stall weeping like a baby, overwhelmed by the despair that was encompassing him. His back was pushed up against the door while his head was buried in his hands. He couldn't stop the tears, he wasn't even sure if he wanted to. All he knew was his life had changed. He wanted to hide in there forever, if he was here then he didn't have to face what waited for him out there, he didn't have to believe the image the photograph had portrayed.

This can't be real, it must be some sort of sickening joke he told himself, yet deep down he knew that there was nothing funny about this, in fact he knew nothing would ever be funny again.

Boyd had no idea how long he had spent on the toilet floor, longer than necessary and yet not long enough. Forever wouldn't have been long enough. He exhaled heavily as he found his feet summonsing all the strength he had to pull himself off the floor. Flushing the chain he made his way to the sink and threw cold water over his face hoping that this was some terrible nightmare the coldness of the water would rouse him from. It was a nightmare, that much was true, but Boyd didn't wake, this nightmare was all too real and it had only just began.

As he opened the door which led to the bullpen he stopped and gazed at his office. He didn't want to go back in there, didn't want to face the horror that was before him. Slowly he waked towards Grace's office and put his hand on the handle but all the strength he had would not allow him to open it. He could feel the sting of tears welling in his eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry".Slowly and tentatively he approached his office as if something so terrifying lay in wait for him - it was.

Boyd could feel his breathing quicken as he entered the room. He tried hard to control it but he had no control over his body. Maybe he had been mistaken, maybe it wasn't as bad as he feared, maybe it ... he stopped himself as he picked up the photograph and fell back into his chair. No this was real. Words could never express how he was feeling as he cupped his head in his hands and once again wept.

Boyd could cry, not many people saw that vulnerable side to him, but she knew. She could look behind his hardened exterior, behind his glassy eyed stare, behind his anger, right into his soul. She knew him completely, more than he knew himself sometimes. Now here he is looking at a photograph of her - lifeless. Her beautiful gentle face had been beaten, her knowing eyes were closed. He longed for her to open her eyes, if only he could see them. Those eyes that had so often bore into his soul. Those eyes that with just one look said so much. Many times her eyes scolded him for over stepping the line and speaking out of turn, usually in anger. Just a glance and he knew. He had lived and died in those eyes. Sometimes if he looked hard enough he swore he could feel them burn into his heart. He had seen joy, friendship, hurt, strength, pain, trust, vulnerability, disappointment and love all pour themselves through her eyes into him. Now they were hidden from him and the rest of the world. "Open your eyes, please just open your eyes". He knew that he was talking to an image that no matter how much he willed it, longed for it, prayed for it even, this picture would never change and yet even though he knew it to be utterly absurd he could help himself hoping beyond hope.

She appeared to be stripped, although the photograph stopped before Boyd could tell if she was completely naked. Her complexion was pale emphasising the bruising around her left eye and cheek. Dried blood sat delicately on her swollen lower lip. Boyd's head sank as his mind tried to process the blood which had gathered on her right temple and flowed its path down the side of her head, through her hair forming a sickening pool of scarlet on the ground beside her. Just above her head, almost out of shot lay a disguarded gun. Boyd raised his hands to cover his face in a vain attempt to protect himself but the image had already burned its horror into his memory scorching the inside of his eye lids. With every blink the horror returned.

He couldn't remember when he began to cry again, he only realised he was as the tears became so many they began to obscure the photo he was carefully holding in his hands. Was he crying for her, or for himself, he couldn't tell. He only knew the pain he felt was completely overwhelming.

As he ran his fingers over the picture wiping it dry from tears, he traced the facial outline of his colleague, his friend, his confidant, HIS GRACE.

TBC