Happy birthday to TheDarkBasement :)
A short story takes place in Boyd's kitchen the evening after Boyd's abduction and following rescue by Sarah Cavendish in the episode Conviction
Tears.
At first, she disregards her watering eyes as caused by the raw onion she just chopped, but when her stomach and chest tighten, and a cry starts forming in her throat, she releases how wrong she is.
It shouldn't surprise her – as skilled and seasoned a psychologist as she is – but it does. Eventually, even the toughest armour cracks under the pressure of suppressed emotions but everybody is so damn used to Dr Grace Foley being placid and serene in the midst of the team. Always so ready to calm the stirred water and bring comfort and support so that nobody – herself included – notices the breach.
There's nobody to catch her.
From the moment Sarah burst into the squad room and agitatedly told her and Eve about her phone call to Boyd—the short exchange of words, the sounds of a struggle before the phone went dead— she's been tense, fearing the worst possible scenario. After waiting for hours, filled with anxiety, Eve suddenly called to inform her that a bruised Boyd was safely back and with her in her lab.
Her only coherent thought then was to rush to him and by sight and by touch reassure herself that he was safe and sound. Only Eve quickly warned her that Sarah-bloody-Cavendish was there too and therefore the lab was a no-go for her and she had to stay away.
The rest of the day, she had to maintain the appearance of a concerned colleague and friend without getting too emotional. There's no doubt Eve knows about them, and Spence probably does, too. But Sarah must never get even close to understanding just how intimate her relationship with Boyd is. She would immediately run to Maureen Smith or somebody higher up and betray them.
Bottling up feelings is never good, though. They always strike back. And they do while she's stirring the casserole in his kitchen. All the day's angst and worries threaten to explode inside her and rip her to pieces.
It hits her like an iron fist slamming her in the centre of her body.
Grace's heart starts beating a hectic staccato rhythm and she bites down on her lower lip to keep the cry in her throat at bay. Boyd is relaxing on the couch in the living room. Eve told her to keep an eye on him and make sure he got some rest. He doesn't need any more disturbance today. It's been a tough day for him, without having to comfort her.
Attempting to take back control over her body, she forces herself to inhale slow and deep. She even straightens her back while her fingers curl tightly around the wooden spoon like a fist, and fixes her gaze on the circular movement of stirring the casserole.
Nothing helps. It seems she's reached the limit of her endurance.
A prickle predicts tears are starting to form in the corners of her eyes and for a moment, she releases her grip on the spoon to press the back of her hands to her eyes.
Most of her life she's been able to control herself, she reflects, strangely clear-minded. A simple question of mind over matter. Only today, it has cost her an enormous amount of willpower, and honestly, she isn't sure she managed that well, and now it seems she's reached her breaking point.
Comprehending how futile it is to fight against, she eventually gives in and lets nature run its course.
Heavy sobs tear through her body. For hours, she thought her worst nightmare – losing him – would soon become a reality. She didn't dare to hope... and still she had to remain calm on the surface.
It depleted her completely and now she's empty with no strength left.
She weeps and whimpers. Trembles rush through her body, and she lets go of the spoon she'd started stirring with again in fear of accidently ripping the pot away from the stove with unpredictable body movements.
She's lost in agony and grief, and has for the moment no sense of time or place. No sound or impression breaks through her wounded mind.
It takes her by surprise when Boyd's deep voice suddenly sounds close to her ear and strong arms snake around her waist, pulling her close.
"Oh, Grace... Grace... "
His words don't stop her crying. Leaning into his embrace, she tilts her head back and rests against his chest, whispering softly as her voice breaks. "I'm... so... sorry... "
"What are you sorry for?" He mumbles and nestles his head upon hers.
"I – I didn't plan to wake you." She struggles to steady her breathing. "You need rest after what you've been through today."
"Mmm," is all the answers she gets. Instead, Boyd nuzzles his way from the top of her head, down along her temple until his cheek rests against hers.
"I thought I'd never see you again." He tightens his grip and pulls her even closer. "All I wanted was to hold you one more time in my arms. I needed to hear your voice and feel your heartbeat. Back in the lab, I hoped you would come looking for me..."
"I wanted to but Eve warned me off because Sarah was there." She sighs and sniffs. "Honestly, I doubt I would have been able to restrain myself, so I didn't dare go. I thought I had lost you."
"Seems I live to fight another day." Boyd sounds tired but placid. He grabs one of her hands and brings it to his mouth to place a lingering kiss on the palm.
Wishing to face him, Grace turns in his arms. The movement makes him groan and release his grasp, even retreating a fraction away from her.
"Boyd?" Startled and full of concern, Grace reaches out. "What's wrong? What's happening?"
"No worries." He holds up a subduing hand, closes his eyes and breathes slowly through his mouth. "No need to be concerned. It's only a few bruised ribs. Nothing serious."
"Sure?" She asks with a troubled voice.
"Yes, Grace, I'm sure. I was most thoroughly checked by Eve. My body hurts like hell and I'm tired. I need to sleep but first of all, I – we – " He sends her one of his old boyish grins, " – you don't look too good yourself – need food." Boyd sways his head from side to side, sniffing in the air. "What is that smell?"
"Oh, nooo!" Grace rushes to the stove. "I forgot the casserole. It smells burned now." Quickly lowering the gas, she clutches the spoon and gazes suspiciously down the pot while slowly stirring the content.
"Is it still eatable?" Growling quietly, he wrinkles his nose and without waiting for a response, he walks to the kitchen cabinet, opens it and casts a glance inside. "Don't bother if it's not. There are a couple of cans of tinned soup here. Let's eat it with a slice of bread. After dinner, I want a shower and then straight to bed."
Soon after the very kick dinner they are lying close, side by side in the dark.
Fumbling for his hand, Grace finds it, squeezing softly. "Are you okay?"
"I'll be spectacularly colourful the next couple of days and probably very, very sore for a while," he grunts, "but at least I believe I finally made a connection with Sarah. She told me what happened to her; how they screwed her over, so this awful day isn't completely wasted." He stops and exhales forcefully before admitting. "Luke's death is no doubt the worst experience in my life but today... today was close. Very close." He chuckles faintly. "But you won't lose me. Not this time and I promise," he turns to face her, "the moment I'm out of the force, we'll make it official. You and I. I detest that we have to hide; that we can't be together during an ordeal like today."
"It was a nightmare," she concurs and edges a fraction closer to him but the motion makes him moan.
"Sorry, I just wanted to kiss you good night. Is it even possible to do that without hurting you?" Her voice is lined with worry.
"Probably not," he confesses, "not tonight I'm afraid. But if getting beaten up is the price I have to pay to turn Sarah into an integrated part of our team, I'll pay it gladly. Now let's get some sleep and hope tomorrow will bring a new and better day. I think we deserve it."