One Last Chase
By
Rapunzle1980
London, April 2011
Boyd drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, navigating through the early morning London traffic with familiar impatience. The city was waking up, streets bustling with black cabs, cyclist weaving through lanes, and pedestrians huddling against the lingering spring chill.
He took a slow breath, rolling to a stop at a red light. A typical Monday morning – except this wasn't just any Monday. It was the beginning of his last week on the Force.
One more week before he was officially out. Six months of garden leave, then retirement.
Retirement.
The word still felt foreign, as though it belonged to someone elses life, not his. He was not ready to retire. There were still too many old cases left to solve, too many families out there still deserving answers to what had happened to their loved ones.
He reached for the police radio, half-listening to the usual comms chatter as he idly scanned the road ahead.
"Control, we have a silver BMW failing to stop – A13 westbound, speed exceeding seventy-five. Driver is suspected in a robbery in Greenwich. Pursuit authorised."
Boyds pulse kicked up a notch. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
A chase.
His jaw clenched, and before hed even made a conscious decision, he flicked on the indicator, veering onto a side street that would take him towards the action. His unmarked police car was still kitted out with blue lights in the grille – a remnant of authority he had for just one more week.
"Unit in pursuit, requesting backup. Suspect vehicle weaving through lanes – dangerous driving, potentially armed."
Boyd smirked to himself, flipping the switch to activate the blue lights. The siren wailed into life, splitting through the hum of traffic, and then, he pressed the accelerator.
One last chase before retirement.
One last rush of adrenaline before he was condemned to the world of bookshops, leisurely afternoons, and God knows what else.
His car growled as he picked up speed, merging onto the main road. The BMW was a few vehicles ahead, darting between lanes like a hunted animal. The Mets pursuit vehicle was right behind it, sirens howling, but the suspect was reckless. Boyd saw it instantly – the sharp, desperate swerves, the dangerous hesitations. The driver wasn't thinking. He was running.
Boyd had chased enough criminals to know that fear was often more dangerous than intent.
"Suspect heading into central – Tower Bridge direction," the radio crackled in his ear.
Not on his watch. He gritted his teeth, gauging the distance. He flicked the wheel, cutting across traffic, ignoring the horns blaring around him. A gap opened up, and he pushed the car forward, his breath steady even as his heart pounded with the thrill of the chase.
The BMW made a sharp turn onto a side street.
Too sharp.
Boyd saw it before it happened. The back tyres skidded, the driver overcompensating. The car fishtailed, clipped the curb, and lost control.
Everything slowed.
The vehicle spun, a blur of silver and back, then slammed into a lamppost at full speed. The impact was brutal – metal crumpling, glass exploding into the air like shattered ice. The front end crunched inward, the engine buckling under the force.
Boyds car skidded to a halt just as the Met units swarmed in. He barely registered his own movement as he leapt out, sprinting towards the wreck.
The drivers side was mangled. No movement.
The passenger.
Boyd pulled at the handle, yanking it open. A young man – early twenties, blood trailing from his temple – slumped forward, groaning. He was alive.
The driver, however, was not.
Boyd took a step back, his breath measured, eyes scanning the wreckage. Blue lights flashed around him. Sirens echoing through the street.
One last chase.
And it had ended like so many others.
Not with a triumph. Not with a clean arrest.
But with a body.
~B~G~B~
Boyd stepped into the basement, the familiar scent of stale coffee, old paper, and the faint musk of damp walls settling around him. But the place felt… hollow.
Too quiet.
The desks were mostly bare now, monitors unplugged, whiteboards wiped clean of names, theories, and the scrawl of cases that once consumed their days. The once-bustling space of the Cold Case Unit was reduced to a graveyard of memories. Much like his house in Greenwich.
He wasn't sure why he was here. His desk was already cleared out, save for a couple of cardboard boxes that needed hauling to the car.
The Unit was done.
There was nothing left to investigate, nothing left to sink his teeth into. Just an empty room and the quiet hum of a world that had moved on without him.
Then he saw her.
Grace.
She was in what used to be her office, packing it up.
Her movements were slow, deliberate.
Too deliberate.
Her back was straight, shoulders stiff, and when she reached for a file, he noticed the pause – the brief hesitation before she slid it into the box.
Something was wrong.
Boyd frowned, stepping further into the room.
Carl told her.
The thought came unbidden, but he knew it was true. The man at the front desk had a habit of keeping people informed. If shed arrived an hour ago, shed have heard about the chase, about the BMW, about the fatality.
His stomach tightened.
"So, this is it, then?" he said, voice rougher than intended. He gestured around the empty room. He wasn't just talking about the basement.
Grace looked up, her blue eyes locking onto his. For a second, he saw something flicker – something deep, something raw – but then it was gone, smoothed away behind the careful mask she always wore when she didn't want him to see how she really felt.
"This is it," she echoed.
Boyd shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. He should say something – should ask – but the words stuck. He could see the tension in her jaw, the way she was gripping the box just a little too tightly.
She was angry.
Or worried.
Or both.
"Carl told you," he said, half a question, half a statement.
Graces gaze didn't waver. "Yes."
He waited, expected her to scold him for his recklessness like shed always done. When she remained quiet, he exhaled sharply. "Nothing reckless. Just… one last go, you know?"
Her lips pressed together. "One last go." It wasn't a question.
Something about the way she said it – flat, unreadable – made his pulse tick up.
"You think I was trying to kill myself?"
A flicker. A shift in her stance.
She hadnt expected him to say it outright, he thought. But she didn't deny it.
Boyd scoffed, shaking his head. "Jesus, Grace."
She turned away, stacking another file into the box, her voice quiet. "I know the statistics, Boyd."
His chest tightened.
She knows.
Of course, she does.
She always knows.
"You think Im a bloody statistic?"
Grace didn't look at him. "I think youve been running on adrenaline for so long that you don't know how to stop."
He opened his mouth to argue, but – Christ. Maybe she was right.
She finally turned, and for a moment, she looked like she wanted to say something – really say something. But then her expression shifted, closed. A breath. A hesitation. And just like that, whatever shed been about to say was locked away.
"I have to finish this," she said, nodding at the box.
It was a dismissal.
Boyd clenched his jaw.
So, this was how they were going to do it? After everything? After all these years?
"Right," he muttered. "See you around, then."
Grace gave him a small, unreadable smile. "Take care of yourself, Boyd."
That was it.
No promises. No reassurances. Just those quiet words that felt like a goodbye she wasn't ready to say out loud.
Boyd lingered for a second longer, then nodded once before turning on his heels and walking to what used to be his office to pick up his own boxes. Then he left the basement and Grace.
He didn't look back.
Didn't see the pained expression on Graces face as she watched him leave, the tears swimming in her eyes before she managed to pull herself together.
Barely.
~B~G~B~
Boyd didn't see Grace after that day. Not properly. She kept her distance. Carefully. Deliberately.
She didn't call, didn't check in. But he knew she was keeping tabs on him.
Through Spencer.
Boyd wasn't stupid. Hed catch it in Spences offhand remarks, the way his old colleague would mention things Boyd hadnt told him directly.
Grace was watching from a distance.
And maybe… maybe that was her way of caring.
It felt strangely reassuring to know that even if she kept her distance, she still watched him, still keeping an eye on him.
She would have heard he'd sold the house in Greenwich, would have heard he'd left the city. And she would have pieced together that he wasn't looking back. He was moving forward. Head on the way he always did.
Maybe that was what she had wanted.
Or maybe, just maybe, she was waiting to see if hed survive without her.
And he had survived.
Now, December was here, and he had survived seven months without her.
The fire in the hearth crackled, casting flickering shadows against the darkened walls of the cottage. Boyd sat slumped in his armchair, staring at the flames but not really seeing them. His sister had called again earlier pressing for an answer about Christmas.
He hadnt given her one.
Because before he could even consider going to his sister and her family, he had to see her.
Seven months.
Seven months since he had last stood in that near-empty basement, watching Grace pack up the last remnants of her life in the Unit, a ghost of the woman he had worked beside for over a decade.
Seven months of knowing she was still keeping tabs on him but never reaching out. Seven months of silence that had stretched too long.
He wasn't naïve. He knew what she had been thinking that day. That chase, the wreckage, the fatality – she had thought he was trying to die. And he couldn't blame her.
Because for a while, he hadnt been entirely sure she was wrong.
But he was still here. He had left London, sold the house in Greenwich, built something of a life out here in the countryside. He went on long walks. He cooked for himself. He even picked up some bloody books that weren't case files.
And yet, despite all of that, she was still there – always there.
First thought in the morning. Last before sleep. And far too often in between.
It was time.
He couldn't let this go on.
Reaching for his coat, Boyd stood, grabbed his keys, and stepped into the cold December night.
~B~G~B~
London, late evening
The street was quiet when Boyd pulled up outside the modest terraced house. He had been here plenty of times before. Dropping her off after late nights at the office, sharing a drink or two, discussing cases. But he had never been here like this. Never with this much uncertainty twisting in his gut.
She might not want to see him.
She might send him away.
But he had questions, and he wasn't leaving until he had answers.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped up to the door and knocked.
A long pause. Then, the sound of movement.
And then she was there.
Grace.
She looked the same, and yet different. The same sharp blue eyes, the same delicate features, but there was something else – a tiredness, maybe. Or something heavier.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then she sighed. "I wondered when youd come."
Boyds brows lifted slightly. "So, you did expect me."
Grace hesitated. Then, quietly. "Eventually."
He huffed a small, humourless laugh. "Well, here I am."
Another pause. A shift in her stance. "Would you like to come in?"
Boyd nodded once. "Yeah."
She stepped aside, letting him pass, and as he walked into the warm, quiet house, he realised this conversation had been waiting to happen for a long time.
Too long.
And he wasn't leaving without the truth.
Boyd stepped inside, feeling the warmth of the house settle over him, a stark contrast to the sharp December cold outside. The hallway was familiar – simple, uncluttered, the kind of space that reflected the woman who lived here. It smelled like her too. Faint traces of jasmine, old books, and something warm, something… home.
She closed the door behind him, brushing past as she led him towards the living room. The fire in the hearth cast a dim glow, softening the sharp angles of her face as she sat down in the armchair opposite the couch.
She didn't offer him a drink. Didn't ask why he was here.
Because she already knew.
Boyd sat heavily on the couch, rubbing a hand over his face before letting it drop. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low, rougher than he intended.
"Youve been avoiding me."
Graces gaze didn't waver. "You noticed."
He let out a sharp breath. "Of course, I bloody noticed."
A small silence settled between them.
Boyd leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He didn't have the patience for games. Not with her. Not now.
"Carl told you about the chase," he started, watching her carefully. "You thought I was trying to kill myself."
Grace looked away for a fraction of a second – enough of a tell.
"I wasn't the only one who thought so," she murmured. "Spence did too. Even Eve, though she didn't say it outright."
Boyd huffed a quiet laugh, but there was no humour in it. "That bad, was it?"
She tilted her head slightly, eyes scanning his face as if looking for something. Then, carefully, "I know you, Boyd. Probably better than you know yourself."
There it was. The truth between them.
Boyd swallowed, his jaw tightening as he leaned back. "And thats why youve been keeping your distance?"
Grace exhaled slowly, folding her hands in her lap. "I needed to be sure."
"Sure of what?"
"That you weren't a statistic."
The words hit harder than he expected.
Boyd stared at her. "Jesus, Grace…"
She held his gaze, unwavering. "You know the numbers. I know them better." Her voice was steady, clinical, but the slight tremor in her fingers – one he only caught because he knew her – betrayed her. "Retired officers. The suicide rate. The ones who…" She hesitated. "The ones who don't make it."
His chest tightened.
She thought he would be one of them.
He swallowed again. "I wasn't trying to die that day."
Her expression didn't change. "But you weren't trying very hard to live either, were you?"
Boyd opened his mouth, then closed it. Because – Christ, she had him there.
For a while, he hadnt known what he was doing. Hadnt cared, really. Just chased the adrenaline, the kick he got out of a good car chase. But something had shifted in the past few months. He had moved away, started again. And yet, she was still the one thing he hadnt been able to let go of.
"Im still here," he said eventually.
Grace studied him for a long moment. Then, quietly. "I know."
Silence stretched between them again, thick with unspoken words.
Then, Boyd exhaled sharply. "You never answered my question."
Her brows lifted slightly.
"Why have you been keeping your distance?" He paused, then, before she could deflect, added, "And don't say its just because of the bloody statistics."
For the first time that evening, Graces carefully composed mask cracked, just a little.
She looked away, her fingers tightening around the armrest. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer, almost reluctant.
"Because I was afraid."
Boyd frowned. "Afraid of what?"
Her gaze flicked back to him, and for the first time since he walked through her door, she looked – vulnerable.
"That if I let you back in, Id have to watch you fall apart."
Boyd stared at her.
His throat felt tight, the weight of her words pressed against something deep inside him.
She hadnt been avoiding him because she was angry. Or because she didn't care.
She had been keeping her distance because she cared too much.
A lump formed in his throat, and for a moment, he didn't know what to say. Then, finally, his voice low but firm – the only thing he knew to be true in this moment – "Im not falling apart, Grace."
She held his gaze, searching, measuring. And this time, when she nodded, it wasn't just for his sake.
She believed him.
Boyd wasn't sure how long they sat there, the quiet stretching between them, neither willing to be the first to break it. But the weight of everything – seven months of unspoken words, seven months of distance – hung in the air like a storm waiting to break.
Grace looked at him the way she always had – measured, assessing. She wasn't convinced, not entirely. But she was listening.
That was a start.
He exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair, feeling the rough scratch of grey at his temples. "So, what now?"
Grace arched a brow. "What do you mean?"
Boyd let out a sharp breath. "Come on, Grace. You can't tell me all this – tell me you've been keeping your distance because you were afraid I'd fall apart – and then expect us to go back to pretending we don't exist in each other's lives."
Something flickered in her expression – something she wasn't ready to name. "I never pretended you didn't exist."
Boyd scoffed. "No, you just left Spence to do all the bloody legwork. What was that, Grace? Some sort of test? See if I'd make it through the year without topping myself?"
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "That's not fair."
"Isn't it?"
Her hands clenched against her lap, her control slipping, just a fraction. "I needed to know if you could stand on your own two feet."
"I have."
"Good."
Boyd huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "That's it? Just good?"
Grace sighed, rubbing at her temple before looking back at him, her gaze softer now, more open. "I didn't know what you wanted from me, Boyd."
That stopped him.
What did he want?
He hadn't planned beyond this conversation. He hadn't thought about what happened after.
But if he was honest with himself – if he stripped everything down to the bare truth – he already knew.
Because she was still the first thing he thought about in the morning.
And the last thing before he fell asleep.
And he was tired of pretending that didn't mean something.
He swallowed, his voice lower when he spoke again. "I didn't want you to disappear."
Grace blinked, caught off guard by his honesty.
Boyd clenched his jaw, looking away briefly before meeting her gaze again. "After the Unit ended, after everything – hell, after the basement – I thought we'd…" He exhaled sharply. "I thought we'd still be us. In some way."
Grace's gaze softened, something shifting in her posture. "So did I."
Boyd studied her, the weight of her words settling deep. "Then why did you stay away?"
Grace hesitated. Then, finally, she sighed, her shoulders dropping just a fraction.
"Because I was afraid that if I let you back in, I wouldn't be able to walk away again."
The words hung between them, thick and unspoken for far too long.
Boyd felt something tighten in his chest.
He could push it. He could challenge it.
Or he could accept it.
Slowly, he nodded, exhaling softly. "I don't want you to walk away again."
Grace held his gaze, something vulnerable in her expression – something she was finally allowing herself to show.
"Then don't give me a reason to," she murmured.
Boyd swallowed, his pulse thrumming. It wasn't a promise, not exactly. But it was something. He leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face before letting it drop. "So, Christmas."
Grace's brows lifted slightly. "Christmas?"
Boyd smirked faintly. "My sister's been badgering me to spend it with her. I haven't given her an answer yet."
Grace studied him. "Are you asking me where I think you should be?"
Boyd held her gaze, his voice quieter now. "I'm asking where you'll be."
Something softened in her expression, and this time, she didn't look away.
"I haven't decided yet."
Boyd exhaled, a slow, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Well then," he said, settling back into the couch, "maybe we should decide together."
For the first time that night, Grace smiled. Just a small one. But enough.
And for the first time in seven months, Boyd felt like he could breathe.
~B~G~B~
Boyd had always been a man of action. He'd spent his life making split-second decisions, charging into situations headfirst, following his gut more often than protocol. But this – this – wasn't something he could force his way through.
Three weeks until Christmas, and for the first time in months, he didn't feel like he was walking around in the dark. Because now, he and Grace were talking again.
But talking wasn't enough.
He needed to know. Needed to know where they stood.
So, three days after their conversation, he called her.
"Lunch," he said when she picked up. No preamble.
A pause. Then, "Are you asking or telling me?"
Boyd smirked. "I'll let you decide."
Another pause. Then a soft sigh, the kind that told him she was giving in without actually admitting it. "Where?"
"I'll pick you up."
That was how they found themselves sitting across from each other at a quiet pub just outside the city, the warmth of the fire crackling behind them, two plates of untouched food between them.
Grace had barely picked at hers. Boyd, for once, hadn't touched his at all.
Because this wasn't just lunch.
This was him finally asking.
"So, Christmas," he said, pushing his pint aside.
Grace arched a brow. "Christmas."
Boyd leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "You never said what you were doing."
Grace exhaled slowly, toying with the stem of her wine glass. "I haven't made any plans."
He studied her, gauging her reaction. "I want you to come with me."
Her fingers stilled. "With you?"
Boyd nodded. "To my sister's."
He saw it then – that flicker of hesitation, barely there but noticeable enough. Grace didn't do things lightly. She measured everything, thought things through in ways he never could.
But this wasn't something he was willing to dance around anymore.
"I know you," he said before she could deflect. "I know exactly what's running through that head of yours right now. You're wondering what it means, aren't you?"
Grace's blue eyes met his, sharp, perceptive. "And what does it mean, Boyd?"
He didn't look away.
"It means I don't want to keep pretending I don't need you in my life."
The words were out before he could stop them.
Grace's expression didn't change, but something in her posture shifted, the tension in her shoulders easing – just a little.
Boyd exhaled, pressing on.
"If you come with me, Grace, you won't just be there as some old friend or ex-colleague." His voice was steady, sure. "You'll be there as my partner."
She didn't flinch at the word.
She didn't argue.
But she didn't answer, either.
Boyd waited, giving her the space she needed. Because he knew Grace. She didn't rush into things. She would weigh every possibility, every consequence.
And then, finally – finally – she spoke.
"If I say yes," she said carefully, "I need to know what happens after Christmas."
Boyd smirked faintly. "You mean, do I disappear again?"
Grace's gaze held his. "Do you?"
He didn't hesitate. "No."
A beat.
Then, Grace let out a quiet breath, a small smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.
"Alright then."
Boyd blinked. "Alright?"
She took a sip of her wine, meeting his gaze over the rim of the glass. "Alright."
Boyd exhaled a quiet laugh, leaning back in his chair. "Well. That was easier than I expected."
Grace smirked. "You don't know what you've just signed up for."
He grinned. "Oh, I think I do."
And just like that, the last seven months of distance no longer mattered.
Because she was coming with him.
Because they weren't walking in circles anymore.
And because, for the first time in a long time, they both knew exactly where they stood.
~B~G~B~
February 14th, 2012
Boyd had never been one for Valentine's Day.
He had spent years scoffing at it, rolling his eyes at the overpriced roses, the saccharine displays in shop windows, the desperate restaurant bookings made by people trying to prove something to themselves and their partners.
And yet here he was.
Reservations made. A private table at a quiet Italian restaurant. A small, square box in his pocket.
Two and a half months ago, his life had changed. Because of her.
Because Grace had let him back in.
Because she had come with him to his sister's for Christmas – not as an old friend, not as just Grace, but as his partner.
And in the weeks that followed, they had learned each other in a new way. They had grown into each other, step by step, breath by breath. It had been a slow unravelling of something that had been waiting in the background for years, woven between every argument, every glance, every moment they had stood side by side.
Boyd thought he knew her now.
And yet, she still managed to surprise him.
She knew him too well. Knew his moods, his sharp edges, the way his mind worked. Which was why, for once, he needed to surprise her.
The restaurant was quiet when he arrived, the table tucked away in a corner where the low hum of conversation didn't feel intrusive. He had chosen it deliberately – not too flashy, not too grand, just right.
He was nervous.
Which was ridiculous. He had spent his life confronting murderers, standing in courtrooms, chasing down criminals without a second thought. But this? This was different.
Because he knew exactly what sat in his pocket.
He wasn't proposing. Not yet.
But he was making a statement.
A promise.
A ring might come later. But for now, this was the beginning.
And as Grace walked through the doors, scanning the restaurant until her eyes found his, Boyd felt something settle in his chest.
Because this was right.
Because she was right.
And tonight, he was going to make sure she knew it.
Over Dinner
Grace raised an eyebrow as she set down her wine glass, the candlelight flickering in her blue eyes. "An Italian restaurant on Valentine's Day?" She smirked. "I never took you for a romantic, Boyd."
Boyd smirked back, leaning in slightly. "There's a lot you don't know about me."
Her gaze held his, amused. "Oh, I think I know you rather well."
He chuckled, shaking his head as he twirled his fork in his pasta. "Yeah, well… I had to do something to keep you on your toes."
Grace tilted her head slightly, studying him. "You're nervous."
Bloody hell. Of course she'd pick up on it.
Boyd exhaled, setting his fork down. "Maybe."
She arched a brow. "You? Nervous?"
He reached into his pocket, feeling the weight of the small box between his fingers. Now or never.
"I got you something."
Grace blinked, surprise flickering across her face. "You did?"
Boyd smirked. "See? Surprising you."
He placed the box on the table, watching as her eyes dropped to it, her fingers hesitating slightly before reaching for it.
She glanced at him, as if reading his face. "Should I be worried?"
"Just open it."
Grace's fingers worked the lid carefully, her movements slow, measured. Then, as the lid flipped open, she stilled.
Inside was a bracelet.
Not extravagant, not flashy. Simple. Elegant. Meaningful.
A delicate silver chain, and in the centre, a small charm – an infinity symbol.
Grace looked at it for a long moment, the candlelight glinting off the polished silver. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter. "Boyd…"
His throat felt dry. He shifted in his seat, his gaze steady. "It's not a ring."
A faint smile touched her lips. "I can see that."
Boyd exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "But it means something. At least, it does to me."
Grace's fingers brushed over the charm, her expression unreadable. "Infinity."
Boyd swallowed. "You and me. It's been years in the making, Grace. Over a decade, really." His voice softened. "And I'm not going anywhere."
She finally looked up at him, and in her eyes, he saw understanding.
Because she knew. She always knew.
Slowly, she closed the box, resting her fingers on the lid. "Neither am I."
Boyd felt the tension in his chest ease, replaced by something warmer. Something sure.
A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "So, I suppose that means I didn't screw this up?"
Grace laughed softly, shaking her head. "No, Peter. You didn't."
And as they finished their meal, hands brushing on the table between them, Boyd knew – this was just the beginning.
~B~G~B~
Later That Night – Graces bedroom
The night outside was quiet, the distant hum of London muffled by the thick curtains drawn across the windows. Inside, the warmth of the bed wrapped around them like a cocoon, the faint scent of Grace's jasmine-scented lotion lingering in the air.
She was curled against him, her body half-draped over his, the bracelet now secured around her wrist. The small charm brushed against his skin with every slow, idle circle her fingers traced over his chest.
Boyd lay still, one arm tucked behind his head, the other lazily resting against the curve of her hip. He wasn't sure if it was the wine, the soft glow of the bedside lamp, or just her, but for the first time in a long time, he felt at peace.
Then, softly, her voice broke the silence.
"Why did you decide on a bracelet, Peter?"
His breath hitched slightly.
Peter.
She didn't use his first name often – not in the years they worked together, not even in the last two months they had been together. But when she did, it was different.
It was intimate.
Boyd turned his head slightly, pressing a slow kiss to the top of hers. "What do you mean?"
Grace shifted against him, her fingers never stopping their lazy path across his skin. "You could've gone for earrings. A necklace. Even a ring."
Boyd smirked, fingers brushing lightly over the bare skin of her back. "Wouldn't have suited you."
She hummed softly, amused. "And a bracelet does?"
His hand stilled, resting just above the dip of her waist. "Yeah."
Grace lifted her head slightly, just enough to glance up at him. "Why?"
Boyd exhaled, tilting his head back against the pillow. He thought for a moment, gathering the words he wanted to say – needed to say.
"A ring… would've been too soon," he admitted. "And I didn't want to get you something that felt like it had to mean something else. Something bigger."
Grace was silent, listening.
Boyd shifted slightly, his fingers now tracing idle patterns against her back. "But a bracelet… it's something you wear every day. Something that fits into your life without being a statement to the world. Just a statement to you." He paused, his voice quieter when he continued. "And because you can take it off. If you ever wanted to."
Grace's fingers stilled against his chest.
Boyd swallowed, keeping his gaze on the ceiling. "I wanted you to have something that didn't feel like a weight. Something you could choose to keep, rather than something that tied you down."
A long silence stretched between them.
Then, softly, Grace pressed a kiss to his chest, just above his heart.
She settled against him again, her breath warm against his skin.
"I won't take it off," she murmured.
Boyd's chest tightened.
He let out a slow breath, turning slightly so he could press a kiss to the top of her head.
"Good," he said, voice barely above a whisper.
Because deep down, he knew – he never wanted her to.
The weight of the night wrapped around them, thick and warm, the hum of the city nothing more than a distant murmur beyond the bedroom walls. Grace's body was pressed against his, the bracelet still cool against his skin where her wrist rested on his chest.
"You've never said it, you know," she murmured.
Boyd chuckled, his hand absently running up and down her back. "Well, neither have you," he countered.
Grace hummed softly, shifting slightly against him. "Three little words."
"Three scary little words, Grace."
She tilted her head, just enough so he could see the faint smile curving her lips. "I've said them plenty of times."
Boyd raised an eyebrow, though she wouldn't see it in the dim light. "When? Because I've never heard them."
She inhaled slowly, her fingers tracing the faint lines of his collarbone, following their familiar path across his chest. A long pause.
"When I was alone," she admitted softly. "And in my head when I saw how you struggled. When I thought you could have needed to hear them, but I never could. You weren't mine then."
Boyd stilled.
Something in his chest tightened.
For years, they had been circling each other, pushing and pulling, never daring to take that last step. And now she was telling him…
She had loved him even then.
And she had never let him know.
Slowly, he exhaled, his fingers brushing up along her spine, resting at the nape of her neck. "And now?"
Grace tilted her chin slightly, meeting his gaze in the dim light.
Now, there was no more running.
No more hiding.
She was his.
A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Now, I don't have to keep them to myself."
Boyd swallowed, his heart hammering just a little faster.
Christ.
This was it.
She was waiting for him.
Waiting for him to say what had been sitting in his chest for far too long.
He shifted slightly, fingers tightening at the back of her neck as he held her gaze.
A deep breath.
And then, finally – finally…
"I love you, Grace."
Her lips parted slightly, and for a fraction of a second, he saw the faintest flicker of surprise in her blue eyes.
Then, warmth.
And something that felt a hell of a lot like relief.
She smiled – a slow, genuine smile that made his chest feel too full.
"I love you too, Peter."
He let out a slow breath, almost laughing, shaking his head. "Bloody hell, that was terrifying."
Grace chuckled, pressing a soft kiss against his jaw. "See? Three little words. Not so scary, after all."
Boyd smirked, flipping them so she was beneath him, her laughter catching between them as he leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers.
"Yeah, well," he murmured, his lips brushing against hers. "I might need to hear them again. Just to be sure."
Grace smiled against his mouth, her fingers sliding into his hair.
And as the night wrapped around them once more, Boyd knew…
This was it.
This was home.
Boyd watched her, his heart still pounding from the weight of the words they had finally spoken aloud. Three little words. Words that had always been there, unspoken between them, waiting for the right moment. And now, they were real.
Grace smiled up at him, her fingers threading through his hair, her blue eyes warm, filled with something that had always been just beneath the surface – love.
His love.
His Grace.
He leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against her lips, letting the moment settle between them. When he pulled back, his voice was quieter, rougher, but certain.
"Happy Valentine's Day, my darling."
Grace's smile softened, and she ran her fingers down his cheek, over the familiar lines of his face, tracing them as if committing them to memory.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Peter."
And as the night wrapped around them once more, Boyd knew hed done his last chase. This was exactly where he was meant to be.
With her.
Always.
~The End~
️
Note: In reality, Boyd would in all likelihood not be able to do a pursuit like this since pursuit requires specialist training that wouldn't be given to a detective. But for the sake of the story, Im allowing him this one chase
Besides, this is Boyd were talking about. He would just think along the lines of they couldn't do anything to him anymore for rule-breaking