Boyd had made it into work really rather early and dropped into his desk chair, he'd not slept much after last night and needed the silence of his office for a little while. Everything Sapphira had told him in his car was correct. He'd made their age difference a problem. He'd kept bringing it up. He'd let it ruin things between them more than once. Every time the age gap had come up he'd always thought of it as her bring younger than him rather than him being older than her – that should have been the obvious sign he saw the situation the wrong way around. Sapphira had said she wanted to be with him regardless of age or how they'd met – she wanted him. The only thing keeping them apart was how caught up on it all he'd become.

He raked both hands through his gray hair as his head fell back to stare up at the ceiling while silence accompanied his thoughts like a washed up lounge singer. Then it dawned on Boyd – struck him square in the face like a fright train. If Boyd didn't pursue this relationship properly and push aside his misgivings, then he'd regret it for the rest of his life. That deep ardor he felt for Sapphira wouldn't just drift away on the wind like a feather. No, those feelings would remain inside. Maybe it wouldn't work out, but Boyd had tried removing her from his life before and it had been the worst thing he could have done. Misery had descended the moment he'd tried to block her out, something he had no wish to endure again. Besides, Boyd wasn't the sort of guy to hop between one night stands and really didn't want her to wind up believing that was all she'd been in the end. Feelings wouldn't abruptly vanish, inviting loneliness and depression wasn't an option, and nor was being apart from Sapphira any longer. Try; Boyd wanted to try, Boyd needed to try.

With a decision made and anxiousness calmed, attention returned to his work just as the team wandered in for the day. Within fifteen minutes everyone had coffee and had gathered around the desks they used as a conference table of sorts while Stella stuck the last few photos up on the transparent board.

"I'm assuming all of this means you have something good, Stella."

The redhead spun around with a nod for her boss; he'd let her run with this and she'd not let him down.

"It paid off, yes." An unpolished finger tapped on the picture of their victim, a middle-aged father of three. "Stanley Chen was originally from Hong Kong but emigrated when he was seven. He inherited his parents' textile factory after their deaths and married a Scottish woman named Morag in 1978."

"We know all this, Stella." Said Spence as he sipped on his coffee. "Bloke wound up dead in the attic of his factory next to his accountant and some homeless guy, all three with plastic bags on their heads and hog tied. Weirdest bit was the open Necronomicon."

"What on Earth is a Necronomicon?" Boyd's brow furrowed deeply as confusion set in.

Grace leaned back in Stella's desk chair. "If memory serves, it's a fictional book of the dead invented by H. P. Lovecraft for his stories. Publishers jumped on the idea by printing real versions of it over the years."

"The fuck? So what, three people were murdered over a fake magical book?"

Stella shrugged. "The original investigation hit dead ends and eventually concluded they'd tied themselves up in some kind of ritual gone wrong. Stanley Chen had a collection of horror novels which featured a lot of Lovecraft -"

"And the whole thing was weird as shit, so they boxed it up."

"Spence, shut up a minute." Boyd pulled out his glasses so he could better inspect the board. "What's to say this isn't just some cult-like craziness that got out of hand? I mean, Chen had the Lovecraft stuff and there doesn't seem to be any real motive for killing any of these people."

That had Stella perk up, it was her big moment. "Ah, that's why I needed time to run with a theory. Look; no one had reported any of these people acting strangely or isolating themselves in the months before the deaths, and while Chen and his accountant knew each other, I can't find any hint they knew our unidentified homeless man. If it was a cult, it's a bizarre one."

"Aren't they all?"

"My point is that there wasn't any real evidence for all this. The crime scene didn't have any religious iconography, an alter or anything of the kind other than the Necronomicon. Actually, it was the Necronomicon that caught my attention. So, the pathology report said they were killed between three and four days before their discovery – that matches up with when Chen's wife said he went missing. However, I noticed there was a screwed up receipt soaked in blood bagged up with everything else taken into evidence. Eve managed to clean off some of the blood and make it legible again, and guess what I found."

"Shivering with anticipation, Stella." Chuckled Boyd with a twinkle in his chocolaty eyes.

"The book wasn't purchased until two days after our victims had died. If they were already dead, then how did the book get there? Somebody killed them, then made it look like crazy cult behavior gone really wrong."

To be perfectly honest Spence and Grace hadn't expected much when they'd learned which case Stella had looked into, had assumed it would be one of those strange mysteries that armchair detectives muttered about rather than anything that actually got solved. However, she'd delivered a real lead and more than enough to warrant reopening the case. Wasn't every day their unit found themselves delving into the chaotic world of Lovecraft, but as long as they didn't come face to face with the infamous Cthulhu, all would be well.

~X~

About two dozen different theories and speeches had swirled around in Boyd's mind on how to apologize and explain his feelings without shouting. Still, he wasn't overly convinced any of them were even remotely decent or befitting of her attention. That was how he'd ended up meeting her in Hyde Park at a bench overlooking the Serpentine. Sunlight would begin to retreat for the evening in a few hours leaving behind a chill, yet that was a problem for later. He'd been so lost in his thoughts that he'd not noticed her approach until she slid onto the bench beside him. Being dressed in such dark shades of blue and gray, all wrapped up in a black leather jacket that made those polished emeralds of hers practically glow with viridescent beauty.

"Hey, Boyd. If you called me all the way down here, I guess you've been overthinking."

"Don't I always?" He chuckled with a hint of defeat.

What followed was a long and winding discussion where Boyd made himself more vulnerable than he ever had before; more than he ever wanted to. Showing his emotions wasn't something Boyd had ever been comfortable with, but it needed to be done otherwise he'd lose any chance he still had of being with Sapphira. Love hadn't ever been a stranger to Boyd, he'd fallen into it rather easily numerous times; maintaining love had been where problems arose. Nobody would claim his ex-wife to be perfect or a saint, nevertheless she'd tried to keep their marriage functioning while he'd hidden himself away at work. More his failing than hers, he knew that and was brave enough to accept responsibility for it. Unfortunately, that story had repeated with all his other romantic relationships. For a while Boyd had simply assumed he wasn't meant to have a partner and while he'd not liked it, he'd accepted it begrudgingly. No longer. No longer would he passively allow isolation to leave him with nothing but a silent house and a Sprite he never used. Boyd wanted to be with Sapphira – his sweet Sapphie. Quite how he'd been supposed to express all that hadn't gone like Boyd had imagined in any of his plans though. Instead, he'd just talked and Sapphira, being the lovely girl she was, listened to his open ended sentences and disorganized feelings without judgement. Part of his concerns had been an unwavering belief he didn't deserve her, however, he'd started to think nobody would ever deserve the angel beside him.

Shortly after Boyd had found himself veering off topic, Sapphira rested a hand atop his forearm while the other had tilted his chin so their eyes could meet. People went about their day around them; some with children on their way home for the evening, others out for some exercise in the form of jogging or cycling, and maybe others who occupied the benches were trying to handle their own relationship issues.

"Boyd," she spoke his name so softly. "I adore this sensitive side of you, I don't get to see it very often, and I don't blame you for pushing me away. Yes, I didn't agree with it and it hurt me, but you did it because you were trying to keep me safe."

"Wrong thing for the right reason, huh?"

The raven-haired beauty nodded. "Exactly. I want to be with you. I want there to be an us, and I think this is your long-winded way of saying you want that as well, yeah?"

"I've never been all that good with words – think that's why I shout so much. I like the sound of us, though."

Without hesitation Sapphira shuffled herself even closer and cuddled up to his warm chest while Boyd instinctively snared her in his arms. The two slotted together as though they'd been designed as a set by some divine force. Right; it felt so right.

"Then there's an us."

Her lips found his thinner ones for a light yet meaningful kiss. The clear gloss she wore transferred a little to Boyd leaving his lips a bit shiny – not that he cared. In that moment all was right with the world, the horrific cases he saw every day didn't exist, her dark past had never happened, and nobody else around them mattered in the slightest. Perfect.

"Ooh, my boyfriend is a cop." Sapphria suddenly grinned which had Boyd lift an eyebrow. "Not just any cop; a detective superintendent. How many bartenders get to say that?" Frankly, Boyd thought himself a little too old for the word boyfriend to apply, partner might have been more appropriate, but knowing the beautiful Sapphira Callaghan was his girlfriend sent a sort of warm pride through his body. "I'm going to enjoy having that in my arsenal, Boyd."

He chuckled as a kiss found its way to the top of her head. "Sapphie, you can call me Peter. I do have a first name."

"Peter doesn't suit you. Nope, you're my Boyd."

To be honest he couldn't really argue with her. Hardly anyone ever called him by his given name to the point it sometimes felt like an insult when used. As long as Sapphira didn't switch to calling him a bastard like his ex-wife had, he was content.

"You might be right. My name means stone or rock – I think my mother knew I'd be stubborn."

That made her laugh, a light and jovial sound that could surely cure any melancholic mood. "Oh, you're certainly stubborn. That's for damn sure. I like your stubborn though, it's mostly because you care."

Silence settled between them after that, two people perfectly content to quietly bask in one another's company. Gone was the constant fear of being apart, the constant fear of what people would think and assume, how people would reduce them to little more than a dirty old man and a slut. In place of all those tribulations lingered a happiness neither of them had felt much in their lives; always slipped away from Boyd much too easily, while Sapphira's had been straight up denied for decades. Life was tough and everybody had their share of hardship – some even tipped into despair – but the smallest joy could fill the heart, and they'd ensure that joy was one another for as long as possible.

~X~

After they'd finally gotten onto the same page and Boyd had managed to properly express his emotions, that bench overlooking the Serpentine had become their spot. The two would meet for lunch most days; something the gray-haired man had sorely needed since reopening their Lovecraftian murder mystery. Morag Chen had been interviewed again, as had her three children and those who'd worked closely with Stanley – those who still lived anyway – and, while progress was being made, it was all very slow going. His new official relationship with Sapphira had been the perfect ointment for Boyd's woes, though. Whether it was lunch in Hyde Park or a pizza in front of his television at near midnight, Boyd savored the time they shared.

That night had been a little different as it was the first he'd spent at her apartment. A cramped space compared to his three-story house, but more than sufficient for two young sisters to call home. Furniture and wall colors were basic, lacked any real personality, though that would all come in time. Wine had been all Sapphira had asked him to bring with him, so Boyd had shown up a couple of minutes early with a bottle of red in hand and a longing to shut crime scene photos out of his brain for a few hours. They'd eaten at the round table which hadn't really been designed to accommodate three – a glorious coq au vin that had really driven home just how much Sapphira enjoyed cooking. 'The way to a man's heart is through his stomach' might have been a less than true axiom, yet, when Sapphira cooked, Boyd couldn't help finding it validated. While the ate conversation danced between numerous topics including Sapphira's job, how Elizabeth's therapy was going, the meditation she'd taken up, and how she'd been thinking of using one of the blank walls in her small bedroom to paint a garden mural. Cooking, books, and anime might have been were her sister found solace, but Elizabeth appeared more grounded by nature. Boyd had done his best to be encouraging – not that he thought himself all that good at it.

Before they knew it, hours had passed, dinner had been eaten and the wine bottle ran dry. He'd offered to help with clean up but had been cast back into his seat with twin firm expressions from the two women. So, instead he'd simply watched the pair of them as they tidied up. An understanding, the sisters shared an understanding that allowed them to move around one another in the small space without hindrance, they knew their own tasks and made quick work of them. Boyd wasn't Grace, he was all shoe leather and police knocks while Grace was more gentle and comforting. However, even he could see how much strength, reassurance, and happiness just being back in one another's lives had brought them. Boyd's parents had passed decades ago, he'd never had any siblings and then there was everything that had happened with Luke; he hoped Sapphira and Elizabeth never lost each other again.

When Elizabeth had begun yawning they all knew the evening had reached its close. She'd bid them a goodnight before vanishing off to the warm comfort of her bed, leaving Sapphira to switch off the remaining lights and pull Boyd into her own bedroom off the kitchen. Spending the night wasn't something Boyd had assumed, just a natural evolution after a full belly and pleasant conversation. Although, with the door closed and Sapphira looking so beautiful as she slipped off her clothes, Boyd hadn't been able to keep his hands off her. That animalistic part of himself, his inner wolf, had pushed her down onto the bed and had his head between her legs before he'd even fully realized it. His beautiful girl tried to be quiet so as not to disturb Elizabeth, bit her hand even, but the gray-haired man could hear her regardless; hear and taste the pleasure he stirred inside her. Fingers of the hand not covering her mouth scraped his scalp as they found his silver locks for purchase; a tantalizing display of her need. When Sapphira came, Boyd delighted in the knowledge he was the only one to make her feel such ecstasy. Long fingers continued to pump in and out of her glistening sex to draw out her orgasm while he peppered little kisses to her inner thighs of porcelain.

Pushing her away had been the stupidest thing he'd ever done. Boyd knew he'd never be able to give her up now, Sapphira was simply too precious and far too perfect; a drug. The Chen murder had become naught but a dim and distant memory, a horror to be dealt with later, there and then the world consisted only of the two of them. With her first orgasm demanding an encore, Sapphira's polished emeralds snapped open as she forced Boyd down onto his back so she could roll a condom onto his cock then straddle him. Instinctively his hands went to her waist, a guiding pressure as she sank down onto his engorged length. Of course, Boyd hadn't ever been a religious man in the least, but goddess was the only word for Sapphira. If any woman was worth worshipping, this was the one. Her body pulled him in, her generous breasts bounced while the warmth of her hands permeated his chest spattered lightly with silver hair, her flesh supple against his rough and calloused fingers. Gasps and moans were strangled as they escaped her parted lips in a continued attempt to be quiet, but Boyd would have to apologize to Elizabeth later because Sapphira failed spectacularly when she came atop him. Her body tightened around him, squeezed him tight in that most blissful of ways that had Boyd orgasm with a grunt. Surely there would be fingertip bruises on her hips come morning.

Exhausted, and with the hour late, clean up had been dealt with swiftly so the two could snuggle up in Sapphira's small bed made up with lilac sheets. She might have slipped off without much help, but Boyd had remained awake for a while just stroking her hair and savoring the innocence and comfort that radiated off of her – innocence and comfort Boyd didn't see much of in his line of work. He'd royally fucked up every meaningful relationship he'd ever found himself lucky enough to be part of – not again. Most thought an old dog couldn't learn new tricks, but the gray-haired man was determined to learn from his past mistakes.