For you

Author: Pook

Pairing: Grace/Boyd

Rating: T (PG13+)

Summary: 'A Simple Sacrifice' episode add on.

Author's notes: This is my first Waking the Dead fiction and is written for shadowsamurai83, just because. Special thanks to CatS81 for the beta

Disclaimer: Waking the Dead belongs to the BBC. I'm just taking them for a little play but I promise to return them before dinnertime.

"Boyd! Boyd! Get out of there!"Grace's voice rose high in terror as she banged on the table. She'd never felt as helpless as she did at that moment, knowing exactly what Dickson was going to do. Her hands went up to her mouth to suppress the scream that would surely come.

Boyd obeyed immediately, spinning around, just seeing the glint of the blade in Dickson's hand in the blue light. He realised what was coming too but could do nothing to stop it. Grace's warning had been too late. He hadn't heard Dickson come down the stairs and close in on him. By the time he turned around, Dickson was right there in front of him and he'd been powerless to stop Dickson thrusting the knife straight into him.

Boyd groaned then collapsed on to Dickson.

Hearing Boyd's painful gasp as he collapsed on him, Dickson smiled. Revelling in the sense of raw power, he dug the dagger in a little deeper as he held onto him, giving it a little twist for good measure, angry with the meddling copper. He'd always relished having someone's life in his hands. It was intoxicating but he knew it was all coming to end. All his hard work over the last twenty years was for nothing but at least he'd take someone else with him.

For Boyd, the pain was immediate and intense. The hot burning sensation left him struggling for breath.

"Shit!" Mel gasped in horror. Thankfully, her training took over and she raced off to the weapons locker to get the firearms kit for her and Spence. She knew Spence would contact SO19 for firearms support but there was no way that they wouldn't be there.

Dickson walked Boyd back on to the stool then pulled the dagger out.

Somehow, Boyd remained upright as the pain abated just a little.

It didn't last long.

The lawyer grabbed Boyd around the shoulders and spun him around to face the monitor and the webcam.

A blinding flash of agony hit Boyd full on and he started to collapse. Sucking in breath, his jaw clenched as he hung on, trying very hard not to faint.

"No… no … you... you look at the camera." Dickson jostled him back upright roughly. "You look at the camera!" He ignored Peter's painful moan as he adjusted the light.

Groaning, Boyd looked at his hand. The pain had made concentrating difficult. Confused, his mind hadn't quite registered why his hand felt sticky and why it was dripping with his own blood. Even the blood looked weird - his blood was dark, almost black because of the blue-lit room and not red like it should be.

"She wants to ask questions. This is Grace. Grace wants to ask questions."

Grace? Where is she? Boyd wondered, still perplexed. The fog of the excruciating pain blanketed his mind, confusing him before Boyd realized this wasn't a bad dream. It was real. Very real. And, it was fast becoming a living nightmare, as he remembered with dread that Grace must have been watching him at CCHQ. Oh, God! No! She'd seen him. She'd seen Dickson stab him. Shit!

Gritting his teeth, trying to pull himself together, Boyd quickly put his hand back over the wound to stem the flow of blood and to hide it from Grace. He couldn't imagine what she was going through seeing him like this. She was his friend but so much more and he was only just realizing that.

He enjoyed working with her. There was no doubt that she could be exasperating with her sometimes long-winded way of saying something but she challenged him to consider other alternatives and wasn't afraid to voice her opinions. Peter enjoyed locking horns with her. And he'd learned a lot since they been working together.

Almost from the start of their working relationship, Boyd felt so comfortable with Grace that he told her things that he hadn't even told his ex-wife. About his son. The Job. Anything. She made him feel completely at ease and even understood him.

Boyd looked forward to the rare times that they went for a drink after work. Even though he'd soon realized that he'd need to broaden his reading beyond work material. She was a bit too far ahead with her quotes. It was a little game between them. A competitive person at heart, it would be an enjoyable challenge and he'd try using it as a way to help him now, to survive for her.

Squaring his shoulders as best he could, he resolved to remain as passive as possible, vowing not to show any pain that could upset Grace. He couldn't bear that. Seeing him like this was bad enough and he didn't want to hurt her anymore than what she already had been.

Boyd had vaguely remembered Spencer's deep voice calling for armed back up and was grateful that the team hadn't frozen. He was proud of them and now it was up to him to hold on until help arrived. Ten minutes. He had to hang on for ten minutes.

"You want answers, so talk to her! Ask a question, Grace"

Boyd tried to sound neutral. "Ask a question, Grace." He was in no position to fight Dickson so he went along.

Hesitating, Grace tried to speak several times but only ended up gulping like a fish. She wanted to scream at the little bastard, Dickson, to let Boyd go but for a few seconds she couldn't speak. All that went through her mind was that her boss, and her closest friend was bleeding and in pain. She'd willingly exchange places with him right at that moment if she could because seeing him hurt had nearly broken her heart. But she had a job to do now. It was what Boyd would have expected her to do. Mel and Spence were racing to Brighten Square doing their job. It was her job to help Boyd right now.

Grace had to engage Dickson to give Spence, Mel and SO-19 the time to get to the bastard and so she asked with a quiet measured tone, "Why are you doing this?" But her eyes never left Boyd, willing him to survive.

Boyd focused on Grace's seemingly calm voice.

"When you have a woman like Annie, you cherish her. You give her the respect she deserves. Now, Jeff …, Jeff Keel, he didn't even know the meaning of the word." Reese's mind filled with visions of Jeff Keel hitting and abusing Annie Keel. He'd never would have treated her like that. If only she'd been with him, none of this would have happened.

"How did you know Jeff Keel?" whispered Boyd, breathless. He barely recognized his own voice. Each word had been a struggle to get out.

"Well, you could say he was my mentor. He was good. The best money could buy. A pioneer in criminal law. A copper's worst nightmare!" Dickson's admiration of Jeff Keel, the lawyer was plain to see.

"Jeff Keel represented you?"

Dickson tittered. "Jeff Keel got me off." He'd been guilty but Keel had got him off. He'd been well worth the money Reese had paid him and it was only for his skills as a lawyer that Dickson had regretted killing Keel. As a man, Jeff Keel had been a complete shit and deserved to die, especially considering how badly he'd treated Annie Keel.

Listening to Dickson was distracting Boyd from the searing pain that didn't let up. In fact, it was intensifying with his every breath. A name had popped in his head and suddenly it all made sense. "Michael Flanagan," Struggling, Peter panted softly, the words barely audible. Boyd tried to use this connection to stall the lawyer long enough for the cavalry to arrive. "We've been looking for … for Michael Flanagan. You don't happen to know … Michael Flanagan?"

Reese stepped back, his left hand on Boyd's shoulder. "Now I haven't heard that name … for a very long time."

Clutching his side, Boyd fought hard to breathe and his voice was a hoarse whisper. "Mary Mantel…"

"What?" Dickson leant into hear. "What did you say?" Grudgingly, he admired this DSI for his detection, figuring out the truth in a matter of days and because he wasn't begging for mercy or pissing in his pants unlike some of his other victims had done.

"Mary Mantel. Giles'mother, told us about … told us about an incident with you." Boyd lost focus and started to pass out as his head dropped to his chest.

Dickson wasn't having anything of it. He forced Boyd back upright and the pain of being shoved back upright brought Boyd around again. "Look at Grace. Look at Grace." Leaning across him, he used the knife to turn off the voice distortion. Thinking that Boyd could pass out soon, he wanted Grace to hear everything clearly, for her to understand exactly how he felt about Annie Keel.

With his stomach stinging and burning, Boyd tried to hide the pain but it was getting difficult. Each time Dickson moved him it was as if he was stabbing him all over again. After a few calming breaths, the pain settled down and he continued, "Told me about an incident with you, Michael Flanagan, at Jeff Keel's…"

"You see, I believe that for every minute you're alive, there's just a handful of memories which you treasure for the whole of your existence. And seeing Annie was one of them for me." Grace and Boyd could never understand what Annie Keel meant to him, Dickson thought. It went beyond love. Every time Reese had seen Annie, she took his breath away. She was beyond beautiful.

Boyd couldn't believe it. It was laughable. "So this is about …. you … meeting Annie Keel isn't it?" He lost it. He couldn't help himself and he laughed. Laughing only increased his pain but he was beyond reacting normally now.

Giggling but not knowing exactly why, Dickson leant in to hear. "What's so funny?"

"Tell me you must be joking." In the logical part of his mind, provoking Dickson wasn't a smart move but he couldn't help himself. It was just too ridiculous. He was bleeding, in pain, and probably going to die because this psycho Michael Flanagan was more than a little infatuated with Annie Keel.

A feeling of regret washed over Boyd. Regret for missed opportunities and mistakes he'd made. He'd wished he'd been a better a father to Joe. And he wished he'd told Grace how much she meant to him. It was only now that he knew he was in love with Grace. There was nothing like a near death experience to focus the mind and get everything in perspective, he thought. But his thoughts were interrupted as Dickson reacted to what he'd said.

How dare Boyd! Dickson thought angrily. There was no way he would let him get away with that jibe. Reese put his hand over Boyd's hand that covered the wound and pressed in knowing it would cause the DSI a great deal of pain. "Well, how long does it take to fall in love, Mr Super Policeman? A minute? A second? A lifetime?" Pausing for effect, Reese threatened, "Hmmm … How long does it take to die?"

Boyd bit his tongue, just holding back a scream of agony.

Grace didn't like where this going. Boyd shouldn't have provoked him but she could understand why Boyd had done it. For nearly twenty years, Reese had hung around Annie Keel like a schoolboy smitten by a crush on a teacher. It was laughably pathetic but still she had to step in, to try to prevent the lawyer killing Boyd, which looked more likely with every passing second. "Why did you kill Giles Mantel? Did you think it was Sam?"

"He saw me." Dickson allowed his anger to boil to the surface. "He saw me, Grace! WHAT ELSE COULD I DO?"

With each word, Dickson had become more agitated, pushing on Boyd's back, causing more hurt for Boyd.

With Dickson's control was faltering, Grace hesitated, not sure if begging for Boyd's live was the right move but she had to give it a try. The pain was evident on Boyd's face and she had to try to stop it. "What you can do now is you can let that man go." She begged Dickson to spare Boyd for completely selfish reasons that only now did she fully understand. Grace cared for him, deeply, but it was more than that. She loved him. And it was tearing her apart to see him like this, tortured in front of her.

Peter was very tired now as he struggled to keep his eyes open. He tried to focus on Grace's voice to help him stay awake.

"When you take a life, Grace, you never let them go. They live inside you. He's still here, Giles, inside my head. Pleading with me. Begging me to stop. He pleads with me every day."

"This place is all for Annie, then. She should feel at home." A mantra of 'stall him' repeated in Boyd's mind to give time for SO-19 to arrive.

"You see, Annie pleaded guilty because she thought Sam had killed them. She sacrificed herself for her son. Now, I was bringing her home." Calm at first but then his voice changed as it hitched with barely controlled rage because this policeman had ruined all his plans. "Why could you not stick to the plan?"

Shaking his head, Boyd's voice was now just a rasping whisper as he struggled to answer, "I didn't … know the plan." Suddenly everything went black and Boyd slumped toward the monitor.

Angry now, Reese Dickson grabbed him, yanked Boyd back upright and then stabbing him again.

"Aghh!" Boyd couldn't stop himself. The pain had become a dull throb but now it exploded and it felt like he was burning alive. His hands pressed against his wounds, unable to stop the fresh blood escaping through his fingers.

Dickson could've killed him instantly by cutting his throat but he didn't. He wanted to prolong his agony. To make him suffer. To make them all suffer. For everything they'd done.

Again, Grace held her hands over her mouth to stop the anguished cry that would have come out if she'd let it. She only hoped that Spence and Mel would get there in time. She had no idea how much time had passed. All her attention had been on Boyd, hoping that he'd be all right. He had to be all right.

"I didn't get her out. You were supposed to!"

"Open the door! Open the door!" Spence's booming voice and banging on the door echoed down to the blue lit room.

Looking up to the ceiling, Dickson breathed deeply. Calm now, he knew his time was up. "I think I'm wanted upstairs." Resigned to his fate but determined to go out his way, he patted the DSI several times on the shoulder then left the room.

Boyd barely registered the slaps. Shock, blood loss and the terrible agony finally caught up with him. He wanted Grace to warn Spence that Dickson was coming. He wanted to tell Grace how he felt about her before it was too late but all he could only manage a last desperate grasping whisper, "Grace …"

"Boyd …" Helplessly, Grace watched, unable to do anything as his eyes closed and he swayed. He looked like he would collapse at any moment. Watching what had happened to him was heart wrenching. "Peter …"

His eyes flickered open. Grace had used his first name. It was such rare thing. Other than his family, the only person in the Job to call him that was the ACC. Now Grace had and it had sounded right. Boyd wanted to say something but the words wouldn't come out. Waves of burning pain prevented him from saying anything. All he could do was nod. Exhausted, his hands had slipped from the wounds because his shirt was soaked in fresh blood. He just hoped that Grace wouldn't see it.

"Peter, Spence and Mel are there now." Grace swallowed hard. "Peter, hang on. For me."

"Any … thing … for … you," he vowed but he couldn't say anymore.

Grace smiled at him. He couldn't see her but what he'd said meant a lot to her. But the smile faded as she held her breath when she heard the flash bang grenade go off followed immediately by screams and yelling and then rapidly fired gunshots. It was all over in a second but it seemed to take an eternity. Only when she saw Spence enter the room did she release the breath she'd been holding.

"Sir?" Spence holstered his pistol as he went through the door and just as he got to Boyd, his boss collapsed in his arms.

"Hold on, Sir. The ambulance is on its way." Mel rubbed his arm but nearly retched at the sight of all the blood on his shirt. She quickly recovered to help Spence gently lay the semi-conscious Boyd on the floor so they could render first aid. Mel gently bent his knees up.

Kneeling over him, Spence ripped open Boyd's blood soaked shirt and he gasped, "Shit!" Dark blood oozed out of the two holes. Spence sat back on his heels staring at the two wounds, unable to think clearly for a second, his first aid training forgotten.

Grace stifled a cry when she saw his bloodstained skin for the first time. In the blue light, his dark blood half congealed sticking to his sparse body hair on his abdomen looked terrible. There was just so much of it and she wondered if he was going to survive.

Mel looked around the room for something to use to stop the bleeding. The pillowcase. She leapt up and tore it off the pillow. Folding into a square, she pressed it against the wounds.

Boyd moaned and tried to move her hands away.

"Sorry, Sir." Mel hadn't want to cause him any further pain but she had to stem the flow of blood.

Moaning Grace's name, Boyd tried to remove Mel's hands from his abdomen but he couldn't move them because Spence held his boss' sticky blood covered hands.

Looking at the pillowcase already saturated, Spence wanted to yell out to the SO-19 lads to find out where the paramedics were when he saw them come down the stairs.

"What happened?" The first paramedic asked, kneeling near Boyd's head, not wasting time as he checked the man's pulse and other vitals.

"He's been stabbed. Twice."

"Okay. We'll take it from here."

The second paramedic opened his kit bag, getting out a large wound bandage before taking over from Mel. "What his name?"

"Peter Boyd."

"Peter?" The paramedic asked shaking Boyd's shoulder, not expecting a response but was surprised when Boyd's eyes flickered open for a second and he moaned. Both paramedics were amazed that he was still conscious. He'd lost a lot of blood, was in shock and in a great deal pain. Stomach wounds are known to be very painful. Most men would've fainted almost straight away.

For Boyd, the only thing he could make out clearly was his name. And he clung to that.

The ambulance officer reassured the fallen officer, "Peter, we'll take care of you."

Mel and Spence stood back up allowing the paramedics room.

The paramedics worked efficiently, applying the large dressing, putting on an oxygen mask over his mouth, and taking his vitals, but there was only so much they could do down in the basement.

Grace watched the paramedics calmly attend to Boyd. There was no panic in their voices and she took this as hope that he'd be all right. The sense of relief was almost overwhelming, her emotions bubbled over briefly, and she allowed a tear to drip down. It had been threatening to fall all the time but she held herself in check. For Boyd. For her. She'd needed to focused on helping him.

By the time she wiped the tear away, she was in control again and thought about what needed to be done. Spence as the DS would have to speak to the ACC and it would be left to her to find out from Personal who Boyd's next of kin was. The NOK would need to know the hospital that he'd be sent to but so did she. She wanted to be there for him. "Spence, which hospital?"

Spence jumped at the sound. He'd nearly forgotten about Grace, watching everything back at CCHQ. He looked at one of the paramedics.

"Guy's."

"Thanks." Spence knew that Grace would be upset. Christ! They were all upset. Boyd and Grace were good friends and he couldn't imagine what she was going through after seeing him stabbed. He knew that she'd seen her fair share of blood and gore but this was different. This had happened to someone they knew and he would be the first to admit that when he'd seen the blood, he'd frozen. Spence thought she might need someone to drive her to the hospital. "Grace, get Frankie to drive you. Okay?"

"All right." Grace nodded, knowing that Spence was right. She wasn't in a fit state to drive.

Boyd's condition was serious but stable so they decided to move him to the ambulance. The paramedics packed up their gear. One opened the carry chair up and locked it into place before wheeling it next to Boyd. They placed the small oxygen bottle on Boyd's chest, crossing his arms before lifting him on to the chair. They checked he was okay before carrying him out of the room and up the stairs.

Grace looked on as Mel and Spence carrying the paramedic's gear followed them out of the blue-lit basement. The only thing left in the room was Boyd's discarded coat. It was as if nothing had happened in that room. It was as if the last ten minutes of pain and near torture hadn't existed. She slowly let out her breath that she didn't realize that she'd been holding and then picked up the phone to make some calls.

The heavily armed SO-19 men quickly got out of the way when they saw Boyd. The ambulance men gingerly stepped over the body of Reese Dickson and out of the front door to their ambulance. After transferring Boyd on to the gurney, they attached their onboard monitoring equipment.

Locking the first aid bags into a storage compartments on the side of the ambulance, Spence then ordered Mel to ride with Boyd. As the senior CC unit officer, Spence had to stay on the scene to brief the DPS officers.

"Right. I'll call you." Mel then climbed into the front passenger seat of the ambulance.

Spence watched as the ambulance and SO-19 vans pulled away from Brighten square. He told everyone else to get out of Dickson's house, to preserve the evidence for the CCU's and DPS' investigations. Waiting on the doorstep with Spence were the two SO-19 lads who shot Dickson and their sergeant. It was all a formality for the firearm officers but not for him. The DPS were sure to ask awkward questions like why a senior officer such as a DSI was questioning someone alone without backup. He'd have to come up with something more intelligent than it was just Boyd's style but right now he didn't really care about the DPS. All he cared about why his hands were covered in his boss' blood.

A high-pitched wail stirred Boyd.

The driver had changed the ambulance's siren as it passed through an intersection.

Dazed, at first he wanted to yell at whoever had woken him up but he couldn't speak, something was covering his mouth. He then remembered what had happened. That bastard Dickson had stabbed him. And Grace had watched it all. And then all the pain came back. His stomach felt like it was on flame, leaving him gasping for breath.

"Oh God." He moaned, picturing Grace in his mind, wanting her face to be the last thing on his mind. He had to tell her before it was too late. He had to let her know how much he loved her.

An alarm went off. Heart and BP were climbing. Fast.

Mel heard the alarm go off but didn't dare turn around to look.

The paramedic heard him before he'd heard the monitor alarms. The man had regained consciousness, his eyes flickered open and his face screwed up. He was in obvious pain so he tried to reassure him patting him on his shoulder, "Calm down, Peter. You're going to be fine."

Boyd shot out his hand, gripping the paramedic's arm. With remarkable strength, Peter pulled him toward him. His other hand tore off the mask. He had to let her to know how he felt.

At first, the paramedic tried to remove his hand but the policeman wouldn't let go so he allowed himself to be pulled toward him.

Boyd whispered in the paramedic's ear, "Tell Grace … I … love … her."

"Okay, Peter. I will. Now …" The paramedic had heard many such pleas in his time on the job. He was going to tell Peter to calm down but the effort had drained the policeman and he collapsed unconscious. Within a few seconds, Boyd's heart rate and BP dropped back down as well. "It's okay. He's just lost consciousness. Heart rate and BP are back to normal." The paramedic told his partner and to allay any fears the detective might have had.

Grace sat comfortably in the hospital chair, a book resting in her lap as she read.

Grace had arrived just in time to spare Mel signing the surgery consent forms, telling them that she was his next of kin. Although they hadn't talked about it, it hadn't really been a shock to her that she was Boyd's next of kin. She knew that he had no family in London. It made sense. And the team had been more worried about Boyd's condition than that minor detail.

Boyd had just gone into theatre when Spence had finally arrived at 6.00pm after the DPS grilling. After filling in Spence, all the team had waited in the visitor's room, quiet, lost in their own thoughts, hoping for the best.

Two hours later, the surgeon had returned to the visitor's waiting room and had told Grace who, in turn, had then told the team that Boyd was now in Recovery. Boyd had been lucky and the surgeon was confident he'd make a full recovery. The knife had sliced though his small intestine in several places but missed the spleen and the very large blood vessels in the area. They'd sewn Peter up and had been pumped full of antibiotics and fluids and looked like being in hospital for about a week, all going well.

Hugging each other, the team had been relieved at the seemingly good news. Afterwards, Mel and Spence had gone back to CCHQ to prepare their reports for the ACC, the Coroner and the DPS leaving Frankie and Grace at the hospital.

Just after one in the morning, with Frankie asleep and snoring quietly, a nurse had come to tell her that Boyd was now in ICU and she'd taken Grace to see him, leaving Frankie still sleeping.

Asleep and breathing on his own, Boyd had IV lines in his arms and other wires connected to the monitors placed around his body.

Although a little pale, he'd looked so peaceful asleep, almost boyish as Grace had brushed a wayward hair off his forehead. She'd smiled to herself because it wasn't something one associated with the usually tense detective superintendant. Deciding to take a chance, she remembered a study that showed a significant number of unconscious patients recalled things said to them and so she'd whispered in his ear that she loved him and that he was going to be all right before kissing his cheek.

The nurse had said Boyd was doing as well. He was in ICU as a precaution against infection. In the morning, he'd predicted that Boyd would probably go to the post op ward. The nurse had suggested that Grace should go home but she couldn't have gone to sleep even if she wanted to and she'd decided to stay until she knew that he was all right and that meant staying until he woke up. She had to stay so she'd made herself comfortable in the chair next to his bed and had taken out the historical drama novel to pass the time.

Yawning, Grace rubbed her eyes, trying yet again to focus on the words of her book, but failing miserably. The constant but reassuring slow beeping noise of the monitors and the muted light were lulling her to sleep. The events of the previous day had finally caught up with her and she was exhausted. Giving up, she closed the book and looked at Peter lying in the bed next to her chair, still asleep, his chest reassuringly rising and falling slowly as he breathed. A sheet covered his torso and legs, his arms and shoulders uncovered, allowing the nurses access to the IV lines and monitor wires. Even in the subdued light, Grace could tell the IV fluids were working because he didn't look pale anymore.

Leaning over, she gently squeezed his hand, silently thanking her lucky stars or the higher being that looked after policemen. She had to thank someone because Boyd had been lucky. She'd seen the post mortem photos of Jeff Keel and Giles Mantel so she knew the horrific damage that razor sharp Japanese blade could do to human flesh. Shuddering, she closed her eyes and tried to think of something else but images of Giles, Jeff and Peter, jumbled together, all of them covered in blood filled her mind.

Peter became aware of someone squeezing his hand, hard. Straight away, he was relieved that a dull throb replaced the terrible burning sensation in his stomach. The constant beeping of the machines told him he must be in hospital. Unless he was dead, and the infernal beeping was there as punishment, he smirked.

For a second, he didn't open his eyes as he inventoried his body, slowly wiggling his toes and moving his fingers of his other hand to make sure everything worked. Pleased that he seemed to be still working order, he opened his eyes.

Grace.

He just knew it would be Grace holding his hand. She would always be there for him and it was the reason why he'd nominated her for his next of kin. With his ex-wife was in Canada, his son missing and his only other relative, a younger brother, living in Birmingham, there was no one else that lived in London. So it was no surprise that Grace would be here, holding his hand. It was warm and comforting and almost exactly like the dream he had before waking up. In the dream, she'd kissed him and said that she loved him. He hoped that one day he could say that to her.

Grace was leaning against the side of the bed, dozing off. To Peter, she looked tired but still wonderful. He had no idea what the time was but it had to be sometime in the middle of the night for the lights to be dim.

Slowly Peter rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, enjoying the feeling her soft warm skin, knowing he'd come very close to not be able to do this. He only hoped that he wasn't overstepping the mark. He would never want to lose her friendship.

Grace felt movement on her hand and opened her eyes. Peter's thumb was rubbing her hand. He was awake.

Their eyes locked but they didn't say anything. She squeezed his hand gently again before she smiled, happy to just look at him, instantly knowing he'd be all right. His thumb continued gently to rub her hand.

"Peter …"

"Grace…"

Both smiled as they said each other's name simultaneously but the moment was lost when the nurse entered the cubicle, alerted by the change in his vitals showing up on monitor in the nurse's station.

"Ah, Mr Boyd, you're awake," said the nurse as he stepped into his cubicle. He'd obviously interrupted a reunion between husband and wife. A little embarrassed, he checked the lines on the IV machine, "Just going to give you the once over."

Grace let go of Peter's hand, stood up to leave to give them some privacy.

The nurse saw the look of disappointment on their faces and tried to make amends. "I'll only be five minutes. Maybe your wife can get a tea in the visitor's lounge just outside in the corridor?"

A wry smile grew on Peter's face as he saw Grace blush. The thought of denying it never entered into his mind. He wanted her here with him but understood that he didn't really know how she felt. But that didn't stop him from playing along. With a knowing look, he nodded for her to go.

"All right, dear. See you in a bit." Grace smiled back at him enjoying the little role-play and Peter's blush too at her response. It wasn't a surprise to her how easily they fitted into the roles, just like it had been for her to be his next of kin. It felt so natural. They were a good team, in many respects, polar opposites but they were similar too. They wanted the same things, justice and answers for the families of the victims. They shared similar tastes in music and films and she could even forgive him for supporting Aston Villa instead of her favourite team, Liverpool. It was like they were together already.

The nurse quickly took a set of vitals the old-fashioned way, checking them against the monitor's readout. Satisfied, he filled in the chart. "How are you feeling, Mr Boyd?"

"Like a pin cushion." Peter was his immediate response.

The nurse grinned, expecting nothing less. Humour was a classic stress relief mechanism.

Boyd recognized his typical response to such events. He either yelled at someone or something or made light of what had happened. For a moment, he took stock of himself as he contemplated a truthful answer. He was lucky to be alive. He knew that. Therefore, feeling a little sore was to be expected and besides the drugs they'd given him were taking the edge off any pain he had. "Just a little sore."

"Is the pain manageable?"

"Yes."

"Anything else?"

"Could I have some water? My mouth is dry."

"I can only give you a sip at the moment. Just give me a minute to finish up." The nurse lifted the sheet to check the three wounds. The small stab wounds and the larger laparotomy incision all looked fine. The catheters were doing their job and there were no signs of infection.

Fetching the drinking cup, the nurse brought the straw to his lips. "Only two small sips, please. Just enough to wet your mouth."

Boyd gratefully sipped the water. It wasn't enough to quench his thirst but he'd make do. "Thank you."

"You're doing well, Mr Boyd. I'll check you again in an hour. Try to get your wife to go home. She's been here all night and must be exhausted. And get some sleep yourself too."

"She won't listen to me." A wry smile grew on Peter's face. He'd seen her walk in and couldn't help himself.

Returning just in time to hear the nurse again assume wrongly, who she was, Grace grinned. She did notice that Peter had still not corrected the nurse so she continued to play along. "What won't I do, love?"

"Listen to me."

"And the problem with this is?" Grace replied with a glint in her eye.

The nurse chortled. "He's doing well, Mrs Boyd."

Peter coughed but instantly regretted it. Sucking in a breath, he grimaced as the pain increased.

"Slow breaths, Mr Boyd." The nurse instructed but he was ready to increase the pump rate on his pain medication if needed.

Boyd closed his eyes and did what the nurse told him, instantly.

The nurse lifted the sheet to make sure nothing was wrong with the wounds. "Do you need more pain relief?"

After a few moments, the pain abated and Peter opened his eyes again. "No … I'll be fine." He wasn't really but he didn't want to be drugged out of his mind. He wanted to be in control.

"All right." The nurse left, sceptical at the policeman. He was still in pain but trying to be brave.

Grace saw the pain etch on his face and all the memories of the previous day came back in a flash. Exhausted, her control slipped and she had to sit down before she collapsed, her head bowed apologetically. "Oh Peter…"

"Grace …" Peter reached for her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "I'm all right."

Grace looked up, a tear welling in her eye. "Seeing you … hurt …" She couldn't finish and began to sob. She'd promised herself she wouldn't but she couldn't stop. All the stress of the last day caught up with here.

Watching the tear drip down her cheek, tore at his heart. "I tried so hard not to show any pain. I didn't want to frighten you."

"I know …"

"I had to hang on." With some effort, he raised his hand to wipe away the tear from her cheek and then allowed his fingers to linger. "For you."

"I tried too. For you."

"I know." His thumb caressed her cheek.

Grace lent toward him, sighing.

Now they both hesitated, both not quite willing to take that final leap of faith. Who would be first to take that step?

Peter searched her face but he'd never been good at reading women. Direct was his usual style in his work but it hadn't always worked in his previous relationships. Getting tired, he decided that he was going to just come out and say how he felt but didn't get the chance.

With her hand covering his, Grace gently tilted her head toward his fingertips and tenderly kissed them. Direct wasn't usually her style. She had to be because if she didn't they would be tiptoeing around each other, afraid to take that final step. She understood it. They had to work together. And for the most part they worked very well together. They relied on each other's friendship to get through the daily horrors of their job. They didn't want to lose that. But being a psychologist, sometimes she could analyse things too much. She was in love with him and she wouldn't deny it anymore. She cupped his face, looked straight into his dark brown eyes and said straight from the heart, "Peter, I love you."

They're eyes locked.

"Oh Grace ... I hoped it wasn't a dream. I love you." Peter's voice softened. It wasn't a dream. She really said that she loved him. His heart was bursting. He had to repeat it. "I love you so much."

He wanted to kiss her, to hold her, to make love to her, to even spin her around and shout it to the moon but that would have to wait. He had to settle for a kiss so he snaked his hand around her neck and draw her toward him.

Their eyes never left each other. It was as if they were seeing into each other's heart as their lips touched briefly but the effects lingered on. A chaste kiss but there was a promise of so much more. As they drew apart, their foreheads touched, both content and happy.

Grace caressed Peter's cheek, his bristles sending little jolts of electricity through her fingertips. This time she kissed him deeply and lovingly before returning to her seat - she couldn't help herself.

Still holding hands, they talked for a while before Grace could see Peter was tired and so told him to go to sleep. He smiled when she told him she wouldn't leave. As Peter drifted off to sleep, Grace watched and again she said a silent thank you to the gods that looked after policemen, knowing that he'd be all right.

Grace brushed aside the stubborn wayward hair that fell on his forehead and then settled back in her chair, still holding his hand. She didn't think she would let go anytime soon and then drifted off herself, contented.

Frankie yawned and rubbed her eyes, trying to wake herself up. It took her a moment to realize where she was and what she was doing here.

Boyd was in hospital.

Stabbed twice.

She'd driven Grace to the hospital, where they'd met up with Mel and then a few hours later Spence to await news about Boyd. She vaguely remembered a doctor saying that Boyd was in ICU. After hearing that he'd come through the surgery, Mel and Spence had gone back to CCHQ to start the reports while she'd stayed with Grace. But Grace wasn't here in the waiting room with her. She was alone.

Frankie stood up, stretched her sore back and then went to the nurse's station, to see if there was any news on Boyd's progress.

Leaning on the counter, she asked the male nurse, "Hello. Could you tell me how Mr Boyd is doing?"

The nurse looked up. "I'm really not meant to give out details of a patient's condition without the next of kin's approval."

"I know. Look, I'm a work colleague. He's a police officer and if I don't get this information I'll be in trouble back at the station?" Frankie tried to appeal to his better nature. "I'm not after specifics, just if he's going to be all right."

"I suppose I could ask his wife. She's been by his bedside since he came into ICU." Sympathising with her, the nurse mumbled to himself as he walked over to the cubicle.

Frankie followed the nurse but stopped dead in her tracks. Grace was asleep, her head resting next to Boyd, her arm lying across his chest while his arm lay over her shoulder. Frankie grabbed the nurse's arm, and pulled him back. So this is what the nurse thought that Grace was Boyd's wife. It wasn't really farfetched as Grace was his next of kin. It was a logical conclusions and one that Frankie wasn't going to dispel.

She whispered in his ear. "Don't wake them up." They looked so nice together, very natural. She didn't have the heart to wake them. Frankie had suspected that there was something more to their close friendship but they were both very good at hiding it so she was never completely sure. Good luck to them, she thought, theirs was a shit job sometimes and if they found each other, good for them.

The nurse did a quick check of the monitor to confirm what he'd already knew. "He should be fine." The nurse thought Mr Boyd was lucky to have a wonderful wife who obviously cared about him a great deal and would look after him as he recovered as well as caring workmates.

Walking back to the nurse's station, Frankie noticed the time. 4.00am in the morning. She gave the nurse her card. "Thank you. I'm Frankie Wharton. Could you tell Grace when she wakes up that I'll be back in a couple of hours?"

"No problem." The nurse watched her leave the ICU and then returned to completing the dreary end of nursing, the endless paperwork.

Fin