Disclaimer: I don't own 'Waking the Dead' or any of its characters, the BBC has that honour – I'm just taking them out to play for a bit.

Pairing: Boyd/Grace. Sort of ;)

Rating: T, for language and adult themes.

Spoilers: Nothing specific but since this story is set approximately two years after the series finale, 'Waterloo', I guess anything is fair game.

A/N: So, I've been having tremendous problems with the muse as of late – I've been trying to get this written since the beginning of May! Many apologies for anyone awaiting an 'Ebb & Flow' update – it's next on my (very long!) list, I promise. As always, thank you very much for reading – it's a pleasure to try and keep these characters alive now that the show is over. Hope this doesn't disappoint.

"I'm really sorry, Grace. I just can't get out of it."

The husky voice on the other end of the line was humbly contrite, sincerely apologetic and Grace Foley found she was unable to maintain her initial consternation and disappointment, a wave of empathy washing warmly over her as she absorbed her former colleague's regretful tone.

"It's alright, Eve," she replied easily, artfully rearranging her handbag strap across her shoulder with her free hand. "It's not been so long that I've forgotten those kinds of pressures."

Eve Lockhart laughed throatily, a sound of complicit understanding. "No, I know. I just hate to drop you in it at the last minute, that's all…"

Grace shrugged, glancing up from her mobile phone towards the ornate restaurant sign swinging gently above her head in the spring breeze. "It's not a problem. It sounds like you're up to your neck."

"We really are," the forensic scientist replied grimly, a heavy sigh following swiftly in the wake of her words. "Though I suppose I can't complain. It sure as hell beats the alternative."

The psychologist smiled. "Sitting around twiddling your thumbs at the tax payer's expense?"

"Says she who's firmly out of the game in that regard."

"Guilty as charged," Grace chuckled warmly though she felt her chest swell with a fresh sense of loss at their easy interaction. "Let me know when you're free then, okay? I feel like I haven't seen you in months."

"I know. I should be able to manage a quick coffee in the next couple of weeks or so…."

"That's fine, Eve. Just give me a bell."

"Will do. Tell Spence and Boyd I said 'hello'."

"Of course. Speak to you soon."

Grace rang off then, slipping her phone into her bag and stopping to lean briefly against the nearby wall, trying to quell the renewed surge of despondency as it flared relentlessly against her ribcage. It had been more than two years since she had worked with Eve Lockhart, two years since the abrupt dissolution of the Cold Case Unit, and though she had maintained regular contact with the younger woman it was still bitterly upsetting that the fellow scientist was to be unexpectedly absent from their carefully arranged, and ruthlessly scheduled, reunion dinner. Still, Grace thought resolutely, mentally squaring her shoulders as she pushed open the restaurant door, revelling briefly in the rush of warm air from inside. It'll be good to see Spence at least….Christ, I miss them both….She shook her head firmly to dislodge the siren sway of melancholia as her thoughts returned inevitably to the close kinship she had enjoyed with her colleagues, the hours spent together within the four walls of the basement complex as they deconstructed case upon case of previously unsolved crimes. It had been an all-consuming existence, far more than simply a job, and though she was currently enjoying a welcome return to academia, there were still times when she longed for the sense of close-knit camaraderie that had existed so fiercely within the almost familial team.

She swallowed determinedly as her mind moved easily, uncontrollably towards the Unit's former leader, towards the man who had presently raised his hand in greeting from his position at a corner table. Grace closed her eyes briefly before returning his gesture, forcing a smile to her lips and willing the return of her equilibrium as she was suddenly, painfully bombarded with emotion. She had not seen Peter Boyd since the fateful evening beneath Waterloo Bridge two years previously, the reality of that fact reasserting itself coldly in her constricted heart as her eyes drank him greedily in. He was still as fiercely attractive as he had ever been; the ruggedly handsome features, the broad planes of his body casually displayed beneath expensive tailoring, and she took a shuddering breath as she felt herself stir. Oh God…I swore I wouldn't do this….Too much time has passed for it to even be relevant anymore….It's clear that he doesn't…that he never did….

She sighed softly, her mind flickering backwards towards the ember of hope that had eventually been extinguished to black. In the beginning she had been able to cheerfully convince herself that their new schedules were simply contradictory and incompatible, that their inability to fix a date to meet was merely an irritating case of bad luck, of conspiring fates, of merciless gods. Gradually the time between their once-frequent phone calls had lengthened, slipping relentlessly and unforgivingly by until one morning she realised that almost seven months had passed since she had even heard his voice. By then it had become too excruciating to pick up the phone, the bitter realisation that her presence in his life was seemingly unwanted a devastating blow to her soul, particularly given the tacit promise she had felt radiating from him the night of their final meeting. It had taken her a long time to come to terms with their current estrangement, a tiny, deniable part of her always hoping he would get in touch before she had finally resigned herself to the reality that they had both apparently moved on, that the rivers of their lives were no longer inseparably intertwined.

Grace took a long, cleansing breath before beginning to step towards him, trying desperately not to dwell on the quickening of her pulse as he rose to brush the briefest of kisses across her cheek, the agonisingly familiar hint of his cologne as it drifted ruthlessly from the skin of his throat to assault her senses.

"Hi," he opened huskily, his smile easy and broad as he pulled away, glancing quickly across her shoulder before asking, "No Eve?"

Grace shook her head, slipping her jacket from her body and smiling gratefully as a waiter appeared to remove it. "She sends her apologies. Last minute mad rush on a case…."

"Ah," he replied ruefully, reclaiming his seat at the intricate oak table once his companion had drawn hers. "That makes two of them, then."

The psychologist frowned, willing away the dread she could feel coiling edgily in her stomach. "What?"

"Spence just called with a similar story; some big murder case or other."

"You're not involved?"

He waved a disdainful hand. "God, no. The luxury of consulting is that I get to cherry-pick…."

She smiled as he leant forward to fill her wine glass, rich burgundy fluid glinting invitingly in the candlelight. "Cases or hours?"

"Either. Both."

"No more working until well past midnight, then?"

His smile was broad, relaxed, his dark eyes shining impishly. "Not if I can help it anyway."

Grace took a sip from her wine before settling back to appraise him, ignoring the stab of apprehension in her gut as the reality of their greatly reduced reunion settled between them. "Well, it's a shame. I haven't seen very much of Spence since his promotion."

"That's what happens when you climb the greasy pole; suddenly you're meant to work more hours than there are in the day."

"You can't blame him. It was a long time coming."

"It certainly was," he agreed readily, taking a generous swallow of his wine before addressing her anew, his eyes flickering across the artfully dressed curves of her body, the familiar countenance of her composure, and he realised with an abrupt start just how much he had missed her. "How are you, Grace?" he asked softly, regret slicing hotly through his chest as he caught her barely supressed sigh.

"I'm fine," she replied, somewhat too brightly, the smile she had plastered to her face reaching nowhere near her eyes. "You?"

"Yeah. Fine," he intoned gruffly, desperately trying to ignore the anguish that was steadily rising in his throat. "Busy."

"Well, that's good…."

"It beats retirement, anyway." He paused briefly to draw again from his glass, aware of the uncertainty radiating from his posture. "Look, we don't have to do this, you know. If you'd rather reschedule for when Spence and Eve can make it…."

"Have you got your diary for twenty-fifteen, then?" she interrupted wryly, rapidly continuing to assuage the deepening frown of confusion across his forehead. "It took us months to organise this, Boyd. Four professionals with erratically varying schedules aren't that easy to tie down to a single date and time."

"No, I appreciate that. I just…." He broke off and exhaled forcefully, frustration arcing through his bloodstream. I just didn't know if you'd want to see me without a buffer…. "I'm sorry I haven't called."

Grace made a gesture of dismissal, despite the sudden constriction squeezing at her heart. "It's fine. I haven't exactly been the world's greatest correspondent either, have I?"

"Last time we spoke you were just starting a lecture course…."

She nodded, grateful for the progression of their conversation away from the oppressive cloud of awkwardness, from all of the unspoken sentiments that were hanging malignantly in the air between them. "They ended up offering me a part-time position; four lectures a week plus seminars as well as the opportunity for research."

"Sounds ideal."

"It is. I never thought I would enjoy teaching as much as I do but it's…refreshing somehow."

He grinned widely, mischievously. "Well, of course it is. You had ten years of me pretending not to listen, it must be a welcome change to have a captive audience hanging off your every word."

She raised an eyebrow in challenge. "Only pretending?"

"Grace, come on. I may not always have agreed with you but it doesn't mean I didn't take it all on board."

"You called it 'airy-fairy' on more than one occasion, Boyd."

"I was a prick. That's not news to you, is it?"

She laughed, genuine warmth flooding her soul in amazement at the unforced ease of their interaction, the resumption of their characteristically ingrained banter such that she could barely believe the time that had passed since they had last had a conversation. She took a breath to reply before noticing the sudden presence of the waiter who had moved to stand unobtrusively next to their table, his expression one of polite expectation as the companions selected their meal choices before he melted seamlessly into the background once more.

"Anyway," Grace continued, taking a sip from her wine glass and allowing her fingers to trace the cool smoothness of the stem almost unthinkingly, "the position also affords me enough time for my own personal academic writing…."

"Yeah, I've seen the latest offering."

Grace was unable to keep the astonishment from her voice. "Have you?"

He rolled his eyes. "What, we lose touch for a while and suddenly I'm not interested in what you're doing?"

A while? It's been two years since we were face to face, or had you forgotten? "I don't know, Boyd…."

"Of course I've read it."

She raised her eyebrows at the churlish defensiveness of his tone. "And?"

"And...," he answered carefully, "if you're not careful you'll have every police officer in Britain questioning what they've been taught regarding interview techniques."

Grace shrugged lightly. "It was just meant to offer an alternative point-of-view, based on in-depth psychological assessment studies of suspects."

He grinned wolfishly. "Nothing to do with sticking it to the Establishment, then?"

She laughed. "I spent a decade trying to get through to you about psychological stressors in the context of interviewing; thought it was about time I got it down on paper, that's all."

Boyd tutted loudly and shook his head in feigned disapproval. "A slight against your former employer, Doctor Foley?"

The psychologist narrowed her eyes, trying to gauge his sincerity. "You were never my employer, Boyd."

"It amounts to the same thing, though, doesn't it?"

"Well, not really. It's simply research that I think has merit…and if it gets police officers thinking about how they conduct themselves then so much the better."

"Hm," he replied vaguely, the brief utterance rife with sarcasm. "I'll be sure to bring it up the next time I get called in on a case."

She smiled good-naturedly at the inherent gruffness in his tone. "Anything looming large on the horizon in that regard?"

He gave a broad shrug. "Greater Manchester have got an unsolved rape case from the Nineties they want me to take a look at…."

"The glamorous life of a travelling consultant, eh?"

"It gets me out of London at least."

Grace raised her eyebrows, surprise flickering through her at his reply. "Is that a pre-requisite?"

He grinned; an attempt at deflection. "Can't see me slumming it in the countryside, then?"

"Honestly? I didn't think there was anything that could make you leave the city, short-term or otherwise." She blinked as she caught the slight darkening of his expression. "What is it?"

He took a faltering breath at her perception though it little surprised him, his effort monumental as he fought to circumvent the sudden pressure in his throat. "Sometimes…getting some distance from the memories feels….I don't know..," he broke off, searching for an appropriate sentiment and eventually he groaned, attempting to cover his mounting melancholia with humour. "Don't make me say 'cathartic'."

"I wouldn't dream of it." She smiled gently, teasingly. "It's probably not quite the word you were looking for anyway."

"Well, you know me. Words have never really been my strong point."

Grace inclined her head in silent agreement, ignoring the sparking undercurrent before continuing, "Does it work?"

"What?"

"The physical distance. Does it allow you to look at everything you've been through with some sort of perspective?"

He sighed heavily and shrugged. "Sometimes."

"That's good."

"As good as therapy?"

She gave a crooked, knowing smile. "Loaded question?"

"Is there any other type?"

"Then professionally I'd have to say no…."

"I knew it…."

"…but if you find that it helps then it's absolutely a positive, isn't it?"

He grinned mischievously and reached to refill both of their wine glasses. "I didn't say I haven't been in therapy."

"Have you?"

"Don't sound so surprised."

Grace released an incredulous breath, pausing briefly to thank the waiter as he presented their steaming dishes, an intoxicating aroma of herbs and spices emanating enticingly from her plate. "I just…after the Anger Management debacle all those years ago, I didn't think therapy ranked too highly on your agenda."

Boyd took a generous mouthful of pasta and gave a quiet grunt of accession. "It didn't."

"Past tense?"

He shrugged, instinctively dropping his gaze to avoid her eye and pausing for a long moment to collect himself before continuing. "I thought a lot about what you said that last time we were all together…."

She raised a palm. "They were just suggestions, Boyd. Made as your friend as much as a psychologist."

"I know that. It took me six bloody months before I finally got around to booking an appointment."

She smiled ruefully, dread fluttering at the edges of her consciousness. "And how many did you end up keeping?"

"All of them."

Grace's eyebrows reached almost to her hairline. "You're joking."

"I was a model patient."

"Client," she corrected lightly, unable to prevent a smile at the jovial glint in his eyes, feeling her expression begin to recede as he rapidly sobered once more.

"Whatever," he countered succinctly. "The point is…as much as I tried to tell myself it wasn't helping…."

"In retrospect you think it probably did?" she completed gently as his words trailed readily into a heartfelt sigh. "For what it's worth, I'd agree with you, Boyd. You seem…more at peace than I've seen you in years."

He shrugged dismissively. "It's a context thing as much as anything."

"Give yourself some credit." Grace leant forwards earnestly, fighting a sudden, powerful urge to grasp his hand. "You recognised that you needed help to process what you've been through…and ultimately you took the appropriate steps to seek it."

Boyd's responding grin was broad. "Just don't be under any illusions that I've started drinking nettle tea and hugging trees as well though, will you, Grace?"

She laughed and shook her head. "You're not going to change my mind. You've come a long way, Boyd."

"Oh, God," he groaned theatrically, accurately reading her expression. "Please don't say you're proud of me."

Her sapphire orbs were sparkling. "Why not?"

"Because you're not my mother. Despite the vast difference in our ages."

"Hm," she replied with a sardonic roll of her eyes. "Good job you were never a maths teacher, isn't it? Or a biologist, come to think of it."

"I mean it, Grace," he warned evenly, unable to prevent a solemn edge from lacing his tone. "I don't want to open up a whole can of worms about worthiness, alright?"

His companion held up her palms in attempted placation. "I'm not your therapist."

"No, you're not."

"I never was, by the way. Anything I ever said to you about your mental health was me with my foot in both camps."

"Yeah, well….From whichever camp you were coming from I should have taken you more seriously. I know that now."

She reached for him then, instinctively wrapping her fingers about his and gently squeezing. "It's important not to have regrets," she told him softly, berating herself silently for the palpable increase in her pulse as he moved to take her hand more fully into his. "Not to look back too much and berate yourself for what you could have done differently."

He exhaled forcefully. "What I should have done differently."

"We can argue semantics 'til the cows come home, Boyd. It amounts to the same thing."

He sighed again, the broad lines of his chest shuddering as the air escaped his lungs in a rush and he ran his free hand roughly across his eyes. "Grace…."

She frowned, the darkening tone of his voice concerning her and she squeezed his hand once more in a gesture of supportive reassurance. "Shall we change the subject?"

"No," he replied determinedly, sincerity pouring from the depths of his eyes as he looked at her with a firm shake of his head. "No."

"Then, what? Are you talking about something specific?"

He held her gaze and allowed the increasingly tense silence between them to elongate, the waves of undefinable energy that had always existed between them magnifying as the air around them seemed to electrify. "Look," he managed eventually, acutely aware of the gravelled husk edging his tone. "Let's settle up and get out of here, alright?"

The psychologist blinked, a twinge of uncertainty twisting hotly in her gut at his deliberate evasion. "Okay," she agreed softly, withdrawing her fingers from his as he reached silently into his discarded jacket for his wallet.

The night air was refreshingly cool, a pleasant balm against her skin and a welcome contrast to the discomforting heat Grace could feel ricocheting unbidden through her bloodstream, the relentless pounding of her heart against the bones of her chest. They had walked some distance from the restaurant, ostensibly under the guise of returning to their respective cars but when he had suggested a stroll in the nearest park she had readily acquiesced, painfully curious as to his intentions and then instantly berating herself for the undoubtedly masochistic notion.

Eventually he slowed, stopping beneath the shadowy canopy of a large oak tree and leaning back against the trunk, his head resting atop the bark as he calmly yet intensely surveyed her.

"What are we doing out here?" she asked quietly after several further moments had passed, discomfited by her inability to read his expression accurately in the semi-darkness and folding her arms instinctively across her chest in pre-emptive posture of defence.

Boyd gave a crooked smile. "Not a believer in gentle exercise after meals, then?"

She shook her head seriously and took a small step towards him. "Boyd…."

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me what this is all about," she answered evenly. "Assuming I haven't totally misread you here."

He sighed heavily, his eyes fluttering briefly closed. "You haven't."

"So, come on, then."

His breath escaped in a jittering rush anew, the air catching against the edges of his throat as he tried desperately to organise his thoughts before feeling the words beginning to leave his body of their own volition. "This idea of regret…," he began slowly, cautiously. "It was one of the major themes of my therapy sessions….Something about a tendency I have for backward projection, constantly wondering whether there wasn't more I could have done in a given situation. Whether my action or inaction negatively impacted on the people in my life."

"Or on yourself?" Grace asked softly, her eyes flickering across the familiar planes of his face, half hidden in dusky shadow, and she took another tentative step towards him. "Boyd…how you dealt with Luke…."

"I'm not just talking about that." He heaved another ponderous exhalation. "Christ, Grace….When I look back over the last twelve years…or even over the last two…my overriding opinion of myself is that I've been a fucking coward."

She frowned, confusion prickling the length of her spine. "I don't…."

"Why do you think I haven't been in touch?"

"I don't know. It happens, Boyd. Life just ends up getting in the way." She shrugged in attempted levity despite the suddenly increased torsion about her heart. "I don't blame you."

"Well, you should." He pushed forcefully away from the tree to take a pace towards her, their proximity such that he was suddenly, powerfully reminded of the contrast in their stature. "Whether or not Spence and Eve set us up tonight is beside the point."

Grace blinked sharply at his apparent change of tack. "I told you, Boyd. Eve had to…."

"The point is," he continued firmly, his words slicing easily through her protest. "That one of the major regrets in my life is not having had the balls to be honest with you…and seeing you again tonight…."

"It's in the past," she murmured quickly, snatching a breath to quell the nervous fluttering of her stomach. "A lot has happened in the last two years, Boyd…."

"I want to see you again," he interrupted gruffly once more. "And not under the pretext of some bloody reunion…or any other damned pretext, for that matter."

Grace swallowed, stoically determined not to absorb the meaning behind his words. "Resurrecting our friendship is one thing…."

"Oh, for God's sake, Grace. Cut me some fucking slack here."

"But you're talking about something else entirely, aren't you?"

Boyd placed his hands gently atop her shoulders, feeling her fractionally tense as his palms slid beneath the collar of her coat to caress her skin. "Grace…."

She flinched instinctively at the gravelled throatiness of her name on his lips, her body trembling beneath his sensual ministrations even as she shook her head towards him. "I can't do this," she managed finally, the words escaping her throat in a strained whisper. "I can't."

"Do you want me to actually say the words?"

"It wouldn't make any difference."

"Why not?"

"Because…."

"Because?" he prompted as her reticent explanation trailed into silence, a frustrated exhalation escaping his lips. "Jesus Christ, Grace; why are you making this such hard work?"

"Because I'm seeing someone, alright?" She twisted away from him as the words snaked hotly into the air between them, regret lancing viciously through her stomach as she registered his sharp intake of breath. "I have been for a year."

Boyd was stonily silent for several long moments, an icy ball of shock forming in his chest, a bitter sense of loss settling in a despairing cloud about his shoulders as he absorbed the determined finality in her tone. "I see," he replied at length, the rejoinder achingly flat in the strained space between them.

Grace drew a faltering breath and closed her eyes. "I just assumed….Eve and Spence both know…."

"I imagine neither of them felt it was their place to say anything."

"Well, they're right. Of course they are."

He took a hesitant step back towards her. "Is it serious?"

She blew a forceful lungful of air from her lungs and turned to face him once more. "What does that mean?"

"Oh, come on," he shot back irritably, derisively. "Are you living together?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Boyd."

"Has he…?"

"It's none of your damned business!" Grace exhaled a ribbon of incredulous breath. "My God; where was all this two years ago? Five years ago, even?"

He held her gaze steadily, his voice hardening to flint. "It wasn't a priority. I had too much else to…."

"So you just expected, what? That I'd wait around until you finally made up your mind what you wanted?"

He felt himself flinch beneath the brutal sting of her words and he stepped forward again, intensity radiating from every pore of his body. "Of course not. It's back to that thorny issue of regret, isn't it?"

She smiled sadly, her cerulean eyes suddenly bright with unshed tears and she was unable to stop herself from closing the final few inches between them and placing a gentle hand atop his chest. "I think we just need to face the fact that we're not on the same page, Boyd. That we never have been."

"Oh, I think we have. At times."

Grace inclined her head in easy assent, trying and failing not to notice the warmth of his skin, the broad plane of his muscle through the soft cotton of his shirt. "Perhaps."

"We were just too fucking scared to open our damned mouths."

Her smile was remorseful. "Pathetic, isn't it?"

"Completely," he agreed, his hands rising to trace the sensual curves of her waist of their own accord, his voice dropping to a huskier lower register as he asked, "Are you happy?"

She gasped softly, an agonising tension threatening to crush her chest as a maelstrom of emotion cascaded through her heart. "Boyd…," she murmured eventually, unable to manage more than a throaty whisper. "I…."

"If you tell me you're happy I'll walk away."

"Don't do this."

"Tell me you're happy then." He leant towards her, his body moving utterly of its own volition as his mouth halted mere centimetres from hers such that they were raggedly breathing the same air. "Grace…."

She gave a tiny strangled sob, more than a decade of denial and repression burning rapidly into ash as his lips touched hers for the first time in an explosion of feeling, the intense wave of guilt-ridden betrayal dissipating instantly as she felt their hearts collide. Within seconds she had willingly surrendered to the insistent yet gentle pressure of his tongue, unable to prevent a low moan as he kissed her thoroughly, dextrously, her nerves set aflame by the expert ministrations of his mouth, the determined caresses of his hands as he manoeuvred their entwined bodies back towards the oak tree. She gasped breathlessly as his lips devoured the sensitive skin of her neck, his teeth gently grazing her in possessiveness, his tongue lapping relentlessly at the intimate hollow of her throat. Momentarily her haphazard, spiralling thoughts crystallised icily, the reality of their current actions reasserting itself as his hand slipped atop her ribcage to brush her breast, and she pulled sharply away, her palms applying firm pressure against his chest.

"That's enough," she told him resolutely, the effort of maintaining an unwavering tone monumental as her heart pounded wildly against her bones, arousal still pulsing ferociously through her bloodstream.

His breathing was fragmented as he struggled to regain his equilibrium, his hands sliding steadfastly to her waist, the air rattling hoarsely through his larynx as he looked at her intensely, gravelly demanding, "Is it?"

Grace forced away the ball of anguish constricting her airway. "I'm happy, Boyd," she managed finally, her voice splintering as she felt her control begin to waiver beneath the scrutiny of his gaze, the insistent weight of his hands about her waist. "You said…."

"I also had to take a chance," he replied vehemently, his obsidian eyes darkening further with the fervency of his statement. "Surely you can understand that?"

She blinked furiously to clear her suddenly clouded vision and she shook her head sadly, her heart threatening to shatter as a sense of futile certitude settled morosely about her shoulders. "You should have taken it years ago."

He snorted contemptuously to assuage the condensing cloud of torment that was swirling oppressively beneath his skin. "Yeah, well, be that as it may….I'm not going to apologise."

"But I am." She sighed heavily and pushed him determinedly away, stepping further from him to reinforce her declaration. "I'm going home…."

"And that's it, is it? Twelve bloody years and…."

"I think it has to be."

"Meaning we won't see each other again?" he demanded angrily, every fibre of his body intensely frustrated by the flat resignation in her tone, the pointed silence in response to his question. "For God's sake, Grace, am I really such a fucking threat? Is he really that insecure?"

She half-turned back towards him, sapphire eyes flashing dangerously. "Don't you dare. This isn't about him."

"But you don't want him to know about this, do you?"

"Because it's about me; how I feel…."

"Are you in love with him?"

Grace felt her mouth harden into a thin line. "I'm not answering that."

"Why not?"

"Don't push me, Boyd. I've said everything there is to say."

He shook his head dismissively yet reached out to grasp her arm. "You're running, Grace."

She sighed dejectedly, the air aggravating the bones of her chest. "If I am it's for my own good. I don't want to jeopardise my future by dredging up feelings that should be left in the past."

"So you do admit…?"

"Past tense," she continued hurriedly, fighting a powerful urge to sob the admission into the space between them and she stretched up to brush a gentle, lingering kiss against his skin, her palm caressing the soft bristles of his beard. "Goodbye, Peter. I really am sorry." I don't think you'll ever know how much….

He held her for several long moments before reluctantly releasing her, his body instantly missing her warmth, and he felt his heart fracture beneath bitter, unsought capitulation, his mind numb against the frozen certainty of her words. I waited too long, he mused morosely as he watched her begin to walk slowly away. It took me a decade to fall in love, to realise what I had in front of me…and now it's far too fucking late. I wish I'd opened my eyes just a second earlier, just a fraction of a second maybe…and perhaps I could have prevented facing the future without her….

"Grace?" he called gruffly, his heart further contracting as she turned back to face him, as he caught the sorrow deeply entangled within her painfully soulful eyes.

"What?"

"I hope he knows how bloody lucky he is."

She gave a tiny flicker of a smile, feeling the tears finally beginning to cascade across her cheeks. "He does."

He fixed her with an intense stare despite the increasingly palpable distance between them, aware of the slightly threatening edge to his tone. "Good."

"Take care of yourself, Boyd."

He nodded silently, unable to speak further as his eyes traced her movements back across the moonlit park, watching until he had seen her arrive safely at her car before allowing them to fall heavily shut beneath the agony of his weary acquiescence. At once he was bombarded by the memory of her mouth on his, the sensory overload of her skin and scent, the utterly real sensation of his hands atop her curves, and he bit back a primal urge to howl his desolation into the night sky. It's not enough, he realised in anguish as his back slid roughly down against the bark of the tree. It could never be enough. But for my own pathetic hesitancy it's all I have. The thought was a brutal torment as the cold began to seep steadily into his bones.

FIN