A/N: Companion piece to Cold. Grace's turn.

Barren

Grace glared at the acid green numbers taunting her from the ugly bedside table next to her hotel bed as she lay wide awake.

3:31am

She huffed and turned over, shunning that stupid clock and choosing to stare at the inane beige wall on the other side of the bed, complete with a banal print of tulips painted in a bland, impressionist style. Its boring, lifeless presence was visible, even in the darkness of her room. Ugh, she thought in irritation. Hotel art.

This was ridiculous. She'd been laying there for hours, trying desperately to get some much needed sleep after killing herself for the past two days overhauling the Fresno office computer system. It was grueling, tedious work. Probably why it had been left undone for so long. No one in that office had the ability or inclination to upgrade to current government standards, which is exactly why they cow-towed to Lisbon so they could borrow her resident computer nerd. In truth, Grace was glad for the recognition, no matter how boring it was to upload and install software.

But there was a far bigger problem that she hadn't anticipated when she took this five-day fieldtrip. She missed Wayne so much that her chest felt tight and pressurized. She couldn't breathe properly, almost like she'd developed asthma overnight. She tried to inhale deeply, but only pulled a meager breath that barely covered her oxygen needs and was devoid of any scents that reminded her of him.

That was her biggest mistake. Assuming she was still the cool, independent woman that didn't need anyone but herself, she'd kissed her boyfriend goodbye and hadn't thought to pack a single thing that reminded her of him. No photos, no trinkets, and most appallingly, no piece of his clothing. She cursed her neediness as much as she cursed her lack of planning. She should have realized that five nights without Wayne was going to be hell, but she hadn't so much as tossed one of his t-shirts into her bag. And now, tossing back and forth in a foreign bed in sterile sheets, she would have killed to have one. One of his white ones that she could crawl into and surround herself in the scent of his soap and skin. At this very moment, she could be burrowing her nose into its softness and inhaling the delicious, reassuring smell of her lover. It might have even fooled her senses enough to let her sleep, halfway convinced that he was there with her, holding her securely in that barren, meaningless bed and gently chiding her to stop fussing and get some sleep. It might have worked. She'd never know.

She flipped again and swore loudly, staring daggers at that infuriating clock that now informed her it was 3:37. Jesus, could time be moving any slower?

Her gaze fell from the clock and settled on a slim piece of black plastic next to it. Her phone. It sat there innocently enough, but suddenly Grace got the distinct impression that it was watching her. Waiting to see what she did now that she'd noticed it.

You gonna do it? the phone asked silently. You gonna be that girl? The whimpy, needy waif who calls her boyfriend in the middle of the night to make him comfort her? Make him repeat how much he loves her? Maybe tell her a story while he's at it?

She shook her head. She was not that girl. She would not call him, wake him up from his deep sleep and make him talk to her, all to assuage her loneliness. It wasn't fair to him. Plus it made her look weak and pathetic, like she couldn't handle a few days without him. Honestly, she berated herself. He'd think I was being childish.

She drew her knees up to her chest, shivering despite the blankets. The bed felt so big. So empty. And she suddenly felt so small. So exposed. She hadn't realized how addicted she'd become to his body. She needed his warmth. She needed the long, imposing shelter of his frame. She hadn't realized that he'd become home. Without him, she was homeless. No, worse than that. She was a woman without a country. Maybe even worse than that. After all, she'd only been born into America. But she'd chosen Wayne.

This was stupid.

She sat up and grabbed her phone, hitting the speed dial and not allowing herself to think about how sad and dependent it made her look. It couldn't be helped. She needed his voice.

He picked up after one ring. "Grace?" There wasn't any trace of sleep in his voice, only hope.

"Wayne," she breathed out in relief.

"Christ, I miss you," he groaned. "Come home. Now."

Grace gave a brief, surprised laugh. She couldn't believe it, he was awake. He was lonely. And he sounded like he was dying of separation anxiety, just like she was. She closed her eyes and smiled. "I want to. Oh baby, I miss you so much. I can't sleep, not without you."

"Me either. Jesus, how am I supposed to get through three more days without you?"

She mewled softly in agreement. "I'll try to finish sooner. I promise. Right now, will you just talk to me for a little while? I just need to hear your voice. Please?"

"Sweet girl," he murmured softly. "I never knew that I could hate my bed as much as I do without you in it. These last two nights have sucked so much. All I want to do is drive out to Fresno right now."

Grace sighed, sliding down further into the mattress, feeling a little more comfortable. "By the time you get here, you'd have to turn around to go into work."

"Fuck it," he grunted. "If I speed, I can be there in two hours."

Grace closed her eyes. Just hearing his frustration and need was making her feel better. "No, baby. We need to prove to the boss and ourselves that we can be apart. We're professionals, not angsty teens. We can spend five days away from each other, can't we?"

"No," he huffed petulantly.

She smiled again. "I love you, too."

She heard him huff again. "Call me in the morning. Then call me again on your lunch break. Then call me again when you're done for the day."

"Anything else?" she asked sweetly.

"Yeah," he rasped. "Think about me every fucking second."

Her smile fell and she moaned softly. "Damn you. You know I already do."

"Good," he said. "Now tell me how much you miss me again before we hang up."

"So much," her voice trembled slightly. "This bed is driving me crazy. I hate sleeping without you. I'm so cold."

"Fuck," he whispered hoarsely. "Baby, I need you. Let me drive over there."

"No," she whispered back. "We can do this. I'll call you tomorrow. I miss you. I love you."

"I love you so much it's killing me. Call soon." Grace nearly moaned again at the roughness in his voice.

"Goodnight, Wayne."

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

Click