A/N: Last in the Cold series. Much love to everyone sending their reviews and PMs. I'm really glad you're liking this! Don't worry, more one-shots are coming, maybe even a few more short stories like this one! Meanwhile, keep sending in words. I'll add them to the list.

Enough

Enough was enough.

It was early on the morning of the fifth day. Just gone three o'clock, and just like the many nights before this one, Rigsby hadn't slept at all. He was exhausted. His mind felt like oatmeal. His limbs felt like lead. But unlike the previous string of sleepless nights, he didn't move an inch. His bleary eyes were cracked open just enough to make out the texture of his dark ceiling. His dry lips were parted as he pulled shallow breaths.

He was dying. He was sure of it.

Just as surely as if his lungs hadn't received oxygen, or his blood hadn't received water, his system was shutting down after four days without a vital substance. He couldn't go another day. He knew he'd promised to, but it was no use. By the end of the day, he'd be inhaling a life-saving dose of what he needed, but sadly it wasn't going to come soon enough. He'd be dead; a lifeless lump beached at his workstation. In a matter of hours, he'd perish from a lack of Grace.

He made a decision.

He dragged his sleep-deprived carcass out of bed and forced it to take a freezing shower, shocking it into mild wakefulness. He then put in a call.

"Hey boss. Glad it's your voicemail, I don't want to wake you. Listen, I'm feeling horrible today, I haven't slept all night. I'm taking a sick day and going to the doctor's. I have my cell on if you need me. Otherwise, I'll be in bed for the rest of the day. Thanks."

He pulled some clothes on and staggered out into the parking lot. Starting his car up in the predawn darkness, he flipped on his lights and pointed the wheels south.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Fresno, 5:34am

The sound of a cacophonic ring brought Grace out of a disturbed quasi-sleep. It was the kind of annoying sleep that was shallow enough for the noise to startle her rather than slowly wake her up. She jumped at the first ring, darting into a sitting position and swatting blindly at the noise until she grabbed the cradle on the room's phone. She lifted it to her ear.

"Hello?" she rasped tiredly.

"Miss Van Pelt?"

"Yes. Who is this, please?" She shook her head to eject the disorientation.

"Ma'am, this is the front desk. I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour, but we have a policeman down here who's asking for your room number."

She squinted at the clock. "Police? At 5:30 in the morning? Am I parked illegally or something?"

"He won't state his business, ma'am, he's just insisting that he needs to see you. Immediately. Shall we send him up?"

"No," she said quickly. "No, that's okay. I'll just come down. Thank you for letting me know."

They hung up and Grace climbed out of bed. She swore angrily as she swiped her keycard from the desk, not even bothering with her hoodie as she made her way to the door in her tank top, pajama bottoms and out of control hair. If a cop expected people to look collected and professional then they should damn well show up at a decent hour and not ass o'clock in the morning. She shuffled into the hallway in her bare feet and grabbed the elevator from the tenth floor to the lobby.

The door opened to raised voices.

"Look, I just need to see her. She's not in trouble and I'm not here to arrest her. Just give me her damn room number and I'll get out of your face. What the hell is the problem?"

"Sir, if you'll just calm down—,"

"Why the fuck do you think I'm here?! Let me see her and I'll fucking calm down!"

Grace turned the corner into the lobby and her breath caught in her throat. His back was turned to her, rippling and angry under his shirt as he towered over the desk clerk. He was leaning over the counter like he was considering ripping the guy across it and punching him until he was part of the carpet. Her tired eyes widened. Her heart, so sluggish and lethargic over the past four days, exploded back to life.

He was here?

He was here!

He couldn't be here!

He wasn't supposed to be here!

Thank God he was here!

"Wayne?" It escaped her lips without her permission.

He turned.

Sweet Jesus, his face. His stubble was darker than she'd ever seen it. The dark bristles dusted his cheeks and chin. His eyes were almost entirely red. Even from ten feet away, the angry shots of blood stood out from the white. His skin looked ashen. His hair was mussed. And when he turned and saw her standing there, all rumpled from sleep with her wild red hair framing her face and shoulders, his hands started to shake.

"Grace." It was a cross between a groan and an incantation.

The clerk craned his head in her direction, misreading their intense stares and fearing for her safety. "Ma'am?"

She put her hand up, but her eyes never left the furious giant threatening to tear the lobby apart. "It's okay. He's my partner. Thank you for calling me."

Willing herself not to tremble, she put her hand out. She meant to say "Come on," but her words failed her. Looking at him, his crazed desperation radiating off of him, she couldn't summon a single syllable. She stepped forward, her bare feet sliding across the carpet. He glanced down and saw them. The realization that she was in her PJs made him move forward. He took her hand, letting her lead him back to the elevator corridor, watching her press the up arrow.

Touching her hand revived him instantly. With no foot traffic, the elevator arrived immediately and as she stepped forward he followed too close, coming up right behind her and dragging her hand to his lips. The doors closed and she turned instantly, pushing against the elevator wall and pulling him with her. Moaning like a man dying of thirst, he brought her palm to his lips, cupping her hand around his cheek as he sucked and lapped at her skin.

Something broke inside Grace.

She didn't care why he'd come. She didn't care that they had to be at work in a few hours. She certainly didn't care that both of them were nearly dead from exhaustion. They weren't going to suffer one more second of deprivation. Enough was enough.

Her hand shot out and hit the emergency stop button. The car ground to a halt, suspended in the shaft. She sobbed and tore her hand away from his mouth, cupped his scruffy cheeks and stood on tiptoe, fusing her lips against his.

Half-dead as he looked, he reacted quickly. He devoured her mouth, his tongue driving hard inside and stroking hers with abandon. She moaned loudly as he hooked his fingers into the straps of her tank and roughly jerked them down her arms, exposing her bare breasts. She cried out in surprise, but pushed herself into his grasping hands, arching and sighing as he worked her aching nipples between his thumbs and index fingers.

She grabbed each side of his pop-button shirt and ripped it apart, the buttons snapping apart so quickly that it sounded like a zipper. She ripped her lips away from his and attacked his chest, latching onto one of his nipples and nipping at it while she sucked greedily. His arms went around her and suddenly she was crushed into the warm expanse of his chiseled chest, her breasts pressed firmly against him and her nails digging channels into his back.

He hissed at the sensation. He pawed urgently at her flannel pants, pushing them down her legs with no trouble and growling with appreciation at her lack of panties. He kicked the pants away from her ankles and pushed her back against the wall, violently gripping her thighs and hoisting her up onto his clad hips. He attacked her mouth again, plumbing it desperately, mindless of everything except tasting her, inhaling her, feeling her wrapped all around him.

She keened frantically as his stubble scraped and stung its way from her lips, down her throat and rubbing against her breasts as he pulled a stiff nipple into his mouth and tugged hard. It had a magnetic effect on her heart. It thumped and strained towards his close proximity. Her whole body throbbed hotly. Her tiredness only seemed to compound her need for immediate relief. Her hands slid down his bare chest and clawed at his fly. She unsnapped the button and lowered his zipper, pushing at sides of his jeans and massaging his pulsing erection through his boxers.

He switched to her other breast, sucking hard and grunting as she pressed into his groin.

Her eyes rolled up. She couldn't take another second. She, sweet little Grace Van Pelt, needed to get fucked. It was a matter of survival.

"Please," she whispered. It was the only word to pass between them. "Pleeeaaase."

His head lifted. Their eyes locked. Their hearts broke at the sight of the other being in such a bad way, but they were also happy now that they were imbibing the cure in such a liberal dose.

He reached between them, freed himself, and thrust sharply into her slippery, desperate depths.

They cried out together, their union magically healing their wretched conditions in one swift stroke. He cinched her legs more tightly around him, slamming her against the cool plastic of the wall and roaring with senseless joy as the tightest, hottest utopia pulled him in and squeezed.

He forced her wider and rammed hard, driving in and out in frantic, unmeasured pumps.

Grace cried out again. She strained into some of the roughest sex she'd ever had and whimpered for more. She yanked him closer and began necking him, biting hard and licking the breaks in the skin. Her hands fisted in his hair, her fingers singing with pleasure as they tunneled deep.

She moaned as the teeth from his open zipper bit into her soft thighs with each frenzied thrust of their hips. They'd leave marks in the morning. Dozens of marks.

He dragged his sandpapery cheek against hers as he sought her ear, biting the lobe once he found it. "Can't…stop, baby."

She yanked him back by his hair, looking into his eyes as he drove her so hard against the wall that she thought they might crack it. "Don't stop," she begged. "Need you. Need you so fucking much."

He roared again. The noise reverberated in the tiny cube. She cupped the back of his head and brought him to her, putting her lips to his and kissing him properly for the first time. Her hips still pumped wildly against his, spurring him on to keep their rapid pace, but her lips moved slowly, gently asking for entry before making love to his mouth while the rest of her fucked his body without mercy.

"My Grace," he murmured against her lips. "Almost died without you."

"Me too," she whimpered. Her release was uncoiling in her lower belly and threatening to overwhelm her with each filling stroke of his cock. "My baby…so close."

"Come all over me, honey. I need to feel you."

She gasped and went rigid, her core clenching and sucking him in as she screamed in relief. He felt her muscles lock onto him and he barely thrust twice more before he shot up all of his load in a hot, long stream that nearly dropped him. Gasping and shaking, he slid to the floor, his lover still wrapped around him and pressed against the wall. She sagged against his chest, not even able to keep her head up. Sweating, panting, they sat for a few minutes trying to collect themselves.

Rigsby came around first.

He tipped her chin up with his fingers, his glassy eyes appraising hers before he lowered his face and kissed her softly. She responded, but only just, her lips moving with his in small, languid presses. He pulled back and smiled. His swollen eyes still looked awful, but a helluva lot happier.

"You're tired," he said gruffly.

She smiled back wanly. "Kettle."

He flashed her his little boy smile before gently prodding her to stand up with him. Once up, he pulled her tank top by the straps up to her shoulders, covering her now-reddened breasts. He reached down and picked up her flannel pants, helping her into them as she held his shoulders and stepped in one leg at a time. He settled them on her hips before reaching over and smacking the red button again. As he pulled his clothes back together, the elevator clanked as the gears resumed their work and pulled them up to the tenth floor.

The doors opened with a ding and they stepped off. Grace pulled her keycard from her pocket and led him inside. They stripped without ceremony and fell into the kind size bed. Rigsby instinctively fell on his back. Grace cuddled into his side. One of his arms went around her back while the other anchored her thigh over his hips. Her arms went under his neck and around his chest, locking on tight.

They sighed together. In many ways, they needed this more than the sex. Rigsby felt his calm return and sleep was fast approaching. Grace felt loved and protected, her sated body bound to her man, warm at last.

"Is your alarm set?" he asked drowsily.

"Hmmm. Why?" She could barely keep her eyes open.

"Because you're calling in late this morning. We're sleeping until ten, then I'm driving you to the field office and telling those thieving assholes that they've had you long enough."

She chuckled. "I only need an hour or two, just to show them how the new system works."

"An hour," he begrudgingly allowed. "Then I'm taking you to lunch, bringing you back here, making love to you properly, then we're getting the hell out of this town."

She hummed happily. "Good strategy, Napoleon."

"Thank you. Now quit sassing and go to sleep, missy."

She smiled against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat lulling her. He dropped one more kiss to the top of her head, inhaling her scent of peaches and rosewater and purring contentedly. She snuggled closer, dropping her own kiss over his heart before pressing her ear over it again.

They fell asleep within minutes.

They were home.