A/N: The continuation to Late. The talk. Remember, Gone and Tango are still a go. To those I might have confused, Gone and Stonewall are a new series where Grace is missing. They're not part of Late. Word props going to Caritas1979, you gave me a whole messa good words to choose from, so much so that I'll probably use more of them right after this.

Truculent

He got home right on time, gleaming with sweat and still wired from lifting more weight than he should have. He knew it wasn't good for him, but living with Grace and taking platonic to new and ridiculous heights was taking its toll. His body was constantly responding to her closeness now that he spent all day and night with her. It was also responding to the knowledge that she carried his baby. Both made him so crazy that he was sure if he cut his finger, he'd bleed testosterone. It took every anti-asshole warning in his head at night to make sure that he held her tight, but kept his hands from doing anything...well...handsy.

He dropped his bag by the door and headed for the kitchen, tugging out the OJ carton and tipping the opening to his lips.

"Something wrong with my glasses?"

Grace's voice startled him and he coughed a little as he brought the carton back down. Busted.

"No. I, yuh. Didn't...know where..."

"Cut the crap, Wayne," she chuckled softly, moving around him to pull a glass from the cupboard. She handed it to him and he smiled as he accepted it sheepishly.

She watched him dutifully pour juice into his cup before speaking. "I think it's time for the talk now."

He slowed as he put the juice back in the fridge, keeping his back to her as he closed it. His brain zipped through every possible answer and each one of them sucked worse than the last. He chose silence. And not turning around.

She felt his stubbornness and chuckled again. Maybe the hormones were making her calm for once. Or maybe it was simply resignation. They couldn't keep this up. But she loved him all the more for pretending they could. But it was time. She rattled off a series of facts that machine gunned into his wall of denial. If it started a fight, so be it.

"We're having a baby. You're living in my house. You won't deny it if Hightower asks if the baby's yours. You'll get angry if I deny it, too. They'll transfer one of us for sure now. Probably me, since I'm 'with child'," she snorted the words, annoyed that the office would no doubt see hers as a delicate condition. "So I'm looking at losing what I sacrificed everything for anyway. And then there's you." She looked at the inverted triangle of his back and waist and tried not to let her mercurial hormones sidetrack her by noting how unbelievably sexy he looked in his gym clothes, all sweaty and hot.

He sighed in defeat and turned to her. He gauged her closely, unsure of what to make of her words. "There's me?"

She smiled weakly. "Why are you really here, Wayne? I would have let you help. Eventually," she tempered. "But you didn't need to do any of this."

"Any of what?" he asked, his head cocked questioningly.

Her brow raised in speculation. "Your food, your DIY, your money," she paused slightly, "my bed." Her eyes dropped modestly. God, it killed him every time. How many times had she screamed with ecstasy in between his sheets? On the kitchen counter? Against the wall? In his car? And yet, she blushed saying the word 'bed'. There were some days when he didn't think he could adore her anymore than he already did, then she pulled some self-conscious pose and threw him for yet another loop.

He wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to say, however. He took a step towards her. Her hormones noted the black shine of his hair and the way his damp shirt hugged him in a way that she envied. She swallowed and exhaled slowly, not moving away. He stopped just shy of touching her, looking down with intense surety.

"What did I say that first night?" he asked quietly. His voice always sounded scruffy when he whispered. Soft and scratchy and warm. Like wool. It made her heart turn over.

"You said several things," she answered evasively.

He clicked his tongue at her in reprimand. The primal sound made her stomach quiver. "What was particularly noteworthy?"

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, looking at him plaintively. "You said that I'm...we're...yours."

Blue eyes drilled her. He nodded slowly. "Exactly."

She flinched when his eyes went soft in a blink and his fingers were on her cheek, tracing the bone's path from the corner of her eye to just near her lips. He watched his progress, entranced. "I'll do anything you ask, Grace. Except leave. I'll be your friend no matter what. I'll be your lover, if you'll let me. I'll father your child, in that you get no say. And I'll help you, God as my witness. But," he tensed, suddenly unsure of himself. "I'm not leaving you. I can't. Not even if you insist. So please don't ask me to." He smiled limply. "You know I hate upsetting you."

She closed her eyes as he caressed her face, absorbing his words carefully. Meanwhile, his other crept to her hip and pulled her closer, his lips coming dangerously close to brushing her forehead.

She sighed shakily. "We've been here before," she pointed out softly. "What are we supposed to do about work?"

"If you recall, I had a plan last time. And I still think it's a good one."

The woman in her was responding wildly to his gentle attentions. Blood had been surging between her legs for days now. Every catch of his scent in the air made her crazy with desire, both at work and now at home. His DNA was alive and growing inside her and it had set off all kinds of bells and whistles that wouldn't let her think beyond fucking him raw. Over and over and over. The moment he'd said 'lover', she'd forgotten half of her vocabulary as her brain exploded with lust.

She shivered and edged closer to him. "Tell me," she begged softly.

He gasped as she tipped her head and pressed her forehead into his lips. He firmed them up, kissing the smooth skin and inhaling her shampoo's scent, growling with encouragement. He knew what she meant.

"I love you," he clarified his argument. "I love you," he put his hand to her belly, "and I love him. Or her. You are both mine and I'm not going anywhere and..." he broke off and groaned as her hands moved tentatively up and down his chest, her cool palms lighting ice fires across his sweaty body. "Oh fuck, I need you," he moaned, totally unaware that he'd uttered his undying wish out loud.

"Wayne," she whispered reverently. "I...I want..."

His eyes snapped to hers, sharp and questioning. "I'm not asking," he rasped hungrily. "I'm okay. We don't have to-"

"Ssssshhhh." She pressed a finger to his lips, silencing his gallantry. Suddenly spellbound, she watched her own finger trace the lips that haunted her day and night. Rapt, she murmured to his mouth. "I've missed you so much."

His breath caught in his chest and made him shudder violently. "Grace."

"Please." Small hands were pulling his. Leading his. Bedroom. "Please."