So! Over 120k words and well over a year in the writing (why has it taken so long? Oh yes, real life) 'In From The Cold' finally comes to an end. I thank all who have stuck with it, trust me I never thought it would go on (and on and on ...), but especially thanks to Feebee and Firebird for being such conscientious reviewers and all round great support. I would definitely have stalled without you!

Warning: If raunch ain't your thing, then skip the middle section. Raunch is Feebee's thing so that part is specifically dedicated to her! Couldn't bring this to an end without a bit of that could I?

Here goes ...

-ooOoo-

It took a great deal of restraint not to race back to the flat. But Max was determined not to screw up any more than he had already by causing an accident or being embarrassingly caught in a speed trap. He leapt up the half flight of steps that took him to the front door. The room beyond was largely cloaked in darkness, only shards of light from the security lighting in the car park illuminated the room. He flicked the light switch and surveyed the scene that greeted him. For a moment it took him back to the time, not much more than twelve hours ago, when everything was so different. The remains of their breakfast, hastily abandoned, littered the table and counter top, papers lay scattered across the coffee table, shoes lay where they had been discarded over the preceding few days. The normal order of things had slipped. Max checked his watch, it was a little over twenty minutes since her text. Bearing in mind that it was generally impossible to leave the Brown family house without a great deal of fuss, he guessed he probably had another twenty minutes before she arrived home. Home. He still felt a little thrill that this was still home. Hurriedly, galvanised by that thought, he set to tidying the room, clearing away plates and mugs haphazardly into the dishwasher, preparing himself for the inevitable fallout in the morning when Millie would grumble at him for not stacking it efficiently. He paused for a brief moment, finding himself looking forward to being told off, and then shoved the frying pan across the top rack for good measure. Might as well go the whole hog and take his punishment like a man. With the kitchen cleared and at least cosmetically ordered, he swept up discarded towels and clothing into the washing machine but had to grimace as remembered that he still had no idea how it worked, despite the best efforts of Millie and Sondra to educate him. Deciding to add that to his list of misdemeanours he headed back into their bedroom and stared at the unmade bed, wondering whether he had enough time to locate the right sheets and change the linen when he was interrupted by the sound of her key in the door.

With her eyes closed, Millie rested back against the door, pushing it closed. It was so good to be home. She'd felt oddly out of place at her parent's house, a sense of not quite belonging there anymore.

"You okay?" his voice was soft, caressing her from the other side of the room and coaxing her eyes open.

"Yeah," she replied. "Tired." She breathed in deeply and let the air leave her lungs slowly and with it some of the tension her body had been harbouring.

"How are Sondra and Richard?"

"Well, they'd stopped crying by the time I left," Millie tried to inject a little humour into her answer but the intensity of her parents reunion had been shattering to watch, overwhelming the relief she had felt at securing her mother's safety. She paused, looking down at her clasped hands. "I've never seen them like that," she went on quietly. "Dad was … it … it kind of makes me wonder what would have happened if we didn't find her …" Millie's voice cracked. In an instant she felt Max's close in on her, enveloping her with his body, his hands holding her head into his shoulder as she fought to hold on to some degree of composure. "I don't think he would have been able to go-"

"Sh … sh. Stop, you don't need to think like that. There is no 'what if?' It's all over, nothing else matters. It's finished."

Millie pulled back to look up at him, her lower lip trembling, her fragile self-control ebbing away. "It's not that easy, not for me. I can't pretend that none of this happened, that it could all have ended differently." Max knew where this was going. Back to her perception of his ability to view the world in black and white, good and evil, fixed and broken. That she found his mentality hard to comprehend had always been a source of unease, sometimes exhausting but ultimately, he knew, a price worth paying. If it made them an odd couple in the eyes of the world, so be it.

"I know." He brushed away a tear from her cheek and then guided her back into his arms. His acceptance of their differences seemed to work, or perhaps it was simply fatigue, but she relaxed into him, her head becoming comfortingly heavy against his body. They stood for a while, soundless save for their breathing and heartbeats, each apparently absorbed in self-contemplation.

Millie was the first to speak. "How did it go with the DPS?" she asked seriously.

Max took a deep breath. He didn't really want to have to talk about this. He didn't really want to talk, full stop but Millie being Millie, and a woman, it was inevitable and probably in his best interests to comply. "Okay. The usual. I'm restricted to the station for now, they'll tell me tomorrow whether I'll be suspended pending their inquiry."

"Do you think you will be? Suspended?"

Max shrugged. "No idea and," he yawned, "I don't care." Millie stared at him oddly. "I mean it," he insisted taking her face in his hands once again and looking into her soulful eyes. "The only important thing is that we are all safe. Taking Antonov out was the right thing to do and I can't see how the DPS will find otherwise."

"I suppose it will help that Mum and I are the only witnesses. Knocking out the other guy was a lucky move. He won't be able to make any allegations against you."

Max smiled grimly, unhappy at the prospect of both Millie and Sondra being questioned by the DPS because of his own actions. His only regret. "Yeah, well I hope they go easy on you."

"I'll be fine," Millie told him gravely. The question was would he be fine? This was the fourth death at his hands.

Max seemed to read her mind. "Of course I'll have to go through all the motions of counselling, he muttered with a grimace.

"Perhaps you shouldn't just go through the motions this time," responded Millie quietly.

Her hands were soothing against his chest. Normally he would have rejected any such suggestion with vehemence. Expressing his thoughts, thoughts that belonged inside his head not in the open world, was bad enough but even he had come to realise that Millie was worth making the effort for, even if it frequently went against every instinct. It was the least she deserved. Do-gooding, time-wasting shrinks, on the other hand, deserved nothing as far as he was concerned. Yet he sighed in acquiescence. "You're probably right," hoping that would be enough for now.

Fortunately luck was on his side as Millie lifted a hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn, signalling a more immediate need. "But, now, bed."

-oo-

Millie rarely woke earlier than Max unless her alarm forced her to and even then he usually came round at about the same time. With little rest over the preceding nights, Millie had submitted to deep sleep the instant her head hit the pillow, not even managing to stay awake long enough for him to turn out the light as he climbed in next to her. She hoped she hadn't snored. Now wide awake and restless, Millie watched the man sleeping next to her for a few moments, a rare treat, before unsteadily getting up and heading into their bathroom. Her mouth felt horrid and after splashing cold water on her face she set about brushing her teeth. It was very early, not quite six o'clock and the sun was only beginning to make its presence felt in the morning sky, and bringing with it a pink tinged dawn, the precursor of much needed rain and lower temperatures. The previous night had been much cooler than it had been for weeks and it was a blissful relief to not wake feeling stifled by the oppressively muggy heat.

She left him still apparently deep in sleep, his face partially buried into the pillow, and went through to the kitchen to make coffee and sift through the mounting pile of post. Mainly clothing and home catalogues flogging end of sale tat and three identical ones from Boden. She tutted inwardly and turned to place two on the recycle pile, catching her hip on the dishwasher door left slightly ajar. She peered down. A black pan handle jutted out awkwardly, catching her attention. She took a deep breath. Would he ever learn how to stack a dishwasher? How many times did she have to tell him that ramming an item in with brute force did not mean that it would fit, let alone wash properly? But then she stopped her silent rant. Did it really matter? And on the plus side, at least he was trying.

With the coffee machine still doing its thing, Millie wandered back into the bedroom to see if he had woken. The room was empty, sounds of water running in the bathroom beyond giving away his whereabouts. She dropped down onto the bed and hugged her knees up to her chest, her silk robe slipping from one shoulder as she leant back against the headboard. With little to distract her and without the cover of sleep to anaesthetise, the doubts and worries began to re-enter her mind. Not about the depth of their love, but that their connection, what it was that held that love together might have been damaged by anger and disgust. The bed on which she sat, the scene of hideous, barely consensual sex, where perhaps too much was said and done to be able to live with, was a painful reminder of that night. Millie swallowed and shut her eyes tightly, concentrating on her breathing to calm her fears. She was over-reacting, and understandably so, she told herself sternly but it was still no reason to become irrational. Their bond had been severely tested before and they had got through it. This would be no different. Opening her eyes, it took Millie a few moments to realise that the closed bathroom door on the periphery of her vision had been replaced by the naked form of Max, his arms braced against the frame. She was sure he looked different, a little leaner perhaps. His body seemed sharper, less fleshy from days of not eating properly and too much stress. She longed for him to be closer, to touch, to feel his strength. Millie let her legs slide down and turned to face him, the robe slipping further, her worries evaporating as quickly as they had arisen.

Max gripped the doorframe, tightening his grasp as she turned. His stomach flipped. The painted provocateur of two nights ago was long gone. In her place, sprawled across the bed was the most beautiful creature he had ever known. The same beautiful creature he woke up with every day and took to bed every night, shift patterns permitting. That made him the luckiest man alive. Not just because he had convinced her to take him on in the first place, but also because despite his own failures, she was still here. Just. The robe slipped a little more giving him an even more enticing glimpse of the swell of her breast, the merest hint of a dusky nipple, the rest of which brazenly made its presence known through the silk of the robe, now riding high on her smooth thighs. His blood raced, pounding through his veins, bringing his senses alive, desperate to touch skin and inhale her scent. Her eyes, fixed on his to begin with, scanned the lines of his body, he could feel her gaze roam just as sensually as her fingers ever could, or her mouth. He swallowed and took a deep breath at the thought, at the prospect. His cock, already intensely aroused, hardened. He couldn't get this wrong, had to take it slow, had to make it perfect. No rushing, no complacency. But suddenly doubt hit him. What if it was too soon, what if she didn't want-

Millie moved towards him, making it perfectly clear that she did want. She seemed to do little more than shrug and the robe fell from her body. In an instant he was resting one knee on the bed, his hands gently hold her face, pulling her up towards him. His lips seized on hers, drinking in the sensation as if crazed by thirst. Her fingers were in his hair, deliciously scoring his scalp and pulling him down into the kiss. Nothing existed for either beyond the softness of lips and tongues seeking and finding such perfection in each other. Millie was the first to break away. For a moment he panicked, his heart stopping at her withdrawal, but the clear message in her eyes, asking him silently to follow her down onto the bed, reassured him. Her hand traced lightly from his neck down along the length of his arm until she held him by only her fingertips. No greater hold was necessary as utterly powerless to resist even if her had wanted to, he allowed himself to fall onto his side, facing each other among the crumpled linen. Gently she pushed him over onto his back, holding his cheek in her hand, tilting his chin slightly to receive her kiss. Without words, Max felt forgiven.

Her hair fell like a rich titian curtain, he pushed it back and held it, tangling it in his fingers, gently guiding her back to him if ever it seemed she might pull away once again. Yet it was impossible to stop her as her lips sought fresh pasture, first sampling a soft ear lobe, nibbling, lightly pulling and then releasing with an exquisite torture. Her cruelty continued along the line of his neck and a gasp escaped from his mouth, eliciting a murmur of satisfaction from her. He let her have this victory. His gasp turned to a growl when her fingertips raked across the tight discs of his nipples, the tiny nubs always so sensitive. Of course she knew that, just as she knew how he would react when her soft lips and blunt teeth would find their way there. His stomach knotted in anticipated, breathing heavy, arousal at near fever pitch. She hesitated, holding the moment. She flicked the tip of her tongue over one waiting peak and then blew. Max groaned, clenching one hand in her hair, the other in the sheet. It was all the fuel she needed and from there her assault intensified without mercy. Pure unbridled lust swept through his body, the temptation to let her work her magic when he felt a hand reaching down lower was almost painful to resist. But he did. Gently, yet firmly he flipped her over. Her gaze was intoxicating, heavy lidded, her lips sensually parted and perfectly swollen. It was probably the right time to declare his love and devotion once again, but words seemed superfluous, almost inadequate to describe how he felt at that moment.

Millie took in a ragged breath. The intensity of his stare, the strength in his arms the perfect weight of his body resting against hers sent waves of arousal hurtling through her. She needed his kiss again, needed to mark his back with her nails as if to brand him as hers, needed to wrap her legs around his hips and hold him close. He cupped a breast and dipped his head ready to inflict the same torture on her as she had done to him. Her back arched in offering, her hands clasping his head to her breast and moaning when he moved across to the other. She fought to control her breathing as his hand slipped lower, caressing the inward curve of her waist and then the flaring outward line of her hip. Familiarity did nothing to dull the excitement which now built at a ferocious rate and then he was there. His fingers found the hottest, neediest part of her. He knew what she liked, how she liked it. Slow, firm, increasing with each passing second. Then he was inside her, promising so much but for now allowing only a taste. Still his lips and tongue delivered delicious wave after wave of exquisite torment, she barely knew which to focus on, which would bring her completion first. But this wasn't the way she wanted it to be. "On top," she managed to force out in a rasping whisper. Compliantly, Max rolled over to his back, taking her with him, gazing in wonder as she pushed her hair behind her ears. She stared down at her man, from his eyes, to his muscular chest and hard stomach, to the even harder length of his cock, so proudly displaying his virility for all it was worth. A tiny smiled threatened at the corners of her lips but she hid it, provocatively raising her fingers to her lips. Men never could understand how this peacock style display could be amusing even in the most intense of moments. She grasped it with one hand and lowered her head, her tongue ready to do its worst. She heard him swallow and then groan loudly as she enveloped it with the hot wet softness of her mouth. His hips lifted, begging for more as she slowly pulled up, expertly teasing with her tongue, and then down again.

"Millie, I-" be broke off. "I can't-"

With practised ease and a belief in her own powerful sensuality, a belief that he had fostered and encouraged, she rose up to straddle his hips, and gazing down at him she lowered herself down. Together they moved in undulating synchronicity. He gripped her hips, setting the pace and driving as deep as he could.

"Please," he begged, needing to watch her, to feel her orgasm building around him. She slid one hand over her stomach and down lower to where they joined, her head tilted back. The ecstasy built, her skin flushing to the most delicate pink, her other hand leaving his body to caress her own breast as he had shown her to do. She plucked at a nipple, leaning forward with the surge of sensation that it produced through her body. She was close, so close, he drove harder as the motion of her own fingers frantically increased, taking her forwards and upwards, her body began to shudder and finally she was there, the hot wet walls within her fell into spasms around his cock, instantly taking him with her.

Later, while Millie lay one her back, her head resting on his still damp chest, she spoke. "I don't think we should wait."

"For what?" he mumbled.

"To get married, of course. Unless you've changed your mind?"

"No! I mean no, I haven't changed my mind. When were you thinking?"

"Before the end of this year."

"Doesn't it take a year to arrange a wedding. I'm sure that's what your mother said."

"Only if you want hundreds of guests a flashy dress and a Rolls Royce." She turned to her side to look up at him. "I'd be happy if it was just you, me and a couple of randoms pulled from the street as witnesses."

"I wouldn't," Max retorted. "Your father would murder me," he went on seriously.

Millie chuckled. "Perhaps. But why should we wait? What is there to stop us?" she murmured, planting a kiss to his chest.

"Nothing." He frowned slightly, thinking of the contents of those two white envelopes still lurking unsigned and unsealed in his briefcase.

-oo-

"What is it?" Millie asked, swallowing a mouthful of toast.

"Hmm?" Max looked at her, hoping for confusion but knowing he was failing.

"Don't 'hmm' at me. You've got that shifty look, which means something is bothering you." He opened his mouth to speak but Millie cut him off. "Truth, please." She fixed him with a hard stare. Max sat back in his chair and took a deep breath. He hadn't exactly worked out how to do this. In fact, he hadn't exactly worked out that he even really wanted to do this. But, the wheels were in motion and something deep inside told him it was for the best, even if it terrified him. No more terrifying than marriage, family and a lifetime commitment, he'd told himself the night before. And besides, what was the worst that could happen? If it didn't work out, it wouldn't be the end of the world, just a blip. It didn't have to be forever. He blinked, aware of her eyes still on him expectantly and with a jolt scraped his chair back on the wood floor and go to the other side of the room to collect his battered leather satchel. From it he pulled the two unsealed white envelopes. Dropping the bag onto the sofa, he walked back to Millie and with only the slightest of hesitation placed them in front of her breakfast plate. Millie frowned at the envelopes laid before her, almost recoiling from whatever they contained that was evidently so very serious, so important to him. Her hand hovered, first over one, then the other as she deliberated which to read first. Finally, after what seemed and agonising eternity to Max, her hand came down one. He had no idea which letter it contained. To steady herself, rather than out of hunger, she took another bite of toast and began to read. Max watched her keenly. Searching for anything in her expression which might give some clue as to what she was thinking but she remained utterly inscrutable. Calmly she folded the paper just as it had been and placed it neatly on top of its envelope next to the other in front of her. Equally, frustratingly passive, she picked it up and unfolded it. This time, he was convinced there was a flicker of something, but it was too quick and gone before he could decipher her response.

"Do you want to resign? She asked eventually in a clear, controlled voice, setting the second letter down still open on the table.

Max looked at her, hoping that he was about to give the right answer. "No," he replied quietly. "But I will." He left 'if you want me to' hanging silently in the air between them.

"Idiot," she murmured with a small snort. Max bristled defensively and shifted in his chair. He was prepared to make a massive sacrifice for her and she was laughing at him. But then Millie smiled and the warmth he felt knocked aside all feelings of pique. "I would never ask you to resign. In fact, I think I would always actively discourage it," she went on drily. "You'd be insufferable," she paused before continuing more softly. "And it would take something away from you, from what you are."

"Well that's kind of why I thought you might want me to leave the job."

"What? To neuter you in some way?" Max winced at the mention of the word 'neuter'. "Like I said, idiot."

Feeling suitably chastised, in a strangely good way, Max stared down at his hands, waiting for her verdict on the next letter and finding himself oddly optimistic. God, he hoped he wasn't about to be shot down in flames.

"This," she began seriously, "this hasn't just happened overnight. A transfer to Thames Valley Police? What's been going on? And for how long?" He last question was especially pointed.

"I would have told you, I was going to tell you so we could … er … talk about it. Nothing's been decided," he added hastily. Millie said nothing. Max's optimism wavered. "Well, you remember I was involved in a joint op with a team from Reading at the beginning of the year?"

"Hmm?"

"So, the DCI I was working with, Greg Keats, got in touch at the beginning of the week, said they urgently needed another DI and asked if I was interested. It means leaving London so I told him I'd have to talk it over with you and then all hell cut loose, so …" Max trailed off hoping Millie would finish his sentence for him. Unfortunately she didn't seem to be feeling particularly helpful and instead he was forced to carry on, limply. "So, I haven't had the chance until now." Millie still didn't speak. "There's a job for you as well, TVP are always on the lookout for Met officers, so if you want, a transfer would be pretty easy. But if you don't want to, I can keep us both, you don't need to work."

"Have you been speaking to my father?"

"No!" Max yelped, suddenly realising that perhaps he might have sounded slightly patronising. "I mean … er … that … well, I know you haven't been enjoying the job lately. I just want to make you happy Millie."

Millie softened as the anguish in his eyes. She looked down at the letter once again. "Well, maybe a fresh start would be good for us, somewhere new. Reading did you say?" She wrinkled her nose.

Max nodded. "But we wouldn't have to live there. You remember how much you liked visiting Henley-on-Thames last summer? It's close enough and well, perhaps we could go back, just for another look? Before we make any decisions."

A slow smile formed on Millie's lips as she pictured an idyllic life ahead among verdant tree lined fields and chocolate box cottages, idyllic riverside picnics and lazy Sunday afternoons in cosy village pubs. "Yes. Yes, perhaps we could."

The End ... for now ...