A/N: Hi guys! This is my first story, so please let me know what you think! I just had this idea in my head and couldn't get rid of it so here we go. I'll do my best to update frequently, so bear with me! I'm completely on my own, so forgive me for any typos.

CHAPTER 1: I Did Something Bad

CPOV (15 years old - 2006):

As I clean up the rubble from Elena's yard, I contemplate if I've pushed Grace too far this time. She and Carrick don't know that I hear her crying at night each time I get expelled from yet another one of Seattle's elite private schools. At this point, I can count on one hand the number of schools remaining that I have yet to be expelled from. It's not that I intentionally try to be expelled; I do enjoy the material in some of my classes and I do understand the value of an education. School is just difficult for me because normal teenagers don't understand what it's like to shun the touch of others. I've seen Elliot's friends clap him on the back or randomly jump on him even. Shunning touch and interaction tends to lead the idiots I call classmates to draw wrongful conclusions. When asshats start getting on my case for being gay, which is nothing but a stupid rumor, I have to defend myself. I get that using my fists isn't the best way, but it's the only way I know.

Suddenly, I hear an explosion a few houses down and a rise of smoke appears in the sky. In the wealthy neighborhoods of Bellevue, the houses are massive and spread apart, so whatever happened must have been huge. I drop the handles of the wheelbarrow and sprint towards where the explosion was, glancing at the window and sighing with relief when I realize Elena wasn't currently watching. I'd be lying if I said her constant gazing at me through the window wasn't unsettling. It's only day one, too. Part of my punishment is no phone, so I realize I can't call 911 to report the emergency but it's rare for people in this neighborhood to not have children. No child deserves to be stuck in such a horrifying sight.

As I arrive at the house, I see a hooded figure disappearing into the woods. Before I can stop and think about the dangers of giving pursuit, I'm chasing after him as I hear sirens approaching the house. I catch up to him in a meadow and yell, "Hey! Stop!" There's still several yards between us.

He spins around, and I realize it's not a he. It's a she. Furthermore, she's a child; she looks no older than 12. "Are you okay? I saw the accident. No one followed me. Whoever blew up your house can't hurt you." I try pacifying her.

Her eyes dart around the meadow, as if searching for an escape. Her expression flashes pain, and I realize she's been clutching her arm. When she pulls her hand away, I see that it's covered in blood.

"You're hurt!" Unknowingly, I've stepped closer to her. "I'll take you to the hospital."

"No!" She blurts. "No hospitals." She repeats in a calmer tone.

"Why not?" I ask, confused.

"I'm faking my death." She answers, casually.

"What?"

"The person who blew up my house can't hurt me because I blew up the house." She says.

"What?" I know I sound stupid right now.

"Look, you won't understand. No one will." She rolls her eyes. A spark of nuisance rises inside me.

"Has anyone ever told you that rolling your eyes is rude?"

She stares at me as if she can't comprehend how dumb I am. "That would imply that I had any sort of parental guidance. Has anyone ever told you what they say about assuming? "

Her words shake me to the core, and my thoughts immediately travel to the crack-whore. My formative years lacked parental guidance, until Grace adopted me.

"I'm sorry." I sigh and grip my hair with my hands. "Look, you need help with that." I point at her arm.

She shrugs. "It's not that bad. I just need some thread and a needle."

"You're going to stitch that by yourself?" I ask, incredulously.

"Wouldn't be the first time."

Wow, she's almost as bad as me when it comes to giving up information. I should just leave her here and forget I ever found her. I should go back to Elena's house before she tells Grace I've fucked up again.

I eye the size of her sweatshirt, which looks to be three sizes too big. It might just fit me. "Give me your sweatshirt." I say. "I'll give you my t-shirt. You can at least tie off the wound to reduce the bleeding. My mom has a first aid kit at home that has a surgical needle and thread. You can fix yourself up when it's safe to leave here." I can't let this bleeding child just run off to God knows where.

"What?" She asks.

"I feel like that's my line." I laugh. "Look, I'm already in so much trouble. I'm supposed to be cleaning rubble a few houses down but I heard the explosion and I had to see what happened. I'm not going to let someone bleed out on me; that would just make my situation and day even worse, okay?"

"You should stay away from the Lincolns." She says simply.

"What? How did you know?" I don't remember saying which house I was at.

"You're young. You're a boy. I'd bet you might even be a troubled child." She replies, wincing as she takes off her sweatshirt. She walks up to me with it in hand. "Elena likes them young and troubled."

I take off my t-shirt and trade her. "How do you know this?" I whisper. Elena's odd and forward behavior suddenly seems so predator-like. I vow to never return to that house.

"Do you know who lived in that house?" She gestures toward the house we had run away from.

I shake my head, putting the sweatshirt on. She holds out my t-shirt. "I need you to tear a strip of it off. Then tie that strip really tight above the wound. Stephen Morton lived in that house. The rubble you're cleaning up from the pool installation? The pool was installed to hide two dead bodies."

"How do you know this?" I'm tiring of her vague answers. How on earth does a child even come to find out all of this? Mia's preoccupied with girly shit like ballet and dolls.

"Because I'm Morton's former step-daughter. My mother is one of the dead bodies." She calmly says.

"How can you be so casual?" I'm stunned. She's not crying or showing emotion.

"I have a axis-two personality disorder. I don't feel emotions. Well, I don't feel most emotions. Anger is something I'm good at. So is finding out the truth. Morton killed my mother to get unfettered access to me. He tried to touch me if you understand where I'm going with this, so I poisoned him and blew up the house to cover my tracks. I'm faking my death so I don't go back into the system." She explains. "If you try to repeat any of this, don't. I don't particularly enjoy hurting people, but I can't have anyone ruining this plan."

I know I should be terrified, but instead I'm concerned. I'm angry that some adult tried to rape a girl my sister's age, horrified that he killed her mother to do it, and appalled that she had no one to go to. I don't agree with her actions, but I understand. Jesus, this girl sounds like me. I mean, I don't have a personality disorder, according to the multitude of therapists I've been forced to see, but anger is definitely the only emotion I'm good at. I love my family, but I'm horrible at it. I don't remember my time in the system, but she's right about not wanting to be in it. "Anger is the only emotion I'm good at too." I say. "I won't speak a word to anyone. I just want to help you fix up your arm. Okay?"

"Okay." She says.

"I'm Christian, by the way."

"I haven't decided on who I'm going to be yet." She looks down at the ground.

"You look like a princess." I blurt out. "My little sister is obsessed with all things Disney. You look like Anastasia as a kid." She really does. She's got blue eyes that are so bright and brown hair.

She thinks for a moment. "Anastasia sounds so pretentious. I'll go with Ana."

"Nice to meet you, Ana."


CPOV (27 years old - 2018):

Holding a glass of whiskey, I stare out at Seattle's skyline. I hear the ping of the elevator and turn around to see Grace stepping out. It's nearly 3 AM, so I'm very confused to see her.

Walking to meet her in the center of the room, I lean in to kiss her cheek. "Mother, what brings you by?" I ask.

"Can't a mother just miss her son?" Her smile doesn't reach her eyes.

"Mom?" I ask, alarmed.

She sighs. "I had a nightmare. One where we never found out about the monster's depravity." Immediately, I know she's referring to the Elena saga.

"But we did." I try to reassure her. "She'll be in jail for the rest of her life."

"How did I not see the signs? I sent you to her house. If it weren't for that awful accident at the Mortons, I don't know what would have happened. Is it awful of me to be grateful for their tragedy because it possibly saved you from a different one?" She whispers.

"She was quite deceptive. And it was an accident. Nothing in the world could have stopped it. You can't drive yourself crazy with imagined hypotheticals. Besides, I cleaned up my act after that day, didn't I?" I will always keep my promise to Ana.

"You've always been so incredibly wise, my sweet boy. And you did. I don't know what inspired your change, but I have always been so proud of you." My mother sighs. "I'm sorry for barging in this late. I'll be on my way soon. I just needed to see you. To make sure you're okay. "

"I'm always up." I shrug. I only sleep well a few nights in the year, when a certain brunette with blue eyes comes rolling through my life and bed. She never stays for more than two nights at a time, and I never ask her to. In part, because I can't handle the rejection, and in part, because our current arrangement works.

My mother's face floods with concern. "It's not good for your health to sleep so little. Have you talked to Flynn about this?" Flynn is my current expensive charlatan, as Ana calls him.

"Somewhat. There's not much to discuss." My nightmares never change.

"Will you come to family dinner this weekend?" She asks. "Elliot wants us to meet someone."

"I can try. I can't promise." I do hate disappointing Grace, but I've felt slightly out of place at family dinner in the past seven years. There's been friction since I dropped out of Harvard. I'm not sure that it matters that I've been incredibly successful.

"I understand."

"Do you need to stay in your guest room? It's late." I ask. I have enough guest rooms in Escala that my family members each have one.

"No, that's okay. Thank you for offering. I should get back to Cary though." She answers.

"Okay, drive safe. Text me when you get home." I kiss her cheek again and walk her to the elevator.

When the elevator door closes behind her, I return to my spot overlooking the city. I think of Ana constantly. I don't know what I'd call her. Although neither of us believe in the illusive "more," calling her just a friend would be a slight to what we have. I always fear for her safety, and I've had enough nightmares where she never makes it back to me. She doesn't tell me about her work, to keep me safe, and I have to trust her. But the past couple of times she's left, it's taken more and more of me not to beg her to stay wrapped in my sheets.

The phone Ana gave me rings. I always keep it on me, just in case. It's a burner that she changes out when she comes through. I've never understood how picky she is about how she communicates, but I go along with it.

"Ana?" I ask as I pick up.

"Christian, it's me." Over the years, I've gotten really good at identifying her subtle emotions. She claims that she has a personality disorder that prevents her from feeling emotions other than anger, but I've learned otherwise. Right now, I can hear subtle worry in her voice.

"Ana, is everything okay?"

"I just wanted to hear your voice." She says. "Listen, I'm caught up in a horrible mess right now. When I'm done sorting through it, can I come to you?"

"Always. You know you can stay whenever and for as long as you want. Okay?"

"Okay." She whispers.

"Ana, do you need help? Please talk to me." I've never heard her sound so out of control.

"No!" She almost yells. "I need you to stay out of this. I need to finish this, and then I'm coming to you. Wait for me, please."

"I'll wait. I promise. You know I'm not patient though." I tease her, trying to lighten the mood. I've long learned that prying only makes her shut down, and I don't want to push her away.

"Delayed gratification, Mr. Grey," She fires back, sounding like my Ana again. "I have to go."

"Laters, baby. Come to me as soon as you can." I whisper. It's been a joke we've tossed around since my days at Harvard, after Elliot visited me and inevitably slept with a girl on my floor.

"Laters, baby. Now go to bed." She hangs up before I can say anything else.

"I'd rather be in bed with you." I mumble as I make my way towards my bedroom. My king bed always seems too big when Ana isn't in it. She's horrible at sharing the blankets and space, so there are no sides to the bed. I miss how our limbs intertwine and being up all night having incredible, passionate sex.

A/N 2: That's a wrap on the first chapter! Let me know if you think this is something worth continuing. I've got a few chapters written up - in the next one, we'll see the continuation of Ana and Christian's first meeting as kids from Ana's perspective and what's happening currently with her. Ana is OOC, and these two have an interesting journey ahead of them towards admitting what they feel for each other. I'd love to hear your thoughts!