Down the Same Path 1
BACKGROUND INFO:
Phoebe is 17, Christian is 39 (Leila had Phoebe with Christian when they were both 22, but she kept Phoebe a secret. Christian didn't find out about Phoebe until Leila committed suicide when Phoebe was barely two) Christian broke up with Ana 15 years ago, when they were both 24. But be assured, Ana WILL reappear into their lives. This story is AU and Grace as well as the rest of the Grey family lives in Ohio, that's also where Christian grew up but now CG is living in Seattle with Phoebe.
Chapter 1-Somewhere Over the Rainbow
Some place where there isn't any trouble. Do you suppose there is such a place, Toto? There must be. It's not a place you can get by boat or train. It's far, far away, behind the moon, beyond the rain.
-Dorothy from Wizard of Oz
Christian:
Phoebe winces as she sits down for dinner and I quickly allow my eyes to scan her over for any tell-tale signs of injuries.
"Phoebe," I say, getting her attention. "Are you ok?"
Two porpoise grey eyes stare back at me as she quickly blinks, looking away. "Um…yeah…why do you ask?" she stammers, diverting her attention back to hesitantly twisting her pasta. Phoebe was always a quiet kid, which I was grateful for. She mostly kept to herself, making it impossible to know what was going on in that crazy, smart mind of hers, but tonight her grey eyes told me that she was lying.
"Phoebe, don't lie to me." I admonish, raising a single brow.
"Dad! It's fine. I just got knocked down during kick-boxing." Lying.
My fork freezes mid-air as I still, the all too familiar excuse re-playing in my head. It wasn't that her excuse wasn't plausible, people often got hurt in kickboxing. But that was my excuse. My excuse I used with Grace when I couldn't sit because of the cane welts blossoming down my back. I shake my head. There was no way my 17-year-old daughter could be into BDSM. But how would you know, Grey? This is the first time you ate dinner with her in two-weeks. My subconscious snarls at me and I try not to let the usual guilt bite me. I am no good for a child, that's why I have Gail and Taylor. Gail has always been the mother hen around here and I'm sure Taylor occasionally filled in that fatherly role when he had the time. It's not that I don't like Phoebe, quite the contrary, I love my baby girl. It's just why would I hold a crying toddler when all I needed to do was hand her over to someone else in order for her to be happy?
But now, after seeing her wince, I doubt if she could even consider me as her dad. How is it possible that I didn't notice this before? Surely this is something new? She winced and I knew, I knew that wince all too well—the way she gritted her teeth as her butt made contact with the chair, the way she carefully shifted her weight, the way she kept her body completely rigid as to not cause stress on what I'm assuming is a cane welt.
My knuckles turn white as tighten my grip on the porcelain white bowl and I briefly entertain the possibilities of it cracking. Phoebe is barely 17. Who would do this to such a young girl? Elena immediately comes to mind, but I quickly dismiss her. Elena was into young boys, not girls.
Phoebe finishes dinner and scurries upstairs while biting her lip which further confirmed my suspension that she was hiding something.
I sigh as I watch her shadow disappear into her own room. She probably has a shit-ton of homework considering all of her classes were AP. I smile at the thought; my daughter is extremely intelligent. Gail comes in to clean off my plate but I motion for her to sit instead. I am going to find out what the hell happened to my Phoebe.
She said she was fine, but only I knew how much could be told with the word fine. We always say I'm fine when we are anything but fine.
Gail's warm brown eyes crinkle as she smiles her big, bright smile and I hesitate. Gail always looked out for Phoebe as a mother would a child considering Leila killed herself when Phoebe was barely two and Grace still lived in Ohio with Elliot and Mia, but Gail (and Taylor) took exceptional care over my baby girl. Time has slowly morphed us into family.
"Gail." I pause, choosing my words carefully. "Have you noticed anything unusual about Phoebe lately?" I ask and Gail´s caramel eyes widen.
Finally, she sighs. "Permission to speak freely, sir?" she asks.
"Of course, you know this Gail." I say, slightly frowning.
Gail casts a worried glance in the direction of Phoebe's room. "Well…about a month ago…" Gail pauses to think "Yes, about a month ago…Phoebe became really quite." Gail says, mimicking my frown.
"But I brushed it off, thinking that it's just something with school and plus our Phoebe was never much of a talker so I didn't think much of it." Gail continues and I nod, indicating that I understood.
"But…now that you mentioned it, Phoebe does seem abnormally quiet. She won't even tell me how her day went and..." hurt swam around Gail's eyes but I urge her to go on.
"And…Phoebe…well…" Gail seems apprehensive to continue.
"It's ok, Gail, what is it?" I ask, keeping my voice soft.
"Well…Phoebe seems to be avoiding you, Sir." Gail admits and I raise my eyebrows in surprise.
"How so?" I ask, intrigued.
"Well…usually when you come back from a business trip or something, Phoebe would always come rushing to greet you and she always asked about you. Mr. Grey, you might not see this but Phoebe has always adored you although she's much too stubborn to admit it." Gail confesses and I am stunned into silence. A small smile plays by Gail's lips but her face quickly falls again.
"But lately she hasn't mention you at all." Gail says, looking guilty and I furrow my eyebrows. It's not like I expect my daughter to talk about me. Gail goes on "Every time I bring up something about you, Phoebe will always change the subject."
Silence ensures our conversation as I think, pouring myself a glass of whiskey. I didn't do anything recently that could have upset Phoebe and how does this all tie in with her wincing?
"I see." I finally say, continuing the silence for a couple of moments. "Has Phoebe been going to any…um…strange places lately?" I ask again, hoping to gain more insight.
When Phoebe was little and in her early teens, I always had a body guard following her until one day, she spotted him and threw the world's biggest tantrum, stating that all of my "Concerns for her safety" were complete bullshit so after a tremendous argument, we compromised. I wouldn't have someone following her if she took up kickboxing and kept her phone with her at all times, which included reporting all of her activities with Gail. One thing about Phoebe was that what Phoebe wanted, Phoebe got. She's even more stubborn than me, if such a thing were possible.
Gail scrunches up her forehead, the well-worn creases showing as she thinks about my question. "Not that I can think of Mr. Grey, although she does go to the Library every Wednesday night, she says she's working on a project with a friend." Gail answers as I make a mental note to myself to check out this "friend".
"That's all Gail, Thank you." I say, politely, and actually help her clear the table.
Just as I was about to turn and exit the Kitchen. Gail calls to me. "Mr. Grey?"
"Yes?" I say, turning back.
Gail has that motherly smile spread across her face "You should spend more time with Phoebe, I know she misses and cares about you. She's going to Princeton next year and your time with her is precious." And with that, Gail skittles out of the kitchen, leaving me to my own brooding thoughts.
Phoebe:
I am doing my homework on the floor, tummy facing down. My butt hurts. I cringe at the thought of having to take a hot shower tonight.
I hear a light knock on my door, and assuming it's Gail, I call: "Come in."
But instead of Gail's rounded figure and kind eyes, Dad steps in. I immediately scowl, not being able to rid the pictures that Jack had shown me out of my head. I can't believe dad's a sadist. I quickly shake the thought out of my head and involuntarily rub my butt. Dad enjoys doing what Jack does to me, although his women were most likely voluntarily. I refuse to believe that dad will hold anybody against their will.
I remember when I was little, I really wanted Dad's attention but I was afraid he'll get mad even though he never even gave me a reason to believe that he'll so much as yell at me. Dad was always very gentle with me from the very few memories I had of him playing with me as a little kid. But I used to sit by his office door, afraid to disturb him, listening to him make phone call after phone call to India to make anounomus donations in order to feed the starving children. He always said that food was a basic need, not a privilege. I didn't understand how my dad who was so concerned about feeding the world's poor matched the sadist in those pictures.
Dad seems to take note of my scowl and sitting position but he doesn't say anything as he crouches down by my side, tucking away a loose strand of hair. "You ok, sweet pea?" he asks, I couldn't help but crack a smile at my childhood nickname.
"Yeah." I whisper even though I'm lying. The hard thing about being strong was that nobody cared enough to ask if you were hurt. But dad still seemed to care although he wouldn't understand how I was hurting. I'm glad I was able to kept the bruises and welts hidden from him.
Dad stares into my eyes, grey matching grey. "You seem tired, sick even." He observes, putting away my HW without my permission. I roll my eyes as dad narrows his. He hates disrespect but he doesn't mention it.
"Come, you look like you could use a good night's sleep." He says, swiftly pulling back my covers and the soft duvets look so comfy that I couldn't resist as I crawled in. My abused body relishing in the comfort of my bed.
Dad sits by my bed, his gaze searching for something although I don't know what. I don't think I wince when I sat down on the bed or did I?
Dad continues to brush away some of my messy copper hair. I'm practically a carbon copy of my father, everything from my copper hair to grey eyes matches his. I wonder which one my mom was in those pictures, or maybe she wasn't his submissive. Maybe he loved her very much and after she died, he took up BDSM because he couldn't cope. That was possible, right?
"How about you stay home tomorrow, you look like you need to rest." Dad says, stroking my hair. His touch feels good, comforting even and I can't help but wonder if he has ever comforted any of those subs in the pictures. Or did he simply skip aftercare like Jack does with me?
"Ok." I agree, too tired to argue and Dad smiles, tucking the covers snuggly around me. "Try to get some sleep, sweet pea. I'll be in my study if you need anything."
I try to muster a small smile at him. This is the dad I know, kind and caring although sometimes distance. I know he has nightmares and he refuses to have someone sit with him when he does, choosing to keep everyone at arm's length. I remember one of his nightmares vividly. I was five and when Taylor had finally woken him, silly, five-year-old me tried to run and give him a hug because I didn't know what else to do, but he pushed me away, holding out his hand and ordering me to return back to bed immediately. I wish he could sleep better, but I am starting to slowly understand his nightmares. Jack is starting to scare me and I have woken up in a cold sweat several times, thank god I don't scream.
I wish Dad will play me a song like he did when I was little so I would sleep better even though I could play for myself. But nobody's piano skill ever came quite as close with dad's. I was always fascinated with the way his deft fingers moved over the black and white keys, producing the most soulful music. Dad played with his heart and it was absolutely beautiful. He learned almost the full Disney song album for me when I was little.
"Can you play for me?" I blurt out without thinking. Dad didn't have time to hide the shocked expression that took over his face but quickly composes himself. "The piano?" he asks, his voice is a little bit gruff and I feel myself cowering.
"You don't have to…never mind, forget I've ever said such a thing." I murmur to myself, embarrassed and cast my eyes down.
I feel strong arms wrapping around me and hear dad's deep but soft voice. "no, no, no, Phoebe, I'm not mad, you just caught me by surprise. Come, you'll have to help me to think of something to play though. The last time I played for you, you were probably eight and I don't think I remember how to play Let it go anymore. Dad chuckles at the memory, I was obsessed with frozen when I was little and Elsa captivated me, the way she sacrificed herself to keep everyone safe, she reminds me of dad.
I congratulate myself on not wincing as I walk down the stairs and gingerly sit down on the piano bench as dad brings out an old box and starts to leaf through some yellow sheets of music due to age.
"These are all princess songs and no offense but I think you've outgrown them." Dad says, shaking his head.
"Hey, everybody likes a happy ending." I protest, although not everyone gets one.
Dad smiles his sad smile, his grey eyes crinkling. "Yes, I suppose you're right." He says, pulling out some new sheets of music from a file box.
"Happy ending it is then." he says, holding up a sheet of music to me and I nod, not caring what he plays as long as he plays.
Dad settles himself next to me, his fingers resting lightly upon the keys. "Are you sure you're ok, Phoebe, you know you can come talk to me about anything right?" he asks, being careful and I quickly nod, trying to not let my tears gathered by my eyes fall at how much he cares. Perhaps he does love me…
My face blooms into a big, wide smile when I hear the familiar, happy music float around me and soon dad's deep voice is joining the soft melody.
Somewhere over the rainbow Way up high And the dream that you dreamed up Once in a lullaby
I catch myself singing along with dad, our voices complimenting each other's.
Someday I'll wish upon a star Wake up where the clouds Are far behind me Where trouble melts like Lemon drops High above the chimney tops That's where You'll find me
The calming sound of the lullaby seeps through the walls of our penthouse and my eyes are starting to drift close as dad starts playing another piece, merging the two sheets of music together. My eyes are so heavy and I try really hard to keep them open...My head falls onto Dad's shoulder, a place I don't usually lean on, but I just don't have the strength…
I hear a hushed tone speak by my ear. "Sleep, baby." And I feel his hands slipping underneath me as he starts to carry me up the stairs. God, I'm like so heavy, how can he still lift me as if I weighed nothing?
"Dad…I'm 17…I can walk." I mutter in protest. Dad rolls his eyes. "Yes, and you are also stubborn, just sleep. Everything's going to be ok." I don't question how he ever knew something was wrong.
Soon, I find myself skipping down the yellow brick road in my dream, going somewhere safe and soundlike a special place over the rainbow.