Author's note: Hi everyone! This is my first attempt at writing a full length story. It's mostly told from Christian's perspective, and I will really try to update regularly. I've given Ana a little more backbone to go with her smart mouth. They are both OOC, and a couple years older, since I wanted each of them to have a little more life experience. There is no Elena, so Christian gets into BDSM much differently than canon. He's still the complex, wonderful Dom we all love to read about.

All praise to EL James for giving us these awesome characters to play with. It starts a little strong, but that's just my fun way to introduce our loveable Fifty with his wry sense of humor. Now, let's get this story going.

The Sandman

Chapter 1

"You're squirting, Susannah. You're squirting everywhere."

The room filled with a moan that came from the far end. "If you don't tie that off now, our patient here, Mr. Donner is going to bleed out." Dr. Christian Grey, chief attending anesthesiologist at Seattle Grace Hospital, rolled his eyes, and turned his body away from the spectacle in front of him. He smirked at the words he'd just spoken.

How ironic. Susannah squirting. Of course he was required to be here, to supervise the surgical rotation of the third year residents. That was expected. What was fucking beyond, was that his former submissive, and world class squirter, the fetching Dr. Roberts, was operating in his OR. What were the odds? Susannah, world's best throat, matched here in my hospital for her residency, under me for her surgical rotation? That's some shit storm. Glancing back, he took her in, swallowing slowly as he remembered the taste of her. Such a fine ass too, that had a tinge of peach when licked by a belt. Under me, funny.

Having shared enough of his time with the future saviors of the hospital, "Good luck," he sauntered out, adjusting himself through his blue scrubs. I wonder if a remedy to this Susannah situation will present itself? Maybe he could find her a fourth-year elective elsewhere. Overseas, perhaps.

"Christian. Dr. Grey. Excuse me." Christian turned to the voice behind him. Andrea Parker, his OR nurse, smiled politely. "You asked me to remind you to head over to PT to see your grandfather…"

"Yes, thank you Ms. Parker. I'll head over now, before I start my weekend," and indulge in my latest obliging pet, the sweet tasting Leila.

xXx

Christian's Grandfather Trevelyan was a patient a few floors away, recovering from a broken hip. His dutiful yet distant grandson visited each day. The men had much to exchange, their relationship deep yet tender. Christian never shared himself with anyone, not really, but felt most comfortable with this gentleman, Theodore, a wise soft-eyed genius, who peppered Christian with the only advice he ever followed. Get into medical school and never look back. 'You were born to ease people's pain.' Christian had done that, administering drugs to dull pain, release anxiety, check out. He exited the elevator, and walked down the hall, turning into the physical therapy unit, the lightest he'd felt all day.

"Holy Fuck!" Christian slowed at the sight in front of him. A vision. He was blind-sided by a massage therapist administering to an amputee. A brunette goddess—with the most delicate hands—and he'd yet to see her face. She was in the midst of an intense massage, her long hair veiled around her head, as she focused on the skin below her. Christian was mesmerized. Look up baby, let me see that pretty face. And she did. Her baby blues met his. Beautiful.

"Shit…" She squinted at him—yup, he'd said that aloud—and she slowly bit down on her plump bottom lip to stifle a smile. It hadn't mattered. Christian had already fallen. Smitten by her delicate form and by contrast, those determined kneading hands. His chest tingled just looking them, the feeling running down to his fingertips. Spellbound, he watched her work. Her hands moved with deft authority, as she squeezed flesh between her fingers and tugged back forcefully, he felt his torso lurch toward her. But even her kind demeanor and inviting face were no match for his gloom. While his instinct said rush to her, and rip her hands from the asshole's body she was treating, he never would. He'd never let her see him for what he was…

"Can I help you?" she asked. Had a truer sentence ever been spoken? Christian was speechless. Moments passed. "You're staring Dr. Grey." But how?

Suddenly, he heard his grandfather, "Chris, I thought that was you?" Christian managed to find an itch on his face that needed scratching, to hide his blush. Goodbye angel.

"Grandfather, great to see you. How are you today?" Christian grinned as only a grandson could, and they were off—a brief handshake, followed by polite concern. The two men had a pleasant enough visit, but Christian couldn't recall anything they'd discussed. He couldn't get that beautiful massage therapist out of his mind for the rest of his day.

xXx

As Friday evening descended on Seattle, Dr. Grey shifted away from his curative thoughts and responsibilities. Tucked into his supercharged ride behind layers of tinted glass, Christian headed for the peace and privacy of his home, the controlled safety of his weekend routine. He of course being the only human who'd describe his weekend habits as routine. After parking, he made his way from the garage to the main lobby at Escala, headed for the top floor, ready to dive into Leila, who should be already be plated for nude sushi.

What's this? The brunette beauty with the magic hands appeared beside him, entering Escala as well. She smiled again. However this time, Christian was ready, and he flashed her his best panties-dropping smile.

She started to laugh, but caught herself when Vincent, the concierge, spoke to her. "Good evening Miss Steele. How are you?" Steele. Nice. But what's this? Vincent and she shared a look. Is she fucking the goddamn concierge? Christian bellowed out "hello" as he stepped in the waiting elevator, pivoting to allow her in past him. Again his megawatt smile.

The angel with the perfect hands scooted past him and whispered on a beat, "I know who you are."

"You're from… Physical Therapy, right?" he feigned apathy. "I'm Christian…"

"Grey. I know. Everyone knows who you are. You like to fuck. Hard." She fake smiled.

What? A nervous laugh escaped his lips, as he stared like she was from a distant galaxy. "Where did you…"

"I'm Anastasia Steele." And I'll be goddamned if she didn't just press my floor.

"Ana, I live on…"

"Yes. I know. I'm going to the twenty-ninth floor too. It's Anastasia. Only friends call me Ana."

"Riiight. Anastasia. I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. How do you know who I am? And that I like, excuse me, what you said?" This little girl is full of surprises. Those soft tender hands are connected to that smart mouth. I'd like to fuck that smart… no I don't think I would. Christ, yes I would, but only if she wanted me to. I think I'd like to hear what she has to say. What the fuck Grey? Anastasia Steele just told you to go fuck yourself, she's not going anywhere with you. As if I'd ever ask. Sweet and tenacious. It was unnerving for her to be there.

It appeared she wasn't going to answer. "Miss Steele, how are you here? Do you know someone in the building?"

"My stepfather, Raymond Steele, recently passed away. I'm staying in his apartment for the time being, until I decide what to do with it."

"Oh." Again, his body wanted to move toward her. To what? Instead, he mumbled, "I'm sorry for your loss Miss Steele."

They rode the rest of the way to the top without words. He maintained his silence out of self-preservation. His mind, focused on clear liquids, viscosity, millimeters and the logarithms of dosing. Maybe it's the elevator's tight quarters. Seeing her small hands knotted together. Christian shocked himself, thinking how he'd love to touch those hands. He never touched his submissives' hands, not really. They were always restrained one way or another. Bound, simply because he did not want their hands on him. He strove to be free of touch, from anyone.

And yet, in the stifling confines of this endless elevator ride, Christian Grey wanted nothing more than to touch Anastasia Steele, 'Ana to her friends.' This girl, with her amazing long fingers, and tranquility. HE wanted to touch HER. He had to get out of the elevator, he was about to expire. "Good night Miss Steele." Ms. Williams better be waiting, he soothed himself with the thought.

Another week of putting people to sleep passed uneventfully and fortunately for Christian, he hadn't run into the Anastasia Steele again. This Friday, he rode the elevator to his stark sanctuary alone. The ride up was quiet, save for the clicking sound removing his Omega Seamaster made, the first step of his evolution into weekend Dom. Each day that'd followed their "fuck hard" encounter in his building's lobby, Christian had altered his disciplined routine, deviated from the norm, to avoid seeing—experiencing—her. Anastasia Steele.

His Ana. Pathetic Grey. She's a normal human. She'd never be interested in your dark shit, and you'd never spoil her with it. Although, I'd like to spoil her. Drop it, he admonished, as he climbed the steps to his , insatiable Leila, ball gag in hand, greeted him as he unknotted his tie. He paused in front of his eager submissive, and felt… separate.

xXx

At work, the following Monday changed everything.

He laid eyes on Ana, her—in the D wing elevator—and he couldn't breath. Just sharing the same air was too much. She'd looked withdrawn, the spark in her eyes missing. Wednesday at dawn, he spied her while he ran through the park, her head down, past her hands on her knees. He approached her with a smile, but she'd waved him on, her hair and clothes looked out of order. Then Thursday, they found themselves alone, riding spin bikes in the gym—at 445am—exchanging nods and tight smiles. She looked bad. She almost reminded Christian of an alarming apparition of his birth mom, pale and sad. Gaunt. He wondered… is she ill? He focused on his course, until they eventually spun off their cool down.

"Hi Anastasia. It's good to see you."

"Good morning Dr. Grey. How are you?" She was polite, a little stand offish, climbing down to grab a foam roller. She had a perfect tight little body.

"Call me Christian." He huffed in her direction. He diverted his eyes, the hollowness in her own was too much. She's definitely ill.

"How are you Christian?" Hearing his name from her mouth was… soul scratching. It's not just her hands I need. I need? Dream on asshole. He stepped off the machine.

"I'm good, very good. I'm fine, I just finished, and I'm surprised to see you here. Anastasia? You look very tired." Her eyes widened in surprise. No, angel, don't retreat. "I'm sor… I just thought, you look different." How is it she makes me so uncomfortable?

She laughed and tossed her head back, revealing her creamy pale neck, which pinked as she spoke. "I'm just tired. Exhausted really." She paused and cocked her head, staring. "Doctor, how long before you can be officially diagnosed with insomnia? I mean, I haven't been sleeping well. I'm not surprised you noticed. I hope it goes away soon. I think I'm just sad is all."

This time, Christian wasn't going to deny his body's pull. Baby, no. He floated toward her, and stopped, just inches in front of her.

"You're not sleeping?" She shook her head. Fuck, she needs to sleep. Does she not have a physician caring for her? You think it could be you? He shook his head to himself and clenched his traitorous hands. "Well, why don't you start monitoring when you do sleep. If you see a pattern, we can get our sleep specialists involved and find a solution. Hopefully it just passes."

And he'd get Andrea to oversee her visits, if it went that far. No way Dr. Felix would get to put his dirty hands on his— her, while monitoring her dreams. Christian's fingertips crackled to touch her skin, instead he dug them into his hips. She nodded a thank you, and the awkward moment dissolved on its own. They spent the rest of the morning talking about work.

"I'm a healing massage therapist," she explained. "It's hard to describe, really. I adopted several styles into my own, it morphs until I find what's most helpful to those who need it. A Chinese technique really." Her voice was melodious, calming and true. "I pull the pain out, absorb it myself, briefly, and then I flush it out later, when the patient is relaxed." She paused. "To be honest, I haven't been working, I'm taking some personal time. This whole sleep thing is driving my body crazy." Christian thought, you have a crazy body, but he also felt something more than attraction. He felt... longing. I can make her better. I want to make her better. To touch her the way she… fuck! The way her just being, has touched me. Her exhausted admission hung between them like an opaque veil, while Christian's eyes roamed every dip and curve of her exposed skin. His instinct forced him to retreat, and with a lame excuse uttered, he quickly departed.

Somehow, Christian managed to make it back to his apartment, just barely, before he disrobed, and quickly climaxed alone in his shower to the vision of Ana. Only in his vision, his hands were caressing her, holding her, pulling her body close to his. "Oh, Ana. Fuck, Ana." He finished his shower, a little shocked by his teenaged control, or lack of it. He groaned to himself. He had no future with this woman. He had to quit thinking about her, but he was invested now, concerned for her health, and he knew she needed someone, something. She simply must sleep. There were years Christian went without decent sleep. Only the necessity and routine of his work drove him to find a healthy sleep, and the occasionally exhausting sub. He scowled at himself for thinking of subs while he considered Ana's wellbeing.

What the fuck! He simply couldn't worry about Anastasia's sleep routine. She's too good for your shit, and you can't worry about her any more. "The shit has to stop!"

So Friday night, inexplicably, mere minutes before Ms. Williams was to appear for his weekend diversion, Christian Grey found himself down the hall from his apartment, on the other side of Escala, meds in hand, knocking on Anastasia's door. He barely heard her soft footsteps approach. As the door pulled back, a small grungy-looking dog pushed around to face him, wagging its tail. Another fucking reason to tie this off. Dogs like to jump and lick.

Ana smiled at him. "Christian, hi. What are you doing here?"

"When did we begin to allow dogs in the building?" Of course, his Ana had a dog.

"Oh, this is Sophie, she's a therapy dog." She looked away, "She was Ray's, my step dad's therapy dog." She bit her lower lip as she stepped back to allow Christian entrance. "Ray was a veteran. He had pretty severe PTSD off and on. Sophie worked to wake him up before his nightmares could take over. I just couldn't give her away, after. She helped him so much."

As she wiped a tear away, Christian's hand reached up to meet hers, and he squeezed. At the contact, her eyes darted to his. And he felt himself actually blushing. "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry, Christian. It's only temporary. Please. Don't say anything." Christian watched his hand continue to hold hers, while he nodded to her entreaty. He was touching her warm skin and it felt, right. He pictured sucking the tears off her fingers and kissing each one. His dick was amendable to that plan, and he shifted, embarrassed. But why? As he began to pull her toward him, he registered what she'd actually said. She's apologizing to me? She's killing me here. Make this quick.

He swallowed and started to say his piece. Short and direct.

"Of course Anastasia. I will keep your secrets." You'll never know mine. "I was thinking about our conversation yesterday, and your unfortunate sleep deprivation." He eyed their now intertwined fingers, and took a step back, dropping her hand. "Here, these are samples, a sleep aid. These should help you sleep, get you back into your routine. Take one every night before bed."

Ana slowly reached up to take the bundled samples. She swallowed hard. "Thank you Dr. Grey. I appreciate it. It's very thoughtful." She paused to mull something over. Christian had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from leaning in to brush his lips across her crinkled brow. "Christian, about what I said in the elevator that night…" Goddamn, his stomach twisted at the same time his ears tingled. Leave. Now. She's not for you. You're definitely not for her.

"Water under the bridge, Miss Steele. Now get some rest. Good night." There. Done. Back to my life. She must be out of it, away from the gym, my early runs, where she can't invade my private life. He just wanted her healthy after all. Her skin to get its rosy glow back. He only wanted her happy. Sure, lie to yourself Grey. You'll see her soon enough, in your all too real dreams that have replaced your nightmares. My life, my fucking life.

Ana was all he dreamt of now. But he knew if he spent any significant time with her, the little light left in her eyes would surely be snuffed out forever by his darkness, his secrets, and the monster inside would destroy her. No, it was much better to have the Ana of his mind as his only companion. There was no danger of death, in his imagination. No danger of disappointment as well. Dread or betrayal.

xXx

The weekend was passing easily and Christian found his work routine was enough to keep him moving forward. Miss Steele was nowhere to be seen. Grandfather Trevelyan had been discharged, and Christian resumed their visits in Bellevue, at his childhood home, over Sunday spaghetti dinner. Awkward was the word his brother, Elliott used to describe the evening. His mother was more circumspect: "Christian, you seem pre-occupied. I heard about your run in with that, what was she, an ex-girlfriend? Dr. Roberts… you never mentioned her. But Dr. Powers said you paid for her medical school? Is that true, darling? Why would you do that?"

Gratefully, Christian didn't believe Grace wanted actual answers to any of her questions. She was just trying—and failing—to connect. Christian was no more going to tell her about Susannah, than he was about Anastasia. Why would I suppress Ana's existence from my family? She's nothing. Liar! A temporary neighbor who can't sleep. Yet, I want to protect her, closet her from my life as well?

He returned home from dinner sullen and defeated, over a complete stranger. He couldn't have Ana, ever. Christian didn't even really recall the previous two days. That Leila had been with him all weekend, silent and raw? Her punishments harsher than ever before, but not the least bit remarkable to him.

Ana.

He wound down his Sunday in front of the television; working really—his own tutorial of effective interlocking drip techniques, an apt distraction, when he heard a knock outside his apartment. Gail, his house keeper, was not back from her weekend away, so Christian answered his own door. He peered through the lens, and his heart sank. There stood Ana, looking exhausted and shaken. His girl was broken.

Open door, grab Ana, slam her against his body and kiss her back to life. Instead, his hand gripped the knob and he leaned his forehead against the door and sighed, exhaling deliberately. He turned his head back and forth in frustration. I'm so sorry fucking baby. I can't give you any more medication.

The entire weekend, he'd tossed and turned over his rash and purely selfish decision to medicate his beauty. To relieve her sleepless fog with the haze of drugs. He was a coward really, a history-repeating, stone cold selfish prick. Instead of comforting her, he'd offered her a light coma, a little dizzy side-effect, and definitely no strings attached. Is she my crack-whore mother, and I'm her dealer? Asshole! He knew Leila's body had bourn the brunt of his guilt—his choice to push pills on a young innocent woman, merely grieving, over the death of a loved one. A loved one.

He paused a beat. "Just a minute." He ran his fingers through his hair and pulled back the door. Cocking his head, he presented an open mouth smile, free of emotion, that didn't reach his eyes.

He calmed at the sight of her, her slight form twisting, and he caught a glimpse of her slim neck on a swallow. She possessed a haunting beauty, and a billowing reticence that called to a deep recess within him. "Ana," gulp "stasia. Hi, what's wrong? Come in, come on in." And she brought the goddamned dog. He broke into a genuine smile. She's adorable.

He thought to himself, 'I can do this, I'll let a little of my privacy slip, and tell her my mistake about the meds.' She crossed into his apartment, into his very guarded life.

"Dr. Grey." She whispered, and his dick vibrated. Sick fuck, she's hurting. Be a doctor.

He licked his lips, "Christian, please call me Christian. We are neighbors after all." Let me hear you say it, baby.

"Hi Christian," she blushed, and stumbled forward through the foyer, her eyes down and possibly a bit moist.

Fuck, if he wasn't full of emotion just taking her in. Her submissive posture was tempting his cock, while her vulnerability threatened his existence. Distance Grey, keep your distance, but look at her, she deserves a little love. WHAT. THE. ACTUAL. FUCK!

"I can't sleep, sir." Sir? Jesus Christ. He pulled his hair to center himself. "I'm so sorry. I tried the pills, but they didn't work, and frankly I didn't like how I felt in the morning, so I quit taking them, and now I just can't get all these thoughts out of my head, and I've been awake since Thursday. You know I'm not working. Did you know? I came over Friday, but there was no answer. And I thought maybe you were out of town." She giggled, and kept going. "I guess I may have slightly stalked you, cause your car never moved. Where were you this weekend, if you didn't drive? Am I prying? Did you go into the hospital? Do you have surgeries on Saturdays? Oh, I made lasagna. Here," she smiled shyly as she passed him a warm tray draped in foil.

She's lovely, he thought. Frazzled and still so fucking incredible, his chest ached. She cooked for me. Without a contract. You're an idiot.

She retreated into the main corridor, then popped back up. "Kale salad. It'll keep for two days. I didn't know if you ate carbs or anything, or if you were a caveman." Her eyes lowered and raised, taking in his anatomy. His hand automatically moved to cover his groin. She's checking me out. Christ, what's she doing to me?

"Smells good, doesn't it?" she replied to his noises.

And so Ana Steele stood in his foyer, her homemade dinner between them. What should he do with her? She looks exhausted. Her body can't even stand still, swaying back and forth. Christian was at a loss. He couldn't exactly fuck her into oblivion, til she passed out from euphoria. Well, he could, but she probably wouldn't like that. He groaned slightly at the thought. I wouldn't like that either.

I have nothing. Nothing to offer this delicate creature. His mouth disagreed. "Here, let's take these to the kitchen. It does smell very good… An… Anastasia." Nice.

They briefly discussed the food she'd prepared, and Christian admitted he'd already eaten, and passed the food into the fridge. Ana had as well, she sighed, "Oh well, it's the thought that counts, right Christian?"

"And what thoughts would those be, Anastasia?" He couldn't help himself. He was aroused and chastened at once. How do I escape this, I can't want her. I can't be with her. It's pointless. But she's here for a reason. She needs you. And I want to need her. He grit his teeth and felt revulsed by his own choices. You are damaged beyond anything in her imagination. Get her to sleep, and be done with her. Does she want to sleep with me? Selfish prick, of course not. She's an innocent. She wants your help. Doctor, you shit!

"I think it'd be alright if you call me Ana, okay?" And he was fucking done. Her sincere blue eyes pierced him to the bone, his nose tickled, and he reacted by snorting to correct the tornado of emotion swirling up his center. I want you. I want to be with you. His hands reached forward and clasped hers. He smiled, returning her sincerity. I hate my life.

"Come," he pulled at her, "let's see if we can figure out a way for you to fall asleep. I may have an idea."

She shrugged her shoulders and nodded, letting him guide her into his spacious living room.

Ana settled into a deep sofa, and Christian doted on her, arranging pillows and a blanket around her body, so she'd be comfortable. As he finished his nesting and made to leave, her small hand pressed his forearm. "Aren't you staying?" Her touch seared into him, sending volts of electricity everywhere. He felt his non-existent heart shatter into a million tiny pieces that pulsed through his veins, swirling and unfurling, numbing him like a heavy dose of morphine. Numbing him to the reality he knew lurked behind his gentleman facade.

Oh sweetheart, if it's sleep you're after, you don't want to be anywhere near me after midnight. His face betrayed his melancholy. Of course he wanted to stay. Could he stay? "Yes, baby." Being around her, in any capacity, was just The Best. "I know just the thing too to knock you out. Before your arrival, I was watching a scintillating documentary on rapid sequence induction. It's riveting. You'll love it." He laughed at himself. That's new. Grabbing his laptop, he maneuvered it onto the table in front of them, unpausing the clip. Christian Grey took a huge breath to prepare himself for what was next.

He reclined cautiously beside her, and she immediately moved a large pillow onto his lap and laid her head down. Is she claiming me? "Do you mind? I think I need the contact." She giggled shyly, then twisted around to find his large hand, pulling it to her waist. "There, is this alright?" She closed her eyes. He squeezed her hip. "Mmmm."

Gazing down upon her in his lap, he watched the scene motionless, as though from a great distance. This is real. I'm on my couch with this peaceful woman. She appears content and unthreatened. He moved his hand to push her silky locks behind her ear, and continued to rub his fingers there, in a slow lulling rhythm. Her beautiful skin was the softest thing he'd ever touched. She's perfect. Within minutes, they were both fast asleep.

For five nights, Sunday through Thursday, Ana appeared at Christian's door. Food. Smiles. Connection. Small touches that burned. They laughed and visited, living in simple shared moments. Her stepdad's sudden passing rested heavily on her heart. The toll of attending to the burial, honoring the death, of a three-star general bled out in her every utterance. Ana was an only child and admitted that she parsed out contact with her toxic mother in measured doses.

Christian admitted his own distance from family, and his less than humble traumatic beginnings—the abused son of a crack whore who died in his arms. Even his adoption at age four, into a family committed to healing, doctors, had little effect on the separateness he carried with him still. Ana listened intently, of course she did, free of any boundaries. He spoke only half-truths. The half he wished was whole.

If he'd heard her whisper that they were "two lost souls" he'd deny he'd heard it. That the comment floated in the air between them, like a shared breath, he'd insist he'd held his own.

It may have registered with him that he was becoming less reserved with her, "opening up" to quote his therapist, but he'd convinced himself he was merely administering. Treating her insomnia with an alternative, more human Ambien. Ana needed rest, and Dr. Grey was the master at sleep induction. It was bullshit. But this anodyne thinking was his safe companion to the unmooring closeness her presence demanded. Healing for sure, she oozed calm. The invigorating beginning to each of these evenings inevitably led to a mended feeling between them. Each night, they ended up in the same spot on the sofa, where Ana promptly fell asleep in his arms.

Friday morning, Christian startled awake to a surprising sight and the most amazing feeling. Ana was cuddling. Overnight, she'd pulled his arm into her chest, where she gripped his wrist with both hands, all ten of her slender fingers a balm against his skin. He felt euphoric, and flexed his fingers to caress her delicate neck. He shook his head at the sight.

She is beyond any doubt the most beautiful creature in the world. She is good and pure and the truest thing I have ever known. And this must end.

Over those nights, Christian had begun to consider the possibility that they could be together. That he could possibly give something to Ana. She clearly had everything to give to him. What held him back, the but to his acquiescence, was his life. His lifestyle, his past choices, his dark side, his fucked up existence.

'You like to fuck… hard.' She'd called him out, within moments of introducing herself. She knew. Someone, somewhere had violated an NDA and shared his fucked up details with Ana. He understood what happened next. She'd drawn a line in the elevator that day. Hell, if she hadn't drawn the line… now, knowing her the way he knew her, now—her fucking huge heart, her tenderness, her captivating mind and selflessness—he would have drawn a new fucking line every day he greeted her.

Fuuuuuck, it's Friday. Leila was due at Escala later on. This is crazy. Anastasia's not for you. If he tried to be with her, if he managed to find a higher plane (within himself) to exist with her. He knew he wouldn't survive it. He'd never survive her leaving him—which she surely would—when she'd worked it all out in her pretty little head. Call it self-preservation. Christian even managed to convince himself, for a moment or two, that Ana was simply using him, to process the loss of her stepfather. He laughed at the absurdity. He knew. She feels it too. She wants you to be different. Impossible. It was impossible.

Summoning his inner asshole, he collected his angel in his arms and stood, whistled for Sophie, and led the way back to her apartment. He fumbled with the keys Ana'd given him—'in case you need more honey,' she'd winked—and pushed his way into her place.

He was unaware of the decor or furnishings as he carried her through her home. He looked solely at her, asleep in his embrace, and drank in the last moments of their shared intimacies. She's not meant for me.

He passed into her bedroom. In three strides, he was at her bedside, lowering her down, managing to adjust the bedding around her without a single grope. From his knees, he looked upon her as though in benediction. God she's lovely. He leaned above her and hovered. Committing every detail, her every feature to his memory. He loved her, of that he was sure. Enough to let her go.

He leaned in and brushed her mouth with his lips, a small violation. "I love you." He pressed their lips together and paused, to memorize how her soft breath felt as it tickled the bow of his mouth.

And finally he kissed her, a long slow kiss, pushing his tongue through her lips in a languorous unsteady stroke. "I love everything about you." He took her limp hand into his and caressed her fingers with his face, imprinting the feel of her fingerprints, the bend of her fingers, the curve of her palm. He squeezed his eyes shut to stem his emotion.

"Goodbye."

He rose slowly, and quietly exited her life.

Thank you to SDaisyS and Lanie Loveu for supporting readers and writers of FanFiction and giving us a place to gather on Facebook. A special thank you to encouraging us readers and FSOG fans to write. This story began as a one shot entry in a challenge, which I've outlined into a full story. I've decided to try writing suspense. Apologies to anyone who works in medicine. Alas, I do not, so I experienced no shame in revealing the harmless ignorance I possess. Also, please forgive me if I make mistakes. I can almost guarantee there will be moments where you'll groan at coincidences and I'm just gonna straight up beg you to suspend disbelief :) Let's see what happens. xoxo

Thank you for taking the time to read. I love hearing from you, and I read every review.