A/N: This is my first fic, I've read god knows how many before but never put any of my thoughts or ships in words. This one just kept me up last night so I thought why not.

So please (if anyone's actually reading this), review and give me some tips or criticism, specially with grammar, English is not my first language (though I think it still comes damn close don't worry)!

Will do my best to upload new chapters quickly but live a crazy studious life style so sorry in advance if it's late.

Disclaimer – I own nothing, all creds to EL James

I remember laughing at something Kate had said that evening. She was sitting at her desk and working on her laptop while I worked on mine, sitting to her left on our couch cross-legged with a glass of water in my hand. I think she made the water go my nose, I don't really remember, but she was being her usual ridiculous self.

It had been a good day, unexpectedly cool, and had rained earlier so Kate and I decided to stay in for the evening. I had some work to do for Seattle Independent Publishing anyway so I assumed it was for the better, I've never minded the work anyways. The job was not exactly what I was looking for at first, but well on the track, and rather amazing for my first job after graduating.

So after we had both settled down and resumed clicking around on our laptops, I fell into a comfortable workflow.

That is, until my phone rang.

I fished it out of my pocket hastily, slightly irritated with myself that I was sitting on it again.

Thinking nothing of the call, despite the fact that it was rather late, I kept drinking from my glass as I checked the ID.

Huh, 'unknown caller.' Weird.

"Ms. Steele?"

I froze. I recognised the voice, it was low, calm and composed.

It felt like someone should have taken a knife to my stomach, but didn't, because it wasn't the voice I wanted to hear. I think. It wasn't his, but then again, I don't think I really wanted to hear his voice.

"Ms. Steele?" Jason Taylor said again.

I snapped out of my momentary panic attack, glanced up at Kate who was looking at me curiously from her desk. She must have noticed my hesitation.

"Yes? God, I'm sorry. Taylor?"

"Yes, Ms. Steele, I'm really sorry to have disturbed you so late in the evening."

"No that's fine Taylor, what's up?

The question was superfluous, I knew why he was calling, he probably knew that too, but I asked anyway, to fill the silence that would have inevitably followed.

I sensed his hesitation too, but he continued anyways.

"It's Mr. Grey, He's –"

Again, he couldn't find the words. With any other person I would have been patient, I wouldn't have questioned it, but I'd heard Taylor speak so little over the short months I'd known Christian and he was always curt and clear, never a man to lose his words.

"He's ill." He finished.

"Ill?"

"Since he last saw you ma'am, last week, he's been in a," another pause, "deteriorating condition." He said delicately.

I cringed. I knew I hadn't left Christian whole, but he hadn't exactly left me unharmed either. And I mean that in every sense.

I saw him last week, coincidentally (or so I told myself) in front of Seattle Independent's building. He looked up at me, dressed uncharacteristically in slacks and a white button down with rolled up sleeves, no tie, tucked in. He looked tired, but determined to go about whatever business he had planned. That is, of course, only until before his eyes met mine.

I stood still when I saw him first, hoping all at once that he wouldn't see me but then again that he would. He did, and his steps stuttered.

There was no escaping after that, so I composed myself and took a step towards him. He must have noticed my actions because he promptly and as graciously as ever, closed the space between us. He looked me briefly in the eyes before dropping them and beginning:

"Anastasia."

"Christian," I followed.

"How are you?"

A mundane question I felt, normally said out of common courtesy, though despite the lack of sincerity in his voice, there was sincerity in his eyes, and I felt him gauge my reaction.

"I'm good, Christian, I'm doing quite well actually." I said with a smile.

I too had been sincere. I was doing good, I was happy with my new job, I might even risk saying that I was doing quite successfully at the moment. Though I hadn't developed a new relationship with anyone, and hadn't met any new guys or pursued any one-night stands, despite the occasional requests, stemming mostly from Jose. I never told him that.

"I'm glad to here that, it's nice to see you've found a position here with Seattle Independent, I should have guessed you'd apply here." He replied.

His eyes again held a hint of sincerity, though his voice hadn't changed octaves, it indicated the remark was polite and nothing else, simply another courteous response.

I faltered, unsure of what to say next, my lips slightly parting.

He glanced down at them, and then back at my eyes. I felt the tension I had first felt when we met, but this was different, he stood too far away from me, as if he was afraid of me.

The people kept mulling about around us, and Christian continued the conversation.

"Well I know you must be tired after your day, I've got some business to attend to, I – " he faltered, his eyes flickered to some other object in the distance, not on my face; it was the first time I'd ever seen Christian Grey appear unsure of himself.

"- I should be going. It was nice to see you, you look wonderful."

I should call him Courteous Christian from now on.

"Yeah, of course Christian,"

I glanced briefly at my car, parked on the lot across the street, indicating my mutual intention to leave. Not really sure if I wanted to.

"You too." I smiled warmly again, hoping it came across as genuine as my comment, I mean it had been nice to see him, I guess.

I turned to leave, and exhaled the breath I hadn't realised I was holding. His presence was just as intoxicating as it was before.

I felt his eyes on my back, and if Christian Grey was still the man I had known three months ago, then he'd be watching me cross the street, get into my car and drive away to make sure I was okay.

I didn't stop to look up at him.

"Ms. Steele?" I heard through the receiver, Kate was still looking at me curiously.

"Yeah, I'm sorry Taylor. He's, um, ill?" I asked again.

"Yes, as I said, he hasn't resumed his work, he's been drinking."

I knew Christian drank before, but what Taylor said wasn't his occasional cocktail or glass of Brut. It was whiskey, rum, whatever, and lots of it, in his blood stream.

"- and before Wednesday he'd fight me, he'd shout at me when I advised him to get up, to shower or eat something, but not this time, he doesn't respond anymore." Taylor paused, as if wondering what to say next, but continued.

"I had to drag him out of the bed this morning, the bed that was intended for you,"

I felt like crying.

"- and he didn't fight me anymore, he didn't push me away as I pulled him into the shower and hosed him down.

He's lost, Ms. Steele, there is no better way to describe it. I'm not sure what's wrong, and he won't let anyone he knows speak with him, no family, no one. It's the only thing he refuses now. I didn't know who else to call, he's called your name out before ma'am, and he's only been like this since he met you again last Wednesday."

I didn't know what to say, I mean there was something off about Christian last week but I would never have imagined this. I couldn't. It hurt me. Christian was always so strong, so, well, dominant. And persuasive, I couldn't possibley imagine him in a deteriorated state, to hear he was broken, and know that I was probably the cause. It doesn't matter who it is, I never like to hurt anyone.

"Um Taylor, -"

He knew what he was implying, I knew it too. He would never ask me to come over, but he knew that I would understand I had to come. I don't think Taylor knows exactly what happened between Christian and I, but I'm sure he knows that it wasn't without difficulty that we separated ourselves from another. It was complicated, and Taylor knows that.

Closing my laptop and sliding it off my lap onto the couch, I stood up.

"I'll be there in 20 minutes." I only said.

It was easier to get to his apartment, now that I lived in Seattle.

"It's still the same place, right?"

Suddenly worried about the time it would take for me to get to him. I was eager to hold him, to grab him and scream at him and cry for him and let him take me again. It was wrong, but everything about it felt so right.

"Yes, Ms. Steele. Should I arrange for a transpor –"

"No that's alright Taylor, I've got a car again, I can get there myself." I cut him off, rushing.

"Of course, I'll be waiting. You can park in his garage, bottom floor. You remember don't you?"

I did, but how could I forget? I remembered every last corner, every angle of Christian's apartment. Everything related to Christian I remembered.

"I do, I'm on my way Taylor."

"Alright-"

"Wait! Taylor! Hold on, wait," I can't believe I almost forgot,

"Don't tell him I'm coming, um, he might get, scared…" I cringed a little again.

I wasn't sure how else to phrase it, but I didn't want Christian to get angry or frustrated or nervous if he knew I was coming, or try to prepare some pitiful speech. I needed to see his reaction when he saw me again.

"I would never Ms. Steele, I'll be waiting." Taylor said.

Good, he understands.

"Okay thanks, see you – " I spoke before hitting the red end button and dropping my phone into my bag and going to slip on my shoes.

"Wait Ana, who was that? What's wrong?" Kate interjected.

She had every right to look as worried as she probably felt; I mean I had told her some of what happened with Christian. Obviously not about his well, preferences, but she was there to clean up the mess that I was after I left him.

I lied, probably unconvincingly. I didn't want to worry her more.

"It's nothing, don't worry. I have to go. Mom and Dad are fine."

The last statement was technically true, but I was hoping more to throw her off than anything else. I might not have been the most convincing liar, but I did know how to avert attention from a topic if I wanted to. My keys were already in my hand as I grabbed my jacket and pulled open the front door.

I heard Kate call after me and ignored it, not having the time to answer her right now, but also knowing she wouldn't follow.

It had gotten chillier as I stepped into my car, the roads still wet. An older and used Volkswagen Jetta, the simplest and most affordable replacement I could find after getting the money for my old car back from Christian, revved to life under my hands. Christian had of course found a brilliant and much too generous price for my old Volkswagen; it was enough so I could afford this one, and still have some money left. A part of me wondered if he had added some money to the end of the check, simply because he'd know I'd have no way of proving he had and then try to force him to take it back.

The drive to Christian's was quick, it didn't end up taking 20 minutes, partly because the traffic wasn't as bad as I anticipated on a Friday evening in Seattle, but also because I didn't once take my foot off the gas pedal. I did however, and much to my disdain, have to stop at a light, but I used the opportunity to turn my phone on silent and to text Kate and tell her I wouldn't be coming home tonight. I knew what I was going to do when I got to Christian's.

Driving there was nice; it was like stretching sore muscles after a long map or playing a piece on the piano after a weeklong hiatus, letting every turn and note come back to you in nostalgic muscle memories. I was gently pleased with myself to know that I still knew the way.

Of course, I also knew that I would never have forgotten it in the first place.

I pulled into the drive that led down one level of the small parking garage under Christian's apartment, and was suddenly nervous.

What was I doing here? Did he really need me to show up right now? Maybe he was just coping, he might even react badly if I showed up now after all this time. I had no idea what to expect, or what state I'd find him in, and even if he'd let me, I suddenly had no idea how to help him again.

But no, Taylor wouldn't have called me if it weren't absolutely necessary.

I saw him standing at the door to the stairs and the elevator, waiting with the same neutral expression on his face that'd I'd seen so many times before.

Putting my keys in my purse, I walked up to Taylor with a smile, debating about holding out my hand, but decided against it, our relationship wasn't like that.

"Ms. Steele, thank you for coming." He said, accepting my smile.

"Anytime, Taylor." I said, walking past his indicating hand into the elevator.

Even though I wasn't here for him, it was nice that my efforts might at least actually be appreciated by one other person.

The elevator ride up was short and quite. Surprisingly less awkward as I'd earlier expected.

We stepped out into the familiar apartment, looking down the hall towards the huge windows with their view across Seattle and Christian's grand piano, whose melodies had haunted me for so many weeks after I left him. The lights were dim, illuminating only the hall we were looking down and the curved stairs on the right, that led up to the second floor of his apartment. I smelled familiar, and again my nostalgic aching muscles stretched.

I turned to look at Taylor.

"He's in the kitchen ma'am." Taylor said, thinking I'd turned to ask him about Christian, perhaps to ask for help. Though that wasn't exactly why.

"No, um, Taylor,"

I looked at him, unsure of how to say this, but then thought 'fuck it,' and made firm eye contact.

"I need time with Christian, with Mr. Grey. What he needs right now Taylor, what he needs - is me." I waited, expectantly.

"I know Ms. Steele, that is why I called you. Only you can speak with him." He said, slightly confused by my seemingly obvious remark.

"No, Taylor." I sighed,

"He needs me – "

I looked him in the eyes again, expecting my cheeks to flush, expecting embarrassment, but neither came. I continued without hesitation.

"- to make love to him."

I at least expected Taylor to blush or stammer, to be taken aback by my honesty. But he wasn't, and it was then that I realised that Taylor was truly one of the only men who understood Christian, and understood what we had. I smiled inwardly.

"Of course, I'm sorry Ms. Steele." He looked down, not out of embarrassment, but because he was bowing his head in respect.

"I'll be going then, if you need anything, any help with Mr. Grey, please let me know."

His departing words not needing any clarification, nor the situation we were in, Taylor stepped backwards with a small smile, and turned to the open elevator, before disappearing behind it's doors.

After they closed, another wave of anxiety hit me. I was nervous again, nervous that Christian had heard our conversation and half expecting him to be standing behind me. Knowing fully well that we were alone in this huge apartment. The thought sent shivers down my spine.

Yet I spun on my heel with surprising confidence and grace, and realised, much to my relief, that our voices would have been too small to carry down the long hallway.

So I walked down the said hallway, past doors who's purpose I had yet to discover, and to the dark atrium of the home, looking out at the skyline that shyly lit the apartment and stopping by the steps in front of the piano I knew so well.

I knew were he was, not just because Taylor had told me so, but because I could hear his ragged breathing, and see the soft glow of the kitchen lamp in my peripheral vision. It was the only light, besides those that illuminated the entrance hallway and the staircase, which was on.

I took one last glance at the dark skyline, as beautiful as I had remembered it and glad that the curtains weren't drawn, then turned to my left, towards were I knew Christian would be.

I wasn't sure if he actually was lying there, it took me a moment to identify the hunched mass that was collapsed on the kitchen counter next to the sink. His face wasn't visible, but pressed into the granite counter and resting on his arms. He was sitting on a stool.

The smell hit me not another moment later, it was strong, it smelled salty, whether from sweat or tears I didn't know. It was sour, and there was some hints of old food too. Not a good smell. Of course, there was the unmistakable smell of alcohol that drifted along towards me too. I was right, Christian had been drinking whiskey.

The smells were confirmed by the old plates of food lying around, probably not rotting, yet, considering his help would have cleaned up at some point this week. The empty bottle standing next to the sink was a rather cliché sight to behold, as was the half empty one in the palm of his right hand. I hoped desperately that he hadn't drunken all that tonight.

There was a trash can next to his stool, no doubt placed there by Taylor so that Christian could vomit somewhere besides on himself, but I couldn't see if there was anything in it. I didn't want to either.

I saved Christian for last, though I saw his heaped up form first, I didn't really look at it until now. My heart clenched, my stomach rolled and I heard myself quietly gasp. He looked so defeated, so utterly broken that it hurt me to see him. I was scared to see his face, I didn't want to, I wanted to run away from the man, the world's most eligible billionaire bachelor, who lay in front of me on the counter in a torn down, defeated, miserable, mess.

I didn't though, I took a deep breath, shuddering at the smell (which by the way, held no hint of Christian in it) and before stepping into the low kitchen light, I gently lowered my purse to the ground next to me.

If he hadn't heard my conversation with Taylor, then he couldn't have heard me silently walk up to him, and I momentarily thanked God for having pulled on a comfortable pair of flats that made no noise, and wouldn't give me away. Though in his current condition, I'm not sure he would have heard me at all.

In the light, I could see his sideburns; leading down to the scruffy, dark beard covered cheeks and jaw line that I'd never seen on him. His arms and the counter top still covered his face. I wasn't really prepared to see it.

I spoke,

"Christian"

He jerked and stirred, until groaning at the counter. Good, so he hadn't heard me.

I said his name again, a little louder, a little more demanding.

"Christian."

He didn't groan, but looked up this time, with a speed I'm sure should have made him dizzy in his state. It also revealed his face.

I had to force myself to keep from taking a step back, clenching my fists tighter as I took in his face.

Because I rushed over here, I didn't really have time to get dressed up much, not that I would have anyways. I was wearing my comfortable maroon flats and a pair of dark skinny jeans under an old blue t-shirt that fit me well. My jacket was red, but matched just as simply to the rest of my outfit. My hair was down and having good day for once; I recalled briefly that he liked it down. I was wearing only the make up I put on this morning, some dark mascara and a light line of eyeliner, along with some blush to brighten my face. I didn't look special, I looked average. I mean I wasn't all fancied up like he'd seen so many times before. I didn't look glamorous, I just looked good.

Christian Grey however, did not.

His beard was uneven, and as scruffy as I had seen from my earlier angle, it's clearly been a while since he shaved, or had a haircut for that matter. His hair was a greasy disarray, sticking out at odd ends. His face looked just as greasy, and sticky from the sweat I smelled earlier. The trials of vomit on his dark shirt and sweat pants also confirmed the sour smell from earlier. His lips were chapped and parted, his breath still ragged as it scraped past his teeth. His nose had been running, and it's sharp angle lead up to the dark chasms under his eyes, shadows that indicated he hadn't slept well or at all, for days.

His eyes were not the eyes I knew. They were dark, saturated orbs that glistened in the light. They reflected the defeat his posture presented, and also something more: disbelief.

I get why he'd be surprised to see me here, standing all healthy and well in front of him in his apartment kitchen. I selfishly thought that that's probably what triggered this extra episode of depression, seeing me doing well, and being sincere in the happiness and content-ness that I had shown him earlier this week. Of course I wasn't happy about him, but I had come to terms with it.

Or so I thought.

That must have been why he was so disconnected and different when I saw him, Christian was not happy, he was not content. He had masked his pain well. I was briefly ashamed that I didn't recognise it, but didn't dwell on it.

I looked at him, waiting for him to gather his words.

Or word, I should say.

"Ana" he mumbled.

"Christian." I repeated again. Gentler this time.

"Ana." He repeated again, and I fought a sigh.

I knew he was drunk, and depressed and broken but this conversation was as if we'd suddenly developed our own version of Broca's aphasia, able only to speak one word: Ana or Christian.

I knew what I had to do, and I knew why I'd come here. I was determined to keep my promise to Taylor, and to myself. So I stepped towards him, he didn't move, and I held out my hand to him.

"Come take a shower Christian." I whispered, making a request I wasn't going to take no for.

He didn't argue, and I was grateful for that. He just regarded me and my outstretched hand for a second, before pushing back his stool to stand up.

He stumbled then, clearly not used to standing on his own legs any more, and clutched the counter with a grunt.

I stepped closer to him, not wanting to crowd him but knowing he could use my hand as an anchor. He let go of counter only after grabbing my hand, gripping it like a lifeline, and I stood sturdy under his wavering, no doubt, dizzy form.

I was grateful again that he didn't feel the need to vomit. I think I was being very grateful in general that night.

Christian's hand was cold and clammy, sticky from the sweat and what I hoped to God was not vomit. But it was still his hand, and it was big and strong. It gave me some hope that he was still somewhere in there, in the mess that stood before me.

I tugged gently on it, wanting to pull him back out towards the atrium and to the hall that lead to his bathroom. He mumbled my name again, but held my hand and followed behind me, swaying only slightly as I turned.