A/N: First of all, and most importantly, thank you all so much for the reviews you gave me for the last chapter. It truly means so much to me to see your feedback. Reviews are the best gift a writer can receive, and I loved each one of them, so thank you for that.
Secondly, I begin to allude to Christian's past a bit in this chapter, but I haven't yet read Fifty Shades Darker or Fifty Shades Freed, so my apologies if I've taken a creative license that conflicts with the canon story.
Numbers
The room is dark, made up entirely of shadow. The vertical lines of the legs of tables and chairs are like a grid, blocking him in. The floor is littered with rolled papers, their edges singed, and the grimy concrete beneath it all is cold under his little feet.
The dark Man is back, and he leans over Christian's mother, who is across the room, on the floor, one of those rolled bits of paper drooping listlessly from her pale, pale fingers. The Man is not much more substantial than a shadow, either, nameless and faceless, but Christian knows him well. He comes two or three times a week, or just once if they're lucky, and Christian knows that he's supposed to bring money, but usually he says he forgot. Christian knows that he hasn't really forgotten, because the Man always has new things and they never do, and he wonders why his mother doesn't see that. Instead, she looks up at the Man standing over her and calls him Baby, and Christian frowns, because she calls Christian that sometimes, too, and he's nothing like the Man.
Christian looks down at the empty bowl in his hands, and remembers that he had been going to ask Mom for some ramen, before the Man walked in. The Man is also supposed to bring food when he comes, and usually he'll remember to do that. But this time, when the Man reaches into his pocket, he doesn't have money or food, he has a thin foil packet that doesn't look interesting or edible at all.
It must be something special, though, because Mom's breathing gets louder when he rips it open. The Man waves it in front of her face as if it was important and says, No mistakes this time, and glances at Christian before he bends over Christian's mother, obscuring her from his view.
Then all Christian can see is their dark shapes moving against each other, and none of it is very clear, but he can hear fabric ripping and a lot of wordless moans, and he'd think that his mother wasn't happy if she wasn't also calling out that word again, Baby, over and over like it was the best thing she'd ever heard. And even though sometimes at night, while Christian's getting tired, she calls him Baby, he knows that right now she isn't talking to him.
Christian jerked awake just as the sound of the woman in his mind reached fever pitch, his eyes wide open, instantly alert. It didn't stop the dream from being cuttingly vivid, each detail precise and sharp and shockingly real. He blinked several times in the dim pre-dawn light of his bedroom, breathing slowly and waiting patiently for his racing heart to slow and his limbs to remember how to move.
In the beginning, it had been horrifying to wake up and find himself paralyzed in flashbacks to the world that he had known as a three-year-old. But the dreams had been regular occurrences for years now, starting soon after Elena had ended their relationship, and Christian had learned to wait out the paralysis, because knowing what to expect gave him the impression of being not quite so much at the mercy of nightmarish shadows that were no longer his reality.
He moved quietly out of bed as soon as he was able to, and padded softly through the silent, empty apartment, to the gleaming piano in the main room, moonlight slotting through the binds and falling in silvery strips across the burnished, glossy wood. He slid the top back and his fingers found the keys, smooth and familiar under his hands, and as his first notes of music rose to quiver in the cool night air, he was home.
He stayed there, at the piano, until morning, and as soon as it was late enough, Christian called the office, relieved when it was Andrea who picked up, instead of the newer reception girl. "Did you arrange my flight yet?"
He heard her nervous breathing on the other end of the line and knew the answer before she recovered herself and replied, "You had a lot of meetings scheduled, I-"
"So, no, you didn't."
"My apologies-"
"I asked you to cancel the meetings."
"I'm very sorry, I-."
Christian rose from the piano bench and made his way back to his bedroom, pulling out clothes and dressing as he interrupted, "You can push back all the PR appointments, we're doing well enough for that. If it's financial, reschedule it whenever possible."
Christian tugged on a pair of slacks and shifted his BlackBerry so that it was clamped between his shoulder and ear while he zipped them and shrugged on a white shirt, buttoning it unhurriedly. He should have known better than to think that Andrea could have managed without specific instruction, and briefly contemplated how easier this would have been if he'd handed it off to Taylor.
Somehow, though, he found himself preferring to do it this way, himself, or at least as close to doing it himself as the CEO of a company ever got to anything. Miss Steele had been so strange, so unlike anyone he'd ever considered, even fleetingly, as a sub, and it seemed only proper that he went about finding her in a way that was equally out of the ordinary.
Christian finished with the buttons on his shirt and took the phone out from under his ear, holding it properly as he cocked his head to the side, listening to Andrea typing on the other end of the line. Finally, the sound of tapping keys ceased and she said, "Okay, you should be clear for the end of this week. Anything else you'd like?"
Christian pursed his lips for a moment, considering what business he could finish in Portland. "Have we had any requests for more funding from WSU for our feed-the-world initiative?"
Andrea's hesitation was audible, and it took Christian a moment to realize that he'd borrowed Miss Steele's choice of phrasing to refer to the hunger project. "Andrea," he probed more urgently to regain her focus. "I'm waiting."
He could hear more hurried typing, and he shifted his phone to its speaker setting as he knotted a dark blue tie at his throat. "Yes," Andrea finally answered, "but it's not time for the grant's renewal for another twenty six weeks. Their request was going to be deferred."
"Call them and tell them that I've changed my mind. Arrange for me to visit their agricultural department over the weekend, and let them know that if it looks suitable, they can have the grant money now."
"The budget-"
"Never mind the budget, I think I can spare some funds for a university's good work. Presenting oneself as a good samaritan is smart business." Christian paused and smirked for a moment, allowing his amusement to slip into his voice as, unable to resist, he added, "Don't you want to feed the world?"
Andrea's shock was nearly tangible in her silence, and Christian hung up before his laughter became audible.
Christian had arrived in Portland late on Friday night, and it took him only a little while on the following morning to find Clayton's Hardware, a tiny, family-run place that he'd have never looked at twice if he'd been merely passing by. He walked there, supposing that Taylor's sleek, black car would have been rather too conspicuous, and when the doors of Clayton's slid open to reveal the freshly-cut smell of wood and the dull metallic tinge of tools lying a bit heavier in the air, his eyes ran over the layout of the store quickly, searching for Anastasia's small frame there.
He found her easily, bent over a ledger and nibbling on a bagel with small, delicate bites. He leaned partially behind a tall pile of wooden palettes, taking advantage of her absorption in her work to watch her, and the longer he looked, the more disconcertingly fascinating she became. Christian could understand, at first, why Andrea had called her unremarkable - looking at her briefly, she was plain, nothing like how any of his subs had been - a lot of dark hair that was wrapped into a messy bun, strands spiraling free and sticking out in untidy directions, pale skin that looked almost spooky in the harsh glow from the bare overhead lights of Clayton's, her body not particularly sculpted. She'll need a physical trainer, Christian found himself musing, but he stopped the idea before it could progress any further, and looked more closely at her.
She was enchantingly unaware of the world around her, eyes cast down, her lashes long, gaze fixed always on either the paperwork in front of her, or the computer screen next to her. A thin vertical line creased her eyebrows, and as she scribbled notes on her papers, she bit her lip in concentration, seeming unconscious of it. The was a certain grace to her self-sufficiency, the way she carried herself as if she was the only person in her own personal world, and Christian took an unwitting step forward, towards her.
He checked himself and tore his gaze away from her lower lip before he could do anything else unplanned, but just at that moment, Anastasia delicately bushed the crumbs of her barely half-eaten bagel off her fingers and dropped the remainder of it in the waste basket beside her counter, apparently finished. Christian frowned in disapproval and walked out towards her, deliberately this time, deciding that he'd seen enough. She was still absorbed in her ledger when he came up in front of her, and he looked at her intently, appreciative of the moment to observe her at close hand, without her stammering and blushing through attempts at conversation while he did so.
Without warning, her head snapped up abruptly, and Christian suppressed a smile at the wide-eyed shock on her face, too busy being pleased that a touch of eagerness was in her expression, too, mingling with her amazement at his appearance.
"Miss Steele," he greeted her, seeing that she wasn't in a state to speak. "What a pleasant surprise." She was staring, just as forward and unashamed as ever, and Christian met her gaze steadily. He'd intended the line about surprise to be a personal joke, as she was the one who hadn't been expecting their encounter, but somehow he found himself equally surprised, impressed, even, by how she held his attention without even realizing, by simply being.
"Mr. Grey," she whispered, and Christian's pupils dilated as he realized that she wasn't even aware of what it sounded like to him, coming from her lips. He grinned at her vaguely, eyes glittering with eagerness as he imagined her voice saying those words in the playroom.
A moment later, though, Christian's businessman side took over his wayward thoughts, and he realized that he was obsessing over a woman - barely more than a girl, really - who'd shown no inclination toward being interested or even able to give him what he needed. "I was in the area," Christian found himself explaining, justifying his not-quite-impromptu visit more for himself than for Anastasia, though she was clearly wondering, too. He was suddenly glad that he'd chosen to schedule business with WSU, giving himself a legitimate - though somewhat contrived - reason to be appearing in Clayton's Hardware. "I need to stock up on a few things. It's a pleasure to see you again, Miss Steele."
Christian's voice dropped an octave as he spoke, and his eyes smoldered at her. There, he congratulated himself, you've told her two things that are at least true. She shook her head, though, and abruptly Christian was on edge, wondering what he could have done wrong. Did she know, somehow, that he'd come just to see her?
"Ana. My name's Ana," she corrected, and Christian relaxed as he realized that that had been all it was. "What can I help you with, Mr. Grey?"
Christian smiled again at how unaware she was of just what he wanted her to help him with, enjoying her increasing bewilderment as he replied, "To start with, I'd like some cable ties."
When she answered, though, her voice was different, inexplicably softer, wavering, and Christian struggled not to frown. She was so fragile, so breakable, so inexperienced. So easy to intimidate, which was dangerous in a situation where everything was tinged with intimidation.
"Shall I show you?" she asked, raising wide, uncertain eyes to him, as if he was the one who worked at the store.
He gentled his voice to her when he encouraged, "Please. Lead the way, Miss Steele." She seemed to struggle with her balance as she made her way around the counter, and Christian remembered how she'd felt under his hands as he'd helped her up from the doorway of his office at their interview. She'd been soft. Pliant. And yet, in spite of that, she'd brushed away his attempts at chivalry and scrambled to her feet on her own.
In the meantime, Anastasia had made it around the counter to him without falling over herself, and she brushed her hands self-consciously over her jeans, looking up at him anxiously. Christian's frown deepened as the constant backdrop of why he was there with her now, what he wanted from her, marred his reflection on her. "After you," he coaxed her, gesturing for her to move ahead of him, as he guided his thoughts back to the present. He'd take care of all the overwhelming complications later. For the moment, getting cable ties was at least manageable.
Anastasia did as he bid, seeming to become marginally more sure of herself as they moved toward aisle eight, and Christian relaxed slightly, too, as he saw that he could at least put her a bit more at ease. It was a role he was accustomed to taking, as a dominant. Guiding his subs, even when it was their world, really, that they were in. This was no different, and when Anastasia asked, "Are you in Portland on business?" Christian smirked to think that she'd recovered her nosiness.
"I was visiting the WSU farming division," he explained. Peering closely at Anastasia, her saw the corners of her mouth turn down, as if disappointed, so he kept talking, because making conversation herself seemed to fluster her. He told her about the funding systematically, listing off the facts and hoping that, if not interesting her, they were at least giving her the relief of not having to talk.
When he stopped and looked at her, she was grinning up at him mischievously, her eyes twinkling. Success. "All part of your feed-the-world plan?" she asked wickedly.
"Something like that." Christian grinned at her in return, and marveled at how she took the gravity out of a situation, how she made everything easy and funny and effortless.
They reached the section for cable ties, and Christian stopped next to Anastasia, looking over the varied collection of them. Doing this was familiar, but he'd never before gone shopping for playroom supplies with the woman that he hoped to use them with. There was a certain relish in selecting the cable ties when Anastasia was right there behind him, watching closely enough for him to feel her gaze on his back.
She looked away, finally, and Christian chose a packet of plain, standard, white ones, hurrying himself along as her apparent interest faded. Choosing the rest of the items he needed was strangely gratifying as well, far more so than when Taylor purchased them and delivered them to the apartment.
Christian followed Anastasia through the aisles of the store in tense anticipation, even though it seemed unlikely that he'd be able to use the cable ties or any of the rest of it with her any time soon - she was entirely unaware of her allure or his intentions as she brought him to the masking tape section and made innocent conversation about redecorating.
Her obliviousness was refreshing, so different from the submissives who knew already exactly what they were good at, and exactly what he expected of them. Anastasia was full of surprises. He'd never found such modesty in anyone who wasn't using it to play hard-to-get.
They arrived at the different types of rope, and Christian watched Anastasia hungrily as she drew a Stanley knife from the back pocket of her jeans. He was used to liking his submissives in silk or satin or, better yet, tight black leather, but somehow he didn't desire Anastasia to be anything different than what she was here, in a hardware store, wearing jeans that were well-fitting but by no means designer, cutting off a section of rope for him and then sliding the blade of her knife shut with a click that make his nerves tingle.
"Were you a Girl Scout?" he asked, needing to distract himself and remind himself how young she was, how inexperienced.
"Organized group activities aren't really my thing, Mr. Grey." She said it matter-of-factly, as if wasn't odd for someone like her to shun society.
"What is your thing, Anastasia?" Christian's voice dropped, soft and low, meaning so much more than what he was sure she'd hear it as asking. It seemed so unlikely that her answer could ever be close to what his thing was, and yet it made her no less intriguing. Somehow, this time, with her, their differences could be set aside temporarily. She'd be worth the wait, he was sure of that.
"Books," Anastasia whispered, her eyes widening, as if the single word, like his question, was very different from what she was actually thinking.
Christian's mouth quirked up into a curious smile as yet another part of her came into focus, making more sense as he went along. It seemed to suit her. "What kind of books?"
"Oh, you know. The usual. The classics. British literature, mainly."
As if that, like anything else about you, is usual, Christian wanted to say. Instead, he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, wondering how long she'd allow him to stare at her in the middle of a hardware store.
"Anything else you need?" Not long enough.
"I don't know. What would you recommend?" he stalled.
She hesitated, her brow furrowing in confusion and something that looking a bit like impatience.
Christian kept his silence, wondering what conclusion she'd reach, and finally she asked slowly, "For a do-it-yourselfer?"
Christian smirked, because he certainly was that, though not in the way she meant it. He nodded, waiting.
"Coveralls."
It took the majority of his restraint to not burst out laughing at that. She was, if nothing else, dependable to provide the unexpected. Keeping his amusement coiled in a knot of silent laughter in his belly, he raised a curious eyebrow at her.
"You wouldn't want to ruin your clothing," she elaborated, as if it should have been perfectly logical to him, gesturing up and down the length of his jeans.
Christian smirked at her innocence. "I could always take them off."
"Um." She flushed, and again it was difficult not to laugh at her ineloquence, especially in the context of what he really wanted the supplies for.
"I'll take some coveralls," Christian said, taking pity on her discomfort. "Heaven forbid I should ruin any clothing." They can be donated to some place that needs them, Christian reminded himself silently as she chose a navy blue pair for him.
"Do you need anything else?"
And there it was again, his reluctance to leave. He was getting nothing from this, and yet the prospect of leaving her indefinitely - possibly until her graduation - was unappealing. "How's the article coming along?" he asked instead of answering her. This, at least, he was genuinely curious about.
The tension left Anastasia's face, leaving her much improved, and she answered easily, seeming to enjoy talking about writing and about Miss Kavanagh. "Her only concern is that she doesn't have any original photographs of you," Anastasia finished.
It was an opportunity, and Christian restrained himself from seizing it immediately. "What sort of photographs does she want?" he asked, carefully businesslike.
Anastasia shook her head, moving from confident and at ease to daunted in the space of such a simple question.
"Well, I'm around," Christian said, taking the lead again in the face of her uncertainly. "Tomorrow, perhaps…" he trailed off, deliberately allowing her to receive the offer however she pleased. She wasn't his submissive, after all, not yet.
"You'd be willing to do a photo shoot?" she asked, sounding overly incredulous and surprised, and Christian made a mental note to come off as less uncooperative in future interviews. "Kate will be delighted!" Anastasia was continuing, babbling on with uncontained enthusiasm.
She looked up at Christian, her face alight, more relaxed and open than he'd ever seen it, her eyes eager and sparkling and full of a joy that was surprisingly intense, and she was breathtaking. Christian froze and forgot everything else - his purchases, the playroom, even the paperwork he'd need before he could think of her like that - and there was only her. Suddenly the events of the past week caught up to him at once, and he realized that he was, for the first time in his life, pursuing a woman. A beautiful, intelligent woman who knew nothing about him, nothing about how passionately he'd learned to want things, and how little of himself he had to give in return. A woman who was strong and bold and who needed nothing - yet one that he was following as if he needed her.
A woman who was looking at him expectantly and waiting.
"Let me know about tomorrow," Christian recovered himself, still a little less brisk than he'd like to be as he withdrew a business card from his wallet and handed it to her.
"Okay."
She grinned up at him as she accepted the card, and Christian couldn't help but smile back as he realized that this was what a normal person would consider to be giving a woman his number.
A/N: Thanks for reading, I hope you liked the chapter! My real life is getting a bit busy, so I might not be able to write the next chapter as soon as I'd like. I'll update as soon as I can, I promise. Please review!
