I do not own these characters. All rights go to E.L. James.

"Falling For You"

Chapter 7 – Long Walk from the Street

Each artist's contract is different. In general, royalties on retail sales vary from seven to twelve percent with a ten percent holdback for returns. Packaging costs usually range from twenty to twenty-five percent and…

"Thanks for staying an extra shift, Ana. That flu's got half the volunteers out sick this weekend." The hearty voice coupled with an equally hearty clap on her back pushed Ana out of her silent recital of how royalties were calculated.

"I'm glad to help out, John. Besides, it's been a pretty slow day, so I'm hardly even tired," Ana lied, flexing her sore calf muscles as she scooped a heaping spoonful of macaroni and cheese onto the tray in front of her. She was tired after her first day of work at Grey Records, but she couldn't turn John down when he'd called and asked if she could help out at The Soup Kitchen.

"Don't worry; it'll get busier as the weather turns colder." His expression turned sad with his all too true prediction.

Ana reached out and laid a comforting hand on John Flynn's arm. John had started The Soup Kitchen, a nonprofit organization that provided hot meals and free counseling to the city's homeless and poor, three years ago, two years after his wife, Rhian, had chosen the streets over life with her husband and son. Ana often wondered if John's efforts at The Soup Kitchen were motivated by the hope that he could help turn around someone else's life like he'd been unable to do with his own wife. No matter what his motivation, Ana thought as she watched his sad green eyes survey the half full dining room, John Flynn had a kind and caring heart that was appreciated by many of the city's unfortunate.

"Excuse me?" a small voice hesitantly interrupted Ana's thoughts.

Ana glanced at the top of a blonde head that barely reached the cafeteria railing. "What can I get for you, sweetie?"

"Can I have more broccoli, please?"

"More broccoli? Now that's not a request I hear every day from someone so small." Ana smiled as she put two stalks of the bright green vegetable on the little girl's tray. "What about some cake? We've got chocolate or white cake with strawberries," she coaxed.

The little girl looked up at her with old brown eyes. "My mommy says we'll die if we don't stay healthy, and cake won't make us healthy."

Ana blinked at the sudden pressure behind her eyes when the little girl turned, hefting the tray that weighed almost as much as she did. It was John's turn to lay a comforting arm across her shoulders as she sniffed.

"I know the kids are hard. That's why we're doing this. To make it a better world for them."

His heavy arm squeezed her gently before he made his way over to where the little blonde girl and her mother sat. This was the first time Ana had seen the pair here, and she was certain John would get them in touch with the right resources before they left. With any luck, the little girl and her mother wouldn't be homeless for long.

"Hey, babe, I'll take some of whatever you're offering."

At the suggestively uttered comment, Ana turned from watching John talk to the girl's mother. She drew in a sharp breath as her gaze slammed into a pair of dark gray eyes; eyes that looked almost like Christian Grey's except for the telltale red lines that ringed their whites. Shaking her head, Ana chided herself for being ridiculous. Her overactive imagination was obviously conjuring up similarities to Christian where none existed.

"What do you say, honey? Why don't we go to your place so I can figure out just how sweet your cake is?" The stranger leaned closer, laying his arms across the top of the glass shielding the food below.

His offensive line dispelled any lingering thoughts that he held any resemblance to Christian besides the piercing color of his eyes. Ana crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the counter behind her. "Have you been asleep for the past twenty years?"

"What are you talking about, babe?"

"First of all, women in this millennium are not referred to as 'babe.' Secondly, no, I don't want to go back to my place, or any place for that matter, with some man whom I've never even set eyes on before this very minute." At least not unless your name happens to be Christian Grey, she added silently, trying not to blush as she recalled her willingness to do just that with Christian the night they had met.

"Now," she said, picking up a serving spoon and eyeing the stranger expectantly, "do you want the macaroni and cheese or the lasagna?"

Ana was surprised when the man laughed good naturedly. She'd expected anger, not humor, after her rejection of his ridiculous come on lines.

"Well, aren't you a feisty one? I'll take the lasagna please, ma'am." He unfolded his arms from the glass casing. "Some of that salad, too, if I may."

"Certainly."

"What's your name?"

"Ana," she answered automatically. John insisted the volunteers use their first names only at The Soup Kitchen. Seattle wasn't a particularly large city and he didn't want to run the risk of any of his volunteers being tracked down by some junkie needing money for a fix. Or worse. Although most of the clientele at The Soup Kitchen were harmless, there were some Ana wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley.

"Ana. That's a lovely name."

"Thanks, I'll tell my mother you like it." Ana smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she dished a heaping serving of lasagna onto the stranger's tray.

Elliot Grey watched the pretty brunette add a whole wheat roll to his plate and wondered if she would have taken his offer more seriously if they'd met somewhere other than this dump. Resentment of his situation smacked him in the chest and he struggled to keep the anger he felt out of his voice as he flirted with the woman on the other side of the counter. His mother had told him yesterday that Christian refused to let him crash at his house for a while. She'd also made some lame excuse about why he couldn't stay at her condo, but Elliot didn't really want to stay with her anyway.

No, Christian's house was better. There was always plenty of cash lying around, and plenty of action, too. He knew his brother stayed away from booze and drugs, but the people who always seemed to be hanging around his brother were some of the wildest partiers around. When Elliot had stayed with Christian the last time, he'd been invited to countless parties just because he was the mighty Christian Grey's brother. Christian had even let him drive his new Mercedes-AMG GT3, that little Gray GT Roadster was amazing and he loved it so much. Man, he'd loved living with Christian and it had really made him mad when his brother kicked him out, telling Elliot that he'd used up his last chance.

It pissed him off even more that the invitations had subsequently dried up. He'd come to think of those people as his friends and it really pissed him off that they'd cast him off like some hanger on after Christian threw him out. All because Elliot had needed some cash and wrote himself a check out of Christian's account. When Christian had found out, he'd acted like Elliot had committed murder, not borrowed a few thousand dollars. As if the small amount he'd helped himself to had even made a dent in his brother's bank account. Elliot clenched his teeth and the edges of the plastic tray bit into his hands as he thought about Christian's refusal to help him now.

"Here you go. There's plenty, so don't feel shy about asking for more. John will be happy to help you get fixed up with a place to stay for a while if you need it." Ana handed him a full plate.

"Thanks." Elliot gave the woman across the counter his most charming smile as he put a lid on the anger bubbling up inside of him. He leaned toward her conspiratorially. "But I'm not really homeless, you know."

He could tell from her expression that she didn't believe him, and he pressed on with his lie. He hated for anyone to think that he was like the other people here; their dirty, disgusting poverty seeping out of their pores, smelling like yesterday's garbage.

He was Elliot Grey, damn it. He was the brother of one of Seattle's wealthiest citizens, not some booze addicted crackhead who was too stupid to hold down a job. He chose not to get a job right now, wasn't going to let corporate America get their claws into him and corrupt his art with their lure of big money. One day, his pictures would be famous, and then they'd be crawling to him.

Of course, in order to be successful, he needed a quiet, safe place to create. Someplace where he could have a few drinks to get in the artistic mood without having to worry about some asshole stealing him blind while he slept. Elliot shot a calculating look at Ana. He'd seen the tears slip out of her eyes when she saw that little girl, and he'd just bet she was a sucker for a sob story.

She watched him, a skeptical light in her eyes, as he quickly thought up a plausible lie.

"I mean to say, I am homeless, but that's because my house burned down last month." He sighed dramatically, hoping he hadn't put too much into it. He wanted to sound heroic, after all, not pathetic.

"Oh, I'm sorry. That's awful." Elliot noticed the light in her eyes had changed from skeptical to sympathetic, and knew he was on the right track.

"Yes. Well, I didn't mind that so much. I mean, after all, it was just a heap of bricks and wood. No, the worst part was what happened to my poor mama." Elliot paused, closing his eyes for effect.

"What happened to her?"

"She was taking a nap when the fire started. Luckily I had decided to go home for lunch that day or…or she might have died." Elliot watched Ana from under thick, black lashes. He read the compassion in her expression and went in for the kill. "We had insurance on the house, of course. But she didn't have any health insurance. I've given the hospital everything we got from the insurance company, and I've emptied my savings account, but it just isn't enough." He shook his head sadly. "I can't see spending money on myself, even if it is for food or shelter, not while mama needs everything we have."

"Don't you have any family to help you out?"

Elliot shook his head, the outrage in his voice real. "I have a brother who's very well off, but the bastard won't lift a finger to help. He doesn't care if I have to live on the streets, as long as I don't inconvenience him."

"That's awful. Look, I know this might be a hard thing for you to do…" Ana hesitated and Elliot bit the inside of his lip to control the gleeful expression that threatened. Women had always been suckers for him, and this one was obviously no exception. "…but you really should talk to John about what help is available for you."

Elliot held his face frozen as Ana babbled on about social agencies and state aid. Was she an idiot? He didn't need any fucking welfare; he needed a place to crash where he wouldn't be continually hassled by a bunch of pandering do gooders all the time. His lip threatened to curl up in a sneer, but Elliot held back the impulse. It wouldn't gain him anything to lose his temper now, and at least he'd sown the seeds in her mind. He mumbled thanks for the unwelcome advice and took his now lukewarm tray of food over to a table.

Ana might not know it, but she was going to help him, whether she wanted to or not.

AN: Chapter Title Song – "Long Walk from the Street" by Michael Smith.