Staring at the same report for the hundredth time Christian clenches his jaw and feels his pulse ticking in his temples. The beginning of a major headache is looming right behind his eyes. The project he was set in charge for has been lagging for weeks, which isn't that uncommon, but he can't figure out who or what is causing it. The damn schedule was set up too fast, he huffs and throws the papers on the table. This was his chance to clean the stain Hyde left on his reputation, and it's all being shot to hell.

What pisses him off even more, is that all of this crap landed on his desk today, because Callahan, motherfucking Callahan, is returning to Seattle tomorrow.

He grabs the stress ball, that Judy gave him to exercise his hand after the cast was removed, and squeezes it until his knuckles turn white, imagining it's Callahan's nuts he's scrunching. The bastard has been on the top of his shit list, after what Ana told him Callahan did. To be honest, she hasn't said the words, but Christian's not stupid, her body language told it all.

Picking his phone he scrolls through the messages they've been sending each other. The weeks have rushed by, and it feels like it's been forever since he last saw her. The day she went in, to do the D&C he went with her, he took his role, as the boyfriend supporting his girl, in stride. He felt they could get through it, there was not a doubt in his mind, or at least he was quite sure they'd manage. But ever since that day, that week, she has slowly been shutting him out. That day, he drove her home, helped her in, held her when she cried, tucked her in bed. The following he brought her food, and kept her company. Hell, he even watched a chickflic with her, trying to control his wandering hands as she leaned against him on the couch. But after that they've barely spoken. The phone calls are virtually nonexistent, the messages have become shorter, and farther apart. She has been at the office, but their paths have not crossed, and Christian has got the sinking feeling that she has been avoiding him. He has tried to wrap his head around it all, the relationship that could've been, now somehow slipping through his fingers, all the while work has kept him busy, making it impossible to bridge the gap that has developed between them. And if this wasn't enough to bring him to the brink of losing his shit, now the fucker she had been in love with, is coming back to Seattle. The unwelcome thought of her only thinking about him because of the pregnancy, has shoved it's foot through the door, and no matter how hard he has tried to push it away it has persisted. A cool sweat breaks over his skin. Maybe it was never more than that?

Have you got plans for tonight? He types her a message, closing his eyes, asking the higher powers that she would answer him this time.

Staring at the phone, his brows furrowed for at least five minutes, waiting for an answer, he's starting to lose his patience. He turns back to his work, desperate for the distraction. Half an hour of shuffling papers and opening and closing emails without even bothering to read them, and he gives up, grabs his phone and leaves his office. Past caring what people will say, he hurries to the third floor, opting for the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. The empty stairway echoes his steps as he rushes down only stopping to take a deep breath and collect his thoughts before he pushes open the door leading to her floor.

If anyone asks, I'm just going to consult one of the PR people, he tells himself. The floor is empty, par Anastasia sitting by her desk. He glances at the clock on the wall, and it explains it all. Lunchtime. Rushing past the other desks, he heads straight towards her. His heartbeat is racing as he gets closer; she still hasn't noticed him, her eyes are focused on the screen in front of her.

A lock of hair from her bun has fallen to her cheek, and her eyes have dark shadows beneath them. He steps into her peripheral view, and she gasps, swallows, and lifts her gaze to meet his, but only for a second before she turns it away.

"Can I help you?" She asks, in a clear voice, unaware that they are alone. "What are you doing here?" She continues whispering.

"I came to see you," he says, "to get an answer to my message."

"I was going to answer..." she replies, still ignoring his gaze.

"Well? Are you available tonight? We need to talk." Talk, fuck, make out, anything to get rid of this crack widening between then.

"I'm... Um. I can't tonight."

"Why not?" He catches her hand, stroking over the palm with his thumb. Fuck, he had forgotten how soft her skin is.

"Christian... Please. I can't do this now." She pleads, her lip quivering and her eyes becoming red rimmed. Her pained voice startles him, but he doesn't relent.

"When then? Give me a time and place. I won't be waiting forever." He snaps at her, his own heart aching with the lie of that last sentence.

"I don't know..." She says, a lone tear now running down her cheek.

He scans the open floor, contemplating if he should just hold her, but then his focus is drawn to her computer screen. What the fuck? It's the web page for Sea-Tac, and the list of arrivals and departures is opened.

"Are you travelling?" He asks, feeling like someone just punched him in the gut. He understands the stupidity of his question the second he notices the handwritten flight number on the post-it note by the keyboard. "You're waiting for him... Aren't you?"

For him, her silence confirms it, and he groans of frustration. After a few nervous steps back and forth, he grabs her by the arm and drags her into the conference room right by her desk and closes the door behind them.

"Why the fuck are you waiting for him? After all the crap he put you through?" he asks in a whispered yell.

"I need... I have to tell him." She sighs and paces around the table.

"Tell him what? About us? About the miscarriage?" He leans over the desk, his palms pressed firmly against the dark mahogany.

"Not about us... I don't want you to lose your job… But he needs to know it's... you know. Gone." Their eyes lock, and for a moment, they stand frozen, just staring at each other. The uncertainty creeps up his spine, while he desperately hopes that although the pregnancy is out of the picture, it doesn't mean she's going back to Callahan.

"Would there even be an us to tell him about, Ana?" He asks, his voice a hiss.

"Of course there is." She replies, hurt evident in her eyes.

"Really? I haven't fucking seen you in weeks. You barely reply my messages," he snaps.

"I'm sorry, alright?! My mind has been all over the place..." She turns away, and stares out the window. Her shoulders sag, and then he hears her draw a shaky breath.

Pushing his fingers through his hair he takes a deep breath before he goes to her.

"I know you've been through much..." He wraps his arms around her and she presses herself against his chest. The apology is dancing on the tip of his tongue. "I just... I want to be there for you, but how can I, if you shut me out?"

"I need... I have to sort this out on my own. Don't you see? My life has flipped twice in the last few months. I've been dumped, been pregnant and lost it. I've moved to the other end of the damn country, where I know no one, well except you... I'm getting whiplash from all these damn changes... I need to figure out where I stand, in my own life, get my head and heart on the same page... You can't help." She shakes her head. "This is all on me."

He slides his fingers down her damp cheek, and nudges her face up, his fingers hooked beneath her chin. When their eyes meet, his breath gets caught in his throat. Her sapphire blue eyes are red rimmed and her mascara is smudged but she's still the prettiest woman he's ever laid eyes on. Slowly, he leans in and closing his eyes he presses his lips on hers. Damn, she has the softest lips, he thinks before losing himself in the kiss, his tongue tentatively stroking hers as the distance that had been pushing them apart fades. She tastes like paradise, and fuck if that doesn't bring back memories. His cock twitches as the images of her willing body writhing beneath his on the beach flash before him. He presses her closer, but she pushes him away.

"Christian... It would be so easy just to lose myself in you... But... I can't, not yet." She pulls back, tears pooling in her eyes and the distance between them is back in an instant. The rejection stings like a slap to his face. He takes a deep breath, letting the air out in a drawn out huff.

"Fine. Take your time," he spits out the words, as he moves to the door. The thought of her maybe going to meet Callahan brings a sour taste to his mouth. "If you go to meet Callahan... Tell him I said." he flips her the finger and leaves, slamming the door behind him.

You're a fucking idiot, Grey, he curses as he returns to his office. She's been through a miscarriage, of course she's a mess. And she has a history with that bastard, maybe she's just trying to get over it, give her a fucking break. He picks up the report prepared for Callahan and throws it across the room, the papers scattering over the floor.

He feels the vibration, before his phone starts ringing in his pocket. Whipping it out, expecting to see her name flashing on the screen, he frowns at the unknown number.

"Grey." He snaps into the phone.

"Whoooo, who pissed in your cheerios?" A familiar voice says.

"Elliot!" He breathes of relief, and chuckles at the sound of his friend laughing.

"Trouble in paradise?" Elliot asks.

"To put it mildly... A fucking shitstorm..." he mutters.

"Well... How's this to cheer you up? I'm on my way to Seattle as we speak..."

"Really?"

"Yeah... I've got to get away a bit. What do you say we go check out the nightlife?"

"Sounds good, I could do with getting my mind off things..."

"I hear you... Nothing like a new pussy to forget the previous."

"I'm going for drowning my worries... Not scoring."

"Whatever man... I'll go for the pussy, you go for the Jack D. Sound good?" Elliot asks. "So, we're on for tonight?"

"Sure. Where are you staying?"

"I've got a suite at the Marriott..." Elliot breaks out laughing. "No, just kidding. I thought I'd crash your couch, unless I end up bonking some blonde in her place."

"Forever the gentleman…" Christian sighs and Elliot laughs.

"Yes, you know my motto… Vici, vidi, veni."

"Isn't it Veni, Vidi, Vici?"

"Yeah, if you're ol' Jules in ancient Rome… If you are me in Seattle baby… it is I saw, I conquered, I came. Which is kind of the reason I've got to get away from Portland this weekend, if you catch my drift."

"Someone clingy?"

"I wish. It seems I've conquered the same woman twice... I didn't remember her, but her husband remembered me. Well, long story short, I've got to stay away from my usual hood for a while."

"I hear ya… No problem, mi casa, es su casa."

The men end their call after deciding to meet at Christian's place, both in a much better mood than before. Going out, getting hammered sounds like a perfect plan. Shoot some pool, watch some sports, gaze on half-naked young ladies shaking their booties on the dance floor is bound to make him forget about Ana meeting Callahan. Damn. Possibly meeting Callahan. Christian hangs on to that word, but his lightened mood, has already vanished.

After finishing off the most pressing work, and sending a very short email to Callahan's secretary, telling her the reports the boss is waiting for, can be found in the cloud, Christian leaves, with a nagging feeling in his gut.

Driving home, there's an incoming call from Anastasia. He squeezes the steering wheel harder, trying to ignore the ringtone blaring from the hands free system. After the fifth ring, he caves and punches the button for the phone.

"I thought you wouldn't pick up." Ana says, and the knot in his stomach unwinds a bit at the sound of her voice.

"Yeah, I wasn't going to..." He goes for honesty.

"So, I was thinking about tonight." She says, leaving the sentence hanging in the air.

"Did Callahan cancel on you?" Christian snaps, his temper raising its ugly head.

She doesn't answer his question, but after a moment of silence she says,

"Can I come over?"

"Tonight 's not good. I'm having a friend over." Christian fights the urge to make up a story of a woman visiting.

"Oh. I thought you were free…"

"I was. Now I'm not. We're going out."

"Fine." She sounds pissed and on the surface he's pleased. See I'm not just hanging around waiting for you.

A heavy silence covers the phone-line, as he steers the car through the afternoon traffic. The silence inside the car is accented by the surrounding chaotic hustle of people struggling to get home. The knot in his stomach returns, bigger and harder than before. His heart is urging him to say something, but his stubborn streak doesn't let him. Fighting has never been something he's good at.

"Christian…" She finally breaks, and it feels like a heavy boulder is lifted off his chest.

"Yes?"

"I'll talk to you later, ok? Have fun with your friend." She cuts the line before he manages to utter a word. The boulder tumbles back, settling itself deep in the pit of his stomach.

Later that night, both Christian and Elliot are sitting at a pub downtown, both gulping down their drinks, their focus set on getting drunk, sooner rather than later. The usual banter soon turns to heavier subjects as Christian blurts,

"She got pregnant."

Elliot almost falls of his chair because he flinches so hard.

"What the fuck, Christian!? You put a bun in her oven?" Elliot tears at his hair in frustration. "I told you to wrap the sausage... I fucking told you!" He shouts the words waving his index finger in front of Christian's face. "Are you sure it's yours?"

Christian shakes his head, and finishes his drink before he says.

"It doesn't matter."

"Of course it fucking matters..."

"It doesn't." Christian shakes his head, and his lip starts to quiver. He clears his throat, hoping for the lump that appeared to disappear.

"We lost the baby."

"Wow." Elliot sits onto his barstool. "I'm sorry, man. That's some heavy shit."

"Yeah, I know."

For a while, the men sit without saying anything, staring into their respective glasses.

"We need more booze." Elliot states and waves over the bartender.

The booze arrives and as the alcohol level in their increases, the men are well back on track on trying to forget everything that's haunting them. Christian decides to leave by the time Elliot's tongue is deep inside a busty blonde. Not just because he felt like the third wheel, but because he couldn't stop thinking about Ana. The way her lip quirks before she bursts into laughter, the way her breasts jiggle when he fucks her hard, the way her kiss tastes like paradise.

Stumbling out of the rowdy pub Christian waves a cab, leaving Elliot to put his motto in good use. As far as Christian knows, Elliot might already be well on his way from conquering to coming. The way the blond ground against him, the bets are on that they are already doing the nasty in one of the booths of the club. Christian has no intention of waiting up for him, he gave Elliot the code to his building as well as a spare key.

Falling into the cab that stops in front of him, he leans back in the seat, picks his phone and scrolls through the images from Paradise. Damn, he smiles at the memory of their moment of public fornication on the beach. That was something. Damn, I miss her. A whiskey drenched idea pops to his mind and snickering by himself he calls her. He has no idea what he will say though. His buzz is only slightly dampened by her not answering, it is into the wee hours of the day anyway.

He taps on the screen separating the driver from the passengers.

"Yes?" the driver says in a heavy Indian accent, as he glances at Christian in the mirror.

"Drive by McDonald's, will ya? I'm famished."

"Alright."

The line at the drive through snails forward as the late nighters queue to be get their arteries clogged.

"I'll have five double cheeseburgers and a rum and coke." Christian grins at his own joke, and listens as the confused cashier explains that they don't serve liquor.

"Well go easy on the rum then."

A burger and a half coke later, the cab turns to his street and he scrunches the take away bag in his hands. Christian throws a few bucks at the taxi-driver who double-parks in front of his building.

"Thanks, man. Are you sure you don't want a burger?" Christian hangs onto the cab's door.

"No thanks, sir, you have a good night and enjoy the burgers."

Christian walks through the empty lobby, while biting into the second burger. He punches the button for the elevator and it pings open in an instant.

Standing in the elevator, it takes him a while to remember which floor he lives on. The damn building has too many floors, he mutters beneath his breath as he aims for the number that seems the most familiar.

Walking down the corridor to his door, he first squints and then rubs his eyes. He knows he's drunk, but so wasted that he's seeing things?

AN: Thank you for reading!

I could go on explaining why it's taken me so long, and why I left it at this, but I won't. I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to finish my stories (meaning I'm not going to leave them hanging), and that I appologize for the long gaps between updates. I appreciate the support and the reviews you wonderful people give.

H xx