Chapter Seven

Someone is kissing my back. I smile and greet him, "Good morning, Mr. Grey."

He chuckles, and says, "Don't start with the flames. I have to go."

"I didn't start anything; I was asleep, and woke to wandering lips. What time is it?"

"Early. I'm not sure when I'll be home either. Ros and I have to fly to Portland, just for the day."

Before nausea strikes, I roll over, in the vain hope that my breasts will override his strong work ethic, as I muse, "You know, we still haven't properly christened Charlie Tango."

He groans, and says, "Oh, fuck, I'd better go, or I will literally never leave. Is the Rodriguez boy still staying here tonight?"

I roll my eyes at his churlishness, and remind him, "His name is José, and he's barely a year younger than me."

Suddenly, my elbows are pinned to the bed, and Christian's body is holding me down, as he growls, "If you were anyone else, that eye-roll would earn you a spanking."

Remembering the last time we played that particular game, reminds me of the red room, so I'm entirely sincere when I say, "No one's stopping you, Mr. Grey."

A blur of movement in front of my face makes me wonder if he's shaking his head, and then he's suddenly gone from me, saying, "Anastasia, what you do to me. You're terrifying."

"Because I'm always happy to test my limits?"

"Because you make me want to test mine."

"Well, that'll be fun too."

He sounds more amused than angry, when he chides, "Good-bye, Ana."

Turning over, to snatch some sleep, I remind him "Not goodbye; until tonight," but he's already gone.

Once I start imagining sex in a helicopter, I suspect there'll be no more sleep this morning. Sure enough, my mind then reminisces about last night. Christian had been so confused when I'd folded out my white cane, once inside his club. I rarely use it now, when on his arm. I don't know what came over me, other than acute desire. I've never even used an accessible toilet before. Partly because I don't want strangers knowing I'm disabled, but mainly because I'm not disabled enough to actually need them. Thinking about it now makes me slightly ashamed, though there was none of that when I rode Christian to my second orgasm for the evening, and his first. He won't be in the air yet, so I text him a smiley face emoji, and, 'Thinking about fucking again.'

He soon replies with emojis of an apartment block, a car, a toilet and a plane, plus the words, 'And again, and again, and again. Until tonight, Anastasia.' I'd already forgotten that we've done the deed on a plane. I don't yet know who I'm becoming, under his kinky guidance, but she sure does like sex.

Ros is sulking. Fuck it, she's earned the right. A helicopter isn't the best place for conversation anyway. So I let her silently fume all the way to Portland, where the shitshow resulting from me going awol for two days takes several hours to clean up. By then, it seems I'm forgiven, because she suggests, "Can we swing by Mt. St. Helens, on the way back? I've never seen it."

Access is now permitted, and it won't add much to our return journey, so I smile, and say, "All right. But only a fly-by. Ana and I have a house guest tonight." I'm very curious, when she blushes at my words. "What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Ros." When she's still silent, I plead, "We've known each other a long time."

She sighs, and can't quite meet my gaze, to say, "I thought...you're still seeing other women?"

A cold dread settles on me, at finding out that she knows even that much, and I demand, "What the fuck do you know about it?"

She rolls her eyes, saying, "Christian, we're practically neighbors. I don't have a telescope trained on the penthouse, but I see things, hear things. And I wouldn't have mentioned it even now, but I guess...the way you talk about Ana, I thought she was enough for you."

Somewhat relieved, I reveal, "She is. Our guest is a friend of hers, who's delivering some portraits to Escala for me, and needs a bed for the night."

Her color only deepens, and she says, "Oh. In that case, can we pretend I never said anything?"

"I doubt it. How long have you known?"

"Uh, how long have you been at Escala?"

"Four years."

"Then almost four years."

If she's been paying that much attention, she must at least know that the women only stayed on weekends, and that there were a lot of them. "And you don't mind?"

"Until or unless you choose to reveal details of your personal life, it's none of my business, Christian."

I finally relax, smile, and say, "In that case, let's get going, so I can make more details to potentially reveal."

She glares at me, and picks up her briefcase, saying, "Of course, there's a lot to be said for keeping work and home life separate."

Once we're in the air, Ros retrieves her briefcase, and starts going over some paperwork—she works nearly as hard as I do—and I'm soon lost in thoughts of Ana. Last night had been a revelation, letting her call the shots like that. It seems incredible that she's taken to sex so enthusiastically, especially given that she seemed content to do without it, when I was too afraid to proceed. Flynn keeps reminding me that, just as in business, everything in a relationship can be a negotiation. But that scared little boy within too often gets stuck, thinking that any deviation from what Ana wants will result in her leaving me. And my dominant side is just as convinced that giving up even one iota of power will return me to that place, that hell. I'm not fucked up enough to believe either of these extremes are real, but they sometimes feel like it.

I'm snapped out of my reverie in the most brutal way. It takes a full second to realize that the sound is a small explosion, just as the cockpit is rocked, like a huge hand has shaken us. And then the alarm sounds. If not for the explosion and buffeting, I might think there's a chance it's a glitch. But, no, something is very wrong. Before the fire gets out of control, I shut down the electrics. I've practiced landing after a stall, so I know it's possible. But we're way too low, and coming in very fast.

Meanwhile, Ros is screaming my name. Her first time in Charlie Tango, and this happens. I call in the mayday, and then instruct her, "Ros, put all that shit away, and stow your briefcase behind your chair. Do it now." She doesn't respond, so I risk a glance at her, to see abject terror looking back at me. Fuck, what if she's the type of person who freezes in an emergency? I wouldn't have thought so; she's absolutely fearless in a boardroom. But this hardly qualifies. "Ros!"

Finally, she snaps into action. "On it." That's the Ros Bailey I know.

I can't afford to relax. Charlie Tango is fighting me every inch of the way. But I breathe a sigh of relief, and say, "Now cinch those straps real tight, and brace yourself. This will not be a gentle landing."

It seems that even fearless Ros has limits, because it sounds like a whimper, when she begs, "Christian, please, I don't wanna die."

"You're not going to." I hope. "The updraft will keep the rotors spinning. I'm just looking for a nice, soft place to land." One that isn't forest, boulders or river, which is all I can fucking see. Ultimately, the choice is made for me, when Charlie Tango hits the ground, and bounces across the rocks like a pebble skipping on a pond, except that every impact is a hammer blow, threatening to topple us into the water. It takes every ounce of my strength, and everything I've learned over the years, to maintain even an illusion of control. We're slowly spinning, and Ros is again screaming my name, when something shatters the windscreen on my side, a large piece of plexiglass smacking into my head. The adrenalin coursing through my body means that I hardly even feel it.

My fear of dying is Ana's smiling face.

Finally, we come to a stop, miraculously upright. I glance at Ros, who has her eyes clenched shut, one hand white-knuckle tight on the handrail, and the other clutching the pendant that's always around her neck. I've never wondered before, but am suddenly certain that it must have been a gift from her girlfriend. She appears uninjured. "Ros, get out and get clear. Keep your head down. The blades will keep spinning for a few seconds, and this isn't exactly level ground."

Her eyes open, and she gasps, "We've landed?"

I presume it's some sort of reaction to my fear, but that makes me laugh. "Yes. I'll just extinguish the fire, before it reaches a fuel line, and then we can get out of here."

"Fire? Oh, fuck!"

I chuckle again. Maybe it's not nerves; maybe she's just funny. I grab the extinguisher, and bother to pat her shoulder before getting out. "Relax. We're fine. Your biggest problem now will be hiking in those shoes."

"Christian, you can't carry me back to Seattle!"

I hoist Ros more securely onto my back, as I point out, "Well, I turned your shoes into flats, and your feet were still rubbed raw. You know I'm not the type to tell a colleague what to wear, but why the fuck did you go with heels today? Those fuckers don't care what you look like; they just wanted more money."

Attached to my back like a limpet, she still somehow manages to sound proud when she declares, "I like to look nice."

I chuckle, saying, "I doubt either of us will look very nice by the time we make the main road. You okay back there?"

"Me? What about you?"

I forgot that she knows about my haphephobia. I told her enough to avoid mishaps, but we've barely discussed it. "I'm fine. Being with Ana...I've made some changes."

"I noticed. You're almost a pleasure to work with nowadays."

"Hey, I'm still your boss."

She laughs, clearly sensing that I'm not actually angry, and says, "Yes, boss. Think we'll encounter a vehicle between here and the highway?"

"Yes. The tracks are fresh. Looks like trucks, probably loggers. I just hope someone comes along before it gets dark, or we're screwed."

She's quiet for a while, and I concentrate on pacing myself, while silently offering thanks that my COO is petite. "Christian, thank you, for keeping your cool, and managing that landing. I was so scared."

"Hey, it's okay. Me too." And then I get brave enough to confess, "Just before we hit, I saw Ana's face."

"Yeah, same...well, Gwen's face. They'll be worried."

"It's early yet, and I told Ana not to expect me for a while. They won't even know we had any trouble." It's an uncomfortable realization when I then notice that it's not Ana I can now see in my mind, but Rodriguez. I've just survived a potentially fatal helicopter crash, and I'm still fucked up enough to feel jealous. I'm working on it with Flynn, but clearly, I've a ways to go. I trust Ana, but not her friend, and I've never trusted fate, despite getting lucky a few times in my life.

"Christian?"

I guess that, close like this, Ros can feel my unease. I force myself to relax, and again focus on my steps, as I say, "Nothing. Just...near death experiences make us think about life, I guess."

"And what have you concluded?"

Only as she asks it, do I realize that I have an answer for her. "That most of it is bullshit."

"Sorry?"

I can't process this thought while carrying her, so let her feet touch the ground, and turn to face her. "How would you feel about a promotion?"

"Promotion? The only person senior to me is...oh, you want to step back a little, for Ana?"

This, right here, is why I would never trust anyone else with the role; she gets me. I smile, and confirm, "Yes, I'm effectively offering you my job. This week proves that I care more about Ana, so I might as well make it official, before the company starts to suffer. We can sort out the details, but it'll basically mean you have autonomy, and I will spend much less time in the office. What do you think?"

"Uh, I'd have to talk to Gwen, but that sounds good to me. You know I'll steer GEH in the right direction. But, are you sure? From what you've said, Ana seems pretty intent on her career. Are you just going to sit around Escala, waiting for her to get home?"

I don't ask for her discretion. She's earned at least that much of my trust. "Ana's pregnant."

For a moment, Ros looks only astounded. And then a smile starts with a lift of her lips, and ultimately transforms her whole face into an expression of unadulterated joy. "You're going to be a father?"

My smile feels like it must rival even hers, and I confirm, "Looks like."

"In that case, are you changed enough to tolerate a hug from a colleague?"

As if fate has been waiting for me to finally express my gratitude to Ros, for all that she's done, and all that she guessed not to, we're still embracing when I hear the unmistakable sound of a large diesel engine.

Our driver isn't quite able to get us home, but close enough that I reassure him, "It's only a couple of blocks. We can walk from here, thanks." I've tried a few times, with no success, and again attempt, "Macca, are you sure that you won't take any money? We didn't have much on us, but it seems like the least we can do."

He waves away the suggestion, saying, "Keep your money. Do some good for someone else."

Maybe I should start trusting fate. I've not only cheated death, but found an altruistic truck driver, willing to go out of his way, to return me to Ana. "Okay, if you're sure." I extend my hand in gratitude. As he leans over to accept the gesture, I slip the $600 in his pocket.

Vigilant for any potential hazards on the sidewalk, for my barefoot colleague, it seems no time at all before we round the corner, onto Fourth Avenue. The first thing I notice are the news vans, parked outside Escala. I nod towards them, asking, "What are the chances they're not here for me?"

"Oh, fuck. We should have stopped and found a phone. Want me to call Ana, when I get inside?"

"No, I'll be in her arms by then. Just, call Andrea, and get our team on damage control. I'll see you Monday."

"Tomorrow."

Mia invited Ros and Gwen too? I'm really not in the mood to even contemplate a party right now. "Right, tomorrow."

"Thanks again, Christian. I'm very glad you're a good pilot, and please don't be offended if I never fly with you again."

My gaze fixed on home, I pat her shoulder, as I walk away, saying, "None taken. Go, be with your girl."

So far, so good. Seems that none of the reporters suspected I'd arrive on foot, covered in sweat and grime. I slip by them into the carpark, which is thankfully deserted, expect for the security guard, who looks quite literally shocked to see me, but is professional enough to merely nod a greeting. I'm now so tired that only the thought of Ana is keeping me upright, as I ride up in the elevator. Hopefully, she didn't see any of the news reports, and is fast asleep by now.

I finally enter the apartment, to see what looks like my entire family. Mom yells my name, and is running towards me. And then my ears are assaulted by a cacophony of excited celebration. What the fuck is going on? Kate's even here. Behind the wall of people, keeping me from moving, I see Ana with her legs curled up beneath her on the sofa, and Rodriguez holding her hand. I don't know what he sees on my face, but he abruptly releases her, and stands up. From here, I can't tell if it's defiance or fear that has moved him.

I can't see any tears glistening on Ana's cheeks, but she now leans forward, to cover her face with both hands, and her shoulders shake, as if she's silently weeping. Fuck, she must have been really worried. Macca called the authorities on his radio, but maybe the message didn't make it this far. I don't even hear the words I say to every person who greets me. I just want them out of the way. Finally, there's no one between me and my love. Like always, she seems to sense when I'm approaching, and stands to greet me. She's barely taken a step, when her eyes roll back into her head, and she's crumpling to the floor. Oh, fuck.

Nothing exists but Ana's sleeping face. I'm sitting beside the hospital bed, willing her eyes to open. She woke for a while, after fainting, but has since succumbed to seemingly permanent fatigue. She must have gone through hell waiting for me, not knowing if I was alive or dead. Trying to put myself in her shoes threatens any progress I've made in my quest for mental health. I'm an idiot. I should have taken the time to find a phone, and call her. Ros suggested it, more than once, but all I could think about was getting home. And I know it wasn't only to see Ana, but also to make sure she wasn't alone all night with another man. A man who loves her. Maybe she'd be better off with him.

As I have that thought, her eyes open. She smiles and says, "Hello, darling."

I lean forward, to claim a hand in both of mine, and ask, "How did you know I'm here?"

"Christian, where else would you be?" She suddenly clutches me, asking, "Blip?"

"Is fine. Remember? They did a scan. Our baby is now the size of a poppy seed."

"Oh, right."

She removes the tube from under her nose, and tosses it aside, as I caution, "Hey, they said you need oxygen."

"No, let's get out of here. I hate hospitals."

I guess she hasn't noticed. I reach over and touch her right hand, explaining, "You'll have to sit tight for at least another hour. Greene has been here, and started the iron infusion we discussed. Before that you had B12, glucose and saline. They think you passed out mainly due to dehydration, but the anemia wouldn't have helped."

She feels the truth of an IV attached to the back of her hand, and relaxes back against the pillows, saying, "In that case, can you retrieve that plastic tube for me?"

When I've complied, she places it back under her nose, like an expert, and I ask, "How many times have you been in hospital?"

She closes her eyes, and says, "Too many. What time is it?"

I don't want to tell her. She'll feel bad. I again claim her free hand, and merely say, "Late."

The way she smiles, makes me wonder if she's heard the words I didn't say. Sure enough, she says, "Not much of a start to your birthday. I'm sorry, darling." It's too much. My chest and throat are aching with the need to weep, but the closest I can get to that luxury of expression is to rest my head on our joined hands. "Christian?" When I can't speak, she starts shuffling over on the bed. "Come here, big guy."

Christian is still asleep, wrapped around me, when a familiar voice quietly asks, "How are you feeling, Ana? It's Pamela Greene."

"I'm fine. Uh, the nasal cannula is somewhere here. I didn't need it anymore. When can I go?"

There's a gentle touch on my right wrist, and I hear her fussing with something nearby, before she says, "Soon. I'll get this out of your hand, and give you a once over, but you're looking much better. Want me to check that cut on his forehead while I'm here?"

She can only be talking about Christian. "He's injured?"

"It's small, and doesn't look deep, but might get infected. He's still filthy. Apparently, he refused treatment when you first got here, but is obviously more relaxed now. Sounds like he had a close call."

I can't even think about it, without feeling panicked. "Yeah. What time is it?"

"4am."

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

"No need. I'm just glad you're all okay. There were obviously extenuating circumstances in this instance. I presume, as per our earlier discussions, you're usually more careful about eating and drinking?"

"Yes, I swear. Thanks to the morning sickness, I literally don't even get out of bed before eating and hydrating, but I...it honestly didn't even occur to me, once I heard that he..." I can't finish the thought, or the images will catch up with me. I remember a sandwich and a cup of tea being put in my hands, at different times, but I cannot recall tasting either of them. "I was just so worried."

As if sensing my sudden distress, Christian stirs, and automatically snuggles against me. I know the moment he sees Dr. Greene, because he tenses. But then he relaxes, and says, "Hey, Doc. Can we go?"

"After I've treated that laceration."

He tenses again. And it occurs to me that he's almost due for his daily meds. I doubt he'll appreciate me mentioning it in front of even Dr. Greene, so I merely say, "Please, Christian."

After a kiss on my cheek, he leaves the bed, saying, "All right, baby. Doc, could you discharge Ana while I find a nurse?"

"I can do that. Oh, there's now a paper trail for this pregnancy, so it's only a matter of time before_"

There's a flint edge to Christian's words, when he reveals, "My people are already working on it. Let me know if anyone starts pestering your staff for information, and I'll take care of it."

"Thank you. Fortunately, and unfortunately, they know all the tricks a reporter might attempt. You're not my only famous clients, but you'll be flavor of the month soon, and I'm more worried about Ana being harassed."

I hear Vengeful Christian, when he explains, "She won't be. I'll make sure of it."

He's getting worked up. Inspiration strikes, and I suggest, "Darling, maybe see if the nurse has a glass of orange juice too?"

The silence is so loud that I'm getting worried, when he chuckles, and says, "Nicely done, baby, but it can wait until we get home." I can hear that he's heading for the door, as he explains, presumably to Dr. Greene, "Anti-anxiety meds."

When he's gone, I breathe a sigh of relief, and point out the obvious. "He trusts you."

"We've known each other a long time." Her hands are again on my wrist, repositioning the arm slightly, as she instructs, "Just hold still, and you'll be free in a sec."

"Can I ask you something about your past relationship with Christian?"

"You can, but I'm legally bound to not reveal much."

"Nothing specific. I already know more than enough. It's just...there aren't many people who know him well, and I was wondering if he seems different than the Christian Grey you first met?"

She's quiet for a few seconds, and then reveals, "Not really. I mean, it's evident that he's made some profound changes, but the...essence of who he is seems unchanged. He's a good man." She laughs a little, and says, "Though still rather intimidating."

Incredibly relieved, I smile, and say, "Yes, he is. You don't seem nervous around him though."

"Like I said, we've known each other a while, and I already had experience of clients like him."

I'm sure she means Dominants. I guess that makes sense. It sounds like she's only encountered them in a professional capacity. "That must get weird."

"Only the first time. My priority is, and has always been, women's reproductive health. If everyone took such matters as seriously as Christian does, my job would be a hell of a lot easier."

I smile, and guess, "No summons to Emergency in the middle of the night?"

Her laughter is fresh, linen sheets. "Well, fewer. I'm afraid that midnight 911 calls are part of the job. Hopefully, your baby will inherit their father's passion for punctuality."

I honestly don't care if we have a son or daughter. But the image I see is a copper-haired little boy, hands on hips, lecturing me about tardiness, and I laugh from pure delight. "God, I hope not."