The Honeymoon, A Dark Grey Tale
Summary: What happens after the happily ever after? WARNING: OOC. Horror. Character Deaths. Awesome banner by Christi Whitson.
A/N: Happy All Hallow's Eve! Consider this one of those ubiquitous, seasonal one-shots. This story is obscenely bitter with no chocolate in sight. Caveat emptor.
Warning(s): Very dark tale. Way OOC. Major character death(s). Violence.
He couldn't believe it. He woke up on the first day of his honeymoon, but his wife, his gorgeous bride, wasn't there. It was as if she had disappeared. He looked everywhere. Security looked everywhere, but Anastasia was gone. It was as if she had just vanished into the ether.
Anastasia was very uncomfortable with the idea of getting married so quickly. But, he thought victoriously, he had worn her down. Perhaps because he had made it virtually impossible for her to escape. Which is why she was currently his runaway bride. Several times before the wedding, he'd felt her retreating from him. He knew he would need to take steps. Unfortunately, due to his lack of foresight, once they married, she had apparently done a runner.
From the moment she said yes, neither he nor his security had taken their eyes off of her. He needed so badly for her to stay in his life. It wasn't fair for him to use her love against her, but her love was all he had. She was like a butterfly, almost impossible to catch, and once caught how could he take care of her? By designing her an excellent conservatory, of course.
He was forced to do things the hard way, slowly removing each and every one of her freedoms. At first, she didn't notice that José never came around or called. Or that Kate was conspicuously absent. She only showed up wreathed in smiles and giggles at the wedding, grateful for the opportunity to see her friend again at long last. His blushing bride played her part to the hilt. However, all the acting in the world could not hide the bruises on her arms, legs, and torso. She kept trying to leave and he couldn't understand why. Didn't he do everything for her? Didn't he buy her the best clothes and the best food and take her to all the best places? Hell, he even had a spa on speed dial! Women would kill for standing appointments at Esclava. His subs had never even had that privilege!
Was she still upset about the electrolysis? It didn't hurt that badly and it was permanent, so she would never have to wax there again. It was all for her own convenience. Maybe she was mad he'd reconciled with Elena. But Elena's been his most trusted confidante for years!
And, yes, he had changed her phone number. People from Grey Publishing kept calling her and she didn't need a job anymore. She was going to be Mrs. Christian Grey.
She kept complaining about wanting to get some fresh air. It was a constant argument. It was a refrain like rain. Drip, drip, drip. Air, air, air.
Her final "Christian, I need to breathe" broke his resolve, so he decided to take her on a Caribbean vacation. The best air, the best water, and white, sandy beaches. Thankfully, it was secluded as he had rented all of the cabins on one side of the island. And there was barely anyone on the other side.
It was perfect because when it came right down to it, marriage was between a man and a woman. Like Adam and Eve in the garden. He was very pleased with his wife. His invisible wife he thought. Where could she be? Maybe she wanted to surprise him, he thought. That would be her modus operandi. She's always been such a tease. Her and her smart mouth. Maybe his wayward wife had decided to take a walk.
The water was blue, almost translucent sapphire, on the waves. And the air was warm, tropical, and sultry. He would enjoy walking with his Anastasia. He even managed to get a few short weeks off of GEH where no one would contact him at all. This is going to be their best vacation yet.
He had plans to take her on the yacht. They would even be hitting up France and England, all those places she had only read about in books. He never thought he would ever have a wife. But all the things that weren't even dreams at the time were coming true. Flynn had been right! All he had needed to do was focus on his goals and everything would fall into place.
He woke up alone again. It was the second day. Finally, he remembered a brief conversation. It came to him almost through the waves of water. Trickling through his mind. He could have sworn that Ana had said she was pregnant. How? How could this have happened? She was on the fucking shot!
He remembered shaking her, telling her it wasn't true, that Elena was right after all. She had tried to trap him. And as she walked away, she stumbled, falling down, but instead of a wonderful chilvalrous lover picking her up, it was her angry, pissed-off husband. As she had fainted, he had let her go with a crack when she hit a rocky shoal. He lifted her from the water, shaking her until her eyes rolled in the back of her head.
When she came to, she was cuffed to the bed, her body receiving numerous blows, as her enraged husband whaled upon her, her weak cries only inflaming him further. Taylor came upon a scene of horror, gore, and blood. His boss covered from head to toe with evidence of his utter departure from reality. He had dragged his stunned employer away from the scene. It would be a long, dark night. The longest of his life.
That was just another time Christian dreamed of the Caribbean. The blue of her eyes, the blue of the sea, the blue of his heart. He'd lost his mind entirely. The once omnipotent Christian Grey had been institutionalized for the last thirty years. He would die here. Alone. None of the Greys could bring themselves to visit. It was a morality play about those who should never marry angels or capture butterflies. And what really occurs when unstoppable forces meet immoveable objects.
A few years after Grey's commitment, Elena Lincoln disappeared one night after work. She was never found. Only then was Taylor able to overcome his crisis of faith. The death of Anastasia Steele, he refused to besmirch her memory by calling her Grey, was a black mark on his soul. He could never have predicted Grey had so much madness in him. He and the team, all hardened veterans, had been totally bamboozled by their boss's whirlwind, fairytale romance. They foolishly believed Ana's love had healed him. But Grey was a winner who had never learned to lose. Or manage disappointment.
After the brouhaha of Mrs. Lincoln's mysterious, unsolved disappearance died down, Taylor and Gail celebrated by getting married. Strangely, almost a half dozen women who might've been tempted to profit from the Christian Grey scandal by coming forward with more salacious details suddenly found it prudent to continue in their lives of obscurity.
On Christian's good days, the therapists allowed him crayons and drawing paper, though he seemingly preferred blue, brown, red, and pale pink, though Taylor, still employed by Grey's estate, had always warned them that they should not. One day they found childish drawings of Anastasia Grey pasted all over his room, as he, Christian Grey, hung in the center, his face frozen in a macabre rictus, slowly rotating so he could see all the beautiful pictures of his wife. He had captured his wife perfectly.
"Take that Jose Rodriguez!" he had thought.