Elena has just left from her impromptu visit at Escala, whining about being blackmailed. Ana is tired of her interference in her love life, be it in person, in their conversations, or as a snarky voice at the back of her mind. She resolves to convince Christian to have an honest conversation about it to clear this skeleton once and for all, and have him understand why she hates Mrs. Robinson so much. However, she takes a very different approach than in the original version

Ana's POV.

The exorcism of a Bitch-Troll

I hear the tell-tale bell of the elevator doors closing and Christian's footsteps approaching the bedroom. I'm sitting on the bed, wearing a t-shirt and a too-big pair of sweat pants I fished out of his dresser. Before he enters, I square my shoulders and do my best to gather my wits and my courage.

"Mrs. Robinson's gone?" I ask tentatively.

"Yes," he answers just as warily.

"Thank fuck, I hate the Bitch-troll," I burst out. My subconscious glares at me from her armchair, her bottle of gin in one hand. Yes, you said it out loud. Christ, it's gonna be a long night again.

"Bitch-troll?" Christian inquires. "And 'fuck' in the same sentence?" I try to read his face, but I can't tell if he finds my epithet funny or insulting. Either he hasn't made up his mind yet, or he's wondering what's coming next.

I, for one, am mortified, and I feel my blush spreading from my neck to my hairline. "I'm sorry, really, mouth-brain filter malfunction." I give him an apologetic glance and a shrug and return to staring at my hands, ashamed. "Please don't tell her I let that slip, it's bad enough that she knows about the Mrs. Robinson thing. It was supposed to be inner voice only. But after today, my neurons are a little fried. And I'm nervous. I need to talk to you."

I see Christian pale and breathe deeply. "I figured when I found you sitting all tense like that. I thought you said you were going to bed."

"Well, I lied. Sorry again. I just needed to get out of the room before my mouth ran away with me. As you just saw, it's probably a good thing that I did. If it helps, the lie wasn't for your benefit. I'd much rather stay in any room you are." I keep my voice calm with some effort and manage to keep my petulance out of it.

" I guessed as much, and I too, would much rather you stayed near me." He sounds calmer, but I know how mercurial my Fifty can be. "What is it you want to talk about?" he asks me, bracing himself.

"Elena." My voice is barely a whisper, and I brace myself too.

"Christ, Ana," he exclaims. He's mad again. "Why do you keep going there when all it ever accomplishes is leaving us either yelling at each other or feeling miserable?"

What did you expect? my subconscious quips at me in the background.

I steel myself to keep my voice audible and soothing, and force myself to look up at him while I deliver the speech I've been preparing in my head.

"Christian, love, please. Just listen to me for a second. I don't want to grill you about Elena. I know it never gets us anywhere. And besides, I already have the big picture, and I'm not after more details tonight, especially after the day we've had, hissing at each other over e-mail and on the phone. But I need to talk to you about it, if you're willing, and I'll give you space to respond or explain if you want."

So far, so good, he hasn't interrupted. I continue, my voice lower. "I would really appreciate it if you could at least just listen with an open mind, and try to understand where I'm coming from. But not here. Our bedroom," –I stress the word to reassure him that our relationship isn't in danger– "is a space for sleeping and loving, not for having difficult conversations."

Mr. Mercurial closes his eyes and runs his hands through his hair a few times. When he looks at me again, his eyes are calmer. Rainy grey skies, but no hurricane clouds on the horizon.

"Okay," he finally answers in a sigh. "I'm willing to try. Where do you want to go?"

"TV room? The couches look comfy and I haven't spent much time there yet. I'm getting myself some tea, do you want some?" I offer, in an attempt to create a more laid-back and cozy atmosphere.

"We're trying this your way, so let's go all in. Get me a cup too, it seems to be your go-to in times of stress even if it's not my favorite. Maybe it'll help." He offers me a tiny smile, just a quick curl of his lips, but I'm feeling better about my plan. Maybe we'll finally understand each other.

Christian offers me his hand as I get up from the bed, and guides me to the kitchen. The feel of his hand on mine calms us both further. I busy myself in silence with the kettle, mugs, and tea bags. We're both readying ourselves for what is to come, but at least nobody is shouting yet. When I'm done, he takes his cup and leads the way to the TV room and its leather armchairs. He turns on the sound system and plays some classical background music at a very low volume. It's beautiful, but not obtrusive. Just enough to fill the uncomfortable silences if need be.

"Okay," my man begins, surprising me. "I know you said you wanted to talk and me to listen, but I need to ask you something first. Why tonight? As you said, we already had a crappy day. Why do you want to talk about Elena now, on top of everything?"

I try to joke to lighten the mood. "Well, because it was a bad day. Better take full advantage of it. If I wait until tomorrow for this, tomorrow might be a bad day too, and I don't want to pave the way for two of those in a row. They happen all by themselves often enough, I don't need to give them any encouragement." And I give him my best innocent look.

It works. He chuckles and gives me a quick peck on the lips. "When you think of it that way, I suppose it could make sense. Is there a deeper reason?"

Chrisitan is engaging, and I take it as a good omen. I keep my answer serious and honest, but still calm. I really don't want us to get angry. "Yes. You probably guessed it, but because Elena showed up unannounced. And she looked at me like I was the one intruding. She acted and talked to you like I had no right or reason to be here, when you just asked to move in with you." God, it feels good to at least get that off my chest.

"You're right, she did." He looks puzzled, like it hadn't occurred to him. His beautiful face clears and shows nothing but perfect sincerity. "And I did just ask you that, and I mean it. I have just got so used to Elena's bluntness over the years, I barely even pay attention anymore. It's just who she is. But she shouldn't treat you like that."

I believe my plan is moving the right way. We're talking, not screeching, and my Fifty is taking the time to think before answering. There might be hope yet. I keep my nerve and continue.

"Honestly, the woman just makes my blood boil, it's visceral. And I figured if I managed to unload that, and explain it properly, maybe you would understand why I feel that way. And we could reach some sort of balance where neither of us has to defend our feelings every time she comes up. Because right now she just feels like a shadow looming behind us at every corner, and It's exhausting. I just want this feeling exorcized."

He exhales loudly and takes a sip of his tea. "Okay, baby. You're aware I most likely won't agree with everything you say. But you're right about one thing. If we ever want any peace, we need to find a way to deal with that and navigate it. I want us to be happy, and putting the Elena issue to bed would definitely be a step towards that."

I'm incredibly relieved. It looks like Mr. Mercurial has retired to his quarters for the moment and calm, steady, CEO Christian is taking his place. And he is much easier to deal with.

"Oh, I know we won't agree on everything," I concede. "But it's not agreement I'm looking for, just for you to hear me. And before you say anything else, it's not all because of your shared history. There's something about her whole attitude that makes me cringe. She's very attractive, but in creepy, cold way. Like a witch in a fairy tale posing as a princess. You can still sense that there is no warmth underneath. The complete opposite of Grace for instance, who radiates warmth and love and hugs easily."

"Or you," my beautiful man interjects with a sweet smile. "Yes, I suppose she is a bit cold. I don't think anything of it, because it's the case with most dominants. With those for whom it is a lifestyle, and not only an occasional, role-playing kink, at least."

I can't keep the frown off my face. "But you aren't cold. You never were with me at least, not even when we met. Distant, maybe. Intimidating, definitely. But not cold. Were you with your other subs?"

"I couldn't tell you." He shrugs.

"Okay, never mind. We're going off-track." I try to redirect us, or we'll be here until morning, and I'm definitely too tired for an all-nighter.

"Now, I told you earlier I had the big picture. Do you mind if I give you a summary of what I understand, and you correct me if there's anything I got awfully wrong or any big thing I'm missing?"

Christian tenses, his eyes cloud, but he nods silently and takes one of my hands in his. I have to admit the contact is reassuring.

"You met her when you were a horny fifteen-year-old. Your hormones were raging but you couldn't bear physical contact, so you lashed out at everyone around you and got violent. She introduced you to the lifestyle —probably none too gently— and you realized that harsh physical contact in a sexual context was something that could offer you some release. You calmed down, got better at school and with other people, and your affair went on for several years. She loaned you some money to start your company when you dropped out of college, and in return when things went south with her husband you helped her start, then develop her salon business and you became business partners. Even though your affair ended, she's still a close friend and has had some say about most of the submissives you've had in the past few years. Is that accurate enough?"

Fifty takes a moment to collect his thoughts, then answers. "Yes, if you're going for the nutshell version, it is. You really have put a lot of thought into this, haven't you?" He looks impressed.

"Yes, Christian, I have. All I've done since you first told me about her is trying to wrap my head around the relationship you two had in the past and still have today, even though it's completely foreign to me, because I want us to work, desperately. I've told you time and again, I can't imagine myself without you. But I am also aware that we are two extremely different people, with extremely different pasts. If we don't both make an effort to acknowledge the other's point of view and accept it, I'm terrified that one day love won't be enough anymore, and we will drift apart. And that is the most heartbreaking thing I can imagine."

My voice is raw with suppressed emotion, and I know he can see the unshed tears I'm desperately trying to hold back when I look up at him. I stare at his beloved face, and see him swallowing hard; it tugs at my heart. But I feel a twinge of pride, too. If nothing else, I think he finally gets why this is important to me to discuss. That it's not just about me and my selfish feelings, but that I need it for both of us.

"Me, too, baby… It terrifies me too… Come here," Christian whispers. He lifts me off my seat, gathers me in his lap, and wraps his arms around me. He plants a gentle kiss on my hair, and we just snuggle for a moment. I know he needs the contact and the closeness to reassure himself that we are okay. I also know that he wants to kiss me, and more, and I want him to. But if we start now, there is no way we will ever finish our talk.

I progress to my next point, voice intent and firm, facing him. "Now, Christian, I want you to listen very closely and get something very clear in your head. I do not blame you, nor judge you for your relationship with Elena. Every time I got mad when we talked about it, I wasn't really ever mad at you. I know and understand now that as you see it, it helped. And if I try very hard to keep my feelings out of it, the facts seem to show that it did. But that doesn't change the way I see her. And from where I'm standing, with the values that I grew up with, what she did to you, and the way she did it, was fundamentally wrong."

He's frowning, and I can see that it is clearly in disapproval. He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.

"Christian, love, I'm not trying to convince you that what you did was wrong, I just want you to grasp why it clashes with my values and why I'm uncomfortable around your Mrs. Robinson."

He looks even more puzzled. "I'm sorry, but I don't really get the distinction. Either I'm just too tired or it's really confusing. I'm doing my best, but right now I'm not even sure what you're saying."

I chuckle lightly, because I knew this would happen eventually. "Think about vegetarians," I say quickly.

"Vegetarians? What have they got to do with the price of oil?" Christian looks at me like I've grown a second head. I'd better elaborate before he loses his patience.

"Most people eat meat on a daily basis and don't think anything of it, it's just part of their regular diet. But vegetarians think that raising and slaughtering animals for their meat is cruel and inhumane. In that scenario, I'm a vegetarian, and you're not. I'm not trying to make you change your mind about your meat consumption, and make you regret every steak you ever ate and feel terrible that you did. I just want you to see and respect my arguments why I think it is cruel and have decided not to condone the practice."

Christian's eyes clear, and he rewards me with an unexpected crooked smile. "You are incredible, you know that? Vegetarians may not have much to do with the price of oil, but you've managed to make them sound kinky! Jokes aside, I get what you want from me now, thank you." He gives me another quick peck on the lips. "So why does Elena's behavior feel so wrong to you, if you're willing to admit that what we did probably helped me in the long run. In essence, that is what I don't understand about your objection to her. I told you, I was always willing."

And I see now that this is why he never got it, it is because of this contradiction. I chose my words carefully.

"The Law notwithstanding, in my opinion, had she had any moral sense, she would never have approached you. But the way I see it, she was a bored, kinky trophy wife in a loveless, sexless marriage, with a keen eye for spotting weaknesses, and a very loose sense of right and wrong, to boot. I think she took advantage of your situation. Your mother had most likely told her about your touch-, self-esteem-, and anger issues, as well as some of the things you went through before you became a Grey. Since the anger and violence started when you entered puberty, it didn't take a genius to understand that it was linked to your hormones, like every teenager ever.

"And I think Elena saw you as an opportunity. Here was a tall, handsome, emotionally scarred and vulnerable, and sexually frustrated boy, who fights because he is craving physical contact, but the only form of touch his body and mind tolerate is violence. She could introduce you to her world, beat and whip you around to her every whim, and you would never question her. She was an elegant, experienced woman, who knew how to use instruments of violence and pain to induce sexual pleasure and barely needed to touch your skin to do that. And since your violence and anger alienated you from your family and peers, she ran very little risk of you looking too closely at the fact that what you had was about as far as a typical teenage sex life as you can get, or running your mouth to the wrong person and get her into trouble with the law.

"And I'm absolutely sure she knew that when she got her hooks into you, you would be devoted to her. Because there was no one else your age who could give you the intimacy and sexual release your hormone-riddled body desperately needed while navigating your aversion to skin-on-skin contact. I know she trained you to tolerate her touch, but I also saw how you reacted at the salon when she put her hand on your arm. And now that I can compare it with when I touch you, I can see that with her, you endure it, but you take no pleasure from it at all. And I think this was deliberate. You couldn't leave her if she was the only one who could do that for you. With time, you associated pain with pleasure you enjoyed it because you had never felt a gentle touch in your life.

"You both got what you were looking for out of the deal: someone to take care of your unfulfilled needs, yours physical, and hers for loyalty and obedience. Maybe in her own, weird, possessive way, she does care for you very much, but a teenager is supposed to learn what love feels like, not ownership. And as much as I disapprove, I know that you care for her too. And believe me or, I get it."

I can see that my Fifty is deep in thought, considering the matter from an angle he probably never realized existed before. I give him some space to organize his mind. After a minute, he resurfaces, and he holds me tighter in his arms. I sense that something is seriously bothering him. He doesn't look angry at all, but almost… hurt?

I cup his beautiful face in my hands and caress his cheek with my thumb, trying to soothe him, putting as much love as I can in this gentle touch. He closes his eyes and leans tenderly into my palm. "Christian, love, you look lost. What is it? You know you can tell or ask me anything. That was the whole point of tonight: open communication."

He looks like he's calling on his inner strength and it makes me nervous.

"Do you really think that she manipulated me, took advantage of me?". The look in his gray eyes raises a lump in my throat. He looks entirely vulnerable. Did he really never think about that? Did it never come up with Dr. Flynn? Or was he never ready to hear it?

The thought of the Bitch-troll hurting my lost boy makes me want to descend on her with all the fury of an avenging angel. Even my subconscious is waving her gin bottle around menacingly. But staring into the face of my beloved, fucked-up man keeps my voice quiet, calm, reassuring.

"Of you? No. Even as a teenager, I know you were too strong to be forced to do anything you didn't want to. But she manipulated the situation, certainly. You may not have noticed, but she is a master manipulator. I don't know if she behaved this way with you since your intimate relationship ended and before you and I met, but I've certainly noticed how good she is at spotting people's weaknesses and poking at the cracks."

I don't know what force is possessing me suddenly, but the words start pouring out, and I can't stop them. I've kept all this bottled up and neatly organized for what feels like forever, and I can't keep anything in any longer.

"On Saturday, she told you she wouldn't attend the gala, but she did. She knows you don't share your intimate life with your family, but she saw how welcoming they all were towards me, and she went to tattle to Grace that I broke your heart so your mother would get suspicious of me. And don't try to convince me it didn't work because I saw the distance between you two when we went to say goodbye. She knows how much you need to be in control, so she keeps finding ways to go behind your back to piss you off. That's why she avoided you but went out of her way to talk to me alone. I know it's written all over my face how much I love you, so she pressed on my guilt of having hurt you. She knows she absolutely revolts me, so she made me believe you went to see her when I left. You told her I wasn't into the lifestyle, and when she threatened me she used a thinly veiled Dom innuendo. The only thing she wasn't ready for, was for me to talk back to her, probably because I didn't use to do that much around you in the beginning. I took her by surprise, but she quickly changed tack and sent that note through a waiter offering the hand of friendship. But, were I to accept, I suspect she'd take the opportunity to find new weak spots to pick at. The only thing I can't understand is what she's hoping to achieve in the long run, apart from hurting us. Maybe she's trying to break us up, but I won't let that happen. Any pain she causes me with her games is a pinprick compared to the misery of a life without you."

After my long, spirited tirade, I take a break to calm my breathing. We are both quiet and thoughtful again, and I start absently playing with Christian's fingers. Suddenly, a fuzzy, sleepy memory hovers at the edge of my mind and makes me uncomfortable. Was it real, or was it one of my own dreams? I decide to ask.

"Tell me, did she ever call you by any nickname?"

At that, Christian looks up and frowns. "My dear pet. And I think all her other subs have had nicknames along those lines. Why?"

"That's what I thought," I mutter.

"How do you know about that?" he asks, genuinely surprised, and a little annoyed.

"Sometimes you mumble in your dreams. Never enough for me to really understand what it's about, and I'm usually half asleep when I hear you, so I don't pay close attention to it. But that just came back to my mind."

"It's nothing unusual in those circles, you don't have to worry about it, Ana." But he's the one looking worried. Is he expecting me to lose my temper? I'll admit, I've been pretty animated, but I'm not feeling angry at all. Actually, I feel really good. I'm finally speaking my mind, Christian is listening and not jumping at my throat. I feel like an adult. Is he worried he'll be the one to snap soon, maybe?

"Is there another recrimination coming?" he asks, but his tone is playful and teasing, and I relax.

"I'm not worried, nor recriminating. I'm perplexed. I didn't realize that these relationships were usually so…" for the first time this evening, I can't seem to find the right word. "Dehumanizing, I guess I would say. The whole time you were trying to convince me to give your arrangement a chance, I never got the sense that it would be like that. I expected bossy and demanding, sure, but not degrading. You insisted so much on the fact that I was the one who had to agree to the rules, that I still had a certain amount of power. And you always used my full name, even when we went to the playroom and you showed me what it would be like. So I wonder, are you a different kind of Dom? Or was it because it was me, because I was inexperienced, and because you wanted so much to convince me to give you a chance?"

He smiles. "Well, there was definitely a lot of that. I did bend quite a few of my own rules trying to sway you, Miss Steele. But even so, it's true. I never took to the practice of degrading nicknames as you call them. Always used my subs' names, and I hardly ever even shortened them."

"See? I told you, you are a good man Mr. Grey. Even as a Dom, you were respectful."

"If you say so." He still doesn't sound convinced of that fact.

"Can I try to prove it to you?" I ask him.

"How?" he breathes. And the one syllable rings with burning desperation. My beloved Fifty… He wants to believe me, but still doesn't trust himself.

"I suppose you've done visualization exercises before with the expensive charlatan?" I ask. He raises an interrogatory eyebrow but nods. "Do you trust me?"

"Ana, you know I do." And his voice is overflowing with love and tenderness.

"So, close your eyes, relax, and try not to suppress your instinctive reactions. Just let your face and your body reflect your emotions."

"Okay", he responds, a little uncertain. I give him a moment to take a few deep breaths and let his body unwind, let him shed the strain of our intense conversation.

"Ready?" I ask him. He nods silently. "Remember the day we met, the interview at Grey House." At that he grins. "You're picturing me falling on my hands and knees on your threshold, aren't you?" I chide him.

"Why, Miss Steele. Why would you say that?" and he laughs. And I'm laughing with him. "But yes, I was," he eventually concedes.

"Can we go on?" I scold him.

He sobers and finally replies, "Yes Ma'am."

"Now I want you to change one thing from that encounter," I prompt, studying his face intently. "You still find me just as attractive, but I'm not interviewing you for the graduation ceremony for the WSU student newspaper." He's frowning, wondering what I'll say next. "I'm from an elite private high school with an AP tech program, and I want to ask questions about your innovations" I continue slowly. He looks interested in the fictional tech program. I brace myself, hoping my instincts are correct and I'm not about to screw everything up. "I'm sixteen," I say finally. And he recoils, just as I was sure he would. "There," I say finally, and my tone is smug.

"What, 'there'?" he questions me, obviously perplexed, his eyes still closed.

"Do you still chase after me?" I finally ask him. And my voice turns unbearably tender, even to my own ears.

"Absolutely not," he answers without even thinking about it. His eyes fly open, shock apparent in their steely depths.

"I told you, you are a good man Christian, and you have a good heart. Even if you don't believe you have one. I do, and I my faith is strong enough for the both of us until I can convince you. Trust me, please, you'll get there. I won't ever give up on you. I love you far, far too much for that, and you know it."

I fix my gaze on him, willing him to believe me, to believe in himself. But he looks like he's drowning in the depths of some emotion I can't read. I want to wipe the agony off his gorgeous face, so I kiss him breathless, our lips, teeth and tongues clashing. My inner goddess raises her curious head.

When we resurface, I move to stand up. "That's enough deep conversation for today, don't you think? Bed?" I offer.

Unexpectedly, he stops me in my tracks. "Wait," he breathes. "First, what did you mean when you said 'there' sounding like the cat who ate the canary? And second, and most importantly, how can you have so much faith in me, when you barely know me?"

Oh, my lost little boy, my Fifty Shades of fucked-upness… You really don't see it, do you? I grab his face in both of my hands firmly, relishing once more the feel of his stubble under my fingertips. I trap him into my gaze, and launch into what I hope will be my last tirade of the evening. And knowing what I want to say, I draw on all the inner strength I have left to keep the tears from flowing.

"I said 'there' because when I said 'I am sixteen', you flinched, as I knew you would."

"I still chased after you, knowing you were innocent. You were a virgin and I took you anyway, introduced you to a world so much darker than anyone else you could have had," he interrupts.

I shake my head, willing him to see what I see.

"I have faith in you because I don't need to know all the facts, acts, and memories of your past to know your soul Chrisitan. You are moral, ethical and have values I respect and admire. You know what is right and wrong and you care. The light of your soul pierces through everything and everyone you touch. It pulses through the way you do your business and treat your employees. It shimmers over the causes you support. It makes a halo around the tight, protective embraces you wrap Mia in even when she annoys you on purpose. It glows in the way Gail and Taylor take care of you –and of me because you love me– far beyond the requirements of a job, as well in the smiles that brighten up their faces when they see you happy; and its absence darkens their eyes when they see you in pain. It was shining in the loving stares of your family when they saw me kiss you Saturday night: not just your mother and father, but also your grandmother's unfiltered, inappropriate comments and the way she squeezed your hand, and your grandpa Theodore's teasing dismissal of what she had just said to save us from being embarrassed. And it burns brightest of all when you look at me, when you hold me, when you touch me; every moment we are together, even when you're mad, sad, tired or scared, that light is there." I let my hand hover over Christian's heart, not touching him, and he doesn't even flinch. He trusts me.

I catch my breath, bringing my hand back to his cheek, and continue. I need to let this all out, and he needs to hear it, all of it.

"Don't you see? This his why I love you and loathe Mrs. Robinson. This is the difference. You chased me, but you didn't trick me. You went above and beyond to convince and seduce me, but you never forced my hand. You introduced me to a dark and carnal world, but you left every possible door open for me to exit it, even tried to push me out sometimes to protect my heart. I'm the one who stayed. Yes, you took me, but only because I let you. I can't even count how many times you asked me if I was sure that I wanted this, you, all of it. I walked into your Red Room of my own free will, to join you, not because you dragged me there. And with you, I discovered things about myself I never guessed were within me. I found strength, resilience, confidence, and more pleasure than I ever thought my body could feel and contain.

"Do you remember that first night here? In your office? You asked me how it was possible that I was still a virgin. I couldn't get the words out then, because I was too shy. But now I can, because you have taught me not to be ashamed. And the answer is simple. Never before in my life had I felt desire, not once. But I did the first time we ever touched, when you helped me with my jacket and your fingers grazed my neck. Never, ever before had I desired anyone, until I met you. And it took me a while to even recognize what the warmth inside me was.

"When all fell apart, I was just as miserable as you, but you were the one to reach out and take a step towards me. You sacrificed and compromised. You learned to do things differently, just to keep me. I know she taught you, but did she ever learn for you, from you, with you? You did that for me.

"And there is one last, huge difference between the two of you, despite your shared predilections. When we met, I was an adult, with a fully formed and healthy mind, capable of making my own decisions. As I said, I'm not judging her for her tastes, any more than I judge you for yours, which are slowly becoming mine. I can honestly say that I would not feel as strongly about her if she had found you when you were eighteen, or if you hadn't been so emotionally vulnerable. But she did when you were still a child in distress, scarred early in your life, struggling against a pain you could not possibly comprehend, as brilliant as you doubtless were as a teenager. Because that's the nature of teenage brain, they're still growing. You were still learning, changing, and she convinced you this was the only kind of pleasure you could ever have. She convinced you that the physical pain could heal or mute the pain inflicted on your heart and soul when you were little. But now we are learning together and I know, I see, I hear, that you're more like me than you ever let yourself think: you enjoy the light as much as the dark, you like it gentle as much as you like it rough, and you love me just as much as I love you."

As I speak the three words I need him to hear most of all, I feel a single tear roll down my cheek, and I feel as light as a feather. I'm winded, spent, emotionally wrecked, but I held my own. I'm still staring at Christian's face while slowly, I feel pride unfolding in my chest, steadying my heart and lungs. Pride in myself, for saying everything I wanted to say without hesitation; pride in my man, for listening attentively and answering thoughtfully and candidly; and pride in us, for finally having an honest conversation without letting our fear, anger or egos get in the way.

My lost boy seems trapped in an overwhelmed stillness. I keep my hands on his face, not breaking the contact, reassuring him that I'm here, with him, and that I love him. Slowly, he pulls me close, tighter and tighter until I feel his shuddering in my bones and I can barely breathe, but I don't fight it: I need it, too. I run one hand through his hair, soothing him, then place a playful kiss on the tip of his nose, letting him know that the time for being serious is over. He blinks, and I know that only now can he really see me again. He fists a hand in my hair and kisses me deeply, passionately, reverentially.

"Now, bed?" I suggest when we break apart. I have nothing more to say, and I don't expect any reaction from him right this moment. I know him, know he needs time to absorb what I said, sort through everything, and process it before he talks about it again. This was huge, he'll probably need to discuss it with Flynn too. I'm in no hurry, he can take his time.

"Anastasia… Oh, baby," Christian breathes in response, a beat late, hugging me tightly again. Holy shit! Did I break him? He blinks a few more times, shakes his head like he's clearing cobwebs, and seems to gather his wits. "Yes, let's go," he answers in a stronger voice. I get up slowly from his lap, stretching, and he follows me out of the TV room after turning off the sound system. We walk hand in hand, in silence, to the bedroom, pausing for a drink of water in the kitchen.

"Ana?" Christian calls tentatively as he sets his empty glass in the sink.

I turn expectantly towards him and wrap my fingers around the back of his neck, tugging his hair gently. "Yes, Cristian?"

"Thank you."

I'm bewildered and completely taken aback by his unexpected gratitude. My subconscious is lying on the floor too, in shock or exhaustion, I don't know. He steeled himself to face this conversation as if he were facing a firing squad, but now he's thanking me out of the blue. I frown. "What for?"

"The beautiful things you said, even if it's hard for me to accept them… Insisting we do this… All of it! You know I'm going to need a bit of time to really grasp everything, but I can tell this was good for us. You look more peaceful, for one, which makes me happy. I can see now how much all her crap was weighing you down, and I'm sorry I didn't see it sooner. And for snarling at you earlier, incidentally. And you had a good idea to go in another room and sit down. Can we keep that rule in the future? About not having hard and serious talks in the bedroom?"

"What now, Mr. Grey? You want to talk rules again so soon?" I tease.

"Literal as ever, Miss Steele. Shall we call it a guiding principle?" he suggests, a goofy grin splitting his beautiful face.

"Better," I allow, smiling. "Shake on it and make a deal?" I offer. He shakes his head no. "Pinky swear?" I arch an eyebrow. It feels good to be childish after all the heaviness.

He shakes his head again. "We kiss on it and make a deal."

And before I can answer, he pulls me into a tight embrace, and we share a surprisingly warm and adoring kiss. When we break apart, I put my cheek against his chest and hum contentedly. He rests his chin on the top of my head and we stand there for a moment, arms wrapped around each other, gently swaying to the beat of our hearts. Then, without a word and in perfect synchronization, we separate and head down the hallway, toward the bedroom.

At the door, he halts and faces me. "Baby, regarding our new guiding principle…" He lets his voice trail off and I feel the joke coming. I suppress my smile and tilt my head to the side. "For the next half hour or so, is our bedroom a space for loving or for sleeping?" he asks, more seriously than I anticipated. I probably look exhausted, and he always frets about my well-being.

I keep my mouth shut, giving nothing away, and push the door wide open. He eyes me inquisitively. In lieu of an answer, I give him a mischievous wink, grab the hem of my borrowed t-shirt, peel it off my body in one swift move and toss it on the bedroom floor. His face lights up. He lifts me gently into his arms and deposits me carefully onto the mattress. My inner goddess pouts for a second but, watching the cloud of peaceful tenderness swirling around us, marches decidedly to swap her provocative lacy ensemble for a soft satin nightdress. Christian makes quick work of our remaining clothes, joins me into bed, and we make unhurried, sweet, sweet love to each other.