A/N: Hey guys! I've decided to upload two days in a row as an apology for the two month gap between chapter one and two. As gathered by the last chapter's reviews, I am on the right track, and I am so glad that you're enjoying this. The only other thing I have to say is to have patience. We've caught the two lovers in the midst of a fight, so please bear with me and don't get angry-if you'd like to discuss something, please PM me! Thanks all!
As always, please review; I love your feedback!
Not two minutes pass before I hear a soft patter of footsteps approaching me, and I know that it is Mrs. Jones. I vaguely realize that she's become less formal around me since I found out about Blip.
Kneeling beside me, she takes my hands. "Up you go, darling. Come on," she says gently, bending down to help me up. I stand with her, being compliant, though I don't want to. As pitiful as it is, I just want to lie on the floor and cry some more.
"Shall we go sit in the library and I'll bring you some breakfast, or would you like to come out to the kitchen with me?" she asks sweetly, not releasing my hands. I assume it's because she wants to hold my attention, and sure enough, it's working—she knows what she's doing. Her kindness fills me with warmth and takes the edge off of my searing pain.
I shake my head at her. "You've done too much already," I murmur, beyond embarrassed that she's seeing me this way. I'll definitely have to get her something, a gift, for helping me.
She grins in amusement. "Mrs. Grey, please allow me to remind you that Mr. Grey pays me very well. The least I can do is make sure you get breakfast. I'm simply trying to make you and the little one as comfortable as possible," she explains carefully, thankfully not patronizing me as Christian was minutes ago. "Besides, you owe that to yourself, do you not?" I can tell she's trying hard not to overstep her boundaries, and I genuinely appreciate her fondness for Christian, Little Blip, and I.
Regardless, I look down at the floor, feeling ill at ease and self-conscious. I'm not used to being cared for so much, other than by Christian. "Kitchen," I finally murmur, relenting to her—it's not hard to say yes to this caring woman—and I look up in time to see her triumphant grin on full display.
"Please," I tack on at the last second.
"Good, good. The usual, Mrs. Grey?"
I nod, thankfully, and we find our way to eat-in kitchen. I climb gracelessly onto a stool, and Gail begins scurrying around the kitchen. Briefly, I wish I had my Blackberry so I could check my emails, knowing that my husband has probably left me a message with strict instructions to relax and to stay put. After she serves me my breakfast and I thank her, she leaves me alone, probably knowing I need some privacy to sort through my thoughts and emotions.
Christian's heated words from before come back to me. You are not to go to work today, understood? I've given Taylor implicit instructions not to transport you there, and I expect you to follow this order as well.
A frown forms on my face. Does he not know how much his words hurt? How much of an impact they have on my heart? It is so frustrating that ninety percent of the time, he knows exactly what to say to make me smile with glee, but then there's that ten percent of him that is—that's just—what? An idiot, fool, an asinine jerk?
As these negative remarks fill my mind, I force myself to think back to the conversation I had with Flynn. Benefit of the doubt. Benefit. Of. The doubt.
As much as I try not to think about earlier, I can't help it.
You're not a prisoner, Anastasia, you know that. Why don't you have Kate come and take you downtown to do some shopping for Junior?
His words said one thing, his hard tone another. How does he expect me to enjoy myself when he leaves me like this? Worse yet, I haven't a clue how any of this will be resolved. I don't know who's to say the first word when we see each other again or even when I will see him again. I hate to think about who is to be the one to compromise, who will be the one to admit they were wrong.
I don't know how much time has passed as I sit at the breakfast bar, picking at my granola and yogurt, my sobs lessening little by little as my body exhausts itself. It's hard to believe with how tired I am that I'd just woken up a little while ago—or has it been hours? I just don't know, nor do I care. I begin wondering again when I will see him next, not even knowing when his work day ends or when his breaks are. We never quite got to that this morning before World War Grey happened.
As if answering my thoughts, I hear the elevator ping, the door opening, then footsteps approaching, and I immediately tense up, my subconscious telling me to prepare to flee, seeing how fighting is not an option for my now lethargic body. Slowly—and what, cautiously?—Christian steps out of the confines of the lift and looks up at me with a woeful, remorseful glance which I immediately look away from. I simply tuck my head back into my arms on the countertop, deciding that if I had to continue to face the wrath of Christian Grey, I'd just ignore him and hope he'd get the hint to leave me alone. I'm much too wounded, much too infuriated, to face him, not to mention how my breath still hitches as I continue to cry. I don't know what would come out of my mouth if I tried to react to whatever he has to say.
Much to my surprise, rather than another round of yelling, insults, or chastising, I feel him kneel beside my stool and place a tentative hand on the small of my back. My immediate reaction is to flinch, but he swiftly makes an attempt to reassure me in the most soothing tone I'm sure he can muster.
"Anastasia," he coos to me, his hand beginning to stroke my back in a small, gentle circle. His tone alone makes my already sore eyes fill with a fresh round of tears and makes my entire body tremble. "Hey," comes his now whispering voice. "Come here, baby. Please." And though I know that he's on his knees beside me, crouched down with his arms extended, waiting for me to fall into them, I can't make myself move. I'm unsure as to why, exactly—from fear, exhaustion, rage, sorrow?—but I'm only able to drown in my emotions upon the counter top.
I hear a sigh coming from Christian, but it's not the usual angry or exasperated sigh, it's one that mirrors my own feelings of apprehension and unhappiness, along with a hint of desperation. It's then that I realize that he feel s at least a morsel of regret about what had unfolded earlier, and it's that realization which compels me to turn to him and throw myself into his arms, seeking—what? I'm not even sure if it's reassurance, an apology, or just him that I want. An ironic thought drifts through my mind and leaves just as quickly as it came; this man, this maddening, impossible man who drove me to tears is also the compassionate, sensitive man that I want to hold me, kiss away my tears, and make it all better.
Christian. I want Christian. All I want is Christian.
I lie there in his arms against him, still shaking but trying my hardest to fight off my tears. The attempt is futile, of course, and I find myself placing the blame on Little Blip again, wanting to think that I'm stronger than this.
"I-I'm sorry I hit you," I manage through shuddering breaths. "Please don't hate me."
"Of course I don't hate you, Ana," he reassures me, his voice deliberately soft and calm. He simply holds me on the floor of the kitchen, his tender hand still rubbing my back to calm me. "I deserved it."
I shake my head vehemently. "No," I say with a fierceness that surprises me and causes me to look up at him, meeting his grey gaze. "No one deserves to be hit." Only after the words are out of my mouth do I realize how true that is, and how much it really reveals about how I honestly I loathe his old relationships and lifestyle and how he once treated me.
Never again.
After a few moments, his head nods up and down slowly in agreement. "You're absolutely right," he says quietly yet with a firmness in his voice. "It's all okay now, baby," he tells me sincerely, caressing my cheek. "I'm sorry I took it too far. I always take it too far." I can tell he's very angry at himself and that his guilt is consuming him, and this is all it takes for my own fury to melt into nothing.
"I'll stay home," I yield, finally surrendering to his desires. As soon as the words are uttered, I know I can't take them back, but after this argument that could have been avoided by simply calling off from work, I don't want to take them back.
His eyes search mine, as if looking for any trace of dishonesty or uncertainty, and he nods. "It'll be good for you," he responds, almost eagerly. "You're overworking yourself, baby. Stretching yourself so thin. I don't want that. I don't want an unhappy Ana." A small, hesitant smile graces his lips, and I can't help but return the small display of contentment.
"I know, Christian. I know you want what's best for me," I tell him, almost as if berating myself this time. "I guess I'm the stubborn one this time, huh?" I know my cheeks are a bright shade of rose as I realize the trouble I've caused today by being so difficult.
He grins a bit more. "No, Ana, that's still me. You can't steal the crown on that one," he jokes, making the mood lighter and at the same time letting me know that this wasn't my fault. "Let's make a deal, okay? I can only expect for you to stay home from work if I give you something to do, yeah?"
I contemplate this, wondering where exactly he's going. "I guess that sounds fair," I acquiesce. "Where are you going with this, Mr. Grey?" Before I can continue my questioning, he carefully and tenderly picks me up from the floor and stands, cradling me in his arms. He makes his way toward the library, and my heart smiles at this attempt at comforting me.
"We'll make a list," he explains, pressing a kiss to my forehead as he carries me. "Several lists, actually. One will be for things I expect you to do while I'm gone to assure that you won't wither away. Another for things you want to do to occupy yourself—I'll be sure to get the materials necessary to allow you to do whatever you desire. The last will be for things that we will do together to make up for the time that you're cooped up here and—" His confident tone wavers suddenly. Uh oh. "And to make up for today and for how I've treated you lately."
He reaches my beloved window seat, and he sits down with me in his lap, grabbing the plush throw blanket— which is folded neatly beside us from the last time I used it. He drapes it over the front of us, and I rest my back against his front as I take in what he's just said.
"Christian—" I begin in a sigh, scrambling to pull my thoughts together. "You don't owe me anything."
"Oh, but I do," he nearly interrupts, barely allowing me enough time to get my words out. "I've treated you poorly, Anastasia, and there's no excuse for that, I know, but I am going to try my hardest from here on out to do better—for you. And… for our Little Blip, here." He places a tender hand on my swollen belly, and with a small smile, I place my hand over his. "I guess with my thick skull and all that it took what happened here today to get that through to me," he continues regretfully. "And for that I'm so sorry, Ana."
Oh, Fifty. My Fifty. I love this man.
I stretch my neck up to kiss him on the cheek before nestling my head back on his chest, his chin resting atop of it. "Don't be so hard on yourself, Christian, okay? Sometimes… people fight. It's all part of getting to know each other. We discover something new about one another every day, don't you see that?"
He nods, a small, reluctant smirk on his face. "You're right, as usual," he relents, and I wear a triumphant smile.
"You're not going to drive me away, if that's what you're afraid of. I didn't leave when you thought for sure that I would, when you thought what you were hiding would ruin everything, and I won't leave now—especially not now." I press his hand tighter to my stomach to emphasize my words, and he strokes his thumb across my cotton clad belly.
He sighs, and I know he's trying his hardest to believe my words. "Okay. Thank you for not being too upset with me."
"I could never stay mad at you, even if you're the most frustrating person I've ever met."
"Wow, baby. If my ego weren't so big, that would've hurt."
A huge grin blossoms on my face. Look at him, being all light hearted and teasing. It makes my heart sing with joy. "Yeah, yeah, you rich CEO."
"Hey there, little miss—that's Mister CEO to you," he retorts, and I love my adolescent-like Fifty.
"Yes, sir," I counter back at him, a giggle bubbling within me before I even know it's coming.
What a stark difference from this morning, I think to myself, but I'm not complaining one bit.