Author's note: So, CS, what did you do on Easter Monday? Wrote this chapter. After so many of you were traumatized by the previous, I had to at least make it a little better.

Again time to thank my darling Guests; particularly to the clever clogs who reminded you all about the epilogue of "On the Rocks", thus saving me from doing so in every reply. And to the sweetheart who merely commented "Bastard"; my current favorite review. Thank you. Obviously, I can't reply to you if you're signed in as Guest or have Private Messaging disabled. But I read and appreciate those comments, too.

Chapter Fourteen

She's still a weepy puddle on the en suite floor when gentle hands silently encourage her to stand. Dimly aware that it's Gail who's helping her, Ana lets herself be guided to the kitchen, there to sit on one of the bar-stools with her head in her hands until a tissue is placed in them, soon followed by a cup of tea. When the sobs subside enough that she can speak, Ana asks, "You heard?"

With a sympathetic grimace, Gail says, "It wasn't a quiet conversation. I'm so sorry, Ana. But it'll be okay. He just needs to cool off. They're such fragile creatures, aren't they?"

Remembering one of her favorites, Ani DiFranco, Ana quotes, "But I am tired of being your savior."

"Sorry?"

"Nothing; just agreeing with you. Is ibuprofen okay for babies?"

"Uh, yes, I believe so. Headache?"

Ana bleakly nods and says, "A Christian-sized one. Would you mind?"

"Of course not. I'll be back in a sec."

Ana is clutching the cup, trying to let the heat rouse her numbed senses, when Taylor suddenly breezes in, saying, "Baby, I have to go check on Christian's car. It's…" Rocked to a standstill, cellphone in his hand, he quickly recovers enough to say, "Oh, sorry. I thought…where's Christian?"

Her voice sounding foreign, as if someone else is speaking the words, Ana monotones, "Apparently, in his car. Other than that, your guess is as good as mine."

Gail returns in time to have heard part of the conversation. Resting a hand on Taylor's forearm, she says, "It's okay. I'll explain later. Everything's fine."

Clearly confused, and more than a little worried, Taylor looks from one woman to other, as if watching a tennis match, then cautiously says, "All right. I'll be in my office."

When he's gone, Ana asks, "Are you two married, yet?" At Gail's shocked expression, she explains, "Apparently, Sophie's teddy bear has a big mouth and informed its namesake of your engagement. Congratulations."

With ability borne from years of coping with far worse shocks than this evening can provide, Gail straightens her shoulders, hands Ana the pills and briskly says, "Thank you. But never mind about that for now. Swallow those, and then you must eat your dinner." When Ana screws up her face at the idea, she's told, "From now on, every decision you make also affects your unborn child."

At this reminder, Ana meekly does as she's told, then asks, "Can I eat in here, though? I don't think I can face that huge table by myself."

"Of course, sweetheart. I've not yet eaten. Would you like me to join you?"

Moisture again blurring her vision, that the woman who cleans her underwear has more compassion than her husband, Ana gulps, "Please."

After a lovely dinner, that unfortunately might as well have been cardboard, given Ana's apparent inability to sense anything other than pain, she says, "Thank you, Gail. I feel heaps better now. I know…I trust that he'll come around. It's just been a hell of a day. You've never had children?"

With only a hint of sadness, Gail says, "I'm afraid that particular blessing is not meant for me. But I'm very happy for you. I know that you and Christian will be wonderful parents…once he comes to his senses, of course."

Mortified that this beautiful person might want to be a parent and cannot, while she's apparently able to be impregnated through latex, Ana says, "God, I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Gail shrugs and says, "It's okay. That's old pain. I'm content with my life. Most days I'm even happy. In my experience, that's the best we can hope for. Try to get some rest, okay? I'm sure he'll be back soon, begging your forgiveness and driving you crazy with his need to make sure you and the baby are healthy."

Miraculously, Ana finds herself believing this and laughs, saying, "Yes, that occurred to me, too. He's going to be even more attentive for a while. Thanks, Gail. I'd be still sobbing on the bathroom floor if you hadn't dragged me in here."

Shrugging it off, Gail says, "No. You're strong, Ana; very strong. I just didn't want a mess to clean up." Offering a hug, she concludes, "He's a good man. He just needs to remember that fact."

Gratefully accepting the embrace, Ana draws what comfort she can from it before saying, "I know. Thanks, again. Oh, please tell only Jason for now, okay?"

"Of course. Night, Ana."

"Night."

Pausing only long enough to grab his jacket and keys, Christian storms out of the apartment, silently conjuring increasingly worse expletives as he goes. The elevator is too slow, and far too reminiscent of Ana, so that he practically runs out of it as the doors open. Mortified to see that his hands are trembling as he opens the car, he's suddenly glad that the R8 has keyless ignition, and it roars to life at the push of a button. He knows that Taylor will freak out when the automatic log tells him that the car is moving, but he doesn't give a damn.

Only when he hits the freeway does he feel able to take a proper breath, and even then it's only to yell, "Fuck!"

Why can't Ana accept the impossibility of them being parents in only nine months? Fuck; less than eight months! It can't be done. They're not ready…he's not ready. Only when he notices where his fight-or-flight instincts are leading him does Christian take the first exit and come to a stop, still trembling. He's twenty-eight years old. No matter what fucking happened to him as a child, he can't go running to his Mommy just because he's having problems in his marriage. Besides, he's not totally convinced that Grace, and then Carrick, wouldn't just kick his ass and rush over to support Ana, instead.

"Fuck!"

Quickly sliding his phone open, he dials and hears the recorded message, "This is Dr. John Flynn. I'm unavailable right now. If this is an emergency, please remain calm and call my trusted colleague…"

Christian doesn't bother listening to the rest, hanging up and just staring at the phone for a while, trying desperately to think who to call. But there's no one he knows who wouldn't side with Ana. Even that realization isn't enough to make him reconsider his stance, though it does plant the seed of doubt in his mind, causing him a slight twinge of regret that he was so harsh with her. She'd stoically endured his disbelief, mistrust and anger, even managing to lash him with her own gentle brand of sarcasm when he'd examined her arm. Why the fuck did he do that? He trusts her. Even if he didn't, Ana would never consider such a betrayal. Sure, some of the women he's been with would, and have, tried to gain his child without consent. But Ana is not like any of them. She's good and honorable and, until coming in contact with him, pure as driven snow.

"Fuck!" He really is a bastard, in every sense of the word.

One place has always been a sanctuary; it's members only, and none of the drinks are below top-shelf. Though he's not been there since meeting Ana, he's instantly recognized at the door of the gentlemen's club. "Good evening, Mr. Grey. So nice to see you again. Are you meeting anyone here?"

"Not tonight, Sol. I want to drink and be left the fuck alone."

Without batting an eyelid at his rather hostile reply, Sol takes his jacket and gestures to a nearby booth, saying, "Of course. Someone will be by in a few seconds to take your order. Enjoy your evening, sir."

As if he gives a fuck, Christian learns that his waiter's name is "Benji"; a sad name for an adult male, even a pimply-faced youth like this specimen, though he presumes it's short for "Benjamin." Thankfully, the doorman has conveyed Christian's wishes, and the kid puts a Reserved plaque on the table; this particular establishment's polite way of saying, "Fuck off." Ordering a double of the best bourbon they have, Christian adds, "And a cigar."

While he waits, Christian suddenly realizes why the place is so fucking empty; he's never been here on a Monday before. Still, that suits him just fine. The cigar proves depressingly unsatisfying, despite the excellent quality; probably because it's been too many years since he smoked anything except trout on fishing trips with Carrick. Thinking of his dad causes another twinge of pain, because Christian is coming to the realization that sitting here, drink and cigar in hand, while his wife is at home, presumably crying, is not his finest hour. So he downs the bourbon and gestures for a refill, rethinking his assessment of Benji when the kid appears almost instantly, carrying another drink, and whisks the empty glass away without a word.

Unaware how often he repeats the gesture with a glass containing only ice and trace amounts of liquor, Christian knows that he's reached his limit when Benji approaches empty-handed and nervously says, "I'm sorry, Mr. Grey, but I'm not permitted to serve you another drink this evening. May I call you a cab?"

Throwing his wallet down on the table, Christian unsteadily rises to his feet as he says, "No. Settle the check and give yourself a ridiculous tip while I take a piss."

Visibly relieved that there won't be a confrontation, Benji bobs his head and reaches for the wallet as he says, "Thank you, sir."

By the time he's negotiated the urinal without soiling his shoes, Christian has forgotten all about his wallet. Thankfully, it's handed to him at the door, along with his jacket, which he'd also forgotten. As he fumbles handling either of these items, the doorman asks, "Are you sure we can't call you a cab, Mr. Grey?"

Managing to stand up straight, Christian insists, "I'm fine, Sol. Just need to take a nice, long walk…clear my head. G'night."

Clearly disbelieving, but with no power to stop a customer from doing anything once he leaves, Sol bows slightly and says, "Good night, sir. Take care."

Too drunk to drive, and not quite drunk enough to ignore that fact, Christian zips his jacket against the unseasonal biting night air and walks without a direction in mind. Lost in thought, his meandering feet eventually lead him to a familiar door. Wondering if it's truly luck, or his subconscious took over the navigating, Christian just stares at the entrance to Elena's salon, Esclava. Eventually, it filters through to his brain that there is, in fact, one person he can talk to about this – one person he's always been able to talk to – and that the light in her office is on.

He has to pound on the locked door for several seconds before he sees Elena tentatively poke her head out of the office. On seeing him, she smiles and approaches with keys in hand as she says, "Christian, what a lovely surprise. But what on earth are you doing here?"

Leaning his head against the glass, he points out, "Freezing my fucking balls off. Lemme in."

Elena does just that. As Christian stumbles through the doorway, she asks, "Have you been…" Catching a whiff of his breath, she says, "Yes, you have. Christian, you haven't been this drunk in years, certainly not on a Monday. What's wrong?"

"Ana. She and I had a huge row, and I suddenly couldn't stand to be around her. Do you have anything here? I got cut off at my club, and I've been walking since then."

"No. I'm sorry, darling. If you give me a few minutes, we can find a quiet spot for a chat, okay?"

Incredibly grateful that she's content to make the decisions, Christian meekly says, "Okay."

Of course, he recognizes the bar. There aren't many places in Seattle that Elena knows which aren't also familiar to Christian. She guides him with a gentle hand under his elbow to a secluded booth and orders a bottle of sparkling wine. Watching as she fills his glass, Christian says, "I'm gonna be sorry in the morning; mixing bourbon and champagne."

Elena laughs, somewhat harshly, and says, "I'm only guessing how much you had to drink. But I'd say you're going to be sorry, anyway."

"Probably." Suddenly lowering his head to his hands, Christian exclaims, "Fuck, what have I done? I shouldn't have walked out on her like that. She's probably devastated."

After a moment, Elena quietly asks, "Do you want to tell me what happened? I thought things were going well?"

"They were…they are. Fuck." With a groan, Christian reveals, "She wants to start a family. We've talked about it before, but…fuck, how can she look at me and think I'm father material?"

Another pause, and Elena dares, "I hate to say 'I told you so', but I did try and warn you, Christian. She's not right for you, and never will be."

Sober enough not to tolerate that, Christian sits up and says, "Elena, you love to say 'I told you so', and Ana is still the best fucking thing that's ever happened to me. I just…I need…" Running a hand through his hair, he lifts his glass to her and concludes, "I need to stay drunk for a while."

Smart enough to know when to back off, Elena delicately touches her glass to his and says, "Santé, darling."

With Christian militant and Elena wary, they stick to safe subjects for a while; work, family, local news. They're on the second bottle when Christian says, "I'm sorry, Elena, about my birthday party. But you were way out of line. You don't get to decide who I see anymore."

Anger flares in her eyes, though his currently aren't functioning well enough to see it, and Elena says, "It wasn't pleasant. But I'm impressed with how your little lady stood up for herself. You know that I've always admired such spirit. I can certainly see the attraction." With a weighty shrug, as if the worries of the world are resting on her shoulders, she continues, "Still, I'm sorry to lose your mother as a friend. As ever, living up to her name, she's steadfastly refused to tell anyone why we're no longer speaking. But there's been talk, and I've lost other…acquaintances, because of it. Do you think she'd ever forgive me?"

As if the wine is actually truth serum, Christian doesn't hesitate to promise, "Not in a million years."

Elena again laughs – prompting Christian to wonder if that sound has always been this annoying – and says, "Well, I asked. Please tell me that you, at least, forgive me? You know it was done with your best interests at heart."

Unconcerned, as they both know the truth, Christian takes another swallow of wine and says, "Now, that's just not fucking true is it? Putting aside the fact that what you did was a crime, if you'd really wanted to use that method to help me, you'd have subbed from the start."

"Christian, for fuck's sake, keep your voice down."

Long ago becoming immune to that commanding tone of voice, Christian merely casts his bleary-eyed gaze over the almost empty room and asks, "Why?" Despite this, he does in fact comply, lowering his voice to accuse, "I've always been a dominant personality. But then you knew that, didn't you? It's why you had to seduce me; to dominate me. You get some sort of twisted pleasure from forcing people to behave against their nature…probably because you had no control in your marriage. Linc's money gave him all the power. When things started to go south all you could do was latch onto the nearest basket case and mold him into the perfect plaything."

Actually batting her eyelids at him, prompting a shake of his head and a sardonic grin, Elena purrs, "You can't accept that you were and are the most beautiful man I've ever met?"

Christian snorts his derision and says, "I'm not fifteen anymore, Elena, so save your flattery for your latest boy toy. How is Isaac, anyway?"

He knows from her manner before he hears the words, "It's not going well. He…why must they always cling? He's currently pouting because I've been working late most nights."

Suddenly realizing that this whole conversation may have been a really bad idea, Christian actually feels a little nauseous as he explains what most people are born knowing, "He's probably under the misconception that you have genuine feelings for him."

"I do, darling."

"Human feelings, Elena; love, affection, empathy, that sort of thing."

Immediately back to wary, Elena visibly shrinks from him as she asks, "When did you become cruel?"

As if they're discussing the weather, Christian shrugs and says, "No idea. But I'm guessing it was soon after I met you."

Sickened further by the sudden flare of desire in her eyes at his callousness, Christian is filling his glass yet again when her hand alights on his inner thigh and she purrs, "Darling, it was always good between us, and could be again…Sir."

Resisting the urge to touch her hand, for fear he'll cause her real harm, Christian's sudden and exigent need for action snaps the stem of the champagne flute, adding a nice sound effect for his words when he growls, "Move your fucking hand or I'll break your fucking arm." Elena snaps her hand back, as if from a viper's pit, and is leaning away from him, somehow knowing that she's gone too far this time, when he continues, "Do you honestly think that I'd find a shriveled up excuse for a human being attractive, when I have Anastasia waiting at home for me? I love her, Elena. I may have fancied that I loved you, when I was too young and stupid to understand how you were manipulating me. But that perversion of love was nothing compared to what I feel for my wife." His face twisted with disgust and rage, he concludes, "You're pathetic."

Literally trembling with fury, Elena hisses, "I don't have to take this."

Swilling what's left in the remains of his glass and setting it on the table, Christian doesn't even look at her to say, "No, you don't." Huffing her way out of the booth, surprisingly agilely, making him realize that she had gone so far as to only pretend she was drinking a lot, she's just about to her feet when Christian says, "Oh, Elena?" When she turns her shrewish glare on him, he gently commands, "You'll sell me your shares in GEH. I'll have the papers delivered to you tomorrow."

It's the only hold she still has over him, since he cut all other business ties, gifting her his share of Esclava, and she's held fast against that final gesture, despite Christian offering her better than market price for them. So Elena straightens her spine and quotes, "Not in a million years."

From memory, Christian rattles off every financier to whom she owes money, even the shady ones, and then says, "Have you bothered to check who these businesses currently belong to?" On seeing the fear enter her eyes, as comprehension finally sinks in, he silkily asks, "Do you know what it would take for me to bankrupt you?" Removing his phone from his pocket and holding it out with his thumb poised over the keys, he concludes, "I'll give you a clue; I could literally do it with my little finger, if necessary."

Not quite stupid enough to test his resolve, given that she's partly cultivated that trait in him, Elena offers a terse nod and demands, "At the elevated price."

Smiling, as if they're once again friends, except that it doesn't quite reach his eyes, Christian says, "Of course. I'm not actually cruel, despite your best efforts. You'll remember this conversation if you ever start nurturing some perverse yearning for revenge against Ana, or anyone else in my family?"

"It seems that I have little choice."

"No, you fucking don't. But, just in case, remember that there are worse things than bankruptcy. I still have a Polaroid of you and I that would see you put in prison for a very long time." He can see that he has her now; there's no fight left in her, and he doesn't even look at her to say, "Goodbye, Elena."

She hovers for a second, no doubt trying to come up with the perfect last word. Strangely, she finds it and says only "Goodbye," before leaving him alone with his regrets.

Where credit's due: Ani DiFranco, for "Origami".