Chapter Forty-one

It had taken some doing, but Ana had eventually persuaded Christian to stay behind while she, Pru and a few other Lambert females hit London for a day and evening of fun and frivolity. He'd pouted and frowned, argued and pleaded, but ultimately been doomed to failure. Ana had listened, with gracious understanding, to all his objections (including, impressively, memorized violent crime and traffic fatality statistics), then – the night before this scheduled excursion – had put hands on hips and serenely said, "Instead of trying to bully me, your time would be better spent working out how you're going to cope while I'm gone."

Okay, some part of him had thrilled with pride that she could now stand up to him; that she no longer took responsibility for his anxiety. But he'd run an exasperated hand through his hair and bitched, "When I said that I wanted you to become more confident, I didn't mean with me."

Proving, yet again, that she understands him better than anyone else ever has, she'd ignored his residual fury to approach and rest both hands on his chest – knowing that he wouldn't be able to resist embracing her – then lovingly said, "Yes, you did."

Trying to capture the fading threads of his anger, to lend power to his demands, he'd said, "This will happen only if Bree gives you a clean bill of health in the morning. Lea and Nigel will accompany you. You'll keep your phone on and fucking check it every now and then, in case I'm anxious enough to text you. You won't let any of those fuckers persuade you to do anything that might endanger you or our baby. You will have fun. And, right now, you'll let me tie you up and fuck you senseless."

She'd nodded her acceptance of all his conditions, then smiled at the last and said, "Mr. Grey, I thought you'd never ask."

The next morning, as the small convoy of vehicles gently rumbles a protest at being forced into life on such a cold morning – billowing their outrage in copious clouds of toxins – Christian is standing by the Range Rover talking to (lecturing) Pru. "Don't fucking interfere with Lea or Nigel. Do not even think of offering Ana any alcohol. Have her back at a reasonable hour or I'll fucking come and get her; she needs her sleep right now. Oh, she gets dizzy if she doesn't eat regularly, and currently needs to pee almost every hour, so make sure you're never very far from clean toilets."

Rolling her eyes, Pru quips, "Want me to fucking hold her hand, too?"

As much as her attitude pisses him off, he knows that Pru really does care for Ana, so merely says, "Just fucking watch out for her, okay?"

Surprising him with a kiss on the cheek, Pru retreats inside the car as she says, "Yes, Mum."

He's still shaking his head, not one hundred percent certain that the young woman can be trusted, when Ana finally emerges from the house. Meeting her halfway, he takes the large and surprisingly heavy handbag from her shoulder as he says, "Thought maybe you'd changed your mind."

"Wishful thinking, darling?"

"Yeah, I guess so." At the immediate frown of concern on her face, he quietly reassures her, "I'm okay. And I want you to have fun."

Ana laughs lightly, shaking her head a little as she says, "I don't remember even Mom being this worried about me…ever."

Glancing at the house, where Carla is most likely still in bed, Christian suppresses his disapproval of his mother-in-law's parenting skills – their so far brief stay at Elspeth Hall confirming that Carla cares first and foremost about herself – and guides Ana towards the Range Rover, saying only, "I guess not."

At the car, he returns the twins' nod of greeting, having already discussed what he expects from them. Ana warmly greets everyone, then lets Christian assist her into the seat, smiling as she then lifts her arms a little, encouraging him to attach her seatbelt. Once she's secure, his dick waking up at the evocative action, he farewells her with a gentle, lingering kiss and softly reminds her, "I love you, wife."

Gratified when her breath catches and her eyes mist up, he's slightly more carnally affected when she silkily commands, "Wait up for me."

He's about to shut the door when Pru demands, "Where's my kiss?"

Somehow certain that she won't mind, he offers her his middle finger, instead. Laughing, Pru taps Nigel on the shoulder and commands, "Drive on, Jeeves."

Apparently unmoved by the order, or the nickname, Nigel calmly reminds her, "Seatbelt, ma'am."

Glad of this confirmation that Pru won't be running the show, Christian can still feel that all-too-familiar cold, dread hand clutching his heart as he shuts the door – silently reminding himself that the apparent finality of the gesture is merely a symptom – and blows Ana a kiss. Rolling his eyes when Pru also returns the gesture, he waves as they move off, hoping that they can't see his rising panic at doing so. He can't seem to make his legs work until the last car is out of sight, then heads inside to implement his plan: laps of the heated pool until he's exhausted, then throw himself into work, interspersed with more exercise if he feels an overwhelming urge to call Ana. And, of course, Flynn's private number, just in case.

So far, so good; he's made it to lunchtime without doing anything worse than constantly checking his phone for messages…an old symptom that has eased somewhat since Ana swept into his life and disproved everything he thought he knew about himself. With lunch being an informal affair, he's downstairs trying to make a club sandwich last a long time, chatting with the few others also helping themselves to the generous buffet, when a man breezes in – Christian's memory supplies "Thomas" – and asks, "Anyone seen Lucy?"

A few glances and someone says, "Nah, Tom. Not with the other kids?"

His frown increasing, Tom looks around, saying, "No." Then shrugging off his fear, he says, "Oh, well; I'll check the library."

That cold dread again settling on him, Christian remembers a scene now familiar from the past few days – children ice-skating on the frozen lake, under adult supervision – and asks, "Where are her skates?"

Tom's eyes widen with fear before he rushes to the nearest window and hisses "Fuck," before dashing out the door. Even with that head start, Christian easily catches him – the thunder of many footsteps behind them – and is by Tom's shoulder when they both see the small figure fall through the too-thin ice in the center of the lake; exactly why the children had always been supervised, expressly forbidden to even approach the water without an adult.

Unable to do anything about the abject terror in the poor man's voice when Tom screams his daughter's name, Christian puts on a burst of speed and throws himself into a headlong slide onto the ice, idly wondering how much damage it's doing when sharp pain reveals that the surface only looks smooth. Even with the precaution of spreading out his body weight, his much greater bulk means that he crashes through the surface before reaching Lucy; time only for a shocked gasp before he's plunged into the near freezing water. By the time he surfaces, it's to find that someone thought to throw one end of a rope in his general direction. Without looking back at the loud cacophony of instructions behind him, he grabs it and charges towards the child, easily forging a path through the now thin ice. The shallow water means that he can just keep his head above water. Lucy, however, is not so lucky and is thrashing about while screaming her distress, trying desperately to climb out and occasionally disappearing, nearly stopping Christian's heart every time.

Finally almost to her, horrified to see that her movements are already slowing, though her anguished cries continue unabated, he says, "Hey, Aunt Lucy; it's Christian, remember? Just relax, sweetheart. I'm going to tie this rope under your armpits and then Daddy will pull you out, okay?"

Her eyes wide with terror, the child calms down a little and treads water as she sobs, "O…Okay."

Deftly knotting the rope around her midriff, despite the fact that his hands are already numb, he lifts her onto the ice and pushes her away from him, with the stammered instruction, "J…just lie flat, Lucy. You're about to go for a ride." With as many people as could fit on the other end of the rope, she practically flies to safety and is whisked towards the house in her father's arms.

Now unable to stop shivering, the rictus of his cramped jaw rapidly causing a headache, Christian staggers towards the crowded shore until – it seems an eternity later – a rope slaps across his shoulder. He wraps it a few times around one wrist, then holds on and braces in readiness as he nods. But, with no one to lift him up out of the water, all that happens is more ice breaks when they pull on the rope, so he stumbles forward, almost falling under again. This pattern seems to go on forever, and the blackness is closing in, when many hands grab him and simply haul him onto firm ice. He's barely conscious as they carry him inside, only aware enough to feebly struggle and mutter "Don't touch me," as they start manhandling him to remove his sodden clothes.

Though he's mostly numb, he knows when they uncover his torso because the guy cutting the sweater from his back hisses, "Fuck me."

Before he has a chance to think of anything to say, a blanket is draped around his shoulders as he's ushered – naked and shivering – into a chair near the fireplace. And a different voice – it sounds like Bill – says, "Okay. Fuck off. He doesn't need an audience." Sure enough, Bill's face comes into view and he asks, "What's your name?"

Clutching the blanket around his body and willing his teeth to stop chattering enough to convince the man, he replies, "C…Christian Grey. I'm s…suffering from mild to moderate hypothermia, but my memory is fine and I didn't quite black out. How's Lucy?"

"She's fine; better than you, I think. An ambulance is on the way. You don't seem like a guy who'd bother with hospitals much?"

Christian stutters a laugh at that and shuffles closer to the fire as he says, "No, but I'll let them check me out. Fuck, Ana is going to kill me. I lectured her only this morning about safety; reminding her not to do anything reckless."

Bill heaps more blankets on Christian as he says, "Yeah, looks like you're the one who needs monitoring. Make a habit of risking your life like that?"

Feeling much better, despite the physical pain as sensation returns to his limbs, Christian manages a real laugh and says, "If any of you fuckers could run, I wouldn't have even done so today. I was just first to the lake."

"First to the lake after somehow guessing that's where she was. You do know you saved her life, right?"

Suddenly back to uncomfortable, Christian realizes and asks, "They're going to make a big deal about this, aren't they?"

"If you mean everyone within twenty miles, for the rest of your life; yes." Just then there's a knock at the door, so Bill stands to answer it as he says, "And that'll be the first of them."

Mortified to hear Ann Lambert's voice, Christian checks that he's completely covered, and is grateful to hear, "I won't come in. How is he?"

"Good, Nan; good. Send in the paramedics when they're done with Lucy, but I think he's already feeling better."

"Oh, I'm so glad. I'll leave him alone for now. Just tell him…." She laughs a little and says, "Maybe it had better wait until I can think of adequate words."

Bill's voice lowers to a murmur, but Christian still hears him say, "It's all right, Nan; he knows."

Jerry's voice then says, "Didn't want to rummage through his stuff, so these will have to do for now."

"Thanks. Just give him some time before you release the grateful hoards, okay?"

As expected, Bill returns with a pile of clothes, saying, "Might as well wait until you've been checked out. They'll want to check your blood pressure and color of your skin; shit like that." Then gesturing to Christian's now covered torso, he adds, "Some of those scrapes might need attention too, before you put a shirt over them."

It's a good idea, so Christian leaves the clothes untouched. "You don't need to babysit me. I really am fine, thanks. Oh, and thank you, for getting rid of everyone. I'm not much into crowds."

Bill laughs and says, "I remember. That first night, I learned your name and then you were gone. I'll only stay until the medics get here." The approaching sound of a siren is heard. "Which should be any minute."

They're quite for a while, Christian just soaking up the heat from the fire as he stares into the flames and eventually asks, "How many people saw my scars?"

"Uh, about eight guys; your skin was still bright red from the cold when we carried you in here, so they were quite evident. They might be talking about it, but they won't mention it to you, if that's what you're worried about."

It is – that and the fact that he hates when people look at him with pity – but Christian can't find the courage to say so. Instead, he shrugs and says, "It was a long time ago."

"But it was yesterday, too?"

That finally gets Christian's attention and he's looking at Bill when the older man holds up his left palm, to reveal a shiny, white scar over most of his hand; bad enough to remove his prints. "I was born left-handed. The fucker held my hand against the wood stove so I couldn't use it for weeks. I'm guessing yours were for as pointless a reason?"

"Yeah." Suddenly filled with outrage, not just for himself and Bill, but all abused children, Christian vehemently promises, "This will not happen to my son."

"I believe you." At the knock on the door, Bill stands and says, "That's my cue. I doubt they'll take very long to pronounce you healthy. After that I might be able to give you another twenty minutes before you'll have to put up with everyone thanking you…probably repeatedly, okay?"

With a grin, Christian asks, "Any point saying 'no'?"

Bill only laughs as he heads to the door.

Now in several layers of borrowed clothes, some disgusting hot beverage in his hands claiming to have something to do with beef, a different roaring fire before him, and surrounded by well-wishers recounting his icy adventure, Christian is doing his best to cope with being the center of attention when someone enters and hands him a cordless phone, saying, "The missus."

Taking this opportunity to rid himself of a couple of problems, he stands and swaps the cup for the phone as he says, "Thanks. I'll take this in privacy, if you don't mind." No one does. He heads for the nearest empty room and lifts the phone to his ear as he says, "Hey, baby. I told them not to call you."

Her voice small, Ana says, "They didn't. Someone called Pru and she told me, thinking that I must already know. I didn't believe it until I couldn't reach your cell. Are you really okay?"

"I'm fine. I let the paramedics check me out, because I knew you'd worry otherwise." Closing the door on the world, he lies, "They recommend that I cuddle up to a beautiful, naked woman and call them in the morning."

Ana giggles, making everything better, and jokes, "Presumably with the details?"

He's almost smiling too much to answer, "Exactly." Then serious, he pleads, "Don't come back early. I'm fine. And, believe it or not, this was actually helpful; all that time worrying about you and I'm the one who needed protection…well, Lucy, anyway. So it's further confirmation that my concerns about you are mostly bullshit."

"Well, I'm glad something good came out of it…other than the obvious. How is Lucy?"

"Last I heard, sitting up in bed, with several people waiting on her, and lapping up all the attention like a pro. Thomas hasn't yet recovered enough to be pissed at her, but she'll probably be in trouble tomorrow."

"As will you."

Smiling at her "threat", he asks, "For saving a child? What's the punishment for that, Mrs. Grey?"

"I think you should be grounded, at least for a day."

Her sultry tone confirming that they're on the same wavelength, Christian can feel his dick stirring – poor bastard had nearly retreated inside his body after the icy swim. "Confine me to my room…maybe even to bed?"

Laughter now in her voice, Ana says, "Precisely. I'm sorry to be so harsh on you, Mr. Grey, but you deserve it."

Now unable to stop smiling, he says, "Yes, dear."

She laughs again, making his heart ache with yearning, and says, "Oh, I like that." They're quiet for a few seconds, just sharing the silence, and then she concedes, "All right. I'll stay here. Apparently Pru's got this big evening planned; early dinner plus a cabaret show. But I'll be back by midnight, okay?"

He hadn't suggested an actual time, determined not to let his fears control her movements, but is glad now of this concession and agrees, "Okay. Thanks. I'll see you not quite soon enough."

"Not nearly soon enough. Thank you, darling."

"For?"

"Being okay."

"Oh. My pleasure. Soon, baby."

It seems that he can hear her sigh, but he might be imagining it, and with the promise "Soon," she's gone.

Returning the phone, he asks for and receives directions to Lucy's room. There's no sound coming from within, so he gently knocks on the door, in case she's sleeping. A familiar face, that he cannot match a name to, opens the door. Her face lights up on seeing him, and she steps aside, saying, "Christian. Come in."

"Thanks. I'm sorry, I can't recall…?"

"Bev. Tom's sister."

Tom is sitting in a chair by the bed, watching over his sleeping daughter. Christian guesses that the traumatized single father hasn't moved all this time. He stands on seeing who their visitor is and warmly shakes Christian's hand even as he clutches the arm with his left hand, trapping his guest in a vice-like grip of gratitude as he quietly says, "Thank you. I can't…there aren't words…."

Willing himself not to blush, which of course has the opposite effect, Christian says, "Anyone would have done it. I just got there first."

"After working out where she might be. You've saved my daughter's life."

Bev then gently interjects. "Tom, he knows; he was there. Now leave the poor man alone."

It's Tom's turn to blush, and he finally releases Christian, asking, "So, what can we do for you? Just checking on Luce?"

Glancing at the sleeping child, Christian says, "Yeah. They tell me she's just fine?"

Also looking towards the bed, Tom reveals, "Yep…other than exhausted, as you can see. I don't think she quite realizes that she could have…she just thinks the whole thing was a grand adventure, with you as the hero of the story."

Despite resolving to keep his voice lowered, just as the others are doing, Christian can't stifle a laugh and says, "Well that's a first." When Lucy then stirs and starts to wake, he grimaces and adds, "Sorry."

Tom shrugs as he approaches the bed, saying, "It's okay. I would have had to wake her soon, anyway, or she won't sleep tonight. But I'm finding it very difficult to refuse her anything right now…other than her skates, of course, which are thoroughly hidden." Gently pushing a strand of hair from her face, he says to the waking child, "Hey, Luce; look who's come for a visit?"

Lucy sits up, rubbing her eyes, and exclaims, "Christian! Did you get hot chocolate with marshmallows, too?"

Approaching and squatting by the bed, so he'll be at her level, Christian says, "Uh, no; they gave me some drink that tasted like…I don't even know. I think it was meant to be beef soup."

Lucy crinkles up her nose in disgust and says, "Bovril." Leveling a look of scathing disapproval on her father, she adds, "Daddy likes it."

Chuckling at her outrage, Christian says, "Well, Daddy can have mine."

Lucy giggles and says, "And mine. Hey, did they put the thing around your arm?"

Confused for a moment, Christian catches on and says, "The blood pressure cuff? Yes. Apparently, I'm healthy."

"Me, too." Then looking to Tom, she asks, "Can I show him off, Daddy? I won't be long, but the other kids won't believe me otherwise."

It's Bev who chides, "He's not a toy, Luce. You have to first ask Christian."

Suddenly realizing that the wary accolades of cynical children might be easier to face than the sincere and deep gratitude of every adult in the place, who better understand the consequences if Lucy had spent even minutes longer in that icy water, he says "I'd love to," remembering to ask Tom, "If that's okay with you? I won't leave her side until she's again with you."

Despite all he's endured, only a flicker of reluctance passes across Tom's face and he says, "I think you can be trusted to watch out for her." Then looking at his daughter, he teases, "I've got some ice skates to burn, anyway."

Finally having the decency to look ashamed, Lucy pouts, "No, Daddy. I'm sorry. I won't do it again. Please don't burn my skates."

Kissing her forehead, Tom concedes, "All right, Goose; we'll discuss consequences later. Go show off your new toy, and mind you don't break him."

When they're alone, on their way to only Lucy knows where, Christian takes the opportunity to ask, "Lucy, why did you do it? Why did you go skating alone, when you knew it was wrong?" At her wary expression, he adds, "I'm not your dad, sweetie. I just want to understand."

Apparently too serious to discuss while dragging Christian along, Lucy stops and lets go of his hand to explain, "I wanted to go skating, but Daddy was working. He's always working. He said that these holidays he wouldn't do that so much." Clearly thinking it's relevant, she adamantly states, "And I'm a really good skater." Then shrugging, she adds, "But I didn't know where the thin ice was. No one told me. It's really not my fault."

Unable to let that slide, Christian gently reminds her, "You disobeyed your father and put yourself, and me, in great danger."

Suitably chastened, Lucy blushes and concedes, "Yeah, I'm sorry." Then, with a smile that would melt anyone's heart, she confidently concludes, "But you'll forgive me."

Wondering if men are born at a disadvantage to women, Christian laughs at her efficient manipulation and agrees, "Yes, I'll forgive you. But I get your dessert at supper." When she hesitates, he laughs again as he realizes, "You're wondering what we're having, aren't you?"

Unashamed at being caught out, Lucy shrugs and says, "I really like apple pie."

"Okay. If it's apple pie, I get half, then we're even."

"Deal."

Where credit's due: Had to actually research where I might have first heard the term "Jeeves" for an efficient manservant. Pretty sure it was "Wodehouse Playhouse". Sidenote: throughout my daughter's High School years, she'd text me "Home, Jeeves?" when she was ready to leave.