Author's warning: Just in case you didn't read the end of the last chapter; this contains a graphic description of a car accident aftermath, based on an actual event. So please approach with caution.

Chapter Forty-five

Five heads turn to see that Pru is either dead or unconscious, a bloody gash on her forehead, more blood trickling down her pale, inert face and a large section of the wooden mast imbedded in the headrest; looking for all the world as if it's attached to the top of her head.

So much happens at once. Christian orders Lea to call Emergency Services, only to be told that they're already on their way, even as he frantically searches for a pulse. Desperate to help, and quickly realizing that six seats and four doors means she's in the way, Ana moves to exit the car, but is stopped by Lea's grip on her wrist and the normally courteous, even solicitous, professional's voice is near panicked when she commands, "No, ma'am; traffic!"

"I just want to make room, but I can do that from here."

Ana is released and encroaches on Carla's space enough to fold up the seat and permit access to Pru, all the while fighting the urge to just curl up and weep. She's not quite done, so it can only be seconds later, when Christian gasps his relief and says, "She's alive. Pulse is weak, but it's there."

But it wasn't quite soon enough for Nigel, who bellowed his outrage and leapt out of the car to assist when he realized that Pru had been hit. He opens the rear door in time to hear that she has a pulse, but still confirms it, even as he repeatedly calls her name, begging her to wake up. With only room for one person to administer first aid, Christian slumps back in his seat, numbly staring at the scene for a moment before swiveling his gaze to Ana. Somehow, she finds the strength to offer him a weak smile, which he returns, despite the fact that he's white with shock. When he beckons, it doesn't feel like a choice as she clambers into his lap.

Meanwhile, the bizarre soundtrack to this chaos is Carla; a two-handed grip on the cross hanging around her neck, eyes clenched tightly shut and muttering the twenty-third psalm. Ana suddenly understands that this must be her mother's other coping mechanism, though she's never seen her so scared before, and then feels like shit when she remembers that the reason she never met her maternal grandparents is because they died in a car accident before she was born. Again, it's not something she really even thinks about when she reaches forward to rest a hand on Carla's shoulder and join her in prayer.

After exacting a promise from her charges that they'll stay in the car, Lea fetches the first aid kit and instructs Nigel, "I got this. Secure the scene." When he doesn't even seem to hear her, she rests a hand on his arm and more gently says, "Nudge, I got this. We have a job to do."

A shudder goes through the oak tree of a man and he nods once before complying. He retrieves something from the rear of the car and Ana recognizes the familiar—from Taylor's road safety lessons—flickering glow of LED flares as Nigel goes about making sure motorists can see the car, even in this rapidly fading light.

When Christian suddenly opens the door, she's at first worried, but he only sheepishly explains, "Just need some air." At Lea's nervous glance, though she doesn't stop treating Pru, he promises, "I won't go far."

With a nod, Lea explains, "It'll be touch and go who reaches us first; the paramedics or the reporters, and the gawkers will be here any second." Christian only nods his understanding, climbs out from under Ana and exits, to lean over, with his hands on his knees, as he fights to regain control of his body.

It's too much for Ana and she says "I'll be just outside," smiling her gratitude when Carla thinks to grab Ana's coat and hand it to her.

By the time she's ready for the bitingly cold air, Christian seems to be feeling better and readily accepts her embrace as he says, "Sorry. Hope I didn't worry you?"

"A little. You okay?"

"Yeah, I just…" With a nervous glance at Pru, still unconscious but now with a bandaged forehead and a blanket over her motionless form, he takes a deep breath and whispers, as if the words are too scary to say out loud, "She's shorter than you."

Oh. Looking at where the broken mast has impaled the headrest, Ana only then realizes that, if she hadn't swapped seats with her cousin for the day, she'd most likely be dead. The knowledge hits her like a kick to the stomach, and she suddenly understands that Christian turning pale and almost vomiting is an impressive display of control that wouldn't have been possible only months ago; with the idea of life without her being his one true hard limit. It's a few seconds before she recovers enough to comment, "I think Pru would say 'fuck'."

Christian manages a weak laugh and agrees, "Seconded." Again lowering his voice, he asks, "Your secret women's business is about Nigel?"

"Yes. You guessed from his reaction?"

"Yeah. I imagine that I would have made the same sound if you were in that seat. Plus, he's never used her first name before, certainly not within my hearing."

It's only been minutes since the accident. Even so, a few pedestrians are approaching—having abandoned their vehicles nearby—cameras and phones recording every moment of the excitement. Christian hisses his disgust and opens the door to reclaim their seat (safe behind tinted windows) just as they hear a car on the gravel behind them. Nigel has been waving all traffic past, so Ana glances towards the sound, surprised that she hadn't heard the siren, and sees a silver Range Rover with a white sailing dinghy in tow. Having been asleep at the moment of impact, she cannot be certain why Christian immediately tenses and spits out "Motherfucker," even as heads that way, ordering her to "Get in the fucking car and stay there," but she can guess.

He doesn't seem to hear her call his name as he walks away, but nods once when she more loudly says, "Christian, you promised!"

As she gets in the car, Lea is also anxiously watching the mini-drama unfold and asks, "He promised?"

With a nervous glance at a slightly recovered and now vigilant Carla, Ana reveals, "Uh, he was a bit wild in his younger days. But he's promised to never hit anyone in anger, unless I grant him permission."

Carla nods her understanding and says, "And you never will."

"I never will."

As the visibly shaken stranger, who unwittingly ruined their day, approaches with his hands raised in an instinctive defensive posture, it's Nigel who meets him and grabs the much shorter man by the front of his jacket to better verbally abuse him. Lea nervously begs, "Uh, Mrs. Grey, would you monitor Ms. Kent for me?"

Amazed that the woman can remain so detached as to use formal names, even now, Ana stammers, "Oh, uh, sure. But I only know basic first aid."

Smiling, though it looks a little forced, Lea is already exiting as she says, "That's all you'll need. Keep an eye on her pulse. Yell out if her condition changes at all."

"Got it."

One hand on the comforting pulse at Pru's wrist, the other holding her friend's hand, Ana asks, "Uh, Mom, can you find another blanket or coat? She feels a little cold to me."

"Of course, darling." Seconds later, Carla is tucking a full-length coat around Pru's body. Then taking a moment to stroke Ana's hair, she lovingly murmurs, "How are you so brave?"

"Uh, I'm not sure I am, Mom. I haven't done anything."

Carla smiles and sits down as she says, "You worked out that Pru was hurt. Almost immediately, you were doing what you could to help. Then you comforted me and Christian, even reminding him that he'll be sorry if he loses his temper."

Ana laughs at that and says, "I'm not sure he would be. But he's determined to keep his promises to me, as best he can."

"I'm glad." They're quiet for a moment, both staring at Pru, willing her to wake, and then Carla gently says, "I love you, Anastasia."

Sparing a moment to reassuringly grasp Carla's arm, Ana promises, "I love you too, Mom."

Carla pats Ana's hand before it's removed, then grins and jokes, "And I could do with a drink about now."

It's barely audible, but they both hear Pru say "Me, too," just as the incredibly welcome sound of sirens is heard in the distance. "Fuck, my head hurts." Touching the mast, she adds, "What the fuck is this? Why can't I move? Fuck, babe, why are you crying?"

It's Carla who answers "Ana is just very glad to hear your voice, sweetheart," and leans her head out the shattered window to yell for Nigel.

Despite the fact that the remaining occupants hurry back to the car, Ana has time to joke through the tears, "Pru, honey, when I said that we need to get his attention, this is not what I meant."

Grinning, Pru asks, "He's cut up?"

A nervous laugh erupting from her, that Pru can look so happy at a time like this, Ana reveals, "Devastated."

It's all she has time for, because the door opens to reveal a terrified Nigel, who sees that Pru is awake and gasps before asking, "Pru! You okay? Say something."

Pru's pallor is still of concern and she's obviously in pain, but her smile is genuine when she accuses, "I knew you fucking liked me, you jerk."

Profound relief transforms even his posture, then Nigel practically falls into a kiss, which Pru readily accepts. Not lingering, he pulls back from her, excitedly babbling, "Now, don't move; you might have—" Cursing, when he bumps his head on the mast, he continues, "You might have damaged your neck, so keep still, okay?"

Apparently unable to stop smiling, Pru promises, "Okay."

By then, Christian is opening Ana's door, and she leans forward so that she'll end up in his lap. The flashing lights of the emergency vehicles, now surrounding them, illuminate the interior as he holds Ana close and dryly comments, "Interesting evening."

Pru laughs a little and says, "Yeah, you could fucking say that." Reaching a hand to her head, she fearfully asks Nigel, "Why can't I move?"

His jaw clenching in distress for a second, he reveals, "Because the mast has some of your hair, maybe even some of your scalp. I don't want to free you without a professional opinion."

Pru's utter confusion is almost comical when she asks, "Mast?"

Nigel doesn't have time to explain, as he makes way for a vividly reflective paramedic, and Lea informs Christian, "Sir? A company car is here. I've spoken to the police. We can leave now, if you'd like?"

"Please. But, how? You're based in London…oh, one of your guys at the estate?"

"Yes, sir. It's no luxury vehicle, but it'll get us out of here."

Only now noticing that she's still clutching Pru's hand, Ana raises it to her lips for a moment and says, "We'll catch up with you later at the hospital, okay?" Unable to turn her head, and with a stranger shining a torch in her eyes, asking inane questions, Pru merely squeezes Ana's hand in reply.

Then meeting Nigel's gaze, where he's hovering nearby—his face tight with concern—Ana silently pleads and he nods, vowing, "I'll stay with her."

Ana sits between Carla and Christian, holding hands with both of them, as they head back to Elspeth Hall in the replacement vehicle—another Range Rover—and she whispers, "I'm glad you decided to go with a minivan. I think that I've had my fill of Range Rovers, even custom-built ones."

Christian smiles a little and agrees, "Yeah." Then raising his voice a little, he says, "Lea; you'll pick up Ann Lambert and accompany her to the hospital?"

"Yes, sir; I can do that. I've already informed her of the situation. And we have enough staff at the house to keep an eye on things in my absence."

Surprised, Ana protests, "I told Pru that we'd go to the hospital."

Raising her hand to his lips for a moment, Christian kindly says, "And we will, baby, but not tonight. You're six months pregnant and been in a car accident. Now, you seem fine. So, if Bree is satisfied that you and Junior are okay, we can avoid the stress of an ambulance ride. They won't let us near Pru 'til morning, anyway. But Nan is her legal guardian, and she'll want to be there."

It makes sense, and she has some idea what it's costing Christian to keep calm with all that's happened, so Ana grins and corrects him, "Blip."

His expression swiftly changes from wariness to arousal, and Christian tenderly vows, "You'll be the death of me, Mrs. Grey."

"Probably, but you'll be a very old, very happy man when it finally happens," and readily accepts his lips on hers, as they celebrate being alive. Having actually forgotten her mom for a few seconds—forgotten everything but Christian—Ana turns to her, blushing, and apologizes, "Sorry, Mom."

Finally looking relaxed, Carla smiles and says, "Don't be. I'm just glad you're both okay."

Nan, and a few other occupants of the house—understandably distraught—are waiting in the driveway when they arrive. Delaying her only long enough to assure her that Pru was her usual foul-mouthed self when they last spoke, Ana embraces Nan, saying, "Give her my love." Surprisingly buoyed by the news of Pru's profanity, Nan offers no resistance when Christian lifts her into the car as Jerry folds and stores the wheelchair before also boarding.

Again consumed by worry for Pru, Ana silently asks for and receives a hug from Christian as the car drives away. She's amazed and impressed when he extends an arm around Carla's shoulders and steers them towards the house as he says, "Come on; Bree can poke and prod Ana, then a hot chocolate for each of us before dinner, I think?"

Ana expresses her gratitude by leaning into him, and Carla actually sounds almost in tears when she says, "Sounds good, Christian."

By the time dinner is served, they've informed those who care that they're safe, just in case the news report mentions names. Of course, the topic of tonight's conversation—before and after dinner—is the accident and Pru's condition; everyone only relaxing a little when they learn, hours later, that surgery to repair her scalp was a success and she's resting comfortably. Carla eventually excuses herself, when her phone chimes a message alert, and she explains, "That'll be Bob. I promised that we'd talk when he finished work."

Christian stands, helping Ana to her feet, as he says, "We'll walk you up."

They say their goodnights to Bree and the Lambert clan, walking to Carla's door in silence. Once there, Ana embraces her and asks, "You'll be okay?"

Her smile is tense, but Carla sounds sincere when she says, "Yes, darling, I feel…actually, I feel better about myself than I have for years, if that makes sense. I know there's a long way to go, but I feel optimistic that I can be what you need from now on. Thank you, for being so supportive."

"No problem, Mom. Say hello to Bob for me?"

"Will do. Night, darlings."

Soon safe in their room, Ana laughs a little and says, "She must like you; calling you 'darling' like that."

"Technically, all it got was the 's', but I do think she's warming to me." Then grinning, Christian adds, "I told you she'd like being bullied."

"Yes, you're very clever. Are we still having the session with Flynn?"

"No. You need sleep. I'll let him know what's happened and reschedule for tomorrow."

"All right. I am tired."

"Get ready for bed. I'll email Flynn."

Even when Ana is finished in the bathroom, Christian is still at his laptop. "Long email?"

Christian rubs a weary hand over his face and says, "Basically turned into a session, anyway, with him asking all sorts of fucking questions, like he does." Closing the lid, he says, "But I'm done, now. He says it's okay to tell your mom what you're feeling about her alcoholism, so long as you don't bombard or badger her. Because the risk is that she'll feel punished for finally confessing. But that you have every right to your feelings…or some such shit. He'll tell you tomorrow. He wants to chat with Carla, too, after our session."

"Oh, okay. She'll have to get used to talking to a therapist anyway, right?"

"Yes. He's compiling a list of the best in her area."

Suddenly putting his laptop aside and rising to his feet, Christian wearily kisses her and says, "Right; a piss, a quick shower and a toothbrush for me. You, get into bed and think warm thoughts."

Ana stirs as Christian is getting into bed. Shuffling a little, so she can assume that perfect position, nestled against his chest, she's surprised when he wordlessly snuggles into her, instead; his head resting on her shoulder and one hand on her abdomen, silently communing with their son. Of course, deducing why he's upset, Ana reassures him, "We're both fine, darling. We're safe."

He remains quiet for several seconds, while Ana caresses a hand through his slightly damp hair, and then Christian says, "I don't know that I could raise him without you."

"Darling, you're pretty much going to do that, anyway…unless you've changed your mind about staying home?"

"No. I can do that. After all, I had a pretty fucking excellent example of what not to do, right?"

Hoping his jovial tone is a sign he's already feeling better, Ana plays along, saying, "Yep. Step one: don't become a drug addict; check."

Christian lifts his head to kiss her and settles back into place as he says, "Exactly. And, what I mean is that, if you died, I don't know that I could…what if he looks like you?"

Suddenly worried that her private thoughts are somehow obvious, Ana snaps, "Did Flynn tell you to say that?"

Lifting his head at the harshness of her tone, a confused Christian says, "No, baby. Why do you ask?"

Relaxing a little, and remembering to trust her husband, Ana reveals, "Uh, the other part of the secret women's business; I'm worried Mom feels…felt, like that, too." Swallowing back the tears, she continues, "That I reminded her too much of my father, so she couldn't stand to look at me."

Staring into her eyes, as if he can actually see her thoughts, Christian asks, "That's why you were trying to be invisible when we met?"

"I guess so, but I think it was just habit by then. I remember, as a child, thinking that, if I could just be a good enough…quiet enough, Mom would pay attention to me. She was always pleading, 'Ana, darling, please be quiet for Mommy.' Of course, now I understand that she was often hung-over." Taking a deep, calming breath, she recalls Flynn's advice and says, "I'm so angry. But I don't feel like I can do anything with that anger. I mean, Mom's not well, is she? I can't be angry about that. And, looking back, I think she must have been careful to only drink after I'd gone to bed, so I wouldn't be in too much danger. She really did her best."

Quickly kissing her, Christian says, "Saint Anastasia. And I think you definitely need to mention this to Flynn. In the meantime, can I do anything?"

"You're feeling okay, now?"

"Yeah. I don't like reminders of how fragile life is, but all the more reason to enjoy it while we can, right?"

Satisfied that he's again strong, and still desperate for comfort, Ana grins and says, "Well, there is one thing you can do for me."

A lazy smile spreads over Christian's face, then his hand slides up to rest between her breasts as he asks, "Not too tired?"

Marveling at how this casual caress, or maybe the promise it contains, makes her nipples crinkle in anticipation, Ana promises, "No, Sir."

Though there are four people participating in this discussion, one of them is not actually in the room; John Flynn's presence represented by a digital image of his face on Christian's laptop screen. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Carla, though I think you'll agree the circumstances could be better."

Ana sees her mom nervously swallow before replying, so holds her hand as Carla says only, "Yes."

That incredibly reassuring voice, only slightly distorted by the distance between them, says, "Just relax, Carla. You won't be forced to do anything, and I'm not going to trick you into divulging more than you're comfortable with. This is merely a conversation, okay?"

It seems to work; Carla visibly relaxes and says, "Okay."

"Now, are you sure that you want Ana and Christian here for this?"

Finally confident, Carla replies, "Yes. No more secrets."

"That's a good start, though some things are not secret; merely private. But that's a discussion for another time. Now, Ana has filled me in on your confession and intentions. But would you please tell me, in your own words, why you want to commence therapy?"

"Uh, because I have a drinking problem, and I want to get over that…to find a safer, healthier way of coping with stress."

Flynn smiles and gently reminds her, "In your own words, Carla."

"Oh, uh…because…because…" Only when Ana instinctively clutches her mom's hand in both of hers, does Carla find the strength to conclude, "I don't want to be afraid anymore."

Smiling, Flynn says, "That's excellent work, Carla. You should be proud of yourself."

Sensing that they're done, Carla wipes away the few tears to ask, "That's it?"

"Have you ever said those words to anyone before?"

"Uh, no, never."

Again smiling, Flynn says, "Then that'll do for today. I just needed to be sure that you're doing this for the right reasons. It cannot be just for Ana, not even for your grandson, though they're both excellent motives to seek improvement. But your chances of success are greater if you're also doing this for you. Now, I'm going to send you a short list of names; one of them will be the person best suited to aid your recovery. You'll know after speaking with them. In the meantime, Ana has something she needs to say. But only if you're feeling strong?"

With a wary glance at Ana, Carla nervously says, "Okay."

Sounding like a kind parent gently chastising a child, Flynn cautions, "Carla. I said you won't be forced into anything. Please think about whether you'd rather skip this, for now."

"Uh, sorry." Taking a deep breath, Carla is looking at Ana when she adds, "I trust my daughter. I'm strong enough to hear anything she has to say…I want to hear it."

"In case you missed it, that's your cue, Ana."

Not wanting to delay any longer, now that she has the perfect opportunity, Ana maintains her grip on Carla's hand and takes a deep breath before explaining, "I'm thrilled that you're taking this step, Mom, and I'm really proud of you. But I'm also angry that you were so often drunk or hung-over when I was a kid." When Carla merely clenches her jaw and nods, Ana continues, "I feel like…it's as if you often weren't even present throughout my childhood. I missed out on so much…missed out on a mom, all because you couldn't—"

Flynn interrupts to gently remind her, "Just your feelings, Ana."

With a glance at the computer screen, Ana nods and continues, "When you told me, about the drinking, I was shocked, at first. Then I started to feel angry and I didn't even know why. Christian and John helped me work out that what I was feeling was a child's hurt; that you apparently didn't…" She's weeping now, immediately answered by the tears silently rolling down Carla's cheeks, and finally finds the strength to continue, "That you didn't love me enough to stop drinking. And I often wondered…actually, I was certain, when I became old enough to see the similarities, that you couldn't stand to be around me because I look like my father."

Christian's warm hand on the small of her back offers enough comfort that Ana is able to avoid completely breaking down as a tearful Carla protests, "Not true, darling, not true. Sweetheart, you're all that kept me going. You saved my life. And…and as much as it hurt, seeing Frank in your eyes every time I looked at you, it also…somehow, it felt as if he wasn't really gone, so long as I had you. " Smiling through the tears, she concludes, "It still does. You're the best of both of us. I'm so sorry you ever doubted that. I'm so sorry."

Her greatest fear allayed, Ana is easily able to embrace her mother, murmuring barely coherent words of forgiveness, until they recover enough to wipe the tears away; nervously laughing as their movements mirror each other.

Flynn's now cheerful voice interjects, "Well, I'm calling this one a success. And that'll do for now. As you're both believers, we'll conclude today with all three of you joining hands and Carla can lead us in prayer."

Carla instinctively reaches out her hand to Christian, who stares at it as if she's suddenly become dangerous. Only when laughter is heard, does he look at the screen, to see that Flynn is holding a hand over his mouth in an attempt to keep quiet. Ana and Carla are already laughing, and the corners of Christian's mouth are twitching a little as he mutters "Fucker," even as he almost slams the lid down.