Author's reminder: "Garth" is Adam Garth, Ana and Christian's personal publicist. "Dolores" was the nickname for Ana's tumor; long since excised, though she may still have cancer cells in her brain and will undergo further treatment when it cannot harm the baby.

Chapter Fifty

They're in Christian's study; the one place he could think of, in his increasingly crowded house, to be alone with Taylor, who is apparently freaking out on his wedding day. He'd been growling all morning at the catering staff, practically bellowed at the wedding planner, then finally gone too far by raising his voice to Ana. Christian silently pours them both a measure of scotch (Nan had converted him) and taps the despondent man's shoulder with the crystal tumbler. Sitting with his head in his hands, Taylor looks up and says, "No, thanks; not until the reception."

"If you don't calm down, there won't be a reception. Drink."

Relenting, Taylor accepts the glass and downs it in one go. "Thanks." Then staring into the cut crystal, as if it might have the answer, he pleads, "Boss, what the fuck am I going to do? She'll kill me."

As usual, going to worst case scenario, Christian's voice is thunder as he demands, "Did you fucking cheat on her?"

"Fuck, no! But she vetoed a bachelor party; rightly insisting that I'm too old for that shit…except that my buddies are Marines and the concept of 'a few quiet drinks to celebrate' was apparently beyond them."

Managing not to smile, Christian says, "Oh. So, how bad is it? Drunk and disorderly? Compromising video on the internet? You don't seem hung-over…are you high?"

"No, sir. My friends wouldn't go that far; they know I can't abide narcotics. But they, uh, they talked me into body paint…I was more than a little drunk by then. They fucking swore to me that it would come off when I showered, but five haven't done the trick and I'll fucking peel the skin off if I have another."

With a sneaking suspicion that he's guessed the problem, the beginning of Christian's grin can be seen as he asks, "Exactly how much of your body was painted?"

Also smiling a little, Taylor brags, "Enough to put you to shame."

"I doubt that, buddy. Jason Taylor, are you trying to tell me that your cock currently has traces of paint on it?"

Taylor grimaces and says, "Uh, more my balls, actually. It was my nickname in the early days; 'blue balls', because I was the only married guy in our unit, at the time, and never had sex while I was deployed. When Gail sees it she'll know that I did more than have a few drinks. I've never broken a promise to her before now. I feel like shit…and I am hung-over."

Despite this being the second wedding for each of them, Jason and Gail are sticking to tradition and he'd slept in the main house overnight; away from his lover for the first time in several months. "Whose idea was it to not see her until the ceremony?"

"Uh, mine, I guess. But only because I thought she'd prefer it, what with it being bad luck to break that rule."

"Ana and I broke it. Would you say that our marriage is a disaster?"

Taylor finds something to smile about, for the first time today, and says, "No. Your marriage is a fucking miracle; an inspiring testament to the power of love."

Genuinely moved, Christian can only say, "Thank you, Jason." Shaking his head a little, to dismiss his suddenly powerful emotions, he continues, "Right, I'll fetch Gail and you'll explain." At Taylor's wary expression, he insists, "Trust me; she'll understand. In the meantime, I'll send Ana in here so you can apologize."

Another grimace and Taylor asks, "Is she okay?"

"Jason, she's married to me. I think my wife can handle one temper tantrum. You're apologizing for you, not for her. But do it right; you know she deserves it." He's almost to the door when he cautions, "Oh, when Gail arrives, control yourself, okay? No having sex in my office."

Taylor grins and gestures to the tiger figurine on the desk, "With you watching me? I don't think so."

Over a foot long, carved from a solid block of ancient amber, it's head lowered as it stalks some unseen prey, the statuette is so exquisitely crafted that staring at it for more than a few seconds will create the illusion that it's actually moving; the golden muscles appearing to ripple with the promise of enormous power. Few people step into his office, but they've all been mesmerized by its beauty. He'd loved it on sight and placed it here so it could inspire him as he works; help him channel the strength of the creature. Only when Welch had admired it (he'd been here, working out how best to upgrade security, so that this home office would be as secure as the one at Grey House) did Christian understand just how fortunate he is…

"That's a nice piece, sir. Crystal?"

"Genuine amber, from the UK. Ana's Christmas gift to me."

"Then you're a very lucky man."

"Yeah. She's still shy about spending money on herself, but is very generous when it comes to others."

"That, too. It must have cost a small fortune. But I was speaking of the fact that Mrs. Grey obviously knows exactly who you are and loves you anyway. Sometimes, not even the person who shares our bed really sees us."

Ana and Christian sometimes joke about having the courage of tigers, but he hadn't really believed it of himself; still often feeling like that scared little boy, no matter how confident a persona he presented to the world. "You think that's me?"

His face betraying his surprise, before his professional mask of detached respect had reappeared, Welch had said, "I know it is, sir. I've always known it. Clearly, your wife does, too."

Gazing at the tiger, trying to see what Welch and Ana must see, Christian had echoed, "Always known?"

"Yes, sir. You were a picture perfect rendition of a young entrepreneur when I interviewed for this job…forgive me, but I first assumed that you must be a prize prick; looking like a model and dressed in Italian silk. I pretty much decided then and there that I wouldn't want to work for you. Yet, even as we shook hands, I felt your strength. And every word out of your mouth confirmed that you are a very shrewd businessman with a strong moral streak. You were only polite and professional towards me. But, when I got home and my wife asked how it went, do you know what I said?"

Though he knew it was rhetorical, Christian had joked, "He's a prize prick?"

"Surprisingly, no. I said, 'He'll be demanding and exacting, always insist on my very best effort, and I'd better never, ever cross him.' She didn't realize it was a compliment and couldn't understand why I eagerly accepted the position when you called that evening."

Christian had smiled, then really heard the words and asked, "You knew that I was going to offer you the job?"

With justified pride, Welch had revealed, "I knew as I left Grey House, though I was surprised you did so in person. I also knew you'd make me wait several hours."

Christian smiled that his cleverly thought out plan to make Welch sweat had been so ineffective, then asked, "But you don't regret taking the job?"

Something more like fraternal love, than respectful admiration, had shone from Welch's face as he teased, "Every fucking day. But never for very long."

Christian snaps back to the present only when Taylor adds, as if reading his thoughts, "You're a lucky man."

Laughing, Christian offers his hand as he says, "So are you. Don't fuck this up. I truly appreciate everything you do for us, but you know damn well I'll fire you in an instant before contemplating life without Gail."

Accepting the gesture, Taylor smiles and says only, "Understood, sir."

Thankfully, one conversation with Gail is enough to set things right. And the two are wed in the presence of those who love them most. With light snowfall overnight, and a blizzard approaching in a few days, the ceremony and reception are held indoors; the great room just able to accommodate everyone. It's quite late by the time the newlyweds leave, via stretch limousine, to take advantage of their bosses' wedding gift: the "1000 Ways To Say I Love You" package at the Hotel 1000 in downtown Seattle.

Finally in the privacy of their room, Christian is getting ready for bed and notices Ana staring at him. "Like what you see, wife?"

"I do love you in a tuxedo."

"And out of a tuxedo?"

They're both grinning as she replies, "That, too."

"How are your feet?"

She'd removed her shoes hours ago, but it hadn't made much difference. "Sore."

"How about I massage them until they stop hurting, then very gently make love to you?"

Unsure which of those sounds better at the moment, Ana can only smile and say, "Okay."

Only on waking in the morning does she realize that she must have fallen asleep during the foot massage. Christian is downstairs making breakfast; having quickly got the hang of the new kitchen. Looking up at her approach, he grins and says, "Morning, baby. Did you sleep well?"

Slight emphasis on the word "sleep" confirms that he's teasing her. "I'm sorry. I guess that I was more tired than I thought."

He pauses beating the eggs long enough to lean over and kiss her. "It's okay, baby. I still have no complaints about the quantity or quality of our lovemaking sessions. But you do owe me a fuck."

The fact that he has (unless he's out of town) honored his promise to make breakfast for her every Sunday, means that she was already in the mood for sex as she'd descended the stairs, but her rumbling stomach betrays her priorities, even before Ana says, "A debt I'll be happy to repay, after you feed me."

Uncovering a nearby stack of gently steaming pancakes, Christian puts one on a plate, drizzles syrup over it and places the plate in her hands, then fetches a fork for her. When Ana smiles a thankyou and moves towards the table he blocks her way and, with a wicked grin, says, "Uh, uh; I'm hungry, too."

Just like last night, she's torn between two hungers; both equally powerful. Her stomach practically crawls towards the food, even as her groin muscles tighten in delicious anticipation of what his eyes are promising. Not sure what staff is on duty, or where they are at the moment, Ana asks, "You're not worried that someone might see?"

His smile widening, Christian pushes her back against the counter and sinks to his knees before her. "No, baby, I'm not worried. Just don't fucking drip syrup in my hair, okay? Eat."

Ana somehow manages to obey as Christian unties her robe, exposing her naked and wanton body, and gently caresses her curves, until her hand trembles as she cuts another piece of pancake and somehow finds her mouth. Next, he first kisses her growing belly then trails his lips down to the trimmed hair and pauses there, just studying her. "God, Christian. You really do look like you're hungry for me."

He practically growls "I am," before finding her clitoris with his tongue and lapping waves of pleasure through her body. Abruptly, she's cast out of heaven as he pulls back, chuckling, and says, "Fuck, baby; speaking of dripping."

Blushing, wondering how the hell he can still make her do that, Ana protests, "Well, we didn't fuck at all yesterday and I woke up to the smell of you cooking breakfast."

"Sexy, right?"

Gazing down at his upturned, smiling face, she confirms, "Very." Then threading one hand through his hair and forcing his mouth against her, she commands "Eat," even as her bravado drives her passion to new heights. He wordlessly obeys as if he was born to it, and only his strong hands clutching her hips keep Ana's legs from buckling as a powerful orgasm pulses through her body, leaving her gasping and clinging to his shoulders for support.

When he's sure that she can stand unaided, Christian gracefully rises to his feet, wipes his mouth on a napkin and kisses her, then looks at the shattered remains of the plate on the terracotta tiles and asks, "I'm a little fuzzy on the rules here; who has to clean that up?"

Theodore Raymond Grey is only weeks away from his debut appearance when Christian accepts Ana's call, "Hey, baby. Everything okay?" He's not very worried. Things have been going well with her pregnancy, at thirty-seven weeks they're past the danger period, there's so far no sign of Dolores, a feature spread in Seattle's Child magazine (Garth's idea, but Ana's choice) had the desired effect of making the press back off, and Ana currently works part-time at GP, the rest of the time at home. He'd not been happy about her returning to work when she tires so easily, but she'd promised to let him know if it was getting too much for her.

"I'm all right, and please don't make me regret calling you, okay?"

Panic rising. "What's wrong?"

"Please, Christian. I'm okay. But I've made an appointment this afternoon with Pam because I'm seeing spots before my eyes today. Everything else is fine. I'm a little warm, and have just the hint of a headache, but I honestly feel fine."

Scanning his memory for what that might be a symptom of, Christian soon says, "High blood pressure. You probably have pre-eclampsia. Never mind about Greene; have Prescott drive you to the hospital. I'll meet you there."

"No."

Fuck. He knows that serene finality in her voice only too well. "Baby, please. Do you know how bad this could get if you don't take care of it?"

"Yes. And I'm sure Doctor Pamela Greene does, too. If she feels a hospital stay is warranted, I'll comply. But you do remember why you don't get to decide this stuff, right?"

This, right here; this pounding in his ears as even his blood tries to answer the call whenever Ana might even nearly be in danger. "Yes, all right. Fuck. You're home, now?"

"On my way. David's wife had this the first time, too. He wouldn't hear of me staying at the office once I explained."

"Good for him. I'll be home, soon." When she makes no reply, he promises, "And I will be fucking calm by then."

Finally, Ana sounds relaxed as she says, "Thank you, darling. I'll see you soon."

His heart rate returning to normal levels, Christian asks, "Don't regret calling me?"

"Darling, so far, I don't regret anything."

After a confirmed diagnosis of pre-eclampsia, Ana spends the next week in hospital—possibly the most boring week of her life—where her blood pressure, and the protein content in her urine, is regularly checked, until both return to normal. The next few weeks at home are almost as boring, with professional opinion being that she should avoid any excitement until her due date, or risk a C-section. She'd eventually ordered Christian back to Grey House; his constant hovering not helping the blood pressure situation, though she certainly took advantage of his daily massages, to ease the leg cramps and back ache that now plagued her. She'd accepted any and all sensible suggestions (ignoring Christian's "bed rest") for how to fill these weeks, from drafting birth announcements, to prenatal yoga, and the time passes more easily.

Her due date comes and goes. She's now literally peeing every twenty minutes for most of the day, is tired all of the time, and knows what heartburn feels like. Her physical discomfort had eventually eroded her desire for sex. But, when Christian returns home this evening, it's to a naked wife on their bed, reclining against the giant pillow he'd bought to ensure a comfortable sleeping position for her. "Uh, everything okay, baby?"

"I want you to fuck me."

Glancing around, as if for hidden cameras, Christian says, "O…kay. You don't seem horny."

"I'm not. But it might help induce labor."

"That's a myth, sweetheart. There's no proof th—"

"Are you going to fuck me, or shall I find someone else to oblige?"

"Easy, baby; easy. I don't think this is what they mean by angry sex."

Her head falling into her hands, Ana cries, "Fuck, Christian. I just want it to be over. Everything hurts, including Teddy; he kicks me really hard now."

Stretching out beside her, he kisses her and then caresses and addresses her huge belly as he chides, "Son, I'm sure it's comfy in there, but we'd really like to meet you. We love you very much, and I promise you'll be safe."

Amazingly, his tender compassion awakens her libido. "Okay, now I'm horny."

His gaze snapping to hers, Christian's face is transformed with that boyish grin and he asks, "For real?"

With a grin, Ana commands, "Squirt your ejaculate onto my cervix, husband."

Standing and ditching his clothes with startling speed, Christian jokes, "Baby, you know what it does to me when you talk dirty like that."

Just treasuring this rare opportunity, Christian takes his time; kissing Ana until they're both breathing hard and his erection is well underway. Then he draws back from her enough to ask, "How do you propose we do this, baby? I've read that you facing away on my lap is pretty good at this stage. We should be able to manage that at the edge of the bed. You know I won't let you fall."

"That could work. It hurts even to be on my side for any length of time. I think the muscles can only stretch so far."

Pleased that she approves, Christian smiles and says, "Okay, baby. In the meantime, lie back and relax. I'm going to make you forget everything except my touch."

"I believe you. But I really just want you to fuck me."

"I'm not a machine, woman." Glancing down at his dick—not quite ready for her—he adds, "You know that only giving you pleasure really gets me off."

She's now glad that he decided to postpone Discipline, but they still occasionally play at it, for mutual pleasure. And it had paradoxically helped stabilize her blood pressure; a fact that had greatly intrigued Dr. Greene. "I dunno; you really like smacking my ass."

"True, but only because you love it. Oh, do you want that now, baby? Whatever you need."

"Please, Christian, just fuck me. If we take any longer, I'll have to stop for a bathroom break."

"Okay, baby. Just a few minutes in paradise, and I'll be ready to go."

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes—he obviously won't be hurried, and she really can't imagine a more generous husband—Ana lifts her butt so he can place a cushion under it and leans back to enjoy his mouth on her. But it's just not working. Her clitoris is so sensitive that what had previously been pleasurable is almost painful. And her abused bladder is starting to demand attention, along with a myriad of lesser complaints. So, for the first time in her life, Ana fakes it.

Uh, oh. He's staring at her, and he's not happy. "What the fuck was that? Do you think I can't tell when you come? Fuck, baby, you usually almost drown me."

It's too much for Ana and she's disconsolately weeping as he wraps his arms around her. Sobbing, she turns into his chest and blubbers an apology. As her sobs subside, Christian asks, "When's your next appointment; tomorrow?"

"Yes." Punctuated by hiccups, Ana says, "I thought…if we could just induce labor tonight, I wouldn't have to put up with Pam again telling me that…if I still want a natural birth, there's nothing to do but wait."

"Get on all fours." She's still staring at him in shock—he'd practically snarled the command— when he roars, "Now!"

Trembling—from arousal and fear—at the tone in his voice, Ana meekly does as bid, holding still while Christian slides a supporting pillow under her distended belly. When he's satisfied with her position, Dominant Christian says, "Faking it is the same as lying. Is lying something I've ever been prepared to tolerate?"

Though they haven't played this game for what seems like a very long time, she knows the rules. "No, Sir."

"Are you ever going to do that again?"

"No, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir."

"Fuck your contrition. How are you going to make this right?"

It's working; her passion coming to life at his domineering tone. "Please, Sir; please fuck me."

A warm, strong hand rests on her ass as he says, "Not nearly good enough, baby."

Oh, God. How does he do that? Ana is practically giddy with lust when she begs, "Please spank me, Sir."

He starts off gentle, and she can tell that he never uses much force. But she's lost track of how many times he's struck her when he suddenly enters her and starts gliding in and out, never penetrating very deep, even as he continues her "punishment". "Are you sorry, now?"

"Yes, Sir. I'm very sorry. I'll never do it again."

He stops spanking her and leans forward to clasp a hand around the back of her neck as he dangerously purrs, "And will you be my good little girl from now on?"

"Oh, God!" Did I just say that one out loud? "Yes! Yes, I'll be good."

Christian chuckles and says, "You nearly came just then, didn't you, baby?"

Somehow relieved that her Christian is back, even as she'd quite literally thrilled at his dominance, Ana gasps, "Yes. Please, darling."

Dragging his fingernails affectionately down her back is Christian's only reply. When his hands reach her hips, he grabs hold and pulls her torturously slowly back onto him as he commands, "Say 'when' and don't fucking think of lying."

Of course, how deep to go is a major consideration when their son is taking up most of her abdomen. So Ana pays attention to her body's needs and soon says, "When."

Not another word is spoken as Christian first slowly and then frantically pushes both of them towards a much needed release. Panting, and slick with sweat, he partly collapses across Ana's back to catch his breath. Seconds later, he suddenly straightens and withdraws from her as he asks, "Okay, baby?"

Collapsing onto her side, Ana dreamily promises, "Fucking fantastic."

Christian chuckles and adjusts the pillow for her comfort as if it's instinct for him—it probably is. "And how you we feel about Teddy's tardiness, now?"

Examining her feelings for a moment, Ana earnestly declares, "He can take all the times he wants, if we can do that every now and then."

"Assuming Greene says it's okay, we can do that until his head is in the way."

Of course, it's a fact of sex during pregnancy, but she doesn't appreciate this reminder that Teddy will come out the same hole Christian goes in. "Mood-killer, Grey."

Looking very smug, Christian says, "You know his head isn't actually engaged, or you'd be in labor right now, not looking all sated on our bed. Go pee and get cleaned up. I'll repair this. I love the feel of these satin sheets (he'd temporarily replaced the Egyptian cotton, so that she could more easily turn over in bed), but they won't fucking stay put."

Ana eases to her feet, to do as bid, and glances back to see Christian with a slight frown of concentration as he tidies the bed covers. "Christian?"

When he looks up, she blows him a kiss. His face lights up like the sun and he says, "You're welcome, baby. Hurry back."

Exaggerating her waddle, both hands under her belly, Ana jokes "I'll do my best," and heads for the en suite with his joyful laughter accompanying her.

Rolling over, to look at the clock, Ana sees 1:00 staring back at her and groans. But the bladder wants what the bladder wants. So she's struggling out of bed as Christian blearily asks, "Pee time?"

"Yes, baby. Go back to sleep."

He's obeyed by the time she slides back into bed, and is still asleep as he snuggles closer. With Ana up at all hours (and Christian's perpetual concern for her safety) there's always some light, and she's able to just gaze on his face; so peaceful in sleep, as if he's never had a care in the world. She's resisting the urge to reach out and touch him—confirm that the perfection before her is real—when liquid starts trickling between her thighs. Fuck. She just peed, and now she's wetting the bed? Ana is struggling to get up when the trickle becomes a torrent, and it doesn't smell like urine. Looking on in horror as slick moisture spreads across the sheet, Ana blindly reaches for Christian and unfortunately connects with his face. Déjà vu.

"What the fuck? What's wrong?"

Cursing that her voice sounds small and terrified, though it's certainly appropriate, Ana says, "I think my waters just broke."

He's a smart man. Grace once revealed that he'd tested as truly gifted; less than one percent of the population is as smart as Christian. Right now this gifted man just stares at his wife for several seconds, apparently unable to process her words or, more likely, the implications of them. Suddenly, he snaps out of it and into CEO mode. "Right; Greene, Taylor, clothes, bag…better call Mom, too."

Grabbing his arm before he's out of reach, Ana reminds him, "We've got hours yet, baby. Follow your list (she'd been amused to find that he has a to-do list for every conceivable birth scenario, but is now glad of it) and remember to breathe. But, first, grab me a towel, some granny panties and a maxi pad, okay?"

"Right. Of course." Suddenly smiling, he kisses her and exclaims, "We're going to have a baby!"

He's been nothing but supportive since he so horribly failed all three of them on the day they found out about Teddy, yet perhaps some fear had lingered, because this enthusiastic confirmation that he truly wants to be a father brings happy tears to her eyes. She blinks them away to say, "Yes, darling. But, please; the towel? I don't want to ruin these sheets."

"You got it." Taking the time to kiss her once more, he says, "I love you, Anastasia." Quickly kissing her belly, he adds "And I love you, too," before leaping off the bed to be whatever his family needs.

The ride to hospital is thankfully uneventful. A nurse confirms that Ana's waters have broken and she's made comfortable while they wait only half an hour for Pam Greene. It's a couple of hours before contractions begin, Christian never leaving Ana's side. For some reason (though tube up her urethra is certainly enough) she's never liked the idea of a catheter, so is very grateful that Christian is there to help her to the toilet as necessary, because she wouldn't be able to manage the various monitors alone. Greene checks in every now and then, as does the nurse. Most of the time, Grace is the only other person in the birthing room; of course mainly there to keep Christian calm, because the increasingly familiar sight of Ana wracked with pain throughout each contraction is almost more than he can endure. But he does so, for her sake.

After ten hours in labor, Greene once again checks the dilation of Ana's cervix (a distinctly unpleasant, though blessedly quick procedure); the harsh line of her lips betraying that it's bad news even before she says, "Just over one inch."

Ana shakes her head, certain that something is wrong with her ears, "One?"

"Yes. I'm afraid that your dreams of a natural birth may go unrealized. My guess is that there's simply not enough room for Teddy's head to traverse the birth canal. Your last ultrasound confirmed that it would be close; your petite figure is not our friend right now." Glancing over the baby monitor, and checking the record of Ana's blood pressure readings, she adds, "BP is not quite dangerously high, but it will be if you endure much more pain." After glancing at Ana's face, flushed with effort, she suggests, "Teddy's heart rate is still good, so we can wait a little longer, if you wish? But I strongly recommend that we insert the epidural now, so we'll be ready if and when you need surgery. If your baby starts to get distressed, we don't want to wait even one second longer than we have to."

Torn between her need to do what's best for Teddy, and her increasingly dire need to just rest, Ana still hasn't decided when Christian says, his voice barely audible, "Baby, please."

He lifts her hand to his lips in gratitude when she breathes, "Okay."

Her anesthetist is summoned. Ana and Christian have both studied this chosen method of pain relief, even as she hoped not to need it. So she laughs when he instructs, "It's very important that, when I say 'now', you hold perfectly still, okay?"

"You're about to stick a needle into my spine. I can keep still."

Apparently satisfied that she understands, Ana is gently positioned on her side and he applies a local anesthetic. "Now." She's trying to remember how long this part of the process takes when, seemingly only a heartbeat later, he says, "All done. You can relax now, Mrs. Grey, and assume any position you find comfortable. If you end up in the operating room, you'll see me there."

"Thank you..uh…?"

"Tony, ma'am."

"Thank you, Tony."

And now there are four (and a half, including Teddy), Greene staying and scrutinizing the monitors through each of Ana's contractions. Ana only learns much later that she endured another ninety minutes of what proves to be pointless agony, before Greene says, "That's it. Teddy's heart rate is elevated; time to get him out of there."

Someone says "Thank God," echoing her own sentiments. It sounds like Christian. And then apparent chaos reigns as nurses appear seemingly out of nowhere and start readying Ana for transportation. Christian kisses her and says, "I'll see you in there, baby."

Suddenly, irrationally worried that she'll never see him again, Ana begs, "You won't stand me up?"

"No, baby. Just have to suit up, so they'll let me be with you. Remember, we discussed this?"

He's pale—has been for several hours—and his brow is furrowed with apparently permanent concern. But he's been amazing; not once losing his temper, despite resolving to experience even the bad bits of this day without any chemical help. Ana is certain that she couldn't have got through this without him. He's come so far; he deserves a reward. Smiling, she teases, "Still believe that sex won't induce labor?"

Bringing her fingers to his lips for a moment, Christian can't quite summon a smile as he says, "Baby, if you just get through this okay, I'll believe anything you tell me."

The surgery itself goes well, and both parents are present and conscious when Teddy is delivered only fifteen minutes later. But Ana's blood pressure, dangerously high when they cut into her, plummets down to alarming levels even while she holds their swaddled son, weeping as she lovingly points out the obvious, "Darling, he looks just like you." Glancing up to see that, as he'd predicted, Christian has wept at the birth of his son, Ana commands, "Blink." When he complies, she catches the teardrop on her fingertip and touches it to Teddy's forehead; a baptism of joy.

As soon as Ana is sewn up, she's whisked away to Recovery; Christian and Grace not permitted to follow. Despite loudly protesting being hauled out of his temporary home and enduring his first physical examination, Teddy had quickly settled down, demanding nothing more than warmth and affection, and is currently sound asleep in his father's arms. For his part, Christian cannot stop staring at his son's face, marveling at this miracle he helped create. But not even paternal pride, nor Greene's multiple assurances, can keep him from feeling, with a dread certainty, that he will leave this place a single father. He knows that it's unfair, because she has no official power in this hospital. But there is nothing he can do about the tears welling in his eyes, or the crack of emotion in his voice, as he meets his mother's gaze to beg, "Mom, please."

Her expression pure pain for a second, Grace stands and kisses his forehead, then Teddy's, and promises, "I'll be right back." Ten minutes later she returns and reveals, "Ana is doing just fine; alert and able to ask questions…mostly about you and Teddy, of course. She's a little cold, but that's the blood loss. They've got her on a saline drip to replace the volume lost. She may not even need a transfusion. But she does need more rest and constant monitoring. I can get you in there, but they have conditions, and I agree with them."

"Anything, Mom."

"You will not interfere with her treatment; not by word or deed. You will not ask anything of Ana. And you must let her rest, okay?"

Breathing a sigh of relief, Christian says, "Agreed. I just need to be near her, so that I can believe everything will be okay." His concerned frown returning for a moment, he asks, "Can I take Teddy in with me?"

Smiling her benevolence upon him, Grace gently points out, "Christian, he's your son. No one can take him from you."

"Oh, right. Thanks, Mom." Christian carefully stands, so as not to disturb the precious bundle in his arms, and doesn't meet Grace's eyes to quietly ask, "Do you know that there were times I wished you'd left me to die in that place?"

Grace's shock hisses in past her teeth, and she just as quietly replies, "I suspected."

It's not been easy, raising the tortured boy who became a troubled teen and eventually grew into this loving man before her. But Christian makes it all worthwhile when he unleashes his best smile on her and reveals, "I'm glad you didn't."

Where credit's due: To the Guest reviewer who requested (not sure it was even on this story, so you may not still be reading) that Ana fake an orgasm. Sorry it took so long, but we all know that Christian Grey hands out orgasms like candy;-) So it took me a while to come up with a believable scenario.

To my other Guest reviewers. I truly appreciate anyone who bothers to comment, but you say the sweetest things and ask nothing in return, making it impossible for me to thank you directly. So, thank you:-)

To all those who have ever taken the time to let me know what you think of my writing. Thank you. I know that my fingertips do the work, but I would have stopped after the first chapter of "On the Rocks" if it weren't for your encouragement.

If you're thinking this sounds rather final, you're right. There will be one more chapter, entitled "Epilogue". I'll return with another shade at some point (my brain is bursting with ideas), but no more epics. Every day of every life is an adventure, but they're not all necessarily fit for publication. So I'll just bring you the highlights from now on.

Thank you, for reading.