Disclaimer: The fifty shades trilogy belongs to E.L. James. I hope you enjoy.

Two More Shades

February, 2012

Something's. . . off today.

Wake up. My mouth's kinda dry. Pick out a shirt and suit. I can feel some pressure in the back of my head. Dehydration? Maybe. The sunlight doesn't help either. Shower. Get dressed. Something feels weird with my skin. I'm toasty inside. I check my arm before I pull my sleeve on. Goosebumps? Guess I've got a bug. Se la vi. Quick shave. I head downstairs to the kitchen.

Ana's sitting at the table with a maternal glow, scoping granola and yogurt in her mouth and fixing her eyes on a new brick of text. There's a cup of what looks like tea in a drinking glass and a bottle of multivitamins. She looks healthy. It's a reassuring sight. There's a cup of coffee waiting for me on the table. Still warm. "Hi."

"Hi, yourself," she grins. Even with yogurt on her lip she's attractive.

"Looks like you've got an appetite this morning." I pull up a chair and take a sip.

"Slept great last night too. And I have you to thank for that."

Oh yeah. We went twice last night. Ana insisted. I didn't want to push her, but it looks like it's done some good. She licks off that yogurt she missed. Glad I'm already sitting down. "Speaking of which, is my tie still on the bedpost?"

"Is it your favorite now?"

I answer with a smile. She giggles. God, I love that sound. My morning brightens up immediately.

"What do you want for breakfast?" She's up to file through the fridge.

Can't say that I'm as hungry as she is. "I'll take the same thing you have."

"No omelet?"

"Eh. I'll go for something light today."

"Tch. You're not the one who needs to lose weight."

Ugh. Here we go again. "Ana, don't-"

"I'm joking! I know I'm supposed to gain weight." She's already got a container of noosa on the counter and is heading to the cabinet.

"I still don't want to hear that out of your mouth. If I could I'd bend you over my knee." I walk over and snake my arms around her front. Ana stops. She puts her hands over mine. Can't be mad anymore. I sigh. "I can't say he's an intruder. He's protecting his mama, even though he's so small and young."

"Christian. . ."

I rub over our son's temporary home, lost in my own little world now. I'm hardly aware of what I'm saying. "If you can hear me, little guy. . . please have some faith in me. I'm scared, but I'll do my best. And so will Mama."

Can't feel him right now. He must be sleeping in today. I can say hi when I get back home. Ana wraps a hand around my head and hugs me, smacking her lips on my cheek. I feel. . . carefree right now. Yeah, that's a good word. We've got some toiletries and an overnight bag stocked, even though we won't be needing them for a while. Ana and I have shared a book or two on the subject, even reading out loud to the baby. Ironically, I feel kind of prepared. I'm impatient, even, but the time I have now. . .

I couldn't ask for more.

Something in the air changes. It's my wife. She's looking at me strange. Is she worried? "Ana?"

"Are you feeling ok?" She mashes her lips to my forehead and my cheeks. Now she's tipping my chip up and pressing her fingers along the sides of my throat.

"Me?"

"You feel warm."

That's right. Dry throat. Headache. Guess I do have a fever. "I might have caught something. Glad you reminded me. I don't want to get either one of you sick."

"Christian-"

"It's not that much, baby. Really. But I want to keep the both of you healthy too. I'll take breakfast with me and something to drink. It'll be gone by the evening, I'm sure of it."

She doesn't believe me.

"Ana, it's ok. I can call you and let you know if I'm not feeling good. Don't worry about me, ok? If anything, its the flu. I've gotten it before- it won't keep me down for long. Especially not at work."

The pout on her lips remains.

I nuzzle into her neck. "And especially not with you."

Giggling. Yes! Her arms wrap around my neck and she kisses me again. "Get along, you. You still need your tie, remember?"

That's right. And there's a lunch bag with breakfast and a bottle of orange juice waiting for me when I come back. Another kiss is shared. "I love you," she grins.

"I love you, too." Smooch. I bend down. "And you." Smooch. I turn to leave.

"Christian?"

Ana? I turn around. She deliberately bites her lip at me like she's throwing a raspberry. There's a twitch downstairs. I smirk. "Bye, Mrs. Grey." And with that I'm out the door and in the old Audi.

FST

The lights are on bright in the building. It adds to my headache. I can just have some of the juice Ana packed for me. I stroll into the elevator. Lets see. I've got a couple of meetings, one at nine, the other around one, the prices of those shares need to be addressed. I need to perform a background check on that one guy, too. Then there's-

The elevator ascends. Oh God. My body turns on me as soon as the box moves. I have to get a hold of the rail as dizziness and nausea slosh around in my head and empty stomach. Close your eyes. Just breathe. That's why I didn't want to eat earlier. I thought I would be ok. You will be. Just push through today.

The elevator stops. I step halfway over and stop. It's not my floor. More people file in. The doors close and ascends again. I have to repeat myself. Just push through today. Push through. . .

FST

Lunch time is about when I know I'm fucked.

I've already have a few people from the nine am meeting tell me that I was starting to look pale. Some agreed that I looked flushed. The headache strengthens. Run of the mill, I tell them I'm fine. Walking is suddenly a chore. Talking wore me out, too. I look from my work to the clock on my desk. 11:45. Then to the photograph next to it. It's me and Ana, not to long ago when she was a little bit smaller. It's an ordinary selfie, taken from a top down perspective- An "us-ie" as she called it. We're both so happy, me in my T-shirt and her in her blue blouse. I smirk at the glimpse of her cleavage I was able to sneak into the shot. In the corner is a copy of our Little Blip's latest photo, streaked with the usual black and white. He's looking more like a human, an actual baby. There's a head, limbs. The heart is smaller in comparison, but still pumping strong.

My stomach churns. Is it the fear? Maybe the bug. That reminds me. I turn to the yogurt and juice left on the corner of my desk. Only half empty. I don't want to. It hurts more than earlier. But I spoon some in and swallow reluctantly.

A gag sneaks up on me.

I freeze. Is that what I thought it was?

Gag number two comes up to confirm it. Shit!

Gag number three attacks the back of my throat as I run through out of my office and into the men's room. I surprisingly make it. Number four comes just as I lift of the seat of the toilet, raking down breakfast, juice, and stomach acid. Staring down at what I throw up helps to get it all out. I'm shaking when I finally finish. Green, pink, and orange swirl around in the toilet bowl. Wasted food. I hate the sight of it. My throat and teeth feel raw. My skin's clammy now. "Gotta get back to work." But I should tell Ana, too. Just a quick text as I sit on the floor. I don't have to be formal with her. Think I got the stomach flu. Sorry I let the breakfast you made me go to waste, baby. :( I hit send.

A reply comes as I rinse out my mouth in the sink. Are you ok? Did you throw up? Are you coming home?

I did. If it happens a third time I'll come back. The day is halfway done. I might as well try to finish. Send.

Another message comes immediately. You said you would come home :(

My stomach churns at the sight. Already? No relief? I type out my response. You won't be there. I'll relax later tonight. I can take it slow for the rest of today if you really want me to. Send.

The room spins when I step forward. Breathe. I can do this. Another worker confirms my blanched complexion. "I'll be fine." I see Ana has sent me a reply once I get back to my office.

Jeez, it's like we've switched roles. I chuckle. Get Taylor or someone to drive you if you can, ok? And drink your fluids.

As you wish, Mrs. Grey. Send.

I can see the picture of us on the desk again as I sit down. Gingerly sipping the juice, I get back to work.

FST

I can't even hold my drinks down. My day's done a complete 180. I'm left regurgitating the remainder of what I've consumed on the way home, having pulled the car over. It's getting dark now. I just want to go to bed. Push through. It's a relief when I arrive home. There's a light on in the kitchen. Dinner? No, I don't want any. The door opens. It's Ana. Her expression immediately falls. "Christian, you're so pale!"

I grit my teeth. "So a lot of people have said. . ."

"Come, sit down. You're burning up."

The door shuts. Did I leave anything in the car? My wife leads me to the couch. It's softer than usual. Or maybe that's just me. I look around. It's hazy, inside me and out. Where did she go? But then she's back with a thermometer and scrambling to the lazy susan for something else. "You didn't get anyone to drive you. And you shit on me for not following orders."

No, I don't like her like this. She's all worried, flustered. Is that bad for the baby? For her? I don't know. "Ana, It's ok."

She's not listening. "Here, hold this." She thrusts the bowl into my lap. It's the big one we would share for popcorn. The plastic cap is stuck into my ear. I groan at the beeping. Out it goes. She blanches at the number. No, don't worry. Please.

"101.3," she breathes.

I need to calm her down. It's shaky, but I can get my hand on her arm. "I just need a minute, ok? Look, maybe," Deep breath, "Maybe I can keep something down if I don't move around too much."

"Like hell you'll be moving."

God dammit.

"I'll get you some water." And she's up again. She returns to push me back down in my seat. Pisses me off. All I can do is sip from the glass. Ana doesn't take her eyes off me. She constantly has an arm out in case I spill it or can't hold it on my own. Demeaning. Everything is so dry. I wish I could just tip it all back without throwing up. At least it's cool. Makes my throat feel a little better after the ordeals earlier. She refills the glass once it's empty. I don't want to drink anymore. I feel heavy and sick again. Ana frowns when I push it away. I explain my state. She's quiet. Please, don't worry.

She huffs. "Can you keep any real food down?"

A pitiful whimper escapes my throat. ". . .No."

"Fluids?"

"I'm trying."

"And. . . there's nothing else that can make you feel better, Mr. Grey?" She leans forward, looking at me with a dark and gentle gaze in her blue eyes, a soft hand sweeping across my groin. "Maybe I can provide some distraction."

My heart and pride throb in pain alongside my head and abdomen. The thought of the movement makes my stomach flip again. Christ, I can't even please my wife like this. "I'm sorry, Ana."

But she's forgiving. "Don't worry about it. I guess it wouldn't to either of us any good if you puked a third time today."

There goes my ego again.

"Do you just want to sleep?"

My head lolls towards the window. Stars are peeking out outside. Dry snow is swept away off the roof like a thousand dancing angels. It's dark, but the clock on the microwave reads 7. It's too early for me on a normal night and yet there's no effort on my part to fight it. Every part of me feels weighed down by some force I can't control. It's hard to move and focus. The room tilts just a little too much and the lights are a little too bright. All I can do is close my eyes and nod.

The bowl is left on the couch. Ana helps me up. My vision swims again. I'm glad the next thing I grab is the arm of the couch and not her. "Christian, let me help you."

"I don't want it."

"Do I have to drag you by that tie of yours?"

Shit. First worried, then pissed. Schadenfreude: 2, Christian Grey: 0. "Just. . . take me to the wall. I'd rather lean on that than you."

Eventually we're in our room. Ana pulls down the blinds. She leaves for a bit, but I'm too busy fumbling with the buttons on my shirt- Or maybe button. Hands won't stop shaking. Forearms flush with some weight. It's too dark and hazy to see straight. How annoying. A belch comes up. The taste is nasty. The next thing I know deft hands speed down the buttons. She's back. No words. The buckle to my jeans are open, then the zipper, now the shoes- Oh, Ana, please don't bend down like that. "I got it."

"Too late." She's up with two black dress shoes and sticking her tongue out at me. And don't stand up that fast either! "C'mon, up."

Following through reluctantly, I can just watch her. Peeling off my shirt and slacks, then flitting through the dresser. I hate that she has to do this. I should be the one getting my own pajamas on, not her. "It's jus' a flu bug-"

"Step out of those and in these."

"You shouldn't-"

"Well I am."

"Don't start-"

"I'm not starting it." My stomach flips yet again as she stands up to glare at me. "I'm ending it. Now step in the damn pajama pants."

Schadenfreude: 3. I comply.

"Puke bowl is next to the nightstand," she explains, pulling down a T-shirt for me. "Water and juice are on the corner, closest to the lamp. I'll lay some towels out leading to the bathroom just in case. Holler if you need anything else, ok?"

I've already lost the battle, I know. I just nod. The darkness is comforting. My eyes flutter shut. Ana's hands are on my shoulders, guiding me back into the mattress. A sheet is rested over me now. It's too cold. Curling up fails. Ana's holding me down?

"I'm all for letting a fever run it's course," she says, "But yours is too high. This is all you get for now. Be a good boy, rest up, and I'll let you have more when the fever goes down."

Eyes are open again. I can tell she's still at the bedside. Anastasia smoothes some hair back (shit, I'm already sweating) and plants a soft kiss there. "I love you, baby."

"You too," is all I can manage. I'm out like a light.

FST

No, this can't be happening.

Wait, what can't be happening?

Who is that?

Anastasia?

Wait, Ana, where are you going?

Ana, no!

No. . .

FST

Is it hot? Cold? I can't tell. Have I slept at all? It feels like I haven't, but I can't remember a single thing. What time is it- ugh. I'm still sick, aren't I? Just great. Maybe I can work from home today, like Ana does.

Wait, where is she? Is she ok?

"Ana. . ."

"It's ok, baby. I'm right here."

Something cool and moist has found it's way to my forehead again. Not lips. I think it's a washcloth. Shit, she could still catch what I've got. But it feels good. She's here, taking care of me. Anastasia would be a great mother. I'm calm now.

"C'mon. Can you sit up for me?"

Anything for you. But my limbs are still weak. They've stiffened up while I was out. "Dammit." I'm back on the mattress. It hurts again. Head, stomach, abdomen. Feels like something is stabbing me from the inside. Mercy, mercy. Let me go back to sleep.

"Here."

It's Anastasia again with a forearm on my back. No, don't push me up so fast. Everything's churning again. There's shuffling. What is she doing? Then I'm laid back. So soft. Behind and on my cheek. Pillows. And it's her hand, thumb sliding along my lower lip.

"Wake up, baby. You have to drink something."

There's something pressed to the crease of my mouth.. The edge of a cup. Instinct kicks in. The liquid I sip up is lukewarm. Sweet. It bites my throat a little bit. Is that ginger?

I can open my eyes now. There's my wife, sitting on the edge of the bed. She's already dressed for the day. Looks lovely as usual. A green flowery top. Denim. A smile of relief- my favorite part. There's the cup, filled with that liquid she drinks every morning. The blinds are still down. I still have the sheet on me. The cloth has been left on my head. I'm propped up into a near sitting position with what feels like five or six pillows. Damn, I can hardly move. "What," deep breath, "what did I just drink?"

She grins with pride. "My secret weapon." She bends over to show me some half-full jar. I have to squint. Jelly sloshes around inside. I can make out the words "honey" and "ginger". There are a lot of chinese characters on the lid and wrapper.

"Secret weapon?"

"I found it when I was shopping for vitamins a few months ago," she explains. "It was in some asian herb shop. It was hard to understand the guy behind the counter, but I could understand that it helps with nausea and boosts your immunity." She sits up a little taller and smirks. "How else to you think I've been holding down all the food I've been packing away?"

Deep breath. "So that's what's been helping the morning sickness?"

"Oh yeah. I make a couple of bottles and take them with me to work. Keeps me covered the entire day."

I blink. She did have it bad in the beginning, and not just in the morning. So many days I went to work late or just stayed home with her and held her hair back while she hovered over the toilet. It didn't just go away on its own? And why didn't she tell me? My head hurts just thinking about this. . .

"You want more?"

". . . I should."

"No problem. Just take your time with it."

Wait, time-

"Anastasia, what time is it?"

"Christian, it's ok."

"No, it's not." Attention is in overdrive. So is panic. There's that stabbing again. Head throbs. Stomach flips. Eyes burn. But I have to get up. "I was working too slowly yesterday- I have deadlines and the outreach project-."

"Christian, calm down."

It doesn't matter that my legs are already over the edge and I'm actually sitting up on my own. She won't let me move. Or is she holding me up? Everything's spinning again. I'm attacked on all fronts. "Fuck."

"Look, I've already called in sick for you, so-"

"You what?"

She looks at me like I'm the ridiculous one. "Christian, you are not ok. I had to stay up with you last night for your awful dry heaves. You've got nothing left in you. You need to take a break today."

"Bullshit!"

"Oh, you want proof?"

"Enlighten me, Mrs. Grey."

She's mad again. She yanks me by my hair- "Gah! Uncle, uncle!" -and there's that damned beeping again. When she releases me I'm staring into a tiny screen and trying to massage the new ache out.

102.0

What?

". . . How?"

"The hell if I know. You've slept for about fourteen hours. You'd think you'd be better."

"Fourteen!?"

"And you hardly had anything through the night."

The clock is on the night stand. Red numbers read 9:24 am.

"B-bowl. . ."

For a good five minutes I'm hovering over pink plastic trying to hold down the tiny amount of fluid I've had thus far. It never hits me this hard. It's never hit me this hard with any kind of sickness. Nothing I can understand- I function far better on so much less. And why now? Of all the times to break down, why when I have a wife and child to take care of?

"Are you ok?"

". . . Yeah. I don't think I need the bowl anymore."

"Keep it on the bed."

I oblige. I guess I need to rest. The pillows curl their comfy fingers around my upper half. This is bad. She must have been worried. I can't do that to her anymore. "Can I have some more of that ginger water, please?" Deep breath.

She raises an eyebrow. "Mr. Grey asking politely for what he wants? Maybe you should get sick more often."

". . . Anastasia, if you don't mind, I'm gonna go with 'no'."

She laughs. Thank God. The nausea and ache are more bearable now.

"Here. Drink up."

Right, the water. A few sips later and I decide that the bite isn't so bad. Little flecks float around the bottom. Guess that's the ginger. Maybe my stomach is actually calming down now. It's a happy thought. Anastasia says she would be working from home today and looking after me. At least she can rest herself if need be. She's left to get the manuscript she's been reading and returns pleased when she sees my cup half empty. Ana tells me there are other drinks, too. And sure enough red Gatorade, juice titled "Green Machine" and mineral water are all lined up on the nightstand. She's thought of everything. Nausea control liquid from Walgreens and Tylenol sit in front. "You got all this?"

"You fell asleep really early last night. I had some time."

"Were you ok driving?"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

". . . And the dry heaving?"

She looks sad now. "You had another nightmare. You were basically belching into the toilet bowl and blubbering for a good half hour. I couldn't get you to drink anything before you drifted back to sleep."

"Oh."

"Speaking of which, drink some of that Gatorade if you can. The electrolytes should give you some color back and I don't want to have to take you in for imbalance."

The bottle's not easy to open. I need to set it down in my lap. Even then the cap hurts with the ribbed edges raking along my hand. Anastasia opens it for me and retrieves some Tylenol to take with the red beverage. The first sip is too salty. My mouth feels sticky. "I don't remember that."

"It was pretty late last night. I guess you wouldn't."

"Did I say anything?" The second sip still leaves me with the same coating as before. I opt for rotating with the ginger water.

"Just the usual. Or the usual when you have nightmares. You calmed down after I laid down with you."

"I'm still worried you'll get sick."

She grins up at me. "Ginger. Immunity, remember?"

Right. . .

"You aren't used to being sick, are you?"

Another sip of the ginger water. Deep breath. "I'm not used to being taken care of when I'm sick. And I'm not used to being hit this hard with it."

"Wasn't your mom a doctor?"

"Yes, but I didn't talk for a while after she 'rescued' me, for lack of a better word. To anyone. Either mom knew exactly what I needed or I carried on like normal with a pill here and there. The latter happened more often, especially as I got older." Sip.

"Just another shade, I guess."

I'm distracted when she snuggles up to me, careful not to bump me or my drink. One hand's laid across her stomach and the other holding up the manuscript. She reading out loud. I relax and lean my head on her's. The story has a folklore-esque feel to it. I like it. Set the drink down. My hand goes to Ana's. There's a little wave of movement under my touch. He's saying "hi" to daddy. Then nothing. He must be listening. It is a good story, after all, and Mama has such a pretty voice.

Anastasia's words are blurring together into a lullaby. Everything's getting hazy and heavy again. My eyes flutter. My head nods. I need to say it before I fall asleep.

"Ana."

"Hm?"

". . . Thank you. . ."

The darkness closes in.

FST

Ana.

Baby, you look terrible.

No, don't leave. Not like this.

"I'm sorry, Christian."

Ana, it's dangerous for you now.

Ana!

FST

Sweaty. Too sweaty. It's hard to breathe. It's dark. Where am I? Where's Ana?

There's a moan next to me. She adjusts herself in her sleep, still on her back, facing me now. Relief washes over me. Ana's face is so serene. Tuckered out from today, I can only assume. Night has fallen outside. I'm still in our bedroom, laying back down on the usual number of pillows. Have I been asleep for all this time again?

How am I doing anyways?

Headache is held at bay, but still slithering around and gnawing on the left side of my head. I feel I have the strength to move more, but I don't want to wake up my wife. Fever? I don't know if it's still. The chills aren't as strong, though. My head is clear: I can think more. The nausea-

The nausea is gone.

Evaporated completely. I don't trust it, but I feel fine for the most part. I'm all too happy for this. Can't wake up Anastasia, though. She needs her sleep. I need to wait for the morning and-

Wait. . .

Lower left. Between the hip bone and the naval. I prod the area gently. Sore. A little swollen, I think. That's where the stabbing has been. I can finally find it since the rest of the symptoms have calmed down. What's causing it? Blockage? That's the only thing I can assume, even if it is embarrassing to admit. But I haven't eaten anything solid since yesterday morning. Cramps? More logical, yes. I should stretch out tomorrow. Move around.

I can go back to work tomorrow. Walk it off. At least things will get moving again, inside and out. Just push through it. I need to be back to 100% as soon as I can. I look over to Ana again. So calm. I shouldn't let her take care of me for forever. It won't be long now anyways.

"Nnn, Christian. . ."

I freeze. Is she awake?

"Baby, please."

The smell hits me first. Heady. It smells like normal Ana, just with something extra. Pheromones. The blinds are up, the moon full just outside. I can see the flush in her cheeks, the heavy swell of her breasts. There's that V between her eyebrows, too, and gritted teeth. It's another one of those wet dreams. My breathing hitches. I don't need to check down there to know she's wanting. Waiting. The way she has her wrists bent- I bet I've tied her up the way she sees it. Just by watching I'm just as hot and bothered as she is.

She needs a reward. She's earned it after all.

I sit up and quietly pad over to her. Start with gentle strokes. Down the neck, down her cleavage, around and across the nipples. Gently blow by her ear, suck the lobe a little. Ana's enjoying every moment of it. Such beautiful moans she makes. What was I thinking about before? Ah, fuck it. I work my way down lower with my hand, kissing her on the lips. A voracious tongue comes up to greet me. The mewling is muffled. Let me hear you, Darling. Her thighs are warm, her opening blazing hot. The juices won't stop flowing. No pantes in the way. I throb heavily myself. It's so tempting. She moans as if on cue. No. I won't do that to her. Not while she's like this.

Ana went to bed wearing satin. It's a nice lilac gown with black lace, covering only what it needs to while thrown into tangles around my wife's body. Off comes the left strap. Then the right. Which one to tease first? I'd normally pull and twist a bit, but she's been a lot more sensitive than before. Just a gentle massage. It's all she needs, I can tell. Warm and soft. . .

I can't wait any more.

I slide two fingers in. She cries out. Somehow, this girl's still asleep. "No, Christian." Circle the clit with my thumb. Switch to the other breast. Go deeper, use the heel of my palm. Ana can't stay quiet, her back arching up from the bed, writhing in ecstasy. Meanwhile, her vagina's clamping down on my fingers- I'm still only using two and it's so tight. Her voice changes in pitch. She's a little louder, calling my name over and over. The sheets twist beneath her tightened hands. Fluids squirt out over my palm and drip down onto the bed. She's ready.

I quickly slide the third finger in.

"Nn! So big. . . ! Ah~!"

And there she goes, falling apart under and around me, vocalizing her pleasure shamelessly. I take my hand off her breast and lace my fingers in hers. Ana grips tight. Gently now. She's sensitive. Move slowly while she's still throbbing. But the feeling. I close my eyes and exhale. God, I need to kiss her. She cooperates when I bend down. Even if it's just my hand it so gratifying, like I've found my own release.

About twenty seconds later she's calmed down again. She breaths evenly in the orgasmic afterglow. Still asleep. It's a pleasant sight. I can't help but smile and withdraw slowly, taking a small taste from my middle finger. Amazing. Now that's a fluid I know I can keep down. We can wash the sheets tomorrow. Hopefully neither one of them minded that too much. I look past the half empty bottles to the night stand. Midnight. I'll need some sleep too. My cock twitches in protest. At ease, soldier. It's not easy, but after some mineral water I drift slowly. Ana curls around my arm before I'm completely out.

FST

Oh God, no. . .

No! Ana, wake up!

Please, wake-

H-hey, what is this. . .?

Let me go.

Let me go- that's my goddam wife!

Let me go!

FST

Bathroom. I need it now.

Water and stomach acid come up into the toilet. Not much. It was the panic. Yeah, the panic. But I'm feeling sick again. No good will come from making myself puke. Breathe in. Out. Mouth's dry again. I wince. The stabbing is getting stronger.

There's a knock on the bathroom door. "Christian? Baby, are you feeling ok?"

Deep breath. "Huh?"

"You jumped out of bed in such a hurry. Everything alright?"

"Y-yeah. I got it. Just. . . just a bad dream."

No response. Can I stand?

Yeah. A little wobbly, but I'll survive. Anastasia's still waiting for me when I open the door back up. She looks worried at first, then raises her eyebrows. Her hands on my forehead and cheeks again. "Your color's back. And you're cooling down."

I agree. "Feeling a little better, yeah."

"Are you staying home again today?"

The alarm goes off. 6 am. Ana goes to flick the switch. No more ungodly beeping. She's not going to be happy, is she?

"I want to try and go back today."

She stares at me intently.

"To get back into the rhythm of things. To be frank I think I've had my fill of sleep already. I'm itching to get something done on top of it."

Ana walks up, hands on her hips. Tip toes. Squinting. Great, I'm being inspected like a criminal. We really have switched roles here.

Silence. Please, I need an answer.

". . .Take Taylor with you."

"W-what?" I didn't think she'd say anything remotely like "yes".

"I'll get you some of that ginger water just in case. Hurry up and shower before I change my mind."

Still can't believe it. She fists some clothes out the dresser and throw's them my way. "Go!"

"But. . . these are yours." I hold up a green bra by the strap for proof.

"Now!"

That's my cue to do what she says. Since when did I start taking orders from Ana? Probably when you knocked her up, jackass. Deep breath.It's a slow start with the shower and clothes (mine, of course). I don't trust my body as much as the day before, but I'm trotting down the stairs for water a half hour later, fixing my tie. Ana's put about six reused Snapple bottles of the ginger water in my lunch bag. It's a bit much, even for me. Better not protest either way. She's right not to trust me to keep everything down. There are a few singles in the bag, too, and some saltine crackers in their pairs from restaurant visits past. "Use that if you need to get something from a vending machine," she explains. "Not junk food."

"I know."

"Good." She plants a kiss on my cheek. "I've called Taylor while you were in the shower. He should be here in a little bit."

A car horn sounds from the driveway. "Perfect timing."

She sighs. Anastasia really doesn't want me to go. I can see it in her face. "Don't worry. Taylor will be with me this time. For sure."

She pouts. "Hurry up and go. Be careful."

"I love you too." Two quick kisses, one for each, and I'm out the door. Taylor's in the driver's seat. Everything in me is thrown into disarray again once the car moves. Another stab hits me. It's starting to get scary. I'll need to find time to schedule a doctor's appointment.

"Mr. Grey, are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine. Just drive."

"Mrs. Grey expressed her concerns to me."

"I know. Just give me a minute."

"You can close your eyes if necessary, Sir."

And we're off. I stare out the window to ease the car sickness. My Blackberry buzzes. It's Ana.

I was going to get you back for last night. I didn't exactly give you my consent. But you wanted to go to work. Hurry back and feel better. :P

Really? I sigh and lean back. So she was awake. Just faked it so I would go back to sleep. Oh, you consented all right. Either way, I'll be ok. Send. Brahm plays softly from the car's speakers as trees woosh past outside, blurring together. . .

FST

It's my fault.

Oh God, it's all my fault.

Help! Please, it's my wife!

Someone!

Anyone!

Please! Hello?!

FST

"Mr. Grey?"

. . .

"Mr. Grey."

. . . Who's touching me? Have I fallen asleep again?

"Mr. Grey. We've arrived."

I blink. Me and Taylor are parked in front of the building. I need to rub the sleep out of my eyes. C'mon, show at least some dignity. Taylor follows me in. I choose the stairs for today. There's another stab- a little mild. People are pretty nice this morning. The noise doesn't help, but their concern is noted. "Yeah, just needed a day off. I'm fine." Heads turn as I stumble into my office again. Where did I leave off? The phone rings. "Grey."

"We've moved yesterday's meeting to eleven am today."

"Understood."

"Are you feeling up to it?"

Deep breath. "I'll be fine. Eleven am." I hang up. A slow and steady start, though I don't like it. Taylor's fiddling around with what looks like a 3DS. No sound effects. "Playing with Sophie?"

"My Squirtle against her Flabebe. It's a disadvantage, but I'll let her win this round."

I notice the photo on my desk. The third trimester is right around the corner. That picture needs to be updated. Definitely not a Little Blip anymore. My spirits lift. I push through the headache. Another stab. . .

FST

The meeting comes around. I'm hazy again. C'mon, wake up. This is business, so put on the right face for it. As usual I'm early. What is it about again? It's fine. Hook up the HDMI. I have the slides on my laptop. The pain- it's getting worse. It's hard to stand up straight. Why didn't I make that doctor's call earlier? Too late. The others are filing in. Taylor leans against the wall in the back of the room. I remember: It's stage two of an outreach project for funding a few food banks. The clock strikes eleven. Might as well get started. Put on the right face. Deep breath.

"So the good news is," I begin, "is that stage one was a success. Everyone seems open to the idea and it's already going around on social media sites like Facebook and Instagram from the looks of it. We've also have a couple of volunteers on Kickstarter willing to partner up. But there are still a few things to iron out. For starters-"

Stab. It harsh! I'm left leaning over. One hand on my side. One hand on the corner of the table. My vision blurs. Some of the others are standing now. Is Taylor saying anything? C'mon, Grey. Try again. "F-for starte- Unh!"

The pain slices my insides again like a hot knife. I'm groveling on the ground and I've taken the laptop down with me. They're starting to crowd around. My breathing's ragged. Clenched fist, nails digging into my hip, gritting teeth- it doesn't work. I think someone's run out to get help. Get it together, Grey! But it won't stop. Why won't it stop?

A blurry figure pushes past and grabs me. No, too much movement. It's like a gremlin is tearing my intestines to shreds inside me. I'm reduced to little more than a whimpering ragdoll. Taylor's asking me questions, but it's hard to focus on his words. Please, help. "It hurts," I tell him. He has his hand on my forehead. "It hurts. . ."

He says something else. How is Taylor still calm after all this? A groan is all I can get out. Next thing I know one of my arms is over his shoulder. He calls for help. Someone takes my other arm. I'm being dragged out. How embarrassing. "It's just like what happened to my daughter," Taylor mutters.

I try walking on my own. Something's wrong. Really wrong. I'm attacked again. "Ah!"

I'm falling.

But I never hit the ground.

I'm back home. It's deadly quiet, other than the rain tapping on the windows. We're in the living room, on the couch, me and Ana- Oh, she looks horrible. Exhausted. Sick. Depressed. Swollen and heavy like an aluminum balloon. She won't look at me. Won't speak. Anastasia, please. Tell me what's wrong.

Nothing.

". . . I think this is for the best. For you and the baby."

Ana, this is stupid. Even I can tell you're almost due. Who is going to help if I'm not there?

"Look, I can stay with Ray, ok? I'll. . ."

She's crying. No. Don't do it.

"I'll raise him on my own. You don't have to worry anymore."

No, this isn't what I want! What makes you think that I want that for any of us!?

"If you want to see him, that's fine. If not. . . oh well."

No. Don't you dare. Anastasia Grey, don't you dare walk out that door!

"I'm sorry, Christian."

I can only watch. She's made her decision. The hallway elongates as she staggers away, melding into a twisted tunnel of shadows. It's getting darker. I can hardly see anything. Ana, come back. Please, come back! I-I'll be good, I swear! Please, give me a chance!

She's too far away. I can see her foot bend as she misses a step.

She tilts.

She doesn't catch herself.

She can't.

I've never heard her scream in such agony before. The dam breaks, blood gushing between her legs as she hits the ground- Oh God, so much blood! She cries and cries and cries. No one comes. I have to help her. I stand up to run, but that's all. I'm being held back. "Let me go- that's my goddam wife! Let me go!" Claws and tentacles grab my ankles, wrists, neck, anywhere they can, even clawing into my mouth. But then- Oh, Christ. Handcuffs. A-and a dog collar. The key is between my teeth?

Another claw sneaks up on me. Or a riding crop. I don't know, but pain explodes in my side yet again, sending me to my knees. I look up. Wait. . . I'm in the car now, reclined in the front passenger seat and curled up. Is that Taylor driving? It must be. We're going really fast. I feel sick again. Just one hand on the wheel. The other with a phone. Who is he talking too? The car jostles as it runs over a pothole- "Anh!" Mercy! Not again! "Fuck!"

"I'll let you talk to him," Taylor says tersely. "You can calm him down."

He hands me the phone. I have to hold it with two hands. Have some dignity. "G-Grey speaking."

"Christian? It's me. Ana."

Ana!

"A-Ana." It's really her. "Stay where you are. I-I'll call an ambulance. You'll be ok, I promise."

"Christian, what are you talking about? Taylor told me you were the one going to the hospital!"

"Ana, I'm not the one who fell!"

"Not the one who- Christian, you're delirious! I never fell!"

"I-I saw you. There was blood everywhere and-"

The car jostles again. I drop the phone and lean forward. No, I have to call for help. She's crying out for me.

I sit up again.

It's too late.

I'm kneeling in front of Ana now. Blue lips. White skin. She's sprawled on the floor at all the wrong angles. I can see her eyes have rolled back into her head a little bit. The blood didn't just come from there, but she has another skull fracture leaking the stuff. I can move again. Too much- hands won't stop shaking. She has to be ok. I have to help. I place my hands on her.

Ice cold skin.

And the baby?

. . .

. . . . . Nothing. Not even the beat of an eyelash.

". . . Ana. Ana, please. Wake up.

"Tell me where it hurts. Say something.

"Ana, please. D-Don't leave me."

I've lost control. I can't let go. Can't stop screaming. Can't stop crying. She's gone. They're both gone. Forever. I can't do anything to get them back. No amount of money nor any treatment will ever fix this.

It's my fault. All my fault. Through inaction, I've done this. I could have prevented this. I could have saved them if I had acted better months ago. If I never screamed at Ana and blamed her. If I was never so fucked up.

The claws are back, gathering around my mouth and yanking me away. They're too strong. Shit, they're climbing down my throat and into my lungs. I-I can't breathe. Everything's getting hazy. It burns. My insides burn. And now my eyes. A light beats down into my face. There are no claws, just a mask of some kind. A sigh blurs overhead. "Operating room". There are people in aqua scrubs and masks yelling about high blood pressure and heat rate.

"Sir, I'm going to need you to count backwards from 100. Can you do that?"

No. No, I can't. "Please. . . Save Ana."

"Sir, you're going to have to calm down-"

"Forget me. Save Ana-!"

Their words are blurring. I'm falling down, down.

"Ana. . ."

I'm floating into oblivion. Lonely, cold oblivion. . .

FST

There's a sound that rouses me. I can't make it out. C'mon, wake up. It's all blurry at first. The image sharpens. Nothing but gray as far as they eye can see. I look around. A large window. A group of men and women in scrubs. Trays of scalpels, clamps, bone saws, and other tools. I'm standing in the middle of an operating room. Vital monitors are frozen on their highs and lows. Everything is freeze-framed, captured perfectly like a photograph. There's a pull deep in my chest that tries to take me to the center of the surgeons' attention. Anxiety rears it's ugly head. These guys need to move out of the way. It could be Ana- Oh, God. It could be Ana! I go to push one aside.

Nothing. No grip. My hand passes through like air.

On the one hand, it's disturbing. On the other, it gives me an idea. Do I want to see what's behind them? yes. i have to. I have to make sure Ana is ok. I hold my breath and thrust my head through.

What? No way. . .

Same face. Same burn scars. Same sickening bulge on the lower left side. And they've got tubes and wires already making their way through my body, a mask on my mouth. Ribs and hip bones stick out like knives under cloth. Did I really lose that much weight? A gruesome picture of the borders between organs is paused on a screen. I've even got a camera in me. I can't believe it. "But I'm here." Right? I hold my hands up. Limpid. I feel sick. No, I don't even feel sick. Nothing. No hot, no cold, no pain, no substance. I'm not even breathing like this. Two fingers to my throat fail in finding a heartbeat.

Did I die?

No, it can't be. From the looks of it, they've just started. What if it was too late? What was wrong with me in the first place? Quit being selfish- what about Ana?! She could be alone now! Or worse! My hands go to my head. Calm down, Grey. A dream. A fever induced nightmare. That's what it is. Wasn't I at 102? It only makes sense.

There's that sound again. Like nothing I've heard before. I want to go. I want to find it. "Grey, it's fine," I tell myself. "You're in good hands. About four pairs. Yeah."

Oddly enough I don't need the door. The hallways of the hospital stretch down too far. Ana. I have to find her. She must be trapped here too. Ok. Calm down. Waiting room should be here, right? Listen for the sound. I close my eyes. That's how I'll find her. Focus. Listen for the sound. . .

There it is. On this floor. I knew it. I'm running through walls without the fear of running into them. The sound, it's getting closer. This way. No, that way. Ana, please-

And there she is. Oh thank God, she's ok! Amongst a few strangers and a lot of empty chairs, there they are. Anastasia and Taylor. They're both huddled close, asleep, leaning on one another despite the wooden handles on the chairs. Suspicion nonetheless rolls on the surface of my head, clawing at the heart I don't have in this state. She's back to normal. Back to the same size as when I saw her this morning. Has my wife been crying? The make-up's been smudged, but it looks like she's sleeping calmly. A tear is caught mid fall. It's instinct. My hand goes to her.

Of course. I can't wipe it away. "Great. . ."

All I can to is curl up, rest my head on my knees. Just calm down. It's a nightmare. I can get through this. I can-

Daddy?

My head snaps up. The sound. It's here. In this room. But from where?

Over here, Daddy!

I turn my head. Her glow.

No, literally. There's some kind of light dancing under her shirt. Pull the fabric up. Just under the skin of her stomach warmth and light radiate like sunshine. I shift my eyes. Ok. Definitely a fever dream.

Come closer.

Does that mean touch him? Not sure how I feel about this. . . Just a tap with the finger. Get it over with.

That's all it is. And I'm hit with some incredible energy I've never felt before. Every gap in me is filled up with warmth and light, like I'm back in my old body and getting happy for no good reason. I press my palm down, splay my fingers over Ana's skin. There's a strong heartbeat underneath. The light glows brighter and gravitates to my touch. Then there's the voice- no it's not a voice. It's not even the sound I thought it was. It's sunshine, happiness and music all rolled into a perfectly tuned force for my heart, not my ears, as a language of it's own. And I understand every word of it. You're back! I missed you.

There's no doubt now. It's my son. "Um. . . yeah. I missed you, too."

You were with Mommy for a really long time yesterday. But she wasn't really happy like she normally is. Is everything ok?

"I don't know. I was sick yesterday and I thought I was better. I guess not though."

Mommy is really worried. I don't like it.

My heart breaks a little bit. "I don't like it either, kiddo."

Not Kiddo! Blip!

I smile a bit. "Ok. Blip."

I'm glad you're here, Daddy. Maybe Mommy will start to feel a little bit better.

The light nuzzles as close to my palm as it can. I smooth my thumb over as a reply. He likes it- I can feel it. Unbelievable. I'm talking to him like a regular person. Normal fathers don't get a chance like this. God, there's so much life here. Pride swells in my throat and forms a hard lump. I might cry. Ana, you're doing such a good job!

Is Mommy Pretty?

"Yeah. You're mom's beautiful."

And are you as great as she says you are?

I can feel the color flush away. I freeze. ". . . Great?"

Yeah. Mommy loves you so much. She tells me you're caring and generous and some really big word that starts with a "P". You must be great if she says so.

I'm dizzy. No. Ana, what have you been telling our son? You don't remember what I did to you? What I said about him? I'm losing my breath. My heart sinks to my feet. The weight of his faith is so heavy. Oh no, my stomach's churning again. Can I match up? What happens when he finds out I'm not the father I should be?

What if Ana actually leaves? What if I'm not ready?

The light cringes. Daddy? The force is weak now, like a small and scared whine. What's wrong? Why are you feeling like before?

He knows? I pull my hand away. Fuck, it's gotten smaller now.

No. Come back, please! I'll be good.

Oh Christ. Now I'm a real mess, with clingy arms all around Ana's waist and sobbing on my knees, face buried in her lap. All I can do is apologize over and over. It's not his fault. It's mine. My fault. How does my son not hate me if he remembers that?

Daddy! Daddy, it's ok. I love you. Please, don't cry.

I can't stop. "Why," I plead. He needs to know. "Why do you love me like this? You're better off with a different father."

No! He's mad now. The light burns. I don't want another father. You're my Daddy. And you're not leaving us, ever! Do you want to go away?

I hug tighter. "Oh God, no!"

Then stop talking about different fathers! It makes me sad.

Impossible. How I could be so happy one moment and so miserable the next? I need to wipe my nose on my sleeve. He's ignorant. Doesn't know what I was. What I could still be. Bad isn't exactly something you can get rid of if you're born with it. Does he know what else I've done to his mother? The belt? The anger? I can't even look my son in the eyes. 'The fuck am I talking about- there are no eyes to look into! Idiot!

Monster. . .

. . . Daddy.

The light's warm again. Not harsh. It feels like Ana when she cries about my past. Feels like forgiveness. Like a hug. Why am I receiving it?

Mommy reads me a lot of stories. Ones that you aren't around to hear.

Now I'm bitter. "So?"

There's one about a farmer and a flower. I really like it.

"What does that have to do with this?"

Listen if you love me.

The words stab at me. He doesn't mean it that way but damn. I shut up.

The farmer finds a flower in a dry field, the light begins. There are no other flowers around and this one looks sick. So he takes it and takes care of it. It's not easy for the farmer. He's old and has other fields to attend to. But he does his best to come back every day and every night. He gives the flower water and sunshine. He even sings to it sometimes.

I lift my head up to look. The light and heartbeat still go strong.

Do you know what happened to the flower, Daddy?

". . . What?"

It grew up. It got stronger and didn't wilt anymore. The petals didn't fall off and new ones grew back. It was healthier and prettier than it could ever be on its own.

He's right. I've never heard that one before. It's uplifting. No wonder he likes it.

Daddy.

"Huh."

I thought you were Mommy's farmer at first. But maybe she's your's, too. Please let her help you. She's strong and amazing and loving. The bestest Mommy ever.

My throat closes. He's already really wise. "I know."

You make her really happy. And that makes me happy.

My shoulders tremble. Selfless, unconditionally loving. At such a young age, too. ". . . Thank you."

You're just doing your job. It's good. I like it. Even when it gets cramped and rowdy.

Wait, what? "Cramped and rowdy?"

Yeah, squished all over. There's a lot of bouncing around and then it gets really tight. But it goes away after a while.

. . . He's not talking about what I think he's talking about, is he?

Are you guys playing a game together? Mommy certainly likes it. I can tell she likes it a lot.

Yes. Yes he is. I can't look at him now. "Um. . ."

Can I play too?

Son of a bitch. How do I explain this? I don't think I've ever been embarrassed about sex like this for years. My hand fidgets, scratching the corner of my mouth. "Well. . . I-it's for grown ups only."

Grown ups?

"Y-yeah. Like me and Mommy. It's hard to learn. Very hard. You have to wait til you're older if you want to play it. A-and you can only play it with someone who is really special to you. Understand?"

He thinks for a minute. I don't think I do. Maybe I will when I'm older. You and Mommy can keep playing the game. It makes her happy, so do it a lot, ok?

Words? I have none. My unborn son just told me to have sex with his mother. A lot of it. Normal fathers really don't go through this.

Daddy?

"Huh? Oh, I'm still here."

You'll do it, right?

". . . Yeah. Sure."

Good. Don't worry about me. I'm in good hands.

Does he mean that figuratively or literally? I'm not sure. The awkwardness subsides. I lay there, basking in the warmth. It's calming. Ana's almost slipped my mind. I don't care that it's all a fever dream. My eyes flutter closed. My son coos and snuggles up to my temple. The quiet lays about like grass on a hill, caught in the breeze of a summer afternoon. Father and son. He feels more like a mentor now. I'll probably learn a lot from him.

. . . Daddy?

"Hm?"

The world outside. . . is it big?

"Yes it is."

Is it pretty like Mommy?

"In more ways than you can imagine."

. . . Then why are you so scared all the time?

I've already spilled out my insecurities to my son. He's asking questions that he shouldn't need to know right now. And yet I'm answering unabashedly regardless. "There are a lot of bad things in the world, too. Poverty, hunger, drought, hate, bigotry, hubris. You'll learn about those in time. But the way I see it, it's a lot worse to lose the good things you already have. Especially when you've worked hard and earned them. Things like you and your mother." Not that I'm very much deserving.

Do you think I can make it better?

"The world?"

Yeah.

I sit up straighter. My hand slides over the light. He endearingly follows. "Of course. I have the utmost faith in you. You have to work hard, but you're going to do great things. I just know it." And it's the truth. What dignity is there in lying to your own children in these matters?

It's brighter now. A lot brighter. He's so happy, it's contagious. I smile as I feel him dance underneath my fingertips. So much life! I'm crying again. I'm so happy. So proud.

But then something's wrong. Air blows through, a powerful torrent that almost knocks me away from my son. Around and around. The roar is deafening. How is there a storm in the building? I look up to Ana's face as I cling onto her. No one else is moving. Nothing else is moving, like it's all bolted to the ground. The tear resumes it's descent. Color is bleeding into the surroundings and people and- Oh God, the camera. I can feel the wires and tubes in me. I can't breathe. One hand's still with my son, the other on my side. It's the surgery. The fucking surgery! Something's trying to cut it's way out of me!

Daddy, it's time.

"What?"

You have to go back. Mommy needs you.

"No, I-"

Don't worry. We'll see each other again soon! Hurry, promise me!

"Promise what?"

My hand is slipping. The pain is too much. I can feel my skin stretch as a lump is pulled out. I look down. Nothing. Not even a drop of blood. My lungs burn. Everything's getting weaker. No, my son! The light's going out. Everything else is getting too bright.

I promise to make the world the best that I can when I come. He's reaching out to me with all the power he has left. He's so strong. And to do my best every day that I'm alive. And you promise me that you will be my only Daddy and never leave Mommy.

I can't speak. The light is just a flicker now.

It's ok if you aren't the best. Just promise me!

C'mon, I got some air in me somewhere. I have to yell, say it before he leaves. I won't have another chance like this again. At the top of my lungs my statement is made over the storm and agony.

"I promise!"

The wind rips me away.

It's white all over. White walls, white sheets, white hospital gown. The lights are on. It's evening. Rain taps on the window. I'm sitting upright in a hospital bed. I can breathe again. Splay my palm on my chest. There's my heartbeat. I wasn't dead after all. I never died! I- Woah, Christ, I'm starving! Easy, Grey. Easy. Deep breath. There's a portrait of the Virgin Mary on the wall. An IV needle has been taped and inserted into my wrist. A white bracelet dangles loosely.

And Anastasia.

She's squeezing my own knuckles white and looking up at me with wide eyes. She's been worried, but she hasn't been crying hard from the looks of it. If anything, she's more confused now. Neither one of us blink. "Ana?"

". . . Yeah. How are you feeling?"

"Like I could murder a sub."

She frowns. "Doc said no food just yet. Ice chips for today. If it's light, you can eat tomorrow. I'll get you some."

"No, I got it."

But she tries to push me back into the bed. "Baby, please. Lie back down."

I don't believe it. This woman wants me to rest again. At this rate, I'll be in a coma. I push her hands away. "I don't want to rest. I want to get up. And I want answers. What happened?"

"You don't remember?"

"No, I don't."

The words strike me when I say them. No. I don't remember at all. I lean forward to think. There's a bite of pain that stops me. Three small ones, actually. But it's only skin deep, dwarfed compared to before. My wife takes the chance to take my hand and push me back down. "That's why I said to relax," she scolds. I can't stand it. I have to move, walk, something. The pain reminds me.

"I was at a meeting, right? It came out of nowhere."

She nods. "Taylor said you collapsed in severe pain. You were already in the OR when I arrived to meet him."

". . . What was wrong with me?"

She turns and takes a sheet of laminated paper off the nightstand. Four pictures take up only half the page. "Your appendix had swelled up to the size of a baseball. You were lucky, they said. It was just starting to rupture when you went in."

The first two images seem normal. It's the layers between organs, the rolls of the large intestine. The third depicts swollen red mass, speckled with what looks like little silvery beads along red veins. The sight doesn't make me gag, surprisingly, but it disturbs me nonetheless. The fourth one shows what looks like a silvery bag sucking up the lump. That was in me? I need to check. Pull the collar of the hospital gown back. There's an orange coating over my abs and three Crayola band-aids: A red one for my lower left, a yellow one for the naval, and a blue one for the upper right.

"You basically had a bomb in you, Christian. You need to stay at the hospital for a few days before you're released. It could have been a lot worse than it is now."

I bite my knuckle. "What would have happened if it ruptured?"

"You'd be on a shit ton of antibiotics and it couldn't be removed until the infection went away. It doesn't always happen but. . . you could have died."

. . .

Well, fuck.

"Ana." I have to hold onto her, give her some comfort. She accepts. "Ana, I'm sorry. I didn't know it was like this. I should have said something when I first felt it."

"Christian, we didn't know-"

"That's no excuse." I pull her away to look her dead in the eyes. doesn't she understand the gravity of it? "If that happened, you would have been alone. I'm the father, remember? It's my responsibility, too, and I can't just abandon you, by death or letting you leave or any other means. Who would have helped you take care of the baby if I wasn't there, huh? Answer me that, Ana."

Silence. She doesn't respond. Her eyes are watering- oh no, she's going to cry. I was too harsh. But she stops me before can apologize. She thinks I'm the one who's hurt. It's not that far of a stretch. Gently her hand slides from my lips to cup my cheek. I can't help but lean in, but I can't look her in the eyes either. It's such a comfort. Her tears fall. Idiot. "Christian," she mutters. "You've had another nightmare, haven't you?"

And just like that I'm spilling every detail, unraveling every moment from the rain to the bingings to her cold body. She keeps crying, even stopping me in the middle just to hug me. Does she need anything? Water? Tissues? Ana wipes her tears away and says she's fine. Just heartbroken that I would concoct such abominations. It explained my words in the car ride at least. The doctor comes in to check on us at some point. Ana mentions my hunger, he mentions the ice chips and he's gone. Ana looks down. "That's dark," she says. "Even for your normal nightmares."

"All to explicit for me," I agree. "And I remember too much of it."

Silence. A nurse comes back with a paper cup filled to the brim with shredded cubes and a spoon. She leaves. Ana helps me eat. I'm in no place to bicker.

"So what were you promising?"

"Huh?"

"Right before you woke up you said 'I promise'. Was that a different dream?"

". . . I really don't know."

"You don't know?"

"Ok." Deep breath. I rub my hands over my face. "This one. . . this one was really weird. And it felt way too real at that. I couldn't make this kind of stuff up even if I tried."

"Was it at least better than the first one?"

"I wouldn't say I was comfortable for all of it." Gotta think for a minute. "But it was. . . reassuring. One hell of a fever dream, or I don't know what else, but I feel better than before. Here, let me start from the beginning-"

The sun sets further past the horizon the more I get into the dream. I'm expecting her to look at me like I'm crazy, but I get carried away, swept up in the fondness my son showed me, how far he had come along in such a short time, my fear of the whole thing, in the whole emotional roller coaster of it all. Ana's riding it with me. I can tell as her expression changes from high to low in the time it takes to finish a sentence. She's scared when I see my body, smiling when I tell her about the light, empathetic when our son pleads that I don't cry and-

"Woah, woah, woah, woah, woah." She puts hand on my mouth.

"What?"

"The Flower and The Farmer."

"Yeah?"

"Where he nurses it back to health? Moral is to find someone who makes you better?"

"Actually, yeah. How did you know?"

"How did you know? That was part of a collection of short stories by an anonymous author that I had read over a month ago. You were on a business trip that time. I never told you."

"You're kidding!"

"No!"

Holy shit. "That's scary. Like, really scary. He knows too much."

"Christian, it's just a story."

No, that's not what I mean. I explain ordeal with "the game". She bursts out laughing at first, but then stops when she realises I'm not joking. "Wait, did he really?"

"Yes."

"And he said to do it a lot."

"To 'play the game'. Yes. And I basically had to give him the talk while I was at it."

". . . You know what? Just keep going. I need to let that sink in for a minute."

What else is there to say? I move on to his questions about the world, the storm that rips me away and the final words. "He promised that he would do his best to make the world a better place," I finish, "If I promised to be the only father he had. Even if I wasn't perfect at it."

"And you promised that?"

I nod.

"Do you you feel like you can do it?"

I feel raw. Too raw. Sensitive, yes, but not like skin. More like emotionally exhausted, having spilled and cried so much today, in both dreams and reality. I can feel-really feel- the weight of it all and I'm tired. I just want to sleep on it for now. But if I'm honest with myself, after all that, ". . . I still don't have a lot of faith in myself. I probably won't for a while, at least not until I get some practice in. But I finally think it's ok if it takes me a while to learn. I mean, he told me. It's kind of irrefutable after something like that."

"Even though it was kind of a dream?"

"Don't remind me. I want to believe in it."

"Fair enough."

It's gotten pretty dark out now. Snow falls lazily outside, like sugar to ease the troubles on the hospital. I stifle a yawn. I search for the clock. About eight. Still early for me, but I still want to get out of here. Ugh, those guys from the meeting won't be happy, will they? Ana yawns too. Guess I'm not the only one. I scoot over and pat the empty side of the bed. She climbs on and snuggles into my chest. No more words are exchanged. And for the first time in a few days, I'm willingly off to sleep, listening to Ana's even breathing.

It's march now. I only have three months left. My eyes close. I'll brush up on my human-working instincts tomorrow.

FST

May, 2012

Theodore Raymond Grey.

Theodore Raymond Grey.

Theodore Raymond Grey.

Cradled in my arms. Sound asleep. So small- not even seven pounds. He's got my hair. Hasn't opened his eyes yet. I hope they're Ana's.

No wonder they call it labor. That had to be the most agonizing fifteen hours of my life. I wasn't even the one in pain. I could have lost her. Or him.

Or both.

Theodore Raymond Grey.

And somehow I've forgotten all of it. It feels so far behind me. I move through the same motions I have been ever since Ana gave him to me so she could sleep. Stroke his hair. So soft. Adjust the blanket. Don't want him to be cold. Lay my finger in his hand. He has a strong grip, just barely gets his tiny fingers all the way around. I should be terrified. And I am, somewhere in some corner of my mind. But at the same time there is this weight, dissipated, gone, that I didn't even know was there. Or maybe not. I don't know right now.

He starts to whine again, just like he did two hours ago. Ana's already conditioned to get up at the sound. "I'm up," she groans. "I'm up. Christian, give him here."

I'm reluctant, but I bring him to her arms. Careful, careful. I don't let go until she had both her arms around him. She pulls down the sleeve of her gown for feeding.

How do I put this?

. . .

. . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . I think. . .

I think this is a place where I belong. Truly belong. I wasn't rescued. I wasn't found. This is my flesh and blood. Our flesh and blood. We're a real family. And I've never had such a clear cut purpose. Of course, my job is close, but now playing second fiddle.

"Ok." Ana pulls her sleeve back up and pats his back. "Teddy should be good for now."

I grin. "Teddy?"

"Well, you can't seem to let go of him. If I recall, you though you were going to be replaced."

I shrug. "What can I say? I don't like to share."

She sighs. "Christian. Come to bed, get some sleep. He'll be fine."

"I don't want to sleep." My hand goes to Theodore's hair again. "I'll run out of time. I'll miss this."

"Even the vomit and diapers?"

"Ten bucks says he pukes on you first."

She snorts and clamps her hand on her mouth. "No, I'm serious," she giggles. "Get some sleep. You'll need it.

I pause. "Only because you want me to. Hold him a bit longer." I pull my jacket, roll it up, place it in the crib provided. I do the same thing with my shirt. Ana inquires as to what I'm doing. "Protecting him from SIDS," I reply. I take Theodore up and lay him down, adjusting the rolls. "There's a theory that it happens because the baby rolls over in it's sleep and stops breathing because of it's own weight. I won't let that happen."

When I turn back, Anastasia already has a seat for me. She's got a wistful look in her eyes. I can see some torment. "No. Don't think about that."

She shakes her head. "It just feels like you've come a long way."

"Fifty-one shades?"

"Nah. You really liked Mia. You were probably just out of practice."

So much faith. From her and him.

I refuse to squander it. I climb in, hold on to Ana close. She'll probably won't be complaining about stretch marks any time soon. We'll be busy. "What are we going to do when we bring him home," she asks.

"Reading to him."

"Wow, that was fast. Are you mister expert, now?

"Instinct. I know how humans tick. Even if he doesn't understand, our voices will calm him down. It'll be a chance to bond. And it won't matter what we read either- you can keep working if you want."

"You're so brave," she sighs.

I keep watching Theodore closely. Tomorrow's a new day. A new life. For all of us. Hey, if you have the will to take it, go ahead. Nothing stopping you but yourself.

I drift with a smile on my face.

FST

Sunshine.

Happiness.

Music.

All rolled into one.

Let's do our best, Daddy.

FST

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