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I gape at Dr. Greene, my world collapsing around me. A baby. A baby. I don't want a baby… not yet. Fuck. And I know deep down that Christian is going to freak.

"Mrs. Grey, you're very pale. Would you like a glass of water?"

I nod mutely at the good doctor as she hands me a glass of water from her conveniently placed water cooler. I take a welcome sip. "Shocked," I whisper.

"I take it you're surprised."

"We could do an ultrasound to see how advanced the pregnancy is. Judging by your reaction, I suspect you're just a couple of weeks or so from conception -- four or five weeks pregnant. I take it you haven't been suffering any symptoms?"

"Please." My voice is barely audible. My mind is racing. Pregnant? When?

"Have you been bleeding at all?"

Dr. Greene arches a brow. "It normally is, when you remember to have the shot," she says coolly.

I shake my head mutely. Symptoms? I don't think so. "I thought… I thought this was a reliable form of contraceptive."

"I must have lost track of time." Christian is going to freak. I know it.

"That's normal for the Depo. Let's do an ultrasound shall we? I have time."

I frown. "No."

I frown warily.

Underwear? I was expecting an ultrasound scan over my belly. Why do I need to remove my panties? I shrug in consternation, then quickly do as she says and lie down beneath the soft white blanket.

I nod, bewildered, and Dr. Greene directs me toward a black leather exam table behind a screen.

"That's good." Dr. Greene appears at the end of the table, pulling the ultrasound machine closer. It's a hi-tech stack of computers. Sitting down, she positions the screen so that we can both see it and jogs the trackball on the keyboard. The screen pings into life.

"If you'll just slip off your skirt, underwear, and cover yourself with the blanket on the table, we'll go from there," she says briskly.

"This is a transvaginal ultrasound. If you're only just pregnant, we should be able to find the baby with this." She holds up a long white probe.

"If you could lift and bend your knees, then part them wide," she says matter-of-factly.

Relax? I'm pregnant, damn it! How do you expect me to relax? I blush and endeavor to find my happy place… which has relocated somewhere near the lost island of Atlantis.

"Okay," I mutter, mortified, and do as she says. Greene pulls a condom over the wand and lubricates it with clear gel.

Oh, you have got to be kidding!

"Mrs. Grey, if you could relax."

All I can see on the screen is the visual equivalent of white noise -- although it's more sepia in color. Slowly, Dr. Greene moves the probe about, and it's very disconcerting.

Holy fuck!

Slowly and gently she inserts the probe.

"There," she murmurs. She presses a button, freezing the picture on the screen, and points to a tiny blip in the sepia storm.

It's a little blip. There's a tiny little blip in my belly. Tiny. Wow. I forget my discomfort as I stare dumbfounded at the blip.

"It's too early to see the heartbeat, but yes, you're definitely pregnant. Four or five weeks, I would say." She frowns. "Looks like the shot ran out early. Oh well, that happens sometimes."

As she hands me a package of pills and a leaflet, she continues to talk at me, but I'm not listening. I'm in shock. Overwhelmed. Surely I should be happy. Surely I should be thirty… at least. This is too soon -- far too soon. I try to quell my rising sense of panic.

I nod, still unable to speak, and Dr. Greene presses a button. Then she gently removes the wand and hands me a paper towel to clean myself.

"Would you like me to print out a picture for you?"

"Okay." I'm reeling and I dress hurriedly. I have a blip, a little blip. When I emerge from behind the screen, Dr. Greene is back at her desk.

I am too stunned to say anything. The little blip is a baby. A real honest to goodness baby. Christian's baby. My baby. Holy cow. A baby!

"Congratulations, Mrs. Grey," she says as I sit up. "We'll need to make another appointment. I suggest in four weeks' time. Then we can ascertain the exact age of your baby and set a likely due date. You can get dressed now."

"In the meantime, I'd like you to start this course of folic acid and prenatal vitamins. Here's a leaflet of dos and don'ts."

I wish Dr. Greene a polite good-bye and head back down to the exit and out into the cool fall afternoon. I'm gripped suddenly by a creeping cold and deep sense of foreboding. Christian is going to freak, I know, but how much and how far, I have no idea. His words haunt me. "I'm not ready to share you yet." I pull my jacket tighter around me, trying to shake off the cold.

Sawyer leaps out of the SUV and holds open the door. He frowns when he sees my face, but I ignore his concerned expression.

"SIP." I nestle into the backseat of the car, closing my eyes and leaning my head on the headrest. I should be happy. I know I should be happy. But I'm not. This is too early. Far too early. What about my job? What about SIP? What about Christian and me? No. No. No. We'll be fine. He'll be fine. He loved baby Mia -- I remember Carrick telling me -- he dotes on her now. Perhaps I should warn Flynn… Perhaps I shouldn't tell Christian. Perhaps I… perhaps I should end this. I halt my thoughts on that dark path, alarmed at the direction they're taking. Instinctively my hand sweeps down to rest protectively over my belly. No. My little Blip. Tears spring to my eyes. What am I going to do?

"Where to, Mrs. Grey?" he asks gently.

I jerk awake. No. He's going to freak out.

When Sawyer pulls up outside SIP, I leap out and head into the building.

A vision of a little boy with copper-colored hair and bright gray eyes running through the meadow at the new house invades my thoughts, teasing and tantalizing me with possibilities. He's giggling and squealing with delight as Christian and I chase him. Christian swings him high in his arms and carries him on his hip as we walk hand in hand back to the house.

My vision morphs into Christian turning away from me in disgust. I'm fat and awkward, heavy with child. He paces the long hall of mirrors, away from me, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the silvered glass, walls, and floor. Christian…

"Ana, great to see you. How's your dad?" Hannah asks as soon as I reach my office. I regard her coolly.

"Sure." She looks surprised as she follows me in. "Is everything okay?"

"He's better, thank you. Can I see you in my office?"

"I need to know if you've moved or canceled any appointments with Dr. Greene."

Because now I'm fucking pregnant! I scream at her in my head. I take a deep, steadying breath. "If you move any appointments, will you make sure I know? I don't always check my calendar."

"Sure. I'll jump to it." Brightening, she heads out of the office.

"Dr. Greene? Yes, I have. About two or three of them. Mostly because you were in other meetings or running late. Why?"

"Sure," Hannah says quietly. "I'm sorry. Have I done something wrong?"

I gaze after her departing figure. "You see that woman?" I talk quietly to the blip. "She might be the reason you're here." I pat my belly, then feel like a complete idiot, because I am talking to the blip. My tiny little Blip. I shake my head, exasperated at myself and at Hannah… though deep down I know I can't really blame Hannah. Despondently I switch on my computer. There's an e-mail from Christian.

====================

I shake my head and sigh loudly. "Can you make me some tea? Then let's discuss what's been happening while I've been away."

From: Christian Grey

To: Christian Grey

Christian Grey

Date: September 13 2011 14:10

I'll collect you around six this evening, and we can go and see him before heading home.

To: Anastasia Grey

I type a quick response.

Your loving husband

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

x

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

Sound good?

No, Christian, I'm not. I'm freaking out about you freaking out. I don't know what to do. But I am not going to tell you via e-mail.

From: Anastasia Grey

Anastasia Grey

Mrs. Grey

====================

Sure.

Subject: Missing You

Subject: Missing You

Date: September 13 2011 13:58

Editor, SIP

Christian Grey

Subject: Missing You

From: Christian Grey

I've been back in the office for only three hours, and I'm missing you already.

Subject: Missing You

Are you okay?

Hope Ray has settled into his new room okay. Mom is going to see him this afternoon and check up on him.

Date: September 13 2011 14:14

To: Anastasia Grey

====================

====================

From: Anastasia Grey

Date: September 13 2011 14:17

See you at six.

x

"Nothing." Maybe now? I could tell him now when we're in a contained space and Taylor is with us.

I blush.

"I've just missed you, that's all. And I've been worried about Ray."

Anastasia Grey

Christian visibly relaxes. "Ray's good. I spoke to Mom this afternoon and she's impressed with his progress."

"Ana, what's wrong?" His tone is a little more forceful, and I chicken out.

"What's wrong?" He frowns. I shake my head as Taylor sets off toward the hospital.

"Yes. Fine. Thanks."

Well, I haven't eaten because I know you're going to go bat-shit crazy when I tell you I'm pregnant.

"Hi," Christian says warily as I climb into the SUV.

Fine. Just busy.

"Hi," I murmur.

"Is work all right?" Christian continues to probe.

Christian grasps my hand. "Boy, your hand is cold. Have you eaten today?"

When will I tell him? Tonight? Maybe after sex? Maybe during sex. No, that might be dangerous for both of us. When he's asleep? I put my head in my hands. What the hell am I going to do?

"Ana," Christian scolds me, annoyed.

Editor, SIP

To: Christian Grey

Christian interrupts my reverie. "I may have to go to Taiwan."

"I'm sorry. I'll eat. It's just been a weird day. You know, moving Dad and all."

His lips press into a hard line, but he says nothing. I gaze out the window. Tell him! My subconscious hisses. No. I'm a coward.

"Okay."

"I want you to come with me."

"Oh. When?"

I swallow. "Christian, please. I have my job. Let's not rehash this argument again."

He shakes his head in frustration. "Do you want me to add 'feed my wife' to the security detail's list of duties?"

"I'll eat this evening. I haven't really had time."

How can he tell? "Well, now that my beloved husband is going away…"

He sighs and pouts like a sulky teenager. "Thought I'd ask," he mutters petulantly.

"Not more than a couple of days. I wish you'd tell me what's bothering you."

"How long will you go for?"

"Later this week. Maybe next week."

Christian kisses my knuckles. "I won't be away for long."

Ray is much brighter and a lot less grumpy when we see him. I'm touched by his quiet gratitude to Christian, and for a moment I forget about my impending news as I sit and listen to them talk fishing and the Mariners. But he tires easily.

"Good." I smile weakly at him.

"Don't know many women who are, eh?" Ray grins.

"Daddy, we'll leave you to sleep."

"Thanks, Ana honey. I like that you drop by. Saw your mom today, too, Christian. She was very reassuring. And she's a Mariners fan."

"She's not crazy about fishing, though," Christian says wryly as he rises.

"I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" I kiss him. My subconscious purses her lips. That's provided Christian hasn't locked you away… or worse. My spirits take a nosedive.

"Come." Christian holds out his hand, frowning at me. I take it and we leave the hospital.

"Damn it! Ana, will you tell me what's wrong?" Christian pushes his empty plate away, irritated. I gaze at him. "Please. You're driving me crazy."

I pick at my food. It's Mrs. Jones's chicken chasseur, but I'm just not hungry. My stomach is knotted in a tight ball of anxiety.

I swallow and try to subdue the panic rising in my throat. I take a deep, steadying breath. It's now or never. "I'm pregnant."

He stills, and very slowly all the color drains from his face. "What?" he whispers, ashen.

His stance changes immediately, his eyes hardening to flint. "Your shot?" he snarls.

I just gaze at him, unable to speak. Fuck, he's mad -- really mad.

How… how? What sort of ridiculous question is that? I blush and give him a quizzical how-do-you-think look.

His brow furrows with incomprehension. "How?"

Stupid! I gasp. Shit. I want to tell him that the shot was ineffective, but words fail me. I gaze down at my fingers. "I'm sorry," I whisper.

"Did you forget your shot?"

"Christ, Ana!" He bangs his fist on the table, making me jump, and stands so abruptly he almost knocks the dining chair over. "You have one thing, one thing to remember. Shit! I don't fucking believe it. How could you be so stupid?"

"Not very good!" he shouts. "We've known each other five fucking minutes. I wanted to show you the fucking world and now… Fuck. Diapers and vomit and shit!" He closes his eyes. I think he's trying to contain his temper and losing the battle.

"Sorry? Fuck!" he says again.

"I know the timing's not very good."

"I'm pregnant."

Oh, shit.

"Did you forget? Tell me. Or did you do this on purpose?" His eyes blaze and anger emanates off him like a force field.

"I thought we'd agreed on this!" he shouts.

"I know. We had. I'm sorry."

He ignores me. "This is why. This is why I like control. So shit like this doesn't come along and fuck everything up."

No… Little Blip. "Christian, please don't shout at me." Tears start to slip down my face.

"How the fuck do you know!" he shouts, louder this time. "Tell me how!" His eyes burn as so many emotions cross his face. It's fear that's most prominent.

"No," I whisper. I can't tell him about Hannah -- he'd fire her.

"Don't start with waterworks now," he snaps. "Fuck." He runs a hand through his hair, pulling at it as he does. "You think I'm ready to be a father?" His voice catches, and it's a mixture of rage and panic.

And it all becomes clear, the fear and loathing writ large in his eyes -- his rage is that of a powerless adolescent. Oh, Fifty, I am so sorry. It's a shock for me, too.

"I know neither one of us is ready for this, but I think you'll make a wonderful father," I choke. "We'll figure it out."

I am alone with the silence -- the still, silent emptiness of the great room. I shudder involuntarily as I gaze numbly at the closed doors. He's walked out on me. Shit! His reaction is far worse than I could ever have imagined. I push my plate away and fold my arms on the table, letting my head sink into them while I weep.

"I heard. I'm sorry," she says gently. "Would you like an herbal tea or something?"

"I'd like a glass of white wine."

"Ana, dear." Mrs. Jones is hovering beside me.

"Oh, fuck this!" Christian bellows dismissively and holds his hands up in a gesture of defeat. He turns on his heel and stalks toward the foyer, grabbing his jacket as he leaves the great room. His footsteps echo off the wooden floor, and he disappears through the double doors into the foyer, slamming the door behind him and making me jump once more.

Mrs. Jones pauses for a fraction of a second, and I remember Blip. Now I can't drink alcohol. Can I? I must study the dos and don'ts Dr. Greene gave me.

I sit up quickly, dashing the tears from my face.

"Cup of tea coming up." She clears our plates and heads over to the kitchen area. I follow her and perch on a stool, watching her prepare my tea.

"Ana, you should eat. It's not just you anymore. Please let me fix you something. What would you like?" She looks so hopefully at me. But really, I can't face anything.

"Are you sure? You didn't eat much."

My husband has just walked out on me because I'm pregnant, my father has been in a major car accident, and there's Jack Hyde the nutcase trying to make out that I sexually harassed him. I suddenly have an uncontrollable urge to giggle. See what you've done to me, Little Blip! I caress my belly.

She places a steaming mug in front of me. "Is there anything else I can get for you, Ana?"

I gaze up at her. "I'm just not hungry."

"Very newly pregnant. Four or five weeks, the doctor isn't sure."

"I'll get you a glass."

"No, this is fine, thank you."

Mrs. Jones smiles indulgently at me. "Do you know how far along you are?" she asks softly.

"Actually, I'll have a cup of tea, please." I wipe my nose. She smiles kindly.

"If you won't eat, then at least you should rest."

I nod, and taking my tea, I head into the library. It's my refuge. I dig my BlackBerry out of my purse and contemplate calling Christian. I know it's a shock for him -- but he really did overreact. When does he not overreact? My subconscious arches a finely plucked brow at me. I sigh. Fifty Shades of fucked up.

"Yes, that's your daddy, Little Blip. Hopefully he'll cool off and come back… soon."

I pull out the leaflet of dos and don'ts and sit down to read.

I can't concentrate. Christian's never walked out on me before. He's been so thoughtful and kind over the last few days, so loving and now… Suppose he never comes back? Shit! Perhaps I should call Flynn. I don't know what to do. I'm at a loss. He's so fragile in so many ways, and I knew he'd react badly to the news. He was so sweet this weekend. All those circumstances way beyond his control, yet he managed fine. But this news was too much.

Ever since I met him, my life has been complicated. Is it him? Is it the two of us together? Suppose he doesn't get past this? Suppose he wants a divorce? Bile rises in my throat. No. I mustn't think this way. He'll be back. He will. I know he will. I know, regardless of the shouting and his harsh words, that he loves me… yes. And he'll love you, too, Little Blip.

I wake cold and disoriented. Shivering, I check my watch: eleven in the evening. Oh yes… You. I pat my belly. Where's Christian? Is he back? Stiffly I ease out of the armchair and go in search of my husband.

Five minutes later, I realize he's not home. I hope nothing's happened to him. Memories of the long wait when Charlie Tango went missing flood back.

Leaning back in my chair, I start to doze.

No, no, no. Stop thinking like this. He's probably gone to… where? Who would he go and see? Elliot? Or maybe he's with Flynn. I hope so. I find my BlackBerry back in the library, and I text him.

*Where are you?*

He still hasn't returned when I climb out of the bath. I change into one of my 1930s-style satin nightdresses and my robe and head to the great room. On the way, I pop into the spare bedroom. Perhaps this could be Little Blip's room. I am startled by the thought and stand in the doorway, contemplating this reality. Will we paint it blue or pink? The sweet thought is soured by the fact that my errant husband is so pissed at the idea. Grabbing the duvet from the spare bed, I head into the great room to keep vigil. SOMETHING WAKES ME. A sound.

I head into the bathroom and run myself a bath. I am so cold.

"Let me help you to bed. Lean on me."

"Where have you been?"

"With you…" He snickers.

I scramble up in time to see him stagger through the double doors. He's drunk. My scalp prickles. Shit, Christian drunk? I know how much he hates drunks. I leap up and run toward him.

He leans against the jamb of the foyer doors. "Mrs. Grey," he slurs.

"Okay," he says, as if he's trying to concentrate.

"Christian, walk. I am going to put you to bed."

Crap. He's very drunk. I don't know what to do.

He puts his finger to his lips and smiles crookedly at me. "Shh!"

"You are very beautiful, Ana." He leans on me and sniffs my hair, almost knocking both of us over.

"Oh… you look mighty fine, Anastasia."

"Christian, are you okay?"

"Shit!"

"I think you'd better come to bed."

"Shit!" he repeats, more muffled this time.

It's Christian in the foyer. I hear the table scrape across the floor again.

Snickering! Frowning, I gently put my arm around his waist because he can hardly stand, let alone walk. Where has he been? How did he get home?

Holy cow. Drunk Christian is cute and playful. I'll take him over mad-as-hell Christian anytime.

"Join me," he says.

I frown. "Heard about what?"

"Yes, bed." I maneuver him to the edge, but he holds me.

"Babies mean no sex."

"Come on, Christian," I say gently. I hate his expression. It speaks of horrid, ugly memories that no child should see. "Let's get you into bed." I push him gently, and he flops down onto the mattress, sprawling in all directions and grinning up at me, his haunted expression gone.

"And so it begins. I've heard about this."

"Bed," he says, grinning.

We stumble down the corridor and finally make it into the bedroom.

"Yes." He smiles, but his smile changes as he thinks about it, and a haunted expression crosses his face, a look that chills me to the bone.

He gazes down at me. "You're funny."

"Join me," he slurs.

"You're drunk."

"Let's get you undressed first."

"I'm sure that's not true. Otherwise we'd all come from one-child families."

He grins widely, drunkenly. "Now you're talking."

"Christian, I think you need some sleep."

Shit… is he going to throw up? "Christian, sit up!"

"Yes. Do as you're told and sit up." I put my hands on my hips. He grins again, struggles up onto his elbows, then sits up in a most un-Christian-like, gawky fashion. Before he can flop down again, I grab his tie and wrestle him out of his gray jacket, one arm at a time.

I stop breathing. Holy cow. He's talking to Little Blip.

He smirks up at me. "Mrs. Grey, you are a bossy little thing…"

"You smell of hard liquor."

"And we have an invader in here."

"Sit up. Let me take your jacket off."

"You smell good."

"I like the feel of this fabric on you, Anastay-shia," he says, slurring his words. "You should always be in satin or silk." He runs his hands up and down my hips, then jerks me forward, pressing his mouth against my belly.

"The room is spinning."

"Yes… bour-bon." He pronounces the syllables with such exaggeration that I have to stifle a giggle. Discarding his jacket on the floor beside me, I make a start on his tie. He rests his hands on my hips.

Oh my. Christian looks up at me through his long dark lashes, gray eyes blurred and cloudy. My heart constricts.

"You're going to keep me awake, aren't you?" he says to my belly.

"You'll choose him over me," he says sadly.

"Christian, you don't know what you're talking about. Don't be ridiculous -- I am not choosing anyone over anyone. And he might be a she."

He frowns. "A she… Oh, God." He flops back down on the bed and covers his eyes with his arm. I have managed to loosen his tie. I undo one shoelace and yank off his shoe and sock, then the other. When I stand, I see why I've met no resistance -- Christian has passed out completely. He's sound asleep and snoring softly.

I stare at him. He's so goddamned beautiful, even drunk and snoring. His sculptured lips parted, one arm above his head, ruffling his messy hair, his face relaxed. He looks young -- but then he is young; my young, stressed-out, drunk, unhappy husband. The thought rests heavily in my heart.

Well, at least he's home. I wonder where he went. I'm not sure I have the energy or the strength to move him or undress him any further. He's on top of the duvet, too. Heading back into the great room, I pick up the duvet I was using and bring it back to our bedroom.

He's still fast asleep, still wearing his tie and his belt. I climb onto the bed beside him, remove his tie, and gently undo the top button of his shirt. He mumbles something incoherently in his sleep, but he doesn't wake. Carefully, I unbuckle his belt and pull it through the belt loops, and after some difficulty it's off. His shirt has come dislodged from his pants, revealing a hint of his happy trail. I can't resist. I bend and kiss it. He shifts, flexing his hips forward, but stays asleep.

I sit up and gaze at him again. Oh, Fifty, Fifty, Fifty… what am I going to do with you? I brush my fingers through his hair -- it's so soft -- and kiss his temple.

"I love you, Christian. Even when you're drunk and you've been out God knows where, I love you. I'll always love you."

"Hmm," he murmurs. I kiss his temple once more, then get off the bed and cover him up with the spare duvet. I can sleep beside him, sideways across the bed… Yes, I'll do that.

First I'll sort out his clothes, though. I shake my head and pick up his socks and tie and fold his jacket over my arm. As I do, his BlackBerry falls to the floor. I pick it up and inadvertently unlock it. It opens on the texts screen. I can see my text, and above it, another.

Fuck. My scalp prickles.

*Don't fret. You'll make a wonderful father.*

That's where he went. He's been to see her.

*It was good to see you. I understand now.*

It's from her. Mrs. Elena Bitch Troll Robinson. Shit.