"Where the hell is my wife?" I pound my fist down on the reception desk so hard a set up of pamphlets advertising a new drug for erectile dysfunction falls to the floor. Why are they advertising that shit in labor and delivery anyway? Everyone in here is obviously in working order.

"She's with Dr. Greene having tests done," says a middle aged nurse who, despite her sweet southern drawl, is the wicked witch of the northwest.

"Still?!"

"It's only been five minutes." She taps her watch, like I'm a pre-schooler who can't tell the short hand from the long hand. "For the third time Mr. Grey, we'll let you know when she's done." She collects the fallen pamphlets and props them back up so they're, fittingly, erect again.

"When will that be?"

Ignoring me, she walks off. Southern hospitality my ass. What I could really use about now is some Southern Comfort. No, I need my wits about me. I may be called to fly into action at any time. And I don't want my son's first memory of his father as a drunk.

I stare at the double doors. The ones that took her from me when she was screaming out in pain. They've opened and closed countless times since, with emergencies of varying degrees, fraternizing medical personnel and even a father to be who shit himself in the room, but no Ana. I'd rather have my limbs ripped apart by wild dogs, than live with this waiting and not knowing.

I look for mommy down the long, cold, white hallway they took me to. Away from her. I look and I look and I look, but I don't ever see her again...

I shake my head to rid myself of these thoughts. I have to get away from these white hallways. They're fucking with me. I just need somewhere to sit for a minute and catch my breath. Not with the family. Right now, I need to be alone.

I start walking, but the walls follow me. The hallway never ends, until it does, and instead of any good place to rest, all I'm left with is more white walls. So, I lean against one, throw my head back and close my eyes.

"You going in?" I'm startled awake by an old man wearing jogging pants that were purchased two sizes ago and a ball cap that's neglected to declare a team.

"Going in where?" Who is this old man and why is he trying to fuck with me? Why am I sitting on the floor? Did I fall asleep? Oh shit, I scramble to my feet and pull out my phone. I'm both relieved and anguished that they haven't called, but I've only been out five minutes.

"Well?" He motions to the door behind me. I turn to look at the sign that informs me it's the multi faith prayer room and that I should keep my voice down. Please.

"Oh no, I don't go into places like that," I say, turning away from the door.

"Hospital chapels?"

"Chapels in general."

"Me, neither," he smiles. "Could you step to the side, you're blocking the door."

I move to my left and he enters. What an odd little man. I think he's wearing bedroom slippers with dress socks. Who am I to judge, I've been traipsing around in boxer shorts, trying to get a bed delivered half the night.

Through the parted door, I peek inside. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to sit in there for a minute. It's peaceful and quiet and dark. I need the darkness right now to drive out all of this white.

I walk inside and immediately feel like I've made a mistake. Why I'm in here, I don't know. To rest. To wait. To pray? No. The last time I did that was on my knees at age four and she didn't wake up. I don't want to take that chance again. My greatest fear is that God gave Ana to me, just so he could take her away again.

I choose the last pew, shuffling through skinny aisles built for frail old ladies and lost causes clinging to the promise of miracles as thin as the clouds they were born in, and tuck myself into the deepest corner, farthest from God.

I'm exhausted. I hadn't realized how much until I sat down. I feel like I've been tied to a rack and beaten all day, but unlike high school, I feel no relief in my suffering and my happy ending is eluding me. I prop my elbows on the wood of the pew in front of me and cradle my forehead in my hands. Oh Ana, please be okay.

"I thought you didn't go into places like this," the old man says from three pews up and across the aisle. Nosey bastard.

"I don't, but I just needed to sit..." I lift my head, not sure why I'm explaining myself to him, and point to the empty seats around us. "Lucky for me I didn't need a reservation."

"You in here to fix your head?" he asks.

"No, I told you, I'm only in here to sit!" The nerve of this fucker.

"You should get it checked."

"Excuse me?"

"You may have a concussion." Oh, the lump on my brow.

"No, my wife is having a baby," I say, as way of explanation. I look at my phone again. Nothing. Damn it.

"Hot damn!" He claps his hands so I hard, for a half second I think he's fired a shot at me. Then he stands up and walks over. Oh fuck. Just what I need, an old person who wants to talk.

"You shouldn't be in here talking to an old man..." he says, waddling over and squeezing a belly that rivals Ana's into the pew in front of me.

"You're right, I shouldn't." So, go.

"You should be with your wife." He plops down and props an elbow on the back of the wood, like we're girlfriends chatting on a lazy Saturday about life. "It's not every day you become a father."

I shift in my seat. "She's having some tests." I try to play it off, but my thespianic prowess is lacking today. "I have to wait..."

"Me, too. I wait here a lot."

"Oh yeah?" Next thing I know he'll be balls deep into a story about passing stones.

"My wife is dying," he says, matter of factly. I freeze. All I can think of is Ana, in pain, on some cold hard table where I can't be with her. A chill runs up my spine.

"I'm sorry."

"Fifty-one years with the most beautiful girl that ever walked the earth. Nothing sorry about that." He smiles. "First time I met her, I knew there was someone upstairs who must think I'm better than a lump of shit to give me the likes of her." I can almost see that first time played out in his eyes. Or maybe I just know, because it happened to me, too.

"So, you come here to pray?" I ask.

"I'm not really a praying man."

"Me, neither."

"Yet, here we both are." He smiles. "I think people do a lot of praying, but they mostly ask for the wrong things." He leans in. "The real good stuff is what you never think to ask for, anyway."

"That's true." I never asked for Ana. I never asked for our baby. Now, they're all I want.

He looks up at the ceiling and points to a small, circular stained glass window. Something with clouds and rolling hills. I guess everyone believes in those. Though, I'm not sure why people always look into the clouds for answers. They may look light and fluffy, but they always bring rain.

"There's a bird that lives up there," he says, pointing. "I watch her, day in and day out."

"Where?"

"Outside. You can see the shadow of the nest through the glass." I squint my eyes and faintly make it out. "When we had that big rainstorm last week, I thought for sure she was a goner. But, next day, sun was shining and she was back, singing like she never saw a drop. I thought, that bird's been through a lot of shit and now look at her. Singing."

"Yeah, but who's to say it won't rain again?" I ask. My eyes fixed on the stained glass clouds. "Or a cat will get her? Or the nest will be blown away by the same wind that gave her the scattered pieces to build it with, taking everything and leaving her all alone?"

He gives me a sideways look. "Are we still talking about the bird?"

"Yes." I shift, and pull my eyes away from the window.

"Are you scared?" he asks.

"No. She'll be fine." I say, thinking of Ana, not the bird.

"No, I mean... You're going to be a dad. There's nothing scarier than that!"

"Well, I guess I'm as nervous as any expectant father is." I toss out the company line.

"I was terrified!" He sits back, crossing his legs, tucking into his story. "My kid wasn't planned" He leans over like he's telling me a secret. "Back in my day the birth control methods weren't as effective as they are now." The irony is not lost on me. But, then it makes me remember how badly I acted when Ana told me.

"Why didn't you want the baby?" I ask, suddenly feeling like we're in some support group.

"I thought I'd be a shitty dad," he shrugs.

"Why?" Although annoying, he seems nice enough. Like the kind of guy that bounces grandkids on his knee and voluntarily plays Santa Claus at Christmas. Not a guy like me.

"Because I had a shitty dad and a shitty mom and I thought I didn't have a choice but to carry on the shit legacy."

"You mean the apple doesn't fall far..." My chest tightens. I don't want my son anywhere near the tree I fell from.

"But, I realized something." He looks straight at me. "The really shitty parents don't worry they're going to be shitty, that's just who they are. It's the ones who worry about it that really care."

"Yeah, maybe you're right." Maybe he is right. I'd never thought about it like that. If worry is criteria for being a good dad, I'll be father of the century.

"When you hold your baby for the first time," emotion catches in his throat. "And you look at your wife..." He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand that still wears a wedding ring even though it's a size or more too tight. "You know, it goes by in a blink."

"What does?"

"Fifty-one years." He looks at me like he's looking at his younger self.

I nod and give him a heartfelt smile. He stands up.

"Aren't you going to sit some more?" I ask.

"I've had my time. It's you're turn now." He looks down at me, pointedly. "Your wife and son are going to be okay." He smiles and starts to walk away.

"Wait!" He stops and turns back to me. "How did you know it's a boy?"

"Lucky guess." With a wink, he disappears through the door and back into the white hallways.

I haven't prayed, but oddly it feels like I've been to church. I'm all alone in the pew, well me and that bird who's started her singing. I don't bow my head or grovel on my knees like I did in that closet as a boy. But, because of Ana, my son, and that odd little man and his fifty-one years, I stand up, walk up the aisle, and sit a little bit closer to God.

My phone lights up and they call me to the waiting room.

#######

I stand and wait, leaning on a wall that's a shade of green that should only be seen briefly in an ill toilet bowl, right next to the door the nurse will come through to give me the news. What news, I have no idea. I'm terrified. My heart pounds, only contained by the cage of my ribs, as I listen for footsteps on the other side of the wood and watch the door knob, anticipating its turn.

"Christian," my mother says, as she comes up behind me and strokes my arm. "Why don't you sit down?"

"I can't sit, Mom. Not when I don't know..." I run both hands through hair that is now so unruly, it deserves a punishment spanking. Where the hell is Ana? Why won't they tell me anything? It's been forever! I've practically grown five years older in the last five minutes. By the time I hear anything I might be dead from old age.

Everyone is here, strewn about the room, sitting in deafening silence, save for a Muzak version a Rod Stewart song playing on garbled speakers. My whole family, Taylor and Gail, Ray, Kavanagh, even the photographer. I figured after the whole bed ordeal I should at least let him wait around for the news. But, if he so much as snaps one photo of my child coming into the world, I'm taking him out of it. They're all looking to me for some type of guidance, when all I can do is look at the knob on the door.

Mom moves in front of me and takes my face in her hands, looking me square in the eyes.

"I was just thinking about when you were nine."

"Mother, please." Why is she doing this right now? She has to turn everything into a Hallmark card.

"Do you remember in your math class when you were making up a pretend budget for the household you'd have when you grew up?"

"Vaguely..." What the fuck? Why is she bringing up grammar school math when I need to concentrate on my knob?

"I asked to see it and there were only two things written on the page- your name and your future salary."

"Bet I low balled it," I smart. Please get to the point!

"I asked you why you didn't do the assignment and list any other family members in your household. You looked at me like I grew a second head and said so matter of factly..." She tears up as she starts to imitate a younger me. "When I grow up I'm going to be alone."

She starts to cry and for once I am at a loss for a monogrammed handkerchief. I put an arm around her, holding her to me, letting her sob on my shoulder.

"I thank the heavens every morning for Ana," she says, and I nod, closing my eyes tight and pulling her closer.

Suddenly the waiting room doors open and that nurse is back. I shut my eyes for a second and the knob is turned on me!

"Mr. Grey?" she asks, tipping spectacles on the end of her nose in my direction. I can't read her eyes. She's giving nothing away, but the fact that she's generally sour and thinks coral frosted lipstick is her color.

"Yes." I let go of my mother and step forward. My heart now actively trying to escape through the hollow of my throat.

"Dr. Greene will speak to you shortly, but your wife is back in her room now-"

I don't need to hear anymore. I take off.

"Ana!" I call out, as I cross through the doorway and find my footing on the recently mopped hall floor. With strides worthy of Olympic gold, I run to her.

"Mr. Grey!" The nurse calls out after me, trying to cripple my pursuit, but it's impossible. Since the first day I saw Ana, nothing and no one can stop me from running to her. Not even me.

"Hey, watch it!" a janitor yells out as I kick his bucket and leave sloshy shoe prints in my wake.

"I have to get to my wife!" I move faster.

I barrel through a herd of nurses. One whistles at me and says something about bouncing coins off my derrière, but I don't give a fuck. It's Ana's ass, ladies. Find your own.

I curve around a man on a gurney with a broken arm, leg and everything else. I think his hand is facing in the wrong direction. Geez. Before I hurl, I run. Like the 'Man of Steel, or more apropos, the 'Man of the Woman Formerly Known as Miss Steele', I leap over boxes of medical supplies blocking my way in a single bound.

I see the door! I couldn't miss it. There are gray rose petals, a hybrid called 'The Grey Anastasia Rose' I had Armando create for her on our wedding day, scattered along the hallway, leading to the massive rose arch that frames the doorway leading to my Anastasia Rose.

"Ana!" I call out as I reach the entrance, nearly catching my ankle on a tangle of ivy and flickering lights, but saving myself just before I meet the koi in the serenity pond face to face.

She's tucked up in her bed as nurses fiddle with her IV and monitors and various medical instruments that I can't identify. This makes me nervous. It's all too busy and there's entirely too much fuss being made for things to be all right.

Christian!" Ana turns her face to mine as I stand in her doorway. I have to catch my breath. Not from the run, I've been running everyday of my life, both figuratively and literally. Seeing her just always does that to me.

"I was so worried about you," she says, holding out a hand that I immediately take as I sit in my power up, recline and rise swivel chair, beside her.

"Worried about me?" Is she serious? "I've made worrying about you two a sport." I kiss her hand.

"I'm sure you are MVP."

"To you, I hope..." I touch her belly. "And our little man." She giggles softly. "Oh Mrs. Grey, that is my favorite sound." I kiss her and all the stress and strain of the past hour melt away as her mouth meets mine.

One of the nurses clears her throat with far too much sass to be a respiratory issue. We break and I give her the eye I give Kavanagh on most occasions.

"You keep that to a minimum!" she says, wagging her finger on a hand wearing a wedding ring with diamond intentions, if the diamond intended to be absent from the situation. "You don't want to get things all worked up down there." I bet she says that to her husband every night. Lucky guy.

"Here you are, Ana," says the voice of a man that sounds like gravel that's been hot buttered. My head shoots up and around. What the fuck? It's a living Malibu Ken doll in some sort of medical costume and he's carrying a cup of ice to Ana's bed. I had a nightmare like this once!

"Thank you, Andy!" Ana smiles. Andy? They're on a first name basis? Ana takes the ice chips and puts one in her mouth. He's practically salivating as it crosses her lips. The fucker, whoever the fuck he is, is watching my wife eat ice! Only I can do that!

"What the hell is that?" I point to the cup of illicit frozen water, accusatorially staring at Andy, and throwing all the rage I'm feeling into the tap of my right foot.

"Ice chips," Ana says with a full frosty mouth that he's still watching. "It's all they'll let me have. I asked him to get me some when they were running the tests." He was with her when I wasn't?!

"I could've gotten it for you. I would've gotten you the best. Do you want Taylor to get some from the Fairmont?"

"No, Christian," Ana laughs, more peculiar, less ha-ha. "You don't have to send out for ice."

"It was no problem, it's my job to take care of Ana," says the fucker.

"The hell it is!" My fists clench at my sides in preparation for the wind-up.

"Christian!" Ana scolds. "He's my nurse."

"Nurse Andy." He holds out a hand that I don't shake. I just stare at it like he's trying to give me a load of shit, which seems fitting. He's smiling so cocky. He probably gets off on having other men's pregnant wives suck on his ice.

"Christian!" Ana scolds again. "Introduce yourself."

"I'm her husband." I glare at him. That's all the introduction he needs or gets.

"Oh god." Ana stops eating the ice and groans.

"What's wrong, baby?" I turn my attention fully back to her. She furrows her brow in just that way that makes me want to kiss it, so I do. She's so cold. Her skin beneath my lips doesn't feel her own. "She's freezing! Get rid of this fucking ice!"

Ana crushes the styrofoam cup and throws it down. Chips scatter. Well, that did it. I'm astonished. She finally did as she was told.

"I want to push!" she says through chattering teeth. "Let me push!"

"You can't right now!" I look to Andy. "Where the hell is Dr. Greene?"

"I don't know."

"That wasn't a question!"

"It wasn't?" Christ, he's an idiot!

"I want to push!" Ana says, yelling now.

"I'll go get Dr. Greene," Handy Andy says, exiting on the quick.

"Ana, no!" I wrap the comforter around her and turn on the heat option on the bed. So many choices in warming levels. Should I do Miami Beach or Hawaiian Nights? No, night doesn't sound warm enough! I go with Sahara Sun. It's got five red bars on the heat index and the wording is in sizzle script.

"Fucking God damned bitch slapping pussy eater!" Ana yells suddenly and sits up, like that child from the exorcist, except more enthused.

"Yes, I am all of those things, but you still can't push yet!" She grabs my hand and gives it an extra bone crunching squeeze. It's a pain that reminds me of my youth.

"Why the hell are there prehistoric size fish in here?" Dr. Greene asks, entering with Andy on her heel, eyeing the koi in my serenity pond. I could ask the same about her husband when he's soaking in their paid-for-by-the-Grey-family-dime hot tub. Only my fish don't require canine grooming and industrial strength cologne.

"Why the hell is Ana cursing like this?" I ask, as Ana continues to bear down and throw out the 'fucks'. Fuck. Is. Right. This one is so strong, it could be measured on the Richter scale.

"She's having a contraction," Dr. Greene says, dismissively, like she sees this kind of thing every day or something, while reading the paperwork she's holding.

"I'm well aware of that, but as you recall we had a little song and dance number with Dr. Psychopath and the crossbow he shot into her spine that was supposed to prevent her feeling anything at all!"

"Mr. Grey-"

"Why the hell did you have to fuck me so much?!" Ana screams so loudly, someone in the hall drops a tray. I can hear a metal plate cover bounce several times before it spins a few more, then stops with a clang clang clang.

"Ana, shhh. Breathe!" I inhale and exhale demonstratively, channeling Mom Jeans from Lamaze.

"It's you're fault I'm pregnant!" She's now squeezing my bicep with the hand not murdering mine like she's trying to strangle the life out of me through it.

"Does she need more ice?" Handy Andy asks.

"Yes, from Alaska," I say, gritting my teeth. "Go get it!" He exits.

"You're always like, Ana, I want you; Ana, I need you; Ana, my dick will feel so good inside of you! Well, you know what doesn't feel good?"

"This?" I cringe as she tightens her grip.

"And do you know what's not happening after today?"

I'm hopeful. "This?"

"Us, fucking!" Oh my god! My life just flashed before my eyes.

"Do something, Dr. Greene, she's lost her mind!"

"The epidural appears to have worn off on her right side," Dr. Greene says, matter of factly, like she's commenting on an uneven paint job or the monogram on her Fendi bag.

"You think?" Ana now pulls my hand to her face and bites down on the back like I'm a hunky breast piece of Grace's buttermilk fried chicken.

"It happens sometimes," Dr. Greene says, shrugging.

"So does loss of income from stopped checks!"

Finally, Ana relaxes, letting go of her belly and slowly removing her teeth from my knuckle region.

"I'm sorry, did I hurt you?" she asks, holding to me like nothing that just transpired, transpired.

"Not at all, baby." I smile through clenched teeth and look to Dr. Greene. "Get her some pain relief! From a real doctor this time!"

"The pain is not my problem, Mr. Grey."

"Well, it sure as hell is ours!" With all this anger at me for knocking her up, next time she may bypass my bicep and go straight for my dick.

"I'm looking at the tests," Dr. Greene says, troubled, not taking her eyes off the page. "Despite the medications, she's not dilating and the contractions have slowed."

"Why isn't this progressing?" I ask, as Ana wraps herself around me.

"The baby's head could be too big to make it down the birth canal." Well, he is my son.

"And?" I ask, holding my breath. I can feel Ana tense, too.

"I don't think we should wait any longer. I want to do an emergency c-section now."

"Fucking finally!"

"No!" Ana says, terrified. "I want to push him out myself!"

"Ana, stop!" She starts to protest and I put my fingers to her lips. "Against my better judgement, I went along with your vaginal birth pipe dreams-"

"How would you know if my dreams are pipe or not? You don't even have a vagina!"

"That doesn't change the fact that our son is not coming out of yours!

"Mrs. Grey, even after the epidural, your blood pressure is alarmingly high," Dr. Greene says, on my side for once. She's either a good doctor or the comment about stopping the checks tugged a little too tight on the Fendi strings. "You're putting yourself risk. And the longer this labor goes on without progressing, it puts the child at risk."

'At risk' is all I need to hear.

"That's it! We're doing the c-section now!"

"Christian-"

"Ana, you made me make a promise to you earlier, if you recall, that I would chose the baby over you if something happened."

She's about to speak and I again place my fingers on her mouth to quiet her.

"I am not going to wait around for something to happen so I have to make that decision. Right now, I'm choosing both of you." I hold her chin and bring her eyes to mine. "C-section, Mrs. Grey." It's an order and a plea.

She looks up at me through fanned lashes. The mascara she was wearing earlier smudged across her lids from the hours. "Can I rest then?"

"Yes, baby!" I kiss her forehead. "You can rest for as long as you like." I tip her chin up with my fingers, bringing her eyes to mine. "Now, let's go meet our son." And I seal it with a kiss.

#######

Grace used to say the most important days of your life go by so fast that if you don't catch the moments like fireflies in a jar, you miss them. But, I don't think that's true. Any fireflies I ever trapped in a jar always escaped or suffocated or I had to let them go. I think the big stuff in life happens slowly, in a blurred fog. The kind where you can't see a hand in front of your face until it smacks you. And once it does, nothing is the same again.

We're flying down the hallway so fast, I can't catch my breath. I hold tight to Ana's hand as the team pushes her on the gurney through a set of doors, then another, then one more. We're whipping around a maze of corners so hard, it's like we're making a new version of 'Throw Mama from the Train'.

"Mr. Grey," Dr. Greene says, but I only hear it vaguely, like when you're under water or lost in a dream and someone tries to wake you. She has to repeat herself a few times, I think, before I look at her, still not comprehending what she wants from me. "You need to scrub up!"

"I don't want a bath. Not without Ana." I mumble. What is she saying? Why does she want to give me a bath? My brains feel scrambled, but not like eggs, more like egg substitute.

"You need to go and get into your scrubs!" she yells, slowly enunciating the words like I'm near deaf or don't speak good English, which in the moment is true for both.

"No, I'm not leaving her." Ana holds to my hand, tightly.

"Mr. Grey! You can't be with your her if you don't clean up and change!" She sounds like the voice in my head shortly after I met Ana. Or Flynn.

A nurse, who looks like an elementary school teacher I once had pulls me away. Ms. Prinnhall! We called her Ms. Prune Hole because she was an asshole who looked like she lived her life in bath water and only wore varying degrees of purple. As she ushers me along, I briefly wonder if it is her and she changed professions. But, then I realize it couldn't be. She'd be like 105 by now.

"I'll be right back, Ana!" Her name tumbles down the corridor. She gets smaller and smaller as she moves farther away from me. Like those people on the ground who become ants when you look down on them from a skyscraper.

"You need to hurry!" Nurse Prune Hole says. Yes, hurry! I need to get back to Ana! I need to have a baby!

The nurse leads me to a small room where I put on a smock like uniform- complete with hair net and mask- and scrub myself clean with a special soap that feels like it's taking off four layers of my skin. No, it's just burning where she bit me like chicken.

I examine my reflection in the mirror and hardly recognize the man in front of me. I'm a wreck. I'm tired, unshaven, I have a knot that's turning colors of a global variety on my forehead. Gone is the buttoned up CEO in complete control. Instead of a doll made of porcelain that's expensively dressed and sits on a shelf never to be touched, I'm now that old toy rabbit from that story, with fraying seams, a sewn on button eyeball, and who love has made real. I suddenly realize the next time I stare at my reflection, I'll be a father. Am I ready for this? Yes, I take a breath that's hard to catch, I'm ready for more.

"Mr. Grey, we have to go," the nurse warns, motioning with her liver spotted hand for me to follow and I do.

"Don't worry," she says. "She'll make it through okay." What the fuck does that mean? Is there a chance Ana might not make it through? I gasp. Oh my god, is it worse than I know?!

I can hear Ana calling out for me at the end of the hall. My heart races. Something's wrong!

"Ana!" I run to her voice.

"Christian!" Ana looks up at me as I make my way through the OR door, peeking up at me from beneath the billow of what looks like an oversized shower cap. Only Ana can make surgical wear look cute.

"Hey, baby, I'm here." I reach for her hand and kiss her knuckles. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I just need you with me."

"I'm not going anywhere."

After a moment or two focused completely on my girl, I look up. Oh my god, this is a surgery room! I thought it would be more outpatient, but this is full on in! The bright saucer lights and medicinal aroma akin to high school frog dissection invade my senses and I feel my knees starting to wobble at their hinges. I brace myself on the side of the steel table to prevent collapse.

"What's wrong?" Ana asks, watching as I shake each of my legs back to life.

"Nothing! Just revving up." She gives me a look like I'm weird. I thought this was established.

There are so many masked faces and medical tool holding gloved hands in here! Where did they all come from? I can't make out who is who. There has to be a Stephen King novel with this set up. Or a fetish film.

I stroke her left shoulder to comfort her. There's a screen up so she can't see anything. Hallelujah with the choir on that one. But, at least I can, so I'm able to oversee things and make sure they're doing everything right.

"Christian, stop rubbing my breast," she whisper shouts. Oh shit. Not her shoulder.

"Sorry, force of habit." I pull my hand away.

I look over the screen at the tools being lined up. They're metal and shiny and so cold you can tell just by eyeballing them. My masked face is reflected in each like a carnival fun house. The kind where the clowns pop up out of boxes and make the kids cry.

Then I see it. The blade! One of the gloved bunch picks it up and tests its edge. It's so sharp! It looks like something I'd cut a hard cheese with if I was mad at it.

"What are you going to do with that?" I ask, sounding more horrified than I intended. All I get is a look from brown eyes that tell me I don't want to know. I start to sweat.

"Dr. Miller, we're ready for you," Dr. Green says to the Frankenstein like character entering the room.

"Dr. Miller?!" My blade tip fears momentarily subside. "What the fuck is he doing here?!" I shout and all eyes are on me like they're fearing an operating room brawl.

"I'm going to adjust the epidural," Miller says, pulling out his equipment.

"Over my dead body!" Of course, he'd delight in making that happen. Probably in his mother's basement where he has the spare meat locker and the Vitamix blender.

"He knows the case," Dr. Greene says, obviously annoyed.

"He fucked up the case!"

"Shit, I'm having another contraction," Ana says, moaning.

"Case in point!" In about thirty seconds her mouth will be around my dick and not like a popsicle, more like a corn on the cob.

"Mr. Grey, if we don't use Dr. Miller the surgery will have to be delayed," Dr. Greene says.

"Christian," Ana pleads. "Let's get this over with." She throws her head back in pain. She's been through enough and we can't risk waiting.

"Okay, baby," I begrudgingly concede, but keep an extra special eye on Miller.

"Are you steady this time, Mr. Grey?" Dr. Miller asks, sarcastically, as he makes his adjustments. "Don't want you having twins." He chuckles, tipping his head to the goose egg on my forehead. Fuck off.

They're spreading what I think is iodine on her belly. This is really happening. In a few moments they're going to pull the baby out! What if something is wrong with him? What if something happens to Ana? What if he sees me and doesn't like me and wants to go back in? The terrifying possibilities are shooting firing squad style through my brain.

"Do you feel this, Mrs. Grey?" Dr. Miller is tapping her belly with his tool.

"Feel what?" she asks.

"Good, let's go." Dr. Greene orders.

The scalpel is pulled. Oh god! They're going to slice!

"Don't cut the baby!" I yell out and all the masked faces pop up.

"No, Mr. Grey," Dr. Greene says, shaking her head. "But, if you keep yelling out like that, I may slip and cut elsewhere." She gives me a look so sharp it rivals her blade.

"I love you, Christian!" Ana says, squeezing my hand.

The tip touches her lower belly and I wince.

"I love you, too, Ana! More than you'll ever know."

The sharp edge slices across her nether lands. It looks thin at first, but then I see the blood. I think some guts, too. Now more blood. Too much blood! Oh god, what if she's hemorrhaging? Speaking of blood, I think it's all leaving my head.

"Christian, what's wrong?" Ana asks. She must be watching the play by play of what's going on below her waist on my face.

"Nothing! I'm just watching the beauty of childbirth!" What I'm seeing feels less beauty and more beast as they pull her apart and reach in like wolves scavenging the deer for dinner!

"Suction," Dr. Greene calls out and a turkey baster like thing is handed over. Oh god, are they going to suck him out with that?!

"What is it? Tell me!" Ana says. Demanding little thing, even when under the knife.

This is the moment that blurred fog rolls in...

All at once time, gravity and the heart I never thought I had before I had my Ana stop as I see him lifted from her. He's covered in white goop, bloody and fittingly a little gray, but he's the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes on, next to his mother, of course.

"It's a boy," I say, the words softly passing my lips as I stand there bewildered, awed and utterly captivated by this little person I'm watching meet life. A living, breathing declaration with five fingers and five toes- yes I've counted- of the love I share with his mother.

Ana starts to cry and I lean down and kiss her brow. "You did so good, baby!"

He wails and we both laugh with a kind of joy I'm feeling for the first time. It's hopeful and filled with a promise of something I can't quite grasp at this moment, but I know will grow as he does. He's got a set of lungs on him that's going to keep his mom and me up at night. God, I'm a lucky bastard.

Dr. Greene motions for me to come behind the little screen and I hurriedly do.

"Want to hold him, Mr. Grey?" she asks, offering him to me.

"I don't know if I know how do it right."

"Of all the expectant father's I've gone through this with..." she shakes her head, like I've been a handful or something. "You're the one I know will do it right." She smiles and I know she means it. I give her an appreciative nod and she places the child in my arms.

He squirms and wriggles against my chest and I marvel at the fact that it doesn't bother me at all. In fact, it delights me to hold him over my heart. He coos as he looks up at me with blue eyes I've only met once before, when I met her. And again, they instantly have the power to transform me.

It hits me that my mother looked into a baby boy's eyes like this. They were mine. If I was even a fraction of how glorious this child is in my arms, how could she ever turn her eyes away from me? I should hate her even more, now that I know what it is to unconditionally love your child, but I don't. I'm sad for her. She never got to feel this.

The old man was right. I close my eyes and say a thank you to the man upstairs who thought I was better than a lump of shit and for answering the prayer I never thought to ask.

I step back from the screen and hold him up for Ana to see.

"Here's your son, Mrs. Grey." He starts to fuss and I kiss his head. He's got me wrapped around his little finger already.

"Our son," she corrects. She's crying, but they're tears of joy.

"Yes, ours." Emotion catches in my throat. "Thank you, Ana!" And I start to weep. They're tears of joy, too.

#######

"You just open your mouth and latch on," I say to my son as I help him take Ana's breast for his first feeding. He does it with impressive ease.

"See he's pro, like his dad," Ana laughs.

"I am jealous little man," I whisper in his tiny ear. "She's off limits for me for six whole weeks."

"I may let you have a taste before then."

I shoot an eyebrow up. "I'll hold you to that."

I hold his little fingers in mine and marvel at all that's ahead. I'll teach him to throw a ball with that hand, play the piano, write and eventually take the hand of a woman I hope is just like his mother.

"He looks just like you," I say, as I cuddle in with them in Ana's bed, my family, proudly wearing my Papa Grey robe.

"He does not!" Ana says. "He looks just like you!" She touches his face. "He's got your nose and your chin and that hair." She twirls her finger through a shock of his dark copper locks.

"He does have my hair." I kiss his forehead. "He's the most perfect child that has ever been created."

"He is."

She shifts a little a winces.

"Be careful," I say, holding the baby while she adjusts. "You just had major surgery. I don't want you lifting a finger until you're healed."

"Yes, Daddy," she giggles. I kind of like her calling me 'Daddy'. Maybe we can replace it with 'Sir' sometimes when we play.

I am awed, watching them together. She's so good with him. It warms me from a place deep in my heart that I didn't know existed.

I kiss her. I wish I could make love to her in this very moment. Not for sexual gratification, well some, but to really show her the depths of what I feel for her. My lover. My wife. Now, the mother of my child. I never thought that I could love her any deeper or more passionately, but I do. To see her as a mother to my flesh and blood is just, well, more.

"The baby isn't even an hour old and you're at it again!" Eliot says and I break the kiss and look up. He's in the doorway with the whole family. Like clockwork, they arrive as my lips are on Ana's. "Give the lady a day off!"

"Hello, Elliot," I scowl, but I'm not really mad. I want to show off my son.

I lean over to my little man and whisper in an ear too perfect for words. "Time to meet your family."