"Push, Ana!" I say, her fingers crushing mine as she labors to bear our son.

"I can't. I'm too tired." She tosses her head back in defeat against the pillow. Her chestnut locks spilling around and framing her tear stained face. Even in the throes of agonizing childbirth, she's a goddess.

"No, Ana!" I lift her back up, dabbing sweat from her brow with a cool rag. She feels like she's on fire."You can't give up! Not my strong girl."

The monitors sound. Something's wrong.

"She's in distress," Dr. Greene yells. "We're losing her." The whole place becomes a fury of panicked activity.

"No!" I cry out, lifting Ana and holding her to my heart. "You can't leave me! You said you'd never leave me!"

Suddenly we're swept out the door by the medical team and led down a dark path.

"Chose Blip," she says, gasping for air and fighting to get the words out, like they're her last.

Her monitor flatlines.

"No, Ana!" I grab her shoulders, trying to shake life back into her. The fire gone from her flesh and replaced with ice. It's a cold I've only felt once before; the kind that invades your bones and never leaves you. "I can't live without you. I won't live without you." My words echo, rolling on and on in a hollow void down the endless hallway in front of us that ends in a choice between two doors.

"You have to choose now," Dr. Greene yells at me. "We can only save one- the baby or Ana."

We're barreling toward the hallway's end so fast, everything around me blurs. The shadowy images on the walls surrounding me loom large. I hold tight to Ana's hand, not willing to let her go.

"Which door do we go through, Mr. Grey?"

I don't know which door to choose. I'm afraid that whatever decision I make, I'll have to live with it.

"Mr. Grey, we're going to lose them both!"

Everything goes black. I can't see the doors anymore. I can't see my Ana. Her hand has left mine. I try to call for her, but when I open my mouth, I can't speak. My tongue won't move. I'm helpless.

"Ana!" I wake with a jolt, gasping for breath. I've fallen asleep in my chair of vigil with my head resting on the edge of her mattress; my hand holding hers. I scramble to my feet and see that she's asleep, and well, in the little hospital bed. Relief blankets the chill that's found nest in me. I crawl in beside her, needing to feel her warmth. Knowing Ana, I've discovered that making love doesn't always involve sex. Sometimes, all I need to do is hold her close. I nuzzle her hair, inhaling the scent that is only hers and only mine. She stirs.

"What is it?" she asks, her eyes full of sleep as she turns to look up at me. Clear blue sparkling through her lashes as the dim light of early morning breaks through the blinds.

"I love you." And, I say it like no truer words have ever been said, because they haven't. I wrap my arms around her and squeeze tightly, never wanting to let her go again.

"I love you, too." She takes my hand and moves it beneath hers on top of her belly. I can feel my son dancing inside of her or maybe growing claustrophobic and kicking to get out. I sigh in relief; they're both okay.

"No, you don't understand the way that I love you." I bury my face in her hair, hiding the emotion welling in my eyes. You're such a sap. Don't let her see you crying, Grey.

"Yes, I do, because I love you back the same." My son kicks enthusiastically beneath our intertwined fingers. "We both do." She turns back to me and wipes my eye with a soft stroke of her thumb. She knows me and my sappiness so well.

"I'll always take care of you, Mrs. Grey."

"Back at you." She smiles. God, she's gorgeous. I've never seen such blue eyes.

"Sleep, sweet girl." I smile, taking her fingers and kissing each tip. "You have a lot of work ahead of you." Within moments she drifts off in my arms.

They're both okay, I repeat over and over again in my head, like a mantra or a prayer, if I believed in that sort of thing at all. Don't go there, Grey. I shake my head to rid my thoughts of a small boy who kneeled alone in a dark closet, praying for his mother to wake up.

I don't fall asleep again. I just watch her, vowing to stay on high alert, to make sure my dreams don't come true.

#######

"That thing is monstrous!" I say, as I watch the scene straight from a horror flick unfold before me. I had been on and on asking for this, but now that the time is nigh, I suddenly want to say nay. "You're not going to stick that into my wife!"

"Christian, it's an epidural, not samurai sword " Ana says, her little legs dangling off the bedside as her back bares to him at the parting of her hospital gown. I stand in front of her, trying to comfort her in this time of madness. But, how can you comfort someone who's about to be stabbed in the back?

"You haven't seen it!" She tries to turn and take a peek, but I hold her head, keeping her firmly in place. "Don't look!" I don't want her to have nightmares. This event will surely be added to my night terror playlist filed under greatest hits.

"I know this looks scary," Dr. Miller, the anesthesiologist says, all creepily calm, like a serial killer before he claims his next victim. "Trust me. I do this to women everyday." Oh, I have no trouble trusting that one. The question is, is it on the job or off?

"This is not a woman, this is my wife!" I hold her face tight to my chest.

"Christian, you're squishing my nose!" Ana protests, rather nasally, so I loosen my grip just a fraction to allow for uninhibited nostril action.

"You'll be out of pain soon, Mrs. Grey."

"That's what they said just before they shot Old Yeller!" I can feel Anna rolling her eyes against my chest.

He laughs to himself as he holds up a needle that looks more like a tool of punishment than an aid of pain relief. And, I know tools of punishment! I've had some big nights, with some big tools, but I've never seen anything like that. I briefly wonder if this guy didn't beat the real Dr. Miller over the head with a club, stuff him in a broom closet and steal his badge, so he could sneak into the hospital and torture young mothers-to-be with his do-it-yourself weaponry.

"Do you have credentials?" I ask, rather pointedly.

"Christian!" Ana scolds. Why is that such a big question? You're supposed to ask policemen to show their badges, why not Anesthesiologists?

"I have a diploma in my office," he smirks. Which office, the cell he escaped from at San Quentin or the lair in his mother's basement?

"Where are you going to put that?" I ask. I'm not sure if it's reality or my perception, but that thing is getting bigger by the second!

"Her spine." He zeroes in on a place on her back and draws a circle with a purple marker pen, like target practice.

"You could cripple her!"

"Only if she makes a sharp movement." Oh my god. I had no idea the risks involved with having a baby included possible paralysis.

"Stay still, Ana!" I order.

"I am. You're the one hopping around." I bite my tongue, in an effort to still my legs.

He readies his implement of terror, waving it back and forth, torturing me with its taunt. He's so proud of its size, you'd think it was his penis.

"It's going to make her feel a lot better."

"That's what they all say." I'm starting to sweat profusely in places I didn't know I could.

"Mr. Grey," the doctor says. "Please stay calm. This is routine procedure." He looks like he's enjoying this. I know your game, buddy. Anesthesiologists are a lot like dominants. They find pleasure in the control they have over suffering.

"Stop!" I yell out, just as he's about to hit his mark. He halts abruptly.

"What is it now?"

"Get a smaller needle!"

"That's not how it's done."

"Who says?"

"Medical school."

"Well, they're always developing cutting edge methods, try a new one now and make a name for yourself in the field!"

"Fucking ass licking twat sucker titty fucker!" Ana screams out, clawing my back as she doubles over in a contraction. I grit my teeth. Fuck, I think I may need skin grafting when this one's done.

"Trust me, it's better than that," the doctor laughs, mockingly, as my flesh is ripped from my frame.

Ana suddenly lets go of my back and fists my sweater collar, hauling me toward her. "Christian, I love that you want to protect me, but stop with all your god damn bullshit! Just shut the fuck up and give me the drugs!" She yells so loud, I'm sure the downstairs cafeteria hears the rumbles.

"Just take a deep breath, Mrs. Grey." Doctor Evil watches as she fills her lungs, probably enjoying the heave of her breasts on inflation.

"Oh my god," I can't help but gasp when I see the thing aimed for the purple bullseye at the center of her back. Suddenly I feel faint.

"Christian, what's wrong with you?" Ana asks, as I wobble from foot to foot.

"I'm right here, Ana." I think. Everything looks foggy.

"You might want to breathe, too, Mr. Grey, you look blue," the doctor says, but his words are an echo. I try to take air into my lungs, but I can't remember how.

The lightning rod is heading for her spine! It's in! Ana flinches.

"Now, I'm going to put the juice in." The juice?! There's more?! Why didn't he do that before? Did he just want to stab her first for fun and profit? "Don't move Mrs. Grey. I don't want to miss." Miss?! My armpits are waterfalls and my back the Nile river. "You may feel a shock, sort of like an electrical current shooting through you. Don't be alarmed." Don't be alarmed? That sounds like kind of thing that if you didn't get alarmed about, that would be alarming!

Ana tucks her head into my chest. "Oh Christian," she jolts and cries out as he loads the medicine in and it invades her spinal column.

I try to stroke her shoulders and kiss her hair, but I realize my limbs won't move and my lips are numb. I think the shot went right through her and paralyzed me!

"Done," he says. "You should feel better momentarily."

"No thanks to you," I mumble and suddenly everything goes black. The last thing I hear is the cracking open of my skull on the way down.

########

I smell peppermint. No, more like menthol chest rub mixed with something. Is it tuna fish?

"I see his lashes fluttering." It's Taylor. Why am I in the dark with Taylor? And why is he looking at my eyelashes? Oh god, I can't feel my own eyelashes! Wait, I don't know if I ever could. Is Taylor the one who smells like tuna fish?

"Look at that goose egg!" Is that my mother? Why is she calling me names?

"Oh, Christian!" Ana! She's crying. Where is she? I need to find my girl. I blink my eyes, that feel like lead has been injected directly into their lids, open to see Taylor kneeled before me, waving some little bottle under my nose.

"Where the hell am I?"

"On the floor, sir." How is he always so calm?

I look around, taking in my surroundings- dust balls, linoleum and a crawling roach. I think he waved at me with his tentacle, but my head could be playing tricks on me.

"I know that! But, why?"

"You fainted and hit your head on the end table ." He keeps waving that bottle.

"What is that smell?"

He reads the label. "Arctic Ocean Nights." What the fuck kind of name is that? There's no ocean in the Arctic. Well, at least not the kind anyone would want to spend nights by. "One of your essential oil blends from your aromatic diffuser. I figured the potency might wake you up." That diffuser has been nothing but a disappointment. That's the last time I trust late night QVC and Deepak Chopra.

I push his hand out of the way. "Enough with the aromatherapy!" There's nothing enjoyable about waking to icy tuna.

"Better get him into a chair," my mother says. It is my mother! When the hell did she get here?

"Yo bro, don't ever give blood!" Elliot. Fuck. Which means you know who isn't far behind.

"Man up, Grey. Ana's the one who took it in the back." Kavanagh. Ever the essence of quick wit and charm. I would roll my eyes if I thought they wouldn't fall back into my head and get lost. Why is my family here? What, did they send out an all points bulletin as soon as I hit the skids?

Taylor lifts me and I hobble to the chair and plop down.

"I just tripped," I say. "I was so focused on that torture device used by that psychotic doctor, I lost control of my ankles." I look up and there's the psychotic doctor, standing all psychotic like psychotic's do against the white wall. White walls attract the criminally insane like magnets.

"Is he okay?" Ana asks Dr. Miller, who hovers around her. He obviously wasn't rushing to my aid. Some doctor. He probably thought if I was dead, he could swoop in and claim Ana and the almost fully baked bun in her oven for himself. Get in line, buddy. I'm sure the photographer would throw a couple punches.

He gives me a quick once over. "He's fine. But, he needs help. I'd ask his doctor for some heavy anxiety meds." He takes off to find his next victim. Good bye and good luck, Dr. Quackerjack!

"I think you need your head examined," my mother says.

"I'll say!" Elliot laughs along with his bride-to-be. They really are made for each other.

"Forget about me." I brush my mother away and reach over to find Ana's hand. "How are you feeling, baby?" I kiss her knuckles.

"Okay," she smiles, stroking my cheek with her other hand. "Except I can't feel anything from the waist down."

I stand up sharply. "Get the doctor back! She's been paralyzed!"

"Honey, that's normal after an epidural," my mother says, helping me sit again. "You need to relax."

"How can I relax when my wife can't feel her feet?"

"Damn, Christian," Elliot says. "I've never seen you teetering so shakily on the knife edge of sanity before."

"Don't fall off." Kavanagh laughs. God, she's a bitch. I rue the day she shares my last name and my Thanksgiving turkey.

My phone rings. It's Taylor. Taylor? I look around. He's gone. When did that happen? I excuse myself to the far corner of the room and answer.

"Weren't you just here?"

"I stepped out to take a call." He's so stealth. Like Batman. Except, he's more like the Robin to this operation. I'm the one with all the fancy cars and new fangled gadgets. Although, I shudder at the thought of us driving around in my R8 in colored tights. "There's a problem with your queen, sir."

"Ana?" I panic. "What have you heard? Have you talked to Dr. Greene?" That woman would talk to Taylor before me.

"Not Ana, the bed. The comfort queen."

"Oh!" Thank god. Crisis averted. But, this is an entirely new crisis. "What's wrong?"

"The delivery men have been stopped by hospital security."

"What? Why?"

"It's hospital policy that nothing be removed from the room and replaced."

"That's ridiculous! Where are you?"

"The new room. Overseeing renovations."

"Good, I'm coming over."

I hang up and move to Ana and kiss her on the forehead. "I'm working on a surprise for you. I'll just be a minute." I look to my mother. "Watch her while I'm gone. If anything happens, call me."

"You don't trust me to watch her, bro?" Elliot smirks.

"No"

I race out the door to free the hostage that is my bed.

#######

"Where the hell is my queen?" I yell, as I enter Ana's new room.

"Here I am," says Armando Bastille, florist extraordinaire, pushing through the team that is hurriedly preparing for Ana's arrival. Oh good, he's wearing pants today. I should feel privileged, he must've felt this was an occasion to dress up for. He usually wears skorts.

"I don't mean you, I mean my wife's bed! Where's Taylor?"

"He said some delivery men were going to jail."

"Jail?! What happened?"

"I don't know." He throws up his arms. "I'm a live and let live kind of guy. I don't keep tabs."

I turn around and I'm suddenly faced with a wall of screaming orange roses in some terrifying, unidentifiable design from the underworld.

"What the fuck is this?"

"It's a floral portrait. The sun rising with fire, like a baby son being born from the womb." He cradles his arms like he's actually carrying a child, acting out his lines. He's so fucking weird.

"It looks like a hemorrhoid that's exploding from an asshole."

He audibly gasps. "This is my art. Madonna and child."

"Where's the Madonna and where's the child?"

"That's up for dramatic interpretation."

"I'll show you dramatic interpretation. Imagine I'm the Godfather and you're the horse head in the bed if you upset Ana with this shit." He steps back from me, flipping the blue tips of his hair off his gold lame jacket, all pissy. "I need calm and serene. I told you, I want apricot fucking roses! Those are Ana's favorite. Does any of this look like apricot to you?"

"It's very haute Paris couture."

"Do I look like I care about what's happening in Paris?" Fashion types always pull the Paris card. When something's a fucking mess, they say it's big in Paris and the masses flood the gates. But, I'm not the masses. I only wear three colors and one of them sure as hell isn't orange.

"It's a sunshine color."

"This isn't sunshine! It's hellfire!" I hold up the aggressive nacho cheese colored flower. He probably has a stock room of hundreds he needs to get rid of because Doritos canceled their next chip launch.

"It came from a top bush purveyor," he says, like I've offended him on some high level. I don't even want to fucking know what a bush purveyor is. Although I'm mildly curious.

"I don't care if you picked them straight from a garden on your bush-whacker's timeshare on the sun, I'm not having my wife look at an angry wall of clockwork orange while she pushes out our son."

"They aren't angry, they're empowered."

"Get me the fucking enslaved ones then!" He gives me a scowl and then turns on his magenta crocodile loafers and huffs off, I hope, to perform his duties. "And floating water gardenias!" I yell. "Within the hour!"

Taylor walks in.

"Finally!" I rush over to him. "Armando said the delivery men were arrested!"

"Detained. They're having sandwiches at the loading dock awaiting word." Armando's so over dramatic. "Hospital security isn't budging."

"I want to talk to them."

"I don't think that's a good idea, sir." He looks frightened. I don't see Taylor frightened often.

"I'm not scared of a few little rent-a-cops."

######

I look up to the towering duo before me. Are they abominable Sasquatch twins or roided up gorillas? Either way, they could crush a donkey with a single stomp and my donkey feels extra vulnerable right now. I'm a big man, but they must be over seven feet tall, vertically and horizontally. And they look like they could eat a side of beef for an appetizer.

"I think there's been a misunderstanding," I start, deciding diplomacy is the most effective method, and the least likely to get my scrotum altered. "I just want my bed, Mr.?"

"You don't need to know our last names," the one on the right says.

"Okay, we'll be first name friendly. I'm Christian." They don't look so friendly.

"I am Cristo," the same one says.

"What do you know about that? Christian and Cristo! It's like we have the same name, bilingually. Like sister cities."

"Are you saying I look like a woman?"

"No! The last thing you look like is a woman!"

"This is Marco," he points to the other one. I have a quick urge, from the summer pools of my youth, to say "Pollo" back to Marco, but I resist. "His nickname is El Diente."

"The tooth?"

He flashes a smile, showing us his single gold one. I don't want to know what that means.

Their name tags say they're from Mexico City. I say a few words in Spanish to warm the situation and open up peace talks.

"What the fuck did you just say?" Cristo asks. He's obviously the one who speaks for the team.

"I think, good morning." I couldn't have messed up 'Buenos Dias' that bad, could I?

"You think because we're from Mexico, we speak Spanish?"

"I assumed..."

"Assumed? Like stereotyped?"

"No, I-"

"Profiled?"

"Huh?"

"What kind of fucking racist are you?"

"I swear to you, I wasn't trying to be racist! I was trying to be friends!"

"Does it look like we need another friend?"

"I guess not, since you have each other..."

He points two fingers at his eyes, then to mine.

"I'm watching you. If you so much as wheel that bed one inch from its place on the floor, I'll have you in the can faster than you can say adios to your compadre here." Gulp. I thought they didn't speak Spanish."And there's nothing Marco likes better when he's hungry than a thick and juicy gringo sandwich."

"Would we be the bread or the filling?" Why did I ask this question?

Marco smiles, showing us again his lack of chewing abilities again. But, I'm sure he could get one good chomp with that lone gold one that looks like it's been used as a bottle opener in times of need. They walk off, cracking their knuckles in threatening unison. Since when do hospitals have bouncers?

They talk to a nurse with balloon tits on the way out. I think they're flirting, but it sounds more like a series of ravenous grunts. Cristo tells her that they're having a break in twenty minutes and they want to buy her falafel from the Halal truck on the street. Save yourself, lady, and buy your own shish kabobs. You don't want theirs. Shockingly, she agrees, I assume out of fright, although she does look like her girls would be up for some twin on twin action. Finally, they're gone.

"Fuck, what do we do now?"

"I'd say we just stick with the bed that's in there, sir."

"No, the Neanderthals will not win!" I pace. "Maybe I could just buy the hospital." Yeah, that's it! Then, I can assure I'll get my own floor whenever Ana has a baby.

"It would take too long." Such a 'Negative Nellie'. "Plus, how could we ever get the bed past them before the ink on the contracts are dry?"

"Wait!" A lightbulb goes off in my mind. "They're eating falafel with the whore!"

"And?"

"They'll be off in twenty minutes! That's when we strike!"

"You don't want me to chloroform, kidnap them, and take them back to Mexico City in the trunk, do you, sir?"

"I wasn't thinking that." I suddenly realize Taylor's more fucked up than I thought. "I was thinking that this is how we get past them. When they're sharing their gyros with Nurse Titty.

"If you have any part in this and you're discovered, you'll go to jail and miss your son's birth!

"You're right." Nothing will keep me away from Ana and my son. Not even my comfort queen.

"I'll do it for Mrs. Grey," he offers up, like he's a martyr on the stake. Of course he will. But, I won't give him the satisfaction of being jailed twice in a night for her. He'd play the hero role forever.

"No, you've racked up enough charges for one twenty-four hour period." I pace. "We need someone who can be the sacrificial lamb, in case we're caught. Someone we can trust, who would do anything for Ana, and we couldn't give a shit about what happens to him in the end."

"Who the hell is that, sir?"

I look up and I see my answer heading into Ana's room wearing a pleather jacket, a camera around his chicken neck and a dozen apricot roses in tow.

The fucking photographer!

I race down the hall to Ana's room and find him inside, snapping pictures of her holding his roses!

"What's going on here?" I ask, huffing and puffing from my sprint.

"Jose brought me these lovely flowers," Ana says. "Wasn't that nice, Christian?"

"Nice," I mumble. "Let me put them in water for you." I grab them, take them to the bathroom and toss them into the toilet.

I see flashes when I come out. Now, he's photographing Ana with my family.

"You should be in one, Jose," Elliot says. "Christian, take a picture of all of us." I flip him off.

"What did I say about the photos?"

"Don't worry, Christian," Jose says, all familiar like. Who told him he could use my first name, anyway? "You don't have to pay me to do this. My gift." Why does he keep saying this? Like my top concern in his photographing my family and subsequently my wife's vagina with my son popping out, is that I'd have to pay him?

"I don't want any photos, regardless of dollars!"

"Christian, you should get in a shot," my mother says.

"We shouldn't make Ana pose too much," Jose says, obviously not wanting me included in the album. Oh, this guy is toast.

"Jose, I need a word with you out in the hall."

"Christian!" Ana gives me a stern look, like she thinks I'm going to beat the shit out of him or something. Under normal circumstances, maybe. But, I need him to move some beds. Besides, I'll let the dream team of Cristo and Marco do all the shit beating for me.

"I just want to talk to my friend here."

"Christian-"

I pull him out in the hallway fast. This is the only moment I'm glad Ana's legs aren't working.

"I need you to help me."

"What?"

"It's for Ana. It's a surprise. You're the only one who can do this."

That wets his whistle.

#######

"You want me to do what?" Jose asks, standing in the new room at the foot of the old bed that needs to be yesterday's news, like last week.

"We need you to move this bed out of the room, down the hall to your left, and onto the loading dock. There are two men there with another bed. We want you to switch it out and bring the new bed back."

"Okay, why again?"

"I told you, it's a surprise for Ana."

"She wants a new bed?"

"Yes! Will you do this?"

"I'd do anything for Ana." He looks off, longingly. Fucker. If I didn't want the bed so much, I'd hope he'd get caught. "Are you two going to help me?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Taylor and I look to each other. Fuck. Why not?

"I had a head injury today," I say, pointing to my goose egg. "And Taylor's recovering from going to jail last night."

"What?"

"It's on rollers! It shouldn't be that hard!"

He takes hold of the end and pulls it out. It's a lot bigger and more cumbersome than originally thought.

"I don't think I can get it out the door."

"Flip it on its side."

"It's so heavy!" He grunts and growls, sweat dripping all over.

"Don't give up now! You've come so far!"

With effort, the bed slams onto its side and he begins to push it out the door.

"Wait!" I look out into the hallway to make sure the coast is clear. It is. "Don't let anyone see you," I warn.

"How do I avoid that?"

"Just act casual and move fast."

Once out the door, he strains to flip the bed back right again, and moves it down the hall until I can't see him anymore.. If I didn't hate the fucker, I'd be proud of his work ethic. I turn to Taylor.

"So far, so good."

"Let's hope he doesn't get caught."

My phone rings. It's my mother.

"What is it Mom? Is something wrong with Ana?" My breathing halts as my heart pounds.

"Dr. Greene is here," she says, with an edge of concern in her voice. "She wants to talk to you both."

"I'm running there now." I hang up.

Oh god, something's wrong with my Ana.