Justapennameforme  – on Fanfiction.net

My avatar is an R8 Spyder; sweet car isn’t it?

First, I would like to thank you all for taking your time to read any of my stories; it is fanfiction, I am not a professional writer and that you take your time to read my unpolished work is … well awesome.

If you enjoy reading a story of mine, I would like to know; if you have constructive criticism, I would like to know that as well. If you just read and do not review, well that is dandy as well; just the fact that you are taking this journey with me is encouraging enough. I do want to read your reviews; they are addictive!

LINKS:

1. Christian’s yearning FaceBook photo album.
2. Christian’s yearning blog is http://cg-yearning-ff-story.tumblr.com/
3. Christian’s geisha blog is http://cg-geisha-ff-story.tumblr.com/
   
4. Stranger At My Door blog: Alright, I decided to continue ‘Stranger At My Door’ I am not sure where the story will go, but I decided to enjoy the writing process once more. That means there is no set update schedule, I’ll aim for once a week on Tuesdays but there are no promises I probably will miss a Tuesday here and there. As part of ‘enjoying’ the process I created a blog for ideas and pics and stuff. http://cg-stranger-at-my-door-ff-story.tumblr.com/
5. Lyric Wheel Challenge blog: my blog for the Lyric Wheel Challenge is http://fsog-challenge-links.tumblr.com/

 

Christian takes matters into his own hands when guns, skeletons, and all around bad guys interfere with his carefully planned honeymoon. AU, and written as an entry to the FSoG Lyric Wheel Challenge. The song assigned to me is: You Give Me Something by James Morrison.

SONG INSPIRATION: You Give Me Something, James Morrison

You want to stay with me in the morning
You only hold me when I sleep
I was meant to tread the water
Now I’ve gotten in too deep
For every piece of me that wants you
Another piece backs away

‘Cause you give me something
That makes me scared, alright
This could be nothing
But I’m willing to give it a try
Please give me something
‘Cause someday I might know my heart

You already waited up for hours
Just to spend a little time alone with me
And I can say I’ve never bought you flowers
I can’t work out what they mean
I never thought that I’d love someone
That was someone else’s dream

‘Cause you give me something
That makes me scared, alright
This could be nothing
But I’m willing to give it a try
Please give me something
‘Cause someday I might call you from my heart

But it might me a second too late
And the words that I could never say
Gonna come out anyway

‘Cause you give me something
That makes me scared, alright
This could be nothing
But I’m willing to give it a try
Please give me something

‘Cause you give me something
That makes me scared, alright
This could be nothing
But I’m willing to give it a try
Please give me something
‘Cause someday I might know my heart
Know my heart, know my heart, know my heart

Songwriter(s): James Morrison, Francis Eg White, Eg White
Copyright: Sony/ATV Music Publishing (Uk) Limited, Universal Music Publishing, Universal Music Publishing Ltd.

Lyrics from <a href=”http://www.elyrics.net”>eLyrics.net</a&gt;

Buy You Give Me Something on Itunes

This Could Be Nothing

Christian Grey does not weep easily; however, right now his eyes are closed and tears flow freely. His grey eyes are red and swollen, his hair sticks at odd angles, his custom made Italian suit is wrinkled, his shoulders are sagging with burden, and his hands are shackled. The top three buttons of his linen shirt are undone, his sleeves folded up to his elbows. “Ana” he calls over and over again, “My Ana.” His handsome face splotchy and tear stained – sorrow etched all over.

The only comfort afforded to him is the strange woman trying to hold his head up; she is speaking in broken English. “No” she says “no.” She has long straight black hair that is pulled back, and twisted into a tight bun. Her skin is dark, the natural sun-kissed color that Mediterranean women have; but, her green eyes are devoid of life – as if she does not have any more tears to shed.

The woman’s hands are calloused and rough as they touch his face. She is wearing a gold color shawl, and a form fitting red dress with a wavy, fluffy skirt. She uses graceful arm movements and her face has classic Spanish features. Years ago before Ana, he would be mesmerized by her beauty, tall, slim Mediterranean beauty; she could be a flamenco dancer lithe and graceful.

Mr. Christian Grey, CEO is a rich and powerful man, in fact, he is currently number ten in Time Magazine’s ‘100 most Influential People in the World.’ Similarly, he is in the top fifteen ‘World’s Most Powerful People List’ in Forbes Magazine. Not only that, he is also in People magazine sexiest man list. A feat he has achieved before his thirtieth birthday.

He is sexy alright with signature copper hair, and striking gray eyes. He has a well-defined body from years practicing mixed martial arts with an Olympic gold medalist trainer. Christian is tall, confident, graceful, athletic, and his good looks often renders most women, and some men, speechless.

Throughout his life, there have been many reasons to cry. The most obvious include witnessing his birth-mother’s suicide, and the childhood abuse he suffered as a young child; he still carries the cigarette burn scars on his chest and back to prove it. However, none of those things made him cry like he is doing now as he calls for his beloved Ana.

Mr. and Mrs. Grey were married a week ago this Sunday, and they have been on-board of ‘The Fair Lady’ on their honeymoon. They disembarked in the afternoon to walk, tour, and shop around the French Riviera; they are at a jewelry store when it happens.

Christian is next to Ana; she is selecting a bracelet and trying it on.

“Arms up, everyone up! Against the wall all of you!” A man with a strange accent screams. His face and hair covered with a mask. Six other men, with guns and masks walk around pushing customers and employees around.

“This could be nothing – just a robbery, Sir.” Taylor, Christian’s head of security and bodyguard, tells the Greys as he moves closer as a shield. However, they realize the mistake a second too late because one of the masked men, the one with a deep voice, says ‘this way Mr. Grey.’ Taylor makes a move but, after a gunshot, he is down bleeding on the floor – dead or alive, Christian does not know.

Last thing Christian remembers is being injected with something. He awoke here, seating in hell, with his hands behind his back cuffed to a stone column. Ana’s head resting on his shoulder, a little dirty but otherwise unharmed; her hands shackled and resting on top of his.

The place smells of old, forbidden spaces. Like a very old moldy attic, perhaps a basement or crawl space. It smells of death, solitude and loneliness.

“Are you hurt?” he asks her, in whispered tones.

“No, are you?” A shaky voice answers; she is unable to hide her nerves.

“I am fine. I get us out of this one; I promise.”

“They knew your name.”

“That means they want money. We’ll give it to them. We’ll be OK.”

“They killed Taylor”

“I know.” A snake curls on his stomach and heart; his bodyguard, his friend! Christian scrunches his face, his head is throbbing; he wants to put his hands on their necks and make them pay. Calm, he needs to be calm, keep the wits about him – he must be strong, for Ana.

“I wish you could hold me.”

“And I will, every night for the rest of our lives, while you sleep on our bed back home.”

“Oh, Christian. What if-“

“No, what ifs.”

“Christian –”

“No listen to me. I was meant to tread the water… until you came along. I love you; I am in love with you, and we’ll get out of this. I promise.”

“I love you too. I am worried what they are going to do to you.”

“They’ll do nothing to us. We’ll be OK.” He reassures her hoping his voice is convincing – he wishes to believe it as well.

– Silence – They sit in silence for a long time; it feels like an eternity.

Then, his nightmares become a reality. A man comes in to the room; he has a gun in hand, and points it to their faces. The man is wearing black from head to toe. He has a black hood on, black gloves, black shoes, and black coveralls. There is not one inch of exposed skin at all; making impossible to ever identify him; there is not even a clue of his physical appearance.

The hooded man takes a key from his pocket and frees Ana. “You” The hooded man says pointing to her, “come. They won’t pay for you!”

Christian pulls himself up with his strong legs, pleading as he goes.

“Let her go; I pay you anything, let her go!” he tries to bargain.

“I’ll sign anything over. Please.” He begs.

“Diamonds, I pay you in diamonds!” His desperation is palpable.

“Oh, God, no! Please, listen to me.”

The hooded man pulls Ana by her hair and carries her off without another word. Ana’s whimpering diminishing at the distance.

‘They won’t pay…’ Christian’s mind plays the man’s voice over and over again. ‘They won’t pay…’ They must be her family (they cannot afford it), GEH (she is not an employee), or insurance (the policy must not be in effect yet). Nobody will pay the amount being asked for her – the most important valuable person in his life is not worth much to anyone else, to him she is the world. He will give everything, his fortune, his life. They might as well kill him now if she… is not… with him.

Desperation engulfs him, shadows of the past reach over space and time; their long fingers reaching over to strangle any hope. Despair and fear for her, what are they going to do to her? Kill her? Rape her? Sale her?

A few minutes later, the foreign woman with the long hair – the flamenco dancer in his mind – comes in the cell. She is carrying a plate of food and some water. As she sets her things on the floor, a gunshot, followed by a woman’s scream, bounces on the walls – very much like an echo would.

“AAAANNAAA” Christian bellows.

“Oh, God please no.” He cries and calls for his bride. “Ana, my Ana.”

Christian pulls on his arms but is unable to free himself; his wrists are bleeding from the force; hitting his back against the column rocking back and forth; his face drops to his chest, and he sobs hysterically.

“Ella no esta muerta,” the foreign woman holds his face up trying to steady him.

“She is not dead; they want” and she points to him “to think that.” She raises her eyebrows, sticks the tip of her tongue out, and nods once. She puts her finger on her mouth as if to say ‘be quiet’ and continues with the food preparation.

“No dead” He is still rocking back and forth, his heart racing a mile a minute. A sliver of hope, he has a sliver of hope.

“Shhhh” she says and puts her index finger against her mouth. She offers him food and drink.

Christian shakes his head. How can she think he would eat on a time like this? ‘Ana is not dead!’ he repeats over and over; he needs to believe that; there is no other way he can survive the ordeal without her.

The woman offers him food again, and some drink; but, he refuses once more. In order to show him the offerings are not poisoned, the woman eats and drinks in front of him and offers him a small smile. He refuses again.

Finally, she mimics the same gestures she did early: brow raised, tip of the tongue, and small nods. She softly whispers “for her. You need to be fuerte.”

For Ana, Christian drinks – at the very least to avoid dehydration. ‘Ana is not dead!’ in an infinite loop he continues, now rocking back and forth once more. As the woman is leaving she turns at the door and she silences him again.

An eternity, maybe hours, or perhaps just minutes pass. Christian looks around trying to figure out where he is. It may be a basement of some sort, or a bunker.

The room – a cell – is no more than ten by ten, and seems to have been carved from hard rock. There are no windows here; the only light is provided by a single light bulb hanging on a string from the low ceiling, the red stone floor is cold and cracking in areas, and at one end there is a rustic faucet and drain. Is it used for human waste? Or perhaps is it to wash off blood after torture?

The only exit is through the door which is fine by him. He will walk through that door, kill everyone in sight and rescue Ana. Dead or alive she is going home.

He falls asleep from exhaustion. The darkness engulfs him and his dreams turn to his Ana. Ana is under him smiling and writhing in pleasure on their honeymoon bed at the Fair Lady.

He dreams of her, holding his hand and giggling as they walk by the ocean. Her warm body keeping him company at night, with Ana the nights are not consumed with nightmares and despair as they usually do without her.

He wakes up with the creaking of a door; suddenly he knows where he is. Worse, he remembers that Ana is not with him. Sleep is an escape, full of dreams and happiness; while reality is a nightmare.

The hooded man has come back followed by two companions with guns. They have masks but are not completely cover; both have dark hair and speak with the same accent as the hooded man. They point the guns at his head. The men free Christian from the column, shackle his legs and hands, and pull him to a standing position. One of the men cocks his gun when Christian tries to resist.

Christian allows them to pull him by the cuffs and out of the door. One of the men pushes him from the back and that makes Christian cringe – he does not like to be touched; only Ana can do so.

The red mud forms a compact path outside his cell; it has been made smooth by the passing of years and stomping of feet. He wonders for a brief second how many have walk these paths to make it so smooth. It is dark, and hard to see. Christian pays attention to everything he sees, hears, and smells. He needs to formulate an escape plan. He wants to maim and kill as many of the motherfuckers as possible in the process of finding and rescuing Ana – even if it is only her body.

As he walks in semidarkness, Christian reaches to the wall and feels, rather than sees, skeletons protruding, carved out on the rock. Realization hits him; he knows now where he is – a cave carved from bedrock, the old dusty smell, red mud paths and human skulls walls add up to the catacombs.

They move through a labyrinth of skeletons and bones, of crypts and tombs. Finally, they reach a room wrapped around with black cloth, lights, a camera, a chair, and a television showing some kind of news.

“Smile, you are on television.” The masked man pushes Christian to the chair, “do as I say or -” and the man lifts the gun and laughs. The man holds a phone to his covered ear and commands Christian: “Look up, they want to see your pretty face.”

Christian looks down instead; at that, one of the armed men hits him with the butt of the gun. Christian stubbornly does not look up; so, the beating continues. It stops when the man with the hood approaches and tears Christian’s shirt off, exposing his chest to the camera. The cigarette scars plainly visible. As soon as it started, everything is finished. The cameras and the television are turned off.

“Thank you, Mr. Grey. You made me a very rich man. Do not worry, you will be freed soon.” The man hands some keys to one of the guards. “It has been a pleasure doing business with you; I hope to never see you again.” Then, the man leaves.

The voice, Christian will never forget the deep voice with a light accent. He cannot say if the man is young or old, nor even the color of his skin or eyes. The voice, however, he will never forget.

Christian is not hurt at all from the beating; but, he refuses to walk when instructed to do so. Why make it easy on them? That is why he is then dragged presumably back to his cell. While he is dragged across one of the many paths, he sees the flamenco dancer as she comes out of a room next to a large white post.

That is when he sees her, just for a brief second; but he is sure, that is his Ana. She is still wearing the soft blue sundress she was wearing at the jewelry store. Her long hair covers her face; she looks unconscious curled up on the floor.

He looks directly at the flamenco woman and she gently smiles at him, eyebrows lifted and the tip of her tongue barely visible. She nods before she goes back into the room.

In an instant Christian reacts, he is not thinking, it is pure survival instinct. He tries to grab the keys; but the man reaches over with the gun pointed at Christian. He in turn, pulls the other guard in place and shoves him against the first guard.

A shuffle ensues, which ends with one of the men with a broken neck, and the other unconscious bleeding from a gunshot on the floor. Christian grabs the keys and frees his feet and then his hands. He, then, enters the room and leans over Ana; she is dead, unconscious, or drugged.

With trembling hands, Christian touches her pulse, barely there, softly thumping. She is not bleeding and there are no signs of injury. To gain his attention, the woman touches his shoulder and points the way. He hoists Ana over and across his shoulder, very much as a firefighter would.

Soon, he is going up a stone spiral staircase going up to the surface. The walls are made of rough stacked stones with sharp edges; they form some sort of a tunnel. There is a light at the other end and he hopes that it is the outside world – and please, let there be no more guards.

The steps are steep and the only support is a small iron tube. The sight of sunlight and the noises of a busy city fill him with hope. Perhaps this ordeal is over.

If there are any guards, he will need to put Ana down, or try to make a run for it with her on his back. Adrenaline is the only thing that keeps him going.

Once he reaches the surface, he is temporarily blinded by the sun. People are looking at him oddly – it must be a sight, a shirtless man carrying an unconscious woman in plain daylight. He needs to hide; be out of sight from any potential kidnappers. Without looking, he opens a black door to the first shop he finds. It is a bakery; scent of fresh baked goods assault him.

“Bienvenue!” There is a blond man with broad shoulders and kind blue eyes behind the pastry display. His name, Philip, is embroidered on his apron.

“Aidez-nous” Christian begs. “Aidez-nous s’il vous plait.”

Philip points to the back of his store and tries to understand, “cequi lui était arrivé.”

Philip takes his apron off along with his checkered red and white shirt. He wraps Ana on the apron and gives his shirt to Christian. It is at this point that Christian realizes he is shaking from head to toe.

“nous avons besoin de l’ambassade américaine” Christian pleads. Philip points to the back and closes his shop.

Soon, Ana and Christian are hidden among breads and pastries on the back of an old delivery truck. After a few minutes, Philip stops at the corner of Avenue Gabriel, and with a wave, Philip lets them out.

There is a big commotion – apparently it is frown upon to show up at the entrance of an embassy without proper documentation; even if one is fleeing kidnapers.

After hours of discussions, there have been many calls to family and lawyers, verified identities, and conversations have been completed with policemen, secret service and Interpol. Christian wants to leave; they want him to stay for further discussions and investigations.

Ana has been examined by doctors and is fit to be transported; she had been given a large dose of tranquilizers; it will take a day or two for them to be out of her system with no lasting effects expected.

Christian concedes to medical examinations for himself; he is given a clean bill of health, there is some dehydration but otherwise he is fine. He learns that all the men he had hired as extra security were killed before the kidnappers entered the jewelry store. The only surviving person, of his security team in Europe, is Taylor; who is on critical condition recovering from a shot to the chest.

The bodies of the dead kidnappers were no found; however, authorities did corroborate his story, they found the cell and everything matches his descriptions.

Finally, after Christian yells and barks orders to a cellphone, the GEH jet, fuel, needed medical personnel, pilots, crew, and everything else is ready to go.

The GEH jet takes off at sunrise amid a sea of black unmarked cars, men in suits and formal apologies. Christian looking out to the open sky seats next to Ana and holds his wife’s soft, cold hand; she is strapped to a traveling gurney, and Taylor is strapped to another gurney next to her. There are machines beeping, and nurses and doctors tending to them.

Christian Grey has his eyes closed, his grey eyes are red and swollen, his hair sticks at odd angles, his custom made Italian suit is wrinkled, and his shoulders are sagging. However, he is smiling – all of them, alive, are on their way home.

Story published with permission of the author.  FSOG characters remain the property of EL James.  Lyrics remain the property of the composer/lyricist/record company.  No copyright infringement intended.