I stare at the flames, mesmerized. They dance and weave bright blazing orange with tips of cobalt blue in the fireplace in Christian's apartment. And despite the heat pumping out of the fire and the blanket draped around my shoulders, I'm cold. Bone-chillingly cold.

My thoughts turn to the house we saw yesterday and the huge fireplaces -- real fireplaces for burning wood. I'd like to make love with Christian in front of a real fire. I'd like to make love with Christian in front of this fire. Yes, that would be fun. No doubt, he'd think of some way to make it memorable, like all the times we've made love. I snort wryly to myself, even the times when we were just fucking. Yes, those were pretty memorable, too. Where is he?

I'm aware of hushed voices, many hushed voices. But they're in the background, a distant buzz. I don't hear the words. All I can hear, all I can focus on, is the soft hiss of the gas from the fire.

The flames shimmy and flicker, holding me captive, keeping me numb. I focus solely on their flaring, scorching beauty. They are bewitching.

He said that the first time he slept with me in my bed. Oh no…

"Thank you," I whisper, my voice hoarse from unshed tears and the large lump in my throat.

Anastasia, you've bewitched me.

"Ana. Here," Mrs. Jones gently coaxes me, her voice bringing me back into the room, into the now, into the anguish. She gives me a cup of tea. I take the cup and saucer gratefully, the rattle betraying my shaking hands.

I wrap my arms around myself, and the world falls away from me and reality bleeds into my consciousness. The creeping emptiness inside expands some more. Charlie Tango is missing.

Mia sits across from me on the larger-than-large U-shaped couch, holding hands with Grace. They gaze at me, pain and anxiety etched on their lovely faces. Grace looks older -- a mother worried for her son. I blink dispassionately at them. I can't offer a reassuring smile, a tear even -- there's nothing, just blankness and the growing emptiness. I gaze at Elliot, José, and Ethan, who stand around the breakfast bar, all serious faces, talking quietly. Discussing something in soft subdued voices. Behind them Mrs. Jones busies herself in the kitchen.

Somewhere, Taylor and Carrick are talking to the authorities who are drip-feeding us information, but it's all meaningless. The fact is, he's missing. He's been missing for eight hours. No sign, no word from him. The search has been called off -- this much I do know. It's just too dark. And we don't know where he is. He could be hurt, hungry, or worse. No!

Kate is in the TV room, monitoring the local news. I hear the faint squawk from the big plasma TV. I can't bear to see the news item again -- CHRISTIAN GREY MISSING -- his beautiful face on TV.

I offer another silent prayer to God. Please let Christian be okay. Please let Christian be okay. I repeat it over and over in my head -- my mantra, my lifeline, something concrete to cling to in my desperation. I refuse to think the worst. No, don't go there. There is hope.

Idly it occurs to me that I've never seen so many people in this room, yet they are still dwarfed by its sheer size. Little islands of lost, anxious people in my Fifty's home. What would he think about their being here?

Christian's words come back to haunt me. Yes, there is always hope. I must not despair. His words echo through my mind.

"I'm now a firm advocate of instant gratification. Carpe diem, Ana."

"You're my lifeline."

Why didn't I seize the day?

"I'm doing this because I've finally met someone I want to spend the rest of my life with."

"I am just the same, Ana. I love you and I need you. Touch me. Please."

"This is me, Ana. All of me… and I'm all yours. What do I have to do to make you realize that? To make you see that I want you any way I can get you. That I love you."

I close my eyes in silent prayer, rocking gently. Please let the rest of his life not be this short. Please, please. We haven't had enough time… we need more time. We've done so much in the last few weeks, come so far. It can't end. All our tender moments: the lipstick, when he made love to me for the first time at the Olympic hotel, on his knees in front of me offering himself to me, finally touching him.

Oh, I love him so. I will be nothing without him, nothing but a shadow -- all the light eclipsed. No no no… my poor Christian.

Oh, please, let him be okay. He cannot be gone. He is the center of my universe.

I open my eyes and gaze unseeing into the fire once more, memories of our time together flitting through my mind: his boyish joy when we were sailing and gliding; his suave, sophisticated, hot-as-hell look at the masked ball; dancing, oh yes, dancing here in the apartment to Sinatra, whirling around the room; his quiet, anxious hope yesterday at the house -- that stunning view.

José is suddenly at my side, or has he been there a while? I have no idea.

And I you, my Fifty Shades.

An involuntary sob escapes my throat, and I clutch my hand to my mouth. No. I must be strong.

"I will lay my world at your feet, Anastasia. I want you, body and soul, forever."

Oh, Mom. My lip trembles at the thought of my mother. Should I call her? No. I couldn't deal with her reaction. Maybe Ray; he wouldn't get emotional -- he never gets emotional, not even when the Mariners lose.

"Do you want to call your mom or dad?" he asks gently.

No! I shake my head and clutch José's hand. I cannot speak, I know I will dissolve if I do, but the warmth and gentle squeeze of his hand offers me no solace.

I gaze up at Ethan, who is watching Mia and Elliot, who has his arms around Grace. I glance at the clock. It's after eleven, heading toward midnight. Damn time! With each passing hour, the clawing emptiness expands, consuming me, choking me. I know deep down inside I am preparing myself for the worst. I close my eyes and offer up another silent prayer, clasping both Mia's and José's hands.

"He will come back," she says, her voice initially determined but cracking on the last word. Her eyes are wide and red-rimmed, her face pale and pinched from lack of sleep.

Grace rises to join the boys, distracting me. That must be the longest she's sat still. Mia comes to sit beside me, too, and grabs my other hand.

Opening my eyes again, I stare into the flames once more. I can see his shy smile -- my favorite of all his expressions, a glimpse of the real Christian, my real Christian. He is so many people: control freak, CEO, stalker, sex god, Dom -- and at the same time -- such a boy with his toys. I smile. His car, his boat, his plane, his Charlie Tango helicopter… my lost boy, truly lost right now. My smile fades and pain lances through me. I remember him in the shower, wiping away the lipstick marks.

"I'm nothing, Anastasia. I'm a husk of a man. I don't have a heart."

The lump in my throat expands. Oh, Christian, you do, you do have a heart, and it's mine. I want to cherish it forever. Even though he's so complex and difficult, I love him. I will always love him. There will never be anyone else. Ever.

I remember sitting in Starbucks weighing up my Christian pros and cons. All those cons, even those photographs I found this morning, melt into insignificance now. There's just him and whether he'll come back. Oh please, Lord, bring him back, please let him be okay. I'll go to church… I'll do anything. Oh, if I get him back, I shall seize the day. His voice echoes around in my head once more: "Carpe diem, Ana."

"Christian!"

I gaze deeper into the fire, the flames still licking and curling around each other, blazing brightly. Then Grace shrieks, and everything goes into slow motion.

I turn my head in time to see Grace barreling across the great room from where she had been pacing somewhere behind me, and there in the entrance stands a dismayed Christian. He's dressed in just his shirtsleeves and suit pants, and he's holding his navy jacket, shoes, and socks. He looks tired, dirty, and utterly beautiful.

Holy fuck… Christian. He's alive. I gaze numbly at him, trying to work out if I'm hallucinating or if he's really here.

His expression is one of utter bewilderment. He deposits his jacket and shoes on the floor in time to catch Grace, who throws her arms around his neck and kisses him hard on the cheek.

"Oh, Christian," she chokes, wrapping her arms around him, weeping into his neck -- all self-restraint forgotten -- and Christian doesn't balk. He just holds her, rocking to and fro, comforting her. Scalding tears pool in my eyes. Carrick hollers from the hallway.

"Mom?" Christian gazes down at her, completely at a loss.

"I thought I'd never see you again," Grace whispers, voicing our collective fear.

"I died a thousand deaths today," she whispers, her voice barely audible, echoing my thoughts. She gasps and sobs, no longer able to hold back her tears. Christian frowns, horrified or mortified -- I don't know which -- then after a beat, envelops her in a huge hug, holding her close.

"Mom, I'm here." I hear the consternation in his voice.

"Dad?"

"Sorry," she mumbles.

Mia squeals something unintelligible from beside me, then she's up and runs to join her parents, hugging all of them, too.

"He's alive! Shit -- you're here!" He appears from Taylor's office, clutching his cell phone, and embraces both of them, his eyes closed in sweet relief.

Finally the tears start to cascade down my cheeks. He's here, he's fine. But I cannot move.

"Hey, Mom -- it's okay," Christian says, consternation still evident on his face.

"Where were you? What happened?" Grace cries and puts her head in her hands.

Carrick is the first to pull away, wiping his eyes and clapping Christian on the shoulder. Mia releases them then, and Grace steps back.

"Mom," Christian mutters. He draws her into his arms again and kisses the top of her head. "I'm here. I'm good. It's just taken me a hell of a long time to get back from Portland. What's with the welcoming committee?" He looks up and scans the room until his eyes lock with mine.

He blinks and glances briefly at José, who lets go of my hand. Christian's mouth tightens. I drink in the sight of him and relief courses through me, leaving me spent, exhausted, and completely elated. Yet my tears don't stop. Christian turns his attention back to his mother.

"Mom, I'm good. What's wrong?" Christian says reassuringly. She places her hands on either side of his face.

"You had us so worried!" she blurts out, and she, too, is in tears.

"You didn't stop… call collect?"

"No power in my cell."

As Elliot comes forward, Christian relinquishes Mia to Carrick, who already has one arm around his wife. He curls the other around his daughter. Elliot hugs Christian briefly, much to Christian's surprise, and slaps him hard on the back.

"Why didn't you call?"

"Oh, Christian! Don't you ever do that to me again! Do you understand?" she half shouts at him.

"Christian, you've been missing. Your flight plan -- you never made it to Seattle. Why didn't you contact us?"

"I'm here now, for heaven's sake," Christian mutters.

"Yes, Mom." He wipes her tears away with his thumbs and hugs her once more. When she composes herself, he releases her to hug Mia, who slaps him hard on the chest.

"Mom -- it's a long story."

Christian's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "I didn't think it would take this long."

"Great to see you," Elliot says loudly, if a little gruffly, trying to hide his emotion.

"Christian!" I sob.

"Hi," he murmurs.

"He's really here, Ana," she murmurs comfortingly.

"Hi," I whisper back, the lump in the back of my throat burning.

Look, Christian, all these people love you! Perhaps now you'll start believing it.

He moves toward me, gray eyes bright though weary and still bemused. From somewhere deep inside, I find the strength to stagger to my feet and bolt into his open arms.

As the tears stream down my face, I can see it all. The great room is bathed in it -- unconditional love. He has it in spades; he's just never accepted it before, and even now he's at a total loss.

Kate is standing behind me -- she must have left the TV room -- and she gently strokes my hair.

"Hush," he says and holds me, burying his face in my hair and inhaling deeply. I raise my tearstained face to his, and he kisses me far too briefly.

"I'm going to say hi to my girl now," Christian tells his parents. Both of them nod, smile, and step aside.

"I thought… I thought --" I choke.

He grins. "I can tell." And with a gentle touch of his hand, he wipes away the tears that refuse to stop running down my cheeks.

"Miss me?"

"I can see. Hush… I'm here. I'm here…" he murmurs and kisses me chastely again.

"I'm okay. I'm not going anywhere."

"Oh, thank God." I clasp him around his waist again, and he hugs me once more. "Are you hungry? Do you need something to drink?"

"A bit."

"Yes."

I step back to get him something, but he doesn't let me go. He tucks me under his arm and extends a hand to José.

"Are you okay?" I ask, releasing him and touching his chest, his arms, his waist -- oh, the feel of this warm, vital, sensual man beneath my fingers -- reassures me that he's here, standing in front of me. He's back. He doesn't so much as flinch. He just regards me intently.

"Mr. Grey," says José evenly.

"Christian, welcome back. Glad you're okay… and, um -- thanks for letting me stay."

"No problem." Christian narrows his eyes, but he's distracted by Mrs. Jones, who is suddenly at his side. It only occurs to me now that she's not her usual smart self. I hadn't noticed it before. Her hair is loose, and she's in soft gray leggings and a large gray sweatshirt with WSU COUGARS emblazoned on the front that dwarfs her. She looks years younger.

Christian snorts. "Christian, please," he says.

Christian smiles fondly at her. "A beer, please, Gail -- Budvar -- and a bite to eat."

"Can I get you something, Mr. Grey?" She wipes her eyes with a tissue.

The rest of his family closes in, and Ethan and Kate join us. He shakes Ethan's hand and gives Kate a quick peck on the cheek. Mrs. Jones returns with a bottle of beer and a glass. He takes the bottle but shakes his head at the glass. She smiles and returns to the kitchen.

"I'll get it," I murmur, wanting to do something for my man.

"Elliot!" Grace scolds.

"No. Don't go," he says softly, tightening his arm around me.

"Helicopter," Christian growls, correcting Elliot, who grins, and I suspect this is a family joke.

"Surprised you don't want something stronger," mutters Elliot. "So what the fuck happened to you? First I knew was when Dad called me to say the chopper was missing."

"Let's sit and I'll tell you." Christian pulls me over to the couch, and everyone sits down, all eyes on Christian. He takes a long drink of his beer. He spies Taylor hovering at the entrance and nods. Taylor nods back.

Christian shakes his head and raises his bottle to him. Taylor gives him a rare smile -- rarer than Christian's, I think -- and heads out, presumably to his office or up to his room.

Taylor nods. "Now? Or will the morning do?"

"We have a helicopter to pick up."

Daughter? What happened to Taylor's daughter?

"Glad you're back, sir. Will that be all?"

"Very good, Mr. Grey. Anything else, sir?"

"Your daughter?"

"Morning, I think, Taylor."

"Good." Christian smiles.

"Christian, what happened?" Carrick demands.

"She's fine now. False alarm, sir."

"Ros had never seen Mount Saint Helens, so on the way back as a celebration, we took a quick detour. I heard the temporary flight restriction was lifted a while back, and I wanted to take a look. Well, it's fortunate that we did. We were flying low, about two hundred feet above ground level, when the instrument panel lit up. We had a fire in the tail -- I had no choice but to cut all the electronics and land." He shakes his head. "I set her down by Silver Lake, got Ros out, and managed to put the fire out."

Christian launches into his story. He was flying in Charlie Tango with Ros, his number two, to deal with a funding issue at WSU in Vancouver. I can barely keep up, I'm so dazed. I just hold Christian's hand and stare at his manicured fingernails, his long fingers, the creases on his knuckles, his wristwatch -- an Omega with three small dials. I gaze up at his beautiful profile as he continues his tale.

Christian shakes his head. "With the electronics out, we had no radio. And I wasn't going to risk turning them on because of the fire. GPS was still working on the BlackBerry, so I was able to navigate to the nearest road. Took us four hours to walk there. Ros was in heels." Christian's mouth presses into a disapproving flat line.

"A fire? Both engines?" Carrick is horrified.

"Cold?" he asks me. I shake my head.

His words from long ago circle my mind. I thank Divine Providence every day that it was you who came to interview me and not Katherine Kavanagh.

"Yep."

"How did you put out the fire?" asks Kate, her Carla Bernstein instincts kicking in. Jeez, she sounds terse sometimes.

"Shit! But I thought --"

"Extinguisher. We have to carry them -- by law," Christian answers levelly.

"I know," Christian interrupts him. "It was sheer luck I was flying so low," he murmurs. I shudder. He releases my hand and puts his arm around me.

"Why didn't you call or use the radio?" Grace asks.

"We had no cell reception. There's no coverage at Gifford. Ros's battery died first. Mine dried up on the way."

"So how did you get back to Seattle?" Grace asks, blinking slightly at the sight of the two of us, no doubt. I flush.

Holy hell. I tense and Christian pulls me into his lap.

"We hitched and pooled our resources. Between us, Ros and I had six hundred dollars, and we thought we'd have to bribe someone to drive us back, but a truck driver stopped and agreed to bring us home. He refused the money and shared his lunch with us." Christian shakes his head in dismay at the memory. "Took forever. He didn't have a cell -- weird but true. I didn't realize." He stops, gazing at his family.

"You've made the news, bro."

"That we'd worry?" Grace scoffs. "Oh, Christian!" she scolds him. "We've been going out of our minds!"

Christian rolls his eyes. "Yeah. I figured that much when I arrived to this reception and the handful of photographers outside. I'm sorry, Mom -- I should have asked the driver to stop so I could phone. But I was anxious to be back." He glances at José.

Oh, that's why, because José is staying here. I frown at the thought. Jeez -- all that worry.

"Go figure." Christian shrugs and runs his hand down my back.

"Yes, Andrea called me to let me know you were still alive." Carrick grins.

I wipe my nose with the back of my hand in a most unladylike way. "Stop with the disappearing." I sniff and his lips quirk up.

"Hey," he whispers. He puts his fingers under my chin and tilts my head back. "Stop with the crying."

I start to relax, resting my head against his chest. He smells outdoorsy, slightly sweaty, of body wash -- of Christian, the most welcome scent in the world. Tears start to trickle down my face again, tears of gratitude.

"Electrical failure… that's odd, isn't it?" Carrick says again.

"Yes, crossed my mind, too, Dad. But right now, I'd just like to go to bed and think about all that shit tomorrow."

"So the media know that the Christian Grey has been found safe and well?" Kate says.

"Both engines?" Carrick says again, frowning in disbelief.

"Yes. Andrea and my PR people will deal with the media. Ros called her after we dropped her home."

Grace shakes her head. "I'm just glad you're back in one piece, darling."

"I'm okay, Mom."

"No, sweetheart, I want to get home. Now that I know you're safe."

"I think that's a hint, ladies and gentlemen, that my dear bro needs his beauty sleep," Elliot scoffs suggestively. Christian grimaces at him.

"Yes. I think we could use the sleep," Carrick replies, smiling down at her.

"Cary, my son is safe. You can take me home now."

"I was so worried, darling," she whispers.

"I must give that woman a raise. Sure is late," says Christian.

Christian reluctantly eases me onto the couch and stands. Grace hugs him once more, presses her head against his chest, and closes her eyes, content. He wraps his arms around her.

Cary? Grace looks adoringly at her husband.

"Stay," Christian offers.

We follow Carrick and Grace as they make their way to the foyer. Behind me, I'm aware that Mia and Ethan are having a heated whispered conversation, but I can't hear it.

She leans back and studies him intently while he holds her. "Yes. I think you are," she says slowly, glances at me, and smiles. I flush.

"With brothers!" I giggle.

"Come on, baby," Elliot summons her from the elevator.

I tense, then mentally kick myself as Kate stands back to gaze at me with her what-aren't-you-telling-me look. I flush. Damn, should I tell her he's asked me?

"Mom, Dad -- wait for me," Mia calls sullenly. Perhaps she's as mercurial as her brother.

I am reprieved. "Sure. You, too, Kate -- you've traveled such a long distance today."

"We could end up sisters-in-law," she quips.

"Yeah. Who knew we'd find love at the same time?" She grins. Wow. She's admitted it.

Kate hugs me hard. "I can tell some serious shit's been going down while I've been blissfully ignorant in Barbados. It's kind of obvious you two are nuts about each other. I'm glad he's safe. Not just for him, Ana -- for you, too."

"Thank you, Kate," I whisper.

"Let's talk tomorrow, Ana. You must be exhausted."

Mia is smiling shyly at Ethan, and he's gaping at her and shaking his head. Suddenly she crosses her arms and turns on her heel. He rubs his forehead with one hand, obviously frustrated.

"Well, good night." José looks uncomfortable all of a sudden.

"Yeah, Mrs. Jones, she showed me earlier. Quite a place you have here, Christian."

"Good night, José, and thank you for staying."

I blush. Why is this awkward?

José nods. "Yeah, the housekeeper --"

José is hovering in the hallway as we come out of the foyer.

We hug once more, then she and Elliot follow the Greys into the elevator. Ethan shakes Christian's hand and gives me a quick hug. He looks distracted, but he follows them into the elevator and the doors close.

"I'm going to eat whatever Mrs. Jones has put out for me. Good night, José." Christian wanders back into the great room, leaving José and me at the entrance.

Wow! Left alone with José.

"Mrs. Jones," I prompt.

"Thank you," Christian says politely as he comes to stand beside me, placing his arm around my shoulders. Leaning over, he kisses my hair.

"Do you know where to go?" Christian asks.

"Look. I'll turn in… leave you guys," he says.

"Sure, Ana. Any time your rich, hotshot boyfriend goes missing -- I'll be there."

"Sure, José. Soon, I hope. Sorry tonight was so… shitty." I smirk apologetically.

I turn back to the great room. Christian stands beside the couch, watching me with an unreadable expression on his face. We're finally alone and we gaze at each other.

"It wasn't as bad as it sounds."

I gaze up at him. "Thank you."

"I thought I'd never see you again," I whisper. There -- the words are out. All my worst fears packaged neatly in one short sentence now exorcised.

"He's still got it bad, you know?" he murmurs.

"José!" I admonish him.

"Only kidding. Don't get mad. I'll be leaving early in the morning. I'll see you sometime, yeah? I've missed you."

"And how would you know that, Mr. Grey?"

"Yeah." He grins. "Shitty." He hugs me. "Seriously, Ana, I'm glad you're happy, but I'm here if you need me."

He flashes me a sad, bittersweet smile, and then he goes upstairs.

I pick up his suit jacket and shoes from where they lie on the floor and move toward him.

"I recognize the symptoms, Miss Steele. I believe I have the same affliction."

Christian gazes down at me as if I'm his reason for living and mirrors my look, I'm sure. He is here, really here. He pulls me into his arms and wraps himself around me.

"I'll take that," he whispers, reaching for his jacket.

"I thought I'd lost you," I breathe. We stand, holding each other, reconnecting and reassuring each other. As I tighten my arms around him, I realize I'm still holding his shoes. I drop them noisily to the floor.

"Christian," I gasp, and my tears start anew.

"Hush," he soothes, kissing my hair. "You know… in the few seconds of sheer terror before I landed, all my thoughts were of you. You're my talisman, Ana."

"You know, even tearstained, you are beautiful, Ana Steele." He leans down and kisses me gently. "And your lips are so soft." He kisses me again, deepening it.

"Okay." I glance up at him. I don't want to let go. Reaching down, he tilts my chin up with his fingers.

"Come and shower with me," he murmurs.

Oh my… and to think I could have lost… no… I stop thinking and surrender myself.

He smirks at me. "This is why." From the inside breast pocket he pulls out the small box I gave him that contains my present. He slings the jacket over the back of the couch and places the box on top.

"I can't."

"I need to put my jacket down," he murmurs.

"Drop it," I murmur against his lips.

I lean back to gaze up at him, puzzled.

Seize the day, Ana, my subconscious prods me. Well, it's after midnight, so technically it's his birthday.

"I was hoping you'd say that," he murmurs. "This has been driving me crazy."

"Open it," I whisper, and my heart starts pounding.

I grin impishly at him. I feel giddy. He gives me his shy smile, and I melt despite my thumping heart, delighting in his amused yet intrigued expression. With deft fingers, he unwraps and opens the box. His brow creases as he fishes out a small, rectangular, plastic key chain featuring a picture made up of tiny pixels that flash on and off like an LED screen. It depicts the Seattle skyline with the word SEATTLE written boldly across the landscape.

He stares at it for a minute and then gazes at me, bemused, a frown marring his lovely brow.

He does, and his eyes shoot to mine, wide and gray, alive with wonder and joy. His lips part in disbelief.

"Happy birthday," I whisper.

"Turn it over," I whisper, holding my breath.

The word YES flashes on and off on the key ring.