"Grey?"

Hope everyone had a wonderful holiday.  I'm finally posting one that's been waiting on the shelf for a while.  It will be the beginning of the opening of a can of worms.  I like this scene.  I hope you enjoy.

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  "Grey?”

Grey looked up from his book at the sound of her hesitant inquiry.  “I didn’t know you were home.”  He said.  “Here.”  He corrected.

She smiled almost apologetically.  “I just got in.”  She had the car now.  It was easy for her to come and go.

They stared at each other for a moment.  “Well, then, welcome back.”  He said carefully.  He didn’t know how to talk to her and it was driving him to distraction.

“Thanks.”  She vacillated in the doorway of the cozy sunroom where he’d been trying to read.

“Did you want to—were you going to ask me something?”  He ventured.

She inhaled to respond and then let all the air rush out again with a smile and a wave of her hand.  “No, I’m sorry, you’re busy.”  She glanced at the book he’d been reading.

He, too, glanced at the book.  “Just reading this for class.”  He said dismissively and, noting the page number, closed the book and set it down on the small table beside him.  He should have been reading that ‘what to expect’ book of hers, but everytime he picked it up and opened to a random page he found himself rather appalled and had to set it back down. “What’s up?”

“I.” She stopped.  She was wringing her hands a little and she nibbled her lower lip.

“Is everything ok?”  He asked apprehensively.

“Huh?”  She looked at him.  He looked at her stomach. She blinked. “Oh, no, I mean, yes, everything’s fine, everything’s good, no, no, I’m sorry, everything’s ok yes.”   She seemed to recognize the extent of her own nerves and she took a full breath and clamped her mouth closed with a rueful smile.

He felt himself smiling back, just faintly, just a bit.  “Please, sit.”  He gestured to the chair opposite him.  It felt peculiar offering her a chair in the home they shared together.

She nodded and took the seat submissively.  He felt his shoulders rising with his mounting unease and he made an effort to push them down, remain relaxed.  But he felt so strange around her lately, so unlike himself and clumsy and awkward.

“Grey, have I… met everyone?”  She cocked her head to the side and peered at him curiously.

“Met? Everyone?”  He wasn’t sure what in hell she was talking about.

“I mean your family?  Your relatives?  Have I, met them all now?”

He squinted, trying to weigh her question adequately.  They’d had the family dinner, then they’d had the larger Delaney get-together where she’d met Nolan’s family and Uncle Caleb… She’d met Granny Calder.  They’d been married now for about a month. “Yes.”  He responded slowly, still racking his brain to try and figure out if he might be overlooking someone.  “You’ve met all of them now.”

She nodded but her face remained a question mark.

“Have I met all of your family?”  He inquired, not terribly curious.

“Oh no, not nearly.”  She said with a small chuckle.

He gave a short laugh.  That would be an endeavor indeed he supposed.

“Why do you ask?”  He prompted after she lapsed into a far-away gaze and a pensive silence.

“And is there… was there a falling-out or anything, in your family?”  She looked so earnest, so damned concerned that he couldn’t help but smile at her.

“No.”  He said.  “Why?”

“I haven’t met your grandparents.” She said timidly.

Grey furrowed his brow.  “You met Granny Calder.” he argued.

“Oh, yes, of course—“ She flushed slightly and looked at her hands where they fidgeted relentlessly in her lap.  “I meant, um, are there any other? Grandparents?”

Grey’s brow remained crinkled.  “They passed away.”  He explained and watched with some fascination as she crossed herself and then kissed her fingers, her eyes closed and a small silent prayer moving on those perfect lips. 

“I’m so sorry.” She said, when she’d finished her little prayer; she sounded embarrassed and sorrowful.

“What’s this about Maggie?”  He asked gently but insistently.  She’d piqued his interest.

“Well it’s just.  Today—“  She lifted her eyes to his and he got the sense she wasn’t confident that she should tell him the truth.

He relaxed his brow to appear more affable.  “Today?”

“Today I saw a man that I was sure must be your grandfather, Grey.”  She rushed, wanting to get it all off her chest.  “I mean, I swear, he looked almost exactly like you!  It was so startling.  When I saw him.  And I just thought for sure that he must be related to you… or something…”  She licked her lips and stared earnestly at Grey.  “Strange, right?”  She gave a nervous little titter.

“Did he approach you?”  Grey asked more sharply than he’d intended.

She looked alarmed at his sudden change in tone.  “No, no.  I don’t think he saw me at all.”  She assured him, not understanding his reaction but obviously recognizing instinctively what answer he wanted to hear.

“That man you saw.”  Grey sighed and rolled his shoulders back.  “That man is my father.”  He said, wishing he never had to tell her that.

Her eyebrows moved together and her mouth opened in a perfect little ‘o’, and she looked about ready to protest his bizarre claim.

“His name is Vaughan Grey. He was married to my mother.  He’s my father.”  Grey explained in a drained sort of voice.  Talking about this always made him feel tired and a little irritable.

“But Mr. Delaney--?”

Grey waited.  He could wait for a long time.  He wanted her to speak first on this one.  He was mildly surprised that there existed people within Cedar Falls who didn’t know all this, all this salacious history.

“Mr. Delaney, he isn’t your real father?”  She asked and Grey recognized the notes of dismay and disappointment in her voice because he’d heard them before.  He’d felt them before.

“That depends on how you define ‘real’.”  He said quietly.  He never felt at ease discussing his dad like this.

Her face softened and her wide brown eyes misted over.  He tried not to roll his eyes.  She was very emotional a lot of the time lately.  Pregnancy hormones.

“He’s been my Dad since I was born.”  Grey told her plainly.  He wasn’t sentimental about it. It was fact. 

She smiled gently.  “But that other man, the one I saw today, he’s--?”

Grey thought he’d like a drink.  But he stayed where he was.  The smell of booze had been causing her to wretch lately.  “I guess the term is ‘biological father’.”  He ran his knuckles under his chin absently and enjoyed the feeling of his rough stubble.  He needed to shave, but he rather liked the heavy growth of his five o’clock shadow.

She worried her lower lip.  “But your name is Delaney.”  She stated.

“He adopted me when I was a baby.”  Grey explained and stretched his legs out before him.  Normally he’d have cut this conversation short, but he felt inexplicably patient at the moment, almost willing to discuss anything she wanted or needed to know.

“Oh.”  She said, but her brow wrinkled a little further.  “I wasn’t aware you could adopt a child if the parents are still living.”

Grey examined the toes of his socks carefully and sneered at them a little.  “He signed away his parental rights.”

“Like when a mother gives up a child.”  She said, understanding, sounding a shade embarrassed.  “I guess I hadn’t thought about a father doing it.”

They were quiet for a long time.  Grey listened to the steady ticking of the hall clock and the low, soothing hum of the dishwasher from the kitchen.

“I’ve heard of him.” She said, a scandalized note in her voice. “Vaughan Grey.”

“Most people have.”  He responded and lifted his eyes to watch her face.

“I’m glad he didn’t raise you.”  She said in a very small voice, her eyebrows drawn together and a downward pull to her lips.

Grey’s mouth twitched.  “So am I.”  He answered, almost to himself.

She looked at him and found him already staring at her and she flushed.  “Did you, did you see much of him?  Growing up?”

“No.”  He answered tersely.  He was willing to answer her questions but he wasn’t ready to tell her everything.  He felt a little defensive about the clandestine meetings his mother had shuttled him off to as a child, and he didn’t want to burden her with that.  He’d never told anyone, not a living soul, about his mother’s secret, and for some reason he was certain he didn’t want Maggie to know.  “Part of the custody agreement and the adoption.”  He elaborated in business like tones.

She nodded.  The fingers of her left hand reached up and began to twist the small pendant on the silver chain at her neck.  He caught the flash of gold from the wedding band on her ring finger and he felt an unidentifiable stirring in his chest. 

“Sorry.”  He said to her, watching her fingers twist that small saint between them ritualistically.

“Why are you sorry?”  She asked, her fingers slowing to a stop.

“Sorry if you had your heart set on a red-haired, purple eyed baby.”  He flashed her a wicked smile.

She clucked her tongue but smiled despite herself.  They fell into a comfortable silence for a minute as she shook her head and chuckled quietly, thinking about a red-headed violet eyed Mexican baby, he imagined.  The thought made him grin too.  “I guess I noticed that you didn’t look a lot like him.”  She commented after awhile.  “Or like your uncles.”  She gazed thoughtfully at him, examining his features carefully.  “But you have your mother’s eyes, and I guess I assumed that you must take after her side.”

He raised his eyebrows and sighed with a soft smile.  “Apologies again.”  He said, a sardonic twist to his murmur.  “Because I’m afraid your child is cursed with these genes.”  He loathed Vaughan Grey.  And he hated that he was like him.  He wished Maggie’s baby could truly be a Delaney.  “Delaney in name only I’m afraid.”  He finished a touch bitterly.

She looked stern.  “Don’t talk that way about yourself.”  She said firmly. Then she looked at him sharply.  “Has he ever made you feel like that?”  She meant Jonah.  Had Jonah treated him like a stepson?  Like the bastard that he was?

Grey’s face changed.  “Not. Even. Once.”  He answered very slowly.  Suddenly his throat felt a little tighter than was comfortable.

She smiled then and held his gaze.  She had such dark, deep eyes.  “You love him.”  She told him.

Grey closed his eyes.  He had the strangest sensation that she had the power to hypnotize him with those dark chocolate eyes of hers.  “I do.”  He answered dully. 

“I think he’ll be a wonderful grandfather.”  She said approvingly.  He could hear the smile in her voice.

Grey chuckled at her enthusiasm.  “He’s the finest man I know.”  He told her quietly, keeping his eyes closed.

He heard the slight rustle of her clothing, knew she was standing up.  He became aware that he didn’t want her to go.  He kept his eyes shut, though, and his mouth shut too.  What right did he have to ask her to stay?  And what would be the point?  He couldn’t think of anything to say to her anyway.  He just.  He was beginning to honestly enjoy her company.

He startled a bit when he felt her warm, soft hand on his cheek.  His eyes flew open and he looked up at her questioningly.  Dimly he was aware that his heart was beating faster.  She ran her small thumb back and forth slowly over the growth of stubble on his cheek and she smiled warmly.  He didn’t dare move, didn’t want to risk breaking whatever spell had summoned her to him.

With her other hand she ran her fingers lightly through the hair at his temple.  Her fingers felt as soft as feathers moving over his scalp.  He watched her intently and kept his face as close to neutral as he could manage in the face of her warm touch and sweet smile.

After a minute of combing through his hair with her fingers she slowly slid her hand down over his neck, onto and over his shoulder and began to trace down his arm.  She kept her other palm cupped comfortingly, possessively upon his cheek and jaw.  He loved hearing the soft scrape of his stubble against the pad of her thumb.  Something light and giddy was fluttering beneath his rib cage.

Eventually her hand found his, where it lay still and obedient on his knee. She took his large hand in her small one and his breath caught in his throat.  He searched her eyes carefully.  What did she want?  He prided himself on being able to read women, know what they wanted even before they understood it themselves.  He’d made it his goal to be able to anticipate their needs and desires, intuit from the slightest sigh or the tiniest of eyebrow twitches just what they were thinking or feeling or wanting.

But her dark eyes were going to swallow him whole.  He couldn’t get a read on her. She was unfathomable.  Unknowable.  He decided to remain passive, to allow her to take the lead and he prayed he’d be able to catch on soon. 

Because he didn’t want to move too fast or do something she wasn’t ready for. 

Then he wondered what he wanted.  What, exactly, was he ready for?

Because he couldn’t trust her, could he?  She’d blackmailed him into marriage against his will and she’d done so unapologetically.  She’d made him a prisoner in his own life, inserted herself into his family, and robbed him of his world as he’d known it.

So when he looked at her now, felt his hand wrapped in her small fingers and his face in her soft palm, he knew he should feel angry, bitter revulsion.  But he couldn’t muster anything remotely akin to that.

She lifted his hand very gradually, very carefully, and he let her.  She blinked slowly and bit the fullness of her lower lip with a playful smile.  He wanted to smile back, flash her that grin that used to make her melt, wanted to reach up and pull her head toward his and kiss her till she was breathless and needy and ready for him.  But his chest felt tight and his body refused to obey the habitual command to action.  He remained still and compliant for her.

Then, to his amazement and bewilderment, she placed his hand on her abdomen.  Her smile was tentative, her eyes large and honest.  She flattened his fingers over the subtle outward curve of her barely-growing belly, pressed his palm against her and held his hand there.

He pulled his eyes from hers with an enormous effort and stared at his hand, under her hand, on her stomach.  His brows drew together and sat low over his eyes.  He remembered how his conversation with Vaughan Grey had gone, remembered the options he’d been presented with for escaping this sham of a marriage, and he washed over cold.  He didn’t want this.  He stared at his wedding ring, there, against her stomach, and felt a wave of panic so powerful it nearly knocked the wind out of him.

He stood abruptly, pulling his hand out of her grasp and forcing her to back up quickly.  “I won’t be here for supper.”  He told her flatly, and, unable to meet her face, unable to look at her eyes, he strode out of the room toward his bedroom.  He needed to get his fucking shoes on and get the fuck out of that house.