The Stowaway

IronChefOR

Rating: PG
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 25/12/2010
Last Updated: 25/12/2010
Status: in_progress

A Christmas oneshot. A security officer on the Queen Elizabeth 2 finds a mysterious stowaway aboard her ship. His name: Harry Potter.

Chapters

1. The Stowaway

1. The Stowaway

A/N: Hello everyone. It's been years since I've published anything, and for that I am truly sorry. Life has a way of getting away from us sometimes. For anyone who has been following my other stories which have not been updated in years, please know that despite my absence, they are not abandoned or dead. I can not promise a timeline for an update, but I will not allow them to die. For your patience, I am eternally grateful.

In my effort to resume writing, I offer this short little one-shot. I'm embarrassed to say I actually started writing it in December 2009, but as did happen with my other stories, "real life" interjected itself and I was unable to finish then. It's been a battle these past few days to get this finished for this year, but, now 5AM Christmas morning, I finally made it! I hope you enjoy it.

Please be sure to read the note at the end of the story for a special bonus. NO, don't peek now. You'll have to read the story a second time to get the full effect, but it's the entire point of the story, and well worth it.

Unfortunately I was not able to get this finished in time to allow my friend and beta, MapleMountain to review it first. So any mistakes you find are my own fault.

thanks

The Stowaway

It was his eyes, really, that first captured my attention... those green eyes of his. Though, I suppose that's something of an obvious statement as I would imagine that most anyone would say the exact same thing. It would be like saying it was the smile of the Mona Lisa that caught your attention.

But it was true... it was his eyes that caused me to take a second look at him as he walked by me. I'd never seen eyes like that before.

And that was the problem.

I turned around and tried to make my way back to him, but the deck was crowded and somehow I lost him amongst the sea of faces. No matter. I would find him again... it wasn't like there was anywhere for him to go. Not in the middle of the Atlantic.

Ever watchful, I always saved a spare thought for him as I made my rounds. It was a big ship, to be sure, but it was only so big. There were only so many places one could be, only so many bodies aboard... 2471 to be specific.

Make that 2472.

It took two more days, but I finally found him again. What a wonderful present for me, in more ways than one. It was Christmas morning after all. Determined not to let him escape me again, I decided to make an end-run around the breakfast crowd, keeping him in my sight but staying away from the bulk of the passengers. That was how I lost him last time, in a crowd.

I watched him as I approached, watched his behavior. By all outward appearances, he looked exactly as though he fit in. He was well dressed, well behaved, chatted cordially with the other passengers as appropriate. Nothing that suggested anything amiss.

Except for the fact that he didn't belong here.

And that more than anything else intrigued me. Why was he here? How did he get here? It wasn't like he took a wrong turn at Albuquerque and accidentally popped aboard. No, there was a reason for his presence here. And I would listen to him. If his reason was good, which they never were, we'd handle it accordingly. If it wasn't... well, we were equipped to handle that as well. It wasn't the first time. And it wouldn't be the last either.

Another few moments, and I was now standing directly behind him. A few of the passengers he was chatting with saw me standing expectantly behind him. They made a kind apology and "casually" disbursed.

"Excuse me, sir?" I said to him politely. He turned.

I'm pretty sure I didn't gasp, or even stand there open-jawed. But I certainly was entranced by those eyes now that they were but two feet away from me. Vibrant emerald, they drew me in, though only for a moment. But in that moment, I felt as though his eyes were already telling me his story.

They were wise, and experienced, though they still betrayed his youth... he couldn't be more than twenty years old. They were brilliant and sparkled, filled with energy and vitality. And yet there was a hint of weariness and sadness. Haunting... all of those curious contradictions about him seemed perfectly appropriate; not one conflicting feature seemed out of place. All of this I learned about him in the few seconds it took for those green eyes of his to glance down at my name tag and then back up to me.

And in his eyes, I could see that he too now knew my story, or at least the part that would be most relevant to him given the circumstances: he was a stowaway, and my name was Joanne Friday, Head of Security aboard the Queen Elizabeth 2. Yeah, a "cop" named Jo Friday. My parents REALLY loved that, considering they were the ones who picked out that name the first place.

In those eyes of his I expected to see panic, or fear, or apprehension. Something... anything. Yet there was nothing... or rather more accurately, no change. Just that same unwavering intensity. Either he didn't know what I wanted to talk to him about (impossible considering the circumstances), or he didn't find me or his situation intimidating.

"Would you please step out onto the outer deck?" I did not want to do this here in front of everyone, in the chance that he would make a scene.

For the briefest of moments I felt as though he was looking straight through me, as if determining if I was actually serious in my request. Having experienced in this job much worse than a staring contest however, I returned his look with a steely though not impolite gaze of my own.

He must have decided I was not joking; he gave the tiniest of nods and walked calmly to the door. I followed him out, glad this did not—or at least had not so far—turned out like the only other two times a stowaway was discovered in the three years I'd been a member of the crew. The first time ended with the person breaking down in the middle of the corridor, bawling his eyes out when confronted. The other time ended with the man trying to fight his way out and jumping overboard, presumably intent upon swimming to shore... which was about five hundred miles away. The icy North Atlantic Ocean sucked all of the heat, and life, out of his body before the rescue team could bring him back to the ship.

We walked toward the starboard railing where none were lingering. In the middle of the open sea on a cold winter's morning everybody was inside, whether at one of the two breakfast buffets or one of the five assorted religious services, or simply enjoying Christmas morning privately with family alone in their cabins. Fortunately it was a calm morning, not so frigid as to be dangerous for a few minutes without a jacket, but still cold enough to be uncomfortable. Uncomfortable was good; it was a distraction that often impeded a person's desire to stretch out their lie, or to focus coherently on it.

"May I ask your name, sir?"

"Harry Potter, ma'am." Ah, he was British, though that by itself was not unusual as a good portion of the passengers on our New York to Southampton run were from the British Isles.

"How did you get aboard?"

"Like everyone else, ma'am," he said with a grin that I knew he hoped was disarming, "I walked up the ramp."

"No, I don't think so, Mr. Potter. You see, identification for all those who board is checked at each and every boarding point. You are neither a registered passenger aboard this ship, nor are you a member of the crew. Therefore, I am forced to conclude you are a stowaway. Among other things, I am interested in determining how you were able to get aboard."

His smile lessened, almost imperceptibly, but for a trained eye it was visible. "I can assure you, ma'am," he said, continuing to put on a smile, "that I am most certainly a passenger. Why would you think otherwise? If you would allow me to return to my cabin, I would be happy to show you my ticket."

He started to move toward one of the corridors, whether to flee or to simply get out of the cold. I wanted him to do neither.

"No, please stay right here. I know you are not telling the truth, Mr. Potter, because I know the name and face of each of the 2471 people aboard this ship, passengers and crew alike. You are neither."

His fake smile disappeared completely, though I could tell he was not perturbed. Rather he knew he was found out and simply ceased the effort of the act. The green-eyed mystery man studied me for a moment. "Eidetic memory?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"Close enough." My ability to remember names and faces had served me well over my relatively short career. Indeed it probably helped propel me at the speed through which I ascended the ranks.

He smiled weakly and his entire body visibly relaxed. He hadn't been tense per se, but he'd certainly standing quite formally... like one might expect when confronted by security. He ran his hand through his well-groomed though totally uncontrollable black hair chuckled. He scratched his head the way that people seem to do when they concede something.

"Well, I certainly wasn't expecting that. One face among twenty-five hundred, and I had to find the one with a photographic memory." I allowed him a small smile in agreement.

"So, what? Were you on the lookout for me, or was I just in the wrong place at the wrong time?" he asked, amused.

Strange... the more time I spent around him, the more at ease I began to feel. Here was a man I didn't know and who had all but confessed to a crime (granted a minor, non-violent one) and yet as every minute passed by, the safer and safer I felt in his presence.

"Bad luck," I told him consolingly. "Though your genes did conspire against you," I joked. At his questioning look, I explained. "Your eyes. I just happened to walk by you two days ago. I noticed your eyes. And then a few moments later I realized that I didn't recognize your face from the manifest. By the time I turned around, you were gone into the crowd."

Harry then rolled those captivating green eyes. "Ah, yes... Hermione always has said they were my best feature." He then smiled, embarrassed, as he turned away from me and looked over the rail down into the seemingly bottomless ocean. "Well... second best part," he added almost inaudibly with a proud grin that I knew he had truly intended only for himself.

I blushed! I could not believe it. If any other man—passenger, crew, or stowaway—had said that to me, I would have arrested him on the spot and thrown his ass in a holding cell for the remainder of the cruise. I was not naive in such matters, and approximately ten years his senior I certainly should not be so flustered at such innuendo. I should be offended; I should be disgusted.

But yet I wasn't. Why? What was it about him that was completely disarming me? He was attractive, handsome and fit to be sure, but not so much that I would be tempted to abandon my duties for some fling. The lack of any thoughts wondering just how ample his pride was proved there was no lust for him clouding my judgment. No, there was no interest in him that was non-professional.

So what was it? There was just this presence about him that dismantled my defenses and quelled my doubts. Hell, it was like magic how he did that. Charm or no, I still had a duty to perform. Before I could ask him officially, he answered.

"Yes, I did sneak aboard. I am a stowaway."

"Just to confirm, you are aware that you have confessed to a crime, and are subject to arrest?"

His formal demeanor returned, though there was nothing confrontational in his stance.

"If you feel that is necessary, that is your right."

Damn. He was certainly nothing like what I expected. Most people would be pathetically asserting their innocence or begging to cut a deal right about now. But he looked as though he would be just as content whether I arrested him or let him go. What an enigma this man was. What to do with him?

Bemused, I decided to ask him.

"What, Mr. Potter, am I to do with you? You have yet to tell me how you came aboard, and that is a tale I am most interested to know as I have eliminated all possible means that I could think of. You shouldn't be here, and yet you are. I am most tempted to just throw you overboard to make you disappear just as mysteriously as you appeared."

One of his eyebrows rose, more in intrigue than surprise. "Really?" he asked.

I was bluffing, of course, and he probably knew it, but no point in letting him off the hook so easily.

"Really," I lied, convincingly I felt. "We're in the middle of the ocean, in international waters, far beyond the reach of the laws of land. Out here, it's the rule of the sea, and stowaways are thrown overboard. No one saw you embark... of that I'm certain. So no one has to see you disembark either."

"Go on then," he said blandly, holding out his arms out in front of him as if he expected me to handcuff him. I was bluffing. He knew. I knew he knew. He knew I knew he knew.

Holding this conversation on the outer deck was intended to make him uncomfortable thanks to the cold. It was also making me uncomfortable as well. I wanted an out. Damn. I had already forgotten the woman's name he had mentioned. That REALLY embarrassed and irritated me as it was my job to remember such things and this was the first time I had failed to do so. But I did at least see the wedding ring on his hand when he made to be cuffed.

"Not today, I think," I told him, and he lowered his hands. "Your wife deserves at least one phone call first, eh, before we commit you to Davy Jones?" I had every reason, every right to haul him down to a cell right now and yet something gave me pause.

I trusted him. I didn't even know this Harry from Tom or Dick, and yet I knew he would not cause trouble. There would be time enough later to finish this business. There was nowhere for him to go. We were still about thirty-six hours from port; he couldn't even use a phone to call anyone as all ship-to-shore communication required a ship ID card for billing purposes.

"We'll speak again, Mr. Potter." He gave a small nod, not as if to say 'I accept your terms' but rather as if to say 'You're right, we will.' Fascinating.

===

It was nearly 6PM and the last party of tonight, Christmas night, would be starting soon. We were only about a hundred miles from shore, and we would begin disembarking tomorrow morning. This was the last chance for passengers to celebrate the holiday, and their cruise, before we put into dock.

This last dance was considered somewhat formal... many of the men were in tuxedos or suits and many women were in elegant dresses. And the rest made every effort to look their best in their everyday clothing. As a member of the crew, I too was fully decked out... black trousers trimmed with gold and a pressed and starched white jacket with pseudo-rank boards on the shoulders. It was an elegant cross between a tuxedo and a navy uniform, and actually kind of fun to wear on special occasions like this.

Once the dance started, I'd be expected to mingle in amongst the crowd and be a cordial host/chaperone and assist as needed. But before that, I strangely felt compelled to go out to the starboard railing again. After speaking with Mr. Potter there early this morning, I'd bumped into him there again this afternoon around noon. Deciding to take an opportunity to learn more about our stowaway, I invited him to join me for lunch.

Just to try to understand the nature of his character and his reasons, I asked him how he felt about stowing away. He knew he was breaking the law but insisted it couldn't be avoided. He ignored my subtle attempts to explain that further. 'To compensate,' he said, he did his best to minimize his impact aboard ship. He only ate at the buffets, and waited until moments before the servers came to discard food that had been sitting out for more than thirty minutes. He drank from unused water glasses set out on tables. He slept poolside in the recliners (it was not uncommon to see guests napping on the beach chairs next to our indoor pool).

Yes, he certainly seemed to have given this a lot of thought and planning. Aside from having to carry his person, his actual drain on ship services was virtually zero. He was a stowaway in name only. Unfortunately I hadn't been able to learn anymore as our lunch was cut short due to me needing to assist with a child who had lost his parents.

Out on the starboard railing on this cold evening, I found him, standing there, looking lost in thought as he stared into the endless depths of the clear night sky. Though what confused me the most was the fact he was wearing a tuxedo, fitting in perfectly with the fancy crowd. Each time I'd seen him over the past few days he had been wearing the same clothes, which made sense for someone who had snuck aboard. For a stowaway, he certainly seemed to be able to summon a tux out of thin air when he needed it.

"Mr. Potter. We meet again."

He turned and looked at me. "Indeed, Miss Friday. One might think you were following me."

"You are a wanted criminal, after all." He smiled and turned his attention back to the night. I moved over next to him and looked out to determine if I could see what he was looking at, or for.

"We never did finish our conversation this afternoon," I reminded him. I still wanted to know how he got aboard. And I wanted to know why. Something about him had engendered a sense of trust and security, and I knew he really hadn't had any financial impact to the ship. To my amazement, I was actually considering letting him go tomorrow morning. But I needed to know why he was here.

The ship's bell rang six o'clock. The final dance of this cruise began about twenty feet away. As the orchestra in the formal hall next to us began their first song, I could see his eyes shift slightly. They seemed drawn to my hair, though that was probably just a reflex. A sharp, cold gust had just picked up, catching my long brown hair which tonight I had curled for this last formal affair; even I could see it fluttering around my face.

I looked at him for a moment, trying to decide what to do. With the song beginning to play, he decided for me. It was one of the last things I would have expected.

"Would you like to dance?" he asked me, an honest smile on his face. Even more surprising than his question was my answer: I agreed.

"Don't think this gets you off the hook," I warned him truthfully, though even I could feel a certain measure of lightheartedness in my words.

He just smiled. "Wouldn't dream of it," he said as he held out his hand. I took it and we returned to the dance hall. As we entered, I caught the eye of one of my senior staff who was helping chaperone this dance. Bill, like everyone else in my department, was told to keep an eye out for our green-eyed visitor. With but a brief glance in Mr. Potter's direction, I indicated that I had found him. Bill nodded in understanding. Fortunately he was smart enough to also deduce that since I was allowing the man a dance, there was no immediate cause for concern.

The orchestra played, a lively tune that kept us moving but didn't steal our breath as we talked.

"My wife and I have been on... an archeological expedition for the past two years. We've traversed nearly every square mile of Great Britain, looking for a handful of very special artifacts. These artifacts are very dangerous and must be destroyed."

On the surface it was the most preposterous story I'd ever heard... who did he think he was, Indiana Jones? And yet I believed him, totally and completely.

"About a month ago, we encountered two complications. First, some very dangerous people who also wanted these same artifacts learned we had destroyed half of them. They were now out in force, looking for the artifacts as well, and us too. Honestly, not that big of a deal, if not for the second and more important development. My beautiful Hermione learned she was pregnant with our first child."

I gasped slightly at this, but a gentle nudge where he was holding me as we danced got me moving again.

"This changed everything. The two of us have been nearly inseparable since we were eleven. No amount of danger, nothing, would ever keep us apart."

The fast song ended, and slower though not romantic song began. He held me a little closer.

"We've been through hell and back, but none of it was as hard as that first night knowing she was pregnant. We just sat in front of the fireplace for about an hour and lay in each other's arms. Nothing was said.

"And then we both came to the same conclusion. Considering the dangerous nature of the artifacts, considering those who were after us, there was only one option. She would stay at home, safe in a secret location, while I continued on with the task at hand. Neither of us wanted this. Either we would both be out there, or we would both stay at home. Either way, together. But taking her out and allowing any harm to come to our child, or staying home and allowing the artifacts to be found by the wrong people... those were two options that were simply not allowable. So we had to sacrifice our own desires and be split up.

"She's the most brilliant woman I've ever known. If she wishes to hide, I know no one will ever find her. She's safe, I know. I miss her terribly. I talk to her every night, but it does not make it any easier. I look in a mirror, and I see her face next to mine. She's just a foot away from me, yet I'm more alone then ever. She's alone there too. Sitting at home now, surrounded by books, waiting patiently for me to come home.

"The last leg of this journey took me to Massachusetts for an expert opinion. Once we were done there, I knew it was time to go home. Unfortunately due to the sensitive nature of my journeys, there can be no paper trail following me around. On land I am able to get around most anywhere with no issues, however crossing an ocean is a little more difficult.

"Our two previous Christmases were spent in less-than-idea conditions. So near the end, even if I had to beg, borrow, or steal, I knew I would let nothing keep me from getting home in time for Christmas. I saw a timetable that this ship was due into port early morning on Boxing Day. I just hope and pray we get close enough before Christmas ends."

A couple details here and there didn't quite make sense entirely, but the trust I felt from him meant it didn't really matter. But more than that, it was the most beautiful and sad story I'd ever heard; as he talked and we danced, I began to cry. For the first time in my adult life, I started to feel alone.

I'd always been strong and fiercely independent. I didn't dislike the idea of having a significant other; I simply didn't have burning desire to get involved in a relationship. 'My biological clock was simply a clock... not a countdown,' I told my mother whenever she needled me about settling down. I was completely happy with my life and had absolutely no regrets.

Still, I did allow myself the thought that it would be nice to have someone waiting for me at home. Someone like Harry, perhaps? Like Harry, but not him. I couldn't fathom the idea of separating him and his wife. I smiled. Was it possible to fall in love with the idea of certain person, but not the actual person? It had to be, because on that dance floor, I was falling in love with my own Harry, just not the one in my arms.

I couldn't help myself. I leaned in close and rested my head against his shoulder. Harry had been a good dance partner, but he had been formal about it. As I leaned into him and closed my eyes, I could feel him relax finally as he leaned into me. His dancing was much more fluid now, more subtle and gentle. Like he was with a life partner instead of merely a dance partner. I think for those few moments, he was dancing with his wife instead of me.

And I was fine with that. It was the least he deserved. Maybe someday it'll be my own Harry that I'm dancing with. Maybe next Christmas night I'll be in my own home dancing the night away with someone.

Never in my life had one year away seemed so close.

As the song ended, so too did the dream. Harry stepped back, his eyes still closed. He blinked for a moment as his emerald eyes refocused on me through his glasses.

"Thank you," was all he said. I could only nod in response. The orchestra began their next song, a high-energy jazz number, and Harry led me back out to the starboard railing. We walked a few feet down the way, far enough that the dance hall was out of sight and the music began to fade away.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Harry asked of the perfectly clear night sky.

"It is," I agreed.

"Hermione loves to stargaze."

"What do you see when you look out there?" I asked.

"I see my wife," Harry replied, smiling. He then suddenly turned his head out to sea, in the direction that I knew land awaited us. He stared intently, as though if he looked hard enough he would be able to see the shore.

He looked back at me and smiled. "We're close enough now. Thank you for keeping me company today, but there is someone else whom I need to keep company now."

"What? Who?" I was confused. What was he talking about?

"Look," he said, nodding in the direction of shore. I didn't understand, but that sense of trust that he emanated convinced me I would.

"Look," he repeated. He stood behind me and put his hands on the sides of my head, directing my gaze in a specific direction.

"Look," he whispered into my ear. In my imagination, I could see a beautiful young woman sitting in a comfortable chair next to a fireplace. An old fashioned Christmas tree decorated with what looked like candles was in the background. This woman had to be his Hermione, I knew. She was reading a book. Our resemblance was more than passing and startled me. We were nowhere near close enough to be sisters, but maybe a younger cousin. Was this why he danced with me?

Harry took his hands off of me and stepped back. I was only vaguely aware of a small whirl of air behind me and a faint popping sound. My attention was still drawn in front of me because I now saw Harry walk into the image in my mind. I smiled. He was wearing the exact same tuxedo as he was now. I couldn't tear my eyes away as she jumped out of her chair and ran over to him. She leapt into his arms and they spun around in a circle and kissed.

"Harry! She's so beautiful." My trust in Harry was so complete I didn't even wonder about what I was seeing. It was just my imagination, after all. The image faded from my mind's eye as I turned around to look back at him. "The two of you are..."

He was gone.

I looked around in all directions. This was not possible. He was here, less than five seconds ago. Even if he ran, he couldn't get far enough away to be out of my sight. But now, gone, without a trace. I looked back in the direction of shore, but the image I had seen was gone too; I could not see them anymore.

I walked back into the dance hall and went over to my colleague Bill who I had seen less than ten minutes ago when I walked in with Harry.

"Did you see where he went?"

Bill looked at me in confusion. "See where who went?"

"The man I was dancing with! The man I signaled to you when we entered!"

Bill looked lost. "I'm sorry, Joanne. I don't remember seeing you with anyone."

What was Bill talking about? Had he forgotten already? I was about to remind him of our stowaway... the one I had danced with... the mystery man we had three staff meetings about... the one we had tracked moving about the ship across about thirty hours of surveillance tapes...

The tapes! I had to see them. For the first time I was scared. Not of Harry, but that I had imagined him. Either I imagined all of this, or Bill somehow magically forgot about all of it. I hurried back to the security office and replayed the tapes of the last hour. I nearly cried in relief when I saw Harry, when I saw us dancing together. I hadn't imagined him. He was real.

"Him!" I pointed out exasperatedly. Bill looked at the video footage and appeared stunned.

"I... I'm sorry... I must have been daydreaming. My mind must have been a million miles away. I swear I didn't see him with you out on the floor." Bill stared at the screen like he couldn't believe his own eyes.

"Who is he?"

Who is he? Who is he? He's Harry Potter, our stowaway, you idiot! I wanted to scream. I certainly hadn't imagined him. So, what? Had Bill... A wild thought popped into my mind.

"His name is Harry. You don't remember me talking to you about him?" I asked, curious. Three times, in three staff meetings? I added to myself.

Bill looked truly embarrassed. "No... er... no I don't. I'm sorry, Sarge," he admitted sheepishly.

'Sarge' was the nickname he sometimes called me. He knew I'd kill him if he ever called me 'Sergeant Jo Friday' a second time, so he called me 'Sarge' when a friendly nickname was needed. That he was doing it now proved he really was embarrassed that he'd forgotten about Harry. But somehow I knew it was no accident that Bill had forgotten.

"Wh.. who is he?" he asked timidly, trying to determine if there was trouble aboard ship... and if he was in the doghouse.

I thought for a moment. Whatever had happened, it had to be something special. I smiled. "Just a friend of mine. Don't worry about it. Go on back up to the party. I'll be up in a minute."

Bill turned and headed out the office door. "And stay away from the bar, you forgetful old bastard!" I called after him, as much for his benefit as my own. Bill was neither old nor did he drink, so I wanted him to know it was okay to put this incident out of him mind... and to let him know he wasn't in trouble for forgetting it the first time. I closed the door behind him and went back to the security tapes and replayed our dance one more time.

The whole thing had lasted less than ten minutes. If I added in the time I spent with him this morning and during lunch, I had had been with him for less than one hour. I had a story he'd told me but I knew virtually nothing about the details of him or his life. I had virtually nothing, yet the connection, the connection felt as though I'd known him my entire life. It was a good feeling. I smiled and returned to the party.

===

We were halfway across the Atlantic, midway through our next cruise... this time from Southampton to New York. My shift had just ended and I was relaxing in my cabin. My thoughts returned again to my mystery man from a few weeks ago. After he disappeared, I made subtle inquires among many of my staff. It was exactly the same as with Bill. Despite three staff meetings to discuss our stowaway, no one remembered him. It was like he had never even been on board. Which is exactly what he had wanted. Except for all of the surveillance tapes that showed he had been.

I thought about erasing the tapes... I knew all of the policies and procedures and how to get away with it. But then I remembered he said he was avoiding a paper trail. Accounting for "damaged" tapes would require a lot of paperwork. I'd watched those tapes enough times in the past few weeks. The image of him on them was so small I knew there was no way he could be identified from anyway. It was just best let the tapes be forgotten and filed away in some archive, never to be looked at or thought of again.

I thought about him often while we were in port in Southampton and on that journey back to New York. He never did tell me how he got on board. Considering how he had left just as mysteriously, I decided it was probably better I not know. I wondered how he was, what he was doing. He'd told me this amazing tale about his journeys in the past two years. I wondered how that adventure would end.

I closed my eyes for a moment and could see his face perfectly clearly again, though this time it was a simple memory and not that vision I'd had when I'd seen him with his wife.

Haunting. When I first met him, I'd described his face as haunting; the contradictions about him... the way he seemed old and young at the same time, innocent and experienced, energetic and tired.

As I closed my eyes, I knew his face would be haunting me for quite a while... but not in a bad way, and not in a way that would dishonor his wife.

"Beg, borrow, or steal," that's what he said he'd do to get home to his wife in time for Christmas. If what I had seen in my mind, and I sincerely hoped it wasn't just my imagination, if it was to be trusted, then I knew he had made it home in time for Christmas evening.

He told me the last he'd been with his wife before having to leave was lying with her next to the fireplace. I suspected that's how he would be spending his first night back, Christmas night... lying with his love.

A/N: This story is my interpretation of a song fic. In order to get the full effect, I ask you to read the story one more time. Reading it a second time really will make a big difference. After that, click on this YouTube link. Just sit back, close your eyes, and think of the story as you listen to the song.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XPLgYLvAyp4

If you enjoy the song, I also ask that you consider spending 99¢ and buying it to keep for yourself.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!