A/N: Okay so here is chapter two. So, I was re-watching The Pianist the other day and I got to looking very closely at Hosenfeld, who is played by Thomas Kretschmann, and I was like, "Dude, I've seen his face somewhere else, but where?" Then it hit me, Wanted, cuz I just recently seen it for the first time. He played Cross. So, curious I checked out his profile on Wikipedia and was surprised (pleasantly) to find that he and Adrien Brody star in another movie together. Can anyone guess which one? King Kong. Yeah, Kretschmann plays the captain of the boat. So, I popped in my DVD and was like, "That's him? Why didn't I notice it before? I was always staring at the captain thinking how hot he was." I probably got distracted by the couple hundred foot tall gorilla, idk. But anyways, I got this idea in my head. What if I wrote a story about Captain Englehorn and Jack Driscoll from King Kong? Would anyone read it? Would it be worth reading? Mind you, it's just an idea, but let me know what you think. PS, it would be a slash story, I usually don't write anything but slash stories.

A few weeks after his first meeting with Wilm Hosenfeld, Szpilman was able to sneak out of the Warsaw Ghetto and roam from town to town. He spent most of his time living like a tramp and hiding from the Nazis, until he found shelter with an old family friend who took him in and let him hide at his house.

Months after Szpilman moved in with his friend, he found himself doing oddball errands for him. Szpilman supposed that it was only fair. The man was risking his life to hide Szpilman, the least he could do was run around picking up and dropping off packages and whatnot. And that is how come he was currently sneaking around, in the dark, ducking under bridges, and clutching a brown package close to his chest.

Okay, thought Szpilman, head quickly snapping left and right to see if the coast was clear before dashing across the street and into the safety that was the shadows. All I have to do is drop this package off at the back door and then be on my way home.

Szpilman felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, but they had been like that ever since he left the house. Still, he supposed, it didn't hurt to be extra careful, especially when your race was being exterminated like unwelcome rodents.

Approaching his destination, Szpilman rushed around to the back of the house and as quickly and as quietly as a soft breeze, placed the package on the back step and disappeared once more into the night.

Szpilman was slowly making his way through the scum filled streets of the city as the lights of a bar caught his attention. He would have to avoid that once he got closer. Szpilman picked up his pace, determined to get out of there as fast as possible. The night was getting colder, the wind blowing about him and making him wrap his coat tighter around him in an attempt to stave off the chill.

As Szpilman drew closer to the bar he gave it a wide berth, keeping just out of reach of the light that poured from its windows. When the door to the bar suddenly opened and Szpilman was scared that he had been made until a burly, Dutch man threw a drunken German out into the street. "You've had enough to drink," said the Dutchman in broken German. "Come back when sober."

The drunken German stumbled on his feet for a moment before righting himself and then sitting himself down on the sidewalk. The Dutch bartender quickly retreated back into his bar, letting the door slam shut behind him.

The drunken man sat quietly on the curb, head in his hands, and looking for all the world like a desolate soul. Something about the man struck Szpilman as familiar, but Szpilman just couldn't seem to remember where he had seen the man from before. Although, he also didn't get a good look at the man's face.

Something about the man was so alluring that Szpilman couldn't seem to help himself and soon found that his feet were leading him over to the man. Szpilman abruptly stopped once he saw that he had stepped into the glow of the light from the bar.

Though intoxicated, the drunk seemed to be aware of his surroundings and snapped up his head at the sound of Szpilman's boots crunching against the gravel road.

"What do you want?" The man asked, speech slurred just a bit from too much alcohol.

"Nothing. Sorry I bothered you," replied Szpilman, slowly backing away from the drunk, heading back into the cover of the dark.

"Wait!" Said the drunk, squinting his eyes up at Szpilman. "I know you."

Szpilman froze, thinking that he was done for. But as he stood there, looking down at the drunk he could have sworn that he too recognized him. But it was hard to see the man's face with the light from the bar behind him casting his back in light but shrouding his face in shadows.

Szpilman took a chance. "Captain Hosenfeld?" Szpilman questioned.

"Yes," answered Hosenfeld, "and you are that Jude from Warsaw." Szpilman could only nod his response as the shock of seeing Hosenfeld again sank in. Szpilman stepped back into the glow of the light and took in Hosenfeld's appearance. He was not dressed in his usual garb; instead he wore casual pants and a button up shirt. It was odd to see him like that, but Szpilman really had no right to criticize, he had only seen the man once before. The Captain's hair was messy, there were dark bags under his blood shot eyes, and his all-around appearance was just plain miserable looking, in fact, Hosenfeld seemed to be sending out waves of misery.

"Captain?" Szpilman asked as he opted to sit next to Hosenfeld on the curb. "What happened to you?"

"She cheated on me," sobbed Hosenfeld, eyes shining with unshed tears; not the first to be shed, Szpilman was sure. "My wife cheated on me with another man and then took the kids with her to her mother's."

"Oh. I am truly sorry," stated Szpilman, honestly.

"The worst part is," said Hosenfeld, tears flowing freely now. "I don't even know why she cheated on me."

There was nothing Szpilman could say or do. So he just sat there on the street with Hosenfeld, letting the chill of the night numb his senses.

"You never…" started Hosenfeld again, wiping the tears from his eyes using the sleeve of his shirt. "You never realize how lonely the night is until you spent some time alone in it. And I've been doing a lot of that lately."

Szpilman hummed in thought and continued to sit next to Hosenfeld, feeling he owed at least this much to the man who had saved his life. He would offer what little comfort he could the only way he knew how.

The evening fog rolled in around them and the biting chill of the night air nipped at Szpilman's ears and nose, turning them a rosy color. Szpilman was about to turn to Hosenfeld and suggest that they head home for the evening when he suddenly found himself trapped under the dead weight of the drunk and now unconscious body of Captain Hosenfeld.

Completely caught off-guard, Szpilman's first reaction was to reach out and catch Hosenfeld before he did a face-plant into the ground. So, Szpilman quickly wrapped his arms firmly around the Captain and held him upright.

Szpilman mumbled a short curse to himself when Hosenfeld's head rolled back and placed itself right on Szpilman's shoulder, making Szpilman feel slightly uncomfortable.

Szpilman let out a puff of air as he pulled Hosenfeld closer to him and muttered, "My. Captain." You could not have picked a worst time to fall asleep.

Just then Hosenfeld awoke. "What did you say?" Asked a sleepy and drunk Hosenfeld as he lifted his head off Szpilman's shoulder.

"Captain?" Questioned Szpilman, confused.

"No that's not what you said," slurred Hosenfeld, now nuzzling his nose into Szpilman's neck.

He's an affectionate drunk.

Szpilman's eyes widened at the realization of what Hosenfeld was talking about. "My Captain?" He asked meekly. Feeling that he had just got into trouble for accidentally calling Hosenfeld his. Szpilman hoped his stupidity hadn't just warranted him a bloody and broken nose.

"Yeah that," breathed Hosenfeld, breath hot as it ghosted over Szpilman's neck. Szpilman felt a blush crawling up his neck as he tried to tell himself that these were just the actions of a drunken and lonely man. That he should get him home and in bed and that in the morning he would be back to his senses.

Hosenfeld was so close that Szpilman could smell the booze wafting off his breath. And it was strong. Very strong. Szpilman knew that a drunken man was a dangerous man, so he braced himself for anything Hosenfeld threw at him. Anything except what he asked next, that was.

"Say it again," requested Hosenfeld resting his head back on Szpilman's shoulder, his deep breaths tickling the hairs on Szpilman's neck.

"What?" Asked Szpilman, weakly.

"You heard me."

"My Captain?"

"Yes." Hosenfeld had closed his eyes and for the first time that night looked peaceful. For a moment Szpilman believed him to be asleep again until Hosenfeld mumbled against his neck again, lips brushing his skin causing goose bumps to rise to the surface. "I'm tired," he mumbled. "Let's get out of here."

"Okay," Szpilman replied. "But, where do we go?"

"Anywhere but here."

"I can not drag you home with me," said Szpilman, lifting Hosenfeld to his feet, letting the man lean almost wholly against him. "Do you live nearby?"

"Yes, just a block or so down, but my house is so empty. I do not wish to stay there."

"Come on," replied Szpilman, wrapping Hosenfeld's arm around his shoulders and urging him to start walking. "Your house is closer and I will stay the night so that you won't be alone. Is that alright with you?"

"Yes," murmured Hosenfeld, sleepily, as Szpilman practically dragged his feet along.

A/N: There, what do you think?