Grace was up before the sun, too nervous to allow herself to rest for long. Like the night before, the only reason she'd allowed herself to do so in the first place was so she could function at least somewhat normally, but as soon as the clock struck five am and it was more acceptable to be up and out, she got dressed. There were only a few hotels Oliver would go to while he waited for the ships to depart. Anyone who knew him knew he had standards, and Grace, thankfully, had struck luck being his secretary, because she could march up to the front desk of the establishments and say with almost full certainty which room he had booked.

Of course, this thought also brought back the guilt. Why hadn't she considered following behind him before Annie? Why hadn't it been her first course of action when he'd failed to show up at lunchtime?

Because you never expected him to be gone for this long, that's why.

And what if he doesn't want to see you?

This particular thought began gnawing at her as Saunders started driving her towards the Savoy. This was the most likely of the hotels for him to be at, so she was praying she got lucky on her first try, but she was also somewhat hoping she'd have to search elsewhere, if only so she could have more time to better prepare. Oliver had been so… not Oliver the other night in her room. She'd seen glimpses of the broken little boy still living within him several times over the years, but never as prominently as before his departure. He'd been haunted. All his demons, they were forcing their way to the forefront of his mind, and hearing him talk in such a way about himself, she came to the realization all his confidence was nothing but a façade. He was great at business deals, nobody could deny as much. But when it came to speaking to other people, to letting himself open up to them, he froze. His exterior was a raw, gruff businessman who had no emotions. Internally, though, he was that ten-year-old kid who'd just watched his brother pass away in front of him.

He was terrified. He was terrified of a genuine, happy life.

What if she came to him, and she demanded he come back with her, and he refused?

What if she wasn't enough to convince him he was what she needed?

"The Savoy, Miss Farrell," Saunders said now, quickly shaking her out of her thoughts as the Duesenberg halted in front of the doors. He glanced over his shoulder at her, nodding as though in encouragement, and she sighed.

"Let's hope he's here," she replied, grabbing her purse so she could get out. "Thank you for getting up so early with me."

The man smiled, a rarity for him. "It's well worth seeing you like yourself again."

She just gave a tiny grin of her own, opening the door and sighing. Nodding at Saunders, she got out of the car, walking into the hotel's lobby and marching straight to the front desk.

"There should be a reservation under the name 'Warbucks'," she told the man behind the desk. "My employer, Oliver Warbucks. I need the key to the room—there's an urgent matter I must discuss with him."

The man's eyes widened at once at the mention of Oliver's name, something she was tempted to smirk at. It came in handy, having such a high-profile name to toss out. Seldom few people wanted to stand in her way whenever she did, and here, when she'd otherwise be questioned about why she needed this done at such an early hour, the man quickly began flipping through his records book, hands trembling as though afraid he'd make a mistake.

"Is-is it perhaps under a different name?" he asked after a moment, the nerves radiating off of him. "I don't have a 'Warbucks' here."

"Who is occupying the presidential suite, if I may ask?"

"Uh…" the man continued flipping through the pages. "I have a 'J. Farrell'. No first name."

Immediately, tears sprang to her eyes. She wasn't sure why she was surprised he'd used a pseudonym, but the fact he'd stolen her last name, to go right behind his brother's first initial…

He was clearly missing her just as much as she missed him.

She only hoped that was enough to get him to come without much convincing.

"That's the name he uses when he doesn't want people to know where he is," she said, smoothing her hand over her dress. "He takes it from me—Grace Farrell." She smiled a little. "May I have the key?"

He just stared at her, still mesmerized to be dealing with someone so important. Nodding, fumbling as he started searching through the keys behind him, he grabbed the spare and held it out to her. She nodded.

"I appreciate your help," she said, reaching into her purse and pulling out a twenty-dollar bill. She slid it onto the top of the desk. "Especially at such an early hour."

Now, the man looked as though he was going to pass out. His hands still trembling, he lifted the bill, shining it to the light so he could make sure it was real. Then, he bowed to her. "You're too kind, ma'am."

"I assure you, I am not," she laughed. "Thank you again."

She started towards the elevator with this, smiling to herself as she continued to watch the man stare at the bill. He remained that way even as she stepped in and the doors shut behind her, and she sighed, hoping she'd have as much success with Oliver. It was strange, really. Even as his employee, even when she'd taken matters into her own hands in a way she knew he wouldn't be thrilled with, she'd never been quite this nervous to face him. Then again, the stakes hadn't been so high then. It was just a job when she was his secretary. Of course, it was a job that changed her whole life, but there weren't children and an entire life riding on her decision. Now, if she said the wrong thing, she could lose him forever.

But she couldn't very well just let him make a mistake such as this. She had to fight, as hard as she could.

Making her way towards the doors leading into the presidential suite, she let out another breath, shaking her head. She just had to go in. Go in, and act as though nothing had happened. She could deal with his stubbornness, of course—she had for years up to now. Stakes, be damned. She couldn't focus on those; she just had to get him back to the mansion.

She turned the key in the door, hands trembling, then stepped in only to be immediately met with the sight of the man who'd caused her so much turmoil over the past thirty-some odd hours. And, oh, how he looked awful.

It was a sitting room that the presidential suite opened into. There were several chaise loungers, a table, a couch, and a kitchenette for making coffee and having breakfast snacks. Oliver, however, had turned the coffee area into a place for about as much alcohol as he could feasibly handle. There were half-filled bottles lining the counter, and as he kept his head down on the table, he had his hand clutched around a glass of brandy. The smell in the air was quite potent, and at once, she felt her stomach twist. This sight was far too reminiscent of those last few years of her father's life, and she was tempted, at once, to run. Instead, though, she stepped forward slowly, reaching out to place a hand on Oliver's arm. He'd yet to notice her—but when she made contact, he jumped, the glass in his hand dropping to the floor.

"Bloody hell!" he yelled at her, eyes wild until he realized who his company was. "Grace," his voice softened. "What on earth are you doing here?"

She glanced around the room. "What on earth are you doing?"

He paused, as though unsure of what his answer was. Shaking his head, he grabbed another glass, starting to fill it with brandy. "I'm waiting to depart," he said. "I figured I may as well pass the time some better way than just being alone with my thoughts, if that's alright with you." He blinked, then glanced back at her. "How did you get in here? I never told you where I was."

"J. Farrell?" she smirked a little. "You had to know I was going to come searching for you."

He laughed, bitterly. "I'd hoped you'd be smart enough not to. I'd hoped you'd realize it was time to cut your losses," he shook his head. "I'm a bloody mess, why are you subjecting yourself to this again?"

She pulled out the chair beside him, taking his hand as she sat. "Annie misses you terribly," she whispered. "I do, as well, but it's nothing compared to her. She's heartbroken."

He shook his head. "She'll realize this was better for her in the long run," he said. "I am not father material."

"I didn't fight with you as much as I should've the other night," she started caressing her thumb against his cheek. "Oliver, I know you have a lot of ugly stuff in your past. I do, too—my childhood was not as happy as I like to think it was." She sighed. "That stuff doesn't have to define us, you know that, yes? Just because your parents hurt you when you were younger, doesn't mean you'll hurt Annie."

"I have already, haven't I?" he scoffed. "You said it yourself—she's heartbroken."

"Yes, because she knows you're not giving her nearly as much credit as you should," she kissed his cheek. "Oliver. You are one of the only adults in this entire world that she trusts. She wouldn't have come to that conclusion without having good reason, don't you think? If she can see the good in you, why can't you see it in yourself?"

"She's a ten-year-old," he waved his hand dismissively. "I've been kind to her, is all. She doesn't see me for who I am."

"But I do," she shook her head. "I've been there for all your outbursts over the years. I've loved you, anyways. You are kind and perfect, Oliver. Maybe you make mistakes, but don't we all? Does that mean everyone should lock themselves away in exile? Just because we don't always get along?"

He sighed, taking a sip of the brandy. "I cannot give you the happiness you deserve," he said. "I'm too closed off. You'll always be wanting more."

"I don't believe that. All I've wanted, ever since I started really getting to know you, is you, Oliver. I'm not going to want more, I'll already have my biggest wish fulfilled. And, if you're closed off at the beginning, we'll sort through that together. You can't heal by yourself. If you go back to England, it'll just get worse, believe me on that. If you come back home with me, we can make this better. I promise, I won't let you hurt as much."

He took in a shuddery breath, looking at her. "I can't."

"Why?" she kissed his cheek again. "Why won't you let yourself have something that's good? You deserve it, don't you believe that? After all this time alone, don't you believe you're worthy of being with someone?"

"You want to adopt all the children," he said, regretfully. "I can't take care of them, not like they need."

"I don't believe that, either. Will it be a learning curve? Absolutely. We'll have to sort through how we handle the younger ones compared to the older ones, and sure, maybe some days will be better than others. But, we'll be together. That's the important part. Any obstacles we come across, we can face them as a team."

He looked at her. "What if I only pass on the worst parts of me? My temper, my stubbornness? What if they're unhappier because I'm in their lives?"

"They won't be," she promised. "The good thing, Oliver? You're aware of what you don't want to pass along. You'll be extra cautious so they don't see those parts. You've already made such a difference with Annie. You should've seen her when she came to talk with me last night. She couldn't sleep, she just kept thinking about how much she missed you. You're her dad already. She specifically told me to tell you that you're the best daddy she could ever wish for." She smiled a little. "And that the other girls would be just as lucky to have you in their lives."

He let out another shuddery breath, tears brimming in his eyes. "She doesn't know what she's talking about."

"She knows more than you do, I'm afraid," Grace chuckled. "Please, let me take you home. Just come back, sleep all this off. I promise you, I won't let anything bad happen to those girls. And I won't let anything bad happen to you, either."

He stared at her. "You'd still marry me? After all of this?"

"You got scared," she shook her head, kissing his cheek again. "I can't blame you for that, I know you hurt. Just don't run away from something so good just because it's new."

He laughed. "Seven daughters is a bit more than new."

"So, maybe we're crazy," she laughed again, too. "But let's be crazy together. Alright?"

He just stared at her for a moment more. He was fighting with himself, she could see it so plainly. It was easier to run, easier to shove everything down as he had for so many years. But, easy didn't equate to happiness. If he got on the ship, he'd just continue on as he always had—with nobody by his side.

"Alright," he whispered after a moment, giving a very slight. "Okay."

"You mean it?" she smiled, tears in her eyes, too. "You'll come home?"

"How could I say no? You followed me all the way here, you're kissing me still even though I reek of brandy." He laughed. "Can I make a suggestion, though?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Depends on what it is."

"We're about to adopt seven little girls," he said, looking towards the bedroom. "Can we just stay here for a few more hours? Enjoy our peace for a little while longer?"

She smiled even wider, heart swelling at the fact he'd just agreed to it. Nodding, she gave him a proper kiss. "I think I can live with that," she agreed, and he laughed again, before pulling her into a tight embrace.

"Thank you for following me," he whispered, kissing her forehead. "Thank you for not giving up on me."

"I'm hard to get rid of, I'm afraid," she smiled. "You're stuck with me for a while yet."

He grinned, just as widely. "I think I can live with that."