The next few days passed in a blur for Oliver.

He felt more like a breed of cattle than a human being as he and dozens of other prisoners were loaded onto shipping containers and transported across the waters to Europe. The only cognition that they were indeed at sea was the swelling and crashing of the enclosed box. Almost everyone inside of it was sick, which was not helped by the fact that none of them had any stomach contents left to throw up. None of them were fed for at least 48 hours and even then it was only bits of bread and a hose shooting water inside the container at them. The quick ones were able to open their mouths and lap up the life saving liquid. Others weren't so lucky, and some did not survive the journey.

It was the first time since his capture that Oliver began to consider giving up his side. Letting the Germans in on top secret information of the allies in order to gain his freedom. The only problem was - no one was interested in listening to him now.

Somehow, he made it to Europe alive and from there he and the other surviving passengers were loaded unceremoniously onto locomotives. He tried to gain the attention of an officer but was whacked with a cane and told to shut up and get on the train.

He didn't know how long it had been, but they had lost several more people by the time they had reached their destination and he himself was beginning to feel like he could very easily fade away. In his mind though, he kept the images of Grace and Annie replaying over and over again.

The first time Annie told him she loved him. The first time he plucked up enough courage to tell Grace the same. He had made billions of dollars, achieved so much success, but nothing in his life had greater value or meant more to him than those moments, and now, they were the things that were keeping him alive.

As the truck rattled in through the gates of the prison camp, Oliver prayed that it would be enough.

…

Grace tossed and turned in bed, visions filling her subconscious mind. Visions of Oliver.

She could see him. He was stuck in the ground, covered in mud, groaning in pain and frustration, trying to free himself but unable. It was so vivid and so frightening. Grace had never seen her husband like that. Only ever dressed finely and very clean cut. To see him in that kind of state was confronting and confusing, even if it was just a nightmare.

Grace awoke with a start. It had been nearly nine months since she had watched Oliver drive away from 987 5th Avenue. Investigators had been searching tirelessly for him, but to no end and now, even they were ready to call it a day.

It was plaguing Grace constantly, that the people searching for him were giving up. She knew he wasn't dead, she knew it in her heart that Oliver was out there still - somewhere.

Perhaps the dream was him somehow trying to reach her. Grace knew it was impossible and silly to think such a thing, but after such a long time with no word at all, she was desperate for some kind of connection with her husband.

She missed him so much and each day she awoke fraught with worry and longing for him.

"Please God", she sobbed as she curled up under her blanket. "Please bring him home to me."

…

Oliver was woken by shouting voices and brightly shining torches. It had been the same every morning since his arrival at the camp.

More and more people were being brought in, the overcrowding becoming unbearable. It meant less food and less patience from the guards as well.

Laborers would be beaten and have food withheld simply for looking the wrong way at a guard. If you answered back or said something they didn't like…the consequences might be even more severe.

Sometimes Oliver swore the guards inflicted their abuse just for fun.

As he stood from his bunk, he could feel his bones creaking. He had lost so much weight that they jutted out at angles he'd not felt since he was a small boy.

He could practically feel himself wasting away. He knew that if this were to continue, he would almost certainly die.

As the workers filed out of their barracks past two watchful and intimidating guards, Oliver turned to one meekly and rasped, "I'm ready to talk."

"What did you say?" The guard glared at him.

"I-I have information about the allied plans for the war. Churchill's plans. I'm willing to share them, in return for my freedom."

Oliver's own heart sank. It was a betrayal to himself as much as it was to his side, but he knew that enough was enough. His worth was far too great to the world and he needed to get back to his family.

The guard snickered coldly at him. "You think we care about that now? You have been in our custody for many months now. Any information you have would be irrelevant."

Oliver's feeling of dread worsened even more at the guard's words, panic instantly setting in. "Please!" He barked. "I have money, lots of money."

The guard's eyes raised to him, his interest piqued.

"I'll get you as much as you want. For yourself or for your…party", his top lip curled upwards sourly. "It's up to you and I won't ask questions. I will need your help though, to arrange it."

The guard stared at him in contemplation for several minutes before dragging him around the back of the block by his scruff.

"Carry on with your work today. I'll come and fetch you tonight."

Oliver nodded shakily, hoping the man, who was a good ten years younger than Oliver himself, was not simply going to make him fret all day and then draw and quarter him or something of the equivalent, later that night.

Oliver rejoined the other prisoners, his apprehension heightened more than it had ever been before.

…

A week later, Grace sat at the dining table with Annie and Gordon. It was term break and they had come over to join Grace for lunch.

Annie had accepted Gordon's proposal gladly, but had insisted on holding off on the wedding until her Dad was back home to walk her down the aisle - she still adamantly believed he was alive.

Gordon was understanding, though he wasn't quite sure if there would be a wedding at all if Annie's Father had his say.

Despite the weight that still hung in the air, the three of them were trying to enjoy each other's company and a pleasant meal together.

"Mrs. Warbucks", Drake came jogging into the room. "Marriner Eccles on the telephone for you." He looked as confused as Grace felt.

"Marriner Eccles?" She asked him questioningly, wondering why the Chair of The Federal Reserve would be calling her.

She walked with him to the office and picked up the phone. "Mr. Eccles? This is Mrs. Warbucks."

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Warbucks. I'm calling this afternoon in regards to some rather unusual activity going on in your company's bank accounts which I'm hoping you may be able to shed some light on."

Grace's brow furrowed. "What unusual activity are you referring to exactly?"

"Earlier today, a request was made via telephone call from an undisclosed location in Austria for a wire transfer to be sent from the business account of Warbucks Industries to a private Polish Narodowy Bank Account."

Grace's head was spinning over what Eccles had just told her. Her first thought was that they had been stolen from.

"Who made the request?" She asked him anxiously.

"Well, that's the most highly unusual part, Mrs. Warbucks. The request was allegedly made by your husband."

Grace nearly dropped the phone.

Her heart thumping rapidly, she took a seat quickly at the desk where she and her husband once sat together.

"A-allegedly? Has it not been confirmed that it was him?" She tried to conceal the excitement and desperation in her voice.

"Well, the sender provided the answers to every account query and security measure we have in place, and the signature on the telegram is an exact match to your husband's."

Grace let out an involuntary wail. Once she'd calmed down a bit, she asked. "Who is the recipient?"

"A Mr. Lech Brückner."

Grace's brow furrowed. "That name is not familiar to me."

"I see, well, that gives me a slightly greater cause for concern. Mrs. Warbucks, as both you and Mr. Warbucks are signatories on the accounts for Warbucks Industries, I will need your sign off on the release of these funds. If you do not know who the recipient is, I must alert you to the risks involved."

Grace paused for a moment to consider everything. Perhaps Oliver had been captured and forced to sign the telegram, tortured for his banking information, and if he had provided that information under duress, there was nothing to say that he wouldn't be killed immediately after the transaction had gone through.

Still though, it gave her hope that her husband was alive, the first sign of hope in many months, and if this money could, by any small chance be a way of bringing him home, then by golly she was going to make it happen.

"You have my authorization, Mr. Eccles."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure", she answered resolutely.

"I'll make sure the money is sent as swiftly as possible, Ma'am."

"Thank you, and thank you for the call."

"You're welcome. All the best to you, Mrs. Warbucks."

"Thank you, and to you."

Grace hung up the phone, her head spinning. Could Oliver really be alive? And if he was, where had he been for the past eight months that had left him unable to communicate with anyone? What danger was he in now? The last thought was the most troubling one of all.

She desperately wanted to run back into the dining room and tell Annie that her Father was alive but she knew she couldn't get her daughter's hopes up when there was no certainty that he himself had sent the wire transfer, and even less certainty that they would be reunited with him.

Still, she couldn't hold the news alone. On shaky legs, she bolted out into the foyer and called for Drake.

"Yes, Madam?" Drake approached her, looking at her intently, curious to know what her phone call had been about.

"Come with me, please, Drake."

The dutiful butler followed her through the mansion and into the kitchens.

"Mrs. Pugh, might I borrow you please?"

Mrs. Pugh lifted her eyes from the bread she was kneading to look up at Grace.

"Well yes, Mrs. Warbucks, you certainly may. Tilly, could you continue this, please?" She asked her young scullery maid, brushing the flour off her hands onto her apron before following Grace and Drake out the back door, into the courtyard where they could speak privately.

"Mr. Warbucks is alive!" She all but shouted at them as they congregated together.

"What? How do you know?"

"Have you heard from him?"

Both Drake and Mrs. Pugh looked stunned and hopeful.

"No, not exactly", Grace conceded. "But this morning, a telegram was received by the Federal Reserve requesting a wire transfer from our bank account to an account in Poland."

"Poland? Who could be there that he would want to send money to?" Drake asked.

"I don't know, I don't even know if it really is him, or if he's been forced to make the transfer, but I do know that, at least up until very recently, Mr. Warbucks was alive", she burst into tears and Mrs. Pugh immediately wrapped her arms around her, Drake also placing a comforting hand on her arm.

Mrs. Pugh squeezed her gently. "Are you going to tell Annie?"

She shook her head as she let the cook go. "I don't think I should. Not yet anyway, not until I'm sure that he's still alive and safe."

"Thank you for telling us", Drake said sincerely, his eyes also filling with tears.

Grace was so overcome with emotion. She touched each of them on the cheek and whimpered. "You are both dear, dear friends. Thank you for always being here for us."

"We always will be", Mrs. Pugh promised her. "And no matter how long it takes, we will always keep faith that Mr. Warbucks will return home to us."

Grace shared a heartfelt and grateful smile with them both.

…

"The money's come through", Bruckner stepped into stride alongside Oliver as he was returning to his barracks after a grueling day of work. He pointed his gun into Oliver's side. Oliver instantly froze, thinking Bruckner was about to shoot him, but the gun was not fired and the guard pulled him along with him by the arm and dragged him to the south end of the camp.

They were hidden from view, surrounded by trees. "Go on Yank, you're free, now run."

Oliver looked back at the guard, but instead of taking off quickly, he said quietly to him. "You could have asked for more money for your comrades, but you only took for yourself. It might simply be that you're only looking out for your own interests, but I don't think you really believe in what this party stands for. I don't think you want to be here either."

The guard sneered. "I could still shoot you, you know. Now get out of here."

It might have been foolish, but Oliver felt if he could change the heart of one man, perhaps the last few months of hell might be worth it.

"It's not too late to change the side of history you're to be on. You have all the money you could ever need. You're free as well."

The man's face changed as he loosened the grip on his gun.

Oliver took off as fast as he could. His legs were weak and his body so malnourished that walking was difficult, let alone trying to run, but as he trudged through the forest, he kept his mind focused on getting back home, back to his family, and somehow he was able to find the strength to push through.

It took hours until he was able to reach a township, and even when he did, no one seemed willing to help him. They shut the door quickly at the sight of him for fear of being punished for helping an escaped prisoner. For days he walked, trying to get somebody to help him. It was Summer and sources of water and food were very scarce.

He had gained his freedom from the camp, but with no one to give him any aid, he was still in grave danger. He lived off whatever edible food he could forage for and drank from the river. Despite it being Summer, he was still exposed to the elements day and night and with no way to bathe or stay clean, he began to develop infections from the sores and wounds he'd sustained from all his beatings during his capture.

Nine days after he had left the camp, Oliver bent down to pick up some gooseberries he had spotted in a field from the road where he'd been walking, and out of exhaustion and emaciation, he collapsed and could not get back up.

…

Grace had a newfound resilience and hope following on from the mysterious money transfer. She had asked the investigators to narrow their search to Poland, to around the area where the wire had been sent from. It turned out, there were more roadblocks than she could have imagined, due to the war and the many restrictions on communications and travel.

It was yet another frustrating and distressing situation for Grace as she grew more and more worried each day about not being able to find Oliver in time.

She sat at the end of their bed, holding their wedding photograph in her hands, her tears falling onto it. "Where are you, my darling?"

…

Oliver's eyes could barely open, but somehow he registered the sensation of a warm bed. Something he had not experienced in ten months. It was the most luxurious feeling and he could have been forgiven for believing that he had died and gone to heaven.

Then a voice of an angel spoke, not one he could understand as whatever she was saying was all in Polish, but he knew she was an angel simply by the feeling of her delicate touch and the fact that she was attempting to help him drink something. He couldn't quite identify what it was, but it made him feel so nice and warmed. Then, he realized, it was simply warm water. It had been so long since he had felt or consumed anything warm that his brain was not even able to immediately comprehend it.

With his eyes partially open, Oliver could only just make out her face. It was weathered but still very kind. She was older than him but not by too much.

As calm and relaxed as Oliver felt there with her in that room, in that nice warm bed, his objective was still very clear to him. Even in his semi-conscious state, Oliver had only one priority - to get himself home.

Weakly, he raised his hand and pointed to himself with a shaking hand. "Oliver…Warbucks."

His savior studied him closely and repeated slowly, "Oli-ver…Whoa-bucks".

"Yes", he croaked, before he passed out again on the bed and darkness consumed him once more.

…

Having another avenue of hope had somehow made Grace even more desperate to find her husband. With each day that passed, she grew more and more frantic. In her heart, she knew it was because of the increased likelihood that he had been used for access to their finances before being killed.

The hope she had felt over him being alive and well enough to send money very quickly turned to dread over what that really meant.

It had been weeks since the phone call from Mr. Eccles, and she had not been able to sleep soundly for any one of the nights since then. Now, she lay in her bed, restlessly, thinking, praying for the life of her husband.

An urgent knock sounded on her door, startling her. Her heart instantly leapt up into her throat. "Yes?" She called out.

Drake burst in through the door of her bedroom. His face was flushed from crying, and from running all the way upstairs to tell her - "Mrs. Warbucks…Grace…They've found him."

…

After a lot of logistical organization and a challenging full day flight, Oliver Warbucks arrived in New York inside a Lockheed Model 14 aircraft which had been sent personally by President Roosevelt to collect him and bring him home.

Oliver was flitting in and out of consciousness as he was wheeled into Bellevue Hospital's emergency department.

When he had been rescued by the kindly Polish woman, he had developed sepsis and therefore, flying him back to America had been risky. He had been held at a treatment center in Warsaw until it was safe enough to transport him home.

Now, ten months after leaving, he was back on American soil, but although out of immediate danger, he was still far worse off than when he left and would have a long road of recovery ahead of him.

The lights and sounds of the hospital were all a blur until he heard the most wonderful sounds on Earth - the voices of his wife and daughter.

"Oliver…Oliver, my darling!"

"Daddy!"

He opened his eyes enough to see the looks of pure relief and joy on their tear-stained faces.

Although it may have been preceded by horrific circumstances, Oliver couldn't help but smile at the welcome home he had always wanted.

…

A/N: If you're still reading - thanks for sticking with me, folks.

Next chapter will be the last.

Peace and love,
Renee.