A/N- This fic is set in the middle of the story, after R has brought Julie back to his plane and they are laying low for a couple of days, getting to know each other. I've both watched the movie and read the book and it's prequel, and in my head I've sort of meshed elements from both pieces into one big personal headcanon, which I guess is where this fic takes place. At this point in the story I don't think there are too many differences, though, so you should be able to set this in either book or movie!verse, whichever you prefer.

"There's a plane leaving for anywhere you want right now, and in an hour, and in a day, and in a year. You can get out whenever you want; it's comforting, I think." -Unknown

"Wanna get away? Why not pack your bags, grab your surfboard, and come on down to sunny Australia? With plenty of surf, sun, and sand, plus a variety of astounding wildlife, your trip is sure to create memories that will last a lifetime. So why delay? Book a flight today. We'll throw a shrimp on the barbie for ya!"

Julie giggles and drops the odd accent she had been reading in. "I can't believe someone got paid to write this!" She continues to flip through the colorful travel brochure, pausing every once in awhile to glance at the photos of happy families having a grand old time on vacation. Their faces are delighted, gleeful, and content, as if running away to another country is enough to make your forget all your troubles. Maybe it is. I wouldn't know; I've managed to forget, well, pretty much everything.

Trouble has a way of finding you, though, even when your life is technically over.

I used to go through the brochures sometimes, the way Julie is now, puzzling over the carefree people in the photographs. They looked so vibrant and alive, so different from the corpses I spend most of my time with. But Julie is something else again. She makes the advertisements look static, Dead, in comparison, even though they are surrounded by breathtaking vistas and she by the drab confines of a retired 747. Her face is animated, taking in every bit of Life around her, and in comparison I can see that their smiles, however wide, are obviously fake.

There's no shortage of brochures, easy to find when you live in an airport, and Julie tosses the Australian one aside in favor of another from the pile, this one covered in images of snowy mountains and bundled-up skiers. She makes a face. "Too cold," she decides, tossing that one away too. "I'm getting chilly just looking at them. You know, snow isn't all that fun when you actually have to live with it, day after day, and pray that the generators keep the heat coming. Plus, shoveling it is a pain in the ass. No snow. Give me a beach any day."

I shuffle through the assortment of ads and find one featuring a cruise ship sailing the open sea. With a bit of difficulty, I manage to grasp it and hand the picture over to Julie. She nods approvingly. "Not exactly a beach, but it'll do. At least there's room on deck to tan. Something you should really consider."

I glance at my pallid, gray skin and shrug. The prospect of baking in the sun doesn't sound all that appealing to me. Julie laughs and gives me an affectionate push. "Kidding, I'm kidding! Although I wouldn't mind the chance to catch some rays. I'm starting to get pasty, sitting inside all day. We should take the car out again tomorrow."

She begins to flick idly through the pile again, pulling out a brochure with animated characters on the cover and a roller coaster on the back. "I wonder if I ever went to Disneyland as a kid," she muses. "You know, before the... crisis. I mean, I know we did everyday fun things, went to the park, the movies, that sort of thing, but I don't remember ever going to an amusement park. We might've gone, though. Sometime before I was old enough to remember."

Julie frowns; her piercing blue eyes lose their focus and stare off into space. "I don't remember ever going on an actual, proper vacation. I don't think I've ever even left the country. Well, we tried to get into Canada that one time, and look how that turned out."

She laughs, but it is a hollow laugh, a last-ditch effort to chase away bad memories. It doesn't seem to work.

"And of course we spent about two years driving around the country in that old SUV; I guess you could call that a road trip, sort of. We played the usual games, the Alphabet game, I Spy, tried to pretend everything was normal. Well, Mom and I did, at least. But it's not like we could pull over and have a burger for lunch, or take a detour to see the World's Biggest Ball of Twine. And the destination kept changing, getting pushed out farther and farther until finally we had to stop because there was no place left to go. So I don't think it really counts."

She shifts, turning to track the movement of a mobile I hung from one of the overhead compartments. Tiny paper planes twist in a slight breeze. "Mom used to talk about how there was a plane leaving every minute; how, no matter how bad it got, you could always just take off and make a brand new start. Of course, we never actually did that, but it was nice to have the option, you know?" She closes her eyes, effectively shutting out the rest of the world. "Now all we have are walls."

I don't know what to do. Julie is drawing away inside her mind, retreating to the one place I've sworn never to invade, no matter how tempting. I don't think she wants to be there, alone, right now, but I don't know how to bring her back. I don't know how to help.

"Ju...lie?"

Surprisingly, my pathetic attempt to rouse her works. Blue eyes flash open, suddenly more fierce and intense than I've ever seen them. "Let's go, okay, R? You and me. Let's take this plane and fly somewhere we've never been. Go to Africa on a safari, tour Europe, see if Venice has sunk into the ocean yet. Let's take a vacation."

Okay. Now I'm nervous. I mean, it's not like I wouldn't love to take off and tour the world with this beautiful girl; she could ask me to fly to Mars and I'd happily comply. But this is one feat I'm not sure I can realistically pull off. Sure, I've made my home in a jet, but that doesn't mean I actually know how to fly it. I can barely drive the convertible. Hell, I can barely walk in a straight line.

Julie must notice the alarm in my expression, because she laughs and says, "Not in real life, obviously. I mean pretend. Imagine. You understand?"

And I do, although it's hardly surprising that I didn't at first. The Dead don't pretend. We don't imagine anything more than the next meal. But I can try, at least. For Julie, I can try.

"...Yes."

She grabs one of the larger brochures and unfolds it all the way, revealing a map of the world. "You choose, okay? Just close your eyes and point, and wherever your finger lands, that's where we'll go." I nod, close my eyes, and stab blindly in the direction of the map. When I feel paper beneath my fingertip, I open my eyes to see where we've landed.

It's the middle of an ocean.

Julie's laugh rings throughout the cabin again. "I don't the airplane can land in the middle of the Pacific, R. I guess we could try taking that cruise ship instead. Or..." Her eyes light up, catching sight of something behind me. She takes my hand and guides it a few centimeters to the right, so that instead of landing in a watery grave we arrive at a small group of islands. "Perfect." As I try (and fail) to make out the name of our vacation destination, Julie scrambles off the floor and makes her way to the back of the cabin. "Wait right here."

I rise and stare after her, curious. She returns with a loop of fake flowers strung together, and with great ceremony places it around my neck. "Aloha," she says grandly, "and welcome to the beautiful, sunny islands of Hawai'i!" Like any good tour guide, she smiles widely, and I attempt to smile back, although privately don't think this necklace really suits me.

Something sparks, then, some kind of memory, and I wander over to a box of assorted odds and ends. Ah ha! Reaching inside, I pull out a small figurine of a girl wearing a long green skirt and a similar flower necklace. I knew I'd seen it before. I place the tiny figure on an armrest, and Julie grins, flicking it with her finger. The girl starts to sway side to side, as if dancing.

"Perfect! We've got entertainment. Now we just need some music... let's see..." Julie starts going through my box of records, glancing at each one critically. I continue to stare at the figurine, mesmerized. I didn't know she could dance.

Finally Julie chooses a record. "It's not exactly Hawai'i specific, but it's beach themed, I guess. Close enough." She sets the needle, and the music begins to play.

Somewhere, beyond the sea,
Somewhere, waiting for me,
My lover stands on golden sands
And watches the ships that go sailing.

Swaying in time with the music, Julie visits the refreshment cabinet, and returns with a plastic cup filled with wine. For some reason, she's added a tiny paper umbrella to her drink. I stare at it quizzically, but all she says is, "I figured if we're going to take a beach vacation I might as well go all out."

She takes a seat and motions for me to sit next to her. "Make your seat go back," she instructs, leaning back in her own chair. "That's what you do on vacation; you relax." I comply and start to recline, watching Julie carefully for any more cues.

She closes her eyes. This, I gather, is how she imagines. "I have actually been to the beach once or twice. The ocean smells salty. Kind of like tears, but stronger, and it's a good smell. And the waves crash on the shore, hissing as they rush back out into the water. Can you see it, R? Can you hear it?"

I close my eyes and try to join her there. I picture a scene from one of the brochures, a sunlit beach with sparkling waves, and I try to see them moving, to hear whatever it is that Julie hears, but the image quickly falls apart. I have no memory of the ocean, no idea what sand feels like, and the only salty liquid I've ever come into contact with is blood. Not exactly vacation material.

Still, I keep my eyes closed. I've never listened to waves, but I can hear Julie breathing rhythmically beside me, in and out, in and out. Somehow I know that waves, too, go in and out, and maybe this is close enough. Maybe this is better. It's a good sound, a relaxing sound, and if this is what vacations are like I can see why people were so eager to take them.

Sometime later, after the wine is gone and the record has run down, Julie stirs and turns to me. "You know, R, imaginary trips to Hawai'i aside, this really has been kind of like a vacation. No school, no work, no salvage runs, just... relaxing. Sort of. I mean, okay, the scenery isn't all that great," she says, nodding towards the window and the wandering Dead outside, "but the company has been fantastic."

I feel a pang of pleasure somewhere in my chest, although I know it can't have come from my long-still heart. "R-really?"

"Really," she says with a gentle smile. "Thanks, R." She slips past me and curls up on the floor in a pile of blankets, headed for dreamland.

Quietly, I select another record to play her to sleep. Summerwind by Sinatra is calm and peaceful, and appropriately, it fits with our beach theme for tonight.

The summer wind, came blowin' in from across the sea
It lingered there, to touch your hair and walk with me
All summer long, we sang a song and then we strolled that golden sand
Two sweethearts, and the summer wind

As I listen to the plaintive notes of the song and will myself to follow Julie into unconsciousness, something else occurs to me. Something troubling.

Because Julie is right. These past few days have been like a vacation, a reprieve from ordinary existence. It's been exciting, and frightening, and wonderful. It's been perfect. But that's the thing about vacations. By definition, they are temporary. Eventually, real life sets back in.

And eventually, you have to go home.

Like painted kites, those days and nights they went flyin' by
The world was new, beneath a blue umbrella sky
Then softer than, a piper man, one day it called to you
I lost you, I lost you to the summer wind.