I've had this account forever and I just always seem to come back to it. Sorry for the hiatus on some of my other works. Life happens. I'm gonna give it another go though; hope you'll give it a try. I've always loved Titanic. Gonna try a story on for size. Please picture the character of Thomas Andrews as anyone you like. I have someone specific in mind, but it's not the actor from the movie. Though I do love Victor Garber…don't get me wrong. He's just not what I picture here. Also I write in my own formats. Line breaks usually indicate thought shift.

I don't own the Cameron characters or plot line, obviously. Everything else is my imagination (and I'll take a lot of liberties. Like, a lot. Don't get mad. I will rewrite history. Ha!) As always, reviews are appreciated!

Enjoy!

-Nico

The air was colder than it should have been for April. The wind pulled at Rose's wide brimmed hat, causing her gloved hand to rise to steady it on more than one occasion. Truth be told, she would rather have flung the damn thing into the ocean but mother's watchful eye prevented her from acting in such a manner-if only to spare herself the inevitable lecture.

She stood outside of the hired car that had brought them to the shores of the English channel. Her fiancé hovered nearby, making comments that weren't very imaginative but nevertheless agreed with by the people around him. Especially mother. Her eyes shined as she laughed at his stupid jokes and agreed vigorously with whatever he was saying.

If she didn't know better, Rose would have thought she was gaining a stepfather instead of a husband.

She smiled despite herself, her gaze rising again to the large vessel before her. Lord, it was enormous. Menacing, almost. Cal had purchased fare aboard the colossus to celebrate the decision to move to America for an indeterminate length of time. He had ideas for investments, it seemed. And he seemed quite sure of himself. Not that Rose or her mother had any choice in the matter of their departure. They were destitute. Cal was their key to remaining in high society. To Ruth, this was the only way.

To Rose, this was a death sentence.

Yet she remained stoic. She smiled and nodded, concentrating her efforts on maintaining her posture lest they overwhelm her desire to scream from the top of her lungs. She took his offered arm when it came time to board the ship, trying not to let the looming figure of the vessel frighten her. She ignored the lapping of the water beneath her feet as they walked the plank into the most beautiful ship any of them had ever seen.

Thomas Andrews was late. His watch had once again stopped working and he had lost himself in the bowels of his ship once again. It seemed there was always a bolt that needed tightening; paint that needed smoothing out. He just noticed that two of the emergency dampers in the third coal room were malfunctioning. Assembling a crew to address the problem was near impossible-what with all the excitement of departure. The process had taken far longer than expected.

And now, he was late.

He could tell because the firemen were already shoveling coal at a frenzied pace, feeding the boilers with increasing speed.

Departure was eminent.

He hurried though the web of crew tunnels, wiping the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief and retying his tie in an attempt to look respectable as he went. He smiled at each crew member he passed, greeting most of them by name. He stopped just once-to close a janitorial closet door that had been left slightly ajar. Finally, after what seemed an eternity of weaving through passengers and climbing stairs, he reached the boat deck. Relieved to see they had not yet shoved off, he walked beneath the bridge giving a half wave to Captain Smith who nodded back in reply. Thomas had a ritual of standing on the boat deck during departure. Whether Captain Smith knew this and held off giving the order to depart or not Thomas didn't know, but he wouldn't have been surprised. The old man secretly loved poetic moments. And this was certainly one.

Thomas eased into a quiet spot, resting his forearms on the railing of his beloved creation. The years, he thought, chuckling as he always did when reflecting on the true-to-its-namesake project he had agreed to when designing Titanic. This movable giant was the culmination of nearly two decades of tutelage. His very blood and tears lived in the polished wood that gleamed beneath his feet now.

The sun was high in the sky-it was just after noon. The light played on the water, the sea air ruffling through his slightly long, dark hair. He felt at home on the sea. At peace. His stomach bubbled at excitement over the forthcoming journey, just as it had done when he was a child, accompanying his father and grandfather on maiden voyages upon creations of their own.

And what a reward, he mused, to celebrate the completion of the most incredible ship known to man with a journey upon her very back on the open sea.

Thomas smiled broadly, his full lips parting to reveal even, white teeth.

Life was good.

Rose didn't feel the ship begin to make its way down the English Channel , but she did notice that the scenery on the horizon was moving as she tried to busy her mind with directing the maids. She had learned that if she appeared busy, Cal mostly ignored her. It was only when she appeared to think that he was bothered to notice her. Usually with a scathing comment or condescending dismissal.

She imagined that if she could just figure out a way to appear busy for the rest of her life, she may never have to speak to him again.

So she busied her maids about, giving the frivolous requests expected of the upper class. She only found a moment to herself-one moment to savor-as she stood alone on her private promenade deck. The sun was suddenly strong on her face, caressing it in a way nothing else could. The sea smelled strong and clean. The air was a sharply contrasting brisk against the warmth on her face.

For just a moment, she stood-almost smiled-as she indulged in the sensations, forgetting for the most fleeting of seconds her current state of affairs.

But of course, reality came to knock in the form of her mother, who was urgently requesting Rose change from her traveling clothes, even though they had been on her body for less than three hours. Rose nodded mutely, following her mother back to the bustle of their private chambers.

After several promises to hurry and two requests to dress alone, Rose closed the door of her private quarters. She leaned against the door, exhaling a breath that she had been holding since before they had left for Southampton. Her fingers mindlessly went to the intricate peal buttons that trailed down the bodice of her gown. She worked silently until she stood in her chemise and corset. Silently, she pulled the pins from her hair and placed them one after the other with punctuated 'plinks' onto her vanity. She ran her fingernails across her scalp, massaging away the tension her tight up-sweep had caused. Cascades of red hair fell down her back as she sat in front of the huge mirror, surprised that she looked as good as she did considering how she felt inside.

Not surprisingly, she heard the other door in her chamber stir and open. Cal slinked inside, a small smile playing upon his lips. He slowly walked up behind her as she busied herself with reapplying her lipstick. She felt his fingers brush down against her bare shoulder and then down her arm as he leaned in behind her.

"You look beautiful, darling," he purred. She could smell a hint of brandy on his breath. He was most assuredly halfway to being drunk, as usual.

"Thank you, Cal," she replied, knowing the acidity in her tone was lost on him.

"Will you come to me tonight?" He asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"I would imagine not, Cal," she said, eyeing his reflection in the mirror. "There is absolutely nothing private about these chambers."

Once again her sarcasm was lost on him. "I shall wait in my quarters for you. Knock once your mother is asleep."

Rose sighed. "I shall try, Cal," she replied as she always did, delaying the inevitable excuse for why she did not come. Mother had woken. She suddenly developed one of her "terrible headaches." The maids were midnight polishing again.

She ignored the nagging knowledge that she could only put himself off for so long, and that soon-as his wife-she would have no choice but to go to him.

She shuddered inwardly as he dropped a kiss on her shoulder and winked at her mirror image before quietly leaving her room. He disgusted her. And he was hers forever.

Not that she expected he would remain faithful. She had already caught him with the niece of a business associate of his and two maids. He indulged in the drink and forgot himself too often to truly be the gentleman he pretended he was. Beneath his perfectly groomed hair, the sweet smelling cologne and the finest clothing money could buy lay a snake who was simply biding his time before he struck out against his next victim.

What sort of life could she expect to enjoy with this man? This man who had already struck her once and threatened a dozen times. What kind of father would he be? What kind of friend? Rose fought back the tears that always stung at her eyes as she thought of these things-and mourned what felt like her own death.

She dressed rather quickly, not wanting to see her reflection in the mirror for a moment longer than she had to. She barely noticed the dress she selected, with all its delicate white lace and mauve silks. Before opening her door, she straightened her shoulders and slowed her gait, replacing her somewhat panicked expression with the mask of indifference that she had so carefully cultivated.

Ruth was already twittering about tea time in the much gossiped about Palm Court aboard ship. Cal agreed gallantly that their presence was required of their stature; something that Rose knew made Ruth positively gleeful. Cal promised to meet them at tea right after he met with the other gentlemen of the first class for a celebratory cigar. He excused himself with false propriety. Rose smiled and nodded again, always quiet, always contained. As Ruth began giving the orders for the placement of the contents of their luggage, Rose approached her gracefully. "I will be taking some air, Mother," she said. "Trudy will chaperone," she added before Ruth could remind her of the importance of appearance. Ruth nodded.

"Very well," she acquiesced, too busy in her lectures to the maids to lecture Rose. "Twenty minutes. Don't dawdle. "

Trudy obediently followed behind her mistress as she quickly swept from the room in a gentle flutter of silks.

Once on the promenade, Rose turned to her favorite maid and handed her a few coins. "Trudy, why don't you go find yourself a cup of coffee," she whispered, winking. Trudy smiled, thankful for the flighty nature of her employer's fiancée. She would repay the young woman with her silence. Besides, she felt slightly bad for the girl. Cal Hockley was an arrogant, cheating, abusive bastard, though the middle aged maid would never dare say so aloud.

Once she was alone, Rose walked to the back of the ship, taking the time to try and calm her nerves with gulps of the sea air. Her insides churned with negative emotions. She steadied herself by placing her hands on the gorgeously polished rails, the material cold under her gloved fingers. She felt the winds rip at the silks of her skirts and wraps, lifting them and lowering them around her. She imagined herself as a ghost, floating free above the foaming waters below, weightless and carefree.

And that was where Thomas first saw her. A deck below as he walked to descend from the boat deck. Her back rigidly straight, her red hair swirling around her in the same underwater dance as her skirts. She was alone, a solitary spirit against a bright, sunlit sea. He felt compelled to edge closer, to watch as her slender form remained perfectly still. He was nearly eight feet above her, yet her gentle floral perfume caressed his nose and he could clearly see the gentle plush of her lips as her silhouette was crisp against the ocean's back drop. Her form was the perfect soft curve of femininity, and Thomas felt himself respond automatically. It had been an eternity since he had noticed a woman, and here the universe was seemingly presenting him with the perfect specimen, an angel sent directly to him.

She turned just then, as if she sensed he was watching. Her face was brightly visible in the afternoon sun. Large, light eyes turned up to his, the dark lashes around them making them look even bigger. Her cream complexion was only interrupted by the deep red stain of her lips. Her throat was pale and delicate, traveling down to a gentle swell of bosom that disappeared beneath her bodice.

Most distracting, however, even more distracting and distressing to Thomas than all this creature's beauty, were the trails of tears that hurried down her cheeks.

Just as he thought she was about to speak…and just as he was about to himself…a dark haired man strode with aggressive footsteps behind her.

"Where is Trudy," Cal demanded.

"I wanted my muff," Rose replied, thinking quickly. "It seems to have gotten colder."

"You shouldn't be alone," Cal said tersely.

"Oh Cal, it was only for a moment," Rose replied, her eyes fixed on the horizon.

"Perhaps you didn't understand," Cal said, spinning her around by the arm a bit roughly. "You won't be alone. I do not want you wandering around this ship like some sort of whore. I want to know where you are, at all times. And I want a maid with you, at all times. Is that understood?"

Rose nodded, her eyes burning with hatred.

"Good," Cal said, releasing her arm. "Your mother expects us for tea." He offered his arm now, and Rose reluctantly took it, allowing him to lead her to Palm Court.

Thomas had almost jumped down to the deck below him when the man had grabbed the woman he had been watching. He hadn't, because it was foolish to feel so strongly so suddenly about a complete stranger. What was happening was none of his business, yet he couldn't suppress the desire to punch the man in the mouth.

He loosened his tie a bit, the anger that had bubbled up inside of him making it seem momentarily too tight.

He gazed out at the sea for a moment, lost in a thought. The man had mentioned tea. It was a interesting coincidence because usually, Thomas didn't accept invitations to tea such as the one that had been extended to him and a few other key figures on the ship by Bruce Ismay just before departure.

Usually.