A/N: Okay! Here's the sequel to Fighting Yesterday… Did you notice that this story "Forever Yours" and "Fighting Yesterday" have the initials "FY"? I Just noticed that! Anyway, I'm sorry again for posting the Fighting Yesterday chapters late… Hurricane Irene's fault not mine! Anyway

Disclaimer: I don't own Titanic

The cold wind bit at me, and my tears had iced to my face. Tommy was gone, and I just had to accept that, but it wasn't easy. The lifeboat was basically just drifting as we waited for the Carpathia to come into sight. It had been hours. Carpathia still had not come… I heard the sobs of the other woman. It was obvious their husbands hadn't survived. Maybe some had… A lot hadn't.

The Crewman, aboard the lifeboats, were flailing lights so that the Carpathia could see us. It wasn't until the crack of dawn that we had been pulled aboard the Carpathia, freezing and scared. We had forgotten what "warm" had felt like, or even what it was. Our bodies were numb with cold. Woman refused to speak… They only cried. The only words that escaped their mouths were their husbands' names. My lifeboat had been the last one, and the others were still letting people off. The Carpathia was a welcoming sight though. It didn't exactly make me happy—I don't think anything would make me happy anymore—but it was promising. I could hear the yelling of the crewman calling out for more blankets and coffee. I could see some men lifting beds in to the cabins, obviously ready to await anyone who needed the help.

Once aboard, I heard a voice, unfamiliar to me, yell, "Food! Bring me food! I don't care what it is just bring it to me!" It was Mr. Ismay. Bastard some called him for only caring about himself after the lives he had destroyed. A coward for not going down with the ship in guilt others said. From all around he received cold stares of hate from the woman and children and the very few men who survived. If I were him, I'd've jumped overboard.

I could only think of Tommy though. I wasn't angry at God, or the Titanic, or the Berg, or anyone. Except myself. Could I have prevented it? What if Jack never told us to go search the other side of the ship?

I wasn't mad at Murdoch, or Lightoller—whoever shot him—or the Captain or anyone who wasn't me. Only I could be me, therefore I was only angry at myself, and forever I would be. I didn't talk, unless directly asked, but it was usually a yes or no question, therefore I only nodded or shook my head.

I was wrapped in two thick blankets by Mr. Lightoller. I was also handed a cup of hot coffee by one of the men who worked aboard the Carpathia. Mr. Lightoller held it for me, however, because I did not grasp the cup. My hands were too numb.

My heart still felt heavy and torn. Of course my needs were lesser than that of a passenger who was rescued from the icy water.

Mr. Lightoller helped me walk for if it weren't for him, I would be lying face-down on the deck right now. Once I was inside one of the cabins, I was quickly whisked onto a bed that the Carpathia's crewman had set up. It almost looked like a hospital. People were being attended to all over. Children first, woman second, and men third.

My body was still numb, even in the thick sheets. I knew I was experiencing the painfully numb beginning of hypothermia, and I could only pray that I would get better.

I was kept awake until my body temperature began dropping back to a safe meter. My body had once again gained all feeling, but it wasn't for a long time. If I had fallen asleep, the nurse who attended to me said there was a pretty good chance my body would've shut down entirely. Once I was finally able to sleep, I had awoke feeling better than I ever had in a while. But inside, I was still yelling.

We docked in New York a while later. The air was warm, thankfully. I sat on the deck, still wrapped in the thick blankets. I was still too cold to dispose of them yet.

Around me, women and children begged the crewman for their fathers and husbands and men begged for their wives, chanting their names over and over again. It was heart-breaking, but my heart couldn't shatter any more than it already had. I tried to drown out the pain that was etched into my heart, but there would forever be a scar. I knew very well I would never be asking the crewman for the name, "Tommy Ryan."

It tore me to pieces, but he'd want me to be strong. I made a promise to myself and Tommy I would let go, but I would still hold on. I didn't have to promise to not love him.

I never said I had to stop loving you. Did I? I thought.

I walked around, observing the people who were just like me. Alone, scared, hurt. I closed my eyes, and I could still hear his laugh. I could see the way his eyes lit up everytime I was around. I could still feel his lips on mine.

I willed myself not to cry. I had to pull through. Reporters were everywhere, asking questions that never got answered. No one could speak! They were too shocked. The reporters pushed though, because they didn't understand the shock or the pain. The crewman told them to get lost after they realized reporters were swarming like bees.

By the time night had fallen, I stood by the Statue of Liberty. Just staring. Freedom. That's what I thought as I stood by it. Could it be that Tommy was free? Open to God's welcoming arms. Was I open to the matter? I closed my eyes and forced back the tears. It was too much, though and the tears cascaded down my face. Tears mixed with the rain that poured down. It had been pouring for a while now.

"Can I take your name, please, Miss?" asked a man I knew to be Mr. Wilde. I was about to say "Eliza Hancock," but thought better of it, for I could still get into trouble. Instead I though quickly, searching the crewman's face, hoping he wouldn't notice my uncomfortable thought. Then realization had hit me. "Elizabeth Ryan."

He wrote it down quickly, nodded, then left to ask the names of other survivors. I continued to gaze at the Statue. It was marvelous, and I couldn't help but stare at it, thinking about my life after this. How life would be after this. I had to move on. Question was… Did I want to move on?

No. But it was for the best. I would travel to Santa Monica alone. That was the original plan. Bu then I met Tommy and it all changed.

I just had to go with it. That's what the pair of us would've done. We'd have gone with the wind and done what we wanted. No one was holding us back. A world of possibilities and it was all for us. Well, for me now.

I heard something that caught my attention. It was distant, but all too familiar. "Dawson… Rose Dawson."

I knew a Rose! And a Dawson! Chippewa Falls Dawson. I turned around. There Rose stood. She looked better than when she was hauled aboard the Carpathia. "Thank you," the crewman, unknown to me, said.

I walked over to Rose. She searched the sky and I knew she was just looking for that shooting star. Like Jack's father, my father had told me about shooting stars. A soul going to heaven.

I had already see one earlier in the night. And when I did, I closed my eyes and saw him. The man who stole my heart, gave me the happiness and hope I needed. He was also the man who left me so suddenly and unexpectedly. Tommy Ryan was the man I would never forget.

"Rose?" I said. My voice was hoarse and still recovering from the cold. She turned to look at me and I thought she was going to break down and loose it all. "Eliza?' she whispered. Her voice had recovered a bit more than mine had. I nodded, and she threw her arms around me, sobbing into my shoulder.

I tried to keep calm, but it faltered. My shattered heart, much like Rose's, needed the relief and the only way to get it was to cry. To mourn.

I never even got the chance to tell him something though. To tell him the words that meant more then air, or money I didn't have, or life itself.

I never got to tell him I loved him.