A/N: I'm a sucker for romance and here's a little story I came up with, which pairs Rose and Mr. Andrews. (If you're looking for Jack, you won't find him here...heh heh). I don't own the rights to Titanic (duh), but I do own some great Titanic books and such, as I did make a conscious effort for accuracy. Anyway, just read, enjoy (or not), and review.

Ch. 1: Pride of Mankind, Dream of Progress

Thomas Andrews cast his eyes toward the horizon. 5:45. He smiled and sighed, clicking his pocket watch shut. The sun was starting to fade, turning the sky a brilliant purple and orange—almost worthy of an oil painting. He couldn't have asked for a better evening. From his pocket, he withdrew a small black notebook and leafed through the pages.

"Ah, there you are Tom," a voice said, startling him from his reverie.

"Bruce," Andrews said, penciling notes onto a blank page. "Fine evening isn't it?"

"Quite so," J. Bruce Ismay said, offering a cigarette to Andrews, who shook his head. Ismay lit his and leaned against the ship's rail. "How does a man as quiet and unassuming like you craft the largest moving object in the world?"

Andrews smiled politely having heard this same query from Ismay many a time.

"Come Bruce, I know you didn't venture up here just to enjoy the sunset and sing my praises."

"Hmm. You know me all too well," Ismay said with a chuckle. "Cal Hockley has invited us to dinner tonight. I trust you'll be going?"

Andrews paused, searching for an excuse that would allow him to eschew high society for once and focus the ship's priorities. "I…I still have quite a bit of work to finish," he said, gesturing to his notebook.

"Oh, rubbish, Tom. The first night on your ship and you want to hole up in your stateroom. I will not stand for it! Besides, Molly Brown will be there—such a delightful woman—and Gracie, the Astors, and…" he paused, "the DeWitt Bukaters."

Andrews turned his head slightly. He recalled showing Ruth DeWitt Bukater and Molly Brown where the Palm Court Café was located earlier and accepted a request to join their lunch party. He didn't realize that there was more to the family.

"Of course I'll have to make a conscious effort to avoid conversation with the young lady," Ismay said.

"Who?"

"Ruth's brash daughter who was at lunch today. You know, the one who had the audacity to mock me in front of the entire table?"

Andrews remembered now. She must have been the young woman sitting across from him. Such a fiery air she possessed—so unlike the other first class passengers—and clever, too. He had no idea that this lovely woman was the uptight Ruth DeWitt Bukater's daughter. But what was her name? Andrews searched for it in the recesses of his mind. No matter, he thought. He would find out later. Perhaps she would make the dinner conversation as amusing as the one at lunch.

"So, will we be expecting you this evening?" Ismay asked, tossing his cigarette over the rail.

"Of course. I'll be there."

"Good man. And might I suggest leaving that behind," he said nodding to Andrews' notebook. "You work too hard, Tom."

Andrews smiled sheepishly and tucked it into his coat.

"Enjoy yourself for once."

…

Black or…black. Andrews held up two dinner jackets in front of the mirror, attempting to decide which looked best. What had gotten into him? He was already taking longer than expected to get ready. He grimaced, tossed one aside and quickly pulled the other on.

He walked briskly through the halls and down the grand staircase. As his hand slid down the oak railing and brushed against a slight chip in the wood. How on earth did that happen? Andrews reached into his jacket pocket for his notebook, only to realize it was in his room. He made a mental note of the imperfection and headed to the reception room.

Andrews hardly recognized anyone amidst the throngs of socialites. Although he was a first-class passenger, he couldn't help but feel slightly out of place. He had always felt more at home in the Belfast shipyards, among the workers whom he considered to be as regal and important as the millionaires around him. Nevertheless, he was accustomed to this routine, having accompanied crew and passengers on the maiden voyages of his other ships. Why should this occasion be any different, he thought. But somehow it felt different. Titanic was a landmark achievement that extended beyond everyone's dreams—even his. And as silly as he knew it seemed, he felt a parental attachment to the great ocean liner that he created.

He sighed and paused momentarily, but soon enough spotted Ismay who was chatting with Captain Smith and decided to join them.

"Ah, here he is! Our Master Shipbuilder," Ismay gushed. "We were just talking about you."

"Favorably of course," Captain Smith said, extending an open hand, which Andrews shook. "Thomas, you must be pleased and proud of your ship's first voyage."

"Well, she's yours now, Edward—and she's in good hands. You have a fine crew behind you."

"Undeniably so," the Captain said with a smile. The trio was soon joined by J.J. and Madeline Astor.

"Ah! Gentlemen, I believe the rest of our party is here," said Ismay, adjusting his tie.

Andrew breathed a sigh of relief and turned to see Molly and Cal Hockley enter the room, followed by Ruth and her daughter, who met his eye. He glanced away quickly and made his way to their table in the dining saloon. Ismay made an exuberant gesture of pulling out a chair for Ruth. Andrews suddenly noticed her daughter begin to take a seat next to his.

"Allow me," he said, and pulled out the chair for her.

"Thank you, Mr. Andrews," she said.

He smiled kindly and sat down. She knew his name at least. He thought of asking hers, but felt that it might seem too audacious. He kept quiet through much of the dinner, scarcely listening to the others' uninspired conversations. His eyes wandered to the ceiling, to the walls, and around the dining room, surveying the traffic.

Molly Brown was seated next to him and he leaned towards her.

"Excuse me Mrs. Brown, but have you a pen I could borrow for a moment?"

"The builder of the Titanic is caught without a writing instrument?"she inquired.

"Back in my room, I'm afraid."

She fished in her handbag for a pen and handed one to Andrews, who took a scrap of paper from his pocket. If his notebook would be collecting dust in his room that evening, he could at least improvise. He scribbled a few notes down about the table lamps and centerpieces.

"…Tom never liked the idea," Andrews heard Ismay say.

He looked up from his notes. "What didn't I like?"

"The Turkish baths," Ismay said.

Andrews rolled his eyes lightheartedly and laughed. "Of all the things we could've not included on the ship."

"Well, you all must see them-at least for my sake. And the squash court and the swimming pool, of course."

"Then I should've brought along my bathing outfit," Cal said with a chuckle. "But all this talk of this luxurious ship is making me curious. I wonder...perhaps tomorrow, the designer himself could give our party the grand tour," Cal suggested. The group turned in Andrews' direction.

"Oh, yes! That's a wonderful idea," Ruth's daughter said. "Please?"

Andrews wasn't expecting this, but he seized it as a perfect opportunity to display his knowledge of the ship and perhaps note any overlooked imperfections.

"It would be my pleasure," Andrews said.

"Good. Then it's settled," Cal said with a grin.

"You will not be disappointed," Ismay said. "He knows all three million rivets in her, don't you, Tom?"

"Indeed," said Andrews all too modestly.

As the meal ended, Gracie stood, and invited the men to the smoking room. Andrews wanted no part, and started to leave.

"Tom, won't you be joining us?" Ismay asked.

"Not tonight. I've got to be heading back."

"Going over blueprints and the lot?"

"Nothing extravagant, I assure you, but there is always something new on this ship to scrutinize," Andrews said. "Good-night, gentlemen. Ladies."

As he turned to leave, he noticed Ruth's daughter rise from her seat and whisper something in her ear.

Andrews reached the Grand Staircase and paused at the Honor and Glory clock. If only there was enough time to complete the rest of his work that evening. He neared the left stair doorway when a voice sounded behind him.

"Mr. Andrews?" It was Ruth's daughter. "I just wanted to tell you that I think your ship is a wonder. Truly. I can't say I've ever been on a liner this magnificent."

He smiled. "Why thank you, Miss…?"

"Oh! DeWitt Bukater—Rose."

"Well, Miss DeWitt Bukater Rose," he said. She chuckled and tried to suppress a smile. "I'm pleased to finally make your acquaintance."

"As am I." She held out her hand. Andrews took it in his, but hesitated a moment. Should he place a kiss on it or simply shake it? This was a dilemma that seemed to take forever to decide. He chose the latter.

"And I appreciate you taking the time to give us a tour. You undoubtedly must be very busy, and here we are pulling you away from your work," she said.

Andrews waved his hand. "Not at all," he said. "It is my pleasure and I look forward to it."

Rose smiled kindly. She had a pleasing countenance, warm and sincere. "I will see you on the boat deck tomorrow. Have a good evening, Mr. Andrews."

He gave her a nod and they parted ways.

Andrews walked back to his stateroom in the most contented mood he had ever been in.