One shot Titanic AU

Niels - Norway

Promise yourself to be so strong that nothing can disturb your peace of mind.

Tino Väinämöinen was young and poor- two of the most unsatisfactory words of the early 1900s, when the world around him was thriving with elderly, baroque ladies or exquisite, rich men.

Of course, 'the world' at the time being was the RMS Titanic.

However, he was always an optimist. "If opportunity doesn't knock on the door, build a door," his mother would tell him; one of her favorite quotes and it had easily grown to be the young Finn's, too. And when he'd told her about the whiff of money he had spent on buying the ticket to the Titanic, she'd blinked back tears and clenched her fingers so tightly small crescent-moon shaped slivers embedded into her palm.

"Go, Tino."

It was better than the inkling of money his father made.

Better than Tino serving in the Russian army.

And she let him go (with the promise of writing, of course).

That was how the twenty year old Finn found himself seated in a comfortable (see: claustrophobic), cleanable (see: dirty) room in G-Deck with three other grown men (see: queer). He'd caught their names and countries of origin over the last few days, but that was about the basics. Everybody had wandered off for most of the day, only to come back past midnight. It was the first time all four of them were in the room together awake. There was Berwald, a towering Swede who didn't talk much; Eduard, a seemingly content Estonian teenager; and Niels, a sarcastic Norwegian who enjoyed taunting Berwald.

At the moment, Berwald was reading a book (ironically the Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum), Eduard was polishing his musty spectacles, and Niels was observing everybody around him. He and Tino caught eyes; the Finn raised an arm, a gesture of, 'hello,' but Niels had turned away before Tino got the chance.

"So, ah." Looks like it'll be me breaking the silence. At Tino's conversation starter, Eduard looked up from an intent stare, complete with tongue poking out, at his glasses and Niels snapped his head toward the source of the noise. Berwald kept reading.

"Um. Why did you leave your respective hometowns?" Tino asked, scummy thumbs twiddling idly as he spoke. "I-I mean, you don't have to answer if it's too personal or forward but I'm rather curious because there has to be a back story. My mother and I agreed there'd be a more suitable life in New York—jobs and condition wise—so that's why I'm here, if you… wanted to know." His voice trailed off near the end as the paper and worn pencil he'd under his bunk sprang into mind. It'd been four days and Tino hadn't even began writing a letter.

"Brother moved there a while ago, with my father. Seeing them." That was Niels, arm reaching up to subconsciously brush fingers against a small cross nestled into his hair. Tino decided it must be important, as the pin wasn't grimy, but bold and shiny.

Berwald's eyes traveled from his book, piqued interest allowing him to answer Tino's daring question. "M'family's there, too. Was workin' back in Sweden, grew up there. Now'm goin' back."

"I'm afraid I'm a bit different than the other two," Eduard started, adjusting his glasses as he placed them back on his nose, finally satisfied. "My father died when I was ten; it very much affected my mother. She stopped caring about me and focused on herself, so I left Estonia." Teal eyes seemed to harden. "Hopefully for good."

Tino leaned out from underneath their bunk – Eduard was on the bed above him, Berwald on the bottom bunk of his and Niels' contraption—and gave the teenager a warm smile. "Always focus on the positives, yes! So I'm getting a better job, Niels and Berwald are reuniting with family, and you're achieving the better lifestyle you've deserved, I'm sure, Ed—can I call you that, Ed?"

Eduard gave a small shrug with a bob of the head. "I do not mind."

To talk health, happiness and prosperity to every person you meet.

Tino grinned and finally decided to grab his musty bag from under him, dumbly searching until he found his paper and pencil against his fingers. When Berwald raised an eyebrow, Tino explained. "I told my mother I would write to her. I don't think she wanted me going, but she knew it would be for the better. I am sure she's so worried, I've been gone almost a week, with traveling and all that, I haven't even written to her!"

"You seem like what one would call a 'mama's boy,' Tino," Niels replied. "I haven't written to my father in years; it's all been through my brother. Haven't seen them since my brother was eight."

"Ah, right. A-Aha, I suppose I am. I just believe my mother and I were closer—my father is always working so busily to get us currency for food and to pay for the house. What's your brother's name, Niels?"

Once again, Niels' hand moved to glide against the pin. "His name is Eirik. He's only sixteen now—nine years younger than me. Before he moved, we were extremely close. I haven't seen him in ten years."

"'nd he gave you that pin?" Berwald questioned, eyes eventually drifting back to his book.

"Yes."

"Well, that was sure nice of him, because it's astounding. All the interlaced designs… is it a metal?" Eduard piped in, squinting at Niels' head.

"Gold."

That rendered everyone silent.

"Um, you said go—"

"Yes, I said gold. Probably worth money; I'm not giving it up for fortune, as it's dear to me. My brother got it from a Danish banker, so it's fragile and I won't part from it just for money." Niels emphasized his point with a steady, unnerving stare at Eduard, who raised his hands in defense.

"Just saying, you could be up in the second class lounge instead of with us."

"I'd prefer to be among you than sell my pin."

There was more glaring from Niels' side and awkward chuckling from Eduard's side until Tino broke in to disrupt the disturbance. "Hey, everyone can have varying opinions, it's alright! So, um, please stop. Eduard, I'm sure if you had something your nonexistan—alright, I feel like a mother, I am going to stop now."

As Eduard started to polish his glasses—it seemed to be a nervous habit of his, either that or pushing them up the bridge of his nose—and Niels left the room for a walk on the deck ("I'm going to take a walk in the dark, alone with my thoughts. I'll return at some time."), Berwald continued reading and Tino finally began to write to his mother in scrawled Finnish.

'April 14, 1912.

Dear Mom,' it began.

'First of all, I'm sorry for not sending any earlier letters—you probably won't even get this letter for a little while since all the time it takes to send letters on seas to land.

It's kind of late right now. My four roommates (all four guys) and I were just talking about why we're leaving our homes and what we're doing in America. This is the first time we've had time to talk in the time we've been aboard because we're all usually just go to sleep in here and eat and hang around on the deck and go to parties. They all seem nice, though. There's Berwald, who doesn't talk much and is Swedish (but he's really not all that bad for a Swede), Eduard, a teenager from the pits of Estonia, and Niels, who's going to meet his brother and father in America from Norway.

This whole trip is amazing. The ship is large, the people are… well, most of them are kind, the food is edible… and the rocking from the waves is easy to lull me asleep. Like how you used to do when I was a baby, remember? I cannot see how people get seasick, but all men and women have different views on certain things. I've heard some upper class women complaining about how the ship sways too much—how it sways too much! Can you believe that? The water is very calm today, too! They definitely weren't rocked as babies, and maybe more!

Anyways, my hand is cramping now so I believe I'll try to wrap up this letter. It's late. I should probably try to go to sleep, too. I think Eduard is asleep above me, I hear snoring. I will write to you next when I get to America! Please tell Kukka-Muna hello for me and send me a picture of her!

Love, your s—'

A sudden jerk in the calm rolls of the ocean Tino was mentioning in his letter jerked his hand, sending a twist of gray lead twirling off from the beginning of the 'o'. It looked like an abstract 'u'. Tino frowned at the paper, then went about to use his nail in an attempt to erase the spiral.

The small glass of water of above the sink started quivering, and the Finn bolted up quickly to resist its falling. Eduard stirred from his presumed sleep, and Berwald's eyes squinted behind The Wizard of Oz. Tino shoved the letter into the back pocket of his pants, pencil carelessly flung onto his mattress. His stomach churned as he made eye contact with Eduard, then Berwald.

All three men were silent before Eduard, still groggy, said, "Hm, maybe we've hit an obese dolphin," with another push of his glasses.

Nobody laughed.

Berwald folded down the edge of his page, settled the book onto his bed, and crawled from the shadowed underlay of Niels' bunk.

"'ll be back."

And with that, he walked out of the room without another word, back hunched and buried into his giant overcoat.

The two sat in silence for a few moments, Tino picking his nails and throwing the water above the sink out.

"Tino?"

"Yes, Ed?"

"What was that?"

"I'd like to believe your obese dolphin story but… I'm not sure." Tino swallowed, tongue darting out to wet suddenly dry lips. Maybe they'd just run out of coal, or something of the sort. Did that stuff happen? Could you just run out of coal? Maybe a car suddenly turned on and rammed into the wall and it made a loud noise. We are just above the storage, right?

"What do you think?" Eduard asked, hopping down from his nest of a bed.

"I think we should go and check it out. Or, no, we should stay here. Or, no, we should leave! But what if Berwald or Niels come back and are confused about where we went. But what if they don't come ba-"

Tino's rambling was cut off as the door was flung open; he and Eduard both jumped, small shriek emitting from Eduard. Niels was in the room quickly, hoisting himself up to the divan and rustling through the bags he brought with him. He found a small picture: the blurred face of a pouting, extremely blond boy holding a tattered stuffed bird in chubby arms.

"We're leaving."

Tino's eyes moved to Niels'—the cadet blue irises were stormy, thrashing seas of water.

"Niels, what happened? We were just sitting when a shudder happened in the room, and then Berwald just left us," Eduard asked, bare feet firmly planted on the ground. He obviously wasn't leaving without an explanation.

"Grab items you consider valuable, dress with all your clothes."

"Niels—"

"Do it, Eduard."

Niels' words were chipped, cold, and frightening, eyebrows narrowed and expression icy. Eduard nodded dully, glasses slipping down his nose again.

"Tino, you too."

Tino followed suit, ripped open his belongings and tossed on a jacket, wool socks, and shoes with a thin sole as Niels barked at Eduard again ("Don't just stand there. Your feet work, correct?"). The Norwegian had acquired a thick sweater since Tino had glanced earlier, and Eduard finally snapped out of his trance to collect his items.

"I don't have any values, um," Tino muttered, snatching up his pencil and pairing that with the paper in his pocket.

"The less the better," Niels responded. "You don't want to carry much." The picture he had was gone; Tino assumed it was in his pocket, too. "Eduard, hurry up."

Eduard was frantic with the impatient man watching him as he changed. His glasses went askew as a frayed pull over was put on; he already had shoes and spent the remaining minute aimlessly searching for a personal item. Tino had dozed off at this state, his mind swimming with thoughts.

'It's a precaution. It's not bad. It'll take five minutes, and you'll be able to finish your letter to your mother and everything will go fine and you'll be to America in a few days. C'mon, Tino, you know you're right.' For one the first times ever, Tino couldn't reassure himself.

Next thing he knew, Niels was pulling his arm out the door, Eduard trailing behind closely. "Wait, what if Berwald comes back?" Tino called, sending one last glance at their room before turning left in the hallway.

Niels replied back in a foreign language Tino assumed to be Norwegian, which just caused further confusion and panic from Eduard. The Estonian was floundering with obvious anxiety.

They reached the deck in another twenty minutes and the brisk wind hit Tino like a punching bag, breath puffing out like when he was kid. Pretending he was smoking; his mother always got a real kick out of that. Niels dragged them to the other side of the deck where ice lay strewn across the foredeck.

"You want to know what's happened. There's your first clue; if you're too dim to figure it out I am sorry," Niels exhaled, striding to the side of the deck; the water was unusually calm. Tino followed, turned his head, and peered to the foam left behind from the ship's path. Sure enough, there was a large iceberg smiling menacingly at him. His heart leapt to his throat.

"Hey, it may not be bad though, right? It might not've hit anywhere deep. Maybe it was just a brushing. See," Tino gestured to the space around him. Little kids were playing football with the smaller chunks of ice, parents watching over them, "all the kids playing? Their parents are letting them. They know it's alright."

"Better safe than sorry, Tino."

Tino nodded, complying with Niels' words. Eduard had sat down on the deck, knees curled up against his chest in an act of warmth. Tino scrunched next to him—the Finn was a bit rounder, with more body heat to share against the lanky teenager. It wasn't until he pulled himself closer that Tino realized Eduard wasn't as cold as he thought he was—it was nerves toying with his system, if Eduard's dazed stare and jagged breathing gave any signal.

Niels had preferred to sit on a bench across from the two, ignoring them as he mumbled to himself in his own language.

"Hey, Eduard, it's fine. Like I said earlier, it probably didn't do any damage, just rubbed against the boat and scattered ice everywhere. The shudder was the ice falling, not hitting the ship." Tino smiled as the kids kicked the ice his way—he punted it back to them. "It's fine."

"You don't know that."

"Optimism gets you places you won't believe, Ed."

Eduard merely nodded, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. A few more people appeared on the deck and frowned. They left seconds after, preferring the warmth of their cabins.

Perks of being a Finn, Tino believed. It brought stability against the cold.

His gaze led to Niels, who had stopped muttering by now, but was instead fixated on the picture of the young boy cupped in his hand. Tino saw his Adam's apple bob, lips pursed tightly in an exemplary attempt to let no emotion through. A wave of pity swamped Tino as he remembered Niels hadn't seen his brother in ten years.

A large lion of a man passed them and Tino barely had time to recognize the sandy blonde hair and wired glasses before Berwald sat next to Niels, whispering to the other under his breath. As he began, a deafening roar exploded in the air and Tino felt Eduard jump next to him. Tino's eyes grew with concern and he sent a look up to Berwald and Niels, blond eyebrows raised in worry.

Niels opened to mouth to speak, only soon to realize the noise around him would block out his words, so he stood up. Berwald pursued and Tino next, pulling Eduard up with him.

Niels led them up a flight of stairs to a higher deck that Tino hadn't stepped foot on before. He maneuvered through whining (what he assumed to be) first class passengers and crew members until Niels stopped abruptly in front of a few doors. He opened one of them, ushered the other three in, and closed it immediately.

The room was warmer than outside, yes, and even a bit quieter without all the squealing from whatever-the-hell was making the noise.

"What are we doing, what is happening, I'm so confused—" Eduard sighed, inhaling and exhaling in a futile attempt to calm himself. Tino massaged his shoulders before switching the conversation to Berwald.

"Where did you go?"

"T'check."

"To check what?"

"What's happenin'. S'not nothin'. Was ignored, but somethin's wrong."

"No shit something's wrong!" Eduard let out an exasperated sigh, drumming his fingers along the side of his thigh. Tino's eyebrows creased at the outburst. "We hit a goddamned iceberg, Berwald. Of course something's wrong."

Niels shook his head. "The noise, the ice—we've hit it, and it's not going to turn out very well. The noise is probably the steamers from the boiler room. If we've created a hole in the ship, it will fill up the lower levels first, obviously. The boiler rooms aren't meant for water. If you have the hot coal mixed with water, you get steam, which is the noise that's so goddamned obnoxious. Common sense." Berwald simply nodded and shoved a tense hand into his pocket.

"So we're some of the first people that know, right?" Tino asked. "Most people probably just think it's a propeller or something and don't feel like getting out of bed and dressed and into the cold. If it is something bad, we'll just get ahead of everybody else and lifeboat ourselves away, right?"

"You use too many 'rights', 'probablys', and 'ifs', Tino," Niels commented, shaking his head. "We are third class passengers. We're not as important, rich, or 'educated' as the first class men and women. If anything, we're going down with the ship."

A herd of footsteps outside through the walls alerted the four men. They looked through the window and saw a flock of fancy, furred-up men and women wandering across the deck with lifejackets situated on their chest.

"It's just a pre—"

"Stop, Tino. You very well it's not a precaution."

And at that moment, Tino knew Niels was right. He realized how different the two were; one used flawed optimism and the other harsh but true, common sense.

Tino clicked the door open and grasped the first person he could find and asked, "Excuse me, ma'am, where did you get the lifejackets?" The woman gasped, slapped his hands off her shoulders and stomped away from him, nose held high. He shook his head and stumbled to the left a bit; even the slightest shifting caused such an unbalance.

Tino fell into place with the group of people, ignoring Eduard's shouts of, "Tino!" behind him. The Finn was carried by the wave of people into one of the dining halls.

They had to know something.

Head down, focused on the feet below him, Tino continued to follow for a solid ten minutes until the ground turned from carpet to a polished marble. He finally looked up.

There were at least forty people congregated at the Grand Staircase, and he was one of them. He stood out like a sore thumb—mangy and torn pants, rugged shirt and jacket compared to extravagant hues of royal blue and purple and fur collars.

"It's going do—"

"-n't worry, George—"

"—two hours tops—"

That's all he wanted to hear.

Tino turned on his heel and left in the direction he supposed was the one he came in. However, he realized he was completely wrong as the air got colder and the steamers louder.

"Damn!" he hissed. Tino went down, headed toward the war instead of peace. He squeezed past his own people—filthy and confused third classmen—down corridors and signs that took him moments to read.

And then it was aimless wandering. Tino roamed the halls, thinking of how different one's story may end just in a change on an hour.

His foot 'plop'ed against the wet floor. His footsteps were getting heavier, bitter water pricking his sole and every step felt as if needles were jabbed into the tender skin. At that moment, the harsh reality of the situation came to Tino in one giant rush.

The ship was sinking.

He may not make it out.

His heart rate rose as the blond ran the hallways, pushing through people with small apologies until he found a staircase leading up. Blind faith, Tino supposed.

Thankfully, the gates of these stairs were unlocked and easy to open. A blur of people ambled past his eyes when he made it to a deck, out of breath and bright red.

The cold chilled the sweat brimming his forehead, danced across his fingers and licked at his wet shoes. There were much more people standing worriedly now, officers ushering people onto small lifeboats that were spread across the rim of the ship. Their noses were bright pink, like snowmen Tino used to make back in Finland.

First class women were kissing their husbands and boyfriends good-bye, fathers whispering comforting words to their children, young women holding their babies close to them. A lifeboat set off with barely thirty people in it. Tino absorbed everything around him when a cluster of tall blond men encircled him.

Niels, Berwald, and Eduard were all frowning at him as if he was a naughty child who'd broken their parents' new lamp. "Stay with us," was all Niels said before strolling to another lifeboat. He and Berwald took the front and Eduard and Tino fell behind a bit, walking at a brisk pace to match the other's long strides.

"Why'd you leave?" Eduard asked.

"I needed to know what was happening. That didn't work," was the lame response.

"Obviously. Niels was calmly panicking, if that makes sense."

"I can see that from him."

Said Norwegian was currently conversing with an officer; the officer was flushed, plump, and not very good at hiding his emotions. Niels, on the other hand, was tranquilly asking if there were any lifeboats open to men or if they could hitch a ride on the one in front of them, which only had twelve people.

"Women and children first," the man replied, shaking his head and ushering a young women adorned with jewels and thick gloves to a seat. She didn't say thank you. "No men."

Niels nodded briskly, leaving the man with a quiet, "Thank you." He shook his head to the other three, gold locks fluttering with the motion. His pin was still just above his ear, quite content with its place.

"If we're not getting on a lifeboat, may as well help people who cannot."

To make all your friends feel that there is something in them.

Berwald agreed with a curt nod, Eduard diverted his eyes to his shoelaces (they were untied), and Tino nodded a great deal of times. If they wouldn't get off, they should help people get on. It'd only be the nicest thing to do.

"What if we disguised Ed as a woman?" Tino suddenly blurted out, immediately covering his mouth with his hands after he spoke. Nobody around him seemed to hear except the other three. Eduard's eyebrows had narrowed, glasses pushed up by his index finger.

"Me?"

"Yes, I—you're the youngest, Eduard. You're—you're seventeen, right? A great deal younger; you've barely lived your life; you're still young and can have a great life in America. Meet a bunch of new friends, a pretty woman, have kids and… and…" Tino trailed off, messing with the folded up paper in his pocket. "You deserve it."

Niels was staring blankly at Tino, eyes betraying no emotion, but he shrugged one shoulder. "We could try."

Berwald grunted in agreement.

"B-But, guys! That's not fair, not at all! You all have just the same amount of rights to live as I do, just because I'm younger doesn't mean a thing right now. We're all equals; whether it be a child, father, teenager, or young adult. Age doesn't mean shit right now." Eduard shook his head. "I wouldn't be able to live with the guilt. I set the ship to find a better life, not be eaten away with fault! I can't."

"Eduard—"

"Tino, I won't."

A loud churning noise came from somewhere in the depths of the ship. Children screamed. "You're sure?"

"Just because I'm young doesn't mean I'm weak."

Berwald was leaning against the side of a wall, picking a spec of dirt off the chest of his coat. "S'got a point." Tino sighed and ran a hand through his hair, chewing on his lip. Niels had gone off to his own land, fixated on the first lifeboat easing its way away from Hell.

"We need to help people now." When Niels spoke, it was reserved. "To the corridors. Further down. There could be people trapped and we could save them."

Tino, despite his sinking stomach and trembling legs, piped in. "We could do that. Maybe we could help—"

"We will help them," Niels chastised. And for the first time since Tino had met Niels, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He was teasing. "Don't be so negative, Tino." Tino only grinned in response.

They were off. Yes, they were young and poor. But they were also intent and courageous Their soggy footstepts echoed as they entered the barren halls leading down to the D and E decks. By the time the blonds reached halls and halls of open doors, the water was up to Tino's calves. His toes were, once again, numb. Eduard entered the water (although it only came up to his ankle) with a curse.

The four splashed through frigid water in an attempt to find lost souls.

They were on their third hallway when a high pitched wail was heard over the roar of the steam and rushing water. Niels' ears perked at the noise, raising a finger in silence to quiet the other three although none of them were talking. He listened for a moment more and burst off in the opposite direction of the group. He threw open a door and there sat a young girl, eyes wide at the water surrounding the corners of the room. Niels' jumped over to her and scooped up the girl into his arms. She reminded Tino of a siren.

Berwald came from the entry and held his arms open for her. Surprisingly, the girl complied and spread her arms for Berwald to hold her. Niels frowned, eyebrows creased, but handed her over. The Swede pet her hair soothingly, rocking her in his arms. Tino and Eduard watched from the hall, trifiling smiles of adoration sweeping their faces. Berwald and Niels talked under their breaths for a moment, hushed whispers, and Berwald left the room, forcing himself up the opposite side of the hallway.

Niels approached them. "We're leaving." He squeezed slender hips in between the two of them and the younger men followed like ducklings.

"Um, what about Berwald?" Eduard asked, shooting a glance over his shoulder. Berwald was gone.

"He's taking the child to the boats."

"Will he find us again?"

"Probably."

It was amazing how well Niels knew the twists and turns of the maze of lower decks that would've taken Tino at least twenty minutes, which he couldn't spare, to navigate. Niels had shaved ten minutes off and had them up the deck and out of the water in almost no time. All around them, people were sending farewells to their loved ones. Lingering kisses fall on cold lips.

Terror was painted on everybody's faces—contorted into masks of pain and sadness and nostalgia. Music was playing a jaunty tune somewhere in the background. Tino liked it.

They rounded a corner just to see a lion of a man in a heated debate with one of the officers. Berwald still had the young girl in his arms, her bare feet and hands nestled into his coat. He was talking with the crew member, shaking his head at something the other was saying. Berwald was directed harshly onto a boat, his eyebrows furrowed as he continued shaking his head. Niels took a step closer and heard Berwald retort, "'m not the girl's Pa, just found'er down b'low," but the officer wasn't taking any of it.

"'m a single, twenty one year old, she's not m'daughter, sir," Berwald tried once more, but it was futile.

"Don't be modest and get on the boat."

The boat groaned when Berwald mounted; it looked like a mere tub under his impressive height. The officer was calling to lower the boat, whistle tweeting under the raucous around him.

Berwald locked eyes with Niels, who gave a salute. The Swede nodded back. When Berwald wasn't watching, Niels turned his back to him and whispered a good-bye under his breath.

Eduard couldn't even raise an arm to wave.

When Berwald met Tino's eyes, Tino mouthed a good-bye in Swedish to him. It took a moment to register in Berwald's mind what language Tino had used, but he nodded. 'Thank you,' was mouthed back. Tino wore a smile despite the feeling of despair churning his gut. A rocket flashed and exploded in the skies, and down went Berwald's lifeboat.

To wear a cheerful countenance at all times and give every living creature you meet a smile.

The ship was tilting. Slowly but surely, it was going down.

The three men found a bench to sit on. Crying surrounded them. Prayers were drawled in various languages. A couple—no, siblings, judging by their similar contours of the faces and dirty blonde hair—departed right in front of Tino. The girl, no older than fifteen, maybe, refused to leave her brother, but he wasn't taking any of it. They hugged, a tender, loving gesture, and the girl was ushered to a boat.

Tino had to stop watching.

Eduard's legs were up to his chest again, furrowed into his own Eduard-ball of comfort.

Niels had his picture out again. A long finger ran over the broken edge of a corner, then to his pin. Niels looked serene, like a statue unable to move, at peace. It was at that moment, Tino realized Niels was terrified. He'd kept the cool, calm exterior as a brotherly instinct—sure, he wasn't a brother, but as the oldest of the four he believed it was his duty to protect. When Niels had accepted that he wasn't going to see Eirik, he'd adopted Tino and Berwald and Eduard in his mind. They weren't a replacement, but the closest Niels would get to holding his brother or bossing him around. That was Niels' thought process all along, whether it was conscious or not.

Tino set a hand on Niels' shoulder, startling the man in an uncharacteristic manner.

"I'm sorry, I'm just—thank you, Niels."

"For what?"

"Everything."

The people around them were slowly disappearing. The boats around them were gone and the passengers were either wallowing in self pity or drinking themselves to a stupor. The officers had left. Eduard, Tino, and Niels followed a few wanderers up to the stern of the ship; the force was becoming harder to move against and the three used bolted tables and benches as handholds.

It seemed the majority of the people had congregated there, conjoined in prayer or tearful, slurred songs about God saving them. Eduard mumbled about how he didn't believe God was going to be doing much help.

Tino honestly didn't care.

If praying calmed them, let them do so.

To give so much time to the improvement of yourself that you have no time to criticize others.

Tino ignored the mess around him and found himself a crook of the stern to bury himself into. Niels and Eduard ensued his actions and plopped down on either side of the Finn. His pencil, still jammed into his back pocket, poked him and Tino snatched it along with his paper.

'Mom and Dad-'

Tino didn't want to frighten his parents. He wanted them to know he went down in peace.

'Thank you.

I mean for my entire life. From the earliest moment I can remember-a snowball fight with you!-to the leading stairs of this adventure. Birthdays, Midsummer; we didn't have the perfect conditions but we were most certainly a perfect family.

And all I can do is thank you both.

Love, Tino. '

The letter was held in quivering hands. From the mix of trembling, darkness, and horrible penmanship Tino hoped his parents would be able to understand what he was trying to prove. A girl was crouched in front of him, leaning against the butt of a table. She had many jewels and a laced transparent skirt on. Tino sent one more hopeful glance at his story to his parents and regarded the young woman with large, violet eyes.

"If opportunity doesn't knock on the door, build a door," he whispered to himself and held out the paper to her with a shaky hand. "When you get off this ship, ma'am, may you please send it?" He inscribed his address to the front of the page and bestowed it upon her.

She wrapped her palm around it and stored it in her over coat's pocket, her breath leaking out as jagged exhales against the sharp cold.

"Thank you."

Tino nestled himself between Eduard and Niels. Eduard had taken off his glasses and began cleaning them profusely with the edge of his sleeve. Niels' head was lolled back against the edge of the ship, fixated on the stars above him. There was no moon. In the background, Tino heard a distinct French tune that he couldn't place at the time. The world around him was crying, the boat was retching and screaming and the sea was swallowing up the opposite end of the ship with such a jarred force that the boat's lights flickered on and off.

On and off.

Off.

Tino fell asleep to weeping, bellowing, and horror. The noise was surrounding him was negative. He allowed his mind wander to positive thoughts—playing with his dog in the warm spring weather; his twentieth birthday, joined by his whole family; buying a ticket to board the RMS Titanic.

The waves lulled him to slumber.

Tino slept, and did not wake.

To be too large for worry, too noble for anger, too strong for fear and too happy to permit the presence of trouble.

-Christian D. Larson

Elizaveta Héderváry was bundled underneath a thick blanket on the RMS Carpathia. Her thick brown hair was plastered to her forehead and neck in the moist smog, a very vivid contrast to her pastel skin and emerald eyes. She had no feeling in her toes and her lips were still colorless from the previous night's disaster.

Hell. It was Hell.

She'd somehow made it to a lifeboat just before it set off—collapsible D, the last one to be sent off. Her savior, in a way.

Not that that was God's help in any way.

She picked herself up from the miserable front deck and thrown herself onto the last boat just as she got the chance. All the praying people and crying passengers wouldn't live. She'd received the letter from the young blonde man—somebody she knew was doomed, as he was obviously third class and a male at that—before he fell asleep and felt as it were her duty to give the letter it's correct destiny. His eyes were wide, damp, and trusting, and Elizaveta believed him.

So she marched her ass over to the boat and was lowered off the 'unsinkable' ship.

She'd watched people fall to their deaths and cry in terror.

She'd heard the screams.

The young blonde man and his two friends stood no chance even if they'd woken up after she did. The ship went down about half an hour after she'd left, and only a few were pulled from the water.

Elizaveta stood, reached into her pocket, and pulled out the frayed letter he'd given to her last night. The mail post was open. She copied the address in loopy cursive onto the envelope and added two sentences of her own under the flap.

He's a polite kid. Congratulations.

-EH