A/N Just would like to say huge thanks for all the reviews and follows I got. Am sorry it took me a while to update. My laptop was banjaxed to had to run about trying to get a something to tide me over…

I don't have a beta at the moment so any grammatical errors and spelling mistakes are my own. I apologise. I am looking for a beta so if any one is interested drop me a line.

You can also get in contact at my handle. Tumblr . com

So heres another titbit. Hope u like it.

Disclaimer: Do not own Glee Characters or Titanic.

Chapter 2.

April 14th 1982. Los Angeles, California.

"Hello and welcome to Ships of Time, a once off special commemorating the anniversary of the Titanic .I'm Diane Krueger"

Santana watched as the anchor went from charming the camera with her Hollywood smile to suddenly solemn and respectful

"It's been 70 years since that ill fated night when, in the early hours of 15th April, 1912, whilst upon her maiden voyage to America, the Titanic also known as the Unsinkable ship collided with an iceberg, before disappearing beneath the waves of the Atlantic Ocean" She paused slightly for dramatic effect, clasping her hands in her lap. "With the tragic loss of over 1500 souls."

Santana reached for her glass, swallowing slowly. Diane's voice was soothing; she could imagine the viewer at home settling down to listen to the talk show host.

"Now with me in the studio is a very special guest who has kindly agreed to give us an exclusive and share her experiences aboard the liner. Ladies and Gentlemen, Ms Santana Perez." She exclaimed, turning to the former actress.

Santana shifted in her seat. She could feel the cameras on her!

"It's a pleasure to be here Diane" she replied, the easy smile she wore belying the butterflies in her stomach.

"Now Santana up until 40 years ago many of your friends and colleagues believed you to be a Spanish immigrant done good, a testament to the American Dream. Whilst your fans where sold on you being distantly related to the Spanish Royal Family. "

She laughed lightly as she replied,

"I was born in America, just down the road in Napa Valley actually, my mother Elizabeth was Californian. However, I was mainly raised in Europe as that's where the majority of my fathers business was at the time.

Back in the prohibition days a handful of people heard me sing but it wasn't until the movies got sound that the majority of people realised I spoke English, with an American accent to boot!

I was lucky! A lot of actor's were not able to make the cross over and as you know, that's when my career really took off. My father WAS the cousin of a minor Spanish Don, so that part is true! But that's all in my auto biography." She winked.

The interviewer nodded, the corners of her lips upturned at the smoothness in which Santana had slipped in the up and coming release.

" It was the publication of your close, personal friend and renowned philanthropist, Quinn Fabray's memoirs, after she passed away, that it came to light your where actually in fact Miss Santana Lopez, one time fiancée of the Pittsburgh business magnate, Richard Hartley, the owner of the famed Heart of the Ocean diamond. It was said to of been given to you as an engagement present?"

The Latina woman nodded.

"Yes Diane."

The reporter continued, "It was around this time that you went into seclusion. Why?"

The one time singer twirled the diamond ring on her finger, A hint of bitterness creeping into her voice as she spoke,

"Once it all came out, it seemed that's all anyone wanted to talk about, enthusiasts, historians, gossip columnists and the like. People wanted to know why I had given a different name and about the Heart of the Ocean. It became too difficult for my career. It was too painful;. I've never publicly spoken about it"

"Yes, and that's why we're grateful that you agreed to this interview. "

Santana caught the sincerity in the other woman's eyes. She returned the look,

"Thank you." A flicker of sorrow crossed her features, filling her deep mocha orbs before confiding, softly, "It's time, I think."

Diane let her compose herself, allowing the emotion to fill the room before continuing.

"Santana we have here some photographs from the private collection of the late Quinn Fabray. Over the years there have been many requests to view them made to the Fabray Titanic Foundation. .All have been refused!

Did you know that they where left with strict instructions never to be released unless you agreed to an interview or in the event of your passing?"

"No!" Santana shook her head in surprise.

She had no idea that Quinn had been tracking them down, never mind collecting them. Even beyond the grave her friend was still looking out for her.

"These images have never been seen by the public eye before!" Diane exclaimed.

A few black and white images appeared on the screen between the two women. They showed the ship being built in the dock at Belfast. Another, taken over the crowd on the day she set sail, depicting the sheer size of the liner.

A shot taken on deck of a few men wearing open waistcoats, round collared shirts, flat caps and lazy smiles as they leaned against the railing behind them.

Then the intricately carved staircase, which led down to the first class dining area. appeared. Even in the photographs, the eye could see no expense had been spared on the interior.

Suddenly, an image depicting a group of people of various ages sat at a dining table with raised glasses filled the screen. They where dressed in formal dinner attire of the time. It screamed decadence and privilege.

She gasped inwardly, raising her hand to her lips. Staring at her through the years where many faces she had not seen since that ill-fated night, decades previously.

For a moment, she could hear the tinkle of silverware, the gentle lull of the band mingling with hushed conversation. She could smell the aromas of the gourmet meal. Taste the bitter sting of the champagne.

Diane's soft voice brought her back to the present,

"Please could you tell us who is in the photograph with you?"

Clearing her throat, trying to disperse the hard lump in her chest, she asked,

"May I see it, please?"

Diane handed her a leather bound album, open at the correct page. Santana bowed her head, her fingers fluttering briefly across the faces over the protective layer as she studied the picture. Looking back at the screen she spoke, her voice tinged with the timbre of emotion,

"It was taken that night. Can you see the date in the bottom left hand corner?"

The anchor nodded. Sure enough, there written was 14th April 1912 in loopy cursive.

"If I recall we'd been invited to the captains table for the evening meal. At Richards's insistence of course"

A small grimace passed over her face as she pointed to a tall dark haired man wearing an arrogant sneer, sat beside an older man with white whiskers and a naval suit.

"I believe he felt it only befitting of his station."

She continued, motioning to a heavy set, stern looking man next to a stoic looking lady and a delicately pretty blond. "Russell Fabray, his wife Judy and their daughter, Quinn."

She chortled as she hovered over the next face, "Trouty mouth! We called him that on account of, well you can see for yourselves!"

A small titter rolled through the studio at her affectionate name for the young man whose huge, puffy lips where apparent even through his wide smile. She waved her hand, laughing,

"No! No! I am sorry, that is Sam Evans. He was a Texan oil tycoon. He was very funny, always trying to do impressions and entertain everyone. I remember the Fabray's where very keen for a match between himself and Quinn. Next to him is a gentleman that went by the name of..of ."

She raised a finger to her lips and she pondered,

"Oh yes! Shuester. He was travelling Second class. A few exceptions where made that night as he was the only known reporter on board and owned a camera. The Titanic was the biggest story at the time. Everybody wanted to be included and make the headlines."

"Sue Sylvester!" She exclaimed, her dark brown orbs gleaming as they landed upon a haughty woman with close-cropped hair, who looked like she was trying to kill the offending camera with her glare.

"Sue Sylvester of Victory Studios? The Golden Age powerhouse, who gave you, your big break?

The actress clasped her hands as she smiled,

"The one and the same. She boarded at Cherbourg. The poor guy beside her was her rather harangued husband Blaine. He was her personal assistant essentially. She even refused to take his last name. She was quite the spitfire. And finally, my aunt, Sarah Oakville and myself!"

"Sorry, Santana. You seemed to of skipped over someone. Who is the blond sat between yourself and Sue?" The reporter asked.

She lingered over the image of a taller girl, wearing an elegant black dress, long blond locks swept over her right shoulder. Through the ages she could suddenly feel her fingers being squeezed tightly. Her eyes began to prick as she looked at the two huge grins plastered across their faces.

She had been, in that moment, truly happy.

"Ms Perez?"

She realised that herself and the whole studio had been holding their breath.

"That," She paused, "Is Brittany S Pierce."

"Brittany S Pierce? " The interviewer looked at her notes, " In our research we've never come across that name aboard the Titanic."

"No, No. You wouldn't have." Santana mused.

"Please could you tell us about the ship and maybe who she was?" Diane ventured.

The actress began,

"She saved my life. She really did. Its been 70 years since that night. I can still smell the fresh paint. The sheets had never been slept in. The china had never been used. To many, the Titanic was The Ship of Dreams. To many it was it truly was."

Santana's P.O.V

April 10th 1912. Southampton. England.

The car jostled as it started through the thick crowd. I shifted uncomfortably in the leather seat as I tried to avoid the spring poking into my buttocks every time the driver hit the brakes.

He sounded the horn, making an annoying squeaky honk.

"Get out of the way!" I heard him call in a strong cockney accent.

"You would think that we are royalty with the way he is behaving!" I muttered under my breathe. I cringed inwardly as I felt my fiancé, Richard, place his hand upon my knee, giving it a slight squeeze,

"Well we are. Sweetpea."

I rolled my eyes at his declaration. Then I noticed my Aunt Sarah glaring at me. I pursed my lips at her as I smoothed my skirt, deftly sweeping his lingering fingers from my leg, smiling sweetly at him, as I added,

"We don't have to announce it!"

"Of course we do! How else will the gutter rats know their place.!" My aunt tittered coquettishly.

( She actually tittered.)

It was unbecoming on a woman of her age.

Richard roared with a rumbucous laugh, slapping his knee, as if she had told some hilarious joke,

"Rightly so Ms Oakville, Rightly so!"

I tuned them out, pulling at the tight, decorated collar that chaffed at my neck. I despised it when they talked about the lower class, like they where nothing.

I didn't want to be here, confined in this contraption, wearing this constricting outfit.

As soon as my aunt and I had arrived in London, she had discarded most of my wardrobe, declaring it was too ethnic and not befitting of my status within polite society. Now it consisted of dresses and costumes she insisted where in Vogue that Spring.

I was currently wearing a two-piece dress suit. A tight, white, wrap around skirt hugged my hips and reached all the way down to to my heeled boots. It was inlaid with a slight red pinstripe, a matching double-breasted jacket with crimson velvet at the lapels and collar, A band, in the same colour, wrapped around, accentuating my tiny waist. A tie, knotted at my embodied collar, pinned in place by a prancing horse brooch. Topped off with a red, wide brimmed hat normally saved for the races, which took up most of the claustrophobic cabin.

I felt ridiculous.

She had reminded me that morning of my duties, as a soon to be wife. One of which was that my outfits should always compliment my husbands.

Being he was wearing a mixed light green and grey tweed suit, cream waistcoat, a brown bowler and russet, leather driving gloves, I had deliberately opted to wear the crimson and white ensemble.

She had chastised me at my choice but by then I was already dressed and it had been too late to change. I hadn't cared that we would clash.

My aunt, of course, was dressed accordingly in dark greens and deep browns, bedecked in jewels. She looked like a peacock. Right down to her thin, long neck and the huge feather in her hat.

(So much green)

My head swam.

I much preferred my flowing skirts and loose fitting tops. I wanted to be back home, in Catalonia, where my father would let me do as I pleased.

Where I could ride the vineyards in the rolling valleys with the blue skies above me.

Where I could be free!

Free from the suffocating propriety of so called High Society .

The car came to a holt, jerking me back to the reality of my situation.

Me, Miss Santana Elizabeth Lopez. Daughter of minor Don Miguel Lopez, fiancé of the famed Richard Hartley was about to board the RMS Titanic also called The Floating Palace.

To me it was a floating prison!

The door opened, the driver offering his hand, I took it in my own kid skinned clad one as I alighted quickly from the vehicle, wanting to escape from the stifling closeness of the cab. My head was screaming for me to run. Run! That this was my last chance!

My feet wouldn't move.

The smell of the salty sea air, mingled with the smell if thick and cooked meats wafted towards me in waves. I straightened myself, concentrating on the scene around me as I tried to ignore the churning in my stomach.

In front of me lay a long 4 storey building, made of red brick. White Star Liners painted in big letters above the entrance, over hung by a balcony that ran the length, packed with well-wishers. From it led a platform, which was attached to a gangplank, leading to the ship.

Dockworkers rushed about, grabbing burlap sacks from a bright green wagon. I could make out a multitude of different languages mixing in with the caw of the seagulls swooping overhead.

To my right, a car floated on a platform, swinging precariously past my line of vision, as it was loaded onboard by what looked to a complicated system of pulleys and ropes. A carefree man holding onto the car waved at me.

For the first time, I looked at the loathed ship.

A wave of nausea hit me.

"I don't see what all the fuss is about?" I croaked. "It doesn't look any bigger than the Mauritania."

"You can be blasé about some things Santana, but not about Titanic! It's a 100 feet longer than the Mauritania! Richard scoffed.

I went back to looking at the ship as I over heard my aunt asking,

"It is unsinkable?"

He could not help himself. It was as if he was a small boy excited to be at the fair,

"Unsinkable. God himself could not sink this ship!"

Titanic was enormous. It towered above me. Her sleek black sides where dotted with tiny portholes. She stretched in both directions as far as the eye could see. I craned my neck up so I could take in her height. Up above me I glimpsed little dots, I assumed they where people peering over the edge to look down on us.

(We must look like ants)

That is how I felt. Like an ant!

"Sir, Sir! Baggage is that way Sir!

I turned as Richard handed the White Star porter a handful of notes,

"I put my faith in you good sir! Now kindly see my man." He dismissed the stunned porter with a wave of his hand.

I noticed as the hulking form of Karofsky unfolded himself to his full height. He started pointing at an array of trunks, suitcases and boxes, barking,

"Cabin B. 52, 54, 56 "

That was my soon to be husbands answer to everything. Money and THAT brute.

"Come Ladies" I reluctantly took Richards offered arm.

As we approached the sturdy looking white gangplank that would take us aboard the ocean liner I saw a picket fenced area with a sign that read "Health Inspection"

Men dressed in deep blue uniforms with red and gold stripes at their wrists where combing through peoples hair and beards. A mother held up her young son, who stuck out his tongue so he could be inspected.

"What are they doing?" I asked, curious.

"Checking for lice."

"Why where we not inspected?"

He looked at me as if I was puerile, his tone condescending,

"My Dear, only paupers get lice!"

"I have heard that they are infested." My aunt threw over her shoulder as she swept past with pride.

I gripped the brown railing as I forced myself to put one foot in front of the other.

As we entered the doors of the ship a naval officer wityh stripes at his shoulder and an usher greeted us,

"Welcome to Titanic."

The entrance was grand. The walls where painted bright white. I could smell the freshness. The carpet looked plush. Inlayed with intricate patterns of green and gold that swirled beneath me. Huge potted plants that I could not name where set in deep russet pots set upon strong oak tables. An affluent woman was chatting to a portly well- heeled looking man with a huge moustache, an afghan hound and a pug curled at her feet. The portly man tipped his hat in our direction. Richard returned the gesture as we where asked,

"Ladies, May I show you to your cabin?"

I know it kinda reads like the movie but I had to get her on to the ship some how. So for that Im sorry ..

Any way please Read and Review .. Id really like some pointer or id be up foir listieing to ideas