A/N: For those who have stuck with this story – welcome back! For all the S/T shippers (teehee) they will be making their entrance in this chapter. Prepare yourselves for an appetizers of angst, some humour, and a little bit of fluffiness!

As far as I can tell, the first few chapters will be dialogue heavy, but after the *great event* happens the real action will start. I find it very difficult to write interactions between characters when nothing is really happening; therefore, there is a lot of discussion about the Titanic. I'm sorry if it seems boring, but in doing research, I found a few sources that said the amenities of the Titanic was the hot topic for conversation amongst passengers. And as I said before, I am trying to make this fic as firmly-based in history as possible, so go ahead and treat it as a learning experience! (just don't use me as a resource for a paper, because that would be rather silly).

If there's something irksome about the fic that you want my attention drawn to, don't hesitate to PM me about it. I'll look into it. I want this fic to be a success, so reader reviews are greatly appreciated!

Chapter 2: On the Floating Palace

April 11 – Irish Sea

Titanic made good speed through the night, and by mid morning she was steaming within sight of the south coast of Ireland. A light wind grew brisker the closer she made to shore, currently only a thin grey line against the horizon. Soon the high granite cliffs would be seen more clearly, in select places graced by a lonely crumbling castle or single tower. Later, the harbour of Queenstown would play host to Titanic for a short while, her last stop before proceeding across the Atlantic to New York.

Despite the sea air blowing about, the Crawleys and Strallans enjoyed a generous breakfast together on their private promenade deck. They dined on fresh fruit, grilled ham and sausages, eggs, and scones with blackcurrant conserves. Two stewards waited on them. The morning was quite chilly, though everyone was able to tolerate it as long as they wore warmer garments and the tea was kept hot.

"I never believed I could have such a peaceful sleep on a steam liner," Edith told everybody. "I hardly noticed the engines."

"That alone, I'm sure, will make Titanic more attractive to travellers than she already is," Anthony said.

"It doesn't seem like we're going very fast, though," Mary said. Despite the breeze blowing about and making the corners of her napkin flap up and down, the ship could only be moving with at most a moderate speed.

Matthew gave his wife a look that, had she caught it, would have warned her not to keep being so blasé. "We won't go full speed until we've left Ireland, of course. And Titanic's no canoe – she'll reach up to twenty-four knots on the open sea."

"The Cunard liners can go twenty-seven or twenty-eight knots," Mary countered. Not that she knew exactly what a knot was.

"They're supposed to; they're built that way," Edith said. "But I've never heard of anyone having a restful night on one of them."

Anthony smiled over the rim of his teacup. Witnessing the banter between Edith and Mary was a bit like watching a play, only now Edith was getting a few good lines herself.

"So, I assume you ladies took some time to explore the ship yesterday?" he asked.

"We did, and I truly believe that Titanic's interior is more impressive than her structure," Edith said. Her eyes brightened like a child's at the reminiscence. "It's like a city, really. We saw the Turkish baths on F deck – it's like something out of Arabian Nights, with blue and green tiles and a Cairo curtain over the portholes. And the lights are like old lanterns hanging from the ceiling."

"The poor stewardess inside was still cleaning up from when the workmen were putting the finishing touches on in Southampton," Mary remembered. "But aside from that, it is a striking room. Definitely out of a story-book."

Edith took another sip of tea. "We then went to see the swimming pool on the same deck, but they had only filled it up about halfway at the time. It doesn't look like anything too grand, compared to the baths—"

"It's really just a large saltwater tank," Mary interjected.

"—but it's a unique facility all the same. There's only one other swimming bath on a steam liner and that's on the Olympic, the sister ship."

"Edith, you certainly have done your research," Anthony said proudly. "You're perhaps just as much an expert on Titanic as Thomas Andrews is."

"Well, it has been the only thing I've been able to think about for a long time," Edith conceded. "Everything about it is so remarkable."

"I'm not so inclined to call a half-empty tub of saltwater 'remarkable,'" Mary said. "However, we took a lovely tea in the lounge and that was such an exquisite room. Made me finally realize that the drawing room at Downton is outdated by at least two centuries."

She and Edith sniggered. The old-world atmosphere of Downton was something both of them poured scorn on.

Matthew asked, "What exactly makes you say that?"

Mary pretended to look pensive. "Oh, where do I begin? First, the style is French, so it is ornate, but unlike the old drawing room it's not fussy. The boiseries are a far sight more refined than that ludicrous silk wallpaper. The company is a good deal better too offhand."

Matthew's expression was one of feigned offense, an obvious attempt to resemble Mary's papa. "Such indignity, and to your own family."

Mary slapped him lightly on the wrist. "The only indignity being committed is that of you making yourself look like a fool."

Had they been alone, Matthew would have taken the opportunity to begin shamelessly toying with Mary – and she was well aware that that what she had said would have lead him to it. It happened many a time at their home in London, in every place possible: the dining room, drawing room, garden, bedroom. Matthew figured that Mary only said such things to spur him to begin their little games, but he didn't mind it a bit, even when she threw half-hearted jibes at him. At the moment, both were trying to imagine what sort of fun they could be having with the concept of 'indignity' without letting it show.

"There's the gymnasium onboard as well," Anthony mentioned. "Did you ladies see that?"

"We did, but only from the outside," Edith said. "The men use it in the afternoon, and the women in the morning. "

"To be perfectly frank, I question the need for a gymnasium on a ship this size," Mary said. "Walking around the decks is enough exercise for me."

"And you said so yourself the machines in their look like they could snap your fingers off if you weren't careful," Edith said.

This time, Mary did not laugh. Matthew and Anthony shared a quizzical look, both men wondering just how bizarre those new machines were.

"White Star admittedly enjoys outdoing itself in terms of luxury," Matthew said. "I would not be surprised if Titanic has her own gold mine somewhere."

"I should think some of the Americans brought their own," Mary quipped.

The pattern of the wind changed as Titanic steered gradually right; it made very little disturbance on the wicker table nonetheless. "We're nearing land," Edith discerned.

"Nearer to Ireland, nearer to the Bransons," Mary said.

Shortly, the stewards cleared away the breakfast dishes, and everyone prepared themselves for the day's pursuits. Until the air grew warmer no one planned to take a stroll outside, so for the time being they lingered in the enclosed promenade, which afforded them a fine view of the sea. The deck was also furnished with wooden deck chairs, which Anthony and Edith took the liberty of occupying a couple. Meanwhile, Mary and Matthew wandered along the walkway, heads turned outward towards the approaching landfall. It was not long before the romantic coves and pastures of Ireland could be seen, coupled with tall lighthouses and the remnants of a fairy-tale world. The passengers who had never before seen it stood idle by the windows and looked out with starry-eyed expressions.

"It seems like a wonderland from afar, but once you're in the city you're reminded of a Dickens novel," Mary noted.

"Surely it can't be as bad as all that," Matthew said. "From the letters Sybil wrote to you it sounds like she and Tom have a stable life."

"By Dublin standards, which is hardly a comfortable place to live," Mary said trenchantly. Her sigh was rather like a grumble. "Sometimes I'm afraid she's purposefully keeping quiet about any troubles she and Tom might be having."

Matthew frowned. "Do you mean troubles between the two of them? Or in Dublin?"

"I desperately hope not the former. The latter, however, is what I am concerned about."

"What is it that worries you so?"

Mary's voice was soft, as if she did not want anyone else to hear her being so soft-hearted. "Nothing in particular … but I feel like there's a storm coming, one that will alter their lives and not necessarily for the better. You know I don't look into such things so closely, but I don't want them getting hurt by whatever happens. You should have seen how happy they were at the wedding – nothing should tear their kind of love apart."

Her distress was impressed on Matthew too, but like her disquiet about Titanic the previous night, what reality was it based in? There was always dissent in Dublin, especially in regards to the social order, but nothing had come of it save for unruliness on the parts of drunken thugs. On top of that, Sybil and Tom, he could tell, were better at navigating obstacles than the officers that were steering the ship across the seas.

"If you suspect Sybil is holding something back, then ask her," he advised Mary.

Mary was dubious. "She might not say anything."

"Then there might not be anything to say."

Mary considered this: Sybil was certainly capable of keeping secrets, but much time had passed since she had hidden a skeleton in the cupboard. Would she, now a married woman, be more open to disclosing any doubts or difficulties, or would she force a smile and remain tight-lipped to any inquiries? It was odd for Mary not to know how her own sister might act – she had always prided herself on knowing both Edith and Sybil better than even their spouses, but perhaps that no longer held true. It would be harder to talk now that each person's life had so drastically changed.

"Very well," Mary said after thinking, "I'll talk to her, but not today. I don't wish to responsible for making her upset on the first night of their holiday."

"I'm sure it would take more than a well-meaning interrogation to rip your familial bond asunder."

Mary had to wonder why Matthew always painted a more congenial portrait of her family than was true to life.

They had reached the end of the enclosed area; they turned around and walked back the other way. Edith and Anthony were still lounging on their deck chairs. Anthony's hands were folded over his stomach and his eyes were closed.

"Falling asleep again so early in the morning, I see," Mary teased.

"Not at all. I'm merely using my other senses to experience the journey," Anthony returned. "You ought to try it sometime; it's quite relaxing."

Edith giggled. "If you had your way you'd stay that way all week."

"Yes I would," Anthony said, eyes still closed.

"I'm glad he's already found his perfect spot on the ship," Mary said.

"If he goes missing, we'll know where to find him," Matthew added.

Anthony's left eye opened to peer at them. "I thought I made it clear that I could still hear all of you."

"We do know that," Edith said. "It simply doesn't make a difference to any of us."

Anthony chuckled. "Now I am starting to wonder if Titanic is big enough for all of us."

Titanic made it to Queenstown at midday. The wind was blowing harder, nearly a squall, and most passengers remained inside, looking out at the harbour through potholes in public rooms. Mary and Edith were among the few who were braving the crisp weather, watching for a possible glimpse of their sister. A great many on land had gathered to watch the massive steamer be guided into Queenstown, standing at the dock and on other ships, poking their heads out of windows lined at the waterfront and waving from the streets behind. It was an unusually vast crowd there, just as there was at Southampton and Cherbourg, with the same fussing of tags and hurried transport of passengers. The confusion was even greater with hundreds of men, women, and children bound for steerage, crying out in curious intonations and languages, some smiling and others fearful of the huge iron ship.

Somewhere in the crowd, the Bransons were standing and looking up in awe at Titanic, filled with the same amazement that had transfixed their relations at Southampton.

It hardly mattered that they were travelling second-class – it might not be close to the grand luxury that the Crawleys and Strallans could bear the expense of, but it would afford them decent comfort. Upon hearing that the Bransons had been invited to journey to America via Titanic, Sybil's papa had insisted that they take the trip; and rather uncharacteristic of him, he sent them a good amount of the fare for second-class tickets so that money would not serve as an excuse for them missing out. Even so, a large portion of what they had saved up went to the rest of the cost, and there was a little bit more to sacrifice to take the train down to Queenstown. Yet neither Sybil nor Tom held doubts that their hard-earned money was being exhausted for a poor reason – this would be not only a once-in-a-lifetime journey for them, but perhaps the only one they ever took.

It seemed a great many passengers were bound for steerage, accounting for the heavy trunks on their backs and drab attire. Some did not have much to carry at all. Most of the migrants were queued in a jumbled line, going through the rushed health inspection and having their papers scrutinized for tell-tale signs of counterfeit. Only afterwards would they be waved leave to continue. Just as at Cherbourg, the massive ship was too large to dock within the harbour, and so two tenders conveyed the new passengers from the pier. All aboard craned their necks and turned their heads upwards to stare at, what must have seemed to many of them, a miracle.

"Look at them all," Edith said in a romantic tone. "Going to a new world, to work and live with God-knows-what kind of people. It must be thrilling and frightening all at once."

She realized that she was clenching her jaw due to the cold and rubbed a gloved finger where it was sore. They had been standing outside for close to an hour, and the crispness was finally taking its toll. A few minutes more and she would have to retreat indoors to wait instead.

"Really Edith, you sound positively ridiculous," Mary said, still scanning the tenders down below. One was unloading people at the third class entrance – no need to look there.

"Perhaps I do sound absurd, but it is true," Edith retorted. "Those people must have given up so much just for a ticket. They're leaving their friends and family behind, and they may never come back at all. You don't know what it's like to give up your whole world like they have."

"Neither do you, for that matter," Mary answered. "Wait—!" she said, interrupting herself. "I think that's her!"

Both she and Edith leaned against the railing, squinting far below. The second tender was advancing toward Titanic, and standing at the bow was a woman wearing dark traveling garb and a blue hat, looking up at the massive ship.

"I do believe that's Sybil!" Edith exclaimed.

She wanted to be like the children standing on the iron bars, leaning with their stomachs across the railing and waving and crying greetings to the new arrivals. It had seemed like ages since anyone saw Sybil, and of course her husband. He was distinguishable by his soft felt sepia-tinged hat, only slightly smarter than the countless flat caps on the heads of old and young men.

"Do you think they will let us greet her?" she asked. The restrictions between even first and second class were well enforced.

"I don't see why not. We're her sisters – it would be uncouth of them to forbid us to see her for at least a few minutes."

They went back inside. Having been on the ship for only twenty-four hours, making their way around the many large rooms and narrow corridors was still a task. Before either of them managed to get lost, Mary resolved to ask an attendant on the whereabouts of the second-class entrance.

"Ma'am, what business could you possibly have with second-class?" the haughty steward quickly answered with.

Mary arched her eyebrows, astonished at the steward's cheek. "If you really must know, our sister is a second-class passenger. We would very much like to be there to welcome her and her husband."

"Your sister?" the steward repeated in incredulity.

"Yes," Mary accentuated. Edith nodded behind her.

The steward stuttered. "I – w-well I – w-wasn't aware that your – your sister would be en-entering through the – s-second class—"

Mary rolled her eyes and scoffed. "I cannot believe this. Do I have to explain it all to you?"

The steward turned pink in the face and seemed to shrivel under Mary's glare.

"It is a rather long story," Edith muttered.

"W-well ma'am I – didn't think – know that—"

"Of course you didn't," Mary said, in exactly the sort of tone that implied that he should. "But it is the truth: Miss Sybil Branson and her husband Tom Branson do not live in England, they live in Dublin, and they have purchased second-class tickets in view of their current economy."

She leaned closer to the harassed steward and spoke slower. "Now will you kindly show us where we may greet them, preferably today?"

The steward stood rigid, as if still indecisive as to what he was supposed to do. Mary looked as if to wonder how a bungling man could have been employed by the White Star Line.

"I'll fetch someone to escort you down," the steward said finally. He scurried away, the back of his neck bright red.

Mary and Edith sighed, both put out and amused. "This is the only time I've felt society is much too strict on division," Mary said.

"It was to be expected," Edith told her. "How many other first-class passengers personally know someone in second?"

"How many other servants have the gall to be impertinent to the people who are paying them?" Mary sniffed.

Another steward, one who thankfully asked no questions, came by within a moment to usher them down to the second-class reception room. It was a busy place, most carrying smaller cases in both hands, clustering together to find their cabins. There were clergymen, professors, tourists, people traveling to speaking events, families looking to have an adventure in America, couples on honeymoons … and so many could be heard speaking about how extravagant their side of the ship seemed. Mary and Edith too were impressed at the state of the area. It was not evenly matched to the grandeur of the first-class decks, but it was far more elegant than most second-class passengers might be used to.

Mary scanned the incoming crowd, looking for familiar faces. "Do you think Tom will faint from the comfort he'll be surrounded by for the next week? Or will he declare rebellion against unnecessary indulgence?"

"He ought to be proud of it. The ship was built in Ireland," Edith claimed. "Besides, he won't say a rude word about anything. You shun your own brother-in-law without much to substantiate your judgement."

Mary exhaled, sullen but in full awareness that she had been wrong to speak. "You're right – I am being rather rude, but I don't feel like I can help it. It confuses me: he used to talk so much about 'English oppression' and 'socialism' that my ears are still ringing with it, and then he goes and marries Sybil, an English lady no less!"

"It is peculiar, but we can't do anything about it, and there's no use pretending otherwise." Edith looked among the throng of ordinary people. "And when you really consider it, all that matters is that they're happy together, no matter what class they belong to. Things are changing."

"Not fast enough for them," Mary said grimly.

In the middle of her sentence, she caught sight of a blue hat, and she had little doubt as to who it was. "Sybil!" she called out.

As soon as she spoke aloud the name, the face to match it turned to look around. Sybil found where Mary and Edith were standing, and she nudged Tom's arm to get his attention. They pushed their way through the sea of bustling passengers, reaching the other Crawley girls with wide smiles.

"Hello darling," Mary said, meeting Sybil with an embrace. "How lovely to see you at last."

"Oh Mary, it's been so long," Sybil said joyfully. "And Edith – I can't believe it, we're all together again!"

Mary regarded Tom politely. "It's lovely to see you as well, Tom."

Tom's eyes darted quickly from Mary to Edith and then to the space between them; he seemed like a daunted child. It was obvious that, though he was on more familiar terms with Sybil's sisters now, their wealth and stature still cowed him. On every occasion that he saw them, dressed like royalty and speaking with lofty elocution, he could not help but feel like a lowbrow proletarian. He smiled nervously: what did they think of him even now? He knew they accepted him as a brother-in-law, but as a friend? – he doubted that.

"It's good to see you again," he said, with as much grace as he could affect.

Sybil touched Tom's arm in reassurance. There was a quiet rebel in him, and it was hard to look at any aristocrat in the eye without remembering the stark differences between the classes.

"We've been up since seven this morning preparing for Titanic," she said. "We had a bit of confusion with the luggage, but it's all settled now."

"Are you certain you have everything?" Mary asked.

Sybil nodded. "Yes. We managed to have the big trunk sent up before us, and the rest is with us, as you can see."

"Good. You should go to your stateroom and freshen up," Mary said. "Go have luncheon and explore the ship."

"Are we really going to part ways so soon after coming together again?" Sybil groaned. "It's been so long, and so much has happened since we last saw each other."

Mary looked behind Sybil's shoulder at the activity in the hall. There was still quite a bit of jostling of people, luggage and mail bags. "It's much too busy here to properly catch up."

"We can talk more someplace else," Edith added.

Sybil sighed. "Alright. Tell Matthew and Anthony that we look forward to meeting them again."

"Of course," Mary said. "We'll see you soon."

Sybil and Tom disappeared back through the crowd to get to their stateroom. Mary and Edith hurried back to the stairs from where they entered to avoid being swept away by the passengers coming in from the most recent tender.

"She seems so different now," Edith murmured. "It is hard to believe that she's our sister."

"A working life has changed her," Mary agreed. "I can't imagine that you don't remain the person you were before after you become a nurse." She shook her head, aghast at her own words. "We shouldn't talk like this. She is still our sister, no matter how she chooses to live her life."

Edith nodded, but she continued, "It must be so awkward, for her and Tom. She gave up the world that she was brought up in, and now she's back into something that resembles it."

"If she was made uneasy by comfort and self-indulgence, she wouldn't be here in the first place," Mary made clear. "As for Tom, he'll have to grin and bear it for a few days. I highly doubt it will kill him."

Sybil opened the door to their stateroom and moved to turn the light on; she realized a second later that it was already on. She was so used to coming home to a dark flat that had only one electric lightbulb. She helped Tom pull their suitcases into the room, her ankle bumping against the big trunk that was waiting for them against the wall. As soon as he was over the threshold, Tom shut the door, cutting off the clamour still happening in the corridor as other families settled into their cabins.

"Peace at last," he sighed, leaning against the moulding.

Some smashed against the other side of the door. Tom whirled around and threw it open; he caught a glimpse of an excitable young child practically bounding off the walls.

Sybil giggled. "Not quite."

Tom groaned, then shared her laugh. "If the lad isn't careful he'll overturn the ship before we've made it out to sea."

"That would put a proper damper on the voyage," Sybil said.

She turned around and gaped at the stateroom. "Crikey! This – this is so lovely!" She sat down on one of the berths, hands running across the bed covers. "I didn't think the second-class rooms would be so cozy."

Tom peered about as well, his eyes running across everything from the hat hooks to the wood the berths were made of. "Are you sure we weren't by accident placed in a first-class cabin?"

"I doubt it. But if our room is as nice as this, I wonder what those ones are like," Sybil said.

"Like a king's palace, I imagine," Tom said, not holding back the scepticism his tone usually held when talking about royalty.

Sybil looked at Tom disappointedly. "Tom please, don't be that way, not now when we're finally on the ship."

Tom sat on the settee across from her. "I'm sorry Sybil, really, but—"

"I know what you're thinking," Sybil interrupted. "I understand how strange it must be for you – it's strange for me as well: being on holiday and not having to work nearly every day."

"What I'm thinking has little to do with you and me," Tom said.

Sybil furrowed her brow. "What, then?"

Tom stood up, running his hands across the dressing table between the beds and the settee. "You saw all those people lined up for steerage outside."

"Of course I did," Sybil affirmed, foreseeing where Tom was going with his train of thought.

"Now that I'm seeing how nice our quarters are, I'm wondering how theirs will be," he said. "All those people, families with children – what sort of accommodations are they going to live in for the next few days? I've yet to see them, but I swear by the Virgin they won't be close to what first-class or even second-class rooms are like."

Sybil was all too familiar with this concern of Tom. She shared it too, just not with Titanic. "It can't be so bad as you might think. How many times have we read that the third-class areas are better than on other ships? The cabins are berths like ours, and they have their own dining room and decks—"

"Or so the White Star says," Tom cut in. "Who's to say that they aren't packing them together like cattle underneath our feet? How do we know they aren't only being fed cabin biscuits and gruel?"

"Tom!" Sybil exclaimed. "If you really thought that Titanic could be that primitive, you would not have agreed to sacrifice our savings for tickets. You know better than to think that they'd treat people that way, even when they aren't paying hundreds of pounds or have a great business attached to their name."

"I do know that," Tom insisted. "I know steerage conditions have improved in the past few years. But – and I don't mean any offence to you or them – but when I saw your sisters, I forgot all of that. I remembered how different they are to the rest of the world … how different their lives are from ours. They're the ruling class, and we're the repressed."

At first, Sybil did not try to say anything to change his tune. That was his attitude towards the sort of people she had once lived among. Nothing that he said was directed towards her – she had never seen herself as that type of person – but her family was among those he referred to as "oppressive people" and he never denied that, although being related to them now, he still viewed them as such. To sway his opinion might be harder than managing to tip the Titanic over on her side.

She reached across the space between them and clasped his hand. She looked him square in the eye as she told him, "This voyage that we're taking is not about class. It's not about basking in the wealth of Titanic. It's about my family, your friends, all reuniting on a ship that will take us all to see America. I'm not trying to belittle the way you are seeing things, but I'm telling you that this is neither the time nor place to start an argument against the system that's in place."

"Are you saying I should suppress my revolutionary instincts?" Tom asked.

"No. I just want to make things easier for you," Sybil said.

Tom slowly smiled, hearing the wisdom of Sybil's words. Too right she was – why did he never how much of a fool he was until she pointed it out?

He rose from the settee and planted a soft kiss on Sybil's cheek. He was about to withdraw, thinking that he ought to start unpacking, but she turned her head so that their lips met. She put her arms around him and held him close, so that she could feel his heartbeat as well as her own.

"Which side are we on?" Sybil arbitrarily asked.

"The starboard side, I think," Tom answered.

Sybil smiled glowingly. "So does that mean we'll be able to see the stars every night?"

Tom nodded. "Yes, of course."

"When I'm here, every night, I want to stand up on the deck and look at all the stars in the sky. There are too many lights in the city to see them clearly."

"This ship has as many electric lights as any city, I'll bet."

"I'm sure I'll see them better at sea than any place on land."

From afar, the ship's horn sounded. "She's leaving," Sybil ascertained. "Wouldn't you like to go see a last glimpse of your home?"

"My home is wherever you are, a mhuirnín," Tom said, calling her the name he said to her every day since they had been married. Sybil loved the word; she could not speak a comprehensible sentence in Irish to save her life, but that word sounded like a second name, belonging only to her.

Together, they headed back out to the hectic corridor, hardly settled down in the few minutes they had been in their stateroom. There was a single lift to take them up to the deck where they might watch Titanic depart from the harbour. There were quite a few second-class passengers among them, but below, on the poop deck, the third-class was huddled close together. The women were wrapped in shawls against the chilly air, and the men were waving their flat caps in a farewell gesture. It was a bit warmer than it had been in the morning, but the brisk wind was enough to make one without a coat shiver.

"It's awfully dispiriting to think," Tom said, "that this might be their last view of their home. I doubt most, if not all, have the means to travel back, even if they do manage to make a decent living in America."

Sybil remembered, from a few years back, that immigrants, particularly Irishmen, were too often turned away by employers being given the simple excuse of "we don't take Irish!" Had that attitude changed at all since then? If the people below decks were sailing to a country that had rejected families in the past, did they believe that they had a better chance now, in 1912?

They had hope, at least, enough hope to give them the courage to leave home behind in search of a better one. That had been Sybil's mentality when she had left comfort and money for a life with the man she loved.

The whistles gave a long blast, signaling the smaller craft nearby to stand clear. The gangplanks were drawn away, lines were cast off, and Titanic slowly moved away from Cork harbour. Fighting against the wind knotting their hair and biting their faces, Sybil and Tom watched as the ship steamed beyond the headland, the green coastline of their home grow thinner and thinner, the cawing of seagulls becoming less raucous by the minute. Sybil found it hard to keep her eyes open, what with the sea wind stinging like salt water and forming tears. She rubbed her face with her gloved fist.

"Ah now, don't cry," Tom said, putting his arm around her. "We'll be back before long. She'll still be here, same as ever."

"I'm not crying because of that!" Sybil declared. "It's the sea air. I forgot how irritating it is."

"You'll have to get used to it quickly. This is how it'll be for the next few days."

As Titanic picked up speed, Sybil turned away from the coastline to look out at the open sea. She stood at the rail, leaning towards the stern pointing outward toward the horizon. The expanse of water as far as the eye could see sent a thrill through her, a sensation of adventure mixed with danger. They would be in their own solitary world on the ocean, the unknown lying ahead of them like the unfurled future.

It's like the explorers who were sent to settle in the New World, she thought dreamily. What did they expect to encounter on the huge sea? What did they think awaited them on the shore none of them had seen?

Tom came to join her at her side. "We're at the mercy of nature now. All of us are off to a different world."

"Do you think there's any danger in it?" Sybil wondered aloud. "On the ocean, all alone?"

"We won't be completely alone. There are other ships, but they'll be miles off. They won't bother us," Tom said. "And obviously there'll be danger, but we aren't a rickety old sloop; if there's a storm, God forbid, the only bad thing to result will be a soaked hat."

The ship's horn sounded again, marking her farewell to Ireland. Sybil tenderly touched one of Tom's hand, and he folded his other over hers. They leaned closer to each other and kissed once more, sharing in the perfect moment.

"Promise me that, when we're on dry land again, we'll do that again. Where everyone can see us," Sybil said. "Then, even America will know just how much the rebel loves his lady."

"I promise," Tom said. "We shall stand on top of the Statue of Liberty, and I'll shout it to the world."

"Really Tom," Sybil chided gently, "I doubt you'll need to use words."

"You're right; you standing by my side will be all the proof they need."

Soon, they were surrounded by nothing but ocean, the long road of sea stretching out as far as the eye could see. Titanic would make no more stops before beginning her crossing on the Atlantic, and so the next shore she would see would be that of her intended destination. Each passenger that remained was bound for New York, bound for whatever fate had stored for each one of them.

And now all the ships are on the ship!

*sobs a little more*

Historical notes:

1. In terms of speed, Titanic was not revolutionary: as Mary states, her Cunard rivals could go much faster. Passengers who had an option in the matter did not choose Titanic for her speed, however, but rather for a smoother journey.

2. Having a gymnasium and swimming pool on a steam liner was practically unheard of at the time. Titanic's sister ship, the Olympic, was the first liner to have a swimming bath within the ship. The pool on Titanic would be empty when it was docked at Southampton, and it would be filled with clean seawater when it was out to sea.

3. Steerage accommodations on Titanic were remarkably comfortable. Changes in the past years had been made to 'humanize' the third-class sections. Up until a few years prior to Titanic, steerage passengers had to bring their own food on a ship if they wanted to eat at all. Instead of open dormitory style rooms, third-class cabins had berths for up to six people, and families were usually in the same room. Despite the altercations made for their comfort, those passengers would literally be gated from the other classes, so as to not intermix and prevent the poorer classes from spreading illnesses to other parts of the ship (rather inhumane to think about in the twenty-first century, but it was common practise in 1912).