Author's Note: Hmmm… I should probably start putting in Disclaimers… Yeah… Hahaha…

Sorry about the long wait for this chapter… I've been having some family issues lately and this chapter was written in the form of thirty or so paragraphs in about ten different notebooks in the backseat of a car whilst my brothers took turns driving us halfway across the state… ANYWAY—here it is. The long awaited Chapter Six. Thanks a bunch.

~Jillianna

Disclaimer: I don't own Titanic, simply put. Neither do I own Jack, Rose, Cal (who may appear later in the story…) Harold Lowe, etc, ect. I merely own Fallon, Halley and the creepy Mr. Elliot. That is all.

*

I had left Halley in the stateroom, still gently crying into her hands as she sat on the foot of her bed. I knew I didn't have to enforce the fact that she could not and would not be seeing Mr. Elliot again—I knew she'd have more common sense than that and I frankly didn't want to rub it in.

My reasons for leaving my sister alone were simple; she had wanted to be alone, for one, and I needed to get to Harold and apologize. He probably understood why I'd left in such a hurry, but I still felt obligated to explain.

The Bridge was farther away than I remembered it, which was probably due to the fact I'd been so steaming mad as I dragged Halley back to our stateroom that I'd forgotten the distance. As I approached it, though, it was empty except for the one officer manning the wheel. "Sir?" I called gently, being careful not to allow the door to slam behind me. The man at the wheel turned, smiling, his face young and slightly rounded. He almost had a boyish look to him.

"Are you lost?" he asked with a grin, his hands still on the wooden wheel. I smiled back warmly. "No, quite the opposite, actually. I was wondering if you might know where Mr. Lowe is? I've been craving a word with him all morning. Glancing at the clock, I could tell that he was probably having lunch, now… as I should be doing…

The man pulled a lever, locking the steering wheel into place, as he, too, looked up at the clock. "I'd imagine he's in the Mess Hall now, actually. His shift is about to start." He paused, wiping his hands off on his recently pressed and navy blue pants. "James Moody," he introduced, holding out a hand.

"Fallon Collins," I accepted, taking his hand in my own. A flicker of recognition flashed in his eyes as he smiled. "Oh. You're Miss Collins?" I blushed, my face flaming. "That would be me…?" I replied, my voice cracking nervously as I was unsure how he could know me and why he was making that amused face.

Cocking his head, Mr. Moody's smile fell. "How's your head? I heard you hit it pretty hard." My hand flew up to the bump on the side of my head, covered by my mess of hair. Oh. Mr. Moody probably heard about Harry running into me. I was sure all of the officers knew by now…

"I'm fine… It's fine, now. Thank you." I nodded shyly and we shared an awkward moment of silence. "The, uh, Mess Hall is down that way, Miss Collins." Mr. Moody pointed to an open door which led down a long hallway. "Yes, of course. Thank you, Mr. Moody."

He nodded, touching his officer's hat formally before turning back to the wheel to direct the ship. Entering the hallway, I half expected it to have the elegance of the opulent first class hallway. However, these were the Officer's Quarters, so the extravagance was much more low-key.

I finally made my way over to a door with a sign on it that read "Mess Hall" and turned the knob slowly, pushing the door open. My eyes were met by a somewhat large room, several picnic tables spread throughout with blue makeshift tablecloths on each. There was a kitchenette in the far right corner which included a refrigerator, a stove, a small wooden counter.

Two men in navy blue officer's uniforms leaned against the counter while one sat on one of the picnic benches, his elbows resting on his knees and his chin resting on his knuckles as he faced the two men at the counter. All three heads turned to me as I closed the door behind me, and I smiled at Harold who had been sitting on the bench. He smiled back.

Standing tall, he straightened his shoulders and dusted off his pants before strutting over to me. "Good afternoon, Ms. Collins," he nodded formally. I started to tell him off for addressing me so formally, but before I could, he jerked his head towards the other two officers in the room. "Good day, Mr. Lowe," I replied, curtsying slightly with my head bowed.

I glanced at the other two officers who watched me with scrutinizing eyes, which were fixed on me so intently that I could feel the heat of their stares burning through my skin. Harold turned, rather quickly, to the other officers in the room. "Gentlemen, this is Ms. Collins, the young lady who-" before he could finish his sentence, the taller officer began snickering and the shorter one, who I recognized as Mr. Murdoch, stared at me in awe.

"Shut up, Lights!" he hissed, whacking the taller officer on the back of the head. Right. They call Mr. Lightoller, Lights. Mr. Lightoller stopped laughing and looked down at the ground, still unable to hide his grin. Harold looked away from me, probably out of embarrassment, and Mr. Murdoch was the one to break the painful silence.

"What brings you here, Ms. Collins?" he asked politely and I smiled in return. "Harold…" I froze before speed talking, trying to cover my mistake. "Mr. Lowe was kind enough to escort me to the infirmary yesterday and I just wanted to thank him."

Harold seemed to be the only one who really noticed that I'd addressed him on first name basis, as when he turned his head to look at me, his face was bright red. He still managed to smile, though. I heard Mr. Lightoller stifle laughs again, but this time Mr. Murdoch scoffed, too. "He brought her to the infirmary under my orders, you know," he whispered in an undertone, but I still managed to hear.

I could tell Harold was fidgeting next to me, so I tried everything in my power to get us out of there. "Mr. Lowe, could I have a word with you?" I glared at Mr. Lightoller and Mr. Murdoch who were watching Harold's reaction with amused expressions. "In private?" He nodded quickly, grabbing my arm and leading me out of the room before I had a chance to look at either of the other two's faces.

He had led me out a different door than we'd entered and this one seemed to lead to a supply closet. A poorly insulated one, at that, as I could hear the two officers in the kitchen still trying to hold back laughs.

The door had squeaked closed behind us and Harold reached up to pull a string which turned on a light bulb which swung back and forth, casting eerie shadows on all the walls. The room was small, though not cramped. It held brooms and mops and buckets and soap and other cleaning supplies. In addition, Harold and I were able to stand in the room comfortably in our own personal space bubbles.

As his head turned up and he looked at me, I could tell he was nervous. I smiled gently as my brow furrowed. "You're nervous," I stated, and he began to protest, but thought better of it. "I just wanted to apologize," I whispered, leaning against a dusty old wooden broom behind me.

He looked confused as he took a single step forward. "Apologize? For what? I knocked you down and acted like a complete fool whilst my colleges teased you. I should be the one apologizing." He smiled boyishly, which, in return, caused me to grin girlishly.

I stepped forward; the only thing between us now was the dirty old string that was attached to the light that hung from the ceiling. "Well?" I asked expectantly, blinking twice and still managing to look amused yet slightly shy. Harold swallowed hard. "Well, what?" he whispered.

I tiled my head sideways flirtatiously. "Well, aren't you going apologize?" He nodded in understanding, swallowing again, before he leaned in quickly, his soft lips connecting with mine.

And the last two things on my mind were my sister and my fiancé.

*

Author's Note: Oooo! We all saw that coming. But what about her fiancé? She does really love Charles (fiancé), in case you're having doubts about her point of view. And just so you know, I'm not sure that "personal space bubbles" existed in 1912, but it's just for a visual. Mmmm… Sorry for spelling errors… I'm terrible at correcting my own work. If there's something funky that doesn't make sense, ask me and I'll let you know.

Hope you LOVE it. Open to ideas and constructive criticism. No lemons, please (even though they're yummy).

~Jillianna