Taro had recently acquired more dresses and men's clothing for multifunctional purposes. She felt pretty in dresses and Murdoch told her so every day but she felt safe in breeches and trousers.

The Olympic had been docked for 3 days and was set for departure that evening so during that time Miss Charlotte Taro had been very indecisive over what to do – her new clothes were one thing to pass the time, she didn't have a lot of money so it was limited despite Mr Murdoch's offers. However, the problem lay in the Olympic. She was indecisive over whether she wanted to go at all.

Yes the Titanic was a blow and it was flying all over the world. In the short space of time between the sinking and the inquiry, the world's population suddenly got swept away with the tragedy and was fast becoming nothing short of a legend – but all this didn't stop Taro from wanting her adventure. She came to see what else was out ahead of her and she had found out the lesser known parts of that – the one's where not everyone comes out the end of the tunnel - with no cushion to soften the blow: Not all of it was 'you go down, you get up'.

She wondered the streets aimlessly, unable to make a decision – Murdoch had presented her with a ticket which he had organised via all sorts of connections due to his ranking and undoubtedly abused the system a wee bit but it didn't matter. He offered it to her, laying his cards on the table straight,

"I have to go back – there's no question about that. But here," he pulled the ticket from his pocket, clad in clothes made for men, not sailors…a different Murdoch, and offered it to her. Taro took it tentatively and gazed down at it in disbelief - in honest truth, since her departure from the inquiry room, away from the steward, Taro hadn't thought about it,

"I know yoo might not want to go back," Murdoch continued, "I saw yoo walk away from what was already offered to yoo but I thought, perhaps, if yoo did, yoo could come back with me," he sounded hopeful but she was taken aback by the gesture. She hadn't thought about what was to become of Murdoch and herself and now, just like that, with the ruffle of a coat pocket and the crinkle of paper, the time had come to decide.

"Thank ye…" she muttered absentmindedly, her concentration still on the ticket in her hands.

But in comparison to what was going through her head over the past 2 days since then, Taro was beginning to wonder if, maybe, it was for the best to just let everything slip away. She was steerage; he was a 1st class CHIEF Officer of the Olympic class ships, the grandest ships in the world. Titanic was a dream and they met on it. They were a dream too, surely – it made sense.

She sighed, feeling the ticket – fondling it as it scrunched under her grasp…Murdoch had told her,

"Just arrive if yoo want too and don't if yoo don't. Simple as that,"

She had gotten up then, baffled and on the verge of tears, clutching the ticket tightly. Just as she was about to depart she heard Murdoch mutter faintly,

"How many more times are yoo going to run from me?"

That being said, she didn't run, she sort of mooched out in a stupor but he didn't follow her. So she was now at the pier, looking out over the grand steam liner that now looked comparatively ordinary to the Titanic, cradling her arm which was in a new sling. Rose was to stay, she had made that perfectly clear and Fabrizio…she wasn't particularly sure what happened to him but he left a letter for her once saying that he was happy and that he and his love were getting married, quick though it was, but that he wanted to be "friends forever and ever". The thought made her smile; she wouldn't know where to find him forever and ever! But that thought wasn't a bad thing, it was encouraging if not anything else. Fabrizio had moved on, he had made it to America and he had found love and was ready to leave Titanic behind.

Taro frowned, she had been spiralling all the way down to the depths of hell after the sinking, dreams of screams and silence growing more and more frequent but after the enquiry…it seemed to lessen and get better day by day like the enquiry was, ultimately, a very odd funeral for the ship itself. She was also content with the knowledge given to them by various court runners that bodies were being retrieved and their burials at sea and on land were taking place to ensure that they were remembered. The wreck itself, however, was now a mystery and would remain so until 73 years later when it would be discovered by new technologies 1912 could only have dreamed of. So be it, Taro's spirits were on the rise – the enquiry was over, she had made her peace, things were doing their best to look up and did so admirably. The only decision left to make was to, either, get on board the Olympic and brave the squids again or to simply let it sail away into the horizon taking one William McMaster Murdoch with it. Both were equally as terrifying. She squinted into the evening sun, the ticket in her pocket, the steam let off by the funnels lending a grey tint to the blue sky and the horn triumphing over all other noise…the Olympic was minutes away from leaving port.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Murdoch stood at the stern of The Olympic, standing, as was the fashion amongst sea savvy Officers of White Star Line, gazing out over the dock as the little people of New York gathered upon the dock to wave their loved ones goodbye with his hands clasped at the small of his back. It was like Titanic take 2 and the overwhelming sense of déjà vu caused Murdoch to turn away from it all to look out over the impending ocean, waiting to guide them home. He had 5 minutes to prepare himself mentally for the last time before he had to turn back to the docks and live up to his responsible position as stern watch. Making sure the ship's stern was clear of the harbour was a very important position indeed, for no one could see behind them but he and the stern was the heaviest part of the ship therefore excellent judgement needed to be on hand and it was upon him that the quarter master depended should something drastic need to happen.

He took a breath and squinted into the light of the sun as it drooped ever lower into the horizon; the day had been almost exactly the same as the day they had left Southampton on the Titanic: Blue sky, warm temperatures-ish and a calm sea. He had been avoiding the gangway doors at every cost, terrified to walk past and have them close, aware that Taro had not boarded.

He dropped his gaze to the calm listless water at the base of the ship as it gently broke against the hull: Wilde was to stay on in New York for further treatment of his badly done in leg (Murdoch would receive a letter from him three months later, explaining that his leg was indeed, permanently damaged and that he would no longer be able to be an able seaman, that it ruined him and that he hoped to see Murdoch upon his return in the coming weeks), Lowe was promoted to 4th Officer aboard a ship Murdoch forgot the name of, also heading back to Southampton. A detour would lead them to the southerly coasts of America before heading east, back home. Moody was on the same voyage though due to pre-organised crew, his position remained the same with promise that upon the next voyage, he'd be promoted too. As for Officer Boxhall, Murdoch never saw him again. 1st Officer Lightoller on the other hand, now stood on the bridge gazing out over the bow of the ship, watching the masses gather there to lean out and wave their goodbyes back. Murdoch was relieved to have a friend on board with him every time he thought about it, and he was especially glad it was Lightoller. He was a hard-case but he was a hard-case with a brain and a heart. He was good friend though he refused to admit that he and Wilde were on better terms. Murdoch would never forget that night, that moment when Lightoller was so intent on having Wilde believe that he'd be ok, insuring him that he wasn't going to let him go – the stubborn prick.

He smiled.

"All set for departure, Mr Murdoch?"

Mr Murdoch turned to reply though he didn't see who he was replying to,

"Aye, Sir, all set!"

And that was followed by an echo of,

"All hands on deck!"

And with an enormous heave of the engines and the roar of the funnels, Murdoch lifted the enormous docking rope that held the Olympic in place for a few minutes (someone was charging through the crowds – he thought he'd give them the benefit of the doubt) and let it drop into the sea and seconds later, the sister of the Titanic pulled away from the harbour pier and began its return voyage out to sea. He leaned out over the railings to ensure all was safe – it seemed so, so he relaxed and kept a whither eye on the propellers and the dock. But not before a woman caught his eye. A woman on the pier, waving, looking remarkably like someone he knew…he shut his eyes and opened them again, in hopes it was a dream…

"Please let that not be Charlie," he muttered to himself as he moved away to view the starboard side of the ship to make sure nothing was in the way there – all clear.

"Mr Murdoch?"

"All clear!"

"5 knots, Sir,"

"Very good!"

Catastrophe.

They were nearing the wide open sea, the wide open air – it was opener there. The vast expanse of ocean giving no hint of memory – did it remember him? Does it know of the Titanic? If he touched the surface, would it recognise him? He always believed the ocean to have a soul and so that was accompanied with the belief that if he laid a foot in it, some sort of bond would dub him memorable – a secret belief that he and the ocean were companions – a belief not even Lightoller knew of. Lightoller was free spirited in his own right but he was also far more practical on that front. Murdoch scratched his forehead beneath his cap before he settled it back down again.

Catastrophe.

OoOoOoOoO

Lightoller took a deep breath of frosty air into his lungs – still warmer than past experiences. He'd been in sub-zero degree temperatures (well below freezing), he'd been sunk and he'd been wrecked and now he'd been sunk again. He swore that if the Olympic or any other ship let him down again, he would quit the seafaring business and go in search of something else more emotionally satisfying…something safer, something that wasn't so unpredictable – he loved the ocean, to be sure but God, how many times had it tried to kill him now? Three? If the sea had a soul, it clearly didn't like him. He supposed he'd be content with merely staring at it for the rest of his life but he did love this, the ever so gentle sway of the ship as it tore through the water, the sound of said action, the gulls that flew above them and the dolphins that lead them on.

Quitting this would break his heart. But the Titanic had just about been too much. When the ship hit the iceberg, he – like many others – thought nothing of it and then Boxhall poked his head around the door of his cabin, 20 minutes later when Lightoller had taken his leave, and told him the first four compartments and part of number 5 were already underwater. The water was spilling over the bulkheads and rising, already fifteen feet above the keel. That little sentence was his undoing – he couldn't believe it. He was a hard-case for a reason.

But here he was once more and the world didn't look so bad, the ocean didn't look as daunting as it had felt and the memory was surreal. The captain was standing beside him; a jaunty man with the common white beard covering his face – a santa clause for the Atlantic. He had not yet had a proper conversation with him yet but then again, that might have been because the Captain wouldn't let him speak. The hefty man just droned on and on and on about his experiences as a Captain and as an officer and as crew. The most he got from Lightoller was a raised eyebrow and a nod of recognition. Not to say that the man's tales weren't exhilarating, there was just nothing in them that Lightoller had not already experienced to a much harsher extent. The Captain obviously didn't know that.

"This is a good ship, do you not think?"

Lightoller almost missed his cue, taking a sharp breath before the Captain caught on that he hadn't been paying attention,

"Yes, Sir, grand,"

"Grand!" he chuckled, "Yes, not quite as grand as the Titanic, eh? Such a shame she's at the bottom of the sea now, God rest her soul,"

Lightoller nodded, glancing at him – what was he to do with this man? Where was Murdoch when he needed him? Thankfully, the handful of a captain left him with a slap on his shoulder – a little too hard for comfort and he found himself taking a step forward to keep him from toppling over and to speak of the devil, Mr Murdoch rounded the corner not too long after. He seemed sad, he had seemed sad for days now – since the sinking – Lightoller didn't quite understand why; his career was safe, the woman he had fallen head over heels for was on board – he'd seen and greeted her minutes before. What was the problem?

She was delightful too; Lightoller immediately understood why Murdoch was so smitten. She had a lovely sense of humour, guts to challenge any explorer, a certain cautious love for the sea and she was somewhat adorably attractive. Steerage seemed to make no difference to her appearance: she held herself with as much pride and dignity as any first or second class passenger, probably more so…so what was the problem indeed?

Was Murdoch perhaps still rattled and plagued by his actions? But the world had forgiven him for that! Though in all fairness, Lightoller, himself, still felt the heat of uncontrollable rage unexpectedly rise to the surface swiftly followed by the inconsolable need to weep. He wondered why that was his reaction – for a "hard-case", it made no sense.

"Good Morning, Mr Murdoch," he smiled,

"Morning, Mr Lightoller,"

"What's your problem?" best just to get it out there, you see.

Murdoch looked at him like a deer in headlights, wildly taken aback by the blunt curiosity. Lightoller merely raised his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for a decent answer,

"I wasn't aware that I looked like I had one,"

"You've been moping around for days now,"

"With good reason,"

"Yes and now the reason is over,"

"No it's not,"

"Yes, it is. The sinking is now past tense - "sunk", the enquiry is now finished, your career is still your career and your lady –"

"Is standing on the piers of New York, watching me sail away into the horizon on board the sister ship of the Titanic that "sunk"," he gazed pointedly at Lightoller from beneath his eyebrows as he repeated the word "sunk" to him, "Charlie, my friend, please don't make this seem so easy, it really isn't,"

Mr Lightoller frowned, considering what Murdoch had just said, '…is standing on the piers of New York…' That wasn't right at all…

He turned his attention down onto the deck towards the bow of the ship where he could see the billowing shadow of someone against the sun leaning out over the railings. He narrowed his gazing eyes, trying to put two and two together…should he tell him? Was it meant to be a surprise? What exactly was going on here?

"Why do yoo look so confused?"

"Beg your pardon?" Lightoller was drawn from his problem solving abruptly by Murdoch's accusatory tone.

"Yoo look lost,"

"No,"

"Who's on the bow? Yoo looked at them long enough to draw attention to it,"

"Not sure,"

"Lightoller,"

"mm?"

"What do yoo know?"

He paused, weighing the pros and cons over both answers: truth or lie.

"Will, Miss Taro's on board, safe and sound,"

Murdoch went silent.

"I saw her board, I greeted her…by the way, that reminds me… she showed me the ticket you bought her…'Mrs Murdoch?'" he frowned as if to mimic, 'why do I not know of this?'.

"I – well – I…" he stammered, "They weren't going to let me get a free ticket if she wasn't a direct relation. She's on the ship?"

"Yes,"

"Yoo didn't tell me,"

"I thought you knew,"

"Would I be 'moping' if I knew?"

"That's what I was thinking – ohf! Will!"

Murdoch had rather suddenly given Lightoller a palm slap on his forehead, quick and effortless. It was the unexpected shock rather than pain that instigated a most unmanly yelp,

"Yoo didn't tell me!" Murdoch was on the move, making for the bridge door with haste,

"I thought she would have found you and told you herself! Will!" but he was gone now, on his way to do hell knew what to the poor girl, "You're on duty,"

He had to finish the sentence for the sake of it despite Murdoch being completely out of earshot. His forehead still stinging from Murdoch's hand – an upright, hard-case with a deep, baritone voice and a roar for a shout had been petty slapped by the Chief Officer…it had, indeed, been one hell of an adventure. He sighed, straightening his shoulders, and returning his gaze to the sea, his eyes well attuned for the surveillance of the surrounding ice fields ahead of them from the coast of New Foundland. This ship…will not…bloody sink.

OoOoOoOoO

Taro leant out over the railings of the bow – still not having found the courage to confront William McMaster Murdoch, the sea suddenly didn't look so terrifying (she hoped Lightoller hadn't said anything to him yet). So raucously unpredictable; if you respected it, you'd be fine…that was what she had found. However, the human condition was different…unpredictability came in a different form when it came to the heart of men and women alike. Inexplicable rage, passion, desire, love…suffering, everything. And it changed just as quickly – she had undoubtedly left Murdoch with the impression that she would be staying behind and she almost believed it too. Standing on the pier, it seemed so easy to let the ship start sailing away without her but then, without warning, she was overcome by the sorrowful feeling of loss. If Murdoch sailed away, she would never know if they were meant only as dream aboard the ship of such a name or whether they were meant to endure more. If the Olympic sailed away, it would be an opportunity carelessly lost. And in the end, if it didn't work, she'd be home - a place that was familiar to her therefore the pain would be more bearable. People.

Now that she was here, however, it didn't seem simple anymore.

"Taro!"

"Oh oh, what's that?" she muttered to herself, straightening, very much aware that the voice was mildly accented with a Scottish tinge and was more than a little irritated – Lightoller, she rolled her eyes,

"Taro!"

She shut her eyes and turned,

"Open your eyes,"

"No,"

"Why not?"

"Because the thought of giant squids below the surface of the water doesn't scare me nearly as much as yer face might at this moment,"

Silence – for only a moment,

"There's no door to slam in my face this time, love," the voice softened, "Open yoor eyes,"

She did and the expression that met her was vastly different to the one she expected: it was amused, twinkling blue eyes and a little smile stretched on his thin lips,

"Yoo didn't tell me yoo were on board. Why's that, Love?"

"Got scared," she shrugged, "I know I lead ye to believe that I was going to let ye leave without me - bot…I couldn't do it. I saw ye standing at the stern letting the…the…big rope," she shook her head, looking at the floor as she tried to find the name of 'the big rope' in her head, failing and opting to ignore it, "drop to the sea and I made a run fer it. Couldn't let ye leave,"

She let out a short, sharp breath under the scrutiny of Murdoch as he gazed at her softly,

"Was it that hard to say?"

"What…that? No, no that was nothing compared to my original speech. It involved squids and Mr Lightoller's shoes," she winked. Ah yes, they would be just fine.

OOOoooOOOooo

Murdoch had planned to steam roll into her with an embrace so fierce, Hercules would be no match but the moment they were now in called for a different sort of affection. He glanced around, ever so quickly to make sure no one of importance was looking at them – Lightoller didn't count – and then he enveloped her and her wounded shoulder in his arms and held her firmly in place. This was where she belonged – it was nice having her head against his chest, the feel of her arm around his waist, comforted by the knowledge that the uncanny resemblance between her and the woman he saw was merely just that, the muffled sound of her saying something…
"Uh…one more time, Miss,"

She pulled her head away from his chest and took a step back from him, her face contorting into amusement,

"The ticket; it said Mrs Charlotte Murdoch,"

"Actually, I believe it said, Mrs Charlotte Evelyn Murdoch. Yoo never told me your name had an Evelyn in the middle,"

"I'll tell ye everything once I have Mrs Taro-Murdoch cleared op,"

"Couldn't get the ticket if yoo weren't a direct relation," true story and it didn't bother him in the slightest.

"Ah right," she narrowed her eyes at him and it looked like she was going to say something when a short whistle reached his ears – Lightoller used to whistle at him when he needed alerting to something he wasn't supposed to be aware of…what was coming?

He opted to be safe and started rambling on about nothing in particular – Taro's face seemed to completely understand what was going on, nodding in response to the complete bull shit he was telling her, ending with,

"And that, Miss, I believe, is why sailors make jokes about ice at sea,"

"Thank ye, Mr Murdoch,"

"No worries Miss," he bowed his head, winked and made to turn and walk away only to turn straight into the captain, "Ohp, excuse me, Sir,"

"What on earth, were you on about Mr Murdoch? You and this young lady seemed to be in quite a deep conversation. I hope it was informative," he winked at Taro, who smiled awkwardly,

"Very moch so, I now know why ice bergs are a standing joke amongst the look outs,"

"Oh, you do, well that's lovely. Not such a joke now is it, such a shame. Ah well," he laughed, "Back to work we go then, Mr Murdoch,"

"Aye, Sir," he smiled and started walking back with this ridiculous man, glancing back at Taro who chuckled at him.

He caught Mr Lightoller's eye on the bridge too; he tapped the side of his nose and continued to gaze out to see. Lightoller was a good man to have around indeed.

So Murdoch had his friend, he had his career as well as his long awaited promotion, he had his woman. The world was open to him again. What could possibly go wrong?