I brushed past Maureen and into the bustling café. Why does it always feel like I'm in here? Oh, that's because I always am in here. Silly me to forget that. A waiter almost knocked me over as I glanced about the room. All royalty—just as I suspected. Maybe this is why I refuse to come in here. I can't stand the stench of money. I went towards the kitchen, to see where I could help, trying to forget the rope burn my fingers have endured these past few days from the corsets…Suddenly, I was pulled down into an empty chair by a quick hand. I looked up from my wrist to the person who owned the arm—Alan.

"Alan?" I questioned in a hiss. "What the—"

"Lucy, my girl, pleasure to have you join us!" a familiar voice chuckfled. Do I even want to look? I hesitated but looked over to my left to see that Oliver character, the rich old man, sitting comfortably in a wicker chair, a tea cup in one hand. Well, doesn't he look comfortable? And it looks as if I just dropped from the sky, I now realize—thanks to Alan.

"Hello, sir," I said, attempting to be pleasant, even though I know my teeth are clenched. I'm ready to lunge for Alan's throat.

"Care for some tea?" Oliver offered, holding up the tea cup in his hand higher than before. I shook my head. I'll die with a tea cup in my hand at this rate. "It's cold."

"No, no thank you, sir," I managed to stammer. "Thank you, but I really have to get going—" I stood, attempting to make a getaway, but Alan hopped up from his seat and took my wrist again. He gave me a pleading look, as if bored out of his mind.

"Please," he hissed, "help." Should I really help him? I smiled to myself. Damn it, he really does look like he needs some assistance, especially with Oliver looking as if he's ready to chat it up into the afternoon. I took a step forward, about to walk past him, and Alan's jaw dropped, almost to the floor. "Oh, come on, Lucy!" he hissed, now angry. "I apologized!"

"Oh, Lucy, please do join us," Oliver pleaded, his voice not changing an octave. "A woman at our table would do wonders for our reputations, wouldn't it, Alan?" Oliver chuckled at his own humor as Alan forced a nod in reply. In reality, I saw him eyeing the knives next to an unused breakfast plate. He can't kill passengers—there's got to be a rule against that.

"Easy, boy," I said into his ear, trying not to laugh, as I sat back down. I guess me sitting here for a moment or two won't kill me. "I suppose I can stay," I told Oliver, "for a minute, anyway." He immediately brightened as Alan sighed heavily, completely and utterly relieved before sitting down himself. He slumped back into his chair and covered his eyes from the world with his hat. Oliver didn't seem to notice, he looks pretty happy if I do say so myself. "Are you having a pleasant voyage so far, sir?" I asked politely, folding my hands into my lap. This is how Alan should behave around the royalty. What am I: his mother? Must I show him everything? Oliver merely laughed.

"Am I going to have to write on my forehead, It's Oliver, not sir, before you get it right?" He smiled, wider than before, probably because I can feel my cheeks turning red. I realize he's kidding, it just took a second to catch that. "I was just telling Alan one Hell of a story—" Alan, hearing his own name, stood at that point, standing me up with him.

"Alan, what the—" What does he want? For me to stay here with the royalty or go with him?

"And I kept trying to tell him I'm going to get fired, but does he listen?" he whispered into my ear. He shook his head at me, rolling his eyes before I even uttered a word.

"I take that as a no…?" I murmured. He nodded.

"Do you think you could keep him company while I try to run?" He went to run past me, but I took him by the arm, making him back up to see me again. I think Oliver's enjoying the spectacle, to be completely honest.

"But, Alan, he wants to talk to you," I told him, trying not to laugh. This should be a great story to tell anyone who'll listen once we dock.

"Actually," Oliver cut in, "anyone who's willing to listen is welcome to join me." I shot Alan a look, and he glanced at me with an expression of, what did I tell you. But, he hasn't told me anything.

"Really, Lucy, I've got to work. Maureen knows about last night…"

"Did she confront you?" His eyes lowered.

"Well…" his voice seemingly trained off.

"Well, what?" I asked impatiently.

"Well, no…there was no confrontation." He hesitated. "But, she's got eyes in the back of her head and she just knows we weren't working—She's got that mean expression on her face."

"Her face is stuck that way," I informed him.

"Either way, I'm not losing my job over it. I can't afford to sit here and listen to him go on about his life…"

"And why not?"

"Lucy, at this rate, I'll get fired and have no job. Is that what you want?" I didn't answer, but glanced over at Oliver, still sitting at the wicker table, a tea cup in his hands, looking as if he's lost to the world.

"And you think I worry about employment," I mumbled. "Are you sure you can't stay?" I suddenly begged. "Maureen is already watching me as it is."

"Maureen always watches you. It's like bird-watching, it's never dull." He held his hands together, as if in prayer. "Please, Lucy?" he pleaded. I sighed. This is the second man who has begged me this morning!

"Oh, Alan, I can't," I told him, trying not to sound as sarcastic as I mean to be. "I'm too selfish, with my own troubles, to sit and have a cup of tea." I rolled my eyes.

"Hey, I apologized for that!" I smiled.

"I know you did. I just won't let you forget it, after the fact."

"I'm sorry for what I said," he apologized again. "What do I have to do?" he suddenly whispered. "Get you flowers, chocolate?"

"Both would be nice," I admitted.

"…He's not dull, Luce," Alan tried to say, enticing me. I rolled my eyes.

"If he's not dull, then why do you look bored out of your skull?" I questioned.

"Well…I am bored, but it doesn't mean you'll be." I sighed again, before forcing myself to sit in Alan's seat across from Oliver. I can't believe I'm doing this.

"Ah, Lucy," he laughed, "care to stay with us, after all?"

"Actually, I've got to run," Alan interrupted, before mouthing to me, I owe you. Yes, he does. I nodded. I can't believe I'm doing this!

"What do you have to do?" I asked, with just a bit of sarcasm.

"I don't know…I can go walk the dogs, I guess…"

"A little early for that, don't you think?" He ignored me and turned his attention to Oliver.

"Lucy should keep you excellent company, Oliver."

"I think she will," he agreed. As Alan walked past me, he put a quick hand on my shoulder before making a complete dash for it. He glanced over his shoulder every minute or so and as he did that, Oliver managed a smile at me. "So…" His voice seemingly died away.

"So…" I allowed my voice to trail off. What am I supposed to say?

"Well, I'm glad you decided to come out of the woodwork," he suddenly said, before laughing. "Alan looked as bored as Hell."

"Oh, I'm sure he wasn't." He stopped short.

"Uh-oh, no saying things you don't mean," Oliver scolded, shaking his index finger like a parent. "Just because you work here and I'm a passenger…remember that?" I nodded.

"Of course." I cleared my throat. "So, what were you two discussing?"

"Well, besides the fact that Alan could've cared less?" I laughed unexpectedly.

"Yeah, besides that!"

"Life, I suppose."

"Life is a pretty broad exception," I mused, cupping my head in my hand.

"Well, we discussed life and Titanic."

"A little less general," I admitted. He stared at me, intently and I couldn't look him in the eye. This is really strange—It's almost as bad as yesterday. Then, of course, there was silence, just like yesterday. Just hearing clinking china makes me want to get up and work.

"You know, Lucy," he stated, "you don't have to stay here. I understand you have a job to do. It isn't your job to keep an old man like me company—" I shook my head at him.

"No, no. It's nice to sit down for once." I just don't want Maureen to see me sitting, doing nothing.

"Well." He smiled. "Are you sure?" I nodded. "Okay, then." He leaned back into his wicker chair, placing his tea cup onto its' proper saucer on the table. Yet more silence and I hesitantly leaned back into my chair. "Can you not be so tense?" he asked of me. I glanced up from the table to him. "You look like you're waiting for the ceiling to cave in. Relax." I let out a held-in breath, attempting to relax my shoulders. "There we are." He took a quick sip of tea. "You can relax, Lucy, it's not a crime. I'm not going to throw anything at you, you know." I smiled at that. The sarcasm! "Why do I have a feeling first-class passengers attempt to throw utensils at the crew?"

"That's only the little ones!" I admitted. More silence and I cleared my throat, looking at him—expecting him to say something. He was checking the time with his pocket watch, seemingly slow. I've got a job to do and he's checking the time? I looked around the room and people were eating, drinking tea, talking and laughing politely amongst themselves. Oh, to have money. But, if I'm going to be stuck here, I might as well enjoy myself. Right? "You know," I began, "I would really love some tea." He smiled.

"I thought so." He picked up the teapot in the middle of the table and took the extra tea cup beside it, carefully pouring the tea into the cup before sliding it over to me. "Us cold tea enthusiasts must stay together," he said, with a grin. Didn't he say that…yesterday? "We're like an untalented band, Lucy. We must stay together, even when we get rotten vegetables thrown at us."

"How about utensils?" I suggested, managing a slight smile. He smiled.

"Vegetables or utensils, either or both, we must stick together. There are few cold tea enthusiasts out there, you know." He's crazy, he really is. He's absolutely… insane—and yet, I can't help but smile. What a busy morning this is turning out to be.