"I'm surrounded by morons," I groaned, shaking my head. Neither Alan or James acknowledged me, and I can't be sure if they heard me or not, since they were too busy cheering. Am I being ignored? I don't particularly like the feeling, and I absolutely am not going to ignored when money is concerned. "Do you realize something?" I asked as Alan returned to his seat beside me.

"Realize what?" James asked, pulling in his chair before sitting down.

"If we go to Belfast—"

"Oh, it'll be grand!" Alan interrupted.

"No." I put a hand to his mouth, much too tired to listen to his cheering for one second longer. "Don't tell me how wonderful it'll be, Alan. Listen for a change, would you?" He hesitated, but nodded in compliance, anyway. "Okay, then." I dropped my hand from his face. "If we're forced back to Belfast, like James said, we won't be given our paychecks. And if we're not given our paychecks, we won't be getting paid." I watched Alan as the information sunk in and once it did, his eyes widened.

"Damn it," he whined, "you're right, Luce." I glanced over at James, who shook his head sadly.

"What a shame," he sighed, "it was a brilliant idea."

"It really was," Alan agreed, "and then Lucy has to go and ruin it all for us." I huffed. How dare he say that! He winked at me, though, nudging me in the ribs. "Just kidding."

"And now that I've killed your joy, I have to be getting to bed." I stood, giggling slightly. The looks on their faces are just priceless—they look as if the wind has just been knocked out of them! "It was nice to meet you, though, James," I added, with a small yawn.

As it is, I promised Oliver I'd check in on him. And I don't care how unconcerned he was about it, I have to go now, just for my own sake. I won't be able to sleep unless I make sure he's content. To find his room, check in on him and then make my way down to my own cabin's going to take some time. It's already late.

"And where are you running off to?" James wondered.

"Not anywhere fun, I assure you. I'm going to bed."

"Oh, stay!" I've already killed their glee about having to go all the way back to Belfast, must I ruin it any more?

"No, no, I wish I could." Well, there's a lie. I wish I was in bed! Actually, I wish someone would carry me to bed! That's truthful. "I'm sure I'll have to be up early tomorrow," I added as an afterthought. James nodded in understanding.

"I'll see you then, I'm sure," he replied. "Especially if the illness hasn't passed by morning, we'll definitely need everyone back." I forced a smile.

"I'm sure!"

"You should stay," Alan stated, with a smile, "you don't completely kill the fun, you know."

"Oh, I know," I said, "but I'm exhausted."

"Well, if you're sure…?" I nodded.

"I'm positive. I'll see you both in the morning. Good-night, gentlemen." With a tilt of my head, I turned on my heel and began for the exit. Now, if I just hurry, I can get to bed without too much of a problem, and if I'm extremely lucky, perhaps before midnight. Am I asking for too much? Well, I think I just might be!

I turned a corner and stopped short. I couldn't help but stop. Surprisingly, I see most of the first-class stateroom doors wide open, with the rooms' occupants standing out on the hallway's carpeting. Most were talking amongst themselves, while some spoke with stewards…rather calm stewards, considering the looks on the passengers' faces. They can't seriously be all up and upset about that propeller dropping…can they?

"We've thrown a propeller," I listened to one steward explain to a startled-looking first-class man, "that's the noise you heard, but no worries, sir."

Oh, that is what they're up for! Now what am I to? I don't want to be questioned as to what the ruckus was. It's only going to remind me of my horrible luck. Of all ships, honestly, why this one? Why must I be aboard a ship that loses propellers as if it was nothing?

To keep passengers from inquiring, I took off my standard bonnet, stuffing it into my sleeve before I continued on toward Oliver's room. Of course, the one change in my wardrobe didn't help me whatsoever as I brushed past first-class men and women dressed in their night best. I don't know why I even thought that would help me.

I was bombarded with questions such as:

"What was that ruckus all about?"

"Why did it happen?"

"What should we do?"

Do I look like a sailor? I don't know why the propeller dropped! And that last question I couldn't answer without being extremely rude, but I really did try my best to answer every inquiry charged at me. There were maybe three other stewards crowding the hallway, answering questions as politely as they could, so I just followed suit. I may be a bad person for not answering in complete sentences, but I'm exhausted, so I sent every question to a steward nearby, pointing them in the proper direction to get their answers. As if I have the patience for this! Just because I made an appearance doesn't mean I know as much as the other stewards around me. I know just as much as they do, probably even less. I don't have the details these passengers expect.

For God's sake, everyone's getting worked up over a propeller! A propeller! If I didn't know any better, I'd think the sky was falling.

And although it's part of my employment to care, I'm just too exhausted to. As it is, I promised Oliver I'd come to check on him and I had to fight my body to even do that.

As I passed through the small gathering, I also heard questions of wonder as to why the ship had stopped its' movement. And I know they're right; Titanic had stopped moving some time after the propeller had fallen. I shrugged it off. It's still nothing to cause this much concern. They ought to count their money if they need to worry about something.

I began to check room numbers when I came to another corner, attempting to recall in my memory precisely where his room was. I know there was a B in the room's number…which means. I groaned. It's down a deck. I'm only on A Deck, I need to be on B! It's no wonder I can't find him, his stateroom's the next level down. I turned to my right and made my way down a flight of stairs. When I descended and traveled a bit more, I soon recognized the room number and of course, the infamous letter. His room. I let out a small breath of relief as I went towards the door. At least I found it!

I reached my arm up to knock when an odd sound at my feet stopped me. I glanced down to see Oliver's expensive pocket watch, the one he had let me borrow, on the carpet beside my feet, hanging open. I panicked.

How did it jump out of my pocket to begin with!? I quickly picked the watch up and brushed it off, polishing the shiny surface with my apron. I glanced at the back and his initials were as present as ever. I released a heavy breath of relief, grateful it hadn't been seriously damaged. I turned it over to examine the face only to see the time. Midnight. I sighed, shaking my head. I can't just knock and check in—I thought it was much earlier than midnight. I shut the watch and placed it gently back into my apron pocket. I probably should just let him be…

"Oh, thank goodness!" a voice stopped me short and I turned to see a stewardess, much older than myself, hurrying down the corridor with a silver tray in her arms. "Please tell me you're not busy—"

"Well, I—" I gestured to Oliver's door.

"Here."

"But—" I couldn't say another word. She quickly handed me the tray, which held a steaming pot of water and matching saucers, before adjusting her skirts. She looked rather tired, as I'm sure I look, and frayed, her patience at the breaking point. Her eyes, I'm sure like mine, were bloodshot and she withheld a yawn.

"Please," she begged, "just, just take care of him."

"Him?" Who was she talking about?

"Mr. Bern." He requested tea and now there seems to be a rather big hubbub, and now Ms. Kexington needs assistance and—" She inhaled quickly. "If you're here, though, and willing…"

"He's awake, then?" I assumed, interrupting what I guess was about to be a rather lengthy speech. She nodded. I thought he'd be asleep by now, truth be told.

"Absolutely." She brushed past me and then, suddenly, she stopped short to turn back. "You don't mind, do you?" She didn't sound as though she meant it, she expected me to take care of the tea situation, but I answered her anyway.

"No, of course. If Ms. Kexington needs you, she needs you." I gestured down the hall. "Go right ahead." As long as she doesn't want me, I could care less! As much as I hate tea—I really, truly do—I'd rather serve it than deal with Maureen any day.

"Well, you're a dear, aren't you?" She didn't wait for me to reply. "I do appreciate it. Thank you." She turned once again and disappeared down the passageway.

I turned back to Oliver's door and with a small sigh, turned the knob. It opened without a creak and I took a step into the sitting room. I shut the door behind me and glanced around, attempting to find any one object I recognized as Oliver's and only Oliver's. But, I couldn't find a single keepsake. Just as well.

"Theresa?" I recognized Oliver's lovely tone and slowly began to follow the echo. "I do appreciate your timely fashion, I truly do—"

"No," I called, "it's Lucy!" I peeked my head into the bedroom before stepping in. Saying his name made me smile, even this late! How is that possible? I quickly placed the tea down onto a nearby table. "Theresa was in a rush and asked me to bring your tea in for you." I poured the warm water into one of the two saucers before I dunked the tea bag into it. "I hope it's not too much of a problem."

"Oh, Lucy, my dear," he began, clicking his tongue, "I told you not to worry about me."

"But, here I am." I turned to him, then. He was still presumably in bed, as I expected him to be, but his skin didn't have that same sickly, gray color it had when I last saw him. He actually looks worse! His cheeks, rather flushed, make it seem like he may have a temperature, while the rest of his face now looked a shade of green. If I didn't know any better, I'd also say he was trembling. I forced myself to hold in a surprised gasp.

How could he have possibly gotten this bad, this soon? He looks absolutely horrible! It's not as though I saw him days ago—it was only a few hours and now, he's worse than ever! This isn't even logical! I rushed to his side and felt his forehead.

"You're burning up," I decided as his skin simmered under my hand. I felt like I had my hand on a radiator!

"Oh, it's not so bad," he replied hoarsely. And with a bit of a struggle, he pushed my hand away. "Just seasickness."

"Oliver, you—" He couldn't possibly be seasick! I'm sure I would've heard, somewhere, from someone, anyone, if seasickness caused fevers. Maybe I'm not as well informed as I think I am, but what I do know is this: he looks awful. "This can't be seasickness, I know I…"

"Lucy," he interrupted, in an unusually harsh tone, "I've been around long enough to tell you what I have. This is what usually happens. It always gets worse before it gets better." He smiled. "There's no need to worry, my dear." How can I not worry!? Just look at him!

"What did the doctor say?" I asked, clearing my throat, attempting to keep my voice even. I have a good mind to wake that doctor up and make him examine Oliver again!

Was there a secret pact I was unaware of? And was this pact one that consisted of fooling the stewardess until she left and then shaking hands as if that solved all the world's problems, without even the proper medical examination? I don't understand!

"It doesn't matter what the doctor said," he stated, "he gave me what he could." Of course it matters what he said! I should've stayed here when he came, I know that now. I released a tense breath, rubbing my suddenly pounding head. No matter what that doctor said, I should've stayed, even if it was just in the sitting room. I then could've at least made sure he was properly taken care of.

"What did he give you?" He pointed to his bedside table, where two small glass bottles sat next to one another, a spoon between them. I picked up one bottle that had a green tint to it and attempted to read the label. I don't have any type of medical training—that said, I do know the English language, and I can't even pronounce the name of the liquid in my hand! For all I know, it's not even medicine. "And that's all?" I wondered aloud, placing the bottle back in its' proper place. "That's it?"

"There's only so much that can be done for seasickness."

"Well," I huffed, "there's always something we can do—" I went to reach for the service bell, one that alerted a steward if a passenger needed assistance, when he took me by the wrist and with a small chuckle, shook his head.

"We're not waking him up," he said, utterly calm, "if that's what you're thinking. He's a rather nice man, but I suspect he enjoys his sleep just like the rest of us."

"But, Oliver—"

"Now, now, Lucy," he scolded, "it's alright." He patted my hand before releasing it, as if I was the one ill and he was comforting me, rather than the other way around. "After a good night's rest, I'll feel like a new man." But, with all of the medical advances today, you'd think there'd be a proven remedy for this! I've never seen anything like it in my life.

"But, Oliver, you look horrible." I pressed my hand to his reddened face. "I did tell you that some kind of illness was spreading aboard, didn't I? Perhaps it's not seasickness after all, maybe it's that." I put my palm back to his forehead. "Does anything hurt? Is there anything I could get you?"

"My dear Lucy, the fact that you care makes me feel even better than I did minutes ago." Well, of course I care! How could I not? I tried to smile, but I'm afraid it didn't show the way I wanted it to—I think I'm just too sleep-deprived.

And yet, even with this boring down on him, seasickness or whatever it may be, he still must've sensed my worry, for he took my hand and squeezed it.

"It's alright," he assured. "I would like my tea, though, that would be lovely." I released a tense breath. How could I have forgotten about the tea?

"Of course." I turned from him and went back to the small table. I went to pick up the cup when I realized it was still warm…and not cold. The one man who enjoys tea the same way I do, how could I forget? "It's not cold," I realized aloud, with a heavy sigh. Of course, I left Alan, my master cold-tea maker, back in the first-class, but…

"Just let it sit for a few minutes, it'll be cold by then."

"It won't be like how you had it before," I warned over my shoulder.

"I think I'll survive." I could tell from his tone that he was smiling. "I can wait. But, you, young lady, you don't have to stay here and watch it turn cold." I didn't respond. "Lucy?" I turned back to him.

"Oh, I know," I said, with a small smile, "I don't mind."

"You must be tired," he mused lightly. Exhausted and overworked is more like it. "Am I right?"

"No, I'm perfect, actually." He didn't say another word for a moment or so, but then cleared his throat.

"Would you do me a favor, then?" I nodded.

"Of course."

"I'm awfully chilly. I think it may just be me, but if you could possibly find me an extra blanket…" I put up my hand to stop him.

"Say no more." I scurried across the large bedroom to the closet and took a step in. I know blankets are usually stocked around here, somewhere…I just have to find them first. I rummaged through the few suits Oliver had hanging up, looking down at the shoe rack positioned on the floor underneath the clothes, but, alas, no blanket. I can't say I expected one to be there!

I stood on my tiptoes and looked up over the clothes railing. Ah-ha! Hidden in the corner of the closet, there sat an extra blanket! I stayed on my tiptoes as I reached for it. I struggled once or twice, my fingers just missing the scratchy edge of the beige throw, but on my fourth try I was able to grip it and I pulled it down with all of my might.

"Here we are!" I declared happily, unfolding it as I made my way back towards him. "This should do the trick." I shook it once to unfold it completely and I lifted it to place onto the bed. I adjusted the edges and folded down the top where the beige sheet almost completely covered Oliver's face. "Is this alright?"

"It's wonderful, thank you."

"Your pillows okay, too? Would you like to sit up more or…?"

"No, no, I think I'll be just fine now." He released a breath as I stood there, fidgeting. I can't tell if he's as fine as he says he is. I eyed that bell, struggling to keep myself from pressing it, when he spoke. "Oh," he exhaled, "you're much too kind to me, Lucy."

"Well, you've been even kinder to me."

"You must have a lot of other passengers to worry about," he assumed.

"Not this late." I pulled up a chair from the table where the tea tray sat and adjusted my dress. In truth, tonight has been so chaotic, if someone's needs weren't meant, it's not completely my fault—for a change! "Not this late," I repeated tiredly, rubbing my eyes.

"You know, I really wish I had known you when you were younger." Well, that came out of absolutely nowhere.

"Oh, really?" I asked, unsure if I really wanted him to continue or not. I fiddled with my apron, also doubtful if I should look at him. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, in actuality, I wish I had met you when I was just a bit younger, even by a few years." He chuckled. "I was younger then, as you can tell."

"So was I."

"Precisely—it would've been marvelous, wouldn't you say?" He's talking absolutely crazy! When I glanced up at him, he had a rather large smile across his face. There's something wrong, I just know it. I pulled my chair closer to him, checking his forehead once more for a temperature. "Oh, don't bother yourself, I'm just fine," he mumbled, waving my hand away once more. I can't be so sure.

"I suppose it would've been wonderful," I agreed softly, my hand dropping back onto my lap. I don't know whether to let him keep talking or to just press that bell for assistance.

"When you get older, you become a different person, but not you. No, not you—you, you're so wonderful, Lucille. And I think you always will be." I forced my eyes down. "Don't be bashful about it, it's a very redeeming trait." He smiled. "Now, that Theresa, if only she had been as kind as you—"

"Oh, well…" I allowed my voice to trail off. Why am I defending an employee, especially one who threw her tray at me? I don't know her from a hole in the wall!

"Why my fellow colleagues treat you as…"

"Oh, that doesn't matter," I interrupted, with a small shrug, "you should rest now, anyhow."

"Nonsense," he argued. "It does matter."

"Not now it doesn't."

"Of course," he continued, as if he had never heard me, "it does help a great deal that you had such a wonderful mother and father." If he only knew. "If Theresa had the proper raising—then again, your mother, she did a lovely job of raising you, Lucille, there may not be hope for any other girl—"

"She'd be very glad to hear that." I'm lost. I bit on my lower lip, wondering if I should just go along with him or not. It doesn't seem right if I do! What if his small fever is effecting his thinking? Or is he just talking without thinking? But maybe he's completely lost his mind…I think I may have, too.

"And I do mean it," he continued, "for you to be so lovely to a crabby old man like me—"

"Oh, Oliver!" I exclaimed, laughing. "You're talking crazy."

"Am I talking in circles again?" I didn't respond as he placed a hand to his head. "Ah, well, it must be the motion of this ship—It can make my head spin and it's always when you least expect it." I don't know what else to do, so I just nodded, even though his eyes were closed. I know he can't even see me, why do I bother?

"I wonder if that tea's cold yet," I murmured, standing. On top of it all, I also don't know what else to say. He didn't respond, and released a heavy breath as I held the cup in my hand. Lukewarm, not freezing yet. "I could always bring it outside for a few minutes," I joked, placing it down onto its' saucer. "That would make it nice and cold!"

"I don't think tea is the best idea," he suddenly decided.

"No?" He groaned.

"No. I am sorry, Lucy."

"Oh, that's not a problem." I wracked my brain for other options. "There's water, or…oh, how about some crackers? Or are you feeling queasy?" It was only after a few seconds of uneasy silence, that uneasy feeling belonging to me, that he spoke again.

"I'm feeling a tad bit tired now," he admitted, "too tired."

"I'll go," I offered, "and I'll come back in a few hours to check on you."

"No, no, Lucille," he murmured, "it's much too late for that; you need rest, too."

"It's not an issue whatsoever," I assured, "I can get—"

"As it is," he sighed, "I didn't expect to see you back tonight." But, I told him I would! I wasn't going to forget, no matter how sleepy I happen to be. "I don't want to cause any problems for you, Lucy, you know that, don't you?"

"You're not." I sat down beside him. "I wanted to make sure you were alright." I came back on my own merit. He didn't force me—if anything, he told me not to bother! "You're just overtired now, that's all." I think I may be making him even more exhausted than necessary by sitting here and talking, but… "Are you comfortable?" He nodded. "If you're still not feeling better by the morning, I have to insist that the doctor comes to take another look at you."

"As I said, I'm sure it'll pass by morning." He sounds so certain. He opened one of his eyes and inspecting my expression, nodded. "It will," he assured.

"Well, if not…"

"We'll bother him then." I smiled at the thought.

"Alright," I agreed, standing. I can't argue with him, I know. Even with a full night of sleep on my side, I don't think I'd win this argument. "Until then."