A/N: Holy effing eff, I am so sorry about how long this took to post. There were several mitigating circumstances, including, but not limited to a roughly two week period in which I was pretty well banned from the computer due to an old shoulder injury, which was REALLY FRUSTRATING. But it's better now, and, after much rewriting and revising and heavy editing, this chapter is now here for your reading enjoyment. AT LONG LAST. If it makes you feel any better, this is the longest chapter in the entire story, weighing in at twelve pages where my previous longest chapter boasted a meagre nine. I know, way to get verbose at the end there.
And yes, if you've been paying attention, this is the second-to-last chapter. One more after this and that's all folks. I am premptively bereft. Regarding this chapter though, I feel I should mention that the thing that happens to Jim (cryptiiiiic) actually did happen to a number of individuals. My feelings about this are torn somewhere between Jim's reaction and Kate's. I will, however state this: percentage-wise, more first class men survived the Titanic than third class children. Contemplate, discuss.
Lastly! To Vee and HedgehogQuill (do I call you HQ now? Lol), many many thanks and hugs and all of that, for you support, comments and everything else during the gap between this chapter and the previous one. You guys are amazing.
Kate had a crick in her neck, which was odd. The Titanic's beds were so comfortable that Kate usually woke up feeling as though she'd been sleeping on air. But this time her discomfort was severe enough to jar her out of sleep. And why were there so many people in her room? For one blissful moment, Kate, peering groggily through her eyelashes, had no idea where she was. And then it came back, all in a horrible rush that almost knocked the wind out of her.
Not Titanic, she thought, squeezing her eyes closed again; Carpathia. No one would ever wake up on the Titanic again. Kate made a small noise in the back of her throat, something between a groan and a whimper and wished fervently to return to that perfect moment of oblivion between sleep and wakefulness; the moment that ever so briefly relieved her of the need to remember anything. But no, there was nothing for it; she was awake now and had to face the day whether she wanted to or not.
Sighing heavily, Kate pushed herself into a sitting position, untangling her limbs from the folds of her wool blanket. She was in the Carpathia's third class general room, on a spare mattress that had been dragged from a supply closet somewhere and tossed on the floor against the far wall. The small liner's crew had done their absolute best to find accommodations for their unexpected guests, and to their credit, no one was sleeping on the floor boards. But a healthy portion of the Titanic's pitiful steerage survivors had ended up gathered in the public rooms, sleeping on unused mattresses and cots instead of in a proper cabin. Kate didn't mind. Being a woman she could almost certainly have found a bunk in some kind passenger's room, but that would have meant being separated from Jim. And Kate wasn't about to let that happen, not yet.
Jim had tried to insist that they get separate mattresses, but Kate wouldn't hear of it. It didn't matter to her one bit that they were not married yet; after nearly twenty-four hours at his side, propriety could go straight to Hell. As far as Kate was concerned, if the space between them was such that she could no longer feel the warmth of Jim's body near hers, then he was too far away. Jim was obviously starting to learn when it was pointless to argue with her, because he'd conceded with little fuss.
Kate looked down at Jim and smiled slightly. As a compromise, Kate had allowed him to have a separate blanket from hers, so that, while they might be technically sharing a bed, there was still some barrier between them. As such, her shifting had not disturbed him; he was still deeply asleep, sprawled on his back with one arm slung across his chest. Kate had never seen Jim sleep before; she thought he looked very young and somehow vulnerable. It made her heart twinge. She watched him for a minute, the rise and fall of each breath he took, the faint frown that pulled at the corners of his mouth as though something in his dreams was troubling him. Kate wanted to reach out and smooth the downturned lines away. It still seemed remarkable to Kate that he was there with her, alive and whole. Thinking about what could have been filled her with such stone-cold dread that she shuddered.
Shifting a little closer to Jim on the mattress, Kate leaned over and inspected his face for any signs of waking. She didn't expect to see any; yesterday, while she had napped up on deck, Jim had stayed awake the entire time, watching over her. He hadn't told Kate that this was true, but she knew it just the same. She had read it in his eyes when he'd finally woken her because it had started to rain. And so she knew that he must have been nearly half-conscious by the time they'd finally found a place to settle for the night. She would let him sleep as long as he wanted.
Kate stood up and stretched, feeling the bones in her spine pop. Wincing, she limped to her small pile of clothes, her body still stiff from the hours spent cramped in the life boat and the long sleep on the hard mattress. Along with her skirt and blouse Kate's meagre belongings now included a shift, petticoat and bloomers donated by some unknown woman on the Carpathia's roster. Because Kate had thrown her day clothes over her nightgown in her haste to get above decks, she had had no proper undergarments besides her stockings and their fastenings, nor was she the only woman from the Titanic to be faced with such a dilemma.
The fact that the ladies aboard the rescue ship had been willing to, quite literally, give the survivors the clothes from their backs, spoke volumes for their nature. The kindness of the gesture brought a small bit of light into the dismal place Kate's world had suddenly become; it pushed back the shadows a bit. Kate wished she knew who had been the previous owner of her current ensemble – she would have dearly liked to thank the faceless stranger who had done such a selfless thing.
Gathering her clothes into her arms, Kate decided to visit the latrines before the inevitable lines got ridiculous. Using her coat like a dressing gown, Kate buttoned herself up so she wouldn't cause a scandal wandering around the Carpathia in just her pyjamas, and then crouched down by Jim's head.
"I'll be right back boy-o," she whispered, combing Jim's hair back from his forehead with her fingers. He shifted slightly, but didn't wake, "Don't ye go anywhere,"
Kate beat the crowd at the washrooms by about five minutes. She had to wait only briefly, but by the time she had emerged, washed and dressed for the day, the line stretched a solid ten feet down the corridor and was steadily growing. Kate shook her head, wondering how long tempers would hold as passengers were continually faced with the problems that arose on a ship that was full past capacity. There were lines everywhere: for meals, for the doctor; the Carpathia had simply not been prepared to take on an extra seven-hundred people. All things considered though, Kate thought, fingering the edge of her new petticoat, their rescuers were doing rather well. Remembering the lifeboat, the endless dark, the bitterly cold air, Kate knew with absolute certainty that she would not be one to complain about a touch of overcrowding.
Upon her return to the general room, Kate saw that most people had now woken up and were wandering through the maze of mattresses and cots trying to look as though they had a purpose. More than anything that was why Kate hoped the they would make good time to New York - not because of crowding or uncomfortable sleeping arrangements, but because so long as they were all trapped here on this boat, there was nothing at all for anyone to do but eat, sleep, and think. A distraction of any form would have been welcome, and currently distractions were woefully hard to come by.
Kate picked her way through the jungle of makeshift beds back to where she'd left Jim. He too was awake, but clearly had not been for long; he still looked decidedly bleary-eyed. Sitting on the edge of their shared mattress, Jim saw Kate coming and gave her a groggy smile. Kate felt a sudden rush of affection for him so powerful that she stopped momentarily in her tracks, before gathering herself again and finishing the trip.
Jim looked up at her, "What's with you? Ye've got a funny look on yer face."
"Mornin' te you too," Kate said, prodding him lightly with the toe of her boot. She wondered what look, exactly, she had on her face. Kate highly suspected that she'd come over all dewy eyed and smiling like an idiot. "Ye plannin' on greetin' me like that ev'ry day?"
"Sorry," Jim said with a grimace.
Kate smiled and rumpled his already sleep-mussed hair, "Ah never mind. Truth be told I've gotten awful fond of yer constant unflatterin' observations 'bout my ev'ry little thing," She tucked her nightgown under her pillow and sat down beside him, "What that says 'bout me, I don't rightly know, but it ought te make yer life a bit easier, aye?"
"Anythin' that helps," Jim agreed. He gave her a kiss on the forehead and tucked her hair behind her ears. He did that a lot, Kate noticed; the gesture was already becoming comfortably familiar. "Ye sleep all right then?"
"Not terrible badly," Kate said with a small shrug, "I thought for certain I'd have nightmares, but I didn't dream at all. It was sort o' peaceful, not havin' te think of anythin' fer a while," she sighed, "An' then I woke up." Jim covered one of her hands with his own and she smiled in spite of herself, "But havin' you here with me makes that part worth it,"
Jim kissed her again, on the mouth this time, light and sweet and fast though Kate would have gladly accepted more. For a moment he traced the line of her jaw with the callused edge of his thumb, "S'pose we go get some breakfast then?"
Distracted by the touch, Kate had to clear her throat several times before answering, "Aye, s'pose we do." Jim stood up, and helped her to her feet. They left the general room with their hands securely linked.
Breakfast was a miserable affair. Kate and Jim arrived too late to avoid the worst of the line and were forced to wait for nearly a half hour to get their meal: a single bowl of porridge mixed with dry fruit; hearty, yes, but fairly tasteless and largely unsatisfying. Kate couldn't help but wonder whether or not there was enough food onboard to support everyone for much longer. She hoped she wouldn't have to find out.
The dining hall, like just about everywhere else, was packed tightly with people. Kate and Jim squeezed side by side onto a bench near the door. Though Kate knew that several of her acquaintances were among the survivors, she could spot no one she recognised. It didn't matter; nobody seemed much in the mood for talking, focused instead on eating their food as quickly as possible and escaping the stiflingly cramped room. Kate couldn't say that she blamed them in the least.
Pushing the gluey mass of her porridge around with her spoon, Kate found that she had very little appetite. It wasn't fair to keep comparing, but she couldn't help but think that, had they been on the Titanic, they'd have been stuffing themselves with fresh fruit and warm bread, and there would have been plenty of room to stretch out in. It was almost funny how quickly Kate had gotten used to that sort of living. If five days already had Kate turning up her nose at porridge; it was really no wonder that, after a lifetime, rich people were as spoiled and snobbish as they were.
Jim seemed to be having no issues what so ever with the meagre fare. In fact, he was already nearly done with his meal, and was now eyeing Kate's still-full bowl with something like concern. "Ye ought te eat more'n that Kate," he said, tapping the edge of her bowl with his spoon.
Kate looked down at her barely touched breakfast and made a half-hearted attempt to force some more into her mouth. She realised, somewhere in the back of her mind, that it was not the food that was troubling her, it was the fact that seated across from her was a pair of middle-aged Italian women and not the two faces she wanted most to see, the two faces she had started to take for granted would always be there and now were not. "I'm not really hungry," Kate said finally, dropping her spoon into the bowl.
Jim frowned, "Don't be daft. Ye'll be starvin' by lunch,"
"Then at lunch I'll eat somethin', won't I?" Kate shot back. Jim gave her an exasperated look that told Kate that she was being unreasonably snippy with him again. She sighed, "Can we get out o' here?"
After a moment Jim nodded, "All right, if that's what ye want,"
Outside of the dining hall, Kate had to pause briefly to collect herself. Jim eyed her warily, a mixture of concern and confusion stamped across his face. Kate gave him a tight-lipped smile, "I keep thinkin' 'bout what we'd be doin' if we were still on the Titanic. I know I ought te stop, but I can't help it; me mind does it without me givin' it leave te," she rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, "An' I miss Mullins an' Murphy."
"Aye. I know ye do," Jim said, taking her hand. He looked at her sadly, then dropped a light kiss onto the top of her head, "What d'ye say we go up on deck an' get some air?"
Kate nodded and looped his arm around her shoulders, "That's a good idea."
She was still tucked securely against Jim's side when they arrived at the stairs that led above deck. A pair of women was engaged in earnest conversation at the entrance to the stairwell, and did not see them coming. Kate's didn't recognise the duo; she could not even be entirely sure that they were former members of Titanic's steerage. Class divisions were not being strictly enforced except for meals and sleeping arrangements, and going by the way the women carried themselves and the fact that their voices betrayed no trace of foreign accent, Kate thought that they could easily have been second or even first class. Still, their red-rimmed eyes and too-pale faces marked them as survivors, and that, to Kate's eyes, made them equal.
Still, equal or not, they were also blocking the exit. Kate ducked out from under Jim's arm, but kept firm hold of his hand as she approached, "'Scuse me?" She said politely, startling both women out of their huddled conversation, "D'ye mind if we just squeeze past ye?"
Apparently Kate's views on survivor equality were shared by the women, because neither appeared the slightest bit affronted at being addressed so casually by an unknown Irish waif several years younger than either of them. The slightly taller of the two even looked mildly abashed at the realisation that they were forming a blockade in front of the stairs, "Oh goodness, I am sorry dear. I didn't even notice where we'd stopped. By all means go right…"
Kate frowned as the woman trailed off. The sheepish smile had slipped sideways from the lady's face, leaving in its place an oddly pinched and twisted look, as though she had suddenly swallowed something bitter. Glancing at the woman's companion, Kate saw an almost identical expression mirrored there. Wondering if she'd inadvertently done something shocking, Kate glanced over her shoulder down the hallway as though looking for some clue as to the sudden shift in mood.
It was then that she realised that neither woman was looking at her; their focus had moved entirely to Jim, who was a pace or two behind and still holding Kate's hand. Utterly perplexed, Kate gave Jim a questioning look. However, he was paying no attention to Kate, looking instead at the two strangers with an expression that Kate had never seen before. The emotion was so out of place on Jim's face that it took her several heartbeats to place it, and when she did, Kate became even more confused than she already was. Though she had no explanation for it, Kate was quite certain that the look was nothing less than pure, unmasked shame.
Jim let go of Kate's hand, and removed his cap, wringing it in both hands. He looked as though he was trying to come up with something to say. The first women, the one who had spoken, was still stone-faced, and seemed to have gone several degrees paler than she previously had been. She had both hands clasped before her and was twisting furiously at her left ring finger. Kate's saw the glint of a wedding band as she moved.
The woman's companion seemed to finally regain her senses, and took control of the situation. She took her friend by the hand and gave her a gentle tug, "Come Eleanor," she said, in a voice so cold that Kate felt its chill as surely as if she had just been dropped back into the lifeboat. Without another word, the two women pushed past Kate and Jim and disappeared down the corridor, leaving nothing but frosty silence in their wake.
Kate watched them go and then looked up at Jim, "What, in the name o' God, was that all about?"
Jim didn't answer right away. He made a show of unfolding his rumpled hat and jamming it back on his head before saying, "It's nothin'. Let's go," without once meeting her eyes.
"Oh no ye don't," Kate said, hurrying to catch him as he headed past her up the stairs, "Don't you 'it's nothin'' me, Jim Farrell,"
"I beg yer pardon?" Jim said, casting a disbelieving look back over his shoulder, "Forgive me fer pointin' it out, but you've been usin' that line on me fer 'bout as long as I've known ye."
Kate snorted indignantly, "Aye, sure an' I have," she replied, "How else d'ye think I'd know it was such a perfect all-out lie?"
Jim stopped, turned around, and scowled at her. Kate gave him an imperious look and arched one eyebrow. For half an instant, Jim looked almost amused, then he regained his composure, "All right, fine then. It's not nothin'. But it doesn't much matter either, so pay it no mind,"
"If you think I'm buyin' that load o' horse shite Jim, then you've not gotten te know me quite as well as I'd hoped," Kate said, putting her hands on her hips and looking stern. Jim rolled his eyes at her. "What the hell happened back there?"
With a sigh, Jim dropped any pretence of being annoyed with her and shrugged, "Ye saw what happened," he said looking over her head to some imaginary point in the middle distance.
The return of his refusal to meet her gaze alerted Kate that something was really and truly wrong, "Sure, I saw it," she said, gentling her tone, "But I don't understand. One minute we're talkin' nice an' civil te the two ladies an' the next they're runnin' off like we was carryin' the plague."
"No, not us," Jim corrected her, "not you."
Kate shook her head, as bewildered as ever, "Now just what's that s'posed te mean?"
"Me, Kate," Jim said, finally making eye contact, "They acted that way because o' me."
This statement did very little to ease Kate's confusion. She stared at him trying to puzzle through his reasoning. Jim watched her patiently. Frowning so hard that her eyebrows had knit into an almost solid line, Kate replayed the encounter over in her head, trying to dredge up whatever detail she was missing that was the key to her understanding. And then she remembered: the wedding ring, the woman had been wearing a wedding ring. Kate looked sharply at Jim, her jaw dropping open, "Ye've got te be kiddin' me,"
Jim gave her a wry smile, "Figured it out have ye?"
"Yer sayin'…" Kate began slowly, trying to keep her voice even, "Yer sayin' that they acted that way because yer…because yer…"
"Because I'm a man, an' I survived?" Jim finished for her, "Aye, that's what I'm sayin',"
Kate, to her credit, managed to control her temper for almost a half minute, which was, to her mind, a half-minute more than should have rightly been required of her. Then she exploded. "Those stuck up, unfeelin', good fer nothin' half-wit, hussies," she near-shouted, drawing startled looks from several people nearby, "I ought te march back down there, find the pair o' them an' knock their great empty heads t'gether!"
She might have actually gone and done exactly that, had Jim – looking thoroughly alarmed – not grabbed her by the back of the coat and dragged her bodily away from the stairs. She was sputtering like a cat someone had thrown into water, and trying very hard to get free of him, but Jim did not relinquish his hold until he'd gotten her safely away to a secluded area near the railings, "Katie, calm down it's not worth gettin' so worked up over,"
Kate glared at him furiously. She was so angry that her face had gone white to the lips and her hands were shaking, "It's plenty worth it te me," she snapped.
Jim made a small noise of exasperation in the back of his throat, but chose not to comment on this assertion. Instead he said, "Have ye really not noticed 'til just now Kate?"
"Noticed what?" Kate demanded, "Yer tryin' te tell me this isn't the first time?"
"Been happenin' since yesterday," Jim confirmed, "First time was durin' the service, at noon, ye remember?"
Of course Kate remembered. As the Carpathia had passed over the spot where the Titanic had foundered all the survivors and their rescuers had gathering in the main saloon for a memorial and minute of silence. It had been a short event, and Kate had spent most of it standing near the back clinging to Jim's hand and fighting to hold back tears. She had noticed nothing but the mutual looks of misery on everyone's faces.
"I didn't see nothin'," Kate said, "No one even came near us,"
Jim nodded, "No…this was the first time I've come face te face with anyone who…but there were a few women yesterday glarin' daggers at the men. Heard one lady askin' this older bloke how 'twas he'd gotten on a boat when her husband hadn't."
Kate, who had just started to simmer down, immediately became furious again. She was torn between wanting to put her fist through something and wanting to burst into tears. "Just who in Hell d'they think they are?" Kate spat, settling for pounding the uppermost railing so hard that pain reverberated through her whole arm.
Wincing at the sound of the impact Jim said, "Jesus Kate, will ye be careful?" He grabbed her arm and inspected her the angry red mark now blooming over her wrist, "Yer gonna have a bruise the size o' Kilkenny ye wee idiot,"
"Don't change the subject," Kate snapped, pulling out of his grasp, "Those stupid biddies've got no right te be goin' around makin' people ashamed o' bein' alive. That's a mean, heartless thing te do te a body, an' if they had a shred o' decency in 'em they'd know te hold their damn tongues,"
"Kate, ye can't be that hard on 'em," Jim reprimanded her gently, "They're grievin' after all,"
"I'm grievin' too!" Kate responded, at a volume that made Jim leap back a few steps, "I lost people too. Two o' the best friends I ever had are gone forever, an' ye don't see me paradin' 'round this boat like I'm God, passin' judgement on people,"
Jim rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, "Kate ye have te understand. It was women an' children…an' I lived an' their husbands and sons and brothers didn't. Ye can't be so cross at 'em fer wantin' te blame somebody,"
"Oh yes I can," Kate said through clenched teeth, "Fer damn sure I can. Ye said it yerself – it was women an' children. Women and children, Jim. But Mullins an' Murphy are still dead. And Nora. An' Petra an' Mathilde. How many women an' children from third class never even made it to the boats? And them sorry bints have the nerve te begrudge you yer life? I'm sorry Jim, but I'll be plenty cross with 'em thank ye very much."
"All right," Jim said, shaking his head in resignation. He wandered over to the railings and leaned against them, looking out to sea, "Ye've got a point."
Kate narrowed her eyes at him. Something in his tone kept her from believing that he actually agreed with her. Jim, sensing her gaze, glanced at her from his peripheral vision. There was a notable tightness around his mouth, and a droop to his shoulders that was not typical to him, and Kate knew that there was something more going on then just some hostility from a few uncaring women. Kate moved up beside him, "Jim, ye haven't actually been takin' it te heart have ye? Ye don't believe 'em?"
"'Course not," Jim said unconvincingly, "Not really."
It was impossible to take this statement as plain truth. Kate remembered the look on his face during the confrontation in the stairwell, the shame, the sorrow. She could see it in his eyes right then. It made her want to cry, "Ye can't, Jim, ye can't believe a word they say. You deserve te be here much as anybody."
Jim nodded, but didn't answer and Kate felt despair boil up from somewhere deep inside her, scalding like acid, burning her from the inside out. She grabbed Jim's arm and shook it, "Jim, ye wouldn't've even got on a boat if they hadn't needed someone te row. Ye'd've died with everyone else if not fer that. Yer not here because ye designed it that way, yer here 'cause o' pure blind luck. Ye know that. Ye have to know that."
"I'm here," Jim said, gently pulling out of her grasp, "Because Fred Barrett gave up his seat. Luck had nothin' te do with it,"
Kate swallowed, knowing this to be true. Both of them were standing here, alive, whole, because someone else had been willing to die in their place. But until just that moment she had thought that Jim had come to grips with this fact in a way that she had not. He was so level-head, so self-possessed, he had given no hint, not even the slightest inkling that he felt this kind of guilt. Kate made a small involuntary noise, a low keening sound of pure helplessness. "Barrett knew I needed ye," she said her voice wavering dangerously, "I need ye Jim Farrell. Don't…please don't regret bein' alive. When I woke up this mornin' the only thing as made it bearable was the fact that you were there. Please don't regret bein' here with me, please don't,"
Jim looked at her, dismayed, "Kate," he said, "Kate, don't think that. O' course I don't regret bein' with you,"
"Then why would ye listen te them women?" Kate asked, taking his face in both hands, "Why would ye let 'em shame ye like that?" She stroked his cheek, pushed his hair beneath his cap, and looked for an answer that would never come. They were not saved, she realised; they were here on this ship and safe and warm but they were so far from saved that they may as well have been still adrift in the lifeboat. Something inside her cracked, splintered into needle-sharp pieces and she whispered; "Oh God Jim. What are we gonna do?"
Again he didn't reply, just looked down at her with such sad eyes that she had to press her face into his chest to block out the sight. She felt angry, she felt cheated; because they had survived for what? For this horrible half-life, held in limbo forever by the ghosts of people they loved and debts they could never hope to repay? They couldn't continue like this, weighted down by grief and guilt and helpless despair. This couldn't be the rest of their lives.
Kate pressed herself as close to Jim as she could get, her hands gripping the front of his shirt like a lifeline, her ear resting alongside his heart. She listened to his heartbeat. She thought of Barrett who had realised that, by saving Jim he was saving her as well. She thought of Mullins and Murphy who had wanted so badly to reach the New World, but had still been willing to give up those dreams for the sake of hers. And she made a decision.
"Yesterday ye told me that things'd get better," Kate said. She lifted her head from Jim's chest and looked up into his face, "Did ye believe that? Or were ye just sayin' so fer my sake?"
Jim hesitated, "I meant it…when I said it."
Kate nodded, pressing her lips into a thin line, "Aye. Well here's what I think – I think the way we're goin' right now there's not a hope in Hell of things ever bein' all right again,"
Jim stared at her as if she'd grown an extra set of limbs. "Kate, don't say that. If yer talkin' that way then the rest of us are plain done fer,"
Though the tone of his voice was teasing, there was an underlying thread of absolute seriousness. Kate had been relying on Jim's strength so heavily for the past twenty-four hours, that it had never occurred to her how much he was likewise relying on hers. She felt ashamed of her own self-absorption.
"Look at the pair of us," She said, "standin' here like lost souls. We keep wallowin' around in our own misery like this, things're gonna stay just as awful as they are."
"All right," Jim said, his expression grave, "True enough." He looked at Kate hard, for once seeking her face for the reassurance that was usually his to give, "So what d'we do then?"
The answer to this question was deceptively obvious. Kate had known it her entire life, had lived by this philosophy, but only just now come to really understand it. It was a truth that she'd spoken herself, but never really listened to before. She was listening now. "Jim, nothin's ever gettin' better if we don't choose te make it so," she said, "We gotta decide te change things."
Jim gave a small, humourless laugh and lightly brushed his knuckles over her jaw, "Ye say like that's so simple," he said. She could hear the fondness in his voice even through the sarcasm.
Kate gave him a stern look, "An' where in there did I say 'twas 'simple'?" she demanded, one corner of her mouth quirking into a sardonic half-smirk. "It's not. Not hardly, an' don't think I'm such a fool as not te know that. But Jim... people died fer us. Mullins an' Murphy an' Barrett, they died fer us. How badly are we failin' 'em if we don't even try?"
"That's a mighty tall order Kate McGowan," Jim said, "Livin' yer life with the aim o' makin' sense outta that kind o' sacrifice,"
"Well," Kate replied, trying and failing to suppress a smile, "We'll just have te live fer us then, an' that'll be enough,"
Jim looked puzzled at her apparent enjoyment of this statement. He raised one eyebrow, "That makes a certain amount o' sense," he said slowly, clearly wondering what joke he was missing out on.
Kate grinned fully now, "It ought te," she said, "Seein' as how I heard it first from you," Jim stared at her, in equal parts surprised and baffled, and Kate felt her smug grin soften. She took his hand, "On the lifeboat. That's what you told me. I'm not sure I believed ye then, but I think I do now,"
"I…" Jim shook his head, nonplussed, "I forgot completely,"
"Aye, I know," Kate said, raising his hand to her lips and kissing his callused palm, "That's gonna keep happenin', I think; one of us forgettin' the good advice we gave the other'n. But so long as one of us remembers we'll keep gettin' through, we'll be all right," she looked up at him, "D'ye believe me?"
"Katie, I'd be a right daft idiot not te," Jim replied. He ran his fingers through her hair, tangling them in her curls, "Sometimes I think there's nothin' ye can't make true if ye set yer stubborn head to it,"
Katie shook her head, all serious despite the teasing, "Don't say that," she pleaded, "Ye make me out te be all kinds o' strong, but I'm not. I try te be, but I'm not. I'm scared an' I'm sad an' I can't do this without you."
Jim took her face in his hands and tilted it up to his, "An' ye won't have te," he promised, "I'm not goin' anywhere." He hesitated, and then added, "So long as ye swear te me the same thing,"
Though her first impulse was to sob, Kate smiled instead. She laid her forehead against his, "Yer stuck with me good an' proper Jim Farrell, no doubt about that,"
In response to this he kissed her, properly, for the first time since they'd been on board the Titanic. No chaste peck on the cheek or forehead, to comfort or to show fondness; he kissed her the way a man kisses the woman he knows he will spend the rest of his life with – long, and deep and full of promise. And Kate, her heart thundering in her ears, reminding her that she was alive, that they were alive, knew in that moment, beyond all doubt, knew that they were going to be fine.
When they broke apart, breathless and flushed, no words were exchanged. Jim smiled at Kate, and she beamed up at him, and they remained like that, securely in each others arms for a long time, two broken people who could now begin to rebuild themselves, so much stronger, together.
Kate closed her eyes and sent one thought away from herself, out over the vast, empty sea and sky, to the place where her world ended and another began, a place where she thought three particular souls might be watching, and smiling. Thank you, she thought, thank you, thank you, thank you.