A/N: A few quotes from this chapter were actually taken from the REAL Harold Lowe himself. I've marked them off with asterisks (*).

Chapter 36

Jamie Anderson's POV

"Goodness, look at the mess you've made," I chuckled.

Harry had pretty much thrashed the room in his panic. There were papers and scraps of clothing practically everywhere.

I glanced over to see him smiling sheepishly. He warily stepped over an emptied drawer to start cleaning up. "Sorry...when I have a meltdown, I really...um...go full-out."

"Mmm, I've noticed."

Kneeling over to pick up an overcoat of his, I noticed a stack of letters bound together with string.

Hmmm...how curious.

"What's this?"

"Huh? Oh-that's nothing...just some rubbish of mine."

He instantly jumped up to seize it from my grasp, but I playfully held it just out of his reach.

"Rubbish? Harry. You're blushing. C'mon you can tell me!" I smiled innocently.

However, he only shook his head firmly and continued to reach for it.

"It's nothing that'd be of interest to you."

"Oh? Are these love letters from a past admirer? Perhaps a certain Welsh gal I'm unaware of?"

"Jamie. Just give 'em back, please."

Goodness, the man looked as if he were about to cry again!

"Alright. Here. Just don't gimme that look, y'know how I'm a victim for all that pouting tosh."

"Thank you," he replied with a kiss upon my nose.

"Harry, you know you can always trust me though...right?"

"What? You think I don't trust-Jamie, I just don't wanna burden you with all this nonsense." He flung the stack onto the bed with a frustrated sigh.

"Well, whatever 'nonsense' that is, you must care about it a lot to keep it so beautifully tied together."

Suddenly, he raised his arms in surrender. "Okay, fine. You wanna know? Here."

He thrust the stack to me and crossed his arms in amusement.

Well, look who's become the bossy one!

Throwing him an annoyed glare, I plopped down upon the bed and carefully untied the crisp bow.

"Why are all the letters still sealed?"

I curiously overturned to see the mailing address in neatly written cursive: Mynach Road, Barmouth, Wales.

"That's 'cause they didn't even bother to read it. Every letter I've sent...has been sent right back unopened. It's been the same thing for the past thirteen years."

Aw, Lordy...why must I always be so intrusive?

I glanced over to see him beside me. He looked down upon the yellowed parchment in reminiscence.

"Harry, I'm sorry," I breathed.

"S'alright. I stopped sending letters months ago. Realized it was all just a waste of my time. Dunno why I've kept at it for so long, though."

Gingerly, I brushed a lock of hair from his eyes.

"May I ask what happened?"

"Course. But I warn you, I'm not very good at this storytelling thing like you."

"It's not the way you say it that matters. 'Tis the story that counts," I whispered with a soft grin.

He nestled comfortably by my side, taking one of the letters in curiosity. His other hand traveled down my arm to the crease at my elbow, gently pulling me closer to him. The eerie glow of the sun upon the horizon reflected through the deck window, casting early morning shadows upon the wall. All we needed was the hot cocoa and everything would be perfect.

"Comfy?" Harry asked with a tiny smile.

"Never better."

"Right...now let's see. In a little town of North Wales, a child was born on the 21st of November, 1882. He was the third of eight children and born to a couple by the name of George and Harriet Lowe. The boy lived a very happy childhood. With seven other siblings, young Harry need never feel alone. His parents were rather strict, as parents of the 1880s were expected to be. The Lowe children didn't really mind it though. They were still treated to midnight bonfires under the stars, and enjoyed strolls upon the white-sanded beaches. However, while Harold Lowe always had a strong desire to sail upon the seas, his father had different plans in mind for his son. George was a very successful businessman of a Liverpool company. He intended his son to join him as an apprentice. Henceforth, one afternoon, upon Harry's fourteenth birthday, his father bought him a suit. It was, he claimed, "to be worn tomorrow."

Tomorrow, when Harry's internship at the Liverpool company would begin. It was a nightmare brought to reality for the boy. In other words, he was being sentenced to a living hell - an execution at the guillotine. A life in prison. After the celebration, a melancholy Harry trudged up to his father's study.

"Yes, my boy. What is it?"

"Dad, I can't."

"Can't-what? Come on! Spit it out."

"I can't work at the company. I simply won't. I don't want to."

"Harold. How many times must we discuss-"

"Father, please. I wish to go to sea."

"AND WHAT? Sail upon the ocean blue like a giddy little sailor boy? Harold Godfrey Lowe, I am your elder and forbid such ludicrous nonsense!"

His dad's words literally tore the child's heart in two. He had hoped that he'd understand. But he didn't...and he never would.

"No, sir. You cannot forbid me. With all due respect, it is my choice, father. It is my life!"

"How dare you-" His elder then struck a heavy blow across his son's face. It was the first time anyone had ever been hit by anyone in the entirety of the family. As Harry staggered to the ground, tears stinging his face, he knew what he must do.

That evening, hidden by the moonless sky, the Lowe child ran. Ran away from home. Ran away from a life he didn't want to live. *He wasn't going to work for anybody for nothing...he wanted to be paid for his labor.*

After the next few years, with some schooling and extensive training, Harry had finally succeeded at his desire to become a man of the seas.

*The officer had experience with well every ship afloat - the different classes of ships afloat - from the schooner to the square-rigged sailing vessel, and from that to steamships, and of all sizes.* But at sea, he could no longer have bonfires under the stars with his rowdy and lively siblings. At times, he felt rather lonely indeed. As a result, he always made sure to send a postcard or a letter to his family from the various lands he travelled across. However, to his dismay, every single parcel was sent back unopened. A wise fellow he had met by the West coast of Africa had told him "to simply forget and forgive." Harry tried, but it was very hard work to mend a broken heart. Despite all these conditions, he never regretted his decision to pursue his love for the sea. It was perhaps the best decision he could ever make, for it led him to the love of his life."

With a concluding sigh, he glanced over to me with a tiny smile.

Unable to restrain myself, I leaned over and placed my lips upon his.

My dear, dear Harry. I could tell that he had suffered through just as much affliction as I had. We were both runaways...we were both survivors.

"Who knew," he gasped breathlessly between a kiss, "That Titanic could serve as the perfect matchmaker?"

"Mr. Andrews surely made her into a beauty."

Most gingerly, Harry settled himself atop of me, always making sure that he hadn't placed the entirety of his weight upon me. He continued to kiss me ever-so-gently, while firmly holding our entwined hands above my head. "Is this-alright?" he questioned with a hint of worry.

"Yes, Harry...stop being such a gentleman."

I could feel the shy smile spread across his lips as he delicately kissed down to my collarbone.

As I entwined my arms tightly around his neck, he let out a soft moan.

Nothing could have disrupted this lovely moment of ours...nothing except for the entrance of Mr. Andrews. When I saw his figure standing beside the doorway, I let out an embarrassed gasp of surprise.

This couldn't have been any more awkward.

"Oh! I'm so...sorry. I never meant-um-to intrude. I did knock."

Harry stumbled off the bed with a loud thump to the floor. In a similar fashion, I bolted upright, bursting into a furious blush.

"H-hullo, Mr. Andrews, sir," Harry stammered, "Is-uh-everything...alright?"

The architect smiled at the sight of the two of us, chuckling, "I just wanted to stop by to see if young Jamie was okay. I'm glad to see...that she is."

"Yes," I gushed breathlessly, "I-I am. I appreciate your kind thoughts, Mr. Andrews."

He nodded then, placing his bowler hat back on. "I'll see you both around. And I-um-trust that you both will continue to act responsibly. I'm sorry, it's just that I have the tendency to act protectively when situations concern you, Jamie. Just trying to behave how a father would to his daughter, is all."

A father. It was an appropriate title for this man. Mr. Andrews reminded me so much of papa. This ship...Titanic...it is and will always be my home.

With a final smile, he closed the door to a shut.

"Harry?" I laughed, "Are you alright?"

He was still rubbing his head with a slight wince upon his face.

"I need to remember to lock that door."

I slid down to his side with a chuckle of assent, planting a quick kiss upon the tiny bump now evident by his hairline. My thoughts lingered to his story from before.

"Why, may I ask, are you so fascinated by the sea?"

This question of mine seemed to take him off guard.

Quietly, he answered, "You really do have his smile...and her eyes."

Pardon?

"What...do you mean?"

"When I was nine, my family and I sailed to meet a few relatives in Southern Wales. We were aboard the Ms. Prisendam."

As he spoke, he reached into his pants pocket and took out a tiny leather wallet.

"And I remember wandering the ship, eventually having stumbled into the bridge itself. My father came rushing in after me, apologizing like I had committed an atrocity. The Captain only smiled, and convinced him that it was quite alright. He lifted me into his arms, and allowed me to blow the ship's horn. I had been just a kid, but I thought it was the most wonderful feeling in all the world. His wife had also been there by his side. She took me out to the uppermost deck, where we could see the sea for miles and miles ahead. Together, we made a little ship in a bottle. I remember never wanting that journey to end. As the ship was docking in Newport, we took a picture together."

I knew where this was going, but I could say nothing, and only stared at him with wide, questioning eyes.

He took out a little snapshot, frail with age.

"Their names were Mr. John and Mrs. Elizabeth Anderson."

Placing the picture into my trembling palm, he wiped a stray tear that was already falling down my cheek.

My papa was kneeling on the ground, his strong and callous hands firmly grasping a young Harry's shoulders. His disheveled dark hair rested beneath his cap. Yes, I remember how I always fussed over his appearance, carrying a comb in my dress pocket to always tidy his appearance. His warm smile - it could've melted any old hag's heart. On Harry's other side...my mum. My beloved mum. The woman I've always dreamed about. I only saw one or two pictures of her in the past, but that was long ago when I was just a little child. Despite the shades of black and white, I could see how rich her eyes were - how blue they had been. Her hair was done up in an elegant bun. But the moment I saw her hands resting protectively about her stomach, I burst into a sob.

She was round with the signs of motherhood. Round with the signs of a little me inside. It looked as if she had been about five or six months along.

"Harry, what color was her hair?" I cried with a smile.

"Hazelnut, with streaks of dark brunette."

"And her voice?"

"Very much like yours. That's why the first time I heard you speak, I knew it had to be you. Their daughter. Your story only affirmed it, love."

She looked so lovely. So happy.

My eyes then flew to Harry's little face. His head was adorned with black curls of hair. His smile revealed two missing front teeth. Aw, gracious, I could've died at that very moment.

"Wasn't I rather handsome at my age?"

"Yes, you looked like a mischievous little cherubim. Goodness, Harry, how come you didn't tell me this earlier?"

"I just wanted to wait for the right moment."

I took another glance at the picture...the three people I loved most in the world, all in one snapshot.

"Fate works in mysterious ways."

Tucking a lock of my hair behind an ear, he nodded in agreement.

"Keep it, so you'll always have us with you."