Thank you to all my readers that have followed me into the M section for the Harry interludes! I'm so glad to see so many of you still with me ;)

The first interlude established that many of Harry's actions are driven by his issues with his father. This father complex has also influenced his relationships with women - as we've seen from last week's short, he's become disillusioned with love. This pattern continues to right before the present day, as you will shortly see - and it's the main reason he's still single at 29 (well, that and he hadn't met Corrine yet ;)).

The second vignette is a glimpse into Harry's life pre-Corrine, and an answer to a question Corrine asked in 'Confessions' (how he ended up on Titanic). It's short, but packs a punch - and a helluva twist at the end. Important note: this is entirely fictional, and may be controversial. Mature content.

Happy Fourth of July, if you're American! Here come some fireworks ;)

March, 1912

Harold Lowe had almost reached his climax when the woman beneath him stiffened suddenly.

"I thought I heard something," she whispered.

"Nonsense," he replied, trying to hush her. At this point, he wouldn't have cared if a foghorn blew next to his head; he wanted to come. Now, where was he? Ah, yes... He found his rhythm again. Just a few more strokes, and he was sure-

This time, he heard it, too - the distinct sound of a slamming door. "It's him! My husband! He's back early!"

He groaned softly and swore under his breath at the second interruption. She was making this quite difficult. "I thought you said he wouldn't be done with his card game until four," he retorted, frustration lacing his voice.

"Well, clearly I was mistaken," she bit out. "You have to leave - now."

He looked down at her. "Well, do you want me to finish first?" he asked solicitously.

Her eyes grew heavy with desire once again. "How fast can you go?" she purred.

He smirked. "Quite fast," he whispered in her ear. And he proceeded to show her.

Whether it was the thrill of possibly being caught, or his skill (and he preferred to believe it was the latter), she soon reached her peak. He pulled out and finished on her stomach; he was taking no chances. Almost as soon as her body was done convulsing, she was shoving him off the bed.

"Get dressed and go!" she hissed at him, eyes wide with fear. She threw his clothes at him, whirled, and left the room. He heard the water turn on in the bathing room next door and shrugged. So be it, then. Wasn't the first time he was thrown out of a room, probably wouldn't be the last. It was not like he was ever going to settle down and find a wife, anyway. There was too much fun to be had in fucking around like this.

He had met this one on the docks, while he was chatting up crews looking for a new berth. He could tell by the way she sized him up, eying him up and down with that deliberate, entitled glance, that she was on the prowl - and used to getting what she wanted in life. She was middle-aged, and not particularly a looker, but he hardly cared. If an opportunity presented itself - particularly in the form of a nabob's wife - who was he to turn it down? She sauntered up to him and, after some meaningless small talk, got right to the point.

"My husband, B-" she began.

He held up a warning hand. "No names," he interrupted.

She sighed and shrugged. "Fine. My husband won't be home for another two hours. If you're not doing anything right now..." She let the sentence hang, waiting to see if he would take the bait.

Of course he did.

Now, as he was almost finished dressing, she popped her head back into the room. She was wearing a robe, and her hair was wet. "I know you said no names... but I need yours." Her look was plaintive. He knew what that meant; she was going to try and contact him again. He sighed inwardly. Wouldn't be the first time for that, either, he thought with resignation.

"It's Lowe. Harold Lowe."

"Lowe," she repeated slowly. "Lovely accent, by the way." She winked and disappeared back into the bathing room.

The swell had gone straight to his sitting room for a drink, and so Harold was able to tiptoe down the servants' stairs in the back of the house and out through the kitchen door, earning a reproving glare from the cook as he went. Safe at last, he headed down the alleyway, back toward the docks from whence he had come just a short hour earlier. He kept his head down, walking rapidly past the ships' berths. If he hadn't been so preoccupied with relief at having escaped certain discovery (and perhaps death by bullet), he might have noticed that about fifty feet away, a diminutive Irish lass was disembarking a small steamer bound from Queenstown to Southampton.

The sea-green eyes in her heart-shaped face lit up when they fastened on her uncle, who was waiting by the quay.

"Corrie, darling!" he called out.

"Uncle John!" she yelped, and ran up to him. She dropped her small trunk and gave him a warm hug and a boisterous kiss on the cheek.

He smiled happily down at her, as always buoyed by her limitless enthusiasm. "It's so good to see you again, little one. How's your da?"

She shrugged. "The same. Boorish. Pigheaded. And still adamantly opposed to my move to America." She sighed, a note of melancholy creeping into her voice. "But at least I was able to settle my affairs and say goodbye before I left."

"Ah, lass," John said, sighing. "Can't say as I blame him there. We both worry about you going all the way over the Atlantic, all on your own."

"Now, Uncle, you know Kate and Katie will be with me... and Nora, too. The four of us will be like peas in a pod, and no one will be able to touch us."

He picked up her trunk with one hand and put his other arm around her shoulders as they began walking the few blocks back to his store. "It's not just that, Corrie. I'm going to miss you something terrible." He blinked his eyes rapidly, pretending to have a piece of dirt in it, but she knew better. "And," he continued, his voice not quite steady, "the shop will never survive without you. It's been a right mess this past week without your magic touch."

She laughed. "I'm sure all is well, Uncle-" But before she could continue, she heard a low whistle emanating from the street corner directly across from them.

It was a sailor, dressed in a dark blue uniform. From the looks of him, he had just disembarked from a long voyage. A half-finished bottle of whiskey dangled from his fingertips, and his eyes were bloodshot. He eyed her up and down, and then whistled appreciatively again. "Care for a little shipboard romance, miss?" he leered suggestively, in open contempt of her uncle's outraged expression.

Uncle John tightened his hold on her shoulder reassuringly and gently steered her in the opposite direction, even though it would ultimately lead them farther away from their destination. "One piece of advice I have for you, Corrie," he said firmly. "Stay far away from seamen on your journey. As you can see, they're a bad lot, and they'll only cause you trouble."

"Bruce, I met the most delightful officer at the docks today," his wife said as she entered the sitting room.

She had sent notice down earlier that she was having a lie-in, due to yet another mid-afternoon headache. But here she was, dressed to the nines for dinner with Lord Pirrie, which would be held at their home in an hour.

She continued as if he had responded - which he hadn't. "I was taking a stroll on the wharf, as I do, and for some reason I lost my balance. And this man - who happens to be a White Star officer, and actively looking for a new assignment - well, he was in the right place, at the right time, and he caught me. Saved me from quite an embarrassing situation, really. He seemed very... competent," she finished breathlessly.

He puffed on his cigar nonchalantly. "All of my officers are competent, dear," he replied offhandedly.

She sat down next to him. Now that was rare, he thought. She hardly ever came within three feet of him, unless someone else was around to see. "If you would see fit to find him a berth on the new White Star liner, I would consider it a personal favor." She put her hand on his arm suggestively.

He looked at his wife contemplatively. She was a frigid woman, and hadn't let him touch her in years. Not that he was all that interested anyway. After all, she had nothing on the ironmonger's niece. At the thought of her lush little figure, he felt his cock stiffen involuntarily. He knew she'd make for an excellent tumble - if he could find a way around her polite and prudish refusals, that is. He would have to give it another try soon. Idly, he wondered where she'd been for the past week or so...

He noticed his wife still watching him, waiting for an answer. "What's his name?" he asked.

"Harold Lowe," she replied, as if tasting the words.

He gazed into her eyes. She really did look... eager, for once.

He sighed inwardly. Any port in a storm, he supposed.

He stubbed out his cigar. "I'll see what I can do," he said, as he leaned forward to kiss her.

Important postscript: everything about this is fictitious; Ismay and his wife did seem to have a troubled marriage, and was rumored that he had affairs, both emotional and physical, after the sinking of the Titanic. But the rest of it is purely hogwash to provide a deeper context to the current story. And as we all learned subsequently, RealLowe was an extraordinarily competent officer and that - and for no other reason - is how he got his berth on Titanic.

A story-related postscript: Harry, of course, has no idea who he cuckolded and thus his naïveté about his Titanic berth is genuine. However, there is one person who knows of both the incident and its later ramifications: Charles Lightoller. In my Titanic Extended Universe, Florence Ismay sees Sylvia Lightoller as a friend and confidante, as her husband is being groomed for command of his own vessel someday and Florence likes to make nice with the commanders' wives. And that poor smitten dear hasn't been able to get Harry out of her head since their illicit tryst (yes, he was that good). Of course, Sylvia immediately told her husband, which forms the basis of his distrust of Harry, and puts his warning to Corrine in 'Interference' in a new 'light', yes?

Final postscript: the song inspiration for this section is from my favorite rapper, J. Cole, specifically No Role Modelz and Can't Get Enough.