Posting is up early this week because I'm going out of town this weekend ;)

Ah, last week's update was a rough one, wasn't it?! Believe me, I know ;) Mystical Myst: Good question on the true dynamics between Harry and Corrine! The short answer is yes, and yes: Harry was that much of a player, and Corrine is that naive. He's not playing her, though, and that's important to remember - although I could see why that's a legitimate concern (Rosie expressed a similar sentiment months ago when she read this ;)). This part of Harry is hard to stomach. We've heard him drop hints about his past to Corrine - and to us - a few times, notably when he slipped up with the corset comment, and in his section in 'Impact', when he said he was 'no stranger to intimacy' (that's an understatment!)... even Lightoller tried to warn her in 'Interference' (because he knooooooows, haha). But, I mean, Harry's POV chapters do get squicky (I'm not afraid to make readers a little uncomfortable in the pursuit of telling a story, I guess!). Although it wasn't apparent in the last interlude, his conscience does occasionally bother him when he lets himself think about it, like he did in the first interlude. A part of him knows that his relationships shouldn't be this way - but it's going to take him meeting a certain someone before he fully realizes it ;)

To further clarify, part of the reason I wrote these two characters the way I did is to emphasize how very different they were from each other in the beginning. It was interesting to draw a contrast between this very innocent, somewhat sheltered girl, who's never experienced love, who has this wide-eyed notion of romance but has no idea what the hell she's doing... and this cynical, worldly sailor, who doesn't believe in love at all, and thinks most of the women he meets are fake and hypocritical. For me, it makes their love story more poignant; although he's been around the block before (to couch it politely), he's never had THIS (love, that is) happen before. And she makes him want to be a better person - but this metamorphosis is not without difficulty for him, because it means he has to change his entire way of thinking. AND, he has to hit rock bottom before he can rise; he's not quite reached it yet, but next week will see him there.

I warned at the beginning of this interlude section that Harry was human, with good and bad qualities... and that Corrine (and readers) are going to be uncomfortable about his past, and question his motives with her. But I hope that his flaws do not discount the truth of #harrine's story. In this chapter, which I've purposely set up as a counter to that last one, I'll let him do the talking (and convincing) on that score. This scene should seem familiar to you, if you've read 'The Key', the very first chapter of the story. It's 'When Harry Met Corrine: Harold Lowe Edition' :)

If this son of a bitch didn't stop disrespecting him, he was going to leap over the counter and punch him in the face, thought Harold Lowe.

And he'd do it, too. Wouldn't be the first time he popped some bastard for being arrogant or pompous. Harold did not suffer fools gladly - not at all. Normally, of course, it wouldn't do to engage in such antics in his employer's office, but this was a rather dire and unusual situation. He was under pressure to produce that key, and this man was being utterly uncooperative - defiant, even, though he was little more than a clerk and knew he was talking to a ship's officer.

Blair, the former second, had been bumped from the ship's roster only a day ago. That had not only upset him, but also the two officers above him - Murdoch and Lightoller - who had both had to move down a rank for the new Chief Officer, Wilde. As second officer, Blair had held the key to the cabinet holding the glasses for the crow's nest, and although he was supposed to pass it to the new second, Lightoller, before he left, he hadn't. After some frantic entreaties from the Captain, Blair had promised to leave it at the White Star office. Hence, Harold's mission: errand boy for Lightoller, who had better things to do on sailing day. And Lightoller, who already seemed to despise him for reasons that Harold couldn't quite comprehend, would never accept excuses if he returned empty-handed. Cynically, Harold wondered if Lightoller had sent him on a mission he knew would be fruitless in advance, just to upbraid him for failing.

His temper rising with his desperation, he barked, "Mr. Blair was to leave it at this office this morning. It was his duty to see to the key on this trip, and when he was reassigned, he forgot to give it to Mr. Lightoller. Even if he did not bring it here, there has to be a spare somewhere, perhaps in the back?"

And yet the man either didn't grasp the importance of the situation, or he didn't care. His smug and condescending reply about missing the maiden voyage if he didn't hurry made Harold see red, and he finally snapped.

"Bloody hell! You expect us to sail without binoculars? Into the North Atlantic, during iceberg season? We may as well sail blind, you bleeding arsehole!"

The man said something after that as well, but Harold was too exasperated at that point; he had had enough. His fist clenched, and he had to will himself to relax. Punch this man, and he'd lose his berth for sure - and he was so damn close to achieving everything he had dreamed of since he was a boy. But his anger threatened to overwhelm him, putting all of that at risk. Didn't this lazy sod understand-

And then a voice cut through the haze of his rage. Gentle but firm. Female; Irish lilt. "Excuse me - I apologize for overhearing your conversation, but I may be able to help."

What the hell? He whirled around, ready to face this new, unwelcome intrusion with more harsh words...

And found himself looking into the most extraordinary eyes he had ever seen.

They were sea-green, and they reminded him so much of the ocean that for a moment he felt he would drown in them. But it wasn't just the color that caught his attention - it was what they revealed: a soul as deep and calm as a clear, bottomless lake. Now that wasn't something he saw every day. Usually when he looked someone in the eye, his gaze bounced right back; he found most people to be shallow, without much depth or feeling at all - or at least, incapable of expressing it. But these eyes... well, it was like looking into a window; he felt like he was seeing straight into her open, honest heart.

For it was a woman he was locking eyes with - a small woman who was staring up at him with openmouthed wonder. She was looking at him strangely... as if she had known him all his life.

Odd. He felt the same way.

His eyes widened slightly at the entirely foreign sensation, and then he blinked. What the hell was wrong with him? How had he become so distracted so quickly? He needed to get back to the task at hand, but he wanted to be polite to her - the prick behind the counter didn't deserve it, but she had done nothing wrong. Putting on his smooth English accent to impress her with his professionalism, he said, "Miss, I am terribly sorry, but I am in quite a hurry at the moment. If you'll excuse me…"

And he thought that would be the end of it; she'd hasten away, back to wherever she had come from in the first place. As intrigued as he was by her, he couldn't afford to have his attention diverted. But to his utter amazement, she persisted.

"Sir, my apologies once again. But I do believe I heard you mention needing binoculars. Is that true? If so, I know a place very nearby where you can buy some. I would be happy to take you there, if you like."

She looked steadily at him and he stared back at her, trying to read her, looking for some clue as to what she was about. And she didn't keep him guessing for long; she made a subtle movement with her eyes toward the clerk, and then looked back at him. Her expression, and the gesture, was clear as daylight: I'm saving you from this mess, they said.

His mouth quirked up. So she had read the situation in the blink of an eye and finessed a way out that allowed him to keep his dignity, then. Impressive. "Miss, that is truly a kind offer. I do believe I will take you up on it." He walked out of the building without looking back, beckoning her to follow and curious to see if she actually would.

He stepped outside, holding the door, and sure enough, she emerged right behind him. While he waited for her eyes to adjust to the light, he had a chance to regain his equilibrium and appraise the situation. Who was this nymph who had commanded his full attention, anyway? He glanced at her surreptitiously, assessing her face and body with a practiced eye. He couldn't help it - it was second nature to him - but he was careful to make sure that she didn't notice. She was quite shapely indeed; he had a pretty good idea of what was under that dress, even though he could tell she was trying to hide her figure. But for once his cock wasn't doing the thinking for him. No. She deserved more respect and consideration than that - because he could already tell there was more to her than that.

His gaze traveled upward, to her face, and... well, pretty didn't describe it. Beautiful was an over-used word, and usually incorrectly applied, as far as he was concerned... but in this case, it definitely fit. Her features were delicate, exquisite... and those lips... so full and luscious, he could almost taste them-

Right, there it was; his usual response to a comely girl was still intact, then. But there was more to it than that this time... there was something endearing about this girl, something poignant that affected a new and different part of his body. It was... was that his heart? His hardened, jaded heart? No woman had ever made that move before. He gave a sardonic smile that she fortunately missed.

She looked up at him at last, and caught him staring at her. He maintained his steady gaze, however, and she broke first, turning and walking in the opposite direction of the docks, where he was supposed to be.

Harold shrugged to himself, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and followed her. It might make him a little late, but he was burning with curiosity about this girl, why she had stepped in to rescue him, and where she was taking him.

He started with the why first.

"I do believe you may have saved me from a jail cell," he drawled by way of introduction.

She looked up at him, one eyebrow raised as if in question, and he explained, "If you hadn't come along, I may have jumped the counter and beat that man raw with my bare fists." Well, it was the truth, anyway - might as well say it out loud. Surely that would scare her off, he thought.

Instead of looking affronted or afraid, though, a bell-like laugh tinkled from her throat. He couldn't believe it - that wasn't a lady's usual response to threatened violence, after all - and was so taken aback that he joined in the laughter with her. She smiled conspiratorially at him then, and teased him that he certainly would've won, but that he'd still be without his key. Her voice was high and musical, he noticed, and utterly charming.

She wasn't paying attention, and he stopped walking before she wandered into the busy intersection. "Why? Why did you do that for me?" he demanded.

And then she went ahead and surprised him again. Shrugging in an endearingly sheepish way, she replied, "Because I know what it's like to be talked to like that, and I don't like it, and I don't think anyone else should have to stand for it, either."

He almost laughed, sure that she was having him on, until he glanced over and saw her earnest, determined expression. Why, this little wisp was... defending him, he thought in wonder. After that obnoxious, blustering display he had put on, too. Who was this girl who had stared into the teeth of his fury and refused to flinch?

He looked at her intently. She really was different than anyone else he had met before - and he had traveled all over the world, met shiploads of people from all cultures and walks of life. This girl, though... she seemed to be able to strip him bare with her gaze and somehow know exactly what he needed at the exact moment he had needed it. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "No matter if we ever get those glasses, I appreciate what you did for me back there." Belatedly, he realized he had slipped inadvertently back into his native intonation. So be it; he had a feeling he didn't have to put on airs for her, anyway.

She blushed prettily, which somehow made her even more alluring. He probably could have locked eyes with her all day, except... ah, right. The present came crashing back in, and he suddenly remembered his mission. And with it came the desire to know where the hell they were going. His curiosity got the better of him, and as they resumed walking after the traffic cleared he asked, "So, that tale of a nearby store that sells binoculars. Was that complete bollocks to get me out of there, or is there some truth to it?"

He was baiting her a little with the bullocks bit; most society ladies objected to that epithet, and he wanted to see how she'd react. But she just laughed again, unfazed, and replied, "Aye, there is indeed. My uncle owns an ironmongers shop. And I happen to know that the binoculars are there, because I've been in charge of store inventory for the past two years."

He cocked an eyebrow, intrigued. So she had a job? His estimation of her rose even higher. Growing up with his overbearing alcoholic father, he had learned early the value of self-sufficiency, the importance of being beholden to no one. Apparently, those qualities were important to her as well. And he was impressed that she didn't let the fact that she was a woman stop her from earning a living.

She was looking up at him almost fearfully, as if waiting for him to chastise her; she probably heard it often enough, after all. When she saw his admiring expression instead, however, she exclaimed, "What?" rather cheekily, and then blushed again.

"I think it's brilliant, is all. Nothing better than making your own luck in life. It's how I got where I am today," he said breezily.

"Do you work on a ship?" she blurted immediately afterward. He smiled knowingly. So she had been checking him out as well, eh?

"Yes, I do. A rather big one, in fact," he replied, flashing her his trademark smirk.

"Titanic?" she guessed.

He glanced down at her. "Actually, yes."

For some reason, her eyes lit up at the confirmation. He couldn't quite figure out why; maybe because it was all anyone had been able to talk about in Southampton for weeks, or maybe she knew some of the crew onboard - she probably lived in the city, after all.

"So what do you do?"

"I'm the fifth officer. I help navigate – you know, guide the ship, make sure it's traveling in the right direction and such." Yes, he was bragging, showing off a bit, but he couldn't help it - he wanted to impress her.

Her eyes widened, and she stumbled for a second, then quickly regained her balance. "That must be exciting – and a lot of responsibility." She said it off-handedly, trying to be casual about it, but her genuine enthusiasm was apparent... and rather adorable, if he were being honest. He realized with no small measure of disbelief that she was the rarest kind of woman: an eager little innocent untainted by the world. What's more, she seemed utterly incapable of hiding her true nature; he could read her every expression like an open book. How was that possible in this day and age? he wondered.

And the way she spoke to him... she wasn't coquettish or flirtatious, like almost every other woman he had met since he first ran away from home; no, she was forthright and sincere. He didn't know what it was about this girl, but he suddenly wanted to tell her everything – pour out his heart, his dreams, his plans... "Ever since I was a lad, all I've ever wanted was to follow the sea. I've always dreamed of working one of these giant passenger liners, and now it's come true." Damn. He'd never said that out loud before; he hoped he didn't sound like a prat. Quickly changing the subject, he turned to her. He wanted to know... well, all about her, really. "And what about you? What's your dream, miss? Working at your uncle's store, or something more?"

She had just started to reply when he heard a voice behind him that made his bollocks shrivel.

"Mr. Lowe!"

Shit, shit, shit.

He'd know that booming voice anywhere. It was Lightoller, his nemesis on the ship.

Lightoller was the unofficial leader of Titanic's deck officers. Wilde and Murdoch may have outranked him, but Lightoller possessed a charismatic and charming personality that drew others to him, particularly the junior officers, in which he took a mentor-like interest - all except for Harold, of course. He had sat in the officer's smoking room several times while 'Lights', as everyone else called him, spun tall tales and told yarns, listening to them all laugh and have a right jolly time, while he hovered out the outskirts, sipping tea, puffing on a smoke, and feeling like the odd man out that he was. He was sure they were all wondering how he had gotten his berth there to begin with. Hell, he wondered the same thing himself. He knew he was damn good at his work - one of the best, if he were being entirely objective - but that wasn't always enough to get noticed in the White Star Line. Whatever had brought him to the ship, though, he was certainly out of place with that lot - and they all knew it. Of the group, only Moody had been friendly toward him from the start, and Harold wondered skeptically if it was only because he outranked him.

He turned and waited for the tongue-lashing that was surely awaiting him. And Lightoller did not disappoint. "Mr. Lowe, I ordered you to retrieve the key, not gallivant about town!" Harold wanted to roll his eyes. That wanker would say 'gallivant', wouldn't he? Lightoller continued to berate him, and Harold waited patiently to get a word in edgewise. He needed to clarify that this was not a lark; he was trying to fulfill his orders, after all, albeit in a roundabout way.

Finally, he was able to explain himself. He stood tall, stared Lightoller down, and said, "Sir, Mr. Blair failed to return to the White Star offices. This young lady here was bringing me to her uncle's store. He sells binoculars, and –"

Lightoller bellowed at him again, not the least bit interested in his explanation. "We don't have time for that!" He finally looked over at the girl beside him, acknowledging her with a terse statement of gratitude and dismissal. At least he didn't give her the once-over, thought Harold resentfully. He supposed he should be grateful for that, at least.

She opened her mouth to speak - probably to throw herself in front of another bullet for him, Harold realized. So he hurriedly said, "Mr. Lightoller, the glasses- I am sure it will take no time at all-"

To Harold's utter mortification, Lightoller reached out and straightened the rakish tilt of his cap, and Harold had to fight back the urge to retort or, worse yet, slap his hand away. Not only was the man disrespecting him, he was embarrassing him in front of this girl. What the hell was wrong with him? If he didn't know better, he would think it was personal.

And then, as if dismissing him entirely, the second officer turned his back on him and began walking away. As a parting shot, he threw over his shoulder, "I promise that once we get to New York, I will personally buy a set of glasses for every officer and lookout on board. But we must leave, now."

Frustrated, humiliated, and angry, Harold hovered for a moment, indecisive. What about the bloody binoculars? If they were important enough to send him into Southampton right before they sailed, they must be important enough for a short detour to a local store. No matter. He knew a direct order when he heard it. He was out of options; he had no choice but to return to the ship now... and yet... did he dare disobey, to do the right and necessary thing and grab those glasses for the lookouts? He glanced at the girl, and then in the direction they had been heading, and back at Lightoller.

No. He would never make it in time, and even if he did, Lightoller would have his head - or his tickets - for insubordination, and his career would be over. Harold heaved a sigh and turned toward the girl again. He was oddly reluctant to leave her side. It seemed that his failure to obtain the glasses wasn't the only lost opportunity here.

"Thank you – for everything. It means more than you know, and I won't forget it." And I won't forget you, either, he swore to himself. He tipped his cap to her, and then dutifully hastened after Lightoller.

He glanced back once, right before the crowd swallowed him up, and saw her standing in the middle of the sidewalk staring after him, the longing and regret plainly visible on her face echoing that in his own heart. He felt a strange sense of loss, as if he had suddenly been severed from a kindred spirit. He thought of the way her presence had instantly calmed the tempest of his emotions - and how unafraid she had been of him. She had been perhaps the only person he'd met that had seen the real Harold, under all the bravado and swagger, under the carefully maintained facade he had constructed to obtain his position as an officer on a passenger liner. And not only was she not intimidated or put off, she had been drawn to him... dare he say, enthralled, even. If he had a romantic bone in left his body, he might have thought that maybe he had just come face-to-face with the one mythical creature he was sure didn't exist: a girl who had the power to wiggle her way into his heart and upend his entire worldview.

And he hadn't even gotten her name.

His thoughts lingering on her smile, her eyes, her voice, he wondered wistfully if he'd ever see her again.

And now hopefully it's clear why Harry was drawn to Corrine immediately. She is the 'clear bottomless lake' of calm to his 'storm of emotions'. Ever since he was a child, the sea was his only source of tranquility... but in Corrine, he recognized his complement - and knew immediately a new sense of peace :)