Of all the chapters I've written, none has twisted my heart into emotional knots quite like this one. I hope it does the same to you, Dear Readers.


The next morning, Harry told her he was skipping the inquiry altogether. It was a surprising move, as he had attended almost every day of testimony, listening carefully to the accounts of the disaster from both crewmembers and passengers. But today, he said, was just for them.

It was drizzling, as it was when they had first arrived in America nearly two weeks ago, but he wanted to walk the city with her, see some sights like a proper tourist, he said. So he bought a large umbrella, and they ventured out onto the wet streets, creeping down the back stairwell to avoid the lobby and Mr. Chaffee's prying eyes.

The Hotel Continental was strategically placed on North Capitol Street, and its major boast was its proximity to many prominent locations in the nation's capital. From the dining room where Corrine worked, one could look out and see the Capitol building, and other attractions, including the Library of Congress, the Smithsonian Museum, the Washington Monument, and the White House, were within walking distance. Harry was determined to see them all with her - well, almost all of them, he clarified. He would go anywhere but the Senate Office Building - he had seen enough of that, he remarked dryly.

Spring had arrived at last, and the cherry trees, a recent gift from Japan, had just started to lose their blossoms. They lay scattered on the sidewalk, soggy and broken from the tromp of passing shoes, as they set off for their self-guided walking tour of Washington.

Arm in arm, they first sauntered the short distance to the Capitol building, gazing at its domed construction from the outside. Initially hesitant, Harry allowed himself to be persuaded by Corrine's urging to go in and peek at Congress in session, looking down at the floor of the busy chamber from the visitor's gallery. Afterward, they admired the famous fresco in the eye of the Rotunda and the amphitheater-like statuary hall before heading back outside. A short distance away lay the Library of Congress, and they stopped there as well. She became dizzy at the sight of the enormous four-story circular Reading Room, with its soaring dome supported by giant marble pillars, and Harry had to hurriedly escort her to the nearest bench before she swooned all over the marble floor. "It's grander than the Titanic," she gasped, staring awestruck at the endless number of books on the alcoves that lined the room while Harry laughed and fanned her with a pamphlet.

They took their time meandering down the sidewalks and little paths of the National Mall. People hurried by them, intent on some mysterious mission only they understood. It seemed that Washington was a city in constant motion. Southampton had been busy, too, of course; because it was a seafaring town, there were always new people to see, exotic wares from all over the world to purchase. But it had been restricted by a rigid adherence to tradition and discipline. In America, everything seemed so... free. And the people themselves amused, intrigued, and confused Corrine in equal turn. She was convinced they had figured out the secrets of life that the rest of the world still had yet to learn. Everyone in this country seemed to have an uninhibited energy and boldness. Conventions were shunned; there was a sense of throwing off centuries of restraints - and not just by the women she saw on the corner, picketing for the right to vote despite the rain dampening their signs. Everywhere she looked, people looked her straight in the eye, and walked around with their heads high, answerable to no one. There was a swagger and confidence, a feeling of endless possibility in this country that she had never experienced before. In a way, she thought, amused, Americans reminded her a lot of Harry - although she knew better than to tell him so.

On the other side of the Mall, Corrine craned her neck to glimpse the top of the Washington Monument, and Harry leaned over to whisper something very cheeky and wholly improper to her, which made her giggle and blush prettily. From there, they struck off north, to the White House - the one place, Harry said, that he had wanted to see during the entirety of his confinement here. Entering through the East Wing, they wandered through the plush public rooms on the state floor, where the President and First Lady entertained guests. They tiptoed through the East Room, its three giant chandeliers lighting a spacious chamber filled with tomblike silence broken only by the pattering of rain on the windows. And although normally off-limits to visitors, the man stationed at the terrace permitted them entry to the West Wing; the president, he said, was out of town that day. So they had a rare glimpse into the green-lined Oval Office, where that enormous man, Taft, sat and worked - and now, mourned his friend Archie Butt, a Titanic victim.

It was pouring when they once again stepped outside, so they headed for the Smithsonian Museum, which offered another tempting respite from the rain. They poked around the displays and artifacts for some time, finding tantalizing glimpses of history in the glass cases filled with rocks and minerals, textiles, ceramics, and relics from the American Revolution. To Harry's delight, the museum even contained a Boat Hall, and as they perused it he proudly pointed to the models that represented the ships he had sailed on. He was also fascinated with the safari exhibit, which included a group of African lions, as well as other exotic animals like giraffes, rhinoceros, and hippopotami from Roosevelt's expedition several years previous. Corrine hung back from those displays, though; the animals were a little too lifelike for her taste.

In one of the rare breaks between rain squalls, Harry dragged Corrine to the shopping district. At a milliner's store in Market Square, he tried to buy her a stylish black, wide-brimmed hat smothered in tulle and ostrich plumes. The shopkeeper called it a 'merry widow' and assured Harry that it was the height of fashion. Corrine gave the voluminous and gaudily embellished creation a dubious look. "That's very generous of you, Harry," she said sincerely, "but I'm afraid I don't wear hats."

He gave her a look of mock disapproval. "First you shun corsets, now hats."

"Well, I'm not-"

'-a lady," he finished, chuckling. "I know. And I've really come to appreciate that in the last few days." She blushed at the implication, and with a naughty wink he bent over her hand and kissed it with exaggerated courtesy.

Next he tried to purchase a pair of beautiful white elbow-length gloves made of soft supple leather. She politely refused those as well. "You don't need to buy me anything," she told him firmly. "This day has been gift enough." But when they came upon a florist selling roses from the First Lady's colonial garden, she fussed over their beauty with such guileless delight that he promptly asked the clerk for a dozen.

"One, Harry," she protested, laughing. "One is plenty."

He presented it to her with a flourish. "For you, milady. To replace what was lost." His eyes grew suddenly melancholy.

But she quickly corrected him. "Not to replace it. In addition to it. I still have the other one," she said with a soft smile. Sentiment - or perhaps precognition - had made her fish the pink rose out of her pocket at last after she arrived in Washington. Although looking at it had made her soul ache afresh, she couldn't bear to part with it, either, so she had pressed it into a book at the boarding house for safekeeping. And when its brief bloom had ended, this one too would join its mate in preserving the events of these last few weeks forever in their petals, a permanent reminder of triumph over tragedy.

"You kept it," he marveled, his eyes glistening. "I should have known." And then, flouting convention, he proclaimed his delight at the news by sweeping her up in a passionate kiss in full public view.

After walking for much of the afternoon, they were famished. They bought food from a street vendor; it looked like a sausage, but the man had called it a 'hot dog'. "How do you eat one of these things?" Harry mused, as it was presented to him wrapped in a piece of bread, slathered with red sauce. He grimaced. "See what I mean about American food, Corrine?"

She smiled indulgently; she was already greedily wolfing hers down, turning her head sideways the better to take it in. He snickered and wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively, and she burst out laughing, holding onto his arm for support with one hand and clutching the hot dog for dear life in the other.

As they circled back toward the Continental at last, footsore but contented, Harry turned to her. "Well, did you enjoy yourself today, darling?" he asked, playing with a strand of wavy hair that had freed itself from her bun.

She lifted her face to his. "Oh yes, Harry. I can't imagine a more perfect day," she sighed.

He hesitated. He didn't want to ruin the moment... wanted to stay like this forever... but he knew he had to be truthful. And he had put it off long enough. "I'm glad to hear you say it, because there's something I have to tell you, and you're not going to like it."

She looked at him quizzically.

He took a deep breath. "The American inquiry is ending, and we're being released to go home and face the British Board of Trade. And, if I don't lose my certificates as a result of the inquiry, I have a new assignment immediately afterward - the Australia route again."

She gasped, unable to process this information. So this was why he had insisted on playing truant from the hearings. And he hadn't told her because he didn't want it hanging over their heads like a pall all day. He knew their final moments together were fast approaching, and he had wanted to distract them both - and to give her one last shining memory before he said goodbye.

But what really knocked the wind out of her was hearing that he had been assigned to the Australia run. It meant that she wouldn't see him again for months. And the thought of being separated again for so long after such a short reunion was inconceivable. "Why?" she managed to breathe out at last.

"Ismay wants to get me away for awhile... away from all the lionizing and hero worship," he said, with a trace of bitterness in his voice.

"When... when do you leave, Harry?" she croaked, dreading the answer. Surely it couldn't be-

"Tomorrow."

That solitary word fell like a hammer onto her heart. Her hand fluttered to her mouth, and a little cry escaped her lips. So soon... too soon. "No," she whispered, her voice breaking. "No."

Harry pulled her into his arms, ignoring the crowds pushing past them on the sidewalk, and held her as her tears fell like the rain around them.


That night, the scent of crushed cherry blossoms wafted through the open window as they made love.

She crawled on top of him - unlike in the beginning, she had become quite confident in this position, having had plenty of practice by then - and eased herself down, wiggling until he was buried to the hilt. She moaned contentedly and closed her eyes, soothed by the feeling of having his body inside of her once again.

"You are a goddess, Corrine," he whispered reverently, gazing up at her. A sudden smile lit his face. "Do you want to see?"

Confused but willing, she nodded, and he shifted them on the mattress. She glanced to her left, and with surprise she saw them reflected in the mirror that hung on the wall opposite the bed. She gazed at her own reflection, straddling him, hips pressed tightly against his. She watched herself rise, and then slide back down on him. She could see his shaft, wet and slick with her arousal, move in and out of her engorged opening. She continued to watch herself in the mirror as she rode him, engulfing him again and again. The act of being both a participant and a voyeur to their lovemaking nearly undid her; a passionate cry tore from her throat, and she threw her head back in ecstasy until her long hair brushed his legs. She moved faster to ease the growing ache, grinding against him, but the sight of her flushed body sliding over his only aroused her more. He stretched out his hand and tickled her swollen nub, and she suddenly contracted, a rush of fluid from her body dousing both of them as she cried out in relief and surrender.

"Not fair," she gasped, after she had finished trembling. "You didn't tell me that would be so... erotic, and now I've finished too soon." She pouted down at him with feigned reproach.

He reached up and grabbed her by the shoulders, then flipped her, pinning her body to the bed in one quick movement. "You think you're finished, do you?" he smirked, looming over her. "My darling, we haven't even begun yet."

In the whirlwind of passion that followed, neither of them once mentioned the upcoming morning, until they both finally collapsed, exhausted and sated, into a deep sleep.


"No... the boats..." he mumbled.

She woke suddenly. It was pitch black, and the room was cold - so cold; the window had been left open. It must be the wee hours of the morning... likely 2:20, to be exact... and Harry was having another nightmare.

"Corrine...? Corrine, the ship..." he moaned, louder now.

"Harry," she said softly, shaking his shoulder. "Wake up - it's a dream, Harry."

"Gone... where...? Corrine..." Her name was an eerie lament, and she shuddered as a chill crawled up her spine.

"Harry," she pleaded, louder now. "Please, wake up..." She wrapped her arms around him, desperately trying to rouse him back to consciousness, to make the nightmare, the memories, go away.

But his mind was tethered fast to the vivid hallucinations. "No, no... they're dead, all dead..." His voice broke, and she saw with anguish that tears had began to leak from his still-closed eyes.

"Harry, please... I'm here... it's all right-"

Without warning he thrashed, writhing violently, and she had to cling to him with all her might to hold him down. "CORRINE!" he screamed, shattering the stillness of yet another night with his desperate cries for her.

At that moment his eyes snapped open, seeing her for the first time.

He stared at her, his face a mask of horror and grief and fear. Suddenly, he groped for her body, spreading her legs open. He plunged into her, and she wasn't sure if he was even fully lucid as he took her frantically, while tears streaked down his cheeks.

She was helpless against the onslaught. All she could do was hold him, and give him what he needed. Inevitably, her own body responded. It wasn't long until, under his relentless thrusts, her inner walls gripped him, squeezing and convulsing, forcing his own release in turn.

Even afterward, he was still not at peace. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." he sobbed brokenly, and she knew he didn't only mean for what had just happened, but for the damaged parts of himself.

"Shh, Harry... it's all right, everything is all right now," she assured him as she stroked his back, her tears of empathy and sorrow mingling with his. Slowly, by degrees, he quieted, calming at last.

Eventually, he eased himself off of her and shifted her body until she was facing him. His hands traced her, caressing her arms, from her ribcage down to her waist, the swell of her hip, her smooth thighs, back up to her stomach, between her soft breasts, and finally to her face, where his hands lingered. He cupped her cheeks, whispering her name, gazing deeply into her eyes.

She saw his pain from earlier return, and he suddenly swept her up in his arms, cradling her tightly, burying his face in her hair.

"I almost lost you, my love," he choked, and she could feel by the dampness in her hair that he was crying again. "I'll not let it happen ever again. I promise you that," he said fiercely.

Thinking he was still suffering the after-effects of his nightmare, she hastened to reassure him. "Harry, all of that is over now. You don't have to worry about losing me. You saved me, remember?"

He pulled back to look at her, and his puffy eyes were filled with infinite wisdom and tenderness. "No, Corrine. You saved me."


They watched the sun rise together from the window of his bedroom.

He had wrapped them both in the comforter, and they sat side by side on the edge of the bed, her head on his shoulder, and waited. At first, the change in the sky was so infinitesimal that they were able to delude themselves into thinking it was a trick of the eyes. The heavens were dark purple, littered with stars... but there it was, a slight lightening, the merest hint of pink at the boundary between earth and sky. As they watched, the tiny glimmer spread, deepening to rose gold and throwing a crimson cast onto the underside of the clouds, while the sky lightened until they were able to discern the individual silhouettes of the buildings around them. Then, at last, the sun grazed the horizon, at first a mere sliver gilding the light blue clouds with amber and peach. But as it crept higher, its softness coalesced into a burning ball of brilliant white light, golden rays bursting from the glowing orb in a red and golden gleam that set the sky aflame.

As the sun continued to rise inexorably from its fluffy bed of clouds, bringing them ever closer to the end of their magical but fleeting idyll, Corrine looked up at Harry. "How can it be morning already?" she whispered in despair, her lower lip trembling.

"Don't cry, Corrine," he begged, voice quavering. "I can't bear it if you cry."

She gulped and pressed her face into his chest, hiding from both the pain and the relentless, merciless sun. "I wish we could hold back the daylight, just a little longer," she whimpered, inconsolable.

His chest hitched suddenly, and she raised her head to look at him, sure that she had said the wrong thing and he was about to break down. But instead he took the tip of his finger and gently traced his initials over her heart.

"Remember, Corrine, that no matter where I go, this is where I will always be," he vowed. And for that moment, despite the agony filling his eyes, he seemed at peace.

They dressed in silence. Harry packed the few possessions he had acquired during his time in America. Corrine gathered some things as well: bits of writing, newspapers, a few toiletries she had purchased, some dresses she had brought over from the boarding house, and of course, the rose. She put them into a paper bag that she planned to stash in the restaurant's break room before they left; with Harry leaving, there was no longer any reason to hide her presence in the hotel from Mr. Chaffee.

All too soon, they were ready. Neither wanted breakfast; in her misery, Corrine couldn't imagine putting anything in her stomach. Her heart was a cold dead lump filling the cavity of her chest, and her nose and eyes burned with unshed tears.

Right before they left, she turned back one final time to look at the rooms that had been her home for the past week, the place where she had experienced a happiness she never thought possible, one she felt sure she must have dreamed into existence. Swallowing a sob, she pulled the door closed and followed Harry down the hallway.


She went with him to Union Station, of course. She had to see him off, even though it would be harder for both of them. Unlike the previous day, the weather was bright and warm, and sunlight poured in through the skylights of the station, mocking the gloomy, dour mood of the couple that made their way through the concourse, dragging their feet reluctantly with each step. The floor rumbled under their feet as trains pulled in and out of the station, belching steam and heat. Mobs of people moving in dozens of directions bumped into one another, and Harry indifferently parted the crowd with one arm while he held onto her tightly with the other. Corrine kept her downcast eyes focused resolutely on the floor as they moved; she was hardly in the mood to exchange pleasantries with strangers.

They slowed as they reached their destination at last. White smoke floated, obscuring the platform where the Congressional Limited waited, and then dissipated, moving in a graceful dance from the ground to the lofty ceiling. When it cleared, Corrine was able to make out four familiar forms.

There was a certain solemnity in the posture of the other three officers who stood shuffling their feet, waiting for the doors of the train cars to open. Although they would be soon returning to their homes and families, their solace was tempered by the looming threat of the the Board of Trade inquiry. Ismay was there, too; he seemed apprehensive, removing his hat and patting his hair, and then smoothing his handsome mustache. His eyes darted around nervously, as if he expected at any minute to be accosted or apprehended, his freedom revoked once again.

None of them seemed particularly surprised to see her with Harry. The other officers, Pitman and Boxhall, gave her nods of acknowledgement; they were familiar with her by now, having seen (and heard) her enough in the past week. Charles gave her a warm smile edged with sympathy. Ismay completely ignored her presence.

She stood by Harry's side, feeling numb, until the train whistle shrieked, making her jump in surprise. The sound brought back the memory of Titanic's much louder and deeper blasts only a few short weeks ago, and she suppressed a shudder. Around her, outgoing passengers began clutching their bags and children, making for the carriage doors, preparing to board.

It was time to say goodbye, then.

Her heart turned over painfully in her chest. I won't cry, she promised herself. I won't cry...

Maintaining a firm grip on her composure, she went over to Charles first. Although preoccupation with Harry's imminent departure was foremost on her mind, she hadn't forgotten how fond she was of his former commanding officer - or how much she was going to miss him. She took his hand and held it in both of hers as she smiled up at him. "Godspeed, my friend," she said tenderly. She then stood on tiptoe and pulled him closer, so that only he would hear what she had to say next. "Try to stay out of trouble - and keep warm," she whispered in his ear.

He leaned back and gazed down at her, looking both surprised and deeply moved. He stood there, unable to speak for a moment, and then: "Take care of yourself, Corrine," he said unsteadily. He covered her hands with his remaining one and squeezed them between his, then released her.

She turned to Harry then, but the words she wanted to say turned to ashes in her mouth. It felt so final, like he was leaving forever; this must have been how those wives on the Titanic felt when they left their husbands standing on the deck. Panic suddenly clawed its way up her throat. Would he be safe? Would they ever see one another again? How was she going to find the strength to let him walk away?

He saw the despair in her eyes and pulled her off to the side for a little privacy. "Please be strong for me, my darling," he whispered. And in an instant, she knew. She could do it for him; no other appeal would have worked. She nodded, unable to speak, and he gathered her into his arms.


Even in the midst of his heartache, Harold could feel two sets of eyes focused intently on them. Slowly, deliberately, he let his hands roam up and down the length of Corrine's body as he held her, marking his territory as if she were his possession - as in a way, she was. He opened his eyes as he did it, returning the stares insolently. Ismay watched them with a combination of chagrin and dismay, while Lightoller finally looked away uncomfortably.

She's mine, you sorry bastards, he thought contemptuously. I may be leaving her here for now, but she'll always be mine.

We are one.

Then, forgetting the world around them entirely, he turned his attention back to the love of his life. He could feel her trembling in his arms, trying to hold back her desolation and be brave for him. It pierced the thin veneer of his own self-control like a spear. He had never felt so helpless in his life. Since he was fourteen, he had been looking after himself; if he wanted something, he simply did whatever it took to get it. But then again, he had never had anything to lose before. And now that he did, there was nothing he could do, no action he could take, that would make it better for the one person that mattered the most to him.

As he held her, his mind was filled with visions of their time together, as vividly as if they were happening all over again. He squeezed his eyes shut as he once again relived those beautiful moments with the woman who had taught him the meaning of unconditional love. The pain of knowing that this part of their life was over, that they would never again be in this place and time together, nearly tore him to shreds. But he couldn't let it show; he wouldn't allow her to bear the burden of his grief as well as her own. What he needed to do was assure her that they would make many more memories together, and that in the meantime, the ones they made in the past week were a tangible thread that would hold them together. But it was hard to summon the eloquence he needed when he could barely force the words past the lump in his throat. He settled for simplicity and sincerity instead. "This is not the end, Corrine," he reminded her softly, so that only she could hear. "It is only the beginning for us."

"How do you know?" she whispered almost inaudibly.

"I just know." And somehow, for her - and for him - that was enough.

They stood, still as statues, locked in their embrace, until all the other passengers had embarked. As the conductor bellowed his last call, they didn't exchange promises, or make any grand declarations. There wasn't any need. Only a clasping of hands, a few last whispered words, a long lingering kiss... and then he dropped his arms, letting her go. Just before the doors closed, Harold turned away from her, handed the conductor his ticket, and stepped up into the coach.


He vanished for a moment, and Corrine waited restlessly until he appeared again, sitting in a window seat. He didn't wave, and neither did she. The gesture seemed too cheery, too lighthearted, for the profound heaviness they were experiencing. Instead, he lifted a hand and pressed it against the window, his eyes locked on hers.

She raised her hand as well and held it up as the train slowly pulled away from the platform. And she saw his lips moving as he mouthed those three little words that he had imprinted on her heart along with his initials, the words that transcended all the time and space that would soon be between them.

I love you.

She waited until the train was completely out of sight before letting the tears flow at last.


And now hopefully you understand why we had to go through all that angst: the sinking, the breakup, Harry's interludes, and now this. Because this was never a story about a girl who was saved by an officer; the story I've been telling all along is about an officer who was saved by a girl.

I was so in my feelings on this one, so the soundtrack to this chapter is What Am I - Why Don't We