Hello, Here is my first story into this wonderful fandom and this wonderful world and I hope I do it justice. I have loved Titanic since I was thirteen and have recently (blame lockdown) fallen back in love with it and this story was planned. I hope you all enjoy and I will hopefully update this story as frequently as my work allows me.

This story is Tommy/OFC and other pairings below and will have a happy ending (for all). I know that this story will portray Bruce Ismay as the enemy and I want to emphasise that this is based upon the character that was created and made by Johnathon Hyde in the 1997 edition. There is no intention to dishonour the real man nor vilify him.

Disclaimer-Nothing is mine just the character of Isabella and the names of the small Irish children who I have named Little Daniel and Little Bridget and other characters who I will inevitably name along the way because they deserve that small dignity.

Please Read and Review.

Spelling and Grammar are not my strongest suit so please keep that in mind.

This chapter might become a M-Rated Story so please keep that in mind as well.

Some Kind Of Tomorrow

In which Isabella Ismay, niece of Bruce Ismay boards the HMS Titanic. There while discovering her past she meets the dynamic Tommy Ryan and sees events put in motion that will change her life forever. Tommy/OC. Jack/Rose. Fabrizio/Helga. AU.

Chapter 1-One For The Ages.

In which Isabella Ismay boards the HMS Titanic on what is supposed to be the Voyage of a Lifetime. It has however, different connotations to her.

They called the Titanic the Ship of Dreams. Her Uncle called it the most adventurous thing to ever grace maritime trading and the world from the top of the society pages of both London and New York and the lowest of the steerage classes were to pay fortunes for their tickets to sail aboard.

To Isabella Lisbeth Ismay it was hardly that. It was the culmination of a thousand late nights of being alone and a thousand days where she had been ignored. She was by blood the niece of Bruce Ismay who had seen this project to it's fruition within his position as Director of the White Star Line and delighted by such an majestic event he was going from his business in London to a holiday in New York aboard the ship and as the papers reported with such reverence (so much so it was like an afterthought) he was taking his niece with him.

The niece in question did not see the 'Ship of Dreams' as that.

The niece in question at seventeen did not see this voyage as the voyage of a lifetime as other silly little seventeen year old girls did.

Instead the niece in question saw it as what it was. The grandest cage in the world. Content on transporting her from her home into the arms of a rich man old enough to be her father who wanted to get a boy on her so he could slink back to his mistress's warm bed.

The man in question was Franklin Murton a wealthy mining tycoons son in his mid forties. The plan was not set in stone as according to her uncle he had to 'check out the merchandise before the sale' but she knew enough to know that the marriage would inevitably go ahead.

And so on the bright and windy morning of the 10th of April 1912, Isabella Ismay lay in her hotel bedroom and stared at the gloriously embroidered canopaid counterpart and wondered just how she was going to survive it.

She knew she would. She was not the kind of woman to pitch herself of the side of the ship (a detailed look at the propeller plans in her uncle's study had seen to that) and besides all else she was not going to give the man the satisfaction of cracking open his best port and thanking the Lord for getting rid of his problem.

For Isabella knew that was what she was. Her Uncle had never been shy of airing his views in private. She had been three when her mother had died (her father before she was born) and she had been taken to her elderly grandmother for a period of a year and a half and then when she had died into the custody of her uncle who had not the time nor the capacity to love and care for a small child. Learning the hard way that certain things were not to be discussed or argued about in his household she had been primped and prepped and polished for society and cared for by maids and they few and far between.

All in all it was a loveless childhood that would translate into a loveless marriage.

Isabella was not even sure she could be loved.

While she would have been perfectly happy to lay in bed and pretend the world outside did not exist. That the ship was not there and her world would not change when she stepped foot in front of it that was not something that would be allowed. The maid opened the door and she knew that it was time to be prepped and primped and dressed up like a little doll ready to be handed around. There was an image that came with being an Ismay—as she was constantly told—and that image had to be maintained at all costs.

First she was dragged into the bath and she sat in the hot water for what felt like a long time and then without thinking or speaking she was pulled from the warm steamy water as her maid, a woman whose name she did not know (she was new and not coming on the Titanic after all) and then her dark hair was brushed so it gently curled just to the small of her back.

Then she was forced into a corset and then a dress that was a soft buttery yellow impeccably tailored with a sharp point at the top. Though all Isabella longed for was for the softness and practical use of her soft boots that she kept for whenever her Uncle was not around to see them, but that would not do for the Ismay girl on this most auspicious occasion and therefore she put on the white high heels recommended. Her dark hair was swept under a large yellow hat with a white sash, diamond earrings added to her ears and her diamond pendant and by the time breakfast was served in the timely manner that was requested she was all porcelain doll and no Isabella.

Her Uncle was much to busy with the ship to pay attention to her over breakfast and she ate tea and toast with some scrambled eggs in silence. Only once did he enquire if it was nerves and Isabella replied quite casually that it was. It was not a lie after all. Nerves had taken quite a hold of her stomach and had gripped it tight and she rightly suspected her uncle to be in the same frame of mind as he tapped the silver knife against his boiled egg with a rather hard hand.

"Is all well Uncle Ismay?" she asked politely. Manners was the one thing you learned fast and hard in her uncle's house though he barely used them himself.

"Yes" he said looking down at his newspaper and beaming (no doubt at the triumph that his company had pulled off) "All seems well…the steerage passengers will be the last to enter the ship so we can go on first. Tonight I intend to dine with Mr Andrews and a few other well known individuals. Please Isabella do not be difficult remember, your actions will be reflected upon when we arrive in America and your future husband will be expecting a full report of your doings"

Far be it for Isabella to point out she was never difficult. It was not her fault that society and her did not mix. She had never been a child for dolls or dancing or deportment. Instead she had wanted to run and ride and travel. She'd wanted so much more than her life had to offer her though she'd had the best of things and yet, and yet she was tired…at seventeen she was so bone achingly tired of her life that she thought she could scream.

And yet she knew that if she did nobody would hear her.

Instead she turned back to her eggs fighting back the sudden rush of melancholy.

After breakfast it was easy. She spent some time in the study watching the maids and the footmen rush about with bags and suitcases. Her wardrobe (all brand new which had been a plus to this whole endeavour, even if it was to trick her out like a pony before a parade) was being sorted by the staff. Every hat, every glove had to be accounted and the staff of the hotel had done this before clearly as they seemed to move like the well oiled machine that her uncle insisted the Titanic was. Indeed there was very little for Isabella to do other than to sit there a cipher in her own rooms and try to focus her attention on the very battered copy of Romeo and Juliet that had once belonged to her mother and was the only real thing she'd had left of her.

She had nothing from her father. Except as Uncle Ismay had once famously said when he was drunk and she had been ten—she had her father's eyes—staring at them in the mirror she tried to take stock of her parents in her own reflection but as always it did not work.

Isabella had been born with her black hair messy and wavy and no amount of taming it had managed to change that, it was curled now and tucked away into a low bun and it fell when it was down to the middle of her back. Her eyes were brown and framed by thick heavy lashes and her nose was rather long for her face—as noses went—she had a sharp bone structure and dark brows and she supposed she was what one would consider beautiful though even her future husband (on the one occasion they had met) had failed to tell her that so she did not know for sure.

The only other thing she had of her mother was the ring that slid onto her middle finger next to the heavy and quite frankly gaudy stone that made up her engagement ring. Her mother's ring by comparison was exceptionally simple, a simple gold band with a small pear shaped diamond on top. Uncle Ismay did not like her wearing it which is why she mostly kept it hidden under gloves. In fact Uncle Ismay did not like speaking about her mother full stop. Most of Isabella's burning questions had for most of her childhood gone unanswered.

There was a knock at the door and another maid came in. She bobbed a curtsey and then said. "Mr Ismay says it's time to go to the car Ma'am. All of the luggage has been loaded"

"Good" Isabella said turning her back on the girl in the mirror and standing up. "My coat?"

"In the car alongside your muff. It's said to be cold on the water"

"Thank you" Isabella said promptly and then she left the room, descended the staircase and slid neatly into the motorcar that was waiting for her outside the hotel her heart thudding in a way that had nothing to do with nerves.

Now it was raw panic.

Her Uncle climbed into the car practically thrumming with excitement and having very little time or attention to converse with his niece. Wrapping her hands in her muff Isabella was content to let the silence work between them as they trundled through what looked like people coming to see a combination of the ship and the passengers off and what looked like people trying to load into the hull.

The door opened as the car stumbled to a stop and the driver held out his hand. Isabella took it and descended with a lot more grace than she thought she had within her, her high heels connected with the cobble stones and she looked up staring at the ship.

For the first time she felt something other than dread fill her.

The ship was…beautiful. There was no other word for it. It was beyond anything and everything that she had seen and she wanted to stare at it's magnificence. It was smooth and it's funnels glinted in the sunlight. It was arguably the largest ship that she had ever seen, that ever existed and despite it all Isabella could understand why her uncle had been so excited by the prospect and so desperate to set sail upon Her.

"Goodness" she said aware that some response was required.

"Indeed" her Uncle said beaming with pride. "This Isabella…this is the ship that is going to outshine everything. This…this is the unsinkable ship. Do you know what the newspapers are calling it? The Ship of Dreams"

If Isabella was in a mood to be sarcastic she'd have pointed out that any ship was capable of being sunk but the sheer majesty of Titanic for once awed her into silence. Her uncle was obviously pleased with her reaction—for once his expression was rather soft when he looked at her.

He turned then to arrange the return of the cars and watching the luggage being loaded leaving Isabella standing there. It was the way with them…she thought that for every split second of softness between them there was a lifetime of coldness. It did not matter that she was yearning for more.

Suddenly Isabella bumped into someone or rather someone bumped into her. She turned to see a small child obviously steerage and about five years old who was clutching his teddy bear with a frightened expression. She bent down to his level and he tore his eyes off the ship to her.

"Sorry Miss" he mumbled.

"Well that's alright" she said smiling. He was so adorable her heart warmed towards him. "Where are your Mummy and Daddy son?"

"Over there" he said pointing into the crowd. "I don't like it Miss…"

"The ship?"

"Too much water underneath"

Isabella smiled. "Well this ship is supposed to be unsinkable don't you know?"

The boy did not look convinced.

"What's your name son?"

"Daniel"

"Well Daniel—"

She was going to say let's find your parents but she didn't have too because a woman pushed herself to the front of the crowd looking frantic a small red headed girl clinging onto her arm"

"Daniel! You scared me half to death—oh I do apologise Miss"

"No apologies needed" Isabella said with a smile. "He's been keeping me company"

The boy—Daniel flashed her a smile but his mother with a nod to Isabella was taking him back and she found herself staring at the mother and her two children feeling so wistful every inch of her was aching to follow.

Perhaps that would be the one good thing about marriage? A child of her own to love and adore in the way that nobody had ever loved her. But then again…perhaps something was wrong with her? Something that would keep even that joy from her door?

She was aware that eyes were on her and she turned to see a man watching her. He was leaning against the wall where the steerage passengers were queuing to get on and he was watching her with a silent intensity that was hard to miss. He was wearing simple clothes with a bag tied hastily with rope slung over his shoulder and his hat was hanging by his side. His hair was a curly brown and his eyes a greenish colour, but what was odd was the way she could not take her own eyes off him. He was so ordinary but yet so unordinary and she found that she was staring at him until something else jostled her side and she turned to find her Uncle beaming with pride and smugness.

"Well we can board. I suggest we take some time in our cabins and then met for drinks, I want you to meet J.J Astor tonight. His wife is…well…but he's got more money than God and he'll be a friend of your husband's when you get to New York. Also the charming Ruth DeWitt Bukater and her daughter Rose. Your about the same age. I asked and she has no problem with you borrowing her daughter's maid."

He slipped an arm around her but it felt more like a steel bar rather than a caress and he began propelling her towards the dock.

"I want this to be perfect" he muttered. "This will be the triumph of my career and I will not have it destroyed by your wilfulness. This is a weeks voyage and I want it to be perfect. Do I make myself clear Isabella?"

There was something in her tone that told Isabella that this was not a discussion she could enter. This was a command, an order and he pressed down on her arm so hard she could feel the bruises forming. She bit her lip to keep the flash of pain down and then looked at him.

She forced herself to smile. She was not entirely sure if she had been successful but she must have made some sort of impression on him because he stopped looking like he both loved her and despised her all at once.

He moved ahead to shake hands and take photographs and instead she handed the muff to the maid loading the bags and walked up the gangplank.

She was handed flowers as she entered and she went to take a stand on the deck watching Southampton and then England fade away into nothingness. All around her everyone was waving and cheering and looking forwards towards the future and leaving the past behind. Standing there watching them all celebrate Isabella had to look away and blink rather rapidly least the tears fall.

All she wanted to do was get off this boat.

Tommy Ryan had woken up on the floor of the hotel he was saying in. It catered more to the Irish waiting to load on the Titanic and he'd given up his room so that a mother and her two children could keep the bed. However Mary Randall was not one to let such hospitality go without a thank you and therefore she had seen Tommy to the floor of the room with enough blankets and pillows to keep warm.

He'd followed them to the ship that morning yawning and managing to grab a hunk of warm bread on the way out. The first class toffs were all disembarking and he saw Bruce Ismay a mile off. He was taking to photographers and reporters and lapping up the attention like it was gold. Tommy felt his lip curl around his cigarette. He had never liked the man though perhaps that was not a fair or complete assessment considering he had only seen him in the newspaper. And if he was being honest with himself he didn't like any of the toff's that lurked around first class pretending they were better off than the rest of the world because they had something as simple as money.

"Tommy" Mary said pulling him out of his thoughts. "Can you stay with Bridget? Daniel's gone again"

"Sure Mary" he said tipping his hat and taking little red-headed Bridget by the hand he waited as Mary ran into the crowd coming back with a woman in a yellow dress and her son.

The woman was clearly a toff and Tommy let little Bridget go with her mother as the girl looked around. Her hat was so big it concealed most of her face but she looked around and then caught sight of him.

She was beautiful Tommy had to give her that. She had dark eyes so wide and expressive that even at the distance they were standing from each other he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to drown in them. Her hair was dark and swept into the hat and she had the look of a girl who was stuffed into not only clothes but into a life that would drown her.

He took of his hat and watched her as she watched him and then Bruce Ismay was back cutting of his gaze and all but grabbing the girl by the upper arm and dragging her towards the ship. She did not look back and Tommy found his teeth gritting together—he'd never liked men that tried to be rough with woman. As his Da would say, scum like that deserved all they got.

"Mr Ryan" Little Bridget cried waving her hand and Tommy winked at her pulling his bag with him up the gangplank and onto the ship. It was time to look forwards towards a future and the RMS Titanic was exactly the ship to do that for him.

And no sad rich girl was going to get in the way of that.

And there you go, Let me know what you think and I will hopefully update sooner rather than later. I tend to do a double update sooner rather than later and hopefully this chapter will be followed by the next one.

Next Chapter-Isabella meets Rose and they both realise they have much in common. Rose however contemplates an out that Isabella does not and Tommy meets an artist and an Italian on the bow of the Steerage side of the ship.