Author's Note: You know, it occurred to me that I have not once included a *DISCLAIMER* thus far in this story. ALL OF JAMES CAMERON'S CHARACTERS BELONG TO HIM, JUST AS SOME OF THE ACTUAL PLAYERS IN THE TRAGEDY BELONG TO HISTORY. Carrie Stevenson, Garrison and Wheeler, and (unfortunately) the sick freak are of my invention and imagination, and I would really appreciate people not ripping them off. I apologize for any inconvenience this might present, and your cooperation is appreciated. Thanks. OKAY, anyway. . . Chapter Six is ready for the reading and reviewing. Don't worry, there's more to come after this one. You'll have plenty of warning before the story ends. I still have several chapters, plus an epilogue to go. By the way, dunno when I'm gonna be able to post the next chapter, because of this LoveSan virus worm thing that's supposed to attack computers on Saturday. I'll get it up as quick as I can, however. In the meantime, you COULD send me a bunch of reviews :) Hey, I'm glad for the ones I've already gotten. You guys are honestly the best readers a writer could ask for. I'm glad you're really enjoying the story! I'm doing my best. For now, I'm off to get some lunch. I'm starving here. Thanks!!!!!! Enjoy!!!!!

SIX

Thomas and I were leaning back against the comfortable sofa, settled in each others arms. Nothing had happened between us other than an intense make-out session, and now we were just now recovering. Since then we'd started talking again, and of all things, the topic was boat engines. By now though, we'd moved on, and now we were talking about automobiles.

"Most people would disagree," I told Thomas, watching his thumb trace slowly back and forth over my knuckles. "But I really like Henry Ford's products. They're pretty good."

"We've got some of them in Ireland." he said. "You're right, they run well. Butche can't beat a Renault."

I grinned. "Now that is a classy car. I'd love to get my hands on one of their engines."

Thomas returned the smile. "Know much about them?"

"Sure I do." I said. "Someday I'd love to take one apart and then put it back together again. Get my hands black with engine guts."

"Does sound lovely." he murmured. "I bet we could do that in New York."

"You're not serious!"

"Sure I am," he said, smiling down at me. "Go to one of the junkyards. Well find a car and then tear it apart, piece by piece. Then we'll fix the thing." He bent his head to kiss me again; I returned it. We pulled back and lapsed into silence, but a comfortable one.

I remembered suddenly that in two days, we'd be docking, and soon after we docked would be the trial with the sick guy who'd attacked me the other day in the hall. "Thomas," I said quietly. "Have you heard much about the trial that will be taking place?"

"A little," he said. "I know that Murdoch and I are both testifying as witnesses."

Somehow, that made a wave of relief flood through me. With them on my side, everything would work out. "And how big will the trial be? It's not going to be one of those huge public things where. . ."

"Do y'think we'd put you through that?" Thomas shifted so that he could look down into my eyes. "No, Carrie, it's to be a small trial. No audience or anything."

"Good." I said, even more relieved. Somehow, sharing every detail of what had happened in the stairwell in front of an entire courtroom of people really didn't seem like a lot of fun. "Thanks." I let out a long breath; he kissed my forehead and then we settled back into each other's arms, silent again.

"Nearly midnight." he murmured after awhile.

I felt ready to doze off; I was tired from the lack of sleep from the previous night, as well as the gym work today-- and not to mention all the adrenaline aftereffects from all that smooching. "Yep." I said, my head on his shoulder as I glanced at the clock on the wall. The spidery hands were telling us that it was 11:37. Thomas' thumb continued its steady trek over my knuckles. "What are you doing tomorrow?" I asked him.

"Nothing special." he said, leaning his cheek against my head. "I could take you down to the engine room."

A smile broadened on my face. "I'd love that."

"Then how about this-- we sleep late, get a late breakfast, and then go?"

"Excellent." I said, watching the second hand slowly tick around the clock. 11:39. "I'd like to see the engines. They must be massive."

"They are," he assured me, and lifted his head to kiss me again.

I melted into the feel of his lips against mine, pulling him close once again. This had to be heaven. Just a few days ago I was sleeping cold and damp under a bridge, and now here I was in a warm and dry stateroom, in the arms of the man I loved. Wherever God was, He must have been smiling. We pulled away at last, and then Thomas slowly disentangled himself from my arms and stood up.

He was halfway to the desk when it happened.

Both of us felt it in the same instant-- a very distant vibration in the floor, but then the vibration expanded into a downright shudder that seemed to shake the entire ship. Thomas had stopped in his tracks, and turned to look at me, eyes narrowed.

"What the hell--" I started, and was immediately cut off as a noise sounded toward the port side of the ship. It was a terrible, ear-splitting noise, like metal cutting metal, an intensely piercing shriek. The shudder continued.

Something caught my eye; I looked up at the ceiling to see the magnificent chandelier trembling, the tiny crystals tinkling slightly. In that instant the terrible metal screeching stopped. My eyes shot over to the clock; it was 11:40. The whole ship seemed about to come apart beneath us as the shaking continued. The vibration gradually lessened, then stopped completely.

For a moment neither of us spoke, but I could feel my heart pounding. Whatever had happened, it had to be serious. You don't get a shudder of that magnitude and have a tiny problem. From the way Thomas' expression was slightly pained, I could tell that he knew that as well.

I watched his shoulders rise and fall as he struggled to make sense of the situation, and then suddenly his sharp eyes flew over to lock on mine. "Listen." he said quietly.

I strained my ears for noise, and heard nothing. "I don't hear anything." I said, on my feet now.

"Exactly." he said, voice hushed. "Listen again."

I realized what he was getting at, and my heart seemed to leap into my throat. "The engines." I whispered. The lack of noise came from the fact that the engines were no longer running.

"They're not on." he said, speaking normally now, but his voice had taken on a slightly rushed tone.

"What do you think it was?" I managed.

I his eyes held a kind of hollow dread. "Don't know." he spoke in nearly a whisper. "But a shudder that shakes the entire ship, plus the engines being shut off. . ." he shook his head. "Did it sound to you like the noise came from the port side?"

"Yeah." I said, swallowing hard.

"Wonder if we can see anything. . ."

He began to step forward toward the promenade deck, but was interrupted as someone knocked sharply on the door of his quarters.

Never in all my life will I forget the expression I saw in Thomas' face right then as his eyes locked with mine and we froze. It was as though the knock on the door had somehow secured his fate, as though it was a jailer announcing to the prisoner that it was time to make his way to the scaffold. The look was neither frightened or belligerent, but rather accepting and defeated.

The knock came again; in three quick strides Thomas was at the door, I right behind him. He pulled it open quickly, and Will Murdoch lifted his eyes to meet ours. His face was shining with sweat, but extraordinarily calm. But I saw that the calm was only a mask, because it lifted the second he saw Thomas. "Mr. Andrews." his voice shook a little, eyes wide. "They want you on the bridge."

I could feel the bottom of my stomach dropping out. They wouldn't call him for a little problem. And what was up with Murdoch calling Thomas "Mr. Andrews"?

"Do you know what happened, Will?" Thomas' voice was quiet.

"I'd best not say here, sir." Murdoch said, eyes beady as he took in breath after trembly breath. He didn't look back to me. "Just get there quick as you can. They've called John Hutchinson as well."

Thomas nodded, slowly, just a little. "Thank you." he murmured. "I'll be there."

Murdoch nodded as well, sharp little jerks of his head. "Very good." and the mask lowered again. His face became calm and he turned to head quickly down the hallway.

For a moment Thomas just hung onto the door handle. I wished I could see his eyes, but his back was to me. Finally he turned, looking beaten. He murmured, "It's serious. They wouldn't have sent for me if it wasn't."

I tried desperately to think of something to say, and only came up with a lame, "Who's John Hutchinson?"

"Carpenter." he said, eyes wandering about the room. "Listen-- Carrie, will you help me roll up some of these blueprints?"

"Of course." I hurried to the one spread on the coffee table, the one of the lengthwise cross section, and began rolling the end up. Halfway finished, I watched him as he silently rolled up another diagram. I swallowed. "Thomas. . . I can't just sit around here while you go figure all this out. . . I--"

"I'd be hurt if you chose to stay," he murmured, brown eyes nearly pleading as he looked up at me. "Will you come with me?"

I nodded a little, relieved. "Yes. You bet I will."

We finished with the two diagrams, and Thomas quickly chose two more from the pile of them. He disappeared into his room for a moment and emerged buttoning his vest, straightening his tie, his long gray coat over his arm. "Have a jacket?" he asked me. "It's cold out on deck."

"Yeah." I said, and quickly stepped into my room to grab mine. It was a loosely sewn corduroy jacket, dark brown. I rolled down my sleeves and then threw the brown fabric on, hurrying out the door. Back in the foyer, Thomas was pushing a folded sheet of paper into his pocket as bent over his desk, writing something with a quick hand. He also inserted this into his pocket, and then turned to me.

Thomas struggled to smile, moving closer with his armful of blueprints. We exchanged a quick but deep kiss, his free hand resting on the side of my face. "Let's go," he murmured when we pulled back, and we headed quickly out of his room toward the bridge.

The hallway was brightly lit, and it was an odd feeling to walk down it so late at night. Further up the hall, I spotted the countess talking with a steward. Most of Saturday night at dinner, she'd been smiling, but now her face was oddly wrinkled with concern. ". . . I felt a shudder." she was telling the steward.

"I shouldn't worry, ma'am." the steward was saying. "We've likely thrown a propeller blade." Thomas and I brushed past them. "That's the shudder you felt. May I bring you anything?"

"Propeller blade, my ass." Thomas mumbled. I would have smiled if I hadn't known the situation was so serious.

Up the bright and cheery steps of the grand staircase and out through the revolving glass doors to the deck we went. Cold air seemed hit us like a smack in the face; it was quite a contrast from the warmth of the ship. The sky matched the ebony colored water, and the stars stood out against it, the Milky Way spreading cheerfully across the north. Near the horizon line, the sky was slightly more blue. The night seemed too perfect for disaster.

Finally Thomas and I reached the steps leading up to the bridge, and we both took them two at a time, our breath clouding in the cold air. Upon reaching the bridge, I was almost stunned at how little activity was going on. I'd expected to see crewmembers rushing left and right, but most of the officers were gathered right at the bridge, as though waiting for orders.

I noticed Captain Smith standing off to the side, deep in discussion with a man I didn't recognize, and another man that I knew from pictures-- Chief Officer Henry Wilde, and Murdoch was there as well. Wilde was the first one to notice Thomas and I hurrying toward them, and he turned to Smith. "Captain," he said, gesturing toward us.

"Mr. Andrews," Smith greeted, voice hard. "And Miss Stevenson. Did Mr. Murdoch tell--"

"No." Thomas and Murdoch said at the same time, and glanced at each other. Thomas, pained expression on his face, looked toward the captain, his hand sliding unnoticed into mine.

Captain Smith spoke heavily. "Iceberg, Mr. Andrews."

I felt a shiver go through Thomas then. His lips parted, and he breathed, "Did we hit?"

"We tried to turn, but she was too close-- scraped us along the port side."

I could practically feel Thomas struggling to stay calm. "I assume you engaged the reverse engine--"

"That's right." Wilde said grimly.

"-- and did you then try to port around it?" Thomas finished.

"I did." Murdoch said, the calm mask nowhere in sight. He looked as though he were just trying to keep breathing, as though his whole world had just come crashing down around him. It had.

Thomas' voice was urgent now. "Did you close the watertight--"

"Right after she hit." Murdoch said, and I could see him shaking.

"She's taking on water," Smith murmured, eyes sharp and serious. "Andrews, I need you and Mr. Hutchinson to sound the ship."

"Yes, sir." said the man I didn't know. His reddish, short sideburns poked out from under his cap; from the way he answered I assumed that he was the carpenter.

"Right away, sir." Thomas glanced at Hutchinson, and then at me. "Come on, let's go."

"Andrews--" Smith looked uneasily at me and back to Thomas. "Miss Stevenson would probably be better off staying here."

I opened my mouth to reply, but Thomas was ahead of me. He shook his head ever so slightly at the captain, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet but strong. "Carrie Stevenson knows this ship as well as I do." His eyes met mine for the briefest instant before turning back to Smith. "She goes, captain."

Smith nodded, slowly. "Alright." he murmured finally. "Hurry."

I looked up at Thomas, feeling grateful toward him. The tiniest smile surfaced on his face to show that he understood, and then vanished as quickly as it had come. "Let's go."

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

"Carrie Stevenson." I introduced myself to the carpenter as the three of us flew down a back stairwell.

"John Hutchinson," he said in return, and we shook hands best as we could. "Nice to meet you. Sorry the circumstances are so dreary."

I had to smile. "Nice to meet you, too." I glanced at Thomas. "Where exactly are we going, anyway?"

"To check all the main holds." he said; we abandoned the stairwell and moved quickly down a crew passage. "Plus the boiler room, and the forepeak-- everything between the bulkheads."

Five of them. I thought to myself as we vaulted down another stairwell. Five compartments have to be flooded for the ship to sink.

We hurried down another hallway, this one much wider, before we reached a set of wide stairs, the sign above them reading, "PRIMARY CARGO HOLD".

"Jesus Christ!" Hutchinson breathed as we froze halfway down the stairs. The hold was flooded up to the ceiling, blue-tinged water lapping quietly just two steps below Thomas. The lights were still on under the water, and created an eerie glow. Farther into the hold, I noticed the shiny red and brass sheet metal of a Renault car, completely underwater. The water in the stairwell created shimmering strands of light on the wall, and you could smell the frigidity of it.

Water spilled slowly over the next step up, the one Thomas stood on. He quickly drew his foot back, shoe dripping. "Come on." he pulled himself up the railing. "Let's keep going."

We followed close behind as we went down the hallway, turned another corner. "John," Thomas said quickly, "You go check the secondary hold, and the third. I'll take a look at the forepeak, and the area around it. Carrie, will you run to the boiler rooms?"

"Sure thing." I said, and we split up, no time to waste. I hurried down the corridor, searching for another flight of stairs I knew was just around the corner. I flew around it and rushed down the stairs, a large, block-lettered "BOILER ROOM 5" over them. I couldn't stop myself in time from going off of the last step; water flew everywhere as I hit and then sloshed back around my ankles. "Shit!" I snapped as the icy water bit through my shoes and socks. Damn was it cold!

For a moment I just stood there and looked around, wondering where it was all coming from, then heard the hissing on the other side of the room. I sloshed through the water around a furnace, and then saw a jagged gash in the iron on the wall, near the ceiling far above me. Water was forcing its way inside, spraying mightily across the room. The sight seemed to install an intense terror in me; I turned around and headed quickly back for the stairs.

I was beginning to run past the stairs, toward boiler room six, when suddenly I stopped dead, staring in disbelief down the hallway. There was water creeping up the floor toward me. Shocked, I looked past it toward the stairwell to the sixth boiler room. It was completely flooded, the water from there oozing up the hall. "Christ almighty." I whispered as it touched my already-wet shoes, and I ran.

"Shit!" I found myself saying it for the second time in five minutes as Thomas and I nearly crashed into each other around a corner. "Sorry--"

"What happened?" his face was pale, hands reaching for mine, eyes frightened as he looked down at my pants, the bottoms of which were dark with water.

"Boiler room five has about six inches of water in it, and boiler room six is completely flooded."

"You're certain?"

"I saw it with my own eyes. What about--"

"Thomas," Hutchinson had caught up with us as we headed for the stairs upward. "Secondary hold is completely underwater. So is the third hold."

Thomas stared at him. "For sure?"

"Yes, there was mail floating everywhere. . . completely submerged."

Thomas looked at the ground, his lips slightly parted as he digested the information. He looked as though he were about to climb the gallows. "So's the forepeak." he murmured. The sum took a half a second to do in my head. I prayed that somehow I'd heard Thomas wrong, that it took more than five compartments to be flooded for the ship to be doomed. Thomas's hands were trembling, and his eyes rested on mine for a long beat as we both told each other without words that we knew what had to happen. "Let's go." he said finally. "Water's already twelve feet above the keel. By my calculations it won't take long for it to be even deeper."

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

We got back to the boat deck just as J. Bruce Ismay did. His attire was almost silly for such a serious situation; he was wearing a heavy brown fur-lined bathrobe, silk pajamas, and fluffy red slippers. "When will they be back?" he was asking the second officer, Mr. Lightoller.

Captain Smith was with us in a flash. "A report, Mr. Andrews?"

Thomas didn't reply; he swept past the captain and grabbed his stack of blueprints. Without hesitation he continued into the chartroom. The captain and Murdoch were close behind the three of us.

Halfway to the broad chartroom table, Thomas was already pulling the cord loose around one of the blueprints. Murdoch was ahead, and he swept aside a half dozen other rolled-up diagrams just as Thomas dropped his own blueprint down. "Most unfortunate," Ismay was saying. Stupid bloke didn't seem to understand what was going on, and for some reason I wanted to straight punch his nose. Thomas' hands shook as he quickly unrolled his blueprint.

Captain Smith stood by Thomas' right side, and I on his left. Murdoch was slightly behind us, Hutchinson on my other side. The officers were gathered on the bridge just outside the door, and Ismay hung over the end of the table. Thomas reached for a paperweight to straighten the far end of the diagram-- it was a heavy piece shaped just like the ship it was securing to the table.

When Thomas spoke, his voice was rushed and quick, the slightest note of fear in it. "Water," he said, eyes traveling quickly over the diagram. "fourteen feet above the keel, in ten minutes." he gestured with his hand, then moved it back, tracing over the line of the first bulkhead. "And in the forepeak. And all three holds-- and in boiler room six."

Hutchinson, eyes wide, said quickly to the captain, "That's right, sir."

Ismay spoke up then angrily. "When can we get underway, dammit?!"

"That's five compartments!" Thomas burst out at his co-designer, and then turned to the captain. "She can stay afloat with the first four compartments breached, but not five." there was a split second's pause. "Not five."

My hands shook as much as Thomas' did. The situation was becoming painfully cold and real now.

Thomas looked back down at the diagram, his voice losing its edge. "As she goes down by the head, the water will spill over the tops of the bulkheads. . . at E Deck. . ." his hand traveled over the tops of the bulkheads. ". . . from one to the next-- back, and back. There's no stopping it."

Captain Smith stared. "The pumps." he gestured to the diagram. "We opened the--"

"The pumps buy you time," Thomas said, voice slightly strangled. "But minutes, only. From this moment, no matter what we do--" he cast a glance from the diagram, then to me (my heart twisted at his heartbroken expression), then to the captain. "--Titanic will founder." He sounded defeated.

The silence was deafening as the full weight of what he said hit everyone in the room. It was true, then. The unsinkable ship would sink. The ship of dreams would become the ship of nightmares-- all this on her maiden voyage.

And then Ismay spoke again, voice full of stunned disbelief. "But this ship can't sink!"

Thomas rounded on him. "She's made of iron, sir-- I assure you, she can!" the anger and strength seemed to drain out of him then. "And she will. . .'Tis mathematical certainty."

There was another silence.

Smith spoke up quietly. "How much time?"

Thomas looked slowly back down at the diagram, then up at the captain. I could almost see the educated cogs turning in his mind as he did the figures in his head. "An hour." he murmured, eyes glassy. "Two, at most."

Smith blinked slowly as Henry Wilde stepped into the room. "And how many aboard, Mr. Murdoch?"

Murdoch looked ready to cry; he swallowed hard, his voice nearly breaking. "Two thousand, two hundred souls on board, sir."

Smith turned slowly around and spoke heavily. "Well, I believe you may get your headlines, Mr. Ismay."

Ismay stared stonily back, and I realized-- it was Ismay who'd suggested going so fast! A boiling rage surfaced within me; stars flashed in front of my eyes. I struggled to breathe in, breathe out, don't hit the guy.

Captain Smith didn't break the stare until Ismay finally dropped his eyes. "Mr. Murdoch, have the crew begin to prepare the lifeboats for lowering, and I want the order that all passengers proceed to the boat deck."

"Yes, sir." Murdoch was gone in a flash.

Smith turned to Ismay. "Mr. Ismay, I want you to assist the rest of the officers in loading the lifeboats." he moved slowly toward the door. "The rest of you, walk among the crewmembers and help them ready the boats." They scattered. Smith turned to Thomas. "What else can we do?" he asked dully.

Thomas didn't look up; his head was bowed as he looked down at the ship on paper. "Send out a CQD." he said finally, voice rough and quiet. "Possibly that new SOS signal as well. Get any ship in the area to come quick as they can to help take up passengers."

I was amazed. Thomas, at what was the lowest point of his life, still knew what to do. He was still a man of the sea, and knew exactly what he was talking about. So much that the captain was taking orders from him.

"Very well." Smith said heavily. "Mr. Andrews, you do what you need to," And he was gone, leaving Thomas and I alone in the chartroom.

There was a long, loud silence. Thomas was facing the chart, his clenched hands on the edge of the tables, knuckles white, head bowed. I wanted to speak, to say something-- anything that would ease the pain. But I knew to just keep silent and let him talk when he was ready. My eyes fell back in his hands, which were trembling.

He took in a deep breath finally, and his voice was hardly above a whisper. "I'm sorry, Carrie." despite the lack of decibels, it was still cracking.

"Christ Jesus, Thomas." I said back, stepping closer, intensely concerned. "What do you possibly have to be sorry for?"

"That the ship couldn't've been any stronger. That I didn't put more time into her."

"Don't talk like that!" I said, my voice shaking. "Thomas, you didn't know this was going to happen. Nobody did. It can't be predicted."

For a moment he continued to stand there, looking over his diagram, and then he slowly rolled it up with reverent fingers and pushed it to the side. He took in another deep, steadying breath and turned to me. His eyes had been bright with held-back tears, but the tears were fading back into his eyes. "Alright. Let's go."

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

Loud enough? I mused to myself as Thomas and I made our way down to the boat deck. Steam was issuing from the four massive funnels, creating a horrendous cacophony, and crewmembers were rushing everywhere, completely disorganized.

Thomas suddenly stopped beside a crewmember fumbling with the davits. "Turn the crank to the right!" he hollered over the noise, but his voice was hardly audible. "Pull the falls taut before you unchock! Have you never heard of a boat drill!?"

"No, sir!" the crewmember came back with, and he was serious. "Not with these new davits, sir!"

Thomas set his jaw, and turned to me. "Ridiculous." he said, and brushed past, heading for the boat deck. "Come on."

He jumped the last four steps to the deck; I followed and nearly ran into him as he stopped and looked around. I looked too, and realized-- there were only a couple passengers here and there. Two hovering by the lifeboats, one leaning against the wall of the entrance hall, another two waiting on the deck chairs. I noticed Mr. Wilde just as Thomas did, and we hurried over. "Mr. Wilde!" Thomas called; I hurried to keep up. "Mr. Wilde!" the officer looked up. "Where are the passengers?"

"They've all gone back inside," Wilde announced. "Too damn cold and noisy for them! You there!" he spun on someone else, blowing his whistle.

I watched him for a moment and then noticed Thomas pulling out his pocket watch, looking at the time. "My God." I saw his lips form the words, but I didn't hear them. He replaced the pocket watch and his hand slid into mine, pulling me toward the lower entrance.

I nearly gasped when we got inside the entrance hall. The change of mood from what it had just been in the chartroom was shocking. The lights were on and bright; the piano and band were cheerfully pounding out the jumpy notes to Alexander's Ragtime Band. Passengers were gathered and talking in little knots as though this were a social outing. Laughter rang out suddenly. I practically shivered-- despite the lifejackets they wore, none of these people seemed to have the faintest clue that the ship was sinking right from under them.

Thomas looked around slowly, eyes pleading as if begging the ship to reconsider sinking. I knew what he was thinking, because I was thinking it myself. All this grandeur and beauty. . . all this magnificence and expensive decor. . . all of it would never again be seen. It would be gone for good, belonging to the ages. All the sweat and blood and soul put into this ship would amount to nothing in less than two hours.

He noticed the band playing then, and his eyes grew large and round. "Unbelievable." he murmured. "This isn't a--"

"Care for a drink, sir and madam?" a steward stopped before us, holding out a silver platter of brandies.

Thomas stared at him, and turned to me, looking as though he was trapped in a nightmare. "We've. . ." he didn't even finish, just started walking again, slowly, heading for the grand staircase.

I looked up at the magnificent ceiling, at the wooden banister, at the gorgeous clock, knowing it was all doomed, no one would ever--

"Mr. Andrews!"

Thomas flinched as though he had been hit and turned around so quickly he nearly lost his balance. I turned as well, and looked down into the face of Rose DeWitt Bukater. I noticed Cal and Ruth hovering in the background, talking quietly. Rose was staring intently up at Thomas. "I saw the iceberg." she said quietly. "And I see it in your eyes. . . please tell me the truth."

Thomas glanced at me, and then back down at Rose, looking like a lost little boy. He put a hand on her shoulder and walked back down to the bottom of the steps. "The ship will sink." he said finally.

Wide-eyed, Rose said, "For certain?"

"Yes. In an hour-- or so." Thomas' eyes skated around the room for a brief instant. "All this will be at the bottom of the Atlantic."

Cal was nosing in. "What?"

"Please tell only who you must," Thomas was continuing. "I don't want to be responsible for a panic." His hand tightened on her shoulder. "And get to a boat, quickly. Don't wait. You remember. . . what I told you about the boats?"

Rose nodded, and my stomach rolled as I remembered again that there wasn't near enough lifeboats to get all the passengers safely off of the ship. A shot of adrenaline hit my veins as I realized: More than half the people onboard are going to drown.

Thomas nodded to Rose slightly, then turned away again, slowly climbing the stairs. I followed, and nearly tripped on the first step. My breath caught in my chest as I realized why I'd stumbled-- the stairs were tilting slightly.

I squashed my fears and hurried after Thomas; he was at the top of the stairs when suddenly Second Officer Lightoller went dashing by. Thomas stopped him. "Any news, Mr. Lightoller?"

"They sent out the CQD." Lightoller said. "And we're getting ready to lower the first boat. I've been ordered to get some of the passengers outside." He brushed on by.

Thomas didn't move for a long moment. Then he seemed to remember something, because he flinched slightly as he had done on the stairs, and turned to me, speaking quickly. "Carrie, I'm sorry-- I've been a fool. I've got to get you to a lifeboat. You--"

"Are you crazy?" I said, knowing he was going to say this sooner or later. "I'm not leaving without you."

"Carrie, no-- listen to me." his eyes were pleading again. The look tore at my heart, but I refused to back down, even as he gathered my hands in his and moved so close that our foreheads nearly touched. "I need to know that you're safe before I can do anything else. Don't make this any harder than it already is."

"Thomas," I said, squeezing his hands. "You know it's pointless to argue. I'm not going, and if you have to drag me-- well, I've been practicing those self-defense moves."

"Carrie--"

"There's work to do here, Thomas. I can stay and help. I know this ship too well to abandon it now." I reached up and pushed my fingers into the hair at the back of his head, and softened my voice. "I know you too well to abandon you now."

For a long beat, he was silent. Then he let out a breath. "Alright. Alright, you don't have to go yet. But listen-- if we get separated, and you get a chance to get onto a lifeboat, take it. I don't want you running back to find me." His urgent eyes burned into mine. "Do you understand?"

"Yes." I whispered, though I didn't know how in the world I'd ever be able to leave without saying good-bye. "I understand."

He nodded, just slightly. "Good." Thomas straightened slightly after a gentle kiss on my cheek. "Look, you're right-- we've got work to do. First thing I want to do is go through the living quarters and make sure that no one else is still in their rooms."

"Sounds good." I said, and five minutes later, knocked sharply on the white-washed first class door before me. No one answered; I pushed the door open and called, "Anyone in here?" No reply. I moved on to the next door; Thomas was doing the same on the other end of the hall. "Hello-- anyone in here?" Again, no reply. I tried the third door. "Anybody in here?"

"Yes," a voice called from the inside. "Could we have a hand?'

I opened the door and poked my head around; there was a family of three standing in the foyer. The two adults were trying to figure out how to tie the lifebelts, while who was apparently their daughter stood beside them, eyes wide with fear as she looked on. She seemed hardly three years younger than I. "You guys need to get to the boat deck," I said. "Need help with the lifejacket?"

"Would you please?" the mother asked, looking at me with deer-in-the-headlight eyes.

"Sure." I said, stepping forward. I looked at the girl. "Can I demonstrate on you?" She nodded; the mother passed me the lifejacket. "Okay, you want to put your head through the hole in the middle there-- just like that-- then the cords are at the sides, and you bring them to the front to tie them, through the little loops here. Then you do the same thing at the bottom."

"Thank you, miss." the father said kindly. "Don't know what we would have done otherwise."

"You're welcome," I said, feeling pleased that I'd been able to help. "Now you guys better get up to the boat deck." I turned toward the door, but someone caught my arm just as I was stepping out. It was the father, and he had put distance between himself and his wife and daughter.

"Is there real danger, then?" he said, lowering his voice.

"I'm afraid so," I told him, just as quiet. "I'm sorry. We've got maybe an hour and a half before the ship goes under."

The man bit his lip. "And they're only taking women and children in the lifeboats, aren't they." It wasn't a question.

"They are." I said, feeling horrible all of the sudden. This kind man, with a wife and child, probably had no chance.

"You seem to know what you're doing." he muttered. "Any suggestions as to how we can all get off safely?"

I shook my head slowly. "None that I know of, sir. Just check both sides of the ship before you go sending them off into a boat. Sometimes some officers can be less strict than others when it comes to who boards the lifeboats."

He nodded, slowly. "Thank you very much, miss. . ."

"Stevenson," I said, shaking his hand. "Carrie Stevenson. And you are. . ."

"Tim Breckenridge." he said.

I did my best to smile. "I hope I'll see you and your family later."

"So do I, Miss Stevenson."

"Carrie?" Thomas was poking his head around the door, lifejacket bulky around his coat. "I didn't see you and I--"

"This family was having trouble with their lifebelts." I said, turning to Thomas. "They needed some help."

Thomas nodded to Breckenridge and his wife and daughter, then I followed him as he ducked out of the room. "Let's move on-- port corridor."

Halfway down the hall, I stopped suddenly. "Thomas, wait!" He slowed down, as well, eyes confused but concerned.

"What is it?" he asked.

I felt terrible. "Thomas, I've forgotten all about Jack and Fabrizio, and Tommy. . . I have to go down and make sure they got word about this and that they're alright. And while I'm there I could make sure all the third class passengers are out of their rooms." I added the last part as an afterthought.

I could tell he was wavering between letting me go and making me stay. "Alright." he said finally. "Alright. Go. But when you're done, don't come looking for me if you get that chance to leave."

"Where will you be?" I asked, a spasm of fear clutching me suddenly. This might be good-bye for good.

"After this I'm going up onto the deck to see if I can assist the officers with loading the boats, then. . . I don't know." his hand slid up to touch my cheek with fingers that trembled; somehow I got the distinct feeling that he knew but hadn't yet accepted.

"Just take care of yourself, okay?" I stepped forward and kissed him; he only deepened the kiss, holding me against him, the lifebelts making it seem like there were leagues between us. I breathed in his delicious aftershave and pipe smoke smell, and somehow it comforted me a little.

"I will," he said finally when we pulled back. "You take care of yourself, as well."

I couldn't take my eyes off of him, and there was a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that this might be the last time I'd ever see him. I tried to nod, and to smile.

He managed the smile better than I did. "Go," he murmured at last. "Don't make it any harder on my heart."

A final quick kiss and I hurried down the hallway, brushing past the Breckenridge family as I did so. Suddenly I didn't care if I got a hundred chances to take a lifeboat-- I was coming back to find Thomas again.

No matter what happened.

No matter what it took.