Author's Note: Please don't kill me for getting this out so late! Sorry-- I haven't had a lot of time to write this week, and when the story is finished, I might come back and really edit this chapter. Not to change the story, mind you, but some of the smaller details. Anyway, this IS NOT the end yet, there are still more chapters to come. Please please please review if you have the time, and EVERYONE who's reviewed so far-- YOU GUYS ROCK. Thanks!!!! By the way, about this chapter-- the time that passes isn't realistic to the actual event or the movie. Technically, between the time Jack and Rose pass Thomas and the time that the ship goes down-- it's about nine or ten minutes. However, the time here is longer. Sorry bout that. Anyway. . . enjoy! And pleeeeeease review if you can!!

NINE

His empty eyes showed no sign whatsoever of recognition at first. Seconds ticked by; neither of us moved a muscle. Then he said dully, voice hoarse, "My mind's playing tricks on me."

My breath caught in my throat. "Thomas," I tried. "Thomas, it's m--"

"You're not real." he said, voice just as low and hopeless as it had been two seconds ago, his eyes still on mine. "You're not on this deathtrap anymore-- you were put in a lifeboat."

"I got out." I was still shaking like a madwoman, and his non-trust in my presence wasn't helping. "I climbed the falls, and Murdoch helped me over."

His lips parted; he was shocked. "You did that, after I told you. . ." his voice was choked, eyes pained now. ". . . after I told you to take a boat?"

I hated that he was upset, but at least he didn't believe I was a figment of his imagination anymore. "I couldn't go without seeing you again." I managed to say, voice trembling. I was so close to being in his arms-- and he in mine-- yet still he was holding this off.

We watched each other, silently, and I couldn't make myself move. "I'd hoped," Thomas murmured finally. "a selfish man's hope. . . and I prayed a selfish man's prayer."

I waited for him to continue and swallowed hard; the look he was giving me absolutely tore at my heart. He shifted now, turning toward me slightly. "I prayed to God that I'd see you one more time."

My knees were practically knocking together. The words were getting to me.

Thomas took a step forward on the uneven floor in my direction, eyes extraordinarily tender, but I could hardly breathe, much less move. "I prayed that somehow I'd be able to look on your face, and hold you in my arms again."

I couldn't speak. My vocabulary had vanished, and my muscles had frozen, not allowing me to move as he slowly stepped closer, my heart breaking at the look on his face.

"And. . ." he trailed off, lifting one shaking hand. ". . . and now here you are. . ." he positioned his hand as if to trace his fingers along my cheek, then balled it into a fist. For a wild moment I thought it was possible that he'd hit me, but the hand fell slowly to his side. ". . . but God hasn't answered thousands of people's prayers tonight, and. . ." He let out a long breath. ". . . I'm still so afraid that if I touch you I'll find out that you're not real."

Staring into his eyes, which were a mere foot away, I found myself absolutely speechless. No words would ever encompass everything I wanted to tell him right then. I forced myself to look away from his stare, where I turned my attention to the trembling hand he'd dropped. I spread my palm and fingers, and then slowly pressed them to his. Jesus, just the warmth of his hand was enough to send shivers down my spine and tears to my eyes. I looked back up at him as he drew his palm up, my own palm following.

Thomas' eyes were so relieved that I nearly burst into tears on the spot. His fingers slid around mine, and we gripped each other's hands. "Carrie." his voice was a near whisper. "Sweet Jesus. . . it is you. . ."

My breath was catching in my throat from being so close to him. "Yeah. . ." I couldn't believe that that was the only thing I could say. "Yeah, it's me."

Suddenly I was pulled forward, and so close to him that the only thing separating us was our wardrobe. For a moment, I hung there in his grip, his strong arms around me. My arms slid around him as well, but under his jacket-- the bulkiness of the lifebelts were still in mind, and I wanted to hold him, not his coat. Thomas's eyes gazed down into mine, pleading and starved, but so full of love that I could hardly breathe. My heart pounded furiously as his wounded eyes fell closed and he dipped his head half an inch. I closed my own eyes and leaned forward slightly; our lips touched, gently, but it felt like gallons of adrenaline were being pumped through my system. And then Thomas deepened the kiss, one of his hands sliding to the back of my head. That's about the point that we gave up being patient, and began Frenching like two crazed teenagers. Anyone unlucky enough to stumble in on the scene would have immediately turned the other way to leave as fast as they could.

Finally, though, we had to come up for air. Both of us nearly gasping for breath, we just held on to each other for dear life. Then we were right back at it, and suddenly there was a crash and shatter from right beside us.

I jumped a mile at the noise, shaking like crazy, as we both turned toward the source of the noise. An ashtray had slipped off of the coffee table and had shattered on the floor. It was a cold reminder that Thomas and I were both trapped on a sinking ship, and Thomas immediately turned to me. "Carrie, you've got to get out of here. You've got to find a--"

"Me," I said evenly. "What about you?"

"I. . ." his voice was gravelly; his eyes flickered away and then back to mine. "I can't. . ."

And then I remembered the look on Thomas' face when Murdoch had knocked on his stateroom door more than two hours ago. I remembered the quiet, accepting look, one of defeat and resignation. Jesus, I could practically see him standing there, frozen after heading for the deck, and me, also unmoving, staring right back.

And I realized that he and I both knew all along that he'd never leave the ship.

"Thomas," I breathed. My voice shook. This couldn't be happening. "Thomas, no. Please. We've got to--"

"God, Carrie," his arms tightened around me, eyes desperate. "You, of all people, should understand that I can't leave her!"

I did understand. In fact, I understood completely, and it was killing me. Years of his life had been poured into this liner. His sweat, blood, and soul were in every part of every room, every corridor, and every rivet onboard. The Titanic was his love, his joy, his pride-- like the firstborn child of a family. Leaving her would be like abandoning a three-year-old to fend for herself in the middle of a military skirmish. Only the Titanic wasn't thee years old, she was on her maiden voyage, for Chrissake, and the enemy had delivered a mortal wound.

I nodded, finally, and tried to take in a trembly breath. Suddenly an idea came to mind. Who ever said anything about leaving? I could just stay here with him. . . we'd go down with the ship we both loved, and be together again in no time. "Thomas." I looked up into his sad eyes. "I'm staying with you."

"No, Carrie." his voice was hard, but it shook. "No. Don't ask me to let you stay."

"But I can't leave you here," I whispered, looking away, my eyes clouding with tears. "I can't leave you. There's nothing left for me in this world if you don't make it."

"How can you say that?" he murmured, so gently.

I couldn't reply; my eyes bored into the purple and red fabric of the loveseat by the coffee table.

I felt strong but tender fingers slide under my chin, which he tried to pull up for me to look at him. I fought it at first, but gave up, staring into his grieving brown eyes. His fingers didn't move from my chin. "How can you say that?" he repeated slowly.

"All my friends are gone," I told him, my voice choked as I thought of Tommy and Murdoch. "All but you."

"What of Jack, then, and Will--"

"Jack can't make it, and Murdoch. . ." the memory of his eyes locked on mine just before he pulled the trigger was still raw. I couldn't tell Thomas, though. He'd gone through enough already. ". . . he's. . ."

Thomas murmured, "I wasn't exactly speaking in the context of friendship."

"How do you mean?" I asked him dully.

"You're twenty-one, Carrie." he murmured, his hand sliding from my chin to the side of my face. "You've got your entire life ahead of you. What about that position you wanted at Garrison and Wheeler? Imagine where you can go."

I was silent. He was right, in a way. I didn't want to pass up my opportunity with Garrison and Wheeler. Yet I couldn't do it without him, and if I stayed, we could just be together again faster.

"I refuse to let you stay," he told me, voice cracking, his hand still stroking my cheek. "I'll kick you out if you try. It would break my heart to know that you gave up like this."

Gave up. I absolutely couldn't allow him to think me a quitter. I whispered, "Will you at least let me stay for a little while?"

He opened his mouth to speak, then his eyes darted toward the clock on the mantle. "Yes, but. . . when I give the word, then you go, without protest."

I nodded, slowly. "I understand."

He let out a shaky sigh, and I realized that these were my last moments with the man I loved so desperately. "Thomas." it came out as a squeak, and then he was kissing me, my back pressing into the smooth marble work of the fireplace. My arms went around his neck, and we stood there for several moments, pouring out our emotions and words through a silent, deep, passionate kiss.

"Carrie," he said against my lips, finally pulling back slightly.

"Yeah," I said, staring into his eyes, which were heavy from the kiss.

"D'you. . ." we were so close that I could feel his chest shaking as he took a deep breath. ". . . d'you blame me for this?"

My jaw nearly fell open. "Blame you. . . blame you for what?"

"For this. . ." he glanced around. ". . . for the sinking."

"My God, Thomas." I murmured, shocked that he would even think such a thing, and was reminded of our moment in the chartroom. "No. Why would I blame you?"

"Because. . . because the ship was catalogued as unsinkable. Everything that was put into it was supposed to be against something like this. . . it might as well be my fault." Suddenly he burst out, "And I had the power to put in more lifeboats!" he lowered his voice, shaking. "I stood there like a fool and let Ismay have his way with them."

I traced my fingers through his hair, feeling so unbelievably sorry for him. "Thomas, first of all, the ship wasn't catalogued as unsinkable. From the way I heard it, the term used was 'practically unsinkable', then the public eliminated one of the words." Then I said, "And this ship already has more lifeboats than it should. What's that rule-- any steamer over five tons-- well, you still have more than usual. You did that." I offered him a quick kiss. "Now please. . . stop thinking that it's your fault-- because it's not. You weren't even above decks when the iceberg hit."

He slid his arms farther around me with a long, tired sigh. "I just wish. . . I just wish there was something I could do."

I tried to smile. "What do you think you've been doing for the past hour?"

"Well, yes, but. . ." his eyes were halfway between desperate and hopeful. ". . . that hardly seems like enough."

"There's nothing else you can do." I told him gently. "You've done your part. You've put countless people into boats and checked the hallways to make sure no one's left behind."

He nodded, so slightly, and traced his fingers down my cheek. "Thank you." The words he spoke were barely audible, and his lips hardly moved, but he spoke them, and the depth of his gratitude went right down to his soul. Then he bent his head slightly and kissed me once more, slowly and deeply.

After several moments, his lips left my mouth, traveling slowly down the side of my face, where his lips lingered on my neck. Struggling to breathe, I held onto his shoulders and neck, finally warming up after the long time in the cold. His shoulders shook under my arms as I glanced around at the fine ceiling, with mahogany colored beams supporting it. Thomas sniffled, and suddenly I realized that he was crying.

My heart turned with love and pity for him; I felt hot tears soak into the fabric of my jacket. Nearly ready to cry myself, I drew my hands off his shoulders and cupped his face with them, drawing his head away from my shoulder. I planted a long kiss on his forehead, and smoothed his hair back, murmuring, "Maybe we should sit down."

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

His thumb traced over my knuckles again, his other arm around my shoulder. On that hand, his thumb was turning the gold band on his middle finger. I was snuggled up against him as we faced the fireplace; once again we were recovering from a five minutes of full-fledged smooching.

"Carrie," he said gently, his voice rumbling from deep in his chest.

"Listening," I said, looking up at him, suddenly fearing that he would tell me that it was time.

"You said there's no more boats left?"

Relieved that he hadn't spoken the dreaded words, I said, "Yeah."

Thomas let out a long breath, once again the cogs turning in his mind. "Your best bet would be to swim for one of the boats, then." he murmured finally. "If you stay on the ship it'll suck you right down with it."

"Can a person make it that far?" I asked him dubiously. "I mean, last I heard, the water was thirty-one degrees."

He shifted slightly to see me better. "Under normal circumstances, the ideal is to just stay put and keep movement to a minimum, but striking out for a boat will at least keep you a little warm. And. . ." he looked up toward the mantle, where the two half-full brandy glasses were stationed. "Before you leave, I want you downing both of those brandies. It'll widen your blood vessels and counteract the water thinning them. "

"Right." Suddenly it dawned on me just what exactly was ahead. In ten minutes, maybe I'd still be here. In the next twenty, certainly I'd be down in the freezing cold water, trying to swim for the nearest lifeboat, not even knowing if I'd make it that far. A shiver raced through me. Thomas and I were down to our last stretch.

Thomas felt the shiver, and his sad, exhausted eyes met my own. "Carrie, I. . ." he said quietly. ". . .I've been doing a lot of thinking since I met you, and. . . well, I've come to a decision."

His arm slid out from around me; I watched him curiously, wondering what in the world this decision could be. For a moment he sat on the edge of the couch, then glanced over at me, a somewhat mischievous gleam in his eye.

And then he slid off the couch and lowered himself onto one knee in front of me.

My breath came short and fast as I wondered if he was really doing what I thought he was. The question was answered as he pulled the gold band off of this finger. "I'd meant to save this for New York," he told me gently, twirling the ring between his thumb and index finger, watching it. His eyes slowly traveled back up to meet mine, his free hand gathering both of my hands. "But New York is out of the question now."

"Oh, Thomas," I choked, feeling ridiculous for not thinking of anything better to say. My eyes were blurring with tears and I was shaking all over again.

"And about that question. . ." he was actually able to smile, though his lower lip trembled.

"All you need to do is ask," I whispered.

"Carolina. . . Monica. . . Stevenson. . ." he said each part of my name slowly, savoring the sound, and then held the ring up. ". . . would you marry me?"

A sob escaped my throat. "Yes," I gasped, grinning through the tears. "Yes, Thomas. I'll marry you."

His smile was so sad, yet so loving, so tender. Our foreheads pressed together, we both watched as he tried to slide the ring onto the fourth finger of my left hand, but my finger was smaller than his, so he pushed it onto my thumb. Both of it watched it rest there. "My life is yours," Thomas murmured, his right hand sliding up to hold the side of my face. "My life, and my heart, and all of my love. You have it. . ." his eyes were unbelievably sincere. ". . . no one else."

I sniffled. "Somewhere there's a really wonderful reply to that," I managed, laying an arm around his neck. "But all I can think of now is that I feel the same way toward you."

He kissed me, deeply, arms twining around me; I slid to my knees along with him and allowed myself to be practically buried in his warm embrace. This kiss was unlike any of the others I'd shared with him-- this one was desperate, anxious, and so final-- we both knew it would be the last one between us. We pulled back after an eternity, our eyes never wandering from each other's. "God, I love you." I whispered, my heart feeling heavy.

"And I love you," he murmured, using his thumb to brush tears from my face. "More than you'll ever know."

"I sure can guess," I said back, the ring warm on my thumb.

"Then multiply your guess by a hundred, and you still wouldn't be close." he slowly pulled me to my feet, and toward the mantle, where he picked up one of the brandy glasses. "Drink up."

I took it in my hands, one of his arms resting lightly over my waist. I knocked back two large swallows and grimaced as the brandy tingled down the back of my throat. "Strong damn stuff," I said, putting the glass back on the mantle. It immediately slid off and crashed onto the floor; I jumped again. "Sorry," I mumbled, beet-red for some reason.

"You're fine." Thomas said gently, and held out the second glass. "Now the other one." I swallowed it quickly as I could, then looked back up at Thomas. "We'll give it a few minutes to settle," he murmured. "But then you should leave."

I nodded, dreading the approaching moment. Suddenly, from such a long way off, I heard the faint strings of the band. . . long, quivering notes. . . so deeply sorrowful. . . "Hartley." I whispered, and felt tears burning my eyes again.

"Pardon?" Thomas said.

"I found the band," I said, looking up at him. "On my way here. I asked them to play 'Nearer My God to Thee' if they had the chance."

"It's one of Wally's favorites," he said quietly, then pulled me closer to his side. "Didje know that?"

"No, I didn't." I whispered against his coat, closing my eyes, remembering the tiny smile Wally had offered me when I'd suggested the song.

My eyes opened then. "Thomas," I said, thinking of something, and feeling horrible for asking. "Is there. . . is there something that I can. . . I can do for you, if-- when I get to New York?"

"Yes," he whispered, and shifted slightly, reaching into his coat pocket. From it came the sheet of paper I'd seen him putting there after Murdoch stopped by his cabin. "Carrie, these. . . d'you remember the plans I showed you earlier, of the new ship?"

"Of course."

"I still want it to be built, but. . . if you can, send them back to my uncle in Belfast."

I nodded, unable to speak.

"And. . ." he looked down at me. "Carrie, if it's possible. . . I want you to supervise the construction of it."

I blinked, found my voice. "What?"

"I want you to be the master shipbuilder for it." he murmured. "I don't care how long it takes you to get in a position to do so. . . if it takes fifty years or five months, it doesn't matter. . . you or my uncle are the only two people I trust to build it."

"You'd trust me with a project like this?"

"I'd trust you with my life," he told me firmly, eyes boring into my own. "And I know you can do it. If something happens where you can't, that's fine too-- just send it to my uncle." In the silence that followed, he looked at the clock on the mantle. His eyes rested there for a long moment before he finally turned back to me. My stomach churned at the exhausted, somber look in his features. "It's time." he murmured.

I'd promised him that I wouldn't protest, so I bit back the words I longed to say, and instead tried to smile, and nod.

"Listen," he said, eyes staring intently into mine. "The best thing to do would be to climb to the other side of the railing and then push yourself off. Get far away from the ship as you can during the leap, but don't jump from a height that's greater than ten feet. And before you jump, get rid of your jacket; it'll just weight you down. I'd suggest throwing the shoes, too, but you'll need them later."

I didn't ask, just let him speak. I trusted that he knew exactly what he was talking about.

"Don't even worry about finding a lifebelt. They're impossible to swim in. And whatever you do, if you have to stop for a moment, don't be stationary for long."

"I won't."

"Swim as quick as you can." his eyes glanced around the room. "Don't know how much longer she has left, and I don't want you being pulled right down with her."

I nodded. "Don't worry about me. I'm a good swimmer."

"I know you are." he murmured, stroking my cheek.

I took in a shaky breath. "Thomas, I don't even know how to begin to thank you for every--"

"I know you're grateful." he said softly, eyes so tender. "That's all the thanks I need."

I leaned forward and kissed his cheek, knowing that if our lips touched, I'd never be able to leave. He returned the soft kiss, then pulled me into a tight, warm embrace. "Pleasure to've met you, Carrie." he whispered, lips brushing my ear.

His words sounded too much like Murdoch's. "Nice to have met you, too, Thomas." I said back quietly, and pulled out of his arms for the last time.

We watched each other for a moment. My eyes searched his face, memorizing every detail. A final squeeze of his warm and gentle hands, then I stepped back, toward the heavy revolving door, our eyes still locked. Thomas followed me. "I'll see you off," he murmured as we passed through the door. He stopped as we reached the cafe, "Nearer My God to Thee" more pronounced than ever.

My feet seemed to be made of lead as I shifted them to turn away. "Love you." I whispered, meeting his painfully sad eyes.

"As I love you," he murmured in reply.

I forced myself to tear my eyes from his, and to lift one foot, put it down in front of the other. My heart was heavy as I moved-- each step was another one away from Thomas Andrews, away from the man I loved so deeply. It was the hardest thing I'd ever done in my entire life, to leave him behind when my lips were still tingling from his kisses, my shoulder still damp with his tears. I could feel his eyes on me, watching as I made my way across the uneven floor, over fallen chairs and shattered china.

I reached the door of the cafe, and heard from behind me a quiet, choked, "Carrie?"

I turned back. He was still standing there, his left wrist on the door frame near his shoulder, his right hand on his waist, the flap of his jacket back. He looked absolutely dashing, as though I was staring at a portrait of an army general-- except the look on his face was still one of a lost and frightened child. "Thomas?"

He dipped his chin in the slightest of nods. Lips parting, he managed, "We-- we will meet again someday."

A tiny smile formed on my face as I took in shaky breaths. I knew he was right. "I'll see you then."

He swallowed hard. "Good-bye. Good luck t'you."

I nodded back a little in thanks. "Luck to you too, Thomas."

Neither of us moved. Our eyes were still locked across the cafe, desperate and pained. It took every nerve in my body to force myself to turn away from him.

And I left him behind in the first class smoking room to wait for the inevitable.