A/N: Big thank you to Saileach Go Deo for the quick beta! If you're looking for W/T fic, she's written some beautiful stories. She's just starting out in the world of fanfiction so I'm sure any support she got would be wonderful. J

A/N 2: There's a part in this chapter where I have Buffy pretty much take the historical place of the 'Unsinkable Molly Brown.' It just fit her character… so….

The beautiful lights of the 'Titanic' glinted in the dark depths of the ocean. It seemed like a warm beacon of hope in such a lost world of doom. Every water droplet that sprayed on Buffy's skin burned like sparks of fire. Moving hurt. Her eyes seemed to be permanently fixed upon the ship that was getting further and further away. But it was still so big, so warm, so comforting.

Could it really sink? Could it really sink to the bottom of that deep ocean, banishing everyone she had ever loved forever?

Her stomach clenched and she remembered Giles' awe at the ship. She remembered, ironically, how he had marveled at the fact that the 'Titanic' would be 11 stories high if it was stood on one end. She couldn't help but think bitterly that now he would get the chance to see it. The 'Titanic' was going down on one end and Giles got stuck going along for the ride.

Feeling sick, Buffy covered her mouth with her hand and fought the urge to retch. If only… if only it was one big nightmare and she would wake up in Angel's arms in a few hours. He would smile at her, tell her he loved her, and she would know that nothing in the world could ever matter more.

Joyce rubbed Buffy's shoulders rhythmically, trying to comfort her withdrawn daughter and failing miserably. "Honey, put your hands in your pockets, you'll stay warmer that way."

Buffy complied, not sure if her mother had actually spoken or she had imagined it. Warm? She wanted to freeze. Freeze so she didn't ever have to feel anything again. So she would no longer have to face the hard parts of life.

She tried to tell the quartermaster that the further away they got from the boat, the less chance they would have to pick up survivors. The less chance they would have of picking up Giles, Xander and Angel. But the quartermaster didn't seem to hear her or care because the crewmen kept rowing the small lifeboat.

As they moved farther away from the 11-story ship with three bulkheads, Buffy tried not to think about how tiny she was. She was nothing but a hair on a bug next to the large ship, but she was nothing but a speck on the hair of the bug all alone in the big ocean.

***

Alone.

Angel didn't understand his sudden fear of that idea. He'd spent his whole life alone, his whole miserable existence he was left to fend for himself. He'd starved himself on the streets of Paris all alone and perspired in Galway all alone.

He couldn't comprehend why being left to fend for himself was so unnerving… or why it scared him so badly. Xander was gone—dead, Angel admitted remorsefully to himself—Buffy went on a lifeboat, and Giles… Giles was getting pissed. Everyone had expected him to stand stoically by the railing, staring out at the expense of the great unknown ready and willing to survive.

Everyone seemed to think that he was strong enough, good enough, fast enough to survive the cold blue of the Atlantic. Angel feared he was the only one who was thinking rationally on that point… he was so petrified he felt like pissing his pants. Which, he admitted to himself, was somewhat ironic considering he hadn't had to go to the bathroom since he was human… more than a hundred years ago.

For one moment he couldn't help but think that maybe Buffy would be better off without him. Should he really try that hard to get back to her? Should he really believe that her life was better off with him in it?

He remembered her eyes before she left, the look of emptiness that had filled the once lively orbs. He resolved to put the life back in there, dedicating himself to the knowledge that he was the only one that *could* put the life back in there.

As people began to scream and run and beg and cry, Angel stood by the railing staring calmly out at the ocean and planning his survival like everyone had expected him to do. The ship creaked, and the lights flickered on and off. The band played vigorously, in a panicked, desperate manner.

Angel stared out at the ocean.

Men clustered around the last few lifeboats, fighting wildly to get their chance on them. Cries rang up from poor third class passengers, hopelessly trapped behind wire gates that no one remembered and no one would unlock. Crewmen scurried about trying as best they could to keep up some semblance of order.

And still Angel stood by the railing, looking at the point where Buffy's lifeboat had last been, a steely, unfeeling expression on his face.

The ship groaned, somehow protesting the injustice that was being made. The lights flickered again and time seemed to stop. A collective sigh of relief from the crowd could be heard when the ship was again bathed in a bright glow.

"Excuse me, sir." Someone knocked Angel out of the way, throwing a chair overboard. Another man followed closely throwing what looked to be a table top.

Angel couldn't believe it. "That won't do anything. Throwing a few items overboard won't stop the 'Titanic' from going down," Angel told the men harshly.

They barely stopped what they were doing. "Respectfully, sir, we know. But the survivors will need something to hold onto after the ship is gone."

Angel stared at them for another beat before moving away. He stumbled a bit, unused to the high slope. The bow kept going down, and the ship was tipping at an angle that was getting steeper and steeper.

A person screamed, jumping off and landing in the ocean. A few others followed his example, saying a prayer to God before jumping from the sinking ship. Angel gulped, knowing that he couldn't give into temptation and jump. He had to stay on the ship as long as possible.

But waiting for the right time to jump was so difficult. His stomach howled in hunger and he winced thinking about how he hadn't fed properly since he'd gotten onboard. He shut his eyes, forcing the bloodlust down, even as his mind whispered dangerous temptations.

All these people… they would all freeze… wouldn't it be a mercy if he put them out of their misery?

Angel shook his head, trying to banish the thoughts, but knowing that it was fruitless. The bloodlust would never go away, but he could never act upon it. It was a test of his true will, the will of his soul, being around so many terrified people. He felt for them even as he fed off their fear.

Angel knew, deep inside his soul, that if he lost control it would all be for nothing. If he lost control he'd never get back to her, he'd have to go down with the ship.

He clenched his fists until they turned white, thinking of his impending doom, thinking of Buffy, anything to get his mind of the people around him.

And the bloodlust.

Angel heard himself breathing heavily, though he didn't need the oxygen. His eyes widened as he watched a steward frantically untie the last boat. A small collapsible, still attached to the officer's quarters. Men rushed the boat, getting on, but the bow of the 'Titanic' lurched forward, spraying them with water.

Angel grabbed the rail, forcing himself to walk upwards, where it was still dry. He followed the collapsible with his eyes, debating his chances of climbing aboard. He was spared the decision when a solid wave of water hit the boat and carried it upside down out to sea. Most of the men who had tried to climb aboard lost their footing and sunk down into the icy depths.

He closed his eyes for a minute, gripping the rail with so much strength that he heard it crack. Loosening his hold, Angel carried himself further upward, even as the boat rushed down towards the sea.

The water leapt at his feet, burning his soles as if it was holy water. He gritted his teeth, knowing that the pain was only an illusion. The ship creaked in response.

People poured past him as they lost their footing, tumbling down the Titanic's rising slope. They were dead before they hit the water. Angel watched them helplessly, incapable of doing anything. So he turned his head, refused to listen to the screams, and forced himself upward still.

He heard the ship crack, and was suddenly afraid that it was coming apart from the middle. He let out an icy breath, whispered Buffy's name under his breath.

And Angel threw himself over the railing, as far away from the ship as he could.

He hit the water with a sudden gasp of pain. He couldn't feel the cold, knew that his vampire strength prevented him from doing so. But his limbs were thick, his eyes wanted to close, and a sudden paralyzing feeling overtook his strong body.

It was the ship behind him that broke him out of his reverie, it creaked and groaned, a warning to all those nearby. It was being sucked down towards the ocean's very bottom, a place where he would end if he didn't move. Kicking his feet, Angel swam in a poor imitation of a front crawl. He didn't know where he was going, but his brain told him to get away from the ship.

His head hurt and the ocean seemed to blur with a hundred bodies. All of them kicked, and screamed, and begged, and Angel could do nothing but ignore them. It was when a sudden hand reached out and grasped his arm with a weak grip that he stopped and looked. A young woman, face lined in pain, lips frozen, mouthed, "Help me… help me, please…"

Angel stared at her for seconds that felt like hours. He felt like he was being tested, his desire to help people being exploited at the cruelest of times. But he couldn't do anything for her, couldn't do anything for the hundreds of people that were freezing to death in the icy chill of the ocean.

With a limp hand, and apology written on his face, Angel removed the woman's fingers from his arm. The hand loosened, and Angel's face darkened when he realized the woman was already dead.

With a pause of remorse, Angel moved on.

***

'Like a tower,' Buffy thought, 'it looks like a tower.' Reaching up towards the sky, the 'Titanic' grew as its bow sunk. Her eyes were fixed on the hulking ship, unable to turn her head away from the sight, but wanting desperately to do so.

Joyce sucked in breath beside her, "It's still moving."

"Still sinking," Buffy added, as she watched the front sink deeper into the water.

The quartermaster ordered them to keep rowing away from the ship. He was convinced that her great, hulking mass could pull them down with it. Buffy didn't point out that they were already further away than most of the lifeboats, or that most of the people swimming in the water would have less of a chance than they did.

The first funnel of the ship came crashing down. It sprayed water and, Buffy imagined, bodies over the edge.

She didn't even have the heart to gasp. Her mother grabbed her hand, tears beginning to course down her cheeks. "I'm sorry, dear," she whispered mournfully. Buffy couldn't look at her. She didn't have enough strength to feel sorry.

The angle of the ship was rising, steeper, steeper, and Buffy wondered vaguely if anyone could still be holding on. She wished she had enough heart left to be thankful they weren't close enough to the 'Titanic' to witness those that didn't have enough strength to hold on.

Rising… rising it went… the 'Titanic' finally began to look as though it weren't a beacon of safety. The ship moaned, the lights flickered and disappeared, never to come on again. When the last rays of light died, so too did it seem the last rays of hope.

The darkness seemed to perpetrate a deep silence. No one dared even breathe. Nobody had to say it, but it spread through everyone's mind like a plague: this was it. The ship was lost.

The 'Titanic' was reduced to nothing more than a large, hulking silhouette. It seemed dangerous somehow. Dark and unknown, moaning and groaning as it sank. It was a scary shape in the darkness. It was no longer beautiful and elegant, but ugly and evil.

Buffy wished she could close her ears against the screams of the hundreds of unwilling victims the 'Titanic' was pulling down with her. Wished she didn't have to hear the oars dipping into the water, moving them further away. Wished she couldn't hear the sobs of the women who had left husbands on board. Wished she couldn't hear her on guilty conscience accusing her of selfishly saving herself when others could have had her place.

That's when the ripping started. It was like two people were pulling on the 'Titanic' from opposite ends. Dishes crashed. Ropes snapped. Wood cracked. The noise was so loud that it drowned out the wail of those unlucky enough to still be alive.

 The ship split in two.

It was like a gigantic knife had cut it right in half. Large jagged edges stuck out along the fissure. The first part disappeared without a fight. It slipped quietly under the surface, leaving the stern stuck up in the air. It settled back, towering ninety degrees up in the air. And it floated there. Unknowingly, the people in boat six sucked in a needed breath.

It seemed like the 'Titanic' couldn't really sink. It hung there, like it was being held up on an invisible rope. It hung there forever, for long agonizing minutes that seemed like  hours. Then slowly, picking up speed, faster and faster and faster it sank. 

Four sharp cracks sounded in the night air, pushing the ship all the way down. The 'Titanic' was gone, leaving nothing in its wake but a low bubbling sound.

And then the screaming started.

To Buffy, the cries of those left in the frigid water was worse than the sound of the sinking Titanic. Babies, women, children, men, crewmen, anyone who had been aboard when the ship sank. They all screamed, petrified, bloodcurdling sounds that Buffy knew would haunt her forever. It was one giant plead for help, a mass of bodies, kicking and screaming, helpless in the cold water. The slayer could do nothing but grip her hands tightly together, watching as they turned white and cold. She bit her lip, wishing that the sound would stop.

Hitchens refuse to go and pick up survivors. They would swamp the boat, he claimed. If they did that, they'd all die.

Buffy thought of her feet, of how the cold water burned them. How they were so cold that they hurt, how the wind nipped at her face and stung her hands. She thought about being in that water, dying, and watching, as the boats didn't come for you. The image shook her violently, and she buried her head against her mother's arm.

Selfishly, all she could do was wonder if Angel was okay. If the water burned him like everyone else. If he was thinking of her.

If she'd ever see him again.

***

Angel thought that his limbs felt heavier. He tried to remind himself that it was all an illusion, that he was a vampire and wasn't really effected by the chill of the ocean. Yet, he still felt himself slow, felt his legs freeze, and his muscles become unresponsive. He felt himself being pulled downwards like he was a great stone that could sink at any moment.

He tried to remind his brain to focus, that his only chance of survival was to concentrate on moving. Slowly his muscles loosened out, his legs kicked, and he remembered how to move.

The sea was a mass of confusion. Mundane objects floated by, a teddy bear, a shirt, constantly hindering his progress. Then there were the bodies, frozen corpses that were like brick walls. Constantly getting in the way of his vision, distracting him, degrading his conscience, adding to his despair.

The lifeboats. He could see them off in the distance. He realized with a sinking feeling that they were too far away. And they weren't coming back. Even as a vampire, he knew that he couldn't swim about in the cold Atlantic until a boat came to their rescue.

He needed rest, he needed a respite from the constant tugging of the ocean's bottom at his heels. Yet the lifeboats were just buoys, bobbing in the distance. They were beacons of hope that tantalized him with their refusal to come help. He drew in a ragged breath thinking of all the people who were lost because the lifeboats wouldn't return.

Angel groaned, mind already conjuring up pictures of the worst. He couldn't swim the distance to the lifeboats, could barely keep going in a straight line, and suddenly realized that despite his supernatural strength, nature was overpowering him.

Then something grabbed onto his elbow. He turned his head sluggishly to the side, mind not comprehending the shy but firm grasp. There, right next to him, was a boat. It was upside down, rocking back and forth precariously.

But it was a boat.

The man who had grabbed his arm helped him up onto the boat. The other men who had already climbed aboard, balanced it cautiously as Angel summoned his remaining strength and rolled aboard.

"Are you all right?" the man asked who had helped him aboard.

Angel nodded mutely, sucking in a breath. The unneeded oxygen seemed to revive his tired body and he managed to sit up. He was on the collapsible, he realized, the small boat that had been washed over the side of the 'Titanic' right before it sank.

Every time a wave hit the boat, it rocked back and forth, the men onboard rushing to balance it out. Already some were losing strength and he knew those that were sitting down were near death. The man who had tugged on Angel's elbow, who had saved his life, helped him to a standing position.

The man was pale, his legs quaking back and forth with the effort of standing. "Stay standing," he told Angel, "you'll stay alive longer."

Angel nodded, not bothering to tell him that he could already feel his strength returning, that in a few minutes the trip he had spent in the water wouldn't matter at all. Instead, Angel grasped the man's hand lightly, a silent thank you, and spent his energies helping to keep the unstable craft upright.

***

It was the bitter cold.

After the boat disappeared, after the screams were gone, there was nothing left but the cold. It encircled everything, long tendrils of chill creeping over the hushed silence of those in the lifeboats.

Every time the wind whistled, every time there was a movement, the penetrating cold was felt. Deep down in her bones Buffy could feel it settling down. She knew if she lived a hundred years she would never feel totally warm again.

No one dared complain. There were a few blankets onboard, but the quartermaster had snatched them up for himself. He had to be warm, he had said, in order to control the boat.

Buffy thought that he was nowhere near being in control. Buffy thought that the Atlantic was the only thing with the power. Buffy thought there were hundreds of people out in the cold water that could have used those blankets, had the quartermaster found enough generosity to go back for them.

Buffy also didn't have enough energy to voice her thoughts out loud.

She drew her knees up to her chest, looked mournfully out at the ocean. 'At least the screaming has stopped,' she thought dully, 'at least the screaming has stopped…'

What time was it? Had it only been a few minutes since the 'Titanic' had sunk? How quick it was for the people to die out in the water. From a screaming, panicked mass, the ocean had turned calm once again. Its soft waves hit the side of the lifeboat with little thumps, the only movement, it seemed, out on its great expanse. Everyone knew what it was capable of doing, and no one had forgotten the big icebergs of creeping death that were hidden in the water. Vaguely Buffy could see large hulks of ice here and there, but they were distorted in the darkness.

There were no ships in sight.

How long would they have to wait? Had anyone heard their call? Were those that had lived through the wreckage doomed to slowly freeze and starve to death in the lifeboats?

A sharper, more real fear rocked through her heart and Buffy sprang up in her seat. In her fear, in the danger, in the screaming of a hundred dying victims, she had mistakenly forgot something important. Something important to the very existence of her souled vampire.

Sunrise was coming.

And a rescue ship wasn't in sight.

***

They had to refuse people boarding on to the small, upturned craft. Angel knew that it was the sensible thing to do, more people would only make it unstable and none of them would be able to survive. But each refused victim was another cut to his guilty heart, another sharp pain on his conscious.

There had to be about 30 men onboard, and the extra weight of the craft caused it to sink deeper into the water. Every wave that crashed into it, every time water sprayed them, they had to scramble to keep themselves upright.

As the night wore on, it seemed those that had been turned away had left behind some small semblance of vengeance. Two men had died already, the one that had pulled Angel aboard in the first place was shivering in the corner, near death himself.

Relief came a short while later. Those in the small collapsible boat B were finally taken aboard by boats 4 and 12. It was a flotilla of boats 4, 10, 12, and D. The going was difficult, the collapsible crashing dangerously against the sides of the boats, its occupants climbing onboard with rubber legs and dizzy heads.

Angel learned that boat 14 had gone back to look for survivors and had spread out its cargo between the four boats. He knew in his bones that boat 14 wasn't going to find much but corpses. At least, he reasoned, someone was trying to do something. It was more than anyone else had done that night to save any of the thousands that had drowned.

***

Buffy vaguely considered unleashing her slayer strength and using it to *kill* quartermaster Hitchens.

The guy had done nothing but whine, complain, and criticize. They were never going to be rescued. They were going to die slowly out at sea without food or water. A crewman was dipping his oar into the water the wrong way. It was too cold. There weren't enough blankets. He declared he was the one giving orders and wouldn't be the one to pick up an oar.

Buffy almost welcomed the momentary distraction of being filled with anger. What right did this man have to dampen their spirits after all they'd been through? What right did he have to complain when thousands were dead? But she soon tuned him out, the fury she had felt becoming a dulled annoyance that was too exhausting to revel in.

Some time later they met up with boat 16. They lashed the two boats together, an effort to stay together in the sea. The bumping of the two boats hitting each other soon grated on people's nerves and a pillow was placed between them to keep the splitting noise at bay.

Buffy looked into the boat, at first eager, then hardened when she didn't see any of her loved ones. No Willow, no Xander, no Giles, and no Angel. She leaned her head back. They were all dead. All dead. She repeated her mantra incessantly in her head. Maybe if she thought it more, it would be less painful.

A light flashed in the sky.

She sucked in a breath. A shooting star? Lightning? If it was an electrical storm they were all doomed. There was no protection against the elements in their small, open craft.

"Mom," she whispered, "there's… light."

A few passengers heard her whispered exclamation and turned to look up at the sky. Mrs. Molly Brown smiled reassuringly. "There's nothing there, dear," she told Buffy in a relaxed tone. "Don't fret."

"We're all going to die," Hitchen complained loudly. "We're going to get hit by lightning, freeze to death from the rain."

Buffy scowled at him. "We have enough to worry about without your constant whining."

The quartermaster gasped. "You dare! A superior should never be criticized," he scowled, "especially by a girl."

Buffy glared at him. Her slayer powers did not include *patience*. She glanced at the assembled crew. They were freezing, their blood slowing down. The quartermaster had ordered them to drift. She handed the handle of an oar to a passenger that was only in his pajamas. The shivering man smiled gratefully and started rowing. She handed the handle of an oar to another passenger without shoes. "It will keep you warmer," she encouraged.

Hitchens stood up. "Drop that oar! Drop it now!"

Buffy hefted her chin. "Keep paddling."

Mrs. Brown smirked. "Doesn't seem to me that you're still the superior, Hitch."

"I'm the commander of this lifeboat!" he declared haughtily.

"Really?" Buffy asked sweetly, "'Cause I'm thinking that if you keep being a pain in my arse, I'll throw you overboard."

"Buffy!" her mother chastised sharply.

Buffy shrugged. "I was never a proper lady," she hissed. She glanced at the passengers in boat 16. "Cut the line," she asked the man only in pajamas. He complied and the people in boat 16 picked up oars as well. Buffy sat back, folding her arms over her chest and looking at Hitchens expectantly.

The quartermaster glanced uncertainly at the hard, angry faces of the passengers. He hesitated, thinking Buffy's threat over, before sighing and sitting down. "The White Star Line is going to hear about this one," he groused.

"While you're at it, could you tell them all about how well you inspired our morale?" Buffy wondered aloud, false sincerity in her voice.

Hitchens did the unthinkable. He shut his mouth.

The man who had taken up an oar, glanced up at the sky. "Those weren't lights… that was a steamer!"

The passengers all sucked in a surprised breath, squinting through the early morning fog. A rocket shot up in the air. "Thank the Lord…" a woman whispered beside Buffy.

Joyce smiled in relief at her daughter. "It's all going to be all right now."

Buffy nodded, already feeling the first tendrils of hope in her heart. "Not a moment too soon, either," she declared in relief.

The ship shot up rockets as if in agreement. If was coming slowly towards them, and Buffy softly chanted a warning under her breath. "Careful… careful," she whispered, almost wishing that the captain could hear her.

"Dawn…" the word was so hushed that Buffy barely heard it. She turned to her mother.

"What?" she managed.

Joyce pointed to the sky. Buffy looked up wearily, felt her heart sink. "The sun…"

Her mother squeezed her hand. "It's a wonderful sight, isn't it, sweetheart?"

Buffy felt a huge lump settle in her throat. "Wonderful," she agreed, forcing down the despair.

She felt the squeezing start on her heart. That awful grip of fate that swore never to let her out of their clutches. She shook her head, shut her eyes tightly. She had to concentrate on the now. Couldn't worry about him, couldn't deal with it until later. If she thought about him now, she would go crazy.

She couldn't afford that. Not when they were so close. Not when the steamer was only meters away.

She sucked in a breath. She gave a tiny smile to her adopted crew. "Follow that boat," the slayer ordered.

TBC

A/N: Review me! Whee! I think I'm actually nearing the end here. One or two more chapters to go. I just wanted to make a quick note. I'm terribly sorry about anyone who had to go through this tragedy in 1912 and I ask anyone who's reading this fic to take a few seconds of silence and remember all those who perished.

Thank you!