Disclaimer: I don't own Titanic…not really any other way to say that...o I know! Je ne posséde pas le Titanic. Yeah that's French, if it's not right…my bad.

Chapter 5: The Dreaded Cousin

April 11th, 1912

"James have you ever been in love?" Ellen wasn't looking at him; in fact, she wasn't sure what she was looking at. James and she had been out here to the officer's promenade since his shift ended and Harry's, who she'd been talking with before, began. Currently she and the sixth officer were leaned casually against the ship's railing, Ellen with her back against it and James's elbows atop the metal bars, a small cigarette dangling between his fingers and coming to his lips with increasing frequency. Ellen had given up the fight against smoking hours ago.

He turned toward her with a thoroughly confused expression; he obviously had not been expecting the question.

"What?" he asked with furrowed brow. Ellen turned away from the spot she wasn't looking at.

"Have you ever been in love?"

"I know what you said, what I don't know is why."

She looked away, a slight blush tinting her cheeks, "No reason." He knew though. Either she was falling in love with someone or she already had. And James had a pretty good idea who the 'someone' was too.

"Uh-huh," he replied with a smile in his voice.

"Just answer the question, James." He didn't miss the irritation that laced her voice.

"No," he looked back out at the horizon, "no I haven't." There was something in his voice, signaling a deeper meaning in his words. At the time, however, Ellen didn't notice.

She scoffed, "Well you're no help whatsoever." James rolled his eyes heavenward and the pair drifted back into comfortable silence.

"James," Ellen said urgently as an important thought entered her mind, "what time is it?" He pulled out a golden pocket watch from his jacket and inspected it for a brief moment.

"Time for my shift to begin, Harry's to end, and you to go to your lunch date." She sighed, relieved that she'd remembered on time, "Actually," he continued, "you should have been there, oh say, fifteen minutes ago."

- - -

Ellen walked away from the elevator out of breath with hair slightly, though not noticeably askew gaining a scrutinizing look from the elevator's operating attendant. She arrived in the portside veranda short of breath with an uncanny ability to feel every eye that watched her.

"Ah, there Ellen is now," Uncle Andrews said smiling and making his way toward her as the other men stood stiffly before their place. Mr. Ismay, with his brown hair and thick mustache was easily recognized. To his right was a rather tall man with blue eyes and jet-black hair who her uncle introduced as Caledon Hockley; to his other side was a woman, plump in physique but emanating a sort of happily mischievous air. Ellen liked her already. Mrs. Dewitt Bukater, however, immediately earned her distrust. With red hair and blue eyes, she looked perfectly normal but her countenance was calculating and condescending. Ellen would have done anything to avoid her gaze. Rose's chair was vacant and she wasted no time seating herself in it. Immediately she regretted the decision. Mr. Hockley and his soon-to-be mother-in-law seemed to fence her in creating a sort of cage that could make even the most laid back of people feel uncomfortable. Ellen was starting to understand why Rose's chair was empty.

"Well it's very nice to meet ya Ellen," Margaret Brown said with a smile, "I hope you're enjoyin' yourself aboard the grandest ship in the world." She said that title with such pride that it seemed as though she'd taken in the ship almost as her own, just as Ellen herself had.

"I am. Thank you for asking Mrs. Brown."

"Oh don't start with that 'Mrs. Brown' stuff. Call me Molly." Ellen nodded and smiled politely, casting a glance toward Thomas. They were even, she could tell by the look in his eye. He hadn't told her about George and she had been late to lunch. Yes, being mad was no longer an option.

"What takes up so much of your time Miss Whitehouse?" She didn't like Mrs. Dewitt Bukater's tone. It was mocking, arrogant, and for a moment, Ellen wanted to lie, to say she had been doing something drastically important just to see the look of pure astonishment on the woman's face. She pushed the thought aside however and answered honestly.

"I was on the promenade with a friend."

"Who?" she continued. Ellen didn't see what difference it made to her. Why was she so interested in whom she spoke with anyway? It wasn't as though she knew her.

"Mr. James Moody," she answered, despite the thoughts that plagued her.

"James who?" the woman asked again. Mr. Ismay knew the name but didn't seem to be able to place him in his mind. Ellen glanced toward her uncle for reassurance. She wasn't ashamed of her friendship with the crew; the question was, was he? He nodded. Apparently not.

"He's the captain's sixth officer."

"Whitehouse?" Mr. Hockley said suddenly as though he had been contemplating something for some time. "Why does that name sound so familiar?"

"I think you are remembering Mr. George Whitehouse. He is my cousin and aboard the ship, though I haven't had the pleasure of speaking to him yet."

"Ah yes," Mr. Ismay spoke up, "Mr. Whitehouse. Good businessman, I've worked with him before. You're lucky to have him for a cousin." Ellen could beg to differ but in the sake of politeness, she merely nodded with a fake but convincing smile.

"I think there's someone lookin' to talk to ya dear," Molly said suddenly. The young woman turned to look toward whoever Molly's eyes were resting on. Harold Lowe, for some unfathomable reason, was standing next to Mrs. Dewitt Bukater with a slightly raised eyebrow and small smirk.

She smiled, "Hello H—Mr. Lowe," it would have been inappropriate for her to use his first name in front of the others, or at least they would have thought so. "Is there something you need?"

"The captain wants to speak with you."

"Whatever for?" she asked with furrowed brow, worry creeping into her voice. Harry looked at the others as though he wasn't supposed to speak of such things in front of them before leaning down to whisper in her ear.

"Do you really want to be with these stuck up first class passengers for who knows how long," he said, his breath on her ear sending a shiver down her spine, "or are you going to pretend that whatever I'm telling you is extremely important?" She nodded her head, trying to seem as though she was hearing something serious.

As the officer moved back into a standing position, Ellen looked up at her uncle and asked politely, "May I be excused, Uncle Andrews?" The others may have been convinced that Harry was on urgent business but the master shipbuilder knew better. However, that didn't stop him from nodding once in confirmation as she stood to her feet. "I'm terribly sorry that I couldn't stay longer," his niece said to the rest of the table.

"We'll see you again at dinner, Ellen, don't you worry."

"Thank you Molly." And with that, she wasted no more time in that first class hellhole and followed Harry through à la Carte restaurant.

On entering the elevator, Ellen turned, smiling, toward her companion, "I think you may have saved my life Harry."

"I believe I just might have. Do they always look that way or are they in an especially gloomy mood today?"

"Actually that's what they look like when they're happy."

"I'd hate to see them in total despair."

"They would black out the sun." The operating attendant opened the copper gate in one smooth motion.

"Have you had opportunity to try out your new dancing skills?" Harry asked with a smile.

"No, thankfully I have not."

"Why 'thankfully'?"

"Because," she elaborated, "the only people I can dance with at parties are stuck-up first class men, and my cousin, George."

"Did someone mention my name?" a familiar voice asked from behind. Ellen silently sent up a prayer that those hazel eyes boring into her back did not belong to her cousin. They did. She and Harry turned to gaze, most unwillingly, at the overly handsome face and curly golden locks of George Arthur Whitehouse. "Ah, Ellen it seems as though it's been a lifetime since we last talked."

"If you'll remember it wasn't a very pleasant conversation."

"That was so long ago, cousin. Must you continue to hold a grudge against me?"

"Of course not George, but the question that plagues my mind is if you do." A flicker of resentment passed over his face but he replaced it so quickly with a charming smile that onlookers might have thought they had only imagined it.

"That was ages ago; can we not forget the past?"

"We can," she said shortly but in the look that passed between them Harry could clearly see that the words they spoke were only that—words. No truth or feeling was behind them and the officer felt it necessary to extract Ellen from her cousin's company as soon as possible.

"Ellen," he said quietly, "I believe the captain needed to see us."

George quickly put on his charming façade once more, tilting his head politely, "Good-day Ellen. I hope to see you again soon." His cousin did not respond nor did she bother with a courteous smile. She merely took Harry's arm and turned away without trying to be civil.

"Dare I ask why there's so much tension between the two of you?" he asked when they were out of earshot.

"It's nothing," she said dismissively.

"Ellen," she looked up at him, "won't you trust me enough to tell me?"

She sighed heavily. The longer Harry was in her life, it seemed, the harder it was to say no to him. "Do you promise not to look at me differently or treat me different if I tell you?"

His brow furrowed, "Of course."

"You swear," he nodded. "Alright, well you see the thing is our grandmother, George's and mine, is very rich, one of the wealthiest people I know in fact. On top of that, she's a hypochondriac. According to her, she's been dying for the past twenty years. So twenty years ago, when I was around a year old and George was ten, she drew up a will thinking that she'd be dead in the next week or so. At first, everyone thought that her money was split between her son, George's father, and her widowed daughter-in-law. However, five years ago someone discovered that every coin, every servant and every floorboard she owned was left to my mother and me. I didn't know why but George accused us of somehow forcing her to leave his family out. I had never been too fond of him before but a few moments ago was the first time we've spoken since then. What worries me the most, though, is the fact that I am the only one standing between George Whitehouse and an enormous fortune. It frightens me."

"Why?" he asked worriedly, clutching her arm noticeably tighter.

"George and his father would do anything for money, and I'm afraid to find out what 'anything' is."

- - -

Ellen rushed through the steerage passengers on the ship's hull, looking over her shoulder with steadily growing regularity. The young woman wasn't sure when her conversation with Harry had turned into a playful game but she didn't want to question the matter. Coming to a halt near a group of men who seemed to be talking of whatever came to mind, she searched the crowd behind her wondering if she had lost him. One of the blonde men, who looked to be only a little younger than Ellen herself, looked up from his sketchbook with a raised eyebrow.

"I think you're on the wrong part of the ship, Miss," he stated in a polite American accent.

"Have any of the officers come down here?" she asked quickly, ignoring his statement.

"No ma'am," he answered looking at the object in her hand, "but I can only guess they'll be looking for their hat."

"I think I'll be safe hanging around here for a while," she told him matter-of-factly.

"The Master-at-Arms will have your head for thievery, first class or not," a curly headed man sporting a bowler spoke up.

"No he won't."

"What makes you so special?" he asked disdainfully.

"I didn't steal this, well not technically. The officer I took it from is my friend," she placed the cap atop her head, "I don't think he'll mind…well not enough to get me arrested," she smiled mischievously, "I'm Ellen Whitehouse by the way."

"Tommy Ryan," said the curly headed one.

"Jack Dawson," said the blonde before pointing toward his Italian friend, "and this is Fabrizio." The other man smiled happily. It was then, when she finally was beginning to feel safe again, that Harry appeared right beside Tommy looking angry though slightly amused. She took a few steps backward, removing the hat from her head and holding it behind her, and he moved forward until he was standing only a few inches from her. The group she had been speaking to watched with interest. He moved his arm left to reach behind her; she turned her body blocking his grasp. He moved his arm right and she did the same as before.

"Ellen," he said warningly.

"Yes Harry?"

"Give me my hat back." His face was not all that far from hers but she didn't have time to notice.

"I don't really want to."

"Ellen," he said though slightly gritted teeth. She smiled impish and stood on tiptoe to get closer to his face.

"How are you going to make me, Officer Lowe?" She could see his eyes calculating, mulling over an option he was obviously desperate to go through with. He looked her in the eyes before his gaze drifted to the mouth only centimeters from his and then Harold Lowe did something Ellen had been thinking on for some time. He kissed her.

And so ends Chapter 5, I hope you liked it! Oh and by the way, when I added the dates last chapter, I accidentally put April 12th after the flashback (Chapter 2) but it should have been April 10th! I fixed it though! Anyway, review! It will make me happy! No flames though!