Disclaimer: I don't own Titanic. If you're still questioning that fact in Chapter 6 there's no hope for you.

Chapter 6: Matters of the Heart

April 11th, 1912

Harry kissed her, kissed her. At first, her mind couldn't quite absorb the idea. He kissed her, kissed her

The officer drew back, seemingly as shocked by the decision as she was. Vaguely, she noticed the three steerage passengers waiting on baited breath as though it had been them to do the kissing. Ellen's face was heating at an unbearable rate. Why did she always have to blush at moments like these? Not that she had much experience in the matter. She wasn't the type of girl who went around kissing every male that moved. The two of them hadn't shifted far from one another but she still found enough space to reposition her head in the direction of the floorboards.

"Did—,"she swallowed hard before gaining enough courage to look up into his eyes. She had never noticed that little bit of dark blue in them before, "Was that just to get your hat back?" He smiled and let out a small, breathy laugh. Tucking a fallen chocolate curl behind her ear tenderly, he gave a barely discernible shake of his head.

"No, I wanted to do that," he told her. She couldn't help but smile as well.

"That's very good news." This time, when she kissed him, she was coherent enough to take in every detail, every taste, every smell, and every color that exploded behind closed lids. The sea's breeze, that's what he reminded her of most of all. It was that faintly salty and clean smell she had always loved so much. He was very much like the ocean to her. Calm and gentle at times but with a terrible temper that she had only seen once, before Titanic's sailing. He smelled like the sea, tasted like the sea and at that particular moment she could barely tell where the ocean ended and he began. Yes, she had gotten that lost in the kiss and she wasn't quite sure whether that was a good or bad thing.

A gloved hand tapped Harold's shoulder drawing the couple's attention. Reluctantly, they drew apart. Moody looked at the two with a thoroughly amused expression.

"Yes, James," Ellen said with slight irritation. "Is there something you need?"

"Harry," he said looking at the man in question, "Wilde told me to tell you, and I quote, 'Get your ass up here, Lover Boy.'" Harold laughed and looked back at the girl whose hands were still resting tightly on his shoulders.

"I have to go," he told her.

"I know," she backed away from him.

He motioned behind her, smiling, "You can keep the hat for now, if you like." She looked back at the deck behind her to see the cap lying motionless where she must have dropped it at some point. In a very lady-like manner, she bent down to retrieve it and then promptly rested it on her head. Leaning forward, she kissed his cheek. Other girls might have been shy after a first kiss but Ellen was not 'other girls'.

A few moments later, he turned to walk toward the bridge, snatching Moody's hat along the way. The sixth officer began to protest but gave up quickly after realizing that he was being ignored. He was glowing, Ellen noticed, with the same kind of blissful contentment as she herself. She walked to the railing in a daze.

"You look happy," James commented simply.

"So do you."

He paused, "I am." Distantly, she wondered why.

- - -

At dinner, Ellen was horrified to find that George Whitehouse had somehow found himself seated with her and her uncle. Along with him came his sister Anne who was so quiet in manner that Ellen often forgot she was there. She was a beautiful girl with dainty features, strawberry blonde hair, and apple green eyes. If it weren't for her severe timidity, she would have constantly been the center of attention. However, as it were, even her relatives forgot her presence. However, there was something. A slight gesture in response to a simple question by Mrs. Brown that caught Ellen's attention. None of the party had spoken much before but as Molly jokingly referred to James Moody and how Ellen had been speaking to him that morning; Anne, normally detached and distant, snapped into attention. It wasn't the entire comment that drew her interest either. It was the name: James Moody.

"Did you speak with him any more today Ellen?" her uncle asked.

"Briefly," she replied, not taking her eyes from the nineteen-year-old girl seated across from her.

"Are you seeing this boy?" Marjorie, who was also joining them for dinner along with her family and fiancé, asked mischievously. Something in Anne's countenance went green.

"No, I'm not. He's just a friend of mine." Ellen's cousin relaxed. And suddenly, putting the scattered and vague puzzle pieces together, the young brunette knew exactly what was going on.

"Are you seeing anyone?" Charlotte added, after all the others, not including herself and Marjorie, were engaged in a separate conversation. However, Ellen had a feeling Anne was listening too.

"What do you define as 'seeing someone'?" she asked trying to hide a blush.

"That would be a 'yes'." Charlotte said with a laugh, her sister-in-law joining her. Ellen, however, had quickly gotten over her embarrassment and was now completely focused on Anne. The girl seemed to be sitting on pins and needles, as though nervous and uncomfortable.

"And how was your day Anne?" Ellen asked suddenly. The entire table turned to the other Miss Whitehouse as though just noticing her presence.

"Very good, thank you," she answered in that sweet, whispery voice of hers.

"Did you meet anyone of interest?"

"No."

"Have you run into anyone you were already acquainted with?" she asked more pointedly. Anne paused as though contemplating the meaning of her cousin's words.

"No," she said finally, "no I have not."

- - -

Ellen slapped James's right arm as he walked across the bridge. She really shouldn't have been bothering him; after all, he was on duty. Instead of reprimanding her however, Charles Lightoller let out a burst of laughter.

"What was that for?" Moody asked, more confused than in actual pain.

"Did you lie to me?" she inquired seriously.

"What?"

"This morning," Ellen elaborated, "when I asked you if you had ever been in love, did you lie to me?" Lightoller had quickly grown engrossed in the conversation.

"Well of course I lied to you," James said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, "it wasn't the sort of thing to tell the truth about."

"May I ask with whom?"

"'With whom' what?"

Ellen rolled her eyes heavenward, "With whom are you in love with?"

"I'm not telling you." He began to walk in the direction he'd been going before she'd stopped him. The young woman followed.

"That is so childish James. Please tell me."

"No!"

"What if I guessed, then would you tell me if I was right or wrong?"

He sighed, turning to face her, "Alright."

"Hmmm," she placed a finger to her lips as though actually giving it some thought, "Let…me…see."

"Tick, tock," James said with irritation.

"Anne Whitehouse."

"Oh, you already knew." He was walking away again.

"Of course I knew. Nobody asks to guess if they don't already know the answer."

"She has a point," the captain said casually as Herbert Pitman handed him a cup of tea.

James looked incredulous, "Is everyone listening to this conversation?"

"How long, James?" she asked. Her voice had lost its playful tone and was now laced with that soft melody which women tend to get after being told a very romantic tale.

"Awhile," he informed her over his shoulder in a soft and faraway voice. Regretfully, he never told her how long 'awhile' was.

- - -

"Did you know?" Ellen asked Harry who stood next to her on the vacant promenade, leaving no space between them. The two only had a few minutes left together. At nine, he'd have to leave; work. Never had she hated his position as an officer as much as she did right at that moment. She moved closer.

"About Anne?" he asked simply.

"No, I mean," she sighed, turning her face toward him, "did you know he was in love?"

"I had an idea," he studied her countenance before continuing, "to be honest, I thought it was you."

"You did?" asked Ellen disbelievingly.

He nodded, "But what scared me more was…the idea that you might feel the same."

"Really?" she smiled, her voice whispery.

"No, I'm just saying that."

"Ha, ha, funny."

"I thought so." Their light laughter slowly died out, as the couple's faces drew closer. Harry rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes and sighing deeply, "Ellen I—."

"Ellen!" called a woman's voice, her French accent giving away her identity. Harry took a step backward, putting a 'proper' amount of space between them.

"Over here, Marjorie!" she yelled, reluctantly tearing her eyes from the officer.

"Ah, there you are," the young woman began, coming to stand beside her new friend, "your uncle asked me to see if you were alright," she stopped when noticing the officer's presence. "Who is your friend?"

"This is Harold Lowe; Harry this is Marjorie Taussig."

"Very nice to meet you Miss Taussig."

"And you, Mr. Lowe."

"It's time for me to go," he said after a moment, "I'll see you tomorrow, Ellen." She and Marjorie said their goodbyes and Harry turned to leave. Ellen couldn't seem to keep herself from watching him go.

"Il est très, très beau, Ellen."

"You know I don't speak French Marjorie," she told her, looking away from the spot Harry had just disappeared.

"Forgive me, I slip in and out. I said, 'He is very, very handsome,'" Ellen blushed. Teasingly, Marjorie continued, "Is he the man you are in love with?"

"I've never been in love. And I don't think I would know even if I was." Her eyes drifted to the bridge longingly.

"Do you not like it when he is away?" her voice was serious again.

"No," the young woman told her, "I wish he didn't have to go." Marjorie gave her a knowing look but said nothing more.

- - -

Ellen's slender knuckles rapped on the wooden door in front of her in a simple melody. Click-clack, click-clack. It didn't take long for the room's resident to answer the call. Anne opened the door with timidity, which, considering her manner, was to be expected. Her long hair braided loosely at the base of her neck and the floor length, cotton nightgown she wore suggested that she had been preparing to go to bed, as were most of the ships inhabitants.

"Yes, Ellen," she said sweetly. Her voice was like honey. Ellen wondered why she had never noticed before.

"I know it's a little late at night to speak of this, but I wanted to say that I'm sorry." Her cousin's eyebrows knitted together in confusion, "Just because your brother and I don't get along is no reason me to shun you as well."

"You needn't worry," she reassured her, "I don't like my brother either." Though there was laughter in her voice, Ellen sensed something deeper. It was almost as though the words she spoke were not as strong as the emotion they were trying to portray; as though her feelings ran deeper that 'dislike'. The younger cousin's face contorted into worry, as if just realizing the words she'd spoken.

"You won't tell him I said that, will you?" she continued urgently.

"Of course not." And with that seemingly unnecessary bit of worry on Anne's part, Ellen felt that something was wrong. No, no she knew. George was capable of hurting people close to him without remorse and his cousin had a feeling that he was making full use of that talent. She didn't know when it had begun or why but she did know one thing. She was merely a woman and, therefore, there was nothing she could do.

- - -

Ellen talked with Anne for a little awhile longer before letting the younger girl head off to bed. The brunette was worried for her cousin but decided it best to say nothing of it. For now, at least. She headed in the direction of her uncle's stateroom to bid him goodnight. The evening before had been the first time in a while that the two had not gone about their regular nightly ritual.

It was quite simple really. She would walk into the room, where he would be working on something or another, and kneel down next to him. Her head would come to rest on his shoulder and she would look, quite interested, at whatever sat before him. He would wrap his arm around her in a sort of half-hug and both would stay there for a moment or two, staring at the desk, before Ellen sat herself upon the floor. He would simply ask how her day had been. She would give him a one word answer, mostly because, whether or not he let on, he knew everything that had happened in the course of the day. She would ask the same question, he would give the same answer, for the same reason, and then suggest she go to bed. She would comply, they both would stand, she'd hug him tightly, he'd kiss her forehead, and she would leave, promising not to be late for lunch the next day.

The night of April 11th was no different. Though the routine was redundant, Ellen wouldn't have traded it for anything in the world and, as she walked toward her room, she vaguely wondered what she would do when he was gone. She hoped she wouldn't have to face that emptiness for quite some time.

Unfortunately, not all wishes come true.

Chapter Six! Oh yeah! As always I hope you like it and you need to review now! Review, review, review! If I could give you a cookie I would, however, my sources are limited...it's sad, I know. Well anyway...until next chapter this is CoffeeGirl13 signing off, back to you Bob...oh no I'm turning into a weather man! God help me!