Disclaimer: The characters and storylines of Lost and the film Titanic belong to their respective creators. I own nothing and write purely for fun. Please be a good reader and leave a review! :)
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The breeze was chilly, and carried a waft of salty sea air. The air was brought from miles and miles away, carried by currents and drafts to reach the noses of Belfast, molecules of salt infiltrating the mouths of those which were wide open, taking in, breathing in, tasting in the sight of the giant ship at port. To witness Titanic was truly a visceral experience—and the anticipation, like electricity, crackled in the air outside, a sharp contrast to the dull, stagnant air inside the carriage.
"Hurry up, Katherine! They're almost through with boarding."
Kate was broken from her thoughts, as her mother pawed her into action. She felt as if she were moving through a sludge—the seaweed that collects on the bottom of the ship, the brine, the filth. Katherine Austen Janssen had been on her share of ships, as European travel was no uncommon experience for her family. She remembered when she was little, how her father had taught her how to tie ropes around the mast of a sailboat.
However, since her mother had married Wayne Janssen, who had proceeded to gamble away most of the family's already dwindling fortune, there wasn't much occasion for simple pleasures.
Despite Wayne destroying what Samuel Austen had given his life to build, part of him was still alive in his daughter. Katherine had her father's spirit—that was a certainty, but since he had passed away, there was no one in her family to share it with.
"Kate," a young man with dark hair and dark eyes came up to her, smiling. "Come, take my arm. It's fitting after all that we begin our honeymoon in the proper fashion."
"We're not married yet, Jack," Kate murmured, though she took his arm all the same.
"Well, consider it practice."
There was a quality about Jack Shepard, the son of a well to do medical family, that made him instantly endearing. He was handsome, certainly. Attractive, in ways other than his affluence. Kate pushed the marriage jitters out of her mind, thanked her relative good fortune, and pressed forward on the ship, past Wayne, who was giving gruff instructions to Mars, his chief man of operations.
"Isn't it exciting, Katherine?" Dianne caught up with her daughter and whispered. "A ship of dreams to take us to the next chapter of our life…we can make a fresh start now."
Kate hummed a response, but didn't meet her mother's eye.
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Blood. Blood had been everywhere. It had stained the walls, and soaked into his sleeves. And yet it had not been bloody enough, he mused, swirling around the whiskey in his glass. Even the expression on the face had been one of terror. Terror so real and immediate as the breath had been squeezed out of the body, as the blood that filled the body rose to the eyes, he felt he could even see it rising, behind the eyes, turning the white irises a muddy rust.
And even then, it hadn't been enough. He drained the whiskey in the glass, and looked down at his hands. They had been clean for days, so thoroughly cleaned the skin was chafed and starting to peel off in places. His hands held a set of papers—"Anthony Sawyer" was the name written on them. A one-way ticket on the RMS Titanic.
"Sawyer," he mumbled under his breath, testing the feel of it on his tongue.
"What's that you said, young man?" the bartender motioned to fill his drink.
"Nothing," he refused another drink, and stood up, tossing some coins on the bar. "It's time I got going. Wouldn't want to miss my ride."
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"Don't forget my round case! Nearly all of my headpieces are in there," a blonde young woman bounced a small dog in her arms, as she herself barked orders to the shiphands.
"It's true," a young man with green eyes remarked, "if we lose one of them, she'll never be able to keep her head together."
"Hah, very funny, Boone. Too bad there wasn't an opening on the Titanic for a ship comedian."
Boone took his pretty sister's hand and hooked it underneath his arm. "Oh, calm down. We're going home, Shannon. Mother will be relieved to see you looking so well."
Shannon regarded him intensely. "I'm sure she will," she said pointedly, her meaning not lost on him.
"You'll feel better once you get some sun on deck," he ignored her comment, and handed their papers to the check-in officer.
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"I mean it--no one gets on board without proper documentation!" the officer at customs barked at the man with long, curly dark hair.
"But sir, as you can clearly read, I have proper documentation," Sayid Jarrah held the crisply folded papers out to the officer.
"Foreign papers won't do you any good here."
"But these were drawn up for me here, in Belfast! Please, just take a look at them."
The officer's eyes narrowed, and he leaned in. "Look, man. We don't need you darkie filth cluttering up the deck."
Before Sayid could react, a voice belonging to a man with long, blonde hair cut in. "Excuse me, sir. I don't think you realize who this gentleman is."
"Oh?" the officer looked snidely at Sawyer.
"Don't you got any eyes, man? This is one of the ship doctors! Now you're telling me you were about to refuse entry to one of the ship doctors? Your ass would have been fired, son! Or worse, you would have come down with a mean case of scurvy, and ain't nobody have been around to help you with the pain."
"Well, I--well, he never said he was an official ship doctor! Where are his official practice papers?"
"Ship doctor for 3rd class, hoss! If there are any outbreaks of disease on this ship, you know where they'll start--down in the depths," Sawyer placed an arm around Sayid, who looked at him blankly. "He's good stuff. Trained all special-like in the Orient. They got medical knowledge there that's years beyond what you pasty boys up North know."
The officer mumbled in annoyance, and gruffly stamped Sayid's papers. "Just move along."
As they walked up the ramp, Sayid shook Sawyer's hand. "Thank you very much for your assistance, but I'm no doctor."
"And I'm no pasty Irishman."
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Titanic had set sail. Captain John Locke stood at the helm, surveying the waters quietly. The cheers from the port had now faded to a distant hubbub, and were replaced by the ocean's swell and settling. It was always this moment that Captain Locke had liked best about being at sea--the moment society disappeared and the raw, untamed beauty of nature took over. He felt he could remain in that transition point forever.
But nothing could remain in transition forever. He increased the ship's pace, and bore westward.
"Onward, Titanic," he murmured with a smile.
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To be continued