Damn this chapter's shorter than I thought it would be, yet somehow ends up being the one I take ages to write (maybe I shouldn't have pissed away my weekend on omegle…). And it didn't even turn out relatively well written… Sorry about that. God I'm actually embarrassed by it…

Warning for pretty graphic descriptions of gore and blood. Well, not really gore and blood, more injuries and things, but it's pretty graphic.

...

9:55

…

It turned out that Alin didn't have the strength to detach himself from Érzsebét, so they ended up entering the dining saloon together, Alin covering his face with a hand. Érzsebét considered doing the same thing, but decided against it; she wanted to keep her eyes peeled. Roderich and Franz were somewhere in here. She couldn't miss them!

No one noticed them in the crowd of a hundred or so steerage passengers gathered in the dining saloon, some waiting to see the one doctor whilst others looked for loved ones and yet more huddled on chairs and the floor, trying to warm up or come to terms with their loss. A few cried softly to themselves, others were in hysterics but most stood or sat in numb shock.

Érzsebét sat Alin down on the carpeted floor, then tried to grab the attention of the doctor. By now, most of the survivors had been seen to, so she didn't have too long to wait.

…

After Érzsebét herself had been seen to, and declared perfectly healthy, if a little on the chilly side, the doctor turned his attention to Alin, and whatever on earth was wrong with his lower legs.

He removed Alin's shoes and socks, and Érzsebét recoiled in horror at the smell of blood and the red, bleeding blisters covering Alin's feet, the skin itself also red and bloated. As the doctor rolled up Alin's trousers, more swollen, discoloured skin was revealed.

"It burns," Alin whimpered, clutching the doctor's shoulder. Érzsebét leaned in closer to find his toes had turned black, and when she reached out and touched his shin, the skin was hard and waxy. And absolutely freezing. He whimpered at the contact, trying to shuffle away.

"We need to get some cold water on you immediately." The doctor stood up straight, turning to Érzsebét. "Don't worry, your husband is in good hands."

"Husband?" they both cried at the same time, horrified at the thought. But the man was already gone.

In the moments that followed, Érzsebét and Alin mentally clawed at their brains, desperately trying to find something they could use to break the awful silence.

"I'm so sorry," Érzsebét finally whispered; "I should have listened…"

"What reason would you have to listen to me?" Alin wrinkled his nose; "besides, I wanted everyone to be alive just as desperately as you did."

"They'll still be alive," Érzsebét stated automatically. Alin just sighed.

Érzsebét sat down beside him, staring at his thin socks and worn shoes lying on the floor, both riddled with tiny holes. Under normal circumstances, she would've mocked him for his threadbare clothes, but it was all too clear that Alin understood the consequences of his ragged attire. The fact that he was dangerously thin would have done him no favours in the water either. This was probably the first time in his life that his legs had been this thick.

She forced herself to look at said legs again, stretched out on the carpet and oozing blood and pus. Luckily it was the carpet in the third class dining saloon, not the first class one, otherwise someone would be sure to complain. Though when Érzsebét recalled the kindness and compassion the Carpathia's passengers had shown to the destitute, broken survivors, she had to admit they would probably not raise any objections, at the very least out of politeness.

Alin leaned forward to massage his right leg, but hissed in pain at the touch, quickly removing his hand and sighing.

"Look, I'm going to be here for a while, and there isn't any reason for you to stick with me any more, so why don't you try and find everyone?"

"Of course. They'll be here somewhere." Érzsebét was a little hurt that they hadn't already seen them. Surely Roderich or Tsvetan would've noticed the racket Alin was making and come over, or at least one of the children.

Unless they were too ill to move?

But Érzsebét didn't want to think about that. Chances were that they were somewhere else, probably searching the ship for them. Maybe she should have searched for longer? No, Alin clearly needed immediate medical attention. She glanced around; the dining saloon was rather large, so there was always the possibility that Roderich and Tsvetan simply hadn't seen them yet. They were here though; she was willing to bet her life on that.

"If… when you find Tsvet and Andrei, point them in my direction, will you?"

"Of course!"

Alin glanced down at his legs and winced; "maybe leave it until I have my shoes on again." Neither wanted to mention that Alin's feet were so swollen that putting his shoes back on just didn't seem possible right now.

"Maybe," Érzsebét laughed, standing up and giving a final nod before moving towards the crowd, just as the doctor was returning with a bucket of cold water. She was only able to scan the destitute figures for the familiar, pointed faces of her husband and son for a few moments before an agonised cry sent her running back in the direction of her former cabin-mate.

Alin was seated on a chair now, his feet and lower legs slowly being lowered into a bucket of freezing water. His expression was contorted into one of agony and he screamed, arms flailing. Érzsebét held them down in case he was in danger of injuring himself or someone else, which only earned a shout from Alin.

"Get off! Get me out…" His shouts were slurred, as if he was choking, and his eyes rolled into his skull as his head lolled back. Another man dashed over to help, holding his legs steady as the doctor tried to stop Alin from knocking the bucket over.

"Hey come on," Érzsebét soothed, "you're doing great. Just a little bit longer. This will help you."

"Kill me," Alin hissed. "Do me a fucking favour and just end me."

"I'd rather not ruin the carpet; maybe another time." Alin let out a small chuckle before crying out again as the doctor rubbed his legs.

"Andrei!" he whimpered.

"Yes, Andrei will be here when you've finished your treatment."

"Where's Andrei? I need Andrei!" Alin lapsed back into Romanian, shaking his head furiously as he shouted.

"Andrei?" asked the stranger, still holding his legs.

"His little brother," Érzsebét explained. Thankfully, this man seemed to understand her French.

"Was he travelling on the… with you…"

"Yes, but he's here somewhere! We're trying to find him."

"I see," the stranger thought for a moment, "well, if you want to go and find him, I'm more than happy to stay here and look after your husband."

"I'm not her husband," Alin snapped before letting out a pained scream.

"He is not my husband," Érzsebét added for good measure, "but thank you. There are quite a few people left to find." And with that, she was gone.

Once more, Érzsebét found herself navigating the third class dining saloon, checking every face she could find, calling her loved ones' names softly and asking anyone who could understand her if they'd seen them.

It didn't take long to confirm they weren't there.

When she found Alin again- still with his feet in the bucket, but considerably calmer- she shook her head as she approached him. He tried to give the impression that he expected nothing less, but she could see in his eyes the disappointment and dejection, that his final hope had been dashed.

"We have to keep searching," she insisted.

"You could try the general room," suggested the stranger, who was now rubbing Alin's shoulders; "that's where the steerage passengers will be sleeping, mostly. All the public rooms will have survivors in them though."

"Thank you," Érzsebét smiled, "mister…"

"Francis. Francis Bonnefoy," the stranger- Francis- smiled. He had an honest face, Érzsebét decided, as well as a kindly smile.

"Bonnefoy?" Alin asked with a frown, scratching his chin.

But Érzsebét was already off in search of her family.

…

"I am so sorry about this," Alin began, staring up at the other two apologetically, "but I'm not going anywhere without her."

"We don't mind at all," Elizabeth told him, and Francis nodded in agreement. They were now in the corridor outside the dining saloon waiting for Érzsebét, and had been for the past hour and a half. Shortly after the woman had left, Francis had been joined by his wife, whom Alin quickly recognised as the woman who helped him earlier.

Elizabeth leaned against the wall, picking a thread in her dress; Alin sat against the wall opposite her, huddled on the floor in a blanket; whilst Francis paced between them, mouth pulled into a tiny frown.

Alin sighed, looking back down at his bandaged legs and feet, stretched out in front of him and wrapped in loose bandages. They still stung, except for certain areas, which he couldn't feel at all. It was those parts he found most worrying, but there was nothing more he could do until they arrived in New York and got him to a hospital. The doctor had mentioned the possibility of amputations, so Alin was in no rush to find out for sure.

He'd kept hold of his shoes whilst Francis and Elizabeth carried him into the hall, and even now he was still clutching the things, despite how useless they'd proved to be.

Well, it wasn't like he had many possessions now, since pretty much everything he owned was currently lying at the bottom of the Atlantic. All he had were the things he'd hurriedly stuffed into his pockets as they were leaving: one of Andrei's rag toys, a pretty shell Andrei gave him for his last birthday and Tsvetan's bible, which the other had pressed into his hands, begging to keep it safe before…

Alin realised with a cold dread that those few things could be all he had left of his family.

"Sorry about before," Elizabeth told him; "it never occurred to me that you might speak French. I guess there's one good thing about my husband's blatant refusal to bloody speak English…" Francis grinned at them both.

"It's not my first language," Alin admitted; "so it's lucky I knew it at all…"

"Oh? Well what is your first language?"

"Romanian," he looked up with a small smile, "a distant cousin of French, right? Or so I heard…"

"Correct," Francis walked over to him and sat down next to the other man; "and us Latins must stick together."

"Of course!"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitched upwards ever so slightly.

"Your friend is taking her time," Francis commented.

"She is not my friend," Alin said quickly, "and she is probably just being thorough in her searching. She really wants them to be alive…"

"And you don't think your brother and friend are alive?" Elizabeth asked.

Alin shook his head. "How could they be? I saw them… I saw…" He shuddered and swallowed the sick in his mouth, "I saw them die."

"Oh God you poor child," Francis threw an arm around Alin's shoulder, and even Elizabeth passed him over a handkerchief as he began sobbing again.

Alin took the bible and the rag toy out of his pocket, holding them close like the precious gems they were. "I didn't even try to save them," he whispered; "I just stood there and let them…" He couldn't finish the sentence through his sobs.

"Be honest with yourself," Elizabeth began, "was there any way you could've prevented their deaths?"

"I don't… I don't know," Alin admitted, "but I could've tried!"

"Would it have truly made a difference?"

"No… but at least I'd have tried! Instead of standing there frozen! I did nothing!"

"You had a human reaction. Who hasn't found themselves unable to move in times of danger? Plus, you survived," Elizabeth knelt down, taking his face in her hands, "you survived to keep their memories alive. And you must do that."

"But I miss them so much. They left a hole in my heart…"

"Which won't heal fully, but I can assure you it will get better. Smaller. Less painful. In time."

"You don't understand-"

"Oh don't I?" Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, "my brother was five when cholera took him. I know what it's like. You're angry and outraged that someone so young can die before they have a chance of living. That they had to suffer and not fully understand why."

Alin looked away.

"You wish you died instead," Elizabeth continued; "you wish with all your heart you can take their place or at least do something to help them. But you can't and you have no choice but to watch them slip away."

"Exactly…"

Elizabeth stood up, and Francis watched her carefully as she stood next to the dining saloon door, playing with her hands nervously.

"You feel so powerless," she whispered; "so helpless. Like you're holding back a landslide. Can't imagine losing two important people at the same time so suddenly, though."

"It's not pretty," Alin sighed.

"Isn't that your… companion?" Francis asked, staring down the corridor as a bleak figure wrapped up in a lifebelt shuffled towards them.

"Edelstein?" Alin sat up, staring at her with concern, though he tried desperately not to show it.

"I did it," Érzsebét mumbled, "I checked the general room. And any other… steerage room I could find."

"And? Did you find them?" Francis dashed forward as Érzsebét dropped to her knees, arms limply hanging by her sides. Her face was blank and haunted, mouth open in a silent wail. Her tangled hair clung to her face and she seemed so small and frail in her bulky coat and lifebelt.

"I searched everywhere… asked everyone…"

"Érzsebét? Érzsebét, talk to me." Alin could only stare as Francis carried her over, setting her down next to him.

"They're… they're not…"

"Érzsebét?"

"Roderich and Franz…"

"Please…"

"Tsvetan and Andrei…"

"Don't."

"They're all dead!" Érzsebét howled and curled into a ball as she began to sob.

That was it.

Her barrier of denial was broken, and the agonising grief flooded in at last. It attacked her very soul and all she could do was rock backwards and forwards as she finally admitted it to herself. Finally, what her head had known but kept back was confessed to her aching heart.

Roderich and Franz were dead.

And it was all her fault.

...

Yeah no flashbacks in this chapter, sorry. But the next chapter will pretty much be all flashback.

And yes, Alin has fourth degree frostbite in his feet and legs. I actually don't like feet, looking at feet, thinking about feet. Yet I write a character with a foot injury… I'm a fucking idiot.

Now it must be stressed that the treatment given to Alin (slow re-warming using snow or cold water) has been proven, in the late 19th century, the worst thing you could do for frostbite. Or one of the worst things anyway. Yet this is what people did for over a 100 years.

The correct way to treat frostbite is to re-warm quickly by immersing the affected area in warm (not hot) water for about 15-30 minutes. Do not massage the skin, even for mild frostnip. Wrap in loose bandages. For more severe cases, surgery will be required. And the faster you warm up, the more tissue that can be saved!

Of course, you also need to go to A&E as fast as possible.

But it's better to read up on it yourself. I am not a doctor! (Yet.)

Another thing to remember: if you have frostbite, do not warm up the affected area(s) if there is a chance they will get frozen again. That will cause even more tissue damage.

Hmm, nothing left to say now…