Author's Note: Here it is, friends. I've had the basic lines for one of these scenes worked out and written for nearly six years. Bout time it gets on the nets. Hope I get some review-love for this chap—it is, I assume, what you've been waiting for. I know I have. Until next week!

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Chapter Fourteen: Wallace
April 14, 1912
15:07

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I felt like hell.

I was curled on my bed, holding a pillow over my head, waiting for Dr. O'Loughlin's painkiller to kick in as I allowed myself a few minutes to wallow in this crushing feeling of stupidity.

I knew jumping into that fight was the right thing to do. The stewards had been outnumbered. Mr. Lowe and I, by this point friends enough to know a bit about one another's past, only had to look at each other to know we'd be helping. He had a history of being rambunctious, and I knew how to pull apart hot-tempered fighters. There was no questioning it when we dove in.

But we couldn't have known it would get so out of control. And I didn't know Murdoch would be the one coming down there, didn't expect the shock on his face. Didn't expect his coldness on the way back up. And then Captain Smith put it into words, the fact that I'd utterly embarrassed Murdoch, and I. . .

I rolled over to face the wall, still hiding under the pillow. Maybe I'd just sleep through dinner. I couldn't see him so soon. I'd been thinking about him—or trying not to, rather—all day, wondering if we'd end up back in the third class common room again this evening or next, hoping against hope that he'd ask me to dance. Trying to stop wondering exactly what his lips tasted like.

And now this.

He'd hardly want to see me again, let alone dance.

Someone knocked.

I pulled the pillow off my face, but otherwise didn't move. "Yes?"

"Ellen." Murdoch's voice, low and soft. "It's me."

I sat up. I should have known he'd come to find me. Suddenly self conscious, I realized that my hair was probably wretched. "Hold on." Quickly I jammed a few pins into it to hold it back and up. Then I stood and crossed to the door.

His officer's coat was gone, but his vest, shirt and loose tie made him all the more handsome. "May I come in?"

"Yeah." I left the door and stood back, folding my arms, bracing myself for whatever he was about to say, telling myself I could take his disappointment.

He followed me in, and shut the door behind him.

I gaped as he turned to face me. "Mr. Murdoch, the door—"

"I don't care." He took a step forward and startled adrenaline rushed my insides, but I held my ground. Hard blue eyes not let getting go of mine, he said, "Why did you do it?"

I blinked, surprised that he'd asked, not immediately scolded. "I had to."

"No you didn't." He spread his hands, eyes pleading. "Not after the other night. You should've left the stewards to it. The captain could have easily dismissed you."

"But he didn't." I was trying not to let the anger build in me, trying to convince myself that he was only concerned about me, but he was doing it all wrong. "I'm still here."

"You nearly weren't. What could have—"

"Mr. Murdoch, those stewards needed help." He shook his head; I raised my voice slightly. "They were outnumbered, and Lowe and I knew we could help them end it. Another minute and we would've had them!"

"Will you avoid it, in the future, then?" His voice rose, too. "Just stay out of trouble. Your position here is already precarious, and you're not helping matters by going 'round breaking rules and getting into fights."

I gritted my teeth, livid, meeting his eyes squarely, sorely regretting every moment I'd spent imagining his hands threading into my hair. "Right," I spat, hands clenching at my sides. "You're right. I'm not cut out for this job. I should have just stayed at home, tatting lace and looking for a rich second husband. At least then I'd have better clothes!" I strode past him, wrenching open the door, storming into the corridor.

"I don't understand you!" he snapped as he followed me out, my door slamming behind him. "You denounce the wealthy class for everything they are, yet you still wish to be a part of them!"

"And you!" I shot back, whirling around to face him, shaking hard, every insecurity suddenly tumbling to the back of my throat. "You mope about like a—like a—" His eyes blazed. "—like an old woman—" at his stunned expression, I raised my voice. "—yes, an old woman!—because of a maiden voyage kink. You can't be happy with the position that some shipmates around the world would kill for. It's for two damn weeks and you have to mope and mope because, oh, poor you, you're the bloody. First. Officer. Well, boo hoo. D'you know that when you're not—when you're not whining about your job, you're one of the best men I've ever met!"

I couldn't stop. I went rambling on, watching my hands flail. "You're—you're witty and you're sharp as a pin and you've done great things, and—you care about me, like no one on this ship has, or you did, at least, before I screwed everything up—" I was starting to blubber. My eyes prickled, and my voice snagged horribly. I couldn't look at him, and instead looked wildly about. What white wood trim the ship had. "—And—and in a week you'll be the ruddy chief officer and Lights will be in charge of me and I'll hardly see you any more and it. . . Jesus, Will. It's going to be awful."

Silence. Oh God, what had I just said?

Murdoch just stared at me, thunderstruck. For a second his jaw bobbed helplessly, then he looked away, said, "I see."

More silence. Nothing. Zilch, save for the churning in my stomach and the pounding in my ears. God damn it. Just walk away, I thought angrily, done with him, done with waiting, and turned away.

"Ellen," he said softly.

I froze, but couldn't turn around. "What."

His fingers tangled in mine, and hot and cold shivers raced up my arm from his touch. He tugged, gently. "Come here," he said, pulling me toward my room.

I let myself be tugged, afraid to look at him, memorizing the feel of his hand in mine. He opened the door, pulled me inside, and shut it again, not letting go of my hand.

"Ellen," he said once more, and used his other hand to tilt my chin up.

My breath caught as I got a good look at him. He wasn't angry, he wasn't confused. He was delighted, his shining eyes and adoring smile echoing back every feeling I'd been attempting to hide the past few days.

Letting go of my hand, he reached up, tracing his steady fingers gently down my good cheek.

I closed my eyes, sparks trailing his touch as he grew bolder, threading his fingers into my hair exactly as I'd I looked again he was closer; I could see his blue eyes flicking from my own eyes and down to my lips, his own parted slightly. "Ellen," he murmured, voice husky.

My heart was pounding, adrenaline thrumming in my veins, but I focused. I reached up, took the lapels of his vest in my fingers, my eyes meeting his, the heat, the open, unguarded want in them—and I pulled him backward with me one step, so that my back hit the door of my quarters.

He grinned, bracing his free hand against the wall by my right shoulder, my body between him and the door.

Then he bent his head.

His mouth was warm, and soft, taking mine carefully, and I tightened my fists in his lapels, kissing him back, suddenly sensing that beneath his tenderness was a great reserve of need that he was just barely holding back.

I wanted to find it.

I nipped his bottom lip; he responded by locking his hands around my waist, pressing me firmly against the door, and gently tonguing his way in, at which point I must have whimpered. He kept going, and I was giving as good as he gave, and it was some minutes before we reluctantly broke apart, out of breath, foreheads pressed together, staring at each other in wonder.

One of his hands returned to my hair and he threaded it deeper than before, at which point I felt his fingers give an odd little twist—he was pulling at a hairpin. "May I?" he whispered.

My insides turned over; good grief, who knew he could have been so—so—I stopped thinking, nodded mutely, and pulled him back to my lips.

Murdoch tugged and a section of my hair fell, at which point he changed tactics and began gently kissing his way up the side of my neck; I gasped and stifled a giggle as he found the last two pins and pulled them loose, my hair now messily about my shoulders. He drew back, smoothing strands from my face. "Should we—" he pressed his forehead against mine again, smiling, both of us breathing heavily. "—I don't know, don't you want to talk about, uh, this—"

"Probably." I pulled his lapels once more, and his body flush against mine. "But then again—"

A knock next door made us jump. Someone was looking for him. I prayed we hadn't been heard, both of us holding absolutely still. He gently pressed his lips against my forehead; I closed my eyes, buzzing with the thrill of him.

Footsteps headed away from Murdoch's door; he began to bend his head again.

Someone rapped knuckles against my door right behind my head; I gasped silently and pushed Murdoch backwards, away from the door, both of us now frozen a few steps into the room. "Yes?" I called, heart hammering.

"Miss Wallace, it's Mr. Lightoller. Have you seen our first officer?"

Murdoch smiled, shook his head, put his hands on my hips, and drew me against him. Trying desperately not to squeak, I called back, "No, but if I run into him, I'll tell him you were looking. Everything all right?"

"Yes, fine. Thank you." His footsteps faded away, wheelhouse door shutting after him.

"Lights is looking for you," I told Murdoch, who laughed, took one of my hands, and pulled it up to his lips. He kissed my palm gently, eyes shining.

Suddenly I sobered up a bit, and folded his hand into mine. "Look, Will, I. . ." I swallowed, staring at his loosened necktie. "This. . . this isn't supposed to happen. I'm a woman and a junior officer. Not to mention a widow, not to mention working. I have every 'W' going against me." I closed my eyes, wondering exactly how hard he'd thought about this before sweeping me into his arms. "No one's supposed to want me."

He cupped my face in his hands, his left hand careful on my bruised right cheek, and tilted it up toward me, so I could see his eyes. They were so sincere, with that completely unguarded want shining out of them. "I do," he said, and kissed my forehead. "Believe me, Ellen, I do." He kissed my temple. "And I am so bloody sorry for those first days."

"You were only—"

"I was only being a complete pillock."

"Well." I couldn't help but smile up at him. "Can't exactly argue that."

Murdoch smiled, too, but shook his head. "I can't imagine how hard it must have been. I couldn't even see you had it worse than me—you didn't even know anyone, and the one person who was supposed to be helping you was too bitter to snap out of it."

Hearing him say it, admitting that he'd been wrong, that he really had been an ass—what a relief. "Thank you," I managed, realizing it would be most unromantic to burst into tears. He seemed to sense this, and folded me into his arms.

"You're brilliant, Ellen," he said into my hair, my nose somewhere in his neck. Glory, he smelled good this close. "You aren't fussy, and you know boats, and you've been in shipyard fights, for goodness' sake, and you're trying so hard to make a way for other women like you. And you've gone out of your way to be kind to me despite my idiocy."

"And I shouldn't have said those things about you in the corridor." I pulled back to look up at him, suddenly feeling guilty. "They were completely out of line."

"And accurate, I might add."

"Well. . . maybe a little." I smiled. "But what are we going to do?" I stepped back, lowering myself into my desk chair, needing something steady beneath me. "I can hardly imagine anyone approving of this."

"I don't know." Murdoch shook his head, propping his hands on the back of the chair. "Your cousin, maybe. Charles, for certain."

I lifted an eyebrow. "Lights?"

"Yes, he. . ." He shook his head again. ". . . er, talked to me earlier today. Seemed to think I was doting on you. Slightly. And that you were, on me. He approved."

Giggling, I could feel myself glowing scarlet. "Well, that's ruddy embarrassing."

"We'll just have to be careful."

"I guess it won't be that hard." I remembered, heart sinking. "I won't even get to see you much, after next week. Our schedules will be so different."

"We'll make the time," he insisted, perching on the edge of the bed beside the chair. "And there will be days when we've put in to port, where we won't even have normal duty—we'll see each other then."

"What if someone finds out?" I said, looking over at him, worried. "We could both be in trouble. I could live with it if they threw me out—I'm surprised they haven't yet. But if you get into trouble over it. . ."

"Then we won't get caught." He could tell I wasn't satisfied, so he reached out, brushing my hair back from my face again, voice softening. "So there's unanswered questions. There always are. Let's just be careful, and face them as they come. For now. . ."

We were fumbling at each other's buttons when we realized that we'd better stop while we were ahead.

"I should probably find Lights," he said breathlessly, shrugging his vest back on. "Someone's bound to be suspicious." He stepped forward, then reached up and buried his hands in my hair again. "Ellen, you have no idea how long I've wanted to do this."

"It can't have been that long!"

"It was long enough." He grinned. "I want to dance with you tonight. Properly. Whether it's with your friends or without them."

"I'd likethat." I grinned back, my arms around his trim waist. "You'll be at dinner, then?"

We made plans to eat at 18:00, and then he gathered me to him, kissed me hard, and left, checking the hall before he stepped out, glancing back at me with a smile and a wink.

I fell back against the closed door, nearly laughing, fingers tracing along my lips, which were slightly swollen from this new attention.

Stark contrast from little over an hour ago, when I'd been dreading our watch tonight. I was now eager for it as I could get.

My thoughts were a jumble—the excitement of the fight, the shame in the captain's scolding, the thrill of Murdoch's kisses, the somersaulting innards when his fingers began working my buttons free. I had to get out of this cabin and get some fresh air.

So I pulled myself together, ran a brush through my hair and re-pinned it, nearly giggling at the way Murdoch had been so delighted. Satisfied, I grabbed my small key ring and stepped into the hallway. Turning to the boat deck, I realized I couldn't stop grinning. Hadn't stopped since he'd left.

For the first time in a week, I was truly, giddily, perfectly happy.