Author's Note: As always, thank you so, so much for your kind words—they mean so much to me. As for technical notes, damn—I seem to have skipped some key things in the last chapter. A few boats. Alas. Let's roll with it. Also, I know the timing for everything here is screwed up, and they wouldn't have time to do some of these things but, well, you know. Fiction.

On a serious note, this bit is one of the darker things I've ever written. Murdoch and Ellen are just two (mostly) ordinary people caught up in an extraordinary situation and bound by duty. They aren't heroes; they aren't special. They just have to keep from panicking longer than everyone else. I've never had to write this kind of psychology before—Carrie and all my other heroines always assume they'll make it, that they'd fight for it if it killed them. Here, our protagonists are trapped, and know there was never much hope to begin with. They can't fend for themselves because they have a duty to fend for others first, and by the time their consciences will let them try, it'll be too late. Dunno if I could have done this story justice six years ago. Dunno if I've done it now. It's tough putting these characters through these situations, but that's drama, isn't it? Love to all of you for sticking with me this long. Please review, and remember, we still have one more chapter and an epilogue. Thanks, friends. And stay tuned— that next chapter will be up in just a few days, instead of a week. Until then.

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Chapter Seventeen: Wallace

April 15, 1912

01:30

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"Guns," explained Captain Smith as Wilde sorted through his keys in the chartroom. "I want each of you to have one. And Mr. Wilde, if you could hand one off to Mr. Lowe and Mr. Moody, I would be much obliged."

Boxhall had already gone, then, as had Pitman. I folded my arms, glad for the brief break from the cold, still unconvinced as to whether we needed weapons.

"I'm inclined to agree with Will," Mr. Lightoller said, looking disgusted. "We haven't had any problems keeping order so far."

"Not yet," Wilde said, getting down on a knee to turn the key in the lock. "But once the passengers start truly understanding what's going on, you might need it." He opened the doors and started taking Webleys out of their racks. He passed one to the captain, a reluctant Lightoller, a grim-faced Murdoch, and finally me, though with some hesitation. "Ever shot a gun before?"

"Of course I've ruddy well—" I remembered that he was my superior officer, and the captain was here. "—yes sir, of course." I took it from his hand. It was cold and heavy, dark metal shining up at me in the lights. I gulped, and looked at Murdoch. He looked about as convinced as I did.

"Be careful," Wilde said, handing up tiny boxes of bullets now. "Use them only if you must."

I took a box of bullets, which didn't rattle—the contents more clinked and clicked—but couldn't make myself load them. Murdoch, under the captain's gaze, loaded his gun, as did Wilde and the captain, but Lightoller and I pocketed ours. I'd chuck my box of bullets over the side the instant we were back on deck.

"Come on, then," Murdoch said, nodding at them all. "Time to get back."

I glanced at the clock in the wheelhouse on the way out—it was 1:31 in the morning, nearly two hours since we'd struck the berg, and here we were, still afloat. I couldn't believe how much had happened since then, and followed Murdoch mutely. After a moment, trotting past the crowds, he glanced back at me, and reached out silently to take my hand.

Wishing we weren't wearing gloves, I tightened my fingers around his despite the bruise on my knuckles, and he returned the squeeze. "They should have 13 nearly loaded by now," Murdoch said. "We'll finish with 13, then 15. Then we'll come back for the collapsibles." I nodded mutely, too busy beating back panic to answer. It felt like we were walking uphill.

Moody was already at No. 13 when we burst through the crowd at the boat. It was full to bursting, and Moody looked haggard, his voice raw as the three of us tried to push passengers back. "Excellent work, Mr. Moody," Murdoch said, looking at the boat, the assembled crewmen. "Take it down, then head portside. Mr. Wilde will be looking for you."

Moody nodded with a "yes, sir," and turned to the crewmen. "Ready to lower?" he called, while Murdoch, nearly stumbling on the strength of the crowd, pulled a few crewmen from the davits to help with crowd control. Then we headed for No. 15—which was nearly impossible, as the crowd was so thick.

At the front, crewmen were trying to help women and children onboard, while the crowd pressed in around them, shouting and trying to come aboard. Looking around at the panicked faces, struggling to keep up with Murdoch as he bodily shoved his way through, I began to wonder if guns weren't such a bad idea. This was the last boat on this side, apart from the collapsibles, and this crowd knew it. My hand throbbed as I pushed people out of the way.

I watched Murdoch take a deep breath and let out the loudest bellow yet, his roughened Scottish bur raising over the commotion: "Stay back, you lot! It's women and children first!"

Some of them stepped back, surprised, and that gave us the advantage we needed to finally get to the front. Looking around, I was impressed—the boat was pretty damn near full, about as full as 13 had been, and I didn't see any more women around. Except for the one headed toward us through the crowd with her husband. "Let her through!" I shouted, trying to reach for her as her husband helped manhandle her to the front.

As a crewman and I helped pull her up, I realized she was nearly screaming, sobbing as she tried to hang onto her husband, fighting him the whole way. "For God's sake!" the man cried desperately. Horrified, I couldn't move. I couldn't separate them. "It's your last chance. Go!"

She just hung onto his jacket and wept, blonde hair askew, shivering in a pathetically thin coat. "Come on," I tried to say, but it came out as a whisper. "Please get in."

Murdoch was beside me, mouth in a hard line, and he pulled the woman away from her husband, who helped pushed her toward the boat as two of the crewmen reached to help her in, where she collapsed to a seat, covered her eyes, and wept.

Her husband looked at me and Murdoch, nodded his wide-eyed thanks, and melted back into the crowd. I turned to one of the crewmen, thinking I'd trade places with him as he let the rope down. If I didn't distract myself, I'd be sick.

"Prepare to lower!" Murdoch called to the crewmen, then stepped back over to me, his eyes set. "Ellen, you know what I'm about to ask you."

The nausea left; I felt my hands latch onto his greatcoat, in the crooks of his arms. "Not yet," I said through my teeth.

"Ellen," he said, hands coming up to grasp my elbows, "After this, there's only two—"

"Not yet," I repeated, heart breaking under his stare, taking a deep breath. "I won't. There's plenty of crewmen left to man the boats. I'm not leaving you."

His jaw clenched, but he nodded. "All right. All right. Not yet." He went to the crewmen at the falls, held his arms up, and stumbled again from the force of the crowd. "Stay back! Lower away! Steady, now!"

Suddenly I remembered that boat No. 13 had started down barely a minute ago.

"Gerroff!" I shoved a well-dressed man out of my way, heading for the davit at No. 15's left, grabbed on, and looked over the side. No. 13 was still peddling around the side of the ship, clearly trying to get their oar situation sorted out. The stream of water from the pumps had made them drift directly into the path of the already-overloaded No. 15.

Dread made my breath come short; I looked up toward the crowd. "Murdoch!" I shouted, but could barely be heard over the noise of the mob and Murdoch's own shouts to lower as he watched it go down. He couldn't see Boat 13 from where he was, and he and the crewmen were too busy fighting people back to notice me.

"Murdoch!" I shouted again, and dropped from the davit to the deck, carelessly grabbing onto men's arms to pull myself toward him. The bruise on my knuckles throbbed in painful protest. I heard screams from below just as I reached Murdoch, shouted in his ear, "Stop lowering! Boat 13's below 15!"

He realized what was happening and frantically waved the crewmen at the pulleys off. "Hold the lines!" he called. "Hold the left and right!" The crewmen noticed him waving, shouted, and pulled up short.

I heaved a sigh of relief, wiping sweat from my brow, watching 15 pull to a stop while No. 13 got itself sorted out. We waited, pushing people people back, men shouting to try to get past us. Exhausted, I could only keep pushing back. Men were starting to jump into the sea, some swinging from the falls of lifeboats already rowing away.

At last No. 13 propelled itself away, and we could finish sending No. 15 below. The crowd began to realize that they really weren't going to get a seat on No. 15, and began to break apart. When 15 finally touched water, Murdoch turned to me, nodding towards the stern. "Collapsibles," he said, and moved away, beckoning me to follow him, taking my hand as we began to weave our way through the dispersing crowd.

"Mr. Murdoch!" came another voice; I looked over and felt a flash of anger as I saw Caledon Hockley, the ass from dinner the other night, fall into step beside Will.

"Mr. Hockley," Murdoch said, bitterness in his voice as he all but ignored Hockley. I felt a surge of fondness for Murdoch, and squeezed his hand. "You two!" Murdoch called to two crewmen. "With me, now!"

Hockley glanced darkly at me, no doubt remembering my rudeness, but his words were for Murdoch. "I'm a businessman, as you know—"

And that's when I saw Thomas in the distance, heading our direction and drifting toward the first-class entrance as though he was in a trance.

"Be right back," I said quickly in Murdoch's ear, but his hand tightened in mine, pulling me up short.

"Where—" he began, fear flickering in his eyes.

"Just want to make sure Thomas is all right," I said, keeping one eye on my cousin, terror turning over in my gut. "I'll be with you in just a moment. I promise."

"Excuse me," Hockley snapped, glaring at me.

"Just a moment," Murdoch all but snarled at him, and turned toward me. "All right. Be careful. Hurry back."

I kissed his cheek and then left his side, feeling oddly empty as I hurried toward Thomas, music from the band growing louder as I neared them. I caught up with Thomas just outside the first-class entrance at A-Deck. "Thomas!" I called, and he jumped, looking toward me, taking a moment to focus. I stared at him, pulling him out of the way of passengers. I was stunned at the change in his demeanor. He'd gone from urgently helping to just. . . defeated, searching my eyes, as though I could rescue him from everything. "Thomas, where are you going?"

Now standing still, he reached out and took my hands, gathered them together in his. "You were always brave, Ellen," he said quietly.

My breath caught as I stared back. This was surreal. This wasn't happening. The band playing merrily beside us, the tilting deck beneath our feet, the night sky overhead—the acceptance of death already in his eyes. It couldn't be happening. "Thomas," I started, choking back horror. "You—what do you mean—"

"After Stephen died, you made it all on your own." He looked like he might cry. I'd never heard him speak this way, was used to his easy smile friendly wisdom. Not the hollow acceptance of a man who's given up. "And now you're a junior officer and it's all being taken away from you, and you're still fighting."

"Thomas," I said tightly, voice shaking, "What the hell are you doing? Look, if you come with me, there's still collapsibles left. We could get you—" He was already shaking his head. "Thomas—please."

He pulled my hands to his chest. "There was never any other plan. Please, Ellen. Get back to Will. He needs you."

That was it, then. He was going to stay. He was going back inside to wait it out. "You can't," I said stupidly.

"Ellen—"

"No!" I heard myself shout it, wrenched my hands free. "You can't! What the hell is wrong with you? You've got to fight for it. What about Helen?" He closed his eyes, tilted his head away. "What about Elizabeth?"

Thomas was shaking his head again. "Good-bye, Ellen." He leaned to kiss my forehead, and I could see his heart breaking through his eyes. "May you live long enough to forgive me." He pulled away, his eyes on mine for one long last look, and then he disappeared into the bright entryway.

I stood there, watching him go, not even registering the crowds passing by, the band thumping out Offenbach. Rage and disbelief pounded through me. How could he give up? How could he just abandon his family? Because he could never live with himself if he left the ship, whispered the part of me that understood him perfectly. He's poured his entire life into her, and they need each other.

Clenching my fists, knuckles throbbing worse than ever, I turned and headed for collapsible C.

There was hardly a crowd at all near the wheelhouse and the collapsibles. C was already hooked up to the falls, gunwale level with the deck, and Murdoch and a few crewmen were loading anyone on they could find. Even Ismay had returned, helping people board. When I approached, Murdoch turned to see me, and the relief he obviously felt was almost instantly replaced by confusion. "What—" he started.

"Thomas is staying," I found myself saying bitterly, wondering just how infuriated I looked. "He just—he just gave up, Will. He's back inside. Waiting it out."

Murdoch reached to grasp my arm, sadness etched in his face. "You're certain?"

"Beyond a doubt." I gritted my teeth, glancing around for something to do, then noticed Hockley hovering back by the bridge, waiting. "What's he still hanging around for?" I looked back at Murdoch, but then caught a flash of color and looked down. "And—and why is your pocket full of bills?"

His jaw clenched. "I thought—"

Then I put it all together, and anger was replaced by my heart crashing to the ground. "Will, please tell me he didn't try to bribe you. Please tell me you didn't accept—"

"I didn't even say anything." He lowered his voice, stepping even closer. "I just thought—I just thought that maybe—if we get out of this—we could use it. We'll both be out of jobs, at least for a little while, and we. . ." he trailed off, looking at me pleadingly.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath. I had to keep from getting angrier. Murdoch clearly thought he was doing the right thing, and besides, there were more important things to worry about. "It's all right," I said, grasping his shoulder, looking up at him. "It was a nice thought. Besides, bastard has more than enough cash as it is. Let's help him out, hey?"

He nodded, relieved, squeezing my hands, and we got back to work helping the few straggling passengers board. Even Ismay began to endear himself to me again, as he was so sweet with everyone he helped into the boat that you couldn't not like him. He was still pushy, but given the circumstances, it wasn't a negative quality. "Thanks for your help," I told him at one point, as we waited for passengers to hurry up. "We really needed it."

"Of course," he said shortly, still caught up in it. "Of course."

The boat was nearly full. "Anyone else?" Murdoch was calling up through the wheelhouse and back through the deck, but no one was headed our way.

"All aboard, Mr. Murdoch!" Ismay called.

"Anyone else, then?" Murdoch turned back, and I realized he was looking toward Hockley, now with his manservant, who hadn't yet boarded, but Hockley was suddenly looking lost, frozen. "Anyone else?" Murdoch repeated, but they didn't move. He turned to the crew, called, "Stand by the falls!"

Hockley hesitated, then he and his manservant strode away.

"And good riddance," I muttered, going to stand next to one of the crewmen to help with the ropes, glancing back at Murdoch for orders.

His eyes were already on mine, his expression unreadable. Then he said, "Get in."

I realized that I still didn't want to go. Well, no—wanted to. Every instinct was screaming at me to get as far away from this nightmare-hell as fast as possible. But I couldn't. Not with Murdoch still here. Not when I could still help. When I knew my duty. "I. . ."

"You're going with them." His voice shook, but he was trying to appear nonchalant as he gestured to the crewmen in the boat.

My mouth was dry, but my eye was caught by a guy hurrying up to the collapsible. I helped him in. "I won't."

"I'm not joking this time," Murdoch said, moving closer to me, not looking away. He lowered his voice. "Get. In."

I'd never seen him so serious, but I gathered my courage and lifted my chin. "No."

It was horrible to refuse him, but worse when he looked so disappointed. "Ellen," he said, reaching up to cradle my cheek, eyes pleading. "You can't wait any longer. This boat needs you, and I still need to help get Collapsible A off the roof."

I swallowed hard, reaching up to cover his hand with mine. "But I'm not leaving you here, and I'm not leaving the ship when I can still help. There's plenty of crewmen left." I turned away. "So don't even try."

"Don't make me order you." His voice was still close, murmured, and I turned back to him, his gaze willing me to give in. "Please—get into the boat!"

I felt my breath catch, the beginning of a suppressed sob, wishing he would just let it go, just let me stay with him. "Will, I don't want to say no to you. I. . . I don't—"

"Damn it, Ellen," he gritted, so serious that I froze. "Get into that lifeboat. That is an order."

My hands shook; I clenched them into fists, looked him in his eyes. "No."

He straightened, drew back, and his voice became distant. "You are disobeying the order of your superior officer."

"Of course I am." I snapped, heading back to the falls, heart hammering.

"As this is a period of crisis, if you do not obey it, you are subject to court-martial."

"Excellent." I helped another man into the boat.

Murdoch latched a hand onto my forearm. "You will be dishonorably discharged from your position and sent home!"

I wrenched my arm free, rage from moments ago resurfacing, glaring up at him. "Then so. Bloody. Bet it. I'm not going anywhere."

His eyes bored into mine, anger and frustration and hopelessness all at once. "God damn it, Ellen," he breathed, and pulled away to call orders to someone else. "You there, into the boat! Prepare to lower!"

I was trembling violently, hardly able to breathe in the cold air as I moved to the other side of the boat to help at the davits. A rocket went off from the wheelhouse, fizzing into the sky, raining down sparks. I stared at it, sucking in air, wondering what the hell I was going to do now.

And then, right in front of me, Ismay stepped quickly over the gunwale and sat down in the crowded lifeboat.

He ignored us, eyes straight ahead, looking surprised at his own daring. I stared at him, dumbstruck. I didn't want him to stay. Definitely not. But I didn't want any of us to stay, and the fact that he so casually just—just. . .

Murdoch was staring, too. He finally managed, "Take them down." He didn't even have to shout to be heard this time as I let the rope slip through my hands, little by little, another crewman helping me as the boat went down, Ismay dropping slowly out of sight. There were no crowds anymore. "Steady," came Murdoch's voice again, exhausted; I closed my eyes over the tears forming in them. "Both sides together. Keep it steady."

This is how it would happen, then. How I'd finally lose it. Somehow I'd kept it together all night, ignoring thoughts of what would happen to me and the others in just a few hours. But judging from the list of the deck, we weren't going to last much longer. There were no lights on the horizon, there had been no word of any ships on their way.

It was going to end here, and my one brave act the whole night had just alienated the only person left I loved.

When the end of the rope finally slipped through my fingers, I turned away. I went for the wheelhouse, lost in my rage, and slammed into the officer's quarters corridor, still brightly lit, quiet, at a horrifying tilt. Tearing off my gloves, I went up it towards my room, then slammed inside, door bouncing off the wall.

No furniture had moved yet, but my books had tumbled from the shelf to the other side of the room. I stared at it all, shaking hard, realizing now that I was trapped. Even if we got the last collapsible off the roof in time, it would be filled with passengers, and the rest of us would go straight to the water. And we'd freeze. I'd never be able to live with myself if I'd left Murdoch here—but the alternative was a painful death amid a screaming throng.

God, there was so much left I needed to do. I hadn't spoken to my parents in ages; we'd parted sorely. Would they ever even know I was sorry? What about starting a family someday, a real one, what about seeing women get the chance to actually vote? What about those thoughts of Murdoch's strong hands tracing over every inch of me, deep in some quiet hotel in New York, twisting ourselves into the sheets bright and early one morning?

I'd kept it together all evening. I'd been there for Murdoch, and in a strange way for Thomas, and had tried to be strong as all those women sobbed past me into the lifeboats.

Well, I was done with it. I was done keeping it together.

"You have thirty seconds to fall apart," I whispered, and felt myself snap.

The sobs came first, the tears falling steady and quick, and before long I heard myself scream, and then suddenly I'd grabbed my lamp by its base and hurled it across the room and where it shattered against the wall. I turned over the chair, I hurled a book still clinging to my desk, I threw my hat. I grabbed the pitcher from beside its basin and flung it hard; it shattered and water spilled down with it; I grabbed the basin and threw it with another scream. I fell back against the wardrobe, looking at the mess, gasping, trembling, bruised hand hurting like a sonofabitch, horrified and scared and angry.

I hid my face with my hands, and that's how Murdoch found me, tried to pull me into his arms, but I wouldn't let him. I didn't want to see him, didn't want him to see that I'd given up, that I was capable of this kind of frenzy, but he was stronger than I was. My arms pinned against his chest, he held on tight, not trying to shush me, just holding me against him while I wept bitterly, trying half-heartedly to get free, but then finally just gave up and pressed my face to his jacket, gulping in air as I tried to calm myself down.

"How can we stand it?" I whispered into his neck, taking shaky breaths. "How can anyone bear this?"

"Because we must," he murmured. "Because we have each other, and it's our duty to get these people safely home—as many as we can." He relaxed his iron grip, pulling back a bit to look at me, his heart breaking through his eyes. "Because I'm not going to let you have ditched that boat for nothing." He threaded his fingers deep into my hair.

"I'm sorry," I managed. "I'm so sorry I didn't listen to you, I just couldn't go. I couldn't be out there just wondering. . . ."

"It's all right, love. I'd rather have you with me," he said softly. "And let me tell you something else—we're going to make it out of here."

I bit my lower lip to keep it from trembling. "Right."

"No. We are, Ellen." Murdoch kissed me, softly. I didn't know until just then how much I'd needed it, his steadiness, the reassuring feel of his lips on my own. "We'll swim for a boat when the others are gone. We're going to get to New York." He kissed my cheek. "We're going to stay at the Waldorf, the two of us." My forehead this time. "We're going to go dancing at night." Back to my lips, then he looked in my eyes again. "I'm going to get you the most beautiful dress you've ever seen. All the books you could ever read."

I hung onto his shoulders, wanting desperately to believe him, wanting so badly just to know that everything would be fine.

"But first we have to fight for it," he murmured. "We've got to carry on and protect as many passengers as we can, and then fight like hell to follow them. It won't be easy. But we can do it together. All right?"

Sinking back into his arms again, I closed my eyes, trying to coax that flicker of hope into a flame. I thought of the two of us bashing around New York, holding each other close on some smoky dance floor, holding each other close at night, out of the eyes of the other officers. Thought of sending my parents a telegram to let them know I was alive. Thought of Ethan Frome and a hundred other books. Breathed in Murdoch's delicious, masculine aftershave and soap smell, and wondered if maybe, just maybe, I'd still have children someday.

I stood up straighter, resolve burning in me again, and whispered, "Thank you."

He nodded, then kissed me briefly, but I grabbed his greatcoat as he pulled away. "Not yet," I whispered, lower lip trembling again. "Please, Will. . ."

His brows lowered slightly, his eyes darkening with want, and his lips parted. "Ellen," he said, voice catching, and he came back, his arms sliding around me. He bent his head, and his mouth coaxed mine open.

Here it was, here was that need I knew was there, that want that he was only barely holding back. My arms around his neck, my throbbing hand wound in his hair, I could only hang on as he kissed me hard, deep. I moaned, felt him groan in return; he moved and I found my back against the wardrobe, his hips pressing mine hard against the oak doors. He drew back and kissed my neck, biting gently, his hands slipping to my hips to pull them even closer as his mouth returned to my lips. In my mind I cursed our stupid greatcoats, wishing I could be close to him as we were earlier this afternoon, when we had each other's buttons in our hands, his warm fingertips just brushing the skin at my waist before we called it off. Now he broke away, our foreheads together, both of us gasping, my entire body buzzing with determination and want.

"Will," I whispered, looking up into his eyes. I was going to tell him. Return the sentiment he'd offered earlier. "Will, I. . ."

"Come on," he murmured, and kissed my cheek. "We've got to get back out there."

"Right." I wiped my eyes, gritted my teeth. My words could wait. "Let's get the hell out of here."

He smiled. "That's the Ellen I know." He took my good hand, and together we left my destroyed room without a glance back. It hadn't been more than a few minutes since I'd burst in.

Outside it was strange—the nearly-naked deck, now that the lifeboats were gone. The band still playing from far off. More and more people now jammed at this end of the boat around Collapsible B on the port side. The front of the ship already sunken to the point that the entire forward well deck was shimmering under green water.

"I've already got crewmen on the roof," Murdoch told me as we moved. "We'll get it down and then hook it up, and send it off."

"Right." I gulped, hurrying up the ladder I never thought I'd have to use, Murdoch on my heels. That water would be here soon enough. We'd have to work like hell to get the collapsibles down quickly. I thumped across the roof, knowing my quarters were underneath my feet. Crewmen were swarming Collapsible A, Murdoch already calling orders. I tried to ignore the rippling sea ahead of us, beginning to help a crewman draw back the cover on top of the boat.

I was just wondering exactly how we were going to get it down when I heard my name, and turned to find Mr. Wilde heading up the ladder. "Miss Wallace," he said again, nodding to me, and Murdoch, who came up beside me. "Lightoller needs a hand," Wilde told me. "He's trying to fill Collapsible B, and he's having problems with the crowd pressing in. He thinks if you're there, Ellen, you might help keep everyone calm, and encourage the women in. And Will, I can lend a hand."

Murdoch and I locked eyes. That meant I had to leave him. Yes, it was just across the way. But with the crowds. . . and the ship was going so fast. . . "Right," I said, straightening. "Right. Er. I'm going."

Murdoch's hand was on my shoulder, grip tight, eyes on mine. "Be careful," he said, a strangled hint of desperation in his voice.

I glanced at Wilde, who already had an eyebrow up. "Sodding hell," I said, leaning in to Murdoch, "I don't care any more." I kissed him, far too briefly, his hands agonizingly tight around my fingers, before we broke apart, his eyes lingering on mine. Come back to me, they were saying.

I nodded, barely glanced at Wilde's stunned expression, and strode past him.

Then it was down the ladder on the other side and right into the unruly, shouting crowds. "Damn," I muttered, trying to figure out how I was going to work my way up to Collapsible B, then realized I had no other option but to push people in front of me out of the way. So I did, elbowing past men (they seemed to be all men) until, when reaching out, I felt Lightoller's hand grab mine and pull me up to the front.

"Miss Wallace," he said, nodding, voice raw from shouting. "Thank you—step back, sir!"

"Of course." I helped pull a woman from the crowd and into the boat, then got a good look at the wide-eyed, half panicked crowd in front of us. Some of the men noticed that I was there, looking all the more like a woman without my hat, and did seem to push a bit less violently. The boat was already half full, its passengers looking back towards us fearfully, some teary-eyed, some just stunned.

"Why hasn't he sent you off yet?" Lights asked as we helped a mother and two children board.

"He tried," I told him over the noise. "I sort of—er, refused the orders."

He grinned. "Ha! I'm not surprised. You're both mad for each other."

I remembered a conversation from ages ago, Murdoch telling me about how Lights approved. "I heard you figured it out."

"It wasn't so difficult, if you know Will." He looked back over the crowd, then bellowed, "Are there any more women and children?"

No one answered, and none of the men tried to push them forward.

"Very well," Lights said, and turned toward the crewmen. "Lower away!"

I stood by with him, checking to make sure it lowered evenly, helping crewmen at the ropes. All together I'd only been on this side for about five minutes, but it seemed so much longer. I was desperate to get back to the other side, and when the boat touched water ten feet later, I turned to Lightoller. "I need to get back over there," I told him, trying not to sound completely desperate. The crowd was breaking up.

Lights nodded, then grasped my shoulder, searching my eyes. "Then go. We should be all right, over here."

It occurred to me suddenly that he'd never willingly climb into a boat, either. "Mr. Lightoller. . ." I heard my voice crack.

"Ellen," he said gently, knowing exactly what I was thinking, "I'll be all right. Go on."

I stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. "You've been wonderful," I managed. "From the very start. Thank you."

Faintly pink, he smiled. "Good luck," he said simply, and turned toward the port ladder by the officer's quarters.

I balled my hands into fists, watching him go, praying he'd make it.

Then I turned and headed toward the starboard side.

Shit, I thought, realizing as I rounded the officer's quarters that the crowd at Collapsible B had relocated to the starboard side, now completely choking off Collapsible A. The half-empty roof was indicating they'd been able to take it down, and I could barely see the stretched ropes from the falls over the heads of all these men.

"Damn it," I snapped, realizing that the only way to get there was to just elbow my way through them. Maybe I could've climbed the ladder, but that would mean jumping down at the other side—and it was a ten-foot drop.

I eyed the wall of men struggling to get to the front, even as more rushed past me to join them. It would be nearly impossible, but I could do it.

I waded in, attempting to elbow past them, but they weren't ready to move. "Pardon me!" I yelled over the noise, getting jostled this way and that. I nearly fell sideways before the space disappeared and I fell against someone's overcoat, who pushed me back to my feet. "Officer coming through!" Technically not officer—but my uniform helped.

Shoving someone out of the way, I was about to move into that space when someone else shoved me back and I stumbled again. "Damn!" I pulled myself up again on someone's sleeve. By the windows next to me and the davits above, I could tell I was about halfway there.

Suddenly a man shoved me, hard, and I would've gone down if not for the man next to me who grabbed me. I looked back over to see the taller, more agile Caledon Hockley shoving his way past the other men to the front. "Watch it, asshole!" I snapped, but it was lost in the noise. I hoped Murdoch wouldn't let him on. There was no way—not with so many other men here.

God, Murdoch. That flickering hope charged through me as I thought of him. I needed to get to him. It was stupid to leave him, no matter how much Lights needed me. I had to see Will, needed to do this with him. There was no way I could do it on my own.

I got a few more steps forward and realized I was just a few men away, then thought I recognized Murdoch's voice in a hoarse shout, though didn't understand the words. "Come on!" I cried at the men around me.

A man above me and to my right, hanging off the closest davit, looked over and seemed to notice my uniform. "Hoi," he called, "this one's an officer! Let her through!"

"Thank you." I felt hands pulling me forward.

At that moment, a man catapulted himself past us to my left, leaping toward the rigging on the left side of Collapsible A. Through the men in front of me I caught a glimpse of Murdoch and froze at the sight of him brandishing his gun at the crowd, wild-eyed—

BLAM.

Murdoch fired off to the left and the man who'd bolted at the collapsible came crashing down. I was stunned, still frozen and wide-eyed, but suddenly the man hanging on the davit above us lost his grip and slammed into me from the right. I stumbled forward, cursing, bursting from the crowd with two men—

BLAM.

Pain punched into my lower left ribcage so hard that I fell back, stunned with it, looking up just in time to meet Murdoch's horrorstruck gaze, Webley still pointed right at me.

At me.

My breath was gone; I gasped for it and felt myself go down, one hand at my side, a throbbing point of unbearable, burning agony. I hit the deck, realizing dimly that the crowd had stopped shouting so loudly, stopped pressing so hard.

"Christ," I tried to say, but it came out as a whimper. I could feel the cold, damp deck under my bruised right hand, felt warmth cascade over the fingers of my left, felt myself wheeze for air, convulse in a shudder. I inhaled gun smoke, sharp and bitter, and nearly gagged, watching my bruised knuckles.

An arm around my shoulders, under my knees, and I knew from the whiff of soap and aftershave that it was Murdoch, shaking hard through his greatcoat. I closed my eyes, tucking my head against his neck, gasping, my left side on fire with pain.

That's it, then. All that work, all that determination, and it was over anyway. There would be no screaming throng, no razors of ice-cold water dragging the heat from my exhausted limbs as we tried to swim for it. There was just a bullet in my side that my entire body was convulsing around, lungs in blinding pain every time I tried to breathe.

Better this way, I realized, my cold nose against Murdoch's warm neck, the noise from the crowd fading. The panic in my heart, fading.

I always hated swimming.