Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing of Titanic except the few characters I made up. So enjoy all this and remember to read and review. Constructive criticism welcomed!

*****

April 10th, 1912

11:35 A.M.

Meg opened her eyes slowly to a small room with a fancy desk and windows that displayed a brilliant sun floating in a clear blue sky. She got up, wincing as she felt a sharp pain in the back of her head. It throbbed horribly as she touched it with a tender finger.

Where am I?

Then there were footsteps just outside the only door in the room. She slid next to the door so whoever was coming wouldn't see her if they walked in, and sure enough a young man approximately in his early thirties walked in. He was dressed in a dark blue uniform, complete with sappy hat, and a white china cup was in his hand. He sipped, humming something under his breath as he began rummaging around the desk.

I'm not supposed to be here, Meg thought. Where am I, where am I? Oh God, please tell me this isn't another after-party thing that Jean did. Oh I can't live with that shit again…

The man turned around and gasped as he caught sight of her. She saw his eyes wander to just under the neck of her shirt, a perplexed expression on his face. His teacup was shivering just slightly as he stared her up and down. Meg swallowed through the knot in her throat, forcing herself to smile as nonchalantly as she could bring herself to.

"Why, hello there," her shaking voice said. "Mind telling me where the hell I am right about now?"

Instead the young guy just opened his mouth and said in a dazed voice, "What is Aero—"

"Mr. Moody," a deep Liverpool-accented voice came from behind the door Meg was still cowering next to, "Are the binoculars in here, or—"

Meg scooted back against the wall as she stared up at the new visitor, a tall man in a dark blue suit—same as the young guy; Moody, she assumed—and eyes that seemed to almost penetrate her skin. He stared from her to Moody, her to Moody, back and forth until he said—to Moody—"Fetch the captain, Mr. Moody."

"Yes sir." Moody set down his teacup on the desk and raced past the tall man, who was glaring at Meg.

"Look, I can explain," Meg said quickly, though she could not recall much that had happened recently. She remembered something about Mr. Hart telling her about a project, and then talking to Jean and some guy named Skinny Jimmy…and he took them down into his basement, and—oh God. She had made it! She had made it to the mother-freaking Titanic! She was there, and she was staring right into the piercing eyes of one of its officers; she couldn't recognize him from all the pictures she'd seen in the history books her father had written. He had as much of an interest in Titanic as that god damned Hart. "I've come from the year 2007 and I'm here to write a report for history class 'cause you're all gonna die because you were too stupid to see an iceberg right in front of you."

The man gave her an unconvinced look, one eyebrow raised, and then he laughed at her. Laughed right...out...loud. The one thing that pissed Meg off more than anything, besides people degrading her for being a woman. She actually broke a guy's nose once for doing that. And now this guy...

Oh I am gonna slap this loser so hard he hits the frigging Statue of Liberty.

She stood up to do just that, and then the guy stopped laughing suddenly, pointing a finger at her.

"Don't move, young lady," he said. "I believe we're going to have a little talk with the captain about what we're going to do with you."

"What you're going to do with—dude, do you know who I am?"

"A girl who shouldn't be on the bridge of the ship. Now hush your mouth and we'll wait for the captain to arrive."

"What's the captain's name?"

"If you really are here for what you say you are—which is rather doubtful—then you should know what the captain's name is. You are, after all, a girl from…what year did you say you're from?"

"2007." She wanted to crush that guy's jaw—but then again, he looked like he could squish her like a bug. Better not to do that. "You have to understand me, dude."

"My name is not 'dude', whatever that means."

He doesn't know what dude means? Freaking far out; better let Hart hear that. 'Guys on Titanic don't have any knowledge about current English whatsoever'. Shove that up yours, why don'tcha?

"It means guy, man, stuff like that." Meg held her breath for a second, trying to calm herself. She couldn't lose her temper. "What is your name, then?"

The man kept giving her a hard look, and then said, "Chief Officer Henry Wilde. And what is yours?"

"I'm Meg Fuller. And I—I'm on the Titanic, you said? Where are we?"

"On the Titanic." Wilde's voice was sarcastic, and Meg grimaced. She was the one who was always dishing out the sarcasm.

"I'll be sure to note that," she whispered. "Chief Officer Wilde: sarcastic son of a bitch who oughta know when he's speaking to a woman. I thought officers were supposed to be polite guys."

"Well, sometimes a rough word is better for an impudent young woman such as yourself."

"Oh you—"

Then Moody came running back into the room, with an older guy sported with a white beard and same suit as the others behind him. There was also a younger guy, who looked about Wilde's age, though much shorter than the rest. She tried to search for his name, but could bring up nothing.

"Who are you, miss?" the white-haired man who she assumed was the captain said. "What in the name of God are you doing on the bridge, and what is…Aeropostale?"

"It's a clothing line, man. One of the most popular clothing stores in the world, in fact, competing with stuff like Abercrombie and Fitch. Crap like that. What's it to you?"

"May I mention who you're talking to?" Wilde muttered. "This is Captain Smith."

"I knew you'd tell me his name," Meg smirked. "You're just as smart as I figured you were; all you officers are as big of dumb gruff guys as I figured you'd be. You have the respect of a first-class witch to third-class people, which is none, in case you haven't noticed. You're all a bunch of losers, aren'tcha?"

"Excuse me," Smith said, "But do you mind taking a moment to calm yourself down? Mr. Wilde, please step outside for a moment to calm yourself down as well. You look angry enough to sink this ship herself." He laughed, and Wilde nodded, strutting out of the room.

"Real nice dude." Meg sighed, and leaned against the closest wall to her. The three men were all staring at her, particularly at what she was wearing—at least, that was what she hoped. There were enough dirty men in the world in the 21st century; she didn't want to meet any here. "He go through some serious problems with kids or something?"

Smith exchanged a glance with Moody and the other guy, then shook his head. "That doesn't matter. What matters is that you tell us exactly why you're here, Miss…?"

"Meg Fuller."

"Miss Fuller, then. What are you doing here?"

"I'm from the year 2007, and I came back to the Titanic by way of a time machine that a guy named Skinny Jimmy made so I could write a report for my history class. If I don't get a good report on all your behaviors before and during, even after the sinking, I'm going to fail my class and my dad will kick me out of the house." She emphasized her frustration at her father by slamming her fist against the wall. She didn't realize that wall would be so frigging hard, though. "OW!"

All the men jumped at the last part.

Smith turned to the short guy and Moody and whispered something to them, too quiet for Meg to hear. Moody nodded and left the room, and the captain followed. The short guy smiled a miserably nervous smile at Meg as they were left alone.

"Hello. William Murdoch, at your service," he said, answering the question she was about to ask. "I believe the others find you to be crazy, saying you're from a time almost a hundred years in the future." He chuckled, scratched at his collar.

"Do you?"

"No, not necessarily. But…you said the ship is going to sink?"

She rolled her eyes. "Do I have to spell it out for you? You'll hit the iceberg sometime in, um, a few days, and it'll take a couple hours for it to sink. I saw the movie, so I know." She remembered the books sitting in Skinny Jimmy's backpack that was strapped to her shoulders, and she took it off, pulling out one of the books. "Here, you see? The Sinking of the Titanic, edited by…Bruce Caplan. Published in 1997. Do you believe me?"

"Bloody hell." Murdoch grabbed the book from her hands and skimmed through it, eyes growing wider and wider. "Bloody…hell, this can not be real. You—you're just pulling my leg, right?"

Meg shook her head, almost letting herself pity the man for the fear in his eyes. "Hell nah. In just a few days this ship'll sink. Ain't nothin you can do about it."

Murdoch gave her a weird look for a second, as if trying to figure something out, and then he just shook his head and went back to looking through the book. After a few minutes of awkward silence and perspiration-filled reading, Smith, Wilde, Moody and another guy—this one a skinny mustached man with an expensive-looking tuxedo—back in. They all stared at Murdoch, who looked like he hadn't even noticed them come in. Wilde's eyes wandered over to Meg, who instantly felt shrunken by his gaze, and then he took the only other book that she had in her hands—The Discovery of the Titanic. He also skimmed through some of it, and then his jaw dropped as he stared back up at her. The other men were leaning over the books held by Murdoch and Wilde, and their eyes grew wide.

"I say!" the mustache-guy said. "This girl is joking. How could she even believe that this ship could sink? As I have said before, God Himself could not sink this ship!"

"Wrong, preppy," Meg murmured. "You're gonna watch this ship go down from one of its lifeboats, you sleazebag. All these guys are gonna die, you wait and see. I know what you're going to do… You're Ismay, aren't you? Bruce Ismay?"

"Yes!" he cried, snatching the book from Murdoch's hand. "And I daresay that this ship will not sink, not now nor in the future! She is unsinkable!"

Meg looked back down at Skinny Jimmy's bag, hoping to find any other piece of evidence that could prove to the unconvinced man that this was going to happen. All the others seemed to be convinced, so she didn't have to worry about them…hopefully. There was nothing in this pocket, though the bag felt heavy. There had to be something else in there, though judging from her first impression of Skinny Jimmy there would be nothing inside the bag to help her. She found the butt of a cigarette, but that was all in this pocket, and she didn't feel she had the time to rummage around the other stuff just this minute.

Great. She looked up into the eyes of Smith. "Do you believe me, Captain Smith? You do, right?"

"I don't see how you could be joking…this is a serious matter, and you did all of a sudden appear on the bridge. Mr. Moody, you said she wasn't here before you returned?"

"Yes sir." Moody nodded. "I just went back out to get Mr. Wilde, and then I came back and she was sitting by the door. Scared the life out of me, she did."

"Mr. Wilde," Smith turned to Wilde. "Do you believe her?"

Wilde looked down at the book he held, then at me. "I don't know, sir. This is too sudden for me to really believe. I'm not sure."

Puh-lease. All the evidence in the world isn't enough for you?

"All I need is for you to answer a few questions," Meg said quickly. "I just want to know a little about you, and then I can head back to my own time. I can just find the date that you hit the iceberg, and you can avoid it. Then I'll head back and you can just forget that I was ever here." It sounded like a foolproof plan to her own ears.

The officers exchanged glances, and then Smith spoke. "I believe we can afford to keep you on the ship. Do you have a ticket?"

"Dude, I frigging teleported here. Would I have a ticket?"

Wilde cleared his throat at Meg, giving her one of those hard glares again, and she changed her mind about continuing.

"Anyway, it'll just take a minute of your time, and as I said before you can just forget all about it. It's not like this will hurt you—hell! I could even stop one of the most noted historical things from ever happening. Now wouldn't that be something?"

"Quite," Ismay sighed. "For a woman who belongs in steerage to do something noteworthy. For a woman to do that anyway! Ha! I've never heard something so absurd in my life! Silly girl."

He chuckled to himself, and Meg took a step toward him, jaw dropping so slightly as she reared back her hand and slapped him hard across the face. The dumb fool was so busy laughing at her that he didn't notice her doing that until his head lashed back against his shoulders and he was stumbling back toward the wall, holding his cheek. Meg felt Wilde's arms wrap around her and pull her back to where she'd been standing, and Moody and Murdoch worked together to keep Ismay back as he tried to leap toward her, looking like a monkey in a tuxedo as his arms flailed to reach her, though she was a good ten feet from him.

"I say, I have never ever seen such impudence in a stupid woman! How dare you strike me?! Do you know who I am?"

"A jack-off that just got owned!" Meg cried, writhing against Wilde's grip. "You think you're better than me 'cause you've got a skewed mustache and more money than the average ass? Think again, wise guy!"

"Captain," Wilde panted, "Would you like me to take her back to my cabin to calm down for a minute?"

Smith nodded quickly. "Yes, and hurry. Mr. Murdoch, Mr. Moody, please."

The two officers moved, nearly shoved Ismay away from the door as Wilde half-dragged Meg outside. She was now being pulled across a long wooden boat deck, filled with people dressed much like Ismay was. Her struggle lessened as she stared in awe at the beautiful sight in front of her.

This is what fascinated Mr. Hart, she thought. It…it is beautiful. Amazing…

"Right this way, miss," Wilde said, tugging her through a hallway that led into the ship's interior. The hallway was labeled CREW QUARTERS, and she tried to recall the way the sun hit the floorboards…how perfect it had looked. The unsinkable feeling she had gotten from it…

Wilde led her through a door, and she was in a comfortable-sized room with a bed and a desk, some drawers and a nice view of the ocean ahead of them. She looked back at Wilde, who was staring back at her.

"You believe me?" she asked.

"I'm not sure." He looked away.

"Well, if you don't, you will within a few days. And how could you not believe the frigging books? Don't you have enough proof?"

"I'd like to discuss it with the captain and the other officers first. We have to decide together whether or not you're lying."

"You seemed pretty pissed off at Ismay a minute ago, when he...insulted me."

He scowled at the mention of the sleazy man. "Well, I have hardly ever had a liking for him, and I don't suppose saying what he did to you helped improve my opinion of him."

"So…did it?"

"No." He smiled a little. "How old are you, Miss Fuller?"

"Ugh, just call me Meg, please. I hate formality. It reminds me so much of my stupid history professor, the old coot who wanted me to write this report." She sighed, shaking her head. "And I'm twenty-five. Why?"

The look in Wilde's eyes was distant now. "You look almost like my wife."

"Oh, you have a wife? What's her name?"

He turned back toward the corridor as if he were going to step out, but he just turned back and said quietly, "She's deceased now. I would rather not talk about it."

Meg opened her mouth to say something, but the look in his eyes made her change her mind yet again. Damn, that guy had a tendency to do that already, and they'd only known each other ten or fifteen minutes.

They stood like the for another minute or so before Captain Smith and Murdoch stepped in, both looking rather annoyed. They pulled Wilde out into the hallway and spoke with him for a minute, and then came back into the room; Meg could not help but notice the pleased look on both Wilde's and Murdoch's faces as Smith said:

"We've made a choice, Miss Fuller."

Meg frowned at the simple idea of them throwing her off the ship like a rag doll as well as hearing him call her 'Miss Fuller.' The old guy sounded like Hart.

"And that is?" She felt anxious, more than she did when she was receiving her assignment from Hart.

Murdoch was surprisingly the one to speak now. "You are welcome to stay aboard the ship as long as you please."

Meg was even more surprised to feel that her heart leapt joyfully at the thought of being able to stay on the Titanic until it sank…or without it sinking, if she could get them to steer away from the dooming iceberg quickly enough.

"But where'll I sleep?" she asked. "I don't have a ticket or anything."

"You can stay here, in my cabin," Wilde said immediately. "I won't be in here half the time, so you could be alone if you wish."

Meg smiled, and the mood of the entire room seemed to lighten. "Thank you."

So this was what the officers aboard the greatest ship in the world were like. Maybe she could handle this report after all…if everything went all right. Then again, she had heard some about this ship, being all unsinkable and still sinking. Hopefully she would have better luck.