Author's Note:

This Vignette isn't in chronological order to the rest. I had planned to write them out in order, but suddenly the parts of this scene started to come to me and I needed to get them out while I could.

I'm sorry, I don't want to do this to you but it's the story that came out when I started writing this part. Once all the 'vignettes' are done, I'll re-compile them in order. There's still more to come; so it doesn't have to end with this one.

As always, any thoughts or comments are appreciated.

The world spun as water surged around him. He felt the deck plunge underneath him; his feet suddenly touching nothing, the sea roaring in his ears. The Titanic groaned loudly as she fell away, a dark shadow in the frothy water beneath him. William felt himself knife through the water as he fell, an involuntary gasp leaving his lungs as the icy sea swallowed him. It felt like shards of glass surrounded him, sharp and cold.

He felt his coat swirl up and around him, wrapping around his arms and face. It felt like an eternity before a coherent thought came to him.

Don't panic, he thought. Calm will save you.

Reaching his arms out to his sides, he freed his head from the tails of his greatcoat, treading water and willing himself not to open his mouth. The reflex to breathe was strong and he knew he didn't have long to get to the surface.

William kicked hard, reaching his arms out toward the surface which suddenly felt so far away. He was vaguely aware of shapes thrashing about in the water nearby; he realised they were people like him. And if there was something Murdoch had learnt in his years at sea, it was to not get between a drowning man and safety.

There was a calm spot a bit further away, if he could hold his breath just a bit longer, he could get into that space and away from the writhing mass of people. He struck out again, but his arms felt like lead, it was like he made no progress at all.

Go on, he thought, just swim… Go on…

Murdoch kicked again with everything he had, finally to the surface, lungs bursting and numbness spreading through his limbs.

The roar of people was deafening, but still louder were the eerie sounds of Titanic in her death throes. He couldn't allow himself to register that right then, he had to get out of the water. Surely the boats had stood by to come back as he'd asked his men to do…? He had a quick glimpse of a bulky, gleaming shape to his right before he felt himself pulled under again.

He was choking as arms flailed around his neck, he felt someone's knees in his back as they thrashed around. Murdoch knew what a drowning person behaved like, and if he didn't do something quickly, he'd be drowned, too.

He had no choice – he jammed his elbow back as hard as he could, feeling it connect with whomever was using him to get above the water. As quickly as he'd been dragged under, he was free and shot up into the air again, taking in a lungful. It burned as he breathed, cold as it was.

He turned around to see a person floating in the water behind him, face down. I can't leave them, he thought,even if they did try to drown me. It's only instinct.

Will grabbed hold of the jacket and hauled the person's face out of the water. It was a woman. He quickly checked, she was breathing, just knocked unconscious. He slung her arms around his shoulders and sought the shape he'd seen before.The Engelhardt, he'd thought. It floated off…

"Will! Will, hold on!" bellowed the unmistakable voice of Charles Lightoller. He looked like the Messiah, as if he was walking on water, reaching out towards his colleague to try grab him from his position on top of the collapsible until another surge from the ship propelled William and the prone woman against the boat.

"Take her," gasped William, "She'll drown otherwise," as he pushed her up against the side of the overturned Englehardt. He could feel the throng of other swimmers in the water frantically trying to scramble aboard the slippery surface as well. Quickly, one of the men helped Charles grab the passenger's arms and start to haul her onto the hull of the boat.

A series of loud snapping noises cut the air; they sounded like gunshots. Murdoch spun his head to where the sound was coming from, and with horror he realised that one of Titanic's enormous funnels had broken its wires and was coming down towards the frail collapsible. It would swamp them when it did.

With one motion, he wrapped his arms around the woman's legs and placed a foot onto the edge of the boat, using it as leverage to propel himself up out of the water. He threw her feet over the boat just as the funnel hit the water. It sent up a huge spray of water in a deluge that engulfed the collapsible, sending it hurtling away from the ship. Charles and the other men managed to grab the woman and stop her being washed away.

Will was thrown through the water, along with a crowd of other struggling passengers. It felt like being tumbled around and around at the beach; not knowing which way was up, knocking against people and objects in the water. He felt like it would never stop, until finally he broke the surface again.

The wave had scattered the people, and he managed a few feeble strokes to get away from most of the other swimmers. This time, he saw what had been too close to see properly before.

The swathe of stars across his field of vision was blotted out by a huge shape, the void dark as pitch and seemingly stretching up to the very heaven above. Moments passed before his confused mind finally realised what he was looking at. He rolled over onto his back to keep afloat, legs kicking weakly from cold, his lifebelt having long since washed away before he could put it on.

The huge bulk of Titanic's stern was up out of the water, tens of thousands of tons of steel and wood held up by the weight of water in her bow. An unnatural deep rumble began to build then, as the interior machinery and fittings started to tear loose. William could do nothing but stare in horror, as the roar from the people in the water subsided under the screaming of the people still on the ship.

His chest felt constricted at the sound, his stomach felt like it dropped through his feet.

Forgive me… I tried to port round it, but she hit….

Murdoch's eyes scrunched closed as a tremendous shrieking and ripping of metal filled the air, shrill and like the scream of death itself as the ship tore itself apart.

Forgive me…

Slowly, the great vessel started her final descent to the watery deep. Darkness gave way again to the stars, Titanic's flag disappearing in a whisper of foam, leaving only emptiness where she had been. He could hear people shouting, for their mothers, for God, shouting for help, for the boats to come back. He could hear whistles here and there, no doubt his fellow officers summoning back boats.

William floated, stunned, unable to believe what he'd just seen. An insistent bumping at his shoulder caused him to slowly turn his head. Something was floating, knocking into him from the gradual ebb of the water generated by people still moving in the water. It felt foreign to him, this dull, hard-edged object, that was so out of place here in the water.

His eyes turned back toward the sky now, the brilliance of the stars incredible, as he'd never seen the sky, not even in all his years at sea. Minutes passed. The water was so very still now, and the shouts of noise of the throng in the water were starting to subside.

"Will….. William…" he thought he heard his name. "Will…" louder then. He realised it wasn't his imagination, someone was hoarsely whispering his name. His eyes slid toward the sound, and he realised the object that had been bumping at him was a deckchair. Clinging to that deckchair was a man, William could barely make out the 3 stripes on the deck jacket. Wilde.

"Chief," managed William, turning to grasp onto the chair. "Henry…" He looked at his colleague, his friend. "The boats…. I told them to come back…"

Wilde was looking at him, his hair covered in ice crystals, his breath coming out in a fog. His whistle was in his hand, visible by a dull shine in the darkness. "Ret…. return th- the boats…" he rasped, holding his hand out to Murdoch. The whistle was clasped between his fingers.

William looked at Henry then, something in his voice sent a squeeze of fear through him. "Tell…. Tell them…" he stuttered… "We- we did our best." Henry's eyes were beginning to dull, his breath slowing in the chill air. William reached out his hand then, his cold fingers closing around the whistle and Henry's hand. "H-Henry… I…" He couldn't get the words out, his tongue felt thick and heavy.

"It's… alriiii… W-Will….." slowly, Henry's lips started to form a small smile. Murdoch squeezed Henry's hand tighter. "P-p… Pollie i..i... is… is waiting… for… for… me…." he trailed off, his eyes looking somewhere over Murdoch's shoulder, and slowly the shine that was left in them faded slowly away, his head bowing down.

Murdoch let his head fall then, his forehead resting on his hands, covering Henry's. He'd said Pollie was waiting… Pollie, his wife he'd lost to childbirth, along with their twins, not a year and a half before.

Will had family waiting too, his sister Mary. His brother James and his uncles, lost at sea. Lost at sea in April. Another Murdoch lost in April. Suddenly, he thought of Ada. Ada was waiting for him too, but not there. Notthere. No, not lost in April. Not this Murdoch.

With great effort, he lifted his head. It was so very cold. He could feel ice in his hair and on his face. He released Henry's hand, and after some fumbling, managed to pick up the whistle and place it to his frozen lips. At first, nothing came out. He couldn't even be sure anything was going through it.

William felt like he was exhaling with all his strength, but it might as well have been a puff of wind. He tried again, this time eliciting a feeble whistle. It was enough to rouse him from the slowness that seemed to have crept up on him.

He sounded it again, stronger this time. Will blew the whistle once more, then waited to get his breath back. It was difficult, he felt so tired after each effort, that it took several minutes to recover enough to try again.

He looked up at the stars, but something was different now. They weren't brilliant like diamonds anymore; they were diffused and fuzzy, as though looking at them through a veil. Pursing his lips around the whistle, he tried again, but only a squeak came out.Where were the boats? Where was Pitman? Where was Boxhall?

The air was silent and heavy now, and Will could feel the cold seeping into his very bones. He knew he needed to keep himself small and drawn up to conserve heat, but he couldn't move. Just keeping his head up felt like an effort.

Somewhere in the distance, off to his right, there was a light, but he couldn't turn his head. He thought he heard a voice, but it must be his imagination. It was so quiet.

"…. Alive…. There…. Anyone…. Hear me…. Helloooooo…."

He watched his breath form a cloud as he exhaled, crystallising before it had even fully formed. His ears caught the small sound of a splash, as though something had fallen into the water. His mind slowly turned the sound over and over, trying to make sense of it.

Splash. There it was again. He turned his head infinitesimally to his left, where he saw someone up to their nose in the water struggling to swim. The figure shuddered their way over to him, and he finally registered that it was a young woman, her lips blue, her hair covered in ice.

She reached out her hands and took the whistle from his lips, seeming not to register that he was looking at her. He tried to speak, but no words would form.

The woman put the whistle to her lips and blew, hard. The shriek of the cork ball in its chamber thundered across the still water, the effect immediate. The light he'd seen earlier swung around and was now illuminating her face.

He saw that her hair was flame red, and recognition hit him. She was one of the lovers from the bow, only mere hours ago, but it felt like a lifetime since. He smiled then, remembering that carefree moment before his world had changed forever.

"You…. You… were laughing…" he managed. Her eyes snapped to his the second he spoke, surprise registering on her face. Before she could speak, Will felt the water move as a lifeboat glided up next to them.

"Quickly, get her in, " he heard Lowe's lilting voice instructing the men in his boat. Good, Harry, you listened, Will thought. About time, I'm so tired…his eyes closed for a moment, listening to the sounds of the crew pulling the lady into the boat.

Ada will never believe this… oh Aid, I can't wait to see you…thought Will, feeling warmer already. She'd never let him out of her sight now. That might not be so bad, he thought. All that time to spend together, just them… Just us, Aid...

Fifth Officer Lowe moved aside as the seamen dragged the young woman into the boat. "Quickly now, wrap her up, keep her warm," he instructed, leaning down to look at her. She was awake, but barely. Her lips were moving, but he couldn't make out what she was saying. "Sorry, love? What was that?"

She murmured again, and he leant right down to try catch her words. "Officer… in the water…. Still alive…" slowly her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell against the bench, limp.

Harold whipped around, his heart beating wildly. "Men, there's one more, quick, get him, look there… " Harold moved his flashlight, and froze to the spot as he saw Henry, lifeless, draped over the deckchair. He swallowed down tears then. "Hurry up, check 'im!"

The men reached out oars to bring the chair closer. He noticed the other person in the water next to Wilde then, the braid on the shoulder boards of the greatcoat unmistakably Murdoch's.

"Will!" Harold leant right over then, his fingers brushing his collar and missing. He stretched once more, and managed to grab hold, pulling as much as he dared from his precarious position over the edge of the boat.

The two seamen grabbed Will's belt and helped haul him up into the boat, struggling with the waterlogged coat. They rolled him in and Harold knelt down, his hand patting Murdoch's cheek. "Will, Will, wake up now, we got ya!"

Murdoch opened his eyes and looked at the younger officer for a moment. "Aye lad, were you waitin'… for a bloody invitation…" he made a sound that could have been a laugh, and his eyes closed again. Lowe dragged a blanket around him, pulling it up around his senior's neck and shoulders, pressing it around his face.

He patted Will's face again, then when he didn't respond the patting turned to grasping his chin and giving Will's face a firm shake from side to side. "Sir, you're safe now. Will! Will!"

The seamen looked down at them, faces like stone. Lowe bent down and put his ear to Murdoch's chest, but could hear nothing. He straightened up and grasped Will's face between both hands, giving him another shake.

"God, Will…. " Using one thumb, Harold opened Will's eye, and turned away quickly. "Bloody hell…" his voice cracked. "We waited too long." He looked up at the other crew, his vision blurring with tears. "Murdoch's gone."

The occupants of the boat were silent, numb to the loss of yet another person in an endless sea of dead. Only the crew felt the depth of what had just happened. Their mentor, their friend, their Chief in spirit, gone.

It was too much, but this was no time to wallow. Harold gently pulled the blanket over Will's face. "I'm sorry, friend…." He stood up then, determined that William would be the last person he pulled from the water in vain.

"Keep lookin'," he urged, "keep checkin'!" he ordered, his voice steely once again. "Come about!"