When I showed up next week to collect Mr. Collins, he hesitated as soon as he saw the car. He was back in his uniform, freshly pressed and the sleeve on his right side pinned up cleanly. I had gotten the door for him, and he paused. "Ma'am, you shouldn't be driving me."

"Just get in." I rolled my eyes, chivvying him along. I slid into the driver's seat after putting his bag in the back. "I've been driving for quite some time now, I'm perfectly capable."

"But don't you have a driver?" He ran his hand over the dash.

I shrugged, "Back in New York, but here I don't have any staff."

"Is that what I am, staff?"

"No!" I almost slammed onto the brakes, "Mr. Collins, you are not a servant. You're going to be my assistant, and believe me, I'm going to need your help." I turned away from the street that would take me home, instead heading for the docks. "In fact, I'm going to show you how much I need your help."

If he had marveled at the car, when we pulled up to the docks and made our way to the offices, he was stunned. Clerks and secretaries scurried out of our way with a nod, and when we reached my office, Collins didn't even ask to sit before availing himself of a chair. He glanced over to me, "You're joking."

"Hardly, Luke." I went to my desk, unlocking the drawers to grab a pile of reports. "All of this is mine, and it needs looking after."

He barked out a harsh laugh, "I can't do that!"

"You can learn," I stood, coming to sit on the desk and look at him. "I had to learn, and if a featherbrained heiress can handle it, I'm quite sure you can."

"Heiress?"

I shrugged, "Not anymore, I'm not sure what I would be called now. Tycoon, magnate, there's so many options for men and none for ladies."

Collins seemed to consider that for a moment, "I don't think you need any title, ma'am. Tycoons and magnates wouldn't be spending so much effort on a one armed man."

"I spend my effort on worthy causes," I smiled, "And on good men. My manager here, you'll meet him shortly, has been complaining about a lack of men to employ. I'm quite sure your fellow veterans would be glad for work."

"You can't employ all of us."

"No but I can employ some and do my best to find places that would appreciate you." I smirked, turning when I heard my office door open. "Mr. Welton, I hope you don't mind my dropping in."

"Of course not, Mrs. Murdoch." He turned to Collins, "I don't believe we've been introduced."

I gestured for the two of them to shake hands, "This is Lieutenant Luke Collins, I've hired him on to start as my assistant. Mr. Collins, this is my manager, Mr. Welton."

Mr. Welton had the good sense to not comment on Luke's missing arm. "Good to meet you, Lieutenant."

"Likewise." Collins nodded, "I wasn't aware of how much Mrs. Murdoch had to her name."

Mr. Welton smirked, "Oh yes, Anastasia has quite a bit and actually takes an interest in it."

Collins turned to me, an eyebrow quirked. "Anastasia?"

I groaned, "I shortened it to Anne for the hospital, call me either, I don't care."

"Ah, well," Mr. Welton shifted, "When will you be starting, Mr. Collins?"

Collins looked to me and I pursed my lips. "Well, I've engaged a tutor to come to the house every day and help him with his writing, once it's passable we can work on getting him used to the work here." I looked to Collins, "It's quite a lot of paperwork, nothing too heavy." I turned to Welton, "I would like his pay to start today though, Mr. Collins can give you directions on where to send it."

The two of them headed off to attend to the particulars, and I let out a breath. Welton hadn't protested, and Collins was taking my wealth as well as could be expected. I hadn't exactly said anything during the hospital, preferring to entertain the men. They enjoyed it, well, they also enjoyed the chocolate. I made a note on a report that was being send to Mother to send more chocolate with the next shipment.

It took some time for Collins's paperwork to be fully completed, so that we drove home relatively late. He was quiet for the drive, only speaking up as we pulled into the driveway. "This is your house?"

"Yes," I said, getting out to unlock the garage doors. I drove the car in, and we both got out. "Well, it's my husband's."

"After your office, I expected something grander." Collins followed me inside, taking in everything. He pointed to a picture on the mantel, "Is this your husband?"

I looked to it, seeing that it was of Will and Ada. "Yes, and his first wife. She passed a few years before we met."

"Oh," Collins fell quiet, looking through the rest of the pictures. "He keeps plenty of pictures of the two of you, doesn't he?"

I joined him, grinning at the photo of us in our Scottish regalia. "He does, when he was working he was over here every few weeks. I have plenty of him back in New York."

"I'll have to write my wife to remember to pack ours when she comes." He shifted, "I won't stay long, it's not seemly for me to be boarding in a married woman's house. People could talk."

"People have talked about me before," I shrugged, heading for the kitchen. "You get used to it after a while."

Collins took the time I was making dinner to head upstairs, he knew his way around well enough after dinner to get himself ready for bed. It was a bit unusual to know that there was someone else in the house, and that it was not Will. Rigel was a bit distressed, trying to figure out if he should sleep with Collins or me. I chuckled a bit to see his indecision, snorting when he decided to settle down in the hallway between both of the doors.

I made sure to rise early the next morning, dressing and cooking before Collins came down. He had managed to dress himself partially, although the buttons on his shirt were crooked and his empty sleeve hung down, a safety pin in his hand. He kept his eyes down as he approached the table, "Could you help?"

"Of course," I set the plate of scones down. "I'll have it done in a moment."

His throat jumped as I unbuttoned his shirt. "Usually the nurses helped me dress."

"I'm sure you'll get the hang of it." I finished the buttons, picking up the safety pin. "I can pin up the rest of your shirts if you like, to make it easier."

"Thank you." He stepped back as soon as I was finished. "I promise, I'll send for my wife as soon as I can."

"Find someplace nice," I smiled, "I can help out as needed. Now, eat up. Your tutor comes in an hour, and he expects an attentive student."

Captain Charles Lightoller wanted his damn pipe. He wanted it stuffed full of fine Cuban tobacco, a glass of whiskey next to it and his wife in his lap. His children could be playing in the next room, his friends coming over later in the day, and Anastasia and William taking them all out to a fine dinner.

But he couldn't have that, not now.

Now he was watching as the last of the guns were mounted onto his ship, HMTB 117. Oh she already had her three pounders, her torpedoes, but they were useless against their prey. A three pound shell could only fly so far, while those cases of incendiary rounds could fly much farther and cause much more havoc. And the torpedoes? Well, those were fairly useless on the best day. Fast as she was, Lights knew he had no chance of catching any destroyer or getting close enough to use them.

But he wasn't hunting destroyers.

Destroyers didn't tend to come towards the Thames Estuary at night, too scared of beaching themselves or wrecking on the rocks. Even he was a little apprehensive about his plan, it was risky to be darting around at night with his lights out. But it was the only way to do what he wanted, and he couldn't risk being seen. He had let loose a bitter chuckle when the crates of ammunition had been unloaded, seeing 'Dalian Munitions' printed across the side. Anastasia had mentioned in her letters that her mother had been expanding the business, but not in what areas.

He would include that in the letter he would write after tonight, along with his thanks for helping his family get around the rationing.

Once he was sure the guns were installed correctly and the ammunition ready, he sent his crew below and went down himself. They needed sleep if they were to be successful tonight. Even with the blackout curtains drawn over the single porthole in his cabin, he still tossed and turned.

His mind kept returning to Sylvie's letter, her terror at the zeppelin that had come in over Southampton. She had felt helpless and like she had brought their children to the slaughter, even though she had no idea that a zepp would have been blown so far off course. What galled him the most though was that Anastasia's men had no better way to avoid the attack than by fleeing. Sylvie had begged him to think of something that could alleviate the situation, and he had mulled it over and over.

A zeppelin was nothing more than a massive ball of hydrogen gas, lighter than air and strong enough to lift the metal frame that supported the entire structure as well as the engines and gondola. If it was big enough then it could carry a massive load of bombs, enough to cause havoc in London. If you had asked him to explain how all of that was scientifically possible, he would have shrugged and gone on with his day.

One thing Lights knew though, was that hydrogen was incredibly flammable.

He spent a good bit of time thinking about that zepp coming down in a ball of flame, curling in on itself like a dead spider. He was still in his cabin when he heard the engines start, his First Lieutenant moving them out into the estuary. Once they had reached their point, the engines were shut down and the anchors thrown over. They couldn't go chasing the zeppelin through the night, but they could ensure that their prey came to them. One of his lads had ears like a bat, he'd be out there listening for the zepp's engines and alert them all when he heard them.

He'd already worked out with the Tongue Lightship to put out a small light for them in case they did have to rush off and dodge sandbars to bring the zepp down, it would also draw the airship in. That proud German captain would laugh about some foolish Brit who'd left a light on and led him right to the path to London.

He turned on the light in his cabin, trying to distract himself with letters, work, anything to keep him from acknowledging that anger building in him. It was hard to ignore though, that his family and friends were being put at risk because the Germans were fighting in such an underhanded manner. The cowards couldn't face them on even footing and they knew it, so they used every low trick in the books to try and level the playing field.

Those low tricks were directed at women and children, his women and his children. If it wasn't for Anastasia practically running her own, albeit free, black market, he didn't want to think how Sylvie would have made it through her pregnancy on rationing or how Mavis would be doing now. More than likely Sylvie wouldn't be bouncing back from the delivery so quickly and Mavis would be thin and sickly.

He knew the Germans accused them of doing the same thing with their blockade, but a good British man didn't go around sinking ships. He stopped them, confiscated them, took the cargo to feed his own people and, if the ship could be turned to their cause, put her back out. The crew would be interned and treated as well as they could be, not sent to their deaths. He didn't float above a city and rain down destruction on innocents, he didn't skim under the waves and sink any ship he saw without regard for the lives onboard.

Lights was still letting those thoughts bother him when a voice called out, "Zeppelin right overhead, sir!"

The lad had kept it to a harsh whisper so as not to risk the airship hearing them, and Lights shot to his feet and out the hatch. He cursed himself for turning on the light in his cabin, he was blind out here in the dark. The lad, his gunner, grabbed his arm and pointed up. "There he is, sir."

Lights was suddenly back on that April night, back when he could only see that sinking ship by where the stars were obscured. They were much the same way now, blotted out by a great, long cigar shape that seemed to take up the whole of the sky above them. His little torpedo boat was dwarfed easily by the massive airship, which had a wind behind it and was moving quickly.

He grabbed a man, "Get the engines up with what steam we can, no fresh coal! We can't risk a spark alerting him to us." Slowly, ever so slowly, the torpedo boat began to move. The man on the gun was glued to his sights, waiting until that dark shape was in the crosshairs. Lights looked to his gunner, "Action."

"Fire when your sights are on." The gunner ordered his man, and Lights wanted to tear his hair out. He wanted that gun firing, he wanted that zeppelin to be a fireball falling down into the Thames, he wanted to know his family was one tiny bit safer because he actually did something worth doing in this damn war.

It only took a moment, "Sights are on, sir." The gun suddenly boomed out, the incendiary round arcing away through the night sky and flying wide of the zeppelin's tail. Every man was cursing but the man on the gun. He was dead calm, "Over, down fifty. Fire!"

What quiet they could keep was ruined as the next shell went clean through the zeppelin's tail, the skin of the gasbag flaring up in a brief fire. At that every single man was shouting, "Hit!" They were on the rails, climbing up in the rigging, surging to any place where they could get a better view of the fireball that was sure to ensue. Lights was among them, half out the bridge and staring at the dark shape above that was beginning to sink ever so slightly by the tail.

Another shot boomed out, ripping through the tail and making the zepp dip even further. But the brief flare up had extinguished itself, and Lights found himself hoping that at least they could get rid of enough hydrogen to send it plummeting. One of the men in the bow shouted, "He's coming down!"

And indeed, the zeppelin was descending but not rapidly. Lights had just a moment to realize what was happening, a single breath to shout. "Brace for impact!" The zeppelin was descending, but not because he was coming out of the sky. He had figured out by their shots where they were and was going to accomplish two goals with one action. Throwing his bombs over would not only lighten him enough to escape, but it would sink them.

At his words every hand grabbed what surface they could, and Lights could see the whitewater flaring up at the impacts of the bombs around them. Plumes of spray and smoke came after, the bombs detonating underwater and explosions rippling out. The ship shuddered and bucked like a horse, water crashing over the rail and sweeping across the decks. He couldn't even keep an eye out for the zeppelin, focused on keeping his feet under him.

At least if the boat went down they were close enough to shore they could probably swim to it.

He thought the boat would rise and fall until she never rose again, but rise she did, every time until finally there was no fall. The sea had calmed, at least to a point that they could take stock of everything. Some of his men ran off to sound the ship, the engineers were going to be fretting over damage, and Lights rushed out onto the deck. He could barely make out the zepp now, a black shape receding into the distance back across the Channel.

His men were clapping him on the back, cheering him, but Lights found himself angry. He wanted to see that zepp taken down, he had wanted to write to his wife that she was safer because of him. But at least London would be spared the bombs, although getting that damn zepp would have made his year.

Morris was glad to not be in New York. He couldn't be in the city, so when an opportunity came up to spend a few weeks down in Washington, he jumped at the chance. New York felt smothering, his every moment throwing him back to Sophie telling him about the pregnancy.

Even in DC it dogged his steps as he ran errands for the other Navy men, his thoughts clouded by the realization he was to be a father, and yet he would not. He spent his nights twisting in his hotel bed, sleepless, until finally he sent a wire to an old Academy friend to meet him for a drink.

Roland greeted him with a hug and already had a beer waiting for him. "Had to admit, I wasn't expecting to find you in town."

"I needed out of the city." Morris sat down, gratefully downing half his beer. "Things are complicated there."

Roland snorted, "Your lady friend?"

"Yes," He twisted his beer glass in his hands, "She's pregnant."

"Ah," Roland reached for his own beer. "Well, that's a predicament. Although at least it isn't yours, can't imagine the headache that would be."

"According to her, it is."

Roland wound up spitting half his beer out on the bar, coughing hard enough that Morris got up to pound his back to make sure he didn't choke. Eventually, with a good deal of snot and beer running down his face, Roland inhaled. "You're kidding."

"She's positive about it." Morris resumed his own seat, reaching for a rag on the bar to mop up Roland's mess. "She has some fool plan to convince her husband it's his."

Roland was still coughing a bit, "Have you seen her since then?"

"No, she's sent a few letters but I don't know what to write." Morris sighed, accepting another beer. "I couldn't be in that city anymore, knowing that. Is it so bad that I want her to divorce him, that I want to be a father to my child?"

"No, but the Reichsters, especially the old man, are dangerous, even by my standards. I don't want to find to find you in a ditch!"

"Well it's not like I'm planning on shooting him! I just, I want her to divorce him. But she can't bring her son with her, apparently."

Roland sighed. "Sadly, that's the way the laws work. And they probably are holding something over her besides the kid."

"She's already told me that she has nothing to her name, that her family's penniless, and I told her I would find a better paying job if she left him." He slammed his fist on the bar. "Fuck, Roland. I can't fucking do anything!"

Roland glared at him, "They're used to sailors here, but even then they do want us to try and keep a lid on the cursing."

"I'm sorry," Morris dragged hand down his face. "But, Roland, you have no idea what she's like. I love her, I want her to be my wife, I want to raise my child and their brother."

Roland lowered his voice, "You know it won't look good on you being with a German woman, right?"

"Oh I don't care," Morris waved the bartender down, asking for a bottle of whiskey to be brought. "If I can manage to get her I'd leave the Navy. Mrs. Dalian keeps dropping very unsubtle hints about a well-paying job waiting for me when I retire."

Roland snorted, "Lucky you, some of us have to make it a career." Two glasses of whiskey were poured, and he gratefully sipped his. "You know we're going to get pulled into this, sooner or later."

"I'll leave before it comes to that," Morris took a swig of whiskey, "Unless I get assured a non-combatant position. I can't leave her behind with my child if I die."

"You need to stop being an idiot." Roland shook his head, "Even though I know you won't."

Morris set his glass down. "What do you mean?"

"You love the girl, she loves you, you're both having a child together. You can't sit here and stew over the fact that you can't marry her right off." Roland chuckled, "Write her, assure her that you still love her and once a situation for her to disentangle herself from her current husband presents itself, tell her that you'll be right there to take advantage of it. Hell, I'm sure Mrs. Dalian would finance your legal fees."

"But to watch another man raise my child?" Morris shook his head, "I'm not sure I can handle it."

"You're going to have to." Roland snapped, "If you really want her as your wife."

"Enough, enough, I give." Morris waved his hand. "I'll write her a letter when I get back to my room. Now, what's been going on with you?" Roland launched into his latest tale of woe regarding his French wife, his spitfire of a sister and her Welsh husband, and Morris barely had to encourage him to continue on.

Back at his hotel room, reached by a weaving walk to a cab and a stumble up the stairs, Morris sat down into a a chair with a thud that made the chair jump. He fumbled a piece of hotel stationary onto the desk, managed to get a grip on a pen, and wrote.

Sophie,

My dearest, pretty, little Sophie. I am so sorry for how I acted, and for how I've been. I should have responded to your letters, I should have wanted to see you every day. You have my deepest apologies and I will always be ashamed of myself for my actions in the past few weeks. I should have been supportive instead of bitter.

I swear to you that I will do better, I will be worthy of you and our child. I will be there as they grow up, even if they cannot call me father, I will be as a father to them. And to Adam, I know how much you love your son and I am awfully fond of him. I am sure that over the years I will grow to love him as you do, as I will love our child.

And as I love you.

I understand your situation, my darling, and I recognize that it may be years until we can be together, but I am willing to wait as long as I must. The only desire I have in my life is to marry you and raise our child in a loving home, and I will strive for that every day. If an opportunity presents itself for you to leave your husband with your son, take it in an instant! Mrs. Dalian will no doubt provide shelter until I am able to come, marry you and whisk you away from him.

I shall hold onto that dream, no, our future, when I grow impatient with how long it takes for us to be together.

Please forgive your foolish lover, though I do not deserve it.

With all my love,

-Morris

P.S. Please let the baby know I love them already.