It was a bright, beautiful day in Swaythling, Hampshire. It was now the end of April 1912, and while any new information on the Titanic's sinking was still being printed in every newspaper, the surviving passengers and crew began to shy away from it all.

Alan Mallard ignored it completely.

He roamed the streets in search of one lone house, the home he hoped would lead him where he wanted to be. All the while, he thought back to that April night, so many weeks ago, and it still managed to send shivers up his spine.

The very idea of passenger lists made him even more miserable than he thought possible. They had grown minute by minute, survivors giving out their names to the men who asked, but the one name Alan wanted to see was never recorded.

She hadn't come back.

No matter what had happened that night, she hadn't come back. And in the midst of it all, Titanic had sunk, leaving destruction and lost lives in her quake.

He gave up waiting, as the hysteria began to rise, and left his post to find Lucy. He asked anyone he saw if they had seen her, but no one had. If they did, they seemed to ignore him completely. Not that it was going to make him give up; that was the last thing on his mind. He didn't want to leave without her, and he never planned to.

Alan had found her, just when he thought he never would, sitting at a table in the Verandah Café, fast asleep. But the minute be began to speak to her, trying in vain to wake her, he had an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach that something was wrong.

And he was right.

There were shards of china and porcelain at her feet, along with a turned over dish cart. It looked like an absolute war zone.

He tried his best to step over the shards to reach her, but it didn't stop his eyes from catching sight of red stains laid out across the checkered floor. Following the trail, he realized the tips of Lucy's fingers were also red, as was the top of her head. The blood had soaked her hair straight through.

He said her name, move and over, and shook her frantically, but she never answered him. Even if she wanted to, he knew now, she couldn't have. Instead, her head only bobbed against the arm draped across the tabletop, her eyes closed.

In the meantime, the lights overhead began to flicker, and panic began to set in.

Alan didn't know when, but as he walked through Swaythling, he became aware of the exact moment he was certain he had lost her. It was so obvious now that she had already passed away, even before he had reached her, but then? It was the furthest thought from his mind.

The steward inhaled deeply, bringing himself back to the present day. He was tired of replaying the incident over and over, but that fact never stopped his brain. More than anything, the last words he had said to Lucy echoed in his ears before he had left her.

"I'm sorry I couldn't save you."

He stopped short on the walkway, trying to keep his emotions in check. He wanted to cry just thinking of it, and that was all he could do these days. He kicked angrily at a pebble, before feeling in his pocket for the last keepsake he had of Lucy Sullivan.

At her feet in the café, in the middle of the holy mess he had come upon, he had discovered a golden pocket watch. He quickly snatched it up before everything went straight to Hell. He snapped it shut just before a beam outside cracked—at least, that was what he thought he heard—before the lights flickered again, practically sending his heart into failure. To his horror, he had almost broken it.

Now, he stared at it in his palm, wanting to snap it open to see the photograph he saw that night…but decided against it.

As time had gone on, Alan discovered the initials engraved on the back and his heart sank. It wasn't actually Lucy's after all, but instead belonged to Oliver Bern. But it didn't matter who owned the watch; the very fact she had it with her made it sentimental. It was his only reminder of her.

The morning of April 15th came bright and early, but Alan, like the other survivors, were sleep-deprived and starving. He found himself standing beside Maureen Kexington, of all people, sipping a bowl of soup.

"So many people…" she mumbled.

Alan glanced over at her, and his eyes narrowed. How did she even survive? How could she have made it, while his best friend hadn't? Lucy wasn't like her or the rest of the crew, she had to make it through. She was the only one who had good reason to, but rather than having her stand beside him, it was his employer—who he still couldn't stand.

"A lot of crew," Alan managed.

"So many passengers."

Even to the end, she couldn't think of anyone but those passengers, and he merely shook his head.

"A lot of crew," he repeated, teeth clenched.

"What about Lucy?"

He shook his head.

"Oh, no. Are you sure?"

"Positive."

She paused.

"What about Oliver?" she wondered.

"Not that I know of."

"Well…I, I…"

Alan could've sworn she was struggling to speak, but he brushed it off as an impossibility.

"I never got to mail his letters, you know." She retrieved two letters from her apron pocket. "He gave them to me last night to mail, but I never got them downstairs."

"Better off here, I guess," he exhaled. "Mail room flooded first, anyway."

"I suppose I ought to give them to the Carpathia to ship."

She held them out to her employee, who took them with a small shrug.

He took the last sip of his soup. "I could take them," he offered.

"Would you mind?"

"Not at all."

"Alright, well…thank you, Alan."

He stood and began down the deck, and glanced casually down at the mail in his hand. Oliver Bern's scrawl cursive covered both envelopes, and Alan eyed the places each was addressed to. They were both going back to England. One letter was headed for London, while another was for Swaythling, Hampshire.

Then he spotted a name he knew all too well: Sullivan.

The note going to Hampshire was addressed to a Karena Sullivan. If that wasn't a coincidence, Alan didn't know what was.

Was that a member of Lucy's family? Could he have been that lucky? Or was it merely a case of mistaken identity?

Well, what was he supposed to do with it, anyway? If he was a smart man, he would mail them both without a second thought, but the very idea that this could be connected to Lucy intrigued him. So much so, that he kept only half of his word to Maureen. He gave an officer from the Carpathia the letter to London, and stuffed the other into his pocket. Once he got home, he'd think of a course of action he could take. If he couldn't decide, he could always just place it into a postal box; the postage was already paid.

Alan remembered now, as he traveled down the sidewalks of Swaythling, that the situation hadn't worked out in his favor. He soon found himself stuck in New York after the Carpathia docked, when all he wanted to do was take the next ship out. Perhaps it sounded a little unbalanced for a man who survived Titanic to have any desire to get back out onto the sea, but he just wanted to go home.

More importantly, he needed to figure out what he was going to do with that letter.

The United State's Senate inquiry into the tragedy was another bump in his proposed plan. It kept him in America for much longer than he ever wanted to be. He was subpoenaed to testify, just hours after he had bought his ticket home, and was so annoyed, he thought about just leaving anyway. In the end, he decided against it, and instead stayed until his day of testifying came. By the next hour, he was back on another vessel, heading to England.

He stopped once more, and retrieved the folded-up letter, that was more traveled than he was. The address was memorized already, but it wasn't a map. It didn't help him whatsoever in finding the Sullivan home.

Why bother searching for the house, anyway? Why didn't he just open it and see for himself?

"Because," he mumbled to himself, "it's not for me."

"Hey, fella."

Alan turned and standing outside the door of what looked to be a pub, was an older man, decked out in a red bow tie and a checkered hat. He swept the sidewalk once more before placing a hand on his hip.

"You lost?"

"Uh…" Alan gripped the letter tighter, shoving both it and the watch into his pocket. "No, I don't think so—"

"I only ask because you've passed by my place twice already."

"I have?" he asked, surprised.

"Mm-hmm. Want to take a load of? I've got plenty to drink inside…"

"No, no, I'm uh, I'm actually looking for the Sullivans…?"

The pub owner smiled. "Nice family, the Sullivans," he observed, "but they're on the outskirts of here. They've got a little farmhouse set back a ways on the road."

"Do you know how to get there?"

"Just follow this road here—" He pointed down Main Street with the wave of his hand. "And take a right once you get past the center of town, and you should see the house relatively soon afterward."

"Thank you," Alan said, forcing a small grin. "Appreciate it."

Because apparently, the other directions I received were made up on the spot. The bottle in his hand should've been my first clue.

"But it's an awfully long way, want me to call a car for you?"

Alan shook his head immediately.

"No, no—"

"No trouble, really."

"Thank you, but…" He glanced up at the sky, and the sun didn't look as if it were going anywhere. "I think it's too nice of a day. I'd rather walk."

"Well, young man," the owner replied, "good luck!"

Time continued to tick by, but Alan had nowhere else to be. In fact, he was waiting for a subpoena to testify in the English inquiry. Even if he didn't want to relive it again, it wasn't like he had much of a choice should he be called.

The road turned to dirt soon, and narrowed to fit only one car. He followed the pub owner's instructions precisely and took a right as soon as the center of town dissolved. The noise of Main Street, although quiet compared to other places, including his own home in Southampton, mellowed as he walked.

Suddenly, he saw the house in the distance and his confidence seized up. Why had he been so determined to bring some letter to a complete stranger? If he wanted to leave this entire ordeal behind him, he knew he couldn't keep holding onto the past. But barely two weeks had passed since that night, and truthfully, he wasn't ready to let it go. Besides Maureen, he couldn't think of anyone who'd have the ability to.

Alan found himself in front of the Sullivan home, which was a grey stone cottage. Not that it mattered—he had no idea what he was going to do. The thought of turning around and going right back made a lot more sense than knocking on the front door. This probably wasn't the same person, anyway, so…

Then again, he could just slip the letter into the mailbox, and that would be it.

He was making excuses, and they weren't working.

But he'd never know if this was the same family he thought it was. If it wasn't, no big loss, and if it was…?

He glanced over at the mailbox at the base of the driveway and examined the numbers on it. It matched the address on the letter exactly.

"Now or never, Alan," he muttered.

As he cautiously made his way up the home's dirt driveway, he saw beds of bright flowers on either side of him. He went up the front walkway and climbed up the steps to the front door, where two flower pots stuffed with daffodils sat.

And he froze, hand in mid-air, about to knock.

"Alan, what the Hell are you doing?" he murmured.

His arm fell to his side.

He had hoped to think of some form of introduction, something intelligent to say without sounding like a complete fool, but that had never panned out. Instead, he was going to have to say whatever came to mind.

"Oh, God."

Without another hesitation, he knocked lightly on the door. Maybe no one was home? He was terribly nervous and even a bit jumpy, turning from the door to stop himself from shaking.

"May I help you?"

Alan whirled around and pulled off his hat. Standing before him was a blonde-haired woman, and he found himself smiling at her in an attempt to conceal his anxiety.

"Uh, umm, hello."

"Hello," she replied, a bit amused by his nervousness.

His breath caught, then. He had seen her somewhere before. Hadn't he? But where? He tilted his head slightly, searching his memory, before it came to him.

Standing in the doorway was the girl in the watch.

Doubt filled him an instant later. He couldn't be certain! What were the odds? All he knew was that he had studied the photograph ever since it came into his possession…but it hadn't gotten him anywhere. Most importantly, he knew it wasn't Lucy. And really, maybe it wasn't the woman standing at the door, either.

"Can I help you?" she asked, laughing.

And that sealed the deal. He still wasn't sure of the watch, that was still a mystery, but he recognized her giggle instantly—it was exactly like Lucy's. If he had any doubts of who this woman was, even the origins of her last name, he didn't any longer.

"Are you, uh—" He was tongue-tied. "Mrs. Sullivan?"

"Yes."

"Karena Sullivan?"

"Mm-hmm, that's me."

"Well…" He cleared his throat. "My name's Alan Mallard."

"Pleasure to know you, Mr. Mallard."

"Same to you, but Alan's just, just fine, thank you…"

His voice trailed off.

"What can I do for you?" she asked, puzzled.

"Oh, right. I have something for you, actually." He reached once more into his jacket pocket and retrieved the letter. He unfolded it and attempted in vain to straighten it out, before Karena laughed.

"That's fine," she giggled, "I can read it a little bent. Thanks so much. Have a nice day now."

Alan was dumbstruck. He didn't know just what to say, but didn't want to leave, either. And there Karena was, stepping back into her home without a second glance. He was losing his chance.

"Um, ma'am?"

He felt his throat begin to close as she looked up from the envelope.

"Yes?"

"May I ask you something?"

"Of course."

It's now or never, Alan. This could be your only chance.

"I know the name Sullivan," he began shakily, toying with his hat, "are you related to a Luce—I mean, Lucille Sullivan?"

The name echoed about them in silence, but Alan knew in a moment that he hadn't wasted his time. He had struck a nerve and could tell by the look on her face. Karena's flustered expression changed into one of pure surprise and she turned to him, eyebrow raised.

"Why, yes. Did you know her?"

He folded and unfolded his hat, unsure of what to say. He hadn't even expected to get to the front door!

"Yeah," he managed, "I did. I worked with her."

"Oh…" Her voice stumbled as she placed a hand to her heart. "You knew Lucy?" she asked, almost disbelieving.

"Yes, ma'am."

Karena's filled with tears before she gestured over her shoulder.

"Well, then, won't you please, come on in?" she asked, pulling out a handkerchief from her sleeve.

"No, I really couldn't, I—"

"I insist."

"I don't want to upset you any more than I already have…"

"Nonsense. Come on in." She took him by the arm and led him inside. "I just made lunch," she sniffled, "are you hungry?" Karena shut the door behind him.

"I'm fine, thanks."

"Please, forgive the mess," she apologized, wiping her eyes, "I've been so busy…"

Alan glanced around the small living room, and everything looked to be in its' proper place. The windows to his left were wide open, the air blowing in and ruffling the curtains. There was a small coffee table in the middle of the room, and on either side were two large chairs and a small sofa, all of it perfectly neat.

"That's not a problem," he assured.

"Uh…" She gestured to the living room, turning her attention on the envelope in her hand. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"No, I'm all set."

"Are you sure? I have some right in the kitchen."

"No thanks."

"Well…" She placed her hands on her hips. "Please, sit down. Don't stand on my account. Just excuse me for one second." She dabbed at her eyes once more and stuffed her handkerchief back into her sleeve. "I have to check on something."

"Take your time."

She rushed into the kitchen as Alan seated himself on the small sofa. He watched as she disappeared from sight, and he heard another door open.

"John," she called, "are you okay out here? How's the sun?"

"Wonderful!" he replied.

"If you need anything, just let me know."

Alan heard the door click shut and Karena appeared once more in the living room, a pitcher of ice-cold water in her grip, along with two cups.

"You just never know," she said, placing the items on the table separating them.

"Was that…your son out there?" he wondered.

"Yes, John."

"Jonathan?"

"Yes." She nodded as she sat down in one of the two chairs across from the steward. "Did Lucy speak of him?"

He nodded, his complete shock turning into bewilderment. He couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that he had actually found someone related to Lucy, let alone her mother. At least he had been right on one account, but now he didn't know what he should do.

Should've just placed the thing in the mailbox.

"How is he?" he asked.

"Today's better than yesterday. The doctor always says the sun will do him some good, and he begged and pleaded with me, so he's eating his lunch out there. Then again, with Lucy gone…I want him to be as happy as he can be."

With a sigh, she poured a glass of ice-cold water.

"Would you like some?" she offered.

"Sure."

Alan grew more antsy with each passing second as she poured the liquid into his glass. It sounded unhinged to be on pins and needles over water, but he inhaled sharply before his legs began to twitch underneath him. Suddenly, he stood.

"I shouldn't have come," he decided aloud. "I'm sorry that I even bothered you, I—"

"What?" She was genuinely confused. "You had a good enough reason."

"Yeah, but—"

"Besides," she interrupted, "no one's stopped by in a good week or so. And I'm getting awfully sick of that doctor of John's. He's our only visitor these days and he drives me absolutely batty." She rolled her eyes. "Sit back down, please. Unless." She smiled up at him. "You have some other place to be."

Sit back down! Before she kicks you out.

He did as he was told and placed himself back onto the sofa.

"So, you work for the White Star Line?" she assumed, resting her head in her hand.

"Yeah." He blushed. "Yes, ma'am. I'm a steward. Was. Am." He shrugged. "Not really sure what I'm doing these days," he said quietly.

"Are you planning to resign?"

"I don't know yet." He shrugged. "I don't plan to go on any trips for some time, that's for sure."

"I understand. I'm not sure I'd want to go on any ship, either."

"I am very sorry for what happened to Lucy," he said softly, "she didn't deserve this."

"No one does. It was such a loss to all the families, really." She paused, shaking her head. "I was probably wrong in letting her go," she admitted, running a hand through her hair. "Between the two of us, we were practically making ends meet, but I just…" She released another sigh. "She said she wanted to go, but I should have stood my ground. No girl belongs on a ship that large, especially one who couldn't swim."

Alan's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"What? You mean…Lucy couldn't swim?"

And there he was, back on the Titanic, dragging his friend towards the edge to help with the lifeboats, oblivious to it all. He wondered how insensitive he could have been, how did he miss that?

"Oh, no. The poor girl was just terrified of the water, but I never pushed the issue until she got assigned to the ship. It was always better to be safe than sorry, I said, but…then she drowns."

"She didn't."

"What?"

"Well, um…"

Alan began to fumble, and tugged on his shirt collar in vain. What was he to say now? That he found her and she was already gone? And Karena just sat there, leaning towards him, completely curious.

He exhaled and shook his head. Next time, he promised, he was going to drop off any suspicious-looking mail into the nearest postal box and keep on walking.

"I went looking for her," he admitted. "By the time I got to her, though, she was already gone. I am so sorry, I never should have said anything to begin with."

"May I ask you one thing, Alan?"

"Anything."

"Did she suffer?"

"I don't think so, no."

Karena heaved a breath of relief. "Oh, thank God. I was so worried that she had." And she began to cry once more. "I'm sorry," she apologized, grabbing her handkerchief, "I shouldn't be…Oh, I just, can't stop myself…"

"I cared for her, too," he admitted. Alan's next words came out in a rush, before he could even filter himself. "She was my best friend."

"Well," she murmured, wiping away more tears, "I'm sure she cared for you, too, Alan."

"I hope so."

"I'm sure she did."

The heaviness in the room slowly, but surely, began to lift when Karena began to speak once more.

"Now," she began, collecting herself, "I ought to open that letter you brought. Just where did I put it?" She glanced over her shoulder at the kitchen. "Just let me find it, I'm sure I left it in the kitchen— I'll be right back."

Alan wasn't even concerned about the letter. In fact, he had already forgotten about it. Whenever he was surrounded by silence, his thoughts always went back to Lucy. Today was no exception.

"Found it!" She plopped down into her chair before Alan had even noticed she had left. "Would you mind if I…" She tugged at the envelope before glancing up at him. "If I opened this?"

"By all means, go right ahead."

"It's awfully rude of me to read with you just sitting there…"

"Don't worry about it," he assured.

"I can't say I've gotten a letter for a long time now," she stammered, and ripped open the note and unfolded the sheets. She quickly began to read:

My dearest Karena,

You'd be surprised at who you may meet on a ship's voyage. And who could be more surprised than I when I found myself face-to-face with someone you know quite well.

Our daughter? Well, she is absolutely beautiful!

You have done a wonderful job in raising her, Karena. My only regret is that I never got to meet her until now.

In our time together, she told me of the reason for her employment with the White Star Line, and I feel as though its' my duty to help in any way that I can. Rest assured, I have written to my barrister in London, and please know that you will be provided for as long as you may need it. There's no reason to go without, especially over a silly thing like money.

My dearest darling, in her I see you, and it is as though you have come back to me, as I always prayed you would.

All my love, Oliver

"Oh, my," she exhaled. "Did you—" Her voice caught in her throat as she held up the papers. "Did you know Oliver?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am. Lucy and I met him a few days into the voyage."

"What was he like?"

"Very friendly," Alan replied, with a laugh.

"Did Lucy ever say anything to you about him?" Karena probed.

"Just that he was lonely." He shrugged. "She felt bad for him."

"I wonder if she knew…"

"Huh?"

"That Oliver was her father," she declared.

"What? You mean to say that—"Alan's mouth opened and practically hit the floor beneath him, flabbergasted. "You and Oliver…?"

"You didn't know, I assume."

"I had no idea!"

"Well, do you think Lucy had any sneaking suspicions?"

Alan grinned at her. All the pieces of the puzzle suddenly made sense.

"Somehow…" He pulled out the watch and popped open the back compartment. He held out the timepiece to Karena and pointed to the photograph. "I have a feeling she knew."

THE END.

Author's Note, February 19th, 2010:

I FINISHED THIS! I know, I know, I never thought it was going to end, I'm sure everyone else was thinking the same thing, but hey—its' done! Lucy's story is done! Do I get points for that? Yeah, yeah, I do. Haha! This was the most difficult story I've done so far, and I suppose that's what constituted the procrastination on my part. In one hand, I wanted to wrap it up, and on the other, I didn't want to let it go. But its' done anyway!

Really, I have to thank all the people who reviewed this story since I began it back in 2007 (WHAT!? 2007, really!?) and as of February 19th, 2010, they are: A. Becker, overactive imagination, Engage Fiction, shariena, singing the sailor song, doctor's gal 1792, madluv, Starlight63, will you wait for me, Megz2009, Pretty Lady Pansy, Lady Amelia08, Khushbu, ophelia-andrews, Lady alpha wolf, brianaheart1995, LightsLover12, iiceangel3.o, Bohemian Anne, Lazy Chestnut, Omnipotent Genghis Khan Sammid, mwmsangel, chinadollontour, hornblowerarchiekennedyfan, windofawhisper, 1fanofthemarauders, LifeLineGirl, Antalya1705——WOW. Oh my God, thank you so much reviewing, everyone who took the time to do so! I hope I didn't miss a single person. And to all of the people who thought the summary was interesting enough to take a peek at it (since I know the summary doesn't do much for the imagination), thank you so much and I really hope you enjoyed your trip. I can't believe how many people favorited this and/or put me or "Swallowed in the Sea" on their alert lists, thank you for sticking with me to the end. It means the world to me. Really and truly.

Sincerely, The Author (Antoinette Rose)