This is the first story I have ever posted here, I hope you like it :)

I have a cousin who writes in here as well, she's been persuading me to get an account for a while now (hint, she wrote "Sting")

Titanic-Chapter One

A young woman maneuvered through the long, chaotic crowds of people as she neared the large ship. She tugged her shawl closer around her shoulders and gazed up brightly. Fingering the slight material of her shawl, she put her head down and looked over the dark blue ocean, stretching miles to miles.

She wasn't rich; money was an issue in her family. Ever since her mother had died when she was twelve, she had taken over her day-to-day duties. Her father was no help to her or her three smaller brothers. He drank large quantities each day and took every small ounce of anger he had on her. Once on her brother, Adam, he nearly died because of that.

Squeals of joy erupted from the crowd and the young woman whipped around, hair brushing across her cheeks softly, delicately as she saw a young redheaded girl be lifted onto her father's shoulders. They appeared to be a small family, just as poor as her family, maybe a tiny bit wealthier. They only had one pass to get onto the ship of dreams; obviously they were not going to give it to their father. This was their one chance of happiness and staring over. She and her brothers had drawn sticks to determine who would leave. Originally she was not to participate, but they made her, telling her four sticks was more even than three.

A loud sound erupted overhead as the birds swarmed around the air. She would be leaving Southampton, England soon and heading to America to begin a new life. She would continue sending money back for her brothers, she had promised them she would at any cost.

A uniformed man appeared, blowing a whistle and shouting. He was too far away for her to hear, she instead continued to make her way through the crowd, being pushed and occasionally stepped on as she herself did the same to them.

It wasn't until she felt herself fully collide with a much larger man. She moved backwards and almost failed to regain her equilibrium. Shaking her head slightly, she placed her hand on the side of her hand.

"My apologies," she said quickly, flashing her bright green eyes up at her sudden reason for stopping.

Instead a burly man with dark hair and a long brown coat gave her a sneer and muttered something she could not quite place, she knew it was disrespectful. Suddenly a bottle of fine whiskey slipped out of the pocket, he slowly tried to reach for it before it shattered to the ground, but he was too late. His eyes flared and he looked back up at the young woman.

He raised his hand, ready to strike her; she brought her hands up and closed her eyes instinctively to block him. She was used to this sort of treatment, she hated to admit it, but it was a known fact.

She was surprised no hit came to her.

Opening her eyes she saw the same man struggling with another man…soon a different man came from the crowd and helped her 'saviour'. One of the men, almost equally as strong and burly as the drunk, took a hard swing at the drunk, crushing his nose with a defining crack. She cringed knowing very well how bones sound when they break.

"Get out!" the man who hit the other yelled, "Off you go!" he hollered as the man weaved through the crowd, holding onto his now bleeding, broken nose.

The other man who saved her turned to her. She noticed one think first; he was Asian, his face filled with no emotion…except for the sincere appearance in his dark eyes.

"Are you all right, ma'am?" he placed his hands on his hips.

She nodded, "Yes, I am fine," she straightened her shawl and pushed her hair out of her face, "Thank you for your help."

"Are you alone?" he asked her. She wished she wasn't alone.

"Yes," she admitted quickly, lowering her head slightly and grasping the sack-bag she had in her hand.

"My name's Kimball Cho, over there," he motioned towards the other burly man, "is Wayne Rigsby," Rigsby turned towards her at the sound of his name, nodding at her and smiling slightly, "What's your name?"

"Teresa," she paused, contemplating what would happen if she told him her surname. Would he recognize it? That was what she feared the most that her personal demons would come to America with her.

"Lisbon," she resigned, sighing slightly putting her hand out towards his.

Cho reached out and shook her hand firmly, it showed how she felt as if she could trust him. The sudden possibility of being able to trust someone made her feel…happy and full of mirth. She was tired of being on her guard and not being able to trust people. Maybe this was a decent way to gain trust.

Wayne Rigsby and Kimball Cho turned and started towards the ship. She waited and looked around her, people still bumping into her, eager to either return home or start over. She sighed and began moving after them.

"Cho! Where's Jane?" Lisbon stopped; they had a woman with them?

Cho shrugged his shoulders and turned to look over the crowd. He shook his head, not seeing anyone apparently and moved back to his original position, "He'll find us."

Lisbon raised an eyebrow, this…Jane they were speaking of was a man, she hadn't quite heard that one. For a woman, yes, a man, no.

"If he doesn't come around he'll miss it," Rigsby groaned slightly.

Teresa Lisbon already knew this 'Jane' was trouble.

__

Patrick Jane stretched and yawned as he sat up from his makeshift, temporary bed. He looked around in the kind of amazement a small child would have. Smiling to himself he pulled himself up to a standing position, straightened his vest and made his way towards the ship before him. His shoes hitting the ground in a sort of rhythm that made his whole body want to rejoice.

There were some important reasons to why he needed to get out of England.

One: He 'accidentally' conned a very wealthy man.

Two: He was bored.

Three: The wealthy man he 'accidentally' conned no longer had the ticket to get onto the ship.

He reached up and readjusted his hat and whistled slightly as he expertly maneuvered through the crowds, careful not allow himself to be hit nor hit someone else. He occasionally flashed a few smiles to a pretty woman here and there and maybe a small child. He straightened his suit jacket, popped his knuckles, rolled his neck and found himself closer and closer to the boat.

As soon as he was on that boat, only a certain amount of days before they were to be in New York.