I was inspired by the Titanic miniseries by Julian Fellowes, which somehow made me more emotional than the movie with Leonardo Dicaprio…So, this is obviously AU. I don't own the Gallagher Girls, or the Titanic, since it's currently at the bottom of the ocean… I wrote this in two days, so I'm pretty proud of myself.

"The first thing we must do when we get back to New York is head straight for Newport to open the house. You know the Vanderbilts have probably just opened theirs, and you can not afford to be behind with all the social gatherings." Patricia Cameron announced in a hurry, her husband and younger daughter trying to keep up with her amongst the bustling crowds of Southampton. Her husband, Steven Cameron, just nodded in agreement.

"But isn't April a little early to be opening up the house in Newport?" Abigail Cameron asked her mother, who sighed in aggravation, almost full on stopping in the middle of the busy shipyard.

"Nonsense. It's never too early to have tea by the ocean." Her mother smiled thinly, before bustling towards the first class entry ramp.

"You know she'll be sending telegrams from the ship." Abigail huffed, and her father grinned.

"Why she can't have a rest for a few days beats me." Her father said, before looking up at the massive ship that towered over them, blocking out the sun. "Isn't it beautiful?" Abigail held a hand up to her eyes to take in the view of the RMS Titanic.

"It's just a boat." She shrugged. Her father took her arm.

"Just wait until you see the inside." And indeed, the interior was grand, filled with a sweeping staircase, and wonderful restaurants, lounges, and a long promenade overlooking the ocean. Abigail watched out the tiny window in her room as Southampton disappeared into the distance, the crowds waving and cheering.

There was a knock on the door.

"Miss Cameron," Her maid, Catherine, a tall red-headed girl whose mother had been her mother's maid before she died, stepped into the room. "Your mother wanted me to inform you that dinner is being served at eight, and you should be dressed to your best." Abigail smiled slightly.

"Thank you, Catherine." The girl curtsied quickly, and left to go to her much smaller second class accommodations, but only after leaving a slip of paper on the elegant on the beautiful mahogany desk. Abigail crossed her sitting room, which was adjacent to the bedroom, and slid into the green cushioned chair, and scribbled a message to give the telegraph officer to her sister.

Two years ago, her sister and best friend, Rachel, married Matthew Morgan, an heir to a massive shipping fortune, and was currently living with him in Boston, with their daughter, Cammie. It was a most advantageous marriage, since the Cameron family was one of the wealthiest in the country. They had made their family name known in Wales before the family immigrated to America, making even more money in the oil industry.

Now, however, Abigail, twenty-three years old, was stuck with her elitist mother and her father, who was usually uninterested with anything other than business, until she married, which wasn't going to be anytime soon, since she'd turned down every suitor she had ever had, much to her mother's chagrin.

Abigail began her letter.

Rachel,

We just left Southampton, and plan to stop in Cherbourg before crossing the Atlantic. We are heading up to Newport right away to open up the house for the season, and I plan on coming up to see you in Boston as soon as possibly. Our trip to Europe was extremely exciting – and by exciting, I mean Mother was shoving me in the faces of every member of aristocracy she could get her hands on, which I imagine she plans to do tonight as well.

Give Matthew and Cammie my love,

Abigail.

"Where on earth is that girl?" Mrs. Cameron fumed, but her husband just adjusted his black dinner coat nervously.

"I'm right here." Abigail sighed, emerging from her room, which was right next to her parents'. "Now can we just go?"

"Let me have a look at you." Her mother ordered, folding her black gloved clad hands, examining her daughter. Abigail tugged at her corset, which Catherine had tied much too tightly; she could hardly breathe, and her chest was practically spilling out of her burgundy dress. She tapped her fingers at her side, the black dinner gloves heating her hands. "You look well enough."

"Thank you," She murmured, stalking off down the hallway towards the first class lounge, her parents walking leisurely after her. She came to the first class grand staircase, with its beautiful wooden clock in the middle, the marble steps, and the safe for jewelry at the bottom. She paused at the top, looking out over the crowds of fellow first class passengers expanding before her, like a well dressed rainbow.

"Come on," Her mother said as she walked passed her, "we have people to meet."

"And this is Sir Duff Gordon, and his wife, Lady Duff Gordon." Steven Cameron introduced a stiff looking older couple, and apparently his new found friends. Her mother grinned brightly at the chance to become acquaintances with British aristocracy. Abigail just nodded, bored, and took a sip of her champagne before veering off to the right, no doubt angering her mother, only to see someone she knew.

"Madame Aubart!" When the golden haired woman didn't turn, she called again. "Léontine!" The woman turned in surprise, and grinned when she saw her friend, who she greeted with a kiss on the cheek.

"Abigail! I thought you had already made your crossing." The two had met when the Camerons were in Paris, and Abigail had befriended the young singer.

"No, we were spending more time in London." She said, as the dinner bell rung, and the masses in the first class lounge began moving to the dining room. "Are you travelling by yourself, or…?"

"No." She flashed a sly smile. "I'm here with Monsieur Guggenheim."

"The married millionaire?" Abigail raised an eyebrow.

"Ah, oui. The married part is a technicality." Her friend laughed, but soon Léontine went to sit with Benjamin Guggenheim, who was placed at a different table. Abigail soon found her place near her parents at an elongated table, with waiters dressed in their best dress whites swirling around with trays of food. The only people she recognized were the Duff-Gordons, who she didn't care for, her parents, and J.J and Madeliene Astor, but they were on the opposite end of the table, so she couldn't speak with them. She also recognized Mrs. Brown from Denver, who was rather loud and who her parents tried to avoid, but Abigail found her rather hilarious, and was upset to see her at the other end of the table, as well.

"Let's find our seats, Edward." Lady Eastham said to her son, who silently followed her and his father, Lord Eastham, to their table. Three seats were open, two together and one in the middle.

"Well, it'll be a good chance to make new friends." His father clapped his hand on his son's back, before pulling out the chair for his wife, leaving Edward to occupy the only empty seat.

"Good evening," Edward addressed the woman across from him as he sat down. Her eyes snapped up to acknowledge him, and he couldn't help but stare a little. She was young, with long, thick shiny chocolate hair that was tied up in an intricate knot, bright emerald eyes, long lashes, a flawless porcelain face, and pale pink lips.

"Good evening," She replied, eyeing him slowly, taking in his nicely tailored dress clothes, his fit form, his wavy black hair and a pair of electric blue eyes.

"I'm Edward. Edward Townsend. My father in the Earl of Eastham." He introduced himself as he sat down, and the waiters began bringing out food.

"And you're to inherit his title, no doubt?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact."

"You better keep away from my mother then." The young woman smirked. "She keeps trying to set me up with various members of the British royal family."

"Well, how am I supposed to know who she is if I don't know who you are?" He asked, and she raised an eyebrow.

"Abigail Cameron." She said slowly, and he recognized the name. The Camerons were well known, and now were among the richest families in the world.

"Heading back home, then?" He suggested, and she nodded.

"And you? Just visiting?"

"We're going to be spending the season in New York. My parents are trying to find me a wife."

"No one in England good enough for you, then?"

"Yes, since most of the woman their lack half a brain." Abigail hid a smile behind her glass.

"Precisely the reason my parents brought me to England. I was a bit too picky with American boys." She said, watching him closely as he grinned slyly.

"It seems like you would be." He said, and she said nothing. He watched her silently as she ate; tiny little bites, perfectly manicured by a nanny or someone of that sort. "Must you eat like that?"

"Like what?" She said, making sure to swallow before she spoke.

"Like you're already full, and just trying to be polite."

"If you must know," She began. "My mother is watching us like a hawk, and she probably is going to force me to marry you."

"Would that be such a bad thing?" He suggested, leaning closer to her.

"Yes." She said, taking another bite before looking up at him. "It would be."

"Looks like they're getting along." Edward nodded towards their parents, who were standing with drinks in the corner, speaking.

"They won't be soon. My parents are much too obnoxious for anyone to like. Except if they're just as obnoxious as them, which are most American families." Abigail drawled. "Why are you still here, anyway?"

"You're interesting." He answered easily, and the orchestra began to play "Autumn Dream" by Archibald Joyce. "Would you like to dance?"

"With you?" She looked at him.

"I'm taking that as a yes." He smirked, pulling her into his arms anyway. They danced easily, naturally, gracefully, like they have been partners all their lives. "So, what do you like to do in your spare time?"

"What do I like to do, or what do I end up doing?" She inquired.

"What do you like to do."

"Read." She answered. "Play the piano. Go to the opera. Keep up with current issues."

"Not make calls and host parties?"

"That's more my mother's sort of thing." She replied as they swirled around elegantly. He said nothing. "Am I different than those English girls?"

"Certainly." He answered as the music stopped.

"Abigail, we're heading to bed!" Her mother called.

"And that means I must join you?" She inquired, and her mother short her a dirty look.

"Then you're enjoying my company?" Edward lowered his voice.

"You're interesting." She reiterated his previous statement, and he smirked.

"Edward, darling, you must get some rest." His father had come over with her parents, his mother bringing up the rear.

"It was lovely to meet you," She curtsied swiftly, her eyes challenging him to join in on the perfect charade they were creating for their parents.

"The pleasure is all mine, Miss Cameron." He murmured, taking her hand in his, and brushing his lips against in softly. She made no reaction, but as her family departed, his could see the slightest blush crawl over her pale cheeks.

"How was your breakfast, Miss Cameron?" She paused, waiting for the voice behind her to catch up with her before she continued walking leisurely along the first class promenade.

"Delightful. I didn't see you there." She replied to Edward Townsend, who was looking rather dashing in a dark grey suit.

"I ate very early." He said, glancing at her. She looked so different out of her evening dress, but she was still a sight for sore eyes, with the tight fitting light green dress, and big white hat. "Then I went to the gym."

"So all of this isn't natural?" She joked, eyeing his good form.

"Actually, it is. I just make sure it doesn't fade." He joked right back, and she stopped at the railing, looking at the shiny blue vast ocean spread out before them.

"It all seems so surreal." She whispered. "We're crossing an ocean in less than a week that a few hundred years ago, took months to cross."

"It's just as breathtaking as it was back then, though." He replied.

"I can imagine." She said. "Our house in Newport is right on the ocean, but it's…different. I look at the ocean there and it doesn't seem limitless, like it does here."

"I would like to see it." He said back, and she looked up at him. "My parents and yours seem to be concocting some kind of plan for us to come visit you."

"Fast friends." Abigail commented under her breath, and turned away from the ocean to look at the wide variety of the wealthy that was strolling along the promenade.

"Care to keep walking?" He suggested, holding out his arm, which she took slowly, hesitantly. It fit nicely in his. They headed towards the bow of the boat leisurely, the soft sun illuminating the wood of the promenade brightly. "So, what do you like to read?"

"Pardon?"

"Last night, you said you liked to read in your spare time. What do you read?"

"Oh," She was taken aback by the question. "Keats, Byron, some Blake."

"You're a fan of Romanticism, then?" He inquired.

"It's much better than the boring stuff they release today." She sniffed. "All books about injustice and such. I'd much rather have a story; romantic, fantastic characters; a majestic setting."

They had reached the end of the promenade, and started up the steps towards the very front of the ship.

"So I take it you didn't enjoy The Jungle?" He laughed, and she shook her head with a small smile.

"It was the dullest book I've ever read." The came to a halt, since they could go no further; they were at the very tip of the boat, with all of the Atlantic spread out before them.

"They say it's unsinkable." Edward commented quietly, and she ruefully shook her head.

"Everything's unsinkable until it sinks." She murmured. "They also say it's the ship of dreams." He glanced over at her.

"That, I can agree with."

"I didn't catch you at dinner yesterday." Abigail said before Edward Townsend even came into view.

"My family was dining in the Italian restaurant." He commented, standing next to her in the thin row between the bookshelves of the first class library, the warm afternoon light streaking through the windows.

"A shame." She replied, turning a book over in her hands. "The Duff-Gordons are hardly the…stimulating company you are." He grinned.

"So my company is not just tolerable, like it used to be?"

"You've graduated from tolerable, but not by much." She replied, quirking an eyebrow. He looked at the book in her hands.

"Bleak House. Now, I never though you would like Dickens, Miss Cameron."

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me." She said. "And please, don't call me Miss Cameron. It's dreadful."

"Then I should call you Abigail?"

"No, not that, either. My friends call me Abby."

"So I'm your friend now?"

"The closest thing I have to one on this ship." She said.

"But what about Madame Aubart? You two are close, are you not?"
"Close enough, but she spends most of her time in bed with Mr. Guggenheim." Edward smiled slightly.

"Then I insist you call me Edward."

"Well, if you insist, Edward." She mocked him slightly, and his heart thudded strangely in his chest when she said his name – the hard Ed and the second part, 'ward', almost whispered like wurd.

"I was supposed to meet my father in the smoking room, so I should get going." He said, the small aisle they were standing in seeming too small.

"You always do what your father says, don't you?" She said, and he noted her manner of speaking was quite peculiar; like every word was said through the corner of her mouth, and her tone changed faster than the ocean in a storm. It was quite intoxicating.

"No, actually." He replied. "But he says it concerns my future, which means that it has to do with my impending marriage to someone I will not be able to stand."

"How unfortunate." She sighed, putting back her book. "Just when the conversation was getting attractive."

"Isn't it always?" She smiled slightly at the bookshelf, then turned around to face him. "I'll see you at dinner, then?"

"No, my family is dining in the French restaurant."

"You always do what your family says, don't you?" He mocked her back, and she smirked.

"Goodbye, Edward." She said as she walked down the aisle, away.

"Goodbye, Abby."

"The prodigal son returns." Edward flashed a grin at Abby, who was smirking in her seat in the first class dining room across from him. "Now, what have I done to deserve you presence this fine evening?"

"My family has run out of restaurants to dine in." He said, sitting down. "I looked for you in the library today."

"So you've been looking for me, have you?" She replied. "Well, I was having tea with Molly Brown today."

"I thought tea was your mother's thing."

"It is. She made me go with her."

"And how was it? Entertaining, I hope."

"Entertaining, indeed." She said. "Let's just say my mother and Mrs. Brown do not see eye to eye on most matters."

"I would imagine not." He replied as their dinner came. They ate mostly in silence, until she asked,

"Well, what do you like to do? We always talk about what I like, and never about what you like."

"I like to read, too." He said back. "Take walks. Go to the races. Play polo. Hunt."

"I suspect you host those massive hunting parties, with all the women dressed up in top hats and cravats, and the men shooting at birds while dogs roam about looking for foxes?"

"Have you been to one of our hunting parties before, Abby?" He joked, and she smiled.

"Unfortunately not, but I know the type." She responded. "The Rockefellers host many at their home on the Hudson, but they are dreadful, with Norman honking away while Bitsy clangs on the piano."

"If my family is ever invited, remind me not to attend." He said, as dinner ended.

"I would much rather enjoy the fresh air than go to the lounge, wouldn't you?" She suggested, getting up from her seat.

"I couldn't agree more." He agreed, taking her arm as they slipped out of the dining room and onto the promenade. It was different at night; barely any light, but the moon illuminating the dark ocean and the deck easily. A cool wind picked up as they headed towards the wide stern, away from their families. "It's a beautiful night."

"Yes, it is." As they walked, she was pulling the pins out of her hair, letting her smooth chocolate hair spill down, over her shoulders. She shook her hair out playfully, and as they reached the stern, the wind picked up, sending it twirling around her face. "Having one's hair up is a hassle." He watched her run a hand through her hair, pushing it out of her face.

It was chilly, out in the open, and she rubbed her bare arms up and down.

"Here." He took off his jacket, handing it to her, and she slipped it on gratefully, nodding a thanks. She looked so small and tiny in the jacket, whose sleeves hung over her hands. Before he even could think about what he was doing, he took her face in his hands and pressed his lips softly against hers.

It was long, and perfect, and overwhelming and he let his eyes close, let himself get lost in her soft lips. Her hands rested on his chest, and after a few long seconds, pushed him away gently.

"I should go." She whispered, her breath washing over his face. She stepped away from him, looking dazed.

"Wait-"He called to her, but she was already running down the promenade, away from the stern, and away from him.

"A telegram from your sister, miss." Catherine said, slipping Abigail a piece of paper.

"Thank you." Abigail replied without any emotion as Catherine left the room. Slowly, she opened the telegram.

Abby,

Matthew and Cammie send you their love, as well! We would love for you to come visit. Boston is especially pleasant this time of year. But tell me, how is the great RMS Titanic? Is it truly as magnificent as they say?

Yours,

Rachel

Abigail twirled the pen in her fingers thoughtfully, thinking about the events of the past night, and began to write.

Rachel,

As I write this, it is April 14th – just a few days until we reach New York. The ship is truly magnificent, at least the part I have experienced. The Astors are aboard, as is Madame Aubart, who I've mentioned before.

Against her better judgment, she wrote on.

I've also had the pleasure of meeting the Earl and Countess of Eastham, and their son, Lord Edward, who has proved to be exciting company. I think Mother and Father have invited them to visit us in Newport, so maybe if you come down during the summer, you will get to meet them as well.

Abby

Night fell quickly, yet again cold and windy, and Edward walked slowly down the first class promenade, along the starboard side after dinner. Finally, he came upon the person he was looking for.

"You weren't at dinner." He whispered, and Abigail Cameron turned away from the railing to face him.

"Madame Aubart invited me to dine with her and Mr. Guggenheim at the French restaurant." She said softly, the moonlight pooling across her face. His eyes raked her figure, taking in the long hair, which was down, and the deep purple dress, which mimicked the one he saw on her the night he met her; it flowed at the bottom, but it was tight through the waist; her corset was once again much too tight for her liking, crushing her waist and making her bust pool out of her dress.

"Did you have a nice time?" He asked.

"I suppose." She replied, shrugging gently.

"It's late. I didn't think you'd be out..."

"It's not too late. My parents are in bed, besides." Abigail responded. There was a long silence.

"Why'd you run last night?" There it finally was; out in the open.

"I was scared," She replied honestly, eyes shining, and her gaze never left his. "of what I felt for you. Because I've never felt this way about anyone in my whole life." Deafening silence, both of them frozen in place until, like they were synchronized, they both moved towards each other, lips meeting in a hot kiss.

Her mouth cracked open under his, and she tasted like fine wine and cherries. He pulled her closer to him, a hand snaking into her smooth hair, another on her waist. He could feel the strings of her corset under the soft fabric of her dress. Her hands grasped at his shoulders, feeling the muscles beneath.

"I love you." He said against her lips. "I've loved you from the moment I first saw you."

"When we arrive in America," She began breathlessly, her forehead resting against his. "Come with me to Newport. I don't care if your parents come or not. I want to be with you."

"I hardly think your parents will find that acceptable." She laughed.

"I'm sure they'd be thrilled, and if not; I don't always do as they say, anyway." He grinned before her lips pressed against his again, the fire in their hearts burning brighter, and more intense. It was like a vein deep inside her had been split open, spilling forth heat and lust and love.

"Miss Cameron, Lord Edward." They broke apart to see one of the captains standing nervously before them. Abigail stepped slowly away from Edward, untangling herself from him.

"Yes?" Edward coughed.

"It seems we have hit an iceberg, sir."

"What?" Abigail gasped.

"It doesn't seem major." The captain said slowly. "But everyone is wanted on deck, in their life jackets, to be put on lifeboats immediately." He departed, leaving the couple to stare at each other in disbelief.

"Oh my god." She was the first to speak. "The boat's going to sink."

"Don't think like that." He shook his head. "Now, go find your parents, and make sure they're on deck, alright?"

"I won't leave you."

"I'll find you as soon as my parents are safe, okay?" He said, kissing her one last time on the lips. "Now go!"

The only word that could accurately describe the scene was chaos. Abigail fought her way through the crowd at the main staircase, struggling to tie on her life vest over her evening wear, looking for her parents. Dozens of people were crowded around the safe, trying to retrieve their jewels, and that's where Abigail found her parents.

"Mother, Father! What on earth are you doing?" She cried.

"Abigail!" Her mother cried. Both her and her husband looked positively ridiculous in their clothes, which they must have thrown on after getting out of bed, and their lifejackets.

"We have to get on a lifeboat!" She said, tugging them out of the crowd.

"But the jewels-" Her father protested.

"Who cares about the jewels?" Abigail snapped. "If we're dead than there will be no need for them." Her parents turned shockingly quiet.

"So it's really going down?" Her mother said.

"It might, and I don't plan on being on it when it does." Her daughter said. "No let's go!"

"Miss Cameron!" A voice cried from behind them. Catherine, dressed in her usual maid's uniform, just with a flotation device over it, rushed up to them.

"Catherine, thank god." Abigail sighed. "Now let's go!" The pushed through the shouting crowd and out onto the stern, where first class passengers were crowding lifeboats.

"They were talking about letting one off over there." Catherine said, pointing towards the promenade. Without another words, the family rushed over to the side, where a lifeboat was about to depart.

"Wait!" Mrs. Cameron cried.

"Women and children." The crew member said sternly. Mrs. Cameron kissed her husband quickly, who said,

"I'll be fine. Just go!" Mrs. Cameron stepped into the boat, Catherine stepping in after her. Abigail hugged her father tightly.

"I love you, darling." He whispered.

"Don't say that!"

"Why not?"

"You make it sound like I'll never see you again." She said, tears welling in her eyes. His eyes were sad, but hopeful.

"I will. Now get in the lifeboat!" She looked around quickly, trying to find Edward, but she could not. She stepped into the boat, and as the man started to lower it into the inky depths, she glanced around.

"STOP!" The boat jerked.

"What are you doing?" Abigail looked around to see Lady Duff-Gordon staring at her.

"The boat's only half full!" She cried.

"So?"

"There must be more women and children."

"Not in this class – now let's go!" There was a low rumble, and the boat lurched.

"So you're going to let all those women and children die because they are in a lower class?" Abigail said incredulously.

"The water's freezing." Lady Duff-Gordon huffed. "At least it will be quick."

"The boat is only half full."

"We are going, whether you like it or not!" The other woman cried.

"Fine." Abigail said, leaping out of the boat.

"Abigail!" Her mother cried. Catherine was staring up at her in shock.

"I'll find another boat that isn't full of cowards." She snapped, moving next to her father.

"You're being reckless. Now get back in that boat!" Her father demanded.

"I refuse." She stood her ground. "Go on without me. I don't want to survive only to be a craven." The boat started lowering, less than half full, her mother and maid in a horrified shock, and Lady Duff-Gordon looking pleased.

"Dear god, Abigail." Her father sighed.

"I'll get on another."

"There's only sixteen – half of what they could have. You better be quick." He gave her a kiss on the head, and started walking away.

"Where are you going?" She cried, her eyes finally releasing her tears.

"To have a scotch with Mr. Guggenheim."

"What?"

"This boat is going down, Abigail. And when I go, I'm going down like a gentlemen." He announced. "Now just get on a lifeboat." He turned, and headed for the grand staircase, leaving his daughter in disbelief. She finally turned, only one thought on her mind; I must find Edward.

She finally found him back at the stern, amongst dozens of men; most of the women and children from first class had already been lowered on lifeboats.

"Edward!" She screamed his name, and he turned around in shock. She ran straight into his arms, sobbing.

"Abby…" He closed his eyes, wrapping her arms around her, despite the overall disorder. "What are you doing here?"

"You said you would come find me." She whispered.

"Yes, and when I didn't find you I was relieved, because I thought you had been saved." He said, holding her face in his hands.

"Are your parents…?"

"My mother is on a boat, and my father is going to have a scotch with a Mr. Guggenheim…"

"Same here." She took a deep breath. "We have to get off this boat!"

"There are only a few boats left. I think one's boarding on the starboard promenade, but you must hurry."

"Me? What about you?" She demanded as he started dragging her through the crowd towards the promenade.

"There are still a lot of women and children from the lower classes." He sighed. "As long as I know you're safe, I'll be fine." She planted her feet into the ground. "What are you doing?"

"I won't leave without you." She said, staring into his eyes. He rolled his eyes at her stubbornness, before pulling her hard along when she made it clear she was not moving anywhere.

"Yes, you are. If there's one last thing you can do for me, then it's stay alive." He said, and just as he did, there was a sickening crack, and water started pooling beneath their feet. Her eyes locked with his and horror, and finally, she started to move, sprinted towards the boat, which was crowded by many. He went in front of her, pushing a path through the crowd, until they reached the boat. He practically shoved her on, into a small space, since the boat was filling up quickly.

"What about you?" She cried, tears smudging her makeup and running down her face. She had made her way to the end of the suspended boat so she could talk to him. Not far away, the quartet began to play, 'Nearer My God to Thee'.

"This is most likely that last boat that will be released." He whispered, his hands cupping her face, trying to wipe away her tears.

"No!" She was practically screaming in hysteria.

"I love you." He said softly. "And we will see each other again, soon." He kissed her softly on the lips, before letting her go, stepping backwards. She was screaming as the boat lowered, trying to reach him, but he walked away solemnly, not glancing back.

The boat glided along the black water towards the others, as far away from the Titanic as it could. She didn't look back until she heard a sickening crack, and she, along with the other passengers, watched the Titanic's lights flicker out, watched the boat split, and the bow dive straight into the ocean. She closed her eyes, trying to get the piercing screams out of her mind. When she opened them again, she watched in awed silence, along with the rest of the boats, as the stern tipped back over front, and slid into the ocean without another sound.

"We only found three." The lifeboats had converged together, and after a great deal of people shuffling around, some boats when to go look out for survivors. They had just returned. Next to Abigail, who couldn't move in her frozen silence, sat her mother, and Catherine. Farther away she could see Mrs. Brown, Lady Duff-Gordon, and Edward's mother. "One of them is already dead, and one of them might die soon." It seemed like hours went by before she finally turned around to see who was in the boat in front of her.

And there, against all odds, lay Edward.

She jumped up quickly, rocking the boat dangerously, and leaped into the boat across from her, the one that had just came back. Her mother and Catherine were calling after her, but she didn't hear them. She was crouched over him, and she found it a tad bit ridiculous since she had only known him about four days. She grasped his hand, and it was like ice. She wished with all of her heart for him to open his eyes.

Her hand covered her mouth to muffle her screams of terror when she realized he was dead.

Her heart had stopped beating in her chest momentarily, but now it was thudding at a ridiculous rate, and she could hear it in her ears as she let her hand leave his, and trace his lips, still soft and pink. She brushed back in hair gently, even though it was wet and freezing. She was so horrified that her tears did not come. Even though he basically told her he was going to die, she always thought he would beat the odds somehow, someway.

The boats had turned eerily silent behind her, and there was a tap on her shoulder.

"Abigail," She recognized the voice. Madame Aubart. She looked up to see the blonde staring down at her, her nose turning a bright shade of pink in the cold. "Regardez." Abigail looked up to where the rest of the boats were focused; bright sparks flying around in the sky.

The Carpathian.

They were going to be rescued, but she was not as joyous as she should be.

The Titanic had sunk to the depths of the sea, and her heart along with it.