A/N: Thank you, LaueeeCarter, for your kind review. I'm glad you like the description of the characters. I really try to keep them realistic and interesting. And thanks to angelic13demon for the follow!

This chapter focuses a little more on the "minor characters" I created, Mr. Herald and Rosie, but since both of them will be important to Will and Alice, I did not want to neglect them.

Chapter 7: Hearing

"We're all put to the test... but it never comes in the form or at the point we would prefer, does it?"
(David Mamet)

Murdoch had never thought that lawyers actually worked on Saturdays. But as he entered the office the next morning, he found it just as busy as yesterday. For a second, his eyes fell on the woman, who was talking with the redhead, but as she raised her eyes to his, he immediately lowered his gaze and headed forward.

He still felt confused about their conversation yesterday, unable to decide whether it had been awkward, or stupid, or plain senseless. There had been a time on the Titanic when he had questioned this as well, but for a very different reason. Now, it felt like he was walking on burning ground.

He opened the door to Mr. Herald's office. The man appeared just as dignified as yesterday, not as caddish and ruthless as he had pictured a lawyer to be.

"Mr. Murdoch. Please, sit down," he said.

Will wondered slightly if the man had been to military training, for his whole attitude tolerated no dissent.

"Have you visited Miss Khairay?" Herald asked as he sat down.

"Yes, sir," he replied. Of course he had. He was good at following orders. Or had been.

"The affair is settled then, I assume?"

"It is."

Herald nodded his head, seeming pleased. "Just as I expected. I told you she'd be reasonable."

"Yes sir, she was."

"I have received a message from the court, yesterday evening. The trial is to begin on Monday."

He stared at him, stunned. "So early, sir?"

"The matter bears no delay, Mr. Murdoch. The people want to know what happened. Anyway, there is no reason to be upset. It will begin with a formal hearing, in which the prosecution will read the charges and we will plead not guilty. The real battle starts afterwards." The man looked at him. "I have also received your file from White Star Line. The good thing is that there are really no accidents recorded."

Will raised an eyebrow. "It sounds like you expected me to lie."

"Of course I did. Everyone in your situation would want to save himself, first. And people tend to lie when they are threatened. It is a natural behavior." He paused. "However, your file is not as polished as you may think it is."

"Sir?" he asked.

"In 1903, you served on board of the Arabic. There was an incident when the liner almost collided with another ship. Maybe you could enlighten me on that. I fear the exact process is not very detailed."

Murdoch looked at him, wondering what the man was about. But Herald's expression was blank, solid as stone.

"A ship was spotted bearing down on the Arabic out of the darkness. I held the ship on course to avoid a collision," he replied.

"But that hadn't been the initial command of Mr. Fox, had it?" Herald asked calmly.

"No, it hadn't."

"Tell me, Mr. Murdoch, what had been the initial command?"

"To steer the ship hard-port."

"But you discussed this with Mr. Fox and you both agreed on holding course instead?"

"There wasn't any time for that."

"Well, what did you do, then?" Herald asked calmly.

"I rushed into the wheelhouse and held the ship on course."

"You rushed into the wheelhouse… Where was the quartermaster? Wasn't he supposed to steer the ship?"

"I brushed him aside."

"You brushed him aside," Mr. Herald said and rose. "Is it safe to say, Mr. Murdoch, that you did not only override a command by a higher ranked officer, but also had the impertinence to brush the quartermaster aside, a man much more experienced than you?"

Murdoch stared at him. "If we had altered the course, the ships would have collided!"

"That was not my question."

"What's this got to do with the Titanic?" he asked irritated.

"Everything, Mr. Murdoch. You think this is going to be a trial about what you did as the Titanic hit the iceberg and sank? It is not. It is never. This is a trial about what kind of person you are and whether the jury believes you are capable of making a decision so wrong that it led to the death of all these people, or not. Now, if I were the prosecutor, I would use this incident to show your insubordination and would question if the same had happened on the Titanic, if there had been a command you simply overruled, as you have done before."

"There was none. The quartermaster and officer Moody can witness this."

"Yes, they can. But by then, the thought of you being a hothead, overthrowing decisions, will already have been planted inside the jury's minds."

"Well, I can't change that, can I?" he asked.

"Of course you can. Because you've got me as your lawyer. While the prosecution will use this against you, I will give my best to use it for you. That's the only secret about a court trial, Mr. Murdoch. The prosecution tries to make the suspect the villain and the defense tries to canonize him. Facts are only a minor matter."

"I don't understand that," he replied quietly.

"You don't have to. You just need to follow my lead," Mr. Herald said. "Now, do you still own your uniform?"

"Yes."

"Good. I want you to wear it to every hearing."

Murdoch stared at him. "Why?"

"Because it makes you look professional. Because it makes you look like you actually know what you're doing. Anyone can dress in a suit; a uniform, however, is a completely different thing."

Will looked at the man, yet remained silent. He had sworn to himself he would never wear that uniform again; the mere thought of it making him feel uncomfortable.

"I don't assume this is a problem, after you've worn a uniform for the most of your life," Herald said, his grey eyes piercing right through him.

But it was a problem. He couldn't even quite say why – but he knew he would rather dress in a potato sack. But he couldn't tell his lawyer that, for it would make him seem childish and cowardly.

"Of course not," he replied instead.

"Good. We will meet here on Monday at 08:00 a.m. The hearing starts at 09:00 a.m. You don't have to say anything, I will handle that for you. Just keep your attitude calm and diligent."

"Will there be spectators?" Murdoch asked.

"Many, I am afraid. All the hearings will be open to the public."

"I understand," he said.

"Well, that is all," Mr. Herald said. "You should maybe distract yourself on the weekend, if you find it anyhow possible. The more nervous you are, the less professional you appear."

Murdoch wondered slightly if the man would be able to do that if their roles were switched – but then again, Herald did not seem like a man doubting himself.

"Thank you, sir," he said and rose, leaving the office.

As he walked towards the exit, he saw the woman talking to a young, blond man, holding out a file to him; probably the lawyer she had been assigned to. For a second, he found himself wishing the man was older, bold and podgy, but he felt stupid for it immediately. Without another look, he headed out of the door.

Alice caught him leaving the office as she listened to Mr. Baker's orders. For a swift second, she actually believed he would come over and talk to her, but the thought was ridiculous, of course. Even if the situation had been different, it would have been foolish to expect him to care about her that much.

Nevertheless, her own feelings were a completely different matter. She did not know for certain what she felt; hadn't known that aboard the ship to be honest, but she also couldn't let it go. Not quite, not yet.

As Mr. Baker returned to his office, she gathered her courage and knocked on Mr. Miller's door.

"Come in."

She tiptoed inside, feeling like she was five years old again, trying to be invisible.

"Miss Khairay," Miller said, his expression genuine. "Please, take a seat."

Alice wondered if his kindness originated merely from his friendship with her grandfather and decided it was very likely.

"I don't want to disturb you, sir," she replied, refusing his offer to sit down. "I just wondered… if you know when the trial starts."

She did not name it and she did not need to. Miller was an intelligent man and moreover, had enough experience to understand a lot about human behavior and human motives.

"The first hearing is set for Monday, 09:00 a.m."

She nodded and lowered her gaze, unsure how to move on. The man, however, released her from that burden.

"Do you want to go?" he asked.

"If you will allow it, sir," she answered, now looking at him.

The man sighed and shook his head. "Your request is understandable. However, I don't know if it is wise. You survived a terrible disaster and you will most certainly go through it again if you attend the hearings. A lot of people shatter on things like that. I once had a case where a mother lost her son to a terrible workplace accident and she as well insisted on attending the hearings. We won, but she got quieter and quieter with every hearing. In the end, she did not talk at all, anymore. She had had the hope that seeing someone being judged for her son's death would heal her broken heart, but eventually, had to find out that things do not work this way."

"My heart is not broken, sir," she replied quietly.

And it was the truth. While she felt terribly sorry for all the victims, while she knew she would probably never again set a foot on a ship, her heart was still intact. For now.

"And if you worry about my work, I will do extra hours, of course," she added.

"Of course," Miller replied calmly. "Well, if you are sure you want this, I will allow it. You might learn something from it, after all. You will have to speak with Mr. Baker, though."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," she said and walked out of the door, heading for Mr. Baker's office, who agreed without further ado, mostly because she promised him to make up for it by stretching her working hours.

Around 4:30 p.m., Alice finally finished her work, together with everyone else. As she left the building, Rosie approached her.

"Shall we do something?" the redhead asked.

Alice looked up at her, surprised. "Do something?"

"Yes. We could go to the zoo. Have you ever been to the zoo?"

"No, I haven't," Alice replied. "But, is it decent for us to just… walk around?"

Her colleague laughed. "God, this is so British. We're in New York, darling. As long as the sun is still up, we are free to go. And, of course, as long as we're not two snobbish white ladies. Come on, then!" And she locked arms with her.

It was a strange feeling, having another person next to her, chattering and laughing. Strange and comforting.

And Rosie's little chit-chat was a perfect distraction from trials, disasters and officers. She learnt that the woman was one of five children, the youngest and also, the loudest. She also learnt that four years ago, her parents had given her the choice to either marry her cousin - "an arrogant brat", as Rosie described him - or get a job and pay her bills on her own. Rosie had taken the second alternative without another thought. She also told her that she was probably too confident for a girl, that she would never find a man who would want to keep up with her stubbornness. Alice secretly thought she was right – finding a man who wanted a confident woman would certainly not be easy. On the other side, she also thought that this was the most beautiful feature of her – besides her beautiful red locks and porcelain skin.

They arrived at the zoo around 40 minutes later and as they walked through it, Alice' feelings were divided. While she enjoyed seeing the animals, she also felt sorry for them, being locked up in rather small cages. One animal – a beautiful red fox – ran circles in its small prison, jumping against the fence. Alice looked at the elegant creature. It appeared so desperate, so hopeless that she found it impossible to go on.

"Shall we get a coffee?" she asked her friend, hoping she would agree.

Rosie looked at her and nodded her head. "Yes."

They walked over to a small café in one of the side streets, visited mostly by families. They ordered and took place on a small table in the lower corner.

As Alice took off her coat, her friend said: "You know, you could actually pass for an Italian."

"I am not Italian," she replied quietly.

"Yes, but you could pass for one. My brother, Marc, once fell in love with an Italian girl from the neighborhood. She had the same beautiful skin tone as you."

Alice looked at her surprised. "My skin tone is not beautiful."

"Of course it is! It's like light chocolate – and everyone loves chocolate, don't they?" Rosie replied with a grin.

"It's not the color a British girl prefers."

"Because they could never get it, with all the rain and that. I think it suits you very well, though. If your skin was fair, you'd look constantly sick with that dark hair of yours. And imagine how funny I'd look if my skin wasn't pale."

"Does everyone in your family have red hair?" Alice asked, changing the subject.

"Except for my mom, yes. Made it easy for my parents to distinguish us from the other children. When I was born, they were fiery red, though."

The waitress brought their orders and Alice took a sip of her tea.

"Can I ask you something?" Rosie asked.

"Of course."

"Did every passenger on board of the Titanic get to know the officers?"

Alice blinked. "No."

"So… There is a story behind this, is there?"

"I wouldn't call it a story," Alice muttered.

"You know, you don't have to tell me. But I'd really like to know," Rosie replied. "I can't do anything about it, I'm just always so curious. Even though curiosity killed the cat, didn't it?"

She shook her head slowly. "There really isn't much about it. He… he was nice to me when no one else was. He talked to me, when everyone else avoided me. And he put me in the first lifeboat that left the ship. I owe him my life," Alice said.

"So that's why you are defending him."

"He is a good officer. The sinking was an accident," she replied evasively.

It was the truth, of course, she did owe him her life – but there was so much more to it. So much more, which maybe meant nothing after all.

Rosie, however, was very deductive about it. "Did you kiss?"

Alice stared at her, thunderstruck. "No. No, of course not."

"Of course not? You don't like him that way?"

"I… He's an officer. I was just a second class passenger."

"You wanted to, then?" Rosie asked.

"I haven't thought about it," she replied. It was a lie. She had thought about it – but had cast it aside every time.

"I once knew a boy I liked. Never told him, though. He ended up marrying one of my friends. I was so heartbroken," the other woman said.

"You kept quiet?" Alice asked surprised.

Rosie laughed loudly. "Hard to believe, ain't it? But yeah, I kept quiet. I don't know. Maybe I was afraid he would reject me. Some days, I thought he liked me, on other days, he just completely ignored me. Well, I suppose I'll never know now, will I?"

Alice looked at her, but remained silent. Maybe that was the thing about liking someone – the fear of rejection always lingered in the shadows. And sometimes, you ended up with getting nothing but all the "what-ifs".

On Monday morning, William McMaster Murdoch stood in his little apartment, staring at the uniform laid out on his bed. For years, it had felt like a part of him. For years, whenever he had worn it, he had felt comfortable and self-assured. Now, it was related to the biggest mistake he had probably ever made, related to the death of innocent men, women and children, related to a situation he hadn't been able to control.

Lightoller had tried to convince him it was just a piece of cotton as he had visited on Saturday afternoon, nothing more but clothing – but it wasn't true.

He sighed and finally put it on, walking over to the bathroom, looking into the small mirror. As he adjusted his tie, his fingers were trembling, just as they had been when the Titanic had hit the iceberg. The dark circles under his eyes were still visible, even though he had really tried to get some sleep.

His whole appearance seemed so pretended, so rehearsed that he was almost sure Mr. Herald wouldn't be pleased. Of course, he couldn't change it now.

He put on the gloves and for a second, found himself searching for his hat, before he remembered that it had vanished as the sea had swept him off the ship.

No, no… It is alright.

She had not liked the hat.

He left the apartment and walked over to the lawyer's office. Mr. Herald was already waiting for him in front of the building, dressed in an expensive looking suit.

"Good morning, Mr. Murdoch," he said and lit a cigarette, offering the silver cigarette case to him.

He shook his head. "Thank you. I don't smoke," he said.

The elder man raised an eyebrow, yet did not comment it. Murdoch knew most of the upper class men enjoyed cigarettes and cigars, but he had never gotten used to the smell.

As Herald was finished, he looked at him. "It is time. Are you ready?"

He wasn't. How could someone be ready for this?

"I have to, don't I?" he asked.

The elder man patted his shoulder – he didn't like it even a little bit better than when Lightoller did it – and said: "Don't worry, son. I am there for you."

Yes, because you got my money, he thought and felt ungrateful immediately. With all the headlines in the press, he probably needed to be thankful a lawyer even took his case.

They arrived at the court house at 08:30 a.m., but if he had thought they were the first, he quickly realized he was mistaken. People were already gathering outside, staring at him as he followed Herald up the stairs. He tried not to pay attention to them, but it was almost impossible.

Mr. Herald, however, did not stop. He marched right to the court room, where an officer opened the doors for them. Will had never been in a court room before and it appeared huge to him. There were at least ten rows for spectators on each side.

Herald caught his glance. "They aren't all that big," he said. "But since there are a lot of people to be expected…"

He just nodded. Herald sat down in front of the table positioned left of the bench.

"The prosecution will sit over there," he explained and pointed to the table right of them. "The jury over there."

Somehow, Murdoch believed he was only telling him that to keep him distracted. After ten minutes, the first people entered the court room, taking seat. He tried to keep himself from looking over his shoulder, but failed. He spotted Lightoller coming in, as well as Moody.

At 08:50 a.m., a tall man sat down on the table on the right.

"Mr. Parker, the prosecutor," Herald said.

Will looked at him. The man was around fifty, with grey hair, his body built like a greyhound – tall, skinny and eager. He looked away quickly, back to the entrance. More and more people entered, the room almost crowded now. Just as he wanted to turn around again, his eyes fell on a familiar figure. For a second, he was completely taken aback – she had come. Why had she come?

"Jenkins. Well, could have been worse," he heard Mr. Herald say and finally turned around.

The judge had taken his seat. He looked at the nameplate in front of him -Judge Jenkins- and wondered if anyone dared to call him JJ. He almost laughed at the thought, not sure why. While he tried to suppress his laughter, he felt fear creeping up his spine and the room suddenly seemed to be lost in a blur.

"You have to breathe, Mr. Murdoch," Herald said quietly beneath him.

He tried, but it felt as if his lungs had stopped working. He grabbed the table in front of him tightly, his eyes fixed on the floor.

He would never make it through this. He couldn't.

"Plead guilty," he muttered. "Plead guilty and let it be over with."

He actually expected the lawyer to say something reassuring, instead he felt a sharp pain as Herald kicked his leg under the table.

"Breathe," he repeated, still very calm.

Somehow, the pain did the trick. He took a deep breath – and the room slowly became clear again. Just in time, apparently, because Judge Jenkins began to speak, the room falling silent immediately.

"We try the case against William McMaster Murdoch, born on the 28th of February 1873. Article of the accusation is involuntarily homicide. Mr. Parker, the accusation please," the judge said.

The prosecutor rose. "Your Honor, Members of the Jury. Mr. Murdoch was the first officer of the R.M.S. Titanic, which sank on the 15th of April 1912. He was in duty as the ship collided with the iceberg, leaving between 1.500 – 1.800 people dead. The correct number of the victims hasn't been established yet. An inquiry by the shipping company, the White Star Line, has evoked doubts regarding Mr. Murdoch's attempts to avoid the collision. After searching the files and speaking to different experts, the prosecution has come to the conclusion that these doubts are justified. We will prove that Mr. Murdoch's commands did not only come too late, but also that the damages could have been reduced, if his actions had been different. Moreover, we also have to question his behavior during the evacuation of the ship, given that at least a third of the lifeboats carried only half of the people they were actually designed for. Given these circumstances, we charge Mr. Murdoch with involuntary homicide."

"Thank you, Mr. Parker," Jenkins said and the prosecutor sat down.

"Mr. Herald, how does your client plead?"

Mr. Herald rose. "Not guilty, your honor. The sinking of the Titanic was a terrible disaster – but it was an accident. It was evoked by decisions made way before the accident, including the decision of the deceased Captain Smith to increase the speed, despite having received at least four ice warnings. This decision was forced on Captain Smith by Bruce Ismay, the chairman of White Star Line, yet, Mr. Ismay has never been interrogated by his firm's inquiry. Moreover, other experienced officers haven't been heard in the inquiry, officers that will confirm in this trial that Mr. Murdoch's actions during the collision have been considerate and righteous. Also, it will be confirmed that Mr. Murdoch's behavior during the evacuation has given no reason for an objection."

"Thank you, Mr. Herald," Judge Jenkins said. "I have received the witness list of the prosecution and the defense. Considering the amount of witnesses, the hearings in this trial will be tightly scheduled. The next hearing is therefore timed for Wednesday, 10:00 a.m. This hearing is completed."

The judge rose and behind him, Murdoch could hear some people whisper, while others appeared to be standing up. He looked at Mr. Herald, but found it impossible to read the man's expression. He attempted to rise, but the lawyer shook his head.

"Stay. We don't want to make our way through all these people," he said.

Beneath them, Mr. Parker rose. "John," he greeted shortly.

"Henry," Herald replied, looking after the prosecutor as he left.

"You know each other?" Will asked irritated.

"We've met," the man replied shortly. "He is one of the best prosecutors in New York, but that was to be expected in a case like this. No reason to worry."

Murdoch remained silent. One of the best prosecutors… He fixed his eyes on the bench in front of them, wondering again how the hell he had ended up in this situation. Somewhere deep inside his mind, he just couldn't believe he was responsible. But that thought was overshadowed by the inquiry, by the newspapers and by a nagging feeling that he hadn't done everything possible to save the people, a thought that hadn't left him since Lightoller had forced him to stay inside the lifeboat.

"Will," a voice suddenly said.

He turned around and saw Lightoller and Moody standing there.

"Gentlemen," Mr. Herald said and rose. "I will wait for you outside."

"Well, that was…" Lightoller began. "I don't even know what to say."

"Appears they question everything I ever did," he replied.

"Mr. Murdoch, sir – you did everything right. And I will tell them that, when they ask me. I wanted to tell that to the people of White Star Line as well, but they wouldn't listen. I… I am sorry," Moody said.

He stared at the younger officer, who seemed to be ashamed. Suddenly, he realized that this trial wasn't only affecting him.

"It's alright, Mr. Moody. Don't worry about it," he said.

The younger man nodded his head, then turned to Lightoller. "I'll get some fresh air," he said and left as well.

"This is a nightmare," Lightoller said as Moody was out of the room. "Honestly, I'd really like to go over to White Star Line and burn the whole building down."

"Why? Do you want to share a cell with me?" Murdoch asked.

"Talking about it, you'll never guess who sat beside me during the hearing. Your little… female friend from the second class," his friend said.

"Oh, really?" Murdoch replied, trying to sound surprised, but judging the expression of his friend, he failed completely.

"You knew that."

"She works for the same lawyer's office as Mr. Herald," he admitted, hoping Lightoller would just leave it at that. Of course, the man didn't.

"Does she, now? What a weird coincidence."

"I really don't want to talk about that, Charles. It doesn't matter. To be honest, I'd like to get out of here now, if you don't have any objection," Will replied sharply.

"I just said it was a weird coincidence."

"And I tell you: it doesn't matter," he repeated.

"Fine," Lightoller said. "Let's go, then."

Liked it? Hated it? Have any suggestions regarding the storyline? Please, feel free to let me know.