Here I am. . . with my next serial. No guarantees as to how quick I can punch the chapters out; I'm working on about fifty million other things now, too, not including school work. However, I watched Titanic again this afternoon and fastforwarded to all the parts with Mr. Murdoch. And let me say that you probably won't understand everything in the prologue. That's cool—you're not really supposed to until you get to the rest. :-) This story is dedicated to my loyal readers, who have kept me breathing here with their reviews. Thanks, y'all.

–Katherine

DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters; they belong to the ages. The Murdoch and other characters here I am picturing as the ones that starred in the 1997 film directed by James Cameron. I am well aware that the real William McMaster Murdoch was married in 1912, but once again, that's why this stuff is fan fiction. Nuff ranting. On with the story.

THE ASSISTANT TO THE FIRST OFFICER

A fan fictional account of the tragedy of the R.M.S. Titanic

Written by FordTruckGirl4TA

PROLOGUE: WALLACE

April 15, 1912

02:13

            I struggled to hold myself up, tried to breathe deeply, but it was as though my lungs just wouldn't keep the air in. The listing deck was cold and hard under my hands, damp with the freezing sea spray. My entire left side was burning with pain, but it all narrowed down to one white-hot point in my waist. I could practically taste the gunpowder from the bullet, sour and metallic, and my nose still stung with the gun smoke.

            Someone's arm slid around my shoulders, with another arm under my knees, and I was vaguely aware of being moved away from the pressing, shouting crowds. I didn't care or see who held me; I leaned my head against his chest, feeling as though each of my limbs were made of lead. I recognized the clean scent of soap and aftershave, and relaxed a little, knowing that I was in good hands. I don't know how far I was taken, but suddenly I was down again. Another set of arms supported my shoulders, and I tried to see clearly while someone else unbuttoned my heavy coat to find the wound.

            I'd known it was bad, but my stomach rolled at the sight of my shirt, which was already saturated with blood, bright red against the crisp white. Shaking fingers pulled out the bottom three buttons, and suddenly the wound was exposed to the frigid air. I closed my eyes at the sight of the black and purple tear in my skin that dribbled blood, and set my teeth against the pain. I was vaguely aware of voices around me, but I could barely focus on the speakers, much less the words. The arms around my shoulders shifted to another man's, trying to hold me up. I screwed up my concentration and met the eyes of the man now above me.

            My heart leaped in my chest, its beats numbered now, as I recognized the face. But it was changed. . . it was so changed. Of course, it had been all night, ever since the collision-- but this was different. The pain in his features was breathtaking, and he wasn't even the one with the bullet in his side.

            I gathered my strength and lifted my hand, resting it on the back of his neck, my fingers twining in the soft hair that poked out from under his cap. I managed hoarsely, "Murdoch."

            I watched tears gather slowly in his eyes. "Don't speak," he croaked, using his free hand to gently smooth sweaty hair off my face. It shook as it did so. "It'll make the pain worse."

            A slight smile spread on my face. "You think I can be in pain when I'm with you?"

            He struggled to smile as well, and failed miserably. "I should have made you go," he whispered. "Good God, I should have forced you to go!"

            I swallowed, remembering. "Something would have happened to me anyway. . . you can't beat fate." I took in a deep breath, trying to ignore the throbbing in my side. "Luckily it led me back to you."

            Tears traced down his cheeks. "Oh, love," he whispered, shoulders shaking. "I'm so sorry."

The noise in the background was fading, slowly. The shouting, the roaring water. . . all fading. I curled my fingers farther around the back of his neck, pulled him closer to me. "I know, Will." My eyes watered; God, I loved him. "It's okay."

            "No," he whispered back; I could feel his tears catching in the hollow of my throat. He brushed them away with his thumb. "It's not. . . we. . ."

            I couldn't stop a sniffle, and cried out from the pain as my side jerked. I clung to him more tightly, shaking even worse, if possible. I forced myself to open my eyes, and meet his. My voice was breaking from the pain in my side, and my heart. "S'okay, Will."

            To prove it, I pulled his lips down to mine, and he returned the kiss. Somewhere in the back of my mind I was aware of the other officers watching, but at the moment, I could have cared less. "I'm sorry," he choked, his tears falling cold onto my cheeks. "My God. . . I'm so. . . sorry. . ."

            They say your life flashes before your eyes when you're dying. Maybe that's what happened to me, but it was only the events of the last couple of days. . . and what brought me here. In the midst of my final bisés français with the First Officer William McMaster Murdoch, and moments away from my last breath, I watched the best days of my life unfold all over again.