Disclaimer: I do not own Titanic, Jack, Rose, Cal, Ruth, etc., etc… They all belong to their rightful owners.

~Jillianna

It had been thirteen hours. It had been thirteen hours since she'd first felt his lips on hers on the bow of the RMS Titanic; twelve since he'd drawn her naked. They had been chased to the bowels of the ship eleven hours ago; they had made love in the back seat of a Renault nine hours ago. They had danced giddily on the boat deck eight hours ago. It had been seven hours since the ship hit an iceberg, six hours since she almost climbed into a lifeboat, and five hours since she'd let go of his hand. She had told herself, in a state of delirium four hours ago, that he had been alive, all the while being rocked back and fourth like a baby in a crib. Three hours ago, a ship's silhouette dotted the horizon as a green flare blinded her eyes. It had been two hours since she climbed aboard the savior ship; one hour since she'd been handed a cup of steaming tea to drink and warm her hands and sat down where she sat now, on a cold wooden bench on the deck. She had been lost in her own thoughts since then, replaying the last thirteen hours in her mind, over and over again.

It had been thirteen hours, but it felt like it had happened in the blink of an eye.