Okay, so this is a Thomas Andrews fanfic. It is a mix of real information of him and Victor Garber's totally amazing portrayal of him in James Cameron's "Titanic". HOWEVER, it is a story about if he'd SURVIVED the Titanic, which we know didn't and never will happen. So, yeah. I was thinking creatively.

Disclaimer: I do not own Thomas Andrews and/or anything about him. This was purely made for entertainment purposes only. I do own the other main character, Catherine Hall.

Catherine's Point of View

Work in the shipyard was dangerous work for most. But, I, being the only girl in the whole entire shipyard, out of over 10,000 men, got the easier jobs. Sadly though, I was the target of many men trying to get a young woman to come to their house after work ended, if you know what I mean.

It was while I was trying to paint the ceiling of the elegant First Class Dining Room when Jack Hollen, a fellow painter and rather perverted young man, attempted to innappropriately touch me in more then one way. It was also when I met Thomas Andrews.

"Get off me!" I snapped and slapped his hand away from where it rested on my right hip.

Jack laughed and tickled my waist. I grit my teeth and tensed, trying not to give in to him. It did tickle, after all. But I wasn't going to let Jack know that. I growled and shoved him roughly away with one arm. My other arm was pressed against the dry part of the ceiling, clutching a paintbrush that I was supposed to be painting with. But I was about to clout Jack in the ear with it instead. "Back off! I'm trying to work here!"

"'I'm trying to work here!'" Jack mimicked me in a high-pitched girlish voice. He and the 6 other painters laughed. Grinning, he reached out both of his arms and hooked them around my skinny waist, hauling me off the ladder. I screamed and hit him with my hands, feet, and paintbrush. But Jack didn't relent. He pushed me onto the ground and the began to feel me up as I screeched and thrashed uncontrollably.

Just as I began to think I would be raped right then in the partially-painted First Class Dining Room of the Titanic, Jack looked up in horror and fell back away from me. He scrambled away on all fours, looking fearful, as a large hand swooped down and grabbed his wrinkled shirt collar, pulling him back up to his feet. I curled into a ball, trembling and whimpering, still terrified, as I watched a tall, rather handsome man, tell Jack off, fury glinting dangerously in his dark hazel eyes.

"How dare you touch a woman that way! I have the nerve to kick you off this shipyard right this instance. I will not have a worker like you building my ship!" He flung Jack back to the sheet-covered floor, his hands still balled into fists.

"Y-Yes, Mr. Andrews, s-sir. It w-won't happen a-again, Mr. Andrews, j-just a b-b-bit of f-fun," Jack stammered, looking rather terrified.

"If you think touching a young woman against her will is fun, then leave! Get off my ship right now!" The man that I know recognized as Mr. Andrews, the Titanic's designer, shouted.

Jack looked shocked. He had just lost his job. Nodding, he scrabbled rapidly to his feet and bolted out.

The other workers who'd been laughing at what Jack had been doing just a few minutes ago began to busy themselves nervously with the paint before them.

Thomas Andrews seemed to have calmed down once Jack left. He relaxed and turned towards me. I was still on the floor, putting on my best show of terror and absolute shock. So, he kneeled down and pulled my hands away from my face. His hands, which seemed so dangerous just seconds before, were actually very soft and gentle. I let my hands melt into them as I let my gaze swoop over his face. His dark hazel eyes were ripe with kindness, and a small sympathetic smile lingered on his lips. He looked very young, yet very old at the same time. Bags under his eyes told me he didn't get much sleep. Yet he still had the wrinkles around the corners of his eyes that my mother had called "laugh wrinkles".

"Are you okay, my dear?" His voice, so soft and gentle, with just enough Irish accent, was soothingly calm.

"Y-yes, I believe so," I stammered softly, almost whispered.

"Let's get you out of here," He replied back, just as softly. The small smile was now growing bigger, just slightly.

I nodded and he helped me to my feet, his hands still clasping mine. Even as we walked along the gorgeous hallway to the gangplank, our way off the partially-completed Titanic, he always had a hand clutching mine. We made small-talk, mostly him talking about the ship and me nodding or something.

Finally we were on land again. I couldn't help but breathe out a sigh of relief. "Well, thank you for...assisting me, Mr. Andrews. I should best be going now. I have another room I should be painting-"

Mr. Andrews smiled and shook his head, holding his now free hands up in a gesture for me to stop. "Not so fast, Miss..."

"Hall. Catherine Hall," I informed him, then added quickly in a nervous tone, "Mr. Andrews."

"Alright, Catherine." He chuckled and then added, "Do you mind if I call you Catherine?"

'No, not at all, Mr. Andrews," I answered and picked at my worn brown trousers. I had stolen them from my brother, along with the rest of my work-clothes.

"Please, call me Tommie," He protested lightly.

I couldn't help but look shocked. I had only just met him, and already Thomas Andrews was calling me by my first name and I was calling him his nickname! "Are you sure?" I asked stupidly.

"Please, Catherine. I'd much rather have you call me Tommie. It's always 'Mr. Andrews this' and 'Mr. Andrews that', you know? It gets old sometimes. I always love hearing my nickname instead of my last, anyways," He had a boyish grin on his face now, and there was a look in his eyes that told me he wasn't being gentlemanly, he was being flirtacious.

But that's absurd, I thought, and grinned at him. It was partially forced though. He was very handsome, I dare say, and he had the qualities of the man I would want, but there was something strange about him. He seemed...troubled. Sometimes the grin on his face seemed forced, just as my grin just was. And his dark hazel eyes had a doubtful look to them. I studied them for a moment with my own, and suddenly his gaze met mine.

It was as if everything that we hadn't said yet was being said. I didn't know what though, and the only thing I got out of this unusual moment was a reminder that Thomas Andrews was a shipbuilder, and so he was, of course, worried about the Titanic and everything going according to plans.

"Well, Catherine, is there anybody else who's been...messing with you, lately?" Thomas broke silence.

I gave him a list of about 15 other workers. Thomas nodded, and I thought I caught a glimpse of affection in his eyes.

"Nathers!" He called to a stocky man in a worn suit. The man jogged over.

"Yeah, Tommie?" He asked.

"Go and kick these men off the shipyard," Thomas ordered, relaying the names over to the man. Nathers nodded, but gave him a questioning look. Thomas answered with a blunt, "They haven't been keeping their hands to themselves." Then he tipped his head towards me.

Nathers smirked, but he looked like he understood. "Serves them right, then," He growled and turned and walked away.

Thomas turned towards me. "I believe you deserve to be let off work early," He said kindly.

I shook me head. "No, I couldn't. I have too much to paint, too much to do..." I paused before I added hesitantly, "Tommie."

He smiled at me and rested a gentle hand on my shoulder. "If you insist...can I at least take you out to lunch? You seem like an interesting young woman."

A wave of surprise coursed through me and my heart skipped a few beats. Lunch? With Thomas Andrews? This isn't possible, I thought, You're dreaming. This is all in your head.

But it was possible. And it wasn't in my head, and I wasn't dreaming.

So I smiled and nodded. "I would like that."

"Wonderful." Thomas offered me his arm, and I took it.

As he led me away, I thought of what I was getting myself into.

We're just friends. I told myself over and over again as we dined on precious delicacies like tiny sandwiches and chocolate-covered strawberries at a fancy resturant. He seemed unnerved by all the stares and looks we were getting. After all, he was Titanic's designer, and he was eating lunch with a young unproper woman at one of the finest eateries in Belfast dressed in a man's clothes.

I did get more comfortable with him as we walked back to the shipyard after lunch. We had our arms linked, and at one point Thomas even reached out and brushed away a strand of hair that had fallen out of my sloppy bun with his free hand as we laughed and talked about the Titanic. There was always a kind, affectionate look in his eyes, but I always saw that doubtful, conflicted look there too...

I had no idea what lay ahead of me. Not even the slightest idea.

Okay, I hope you liked it! I'll write the next chapter soon! Review!