Chapter 68:

A/N: This chapter took a ridiculously long time to write, and I'm not quite sure why, lol. The events at the end of Chapter 66 and within this upcoming one were actually both unplanned additions. The idea sorta just wrote itself up. Welp. Enjoy it anyways! :D

Oh, and IMPORTANT: the contents of this chapter take place during the telegram correspondence between Dr. Alphys and Mr. Ismay. It also coincides very nicely with the end of Chapter 66.

And as always, a gargantuan thank you to all of my readers - both old and new. You know who you are.

Jamie Anderson's POV

"Miss Anderson! My goodness, you must stay in your room. It is dangerous for you to wander around the ship in such a state!"

I huffed, and simply continued onwards – my palms pressed against the walls as I tried to find my way. I'd managed to slip out of the ship's infirmary when Dr. Alphys had been called for business elsewhere in the morning. The man had strictly forbidden me from leaving that blasted place, so I'd simply sat there for hours – feeling utterly useless. "Staying in that ruddy room all day is what's dangerous," I muttered. "I'm going to go mad if I lie on that bed for any longer."

The doctor's footsteps quickened, and he gently grabbed my arm. "Dear, please be sensible-"

"And Dr. Alphys, please don't treat me like a cripple. I have four other senses, in case you've forgotten. Sight isn't the only one."

My condition had improved. The stammer had disappeared, and the tremor in my hands had lessened. The eyes, however, were a lost cause: they had taken the most damage. There was no telling if my sight would ever return.

I heard him laugh quietly, and then sigh. "All right. You deserve a little fresh air. Allow me to at least escort you to your destination. Certainly, you would arrive faster with me as your guide."

Ah, he's right. I'm acting like such a fool. There's nothing wrong with accepting a little help from another kind soul.

"Forgive me," I replied quietly. "You're very right." I offered him my arm, and he seized it firmly. Hmph. He smelled rather funny – like frozen peaches and the pages of a tethered, old book. Papa always used to tell me that a man's scent said a lot about him. Harry, for instance, always smelled like clean linen and rainfall – a very pleasant scent, indeed. He was a brilliant and dedicated seaman who wouldn't allow anyone dictate how his life should be lived, or at least that's what I would argue. I may be biased though. Just a tad.

"Where to, mademoiselle?"

"To the Marconi room, please." Dr. Alphys stopped in his tracks suddenly, his arm tightening through mine. I felt him stiffen at my side.

"What for, Miss Anderson?" He laughed uneasily. "As the saying goes, women and machinery don't mix."

Oh, goodness. He's one of those people. "I beg to differ, sir," I rebutted. I then continued excitedly, unable to suppress a smile, "And I'm going to send out a message to Harry and the other officers." I brought my hand to my chest, where I felt an incredible amount of sheer joy brewing within.

I was going to see them all very soon.

I was going to hold that silly, short-tempered Welshman of mine in my arms once more.

"I heard from a steward that they're going to be arriving in New York today, so I want to make sure my message gets to them before Carpathia docks. Good Heavens, actually . . . have they already been informed? Surely, while I was asleep – some message had been sent out?"

He remained silent for a few moments before firmly replying, "Yes. I sent out a message to Captain Rostron informing him of your survival."

"And?" I asked anxiously. Gracious, if I'd still been able to see, then my eyes would have been as wide as saucers.

"I received a reply from both him and Mr. Ismay."

My breathing grew more labored. "I-Ismay?"

Dr. Alphys' hold on me grew painfully tight. I heard him swear quietly through his teeth.

No. No, I knew what was coming.

"Dear, I'm sorry," he mumbled, "but I must abide to the law. You boarded Titanic illegally, and the consequences must be met." I felt him reach into his coat pocket, and a few moments later – a sharp needle plunged into my arm.

"What are you doing?!" I shouted. I tried squirming away, but there was nothing that could be done. There was not a single name for me to cry out. I knew no one aboard. Never had I felt more alone.

Panic seized me as I felt my muscles slowly grow numb. "Sir!" I cried. "Sir, you don't know the entire story! I'm not a fugitive. Please, I beg of you! For God's sake – have some sense! Just contact one of the officers – Harold Lowe, Charles Lightoller. They'll know. They'll tell you the truth-"

"Or perhaps they'll expose you for a liar," he replied quietly.

"Dr. Alphys, please don't do this." I sank to the floor, my legs growing numb and limp. "The crew had permitted me to stay aboard Titanic. What I told you earlier was true. I'd been fleeing from my guardians. My f-father, John Anderson, he . . . he . . ."

I shook my head, feeling my muscles weigh down from the sedatives I'd just been given. My eyes – forever unseeing – teared up. I could feel my consciousness slipping. The floor swayed beneath me. "Doctor, I can hear the guilt in your voice," I said groggily. "You know the accusations aren't true. You know it."

"I'll . . . I shall be transferring you to another ship. It will take you to America," he said softly. "You'll receive excellent care in New York – the very best there is. St. Vincent's wards are absolutely pristine, my dear. You'll be . . . I promise you'll be in good hands."

As I slipped into unconsciousness, I smiled sadly and whispered, "May we meet again, Doctor."

I found myself lying in the middle of a grassy field – a heavy downpour had just begun. I could see again, so I knew that this was simply another dream – another desperate attempt for me to escape the confines of reality.

And then I heard music. Sweet, familiar music. It beckoned to me, calling my name. It was a tune I had heard so many times as a young girl. It was the carousel's song, "If I Were a Blackbird."

"I am a young maiden and my story is sad

For once I was courted by a brave sailor lad.

He courted me strongly by night and by day

But now my dear sailor has gone far away.

I stumbled about in the darkness, the bottom of my feet muddied by the damp grass and ground beneath.

If I were a blackbird, I'd whistle and sing

And I'd follow the ship that my true love sails in

And on the top rigging I'd there build my nest

And I'd pillow my head on his lily white breast.

The music gradually grew louder, until it swelled to its absolute peak. It flooded my ears, and the cold air around me. It was brilliant and beautiful.

He promised to take me to Donnybrook fair

To buy me red ribbons to tie up my hair

And when he'd return from the ocean so wide

He'd take me and make me his own loving bride."

I came into another clearing, and there it lay – just as I had remembered it to be. The horses appeared a tad smaller now, but they still gleamed magnificently under the dim lighting of the carousel.

Excitedly, I searched for the white horse, Lizzy. I had named her after my mother. My feet pulled me forward quickly, but they suddenly stiffened in surprise as my eyes spotted him.

There he was. Harry.

He was standing next to Lizzy, his head leaning against hers. My heart pounded furiously, and I found myself running to him – eager to close the distance between us. I didn't give a damn that this was only a dream.

To hell with it all, I might as well be in Paradise.

"Harry!" I cried out. My voice was hoarse. I tried again, this time yelling at the top of my lungs – voice crisp and clear. "Harry! Turn around, you twat!" I could feel the heat rushing to my face as tears stung my eyes.

But as I slammed against him, I quickly realized that something was off.

This all seemed too real.

I had ran right into him, and yet he didn't appear to have moved an inch. His eyes were still closed, and he didn't seem to have the slightest idea that I was standing right beside him.

"Harry," I breathed. Hand trembling, I placed my palm against the side of his face. He sighed softly, and a tiny smile appeared on his lips. It was then that I was able to get a good look at him.

And what I saw frightened me.

He seemed so tired. His skin was pale and clammy, and dark circles outlined his eyes. His breathing was slightly labored. He looked so weak. So breakable. This was the face of a man that had been roughened by hardship – worn down by heartache.

I blinked away the tears in my eyes, my hands entwining themselves in his disheveled, dark hair. "I'm so sorry, Harry. What have I done to you?" I whispered with a broken smile.

"He's grieving," a familiar voice responded nearby.

Still clinging to Harry's arm, I turned around to see my father ambling towards us.

"Papa," I whispered. "I don't understand. Why am I here? Is this a dream? Am I . . . dead?"

He shook his head – hands tucked into his trouser pockets. "This moment is as real as the rain that falls upon us."

"But why can't he hear me? How am I talking to you? I was with Dr. Alphys, and I had lost my vision. None of this is rational–"

He smiled at my bewilderment. "My dear girl, you are currently sedated and en route to New York, but your heart has already arrived. One of your senses was simply taken away in exchange for another."

I stared at him blankly as I struggled to understand. Slowly, I nodded. My father always enjoyed speaking in riddles, but I just didn't have the capacity to solve one at the moment. "Stranger things happen every day, right?" I mumbled at a loss.

My papa's grin broadened. "Correct, Jamie."

I could figure this all out later; this wasn't my priority. My focus turned back to Harry, and I saw that he had opened his eyes and was now walking toward the clearing.

"He looks so weak. I can't stand to see him like this. I feel so helpless," I mumbled anxiously to Papa. Harry's stride quickened, and I matched it. He stared solemnly ahead – occasionally picking at a branch and stepping over modestly-sized boulders that lay in his path.

My father walked behind me, his hand firmly resting on the small of my back. "Love can ravage man and tear him to bits," he said softly. "My dear, if only you could know how much Harry loves you. He cares for you tremendously, even after he believes he's lost you."

I seized Harry's hand firmly, my chest throbbing with ache. "I'm here, Harry," I breathed through my tears. "I'm here to stay. Just hang on a tad longer. I'll be arriving in New York soon, you'll see."

Without warning, Harry froze in his tracks. We had approached a pond – its black surface eerily aglow by the lampposts that surrounded it. I glanced at Harry's face, and felt the blood drain from mine. I immediately knew something was off. His pupils were dilated – eyes widened as if he were in shock. His eyebrows were furrowed, and I could feel his entire body grow rigid. His forehead was wet with perspiration. Before I could turn to my father and voice my concern, Harry slipped from my grasp. He dashed forward and out into the water, swimming furiously to the center of the pond.

Instinctively, I followed him – but I could continue no farther than the shore. My body smacked into what felt was a stone wall. It was as if an invisible barrier had been placed between us, preventing me from wading into the water.

"PAPA!" I cried. "Papa! What's going on?! What is Harry doing?! Why can't I continue forward?"

My eyes darted frantically between my father's somber countenance and Harry's body – which was already visibly trembling with the onset of hypothermia. The night was a cold one; the water must have been below freezing.

"He suffers from survivor's guilt. He blames himself tremendously for what happened on that night – for losing you, for losing Jimmy," father stated sadly.

I paced anxiously ashore, desperately trying to find a way forward. "How can I help him?! Why can't I get any bloody closer?"

"He wishes to die. It is the choice he has made, Jamie. You cannot interfere with another's fate."

Oh, Harry . . .

I am sorry that you are in so much pain . . .

I quickly strode over to my father, my hands tightly entwining through his. "But Papa, what about me? You interfered with my fate. You came to me as I lay on that slab of wood – surrounded by death and hopelessness. If if weren't for you, then I wouldn't be alive now."

A tiny smile appeared on Papa's lips. "I wasn't supposed to interfere, but how can a father abandon his own daughter? I knew that I was the sole person who could change your mind." He paused and glanced at the pond behind us before quickly whispering, "If you cannot go to him, then let him come to you."

I nodded – for I knew the answer to this riddle. "Thank you, Papa."

Dashing back to the shoreline, I closed my eyes – recalling the first day I had met Harry. I had been so timid back then, running from Mr. And Mrs. Dubois and refusing to speak up for myself. I sought to escape my problems, but couldn't face them head on. And then along came Harold Godfrey Lowe. In my moment of vulnerability, he had offered me his hand, his heart, and his warmth.

It's about time that I return the favor.

Gathering every ounce of willpower within me and cultivating all the love I felt at that moment, I opened my eyes and called out to him. "Harry! You idiotic twat, what are you doing?"

And then the miracle happened.

He turned around in my direction, and I saw him immediately break into a smile. That heart-wrenching, lovely smile. I had taken it for advantage so many times aboard Titanic. I hadn't cherished it enough. "He's heard me, papa," I mumbled gratefully.

My father walked to my side, placing his hand on my shoulder. "He can see you, too."

I sighed in relief, but became anxious once more as I realized that Harry continued to stay there – submerged in the water and wracked with cold. He remained unmoving.

"Papa, I thought he had seen me. Why isn't he–"

"He thinks he is hallucinating. He believes that death is close. You thought the same as well when I had come to you, my dear."

Father was right. I remember thinking that I could die in peace. I remember thinking that it was time for me to let go.

"Harry!" I screamed again. My tone grew more urgent. He had been chin-high in that freezing water for quite some time already. Hypothermia killed quickly. I knew that he had just minutes left before the damage would be irreversible. I knew that I had just minutes left before death claimed the life of one most dear to me.

"Harry! I don't understand! Why are you doing this? Have you given up on me?" Agh. Those weren't the best words, but my mind was seized by panic and anxiety. I spoke quickly, and without much thought. My knees became numb, and I fell to the muddy ground. I had never felt more helpless. Wracking my mind for more ideas of what I could do, I realized that I had begun to cry. I tried to stifle my sobs, but they only continued to grow louder.

It was then that I heard his frail voice reply, "N-No. Never. Forgive me, J-Jamie. I can't . . . this way is so painless. I-I just want to hold you again."

He will listen to me.

My arms impulsively reached out toward Harry, clutching the air desperately – longing to hold him. "Then come here. Harry, I'm over here. You won't find me there." The sense of longing continued to grow as I watched him swim forward. But the closer he came, the more distant I felt. I was fading, quickly fading.

"Jamie, you've done it," papa stated, a mixture of admiration and pride present in his voice.

"But Harry – what will happen to him? What will happen to me?" I whispered in trepidation.

My father kneeled down beside me. "I will see to it that Harry is taken care of. And as for you, my dear, you will awaken to find yourself in New York. Stay sharp, and be brave."

As Harry's fingers finally dug through the muddy ground, I sighed in relief. Wrapping my hands around his torso, I dragged the rest of his body out of the cold, merciless water. Staring down at him, I could feel my chest swell with . . . why, I don't even know how to express it. How could I? There are no words – no expressions – to describe love. Love is love is love is love is love, a thousand times over. It is pure and powerful, magnificent and brilliant. It is mankind's strongest weapon. It can turn a flicker of hope into a roaring, blazing fire.

My eyesight began to grow blurrier, and I could feel myself slipping away. "Harry," I gently whispered, "I have to go back. I can't stay here for long."

The precious moment was ending, and my grasp on Harry tightened as I struggled to remain by his side – for just a minute longer, for just another second.

His hand – still shaking violently from the cold – closed down over mine. "No," he mouthed weakly. He scrambled to his knees, taking hold of the side of my face. And likewise, my eyes swept over every inch of his facade. I tried memorizing every detail, every characteristic: his unkempt hair, the boyish strands that curled off on all sides, the way his eyes crinkled as he smiled at me.

I won't lose you, my Harry.

"I refuse to see you only in my dreams. I won't reduce you to a figment of my imagination," he mumbled in determination.

Closing my eyes, I laughed as I rubbed his arms in an attempt to warm him. I drew him closer, knowing that my stay must come to an end. Sighing, I pressed my lips against his forehead.

I had so much to tell him. Too much to tell him. Time, however, was no longer on my side.

"My dear Harry," I whispered against his skin, "Who said this was a dream?"

I felt his muscles relax and his head grow limp against mine. He had passed out from fatigue, and I gently lay him upon the damp ground.

I smiled down at Harry and turned to my father, feeling tears spilling out from the corners of my eyes. "Thank you for giving me this moment, papa."

He brushed a strand of hair from my face. "You must stay strong. Your sojourn is far from over."

Nodding in determination, I squeezed my eyes shut before opening them again. My vision was fading; the hourglass had run dry.

"And he will be okay?" I questioned softly, gesturing to Harry's sleeping form.

"Yes," papa replied. "He will soon come about and find his way back to Officer Lightoller and the others. Albeit, I doubt he will remember the details of this encounter."

An overwhelming sense of lethargy overcame me, and I grasped my father's hands tightly – afraid of what was to come.

"And as for you? Papa, will I see you again? What if I need your help–"

"Jamie, my dearest. I am always with you. You are never alone." He seized my shoulders gently, and pressed me against his chest for a tight embrace.

Those were the last words I heard as I departed this blissful Paradise.