Alrighty. . . Here we go. . .
Buffy and Co. Aren't mine. Unfortunatly. They belong to the mischevious Mr. Whedon and all those other guys with the money and the expensive lawyers and the big houses and the mean personalities. . . {Jessi, stop. You're frightening everyone!}
Titanic doesn't belong to me either. *pout* The ship belongs to the White Star Line and was the brainchild of Mr. J. Bruce Ismay. See? I did my homework! For once. The movie and the fictional characters belong to Mr. Cameron and all those nice people at Paramount. They-{DON'T tell them what they let you do at Wonderland! Just DON'T!}
If you haven't noticed, this is that beloved Titanic/Buffy crossover I've been babbling about so many times on the posting board. Beware, this has spoilers galore for 'Titanic', and for. . . I don't know, Amends? That's where this picks up. Gingerbread never happened. Okay?
A nice big thank you to my beta-reader Megg AKA Jessie for reading over this and correcting my many mistakes, ironing out my many whacked ideas, tolerating my many e-mails. . . Thanks Jessie!
On with the show-er story.
Prologue
She had been floating on the lone plank of wood for what seemed like days before a lifeboat rescued her. Too frozen to care, all she saw was Fifth Officer Lowe and several other men lift her water-logged, frozen body into Boat 14.
The next time she opened her eyes and actually remembered what happened, it was day. There were no haunting cries for help, n o freezing temperatures. She wasn't in the water, but on a small cot covered in a blanket, the sun shining down on her as the ship chugged cautiously around the numerous pieces of ice that dotted the North Atlantic.
Sitting up, she saw other people: mostly passengers of the third class. A few crew members were around. Their hats read 'S. S. Carpathia' and 'R. M. S Titanic'. Titanic. That word sent her mind stirring, churning with thoughts of the days that had past, about her mother and fiancee, the members of first class. The one man in the whole world that understood her. Jack Dawson. She shook her head of the thoughts of Titanic and concentrated on her task: finding Jack. Where was he? If she were do find that nice Irish man, or possibly that Italian, what was his name? Fab-something? If she found one of them, she was most likely to find Jack, since they were his friends.
She walked around the third class decks in search of her love, starting towards every blonde haired young man she saw, but turning away when finding out he wasn't Jack. After about ten minutes on the poop deck she started back towards the cabins and ran into a man. He didn't fit in at all with the brightly colored rags of third class, with his ripped dinner jacket and slightly damp dress pants.
"Oh my-Cal?"
"Rose! God! You look atrocious!" Caledon Hockley proclaimed, grasping his ex-fiancee's arm to keep her from running. Then he smirked and chuckled at his own little secret. "I see Jack isn't here with you, huh?"
"What do you know about Jack? What did you do to him?" Rose demanded, trying to pull free.
"I didn't do anything. I merely found him. "
"Where?" Rose pulled free and backed herself against the wall.
"Last night, in the water. He met an untimely death, unfortunately. He would have made for good entertainment at home. " Cal smirked evilly.
"What? You're lying. Jack's here. " Rose persisted.
"Go to the boat deck, they're unloading the boats right now. We picked him up in Collapsible C. Poor boy, he died calling for you. " She looked at the millionaire disbelievingly and raced off to find her love and prove him wrong. She reached the boat deck in ten minutes and saw several crew members from the Carpathia and the Titanic unloading a small boat, labeled "C". They flipped it on it's side and out rolled a body. Blonde hair and pale blue eyes. Glazed over and frozen open. Jack.
Cal was right, he was dead. Handsome as ever, but still dead. Rose went whiter than the surrounding icebergs and fainted.
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