Hi everyone! Here's a oneshot of Rose after she tells her story to Lizzy and the rest of the crew. I cried the whole time writing this, haha! Somewhat inspired by The Notebook as well. Enjoy :)
"Now you know that there was a man named Jack Dawson, and that he saved me, in every way that a person can be saved."
Rose smiled, almost sadly, at her audience of Titanic excavators and researchers as they dried their teary eyes, soaking in the romantic, yet heartbreaking, story of her experience on the ship. She blinked back her own tears and signaled for her great-granddaughter Lizzy to push her wheelchair into her staying room so she could rest.
The door shut with a quiet click as Lizzy closed it behind her, allowing Rose silence for the rest of the night. Her words from earlier in the evening rang in her ears as she carefully undressed herself and put on her loose nightgown before retiring back to her wheelchair.
"Titanic was called the Ship of Dreams… And it was. It really was."
Now that she was alone, she let a few tears spill over onto her cheeks, lined with wrinkles from years of laughter, smiles, and just old age. Part of her hated to admit it, but she was a withering elderly woman now, and had been for some time. Her family thought it was an achievement of itself just to live to be a hundred, but for Rose, it was no accomplishment; just the final chapter to a long life, a life she promised to live in honor of Jack Dawson.
She leaned slightly to her left and put her hand inside the opened purse resting on the floor, her bony fingers pulling out an extravagant diamond necklace with a sapphire-blue heart stone dangling from the chain.
Her life had been lived to the fullest in honor of Jack, but this needed to be done in honor of all of Titanic's victims.
Rose pushed herself out of the chair and to her feet, struggling for a second to get her balance. She lifted one foot and placed it in front of the other, slowly walking out of her room and out onto the ship's deck, all the while making sure Mr. Lovett or Mr. Bodine weren't watching her. With each step, a face flashed through her mind's eye: the gentle Mr. Andrews; the sweet little Cora; the caring Trudy, her maid for most of her childhood. Each face belonged to someone that perished when the Ship of Dreams sank beneath the freezing waters of the Atlantic, and Rose knew that what she was doing was the right thing. The wind whipped her silver hair around and tugged at her nightgown, but she didn't allow it to overbear her as she stepped onto the railing and gazed into the sea, the same sea that had swallowed so many innocent people eighty-four years ago.
With a delighted squeal, Rose opened her hands and let the Heart of the Ocean fall into the water, the necklace swirling beneath the surface and beginning to finally make its way home: the wreckage of Titanic, the cemetery of fifteen hundred souls. She knew if Mr. Lovett found out that she had been holding the Heart all along, he would be furious; but this wasn't for him, or for her, even; it was for the victims, for every person that died that night. For Jack.
A sense of relief washed over her as she walked back to her staying room, now anxious to get in bed and rest. The room was dark, but with the help of the moonlight streaming in through the window, she could see every photograph of hers lined up on the dresser, and she studied each one, as she did every night before she went to sleep. The first was of her when she worked as an actress shortly after Titanic's sinking, and she smiled at the fond memories of her prancing about onstage and making a fool of herself for fun. Jack would've loved to see her plays, and she had liked to imagine that he was sitting in the audience watching her with a smile and egging her performances on.
The next few were of her doing all the things she ever wanted to in her life: fly an airplane, ride horseback on the sands of Santa Monica, have children. Yes, the last photograph was of her family when her youngest child was six years old, and it was indeed one of her favorite pictures.
She had met Richard Calvert in 1920, and he made her happy, though in no way like Jack did. He was a delightful, caring man, an all-around good person, but for several years, Rose struggled to push aside the memory of Jack and focus on Richard. She spent a long while comparing the two men and crying herself to sleep many nights because he was not Jack, but she realized that Jack had wanted her to live a happy life, and so she married Richard in 1925. She loved him as a companion more than a lover, and each time they made love Rose thought of Jack instead of her husband, something that continued to give her a bit of guilt to this day.
Her first daughter Marianne was born in 1927, a darling, fat baby that lit up Rose's life like fireworks in the night sky. Rose had always wanted to be a mother, but she never imagined she could have so much love and adoration for such a small human being, and when her second daughter Sarah was born in 1930, she was even more over the moon. She and Richard shared many smiles and laughs and tears as they raised their beloved children into beautiful women, and over the years, Jack slipped into the back of Rose's mind, blossoming in her subconscious but usually hidden from her first thoughts. There were still occasional nights where she would wake up sobbing hours before dawn after a dream of Titanic, and he would be on her mind for a few days, but then disappear again, nothing more than a memory engrained in her soul for a long while. His promise lived on in her heart, unconsciously pushing her every day to strive for the best and do as many things as she could to make her happy before the cover of night fell and she retired to bed.
Marianne gave birth to Nicholas, Rose's first grandson, in 1947, a few weeks shy of Rose's fifty-second birthday. As if her heart wasn't already about to burst from her love for her children, it grew even larger the first time she laid eyes on her grandchild, and she cried for hours after he was born. Then came Leela and Samantha, and Rose and Richard's days were filled with the shrill laughter of their grandchildren, their smiles lighting up their hearts. But time flew, as Rose had learned, and the children grew up, and then her great-granddaughter Lizzy greeted the world on a cold winter evening, another soul Rose could fall in love with.
But along with the happiness came the sorrow. Sarah died in a car accident in the seventies, and Rose prayed that Jack would welcome her with open arms in death and take care of her before she came along to do the job herself. Richard passed away in 1982 and her granddaughter Leela took care of her until Lizzy took over, something she still did to this day much to Rose's appreciation.
Her family was one of the best things she could've ever asked for, and she marveled every day at how she could have created something so wonderful in the world. But for so many years, she felt as though something could've been done to make it even better, and as she lay in bed on the ship that night, she realized what it was.
Jack.
If Jack had been her husband, her life would've been even grander, full of even more love. She was satisfied with the eighty-four years she spent after Titanic, but if Jack had survived, they would have been even more wonderful.
The pillow was soft under her scalp and Rose inhaled sharply, closing her eyes against the moonlight and letting her fragile body sink into the mattress. Tonight felt different, like something important was going to happen, though she couldn't explain it.
She allowed herself to finish reflecting on her life before she went back to the memory of Titanic and Jack. It had felt amazing to finally tell her story for the first time, a weight she didn't know existed lifted off her shoulders. When she arrived on the ship that morning, Mr. Bodine had questioned her for several minutes, insisting that Rose Dewitt-Bukater had died in 1912, and there was no way she could have been Rose.
And he was right. Rose Dewitt-Bukater did die during the sinking. It was Rose Dawson that had been rescued and sailed on Carpathia, Rose Dawson that had arrived in New York and fought to make a life for herself for so many years. Jack had changed her world forever, and in turn she changed her last name, honoring his memory until the day she would pass away.
I hope you're proud of me, Jack. I kept your promise. I never let go.
Peace settled over her body like a warm blanket, and she could almost hear his voice speak back to her.
I am proud of you, Rose. I'll be seeing you.
Her breathing slowed, her heart slowed, her blood slowed. She drifted away from her bed on the ship, away from her family, and high into the night sky, passed the twinkling stars and the glowing moon, into a bright hallway, a familiar hallway.
She turned the corner and there were the doors to Titanic's dining room, held open by smiling stewards. She stepped inside and was greeted by the grinning faces of Titanic's passengers; they lined a path made for her that led to the steps of the Grand Staircase, and as she walked, she smiled to everyone, her heart bursting with happiness.
As she reached the bottom step, she lifted up the skirt of her white dress and looked up to the top of the staircase, tears of joy welling up in her eyes.
There he was.
After eighty-four years of grieving, missing, and waiting, there he was.
Jack.