The clock tolled
Once.
Twice.
Three Times.
A signal.
How long had he waited for her? It was hard to say.
He still looked the same- calloused artists' hands, worn rough by years of working; the poor mans' lifestyle. Tousled blonde hair, and eyes, pale green; they'd only gotten to see the world for nineteen years. There had been so many things that he'd still wanted to do, places to go, and after Titanic, to share with her.
All it had taken was three single days.
He never thought he was the type to fall so hard and fast, feel that kind of emotion for another. Sure, he had flirted some in his life, had a few hardly chaste kisses from an unvirtuous amount of girls who's names he hadn't endeavoured to remember. They were just drawings to him. Lines and shades of charcoal that once had taken shape on the pages of his portfolio, became exactly that to him. Just practice, just art.
None had ever, ever made him feel as she had, made him want to settle, to draw the same person time and time again.
He saw her deep red curls first – he was captivated. The artists' dream muse.
Green, pale eyes, sorrowful and weeping, met his on that same day, and though her words spat fire, those eyes screamed for escape. He was infatuated.
And, on the second day- that second, glorious day, as the sun bowed deep into the sky, orange meeting the vast and seemingly endless blue of the sea, their lips met.
He was in love.
Three days hardly seemed fair.
He'd told her to live on, to survive. Of course he had. Like he'd said, he couldn't turn away until he knew she was alright- something about her made him feel that way, as if it were just him and her, the only two in the world.
''I love you, Jack''
He'd never said it back to her. She needed to move on. It would have been selfish to say those sweet, sweet words in reciprocation. It was doomed from the start. A true Shakespearian tragedy, a Keats poem come alive. It was obvious he couldn't have her. Not really. Trying had been selfish – and then, then he could not be selfish. He had had to let her go.
''Never let go''. That was as close to ''I love you'' that he had ever gotten.
When his body succumbed to the icy stab of the Atlantic Ocean on that fateful night, somehow, he could still see her, for the briefest of moments. Her pleas for him to wake up, a sick ode to what could have been.
''Jack, there's a boat!''
''Jack?''
''Jack!''
She'd lay her head back down on their entwined hands, letting the lifeboat cruise past.
''No!'' he'd wanted to yell. ''Rose, no! You have to live on! Call out to them, Rose! Rose!''
And then, as if she had heard his cries, she did.
He could almost feel the icy peck of her lips as she kissed his hand for the last time, before letting him go. But no, she was not letting go. She was keeping her promise. Nothing validated their love, all they had been through, like that had.
'' I should have tried to fit on that damn piece of wood again! Gah!'' Regret was in vain now. But all he had wanted was for her to be okay in that moment. He could think of nothing else. If she was, he would be, too. That, he had known for certain.
Jack had thought like all of the men had thought though, really; adoring husbands, doting fathers, caring brothers, humble sons. And there they all were after that fateful night of April 15th, 1912 had claimed their bodies. People will give up anything to spare those that they love.
The ethereal ghost of the Titanic acted as one giant waiting room, then, for the souls parted too soon, to eventually, one by one, be reunited.
There was no such thing as class boundaries, no sense of time. It was bright, it was clean, it was warm – safe.
And there, Jack had waited, spectator as loved ones reunited, embraced, kissed, hugged, and then, in a blaze of light, drifted away into their happily ever after.
Fabrizio had been first to welcome him, and, though he had felt a pang of guilt and sorrow to see his friend, his brother, as dearly departed as himself, it made him smile. Gave him hope.
For, in the end, the ones that we love the most will always, always come back to us.
He heard the tell-tale click of heel gliding up the grand staircase – he'd chosen to wait for her here to symbolise that no matter the time, no matter the years, no matter the space that had been wedged between them – love always finds a way.
With a breath and a smile creeping up onto his lips, he turned around.
And there she was.