Hello! Oh my gosh, It's been so long since I've published a new story. Or even written one.

I'm here to bring you sorta a un-expected story, coming from a rather old movie. It was thought up after I watched Titanic recently, and I couldn't get the idea out of my head. I'm a sucker for crack pairings and un-expected twists. So I hope you all don't hate it too bad, haha.

This story, again, is inspired by the 1997 Movie Titanic, and the fan theory of Jack becoming Gatsby.

But hey! Before you start reading, I'm kinda looking for a co-writer to help me with this story. So if any of you enjoy this and enjoy writing, you should message me.

Mother nature could never care about the great ship that sank into it's cold ocean depths in the spring of 1911. Many lives lost, but many continued on. For those who survived, they'll never know the same life of before. They were forever victims of awful circumstance, nature, and god. The tragedy was not taken lightly, of course. It made headlines around the world.

But humans are unpredictable, and in the end, all great tragedies are forgotten. And for this ship, it only took about a few years for society to forget what happened in the cold sea, April 14th, 1911.

Tales of individuals on that ship are heard and unheard. The lovers stories will never be truly heard until it is too late. One love story in particular, of course. One that only a few whisper about today- one that was so short lived but so strong, it's unbelieveable. The story of Jack Dawson and Rose DeWitt Bukater. They had indeed separated that night, but not how you think, or have heard. It was Rose who sank to the depths. Not Jack. Rose had frozen in the cold, gripping Jack's hand tightly til' her final breath. Bits and pieces are missing. But in the end, Jack had gone on, living a bright future in the swing of 1920s New York.

Getting to his new future wasn't easy, of course.

He remembers Rose quite well. He remembers her beautiful, curly, soft red hair. He remembers her curious, bright eyes, the excitement she held. Her soft, but controlling voice. He remembers her extravagant dresses, in which only complemented her natural beauty more. He'll never forget the most intimate moment of his life- drawing her.

He…. He also remembers passing out in that cold water, almost drowning, letting go of her hand. Only to rush to the surface, coughing up the salty ice that he breathed in. He …. He remembers coming up, looking around franticly. She was gone. He knew that she had probably fell asleep, frozen to death, and fell from the wooden door when he let go.

He let go. Didn't he. Not her.

It wasn't supposed to be her.

He remembers blowing the whistle, tears frozen on his face as the rescue team came to him.e passed out at that point, of course, only to wake up on a new ship. Rose wasn't with him. Fabrizio wasn't with him. No one was with him. That ship had destroyed him.

Or so he thought, of course.

The most clear image- even more clear than Rose's beautiful face, was seeing the statue of liberty, when arriving to America. New York City, so be specific. The greatest city on earth. He knew in that second, he'd make it. He'd show God and Rose that this would not be the end of Jack Dawson. Why, this was the beginning of his new life. This, was the marking of a new story. A new tale made by his own flesh and blood. This was a revelation.

Little did Jack know that another had survived, another who knew him well enough. That man's name was Cal Hockley, who had everything a man wanted before and after Titanic. He was safe even after the tragedy. But that was the problem, you see. Cal would always be safe within' his name and money.

He remembered Titanic quite well, of course. He remembered the cold water brushing over his skin- he remembered the screams of others. He remembered making his own luck, til the very end. He remembered Rose and Jack, and he remembered…. Those lover's eyes. Those eyes he had never seen before. The passion- the love- the excitement- it was barbaric to him. A complication- in HIS life? Why- he never really experienced such embarassment before. Had he. No- everything was given to him. But now something was being taken away. Why- how could a mangled traveling boy steal his prize? How- How-

HOW-

How…

He blinked in that cold, drifting boat ride. Numb beyond recognition. He knew his future when they were rescued. He knew that he would go to New York, get a few days off before taking over his father's work- steel production. He would have enough money and he'd find a new, prettier, maybe skinnier wife. He knew his boring, rich future.

On the Carpathia he did not see Jack Dawson- he saw a mangled looking survivor deck- where the 3rd class people went. He had hope- hope to see Rose again of course. But he did not. In the end, he was fine with it. That bitch didn't deserve to live anyway- right? Right.

It was the roaring 20s now! Everything was bigger, louder, more extravagant, more exciting. The New York City stars matched the city lights. Music was actually danced to now- Jazz… swing… everything was magical. The girls were like boys- partying hard and being equal. The boys all had big dreams- terribly,terrible big dreams indeed. America was happy. People were happy.

Jack strolled down the central park sidewalk, laughing and swinging side to side with a couple gals and busniness men he was fond of. Terrible, really. It was a night out on a whim- of course. Only a Tuesday night. He should be drinking his night tea, seeing his help off, and heading to bed for a busy Wednesday morning. But no! It was a night that called for more than a few drinks, more than a few good laughs, and more then he asked for.

"You'Know," A gentleman co-worker took Jack's shoulder with his arm, smiking and blushing. "That Daisy girl likes you. Yeah- she's just in town for a few days- but with that suit? I know she's interested friend."

"Oh no- no no." Jack shook his head, trying to ease out of the mans clutches. Glancing at Daisy, he shook his head again. "I am not the kind of man to really- try with a girl when- well-"

"Drunk? Hah! Pay no mind. These girls are wild and free! Times ar'achanging, Jack. Why. I'm sure she-"

Jack laughed and pushed his co-worker off, "She's only here for alittle while, like you said." Giving his happy-go-lucky smile. "I don't want to start something- or… or wish for something I can't have. My friend! The night is late anyway."

"The night is young, according to the city."

"The city will trick you, yes. But alas. You and I have work tomorrow!"

The two buzzed men laughed it all away. Seeing the girls take a cab off to their hotel. Daisy was pretty, yes. But he'd seen prettier. And… in the end, he meant what he said. He didn't want to start anything that would end badly. Or- want something that he couldn't have. Jack continued on walking with his co-worker, seeing him to his central park apartment.

"I'll see you tomorrow, my friend! Be well-"

"Aw, gee boss! Do I have to come in tomorrow?"

"I think we all do. It's a Tuesday night. Atleast I will!"

His friend smiled, closing the door. You could hear him fumble from outside. Jack couldn't help but chuckle. He walked down the stairs and to the park- why, the prettiest piece of nature this city had to offer. "Hello, pretty girl," He sighed, coming to a bench and sitting down. He had no idea why he personified this park as a woman, but he did. Probably because it calmed him- day or night. This park took you away from the loud city to pure, peaceful silence. You could hear crickets- birds- the wind in the leaves… the drips into the pond… it was wonderful.

The drips into the pond faded and a breeze hit his face. It was near fall now, so nights got cold fast. Luckily, he was a prepared man these days who always thought of the future. He brought his warm, deep green winter suit for the night- quite taylored and comfortable- the best money could by!

Opening his eyes, he fumbled around in his suit jacket, mumbling about something. He pulled out a leather sketchbook, then some pencils. "I can't get enough practice here," His eyes wandering, he focused on the pond in front of him. It almost looked like glass, there was no riffs in it. Breathing into his hands, he rubbed them together before going into his own kind of meditation. He always loved to draw people- very organic figures. But he lacked in hard-form stuff, such as landscapes and architecture. Since he was in a solid city, he might as well perfect these talents.

His eyes were serious when he drew- when he was trying to capture something. Models and humans on the street were different to draw then a landscape. Nature was a difficult model- especially water. But Jack worked and worked- and a hour went by of him skecthing. He was on his final area of shading before-

There was a loud thud and splash, Jack's head immediatly looked up. "Oh-" He stood, dropping his sketchbook to the ground. There was a woman standing over the pond bridge, yelling for help. "Hello?" He called back, immediatly running to her.

"No No- sir! Help HIM!" She screamed, pointing to the pond below.

There was splashing- a man! A man had jumped!

Jack cursed and handed her his jacket before diving in. It must be a drunken couple- of course. Filled with passion- maybe about to have an intimate moment on the bridge. But the man fell off- as most drunk people do. Grabbing the drowning man by the shirt, he dragged him to the grass.

The woman ran down, cursing. "Now that you've helped him- call the police!"

Jack blinked, turning his head up to her as he huffed. "Excuse me- miss-?"

"Call the police! That man is a scumbag!" She spat. The woman pointed to the man, where Jack saw a pink pearl clutch in his hand. She grabbed it before kicking him in the face.

"Hey-" Jack spat- not really knowing what to do here. But she was running off.

He watched her run away before turning to the drowned 'scumbag'. He was wet, of course- but he hadn't seen his face yet. "C'mon sir- we should-" He lifted the mans shoulders before seeing his face, eyes widening.

"C...Cal…?"

Cal Hockley?