Disclaimer: I don't own Titanic.(:
don't say your goodbyes yet
-x-
titanic.
-x-
'something i can't have.'
-x-
The Carpathia continued on its path slowly, the slow, rhythmic rocking some form of normality in a tumultuous start to the day.
Rose Dewitt Bukater pulled the thin shawl around her bare arms, closing her eyes and breathing in.
One. Two.
She opened her eyes tentatively, hoping to see some familiar sight- the Grand Staircase of the Titanic in all its glory, the polished decks and walkways, even the boiler rooms where the workers slaved. But all she got was the sight of the Carpathia's grimy decksand whatever Titanic survivors the ship had managed to save.
The sky was a dull hazy grey, faint traces of violet and orange splashed across the sky. Rose could still count the number of stars left in the sky, refusing to give way to the morning light.
Rose shut her eyes forcibly, trying to clear her mind.
The colours were too bright, the sounds of the swooping gulls too loud and shrilly.
The events of the past few hours seemed like a nightmare- surely, she'd wake up back in her suite, enveloped in her sheets with Jack waiting for her at the third class decks?
But Rose knew this was real. She knew that the Titanic had sunk. She knew that everyone she had come to love over the past few days-Trudy, Fabrizio, Helga, Thomas Andrews, among many others-were gone.
Jack.
Jack was gone.
The tips of his blond hair were encrusted with ice, his lips tinged a numbing blue.
And God, he was cold. He was so cold.
"J..Jack..." Rose choked out, her lips numb from the cold of the Atlantic gales. "J..Jack... where are you?"
"I-I'll...I'll never l-let go..." she whispered, watching as the tail of a shooting star faded into the daybreak.
A shooting star.
"You know, my pops used to tell me that every time you saw one, it was a soul going to heaven."
"I like that..."
"Are you in heaven now, Jack?" Rose breathed, her fists clenched. "Are you? Tell me if you are."
A warm breeze tickled her shoulders in an almost comforting gesture. It smelled of brandy, cigarette smoke, and wild mint. Almost like Jack.
God, she had to be mad.
A shooting star. What to wish for?
And she remembered Jack. His smile, his laugh that sounded like the most beautiful song in the world, his hair that shone a beautiful brassy gold in the sunlight.
She remembered his hands on hers, his strong arms around her shoulders in a tight hug, the forceful kiss on the forehead that reassured both of them that everything would end up alright. She remembered his eyes, so beautiful, like a work of art, just like the person they belonged to. They weren't blue- they were a striking turquoise, with flecks of green, bronze, and hazel. She remembered just how safe he made her feel, how he made her feel like for once, everything was going to be okay.
And the tears came, quietly at first, before her body shook as she sobbed. Rose didn't care about the stares- all she wanted was for Jack to be back, to be next to her, to tell her that everything was going to be alright. Because for those few blissful days, everything was truly perfect, and she had everything she could have ever wanted. But God had ripped all that away from her, and now she was stuck in the world of yesterdays and what-ifs.
So she cried. She cried for everything she lost, everything she once had, and everything she had wished for. She cried for Jack, for Trudy, for Fabrizio and Helga, for Thomas Andrews, and the rides on the roller coasters, the drunken nights at cheap pubs and gallops on the beach that would never be.
And when she looked up, the shooting star was gone, faded into the heavens and whatever vast unknown was out there.
What do I wish for?
...something I can't have.
-x-
"Rose, dear, J.J. and I are about to chat over a cup of tea, would you care to join us?" Margaret Brown questioned kindly, knocking on the young woman's door.
Molly Brown had been kind enough to allow Rose to stay over at her flat in New York. Though Rose had only intended to stay for a few days, she had ended up prolonging her stay by months. Though Rose was forever indebted to the woman for allowing her to stay at her home, she couldn't find the life in her to leave the room and find a place for her own.
After all, what was the use?
"No, thank you, Madame Brown." Rose responded politely, brushing a red curl out of her face. "I think I'd do well to take a walk in Central Park. It's a lovely day outside."
The socialite was somewhat taken aback, a smile broad on her face.
"Well, you'd best be hurrying, I have to lock up in ten minutes!"
Rose nodded, smiling, before retreating back into her room and staring listlessly at her mishmash of clothing. Most of her belongings had perished alongside the Titanic, and what she had now had either been bought from the little earnings she had or gifted to her.
She slipped on a simple, lemon yellow dress that hit mid-calf and with lovely lace trim and embroidery detailing. Simple, off white fabric espadrilles adorned her feet.
Despite Molly Brown having separated from her husband years ago, they remained good friends. James Joseph Brown was a lovely man, and had come to Manhattan to reassure himself that Molly was still alive. Sometimes, Rose mused almost bitterly to herself, she could see Margaret Brown's eyes light up again, in a way hers never did.
Not since Jack had died, anyway.
So Rose had hidden from reality, gasping for breath in the sea of memories that washed over her every single moment of her life. She knew Jack would have been disappointed in her behaviour, upset she hadn't been living life like a normal young woman should have been.
But how could she pretend that everything was fine, when in reality, everything that had made her happy had been torn away from her? Jack was gone, Trudy was gone, and even her mother believed her to be dead. Nothing was normal, and she couldn't understand how Margaret Brown managed to put a smile on her face every day. All Rose wanted to do was curl up and cry, but Molly had never let her. Rose was forever indebted to the woman, a fact that she would never forget, even into the late stages of her life.
Everything reminded her of that damned ship. The cool, spring breeze brought back nightmares of frigid Atlantic gales. May drizzle reminded her of the freezing ocean waters that rushed through the corridors and snapped the ship in half. Her favourite corset brought back painful memories of Trudy, who'd offered a sense of security her mother never had.
And Jack. Every little thing reminded her of him, from the water in the lakes to stray pieces of sketch paper bunched up balls on the street. When the wind whistled, it carried along scents of smoke and mint, the whispers of laughter from aboard ships of dreams. It almost felt like Jack Dawson was still alive, and that any minute, he'd stroll from around the corner, hands in his pockets and that stupid smug smirk on his face. But he never came.
Rose leaned against the trunk of the tree, tears in her eyes again.
Sometimes, she wished she had gone down with Jack.
Because life was just so damn hard now.
She watched as a child ran across the hill, giggling, her dark brown curls bouncing up and down and tickling her bare shoulders.
A sudden wave of nostalgia washed over her as Rose noted her resemblance to Cora.
Cora, the young girl she had met aboard the Titanic. Had she lived?
A knot of dread formed in her stomach as she recalled the doors that had locked the steerage passengers to their deck. Had Cora drowned? She bit her lip, remembering how Jack had taken such a liking to the young girl. He was a natural father, a fact that had not gone unnoticed by Rose.
Jack would have been an amazing father, Rose thought wistfully to herself as she let a small blush creep up on her cheeks. God. He really would have.
The girl stopped, glancing at Rose briefly. Her eyes were a light brown, her skin a silky caramel. A smile tugged her lips up as she waved to the redheaded young woman, before another child, a blond boy, flicked her lightly on the arm and burst away. The girl giggled, before running after him, hands groping the air as she ran across the grass.
A pang of wanting gripped Rose.
A balled up newspaper fluttered down the sidewalk, the headlines bold and obnoxiously loud.
"TITANIC SINKING EXACTLY TWO MONTHS AGO. HEAR THE SURVIVOR STORIES."
Rose trembled, balling up the newspaper once more and throwing it across the field, eyes glassy with tears. She stood up, dusting herself off, before breaking away, sobbing, running back to the only home she had now.
-x-
"Why'd you do that Rose, why'd you do that? You're so stupid, Rose, why'd you do that, huh?"
Fear. Adrenaline. Defiance.
"You jump, I jump, right?"
Murky black waters, enticing and hungry.
(come out t y...)
Lights flickering.
o n e . t w o .
and everything's black.
why does morning seem s o . f a r . a w a y?
"don't ever let go."
Rose awoke with a start, her fingers instinctively touching her cheeks, and the invisible tear tracks that ran down her porcelain skin.
"Jack.." she sobbed, grabbing a fistful of her sheets and wiping her tears.
"Jack... how can I let go? How can I?" she whispered, her curls tangled and her skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat. "The night. The memories. They haunt me, Jack. How can... how can I let go?"
Her voice wavered in the end, sobs wracking her thin frame.
The demons of the sea haunted her each night, peppering her fitful sleep with nightmares of black waters and flickering ship lights.
They held her precariously close to the edge of insanity, the place of no return. She sobbed and pleaded and fought with all her might, but the hold of the demons never relented.
As usual, no answer awaited her.
She was ashamed to admit it, but she almost forgot how he felt, how he sounded. She had only faint memories of strong arms and baby soft skin tanned from days in the sun. She had only faint memories of thick leather jackets over her bare shoulders and the hesitation in his touch as his hands ran over her body lustfully, leaving behind sweat stained cushions and bruises on her neck that only makeup could cover up. She could only vaguely remember his voice, like music to her ears, and his laugh, a deep baritone that made the butterflies in her stomach flutter again after a few second's rest.
She waited for something.
A faint smell of mint, an echo of a laugh, his voice that told her everything was going to be okay. She waited for his arms, protective, shielding her from the evils of the world.
She almost felt let down for a moment, annoyance twinging as she wondered why he hadn't arrived yet when Rose Dawson was so fragile and oh so close to the tipping point.
But then she remembered that he wasn't coming back, that no, he was slumbering with the angels this night, and the next, and all the nights that would follow until she too was welcomed by God into whatever afterlife awaited her. Hot tears stung in her eyes.
Why didn't they teach this in finishing school?
Folding napkins, walking with high heels, and learning to address others was nothing.
What about heartache, grief, the feeling of wanting to go to sleep and never waking up?
Rose lamented over how unfair life was, because that had never been in any of Trudy's bedtime stories when she was little.
It had always been about princesses and princes and happy endings that left a fuzzy feeling in your heart.
But life wasn't always a fairytale with kisses and happily ever afters.
If it was, then her prince would have come back to her by now.
A/N: YAY NEW FIC.
HAHA, this is just trouble waiting to happen. (x
I hate Fanfiction formatting now. D: Ew ew ew.
I have about three chapters of this written out and I'm playing with how I want chapter four to end.
And no, Jack isn't alive. I think the reason the movie is a classic is because it makes us relate to the tragedy that was the Titanic. Numbers don't really seem significant on their own- but when it comes to someone that movie-goers have come to grown fond of over the course of three hours, it makes the sinking of Titanic hit that much closer. I have no idea if that whole thing made sense at all.
I don't think the movie would have been as good if Jack didn't die. It would have been unrealistic, because the truth is, only about 1 out of 3 people were saved. The Titanic is a tragedy, and it wouldn't have felt like it if Jack did live, because frankly it's not realistic and I don't know.
It's fun to play with the idea of Jack living, but I think there aren't enough fics documenting Rose and her feelings after losing Jack. I don't know.
You can ignore all that mindless rambling.
This fic will be updated, more than likely, once every two weeks because I'm rubbish at updating on time and I have like, six ongoing fics right now. Six or eight. ._.
Click the big blue button! Reviews are LOVE.(: