:Important: This story is not originally mine, but it has been left unfinished for years and it is also one of the best Titanic fanfics I have ever read, and so after these first 11 chapters I will try to continue. But I need someone to continue it with me, because I don't think I have the skills to finish it all myself as it is a very complex story with many characters. If you think you have the talent for this story, please email, or message me, and I will see if I approve.

Jack Dawson's eyes bolted open underneath the murky waters of the Atlantic Ocean. His body was sinking deeper and deeper into the depths of the icy sea. With concentrated effort, he pushed his body up onto the surface. As he kicked, bolts of white-hot pain ringed through his body sending ripples of agony throughout his being. Despite the torture from every stroke, Jack continued his effort to break free of the sea.

He finally broke the surface and drew in deep, desperate breaths. The taste of salt water stung his lips and face once exposed to the arctic-like Atlantic winds. He tried to focus and took in the scene that unfolded before him. The faint smell of death filled his nostrils; it saturated him like a foul-smelling toxin. His eyes slowly scanned his environment; the bobbing corpses engulfed him on all sides. An uncontrollable shaking overtook him. He willed himself to move and began swimming around the bodies.

Jack made his way back to the piece of wooden debris where he had left Rose, but she was gone. Fear tightened around his heart, and he tried to say her name, but no sound escaped his lips. His eyes darted anxiously over the bodies near him. She was nowhere to be seen. Desperation tore at his heart.

He battled with his failing strength to climb onto the piece of wood and collapsed as exhaustion finally won him over. The only sound he heard now was that of his heart thundering in his chest. He screamed her name.

"ROSE!" It came out as a strangled cry. The cold was consuming him, and the only warmth he felt was the flow of tears as they made their way down his face. I must survive... he kept telling himself over and over. He would not allow himself to die here. Not now. He felt his thoughts begin to drift, and he fought to remain conscious.

Jack felt numb as he slowly regained consciousness. He vaguely heard the commands that were being shouted some distance above him.

"Sir! Over here! This one!" The voice sounded dim and distorted.

"Alive!" came the response.

"Barely, sir," replied the first voice.

There was a pause. "Take him; every soul we can save..." The voice trailed off. Jack felt himself being lifted; he mouthed Rose's name before darkness finally took him again.

Rose pulled the blanket around her as she lay in the lifeboat. The soft wails of the passengers' were like a twisted song that was slowly rocking her to sleep. She stared blankly into the night sky. Jack. She blinked her tears away. She wanted to cry but feared that once she started, the flow of tears would never stop. Instead, she swallowed back her tears, choking on the tart aftertaste they left behind.

She momentarily glanced up as the crew brought aboard a few more survivors. Her eyes were hypnotized with grief; and in a melancholy trance, she watched as the crew accommodated the few they were able to rescue.

Rose turned away as she heard the crew speak again. There seemed to be one final survivor. She listened as they struggled to bring that last fortunate soul into the lifeboat. She tried to concentrate on the night sky above her. As she stared blankly into the dark, she drifted into sleep. Her heart weighed heavily with the events of the last few hours, and now the weariness was taking its toll. She welcomed the peace and calm that sleep brought with it. She was unaware that a short distance away, Jack Dawson rested safely within the lifeboat. He was covered in blankets to protect him from the icy winds that fanned across the Atlantic night.

Caledon Hockley made his way through the survivors of the Titanic on board the Carpathia. As he glided through the grief-stricken crowd, he noticed two stewards carrying a stretcher. He pushed his way through to them. His thoughts raced and even panicked at the thought that it could be Rose on that stretcher.

His blood ran cold when he gazed upon the body the men were carrying. Jack Dawson. Cal began to silently curse his run of luck. He motioned to one of the stewards with a dollar bill, "How is this one?"

"Looks like he will survive, sir." The steward easily pocketed the money.

Cal tried to hide his disgust, "That's just wonderful." His voice was laced with sarcasm. "Was there a woman with him?"

"Woman? No, sir."

No? A thought suddenly struck Cal, "May I be allowed to check out the steerage deck?"

Cal made his way to the lower decks of the Carpathia. He looked at the faces of each third class passenger who had survived the disaster. The sounds of weeping and cries of anguish filled the lower deck as they did on the upper deck. Evidence of heavy hearts marred most of the survivors' features.

He finally spotted Rose trying to conceal herself beneath a blanket. He approached her cautiously. She glared at him with disdain.

"Go away, Cal," she shot out immediately. Her voice was colder than the waters of the Atlantic.

"Rose, I was so worried..." He placed an arm around her, which she shrugged off with annoyance. Cal masked his emotions. Inside, he was hurt and angry at her constant rejection. Dawson! This is his fault. Damn him! The dislike Cal felt for Jack elevated into contempt and hatred.

"You really should go back with me. Where you belong. In first class." Cal's jaw tightened, and his words were solemn.

"My place?" she sneered. "You'll never learn, will you Cal?"

Cal continued to argue with her, "Rose, this is insane! Come with me! Your mother is worried about you, as well." He grabbed her forcefully by the arm.

"Unhand me!" Rose exclaimed in a voice louder than Cal would have liked, due to the unwanted stares he was now receiving from the survivors who wandered the deck aimlessly.

"Rose..." his grip tightened. "What? Do you want to be with that filth? That street gutter... rat?" he asked in disbelief.

Rose bit back tears, hate flashed in her eyes as she looked at him. "He's dead, Cal." He could only imagine the agony she felt uttering those words.

"Dead?" he asked in surprise. Cal was lost in thought for a moment. Then slowly it dawned on him. She doesn't know. There was hope yet for him to win her. He cleared his throat, "I'm sorry Rose... I didn't realize." He lowered his gaze.

Rose examined him closely. There was something he was hiding. She was certain of it. But what? Whatever it was, it was crucial. She could see him begin to shift uncomfortably under her stare. Cal feared she would see right through him and discover the truth.

He wiped her tears away to keep her penetrating gaze from filtering out the truth. She backed away from him, "Please, just leave me alone..."

Cal knew she was trying to be brave. He could tell her that he saw the stewards bring in Dawson. He looked into her eyes again. Pure hate. Cal despised Dawson for the way Rose was looking at him now. Jack had taken her away from him. And for that, Cal's knowledge about him being brought on board alive would never reach Rose's ears. Not if he could help it. Money buys silence, among other things.

Cal loved her, too, and he wasn't about to lose her to him. Not some third-class... nobody.

"Rose, why must you do this? This is absurd! Please, come with me," Cal insisted.

"No!"

A steward approached them. "Is he bothering you, miss?"

"Yes," Rose answered quickly.

Cal straightened his back as he slowly started to walk away. As he passed, he shook an accusatory finger at her, "One day Rose, you will regret those words you just said to me."

Rose watched as Cal ascended the stairs. Her thoughts drifted to the comment he had made earlier. What in heaven's name did he mean? She could not help but think that his words had a double meaning. But what? Rose knew Cal. He had courted her for over a year. Never in that time had he ever felt remorse over the death of a commoner. Why would he suddenly feel for the death of Jack Dawson? No, something was wrong. His behavior emanated that he was hiding something.

Her eyes narrowed.

By securing his answers with money, Cal found out easily enough where Jack was being kept. He shoved people out of the way hurriedly as he made his way across the ship. When he located the room he had been searching for, he noticed a steward posted outside. Cal approached slowly.

"I believe I may know the man you hold in there," he said in a casual voice.

The steward looked him calmly in the eye, "Aye? And who is he?"

Cal pursed his lips together, "He's a servant of mine. May I go in to see him?"

"I'm sorry sir, but that can't be done. That poor lad in there is in bad shape."

It took Cal great effort to fight back the smile that was forming on his lips, "Really? Is it serious?"

"Don't know."

"Well, perhaps you will allow me to at least verify that it is my manservant?" Cal handed the steward a fifty dollar bill as he spoke.

"Don't see what the harm can be of you peeking in...just to look." The steward pocketed the money.

Cal let his smile spring forth, "Good man."

The steward opened the cabin door, and Cal stepped in. His face knotted into revulsion at the sight of Jack. The rhythmic sound of Jack's breath as he slept thundered in Cal's ears. His thoughts darkened, and his eyes narrowed into two slants. He took measured steps as he moved toward Jack's bedside. His figure loomed over Jack. Shaking with an inner rage, he reached into his coat pocket and drew out Lovejoy's gun. He aimed it at Jack's head and pulled the trigger. No shot rang out. The pistol was empty.

Before Cal could react, he heard the cabin door pushed open. He felt his pulse quicken and whirled his head around to see who had entered.

"Are you done sir?" It was the steward.

Cal forced a smile, "Yes...," he answered as he turned back to look at Jack. Cal noticed that he still held the gun in his hand. He inhaled deeply while slipping the weapon into his pocket.

The steward motioned toward Jack, "Is that your manservant?"

"Yes." A thought occurred to Cal as he approached the steward. "Be sure no one bothers him. He needs his rest." Cal exhibited a handful of fifties. The steward's eyes bulged at the sight of so much money.

"Yes, sir. No one will disturb him. As you wish." His fingers greedily handled the money.

Cal's face twisted into a thin smile, "When we dock, make sure to notify me at once." The steward nodded in agreement.

Cal had summoned Rose's mother to the cabin he was assigned. He was a little more than annoyed at the lack of space and comfort the lodgings offered. When Ruth DeWitt Bukater entered the room, Cal began to narrate the events that had transpired since the sinking of Titanic the night before.

Ruth was shocked at the news, "Rose is alive? But why hasn't she..."

Cal cut her off, "Yes, well you know how stubborn she can be. Even with that insolent pest dead, she still won't come back." He poured himself a drink and drank it down in one hard swallow.

Ruth studied Cal carefully, "You say that boy who Rose became infatuated with... he is-"

"Dead," Cal said apathetically.

Ruth lowered her gaze, "That poor boy," she whispered.

Cal sneered at her, "Ruth, just go and get her. Convince her that she must return. It is in all of our interests if Rose returns."

"I will do what I can, of course," Ruth answered, masking her fear. She understood Cal's meaning. Without Rose, there was no need for Cal to take Ruth into his care. Without Rose, Ruth's way of life was over.

Jack's eyes felt like lead weights as he tried to open them. Everything seemed a blur; nothing was familiar. In the distance, he could hear something... sounds... murmurs... he strained to understand. They were voices. He could barely make out what they said; the tones sounded distorted. As he turned his head to view the source of the voices, a sharp, deep pain shot throughout his head and body. He groaned softly; it hurt to move. He felt as though he was being burned alive. He strained to understand the words being spoken.

"Is he any better?"

"Somewhat, yes... lucky... very lucky... not many survived."

"A tragedy is what that is."

"Indeed."

Jack's thoughts were a mixture of confusion and fear. With as much strength as he could muster, he reached out with one arm toward the voices. He focused his vision on one of the blurs and made effort to speak.

"R..ro..ros...," he groaned, but nothing else would come out. His head spun as he attempted to force the words out. He slumped back into the bed, barely conscious and unable to speak..

"What was that? Did he speak?"

The second voice answered, "He's delirious, mate. Fever has not gone down yet."

"Umm, you're right...better let him rest then."

"We'll land tomorrow, and Captian Rostron has already arranged for an ambulance for this one. Make sure he's prepped."

"Aye, I have to notify his boss who came in earlier to identify him. Otherwise we might never have known who he is."

"The lad was lucky that someone recognized him in the midst of all this chaos."

"Indeed," replied the second voice.