A/N: I own Titanic, I just thought you should know. Everybody says that they don't, but I do. Oh, are we talking about the film rights. I own the DVD...
The stars... all Rose could see ahead of her were stars. Specks of silver paint on a black canvas, the only source of light on the black ocean. Clear as glass, even through the icicles that had formed on her delicate eyelashes. Perhaps it was the cold, numbing her mind, but the flicker of a pulse in Jack's wrist seemed to be weakening. But he couldn't be dying. Even the freezing cold depths of the Atlantic Ocean couldn't take Jack Dawson. After everything the two of them had been through tonight, surely this couldn't be it. He was strong, invincible. She turned over, wincing as she painfully moved her frozen joints. The distant sound of oars sliding through water echoed through the silent night sky. A single call managed to penetrate Rose's hearing, as she realised that a boat was coming to save her. Ecstatically, she faced Jack. As her joints ached from the cold and her neck moved slowly from the ice, she turned as quickly as she could. But, she didn't like what she saw.
His face was blue; the blue of ice and cold. It was unhealthy and inhuman; surely no-one could live with skin so cold, a face so lifeless. But Jack had to be alive... Rose pleaded to God that, before tonight, she had been sure had existed. But surely God couldn't be so cruel; a God so omnipotent and benevolent. She shook Jack gently at first, urging him with all the might she could muster.
"Jack... Jack, there's a boat... Jack..."
Worry etched itself onto Rose's face, and slowly turned into fear. He wasn't responding. His head moved lifelessly as his body floated in the water, clinging to the side of the door. Rose breathed in, painfully. This wasn't happening. Jack couldn't be dead... he'd been alive barely minutes ago. He'd been the one willing her to live... make lots of babies... how could he go back on his promise like that? Rose felt the tears flow, uncontrollable waterfalls, and turn to ice. The pain was unendurable... how was she going to survive on her own. A life with Cal and her mother was out of the question; how could she provide for herself? She had to find a way, to make sure Jack's death wasn't in vain. As she broke his rigid arm from hers, she let go, kissing his lifeless hand as it disappeared into the dark.
"I'll never let go, Jack... I promise..."
The boat was leaving! She had to get on to the boat or die like Jack, like hundreds of other people in the black, icy wreck. Guiding her way through the cold waters, Rose remembered the whistle another victim had been desperately blowing earlier. Now, around his clammy, bleak neck, the whistle shimmered from the moonlight. She clasped and pulled and blew, with all the air in her lungs, for Jack, Fabrizio, Mr. Andrews, Cora, Tommy and everyone else who perished merely an hour or two ago. As the boat gently swerved through bodies of men, women and children towards her, Rose had never been more grateful for the torchlight blaring in her face. Lying on board of the small rescue boat as the crew looked over for more survivors, swathed in blankets and frosty breath escaping her lips, she gave into the painless, tantalising oblivion as she lost conciousness.
A single high pitch scream soared through the air. Rose woke with an abrupt start, and almost jumped, sitting up in her bed and adjusting her vision to the dark room. Continually, she had been living that scene over and over again in her head. The moment when she'd nearly died, the moment when Jack had...
It had been nearly a year after the accident. The 2nd of April 1993, to be exact. Survivors were still mourning for those they loved and women were trying to raise children who had no fathers. It was tough, there was no doubt about it. Mothers had lost children, wives had lost husbands, children had lost parents... it was time like this, at 3:00am, when Rose thought back to her mother and Cal. Living in a huge house while she struggled in a two bedroomed apartment in Santa Monica, where Jack had promised they'd go one day. The thought of that necklace came into her mind... it would be worth so much. A guaranteed, comfortable existence with no worries about money or where the next meal was coming from. It was simply lying there, without doing anybody any good...
Rose put the thought out of her mind... she'd woken up for some reason and her sleepy haze had made her forget about it. After a moment of thought, she slung her legs from the snug bed and placed her feet on the freezing floor. Rose walked through to the other room, yawning. In the corner of the small, cramped yet cosy room, a second-hand, worn wooden cradle stood.
Inside, a small fair-haired child of two months lay defiant, tears in her eyes as she craved attention. Her eyes lit up and she gurgled as she saw her mother, and kicked her small, infantile legs fiercely. Rose smiled to herself. Baby Lillian Jacqueline Dawson was perfect in every way; golden hair and cornflower blue eyes like her father, but with the fierce temperament of her mother. Her eyes concentrated on Rose's in the darkness; Rose found it hard to believe that she was only two months old. But, then again, Jack was always like that. It was something she'd inherited from her father; both were beyond than their years, knew more than they should.
Rose lifted her daughter from her crib, breathing in the warm milk smell that accompanied the baby. The weight in her arms was comforting and Rose carried the baby through to the bedroom. Lily was asleep again within seconds, which made Rose laugh. She was crying for attention... Rose thought of Lily as a famous actress in eighteen years time, with her Daddy smiling down on her, the success that her mother never had. The thought of Jack being proud of his daughter brought a lump to her throat, as she swallowed back tears.
Kissing the top of her daughter's soft golden head, Rose placed her down next to her. The baby snuffled softly in her sleep. Nights in the big city were lonely... as Rose lay down and smiled at her sleeping daughter, she felt the warm companion of sleep fall upon her. And she welcomed it gratefully.
It was a warm Spring morning, as Rose bustled around her small kitchen, making breakfast for one. She was readying herself for an audition at a restaurant; not the sort of job she'd want permanently, but something enjoyable that would pay the bills. Lily was sleeping peacefully in her cradle, dressed in a simple white dress, perfect for the weather. Sitting down to a cup of tea, Rose thought of her day. She'd have to visit Mrs. Carter, the old woman next door, and ask her to watch the baby for an hour or two. Mrs Carter, a widow, was often grateful for the company. She was nice enough, a mother of five kids who'd flown the nest, and often thought of Lily of the grandchild she never had (or never saw). As Rose drained the cup of tea, she went through to the other room, picking up the sleeping yet smiling child. Placing her daughter in a second hand pram that she'd picked up from a friend, she looked over her apartment and exited, locking the door behind her.
The old lady's door was chipped and worn, but her home was pristine and immaculate, as the old woman allowed Rose inside and took a seat in a comfortable armchair by the window.
"Now, young Rose," her Irish accent rang through the empty house, "What can I do for you?"
"Well, Mrs. Carter, I was wondering if you'd mind watching Lily for an hour."
The old woman laughed to herself. "Of course not. It would be a joy to watch the young 'un for a while. She'd no trouble when she's here. Might I ask why?"
Rose smiled. "Thank you. I have an interview for a job in a nice little restaurant in town. It's nothing big, just something to ensure that I'll eat for the next week. It's a nice little place, the sort I'd like t visit one day. I wouldn't bother you, but I really need this job." Mrs Carter looked at the ground, then at Rose pointedly.
"May I ask, dear, what happened to your husband?" She automatically looked away, wondering if she'd gone too far. She fingered a set of rosary beads around her neck.
Again, Rose smiled, though forcefully. This moment was soon to come, and now it had. The lie that she'd prepared all those months ago would finally come to good use.
"My husband was called Jack Dawson, and we lived in Southampton, England for a while. I discovered I was pregnant, and we decided to return to America, as work was scarce. Unfortunately, we both booked places on the Titanic," the old woman gasped, "Yes, the Titanic. Everything was going perfectly enough. Our third class tickets weren't luxurious, but I didn't expect anything else. All I needed was a bed and two meals a day. It was our ticket to freedom, and as long as I had Jack, I couldn't care how I lived. But, the illusion was shattered. We were some of the last told that the ship was about to sink, and I managed to get a place on a lifeboat. One of the last, it was extremely cramped, but Jack wasn't allowed on. I didn't want the damn place,; I was prepared to die with him. But, he urged me to think of myself, think of the baby I was carrying. It was the hardest decision of my life, but I agreed. I'm glad I did now. But, as I sailed away from the scene, torn and in pain from my loss, my Jack perished with the 1,500 others. I lost a husband, and my baby lost a father."
Mrs. Carter looked away. "The Lord was in a crisis when he decided to sink that ship." She crossed herself. "I truly feel sorry for your loss." The old and young women sat in silence for a minute, as Mrs. Carter abruptly lifted herself from her chair. "Now, dear. I'm being incredibly evasive and rude. Would you like a cup of tea before you leave? " Rose stood quickly from the chair.
"No, thank you. I must get off, it's nearly 11:00am. Thank you again for watching Lily for me. I'll be home at 1:00pm at the latest..."
"Don't worry yourself," the old woman got up from her seat to show Rose out. "It'll be a pleasure for me. I don't often see my own grandchildren, the company will do me good. You get yourself going, love. Don't be late now..."
Rose kissed her still sleeping daughter on the forehead, and left through the door, waving goodbye. Mrs. Carter shut the door slowly and quietly. Rose descended the stairs, creeping past the landlords door. The rent hadn't been paid in two weeks, and Rose would be evicted within the week, if she didn't pay. A two month old baby didn't make a difference; Mr Stevenson was a cruel man. He would even sell his own daughter, if the price was right.
The warm air filled her lungs, as she passed the park where she often took Lily on a pleasant day. Children playing freely; boys playing with balls and cars and planes, girls with skipping ropes and dolls. Dogs barking, fathers proudly watching and mothers chatting. Young lovers holding hands in the street and softly whispering on benches. Rose was reminded of Jack. Would they be like this? A young married couple with a baby, Jack fussing over Lily and being the proud father. Rose sighed, and crossed her arms as she walked.
On the pavement, a set of paintings and drawings were for sale. The artist was nowhere to see seen, so Rose stood to admire the work. It was 10:45am, and another fifteen minutes until the man wanted her to arrive. The drawings and paintings were exquisite; they were almost as good as Jack's. A watercolour image of the coast, the city, and the very park Rose had been admiring. Line drawings of women and children and families smiled, laughing and playing. If Rose wasn't in a hurry, she would have found the man and paid him for a painting. Something to cheer up the apartment. But, she carried on walking. This audition was her next meal ticket, money to ensure that both her and Lily would have a roof over their heads for at least another month.
The door to the restaurant beckoned Rose in. The sign 'JOSEPH MANDLESON'S," was displayed in above the door. The building looked elegant and expensive, the sort of place her mother would visit, or she would, if she'd have married Cal. It certainly wasn't seedy or degrading, as Ruth DeWitt Bukater had often told her only daughter when she was a child. This opportunity would certainly able her to live comfortably, if not make her famous. Famous enough to make everyone proud and those from her previous life envious. Her mother would return for money; she had always wanted Rose to have a successful, well rich, life, whether or not Rose herself was happy. She smiled; the one thing she could do was dream. She pulled herself away, and entered the building.
The room was large, and decorated exquisitely with good taste. There were many small tables for customers to dine upon; tables of a light wood, covered with a linen tablecloth, a flower in a vase and immaculate china. At this moment, an upper class woman was having morning tea with her friend. She reminded Rose of her mother. The wallpaper was floral and of expensive taste, and a lush, beige curtain hid the backstage from the front room. A single, mahogany piano stood majestically off stage. It was all very light and airy. This was a place that was respectable and paid well. Rose looked around and saw a round, jovial man with a red face and an impeccable suit. His face wore a wide smile, as he walked towards Rose, hand outstretched.
"Ms. Rose Dawson?" He asked inquisitively, and she nodded.
"Yes, I am Rose Dawson." Rose returned to her haughty voice which she'd used for the past 17 years. "Extremely pleased to meet you... Mr Mandleson?"
"Yes. I am Joseph Mandleson Jr., owner of this delightful little restaurant you see before you. I inherited it of of my father, which, as you can tell, was decorated so delightfully by my mother, God bless her soul."
"I'm here for the job opening, advertised in the newspaper..."
"Ah, yes. Of course. I always forget that I advertise for extra staff. Please, step into my office over here..." he gestured kindly with his hand, and Rose followed, wringing her hands nervously...
Half an hour later, Rose left the office feeling on top of the world. The interview process and audition to sing regularly at the restaurant has gone splendidly. Mr. Mandleson seemed very genuine and understanding about her condition and her 'husbands' death a year earlier. He had practically guaranteed her the job. She could plan ahead, for trips to the seaside for Lily and her, a chance to fulfil all the promises she had said to Jack in their time together. Times were going to look up for Rose and her daughter... she could feel it..