Disclaimer: I don't own Titanic, any of the characters, or any of the scenes!
Rose walked out onto the deck, feeling the warmth of the sun for what felt like the first time in years. A smile snuck its way onto her pale face as she looked out over the ocean. Quickly she caught herself and reset her features to their ever-present neutral stare. In her head though, all she could think of was what her spoiled mother would think if she knew where her first-class daughter was planning to visit. She smiled again, this time a wry smile as she pictured her mother's reaction. Guilt free and giddy with the thought of all the high society rules she was breaking, Rose carefully slipped through the gate that separated the steerage passengers from the rest of the ship.
Following the rusty staircase down into a crowded, noisy room, Rose began to understand why her mother would forbid her to spend any length of time even considering spending time here. The noise set her ears ringing; the children were running around or crawling on the floor, chasing each other and rats, coating their already ragged clothes in another layer of dirt; the smoke of the men's cigars and cigarettes filled the room with a smoky, foul-smelling haze; and everywhere she looked there were red-headed men with jugs of beer dripping down their fingers. Though she was completely out of her element and now a bit anxious, Rose continued descending the steps, determined to complete her mission.
She reached the last step and, taking a deep breath, began walking through the rows of benches, searching for those familiar blue eyes. Her mind began to wander, thinking back to the surreal events of the night before….the thoughts sent a shiver down her spine, and as her pace quickened just a bit she smiled to herself at her mother's reaction to the fact that her high-class daughter almost jumped off the speeding boat, and was saved only by the intense blue eyes of a concerned third class man.
A few moments later, a bench came into view. Seated there were an Italian man trying to communicate with a girl, who was most likely Norwegian and couldn't speak a word of English; a chubby Irish man, who was smoking and comparing papers to the faces of passengers and nodding approvingly; and a small Irish girl with her red curls hanging in her face as she watched the young man next to her, his body curved protectively around the notebook in his lap, glancing up occasionally to refresh the image of his target so his drawing would be as accurate as he could make it. Even though she couldn't see them, Rose knew that behind the blond bangs that man continuously pushed away from his face were a set of brilliant blue eyes that could see right through her.
Realizing she had stopped and was staring, Rose continued to push through the crowd toward the bench. As she drew closer, several of the benches behind her flourished with excited chatter as the well-dressed, first-class lady walked through the mob of third-class passengers in little more than rags. She ignored the whispers, the thought of his blue eyes looking into her green ones driving her forward. Some of the young boys and the older men tipped their scruffy hats in her direction, their eyes glazed as they watched her walk past. When Rose came within a few feet of his bench, the little Irish girl looked up and saw her, then jumped up off the bench and scampered away.
Surprised at her sudden disappearance, the blond man looked up then from his drawing. "Cora?" his voice sounded concerned, wandering what had scarred her off. Rose's heart skipped a beat at the worry in his tone, unwittingly craving its sweetness to be directed at her. The swift stroke of his pencil finished the outline of the child's face he was drawing, and then he looked up. His eyes swept the room, and then, startled, came to rest on Rose. She smiled awkwardly, the wonder in his expression catching her off guard. Both his Italian and his Irish friends noticed his face, and began immaturely giggling at his sides, and he elbowed each of them in turn, then quickly closed his notebook and jerkily stood up, his eyes darting around himself nervously as he did so.
Rose, trying not to giggle with his friends, formally addressed the blue eyes looking at her. "Hello, Mr. Dawson," she said, trying to keep all emotion from her voice.
Looking embarrassed but happy to see her, he gave a small smile and responded with a weak, too polite "Hello again." Feeling a bit disappointed at his lack of empathy, she took on one of her cold, high class attitudes she had perfected for her mother's tea parties.
"May I speak with you," Rose pressed, beginning to feel uncomfortable and getting annoyed at the slightly amused smile forming on his lips.
"Uh ya," he said quickly. He looked over at the Italian man, who smiled knowingly back up at him. Mr. Dawson raised his eyebrows, gesturing for Rose to continue. Now she was extremely annoyed because of the twinkle that had manifested itself in his eyes. Thinking he and his Italian friend were laughing at her in their own private way, she was now quite embarrassed.
"In private," Rose was almost growling now. Why had she convinced herself this was a good idea? Did she really think this man was worth her time? She blamed it on his eyes. Convincing herself that she was now irritated with him and that she would convey her thanks and leave him to stare after her, she waited for him to respond.
Realizing she was becoming quite perturbed, he responded with a clipped "yes of course," and leaned down to pick up his notebook. He stood back up and flashed her an apologetic smile. "After you," he whispered, and gestured for her to lead. She spun on her heel and began walking away, and he turned around to his friends who giggled again and gave him a thumbs up each. He smacked the Irish man on the back of his head and smiled at them, then quickly turned to follow Rose out. He looked back to see them dissolve in fits of giggles, and quickened his pace to catch up to Rose, while shaking his head and grinning at his friends' reaction. Rose looked back to make sure he was following and caught his smile.
His smile made the blood rush to her cheeks, and she quickly turned back around and continued walking. The crowd parted easily around her now, and she heard a few of the passengers make comments to her companion as he followed along behind her. She couldn't hear any of them specifically, but she heard him laugh, and quickened her pace.
When she reached the bottom of the rusty old staircase, she lifted her skirts and climbed them effortlessly in under a minute. When she reached the top, she looked back to see him watching her with an awe-struck expression. He quickly shook himself out of it and took the stairs two at a time to catch up with her. She smiled to herself as she continued upwards to her domain, remembering the look his features had displayed only moments before. It was hard to keep from chuckling at the thought of his open mouth, which he hadn't noticed was open, as he watched the first-class woman make quick work of the stairs, without so much as the railing, let alone the white-gloved hand of a steward to escort her step by step. When they reached the barrier gate, she nonchalantly pushed through it. When he hesitated, she gave him a wry smile and grabbed his hand, putting him through after her.