A/N: Thanks for the lovely reviews! I hope this chapter comes up to your expectations.

And last but not least, thanks to DreamUpAReality, formerly known as G. W. Failure, who kindly betaed this for me. Twice!


Chapter 2

Cal faintly heard his wife's beautiful singing voice behind the door to her room, and felt his mouth go dry. As Mr. Steinberg had remarked, Cal hadn't visited her in while - almost two months to be exact. Too late to turn back now, he thought and cast an expectant gaze at the professor, waiting for him to take the helmet, as dealing with maniacs was obviously his field of expertise.

Rose's room wasn't locked. Only the corridor was. If she wished to, she could stroll around the hallway and regale other patients and the hospital staff with her fantastic tales. But most importantly, nurses could go inside quickly to check if she was alright. During the first months she had spent in the asylum, they used to check on her every thirty minutes, but since she hadn't shown any suicidal tendencies lately, it was decided to reduce the control visits to a minimum level.

With an almost solemn expression, Steinberg opened the door to his patient's residence, revealing a light spacious room with tasteful and expensive furniture.

Cal hadn't wanted to make her new residence look like a prison cell and had insisted to stuff it with all the fine things his wife was accustomed to, to the point where it had more in common with an upper class sitting room than with a hospital. Her room was splendidly furnished with sofas, chairs and tables in art deco style as this was the dernier cri among the fashionable elite, to which Cal counted his wife, regardless of her mental state. She might be locked away in an asylum for the mentally ill, but she was still – and would forever be - high class.

Rose. Reluctantly, Cal lifted his gaze to the mad woman, his wife, who'd once been the epitome of elegance and grace and was now stumbling from one wall to the other in a mad dance, whirling around like a clumsy dervish and laughing like an idiot. She looked like a drunken whore who had got lost in a fancy European hotel.

"Excellent work, Professor. I see she is clearly on the mend!"Cal whispered to Steinberg, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. "I think I should present her to the Senator's wife at next week's autumn gala. I'm assured she's going to make an extraordinary first impression."

"You are not seeing her, Mr. Hockley," Professor Steinberg retorted soberly.

Although they had knocked at the door several times before they had entered the room, it took Rose a while to become aware of the two men as she was so caught up in what she was doing. When she finally realized she wasn't alone anymore, she stopped in mid-movement, which almost caused her to trip and fall on the expensive Persian carpet. Her singing stopped a little later as if her voice needed more time to react than her body.

After she regained her composure, her eyes started gleaming with interest. "Nice to see you again, Professor Steinberg," she said excitedly and slightly out of breath, "And oh, hello Cal!"

Cal frowned. "She knows who you are?"

Rose answered at Professor Steinberg's place, in the same haughty, overly articulate voice she had always used when she had been displeased by him during the time of their engagement, "Of course I know him, darling. I enjoy talking to other passengers who are admirers of fine art."

"You... you two were talking about art?"

"Among other things, yes," came Rose's nonchalant reply. She took a seat at a small richly ornamented table in the corner of the room and motioned for the two men to join her. Her gestures were the ones of a spoiled rich lady, but Rose's tattered appearance made them feel grotesquely out of place.

After they had sat down beside her, Professor Steinberg was the first to speak. "I'm sorry, but would you be so kind as to tell me what the date is?"

"April 13th 1912," Rose answered with a smile. She had started playing with a lock of her red hair, twisting it around her finger. The rest of her curls was a knotted mess that looked like no comb would ever tame it again. Her complexion was as pale as oatmeal and Cal noticed with concern that she had lost weight since the last time he had seen her.

The professor nodded. "Uh hum. What would you say if somebody told you that today was Wednesday, October 23rd, 1929?"

"Now you're making fun of me, Professor!" Rose laughed softly. "Why would anybody say that?"

"I beg your pardon, Miss."

Cal snorted quietly and shook his head at their absurd exchange. How the professor managed to sound so genuine was a mystery to him.

Professor Steinberg and Rose then started to chit-chat about the quality of the lunch –that in Rose's eyes was served by a waiter in a curious white uniform -and the importance of good nutrition. "Mens sana in corpore sano - only a healthy body can sustain a sound mind," the professor recited and his sophisticated patient agreed wholeheartedly.

The words rolled from her tongue as beautifully as ever and when Cal closed his eyes for a few minutes, he felt almost as if his life was still the way he once knew it. Rose and he at a party, where she would discuss fashion with other fine ladies, while the gentlemen were complimenting him on her disarming beauty. How beautiful she was, even at 34...But naturally, the pleasant illusion didn't last for long.

When Steinberg made the mistake of addressing her as "Mrs. Hockley," she was quick to correct him. "Cal and I aren't married, yet. My name is still DeWitt Bukater," she said, fumbling with her hands. Then, out of nowhere, an idea seemed to cross her mind and she looked distracted, a blissful smile plastered on her face. Cal began to feel physically ill.

"Miss?"

"Huh? Oh, I'm truly sorry, Mr. Steinberg. I was just thinking about how I met a very dear friend of mine." The professor's curious gaze encouraged her to go on. "You know, when I told him my name, he said he had to get me to write that down." She shook her head in amusement. "I had never realized my name was so complicated!"

The professor stroked his beard. "You are talking about Jack Dawson, aren't you?"

The mad woman gave a slight cough, trying without success to hide the blush that was spreading on her face. Whoever that Jack Dawson was, Rose was clearly under his spell.

"Forgive me, Miss DeWitt Bukater, but I couldn't fail to note that you were singing and dancing when we came in. Why were you dancing?"

Rose smiled, suddenly lost in thought again. "I was singing and dancing, because... well, I think I just felt like it."

Cal growled audibly, but neither the professor nor his wife was paying much attention to him at this point. To make matters worse, that damned Steinberg's words were still ringing in his ears. You don't see her, Mr. Hockley. Under the table, he clenched his fists until his knuckles started to hurt.

"Rose," Cal groaned suddenly, surprised at the sound of his own voice that cut through their jovial conversation like a dagger. "Why are you doing this to me?"

She snapped her head around, staring at him as if she hadn't been aware of his presence until now.

"Rose," he said again, not knowing himself whether it was an order or a plea, "Listen to me." He reached out for her fingers but before his skin could touch hers, she jerked her hand away.

"Fine!" he yelled, offended. "Pull them away, you silly woman! Have you even looked at your hands during the past seven months? Are you still trying to make yourself believe that these hands are the hands of a seventeen year old girl?"

"I don't know what you are talking about, Caledon," she said, again speaking in that stiff voice that she seemed to reserve only for him.

Cal massaged his temples. "You know damn well what I am talking about," he said, only peripherally aware of Professor Steinberg's warning glance. "You betrayed me, didn't you? You might as well say it. You knew a man like Jack Dawson, right? Maybe that was even his real name! And you know what that would mean, Rose? That means you're only halfway insane." He laughed bitterly. "After everything that I've done for you! I even made sure you got treatment in a hospital with an impeccable reputation! Although, on second thought, I realize that my sources may not have been as accurate as I thought..." He paused for a second to look at Professor Steinberg and then focused his attention back on Rose. "And don't you dare pretend you were so surprised!"

"But, I... I don't understand. What has gotten into you? Jack Dawson has saved my life last night!"

Cal's head started pounding, her blissfully ignorant tone pushing him dangerously close to the edge. But before he could say anything, the professor took control of the situation. "Mr. Hockley, I strongly advise you to stop talking to her like that!"

Cal shook his head several times like a stubborn child, but did as he was told. Rose's crazy antics were one thing, but seeing the famous Professor Steinberg merrily play along with her was more than he could cope with at the moment. Defeated, he sank down on his chair, the tension flowing out from his muscles like air escaping a balloon.

"Professor, I must apologize for his behavior," Rose said in a hushed voice, "He's been acting very strange, today. Didn't you say you were a neurologist? Maybe you could have a word with him." She cast an unsure look at the man she mistook for her fiancée.

"Don't worry, Miss," he reassured her. "I will talk to him."

Lovely, Cal thought, Now they're allying against me.

Professor Steinberg got up from his chair. "Miss DeWitt Bukater, I hope we can resume this conversation another day."

"Please call me Rose. It's been a pleasure talking to you, Professor."

"The pleasure's been all on my side, Miss Rose." He bowed slightly and then walked out of the room, not before casting a meaningful glance at the sulking steel tycoon.

Cal nodded and followed him. Not that he would have needed the hint; he couldn't stand being in the same room with her for long, anyway. He should have known that trying to reason with her never brought him anything but headaches.

At the door, Cal allowed himself a final look at his wife. Rose had taken a tiny music box from the shelves and started playing with it. She was obviously having a good time; his remarks hadn't even scraped the surface of her delusions. He wanted to say goodbye to her, but she wasn't even looking at him. With a flourish, he closed the door.

Professor Steinberg and were now standing in front of Rose's room, side by side. They didn't look at each other - not even when they talked - but kept staring at the closed door, as if they could see the confused redhead through it.

Cal took a few seconds to mentally brace himself before he asked the question that was burning his tongue. "Now, what do you say, as her doctor? Is he real, this Jack Dawson she keeps thinking about? Is he a figment of her overactive imagination? Or a distorted memory of a previous love affair? I know it sounds preposterous but lately, I wondered... Maybe they've met on the Mauretania or... somewhere else. Couldn't it have been possible for her to start an affair with an artist tramp behind my back?"

The doctor pursed his lips, almost as if he was amused. "If there is one thing that my professional life had taught me, it's that nothing is impossible. Over the years of practice, I have heard of many odd love affairs, much alike the one that your wife might or might not have experienced. But I think that in this case, we should stick to what is likely. Could Rose have made an advance on a man, away from the watchful eyes of her mother, her governess, or other members of the household? I think it's safe to assume that none of these people would have approved of this improper liaison. Correct me if I'm wrong."

Cal slowly shook his head. "No. You're right. She was always surrounded by maids and servants and they'd have informed me if she had been acting secretively." He drew a sigh of relief. She might be insane but at least but at least he could take it for granted that no other man had laid a finger on his spouse.

xxxxx

"I need a drink. Badly," Cal said after they had taken their seats again in the professors' office.

"I'm sorry, but I cannot comply with this request. You haven't touched your coffee yet and I'm afraid it has gotten cold by now. Is there anything else you want me to offer you?"

Cal snorted. "I want a wife who is not crazier than a sack of ferrets!" he remarked drily and to his great surprise, he heard Professor Steinberg chuckle lightly at his comment. He failed to understand why his conjugal misfortune was a laughing matter, but strangely enough, he found himself laughing along with his wife's peculiar doctor.

After the incident in Rose's room, Cal had expected to be confronted with a volley of reproaches and had already thought of an eloquent counterattack that would finally allow him to turn the tables on that obstinate Austrian. However, the professor's attitude towards him was nothing like he had expected, on the contrary. Cal started to wonder if he, perhaps, might be trusted.

"Professor Steinberg, I'd like to ask you a question. Are you married?"

"Oh yes." The professor took a framed photograph from his desk and handed it to Cal. In the picture, a woman in her late forties and three adolescent girls stared at the photographer with awestruck expressions on their youthful faces. "This is my wife and my daughters. I always have to have a picture of them while I'm in my office. Reminds me not to work too late into the evening."

With a stone face, Cal handed the picture to the professor who then put it back on its old spot; not without rearranging the books and manuals that were scattered all over the table to make sure that nothing was blocking the view of his cherished ones.

"As we are on the subject of family, Mr. Hockley... Do your sons know about their mother's troubles?"

Cal shook his head. "And I don't want them to know," he said upon seeing the professor raise his eyebrows. "They're at a boarding school in Lawrenceville. The less they know about what has happened, the better."

"What exactly is it you don't want them to know?"

The millionaire sighed. He was not a young man anymore and the last few hours had clearly taken their toll on him. "Everything in general," he replied and paused for a few second before adding, "and something in particular." He tilted his head to contemplate the ceiling for a short moment, in the faint hope that it would ease his thumping headache. "Do you want to know what happened the night before she went crazy? I told her former doctor we attended a dinner party at a friend's home. It's true we were there! We had spent a wonderful evening. But I... I never told him what happened afterwards."

Professor Steinberg looked only mildly surprised. "Go on," he said and clasped his hands on the desk.