"You can't think like that," said Rose, a trace of desperation in her voice. "You're still in shock, you're not thinking straight …"
"That's right," said Andrews, firmly. "So imagine, if you can, just how much worse it will be when the shock wears off and I am thinking clearly."
"What about your wife?" Rose said suddenly, grasping for a different argument. You have children, don't you? For them, at least …"
Andrews gave a short, humourless laugh. "A marriage as happy as the one you were destined for, I believe." When Rose did not speak, he continued. "A marriage which, unbeknown to almost everyone was due to end very shortly. A wife who … how shall I put it, had very little regard for the sanctity of marriage. A child which was not mine, by her own blatant admittance, and whom I have been permitted to have virtually no part in her upbringing, for that reason."
Rose sighed in the increasing feeling of despair. After all that Andrews had told her, she couldn't help but begin to understand why his thoughts were so firmly fixed to the concept that he had nothing left to live for. Nothing but questions, blame, the label of being a failure, responsible for the biggest maritime disaster anyone had ever heard of … he didn't deserve it, he didn't deserve any of it, but even she could see that it was the way it would almost certainly be.
Her silence seemed to have signalled her defeat, for Andrews looked up slightly, met her eye and gave a small, sad nod as he squeezed her hand. "I must ask you just one last service Rose. Please keep it to yourself that I survived the sinking. I don't like to ask you to lie for me, but I know you understand why. Please don't tell your mother or Cal, or any of the others."
A tiny light flickered somewhere in Rose's mind.
"I can assure you I won't say anything," she began slowly. "But that's because I won't be speaking to them at all. They don't know."
"Know what?" Andrews looked confused. Then, when Rose did not speak but merely raised an eyebrow slightly, his expression changed suddenly. "You mean …" he hesitated, "You mean they think …"
"Yes," said Rose, simply. "Rose DeWitt Bukater is not on the list of those saved from the sinking. Just as Thomas Andrews is not."
Andrews looked quite shocked, but after a few moments of absorption, his expression softened. "I suppose … I suppose I can hardly blame you, Rose, but … truly, does nobody know?"
"Nobody," Rose replied. "I took Jack's name; I gave them my name as Rose Dawson. I doubt anyone's going to waste much energy trying to work out why there was no Rose Dawson on the original passenger list, and even if they do, I'll have disappeared by then."
Andrews studied Rose with an expression of mingled admiration and disbelief. "What will you do?" he asked eventually. "Where will you go, how will you survive?"
"I don't know yet," said Rose, truthfully. "But I will. If the last few days have taught me anything, it's that I was, as you said just now, born into the wrong world. Is it such a terrible thing to say that I believe I can cope perfectly well with never seeing my mother again? That I can walk away from my life as it was, with no desire to look back? The truth is I don't care if it is a terrible thing. I have to live my life for me now, not them. To make each day count, do you remember that?"
Andrews stared at Rose, his expression unfathomable.
"Do you know how Jack and I met?" she continued after a moment. "When the story was that I nearly fell overboard and he saved me, that was no accident. I was about to jump, Mr Andrews; I was seriously considering ending my own life, right then, right there; that's how desperate I felt. But someone was there to pull me back and convince me that however bad, more than bad, however unbearable my life was at that moment, it was still worth living if I wanted it badly enough and was prepared to go against the standards and rules I'd been brought up with and make it so. It wasn't easy. I knew that if I admitted, to myself and everyone around me, that I hated the world I lived in, that I couldn't stand the sight of my fiancé, that almost every person I knew was a shallow, self-centred, vapid being with no individuality or ambition … can you imagine the kind of reaction that would have got? But I was going to do it, because I knew it was right and that I deserved a second chance at life. When the ship docked in New York, I was going to say a short goodbye to them and leave with Jack. As it is, I don't have to make any public declarations. What's happened has taken that responsibility off my shoulders. It's made it easier; not so much for myself, but probably for them at least. Far more honourable for Mother and Cal to be able to tell everyone that their daughter and fiancée died tragically in the Titanic disaster, rather than admitting that she couldn't stand them any longer and escaped to made a new life for herself as far away from them as possible. No. I will just disappear, never to be heard of again. I think it's an arrangement that will suit both parties very well."
Andrews had not taken his eyes from Rose's while she spoke. Now he shook his head sadly, but not admonishingly. "I have to admit, Rose, while I'm sure I should tell you what a silly girl you're being and that you must go back to your family immediately … I cannot. You will survive, I know you will. You'll more than survive; you'll live, really live. For both you and Jack," he added. "He'll always be with you."
"Yes," Rose replied quietly. "Always. But there was a point to my telling you all that."
Andrews looked quizzical.
"To the world, Rose DeWitt Bukater and Thomas Andrews both died on the Titanic yesterday," she said, slowly and concisely. "Nobody who knew them will ever see them again. And the mysterious but, I suspect, largely unimportant Rose Dawson and Thomas Jenkins will also shortly have disappeared."
She paused, looking at him intently. She had built to this moment; this was the one and only chance she had to convince him. Andrews looked like he was fighting some deep internal struggle, which had to be an improvement from what he had revealed his intentions to be thus far. There was a fight left in there, somewhere deep inside, she just knew there was.
"Disappear with me," said Rose. "Yes, since you've put it so well, I'll admit that your life as it stands right now is probably not worth living. So start a new one. Away from here, away from everything you've ever known. Yes, it'll be difficult, but I'm going to do it, so why can't you? You have nothing left to lose, Mr Andrews," she said slowly, taking his hand again and leaning close towards him. "If, in a year's time, you still feel the same as you do now, well, then if you want to throw your life away, then you'll still have that choice. But at least try. If you do feel guilty for all those who died, then don't surrender your own life without a fight. Enough lives have been lost already, Mr Andrews. It would be an insult to their memory to give up on your own without at least trying to make a go of it."
Andrews looked almost panicked, he was taking in short, shallow breaths and seemed to be searching desperately for the right words with which to construct a reply.
"Rose ..." he muttered, shaking his head in agitation, "Rose, you don't … it's not that easy, Rose. Even if I wanted to …" he gestured to his immobilised leg and heavily bandaged arm. "I can't just run away. I might well be recognised once I'm in hospital, surely you can see that?"
The fact that he had not refused outright was all the encouragement Rose needed.
"Of course you can't disappear straight away. But there are ways to go un-noticed. Say you're having dreadful headaches in strong light and need to keep your eyes covered when you're taken off the ship, or say you can't bear to look at the sea. I'll stay with you and keep your face hidden. Looking like this nobody will likely recognise me; but I can put my hair up or wear glasses to make sure. Later, I can get you transferred to another hospital. I'll pose as your daughter, niece, wife even, whatever it takes, and get you as far away as possible from people who could recognise you. I'll find work and a room close by, while you recuperate, then when you're well enough we'll go, far away, and start again. You're right when you say it won't be easy. I'll admit I'm a little afraid. But I also believe that I would be a little less afraid if I wasn't alone."
Andrews gave a long, slow sigh, obviously trying to make sense of what had fast become the most important decision of his life. His gaze drifted to the curtain, the ceiling, the floor … then finally and somewhat reluctantly in Rose's direction.
"The thing is …" he began, his voice wavering, "The thing is, Rose … I just don't know if … if I can ever, ever even begin to forgive myself."
Rose gave a small, non-committal gesture. "I guess that'll be for you to discover in time," she said gently. "But for what it's worth, Mr Andrews, I lost the one and only person I had ever truly loved when Titanic sank. And while I maintain that what happened was not your fault; yes, if you insist, I'll acknowledge that by way of designing the ship, you played a part in that." She lowered her voice and looked directly into his eyes. "But I forgive you. Surely that's a start?"
A single tear meandered slowly down Andrews' cheek. After a moment, trembling slightly, he tentatively reached forward and took one of Rose's hands in his own; she encased it with her other. Andrews studied their interlocked fingers for several moments, then his gaze slowly drifted upwards, the tiniest hint of light dawning in his eyes as they focused on Rose's.
He took a deep breath, released it slowly, and smiled.