Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with the incredible movie Titanic. Everything here, this story line, it's characters and anything else, except the actual ship, belongs to the fantastic James Cameron. I am merely turning it into a story, rather than a screenplay.

A/N: Wow, it's literally been forever since I have even looked at this. I have to say I probably wouldn't have had the kick to get back to it if I hadn't received a review from Spring-Heel-Jaqueline the other day saying "Update! Update!" In all honesty, I forgot I even had this on fanfiction until I got the review email. LOL But then I decided to go back and reread what I had already written and decided that I could not just abandon it, so here is the next chapter. I'm actually really excited to get started on this again. I hope you enjoy it and don't forget to review!

CHAPTER FOUR

REFLECTIONS OF THE PAST

Rose Calvert looked down at the endless water, glistening below her. A thousand memories washed over her as she spotted a white pinprick on the horizon. As the helicopter drew nearer, the pinprick turned into a blob and the blob turned into the shape of a ship. A large ship? No, but a ship-none-the-less. Rose took a deep, shaky breath. She had not been on a ship, or even a boat for that matter, since disembarking Carpathia nearly eight-four years ago.

Rose could feel her pulse quicken as the small ship grew larger. A wave of anxiety flooded over her body as she ceased to pet the small dog who slept on her lap. The sudden lack of attention roused the sleeping dog. He turned around on her lap. Gazing up at her, begging for attention. Rose smiled down at the dog and began to pet him again, happy to have a distraction.

There was a steady breeze on the deck of Keldysh. Mir 2 swung out over the sparkling water, getting prepared for its next dive, as gentle waves lapped against the side of the research vessel.

Brock walked from station to station, ensuring that everything was as it should be before the submersible went down, trying his best to ignore Bodine, who did not believe Rose's story for one minute. "She's a goddamned liar!" Bodine cried, throwing his hands up in frustration, as Brock walked past him to inspect the next station. Bodine followed, close at his heals. "Some nutcase seeking money or publicity. God only knows what!" he yelled. "Like that Russian babe, what's her name?" he asked, snapping his fingers in exasperation. "Anesthesia," he decided, but the loud hum of an approaching helicopter drowned out his voice. "They're inbound," Buell yelled. Brock looked up and nodded before abandoning his task and following Buell over to where the helicopter would be landing.

Bodine followed behind Brock closely. "She says she's Rose DeWitt Bukater, right?" Brock nodded. "That's right."

"Rose DeWitt Bukater died on the Titanic at the age of seventeen. If she'd've lived, she'd be over a hundred now!" Bodine tried to reason. Despite Bodine's nagging, Brock could not help but smile as the helicopter drew nearer. "A hundred and one next month," he answered. Bodine could not have been more annoyed with Brock. "Okay, so she's a very old goddamned liar!" Brock just shook his head, unable to wipe the grin off of his face. "Look," Bodine continued. "I traced her as far back as the 1920's, she was working as an actress. An actress," he stressed. "There's your first clue Sherlock. Her name was Rose Dawson back then. Then she married this guy named Calvert and moved to Cedar Rapids and punches out a couple of kids. Now Calvert's dead and from what I've heard Cedar Rapids is dead," Bodine finished with an air of confidence. Brock rounded on him, pointing his finger into Bodine's face. "And everybody who knows about the diamond is supposed to be dead- or on this ship. But she knows about it and I want to hear what she has to say. Got it?" he asked menacingly.

In a thundering downblast, the helicopter's wheels bounced down on the helipad. Lovett, Buell and Bodine watched in disbelief as the helicopter crew chief handed out ten old fashioned suitcases. "Doesn't exactly travel light, does she?" Bodine shouted over the pulsing blades of the helicopter.

"Hurry up. Give him a hand," shouted an orange jumpsuit clad member of the Keldysh crew.

"S'cuse me, I have to go check our supply of Depends," Bodine muttered. Ignoring Bodine's snide comment, Brock bounded over to Rose, who looked impossibly fragile amongst all the high tech gear, grungy deck crew and gigantic equipment. "Mrs. Calvert, I'm Brock Lovett. Welcome to the Keldysh," he introduced himself as two other members of the crew lowered Rose, wheelchair bound, onto the deck. Rose nodded and held out a fragile hand for him to shake. Brock was astonished at how frail and boney her hand felt. "Alright, let's get her inside," he shouted. Brock turned around and noticed Lizzy as she jumped out of the helicopter after her grandmother. "Hi, Brock Lovett," he stated. She looked him over and gave him a quick "hi" in response as she ducked unnecessarily under the rotor while holding Rose's little Pomeranian close to her body. "Thanks," Lizzy nodded to a crewmember as he stepped aside to let her take control of Rose's wheelchair. Brock watched them walk off of the landing pad. "Hey," shouted a man from within the helicopter. Brock looked up and was astounded to see that the man was handing him a round bowl full of goldfish. Goldfish in hand, Brock stared after Rose and Lizzy, a look of complete bewilderment etched across his face.

Lizzy carefully unpacked Rose's things in the small utilitarian room they were to be staying in. It was small with white walls and two bare windows that looked out onto the research deck. Hanging on one wall was a small oil painting of an old ship that was not doing a good job of decorating the little room. Bodine and Brock stood in the doorway and watched as Rose carefully arranged a number of old framed photos next to her gold fish bowl on the little bureau next to the bed.

"Is your stateroom alright?" Lovett spoke up. Rose hardly glanced up from her pictures. "Oh yes, very nice." Lizzy bustled beside her, placing some clothes in the bureau. Rose looked up to Brock, "Have you met my granddaughter, Lizzy? She takes care of me," Rose said proudly. Lizzy looked at her grandmother and smiled. "Yes. We met just a few minutes ago, Nana. Remember, up on deck?" Rose shook her head, embarrassed. "Oh, yes," she said.

Brock glanced at Bodine with an 'uh oh' look on his face. Bodine rolled his eyes. Rose had returned to arranging her photographs. Brock caught a glance of some of them as Rose arranged. They were usual snapshots of family affairs and children playing.

"There, that's nice," Rose said, sitting back in her wheelchair. "I have to have my pictures when I travel." The little dog Brock had seen Lizzy carrying earlier barked at Rose's feet and excitedly tried to hop onto the chair. "-and Freddy, of course. Isn't that right, sweetie?" she said to the dog.

Brock crossed his arms in the doorway. He was starting to lose patience with the old woman but took a deep breath and tried to remain cool. "Would you like anything?" he asked with as much kindness as he could muster. Rose turned away from the dog. "Yes," she said. "I should like to see my drawing."

Rose gazed at the drawing laying at the bottom of its water tray, confronting herself across a span of eighty-four years. It swayed and rippled in the water, almost as if it were alive. "They have to keep it immersed until they can figure out the best way to preserve it," Brock explained to Rose and Lizzy. But Rose was not listening. Her mind was eighty-four years away.

With a gentle hand, a man held a conte crayon. With two efficient lines, he deftly created a shoulder and the shape of her hair.

Rose watched as the woman's face in the drawing danced under the water.

The man's eyes were just visible over the top of his sketching pad. His blue eyes were soft, yet fearlessly direct as he studied her.

Rose smiled to herself at the memory. "Louis the Sixteenth wore a fabulous stone, called the Blue Diamond of the Crown, which disappeared in 1792, about the time Louis lost everything from the neck up. The theory goes that the crown diamond was chopped too; recut into a heart-like shape and it became Le Coeur de la Mer. The Heart of the Ocean. Today it would be worth more than the Hope Diamond," Brock Lovett explained, shaking Rose from her memories and bringing her back to the Keldysh.

"It was a dreadful, heavy thing," she said pointing to the reference photograph of the necklace in Brock's hand. "I only wore it this once."

Lizzy walked over to her grandmother. "You actually believe this is you, Nana?" she asked in disbelief. "It is me, dear. Wasn't I a dish?" she asked.

Brock ignored what Lizzy and Rose were saying, trying to get Rose to pay attention to him. "I tracked it down through insurance records," he said. He paused to make sure he had their attention and knelt down beside Rose's wheelchair. "And an old claim that was settled under terms of absolute secrecy. Do you know who the claimant was, Rose?" he asked. He had to be sure she was who she said she was and if, in fact, she was Rose DeWitt Bukater, she would know. Rose thought carefully. "I should imagine it was someone named Hockley," she said. Brock smiled, relieved. If she was not telling the truth, at least she had done her research. "Nathan Hockley, right," he said. "Pittsburgh steel tycoon. For a diamond necklace his son Caledon Hockley bought in France for his fiancée-" He paused. "You, a week before he sailed on Titanic. And the claim was filed right after the sinking, so the diamond had to've gone down with the ship." Brock looked up at Lizzy, "See the date?"

Lizzy peered down at the drawing. "April 14, 1912-" she said.

"So, if your grandmother is who she says she is, she was wearing the diamond the day Titanic sank." He looked back at Rose. "And that makes you my new best friend. I will happily compensate you for anything you can tell us that will lead to its recovery."

Rose shook her head. "I don't want your money, Mr. Lovett. I know how hard it is for people who care greatly for money to give some away."

Brock looked at her skeptically. "You don't want anything?" he asked.

Rose indicated to the drawing. "You may give me this, if anything I tell you is of value," she said. Lovett did not think twice. "Deal." He stood up and crossed the room. "Over here are a few things we've recovered from your staterooms."

Laid out on a worktable were fifty or so objects, from mundane to valuable. Rose, shrunken in her chair, could barely see over the tabletop. With a trembling hand she lifted a tortoise shell hand mirror, inlaid with mother of pearl. She caressed it wonderingly. "This was mine," she gasped. "How extraordinary! It looks the same as the last time I saw it." She turned the mirror over in her wrinkled hands and looked at her ancient reflection in the cracked glass. "The reflection has changed a bit," she stated, setting it back down on the table, face down. A little further up the table, she spied something else; a silver and moonstone art-nouveau brooch. She picked it up. "My mother's brooch. She wanted go back for it. Caused quite a fuss," she said, shaking her head at the absurdity. She then picked up an ornate art-nouveau hair comb. A jade butterfly took flight on the ebony handle of the comb. All at once, Rose experienced a rush of images and emotions that had lain dormant for nearly eight decades as she handled the butterfly comb.

Brock studied her intently. "Are you ready to go back to Titanic?" he asked.

In a darkened room, lined with TV monitors, images of the wreck filled the screens, all fed from Mirs One and Two. "Live from 12,000 feet," Bodine said, proudly as Lizzy wheeled Rose into the room. Rose stared raptly at the screens. She stared, enthralled by one in particular. It was the image of the bow railing. Brock studied the look on Rose's face, wondering what could be so meaningful about that part of the ship.

"The bow struck the bottom like an axe, from the impact," Bodine explained. "Here, I can run a simulation we worked up on this monitor over here." Lizzy turned the chair so Rose could see Bodine's computer screen. As he looked up the file, he kept talking with his back turned to them. "We've put together the world's largest database on the Titanic. Okay, here-"

Brock spoke up from behind Rose. "Rose might not want to see this, Lewis," he said, hesitantly. "No, no. It's fine," she said, waving him away. "I'm curious."

Bodine started a computer animated graphic on the screen. He explained what was happening as it appeared on the screen. "She hit's the berg on the starboard side and it sort of bumps along; punching holes like a Morse code. Dit, dit, dit, down the side. Now she's flooding in the forward compartments and the water spills over the tops of the bulkheads, going aft," he explained animatedly. "As her bow is going down, her stern is coming up. Slow at first and then faster and faster until it's lifting all that weight, maybe 20 or 30 thousand tons, out of the water and the hull can't deal. So SKRTT," he said, making a sound in time with the animation. "It splits! Right down to the keel, which acts like a big hinge. Now the bow swings down and the stern falls back level, but the weight of the bow pulls the stern up vertical, and the bow section detaches, heading for the bottom. The stern bobs like a cork, floods and goes under at about 2:20 am, two hours and forty minutes after the collision."

Rose watched the clinical dissection of the disaster without emotion as the animation followed the bow section sink.

"The bow pulls out of its dive and planes away, almost a half a mile before it hits the bottom going maybe 12 miles an hour. KABOOM!" Bodine narrated as the bow impacted, digging deeply into the bottom of the ocean. "The stern implodes as it sinks, from the pressure, and rips apart from the force of the current as it falls, landing like a big pile of junk," he indicated to the simulation. "Cool, huh?"

"Thank you for that fine forensic analysis, Mr. Bodine," Rose said, kindly. She turned around in her wheelchair and gazed at the screen which displayed the bow of the ship. "Of course, the experience of it was somewhat less clinical."

Brock sat down in a chair opposite Rose. "Will you share it with us?" he asked. Rose looked at the view from one of the subs tracking slowly over the boat deck. She recognized one of the Wellin davits, still in place. In the back of her mind, the sound of an officer's voice echoed "Women and children only."

Screaming faces in a running crowd. Pandemonium and terror. People crying, praying, kneeling on the deck.

Rose looked at another monitor. Snoop Dog moved down a rusted, debris-filled corridor. She watched as the endless row of doorways slid past, like dark mouths.

A small child, no older than three years old, stood ankle deep in water in the middle of the endless corridor. Tears streamed down his face as he wailed. Alone.

Rose felt the sting of tears in her throat as her eyes welled. She put her head down, sobbing quietly into her hands.

Lizzy put her hands on the handles of the wheelchair. "I'm taking her to rest," she said. She started to pull Rose's chair back. "No!" Rose shouted. Her voice was surprisingly strong. The sweet little old lady was gone, replaced by a woman with eyes of steel. Lovett signaled everyone to stay quiet. "Tell us, Rose," he said. She looked, from screen to screen, at the images of the ruined ship. "It's been eighty-four years-," she began. "Just tell us what you can-" Brock interrupted. Rose held up her hand for silence. "Do you want to hear this or not, Mr. Lovett," she asked. Brock smiled. "It's been eighty-four years," she restarted. "and I can still smell the fresh paint. The china had never been used. The sheets had never been slept in-"

Brock switched on a mini-recorder and set it near her.

"-Titanic was called the Ship of Dreams and it was. It really was."

A/N: To everyone who read, I thank you, and to everyone who reviewed, I thank you even more! If you have any suggestions, comments or concerns, please let me know. Constructive criticism is always, always welcome. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I really enjoyed writing it.

Thank you again

-Lily Rose-