April 18, 1912

Alone. That's the only way Rose could describe how she felt. For the better half of three days, Rose had had no real human interaction. She felt as though she was stuck in a dream, desperate to wake up. They had arrived in New York, she knew that much. And she was told that they were to dock at Pier 54 any minute. It was a bittersweet moment for Rose.

Just days ago she had been Rose Dewitt Bukator, a seemingly delicate and proper young woman who was to become Mrs. Hockley in the next few weeks- married to one of the richest men in the nation; she was a girl who could have anything she wanted, yet she felt so miserable and trapped. That was until she had become Rose Dawson. Dawson. Jack Dawson. The man that had saved her life, and at what cost? Rose felt more alone and vulnerable than she ever had before.

Rose was still standing on the deck of the Carpathia, the same place she had been when they passed the Statue of Liberty not too long ago. She didn't realize the aching that had consumed her legs, or the dampness of her hair and of Cal's thick coat. She had barely even noticed the downpour of rain that was coming from the sky. Everything had been a blur to her the last few days, almost like an out of body experience. Just as she was about to sit, she noticed that the ship had slowed down. They were slowly approaching the Cunard pier.

Rose had no idea where she'd go. She was terrified, yet felt a renewed sense of hope. After all, she was free from the life she had felt so trapped in before. She was free from the grasps of Caledon and her mother.

"You learn to take life as it comes at you." Jack's words rang out in her head. They never been more true than they were in that moment.

...

July 25, 1912

Since her arrival in New York, Rose had begun to make a life for herself. She was broken, yet stronger and more confident than ever before. Over the last few months, Rose had gotten herself a job at a local diner, working as a waitress in order to support herself. She had a few people she liked to mingle with, but her closest friend was a woman named Frances Holmes. They had met days after Rose arrived in New York at the girl's home she stayed in for the initial weeks after the disaster. Frances was a young stewardess that kept the girls' rooms in check, but she and Rose had developed their own relationship outside of Frances' professional one. Still, no one had known Rose's deepest secrets. She wasn't ready for anyone to know about who she really was just yet.

The apartment Rose was renting was around the corner from the diner she worked at. She felt it was fate that she met Frances when she did, as her father owned the complex where Rose would eventually move into. It was the perfect size for her liking, small, yet home-like and safe. It was a great spot for the young woman, as she felt she blended into the crowd well enough. To everyone around her, she was just a girl trying to make something out of herself. That was admirable enough to the people she was surrounded by. She got along well with her neighbors, and her landlord liked the fact that she was much like his own daughter- eager to break the molds of society and support herself. But what everyone didn't know was that Rose didn't have a choice but to be this way, what else could she do?

Rose was just returning from a doctors appointment. Ever since she had left the girl's home, she had felt off. At first, she dismissed the feelings, as she had been through things that the majority of people don't go through in their entire lifetime. But everything wasn't okay. She was carrying a child. Rose Dawson, a seventeen year old, unwed girl- carrying a child.

There was no denying the fact that she was devastated, any girl in her situation would be. But part of Rose was joyful and thankful that the legacy of her lost love would get to go on longer than he himself got to. That idea in itself comforted Rose. But she knew that this pregnancy also meant the end of her secret. Everyone would be curious as to who the father of her child was. What had Rose Dawson been through? Had she been married? Perhaps her husband had died, or left her.

"Maybe making up another lie isn't the way to go about this." Rose thought to herself. "Maybe it's about time the world knows about Jack Dawson."

That was an idea that Rose didn't know if she truly meant herself. Part of her wanted to keep him secret, almost like a story only she could tell. She knew how silly the prospect of that sounded. It was almost selfish to want to keep him all to herself, but at the same time, she didn't feel ready to open up about him quite yet.

As she slid her key into the knob and pushed the door open, Rose was overcome by a sudden feeling of grief. It wasn't unusual for this to happen, but it always felt so unwelcome and unexpected. Rose set her keys onto the small wood dining room table she had recently purchased, right beside the stack of papers that had been slowly increasing week by week.

Over the course of the last few months, Rose had jotted down every single thing she could remember about Jack. Things he had said to her, things about his life, what they had done together- albeit it wasn't much. She was so scared she would forget the little things about him. The way his hair smelled of a mixture of the ocean breeze and a pine-like essence, or the way he scrunched his face when he was concentrating on a thought. Rose found herself walking towards the stack, placing her hand on the smooth paper.

"Oh Jack, what have you done to me?" Rose said aloud. "Three days. That's all it took. My every thought is consumed by you. Would you be proud of what I've made of myself?" She knew these feelings wouldn't help her grief, yet she couldn't help but think about them. Jack always knew what to say and what to do. Rose desperately craved to see him one more time. To look into his blue eyes, as bright and full of life as the deep ocean where he lay. To feel his soft, yet rough hands, toughened up from the years of work and drawing they had been through. He was so different than anyone she had ever met before, and she was convinced she would never meet anyone like him again.

Jack was different. He didn't care about her for her money or her looks, and so many men had in the past. He loved her for her. He wanted to protect her and show her that life was worth living. That was all that mattered to Rose. The young woman was desperate to be saved, and Jack Dawson stepped in at just the right moment. Maybe that's why she just couldn't seem to let him go. Not that she wanted to, anyway. What she truly wanted, she decided for herself, was to be able to think about Jack without being afraid, without feeling lost or trapped. "That's what grief does to you, huh?"

Rose hadn't even noticed her face getting hot until a tear fell onto the paper that laid on top of the small pile. She wiped her eyes as she crept onto the small grey armchair that was positioned right beside her bookshelf. Rose had always had an eye for art and decorating, and now that she had an apartment of her own, she could decorate it as she pleased.

"Rose and I differ some on our definition of fine art." Cal didn't understand Rose, and that's what he despised most about Jack. Jack understood people. He understood Rose- Cal's Rose, and that was something he couldn't have. Rose always felt that Cal was incapable of love. Maybe it wasn't true, maybe she wasn't capable of the type of love he wanted to give.

Finally letting the exhaustion and plethora of emotions consume her, Rose brought her knees to her chest and cried silently. Where would she go from here? She hadn't felt this hopeless since her time on the Carpathia months ago. She had just realized how alone she really was. But this was what she had wanted, wasn't it? Rose told of her feelings, how she wished she could be poor but free, not having to be tied down or tamed by anyone or anything. But now that she was living it, did she really want it as much as she thought she did? Closing her eyes for a few moments, Rose was suddenly back on the Titanic.

She didn't know how long she had been listening to Jack talk for, but she didn't mind. Everything he said amazed her. They had led completely different lives, yet there they were, being able to agree and get along on so many topics. Rose didn't know what it was about Jack that made her want to tell him everything. She felt so comfortable and secure around him. Being with Jack was almost an escape from her own reality, and she was able to be Rose- the real Rose.

"You know, my dream has always been to just run away and become an artist... living in a garret, poor but free!" The pair had been walking around the boat deck nearly all day long, talking about their dreams and aspirations. Everything felt so right with Jack.

"You wouldn't last two days. There's no hot water, and hardly ever any caviar." had been Jack's reply. She didn't know whether he was being serious or not, but Rose made a face, unable to hide the fact that she was offended.

"I happen to hate caviar! And I hate people telling me what dreams I should and shouldn't have." Throughout her whole life, everything Rose had wanted had been dismissed with the snap of a finger. No one cared what she wanted. She was just a high class woman… What did her thoughts matter?

Jack looked at her for a moment, seeing the hurt in her eyes. "I'm sorry... You're right." Those words comforted the young girl. An apology wasn't something Rose had come across so easily in her life. Not only that, but he had agreed and she was right- something that Cal would surely never admit. She smiled at Jack, once again amazed by how perfect he seemed, but realizing that no matter what she may have wanted, she could never have him.

Suddenly, Rose snapped out of her fake reality, opening her eyes. She had been dreaming. How she wished she had been back at that moment. Maybe she could have changed things. Dismissing her thoughts, she stood up, her body feeling sore from sleeping in an uncomfortable position. Walking to her window, she peered out, realizing it was now dark out.

Rose retreated to her bedroom to change into her pajamas. Just as she was about to slip into her silky nightgown, she glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Her curly red locks were in need of a trim, and her face looked more sunken and tired than usual. She placed a hand on her stomach, still not quite believing there was a person in there. She always figured that if she were to become pregnant, she would know within the first few weeks. But here she was, over three months along and just figuring it out.

"Now that I know you're in there, I can faintly see a small bump." She felt a small tug on her lips. She was growing a life within herself. She couldn't help but think of Jack. Would he be happy about raising a child? Did he ever want to have children? All simple questions that she would never be able to ask.

Slipping into her pajamas, Rose turned out her light and crawled into her bed. She curled up under the covers, running her fingers across the small quilt she was tucked under. Thoughts of her future traced her mind again. Over the last three months, Rose had become a completely different girl. She didn't need to depend on anyone to care for her anymore, she was capable of creating a life for herself. Whether she was ready for it or not, she was being thrown into another new adventure.

"It was everything. It was my whole world and all the people in it. And the inertia of my life, plunging ahead and me- powerless to stop it." Part of her wished she could see that old version of herself and tell her how wrong she was. She wasn't powerless to stop it, just afraid of what would happen if she tried.

Rose closed her eyes, desperate to see Jack again as she slept.

(A/N: Honestly I don't know why I'm publishing this. This is a rewrite of an old story I created when I was like twelve or so and a much less experienced writer. I've fixed it up a ton and decided to publish it:). I'm not too sure if my writing has gotten any better over the last five years, but if anyone enjoys this please let me know!)