Fair Warning: Very long chapter ahead of you. Also, mildly adult content. Enjoy.
April 18, 1912
The Statue of Liberty looms over them as they disembark from the Carpathia, soaked in rain and wearing the same clothes they have been for days. An officer asks for their names, and though they've already given them, they do again.
"Dawson," Rose says, looking at Jack. "Jack and Rose Dawson." Her hand is in his, their fingers laced together. His mother's ring is on her hand. My wife, His heart thrums over and over again, like the beat of drums. My wife, my wife, my wife. The metal of the band is cool against his skin.
When the officer moves on to the next person behind them, Jack kisses her senseless.
"I heard that the Astoria was offering rooms for some of the survivors," Rose says to Jack. He's wrapped in the plaid blankets they were given days ago, and her in Cal's heavy coat with their valuables inside. "It was owned by John Jacob Astor. I don't think he survived. Poor Madeline." She knows the woman won't have it easy-- dealing with the other members of her husband's family, and society's gossip while still pregnant. And now Mister Astor wasn't there to protect her from it.
Jack's arm curls around her waist. He's warm at her side, even though she's freezing. Rose can't make herself understand how after Jack almost froze to death, he's somehow warmer than her, but he may as well be a furnace at her side. In this light, his blue eyes almost look grey, and his hair hangs lank, damp with the rain. "I don't think we can go there," He shakes his head. "Not if we want to avoid Cal and your mother."
He's right, of course. I don't want to run into them just yet. If they meet her Mother and Cal again, they'll be separated before they have the chance to do anything about it. Rose won't let that happen. "Where should we go?" She asks him, brushing her fingers over his. It feels like they haven't let go of each other in days. We haven't, She thinks, and that's true. Apart from trips to the bathroom and meals, her and Jack have been holding onto one another ever since he was pulled half dead into the lifeboat with her on the fifteenth. That was four days ago now. "It's after nine," They haven't even left the docks yet, though they have done their best to avoid the photographers flooding the area where the passengers unboarded-- it won't be easy for them to find lodging for the night this late.
Rose was in New York once before, when she left for her tour of Europe three months ago, but her and Jack wouldn't be able to stay in any of the places she knew, like he'd said. But Jack has been here before, hasn't he? He must have been, in order to make the trip from America to Europe.
Jack frowns and stuffs a hand in his pocket. "I might know a place," He says. "Should be a dollar for the night. They might not let us stay without a marriage license, though. If not… I have a friend or two that could put us up for the night if they haven't moved. Or…"
"Maybe it'll be my first night under a bridge," Rose says with a wry smile. The corners of Jack's mouth curve up in response, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He doesn't want to spend their first night on dry land under a bridge. He doesn't want her to have to be homeless even for a night. His words back on Titanic circle through her mind. I have ten bucks in my pocket, I have nothing to offer you, and I know that. Jack has slept under bridges before, out in the cold. She imagines there have been days without food. But Rose senses that it's different for him now, if only for her presence.
As much as Rose craves the experiences of living life outside of the upper class, she knows it's very different from her experiences as an upper class lady, and that he worries about her comfort level in all of this-- not so much over small trivialities as over the times when they may not be able to afford basic amenities, like rent, or food, or electricity. Being of the lower class affords certain freedoms, but it also came with the risk of not having such necessities. She knows Jack wouldn't mind if it were just him, but it's not. He doesn't want her to have to experience those things-- wants her safe and warm, a possibility which has evaded them ever since the Titanic sank out from under them.
Rose has considered the two of them to be wed for days now. They love each other, but getting married so soon will make it easier for them to stay together. If he's my husband, he gets to worry about me. And I get to worry about him. She kisses his cheek, feels his arms wrap around her, hands clenching into the wool of her coat. "I know. We'll be fine, Jack. Whatever happens, as long as I'm with you." She can survive anything, with him. Whatever it takes to be together, Rose thinks. It's all she wants right now-- to be free to love him in peace.
Jack swallows and presses a kiss to her forehead. "I can't promise you anything, Rose," He says. His skin is warm against hers, the blanket soaked by rain, and he still smells like saltwater even after so many days. She can feel his heart beating against her. "I can't tell you that we'll have a place to stay all the time. It kills me that I can't say that for certain."
She sets her hand on his face, where there's just a hint of stubble beginning to grow on his jaw-- Jack hasn't shaved in days, but his skin is still soft under her hand. We're so young, She realizes. Just twenty and seventeen, almost eighteen. He made her a woman, and yet standing before her now he seems more boy than man. Rose kisses him once. "I know you're worried about me," She says. "I'm worried, too, Jack. I want a bed at night, and a warm, safe place to sleep. But for tonight, and every night after, it's alright if it doesn't happen. I don't care where we end up, as long as I have you with me. I don't care if there's no bed, or we're out on the streets. You'll be my warm, safe place. With enough time, we'll figure something out. I know we will."
They will. Rose knows it. It won't be like this forever-- we won't always be running and hiding, She thinks. It will get easier. They'll land on their feet. They'll find a place to call home. We won't live like this forever.
"How much for a night's rent?" He asks the landlord. His name is Jimmy Thorne, and Jack knew him almost two years ago when he rented out an apartment for a few weeks in New York, trying to save up for passage across the Atlantic. He hasn't laid eyes on him since leaving for Europe. Jimmy has red hair, like Rose's, and a short beard. He's a few years older than them, his clothes worn and in a sorry state. But he looks healthier and better fed than he was when they knew each other, which Jack supposes is good.
"A dollar, Jack," He says. That was the rate for people who were just passing through, like him and Rose, but for long term tenants Jimmy charged twelve dollars per month. The thin walls in the building have stained peeling paint, and afford little privacy. It was always either freezing or unbearably hot, and the furniture that came with the rooms was well used. This place was plenty seedy when he'd lived here, but for the next few nights, it would do. If only I can get Jimmy to let us stay. "But about the girl, I can't just let unmarried couples--"
"It's not like that, alright?" He says. "It's not." He doesn't want people to think of Rose that way. She's not just some whore he dragged home, she's his love, his heart. Jack can see her lent up against the wall outside Jimmy's dimly lit office, her hair and dress standing out like a spring flower against the dull green paint. I shouldn't keep her waiting. He's not sure he likes the idea of her out there on her own in this place. Anything could happen now. Jack trusts Jimmy, but he doesn't know the people who live in this building well enough to trust them.
"I'm sure, Jack," Jimmy says, grey eyes wide and tired. He scrubs a hand through his hair. "But understand, there are rules for landlords. Some of my tenants won't like the two of you being here. It's one thing for a person to bring someone home for a night or two. It's another to rent out to unwed couples." The green desk lamp between them flickers, and comes back on.
That was what he was afraid of. Two years ago, Jimmy's policy hadn't been a problem, because Jack didn't have anyone in his life. He knew it was a risk coming here that they might not get to stay. It's not that Jimmy was overly strict or had anything against unmarried couples-- he'd be taking a risk in having them here. Jack just hopes he can put aside their lack of a marriage license for a few nights to give them a chance to get one.
"Look, we are married," He lies. "We are. We just don't have the paperwork. Can you keep this quiet?" Jimmy nods. "If anyone asks, we got married on the Titanic a few days ago. The paperwork went down with the ship. Rose and I just need a place for a few days to get back on our feet, find someone to re-marry us at the courthouse. Then you can look at the marriage license all you want. Just give us a few days, and we'll get you a marriage license." Jack reaches into his pocket, pulls out a wad of money, and stuffs it into Jimmy's hand. "That's eight dollars. It'll cover us for the week, and a dollar to keep it quiet until we can get you proof. Is that enough?"
Jimmy looks at the money, and back at him. He gives a heavy sigh. "I'll find a room for you. And no funny business until you can give me proof-- you know how thin the walls are." The other man puts the money in his breast pocket. Jack feels a breath of relief leave him-- We can stay, He thinks, hands trembling. He's not sure for how long, or what kind of conditions it will be in, but they can stay together, which is what matters. "I'm honestly surprised. You never seemed the marrying type, Jack," He says, nodding out the little window to the hall, at Rose. "What changed?"
Jack feels his jaw clench. He stuffs his hands into his pocket. "I met her,"
"She must be some special girl,"
She is, He thinks to himself as he reaches for the door handle. "Jack," Jimmy calls, making him look back. His friend folds his arms over his chest in curiosity, or disbelief, he isn't sure which. "Were you really on Titanic?"
Rose is waiting for him down the hall. Jack doesn't answer.
"In the morning, we'll see if we can sell Cal's ring," Jack says. The room they were given has a bed and some blankets, thank God. It's a bit small for two people, but they'll make do. "How would you feel about borrowing some money from Cal?" He asks, referring to what was left in her coat pocket unknowingly. "I gave eight dollars to Jimmy. What I have left is mostly in change. And some of it isn't American money."
Rose purses her lips, hanging her coat up on a hook to the side of the door. "Maybe we should sell my earrings, too," She says. They're pearl and gold. She knows that they won't fetch as much as her engagement ring, but they're still worth a lot. And they need the money.
"Why don't you keep them?" Jack smiles at her from across the room, eyes sparkling with affection.
"They're not worth that much," She shakes her head. I don't need them, She tells herself, even though a part of her aches at the thought of giving them up. What she has on her now, it's all she'll ever have of her old life. The only reminders of it. No pictures or anything. Just a dress and some shoes and her earrings, and a blue diamond from a man she never loved, that she can't ever wear or sell.
"Where did you get them?" He asks, pulling off his suspenders. Jack sits on the bed and pulls off his shoes one by one and sets them beside the door with his grey, worn socks tucked inside. His shoes are old and dirty, with a hole or two on the toe. Jack probably wasn't even the original owner of them. Rose's are still new, though they've been through a lot in the past few days-- the soles are scuffed and dirty, and the silk is stained with the ocean.
She gazes right through the wall in her memory, reaching up to one of the earrings with a hand. Rose feels the little gold flower cupped around the pearl like a bell. "They were from my father," She says with a heavy breath, turning back to Jack. "On my sixteenth birthday. He died not long after, and then everything changed. Mother started looking for a husband for me to pay off his debts. A year later, Cal proposed."
Jack walks over to her, taking her face in his gentle hands. He brings his lips to hers. Rose sinks into his embrace, his kiss, letting her hands wander over his shoulders and through his hair. I'm going to marry him, She thinks as he kisses her. Anxiety doesn't creep up in her chest at the notion, the way it did a few days ago, with a different man. "Keep them," He whispers, pulling back ever so slightly. "If we really need the money, you can do what you want with them. I know we can do a lot with whatever we're going to get from the ring, but we can't get back the things we lost in the wreck. I can always draw more pictures. If the earrings are important to you, you should keep them."
Rose kisses him again, because she loves him. "Thank you," She whispers. Even though she traded all those memories for him, she loves that he cares about her that way, and is willing to let her have a few mementos of another life if they don't need the money for something else. She loves that he seems to understand her so easily. "What do we do tomorrow?"
"I don't know," Jack smiles, his arms around her. "We'll sell your ring. And then… maybe look into getting married," He kisses her. "You sure you don't want to just live in sin for a while, like poor vagabonds?"
"Jack, we are vagabonds," Rose laughs, "I think we can live in sin perfectly well, even married. We're not exactly doing this with my Mother's blessing."
"You really want to marry a poor guy like me, huh?"
She smiles at him. "I wouldn't settle for anything less. Besides… it will be easier for us to stay together if we're married. I'm sick of people telling us not to be together, and I won't let them use that as the reason. As if it has anything to do with them." Their love has never had anything to do with anyone except him and her, no matter how Cal and Mother had tried to make it so. I love him, I love him, I love him, thrums in her chest, right along with her heartbeat. Rose leans her head into his shoulder, and lightly kisses the skin peeking out from the collar of his shirt.
"The courthouse is across town," Jack says. His hands pull through her hair, roam over her back, swaying. His body is so warm against hers-- she never wants to let him go. "I guess we'll see what they have to say about a ceremony. Maybe we can pick up a few things around town, too. It's kind of hard to be a traveling artist without paper or charcoal," He laughs. "I could use some clothes that haven't been soaked in saltwater and worn for five days straight,"
"Same here," Rose laughs, "Maybe something more sensible than this dress," She looks down at the pink and lavender silks, amazed they're not ruined by the saltwater. She'd like to keep it from being any further damaged-- it's the dress she put on five days ago after being drawn by Jack for the first time, the one he took off her in the back seat of the Renault, the one they survived the sinking in. It's likely to be the one she gets married in, too. "Goodness, I don't even have a corset," Rose shakes her head. She hadn't thought she'd need one for the rest of the night when she got dressed after being drawn, so she'd left it off. Who would have seen her that mattered after that? If I'd known all I'd have left by morning were the clothes on my back, then I'd have worn different clothes.
"That's not just an upper class thing?" Jack cracks a smile, arms looping around her waist. "I always thought it was only for rich ladies. Aren't they supposed to be painful?"
"How absurd!" Rose laughs, her hands on his shoulders. "Jack, no! They don't hurt if they fit right. And maybe there was a time when only the upper class could afford them, but nowadays most women wear them in some form unless they're doing very strenuous physical work." She considers asking Jack when he last saw a lower class woman undress, but considering the images in his portfolio, it probably wasn't that long ago. "That's a vile rumour started by people who don't like women such as Lady Duff Gordon running the fashion industry. Without one, I may be mistaken for a prostitute, or someone equally frowned upon. Would you feel very comfortable going around long term without your underwear?"
Jack laughs against her, "I mean I suppose it would depend on who I was with," He laughs. "Alright, so… ring, drawing supplies, clothes for the both of us. Get married. Then see about a train ticket to Los Angeles."
"That sounds right," She nods. "Jack, about the money…"
"I know," He says. "I don't want to use it either. We'll start with whatever we can get off your ring, and then I have two dollars left after the room. If we need more… we'll talk about it then. We could save up, or use some of it and replace what we take over time."
"Just so long as we're not relying on it," She shakes her head. Rose pulls off her shoes, and then pale stockings, one by one, and leaves them lying on the floor when she stands. "I don't want to start our life being indebted to him. The ring is one thing," She says, reaching around her back for the closures of her dress. "It may have come from him, but it is mine. The rest of it, we only have because he made a mistake." Rose huffs in defeat and lets her hands drop to her sides. "Oh, Jack, would you help me with my dress?" Rose asks, referring to the dress hooks going down her back. She turns her back to him, looking over her shoulder.
"Sure," Jack says with a grin, stepping up behind her. He reaches for the sash first, the silk slipping against his fingers as he pulls the knot apart. Not so long ago, he tied this very knot after they came together in the car. "I seem to remember that I got you out of it before just fine," After a moment, he finds the dress hooks that hold her gown together, going down her back for a few inches.
Rose giggles as it comes open, shivering as his fingers brush against her bare skin. "You did," She smiles, feeling the dress go slack around her shoulders. Jack's mouth is on her neck, kissing it's way down her collarbone. One hand rests on her belly as she shimmies the dress down her body, so she's in only her chemise and drawers. His other hand dives down into her chemise, fondling her breasts. Rose turns to face him, pulling at the buttons on his shirt.
Maybe it's that she would rather live in open defiance of her Mother and Cal than have them think she's dead, or that she hasn't fully absorbed how much her life has changed in a matter of days-- how many times they almost died, how she went from an engaged woman to a free woman who is simultaneously about to be married to an entirely different man than the one she was a few days ago. Or maybe it's the knowledge that there's no one chasing them anymore. No one's looking for them, they're free to be whatever they want. Rose has never had this kind of freedom before. She's never been able to divert from the acceptable norms for a woman of her status without consequence. Now her old life is resting on the bottom of the ocean. What is she meant to do with herself without restraints to fight against?
When they first made love, it was all so simple, their love a youthful defiance. Running off with Jack harmed only an engagement she didn't want and a position in a society she didn't care about. It's different now. The circumstances are heavier in tragedy's wake. Now, her and Jack have no one but each other. Now everyone she knew before thinks she's dead, and they are only free because so many people died that it made it possible for her and Jack to escape unnoticed. She's been with him in defiance of her family before. What will it be like when he is the only family she has?
Better, a part of her thinks, as he kisses her more insistently. She can feel his pulse racing wherever he touches her, lighting her blood on fire. Rose is sure of that. It will be better.
Unfortunately, what they both really need is a night of rest, and spending tonight fucking one another into oblivion is probably not the most constructive solution. Rose knows that Jack's friend had a difficult time renting out this room to them without a marriage license. If they make love again before they have proof… "Jimmy told me 'no funny business' until we can prove we're married," He says against her, voice hoarse with desire. He's already hard through his trousers against her hip. She's aching to remove what's left of her clothes and be with him again, the way they were on the ship. "The walls are thin. They'll know if we…"
"We don't have to," She says, even though her entire lower half aches at that thought. We shouldn't. She wants to, anyway. Rose knows that it would be enough just to feel him, in whatever capacity they can. All she's wanted for days now is for them to be alone together, and now they finally are. She wants to be held by him, and rest, and not have nightmares. And yet, she wants to. And yet, it's not enough. And yet, she wants him inside her again.
"I can take the floor," He offers, looking at the space of wood beside the small bed. Small, yes, but that won't stop her. Jack says it like he knows they'll have trouble keeping their hands to themselves if they share. But she wouldn't enjoy stewing in her own desire alone in bed any more than he would by himself on the floor-- he knows that as well as she does. Even if it can't be like she wants, she'd rather have his hands on her than not be touching him at all.
"Don't be absurd, Jack," Rose shakes her head. "We've hardly left each other's side for the last four days. What on earth makes you think that I don't want you in my bed?" In part, she suspects it has to do with modesty as much as their own passions-- that Jack wants to treat her with respect and not presume to share her bed while they're unmarried, or put his hands on her without her permission. Even though he's the only man who's ever had her permission to touch her that way. The only man who ever will.
He smiles at her, hands sliding over her waist. "It's not really big enough for two people."
"Then I suppose we'll just have to sleep close together." Above all, she craves to be close to him again in a way that they couldn't be on the Carpathia-- to be alone together, his skin on hers. When she wakes in the early morning hours of a nightmare, Rose knows that she'll need to feel his heartbeat against her, hear the sound of him breathing to assure herself that Jack is alive and unharmed. She has needed it for the last five nights, and this one will be no different.
Rose pulls her chemise over her head, right there in his arms. She brings her hands between them-- Jack's head is bowed, watching-- and undoes the ties to her silky drawers. They fall down around her ankles, leaving her body bare and pressed against his. They stand there in the silence, the racing of her heart seeming to echo on the walls. Jack swallows, looking at her like that again, like he did the first time he ever saw her naked. The room is cold, the sound of rain beating down hard on the windows. It feels sweltering. He shudders. Rose rests a hand on his cheek. "Oh, Rose," He whispers with a shake of his head. "You're so beautiful,"
Rose kisses him-- his lips are soft. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, Jack." I'll never let him go, She thinks to herself. Not ever.
Jack lets her go and pulls back a little, though doesn't shove her arms away. He undoes the last few buttons of his shirt, pulls it over her head, and tosses it away into a growing heap on the floor, with her dress and chemise and drawers. It strikes her, then, his arms warm around her, that Jack Dawson might be a little bit shy about this. The thought warms her heart. "Why did you ask me to draw you like that, Rose?" He wonders, lips pressed against her forehead, right into her hair. At that moment, Rose knows exactly what he's thinking. Why would she give a part of herself that no one has ever had before to a penniless drifter? She's wondered about it herself, before. "Why?"
Rose kisses the hollow of his throat and rests her head on his shoulder, looking up at him out of the corner of his eye. He smells so good, She thinks, even though neither of them have bathed in days. Like salt and smoke and mint. "I wanted you to see me, Jack," She says. "All of me. That night, I wanted it more than anything else in the world. More than I've ever wanted anything before." Rose can feel his heart beating against her breasts, her nipples pebbled with the cold. She can't really explain her motives that night even to herself, only knows that she was overcome with the desire and too helpless to resist it. It felt so good to be real, just that once, to be something alive, and not a porcelain doll. Jack is the only one who has ever seen that about her. She never knew how desperately she could need something like that before knowing him. "And I wanted him to know that I would never be his. He would never have me that way. I already belonged to you."
"Rose," He sighs, and kisses her. At first it's just the one, but then there's a second, and a third, and she feels powerless to pull away. She couldn't stop now, even if she wanted to. She can't separate herself from him. It's always so effortless, so desperately effortless between them. It will always, always amaze her how easy it is for them to dissolve into passion from an innocent moment. It happens without even meaning to, that she can't let him go, that she's pulling open his trousers and that he's stepping out of them. She hasn't breathed in more than a minute.
Rose breaks the kiss and steps back a little, not much, not enough that his hands are forced to leave her. Just enough so that she can look at him, properly look at him this time. She feels like she hardly got to see him at all the first time-- in the Renault, they were cramped, unable to explore and take their time. She saw enough to know that every part of his body was as beautiful as his heart, but not enough to really know, to have him memorized the way she's sure Jack could draw her in his sleep. She was once his muse, and still is, but now he, equally bare, has come to join her and is instead her subject of study. Her muse. The thought puts a thrill in her stomach as Jack kisses her gently, joining her on the bed.
The bed isn't overly small, but between the two of them, it feels no bigger than the couch in her stateroom where Jack made that portrait of her. One day soon, she'll get him to draw her like that again. Maybe he can teach her to draw, too.
His hand creeps down her stomach as they lay there kissing, dipping between her thighs. "Jack," She keens. "We shouldn't start something we can't finish," Rose hates that they can't.
"Shh," He says, his lips against hers. Rose's breath hitches as he touches her, fingers caressing her soft, damp folds, diving into her core. She whimpers, pulling him closer. "We'll be quiet,"
He only uses his hands on her, his wonderful hands. The bed doesn't groan, and he kisses her to keep her from screaming. If anyone in the building hears them that night, they never say a thing.
April 19, 1912
The next day her and Jack go down to the courthouse and see what can be done about getting them married-- Remarried, as the people at the courthouse think, In light of the destruction of their original marriage license on the Titanic. Very few questions were asked after the tragedy, especially with all their papers 'gone' and no way to prove what truly happened. The survivor's list only gave further credit to their lies, listing Jack and Rose Dawson's names proudly, where Rose DeWitt Bukater's name is gone. Jack tells them that he won their tickets in a hand of poker, in place of him and Fabrizio, which is why neither of their names were booked for passage. With all the casualties, the courthouse has to take them at their word, and offers to remarry them at the cost of four dollars for a marriage license and an appointment on the following Monday, which is in three days. It was more difficult to convince the nurse on the Carpathia that they were married.
Three days until we're properly married, Her heart races, twisting the ring Jack gave her around her finger. Three days until we can truly touch each other again, truly feel each other again, make love again. Three days until I can feel him inside me again. All they have to do is last three days, but it seems an impossible feat. She can't stop thinking about last night, about Jack's wonderful hands on her. Even when they're in the same room, they can't be close enough to one another, day or night.
They spend the weekend replacing some necessities that they lost in the sinking. They go looking in second hand stores, where the clothes are cheaper. Her engagement ring gets them more than a hundred dollars, but they want to make it last as long as they can. Jack gets himself some new shirts, a pair of trousers and a warm wool coat. Rose finds a more sensible pair of shoes along with some dresses-- a few years old and out of style-- and some skirts and shirtwaists. For the moment, Cal's coat suits her perfectly well. Even though she wants nothing to do with the man, they can't afford to throw away a perfectly good coat. At the moment, it's the warmest thing she owns.
One day Jack goes out in an effort to find them some traveling bags and to replace the paper and drawing supplies that he lost. In the meantime, Rose heads to a boutique not far from their apartment and purchases the cheapest corset she can find that fits. It's not what she's used to-- ordinarily, her corsets have been tailored to her body, so breaking them in isn't much trouble, and they have also been made of silk and trimmed in lace, with elegant embroidery. This one is made of white cotton and lightweight boning, but it fits as well as she can ask for. Maybe one day she can learn to add embellishment to her clothes on her own, but that's a task for another day. She also finds herself some spare pairs of drawers and combinations.
On the way back, she spies a vendor in the street selling his wares. She has three dollars left in her pocket. Rose eyes the ring on her finger, the one Jack gave her. It's made of rose gold and a lone dusky white pearl. It belonged to his mother, he said, and he's carried it on his shoelace ever since she died. She looks back at the vendor. It seems frivolous. It's not a need, it's not something she would ordinarily consider, but she does. For fifty cents, she purchases something from him and makes her way back to their apartment.
April 22, 1912
On Monday, they go down to the courthouse.
Jack is dressed in his new clothes, golden hair soft and falling over his forehead. Rose's hair is loose down her back, and she is wearing her pink and lavender dress again, along with the matching shoes and the pearl earrings her father gave her. Two days ago, she made the attempt to clean her dress-- even after being worn for five days straight and soaked in saltwater for hours, it's still the nicest thing she owns. After a little wash and airing out, it looks as good as new. She is dressed as she was the longest night of her life, but when Rose puts it on, she tries not to remember that part. She remembers instead that it is the dress she put on after Jack drew her, remembers that it is the dress he took off her in the Renault when he held her for the first time, remembers that it is the dress she wore when she told him she would get off with him when Titanic docked, as she kissed him, remembers that it was what she was wearing when they were saved. And after today, she will remember that it was the dress she got married in.
They wait outside in the hall while another couple is getting married. There are a few other people there, waiting in turn. Jack's hand is in hers, their fingers laced together. Rose misses the weight of the pearl ring on her finger. It hasn't left her hand since he gave it to her in the dead of night on the Carpathia, but for appearances, she gave it back to Jack upon arrival in the courthouse, and he would replace it on her finger again during the ceremony.
"Are you nervous?" Jack asks with a swallow, turning his eyes to her. His thumb brushes over the back of her hand. She's in the backseat of the Renault with him again, feeling the ocean sway beneath them. No one else exists.
Maybe she should be nervous, Rose thinks, the same way she thought before. She's seventeen years old. She's about to marry a man she's only known ten days. And yet, the answer hasn't changed. "No," She answers with a small shake of her head, eyes soft with love. "No."
He kisses her. A noise from the end of the hallway parts them-- it's doors opening, a smiling couple spilling out. Rose hears someone call the name Dawson, and they both look up. It's their turn. "Are you ready?" Jack asks her, squeezing her hand.
"Yes," Rose answers. They go inside.
"I'm Judge Stone," The man says. He's dressed in black robes, and is of middling age, with a thin mustache that's half gray and a small pair of spectacles perched on his nose. "I'll be marrying the two of you today. I understand that you were married on the Titanic a few days ago and that the marriage license was lost. Is that correct?"
"Yes, sir," Rose nods. The room is dull and brown, with a few windows to their right letting in the bright April sunlight-- the only real bit of color they can see from here. The air in here smells of stale cigarette smoke-- one of the secretaries at the back of the room had lit one up as they came in. The smell of it makes her feel like she might vomit. What if he catches onto the lie? Rose frets. What if they find out who I am and make me go back to Mother and Cal? Jack's fingers brush over hers, a steadying assurance. She knows that Jack would die before he let that happen to her, but Cal had tried to kill them both on Titanic. How far would his jealousy carry him now, when he had all the advantages in the world?
"I'm sorry to hear that," Judge Stone shakes his head. "A sunken ship is hardly any way to spend a honeymoon. Now, I have the paperwork here. Mrs. Dawson, your maiden name is DeWitt, and I presume that once we have you married again, you'll continue using the name Dawson as you have been? We just need the maiden name on record."
"Yes," She says with a weak smile, fighting the urge to chew on her lip as she lies. "I'm Rose Dawson on the survivor's list, I see no reason to confuse people further." Jack shot her an amused look out of the corner of his eye-- the court had been confused enough as it was, with their story, even though they'd bought it. No ticket registration, only the names on the survivor's list. And Rose had no birth certificate to speak of-- not one they could use-- while Jack's own must be buried somewhere in the files of Chippewa Falls' town hall.
"Very well. Let's get on with this, then. Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the union of this man and this woman," The judge starts blandly-- he's dune this a hundred times before, she's certain, and will probably do it a hundred times after. "Does anyone here have a reason why these two should not be wed?" The room was silent-- there were only a few other people in there, none of which knew Jack and her, thankfully. One was the judge, another a court stenographer, and some secretaries going about their business behind them. "No? Alright. Jack Dawson, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"
Jack smiled at her, his blue eyes beaming down on her. His hands were warm in hers. Rose could feel her heart racing. "I do."
The judge continued. "Rose DeWitt, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"
She feels like she did right before she jumped off the lifeboat and back onto Titanic. This is an even easier choice than that. This is easier than breathing. "I do," She says.
Judge Stone turns to Jack again. "Do you have the ring?" Jack nods, and reaches into his trousers pocket. He pulls out the ring he gave her days ago, and reaches for her left hand with a sparkle in his eyes. The ring looks just as perfect as it did when she took it off a few hours ago. Jack slips it back onto her finger, and holds both of her hands in his. I've never been so glad to put on a piece of jewelry, She thinks with a breath of relief. "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride."
But it's Rose who kisses him-- Rose who grabs Jack by the collar of his shirt and yanks his lips down to hers, and holds him so tight she doesn't think she'll ever let go. She can hear the Judge laughing at their side, and feel Jack, My husband, smiling into their kiss. Then his arms slide around her waist, and she can feel her heart beating down to her toes. She's known it for days now, and she knows it again standing in the courthouse kissing Jack after getting married-- nothing was as right as they were together. Nothing in the entire world.
On their wedding night, they end up in a dingy Irish Pub a few blocks down from their apartment, where there's music and drinking and dancing. Apparently it's one where Jack used to frequent during his time in New York a few years ago. He'd smiled about it being good company on the way. It reminds Rose of the third class party they were in a few days ago-- the people are jolly and half drunk on beer and ale, and there's enough people there that Rose feels they can be alone even when they're surrounded.
Few people pay them mind, other than the ones there who knew Jack while here a few years ago; it was evidently a common place for them to spend time after a day's work. The ones who did make toasts to them, newly married, and they thump Jack on the back and tease him till he turns red in the face, telling stories. They ask things like "How'd you convince such a lovely lady to marry you?" Jack laughs and shrugs and says that it was the other way around, because he just had to marry the woman who could outdance him.
Even Jimmy Thorne, the man they're renting from is there. He'd had a look at the paperwork earlier today and offered Rose a kiss on the hand and congratulations to the both of them, and-- raring drunk, now-- he falls out of his chair when he learns that Jack and her weren't really married before today. Her husband, red-faced in laughter, helps him up and thanks him for letting them stay anyway.
The place serves them roasted chicken with parsnips on the house, because most of the people who work here seem to know Jack fairly well. Her feet are sore from dancing with all Jack's friends. As the night wore down, the band had played a nice slow song, and they all shoved her and Jack out to the floor for a long dance while everyone sang along. Between the two of them, now having drunk quite a lot, their dancing is clumsy and little more than standing there and swaying while they both try not to step on her dress. Jack's arms are warm around her, and when he kisses her at the end of the song, everyone cheers for them.
She feels dizzy by the end of the night, and hardly able to breathe. It could just as easily be from the dancing as from the drinking. Rose and her husband-- her heart skips at the word-- leave the bar sometime after midnight, and walk back home together, stumbling over song lyrics together. Jack's coat is over her shoulders, his ring is on her finger, and when she kisses him, she tastes the dark beer they had to drink. She didn't have five hundred people there, or the lavender bridesmaid dresses, or some heavy expensive dress, but it was the most perfect wedding she could've ever asked for.
"Will you draw me again?" Rose asks him, hands warm against his face and neck. Jack can feel her breathing against him, lips hovering over his, moist and swollen from shared kisses.
He draws her mouth back to his, hands roaming over the bare skin below her neck, playing with the ends of her auburn curls. "Of course I will, Rose," Jack answers her, his wife. He nips at the skin near her pink lips. "Of course I will. Tonight?"
He doesn't mean to sound impatient, if he does. He's glad to draw Rose whenever she asks, but tonight… it was after midnight at this point, and their wedding night to boot. Jack isn't sure he'll have the patience to draw her tonight, and wait to make love even longer-- when the last three days have taken a herculean effort to keep from doing so-- or be able to make himself leave her arms for another portrait afterwards.
Rose smiles against his lips. "Not tonight," She says, as he unlocks the door to their room and pushes it open. Jack knows the implication. We have other plans for tonight.
"Maybe tomorrow," Jack nods, letting Rose lead him into their apartment by her hand. "Consider it a wedding gift, from me to you," That was what they'd discussed on the Carpathia, although it feels as much of a present for him as for her. He's happy to draw Rose whenever she wants.
"That's funny," She says, with a playful gleam in her eyes. "You liked the first so much that when you finished it I was already considering letting you do another after docking. Oh! That reminds me," Rose smiles shyly, blushing and folding her hands in her lap. She steps back a little bit. The endearing shape of her mouth and fire in her eyes has his stomach doing flips. "Jack, I got you something, too," She tells him. "Also a wedding gift."
Rose goes into the bag that her clothes are packed into, and pulls out something small enough to be concealed in her hand. She passes it to him. "I know that most men don't wear wedding rings," She says, "But I thought that you might make an exception,"
Jack looks down at it. His heart swells with love at her intention. It's a plain metal band, grey and tarnished. It might be real silver, but he can't be sure. "It was only fifty cents," Rose shakes her head. "I'm not even sure it'll fit, but…" She looks up at him with something striking in her eyes. "I love you, Jack. I know that Cal never would have worn one, even if I had asked. But you're not Cal, and we're married now, and… if I belong to you, then you belong to me, too."
"I'm yours," He whispers, leaning his forehead against hers. "And you're mine. I love it, Rose. I love it." He slips the metal band around his ring finger. It's warm from her holding it. "I'll never take it off. I promise."
Rose sighs in his arms, her body relaxed and content. She looks up at him through her eyelashes, fingers playing on his lips. "You're so good with your hands," She hums. "Put your hands on me again, Jack. I want you to make love to me." It's his favorite thing she's said all day.
What follows passes so smoothly that Jack hardly notices the passing of time, blinded by love. They kiss, and they undress one another one piece of clothing at a time. Rose's gown billows to the floor in a soft pool of lilac silk. She pulls off his suspenders and unbuttons his shirt. As Jack tugs at the buttons on his trousers, his wife opens the busk of her new corset and removes it. She pushes his shirt off his shoulders as Jack lets his hands slip under the top of her chemise, caressing the soft skin of her breasts before deciding to be rid of it and pull it over her head. Off come their shoes, her stockings, and her drawers. Rose pushes his trousers down around his ankles, pinching his bottom with a giggle. Jack kisses her firmly with a smile. Anything that's left of their clothing finds its way to the floor with all the rest.
They climb into bed together-- their bed, just for tonight, and that's all that matters. Rose squirms under his hands, arcing up against him like a cat being pet. He takes her hand, knotting their fingers together above her head, and kisses her. Jack can't count the number of kisses he gives her-- She deserves them all, he thinks. He's never loved anyone as much as he loves Rose, his wife. My wife, my wife, my wife.
He kisses his way down her body, down her neck and soft bosom, and over the plane of her belly. The metal of his wedding ring is still cold against his skin-- against Rose's breasts as he palms them. I'll never take it off, he promised her moments ago. Jack had meant it, with every bone in his body and every piece of his soul. I'll never take it off.
"Jack," Rose keens, fingers kneading through his hair, against his scalp. It spurns him onward, lower, slinging an arm over her hips to hold her still, thighs parted. "What are you-- oh…"
He's thought about this for days, tasting her. Even back in the Renault, he had thought of it, but they didn't have time then. Not for this. Not for him to love her this way, the right way. There's time now. There's no one chasing them, no rules of propriety, no jealous fiance and mother to come between them. Just them. Just him and her, in this bed, alone together.
Her legs hook under his arms, around his back and shoulders, holding him closer. He takes his time, paying love and kisses to every patch of skin he can find, to every scar and mark where her body has stretched and grown into the person she is now. She has never been more beautiful to him-- never. It's blasphemous to think otherwise. Jack kisses her there again and again, until she's breathless and panting against him, fingers dug so deep in his hair that it should hurt but it doesn't, it doesn't.
When Rose finally comes apart, she cries his name, head thrown back against the pillow, back rising inches off the mattress. What would Tommy think of this? He wonders. Tommy, who had sworn to the unlikeliness of even getting near to Rose, who had laughed at them dancing just days ago. My face buried between her thighs? Us married? What would he think? He knows that his friends would be happy for them, would laugh again and shake their heads at the steerage boy and first class girl that ran off together. Jack isn't sure where the thought comes from, or how he managed to pluck it from his brain at a time like this, but as Rose drags him up to kiss her again, a hand on his chin, it makes him smile.
"Hey!" A voice tells, a hand thumping against the wall. It sounds suspiciously like his friend Jimmy Thorne. "Knock it off, you two! Some of us need to sleep! Keep it down!"
He can't help but laugh. "It's our wedding night, leave us be!"
"Just because you got married doesn't mean the whole block needs to know about it!" Jimmy answers. Rose is shaking with laughter against him, eyes squeezed shut and face flushed with embarrassment. "If you wear out that bed, I'll bill you for it!"
"We'll do our best, Mister Thorne!" Rose cries at his side, still unable to stop laughing. In fact, her comment only makes him laugh harder, because he knows Jimmy will be puzzling over what Rose had meant they would 'do their best' over-- keeping quiet or wearing out the bed. The latter is more likely.
It seems like hardly any time has passed when they start again, this time the way they were in the Renault. He's back there again, the ship swaying beneath them. They're unfettered now, free to unravel and stretch as they please.
Her wedding ring is on her hand, against his skin. His lips press to hers, again and again and again. Rose's knees pull up to her chest. Jack feels her toes curl, feels her calves as her ankles hook together around his back. He pulls her up at the waist, pace quickening, hitting a deeper angle inside her. Jack gasps for air against her lips, but before he's even taken one breath, Rose pulls his mouth back to hers, moaning through it where he knows she might scream if they weren't kissing, and kissing, and kissing.
"Jack," She moans through his kisses, his hips moving against hers. We're more one person than two, he thinks, unable to escape the oneness of them. They're perfect like this, he knows exactly what she wants, what she needs from him, "Yes, Jack, that's… oh--"
The world lurches for a moment, Rose's grasp around him tightening, and before Jack has even realized what's happened, he looks up and sees her sitting astride him. She's close, so desperately close. He can feel it in the slide of her body against his, the press of her lips and the way her hands clutch at whatever but of skin she can cling to for purchase. He feels it in the warm flutter of her around him, his hands pressing into her hips enough that there'll be bruises tomorrow, arms aching to pull her closer.
Jack is close, too, hips stuttering against hers, movements growing sloppy. "Rose…" He says her name, whimpers it, moans it. She chose this, He thinks, heart filled with love. She chose this life, she chose me. She wants me.
That thought sends him over the edge, Rose tumbling after him.
I shouldn't have finished in her again, a voice in his head whispers in the aftermath. It's not his voice, but he doesn't know whose it is. I shouldn't. I know that. What if I get her pregnant?
Jack doesn't worry half as much as he should over that thought, and it doesn't even bother him. He has promised her babies, not now, but he has. And he can't pretend he isn't overjoyed at the thought, or that he doesn't one day want children with Rose. He can't tell himself that if there were a child between them it wouldn't be an additional layer of protection from Rose's mother and Cal. A marriage can be annulled and forgotten, but children are permanent.
Rose smiles, collapsed beside him and boneless, an arm thrown across his chest. Jack can picture that same grin, a little indignant. What, you think a first class girl can't drink? She'd asked just days ago. Now it's, What, you think a first class girl can't fuck? "That was… thorough," He says, still unable to catch his breath, heart still racing under her palm.
"Indeed," she giggles. "I didn't know you were so talented with your tongue. You're full of surprises, Mister Dawson. Did you learn that in Paris?"
"Oui, mademoiselle," He answers with a kiss, but doesn't elaborate. Jack doesn't want to think of anything else but her now-- how she smells, the feel of her skin on his, the sound of her heartbeat.
"I think I could spend all night making love to you," Rose says, eyes sparkling up at him. I could too, he wants to say.
He turns his head on the side to face her with a swallow. His fingers trace up and down the length of Rose's arm, playing with her fingers and the ends of her hair. "We shouldn't be so careless," he says. "I'm sorry, Rose. I should have asked you before I…" He falls silent, unsure of what to say. His wife doesn't even blush. Her eyes betray nothing. "In the Renault. And tonight. I could have gotten you pregnant. It wasn't--"
Rose kisses him. She tastes like heavy stout and the cigarettes they had at the pub tonight. Her eyes are the softest he's ever seen when she pulls away. "We'll be more careful next time, then," She tells him. "Just until we're ready."
He searches her face. "What if it's already happened?" He asks, terribly frightened, and yet terribly excited. Jack isn't sure how that question sounds, if he's scared or in love or both at once. If it has, there is little they can do for it now. Only wait.
Rose purses her lips. It's plain that she doesn't think that's true. Her reasons are her own-- this was only the second time she's had sex. Can it even happen so early? His wife finds his hand and drags it to her belly, fingers tangled together. "Then we'll figure something out, Jack. We take life as it comes at us." She says, quoting his own words back to him, so unfearing that it pulls at his heart.
If it's possible, he loves her even more.
April 23, 1912
They wake together in the small hours of the morning. The streets are still dark, but Jack thinks he sees a faint outline of the sun peeking between the buildings. Rose is tucked in his arms with her head next to his on the pillow, the sheets pulled over them, but not sleeping. Her bare foot slides up his calf, and down over the ankle again, exploring his foot. He can feel her stretching as she wakes, though it's minute, just her flexing different muscles and cracking some joints to get the blood flowing. Jack takes his hand and runs his fingers through her hair. He still relishes the feel of his wedding ring against his skin-- it marks him as being as much hers as Rose is his. He touches his lips to her forehead once, just to let her know he's awake, and curls his toes against her feet, matching her playful ministrations.
Her eyes flit up to his, blue, half eclipsed by her lashes and utterly gorgeous in the morning light. "Good morning," She whispers. "We're married, Jack," Rose says, beaming up at him. If Jack could, he'd see that all her days were filled with smiles like this, and laughing and dancing. He can't put to words how happy it makes him to see her smiling that way, so different from the despair on her face when they first met. And it's because she married him-- she chose this. Chose him. "You're my husband,"
"You're my wife," Jack says. Even though it's felt like they've already been married for days now, there's still this sort of relief that comes with it. They don't have to hide any longer. Jack is hers and Rose is his. He will never love anyone else so long as he lives, and the same is true for her. It's that simple. "God, I have a wife. I never thought that would happen," Jack laughs. Sometimes he can hardly believe how much has changed for him in just ten days. Before Rose, he was just going to go along with Fabrizio, traveling and making art until he had to slow down. Love or marriage or, god, children hadn't even been on the horizon. What kind of girl would want to be with a bum like him? But Rose did, and she's the one person in the world that he'd settle in one place for, if she asked.
"Well, you better get used to it, Mister Dawson," Rose says, eyes sparkling up at him like the ocean on a sunny day. "I plan on sticking around for a while."
"I wouldn't have it any other way, Mrs Dawson." He says, laying a gentle kiss on Rose's lips that goes on and on until it's a bit less gentle and they're both gasping for air.
"I never want to leave this bed," Rose sighs, snuggling deeper into his chest. "I just want to stay like this with you forever."
"But how will I draw you then?" He asks with a smile. Jack had told her he would last night, and he means to keep it. Now seems as good a time as any. "I can't even reach my paper from here."
"This early?" Rose asks, looking playful. Her fingers brush over his neck, soft. "I suppose it's best we don't traumatize our neighbors," She nods out the window to the still empty streets. "I imagined it would be like the first, since you seemed so fond of that one and didn't even get to keep it."
"Yeah, I think it was my favorite," Jack nods. He doesn't usually do the same drawing twice, but for her-- for how much that first drawing must have meant to her-- he will. "It's a shame that it's…" Jack reaches into his bag and finds his drawing supplies. They both know very well where that drawing is, with all his other drawings, and the beautiful Monet and Picasso and Degas he saw in her rooms. But it feels too early to say it, when last night is the first since the Carpathia docked that neither him nor Rose has woken from a nightmare.
From her own bag, Rose has withdrawn the Heart of the Ocean, and fastens the clasp around her neck. She turns back to him, still sitting on their bed and wrapped up in their sheets. She's not shy or nervous at being naked this time-- they've both seen each other plenty. She's proud, and if anything thrice as beautiful as she was days ago, unafraid at whatever passes between them.
"Well, how do you want me, Monsieur?" Rose asks with a grin, evidence of their passions all over her body, on her neck, and chest, and hips. The Heart of the Ocean Rests between her breasts again, but this time, the pearl wedding ring is on her finger. Last time, she took Cal's engagement ring off for the drawing and didn't put it back on after. Rose must have known even then that she was getting off the ship with him, that she had absolutely no intention of marrying Cal.
"Go over to the couch again," He nods to the threadbare blue sofa just across from their bed.
"You're trying to steal the warm blankets from me," Rose teases him with a roguish grin as she stands and crosses the room.
"Who, me?" Jack feigns. "I'd never."
Rose sits down and assumes that pose again, hands by her face, as if she's practiced at it for years. "I wonder, Jack. Have you ever considered a sort of reverse nude portrait?" His wife asks, looking bashful. Jack starts with the lines of her arms, and then to her hands, right by her face and partly tangled in his hair.
"How do you mean?" Rose's eyes are absolutely gorgeous in this light, he realizes. The half darkness and orange sunrise makes her eyes seem even bluer, and lights her hair up like hot metal in a forge.
"I mean, instead of the subject being nude, it would be just you,"
Jack looks up from the paper, startled by the notion. "That would make for some pretty funny lookin' drawings, Rose." He laughs, sketching the curve of her cheek. All Jack can think of at the notion of a drawing where his subject is clothed and he's nude is how Laure would have laughed at him while she sat for a portrait-- she wouldn't have been able to sit still for long enough to draw him. "Are you sure this isn't just an extension of your own twisted desires, miss? Some scheme to get me out of my clothes and ogle me at your leisure?" He's not exactly wearing much now, but at least he knows where this request is coming from.
"Yes," She nods. "I'm entirely perverted. You're far too handsome for me to resist."
Jack smiles at her. "Well how 'bout when I'm done with this drawing you come over here and let this steerage boy show you a good time, huh? Like I wanted to last time," He's never had a more difficult time with a portrait than then-- Except for now, He thinks.
"That sounds like a plan, Mister Big Artiste,"
Jack lets himself be absorbed in the process of drawing Rose, every little piece of her. Outside, he can hear the faint sounds of birds singing, the city just beginning to move, but it still feels like it's just them, like nothing else exists outside of their small little room. The sun rises higher and higher, casting shadows beneath Rose's lovely breasts. He takes care shading her pale skin, and the way her hair shines in the morning light. Her eyes still have that same expression in them, drawing him into their depths.
"Jack," She croons softly, after he's been drawing her for a while. Rose makes minute movements with her hips, trying to keep still, but obviously uncomfortable in her arousal. He knows how she feels. The sooner this portrait is finished, the sooner I can go over there and ravish her.
"I'm almost done, Rose," He assures her, putting a bit more of an outline to the swell of her hip.
"Do you remember that dressing gown, Jack?" She asks with a faint smile, now that he's done with her face. "The one that I wore that night?" Rose took it off within moments, but he remembers it. It was long and black, and after she took it off he forgot everything else pretty quick. All of a sudden, it's all he can see.
The last thing I need is another picture of me looking like a porcelain doll, She had said, the silky sheer robe pulled around her like woven shadows, her skin glowing in the electric light. He could just faintly make out the shape of her body underneath it, nipples pebbled against the fabric. And it slid down her body like rain when she let it fall around her feet. If Rose was cold that night, she didn't show it. She didn't look anything like a porcelain doll. Jack swallows. "What about it?" He asks.
"It was meant to be worn on my wedding night," She says. "It seems fitting that you're the only one who ever got to see me wear it."
The drawing is finished. Even if it wasn't, he'd have little patience to keep up with it, when Rose is sitting there looking like that. Jack sets it aside on their nightstand. "Come here," He says, not a demand, not a request, but an expression of something they both want. Rose rises, and walks over. She stops just in front of him, her breasts at eye level. Her hands smooth over his shoulders, and pull through his hair. Jack rests his on her hips, sliding from front to back and over her rear. He lays a tender kiss between Rose's breasts, and looks up at her. "You know, I never thought I could love someone this much, Rose," He says. It's true.
The rest of the day, they scarcely leave the bed.
April 24, 1912
"How much for two tickets to Eau Claire? One way," He specifies. It wasn't originally part of their plan, but Jack wants to show Rose his home before they go off to Santa Monica. They can take a few days there to break up the journey. He hasn't been home in five years. After a year in France, he'd been so excited to finally go back, even if Jack was sure he would never live in that house again. In some ways, it feels strange to think of going back, and to know that no one was waiting for him. After five years, no one he knew before leaving would still be looking for him.
"Four dollars a piece," The teller answers. It was a lot-- more than half of what he had in his own pocket before they sold Cal's ring. Jack shells out for the tickets anyway, because at the moment they can't afford to be picky. Longterm, a few nights on a train and in Chippewa Falls was cheaper than a dollar a night like they'd been doing till now.
"Did you get them?" Rose asks as he walks back over. He nods and pats his coat pocket where the tickets rest inside. "What's the damage?" She asks with a wince.
"Eight," He answers. After other expenses, they've got about a hundred and fifty left. Enough to get them to Santa Monica and maybe even for rent on an apartment. "Train leaves on Friday at eleven. Then we head out to Eau Claire."
"Eau Claire?"
"Next big town over from Chippewa Falls," He nods. "I thought it might be nice to spend a few days there, you know?" Jack asks, letting his arm rest around his wife's waist. "There's no rush here. It'll break up the trip. I haven't been back there since my parents died. Do you mind?"
"No," Rose shakes her head. Her cheeks are pink in the cold. She kisses the corner of Jack's mouth and pulls closer to his side.
"Jack?" A drawling voice calls off to their right. "Jack Dawson, is that you?"
Together they turn and find none other than Molly Brown standing there. He feels Rose tense against his side, but Jack is sure that Molly won't give them up if they ask her not to. Molly looks back and forth between the two of them, gaping. Her eyes catch on Rose's wedding ring. On the silver one he now wears, too. After a few moments, she closes her mouth and walks over with a sigh. "I think you kids have some 'splainin' to do," Molly nods. "Honey, I heard you were supposed to be dead."
Sorry about the wait! Life has been keeping me very busy lately, and as you've seen, this chapter is one of the longer ones (eighteen fucking pages) I hope you guys liked it and that it will keep you satisfied for a while. I considered splitting this into two, but decided against it in the end. Even though it was mostly already written, I had to edit a lot of it. Also, I hope you enjoyed a little bit more of that adult content. And thank you for all the lovely reviews you've been leaving me, I couldn't have asked for a more wonderful reception to this story.
If I remember right, a fair amount of research went into writing this chapter with just details of the day. For example, what time and day the Carpathia docked in New York. There was a lot of research into adjustments for inflation in this chapter for cost of rent and such (meaning that I researched what typical modern costs were for certain jewelry pieces and train tickets) I even researched wedding vows for court ceremonies-- I took some liberties, but you'll find a very similar version on Wikipedia, so it wasn't outside the realm of possibility. I really know nothing about Court marriage ceremonies, especially in 1912, so please don't call me out on anything. I did my best. I have no idea what the logical procedure would be in the event of the destruction of a marriage license back then, so I just decided that a 'remarriage' would be the best course of action.
I decided to give Jack a wedding ring (Plain silver) At this time, wedding rings for men weren't really a thing. They didn't become popular until WWI, which is coming up yet, but I decided that for them it would make sense.
Do I bring up corsets again? Abso-fucking-lutely I do. I will never let this go. Corsets got a bad wrap because men didn't like women running the fashion industry, and the film industry usually goes out of its way to portray corsets in a bad light, furthered by the fact that the costumes aren't made well and they didn't take the time to fit them properly to the different actresses. It was a standard undergarment of the day, not a torture device (unless you happened to have one that was very ill fitting or designed for extreme purposes in much the same way that high heels are now) As a woman in this era, wearing a corset was an important part of being seen as respectable in public even if you weren't wealthy. So no, I'm not doing away with them entirely just yet. I concede the point that Rose may not wear one when she's just around Jack or other people she's very comfortable with and doesn't need to see her in a certain light, but that doesn't negate that she still would have worn one in public. If I haven't already, I suggest youtube videos by Karolina Zebrowska and Bernadette Banner for a more accurate look at historical corsetry.