A/N: Thank you again to every single one of my readers and reviewers! I hope you enjoy this next chapter.

March 1917

Rose left the doctor's office with a cautious step like if she moved too fast, she was going to snap or crumble. As she stepped out into the fresh spring air, she closed her eyes and tried to expand her lungs that were caught in a vise made of her own panic. When she had agreed to try having a baby again, she thought she was ready for it. Now that she had another pregnancy confirmed, she wasn't sure if she felt prepared for the risk again.

While walking home, she took the longer route to process the brutal questioning of her own feelings and thoughts. She'd chosen not to audition for the spring show in order to focus on her health and stress levels, all to try for another baby… So why wasn't she more excited? Why couldn't she be more grateful for this time around? With all of the effort both she and Jack were going through to make her more comfortable and less fearful, she should be grateful. They'd talked about this after Jack's art show, and he'd again taken more sacrifices for the sake of family…

Two weeks they'd been married, and Rose was more than proud to attend the opening of the art gallery displaying Jack's work as his wife. As crowds from Eau Claire crowded into the building, Rose stood with her chin held high by the section dedicated to Jack's drawings, in which a couple she was the muse.

One was of a child playing in a vast field, picking daisy flowers in the spring – the child, of course, being Josephine, who was currently being watched by Ruth back home in Chippewa Falls. When the first round of people passed by, they seemed most fascinated by that piece, and Rose had to hold back from telling the guests about the girl in the picture. With everyone so involved and focused on Jack's work, no one immediately noticed that the woman standing nearby was in the drawings, either.

Jack strolled back to her side with two glasses of wine. "I think I need both," he said, a bit reluctant to hand her one. Rose chuckled and placed a hand on his back in solace.

"But it's going so well," she said while nodding her chin to the hoards of people filing into the art gallery. "Everyone has been so intrigued by your work, they haven't even noticed me standing here."

"I find that hard to believe," Jack said, despite the crowd forming around his framed artwork proving her point.

"Excuse me," one woman interrupted while approaching them. "Are you the artist of these drawings? Jack Dawson?"

"Yes, that would, uh," Jack cleared this throat, "that would be me."

"The realism in your work is outstanding. Did you draw these from life?"

Rose blushed lightly at the question, one she had asked Jack many years ago but for an entirely different set of drawings. As Jack went on to answer the woman's question, attracting a couple other guests to the inquiry as he did so, he explained how heavily influenced his art was by his family. Hearing Jack speak of her and Josie with such fondness reminded Rose of why she had desired to expand their family in the first place.

As she and Jack arrived home after the successful opening, Rose stopped Jack on the porch before they would relieve Ruth for the night. "I've been thinking again…about having a baby."

Jack's heart picked up speed – from excitement or confusion or concern, he couldn't tell. They'd of course discussed their shared grief and Rose's trauma since the summer, and had come to an unsteady conclusion of whether there was any interest in trying again anytime soon. With the passing of their wedding, the topic went mostly unnoticed, even though Rose was reminded of it on their wedding day. "Yeah?"

Rose's eyes shimmered from the loss she had experienced and the hope she still had. "Yeah, and I think… I might want to try again."

From that day forward, Rose was dedicated and much more prepared for a possible pregnancy. She halved her work hours and, for the sake of flexibility, kept the job at the diner, meaning that she had to postpone her theater career for the time being. Due to their lower household wages, Jack took up more work around town, often working late into the night on his art projects which the gallery owner wanted to see more of. On days when he was exhausted, his artwork went untouched, and Rose, despite spending most of (if not the entire) day bonding with Josie, was saddened to see him work so hard for something that might not happen.

Now, it has happened. And Rose wished to rewind time and take back the words she had said on the porch – maybe she wasn't ready for a baby after all.

When Rose stepped into the house, she was met by the smell of baking chicken. She could see Josie's door open a crack and dark inside, meaning she was taking her pre-dinner nap. Even though Rose tried to sneak into the house and take a breath before talking to Jack, he still heard her enter, and poked his head out from the kitchen. "And? How did it go?"

Jack had known about Rose's doctor's appointment. For the sake of her own nerves, she had asked to go alone, and Jack, being his kind and patient self, agreed despite his own anxiety. Now, he'd been waiting for far too long, and for that, Rose felt even guiltier.

"Well…" Rose entered the kitchen and set her purse down on the table, conjuring up her acting skills to not look as nervous as she felt inside. "The doctor says I'm pregnant."

At first, due to the lack of any jubilation, Jack thought he misheard Rose. "You...you are pregnant?"

Rose smiled, masking her anxiety with her sweetness. "Yes!"

As Jack encased her in his arms, Rose sighed. She could already feel some comfort about her worries just by being in his embrace. "Oh, Rose…" Jack kissed her cheek a few times before nuzzling into her hair again. "I love you so much. Sometimes I don't think I say it enough."

Rose laughed softly; she knew that wasn't true. He said it more than she could handle sometimes. "I think I'm the one who needs to say it more often."

Jack pulled away, their foreheads still touching as he grazed his thumb across her cheek. Rose thought she saw a tear in his eye. "No, you don't. Just by living with me, marrying me, having my kids… I know you love me, more than words can ever say."

There was so much Rose wanted to say – but then, she realized, Jack was right. There weren't the right words to express them. In order to do that, they would need to create their own language.

"Now, come here. I want to show you something."

Rose followed Jack into the living room, which she hadn't passed through since she left for work that morning. When Jack turned on the light, she gasped at the behemoth taking up space inside it. "Oh, dear God!" Rose exclaimed while running a hand over the wooden top. "Is this–"

"A piano? Yes."

"But how–"

"It's used and beat up and old and very inexpensive because of all of that. I hope you know how to tune it…"

Rose hit a key, and cringed at how it reverberated offkey. "Mother never let me learn much of anything outside of my studies, but I may have taught myself some things. Though I don't think we have the proper equipment…"

Even though it wasn't a grand piano like Rose had been trained to play on, she didn't care because it was a piano regardless. Whenever she and Jack would go out to a bar, and a piano would be available, Rose would dare herself to play it at least once. Outside of dance, it was the one skill she was taught growing up that she wanted to maintain.

As much as Rose wished to sit down and position her hands over the keys, she knew it would sound terrible until she found some way to fix it. Despite that, she was again feeling emotions too strong to properly express through words. "Thank you," she said while wrapping her arms around Jack's neck, and he wrapped his arms around her waist. A single kiss or two wouldn't suffice for her gratitude, but it was enough for the time being.

"Happy belated wedding present," he whispered while rubbing his nose against hers. Rose giggled and took one of his hands to her abdomen.

"Happy belated wedding present," she said back, and they embraced until Rose smelled the chicken burning and they ran to the kitchen, giggling like mad hatters.

April 1917

Nearing three months into her pregnancy, and that was becoming longer than Rose's last one had lasted. With each passing day, they were becoming more and more hopeful that this one would stay through until the end.

In the first few weeks, Rose tried to stay off her feet as much as possible, and began to homeschool Josie with some letters and counting basics before she would enter the public schools next year. Josie was bright, and picked up on almost everything with ease. Before Rose knew it, she was already running out of things to do with Josie that didn't just involve playtime.

In early April, Rose's fears had come true and the U.S. had entered the war, but Jack reassured her that there was no plan yet on what was to come of it. Still, the stress took its toll, and Rose worried for Jack's safety every day. She knew that if soldiers would be needed, they would want the youngest and the fittest to be sent overseas.

On one day near the end of April, Rose went to work as usual. There was no indication that anything would go wrong that day.

After the lunch rush, Rose felt a cramp in her lower abdomen. She bent over from the pain, and brushed it off as pulling a muscle – until the cramps continued. It wasn't until Olivia saw how pale Rose was – and gasped at the blood passing through her skirt – that Rose comprehended what was going on.

"Oh, no…" Rose moaned while curled up on the bathroom floor with Olivia in the back, her face in a tissue. "No, no, no… This can't be happening…" Her shoulders shook with sobs. "It happened so fast… Why does it happen so fast?"

"I wish I knew," Olivia said while stroking back Rose's damp curls from her forehead. At that moment, Joanne appeared at the bathroom door and gestured for Olivia to move. "Rose, Jack's here."

When Jack had gotten the call, he couldn't believe the phone hadn't slipped out of his hand. He couldn't believe he was packing a bag of clean clothes and sanitary napkins to take to the diner, where Rose was working and having a miscarriage at the same time. When he got to the diner and went through the back door, no one said anything to the man who was tearing apart inside. After Olivia comforted Rose by whispering that Jack was there now, she and Jack traded spots, and he took a seat on the floor next to her, closing the door behind him despite the cramped, single stall space.

"Rose," he whispered, uncertain what else there was to say. I'm so sorry? We'll get through this together? What was there to say? He'd said those things to her many times before, and he knew they were of no use to her now, in physical and mental torture. "Come on, let's go. I'll help you up."

After the doctor left the house call that Jack requested, he sat down on the bed that Rose hadn't left in hours and just sighed. Months of work and effort to move past this… Only for it to happen again. Would it ever get easier? Jack sought out her hand just to rest on it, and find some solace in each other's company.

"A part of me knew I wasn't ready," Rose murmured after a few minutes of silence. "And that I shouldn't have gotten so hopeful again."

Jack grazed her hand, cold and dry. "You shouldn't blame yourself, Rose."

Rose drifted off again, her mind wandering elsewhere, and Jack let her be in order to go check on Ruth and Josephine. "How is she?" Ruth asked, sitting up off the couch where Josie had fallen asleep next to her.

Jack shrugged his shoulders and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Tired. Not fully...there. Like last time," he said. His gaze drifted down so he wasn't looking directly at her, his cheeks flushing with a pink pain and frustration. "There shouldn't have been a second time."

For the rest of the evening, Ruth watched as Jack played with Josephine to take his mind off of what had happened. Both would get distracted by the door that was open a crack, thinking about the woman who was still behind it, grieving with her. But there was no easy solution, nothing they could do but wait again for time to heal all wounds.

June 1917

Rose's worst nightmares had been dragged into reality.

In April, the United States had joined the war, and a few weeks later in May came the draft. Any young man able to serve needed to sign up and could be thrown into the arena. Rose waited with a twisted stomach for the letter to come in the mail, because she was certain it was coming. Jack reassured her that there was no guarantee, but she knew. She just knew.

In early June, the letter arrived. Out of the millions of men that had signed up, Jack was part of the few that had actually been called to serve. The knot in Rose's stomach unclenched, but her knees gave out. Though the news was for him, Jack somehow had the strength to keep her from falling.

From losing another baby to this, Rose feared how she was going to get by. Who will hold her at night when she would have nightmares about her miscarriages? How much longer would this war go on? When would Jack return?

Would he return?

These were the kinds of questions she had running on a loop in her head every day since they had received that letter. They had about a month until Jack had to depart, so they knew they had to make each day count more than ever before. Often, when looking for her parents to show them the new town she'd created from her toys and stuffed animals, Josie would walk in on them holding each other tightly, not saying a word. When they would talk, Rose would only get a few words out before shutting down. She couldn't believe that her entire world, the person who had saved her life, was leaving, potentially to lose his life to a battle she and many others deemed senseless.

Not all was doomed, though. On her worst days, when Rose would be caving in on herself over her losses and now a possible future loss, she would remind herself that she had Josie. This reminder would usually arrive packaged to her when Rose would be watching her daughter, and she'd stop whatever distraction she was partaking in, like a chore or a book, in order to watch Josie play. The pure creativity with which her daughter entertained herself was exactly how she had pictured Jack as a child.

A couple of weeks after the letter had arrived in the mail and Rose had released her distressing screams, Josie wandered into their bedroom in the middle of the night, fearful of a nightmare. When such occurrences like this happened, Josie's fear was squelched as she huddled between them and fell asleep in her safe cocoon. As Rose held her daughter that night, curled up in her arms the size of a child instead of an infant, she reminded herself that Jack's leaving to war wasn't going to leave her alone. That night, she reignited some hope that she was going to be okay after all.

As Jack's departure day approached, all of Rose's movements became increasingly frantic. Rolling out of bed, walking, doing the dishes, anything: she was ruled by her nerves. Jack was, too, but he didn't want to worry her more with his worries.

While watching her pace around the kitchen the morning before he was to leave, her face contorted by a serious expression trying to hide back hurt, Jack wanted to say to her, "There's nothing to worry about. Everything will be fine." But whatever he could say to comfort her would be a lie. The truth was, he had no idea what was going to happen. He had no idea why he had been drafted other than bad luck. Since the sinking of the Titanic, he and Rose must have been too lucky, and it was only a matter of time before something threatened them again. They hadn't been apart since; the sinking had only brought them closer together, more adamant to not leave the other's side. How were they going to be separated indefinitely?

Rose sighed as she rinsed the pan she'd just made scrambled eggs on. She and Jack were in the same room, quiet, but she tried to block him out. She tried to prepare herself for tomorrow morning, when she would have to drop him off at the train station and be left alone. She still hadn't decided how to explain the magnitude of the situation to Josie. So far, they'd told her that Papa was planning on going on a trip, and that he would be gone for a while. How do you explain war to a four-year-old? Rose sighed again, this time of frustration. This is so unfair.

After letting her do what she needed to do to relieve some steam, Jack abandoned his full breakfast plate and approached her (from the side, rather than behind like he usually would). "Rose…" His voice was weak, already broken. "I don't want to leave you."

Rose peered at him from the side, her eyes watering just from acknowledging his presence. "Then don't," she said, her voice cracking. She continued to look away from him, refusing to look into the face that made her melt, the face that had comforted her over the last five years.

This time, Jack sighed. He wanted to agree with her so badly, and yet… "You know I can't do that."

Rose almost broke a clean dish as she moved past him to return it to its proper place. "Then why would you say that?"

Jack realized that, for the first time in a while (if ever), his words had hurt more than they had helped. His heartbeat became dulled, sinking down into his stomach, as he came to that conclusion. Rather than stay quiet, though, he said, "Because I need you to know that it would never be my choice to leave. I love you too much for that." He saw her bite her lip, holding back tears, and continued, "I know that things would be much worse for us if I didn't go. But I need you to know that."

Rose nodded her head, placing the last of the silverware in the drawer. "Yes, well… Thank you." Like she had been since receiving the news, she was at a loss for words. By Jack's lack of response, he was, too.

The next day came after a night spent holding each other, wide awake, unable to accept the reality of the morning. Jack's bag sat by the door, ready to grab and go at the last minute. Rose stared at it now, having only slept maybe an hour during the night, willing her mind to set it on fire and burn it to a crisp. He couldn't leave if she destroyed his belongings, could he? But she knew that that was stupid. He needed to go.

Meanwhile, Jack had been lying awake with his eyes closed for the past thirty minutes, trying to get some rest in for his long travels ahead. They hadn't talked about how he was going to be crossing the Atlantic again; the pain of going to war was challenging enough. Reflecting on the Titanic now, it seemed like such a distant memory. He was more scared of losing his life on some battlefield than in the middle of the ocean. Reminded of his time on the Titanic, he tried to shift directions and think about all of the good that had happened on that ship: he'd met Rose, and they'd fallen for each other. Rolling over in the bed, which felt cooler than usual, he scooted closer to Rose, wrapping his arm around her waist and just holding her.

"I love you," he whispered, not expecting any response back. She stayed silent, her gaze still fixed on the bag. He continued, "I'll write to you every day. Even if it's just to say I miss you."

Still quiet, Rose slid her hand so that it rested over Jack's. Entwining her fingers in his, she held him tightly, pressing their hands together and pulling him closer to her so that she could enjoy this final moment of peace with him before they had to get up and leave.

The drive to the train station was a solemn one. Josie sat on Jack's lap and, as Jack held her, he couldn't help but wonder if this was the last time he'd see his daughter. Not that he would ever tell Rose that. For her, he kept a brave face – one that would break as soon as he was out of sight. Which is exactly what happened when, at the station, Jack set Josie down by her mother's feet after giving her a giant bear hug, encased Rose in one last embrace (when he whispered again, "I'll write to you every day, I promise"), and boarded the train.

Rose stood, stoic, while she held Josie's hand and waited for the train to part. (How she was holding Josie's hand when her own felt so numb, she had no idea.) Only then could she think about moving her stuck feet. As the train whistled and disappeared in the distance, Rose remained still. If it wasn't for Josie, she would have waited there indefinitely, praying that the train would turn around.

Five minutes passed, and nothing changed. Josie started growing agitated, pulling on Rose's hand. Rose caved in and said, "Come on, Josie. Let's go home," though her voice was whispery like a ghost's. Entering the car to return to their home, her back as straight as if she was in a corset, she couldn't believe that Jack was really gone.

At the house, Ruth was waiting on the front porch, ready to take Jack's place as a second presence in the house. She wished she could reach out and hold her daughter, but by the vacant expression on Rose's face, she knew not to pry. She watched as Rose dropped Josie off at the door with her and walked in; as she strolled past the piano, untouched, in the living room, heading straight for the bedroom. There, Rose fell on the bed, her knees holding on long enough to not buckle, and stayed there.

"Grandma," Josie said to Ruth later that day as she passed by the open door of the bedroom, where Rose was lying down, silent and motionless, on the bed. "What's wrong with Mama?"

"She's sad, dear," Ruth explained while closing the door, leaving it open just a crack, to give Rose some privacy. "She and your father haven't spent any time apart since they met."

"Oh." Josie's face, once relaxed, was falling. "Then I'm sad, too." When she asked Ruth if she could give Rose a hug, she denied her until another time, "when things are better."

Ten hours after Jack left, Rose, still in bed, felt that her pillow had become wet. Through her ruminations of heartbreak, she'd started crying. I can't lose him again, Rose thought as she wiped her cheeks dry. She couldn't relive that overwhelming fear of reviving his almost dead body, like she had only a few days after they'd met and fallen in love. I can't lose him…

What had happened to their second chance?