A/N: Thank you for all of the supportive reviews on the first chapter! They really mean so much.

I hope this chapter is just as intriguing. The last part will be up soon. Let me know what you think in the meantime!

Chapter Two: Part 2

"... I found an apartment for a cheap price. In all honesty, surviving a massive tragedy helped with that. People took pity on me. I got a job as a seamstress. For a while, that was all I did…"

Rose sighed as she threw the door open, returning home for the night at last. She'd stayed overtime to finish a dress she'd been assigned, but had messed up the seams multiple times before completing it. She'd chipped a fingernail at one point, too, her first "injury" since starting her job. She couldn't file it down to a comfortable spot, so she had to work with her damaged nail all day. Normally, she wouldn't complain; but tonight was to be a month since losing everything.

She ate dinner, a simple vegetable stew that Trudy had once taught her how to make. Then she curled up on the couch with a book, something by one of the Brontë sisters; she wasn't sure which one, as she wasn't paying much attention anyway. Her eyes kept drifting over to the clock: 9PM, 10PM, 11PM. The hours, though insufferable, slowly ticked off. Eventually, as was natural for time, the clock hit 11:40PM. With a wave of nausea, she sprinted to the bathroom and emptied her stomach contents. She spent the rest of the evening ill, her eyes startled open for most of the night long after 2:20AM passed, at which point she started to cry – a sob that resembled a scream, pent-up and bottled with rage and sorrow.

But time, as time did, went on. It didn't care for Rose's mournful cries as she thought about the man she'd loved and lost. The next day, she would need to return to work and act as if the night before was nothing more than a normal, everyday evening. Her stomach would protest, but she would be fine in the end. She pushed through, leaving May 15th behind.

"For that first month, I was alone. Despite all the pity and condolences, I had no one in my corner. None of the seamstresses wanted to be friends with a girl who'd witnessed such hardship; I guessed it was too depressing for them. Though I didn't make much of an effort to make friends. I was just focused on my survival. But then, one day…"

The bar was slow that night. Rose, bored out of her mind, wiped down the counters with a sullen expression. Another week was ending, which meant another week had passed Rose by without much thought. If this was the life Jack had promised her…

She would never know, would she?

"Excuse me, miss," a voice broke through Rose's mind before it spiraled into grief again.

"Yes, sir?" Her tone was automatic, monotone. She was working while under the strains of needing to let out another mournful sob.

"I'm sorry to intrude, but you seem upset…"

Rose finally looked at the man who'd taken a sudden interest in her, a customer with brown hair and hazel eyes.

"I'm sorry if that was rude…" He seemed genuine, but Rose kept her mouth shut, always keeping her distance anyway. "The name's Will. William Calvert."

Rose watched as he gave his hand to shake. But she refused to let go of the rag to return the polite gesture.

"I'm Rose," she said instead, leaving her last name–that sacred moniker–to herself.

"Nice to meet you," he said, and his smile was soft, kind. But even he was smart enough to pick up on Rose's reluctance to interact that night. "Anyway… I hope you're doing alright. I'm sorry for intruding."

Rose went about the rest of her night as normal, watching as Will paid for his meal and beer before leaving. She watched him, curious, as he exited out into the rain that had settled over New York like a flood drowning out the sky.

Most men who'd tried to speak to her had an intention in mind, but Will appeared authentically sincere. Maybe she shouldn't have been so hard on him…

"He returned a few days later," Rose explained as Ruth watched on with some discomfort. Her mother had never found much usefulness in male friends; she found that men and women were impossible to befriend each other. "I found out he was new in town, and had been looking for a bar to attend every Friday night in an attempt to meet people. We got to talking, and soon I had something to look forward to during the rest of my boring week…"

"Rose Dawson," Rose introduced herself to Will the next night he came over. "I'm sorry about how I treated you before. I was…" She zoned out, her mind entering the abyss.

"It's quite alright." Will brushed off her concerns while reeling Rose back in. "Now tell me: what's the best plate on the menu?"

"Your name," Ruth interrupted her. "You took his…"

"Yes, I did. I had to. I'd been given this chance to start a new life…thanks to him." Thanks to Jack Dawson. The man she'd loved and lost. She had to rest her head down in a praying position just to relieve herself of the sudden burst of sorrowful energy.

Ruth had already known before Rose's arrival that she'd chosen to go by the name Dawson, but with Rose now in front of her, she could react in a delayed format. But there was nothing to question. Rose was Rose Dawson now, and she took a dead man's name, plain and simple.

"Thanks for taking me out here," Rose said as they squeezed through the crowded sidewalk. "It's been a while since I've been in New York…"

"Of course," Will said, trying to lead Rose through the hoards of people as best he could. "Why has it been so long since you were in New York, anyway? What made you want to move here?"

Will had asked Rose if she'd wanted to take a day off to see Central Park, and she agreed, finding that a tear in her ripped-up heart was mended thanks to having someone to talk to. "I used to live in Philadelphia, but we only came out here every so often. As for why I moved here…" Just thinking about the Titanic made her nauseous. "It's a long story."

Once they reached the park, they found that the crowds parted, spread across the large plot of sidewalks and grassy land. "A long story?" he said. Rose's heart panged even at the soft, kind quality of his voice.

"Yes, it's…" Her gaze focused on a bluebird nesting in one of the trees, munching on a worm. "It's not something I'm fond of talking about. If you don't mind…"

"No, of course, of course," Will said, more adamant now. "We can talk about literally anything else. For example, do you want to hear about the time I was chased by a dog through this park?"

Rose couldn't help but laugh at the thought. "Sure," she said, and she watched as his eyes lit up while telling the story. That would become something that she loved about her new friend: his ability to illuminate when recounting stories about his life. Rose only wished to have that much zest flow through her when telling her own stories.

Over two months after the anniversary of the Titanic tragedy struck, Rose thought she was closer to having figured her life all out. She had a job, a friend, a place to live – everything she expected to have with Jack. That was, until–

"I-I need to take a moment. Excuse me," Rose said abruptly, standing up and moving out of the room. Ruth watched as her daughter ran off, sitting back as her mind adjusted to being knocked out of the story.

Once the fog in her head cleared up, Ruth found Rose upstairs in her bedroom, lying on her side with a cold compress on her forehead. Despite Rose's unwell disposition, the maid, Kate, kept cleaning the room due to Rose's urging to not disturb her. "How are you feeling?" Ruth asked while taking a step into the room.

"I've felt better," Rose admitted, pressing the compress against her skin. She was reminded of the lengths Trudy would go through to help Rose feel better when she was sick. But Trudy, like Jack, was gone, too. Everyone Rose had loved… "I miss Trudy," Rose murmured as the maid she didn't recognize continued to dust her room.

Ruth could tell that Rose was in deep stress. Despite not talking about the sinking and what it had taken to survive it – the sacrifices that had been made for her life – talking about the immediate aftermath was still taking a toll.

"Why don't you come with me to afternoon tea with the ladies?" Ruth asked, hopeful. Yes, maybe a cup of tea and some mindless socializing would be good for her…

"No." Rose was stern with her words. In spite of that, Ruth continued to press.

"Won't that make you feel better, to get out of this stuffy house?" She smiled a worried smile. She hated to pry, especially with how fragile her relationship with her daughter already was, but–

"I don't belong there anymore, Mother," Rose said, her voice rising and finally breaking through her mother's armour. "And I just don't want to go."

Ruth clasped her hands in front of her, awkward. "All right, then," she said, hesitating while facing the door. "Well, I'll be downstairs if you need anything."

Rose continued to lay down, compress on head, and avoid eye contact with her mother as Ruth left. She then closed her eyes, adamant to sleep away the discomfort biting at her insides. Two months after the sinking… She'd known for certain she was never going to be alone again.

Then how did she end up all by herself?

Though Rose had returned home, alive and well (for the most part), Ruth couldn't help but feel completely in the dark.

So her daughter had survived that night, taken the name of a man (whom she hadn't married), worked as a seamstress and waitress, and made at least one friend in New York City. Even with all this information, then, why did Ruth feel just as stumped as before Rose's arrival over why she was here? So far, no indication had been made over why Rose had left New York, aside from her daughter's obvious distress over telling the story.

Meanwhile, Rose was in the middle of writing a letter when the doorbell rang. Who could that possibly be? Her mother wouldn't have told anyone…or would she? A nervous lump forming in her throat, Rose headed downstairs to see what her mother had done.

When Rose approached the door, which had been opened by the courteous butler, she came face-to-face with someone she'd never thought she'd see again. "Cal," she said, her expression lacking any of the shock she felt inside. "What are–"

"It's you," he said while he pushed his way past the butler's offer to take his jacket. Rose excused the butler, closing the door behind them, though she wished Cal hadn't crossed into the foyer at all. "Your mother said… I needed to see for myself that what your mother said was true. Rose…. It's really you."

After a moment's silence, Rose said, "And it's you. I never planned to see your face again."

An awkward moment encased them both, at which point Rose was stuck with Cal's eyes roaming all over her, assessing her sudden return from the dead. Her face turned red – from discomfort or anger (or both), she couldn't say – and she kept her gaze off of him. When she did glimpse once, the puppy-dog look on his face was enough to make her barf. "Well, you came and you saw. Now can we…?"

"Wait," he said. Rose could see a desperate glint in his eyes as some beads of panicky sweat grew on his forehead. "Can we talk, just for a few minutes?"

Since when would Rose give him the time of day? She was over Cal Hockley the moment she promised to leave the ship with Jack – no, even before that, the moment she chose to pose for a naked drawing and leave a snarky comment in Cal's safe. Over three years, her feelings hadn't changed.

"I don't think that's a good idea…," she said, seeing her mother appear from the sitting room out of the corner of her eye. "I think it's best you leave."

"Rose," Ruth interrupted them, forcing herself into a conversation she knew she was going to regret the moment she showed any indication that she was taking Cal's side. "Let him say one thing?"

She already knew what Cal wanted to say to Rose, what he'd been wanting to say to her for years – and she knew Rose wasn't going to like it, but for the sake of everyone's peace of mind, she felt Cal deserved a chance to say something.

Cal's face was one of sincerity, something that did take Rose by surprise. "Rose, I've been thinking… After all this time. What we experienced together was life-changing for us all. But I never got the chance to tell you… How I care about you… And I think, now that you're back with us, if we could–"

"What, get together again? Get engaged?" Rose felt her left eyelid twitch. Did he really think they could pick everything up from where they left off? Who the hell did he think he was? Oh, wait – he was Cal Hockley. And that made him delusional. "Give you a second chance?"

"Rose, if you'd let me explain," he said with some pained laughter to rebuff her already aggressive denial. Regardless, though, he needed her to know how he felt when he thought she had been lost forever. "I know that how I treated you was–

"Wrong? Abusive?" Rose interrupted him again. Her skin started to feel hot underneath it, like boiling water in her blood.

"Y-yes, but I–"

"No, you don't get to say it." Rose could feel more than her body rising in temperature as hot tears stung at her eyes. "Why would you even consider being with me, after all that had happened? After all I had done to embarrass you? You called me a whore and a slut." If she closed her eyes, she could still remember the sting of his hand landing on her cheek, the ache in her wrist from when he'd tried to grab her. Before she knew it, everything she'd been hiding stumbled out: "Well, you were right about something. I was a slut, and I had his baby, and the baby's gone. Now, does that sound like marriage material to you?"