A/N: Hello everyone! I decided to publish something I've been working on, but bear with me as I slowly start getting back into the swing of writing. I have a general outline for this story, but with school and other obligations in the way updates may not be too frequent.

Before we begin, I'd like to point out that this story IS a companion story to my one-shot "Homebound" and also uses the storyline from "Desires", (in fact, I hinted to this story in both of those!). Though, if you haven't read either of those it's no problem, as everything you need to know will be explained as the story progresses. :)

xx

Stepping alone off a train and into a small Wisconsin town with a single trunk was something Ruth DeWitt Bukater never imagined herself doing. When she married her late husband back in 1891, she pictured her life would have been a lot different.

Ever since she was a little girl, her mother had envisioned a bright future for Ruth. She had a fine education, red hair that attracted every man she passed, and the disposition of a model high society woman. Marrying Ralph Bukater had been less than easy, and her life as a top tier family had seemingly been secured.

Ralph had the ache for success, and his printing company quickly took off with a promising future. Unable to conceive a son or even more than one daughter, the couple was left with nothing but one child whom they named Rose. It was with the realization that Ruth would never be able to bear her husband an heir to his company that everything slowly began to unfold.

Ruth found herself feeling uneasy as she placed a hand atop her beet red cloche hat. The modern styles were constantly changing. And not unexpectedly, she had always been a woman to follow in the footsteps of the socialites in her circle.

Or at least she had been.

Clutching to her trunk so tight her fingers turned white under her black gloves, she felt the evening chill brush against her cheeks. She didn't really have any idea where she was going, just an address. That felt like the least of her worries in that moment. She knew that the second she found herself at her daughter's front door, life would change.

Life had always been changing, of course. Only this time it was in a different manner. The last time Ruth had seen her daughter in person was during the early hours of April 15th, 1912 - when she'd disobeyed her not for the first time, but certainly the last.

After that night, it was assumed that Rose DeWitt Bukater died on the Titanic. The press hadn't looked too far into the matter, just believing the story the Hockley family told. Rose died a hero, refusing a seat in a lifeboat, instead giving her spot up for a young mother and her baby. Only Ruth and Caledon had known the truth. Or so she had thought. As it turned out, only Cal had known the real truth.

Five years later, as the Great War raged on across the globe, a letter appeared at the DeWitt Bukater estate. The strange thing about this letter was that it was written by her daughter - her daughter that was supposed to be dead.

Ruth could hardly believe her eyes as she read exactly what her child had been doing in her years of absence. She was even more shocked to learn that her last name had been changed to Dawson, and at the time had two small children of her own.

Eventually calling for a taxi, the path leading the way to the Dawson residence had been secured. She watched as the scenery passed her by, partly wishing that time could move slower just this once. It was a useless thought, and she knew that. Time had never been on her side.

Something that irked Ruth was the fact she wasn't surprised the Dawson boy had chosen to stick around and help provide for Rose. Deep down she knew the kind of man he truly was; that was evident enough through the letters received from her daughter. But still, she refused to accept that their life now could be any better than the one Rose could've had as a Hockley.

That was that name that had gotten her into trouble more times than one, wasn't it? Back in 1910, the Hockley's had been the perfect opportunity at a fresh start for not only Rose, but for Ruth as well. With an engagement quickly settled upon, it seemed as though debts would be sealed and life would go on.

Even after Titanic, Nathan had shown nothing but gratitude towards the grieving mother, offering to help channel in a paycheck in exchange for little to nothing. They didn't talk for the remainder of the senior Hockley's life, which was cut short in 1918, shortly after the birth of Cal's first child. A son.

Ruth only contacted the family a few times, wishing Cal and his wife congratulations on each of their children; three healthy sons that would ensure the continuation of his legacy. It was pleasantries like that that made her wonder just how different life would have turned out if not for the Titanic.

As she watched the city pass her by, Ruth was feeling increasingly out of place. Sure, she had made it fine onto the train and across a few states, but that didn't mean it wasn't without conflict. She hardly knew how to pack for herself, much less travel. With the absence of her lady's maids, there were lots of new skills to discover.

Pulling up to the Dawson residence, Ruth was somewhat surprised. It was a modest house, a beige coat covering the walls and a white trimming to tie it all together. A fence trailed along the property and in the front sat what looked like the remnants of a garden, the looming winter season having ripped away the flowers.

Nearing the door, a porch swing came into view, swaying lightly in the wind. The sound of running water came through an open window, an indication of household chores being completed. Laughter, perhaps that of a small child, could be heard traveling down the halls. It was assumed by Ruth that it must be that of Elizabeth Dawson, the youngest of the children.

In total, she had learned that her daughter bore three children. Her oldest was a son, Elliot, born in August of 1913. Cora followed a few years later in the spring of 1917, just a few months shy of Jack being sent off to war. Rose had confided in her mother that they were done having children at just the two, since the birth of Cora had proved rather difficult.

But in early December of 1925, Elizabeth was born, her birthday having passed a week before Ruth was set to arrive. A child in her thirties with such a wide age gap between the rest of the children was something Ruth didn't quite see proper, but her opinion wouldn't have mattered anyway. It hadn't mattered for many years. Not even before Rose had left her.

For a moment she just stood at the front door, something inside her telling her to turn around and leave. It was a foreign feeling to her, as she'd never been one to feel afraid at such a simple task as knocking on a door. Her daughter's front door no less.

Only, it didn't feel as though it was her daughter's door. Rose hadn't been the true definition of what a child should be to their mother in years. She wasn't the same small girl who stood by her side, carefully holding onto her hand and listening to every word she said as if she were her idol.

Rose hadn't been that girl in years, and it was almost difficult to remember that girl had ever existed at all. It was almost difficult to remember anything from the life they used to live, she found.

Raising her hand to the door, she knew she had no other choice. There wasn't anywhere left for her to go now, and she was expected anyway.

Maybe it was her own pride trying to will her away, but she ignored it as her fist lightly tapped against the wood door. Immediately after she retracted her hand, the running water ceased. A second more and the locks were heard unlatching, the door swinging open.

Despite it being nearly eighteen years since the mother and daughter had seen each other face to face, Ruth thought that time had been good on Rose. She looked younger than she truly was at a few months shy of thirty-five. Her hair had grown out longer than ever before, the vibrant curls reaching all the way down her mid-back, restrained by a number of pins.

"Mother," Rose nodded, stepping to the side as a signal to enter. All Ruth did was nod back, slowly making her way past the threshold that separated her from the world she just walked into.

The house seemed to hush as she stepped inside, the only noise being the front door closing behind them. Without much word, Rose led her mother to the room they'd set up for her. It was a decent sized room with plain white walls and little pops of colors through various paintings and plants. A bed sat in the center of the room, a window behind it that lit up the room. Finally, a dresser with a connecting mirror laid to the left of the bed.

"I'll leave you to get settled," was all Rose said as she left the room, not leaving time for a response.

Ruth watched the door close and her eyes lingered on it for a minute. Sighing, she placed her unopened trunk on the bed and walked over to the mirror. Pulling her hat off her head, she fixed her hair before removing her gloves. She gently placed them both on the dresser and turned to her luggage, preparing to unpack for herself for the first time in years.

…

"She didn't say a word to me the whole time!" Rose vented to Jack, pacing around their bedroom.

Jack chuckled at his wife's unwarranted anger, which earned a glare from her. Waving his hand, he quieted himself, "Well, did you give her a chance to speak? She's probably just as nervous as you are, darling."

Rose stopped her stride and looked at Jack, her face turning red. She hadn't exactly given her much of a chance to speak. Thinking about it now, she realized how quickly she had been trying to remove herself from her mother's company. "You really think so?" Rose replied, referring to the end of Jack's statement.

Jack walked over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder, "Of course. She hasn't seen you in over half of your life. It's a lot to take in." From down the hall, the door to her room could be heard opening. "Come, let's go introduce the children."

Ruth watched as Rose made her way into the family room, Jack trailing behind her. She couldn't help but hold back a grimace when she saw him. There weren't really any grudges to be had against him anymore, but that didn't stop Ruth from feeling bitter.

The couple sat down on the couch, Ruth following suit on a chair across from them. A girl of about twelve sat on the floor against the couch, a book propped between her knees. She seemed either oblivious to the situation or uncaring of what was going on.

"Cora, why don't you go fetch your siblings?" Rose asked sweetly, a tone which Ruth couldn't recall having ever heard her daughter use before. The girl, or Cora rather, complied with a nod and wound her way back down the hall which her parents had just emerged from.

Luckily, Jack had always been good at smalltalk. "How was the voyage, Mrs. DeWitt Bukater?"

"Fine, thank you." Ruth replied with her voice often accustomed with her high society upbringing. She averted her eyes away from them just as a few pairs of steps came into the room.

Seeing her grandchildren for the first time made Ruth feel, oddly enough, culpable. It wasn't a feeling she'd been expecting, but one that made her heart throb.

"Mother, this is Elliot," Ruth stood up to meet his gaze. He was taller than his father by a few inches, with eyes that reminded her very much of her own child. Besides his eyes color and shape of his head, Elliot looked nearly identical to what his father had looked like back in 1912, which was quite the shock for a moment. He shook her hand with a tight grip that echoed the headstrongness he gave off.

"Of course, you've seen Cora," Rose said next, resting her shoulder upon the girl. Cora was the spitting image of her mother, and if it weren't for the way she carried herself like Jack, it may have been impossible to tell she even had a father. The only difference she held from her mother were the freckles lined over her face, an indication of the amount of sun she must have received.

"And this," Rose said, taking a small child from her husband's arms, "this is Elizabeth."

Ruth felt the slightest bit of a smile tug on her lips as the girl stuck her hand towards her, "You're my Mommy's mother," she observed aloud.

"Yes," was all she said, taking in Elizabeth's childlike friendliness. She had the same sandy blonde hair as her brother, the only child not having inherited her mother's green eyes. Instead, her's were a deep blue, which shined full of confidence and curiosity.

The room seemed to go quiet as the introductions ended, no one having anything else to say. The tensions were already running high, and Ruth wasn't sure how she'd be able to stay there indefinitely. Unfortunately for her, she knew she had no other choice on the matter.

The money was gone. It had been gone since her husband's death. But now with Nathan and Caledon Hockley both dead, the family no longer felt the obligation to provide for the DeWitt Bukater name.

First to go was the estate. The mansion she'd moved into with Ralph. The same one she'd raised Rose in, the same one she'd grieved over her death in. The very same one she continued to live in alone for all those years afterwards, only her lady's maids and occasional visitors serving any company.

Next, the jewels and dresses were sold. At least as many as Ruth would allow. Some things she found too precious to part with. Others she thought she'd never have to get rid of, but became desperate when she realized how quickly money drains.

Finally, her help was gone. It was just Ruth and whatever was left of her belongings. This included a pen and a paper, where she found herself having to do something she never thought - she needed help, and there was only one person left who could give it.

"Want to come see my room?" Elizabeth asked, snaking out of her mother's grasp. Not liking the sudden lack of interaction, she volunteered herself to make some fun.

Rose looked at Jack uneasily, preparing to have to explain to her daughter that her grandmother was brought up different than her and chose to do other things with her time.

However, her eyes shot from Jack to her mother when she heard something she hadn't expected. Something which she couldn't remember ever hearing from her her whole childhood.

"I'd love to."