Happy Christmas eve! this started as a happy Christmas story but once written wound up as this...

Christmas story may appear at some point...

a beautiful awakening.

It was only a torn piece of skin. Broken. A simple thing. Something which didn't mean so much to some. To her though, it had meant every damned thing. He meant everything.

Jack Dawson...

Rose was alone for the first time in such a long time. Fully alone. Tears set in her eyes for just a second before she blinked them away. The warm air about the room combined with the closeness seemed to have sent her head slightly dizzy. The room fell silent; eerily so. Glancing about, with Jack's various items placed about, she shivered.

Allowing her dress to slowly fall to the floor in a single whisper, it landed at her feet in a pool. Her naked body exposed to the air felt alien. She allowed her hands to travel up over and across her stomach, almost in a self-conscious way. As though he was there, witnessing her body to view in its entirety. The thought sent spirals of heat, hotter than the water in the tub, down to her stomach.

He had been naked with her…

With one foot in the tub, the other on the cold, wooden floor, she felt the contrast between the two. Her feet were bare; moving her toes across each crack in the wood, it prickled at her feet before she pushed herself into the tub fully and lowered herself into it. It creaked as she sat; it was tin, rusted and filled with some floral smelling soap which Jack had scented the water with. Each inch of her skin felt bruised, sensitive and seemed to react to the water as though she was on fire. The ends of her hair dipped into the water, tickling her breasts as she moved about in the water.

Rose noticed how her nipples became erect against the cold, the same way they did against Jack's touch. Leaning her head back against the hard rim of the tin, she closed her eyes and allowed the scent of the soap to clear her senses out. Perhaps without Jack in the room, beside her, for the first time since the sinking, perhaps, she could allow herself to think clearly. He intoxicated her, overwhelmed her—so much that she was unable to even concentrate on a simple task. He disturbed her eating, her dreams and everything in between. Her stomach had remained unsettled since the second his eyes were laid upon her for the first time. It had started there in the centre of her gut, before it had slowly taken over her entire body. A woman was not made to feel the way which she had before marriage – perhaps ever. It was clear from Jack's hasty exit that what he felt was an intoxication as well. He was unable to see her bathe. It was unsettling. She had been far too exhausted to even think of anything other than sleep for the three days since they had arrived in New York. Since Jack had used his remaining twelve bucks to ensure they had boarding shelter for a length. They had relied on charity handouts for new clothes and food. They had slept, entwined with the other, too terrified and overwhelmed to even move. They had barely smiled. Barely laughed. Just...existed. Sometimes she cried, the others, Jack had too. Nightmares had started and then plagued and then ceased. She had woken, expecting to be on a vessel and instead was tangled within dull grey sheets and her lover's arms, his voice shushing and lulling her back to a somewhat peaceful abyss after the screams of thousands penetrated it. He was her saviour and her sin.

Jack had told her, in the aftermath of tragedy, that he loved her. And, she had fallen in love with him, too. Truly and deeply. Thinking back to her first realisation, as he had returned her heated gaze from above her as they had been joined as one. He had shuddered. Had been as affected as she had of their lovemaking. He had gently taken her virginity and it had caused a beautiful awakening within her. Awoke a woman. And those who were so proud to dismiss how powerful the exchanging of bodies were, Rose had found a dislike for them. How could one not feel completely and irrevocably changed by such a flawless and beautiful act. It was a sin. It was sensual. It was seen by most of her peers as a transaction...a way to procreate. A way for a man to claim his rights to a woman. Yes, Jack had claimed her. But she had him, too. He wasn't a virgin, of that she was certain but he had been swept away into the depth of intimacies and desires just as much as she had.

Parting her lips to breathe quickly, Rose wanted to sob thinking of just how quickly he had left the room whilst she bathed though. True, he was a gentleman and she would not have expected him to sit and watch whilst she did the thing most intimate. No man should ever watch a woman's toilette; or so her mother warned. An air of mystery should remain within a marriage; separate but adjoining rooms, or individual bathrooms. A husband and wife should only share a bed when they were to consummate their marriage and during such intimacies afterwards. These were the list upon every married Society woman's itinerary.

But they were not married…

They were not within society walls….

Yet, Jack had lain with her in a single cot to comfort her at times when she had asked him to, crying into his shirt until she had fallen fast asleep in the comfort, warmth and safety of his arms was the place which had become her sanctuary. The steady rise and fall of his own chest and the beautiful rhythm of which his heartbeat was the most wonderful feeling. Whilst he slept, Rose had more than once propped herself up to watch as he rested. The fascination of him had been immeasurable from the beginning but now, as her feelings grew stronger and her body reacted more to him; she knew that inevitably he was well and truly beneath her skin. It was such a whirlwind and each time one had tried to stop her heart from falling, her head had quickly followed and crashed along with it. The sinking of the Titanic had perhaps caused their feelings to intensify, along with the fact that they had made the decision to remain together after the Carpathia had docked; the decision had been light, easy and now, as she was alone within a room for the first time; she felt the way her womanhood was growing and now, she was growing into herself as an actual woman. Yes, seventeen was no age, not for many but if Rose had been old enough to be engaged to a man thirteen years her senior, old enough to carry the burden of her family woes upon her shoulders and old enough to have been married in just a few weeks' time then, she was old enough to know her own heart and mind and to also own it. Jack was the man who she loved; whom she wanted. Wanted with all of her heart. The one her heart had opened up to, as Cal had begged her for months to try to. To open herself to him. She never could. She had tried. She had envisaged a man like him within her bed and her skin had crawled, her body stiffening. It was at that time, that she had read the most hideous book ever known, describing science behind sex; and completely directed at a male in order to romance a female into bed. It had gone into detail of how to a man; it was a simple case of breaking a

small piece of skin, providing that it wasn't already torn. Then, the woman was their own. Claimed. Like a prize. The book had been located behind a Dickens novel in the Hockley library and Rose had never truly known Cal was the owner. The thought of taking part in such an act, had repulsed Rose. Until Jack. Until he had awoken something...

Opening her eyes, Rose noted that the steam in the room had subsided and the room was clearer and the air less harsh to breathe in. Reaching forward, she found the single bar of soap and ran it over her body feeling the smoothness of it across her skin, how it calmed her in a subtle way. Cleansing away the dirt and impurities of the last few days felt wonderful as well as working away the aches and pain which had made their way into her young bones. Exposure to the cold for so long had made her sore, weaker and now, she felt light in the recovery.

Her hair was lathered and soaped fully atop her head, each time she rubbed at it, the suds fell into the water making it whiter and opaquer. Watching as it fell, she seemed to be transfixed by the small bubbles which had formed as though it removed her mind from Jack.

She hadn't even thought to ask where he had to go in such a rush but then, was it her business to ask such a question?

What were they to the other?

Rose plunged herself into the tub, fully submerging her head underneath to not only rinse the suds from her hair but to break the pattern within her head with the hope that when she pulled herself out of the water; she would feel better in every way. Water splashed about the floor as she went, and when she finally broke the surface, she was thoroughly breathless. Looking down at the water, it appeared to be black with all of the dirt which had fallen away. The water would be emptied and go down a drain, along with the tears she had cried. The damned tears which never seemed to cease, sorrow still hit her hard and yet, there was still a dim light of fear that she would lose the one remaining hope of her life. Jack was the only thing which had kept her going during the time of need and then, what else could she feel? Within her, she felt she had no right to mourn when she had lost nothing but material goods but instead had walked away from the family which had lived. The water had gone cold but she didn't shiver nor did she feel cold anymore. The strength which she had been trying to find for the last week seemed to appear from within. She stood in the bath, her wet and naked body dripping as she stepped onto the bare wooden floor and wrapped the small towel around her body. She looked into the bath. Taking a deep breath, she felt the weight had lifted off her shoulder. The bathwater was all that was left of Rose Dewitt Bukater. She was now Rose Dawson. Whoever that was.

With a towel draped around her, Rose went to the window where she watched the City for just a second. Rain drizzled once more and the once thicker crowds had dispersed into a solitary figure here and there. Beneath her, a pool of water emerged on the wooden floor from her dripping wet hair but she made no attempt to dry it off just yet. Her eyes were heavy as she leant against the cool wall which set off the goosebumps across her body. The window pane was a peeling white paint with a single frame which sat wonky within. It rattled with each slight gale of wind and whilst it had frightened her to begin with, she had now grown used to the sound. It was amazing how fast one can adapt to new surroundings.

Taking the towel, she pulled at one edge to start to dry the ends of her hair when her attention was caught by the knock at the door. Her heart leapt, creeping to the door, she called out faintly.

''Yes?"

"It's me," the quiet but hoarse voice cracked, "Jack."

Rose wanted to leap to the door, but her body felt too heavy and her muscles had relaxed after the bath. Undoing the latch with wrinkled fingers took a few attempts but she mastered it on the fourth try before she very slowly pulled the door inwards to allow him back inside their little bubble. Jack was wet. His jacket held specks of rain and his hair was dampened but it was his eyes that betrayed his calm composure the most as they widened, before his breathing stalled as he stepped back over the threshold.

''Is it raining?'' Her voice disturbed his silence.

''Yes."

As soon as he had returned, the air was thick once more almost as though something hung over them. With a fleeting glance over her, he toyed with the fastening of his outer coat, as though he was in two minds whether or not to actually remove it.

Noticing his discomfort, Rose pulled at the towel so that it was further across her body, not realising just how much it caused her breasts to swell atop it. Jack looked to be in pain, as he winced and his heavy-lidded eyes slowly closed.

"You need to get dried, it's cold."

Rose laughed, silently. "Perhaps I have grown used to the cold."

The ends of her hair had already started to curl. As she moved to sort it, he made a sound. Why, she wasn't entirely sure. It could have been either from pleasure or pain, a culmination of all her desires and fears.

"Rose," he murmured, so low his voice vibrated through her, offering life to parts of her body and soul that had been dead for days. That had only come alive for him. Once. Her shivers caused Jack to move toward her and her hand caught his shoulder to steady her. And then at the other. His blue eyes gazed down at her with fierce intensity, the fire burning within almost making her lose her footing. Stopping her chaotic thoughts from swirling out of control. And this time, the added possessiveness of it prompted her to respond. Driven by some primal instinct she thought she'd forgotten, she arched against him and parted her lips.

A sound, elemental and utterly thrilling, leapt from his body and straight into hers as he went to kiss her as she took a breath. She swallowed it with a helpless moan and wound her arms

more securely around his neck. Because, dear God, Jack had sparked a flame inside her that threatened to turn into quite the inferno. How had she survived for so long without this?

The only reasonable answer was she'd been educated otherwise. Her grief and the responsibility she'd had to take upon her shoulders from her mother had taken the toll. Aged her. Consumed her. The burden was gone.

"Rose, I love you," he whispered near her ear moments later after kissing a path along her jawline. He nipped her lobe, causing a series of shivers to dart through her body. "And you need to get into bed before you catch the chill."

And she wasn't cold. She was on fire. Every square inch of her.

"I'm not cold." She wasn't quiet. Her voice was coarse, it was raspy with need and an urgent yearning for him to help her block out the screams. The dreams. The terror. She didn't care how, she just had to feel, to let him take her away from the awful memories in which she'd been drowning.

"Rose." His voice was strained even. And then he crushed her mouth with his and kissed her hard, replacing every thought in her head with the knowledge that she was wanted. It was impossible for her not to bask in all the glorious sensations he stirred in her body.

Shuddering with pleasure, she returned Jack's kiss with equal fervor, allowing him to know she was just as terrified as he was. Just as confused. Just as needy. His lips found hers and she kissed him back boldly, tasting his hunger until they both gasped for breath. And then she kissed him again, because she could and because she loved the feel of his lips against her own. Desperate to touch him, she grabbed at his shoulders and held on tight, reveling in the warmth of his skin and the power that lay beneath. The power of a man who was in love with a woman.

"Why…" she found the strength to ask, "why did you leave when I bathed?"

And then he stepped back, allowing cool air to encase her.

She stared at him, at his tight expression and the fire burning in the depth of his eyes. His fingers twitched, as if he was desperate to reach out and touch her, but chose not to do so through some force of will.

"Because I didn't know if I could stay. I went for a smoke and then.." he stalled, finding her eyes. So she reached for the towel and, pulling it slowly away, revealed herself to him.

"You..." His voice caught and he simply stood there, staring at her until she grew unbearably self-conscious. She glanced at her discarded towel. Perhaps she should put it back on? Her fingers started to reach toward it.

"Stop!"

She shuddered slightly on account of the order, but did as he asked. Labored breaths filled the air. His, not hers. As if moving through water, she raised her gaze to his and was instantly overcome by the forceful look in his eyes.

"What?" she whispered and straightened perusally.

He licked his lips and shuddered once more. This time, in a far more intimate way. His throat worked and his upper arms moved.

"You're perfect."

The words were barely audible and yet she heard them anyway. "More beautiful than I remember. More beautiful than what I had dreamt."

The words - the implication - was scandalous in the extreme. And it did something to her, something she never would have expected.He moved toward her, then reached out and let one finger trail down her arm. "But none of my dreams compare to this." Setting his palm against her lower back, he pulled her up against him.

What followed, unlike anything Rose had ever experienced. Even if she'd been given a lifetime in which to imagine what being with Jack would be like, she would have failed. Because when it came to her awakening. It was beautiful. He worshipped her with his hands and explored her with his mouth. And he didn't let her get away with anything less, encouraging her to do things she never would have believed herself capable of.

But with every word he whispered in her ear and with each touch, he made her want to be daring and bold. She had been the one to remove his clothes and examine each part of him that she had been unable to in the backseat of the Renault and in the aftermath, when tears of joy and love had overwhelmed her, his thumb had chased them away, even though he, too, had swiped at his own watery eyes. The odd and unsettling combination of emotions sent them both whirling about into a frenzy of feelings.

"I love you." Rose had whispered, hours later after exploration of the other had finally ceased. It was all she could say. The only words to sum up the entirety of her world. Of her devotion to him. Her cheek lay against his chest, her ear to his heart and feeling the way that it beat for her. For them.

"I love you, too." His hand stroked across her forehead and down to her cheek. "I'll be alright." He told her, softly. "Do you trust me?"

"Always."