A/N: I really left this on a sad cliffhanger, didn't I? Well, that was my bad. I haven't written any chapters for this story for quite a while (over a year), but back when I was writing a ton of Titanic fic, I was always a few chapters ahead of what I was posting. So I decided to finally upload those chapters. I haven't finished this story, and I don't know when I will. But I know it'll probably be close to 30ish chapters (give or take a couple) before I wrap it up. I'll post the next couple chapters I've already written sometime soon. Thank you for sticking around! Even as my Titanic interest comes and goes throughout my life, I always appreciate this fandom.

September 1917

Two months. Two months since Jack had left for war, and Rose had only received two letters from him. They'd been packaged with multiple other ones, yes, but for Rose, one point of contact per month was strangling her heart. Every time she had sat down to read the stack of letters he'd sent her, sifting through each one (dated August 1st, August 2nd, August 3rd…), every single one she would read, she felt closer to death.

There to help was Ruth. She'd moved into the Dawson house—temporarily and indefinitely—the day Jack had left, and she had become Josie's main caregiver. Not because Rose had stopped caring, but because she found it hard to get out of bed most days, especially after what had happened last week.

For a few days the past month, Rose had been feeling more bloated than usual, more achy and tired. When she'd realized her period was late, dots had swirled in front of her eyes, and she'd promptly thrown up—adding on to her theory. She was convinced, set up an appointment, and before even seeing the doctor, she wrote a letter to Jack with a shaky scrawl: I think I might be pregnant.

For that brief moment when she was brimming with hope, Rose had started doing something she'd never done before: she started choosing a name. The last time they'd talked about names, way back before Rose's first miscarriage, they'd discussed Michael and Catherine. Rose still liked those names, but decided to tack on James and Eva. She'd sent Jack a message regarding that as well, she'd become that certain of her condition. How disappointing it was, then, for Rose to write a letter two days later saying that she was not, in fact, pregnant. That her period had come a few days late, and that was all.

What would Jack's reaction be like when he received her stack of letters? In Rose's mind, she pictured the excitement and nervousness he must be feeling, followed by a crash not unlike being smashed in the gut with a hammer. She wouldn't know until next month, when she would receive his replies to her letters. But in the meantime, she stayed in their room and sobbed, certain that she would never bear another one of Jack's children again.

Meanwhile, in France, Jack received the stash of letters that kept him going through the motions of his new routine. Training was breaking him down, making him feel like his bones were turning to dust; he'd never experienced such physical hardship before, a demand different than what he had experienced on the Titanic. (To be frank, he'd been constantly reminded of that night since he had to cross the Atlantic again, though he wouldn't ruin Rose's mood over it.) As he let the bundle of letters spill out onto his bed, he couldn't contain the natural smile from crossing his lips. He sniffed the paper, even though he knew he wouldn't catch a whiff of Rose or his home, then lounged on the bed, tearing them open one by one. His stomach was fluttery as he looked over Rose's handwriting; her penmanship was a part of her, something that brought him just as much joy as the contents itself.

Dear Jack…

He read about Rose's concerns back home, of how Josie has been without him ("holding on strong, though I know she misses you every day"), and about Rose's thoughts and the bizarre dreams she would have at night sometimes. Then, near the end of the stack, he was blown back by a piece of news he wasn't expecting, only for his pounding heart to run into a wall by the next letter. He immediately started to grieve not just for himself, but for Rose, who must have been in physical, emotional pain from her suspicions not being correct. Despite the ocean between them, he could feel that grief on a deep level.

A sledgehammer to the gut, indeed.

November 1917

"She still isn't feeling well." Ruth set the cup of fresh tea in front of Jimmy, joining him at the dining table. She took a long, thoughtful sip from her own cup, a pained expression on her face. "Ever since she found out she wasn't..." She couldn't finish the sentence, a lump blocking her throat. After a deep breath, she continued, "She just hasn't been the same."

"Uncle Jimmy!" Josie exclaimed as she ran into the room.

"Hey, kiddo." Jimmy picked Josie up, setting her on his lap, as he pretended to strain against her weight. "You're getting so big. Soon you'll be all grown up."

"I don't wanna grow up. I wanna be this small forever!" She pulled at the blue ribbon in her blonde curls, which Ruth had spent fifteen minutes fussing over that morning as Josie had squirmed.

"Then you'll stay small forever," Jimmy played along while setting her back down. "How are you doing, kid?"

Josie's face was expressive for a four year old. Jimmy and Ruth could tell what she was thinking before she even said it. "I'm okay, but my mama is sad, and that makes me sad."

Ruth held back a despairing cry, one she'd been holding back for weeks now. "I know, sweetheart," she managed to say with a leveled, calm voice. "We're all sad because of your mother."

Josie nodded her head solemnly before switching expressions and running off. "I'll show you my toy collection, Uncle Jimmy!" she exclaimed.

"I'd love to, kid," he yelled back, but by then Josie had disappeared into her room. His gaze drifted off, thinking of his old friend and the daughter he was watching over for him. "She's a great kid..."

The more he and Ruth sat in silence, the more Jimmy thought about Jack, and the more guilt ate at his stomach. "It should be me out there, not Jack. I don't have a family. What do I have to lose?" he confessed out loud. "I should just volunteer."

Ruth was appalled. She would never wish any man to fight this war, even the one who'd take Jack's place if he could. "Don't say that, Jimmy. You're a part of this family. Stay out of the war."

Their stricken conversation was interrupted by the creak of a door. The feet approaching them shuffled across the wood floor. Rose stepped in, her red curls limp and lifeless as they framed her dull face. She was still in her nightgown, having haphazardly thrown on a robe to enter the kitchen with some decency (though decency around company was farthest from her mind). She needed some coffee, a boost to give her some vivacity, but that meant getting out of bed, since her throat was too cracked to call for anyone.

"Hello, Jimmy," she said in her pinched voice, followed by a sniffle. Ruth and Jimmy watched in unsettling silence as Rose picked up a coffee cup, her hand shaking, and poured some of the fresh coffee Ruth had made—spilling some on the counter as she did so.

"How are you?" She sat down at the table, falling down onto a chair with the speed as if she was eighty years old, and tried to converse without making direct eye contact with anybody.

"I've had better days," Jimmy said, receiving a strict look from Ruth—but he didn't want to lie to someone who was already hurting so much. "I'm glad to see you up and about."

Rose glanced at him to see his smile, for once not brimming with pity. "Yes, I thought… I needed some coffee."

Before Rose could make an escape, having found that she'd had enough conversing for the day, a childish voice cried out, "Mama, Mama!" In stormed Josie, excited to see her mother awake, and in her instinctual reaction, she forgot that Rose preferred to be left in peace.

As Josie grabbed onto Rose's robe and started to tug it, Rose froze up like a sculpture. No one could tell just how much she loathed herself for treating Josie with such a cold demeanor; instead, she only came off frustrated and dismissive. "Come see my room, Mommy! I decorated it!" Josie continued to exert her exuberance.

"Not right now, Josie," Rose snapped as her heart cracked like broken stone. She then said with a softer, more defeated tone, "I'll look at it later."

Everyone swam in the awkwardness of the room. Jimmy and Ruth exchanged looks, wondering how to diffuse the situation as Josie's excitement was ripped out of her.

"I'd love to see your room, Josie," Ruth said while standing up. Rose kept still, staring at the coffee stain on the kitchen table. Jimmy sat by, wondering if…

"I think I should head out now," he said as he scooted his chair back. Rose didn't look at him, though he smiled anyway. "I'll visit again this Friday." Still no response. Some of his hope fluttered out. "Good day, Rose."

Later that day, after Rose had returned to her room from the kitchen despite not eating anything, Ruth noticed that Josie was becoming more impatient with not seeing her mother. "I want Mama!" she cried when Ruth's soothing embrace didn't bring her any solace. "I miss Mama!"

Ruth wondered if Rose could hear the commotion from her room, and whether she would do anything about it if she did. She had become such a shell of the woman Ruth knew she was. Losing the baby that never existed had put a wall up between her and her existing child, something that Ruth thought would never happen. The only thing that brought Rose comfort in the times leading up to Jack's departure was that Josie was there.

Josie squirmed out of Ruth's lap and made a beeline for Rose's room. "Mama!" she cried while pushing the door open. Rose was laying down in her usual spot, her back facing the door, unmoving.

Ruth watched in awe as Josie climbed up onto the bed and encased Rose in a hug, mumbling something along the lines of "I'm sorry you're sad." At first, Rose was unresponsive, but the longer Josie held her, the more she warmed up. Within minutes, she was hugging Josie in return, her eyes filling with tears as she whispered, "I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so sorry…"

February 1918

Over six months into this war, Jack was ready to go home. He'd been ready to leave the moment he stepped foot on foreign soil. (Hell, he was ready the moment he stepped foot out of his house.) So who would have thought that withstanding a brutal injury would be his lucky charm?

If returning home was up to Jack, he would have never wished injury upon himself. But in war, those injuries were what got men sent home all the time, and new ones called for duty. Jack hadn't planned for the injury to take place. Yet, it happened, and that's how Jack found himself with a broken leg and packing to return home.

He could barely contain the emotions rattling around in his chest as he laid in bed, unable to stand, waiting for a nurse to fetch him a pen and some paper. As he thought about Rose and their little girl, his breathing shortened until he was on the brink of hyperventilation. He was so close to seeing them again, yet still so far. The fact that he'd survived the war (albeit with a serious injury) didn't cross his mind. He was fully occupied with the persistence to get on a boat and return to Chippewa Falls.

"Here you are, sir," the nurse said as she handed Jack what he'd requested. With a brisk "thank you," he rapidly sat up despite the ache in his leg and put the pen down on paper.

Dear Rose, he started to write frenetically, a passion rising up in his being that he hadn't had in a while. I'm coming home.