Home.

Sometimes she feels so alone it's like she can't breathe. Though of course she can, and it's only those few moments before the bed warms up and the still silence that night time brings ceases to be so loud. But it still hurts.

She remembers sleeping with Mickey. It was nice, but little more than nice. Safe, but not the kind of safe where the feel of his arms makes all of existence just click into place. He was never home, and home was what she'd always longed for.

When you're looking for something that you need this badly, it hurts all the more when you don't know what to look for.

Every day is different, now. She remembers dancing with him and feeling the danger and excitement in his arms. She remembers learning who he is, slowly but surely, finding her place with him until the sparkle in his blue eyes grew to hold some strange power over her that warms her more than any sun she's ever felt.

So she's pushed into a world where she isn't sure of anything much, just that she feels slightly breathless whenever he stands really close. But then, he's had that effect on her from the start.

Each day she's not quite sure what to expect. From herself, let alone from him, because she's just a little girl, really, and she can't turn to him just because she wants someone to hold her while she's falling asleep. That isn't real.

And besides, he may not be a conman anymore, but he still suits the term "playboy" down to the last wink.

Her bed is taking an awfully long time to warm up tonight, and the silence draped around her is louder, more oppressive than ever. Closing her eyes, she can almost imagine how it would feel; the warmth of him close behind her, and his arms tight around her… but now she only feels more isolated, exposed to the coldness that seems to hang in the air.

She lies very still, hoping that sleep may creep up on her if she doesn't distract it by moving. But time keeps sliding by and she wonders if she should simply give up.

She's halfway to the kitchen when she hears him. She's already passed his room and tried her hardest not to think of him there as she did so, but now she turns back, drawn helplessly to stand by his door as he cries out again. And she can't begin to guess what nightmares are taunting him tonight; likely things that he knows nothing of himself.

And going to him, kneeling beside him and laying a hand on his bare shoulder to gently shake him, she feels that painful twist in her chest that always lets her know when something's really, truly important. He starts, and the frown on his face deepens for just a moment as he wakes into confusion, before fading away. He closes his eyes and she lifts her hand from his skin, afraid suddenly, though she doesn't know why… But his hand finds hers somewhere in midair and when she meets his eyes the traces of fear that she sees there eliminate her own unease.

And neither says a word as she climbs onto the bed and lays by his side, and when he puts his arms around her, putting all his heart into holding her tightly to him, she begins to understand that elusive concept of home. She feels it in the strength of his arms, in the warmth of his chest against her back, in the way he seems to bury his face in her hair like he's breathing her in. In the way they just fit together as though they always have. It's desperate, and it's dark, and it's safety and hope and it feels like finally breathing fresh air after slowly suffocating for so long.

The silence that accompanies their meeting now is gentle and heartening. Perhaps it is the ship lulling them to sleep. But Rose treasures this silence, because she knows there will be so much to say in the morning.

Yeah... I'm not so happy with this one but I thought I may as well post it. I do love the idea of Rose/Jack, but I don't think I really got it right here. Anyway, reviews and advice (esp. advice) would be appreciated so much :)

Thank you for reading.