Hi all,

I am on a Friday night high of writing and posting.

Today I have a new five parter and a few one shots to share with you all soon.

Thanks for keeping up with my crazy Titanic filled mind!

Chapter five:

The light of the sun had shone through Jack's porthole from six a.m., and he had risen with it, as intended. The ship was approaching the coast of Ireland to Queenstown by that afternoon, and using the hope that the closeness to land would assist in the sending of a wireless message to his friend in Boston, he left the note with a young steward at the Purser's Office along with a roll of money to ensure that the wire was sent promptly.

The corridors so early in a morning were almost eerie, as though he was floating through a derelict city, and it had only been six or hours previous that he had assisted Miss. DeWitt Bukater before returning her to a fiancé who was the most arrogant, vilest of men. Of course, that was no longer an issue for Jack to rectify; even though he had been invited to dine with them tonight, there was very little point of him attending. Instead, he focused on the voyage ahead; his own last bit of freedom before returning to Boston. Waking in the mood which had lingered over him for the most of the last night was not a healthy one, but a dangerous one, one which was the cause of Miss. DeWitt Bukater's ploy to throw herself overboard. Heaven's sake, now perhaps, he almost understood her reasoning.

Turning his attentions back to the lovely interiors, Jack admired the craftsmanship of such a vessel. Titanic was the epoch of her era, a veritable city afloat and for many a wonderland to explore and enjoy on their first journey across the Atlantic Ocean. Crossing the Reception room, which was marginally quieter than the evening before when he had boarded, Jack found the bustle of passengers were taking breakfast in the Dining Saloon. Decorated in an array of white with wooden panels and blue linoleum with green and red, the area was ablaze with those breaking their fast early with their peers rather than within their staterooms. The excitement within the air lingered, and as exchanging of pleasantries began, with the smell of fresh brewed coffee and paint came to become a strange combination of scents. It was the start of a wonderful voyage for many; acquiring new acquaintances, renewing old and sampling the finest of foods and drinks.

A white paper menu was placed upon a nearby unoccupied table and Jack quickly eyed the contents.

Baked Apples Fresh Fruit Stewed Prunes
Quaker Oats Boiled Hominy Puffed Rice
Fresh Herring
Findon Haddock Smoked Salmon
Grilled Mutton Kidneys & Bacon
Grilled Ham Grilled Sausage
Lamb Collops Vegetable Stew
Fried, Shirred, Poached & Boiled Eggs
Plain & Tomato Omelettes to Order
Sirloin Steak & Mutton Chops to Order
Mashed, Saute & Jacket Potatoes
Cold Meat
Vienna & Graham Rolls
Soda & Sultana Scones Corn Bread
Buckwheat Cakes
Black Currant Conserve Narbonne Honey
Oxford Marmalade
Watercress

The extensive list was far too much to comprehend and so, he turned about to exit. After a restless night's sleep, Jack intended to take his sketch pad up on decks to catch some air and release the tensions of the day before. Not only had he failed to sleep, not for any other reason than his mind had been inhibited of images. Images of a certain woman, engaged to a certain man. Perhaps later on, he could go in search of a physical pursuit in the gymnasium, rumour was the Titanic was in possession of the finest fitness machines currently available to work on the physique, and the anger which had somehow caused the tension in his body to return in a mass.

The day appeared to be clear, without a wisp of cloud in the sky, and as Jack was exposed to the fresh air upon the Promenade Deck, it was apparent that most other passengers would still be inside to eat breakfast. It was after all, only a few hours after dawn. The sea breeze welcomed him, and unlike last night, it wasn't laced with icy Atlantic chill. Over his left shoulder, land was clearer; the green mounds of Ireland standing out like the beauty which she was. Jack had travelled there more than once and for a second, a clench to return there was with him. Perhaps it was the freeing ethos of the people this side of the Atlantic which appealed to him the most; France, Italy, Ireland and even England in some parts. London had been full of the faces of Society, and had hardly changed since the regency era, one could assume.

As Jack walked the enclosed deck, clutching his leather-bound sketchbook in his right hand, suddenly the Irish coast seemed to be more beautiful than he recalled. Though he was blessed with the abilities to draw, quite well, landscapes were never his forte. Jack drew from life; real people, with stories to tell and animation within their faces. Never had he been hit with the inspiration to draw any of his peers. It was rare that one possessed such emotion aside from a sombre face and the occasional eyebrow raise when a scandal had occurred.

It was then, across the way, nestled on a deckchair and almost hiding beneath a beam was Molly Brown, waving her arms about in an array of character. A smile immediately came to him, and Jack started towards her, as her laugh pierced the quietness of the bright morning. it was wonderful to hear happiness lingering within the air, on a trip which did seem to be so very unappealing to him.

Beside Molly, he found, as he grew nearer and past the leaning beam, was Miss. DeWitt Bukater dressed becomingly in yellow and white. Her hair was swept up, with a few curls framing her face and there were no strains of the evening before upon her face, perhaps, until her gaze caught his approach and she visually stiffened. The column of her neck frozen, her chin tilted upwards.

Molly must have noted, and her voice ceased, her neck turned and then her features softened. ''Well, good morning, Jack.''

''Hello, Molly,'' he nodded, and then shifted his gaze to Rose, who lowered her lashes to fiddle with the strings of her purse. ''And, good morning, Miss.''

''Jack, this here in Rose DeWitt Bukater, and Rose, this is Jack Dawson.''

''How do you do?'' With an extended hand, Rose offered it to him as an introduction, and Jack accepted, slipping his hand into her bare one just as he had the evening before but this time, he wasn't pulling her over a rail. Ensuring that she didn't fall to her death. It was an introduction of a gentleman, to a lady.

''A pleasure, Miss. DeWitt Bukater.''

Perched upon the edge of a deckchair, dressed as beautiful as the sun itself, Rose showed no signs of wear from almost jumping to her death just perhaps eight hours before.

''Jack here is the nephew of a good friend of my husbands,'' Molly nodded, as accepted Jack's hand to help her to a stance. ''I knew him as a boy.''

''How interesting,'' Rose raised her eyes to Jack. ''And where are you from, Mr. Dawson?''

''Boston, right now, but before that I go way back to Wisconsin.''

''I see.''

''Well, I was on my way to breakfast when Rose proposed a walk out on decks,'' Molly explained, ''Would you join us?''

''No, thank you. You know how well I like to stay away from the circus, Molly.''

With a smirk of amusement, Molly adjusted her reticule and the tilt of her wide black hat. ''Yes, I do, but you will not get away with this the entire voyage. I am in need of an escort, young man and therefore, demand of you to attend dinner this evening.''

Glancing to Rose, who silently had taken stance beside Molly, she stared at him with eyes greener than the hills of Ireland and it took him a moment to respond. ''I intend to attend this evening.'' Jack didn't waver his eyes from hers. There in that very second, after laying gaze upon Miss. DeWitt Bukater once more, as devastatingly beautiful and haunted as she appeared to be, Jack had made a decision to attend the damned dinner which Hockley had invited him to, if not just more than for mere amusement. ''In fact, I decided last night that I should take my evening meal in the dining room, maybe for the remainder of the voyage if there was something there of any interest.''

''Well, that's settled.'' Molly touched Jack's shoulders in a motherly way and glanced back to Rose. ''Shall we go to breakfast?''

''Actually, I think I shall stay out in the sunshine more, who knows what weather shall await us further away from land?''

''Very well.''

''I shall walk with you, if you don't mind, Miss. Like you say, who knows what the weather may be like past this afternoon.''

''All right, see you two later.''

With a stolen glance, and a narrow eye to Jack, Molly started back towards the main entrance.

Silence enveloped them once Molly had become a distant figure upon the Promenade deck. The whoosh of waves below was reminiscent of the night before but it was not nearly as terrifying and yet perhaps more so to see it so clearly.

Walking side by side, both were awkward and tentative for very different reasons. Jack was very aware of her, as though a heat was radiating from her to him, and as she played with the straps of her purse, he watched her through squinted eyes.

''I wish to thank you for what you did, not just for pulling me back, but for your discretion.''

''You're welcome.''

''I am such an idiot; it has taken me all morning to work up the nerve to face you.''

''Well, you're not an idiot, but you would have been if you had let go of that railing.''

''Would you really have jumped in after me?''

''I really don't know. I was just thinking, hoping, that I could find a way to get you back over the rail, to me.'' As he spoke the latter, Rose's eyes startlingly caught his, and he was taken aback by her.

''Yes, people are always trying to get me to do what they believe to be the best for me.''

''The thought which cradled my mind was, why was there no one to relief you of these thoughts? Your mother, your father...your fiancé.''

''Because, you know as well as I how we are not to reveal our inner most thoughts to any other, especially to those heavily involving the marriage.''

''But this is more than a simple case of jitters. I assume?''

''Yes.''

''You should be heard.''

''All people seem to think when I even speak of a negative matter is how I should know nothing of misery. Oh, poor little rich girl!'' Rose laughed in a pathetic manner, and that was the part which felt as though a knife had knicked his heart; ever so slightly.

''I wish to know, what could have happened to you, for you to believe that death was the only way out?''

''It was everything. My whole world and the entire contents. The people in my life, they seem to just plunge on ahead without me, without the need for me, really and I am powerless to stop it.''

''And your engagement is a part of that?''

''Yes. Five hundred invitations have been sent out. All of Philadelphia Society will be there, and all the while I feel I am standing in the middle of a crowded room, screaming at the top of my lungs and no one even looks up.''

''No, they never will.''

''You sound as though you speak with experience.''

''Somewhat.'' They came to a rail, and Jack stopped to turn. ''When will you be married?''

''May.''

The short duration almost offended his ears. ''So soon?''

''Yes, the engagement was extended due to our trip to Europe but of course, we are now returning and it must go ahead as planned.''

''Do you love him?''

Rose visibly stilled.

''Pardon me?''

''Do you love him?''

''Mr. Dawson, you are very rude. I-''

''No, it is a simple question, Miss. You are in either in love with the guy or not.''

''You shouldn't be asking me this.''

''Why not? Because a gentleman isn't supposed to pry in the personal matters of a near stranger or simply because you know the answer and are too frightened to reveal it?''

''I-I—I came out here to thank you, Mr. Dawson. That is all.''

''Yet, you reveal your inner thoughts to me, as though I am the easiest in the world to speak to. No thanks were needed, I was doing what any other would.'' Any coldness to Jack's tone wasn't with intent, yet, it appeared to stir something within Rose.

''It is insulting that you should ask such a question. It is wrong of you to even suggest that I was unleashing my burden-''

''I never suggested such a thing, and last night when you unleashed your tongue upon me, accusations of undressing to perhaps harm your reputation were uncalled for and yet I let them slip because of the distress which you were in. It now appears that you do have an unruly temper which one should be taught to rein in for who knows what trouble it would get you in. I understand the frustrations of our society, of our lives and I think I know your worries, and am a little familiar with them than you could think.''

''I have an unruly temper? Mr. Dawson, you raise your voice to match my own in a way no other gentleman ever has.'' Right in the middle of the deck she wished to add but thought better of it.

''A man has to be heard and yes, you have a temper which seems to be flicked like a switch. I have found myself on the receiving end of it twice in ten hours and for no reason.''

A porter was approaching, with a serving tray and suddenly, the brightness of the day was overwhelming. Rose pressed her hand to shield her face from the rays of the sun and then sighed.

''I should like a cup of tea.'' She pointed to the steamer chair just beside them. Incredulously, her temper had switched, just as though a switch was the source of the changing course of her moods. ''Would you join me?''

Jack wanted to smirk with such puzzlement. With a swift nod, he was beside her, as they settled down upon the wooden chairs. Raising a hand, Rose caught the attention of the porter and a minute later, two pots of steaming teas were cradled in their hands. Rose nursed hers, taking the daintiest sips.

''Molly tells me that you have recently inherited a Steel business.''

''Yes, my uncle passed eighteen months previous and I am now the head of the company.''

''That sounds very exciting.''

''Perhaps for any other man, yes.''

''You are very honest.''

''Yes, what else can a man be? I am fortunate, and I am content but I am not a business man. I do not feel comfortable sitting and conducting meetings declaring various decisions of accounts. I do not like arranging to exchange largest quantities of steel for even larger amounts of money and when numbers in the company account double or triple, I have very little or no satisfaction from it.''

''Then why are you involved?''

''Because my uncle worked fifty years to build this empire. This company became bigger than him, bigger than Boston. He had no sons of his own, and I was the only one left after my folks passed.''

''I am sorry to hear of that.''

''I was on my own when I was fifteen, they passed. I went to live with Eric, he showed me the ropes for a year and I studied to get the education deemed fit for the job but then I spent the next couple of years travelling.''

The sun's light caught her eyes every few seconds, and it was disturbing just how they seemed to scream out a thousand words to Jack. Words which even he couldn't read. Comprehend. It was arresting to want to help a woman, and yet, also frightening how much he wished to walk away from her to never lay eyes on the damned woman again. It was even more frightening how much he also knew he wouldn't...

''What is this you're carrying around?'' Rose had placed her cup of tea upon the wooden table next to her, whilst he had admired the colour of her iris and suddenly, her dainty hands were pulling his portfolio from his grip.

''That's just-'' As Jack tried to defend, to speak, Rose had caught up, and the pages flew open whilst in the centre of her lap.

''So, are you an artist?'' Her voice was interrogative.

''I worked my way across Europe, trying to figure out what the fuss was about.''

''Did you find the answer?''

''I loved Paris. The bohemian way of life. I saw the cubists, the Dadaists. Impressionist make sense to me in a weird way. For me, living in Paris was about living on the streets and putting it on the paper. Art galleries are brilliant and fascinating but what better than to see the art as it is created and appreciate the true journey rather than just as it sits on a wall.''

''Well, I own several Monet pieces that I purchased in Paris. Degas, too. I was not able to see the creations but I think they're wonderfully transcalent. When I look at them, I feel as though I am inside a dream, as though there is truth and no logic.''

Rose was compelling in nature, as bright as the sun which shone above their heads.

''I met Monet, briefly, whilst in Montmartre, I was so awestruck that I stammered the entire time.''

''Monsieur Monet, I assume was used to such adoration.'' Rose swatted away the hair which billowed in the light breeze. Her features softened a little. ''May I?''

''I think you already did, Miss. DeWitt Bukater.''

Turning the page, to witness the first drawing of a mother breastfeeding her new-born baby, then the second of the new-born child laid out nude, Rose's eyes fluttered about the sketches.

''These are rather good,''

''Thanks, they didn't think too much of them in Paris.''

''Oh, but why, these are so wonderful and different...modern. Never have I seen such a stark honesty on paper with such simplicity.''

The next sketch was another child, this time perhaps with a sibling. Turning the page, Rose came across a series of nudes. They were uncomfortably intimate...

''And, these, were they drawn from life?''

''Yes, they were the only ones who respected a crazy artist in Paris; willing to be models and showed me how to be bohemian in the most freeing ways. Perhaps I crave that life...one without a restriction.''

''You liked this one in particular. I think you must have had a love affair with her.''

''No. Never. She was a one-legged prostitute with the most beautiful hands.''

''I see. Well, you do have a gift, Mr. Dawson. You see people, truly you do, perhaps deep into the depths of a person.''

''I see you.'' Jack lowered his guard. His station. His entire persona seemed to have disappeared as he surrounded and soaked himself within the innocence and the vibrance of the woman in front of him.

''And?''

''I resonate. More than you think. I know what it feels like to have no one understand the reason for the misery. I know what was the driving force behind finding you at the stern.''

Rose parted her lips, as though she needed air.

''They don't see and don't listen. As long as I play the role of the China doll it's all fine but when I open my mouth to express myself or an opinion on something that matters, they look at me like my hairs on fire. I am desperately tired of been told what to do, what to want, what to feel. I am tired of been dismissed and my decisions been ignored.''

There, the fiery resolve of Miss. DeWitt Bukater had returned, fully fledged and apparent.

''Is that why you figured you would go to the fan tail to practise high diving?''

''Perhaps. With too much champagne, passionate nature and a trapped, hopeless feeling. I feel foolish now.''

Their teas were now stale and cold, placed upon the table discarded next to them.

''Shall we have more tea, or would you like to walk?''

No one was more surprised than Jack himself, as he had raised to a stance and offered his arm out to her, once her bare hand had slipped through his, they set off on a walk about the deck beneath the brilliant sun with only time spent to know each a little more intimately than they already did.