It doesn't take much persuasion for Josephine to convince Rose to let her keep the puppy. With promises from her daughter that she would take care of the puppy herself— that it was her responsibility— and that she would give it a bath straight away before it could stay inside, Jack could tell that Rose was secretly entranced by the small creature, having held it herself straight away, petting it and speaking to it softly, letting it lick at her fingers. He had to admit himself that the puppy was adorable; a small thing, mostly white, with brown ears and a few spots. From the wiry fur and build he guessed that it was probably a jack russell terrier. By dinner time Jo already has a name picked out for the pup, who turns out to be a boy: Chaplin, after the actor in the mosts recent film she had seen—Chap for short. William helped her come up with the name, the excitement of the animal in the house lifting his spirits considerably.

Their meal finished up, Miranda volunteers to do the washing with Josephine's help, and so Jack escorts Rose back to their room to relax, glad for the time alone. Or, they would be alone if it weren't for the little dog now toiling up the stairs behind them, tail wagging. Taking pity on the pup, Jack bends down to scoop it up, helping it make the trip up stairs that are still too tall for it. Rose pets the dog's ears, cooing sweet words at it, and Jack raises an eyebrow at her, amused.

"With this dog in the house, I'm afraid I'm gonna have to start competing for attention around here," he jokes, and she shoots him a look.

"Don't worry, Jack," she answers, her hand rising to rake through his hair, effectively petting him as well. "You're just as irresistible as this creature."

He rolls his eyes, appreciating her touch nonetheless, and sets the dog back on the ground, his attention now fully on Rose as they reach their room.

"Where exactly did she find it, anyway?" she asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed, taking off her house slippers and scooting to sit against the headboard, legs tucked under her dress— a longer old fashioned style garment she had no doubt chosen for comfort.

Jack undoes his boot laces and kicks his shoes off as well, wanting to sit close to Rose without getting their sheets dirty.

"Out back," he answers. "In the old barn clearing." He sighs, sinking down next to her. "The little thing was actually on top of Julia's grave, its paw stuck in an old bouquet ribbon."

She takes his hand, knowing that those graves are a sore spot for Jack— something he hadn't faced or revisited yet— before today apparently.

"What was she doing way out there?" Rose asks, and he shrugs.

"Thinking, I suppose," Jack tells her. They both know their daughter had been melancholy all week, and he was glad now to know the reason, although he knows its likely to upset his wife.

"I had been looking all over for her. It was her hair that got my attention through the window. When I went to talk with her she had heard the dog crying and was looking for it."

"You found out what was troubling her, didn't you?" Rose asks. She doesn't even have to question it. She can tell that Jack was being hesitant in his explanation. "Is it William being so ill?"

"That's what I had thought at first," Jack says, "But no. Actually it was kind of our fault." The frown line between his brows deepens.

"What do you mean?"

"Well," he replies with a deep breath, "It seems she overheard us talking about the baby. She thought that we didn't want to tell her," he explains, and Rose now sports a frown of her own. "She's afraid that with the baby on the way we'll forget all about her— that we already had by not trusting her to know. She also seems to be afraid of being a big sister. She's worried that she won't know how. Honestly," says Jack, his hand rising to run through his hair in a way that betrays his worry, "I think she's afraid of feeling replaced."

"I should have seen this coming," Rose tells Jack. "She has always had a bad habit of listening in at doorways. Everything must be so hard for her to adjust to. I should have foreseen it. It was just her and I for so long, and then you entered her life again, taking away some of my attention, and now there will be a little baby. The changes must all be a shock."

"You couldn't have seen this coming, Rose," Jack tells her, bringing the back of her hand up to his lips. "Everything that has happened—everything that's about to happen— its all new territory. I have to admit, in a way I understand her fears. Just like she has never been a big sister, I have never taken care of a baby. I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't a little afraid."

"You're a fantastic father though, Jack. You're such a natural with Josephine. All you'll have to do with this baby is trust your instincts."

"You really think I'm a good father?" he ask her. There's an earnest quality to his voice that betrays just how much of a worry this subject has been for him

"Jack, you have been doing a fantastic job with Josephine since the moment you met her. She absolutely adores you. You know how I know?"

"How?" he asks, playing with her fingers to distract himself.

"If it had been me out there with her today, she would have never talked— she would have never told me what was wrong right away. But with you, she opens up. She trusts you, Jack. Just like I trust you."

A look of fondness passes over his features as he thinks of his daughter. "The other evening when I arrived home, before you began feeling better, you know what she asked me?"

"No, what?" she asks,

"She asked me if she could call me Papa. I swear to you, Rose, tears came to my eyes."

She smiles up at Jack. "I believe it," she tells him. "Under that tough guy facade, you, Jack Dawson, are the most sentimental man I have ever met."

"I just couldn't believe that she truly sees me as a father. It felt too good to be true."

"But you are her father, Jack. In every way. It doesn't matter how long you weren't here. You're here now and that's all that matters. She loves you."

"And now we're going to be parents again."

"You said you're scared. You don't regret it do you"

"What? Getting you pregnant? It's a little late for that," he chuckles, "But no." He holds her gaze to make sure she understands how serious he is. "I could never. Now that I know its happening, I can't think of anything I want more than to grow our family together. You jump, I jump, remember?"

She nods, thanking her lucky stars once again for this blessing of a man, pulling him in by the shirt collar for a sound kiss.

There's a light knock on the doorway then, interrupting their moment, and they both glance up, smiling to see Josephine. The puppy, who had been laying on the floor chewing at a bit of rope scrap they had given it earlier in the evening gives a happy bark and runs over to Jo allowing itself to be scooped up.

"Josephine, come here, my darling." Rose beckons her, and the nine year old comes to stand by the bedside, where neglecting all propriety Rose pulls her to sit down by her side, hugging her, and placing a kiss into her hair. The puppy jumps back down onto the floor looking up at the three humans curiously.

"Josephine, Jack has told me about your worries. Why didn't you come to us, sweetheart?"

"Well, you were sick, and Will is sick and Papa has been doing so much around the house. I didn't want to upset anyone. I thought that you didn't want me to know, so I kept quiet."

"Josephine, of course we wanted you to know. We were only waiting to tell you because it's special news, and we thought with William and Miranda in the house that it would be best to wait."

"Oh," she says, realizing that her mother means it, and they hadn't meant to hurt her feelings on purpose.

"Josephine, you are my little girl. You are my first baby, and you will always be my first baby, and you are so very special to me. You are the light of my life, and your father and I both love you with all our hearts."

Jack nods his agreement, giving her an encouraging smile. "Your mother is right, Jo. No one is ever going to take your place in our hearts. Our hearts will only grow bigger. And you will be an amazing big sister, don't you worry."

"Jo, If you are ever troubled by anything, you should come to us. It doesn't matter what it is, big or small, we're here to help you because that's our job. You remember that now, alright?" Rose asks.

"Alright," says Jo, snuggling further into her mother's side.

Jack gives them both a warm smile and moves to get up, giving both of his girls a kiss on the forehead and wishing Josephine goodnight. "I'm going to give you two some time to relax together," he says, straightening his shirt, and giving Rose's hand another squeeze.

"Where are you going?" she asks, puzzled by his sudden exit.

"Just to draw for a bit," he tells her. "You two don't get enough time on your own."

— — —

With Josephine tucked into bed an hour later with the puppy asleep at her feet, and Miranda asleep on the pull out cot by William's bedside downstairs where the boy also slumbers soundly, Rose goes in search of Jack.

She's still a little puzzled by his sudden departure earlier. She first looks in his father's old office, where he usually works on his art, but the room is empty and dark. Checking the porch to see if he had gone for a smoke and finding that empty as well, she heads back upstairs wondering if he had snuck past her into the bathroom while she was tucking Jo in, but their room and ensuite are also empty. That's when she spies the light on further down the hall that she must have missed earlier— he has gone into his old childhood bedroom, for, to Rose's knowledge, the first time since his first week back in Chippewa Falls.

The door is cracked open and he looks up upon her knock.

"Hey," she says quietly. "What're you doing?"

He motions for her to join him, and she enters, sitting down next to him on the old twin bed. The room has an antique, rustic feel. His furniture is a dark wood, maybe oak. The bedspread is a plaid in shades of burgundy, brown, and green— colors she knows he still likes. She is unsure if the walls are painted a cream color or if it is a white that has discolored as the room sat in disuse over the years. There are some drawings and photographs tacked to the walls that she had inspected many-a-time before his return— drawings of family, and friends, and animals. Photos from school, and by the looks of it, sports teams. She had even been amused once upon a time to come across a small selection of photographs of actresses from the time, likely clipped out of magazines. Actresses like Gabrielle Ray and Lydia West. She suspected that a teenage Jack Dawson had been a mighty flirt— wondered how he would have reacted had he known that Rose had met his childhood crushes during her travels with Cal. Nights at the theater had been her only reprieve during that time.

His shelves had been lined with books, and knickknacks that the fifteen year old version of Jack must have found value in. A lot of them were figurines and models that looked as if he had painted them by hand. In his hands Jack has an old portfolio book, similar to the leather one he had carried on the Titanic and she settles herself next to him to look at it as well.

"I figure it's time I start clearing this room out," he explains. "We'll need it for a nursery. I'm just looking through some of my old stuff."

Rose looks through some of the drawings. She can tell that Jack had made them when he was much younger and less practiced, but they were still very good. She flips through, recognizing some of the subjects from around town. Around the middle of the portfolio, Jack must have begun drawing from his imagination— there are a series of fantasy creatures as well as some knights and pirates. It makes her wonder what kind of kid Jack was when he was Josephine and William's ages.

Rose holds up a drawing of two jousting knights with a castle in the background. "These are different," she says, and he nods with a chuckle.

"I went through a big medieval phase when I was around eleven or twelve," he explains. "I loved the idea of chivalry."

"Oh?" she asks.

He shrugs. "The whole hero's quest thing, and rescuing princesses from towers guarded by fire breathing dragons— I knew it wasn't real, but I think its part of what made me want to travel, just to see what's out there. I saw some castles over in Europe, but no dragons," he grins.

"No princesses either?" Rose asks, teasing.

He looks at her with a mock serious expression. "Oh, I found a princess, alright. Only difference is she needed rescuing from a ship instead of a tower."

Rose smiles at Jack's flirting. "And was it happily ever after?" she asks.

He leans down kissing her sweetly on the lips. "It is now," he tells her, setting the portfolio aside again. "I got to make her my queen."

As Jack looks around the room, Rose studies him. He's calm— calmer than she expected with how he had avoided this space. "Are you okay, Jack? It must have been a trying day for you"

He shrugs, letting out a deep sigh. "I'd be lying if I said it's been easy, but it also hasn't been as hard as I anticipated. I had forgotten about a lot of what's here— some of the books and toys. I think more than anything I just miss Julia. I spent so many years not letting myself think about her. I have felt so guilty, if I'm being honest. The last time I spoke to her, I wasn't nice. In a way I blamed myself for what happened, and did for a very long time."

"And do you now?" Rose asks, reading his face.

"No. I don't think I do anymore. The fire was an accident. Who knows how it started. And I was a teenager. Of course I was bound to bicker with my sister and parents. I wouldn't blame Josephine if she was in the same situation, and so really, I can't blame myself anymore either. That's what I've realized today. I was still a kid, just like her. I have to forgive myself. They wouldn't want me to still be beating myself up over it, they would be wanting me to focus all my energy on you and our family. Losing my twin was like losing part of me, but I feel like she's around here in spirit. There are times in this house where I feel like she's watching over us, and helping out. I think it was her that brought Josephine that dog."

Rose smiles. "That's a very wise outlook, Jack. And I like that idea, of her watching over. I wish I could have met her." She takes his hand, lacing their fingers.

"It only took me fifteen years to come around," he he says, rising slowly to his feet and pulling Rose up with him. "And you two would have been the best of friends. I know it."

Rose changes into her nightgown and climbs into bed while Jack washes up, and she watches him as he enters their room in his white undershirt, muscular arms and shoulders fully on display, and steps out of his khaki pants before climbing into bed next to her.

She wonders for a moment about just how easy life with Jack feels. They have settled into little routines and she has begun noticing little habits of Jack's that he probably doesn't pay any mind to himself: the way he brushes his teeth and washes his face in that order, how he tosses the day's pants over her dressing table chair to be worn again or put in the hamper in the morning. How he stretches as he pulls back his side of the quilt, and sits momentarily on the edge of the bed, using his hands to lift his bad leg— the fact that they now have distinctive sides of their bed; a his and hers nightstand on each side. Hers holds a journal and pen, a novel (Brontë at the moment), a small framed photo of Josephine as a baby, and some lavender hand cream. Jack's holds his father's pocket watch, a photograph of his family from before the fire, and some blank paper and a pencil in case he is struck with the desire to draw. Rose has awoken several times over the past few months to find Jack sketching her sleeping form. She has just about decided that everything this man ever does is incredibly endearing.

He settles next to her, turning her way and propping his head up with his elbow resting on his pillow. He reaches forward, running his knuckles across her cheek lovingly before placing his hand atop her flat stomach. She smiles contentedly and turns to meet his gaze, her hand coming to rest on top of his.

"How long does it take before you start showing?" he asks, unfamiliar with the timeframe of pregnancy stages.

"Another month, maybe two," she tells him.

"Does the morning sickness go away?"

"With any luck, yes. With Josephine it subsided around week twelve, but every child is different from what I've been told.

He nods.

"So what can I expect?" he asks earnestly. "With your pregnancy I mean. Did you have cravings the last time? I've heard you get cravings."

"Yes," answers Rose. "Last time all I wanted was chocolate and anything pickled."

"Together?" he asks, scrunching his nose.

"No," Rose laughs. "Although I probably would have enjoyed that at the time. Tastebuds do strange things during pregnancy."

"Well, if you start craving anything this time around all you gotta do is tell me. You so much as think about pickles or whatever else and I'll run out and get some."

The seriousness of his expression causes her to laugh.

"I'm serious!" he insists, and she laughs harder.

"I know you are. That's what's so funny. I feel so lucky to have you, Jack. Most men wouldn't even be asking these questions."

"I don't think that's so true," he tells her. "At least, not if the man cared about his girl.

"What else are you curious about?" She asks, rolling onto her side to face him, his hand drifting to rest on her hip.

"When Fabrizio's wife was pregnant there were days he'd have to stay out of her way because of her temper. Did you get grumpy when you had Josephine? Am I gonna have to stay out of your way? Cause I don't think I can do that."

She laughs again, but gives him an honest answer.

"Pregnancy hormones do cause mood swings," she tells him, "but it was never bad with Josephine until very late in my pregnancy. By that point it was nearly impossible to get comfortable in any position because I was so huge, and my ankles were swollen, and I was constantly too hot or too cold. That's when I was irritable. I definitely can't promise to be cheerful the whole time. By that point I'm sure that I'll just want the baby out of me."

"I don't expect you to be cheerful all the time," he tells her, kissing her forehead. "No human can be. I just can't promise I'll have the sense to get out of your way. I like being near you too much, no matter what mood you're in."

"I have a feeling my mood will be much better this time around. Last time I was grieving you. This time you're right here next to me."

"I'll always be here next to you," he tells her, leaning in to close the distance between them, pulling back as she deepens their kiss.

"I have another question," he says, and Rose can see a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "Can I still make love to you?"

She refrains from rolling her eyes and laughing at this, and instead rolls her body so she is on top of him, sitting up now with her knees on either side of his hips.

"Jack Dawson, I am pregnant, not made of porcelain," she tells him, as she places his hands on her thighs, relishing his attentive expression as she inches forward, laying more of her upper body on top of his as she plays with his hair, knowing that the angle is giving him a full view of her cleavage, and he swallows hard. "If you're not taking me to the stars until I'm too big to do so, then I really will be irritable."

"Well, we can't have that, can we?" he tells her, desire evident in his voice, and she feels a little thrill at how quickly she has been able to elicit this kind of response from him.

"What do you propose we do about it?" she asks him, playing coy as she moves to sit up again, and she can feel that her movement has caused him to harden beneath her. "I can only think of one thing."

"One thing?" he says, shaking his head as he sits up underneath her, one strong arm snaking up her back, his other hand moving further up her thigh, pushing up the hem of her nightgown so his fingertips can graze skin. "I can think of several."

His lips at her neck cause her to gasp as he kisses on her pulse point, his teeth nipping at her skin as he dips lower, and she knows that the heat must be becoming visible across her chest, still mostly concealed by her sleeveless night dress.

"Jack, I want you," she tells him, lifting his face, fingers pushing his hair back. She kisses his cheeks, and the dimple on his chin, the scar on his jaw— his eyes slide closed, and as she claims his lips again, he lifts her, and in the same motion sweeps her silky nightgown from under her, hitching it above her hips, and she's surprised by the show of strength and dominance while he remains gentle and tender in the kiss. He hitches her up so she is fully straddling him, and if he's bewildered by her lack of undergarments, he doesn't let on. Since their wedding, Rose had found a new sense of autonomy when it came to her body, and now felt fully comfortable with Jack to the point of being uninhibited with him with or without clothing. In this very moment, she determines that she would much rather be without. They hadn't made love since before he had left for Chicago— the longest they had gone since their marriage.

He pulls back again, meeting her eyes. "You're sure you're feeling well enough?" he asks, thinking of how ill she had recently been.

"Jack," she tells him, tugging on his undershirt to pull it over his head. "Stop thinking and put your hands on me, please."

He doesn't need to be told twice. His right hand moves up her waist and to her breast, and she shivers at the feeling of his calloused thumb grazing over her nipple through the silk of the nightgown, before he pushes the strap from her shoulder, his lips following to where his fingers have just been, teeth and tongue pulling breathy gasps from Rose. Her hands rake down his back leaving little trails, and she can feel his muscles twitch happily under her touch as his hips buck up to meet hers, both of them craving contact.

With her nightgown still hanging from one shoulder and her other hand tangling in Jack's hair, she reaches between them, her fingers brushing up his length, but before she can move further he's lifting her again easily and reversing their positions so she is laying underneath him and he is able to kick off his undershorts. He sits back and gazes down at her lovingly as he pulls the nightgown from her body before engulfing her in his arms and kissing her soundly. The feeling of their bare chests pressed against each other is exquisite, and Rose can't help but to pull him back down on top of her, kissing him feverishly.

He enters her easily, both of them fully ready for each other, and the love making is slow and deliberate, building to a driving pace that has both of them gasping. Her legs are wrapped around his waist now as she meets the pace he sets, and her nails dig into his back deliciously as she nears climax and she grasps for purchase, the pleasant pain of it bringing him to his finish and pulling her with him. He muffles his groan in her neck with her name on his lips, and looks up to catch the sight of her silent but powerful orgasm.

Every time they do this he has the thought that it can never get better than the last time, and yet it always does. They continue to grow more impossibly in sync and in tune with each other and their needs, and he hopes that the excitement and newness never fades. He for one doesn't think it ever will.

Her pulse finally slowing, she kisses Jack on the moth and then again on the forehead, pulling him in to rest on her chest as she often does after they have made love, her fingers sweeping once again through his hair.

"Was that one thing, or several?" she asks with a contented expression as he shifts so his weight is off of her and he's back on his pillow.

"That was one," he answers, kissing her again. "But I can still think of several more." This time he doesn't hesitate, surprising a new gasp out of her as he moves swiftly back down the bed, his mouth finding the space between her legs deftly.

She's not sure how many times Jack brings her to the stars that night before they finally sleep, but she knows now that she has wound up with the most attentive husband the world has dreamed up.