Chapter Twenty-One

November 10th, 1913
New York City, New York

The sound of a ticking clock made it faintly to Rose's ears. It swirled in and out. Rose scrunched her eyes up, tilting her head on the couch cushion. The smell of peppermint tea began to waft towards her nose. She recognized the scent instantly as a powder she kept in her cupboard. Rose slowly began to open her eyes. It was bleary at first, but she saw her living room window was exposed, slightly left open to allow the cool night into the room. The room was a flickering in a soft orange light as her eyes ran over her candles piled amongst her books. Rose blinked rapidly, her mind still whirling, as finally, her eyes caught the back of a man, hunched over, standing in front of her bookcase.

Rose propped herself up on her elbow, gently pressing her fingers to her temple, "Tim... I just had a frightful nightmare," She croaked. The man paused and slowly raised his head. Rose felt her hair stand on end when she noticed he was not dark haired. Her breathing shallowed and she remained frozen in place, spread out across the couch. Her nails began to dig into the side of the couch cusion, her eyes shimmering in the light of the candle.

Jack turned to face Rose now and they made direct eye contact with each other. His blue eyes were soft, reflecting hurt in them. He had tears brimming his eyes as he studied every detail of Rose. Slowly, her mouth began to open, but no words came out. She continued to only stare at him, rendered speechless by his presence.

"I suppose it wasn't a nightmare..." She whispered breathily, now standing up on her stocking feet. The coffee table divided them. Rose clutched her nightgown in her hands as she only watched him, making no move to get closer. Her chest rose and fell heavily. She felt like she simply couldn't catch her breath. Finally, she licked her lips and asked, "Are you real? Or are you simply a phantom of my imagination?"

Surprisingly, Jack grinned lop-sidedly, glancing towards his boots momentarily. Rose felt a rush of blood travel towards her head, threatening her with light headedness again. Jack lifted his blue eyes and only watched her, his almond skin gleaming in the candlelight. He licked his lips and slowly nodded, "I think I'm real... what about you?" Rose resorted for a simply nod. Jack crossed to the kitchen and she sheepishly hugged herself, walking towards the breakfast bar. She watched as he poured them both a cup of tea. Jack focused extra hard on now allowing his hands to shake. He set her cup onto the breakfast bar, gently pushing it towards her, his eyes locked on her face.

Rose found herself trembling as she watched Jack take a sip of tea, his blue eyes never leaving her. Here he was, standing before her, and yet she still didn't know what to say. She wanted to laugh, cry, dance, fight; anything. But she did nothing at all. She had spent well over a year longing over a moment exactly like this, where she could finally talk to Jack again. But nothing rose in her throat. Her fingers wrapped around the handle of the mug, her knuckles turning white.

"Jack..." Rose finally breathed. She couldn't force herself to take a sip of tea. She let go of the mug and held her shaking hands to her as she rounded the bar, her nightgown flowing after her. She came to stand on the cold kitchen tile before Jack, tears welling up in her eyes. The first emotion to flood her was anger, she didn't know why, "I thought you were dead."

"I thought you were dead," Jack replied, turning towards her. They made no move to close the gap between them. They simply stared at each other, absolutely hurt and confused, "Rose, I read your obituary. They buried you in Philidelphia."

Rose bit down on her lip, nervously fidgeting with her hands, "Rose DeWitt Bukater is dead."

"So, you didn't go back?" Jack asked, rather anxiously.

"How could I?" She whispered, her face glowing in the candle light.

Jack lowered his glassy eyes for a moment and then looked around the apartment surrounding him. He pressed his hands to the cool countertops and gazed out into her living room. He admired the many different stacks of books she had. His eyes darted towards the bookshelves looming against the wall. His eyes took in the dirty state her writing desk was in. Jack paused, drumming his fingers against the countertop for a moment, "You live here all alone?"

"Since last summer, yes," Rose replied, licking her lips slowly.

"How can it be?" Jack wondered aloud. He seemed to be more of rhetorically asking himself. He shook his head, brushing past Rose and walking to her open living room window. His breath fogged the glass up as he gazed out towards the street, and then back to Rose, "You've been living ten blocks away from me this entire time? Rose, it doesn't make sense. Why couldn't I find your name on the list? Were you really going to convince everybody of your past life you were dead?"

Rose walked silently to the back of the couch, setting her trembling hands on the cushion. She gazed across the room towards Jack with a look of hurt, "Did you check for... Rose Dawson?" She whispered. She saw the entirety of Jack's body tense. He drew his shoulders back and pursed his lips. Jack's nostrils flared as he glanced towards the grandfather clock, watching it strike one in the morning. So many regrets plagued the two of them. Together, they separately suffered by the same ruminations. Rose furrowed her brow together now, slowly coming around the couch and approaching Jack who looked rather unsettled in his mind, "How did you find me?" Rose whispered, cocking her head to the side. He watched a fiery curl brush against her round cheeks. A deep longing panged throughout his body.

"I saw you... at the art show," Jack said softly, his lips barely moving. Tears brimmed Rose's eyes now as she realized she had never even seen a fleeting moment of him the entire evening. All she had focused on was Tim's smile, "I work for Frenchie Cohan," Upon recognizing the name, Rose winced in pain. Tim had been so close to crossing paths with Jack months ago. Rose held in the strangled cry growing in her throat as a few tears loosely fell from her wet and heavy eyes. Rose began reviewing the entire evening, scrutinizing every last thing she did, unaware she was being watched. She recounted the kiss she shared with Tim in the foyer and fearfully, Rose's eyes met Jack's.

"Who is he?" Jack asked, gently nodding his head towards her.

Rose's breaths were short and curt as she looked at Jack, "His name is Tim... Tim Calvert."

"Do you love him?"

"Jack, I-"

"It's a simple question," Jack said flatly. Rose felt another rush of blood ooze behind her face. She grew cold looking at Jack. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Uselessly, she shook her head, lowering her eyes.

"I... I don't know."

"I think you do know," Jack crossed his arms over his chest, falling against the wall, "I just think you're scared to hear the answer, too," Jack gazed up towards the ceiling, an empty pang running through him. Slowly, he cocked his eyes look back at Rose, who was silent with tears streaming down her beet red face, "Does it feel the same when you kiss him?" He whispered. A violent chill ran up Rose's spine.

"Jack..." Rose closed her heavy wet eyes and sighed. Her feet moved forward with her telling them, too. She nearly tripped over herself as she grabbed hold of his woolen jacket, "In all these months I've been left to pick up my mess," She told him haughtily and breathlessly, "Nothing even came close to comparing to you."

Jack swallowed roughly and brought his hands up to tenderly grip her elbows. He licked his lips and shook his head, "Do you mean that?" He whispered.

"I do, of course," Rose said, a lump growing in her throat. She brought her unsteady hand up, gently combing it through Jack's bouncy hair. She almost gasped at the silky touch of it again. She had craved to feel it for so long and it overwhelmed her in the moment. Rose took in an uneven breath as she felt his skin beneath her palms, "I've thought about you every single day since the Titanic, Jack," She said, her voice oozing with hurt, "You have no idea how much sleep I lost over you..."

"Does he make you feel the same way?" Jack whispered again, his face inches from her. He did his best to remain composed as he soaked in her eyes again, flecked with brown in the center. Her lips, her bottom one being predominate to her top lip naturally. He glanced to her alluring hair, still treated, curled, and pinned to her head.

"No," Rose shook her head.

"So... you don't love him?" Jack asked slowly.

Rose cast her eyes down, "I..." She fell at a loss of words.

Jack parted from Rose, digging his hands into his pockets and walking around her coffee table. He lifted his head, the candles casting long shadows across his face. Rose felt like a brick was caught in her throat. She could barely recall how to make herself breath when she looked at him. Her entire body was trembling, her small frame nearly convulsing. His stare alone ignited something warm inside of her. The heat in her body ate at her, her fingers twitching.

Rose licked her lips slowly, her body wracked with another wave of trembles, "Happy belated birthday, Jack," She said, breathily. His eyes darted to her, hovering over her for a moment. She couldn't believe the past two birthdays, she had whispered that longingly to him and now, he was standing right in front of her.

"How did you know when my birthday was?" Jack asked.

Rose slowly approached her coffee table, moving a book aside and lifting the manilla folder she still had yet to completely comb through. It nearly seared her hand as she lifted it into the space between her and Jack, "I went to Wisconsin in 1912. To find something of you... anything I could hold onto about you. I found your birth certificate," She brought the folder close to her, holding it against her nightgown. She took in a deep uneven breath, "I told you I wanted to get off the ship with you. When I didn't find you... your name was all I had left to take with me."

"So, this whole time..." Jack said slowly, facing completely towards her. Her eyes soaked in every detail about him. She was convinced he was going to vanish at any moment, "you've been usin' my name?"

Rose nodded, lowering her eyes to the folder. Her thumb anxiously picked at the tab that had their last name scribbled along the edge. Rose peered up at Jack. He was simply staring at her. It was that same gaze, the one she had missed for well over a year. It was comforting, but still, she found herself fidgeting under his eyes.

"You didn't go back to Cal or your mother?" Jack asked, his voice somewhat husky.

"No," Rose shook her head, her eyes on a candle, "they think I'm dead."

Rose set the folder on the table and crossed towards Jack, falling a few steps short, leaving a gap between them. She folded her hands together, her eyes glossy in the orange flickering light of the candles, "Where have you been, Jack?"

He shifted in his uncomfortable leather shoes for a moment, digging his hands into his coat pockets, "All of 1912 is a blur. I was in the hospital for awhile. Could barely do anything for myself," He smirked momentarily before it was entirely wiped from his face. Rose clung to the twitch of his muscles, "I couldn't even hold a pencil. Towards the end of the year, I was turned out, finally somewhat healthy," Jack crossed towards Rose's window. She turned, watching him go, "Bounced around for awhile here in New York City," He said, peering between the raindrops at the sharp skyline in the distance, "I didn't know if I wanted to stay for awhile. But then, one day, I saw an ad to become an art assistant in a studio. That's how I met Frenchie," Jack looked over his shoulder at Rose. Her heart thudded harshly in her chest as his eyes fell onto her, "He gives me a place to live. He gives me fulfilling work. That's where I've been the whole time. Just a short walk towards the Industrial Sector."

"We've been living on top of each other this entire time," Rose said quietly, "And yet, every night, I cried about you. As if you were a million miles away."

Jack came back towards Rose, tenderly casting his eyes across her, "You cried over me?"

"You know I did."

Jack brought his hand up and touched her cheek, finally. He gave in to feeling that soft porcelain skin. Jack felt as if he knew it so well. As if they had spent a lifetime together. Rose melted into his touch. She felt a heat rising in her body as she felt those familiar calloused. She gripped his wrist, her lips trembling and the tears freely coming from her eyes. Jack leaned in closer to her. She could feel the warmth of his body eminating against her.

"You have no idea how much I cried over you, Rose."

"No one can replace you," Rose croaked, tightening her grip on his wrist, "I was foolish to try- Jack... no one is you. No one will ever be you."

He grinned weakly, "What a horrible thing to say. Look at you..." He sighed and Rose trembled at the sound, "You've got yourself so wound up. Backed into a corner... You have so much potential, so much to give this world... and yet you don't. Because of a street-rat like me."

"You're more than that," Rose said forcefully, the tears coming faster, "Jack, you're my everything. I've spent over a year pining for you. There's so much I've wanted to tell you..."

"And yet, I'm standin' in front you and you're speechless," He smiled.

"I just..." Rose shook her head, swallowing roughly, "I can't believe it, Jack."

"Yeah, I know," Jack wandered away from Rose. She could still feel where he had touched her skin. It radiated, as if he had burned her. Jack looked around the apartment for a moment, listening to the grandfather clock tick, "It's like seeing a ghost from the past. I only wish it had happened sooner, Rose," He lowered his head for a moment, a look of hurt showing in his eyes, "I'm nothing but a mess, even a year later. I live in an attic. I mix paints all day," Jack shrugged, "But you... you seem like you're doing just fine," Rose remained frozen in place, just watching Jack. Her breathing had shallowed, her face red, as still the tears continued silently, "You have a nice place, probably a decent job. And it looks like you've found yourself a nice man."

"Jack..." Rose's voice cracked, her eyes heavy and wet.

"You never needed me," Jack told her, "You just needed a nudge to break out of the complacent little life you lived in."

"No," Rose shook her head and stepped closer to Jack, "I do need you."

Jack brought his hand back to her cheek. A qualm came over to Rose as she searched his eyes endlessly, shaking her head in refusal, "But, darlin', you don't. I'd do nothin' but slow you down at this point."

"I am nothing like you think I am," Rose told him, gripping his suspenders beneath his coat, "I am a nobody, Jack. I'm a waitress. I... I don't have anybody in this world."

"But you have Tim."

"I told you I was foolish," Rose's voice rose unsteadily, her nostrils flaring, "I don't-"

Jack pressed his thumb to her lips, quieting her. He looked at her so tenderly, so full of care. She felt like the apple of his eye, but the feeling vanished as she felt her heart ripping to shreds, "You love him. I know you do. And that's fine," Jack leaned forward, gently pressing his lips to Rose's. She felt herself falling out of reality as she hungrily clung to him, gripping his neck beneath her feelings. She captured his lips over and over again as they rubbed against her's. But he pulled away just as fast, stunning the breath from Rose, "I'm just glad you're alive, darling."

"Jack..." She breathed as he slipped from her grip and began towards the door, "Jack!" She tried reaching for his wrist but was a moment too late. Jack paused at the door, watching her. She could tell he was ready to leave and disappear. She could see he was not happy in the way she had dreamt of them being once reuniting. She was shaking, like the fool she was, as she stared at him. Finally, she opened her mouth again, "I have something for you to take," She whirled around, disappearing down the hallway.

Jack heard the sound of drawers being rifled through. He gripped the doorknob tightly, his knuckles turning white. Jack looked around her apartment with a feeling of regret. The blossoming of anger was present, but it was frozen beneath the ice of his sorrow. Jack saw Rose reappear, envelopes gathered in her hands. She slowly approached him, handing them out towards him.

"I wrote these for you..." Rose whispered, watching his hands take hold of them, "Jack, I never stopped loving you. Or thinking about you."

Jack finally raised his eyes from the envelope, looking towards Rose, "Me either," He finally whispered before he opened the door and left. The moment he disappeared, Rose's choked sobs errupted from her throat. She collapsed to her knees, her nightgown circling around her. Something inside of her had snapped. Rose pressed her forehead to the carpet, digging her nails into the ground beside her as she sputtered uselessly for air, his name caught in her throat.