Chapter Thirty-Three

December 19th, 1913
New York City, New York

Across the room, a man gently played a grand piano. The soft Christmas songs crooned across the low-lit restaraunt, filling the space with excited energy. Beneath the candlelight, Jack watched the nicest bottle of scotch he'd ever seen glimmer. It probably cost more than what Jack made a year. Jack slowly lifted his eyes to his dinner mate. Tim was swirling his scotch in a crystal tumbler as he glanced around the room before adjusting his glasses on his nose.

"Thanks for coming out with me tonight, Jack," Tim finally said. Jack tossed some hair from his face.

"Sure. I'd never turn down some scotch," He grinned and then shrugged, "Everything alright?"

"Yes," Tim nodded, "I guess I just needed a friend, that's all."

"Let me guess," Jack took a swig of his scotch, "Things haven't gotten any better?"

"I'm deciding to just leave her alone for the time being... let Christmas pass over," Tim lowered his eyes to his alcohol, "The holidays always seem to bum her out. Always, right at the beginning of November, the light has been struck from those beautiful eyes of her's. It's heartwrenching to watch, but Jack," Tim looked across the table, "I feel like I'm powerless to do anything. I feel like I can't make her happy."

Jack leaned forward on his elbows, the candle on the table under-lighting his face, "Do you want sympathy? Or are you looking for honesty?"

Tim stared intently at Jack for a moment and cleared this throat. He fleetingly glanced around the ambient restaraunt before turning his eyes back on Jack, who was patiently waiting for his answer, "The truth is always the right way, isn't it?"

"That's how I like to live," Jack told him before he tilted his head back and drank some scotch, "The truth is the most important, always."

"Then... what is the truth?" Tim asked. His tone almost sounded rhetorical.

"I just don't think you two were compatiable," Jack shrugged, "When you feel powerless to help someone you love, I think it just means you two don't work well together," Jack paused, his crystal tumbler just grazing his lips, "Have you ever been in love before Tim?"

Tim pondered the question while pouring himself a new glass. Gingerly, he set the bottle back on the table and sighed lightly, "I don't think so, no. Well, not before Rose, anyway," He waved his hand dismissively as Jack shot the rest of his whiskey down his throat, enjoying the searing feeling it left in its wake, "I've had relationships with other women, but it was always clear why, in the end, we didn't stay together. It's different with Rose, though. I don't want things to end. I know there has to be a solution for us. There's always a solution."

"Are you sure about that?" Jack looked to him fleetingly as the amber liquor filled his empty glass. Jack popped the cork back onto the bottle and set it down carelessly, making the candles shutter on the table, "Are you sure that's not just the lawyer-part of you talking? You have to separate those worlds, Tim. Love has different rules than a court does. There are exceptions to everything. Sometimes, love doesn't have a solution. If I'm recallin' correctly, it's the whole reason we even know each other, right?"

A small smile grew across Tim's lips for a moment before it was wiped away just as quick. He set his elbows on the table and heaved a sigh, "I just don't want to accept that, Jack."

Jack leaned in closer, his voice low, "Well, it's not a plea deal. You're just gonna have to accept that's the way things are."

Tim pressed his fingers to the tip of his chin. He was reduced to silence as Jack's words echoed through his mind. He licked his lips pensively. Jack watched with a small interest as his drinking mate wax and waned through many different emotions. Tim huffed a little and lowered his eyes to the candles on the table. The flames gleamed in his round lens.

"I don't know how long I can stay away," Tim finally said. His voice oozed with hurt, "I know it's a two-way street. If she really missed me, there's nothing stopping her from knocking on my door," Tim looked to Jack, whose hand was clenching his crystal tumbler, "There's also nothing stopping me from knocking on her door either, though."

"What if she doesn't answer?" Jack asked. The entirety of his shoulder muscles were tense.

"Right now, I don't think she would," Tim replied, taking a curt sip of his scotch, "If I wait... if I hold out for as long as I can, there may be a chance she will open that door for me again one day. I'm going to wait for her, Jack."

"Why?" Jack shrugged, knitting his eyebrows together, "Why not just find someone who does want to be with you now?"

"Because I love her."

"Is that enough?"

"I think it is," Tim nodded. He glanced towards the pianist as O Holy Night filled the restaraunt. Tim paused to listen to the notes before slowly turning his eyes back towards Jack, "I want it to be enough."

Jack drank some of his scotch, his eyes never leaving Tim as the Christmas music continued in the background. Jack licked his lips, "Don't we all, Tim?"

...

Jack brushed some snowflakes off his shoulders as he came through the door of Rose's apartment. He glanced around as he ruffled more snow from his hair and shrugged out of his rather damp woolen coat. Rose had gotten out of bed obviously. The crackers and tea packets he left on the counter were gone. Jack hung his coat up on the rack and poured himself some tea from the warm kettle. He wandered down the hall and gently eased her bedroom door open. Rose was lying in bed with a warm cloth strewn across her forehead. She had crackers and a few dirty tea cups cluttered on her nightstand. Rose was reading a book propped up against her knees.

"Hey," Rose said, glancing towards the window at the setting sun, "where have you been?"

Jack stood in the doorway for a moment, cradling his tea cup towards his chest. He eventually shrugged and said, "Frenchie and I are just takin' care of a few last minute things. The holidays make everything crazy," Jack went to the bed now and seated himself on the edge, making room for his full tea cup on her nightstand. He leaned against Rose, carressing her leg over the top of the quilt, "How are you feeling?"

"It comes and go," Rose replied, laying her head back against the cool pillows, "Some moments I feel alright enough to walk around. But the nausea always returns."

"What do you think it could be?" Jack asked, pressing his cheek against her bent knees.

"This happened to me last year," Rose told him, "I honestly just think I've caught something. The cold weather brings all kinds of dreadful things with it."

"Well," Jack sighed, hunching his shoulders for a moment, "I hope you feel alright on Christmas," He reached forward and gently carressed her cheek before lifting his hand to the damp rag, "Let me make this warm again, alright? I'll come lay down in bed with you."

Rose smiled as Jack stood, the rag dangling at his side. He went to the door and paused, turning back towards her, "Drink my tea. It's nice and warm. You're freezing to the touch."

Jack got a pot of water boiling and crossed his arms over his chest, watching the rag sizzle beneath the bubbling surface. The steam rose inches from his face, but Jack was still. His eyebrows were scrunched together as he thought about what Tim had said. He internally frowned at the idea of the man not wanting to give up. But Jack couldn't blame him. Tim was like him, in a way. Jack would never give Rose up. She had filled his mind constantly in her absence and still, she was ever-persistent on his mind in the present time. But still, Jack was determined, nearly desperate, to ensure Rose was his and his only.

After Jack had fished the rag out of the pot, he returned to Rose's room with his portfolio under his arm. He folded the rag and held it out to her. Rose thanked him and draped it across her head, sinking into her pillows with a light sigh. Jack kicked his shoes off and crawled onto the bed beside her, propping his portfolio up against his bent knees. She grabbed her book and lifted it, however, her eyes stared at the words without absorbing them. Rose pursed her lips for a moment and glanced towards Jack, who was inspecting the tip of his granite pencils.

"Were you really at the studio?" Rose asked.

Jack paused for a moment, his eyes wandering past his pencils. Rose shifted on the bed, fluffing her pillows in the same movement.

"Usually you have a certain smell about you," Rose continued, "Like rubbing alcohol and wood."

Jack licked his lips and finally turned his eyes to meet her's, "Nothin' gets by you, does it?"

"Where were you really, Jack?"

He sighed and lowered his head against the pillows, staring at the ceiling, "A place called Myron's Steakhouse."

Rose closed her book, "You were with Tim weren't you?" Jack simply nodded his head, "Why? Why do you continue to pursue him, Jack?"

"Because," Jack had to stop and inhale for a moment, biting on his lip. He lowered his pencils and propped himself up on his elbow, staring intently at Rose, who yearned for answers, "I love you, Rose. And I want you to be mine. Only mine."

Rose's eyes darted between his, "You know I am."

"But he loves you, too."

"I don't love him, Jack."

Jack sat up now, sitting criss cross on the bed. He fiddled with the ridged pencils between his fingers, all the while sighing, "Well, I want him to give up. I don't want to think about him waiting around for you. I want it to be clear he has no chance. We've come too far to have anymore put between us, Rose."

She lowered the rag from her forehead and sat forward as well, curling her knees to her chest. She spoke quietly to him, "It's not your problem to fix. And besides, I think it is very clear to him at this point how I feel. Promise me, Jack, you will not see Tim again."

Jack lowered his eyes to the quilt.

"Promise me, right now," Rose insisted.

Jack turned to her and lifted his hand to cup her cool cheek. She tingled at the feeling of his palm against her skin, "I'm not making you any promises I can't keep, Rose. But I won't do anything to jeopoardize us, that I can promise."

Rose gripped his wrist, her thumb tenderly carressing him, "Okay," She whispered, nodding, "I can accept that, Jack. I trust you."