I don't own Titanic.
don't say your goodbyes yet
titanic.
'that fire's gonna burn out'
'It's not up to you to save me, Jack."
"You're right. Only you can do that."
and he gave a wistful smile, his sea foam blue eyes misty.
in the weak sunlight, rose could see the silvery, ghostly tear tracks on his cheeks, noting with a pang in her heart how his eyes seemed duller, and much more melancholy.
his smile, once radiant and excited for the days ahead, was forced and anguished, and rose can't stand seeing him so upset.
the urgency in his eyes becomes more frantic. he makes a move towards her, but decides against it, his lips opening and closing but emitting no noise. and he slumps, defeated, his eyes wild and pleading.
"... that fire's gonna burn out, Rose."
his voice is muted, distorted, and so defeated and broken that rose cannot believe what she is hearing. jack stood before her, speaking no further words, as he glances at his feet.
the wind carries to them the sounds of april 15th, the screams and whimpers and the deafening, crushing silence. because it was too quiet, every wave too loud, and rose couldn't count the number of stars in the sky or the bodies that floated around her, cold and disturbingly motionless.
and jack's hair takes on a frosted look, the tips of his dirty blond bangs encrusted with ice.
his lips are blue, just like they were three months ago, his lips barely opening but needing no words, because his eyes do the begging for him. rose wants to cry, to scream, to kick out, but not wanting to push jack away because wasn't this what she had wanted, to see him again?
so she's stuck in limbo, screaming but silent and staring at a man who she realizes hasn't breathed since she came her. she puts a hand to his chest wordlessly, and she screams when she hears no heartbeat.
and jack only smiles sadly, his expression downcast, as he stands up and bids a farewell with a slow raise of his hand, and suddenly he's gone and rose feels like screaming all over again.
-x-
Rose never imagined she'd find herself in a world of dinner parties and corsets again, but she had, and she'd never wanted to get away more than she had now.
Molly Brown was talking about a tea import, a subject Rose felt horribly disinterested in. Molly had invited the Calvert family over for dinner, urging Rose to give them a chance, because in her words, they were a 'lovely, respectable family'.
Brent Calvert was the head of a restaurant chain in Kentucky, and his son Darcy managed a company that manufactured polyester fabrics. The youngest Calvert, at 24, was Charles Calvert, who was finishing up university and interning at a law firm.
Charles kept glancing over at Rose, which made Rose feel terribly uncomfortable. She'd tried to stomach the steak on her plate, but each bite of food left her tongue feeling dry and her her stomach churning. She'd excused herself, making a note to apologize to Molly later, before retreating to her room.
Her heart felt heavy, her mind felt blank, and despite the sun and warmth, each day felt cold and bare, like the harshest of winter storms. Each time she closed her eyes, she could feel his gaze, his eyes peering into her soul.
And she wondered what it'd be like, to just go to sleep and never wake up again. She somehow knew, that when she did, she'd see him again, and that made the idea so much more tempting.
Because who was she anymore, anyway?
A broken shell of a girl who'd loved and lost, the broken pieces of a girl who might once have been beautiful.
She couldn't do it anymore.
She couldn't live, pretending like everything was okay, because nothing was goddamn okay.
The voices called for her, beckoning her to join them.
And this time, there was nobody to pull her back.
-x-
don't do it.
don'tdoit.
DON'TDOIT.
Everything was too fast, too hot, too much like an illusion to be real. The colours were too bright, the birds too loud, like nails scraping against chalkboard.
"Don't do it!"
And Charles Calvert was there, pulling her back, and Rose felt so angry and hateful and why did he have to stop her?
But maybe it wasn't Charles, because it sounded like Jack, too.
Was that Jack, in front of her?
And Charles, or Jack, or someone, was screaming at her, and she didn't even realize she was crying until CharlesJack started wiping the tears that ran down her face.
His touch was so familiar, so comforting. But those hazel eyes were Charles', not Jack's, and he wasn't supposed to be standing on the top of a building, comforting her, but damn it, she wasn't supposed to be comforted by him!
Rose broke free, screaming, begging for God to just let her die.
-x-
"Why'd you do that, huh? You're so stupid, Rose, why'd you have to do that?"
And Jack's crying, real tears, his fists clenched and his eyes betraying his disappointment.
"Rose, you're no picnic, alright? You're a spoiled little brat, even, but under all that..."
And Rose wants to scream, because his words cut her like knives, because he's so close to her and so goddamn far.
"Come on, I'll pull you back over."
"You weren't there, Jack." Rose whispers, and Jack's face is tight, and deep in thought.
"But you promised." he responded back lightly.
And the blue skies are black, dark, and a sudden chill runs over her.
"Winning that ticket, Rose, was the best thing that ever happened to me... it brought me to you. And I'm thankful for that, Rose. I'm thankful. You must do me this honor. Promise me you'll survive. That you won't give up, no matter what happens, no matter how hopeless. Promise me now, Rose, and never let go of that promise." Jack's voice is chattering, and Rose's heart skips when she sees how blue his lips are.
God, why are they so blue?
But everything's okay again, (why did it change?) and the skies are blue and Jack's skin a peachy pink.
"I promise." Rose whispers, almost inaudibly. She's convinced that if she's quiet enough, she can hear the sound of the crashing Atlantic waves again, the pleas and sobs of the men and women in the waters. They never come, though, and all she gets is a quiet spring breeze.
And Jack smiles, a ghost of a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
Jack steps forward, reaching his hand out but deciding against it.
His next words hit Rose like a punch in the gut.
"Come on, you don't want to do this."
-x-
Sometimes, Rose wondered what she did to deserve the pain she went through every day. The heartache, the grief, the depression that hung over her like a thick wool cloak.
But she remembered Jack and Trudy and Thomas Andrews, all good men who had horrific fates, and knew that life wasn't fair. None of the men, women, and children aboard the Titanic deserved to die. Not one.
And Rose lived in a limbo now, breathing, but not living. Her eyes were hollow, never twinkling with the mischievous laughter like it had before. The ghost of her last laughs were etched on her porcelain skin, the invisible tear tracks on her face visible in the weak sunlight. She knew Jack would have been disappointed in her, but she didn't have a reason to live. Not really.
Not until she'd first heard the doctor's words.
But Rose did have a reason to live, she'd just never known. She had Jack, in a way, not really him but a part of him that'd live on, even as his soul rested with the others at the bottom of the Atlantic. She had a little bit of her and Jack growing in her, and Rose felt the corners of the thick cloak lifting at the corners, some of the weight lifting off her shoulders.
She didn't have to fake her smiles anymore.
With each passing day, the sun grew brighter and the skies turned bluer, and one day she even felt compelled to sing along with the birds, something she'd never done before. Her shoulders were light, like air, and finally, Rose could stand up straight without worrying about falling.
Molly had been disapproving, but Rose had a sneaking suspicion that Molly was grateful for the child, if only because Rose seemed so much happier now. But Molly had gone to Philadelphia for three months on a trip to visit family, apologizing profusely to Rose and leaving her a sum of money and her New York home to sustain herself with.
In the last three months of her pregnancy, she'd taken to strolling the park at night, laying on the grass and staring up at the stars, wondering if Jack could see her and wondering if he'd be proud of her for picking up the pieces of her and putting herself back together again.
Jack still visited in her dreams, sometimes, but he never spoke, instead choosing to watch her from a distance, a sad, longing smile on his face. He sometimes drew, sitting on a rock, but Rose didn't complain too much of his distance, because she was just happy to see him, to see his blue eyes on her. One time, Rose recalled vividly, she was sitting near the base of a tree trunk, heavily pregnant, when Jack had walked up to her silently and handed her a drawing. It was a small collage, made from memories and recollections, with sketches of her sitting, standing up, singing, smiling, they were all there. But the one that made Rose's hand shake was the one of her and Jack, flying on the Titanic, their eyes locked on each others.
On the corner of the page was Jack's signature- JD. But there was no date, because she doubted Jack even knew the date anymore, but Rose still hugged the paper close to her and looked at dream Jack, tears in her eyes, with so many words left unsaid that she wished she could say, but nothing came out. She let out a strangled sob, and Jack frowned, his eyes clouded. He stepped forward tentatively, his hand reaching out, and Rose closed her eyes, expecting to feel his touch on her skin, the one she'd grown used to over the course of two days.
But it never came, because she woke up again, sweating.
The house was too silent.
And Rose listened to the sounds of the birds singing, the wind whistling, willing herself into sleep, if only for that chance of seeing Jack so close again.
-x-
shewasamother.
She was a mother.
Rose couldn't wrap her mind around this simple thought as she held her, her baby face pink and flushed, eyes closed.
But Rose Dawson really was a mother, and she was holding her daughter (daughter, can you believe that?) in her arms. And her little baby, the one she'd promised to love for the rest of her life, gave a little yawn as her fingers curled around Rose's index finger.
"Do you have a name, miss?" the midwife asked, almost reproachfully, because she was all too aware of Rose's youthful appearance and of the fact Rose wore no wedding ring.
And she felt a knot in her throat tighten, because she knew this little baby's name from the moment she found out she was expecting a baby girl.
"Josephine." she whispered, glancing at the child in her arms. "Josephine Dawson."
And Rose smiled to herself, because she'd do anything in her power to keep Josie (because Josephine was just begging to have a cute nickname) safe, and Rose would watch her take flight and soar, just like a mother was supposed to.
She wondered what Jack would have liked as a name, imagining the young artist furrowing his brows as the sunlight glinted into his eyes, eyes that were a colour Rose didn't quite know the name of.
Little Josephine blinked open her eyes, cooing all the while, eyes that weren't quite blue but weren't green either, eyes that were a beautiful shade of teal.
A/N: Ahh, if you follow my drabble series, closure, you'll be able to hear my pathetic excuses. I'M SO SORRY FOR NOT UPDATING. :S I've just been exhausted with school and stressed out with personal relationships and stuff and it leaves little to fuel my inspirational juices.
I really still quite love this fic though, and I've just listened to Irish Party in Third Class at least 10 times on a loop and it does great things for the mind. c:
I have another chapter written out, but I'm stuck on the fourth chapter.
DO YOU GUYS WANT TRAGIC, OR WHY IS THIS SO UNFAIR WHAT DID SHE DO TO DESERVE THATTRAGIC.
let me know. c: