an: thanks for the kind reviews! I love them very much! Onward we go.
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Impulse
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Running was usually easy.
But Cal couldn't recall the last time he'd ran and ran, and wondered where he was running to. Or even what he might be running from.
It was exciting, and Jack did not let go of his wrist.
People transformed into faceless obstacles, lost in time, along with the fade-outs of their voices. The sounds of engine were getting louder, more deafening, and flumes of steam blasted into their faces, before they'd even begun to slow down.
"Where are we going?" Cal said.
"I don't know," Jack was laughing, of course he was, and though it was small comfort (actually, it was none at all), Cal thought it contagious, and could have laughed too.
He didn't, and slowed to a stop, frowning severely at Jack.
"Jack. Where are we?"
"Hm," Jack looked around them both, and shrugged. "Somewhere in luggage, I guess."
"How lovely," Cal muttered.
He took a moment to compose himself, pulling a hand through his hair, which was damp with sweat. His chest was pounding, undecided between adrenaline and exhaustion, and then he attempted another glare in Jack's direction.
"Why did you think this would be a good idea again?"
"I wasn't really thinking anything," Jack admitted, but didn't seem to care. He was still grinning too much. "Isn't it great, though?"
Cal looked about disdainfully.
"It is anything but 'great', Dawson."
They were definitely in the cargo hold; there were transport vehicles and crates of luggage all around them, and a soft amber glow filtered through a nearby door window, suggesting they were close to the engine rooms themselves. It would explain the constant vibration against the ground, and the heat that blazed skin like a humid day.
Cal leaned back against the wall, tipping his head up to properly catch his breath.
"I must be mad."
He'd wondered it a few times now. The first being when he'd decided to search Jack out, earlier that morning.
Cal glanced at Jack; he was looking around like a kid in a candy store, all wide eyed and whistling, his walk an effortless gait.
Did it really only take a day to fall for Jack Dawson and all of his charm?
Jack turned back to Cal with a smile that was edging into something else.
Apparently so.
Cal took a short breath that he didn't know he'd been holding.
"Am I mad?" he asked, as Jack reached him.
Jack's hands settled on the wall, either side of Cal. It might have been imposing had anyone else done it, but Jack never looked anything but inviting.
Yes, That was it. He must have gone mad.
He thought it, with far more certainty, as he tilted his head and let Jack kiss him again.
Vision dimmed to black for a few moments, and heat crawled up his chest, clawing and invading him in the best possible way.
"...hah...stop," he protested, albeit weakly, and pulled a wandering hand back. "So amorous, Jack..."
"Afraid I can't help it."
"...how awful for you."
Their heads tipped, very close together, and Jack's breath became softer;
"So," he murmured. "Are you going to take me up on that dance?"
"...what?"
"A dance."
Jack's hands slid down the wall, as if in explanation. They found the arc of Cal's waist in one simple motion, and then rested there.
"I didn't get one earlier, remember."
Cal scoffed. "I don't dance," he considered it. "Not like you, anyway."
"Ah, so you do dance."
"Hardly. Besides, there's no music."
Jack's smile broadened.
"That the only thing that's stopping you? No problem. I can hum us a tune, then."
And so he did; something sweet and silly that Cal wanted to hate, but only found himself rolling his eyes at.
"You are utterly ridiculous, Dawson."
Jack looked undaunted, much more amused. "Could be fun. Nobodies watching."
"I don't care about that."
"Heh. So show me, then. A proper dance, though."
"No, Dawson."
"Please."
Jack wasn't about to give up, Cal realised.
Evidentially he never did, or else they wouldn't have been standing as they were, together, in that very moment.
Cal took a deep breath, closed his eyes in a few seconds of quiet deliberation.
It hardly mattered; he was so close to Jack that he could almost taste him, and though the sharp effects of alcohol still lingered, Cal was sensible enough to know that it wasn't going to be a valid excuse anymore.
Not for this.
"A proper dance?" he repeated, and wanted to smile. Perhaps he did.
Jack nodded. "Yeah. If you can."
"...of course I can."
Cal still hesitated though; slowly raised his hands to Jack's waist, lightly touching it with the very tips of his fingers. They seemed to dither too much, and he quietly hated himself for it.
Swallowing back a wave of nerves, he took a step closer, so that the gap between their chests was too tiny, and even Jack's breath seemed to hitch in a moment of surprise.
"So...give me your right hand, Dawson."
Jack did as he was told, and it felt warm and reassuring.
"Like that?"
"Yes, but keep your head held up higher, like that..." Cal hesitated, entirely distracted by Jack's attentive and suddenly very close gaze. He was clinging onto every word, as if Cal knew what he was talking about.
Cal quickly averted his eyes, and cleared his throat.
"Yes, that's good... fine," he moved a step to the side, so that their feet were adjacent to each other. "So now...you do the same."
Jack followed the position, then looked expectantly back at Cal. "Right?"
Cal nodded. "Yes, good..."
He considered the floor, because it was easier.
"What's wrong? I can stick my nose up higher in the air, if that makes me look more gentlemanly..."
"No, no, you look perfect," Cal said, and felt his cheeks heat up with such a quick and casual admission. "I mean," he cleared his throat again. "...traditionally...a man would lead the dance. That being...the way of a conventional partnership. But this is..."
He trailed off, and realised he couldn't bring himself to finish such a rambled and incoherent sentence. Besides that, he felt too hot, and Jack's laughter was loud and effortless;
"Cal. Are you saying we're not very conventional?"
Cal nodded.
"Highly unorthodox actually, Dawson."
The admittance was not so awful, and he could have imagined himself laughing too.
Jack, as usual, was undeterred, and his arms moved further around Cal's waist, pulling him in so that their bodies touched.
"I don't mind leading," he said. "If you'd like."
Cal attempted a scornful look.
"You think you can do anything, don't you, Dawson?"
"No," Jack shrugged. "But I'll give pretty much anything a try."
He tilted his head, so that his mouth was near to Cal's ear, and he started humming that silly tune again.
It should have been annoying, but Cal found himself closing his eyes, so easily following the sound of Jack's voice.
They might have been dancing, but not really. It was almost stationary; their feet barely moving and steam trails coiling around them, making everything hazier. The distant thrum of engine melded and blended, into Jack's unnamed humming song.
It was melodic, in a strange way.
Cal sighed, arms moving the rest of the way around Jack. The proposition of any kind of dance mostly forgotten.
"Is this how you charmed Rose, too?"
"No," Jack's hand curved up, slowly lining Cal's shoulder blades. He leaned back just a bit, so that their eyes could lock together. "I don't think Rose would have let me lead, for a start. She's unconventional too, you know."
Cal scowled. "I know-"
Then his mouth was crushed, into the rough press of Jack's mouth, smothering away the rest of his words and turning them into a broken moan.
It was unexpected but wanted. Perhaps for the best.
Cal didn't trust himself with words anymore, anyway. They only served to throw him deeper into a hole he didn't think he'd ever get out of, and Jack probably realised it too.
And it wasn't like anything could ever come of it.
"...this isn't dancing..." Cal murmured anyway, against the kiss.
Jack's smile arced up some more.
"So show me another day."
Then his mouth found Cal's throat, and everything prickled and became so much hotter.
Distantly, as his skin burned and Jack seemed to get his way, Cal imagined a dance that didn't matter if it was unfinished or not, because they could always begin it again tomorrow, or the day after that. Or the day after that.
In another hazy act on impulse, he clung to Jack's shoulders, and sighed.
"...tomorrow, then..."
He thought he could keep imagining it, for as long as it might have been possible.
The iceberg hit a little while after.
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"I expect it isn't anything catastrophic, or we would have heard about it before now," Cal said, as they neared the reception room.
"I guess so," Jack sounded less convinced.
They stood at the elevator door together, waiting for it to descend. A passing crewman pushed a life jacket into Cal's hands.
"Put this on sir, and get yourself on deck as quickly as possible."
Jack raised a brow. "Could be a little catastrophic, then?"
Cal pretended not to care, as he gauged the groups of people dressed in thick coats and passing along muttered rumours to each other about icebergs, and estimates how long the journey might be delayed.
Reaching the 'normality' of the upper deck was surreal in itself, without the addition of a possible disaster.
Cal still felt sore around his lips, and looking at Jack for too long was like being presented with a risk he couldn't take.
He realised, miserably, that he was becoming rather too fond of Jack Dawson.
"What shall you do?" he asked, hoping he sounded nonchalant about it.
"Hm?" Jack smiled at him. "What would you like me to do?"
"Be serious, Dawson."
"But I am."
Cal clenched his jaw, pretending not to notice his smirk. "Then...I would like if we could say our goodbyes, and this be the end of it."
"Oh."
Jack's smile became sad. He reached out, fingers delicate on Cal's jawline.
"You'd really like that?"
"Yes," Cal batted his hand away. "So stop that."
Any other decision would have been akin to suicide. Cal bit his lip so hard that it might have bled. He wouldn't have noticed it, though.
"But what about dancing?" Jack said suddenly.
"...dancing? What about it?"
"Tomorrow. You said we could dance tomorrow."
Cal's chest ached, but he managed to face Jack anyway.
He pushed the life jacket into his hands.
"Never mind the damn dancing, Dawson. There are more pressing matters right now."
Jack blinked down at the life jacket. His brow furrowed pensively, as silence hung between them.
"I'll miss you, Cal."
Cal's smile threatened to collapse.
"Jack-"
At the same time the elevator finally descended, and the door folded open.
Lovejoy and Ruth were standing there, accompanying a couple of uniformed crewmen.
"There he is, the thief," Ruth said, finger pointed at Jack. "Arrest him."
The crewmen flanked Jack in a blurred rush, handcuffs flashing around his back, and suddenly he was an indignant criminal, pulling uselessly against them.
"I haven't stolen anything," he said, and looked at Cal. "I've been with him, all evening."
All eyes flitted to Cal, and Cal was stricken by them.
"That true, Mr. Hockley?" Ruth said, her mouth drawing a line of distaste. "I thought you'd retired to your room because you were feeling out of sorts? Your valet reliably informed me so."
She looked at Lovejoy, who's expression was steadfast in it's neutrality. It was the one thing that Cal could constantly rely on, if nothing else.
Cal cleared his throat. "Yes. That is true."
"Cal-" Jack said.
"But you're with him now," Ruth said, and looked at Jack as though he might be something contagious. "Did you perhaps discover him in your room, Mr. Hockley? I can't see there being any other explanation, really."
Her laugh quaked, and her eyes were watery with insistence. She sounded nervous, almost like she was on the edge of something hysterical, perhaps.
And then Cal understood, as her eyes locked so desperately on his own, she was only trying to convince herself.
Because the only other explanation was simply unacceptable. For both of them.
Of course it was.
Cal felt himself nodding, a systematic reaction.
"Yes, that's true."
Jack stopped struggling, and stared at Cal.
"What? Cal...what are you talking about? I wasn't...I haven't stolen anything. Tell them."
Cal trained his eyes on one of the crewmen.
It was easier, looking at someone he had no familiarity with. Someone that could help anchor him back to a reality he'd been attempting to run from, and remind him of how he was supposed to act, and why anything else actually was so unacceptable.
Ah, so that was what he'd been running from.
"He attempted to steal a few things. Fortunately I did discover him in the act, as Mrs. DeWitt just explained."
The words rolled smoothly from his mouth. A well practised tone of authority, and it was like stepping back into old shoes, even if they weren't so comfortable anymore.
And he'd always been a good liar, after all.
"Cal," Jack said, in a broken voice.
Cal could have flinched at the sound, like someone cutting a knife across his chest.
He didn't though, and smiled pleasantly at Ruth.
"I'll join yourself and Rose on deck in a moment. Then we might see what all the fuss is about, shall we?"
Ruth's voice cracked into something like relief.
"Of course, Mr. Hockley," she caught his arm. "I presume you're feeling much better now."
"Much better. And the fresh air might do some good too, actually."
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Rose was the first person he saw outside.
She was stood near enough to the launching lifeboats, but a deliberate distance away from the other women. Her expression was far colder than the frozen night air, which slapped across Cal's face, sobering his senses instantaneously.
It didn't do any sort of good, though.
He moved quickly through the commotion of the crowd, to reach her.
"Rose-"
"Where is he? Where is Jack?"
Cal blinked at her. Another imagined slap.
"...he has...been arrested."
"I see," Rose said.
She seemed calm at a glance, but it was betrayed by the glitter in her eyes. She didn't look upset, though. She looked angry.
"Your mother made the accusations," Cal said weakly, as if it would have made any difference.
Rose nodded. "My mother's word is quite difficult to argue, I grant you that. Although I'm sure you did very little to contend it."
"Rose-"
"The ship is sinking," she interrupted him very bluntly, and then looked out at the vast blackness of ocean. "I didn't know if you were aware."
"I heard there was some trouble."
"Yes."
Then she turned back to him again.
It was as if she might be surveying him properly for the first time since their lives had begun together.
"Mother has already found us a boat. She is efficient like that, when it comes to matters of self-preservation. Have you ever noticed?"
Cal nodded slowly, though it felt like the wrong answer, somehow. "I have."
Rose's mouth twitched the faintest smile.
"Most of the people on board this ship are going to die, Cal. The third class, I mean. Does that please you very much?"
Cal frowned at her. "Do you think me so heartless?"
"I know it," Rose said, not missing a beat.
The words stung, but someone jarred Cal's elbow, and he remembered where they were and what was happening, very distantly.
The crowd was getting larger and more chaotic, and screams and gunshots fired somewhere on the other side of the ship.
Rose started to walk past him, back toward the inner quarters.
"Where are you going?" Cal blocked her, with an impulsive indignation.
"To find Jack, obviously."
"Don't be ridiculous. You can't-"
Rose shrugged his hands violently off her shoulders.
"Are you going to try and stop me?" the defiance in her tone was dangerous. "Threaten me again? So that everyone else can see exactly how entitled and arrogant and selfish you truly are? Please, do go on."
Cal opened his mouth, but words would not come.
Instead they stared between each other, in something that should have been a tense and childish stand off.
It was, but Rose's eyes were searching him, like she was grasping for something else too.
"Jack wanted to see you," she said, more quietly. "He wanted to see if he could make amends with you. He's a good person, Cal. Can't you see it?"
Cal curled his hands into tight but ornamental fists, breath shaking in his chest.
A flood of emotion returned to him; the harsh, insistent press of skin, warm hums of breath and bright blue shade of eyes, and yes, of course Jack was a good person, and Cal suddenly felt like he might need to sit down.
He'd never been so brutally bothered by conscience before.
"You hardly know him at all," he muttered, at last.
Rose's stare didn't relent.
"You're missing a couple of buttons," she said, listlessly, "On your shirt."
Then she started to push past him again.
"Wait-" Cal grasped her arm.
"Let go."
Cal did, but was undeterred.
"If I contend Jack's arrest, will you please just get on a lifeboat?"
Rose looked at him as though he'd told a terrible joke. "How can I know you'll do that?"
"I suppose you can't. My word will have to do."
Rose looked incredulous. She shook her head. "That isn't enough."
Cal smiled vaguely.
"I suspected it wouldn't be," then he turned rapidly around on his heel.
"Cal, what are you doing?"
Cal considered the question only shortly, because he had no use for anything very sensible anymore, apparently.
"I suppose...putting a little of my entitled, arrogant, selfishness to some sort of use."
He didn't wait for her response, and shoved through the ever-surmounting crowd with a merciless and angry force.
8
He found Lovejoy waiting on the other side of the ship, and didn't waste another moment, in case sensibilities found him again.
"Lovejoy, where is Dawson being held?"
Lovejoy turned to him, with the mildest flash of confusion. "Sir, I've found a boat which is taking men aboard..."
Cal looked past his shoulder, and for a few seconds his mind was dowsed in the reality of the situation again.
Men clamouring and cursing around each other, all in desperate acts to hold onto their own lives. Another gunshot, and Cal's stomach tossed, reminding him that he might have lost his mind, after all.
"Sir?" Lovejoy repeated.
Cal took a short breath.
"Dawson," he said, and grasped Lovejoy's arm tightly. "Tell me where he is. That is an order, by the way."
Lovejoy still hesitated, as he pulled a silver key out of his pocket.
"I believe he was taken down to the officers quarters, sir. Still handcuffed."
Cal snatched the key and turned to leave.
"Sir," Lovejoy said. "...if you don't mind my asking, what exactly is this in aid of?"
Cal paused, in a fresh flood of apprehension for a few unbearable seconds. He turned his head, to look at Lovejoy.
"My damn fiancée, of course."
It was true, but only in the smallest and most fragmented part.
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an: I can't resist an almost-dance scene. sappy. I think it has become requirement at this point?
you guys leave reviews if you like! and if you'd like more? I'm extra motivated by them! Who will live and who will die...that is the question. Or is it? (I don't know)