This chapter is years later (again) in 1929 right when the markets crashed. The first bit of the chapter is right before, the rest of it is after. Cal and Rose have grown much closer from the last chapter which took place seven years ago, but still aren't together. I found it too unrealistic that Rose would just jump into a relationship with him, even after knowing him for around 18 years (because we know they wouldn't have gotten engaged the day they met and went on a cruise to Europe then back. How unrealistic for this time period would that be? You couldn't even be alone in the same room as a man without a chaperone for the most part.) and 10 years of being friends. So we are now at 17 years 6 months and 14 days after the Titanic sunk. I found that they have come a very long way from who they were in the first chapter to now.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

"No!" Rose cried out, laughing loudly as she held out the "o", picking up a pinch of flour and throwing it at Cal. Cal scowled playfully at her before he began to laugh as well. It had been nine years since he discovered Rose was alive, nearly seven since she really decided to give him a second chance and let him back into her life. He never could remember being so happy in his life.

Rose was stunning at thirty-four. Her eyes were bright and alive. Her hair was as fiery as ever and he couldn't remember when she looked more beautiful.

But all good things have to come to an end. Rose had to go home to the Sullivan Mansion, the place that had become her home since she was "adopted" into their family. She was gone and the Hockley Mansion was cold once more.

Since that Thanksgiving all those years ago, Cal's relationship with his father had been strained. Whenever Nathan Hockley came to the Hockley Mansion now, it meant trouble.

"Did you see the news, Caledon?"

"No. What is it?" Cal asked Nathan boredly.

"The stocks have crashed. Our money is gone. Take your pick," Nathan sneered at his son. "You're a failure. This would have never have happened if you had just married Valerie Tyler Smith. We would have never lost our wealth. It was a good match. You're selfish and stubborn and are the stupidest creature I have ever had the misfortune of calling my son!" Nathan Hockley yelled, smacking the newspaper on Cal's desk before storming out.

The next few days were a nightmare for Cal. He hadn't seen Rose and that was just as well. He was a mess. Everything he worked for… gone. It was dust in the wind.

Cal picked up a pen and began to write a letter to those who needed one, Rose, Samuel, whom he had become a great friend of over the years, and Grace.

When he was done, he picked up the silver pistol from the Titanic, the one he had taken from Lovejoy. It had one shot left. A fitting ending, he supposed, a very fitting ending indeed.

Rose entered the Hockley mansion quietly using her key. She had forgotten her script here from the other day, but was too prideful to admit that to Samuel. Cal would tell Sam if he caught her.

It was in the study, she was sure. When she opened the door to the study, she paused, eyes wide. Her hand unconsciously slid over her mouth as she gaped.

"Cal," she whispered. "Don't do it. Please don't do it."

Cal's head eyes shot up at the sound of Rose's voice, but she had already approached closer. He shook his head, warning her to stay back but she refused to listen.

"Please Cal," she pleaded, but he shook his head and pulled the trigger.

Rose's heart stop as he did before she ran to him. When she did, she pulled the gun, the gun that luckly got stuck, away from him, throwing it at the far wall. Cal was still alive. "You're such an idiot," she whispered softly, taking his head in her arm and rocking back in forth, "Don't you know how much you scared me?"

Cal swallowed, suddenly feeling worse than he had before. Rose had caught him trying to do what she had failed to do as well. Now, she was holding him, and he could her the tears in her voice, feel the salty drops fall into his hair.

"You deserve so much," Cal whispered back, finding it difficult to move. When he could, he wrapped and arm around her waist. "Rose, I can't give you anything," he whispered, sounding almost lifeless, "I'm a failure."

Rose's heart stuttered. The large leather chair was big enough that she was able to sit beside Cal but she was still able to hold him, to let herself know that the man who had protected her, loved her, wounded her, hurt her, abused her, forgot her, cried over her, and tried to make her happy, that he was still here, that the gun got stuck and didn't fire.

"No, you're not," Rose whispered back, "You're not a failure."

"Everything's gone."

"It's not your fault. It's affected everyone. As I came here this morning, there were mansions that were foreclosed by the banks and people on the street in fine clothes and whatever they could carry, looking more than lost. But things are going to be okay."

"No, they won't be," he replied bitterly, "Father will always believe that it's my fault and that I am a failure."

"Cal," she whispered softly and he turned to look at her, to face her for the first time since he tried to commit suicide. The word felt bitter in his mouth. He had tried to take the coward's way out. She was the reason he wasn't dead right now.

He knew, that with that one word, his name, she said everything that she couldn't say at this moment. She was telling him that she had forgiven him, that she didn't blame him for Dawson's death, despite everything. She was saying to him that she didn't see him as a failure. She was saying she was glad she had been in the house at that exact moment. She was telling him that she that she would have hurt if he had died. More than that, she was telling him that she was there, that she wasn't leaving. It was a lot more than he was able to say that night she tried to kill herself.

"I love you, Rose. I've always loved you," he whispered, "My life is empty without you," and just like that, the moment was broken. He desprately wanted to hit himself on the head, but didn't, for fear it would upset her.

Rose pulled back away from Cal. She could see his face, clearly vulenerable as she searched it. He wasn't lying, she knew, she just didn't know if she could accept that as truth. She could be friends with him, but she didn't think she could go through the heartbreak of actually being with Cal again.

She was releaved, to say the least, when the telephone rang and she was able to slip free when Samuel showed up moments later. She didn't know where'd she would go, she just started walking.

She recognized a red headed woman with a small girl as she stopped in front of the window of a store to glance inside. The pair were dressed in furs and hats.

"Mother," the girl said softly, "that lady's hair matches yours."

Rose didn't look over to them. She didn't have to. The little girl's voice matched her own as a child.

"Mildred," Rose listened as Ruth DeWitt Bukater snapped at the child, "Don't point. It's common."

"But, Mother," the little girl, Mildred, protested, "why does she look like you?"

Rose continued staring in the window at the display. There were all sorts of fancy devices and trinkets, things that might never sell now that the stocks had crashed. She wondered if Cal might have bought things like that for her if she had married him before. She wondered if it really was possible for a person to change so much. Behind them, a car rumbled to a stop. A driver opened the door and someone stepped out.

"Rose!" a voice cried and Rose turned quickly, "I've been looking for you!" Grace said with disbelief in her voice and Rose rushed to her, ignoring her mother and possible half-sibiling. "The studio was burned down. The police don't know who did it. Sam went out for a drink, but you need to come home. They're going to be having a board meeting in Los Angelos in seven days and you're part of the board."

"Does this week get any worst?" Rose asked rhetorically.

"I've heard that Jeanette is trying to sue again. She swears you and Sam broke into her house last night." Rose rolled her eyes at this.

"If I pay someone the money to do it, do you think they could get her locked in a mental hospital?" Grace gave a sad smile.

"Rose?" an uncertain voice asked. Rose turned and face her mother. "It is you," she gasped.

"Hello Mother," Rose answered in a faux pleasant voice.

"But you died!"

"Obviously not," the younger of the two scoffed.

"Why didn't you contact us? Did you want to see me starve? Did you want to see me working as a seamstress?" Rose raised an eyebrow at the woman.

"You didn't starve and you obviously have not be working as a seamstress, Mrs. Royce-Hamilton." Ruth looked taken aback that Rose knew just how well of she had been over the past several years. Good, she thought, she should be.

"So where's your starving artist?" Ruth asked her daughter coldly.

"Dead," the younger of the two answered in the same cold tone.

"Rose…" Grace warned, "The board won't care if you're there or not, remember. Remember what they did to Richie?"

Rose sighed. "Poor Richie. Lord rest his soul. I'm sure he's glad he's not here now. Could you imagine?"

"Don't speak ill of the dead," Grace hissed.

"I am doing no such thing. Richie was a wonderful person. Remember how he'd always bring everyone cake. I swear I gain ten pounds from him trying to fatten me up and turn me into a pie." Grace laughed, remembering. "It's been lovely to see you again, Mother. Don't be such a stranger. Let's do this again in another twelve years instead, alright?"

Ruth's mouth dropped as she watched her daughter turn around and walk away with the other woman, back to the car and step inside. Ruth wondered what had been going through her daughter's head as she had stared in the window of the store. More than that, she wondered if Caledon knew she was alive.

Poor Rich(ie). :) I just had to put that in. It was too ironic not to.

The pie reference Rose makes is a reference to the witch in Hansel and Gretel who tries to fatten Hansel up to eat.

I think there will be one more chapter after this one and an epilogue. I think I'll be able to wrap up everything in that amount of time.