I'd like to thank the people who have been constantly reviewing and adding this story to their favorites. I told myself I was quitting fanfiction a year ago and then I recently wrote a fanfic and posted so I was like 'I guess I haven't officially quit.' I felt really guilty about leaving many of my stories unfinished and this was one of those stories. I recently saw Titanic in 3D then again in IMAX 3D, which made me think of this story. I went back and looked at it and I thought: 'I always hated when people abandoned stories. I'm such a bitch for never updating.' It's been what 2 and a half years? Yet, I'm still getting reviews and favorites so obviously people are still reading. So to any of you who favorited this or followed this story and have been waiting, Hi, I'm greengirl16, you may vaguely remember me. Sorry for the insane length of a wait and I hope this chapter is worth it.

"Lying low doesn't seem to be your forte, darling," Cal said, pushing past Andrew. "You can go now," he snapped, dismissing him.

Andrew looked at Rose, unsure of what to do.

"It's fine," Rose smiled, trying to reassure Andrew and herself.

Andrew scurried out of the room like a mouse.

"You know Rose, your mother has been worried sick about you. You never wrote." Cal's gaze wandered around Rose's office looking at her awards. He seemed shocked that she had succeeded without him.

"Why are you here?"

Cal's eyes met Rose's hard gaze. He hadn't changed. Rose could see that. He was the same arrogant, shallow man she had been engaged to. She had hoped living through a crisis like Titanic would have changed his ways and made him a better person.

"Where's your boyfriend?" Cal asked curiously, but his dark eyes gleamed in a devilish way. He knew the answer.

Rose's blue eyes diverted from his stare for a split second and she realized her mistake as she made it.

Cal smirked victoriously. He always won, and he took pride in that. "Oh, I see, well I'm so sorry for your loss." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "I know he meant a lot to you. It's a pity… after all you went through to be with him that he didn't make it."

"Get. Out."

"Why, Rose, darling, that'd defeat the purpose of me coming here."

"Yes, why did you come find me?" Rose asked harshly.

"I've come to retrieve something of mine that you have."

The Heart of the Ocean. Rose knew exactly what he was looking for. She knew he'd come back for that the second she found it in the coat pocket on the Carpathia. She had it locked away currently, saving it because even though it was from Cal, she connected it with her moments with Jack. "What's that?" she asked, playing stupid.

"I'm not a fool, Rose. The diamond was in the coat pocket. The coat I gave you when I last saw you on the Titanic."

"That coat was taken from me when I boarded the Carpathia. It was damp and the crew didn't want me to get ill so they gave me a blanket and took it."

Cal growled in frustration and approached where Rose sat behind her desk. He heavily set his hands on both sides and leaned in close to Rose's face. "You're lying."

Rose's stern face didn't falter.

"If I find out you have my diamond, I will"

Andrew cleared his throat from the doorway, holding a folder in his arm. "I think it's time for you to leave sir."

Cal look appalled, "Do you know who I am?"

"No, and apparently you aren't aware who Miss Dawson is either. She has somewhere important to be now so it's time you leave."

Cal sneered and spun around on his heel, walking towards the door. He paused near Andrew, and turned back to look at Rose, "Oh, and Rose, darling, nice name, I'm sure Jack would be honored." Then he pushed past Andrew, bumping into his shoulder and disappeared.

Andrew's face was a mix of confusion and hurt. She'd never told him about Jack, the reason she'd never consider loving someone else. Andrew seemed to remember why he'd walked in, "The publisher of the paper just dropped off this envelope. I figured you'd want to see it immediately."

Rose tried to hide her anxiety as she scrambled to stand up and take the envelope. This was it… the answers were in her hands. Was she insane or was Jack alive?

"Well I'm going to head out for the night," Andrew said, rolling back on his heels.

Rose didn't hear him, being too preoccupied staring at the manila colored envelope so he quietly slipped out of the room.

"This is it," Rose whispered to herself as she delicately tore open the envelope with her hands visibly shaking.

Jack pounded the bar, mumbling as he downed another glass of hard bitter liquor.

The bartender, who was wiping down the counter with a rag looked up, recognizing his frequent customer's request: another glass.

"Haven't you had enough for tonight?"

"No," Jack snapped.

The bartender obliged, filling another tall glass with the yellowish foaming substance. "This is your last one."

"Yeah, yeah…" Jack said, downing the drink. He had no intention of stopping until the pain was overcome by the darkness, his only escape.

He pounded his fist on the counter again.

"No, no more. You've had enough," the bartender said tiredly.

Jack slammed both his fists down on the counter, threw the stool back in rage, and stumbled out the door. He clumsily made his way down the city streets, using different buildings for support.

"Jack?" he thought he heard someone call. Probably just his drunken daze. He continued to walk.

"Jack Dawson?" No, someone was definitely calling his name.

He turned around. The world seemed to be spinning. He squinted his bloodshot eyes and tried to focus on the large woman staring at him.

"Molly Brown?"

She laughed heartily, "For a second there I thought you didn't recognize me, Jack."

Jack rubbed his sore eyes and gave a stiff, pathetic laugh.

"How're ya, Jack?" she asked, in her usual cheerful tone.

"Fine," Jack lied, stumbling and falling over.

Molly caught his arm and kept him from falling. "You don't look so fine, son. Here why don't ya come back to my place for the night, rest up, then we can catch up in the morning?"

Jack nodded sleepily, his eyelids becoming heavy, as he leaned onto Molly for support.

Rose opened the envelope and peered inside at the contents. There was a letter on a tinted piece of paper. Fine printed loopy writing read:

Dear Miss Dawson,

We are sorry to say that we were not able to identify the man's name for you. He appears to be a local factory worker and we included other pictures from the premiere that he appeared in. Maybe you'll be able to identify him better. Sorry again,

Sincerely

Kenneth Newberry

Editor of the Los Angeles Examiner

Rose sighed, the hope rushed out of her as she pulled out the pictures the paper had included. Basically they all looked like the one printed in the press, the same awkward angle, where you couldn't really make out any features because the man's light hair covered his face. Rose flipped through each picture, becoming more and more disappointed. You're so stupid, she told herself. You actually fooled yourself into hoping he's alive and now you're staring at a stranger wishing it's him. Picture after picture and she was nowhere closer to identifying the man and proving to herself that the man in the image isn't the man she thought she lost eight years ago. She flipped to the next image. It showed the crowd at the premiere and right in the center of the picture there was a gap in the crowd where the man stood, staring at the camera, captured in time. His dull light eyes and soft features caught on accident by some photographer quickly trying to take photos. Rose's hand flew to her mouth in shock. "Jack," she choked.

Review?