New York City
Autumn, 1914
Rose
"How?" Rose asks. Her voice shakes. She's not sure what she should be feeling right now; mortification, shame, sorrow, hope… some strange mix of all of it? "How could you possibly know about any of that?" What Jack is implying is correct, but it doesn't make sense to her, how he could possibly find out about any of it.
"Well," he answers, "People were talking." He takes another sip of his beer, and it reminds her that she has one of her own in front of her. She takes a bracing swig.
"I think Cal tried his hardest to have everyone from your old crowd convinced that you had died– that he was in the throes of despair over the perishing of his fiancé when he turned your mother out. People aren't stupid, though. They saw through his bullshit. Some of them witnessed your argument on the Carpathia and were quick to call his bluff. Some of them were even quicker to point out that he hadn't gotten that nice shiner you gave him during the sinking, but that they'd seen you throw the punch."
Jack's lips quirk with amusement, at that, and she thinks, a little bit of pride.
"Well, he deserved it," she says, and it makes Jack laugh. The sound of it has her letting go of a little bit of the tension she's been carrying. If he knows about everything, and he can still laugh at something she says then maybe…
Before she can ask another question the waiter is back, laying food in front of them. Jack, it turns out, had opted for a simple sandwich, and a bowl of some kind of soup– tomato, she thinks, with the same set down in front of her. It smells divine, and she realizes how hungry she really is. All she had managed today was a bowl of grits in the store's employee cafeteria on her fifteen minute lunch break. Jack thanks the waiter politely before digging in, no concerns about the politeness of using his hands to pick up the sandwich. As cleanly as she can, she follows suit. She's learned over the past few years to always take a meal when it comes.
"After I knew for sure that you survived, I started asking around about you all I could," Jack explains. "I hit a lot of dead ends, and any credible information seemed to dry up pretty quick. That summer, after I tracked you down to having been at that Inn– I had a-" He pauses, swallowing thickly. "Well, I had a pretty, uh, telling conversation with that innkeeper. A damning one, for him." He's frowning now, setting his food down for the moment, and scowling into his plate. "I'm not proud of sticking around to hear what he had to say, Rose, but it was the first real lead I got that led in the direction you may have gone. By then I had a bit of money from some jobs that Molly had set me up with, and he was happy enough to talk for the cash, and even more so when he realized that what he was telling me was pissing me off. I swear it Rose, I've never wanted to hurt anyone more than him once I learned what he did, but finding you was more important. Joke's on him, once I cleared out of there I alerted the authorities about him. Last I heard he was arrested for trying to do what he pulled on you with another young woman, while the police were scoping out his establishment."
She sits back, surprised. After that summer she had never returned to that inn. She had worked hard to make sure she never had to do anything like that again. She hadn't known about the man's arrest. To think now that Jack had had a hand in helping her– in getting what little bit of justice he could without jeopardizing himself, it feels like a gift. To know that that awful man is behind bars, rather than going after other women settles her further, some more of her guilt and anxiety ebbing away.
She looks at the man across from her, who's watching her closely. He's being so open and unguarded, and she has the realization then that she's never seen him be any other way; not with her or with anyone. Even on the ship he had spoken candidly to anyone who had ever asked him a question, including those in her old crowd. While there is still a lot about him that she doesn't know, she's sure that she can trust him: that she could ask him anything, even now, and he'd answer as honestly as he can.
She knows what she sees nowadays when she looks in a mirror– the tired lines that have formed around her eyes, and the dark circles she hides with the cosmetics from her job. The dark dye in her hair makes her look ordinary. All she has are shabby black work skirts and cracked hands and dull eyes and haunted memories.
She doesn't think that Jack has changed all that much, though. He looks a little older, but that's only done him good– let his broad shoulders fill out, and his jawline gain an attractive stubble. He seems more sure of himself– confident. He has been holding himself a little straighter. Everything else about him is as she remembered: his boyish smile, his patience and the way he can read people, his kindness.
And here he is, telling her that what he wants– what he's hoping for in spite of everything, is to be with her. The way he said it feels like it might as well have been a
"What I did…" Rose ventures, needing to hear it again. "It really doesn't bother you?"
"No, it bothers me," Jack admits plainly. "I don't blame you for that, though. It's not what you did, it's what he did; and what Cal tried to get away with as well. That guy took advantage of you and your situation. That's not your fault, Rose. That's entirely on him. You were trying to survive, and did what you could to do that. You got food and money and shelter when you needed it in the only way that presented itself at the time, and it would be hypocritical of me to judge you or be upset over that, especially when you owed me nothing. I would never assume to have any kind of claim over you. Your body is always your own, and I've been around plenty of women over the years who lived their lives making those same choices to survive, Rose. You've seen the drawings."
"Yes," she argues, "but it's different, isn't it."
"Yeah," he agrees. "It is different." He reaches again for her hand, their meal forgotten for the moment. "They had a choice. You weren't given an option, and it breaks my heart to know you had to go through that and I couldn't do anything to stop it, but I don't want you thinking for a second that it changes the way I see you. If anything, all that you've survived the past few years makes me love you all the more, because you're so strong, sweetheart. You're so goddamn strong that it's astounding."
"I feel as if I don't deserve you," says Rose. "I don't deserve this second chance."
Jack shrugs. "That's not how I feel," he tells her. It's so easy for him. "I don't think deserving or not deserving has anything to do with it though if you wanna see it that way I still think you deserve the world. The way I see it, we've got this second chance, and I'd be stupid to ever let it slip away."
He pulls his hand back again, using it instead to prop up his chin, elbows on the table, his eyes never leaving her face.
"Look," he says. "I don't wanna pressure you. I never want you to feel forced into anything with me. While I'd love to pick up where we left off, I understand if that's not possible. Even if you want to just spend time together casually, like this, I could do that. If it means I get you in my life again at all, and that I can see you again, I'll take it."
"Really?" She asks. Her heart is pounding, and all she wants is to just say yes— to let him in close the way they were before, but she can't deny that she's scared now; scared of getting hurt, and scared of losing him again. Maybe this way, if she were to lose him it would hurt less. "You'd want that?"
"Yeah," says Jack with a shrug. "I want to be with you in any way you'll have me Rose. I'm not gonna just pretend that I wouldn't marry you tomorrow if you'd have me, but even if you don't ever want anything romantic, or you're not ready for that, I still wanna be around because I care about you."
"So…" she says, mulling it over. Maybe it would be good. They could take things slow and actually have the time to learn about one-another. "We'd be… friends?"
Jack's eyebrows raise as if he's amused by that, but he smiles and nods. "Yeah, Rose. We're friends."
