April 18th, 1912
Midnight
Rose followed Jack into the humble living space, tentatively observing her surroundings. The room looked surprisingly pleasant and clean, despite the tenement's dark and dingy exterior; squalor-infested muddied streets, cramped and toppling cobbled brick buildings, gloomy gas-light lamps that illuminated what was visible of the Manhattan skyline.
When, finally, they had been allowed to dock the Carpathia at Pier 54, it had been approaching eleven at night. They'd done their best to avoid the commotion; the shoving reporters with their burning flashbulbs hurling intrusive questions at the recently bereaved; the wailing family members who'd traveled miles just to find out their loved ones had not survived; the maddening din of New York City after three days of the lamenting, mournful silence of the North Atlantic.
Bedraggled and still shaken from their ordeal, Jack and Rose had walked the filthy streets of the Meatpacking District for almost an hour before finding a vacant room in a housing tenement just off Houston Street. The landlord - a stout, Polish immigrant in his late-forties named Krysztof - had initially been suspicious of the mismatched couple who'd turned up on his doorstep in the middle of the night, but upon hearing that they were Titanic survivors – with no worldly possessions apart from the clothes they were wearing – decided that he could not, in good conscience, turn them away. He had immediately rushed to wake his wife, Irina, and together they'd prepared the young couple a vacant room, as well as providing food, fresh clothing, and toiletries for two weeks, on the condition that rent would be repaid once they were back on their feet.
Unable to believe the generosity of such a gesture, Rose felt close to tears as they both graciously thanked the Polish couple once again before seeing them retire for the night. She smiled gently as the door closed behind them, a wave of relief washing over her; relief, in part, that it had been so easy to have claimed marriage without providing official documentation or a license, but moreso, relief that they, miraculously, had made it; out of the sea and out of the woods, together and safe, in a place to call their own.
Modest but homely, the apartment consisted of two rooms; a kitchenette with cooking appliances and an icebox, a single wooden table with two chairs, and an adjoining living area with a big window that overlooked the bustling street below. The walls were painted a fern green and general upkeep looked favourable. What more could they ask for? It was clean, dry, and warm — and they were together; grateful to have even made it this far.
Rose walked into the second room, having not seen it until now. Two bedside tables bookending one single bed. A naive realisation that held the weight of an iron slab hit her, and suddenly the bed in the centre of the room was all she could focus on. Despite her aching feet. Despite Jack's delighted whoop from the kitchenette - something about warm water...
Her blush deepened as she realised how absurd her reaction to the mere sight - implication - of a bed was. Lord, they'd already—
She had to stop her thoughts. The ache had been growing again, and it frightened her, feeling so unravelled by something so inexplicable. Jack gave her an exhilarating sense of control she'd never known; the agency to be or do anything she desired - free of the judgement and expectation that had constrained her life. Such power she cherished; had coveted, but sometimes - when she'd linger on his boyish grin for too long, or catch a glimpse of the exposed golden skin beneath his contrasting white undershirt - she felt herself coming undone so viscerally it both exhilarated and disconcerted her at the same time. Onboard the ship, evading pursuers and stealing moments, it was fast and thrilling and spontaneous. Just go with it. Don't think. But now—? In the stifling stillness, the silence of this apartment; her unspoken, building ache for him filled the whole room: it was sobering, daunting, overwhelming, and wholly inescapable— wanting someone so much.
Onboard the Carpathia, they had been kept in the infirmary the whole time, treated in separate beds they'd pushed as close together as regulations would allow, and this is how they had stayed for almost three days: hands clasped tightly across the edges of their gurneys, facing across from each other. And yet, physically sharing a bed with him seemed that much more intimate.
Jack hurried into the room, disturbing her reverie, grinning down at her as he took her face in his hands, murmuring against her lips. "We made it, Rose." The kiss restored familiarity and she relaxed a little. "We made it." Things would be fine. Of course they would be. "I know it's not what you're used to..." A hint of remorse and self-consciousness strained his voice. She glanced back at him and saw the unspoken apology in his eyes. Suddenly feeling a rush of love for him; a palpable, dutiful urge to protect him from any creeping doubts of unworthiness - self-inflicted or otherwise. Her hands automatically found their way up the front of his shirt, grounding herself as she listened to him talk, shrugging off their current predicament with his boyish optimism. "But it's just for right now." He grinned, then, despite himself, nodded at her reassuringly; that wide, charming smile she'd fallen in love with. Instantly her heart raced, swelling with joy for the future. "Just 'til I find a job and can get us someplace better-"
She couldn't help but smile then, determined to show him how unshaken she was by the drastic and sudden change she'd jumped headfirst into, but also - more than that - needing to show him she did not need convincing or reassuring; that staying with him wasn't - as she feared he might begin to think - a mistake or a regret.
She said nothing, partly exhaling in disbelief, and brought a hand up to frame his left cheek, her thumb caressing his skin affectionately - broken capillaries, flesh roughened and grazed by the icy waters. "Jack," She laughed softly, holding back a gasp as she looked up into his eyes with unbridled devotion. "I'd sleep under bridges with you—" It came out almost as a whisper; this new found frankness which he inspired in her would take some adjusting to - so antithetical was his candour to the upper class propriety and reservation her life had been conditioned by. "As long as I'm with you, I don't— it doesn't— I'd follow you anywhere."
His eyes burned into her with such love she felt breathless - nervous, even - which she realised was absurd after the intimacy they'd already shared on the ship. He was still grinning at her, mesmerised by her yet again; her tenacity, her steely determination. He brought his arms to encircle her waist, uttering her name under his breath; sheer wonderment at how any of this was real. The adoration never left his face as he brushed soft kisses to her palm - which was still cupping his face tenderly - and she leant into his embrace, eyes never breaking contact.
"I don't care about anything else. As long as I'm with you." Her eyes so wide and full with something like reverence; she looked as vulnerable as he remembered she was - or had been - as he, incredulously, saw reflected in her gaze the blind faith and utter trust she had invested in him, sending a rush of guilt to the pit of his stomach. Even in her willingness—eagerness!—he felt as though he'd taken advantage of her innocence. He hadn't been able to control himself, he should have known better, he should have—
Then, the most miraculous sound: barely above a whisper, she sighed his name, her eyes filled with the unspoken and the unspeakable. His name on her lips, a jagged whisper, sounding something like a prayer.
"Jack."
He never wanted to hear another sound for as long as he lived.
AN Long time no publish! I haven't felt inspired to finish anything but just wanted to upload a little something. I love these characters so much - and they're never far from my head or heart, no matter how much time passes.