A/N: Emma, thanks for giving me the push I needed to write this next chapter. Enjoy!
The ringing of the telephone pulled Cal from his sister's embrace. He picked up the receiver, anticipation clear in his voice.
"Hello?...Mr. Chase. What did you find?...Midtown. You're sure?" Cal swiped a scrap of paper from the desk and scribbled something down. "Number 33. Got it."
The receiver hit the cradle as a corner of the parchment was ripped, folded and placed in his pocket.
"You can't leave now! What will people say?" Cora asked nervously, practically stepping on her brother's heels.
"I'll go out the servant's entrance, no one will see me." Cal didn't look at Cora as he quickly grabbed his coat and fedora. Cora eyed the items fearfully, realizing he'd been planning to leave all along.
"Cal, just slow down. There's no reason to pursue this tonight. Wait for tomorrow and Oscar can go with you-" But her brother pivoted, held her by her shoulders and placed a quick kiss on her forehead.
"It has to be now, or I'll lose her forever." He whispered, sounding as if he'd just run a mile.
"Cal, please." She pleaded. Cora's hands reached for him, but he pulled away, meeting her eye as he donned his hat and headed for the warm light of the hallway.
"It'll be fine, Cora. I promise." And with that, he slipped away.
Cal jogged down the hallway, opened the door to the servants' staircase and quickly descended. With the staff members hard at work to service the guests above, he emerged in a scene of chaos, ducking past maids and footmen as he made his way to the back entrance. He'd avoided every collision until he ran into someone coming in while on his way out. Cal stumbled but held onto the woman, careful not to nock her to the ground.
"Excuse me."
"Oh! Mr. Hockley! I'm sorry I didn't see…you." But even as she said it, Ms. Kruger wasn't certain it had been her employer, since before she could even finish speaking, he'd already released her and jogged out of sight.
Gravel crunched under his shoes as Cal approached the carriage house. Raising his voice, he called for his driver. It only took a moment before the man appeared, a cup of coffee in his hand and a confused look on his face.
"The Packard. Now." Cal commanded, and the man was instantly set in motion. In less than a minute, Cal was in the backseat as the car pulled down the drive. Apart from Ms. Kruger, he was sure no one had identified him, none of Cora's guests anyway. He hated leaving her like that, but Cal knew in his gut if he didn't act now, Rose would slip away -if she hadn't already. He thanked his luck for Mr. Chase's promptness and prayed he wasn't too late to intercept her. Cal's foot bounced anxiously on the carpeted floor as they made their way through the Manhattan traffic. Pulling out the piece of paper, his eyes scanned the address again. The theater district. A thousand interpretations of what that could mean ran through his mind and he gripped the parchment tighter.
They arrived outside the tenement and Cal exited the Packard, pausing on the sidewalk for just a moment to take in the state of the neighborhood. It wasn't a slum, but it wasn't respectable either. His dark eyes climbed the face of the building, landing on the third floor where light shone from several dingy windows. Determination pulsed through him, and without a second thought he marched inside.
Rose was scrambling, ripping her frocks from their wire hangers and throwing them in a disheveled pile on top of the open suitcase. She'd already stuffed her playbills and headshots into her handbag and was now fretting over the fact that she'd have to leave Eddie's victrola behind. As she wondered if she'd have enough time to leave him a note, the lock at her door jiggled. Rose caught her breath and spun around, just in time to see the door swing open revealing her landlord's witch-of-a-wife. The tall, broad frame of Caledon Hockley stood behind her, blocking any hope of escape and sending the last shred of hope she had right out the window.
It was the first time Rose had ever seen Mrs. Bosko smile, but the gesture was crooked and sharp with malice. "I always knew you were no good. 'Never lease to an actress,' I said. They'll stiff you on the rent and bail in the night. And here you are, caught in the middle of your great escape. We'll I'm calling the police and you're-"
"That won't be necessary, Mrs. Bosko." Cal interrupted, producing his wallet and instantly capturing the old woman's attention. Withdrawing three fifty-dollar bills, he folded them and offered her the bribe. "This should cover what she owes in addition to your assistance letting me in."
A gnarled hand snatched up the money, quickly squirreling it away. Casting one more suspicious glance between Cal and Rose she said, "I want you out by week's end!" before shuffling down the hall.
Cal replaced his wallet, stepped inside the small apartment and closed the door behind him. He had no care for the peeling wallpaper or the cracks in the ceiling. His eyes were locked on the dead woman who stood before him. She was thinner now. Her long red hair had been cut and dyed -an earthy brown like dirt or shoe varnish- styled in the short wave that was popular in European magazines. Though her expression was a mix between anger and fear, the biggest difference in her appearance was the light in her eyes, a light that burned with more life and passion than Cal had ever seen in her, proving without a doubt that Rose was very much alive.
Still, even standing six feet away from his presumed-dead fiancé, it was difficult to believe they were both actually here. Cal's hand trembled as he removed his hat, needing something to hold onto, something tangible into which he could attempt to channel his rage. For of all the emotions coursing through him, anger and hurt boiled the hottest, and Cal took a moment to compose himself before he dared speak a word.
"…You…you took his name?"
The fear in her lessened, her gaze becoming steely with defiance. "Of all the things to say to me, that's how you start? Yes, Cal. I took Jack's name."
He gave her a smile, dark and venomous, "I don't know why I thought you would have had the sense to try harder to hide yourself, given the lengths you went to abandon those who care about you, but Rose Dawson? A struggling actress in New York?! My god, Rose, it's like you wanted to be found! It's-it's moronic and yet somehow insulting. Like you're laughing at us. You're rubbing it in my face, just like before!"
"And just like before, you think it's all about you! This has nothing to do with you, Cal. Rose Dewitt Bukater died on the Titanic. I'm not that person anymore."
"You can't just trade one life for another."
"I already have! And if you think you can drag me back, you're dead wrong."
"You think that's why I'm here?!" Cal scoffed. "To take you back? I came to hold you responsible. For once in your goddammed life, Rose, you're going to answer for your fucking actions!"
At that outburst, Rose stepped back, placing a chair between them. Cal saw the fear return to her eyes and he hated the guilt it triggered inside him. He wasn't going to hurt her, but he had to speak his peace. And for all the heartache and pain she'd caused him he felt he was owed an explanation at least.
"Did you ever consider, for a second, the sorrow you inflicted by faking your death? Ruth was hospitalized for three days after the funeral because she couldn't contain her grief." Rose's eyes shifted to the floor. "My mother, who adored you, mourned you as she would her own daughter. And I-"
"Don't." Rose stopped him, her gaze hard with warning. "Don't pretend like you actually cared."
"How could you say that?"
"You shot at me, Cal. You tried to kill me!"
Cal took two steps forward, "I was aiming for him!"
"And that makes it okay?! Given every other cruelty you subjected me to!? I wasn't your fiancé, I was your pet. And if you cared, even a shred for my wellbeing, you would have seen how desperate and miserable I was. But the only thing you wanted was to keep up appearances. So long as I was pretty and silent by your side, then everything was fine!"
"I tried for years to get you to open up to me, but you never let me in."
"You tried to bribe me. Just like you did my landlord so you could buy your way into my home." She shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest. "You haven't changed at all, have you? But why would you? When your father's money can buy you an orphan and a headline to bury your cowardice."
"Watch it." Cal warned. But Rose continued.
"I didn't recognize her at first but once I got home I realized, that lost little girl was Evelyn Hockley, 'America's Angel.' Only you would stoop so low as to use a child as a shield."
Cal closed the distance between them, but Rose didn't back down. She raised her hand to slap him but Cal caught her wrist, giving it a harsh squeeze before throwing her arm away from him. Rose winced, cradling her hand but refusing to look away from his penetrating stare.
"Don't presume to comment on a life you walked away from. Evelyn plays no part in this, so leave her out of it."
Searching his eyes, Rose scoffed, shaking her head as she said, "You actually think adopting that girl will make up for what you've done?" A flash of pain crossed his face and Rose leaned closer, throwing his own words back at him, "You can't trade one life for another."
Returning to her closet, she collected the last of her belongings and added them to the pile, sorting through the tangled mess in a feeble attempt at making them fit in the overflowing suitcase. "Have I answered all your questions, or are you going to keep on interrogating me?"
Cal was in shock. He didn't know what he hoped to gain from this confrontation -closure perhaps, as foolish as that sounded- but all the shouting and the accusations and the guilt left him drained and without direction. Eyeing her suitcase he said, "You don't have to leave, Rose. I won't pursue you after this."
"Actually, since your arrival tonight gave Mrs. Bosko the excuse she's been looking for to throw me out, I do need to leave. But don't give yourself all the credit, Cal. I've been planning to leave New York for a while now. This charming reunion was just the push I needed."
"Will Jack be going with you?" His tone was flat, hating the taste of that man's name in his mouth.
Rose slammed the lid of her suitcase shut. "Jack's dead. I'm traveling alone." The clasps clicked closed and she dropped the case on the floor with a bang, not caring anymore if the neighbors complained about the noise. Going to her writing desk, Rose scribbled something on a note card that she then slapped on a second-hand victrola. Spinning on him, she crossed her arms and raised her chin. "Anything else? What other wounds would you like to prod? I'm already on the operating table, so cut away."
But Cal could only stare at her, dumbfounded by how different she'd become. This wasn't the closed-off brat he'd left Southampton with, it wasn't his quiet, beautiful fiancé. This is the woman who spat at him, cheated on him, and chose to die with another man than accept his protection. As Cal's eyes ran over the stranger who stood defiant before him, he thought of the redhaired young woman he'd met years ago, who smiled at him in a garden and talked excitedly about art and ballet. Cal had fallen in love with that person the moment he met her, and every moment after he'd longed to catch another glimpse of that fleeting, sparkling joy. But she hid it away, or others forced her too. And somehow, he became one of those others. Because after a while it just became easier than trying again and again to coax out the light she refused to share. Now he wondered if his memory was flawed, if she'd ever been that kind and open with him or if he only imagined she had.
Turning his hat in his hands, Cal took a sidestep, halfway between Rose and the door. Cal knew what he wanted to say but he also knew that once he said it, she would stomp on his words like a roach. Still, a need to separate himself from the past compelled him. "I cared for you, Rose. I…thought I loved you. All those times I asked you to confide in me were genuine, whether you wanted to believe that or not. I told you about my father -you know the environment I grew up in. Your problems with Ruth, we could have worked through that together. But you never…trusted me. Why?"
"…Because I saw your father in you…and that terrified me."
Cal's heart shattered as sorrow painted his expression. "That isn't all that I am."
"Isn't it? Says the man who used his private detective to hunt me down, paid his way into intruding on my privacy, shouted at me in my own home and grabbed my wrist when I tried to stand up for myself. Cal…you're just like him."
He tore his eyes away, refusing to let her see the raw emotion on his face. As Cal wrestled with the anguish churning inside him, he heard Rose rifling through a drawer, her footsteps drawing her near him once she found what she was after.
"And to make sure neither you, or your father come looking for this, here." And she shoved an envelope against his chest. Numbly Cal's hand rose to cover hers, feeling the warmth of her skin for the briefest moment before she pulled away. "Now I owe you nothing. Goodbye, Cal." Picking up her suitcase and handbag, Rose flung open the apartment door and stormed down the hall.
Shaking fingers opened the envelope, pouring its heavy contents into his palm. The Heart of the Ocean glinted cold and blue, a beautiful and miserable farewell.