Archive of Our Own ^beta

Stress, she thought, but it wasn't with the same hope that filled her as the alternative. A massive change in circumstances happened once before the time after her father died, and her mother had revealed the severity of the DeWitt Bukater debts. There had been enough money left to pay the creditors in silence and for her grand entrance into Society. That was just after her sixteenth birthday—almost two years. A lifetime. This, though, felt different. Real. The changes seemed to be coming fast and furious.

Rose placed a hand on the breakfast table and looked at her mother's stoic face. Her eyes were drawn downwards, and the air was tinged with silence, with just the occasional clattering of plates and cups. Then, a newly hired maid cleared away the table, and suddenly, it was just Rose facing Ruth. The sinking of the Titanic added a score of years to Ruth DeWitt Bukater's face. Once a widower who was still quite the beauty with the vibrant red hair of youth still shining without even a single drop of grey, a finely powdered face with barely a wrinkle after years of smothering lotions and creams to keep her visage pale and youthful and then, there was her lithe figure. Still, as curve-free and straight as her teenage years, even childbirth had not altered her. The signs were mounting now, and her face was worn and weary despite every attempt to conceal it.

The sinking of the Titanic had also altered Rose. Not only had she lost her only friend, Trudy Bolt, in the tragedy, but she had also lost the entire contents of her wardrobe, her jewels and the art purchased in Paris. Of course, none of that mattered to her. What mattered was the fact that she was still, after seven weeks, kept awake at night by the screaming, the terrific images of pale bodies bobbing about in the Atlantic Ocean, the scent of death and the scenes of violence which had exploded about them in the final hours. The screeching of the Titanic claimed by the mighty ocean, taking with it God knows how many lives, as she had stood at the stern rail, in the same spot which had changed the entire course of her life, with the person who had changed her entirely. However, her act was just as concealed as her mother's. Neither woman gave away anything to the other. Any signs of torture, misery, or anything were simply ignored, and their days continued as usual, as though nothing had even happened. Rose hadn't left her family for a stranger she had met three days before, as though she had left her mother about to board a lifeboat herself, screaming for her daughter to join her, but she had walked away with a simple, ''Goodbye, mother.'' Of course, she hadn't known that they would be reunited upon the decks of the Carpathia, with Ruth offering her a teary nod and a solemn embrace. That had been the only act of emotion expressed. Rose had walked into her mother's arms for the first time she had ever remembered, and in seconds, it was over. She became as numb as Ruth had been; it was as though, together, they could collaborate to erase the memories and hurt of the sinking. Caledon Hockley had extended his warm wishes for her safety and insisted that they travel back to Philadelphia on the Hockley family train, after which they visited intermittently. He looked at her differently, and for that, Rose was glad. No more would he see the innocent, virginal little girl that he had wanted to take into his bed aboard the Titanic. He had known that her virtue was gone; her naked body had writhed with pleasure with a man who had lovingly taken her virginity.

Behind Ruth sat the French doors, which opened onto the freshly cut lawn; the spring flowers were now in full bloom, but the weather did not permit a walk outside. The rain had poured for what felt like weeks, matching Rose's blue mood, but somewhere out there, she prayed for a break in the clouds and a fragment of the sun to come to take away the misery.

''Coffee, miss?'' The new maid, Annette, broke the silence, glancing at Rose with a pot full of steaming coffee and a sympathetic face. The silence between mother and daughter must have been deafening.

With a heavy shake of her head, Rose declined, instead folding her hands into her lap and turning to look out of the doors. She was here again, truly stifled.

''Would you like more coffee, Mrs DeWitt Bukater?'' Annette's polite voice cut the silence; her mother didn't respond, but the sound of water sloshing in the cup indicated that she had accepted.

''Could you inform the staff in the kitchen that we shall have another guest at dinner this evening?''

''Of course.''

''We shall have the lamb.''

''Yes, ma'am.'' Annette gathered the remaining pots before leaving mother and daughter alone again.

Rose continued to examine the French doors. Her fingers curled on her lap. She was the finely brought-up girl that she appeared to be outwardly.

''Mr Hockley shall be dining with us this evening.'' Ruth's voice was tinged with an uncertain twang. ''I declined his invite twice last week to dine out, knowing we have not yet fully wished to be out in the light of day.''

''Yes, indeed.''

''He has news on the insurance claim filed after the sinking; we should receive compensation soon for our losses.''

''It shall not compensate for what most have lost, mother.''

''Indeed not, but we have to think of ourselves, dear Rose, or we shall be pulled into the dark depths of melancholy.''

''I fear I already have.''

''Then tonight, we shall try to settle our differences at least. Try to be brave and drink champagne. We have to celebrate something, Rose...we have a life left to live. We have money that will compensate for what we have lost.''

''Material items don't matter much to me, mother, not as they do to you.''

Ruth was quiet for a moment, and Rose raised her gaze to her mother; she wished to soften, but felt too compelled by how unaffected Ruth could be. She had faced death itself, yet still seemed to be fascinated by the loss of her possessions and the value of what they held.

''Rose,'' Ruth squeezed her eyes closed. ''I know what was lost...''

''I don't think you fully do.''

''Mr.Hockley cares for you very much, despite all that has happened.''

Rose felt her jaw tighten and her stomach sink. Until now, he had kept a safe distance. When he arrived, Rose would politely decline tea in his presence and take herself to read in the study, where her father had drunk himself to an early grave, half tempted to welcome the same fate. Her father's liquor sat on the shelves, and Rose was surprised that Ruth had not discarded it, as she had every other one of his possessions as though they were damaged goods. Rose had sipped that brandy more than once, letting it take her to dizzying heights whilst she lost herself in literature until the morning maids came to find her when lighting the new fire in the hearth. These past weeks, though, it had been too hot for a fire, so she had been left to wake herself and nurse the tension in her shoulders after falling asleep in her father's armchair. It smelled of him, faintly, but it brought back no willing memories, neither bitter nor good.

''I know as much, but he needn't, for there will be no reunion.''

''You extinguish fires far before they have the chance to burn.''

''Truly? You accuse me of being a pistol. Too fiery and hot-headed like my father.''

At the mention of her father, Ruth went brittle. He was not a pleasant topic at the breakfast table.

''Yes, you can be. Your father was not a good man, nor was he smart.''

''You married such a catch.''

''Rose, you know what happened between him and me; I have no wish to discuss this now.'' Ruth raised her eyebrows, softening her harsh tone. ''I stated a fact: I have no wish to irritate you.''

''Good, then we shall both be happy with the decision that I shall not be joining either of you for dinner this evening. You seem to forget that I don't enjoy lamb.'' Rose was pleasantly greeted with a strange nod from her mother.

''Very well.''

Perhaps it was true. Maybe she had given up on trying to match the pair once more. It would have been like repairing the damage done to her mother after her father's wrongdoings. Could forgiveness ever be offered? No.

''There is the small matter of compensation for the losses and his loss.''

''Mother, you may relay this very message to Mr Hockley that he is truly welcome to any monetary value of any possessions lost during the sinking, whether or not they were purchased by him or anyone else. I am sure that will repair some of his ego's damage. I shall never speak of his ill-treatment of me whilst aboard, nor will I ever speak of him again in public or private. To me, he is simply no longer a presence in my life. If someone shall ask, we parted on fair terms, and he remains a family friend.''

''That is truly it?''

''Yes, Mother, what I lost in the sinking is more than what can be noted on an itemised bill.'' Rose slowly rose from the dining chair, gaining her gracefulness. She raised her chin to a full tilt, gazing longingly towards the garden. Jesus Christ, the sun had cracked through the clouds. She felt like running outside like a child and roaming the woods in soiled clothes. ''Good day to you.''

--

The gardens were oblong with potted plants, various scented and wildflowers decorated the outer layer of the garden, and then, in the centre beyond the fruit trees, was a fish pond filled with the breeds her father had inherited from a bet once. The grass was freshly cut, scented the air, and tickled her senses in the early morning breeze. The misty air had disappeared with the rain, leaving a path as straightforward as she had recalled the summer before she had left for Europe. The pavement beneath her clacking heels was still damp, and the soil along the borders was soaked. Still, the sunshine was warm enough for her to be outside in just a royal blue day dress, modest compared to most other designs in her wardrobe, with a white-trimmed bodice and lace at the sleeves and along the neckline. Beneath her dress, she was no longer confined by the restrictive corsetry and, instead, wore just what she had chosen for herself.

Coming to a clearing in the bushes, Rose allowed herself to rest at the sight of the fish pond. They were of various sizes, swimming about like they had little care in the world, but they were just as trapped as she was. They were swimming in the same pond daily, with barely any room to move. It was dark beneath the green plants, now hanging inwards and almost like a tomb at the bottom. She wished to touch the water, but it was no longer appealing to her. One sizeable orange fish, with beady eyes and a gaping mouth, came to the top so very lethargically, staring at her as though she held the answer to their freedom.

"I used to wish just to be free, too. Run as fast as possible and stop where my heart told me to." Rose confessed, realising just how stupid she sounded. How silly she was. "Adolescent dreams." The fish went downwards into the darkness, and the rest became shadows in the murky waters. "No, you don't have any interest in me, either. I wouldn't, either.''

"I have an interest."

Rose's delicate body almost went boneless. Her weight felt lighter, and her head lightened with it. Suddenly, she was feather-light, and her heart was pounding and thumping so hard that she saw white spots. Grasping at the brick of the pond, she was suddenly terrified that she would tumble into it and drown. The skin around her eyes tightened as she prepared for some kind of fall, but then a pair of hands came to her shoulders. A seemingly safe place to touch a woman, but still, she gasped unexpectedly at the touch of a man. She trembled against the palm of his hands, and her breathing started to accelerate.

"Rose, look at me."

She trembled. Under his thumb, against the palm of his hand, against his chest, against his legs. It was a whole body tremble that vibrated right through all of her clothes and all of his.

''No. I-I am all right.'' Rose blinked rapidly, coming out of whatever fog had washed over her. ‘’I have taken too much sun this morning. I seem to exert very easily of late.'' The safety of being within his grasp made her feel utterly uneasy. She was a small boat in the middle of the ocean, and he was some sort of lighthouse. He was giving her flashes of light. But she shrugged her way out of it, and he took a step backwards, allowing her to see him fully for the first time.

Tall, lean and somewhat coloured handsomely by the sun. His hair was cropped shorter than she recalled, his eyes were more hollow and less sparkly than she remembered, and his body leaner than the one she had held, but still...he was there. Wasn't he?

Rose started to speak, but something inside of her clammed up and stitched itself back together. Oh, how the words should tumble out of her mouth and never stop, but there had to be some control. Some boundaries. Some explanation for this. Feeling the lines of her eyes growing watery, she blinked them away and suddenly realised how stark in contrast Jack Dawson and she were. It made no sense. None of this did. Rose was suddenly aware of the sun directly upon her face. She was heating her entire body. Jack's slow steps forward propelled her onwards, too.

Rose's gaze fell on Jack. His eyes were the palest blue, and each time he pinned her beneath his intense stare, it was as though she was watching the ocean directly. Perhaps that was the reason for the intensity, as though to linger on his watch would cause her to act purely on impulse, and it would impair her thoroughly.

''I--I watched you fall into a darkness that has haunted me for these months. You--you died.'' Rose kept her composure for a moment; she was perhaps one short giggle away from losing her sanity. Perhaps her mother was right; maybe she did require a pill of some kind. ''Unless this is a miracle garden, then, where ghosts roam freely and--''

He came closer to proving that he was an honest man when the wooden rail separating them from the pond nearly gave way beneath her leaning weight, and Jack instinctively caught her just as she was about to tumble into the water. Rose's stomach lurched, and she tried to find the right way to keep the right side of the precipice. The wood plunged on ahead and landed in the water. It was pretty shallow, but still a noticeable drop. She seemed to teeter on the edge of the bank, with her heels digging into the soft mud being the only anchor for her feet.

''Listen to me,'' he squeezed her hand to ensure she didn't move. ''I have got you.''

Jack's grip on her would slip, and then she would fall. He squeezed onto her hand as hard as he could, and she glanced up at him with such fear that it must have done something within him. Jack's gentle tone seemed to calm her enough to listen; panic wouldn't help, but the calmness of the situation, no matter how severe it was. Jack immediately grabbed her waist, and she felt his very fingers dig into the flesh there as she had gone without a corset. The fear that was once there seemed to have vanished in her stomach as soon as his hands were there. It was a place where another man had never touched her. It was a sacred place to her. It shook her awake to ensure that she remained safe.

''Don't let me go,'' she swallowed back the lump in her throat, and she was thrown backwards to a strange deja vu.

Jack grasped to pull her back with such force, and he ended up slamming her against a thick tree trunk, which was situated just behind them. The adrenaline rush had left him reeling, and he didn't know his strength. He panted, perhaps as hard as she had. The fall would have been frightening and embarrassing, but it had been prevented. Her wits were scattered about her as the sharp edges of the bark dug into the parts of her exposed back. Her hair caught upon its rigidity, and Jack brushed it away to free the tendrils. Their eyes met briefly, and she felt her chest rise and fall; it seemed to match his instability. The thud of her heartbeat filled her ears, and she felt the urge to twitch in case it disturbed their reverie. The beauty of his face, framed by his hair, kept falling into his eyes as he pulled her back from the edge.

''Are you alright?'' He managed to ask. All she could do was nod. Neither was trying to figure out what to do. They were both completely mesmerised by the other. Her eyes had grown watery, but she didn't know if it was from the near fall, the intensity of how he had pulled her back, or the fact that he had saved her. The fact that he was... alive.

Jack's left hand was leaning against the trunk, while his right hand protected her back; she had rested her hand on his waist and the other on his shoulder. Slowly, without thinking, she began to stroke his hair. It was soft and long. It was real—something she wasn't used to. Jack moved closer to her, his eyes not leaving hers. She nodded in response to his question. His hand shook as he pushed it from the trunk towards her face; he stroked her cheek, feeling how soft and perfect it was. She closed her eyes and leaned her face on his hand, feeling her stomach turn with nerves.

''You...you're real.''

His hands upon the small of her back were like a slow fire, burning and crawling up her spine. It agitated her in a way that she had never known before, partly because it was happening beyond her control, partly because she knew she could never stop it.

''Yes, I am real.''

''How did you know?''

''Because I walk here daily. Every day for three weeks, in the hope of catching you.''

Rose lifted her eyes to the giant oak tree under which they were currently taking shelter, and then, she was back to Jack. Jesus, she couldn't even think about anything. Her focus couldn't shift. Her energy levels failed when she was around him. He consumed her...and suddenly, she was mad.

''You cannot be.''

Rose furrowed her brow, narrowed her eyes and squeezed them closed as though trying to make sense of this. Of the man before her. Jack even contemplated his sanity at this point. Suddenly, it felt like pieces of snow were floating past her vision; slowly, it was going to cloud over, and she blinked furiously to stop the episode from approaching. Her body started losing its connection to the world, and she felt heavy, almost floating...

Jack must have sensed because as she almost dipped to the floor, he caught her and slowly, she was lowered to a soft bed of grass with his face above her.

''Easy.''

Rose was trembling below Jack as his body almost covered hers. His hand was at her back, her clutching onto his shoulders fiercely as though her life depended on it.

''I am...fine.''

Jack felt her shudders, smelled how close her scent was, and smelled her breath. Then, for one serene moment, he drew himself away to examine her; their gazes were locked together in an intense trance. Those wide, shining eyes raked over him; the way which his shirt was badly buttoned, exposing his chest just a little, his hair was no doubt dishevelled and now hung in his eyes, and then, Jack, in turn, allowed himself to see how her erratic breathing caused her breasts to press to his thin shirt, her pumping heart could be felt beneath him, and it matched his own. The tears flowed freely, and for a maddening moment, he was bewitched enough to reach up to wipe them away and excessively tell her just how she would be all right now. That he wouldn't let her go...

Determination fueled her for a second as she lifted her head from the grass to have Jack's hands cease her. ''Easy, all right, we nearly had you seeing the stars again. Have a moment.''

See the stars? Oh, Jack... Why was his voice so stupidly relaxing, like a lullaby, and she listened to him in a daze as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt and placed it beneath her head to use it as a pillow? His vest was dirty from working in the stables, and she could smell his scent lingering about her and realised that she would happily wear it for the rest of her life as a comfort.

''I don't know why I still feel as fragile as a kitten.'' Her madness toward him seemed to be forgotten for a moment.

''Because you don't breathe sometimes. Or you breathe too much.''

''How do you know all of this?''

''Because I know you.''

''How could that affect me?'' She asked, feeling utterly ridiculous. She lay as still as a log, glancing up at branches and thick, plush leaves as they shaded the area.

''Maybe you're nervous,'' Jack suggested, and her entire world seemed to scramble. Her fingers were linked at her stomach as she fiddled with the stitching there of her dress. It felt wonderful; it was not too restrictive, How queer it was stretched out amongst nature. Jack was so handsome as he shifted closer and sat beside her. Suddenly, his hand was playing with the loose strands of her hair. Concentration fled, and that fear crept up again. Fear of what? Unknown. Her eyes closed as she relished the feel of his fingers tangling within her hair.

''Are you nervous?'' Jack asked, and her eyes flew open.

''No.''

He laughed softly. ''Well, I am.''

Rose used her elbows to prop herself up until she was sitting in the most unladylike way. The sky was now painted mainly with a palette of pale blue and puffy clouds; Jack took a cool finger and moved Rose's hair over her shoulder to reach a daisy which had tangled itself into the slight beading of her collar..T. single touch sent that same shiver down her spine but then it turned to a fire, spreading down her back and her spine before reaching her belly and she sucked in a gasp.

His eyes were a stark blue in the light of the day, charged with something she hadn't witnessed until then. She could tell by the rise and fall of his chest how he seemed to suppress the need to gasp for more air, and when she finally noticed how smooth his chin was usually, now he seemed to have gotten a shadow of hair upon his chin and upper lip; her unsteady hand was already reaching up to his calm face to touch it. Her hand grew clammy as it brushed down against the tuft of growth, downwards and then to his neck and the top of his stained vest. It was forbidden territory. Her hand rested there, flat at the base of his neck, and his breathing had swallowed, and his heart galloped. Yes, he felt the same from her touch as she had from his own.

What was happening?

''You're nervous.''

He nodded, not taking his eyes away from her.

Time she stood still. Pinned beneath his gaze, the intensity and exhilaration of it were exciting and wonderful, making her primarily curious about what he saw when he watched her. Moisture seemed to come to her eyes, and she toyed with removing her hand for fear of what would happen if she kept it right there. Adrenaline seemed to charge her body somehow, as though it was bestowing a need within her. An urge to lower her hand beneath the smattering of hair she could feel below her palm—an urge to follow it down lower and lower beneath his vest. The desire wasn't from a place which she had encountered before. It wasn't indecent, unlike how Cal had been with her or even looked at her; she had felt upon her on more than one occasion. Jack's desire seemed to have come about from the exchange just today; the longing had started aboard a ship when they had talked, but now, the heat seemed to rise between them. Her skin burned and tingled beneath his gaze. Her eyes gathered about his body, slowly down and then back up. A flush came over her from the awareness of her feeling matching his own. His nostrils flared as he concentrated on the steadiness of his breathing, but his racing heart, which she felt against her hand, betrayed his calm exterior.

They were both thinking about when they had made love; she was sure of it.

Their defences were down, lowered so far down that they were finally sharing the same world. Rose was weak against his stare, forever pinned and utterly exposed beneath it.

Rose placed her cool hand at the centre of Jack's chest. It was just as smooth as she had felt before, but a small smattering of dark hair went downwards. Beneath the flat of her palm, Rose felt how his heart hammered just as hers did. His eyes shone, his hair falling into them in a way that seemed to seduce her. He slowly seduced Rose; how he lived, the way he touched her and ensured she felt the most beautiful woman ever should.

As Jack grasped her fingers, rubbing his own over them,

‘’In France, there is the saying carpe diem. Have you ever heard that?''

''Seize the day,'' she translated. "Yes, I have."

''Yeah. Because the truth is, you never know what life will throw at you; I might be dead tomorrow. I thought I was dead. I thought you died. I take life as it comes. I like to make each day count the best I can. My folks dying taught me that.''

''Life is too precious to waste away. Even out here,'' she gazed across the gardens. ''Especially after the sinking.''

''Right. You have to learn to take life one moment at a time. This could be my last hour living; it could be yours.''

The thought was depressing but also true.

''Make it count, then.''

''Yeah,'' Jack slowly and deeply breathed out. ''Make it count.''

As Rose drew in a breath to take, Jack sealed his lips across hers in such an urgency that he stole the breath from her, and she wilted into his arms, as they seemed to catch her as she went weightless, boneless and almost collapsed with her pressing against his chest. He held her delicately, and at that moment, she knew he was just as hesitant with her as she was with him. The territory was forbidden, yet it was the most welcoming one I had ever known. It was unknown territory. It was barriers that were not meant to be broken, yet, in one single move, he had swooped into her life and removed every layer. He was passionate but not aggressive, and as Rose regained some sort of composure, she threaded her hands into his hair and then cupped the back of his neck with the other, pulling his kiss deeper. Both were too weak to hold their weight, and knowing that the grass was behind Rose, Jack turned her, leaning her against the softness of his shirt.

Jack lightly pressed his tongue against her own, and she weakened, clutching onto his vest in her fists. It was enough to make the flames in her belly climb higher, and she allowed him to claim her mouth with his tongue, twisting and turning before Jack moved to her neck, to her chin, and she clung to him as the wetness trailed about her sensitive spots. His hands didn't move from her face to her shoulders, and he seemed to respect how far they should go.

He was breathless when his eyes found hers again; with a glance at her flushed cheeks, he pressed his forehead to hers.

''Rose...''

''You're...you're right,'' she stammered. ‘’I am nervous.''

Rose stared at him through her heated daze. Jack's vest hung from his left shoulder, his hair dishevelled like hers. Feeling the urge to touch his entire belly, Rose felt the shivers of her own body as though adrenaline was the only thing running through her body, as well as the beautiful, overwhelming power to strip away all layers and be with him thoroughly naked again. Jack could only smile at her confession.

''So, this is a miracle garden, huh?'

When she managed to tear her eyes from his mouth, she discovered that he watched her from beneath lowered lids. His nostrils flared, and he swallowed thickly.

Wordlessly, they leaned closer to each other, and closer still, until bare inches separated them. It felt inevitable, yet unexpected.

Dimly, she was aware of him removing his hair from his face. Then his hand came up to cradle her jaw. She shivered at his touch but stroked her cheek along his palm. Pure instinct moved her so that any attempts at cohesion scattered like dandelion seeds on the wind.

"Rose," he rumbled. "I..''

"Yes," she gasped. She didn't even know the end of the sentence because their mouths met. The brush of their lips was soft at first. It held an acute sweetness with a hint of shyness as they discovered each other. How could his lips be so soft still? Incrementally, the kiss grew hotter. She opened for him, his heat seeping into her, and the tip of his tongue dipped between her lips. With that first savouring, her body caught fire, and she gripped the hard flesh of his shoulder to bring him closer. He groaned as the kiss grew heightened. She had read many times of men making sounds of primal need but never heard it herself until now, and to hear him in its throes now shot fire potency through her.

For a man who conducted himself so quietly, Jack could kiss. It was impossible for Rose to feel anything but light and fluttery. The possibilities that the night held for them both, silenced within the garden walls, were beyond intoxicating, and her hands came up to reach for him. It was as though anything that happened here was now free from consequence.

Rose entwined their fingers, brushing her hands over his. Feeling the thrum of his accelerated pulse through his wrists, he blinked at her, entirely as though she had taken leave of her senses. Perhaps she had. Maybe beneath the bright lights of lust, she had gone mad. Beneath her stupid and undeniably infatuated state, she had gone sincerely blind. Jack looked at her differently then, with a sudden flicker of feelings which had never come about him before, and suddenly, he was ablaze with something. It felt tender, and it was soaked with the realisation of something.

''Are you going to marry him?''

Rose felt as though she had been scalded by boiling water.

''Goodness, no!'' she cried. ''I had no intentions of ever becoming his wife or anyone else's. I had no infatuations or feelings for any other man but you.'' Rose exhaled. ''He is coming for dinner tonight, and I think he may be hoping to rekindle something of a friendship, but I made it very clear to my mother that I was not to attend. He knows what happened to us. He knows what changed in me.''

Remember how you felt when we were flying? The freedom. The flight in your stomach? Do you remember that?''

''Yes, but I have felt that way other times too, perhaps even more so than when we did all those things.'' Confessing such a thought, even quietly, was entirely inappropriate.

''When?''

''The first time you kissed me, and every single time afterwards. When you did something to me that changed my life forever.''

Jack pulled back and looked at her momentarily, his eyes searching her face.

"What is it?" she whispered.

"You are beautiful," he said, shaking his head in confusion. "I don't know how we got to this. He doesn't deserve you in any way, and I certainly don't, but-''

Something warm and lovely began to spread in Rose's chest. She couldn't quite explain it; it was almost as if someone had heated her blood. It started in her heart and then slowly swept outwards. She had never seen herself as desirable or beautiful. But Jack thought she was lovely, and when he looked at her . . . She felt beautiful. And she'd never felt that way before.

''But you do,'' she whispered, ''but you do.''

Rose reached up and touched his hair. She was hesitant at first just because she was determined to keep every feeling of his locked away within her mind. His lips were slowly easing all the reason and intelligence from her mind, but still, she couldn't help but notice that he was moving forward towards her. But as he closed the bare distance between them, she realised no words could capture the moment's intensity. There are no words for passion. No words for the need. There are no words for the sheer epiphany of the moment. And so, on and on...

It was a glorious meeting of lips. Once. It's just a taste. Hesitance lingered. Neither knew just what the reaction would be or how it would feel after the separation. Quite those weeks ago, his mouth had driven her into a frenzy. There had been no way to quiet her racing heart, stop her stomach from tumbling about and her hands from clasping onto his roughened fingers or tangling her fingers into his soft, sandy hair. Upon pulling back, there was the absolute mirroring of each other's fate witnessed within the eyes of the other. Jack kissed her again, his lips hungrier this time, nibbling, caressing, waking her body, rousing her soul. Her belly had begun to tingle, and her skin felt hot and needy when his hands touched her through the fabric of her dress. And she never once thought this was wrong. This kiss was everything she'd been brought up to fear and avoid, but she knew, mind and soul, that nothing in her life had ever been so right. She had been born for this man and spent many months trying to accept that it could never be hers. She wanted him, she wanted this, she wanted the way he made her feel. She wanted to be beautiful, even if only in one man's eyes. Jack's eyes, she thought, were the only ones which mattered.

Rose was infatuated with him. She had been for some time. Even now, when he was so possessive of her, she barely recognised him and wanted to be his. The first time he kissed her, she accepted his advances with a passive delight, but this time she was determined to be an active partner.

This was a kiss. There was something in the friction, the way that she could hear and feel her breath simultaneously. Something in the way she held perfectly still, and yet knew that Jack could feel her heart pounding through her skin. There was something in the fact that he knew it was her. Jack moved his lips slightly to the left until he nipped the corner of her mouth, softly tickling the spot where her lips joined. His tongue dipped and traced, learning the contours of her mouth, tasting the sweet-salty essence of her. This was more than a kiss. His hands, which had been slightly splayed against her back, grew rigid, more tense as they pressed into the fabric of her dress.

Jack could feel her heat under his fingertips, seeping up through the muslin and swirling in the delicate muscles of her back. He drew her to him, pulling her closer until their bodies were pressed together. He could feel her, the entire length of her, and it set him on fire. His mouth grew more insistent, and his tongue darted forward, nudging her until her lips parted. He swallowed her soft moan of surrender, then pushed forward to taste her. He moved his hands along the length of her slowly so as not to frighten her.

"Rose, Rose," he murmured. He was ravenous for her, heady and drugged by passion, and he wanted desperately for her to feel the same way. She felt perfect in his arms. He pulled back just a few inches to touch her chin and tilt her face toward his. Her eyelids fluttered open, revealing eyes dazed with passion, perfectly matching her lips, which were slightly parted, completely soft, and thoroughly swollen from his kisses. She was beautiful. Utterly, completely, soul-stirringly beautiful, but they knew it wouldn't last forever.

''Meet me in the barn after dark.'' Rose managed to quickly manage before pulling herself upwards and fixing her dishevelled state before she was caught making love on the lawn before sundown.

''Will you leave town with me?'' Jack asked her, quickly and hopefully.

''Well, I don't intend to stay here.''

That was all that he needed to hear.

--

''The garden has improved massively; we could stroll outside after dinner. Rose did like a walk outside, didn't she?" Cal asked, hopefully nursing a glass of brandy at the French doors. His pastimes had never extended to walking amongst the shrubbery.

''I do believe the rain may return, and Rose has been most certain that she shall not be joining us this evening, I am afraid.'' Ruth remained seated at the dining table, seeing the slight disappointment in his eyes.

''A shame indeed; I imagine she is far more affected by the sinking than she let on.'' Cal sipped his brandy, straight-backed and handsomely striking in his black dinner suit. ''I recall her excitement upon purchasing those horrendous paintings: Degas, Picasso, and something else. She believed them to one day be worth a fortune, but they failed to bring much compensation.''

''Yes, I feared as much.'' Ruth clasped her hands together, fearing what her next steps could be. ''She did say that you may retain any money recovered from her--''

''Ruth, forgive me, but it was not money that I sought coming here tonight. It was not the pleasure of your company, as lovely as it is, but my primary purpose was to seek Rose out and try to come to some sort of truce. I know we will never marry, but I just want to see her, look into her eyes and put closure on everything. My father insists that I still marry, and I accept that it will not be to your daughter, and soon, I shall need to source another woman to fit the bill to become my wife, but until that day, I extend my friendship to you and Rose.''

''That is kind of you. What a shame you shall not become my son-in-law.'' Ruth held her wine glass close to her heart; she hesitantly glanced at Cal, as the now-approaching darkness cast his shadow across the cabinets and bookcases. ''Tell me, was it so despicable what she did with that boy?''

Cal smiled; it was a genuine expression, tinged with a hint of surprise. ''Ruth, there is no need to discuss such delicate matters.''

''I was not raised in a convent, Mr. Hockley, nor am I an innocent. I was married for almost twenty years and know what happens inside and outside a marital bed. I have no wish to ask you again.''

''The boy was an artist...''

''I do recall a certain drawing of my daughter in a rather...inappropriate state of undress. An unforgivable offence. I know my daughter had infatuations about him, ideas and silly notions, but...did it go beyond that?''

''I believe that it did.''

''Did he truly steal that diamond?''

Cal glanced downwards, remembering his despicable behaviour. ''It cannot be confirmed or denied now. The man is dead.''

''Rose mourns him still.''

''To be expected.''

''Did they...have relations? Intimate ones.'' Ruth asked quietly. The silence that followed was thick until rain thrashed against the windows.

''I expect that if they had, she would be in a delicate condition, which would be noticeable by now. A man like that would not be careful with a woman like your daughter, it's unfortunate to say."

Ruth instantly baulked; the thought had never entered her mind. ''Thank Heavens for that; Rose is quite well and certainly not carrying that man's child. I would have been aware of any signs to look out for at this point afterwards. A woman knows these things.''

''Indeed.'' Cal agreed. ''Whilst she did misbehave, I don't believe that she would be stupid enough to let him put his hands on her.'' If he truly believed this comment, he didn't let on.

''So, could any of this be repairable?'

Cal paused for thought. ''I have thought of how it could be, but without your daughter's cooperation, it is just impossible.''

''She is a stubborn girl, infatuated by a man who died and will never return.''

''She must mourn, as we all shall, but there is a point when it should become a distant memory. The boy was a simple distraction whilst onboarding ship, a silly fascination alongside her books and paintings.''

''Do you believe that it will pass?''

''Very soon, yes. We can then discuss what could happen regarding our situation once more.''

Rose wished to burst through the door, invite herself into the dining room and pour herself a large brandy to join their imbecilic conversations, but there were more pressing matters to tend to. Whilst her mother and Cal were wrapped up in a fantasy, she tiptoed towards the servant's staircase, which led out on the path towards the now disused barn. All horseflesh had been moved onwards since they took their trip to Europe, and now, a single motorcar was the family's only vehicle. The rain had returned in all its glory, thoroughly soaking the washing left out on the washing line. As darkness fell, the shadows of its flapping cast an eerie form across the yard. There wasn't a soul about, no peeping eyes to report her whereabouts, and as she slipped outside into the pouring rain, she was soaked to the bone before she had even gotten halfway.

It was exhilarating in one way, feeling her flesh grow so wet in a matter of seconds. Her reason for running towards the barn was not the rain but her desperation to see Jack. He had completely taken her by surprise, a man she had believed to be lying with the angels of the Atlantic. She had witnessed his hand slip from hers, seen him disappear beneath the icy waters after calling out to him several times, and found herself ultimately compelled. The image had haunted her for weeks, until now. Now, it was more than just confusion; desire had flooded her more than anything. The heat from him had radiated throughout her entire body, and the only memory at the forefront of her mind was the sizzling few hours spent naked before him, with his eyes across her breasts, stomach and between her legs as his cheeks had turned to fire. He had cared for her then, and now, he desired her more than before; she just knew it. In her right hand, she carried a small duffle bag that she had stolen from one of the servants, stuffed it with one spare change of clothes and necessities and then, she was flying down the garden path, passing the shrubbery now completely soggy from the weather and as the barn loomed, she prayed that Jack had found the suitable building. The DeWitt Bukater estate, once a large and thriving one, had shrunk in size but still retained several outbuildings, none of which were in use. The old wooden door, chipped and in a massive state of disrepair, opened before she could even reach it, and it, standing there, bathed in moonlight and wetness from the rain, stood Jack Dawson. He was waiting.

Time went still; her heart raced for an eternity, and she thought she would faint if she didn't reach him. He caught her in open arms as she leapt, and she kissed him. The barn door clicked closed, and fumbling fingers bolted it shut.

Jack brought her against his aroused form. "You came back."

The hard pressure of Jack, the rampant heat of his body, dazzled her senses... it was like being drunk... like drinking starlight. Closing her eyes, she leaned her face into his shoulder. "You thought I wasn't going to," she said in a muffled voice. ''I will always come to you.''

Jack's mouth brushed the edge of her ear and settled against her neck. She felt that he was smiling. "I missed you so much."

An answering grin curled her lips. She shivered as Jack moved over her, pushing her back, using his thigh to part hers. He took her mouth with endless kisses, deep and impatient, turning her blood to fire. He began to caress her with strong, calloused hands, the hands of an artist. With eyes wide shut, it was as though everything she had given up on in her life was now wholly causing her to awaken in a way she had never done before. Out of the blue, he had come back into her life.

The barn and its contents were turning to dust as he moved towards the centre, where a fire was burning warmly and flickering, casting an eerie but beautiful orange glow across the vacant area. His coat lay amongst a pile of other bits of debris, and Rose found herself lying there, his coat as a pillow, and the scent of him drugged her silly.

''Jack,'' she grasped onto his forearm, firmer than she recalled, and her head went back as he found her throat with his other hand fumbling below her dress. ''Touch me.'' She found herself whispering, wanting, needing...something. That closeness that had formed those months ago, that bond which had caused them to join as one, had kept her awake at night.

Her undergarments were dragged away from her pale hips. They both gasped, breath fragmenting, as his palm cupped her intimately. He stroked the humid warmth, parting and spreading her, a fingertip stroking the entrance to her body. They had indulged in this for only a moment in the car; time had not permitted much of it.

She lay quiet and unresisting, a mad heartbeat resounding everywhere. He touched inside her, his finger pushing gently past the constriction. She was no longer innocent, but she was resisting in some ways. Lowering his head, he pressed his mouth to the tender curves of her breasts. A moan escaped her as she felt him take a hard bud between his lips. He began to suckle, his tongue lapping between each rhythmic tug. His finger went deeper, the heel of his hand teasing an unspeakably sensitive place.

Rose writhed, seeing nothing. Desperate tension folded in upon itself, again centring low and tight. A whimper escaped her as a wave of unimaginable pleasure caught her, and he guided her farther into it. She managed to speak through dry lips, her voice stunned and shaken. "Jack-I can't-"

"Let it happen," he whispered against her flushed skin. "Let it come."

Jack stroked her in a wicked, sensual cadence, pushing her higher. Her muscles worked against the alarming rush of sensation, and then her body began pulling it all in, her veins dilating, heat surging through her. Groping for his head, Rose sank her hands into his hair and guided his mouth to hers. He complied at once, drinking in her moans and gasps, his beguiling hands soothing the wrenching spasms. The delight receded in lazy ebbs, leaving her weak and trembling. Rose stirred and opened her eyes, discovering that she was on the floor, half undressed, cradled in the arms of the man she loved. It was a strange, delicious, vulnerable moment. Her head turned in the crook of his arm.

Jack caressed her slowly, his knuckles trailing through the valley between her breasts. Rose tilted her head back to look at him. Perspiration had given his skin the sheen of polished metal, robust masculine features worked in bronze.

His expression was engrossed, as if her body fascinated him, as if she were made of some precious substance he had never encountered before. She felt the soft, hot shock of his breath as he bent to kiss the inside of her wrist. He let the tip of his tongue rest against a tiny pulse. So now, this intimacy with him, and yet it was as necessary as the beat of her own heart. She never wanted to be out of his arms again. She always wanted to be with him.

Jack brushed his lips against her cheek. He held her a little more tightly.

And he was silent.

''Will you marry me?''Rose blinked in surprise. His hesitation in asking pierced her heart through. "We are going to marry, aren't we?" Jack looked into her flushed face.

"That's a difficult question." Rose trembled beneath him. ''Is it what you truly want?''

''I love you more than my own life."

Rose rolled away and sat up, pulling her loosened garments around her and answering in an anxious tumble of words. "I come from a family of flawed people, none of whom expected us to fall in love. None of which anticipated this. Nor did I, but Cal and my mother exchanged pleasantries, discussing how they could sweeten me up to introduce Cal again as some gallant knight. I wish I had never had that. I came here to you with nothing more than a bag of my belongings and my heart to give you.''

"I knew that he would still want you; he will always want control of you, Rose.''

"Love me even more, then," she begged. "Enough to marry me no matter what the obstacles are."

''I will do; we can leave here, as we should have.''

"Rose." Jack knelt beside her, drawing her against him. She stiffened. "Let me hold you," he said near her ear.

"What happened to you, Jack? Where did you go?''

Jack smoothed her hair and stared into her swimming eyes. "I woke up not long after; I was drowning. I kicked for the surface.'' He looked down dolefully, ''The doctor said it was a miracle that I was here. I don't know how I ended up in a lifeboat. I remember coughing in the ship's infirmary and shaking for weeks. I was so cold. They think I was taken aboard a lifeboat, but no one knows why or how. Maybe it will always be a miracle or just a mystery. I recovered enough to leave the hospital myself with nothing more than the clothes on my back. I've got seventeen bucks and an open heart, Rose. That is all I can ever offer you. Life will not be easy.''

"It's enough." Rose wrapped her arms around him. "I'm not afraid of you or a difficult life." Gripping the back of his shirt, she gave it a little shake for emphasis. "I want you, and you say you want me, and the only thing standing in our way is everything. Don't tell me that you survived this and suffered so much merely to come here to sit there to dissuade me.''

He laid his fingers against her mouth.

"What is there to"

"Rose," he warned.

She fell silent, her gaze locked on his severe features.

Jack frowned, weighing possibilities, inwardly debating the issue without seeming to conclude satisfactorily. Since the sinking, he had changed. The post-traumatic stress had a shattering effect on him, and it was hard to stop the tremors sometimes, but when she held him near, those fears were drowned out.

In the silence, Rose rested her head on his shoulder. His body was warm and comforting, the deep-flexing muscles easily accommodating her weight. She wriggled to press closer to him until she felt the satisfying hardness of his chest against her breasts. And she adjusted her position as she felt his firm pressure lower down. Her body ached to gather him in. Furtively, she brushed her lips against the salt-scented skin of his neck. He clamped his hand on her hip.

"If we marry," he said eventually, "I would protect you with my life. I did all that I could on the night of the sinking, and I thought I had died. I would do it all again in a second.''

If... Rose's heart leapt into her throat. She began to speak, but Jack nudged his knuckles beneath her chin, gently closing her mouth. "And when I left that hospital knowing that you were not on the list, I just knew that you were alive.''

"Rose Dawson," Rose said a bit too quickly. "That's the name I gave to them.''

His eyes narrowed. ''Rose,'' his voice was broken, unable to put more words together to speak.

''I took your name, unaware of anything other than that I loved you. I wanted to be yours entirely, and to me, I was. Even coming back here, I carried you with me. I carry you in me.''

She crawled over to where Jack was half reclining and stretched out beside him like a cat. His eyelashes half lowered as he surveyed her. His senses wanted to draw her in, to indulge in the feel of her soft skin, the supple firmness beneath him. But he resisted as she tried to pull him closer.

''Rose, I...I love you.''

Her slightly crooked grin and lively blue eyes undid him. Relenting, he lowered to her, his mouth covering hers in a warm, lightly probing kiss. Her arms went around his neck. He explored her slowly, taking his time, playing with her until he felt the shy stroke of her tongue against his. The sensation went down to his groin, fuelling a fresh wave of erotic heat.

She cradled him, her hips adjusting instinctively beneath his. He couldn't stop pushing against the feminine softness, a pulse of movement that delighted them both. Murmuring his name, Rose let her head fall back on his arm, her throat exposed to the damp caress of his lips. He found sensitive places with his tongue, using its tip when he felt her squirm. His hand went to one of her breasts, cupping the natural shape of her through the shirt and chemise, rubbing the tight peak with a warm circling of his palm. Small moans rose in her throat, abbreviated purrs of pleasure.

She was so exquisite, writhing and arching beneath him, that Jack felt himself begin to drown in lust, his body taking over and his mind going hazy. It would be so easy to open her clothes, free his tortured flesh... let himself enter her, and find wholesale relief-

He groaned and rolled to his back, but she stayed with him, clinging.

"Make love to me," she said breathlessly. "Here. Now. Please, Jack-"

"No." Managing to pry her away, he sat up. "Not in a hayloft, with someone likely to enter the barn at any moment."

"I don't care." Rose dove her hot face against his chest. "I don't care," she repeated feverishly.

"I care. You deserve something far better than this and a car.''

Rose looked up at him, her eyes widening. "Truly? You've been chaste for that long.''

Jack gave her a sardonic glance. " Chaste' implies a purity of thought. You know that there was never another but you.''

Crawling behind him, Rose began to brush at the straw clinging to his back. "There were no opportunities to be with a woman?"

"There were."

"Then why didn't you?"

Rose twisted to glance at her over his shoulder.

"Are you asking for the details?''

"Yes,'' she lowered her lashes.

"I never did.''

''Not even in Paris?'' Rose's arms slid around him from behind. He felt the light, stimulating pressure of her breasts against his back. "Tell me," she said near his ear, the moist heat of her breath causing the hairs on his nape to prickle pleasantly.

"There were prostitutes," he said, "who were kept busy servicing the other artists in Paris. But they were not too attractive, and they helped to spread any number of diseases throughout.''

"Poor things," Rose said sincerely.

How like her, he thought, to react with compassion rather than distaste. Taking one of her hands, Jack pressed a kiss into her palm. "I also had offers from one or two girls back home, but I didn't find myself interested. So, I waited, and for no other reason than I was more interested in life than women,'' he grimaced. "And I found you.''

Rose kissed and nuzzled the back of his neck, sending a new rush of arousal through him. "And I found you.''

This was new, this mixture of desire and love. Jack turned and put his arms around her, toppling her into his lap. "Oh, you will always be the only one," he assured her, and staring at him, Rose clamped her hands lightly on his thighs. Instead of standing, she hitched her body higher against him. Her mouth came to his, gently inquiring. He felt a little shock, a sudden pitch of his heart as if it had remembered to start beating again. Rose's lips were soft and hot, teasing in the way he had taught her. He felt lust come raging up dangerously fast. Her weight was on him, her breasts, the mass of her underclothes compressed between his thighs. He surrendered for a moment, fusing his mouth to hers and kissing her the way he wanted to take her, deep and hard. Rose immediately went pliant, submissive, in a way that drove him mad, and she knew it. He wanted everything from her, wanted to subject her to every craving and impulse, and she was too innocent for any of it. He had no idea what to do aside from wishing to let loose. Tearing his mouth from hers, Jack held her at arm's length.

Her eyes were wide and wondering.

To his relief, she levered away from him and stood. And then she began to unfasten her bodice.

"What are you doing?" he asked hoarsely.

"Don't worry, the door is locked."

"That isn't what I-Rose-" By the time he had lurched to his feet, her bodice had listed openly. A thick, primitive drumbeat started in his ears. "Rose...''

Jack clenched his teeth as he saw her push her dress below her hips. He was perspiring, every muscle hard. His voice shook with the force of suppressed need. "You're so beautiful..."

For the first time they had been together, he approached her with absolute restraint, giving himself release inside her, and she had shaken and quivered beneath him as he had felt her virginal muscles quiver about him.

Rose pulled the combs from her hair, tossed them into the pile of discarded lavender silk, and shook out the gleaming sable locks. And she gave him a look that caused every hair on his body to lift. "I know you think I don't understand, but I do. And I need this as much as you do." Slowly, she unhooked her undergarments and dropped them to the floor.

Dear God. How long had it been since he had wished for her to undress for him, but it was too much. Too soon. Jack couldn't move or speak, just stood there aroused and starving and mindless, his eyes eating up the sight of her. As she saw the way he watched her, she disrobed even more deliberately, drawing the chemise over her head. Her breasts were high and gently curved, the tips rose-coloured, more prominent than before. They bounced delicately as she bent to remove her drawers.

She stood to face him.

Despite her audacity, Rose was nervous, an uneven blush covering her from head to toe. But she watched him closely, taking in his reactions. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, slim and lithe, with generous curves at her hip and behind, her legs sheathed in pale pink stockings and white garters. She devastated him. The auburn locks of her hair draped over her body, hanging down to her waist. The little triangle between her thighs looked like rich fur, an erotic contrast to her porcelain skin.

He felt weak and brutal at the same time, desire pumping through him. Nothing mattered except making love to her. A rough sound was torn from his throat. Although he made no conscious decision to move, he somehow crossed the space between them and seized her. He let his splayed fingers travel over her back, down to the curve of her bottom. Pulling her high and tight against him, he found her mouth, kissing her, almost savaging her. She yielded ultimately, offering her body, her mouth, in any way he chose. As his mouth possessed hers, he reached farther between her thighs, forcing them to part. He found the tender pleats of her. Parting the softness, he massaged until he found wetness and slid two fingers into the supple heat of her. Urgently against his head. She was shocked, her face deeply flushed as she realised what he would do.

Without giving her a chance to protest, he bent over her again. He kissed his way into the soft, secret hollow, spreading her with his tongue. She moaned and drew up tightly, her knees bending and her spine curving as if she wanted to gather her entire body around him. He pushed her back, pressed her wide, and took what he wanted, what he had wanted to do this whole time.

The entire world was nothing but delicate shivering flesh, the taste of a woman; his woman, her intimate elixir more potent than wine, opium, exotic spices. She moaned at the tender traction of his tongue. Her responses became his, her every sound tugging at his groin, her desperate quivers sinking into him with darts of fire. He focused on the most sensitive part of her, tracing slowly, bewitched by the wet silk. He began to flick steadily, taunting her, driving her without mercy. She went still, tensing as the feeling came rolling up to her, and he knew that nothing existed for her except the pleasure he was giving her. He made her take it and take it until her sharp breathing turned into repeated cries. The climax was more robust and profound than anything he had given her before... he heard it, felt it, tasted it.

When the last spasm had left her, he pulled her farther beneath him, his mouth going to her breasts. She slid her arms around his neck. Her body was sated and ready for him, her legs spreading quickly as he settled between them. Reaching for the fastenings of his trousers, he fumbled and tore at them, freeing himself. He had no control left, and his entire body was aching with need. He had no words, no way to beg. Nothing.

"Don't stop," she whispered. "I want you, I love you..." She pulled him closer, arching in welcome as he took her with blunt, insistent pressure.

Having images of their first beautiful time together, having waited so long, this was nothing like the thoughts he had kept. One thing was sure, though: in the car, in that one swift motion, her virginity had been discarded along with his own, but now, she was tight everywhere, untried muscles clenching to keep him out. He pushed into the innocent resistance, forcing his way more deeply, and she gasped, clenching her grip on him. He worked inside her, shaking with the effort to be gentle when every instinct screamed to thrust hard into the luscious heat. And then, somehow, her muscles accepted the futility of trying to close against him, and she relaxed. Her head rested on his supportive arm, her face turned against the complex curve of his bicep. He began to thrust with a groan of relief, knowing nothing except the blinding pleasure of being inside her, being caressed by her. The rapture was severe, absolute as death, delivering him.

He made no effort to prolong it. The peak came fast, slamming into her with a power that took his breath, and then he tumbled into a violent, shuddering release, the spasms piercing. He came endlessly, cradling her in his arms, hunching over her as if he could protect her, even as he lunged into her with ravenous strokes.

She was shaking in the aftermath of her orgasm, thrills of reaction running through her from head to toe. He held her, trying to comfort her, pulling her head against his chest. His eyes were blurred and hot, and he blotted them against the jacket he used as a pillow. It took a while for him to realise that the trembling came not from her. But him.

Minutes passed in a state of calmness. Rose rested quietly in Jack's embrace, offering no protest even though his grip was too tight. Gradually, she could divide the sensation into its parts: the heat and weight of his body, the scent of sweat, and the slick of rich moisture where they were still joined. She was sore, but at the same time, it was a pleasant feeling, that sense of low, warm fullness. She felt them as one.

Slowly, Jack's urgent hold began to loosen. One hand came up to play with her hair. His mouth turned to the tender skin of her neck while his free hand traversed her back and side. A tremor passed through his frame, a slow ripple of relief. He slid an arm behind her back, arched her upward, and his lips went to her breast. She drew in an unsteady breath at the wet pull of his mouth.

He moved, turning them both so she lay atop him. His invasion had slid free, and she felt it against her stomach, an intimate brand. Lifting her head, she looked down into his face, into those silvery eyes, slightly dilated. She relished the feel of him, a tremendous, warm creature beneath her. She had the sense of having tamed him, although it was a valid question whether it had been the other way around.

She pressed her lips to his shoulder. His skin was smoother than hers, tightly stretched satin over the hard muscle swell.

"I love you." His voice was that of a man who had just awakened after a long sleep. He gathered the disparate streams of her hair into a single river. "Did you plan this?"

"You're asking if I deliberately set out to seduce you? No, it was entirely spontaneous." At his silence, Rose lifted her head and grinned down at him.

His thumb edged the swollen curve of her lower lip. "I was thinking about how to get away from here, somewhere comfortable to do that again.''

Her grin lingered as she nipped playfully at the tip of his thumb. Jack didn't smile precisely, but his lips took on a wry curve. Carefully, he deposited her onto the pile of her clothes, went to his discarded clothes, and managed to find a handkerchief. Rose lay half curled on her side and watched him. Returning, Jack gave her the handkerchief. Although Rose would have thought herself to be far beyond blushing after what she had just experienced, she felt a tide of scarlet cover her as she blotted the sore, wet place between her thighs. The sight of blood was not unexpected; it had also happened the first time, but it brought home the awareness that she was irrevocably changed. No longer a virgin. A new and vulnerable feeling came over her. They had never gotten to share this the first time, having been chased out of the cargo hold.

Jack dressed her in his shirt, surrounding her in soft white linen that retained the scent of his body. In the aftermath, it became clear how hard the rain was lashing outside, how the wooden building felt as though it would collapse in the wind, and how a small lantern burned inside, casting a glow across them both. How cold it was. How wet her dress would become now if they left. It was all a blur, but as she looked at Jack, suddenly, it became clear. None of that would matter. Only their future together.

''I carried you with me,'' Rose whispered as Jack crawled towards her, his entire body still shaking. She reached out to him, entwining their fingers. Her insides shook, clenching from the power of their reunion. ''I carried your life.''

Jack's lips parted as though he was trying to breathe inwards, but it was caught somewhere.

''I'm very sure that I am expecting a baby.''

Breathing in and breathing out, there were no sounds.

''I will be a better man for you...both.'' He was suddenly clambering towards her, touching her face, kissing her until she could no longer draw in the air. We will get married in the next town. We will...''

Neither could finish their sentence; both were dragged away by the depths of desire again.

--

Some people believe in miracles. Some believe in chance. Some people want a lover. Some people just want a friend. Some people believe in fate, others in pure luck.

Caledon Hockley recalled the conversation with Jack Dawson as though it were yesterday. He had been a man, so very high from luck. Although spoiled, erratic and rarely well-behaved, his fiancée was by his side each day, and they would marry.

As he walked the gardens at the DeWitt Bukater household, he contemplated where that luck had gone. True, he had survived the sinking of the Titanic; he would be compensated for the loss of his belongings, and he had retained a good reputation, both in the media, despite the failed engagement. He had maintained a good relationship with Ruth. His father nudged him to marry Rose or find another wife; his days were limited, and with Cal pushing thirty, he did not have much time to give an heir to the fortune. He would require more than one, or so his father told him. Two fine sons and then a daughter or two. I regret that I detested your mother so much that we failed to provide more than one son, so be sure to pick a good wife with broad hips, a sweet temperament, and not lacking in maternal instincts. She must enjoy making a home, while you want to pursue your interests.

The sweetness of rain and flowers scented the air, and Cal took the path carefully in the late evening air. The brandy had tipped him, and as Ruth retired to bed, he had come to the place of nature to attempt to understand Rose and what had happened. The wife that his father had described was never going to be Rose; she was too fiery and opinionated, but God, he had seen her across the room at a party, and his head had been turned twice. She had just turned seventeen, her mother recently widowed and desperate to marry off her only child, but none of it mattered because she had been quite the catch. Cal was lucky.

Had she honestly tried to peer over the edge of the Titanic to see the propeller blades, or had she met Jack out there? Why was he in such a state of undress? Why had Cal invited him to dinner the following evening? All a series of events led to him here, walking the gardens at night like a lunatic woman in search of a fairytale. He just felt it might hold an answer.

The drawing of her naked had become etched into his mind, and it was the ultimate betrayal. She had shared what should have been his with another man. Rose had the body of a goddess, and now, on nights alone, he would close his eyes. The first image that came to him was of her sprawled across a couch, naked, with eyes burning bright with innocence for another man.

She had left her mother and Jack to rescue him. She had jumped off a lifeboat to be back with him. Cal had witnessed their emotional reunion, which had driven him mad and jealous. Enough to try to kill Jack. To shoot at Rose. She would never forgive him; he knew that...

With a hand in his pocket, he felt the same gun which he had fired at them both within the pocket of his dinner suit. He had failed to put more bullets into it. Afraid of his embarrassment. Fearful of his ego. Only those three knew what had happened that night. No one else ever would. Rose would never look at him the same again, but he would always recall her betrayal. Had she given herself to Dawson?

The gardens felt empty. There felt there were no answers. He failed to see the appeal of nature and life. He had hoped to catch a glimpse of her out here. Hoped. There were no such things as miracles, and Cal's luck felt like it was running out...

By the old barn stood two figures in an intimate embrace. They giggled. They were entwined.

''You were unfaithful, after all.''

Cal's heart was erratic. Dawson? Indeed, he was not alive. Had he indulged in too much brandy, now he was seeing things.

--

In the dim light of the moon, Jack saw the reflective glint of the pistol in Cal's right hand, a trembling hand. There was not a whisper of fear about him; facing him was nothing more than a coward. The truth was, he had made a promise to Rose just hours before; he would die before he allowed her back into that cage which she had been kept in for far too long, and he was going to take her away from here. She was going to have his baby.

''We are no longer engaged. I am free now.'' Rose fired back at Cal, her voice full of particular steel. One which neither man had heard before from her. It caused unsettlement to some.

''And you choose him. Over me. Over our life together. You told me that he was dead.''

''Yes. I do. I will always choose him.''

''Are you under some seductive spell from the man who promises you such a wonderful life?''

''No, she is just a woman who can choose her own life now.'' Jack stepped in, his entire body in front of Rose so she could not move past him.

''And, you are the man able to do that for her. We both know that you have nothing to offer. That you are nothing.''

''No, I don't suppose I am.'' Jack smiled. ''Why don't you just go? Let her live her life.'' He would reason with the man first if that were possible. A man would not like the battered and bruised ego of losing his woman to another man, a man of a lower station than he, but at least this way, he could go down without any public knowledge. He could concoct whatever lie he wished to protect his name and then go on to live his own life. Jack knew that way wouldn't be, but trying to distract him with words while thinking of his plan was worth trying.

''Because she is mine. She was to marry me. Whatever this little flame is will be put out.'' Cal's wide-legged stance, tall and broad back, was meant to be threatening, but his sway gave away his intoxication.

There needed to be reasoning with Cal. At that moment, Jack knew he would be fighting for her and her freedom. For their freedom. For their life.

''Stop it! Stop speaking to me as though I am not here. I am not a child. I am not someone you can bully anymore. We were over months ago.'' Rose stepped out from Jack's shadow, determination fuelling her entire body.

''Sometimes we must because you are so stubborn and naïve to speak for yourself.'' Cal's body seemed to be wracked with something other than anger. Perhaps it was the adrenaline.

''Yes, you do think that, don't you?''

''What do you think would happen? Jack Dawson wants nothing more than to take what is his, make you his whore and then leave you alone or worse-pregnant.''

Jack's scalp prickled at the utter vile description, but he wasn't to defend himself, hoping Rose would see the lies in Cal and her trust in him was thorough.

''I enjoy being his whore.'' With watery eyes, she clutched Jack's hand to her stomach. ''I enjoy being his.''

That was the ultimate wound, straight to Cal's heart. Their fingers linked as though they were intimate lovers. She knew his body, and he knew hers. The Rose, who once belonged to him, had gone. The woman knew, both in body and mind, and that side was with the man in front of her, who did not deserve any part of her. The part was meant for Cal alone, to sample and keep for himself.

Which of the traitors did he despise the most?

Cal sprinted towards them in one lunge forward, but it was Jack whom he went to. Together, they tumbled down onto the floor, his pistol temporarily forgotten as it had fallen from his grip. As Jack's reflexes kicked in, he rolled away from the punches Cal had tried to rain down on his face, chest, and stomach.

Rose stumbled away, her heart flying about in her chest as she tried to stay away, knowing that she wouldn't be able to stop.

''Cal, no!'' She called, knowing that he would not listen to her. Perhaps her voice would only fuel his anger.

''Stay back, Rose,'' Jack shouted. His main priority would always be ensuring her safety.

Jack's voice broke Cal's concentration, allowing Jack to shove him forward down onto the deck in one swoop. In shock, he clattered to the floor, using his feet to propel himself away from Jack as he slid about on the slippery, wet, grassy verge.

That should have been it. Fighting with Cal would likely do more harm than good to both of them. The move was undoubtedly intended to prove Cal's upper hand to both of them, to feed his ego and enable him to believe himself the bigger man in the challenge he had devised in his mind.

Cal could have fought better. Jack already knew that. Perhaps that's why he had sent his valet to follow them before.

Joining Rose near the barn, Jack ensured he was in front of her again. Embarrassment fell over Cal's sullen cheeks as he concluded Jack had given up fighting. He smirked, pushing himself to his feet.

''Is that it?''

''Yes.'' Jack's jaw was tight.

Grasping their belongings, Jack began to lead Rose away from the barn. His heart hammered in his chest. Of course, part of him wanted to fight, to perhaps hurt him in a way that he had caused pain to Rose in the past. The adrenaline which had pumped through him initially had ceased for the moment. The urge to hurt Cal deeper than he had wounded Rose no longer licked away at him; the truth was that just standing beside Rose was enough to irritate Cal's anger once more.

After scrambling to his feet, Cal straightened out his clothing, a far cry from his crisply starched attire to dinner aboard Titanic, but still better than Jack's ever could be.

Cal extended his arm; a click caused all attention to fall on the pistol he brandished at Jack. His arm was unsteady, and Jack knew his eyes would be out of focus. Slowly, he pushed Rose behind him again, hearing her frightened gasp.

''Move, Dawson.''

It fuelled his determination even more.

''What are you doing?''

''I should have done it on board the Titanic.''

Cal cocked his head to one side, his eyes narrowed. ''Come on, Dawson, which will it be?''

In one deep breath, he slowly shook his head. ''I do not need to step aside.''

''You would die for her?''

''Yes.''

Rose felt Jack steady her with one hand behind him, snaking up to her waist, and she felt the steadiness of his hand. She grasped his hand with her own, and he squeezed it as tightly as he could. He tried to tell her something, but Rose could not tell what it was. This was about trust. She trusted him with her own life.

''You're a fool.''

Jack's sapphire eyes didn't waver from the darkness before him. The steady rise and fall of his chest surprised him. Provoking Cal would not end well, but he needed to end the severity of the situation. The truth was, what good would it do? For him to shoot Jack dead? It would be all over the news, and he could never be free of the burden of death. His good name would be over. Rose would raise their child without a father, which she believed she needed to do initially.

Silence fell over them. Both men's eye contact didn't waver. Neither would back down. If CaIt had failed him ever so slightly, if he had been sure of his upper hand, it would have never taken well to provocation being toyed with, and yet, this had to be the most dangerous game he had ever played. The feeling of losing had not been taken kindly to him. His hand didn't fall; it stayed aimed at Jack's face with the pistol still within his grasp.

After a minute or so, Jack raised his brows in silence. That was all that he needed to know. There was the tiny intention of him shooting the damned gun; it was all an act.

Grasping Rose's hand tightly, Jack turned on his heel, pulling her with him. He wanted to break out into a run, using his own body as a shield in case a switch flicked, and he did pull the trigger of his gun; that was the chance that Jack had to take.

If Cal wanted them to die, he would have ensured they were gone already. The pistol was a ploy to toy with them, ensuring they knew who would win. With Rose's hand in his, he felt the certainty of his feelings for her and how he would protect her, no matter the outcome.

With their backs turned, they were vulnerable, but to Jack, it was what he was expecting the most: not a bullet in his back but the utter provocation of anger within Cal. Rose trusted Jack enough to allow him to take the lead; her fiery spirit would have caused even more of a problem between them, so she remained quiet, calm and focused on Jack's hand in hers for the first time as they walked openly as lovers would for the entire world to see.

With three heavy, clattering footsteps behind him, Jack only had time to push Rose to safety away from Cal as he lunged for him, his entire body weight firing at him. Jack only had time to move slightly; his aim to remove the gun from his hand was successful; it slid across the slippery ground, taking them both with it. Rose retrieved it as quickly as she could by shaking hands, and she examined the bullets, trembling as she tried to dismantle them in the same way her father had once shown her, until she realised something.

''It isn't loaded.''

Rose looked upwards at Jack and Cal grappling in the mud. ''Jack.'' Rose's soft call pulled him back from the realms of his hatred. Beside him, she shook, her body succumbing to the shivers of the cold and the torturous fright. The pistol she cradled in her tiny hands glinted in the dim light.

''It's all right.''

Her eyes shone so fiercely that Jack almost forgot where they were as he admired the steely woman before him.

With a determined step, she came face-to-face with Cal, the man whom she had once feared with all of her being.

''We shall make a deal since that seems to be what you are good at.''

Cal remained silent. His wails had ceased, and the shakes had taken over. His body was full of shivers, and Jack steadied him with another hand to ensure he listened to what Rose was about to say.

''You shall not attempt to find me after this day. You may take your ridiculous threats and hope they never see the light of day again.'' Rose saw Jack, cake in mud and blood. ''Tell my mother I shall write to her one day when I can.''

''She shall not wish to speak to you.''

''Then my life will be easier after all.'' Rose was shaking, adrenaline soaring through her, and suddenly, her hand came up to strike Cal around the face. It drained away a lot of her anger; he recoiled from the strike but did not react immediately as Jack held him back. ''You called me a slut, a whore, for being a woman who has been with another man the way that you wanted me to be with you. Hah.'' Rose scoffed, shaking her head. ''I pity the woman who shall become your wife and the creations that shall become your children.''

Jack slowly released his grip on Cal before pulling him forward and sending him clattering to the deck in one swoop. He fell to the ground without any attempt to fight back, move or even blink. From inside his pocket, one-hundred-dollar bills flew about in the wind, claiming all their breath and fitting. Rose thought. Even his money couldn't save him. Not this time. He was worthless. Rose threw the gun at him.

''It was unloaded.''

Rose clattered her teeth together. Beside her, Jack touched her arm silently. Cal struggled behind them, but neither looked.

With her bag in hand, Jack led her to the warmth of a new life. They passed the pond where they had almost fallen just that morning. Rose stopped, just briefly, to peek inside. The same sizable orange fish came to the top, looking less lethargic; upon seeing it, it seemed to swim about the top, almost as if it was giddy with life.

''Hmm, perhaps miracles do happen.''