Work Text:
Knock, knock, knock.
Thomas urgently rapped his knuckles on the door.
Quietly, he could hear the ruffling of bed sheets and the soft pitter patter of Rose making her way to the door.
“Mr Andrews?” Rose asked, rubbing at her bleary eyes. She pulled the door open just enough for Thomas to see her face – just enough for it to be socially acceptable for a married man and an engaged woman.
The formality felt so wrong. He hated it.
“Rose,” Thomas said, and he swallowed to stop himself from revealing too much, “May I please come in?”
Rose straightened up at the tightness in his voice, and blinked rapidly as she focused her once sleepy eyes on his face. It took her no time at all to open the door, and close it soundly behind him once he was inside.
“Thomas?” Rose asked worriedly. “Thomas, what’s wrong?”
Thomas’ throat constricted, and he found that he couldn’t speak even if his words hadn’t escaped him. He had half a mind to turn away from her, so that Rose would not see how awfully he was falling apart, but he could not deny himself the opportunity to study her eyes once more.
When Thomas had first met her, they had stuck out to him terribly so – with their wit, their sharpness, and their devastatingly beautiful shade of ocean blue. Now they looked at him in worry and concern – two things he knew he did not deserve, and yet he found himself craving. Thomas prayed that when the Atlantic came to take him, the Lord would be merciful enough to have the blue of the water remind him of Rose and her loving gaze in his final moments.
Because his world wasn’t falling, no. Titanic was plunging, straight down to the bottom of the Atlantic, and Thomas wouldn’t let Rose go down with her.
“Thomas?”
“Rose, I…” Thomas’ voice was thick and heavy, and indecision weighed heavily on him.
Thomas didn’t have much time to waste. He knew that.
Thomas and countless others would be dead by morning. He knew that.
It had been selfish of Thomas to come straight to Rose as soon as he figured out Titanic would sink. He knew that, damn it.
But Thomas couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from hers.
Thomas closed the distance between them and kissed Rose as though she were his salvation – because, in a way, she was. Rose would provide him solace in his final moments, by thinking back to their time together, and knowing that she would live even if he wouldn’t. He hoped that would serve as enough distraction from the pained groans and cries of Titanic bending under her strain.
Thomas held Rose close to him, and swore to scorch her memory into him so deeply until he was certain it would not fade even with his death.