Written by Anonymous
Based on some situations originated by James Cameron

The curtains closed, like they did every other night, and every afternoon at the crowded matinees. They were heavy ones--a rusted red color, covered in dust that wasn't visible unless you walked up to examine them closely. They were thick, hanging from ancient wires, and each time they moved, a familiar rumble echoed over the wooden stage. The cast lay in total darkness, breathing heavily--tired and worn from this night's performance. But outside, the chairs in the audience were squeaking, and hands were thrown together.

Rose closed her eyes and gripped the hands of her fellow players, waiting patiently for the grand finale. As always, her heart was racing, and although she was physically exhausted, this thrill never left. Over and over, Rose would eagerly explore the audience she had devotedly performed in front of for the previous two hours. During the show, there was little time to glance out into the sea of people, and curtain call was her only chance to see the faces behind such jubilant clapping. Often, she recognized repeat visitors in the front row--men and women who obviously had nothing better to do than watch a small-time revival of Oscar Wilde's An Ideal Husband.

Rose heard the clanging as the curtains reopened and took a deep breath, opening her eyes to the scene before her. It seemed that the entire house was standing this time, a few people even shouting or whistling over the noise. She smiled and tossed her head back, trying to keep the tiny tendrils of her red hair from her face. She could feel the tight bun on her head loosening, and surely the tiny bobby pins would fall out any second. But in the excitement of this moment, she certainly did not care.

"Our best one yet, Rose. Best yet!" She turned her head to grin at the man beside her, a Mr. David Bradford, who portrayed Sir Robert Chiltern night after night. With one solid nod, she acknowledged his comment and prepared to take her bow. Her long, old-fashioned skirt whirled around her as she bent at the waist, lowering her head to the quickly increasing thunder of applause. She always found it difficult to believe that this was for her--such clear recognition, such a loud celebration. What did this make--four months now? Four months since she'd nervously arrived for her audition in this place. And four months since her life had finally started to feel meaningful again. Sometimes this was all that kept her from falling--disappearing into the dark abyss of those memories and those emotions. And not a night went by that she didn't feel Jack's gentle approval. The first night, to cap her anxiety, she had even imagined an audience of only one. A room where just they together existed.

"Whew." Rose lifted her chin and watched as the lights in the theater were brightened. The magical setting of the stage seemed to fade away, and soon there was a rustling of coats and paper programs as people began to depart. It was customary for the cast to stay on stage until the seats were completely empty, just in case anyone wanted to greet them, take photographs, or simply deliver a bouquet. Rose let her arms fall to her side and kept her eyes on the line of those waiting to climb onto the stage. There were proud family members, as always, and a few lone fans who had decided to stay around. She let out a sigh, knowing that once again, there were no flowers waiting for her. And certainly no one she knew to talk to. Just the occasional stranger, who shook her hand or let out a timid thank you, on their way to meet someone else.

"Tired?" Rose turned at David's voice, shaken from her reverie.

"A little, I suppose. But I love this so much...so it doesn't matter." Rose grinned and pressed her hands to her cheeks, flushed from the overhead lights. She was thirsty and eager to go home, even though she had thoroughly enjoyed herself this night, as always.

"I agree, I agree." David nodded and smiled politely at her, his attentions elsewhere as he raised his hands in a wave. A tall, elegantly dressed woman was making her way towards them, and Rose stepped back a little, making room for his guest. She darted her eyes away from them, listening as the very last of the clapping died down. A small surge of loneliness flowed through her chest, making her heart flutter slightly. But swallowing hard, she took it in stride. Through the sound of footsteps on the cement floor of the theater, she could barely make out a sharp banging. Coming from one of the far corners, it was most definitely a person, trying desperately to be heard. But the ghostly shadows of the walls, even with several of the lights on, hid the face.

Rose squinted and stepped forward, disoriented as the ensemble onstage started to disperse. They passed her briskly, laughing and chatting, throwing a soft wind in her face. But still the solitary clapping persisted, until she heard nothing else. Frustrated, Rose brought a hand to her forehead, hoping to catch a glimpse of its source. And for some strange reason, she began to feel goosebumps developing on her arms. Maybe it was the chill from outside, a door backstage left open by the janitor.

The sound stopped abruptly, although she did not move her gaze from the corner in question. Once again, she heard the muffled voices of those still trying to exit the theater, and their happy faces were a whirl, almost a blur. She held her breath as a tall figure emerged from the dark spot she had been watching. It was a man, of that she was immediately sure. But still, the small crowd at the back of the room prevented her from seeing his face. A coat was draped across his arm, and he moved gracefully amongst the narrow rows of seats. Rose felt her hands balling into fists, a sensation flowing through her that was cold and warm all at once.

It couldn't be. "No. No, Rose. Don't be absurd," Rose whispered to herself, impatiently craning her neck to see him. His head was turned now as he leaned to enter the carpeted aisle. His hair was blond, short, cut like many men were wearing it these days. But the clothes...the way the shirt hung on his lithe frame. It was too uncanny, too familiar. Was it possible? Rose felt moisture in her eyes, one tear staining her porcelain cheek. Shaking her head, she thought for a moment that this was a mirage. A figment of her imagination--possibly even a cruel dream.

But when the man lifted his face, Rose gasped, unable to choke back a sob. The jaw, the cheekbones...it couldn't be anyone else. And when his eyes met hers, she felt a pressure on her body, as if a great weight had been placed on her.

Rose knew in an instant that he had seen her. Even from this distance, she could see a smile on his face, and his hands moved as if he were trying to reach her from where he stood. His mouth moved. "Rose." His lips formed her name expressively, and Rose opened her mouth for a word that she could not produce. Tears were spilling down her face now--uncontrolled and nearly hysterical. He was walking now, his form blurred through her crying. She told herself that she needed to move, meet him halfway, but her feet remained glued to the spot where she stood.

Jack dropped his coat on the floor as he ran to the stage, his own vision temporarily interrupted. Never could he have imagined this happening. She wasn't supposed to cry. She wasn't supposed to look as if she'd seen a ghost. Was that all he was to her? A ghost, perhaps? But somehow he knew that wasn't true. Maybe he just had not approached this in the right way. Jack's heart pounded as his feet flew up the small set of stairs towards Rose.

She closed her eyes, melting as his arms embraced her. Now she knew that this had to be real--his touch, his smell. He could have held her for minutes, hours, she wasn't sure. But when she finally gathered the courage to lift her head and open her eyes, his muslin shirt was wet with her consistent tears.

"Jack." Her voice was hoarse, almost shrill. She could tell he was worried, concerned. Jack swallowed and grinned, his smile betrayed by his turbulent eyes. Those eyes. The blue of them had embodied her dreams for months now, haunting her like some bittersweet song. But now here they were, in front of her again. "How...Jack, how?" She swallowed and rested her hand on his upper arm, searching his face for some easy answer.

Jack moved his hand to her hair. It was falling down now, cascading down her back just like he remembered. He couldn't let his emotions get the better of him...not now, in this crucial moment. Six months had passed, and she had to know why. Rose's eyes were boring into him now, staring as if she didn't believe that he was real. But they were soft, deep, the same. Her full lips trembled as he himself tried to find the words. "It's not a long story, Rose. Not really." He laughed slightly, watching as a tiny smile crept onto her face. "I was sick..." He closed his eyes, as if to briefly recall his arduous stay in the hospital. Regaining his thoughts, he shook his head, fighting back those horrible memories. "They found me nearly...nearly dead, I think. All I can remember is trying to find you...and then suddenly I was on a lifeboat...I..." Jack appeared disgusted with himself, taking a deep breath. Rose bit her lip, raising a finger to his mouth to silence him.

Trying to hold back anymore tears, she raised her chin shakily, "It's okay, Jack. I went through it all too, remember?" Her green eyes were filled with something. Was it worry…affection? He could not tell. He only nodded at her question. "I could never find you, Jack. I went to all the hospitals, but some of them wouldn't tell me...who was there, that they couldn't disclose information like that." Her voice caught, and she sought his eyes for support, those gentle eyes. They had made her fall in love with Jack Dawson. Dozens of other variables included, they made it impossible not to. They seemed to be unchanged, but something new was in his face. Could it be loneliness?

Jack's rough hands moved over hers, sending the all too familiar jolts down her spine, her arms, in her stomach. He took her fingers in his, moving closer while he spoke. "I didn't know that. I was lost, Rose. When I woke up, two weeks had passed. It was almost May, and I felt like a ton of bricks had been dropped on me. I thought that for sure I'd lost you for good. I knew you had survived. That wasn't a question in my mind, but..." He paused and watched her eyebrows raise in confusion. "Rose, I never doubted for a minute that you'd have the strength...with that fire and everything." His eyes twinkled now, and Rose was lost in them again, just like she had been that day in the gym aboard Titanic. She lovingly recalled his words then, the words that had changed her life completely.

"Your name wasn't on any lists, but I just knew...knew that you had found a way." Jack smiled wistfully and went on. "When they finally let me out of the hospital, I was a mess. All I wanted to do was find you, but I had nowhere to go, nothing to support me...I was hopeless, to be honest."

Rose took a shaky breath and looked around her, suddenly aware that the theater was absolutely empty, except for the two of them. Some of the house lights had even been turned off again. "So, how...what did you do?" Rose held onto him, the pure shock she had experienced still coursing through her body.

"I found a job. I had to. And I started looking. But I never realized what a big city this is..." Jack stopped, and realized that he must have sounded amusing, because there was a bright smile on her face now. "It took me months--months of searching. And then, one day, I passed a flyer for the play on a light post. Just...just hanging there...Rose Dawson." Jack whispered her name, and Rose looked down, embarrassed. Of course she had never thought she would have to explain anything to him.

"Jack, I...I had to..." Rose tried to sputter a response, but was halted by Jack's hand, which he laid carefully over her mouth. And it was then that she saw the look in his eyes. It wasn't anger or confusion, but happiness, pride.

"I knew it was you. And Rose...I've never been more flattered in my life. I promise." Jack grinned and watched her eyes soften again.

"So what do we do, Jack? There's a lot to talk about, so much to say." Rose widened her eyes expectantly, roving his handsome face. His hair was shorter. She'd never seen it like that before, but it fit him. Made him look wiser, older. She only wished that he would disregard her comment, tell her in that poetic way of his that nothing mattered. There was nothing to do but pick up right where they had left off.

"I know." Jack nodded, his heart falling slightly in his chest. "I've been thinking about that for a few days now. I've been at every performance this week, Rose." She looked surprised but pleased, staring at him in wonder. She felt his hands fumble against her back, smooth and warm. She hadn't thought that she would ever truly experience this comfort again, this security. "You're beautiful on stage, Rose, amazing. You're so alive--just like you should be."

Rose raised her left hand to his cheek, gently caressing it. "Jack, I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. And you know that." She seemed confident, sure of herself. Yes, he'd saved her before. But she didn't need saving now, not in the least.

There was an awkward moment of silence, and Rose cautiously moved her head upward, closer to his. The light scent of sandalwood met her nose, and she sighed, tempted by his lips so near. Would it feel the same, after six months of being apart?

Jack felt his head spinning, smelling her perfume, touching her hair. As if they were out on deck again, out in the sun--in their own world. Her lips were very suddenly on his own, soft and inviting. Jack whispered her name, losing the silent battle inside him. Her response was simply to deepen the kiss, and soon he was aware of absolutely nothing else but the awe of their embrace.

When they finally broke apart, Rose was clinging to him, and he leaned his head against hers. "Jack, you have to say something. Just...anything."

"I feel like we should have a reason not to start this again. But I want to, Rose. I have to. I love you." His breath tickled her ear, and Rose smiled, a blush coming to her cheeks. He had never said that before. And hearing it now, so much later, was strange. But the honesty and truth behind those simple words took her breath away. Wasn't that all that mattered?

"I love you, too, Jack." She spoke softly, almost shyly, and turned her head so that she could see his eyes. "The time doesn't matter, does it? It just can't." She said this hurriedly, impatiently, waiting for his response.

"You've got a life here, Rose. A real one, that you earned. I don't want to take that away."

"You won't." Rose stated this with conviction, with a stubbornness that made Jack smile. "Jack, I've been dreaming of this moment for six months. Thinking that you were gone, dead. I tortured myself, wanting you, and now we've found each other again. Don't even think that I'm going to let this pass us by."

Jack felt as though he must be dreaming himself. These were things that had happened to him--feelings that he, too, had experienced. And truthfully, he was shocked. Shocked to know that Rose, in her willfulness and her strength, did as well.

He laughed. Laughed that golden and heartwarming laugh of his. He stepped back and motioned toward the rows upon rows of chairs. "Looks like you're in command now, Rose--or should I say Mabel? But I always knew you were." She seemed pleased by his comment, his reference to her character in the play. Pulling the last pins from her disheveled hair, she dropped them to the floor, pushing some wild tendrils behind her ears.

"Jack, I put my old life behind me. And I don't...even miss it. I thought I would, but I don't. And for the first time in my life, I feel free. But until tonight, I was still only a half person. You do understand that...right?" Rose's forehead creased as she watched Jack's tender face light up. His heart-shaped lips curved upwards, and finally she saw a glimmer of that bold artist she had met not so long ago.

"Yes. But you've made me whole, too, Rose." He stared at the semi-darkness that stretched before them. They could make a go of things, build a life. Fill the empty spaces together, just like they had planned before. It would be all he wanted, all he needed.

Rose grinned and slipped her arms around him again, this time pulling him even more tightly to her than before. She sensed the intimacy they had always shared, so raw and so beautiful. "Still drawing?" she whispered huskily, brushing her mouth against his.

"You. I draw you. What I remember." Jack kissed her once and leaned back to look at her. "Which is everything."

"I'm glad." Rose smiled warmly and took hold of his waist, gently leading him to walk. "They're going to lock us in here." She giggled. "I have to get my coat from the dressing room. And then..." She paused. "And then what, Jack?" Her voice was expectant, excited, if he was hearing correctly.

"And then we make each day count, right?" Those words were old now, old after months of loneliness and solitude. But they brought back promise--hope. He raised his eyebrows and brushed a curl from Rose's delicate face. There was a look of pure delight there.

"I think that's precisely what we do, Jack."

The End.

Stories