Written by Veiled in Darkness
Based on some situations originated by James Cameron.

Long after the one rescue boat had picked up the few survivors from the icy cold water, Rose had gone numb. She sat near catatonic on the Carpathia, surrounded by grieving women and subdued children. Her eyes were glazed, haunted by the flashing images in her mind. The stewards moved through the crowds, handing out more blankets and tea, collecting the lifebelts. She felt curiously hollow. The wind flapped the edge of her blanket just slightly. Jack...she sighed softly. A tear welled up and spilled over her cheek.

Cal strolled through the steerage passengers, his mouth clamped shut as he struggled not to scream. She must be here. She has to be, he thought furiously. The girl that he had deemed worthy of him was far too smart to have drowned like a gutter rat. Surely she would have somehow found a way into one of the lifeboats. He scanned the crowds, his eyes searching for a glimpse of that fiery auburn hair.

There! On the bench!

He gave in to his impulses and ran to the huddled figure. He dropped to one knee, his hands reaching out to clasp hers. "Rose?" he asked, on the verge of holding his breath.

Her eyes stared off into the distance, seemingly unfocused. Cal snapped his fingers in front of her eyes, but saw no flicker of recognition. "Rose? Rose! Damn it, Rose! Can you hear me?" he shouted impatiently.

Slowly, she dragged her eyes to meet Cal’s anxious face. She closed her eyes for a moment, and then she nodded to herself. "Cal?" A throaty whisper.

"Yes!" crowed Cal. "Oh, thank goodness I found you, sweetpea; I thought I’d never see you again."

"Mmm…" Rose breathed, dropping her eyes from his gaze.

Cal watched her carefully. She seems so vacant, he thought. No matter. She’s mine now, he added mentally.

Rose turned her head as Cal placed her cold hands in between his warmer ones. He rubbed her skin vigorously, attempting to bring some color back to her pale skin.

"Why are you here, Cal?" she asked softly.

Cal blinked. What? "You’re my fiancée, Rose. Darling, don’t be absurd. I was worried sick about you!" he said sharply.

"Worried about me or perhaps your precious necklace?" she whispered to him.

Cal froze for a moment. He placed one finger under her chin. "What did you say?" he asked.

Rose yanked one hand loose from Cal and dug deep into one of her coat pockets. She fished around for a few moments before bringing her hand back up, the necklace chain slightly visible in the early afternoon sun.

"Put that back in your pocket!" he hissed at her.

With a lopsided smirk, Rose dropped it back in. "Come. Let’s go inside now," he said as he stood up, her hands locked in his.

"No," she said, prying her hands loose. "Leave me be."

"I beg your pardon?" he snapped. A long, drawn-out moment of silence hung between them.

"How is it that you’re here, Cal? Women and children first. I see no other men on this level, and yet here you are," she said, her voice soft but bitter.

"Rose, stop acting like a child. I’m here by pure luck. Now, come with me!" he said as he attempted to pull her up to her feet.

"I thought real men made their own luck," she hissed at him.

Cal stopped struggling and heaved her up with one strong pull. He brought her close to his face and leaned in as if to kiss her cheek. In her ear, she heard his whispered words.

"You’ll never make it on your own. You need to be reasonable. After all, darling, this is a man’s world. Do you know what happens to pretty little rich girls who wander out on their own?"

Rose felt her face burn with anger and shame as she struggled not to listen to his words.

"And what of your mother? She must be worried out of her mind by now," he said, a touch of smugness in his voice.

Rose winced. She stared at her feet, unwilling to admit the truths that Cal threw at her. She knew damned well that it was almost impossible to make it in the world if you were a woman.

"I don’t want to care. I don’t want to feel anymore," she muttered, hating the hot, helpless tears that gathered behind her eyelids.

"I can help you, Rose," Cal said through clenched teeth. "Open your heart to me. I’ll help you."

Rose glanced out at the ocean and thought of Jack’s face. She remembered her promise.

"God forgive me. I’m sorry, Jack," she mumbled to herself.

She stared up into Cal’s eyes and nodded slowly. "I’ll come with you," she choked out, struggling with urge to scream, to vomit, to cry until her lungs gave out.

Cal smirked as he wrapped his arm around her trembling shoulders.

I always win, one way or another, he thought victoriously.

Sixty Years Later

Rose stared out the window of her bedroom, overlooking the gardens. She watched the sun begin to set in the early evening sky. A matronly nurse walked up behind her and cleared her throat quietly. Rose turned to her and exclaimed softly, "Look at the sunset, Jack! Isn’t it beautiful?"

"Yes, Ma’am, it is," the nurse agreed. "Come along now. It’s time for dinner." She guided Rose away from the window. The last of the sun’s rays shone through the glass, illuminating her hair and turning it back to a fiery red color. The nurse blinked as the Rose’s hair slowly turned back to white while the sun completely set.

Rose walked passively to the dining room, her eyes lightly glazed. Cal sat at the head of table, slightly stooped but still fairly intimidating. He watched the nurse guide Rose to her seat. He snorted at the way Rose stared dreamily at her plate. He’d kept his promise all these years. He’d promised to help her not feel, and now, as he watched her slowly but neatly spoon mouthfuls of soup, he felt the pangs of regret in letting her become so addicted to the painkillers.

Her daily dosage had been slowly creeping up throughout the years. She was weaned off long enough to bear his only son, but before too long she had to be medicated heavily to keep her from screaming. Rose’s brief periods of lucidity left him reeling when she began to shriek and cry, tearing at her face and hair, wailing about breaking her promises.

Now, she spent virtually all her time in a haze of oblivion, believing that she was still seventeen years old and on the Titanic. He wondered now if insisting that she go with him had been the best thing for her. He carefully sipped a spoonful of his soup and contemplated his past choices.

Rose lay on her bed that night and dreamed. She slipped away silently, walking in her dream along the deck to meet Jack at the clock, to see all her friends and fellow passengers clapping and smiling approvingly as she and Jack kissed.

Every night she dreamed the same, and awoke every morning with tears on her cheeks.

The End.

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