Written by Doug Kuhlman
Based on some situations originated by James Cameron.

Jack flounced down the last few steps of the staircase to the melodic strains of human voices. The sound seemed to emanate from his left, so he turned that way after he had cleared the last step. However, no people graced his view. The dining hall in that direction was empty. He was not dismayed; he sensed victory close at hand.

Turning the other way, he saw what he had come for. The echoes of the ship had confused him, leading him to believe the service was in the opposite direction. He noticed the two flunkies flanking the entrance to what was obviously a church service. On the one hand, he really shouldn't be concerned about them--why would they try to stop him? On the other, though, he really felt a bit concerned that they would, just on general principles.

As he neared the doors, however, the steward on the left reached out hand and voice to restrain him. "Sir," he began, in that phony, annoyingly polite way that only servants can manage.

Jack tried to brush by him with a simple sentence. "I just need to speak to somebody for a second." He saw no need to let his whole hand show immediately. He was saving Rose's name as an ace up his sleeve, one he hoped he wouldn't need to use. He could also imagine that they'd been instructed to not let anyone see Rose. It would be just like Cal to try something like that.

The steward's rebuttal, "Sir. You're not supposed to be in here," overrode Jack's continuing onslaught of "I just want to speak to someone."

Even though he had been somewhat expecting it, the audacity of barring someone from a place of worship based merely on appearances astounded Jack. While he could somewhat understand restricting entrance based on beliefs, this was a totally different reason. What possible justification could they have? The sheer temerity of their actions stopped him and made him pause.

Nonetheless, he'd come too far to be thwarted now. He mentally calculated the pros and cons of the various methods of getting past these two men. Should he make a scene? Force by them physically? Talk his way by? The last seemed the most pleasing alternative, since his secondary goal was to not offend Rose in any manner. Acting in an uncouth manner could scuttle his chances with her forever.

"Look," he began reasonably, but with a firm undertone to his voice. "I was just in here last night. You don't remember me?" He affected surprise with the last question, even though he knew what the answer would be. It no longer surprised him that people in this society only saw clothes, not the more important entity hidden by those outer trappings.

The same steward replied, in a gratingly patient voice designed to discourage and offend, while still maintaining proper appearances. "No, I'm afraid I don't. Now, you're going to have to turn around."

It was at that moment that Lovejoy exited the worship service. He looked even grimmer than usual. This was such an improbable feat that normally Jack would have been immensely impressed. What was usually dour was now positively austere. The stewards, noticing none of this, immediately cringed in honor of his neatly pressed, hand-tailored suit.

Jack immediately seized his opportunity. Being poor had taught him that manservants or maids or gardeners or other hired hands would often side against their employer. Although he hadn't received that impression from Lovejoy, it was his best shot at getting in to see Rose without making a fuss. Suiting words to thought, he pointed to Lovejoy, claiming, "He'll tell you." At the very least, Lovejoy wouldn't lie, would he?

The older man's face darkened even further--he was no longer attending someone else's funeral, it was now his own. Even as Jack's hopes fell, he was dazzled by the valet's ability to scowl. His glare would be worthy of a lion protecting its young. Trying his best to ignore the fact that he was the recipient of the stare, he pushed on gamely. "I just need..." At the word need, all three other men sneered slightly. To their eyes, he needed a great deal many things that they had no cause to provide. Running out of steam, he pressed on. "I just need to see..."

Lovejoy's baritone transcended Jack's trailing tenor. "Mr. Hockley and Mrs. DeWitt Bukater continue to be appreciative of your assistance." At this point, Jack noticed the blatant omission of Rose's name. His mind raced to determine if it was because Rose didn't pay Lovejoy or because she wasn't part of the consortium against Jack. "They asked me to, uh, give you this, in gratitude."

The verbal pause had obviously been caused by his trying to reach a decision on the amount necessary to bribe Jack. The rest of the speech had been delivered so flawlessly and so arduously. Lovejoy chewed off each word as if the mere act of speaking to Jack were so distasteful as to be painful. By the end, the throaty sound was almost a threat. Any hope he'd had of getting help from Lovejoy was squelched forevermore.

At the same time, Jack was disgusted by the way Cal (speaking with Lovejoy's mouth--at least this time) tried to buy his way out of any uncomfortable situation. He obviously still believed that money was everything, a common enough misconception at any time. It still remains true that some things simply are not for sale. Jack's inflamed heart was most assuredly on that list.

His first statement, while not letter-perfect true, summed up his sentiments concisely. "I don't want your money." He tried doggedly to get them to understand what he wanted (Wanted? Heck, what he needed), though his goal seemed further away again. "Please, I just..."

Lovejoy continued his earlier speech, as if the interruption were completely beneath his notice. Still serving as mouthpiece to Cal, he persisted, "And also to remind you that you hold a third class ticket and that your presence here is no longer appropriate." The ominous sound of his voice sounded a death knell to Jack's ears.

In spire of his growing sense of desperation and despondency, he pushed his point. "Please, I just want to speak to Rose for one second, all right? Please!" He tried to find in any of them a sense of decency or a kindred spirit.

It failed. Lovejoy was one step ahead of him. Splitting the two twenty-dollar bills he had offered Jack between them, he effectively eliminated any pangs of conscience the other two might have felt. "Gentlemen, would you please see that Mr. Dawson gets back to where he belongs and that he stays there?" He managed to make "Dawson" sound like a swear word.

The quiet steward finally piped up. "Yes, sir!" Turning to Jack, he prodded with a "Come along, you!"

As the two men frog-marched Jack's barely resistant form away from his mission, a thought struck the quiet one. "Shouldn't one of us stay at the door?"

Jack's ears perked up at this. He didn't let the thoughts reach his face, but he was frantically calculating how to use this fleeting hint of opportunity to his advantage. The briefest flutter of an idea twinged the very edge of his conscious mind. It was a long shot, but it was all he had.

The faces of the two stewards were thoughtful, as they tried to think their way out of the corner. They'd been extravagantly tipped to take a ruffian back down to third class, but their "normal" job necessitated being present at the door, to open it for the trickle of people entering the service and the rush of people exiting when it was over.

Capitalizing on their doubt, Jack made what he hoped and prayed was a very reasonable suggestion. Forcing himself to speak quietly and demurely, he displayed his hand. "Look, I can find my own way back. You two just go on back to doing your duty." His hope flared in spite of all his attempts to keep it quiescent.

It was not meant to be. The quick-witted steward shook him gently. "None of that! I'll see you back down to your rightful place."

The other steward protested quickly. "Hey, I should take him down. You got to do the last errand."

They frowned at each other. After a moment, the raised eyebrows of one received a nod of acquiescence from the other. "Tails," came the call, as the well-polished penny threw flashes of light through the corridor. The small sound of the coin landing was lost in the volume of Titanic, but the coin finally came to rest showing heads. "Ha!" came the exultant cry.

The loser cast an eye over Jack, who appeared to be appraising the winner. "You sure you can handle him?" He apparently was less than pleased with the result of the competition and wanted to find a way to go himself.

Any fleeting thought Jack might have had about fleeing was instantly crushed in the steward's iron grip. "He won't be any trouble. Will you, lad?" Jack's resigned shake of his head seemed to placate the other man, who grumbled slightly but dutifully returned to his post by the door.

The next few minutes found Jack in a daze. He was pushed, pulled, and generally manhandled through the ship. The same halls that held light and luxury with Rose as his companion were bleak and stark in his current company.

In short order, they reached the main stairwell between the classes. "Don't let me see your face up here again," the man warned as he pushed Jack through the opening. He spun to see the gates clang shut, confining him away from the best thing that had ever happened to him.

The End.

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