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

Most people would have been devastated by this initial failure. Jack was, but his distress was only momentary. He quickly renewed his resolve to see Rose that day and tell her how he felt about her. The whole ship seemed to be against him, but he was not deterred. Nothing could keep him from her.

This strengthening of resolve did not immediately lend itself to any specific course of action, however. He decided that he probably needed help. Fabrizio was cunning enough to be useful and Tommy seemed to know more than he about the layout of the ship. Perhaps, between them, they could help him find a way past the barriers separating him from Rose--the physical ones, at least.

He started heading deeper into the ship, wondering where he might find his friends. They apparently had been wondering the same thing about him, since he ran into them, not quite literally, a couple of turns into the bowels of Titanic.

"Easy there, Jack," Tommy's deep voice rang out. "No need to be in such a hurry as all that, now is there?" The look Jack gave him obviously effected a pause, as they all walked in silence for a moment. When Tommy spoke again, it was in a much more subdued voice. "I take it didn't go well, then?"

"That's an understatement!" Jack was hot and he found himself almost yelling at his friends. "I used the tuxedo to get past the gate guards to Molly's room. She even told me where Rose would be. But, they wouldn't let me see her. It was a church service. And they wouldn't let me in. Not even to just talk to her. Is being poor an unpardonable sin? I don't think so."

Fabrizio muttered under his breath. "He that oppresseth da poor reproacheth his Maker: but he that honoreth him hath mercy on da poor." Fabrizio had an appropriate Bible verse for almost any occasion. Frequently, they were comforting. This time, though, Jack felt no uplifting of spirit.

He was so incensed that he started almost ranting at his friends. "I've got to see her. I've just got to talk to her, tell her how I feel, help her escape, whatever. She lives in such a painful world and I don't think she belongs there."

Jack's friends exchanged a glance behind his back. She certainly looked the part of someone who belonged in first class. They also didn't understand in the least what he meant by painful. In their experience, people like that usually seemed quite happy. They never did understand just what Jack meant to Rose (or vice versa).

Their ignorance encouraged them to distract and sidetrack him, rather than offering the support he didn't realize he was craving. The gates that frequently segregated them from the outdoors had been recently unlocked again, a fact which had not escaped Tommy's attention. "Come on," said he. "Let's go outside and breathe some fresh air. It'll help ya get some perspective." At the very least, the April chill should help cool down Jack's inflamed emotions.

Jack consented to this. He was willing to take a little time and get his bearings. It wasn't surrender, merely a pause to regroup before sallying forth into the wild world of wealth and opulence.

The three friends were rather quiet as they walked towards the exit to the deck on the rear of the ship. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence--more the quiet of people who don't feel the need to be incessantly talking. They were comfortable together. Jack never realized the greatness of the gift of close friends. He'd always made friends very easily and people naturally felt at ease around him, making him unaware of the loneliness that so many endure on a daily basis.

A few minutes after they'd passed out into the warm morning sunshine, Jack started to feel a little better. Whether it was the fresh air, the natural light, or simply the passage of time, he began to feel that things would work out. He was still completely determined to have his say with Rose, but he no longer felt that it was never going to happen. A way would be found.

Noticing the visible change in Jack's mood, Tommy made what normally would have been an excellent suggestion. "Why don't ya do us some more of your drawings?" His timing was off by about two seconds, though, because that's how long ago Jack had seen Rose, two decks above and worlds away. He never heard the suggestion and wouldn't have responded at this point even if he had.

Jack was studying Rose with quiet intensity. He paid almost no attention to the other members of the small group she was accompanying. Had he taken the time or cared, he probably would have recognized her mother, Cal, and Thomas Andrews as other parts of the small entourage, but he didn't. His whole attention was focused on Rose and trying to figure out what she was doing and where she would be next. How could he get her attention?

As they moved slowly around the deck, Jack finally noticed that most of Rose's attention rested on another man. It was Mr. Andrews, who, by his gestures and animation, was giving a tour of his grandest accomplishment, Titanic. On paper, Titanic might have belonged to the White Star Line company, but it was obvious that Thomas Andrews had his own claim on the great ship--a claim more powerful than money, a claim of love.

As his attention widened to try to discover what path they might be taking, Jack noticed a consistent interruption of his view. Tommy was waving his hand up and down in front of his face again. Judging by the raucous sounds of laughter, he'd been doing so for some time.

Deigning to take notice, Jack continued trying to determine where Rose and her party would be going next. It wasn't too difficult to judge that they were headed for the bridge. After that, barring an unforeseen about face, they would emerge on the other side and come back towards the stern. It was there that he decided he could most easily reach Rose.

He looked across the great ship, no longer impressed merely by its grandness. He was searching a way to reach A-deck, the highest level, and nearly eighty feet above the ocean floor. Gates separated the various deck parts, dividing the classes, as was the law (not merely the custom) in those days. Stewards manned most, but a few seemed to depend on the natural honesty of people. It was that trust in mankind that Jack was going to exploit, but he couldn't do it alone. It was more dangerous than talking his way past manned gates, but he was too desperate to care now.

Looking intently at his friends, Jack knew that he could trust them. Or at least, if he couldn't trust them, there was no one on Earth he could trust, except maybe Rose. He needed help. They could provide it. "Come on, guys. I'm gonna go up there and talk to her. I'm gonna need your help getting over the rail, though."

Fabrizio and Tommy looked at Jack as if he had grown an extra pair of heads. All he needed was help getting over the rail, huh? What about lookouts? What about their clothes? Any number of obstacles, no few of them psychological, separated them from the top of the ship.

They first tried to talk Jack out of it. "Are ya sure it's worth it? What kin ya possibly say ta her ta make a difference?" was Tommy's question.

Fabrizio was more logical. "And what if we get caught again? Ya know we're already in trouble with da crew from being on da bow. You're only gonna make it worse." His statement was not made out of fear but out of expediency. He'd been in jail before and had no wish to repeat the experience. Yet his comment stemmed from an intense desire to enjoy the rest of the voyage than concern about himself. Also, he wanted nothing to interfere with the enjoyment of his incipient arrival in 'l'America.'

Jack was perfectly frank with them. Turning, he looked each of them in the eye individually. "I really don't know what I'm going to say. It might not matter a whit to her. But I do know I'm gonna die inside if I don't talk to her again." He started almost pleading. "It's really important. Please help me."

To their credit, neither man hesitated. "We're here for ya." "Sure, boy-o, we'll help." They weren't sure he was in his right mind and weren't ready to give up on their efforts to look out for him, but at the same time they were not going to desert him in his time of need. So, they accompanied him, both to help and to dissuade if possible.

Jack headed for one of the unguarded gates to the middle, second class tier of the ship with the other men trailing in his wake. They reached the gate just as Fabrizio was telling him that no woman was worth being in chains. Freedom counted more than a passing fantasy.

Barely hearing, Jack scrambled over the gate, pausing only long enough to verify that the other men continued to follow him. Tommy took over trying to convince him of the irrationality of his actions. "I know you're smitten with her, boy-o, but you can't just throw away your whole life, kin ya?"

Jack barely heard their arguments. Stopping to try to justify his actions would only increase their likelihood of being caught. He was intent on getting up to the high first class deck without being stopped. He knew the risks; he knew the dangers; he knew they didn't stack up in comparison with seeing Rose again.

The steamer was built so that it was difficult to reach the upper decks from below, since most of the ship was built with one deck sitting directly on top of the other. However, in a few places near the stern, an enterprising individual could find places where it was not necessary scramble off the side of the ship before climbing up. The only physical barrier was a wall with a rail at the top--difficult to climb but not impossible for someone with Jack's determination and assisting friends.

Just before they reached an unwatched portion of one of these walls that supported the upper deck and afforded an easy way up, Tommy tried one last time. "She's a goddess amongst mortal men, there's no denying. But she's in another world, Jackie, forget her. She's closed the door."

She hadn't closed the door. It'd been closed for her. Jack knew that. He didn't have time to explain. He said simply, "It was them, not her." He checked around to make sure they weren't being watched--or even visible. He nodded at Tommy. "Ready? Go."

Without even having been told, Tommy knew what Jack wanted from him. He shook his head at his friend's foolishness, but he acted to help nonetheless. Crouching down, he cradled his hands on his knees, giving Jack a place to step. When Jack did so, Tommy heaved nearly as hard as he could. He had to make certain he acted quietly and safely, so as to not jeopardize Jack's safety in any way. This allowed Jack to get his entire body on top of the railing. A quick scan of the area indicated no one near, so he rolled the rest of the way over the railing to land firmly on A-deck, directly in the path (he hoped) of the ship tour.

In his scramble, he barely heard his friends' comments as they disappeared back toward the third class section. Tommy was still bemoaning the actions. "He's not being logical, I tell ya."

Fabrizio, in a better position to understand, just shook his head, probably with a wry grin on his face. "Amore is not logical."

True, Jack thought, but it better be a protector. I stand out like an apple in a bunch of grapes up here. No one would mistake me for a passenger here, and without someone to be with, I'll get asked very uncomfortable questions. He needed a disguise. It didn't have to be precise, just good enough that he could withstand casual inspection.

It didn't even require craning his neck to see the answer to his dilemma. A bowler and coat sat discarded on a nearby deck chair. They apparently belonged to a man who was teaching a boy to spin a top with a string. He won't miss these, Jack thought. I'll only need them a moment. I can put them back here before he even knows they're gone.

Moving surreptitiously around a massive deck crane, he edged up to the coat and hat. A moment later, he had them, with no one the wiser. He quickly slipped into the heavy coat, feeling the heat still trapped inside. Obviously, the man had been quite warm and would not need his coat for some time. It was perfect. The cloak was long enough to cover all of his dingy attire.

The hat on his head nearly completed the look, but Jack's constant close attention to his surroundings came to his rescue. Recalling the looks of the previous evening, he knew that no gentleman would allow his sideburns to show below his hat. A man of high standing would have his hair neatly combed and would never display such hair as tousled as Jack's.

The solution was obvious. Licking his fingers to moisten them, Jack slicked his hair back over his ears. Without a mirror, he couldn't check the quality of his disguise, but it had to do. He knew that he could never withstand close scrutiny--his shoes would give him away if nothing else would--but he believed (quite correctly, in fact) that from a distance he was indistinguishable from a gentleman.

His face could quite easily cause trouble, too, so he turned and faced out to sea. He knew he would hear the passage of Rose and her tour, if they came that way. In the meantime, he tried yet again to script what he would say to Rose when (not if, when) he got the chance.

Try as he might, though, all he could do was imagine possible scenarios. He expressed his concern to Rose, who immediately fell into his arms and promised that she would run away with him. His poverty didn't matter to her; all that mattered was his faithfulness. Or, in others, she laughed at him, calling him a foolish boy whose dreams were too audacious to dignify. Nearly every possible outcome of the inevitable confrontation was played out in his mind.

Fortunately, he didn't have long to wait and consider all the possibilities. If he had, it's possible, albeit unlikely, that his resolve would have cracked under the great pressure being applied to it. It was only a few minutes before Rose's party passed behind him. He could hear Thomas Andrew's strong voice calling out, "Just keep heading aft. The next stop will be the engine room." Rose was trailing the group, which had not noticed the lone figure facing the ocean.

As they passed, Jack pushed away from the rail, his heart pounding suddenly. He was so near her again. What would happen?

He touched Rose's arm and motioned her to be quiet. "Come on," he whispered softly. She complied with both the spoken and silent requests, although not joyfully. They ducked into a door leading in toward the middle of the ship. It happened to lead into an exercise room. It was here that Jack needed to make his case. What he said in the next few minutes could make or break his relationship with Rose. If there was any chance, and there just had to be, of anything more than last night, he had to make the case now, or it would never be made.

Jack's face betrayed very little of the inner turmoil he was experiencing. In steady, methodical motions quite the opposite of his racing heart and mind, he started to close the door behind them, while peering through the rows of exercise equipment checking to see if anyone would interrupt them. No one was going to, since Rose and Jack were completely alone in the room.

For all of Jack's preparation, it was Rose who spoke first, before he'd even finished easing the door closed. Her voice was different somehow, as if the words she were speaking were no longer hers but were words that had been given to her to speak--a role to play, one she was playing both reluctantly and excellently. "Jack, this is impossible. I can't see you."

Even though he thought he was somewhat prepared for some initial frostiness, the words chilled him to the bone. The only possible source of comfort was the tone of her voice. Perhaps, she didn't really feel that way. He had to hope so. He couldn't do anything else. Taking her gently by the shoulders, he caught her attention and moved her delicately to a small section of wall between the door and the first of a line of windows.

Jack removed his hat and held it awkwardly against his stomach. He felt less like he was hiding with it off. He didn't want to just discard it, since he still had every intention of returning the two borrowed items when their purpose had been accomplished. Using his eyes as a magnet, he inexorably attracted Rose's eyes. Only when he was certain he had her full attention did he start speaking. "I need to talk to you."

He wanted to see (and thus, saw) that she desperately wanted to talk to him, too. As much as he yearned for that, her words were hard to overlook. "No, Jack, no!" Here she paused for a moment to take a deep breath. When she continued, it was in the same strained, agonizing voice that seemed almost completely devoid of emotion. "Jack, I'm engaged. I'm marrying Cal. I love Cal." She added the last, almost as an afterthought, apparently in reaction to their conversation on Titanic's deck the previous day. She'd had trouble meeting his eyes through this confession.

The sting of her words was still strong in his heart and brain. "Rose, you're no picnic, all right? You're a spoiled little brat even..." In spite of himself, he was smiling, thinking about her regal air. It was at this point that he remembered his earlier credo of starting with a compliment, which faded his smile. It was too late to start that way, but he could at least give her one now. It might even have more impact now, in comparison with his biting opening remark. To that end, he continued with, "but under you're the most amazingly astounding, wonderful girl...woman...that I've ever known and--" It wasn't quite how he'd intended it...

Rose interrupted him. "Jack, I--I..." He couldn't tell exactly why she had interrupted him. Obviously, the sound of his voice was in some way offensive to her. Was it because she adored him or because she now despised him? Deep down, he should have known it was the former, but at a moment like this, after her opening remark, the latter felt more likely.

He didn't want to hear what she had to say, not yet. He wanted to finish his speech, though it wasn't turning out at all like he had hoped. Gently pulling her back to face him, he tried again to speak. "No wait. Let me try to get this out. You're amazing..." His tongue felt too large for his mouth. He was tripping over his words. He felt like a colossal fool, but Rose's expression wasn't one of muted laughter. She was paying attention, at least, which encouraged him to go on. A deep breath and a slight gritting of his teeth provided the rest of the motivation. "I'm not an idiot. I know how the world works. I've got ten bucks in my pocket. I've nothing to offer you and I know that. I understand." It didn't pain him as much as you might expect to admit this. He had never been ashamed of his poverty before and he wasn't about to start being so now. Besides, she'd have never come to the party the previous night if she valued mammon that much. He finally got to the heart of his oration. "But I'm too involved now. You jump, I jump, remember? I can't turn away without knowing you'll be all right. That's all that I want."

This time Jack was certain he saw the internal struggle within Rose. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears. Combined with her fabulous royal blue and cream-colored outfit, she was achingly beautiful and so very real. He so much wanted to comfort her, to assure her that everything would turn out fine. He couldn't bring himself to lie to her like that, though. She had heard (and swallowed) so many half-truths and fallacious reasoning. If he submitted to his desire to equivocate, his only accomplishment would be to make himself so much like the rest of her society that he would no longer be worth leaving Cal's money for.

Her voice crackled with emotion as she spoke. "Well, I'm fine. I'll be fine." Sensing his disbelief, she continued with a feeble, "Really." She trembled a little in his grasp as she said this. Whether her mind ever actually believed this statement or not remained in doubt, but it was obvious her body did not accept the lie.

Jack tried to capitalize on this doubt. He could sense the war inside of her, but he had no notion of what weapons his opponents had used. The enemy was clear--it was Cal and Ruth specifically and her entire upbringing more generally. "Really? I don't think so." Pointing out of the exercise room at no particular individuals, he put as much venom as he could in his next word. Lovejoy's natural voice would have done it better, but he tried anyway. "They've got you trapped, Rose, and you're going to die if you don't break free. Maybe not right away, because you're strong. But...sooner or later the fire that I love about you, Rose, that fire is going to burn out." Of its own accord, his hand reached out to gently caress the side of her face, as if to push hair out of her mouth. Of course, her hair was much too perfectly styled to have fallen out of its coif.

Rose's response, when it came an eternal second later, was what neither of them wanted to hear. Both suspected its coming, but that didn't lessen the impact in the least. Visibly, Rose's throat forced her heart back to its appointed place. With a voice husky with emotion, she pushed him away--not physically but with the infinitely more powerful force of words. "It's not up to you to save me, Jack."

The desire to hold her and drown their concerns in laughter and joy was positively suffocating. He leaned nearer, so that he could feel her warm, moist breath against his face, and where she could surely feel his as well. He knew she spoke the truth, but he didn't want to accept it. He had to though. What he didn't have to do was accept her the conclusion that Rose had reached from that truth. One fact allows many interpretations, a fact that Jack seized upon immediately.

His mind was ripe with ideas and suggestions, flights of fantasy, and storybook endings. "But I can," he wanted to whisper. He couldn't do it, though, since he knew she was right. In all honesty, she was the only one who could save herself. That didn't change his desire to have her to fall into his arms, insistent on never leaving them again, which those words might accomplish. Jack, though, was honest, even when it hurt. When he did speak, it was only to say, "You're right. Only you can do that." Meeting her eyes, he tried to communicate the rest of his message silently. "But I can help," he fervently thought. "I know you can do it."

She missed those thoughts or chose to ignore them entirely. He could see that she knew and believed that he would help. Nonetheless, Jack couldn't tell if Rose was willing to actually make a break from her past, even to save herself. It would cost her so much. He, unfortunately, knew that his earlier confession about his helplessness was correct. He didn't have anything to offer her--anything other than a strong desire to help and to always be there for her--worth more in its way than all the millions of Hockley dollars.

As her lips moved in an internal argument, Jack felt an almost irresistible urge to kiss them. If he could just kiss her, then everything would be made clear and everything would work out all right. In his innermost mind, a voice was telling him that even a kiss couldn't solve everything, but he was getting very good at ignoring voices that morning. He leaned towards her to kiss her, only to be caught short by her hand between their bodies.

This time, she did physically push at him--although not with any strength. Grabbing his hand on her face, she pushed it away. The words accompanying the nudge, though, gave it strength vastly greater than it would have had on its own. "I'm going back. Leave me alone." What was worse was that he knew she meant it.

With that, Rose turned and calmly opened the door. Squaring her shoulders, she marched out to rejoin her society, leaving behind a shell of the man who had been talking to her only moments earlier.

Not realizing what he was doing, Jack walked beside her for what he thought was the last time. Physically, it was only the ripple-glass windows that separated them, but the actual barrier was infinitely stronger, for it had been built not by others but by Rose herself.

When she finally passed agonizingly out of sight, Jack didn't even try to stop the tears that were flowing down his cheeks. She was gone, gone forever. It was like the loss of his parents all over again, except this time it was worse. It wasn't the inscrutable laws of nature that had split them; it was the more painful sting of choice. In a way, he now wished that he hadn't been able to see her at all that day, since then he could have always blamed others. Now, he knew that Rose herself had chosen, and her choice was not him. It didn't matter what she had chosen, just that it was not he.

Every person has a powerful self-preservation instinct, whether it is against mental, physical, or emotional trauma. Even in the uttermost depths of despair, now, when he was looking up to see the bottom, this innate ability came to Jack's rescue. Was it really Rose who had said those things? He had seen the conflict within her. Maybe it was just...here his inspiration failed. He didn't know what new force was keeping her from him. Something had been added that had not been present the evening before, though, something powerful.

Nevertheless, the light from this candle of hope illuminated his life a little and gave him the ability to go on. Life would never be the same for him, but he had survived grief before. He started to rebuild the walls around his heart. If he'd never loved, he never would have cried.

A deep breath helped to slow the silent sobs wracking his thin frame. Composing himself as much as possible, he pulled his coat, its origin completely forgotten, tighter around himself. Mustering as much poise as possible, he walked back towards the door leading to the deck.

Passing through, he quietly and calmly walked up to the nearest steward, no longer caring for his freedom. He said woodenly, "I don't belong here." He felt like he didn't belong anywhere.

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