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Chapter Text

New York City, New York
April 20th, 1912

Jack wished more than anything to leave the hospital. He wished to be alone, away from the screams and cries of injured survivors and prying nurses who queried him endlessly about the sinking. He desired a moment of silence in which he could think about her and, more importantly, how to find her.

Rose was somewhere out there, terrified, freezing, and starving. He was well aware of it. But he had no idea how to get to her.

"You should be able to go in a week or two, perhaps three," the nurse said, "do you have somewhere to go, sir?" He didn't respond, instead stared straight ahead at a distant wall. "They're providing lodging for survivors, sir," she continued.

"It's really cold out there," she said, motioning to the window where raindrops slid down it, "it's best you don't stay out there in your condition."

"I know."

"Do you have somewhere to-"

"Could you do something for me?"

"Would you like me to find a name on the survivor list?"

"Yes. Could you check for a Rose DeWitt Bukater?"

The nurse stepped away. She was gone for quite some time. Jack felt a pit in his stomach when he saw her expression as she returned. He didn't understand. Even dismissed the idea. She couldn't be gone.

He recalled the dreadful night just as he remembered it: at some point, he was sinking down to the bottom of the ocean, his mind in a haze. He felt himself slipping away and couldn't comprehend what was happening. But suddenly, something jolted him awake and he started swimming up to the surface, his body screaming for air.

The cold water was unbearable and his muscles ached, but he kept pushing himself. Eventually, his hand brushed against something solid, and he realized it was the piece of wood Rose was on. He clung onto it with all his might, shivering uncontrollably as the icy wind whipped around him.

He saw a lifeboat in the distance and let out a weak cry for help. The men on the boat pulled him aboard, and he collapsed, his body numb and exhausted.

As he looked around, he realized that Rose wasn't there. Fear and panic set in as he frantically searched for her, calling out her name.

"Sir, please stay calm. You are alright now," one of the crew men had told him, wrapping a blanket around his frozen body.

"Rose," he murmured, "where's Rose?"

He sank into despair, feeling like he had lost everything. And despite being on the same lifeboat as Rose, they were both too cold and covered in blankets to notice each other's presence. They both assumed that the other had perished in the sinking of the Titanic, and were left to mourn their loss in silence.

"My apologies, sir. There is no Rose DeWitt Bukater." The nurse insisted. Her words snapped him out of his memories.

"Look again."

"There is no-"

"Look again," he spoke in a firmer tone.

"I went through the list twice, to make sure."

"Then look again. You missed her."

"I did not."

His voice rose and the heads in the room immediately turned to him, "just give me the damn list."

The nurse trudged down the same path she had taken earlier with a swallow. She came back with a stack of papers.

None of them included the name Rose DeWitt Bukater.

"Shit," mumbled Jack, "shit, shit-"

His eyes watered as the names on the papers blurred. He hid his face with his palms, hunching over the stacks of papers and rocking back and forth. The nurse beside him had no idea what to do. She tentatively placed her hand on his back and remained silent.

"I don't understand," he wept, mildly embarrassed by his outburst, "she was on the lifeboat. She was safe."

"Perhaps you should rest, sir," she said, taking the papers from his lap. He barely slept during his stay, and she was well aware of it. "Sleep will not heal your grief, but it will improve your health. Mentally and physically."

Jack wished he could tell her to leave him alone so he could think. She had swathed a blanket over him before he could. He sunk into the bed, too exhausted to start a dispute and fell into a much-needed nap. Tears lingered on his cheeks.

New York City, New York
April 20th, 1912

Had she not eaten in two - no - three days? She made an effort not to think about it too much. The anguish in her stomach was getting worse by the second. Stealing had become a comfortable idea, but she tried her hardest to avoid it.

Rose had gone from place to place, begging for work, only to be met with rejection each time.

She diverted her attention by observing those who passed by. They never returned her gaze. Why would they? She was a dispiriting sight. Rain poured down on her as she sat on the side of the street, her legs tucked in under her chin.

From a distance, she spotted a young lady walking towards her. Her pale pink dress flowed around her curves. Scattered freckles adorned her face, and her honey-colored eyes seemed to sparkle. As she drew closer, Rose couldn't help but stare. She had never seen anyone quite like her before - her bright eyes and warm smile drew her in.

When their gazes met, the woman came to a halt. "Have I seen you before?" she asked, turning her head to the side.

"I don't think so," Rose mumbled.

"You seem strangely familiar."

Rose just shrugged.

"What are you doing out here in this freezing weather? Don't you have anywhere else to go?" Her eyes were squinting in concern.

"No."

"Well, come, come," the woman offered her hand and pulled Rose up to her, "there's enough room under the umbrella. I'm going to a nearby cafe that serves the tastiest soups. Would you like to join me?"

"I'm short of money."

"Don't worry, I'll pay. My name is Eve Adair. Eve is just fine."

"Rose Dawson."

"Lovely name. May I call you Rose?"

Rose nodded.

"Good. The whole Mr. and Mrs. thing irritates me. It's all too formal."

The cafe was unlike anything she'd ever visited before. It's air was congested with cigarette smoke, it's cluttered kitchen was visible, and ripped brown chairs and tables were attached to the walls. The room was alive with conversation, and nearly every seat was taken.

A far cry from the posh restaurants she had once frequented.

Rose couldn't quite understand why this girl had so casual brought her along. Such kindness was unfamiliar to her.

"So, why are you wearing a man's coat and a nightdress?" Eve said as they settled into a booth.

"It's a long story."

"I have time."

"It's a story I'd rather not tell."

"Alright," Eve pursed her bottom lip, "are you from around here?"

"Yes," she lied.

"I'm from California. I moved here a couple years ago."

"I've never been there before. Only heard stories." Rose's thoughts immediately turned to Jack. She fell ill. Little things would remind her of him, and nausea would overpower her. She'd battle back tears.

She missed him. More than she imagined possible.

"Really? What'd you hear? Good things, I hope."

"I'm not interested in discussing it."

Eve's order for the two of them arrived. Rose swallowed everything faster than she could chew it. At that point, she couldn't care less about manners and let some of the meal drip down her chin. She'd never felt such intense hunger before, such a ravenous need for food.

Eve's brow furrowed. "You must have been hungry."

Rose remained silent. She continued to eat her meal.

"Rose, I have an extra room. Actually, I've been looking for a roommate..."

"I don't have a dime; I couldn't pay my half of the rent."

"Don't worry about it right now; I can get you a job."

"You're awfully nice," Rose swallowed. Eve truly was. Rose had spent her entire life surrounded by gossipy, critical women who only wanted to bring the worst out of others. She'd never had genuine friends, or anyone who genuinely cared about her... unless, of course, there was Jack. Though he was hardly just a friend.

She cut off thoughts of him the second they appeared. She'd save them for the night, when she could close her eyes and shed a tear or two.

"Well, aren't we friends now? Besides, I haven't found a decent roommate in weeks."

"And what gives you the impression that I'm decent?" Her gaze was drawn down to her shambled plate, then back to Eve. "You found me on the street."

"Dear, you don't look one bit like you belong on the streets."

New York City, New York
April 20th, 1912

"Sir? Sir!" The elderly nurse's heels clicked urgently as she chased after him,
"You need to return to your bed."

Jack struggled against the weakness in his body, his limp and grunt the only indication of the effort it took for him to reach the door. "I'm getting the hell out of here."

"No, you can't! Let me help you back to your bed. You're in no condition to be walking around."

But as he pushed forward, he felt the ground beneath him begin to slip away. The already fragile world around him crumbled even further as he fell into darkness.

He awoke on the same uncomfortable hospital bed. The nurse's voice filled his ears. "You've done more harm than good, young man. Can't you see that?"

"What?" Jack groaned, a sharp pain pulsed through his head.

"You passed out. Your body hit the floor over there." She gestured somewhere, but he couldn't bring himself to look. "Stop these foolish stunts. They're getting old."

"Old? This is the first time I've tried to leave-"

"This is the third time, sir. The third."

He let out a sigh, unable to remember the other times he had tried to escape. He didn't want to continue this conversation with the nurse. "Can you do something for me?"

"Her name is not on the list."

"What?"

"Rose DeWitt Bukater. You asked another nurse to look her up on the list earlier today. You've been asking every nurse since you've been here."

"I haven't!"

"It's the hypothermia. It's muddling your mind. Your memory is faulty, but it will get better soon."

"This is the first time-"

"You can ask any of the nurses here. They'll tell you the same story: you asked them to do something for you, they couldn't find her on the list, you became angry and insisted on looking through the list, and you cried in despair every time."

Jack grew increasingly quiet and terrified. He had no recollection of any of this. But the nurse's expression and tone were sincere. How could his mind fail him so? "And... and I'll get over this?"

"Of course. You're just sick. It'll pass."

"And she's really gone?"

"According to the list, yes. I am sorry."

"How many times have I realized this? How many times have I grieved-"

"Many."

"Have I had this conversation before?"

"No. None of the other nurses could gather the courage to tell you."

"Have I done anything else?"

"You've called many of the nurses Rose, talked to them as if they were her."

"Oh."

"But those seem to be the actions of grief, not hypothermia."

The weight of his loss hit Jack like bricks, overwhelming him with grief. He couldn't remember how many times he had grieved for Rose, how many times he had searched for her in vain. He couldn't even remember how many times he had fallen and been brought back to this bed. All he knew was that she was gone, and the pain of that loss was more than he could bear.

New York City, New York
April 20th, 1912

"It's a shabby little thing. Hopefully, it will suffice." Rose was shown around the small apartment by Eve. She warned her about the swung cabinet doors, slick floors, and just about every other flaw or annoyance that came with the apartment. "Each room has a heater, so you won't get cold."

"Thank you. Those two words barely begin to express how grateful I am."

"If anything," Eve paused, "you're helping me out; it gets lonely here."

"I see. It gets lonely out there too."

"I bet... let's see," She glanced around Rose's new room, making sure she had everything, "you appear to have everything. We can talk about this whole living situation and possibly a future job tomorrow, yes?"

"Yes," Rose smiled warmly. She then proceeded to call her back, "Eve?"

"Mhm?" She stepped back in.

"Why- why are you doing this? Forgive me but I don't really understand." It was all too kind of her, all too generous just for some girl on the street.

"Let's just say I know I thing or two about your situation."

Chapter Text

Los Angeles, California
June 10th, 1922
Ten years later...

Ten years did not alter the way he looked at her.

Bottles of bootleg whiskey and countless other variations of alcohol were carelessly tossed around the room, it's contents splashing on the floor and furniture. Guests partied and giggled. No one cared for the future or past. But Jack remained motionless in the corner of the bustling rooftop, unable to release a breath, with only the past and future on his mind.

The past. The beautiful, tragic past. He never lost sight of the concept. The past was a weight on his shoulders, a constant reminder of what he had lost. Old memories returned to him frequently as years dashed by. Jack feared forgetting. Memories of her smile, her voice. And there she was. Close enough to observe, close enough to pick up her heartwarming squeals.

Rose was no longer the frightened, concealed girl she once was. He remembered the last time he saw her, the way her eyes shone with fear and desperation. Now, she carried a radiant glow that was impossible to overlook. It was evident through her bright, warm smile. Oh, that smile. It reached all the way to her eyes and took up most of the space on that lightly powdered face of hers. Jack found himself unable to tear his gaze away from Rose, her bright gleam and sparkling eyes drawing him in like a moth to a flame.

She danced in the arms of another. A man who Jack would later know to be Henry Calvert.

Jack made the following conclusions - most of which sprouted out of jealousy. Henry Calvert was a tall, stocky man with smooth and dark hair and a permanent grin etched into his face. He wore a tailored suit and shiny loafers. In no way was this Mr. Calvert an extraordinary man. He was a tiny part of a collective group.

Despite his expensive clothes and smooth charm, Jack couldn't shake the feeling that there was something off about Henry. He seemed like the kind of man who was always chasing the next big deal, with no time for hobbies or creative pursuits. His worldview was limited to the narrow confines of the business world, and Jack immediately saw Henry as a corporate drone. It was an unfair observation, especially since Jack had never even spoken to Henry. But a part of him wanted to see Henry as the villain, the obstacle standing in the way.

Rose's obvious happiness contradicted this, every slightly evil thought of Jack's. She and Henry were the idyllic pair, a sight that was both passionate and amusing to behold. They possessed the ability to drive every lonesome man or woman insane.

Henry twirled Rose around the dance floor with ease, his confident steps leading them in perfect unison. He whispered something in her ear, and Jack saw her face light up with laughter. It was a sight that filled Jack with both happiness and pain. If she weren't happy, if she were miserable, if she didn't wear that polished diamond on her hand, Jack would be just as heartbroken. What was the point of his happiness if hers were absent?

"You're staring." The entry of a woman separated Jack from his notions.

Her dress flowed around her curves, revealing just enough to leave the rest of her figure a mystery. Scattered freckles adorned her face, and her honey-colored eyes seemed to sparkle as she grinned at Jack. As she drew closer, Jack couldn't help but stare. He had never seen anyone quite like her before - her bright eyes and warm smile drew him in. And though they didn't know each other, she seemed perfectly at ease as their paths crossed.

He didn't respond. So she elaborated. "At her," she motioned to Rose. "Do you know her?"

"Do you?" Jack responded to her question with another. Those two words were his first since spotting Rose, and they came out in a jumbled croak. Not only was his voice weak, but his knees, arms, and every other limb in his body all struggled with a similar pain.

"Sure do," the woman said, sipping her tall glass of champagne. "We worked together for some time. On a set. She and I are actresses. A bit before we lived under the same roof... Oh, I didn't catch your name! Mine is Eve, Eve Adair. Eve will do."

The more glances Jack stole of her, the more aspects of her emerged. Waves accompanied the corners of her lips with each grin.

"Jack," Jack replied. "Jack Dawson."

"Dawson?" Eve's brows pinched together. "I suppose you know her much more than I do."

"Why... Why do you suppose so?"

"People with the same last names aren't always exactly strangers. With some exceptions of course, sometimes it's purely coincidental." Before Jack could absorb what she said, Eve asked, "Do you dance?"

"No," Jack swallowed. He was too reluctant to get closer to Rose than he already was.

"Why come to a party if you won't dance?" Eve asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.

"I didn't choose to come here," Jack replied, glancing towards a group of embarrassingly drunk men who were hopping around like monkeys. His companions. They insisted he come along with them.

"I understand. I was forced to be here too," Eve said, tossing her head in frustration. "Rose insisted on my presence."

"Rose?" It was like the world flipped, twisted, and exploded as he heard Eve uttered Rose's name. Now he could no longer deny the fact that this wasn't a silly dream.

"Yes, Rose," Eve said, giving him a puzzled squint. "I find it odd. She never mentions any of her relatives. To anyone. Yet here you are."

"I'm not... why would you think that?" Jack's head raced in a frenzy, and his surroundings blurred. He had difficulty thinking properly. Eve's words lingered in his mind for a few seconds before disappearing.

"Your name. It's the same as hers," Eve repeated. "It's a common name, but this doesn't seem to be a coincidence."

"We don't have the same name," Jack snickered knowingly. Even amid such uncertainty and chaos, Jack was confident in this simple fact - their names couldn't be more unalike.

"Whatever you say," Eve muttered.

After a moment of staring at Rose, Jack spoke up, his confidence faltering. "We have the same name?"

"You're a strange man," Eve noticed, after his long pause. She realized that she hadn't answered his question, and in all seriousness, he was still waiting for it. "Yes, yes you do. Jack Dawson. Rose Dawson."

"What?" Jack exclaimed, shocked by this revelation.

"I've been telling you this all along," Eve said, shaking her head.

"I thought... I-" Next thing Jack knew, Eve was dragging him towards Rose and Henry.

Los Angeles, California
June 10th, 1922

Henry sighed while handing Rose the glass of champagne she asked for. They had been dancing all night, and her throat was now dry.

"Rose! Oh, Rose!" the calls of her dear friend flooded the area, immediately interrupting their conversation. Along with Eve came a rugged, tired man. A man Rose could recognize from miles away, even though he had changed significantly since the last time she saw him.

Rose choked on her champagne. Henry slapped her back a few times until she gave him a nod, signaling that she was okay. But she wasn't really okay. Not mentally, at least. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she struggled to compose herself.

Jack just wanted a moment of normalcy - a time when he didn't have to fight for every breath or when his hands didn't tremble so much. A normal, plain moment. But normalcy seemed impossible when they were in each other's presence.

"You never mentioned any relatives, Rose," Eve said.

Rose tore her gaze away from Jack, although she didn't want to. She was aware that her staring was becoming noticeable and strange. Jack was also staring but he didn't seem to care, and kept his eyes locked onto her.

"Pardon?" Henry intervened.

"Jack and I," the mere mention of Jack's name made Rose nauseous, "are not related. Who put that silly idea in your head?"

Everyone's eyes turned to Jack.

"Why's everyone looking at me?" He muttered.

"Oh, please!" Eve threw up her hands in frustration. "It was my idea, my assumption. It's only the logical explanation - you both have the same last name."

Henry's fingertips caressed Rose's cheek. A pit formed in Jack's stomach.

"You're pale."

"I'm always pale," Rose responded at the same time Jack said, "she's always pale."

They locked eyes for a moment, taking in each other's appearance more closely than before. She was just as beautiful as Jack remembered, with piercing blue eyes that seemed to sparkle despite her apparent shock. Jack, on the other hand, looked worse for wear. His eyes were droopy and sunken, as if he hadn't slept in days. There was a weight of loneliness on his features.

"Who is this man!" Cried Henry in frustration. Everyone jumped, even Rose, who had seldom witnessed her fiance act in such an abruptly negative manner. "Please," he cleared his throat and a softer voice replaced his former one, "could someone explain what is going on?"

Jack, surprisingly, was quick to answer. "Rose and I are old acquaintances."

"Acquaintances with the same last name?" Eve questioned.

"Funny coincidence. Has been a running joke among the two of us, hasn't it Rose?" Jack turned to Rose, giving her an expression that also showed he wanted an explanation as to why she wasn't Rose DeWitt Bukater anymore.

Rose nodded and added, "it's a common last name."

The group silenced, making everything evermore awkward.

"Let's dance," Rose spat, her artificial excitement visible on her face, "yes! Why don't we dance? Everyone else is while we're having meaningless conversations."

They were not meaningless. Rose knew it. Jack knew it. Even Eve and Henry knew it. It was, however, an uncomfortable one. The group preferred to dismiss and forget it. So, in their desperation for an escape, they all agreed.

"Jack," Rose swallowed, "what about we pair up?"

She turned to Henry and Eve, "So many years we haven't seen each other, we must catch up. You understand."

Henry, who carried little caution and more trust, approved. Jack found his imbalanced feelings to be mismatched, but went along with Rose's suggestion.

As the band played a softer, less energetic song, couples took to the dance floor, clasping hands and twirling gracefully around the rooftop. Women's dresses fluttered in the air. The area was littered with love-struck eyes.

"How- when- are you- how?" Rose sobbed. Her emotions overwhelmed her once Eve and Henry danced away.

Jack scratched his neck. "I have just as many questions as you."

In an abrupt movement, Rose gently pressed the palms of her fingers to his unshaven, coarse cheek. Her eyes gazed up at him in wonderment, as if he were a figure from a dream now in reality.  Was he really her Jack? "You're different," she whispered.

Jack recoiled in surprise. He looked at her with wide eyes as he tried to process her unexpected touch.

"Sorry," she pulled her hand away and hid it behind her back. "Jack, be honest with me, I'm not dreaming, am I?"

"I can pinch you."

"No," she stepped back with a flicker of a smile, "that won't be necessary."

He couldn't be real. She had dreams like this, when he was in her everyday life as if he had a part in it. Now he stood there, breathing, living. Nothing about him was false. He wasn't a dream or memory.

For years, that's all he was. A dream or memory.

"We should be dancing," she remembered.

Henry and Eve were deep into their dance, while Jack and Rose stood idiotically in the throng, unsure of how to act.

"I haven't danced in a while," he admitted, "I could step on your foot. Or worse, drop you."

"That's fine," Rose whispered, almost dream-like.

Her heart ran rapidly as the fabric of Jack's shirt crumbled beneath her roaming hand. They danced. Not like they danced before. Their movements were now slow enough to carry on a conversation, not a laugh. They were near enough to feel each other's breaths prickles across their skin. To them, there were no rules or boundaries. They swayed and spun carelessly, but elegantly. As their bodies flowed in unison instantaneous clicks in their minds occurred, and they sensed exactly what to do and when to do it.

"First, I swore I saw a ghost. After, I swore I was in a dream." Her red curls whipped around erratically but Jack's attention to her eyes never faltered.

"You believe in those things?"

"Ghosts? No. If I did, I wouldn't be so out of sorts."

"That makes two of us."

His muscles ached from the tight grip he had on her. He held her as if she were about to vanish as if she'd fade away and he'd never get her back. A bitter feeling crawled up his spine. A feeling that made his knuckles grow pale from the tense grip he had on the small of her back. An emotion that made him assume he'd be without her touch for a long time, if not forever.

He worried about leaving a mark, a bruise, worried he'd inflict pain on her, worried she'd flee in terror. But she did no such thing. Rose drew herself closer to him, as close as she could.

Rose's thoughts strayed off to places he couldn't follow her to. Her hand, which had formerly caressed his pale white shirt, fidgeted with her diamond ring. Only Jack noticed her doing so.

"Do you have any plans set for tomorrow?"

"By now, you should know I'm not the type of person who makes plans."

Her tone became solemn. "I'm not sure what kind of person you are anymore."

Jack and Rose were both jolted into silence. Their minds digested her ultimate words.

"I didn't change too much," He insisted.

The loose strands from her bun flew around with her as she twirled. For a brief period, the world spun as it felt since she met Jack. She crashed back into him, meeting his enticing blue eyes once more. He changed, just as she did, but neither of them altered enough to be unrecognizable. Behind their matured faces hid the core of his Rose and her Jack.

"That concerns me."

"Why?"

"Because I did." She gulped.

"I'll catch up to you eventually," He gave her a playful grin, but he hoped she didn't overlook the sincerity hidden behind his remarks. "Give me a day. So, tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow. I'd like to see you."

"Would he?" Jack cocked his head toward Henry.

"An innocent meeting between two old friends is nothing Henry should be concerned with."

"Yes, except we aren't friends."

"Excuse me?" Henry inquired from behind Jack, "may I?"

Jack drifted to the side. The couple grew disoriented in the bustle. The night swallowed up Rose and Henry and they were no longer visible to Jack's sight. He stood there, befuddled. The event; so rapid and unbelievable it would have been more honest to call it a dream, not a reality.

Eve encountered him after a couple drinks.

Her fingers curled around his arm, softly bringing him closer to her. She had an innocent and addicting gleam, one capable of making anyone feel content, as if pain owned no space in their hearts.

"A note from Rose," she slipped a piece of paper into his hand. Before he could open it, she said, "you lied to me."

"Lied?"

"Oh, yes. You can, in fact, dance."

"The music was simple and easy." He explained.

"Fair enough. Why are you wandering around?"

"You're nosy, aren't you?"

"You're also odd. We both have our faults. Please, I beg you, tell me you're attempting to get out of this absurdly boring party."

"I'm not trying to escape." Jack sought among the dancing folks, searching for one person and one person only. "I'm assuming you are?"

"Yes. And I assumed you were trying as well. You seemed to be someone who would give it a shot."

"What difference does it make whether I want to escape?"

"I need a ride back home."

"Ah, cant help you there. My ride back home is with those drunken friends of mine."

"Oh, what use are you..."

"Thanks."

"I'm only kidding," she smiled widely, "but I must find a ride back home... it was interesting meeting you. And confusing. I bet i'll see more of you later on."

"Wouldn't be too shocking if our paths were to cross again."

The two parted ways, and once Eve was far enough from him, Jack opened the note he'd been fidgeting with since Eve gave it to him.

On it was an address and time.

Chapter Text

Los Angeles, California
June 11th, 1922

"Jack!" Rose nearly jumped at the sight of him, as if she weren't expecting his arrival.

She went about her day with unsteady fingers, a racing mind, and anxious thoughts. The last time she remembered being so out of the ordinary was her first night in New York, a night she wished she could forget but couldn't.

Jack's arrival did not calm her.

"Rose." He forced a gentle grin.

The two stared back at one other, their eyes blemished from lack of sleep the night before. Their heads shook and swirled in all directions. They had imagined this very moment. What would happen if they met? What would they have to say? Would the other person's smile be the same as they remembered?

Jack and Rose decided on the company of fresh lemonade. Rose recommended it, and although cheap coffee churned in Jack's stomach, he compelled himself to agree. Unlike Jack's estate, Rose's was meticulously cleaned. There wasn't a single squeaky or old piece of furniture in the home. Not a speck of dust or misplaced object. Healthy plants and artwork adorned the rooms.

Rose no longer lived a life engrossed in jewelry and festivities, but she lived a decent existence.

Jack sat in a sunroom chair made of brown woven wicker. Rose shifted herself around, back and forth, inspecting her plants. Rays filtered through the gaps between the leaves, touching gently across their cheeks.

"Please accept my apology...you arrived at such a chaotic moment." Rose poured water into the dirt of one of the larger flower pots. "When I have a lot on my mind, I like to focus my attention on something. I appear to have gotten a little carried away."

She lowered her watering can. The sound of water splashing followed. It soaked the gleaming white floorboards, but she was too preoccupied and nervous to notice. Rose sat next to him, pushing a wooden bowl filled with oranges and figs in his direction. The smell of fresh fruit was a puddle of summer reminiscence.

"Here. Try a few. I grew them. Picked them out this morning."

"Really?"

"Yes!" The joy in her voice caused his heart to flutter irregularly. "Outside, in my tiny garden."

He curled his lips into a faint smile. "You're living the good life, aren't you?"

Rose blushed as she sank into her chair. "It appears so. But I'm certain my life isn't as grand as my inspiration."

Jack laughed an ironic chuckle that was a little louder than he intended. "Oh, no. You've got everything sideways. My existence is far from grand."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's a little... boring now."

"Life? Boring?" Rose scrunched her brows. "You have changed."

"I guess I don't do much anymore." He started peeling one of Rose's oranges. "And as the years pass, it becomes more difficult for me to get out there and attempt new things."

"Did you travel at all?"

"I remained in New York. For a while. Then there was my home town, but as people moved to the city, it became a sad, lonely place. I went to other places, but they were nothing extraordinary. I found my way here in the end." He turned to face her. "Now it's your turn. Tell me what've you been up to."

"I've been trying to see as much as I can." Rose swirled a spoon around in her lemonade. "I spontaneously ended up here, too, like you. I've made it to Hollywood... but it's a challenging business."

"You'll be fine."

"How do you know?"

"I know."

Rose offered him an expression he couldn't put into words. It included a great deal of contentment and genuineness. "I'm delighted you're here, Jack."

Birds chirped and the wonderful aroma of summer enveloped them as they stared back at one other, just as they did so many years ago. With affection, care, and desire. But, amid these times, Jack always pulled his gaze down to her ring, and it all came to a stop. It wasn't like that before. He couldn't have cared less about the diamond ring before. It felt different now. It was different. He didn't live a joyful life, and bringing her into his world would destroy the very purpose of... them.

Jack concluded all he could do was observe. She was a new person, surrounded by new people and new loves, and he was only the bridge that got her there. Nothing else. He could not intervene any longer. Only watch and force a smile.

"May I ask you a question?" Jack inquired.

"Of course."

"Your name. Why did you change it?"

"It seemed right to me. Something I should do. And... I didn't want anyone to find me. I hope I haven't offended you by taking your name I-"

"Never." He gulped, realizing how foolishly he interrupted her. But he needed to say it. Jack spoke again, a bit quieter now, "never." He began again, "I couldn't find you. Throughout my time on the rescue ship and the hospital in New York, the only thing anyone ever heard from me was your name. Well, your old one."

"I reasoned it didn't matter whether I changed it. I didn't expect you to be looking for me. You were, according to my knowledge, somewhere in the ocean with the ship. There were few third class male survivors-"

"I was on the list."

"No, you weren't. I checked."

"I was one of the last names they got. That could be the explanation. After all, they had to hear your long-ass name a million times before they heard mine." Jack chuckled dryly.

"Long-ass name?" She spoke in her formal tone - spoke as if she were still a lady instructed to gasp or frown at sudden profanity. Some lessons from her young age stuck. As well as her mannerisms.

Jack liked it. It was almost humorous.

Rose straightened herself out. Her chin up. "Many respect that name, you know."

"Oh, yes, I'm sure. But it's a long-ass name."

"It's prolixity expresses its value." She waved away a hand. "But never mind that it's no longer my name. Why should I care for it?"

"Right on. Rose Dawson is better anyway. Makes you look like less of a snob."

"Quit it," she innocently batted at his shoulder with an easily-overlooked laugh.

Their minds engaged in reminiscing. They pondered in solitude, imagining the life they could have had if they met sooner. It was unjust of the world to rob them of so many years; they concluded. And only to put them back together when it's too late.

"Jack? I have something to show you."

"Last time you told me that... I ended up sketching you nude," he joked nervously. Rose's serious and intense tone had him worrying.

"Oh, well... this may be slightly nostalgic then."

"What?" He swallowed.

"Could you go sit inside? I'll join you in a moment."

Confused, Jack did what she requested. During her absence, he took advantage of the opportunity to examine her residence. Her and Henry's residence.

It wasn't too dissimilar to any other house. Dark wooden furniture was strewn about in the most random places, but it all was so well-organized. A large map of the world took up one of the walls, blue pins stuck into it. Handmade pots and vases dried in front of an open window. The sun shone on them. There were so many things to admire, but Jack couldn't take his eyes off Rose's fireplace once he discovered it.

The images placed on top of it piqued his interest. Rose had some material wealth today, but she was wealthier in her memories. Each one was unusual and exciting in its own way. Images from her travels dominated the surface.

Jack captured one from the front row, right in the center. Given its location, he had a feeling it possessed value. Although the graininess and black and white tint, Jack could perceive Rose vividly. She sat on a horse on the shore, one leg on each side. Behind her, the Santa Monica Pier.

"Jack?" Rose entered the room. She was holding a jewelry box.

He didn't respond. He couldn't help but divert his focus to the Rose in the photograph.

"Jack?" she said again, more firmly. "What are you doing-"

"The photograph."

Rose cast a glance over at the one he was holding. She cracked a grin. "Oh, you've found it."

"You did... this. You did it." It wasn't a question but, the hesitation in his voice gave the impression it was.

"Yes. When I arrived here." Rose shifted her jewelry case closer to her chest. She would have appreciated a conversation about the photograph, but the conversation she was about to begin seemed much more viral. "Jack, I need to show you this."

Los Angeles, California
June 11th, 1922

The office of Henry - or Mr. Calvert, as they knew him there - was a hive of activity. Everyone was in a frenzy. They hollered to one another as they dashed across the room with bundles of papers in their arms.

Eve navigated her way through the turmoil. Although it was only her second visit to her friend's fiancé's workplace. She nudged her way through the crowd till she reached the door with Henry's name inscribed on it.

She met with the aroma of aged leather and smoke. As well as the salty air from the nearby ocean. Henry sat in a magnificent chair, a jumble of papers in front of him. It took him a few moments to realize Eve's presence.

"Yes- Miss Adair!" Henry returned a pleasant smile. "What a surprise."

"I'm hoping I'm not interfering with anything significant."

"No, not at all. Please have a seat." His gaze dragged to the unoccupied guest chair. "How may I assist you?"

"Oh, no, no I don't need any assistance." Eve placed a big box on Henry's desk, messing up the papers he had scattered on it. "I baked some treats."

"That's... nice. Thank you. May I ask, though, why you've brought these? It's just such a rare occurrence-"

"Yes, it is. I've been thinking, Rose is my dearest friend and now that you two are engaged it would be best for us to be more acquainted." She paused a moment. "And I have many leftover cookies."

"As much as I adore you, Miss Adair, I see no point in doing such things."

Taken aback, Eve adjusted herself in the crappy chair. "Excuse me?"

"Don't take offense to it. We just aren't exactly two people who could easily be friends. Friendly, sure. Friends... oh, I'm not sure."

"Alright..." she licked her lips, trying to seem as unbothered as he was, "well, I do have one question for you Sir. What are your thoughts of Jack Dawson? The man from the party."

"Strange. Unkept. Depressing. Shall I go on?"

"I thought he was quite interesting."

Henry scoffed.

"Rose seemed to find him interesting."

"Rose does not find men like him interesting, trust me. Why are you asking about him anyway? You're not thinking of him in some serious matter, are you? Oh, Miss Adair you are a little too above him-"

"I'm a struggling actress. There isn't much lower than that. But, no, no this has nothing to do with anything of the sort. My nosiness has only gotten the best of me." Eve had turned slightly sick from Henry's comments. "Sir, you do understand that Rose, your wife, was in no different condition than Mr. Dawson when I had met her."

"She had the decency to pick herself up, get out of the miserable lifestyle."

"She did it with help. My help."

"Congratulations? I don't understand what you want me to say."

Eve understood now why her and Henry were never close - and never could be. "I'm going to go visit Rose for a bit, perhaps I could help her with her gardening. Is there any message I could give her?"

"Tell her I'll be home by nine."

"Another late night?"

He nodded, "goodbye. Thank you for the treats."

Los Angeles, California
June 11th, 1922

"Well... shit," Jack muttered. The ocean blue diamond weighed heavily in his hands. Even after so much time, its appearance remained unchanged. It didn't feel any different, either.

"I've been carrying it around with me the whole time." Rose elaborated. She removed a ring from the box. "As well as this."

"The engagement ring?"

She nodded. "I'm not sure what to do with these. They're a burden. And I'm not able to sell them."

Jack watched as the diamond, worth more than his existence, sparkled against the sun. "Why did you want me to see this?"

"Do you have any suggestions? Concerning what to do with it."

"Doesn't your fiancé have any? Why me?"

"He...is unaware of the necklace. And the ring. And anything about my life before moving to New York. Jack, I was hoping you could keep any knowledge you have of me hidden away. My past life is for me to tell, as well as any of my secrets."

"Of course. I wouldn't do that. It's your story to tell."

"Do you swear?"

He nodded, "So is that why they were so baffled the night before?"

"I guess so."

"Are you going to tell them?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

Her gaze returned to him. "I'm not sure."

"All right." With a scoff, he smirked.

"Don't do that."

"Don't do what?"

"That." She showed his face.

Their foolish banter went on for much longer than they would have preferred. They strayed from the main point: the diamonds. It took the unexpected sound of the doorbell to bring them back to the present.

"Eve." Rose smiled as she opened the door for Eve. "You're here?"

Rose's friend let herself in. She wandered around the estate as if it were her own, but in a respectful manner. She spent more time in the opulent residence than in her apartment. "Oh, Jack? You're here?"

"Yes, uh... Rose and I were just catching up."

"Oh," Eve nodded and smiled hesitantly, glancing between the two of them.

"I should go," Jack said.

His words hurt Rose, and everyone in the room could see it on her face. The thought of cutting his visit short broke her heart. She expected she'd go insane in his absence. Something about his reassuring smiles and kind expressions kept her sane, and she didn't prepare herself adequately for the moment she'd have to let him go.

But Jack didn't want to go - although Rose thought so. He simply felt compelled to leave.

"I can drive you back," Rose insisted. Eve said she'd come along,

Jack stared at the two ladies. "Are you certain?"

"I'm always certain."

Los Angeles, California
June 11th, 1922

A depressing, drab, antique structure perched uncomfortably between two new residential complexes. They towered above it, making the structure appear frail. Its balcony rails had rotted, the drapes had torn and ripped, and the paint had flaked off the walls.

"Home sweet home." Jack chuckled sarcastically.

Rose and Eve peered at the unsightly building.

"Thank you." He threw Rose a kind grin. "For the ride."

"Of course," she grinned back. Rose wished she could say more. But with Eve by her side, her words were confined. "Goodbye, Jack. We'll meet again."

"We will. Goodbye, Rose." He nodded towards Eve. "Eve."

Chapter Text

Los Angeles, California
June 13th, 1922

Eve panicked as Jack unlocked his apartment door. Two rats swarmed around her silver heels, and although she shrieked, she didn't budge. Despite her terror, Eve tried her best at avoiding injuring the small animals. She gazed down at them while holding a large, neutral-colored package in her arms. The scent of fresh cookies and baked pastries drowned out the stench of the corridor.

"Don't worry about them," Jack said as they retreated into a dark corner. "they're only hungry. They're probably able to smell whatever's in the box."

"Yes, indeed. That has to be it."

He smiled kindly. Jack barely knew her, but he threw his door wide as if she'd been a long-time friend. He was completely open to the world and her, with no reservations or concerns. So carefree. "I'll be honest: I'm surprised you're here."

"I'm certain you are."

Eve peeked around his flat. It wasn't lovely or luxurious. Crumpled-up papers with scribbles or unfinished sketches scattered the grounds, tables, and couches. He left dishes in the sink. Most of the cabinets, as well as the lightbulbs, needed to be repaired. It appeared to be the property of a deranged artist with insignificant life to hang onto.

That was exactly who it belonged to.

The few who visited Jack mentioned its untidiness. Though he never cared much for those opinions. Maybe if he cared about someone who cared about his living situation, he would've made it better. But there was none. As a result, the apartment remained the same.

Jack escorted her into the gloomy apartment. "Is there anything I can get you? Water? Shitty coffee?"

"I'm intrigued by the coffee." Eve's brow furrowed.

Jack cleared his throat. The seriousness in his tone was almost humorous. "Don't drink the coffee."

"Okay. Water it is."

Eve sat on a seat, cross-legged. "I've met no one who does... this." She spoke, yet it came out as a faint mutter.

"Does what?" Jack sank into the vacant couch. On the tiny table in front of him, he arranged the scraps of paper.

"Well, most people don't invite strangers inside their homes so welcomingly. I mostly expected you to shut the door in my face."

Jack shook his head. "This place is so solitary. It's made bearable by filling it with intriguing individuals. Not even interesting people; simply people. People with loves, passions, and hopes. I don't have many. So it's nice seeing others do."

She understood completely, in ways he surely didn't know she did. Eve was more similar to him than either of them expected.

"You don't have any?"

"I lost love, passion, and hope a long time ago. All I wanted was to be happy. And now I'm too tired to get all those beautiful motivations back." He moaned miserably, yet a sad, desperate snicker escaped him. "Now, as most people repeatedly tell me, I waste my days scribbling nonsense on paper, squandering afternoons with unfortunate strangers, and reminiscing on the irreversible past." He paused for a bit before changing the subject. He longed to hear about Rose. Anything related to Rose. The sound of each letter in her name made him fluttery. "How's Rose?"

"Rose? I'm not sure. Since we brought you here, I haven't seen her."

His heart sank. "Yes, I see. I see. Do you...do you think she's okay? Generally all right?"

"I do, indeed. She's a content woman." Eve sipped her water. "And she's about to marry the love of her life. How could she not be satisfied?"

"Love of her life." Jack echoed.

"She's obsessed, madly in love with him. If pure love were art, they would be... Monet's paintings." She spoke brilliantly about her friend's love. "They're meant for each other. Everyone says so."

Jack swallowed the lump which crept into his throat. "Do you think so?"

"I feel we all belong to someone. And I believe they already found their someone-"

The screeching sounds of a nearby telephone cut Eve short. Jack excused himself. He pressed his ear to the receiver, then his mouth to the transmitter. Eve listened from a distance while pretending to be preoccupied with something else.

"Hello?" Jack was the first to speak, his gaze drawn to the chipped paint on the wall in front of him.

"Jack?" Rose responded.

"How did you... How did you get my phone number?"

"I asked the owner of your building." She seemed slightly embarrassed. "I reasoned, I might as well have it. Though I wasn't sure how to approach you directly."

"You can ask me anything."

"Even stupid little things?"

"Even stupid little things."

On the other end, there was a brief stillness. Rose paused, then spoke again, cautiously. "Jack? Would you like to do something repulsive and shocking with me?"

"Like what?"

"Just meet me at Al Larson Marina in three hours. At seven."

The phone line went dead. "Rose?"

Eve felt uneasy at the prospect of her beloved friend calling. She suddenly felt as if her presence was inappropriate. Similarly, Rose's phone calls were inappropriate.

She shifted in her seat. "I believe I should go."

"Go?"

"All I wanted to do was drop these off." Eve handed him the box of treats. She pretended as though they were her reason, while they were really her excuse. "I prepared too many... and you're close by. I figured I'd share."

"I appreciate it." Before Eve was too far, Jack asked, "you live near here?"

"I do."

Jack grinned. "That's nice."

Los Angeles, California
June 13th, 1922

The sun across from them had seen the last of Los Angeles's deep, chilly ocean, leaving an imprint in the sky. A blue, pink, and purple path. The colors and the light emphasized the reflection on the water. The large and small boats lined up against the wooden board they walked on. They swung in unison with the minor waves. The sounds of sea lions rang across the port, and if they were near enough, they could spot one.

Rose skipped as if she were a reckless child. A heavy bag burdened her hands. Its contents remained a mystery to Jack.

"One of these lovely boats belongs to a friend of mine, whom I met while shooting a moving picture," Rose informed Jack. "He taught me a bit about sailing. In exchange for some vases and bowls I design in my spare time, he now permits me to take it to the ocean occasionally. It's an unjust exchange for him, but I'm sure my inventions pleasure him."

"And why are we out here?"

"At long last, I've found a new home for my diamonds." Rose delivered a mischievous smile.
They came to a halt. A medium-sized boat with not much to it, but adequate, was in front of them. It lacked a sail and was essentially flat, brown, and white; a mote of dust compared to the ship that tortured and condemned Jack and Rose.

"Come," Rose said, grasping his arm, "let's explore."

Jack found it difficult to concentrate on the water surrounding them, so he kept her gaze fixed on her. Water splattered over their clothes and arms. The strong breeze quickly dried them.

"Admit it, this is nice," Rose said, nudging Jack's shoulder with her own.

"So, what precisely are we doing here?"

"I told you already."

"You weren't specific."

"You'll see." Rose kissed the saltiness off her lips. "Jack, do you still draw?"

"Nothing good. The world has moved on from what I do."

"I'm certain I haven't." She insisted. "I'd like to see some of your work. If only you'd allow me. I miss them."

Jack stared, wide-eyed. All of his decent-looking drawings were of her, or his recollections of her, and all of his other works were useless scribbles. "Maybe someday."

"I look forward to it."

Jack and Rose came to a halt during the tranquil sea. Two candles alongside them became their sole source of illumination. And the dazzling full moon. They reclined towards the boat's stern, eating sandwiches Rose had packed and carefully stashed in her large bag.

He compelled himself to gaze away from the dark abyss beneath them. Jack's wish to return to shore grew stronger. As the light faded and stars engulfed the sky, his grip on his emotions, words, and memories trembled.

Rose maintained calmness, with not a single quivering finger or breath. Her hair spun in the gentle wind, and she blinked at it, her attention fixated on the soon-to-be-night sky.

Like a drowsy infant, the boat swayed back and forth. In the boundless Pacific Ocean, time flowed slowly. There wasn't a soul or a bird in sight, and the noises of sea lions were distant. Only Jack and Rose lingered, together with the sea and whatever colorful animals swam beneath the tiny boat. If they laughed, no one would hear them. If they screamed, no one would hear them.

The secrecy encompassing their solitude nearly soothed him.

"Ready?" Rose's sly expressions heightened Jack's intrigue. She pulled out her bad and picked out the large blue diamond necklace and Cal's engagement ring. "We're going to toss them in."

"Throw them- what? Rose-"

"Oh, please! It's ideal. Finally, I'll be able to get rid of them for good." Rose placed the ring on Jack's hand. "You throw in the ring. I'll do the necklace."

"This is insane!" Jack's laughter rang out across the flat sea.

"But isn't it exciting? Don't worry about it; simply toss it. On the third count."

"No. You've lost it."

"I have not! I need to get rid of these damn things. It's been eight years-"

"Sell it."

"I don't need the money - nor do I want it. And Cal certainly has insurance for it. I'd be thrown into the cooler!"

He breathed in with shut eyes. "Fine. On the count of three."

They counted. Then threw the diamonds. And saw the gleaming stones drop into the darkness. And then, suddenly, Rose's shoulders were weightless.

"I'm relieved it's over." She sighed in relaxation.

Jack gulped. He could finally comprehend what they had just done. "That was a colossal mistake."

"Well, it's too late now."

"We dumped a fortune in the ocean-"

"Yes, we did." Rose smiled triumphantly. The shocked expression on his face was not one she could imagine on the Jack from eight years ago. She had the impression she was spending the night with a strange, twisted version of Jack. Her Jack. The happiness she felt at the time evaporated, replaced by melancholy. "I believe you have changed, despite your claims. I'll confess that knowing we both changed makes me feel better, but it also makes me curious... and overwhelmed. It appears one day will not be enough to make up for the years we have lost."

Los Angeles, California                                  June 17th, 1922

Eve relished dancing, deafening music, and humid underground speakeasies full of drunken people. It was what she lived for. The secret chaos of the night. And when she offered Jack a night of dancing, she wouldn't let him argue against it.

Jack didn't know he could have fun after years of not having any.

Their lips trembled as they sniggered louder than anyone else in the room. Their legs throbbed, but they neglected any anguish and kept going. Laughter and the sensation of beverages in their stomachs nauseated them. They persisted anyhow.

Eve had an unbelievable amount of energy. She wove, leaped, and swayed as if it didn't affect her in the slightest. Although Jack was only thirty, most of the time he felt rusty and feeble, but Eve's festive effort withdrew his crushing perceptions. He now felt younger than he had in a long time, like the youthful man he once was with the tolerance to do anything and the hope, love, and passion that came with it.

"I hope I'm not exhausting you, Dawson," Eve spoke. Excellent music accompanied her syrupy voice.

"You aren't." He lied but wanted to continue dancing with her. It had a liberating effect on him. After so many jumbled, meaningless days, he finally lived one that mattered. And it was the most exhilarating release.

Eve caught his simple deceptions. "Come on, let's get something to drink," she gently yanked at his shirt.

The two ordered drinks from the grumpy server once more. He was one source of their many laughs. When he grunted or rolled his eyes at Jack and Eve, they'd look at each other and burst into drunken guffaws. When they were together, everything was humorous.

Eve said, "I still can't believe you lied to me... twice!"

"Twice? When?"

"You stressed you could not dance. Then you claimed you could only dance with Rose because the song was simple and easy. That song, however, was not. And you were dancing fine."

"I hadn't danced in a long time, and I worried I was rusty."

"Is that your third false statement?"

"Maybe." He smirked. "Maybe not. You'll never know."

"Jack?"

"Yes?"

"I know absolutely nothing about you." Eve squinted at him as if doing so would assist her in discovering more about him. She bounced from subject to subject - the very presence of Jack gave her eagerness. She wanted a million conversations with him, to hear his captivating voice, to listen about his intriguing life, and to observe his features form into that addictive smile.

"Of course you do."

"I know you lie about dancing."

"I don't."

"Mhm." she hummed sarcastically before continuing, "and you're a friend of Rose."

"So, what else do you want to know?"

Eve crossed her legs and gleefully leaned in closer to him. "Tell me... where you grew up."

"Wisconsin. And you?"

"Im from here," She sipped her drink, "I think."

"What?"

"Well, I'm not sure where I was born exactly. But I've spent most of my childhood here. In the majority of my teenage years and twenties I was in New York. That's when I met Rose. Then I went to Europe, for the war as a nurse and blah blah... I ended up coming back here after the war."

"How do you not know where you were born?"

Eve shrugged. She didn't talk of this often, certainly not with people she barely knew. She always said she was from California and that was the end of it.

Something about his trusting eyes made her talk, "I was orphaned at a young age. Father was addicted to possibly everything you can think of... and my mother wasn't in the right mental state. That's what they told me, anyways. It's all I know." A small, ironic laugh escaped her, "I don't even know my name. I used to change it every so often, when I was a child. I changed it to whatever I wished, whatever seemed to sound nice to me at the time. Eve Adair has seemed to stick the longest. It's my stage name. Though I hardly see the point of keeping it anymore, I'm a failing actress."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I couldn't care less about the shitty aspects of my life," she sighed, "it's in the past. I'm here, now, drinking and having a divine time. That's what matters." Eve changed the subject, "do you have any free time tomorrow?"

A little confused by her vastly different question, he took a moment to answer, "I believe I do."

"Im visiting Rose. Would you like to join me?"

"I don't see why not."

Chapter Text

Los Angeles, California. June 18th, 1922

"Good day." Eve greeted Henry.

"Miss Adair." He elicited a smile, but it bleached when his attention shifted to Jack. "... Mr. Dawson?" Jack's name seemed strange to Henry, especially since he and his fiancée shared it.

"Jack is fine...it'll spare us the confusion."

"I've asked Jack to accompany me today," Eve explained to Henry. "It's not a bother, is it? Rose and I planned on spending the afternoon together. She said Jack's presence would be lovely."

No part of him relished Jack's involvement. Henry was not a fan of mysteries or perplexity, and Jack was exactly that. It bothered him that he knew nothing of this peculiar light-haired man. "Come in. She's in the sunroom."

He didn't follow them, he remained by the door in incredulity for a moment longer before retiring to the kitchen. Mr. Dawson - or Jack - was a bizarre idea that Henry couldn't quite fathom. He entered Rose's life as if he'd been referenced before, as if he was well known to her and everyone around her.

He was some years older than Henry but considerably more attractive, younger-looking, and tanned. His sandy hair fell precisely at his eye level, the blueness in his irises could hold anyone's attention for an hour or so, and his form belonged to someone much younger. His manner, mindset, and occasionally loathsome expression all suited his age. But not his features, his smile, his hair, or his eyes. At that age, a man soaked in vitality was not easily forgotten. Yet Rose failed to speak a word of him. None of it made sense.

"Eve!" Rose said as Eve entered the room. Then Jack appeared from behind her.

"I hope Eve didn't drag you over here," Rose smiled over at Jack.

"I would never do such a thing!" Eve exclaimed. "All I did was ask him last night, and he said yes."

"Last night?"

"We went dancing."

Rose looked over at Jack as if she needed confirmation. "Did you?"

He returned her blank stare. Something in him restrained his ability to speak. He could not respond. It wasn't guilt or regret, but he couldn't answer such a question to the woman he once wanted to spend forever with.

"We did, of course. And it was a brilliant idea, Jack." Eve saved Jack from responding.

The four conjoined at the lounging area for snacks and drinks. It had gone differently for every attendee at the dark wooden table. Yet one thought lingered in each mind. The want to leave. This was obvious in Rose's case, Henry's, certainly Jack's, and maybe if Eve hadn't hidden her emotions with giggles and clapping, it would be clear too. But out of politeness, each one of them stayed. And were absolutely miserable.

"This map," Jack nodded towards it. It had interested him since he first came to the house. "What exactly... What do those blue pins mean?"

"Oh, it's quite simple. Its just all the places I've been. I like to mark it as a sort of memory." Rose explained.

Her fiancé added proudly, "And i've just about memorized every one of her favorite places."

"That he has. Dare I say I'd never be able to escape him if I wanted, he'd know exactly where i'd go," Rose giggle lightly at the idea. So did Henry. Jack didn't, he sunk into the couch, getting an uneasy feeling from the comment that no one else seemed to get. Eve's mind and voice left the conversation long ago, she focused on her cigarette.

But Eve still added her observation, "you've been to quite the many places in Europe."

Rose nodded, "I'd like to visit again soon. Perhaps you and I should go, Eve. We'll have a ball!"

Eve scrunched up her nose and shook her head, "too many vulgar memories. I don't think I could ever return."

"The war?" Jack asked. She nodded.

"I volunteered as a nurse - oh, but I believe I've shared that aspect of my life with you last night. Anyhow, Ive just about seen everything there is to see of wounds, amputations, and death."

"You must have an advanced knowledge on healing those sorta injuries."

"Yes, but at what cost?" She swallowed, looking back at Jack. "It's knowledge I sometimes wish I didn't have."

"You could save a life," he attempted to keep it positive. It was no use. Little positivity could be found in something like a war.

"I suppose." The door bell rang. Eve jumped up, "I'll get it."

"No, no I can," Henry insisted.

"That's alright, I will," Jack said.

It was a momentary escape from the uncomfortable atmosphere. Of course, everyone would insist in answering the door. Everyone but Rose. "I'll stay here," she said while lighting a cigarette, "I was just getting comfortable."

"Fine. We'll all go," Eve breathed.

The man at the door widened his eyes at the sight of Jack, Henry, and Eve. They crowded at the entrance. "Good day."

They responded in unison. "Good day."

"I'm here in regards to a certain missing woman," The man shuffled through his pockets, "Rose Dawson or Rose DeWitt Bukater. Both names work, I suppose. Do either of them mean anything to you?"

Henry started, "ye-"

"No," Jack's voice overpowered him. He wasn't quite sure why he lied, something about the mysterious man just wasn't right... Jack didn't feel comfortable telling the truth to him. "No, we don't. Why do you ask?"

Henry and Eve seemed confused at the mention of Rose DeWitt Bukater.

"I've been sent here on behalf of Mr. Caledon Hockley," the man finally found a paper in his pocket, he displayed it in front of the group, "Rose DeWitt Bukater, or Rose Dawson, is his former fiancé. She was presumed dead for years, after her tragic night on the Titanic. Although, it has recently been confirmed that she's been working in Hollywood, using the name Rose Dawson. From what we've gathered, she has some sort of connection to this address."

The paper had an old photograph of Rose, of her in her teenage years. A reward was below her name.

"That's a lot of zero's," Henry murmured.

Eve now understood, after a decade, why Rose looked so familiar that day she met her on the street.

"We don't know anyone of the name or face," Jack confirmed as he took the paper, "but we'll keep a look out, sir. May I ask... who exactly are you?"

"A private detective, sir."

Eve spoke up, her voice was hesitant, "would you happen to know why this woman changed her name?"

Jack swallowed. He wished she didn't ask. He wished they could shut the door and pretend nothing ever happened. As Rose said, this was her story and hers to tell. Yet here this man was, telling every bit of it.

"I don't know much. When Mr. Hockley hired me, he mentioned a man of the name Jack Dawson," Eve tried not to react at the sudden mention of Jack's name, "who, according to Mr. Hockley, was a 'filthy vagabond' who initiated an affair with her. Something of the sort. The reason she took his name, that I do not know."

"Alright, sir. We'll make sure to keep an eye out." Jack shut the door.

The three returned to the parlor room, where Rose stood, trembling. Yet she still continued to smoke her cigarette. If anything, it calmed her.

"I don't understand." Eve spoke first.

"Of course you don't. I've lied to the two of you the moment we each met. Do I have to explain? I really can't stomach it..."

Henry interrupted, "We'd appreciate it."

"Oh..." she whined.

"Look," Jack's voice was the most confident and clear out of all or theirs, "all this can be explained later. But we can all agree that Rose has to get the hell out of here, right?"

"What?" Rose's words came out squeaky.

"Ya heard him. Cal's onto you. He knows where you live. He'll-"

Rose broke out of the room, tears pouring over her cheeks. Every bit of what Jack said overwhelmed her. Everything was so quick and abrupt. There wasn't a second for her to process.

"I'll go with her," Eve muttered, "I must. She can't go alone."

"I'll go too," Jack nodded. The two of them stared at Henry.

"No... no. I can't possibly! My job... my career. Especially now, my presence at work is most important."

"She is your fiancé," Eve hissed.

"And this is all nonsense! You two are mad, thinking she needs to go run off. She'll stay here. She's safe here. Who is this Caledon Hockley anyway?" He scoffed, "ill get rid of the bastard, alright. He won't lay a hand on her."

"He's a powerful man," Jack warned, "he was almost the death of me far too many times."

"Good thing I'm not you then, hm."

Eve pushed them apart before they'd gotten into a fight. "Stop it! It's obvious this former fiancé is no joke... he has a private detective, he is still hunting Rose down after what? Ten years? We must go. The man might've sensed we were lying. He might be into us. The safest thing to do is go."

"I'll go alone," Rose appeared. She sniffled. "This doesn't concern any which one of you-"

"Rose, no." Jack stepped close to her. "Eve and I will accompany you. It's safer that way. We'll keep in contact with Henry, when he knows it's safe, we'll come back."

"If something happens- I'd never forgive myself."

"Nothing, Rose, nothing will happen."

Los Angeles, California
June 20th, 1922

The entire house was rid of anything remotely related to Rose. Her ceramic projects, her clothes, and her photographs. Most of which we're safely packed and stored in the back of the car. As well as Jack and Eve's essentials, which they had hurriedly stuffed into ridged suitcases.

They planned various versions of routes they could take and organized any small implications before leaving.

"And what about work? What will I tell them?" Rose gasped for air, the reality of it all hit her harder every couple of minutes.

"I'll take care of it." Henry kissed her. "Don't worry about it.

"And... and Jack, what about your job?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Eve?"

She laughed, "Rose I don't even have a job."

"I'll keep everything in order here while you're gone. Just stay safe."

"Alright... alright," her nails dug into Henry's arms, "and we'll be back in a week. It's isn't much of a big deal."

"It isn't. We'll keep in contact."

Eve gently pulled Rose over to the car after their goodbyes. Rose wouldn't of left if she hadn't. She sat in the back seat, the side of her face pressed up against the window. She curled into a little ball, watching Henry as he got smaller and smaller.

Jack and Eve sat in the front. Jack drove. Eve held up a map. They seemed so calm, Rose didn't quite understand how. They weren't the ones being hunted down like some dog. That's why. They were only helping out a friend. This was simply a fun trip to them, Rose thought, a vacation.

If only it turned out that way.

Chapter Text

Salt Lake City, Utah
June 20th, 1922

"It's best we get one room. We ought to spend accordingly. We don't exactly have all the money in the world." Eve said.

"That leaves very little privacy between the three of us," Rose replied, slightly hesitant about the idea.

"We're gonna have to get real comfortable with each other on this trip. Might as well," Eve remarked, putting her feet on the windowsill and taking a drag of her cigarette.

Rose winced at Eve's use of the word "trip." It wasn't a trip, it was an escape.

"What's the deal with you two anyways? The private detective said you had some affair," Eve prodded.

"I was forced to pursue an engagement with this Caledon Hockley. Why doesn't matter," Rose explained. "I eventually crossed paths with Jack, and after the tragedy, there was a mix-up with names, and well...that's all that's important, I suppose."

"You guys fucked?" Eve laughed.

Jack burst into laughter. Rose, slightly offended, lightly slapped Eve's shoulder. "Eve!"

"Oh, you so did!" Eve joined Jack in giggling.

"This is completely and utterly inappropriate," Rose murmured, arms crossed. Even with her stubbornness, she couldn't hold back a faint smile.

"I knew you weren't some saint," Eve teased. Rose stuck her tongue out. "That settles it. The Dawsons will share a bed."

"What?" Jack asked. Rose added, "Yes, what?"

"You've done it before. Just...do it again," Eve said with a shrug.

"I'm an engaged woman!"

"Well, if he touches you, scream, and I'll bang him in the head or something," Eve joked.

"Thanks," Rose sighed.

Salt Lake City, Utah
June 20th, 1922

"How long do we plan on staying here?" Rose asked, looking out the window.

"However long we'd like. We've got all the time in the world," Eve said, slipping out of her heels and kicking them to the side. "I've heard they got some speakeasies hidden around here. A friend of mine knows most of the places and their passwords. We could go out for some drinks."

"I'm spent," Jack said, already comfortably situated on one of the two beds. "I'd rather not. Tomorrow night, maybe."

"Alright then. I better clean myself up a little. I'll be back," Eve said, retiring to the bathroom.

Rose stayed in her place, sitting on a squeaky chair by the window with an old table in front of her and another chair. She held a book in her hands, but her eyes never left the page. She didn't show any sign of interest when Jack sat in the chair next to her, nor did she look up.

"Everything okay?" Jack asked, breaking the silence.

"No, not really. No," Rose said with an agitated sigh, still not looking up at him. "I don't want to be here."

"Might as well make something good out of the situation," Jack suggested.

"I hate the situation," Rose replied stubbornly.

He changed the topic, "What are you reading?"

Instead of telling him, she held up the cover to his face. He squinted at the golden words, which were gibberish to him. "Huh?"

"It's in Latin."

He laughed, but Rose didn't understand why and kept a straight face. "You know Latin?"

"Are you making fun of me?" Rose asked, irritated.

"No, of course not," Jack said, his laughter softening. "It's just ironic, that's all."

"What is ironic?"

"My education was barely good enough to teach my how to read properly in English. Yet at some point in time, we were together. Complete opposites."

"That's not humorous in any way whatsoever. It's depressing."

"I find it ironic."

Salt Lake City, Utah
June 21st, 1922

Eve buried her face into her crossed arms as she waited for breakfast. Jack and Rose's constant bickering forced her to do so. The sound of their voices grated on her nerves.

The night had been a rough one. Jack and Rose spent it shuffling around in their shared bed, cursing each other's names, and complaining. Eve had tried to drown out the noise by pressing pillows against her ears, but to no avail.

Their hunger that following morning only made things worse. Jack complained about Rose's constant movement, while Rose retorted that Jack's snoring was unbearable

"You kept moving around," Jack complained, leaning forward over the table.

"You snore," Rose retorted.

"You snore louder."

"You take up the whole bed!"

"That is not true!" Jack protested.

With their red, sleepy eyes and frayed nerves, it was a recipe for disaster.

Eve had reached her breaking point and finally spoke up.

"You're both unbearable," she muttered, before adding with a sigh, "Just...shut up. Before I kill you both."

As breakfast arrived, the tension dissipated. Jack and Rose were too hungry to continue their bickering, and for a moment, all was quiet. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon filled the air.

After the meal, Jack and Rose planned to return to their room for a much-needed nap, while Eve decided to take a walk around the town.

However, loneliness soon engulfed her. She missed the company of her companions and decided to return to the room. When she entered, she found Jack and Rose sharing the bed, with Rose's head resting on Jack's chest. His hand stroked her hair as they slept peacefully.

Eve scoffed at the sight. So now they could share the bed without any trouble.

"Wake up, you two," she yawned as she sat down on her empty bed. "You won't be able to sleep at night." But neither of them stirred. Eve felt her eyelids grow heavy with sleepiness and surrendered to the puffy blanket on her bed.

As they all slept, the sounds of the city outside slowly faded away, and the only noise that remained was the gentle sound of their breathing.

Salt Lake City, Utah
June 21st, 1922

Rose woke up in the middle of the night, disoriented and confused. She struggled to remember how she ended up in Jack's arms, her head on his chest, his fingers tangled in her hair. She quickly sat up, jolting Jack awake.

"Rose?" Jack rubbed his eyes, trying to focus on her face. "Did we fall asleep?"

"I think so," Rose said, avoiding the awkwardness of their physical proximity.

"Shit, we slept through the whole night," Jack said as he looked out the small window. "Are you still tired? Maybe we should try to go back to sleep."

"I don't think I can," Rose replied.

"Me neither," Jack agreed. "How about we take a walk? Maybe we can find a 24-hour drugstore and grab some soda."

Rose nodded, grateful for the distraction. They quietly slipped out of the room, making sure not to wake up Eve.

As they strolled through the quiet streets, searching for any sign of a late-night drugstore, they both felt a strange sense of wakefulness. That irritating realization that they were wide awake when they shouldn't be.

"I..." he began, "no, never mind."

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

"No, tell me."

"Your..." Jack squinted up at the sky as he struggled through the sentence, "your snoring isn't that bad. It's rather cute."

"Cute? You said-"

"I know what I said. I know..."

She sucked in her breath. "I... I'll admit there's some little - very, very little - part of me that found it quite nice to wake up next to you in the morning. Even though you pissed me off."

A grin escaped him. "I got a feeling this trip will be much better than you thought it out to be."

"No... I'll only truly be happy once I'm back home, Jack. It's all I want."

"I understand," he sighed, "is there anything I could do to make it all better?"

"I don't think so."

This pained him. He wished to fix anything hurting her, but the situation seemed impossible. "What do you miss most, Rose? About home."

"My job. Oh, how I love acting. And my garden. And making my pots and mugs..."

Jack didn't know how to respond and so he didn't. They walked slowly on the sidewalk. She talked. He listened. She spoke of all the little things she wanted to get back to.

Jack and Rose ended up locating a drugstore. It was a desolate, empty space, with shelves upon shelves of medicines and tonics stretching out into the distance. The floorboards creaked underfoot, and the only sounds were their muffled footsteps as they approached the bar.

The light from the overhead lamps was dim, casting an eerie glow over the counter. Behind the bar, rows of glass bottles gleamed.

Jack and Rose settled onto the barstools, their faces illuminated by the flickering light of the gas lamps overhead. The bartender, a middle-aged man with a weary expression, approached them. "What'll it be?" he asked, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

"Two cokes, please," Jack said, his voice echoed.

The bartender nodded, pulling out two glasses from underneath the counter and filling them with syrup and soda water from the spigots.

Rose mellowed down. Talks of the things she loved saddened her. They seemed so far away. She resorted to a darker question that she desperately wanted the answer to, "do you think Cal will find us?"

"I don't see how he could. He's probably still searching every inch of Los Angeles. After a week or two he'll leave and we can get you back home."

"What if he finds us?"

"Life is too short for what if's."

"But I want to know... what if he does?"

Jack shrugged, "we'll get away the same way we did many times before."

"But what if we aren't as lucky? What if he brings me back to Philadelphia and mother and-"

"It won't happen, Rose."

Their drinks came. Rose sipped her cola, it relaxed her. Neither of them spoke for a moment or two. She figured he wouldn't talk until she did.

"I think I'll write a letter to Henry."

From the look on Jack's face, that was the last thing he wanted to hear. He forced his next question, "how's it going with you two anyhow? You don't talk about him often."

"I don't, don't I?" She swirled her straw around in her glass, "he's real sweet. Funny. Agreeable," she stopped. A sudden pain came to her. If the younger version of her, the version who saw Jack as the be all and end all, saw this very moment... she'd have a fit. "I don't see much of him anymore. He's got some money issues at work, I don't quite know."

"When did you meet him?"

"Some time before the war. But at that time, we were only acquainted - barely even friends, I'll say. Just friendly. We engaged only recently."

"Congratulations," he mustered up a small grin.

She muttered with no enthusiasm, "thank you," and continued with a sneaky smile, "and what about you? I'm sure you have all the ladies on their knees."

He hesitated, scratching his neck. "I wouldn't say that exactly."

"Oh, but you're too charming!" She laughed lightly. "Come on, it's been eight years there must have been some memorable woman?"

"Not many memorable things have happened to me the past years. There were women, sure. But memorable? None of it really mattered."

Her smile tightened to a poker face. "What happened, Jack?"

"I guess I did change, Rose," he admitted.

"It's too bad, isn't it? The very things that made us, what made us go absolutely mad for each other, have changed. We lost years and most unfortunately, ourselves."

"I figured that would be good," he lied with all his strength. It was terrible. Dreadful. Hopeless. But he had the need to lie. "Because, you know, Henry and all. It would make a mess of things if we hadn't changed. It's best if we absolutely dread each other," he said the last part jokingly.

She chuckled, "dear, we'll be stuck together in a car for some time now. I think the dreading part will come naturally."

He laughed along with her.

Chapter Text

Salt Lake City, Utah
June 23rd, 1922

"This is gonna cost a whole lotta money," Eve grunted, scowling at Rose, "you better make it quick Rose or I swear-"

"What do you care?" Rose shot back, her voice icy. "I'm using my own money."

"Money we could use for food, or a place to stay," Eve replied, folding her arms.

Jack intervened, leaning against the phone booth. "Hey, we need updates from him anyway. We'll have to call frequently to know when we can get back."

"The farther we go, the more it will cost," Rose said, her voice strained.

"We'll figure it out once we get there," Jack replied calmly.

Rose put her ear to the telephone.

"Hello?" Henry's voice came out the other end.

"Oh, good, Henry! It's Rose. Look I don't have much time. Do you have any news on what's going on there?"

"It doesn't seem too good, that's for sure. I keep seeing photos of your face hung up on walls, streetlights, and stores. Its madness."

"Oh god. It'll be more than a week, won't it?"

"Perhaps. Are you still in Utah? Just as you planned?"

"Yes."

There was a moment of silence. He was contemplating something. She didn't know what. "How much longer will you be staying there?"

"We hadn't really planned it. Maybe a couple more days? It's quite safe here."

"Alright... alright. Hopefully I'll see you soon, dear."

They quickly said their goodbyes.

"So how'd it go?" Jack asked once she opened the door to the booth.

"It's still not safe. We'll stay here."

"Alright then. I say we get some breakfast," Jack told them.

Rose didn't speak a word at breakfast unless she was asked something or had to order. Eve and Jack held up a conversation until Eve excused herself to the powder room, leaving only Jack and Rose. That was when her silence became so obvious to him.

"We'll be going to a speakeasy tomorrow tonight," he whispered. It was best kept secret, just in case. "It'll be nice."

Rose shrugged.

"You ever been to one?"

She nodded, "it was quite wild. Though I don't know if the people here can go as mad as the partiers in Los Angeles did. It was beyond this world."

"We'll see..."

Salt Lake City, Utah
June 24th, 1922

"A gin martini," Jack muttered as he handed the drink to Rose, "and a daiquiri for Eve."

The speakeasy was a world away from the outside, a place where the rules didn't apply, a place to escape the constraints of a society gone dry. And as they sipped their drink, they couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement, knowing they were a part of something wild, something dangerous, and forbidden.

The room was alive with energy. The walls were painted a deep red, the light from the chandeliers casting a warm glow over the sea of faces. Everywhere they looked, there were people, laughing, dancing, and drinking. The air was thick with smoke, the sound of glasses clinking, and the sweet strains of jazz music. Couples whirled by on the dance floor, their feet moving in time to the music, while others huddled together, speaking in hushed tones.

Not before long, Eve had already found a random man to be her dance partner. They happily jumped and spun around the dance floor.

Jack and Rose stayed at an elevated table.

"You're a magnificent dancer, you know." Jack spoke as quietly as he could. The loudness surrounding them made it difficult.

"You're not too bad yourself," she gave him a generous smile. It seemed he was going to ask for a dance. He didn't. He seemed nervous. And so she continued observing the various and unique characters around her. Her eyes landed on one particularly couple that couldn't get their hands off each other. "Jack, you see people quite well, don't you? You see them in no way anyone else could... what about them?" She nodded towards the erotic couple, "do you think they love each other?"

"They're certainly in love with each other's tongues."

She giggled. "You know what I mean."

"I really can't tell. Maybe they are. Maybe they aren't. Why do you ask?"

"It's rather silly," she glanced up at him. Her blue eyes sparkled, captivating him in their gaze. He couldn't help but feel in awe of Rose, her wide eyes and embarrassed grin only making her more endearing.

He felt so in love with her. "Tell me."

Her mouth opened up slightly. "During the time I thought you were gone, when I attended events with interesting people, I often thought... what would you think of them if you were here? How would you draw them? What would you tell me that you see in them?"

"You thought of me?"

"Everyday," she whispered. He didn't hear and could only gather what she said through the movement of her lips.

"Rose!" Eve appeared out of no where, jumping and ecstatic. She pulled Rose closer to the floor, "come dance!"

Rose locked eyes with him as she was being dragged away. There was some sadness hidden in her gaze. She didn't want to leave him. She had the dangerous urge to kiss him, touch him, anything. Absolutely anything.

He faded away as they dove deeper into the crowd.

Rose moved stiffly, her arms tight at her sides. Her expression was reserved, annoyed even, as she was forced to dance in the crowded room.

On the other hand, Eve was in a state of pure joy. She twirled and spun, her pink dress gleaming in the dim light. Her golden hair flowed behind her as she moved. She was completely unaware of Rose's mood, lost in her own happiness.

As the music came to an end, Rose let out a sigh of relief, eager to step away from the dance floor. But Eve was not ready to stop. Grasping Rose's hand, she pulled her back into the throngs of people, spinning and laughing as the music started again.

"Eve, I'd like to get back to my drink," Rose insisted, releasing her hand from Eve.

"Oh, you alcoholic!" Eve's laughter was contagious. "Calm down, we'll get you back to the drinks then. But I'm dancing."

Jack was content with their arrival. Being alone wasn't something he wasn't used to, but it surely wasn't comfortable.

"I hope we didn't leave you for too long, Dawson," Eve apologized.

"Not at all."

"Rose wished to return to her drink," she explained and added, "I'll be going back to dancing now..." she disappeared, once again into the crowd. Confidence enveloped her as she swayed her hips and tossed her hair around.

"She's quite the character," Jack observed.

"That, she most definitely is," Rose turned to Jack, "dance with me will you?"

"I thought you wanted to have your martini?"

Suddenly taken aback, realizing that yes, she had said she just wanted her drink. In a quick, desperate action gulped down the rest of her drink. She coughed.

"Woah," he placed his hand on her shoulder.

"Okay, done. Let's dance."

As Jack and Rose moved to the sound of the jazz band, they found themselves in an embrace that was both tender and passionate. The heat radiating between them was palpable, their lips brushing ever so lightly against each other. Every breath they took was filled with the excitement of the moment.

They were lost in their own world, fully consumed by the feeling of being so close to each other. The speakeasy was forgotten, replaced by the all-encompassing intimacy of Jack and Rose.

They were abruptly interrupted by Eve, who had stumbled into them. The sudden intrusion shattered the atmosphere, and Jack and Rose were torn apart.

Awkwardness hit them. What were they doing? Rose thought of Henry. She didn't betray him, did she? She and Jack were only dancing. There was nothing to stress about, Rose told herself.

"Eve, I think it's best we call it a night," Rose blurted out. Surprisingly, Jack agreed. He was just as uncomfortable as Rose was.

"So soon?" She pouted.

After some convincing, the three of them were out of the stuffy speakeasy and on the slow moving streets of the city.

Eve, in the middle, rested her arms on the other's shoulders. She swayed as if the sound of music surrounded her, humming a cheerful tune. Jack and Rose smiled, happy to have Eve there and brightening the dull atmosphere of the streets.

"Oh, you two," she pulled them in closer to her, "this is quite the trip, isn't it?" Neither of them answered, only giving Eve more room to talk. "Now, Rose I know this has been difficult. Leaving home and all. I'd say the same for Jack and I, although, I believe we didn't really leave any home," Eve chuckled somberly, "but I see this trip as the start of an incredible friendship, don't you? We'll be a little group!"

"How many drinks did you have, Eve?" Rose asked.

"Just that one. I'm drunk on happiness, not alcohol."

"Happiness?"

"I've had a fine night."

"Every night you spend drinking and dancing is a fine night, in your definition."

"Exactly. Rose, I'm not that difficult to please."

"Hey, hey girls," Jack murmured. He stopped in his tracks, pulling Rose and Eve back with him. "Look." Their eyes followed his pointed finger. There was a wall, on it a paper, and on that paper a very familiar photograph of Rose.

"Shit," Rose was first to respond.

A pair of two policemen were close by, hanging up a couple more papers.

"Why are they hanging these up here? I don't understand. I thought it was safe." Eve seemed to be slowly backing away.

"He must know we're here. Or around here." Jack added.

"How in the world would he know?" Rose snapped back. Her comment came out harsh, she didn't mean it to be, but she was panicking.

Jack shrugged.

Eve began, "we need to go. Now."

"Now?" Jack and Rose said in unison.

"Obviously! They'll find us in the morning."

"It's late," Rose murmured.

"So? Come, we'll find another way to the hotel so we avoid the policemen. Then we'll pack and head off."

Salt Lake City, Utah
June 24th, 1922

"Is she sleeping?"

Jack responded with a simple yes.

He continued to stare down at her. Rose had placed her head on his lap. He suggested it. She'd get a better rest if she didn't sleep sitting up. He kept his fingers moving through her hair, carefully so he wouldn't wake her up.

Eve, who drove and was alone in the front row, enjoyed her space. She had her things laid out beside her. Cigarettes, a half eaten sandwiches, her purse, and their map. She paid more attention to her cigarettes than the road in front of her. They must have been in the middle of no where, not a single soul was in sight, and her biggest concern would be any animals suddenly crossing the road.

"Where are we going next?" He whispered.

"Colorado, I suppose. It's what we planned."

"What if we end up all the way in New York?" Jack said jokingly. "That would be a story!"

"Theoretically speaking, it isn't impossible. Though I doubt our little red-head here would be ecstatic over the idea."

"You are most definitely right."

"She must miss Henry," she sighed, "you know...I never quite understood what she sees in that man."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, I wouldn't take my words too seriously. It's just that I only get this feeling about him. But my senses are always all over the place, I might as well be diagnosed as crazy. So... never mind what I've said. It's nonsense, surely." Hoping to erase her previous statements, she changed the subject, "so how'd you meet Rose anyway? And don't give me that half-ass response that she did."

"It's her story to tell, not mine."

"Bullshit," she scoffed, "it's yours just as much as it is hers."

"I guess."

"Fine, don't tell me what happened. Tell me..." her voice began to soften, "do you love her?"

"I'd rather answer the first question."

"Did you love her?"

"Yes."

A small smile crept up on Eve's face. She wasn't sure why. Jack didn't see it. "And do you now?"

"That would be answering the other question."

"Why won't you answer it?"

"I can't."

Eve finally understood and in that moment Jack knew she did. She knew the answer just as he did, but also knew the reason why couldn't tell her. "I won't tell a soul," she promised, "but if I were you, I'd tell her before shes no longer Miss Dawson and is Mrs. Calvert."

Their conversation ended at that. The car became stuffy with the smell of Eve's cigarettes. She went through many, she needed something to do so she'd stay awake. Jack leaned onto the side of the car, using his folded up coat as a pillow. He slept well. Many years of sleeping in all sorts of places had pretty much allowed him to sleep even in the most uncomfortable places. Rose kept sleeping, too. Not as pleasantly. She shuffled around, groaning and kicking. This, she was not used to.

"Dawson? Dawson," Eve's soft but stressed tone woke up Jack. "Wake up and come here," she patted the area next to her. He climbed into the front row.

"Yeah?"

"A car has been following us for the past five minutes."

Jack glanced back. There was a car. "Pull over to the side. They might just want to get ahead of you."

Eve turned the wheel. They drove off the road and onto the dirt surface.

The other car stopped parallel to them. Eve whimpered.

"Sh, it's fine. They'll go."

"They don't seem to be going," her hands began to sweat, "do you think someone recognized Rose?"

"It's probably some silly misunderstanding. Go wake up Rose."

"Why should I wake up Rose if it's all some silly misunderstanding?"

"Fine. I'm lying. Wake her up so we're all alert. Just in case."

Jack sunk into his seat, he watched closely in on the car parallel to them. A black, rather expensive car. Two men in grey coats and hats came out first. Their expressions and movements were no good sign, they certainly were not friendly. Before he could get a glimpse of anyone else, Eve notified him of Rose's awake state.

"Stay calm, alright?" He whispered to the two of them, his back to the window.

Rose and Eve began to scream, their eyes placed on something beyond him. In slight fear, Jack turned his head only to be met with the end of a gun. One of the grey men had been outside the car, point it right at him.

"Get out of the car," he said.

They all did. With their hands above their head.

Chapter Text

Somewhere in Utah
June 24th, 1922

They were lined up like dominoes waiting to fall.

The one man stood menacingly in front of Jack, Rose, and Eve, gun pointed at them like a loaded dice waiting to roll. The other man, who wasn't armed, approached them and unfurled a paper, which he held up to Rose's face. She looked exactly like the photograph on it.

"Who are you?" she demanded, daring to speak up.

Neither of the men answered. Instead, her questions were answered in the preceding moment.

The door of the automobile creaked open and a tall figure emerged, the man's dark hair slicked back and reflecting in the moonlight. A small smile formed on his lips as he surveyed his surroundings, noting the fear and awe in the eyes of those who had gathered around him.

Cal still exuded confidence and power. He took his time approaching, giving Jack and Rose a chance to study his weathered features, etched with lines and creases from the years that had passed.

As he approached, Jack and Rose shrank back, intimidated by his presence. But he just chuckled to himself, a deep and menacing sound that sent shivers down their spines.

Eve kept still. This stranger meant little to her, of course.

"Rose, my dear, we finally meet again," the sweetness in his voice made her ache. "Don't be shy, come here." She didn't make a single movement, but Jack clutched onto her arm. The tightness of his grip made her wince. "Ah, you," Cal's eyes shifted towards Jack, "let go of her will you? I'd like to get this over with quickly."

"She's staying here."

"Hm... may I remind you, Mr. Dawson, that a guns is pointed at you. Now be a good man and let her go."

Rose glanced over at Jack. They seemed to have an entire conversation with their eyes. She insisted he let her go. He insisted against it. Rose eventually ripped herself way from him. She refused to bring anymore harm to Jack.

"How did you find us?" She muttered, taking slow steps.

"I had a little friend."

"Who?"

"An anonymous friend. For the time being."

"Who!"

Cal tilted his head slightly. He was observing her. "My dear what have they done to you?" He brushed his fingers through her knotted hair. She reeked of alcohol, cigarettes, and sweat. There wasn't much decency in her appearance or scent. "Come with me, we'll get you cleaned up and comfortable in no time."

"Every second of the past ten years I've been grateful to have escaped from you... you bastard." Rose hesitated. On the inside, she was terrified. Terrified of the gun pointed at the two out of three people she cared for the most. The knowing grin on Cals face. The darkness and emptiness of their surroundings. The fact that not a single soul would hear their cries for help.

"You're exhausted."

"I'm livid and disgusted by your very presence."

He sighed and motioned with his hand for one of his men to come over. Rose kept staring up at Cal. She was caught by surprise by the sudden jerk she felt. The man snatched onto her, dragging her into the automobile. She screamed, kicked, hit. Nothing seemed to work.

It was then when she heard Jack yell, "Rose!" The sound of him running occurred soon after.

Jack didn't get far. A gun went off before he could.

Somewhere in Utah
June 24th, 1922

Eve was the first to react. She screamed, after the realization had come to her, her hands cupped her mouth. "Devil!" She cried at the man who had pulled the trigger, "rot in hell, you!"

Rose's knees buckled. They hit the dirt floor. She didn't quite know what to think, seeing Jack laying on the floor, bleeding. Was he gone? He couldn't be. Not so soon. She had just gotten him back.

Eve dropped to the floor and sat beside Jack. Her hands were pressed against his shoulder. His right shoulder.

All Rose could ask herself was such a stupid, dim witted question: where is the heart? She imagined left. No, right. No, it must be left! Oh, her mind was too panicked to remember such a known simple fact. She began to cry. She couldn't remember and it killed her. She needed to know. She needed to know he was okay.

"He needs a doctor," Eve bawled, staring straight at Cal, "please... please, sir let me take him and get him the proper care necessary-"

"No... no, this works out quite nicely, doesn't it?"

"What?" She sobbed.

"He is a criminal, after all."

"What!" Eve continued. Every word she spoke was louder than the last. "What do you mean!"

"Cal!" Rose yelled.

"There is no need to be so angry, dear. If he were to return the diamond, perhaps I could consider this woman's request."

"What diamond?" Eve muttered. She then realized there was no time for questions and explanations, "Jack give him the diamond!" Jack mumbled something only Eve could hear. Her eyes raised to Rose. "Give him the diamond!"

Rose only continued to cry. For years, the diamond had no value to her. It was a worthless thing, only ever a burden. She tossed it away - convinced of its inconvenience. Now it's value contained Jack's life.

"Give him the diamond!" Eve repeated. Her voice cracked and was hoarse. Her face had turned to red as she continued to chant the sentence at Rose.

"I don't have it anymore," Rose sobbed, "I don't have it. I don't. Please, Cal let him go. It's all my fault."

"Where is it?" He raged, trudging towards Rose with a look in his eyes that made her shiver.

That moment had been stopped by the sudden grunting and struggles of Eve and the gunman. She was playing a dangerous game, risking more than she could afford. But Jack's time was running out and Rose's begging wouldn't get them anywhere.

She took hold of the weapon. A second shot was taken. To the man's foot. Rose wasn't sure if that was quite where Eve was aiming, she didn't even seem to be aiming. Eve was like a child with the gun, careless. But she was desperate.

Fun, gentle, and caring Eve with a gun. Rose still couldn't quite believe the sight in front of her.

"Let us go," she demanded over the cries of the man with an injured foot. She pointed the weapon straight at Cal's grinning face. He was intrigued, this was all like some amusing play to him. In her next comment she hesitated, "let him and I go. We're of no use to you. Your diamond, or whatever it is, is gone."

Cal sighed, considering Eve's comment. "You are right, whoever you are. I can't deny that." He began to nod toward the man clutching onto Rose. He continued to drag her into the car. "You may go," Cal told Eve, "as long as you let us take Rose, in peace."

"Eve!" Rose screamed, in disbelief of her decision. "Eve, no! How could- Eve!"

Eve didn't look at her. She couldn't.

Rose's cries muffled once she was trapped in the car. She slammed her palms on the window. She was furious, terrified and betrayed.

How could she?

As the dark automobile drove off into the distance, Eve retook her place by Jack.

"Where's Rose?" He coughed, staring up at Eve's concerned face.

"She's the least of our concerns right now," she swallowed.

"What's our first?"

"Your life."

Somewhere in Utah
June 24th, 1922

Jack didn't know where they were. Neither did Eve. Some town unknown to them. Unknown to most of the world, surely. It was the first town they found after Eve's violent driving. She pushed the car to its limit, driving as fast as she possibly could.

They came to a momentary stop. Eve told him, "I'll be out for a minute."

She came back with multiple little things. Jack didn't care to really observe them. He had trust in her. She seemed to know what she was doing, even with her trembling hands and watery eyes.

"I've never been shot before," he struggled to push sentences out his mouth, "I've decided that I'm not a fan."

"Shh," she murmured, concentrating on something he couldn't see, "your jokes are lovely, but it isn't the time." She ripped off his shirt to easily get to the wound. "I must warn you," she said as she began to clean the wound with some sort of disinfectant. It stung. Jack immediately winced in pain. She continued to talk, "I've mostly only ever seen these treated. I haven't done so myself. I was there to help soldiers in the aftermath, not heal the wound."

Jack couldn't care. He was too sick with pain to process a single word of hers.

"This is going to hurt so," she chewed on her lips stressfully as she searched for something. She found a tiny rag. She shoved it into his mouth and said, "bite."

A sharp, burning sensation shot through his body, making him shudder. He tried to take deep breaths to calm himself, but the pain only seemed to intensify every second. He could feel sweat beading on his forehead.

"I'll be done soon," Eve reassured him. He didn't know what she was doing - he kept his eyes on the roof of the car - but he was sure glad it would be done soon. "Alright, now turn around-"

Jack's breathing grew ragged and shallow, and suddenly, he went limp.

"Jack?" She swallowed, staring at his motionless body. Her mouth gaped open as she hesitantly moved closer to him. Her next words were shaky, "... Jack?"

Eve reached out a trembling hand and touched Jack's cheek, willing him to wake up. But he remained unresponsive, his body still and cold to the touch. Panic seized her heart.

"Don't do this to me, dumbass," she mourned, "you're scaring me. Wake up."

For a moment, she sat there, frozen with fear and despair. He wouldn't wake up. But then, she forced herself to focus, to do something, anything, to save him. She checked his pulse and was relieved to find it still beating, albeit weakly. He must of fainted from the pain.

She breathed a sigh and reached for her water and poured some onto his face, hoping to revive him. When he didn't respond, she tried slapping him lightly on the cheek, calling his name again and again.

He groaned.

"Oh, thank god," Eve said louder than she expected too, "you just put me through a whole rollercoaster, you know that?"

"What?" He murmured, confused by the fact that he was drenched in water.

"Never mind that," she placed her hand on his sweaty hair, "I need you to turn to your side very slowly and carefully. Ill help you."

Once he did, the pain came again. He lived through the treacherous moment again, bitting onto the rag until he was convinced he had ripped it. Eve turned him back when she was done. She began to wrap something around his body and over the wound.

"I spotted a hotel near by. We'll spend the night there," she shared, "you can walk, yes? You'll possibly be a bit dizzy from the pain and slight loss of blood, but you should be fine."

"Give me a second," he panted, eyes closed shut.

"Of course," Eve cleaned up as he attempted to calm down. Once he did, she lifted him up, helping him sit up right. She gently dressed him with a coat, hiding his bandages and ripped shirt. He couldn't go into the hotel looking as he did. "There, like nothing ever happened."

"Where's Rose?" He asked again.

Eve hated the way he looked at her at that moment. He was oblivious to the situation and trusted her to get the truth and she didn't want to tell him the truth. She was barely able to forgive herself, how could he? He'd kill her.

"She'll be back in a bit," Eve lied with all her strength.

"When?"

"In a bit. She's getting things, I don't know."

"What things?"

"I don't know," she said with a firmer tone, "don't waste your energy thinking about her right now, she's fine. You, on the other hand, are most definitely not fine. I ought to make sure you get better."

The two entered the rugged hotel. Jack couldn't walk steadily but Eve's strong clutch on him was helpful. They took a room with two beds. After she had put him in one of them, she told she'd be gone for a little bit.

"Sleep," she whispered in the darkness, "I'll be out for no more than ten minutes."

Somewhere in Utah
June 24th, 1922

"Please forgive me," Eve sobbed. He had only then answered the telephone and was surprised by her violent cries. "Please do. I had to make a decision, a dreadful decision."

"Calm down. What did you do? What happened?"

"They found us and- and Jack, he took a bullet. If I didn't get him out of there he'd- he'd.... I had to let them take Rose or he'd..."

Henry was silent a moment. "It was the right thing to do."

In shock, she asked, "what?"

"It was the right thing to do. It was best for you to help him."

"She's your fiancé... and I thought you weren't very fond of him."

"Still, it was the morally right decision."

Eve was taken aback. His response was strange. He was so calm, so accepting.

"I don't know what do now."

"Perhaps it's best you come back home. I can try to sort this all out."

"But... isn't there a chance that we can find her again? Bring her back home with us."

"I don't see how that could work. You'd do it all on your own while also treating an injured man. It's all too much."

"I don't know if I want to leave."

"It's for the best."

"I'd feel guilty for the rest of time. Leaving her, just like that."

"Come back home. It's over." He went off the call.

Somewhere in Utah
June 25th, 1922

Jack woke up to Eve's nervously tapping leg. She was fidgeting with her fingers and staring down at the floor.

Their eyes met. She forced a smile.

"Slept well, I hope."

"Of course, I've got the best nurse," he complemented, "thank you, Eve." His non-injured arm began to reach around, as if he were looking for something. Or someone. "Is Rose here?"

She couldn't lie anymore. Maybe if she were lucky, his reaction would be similar to Henry's. Jack did have a better temper. But the chances were slim.

"I lied," she took deep breaths as her throat began to sting.

"About what?"

She failed to look him in the eye, "she's not with us. They took her. I... I let them take her. It was the only way I could get us out, so I could help you. You were running out of time, if I hadn't you'd surely be gone."

There was a silence. But it wasn't the same as it was with Henry. It was a different, dreadfully scary silent.

"Eve!"

She jerked, her eyelids fluttering. His sudden outburst, although she expected it, made her quiver.

"Are you mad!" He fumed. "How could you?"

"Your life was at stake!" She spat back. She may have felt guilty, but she certainly didn't regret her decision. She'd do everything the same if she had a second chance.

"And now so is hers!"

"Oh my," she rolled her eyes, "that Cal man won't do anything too dreadful."

"I'm not talking about him doing anything," Jack swallowed, thinking about the night he met Rose. Now, to her, he could be dead and Eve had just betrayed her. Being pushed to the same point wouldn't be a horribly difficult task. Jack calmed himself. He stared up at the ceiling, contemplating something. "What do we do now? How do we find her?"

"We're going home. To California."

"You're not being serious? She's out there somewhere-"

"Yes, but we don't know where. It's hopeless at the moment. It's for the best that we go. You're injured and finding her is impossible. We'll go back to California and hope some newspaper says something about her being found. It might give us more information as to where she is. Then, we'll go."

He didn't look at her. He was furious.

"Please, don't be angry. It's our best choice."

Jack still didn't talk.

"We'll be going in about five minutes. Get cleaned up, or do whatever it is you need to do before we go. I'd like to leave early so we make it back later this evening."

Los Angeles, California
July 9th, 1922
Two weeks later...

The door opened to reveal a sorry sight. Eve sighed as her eyes met Jack's.

His once sharp features were now dull and worn, as if every ounce of energy had been drained from him. He hadn't been taking care of himself, evidenced by his unkempt hair, unshaven face, and the dark circles under his eyes. He hadn't been eating, and it showed in his gaunt face and the way his clothes hung loose on his frame. The sadness in his eyes was palpable.

"I made some food," she raised a glass container up to his eyes, giving him a smile, "I was going to have it myself, but then was saddened by the realization that I'm eating dinner alone. Would you like to join me?"

He only stared at her with those exhausted eyes.

"Oh, I know you're lonely too. Let's be lonely together."

Jack gave a simple nod and stepped aside, letting her in.

Eve placed the glass container on his table. "I hope you've been checking up on that wound," she said gently.

"It's fine." He insisted.

Her eyes glanced over to his couch. It was covered in news papers, possibly every newspaper in Los Angeles had been on that couch there were so many.

"We'll find her, Dawson, we will." She told him. He didn't listen. Her hand went on his shoulder. "We'll find her, somehow."

"I know she's waiting for us to come find her. I know she is. And all we're doing is sitting around."

"There's nothing else we can do," her eyes scanned over his face, such a sad face. "Have you gone out at all? What about work?"

"I haven't gone to work in weeks. I haven't a cent. The landlord is kicking me out," he scoffed as if it were some joke.

"Oh."

"It's alright. I've lived on the streets before, I'll do it again."

The streets were once her home too. Though, she'd never in her right mind return to them. "I have an empty couch."

"What?"

"If you need a place to stay."

"I'd be a burden."

"No, you wouldn't. Come, stay with me," she began to smile, "I don't mean to brag, but I am a spectacular hostess."

Jack thought a moment. Then gave a little nod.

She grinned excitedly and wrapped her two arms around him. He winced. His shoulder hadn't healed completely yet. She drew back. "Oh, this will be just great. Now, you'll have a nice place to stay and I will finally have someone to talk to."

"Don't you have any other friends?"

"Sure, here and there. But not many close ones."

"What about Henry?"

She burst out in laughter, "absolutely not! You know my feelings towards him. He and I were only ever tied together through Rose. I've only seen him once since her absence, that's all."

"How's he handling it all?"

"Nicely, it seems. He's quite alright... unbothered, even."

"Strange."

"Yes, that's what I thought."

Chapter Text

Los Angeles, California
July 13th, 1922

"Doesn't it bother you? Not knowing your real name...?"

Eve shrugged, "bothered? No, not really. Curious? Sure. But Im curious about many things. It's only a name." She shifted her eyes away from her breakfast and up at him, "you ask personal questions."

This was something she observed after sharing an apartment with him for some days.

"They're the best questions to ask."

"I'd like to ask a personal question," she grinned.

"Shoot."

"You're from Wisconsin, yes? So how'd you end up here?"

"That's a long story."

"Give me the simplest answer."

"My folks passed away when I was still fairly young. I ended up running off and outta the country. On my way back home, after traveling through Europe, I met Rose. Days later I lost her. Almost right after the war, I ended up here."

"I didn't know about your parents."

"Ah, it was years ago."

"Still, I'm sorry. It seems terrible."

He looked at her with pinched brows and confused eyes, "out of all the people I spoke about this to, you're the one I expected most to understand."

In a casual tone she replied, "can't miss something you never had. Hell, sometimes I'm glad I don't have to ever go through the grief of losing family," her tone softened, "but I'll admit, the idea of family seems quite pleasant."

"It does."

"Jack?"

"Yes."

"I don't think Rose will be pleased to see me. That is, if we find her."

"We will. And if she is, she'll get over it eventually."

"She's stubborn. She'll hold a grudge, I can feel it."

Jack only let out a quick, slightly pain-filled chuckle. "You and I have insanely different concerns."

"What do you mean?"

"This former fiancé of hers, he isn't exactly a saint, let's put it that way."

"She'll be fine. She's strong."

"Strong? Yes. Strong enough? God, I hope so," he swallowed, "for all she knows, I'm dead and you, her dearest friend, has betrayed her. She's trapped. Again. Everything seems to be happening again, as if the past decided to return. Only now its worse. It's just like you said, you can't miss something you never had. She's now had years of freedom, years in which she was the director of her own life. Coming back to her old way of life will only be more devastating. And if I - we, don't get there it time... what if she," he paused, unable to continue.

"What if she what?"

"Nothing... nothing."

"Dawson, you worry too much."

"I'm not worrying. Im frustrated. I'm stuck, stuck here and unable to do anything. It's the same as it was years ago, knowing she was somewhere starving on the streets while I stayed in the hospital."

Eve began to hate it when either of them spoke of the past. The time she had no connection to and no memory of. Yet everyone around her did. She couldn't bother with questions - that she learned quickly. No one would give her a proper answer.

She mustered up the courage to speak out a truth he seemed to ignore, "her life isn't your responsibility."

Jack scoffed. The very comment humored him so. He added, "that's interesting because it seems since the moment I met her, that's all that's ever been my responsibility."

"I never know what either of you mean when you talk of the past."

"Of course you don't. That's alright, you don't need to."

She bit the inside of her cheek and repeated, "I may only know a sliver of yours and Rose's history, but I can confidently say... her life isn't your responsibility. It's hers."

"Then why do I feel so much guilt?"

"That's silly. The guilt is all mine. It's been mine the moment I let them take her."

"I know it's ridiculous. Though I still feel it. I feel I should've done more, done something, anything, differently."

To Eve, he was being inconsiderate. She couldn't bare it. Guilt? Him? Him being the one with guilt? Guilt had engulfed her, crawled under her skin and never left since the moment she watched Rose being dragged into the car. Yet, he was the one who felt guilt?

"Perhaps it's because you can't get it through your head that, once again, you have no responsibility over her life," she snapped, "and if anyone were to come after in succession to the responsibility of her life, it would be Henry. Her fiancé. The man she'll one day marry, the man who works endlessly for her, the man she'll raise children with, the man who she'll grow old with. Not a man she knew for a couple days ten years ago. So to hell with your guilt. Leave it for those who rightfully feel it for real reasons."

Eve left Jack and his hurt expression at the table. She retired to her room.

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
July 13th, 1922

Ruth passed away soon after the assumed death of her only child, Rose DeWitt Bukater.

Rose wished not to visit her mother's resting place. Not that she had the time, anyway. Her days where filled with meetings, meetings with people who wished to see her once again. These were people whom she easily forgotten, people from her old circle that she cared very little for. They watched and talked to her as if she were some scared little puppy found in the streets and suddenly taken into a home with a loving family.

To Rose, it was all quite the opposite.

"Miss DeWitt Bukater," one man kissed her hand. He was much older. His wife was beside him, adoring Rose's presence. "How glad we are to see you again!"

She hated it when people called her by the name that died with her seventeen year old self. She was Dawson now, yet no one seemed to respect this change of name.

"Dawson," she insisted.

The older man, taken aback, asked, "pardon, Miss?"

"You may call me Dawson. I am no longer-"

She was cut off by Cal's disapproving scowl. "Rose, dear, don't confuse these lovely people with your shenanigans," he turned to them, "I do apologize."

Her younger self would've certainly shut her mouth by then. But now she was older, had grown thicker skin and lost her patience. She spat back, not giving any care to how foolish or disgraceful she might look. "My name is Rose Dawson. I refuse to be called by any other name-"

This lack of fear, her willingness and confidence to be even more rebellious, would eventually backfire. It backfired many times, yet she continued on and on, making a loon of herself and Cal again and again.

Cal clutched onto her arm, "excuse us, please. You must understand, after all the terrible things she endured... it is only natural for her to have these sudden outbursts. Please accept my apology."

The couple nodded sympathetically. Looking at Rose as if she were a sick, poor thing.

Los Angeles, California
July 13th, 1922

"Eve?" Jack leaned against the doorframe of Eve's room. She was on her bed reading. She glanced up. "You can't ignore me forever, you know. I do currently reside on your couch."

She sat up and patted the spot next to her. "Come."

He did. "I'm sorry."

"I am too. I do really wish to be your friend, yet I don't seem to be making much of an effort."

"Aren't we already friends?"

"Are we?"

"Well, I don't make the rules on what makes a friend. But when someone saves my life, that's definitely a friend in my book."

"That's swell," she gleamed, "I wanted to be a friend of yours the instant I saw you, Dawson."

"Really?"

"Certainly. Why do you think I came up to you in the first place?" Her smile straightened out and she returned to the pages of her book. "We'll be grand friends."

"Yes we will, Adair."

Los Angeles, California
July 15th, 1922

The aroma of cigarettes and tasty meals accompanied the elegantly decorated restaurant. Black-suited waiters flew by like uncatchable flies.

Henry followed the usher to a table for four. It was the last table. With the final table came secrecy, it was tucked away in a shadowy corner.

A particular blond woman and her dashing consort interrupted his quiet night. The usher proceeded behind them, demanding they couldn't go past the front desk unless a table was ready for them.

Eve sprinted through waiters and guests. Jack's path was trickier. He awkwardly rejected the large platers and bodies that came his way. In a matter of seconds, the desperate usher behind him collided with a waiter. Several glasses shattered on the wooden floor. Eve, unconcerned, used the extra time to talk with Henry, Jack attempted to assist in the cleanup. But the workers whisked him away.

"Henry!" She repeated with a waving hand. "It's a delight to see you here. That horrid usher refused to let us in."

Henry chuckled. "That usually happens when a restaurant is full."

"Oh, curse them all." Eve muttered.

"Evening," Jack entered the conversation.

Rose's fiancé replied, flatly, "evening."

Any further discourse was cut short by the usher. He was determined to drag them out of the restaurant. Henry's impulsive remark saved the two from being ejected "Come and join me. I have room for two." The usher let them be after that.

"You've saved the day," Eve smirked as she adjusted herself in the seat.

He answered her with a meaningless smile. "I wouldn't of ever expected to see you two here."

Jack knew the nasty thing he meant behind such a comment. It was a sophisticated place, Eve and Jack weren't sophisticated people. He thought Eve would too, yet she replied in such a naive tone while also simultaneously taking a stab at him.

"I could say the same for you! Rose had made it quite the point that you've... how should I say it? Yes, that you've been struggling."

"I'm doing just fine, Eve."

"That's good to hear. How is everything playing out for you?"

"What?"

"With Rose, of course. Don't you miss her? Jack and I certainly do. We've been checking every newspaper every morning for the mention of her name. I'm sure you do the same."

"Yes, of course."

"Why don't you come with us? Once we know where she is."

"I couldn't possibly. Work and all."

"Surely you can miss a week or two?"

"No, Eve. I can't."

Jack's leg tapped furiously under the table. He eyed Henry in his fitted black suit, slick black hair, and charming composure. A perfect gentleman, supposedly. Yet here he was, unwilling to lift a finger for his fiancée.

Henry disgusted Jack in ways he couldn't put into words.

"You care for her, don't you?" Eve's eyes widened.

"Of course, with... with all my heart."

"Then why won't you act like you do?"

Henry straightened himself out, he was losing his temper. It happened seldom, but when it did, it was far from fun. "Let's not forget who's fault this entire situation is. I insisted she stay here, you two dragged her out to Salt Lake City."

"We tried to keep her safe, something you failed to do!" Eve said, appalled.

"You've done quite the horrific job. Besides, she's most likely in a better condition with this former fiancé than she ever could be with you two vagrants!"

It was then when Eve learned that Jack, in fact, had quite the temper as well. If pushed to a very far but reachable limit, he could go mad enough for her to get dreadfully scared. She didn't expect it from him. He was a mostly reserved, quiet man. That's how she knew him, anyhow.

Shouts and gasps engulfed the room as people watched grab onto the collar of Henry's shirt - non of which where loud enough to overpower Jack's curses. Quite the scene was made.

"Damn you! All I did, all I told her just for her to end up with you! You piece of shit! You excuse-of-a-man! I nearly killed myself for her, only for you to be the lucky man she ends up with! Why couldn't it of been anyone else!"

Eve grabbed Jack's arm, trying to pull him back, but he was too consumed by rage.

"You're embarrassing yourself," muttered Henry through pain-filled groans.

Jack could've gone on forever. But a group of men pulled Jack away. He struggled against their grip at first, but eventually had calmed himself down.

Jack and Eve were immediately kicked out of the restaurant and were specifically told to never come again.

They walked back to Eve's apartment shamefully. People tossed glances at the two of them. Eve's embarrassed expressions and Jack's injured fist made them a strange sight.

"Rose will be livid when she learns about this. I can feel it." Eve spoke out.

"You talk as if it's certain that we'll see her again."

His sudden negativity took her aback. "Because we will, won't we? It is a certain thing, surely. It's taking some time, that's all."

"I don't know. I'm getting tired, Eve."

"Of what?"

"Feeling stuck. It's the same as it was when I lost her the first time. I can't bear it a second time."

"We haven't lost her."

"So why does it feel like it?"

Chapter Text

Los Angeles, California
August 5th, 1922
Three weeks later...

The bread that Eve placed earlier in the toaster was finished. It's warm scent and a combination of other smells connected to breakfast engulfed the flat. Homemade orange juice was poured into glass cups by Eve. Jack had just finished cooking the eggs.

Such delicate and pleasant breakfasts weren't a luxury they could afford for most of the time they lived together. But now, with the two of them finally working again, decent meals became quite common. Eve got herself a significant role in an exciting moving picture and Jack got a job in an art museum near by. Although, this brought up a question. When would Jack leave? He couldn't sleep on her couch forever and was surely earning enough money for a little place of his own.

Truthfully, neither of them wanted him to go. They both carried so much loneliness, loneliness that seemed to fade just a little when in each others presence.

We can be lonely together.

"Got a busy day today?"

"It's always a busy, chaotic day in Hollywood."

"I can imagine," his brows raised as he took a seat across from her. "When's the picture coming out?"

"I'm not sure. They don't tell me much there," she shrugged, "say, what about we go to the theater together. Watch it together."

"I'd love to. I don't go to those picture palaces often."

"You don't!" Her loudness startled him. "That's absolutely insane. How could you not- I don't believe it, truly!"

"I just don't go a lot."

"Have you ever seen one of Rose's pictures? They're magnificent-" that was a mistake. Mentioning Rose was always a mistake, one Eve made many times. It set a somber tone to the rest of the conversation.

The mention of her name hurt Jack. It was a painful reminder of how he had failed her. It had been nearly two months since he last saw her, since anyone from her preferred life had seen Rose. He failed to continue checking the newspapers, he lost hope. Jack and Eve acted almost all the time as if they forgot about Rose.

It was as if her very existence was shattered.

"I'm sorry," she swallowed.

Usually he replied with a reassuring, it's alright. He suddenly lost his appetite, unable to continue on and act as if he truly was okay.

"I think I'll go to work early." He desperately needed a distraction.

"Oh, no don't-"

He began to pick up his plate, "I'll help clean up. Then I'll be off."

"Don't leave," her hand grasped onto his arm, "sit down and eat with me. We don't have to speak a word." Before she met Jack, eating meals alone was a common concept to her. All she did was have meals alone, with nothing but her thoughts to accompany her. Now with Jack, eating alone seemed much lonelier than it once did.

He though a moment, "it's best we do talk. About anything just not..."

"Yes, I know," she whispered, "I know."

With a changed mind, he sat back down and continued to spread butter on his toast.

Eve searched her mind for anything to talk about, anything she could tell him. "I've forgotten to tell you that I'll be out of the apartment a little more now."

"Longer work days?"

"Not exactly. They want me to attend events with California's richest and finest people. To improve my image, or what not."

"You're going into the snake pit."

"Yes, I'm well aware. But I'll manage. I can be classy."

"Certainly."

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
August 5th, 1922

"The dress looks lovely, Miss," her maid said as she finished covering the last bruise on Rose's arm.

Rose stared at herself in the mirror. Her head tilted and brow raised, she hardly recognized herself in such an extravagant gown. She didn't like it. She wasn't herself there. She was never herself there, only now she felt even more displaced. How could she live like this if she knew of the great life she could be living instead?

"You think so?" She murmured, "I feel off."

"I think it's all very pretty."

Rose despised the envy in her maid's eyes.

How could she envy me?

She'd seen her bruises, she'd seen her cry and scream. Yet she envied Rose with her sparkly dresses and diamonds. That's all she seemed to see.

At that moment, the woman Rose seemed to despise the most entered her room. Edith entered with one of her assistants. She spoke in a strained, formal tone and always kept an upright posture. She was, in a way, a replacement of Rose's mother. But worse.

"Keep your back straight, Rose," she tapped her back, "don't slouch. It's a terrible sight."

She wasn't slouching. Edith just needed to criticize her before even saying hello.

"Is she ready?"

"Yes, ma'am," the maid nodded, stepping aside.

"Now," she turned to Rose, "you must be on your best behavior. These are some important people you'll be dinning with tonight. Not to mention, your previous scandals have tainted your reputation. You know what people have been saying, don't you?"

Rose was well aware. Many suggested she be put into a hospital or at least given medication. Her recent behavior hadn't been exactly appropriate.

Edith continued to taunt her with a list of all she's done, "you've had outbursts at nearly every event, gave the finger to every guest who's called you Rose DeWitt Bukater, spit in your fiancé's face in front of a multitude of people-"

Rose began to giggle. That night was fun.

"You are a grown woman!" She scolded, "you are no longer a seventeen year old girl, these tricks or backhanded comments don't play off as easily as they used to. Before you know it, if you don't calm yourself, you'll be put into a hospital for the madder of people."

"I'd be better off there than here!"

With a sigh, "this is your last chance, Rose."

Los Angeles, California
August 5th, 1922

Jack was preparing to leave when he asked his co-worker, "there's a theater around here somewhere, right?"

"A couple blocks over. Why?"

Jack shrugged, "maybe I'll go see one of those moving pictures. Is there anything worth seeing?"

"You know what," he said, "there's some nice one still playing. The people love it, that's probably why. It's with that girl whose got the same name as you."

"Rose Dawson?" He swallowed.

"That's the one. Go see it, it's good. A shame what happened to her. It'd be nice if they find her soon."

The news of Rose's disappearance became a common topic among people. They all wanted to see her in more pictures - she had many admirers.

"It would be nice," he forced a somber smile.

The intricately detailed walls of the theater loomed over him. The velvet curtains flowed with any wind that managed to get through the doors and into the theater. And when the lights shut off, there was something so magical about the large and decorated building.

Jack's only time in a "picture palace" - it was hardly a palace - was in a smoky room with broken chairs and a ripped screen. And after that he didn't usually consider seeing moving pictures. He never found a reason why he should. But once the curtains were pushed aside, the orchestra played soft tunes, and there was an image in front of him, Jack understood why everyone was so obsessed.

It was a form of escapism. Writers visited the stories they wrote, artists joined new realities through their art, and those with no hobbies as such used moving pictures to enter an imaginative story. A story where the real world's problems have vanished, a story were magnificent people dress in shiny clothes and jewels, and a story where anything that goes wrong is simply funny.

Rose showed up on the screen. Underneath her makeup and jewelry Jack still easily recognized that face - her smile, her eyes. Her hair flowed down to her back, her curls free of the hairdos she usually put them in. Her grand entrance had the viewers in awe.

The claps came.

The crowd cheered, men whistled, and women gleamed with a hint of envy. Their wild noises of excitement had Jack sinking in his chair, biting his thumb, and smiling like an idiot.

He wished to yell at the top of his lungs like a madman, he wished to tell every soul in their room that he loved her, and at some point in time she felt similarly towards him. Not to boast or be arrogant. Simply because he was proud of her and what she had become.

It was then when the dreary thought revisited him. She was gone. He lost her, again. And the image in front of him is only an image, a memory of who she was before taken away.

She may have become something or someone. But she wasn't anymore. She was now just an actress that went missing and will never be seen again.

Jack became the saddest man in the room.

Los Angeles, California
August 5th, 1922

"Remember what I told you. Be patient and graceful," Edith murmured in her ear before Rose stepped into the automobile. She then walked away and went back inside. Rose may of despised her, but at that moment she wanted her to come back. What Rose despised more than Edith was with no doubt the time she spent alone with Cal.

Cal was already sitting in the automobile, smoking a cigar. He stunk of brandy - he always did.

"You look lovely, dear," he complimented with a charming smirk.

She refused to reply.

"You hold a grudge against me," Cal sighed while stating the obvious, "I did expect it. They've manipulated you."

He always sounded like a broken record, saying the same words or their synonyms. He always spoke of some they. She assumed he referred to Jack and Eve, anyone who'd every convinced her a life in a lower class was better. He also always described how they had manipulated or brainwashed her, as if he had a clue.

"But you're safe now, don't you understand? You're back in higher society. All I ask of you is that you act like it."

"I will never-"

"I don't possibly see why you won't. It isn't as if you have any other options. Jack is dead, your friend betrayed you, and well it is obvious that whoever your fiancé was, he doesn't even seem to care enough to find you."

"My fiancé?" Rose's eyes widened. She never spoke of Henry to Cal. "How do you know?"

"Hm?"

"You shouldn't know that I have a fiancé. I hid the ring the moment you took me away-"

"I know many things, Rose."

"No, but this doesn't make any sense..."

"Don't worry yourself with such things. They are of no importance."

She sunk into the cushioned chair, defeated. "How do you know of him?"

"That I promised to never tell."

"Promised who?" She demanded.

The car stopped. At that point, Cal was no longer willing to answer questions. He left the car and offered his hand as she took her steps out. She refused his gesture.

"Mr. Hockley and Miss DeWitt Bukater," they were immediately greeted by a group near the entrance, "lovely seeing you two here. We were afraid we wouldn't be seeing you."

Cal replied, as always. She only spoke if directly spoken to. "We couldn't miss such a spectacular event now, could we? We're thrilled to be a part of it."

The group had gradually separated to two groups, one with the women and one with the men. The women seemed to be uncomfortable near Rose, glancing at her as if she were a rogue woman.

As Rose stood among the crowd, she felt a wave of nausea wash over her at the sight of the pretentious guests. She heard a woman's voice calling out to her.

"Isn't this a handsome place?" the woman asked Rose with a smile.

Rose forced a smile, but her eyes told a different story. "If only it weren't polluted with vapid bigmouths who only talk of money and lifeless politics, and consistently brag about their superiority over everyone," she stated, her voice dripping with disdain. "But sure, it's a charming place."

The woman swallowed, taken aback by Rose's response. "That's impolite," she muttered, aghast.

"So?" Rose shrugged, turning away and making her way towards the bar.

As the night wore on, Rose drank more than she could handle, relishing the feeling of liberation that came with it. She downed glass after glass of bootleg alcohol, and the room began to spin around her. People gave her nasty glances, but she couldn't care less.

It was when the alcohol had completely taken over her that she became incredibly foolish. She pushed her way through the crowd until she got onto the stage, shoving the singer aside and grabbing the tall microphone with both hands.

"Hello all you nasty, nasty people," she slurred, her voice echoing throughout the room. Every eye was on her. "I'd just like to express my unending hatred for every single one of you. Thank you very much-"

As Cal dragged Rose off the stage, the room fell silent. Every eye on them.

Rose knew what was coming next, and she braced herself for the blows and the curses that were sure to follow.

Cal's face was contorted with anger and embarrassment, and he dragged her roughly by the arm to a private room. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he hissed, his breath hot on her face.

Rose's head was spinning, and she could barely focus on his words. She felt numb and detached, as if she were watching the scene from a distance. "I'm expressing my unending hatred for all these people," she slurred, her words slurring together.

Cal's hand tightened on her, "you're making a fool of yourself, and of me. Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is?"

Rose laughed bitterly. "Oh, I'm sorry, Cal. I didn't realize you had a reputation to uphold."

She must have passed out shortly after because she woke up the next day in her bed, unable to recall much of the night before. Her eyes were puffy, sore all over, and had a terrible headache.

Chapter Text

Los Angeles, California
August 5th, 1922

Eve's heart was heavy as she watched Jack crumble before her. She had never seen him in such emotional pain and it tore her apart.

Jack had stumbled into the apartment. His eyes swollen and red as Eve sat him down. Through murmurs and sniffles, he explained that he had seen one of Rose's pictures. It was a famous one, known to be hilarious.

With his hands covering his face, Jack repeated the same phrase over and over again, "I can't save her. I can't save her." His soft sobs echoed through the room, and Eve felt helpless.

"It's killing me," Jack whispered, "Every second of every day. Every time her name is mentioned, every time I see one of those posters with her face, every time I see a sign by the theaters with her name in gigantic letters. She's all alone. Miserable and afraid. I promised nothing would happen to her. She trusted me."

"You need to rest," Eve whispered, looking down at him as she paced back and forth, "everything will be better in the morning."

"That's what they always say," Jack sniffled.

"Because it's true," Eve said, trying to sound optimistic.

"The pain only numbs in the morning. Then comes back like a sharp stab in the night. Nothing... nothing gets better, Eve."

Eve frowned, her heart sinking as Jack's pain consumed him. "Rose once told me about how bright and spontaneous you were. You were a happy man, full of life."

"I was naive," Jack replied, "Not yet tainted by misery and with nothing to lose."

Nothing to lose. The phrase took Eve's mind far from the current subject. She knew that she couldn't leave Hollywood to search for Rose. She now had something to lose. She had a contract, and going against it would have dreadful repercussions. "You'll have to go alone. If we find out where she is," she murmured somberly, "or it's neither of us."

"I figured," Jack replied, defeated.

"I'm sorry," Eve said, "I am. You must understand, I'm tied to my work now."

"I understand," Jack said, his voice filled with resignation.

"I'll help you in any way I can. I can lend you some money," Eve offered.

"I don't need your money. I'll do without it," Jack replied.

"Then I'll help you in any other way. Whatever you need," Eve promised.

The night dragged on, with Jack's sorrow weighing heavily on both of them.

Los Angeles, California
August 6th, 1922

The room exuded opulence and grandeur. Its walls were decorated with intricate art deco designs, and large crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling. The attendees, dressed in their finest attire, were mostly adorned in flapper dresses and three-piece suits.

Eve took her time with her beverage as she observed the group of socialites she was placed with. Her advisor stood by, watching her every move. She had to present herself as a classy young lady, had to make good conversation and compliment consistently. It was tiring work, but she had been put into more draining situations.

"How is the picture business playing out, Miss Adair?" One man, who had clearly only been interested in business, asked her.

"Quite well."

"I heard it's a bit chaotic over there."

"We just have a good many passionate people. It's excitement, I suppose, of the new era. It'll die down eventually."

The man lost interest. He nodded politely and began a conversation with another man. It was then when she began to pay more attention to the gossiping older women.

"Is there a Mr. Adair, Miss Adair?" One woman questioned.

"I'm afraid not."

"Aren't you of thirty years old?" She gasped softly.

"No, twenty eight," Eve murmured, insulted by the woman's reaction and false statement. Eve never felt "old" until that very conversation. Was she? Jack and Henry were older than her, Rose was only a year younger, and most of her other companions were older.

"Oh, women now. Waiting until the very last minute."

"For marriage?"

"Of course."

"Speaking of marriage," another woman was ready to move onto more gossip, "have either of you heard about what has been going on in Philadelphia?"

"No," they said.

"With Mr. Hockley and his former fiancé? You must of heard! Do remember, she's that psychotic little red head."

Eve kept calm. She couldn't show any emotion. If she could, she would've screamed and ran out of the damn room to tell Jack. Instead, she stayed and asked more questions, "oh, I believe I've heard a little bit about it. But my memory is hazy, please do refresh it."

"Well," the woman leaned in, ready to spill anything she knew, "Rose DeWitt Bukater had presumably died on the Titanic ten years ago. But recently Caledon Hockley watched some moving picture she was in. He was in absolute shock! She was almost immediately brought back to Philadelphia. I've heard she's an absolute nutcase! She's spit in his face at an event, cursed multitudes of people who called her by her name-"

"Why would she do that?" One woman asked.

"From what I know, she had changed her name to Rose Dawson. Now, she's been insisting on people calling her this false name. She's mad! But keep this all on the low, if you can. It's very sensitive information which I had gotten from my husband, an old friend of Hockley. Most people even believe Rose to be two different people! Because of the name change. These picture lovers of her's say she's gone missing. The people back in Philadelphia see her as the girl who had been forced into a poor condition and finally saved."

Eve needed to get out. Immediately. "Ladies, it's been wonderful talking to you all, but I seem to feel a little lightheaded. Excuse me." She rushed over to her advisor, "I'm leaving."

"What!"

"I need to go, it's incredibly important."

"More important than your reputation?"

"Yes. And I need the car we used to get here."

"Miss Adair!"

"It's fine, I'll attend many other pointless events. It isn't the biggest thing in the world if I leave one a little earlier."

"Damn it all," he grumbled.

Impatient, she snatched the car keys away from her advisor. She ran out of the building as he shouted at her.

Los Angeles, California
August 6th, 1922

"I found her! I found her!" Eve's screams echoed throughout the art museum, along with the constantly clicking of her pearls and heals. "I found her!"

Jack watched in horror at the chaotic scene she was making. He couldn't quite get what she was going on about yet, and was more focused on her as she struggled to run in an insanely uncomfortable looking dress.

"Excuse me," he told the people who he had been talking to about the art next to him, "feel free to look at the art piece even further. I'll be gone just a minute."

"I found her!" She squealed, "I found her, Dawson. I did!" Eve leaped, wrapping her arms around him. "I found her!"

"What?" He said, startled.

She drew out of the embrace but then put her hands on his cheeks, smushing his face until he could barely speak normally. "I found her!"

It took him a moment to finally get it. "What!"

"Yes!"

"How?"

"Doesn't matter how, come on, we've got to go!"

A sudden silence fell upon them. That was the issue. They couldn't go. They had a life now. Jobs. A home.

Eve quieted, "you have to go..."

"Yeah. I do."

Jack's employer came by, appalled by whatever had been going on. "What is the meaning of this?"

Jack thought a moment, "I'm quitting-"

"No!" Eve spat, "no, he isn't. He just needs to take a break for a week or two."

"Absolutely not!" The man fumed.

"Then, I'm quitting," Jack insisted.

"You can't just quit, Mr. Dawson."

"Yes, I can. I'll be off now," he took Eve's hand and led the way out. She glanced back at the employer and innocently shrugged.

Los Angeles, California
August 6th, 1922

"Philadelphia!"

"Yes..." Eve whispered, taken aback by the loudness of Jack's voice. "Are you angry...?"

"Eve, of course she's in Philadelphia!"

"Wha-at? What do you mean by of course?" She played with her fingers. Her eyes shifted from him to the suitcase he was already almost done packing.

"Well, of course she's there! That's where she's from, where Cal is from. Where else would she be?"

"New York..." she was hesitant and even slightly scared.

"New York? Why in the world New York?"

"That's where she's from."

"Is that what Rose told you?"

"Yes."

With a sigh, he pinched the top of his nose. "Goddamnit, Eve. You thought she was from New York this entire time?"

"That isn't exactly my fault now, is it? You all lie to me or don't tell me enough. What's the issue, anyway? Just go to Philadelphia and find her. Why didn't you go before if you were so certain that's where she is?"

"Do you know how large Philadelphia is? I'd never find her! That's why I was looking through the newspapers hoping they'd give out some address for an event."

"Ohh," Eve could have crawled into a little ball of embarrassment, "I'm sorry Jack, I'm so sorry..." her eyes began to water. She wasn't exactly sure why. Perhaps the disappointed look on his face, the fact that every bit of hope she had was taken away from her, or the fact that because of her excitement Jack was now unemployed again. "I'm so sorry," she murmured.

"Don't cry, Eve. There's no point," he said softly, "we'll just keep checking the newspapers."

"No... no!" Eve nearly pushed him away, "no more goddamn newspapers, I'm getting an address today."

She rushed out of the apartment. Jack didn't see her for another hour or so.

Los Angeles, California
August 6th, 1922

"Don't ask how, it doesn't matter. I just met some people who know some things," was the first thing Eve said once she returned. She placed a slip of paper next to the coffee he had been drinking. On it was an address.

"Is this...?"

"Yes. Go, Jack. Go get her. It isn't too late, you can catch a train."

"You saint!" He kissed the top of her head. "What would I do without you?"

She chuckled softly but then turned to a more serious tone, "but Jack, please keep in mind this isn't the address to her home. It's for an event they'll have next Sunday."

"Alright... alright."

"If you plan on sneaking into it, may I suggest a suit? I can get you one-"

"I don't have the time to think of suits," he started towards his open suitcase and began shoving anything and everything into it, "I'll figure it out later."

"I can pack you some food," she desperately wanted to help. The fact that she wasn't going alongside him had pained her so. She put Rose into the situation and couldn't even take her out of it.

"You've done more than enough, Eve."

"I wish to help. I'll prepare some food," she decided.

Less than ten minutes later, Jack was ready. As well as the food. She wrapped it delicately and handed it to him.

He was so excited, his grin refused to fade.

"And you remember my telephone number?" She asked and he nodded, "good. Call as much as you can with news... I suppose I should call Henry, tell him about what we know."

She hadn't spoken to him since Jack's outburst and she wished to keep it that way. But this was too important. Keeping information like this away from him would only add to her guilt.

"Here," she took nearly half the money out of her purse, "take it."

"I won't."

"Take it. It's for my sake, really. It'll lessen my guilt."

"I'm not taking a bit of your money, Eve. Keep it."

"Jack..."

"Keep it. Good bye, Eve," he took his one free arm and wrapped it over her, "I'll be back soon, with her. I promise."

"Just don't get shot again, alright? I hardly believe Rose knows how to take care of a wound."

He laughed, "I won't."

Los Angeles, California
August 6th, 1922

"Henry?" Eve swallowed.

"Eve? You're calling...?"

"Yes," she sighed, "I'm calling to share that we found out where Rose is. Jack just left to get her."

"Really?"

"I thought you'd sound a little happier."

"Well I'm... I'm thrilled, of course. It'll be nice to have her back."

"Nice? Just nice?"

"If I'm being honest, I don't think he'll get her back, Eve. First off, he's just one man. Doing it all alone won't do much. And this Hockley man seems powerful."

"None of what you say makes sense! Months ago you were convinced that he wasn't even a big deal."

"I've changed my mind. People change their mind often, Eve."

"You're unbelievable," she hung up.

But he was right, Jack couldn't do it alone. No one man could.

Los Angeles, California
August 6th, 1922

The sun beat down on the dusty streets of downtown Los Angeles, casting long shadows from the tall buildings that towered over the bustling city. It was the height of summer and the air was thick with the scent of hot asphalt and the hum of streetcars and automobiles.

At the train station, Jack stood in the shade of the station's awning, patiently waiting for his turn to buy tickets for the next train. The line for tickets began to move, and Jack stepped forward, handing over his money.

"Stop! Stop!" The calls of a woman echoed throughout the station. Eve. "I want a ticket for the same train as him," she demanded of the man behind the glass. She gave him money and in return the two each got a ticket.

Eve had two bags. One was hers. The other was Rose's, with many of the things Rose had left behind. Eve had been hopeful, and prepared.

"Eve?" He smiled at her once they got out of the line and into a place they could easily talk.

"Hey," she gleamed, "I imagined you might get lonely, all alone. So would I, here."

"So we'll be lonely together."

"Exactly."

"What about your picture? How can you leave... just like that?"

"They'll think I went missing, like Rose," she figured, "they'll replace me, I suppose. But that's alright."

"Are you sure?"

"I did the most excitingly spontaneous thing ever. Don't make me regret it, Dawson."

Chapter Text

Somewhere in Missouri
August 8th, 1922

The third-class compartment of the train to Philadelphia was cramped and stuffy, with wooden benches running the length of each wall. The windows were open to let in a slight breeze, but the air was thick with the smell of sweat. The rattling and swaying of the train was constant, and the noise was almost deafening as it traveled along the tracks.

Jack had just woken up from a short nap, his eyes still adjusting to the dim lighting. He rubbed his eyes and stretched, trying to shake off the drowsiness. Eve had her head on his shoulder, her breathing slow and steady.

Jack's thoughts were consumed by Rose, his mind drifting off to the memories of their time together. He could still feel the warmth of her embrace and the sweet scent of her hair. As he reminisced, Eve stirred from her slumber, breaking his reverie.

"How long has it been?" Eve asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Two and a half days," Jack replied, glancing at her.

Eve looked at him with a mixture of weariness and curiosity. "How much longer until we get there?"

"They said the tenth."

"I've heard things about Rose," she said.

"What do you mean?" Jack asked, his interest piqued.

"Well, remember how I told you I'd be attending events with some socialites? It's how I learned about Rose," Eve explained. "I got the address from them too. But they said these insane things about her...I'm worried she's truly gone mad."

Jack's mind raced with worry. "What did they say?"

"Apparently, she's cursed at many of her guests and even spit in Cal's face in front of countless people," Eve recounted.

Jack couldn't help but burst into laughter.

"What's funny?" Eve asked, confused.

"I would have loved to see that," he grinned, imagining the look on Cal's face. "Must have been quite the sight."

Eve rolled her eyes, unamused. "Sure, sure. I just don't want to know what must have happened to her afterwards."

"Hm?"

"I just wouldn't be all to surprised if we were to find her with bruises and scratches all over her..."

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
August 8th, 1922

Rose woke up to the sound of knocking on her bedroom door.

"Who is it?" she called out, her voice hoarse from the alcohol she snuck into her room the night before and drank. She did so often. It numbed the pain.

She wouldn't ever call herself an alcoholic, although she surely was on the path to becoming one.

"It's Cal. I brought you some breakfast," he replied, his voice muffled through the door.

Rose sighed, running a hand through her messy hair. She knew better than to refuse him. She got out of bed, threw on a robe, and opened the door to find Cal standing there with a tray of food.

"Good morning," he said, trying to sound cheerful.

Rose took the tray from him and sat down at the small table in the corner of her room. She picked at the food, still feeling sick from the night before. Cal sat down across from her, watching her with concern. She didn't like it. How dare he look at her as if he weren't the cause of her bruises and tears.

"I've been thinking," Cal said, his tone becoming serious. "I think it's time for us to finally discuss the topic of marriage, once again. You're not getting any younger, and neither am I. We've spent ten years apart, why wait any longer?"

Rose felt a wave of panic wash over her. She couldn't imagine spending the rest of her life with Cal, let alone starting a family with him.

"No," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Cal's face darkened. "What do you mean? You know how much I care for you. I want what is best for you."

Rose felt a sense of dread wash over her. She knew that she was trapped with Cal, and she didn't know how to get out of it. She looked down at her swelling and bruised hands, feeling helpless and alone. She began to feel like the scared seventeen year old girl she once was.

"No, no you do not," She muttered with loathing.

"I care more than anyone else in your life, obviously. I'm the only one who's ever tried to get you back. Where are your dreadful friends, Rose? Where are they? Certainly not here. Probably parading around without a single thought relating to you." He reached out for her hand, she yanked it away from him.

"Jack would have looked," she spat. Her comment took her by surprise, she hadn't mentioned Jack - especially not in a past tense. It pained her, the thought of him. Rose grieved for him before she figured she could do it again. She couldn't. She had bottled up every memory of him, even the loss of his existence and kept it at the back of her mind. Yet there she was, mentioning him. It brought her to tears, "he would've come for me."

"That doesn't matter anymore, he's gone. And you're here where it's safe," his mouth twisted with jealousy.

"He could still be alive," the talk of Jack frustrated him. She didn't care, she continued.

"Darling, my men shot him in the heart. It's insanely unlikely."

"No...no he was shot in the right shoulder," she insisted, "I remember very clearly."

"You were upset and crazed, dear. It was the left. He's most certainly gone. And even if by some miracle he lived, it only goes to show how he truly doesn't care for you. It's been months and there's no sign of him."

"I'm tired Cal, and desperately need a moment for myself."

He nodded in understanding, "I'll let you be. But Edith will be here any moment now."

"Does she know of the previous night?"

"Yes. She's upset."

"Of course she is."

"Perhaps after you could join me in my room?"

She knew what that meant and didn't like it. An invitation to his personal room only meant one thing. She breathed out a reply, "I'll see. I'm exhausted."

It was then when Edith entered. Cal greeted her kindly and left the room.

Something was different about her. In a way, she seemed more humane. It was when her eyes grazed over Rose's bruised body and pale skin that there was a flicker of sympathy in them. Edith sat across from Rose, she kept silent a moment longer.

"You did something very stupid."

"I know."

"You stink of alcohol."

"I know."

"It will take a lot to repair the damage you've done," she glanced at her damaged arm, "although it seems you've been paying another price."

"It's alright," Rose picked at the rest of her food. She barely ate any of it, "my maid is skilled in covering them."

"Why do you do this to yourself? Why don't you play the rules of the game?"

"I despise the game."

"You're hurting yourself."

"I can take it."

"I'll never understand you."

"Because you don't try to. None of you do... he did."

"Who?"

Jack.

"It doesn't matter," Rose sighed, "so why are you here anyhow? Here to give me another pointless lesson? Threaten to throw me into the loony bin. What is it this time?"

"I'm only here to help you find a gown for the event on Sunday. We have an incredible designer here, he's prepared some dresses for you to try on."

"I'm not going."

"What?"

"I'll end it all before I have to attend another one of these soul-sucking events."

"That isn't something to joke about."

Rose only shrugged.

"I'll send in the designer. Greet him with kindness or at least fake it."

As the man entered the room, Rose gave him a forced smile. He introduced himself as a designer from the fashion house she'd be wearing on Sunday and began to lay out some of the gowns he had brought with him.

Rose stifled a yawn as she looked at the gowns. They were all beautiful, but she couldn't bring herself to care. As she tried on each gown, she couldn't help but feel trapped and uneasy.

The designer noticed Rose's reluctance but tried to engage her in conversation anyway. He asked her about if she were excited for the event, but Rose was unresponsive and barely spoke.

"Don't you have anything more comfortable?"

"Beauty is pain, Miss," he chuckled. She didn't.

"I used to wear these long, wide pants," she murmured, reminiscing on the time she had the freedom to make such simple decisions, "I paired them with a delicate white blouse. It was all very pretty. And comfortable."

"We both have drastically different tastes."

"I figured."

Somewhere in Ohio
August 10th, 1922

Two days later, Jack and Eve were still on the train to Philadelphia with only a few hours left of their journey, passing the time with a game of poker. The train was once again cramped and stuffy, but they had managed to secure a little corner of the compartment for themselves. They had pushed together two of the wooden benches, creating a makeshift table, and were sitting cross-legged on the floor as they played cards.

"Jack," she said after reviewing her cards, "I just thought you should know... I still have the gun."

"You do? Well... we don't need it anyway."

"It's here. Just in case," tension and nervousness had begun to set in. "Jack?"

"Mhm?"

"After finding a place to spend the night, we ought to find something to wear."

"For what?"

"For the event, of course! We can't go in looking like this, that would only lessen our chances of sneaking in."

"I guess."

Chapter Text

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
August 13th, 1922

Cal was walking down the hallway when he heard commotion coming from Rose's room. He stopped to ask one of the maids standing outside what was going on.

"I'm not sure, sir," the maid said with a worried look. "Miss Rose has been in there for a while, constantly crying and screaming."

Cal's face twisted into a scowl. He rarely had patience for this kind of behavior, especially from Rose. He walked past the maid and barged into the room.

Inside, Rose was sitting on the bed, tears streaming down her face. Her hair was disheveled, and her makeup was smudged. The maids and Edith gathered around her, trying to calm her down, but to no avail.

"Rose, what is the meaning of this?" Cal barked.

Rose only sobbed harder, burying her face in her hands. Cal sighed in annoyance and turned to the others in the room.

"What happened? Why is she carrying on like this?" he demanded.

Edith stepped forward. "She's just feeling overwhelmed. The event is weighing heavily on her."

Cal scoffed. "Well, she'll just have to get over it. We have to attend this event and I won't have her embarrassing me in front of our friends again."

The maids looked at each other, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. Rose continued to cry, her sobs growing louder.

Cal turned to leave. "Handle this, will you?" he said, gesturing at the group. "I have better things to do than deal with her tantrums."

As he walked out of the room, Rose's cries echoed down the hallway. She was completely hysterical, unable to calm herself down. The maids and Edith tried to comfort her, but it was clear that Rose was beyond reason. The event was the last straw, and she couldn't take it anymore.

"Please, don't make me go," she begged of Edith, Rose's nails dug into her arm. "I can't do it. I'll make a scene if you make me go, I swear I will!"

"Cut it out," Edith hissed, "such an ungrateful girl... you're dreading an evening of dressing up, drinking and eating delightful food? Don't you understand how good you have it?"

"Good? Good! What good," Rose sobbed, "I'm miserable." She was shaking uncontrollably. "Every day I pray it's my last."

"You're being dramatic. Deal with it like any other grown adult would, which I hope you realize you are. Aren't you tired of your scandals and outrageous outbursts? Your revolts and resistance have exhausted us all..."

"Perhaps we should keep her here?" One maid suggested, "we can say she's taken ill. She is right, if we take her it would only make a worse scene."

"No, Mr. Hockley will be furious. She'll go."

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
August 13th, 1922

As they stepped into the grand ballroom and out of the pouring rain, the sound of their footsteps echoed against the marble floors. The room was alive with the chatter and laughter of the elite upper class.

Jack and Eve had never seen such opulence in their entire lives. They couldn't help but feel a little out of place among the impeccably dressed high society guests.

Eve felt a pang of envy as she gazed upon the diamond necklaces and other jewels adorning the women's necks and fingers. Jack, however, felt a sense of awe and wonder at the grandeur of it all.

"Where's Rose?" Jack murmured.

"Somewhere, surely. The women who gave me the address made it very clear that she and Cal would make an appearance."

As they made their way through the crowd, they were greeted with curious glances and whispers.

"Eve," he nudged her and secretly pointed at one of the many men in a group together. Cal. Beside him, Rose. Her hair was styled perfectly, with soft waves cascading down her back, and her makeup flawlessly applied. She appeared to be the epitome of elegance and sophistication.

However, as they looked closer, they could see the pain etched onto her face. Her eyes lined with dark circles, and there was a deep sadness that seems to linger behind them. Her lips, painted in a bright red hue, were pursed tightly together, as if trying to contain the emotions that threatened to spill out.

As she moved through the room, her smile forced, and her laughter hollow. She was surrounded by people, yet felt utterly alone. Her fancy dress and expensive jewelry served as a facade masking the pain that lay beneath.

She began to make her way towards a group separate from the one Cal had been with. This was their chance.

"I'll go," Jack insisted.

"Is that truly the wisest idea? She must think you've passed, that the bullet had taken you down for good... she'll be overwhelmed."

"It's alright. She'll be fine. You should probably stay by the door, be prepared to get out."

"I hope you plan to do this slickly. We can't have any suspicious eyes on us."

"Don't worry about it," Jack told her before approaching Rose and the bundle of people she accompanied herself with. She didn't notice him at first, not until he said her name, "Rose DeWitt Bukater, a pleasure," he took her hand and kissed it.

The men and women around raised their brows. Who was this unfamiliar man?

She held in a gasp. Surprisingly, Rose was more relieved than shocked. In a controlled tone, she answered, "I prefer Rose Dawson, actually."

He couldn't help but let out a wide, toothy smile.

One of the men beside Rose cleared his throat and added, "Miss, will you introduce us?"

Jack, seeing the sudden panic on Rose's face, interrupted. "I do apologize to take her from all of you, but I was wondering if I could," he glanced over at Rose, "steal you for a dance?"

Rose looked over at Cal. He was distracted. "As you wish."

They found secrecy in their dance. Communicating through whispers, they pressed against each other, attempting to seem as little obvious as possible. Rose found a comfort she lacked for months as Jack's arms hugged around her - she stood as close to him as possible.

He could feel her heart racing.

"You aren't injured?" She spoke softly, laying a gentle hand on his left shoulder.

With a little grin, he took her hand and placed it over his right shoulder - where he was actually hit. "I'm fine, perfectly fine."

Rose, in a stutter, took her hand off of him. She knew he was hit there, she knew it very well. Had Cal's lies influenced her so much? It made her realize she couldn't quite tell right from wrong... all the lies he'd put in her head, they weren't exactly easy to get rid of.

"Where's Eve? Is she here? Or are you all alone..."

"She's... she's by the door, waiting for us. Look, we've gotta get you out without making a scene. We should dance towards the door, then make a casual exit."

She nodded and followed him throughout every step. Up until they crossed paths with Eve. The very sight of her made Rose cold.

"Hello," Eve gave a genuine but hesitant smile.

Rose failed to return the greeting.

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
August 13th, 1922

It wasn't long before the two of them discovered the bruises on Rose.

It happened when they arrived at Jack and Eve's hotel room. The rain washed off every bit of cosmetic on Rose and once they turned on the lights, the dark blotches on her skin were so clear it was all anyone could notice.

Eve paced around the room, frustrated and upset as Rose sat at the corner of one of the beds, staring down. Jack sat in a chair, his eyes steady as they stared at the wall in front of him. His leg bobbed up and down. Something about his silence worried Rose. She wished she could know what he was thinking.

"This is absolutely mad," cried Eve, "I'm so sorry, Rose I..."

"I wish to cut this entire conversation short," she insisted, "may we speak of something - anything - else? For example, what on earth are we supposed to do now? Please tell me you two have a plan."

"We don't," answered Eve.

With a sigh, Rose continued, "perhaps I'll telephone Henry and ask if it's safe to come back..."

"It is. We just came from Los Angeles. The posters of you are mostly gone. The only implication is that you've got a good many fans out there, some may spot you."

Rose nodded, "I'll still telephone him."

"Don't you trust me?"

"No, no not really."

Eve walked away in frustration. Guilt had consumed her, it always had, and only worsened at the sight of Rose's injuries. Her words didn't make it better, either.

"There's a telephone booth near here. I can walk with you," Jack finally spoke. His mind still seemed to be in a different place.

"I can go myself."

"I won't allow it."

"Jack, don't tell me what to do."

"My intention isn't to boss you around. You know that. Although, my intention is to keep you safe. Therefore, I'm walking with you."

"I can handle myself," she stood up, looking down at him. "Im not a poor, stupid girl that can't find her way to a damn phone booth."

A little startled by her tone, Jack answered, "I know that."

"Good. Then leave me be."

"At least take my coat."

Rose declined, pushing the coat back to him. "Where's the phone booth?"

"Once you leave the building, take a left. Go straight for four blocks. Then take a right, it'll be right there."

She walked out the door without another word.

Jack immediately put on his coat.

"What are you doing?" Eve questioned.

"Gonna make sure she's alright."

"Don't be long," Eve lit a cigarette, "I'd like to know what the hell it is we'll be doing as fast as possible."

Jack followed Rose. Staying close but far enough so she doesn't notice him. He watched her walk down the quiet streets of Philadelphia in her beautiful dress. Rain drops rolled down its expensive fabric and her messy hair.

They were a couple minutes into the walk when Rose made a sudden stop. She turned around.

"Who are you?" She demanded, squinting her eyes did to the rain and fog.

"It's just me Rose."

"Jack!"

"You really thought I'd let you out alone? They're all looking for you. And with that dress you don't exactly blend in."

Something boiled up in Rose, ultimately leading her to spit out the sentence she'd soon regret. "You're no better than Cal!"

Somehow, Jack remained calm. Only because as she said it, he could only see her sad, tired eyes. Her hurt heart. Her desperation. It brought him back to the night they met. She was just as he saw her in that moment.

"I'm sorry I didn't find you sooner, Rose."

Her gaze softened, "what?"

"Just... could I walk with you? Do it for my own peace of mind. You gotta understand, it'd drive me crazy if I lost you again."

Rose swallowed. "Okay."

The two of them squeezed into the booth. Each of them leaning against separate sides. Rose waited for her fiancé to answer - she felt Jack's eyes on her.

"Hello?"

"Henry," she grinned, "you answered."

"Rose? It's you...?"

"Yes, I... Jack and Eve found me. I'm in Philadelphia."

"You're... you left?"

"Well, of course. If I hadn't I wouldn't be calling now."

"That easily?"

"Not that easily. Jack and Eve helped. Lucky Cal didn't have his eyes on me in the moment." She gave him the name of the hotel they stayed at, every detail of where they were and why, "But I'm not talking just to say hello, how is it there, dear? In Los Angeles?"

"Oh, I... Rose, it isn't the time yet. People are still searching all over, there's an endless amount of posters of your face it's... its madness."

"Really?" Her brows furrowed. She looked over at Jack, wondering who was really telling her the truth.

"I'd continue to lay low, just as you had before he found you."

"Obviously that didn't quite work out... perhaps I'm still better off in Los Angeles? With you."

"No, no you wouldn't be better off here."

"Eve believes it's safe there," Rose then glanced over at Jack, "and so does Jack."

"You're taking their word over mine? Eve betrayed you, and Jack... he's unhinged! Completely unstable with a temper you wouldn't imagine."

"What?" She said as she stared at Jack.

"Hasn't he told you? About the scene he made in the restaurant?"

"No..."

"Why don't you ask him about it, Rose. Look, I ought to go. Please don't come back to Los Angeles just yet."

"Goodbye."

"Goodnight."

"So?" Jack asked as she ended the call. They remained in the small booth.

"What happened in the restaurant?"

"Ah, he told you."

"No, he told me to ask you about it. I do expect an answer."

Jack shrugged, "alright, I'll tell you."

"That was easier than I imagined it to be."

"I don't intend on keeping things from you. Besides, you'd learn about it at some point or another. I'm just glad you'll be hearing it from me and not him," he continued to explain everything just as it was. The complete truth. Even the parts which he wasn't particularly proud of.

"I wish you were more supportive of my decision of who I'd spend the rest of my life with," she murmured. Something was troubling her. She wasn't angry with him... she just had a terrified look on her face.

"I am. I just don't like him very much."

"That's even worse," she swallowed, "you're scaring me. Why can't you two get along?"

"Considering the circumstances, it's very rare for any two people in our positions to get along."

"Well, let's say that you two had no connection to me whatsoever. You were two strangers who had just met. Would you two become friends?"

Jack burst into laughter, "No."

"Oh," she grumbled, a worried look flashed over her face, "Jack... do you really think we should go back to Los Angeles?"

"Is that what Henry said?"

"Tell me what you think."

"I believe you'll be fine over there. But it's your decision. Wherever you go, I'll go with you."

She chuckled, "you jump I jump?"

"Exactly," he smiled again.

"I think I want to stay here a little longer," she whispered, "it's dangerous, I know. But I'd like to see my mothers grave before I go, I figured it's the decent thing to do. I've been holding it off for so long... she is my mother, after all."

"Grave?"

Rose nodded, watching his shocked face, "I was surprised too. She was fairly healthy."

"Would you like me to come with you?"

"Perhaps it would be good to have a friend by my side. Just you and me," she said, making it very clear she didn't want to make Eve a part of it, "tomorrow morning?"

"We'll wake up a bit earlier."

"Thank you."

"I'm sorry, Jack. For earlier. You must understand, I've been in a defensive position for so long it is difficult to get out of it. Sometimes it feels like everyone's an enemy. See how Eve had betrayed me..."

"I didn't approve of her decision at first, but she saved my life and for that I'm grateful. She is not your enemy, Rose. Only a friend of two in a terrible position."

"I see..."

"You can always rely on her... as well as your fiancé." It pained him to say.

"And you?"

"Of course."

He kissed the top of her head, it was meant to be in a friendly manner. But very few things were in a friendly manner with them. He stayed there a moment, taking in her scent. She prayed he wouldn't step away. But eventually, he had to.

"Come on," he opened the door to the booth, "let's go."

Chapter Text

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
August 14th, 1922

Rose stood before the two graves, her heart heavy with conflicting sensations. It had been years since she last visited her father's grave, and the sight of it next to her mother's was surreal. She couldn't fathom the gravity of the moment, standing in front of the final resting places of the two people who had brought her into the world.

Ruth had inflicted years of emotional abuse and turmoil on Rose, yet as she gazed at her mother's grave, she was consumed by a cacophony of emotions. She felt hatred for the woman who had hurt her but she also felt an inexplicable sense of loss.

Jack placed a hand on her shoulder, his touch grounding her in the present moment. She turned to him, tears streaming down her face.

"I don't know what to think," she whispered, her voice choked with grief and anger.

Jack held her tightly, allowing her to release her emotions. His mere presence was a salve on her wounds. After a few minutes, Rose pulled away, wiping the tears from her eyes. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself.

"I think it's best we go. I don't wish to stay here longer than I already have."

"Alright," he said quietly.

"What about some breakfast?" Rose spoke up as they returned to the busy city streets.

Jack, even though he knew well that he had barely enough money, agreed without hesitation. He wasn't ready yet to stress her with the problem of money - a problem she never had. Or at least, a problem she rarely had.

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
August 14th, 1922

"Aren't you hungry?" Rose asked him after he had only asked for a glass of water.

"No."

"I feel ridiculous, ordering a whole meal. Perhaps I'll tell the server-"

"Rose, it's alright, don't."

"I can't just eat alone."

"You aren't, I'm right here," he smiled.

"Very funny. You know what I mean. We'll share the food I ordered."

"I'm not hungry, take it all."

She may of agreed then, only to stop the pointless banter. But when the food arrived, she placed the plate in the middle of the table, and requested another knife and fork. She ultimately convinced Jack to join her in eating.

"I'd love to spend the rest of my life in Los Angeles," she told him. It seemed like forever ago since she'd last told someone what she'd love.

"Really?"

She nodded, "I don't think Henry is very pleased with the idea. He either wants to go to some large city where he can become successful," she laughed, "He keeps saying we should go to New York. He's always thought I'm from New York... so it seemed perfect."

"Have you been telling everyone that you're from New York?"

"Since I told Eve that day I met her... the lie just stuck."

"And you'd never wanna live here? It's where you're really from, after all."

"God, no," she laughed, "I have very few warm memories of Philadelphia."

"I see."

"Where would you spend the rest of your life? Home? Wisconsin?"

"Wisconsin is hardly home anymore. I haven't had a home since I was fifteen. Yet, for some odd reason, I can see myself there... unhappy, alone, but there. Like a future I can't really escape, it just seems like the place I'll unwillingly end up. Simply because it's comfortable - easy," he shrugged, then thought back to her question, "anywhere in the world?"

Ignoring his last question, "what do you mean? Comfortable?"

"Well it's... its what I've always known."

"That's unbelievable! You're unbelievable!" She gasped, "who are you?"

"What?"

"Comfortable? Alone? Unhappy? Easy?! What happened to Mr. travel all around the world."

"I'm tired of that talk... why is everyone always dwelling on the fact that I'm different now."

Rose sighed, "I'm sorry. I overstepped. If Wisconsin is where you'll be then... so be it. But where do you want to be?"

Wherever you are. He thought. "France."

"France? But it's so far from..." Rose muttered.

"Far from what?" He asked.

She stared at him blankly. In a nervous laughter, she began to make something up, "you know from... living in France, it's so far... you'll be far from-"

"Far from what?"

"Things, you know."

He squinted at her, "alright..."

In attempt to recover, she continued, "what would you do in France? Continue to sketch prostitutes?"

"Here and there...sure, why not," he laughed jokingly, "no I'd... truth is I'm not exactly sure. Just feels like the place I want be."

"Would you fall in love? Get married and have a family and... all that?"

"Seems like the thing people do at my age..."

"Is that a yes or no?"

"Take it as a I don't know."

She began to give an ironic chuckle. Slightly unaware that she was.

"What?"

"Well I... I was just thinking."

"About what?"

"Do you think, if we met each other sooner, that by now we'd be all that? Married? Children?"

"Contemplating over what ifs is always a waste of time. Besides, it doesn't really matter, does it? Your life turned out real nice. You've got Henry."

"Yes, but you don't like him. That worries me."

"Why?"

"Your opinion is incredibly important to me."

"It shouldn't be. Yours should be the only opinion that matters..."

"But, still..."

They were interrupted by the waiter. He told them the price of the meal and Jack began to give him the rest of the cash in his pocket.

"Wait! Oh," she said, embarrassed. She was looking around for money she knew she didn't have, "Jack, I will pay you back I... I can't believe the thought didn't cross my mind. I swear-"

"Don't worry about it," he waved his hand.

"Oh, I feel terrible," she told him as they got up from the table, "I should be paying for my own things."

"We did share it," he lit a cigarette as they left the restaurant and began walking down the street.

"Still! I ordered the meal and all."

"Don't give it a second thought, Rose. Really."

She wouldn't stop, "it's absolutely disgraceful. Im a working woman, a successful woman! I've got many people watching my pictures, you know. And here I am having you-"

"Very good pictures, might I add."

"Wha-at?" She stopped, "you've seen them?"

"Only one. But it was incredible. You were incredible."

"Was I?" Rose put on a huge smile, "you really think so?"

"If I didn't, I wouldn't of said it."

Her smile faded, "oh, but I'll still pay you back."

"I don't want your money."

"Well, I don't care! You're getting it whether you want to or not."

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
August 14th, 1922

"Rose, stop it!" He laughed, his back against the door to keep it open as she walked through.

"I even voted in 1920! If I'm capable of voting I can surely pay for a meal of my own. Which I will as soon as I-"

"What have you two been up to?" Eve interrupted. She must have woken up a couple minutes ago.

"Nothing," Jack insisted, "did you sleep well?"

"I suppose," Eve shrugged.

A knock came from the door. The three of them glanced back and forth at each other.

"I'll answer it," Eve said hesitantly, "keep away from view." Jack and Rose moved aside, staying quiet.

Eve opened the door to be met with the hotel owner and a police officer. She remained as calm as she possibly could.

"Good morning, Miss," the owner spoke first.

"Are you Eve Adair?" The officer asked.

"No," Eve swallowed.

"Could you provide any sort of proof?"

"Of course," she gave the most genuine smile that she could force, "I'll be back in just a moment." She scrambled around, trying to find her driver's license. Jack and Rose stood in the corner, watching her silently. "Here you go officer," she handed the man her license.

It was in fact her license. And a real one.

The officer nodded after taking a glance at the card, "sorry to bother you, miss."

Never had she been so relieved to have the relationship with names that she did. Legally, her name wasn't Eve Adair. Of course. Her legal name was something she was given in her earlier years and the name that stuck on every document she had. She hardly even remembered the name - no one even knew it... Eve never called herself it. She called herself hundreds of names, but ironically never once had she used her legal name.

Jack learned this about her on the night they went out. Rose knew for quite some time. Neither knew her real, legal name.

"May I ask, what is this about exactly?"

"Just a search. A missing woman."

"Who? This Eve Adair...?" She played dumb.

"No, no Eve Adair has been accused of the kidnapping of Rose DeWitt Bukater. As well as a man of the name Jack Dawson," the officer handed Eve the paper of Rose's face, "we'd appreciate it if you had a look out."

"Of course... of course."

She then closed the door and joined Jack and Rose.

She murmured, "you won't fucking believe it."

Chapter Text

New York City, New York
August 14th, 1922

"It just doesn't make sense!" Rose claimed, "how on earth would he know Eve's name? I've never told him it... and how would he find us so easily? Philadelphia isn't exactly a tiny city."

"He's a powerful man..." Jack sighed. Rose had exhausted the subject. Since the moment up until their arrival to New York, it's all Rose talked of. "He could've easily found us with the right connections."

"Nothing is adding up. How does he keep finding us? Like in Salt Lake City! He had a one in a million chance..."

"Someone probably noticed you and reported it."

"I agree with Rose," whispered Eve, "but perhaps we could leave this conversation for later?"

"I hope you all are hungry," Alice entered the room with a confident stride, her arms full of treats that she carried with practiced ease. Her beauty was striking, with soft features and delicate bone structure that had been perfectly accentuated by her carefully applied makeup.

Alice had been an old friend and roommate of Eve's. They met when they both worked in a small theater company, but Alice's career had taken off when she landed a huge role in the moving pictures. Just a little before Eve met Rose. Rose, in a way, was Alice's replacement.

"Thank you," Eve smiled up at her, "and thank you for letting us come to your home."

"Oh, it's nothing."

"You know, Rose here... she's the Rose I told you about all those years ago," Eve mentioned.

"Rose? You mean the roommate you found after I left?"

"Yes, yes."

"Oh, it lovely to meet you! I've heard good things," Alice gleamed over at Rose, "after I moved out, Eve was struggling to find a decent person to share the apartment with. I was glad she found you."

Rose could only awkwardly smile, not really sure how to respond.

"How long will the three of you be staying?"

"A few days, if that's alright," Eve said.

"Of course it is. I enjoy the company... this house is so large I often forget there are other people here. It gets lonely."

It certainly was a large home. Jack was staring at everything. The ceilings were so high up. The windows were thrice his hight. Everything seemed to be covered in gold. Art worth his entire life hung up casually on the walls.

With the money Alice drew in from her moving pictures and the enormous money her husband brought in, it made them possibly one of the richest couples in New York. And soon would be one of the richest parents - Alice was with child, and it was all that she insisted on talking about.

"I'll have my maids set up a room for each one of you."

"How... how many rooms have you got?" Jack stuttered. He was on the verge of breaking. The very existence of the estate was leaving him in awe.

"Oh I," Alice adjusted her position, "I'm not entirely sure. Are you alright?"

He stared at her with a gaping mouth. "Yeah. Yeah."

"I'll let you all settle in," she continued, "but my husband should be here in a couple hours. It would be nice if you could all become acquainted."

"Thank you," they said in unison.

"I'll inform the maids."

New York City, New York
August 14th, 1922

Jack and Rose's rooms were right next to each other. The head boards of their beds pressed against different sides of the same wall.

Rose had invited herself into his room and they played poker on Jacks bed. Both of them smoking their cigarettes. Momentarily, Eve and Alice were taking an afternoon swim in the pool, catching up on all the time they lost.

"Why don't we go for a swim?" Rose suggested,

"Last time we did that, it ended horribly."

She grinned, "that isn't funny."

"You're smiling."

With the roll of her eyes, Rose said, "we can just sit by the pool. It's a pleasant day. Besides, I'm tired of continuously beating you at this game."

"You are not-" his jaw dropped.

"I am!" She giggled, then got off the bed, "anyhow, I'll get changed and be by the pool. Join me if you'd like."

Rose did as she said so. She took out a chair, sulking in the sun. The soft chatter and splashes of Eve and her friend muffled in the back of her mind.

Her posture was relaxed yet confident, with one arm draped lazily over the armrest of the chair. She exuded a sense of nonchalant sophistication. A striped tank top clung to her curves, showing off her figure, while her shorts were scandalously short, ending just above mid-thigh.

Her bruises, covered with Eve's cosmetics.

As Jack approached, Rose looked up through her round sunglasses and caught his gaze. For a moment, they both froze. Jack was taken aback by the sight of Rose in such an alluring outfit, but he was also intrigued. Rose, on the other hand, didn't flinch under his scrutiny, holding his gaze with a mixture of challenge and amusement.

"Everything alright?" She asked with a coy smirk, her eyes following him as he sat in the seat beside her.

"Yes, why wouldn't it be?"

"You were staring."

"Was I?" He swallowed. Of course he was.

She didn't respond. Instead she closed her eyes, feeling the suns warmth against her revealed skin. Some part of her knew he was staring again.

He cleared his throat, trying to break the tension. "So, Los Angeles?"

Rose opened her eyes. "Hm?"

"You said you'd want to spend the rest of your life in Los Angeles. You never told me why."

"It's beautiful, it has potential," she breathed in the sweet air. It reminds me of you. That's why. She thought.

If she had to spend every last day of hers with a man who wasn't Jack, she might as well live in a place that reminded her of him.

"I see."

"So, tell me, you and Eve?"

"What about Eve and I?"

"Well..." she forced the words out, "you two just seem close."

"You think...? Oh," he laughed, "you're thinking that?"

"I'm not thinking anything. It's only what I've observed."

He put his cigarette to his lips, then blew out the smoke, "Eve is a friend."

"Like you and I?"

"No, no not like you and I."

"We're friends, aren't we?" Her brows furrowed, concerned by his response.

Jack refused to answer. He said it a long time ago, when they first met. They weren't friends. "How are you feeling?"

"How- What? How I'm feeling?"

"Yes, well, you didn't exactly just escape heaven."

"I'm fine," she sighed, "I don't want to think about it. I don't want to think of Cal."

"Yet you are, aren't you? You kept talking about it all this morning."

"I know. It's driving me mad. How on earth would he have Eve's name?"

"Rose?"

"Hm?"

"We're fine."

"You said that a long time ago. Before you got a bullet in your shoulder and I got taken hostage."

He only laughed and added, "Eve has a gun with her this time. The one she stole from one of his men."

"That's amusing, she intends to shoot at him?"

"Perhaps. If not, I..."

"What?"

"Nothing."

New York City, New York
August 14th, 1922

Alice's husband, Arthur, was a man of average looks, with a slightly pudgy face and receding hairline. He compensated for his appearance with his charming personality and impeccable manners. He exuded confidence and had a certain air of entitlement that came with his wealth, but was not arrogant or unpleasant.

He valued his reputation and social standing highly.

Rose seemed to be the only one sickened by him. Everything was making her sick. Perhaps because it all was too horrifyingly similar. In the back of her head remained one single thought: this could've been me. This could've been my life.

"So, Rose Dawson, yes?" Arthur asked.

"Yes," she responded meekly.

"And Jack Dawson, right? I take it you two are together?"

Jack was about to respond with a no, but Rose's overpowered his voice, "yes."

Jack glanced at her with confused eyes. She was simply tired of having to explain it, so she went along with it.

Eve had fun with this little lie, "I was at their wedding," she giggled like a child, excited to tell an imaginary story, "but I was so blitzed, I hardly remember it!"

"Yes," Rose murmured, "quite the wild day."

"And no children, I assume?" Arthur asked.

"Oh..." Rose said, "you see, we're just like you and Alice in that aspect."

"You're with child as well?" Alice gleamed.

"I- pardon?" Rose stuttered, completely forgetting.

"You said your situation is-"

"Oh, yes," Rose laughed nervously, "I'm with- I'm with child as well..." she gave Jack a pleading glance, asking for help. He only looked at her with eyes that said you brought this upon yourself.

"How wonderful! We must talk further of this together. No one I know understands what it's like, none of my dearest companions are going what I'm going through... it would be refreshing to speak with someone who does."

Rose only awkwardly smiled. Eve was holding in her violent laughter. And so was Jack.

Acting as if they were a pair came as so freakishly natural. Eve was nearly squinting at them with furrowed brows the entire time. She thought, even if Henry were put into the room at that very moment - anyone would immediately assume Jack were her fiancé out of the two.

Eve seemed to be in the middle of it all, glancing back and forth between both couples. Jack and Roses lies started to be so convincing, she was questioning things herself. But it was probably just the wine.

"And what do you do for a living, Jack?" Arthur questioned.

"I used to work in this art museum. But currently... well, I guess I'm just an artist now."

"Artist?" He made a face as if he just ate something terribly disgusting. Jack didn't seem to mind, he'd seen that face in similar situations thousands of times.

Rose immediately intervened, "his art is absolutely breathtaking, you wouldn't believe."

"What type of art do you make?" Asked Alice.

"I like to draw, really, anyone... just people I pass by or see in a park. I enjoy capturing moments from every day life, finding the significance in them and the people."

Arthur chuckled, "you've been born in the wrong time. Now, a camera can do your job quicker and better."

Rose came to his defense, once again, "his art is different. It speaks to the heart. Photographs can't do that... they're just images with no deeper essence to it."

Eve and Alice were the only ones who noticed the look Jack gave Rose in that moment. He adored her in ways neither of them could comprehend. Neither of the two women were looked at the way Jack had looked at Rose, and it gave them some sort of painstaking feeling.

"Thank you," his voice was quieter than a whisper.

"Of course, dear."

They looked at each other and grinned.

The dinner was concluded and they all went their separate ways. For a while. Rose was in her room, braiding her hair for the night, when there was a knock on the door. She expected Jack, only to be met with the sight of Eve.

"I was hoping we could talk."

"Right now?"

Eve nodded somberly, "I've just... I've realized that we haven't discussed what happened in Utah. I don't want our friendship to-"

"We're fine, Eve. Everything's fine."

"Is it? It doesn't feel like it."

It wasn't fine.

Rose sighed and let Eve in, "truth be told, I'm still bitter about it. But if you hadn't done what you did, he wouldn't be here anymore. That's more than an excuse for me to not absolutely loath you," she said with a bit of a joking matter.

"You must have gone through hell," perhaps it was an odd reflection, but it seemed Eve was tearing up, "you're not talking about it, but I know you did. I heard these stories about you... how people were staring to think you've gone mad."

"You can't let a bird out of its cage for years then force it back inside, that's all."

"And that damn man... he hurt you terribly, didn't he? Not just the bruises."

"You're only feeding into your guilt, Eve."

"But I... it's killing me, I can see it in your eyes."

"Nothing that occurred was something I can't handle or hadn't handled already. There's no need in delving into it."

In that moment, another knock came from the door. Jack. With him around, the original conversation stopped immediately and was replaced.

"Why are you here?" Eve raised her brow at Jack.

"Your welcoming attitude always warms my heart, Eve," he smiled at her.

"You know what I mean. Why are you coming into Rose's room at night," she crossed her arms.

"Very funny," he took out a pack of cards, "I just couldn't sleep and was wondering if she'd like to play a game. Since you're here too, we can play together?"

The three of them sat on Rose's bed and played, while smoking cigarettes and snacking on chocolates Eve stole. Rose often poured herself a large amount of hard alcohol, alcohol from the little bar in her room. Jack seemed to be the only one observant of the amount she was consuming.

"You two play quite the convincing couple."

"We do?" They said in unison.

"Well, yeah. Dare I say, you're more of a convincing pair than Rose and Henry."

"Eve," Rose shot a glance at her friend, "didn't you always say Henry and I were... oh, what was it! That if love were art, we'd be Monet's paintings."

"Fuck that, you two are the Mona Lisa."

"Eve."

"And I stand by that."

Sensing Rose's uncomfortable mood, whether it were genuine or a defense mechanism, Jack still defended her, "it was a silly act, Eve. I'm flattered we managed to fool you. But obviously, Rose's love is reserved for her fiancé." Every word pained him.

"Yes, thank you. I'm engaged. Jack and I are friends. Dear friends, but friends."

"Bullshit," Eve murmured.

New York City, New York
August 14th, 1922

It was Eve who fell asleep first. Her body spread out on Rose's bed, and neither Jack nor Rose had the energy to move her. They continued to play a couple rounds of their game, with their eyes struggling to stay open.

"So..." Rose breathed in, slightly drunk and struggling to get her next sentence out, "the Mona Lisa?"

"You know, I was never too fond of the Mona Lisa."

"Really?"

"I wouldn't say we are her, either."

"What art are we then?" It amazed her and Jack how different she was just then. With Eve around, she had to maintain this image she set up for herself. With Jack, well, it just never was like that with Jack. Engaged or not, it didn't matter with him.

"Oh, I don't know, just something better. No offense to DaVinci."

"I think he'll be alright," she laughed.

Chapter Text

New York City, New York
August 15th, 1922

"I was fairly surprised," Jack said, his eyes lingering on Rose as she leaned in to smell the flowers on display, "when you chose not to spend the day with old friends. Eve was, too."

Rose smiled, a sly glint in her eye. "I am spending the day with a friend. My dearest one, in fact." She turned back to the blooms. "Aren't these magnificent? A whole shop filled with such delicate little things."

"I meant the friends you made here, years ago."

"But if I'd gone off with them, and Eve's away too, wouldn't that have left you all alone?" She glanced at him, teasing. "Besides, I'd rather spend the day with you. I've missed you terribly

"You have?"

"Well," she said lightly, "I did assume you were gone for good-"

A florist interrupted, stepping forward with a nod toward the bouquet. "Good morning. Those are quite beautiful, miss."

"They are, aren't they?"

"Would you like to purchase them?"

"Oh, I-"

"How much?" Jack cut in, already reaching into his pocket.

"Jack, no," she laughed, flustered. "I only liked them. There's no need to-" But he handed the man a few coins anyway. The florist took them gratefully and passed the flowers to Rose.

"You didn't have to," she said softly as they stepped back into the busy street. "But... it was very kind. Thank you."

"Next time I'll get you roses."

"That would be fitting, wouldn't it?"

As they walked, Jack stole brief glances at her quick, quiet looks. She kept her face buried in the bouquet, though her eyes wandered, quietly observing the world. He couldn't guess what she was thinking.

And so, her next question caught him completely off guard.

"Have you ever been in love?"

"What?"

"We've never talked about it," she said plainly. "I think it's about time we did. It's ridiculous, really, I don't even know your favorite color."

He chuckled. "I doubt my favorite color says much about me. Isn't character what matters? Or is it the small things that define us after all?

"You might be right. Still, you haven't answered

"Yes, I have. And... red, I suppose."

"I hope you don't mean red like this," she said, lifting a strand of her hair and holding it up toward him.

Jack hesitated for just a moment before answering, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "No... I mean exactly that color."

She raised an eyebrow, amused. "It's rather fiery, don't you think?"

His gaze lingered on her a beat too long. "Only in the best of ways."

"How about your first love?"

"Eh..."

"Oh, come now. I'll tell you mine."

"Go on, then."

"You."

He shook his head. "That doesn't count."

She gasped. "Of course it does!"

"It's not a very fair answer."

"It's an honest one," she said with a shrug. Then, after a pause: "Would you like to hear something curious?"

"Always."

"I've heard people say that once they fall in love again, their first love seems... small. Almost silly. But I've never felt that. In fact, I often think—quite the opposite."

She glanced at Jack. He said nothing, still looking straight ahead, and her heart dropped.

"I'm making a fool of myself, aren't I-"

"I don't feel the same way you do."

"You don't?"

"I mean... it isn't my first love that I look back on as superior. It's ours. Which, I assume, is what you were talking about. If not, then I've just made a fool of myself."

"No," she said, breathlessly relieved. "No, you're exactly right."

"Rose?"

"Yes, Jack?"

"I think we're lost," he said, finally looking around. They were somewhere they hadn't meant to end up.

"I love getting lost," she said, beaming. "Isn't it exciting? Just letting your legs carry you anywhere. Come on. Let's keep going."

New York City, New York
August 15th, 1922

Eve, Jack, and Rose's rooms were all tucked into one cozy corner of the house, sharing a small sitting room just down the hall. Eve was already there when Jack and Rose returned, curled up with a book, legs stretched across the settee.

"Ah, the lovebirds return from their little adventure," she said, setting the book down with a smirk. "Those are lovely flowers, Rose."

"They are," Rose replied. "I thought they'd look pretty on my nightstand. I'll go ask for a vase." She disappeared down the hall, bouquet still in hand.

Once she was gone, Eve turned to Jack, mischief already dancing in her expression. "So. A whole day with the engaged woman, how romantic."

He groaned, sinking into the chair beside her. "Don't remind me."

"I'm teasing. Really though, how was it?"

Jack leaned back, resting his head for a moment before answering. "A day with her is always one worth remembering. That's all I'll say."

Eve let out a knowing laugh and patted his hand. "Oh, Jack. You're so utterly screwed."

"I'm well aware."

"Do you love her?" she asked. Her voice softened, echoing the exact way she had asked him that night in the little car, just before Cal's men found them.

Jack didn't answer. He stared at the floor instead.

Eve watched him, then gave a slow, resigned nod. Silence, once again, said enough. Just like it had back then.

"Then tell her."

He shook his head. "No."

"Why not?"

Before he could respond, Rose reappeared without the flowers. She wore a slight frown, her fingers pulling two strands of hair back as she pinned them with a decorative clip studded with false diamonds. Jack remembered when those same pins had real ones, worth more than he would ever make in a lifetime.

She was awfully pretty.

His breath caught when she settled into the seat beside him. What was wrong with him?

"Aren't you two just the cutest pair?" Eve said, clearly enjoying herself.

"Oh, hush, Eve," Rose said with mock sternness. She raised her hand as if to scold her, then paused. "I'm engaged, remember?"

Eve and Jack both glanced at her hand. It was bare.

Rose's eyes widened. "Oh no, my ring. How..." She gasped softly, then closed her eyes. "I left it. I hid it in the drawer in my room, at Cal's house. How could I be so careless?"

"It's not your fault," Eve said quickly. "We rushed you out during the party, remember?"

"I know. I know. But still, I feel so foolish."

"My only question is," Eve said, tilting her head, "how did it take you this long to realize it was gone?"

"I... I don't know." Rose's voice grew quieter. "I suppose my mind's been elsewhere."

"He'll understand," Jack said, gently.

Rose nodded, though slowly. "Am I a terrible fiancée?"

"If only you saw the way he's acted," Eve muttered.

"Excuse me?" Rose blinked, caught off guard.

"Well, he hasn't exactly been the model fiancé either," Eve said, more gently this time.

"How dare you say something like that," Rose replied, though her voice lacked conviction.

"He's not even here, Rose," Eve said softly. "And the only reason is that he didn't want to be."

"I know he loves me," Rose said, almost to herself. "He cares. He's just... busy. Things have been complicated with his work. You know that."

"Jack quit his job the moment he heard there was even a chance of finding you," Eve said. "That's not an exaggeration. He walked out. Right then and there."

Rose turned to Jack. He was staring at the floor, quiet.

Eve kept going. "He has no job, no home, no plans, and all of it is because of you. And he's not the one who put a ring on your finger. He's not the man expected to build a life with you."

"Eve," Jack said quietly, trying to stop her. She was crossing a line, and they both knew it. But she didn't back down.

"I'm just saying," Eve continued, her voice firm but kind, "don't worry so much, he hasn’t."

"Maybe things have felt strange with him lately," Rose said, her voice quiet but steady, "but I know Henry in a way you never could. He's a good man. He gave me a beautiful home, a happy life." Her eyes lingered on Jack. "Isn't that what you always wanted for me?"

"You know what I think of him," Jack said under his breath.

Her throat tightened. "He's my fiancé," she said, the words almost trembling. "I love him. And you're my friends. Shouldn't you be happy for me?"

"Oh, Rose..." Eve's voice softened with sympathy. "We are your friends. That's why we're telling you this. Because we care enough not to lie."

She reached for Rose's hand.

"If it were me in your place," Eve continued, "wouldn't you say something too?"

Rose hesitated, then gave a slow nod. "I understand," she whispered. "I simply... I wish it weren't true. I never should have left home. None of this would've happened. He'd still be the same."

Jack spoke gently, though his voice held weight. "We don't know what would've happened. Not really."

"I'll see him soon," Rose said quickly, as if saying it aloud would make it real. "And then it will all feel normal again. He'll explain, we'll talk, and it'll all go back to how it was." She wiped at her eyes, determined to keep her composure. "It has to."

The room was quiet for a moment.

"We'll always be here with you, right Jack?" Eve turned to him.

"Of course," Jack mustered up a smile.

New York City, New York
August 15th, 1922

It had been another bad dream. They came often now, uninvited and unrelenting, sometimes memories, sometimes twisted hallucinations her mind stitched together in the dark. This time, it was a memory. The night she thought she had lost Jack all over again.

The sound of the gunshot had torn through the dream like a knife. That sharp, impossible noise louder than anything else in the world was what dragged her back to consciousness.

Rose jolted upright, breath catching in her throat. Her skin was damp with sweat, her heart pounding so hard it echoed in her ears. For a few moments, she couldn't tell if she was still dreaming. The room was quiet, but her body hadn't caught up. Her hands trembled as they reached for the blanket, grounding her in the present.

She sat there in silence, staring at the dim shape of the furniture in the moonlit room, trying to remind herself that it was over. That Jack was alive. That she was safe.

But the ache in her chest lingered, like the echo of a wound that had never fully healed.

She wiped at her face with the back of her hand and left her room to get a glass of water from the kitchen. But she stopped. From the bottom of Jacks door, she saw his light on. As she lingered there in the hallway, she also heard some movement coming from his room.

She knocked.

"It's one in the morning," he whispered, noticing her unusual, sweaty condition.

"I'm well aware."

"Everything alright?"

"Are you going to sleep any time soon?"

"No, I can't sleep."

"Neither can I. Could I come in?" She asked.

He stepped aside, letting her in.

"Why can't you sleep?"

"Just... memories. They keep me awake most nights."

"Good or bad?"

"If they were good they wouldn't cause me so much trouble. Why are you awake?"

Truth was, Jack hadn't slept a minute. He'd been pouring himself glass after glass of gin, his thoughts spinning in quiet circles, all of them leading back to her. All he said was, "I was drawing."

There was no evidence of it, no sketches nearby. But Rose noticed a bottle, uncapped, half empty, resting near his chair.

"Drawing?" Her lips curved into a knowing smile as she motioned toward the gin.

He let out a low chuckle. "Drawing."

"Well," she said, stepping closer, "if you don't mind, I think I'll do a bit of drawing myself." She reached for the bottle and poured herself a small glass, her fingers brushing the rim delicately. He watched her quietly.

She sipped, then looked down into the glass. "What was the dream about?" he asked, once they'd settled into the soft hush of the moment.

"Oh, just the usual," she answered breezily. "You getting shot."

He blinked. "Lovely. The usual?"

"I've had that dream often. Back in Philadelphia, you were all I thought of." Her voice faltered, just slightly. Realizing she'd said more than she intended, she cleared her throat and quickly pivoted. "How did you fix up that wound? I can't imagine there were any doctors near by."

"Eve," he said. "Came in handy, just like I said. Former nurse."

"She's always full of surprises." Rose took another sip. Her eyes flicked toward his shoulder. "So? How does it look now?"

Jack paused, weighing the question, then gave a faint, almost teasing smile. "Would you like to see it? The wound, I mean. She did a good job."

Rose tilted her head, the corner of her mouth lifting. "I'm intrigued."

He set his glass down and slowly rose from the chair. Her eyes followed him as he stepped into the middle of the room where the lamplight hit his frame. With quiet hands, he nervously unbuttoned his shirt, slipping it off his shoulders. The linen fell away, revealing his bare chest, the faint scar on his shoulder.

Rose's breath hitched, not just at the wound, but at the sight of him. It had been so long since she'd seen him like this. And yet, it felt disarmingly familiar. Like stepping into a dream she wasn't ready to wake from.

Her gaze lingered on the scar, then drifted upward to meet his eyes. He stood still, letting her look.

She cleared her throat and took a slow sip of the gin, her gaze drifting toward the wide windows where the city lights shimmered in the dark. There was no ring on her finger to remind her, but she was engaged, and this, whatever this was, ought never to have happened.

The moment dissolved between them, leaving only a hush of uneasy silence.

"If you were me," she said softly, her voice catching in her throat, "what would you do?"

He looked at her, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Rose stood, taking a few steps toward him. Her expression was clouded with thought, like she wasn't entirely sure where her heart meant to go.

"I'm in an awfully tangled place, Jack."

He smiled faintly, though his eyes stayed searching. "Feels like that's always been the case since I've known you."

She didn't laugh. Her silence said enough.

"Here I am," she went on, "in New York. My fiancé back in California, barely writing or calling, barely caring where I am. Then there's Cal, chasing me down like some... some madman. And then," she hesitated, "of course, you."

He tried to keep his tone light. "Well, I hope I haven't added too much to the chaos."

She turned her head slowly, her voice quieter. "Oh, Jack. You're the one who gives me the most pain."

She turned away fully now, took the last sip from her glass, then picked up the bottle. Her fingers wrapped tightly around the neck, white-knuckled. Her hand trembled just slightly.

The silence that followed wasn't cold but full. Heavy. The words settled between them like dust. He felt them hit somewhere deep.

"I do?" he asked, barely above a breath. His voice was shaken. Hurt, but careful.

She nodded, slowly, refusing to look at him. "I don't understand it. I should be happy. I was. Maybe because every time I see you," she whispered, "I remember I'll never get you back."

Jack said nothing at first. He took a step closer but stopped himself. "You've got me back now," he said gently.

She looked over her shoulder at him, eyes shining, but not with joy. "No. Not really. Not like before. Not the way it was."

"I understand."

"You do?"

"Of course. But... it's never good to spiral over the past."

She gave a small, broken laugh. "It's not the past I'm spiraling over. It's what's right in front of me." She took a breath. "I love Henry. I do. I've told myself that a hundred times. And it's true."

"But?"

That one word cracked something open.

She met his eyes finally, and for a moment, everything went still.

"But you were never supposed to come back. I buried that part of me with you. I built a new life. Without you. And now you're here, and I," she broke off, blinking hard.

"Our story ended that night, all those years ago," she went on, steadier now. "And now I'm simply so confused. Everything's changed with Henry. Everything's changed with you and I."

"Rose... I think I ought to say something." He hesitated, his voice faltering before he found it again. "It won't make anything better. Might even make things worse," he added more softly, almost to himself.

Her brows drew together, worry flickering across her face. "Jack... what is it?"

He looked down for a moment, as if trying to steady something deep inside him. Then back at her.

"Well... it's Eve's fault, in a way. She keeps telling me to just say it. To be honest. And it's the reason I haven't slept a wink tonight."

She stepped closer, her breath caught somewhere between hope and dread.

"Jack-"

He lifted his eyes to hers. "I love you."

He let the words land. No flourish. No hesitation. Just truth.

"Still," he said, a shaky smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "To be truthful, I don't think I ever stopped. And maybe that makes me mad. Or stupid. But there it is."

She stared at him, lips parted, her breath shallow.

"I know you're engaged. I know there's no place for this. For me. But I had to say it. I had to let you know." He took a breath. "It's not about what happens next. It's just... something I've been carrying."

The only thing she could do was take another long, desperate gulp from the bottle.

Chapter Text

New York City, New York
August 16th, 1922

The following morning, Jack was jolted awake by a thunderous banging on his bedroom door, followed by Eve's unmistakable voice.

"Wake up, Dawson! Up and at 'em!"

He groaned into his pillow. "I'm sleeping."

That didn't stop her. The door flew open and in she came, practically skipping across the room. She launched herself onto his bed without hesitation, landing beside him in a flurry of perfume and excitement.

She was already dressed for the day: a lemon-yellow dress that cinched at the waist, a white sunhat trimmed with yellow flowers, and a pair of glossy new heels that looked like they hadn't walked more than a block.

Jack rolled onto his side and pulled a pillow over his head. "Eve..."

"You won't believe it," she said, practically glowing. "Macy's. Herald Square. Sale."

"What?" he mumbled.

"A sale, Jack! Macy's is having a sale. And you're coming with me."

He peeked out from beneath the pillow. "Why in God's name would I do that?"

"Because I'm not going alone," she said, as if the very idea were offensive.

"Go with Rose."

"Rose is hungover like a flapper who danced until sunrise at a speakeasy."

"Then go with Alice."

Eve pouted. "All she wants to shop for is baby clothes. And bassinets. And diapers."

Jack stared at her, deadpan. "And what exactly would I be shopping for? Lipstick?"

She grinned. "I won't judge if you do."

Before he could protest, she was tugging his arm, dragging him upright with unexpected strength for someone wearing heels. "Come on! Get dressed. I want to be there before the good things are gone."

The cab dropped them on the corner of 34th and Broadway, where Macy's towered like a marble temple. Its storefront stretched endlessly, windows filled with mannequins in summer silks, parasols, and the occasional phonograph.

Jack stopped dead on the sidewalk. "This is a store?"

Eve, practically bouncing in her heels, beamed. "Not just a store. The store."

He tilted his head back to take it in. "Looks more like a government building. Or a train station."

She didn't wait for him to adjust, she grabbed his hand and led him through the revolving doors into a blast of polished brass, cool tile, and the faint smell of leather and lilac powder.

Inside, it was chaos in the most elegant sense. Shiny wood counters stretched for what seemed like miles, manned by well-dressed clerks. Elevators clanged, women in gloves floated past with arms full of boxes, and everywhere, mirrors. Huge mirrors that made the room seem even more infinite.

Jack stared up at the arched ceilings. "There are hotels smaller than this."

"And countries less organized," Eve said brightly. "Come on!"

She steered him toward the escalator, one of the store's prides. Jack stepped onto it like it might collapse beneath him. "This thing moves by itself?"

"Modern marvel, darling. Try not to fall."

They reached the second floor, where the Women's Apparel section spread out like a maze of chiffon and lace. Eve was already halfway to a sale rack before he even got his footing.

"Oh my God," she whispered reverently, pulling a dress from a hook. "Look at this. Six seventy-five for something that looks straight out of a moving picture."

Jack blinked. "Is that good?"

"It's criminal. Look, these shoes?" She held up a cream pair with little buckled straps. "Three eighty. I paid almost double for the ones I'm wearing."

He raised a brow. "You say that like you were forced to."

She ignored him, already halfway to a table of gloves. "Oh, they've got lace-trimmed ones! Fifty cents a pair. I'm buying three."

Jack stood back, watching her buzz from one table to the next, arms quickly filling. She was in her element, darting between displays like a starlet loose on set.

He smirked, trailing her to the hat section. "You're buying all this?"

"Jack," she said, sliding a wide-brimmed straw hat with silk flowers onto her head, "this is shopping strategy. Buy now, regret nothing later."

He leaned against a pillar, arms crossed. "You do realize you'll need someone to carry it all."

She looked up at him sweetly. "You're here, aren't you?"

"Against my will."

"Then make yourself useful," she said, handing him a stack of shoeboxes.

As he staggered to balance them, she turned back to a mirror, adjusting the angle of her new hat. "Isn't it lovely?"

He didn't answer at first, momentarily distracted by a girl who passed by in a flash of fiery red hair. Her face was unfamiliar, but something about her, the color, the shape of her walk, stirred something unshakable in him.

"Jack?" Eve asked, turning. "What is it?"

"Nothing," he said quickly, brushing it off. But it wasn't nothing.

The morning had moved too fast, he hadn't had a moment to sit with the weight of the night before. And now it lingered at the edges of his mind, sharp and unresolved, refusing to fade.

"Now don't you lie to me," Eve said, squinting at him. "You know how much I hate it when you and Rose do that."

The moment she said Rose's name, she saw it, that flicker in Jack's eyes, sharp and unguarded. Pain, unmistakable.

"Rose?" she asked more softly now. "Did something happen with Rose?"

Jack let out a dry laugh, then rubbed a hand over his face like he was trying to wipe the thought away. "My God, you're like a detective."

Suddenly queasy, he sank onto a velvet bench near the glove counter. Eve followed, perching beside him.

"Tell me what happened," she said gently.

He stared ahead for a long moment, watching women drift past with arms full of silk and shoes, laughing, chattering. The whole store buzzed like life was moving forward without him.

"I told her," he said finally. "Last night. I told her."

Eve blinked. "You told her? Just like that?"

He nodded once. "I didn't plan it. It just... happened. We were talking, and it felt like something was opening up between us. Like maybe...maybe she was going to say it too. Or at least something close to it."

Eve leaned in. "And?"

"She didn't," he said, quieter now. "She just looked at me. Then she left. Went to her room and drank herself to sleep."

Eve didn't say anything at first. She just let the words settle, folding her gloved hands in her lap.

"I know I wasn't supposed to expect anything," Jack added, his voice rougher now. "But the way she looked at me, I thought... she felt it too."

Eve touched his arm gently. "Jack... I've known Rose a long time. If it's any consolation, I don't think what she did was a rejection. It seems more like panic."

He scoffed. "How is that supposed to be better?"

"She's engaged, Jack. To a man she thought she loved."

"She said she truly loves him."

Eve tilted her head. "Yeah, well... I think that was more for her benefit than ours."

He didn't respond right away.

"My point is, it's not simple."

Jack looked away, jaw tightening. "If she felt the same way, shouldn't it be simple? It was easier last time."

"Last time?"

"She was engaged then, too," he muttered. "To Cal."

Eve raised a brow. "Do you just... go for every engaged girl you meet?"

"No," he said flatly. "She just happens to be engaged every time I run into her."

"Unbelievable," Eve said, half-laughing. "No wonder he hates you."

"Come on, Eve."

"Okay, okay," she said, hands up in surrender. "I'll stop. But you have to admit, the universe has a strange sense of humor. Do you want my advice?"

"Sure."

"Don't do anything," Eve said. "Just wait until she sees Henry again. Then it'll all work out."

Jack frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You know how he is. She's in denial right now, but give it time. When they see each other again, he'll screw it up. And when he does, she'll see things clearly. She'll realize how she feels."

"And until then I'm just supposed to live in this awkward mess with her?"

"Well... that's the downside of my plan."

"I don't like your plan."

Eve shrugged. "It's not perfect. I'm just saying, it's probably better if he ends up the villain. And if you back off a little, give her space to choose... that's what's best."

She glanced over at Jack, her voice softer now.

"You and I both know how she is. The second someone tells her how to feel, she resents them. You're supposed to let it sit. Let her come to it. You said what you needed to say. That matters."

He looked over at her, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Since when did you get so wise?"

"I've always been wise," she grinned. "You just never noticed because I usually talk about parties and hats."

Jack gave a faint laugh, quiet, but real.

Eve stood, smoothing her skirt. "Come on. Let's go. I think there's a soda fountain downstairs. You can buy me a vanilla phosphate and pretend you're over it."

He rose with her, rolling his eyes. "You sure you're not just using me for free drinks?"

"I'd never," she said. "Well, maybe. But only because I'm charming and poor."

New York City, New York
August 16th, 1922

Rose stepped out into the sun-drenched backyard of Eve's friend's estate, blinking at the sudden warmth. Birds chirped lazily from the branches, and the faint smell of honeysuckle drifted through the air.

The backyard was as grand as the house itself, perfectly manicured hedges bordered the garden paths, and a stone fountain trickled calmly in the center, surrounded by blooming roses and bursts of lavender.

She spotted Alice sitting beneath one of the larger umbrellas near a wrought-iron table, her hand resting gently atop her pregnant belly. The woman looked up and waved her over with a soft smile.

"Good morning," Alice greeted, her voice low and kind. "How did you sleep?"

"Quite well," Rose lied, managing a small smile. "The rooms are lovely. I can't thank you enough."

Alice chuckled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh, I owe Eve so many favors. This is the least I could do."

Rose hesitated as she sat beside her. "I must admit, I'm a little embarrassed. I'm your guest, yet I haven't properly spoken to you since we arrived."

"That's alright, dear. No worries. I understand you and Eve have a great many people to see,
so many reunions after such a long time away."

Rose glanced out at the trees swaying gently in the breeze. "Still... you must be dreadfully bored out here all day."

"I've gotten used to it," Alice replied, resting both hands on her belly. "I used to work, before..." she nodded toward her stomach. "But I've grown to like the quiet. There's something soothing about it."

Rose tilted her head, studying her. "Don't you miss your husband?"

Alice smiled faintly. "Yes, well... all he does is work. But I've gotten used to that too."

Rose looked down at her lap, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve. "I understand."

"Jack is the same way?" Alice asked, gently.

"Oh- yes, yes, exactly," Rose said, almost too quickly. She had forgotten, just for a moment, the fiction they were still holding up. Jack, her supposed husband, the father of her supposed child.

Alice seemed to notice the falter, but didn't press.

There was a pause between them. The sound of birdsong filled the space.

Alice let out a quiet sigh and smiled wistfully. "Just two lonely pregnant women on a beautiful summer day."

Rose laughed softly, a little sadly. "Yes," she agreed. "I suppose we are."

"Truth be told... I don't know if I'd have married him if I knew how it would be," Alice said, her voice calm, without bitterness. "I've never said it aloud before. But I suppose telling a stranger is easier than telling someone close to me."

Rose glanced over, surprised by her honesty.

"A beautiful home, yet no one to share it with, not really. And now a child coming into the silence." Alice leaned back. "At least you have Jack, you can tell he feels deeply. The way he looks at you... I envy that."

"The way he looks at me?"

"Oh yes," Alice said, without hesitation. "Any girl would give everything she has just for a man to look at her that way."

Rose's lips parted slightly. "I've never noticed."

Alice gave a light, disbelieving laugh. "Then you're the only one who hasn't. It's all over his face."

"I suppose I've been too inside my own head to see it," she murmured. Her mind was already far away, flickering back to the night before. His voice low, his eyes full of something she'd tried not to name. The way he'd looked at her after she'd said nothing, just walked away, her silence.

Alice shifted in her seat with a soft sigh. "You know, people talk so much about what love feels like. But sometimes I think it's more about what it sees. Who sees you. The you behind the dress and the polite smile and the charming dinner conversations."

Rose blinked at her, startled by how close Alice's words struck. "You're very wise."

Alice chuckled, brushing a hand over her rounded stomach. "It's just hysteria and loneliness."

They both laughed lightly, and for a moment the heaviness lifted. Then a voice called from inside. Eve, bright and breathless. "Rose! You won't believe the deals I found!"

Rose turned toward the house, her heartbeat quickening in a way she didn't understand.

Alice gave her a teasing smile. "That'll be your maid of mischief. Go on, let her parade her treasures."

Rose stood slowly, brushing her skirt flat. "Thank you, Alice... for lovely conversation."

"Anytime," Alice said.

Rose smiled and stepped toward the house, her figure briefly silhouetted in the sunlight before the shadows of the doorway took her in. And somewhere down the hall, Jack's laugh echoed faintly, closer than expected, and yet somehow still just out of reach.

Chapter Text

New York City, New York
August 16th, 1922

"You won't believe it, I bought so much," Eve beamed, practically floating through the front door with shopping bags dangling from each arm like trophies.

Behind her, Jack followed like a reluctant pack mule, balancing five shoeboxes in an awkward stack.

"I even got you something," she chirped, glancing back at Rose. "Come on, let's try it on!"

"Oh, Eve, you didn't have to..." Rose hesitated, her smile faint. She hadn't seen Jack since that night, and her chest fluttered uneasily at the sight of him now.

"Nonsense," Eve dismissed. "You've only got that sad little suitcase I packed for you. Come on, we'll try everything on in my room."

She linked her arm through Rose's and pulled her toward the hallway. Jack lagged behind, trying not to meet Rose's eyes.

"Jack!" Eve called over her shoulder. "You're coming too. We need your opinion."

He raised a brow. "I'm not sure I'm the one you should be trusting for fashion advice."

"Well, you're here, you're breathing, and you have eyes. That's enough," Eve said, pushing open her bedroom door with her hip.

Inside, the room was bright and airy, sunlight spilling through gauzy curtains and bouncing off the gilded vanity mirror. Shopping bags were dumped across the bed, tissue paper peeking out in all directions.

Rose stepped carefully around the mess, still trying to gauge how to behave. Jack stood by the doorway, awkwardly holding the shoeboxes, while Eve was already unpacking dresses with enthusiasm.

"Try this one," Eve said, holding up a tea-length lilac dress with delicate beading at the hem. "And these shoes that go with it."

Rose stepped behind the floral folding screen, the delicate silhouette of her figure just barely visible through the thin fabric.

Jack sat at the edge of the bed, pretending to examine one of Eve's many shopping bags, though his eyes drifted upward, unable to help it. When Rose emerged, smoothing the sides of the dress down her hips, it was as if the whole room hushed.

Eve gasped in delight. "Oh, it's perfect."

But Jack didn't say a word. His gaze found Rose, slowly, surely, and something in it shifted. There was no playful smirk this time, no teasing. Just a quiet awe, like she was something he'd never seen before.

Rose looked back at him, caught off guard by the softness in his expression. The gentleness, the unguarded way his eyes held hers. It was disarming. For a long moment, neither of them looked away.

And for the first time, she saw it. The way he looked at her. Just like Alice said. Like he'd give everything he had just for one more second of being close to her.

Eve didn't seem to notice, swirling around Rose to adjust the dress. "It brings out your skin so beautifully, honestly, if you don't wear this tonight..."

"Tonight?" Rose asked, her tone a little uncertain, unaware of any plans.

"Oh, absolutely," Eve chimed, her eyes sparkling. "With dresses this beautiful, how could we not go dancing."

"Dancing." Rose repeated the word like it was foreign.

"Yes, isn't it lovely?" She grabbed her robe from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving the two of them standing there. Rose still in the lilac dress, Jack at the edge of the bed, his hands shoved into his pockets.

A silence settled between them, familiar and unfamiliar all at once.

"You look nice," Jack said after a moment, not quite meeting her eyes.

"Thank you," Rose answered, her voice almost a whisper.

Another beat passed.

"Last night..." he started.

Rose looked up sharply, and he stopped.

But before either of them could say another word, Eve's voice rang out from the bathroom. "Go get dressed, Jack. Rose and I will get ready here!"

Jack paused, glancing toward the sound, then looked back at Rose. "I'll see you downstairs," he said simply.

Rose nodded, her eyes not quite meeting his. He gave her one last look, hesitant, unreadable, then turned and left, the door closing softly behind him.

The silence that followed was heavier than before.

Eve reappeared, leaving the bathroom in a cloud of lavender-scented steam, her robe loosely tied at the waist. "So," she said, eyeing Rose with a satisfied smile, "you like the dress?"

"It's beautiful. Thank you."

Eve didn't respond with words, just a knowing little tilt of her head as she walked past, her bare feet quiet against the floorboards.

"Come," she said, gesturing Rose over.

Rose followed her across the room to a low vanity tucked beneath the tall windows. The desk was a small chaos of luxury, glass perfume bottles with vintage atomizers, powders in silver compacts, brushes with soft bristles worn down from years of use.

"Sit," Eve said, patting the velvet stool.

Rose hesitated only a moment before settling in.
Eve leaned forward, reaching for a compact. She opened it, tapping lightly at the powder, eyes flicking to Rose in the mirror.

"I remember when we'd always do this. Doing each other's makeup, I mean. Right before we went up on stage," Eve said with a wistful grin, leaning her hip against the vanity.

Rose smiled, her voice soft. "Those were my favorite moments. More than being up there under the lights."

"Remember when we did Peg o' My Heart? And those two men were chasing us down the hallway backstage?"

"Oh yes," Rose laughed, the memory catching her off guard. "With those ridiculous bouquets. They were quite the devoted fans."

Eve giggled, twisting a lipstick cap between her fingers. "Devoted... and delusional. One of them thought you were actually Peg."

"And the other asked you to sign his chest," Rose added, grinning.

"And then we locked them in the broom closet," Eve finished proudly, eyes dancing in the mirror. "God, we were awful."

"But we had quite the bit of fun," Rose said, a quiet laugh slipping out. Then her smile faltered. She reached for her shoulder, brushing her fingers just above the edge of the dress, where a fading bruise peeked through the delicate fabric. "Can't seem to escape these."

Eve's expression softened as she stepped closer. "I can fix it up for you," she said gently, already turning toward the vanity to grab a small pot of concealer.

Rose nodded, her eyes lingering on her reflection before speaking. "Thank you, Eve." She hesitated, her voice quieter now, more intentional. "You're truly my best friend."

Eve paused mid-motion, turning to meet her eyes. Her face lit up, not in her usual performative way, but something quieter. Genuine. "And mine as well," she said softly, her eyes glimmering. "Since the day I found you on that street."

"Which, by the way, we should talk about. You really shouldn't go around picking up strangers off the pavement and letting them into your home."

Eve scoffed, turning back to her makeup brush. "I don't see how any of that makes sense, considering doing exactly that gave me the best possible outcome."

"Well, I'm not some insane murderer."

"That's good," Eve replied dryly, dabbing makeup over the bruise.

For a moment, they said nothing. The silence wasn't stiff, it breathed. It carried old memories, bruised trust, a little distance, and a lot of love.

Then Eve asked, quieter now, "Do they still hurt?"

Rose met her eyes in the mirror. "Not as much."

"I once loved a man who did the same to me," Eve said it so gently it barely reached the space between them, more breath than sound.

Rose froze, startled, then slowly looked up at her in the mirror. "You never told me."

Eve shrugged lightly, dabbing powder over the bruise with careful precision. "It's history. And I don't like to think of it. Something I figured you'd understand."

"I do."

"He wasn't some tycoon. Just a poor drunkard who took me in when I was barely more than a girl. Had barely any money. I suppose that's why I stayed. It wasn't love, not really."

The two had switched roles. Rose now carefully brushing color over Eve's cheekbones, her touch softer than expected after so many years apart.

"He called me Mabel, and I absolutely hated it. Can you believe it? Me! Mabel for at least a year."

Rose smiled faintly. "It's a bit old-fashioned."

"It's a bit tragic," Eve said, wrinkling her nose. "The point of me saying this is... well, I tried to tell you a few nights ago, I understand. I understand completely. That's why I've carried so much guilt about that night. I wish things had been different. I wish I could've helped you. But I had to get Jack somewhere safe, or he would have-"

"Don't let the guilt consume you, Eve. And I'm sorry for being so cold to you in Philadelphia. It wasn't really about you. I'd been so angry and hurt for months... it was hard to let go."

"I was afraid I'd lost you as a friend."

"No. You know me, I can be harsh at times."

"Nobody's perfect," Eve said with a small smile. Rose laughed softly. "On a side note," Eve said, casually inspecting a tube of lipstick, "I must admit, Jack let something very interesting slip today."

Rose glanced up. "What did he say?"

"That you were engaged to Cal when you two first met."

Rose froze, then carefully replied, "I see."

Eve tilted her head, watching Rose's reaction. "Look, I don't mean to pry. But since you just told me I'm your best friend..." She flashed a mischievous grin. "Don't you think it's time you finally told me how it all happened?"

"Eve-"

"Oh, please!" Eve clasped her hands together dramatically. "You know I've been dying to know. The mystery of it all has been unbearable."

Rose let out a long sigh and shifted slightly on the stool. "How much time do we have?"

"All the time in the world! We'll be late and I won't care. Just tell me."

Rose laughed under her breath. "Alright, alright. But sit still. I can't do your makeup properly if you keep flailing around like that."

New York City, New York
August 16th, 1922

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Jack muttered, side-eyeing Eve, who was staring at him like he was a walking miracle.

"I'll explain later," Rose said under her breath.

Eve didn't blink. Her eyes were wide, sparkling with admiration - and a touch of unhinged awe.

Rose started ahead, leaving Jack and Eve trailing behind, mostly because Eve couldn't walk properly while emotionally stunned.

"You let her on the door," Eve whispered to him, clutching her hands to the sleeve of his shirt as if narrating the end of a great love story.

Jack furrowed his brow. "What?"

"You saved her..."

There was a pause. Jack turned and saw her eyes watering.

"...Are you crying?" he asked, taking a step back like she might hug him or start singing.

"No," Eve sniffled, wiping at her face. "I wanna be you when I grow up."

"You are grown up."

They caught up to the Rose just as Eve let out a soft sigh, still misty-eyed. Jack looked over at Rose helplessly.

"She knows," Rose said.

"I figured."

New York City, New York
August 16th, 1922

Eve had disappeared almost immediately, caught in the orbit of a man who was already buying her drinks and kissing her cheek. They danced, whispered, laughed, far too close for strangers.

Jack sat hunched at a table tucked away in the corner of the speakeasy, two empty glasses standing like quiet witnesses before him. His eyes were heavy, fixed on nothing, the sadness in them impossible to miss.

From across the room, Rose lingered at the bar, watching him. She'd long since lost track of her own drinks; the number didn't matter anymore. What mattered was that Jack, and Eve too, were no longer there to stop her. And so she kept drinking, glass after glass, as though the burn might silence what he had confessed.

The drinks had taken hold faster than she realized, or perhaps she'd simply stopped keeping track of time. When she pushed herself up from the barstool, the floor seemed to lurch beneath her. Dizzy, unsteady, she reached for the chair to catch her balance, but it toppled with her, crashing against her side as she stumbled to the ground.

Before she could even curse under her breath, strong hands were already at her arms, lifting the weight of the chair away.

"Easy now," Jack murmured, his voice low but urgent.

He crouched beside her, his face a mixture of worry and something deeper. Carefully, he helped her to her feet, steadying her with an arm around her waist.

Rose blinked up at him, her vision swimming, the room spinning too fast to hold onto. But his eyes, his eyes were clear, steady, and fixed on her alone.

"Jack?" Her voice was faint, questioning, as if she wasn't entirely sure he was really there.

He tightened his hold around her waist, glancing toward the bar where the row of abandoned glasses still gleamed under the dim light. His jaw tensed.

"Rose..." His voice was firm but laced with concern. "How much have you had?"

She blinked at him slowly, her lips parting as though to answer, but nothing came. Her eyes, glazed and unfocused, met his with only a hollow stillness. She didn't seem to register the question at all, only that he was near, his hands steadying her when the rest of the room would not.

Jack exhaled, a mixture of worry and frustration. "Come on," he said quietly. "Let's get you out of here. Do you know where Eve is?"

"No." Rose shook her head, her voice slurred.

Jack's eyes swept the crowded room until they found Eve, draped across a booth with the slick stranger whose charm would dissolve by sunrise.

With one arm still bracing Rose against him, he guided her through the haze of smoke and jazz.

"Eve," he called firmly as they reached the table. "We're leaving. Come on."

Eve barely glanced at him, twirling the man's tie between her fingers like a ribbon. "No!" she protested with a girlish pout. "Why would I?"

Jack tightened his hold on Rose, who was half-leaning into his chest, her eyes unfocused. His voice hardened. "Because Rose can't even walk."

"I'm having fun," Eve sang, her laughter sharp and careless as she pressed closer to her companion.

"You can finish your fun another night."

With one arm anchoring Rose, he reached out with his free one, grasped Eve's hand, and pulled her from the booth. She yelped in protest, heels scraping against the floor as he steered them both toward the exit.

The night air sobered nothing. Rose sagged against him as Jack guided both girls to the borrowed car, its chrome dull under the streetlamps. He helped her carefully into the passenger seat, then turned to Eve, who crossed her arms like a punished child.

"Get in," Jack said flatly.

Eve rolled her eyes, but obeyed, slumping into the passenger seat with a dramatic sigh. The moment Jack started the engine, she was humming along to some tune only she could hear.

Jack gripped the wheel tighter, eyes fixed on the dark road ahead. Rose lay quiet next to him, her breath uneven, her body shifting with every bump in the pavement.

When they finally pulled up to the house, Eve sprang out the second the car stopped. She bounded toward the porch, tossing over her shoulder, "Goodnight!" before vanishing inside, her heels clattering against the wooden floorboards.

Jack shut off the engine slowly, sitting in the stillness for a moment before turning to Rose. Only then did he realize, she'd been watching him the entire drive, her gaze steady despite the haze in her eyes.

"Jack?"

"Yeah?"

Her lips trembled as her eyes filled. "I'm sorry I left the way I did... I was scared."

"Shh," he soothed, slipping a hand behind her head to steady her. "Let's get you to bed."

"I was scared because I..." she pushed on, words catching in her throat, "because I love you too."

Jack froze. The weight of her confession landed hard, stopping the air in his chest. "What?" he breathed, searching her face.

Before he could process her words, Rose lifted a trembling hand to his cheek. Her fingertips were cool against his skin, delicate but deliberate, as though anchoring herself to the only thing not spinning. The space between them narrowed.

Jack felt his pulse quicken. The warmth of her hand, the closeness of her face, the quiver in her breath, it all pressed down on him, urging him to close the gap. For a fleeting moment, it seemed inevitable, as though the world itself demanded it.

But then reality cut through like cold steel. The smell of liquor lingered on her breath, her body slack with exhaustion. She wasn't herself, at least not fully.

Gently, Jack caught her shoulders, halting her movement just as her lips came achingly close to his. His voice, rough with restraint, broke the silence. "You're drunk, Rose."

Her brows knit, confusion flickering before her expression suddenly shifted. She pressed a hand to her stomach, wincing. "Jack..." she whispered, her voice breaking. "I feel sick."

He tightened his hold, already moving to
get her out of the car. "Alright, easy," he said quickly. "I've got you."

Chapter Text

New York City, New York
August 16th, 1922

They had been on the cold bathroom floor so long that the tile itself seemed to seep into their bones. Jack's legs were pins and needles, his arms stiff and aching from holding back Rose's hair through every wave of sickness. Time had blurred into a sluggish crawl; each minute stretched thin, measured only by the sound of Rose's shallow breaths and the occasional echo of the toilet flushing.

He shifted slightly, settling onto the edge of the bathtub, his body a tired anchor just behind her.

Rose leaned forward, her forehead resting weakly on her folded arms atop the rim of the porcelain. Strands of damp hair clung stubbornly to her temple despite his efforts to keep them away.

Jack exhaled through his nose, not in frustration, but in weariness. The speakeasy's chaos felt like another lifetime ago, now there was only this dim bathroom light, the quiet hum of the house, and her.

She stirred, lifting her head just enough to glance back at him with watery eyes. Her face was pale, her voice a rasp. Rose began to cry.

"What is it?" he asked gently, brushing a loose strand of hair back behind her ear.

Jack rose from the edge of the tub and lowered himself onto the cold tile beside her. Only then did he realize how close they were, close enough to feel the warmth of her breath, close enough that the faint smell of her perfume, mingled with alcohol and sweat, curled around him. He thought about leaning back, giving her space, but he didn't. He stayed.

Rose collapsed against him, her head pressing into his chest as if it were the only safe place left in the world. Her soft whimpers reverberated through his shirt, each one pulling tighter at the knot in his chest.

Jack wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her steady. With his other hand, he gently threaded his fingers through her damp hair, untangling it in slow, patient strokes. The motion was rhythmic, soothing, and for a moment it was as if the world outside the bathroom didn't exist.

Her breathing slowed, though tears still streaked her flushed cheeks. Jack lowered his chin slightly, resting it just above her head. He closed his eyes, fighting the dangerous thought of how right it felt to hold her like this, how much he wanted it to mean more.

But she was drunk. And hurting. And he knew better.

So he just held her.

"Can you sing our song?" she whispered, her voice so faint he almost thought he imagined it.

Jack blinked, caught off guard. Our song? He hadn't thought of it like that. But of course, the moment she asked, he knew exactly which one she meant. The memory of her laughter, her arms stretched out to the stars, the wind whipping past them on the deck of the ship, they all came rushing back at once.

He swallowed hard. The word our nestled into him, warming a place in his chest he'd tried to guard.

"Alright," he murmured. His voice was low, unsteady at first, but gentle. "Come, Josephine..."

The tune wavered, his rasp catching on the notes, but there was a quiet intimacy in it. It wasn't pretty, but it was genuine and to Rose, that was enough.

Her tears slowed, her breathing easing as she clung to him, listening to every word. She moved in closer, closing her eyes.

Jack kept singing, softer and softer, until the words blurred into silence. He glanced down to find her eyes shut, her face slack against his chest, exhaustion finally overtaking her.

She was asleep now, but her words lingered, circling in his mind. Our song.

The creak of the door startled Jack. He turned sharply, only to see Eve slipping inside, barefoot and wide awake, her eyeliner smudged from the night.

"I could hear her throwing up through the walls," she groaned, rubbing her forehead. "Not exactly the lullaby I was hoping for."

Jack was still steadying Rose's head against his chest. His voice was low. "She's really sick."

"We should get her into bed. And someone ought to stay with her in case she wakes up again." A sly smile curved her lips, the kind that suggested trouble. "That someone should probably be you."

He let out a slow, disappointed sigh. "As much as I'm sure you'd like to see that happen, she's married."

"Fine, fine." Eve lifted her hands in mock surrender, her smirk never fading. "All I'm saying is... if ten years had passed, and I was engaged, and the man who almost died for me walked back into my life? I'd probably choose him."

Jack's eyes narrowed. He didn't dignify that with words, only an annoyed glance.

Eve leaned against the doorframe, lowering her voice like she was letting him in on a secret. "Come on, Jack. The girl is insane. Clinging to some engagement that's falling apart."

Jack looked back down at Rose, limp and sleeping in his arms, her earlier confession echoing in his mind. His throat tightened. For a fleeting second, he wanted to believe Eve. Wanted to hold onto those words as truth.
But he shook it off.

Standing carefully, he gathered Rose in his arms, lifting her as though she weighed nothing. Her head lolled against his shoulder, her breath warm on his neck.

"Jack." Her bare feet padded quickly against the wooden floor. "Don't be an idiot."

He didn't slow his steps. "You're too kind."

"Oh, come on," she groaned, catching up and walking backward in front of him so he couldn't escape her. "You know what I mean."

Jack shot her a tired look, his arms tightening slightly around Rose. "Do I?"

"Yes." Eve dragged the word out, exasperated. "Stay with her tonight. Deep down you know that's what she would want, even if she'd never admit it."

Jack shook his head, amused despite himself. "You're relentless, you know that?"

"It's a gift," she quipped. Then her tone softened, just a notch. "Look, she trusts you. She doesn't trust many people, but you? She lets her guard down. That has to count for something."

Jack muttered under his breath, "lord help me."

"Stay with her, for me," Eve pressed, her tone unusually earnest beneath the teasing edge. "Just make sure she's alright. I would, but... I know I wouldn't be much help. Not the way you can."

Jack arched a brow at her, shifting Rose's weight in his arms. "If I agree, will you finally stop pestering me?"

"Yes," Eve replied without hesitation, grinning like she'd just won.

He sighed, a low breath that carried both defeat and reluctant amusement. "Alright." With careful steps, he carried Rose closer to her bed. He bent to lower her gently onto the bed, brushing back the covers with one arm while keeping her steady with the other.

"I'll stay with her," he murmured at last, adjusting the blanket around Rose's shoulders.

From the doorway, Eve leaned lazily against the frame, arms crossed, her grin widening. "Good. See? Was that so hard?"

Jack shot her a look over his shoulder, half warning, half tired. "Don't push it."

"Me? Never," she said, her eyes glinting. Then, softer, almost sincere: "She's safe with you. That's all that matters."

For once, Jack didn't argue. He only sat down at the edge of the bed, exhaling slowly as Rose stirred faintly in her sleep, her lips parting like she might still be dreaming of words she hadn't finished saying.

He exhaled slowly, toeing off his shoes, then shifted carefully under the sheets beside her. He kept his body turned toward her, leaving just enough space so she wouldn't move, though every part of him ached to close the distance.

Rose shifted faintly in her sleep, her face turning toward him as though drawn by instinct. Her lips moved in the quietest whisper, words he couldn't quite catch. Jack's heart clenched.

He propped his head on one arm, his other hand resting loosely on the blanket between them. In the stillness, he let himself look at her, really look. At the curve of her jaw, the way her lashes lay against her cheeks, the faint trace of a smile ghosting across her lips even in sleep.

She had called it their song. She had told him she loved him. He didn't know what would happen come morning, whether she'd even remember. But for now, with the world hushed and nothing between them but breath, he allowed himself to believe it.

Jack let his eyes close.

New York City, New York
August 17th, 1922

The sound of her shifting pulled him from sleep. Jack stayed still for a moment, lids heavy, letting his ears sort through the quiet rustle of blankets and Rose's soft movements. He sensed her propping herself upright, probably scanning the room with that quick, assessing glance of hers.

Before she could say anything, his gravelly morning voice cut through the silence. "Before you ask, Eve made me."

There was a pause, then her voice, hesitant. "Jack?" She swallowed hard. "Did we-"

"No." His answer came quickly, steady, leaving no room for doubt.

She exhaled in visible relief, though her nose wrinkled. "Why do I smell so dreadful?"

Jack cracked one eye open, just enough to catch her disoriented expression. "You were sick all night."

Her hand flew to her mouth. "My god... And you were with me?"

"Through all the hours it took you to throw up the alcohol," he said with a lopsided smile, trying to make it sound lighter than it was.

Finally, he opened both eyes, his vision sharpening to find her staring at him with horror.
"You should've let me handle it on my own," she said firmly, her tone edged with embarrassment.

Jack pushed himself upright, scrubbing a hand across his face. "You could barely move on your own." His voice was even, but inside, a small ache pressed in his chest.

She didn't remember.

Jack glanced at her, his smile fading. She was focused only on piecing together fragments of the night. The sickness, the mess, the embarrassment. But not the part he wanted her to remember most.

"My sincerest apologies, Jack," Rose murmured, her voice thin but steady. "I didn't mean to make you do all this... to be such an inconvenience."

Jack shook his head at once. "You're never an inconvenience. I'm happy to help."

Silence stretched between them. The morning light slanted weakly through the curtains, catching on their disheveled hair, their tired eyes.

Jack replayed his own words in his head, wondering if he'd revealed too much, if she would hear the weight behind them. A flicker of doubt crept in, maybe he'd sounded foolish. Maybe too earnest.

Rose, however, was somewhere else entirely. Her thoughts tangled in the memory of Henry: his pale face, the way he had recoiled at the slightest hint of sickness. How unbearable she would have seemed to him.

Jack broke the silence first, his voice tentative. "What are you thinking?"

"Henry's weak stomach."

Jack frowned, confused. "What?"

"He struggles being around me when I'm ill, when I throw up, or even when I still smell faintly of it." She gave a small, humorless laugh. "Once I had food poisoning, and I didn't see him for five days."

Jack studied her, the sharp sting of her words settling in his gut. He couldn't imagine turning away from her like that, couldn't imagine abandoning her when she needed someone most. And yet, she spoke of it with such casual acceptance, as though she had grown used to it.

"Five days," he repeated quietly, almost to himself.

"I think he went to some hotel," Rose laughed faintly.

Jack didn't laugh. Instead, instinctively, his face hardened, just a flicker of judgment in his expression, not directed at her but at Henry.

"What?" Rose asked quickly, catching it.

"Nothing," Jack said, though his tone was tight, unconvincing.

"No. I saw that." She shifted, propping herself up on an elbow. "What was that look?"

"Nothing," he repeated, too firmly this time. His hand raked through his messy hair as he stood abruptly, avoiding her eyes. "I'm gonna go back to my room. Get some rest, Rose. Bye."

He was already halfway to the door before she could stop him, her mouth left parted in bewilderment. She wasn't sure if she should feel offended.

"Alright... bye," she managed, but the word sounded hollow in the quiet room.

Jack closed the door behind him with more force than he meant to, then exhaled sharply into the dim hallway. He ran a hand over his face, trying to clear his head, only to nearly collide with Eve, who leaned against the wall with her arms folded.

"Well, well," she said with a sly grin, lowering her voice as if they were conspirators. "So? Should I be congratulating you?"

Jack blinked, incredulous. "What are you talking about?"

"You and Rose. Last night. In one bed," she waggled her brows, "don't tell me nothing happened."

"Nothing happened," Jack said flatly, brushing past her.

Eve smirked, falling into step beside him. "Uh-huh. That explains why you're storming out of her room like you've just been caught sneaking out at dawn."

Jack stopped in his tracks, fixing her with a hard look. "You've got the wrong idea."

"Do I?" Eve teased, cocking her head. "Because from where I'm standing, you look a lot like a man who just crossed a line and doesn't want to admit it."

His jaw clenched. "I didn't cross anything. You kept nagging me to stay with her, remember?"

Jack slipped into his room, hoping for even a few moments of escape. But the quiet he craved didn't last. Before he could close the door, Eve pushed it open, striding in uninvited like she owned the space.

"You've been so sassy lately," she said, frowning in mock reproach.

Jack arched a brow, leaning casually against the edge of the bed. "Wonder where I'm getting it from," he said smoothly. "And hey... recently, you've been such a hopeless romantic. It's nauseating."

"I've always been a hopeless romantic," Eve said, sliding onto his bed with a challenging smirk. "I thought you were too. I was wrong, you're just pathetic."

Jack blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Since the moment I met you, you've just been all mopey and sad. Yesterday, Rose told me about how you were so full of life."

He let out a short, bitter laugh. "I realized life isn't all sunshine and rainbows. You of all people should understand that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You put up a front," he said, voice low, almost rough. "A pleasant, happy face. But underneath it? You're just as miserable and lonely as me. No different."

Eve stared at him, her grin fading into something tighter. "You're just reflecting."

"Come on, Eve. We're orphans. Been alone most of our lives. At least accept that you're miserable instead of hiding it behind some annoying facade."

"Annoying?" She leaned back, shocked, her hands gripping the edge of the mattress. "Are we arguing... or is this just banter?"

"I don't know, Eve," he muttered.

"Well, I won't take any more of this," she said, rising to her feet. Her voice softened slightly, but the edge remained. "You can be lonely and sad on your own, Dawson."

Jack sank onto the bed, staring after her as the door clicked shut. The room felt suddenly colder, emptier. Her words, though harsh, had stirred something in him, reminded him that he wasn't just angry at her. He was angry at himself. Angry at the way last night's moments slipped away and at the quiet ache of watching someone he cared about forget the words that mattered most.

He ran a hand across his face, the weight of the morning pressing down.

Chapter Text

New York City, New York
August 17th, 1922

"What's Jack's favorite thing to do?" Eve burst into Rose's bedroom, arms crossed, a determined gleam in her eyes.

Rose winced, holding her head. "What?" The sudden intrusion made her wince, the lingering headache from last night still throbbing.

"Well," Eve said, pacing, "today we're going to do it without him. That'll show him."

Rose frowned, trying to follow. "Do what without him?"

Eve huffed, throwing up her hands. "I'm mad at Jack!"

"Why?" Rose asked, rubbing her temples.

"He was being mean!"

Rose softened. "He'll apologize soon. I'm sure he feels terrible."

"Yeah, well," Eve muttered, "I said mean things too."

"Then you'll apologize soon, you always do. I thought you two were the best of friends?" Rose asked, a small smile tugging at her lips despite her headache.

Eve bit the inside of her cheek, pouting slightly. "We're too alike."

Rose laughed, the sound light but teasing. "You're complete opposites. He's so serious and sad, and you're... cheerful."

Eve's eyes flicked away, a hint of reluctant agreement in her voice. "Exactly."

Rose tilted her head, curiosity piqued. "So... what exactly are we doing without him?"

Eve leaned in, a conspiratorial smirk on her face. "We're making a day of it. Just us. No Jack. We'll see how long he lasts without knowing what we're up to."

Rose shook her head, amusement creeping into her smile. "You're ridiculous."

"Of course I am," Eve said proudly.

Eve gave Rose a few quiet minutes to get ready for the day. Once they were both dressed, hair tamed as best they could manage, they met in the hallway, only to find Jack standing there, seemingly by coincidence.

"Where are you two going?" he asked softly, trying to keep his tone light.

As they strolled past him, Eve cast a quick glance over her shoulder. With a wicked grin, she raised her middle finger just long enough for him to see.

Jack exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Eve, come on!"

She didn't even glance back. Instead, she tightened her grip on Rose's hand, steering her down the hall and keeping her moving forward, leaving Jack behind.

New York City, New York
August 17th, 1922

Rose insisted they stop by a phone booth, holding out hope she might hear from Henry. The line rang once... twice... but no answer.

"He's probably working," Rose muttered as she stepped back onto the sidewalk, glancing down at her hands. "I'll just write to him instead."

Eve scoffed, falling into step beside her. "You know," she said casually, "when men are left alone for so long and don't answer phone calls, it usually means they've got a mistress."

Rose froze. "Where is this coming from?"

"I wouldn't say I'm exactly wrong," Eve replied with a shrug. "Hell, even you have a mister - or whatever the male equivalent of mistress is."

Rose's voice squeaked in protest. "What?"

Eve leaned closer, lowering her voice in mock conspiracy. "I know he slept in your bed last night."

Rose stiffened. "He said it was because you insisted he stay with me."

"What? No, I didn't," Eve lied smoothly, her grin playful but precise. "I even offered to stay instead. But he... he really wanted to make sure you'd be okay. He cared a lot."

Rose's shoulders relaxed just slightly, though a blush crept over her cheeks. "Really? I had no idea."

Eve winked. "Yep."

"Did I do anything foolish last night?" Rose asked, a hint of worry in her voice.

"Not that I know of," Eve replied, her lips curling into a mischievous smirk. "I was too busy keeping this handsome Wall Street type man entertained."

Rose raised an eyebrow, laughing softly. "Do tell more."

Eve let out an exaggerated sigh, pretending to be exasperated. "There's not much to tell. We didn't do much talking, after all."

Rose's giggle bubbled up again, shaking her head. "My goodness, Eve.

Eve continued her story, describing last night's Wall Street type in meticulous detail, the sharp suit, the easy smile, the way he had laughed at her jokes. She didn't dwell on romance or feelings; it was all surface-level charm and playful antics.

Rose found herself laughing freely, delighting in the simplicity of it. For once, her love life wasn't the center of conversation. She could just enjoy the stories. A fun one-night experience, gone but perfectly vivid in Eve's memory.

The girls sat at their favorite café in New York. When they lived together, they would always come there the morning after a show, a quiet ritual of celebration. Now, stepping back inside, it felt like nothing had changed.

Eve ordered her usual, pancakes with strawberry syrup and a steaming cup of coffee. Rose, as always, asked for something new, a quiche she'd never tried before, with a pot of tea. She never liked ordering the same thing twice; she preferred each visit to be a different memory, a new flavor to attach to the moment.

"This is nice," Rose smiled faintly, tracing her finger along the edge of her teacup.

"I know, I love this place," Eve said through a mouthful of pancakes, syrup glistening on her fork.

Rose hesitated before admitting softly, "I have to say, I miss home quite a bit."

"California?" Eve asked, surprised.

"Obviously."

Eve snorted, shaking her head. "I don't miss it one bit." She stabbed at her pancakes again before glancing back at Rose. "Why do you miss it?"

"I've been gone so long, Eve. I miss my work, my garden... the beach."

Eve studied her quietly, waiting as if there was an obvious piece Rose was leaving out. "...And Henry?"

"Oh." Rose forced a smile. "Yes. Henry. Of course."

Eve's fork stilled on her plate. She let a long silence stretch before speaking, her voice measured. "Rose... if you happened to love another man, you know it would be okay, don't you?"

Rose blinked. "What?" Her voice cracked, higher than she intended.

"I just figured we'd get to this conversation eventually. Thought I'd give us a head start."

Rose's cheeks burned. "What on earth are you talking about, Eve?"

"Oh, come on." Eve leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Stop lying, to everyone, but especially to yourself."

Rose's jaw tightened. "He's my friend, Eve."

"No, he's not. You two were never just friends. That's why Henry hates him so much."

Rose shook her head, reaching for her tea as if it could shield her. "We're different now."

Eve scoffed. "Since when were you not different? That was the point, that's why it worked."

"Eve." Rose's tone was sharp, almost pleading.

"What? Why are you holding onto Henry? Why keep calling when he won't pick up? Why cling to a man who doesn't give a damn?"

Rose swallowed hard, her chest tightening.

"I've known you for years," Eve continued, softer now but still relentless. "You've always been so good at knowing what you want. So why is it so complicated now?"

Rose pressed her lips together, eyes fixed on her untouched food. Finally, she spoke, her voice shaking. "Because I do know what I want. I've always known. I wanted Henry. That's what I've wanted for years. I promised Jack," she cut herself off, her throat tight, "that this was how it would go. A happy family. A long life. And I had it. I had it." Her hands trembled in her lap. "But now... now it's all unraveling. Because of him. Of all people, it had to be him."

Eve sighed, leaning back in her chair. "You're so stubborn."

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are. And it's making you depressed."

"I'm not depressed."

Eve arched a brow. "Really? You drank so much last night you could barely stand. I found you and Jack in the middle of the night, both of you on the bathroom floor. He was holding you like a child, singing to you of all things." She smirked. "God, he's a terrible singer. But still... it was oddly endearing."

Rose's brow furrowed. "He sang to me?"

"Something about Josephine," Eve said with a shrug. "But that's not the point. The point is, you aren't happy. And you know it."

Rose's voice sharpened. "Have you ever stopped to think it's because I'm not with Henry?"

Eve's reply was quick, cutting. "Have you ever stopped to think it's because you're not with Jack?"

She leaned forward, lowering her voice. "The only reason you miss California so much is because it reminds you of him, his stories, that ship. Being there is the only way you can keep him close without blowing up your perfect little life with Henry."

Rose froze. "How did you know that-"

"Ha!" Eve jabbed a finger at her triumphantly. "Gotcha."

"Eve-"

"I know you better than you know yourself."

Rose's jaw tightened. "I wish to end this conversation."

Eve rolled her eyes and picked up her fork again. "And so we shall. But just because you won't say it out loud doesn't make it any less true."

New York City, New York
August 17th, 1922

"Eve," Jack walked along the pool's edge, trying to catch her attention as she cut through the water with long, deliberate strokes. "Eve, come on. I've been trying to talk to you for five minutes now."

She flicked him a glance, dismissive, and kept swimming.

"I'm sorry I was such an ass," he said at last.

"Yes," she replied coolly, "you were."

Jack sighed. "How do I get you to forgive me?"

She stopped mid-stroke, water dripping from her lashes as she tilted her head at him. A sly smile curled at her lips. "Jump in the pool."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"I've got clothes on."

"Exactly." She folded her arms. "I want you to make an absolute fool of yourself."

"Eve..." He tried for charm. "Be reasonable."

"You called me annoying."

Jack smirked. "Well, sometimes you're a bit of a handful."

Her face fell. The joke landed flat.

He raised his hands quickly. "I was kidding. Really."

Her stare didn't soften. "Jump in."

"You mean I have to?"

"Yes."

Jack hesitated, glancing down at his shoes, his shirt, the sun shimmering off the pool. Eve just stood there, chin lifted, daring him.

He muttered something under his breath, then took a step back, before suddenly leaping forward and jumping straight into the water, sending up a dramatic splash that soaked her where she stood.

When he surfaced, gasping and slicking his hair back, she was sputtering with laughter despite herself.

"See?" he grinned. "Idiot enough for you?"

"Yes, perfect! I forgive you."

He laughed, shaking his head.

The two didn't linger long in the pool. After toweling themselves down, Eve managed to dry quickly, but Jack, his clothes still clinging to him, looked defeated, dripping as he followed her back into the house.

They crossed paths with Rose in the parlor. She was just about to settle in with a book, intending to lose herself in its pages, when she glanced up.
Her eyes landed on Jack.

It wasn't Eve that startled her, it was him. The sight stopped her cold. His soaked shirt, plastered white against his skin, his trousers darkened with water, his hair slicked back and dripping... It was the same. Exactly the same as the last night she had seen him alive.

Her breath hitched painfully, her throat tightening until she couldn't swallow. The book slipped from her hands and struck the floor with a heavy thud.

"Rose?" Eve's voice broke the silence, brow furrowed in confusion.

Rose didn't answer. Her eyes stayed locked on Jack, wide and stricken. Her voice came out barely above a whisper, trembling: "Why are you so wet?"

Jack blinked at her, caught off guard. "Oh, Eve made me. Said it was the only way she'd forgive me." He tried to laugh.

Rose's eyes shimmered, tears threatening to spill as her throat burned. Only Jack seemed to notice the shift, the way she looked at him as though she were seeing a ghost.

"Well," she forced out, voice breaking, "don't... don't do that."

"What?" Jack stepped forward, but she recoiled.

Without another word, she turned and fled, rushing upstairs and leaving him and Eve frozen in the parlor, both bewildered.

Chapter Text

New York City, New York
August 17th, 1922

"Rose?" Jack knocked softly on her door. His clothes clung uncomfortably, damp and cold against his skin.

"I'm alright, Jack." Her voice was muffled, brittle.

He knew she wasn't. "Could you let me in anyway?"

"Why?"

Jack hesitated. He hadn't thought of an excuse. "I was hoping you had some extra towels. I'm still dripping everywhere."

After a pause, the door cracked open. She avoided his eyes. "I have a few. Come in."

"Where are they?"

"In the bathroom."

He started that way, then stopped. "Alright. I lied. Maybe I do need towels, but that's not why I'm here."

Her gaze finally flicked toward him, wary. "Then why are you?"

"Because... whatever that was downstairs, it was weird."

"Nothing happened," she said quickly.

Jack let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "Don't lie to me, Rose."

"I'm not lying. I just... I got scared, that's all."

"Scared?" His brow furrowed. "Of what? Me, getting water on the rug?"

At last, she looked at him. Really looked. His shirt clung translucent to his chest, his hair dark and dripping. A chill ran through her, and before he could press further, she darted into the bathroom.

"My god, Jack, why haven't you taken the towels yet?"

She returned with an armful, wrapping them hastily around his shoulders. Then she tugged the blanket from her bed, throwing it over him before pushing him toward the fireplace.

"Sit," she ordered, her voice trembling despite herself.

Jack obeyed. The warmth of the fire began to seep into his bones, but it wasn't the heat that stilled him, it was the look on her face. Fragile. Haunted.

She lowered herself to the rug beside him. For a long while, neither spoke. They only sat there in silence, eyes fixed on the flames, as if both were afraid of what might surface if they turned to look at each other.

"I understand now," Jack whispered. "I'm alright, Rose. Really. It was a warm pool, and it's August."

"I know. I'm not stupid."

"No, you're not. But sometimes memories make us see things that aren't really there." He stared into the fire, his lips tugging into a half-smile. "You know, after everything, I briefly lost my mind. Didn't feel that way at the time, of course. I suppose insane people never know they're insane."

Rose's voice softened. "What happened?"

"I forgot things. I'd ask the nurses for you, over and over, not realizing I'd already done it. And even when they reminded me you were gone, I couldn't believe it. My head just... refused. I'd convince myself you were still out there somewhere, waiting."

Rose said nothing for a long while. The fire crackled between them. He began to worry, until she finally spoke.

"I've dreamt of you nearly every night since."

His head turned sharply. "What?"

"I feel awfully guilty about it."

"You do?"

"Every night... even the ones I spend next to Henry."

Jack blinked, floored. "Why are you telling me this?"

She gave a brittle laugh, cut short. "Maybe I am stupid. Or maybe I just wanted it off my chest."

"So... we're confessing things now?" His voice was low, almost dangerous.

"You have something to confess?"

"Well, the other night... you told me you loved me."

Her breath caught. "I did?"

Jack nodded once.

"My god..." She buried her face against her knees, unable to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry, Jack."

"There's no need to apologize."

"No, I do. I wasn't myself. God, I need to get back home. I need to see Henry."

Jack stiffened. "What?"

"I haven't been myself since I left. I've been reckless, saying things I don't mean, telling a man I knew for a few days years ago that I love him-"

"Are you kidding me?" His voice cut sharp, incredulous.

"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

He leaned back, jaw tight. "Well, I hope you are. Because if you're not... then you're unbelievable."

Her voice wavered. "Are you angry?"

"No," he exhaled, though the word was heavy, "I just thought by now, you'd know what you want."

The words landed cold. He rose, the towels and blanket sliding off his shoulders to the floor.

"Jack?" she whispered, watching him move toward the door.

He paused only long enough to throw his last words over his shoulder. "Start packing. I'll tell Eve we're leaving for California tomorrow."

The door closed.

New York City, New York
August 18th, 1922

"Alright, you two." Eve took a slow drag from her cigarette, then tapped the ash into the tray beside her. With a firmness that allowed no refusal, she herded Jack and Rose into the small living room their three rooms shared. They sat on opposite ends of the couch, their distance loud, while Eve remained standing in front of them. "Now, what's going on here?"

Jack's answer came quick, clipped. "We're going back to California, just as I told you both last night." His voice carried a cold edge. Then he added, "Slight change. You two are going back to California. I'm going to Wisconsin."

Rose's head snapped toward him. "What?"

"It's my home," Jack said simply.

Eve gave a short, disbelieving laugh. "I thought it wasn't home anymore."

He exhaled, tired. "Maybe not. But it's where I belong. I've got nothing waiting in California, no job, no place to live. At least in Chippewa, I still have my parents' house. The deed's in my name."

Eve searched his face. "And you're sure about this?"

"I'm certain." He forced a smile, though it didn't reach his eyes.

Her shoulders slumped. "Well... we can't stop you." Her voice thinned. "Will you come visit California?"

Jack hesitated, then gave her the answer she wanted. "Surely. One day."

Rose stayed silent, her gaze fixed on a worn patch of the rug. She hadn't looked up since he spoke.

Eve pressed her lips together, trying to keep her composure. "I'd make some silly remark right now, but truth be told... I'm awfully sad."

Jack rose, resting a hand on her shoulder. "You're a good friend."

She managed a small smile through the heaviness. "We've had quite the time, haven't we?" Then her eyes flicked to Rose, still hunched over. "Well. I ought to go tell Alice. Maybe we can catch a train tonight."

"Sounds good," Jack said.

Eve glanced back at Rose. "Rose?"

Her voice was low, nearly swallowed by the silence. "Yes. Sounds good."

Somewhere in Pennsylvania
August 18th, 1922

The train rattled steadily toward Chicago, the iron wheels groaning beneath them. By tomorrow they would arrive, Jack transferring north to Wisconsin, Rose and Eve bound west. Eve, ever sentimental, had pleaded for one last night together in the Chicago, but Jack and Rose, too raw from recent words, too afraid of what might slip between them, had insisted on parting as soon as possible.

Third-class offered little comfort. Their "beds" were narrow bunks, stacked and stiff, creaking with every sway of the train. Rose had taken the top berth, Jack directly beneath her.

Jack and Eve sat cross-legged on her narrow bunk, a pile of worn cards between them. The train rattled along, steady and restless, while Rose lay on the opposite bed, eyes closed but sleep refusing to come.

"You're decent," Eve said with a sly grin as she tossed down a card, "but not as good as me."

Jack snorted, gathering his hand. "Decent? Eve, this was how I made most of my money years ago. I'm better than you, certainly."

"Sure," she drawled, smirking as she leaned back against the wall. "Whatever keeps your ego afloat." Eve reached into her bag and pulled out a slim packet. She held it up between two fingers. "Ciggy?"

Jack nodded. She handed him one, then leaned in so he could light both. The glow of the match caught his face in warm flickers.

Eve blew out a thin stream of smoke, eyeing him. "You know, you're awfully easy to read."

"Maybe I want you to think that," he shot back, lips tugging into a grin.

"Oh, so you're playing the long game."

"Exactly."

"Then you're still losing. Which makes you an idiot and a loser."

Jack laughed quietly, shaking his head. "Remind me why I agreed to this again?"

Across the room, Rose rolled onto her side, keeping her breathing slow. She tried to shut it out, but their voices carried in the cramped little cabin, light and teasing.

Eve looked over at Rose, watching the steady rise and fall of her breathing. Convinced she was asleep, she turned back to Jack. The glow of the cigarette flickered against his face, sharpening the shadows under his tired eyes.

"May I ask something?" she whispered.

"Hm." He gave a small nod, tapping ash into a tin cup.

"Why are we here? Why did you bring us onto this train?"

"You both agreed."

"Because you were so set on it, how could we disagree?" She tilted her head. "We could've stayed in New York."

"It's not leaving New York that bothers you." His voice was low, flat.

"It's leaving you," she admitted. Then, with a sharp roll of her eyes, "And eventually leaving Rose, when she runs off into the sunset with Henry."

At the name, Jack's jaw tightened. He took a long drag, the ember burning bright, and finally let the smoke spill out slowly. His voice dropped to nearly nothing.

"I'm tired of the pain every day," he said. "Every morning I wake up with her still in my head. Every night I go to bed knowing she isn't mine. She looks at me like I'm a stranger and then like I'm the only one she sees, back and forth, back and forth, and I can't stand it anymore. It's tearing me apart, Eve."

Eve blinked at him, her sharpness softening. She reached out, laying two fingers lightly against his chest, right where his heart beat beneath his shirt.

"From my experience, distance doesn't solve what's going on there," she said gently. Then, with a crooked little smile, she added, "Although, truth be told, I don't have any experience in this whatsoever. But I've heard that's how it works."

Jack let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "Thank you for the wise advice."

She tilted her head. "Is it really what you want? Going back to Wisconsin?"

"No," he admitted, shaking his head. "Not really. But maybe it's the only place that'll have me. Out there, I can fade into something simple."

Eve pursed her lips, studying him. "Who knows. Maybe you'll find yourself a pretty little Wisconsin girl."

Jack didn't answer. He only leaned back against the cabin wall, staring at nothing.

Eve sighed, smoke curling from her lips. "As for me, I'll be finding a handsome Italian man back in California. I'm sure of it. He'll say something like..." She lifted her hand dramatically. "Il destino ci ha fatto incontrare."

Jack glanced at her, almost amused. "Fate brought us together?"

Her eyes widened. "Exactly! How'd you know?"

He chuckled softly, though there was no joy in it. "If I'd known you ten years ago, I would've had the perfect guy for you. Taught me a few things."

"Well, where is he?" she grinned.

Jack's smile faltered, eyes darkening.
"Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean."

The air shifted heavy. Eve dropped her gaze, realizing the line she'd stumbled across.

"Oh."

Jack crushed his cigarette into the tin, his voice rough. "I'm gonna take a little walk. Care to join me?"

Eve gave him a small, gentle smile. "Sure."

The two slipped quietly from the cramped room, the door clicking shut behind them.

For a moment, silence lingered. Then Rose sat up in her bed, her chest rising and falling fast. Her fingers clutched at the blanket as if it could steady her. She had heard every word. And they had no idea.

Somewhere in Indiana
August 19th, 1922

Morning came harsh and unwelcome, the gray light slipping through the train window and settling over the three of them. The end of their little journey loomed close. Jack and Eve had gone off to find breakfast, while Rose declined, claiming she wasn't hungry.

When Jack returned, he carried a small wrapped sandwich.

"Here," he said softly, setting it in front of her. "Please eat. You didn't touch dinner last night."

"I'm alright. Thank you."

Jack hesitated, eyes flicking toward Eve, who only gave a small, weary shake of her head.

"I'll leave it here in case you change your mind," he murmured, placing it by her hand before sitting back.

Rose had grown quiet and unreachable since Jack announced his plan to leave for Wisconsin. He assumed it was indifference, she had Henry waiting, after all, but Eve could see more clearly. She knew exactly why Rose had pulled into herself.

"Oh, Jack," Eve said suddenly, voice bright with false casualness, "I just remembered, I never got any milk. Would you mind going back for me?"

He frowned. "Now?"

She fixed him with a deliberate look, making her meaning clear.

Jack blinked, then nodded. "Of course." He slipped out, leaving the two women in the narrow, rattling room.

Eve moved across from Rose, picking up the sandwich and turning it in her hands as though inspecting treasure. "He spent ages looking for something you might actually eat. I was ready to drag him back myself, but he wouldn't give up."

Rose didn't answer.

"Does Henry know you're coming?" Eve pressed.

"I sent a telegram. Haven't heard back."

"You've spoken for weeks about going home. I thought you'd be thrilled."

"I am. I've missed it."

Eve arched a brow. "Then why do you sound like you're marching to your execution?"

Rose's eyes lowered. Her voice was barely above the hum of the train. "Because home isn't the same anymore. It can't be."

"Why not?"

"Jack," she breathed, the name falling out as if it had been waiting. "It won't ever be the home I knew, because he'll be in every corner of it."

Eve studied her for a long moment, then sighed. "No one ever said you had to walk back into the life you left."

Rose turned her face to the window, unwilling to say more.

"Will you eat?" Eve asked gently.

Rose finally reached for the sandwich. "Yes."

When Jack returned, he stopped short at the sight of her nibbling at the bread. A faint warmth touched his features, just enough to betray that, despite everything, she still mattered to him.

Chapter Text

Chicago, Illinois
August 19th, 1922

In about seven minutes, they would stop in Chicago. Their bags were already stacked neatly on the beds, Eve double-checking corners and under seats to make sure nothing had been left behind. Jack's stop was fast approaching. Then, Rose and Eve would board their next train west to California on the next stop.

Their goodbyes would have to be quick, so Eve decided to start hers early.

She threw her arms around Jack. "Oh, who would have thought I'd ever be such good friends with a man!”

Jack laughed in surprise. "What?"

"Well, I've only ever been friends with women. Anyways," she went on airily, "you must promise you'll visit California."

"Well, I-"

"Promise."

Jack chuckled. "Alright, I promise."

"Splendid. And perhaps I'll wander into Chippewa one day."

"Perhaps."

The call came down the train: Five minutes until the next stop.

"Well, that's me," Jack said, the lightness leaving his tone. His eyes drifted toward Rose. Their goodbye still unspoken, hovering painfully between them.

She offered him a small, polite smile that betrayed nothing of the storm within her. No embrace, no touch, not even the brush of a sleeve. Six feet of distance might as well have been a canyon.

"Goodbye, Rose," he said quietly, as though speaking to someone he'd once known.

Her throat tightened. "Goodbye."

And then he was gone.

The train began to slow, the weight of his absence pressing down on her like a stone. Eve leaned toward the window, searching the platform for him.

Rose remained rooted in place, staring at the door he had walked through. She stared until the train groaned to a full stop. And then, something inside her snapped.

What was she doing?

Without warning, Rose lunged for her bags, hands trembling as she tried to gather them all at once.

"Rose?" Eve blinked, startled. "What on earth are you doing-"

Rose didn't answer. She shoved past, determined.

"Oh, marvelous," Eve muttered, snatching up her own bags. "Of course we're doing this now."

Rose stormed down the corridor, skirt brushing against passengers, Eve hustling to keep up. They nearly toppled a man with a tray of tea, someone cursed at them in German, and Eve huffed, "Apologies, emergency of the heart!" as they barreled through.

At the exit, a conductor was just swinging the door shut.

"Stop this instant!" Rose cried. Her voice cracked with desperation, and the poor man jumped back in alarm.

The women leapt down onto the platform, Eve landing awkwardly behind Rose. "Oh yes, let's add broken ankles to the drama!" she muttered.

But Rose was already scanning the crowded station with frantic eyes. Dozens of faces blurred past, strangers hurrying, luggage clattering, voices echoing off the rafters. But none of them were Jack.

Her heart pounded.

"Jack!" she called out, her voice breaking through the echo of whistles and chattering passengers. Eve trailed close behind, a little breathless but determined.

"Jack!" Eve shouted too, though it came out more like she was searching for a lost dog than a man.
But there was no sign of him. Just a blur of hats and coats, steam rising off the tracks, the swell of strangers' voices blending into chaos.

"Where is he?" Rose's breath caught in her throat, panic clawing at her chest.

"Rose, what are we doing?" Eve asked, weaving past a family with heavy trunks.

"Frankly, I'm not quite sure," Rose admitted, her voice sharp with desperation. She craned her neck, searching, refusing to let the crowd swallow him whole.

Eve slowed for just a moment, catching her friend's face. Her eyes softened, sincere and kind.

"What urged you to jump off that train?"

"I need to find him," Rose said, her voice fierce, almost wild.

She spun in a slow circle, scanning the bustling station with exaggerated seriousness. "Might take a while," she muttered, but Rose was already moving, her steps quick and unwavering. Rose didn't answer. She couldn't. Her eyes were locked on the crowd ahead, her pulse racing. She would find him. She had to.

"Perhaps he's already on the train to Wisconsin?" Eve suggested, squinting at the sea of people as though she might pluck him out like a needle from straw.

"No, how could he? So fast?" Rose snapped, though her voice faltered.

"Well, unless he sprouted wings," Eve muttered.
"When's the next train?"

Rose's eyes darted to the overhead board. Her heart stopped. "It's leaving in five minutes. He must be on it."

She pointed to the ticket line, an endless serpent of weary travelers clutching their bags. "We gotta get tickets."

"Goddamnit," Rose whispered, panic surging through her chest. The line inched forward at a glacial pace.

Without waiting for permission, Eve grabbed Rose's hand and marched straight to the front, weaving through coats and elbows. Someone shouted behind them, another cursed, but Eve just called over her shoulder, "Urgent business!
Excuse us!"

The clock above the station ticked louder in her ears. Three minutes.

"Two for Wisconsin," Eve demanded breathlessly when they reached the counter, slamming down money she didn't even count.

The ticket master raised an eyebrow. "Cutting the line, huh?"

"It's a matter of life or death," Eve said, deadpan. "Mostly love, maybe some death. Just give us the tickets."

Rose clutched the counter, trembling with impatience. Jack was there, he had to be.

The man slid two tickets across. Rose snatched them, almost tearing them in her haste.

"Come on!" she cried, and together they bolted for the platform, weaving through the crowd.

But when they arrived, Rose's stomach dropped. The train was already in motion, its wheels grinding louder with every second.

"No!" Rose's voice cracked as she sprinted forward, desperate, reaching as though her hands could catch the edge of the last car.

Her heels skidded against the platform, her arms stretching out, but the train only roared past, faster and faster, until the final car vanished into the haze of steam.

Eve followed soon after.

"No problem," Eve gasped, forcing lightness into her tone. She smoothed her skirt and tried to sound steady, as though her lungs weren't burning. "We'll get the next one. I'm sure they've got plenty of trains headed north today."

Rose's head lifted, her tear-streaked face catching the light. Her lips trembled, but no sound came out at first. Finally, she whispered, hoarse, "But he was on that one."

A crooked smile tugged at Eve's lips. "So... does this mean there won't be a wedding?"

Rose blinked, stunned. "What?"

"I never liked Henry," Eve said matter-of-factly, brushing a strand of hair from her damp forehead.

"Eve!" Rose gasped, half scolding, half scandalized.

"What? Does that make me absolutely terrible?" Eve's grin widened, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of sincerity.

“Well... why didn't you tell me sooner?" Rose's voice cracked, somewhere between hurt and curiosity.

"God, I tried," Eve sighed. "But you always looked so happy, like the two of you were this perfect couple out of some moving picture. Who was I to ruin that?"

Rose blinked, taken aback. "Perfect?"

Eve gave a little laugh, dry and sharp. "Perfect on the outside, maybe. Inside... well, Henry was never all that nice to me. Not cruel exactly, just dismissive. Like I was furniture in the room. I figured you'd see it eventually. Or maybe you already did, and just didn't want to admit it."

Rose's lips parted, but no words came. She stared at her shaky hands, the ache in her chest growing heavier.

"I wanted it to work. I wanted to believe I'd chosen the right life."

Eve tilted her head, studying her. "And now?"

“Now all I can think is how wrong I was."

Eve didn't speak right away, just reached over and laced their hands together, grounding her. "Let's go see when the next train comes in."

Chapter Text

Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin
August 19th, 1922

Same old town, same old streets.

Chippewa Falls hadn't changed a bit. Jack didn't bother to take in the details as he walked through, he didn't need to. The rhythm of the place was stitched into him, even after years away. Most of the town was tucked inside by now, gathering around supper tables while the sun bled orange and pink across the sky.

Jack's own place sat at the edge of it all, small, almost swallowed by the woods around it. The roof sagged just a little, the paint on the porch rails long since peeled away, but it was solid. Honest. A house built for living, not for showing off.

As he approached, the silence pressed heavier. He could almost hear echoes of his younger self, boots stomping up the steps, his mother's voice calling him in, his father humming some tune while stacking wood by the shed. Now, the windows were dark, the door shut tight.

His old bedroom was smaller than he remembered, rooms from childhood always were. Dust hung in the air, visible in the thin shaft of moonlight that slipped through the curtainless window.

The bed was still there, pressed against the far wall, the wooden frame worn smooth by years of restless nights. The quilt, faded, frayed at the edges, still bore the handiwork of his mother's stitching. A narrow dresser leaned slightly to one side, its top cluttered with relics he hadn't touched in a decade: a chipped tin toy, a rusted pocketknife, a sketchbook with its cover curled from damp.

Jack sat down heavily on the bed, the springs creaking beneath him. He lay back, staring up at the ceiling, where water stains spread like old bruises across the plaster.

And then, inevitably, came Rose. Her face filled his mind so vividly it was as though she lingered in the room with him, her laugh tangled with the sound of the trees outside, her warmth ghosting across the empty bed. But the truth burned sharper than any memory: she wasn't there. She had been within reach and now she was gone again, slipped away on a train.

Jack pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes, as if he could blot out the ache. The bed that had once been a place of boyish dreams now felt like a coffin lined with everything he had lost. And tonight, more than ever, he believed he had lost Rose forever.

Chicago, Illinois
August 19th, 1922

There was no train going to Wisconsin that day.

And so, the girls, stranded, restless and aching, made do with a night in Chicago. Just as Eve had hoped for, they found a place to stay: nothing more than a narrow bed, a cracked mirror, and a bathroom that whined every time the faucet turned. But it was right in the heart of the city, close enough to the rumble of streetcars and the glow of neon signs that Rose could feel Chicago humming beneath her feet.

Eve had made up her mind the moment they checked in. She would not let Rose spend the night staring at the ceiling, torturing herself over the train she had missed.

"Here's the plan," Eve declared as she rummaged through her little travel bag, tossing stockings and gloves about until she found her lipstick. "We're going out. No sulking, no sighing, no staring out windows like some tragic heroine."

She glanced at Rose, who sat hunched on the bed, still in her traveling dress.

Rose blinked at her. "Eve, I hardly think-"

"Ah!" Eve snapped the lipstick closed with a flourish. "Thinking is your problem. For one blissful evening, perhaps you'll remember there's more to life than Henry, Cal, or Jack Dawson."

Despite herself, a laugh escaped Rose. Eve seized on it instantly, tugging her up from the bed.
"That's the spirit!"

The streets were alive, a patchwork of glowing signs and the constant hum of streetcars rattling over tracks. Eve led the way, skipping ahead like a child letting her excitement spill freely into the night. Rose followed, letting herself be pulled along, her own laughter bubbling up despite the knot still twisting in her chest.

They ducked into a small corner shop lit by a flickering gas lamp.

The shopkeeper, a tired-looking man with a pencil tucked behind his ear, gave them a glance as Eve jabbed a coin into his hand. "Two cream sodas, please."

The man's hands moved with careful precision, twisting the soda siphon, measuring the syrup, and topping the glasses with foamy, creamy froth. Rose and Eve watched, wide-eyed, as if witnessing a magic trick.

"Look at him go," Eve whispered, leaning slightly over the counter. "It's like watching a symphony... but with bubbles."

Rose giggled. "He's taking forever. Just pour it already!"

The man shot them a weary glance but didn't miss a beat. Eve nudged Rose, whispering, "Patience, dear. This is art. You don't rush art."

The soda finally poured, fizzing and foaming over the top, and the girls squealed in delight. Rose took a tentative sip, the sweet creaminess hitting her tongue, and her eyes lit up.

"Wow," she breathed.

Eve laughed, tipping her head back to sip hers. "Next time, we're ordering ten at once."

Rose snorted, nearly spilling her soda. "You are ridiculous." She smiled, feeling lighter than she had in days, the city buzzing faintly outside as they clutched their frothy drinks, lost in the joy of the small, perfect moment. "I hardly believe all this sugar is good for us."

"Well," Eve said, flashing a mischievous grin, "what's the point of life without sweets? In the orphanage, we never got treats like these. Maybe that's why life was so gray back then."

"Perhaps you're right," Rose said, twirling her straw, "Mother never let me have anything sweet. I felt the exact same way."

Eve leaned back against the counter with a dramatic sigh. "What an absolute shame."

"Well, she's dead now," Rose added bluntly.

For a moment, silence fell between them, then completely unexpectedly, they both burst into laughter.

"My god! We shouldn't be laughing, that's terrible!" Eve gasped between giggles, clutching her stomach.

"That's alright. We never did get along."

Eve nudged her shoulder playfully.

Rose smiled, feeling the tension of the past few weeks lift just a little. In the warm glow of the shop, with the faint hiss of the soda fountain and the sticky sweetness of the cream sodas, it felt briefly that the world could be nothing but laughter.

Eve's eyes sparkled. "You know, we should make a habit of this. Midnight sweets, random adventures, laughing at everything we're not supposed to."

Rose grinned. "We'd gain fifteen pounds in a week."

"Oh, bullocks!" Eve waved her hand dramatically, as if swatting away the very idea of calories. "Life's far too short to worry about waistlines."

"Is that your grand life philosophy, then? Live fast, eat cream soda, and laugh at death?"

Eve leaned back on her heels, smirking. "Exactly."

The two of them laughed again, the kind of laugh that bounced through the quiet street, mingling with the soft hum of Chicago at night.

Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin
August 20th, 1922

Jack wandered through the aisles of the small grocery shop like a man possessed by some quiet gloom, his shoulders slumped, his eyes glazed over. The sun hadn't even hit its stride yet, but he looked like he'd been up all night wrestling with the universe and losing.

He reached absentmindedly for a can of soup, then another, then muttered to himself before turning to the woman standing next to him.

"Excuse me," he said, his voice barely above a croak. "Do you know where I can get some booze?"

The woman froze mid-reach for a loaf of bread. Her eyes went wide, her hand clutching the loaf as if it were a weapon.

"Excuse me?" she sputtered, her voice rising.
"Booze? In broad daylight? Are you insane?"

Jack blinked at her, clearly uncomprehending. "Uh... yeah. You know, whiskey, gin... something to wake me up."

The woman gasped like he'd suggested he wanted to rob a bank right there in the produce aisle.

"Sir! That's illegal! Haven't you heard of the Volstead Act? My goodness!"

Jack's shoulders slumped even further. "Right... of course. I forgot. Well, that's disappointing." He let out a hollow sigh, set the food down, and shuffled to the next aisle, muttering,

The woman watched him go, whispering under her breath, "Unbelievable..."

And with that, he shuffled off, completely unaware that every shopper he passed was giving him a mix of pity, confusion, and a touch of horror.

The cashier, an older woman in her late sixties, had been eyeing Jack longer than seemed appropriate. He noticed, shifting awkwardly as she studied him, her expression somewhere between recognition and curiosity.

"You don't know me," he said finally, "everyone I knew from here is gone."

Her eyes twinkled, softening the sharp edges of the grocery store. "No, I know you. Little Jack Dawson, though you're all grown up now, of course."

Jack blinked. "What...?"

She chuckled, leaning slightly over the counter, as if sharing a secret. "I'm an old friend of your mother's. You surely don't remember me. Last time I saw you, you must have been nine."

"My mother?" Jack's voice was low, almost hesitant.

"Yes, of course. Poor girl... we all miss her. As I'm sure you do."

Jack swallowed, unable to meet her eyes. He hadn't spoken to someone who knew anything about his past in years, and the sudden familiarity felt like stepping into a half-remembered dream.

The woman smiled softly, the kind of smile that seemed to pull warmth out of thin air. "You look awfully sad, Jack."

"I'm aware," he muttered, letting the corners of his mouth twitch as if to smile, but it never quite reached his eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"I didn't think I'd ever be here again. And truthfully... I never wanted to."

"Then why are you?"

"It's all I've got."

She gave a small, amused scoff. "Someone once told me... if you've got nothing, you've got nothing to lose."

Jack's eyes shot up at her. "I say that all the time."

"Sure you do! Your mother did too," she said, giving him a knowing, gentle smile.

Jack blinked, realization settling in. "Oh... so that's where I got it from."

"Now, go on. Have a good day, Jack. Cheer yourself up, life's far too short to be all mopey."

He gave a faint, grateful smile. "Thank you, Mrs..."

Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin
August 20th, 1922

It was late afternoon in the small town, the sun hanging low and golden over Chippewa Falls, casting long, lazy shadows across the quiet streets. Eve and Rose walked side by side, taking it all in. The clapboard houses with their neat gardens, the low hum of children playing somewhere out of sight, the occasional bark of a dog that echoed faintly between buildings.

"We're definitely not in Chicago anymore," Eve muttered, tugging her suitcase behind her. The wheels kicked up dust, streaking the sides of the bags with the dry earth of Chippewa Falls.

Rose looked around, letting her eyes linger on the quiet streets and low, wooden houses. "It's barely changed," she said softly, almost to herself.

"How far is it?" Eve asked, adjusting her grip on her bag.

"Well," Rose began, squinting down the narrow lane ahead, "last time I was here, a man gave me directions to Jack's house. I'm fairly certain this is the way."

"How'd he know where Jack's house is?" Eve asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Everyone knows where his house is. It's the little abandoned place by the lake."

Eve chuckled. "Abandoned, huh? Sounds delightfully scary."

"No, just a bit sad."

The two of them continued down the dusty lane, the occasional bird rising from the trees as if startled by their chatter. The lake came into view at the end of the path, glimmering in the late afternoon sun, and there it was: Jack's small, secluded house, tucked among the trees, its weathered wood glowing warmly in the fading light.

Rose and Eve stopped in front of the small, weathered house. This was the moment she had been running toward, the life she had been imagining. Jack. Everything else faded behind that thought.

Eve noticed the tightness in Rose's shoulders, the way her hands trembled around the luggage handles. She took a step back, her usual desire to be part of every adventure quieted by the weight of the moment. "I think... you should go in alone," she said softly.

Rose blinked. "What?"

"This is yours," Eve explained, her voice gentle but firm. "This has nothing to do with me. I don't want to disturb it. I'll wait over there by the tree."

Rose hesitated, searching her friend's face. "You're sure?"

Eve nodded, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. "Just... don't make me wait out here all day."

Rose let out a shaky laugh and hugged her tightly. "Thank you, Eve."

She turned and, with her heart hammering in her chest, started toward the little house, each step heavy with anticipation.

When she reached the front door, her fingers hovered over the worn wood, trembling slightly.
She took a deep breath, knuckles brushing the surface, then lifted her hand and knocked.