(I haven't thought of a title...)

 

Cal slumped into the cab. His father frowned and his mother's nose wrinkled at his torn clothes. He hadn't had a chance to change since it had happened. Since that "unsinkable" ship had sunk. Since he had lost his Rose.

 

Rose.

 

The color rose to his cheeks as he remembered her. How she had fled his arms to be with that street rat. Eyes clenched tightly closed, he held back tears. Well, she was with that rat for all time now.

 

"Cal, dear. Please!" Cal's mother pleaded with him to look at her.

 

"Mother, I'm tired, and I think I may have a cold." Cal muttered.

 

"Oh, dear." His mother unfolded and refolded her gloved for the rest of the drive.

 

Cal felt bad for his parents, but worse for himself. Hard as it was to believe, he had loved Rose, and what had she done? Better not to think about it to much.

 

He could still feel the icy water, still see the ship sinking into the water, straight down, after breaking in half.

 

The reports at the hearings said that many people denied that the ship had broken. Mr. Ismay himself said that the ship was in one piece when she finally sank.

 

Thank God he didn't have to go. Forget how Father got him out of it, the last thing he needed was all those damn people.

 

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Rose dodged the streetcars, her head down, her eyes on the road. Her mother had though that working as a seamstress was low? If her mother could see her now. A barmaid in a tiny tavern, she crawled home to the shack she called home at all hours, reeking of smoke and booze. It had been less than a month since the Ship of Dreams had sunk, leaving her alone and broke, save for the still almost wet money from Cal's jacket and the Heart of the Ocean. That money was going to go towards going to the other coast. After all, she had always wanted to be a actress....

 

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Three months...

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Rose sighed, and readjusted herself in her chair. She had never liked doctors, and her reason for seeing this one peeved her all the more. She couldn't possibly be pregnant! She had only slept with one man, and she had only slept with him once. She wasn't married, she worked in a bar, she barely had enough money to feed herself, let alone a baby.

 

That wasn't totally true. She had about a hundred dollars, but that was for going out west as soon as she saved about a hundred more. The money clenched in her fist to pay for the doctor was how many more days she would have to stay here? But she had to know.

 

The whole experience was embarrassing. The doctor leered at her when she informed him that she wasn't married, and made the most of telling her that she was to have a baby.

 

A baby?

 

Jack's baby. She'd have to have it. Have to raise it, love it.

 

But who was she kidding? She couldn't be an actress with a baby. She couldn't even take the baby out west. She would have to leave it.

 

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Cal stood in a corner, trying to ignore everyone. His father insisted on having this damn party. Across the room, a flash of white cought his eye. A young lady sat in the opposite corner, trying, as he was, not to be seen. She looked rather familiar...

 

"Do I know you from somewhere?" Cal asked, walking over to her.

 

"Yes. Um...I believe you were in the suite next to mine on the...Titanic."

 

"Ahh, yes! Miss. Lewis, correct?" The girl smiled.

 

"Yes. And you are Mr. Hockly." She held out her hand, and Cal kissed it.

 

"Quite right. But you must call me Cal. All my friends do." he said over her hand.

 

"So we're friends? All right, but then you must call me Bridget. Or Bri, if you prefer."

 

"If it pleases you, Bri."

 

"It does." Bri looked around, "So, Mr. Hockly, why aren't you out dancing? I seem to recall a young lady...?"

 

"Rose died on the ship."

 

"Oh." Bri blushed, "I'm terribly sorry." Cal nodded, and looked bleak. The he looked up and saw Bri fidgeting.

 

 

"Well, since I seem to have lost my dance partner, will you replace her?" Bri's head flipped up, and she smiled again.

 

"But of course."

 

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Five months...

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Rose looked back only once. The tiny basket, with the quiet child sat on the stoop of the orphanage. The tag it bore read: Please take care of my baby. His name is Jack Dawson Jr.

 

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Sister Mary Luke opened the front door to sweep it off when the door cough on something. Another basket. Sighing, she reached for it, read the tag, and brought it inside.

 

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