If it had been anyone else, Cal might have forgot about it.

Just carried on with his life, found a girl to settle down with, and mark that last chapter off as an experimental and rather confusing side step.

He was back on the straight and narrow now (so to speak), and trying to make sense of paperwork and listen to words that he needed to pay more attention to than usual.

"...Caledon, are you listening to me?"

Cal took another sip of his coffee, and offered the other man a tight smile.

"Yes. Of course I am."

He hadn't been, because he couldn't forget.

He wondered what Jack might have been doing right now.

"If I am going to hand this off to you, you understand that you can't be delicate about the procedure? Be brutal, dismiss who you need to. The business is our livelihood, Caledon."

"Obviously. I understand."

Probably he would have been in another country by now. Sketching someone else, kissing someone else. Doing whatever the hell he liked with someone else.

"And I assume you'll have it done by Friday."

"Sooner, if I can help it."

Cal tided the paperwork up on the tabletop, and offered a smile that could not extend to his eyes, even if he tried.

"Be seeing you tomorrow, Cal."

"Goodbye, father."

Cal waited for the door to clip shut, before he sank back into a chair, certain that he was alone again.

The house was too quiet, but then it had never been intended for one person.

Right now, Rose were supposed to be there, and maybe she'd be scowling beautifully, and making disparaging remarks about everything relating to his existence, but at least he wouldn't have been alone.

And it wouldn't have been so terrible, either. He could handle the predictable disapproval of his father, the idea that he might have been too soft with Rose from the out. He could even handle the comments that occasionally passed around at recent dinner parties, claiming Rose was a few unsavoury names.

Cal always shut them down, and said it was a 'mutual parting'. It was, in some sense.

And nobody would ever know about Jack Dawson.

Late-afternoon sunlight spotlighted the envelope that sat half hidden by paperwork on the table. The elegant cursive of Ruth Dewitt Bukater was immediately recognisable, and Cal frowned at it and decided to ignore it, for perhaps the tenth time that day.

He swallowed down some more coffee, and tried, once again, to make some sense of the mess of paperwork. He imagined Jack and his mouth and his hands, instead.

"Damn it."

That was the trouble. He couldn't forget.

He slammed the coffee cup down, and turned his attention to the drinks cabinet instead.

There was no use in pining after the dead, but he could at least allow himself to become inebriated because of it.


There was certainly no use in it at all, because Jack arrived on his doorstep two days later.

He appeared very well and extremely alive.





an: it's done! Yay. I wasn't even planning to do more than one chapter of this fic, and you may have noticed the lazy decline as it went along. Thank you so so much for reading to the bitter end! But not too bitter, I hope :) if you're interested, I'll be posting a dodgy sequel, in which I don't have to worry about a three day time frame, but also don't worry; the writing shall still be awful.

thanks again for reading! loved reading the reviews!