This is a new fic I thought of. You'll have to see what happens, cuz I ain't giving anything away. This will be relatively short. Let's say the Titanic sank closer to the time they found the safe. It's ten years after the sinking, 1997. I think that's when the movie came out. Whatever. Rose is 27. She was 17 during the movie. Ok, you all are like "Get on with it, woman!" and I will. Right now, in fact.

I own nothing. Just the plot. Actually, not even, because this is basically the movie with a few tweaks.

This won't really be longer than, like, 5 chapters. That's if you're lucky. I also used the real script, so I cut stuff that's unnecessary. Like the stuff Lizzy says, that kind of thing. And I'm not going throught the whole movie. If you really want to, you can watch the movie just to update yourself on what happens. You will see the basic significance of moving it forward in time in the second chapter, I hope. And the story might not be as good because I know it's much more powerful when Rose is old. I also used the original script, so it might not be exactly like it is in the movie. I'll do my best, though. But there are several lines I like from the script that weren't in the movie, so I used those. Anywho, moving along...

Rose Dawson was sitting in her kitchen in Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin, eating breakfast. She had a small T.V. in there, and she had the news on. They were reporting on the failure of some mission or another.

"Mr. Lovett found a folder in the safe that held drawings," the reporter was saying, "All were ruined when the Titanic sank but one. Here it is."

The screen showed a picture of a drawing in pencil. It was of a girl lying on something, completely naked. Rose drew in a breath.

"This picture was drawn ten years ago yesterday, the day before the sinking of Titanic," the reporter continued, "The initials in the corner are J.D., and researchers are looking through passenger lists to find a record of him or her."

Rose was really listening now. She knew what those initials stood for. She also knew who the woman in the picture was. The reporter hadn't said what Mr. Lovett had been looking for, but Rose knew what it was as well.

Rose picked up her telephone and got hold of an operator. "Can you give me a Mr. Brock Lovett? I need to reach him."

"He is not at home, weren't you watching the news?" the woman said, sounding a bit irritated.

"I have been. Is there any way to reach him?"

There was silence for a few seconds. "Yes," the operator answered. "I'll hook you up."

Within seconds Rose heard the unmistakable sound that told her she was getting what she wanted. She had been waiting, listening to the ringing, about to hang up, when a man picked up.

"Hello? This is Bobby Buell, Brock Lovett's assistant. Can I help you?"

"Yes, this is Rose Dawson, and I would like to speak to Mr. Lovett," replied Rose calmly, "It's about the search for the diamond."

"Hold please."

She held, waiting for the man to pick up. He finally did. "This is Brock Lovett. How can I help you Mrs...?" There was a pause. "Ms. Dawson?"

"I was just wondering if you had found the Heart of the Ocean yet, Mr. Lovett."

There was stunned silence at the other end. She heard his assistant say quietly, "I told you you wanted to take this call."

"All right. You have my attention, Rose. Can you tell me who the woman in the picture is?"

"Oh yes. The woman in the picture is me."

Rose found herself, a few hours later, in a helicopter being taken to the boat where Brock Lovett was currently residing. The boat came into sight. It was a nice ship, but it was obviously for research, not comfort.

The helicopter touched down and she was helped off the aircraft. Lovett was staring at her. She hadn't changed very much since she was seventeen, so she still looked very much like the drawing.

She was led to a room where she unpacked. If she were to tell the whole story, she was going to be here for awhile. She was finishing putting photos on the bedside table when Brock Lovett knocked and came in.

"Is your stateroom all right?" he asked, slightly jokingly. He might even have even been making fun of her for saying she had sailed on the Titanic.

"Yes, very nice," she replied, not taking offence to the joke if it was meant that way.

Brock was looking at her pictures. "I have to have my pictures with me when I travel."

"Would you like anything?" Brock inquired.

"Yes. I would like to see my drawing."

She was led to some kind of laboratory. Mr. Lovett motioned to a dish filled with water. She walked over to it and looked inside. There it was, completely cleaned off. She had to bite her lip to keep tears from coming. In spite of all this, she began to smile, lost in memory. Brock Lovett was explaining the history of the diamond.

"Louis the Sixteenth wore a fabulous stone, called the Blue Diamond of the Crown, which disappeared around 1792, about the time when Louis lost everything from the neck up. The theory goes that the Crown Diamond was chopped too, recut into a heart-like shape and it became Le Coeur de la Mer, the Heart of the Ocean. Today it would be worth more than the Hope Diamond."

"It was a dreadful, heavy thing," she retorted. He was in it for the glory, wanting only the thing. "I only wore it this once."

"I tracked it down through insurance records, an old claim that was settled under terms of absolute secrecy. Do you know who the claimant was, Rose?"

"Someone named Hockley, I should imagine." She said the name as though it were poison. Brock had absolutely no idea why. But she did get the answer right. She either had access to a lot of information, or she really was who she said she was.

"Nathan Hockley, right. Pittsburgh steel tycoon. For a diamond necklace his son Caladan Hockley bought in France for his fiancé- you- a week before he sailed on the Titanic. And the claim was filed right after the sinking. So the diamond had to've gone down with the ship.And the date on here says April 14, 1987. If you're who you say you are, then you were wearing the diamond the day the Titanic sank. And that makes you my new best friend. I will happily compensate for anything you can tell us that will lead to its recovery."

She had a strange look on her face. She had grimaced when the words 'Caladan Hockley' had come out of his mouth. She also looked a bit sad. "I don't want your money, Mr. Lovett. I know how hard it is for people who care greatly about money to give some away."

Lovett looked a bit doubtful. "You don't want anything?" he asked, not believing anyone would turn down money.

She nodded her head to the picture. "You may give me this, if I anything I tell you is of value."

He didn't even consider for a moment. "Deal."

"These are some things we recovered from your stateroom," Brock said, referring to a collection of objects on a table across the room.

Rose walked over, curious. She picked up a cracked mirror. "This was mine," she said breathlessly, "How extraordinary! It looks the same as when I last saw it."

She turns it over and looks sadly into her own blue-green eyes. "Reflection hasn't changed very much, but I have."

She picked up a butterfly comb. The creature looks as though it's ready to take flight. She turned it over, lost in that time. A tear slipped out of her eye, unnoticed by anyone.

Then Brock said, "Are you ready to go back to Titanic?"

Rose steeled herself, then nodded. She was led to yet another room where Brock's partner, Louis Bodine. There was a digital model of Titanic on the screen.

"She hits the berg on the starboard side, and sort of bumps along, punching holes like Morse code, dit dit dit, down the side. Now she's flooding in the forward compartments, the water spills over the top of the bulkheads, going aft. As her bow is going down, her stern is being lifted up, slowly at first then faster until her whole ass is sticking up in the air! Now that's a big ass, we're talking 20, 30 thousand tons. The hull can't deal, so SKRTT! She splits, right down the keel, who acts like a big hinge. Now the bow swings down and the stern falls back level- but the weight of the bow pulls the stern up vertical, and then the bow section detaches, heading for the bottom. The stern bobs like a cork, floods and goes under about 2:20 a.m., two hours and forty minutes after the collision."

Rose had listened to all that without showing emotion on her face. She thought it was over, but there was more.

"The bow pulls out of its dive and planes away, almost a half a mile, before it hits the bottom going maybe 12 miles an hour. KABOOM! The stern implodes as it sinks, from the pressure, and rips apart from the force of the current as it falls, landing like a big pile of junk. Cool huh?" he finished.

Rose felt a bit overwhelmed. To see it played out like that, with no people, no feeling for the people who were on that ship, falling, sliding and jumping off. She didn't say any of this, just, "Thank you for that fine forensic analysis, Mr. Bodine. Of course the experience of it was somewhat less clinical." Her story would tell them how it really was.

Mr. Lovett looked interested, but Rose could see past that. He just wanted the diamond. "Will you share it with us?" he asked.

Rose turned to the monitors. With each one, she saw a bit of her past. It all became too much. She began to sob.

One of the scientists, a woman, said, "She had a long journey, she should rest and tell you tomorrow-" She tried to take Rose back out of the room, but Rose shrugged her off with surprising force. Her sea-colored eyes had a look of steel purpose. "No."

"Tell us, Rose." Her back was to him still, and she didn't see him turn on a recorder. Not that it would matter very much if she did see.

As Rose was looking at the monitors, outside the room a man was talking to a crewmember. "I just want to hear her story, don't tell anyone I'm here, please."

The crewman nodded, with a look of confusion on his face. The man stood by the doorway, waiting for the beginning of the story.

Rose finally turned to her audience. "It's been ten years..."

"Just try to remember all you can, anything-"

"Do you want to hear this story or not, Mr. Lovett?" Rose asked, voice sickly sweet. Brock shut up.

"It's been ten years, and I can still smell the fresh paint. The china that had never been used. The sheets that had never been slept in. Titanic was called the ship of dreams. And it was. It really was..."

I'm NOT writing out all of Titanic. The next chapter will be her ending the story, and the main plot of this story. It gets more interesting. Believe me. I'll update like, now, because I have absolutely nothing to do but write. Or watch something, or read something, but I fell like writing right now. Bye for now!