A very LONG one shot about Jack and Rose being separated for five years after the Titanic's sinking, each thinking the other is buried somewhere far, far under the ocean next to the ship. But will one pub singer in Santa Monica on the 14th/15th April 1917 change their thoughts of one another's fate forever?
If I get enough reviews I will make it longer, but for now it's a one shot.

I DO NOT OWN THE TITANIC...If I did Jack would never have died at the end. It'd have been Cal I promise you, and maybe Rose's mother for good measure and a slight bit of misery. Oops, I'm rambling – on with the...story? Does a one shot count as a story? Well, on with whatever this is...~KatnissMellarkD12
Jack's POV.

"Come Josephine my flying machine..." Rose was singing, if this was a normal day I'd of laughed, as this was the same song I was singing in her ear when we first shared a kiss.

Of course, this was not a normal day.

Her lyrics died out as she lay, clutching my hand, on a floating door. I bobbed beside her in the Northern waters, freezing cold – the sensation that I felt when I fell through thin ice in Wisconsin over coming me once more tripled – but with Rose beside me, with her heart beating and blood rushing through her veins, it's far more bearable.
"Jack...A boat" She whispered. I tried to answer but as my eyelids slid shut my body refused to co-operate with the instructions I was demanding – so I could not answer her.

"Jack..." She repeats again, louder this time. Once again the more I tried to move, the more paralysed I become.

"Jack!" She exclaims, but her throat ragged and voice so hoarse she can barely shout at normal speaking volume.

"Jack!" She cries, pushing me softly, then getting harder in an attempt to wake me. Rose! Rose! I'm here my love! Rose! I think, desperately trying to force my body to move.

I hear a faint buzzing sound that I assume is Rose's voice, but her words are now incoherent and unfathomable in my ears as she rambles on. There is one thing I hear clearly though, after a minute or so. "Goodbye Jack, I love you," She says before kissing me on the lips. She's freezing, but warm compared to me – I'm furious that my lips refuse to respond as my entire body goes numb. My mind begins to drift as sleep over comes me, I desperately want to sleep but I can't – I have to stay awake for Rose. Five minutes I tell myself, my sleepy state too tired to argue as I drift into unconsciousness, just as Rose's lips leave mine.

A/N – OK, that would have been the prologue if this was going to be a long...Urm...thing? Story? Fic? But it's a one shot, so that's just a very long um...Paragraph? Yeah that'll do :P

My nose, throat and lungs are on fire.

My eyes fling open, and they begin to burn too.

I try to get a grips on the ground but I find no solid state to stand on. Wait...Am I flying?
I wave my hands around through the air, wait, not air – the consistency is too heavy. Then I realise as the pieces build up in my head...I'm underwater!

I hold my breath instantly, squinting as I move my numb limbs in a circular motion as not to continue to sink, and slowly but surely I begin to move upwards – my head breaking to the surface in a matter of minutes.
I try to scream as I see a passing boat, but the water intake has temporarily put a stop to the use of my voice. I flail around for a bit, well, more splash about like a madman in a desperate attempt to get their attention. I'm about to give up all hope till I hear;
"Over there, a survivor!" And the boat begins to make its way to me.

"Up you come sir," a man says, and two or three people pull me into the little lifeboat. They wrap me in blankets and try to get my name and class out of me, but all I can do is mouth to them as my voice refuses to work, so they give up with a "we'll ask him again after a few hours at the infirmaries." Does that mean they've found a boat for us all?
Answer is yes, as a few minutes later plenty of others in half-empty lifeboats are boarding a ship, small compared to the Titanic, named the Carpathia.
"CAN WE GET A STRETCHER DOWN 'ERE?" Calls one of the men as my limbs refuse to move up the ladder in my temporary state of paralysis. I'm carried onto a lowered down stretcher and hoisted up, it tilts from side to side and I panic that I might fall off.
I'm carried off again and sat down, but my eyelids once more begin to get heavy, I barely have time to take another breath before I black out.

A/N – If you can spot the HAPPY and SAD...Let's call it a poem...then points to you :)

"Sir?" Someone's asking me

"Sir?" They repeat, I can tell by the pitch it's a Scottish woman.

"Sir?" I open my eyes and her blurry image comes into focus.

"Ah, you're awake," She says

"Rose!" Is my first thought, and word actually.

"Who now dear?"

"Rose, she...Where is she?" I ask, as if the lady would know.

"Rose who dear?" She asks

"Rose Dewitt-Bukater, first class," I tell her. She grabs a clipboard and looks up and down it, soon she's shaking her head.
"No Dewitt-Bukater in first. But we haven't collected all the names yet, I'll tell you if I speak to a Rose Dewitt-Bukater lad," she says, her face filled with sorrow from many a case, mine adding to the miserable atmosphere that surrounds the ship.
I try to swallow but my throat is dry, I stammer a "thank-you," as I begin to shake all over.
Rose is dead.

Rose. Is. Dead.




But she can't be! She was singing what was it? A few hours ago? I think, trying to grasp anything that could tell me she survived. That's why you went under Jack. She froze and fell off, your grasp on each other disconnected. Bet she died screaming your name, you as good as killed her! A dark voice shrieks in my head.
NO! I demand, as if it proves it wrong. Not all the names have been collected yet, there'll be a Rose Dewitt-Bukater before the day's out, and then we'll leave together and go to Santa Monica and do all the things we said we'd do! I hissed at the dark voice, but I cannot help but believe it.
I as good as killed Rose, the love of my life.

The thought overwhelms me as I continue to fight it for hours on end, a losing battle as each argument I counter with myself, I just think of a more disgusting way to embellish the previous rant.

Hours pass and eventually the same lady returns, tending to others who are in the infirmaries before she comes to me.

"Name and class lad?" She asks

"Jack Dawson, Third," She smiles and mutters under her breath told Benson this guy would be third. I ignore her and press far more important matters.

"You finished the list?" I ask

"Eye, who are you looking for?" She queries

"Rose Dewitt-Bukater, first class," I repeat, she eyes the clipboard once more, turning sheet after sheet looking for Rose. Her face falls;
"Sorry lad. The only Dewitt-Bukater in first, heck, the only Dewitt-Bukater we have at all, such a fancy name..." she trails off, but then realises where she was and picks up again

"Sorry, only Dewitt-Bukater female here is a Ruth,"

Hundreds of bullets pierce my skin.
A ragged knife slits my throat into a glistening red smile.
Pain strikes through my body as if my insides have been set on fire.
Pure acid is dripped over me, causing my body to burn.
Yearning for lost love fills me

Searing pain rushes through me as I'm sliced in half
A bomb goes off inside my brain
Death doesn't cover my heartache.

All of this overcomes me as I hear those words;
"Sorry, only Dewitt-Bukater female here is a Ruth,"
Only Ruth, not Rose.

See. Told you you'd as good as killed her.


Killed the love of your life.


Murdered her! Killed her!


You. Killed. Rose!


My heart hammers and my breathing goes into overdrive as I, for the third time in the last forty-eight hours, black out.

A/N – Let's skip ahead a bit...Shall we say... 14th/15th April 1917...Remember – Rose and Jack are alive, and both think the other is dead ;) I swear this is a new take on it, before you roll your eyes and click off.

"Pass us another one," I demand as I down my second pint.

"This'll be your third one Jack," Says the bartender and an old friend of mine, John.

"And?" I say, they're watered down anyway – I'll need at least six to get nearly half as drunk as I want to. Today is the fifth anniversary since the Titanic sank. Or, as I know it as, the fifth year since the love of my life died because of me.

"Give the man a break John, Titanic's anniversary you know," Says my mate, Caleb.

"Ok..." He says and pours me another. I down half of it in a few seconds

"Going to tell us this year the name of the lass you always talk about, the one you went around with on the Titanic eh?" Asks Caleb, I stare furiously at the bar. They talk about Rose like she's my class, but in reality she was much higher than that – not a posh first or second, not any class at all really, but I could never lower her down to someone like me.

"Rose," I sigh, they didn't know her – they don't know they're crushing me with their careless words. Caleb hands John a pound coin.
"Blimey that's alot, how come you're paying him?" I ask, they both look up.

"I bet John a pound that she'd have some kind of jewel name. He bet it'd be floral," I almost smiled at that.
"Speaking of floral names, some lass is singing here tonight, volunteered to do it actually. In memory of the Titanic she said. Has a floral name too, Rue or something..." John tells us.

"Oh eye," says Caleb, taking interest as I begin to finish my Guinness.
"When's that then? What song's she singing?" He adds to his own sentence

"In about two minutes, actually. And requests mainly, though apparently at exactly seven past midnight she wants to sing a song she wrote. I'd usually refuse, but if she doesn't want paying I don't particularly care," says John, and as if on cue a woman steps up onto the once empty stage – men sitting on pianos, beside guitars and other instruments behind her. She asks for requests, singing many different numbers for hours on end – it's a wonder her perfect, angelic voice doesn't hurt, her throat sore or ragged – at the amount of pitches she sings with thirty second breaks every song.

I pay little attention to her and down two more pints – still nowhere near drunk, not even tipsy – until the clock strikes seven past midnight. She steps up to the microphone as the lights fall, everyone goes deadly silence. In memory of Rose I listen up too, abandoning my Guinness for a moment.

She tucks an invisible piece of hair behind her ear, I can barely see her face as it hides behind a hood. "This is dedicated to my boyfriend, who was lost on the Titanic. We were both on it, but he sacrificed his life to save mine – I wrote it for him." The music begins to play and she looks up to the ceiling, clearly addressing her boyfriend in the heavens as she says "I miss you." Then begins her song;

"Every night in my dreams...
I see you...I feel you
That is how I know you...go on...

Far across the distance...
And spaces between us...
You have come to show you...go on

Near...far...wherever you are
I believe that the heart does go on
Once...more...you open the door
And you're here in my heart
And my heart will go on and on..."

Tears prick my eyes...

"Love can touch us one time
And last for a lifetime
And never let go till...we're gone

Love was when I loved you
One true time...I hold you
In my life we'll always...go on

Near...far...wherever you are
I believe that the heart does...go on
Once...more...you open the door
And you're here in my heart
And my heart will go on and on...

You're here...there's nothing I fear
And I know that my heart will...go on
We'll...stay...forever this way
You are safe in my heart
And my heart will go on and on..."

My eyes begin to brim with tears, as does everyone's in the silent room. Most women have already reached for the tissues. The music continues to play as she starts to speak once more.
"This was his favourite pub, or so he told me – here in Santa Monica, that's why I chose it." She looks up to the heavens "I miss you with every passing second of every minute, every hour of every day, every week of every month and every year in the last five – and I will continue to love and miss you till the day I die and see you again in heaven." She blows a kiss to the sky and then says something that nearly makes me fall off my stool. "I love you, Jack Dawson," Caleb and John react before me – but not in the nicest of ways.
"Bit loopy in the head, isn't she?" Says Caleb

"I'd say," Agrees John, but the woman removes her hood – and beneath the cloak is a pale skinned ginger woman, around twenty-two with sapphire blue eyes and around her neck, the heart of the ocean.

She's the same as she was on the Titanic.

"Rose!" I exclaim, her eyes flicker towards mine.

"Jack?" She asks, bewildered

"Rose!" I grin, getting up and begin to run towards her.

"Jack, you're alive!" She beams alive? Alive? You were the one who was 'dead'. I thought, but we can talk about that later – she begins to run towards me till we meet in the middle of the room.

I embrace her and pull her into a long, passionate kiss – ignoring the wolf whistles from around the room.
" I...I thought you were dead!" I tell her when we finally have to break apart for seemingly unimportant things like breathing.

"Me? You were the one who died!" She says, but as I thought before, we have all the time we want to discuss this later.
I pull her into another deep kiss, breaking apart quickly before I scoop her up and walk her outside.
My heart pounds against my chest, I still can't quite believe this is real.

One thing's for sure though, I have my Rose back – and I intend to never let go.

You like? You love! You think this is so-so? Perhaps you dislike it...Maybe it's the biggest piece of junk you've ever read…
Well review!
Should I continue to write this, leave it as a one shot? Maybe write this in Rose's Point of View? Or any other ideas or opinions tell me! ~KatnissMellarkD12

Oh, and before you ask, the microphone WAS invented by 1917 – In fact it was invented in 1876 :)