Midnight

Midnight (a One-Shot by Lady Elena Dawson)

This story is dedicated to KateWinsletor265. Her Kate/Leo one-shot, "Nighttime," inspired me to write this one, which is based off of that story but adapted to fit a Jack/Rose story. I hope you enjoy. (As much as you can enjoy sadness and despair, I guess?)

Disclaimer: I do not own Titanic (1997). 

The cheery chatter of families gathering for New Year's Eve, and the fading echo of Christmas carols past, contrasted against the bleak interior of the Dawson household. Jack hadn't bothered to light the candles or put up the wreaths, or buy a proper bottle of wine to celebrate the end of another year. How could he, he thought, when he could find no reason to be excited for a new beginning? Another night would pass, just like any other day on a calendar; all meaning lost on him as the decade would become a passing memory.

Eight years. Almost eight years since they had met. Jack could still remember that moment he had first seen her, gazing across decks that were two separate worlds. The way some of her curls, as bright and red as fire, had escaped their restrictive style and been blown against her face by the breeze. He could briefly recall her lacy gown through his peripheral vision as his eyes were glued to her delicate facial features. When she had finally paid him attention, that first glimpse, his heart hadn't raced like one would expect it to. Instead, he had been calmed, and was distraught when she left.

As the sun set on Santa Monica, Jack watched from a chair on the porch and felt the blood boil inside him. He could hear the waves crashing on the nearby beach while he cleaned off another bottle of beer. Rose loved the sunset, to the extent that she would drag him out the door so they could watch it occur on the shore, even if the temperature was unpleasantly chilly. The irony wasn't lost on him that she remained in love with the beach despite the horrors that they had witnessed on the ocean, the tragedy they were part of.

The sinking. He remembered opening his eyes the morning after and wondering if he had discovered life after death. Why else would he be awake? He had been so certain he was going to die that night, he was surprised when he was told he was alive and breathing. But then his mind had drifted to her: Rose. She had been by his side in the infirmary until they had docked, ready to start their new life together. Would she be a passing memory as soon as the clock struck midnight tonight?

Though they expressed a strong desire to settle in California, they didn't rush their time to get there. Jack could still recall their route from New York City: they skipped through Pennsylvania, then made stops in Cincinnati, St. Louis, Oklahoma City, and Albuquerque before reaching their final destination of Santa Monica. At each stop, Rose experienced a part of history she hadn't seen before, never having been further west than Pittsburgh. Jack, however, knew some local spots in each city, having navigated through many of them across the country, from coast to coast, before he had hopped on a boat to Europe. With a small wad of cash and the clothes on their backs, they spent nights in communes while spending their days exploring the vastness of the country.

Once they reached Santa Monica, though, they set up their roots. They both took up jobs to afford to pay rent for the garret they were living in, and Jack hadn't seen anyone happier to work so much for so little. "Look at my hands, Jack," Rose said after her first week of labor, a glint of pride and excitement in her eyes. "They're blistering!"

For a while, they had to sleep on a worn-out mattress on the floor, but neither minded. Jack had to get up earlier for work than Rose, so he could make it to the beaches while tourists were still out and about. He was pleasantly surprised when he would be woken up by her lips on his neck, an alluring request to spend some intimate time with one another to start their day off properly. He had no problem with the wake-up call, obliging each time.