July 1913

'It's only 6 am!' Rose thought groggily when the alarm went off. Her head felt twice the size it actually was. They had stayed up late last night after the wedding rehearsal. She and Eliza had drunk too much "cheap beer." It was so much fun, she just wasn't sure if it was worth it this morning. 'I had better get myself up and moving. Today is the wedding,' she thought wearily, dragging herself out of bed.

Jack watched her climb out of bed. 'She is especially beautiful in the morning, even with a hangover,' he thought, laughing. He loved to watch her when she first woke up. The sun would beam through the windows on her face and she looked heavenly. He longed to kiss her every time. It had been a tough couple of months. He loved her so much, he had kept fighting his pain over seeing her with another man. He had endured a lot watching Rose and Brandon's relationship blossom. He too had a promise to keep. He would always be with her, and if that meant seeing her with Brandon, then so be it.

Jack discovered he had more strength and courage than he ever realized. He would watch them taking moonlight strolls holding hands, see them laughing and joking, even watch them kissing. But he could not bear to watch them dance. It reminded him too much of the steerage party on the Titanic. It was especially hard to block his feelings from her then. When he saw the two of them dancing he felt like someone else had taken his place in her life. That was something he had done with Rose, and now someone else was dancing with her.

In his heart he knew it wasn't so. Had he survived, he would be the one in her life. He never entertained that thought anymore. 'What's done is done!,' he thought. He couldn't change it. He knew when he could not get out of the icy Atlantic water what the final outcome would be. The great sacrifice he would be making; hell, he was glad to be making it! 'If I had to do it all over again, already knowing the final outcome, I wouldn't change a thing. I would still have sailed on Titanic and I would have gladly died again for Rose,' he thought. "I love her that much," he said out loud to know one in particular.

At least the tears didn't come as easily as before. When he cried it made it a lot harder to keep his pain from Rose. It found it was a huge comfort that she talked to him every night. That was Jack's time.

She would sit in her night clothes with her feet curled up underneath her, on her old worn-out second hand couch. Her long hair still damp from her bath would curl up in tiny ringlets around her face. Her furniture was a hodge-podge of hand-me-downs. Nothing matched, but it was all extremely comfortable; just the kind of place she always wanted, not perfect décor, but homey and welcoming.

Jack would laugh at the thought of Ruth's horror if she saw her daughter's new home. Her sitting room was filled with paintings, drawings, sculptures. Anything that was art, Rose managed to fill her little apartment with it. She hardly had enough room to move with all the clutter. But her most cherished possessions were her pictures of her adventures and her life since Titanic. When she spoke to Jack, she always gazed at them. Jack could hardly wait for her day to end, just so he could spend this time alone with her. She would speak directly to him, telling him about some of the adventures in her pictures or what happened that day and how she felt about things. It didn't matter to Jack that he already knew what she felt and experienced that day.

Unlike Jack, Rose did not have the ability to block her feelings or thoughts from him. He could listen to her tell the same thing over and over again. He didn't mind as long as she was speaking only to him. He loved the fact that Rose kept him safe in her heart and talked to him every night. Sometimes when she was tired she would talk about Titanic. It was hard to listen to Rose go over certain details and memories, but he realized she spoke of it to no one and she needed him to listen to her express her feelings about it. After all, he more than anyone understood the depth of the pain she experienced. This was her way of trying to heal the wound that would never heal.

He always maintained his silence, but she was aware of his presence. He was always with her. At these precious moments they spent together, he became especially close. Almost as if he was sitting right next to her as she spoke. She ended every conversation with "Good night, Jack. I will never let go, I promise."

In Jack's mind, that made it all worth it.