Hello again! I hope you enjoy the latest chapter. I wrote this one kind of on a whim, so I hope it's good. Again, I don't own Titanic or any of the characters. Cheers!

King of the World

I rolled over to find Jack's side of the bed empty. "Jack?"

"Right here, Rose," he said, and through the light of the streetlamp coming through the window, I could see him sitting on the trunk at the end of our bed.

I frowned. "Darling, what are you doing? Are you alright? What time is it?"

"I dunno. I was just thinkin'."

He got to his feet and made his way back to bed, climbing in beside me. I snuggled next to him as much as the growing child in my belly would let me. "Thinking about what?"

"This," he said, holding up the Heart of the Ocean so it sparkled in what little light filtered into the room.

"I thought we agreed to put that dreadful thing away," I reminded him, reaching for it, but he snatched it out of my reach.

"We did," he chuckled, quickly kissing my nose that scrunched up in a playful pout. "I was just thinkin' 'bout when you went back to grab it from Cal's safe. Switched it with that picture I drew of you, remember?"

"Oh yes," I smiled, slowly drifting back to sleep with his warm body next to mine and his familiar voice like my own lullaby. "I wish I could've seen his face when he found it."

"Me too," Jack laughed, the sound rumbling up from his chest. It was one of my very favorite sounds in all the world. It was never lost on me how fortunate I was to be able to hear it still after all we'd been through.

I had just fallen back asleep when I felt Jack give my shoulder a shake. "Rose? Don't go back to sleep, Rose."

"Why?" I whined. I hadn't expected just how tired I would be while in the family way, but I could scarcely keep my eyes open.

"I want to draw again, Rose. I don't think I've drawn anything since I did that sketch of you on the ship."

With my eyes still closed, I said, "Well there aren't as many subjects for you in New York as there were in France, my love."

He pulled me closer, laughing again, "Would you stop? The only woman I want to draw is you."

I hummed happily, almost asleep again, but woke abruptly when he said, "I want to draw you Rose. With the necklace. Like I did on the ship."

My eyes opened wide and I sat up, staring down at him incredulously. "Jack Dawson! Are you mad?"

"Probably," he grinned, sitting up to lean against the headboard with his arms behind his head, "but I don't think wanting to draw my wife is the reason why."

"Jack. Please be serious."

"I am."

"Jack! It's only four months until our child is born, and you want to draw me? Now?"

"Now," he nodded. At my shocked expression, he shifted so he was sitting on his knees, placing his hands on either side of my face and pressing a kiss to my forehead. "You, Mrs. Dawson, have never been more beautiful." I began to protest, but he pressed a finger to my lips. "Hush. I mean it. You were beautiful before, you are beautiful now, and you will be beautiful with wrinkles and white hair and creaky bones…"

I swatted his arm and he laughed. "I love you, Rose Dawson," he said, almost pleading. "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I want to remember you this way, and every way, for our whole lives. Please. Let me draw you like one of those French girls."

Now it was my turn to laugh. "Well then," I smiled, moving off the bed to stand, my toes curling against the cold floor. I kept my eyes on my husband as I began to unbutton my nightdress. "The last thing I need, Mr. Dawson, is another picture of me looking like a china doll."

He smirked, his blue eyes raking up and down my body as I let the soft white gown drop to the floor to pool at my feet. "So beautiful," he whispered on a breath. He shook his head slightly and stood up, stepping behind me and fastening the diamond around my neck. He dropped a kiss on my shoulder and reached around to place his large hands against my rounded middle.

"Now, sir," I teased, "I expect this to be a professional portrait. I will not tolerate mediocrity."

"Then I will expect some form of payment, ma'am."

"Of course," I nodded, playing along. "But only a portion up front."

Before Jack could respond I leaned in and pressed a searing kiss to his lips, one hand pressed flat against his bare chest and the other sneaking up to tug at his hair. I grinned at my own boldness and pulled away just enough to whisper, "You'll receive the rest only when I see the final product, Mr. Dawson."

"Shit," he hissed, raking a hand through his tousled hair as I stepped away, climbing back onto the bed. "Um, okay," he said, watching me for a moment before turning on the lamp on the dresser. He rummaged through the trunk until he found his sketchbook and his bag of charcoal. Then, he turned back to me.

I had forgotten the thrill of observing his artistic passion. He was no longer just my husband, but a professional artist. He moved with such focus and purpose as he helped me lay in not only a way that would be flattering, but comfortable, then stepped back, cocking his head to the side and nodding in satisfaction. He left to turn on the stove so I wouldn't be chilled, and to fetch a chair, placing it just to the side of the foot of the bed. He watched me over the edge of the sketchbook, his piercing blue gaze flitting from me, to the sketch, and back again. All the while his hand was constantly moving, the scratch of the charcoal the only sound in the room. He was mesmerizing. It was magic to watch him work.

I could feel sleep beckoning, but I was determined not to give in. I wanted to watch Jack. He was looking at me so intently, analyzing every inch of my body, and yet, just as before, I could not bring myself to feel embarrassed or ashamed. In fact, I felt more beautiful, more desirable, than I had since that night on the ship.

Time slipped by. Soon, he was grinning, putting his charcoal piece back in the bag and wiping his brow with the back of his hand.

"You're finished?" I asked, not yet ready to risk moving if he said no.

"Finished," he said, sitting on the bed beside me. "What do you think?"

I took the sketchbook from him and gasped. "Oh, Jack! It's wonderful, truly. I love it."

"And I love you," he said, placing his hand over the place where our child grew. "Both of you. I kept thinkin' how stupid Cal was. He was so worried about this," he continued, reaching for the Heart of the Ocean, then looking up at me with so much love it brought tears to my eyes, "that he let me take the greatest treasure right from under his nose. And now, with the baby, I have more than I could ever ask for. I'm king of the world, Rose."

I didn't have the words to tell him just how much he meant to me. How much he'd given me. Instead, I simply said, "I love you."

"Oh, Rose," he sighed, pressing his forehead to mine, "you have no idea how much I love you too."