Author's Note: Well, I'm usually not so quick to publish back-to-back stories, but this one has been on my mind for a while and I'm glad to be finally getting it out here. This story is dedicated to poorlittlerichgirl91; she is an amazing author whose stories have actually given me the inspiration to write this one. Thanks for everything.

Please be warned, this is a slowburn JackxRose story.

The Last Boat

Chapter One

September 18th, 1912
Wisconsin

Amongst the tallest mountains, there was silence. The pine trees were still. Distantly, however, there was a sound echoing off the range. Around a steep bend came a glossy black train, a trail of grey steaming from its blowstack. It tooted again to announce mankinds presence in the most staggering of mountains. The shiny train was a monument to the obstacles mankind could overcome. The ride inside the train, though, was a different story. Mankind could travel far and wide, that was proven, but many people wondered why comfort wasn't apart of the equation. The trains were rough and bumpy in the mountains. Many passengers were glued to the window or gripping the armrests. There were not many people aboard the train. Many others simply decided to transfer three or four trains, rather than taking the most direct route out of Wisconsin. Bumps had passengers bouncing in their seats. Reading was asking for a nauseating headache. Drinking tea was begging for scalded skin. The cabin was rather silent, only nine people spread out, occupying different seats. No one spoke, mostly because their vocal cords were being thrown back and forth with each board in the track. Sitting in the very back of the train cabin, curled up with a bag pressed against her hip, was Rose Dawson.

It was evident she was tired. She was wearing a black woolen coat. The sleeves were too long and nearly swallowed the entirety of her slender hands. She had a dark grey scarf wound around neck, her hair pinned into a messy bun on the back of her head. Her knees were tucked up to her chest in her seat, her head lolled against the cool window. She was too tired to care about the bumps causing her head to knock against the glass. Rose had been in Wisconsin for nearly the entirety of September. She had been looking for something, that finally, she had found. And yet, she was too exhausted to pore through what she had in her posession, tucked gingerly in her bag. She decided to save it for when she returned home to New York City. She wanted to be in the comfort of her apartment.

1912 had been a whirlwind of a year for seventeen year old Rose Dawson. Just five months ago, her name was Rose DeWitt Bukater. She viewed her past self as a coward. An obedient God-fearing little girl. She looked back on herself with great disdain. She harbored many regrets. Rose set her chin on her knees, staring at the vacant seat in front of her. Just five months ago, however, that coward Rose saw allowed herself to remain dead, invisible, to those of her past life. That God-fearing little girl left the shelter of the life she once knew to pursue the unknown. Rose didn't regret that at all. Though it had been shocking to read her own funeral announcement in the newspapers printed all the way in New York City, she felt it had been the proper closure for that cowardly God-fearing little girl that once was. Now, Rose was certain she didn't exist anymore.

In the grand scheme of things, Rose felt like she hadn't gotten much done. But in her own little world, her steps forward had been monumental. She had been for a few weeks following her arrival in New York City at a small clinic, that allowed her to share a room for free while she recovered from freezing temperatures. During her time living in the clinic, she had managed to secure a job as a waitress and by the time her stay at the clinic was expiring, she had saved enough money for a small apartment by herself just a neighborhood over, in a quaint place with trees growing out from in between the buildings. Distantly, over the rooftops, the sharp skyline of New York City could be seen, but luckily, not heard.

Rose had been going for a walk that crisp spring afternoon to clear her mind. She had been wondering what her next steps would be as the clinic prepared to turn her out on a good bill of health. When she saw the 'For Rent' sign in the window of a two-story apartment building, her curiosity had gotten the best of her. Rose approached the sign in the window slowly. At the bottom it said, 'Inquire in Apartment 101'. The person who answered the door was an elderly gentlemen with a heavy Northern accent. He introduced himself as Edgar. Rose was nervous the man wouldn't even give her the time of day, but to her surprise, he took her straight across the hall to Apartment 102, and allowed her to poke around.

The apartment opened into a wide open space with cream colored carpet and two large picture windows facing towards the skyline. To the left of the entrance was a breakfast bar dividing the living space from the kitchen, where black and white tile lined the floor. Beyond the kitchen, at the furthest wall was a hallway leading towards a full bathroom and a decently sized bedroom with a big window. Rose was in love with it upon first sight. She thought about how cozy it would be. A place of her own, where she could do whatever she pleased. Edgar had inquired about her marital status and she grimaced when she recalled her ugly staggering. But Edgar was partial to young women trying to get their bearings. He had three daughters of his own, whom he loved very much. He rented the apartment to Rose without a second thought.

A violent buck of the train brought Rose back to reality as she was tossled in her seat. A cry rose from other passengers, but resided as the train continued as normal. A loose curl fell from Rose's gathered hand, sweeping against her cheek. She readjusted herself in her seat, spreading her tired legs across the empty seat beside her. She held her woolen coat closed, her head against the window again. Her eyes were growing droopy as she gazed out on the majestic snow-capped mountains. It had been her view her entire stay in Wisconsin. She would miss the mountains, she was sure. It was where she had felt most connected to him in the entirety of those five months.

Thinking of Jack Dawson tore Rose's heart to shreds. The thought of him made her crumple. And yet, he occupied her mind quite frequently. As time went on, it got easier, or so she thought. But the simplest of things reminded her of him. Pencils and paper. The night time sky. The sound of the ocean. His blue eyes haunted her endlessly. She got goosebumps when she recalled his husky whisper along her ear, "Come Josephine in my flying machine..."

Rose shuddered and sat up in her seat. A chill came over her body and she glanced across the aisle at the man in the wrinkled suit, snoring in his seat. She swallowed roughly, taking a breath to steady her heart rate. She looked out the window once more before opening the bag sitting beside her in the seat. Wisconsion was a large state with not many people living in it. Rose had learned it was a lot of traveling between towns in Wisconsin. And because the population was so sparse, finding things could be even harder. Rose had spent weeks hopping between towns, trying to figure out where the state's vital records were kept. Many people weren't entirely sure. She had started in Chippewa Falls, with absolutely no luck. She had left just as quick, feeling a building tensity in her shoulders. She travelled to the capital of Wisconsin, Madison, and finally her journey had been fulfilled.

Rose pulled a folder from the bag, her hands trembling greatly. The train rocked back and forth as it went around a bend on the curve of the mountain. Rose's fingers gently grazed over the top of the folder, coming to rest on the tab at the edge. Her thumb picked at the corner of it, where her eyes were glued to the word 'DAWSON' scrawled across it. Rose bit down on her lip, taking a deep breath in through her frailed nostrils. She tucked her scraf beneath her chin and still only stared at the folder in her hand. Her curiosity waned in the next moment as sorrow gripped her insides. She tucked the folder away to be forgotten for the rest of the train ride.

...

September 24th, 1912
New York City, New York

"Rose, doll, glad to have you back!" Came a booming voice that was much too loud for the time of the morning. It rang out across the diner the moment Rose came through the door, all the while tying her apron around her waist, over her crimson red waitress dress. Rose looked up towards the familiar face, her curls falling over her shoulder. She grinned when she saw her boss, Winston, standing at the counter with a steaming mug of coffee. He was an older man, rather round, with a pudgey bald head. He owned and managed the diner and treated all of his waitresses like daughters. He cared for his employees and it made Rose want to work for him. He had been good to her in her months of employment. The work had been steady, too.

"Hey, Winston," Rose sauntered to the counter and he set about to getting her coffee before the morning rush mobbed them, "How were things while I was gone?"

"Oh, busy as usual," Winston said over his shoulder, "We sure did miss you. Where'd you go again?" He cocked a bushy eyebrow up as he slid her drink across the bar to her.

"To visit family," Her green eyes peered over her mug of coffee, "in Wisconsin."

"How was it up there?" He asked after a drink himself, "I've never been."

"It's cold," Rose chuckled, nodding her head, "I don't know how they stand living up there."

"It gets pretty damn cold here, too," Winston grinned, "Soon enough, we'll be shovelling the door free of snow."

"Oh, that'll be fun," The two shared a laugh.

Just then, the bell at the door rang out, signifying their first guest of the morning, as it neared seven. It was a tall man with dark black hair left un-gelled, allowed to gently claw over his forehead. He had olive skin and hazel eyes with bold brows set over the top. He wore dark rimmed circular glasses that made him look smart. He was wearing a crisp black suit with the faintest pinstripes, a tan trench coat draped over it. His shoes were magnificently shiny. He altogether came off as a well-put together man. He walked with his shoulders square, his briefcase at his side, as he found a booth to slide into. He ruffled in his briefcase and withdrew the paper, waiting to be served.

"I'll let you get that one," Winston winked at her, "I know you fancy Mr. Calvert there."

Rose's cheeks warmed up, "I do not. What is your proof?"

"Sweetheart," Winston chuckled deeply, reaching across to place his gruff hand atop her's, "you don't even need to be told how to make his coffee anymore. That, to me, is a true sign of affection."

Rose rolled her eyes melodramatically, "Or that could just mean he's a regular."

"However you wanna explain it, doll," Winston began walking towards the kitchen.

Rose let out a flustered sigh and jogged around to the back of the bar. Carelessly, she tossed the rest of her coffee down the drain, letting the mug clatter to the bottom. She pulled a fresh mug out and immediately set to making Mr. Calvert's coffee. It was true, he was a regular. Rose had seen him nearly every day over the course of the summer. He was a lawyer and had long days. He enjoyed the diner, it seemed to Rose. It was his peaceful start of coffee and a proper breakfast before he was sent to his office. He preferred a strong coffee with two cubes of sugar and just a small amount of creamer. Rose knew she did it right by the darker color, he was particular about the saturation. Hurriedly, she took it to his table, drawing him from his newspaper.

"Good morning, Tim," She greeted cooly, smoothing her skirt out.

"Rose, hello," His eyes lit up when he saw her, "Where have you been? My coffee hasn't been right for weeks. No one has the magic touch like you do," Tim grinned and lifted his mug, taking a satisfying sip, "Mmmm, yup. Glad to have you back, Rose."

"Thank you," Rose clapsed her hands together nervously, "I was visiting family. It's good to be back home. Feels right sleeping in my bed again," The two shared a polite laugh. Rose scuffed her cream heels to the tile for a moment, "Are you hungry? Anything I can get you?"

"Big court date today," Tim said, folding his newspaper in half and discarding it on the table, "Definitely going to need to eat right. I'll take the full she-bang. Eggs, toast, sausage, pancakes, oh, and some hash browns."

"Coming right up," Rose told him before she disappeared towards the back. Winston had his tie flung over his shoulder as he helped the other two cooks, Herbert and Quincy, prepare the kitchen for another day of business, "Are you ready back here?" She called to get their attention.

"Hm?" Winston peered between the stoves, "Oh, yeah, what's your beau want?"

"Winston," Rose couldn't help but grin at the playful teasing.

"Alright, alright," Winston came around the stoves, his hands on his hips, "what do we got, Rose?"

"A full breakfast," Rose handed him the ticket with a cheeky grin, "He's got a court date today, so give him a little extra, will you?" Winston gave her a mischevious side eye before he snapped the ticket out of Rose's hand. He winked at her as she went back towards the diner, where the steady wave of business men were trickling in.

...

Rose slammed her small mailbox in the foyer of her apartment complex shut. She sighed as she looked at the one sole envelope she had received. It was from the nice nurse at the clinic she had stayed in. They occasionally sent letters to her to reach out, usually sending their thoughts. It was kind, but Rose had stopped responding, not wanting to return to the weak person she had been in that clinic. She never wanted to live through another frustratingly empty night in those stiff beds again. Rose began up the hallway towards her apartment, the first on the right. She rustled in her coat pocket for her keys, glancing towards her stained apron.

"Rose!" Came a rather squeaky voice. She let out a sigh and lifted her eyes to see a young girl, no older than fourteen, watering a plant in the hallway. She had blond hair that was always pinned back in a ponytail with a ribbon that matched her dress. Today it was pink. She lowered the watering can to her side. It nearly knocked the wiry girl over as the water shifted back and forth, "I haven't seen you since you got back! When did you return? Where'd you go? What'd you see?"

Rose gently rubbed her temple, trying to keep the exasperation off her face. It was Liliana, Edgar's youngest daughter. She was nosy by nature and liked to think she was a fully grown woman. She took a special interest in Rose.

"Did you buy anything cool up there? If so, could I come over and look at it?" Liliana continued, now setting the watering can down and folding her hands together excitedly, "Did you meet anybody interesting or go on a fun adventure? What did you do on your trip, Rose?"

"I just visited family," Rose told the young girl, looking down at her, "It wasn't anything adventurous or grand, sorry to disappoint you, Liliana."

"Aw, okay," She nodded. Liliana picked the watering can back up, "Have any plants you need me to water? Daddy said to check with all the tenants."

"No, but thanks for asking," Rose grinned politely and went to her door, jabbing the key in. She glanced fleetingly over her shoulder at her neighbor, "I'll see you later, Liliana."

"Can I come over after dinner?" Liliana asked, stepping towards Rose, "Cat and Suzette are going to a theatre production and said I couldn't go. I'll be all alone this evening!"

"You should stay with your father," Rose told her, striding through her door, "Maybe another time. I have things I have to do this evening."

Rose didn't wait to hear Liliana's protest. She shut the door and flicked the lock over, letting out a long sigh as she finally was home for the day. She shrugged out of her coat and hung it on the rack by the door. She kicked her heels off carelessly, allowing her feet to sink into the carpet. She scrunched her toes up and pushed her hair from face, resting her hands on her hips. In the five months she had occupied the apartment, she had finally accumulated enough furniture to really call it a home. Her favorite part of her house were the two large oak bookcases in the living room that nearly reached the ceiling. The shelves were jammed with books, many more shoehorned into the collection. The coffee table had books stacked on it of all kinds of different topics. Anything that interested Rose, she bought a book about it.

Rose went to the kitchen and set the tea kettle on the stove. She then changed into a loose nightgown and a cotton robe, ready to unwind for the evening. She lit a few candles and opened a window in her living room to allow the breeze to come in. As she padded through the living room, she paused when something caught her eye. She peered over the back of the couch towards the cluttered coffee table. On top of a stack of books about Abraham Lincoln and James Madison was the folder she had returned from Wisconsin with. Rose's nails dug into the cushion of the couch as her eyes caught the word 'DAWSON' again. She knew there was a font of information behind the cover of that folder. It was things she thought she wanted to know.

The tea kettle began to whistle, startling Rose. She gasped sharply, pressing her hand to her thundering chest. She glanced towards the folder once more before she rushed into the kitchen, flicking the gas off the stove and moving the kettle from the hot plate. She placed her hands flat to the counter, leaning against and sighing deeply. Could she really bear to let herself read that information? Did she want to un-do her heartstrings, make her pain deepen? Rose rubbed her eyes with trembling hands and then resigned herself to looking out the window.

She simply wasn't ready yet.