To my Lucy Potter fans, I'm sorry I've been working on this and not that, but I've recently become obsessed with Titanic and this idea just wouldn't leave my head. I promise to keep working on that, but this is going to be high on my priorities at the moment. Please be sure to review!

EDIT:

I decided I didn't like how I wrote chapter one, so I went back and fixed it. I hope you like the new beginning!

EDIT #2:

I've gone back and edited little details here and there throughout all the chapters. Some varying as simple typos to adding a few lines.

It was dark. Dark and quiet. Noise and light from the world above could never reach the bottom of the North Atlantic Ocean floor. Or at least, that was what nature had always intended.

From the darkness above came two bright, translucent blue lights. They fell at a surprising speed, and as they grew closer, it became apparent that the lights were the headlights of two submersibles. They moved silently through the water, going deeper and deeper. The people inside were silent as well, at least for the moment. They were on an expedition. They came out here into the depths of the sea every day for the past three years, hoping they would find what they desired. In the first submersible, Mir-1, Lewis Bodine, the expert about the history of their expedition as well as one of the operators of the robots that they sent out to explore the places that their ship was too big to get into it, checked the side scan solar display next to him. On it, the outline of a massive pointed object was being shown.

"Thirteen meters, you should see it." He said to the man next to him, Brock Lovett. Brock nodded, and quickly looked out the window next to him. At first, no one could see anything out there except inky blackness, but very slowly, the outline of the bow of a ship became visible to the onlookers. It was very old, and had by the looks of it, once been a magnificent luxury liner. Moss was clinging onto the railings and its sides, as though they had been sprouting there for many years. On the very edge of the bow, the name of the ghost ship was just barely visible: Titanic.

"Okay, take her up and over the bow rail," said Brock to the pilot of the sub, Anatoly Mikailavich. Anatoly nodded, and adjusted the controls in front of him to do as his boss had said. Then he grabbed the microphone that connected to the second submersible next to them.

"Okay Mir-2, we're going over the bow. Stay with us." There was no reply, but the second submersible followed behind them. Silence once again spread throughout the first sub as the men inside stared down below at the ruins of the great ocean liner. It had been eighty-four years since the ship had sank, but the ship had never once been forgotten. The sinking of the Titanic had been one of the most tragic disasters throughout the entire twentieth century, and what made it so famous was because it had been caused by nothing more than a freak accident, plus pure stupidity by the people in charge.

"Okay, quiet. We're rolling," said Brock, grabbing the camcorder beside him and turning it on. He adjusted it so it was looking at him. "I see her coming out of the darkness like a ghost ship," he said in a serious voice. "It still gets me every time to see the sad ruin of the great ship sitting here… where she landed at 2:20 in the morning of April 15th, 1912, after her long fall from the world above…" Bodine couldn't hold back his snicker.

"You are so full of shit, boss," he said, shaking his head at him. Lovett turned away from the window to look him. Seeing the look on his colleague's face, he couldn't help but laugh, too, before returning his gaze back on the wreckage. They were now passing over the remains of the forecastle deck, and Mir-2 was driving aft over the starboard side.

"Dive six," said Brock, continuing his narration to the camera. "Here we are again on the deck of Titanic. Two and a half miles down, three thousand eight hundred and twenty one meters. Pressure outside is three and half tons per square inch. These windows are nine inches thick, and if they go, it's sayonara in two microseconds… Alright," he added once he shut off the camcorder. "Enough of that bullshit. Just put us down on the roof of the Officer's Quarter's like yesterday," he told Anatoly.

"Sure," he said as he reached for the microphone again. "Okay Mir-2, we're landing right over the Grand Staircase. You guys set to launch?"

"Yeah, Brock, launching Dunkin now." Cueing his words, the robot called Dunkin that was controlled from the operators on Mir-2 was released from the sub, and slowly began to descend down into the wreckage of the ship. "Okay, Brock, we're dropping down along the hull."

"Yeah, roger that," Brock replied, taking the mike from Anatoly as Lewis started to put on a pair of 3-D glasses labeled with the name of the robot that was piloted by their sub: Snoop Dog. "Okay, drop down, and go into the first-class gangway doors. I want you guys working the D-Deck reception area and the dining saloon."

"Copy that."

Bodine took a moment to sit down and get himself comfortable in his seat before grabbing the joystick that controlled Snoop Dog, and began to work the machine.

"Snoop Dog is on the move. We're headed down the stairwell." Brock told the men in the other sub as Bodine drove the robot down toward the nearest entrance into the remains of the ship. Brock then shut the mike off and turned to Bodine. "Okay, Lewis, drop down to B-Deck. Get in there." Lewis silently drove Snoop Dog into a window on the B-Deck levels. They were all silent as they watched the screen projecting what the underwater camera attached to the robot showed what it was pointing at. If they hadn't already been accustomed to the sights in the ruins, they would have been in shock. The ruins of the Titanic were much more haunting on the inside than on the outside. Rusticles hung from the ceiling, giving the impression that one was inside a naturally formed grotto rather than the wreckage of the most shipwreck of all time. Damaged objects such as a broken pair of spectacles and the porcelain head of a child's doll were half buried in the sand that covered the deck planks, lighting up momentarily when the robot's lights shined on them.

Snoop Dog silently glided past them. Brock and his team weren't interested in such things. They had already collected enough worthless junk of the sort during their prior dives. What they were looking for now was something really big. Something of pure myth, and would make them all millionaires if they found it.

"Watch the door frame," Brock said warningly as Lewis steered the robot through the doorway of what had once been one of the first-class promenade suites. "Watch it…"

"I see it! I got it!" Bodine said reassuringly as Snoop Dog went in without problem. "We're good. Just chill, boss."

They were in the Sitting Room of the suite, judging by the rusted brass fixtures on the walls and fireplace in front of the crushed remains of an Empire Divan couch.

"Okay, make your turn." Brock instructed.

"Cable out, Captain," said Bodine as he adjusted the controls.

"Make your turn. Watch the wall." Brock warned.

"Brock," said the intercom next to them that connected to Mir-2. "We're at the piano. You copy?"

"Copy that." He replied, still focusing on Snoop Dog. "Right there," he said to Bodine, pointing at another doorway in the suite. "That's it. That's the bedroom door!"

"I see it!" Lewis said excitedly as he drove Snoop Dog through the door. "We're in! We're in, baby! We're there!"

"That's Hockley's bed," said Brock as he stared at the projection from the camera of the eroded wood of the bedpost. "That's where the son of a bitch slept…" Lewis chuckled, and turned Snoop Dog to be facing the remains of the bathroom. The tub was full of algae, and fish were swimming about inside it.

"Oops. Somebody left the water running," he joked.

"Hold it, just a second," said Brock suddenly. "Go back to the right." Bodine did as he said, and turned the robot so it was facing the closet. "That wardrobe door… Get closer…"

"You smelling something, boss?" Bodine asked.

"I want to see what's under it," he explained.

"Give me my hands, man!" Bodine said as he pressed a few buttons on the keypad. Instantly, two robotic arms came out from the sides of Snoop Dog, and slowly latched on to the sides of the door. "All right!"

"Take it easy," Brock said. "It might come apart."

"Okay." Ever so slowly, Lewis began to lift the door off the ruins of the floor.

"Okay, go! Flip it over!" Brock urged. "Go! Turn it over! Keep going! Go!" Bodine spun the door around at his words. "Okay, drop it!" He did as he said, and they had to wait a few seconds for the sand to clear away to see what had been underneath the door. They all grinned and cheered when they finally got a clear image on the screen.

"Oh, baby! Are you seeing this, boss?" Lewis cheered. Brock nodded, grinning from ear to ear. They had at last found it. It was the holy grail of the Titanic: Hockley's steel combination safe.

"It's payday, boys," Brock whispered.

"Cha-ching!" Lewis shouted later when they were all back on board the Russian research ship, the Keldysh, which was the headquarters of their operation. Everyone on the ship was gathering around the safe. This was it. After three long years, they were finally going to unravel the greatest mystery of all when it came to the Titanic. As Brock ran over with the documentary crew he had hired to film this historic moment, Bobby Buell, the representative of the expedition's sponsors, rushed over as well. He too was eager to witness this. After three years, he could finally call up his own boss and tell him that the money he had spent on this project had not gone to waste, and that they had finally found it.

"We did it, Bobby!" Brock said excitedly as they walked over to the safe that the crewmen were lowering onto the deck.

"We brought it back!" Bobby shouted back over the cheers of the crew.

"Oh, yeah!" Lewis screamed in joy. "You the man! Who's the best, baby? Say it! Say it!"

"You are, Lewis!" Brock shouted as one crewman began working a mechanical saw to cut loose the hinges of the safe's door. "Bobby, my cigar!" he said suddenly, remembering the promise he had made to himself over three years ago.

"Right here!" Buell said, taking it out of his pocket and handing him the unwrapped tobacco right as the technician finished sawing through the hinges. Another crewman quickly attached a metal hook and chain around the handle so as to pry it looses.

"Okay, crack her open!" Brock said, preparing to unwrap the cigar. The crewman nodded, and tugged on the chain. The door clanged loudly as it landed on the deck, and out flowed wet sand followed by the soggy remains of what had once been paper money. Brock got down on his knees, and started to fish through the contents of the safe. At first, all he pulled out was more sand and damp money. He threw them all to the side. They weren't what he was after. When he reached the very back of the safe, he pulled out what looked like it had once been a leather portfolio. There looked as though there were still some papers in tact inside it. To anyone else, this would have been an excellent find, but not to Brock. There was something specific he was looking for, and the portfolio wasn't it. He threw it to the side as well before digging his entire arm inside the safe, trying to find his sacred treasure, but all he felt now was the back of the safe. It wasn't inside.

"Shit…" he mumbled to himself. The crew all became very quiet when they realized what he meant.

"No diamond?" Anatoly asked timidly. Brock shot him an angry look, almost tempting him to repeat his question.

"You know, boss," said Lewis, "this same thing happened to Geraldo, and his career never recovered…" Brock got to his feet, shaking with anger and disappointment.

"Turn the camera off!" he snapped at the cameramen as he stormed away.

"Brock!" said Bobby a few hours later in the preservation room on the ship, handing him the phone. "The partners would like to know how it's going." Brock sighed as he turned away from the lab technicians that were trying to sift through the contents they had found in the portfolio inside the safe to take the phone.

"Hey Dave, Barry, hi. Look, it wasn't in the safe, but don't worry about it! There are still plenty of places it could be… Hell, yeah!" he said, turning to face the close up television monitor that was showing what the technicians were doing. "The floor debris in the suite, the mother's suite, the purser's suite on C-Deck…"

"Jimmy Hoffa's briefcase!" Buell joked.

"A dozen other places," Brock continued. "Guys, look, you just got to trust my instincts. I know we're close. We just got to go through a little process of elimin- hang on a second…"

Brock bent down, taking a good look at the monitor. The technicians were carefully washing away the grime upon several sheets of papers that had been inside the portfolio. The first sheet of paper was a drawing. An aged, yellowing charcoal drawing of a young woman. Though its edges were somewhat fragmented, it was still in excellent condition. The woman was in either in her late teens, or early twenties, and had been captured perfectly by whoever the artist had been that had drawn her. She was completely nude aside from a beautiful, heart-shaped necklace she was wearing. She was lying down, posing modestly, upon an Empire divan couch.

The next two papers were filled with musical notes. The words beneath them were water-worn and faded, but still somewhat eligible. At the top of the first page where the title should be, was the word: Untitled. Under that, in small letters, were the words: Dedicated to Jack, And The Woman Who I Hope He'll Marry One Day, Rose. The song cut off abruptly in the middle of the second page. It had never been finished.

The last paper was a photograph. A photograph of three people, which included the woman from the drawing. She wore a beautiful, short-sleeved dress with a sash around her waist as her bright, curly hair cascaded down her shoulders. She was clearly of upper class descent, but her face, instead of being stoic and placid, was full of joy and life as she smiled happily to the camera along with her two companions, who both looked to be of third-class. To the right of her was a young man, who looked as though he was about the same age as her. His hair was very light-colored, and slightly longer than the style had been during the 1910's. He wore a long-sleeved dark jacket, dark pants with suspenders, and leather boots. Like the woman, he, too, was smiling at the camera, and had his left arm wrapped around her. He pulled her so close to him she had her hands on his chest, and had to look over her shoulder just to face the camera. His right hand however, was on the shoulder of the third person, who was standing slightly in front of them. Unlike the man and woman, the third person was much younger than them. A child, in fact; a little girl. She was, without a doubt, related to the man. Her straight hair, which went just past her tiny shoulders, was about at light as his, and they not only had similarly shaped faces and colored eyes, but the exact same smile; although hers gave off more of childhood innocence than the adults' did. She was wearing a simple, dark cotton dress with a fancy wool coat, small leather boots like the man's, and, oddly enough, the same heart-shaped necklace the woman had been wearing in the charcoal drawing. She was gently touching the edges of it as she hugged an inexpensive, but still regal looking nutcracker with a white beard to her chest under the same arm, since her other hand was on top of the man's hand on her shoulder. He was dressed smartly in a fancy suit, and held a toy wooden sword in his hand and had a tiny crown on top of his head.

"Let me see those!" Brock said excitedly, thrusting the phone over to Bobby as he ran over to the table the technicians were working on.

"We might have something here, guys!" Bobby said to the men on the phone, hearing them ask what was going on.

"Where's the photograph of the necklace?" Brock demanded, his eyes trailing back and forth between the papers.

"We'll call you right back!" Bobby said before hanging up so he could see, too, while pointing at the corner of the table. Brock grabbed it and held it next to the papers. The incomplete song didn't mean much to him. What he cared about was the photograph and the drawing. Sure enough, the picture of the diamond matched the necklace the woman in the drawing was wearing, and that the little girl in the photograph was wearing. With careful fingers, he wiped away the sand at the bottom of the papers.

In tiny letters in the bottom corner of the drawing, was the date along with the initials of the artist: April 14th, 1912, J.D., in the bottom corner of both pages of the score of the song were, like on the drawing, the initials and date: Edited on April 14th, 1912, C.D., and in the lower right corner of the photograph was the date along with three sets of initials: April 14th, 1912; C.D., R.D.B., and J.D.

"I'll be goddamned…" Brock whispered to himself.

In Santa Monica, California, an old man was cutting up his eggs in front of him as he clicked on the television. His wife was outside; busy throwing some clay on a pottery wheel while their granddaughter prepared some bacon in the frying pan. When he saw what the news report was on, he literally dropped his fork.

"Honey?"

"Hm? Yes, dear?"

"Come here for a second. There's a news report on the television about the Titanic."

The old, white-haired woman paused in the midst of her pottery work and turned to her balding husband of nearly eighty-five years, Jack. He was sitting at the kitchen table, completely forgetting about the plate of scrambled eggs in front of him as he intently watched the CNN news report.

"…Using deep submergence technologies to work two and a half miles down to reach the most famous shipwreck of all… the Titanic. Brock Lovett is with us live via satellite from the Russian research ship Keldysh in the North Atlantic… hello Brock!"

"Yes, hi, Tracy. You know, Titanic is not just a shipwreck, Titanic is the shipwreck. It's the Mount Everest of shipwrecks. Of course, everyone knows the familiar stories of Titanic. You know, the nobility of the band playing to the end and all that. But what I'm interested in are the untold stories… the secrets locked deep inside the hull of Titanic. I've planned this expedition for three years, and we're out here using robot technology to go further into the wreck than anybody has ever done before to recover some amazing things… things that will have enormous historical and educational value."

The woman, Rose Dawson, frowned, and turned back to her pottery wheel. It was just another interview with another treasure-hungry Titanic explorer. Another person who boasted about finding the unknown jewels and riches that had gone down with the luxury liner, only to return from the bottom of the vast ocean empty-handed, like so many explorers before them. It was almost painful for Rose to see Jack watching the news report about this arrogant Titanic treasure-hunter, who was merely interested in the valuable riches that was within the sunken cruise ship and the scientific reasons for what had caused the boat to go down. That man, no matter how smart he was, would never be able to understand the great mysteries of the Titanic… She and Jack, however, were among the few people left that would always be able to understand…

I can't hate Jack for watching… Rose thought to herself. He's still hopeful… She was about to continue her pottery work, but what she heard next made her turn back around in surprise.

"But it's no secret that education is not your main purpose." The reporter stated. "You're a treasure hunter, Brock. So what is this treasure you're hunting?"

"I'd rather show you than tell you, and we think we're very close to doing just that," said Lovett.

Rose, very carefully, arose from her seat, and hobbled into the living room, wiping her hands on a rag. Their granddaughter, Lizzie, saw her get up and rushed over to her.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Turn that up, please, dear," Rose said, stopping beside Jack, and placed a hand on his shoulder. He flinched slightly, but made no other movement. His bright blue eyes were glued to the screen, and held a spark of hope. His hands were clasped together, and were pressed against his lips. He almost looked as though he was praying.

"Your expedition is at the center of a storm of controversy over salvage rights, and even ethics," the reporter continued. "Many are calling you a grave robber."

"Well, nobody ever called the recovery of the artifacts from King Tut's tomb grave robbing," Brock Lovett pointed out. "I have museum-trained experts out here, making sure that these relics are preserved and catalogued properly. Take a look at what we've found just today…"

The video camera shifted off Brock to a table next to him, where four sheets of paper laid submerged in trays of water.

"These have been underwater for eighty-four years," Brock Lovett continued. "And my team are able to preserve them intact. Should these have remained at the bottom of the ocean for eternity, when we can see them now, and enjoy them?"

Jack and Rose could only stare at the screen in shock with their mouths agape.

"Jack…" Rose finally said after several moments, "are those…?"

Jack nodded, smiling as he wiped away a few tears of joy that had gathered in his eyes. Then he turned to Lizzie.

"Lizzie," he said in a choked sob as he smiled to her. "Would you please get the doll that's in the cabinet in mine and Rose's room?"

Lizzie stared at them for a moment, confused, before nodding. She returned a moment later, carrying the exact same nutcracker in the photograph on the television. He was chipped in several places, and the red of his suit and the gold of his crown had long since faded with time, but it was, without a doubt, the same nutcracker.

"Well, I'll be goddamned, Rose…" he whispered excitedly, holding the nutcracker as if it was a most sacred treasure, "I'll be goddamned…"

On the deck of the Keldysh, Brock Lovett was about to climb into submersible Mir-1 to go back down into the wreckage and find more possible clues about the whereabouts of the necklace, when Bobby rushed over to him.

"Brock," he said, "there's a satellite call for you."

"Bobby, we're launching," he said in a matter-of-fact way. "Can you not see these submersibles going in the water? Take a message."

"No, trust me, buddy," said Buell. "You want to take this call."

"…This better be good," Brock said irritably before following Bobby to the phone.

"Be sure to speak up," Bobby said, giving him the phone, "they're kind of old…"

"Great…" Brock mumbled before bringing the phone to his ear. "This is Brock Lovett. How can I help you…?" He turned to Bobby, realizing he didn't know the caller's names.

"Dawson. Jack and Rose Dawson." Bobby said.

"Mr. and Mrs. Dawson?" And what do you think is so important for me to hear that I have to put my next dive on hold? He thought to himself.

"We were just wondering, if you had found the "Heart of the Ocean," yet, Mr. Lovett?" Said Rose calmly into the receiver that she and Jack had close to their ears, ignoring the perplexed look they were both getting from Lizzie.

Brock almost dropped the phone. Everyone who knew about the diamond was either supposed to be dead, or on board this ship. How on earth did these people know about it?

"I told you, you wanted to take this call," Bobby said, smirking at his reaction.

"Alright, you both have my attention, Jack, Rose," Brock said as calmly as possible, trying to mask his excitement from his voice. "Can either of you tell us who the woman in the drawing is, and who the people with her in the photograph are?"

"Oh yes," Jack said, his eyes still shining with tears. "I happen to be the artist of the drawing you found of my wife, and we're also the man and woman in the photograph as well."

"They're goddamned liars! Some nutcases seeking money or publicity… or God only knows what!" Lewis shouted. "They're like… that Russian babe… Anastasia!"

"Brock," Bobby said, running over to him and Bodine. "They're inbound!" He pointed over the railing of the boat. A helicopter was rapidly approaching. Buell, Lovett, and Bodine started walking in the direction of the landing pad.

"Listen to me, Brock. This woman says she's Rose Dewitt Bukater and this Jack guy claims to be the survivor Jack Dawson, right? Well, Rose Dewitt Bukater died on the Titanic when she was seventeen. If she'd lived, she'd be over a hundred by now!"

"A hundred and one next month," Brock corrected, "And Jack will be a hundred and two in another four months."

"Alright… so they're very old goddamn liars," said Bodine, still skeptical.

"What about her husband? Jack Dawson? He was for sure a Titanic survivor." Bodine shook his head.

"The chances of this being the exact same Dawson on board Titanic are one in a million, boss! Jack Dawson was a survivor from steerage!" Brock frowned. Lewis had a valid point there. Hardly any men had survived the sinking of the Titanic due to the women and children boarding the lifeboats first rule, and less than a quarter of that handful had been from third class.

"Look, I've already done the background check on these people all the way back to the twenties…" Bodine continued. "This woman was working as an actress back then. An actress! There's your first clue, Sherlock! And here's your second: this Jack guy was working as a composer! The Jack Dawson on board the Titanic was an artist! They moved to Santa Monica right before World War One, and had a couple kids before and after Jack came home from serving in the war!"

"And everyone who knows about the diamond is supposed to be dead or on this boat," Brock shouted over the roar of the helicopter's wheels bouncing on the landing pad. "But they know! And I want to hear what they have to say, got it?"

Before Bodine could reply, the doors to the helicopter opened, and the nearby crewmembers started unloading the luggage. One by one, the three workers unloaded ten suitcases, and, for some bizarre reason, a piano.

"They don't exactly travel light, do they?" Bodine mumbled.

Rose was lowered in a wheelchair out of the helicopter first, with a tiny Pomeranian puppy on her lap, before Jack was brought down, too. He was holding a goldfish bowl with several fish in it. A young woman who looked to be in her early forties hopped out behind them.

"Mr. and Mrs. Dawson," said Brock, shaking their hands. "I'm Brock Lovett, welcome to the Keldysh." He turned to the crewmembers and said, "Alright, let's get them both inside!"

"Is your state room alright?" Brock asked. He and Lewis were watching Lizzie unpack the luggage as Jack and Rose were carefully arranging several framed photographs on the top of the bureau. The piano they had brought with them had been set neatly in the back corner of the room, where the sunlight could light any music in the stand.

"Oh yes," said Jack, setting the fishbowl on the corner of the dresser. "It's very nice."

"Oh, have you met our granddaughter, Lizzie?" Rose asked, gesturing toward the woman with them. "She takes care of us."

"We met just a few minutes ago," Lizzie said with a smile. "Remember grandma, up on deck?"

"Oh, yes," Rose said, frowning slightly at she tapped the side of her head in her irritation for forgetting that detail. Jack took her hand and gave her a reassuring smile. Bodine rolled his eyes as Lizzie handed the last photograph to Jack, who set it down carefully on the edge of the dresser.

"There, that looks good," he said, smiling at the different photos.

"We have to have our pictures and our piano when we travel," Rose explained. "And Freddy of course. Isn't that right, sweetie?" she asked the Pomeranian. The puppy yapped in acknowledgement.

"Oh, don't forget this, grandpa," Lizzie stated suddenly, reaching back into the suitcase. Brock and Lewis watched in astonishment as she pulled the nutcracker out, and gave it to him. Jack smiled as he looked at it before giving it to Rose, who held it like a most precious treasure. The he turned to the two men at their door.

"We figured you would want us to be able to prove who we are when we got here," he explained as Rose, hesitantly, gave it to Lovett to examine.

"And what better way than to show you the nutcracker that's in the photograph you showed on TV?" Rose added.

"…Can I get either of you anything?" Lovett asked them, giving the nutcracker back to Rose. "Is there anything either of you'd like?" Jack and Rose were silent for a moment as they stared at each other, then they turned back to him and Bodine.

"Yes," Jack said. "We would like to see the sheet music, the drawing, and our photograph."

Jack and Rose looked hesitantly at the tray of water where the drawing of Rose was submerged in. Rose felt very strange as she confronted her younger, seventeen year old self, whereas Jack felt a forgotten warmth touch his heart as he recalled the memory of when he had drawn her. They tore their eyes away from the drawing to look at the two sheets of music. They silently read the faded, child's untidy scrawl, the dedication beneath it, and what was still eligible of the vocal and piano notes. Rose smiled as she recalled how the song was supposed to go. Jack shut his eyes. It was painful for him to read it, knowing that the writer had never finished it. Rose gently took his hand. He gave her a small smile to show that he was okay. Rose carefully gave the nutcracker back to him. His eyes started to glisten with tears as he held the tiny toy, but he still smiled. Rose waited patiently, knowing he would need a few moments before looking at the last item. A few moments passed before Jack looked up at Rose and nodded. Rose smiled as he grasped her hand tightly before they both peered into the final tray.

Their younger selves smiled at them with happy eyes, completely unaware of the horrible tragedy that already unfolding below decks right when this photograph was taken. The little girl in the picture made them both close their eyes as they remembered her. The way she tilted her head as she looked at them… how she had touched the necklace as delicately as if it were a flower petal… how the sound of her laughter rang with pure happiness… the way her eyes had shined when she had been excited…

Brock walked over to them, holding a photograph of the necklace.

"Louis the XVI wore a fabulous stone," he told them, "called the Blue Diamond of the Crown. It disappeared in 1792, about the same time old Louis lost everything from the neck up. The theory goes that the crown diamond was chopped, too, and was recut into a heart-like shape… and it became known as the Heart of the Ocean. Today, it would be worth even more than the Hope Diamond." Rose chuckled.

"It was a dreadful, heavy thing. I only wore it this once," she said, pointing at the drawing.

"Grandpa," Lizzie said. "You actually think this is a drawing you made of Grandma?"

"Of course it is, dear," Jack said. "Wasn't she just a dish?" Rose smiled at him.

"I tracked it down through insurance records," Lovett continued. "An old claim that was settled under terms of absolute secrecy. Can either of you tell me who the claimant was?"

"I should imagine someone named Hockley." Rose replied.

"Nathan Hockley, that's right. Pittsburgh steel tycoon," said Brock. "The claim was for a diamond necklace his son Caledon bought in France for his fiancé… you… just a week before he sailed on Titanic. It was filed right after the sinking, so the diamond had to have gone down with the ship." He paused and turned to Lizzie, completely missing the smirks Rose and Jack exchanged. "See the dates on the photograph, the drawing, and the sheet music?" he asked.

"They all say April 14th, 1912."

"Which means if your grandparents are who they say they are," Bodine said skeptically, "your grandfather drew your grandmother wearing the diamond, are most likely the same Jack and Rose that this song is dedicated too when it was last edited on, and were with the little girl in the photograph that's wearing the diamond. All on the day that the Titanic sank."

"And that makes the two of you," Lovett said to Jack and Rose, "my new best friends. I will happily compensate you both for anything either of you can tell us that will lead to its recovery." Jack and Rose frowned as they shook their heads.

"We don't want your money, Mr. Lovett," Rose told him. Lizzie, Brock, and Lewis stared at them.

"We both know very well how hard it is for people who love money to give it away." Jack explained.

"You two don't want anything?" Bodine said, even more skeptical. Rose turned to look at Jack. He was holding the nutcracker tightly in his hands as he stared at the photograph, his bright blue eyes were filled with tears as they remained fixed on the child.

"You may give us these," Rose said, gesturing to the photograph, the drawing, and the sheets of music, "If anything we tell you is of any value."

Brock Lovett grinned. "Deal." He said before crossing the room. "Rose, over here is some of the things we've recovered from your state room."

Lizzie wheeled her over to a small worktable before wheeling Jack up next to her as well. On the surface of the table, fifty to sixty objects of different sizes and values were scattered about. With a trembling hand, Rose picked up a silver, tortoise-shell hand mirror, inlaid with mother of pearl. She stared at it in wonder.

"This was mine," she said to Jack and Lizzie in awe. "How extraordinary! It looks the same as it did the last time I saw it." There was a slight pause before she turned it over, and stared at her ancient reflection in the cracked glass. "The reflection has changed a bit, since then," she said with a slight frown, placing it back on the table. Her eyes slowly scanned over some more items before picking up a much tinier object. An ornate, art nouveau hair comb of a jade butterfly upon an ebony handle. With a small smile, she turned it over several times in her hands, recalling the last time she had worn it. She could remember being so hesitant and nervous to remove it from her hair, because it had been just before Jack had drawn her wearing the diamond. Jack took her hand and smiled at her as he, too, remembered how she looked with the comb in her fiery red hair back then. Rose smiled back at him. This comb alone had unlocked memories and emotions that had remained dormant in them both for eight decades, and they were now washing over them in a frenzy that could not be stopped. Seeing this in them, Brock decided now would be a good time to continue.

"Are you both ready to go back to Titanic?" he asked.

Jack and Rose were silent for a moment before they finally nodded. They were led into the imaging shack. It was a dark room, filled with many television monitors. Each of them was displaying a different image of the wreckage.

"They're live from 12,000 feet," Bodine said, noticing that Jack and Rose were staring at them. "From our two submersibles."

Jack and Rose looked at each of the screens emotionlessly, squeezing each other's hands. They paused as they noticed a screen showing the once majestic bow, and their memories overwhelmed them. That bow had once been so new and shiny. They had once stood there, together. They could still remember the smell and taste of the salty sea air as they stood there. They both still remembered the feel of each other's lips from their first kiss upon that bow. They could still remember how they felt as though they had been flying… And now, that bow-the very same bow-that was currently being projected upon the screen in front of them, was draped in an overgrowth of sea urchins and seaweed, like mutated moss.

Brock and Lewis noticed which screen they were looking at.

"The bow's stuck in the bottom like an axe, from the impact," Bodine explained. "Here… I can run a simulation we worked up on this monitor over here." Lizzie turned Jack and Rose's chairs so they could both see the screen he was referring to. As they waited for the program to launch, he continued to speak. "We've put together the world's largest database on the Titanic. Okay, here-"

"Lewis," Lovett interrupted. "Jack and Rose might not want to see this."

"No, no. It's fine," Rose said.

"Yes, we're curious," said Jack.

Bodine started the program, paralleling his own narration to the computer graphics.

"Okay, here we go… she hits the berg on the starboard side, right? She kind of bumps along… punching holes like Morse code… dit dit dit, along the side, but below the water line. Then the forward compartments start to flood. Now, as the water level rises, it spills over the watertight bulkheads, which, unfortunately, do not go any higher than E deck. So now as the bow goes down, the stern rises up, slow at first… and then faster and faster until finally she's got her whole ass sticking up in the air! And that's a big ass! We're talking twenty to thirty thousand tons! Okay, and the hull's not designed to deal with that pressure, so, what happens? SKRTTT! She splits! Right down to the keel, and the stern falls back level, then as the bow sinks, it pulls the stern vertical, and then finally detaches. Now, the stern section kind of bobs there like a cork for a couple of minutes, floods, and finally goes under at about 2:20 A.M. Two hours and forty minutes after the collision. The bow section planes away, landing about a half a mile away, going maybe twenty or thirty knots before it hits the ocean floor. BOOM!"

Jack and Rose merely stared at the screen emotionlessly as the program ended.

"Pretty cool, huh?" said Bodine, indicating the simulation.

"Thank you for that fine forensic analysis, Mr. Bodine," Rose said coolly.

"Of course," Jack added. "The experience of it was… somewhat different."

"Will you both share it with us?" Brock asked.

Slowly, Jack and Rose got out of their wheelchairs and walked back over to the monitors together, which were still displaying the sad ruins down below. Their long since closed off memories began to unlock as they stared at the screens.

Rose could recognize one of the Wellin davits that, surprisingly, were still in place. She could hear the ghostly, enchanting waltz music that had once flowed out of a set of doors near them when two stewards had been kind enough to open them for her when she went inside.

Jack, meanwhile, was looking at another monitor. The cameras from the robot called Snoop Dog were taking him down a long, debris-filled hallway. Jack watched as the endless row of crumbled doorways slid past him, like dark mouths, wanting to swallow him up. He blinked, and he found himself back in that same corridor. At the opposite end was a little boy dressed in his pajamas in an oversized, sopping wet brown coat, who looked as though he was either three, or maybe four years old. He was all alone, up to his ankles in the freezing, icy water. He was crying hysterically, overcome by terror of the situation.

Instantly, screaming, terrified faces in a panic-stricken crowd flashed before their eyes. Some people were crying, knowing that the end was near. Others knelt down on the deck and began to pray for mercy upon their unworthy souls, or to ask their God's to watch over their families once they were gone.

It was too much for them. Engulfed by the memories and emotions they had both felt on that terrible, horrifying night, Jack and Rose started sobbing into each others shoulders, clutching each other tightly, almost as though they needed to hang on to each other in order to keep hold of their sanity.

Concerned for them, Lizzie rushed forward with their chairs. "I'm taking them to rest," she said to the others as she helped them back in their wheelchairs.

"No…" Jack protested, clutching both Rose's hand, and the nutcracker tightly, tears spilling from his eyes.

"Come on, Grandma, Grandpa," Lizzie urged gently.

"No!" Rose cried forcefully. Lizzie stepped back in surprise. Jack and Rose knew that now they would have to tell their story. They had to make Brock and his crewmembers understand that the "Heart of the Ocean" was nowhere nearly as precious as their memories of their time on the Titanic were, no matter how beautiful or rare it was. Only by telling their story, by forcing them to walk in their shoes and therefore share their journey with them, was the only way to do so. Old scars they had believed to have healed long ago would reopen. It would be painful for both of them, but they had to. If not for them, then for the little girl they had both loved that was in that photograph… But how? How could they make these people understand the pain they had been forced to endure?

Brock signaled everyone to stay quiet as he turned on a small recorder. "Tell us, Jack, Rose." He said. Jack and Rose nodded. It was as simple as that.

Rose took a deep breath, and said, "It's been eighty four years…"

"It's okay," he interrupted. "Just try to remember anything… Anything at all."

Jack gave him a stern look. "Do you want to hear this or not, Mr. Lovett?"

Lovett nodded apologetically and stayed quiet. Jack turned to Rose, and, with another small smile, gave her hand a light squeeze, telling her to continue.

"It's been eighty four years…" Rose began again. "And… I can still smell the fresh paint. The china had never been used… the sheets had never been slept in…"

"I can still hear the Irish folk music in the third class decks…" Jack said solemnly. "I hear the joyful laughter… the bagpipes playing in the background…"

"Titanic was called: The Ship of Dreams," said Rose, squeezing Jack's hand tightly. "And it was, it really was…"

And so it had begun. Jack and Rose each took a deep breath, and then slowly, they began to lead them all back in time. Back to the beginning of their life-changing journey…