Title: Reflections
Author: Hermione
Rating: G-PG
Bunny: #14
Disclaimer: Jack and Rose do not belong to me (though I would not mind if they did ;o)) they belong to James Cameron. I am only borrowing them for my own personal amusement and promise to give them back. I also do not plan to make any money from this.
Summary: Jack and Rose go to live in Chippewa Falls, and reflect on memories.
Feedback: Yes please!

It was the sweetest, most mysterious place anyone could imagine. A cottage, constructed of mohagany and pine sat nestled at the edge of rolling hills. White and pink petals fell from the cherry blossom trees surrounding the property, reminding one of a picture post card.

Rose Dawson's hazel eyes lit up at the sight, watching as her husband Jack pulled the small silver key from his pocket. "Here we are," h e announced, unlocking the door with a quiet *snap*. He sniffed slightly, rubbing at his eyes, which began to water.

"My God, Jack, it's stunning!" Rose looked around, noting the furniture covered with fairly dusty white sheets. The fireplace mantle bore old, framed photographs, and a couple of paintings hung on the walls. "You grew up here?"

Jack nodded, rubbing his itchy nose. His allergies always worked up so terribly this time of the year. "Mmm hmm. I'm sorry every...huh-Chuuuh! Everything's such...eh...chuuuh! A mess. Excuse me." He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, sniffling into it and blowing his nose.

"Bless you, sweetheart." Rose replied, running her fingers through his dirty blonde hair. She felt so thankful to be here, and to have Jack with her. The tragedy that had occurred nearly a month ago still tinkered on the edge of her mind.

It was cold, so cold.

"Jack--"

"Keep swimming!"

Rose paddled furiously through the icy North Atlantic, feeling every limb start to go numb. She looked over her shoulder at the spot where the Titanic once sat, and it was now filled with hundreds of people screaming, crying, or silent with death.

They found a piece of debris, a headboard, not occupied, and Jack pulled Rose along with every amount of strength he had until he could grasp it. He hoisted her onto the board first, making sure she was comfortable before attempting to climb on himself. The board suddenly tipped back under their weight, knocking them back into the water.

"S-stay on, Rose," Jack insisted, aiding her back on again.

"Rose? Rosie?"

Rose blinked, trying to focus on reality. "Rose!" Jack waved a hand in front of her face. She leaned against him, allowing him to wrap his arms around her.

"Jack, I can't stop thinking about how we almost lost each other." She took in his calming scent of cinnamon and charcoal, her head spinning.

Jack stroked her red curls, kissing her softly. "Shhh. It's all right, love. We're both safe now."

Rose pulled away, folding her arms. "Jack, it's--why? Why did it have to happen?"

Jack led her over to one of the covered couches and sat down, pulling her onto his lap. He instantly regretted the action as a cloud of dust flew up in his face. "Hehchuuh! Chhhhuh!"

Rose frowned, reaching up to make sure he wasn't feverish. She worried about his health now more than ever, especially after he'd contracted bronchitis a week after they left Ellis Island. It started off as a cold, due to severe hypothermia from the water, and gradually grew worse.

"I'm fine, Rose. It's just my allergies working up." He kissed her passionately, as though to assure her he wasn't lying. She touched the tip of his slightly pink nose and chuckled.

"My poor darling." She stood, helping him to his feet. "Then we shouldn't be sitting here like this." She removed the sheet, revealing a dark green and yellow print sofa with oak arm rests. Two olive green pillows sat in each corner.

"I hated this couch," Jack admitted, fingering it. "But I never wanted to hurt my mother's feelings, so I never said so." He chewed on his lower lip, remembering the quiet evenings he spent with his parents in this room. His father, a thin, balding man of forty, would sit in his armchair with the paper, muttering to himself behind a thick, brown mustache. His mother, slightly chubby but rosy cheeked and bright eyed, sat knitting. He remembered the bright, dancing flames in the fireplace, warming his cheeks on cold winter nights. Jack sniffed slightly, rubbing his tear-filled eyes.

"If it troubles you too deeply, love, perhaps we shouldn't live here," Rose suggested.

Jack cleared his throat, shaking his head. "No, I do want to be here. Yes, I do feel sad when I think of my parents, but I must make my peace with my memories. I must accept what happened in the past, no matter how painful." He closed his eyes, a single tear rllling down his cheek.

Rose brushed it away, listening as birds chirped outside of the large window. "Do you remember when we first met on the Titanic?" she asked, squeezing his hand. It seemed so long ago.

"How could I forget?" Jack laughed.

Jack lay on the bench, gazing up at the black sky dotted with stars. His breath created white clouds, showing how truly cold it was.

Suddenly, a pair of feet dashed past, causing him to sit up, startled. He caught sight of a woman running, her bright red hair flying behind her. She was crying hysterically. He stood up and followed the noise, his heart racing.

The woman led him to the Titanic's stern, grasping the rail tightly. She heaved as she continued sobbing, stepping up and eventually climbing over. `Oh God,' Jack thought, his eyes wide. He had to do something. Very carefully, as though he were approaching a nervous horse, he moved towards her.

"Don't do it," he begged, causing her to gasp and look over her shoulder.

"Stay back!" she snapped, the icy wind blowing her red curls about her neck. Tears continued to fall down her cheeks, revealing streaks of black mascara, and he could tell she was shivering. "Don't come any closer!"

He reached out his hand,rough from years of hard work. "Please," he replied, beads of sweat popping out on his forehead. "Give me your hand--I'll pull you back over."

She glared. "No, stay where you are!" she made a slight movement. "I mean it! I'll let go!"

He watched as she turned away again, sniffling and staring anxiously at the icy North Atlantic waters below her.

"No you wont," he told her after a moment of silence.

She blinked. "What do you mean, no I won't?" she asked. "Don't presume to tell me what I will and will not do, you don't know me!"

Jack put his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Well, you would have done it already."

The woman sighed. "You're distracting me, go away!"

Jack thought for a moment, wanting to use any tactic he could to get her not to do what she planned. So, he began to unbutton his jacket. "I can't," he told her. "I'm involved now. You let go and--I'm gonna have to jump in there after you." `What the hell--' he wanted to smack himself. He'd do what?! Still, his hands continued to move over the buttons, pulling the jacket completely off and tossing it onto the deck in a heap. She watched him, her green eyes startled by his behavior.

"Don't be absurd!" she hissed. "You'll be killed!" she shuddered as another ghust of icy breeze blew past.

"I'm a good swimmer," Jack insisted as he began to remove his boots, tossing them aside also.

"The fall alone would kill you."

"It would hurt. I'm not saying it wouldn't. The truth is I'm a lot more concerned about that water being so cold." So cold, so unbearably cold that it would numb the human body in seconds of exposure. The woman was quiet for a moment or two, as though she were thinking it over.

"How cold?" she asked in a timid voice, full of uncertainty.

Jack shrugged, his crystal blue eyes gazing into hers. "Freezing. Maybe a couple of degrees over." He sighed, rubbing his nose which had begun to run a little from the chill. "You uh-- have you ever been to Wisconsin?"

The woman stared at Jack as though he'd lost his mind. "What?"

"Well they have some of the coldest winters around. I grew up there near Chippewa Falls. I remember as a kid--me and my father-- we'd go ice fishing out on lake wisotta. You know, ice fishing is when you--" Jack started to explain, but she cut him off angrily.

"I KNOW what ice fishing is!" she gasped, squeezing her eyes shut. He held up his hands.

"Sorry. You just--seemed like, sort of an indoor girl." He chewed on his lip. "Anyway, I um--I fell through some thin ice. And I'm telling you. Water that cold--like right down there? It hits you like a thousand knives stabbing you all over your body. You cant breathe--can't think--" he shrugged again. "Least not about anyting but the pain." Sticking his hands in his pockets, he blew out his breath. "Which is why I'm not looking forward to jumping in there after you. But--like I said, I don't have a choice." He leaned forward. "I'm kind of hoping you'll come back over the rail and--let me off the hook here."

The woman gaped in awe. "You're crazy!"

He smiled. "That's what everybody says, but--with all do respect, Miss, I'm not the one hanging off the back of a ship here." He reached his hand out again, hoping she'd accept it this time. "Come on. Come on, give me your hand. You don't want to do this."

The woman finally agreed, taking his hand in hers, slowly but surely turning around so she was facing him. Jack sighed with relief. He had done it. "I'm Jack Dawson," he introduced himself, beaming. She was breathtaking.

She smiled weakly. "Rose DeWitt Bukater."

Rose laughed, snuggling against Jack's chest. "Oh Jack, I don't know what would have happened if you'd not come along. I don't know if I would have jumped, or if I would have decided not to."

He kissed the top of her head. "I love you, Rose. So very much."

Sighing in content, Rose nodded. "I love you," she replied, and meant it with all of her heart.