The Explorer's Apprentice

48:Only This

Still don't own them....x)

Rose Dewitt Bukater

Rose can’t believe he’s still following her. He’s like a myth, almost—something you read about as a child but could never get yourself to believe. And then when you finally see it and figure out the truth of its reality, it takes a little while to let it set in. Any moment now, she secretly expects to look over and find him gone, her hand empty— and then she’ll realize that he was nothing but a figment of her hyperactive imagination. So much so that as they walk down the halls, hand in hand, she’s inclined to pinch him hard on the thumb.

He jumps, a grin manifesting on his face as he turns to look at her. “What was that for?” 

“I was just checking,” she shrugs lightly. “To make sure that I’m not dreaming this time.”

“Aren’t you supposed to test yourself for that?”

“I found you to be an easier target.”  Rose can’t stop giggling, and her belly feels warm and fuzzy like there are little fairies dancing inside. She suddenly feels fourteen again, at her grandmother’s staying up late and sneaking about the house when she isn’t supposed to. Rose adores the familiar, delicious sense of rebellion that courses through her veins. She feels invincible—like she’s walking on clouds. “It’s quite proper, I assure you!”

Reason number two: for being real. 

She guides Jack through the door of her room, only pausing for a moment so that her eyes can adjust to the dim light. It’s funny how a light that she’s always thought of as cold and unwelcoming has suddenly transformed into a symbol of romance and pleasure. “This is the sitting room,” she informs him, her voice as cheery as springtime. She removes her silk shawl hastily, itching to get started. “Will this light do?”

Jack’s voice comes from a distance. “What?”  

“Don’t artists need good light?” When Rose stands up, she notices how much Jack has wondered off. He slowly strolls through the room eyeing each possession with squinted eyes and intense interest—the paintings especially. It’s like he’s never seen anything like it all before, and Rose soon realizes that he probably hasn’t. The everyday, first-class life she knows is like a whole new universe for the boy from steerage.

“That is true,” says Jack in a very impressive, mock French accent that makes Rose tilt her head back and shake with laughter. He scrapes his index finger across her dusty dresser then rubs it against his thumb. “But I am not used to working in such horrible conditions.”

Reason number three: for making me laugh like an lunatic.

Jack stands up straight, narrowing his gaze at something ahead. “Monet,” he breaths, walking quickly towards her collection of paintings—the ones she can go nowhere without. Rose’s paintings constantly inspire her, and she never knows when a good time to draw will come up…even if she’s been waiting for that time for quite a while.

Rose follows him. “Do you know his work?”

“Of course,” Jack stoops down in front of the painting, a gentle river with small beds of quiet lily-pads. Rose has lost count of the many days she’s sat in front of the painting, imagining herself into the image, creating stories of exciting adventures and wonderful explorations. Sometimes she'd be floating down the stream in a little white boat, unearthing ancient myths and beautiful secrets. Othertimes, she’d be skipping stones into the crystal blue waters, standing back on the damp banks and letting the magical smell of freshwater fill her nostrils. 

In a way, this is just like that--an adventure full of magic and beauty. Perhpas it's even better.

Jack looks up at her. “Look at his use of color here, isn’t he great?” He moves a smooth hand across the stream, following its soothing current with his fingers. His skin never comes in contact with the rough canvas, though. It’s as if he feels his very touch would ruin the picture’s magnificence. 

“I know,” Rose gushes. “It’s Extraordinary.” But Jack isn’t the one to know that the painting isn’t the only thing she speaks of.  For once, art and art supplies and art lessons don’t seem nearly as exciting to Rose as they once had. She straightens suddenly as an idea is born in the center of her brain. It causes a shiver to run down her spine. The good kind of shiver, though—the one that comes with excitement. “I want to show you something.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Rose tittles with the lock of the olive green safe sitting menacingly in her wardrobe. Her palms are so moist, and the sweat runs down her fingers, making them slippery. She can’t seem to get the stupid thing open fast enough, she keeps missing all the right numbers. “Cal insists on carting this hideous thing around everywhere.”

“Will we be expecting him any time soon?” Jack’s smooth voice rings from behind Rose as he waits in the sitting area.

When Rose finally manages to get the safe open, she beams. She reaches inside and scrambles around until her delicate fingers reach the desired object.  She stands up tall and  takes a deep breath. You can do this, she commands. Come on Rose, get a grip on yourself. You can do this. Rose the brave, remember? Though somehow, climbing rooftops and swinging from vines doesn't seem nearly as intimidating as what she has in mind. “Not as long as the cigars and brandy hold out.”

Rose turns around an makes her way back to Jack. She holds out the necklace—a bright blue stone supposedly shaped like a heart despite it's obvious triangular appearance, embedded in the middle of a white gold chain. She’s happy that she’s finally found a use for it.

“That’s nice,” Jack says as she hands it to him to peer at. He holds it between his right thumb and index finger, examining it carefully with one eye. His eyes shimmer with a blue that's evenmore enchanting than the stone. “What is it, a sapphire?” He asks.

“A diamond,” Rose informs. “A very rare diamond.” She’s glad Jack’s looking down, otherwise he’d stare straight into her eyes and see the pure fear that’s ripening within them. She’s surprised, yet greatful that he can’t hear the pounding inside her chest or the sudden wistfulness of her breathing. Deep breaths, Rose. Though it’s a lot easier said than done. You want to do this. And she does, more than anything. The want—no—the need she feels for him is like a constant tug at her heart--pulling, twisting, gliding towards him. It's impossible to ignore. 

They had originally come into her room for art lessons. He’d show her his many techniques—likes and dislikes, and the evening would run as smoothly as that, just as she’s always craved from any talented artist.

But Jack isn’t just any talented artist, of course. And for this reason, she wants more. So much more. It’s like an ache, deep within her soul, that only his touch can soothe.

“Jack, I want you to draw me like one of your French girls,”  She tells him quickly. He still doesn’t look up, and Rose feels as if she’s dying—her heart seems to be out of control and her breathing is spontaneous. Just say it. Say it now! She wills.She opens her mouth and forms her shaking lips into words. Now for the sound….”Wearing this.”

Jack nods, his gaze still cast down at her necklace. “All right,” he whispers, his voice like a blanket of velvet.

Rose licks her lips and presses one hand against her jumping stomach. She’s never ached for something as badly as she does now, but never—not her mother or a future with Cal or even being torn away from her grandmother’s arms—has anything made her so afraid. She’s never done anything like this, nor has she ever considered it before tonight.

But the Rose she is turning into, the Rose she used to be as a child growing up under her grandmother's adoring care, and the Rose Jack helped her to rediscover--is spontaneous, beautiful, and brave. This new Rose knows exactly what she wants and is determined.  She is everything the Rose of the past wished to be. She is the ultimate adventurer. 

You can do this.

And as Rose looks at the boy standing beside her—the boy that saved her not only physically, but in every single way possible—she knows that this is true. She can.

“Wearing only this.”

Finally, Jack looks up.