Out (To Sea)
Title: Out (To Sea)
WC: 1008
Characters: Rose, Maggie Brown, hints of Rose/Maggie
Rating: G
Summary: Molly and Rose reflect on life after the Titanic
Notes: Written as a Pinch-Hit for Claudia in the Yuletide 2008 Challenge
When they counted the survivors, Rose wasn't one of them.
Everyone cried; Margaret Brown couldn't bring herself to do so. All she could think about while babies cried and the guests of the Carpathia looked on, was the scent of vanilla and soft, delicate fingers. Rose's fingers. Rose's scent. Loving Rose. Teaching Rose. Losing Rose.
She had married for love, and gotten lucky. And didn't regret a single moment of it. But on a ship, heading back to the United States after her failed Senate run, she'd wanted to have a little fun. Rose was fun; was young, impressionable, and had an open mind about the world. Rose could marry for love, if she could bring herself to disappoint her mother like that.
But the woman had a strong hold on Rose; still, that didn't stop Maggie Brown from trying.
"You could just run away."
"She's insufferable!" The young woman stalked around the room, stopping every so often to readjust a pillow. "The way she looks down on everyone who wasn't born into this life! As if we had choices in the matter of things!"
Maggie laughed, "Oh, Rose. What are you going to do when your daughter becomes one of them?"
"Just to spite her, I'd have no children!" She wouldn't, and both women knew it; Rose looked upset even at the thought. "I just want ... I don't know what I want. I want to not feel so trapped every time I breathe. I'm marrying someone just to keep my mother ... I love my mother. Running away would kill her. I can't do that."
Maggie sighed, "Of course you could. She won't die, you know."
Rose scoffed. "Have you met the woman? She very likely could."
There was a pause, then both women laughed.
"Oh, Rose," said Maggie. "What am I going to do with you?"
The ship docked in New York and Maggie strolled off the ship, watching Rose's mother cry softly into the handkerchief of one of the Carpathia guests. Mrs. Dewitt Bukater had a lot going for her with a lost daughter. While the elder woman had scorned Maggie for striking it lucky, at least she had the money to spare; poor Mrs. Dewitt Bukater had nothing to ensure a happy last decade of her life.
Maggie knew better than to take pity; once she strolled off the ship, she never looked back. She missed Rose, though, missed the nights they had spent together, missed the promise of innocence that Rose brought. And to die so young. It really was a shame.
*
No-one looked for her in steerage; no-one cared about the steerage passengers. She gave her name as Rose Dawson and no-one thought twice of it. It was impossible to say she never saw her mother again, for she did, watching as the upper class passengers disembarked. Watching as her mother grabbed some moneybags and sobbed on him.
She read her obit in the paper, then tossed it aside. She hadn't been on the Titanic. Rose Dewitt Bukater had, but Rose Dawson was a free woman. Rose Dawson, single, 17, and without a marketable skill at all. She would find something, here in the city of New York, she had to.
She didn't keep up with her mother, but Maggie Brown, she wanted to know how the woman was doing. When Maggie ran for Senate two years later, Rose voted for her. She thought of going back to Maggie, of saying that it had all been a huge mistake, and could they pick up the pieces. But she knew that to Maggie she was nothing but a fling, something to keep her occupied on the ship.
Maggie had taught her about love and living and dying; the sweet nights in Maggie's bed weren't filled with words, but of actions, of small motions, of love in its simplest form.
Rose liked the scent of sandalwood, as it always reminded her of Maggie. During her wedding not three years later, she wore sandalwood and danced the night away, wondering what the future would bring.
Maggie she still followed after her third child. Cal had shot himself after the crash, but Maggie was ok. She was ok too, not having any money, there wasn't anything to lose. Maggie was old, and Rose wondered if a visit now would be too entirely out of line.
*
Well, bother. Maggie Brown the invincible she wasn't. She was sick, and nearing her last. People still flocked to her as a survivor, asked her what she knew, what she learned, what she could continue to teach them. Truth was, this late age, she didn't know. There wasn't enough of love in its purest forms to teach them anything worth while. How to survive? Golly, she didn't know how to survive. She'd been surviving by luck since the day she was born.
She passed quietly in the night, in 1937, her pillowcase drenched in vanilla, as she passed to a better world and hoped to see Rose there.
*
Rose went and stood quietly at the back of the parlour. There were so many who had known Maggie Brown. "Unsinkable", they were calling her, and Rose didn't know what to make of that. Maggie had come up through more trials and errors Rose had, that was for sure, but it was Rose who left her entire life behind for love in a way that Maggie never had.
"How did you know her?"
Rose looked up, confused. "I'm sorry?"
"Everyone here seems to know Molly Brown. How did you know her?"
"We travelled together, once. A long time ago. I was just a girl."
The man nodded, "I didn't know her. What was she like?"
Rose just smiled. To tell that tale would require more time than either one of them had.
"She taught me how to love," Rose finally said, her voice soft. "That's what she was like."
She turned away from the man, looked back at the casket. "She taught me how to love," she repeated softly.
WC: 1008
Characters: Rose, Maggie Brown, hints of Rose/Maggie
Rating: G
Summary: Molly and Rose reflect on life after the Titanic
Notes: Written as a Pinch-Hit for Claudia in the Yuletide 2008 Challenge
When they counted the survivors, Rose wasn't one of them.
Everyone cried; Margaret Brown couldn't bring herself to do so. All she could think about while babies cried and the guests of the Carpathia looked on, was the scent of vanilla and soft, delicate fingers. Rose's fingers. Rose's scent. Loving Rose. Teaching Rose. Losing Rose.
She had married for love, and gotten lucky. And didn't regret a single moment of it. But on a ship, heading back to the United States after her failed Senate run, she'd wanted to have a little fun. Rose was fun; was young, impressionable, and had an open mind about the world. Rose could marry for love, if she could bring herself to disappoint her mother like that.
But the woman had a strong hold on Rose; still, that didn't stop Maggie Brown from trying.
"You could just run away."
"She's insufferable!" The young woman stalked around the room, stopping every so often to readjust a pillow. "The way she looks down on everyone who wasn't born into this life! As if we had choices in the matter of things!"
Maggie laughed, "Oh, Rose. What are you going to do when your daughter becomes one of them?"
"Just to spite her, I'd have no children!" She wouldn't, and both women knew it; Rose looked upset even at the thought. "I just want ... I don't know what I want. I want to not feel so trapped every time I breathe. I'm marrying someone just to keep my mother ... I love my mother. Running away would kill her. I can't do that."
Maggie sighed, "Of course you could. She won't die, you know."
Rose scoffed. "Have you met the woman? She very likely could."
There was a pause, then both women laughed.
"Oh, Rose," said Maggie. "What am I going to do with you?"
The ship docked in New York and Maggie strolled off the ship, watching Rose's mother cry softly into the handkerchief of one of the Carpathia guests. Mrs. Dewitt Bukater had a lot going for her with a lost daughter. While the elder woman had scorned Maggie for striking it lucky, at least she had the money to spare; poor Mrs. Dewitt Bukater had nothing to ensure a happy last decade of her life.
Maggie knew better than to take pity; once she strolled off the ship, she never looked back. She missed Rose, though, missed the nights they had spent together, missed the promise of innocence that Rose brought. And to die so young. It really was a shame.
*
No-one looked for her in steerage; no-one cared about the steerage passengers. She gave her name as Rose Dawson and no-one thought twice of it. It was impossible to say she never saw her mother again, for she did, watching as the upper class passengers disembarked. Watching as her mother grabbed some moneybags and sobbed on him.
She read her obit in the paper, then tossed it aside. She hadn't been on the Titanic. Rose Dewitt Bukater had, but Rose Dawson was a free woman. Rose Dawson, single, 17, and without a marketable skill at all. She would find something, here in the city of New York, she had to.
She didn't keep up with her mother, but Maggie Brown, she wanted to know how the woman was doing. When Maggie ran for Senate two years later, Rose voted for her. She thought of going back to Maggie, of saying that it had all been a huge mistake, and could they pick up the pieces. But she knew that to Maggie she was nothing but a fling, something to keep her occupied on the ship.
Maggie had taught her about love and living and dying; the sweet nights in Maggie's bed weren't filled with words, but of actions, of small motions, of love in its simplest form.
Rose liked the scent of sandalwood, as it always reminded her of Maggie. During her wedding not three years later, she wore sandalwood and danced the night away, wondering what the future would bring.
Maggie she still followed after her third child. Cal had shot himself after the crash, but Maggie was ok. She was ok too, not having any money, there wasn't anything to lose. Maggie was old, and Rose wondered if a visit now would be too entirely out of line.
*
Well, bother. Maggie Brown the invincible she wasn't. She was sick, and nearing her last. People still flocked to her as a survivor, asked her what she knew, what she learned, what she could continue to teach them. Truth was, this late age, she didn't know. There wasn't enough of love in its purest forms to teach them anything worth while. How to survive? Golly, she didn't know how to survive. She'd been surviving by luck since the day she was born.
She passed quietly in the night, in 1937, her pillowcase drenched in vanilla, as she passed to a better world and hoped to see Rose there.
*
Rose went and stood quietly at the back of the parlour. There were so many who had known Maggie Brown. "Unsinkable", they were calling her, and Rose didn't know what to make of that. Maggie had come up through more trials and errors Rose had, that was for sure, but it was Rose who left her entire life behind for love in a way that Maggie never had.
"How did you know her?"
Rose looked up, confused. "I'm sorry?"
"Everyone here seems to know Molly Brown. How did you know her?"
"We travelled together, once. A long time ago. I was just a girl."
The man nodded, "I didn't know her. What was she like?"
Rose just smiled. To tell that tale would require more time than either one of them had.
"She taught me how to love," Rose finally said, her voice soft. "That's what she was like."
She turned away from the man, looked back at the casket. "She taught me how to love," she repeated softly.