Jack trudged wearily up the steps of the hospital. Through the glass doors, he could see Molly speaking to someone at the reception desk. Molly, his surrogate mother, mentor, confidant and friend. What would he have done without her these past few days. It was Molly in her belief of his strength of character and love for Rose, who had initiated the search for him and now for Rose, that led him up these steps. Even though their names had not appeared on any of the lists, she had sent one of her New York business acquaintances looking for him and Rose in the various hospitals and shelters where the Titanic survivors had been taken. In his desperation and grief at not finding Rose on the Carpathia, Jack had allowed himself to be taken to one of these shelters. When Mr. Scott had come looking for him, Jack had been skeptical, but agreed to come along when Molly's name was mentioned. After that, Molly had taken charge. She had purchased him new clothes, some new art supplies and had gotten him settled in an extra room of her suite at the Waldorf. Then she insisted that Mr. Scott continue the search for Rose.

And so he was here with Molly, in the lobby of the Roosevelt Hospital. If the woman that supposedly resembled Rose was indeed her, well, then his life would be complete. If not, then he didn't know how he could pick up the threads of his life and go on. Certainly he would never love again.

"Alright, this way, Jack," said Molly. "Our patient is in room 403."

He followed her into the elevator. Molly told the elevator operator to take them to four. Neither Molly or Jack made any attempt at conversation. Each was alone in their thoughts. When they got off at four, Molly asked a nurse for the direction of the room. Jack, usually optimistic and a pillar of strength himself, felt weak. He wondered if his prayers would be answered.

They walked down the short hallway and stopped outside the doorway numbered 403. The door was open. In the dim light Jack could make out a figure lying on the bed. The patient's body was facing away from the door, but he could still make out long red hair spread out against the pillow. A hand, the hand of a young person hugged the blanket. The length of the body, matched the height of Rose.

Molly stood in the doorway biting her lips and saying a silent prayer as Jack entered the room. He walked quietly to the other side of the bed where he could see a face. Jack took one look and tears formed in his eyes. It was Rose, barely alive and having trouble breathing, but there, nevertheless. Slowly he bent over and kissed her forehead.

He took one of her hands in his and whispered,"Rose, it's gonna be alright now. I'm here Rose. You're gonna make it."

Molly watched this tender scene and her heart was filled with thankfulness.

"Jack," she said quietly from the doorway, "do you still need me?"

He stood his head from side to side.

"No. Thanks, Molly, for helping me. It's okay now," he told her.

"Well, then, I'll be goin' back to the hotel. But don't you forget to come back and eat and get some rest. I'll take a turn watching her."

Jack looked down at Rose and answered, "Alright, I'll remember."

Jack spent everyday at Rose's bedside, holding her hand, talking to her, willing her to live. Rose tossed and turned, was hot and cold. She moaned in her restless sleep. Not one doctor or nurse seemed hopeful and Jack's desperation grew. To find her and lose her, would be a worse blow than not finding her at all.

"Rose, you've got to live," urged Jack. "I'm here waiting for you, Rose. Come on, Rose, live. For me, for us."

Jack squeezed her hand and kissed her, but there was no response.

"Rose, please, we have so much ahead of us. I need you."

Jack tried to get liquids into her. Sometimes she swallowed them automatically. He brushed he hair. Except to sleep and bathe and get a little fresh air, Jack was always there. She was never alone, since Molly kept her promise to come and relieve Jack. The nurses were amazed by his constant presence and devotion.

Jack watched as Rose twisted from side to side. Sometimes, it seemed as though she were trying to speak. A nurse came into the room and asked Jack how he thought she was doing.

He answered, "About the same. Do you think there is any hope?"

The nurse look thoughtfully at Jack and then Rose.

Then she replied, " I've seen some bad cases of pneumonia. And this is one of the worst. Still though, she has her youth and previous good health going for her. She may make it yet."

Jack hung on her every word. This nurse was the first person who had given him even a tiny glimmer of hope.

She continued checking Rose over and when she was done, she said to him, "Let me know if there is any change, one way or another."

Jack nodded and sat down to continue his vigil. In his mind, he mulled over the events of the tumultuous past weeks. There was the accidental meeting with Rose and their subsequent relationship. That was something that had been beyond his wildest dreams. She was a person of great love and fearless courage. That she had proved by her successful attempt to save his life. If only that piece of debris had not separated their hands and then hit him in the head. He vaguely remembered being dragged into one of the collapsibles, having no will to live. The only thoughts he could summon up were those of Rose and what her fate might have been. That was over ten days ago now. He had to stop dwelling on that.

Jack rubbed his hand across his face. God, he was exhausted. He didn't know how much longer he could go on, with so little sleep. But for Rose, he had to. He leaned over and rested his head on her chest.

"If I could just close my eyes for a minute," he thought. "I just need to rest for a bit."

He yawned. In an instant he was asleep.