A/N: Here comes chapter 5. Sorry for the delay! Thanks to my readers for bearing with me and to DreamUpAReality for betaing!

Waking Up

The next morning, I slowly drifted back to reality. I don't know why but even before I tried to open my eyes I knew I was in a place where I had never been before.

My right eye was swollen closed and the sight through the left one was blurry. Something pressed against the bridge of my nose and reached for it. The slight pressure of my index finger was enough to almost make me howl out in pain. I touched my nose again, even lighter this time, and realized that my nose was bandaged.

Then fragments of the last night entered my head. I remembered my 'lucky' poker game and its ugly aftermath, and figured that I must have been unconscious.

It took my battered body a considerable effort to lift myself up from the soft couch I was bedded on. Thankfully, my sight had now cleared enough for me to see that I was in a small room, painted in white. The large windows were opened and a light sea breeze was blowing in, making the light curtains move back and forth. Behind the glass, I could faintly see the blue gleam of the ocean.

The room was only sparsely furnished. The couch, a small table in front of it, and a simple chest of drawers. However, there were two other things in this room that stuck out to me. First, there was this peculiar chair formed of bent steel rods. The rods had straps of fabric attached to them, forming the seat base and the backrest. I had seen one of these in a magazine once, but never for real. The second thing that caught my eye was my pathetic bundle of possessions lying right next to the chair (and looking very out of place).

Someone must have taken pity on me. Someone in a very lucrative position. Someone with money... Instinctively, I put my hand on my shirt pocket. There was no bulge any more. The stack of money was gone. God damn it to hell!

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. "Woken up yet? Can I come in?" A man's voice.

I startled, which caused me to groan in pain. Apparently, he took this for a 'yes' and the next thing I knew, I came to see Jack Dawson for the first time in 17 years.

"Hi there. How are you? Better yet?"

I considered pinching myself to check if I was still dreaming, but the pain in my head and body felt very real already.

"How... I... um... yes?"

"Great!"

Needless to say, I recognized him instantly. He still had that blond hair that was always falling into his eyes and the same look of brazenness on his face. I looked at his wrists, expecting them to still be handcuffed until I realized how asinine this idea was. The only noticeable thing about his hands was a small band of twisted metal on his fingers that looked like he had made it himself.

The ability to speak in complete sentences failed me for a minute. Instead, I felt a sudden impulse to break out in hysteric laughter. During quite some time, I had been thinking of Rose's survival as a solid fact, but the chance of his survival had never even occurred to me!

Meanwhile, Jack moved the strange chair over to the couch, so he could sit next to me.

Studying his features at close range, I spotted small crow's feet around his eyes and a few beard stubbles on his chin and cheeks. He never appeared to me as one who could grow a real beard.

Was he the owner of this house? Would he wear a light cotton shirt and flannel trousers and slippers even if he wasn't? How many rooms did it have anyway? And where was Rose?

"Where... Where am I?" I croaked.

"Huh? We were talking about it yesterday. Don't you remember? When we went back from the hospital?"

I shook my head in honest confusion. I didn't remember talking to anyone yesterday, besides the people I met in the bar. Neither did I remember being at a hospital or following Jack to this house. I had assumed to have been unconscious until a few minutes ago.

"You don't remember anything? Well, in this case I should introduce myself." He smiled brightly, like this was his favorite part of every conversation. You could tell he enjoyed making new acquaintances. "My name is Jack." With a flourish, he reached out his hand to me. We shook hands. "Jack Dawson."

You don't say.

Then, for no apparent reason, he slapped his hand to his forehead. "I'm really sorry, but I seem to have forgotten your name!" He laughed heartily about his forgetfulness. "I'm really sorry, but what was your name again?"

I stared at him, perplexed. I took it from Jack's jovial tone that I couldn't have told him, 'My name is Caledon Hockley, former steel tycoon, nice to meet you, Sir. Say, haven't we met sometime?', because if I had, he would have hardly invited me to stay overnight, on this nice couch in this nice room.

But which name did I give him instead? I've been using a couple of fake names since I've been on the road. Which one of them did I tell him? I could take a wild guess, but what if one of them remembered what I had actually said last night? Could I blame it on the attack that I wasn't quite myself and accidentally gave them the wrong name? Or should I pretend to suffer from amnesia?

All these thoughts made my head ache even more than it already did.

"Oh, I know," he said. "It still hurts to talk right? I'm sorry."

Well, thank you very much, Jack! I nodded and twisted my face in pain to make it seem like he had read my thoughts.

"Carl Miller," came a woman's voice from the door, and a moment later, Rose appeared in the door frame, holding a pot of coffee in her hands. She smiled at me and then looked at Jack with a hint of loving reproach in her eyes.

I nodded as eagerly as my bruises permitted. Carl Miller. Well, that was a new creation. But why in God's name had I chosen a name that sounded so similar to my real given name?

"Well, alright, then, Carl," Jack suddenly said and clapped his hands, "Would you like some coffee? Or French toast, if you already feel like eating?"

I nodded again, hoping this could buy me some time alone, to sort out my jumbled thoughts. But it was only Jack who left, pressing his lips against Rose's as he passed her by in the door. I had assumed she would follow him along, but no, she sat down on the chair that Jack had just left.

"It looks odd, right?" she said cheerfully. "It's a Wassily chair. I love the design. It just looks impossible; like there is no way in the world this could carry a person. But it does." She winked with her eye. "We bought it on a trip to Europe. My name is Rose Dawson, just in case you forgot my name as well."

I couldn't help staring at her hand. She wore the same type of ring on her finger as Jack. Her eyes were fixed on me and suddenly, her expression darkened.

"You must have had a horrible night," she stated simply. "How are you feeling?"

"Just brilliant."

"They messed you up badly. If I was in your place, I would be boiling with rage! You should definitely make a report at the police station..."

We were interrupted by Jack who entered the room with three plates of French toast that he expertly balanced on his forearm. In his hand were two steaming cups of coffee. "Here comes breakfast!" he said.

"My husband is an artist," Rose whispered to me, as if this scene needed any more explanation. I didn't miss how her eyes lighting up at the word artist. "Sometimes, he balances four color palettes on his arm."

Meanwhile, Jack placed the toasts and mugs on a small table and sat down on the armrest of the couch, as all other seats were occupied.

I seized the plate. Thankfully, my sense of smell wasn't fully impaired, despite the injuries and the bandage on my face.

The smell of eggs and butter filled my nostrils and I closed my eyes just to savor it. The process of food intake required all my attention. I ate very carefully, taking only tiny bites, that I kept in my mouth until they had lost all their taste and become soft and easy to swallow. Rose and Jack finished their breakfast long before me, of course, but they stayed at my side until I had emptied my plate as well.

"Where am I?"I asked again, putting down the plate.

Rose frowned. "You don't remember anything, do you?"

"What's the last thing you remember?" asked Jack.

"I was mugged... after the poker game," I replied with difficulty. "That's the last... thing I know."

Rose nodded. "We know. We were passing by the alley when we saw them attack you. We also heard that you were arguing about money. Don't worry about it. We know it wasn't you who started the fight. And we know that it was your money they stole."

Jack added, "When I was a young man, I used to gamble with strangers quite often. It got me in sticky situations sometimes, but I've never been knocked down like you. Damned scumbags!"

I tried to be humorous. "One of them told me he... he never loses."

Jack smirked lopsidedly. "Funny, I was told the same thing a long time ago," he said, getting up from the couch. The memory clearly upset him; I could tell from the way his back and shoulder tensed. But when he turned back to me again, his look was filled with sympathy. For me. Jack Dawson was relating to my story personally.

Speechless, I looked from Rose to Jack and back to Rose. Were they mocking me? Did they really care for what would become of me? Did they really have no clue who they were talking to?

I'm not exaggerating when I say that the whole situation greatly puzzled me.

"What happened..." I began.

Jack explained, "Well, no way could we have put up a fight against four men at once, so we hurried to get help. When we came running back with three other men in tow a few minutes later, the men were already searching your clothes. When they saw us they took to their heels. The other men and I tried to catch up with them, but they were already two blocks ahead and I didn't want to leave Rose behind for too long, in case they decided to return..."

"All the while, I was kneeling next to you," Rose said. "Actually, the first thing I did was feel your pulse. You were lying there motionless, so I expected the worst. But you were unconscious for only a short time, thank God! You were looking awful though and when Jack and the others came back, you could barely walk, even when we assisted you..."

"At first you protested when we tried to help you up. The doctor told us you had a slight concussion and were under shock. That probably explains it..."

"You should go to the police!" Rose said. "We could testify as eye witnesses!"

Jack nodded acquiescently.

"We should all go as quickly as possible, "she insisted. "The earlier we go, the more likely the police will find the men who did this to you!"

"What else did the doctor tell you?" I asked.

"Your nose and cheekbone are broken, but apparently, it's not as bad as it looks. The doctor said that it's normal there was so much blood, because the tissue inside the nose is very vascular and sensitive," Rose explained.

"He also said you were lucky to get away without grave injuries," Jack added, "However..." He seemed hesitant about it - something you wouldn't expect from Jack. Not a good sign.

"What?"

The two of them exchanged worried looks.

"Your face..." Jack continued, "It will heal eventually, but it's going to cause you very much pain and...The doctor said it's difficult to make a solid prediction and that he could be wrong but... Well, he thinks that your nose and the right part of your face are probably never going to look again like they did before the attack."

I just stared at him, not knowing what to say. My mouth went dry and my tongue suddenly felt too big for my mouth.

"We're sorry." Rose laid her hand on my back in a gesture of support.

"I... drink..." I managed to stammer.

Jack instantly handed me the coffee mug. I used to like coffee. However, in this precise moment, looking into the black brew, my stomach started to contract achingly.

"Do you feel sick?" Rose asked after seeing me startle. "It's a typical concussion symptom. Don't worry; I'll get you a bucket, just to be on the safe side."

But I didn't have time to wait for that bucket. I jumped up from the couch, ignoring the pain that shot through me like an electric shock with every movement.

I stumbled to the door, almost jostling Rose from her chair. After ripping the door open, I found myself in a vestibule with a staircase. Too many doors to try and not enough time. I pressed my hand to my mouth in futile attempt to suppress the gagging.

From the corner of my eyes, I noticed a pair of waist-high ornate vases standing next to the staircase on a small platform; like museum pieces on display. I bet they had cost a fortune, but what would you have done in my shoes?

From the corner of my eyes, I saw Jack and Rose watch me in shock while I emptied the contents of my stomach into one of the precious objects.