Chapter Text
April 10th, 1912
BAZ
My wedding is next week.
I should be excited for it. When people get married, it’s supposed to be one of the best days of their lives. It should be the start of the story you and your lover to share. Most people have been planning their wedding for years. Everything already thought of down to the color and quality of the dinner cloths.
I never thought much about my wedding day until recently. I always figured it wasn’t something that would ever happen for me– it’s not common for men to marry other men. But now it’s on the horizon and it’s all my family ever talks about. We’re travelling to America for it because my fiancé is American and that’s where his family lives. I’m supposed to be moving in with them there.
I’ve brought the majority of my belongings along with me. My collection of paintings, books, and my violin all sit in the back of the car.
The docks are crowded with people. The driver has taken it upon himself to disregard this fact and drive through anyway. It's a long, slow drive to the docks. There’s not even much to look at. It’s all dingy buildings smothered in a thick layer of smog. I think at this point I’d rather just walk, but of course Lamb insisted we get as close as we can to the passenger entry point. The car jolts to a stop and before I can open the door, it’s opened for me, followed by a “darling” and a hand outstretched for me to take. I almost ignore his gesture entirely until my father casts a pointed glance at me.
I take his hand and step out from the car without a word.
“I don’t see what all the fuss is about. It’s just about as big as the Mauretania.” I comment.
“You can be blasé about some things, Basil. But not about the Titanic. It’s much larger than Mauretania and far more luxurious.” Lamb takes my hand in his and I try not to wretch it away from his grip. I hate it when he touches me without permission. Though if I had any say, he wouldn’t get the opportunity to touch me in any way.
“Your step-son is far too difficult to impress, Daphne.”
“Yes, he is indeed.” She shoots me a small smile and I barely stop myself from rolling my eyes at her. I am not difficult to impress. It's just that there is hardly anything so impressive to be impressed about. It’s just a ship. “So, this is the ship said to be unsinkable.”
“Well it is. Not even god himself could sink this ship.” Lamb insists. Though, that’s a little preposterous if you ask me. Anything made of metal floating in the water has the possibility of sinking. I think maybe I’d actually like it to sink. Then maybe the ship would never make it to America where my wedding is waiting for me.
Eventually Lamb pays off the man who helps with our baggage and we’re on our way.
Every step I take onto the boarding plank feels weighted, like I’m dragging a metal ball from my ankle.
Everyone calls this ship the “ship of dreams”. But I don’t see the appeal.
SIMON
“Pen, you’re crazy. You bet everything we have.” We’re sitting around a table in a crowded pub. It’s noisy and smells of fish and stale sweat. Each of us with five dingy cards in our hands that are nearly falling apart. Two third class tickets on the RMS Titanic sit under what little coin we found in our pockets.
Penny has this crazy idea in her head that by going to America we could start over somehow. Here, we’re nothing. She says that the people there have way more opportunity. I didn’t see it when I lived there as a child, but she says the west coast is booming now. Her plan is to work our way across the country from east to west. The only problem was getting to America. So of course, when we saw these two men with tickets on the RMS Titanic, she slapped down a deck of cards and challenged them to a game of poker.
“We didn’t have much anyway, we’ve got nothing to lose.” She whispers back. The other two at the table are speaking rapid Swedish between each other. I’ve no idea what they’re saying but they seem nervous. Maybe we do have a chance after all.
I pick another card from the table and come up with nothing. Not even a pair. Well, there go our chances.
“Alright boys, moment of truth. Simon?”
I fold. “Nothing.” She doesn’t seem phased though, she’s gotta be up to something.
“Rhys?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“Gareth?”
He looks between me and Penny before laying his cards out for us to see. He’s got one jack, one five, one nine, and two threes.
“A pair.” Penny gasps. “That’s quite the hand you’ve got.” She sighs looking forlornly at her cards. I can’t believe she got us into this mess. I nudge her and she glances at me with a small smirk before laying down her cards. “Too bad it won’t be enough to beat this full house.”
The two across from us break out in heated Swedish, throwing curses at each other. All the while I still haven’t been able to pick my jaw up from the floor.
“Si, you know what this means?” She reaches across the table, swipes the tickets, and shoves the loose coins into her bag.
“We’re going to America.” I grab the tickets from her in disbelief.
“We’re going to America!” She jumps up and pulls me with her, jumping and shouting in triumph.
“Nah mate.” The busboy interrupts and turns to point at the clock. “Titanic goes to America. In 5 minutes.”
“Bollocks, Simon. We gotta go.” Penny takes my hand and before I even have a chance to think, we’re sprinting across the docks, weaving through the crowds of people. We barely catch a glimpse at the ship as we race to the passenger entrance, but it’s huge. It towers over the crowds of people, so tall it blocks out the sun on the other side. I can hardly believe we’re about to go on it. It’s been the talk of the town for the past few months.
I’m waving the tickets and yelling for them to wait as they’re just about to close the door. “We’re passengers!”
“Have you been through the inspection queue?” He looks between Pen and I.
“Yes, of course.” We haven’t, but we haven’t got time to if we’re gonna make it on this ship. “Anyway, we don’t have lice. We’re Americans. Both of us.” Pen’s not American, but they don’t need to know that. And even though I was born here in London, I spent the majority of my childhood hopping between different care homes around New England and managed to pick up the accent. The man lets us through with a quick nod.
As soon as we’ve jumped across the boarding plank and onto the ship, it all becomes so much more real. I never thought I would be standing on something so huge and luxurious in all my life. I never thought that I would be standing here, leaning over the railing of the RMS Titanic, waving goodbye to crowds of strangers.
BAZ
The staff make quick work of carrying our luggage into our suites, already pulling out the many art pieces I’ve brought with me. Good thing I did, the room is so bland. Just dark wood and gold pieces. Not a single color in sight. Not even a vase of flowers.
“I don’t know why you need so many, Basil. Who did all these odd-like paintings anyway? They aren’t very good.” Lamb has never been interested in art, though he insists on buying me the paintings anyway, claiming that as his excuse to be able to ridicule them as he pleases.
“Pablo Picasso. His works are actually quite magnificent.”
“Yes, ‘quite’.” His voice holds little sincerity as he holds up one of the paintings to inspect it. “I doubt he’ll amount to anything. Just a poor street artist if you ask me. At least they were cheap.”
I don’t bother arguing with him. It would displease my father who is in the other room, most likely in earshot. Not to mention, it’s a waste of breath.
Vera follows me into my bedroom with another painting. She sets it down against my vanity and goes to work moving my things from my bed to my dresser. I offer my help but she declines.
“Everything here smells so new.” She comments.
It does. It smells like freshly painted wood and clean linen. It’s a stark difference from my family’s house. It just smells like dust and worn carpet. As much as the maids try, there’s no ridding the house of generations and generations of wear. I’ll miss it.
“Indeed.”
She comes over to where I stand in front of my vanity and pulls my coat from my shoulders to hang it. “Just think Basil, when you crawl in between the sheets tonight, you’ll be the first.”
“Yes, indeed we will.” Lamb walks into the room with a brandy, swishing the liquid around the edges of the glass. Vera excuses herself when she sees him come in, though I wish she wouldn’t.
“What do you say, Basil darling?” He sets his glass down and comes up behind me to wrap his arms around my waist. “Will you join me in between the sheets tonight?”
I try not to tense when his lips start to trail the sides of my neck. I don’t say anything. When his hands start to move further down, I turn slowly away from him and excuse myself to unpack my things. I can tell it angers him but I guess I’ll deal with that later.
When the luggage is all sorted and unpacked, I’m dragged away for lunch. Everything about this ship is over the top. Pristine crystal glasses and china that’ve never been used sit atop each of the ebony tables in the indoor patio. Even the menus are crisp and untouched.
The waiters are going around taking everyone’s lunch orders. Plenty of the usual luxury options are available. Variations of duck, steak, and some intricate French dishes that pale in comparison to the real thing.
“She is the largest moving object made by man, in all of history.” Mr. Mage boasts. Davy Mage and his colleague are joining us for lunch. His colleague just so happens to also be my aunt’s new boyfriend. It’s my first time meeting him, but he’s one of her longest flings yet and there’s a part of me that hopes she’s actually found someone to settle down with. “And our master shipbuilder here, Nicodemus Petty, designed her from the keel plates up.”
“Well, sir. I may have gotten the designs in order, but the idea was Mr. Mage’s.” Mr. Petty argues politely. I can sense an odd tension between Mage and his colleague. “He envisioned a vessel so large and luxurious, that its supremacy would never be tested. And here she is.”
The talk about the ship bores me. Men like Mage just want to have power. They want to be the center of attention. And no one is unkeen to give it to them. I take out a cigarette and light the end of it out of habit. When the smoke fills my lungs, it gives me a sense of peace, like it’s filling in all the empty spaces.
“You know I don’t like when you do that at the dining table, Basilton.” My father says under his breath. I roll my eyes and breath out the smoke, imagining all the weight on my shoulders being lifted, before it comes crashing back down as Lamb snatches the cig from between my fingers and puts it out against the table.
“He knows.” He gives me a pointed look before turning and ordering something for us to eat, not bothering to ask what I would’ve liked. I’m not that picky but it still bothers me.
“Are you gonna cut the meat for him too, Lamb?” Fiona speaks up from across the table, throwing an irritated look at my fiancé. I smile a bit at that. I’ve missed Fiona. She’s been travelling for the past few years with Nicodemus, so I’ve not gotten much of a chance to see her. His presence here is really the only reason she came along anyway. She tells me she cam because she wants to be there at my wedding but she and I both know that’s a lie. She hasn’t approved of Lamb since the beginning. “So who thought of the name Titanic anyway?”
They go back to their talk about the creation of the titanic. Something about the size and stability of the ship being conveyed and I can’t help but laugh.
“Mr. Mage, are you familiar with the works of Dr. Freud?” I speak up. Mr. Mage doesn’t answer but I continue anyway. “I would think that his ideas about the males’ preoccupation with size might be of particular interest to you.”
“Basilton!” My father scolds. Fiona and Nicodemus laugh behind their napkins. My father is still looking at me with murder in his eyes. A glare not unlike the one being cast at me from Mr. Mage himself.
I get up and excuse myself from the room.
SIMON
Penny has started talking to a boy on deck. I think his name is Shepard. He’s darker skinned, very handsome, and his loose white shirt is rolled up at his elbows to reveal sleeves of tattoos.
They’re making small talk on the bench next to me as I draw some of the people I spot on the deck. Right now I’m drawing a man and his daughter as they lean over the railing to watch the water. It’s a beautiful moment, really. The child’s face lights up as she spots a dolphin racing alongside the ship, and the man looks undeniably happy just to be holding his child as they watch the water below them.
As a child I longed for something like that. Sometimes I still do.
Eventually the boy Penny is talking to, excuses himself and then it’s just Pen and I again.
“So, Simon.” I put my mostly finished sketch down and put my charcoal back in my shirt pocket. “I heard some third-class passengers managed to claim a few pool tables in the community room below deck. Do you want to go check it out?”
I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. My response completely evaporates and every thought I had fizzles away.
There’s a man on the balcony behind Penny– a gorgeous man.
He’s got warm caramel skin that looks smooth to touch. He’s wearing a loose-fitting pink button-up. Most likely made from silk. There’s a cigarette between his lips. They look soft, but the corners are turned down in a scowl. His raven black hair forms a gentle widow’s peak and falls in waves on either side of his face. He looks like the definition of perfection. His eyes scan the deck below and land on me. His gaze shifts away, then back at me again and his scowl loosens just a bit.
“Hello? Earth to Simon?” Penny waves a hand in front of my face and my eyes flick back to her. She must have noticed my distraction because she then turns to look at the man on the balcony, who’s now looking the other way. She turns back to me with a smirk. “Someone caught your eye?”
The moment I flick my eyes back to the man, he’s got a taller man next to him, trying to put a hand on the small of the bloke’s back. The taller man is wearing a tightly fitted burgundy suit that probably costs way too much money. Who even wears a suit like that in the middle of the day?
“Don’t waste your time, Si. Blokes like that only care about one thing. Wealth. And just by the looks of them, I’d say he fits the type.”
I know she’s right. That’s usually how it is with first-class folk. They look all regal and larger than life but more often than not, they’re just bitter and self-centered. There’s something about the way the man carries himself, though. Something in the way he flinches away from the other man’s hand that begs for more. Something about the way his eyes landed on me and instead of turning away from the creepy homeless guy staring him down, he glanced back in curiosity.
“He seems different.”
“Different how?”
I shrug. I don’t know his story. I couldn’t say. For all I know, Penny could be right. He might just be like all the other wealthy men in the world. It’s not like I’ll see him again anyway. Though I would’ve liked an opportunity to draw him.
April 12th, 1912
BAZ
Tonight we’re in the dining hall. Lamb is wearing an ugly green suit with a light grey button up beneath it. He tried to wear the suit with a burgundy undershirt but I was not having it. I shoved the grey one against his chest and told him to wear it even though that color suit could hardly be saved. He’s got no taste.
Everyone around us is talking and eating, never at the same time, but all at once. I make small commentaries where needed but they never really hear me anyway. Figures. Lamb takes my hand on the table and I let him.
My life is a never-ending cycle of parties and cotillions. Always the same narrow-minded people, the same mindless chatter. It’s all politics and hypocritical gossip. It was never like this when mother was around. Most conversations with her were usually meaningful. Usually about literature, and occasionally about philosophy. She would be so disappointed in what this family has become.
She died in a fire when I was ten years old. She went back in the building to save me but didn’t make it out herself. A beam fell and she got stuck. The flames were engulfing us, licking at our ankles and pushing smoke in our lungs, and she told me to run. So out of fear, I did. It’s pretty much my fault she died. And for what?
My father thinks he’s doing what’s best for me, and what’s best for our family. But I know this isn’t what my mother would’ve wanted for me. She would’ve wanted me to see the world like we talked about. And I have, in the literal sense. But it’s all the same. It’s the same party, the same dinner. Over and over again. The parties in Paris were the same as the parties in London.
At first it was okay. My father was running out of money and marrying Daphne didn’t help the situation.
At first the idea wasn’t to marry me away. He wanted me to go into politics, to do something that made a lot of money. I refused. My passion is literature, like my mother, but he wouldn’t accept that. He also took my preference in lovers quite well, saying that rich men were easier to come by than women. And as soon as he found a man who fit the requirements, he set me up with him.
Now, I’m weighted down by this silver band on my finger. I’m thinking maybe I should’ve stuck with his first idea.
My life is passing right in front of me and it feels like I’m not even a part of it. It feels like I’m on this great precipice, screaming out, and no one hears me. No one glances my way, and no one cares enough to pull me back.
SIMON
The skies over the Titanic are so clear. The stars are twinkling bright and I can almost make out the arm of the milky way sweeping across the sky. I’ve always had a fascination with stars. No matter where I ended up, the stars were a constant presence. Never yielding.
Each of them have their own stories. Not just the constellations, but the stars themselves. They’ve seen so much time pass by before them. They’ve watched all the generations before us grow and die.
I used to try to count them on the nights I couldn’t sleep. I would sneak into the night, lay there, and count.
The ship is quiet save for a few couples sharing quiet conversations under the blanket of the night sky. Penny turned in early but tonight seems to be one of those sleepless nights. Though out here, it’s so peaceful, I almost find myself dozing off.
That is, until I hear the sound of hurried shoes clicking across the deck. I shoot up to see who it is and I feel the air leave my body. It’s the man from before. The beautiful man from the balcony.
He’s stopped running and now he’s leaning against the railing at the back of the ship, relatively close to the bench I’d been laying on.
I don’t think before getting up and walking closer. I can see him gasping, his shoulders rising and falling under his suit. The suit he’s wearing is absolutely ridiculous. Both the blazer and the pants have a floral print of pink and gold flowers, and yet somehow, it still looks good on him. I can tell his hair had been slicked back, but now it's starting to come out of place. A few wavy strands falling out in front of his face, likely from running.
He pulls himself up and over the railing so that he’s standing facing the water on the other side, still breathing heavily. That’s when I realize what he’s going to do.
“Don’t do it.” I shout over the wind and rushing water.
“Excuse me?” He snaps, but it doesn’t hold as much malice as I think he intended it.
“Don’t do it.” I repeat, taking two steps closer. Now I can clearly see the tear tracks drying on his face. His eyes are rimmed red. And somehow he still looks pretty.
“Don’t come any closer.” He warns. I don’t listen. My heart is pounding.
“Come on, mate.” I step closer, reaching out my hand. “Just take my hand. I’ll pull you back over.”
“No.” His head snaps back to look at the water. “I have to do this. Just go away.”
His face screws up. He looks frustrated. With himself or me I’m not really sure (probably both), but I can’t just let him jump.
“I can’t. I’m involved now. If you jump off this ship, I’m going to have to jump in after you.” I really hope he doesn’t take me up on my offer, but I’m not kidding. I start to take my boots and jacket off just in case I have to go for a swim, and maybe also to convince him I’m being serious.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’d be killed.”
I want to shoot back that he would be too if he jumped, but I guess that’s the point, and saying so wouldn’t make the situation any better. “I’m a good swimmer.” I say instead.
“The fall alone would kill you, idiot.” He sneers.
Maybe it would, but I would still jump if it meant I could potentially save his life. Though I’m not sure what would happen if we both went overboard. Hope that someone was watching and they decide to lower a boat or something to pull us back up? That’d be a lot of trouble for two blokes who voluntarily jumped overboard, one being a penniless orphan no less. Though the man I saw with balcony bloke the other day seemed like he might care a great deal if this man were to fall overboard. I bet he’d have lots of people wanting to save him. “Well I’m not saying it wouldn’t hurt, but I’m more concerned about how cold that water is.”
He scoffs. “How cold?”
“Freezing. Maybe a couple degrees over.” He looks between me and the water again. He doesn’t look like he believes me. “Water like that, it hits you like a thousand knives stabbing you all over your body. I would know. Fell into freezing water like that ice fishin’ once when I was younger. It was not a great experience, trust me.”
He’s breathing heavy again, more tears fall down his face. He looks so fragile, like glass, one crack away from shattering.
I put my hand over his on the rail and he gasps. I’m afraid maybe I’ve overstepped, but I don’t want to pull my hand away. The touch feels electric. His hand is cold but soft, and I can feel the quickening pulse on his wrist.
He turns to look at me and for the first time I can see his eyes clearly. They’re pools of black and grey and pain. So much pain. It doesn’t look right.
“I guess I’m kind of hoping you’ll let me off the hook here.”
He looks down at my hand on his. He doesn’t speak. His eyes dart between my hand and the water and finally they settle on my hand. He nods hesitantly.
“Okay.” He turns to face me, using my hand and the railing for support. I can’t stop myself from smiling, I’m so relieved.
“I’m Simon Snow. What’s your name?”
“Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.”
“I’m uh- gonna have to get you to write that one down.” He scoffs but I see the hint of a smile on his lips.
“You can just call me Baz.”
“Okay, Baz.” I smile. “Let’s get you back over this railing, yeah?”
He nods and let’s go of my hand, using the railing to pull himself back over. I stand there just in case, holding onto his arms. I can tell he’s incredibly toned beneath his suit. Which is surprising because he’s so lanky and thin you wouldn’t think he could have much muscle at all.
His landing is almost graceful until he takes the last step over. His foot lands on mine and I fall backwards, taking him with me. We turn as we fall and land in a heap on the ground with him beneath me. I hear him groan under my weight.
“What’s going on here?”
Shit.
“Get off my fiancé.” Before I can even get up, I’m shoved off of Baz and a fist is colliding with my face. The pain of it only comes a few second later when my vision clears
“Hey!” Someone yells. I think it’s Baz.
Before I know it, the man (Baz’s fiancé I suppose) is being pulled off of me.
His face looks like someone ran it under the chisel a few too many times. His hair is this auburn color that doesn’t match his murky brown eyes in the slightest. And, it has way too much product in it.
“What is the meaning of this?” He yells, now his fury is pointed towards Baz. We must have made a scene because another man who looks like some sort of policeman comes up behind Baz’s fiancé to inspect the situation.
“Lamb, cut it out. This man saved my life.” Baz’s fiancé (Lamb) looks between me and Baz with a furious gaze. “I was leaning over the railing and almost fell. Simon pulled me back over and almost went over himself.”
Lamb seems to be looking between me and the pile of my clothes I discarded earlier. I can see how this looks bad. But Baz has given me an out. He’s given me more than an out. He made it sound downright heroic. Or maybe he’s given himself an out. Either way I’ll take it.
“Was that the way of it?”
“Y-yes sir. That’s exactly what happened.” I try to sound confident in the answer but end up stumbling over my words. Bollocks.
“Well, it sounds like the boy’s a hero then!” The other man comes up and pats Lamb on the shoulder. “He should be awarded.”
“Alright,” Lamb sighs. He reaches into his suit pocket and reluctantly produces some bills. “I think a twenty should do it.”
“A twenty for saving the man that you love?” Baz speaks up, all posh sounding and confident. A stark contrast to the man I just talked to hanging off the side of the ship.
“Ah, Basil is unhappy. What to do…” Lamb walks over to me and looks me up and down, surveying me like a hawk circling its prey. “Ah, how about you join us for dinner tomorrow night? There you can recount to us all your heroic tale.”
“Oh, uh- sure.”
“Good. It’s settled then.” He smiles at me and shakes my hand. It’s a little unsettling considering this is the hand that just made a go at my face, which is probably either bruised or bleeding, I can’t really tell.
Before he’s ushered away, I meet Baz’s eyes over Lamb’s shoulder. At least I’ll get to see him one more time.