Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Even by night, Titanic was drawing a crowd to the harbor.

More so, perhaps, than if she'd docked at Cherbourg earlier in the day, when people were still busy at work. Now, closer to dinnertime, people had flocked to the docks, the sky slowly turning orange as the glow of the streetlamps illuminated the pavement and waves alike. Complete strangers, there to see the Unsinkable set sail.

"The Millionaire's Special, some people call it," Godwin said, clapping Henry on the shoulder as his gaze followed his own to the ship.

"Not us, that's for sure."

For weeks now, a dark cloud had hung over Henry's head, the promise of fire following him everywhere from out of the ashes left behind by his parents' deaths.

The water that now lapped at the edge of the ship foretelling a bright new future ahead did little to douse the flames in his mind, thoughts still painted in reds and yellows.

Not that his grumbling seemed to faze Godwin even a little, Henry watching him offer one last nod to the ship before stepping away.

"I'll get us all squared away on board, you just worry about waiting in line."

Sure. He could do that.

A car swerved around the corner, rolling up amidst countless people swarming the docks and demanding as much space as attention. Your average wealthy person, if Henry had to hedge any bets, loaded with luggage and pulling up closer than anyone else had dared to get thus far.

An employee of the shipping company promptly approached the driver's side door, Henry watching with some satisfaction as he waited for the car's owner to be told off and to park elsewhere.

Nothing of the sort happened.

Instead, Henry was left to watch as money exchanged hands and doors opened.

A young man of means stepped out first, his hand held out for the young woman that followed shortly after. It was a miracle that her hat had fit in the vehicle to begin with, and now it served to shield most of her face, though their clothes—first theirs, then those of a portly, bearded older gentleman as he joined them—communicated plenty as it was.

The young man's suit had cost at least one hundred francs if not well upwards of that, and the cane used by the older man likewise suggested extreme wealth. An attendant was already rushing to offload the baggage from the top of the car, and—

He needed to get in line.

"Ah, you there," the man said, his hand reaching out to stall Henry's departure. "Be so kind as to bring these bags here to B-51? There are some gifts for my fiancée in there, and I'd hate for them to get mixed up with everything else."

Who the fuck did this guy think he was?

"Uh, Sir, I think you have me mistaken for someone else—"

"—yes, I realize you're not the usual porter, but that's precisely why I'm asking to entrust this task to you."

His hand was still on his arm.

"If you require additional incentive—" the man reached into his pocket to pull out a small bundle of bills, "perhaps this will convince you."

"No, I'm serious," Henry said, finding himself increasingly baffled as he stared down at the money now being thrust toward him. "This isn't my job."

"I don't care if it's your fucking job, when someone like me asks someone like you to do something, you do it, no questions asked!"

Oh, this absolute and utter twat.

"Someone like me? The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

A scoff left the man. "How dare you speak to me like that, you mongrel? Right now I'm the only thing standing between you and the street!"

Slowly but surely, they were starting to gather a crowd.

The man's hand was still on his arm.

Giving him a slow up and down, Henry let out a snort. "What, a twig like you? I'd like to see you try to bring me to the ground."

"Do you have any idea who you're talking to?!"

"Yeah," Henry heard himself say, grinning despite himself. "A real self-important tosser."

Something seemed to sizzle in the air between them, something undeniably dangerous. Even so, now that he'd given the ball a nudge in its descent down the hill, it felt impossible to stop himself.

"How dare you—?!"

Like a cat, with a terribly tempting item to push onto the ground.

"What, is the little lordling just hot air after all? Too cowardly to follow through with a single threat?"

Even despite all the goading, the last thing he'd expected was for a fist to collide with his face, Henry actually looking shocked for a moment before he decided to give as good as he'd gotten.

And swung.

Skin collided with skin, knuckles impacting the young man's cheekbone and staggering him for a moment as his hat fell to reveal blond hair.

By now, they'd definitely managed to draw a small group of onlookers, some hoots and hollers sounding out from the throng of people.

He'd been expecting a second swing. Instead, the man seemed determined to trip him up, grabbing hold of him to draw him closer. It was a position that made it just as easy to counter as the last, Henry throwing himself into the moment.

"Hey!"

The deep, gruff voice was followed shortly by whistles and a blaring noise resounding from the ship's smokestacks, a reminder of where they actually were.

The shard of reality containing them and only them seemed to flake away, dissolving slowly but surely until nothing of the moment remained, arms forcibly and violently pulling him away from the young aristo prick.

The same, of course, had happened to his opponent, who was presently brushing off the offending touch of White Star Line employees, snatching his hat out of the hands of one of them.

"Sir—"

"How dare—is this how you treat your wealthiest customers?! This—this employee acted as though—"

"Ah, well, there you go!" Henry heard himself say, a wryly amused scoff leaving him as he tried to shrug off the hands still determined to hold him back. "I'm not a fucking employee. This passenger of yours should get his eyes checked!"

"Do you have any idea who I am?!" the young man demanded once more, Henry not bothering to fight back the smug satisfaction at his words.

"I don't give a damn who you are, you ponce."

"How dare you—!"

"For the love of God, Hans, pull yourself together!"

The same gruff voice from before had returned, this time with a vengeance, somehow strong enough to stop the young man—Hans, apparently—from just continuing to run his mouth.

Watching the crowd disperse, the employees finally clearing off, Henry took a look around for Godwin, an anchor point, something to help him get his bearings.

Instead, there was that fucking guy again, evidently determined to get on his every last nerve.

"Go on, clear off. I'm sure the other third class passengers would hate for you to miss out on being checked for lice."

Who the fuck did this Hans think he was?

"I'll keep that in mind, your lordship."

One last scoff and an eyeroll for good measure later, Henry tore himself away. His cheek was still smarting a good bit as he reunited with Godwin, already holding their tickets.

At least he'd given as good as he'd gotten, and the near-stranger would most likely end up feeling the same pain. There was something satisfying about the thought, one Henry decided to stash away to smile about later.

"Henry! What the devil happened to you?!"

"Don't worry about it. Let's just say, I'm glad we won't be interacting with first class at all."

"—out of your mind, interacting with common folk like that! You'll never earn people's respect if you keep this up, to say nothing of the board—"

The argument had been going on for a good ten minutes already. It had started shortly after the young lord had disengaged himself from the other man, and had carried on their entire journey up the gangway and to their cabins, where their bags were already waiting. Sir Hanush had started out red-faced and furious, only slowly returning to a slightly duller shade over the course of the argument.

In truth, Katherine wasn't entirely certain why Lord Capon was trying to argue his point at all. Every time so much as an attempt was made, it only seemed to lengthen the tirade that ensued from his uncle. It also served to re-redden Sir Hanush's face each and every time. If not to a perfect lobster red, then at the very least to the shade of Lady Jitka's deepest rouge.

"The board won't hear of it unless you tell them, uncle! I have every right to be insulted after such an impertinent cur deigned to treat me like some—some plebeian—"

"Are they always like that?" Kat asked as soon as the door closed, leaving her and Jitka alone if not for the sounds of arguing still audible clear as day through the door.

"I wouldn't rightly know."

Quiet, polite, and sophisticated. Since meeting her, Katherine had found Jitka to be the perfect specimen of fine aristocratic breeding. A gilded heiress and lady in every sense of the term.

As hopeful as she'd been that being the woman's maid might allow for some insight into the inner workings of Rattay & Pirkstein Shopping Emporiums, so far she was proving to know very little at all.

As it turned out, she'd only met her fiancé about two days ago, long after the engagement had been set in motion. Not that it was unusual for the upper classes to do such things, but it had always struck Katherine as somewhat crude. Maybe back in the day such arrangements had been common for the nobility, but it was a modern world, was it not? And love was such a wonderful thing to find...

For most people, of course. Not for her. She'd already had her chance only to let it slip through her fingers like the very waters awaiting them just outside the window.

At least one person remained that she could make happy, that she could find purpose in. Even if it was looking increasingly unlikely that she was going to get lucky on the information front here, there would still be some data she could pass on. Like the fact that the young heir was a bit of a loose cannon, the kind to strike at random passersby when he didn't get what he wanted out of them.

"I'm sure he means well," Jitka continued when it became clear that Katherine wasn't going to say anything in response. "I don't know him well enough to say, really. But he's never been unkind to me. Or raised a hand to me."

"Doubt he's really had the chance," Katherine said with a sigh, slowly continuing to unpack. "That sort of thing doesn't usually come out until after the honeymoon."

"You think he'd hurt me?"

Bless her heart, she really sounded surprised. Poor, naive little thing.

"I'm sure it'll be fine," she said, knowing fully well that she was lying through her teeth. "Men always act differently around each other. Bad influences, you know."

God only knew it was true of Jan. The second he was around the Devil...

"—and roast duckling!" came Sir Hanush's loudly animated voice through the door, much closer now. "If that's not good enough to persuade his lordship to dinner—!"

"See what I mean?" Katherine asked with a wry chuckle. "Men."

This close to their departure from Cherbourg, the ship was all abuzz with activity, more than a few people getting lost in the rush.

Opportunist or not, anyone in his position would be a fool not to take advantage.

With Jobst off in the first class smoke cabin for the foreseeable future, John slipped away, straight down to F deck. His planning had been nothing if not precise. If mame was in F-25, then—

Making his way down the last flight of stairs armed with an excuse about wanting to see the bathing facilities, he arrived to a hustle and bustle that he should have perhaps expected.

He wasn't supposed to be here. If anything, he needed to be quick about this, and yet...

Making his way down and through the throng, John wove this way and that, doing his best to stay out of sight of any employees. Finally—

"There you are," he heard himself say, Sam's gaze seemingly tearing off of the suitcase propped up against the door beside his. At the sight of him, Sam's countenance slowly shifted, his body slowly releasing some of the tension held in his shoulders, always his shoulders. "Is everything all right?"

Another glance at the luggage followed the question. As if in response, John's own eyes were drawn down in turn, by now half-expecting to see some kind of spectacle. Instead, all that greeted him was an emblazoned letter M. "It's nothing," Sam said, hurriedly opening the door behind him. "Come in."

"Where are zeyde and mame? You did all make it here without issue?"

"You worry too much."

The door closed, lock clicking into place a second later.

"Or not enough; have you ever considered that?"

"I worry enough for the two of us." Once more, he checked the door, and then again for good measure. Finally, one step taken toward John and—

John could feel himself melting.

"I should have—mm!—gotten you your own cabin—"

"You should not even be here." Even so, he could feel Sam smiling against his lips as his back hit the door.

"Then I suppose we'll just have to be quick about it."

"What an absolute prick."

"Are you still on about that?" Godwin asked him as they descended the stairs to E-92, handing the keys over to Henry. "Here, put that head of yours to good use and get that door open."

"I really doubt it's all that difficult..."

He'd gotten halfway through untangling the key from itself when the door beside them opened to reveal two flushed-looking men. As though they'd just woken from a particularly satisfying nap. People who had already been on the ship, perhaps. Then again, he didn't usually associate shortness of breath with—

"I'll be fine getting back from here, I swear," one of the two men whispered, loud enough for Henry to overhear. "I have a route—"

"One you will not tell anyone about."

"Of course I won't, Sam, what do you take me for?"

"You do not want me to answer that."

The gaze that passed between the two of them was impossibly fond, and any remaining doubts regarding whether or not those two could be unlikely brothers disappeared alongside it. As they pushed past him and Godwin, Henry turned his attention back to the lock in front of him, temporarily forgotten in favor of eavesdropping. His attention was once again caught off guard just a moment later.

"Pardon, messieurs."

It took him a moment to register what had happened: a noble-looking gentleman pushing past the man named Sam, heedless of both him and the wall he'd pushed him into.

"Zhlob (Clumsy ass)," Sam muttered, rolling his eyes and the shoulder that had impacted the wall.

"I could have sworn..." The other man's focus swerved back to Sam, concern written all over his face. "If he bothers you again—"

"I will be fine. You worry about getting back to..." He paused, glancing over at Henry, who was doing his best not to look like he was very obviously listening in. "... where you need to go," he finished, eyes narrowed.

A beat of hesitation followed before the man departed with a nod, heading back up the stairs.

"You ever going to open that door?" Sam asked him, one lone, skeptical, thoroughly judgmental eyebrow raised.

"Uh, yeah. Key was stuck."

Naturally, it slid in like butter.

Five flights of stairs left Henry with burning calves and thighs alike, the cold evening air refreshing as it filled his lungs. Now that they were finally at sea and the ship was in motion, everything felt a bit chillier and a bit more transient. Like life was finally moving on in ways he'd long thought impossible.

Godwin had quickly become a strangely permanent fixture in his life, albeit one he'd never expected. He'd shown up, brushed away the ashes of his childhood and everything else formative about him, and had offered Henry a hand up that he almost certainly didn't owe him.

"I was sent by Sir Radzig, an old... friend to your parents. He sends his regards."

What he could possibly offer a silver magnate was beyond him, not that he'd been in any particular position to turn the opportunity down. If he could benefit from nepotism just this once... well, maybe life owed him that.

Down below on the 3rd class promenade, he could hear cursing, hollering, and cheering as two women danced, arms interlinked as they spun together. While down there things seemed filled with life, the first class deck was all but devoid of it, strangely empty despite the still early hour.

"They just got better things to do than to stare wistfully at the ocean," Godwin told him. "They've got... a la carte entertainment."

True enough, there wasn't much of anything to do aside from meeting people around here, and of course the upper classes would hate to have to be genuine with those around them for one fucking second...

"Of course they do. Stuck up sods, the lot of 'em."

Godwin chuckled, allowing himself to lean over the railing to watch the waves pass them by as he talked over his shoulder. "Don't tell me you're still thinking about that lad."

"Kinda hard not to," he muttered, joining Godwin at the railing with a shrug, "seeing as he gave me a shiner."

In truth, his cheek still hurt, a painful reminder of not too long ago when a fist had collided with his face. If he had better company, it might've not stuck with him quite so insistently, but as it was...

Godwin's company certainly served to remind him of things, but hardly ones he'd consider diversions. Just flames licking at his memories.

"Don't trouble yourself over it," Godwin told him, hand waving as if to brush the whole thought off and into the raging rapids below. "It's not like you'll ever see that lad again."

"True enough." Turning back, Henry glanced up at the first class promenade. If he wasn't careful, he'd end up within the guy's spitting distance.

With any luck, he wouldn't see him at all anymore.

The best accommodations that money could buy. The finest in luxury travel.

Of course, that wasn't entirely true for him. It was true for his uncle, tucked away in B-53, and most likely Jitka next door as well. No doubt they were both sleeping like logs over in their respective cabins. B-57, on the other hand, was turning out to be a veritable nightmare.

Whatever his nextdoor neighbors were doing, it was damned noisy. Slams into the wall, the occasional grunt—

What were they doing over there, moving furniture?!

Getting up a few times just to pace and splash water on his face repeatedly proved a fruitless endeavor, not that it made the noises stop, leaving him to bang against the wall after a while.

Which only served to make them louder.

Someone would hear about this. If he had to go to the damn captain, he'd do it. They were supposed to dine with him soon anyway—it only made sense to bring up then, even if his uncle would kill him for mentioning such a concern to begin with.

Not that any of this was helped by the fact that his mind kept drifting.

Now, with his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could make out every detail of the crown moldings on the ceiling. Relatively simple compared to the ones in his uncle's cabin, and not in the least engaging enough to keep his mind sufficiently occupied as to lure him into sleep.

Instead, he found himself replaying the encounter on the docks over and over again in his mind.

With that pauper. And his unbelievable insolence.

By now, he'd most likely be having a grand old time down in third class, no doubt raucously partying all hours of the day and night. Not that Hans had any idea what people even did down there in order to pass the time. For all he knew, the ship's crew put them all to work.

All the same, a part of him felt almost certain that he'd have preferred that and the lice over whatever the hell was happening in the cabin beside his. This was a torment.

No, they probably wouldn't put the third class passengers to work, not on a ship as grand as the Titanic. Which meant that his tormentor—now having taken up residence in his mind as well as on his face by means of the all too noticeable bruising—was most likely living the very life he wished he could.

Free.

A cry out resounded from beyond the wall, Hans letting out a sigh. If someone had gotten murdered, it wasn't his problem.

Especially not since it would ensure silence.

Breakfast had proved a pleasant sort of affair, one that had left him with only small amounts of indigestion before he'd joined Henry up on deck.

It was a fine day for any sea voyage. Clear skies, calm waters, and a chill that didn't quite reach the marrow, just enough to warrant a jacket.

Just being here had allowed Godwin the chance to take stock of a number of colorful characters around the ship—they'd already encountered one room neighbor of theirs the day before, but his rather curious meeting with the noble gentleman in blue was far from an actual curiosity considering the others around.

An argument—quiet, contained—had broken out at one of the tables over breakfast, a family with their son and his new wife. Their clothes suggested some manner of wealth, but older. A loss of wealth perhaps, the kind that brought first class passengers down into second class and left them deeply embittered with their lot in life.

Nowhere was that more obvious than in the young newlywed couple that had clearly not married for love.

Seated beside him had been yet another curiosity. A dark-haired young man, lower nobility with a well-groomed appearance, had seemed to be doing his damnedest in walking a line of plausible deniability. An artist sat beside him, absorbed in every word, and certainly not catching on to any hidden meaning.

Or deliberately sidestepping it, perhaps. Then again, he had to admit... if he was younger...

The thought dissipated into smoke upon spotting Henry, in much better spirits now that he'd eaten. The shiner certainly seemed forgotten.

"That bruise isn't going anywhere anytime soon, eh?"

"Usually don't. And that clot was way stronger than your average nobleman... can't say I was expecting that."

"What, you were hoping to pick on someone smaller than your own size?"

He snorted. "Equal, if it's all the same to everyone."

"Hardly ever is..."

There was something nice about spending time with Henry. True enough, he was a fine listener when it came right down to it, but it was more so how easy he made it for others to relate to him in spite of any generational gaps. He didn't have to work to overcompensate for any years lost between them; instead, Henry met him where he was at as well, more than ready to complain about his own creaky old knees and bad back.

"Wait until you're my age," he said, Henry stopping him to gesture up at the first class promenade. "Hm, what?"

"Have you ever seen such a gigantic hat?"

Or that. Things like that also made him more relatable.

"No, I can't say I have... but it seems her hat isn't the only thing rather large on her."

Henry's gaze whipped over toward him at that, eyes wide. "Huh? What?"

Laughing, he gestured up. "That voice box of hers. She doesn't care much for privacy, eh?"

She was leaning against the railing, one hand on her unnecessarily large hat as her red hair whipped to and fro in the breeze. White on white, save for the large blue bow affixed to her hat.

From the sounds of it, she was in an argument with her father... or perhaps simply someone who looked the part. The man certainly seemed familiar enough, fitting right into the sort of society parties that Godwin's father would have seen him attend had he gotten his way.

"Mouthy thing, isn't she?" he asked Henry with a chuckle, though Henry's mind seemed elsewhere entirely. "Wouldn't want to get involved with a girl like her."

"Why would I? She's first class," Henry said, his attention seeming to return into the moment.

Godwin forced himself to hold his tongue.

"Too right you are," he said with a slow nod, though his tone was far more measured now, quiet. "Better to run from all that as fast as you can."

"—of all things, to boast of a library, only for it to be one measly bookcase—!"

"Rosa, dear, not everyone is as... shall we say eager to read as you? This is an ocean voyage, not a trip for research. Most people are here to socialize or enjoy the amenities. Like the baths! I've heard they're magnificent."

"The baths where women are allowed less time a day than men, papa? Those baths?"

How long had her father now suffered her insolence? Most men of his rank would no doubt tell their daughters to be seen and not heard, to be as demure and polite and well-behaved as ever or suffer the consequences.

Instead, he just heaved a sigh. "Whatever am I going to do with you, child?"

"Oh, I don't know. But I imagine you'd be quite bored without me."

He'd been all that and more ever since the rest of their sorry family had died. There were new opportunities in the New World, he'd told her. A chance to start fresh while not really doing that at all. Even with the shifting influence of power in Europe, the loss of importance of aristocracy, the last remnants of America's gilded age promised them a chance for their name to continue meaning something.

It also meant marrying someone she wouldn't love. She knew at least that much.

Then again, arranged marriages were still common within their class. The sort of thing she'd been told to expect her whole life long. Sooner than later, her father would find some nobleman, and then...

Her dread seemed materialized just a few short steps away, leaning over the railing and staring out over the ocean. If she'd overheard correctly, the young man was here with his fiancée and his uncle, off to get married in the New World. But they didn't seem close—quite the opposite, in fact.

Occasionally he appeared to try to make conversation only for it to fall flat as soon as she answered. Or she'd remark on something mundane only for him to mumble a satisfactory reply.

It was downright painful to watch, a dreadful preview of the future that awaited her on the other side of the ocean.

"To say the least," her father said with a grave nod and a glance down at his watch. "If you decide to go, you should be able to enjoy the baths fairly soon... here's some money for your ticket. So you don't spend all your time lamenting the sorry state of the library."

"There's also a reading and writing room, don't forget."

"Thank God for that."

The sarcasm wasn't lost on her, nor was his general direction as he walked away: the smoking room, of course. The one place women were wholly expected to steer clear of, the gathering place of all men well up their own rears.

Then again, maybe it wouldn't be open just yet.

Looking down at her palm brought a smile to her face. She knew fully well that even if she wanted to go down there, this far exceeded the cost of the baths, and would ultimately serve her much better going down her gullet in the form of a drink.

Not that anyone in the smoke room would serve her.

Working within the lines prescribed to her had always been annoying before but no less manageable, this time carrying her steps to the sorry excuse of a library for a drink from that particular bar.

"I would like a Dogs' Day, please."

"What ails the little lady?"

The man behind the counter was an odd-looking sort with strangely prominent eyes. Eyes that simultaneously seemed to be staring directly into her soul while being equal parts vacuous.

Predominately the latter, most likely.

"Not little, not a—well, I suppose I can't exactly contest that one. Guilty as charged, I suppose. I am a lady."

"See? Got it in one."

What a strange person.

"Why do you think something ails me?"

"Most women don't drink during the day... don't usually start with hard liquor either. But hey," he said, shaking the tumbler with a shrug, "You won't see me judging."

"That's something, I suppose." Taking her drink, she turned back after a moment. "I'm... trying to spy on someone, you see. And it's good when your hands are occupied. Better still if you can blame the alcohol for any untoward behavior."

The bartender watched her as if seeing her in a new light if only for a moment, then appeared to brush it off.

"And? Who's the lucky guy?"

"My father."

Whatever his expression, she didn't stay to be graced with it.

"Explosives," the Devil said, setting two tins of kerosene down on the table in front of him. The word alone was enough to make Zizka refill his pipe.

"Where did you even... you know what, I'd rather not know. We're here to do corporate espionage, not to blow the whole place sky-high."

The tins disappeared once more, leaving a shit-eating grin on the Devil's face. "Who ever said you could nae do both?"

"Was rather hoping to get to New York unscathed, but..."

"No fun in that."

As serious as the Devil sounded, ready to brush any and all concerns about safety under the rug, Zizka doubted that he was actually ready to blow them all sky-high. A small, localized explosion, however...

"This place keeps kerosene lamps as backup. Ye toss those, they'll explode. That's how we get into those vaults."

The volume on their conversation had dropped a good bit, not that anyone would suspect anything all too untoward from two first class passengers.

"And I suppose you've filled the others in on this little plan of yours?"

"What do ye take me for? Of course I have. Adder even got the plans. Don't ask him how he got 'em, don't think ye really want to know."

"Obviously I don't, it's Adder."

"Kubyenka got one lady so lacquered up, she told 'im... ah, what was it again..."

It was going to be a risky job, that was for certain. The place was well-guarded, even at night, and it would require a good bit of doing to get past all those security measures. Explosives were hardly quiet, so ideally they'd find a better solution to get into those vaults, but...

At least their cabin was damned close to the purser's office.

"Eh, fuck it," he said, waving the thought off. "Point is, she got a real valuable pearl necklace in there. So long as we're smart about this..."

The Devil trailed off as someone took a seat nearby, one Sir Kunzlin Ruthard. If Zizka recalled correctly, his daughter was one of the most eligible bachelorettes on the market at present, and with no shortage of potential suitors, all of them deemed unworthy. By her or by him was unclear, but if the rumors about their family were true, no doubt she would continue rejecting just about anyone.

They were due to dock at Queenstown any moment now, which would no doubt lead to an increase in traffic in the smoke lounge and thus an undeniable loss of privacy. As if the static presence of the same old sea proved less interesting than the sight of the last harbor they'd see for some time.

"Come on," he said, already halfway to standing. "Let's do lunch. With any luck, we'll run into Katherine on the way."

"I cannae fuckin' wait."

"Apologies for the delay. I got... caught up in conversation."

If approaching the table had felt like a death knell all on its own, his words were a lead balloon crashing into their table in the À la Carte restaurant.

Not that the atmosphere had felt all that comfortable to begin with. How could it have, given his uncle's presence there, looming large in his seat beside the captain.

Hans pulled out his chair.

"You'll have to forgive my nephew, Captain," his uncle said, disapproving stare finally leaving Hans. "He's prone to these sorts of... errors at times."

"Hardly behavior fitting for someone of the young man's station, eh?" Officer Schaumberg asked, acting every part as though Hans wasn't even there.

His seat slid in under the table, Hans' tongue between his teeth. Anything for silence.

"I'm sure you'd know a lot about that," Hans said, his teeth immediately losing the war against his tongue in its desire to wag.

"It's a prestigious position, being the captain of such a fine ship," Captain von Bergow added, seemingly eager to keep his first officer from running his mouth any more. "You'll have to excuse my impropriety, Lord Capon, but I would feel just terrible if I did not remind you of the excellent medical staff we have on board."

"Thank you, Captain, but—"

His uncle interrupted.

"That bruise of his is his own damn fault! A suitable punishment for recklessly brawling with just anyone you don't like the look of!"

"That wasn't—"

"He ought to be ashamed to even show his face here, if you ask me. Spoiling an otherwise fine dinner..."

Beside him, Jitka hardly moved a muscle aside from carefully adjusting her napkin in her lap. As though she wasn't even hearing his uncle's tirade.

Help me, he felt himself pleading, glancing over at her as if searching for aid at the bottom of the ocean.

Nowhere to be found.

A wife was supposed to honor and stand by her husband, wasn't she? This wasn't how it was supposed to be at all. Or should he expect to be fighting all his battles alone?

No help in sight. Not even close.

"I'm sure it's more complicated than what we're seeing," a polished-looking dark-haired gentleman remarked, one he certainly had not yet seen around—at least not in first class. Even so, he was glad for the small rescue.

"Precisely, it's—"

"How many times have I told you not to talk back to your betters, boy? The Board of Directors will never accept you at the head of Rattay & Pirkstein as it is."

It was easy to zone out these rants of Hanush's, so much so that he almost missed the waiter stepping up beside him.

"Wine, sir?"

"Lots," Hans said, all but begging the man. "We'll start with a glass, and you can just keep them coming."

The rest of the dinner went by in something of a blur, Hans' mind elsewhere entirely as he fell deeper and deeper into glass after glass of fine wine.

What good was his money if he couldn't use it to forget nights like this one?

The smoke lounge was a mandatory follow-up before it would close up around midnight, and before 11:30pm that at least meant being able to make use of the bar.

First one Gin Bump, then another. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of the polished-looking gentleman making off with another man, no doubt for their own drinks.

Strangely, they never returned.

Most likely they were more interested in private conversation than in whatever was happening in the smoke lounge, not that he could entirely blame them. Quite the opposite, really. Privacy felt like a dream more often than not—and while he'd normally just go back to his cabin for some peace and quiet, the promise of another bad night of sleep was enough to sour his mood at the idea.

No, he needed someplace where no one would be this late.

Up on deck, the separation between first and second class felt paper thin, separated only by a small restricted area meant for personnel only.

It was how he noticed the two men in hushed conversation, as close to the barrier of the engineer's promenade as possible, seemingly trying to blend into the shadows of the evening.

Except that he knew—he knew that man—!

Recognition bled into horror.

They were standing too close together for friendly conversation, but all Henry could hear was his heartbeat in his ears paired with red hot memories.

A man, come sniffing around Skalitz Road, poking his head even into his parents' little shop.

Then, nothing but fire. Fire, and—a hand on the back of his neck, warm breath against the shell of his ear as the man leaned in to whisper.

"You're just like me, you know. You'll see one day that this was a gift."

Already the two were parting, turning away to head back to whatever first class hovel they were no doubt holed up in, and Henry found himself jumping the first gate.

He couldn't be too close, too suspicious or noticeable, all the more so on account of the noise made by his clothes.

He needed to be sneaky.

In truth, Henry didn't even know the man's name, just that he was some wealthy bastard who decided to pop into his parents' shop mere hours before their whole street had gone up in flames. Smug, self-assured, like his money would protect him from anything.

Well, it wouldn't protect him from Henry.

Not that he knew precisely what he'd do if he got his hands on the blaggard.

Watching them slip through an open door, Henry jumped the second gate, quietly stalking after. Down the stairs, and—where?

Where to?

It was dark enough that a glance around the corner proved fruitless, the night bathing everything in shadow. Straining his ears for noises, he heard some clanking, followed by a beleaguered whine just down the way, toward the same overlook he'd glanced up at just that morning.

Rushing down the promenade, still delusionally hopeful about getting the man responsible for all his life's woes, he instead found himself staggered to a stop by the sight of a man bent dangerously far over the railing, as if—

"Hey!" he called out, rushing the rest of the way and grabbing hold of the man's arm. Buying himself time, maybe. "Look, uh—whatever you think is going wrong in your life, I swear it's not worth jumping. No matter how bleak things might seem right now, that just means they can only get better."

"What? I wasn't—"

Slurred as it was from liquor, he almost didn't recognize the voice at first. But then a very memorable face met his, its eyes going wide in echo to his own.

"It's—it's—you!"

Why on earth would a rich lout like him want to kill himself?

Hans' hand shot out to stabilize himself on the railing as he staggered a bit. "But what the devil are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in third class?"

Briefly glancing behind himself, half-hoping for the arsonist whoreson to be behind him, Henry let out a sigh as he turned his attention back to Hans, the very same fucker sporting a black eye to match his own. "No. I should be in second class."

A beat of confusion passed between them as Hans squinted, seemingly trying to puzzle out his current whereabouts.

"Then... why are you here?"

"Well," Henry started, knowing fully well that the words I was trying to catch the man that ruined my life and torched my street and killed my parents would not go down particularly smoothly, "I was... saving you."

It wasn't as though he was allowed here, really. This particular deck was even harder to justify than the one above it, and if Hans called in guards, he'd be fucked. True, he could jump the railing and risk breaking his legs in order to get back to second class, but he wasn't all that interested in accruing any additional bodily injury.

Not that he seemed all too keen on calling the guards to begin with.

No, if anything...

The confusion finally fell from Hans' face only for him to burst out laughing.

"Saving me? I—bloody hell, I wasn't going to jump, you madman! Don't get me wrong, I was having an absolutely rotten night before this, but not quite that awful. Not yet, at least. Given more time, I'm sure my uncle could get us there..."

This was... not all that bad. Like this, grinning from one ear to the next, this Hans fellow looked like the sort of lad he wouldn't mind getting to know, first class bloodsucker or not.

"But my god, you were really going to risk life and limb just to help some wretch you didn't even know?"

Ducking his head, he cleared his throat, cheeks going a tinge pink. "Well, life and limb might be exaggerating the matter a bit."

"No, I mean it!" And by god, he sounded it. "You're not going to believe me when I tell you this but that is the nicest thing I think anyone has ever done for me. And you didn't even know it was me!"

That certainly explained some things.

"Well," he heard himself say, a chuckle leaving him despite himself. "If I had known it was you, things might have worked out a bit differently."

Risky as the statement had been to make, no one would have guessed as much looking at Hans now. Either he was just easy to please, or... considering the little display he'd been on the receiving end of yesterday, something far more depressing.

"Fair enough," he said with a laugh. "I was acting a bit like an ass, wasn't I?"

"More than a bit, yeah, but... no harm done."

"Aside from our faces, you mean?" Despite his words, Hans was grinning wide. "I'm Hans, by the way. Apologies that we didn't get off to a particularly good start."

Glancing down, Henry was greeted by a hand ready to meet him halfway. He took it.

"Henry. And... it's fine, really. Water under the bridge, right?"

"Exactly."

The warmth of Hans' hand left him again, its loss sending a strange shiver down his spine. "For what it's worth... I am glad you weren't actually going to kill yourself."

Hans' answering chuckle was wry. "You and me both, friend."

"Still, must've been some awful night if you drank this much."

The joy seemed to fall off his face in one fell swoop, a deep sigh following in its wake. "Ah, it's really nothing, just..."

"Didn't seem like nothing."

There was something beyond astonishment to be found in the look that greeted him in response, something more so suggesting that no one had ever stood up for him before—or even bothered listening to what he might want.

"It's... hard to explain. It's more like... I can't ever get it right for my uncle. Or—anyone, I suppose. They all have this mental image of the perfect heir in their minds, and then I show up and inevitably disappoint everyone, including myself."

Like when you punched me? seemed like the worst possible thing to say in that moment, Henry holding himself back.

"Sounds like there's a lot of pressure on you."

"There—" He stopped, turning to stare at Henry for a dumbstruck moment. "There is, thank you! At least one other person sees it."

"Your, uh..." What had he said, again? Something about gifts for his... "Your... lady friend doesn't?"

"My fiancée, and no, she doesn't. It's not exactly her job to stand by me."

That caught his attention, Henry glancing over at him with a frown. "Isn't that exactly what a partner is supposed to do?"

Young as Hans seemed—certainly no older than him—the world-weary sigh that left him suggested loneliness deep enough to pierce marrow. "Not exactly. At least not in these social circles, not necessarily."

There was a story here, but clearly not a pleasant one to tell. And from the looks of it, Hans had already had a rough enough evening.

Henry smiled, hoping for it to come across as encouraging. "Oh, well. In that case, you'd love slumming it down in second class. Can't recommend it enough, really."

Silence reigned for a moment as Hans seemed to consider Henry's words in earnest. They'd been meant mostly as a joke, but—

"Say, Henry... you wouldn't happen to be busy tomorrow, would you?"

"Uh." He blinked. "No?"

"Ah, that's fantastic. Then I'm sure you wouldn't mind it if I thanked you for your kindness today."

"What? But you said you didn't—I mean, you weren't actually going to jump."

Hans laughed. "It's still the nicest thing that's ever been done for me! Just because I think my life is worth living hardly means it doesn't matter. You still saw a stranger in trouble and rushed to their aid."

Well. He supposed he had done that, even if his reason for being on the first class promenade had been a good bit more selfish to begin with. The act itself was hardly changed by that fact.

Hans' smile didn't waver even a little as his eyes softened while gazing at Henry. "You'll indulge me, won't you?"

There was something dangerous in that, in agreeing to whatever kindness Hans seemed to have in mind here. A bit like looking down the slippery slope leading toward his doom. The sort of place where the kindness of a first class rogue would inevitably land him in trouble.

"What did you have in mind?"

"Leave that part to me, all right? Just... meet me up on deck tomorrow after breakfast. You know the spot."

He did indeed know the spot Hans was talking about. The same one where he'd jumped two gates earlier that day, just because he'd seen that ne'er-do-well miscreant.

The thing was: Hans wasn't the ship's captain. He could hardly decide who was and wasn't allowed to break the rules. And there was no doubt in his mind that their actions tomorrow would involve quite a lot of rule-breaking.

All things considered, he should say no.

He should.

"I'll be there."