Chapter Text
The ocean around them was like glass as the winds were calm and the sky above them so clear one could see a multitude of stars through the cold night air. It would have been an absolutely beautiful sight if it wasn’t for the cries of the ship’s passengers in the freezing water calling out for rescue that wouldn’t come for the lifeboats had already left. Off in the distance were the white shapes of them rowing away from where the crippled ship had broken apart and sank below the waves.
Two figures sat precariously on a large piece of debris, one’s white lifebelt stood out against his black clothing. The other was visible by virtue of his light coloured clothing and blond hair. Both looked outright uncomfortable on their perch with the blond looking miserable about the loss of life happening around him while the one in dark clothing seemed to just be furious about it.
The one in dark clothing balanced on the piece of wood they were floating on with his knees drawn up to his chest and his chin resting on them. He glowered over a pair of dark glasses at his companion, who knelt there with his hands clutching the sides of the wood.
“Some relaxing cruise this was.”
Southampton, England, 10 April 1912
Crowley looked over the ship, decidedly not impressed with it despite the claims of how luxurious it was. He turned to his servants, instructing them to take his luggage to his Parlour Suite and return for their payments. He was unsure how long he was going to be gone, so he would then give them each a years’ pay as severance and a reference letter to make getting a new position much easier. Impatiently he shoved his hands in the coat of his black lounge suit and waited for both his servants and Aziraphale, who invited him on this voyage in the first place.
Why Aziraphale was going remained a mystery. As far as he knew, the angel had never relished being sent to the Americas and avoided it at all costs. Crowley didn’t mind so much, but he was rarely in that part of the world. His most recent visit was to shove chests of tea fresh from China off three ships into Boston Harbour, mostly because the mayhem looked like fun. He didn’t particularly care one way or another about the Colonists’ taxation problems, but revolts meant plenty of trouble could be stirred up and he more than met his quotas for Hell those few years America and Great Britain were at each others’ throats.
He had just dispersed the last of the envelopes of cash to his now-former servants when he spotted Aziraphale approaching, which wasn’t difficult given he was dressed in a light beige suit that was about fifty years out of date fashion-wise. Rolling his eyes behind his small round dark glasses, Crowley beckoned him over. Aziraphale carried with him one slightly battered trunk that Crowley repaired with a thought out of embarrassment. He wished he could fix that suit, too, without asking permission first.
“Hello, Crowley. I’m glad you decided to come with me,” beamed Aziraphale. “It would have been an awfully dull week without some company.”
“You’re kidding, right?” asked Crowley. “A ship full of the elite. Movers and shakers of the financial world. The insanely rich. Those with more influence than God. And you’d be bored.”
“They’re more your crowd than mine,” said Aziraphale stiffly. He straightened his tie as he spoke then picked up his luggage again.
“Can I fix your suit at least? Please? You’re going to get snubbed and whatever mission you’re on is going to fail.”
“I don’t even know my mission yet. I was told to expect a telegraph before boarding.”
“C’mon.” Crowley grabbed his arm to drag him behind a stack of crates awaiting their turn to be taken to the ship’s cargo holds.
Snapping his fingers, he changed Aziraphale’s suit to a darker beige shade in the cut favoured by men these days. Examining him critically, he wished up a bowler hat in a medium brown shade, handing it to the angel who put it on without an argument.
“You’ll do,” he said, sneaking in a quick snog as well. “Don’t you dare turn anything tartan and learn to live with a regular tie for now. You can go back to that stupid cravat when we dock, ok? Don’t embarrass yourself. Or me.”
Reluctantly separating, they strolled back out to see boarding had begun. First they fished out tickets before they walked to the gangway to wait in the short line of first-class passengers. It didn’t take long to get to the front where a crew member checked their tickets and returned Aziraphale’s along with an envelope.
“I was asked to give this to you when you boarded, Mr. Fell,” he said.
“Oh, thank you,” replied Aziraphale, discreetly tipping the man as he stuffed the envelope in his pocket.
Heading first to their suite, they explored their accommodations for the voyage – an elegant sitting room complete with a faux fireplace and a couple of plush sofas Aziraphale could spend his nights reading on, two large bedrooms with two beds each, a private bathroom between the bedrooms and a private promenade. Crowley approved. At least there would be secluded spaces where they could get away from each other. Aziraphale found it a little much.
“Quite frankly this is rather extravagant. We could have made do with something smaller.”
“Speak for yourself. If I’m going to be stuck on some floating piece of tin in the middle of the ocean, I want space.”
The demon headed out to inspect the enclosed promenade. Watching him go, Aziraphale suddenly remembered the telegraph from Gabriel in his pocket. He pulled it out to read it, stiffening as he did. Looking around for Crowley in case he had reentered from outside, he found the sitting room empty. Quickly he stuffed the telegraph in his luggage before taking it to the bedroom unoccupied by Crowley’s several trunks. Crowley had, of course, claimed the bedroom closest to the sitting room. Aziraphale would have to enter the far room by traversing both Crowley’s room and the bathroom or using the door directly into it off the corridor.
Why he brought them was a puzzle to Aziraphale. He’d just wish new clothes up from raw firmament whenever he needed them. It was probably just for show since no first-class passenger seemed to travel with less than a mountain of luggage. But it didn’t matter how much luggage any of them brought along. It was the tenth of April. They would only be aboard Titanic for four days.
He headed out to check out the view on the promenade with Crowley. The demon was at one of the windows looking out over the dock full of waving crowds there to watch the large ship head out to sea. He appeared to be deep in thought. Aziraphale hoped it wasn’t about the telegram as he approached him from behind, wrapping his arms around his waist.
“What’s on your mind?”
“Automobiles.” Crowley set his hands on top of Aziraphale’s.
“Automobiles? We’re on a boat and you’re thinking about those abominations?”
“We’re on a ship and I was thinking of getting one once humans improve on them a bit. It would definitely be much better than riding a horse all day just to have a sore ar . . .”
“Don’t say it,” interrupted Aziraphale who decided to go sit in one of the wicker chairs up against the wall. “I think we’ve discussed many times how hard on the buttocks horses can be. But automobiles are so noisy and smoky.”
“Harder to fall off of,” muttered Crowley as he pushed off the window and strolled over to take a seat with Aziraphale. Hell always had him ride those big black jobs when he was on official business. The kind of horse that blew fire out of its nostrils and struck sparks with its hooves. He had a difficult time staying seated on one. “I’m thinking in ten to fifteen years they’ll be good enough to consider buying one.”
“Mmm,” said the angel noncommittally, reaching over for a kiss or two.
With a blast of the horn, they were off into the open water, heading towards a town in France where a few would disembark and a few more would start their journeys. Cherbourg Aziraphale thought its name was, but he was not quite sure. It didn’t matter, really, in his mind. He wasn’t disembarking. After Cherbourg, the ship would pick up the rest of her passengers in Queenstown, Ireland.
They sat there chatting until the chill of the Channel air drove them into the warmth of their suite. Crowley poked around in the drawers of the writing desk finding fountain pens and fine paper stashed there then inspected the false fireplace before wandering through both bedrooms with their luxurious beds and walk-in wardrobes.
“Quite nice,” he said. “I probably should have kept on a servant to make the voyage with me. It would have been more in character.”
“You never could tolerate servants for very long,” commented Aziraphale as he placed a few books he brought with him in the empty bookshelf. “Shall we go mingle with the other passengers?”
They walked down a corridor rather Spartan compared to their luxurious quarters despite its panelling and frieze concealing the electrical wiring. No one else was around. A couple of light bulbs in the ceiling sparked then went out as they passed under them.
“Really?” asked Aziraphale. “You can’t just refrain from making mischief for a week?”
“I only took out two. People can still see where they’re going.”
Reaching the Grand Staircase Aziraphale paused a moment, taking in the large glass dome with its elaborate chandelier above them and the tons of English oak making up the staircase’s levels around them. Crowley glared at the statue of the cherub holding a torch lit by electric lighting. How obnoxious was that?
“If I recall rightly, cherubs weren’t ever cute. I seem to remember wings covered in eyes or something equally terrifying,” he said quietly to Aziraphale as humans were around. “And they call Hell a horror show.”
“Crowley, please. And the cherubs are the ones with four faces.”
“That’s still a lot of eyes.”
The first-class lounge was full of passengers right now, all eager to see who else was on the ship for her maiden voyage. Crowley sized up the financial bigwigs and old money in the room, also noting the furniture style. He snickered softly to himself before elbowing Aziraphale.
“Louis XVI style, angel,” he whispered. “Remember when that stuff was new? I recall the king it was named for losing his head. Now they find his style elegant. Ironic.”
Aziraphale gave him one of his most put out looks before heading off to the mahogany bookshelf filled with books against one wall. So much for him being social. Crowley scanned the room for a likely target. He spotted a few notable influencers from both England and America.
“Dark glasses inside?” a middle-aged dark-haired gentleman asked him.
“Just a minor issue with my eyes,” Crowley replied smoothly. “But I assume there are more interesting topics to discuss than that. Anthony, Viscount Crowley.”
He extended his hand; the man grasped and shook it. “Colonel Archibald Gracie.”
Crowley soon found himself drawn into a very boring conversation about several historical events including the American Civil War. There was nothing more tedious than having to listen to people who never lived through such events try to analyze them. But Aziraphale would like him as he had quite the knowledge of literature as well. Maybe they would get together later to discuss Oscar Wilde plays.
Finally excusing himself, Crowley moved among the first-class passengers socializing in the lounge, making small talk with several of them before approaching Aziraphale who was engaged in conversation with a man and a woman. The angel turned towards him while nodding at whatever the woman was saying to him.
“Sorry to interrupt,” said Crowley.
“This is Anthony Crowley, my business partner,” said Aziraphale.
“Viscount Crowley,” added Crowley with a glare towards the angel. “Glad to make your acquaintance,” he said to the two humans.
The pair introduced themselves, but Crowley wasn’t paying that close of attention. The conversation with Gracie had bored him to tears and he wanted nothing more do to than have a few drinks and maybe do some tempting merely to amuse himself.
“Who were they again?” he asked Aziraphale after they wandered off.
“John Astor and his wife Madeline. She’s in a delicate condition.”
“That’s his wife?” Crowley’s eyes went large in surprise. Aziraphale could see a hint of yellow over his glasses. “Robbing the cradle there. What’s he? About forty-five? Fifty? She looks barely old enough to be an adult.”
“Yes, it is quite the scandal. Oh, there’s the bugle. Half an hour until dinner,” replied Aziraphale.
“Good. Let’s go change. I’m tired of talking to these people. Hopefully, we’ll have more interesting table partners.”
“I’ll need you to stay away from the suite for a couple of hours after this,” Aziraphale whispered to Crowley at dinner later.
He was wearing proper dinner attire if only because Crowley threatened to put a barrier of hellfire before the door if he didn’t look like he belonged in a formal dinner setting. Both of them were dressed in white tie affairs as were all the men in the first-class saloon. Crowley’s suit was more streamlined and he would have preferred the less formal black tie and waistcoat in lieu of white, but this was not the place for that sort of thing. He was going to have to cope with wearing more white than he liked just as Aziraphale was going to have to cope with donning a black jacket and trousers.
“Are you having friends over and I’m an embarrassment?” Crowley asked as they were served dessert.
“Not at all. Gabriel has an update for me.” Aziraphale delicately ate a portion of his éclair. “I personally would rather not be caught consorting with the Enemy, but if you want to stick around and risk a smiting, I’m sure I could find some plausible excuse as to why you’re on this ship in my accommodations and save my own skin.”
“Well, if you’re going to put it that way,” Crowley replied, turning back to his other dinner partner to spread yet another piece of gossip. “I’m sorry about that interruption. I honestly don’t know why they would allow such a thing. It seems like quite the embarrassment and I heard . . .”
His opinion of the elite on this floating piece of opulence was not very high. He considered them selfish vapid bastards only interested in elevating their own status while sniping at those deemed less worthy. He found some amusement in turning these jackals against each other, especially since they were in a nice enclosed space and couldn’t really escape each other. In a couple of days, a few of the women wouldn’t be speaking to one another and a couple of the younger hotheads among the men would almost come to blows in the gym.
After dinner, he retired to the smoking room with most of the men to partake of some of the finer brandies there while listening to the blowhards brag about their exploits. Hell would love these people . . . the way they stepped all over the financially less fortunate to increase their own wealth. At least he was gathering more rumour fodder as he talked and laughed in the smoky air, a drink in his hand.
“So,” said a jovial man who had yet to take more than one puff on his cigar. “Lord Crowley, is it?”
“Not really. I’m Hell’s field agent,” Crowley replied, knowing that whatever he said about his demonic origins would slide right off their little mortal brains. “I’m here to up the human misery stakes in whatever creative ways possible I can come up with, but you buggers are really good at doing that to yourselves without much help from me.”
“Oh,” replied the man replied going glassy-eyed for a moment or two. “So you invested the family money in textiles. Smart move. I hear Egyptian cotton has really taken off.”
“Oh, yes, it has,” replied Crowley without missing a beat. “I stand to make another fortune.”
He smiled in a serpentine fashion and took another sip of his brandy.
Meanwhile, Aziraphale was nervously pacing the suite’s sitting room awaiting Gabriel’s arrival. Finally deciding wearing a path in the expensive carpet was not the best of moves, he grabbed a book to read on one of the plush sofas. It wasn’t long before a soft blue light shone down from above, Gabriel appearing as it disappeared.
He smoothed down the lapels on his grey lounge suit coat and straightened his tie before smiling at Aziraphale who had stood up upon his arrival.
“Aziraphale,” he said briskly. “I just wanted to give you an update on how things are going. It looks like they’re still convinced to steam right through as fast as possible. It’ll put them in contact with that ice field. Umm, it looks like the ship will intersect with an iceberg in three nights maybe four. Be prepared. You’re authorized to use a miracle to make it happen if the humans driving this ship change course or slow down. Put that iceberg in front of the ship if you have to, witness what you can, and get yourself out, ok?”
“Yes,” replied Aziraphale with a flustered smile. “But I still don’t understand why we need to sink an entire ship over the comments of one man.”
“And you don’t have to,” answered Gabriel with a broad smile. “Just get your assignment completed and you can go home to . . .” The Archangel grasped for the name of Aziraphale’s place of residence.
“London,” supplied the Principality.
“Yes, that’s it.” He paused a moment. “Why do I keep getting a sense that evil’s around here somewhere?”
“You are on a ship full of wealthy industrialists,” replied Aziraphale nervously putting his hands behind his back and rocking a little on his heels. “That’ll do it, I assume.”
“Oh. Yes. I didn’t think of that.” He clapped Aziraphale on the shoulder. “You’re doing a fine job down here. Keep up the good work.”
And he was gone. Aziraphale sat down both relieved his boss was gone and disturbed over this turn of events he was forced to be a part of. He was going to have to say something to Crowley, and soon. They were quickly running out of time.
Several hours later while he was reading, Crowley stumbled in drunk. “Hey ‘Ziraphale. We should try the Turkish bath tomorrow, whaddaya say?”
“If it is anything like the baths of Ancient Rome, no thank you,” replied Aziraphale, turning a page.
“Naaaaah,” slurred Crowley, swaying slightly as he stood there. “You keep on your . . . thingys . . . what are they called again? And you can wrap up in a towel. Don’t be a prude. I’m going to bed now. ‘Night.”
“I’ll pass on the bath. You’d better sober up before you go to bed, my dear boy.”
“Then I won’t be able to get to sleep. Not like I can’t cure a headache.” He meandered through the bathroom into Aziraphale’s bedroom only to reappear a moment later and stumble into his own to pass out on the bed.
Aziraphale watched him with slight amusement then quickly sobered. He didn’t have to tell Crowley. He could always say his mission was in America and this was the quickest way to go without using a miracle. He got up to shut Crowley’s bedroom door. Sighing, he went back to his book.
He would have never invited Crowley along had he known the mission he was expected to complete before boarding the ship.