Chapter Text
Dan had always thought his life would turn out to be something meaningful. He had hoped, optimistically. He hadn’t given up.
When he’d seen the ship, back in the harbour in Southampton, when he had seen how it stretched towards the sky with so many floors, he’d thought this might finally be it.
The ship of dreams, or so people called it. And Dan had dared to hope. Maybe he’d finally be closer to his freedom.
Oh, how wrong he had been.
He had hoped to escape the endless dreadful spiral of pretending to care about the things he was told, of talking without saying anything, of meeting for tea and then for brandy after dinner, always seeing the same faces, talking to the same people. Of pretending everything was fine while inside he was shrivelling up in the darkness.
Nothing had changed, not a bit.
The Titanic was supposed to be the ship of dreams.
The ship of nightmares, for him. In the close proximity to his father he couldn’t even avoid the topic of his future, of the plans his father and grandmother made for him. He couldn’t avoid the fact that his life was already planned out without taking into account what he wished for or what he dreamed of.
As if it wasn't important.
As if it wasn’t worth considering.
As if he wasn’t worth it.
He doesn't even feel this supposed freedom now, as he stands on the edge of this godforsaken ship, looking down at the dark water. It churns and splashes, roaring, so loud he can even hear it way up here. He could have sworn he felt some of the piercing cold foam thrust upwards ever so high, but the cold air itself was enough to render his skin numb.
His roaring heartbeat is enough to drown out every other feeling, every thought.
Maybe this is the closest to freedom he’ll ever get. This feeling of fear and anticipation and numbness.
His hands are shaking on the rails. His eyes are filled with tears, but he barely feels them anymore. He can’t even see the stars.
“Don’t do it.”
The voice is so abrupt, so unexpected, it startles him for a moment. He whips his head around, fear rushing through his veins. “Stay back!” he yells before he even spots the blonde man. “Don’t come any closer!”
“Take my hand,” the strange man offers, unfazed. His voice still soft, his movements careful. His face is friendly, concerned, big eyes focused on Dan, eyebrows knit in worry. “Take my hand and I’ll pull you back in.”
“No!” It’s almost a sob. His voice comes out broken, shoulders shaking in the cold wind. He left his jacket inside when he left in a hurry, left to escape all the people talking and laughing and living.
“Stay where you are. Or I’ll let go.” He takes another look at the waves below, and even to his own ears it’s a hollow threat. His hands are curled around the iron in pure fear.
“No, you won’t,” the stranger says, still with this oh-so-soft voice.
“What do you mean I won’t?” Dan asks, affronted. “Don’t presume to know anything about me!”
The stranger shrugs. A small smile around the corner of his mouth. “You would have done it already, if you really wanted to.” His warm smile never wavers. “Now, take my hand.”
Mouth hanging open, Dan stares at him. After a few seconds he regains his posture. “This is none of your business,” he says. “Go away.”
“I can’t. I’m involved now.” He sounds so earnest that Dan almost believes him. His blue eyes are filled with so much worry, his smile gone. “If you let go, I have to jump in after you.”
It sounds like a promise.
He can’t be serious.
“Don’t be absurd,” Dan sniffs, trying to blink the last of his tears away. “You’ll be killed.”
The stranger shrugs again, taking off his jacket. “I’m a good swimmer,” he says.
Dan gives a dismissive snort. “The fall alone would kill you,” he states in a matter-of-fact way.
“It would hurt,” the man agrees. “I’m not saying it wouldn’t. But to be honest, I’m a lot more concerned about the water being so cold, mate.”
Dan takes a last look at the waves underneath him. They are still roaring, but this time it feels louder in his ears. The cold is more piercing.
“How cold?” Dan asks, voice small.
The man leans next to him on the railing now. He is also looking down at the water, talking like they are having a chat over afternoon tea, not at night at the far back end of a glorious ship, about to jump to their deaths.
“Freezing,” he says, without looking up, brushing his blonde fringe out of his eyes. The lights reflect in it in an almost iridescent shade. “Maybe a couple degrees over.”
“Ever been to Manchester?” he then suddenly asks, startling Dan again.
“No?” he answers. Even to himself it sounds like a question.
“Well, we have some of the coldest winters around,” the stranger explains, almost lost in thought with a small smile. “I grew up there, in a small town near Rossendale. Once when I was a kid me and my father were ice-fishing.” He gives Dan a short look. “Ice-fishing is when you chop a hole in the- “
“I do know what ice-fishing is” Dan snaps at him, his voice getting a little higher in personal affront. This is ridiculous.
“Sorry.” Now the stranger is the one to seem perplexed. “You kind of seemed more like an indoor guy to me. But, back then, I went through some thin ice and, believe me, water that cold, like that one down there…” he pauses, to take a look over the guardrail, underlining his point. “It’s really a pain to swim in.” He gives a theatrical sigh. “Which is why I’m not looking forward to jumping in after you, but like I said, I’m involved now.”
For a few seconds, they stare at each other.
“I guess I’m kinda hoping you’ll come back over and get me off the hook here,” the stranger adds.
Dan stares at him just a moment longer.
“You’re crazy.” He gets out.
“I hear that a lot.” He gives another smile, accompanied with raised eyebrows this time. “But with all due respect, I’m not the one hanging off the back of a ship.”
He takes another step towards Dan. They are next to each other now. The stranger could easily reach out and touch him, but he doesn’t.
“Come on,” he continues to talk instead. “I know you don’t want to do this.” His eyes are pleading. Bright and worried. “Give me your hand.”
Dan closes his eyes, only for a moment. Then he looks at the man again, and he’s holding out a hand.
“Alright.” He breathes. Slowly, he unfastens his fingers from the railing and turns around, taking the hand. It’s warm. Dan’s skin tingles where their hands touch.
Now that he is not planning to jump anymore, he can finally concentrate on the man before him. He feels familiar.
Dan realises now that he’s seen him before, earlier that day. He had stood out at the sundeck, looking at the horizon, getting upset about some comment his father had made about one of the other men’s sons and his supposed love for men. As Dan had turned to rush inside, away from his father’s judgemental remarks, he’d noticed a man at the lower deck, staring at him.
Dan hadn’t thought much of it, in fact, he had suppressed any thought of it.
Irritation bubbles in his chest, although he’s not sure where it’s coming from. He decides to ignore that for now.
“I’m Phil, ” the man says and this time his smile seems to start something else in Dan’s chest: a warmth that spreads through his lungs, replacing the peculiar agitation
“Daniel James Howell,” Dan says. He tries to not look down. The roaring of the waves has become deafening, terrifying.
“Pleased to meet you, Daniel,” Phil says, with a chuckle that Dan can't quite place.
A smile tugs at his mouth, but he’s not there yet. Again, the moment lingers between them, they just stare at each other.
He goes to climb back over the railing, but his hands and feet are shaking from the cold and the adrenaline.
His foot loses his grip, and with a piercing shriek, he plunges.
Fear rushes through his veins again, settling in his throat, in his stomach, in his arms. Screaming, he grabs anything that is in reach, clinging to the one hand Phil gives him as a lifeline.
“Please help me!” he pleads. “Please don’t let go!”
“I’ve got you!” he hears Phils promise from above. The grip around his hands intensifies, and hope flutters in his chest like a trapped bird.
“Please don’t let go,” he sobs against the wind. “I don’t want to die.”
“I know.” Phil’s voice is calm again. Dan can’t remember having had anyone ever talk to him so softly. “I won’t let go.”
Dan lets out another sob as he feels the weight tugging at him, then he realises that Phil is trying to pull him upwards. Slowly, inch by inch, he hoists him upwards and finally Dan is able to pull himself back over the railing.
They both fall down, panting. Dan lets out another sob, barely heard over the wind.
Before they can right themselves up, someone steps between them.
“Now who do we have here?” The man in uniform scoffs. “Two troublemakers I see? Having a bit of a fight, eh?” He stares at Dan, and recognition dawns on his face. “Mister Howell, I didn’t recognize you. Are you alright?”
Dan nods, still shaking. He doesn’t trust his voice yet. The adrenaline and fear are still pumping through his veins. He tries to calm his breathing, to stop his sobs. He can’t bring out a word, his face red in embarrassment from the tears. He doesn’t dare look at Phil.
The man in uniform turns to Phil now, his face ever so stern. “And you, don’t move an inch.” Over his shoulder he yells to some more men. “Fetch the Master at Arms!”
When the Master at Arms arrives, a burly man with a walrus moustache, he does not come alone. Dan is glad he was able to get himself up and brush off his clothes as his father stops in front of him. Of course, he is followed by his second shadow, the bodyguard and assistant, Lovejoy, and a trail of a few of his old and rich friends, who had undoubtedly followed just to have another story to talk about over their overpriced whiskey.
His face is everything but amused. Surely, he had to stop some very important talk about his big fortune to come out here.
“Daniel, what is the meaning of all this?” he demands.
Dan, now calmer, makes sure his face gives nothing away as he answers. “Nothing, Father.” He prays for his teary eyes to not give him away, but it’s dark enough and his father had never been big on paying attention to his oldest son anyway.
His father gives Phil a disgusted glance now, looking him up and down as he stands up. “Nothing, hm?” He asks, looking back at his son. “I don’t assume the Master at Arms would come to me saying my son has been in a scuffle for no reason.”
Dan shrinks under his father’s glance.
“I tripped, Father,” he says, voice small. He can’t bring himself to look at anyone, so instead stares down at his feet. “I was looking down at the water to see the propellers and I tripped. It’s very slippery. I almost fell over the edge, but this man helped me.”
Dan can feel his father’s gaze shift away from him, and he allows himself a glance towards Phil. He’s still standing there, unmoving. As their eyes meet Dan sends him a silent plea. To play along, to not tell him, to not tell anyone.
Phil meets his gaze, but this time his eyes give away nothing.
“Is that so?” His father asks.
“That’s correct, Sir.” Phil answers immediately. Still calm, still polite. “I’m glad I could be of help.”
Dan sends him a small smile. His eyes still on Phil, he tries to send all the gratefulness he can’t say out loud in this one look.
One of his father’s friends perks up at this. He gives Phil a big smile and says: “Well, the boy’s a hero then! Good for you Son, well done!”
Dan remembers he’s a writer, an author with quite a few successful books. Of course he surely likes the sound of this heroic story, but not enough to stay around longer.
“Back to our brandy then, eh?”
“Well, Boy, thank you.” His father pats Phil’s shoulder and attempts to walk away to his friends. “Get inside Daniel, it’s freezing,” he says over his shoulder.
Dan nods, about to follow his father when one of his fathers’ friends stops them again.
“Perhaps, something for the boy?” he asks, voice low but not low enough, looking at Dan’s father.
His father sighs, looking at Phil, scrunching his nose. “Here, have this.” He hands him some crumpled bills; Dan can’t really see it, but he assumes it’s not much.
“That’s all?” he asks before he can stop himself. Of course his father wouldn’t care. Why should he? The adrenaline is roaring in his ears. “He just saved your oldest son, and you give him your leftover tip money?”
His father turns around, eyebrows raised, clearly annoyed. His message is clear: this will have consequences. “What else am I supposed to give him? An award? An invite to dinner?” It’s a ridiculous, rhetorical question, but no one answers. A few of the other men exchange uncomfortable glances. “Fine.” He turns to Phil again with a dramatic sigh. “Would you like to join us for dinner tomorrow, to regale our group with your heroic tale?” He asks it in a mocking voice, but Phil’s answer is earnest.
“Sure,” he says. “Count me in.”
That night, Dan isn’t sure how to find sleep. His hands are still shivering under the blankets, heart still beating fast in fear of what he almost did, what almost happened. And still, whenever he closes his eyes, he can only see one face. He can only see those worried eyes, piercing blue, and the smile that tugged at his heart.
His father hasn’t said anything about the evening yet. Once inside, he was fast to rejoin his friends and the brandy, leaving Dan with his grandmother and the other women.
Not that he minded. Usually, he was forced to stay with his father and talk to people he hated about politics and money. There were rarely things that interested Dan less than those conversations, about whose fortunes were the biggest and whose lawyers were the fiercest.
Of course, he knows that once they arrive in America, his father plans for him to study law at some prestigious university. Dan doesn’t bother to remember the name. He hardly bothered to try to remember the names of their high society acquaintances, and still doesn’t. And no one notices anyway, just expecting that he knows.
The ship sways ever so slightly, the movement finally lulling him to sleep. From time to time some noise echoes through the ship, like it’s a breathing organism, but for the first time, the thought is not concerning to Dan.
And as sleep rolls over him, the last thought he has goes to Phil, and the fact that he is still somewhere on the same ship as him.