Disclaimer: The Bee owns none of the characters or products named and
makes no money off anything. Sad state of affairs.
Warnings: Bad language, strong sexual content between M/M.
Second warning: Although I did do a lot of research, this story is not intended to
be an exact historical account so please don't scream and pounce on a detail or
two that may not be entirely accurate.
Credit: The snippets at the tops of the pages are from a web site entitled "Titanic,
A Time Line of Events". Earl Chapman on the Titanic Discussion List originally
published this chronology of events. Chapman modified it slightly in 1997. The
1997 version formed the basis of this timeline.
Summary: AU. It is the spring of 1912 and Xander Harris, who has been living
with relatives in Ireland, is heading home. As a gift of love, he was booked
passage on the maiden voyage of the Titanic with the promise that it will be the
adventure of a lifetime.
Author's note: This story is NOT a retelling of any of the Titanic movies.
It is the tale of one man and one vampire forgotten by history and the destiny they
both find on this doomed crossing.
Spelling checked by the gracious Silk_Labyrinth
As always, thanks to Petxnd for the wonderful banners and the valued friendship.
Sunday, April 14th 8 AM
The day had dawned bright and clear. Several of the passengers on their way
to the main rooms and parlors for Sunday church services discussed happily amongst
themselves as to how amazingly blue the sky was. Cloudless and calm, the weather
had taken a turn for the better as the blasting winds of the previous days had finally
subsided. It appeared that God himself was showing respect for the Sabbath.
As was their regular routine on land, the majority of the Titanic's passengers rose
early to a light breakfast and gathered themselves together by language, denomination,
and economic status as they prepared to worship their personal deities.
The full orchestra in first class played church hymns as the parishioners heartily
sang Amazing Grace and Beloved Lord, dressed in their finest silks and suits.
The chapels were adorned with all the trappings and decorations that one would
expect to find in the wealthy cathedrals, churches and mosques, depending on
the individual belief of the passenger.
Religious representatives of all congregations had been hired to oversee the
set up of the ship's separate church rooms to ensure no one religion or belief
would be slighted or shortchanged over another. However, it did soon become
apparent that due to the financial backing of certain interests in Rome, the
Catholic chapel would be the most ornate.
Everyone who saw it noted that it was the most stunning thing they had ever seen.
Open at all hours of the day and night, it had become a must-see for any wandering
passenger touring the ship, and even the most stringent agnostic who claimed no
interest in any form of worship, had to exclaim that it was breathtaking.
The room was vast. Wide and three times as long. The pews were solid, high
backed wooden seats with soft cushions. Each spot contained a brand new
untouched Bible and hymn book. The carpeted runner that ran the length of
the room and separated the two sides of the benches was rich, red and scrolled
in gold thread.
A huge dome of stained glass capped the top of the massive cathedral and the
pulpit was walnut carved in intricate detail to form palm fonds at the base.
The backdrop for the Priest was a massive cross with a broken, bleeding
Christ figure crying tears of blood for the sinners of the earth.
Although much more muted, the second class passengers also had their choice of
services led by either a Catholic priest, a Protestant minister or Jewish rabbi.
These services were held in the rooms that, just the night before, had seen the
same passengers dancing, drinking and gambling that this morning now sang praises
and knelt in prayer.
To these parishioners it was not hypocrisy. It was their way of life and they saw
no conflict between raising hell on Saturday night and lifting their voices in prayer
on Sunday morning. In their minds and souls, the two meshed together perfectly.
The third class clustered together in the dining halls. They threw their hands in the
air and they shouted their love and gratitude to the God who had safely and generously
brought them to this amazing adventure and the promise of a new life in America.
They sang the songs of the old country and they prayed God's love and protection
would blanket the family and friends they had left behind.
It was the start of a perfect day.
It was as if the Holy Father had extended his loving arms and enveloped the entire
ship in His embrace and showered her in His rapture.
1:00 PM The Titanic receives a radioed ice warning from the Caronia. It is given
to Second Officer Lightoller and subsequently posted.
1:40 PM The Titanic receives another ice warning, this one from the Baltic. It reads:
"MSG Captain Smith, Titanic. Have had variable winds and clear fine weather since leaving. Greek steamer Athinai reports passing icebergs and large quantity of field ice today in latitude 41.51N, longititde 49.52W. Last night we spoke to German oil tanker Deutschland, Stettin to Philadelphia, not under control; short of coal, latitude 40.42N longitiude 55.11W. Wishes to be reported to New York and other steamers. Wish you and Titanic success."
It is given to Captain Smith. Shortly thereafter, Smith passes it to J. Bruce Ismay, who places it in his pocket. It is not posted in the chartroom until that night.
The mood around the ship had smoothly shifted from haughty reverence to relaxed
recreation. Their stuffy, formal churchwear had been hung back up and the more
casual, woolen garments that would allow invigorating strolls on the deck were
donned as they hustled, in groups, couples and singles toward the dining halls,
smoking rooms and game parlours.
The promises made to God just hours earlier to live chaste, pure and sin free
lives were already forgotten as all decks and passenger levels burst into loud,
Yvette was slightly concerned that she hadn't seen Xander for some time and
she hurried toward lunch, hoping to catch him. She felt as though she had the
fish on her hook but knew they can't be counted as caught till he was reeled
into the boat. Sadly, he still did not make an appearance.
Xander groaned and rolled over. He squinted open one eye and peeked
towards the port hole. Although the sky was still clear and blue, he could tell
by the muted shade that it was late in the afternoon. Pulling himself fully
awake, he glanced at the pocket watch on the night stand and saw that it was
4:18 in the afternoon. He grinned at the thought that he was becoming quite
the night owl. He and Spike.
With that, he wondered what Spike was doing and if he was already up and
about. Their habit had become to meet after Xander had dinner so, with
that in mind, Xander leapt to his feet, gathered together his clean clothes,
a towel and headed for the bathroom to wash himself up. From the smell,
it may take a little longer today. Realizing that, he blushed hotly.
Last night had been a revelation. It seemed appropriate that today was Sunday
because sex with Spike had been a religious experience that had him praising
God and singing hymns. The memory of the detailed intricacies of what Spike's
talented fingers and cock had done to him squirmed in his balls and raised his
dick to a half a hard-on which he tried strategically covering with his hand as
he bolted from his stateroom. Thirty seconds seconds and a handful of soapy lather
would solve that problem.
In his haste to rush for the washroom, Xander failed to look first and his quick
lurch from his room caused him to run awkwardly into a small, redheaded deckhand
who was hurrying down the hall. The collision caused seaman Osborn to be knocked
off his feet and Xander's clothes to fly through the air.
Immediately, Osborn scrambled to stand and he straightened his uniform.
"Sir, I'm sorry, Sir. I wasn't watching. I was........"
Xander hustled around grabbing up the discarded garments and glancing down
at himself to make sure the tent was not too obvious.
"No, no, it was my fault. I wasn't watching where I was going. Are you all right?
You took a pretty good hit there. Where the hell were you going in such a
Osborn's eyes darted nervously in all directions. They had all been given
strict orders, under threat of being fired, not to speak of any unpleasantness
to any of the passengers. There was only one problem with that order.
Osborn just loved to gossip.
"Well, I probably shouldn't tell you this, cause I have orders not to, but....."
Xander's eyebrows went up as diversion drove his erection down.
"Orders? Is there something going on? The fucking ship isn't sinking is it?"
Xander laughed at the absurdity of his own question but his humor quickly cooled
when it became obvious that the deckhand was not joining him in the chuckle.
"If only it were that simple, Sir. Look, I really shouldn't tell you but you can keep
a secret, right?"
Xander clutched his crumpled clothing to his chest and he stepped nearer, his voice
low and conspiritorial.
Daniel took a deep breath and let it all tumble out.
"Well, it seems there is a murderer on board. A fiend! Several young women in
third are missing and presumed dead and one of our shipmen's bodies was found.
Dead. Drained of blood. It's ghastly, Sir, just ghastly! Personally, I think it is
Jack the Ripper himself come sailing for the Americas."
Xander shook his head. He had been entranced by the story that resembled a
cheap penny novel but now just snorted in disbelief.
"Jack the fucking Ripper? That was twenty five fucking years ago. He'd be an
old man by now if he isn't already dead. Why the hell do you think it is him?"
Osborn straightened up and took great offence at being scoffed at.
"Go ahead and laugh but I still stand by my opinion. Two of the girls were
seen with a man just before they disappeared and his description matches the Ripper
exactly. Short, trim, light hair and always wears a long black woolen overcoat.
A friend of one of the girls said the man had a London accent. So, you mark my
words, when he is caught, you'll see that I was right. The killer is the butcher,
With that, Osborn stuck his nose in the air and he marched off. Xander felt
as though he had been punched in the gut. That description might match the
Ripper, but he knew someone else who also fit that to a tee.