Hello everyone - and welcome to Day 2 of 1915! I've been doing some planning and I think I will be doing a chapter for every day until the date of the sinking - May 7th - although some will be considerably shorter than others.

Thank you, so far, to: IggyButt, april sherbet, Icarus Wing, jagaimo-chan, Lamashtar Two and Girlwithnolife! Glad to hear you're all enjoying the story so far!

Saturday 1st May, 1915

The atmosphere was nothing like Southampton.

Alfred couldn't help but wonder if it was down to the German Embassy's warning in the papers a week previous; but it was definitely noticeable, a strange, muted sense of forboding in the sharp, salty air. Loved ones hugged just that little bit longer, promises to write or telegram as soon as safety in Liverpool was reached seemed to be more in earnest, even a dog seemed nervous, circling its owner's legs in distraction. Clutching his crumpled ticket, Alfred took a deep breath and shut the car door behind him.

It was a pleasant day, warm with a brisk, fresh breeze; and there was still the usual crowd the sailing of the big liners brought in, curious children and enthusiasts with cameras. Olympic in particular always brought in a surge, those with a ghoulish preoccupation with her doomed sister, and Alfred was relieved to see that she wasn't here, dazzle paint or no.

"She's gone on to Halifax," Arthur said intuitively, coming to his side. He was back in his white uniform, neatly steamed and pressed at the hotel the night before. "I do hope someone had the sense to move my things between the ships, though." He looked at Alfred. "Do you have your belongings?"

Alfred held up his small case, hastily packed not an hour before. Arthur nodded, adjusting his hat.

"Well, then, let's push on," he said, beckoning. He started away, his pace quick and smart; it was always obvious when he was at war, it bloomed in him like a summer garden, bursting out in his every motion, everything about him honed and practical. He vanished into the crowd, Alfred trailing after him, listening to the car rev and putter away over the cobbles.

He eased his way through the crowd, following the glimpses of white flashing at elbows and behind hair ribbons; drawing ever closer to the RMS Lusitania, which peaked like a mountain range above the mass of people, seeming to grow taller and taller until she towered over him and he was craning his neck at those four deep orange funnels, bloodied barbs from the beast's great back. They had black tips just like Titanic's.

The last time he had looked up at a ship like this - four funnels outstretched to the heavens - had been as their lifeboat had been lowered into the black waters of the Atlantic.

"What are you looking at?" Arthur was back, tugging at his wrist. "I know she's not all that impressive but she's getting on a bit now, you know."

"Couldn't you have gotten us a passage on the Carpathia?" Alfred groaned.

"The Carpathia is busy," Arthur replied dismissively. "She's being used as a troop ship."

"W-well, couldn't you have gotten us a passage on... on something that didn't look so much like the Titanic?!"

"What are you talking about?" Arthur asked. "Lusitania doesn't look like Titanic, don't be absurd. She's much smaller, she has the ridged funnels common on Cunard liners and you can see from here that her back end is completely different in design, what with the open decking." He gave Alfred a suspicious look. "I do believe you're just being difficult."

"Can you blame me?" Alfred asked witheringly. "Titanic was supposed to be unsinkable and-"

"Now I'll just stop you there because no-one said it was unsinkable except the newspapers and you know how reliable they are." Arthur sighed impatiently. "Alfred, it's perfectly safe, I assure you. I've served on the naval escort of several liners these past two months and we've never had any incidents - and the Aquitania is one of the bulkiest, slowest ships I've ever had the displeasure of sailing on."

"But Germany has outright threatened-"

"Yes, well, I'm going to put a boot up Ludwig's backside for that next time I see him," Arthur said curtly. He clapped his hands at Alfred. "Now come along or they'll sail without us."

He ushed him along to the gangplank, Alfred not resisting but not really helping, either. They stood behind a rich socialite husband and wife, waiting to board, and Alfred watched the lines of Third Class going through their health inspections further down the dockside. He noticed that Arthur was firmly clamped onto his arm in case (he presumed) he decided to bolt for it.

There was a little irony in that.

"You know, you don't have to hold onto me like a kid," Alfred whispered coldly. "I'm not going to run off like you did when we were told to get into a lifeboat."

Arthur glared at him.

"Don't fucking test me," he breathed in reply.

The husband and wife were moved on and they were next up; Arthur pushed him forward with a salute.

"Third Officer," he said.

"Commodore," came the reply, the salute given in kind; and the young man in his Cunard uniform put out his hand for Alfred's ticket. "And Mr Jones, of course. If I could see your ticket, please, sir."

Alfred opened his sweaty palm and let his crumpled ticket change hands; the Third Officer smoothed it out to inspect it.

"Very good, sir," he said briskly; he stamped the ticket and handed it back. "Do you have any luggage you need carried on board?"

"Oh, uh, no, just this little case." Alfred clutched it quite tightly. "I can carry it myself."

The Third Officer raised his eyebrows before nodding.

"As you wish, sir." He looked to Arthur again. "Your affects were moved yesterday afternoon from the RMS Olympic, Commodore."

"Thank you." Arthur put his hand firmly between Alfred's shoulder blades and pushed him onto the gangplank somewhat forcefully. "Come along, Alfred."

"Don't shove me!" Alfred hissed, shrugging him off.

"Oh, don't make a scene..."

"You're the one making a scene!"

"Fine then." Arthur shot him a dangerous smile. "Shall we promenade like society ladies, then?"

"Sure." Alfred linked his arm through Arthur's somewhat violently, their elbows locking together. "Shall we, Commodore?"

Arthur seemed almost amused that Alfred had risen to the bait; he gave a toss of his head and straightened his back.

"Certainly." He had a hold on Alfred either way, it seemed, and he lost no time in more or less frog-marching him up the gangplank.

Alfred went along with it, thinking it must look rather funny, especially with Arthur looking so haughty about the whole thing; but then they came to the end of the gangplank and the next step would take him onto the deck of the RMS Lusitania.

He stopped.

"Alfred." Though he was gentler this time, there was an air of impatience in Arthur's voice. "Do come along like a good chap. You don't want to hold up the boarding."

"Well, maybe I do," Alfred mumbled, looking at the wood between his feet. The gangplank was so rough and dirty compared to the buffed, clean wood of the Lusitania's deck. "So she can't sail."

"Oh, really!" Arthur exhaled through his nose, tugging at Alfred's arm. He was already on board, one hand on the rail. "That's quite enough! You have a national duty to do - so get your arse on this ship immediately!"

Alfred swallowed, feeling Arthur pull away his arm. Knowing he must look a fool, desperate to overcome his fear, he willed his feet to move, to take that last step onto the ship, the one that he had taken for granted whilst boarding Titanic-

But he couldn't. His feet wouldn't budge. He looked at Arthur helplessly.

"I know it's stupid," he began desperately, "but I-"

"It's not stupid," Arthur interrupted quietly. "I know you're afraid - but I need you, Alfred. Come on." He put out his hand. "I'll help you."

"O-okay..." Alfred took a deep breath and thrust out his hand, fingers splayed and searching; and Arthur caught them up tightly, the blood beating in his fingertips.

"Come on, I have you." Arthur pulled gently, urging him forward. "Good lad."

"Alright, I'm coming, just...!" Alfred squeezed his eyes tightly shut, letting only the warmth of Arthur's hand guide him; he couldn't see the deck, he couldn't see the divide, and he took the last step with a swallowed breath. "...There!"

"Good lad," Arthur said again, quieter, gentler. He pressed both of his hands reassuringly to Alfred's for a short moment. "Little by little; isn't that what we learnt?"

"Yeah," Alfred replied weakly. He shifted his weight distractedly from foot to foot. He was on board at last but he wasn't comfortable; and this, he knew, Arthur sensed.

"Come on." Arthur's tone went brisk and official again, though he kept hold of Alfred's hand. "I daresay you don't want to stay on deck for the launch and I've seen more pushings-off than I've had hot meals. Let's go to our suite."

"Our suite?"

"Well, it seemed like waste to have a room each," Arthur said carelessly, weaving Alfred behind him through the crowds of passengers leaning over the rails to wave goodbye, the sort of thing passangers were prone to doing. "Given that you more or less moved into my suite on the Titanic after the first night. Think of this as you returning the favour - given that the suite is under your name."

"So you don't have a room," Alfred murmured, taking his last breath of smoky air as Arthur led him through the open doorway from the boat deck down the sheltered core of the promenade deck; they emerged into a grand lobby, the gilt cage of the elevator glittering in the centre.

"Not as such." They started down the staircase - a precise square thing with nice rails and red carpet, although it hadn't the sweeping majesty of Titanic's. "I have a bed in the officers' quarters but I don't plan to make much use of it." He shot Alfred a meaningful look. "It's a bloody big bed - I think you can spare the room."

"Only if I can charge you rent."

Arthur sighed amusedly, grinning.

"Alright," he said. "I suppose I can live with that."

Alfred nodded.

"Good."

The Lusitania, so similar on the exterior, had a very different look to the Titanic within; she was lighter, airier, with more of an illusion of open space. She was simpler, too, in her decor, no doubt because she'd be slightly cheaper to produce and therefore wasn't weighed down with every style from Baroque to Nouveau; in many ways, though Titanic had been so new as to have sunk on her maiden voyage, Lusitania seemed more modern, pleasant with less fuss. Arthur, who had escorted her to Canada the previous month, was familiar with her layout already and rattled off her assets to Alfred: the library, the reading and writing room (used mostly by ladies, although men were welcome), the smoking rooms for each class, the verandah cafe ("not as nice as the Cafe Parisien on board Titanic," Arthur confided, "but as least Francis has nothing to whinge about..."), the First Class music room, the dining saloons and their locations according to class.

"You must forgive her," Arthur said candidly, "for she was launched in 1907 and isn't really comparable to the Olympic class of White Star Line. I'm afraid there's no gym and certainly no swimming pool."

"I don't think I'll feel much like swimming," Alfred muttered. "Anyway, you've changed your tune about passenger liners. I thought you hated them."

"I like them a bit more now that they're pulling their weight," Arthur sighed. "I can't fault the likes of Olympic or Britannic, they've both been more than useful, as has the Mauretania."

They came to (what Alfred assumed) was the door to their suite; Arthur already had the key, swiftly unlocking the white door before pressing the cold metal into Alfred's hand and breezing in.

"That's your key," he said. "I'll get another."

"Thanks," Alfred muttered, pocketing it; he followed Arthur in and shut the door with his weight, dropping his case.

As a suite, it was smaller than Arthur's mini-palace on board Titanic, with lower ceilings; but it was nice all the same, clearly the height of luxury in 1907, with polished pine accents and soft blue-and-gold carpet and a mosaic in lush blues and greens above the fireplace. The parlour had a writing desk, several plush chairs, a fainting couch and a coffee table, a handsome thing with carved legs; and they had a small bathroom, done out in Roman green, adjacent to the bedroom. The bed chamber itself was, again, much simpler than its Titanic counterpart, which Alfred recalled as having a four poster bed with hangings, quite uncalled for: here the bed was large, with more than room enough for them both, but it was a simpler affair, with only its gilt headboard and gold-embroidered pillows for decoration.

Arthur was in here already, ignoring his case in favour of inspecting his other naval uniform - the blue one with its smart gold buttons and red piping - hanging from the wardrobe door. Alfred threw his own case onto the bed and kicked off his shoes.

"How many uniforms do you actually have, Arty?" he asked conversationally, unbuckling his suitcase.

"Two naval, military and merchant," Arthur replied. "Technically I'm not Merchant Navy but the line can be somewhat blurred sometimes, what with the East India Company and all that; and this escort business is somewhere in the grey between military and civilian service." He gestured to his blue uniform. "So I'll be wearing this during this voyage." He sighed. "Then there's the wretched army uniforms, to be honest the khaki isn't much an improvement on the red, it's all the same when you're wet and freezing in the trench..."

"They're really working you to the bone, huh?" Alfred fished out his shaving kit and toothbrush and took them to the bathroom.

"Mm. A bit here, a bit there... I was in the trenches over Christmas and it was bloody miserable, I can tell you. I'd rather have been at sea." he scowled. "And then, when we get to Liverpool, I have to go down to London for a week to do a ten foot high pile of paperwork at the War Office."

"But then you're free, right?" Alfred leaned back around the bathroom door. "And we can do whatever the hell we want for three weeks."

"That's the plan." Arthur sighed and started to undress, taking out a hanger for his white uniform.

Alfred blinked at him confusedly, coming back into the room.

"Why are you changing?"

"I'm on duty this afternoon, I'm afraid." Arthur looked at him apologetically. "I go on at noon - to oversee Lusitania's launch."

"O-oh." Alfred felt rather stupid, somehow; because he'd known that Arthur would be working on this voyage but it still hadn't occurred to him that that meant he wasn't going to be seeing an awful lot of him. "Uh, until when?"

"Eight o' clock." Arthur reached for his jacket, pulling it on over his shirt and tie. "We can dine together, if you don't mind waiting."

"Yeah, that..." Alfred sat on the edge of the bed. "That sounds fine."

"I am sorry, Alfred. I do think it's perfectly wretched of them to put me on first duty when I was on the last watch for Olympic."

"Yeah, that's... kind of lousy."

There was a sudden knock at the suite door, drifting through the rooms; Arthur, halfway through pulling trousers on, nodded in the direction of the sound.

"Would you mind awfully?"

"Sure," Alfred said, getting up; although, truthfully, he actually minded everything quite awfully, especially the fact that Arthur was vanishing almost immediately after luring Alfred onto this godforsaken liner. He stomped to the door to the suite and wrenched it open moodily, finding a middle-aged man in a naval uniform identical to Arthur's standing before him.

"Good afternoon, sir," the man said politely, tipping his cap to Alfred. "Would you be so kind as to inform Commodore Kirkland that we will be sailing in fifteen minutes."

"Yeah, hang on." Alfred leaned back into the suite. "Arthur! Your buddy here says we're sailing in fifteen minutes! Better get a move on!"

Arthur came out of the room at this, scowling, still doing up his jacket buttons. Standing in the middle of the parlour, he met the officer's gaze over Alfred's shoulder and nodded.

"Thank you, Sub-Lieutenant. I'll be along shortly."

He went back into the bedroom; and Alfred, not waiting for a reply from the Sub-Lieutenant, swung the door shut and followed him moodily, his hands in his pockets.

"There was no need for all that shouting," Arthur chided him, watching him in the mirror as he put on his hat.

"How else were you meant to hear me?" Alfred griped. He flopped onto the bed, sprawling out. "Anyway, you're going to be late if you don't shake a leg, Commodore."

"Oh, don't be like this," Arthur sighed, turning to him. "I said I was sorry. It's not my fault I have to work."

"You're always working," Alfred complained. "You make me feel like a damned housewife, always left at home."

"Alfred, there's a war on-"

"Jeez, I know that, I just-"

"Which," Arthur interrupted, coming to the bedside, "makes it all the nicer that I have something of a home to come back to."

Alfred sat up.

"Kiss me," he said, looking archly at Arthur, "and make it a damn good one or you can sleep on that fainting couch tonight."

"Oh, goodness, now I really do feel like a browbeaten husband..." Arthur grinned and leaned in, taking Alfred by the face to make him tilt just a little bit; and their mouths met with the clash of hot wet breath and the faintest clack of teeth and Alfred wrapped his arms around Arthur's neck with the full intent, he admitted, to pull him down with him-

Arthur, however, resisted, drawing out the kiss until Alfred felt dizzy and broke away for breath, gasping; and then Arthur triumphantly squirmed free.

"Let's call that one a work in progress," he said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

"God," Alfred sputtered, clawing for purchase on Arthur's pristine uniform, "get back here, you son of a bitch...!"

"No, I can't." Arthur pressed a brief kiss to Alfred's forehead and stepped back, well out of his reach. "Much as I'd like to, I must go. It's almost noon." He went to the door of the bedroom. "I'll see you later, Alfred. Good day."

Off he went; moments later Alfred heard the suite door open and close again with a click. He was gone.

Alfred sighed and rolled over, closing his eyes. Already the spike of arousal, having just welled hotly within him, was beginning to subside, painted over thickly with the mire of dread pooled in the pit of his belly, cold and immovable. Arthur was a sly one, there was no doubt about it, having taken him indoors right away, getting him settled, giving him somewhere to hide.

Here, alone in the quiet, Lusitania's engines dormant far beneath, he lay on the clean sheets he would share with Arthur later tonight and felt that he really might as well be here rather than on the wretched boat deck, waving goodbye to New York.

There was no escape either way.

Btw, for all interested, I am (sort of) cross-posting the story to my tumblr (link on my profile) with supplementary bits and pieces like pictures and deck-plans, etc, just to add that little bit more. I really ought to have done it last year with 1912 - although, with that said, all you need to do is watch Titanic to get an accurate representation of that ship decor-wise, I mean, no wonder that film was the most expensive ever made at the time... o.O

RMS Mauretania and RMS Aquitania, both mentioned in this chapter, were Lusitania's sister ships. Both completed full working careers and Aquitania was the only four-funnel liner to serve in both world wars; she was scrapped in 1950. Britannic, of course, was Titanic's baby sister, serving as a hospital ship when she sank off Greece in 1916.

(...Don't worry, there won't be a third sequel entitled 1916 about that! XD)