Jemma stood in front of the vanity mirror in her stateroom, brushing out her hair. Once she and Fitz had finally managed to pull themselves out of bed, she'd gone to the wardrobe for a new dress to wear. She'd chosen the simplest one she had, a plain silk dress with few snaps and a single sash in the back, knowing Fitz would have to help her into it. She'd eschewed a corset in favor of an ordinary stay as well, not wanting to confuse him with the complicated lacing.
Once she was dressed, he'd taken his clothes into the attached bathroom to clean up and finish dressing as well, and she'd turned her attention to her hair. It had become hopelessly mussed during their lovemaking, and she spent a few moments removing all the pins to let it down and carefully run her comb through it, easing out all of the snarls and knots.
Just as she was working her comb through the last tangle, Jemma looked up to see Fitz come back into the room, fully dressed and hooking his braces over his shoulders. He smiled as their eyes met in the mirror, and came over to wrap his arms around her waist from behind, nuzzling his nose into her cheek.
"You look lovely with your hair down," he said, pressing a kiss there. "It's too bad you can't wear it this way more often."
Jemma smiled in return, setting her comb down and relaxing into his hold. "But it's not very refined, is it?" she teased, turning her head to kiss him properly. Then she sighed. "I'll have to pin it back up before I can escort you down to third class. I'd catch stares if I didn't."
Fitz's expression turned morose as he set his chin on her shoulder, watching their reflection in the mirror. "I wish you didn't have to."
She knew he wasn't talking about her hair. "I know," she said quietly, threading her fingers through his where they rested over her hips. "But it will only be a few more days. I just have to keep up appearances until we reach New York, and then I can leave with you. Any moment I can steal away to see you, I will."
He nodded, but still looked a little glum. Feeling her heart go out to him, Jemma turned in his arms to face him, reaching up to rest her palm against his cheek.
"Come on, now," she said warmly, smiling. "It's not so bad, is it? Just think of what we have to look forward to."
That brought a new smile out of him, and he leaned forward to press his forehead to hers. "I can barely believe it's even possible, much less accept that it's real."
"It will be," Jemma replied confidently. "You'll see." She went up on her toes to kiss him again, long and sweet, hoping to reassure him through actions where her words could not.
When they parted, Fitz stepped back to pick up his jacket from the vanity chair and put it back on. "I know you haven't had dinner yet," Jemma said, "and neither have I. It's not safe to stay here. Maybe I could sneak a bite to eat when I take you back down to third class." She paused, thinking. "Do you think that would cause too much trouble?" She gestured at her fine silk dress; her appearance had caused quite a stir on her first trip belowdecks the previous morning.
Fitz frowned thoughtfully. "I'm not sure," he said. "No one seemed to pay you any mind last night, but-"
Suddenly, their attention was caught by the sound of the lock turning in the sitting room door, followed by it opening. "Miss Jemma?" a voice called.
Jemma froze, horror flooding her veins. It was Grant's valet, Giyera. "Oh, no!" she gasped, grabbing Fitz's hand and pulling him toward the door leading to the corridor. "We have to go!"
She tore open the door and rushed out into the corridor, Fitz hot on her heels. Hand in hand, they hurried as fast as they could toward the B deck foyer, without any real plan in mind beyond knowing they had to get away. They were halfway there when they heard a door shut, and looked back to see Giyera entering the corridor from the sitting room. Seeing them, he raced to catch up.
Fitz swore under his breath. They broke into a run, startling the few people who were out and about in the foyer. Her heart in her throat, Jemma led them past the staircase and around to the elevator bank, making a beeline for the first open one she saw. They dashed inside, surprising the operator.
"Take us down, quickly!" Jemma cried, as Fitz rushed to close the steel gate. "As far down as you can!"
The operator nodded dumbly, scrambling to comply. The elevator car had just started to descend when Giyera ran up in front of it, slapping a hand against the grate. Jemma and Fitz stared up at him, out of breath, as he glared impotently at them. Safely out of his reach, Jemma allowed herself to relax slightly, while next to her Fitz propped his hands on his hips as he regained his breath.
The elevator stopped on E deck. As soon as the operator let them out, Jemma turned to Fitz, her hands going up to his chest. "I'm afraid we need a change of plans," she said, feeling her nerves buzz with fear and anxiety. "Giyera will tell Grant he's seen me with you. I...I can't go back to him now." She leaned further into him as a shiver ran through her. "I don't want to think of what he might do."
Fitz had curled his hands around her shoulders, but his eyes were on the other empty elevator banks, watching the moving cables inside them. "He won't be far behind," he warned quietly. "We better go. This way." He let go of her to take her hand again, then led her around the elevators and down a corridor a short distance before making another turn. His face lit up when they found another, smaller stairwell that led them down another flight to F deck. The area they emerged into was much more sparse and utilitarian than the first class areas, with plain white walls, steel doors, and exposed pipework. Jemma thought it looked more like where the ship's crew might go, and breathed a sigh of relief, leaning back into Fitz.
His arms immediately came around her, holding her close, and he brushed a kiss against her forehead as he rubbed a soothing circle over her back. "It's alright," he said. "I know you're worried, but it won't come to that. The ship isn't full. I'm sure we could find a berth for you close to me, or some of the women would be willing to watch you. We'll think of something." He tucked a finger beneath her chin to tilt her face up to his, and smiled at her before sobering. "Who is that guy, anyway?"
"He's Grant's valet," Jemma answered. "His father hired him while Grant was at university, to make sure he always made it home with his wallet and that he didn't make a spectacle of himself when he went out to the... less reputable parts of the city. Couldn't have him tarnishing the good family name, you see."
Fitz gave her a bracing look. "Upstanding guy, your fiancé."
She wrinkled her nose. "Quite. But Giyera is very good at what he does, all without hardly ever uttering a word. Frankly, I find him rather frightening. I've never liked the way he looks at me. It's as if he's calculating the best way to make me divulge all of my deepest, darkest secrets."
Again, Fitz made a face. "Charming," he said. Then, his eyes flicked to something above her, over her shoulder, and his entire body went stiff. Turning, Jemma saw Giyera himself framed in the narrow window slat set into the door opposite them on the far side of the corridor. Their eyes met, and his face hardened as he started to charge toward them.
"Shit," Fitz hissed, fumbling to push her ahead of him, urging her to run. They sprinted down the corridor, speeding up as much as possible when they heard heavy footfalls behind them, and took the first turn they came across. Jemma cried out in dismay when the hall immediately dead-ended on a door marked "Crew Only," but Fitz dodged past her to push the door open anyway, reaching back to pull her through before slamming it shut and deadbolting it, plunging them into darkness.
-:-
For a moment, the only sound was their labored breathing, unnaturally loud in the near-black of the unknown room. They stood still, listening for any noise outside the door. Save for one heavy thud just after they'd locked it, signaling Giyera trying (and failing) to come through, there was nothing. When another moment passed and nothing else came, they exhaled, turning to each other.
Fitz wasn't quite sure where they'd ended up. He could see very little around him, and could barely make out Jemma's face in the darkness. There was a dim orange glow coming from their right, and when he turned to look, he saw that it came from an open hatch in the floor, into which a ladder disappeared. The light was flickering almost menacingly; he had the faint thought that it looked like the mouth of Hell.
"Where are we?" Jemma whispered, staring at the light.
Fitz shifted, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "I figure that goes down into one of the boiler rooms," he said, pointing at the hatch. "That light's coming from the fires in the boiler furnaces. We'll have to go through there if we want to get out of here."
Jemma's jaw dropped. "What?!" she cried, taking a step away from him. "No! We can't! This door, it's-it's marked crew only! We're not allowed to go down there!"
Fitz boggled at her. "Do you really think we should go back out there and take our chances with Giyera? We can't, it's too risky. He thinks he has us cornered here. He'll just wait us out and grab us the moment we open the door."
"But…" Jemma looked at the hatch again, her face apprehensive in the fiery glow. "We don't know what's down there. We don't know the way out. We could get lost, or hurt... or the men down there could just as easily report us and then we'd both be in trouble."
He shook his head. "Most steamers are built the same. I can guess the lay of the ship-I'll be able to find the way. And the men will be too busy working to care about us." When she still didn't look convinced, he added, "I appreciate that you like to obey the rules, but this isn't the time for it."
"I like following rules," Jemma mumbled, looking down. "They make me feel nice."
Fitz smiled, reaching out to take her hands in his. "I don't believe that," he said kindly. "I don't think you've followed a single one since you've set foot on this ship." When she looked back up at him, there was a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. He nodded encouragingly, squeezing her hands. "I won't let anything happen to you," he continued. "Do you trust me?"
"Of course," Jemma replied immediately.
Fitz went down the ladder first, sliding down the last few rungs and stumbling slightly as he dropped onto the solid floor beneath him. Then he reached up to help Jemma, catching her about the waist and steadying her as she landed beside him. Blowing out a breath and dusting off their hands, they looked around them.
His first thought was that his initial assessment hadn't been too far off the mark: they really did look like they had arrived in some version of Danté's hellish Inferno. Dark, indistinct figures moved back and forth through the hazy gloom surrounding the roaring furnaces in front of them, lit from within by coal fire. The heat was instantly oppressive, making the air around them shimmer; he could already feel his shirt sticking to his back. The noise of the furnaces and the steam they generated made it nearly impossible to think straight. Fitz was no stranger to fire and brimstone through his work with riveting, but this was a whole new level.
Turning to look at Jemma, he wrapped his hand around hers. She gazed up at him, her expression nervous; he gave her hand a squeeze, then pulled her after him into the chaos.
True to his word, at first they went mostly unnoticed. Many of the stokers and trimmers were too busy shoveling coal and tending to the fires to notice two out-of-place passengers running in their midst. But one of the foremen happened to glance up just as they went by, Jemma a vision in flowing pale silk and loose hair, and started.
"Hey!" he shouted. "You're not allowed to be down here!"
Jemma cringed, gripping Fitz's hand even tighter, but he just laughed awkwardly, tossing a wave over his shoulder. "Right, don't mind us!" he yelled back. "We're just passing through!"
They dodged another group of crewmen before ducking through the watertight door into the next boiler room. There, they were met with more shouts and protests, from one end of the room to the other. Fitz tugged Jemma into the space between the last two boilers, ducking away from the last stoker who'd tried to give them chase. They stopped, Jemma still clinging tightly to Fitz's hand, and tried to catch their breath.
"I told you they'd try to catch us," Jemma said, just loud enough to be heard over the din of the furnaces.
Fitz rolled his eyes, but there was no malice or ill will behind it. He looked at her; she was still panting, the heat of the boiler room making it difficult to breathe properly, and a fine sheen of sweat covered her face, neck, and chest. Her hair, so recently combed, was limp with perspiration, and her cheeks were flushed a bright red. Even so, she still managed to look ethereal in the warm glow of the fire; and in that moment, with the memory of their lovemaking still fresh in his mind, Fitz found her absolutely irresistible.
He pulled her to him, wrapping an arm around her waist as he pressed his mouth to hers in a fierce kiss. Jemma responded immediately, curling her fingers into his jacket and parting her lips; he felt rather than heard her moan as he deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue into her mouth to stroke over hers.
Jemma gave just as good as she got, until Fitz broke away to slide his lips hotly down the column of her throat, tasting the salty tang of the sweat on her skin. Caught up in the tide of sensation, Jemma tipped her head back, running her hands up into Fitz's damp hair to hold him close as he mouthed at her chest. But they both knew it was unsustainable; they were stealing a moment, and it was neither the time nor place for anything more.
With clear reluctance, Jemma pulled Fitz's face back up on level with hers and pressed their foreheads together. "We should go," she said, breathing hard.
Fitz nodded, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a moment to get himself under control. Then he leaned in to sneak one last, lingering kiss before taking her hand again.
"Come on," he said, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "There should be a way out on the other side of this boiler."
-:-
Sometime later, Fitz and Jemma spilled out of a door onto the forward bow deck in a burst of laughter, clutching their sides and stumbling into each other in their mirth. They had just evaded a couple of stewards who had clearly been sent out to look for them, and while it was worrisome to Jemma that Giyera-or Grant-was having the ship searched, successfully shaking their tail had made her feel like they were daring spies, or adventurers from a dime novel.
"I can't believe we did it!" Jemma cried, eyes bright as she clapped her hands together. "I thought we'd be caught for sure! But that door was unlocked-"
"And I pulled us in and they walked right past," Fitz finished, grinning widely. "You'd think since we escaped Giyera by going through a door marked 'crew only', they would bother to check the pantries. But no! Not the brightest lot, are they?"
Jemma shook her head, laughing again; then she quickly sobered as a thought occurred to her, and she stepped in close to Fitz, her hands hovering at his chest. "You know this means they'll be searching third class for me, don't you?" she asked, a line of worry creasing her forehead. "They can't find me. I don't want to be forced to go back to him."
Fitz took her gently by the shoulders, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. "If they do come looking for you, you don't have to go with them," he replied. "You have your rights, too."
"I could make a scene," Jemma said, a small smile coming back over her face. "The White Star Line wouldn't want that, now would they? A passenger creating a fuss-a lady, and a first class one especially, even if she's decided to stay in third class instead."
Fitz smiled back at her. "No, I imagine they wouldn't. But don't worry-whatever comes, I'll be right there beside you. We'll face it together."
Jemma's smile widened. Taking heart from his reassurance and loyalty, she leaned up to kiss him, firm but sweet, and sighed happily as his arms wound around her, pulling her close. She couldn't wait to finally be free of her fiancé and her mother, to not have to worry about all the restrictions and expectations they placed on her life-and she would be free to live as she wished, and love Fitz openly without fear of reprisal.
Just as she was thinking how nice it would be to stay in his arms for a while, and how Fitz's kiss could warm her even on a cold night such as this, a bone-jarring crash suddenly shook the ship, forcing them apart. Jemma cried in out in surprise as Fitz reached out to grab her; she clung to his arms as they both found their balance again, looking around for the source of the disturbance. A second later, they turned to see a giant tower of ice slide by on the starboard side of the ship, far too close to the hull for comfort. As it passed, it sent a shower of loose ice cascading down onto the deck in front of them, forcing them to skitter out of the way.
Shocked, Fitz and Jemma, along with a few others who were out on deck, ran forward to the side rail to lean out and try to get a better look at what had just happened. They watched as the iceberg scratched down the length of the hull before disappearing back into the night, and the ship slowly ground to a halt.
"We struck an iceberg," Jemma said, stunned, unnecessarily stating the obvious.
"That we did," Fitz murmured, leaning even further over the rail and looking up and down the side of the ship. Around them, more passengers had gathered and were talking quietly amongst themselves, also very clearly in shock.
Jemma took a step closer to him, following his gaze and frowning. A collision couldn't mean anything good. "You don't think we're in any danger, do you?" she asked.
He shook his head, still looking down. "I don't see any visible damage. It doesn't look bad, but we can't see below the water's surface, either. We'll just have to wait and see what official word comes down from the crew."
They stayed out on deck for quite some time, watching as curious passengers-some of them only wearing greatcoats over their pajamas and slippers-came out to see what all the fuss was about. A few young men even started up a game, running about and kicking chunks of ice across the deck between them, laughing spiritedly. Despite the general air of lightheartedness and cheer, Jemma couldn't quite bring herself to share in it. Not even Fitz's arm, snug around her shoulders to help ward off the chill air, could chase away her ill ease. When she glanced up at him, he didn't look concerned, and she thought that perhaps she was just being silly to worry. After all, Titanic had been touted as being unsinkable. And while she knew that nothing was impossible, she also knew that the ship had been built to high standards and could likely withstand a small brush with an iceberg. Surely that was all it had been.
After some time had passed, Fitz squeezed his arm around her. "I think if they're going to tell us anything, it'll be in the common room, or they'll go door to door," he said, taking another look around at everyone gathered out on the deck. "And we should get you inside, out of the cold, anyway-you're not dressed for it. Come on." He turned them toward the stairs leading down to the third class common room entrance, his arm dropping away from her shoulders so he could take her hand in his.
As they crossed the deck, they saw a small group of men coming toward them from the direction of the stairs to the upper decks. Jemma immediately recognized Thomas Andrews; one of the others was the ship's captain, whom she had met at dinner her second night on the ship. She didn't know the third man. The three of them were deep in conversation, the low, urgent tones of their voices carrying to Fitz and Jemma as they hurried past them to parts of the ship unknown.
"Can you shore up?" the captain was asking.
"Not unless the pumps get ahead," the third man replied, sounding harried.
Fitz's steps slowed as he and Jemma turned to watch them go, and then he stopped, swallowing and giving her a grim look. "That doesn't sound good," he said. "If we're taking on water, faster than the pumps can clear it out…" He trailed off, leaving the obvious conclusion unsaid: the ship would likely sink.
Jemma gripped Fitz's hand tighter as a wave of cold fear swept through her. "We need to tell my mother," she said abruptly. Fitz looked at her, surprised, and she stepped in closer to him. "Please," she added imploringly. "If... if things really are that bad, and we're truly in danger, then we should tell her. She should know." When Fitz still looked wary, her expression turned pleading. "I've made my decision to stay with you, and I stand by it," she reassured him. "But she's still my mother. I don't want her to be in danger."
Finally, Fitz sighed and nodded his head. "Alright, if you're sure. Let's go, then."
She gave him a small smile and leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. "I am," she said. "I promise we won't stay long."
They walked hand in hand up the stairs and through the gates into the first class promenade area, going past other passengers who had come out to see what was going on, until they reached the B Deck entrance foyer. There, they ran into none other than Giyera, who was standing tall and straight near the elevator bank. "Miss Jemma," he said congenially, stepping away from the wall as he caught sight of them, "we've been looking for you."
"I've come to speak with my mother," Jemma said haughtily, breezing past him and going into the corridor with Fitz in tow.
"Of course," Giyera replied, turning to follow closely on their heels.
His polite manner didn't fool her for a second. She knew he was Grant's man through and through, and would turn her back over to him in an instant if he could. She didn't trust him at all, and his very presence in the foyer-almost as if he had been waiting on them-raised the fine hairs on the back of her neck. He brushed past them as they walked down the corridor, but didn't go into her suite. Instead, he waited by the door and watched them approach.
Jemma eyed him warily as she stopped outside her mother's stateroom, her free hand poised to knock on the door, but Giyera shook his head. "Your mother is here, in your suite with the others," he said.
Jemma and Fitz looked at each other, frowning. Her mother was awake at this late hour, and in her rooms with Grant? And what 'others'? Well, Jemma had gone missing, after all, and Grant had sent stewards out to search for her. Perhaps it wasn't so unusual that they were all gathered together. But Jemma hadn't counted on having to face her erstwhile fiancé, and the thought settled an uneasy dread in the pit of her stomach. It must have shown on her face, because Fitz took a half-step toward her, his expression melting into concern.
"It'll be alright," he said, low enough that Giyera couldn't hear, and squeezed her hand. "I won't let anything happen to you."
Jemma let out a slow breath and nodded, looking past him to where Giyera stood waiting, silent and still, watching them. She shivered, then pulled Fitz down the corridor next door to the suite she'd shared with Grant. She took a second to gather her courage before she opened the door.
Inside, her mother was sitting in one of the armchairs while Grant paced back and forth behind her. Two stewards and another crew member stood near the fireplace, heads ducked in conversation, but they all stopped and looked up when Fitz and Jemma entered. She was acutely aware of how everyone's gaze focused in on her hand in Fitz's, and even though fear darted through her veins in anticipation of Grant's reaction, she refused to be cowed. Before anyone could say anything, she lifted her chin and let go of Fitz, ignoring her fiancé and crossing the room toward her mother.
"Mother," she said, addressing her directly, "something very serious has happened."
Edith looked up past her to Fitz, who was still near the door, and opened her mouth as though to speak, but Grant beat her to it.
"Yes, something has," he said severely, coming around the side of the center table. "We've been robbed." He nodded at the crewman standing with the stewards, then gestured to Fitz. "Search him."
Jemma's mouth dropped open just as Fitz took a step back, bewildered, and squawked, "What?!" But Giyera, who had come in behind them, took a firm hold of his arm as the crewman-the Master at Arms-began patting him down and searching his pockets.
Dismayed and confused, Jemma turned to look up at Grant. "What are you doing?" she cried. "You're being ridiculous! We're in the middle of an emergency and you're-"
She stopped as her attention was caught by the Master at Arms pulling a glittering object from the pocket of Fitz's jacket: the expensive diamond pendant necklace Grant had gifted to her their first night on the ship. She gasped as Fitz's eyes widened and his face paled in shock.
"Is this it?" the Master at Arms asked.
Grant nodded, folding his arms across his chest. "That's it," he replied as Giyera leaned forward to take the necklace, bringing it forward to put it back into its velvet-lined box.
"Right then," the Master at Arms said grimly, producing a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. "Don't make a fuss, now." He made to pull Fitz's hands behind his back, but Fitz yanked himself away.
"This is horseshite!" he cried furiously. "I didn't do this! It was you-" He spat this accusingly at Giyera, who calmly looked back at him, unaffected by his outburst. "You did this, it had to be you. You planted it on me, you bloody bastard-"
The Master at Arms grabbed at Fitz's arms again, trying to wrestle them behind his back once more, but Fitz wasn't looking to go quietly. One of the stewards came over to help, and together they were able to snap the cuffs around his wrists, locking them in place even as Fitz continued to struggle. "Come on now, lad," the Master at Arms said. "Don't make this any harder than it needs to be."
"But I didn't do this!" Fitz said desperately, then looked at Jemma, his eyes beseeching. "I swear! Jemma, you know I didn't do this! I couldn't have! What would I want with a silly necklace?"
"It would fetch a handsome price that would allow a poor man like yourself to live comfortably for a good while," Grant said smoothly. "I believe that's motive enough. You certainly had the opportunity."
Jemma, who had been watching the whole exchange with mounting panic and disbelief, finally found her voice. "No, he didn't!" she cried, looking up at Grant in distress. "I was with him the entire time!"
The look he gave her in return was cold steel. "Perhaps he did it while you were putting your clothes back on," he murmured, low enough only for her to hear.
Jemma reeled back, her face going slack with horror, and looked back over at Fitz. It was true that she had left him alone in the bedroom for a moment while she went into the wardrobe to select a new dress. The necklace had been in its box, sitting on her vanity where Grant had left it that first night. But she'd only been gone a moment, and when Fitz had joined her in the wardrobe to help her with the dress fastenings, he hadn't put his shirt on yet, much less his jacket. It simply wasn't possible for him to have taken the necklace. Even if he'd had the opportunity, surely he wouldn't have bothered. Fitz was a good man; he wasn't a thief. He loved her.
Didn't he?
The Master at Arms was trying to steer Fitz toward the door, which Giyera held open, but Fitz continued to struggle. "Jemma!" he cried as he was manhandled to the threshold. "Don't listen to him! It wasn't me! You know it wasn't-"
Jemma stared at him, torn, knowing in her bones that what was happening was wrong, but hating that Grant had managed to put even a sliver of doubt into her heart. She looked between the two men, then back to Fitz, and started to take a step toward him, but Grant's firm hand grabbed her arm and stopped her. She was forced to look on helplessly as Fitz was dragged out into the hall.
"Jemma, please!" he shouted. "It wasn't me! You have to believe-"
Then Giyera slammed the door shut, cutting off Fitz's protests and leaving her, stunned and heartbroken, alone with her family.
