#they are incapable of organising any outing. like even if it's an off the cuff thing they get overwhelmed

[panspaming]

The 17 year old wants to fuck The Boy and the 22 year old got fired and is encoraging it. Why.

[thestoryweneededtowrite]

Titanic AU - Part 32

The last chapter! Just the epilogue to go now. Thank you for reading <3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31

Neither Jack nor Davey could manage the rope ladder up to the boat deck of the Carpathia, their limbs too weak and muscles too tight to allow more than the most basic movement. Eventually they were winched up in makeshifts hammocks, both too exhausted, physically and mentally, to mourn their loss of dignity. There were tears in Davey’s eyes as he waited for Jack to join him on the deck. Sat with his back to the railings, he surveyed what was left of the Titanic. Piles of lifebelts were stacked up, with stewardesses from the Carpathia bustling round with hot drinks and soup to hand out to the passengers congregating. When one young girl came over and offered him a cup of steaming tea, his tears turned to full on sobs.

“Sorry,” he gasped through shaky breaths. “I don’t know why-”

“It’s okay, Sir!,” the stewardess promised, kneeling beside him. “You’ve been through a lot. Here.”

She wrapped a mug in a handkerchief from her pocket so it wouldn’t burn Davey’s frozen fingers and handed it over.

Davey took it carefully and let the steam flow over his face for a few moments, reveling in what it was like to feel warmth again. His fingers tingled as heat seeped through the cup and when he raised it to his lips to take a sip, a few tears falling into the tea, he swallowed a small mouthful and felt a bloom of warmth down his oesophagus. It was a reminder he was alive and it made fresh tears spring to his eyes.

By the time Davey had half-finished the tea, Jack was scrambling out onto the deck to be at his side. Davey greeted him with a weak smile, shakily handing over the mug. As much as he loved the warming comfort of the tea, he loved Jack more and he wanted to share. Jack reached out gratefully, but he winced as he took the cup and Davey couldn’t tell why. The handkerchief should have protected him from the heat. But Jack didn’t drop the mug as he took his own drink from it and passed it back, so Davey figured it was nothing – just his muscles waking up, maybe.

“Sirs?” It was the stewardess from before, standing patiently. “You were in the water?”

Jack just nodded while Davey closed his eyes and tried not to remember. “Could you come with me? They want to have the doctor check you over, and there are some warm clothes for you,” she explained, polite and sympathetic.

Davey tried to stand, managing to get half way to his feet before stumbling and crashing back down, dropping the mug and spilling tea across the deck.

Apologising and trying to gather the mug and mop up the split tea with the handkerchief, Davey only relented his attempts when the stewardess waved him away and Jack pulled him back. He hated that his body wouldn’t obey him and, even though he was almost certain the effects were only temporary, he never wanted to feel so useless.

It took two of the male stewards from the Carpathia to escort Jack and Davey down below decks to the dining room, where the centre of organisations had seemed to have based itself. It was a slow journey and each flight of stairs was agony, and Davey hated being treated like a child incapable of walking alone. When he eventually got to slump into a chair and shake off his attendant, he was grateful.

It was busy below decks, with the number of passengers having doubled in an instant. People were milling about half delirious, many still dazed or desperately searching for loved ones who had been aboard Titanic with them. Davey kept half an eye out for his family, ready to duck and hide if he caught sight of them. He couldn’t face them now; he didn’t have the emotional strength to stand up to his mother.

A steward handed them a stack of dry clothes, all donated by Carpathia passengers. They were ill fitting and baggy, but they were warm and that was what mattered. Davey stripped off his clothes with shaking fingers and no shame, desperate to get the still wet fabric away from his skin. The warm clothes felt like an embrace and he sank happily back into the chair, feeling his blood start to pump through his veins again. Jack, for once, seemed shyer as he turned away from Davey to undress, awkwardly holding his arms in front of him. Davey couldn’t understand why – he’d been so comfortable when it had been the two of them in his bed – but he admired the planes of Jack’s back as he struggled into the new clothes, frowning at how he started to shake as he did up the buttons. Something wasn’t right. Before Davey could ask about it, one of the stewards returned to bundle up their wet clothes and take them away.

“No!” Davey protested. “Please, could I…”

He tugged Jack’s blue shirt, the one he’d been wearing all night, free from the pile and held it close. He didn’t want to see it go. “I’ll return them, Sir, I was only going to hang them up to dry,” the steward explained patiently, holding out his hand for Davey to give the shirt back. Davey just shook his head. “I know, thank you, I just need to keep this,” he mumbled, blushing a little.

The steward didn’t know that this was the shirt Jack had been wearing when they’d first kissed, or the one he’d rushed to get him out of, fumbling over the buttons all the while. He didn’t know that it was the shirt he’d put on afterwards, the one Jack had freed him of down in the cargo hold. There were so many memories and firsts tied up in the stitching that he had to hold on to it. “Of course,” the steward said, clearly thinking he was a little unhinged. After all, it was just a piece of clothing.

“Why’d’ya need that, Dave? You’ve got me,” Jack asked as soon as the man was gone, with a shadow of the cheeky grin he’d had before. “I don’t know,” Davey sighed, far more serious than Jack had anticipated. “I just do.”

He ran his thumb over the faded, damp fabric and tried not to think about his possessions that were now at the bottom of the ocean. It was stupid really, they were just things. Things from a life that he didn’t even want anymore. He had the heart in his chest and the blood in his veins, and he had Jack. That should be enough. But it didn’t mean there wasn’t a pang of loss in his stomach.

They couldn’t cuddle together amongst the crowds of people in the dining room. Now the immediate peril was over, they weren’t going to get such a free pass as before, which meant no holding hands, no burrowing into Jack’s arms, and no reassuring kisses. Davey sat in the armchair, surrounded by blankets, and waited to warm up, sharing meaningful glances with Jack in lieu of the physical contact he’d prefer. He had a lifetime of touches to look forward to now, anyway.

 ***

Jack really didn’t want to leave Davey in order to go and be looked over by the doctor, but the steward escorting him over didn’t give him much of a choice and he would much rather this happen privately than in front of Davey. He didn’t want to worry him.

Someone had set up a makeshift booth in the corner of the room, hanging up a sheet so the passengers wouldn’t feel so exposed. Jack sat awkwardly as the doctor inspected his toes for frostbite, answering monotonically and monosyllabically to any questions. When the man moved on to check over his fingers, he shifted Jack’s hand to get a better look and Jack hissed in pain. The doctor jumped back in shock, watching closely as Jack cradled his wrists to his chest. They were hidden under long sleeves, but they were clearly causing him a level of distress.

“Young man, if I could see your wrists?” he asked gently, sighing when Jack just scowled in response. “Sir, I really think-”

“No,” Jack interrupted. He was still wearing the handcuffs and even if he needed medical attention, he didn’t want to risk some other intolerant busybody finding out what he and Davey had done and putting a fresh pair of cuffs on them both. Esther wasn’t around to save her son from the same treatment now. “I won’t repeat what I see to anyone, but I need to take a look,” the doctor insisted, reaching out and carefully pushing down one of Jack’s sleeves.

He was less concerned about the fact his patient had been cuffed at some point and more troubled by what they had done to his skin. They were tight around his wrists and he couldn’t see the skin below but there were rings of blue and shiny, blistered red around either side. It was the worst case of frostbite he’d seen so far.

“Heavens!” the doctor gasped, folding back Jack’s shirt sleeves so he could get a better look. “Are you in pain?” “Yeah,” Jack forced through gritted teeth. He’d been trying to be strong for Davey but his wrists were burning.

“These need to come off,” the doctor decided, very matter of fact. He was certain the skin underneath the metal would be even worse and it wasn’t going to get any better until it was no longer clamped. “I ain’t got the key,” Jack shrugged. That much should have been obvious. He was hardly punishing himself on purpose; he didn’t need to do penance for what they’d done. “Who does?” the doctor asked, already considering scouring the ship for them.

Jack just laughed bitterly, remembering how the Master at Arms had spoken to him and hit him. “With any luck, he’s at the bottom of the ocean.”

Clearly there was a story there that the doctor didn’t know, but he still gave Jack a reprimanding look. Wishing someone dead was rarely excusable. “What did you do?” he asked, gesturing to the cuffs. He didn’t really care – nothing would mean this kid deserved the punishment he was facing with his wrists looking the way they did. “I’m ain’t gonna tell ya,” Jack snorted. He wasn’t an idiot. “You might just put another pair on me.” “Should I?” the doctor raised an eyebrow.

Scowling, Jack hid his wrists again. “No. We didn’t hurt no one,” he growled, protective over what he and Davey had.

“‘We?’” If there was someone else on board with similar injuries to their wrists, then they had to be seen to as well. There was a serious risk of gangrene, it already looked like it had started to set in. “He got away without the cuffs,” Jack promised, relieved to be able to say it. Had Davey been in as much pain as he was, he would have hated himself. “His mother blamed me for everythin’. Apparently I ‘seduced him’,” he mumbled, still angry at Esther and just wanting this conversation to be over so he could get back to Davey and hold him.

The doctor appraised Jack for a long moment, before a look of realisation fell across his face. “Oh,” he said, surprised. It wasn’t quite what he expected, and it certainly wasn’t anything someone should lose the use of their hands over.

“Watcha gonna do about it, Doc?” Jack challenged, raising an eyebrow. There wasn’t a lot this man could do to make his night worse - as long as he didn’t take Davey away. He was the only thing Jack still cared about.

The doctor sighed. Technically, it was illegal. But he had to admit that this boy had a point – they’d hardly been hurting anyone if it was consensual. So he waved it aside and returned to the problem at hand.

“You need to get these cuffs off. Immediately,” he ordered. Most of the permanent damage had already been done but he was going to be in agony as long as the metal was clamped around his skin.

Jack just barked a laugh. It wasn’t like the thought hadn’t occurred to him. He was acutely aware of exactly how much pain he was in and he wasn’t a masochist. If he had the choice, the cuffs would have been off a long time ago. “Not a lot I can do about that.” He shrugged and looked sadly down at his wrists. They were a macabre sight, corpse-like and blue. Like they were dead, surrounded by skin that still lived. “As soon as possible then,” the doctor reasoned. There wasn’t a lot they could do on a ship in the middle of the North Atlantic. “I know a guy in New York,” Jack promised.

As soon as he and Davey had set foot in the city, he was planning to head over to a friend of a friend who ran a locksmith’s shop downtown. With any luck they’d be able pick the lock on the cuffs. Or at the very least, force them open.

“That will have to do,” the doctor sighed. When his patient climbed to his feet, clearly anxious to get away, he stopped him. There was something more he hadn’t mentioned. “And, son?” “Yeah?” Jack asked. He just wanted to get back to Davey. “I’m sorry but… your wrists will never be the same again.”

 ***

Jack and Davey spent most of the day down in the dining room, getting warm and starting to walk slow, difficult circles around the perimeter in an attempt to get the circulation back to their legs. They stood, a little unsteadily, for the service given by the captain in remembrance of those who they’d lost. Jack didn’t believe in anything and Davey’s crisis of faith was ongoing, so they were somewhat isolated from the Catholic speech, but they could respect the fact that they were the outliers. It was comforting words for everyone else. At the edge of the crowd, where no one was really paying attention to them, Jack reached down for Davey’s hand during the minute of silence. They still didn’t know what had become of the rest of the Jacobs family, and he knew Davey adored his older sister.

Most of the men aboard the Carpathia gave up their cabins to Titanic survious that night. First Class passengers were assigned them first, of course, so Jack and Davey ended up standing in the doorway of the Smoking Room, looking down at the rows of straw mattresses set out for the Third Class men. They’d taken one look at Davey and assumed he was Third Class, and he hadn’t been about to complain - he was more than happy to stay by Jack’s side, and Jack didn’t particularly want to let Davey out of his sight either.

The small, crowded room didn’t hold much appeal. They wouldn’t be able to sleep beside each other, not without raising suspicions, and neither of them could stomach the thought of falling asleep without touching the other. Not now. Not after everything they’d almost lost. So they gathered a small bundle of spare towels and headed back up onto the deck, laying out a small bed under the stars where there were fewer prying eyes to judge them when Jack pressed a kiss to Davey’s lips, savouring the fact they were both warm enough to feel human again.

They’d only been out there for a minute or so when a woman hurried up, explaining that she was a passenger from the Carpathia and would they please take her cabin because she was going to move in with her friend next door, she just couldn’t bear them sleeping outside after what they’d been through. Davey just looked at Jack and shrugged. Clearly she knew what they were to each other, she’d walked up on them resting their foreheads together and grinning between kisses, and yet she was still offering them a place they could be alone together. She seemed pretty sure she wasn’t going to take no for an answer so, thanking her profusely, they followed her to what had been her room and graciously accepted the key before she knocked on the next door over and disappeared inside.

Having a room to themselves was nice and Davey would have loved to have relished in the privacy. Part of him wanted to strip off all of Jack’s clothes and take him apart but they were both exhausted and still too frostbitten to consider undressing, so that fantasy would have to wait. Instead Davey just climbed into bed, groaning at how good the soft sheets felt under his aching muscles, and grinned up at Jack like he couldn’t believe his luck. Jack wanted nothing more than to settle down beside him and hold him and spent a night with him when they weren’t just waiting to die, but there was something he has to do first.

“Can I show ya somethin’?” he asked hesitantly.

“Of course.” Davey nodded, stifling a yawn.

Jack looked down at where his wrists were covered by the fabric of his shirt. He’d been hiding them from Davey all day, not wanting to worry him, but he couldn’t continue to keep it to himself. This wasn’t something he could deal with alone. He sat down on the edge of the bed and took a deep breath as tears flooded into his eyes.

“They hurt, Davey,” he admitted with a choked sob, pushing back his sleeves to reveal the angry dark skin around the cuffs, with violent rings of red fading out down his arms. The effect was startling in the bright lights that lit the cabin and Davey felt sick.

“Oh, god! Jack!” he cried, struggling out from the sheets to wrap his arms around his lover and brush away his tears and he gave in to the urge to let the pain he was feeling out. Jack was sobbing in his arms.

He had no idea what Jack was feeling or how much it hurt, but it didn’t look good. Pushing back the urge to find his mother and throttle her, Davey stroked back Jack’s hair and whispered things that he hoped were encouraging.  

“I’m sure it will only be temporary,” he promised, having no idea.

Jack nodded mutely, but he couldn’t get the words the doctor had said out of his mind. Your wrists will never be the same again.

 ***

It was paradise to be able to spend every night holding Davey, and Jack was unacceptably enthusiastic about being able to do it for the rest of his life. His wrists continue to hurt, fluctuating between blinding agony that left him unable to stand, and a dull, throbbing pain that was just about bearable. Most of their time was spent up on the deck that had been designated for Third Class survivors and Davey was heartbroken to see so few. He thought of all those people he’d met at the Third Class dance. So many were now dead. He did catch sight of the French family he’d spoken to the night of the sinking, but now only the woman and child remained. Davey shuffled closed to Jack, knowing he was lucky to have gotten out alive with the man he loved.

They were both draped in blankets but now it was less for warmth and more so they could hold hands beneath the fabric where no one could see. Or as close to hand holding as they could manage when Jack was starting to lose the feeling in his fingers.

Stewardesses were bringing round tea and coffee and young children were playing with dolls they’d been fortunate enough to manage to rescue from the Titanic, or that they had been donated on board Carpathia. It was surprisingly calm, considering all they had been through. But the lifebelts were still stacked up as a reminder.

Davey was mourning the fact it wasn’t socially acceptable for him to rest his head on Jack’s shoulder when he heard a familiar voice. Turning, he found Sarah stood only a few meters away talking frantically with an officer, and immediately hid his face, pulling another blanket up to cover his hair and looking away so she wouldn’t catch his face. Jack frowned, not sure why Davey was hiding from one of the only people he spoke fondly of from what his life had been, but turned his head away too in case she recognised him.

“Whoever you’re looking for, ma’am, they’re not down here. This is Steerage only,” the officer assured her. She was still dressed in the clothes she’d been wearing to dinner all that time ago and her hair was a mess, but she was alive and Davey was glad to know it.

With one long look around the deck, trying to take in every face, Sarah sighed and gave in, hurrying back inside. Davey dropped the blanket with an air of relief and Jack shrugged off the one they’d been using to covertly hold holds, ready to have a serious conversation about what that had been about when the ships purser walked over to them with a clipboard.

Jack’s movement had shifted his sleeves and the metal of the handcuffs glinted in the morning sun. Raising his eyes, the purser frowned.

“You want to tell me what those were for, son?” he asked sternly.

Jack hurriedly covered the cuffs again and forced a grin. “Wrongly accused,” he said cheerfully.

“Acquitted of all charges,” Davey piped up.

The purser clearly didn’t believe them but it also wasn’t his problem to deal with and he didn’t feel like doing more work that he already had on his plate with cataloguing every Titanic survivor aboard.

“Right… Name?" he requested, somewhat impatiently.

"Jack Kelly.” Jack gave it willingly. He was pretty sure any record of his arrest were now at the bottom of the ocean, if anyone had even thought to note it down, so he figured he was safe to claim his own identity.

"And you?" The purser turned to Davey.

"David,” he answered, but he knew that wasn’t enough. They needed a surname and he couldn’t give his own. Only one other came to mind. “Kelly,” he finished quietly.

Jack turned to him with disbelief in his eyes but fought hard to hide it before the purser caught on. They sat through questions about how much money they had (nothing, everything had gone down with the ship), relatives (no one close, Jack explained), and what their plans were for the future (something vague about getting in touch with a friend who didn’t really exist) until the purser was satisfied and moved on.

"What are ya doin’?!" Jack hissed.

Davey just shrugged. It hadn’t been his best idea but no other realistic sounding surname had come to mind and he’d had to say something.

"I don’t want my family to find me. I don't want them to have my name,” he explained quietly.

"And the best you could think of is that we're related? Nice one, Dave,” Jack groaned.

Davey was actually rather fond of the idea of sharing Jack’s name, even if it was for a reason that they would never be able to have.

"You could be my husband,” he whispered with a small smile.

Jack couldn’t help a quick grin at the thought, but it wasn’t that easy.

"America ain’t ready for that,” he sighed.

Rearranging the disregarded blankets so they could hold hands once again, Davey carefully intertwined his fingers with Jack’s.

"I can wait," he promised.

“It’s illegal,” Jack groaned. He wanted in on the fantasy, but that wasn’t how things worked. They had to be practical, and telling people they were married wasn’t going to keep them safe in America. But the whole world wasn’t all the same. “We could… France, maybe? It ain’t illegal there,” he admitted. It sounded nice, being in a place where they could live together and kiss and sleep together and know that none of it was going to be a cause for them to be thrown in jail. “It isn’t?” Davey asked, interested. He managed a small smile. If there were some places where it was legal then that meant there was a chance it would be legal everywhere one day. He filed the thought away for a future chance to imagine a marriage and adopted kids and his family being okay with him. “Nah. I ain’t sayin’ that they’d throw us a parade or nothin’, but we wouldn’t be riskin’ prison,” Jack shrugged. Davey’s smile was infectious and he found himself mirroring it. It was a nice dream. “Jack, after I get on dry land I am never setting foot on a boat again for as long as I live,” Davey said seriously, grabbing Jack’s hand a little tighter. He was managing to keep his insides calm on the Carpathia because he knew it was taking him back to terra firma, and because the alternative was endlessly floating out at sea. He wasn’t even sure he ever wanted to go swimming again. “Okay, fair,” Jack nodded, rubbing his thumb in tiny circles across the back of Davey’s hand. He wished he could hold him instead. “What about Sarah?”

Davey flinched. He hated the idea of never seeing his sister, or his little brother, again, and he was terrified to leave her alone with their mother. But she was strong, and didn’t do anything that Esther could get her arrested over. She’d understand. “She’s alive,” Davey said decisively, because that was what mattered.

“She’s gonna miss ya, Dave,” Jack sighed. He wanted Davey to be sure he knew what he was doing when it came to abandoning his family, not wanting him to do anything he regretted. “I know… It’s better this way,” Davey mumbled, resting his forehead against Jack’s shoulder for a quick moment. “I’ll write to her. Maybe. One day.” He had to be sure his mother wouldn’t know he was alive. It would put both of them in danger when he never wanted anything dangerous to happen in his life again. He wanted domestic bliss, just a handcuff-less normal life with no one to judge him. “So, Santa Fe, huh?” he asked, bumping their shoulders together with a grin.

Jack smiled back and linked their pinky fingers under the blanket. He couldn’t wait until they had a place of their own where he could take Davey apart with no interruptions. Where they could sleep side by side and hold hands in the daytime and not obsessively lock their doors before they did. Finally, somewhere free.

“Santa Fe,” he agreed.

A ripple of noise came over the deck and Jack and Davey looked up just in time to see the Statue of Liberty crest over the side of the railings as they steamed past into New York’s piers. Against all ­­­odds­­, they’d made it.