Chapter Text
Aziraphale was enjoying his breakfast on his own for a change. Apparently his human friends had stayed up rather late after Crowley and he had excused themselves at dinner the night prior, using Aziraphale’s false bout of illness as alibi to get drunk in a more private place8.
He hoped they wouldn’t be too hungover, and made a mental note to ask about them later. Surely Heaven wouldn’t notice if he were to perform a few healing miracles in the middle of the Atlantic ocean…
He saw Crowley plop down in the seat in front of him and start spreading a bit more jam than was socially acceptable on a piece of toast. “Hello, angel,” he said, nibbling on the sweet monstrosity.
“Hello, dear. Do you have any plans for the day besides toast theft?”
“Toast theft is greatly encouraged down there. Remember 1604?”
“How could I forget? You plucked the toast right out of the Viscountess' drink. At her birthday party, no less.”
The demon smiled wickedly. “The face she made was worth the trouble I got for it. And the gossip.” He took another bite of his toast and licked the jam threatening to fall. “Anyway, I do have plans. Remember the hot baths?”
“Oh, yes. And that disappointingly white swimming pool.”
“I stopped by the purser’s office and it’s ladies only in the morning,” Crowley said, leaning forward.
“So? Shouldn’t we be good sports and go at another time then? Since most humans assume we’re men…”
“The men go between friends. The ladies go with their maids. Besides, I’m trying to escape Mrs Duff Gordon and that’s one place she’ll never think to look.”
“Escape her?” Aziraphale asked, surprised. “I thought you liked her.”
He watched as Crowley sat back, lowered his sunglasses and locked his bewildered eyes with him. “Angel, how could you think that? She’s literally the most dreadful human I’ve met this century,” he said, with the most open and honest expression Aziraphale had seen on him since… probably since Job.
“An easy feat. The century is still young, my dear,” he answered, hiding his discomfort as best he could. He had been such a fool to think Crowley would like someone the likes of the Duff Gordons. After so long on Earth together, he should have known better and if he was honest with himself, he had. But the way Crowley had politely let her talk and the way she was looking at him had made him a bit sick.
All in all, Aziraphale was doing a very good job at not letting himself realise he had been jealous. Because that would be ridiculous, wouldn’t it? An angel jealous of a human.
He cleared his throat. “I happen to have a female bathing suit, would you care to help with my hair?”
Crowley finally broke eye contact and pushed his sunglasses back in place. He sat back and let an earnest smile slip on his face. “It would be my pleasure, angel.”
They finished their breakfast and went back to Aziraphale’s cabin. He hadn’t packed anything besides his books of course, but being an ethereal being had its perks9. It didn’t take them very long to get ready although Aziraphale mourned having to miracle her dress out of thin air instead of purchasing one. It simply wasn’t the same.
“It’s just to reach the hot baths, angel. You won’t be wearing it long.” Crowley assured her, brushing her beautiful petticoat.
“I know, but I really like it and I know I will never be able to find one like it,” she pouted.
“Why don’t you custom order one?”
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to describe it well enough to any seamstress. Besides, they love to add their own style and details to orders.”
“Then keep this one and ask them for an exact copy. Say your friend really wants the same dress but you bought it in Paris or something.”
Aziraphale hummed. She wasn’t entirely convinced but she supposed she could give it a try.
They reached the entrance to the Turkish baths and the officer at the door asked for their tickets. Crowley reached into her handbag and produced two. She winked at Aziraphale as they walked in.
The officer gestured for them to come in and a lady gave them a towel each before pointing to the changing cubicles at the end of the room.
“I also got us tickets to the swimming pool, we have until noon,” Crowley said conspiratorially once they were alone.
“Thank you dear, that’s very kind of you,” Aziraphale told her as she stepped in one of the cute little changing cubicles.
“It’s really not,” Crowley said from the adjacent box.
They changed for the second time that day and stepped out at almost the same time. Aziraphale blinked.
“I thought you would have been done before me, dear.”
“I didn’t want to draw attention by cheating,” she whispered, “the officer at the door can see us if he turns around.” Then, louder. “I hate how complicated it is to undress without help.”
“At least we weren’t wearing a crinoline.” Aziraphale smiled. “Imagine having to do this in a Renaissance dress.”
Crowley groaned.
They entered the cooling room and its beautiful decor. The green and blue tiles were proper ceramic and they were beautifully framed by wood panelling. The chairs’ upholstery, the ceiling and the floor had also been given careful attention to the point that if Aziraphale hadn’t known better, she’d have thought they were in a Hammam on land.
“Oh, this is splendid,” Aziraphale whispered, laying a hand on the wall as she walked.
“This must have cost a fortune,” Crowley commented. “They even made sure everything is easily replaceable in case it breaks or falls too out of date.”
“Yes, I read an article about the Olympic that said they intend to have them sail for many years so they made them very luxurious and comfortable. They also interviewed the Captain who said they are encouraged to take very good care of every ship.”
“Encouraged,” Crowley scoffed. “That’s a nice way of saying they get a big fat cheque if they don’t damage anything.” Her head moved in such a way that Aziraphale knew she was rolling her eyes. “Wait, what’s that?” she asked, getting closer to a chair attached to a sort of box. “Is that… a scale?”
“Ah yes, they installed them so you can weigh yourself when you get in and out of the baths. Since they presumably make you lose weight,” Aziraphale said, stepping closer.
“That’s stupid, it’s just the water you sweat.”
“Yes, but they haven’t realised that yet.”
“They found out how to send messages through the air via radio signal - which they also put on board - but not that sweating water makes you lose weight you’ll immediately regain? It’s 1912, angel.”
“I know, dear… Do you want to try it?”
“We don’t sweat,” she said, matter of factly.
“Well, I’ll try it,” Azirphale answered her with a mischievous smile.
She sat on the weighing chair purposefully and gave a wiggle as she flipped the little lever. The machine took a few seconds, then spat out a ticket with a little “ding!”.
Crowley took the ticket, read it and laughed.
“132 Lb10?”
Aziraphale stood up. “Would you look at that, dear. Perfect weight already. Perhaps I don’t need to sweat after all.”
“I don’t know, maybe the scale’s broken. Let’s have a look anyway.”
Their giggles echoed through the halls as they playfully explored the area. The first room was completely deserted and only had a sort of big coffin with an opening on one end in the middle of it.
“Ah, the torture chamber. Beelzebub will be pleased to know this ship is up to demonic regulation,” Crowley joked, which sent Aziraphale in another fit of giggles.
The next room they peeked in had a caged showerhead in a corner of the room and a big table with a tube overhung sitting across it. The machines, coupled with the stark white walls were a bit too reminiscent of a butcher’s working space to make anyone comfortable.
“I suppose this is one of the shampoo rooms. Heaven will be pleased that it is possible to wash away your sins on board,” Aziraphale said in a prim tone.
Crowley barked a laugh. “They might even believe you if you say they spray holy water through the plumbing.”
The next door was closed, most likely in use, so they continued the hall and reached another richly decorated room. The colours were a bit more tame and the wood panels less impressive than the cold room but it was still beautiful.
“I think this is the temperate room,” Aziraphale announced, walking towards the thermometer on the wall.
“If you close your eyes, you could mistake it for the dining salon,” Crowley whispered next to her. “Let’s try the hot room first.”
There were two ladies inside, one who looked down and one who greeted them as they came in. They chatted quietly for a few minutes, commenting on the fact that if they’d wanted to sweat to death, they would have gone to the Sahara desert to which Aziraphale answered that at least, the ship didn’t have any venomous snakes or scorpions.
Crowley leaned towards her and Aziraphale felt her hot breath in her ear. “Except me,” she murmured with a smirk.
Suddenly feeling like someone had cranked up the heat, Aziraphale suggested they take a break. Unfortunately for her, the lady jumped at the occasion to leave, her maid following close behind while Crowley gestured lazily for them to go.
“We can meet up in the steam room in… Twenty minutes?”
“Alright dear. Have fun, don’t fall asleep.”
“You’re no fun.” She pouted as the door closed between them.
As it turned out, the lady -Mrs Spedden- wasn’t enjoying the Turkish bath at all and spent the next twenty minutes complaining about how dreadful it all was. She finished by stating that it was the worst experience in her life and all Aziraphale could do was nod and smile politely over her glass of water.
Mrs Spedden then looked at her with a thoughtful expression, then said:
“It’s so rare to find ourselves away from men, in a place where we can be ourselves and share our thoughts that I fear I may have gone too far. Thank you for listening to my ramblings and sorry to have inflicted them upon you.”
Aziraphale relaxed and smiled at her with all the kindness she could muster. “Thank you for your apology but don’t worry about it too much, dear girl. It seemed like you needed to let it all out.”
She smiled sheepishly, gave Aziraphale her name and cabin number, then left just as Crowley exited the hot room sporting a mark on her cheek that betrayed her awful napping habit.
“It’s official: I like the hot room. Do you think I could get one installed in my flat?”
Aziraphale rolled her eyes and guided her to the steam room in which they stayed for an hour11. Not that Aziraphale enjoyed the wet and heavy air of that room more than the other but rather the perfume they used in it. Pleasant wafts of Eucalyptus oil made her hum in appreciation as Crowley made a point to sleep with her eyes open in a fruitless attempt to appear awake.
Aziraphale looked at her long fiery mane of hair. Her eyes followed the rivers of each curly strand, letting them lead her gaze to Crowley’s long lashes, her lips, the curve of her neck and all the way down her naked form. She was truly gorgeous. Had Aziraphale felt bold enough, she would have loved to touch her. Not lustfully, not with a sense of hurry created by chemicals and electricity and want; but respectfully. She ached to touch her the way one might be allowed to touch a piece of art. Delicately. With reverence.
The way she deserved to be touched, Aziraphale thought. With love.
She reached out as if under a spell, her body propelled by her thoughts until a tentative hand landed on the demon’s soft curls. Crowley hummed in her sleep and leaned into the touch, emboldening the angel enough to start softly petting her scalp.
She hoped that one day, they would feel brave enough for more.
Crowley was still a bit groggy from her second nap earlier that morning but they only had an hour left until the swimming pool would be for men only and she really didn’t feel like going through all this changing thing again just because the early 20th century humans were a bunch of prudes.
She was leaning against the railing, looking down at the angel splashing around and had decided she would only go in the water once her body had cooled down enough from the steam room.
“That water feels a bit… sticky,” Aziraphale said, rubbing her arms.
“It’s the salt, angel. They use sea water and warm it up.”
“Oh, I wonder how it all works. Perhaps I should pay a visit to Mr Andrews and ask him.”
“Big tube carries sea water to the machine room where it’s used to help cool down the machines, then part of it is used for the pool while the rest is spat back in the sea. Probably.”
“But how do they take the water from the sea in the first place in a way that keeps the boat stable?”
Crowley shrugged and moved to sit at the end of the swimming pool, near the stairs.
“I’m less interested in the details than in the fact there’s a pool at all. They’re also making planes, you know?”
Aziraphale smiled at her in that specific way that never failed to make her insides warm.
“Maybe one day, they’ll go out there and see the stars.”
“Yeah… that would be a feat, wouldn’t it?” Crowley sighed. She had to admit she’d been surprised - and a bit proud - to realise that humans always kept an interest in the stars, even after all those years. With the invention of photography and the advancement in telescopes, she hoped that those clever little humans would be able to take pictures of some of her best work. She’d always been particularly happy about Alpha Centauri and was hoping to see it again one day.
The water in the pool rocked slowly, following the tide and splashing out when a particularly big wave hit the hull of the ship, pulling Crowley out of her reverie and giving her an idea. She looked at Aziraphale, bobbing in the water and smirked.
“Oh don’t you dare you fi-”
She splashed her, cutting the angel off mid reprimand and laughed at her wet cat expression.
A huge wave hit her with the force of a small scale tsunami and she looked, shocked, at the angel with her wings extended in the water.
“Sorry my dear, I stretched and didn’t notice you there.”
Thus started a half an hour long legendary water fight between two supernatural beings where all moves were permitted and the pool miraculously kept replenishing itself after each hit.
When the time came, a steward walked in to inform them that it was going to be the gentleman’s turn and stared at them in shock. Crowley snapped her fingers and immediately worked on persuading him that everything was extremely normal. It was a bit tricky, as he’d seen their wings and a room so wet it might as well have been an aquarium in a previous life but in the end, she managed to make him think that a couple of birds had somehow gotten in… And maybe a dolphin got in and splashed around. Or perhaps the room wasn’t wet, just extremely clean and shiny. Whatever it was, he had saved the day and there was a perfectly normal explanation for all of it.
When she turned, Aziraphale had finished drying the room and had also miracled the both of them dry and clean of saltwater. Crowley snapped her fingers again and the steward woke up, completely dazed.
“Thank you for letting us know, young man,” Aziraphale said, stepping next to Crowley and taking her arm, “we shall vacate the pool now.”
“Yes, how about lunch? We haven’t tried the Parisian café yet.”
“That sounds wonderful.”
They left to change back into their dresses, their sides bumping against each other at every other step and their giggles at a mischief well done echoing against the walls.
After putting their dresses back on, they went directly to the Parisian café for a light lunch.
The place was beautiful, with wicker chairs around wooden tables, light red upholstery and big windows letting the sunlight in. The ceiling was white and beautifully carved to match the walls partially covered by luscious greenery. Crowley could see why the place was so popular, it looked like she had been invited to a fancy garden party in Paris. She thought that if the engineers could have put trees and rose bushes in this room, they would have.
Thankfully, there were a few tables available and they were allowed the luxury to pick where to sit. Crowley let Aziraphale guide them towards a secluded table a reasonable distance away from the windows so that the sunlight wouldn’t blind them. She pulled the angel’s chair for her and basked in her smile just as much as the sunlight as she sat across from her.
“This is lovely, we should have brunch here tomorrow,” Aziraphale said, wiggling as she settled in her cushioned chair.
“Sure,” Crowley answered and thought, ‘anything you want’.
A steward brought them menus and Crowley watched as Aziraphale’s smile almost faltered at the limited options.
“Do you have any suggestions?” she asked politely.
The boy looked taken aback but to his credit he did a very good job of trying to hide it.
“The croque monsieur is fairly popular, milady.”
“Then I’ll have that, what about you dear?”
“Same thing, with a San Pellegrino to share,” Crowley said, handing her menu back.
The boy took it eagerly, then Aziraphale’s, before he hurried back inside.
“I saw they have crêpes in the dessert section,” Crowley offered, watching as Aziraphale’s eyes sparkled in interest.
“Good to know, I only looked at the lunch options and they’re rather lacking in number,” she said, primly putting her napkin on her lap.
“I think most people come here for brunch or a nice afternoon tea. They definitely have options for those.”
“I’m glad.”
They fell into a comfortable silence, enjoying the place and the company up until their food arrived and Aziraphale started to moan around mouthfuls of crunchy and cheesy food. Then, when they were done, they ordered crêpes and tea. They didn’t really talk through their meal, not with words, just with looks, smiles and a deep understanding of each other that can only be achieved when you’ve known someone your entire life.
They left the café mid afternoon and wandered around. They stopped by the squash court just long enough to see Mr Duff Gordon lose a match and be an excruciatingly good sport about it. Crowley rolled her eyes when he started to talk about his Olympic medal in fencing and wondered - not for the first time - why he even bothered to board under a fake name if he was going to tell everyone about himself.
Aziraphale tugged on her arm, bringing her attention back to her and gestured for the exit with her head. Crowley followed, no questions asked.
“Mrs Duff Gordon was eyeing you, I thought it best to leave,” she explained once they were out of earshot.
“Satan’s sake, that woman needs to buy herself an escort,” Crowley said with all the exasperation she could muster. “Or a more satisfying husband.”
Aziraphale snorted ungracefully and ushered them towards the reading and writing room, which Crowley knew she had wanted to check out much earlier in their trip but had heard it was mostly used by the ladies and she hadn’t wanted to impose. The men had a smoking room all to themselves and it was only fair that the misses would have their own space as well, where they could write, read, discuss and spread gossip. Which, according to Mrs Brown, there was more than enough of.
Crowley was ecstatic that she was right.
While Aziraphale sat with a group of older woman12, the demon circled the room like a predator. There was a group of young girls, speaking slightly too loudly and giggling regularly; a clear sign of rose scented love gossip. Apparently one of them had fallen in love with a young man that her mother disapproved of so he had invited himself to their family trip to the Côte d’Azur and was now escorting them back to America. Crowley rolled her eyes and moved on to the next group.
There were a couple of mothers speaking in hushed tones, a group of three widows and a little conglomerate of middle aged wives whose children either had never existed or had left the nest already. Crowley smirked and slid into their conversation like a duck sliding off of water. She listened for a few minutes, wholeheartedly agreeing with the group at large until she was given the chance to strike.
“Have you heard about Mrs Morgan? Or should I say Mrs Duff Gordon?” She paused to make sure she had everyone’s attention. “I heard that she’s planning to open her own photography studio to help illustrate her sister’s torrid novels.”
“That woman truly knows no limit.”
“She’s so undignified.”
“And weird. Did you know that she booked a separate cabin from her husband?”
“I heard it was his idea,” Crowley cut in quickly, “she says it’s because he snores but I’ve seen the looks he sends to the gentleman from cabin A-33. Poor lad tried to court him and failed so miserably… it was a bit sad.”
“Perhaps that’s why he changed his name on the ledger. He must have gotten caught in France.”
“Ah yes, I’ve seen many an ‘honourable man’ trying to hide their preferences through marriage.”
“Except he’s not honourable in the least, dear. He’s not a bad man, just extremely naïve.”
“And boring.”
They laughed softly and Crowley guided the gossip onto several other personalities she’d seen on board. All false of course but the bigger the lie, the better the gossip.
“Are you done, foul fiend?” Aziraphale asked a few hours later, her nose buried in a book she had started when her group had dissolved earlier in the afternoon. Crowley could see her smile even from where she stood behind the angel’s plush and comfortable chair.
“I’m never really done spreading chaos, it’s in my job description and I’m always on the clock.” She winked when Aziraphale glanced up, which prompted an exquisite eye roll.
“Will you invite me for dinner?”
“Of course angel, anything you want.”
Azirphale hummed. “Perhaps Italian tonight.”
“The chef is Italian, all his food is technically Italian.”
Aziraphale batted her arm away and Crowley laughed softly as she led them to the restaurant.
While our favourite ineffable couple was heading to dinner, Jack Phillips, the radio operator of the Titanic was hard at work. They had been out of range from land for a full day and the messages accumulated could have rivalled an elephant in size. Not that young Mr Phillips had ever seen one.
He was doing his best to clear his backlog, knowing that it would fill back up just as fast the next day, when he heard something out of the ordinary.
A rogue transmission layered over his connection. “RMS Titanic? Do you hear me?”
As a true professional, Mr Phillips did his best to ignore the interruption and finish transmitting his message. “5th day aboard the Titanic, the weather is clear. I hope mama-”
“RMS Titanic? Do you copy? This is the Carpatia.”
“Oh will you please shut up?” Mr Phillips exclaimed, losing his calm. “No, that’s not part of my message, just give me two minutes, Michel. I’m receiving someone.”
“Ah sorry, I didn’t realise you’d be busy.”
“Yes, I’m busy, very busy, as a matter of fact. What do you want?” He asked impatiently.
“Carpatia here, letting you know you’re entering a dangerous zone. We’re exiting the area and-”
“Speed up, man!”
“Yes, sorry! We’ve spotted icebergs in the area you’re entering.”
“Thanks, I’ll tell the captain, you done?”
“Hum… Yes?”
“Good. Now let me work, I have a lot to do.”
The line crackled with the breath of whoever had been talking to him before going dead. Mr Phillips sighed, rubbed his eyes and picked his receiver back up to keep working.
He would tell the captain once he would be done with his work, he decided. Then he forgot….
8. They had got drunk with humans before, but it became increasingly harder to do so as the millenia passed. Especially when either or both of them started to mention times long passed, places long lost or speak in languages long forgotten. return to text
9. Aziraphale’s swimsuit was quite confused at suddenly finding itself neatly folded and tucked between books instead of hanging forgotten in a corner of the angel’s wardrobe but it was grateful for the opportunity to finally be used. Crowley’s demonic presence also meant that the universe bent just a little bit further than usual and provided them with a second swimsuit -all black and very elegant- left on the spare bed. The universe considered it was actually quite done after that and left the ineffable pair to miracle their dresses and hairdos themselves. return to text
10. For those of us who - like the author - use different measurements, 132Lb is about 60Kg. return to text
11. Please do not try this at home and follow the instructions when using a steam room. return to text
12. whose gossip tended to be more about their children and grandchildren, which Aziraphale enjoyed a lot. Older women then, much like they still do now, liked to turn their family gossip into a competition. The one with the most successful and talented children didn’t win anything except the joy to gloat that their little Timmy had made them an amazing drawing of a giraffe and that he would surely become an impressive artist one day. To which someone would answer that their Barbara’s lovely husband had just paid them all a family trip to Egypt and would you like to see the pictures? return to text
