Chapter Text
~**~
Dennis knows what it’s like to be trapped in a cage, the taste of bile on his tongue choking him as he tries his best to swallow air into his lungs while the walls close in on him. He should be used to it by now, the sensation of being a fledgling with its wings clipped before it even knows flight.
Dennis was never meant to fly.
His fingers twitch as he stares at his dinner knife resting beside an empty decorated plate. The sharp blade has been threatening him with a good time all evening as the large table of wannabe aristocrats talk over each other, each person becoming louder as the waiter pours another glass of wine.
Christ, they haven't even made it to the main course yet.
Panic settles in the pit of his belly like an old friend. The dining room is the first of its kind to not rely on candlelight to illuminate the room. Dennis has to close his eyes to escape the brightness of the electric chandelier above his head, its dancing gemstones blinding him as the Titanic slowly rocks back and forth.
It’s a cold and windy spring night. Dennis closes his eyes as his mind wanders. He tries to imagine what the sea looks like right now.
“Dennis, darling, why don’t you tell Mr. Miller about your ambitions once we arrive in New York?”
His mother means well. She was betrothed to his father at a young age. Her parents convinced her that marrying a wealthy merchant was her only chance at an easy life. They were right enough.
Dennis opens his eyes and stares at the group of six men in formal dinner jackets sitting across the round table. He can’t remember which one is Mr. Miller, which would definitely anger his parents if they knew that considering Mr. Miller will be his father-in-law in a matter of weeks. Dennis couldn’t help it, they all look the same to him. Ravenous, vile creatures ready to tear him apart.
Everyone at the table politely looks at Dennis expectantly.
“Of course. I want to study medicine,” Dennis can hear the immediate scoff from his father beside him. His mother looks down at her plate, her smile fading.
It’s clearly the wrong answer. He never has the ‘right’ answers.
His father’s scoff deformed itself into a laugh. Dennis feels his father’s hand land on his left shoulder, its judgemental weight falling and slamming onto Dennis like a gavel.
Dennis wants to shrug the hand away but knows better.
“My boy has ambitious hobbies. Dennis, why don’t you tell everyone your intentions with the company?”
The firm hand on his shoulder tenses slightly in warning. Don’t disappoint me.
Mr. Miller leans forward in his seat, a devilish grin growing across his features while he waits to hear how his soon to be son-in-law will manage the company’s funds as the new financier.
The panic from earlier returns much like the tide always does. It twists his guts inside out.
Dennis will never escape.
He blinks, knowing his glassy eyes will eventually give him away. A gaggle of waitstaff must have arrived at some point because they start serving the main course. Dennis must not have noticed. He watches numbly as a whole roasted duck is placed in the middle of the table.
Dennis notices the bumps from the feathers that were plucked after breaking the bird's neck.
He has been silent for too long. He knew that. He hopes the waitstaff serving them dinner is enough of a distraction and maybe the subject will change.
It does not. The stares continue.
The hungry, soulless business men lick their lips… not at the gluttonous spread on the table in front of them, but rather at Dennis who is struggling to answer a simple fucking question. He feels like a young lamb being sent to the slaughter.
Dennis clears his throat.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he mumbles mostly to his parents as he tosses his cloth napkin on the table.
Dennis is grateful that his legs make the decision for him as he stands and pushes his chair backwards more dramatically than he means to. He stumbles out of the dining room, eyes from the table throwing poison dipped daggers at his back.
The breath he had not realized he had been holding finally releases as pushes through the double doors and he hears the sound of the waves crashing against the passenger liner. He’s made it to the first class deck.
It’s not enough though. He needs to get away.
Dennis accidentally bumps into a man and woman around his age. He feels ashamed when he blanches at the sight of the couple holding hands on their evening stroll. His voice is unable to utter an apology as he pushes past them and rushes towards the stern of the ship.
He all but crashes into the stern’s railing. His head and torso are tipped overboard and suddenly Dennis is staring into the face of the dark, open ocean.
Even in the blackness of the night, he can make out the bright, white caps dancing around the ship’s rutters.
The bubbling guts of the sea whirling under and around the ship is tempting much like the sharp blade of his dinner knife. Same as the straight razor he used earlier this evening. He imagines the familiar sting against his throat.
When Dennis looks down at the water, he sees freedom.
His legs once again take control and, within seconds, he has climbed over the rungs on the railing. He holds himself up by gripping the flagpole that proudly flies the White Star Line flag.
His hands shake violently as he starts to realize what he’s doing. He sits on the top railing and lets his feet dangle two hundred feet above the water.
Dennis takes a deep breath and looks up from the water to face the moonlit horizon. The wind ripples through his overgrown wheat colored curls and he finds himself laughing when he kicks off his right shoe.
He doesn’t hear or see it hit the water.
Maybe he can go silently in the night.
“You don’t want to do that.”
Dennis’ heart drops out of his stomach hearing the casual voice call out from behind him.
He turns his head, his grip tighter on the rail and flagpole as he prays the man doesn’t recognize who he is.
Dennis is an idiot for thinking he could have privacy on a ship with over two thousand people.
“Leave me alone! Don’t come any closer,” Dennis shouts and his voice sounds pathetic.
He locks eyes with the man holding up his hands in surrender, a cigarette between two fingers.
The man gestures with the short stubbed cigarette, mimicking like he wants to throw it overboard and into the water. Dennis realizes the man is asking for his permission to come closer and do just that.
Dennis nods.
He watches as it disappears into the darkness much like his shoe did.
The man is leaning against the rail beside Dennis now as if they came out here together to share friendly conversation.
“It appears as though you lost your shoe,” the man says. How observant of him, Dennis thinks as he rolls his eyes and looks away.
The man tries again.
“My name is Michael Robinavitch.”
Dennis remains stubborn in his silence. He was so close to finally getting brave enough to let go.
And this man ruined it for him.
“It’s a long fall, boy,” the man says after a few minutes of silence. “Most would die as soon as they hit the water… but if they’re small enough, like you, they might make it. You wouldn’t want that.”
Dennis feels the shame in his chest light up.
“And why wouldn’t I?”
Michael looks at him, his lips curving into a smile as if they were chatting about the weather.
“The water is freezing cold. It’ll feel like the stab of a thousand knives. If you don’t succumb to the injuries of your fall, it could take up to thirty minutes to die from the cold.”
“And what if I told you I don’t care?” Dennis asks in a biting tone. He pretends as if what Michael just said doesn't actually bother him. The slow, painful death shrouded in total darkness while the only beacon of light drifts into the horizon is a horrifying thought. Dennis wants his life to end much quicker than that.
Michael’s smile fades as he stares at Dennis’ mouth. It seems as if Dennis just disappointed him.
“I care.”
Dennis scoffs at that and shakes his head. “And why would you care about me falling overboard?”
Michael continues to study him, as if he were something the older man was trying to figure out.
“I’m the ship’s physician. I would much rather spend my evening getting to know you than taking my boots off and jumping in after you.”
Dennis actually laughs at that, although it comes out hollow. This man is ridiculous. “You would actually jump in after me? After what you just said about it being a slow, agonizing death?”
Michael didn’t hesitate to nod in response. “I would do it in a heartbeat.”
Dennis laughs again, this time finding himself actually smiling. He feels hysterical. “You are isnane, you know that?”
“I’m not the one hanging off the back of a ship.”
Dennis stares at him, his eyes becoming daggers. The nerve of this doctor...
Michael looks out on the horizon, his brow furrowed.
“I’ve been where you are before. Wondering if it’s all worth it. Wondering if the sea could bring me mercy. I hear Welsh in your accent. Ever been to Mount Snowden?”
Dennis squints, trying to figure out what the man is getting at.
“I’ve only seen it from afar…”
“Well, last year I climbed to the summit with the intention of walking off the ledge. Once I got up there and saw the sunrise… I don’t know. I ended up hiking back down.”
Dennis closes his eyes and tries to imagine the sunrise Michael may have seen. It feels like a sudden gut punch when he realizes he will never see his homeland of Wales again.
“I am betrothed to a woman I don’t know. When we arrive in New York, we are to be wed and I will take over as the financier of our families merging companies.”
“Is that what you want?”
Dennis opens his eyes and turns to look at Michael. He means to glare at the man, but once he finds his warm, brown eyes his breath catches instead.
“No…”
“Then don’t.”
As if it were that simple.
“Don’t marry her?”
“Correct.”
Dennis scoffs again, although he’s lost his venom from earlier.
“Do you even know who I am?”
It’s Michael’s turn to laugh. “Am I supposed to?”
That surprises Dennis. He had figured that as soon as Michael noticed his Welsh accent he would realize he was the son of Franklin Whitaker, the most successful supplier of gun powder in The British Isles. It’s been in the papers for months that the Whitaker and Miller families would be sailing on Titanic’s maiden voyage.
It’s refreshing not being known.
“You’re American,” Dennis says. He deduced that the moment he heard Michael’s voice. “I suppose it makes sense you don’t know me. A doctor doesn’t deal much with the sales of weaponry.”
Michael smiles. “Well, since I do not know you, may I ask who you are?”
“Dennis Whitaker. My father is Franklin Whitaker of Whitaker Liveries. He supplies–”
Michael’s hand on the railing moves closer to Dennis’ tight grip, just barely touching. He cuts Dennis off with his words.
“With all due respect, I don’t care about your father. I want to know who you are.”
Dennis sits there, stunned by the doctor’s casual indifference regarding his status. It’s the first time anyone has ever said those words to Dennis. I want to know you.
His breath catches in his throat as he feels a particularly strong gust of wind against his back. His body sways forward towards the water.
He can practically taste the concern coming from the doctor as he shifts closer to him.
Michael’s voice is strained when he says, “Please. You’re losing your strength. Can I help you come back to my side of the railing?”
Dennis looks one more time at the dark waters below before quietly nodding.
The doctor is suddenly behind him, his breath warm against the back of his neck. “I’m going to hook my arms around you and pull you backwards. Okay?”
The permission to be touched is surprisingly overwhelming and Dennis wonders why his parent’s house staff never seemed to care about whether or not Dennis wanted their poking and prodding. A flashback to his dad pushing the tie against his neck earlier that evening makes Dennis choke at the memory. Michael doesn’t seem to notice as he waits for Dennis to respond.
“Okay.”
Dennis doesn’t expect the quickness and intensity to which Michael wraps his arms tight around his chest and yanks him backwards. Michael tries his best to keep them standing but fails as Dennis flails against the older man. They fall to the wooden deck, both groaning. Michael’s arms are still around him as they look up at a lamppost above them casting a dim light around them. Dennis has the fleeting thought of how well they fit together on the ground tangled up in each other. He shakes the thought away like a relentless horsefly.
Michael grunts and he eventually lets go of Dennis. They awkwardly try to help each other stand, both breathless and sweating from the adrenaline. Dennis did not think this was how the evening was going to go.
“Uh, thank you.” Dennis says. He stands with his weight on the leg that still has a shoe. He lets his other foot dangle just slightly above the deck so as to not get it wet from the sea breeze landing on the wood flooring.
Michael nods in response, his eyes seeming to study him. Dennis wonders if Michael sees his nerves and other weaknesses. Everyone else can usually see it.
“You’re welcome,” is all Michael says, although his eyes seem to want to say something more.
Now that they are standing and facing each other, Dennis really looks at the doctor.
He has a full beard with a very slight handlebar mustache. His navy blue evening jacket is more practical than fashionable. Michael looks like just about every other doctor that Dennis has seen… although that’s not quite true because Dennis has never really found himself staring, mouth agape and even slightly captivated by a doctor before. Perhaps his captivation is the result of the adrenaline making him woozy. Michael stopped him from killing himself this evening, after all.
“You never answered me, boy,” Michael says as his lips quirk up into a smile. “Who are you?”
And just like that, Dennis feels the floodgates open. The ocean water rushes over him with a cold relief he isn’t used to. Dennis stumbles over his words.
“I wanted to study medicine, but couldn’t. My father forced me to study accounting instead to support the family business. My baby sister died from a fever when we were young. I want to learn how to save people like her. I love reading my anatomy books. I want to be able to know every inch of the human body so I can help people. I–”
“Dennis! Darling, are you okay?”
Dennis’ eyes must have widened with fear because Michael’s face dropped and he stood closer to him. Dennis turns to see his mother and father rushing over to them.
To anyone else, his father would probably seem unbothered. Dennis is the only one that can catch the fury underneath his monocled gaze. His father immediately notices his missing shoe.
“I’m fine, momma.”
Dennis didn’t realize just how close Michael was to him until he heard him speak.
“I’m Dr. Robinavitch. I’m the White Star Line’s onboard physician. I found Dennis heaving over the railing earlier. He is experiencing some seasickness likely from the wavy evening we’re having. I was just recommending that he retire early tonight and drink some water.”
“Thank you, doctor,” Dennis’ mom smiles at Michael with gratitude. She then turns to Dennis, “Is that why you left dinner so soon?”
Dennis nods. He appreciates the doctor’s quick thinking. “Yes. I didn’t think I could stand the rest of dinner. I needed some air.”
“Well, I’m pleased to hear you’re feeling better,” Franklin says, his tone off. Either he doesn’t believe them or he doesn’t care about Dennis’ ailment. “Come along, we were just on our way back to the rooms. Trinity will be glad to see you survived the evening's affairs.”
Dennis nods. He doesn’t like lying to his future cousin but also doesn’t want to worry her. She’ll be excited to know that Dennis met the Titanic’s doctor. She is the only person from the Miller family that truly understands him and his desires.
“Thank you,” Franklin says curtly to Michael before turning to leave, his arm still hooked around Dennis’ mothers. She waves a gesture for Dennis to follow them.
“Dennis,” Michael says to him. Dennis turns back one more time. The doctor pulls a small piece of paper from his jacket pocket. “In case you are seasick again.”
Dennis takes the paper and realizes it’s a business card with the directions to his office on the ship.
“Thank you, Michael,” Dennis says. He’s too afraid to allow himself to smile at the man with his parents not far behind him.
“Call me Robby,” he says and bows his head. “Have a good night, kid.”
Dennis nods as he turns and trails behind his parents back to their staterooms.
~**~