Later that evening, Jack was waiting outside the Quinzel's house, glancing up at the windows to see if he could see Harleen sneaking out. Suddenly, one of the windows was raised up, and Jack saw Harleen's face peering out.

"You can jump if you want," he said, holding out his arms as she climbed over the ledge and onto the drainpipe. "I'll catch you."

"Don't be impertinent," she retorted. "I can manage perfectly fine without your help."

"Seems like you've done this before," he commented, as she shimmied down the drainpipe.

"No," she said, wiping the hair out of her face. "But I'm a fast learner."

He smiled, offering her his arm. "Shall we?"

"If my father knew I was doing anything like this, he'd lock me in an asylum and throw away the key," commented Harleen, as they strolled down the street together.

"There was a story about a man doing that to his wife in The Police Gazette a few months back, as a way of silencing her so she wouldn't ruin his political career," said Jack, nodding. "Almost makes you wonder if half the lunatics in an asylum are actually insane. Maybe they're less crazy and more political prisoners. Or disobedient daughters," he added, nodding at her.

"Yes, well, my father's one obsession in life, as you probably heard, is marrying me off," retorted Harleen. "It seems like he'd settle for anyone at this point."

"Are you actually telling me that a stunning gal like you ain't got men lining up around the block to court you?" asked Jack.

She shrugged. "It's like Father said – I open my mouth and I run them off. He says I'm too outspoken, or I choose unsuitable subjects for conversation, or I'm too confrontational, or a hundred other criticisms. Whatever it is, I make men uncomfortable – apparently they're not used to dealing with women with brains."

"Well, idiots are never used to dealing with anyone with a brain," said Jack, shrugging. "Which clearly all your suitors have been. Up until me, of course."

"Do you count yourself as my suitor, Mr. Napier?" she asked with a grin.

"If that's agreeable to you, Miss Quinzel," he said, nodding.

"Yes, it's quite agreeable," she said, smiling. "Only I know so very little about you, and I'd like to know a bit more."

Jack shrugged. "What's to know? I'm the son of a tailor who can barely afford to feed himself. We live in an overcrowded tenement that gets really drafty in the winter. And I don't want to live like that anymore. I got a million dreams in this head of mine, a million dreams of a better life I'm gonna make for myself. I know I can do it, because I can see that future so clearly in front of me, like it's already real. And I'm gonna make it real."

"What sort of future do you want?" she asked.

"What does any man want?" asked Jack. "Happiness, money, fame, and fortune. And family, that's important too - a loving wife and a couple kids…"

"Which you're going to provide for how?" interrupted Harleen.

"Oh, I got a lotta skills, toots!" he chuckled. "Don't you worry about that! As you can see, one of them is my roguish charm, which can convince people like yourself to go out with men they've just met."

"Yes, charming rogues are often considered quite a catch in the husband market," agreed Harleen, sarcastically. "They're just the type of man to provide a safe and stable home for a family."

"Safe and stable ain't really my style, toots," said Jack. "If you want that in a man, you're better off looking somewhere else. I'm all about the adventure and the excitement and the fun. Life with me will be a tightrope walk – a challenging and dangerous way to live, but one that comes with a breathtaking view."

"And if I ever fell off this tightrope, would you catch me?" asked Harleen.

He smiled at her, and raised her hand to his lips. "If you can only count on one thing in your life, toots, you can count on that. I'll always be there to catch you if you fall."

"As long as I have your promise, Mr. Napier," she said, taking his hand and smiling at him. "I'm sure I can manage without the safety and stability."

They arrived at the wax museum, and headed straight for the chamber of horrors. "Excuse me, sir, but this might not be an appropriate exhibition for the young lady," said the proprietor, stopping them as they were about to head through. "Women have been known to faint at the sight."

"This woman won't," retorted Harleen.

"You heard her," said Jack, shrugging. "I think she's got a taste for the morbidly violent. I like that in a dame."

The proprietor shrugged. "Very well, but I won't be held responsible for any injury she sustains should she faint."

"Don't worry – I've just promised to always catch her if she should fall," replied Jack, grinning at Harleen. "Which I guess includes fainting."

"Then prepare to be amazed, awestruck, and appalled at the most horrific murderers of the century!" announced the proprietor, leading them into a room and gesturing to the wax figures.

"You were right, Mr. Napier – it's not very accurate," commented Harleen, looking at the display in front of them. "There would probably be a lot more blood if someone had been stabbed that many times."

"Yeah, the murderer would be covered in it," agreed Jack. "No way he'd be able to keep that fancy evening suit all shiny and clean."

"Also, the knife's in the wrong hand," pointed out Harley. "The stab wounds on the body are clearly made by somebody right handed, but he's got the bloody knife in his left."

"We should fix that," said Jack, looking around and then ducking under the barrier that separated the public from the exhibition.

"Mr. Napier, what are you doing?" hissed Harleen. "Mr. Napier, come back!"

He ignored her, taking the fake knife from the dummy. "Hey, I'll freeze like this and scare people who think I'm part of the exhibition!" he chuckled. "It's gonna be a hilarious prank – just watch!"

Harleen struggled to contain her giggles as Jack struck a pose. An unsuspecting couple came along a few moments later, and nearly jumped out of their skin as Jack suddenly lunged forward, threatening them with the knife. Harleen burst into fits of laughter, and Jack lay down in the exhibit. "This time I'm gonna be a body!" he chuckled. "Watch me scare the living daylights out of 'em when the dead start moving!"

The next spectators were a group of young women, who just screamed and dashed off when Jack suddenly sat up, exclaiming, "I'm alive! It's a miracle!"

Harleen's hysterical laughter and the screaming of the guests eventually attracted the attention of the proprietor. "Hey, get outta there!" he snapped at Jack. "These exhibits are for display only! If you wanna interact with the entertainment, there's a freak show around the corner which you can throw things at!"

"Why would anyone want to do that?" asked Harleen, puzzled.

"Because they're freaks," retorted the proprietor, shrugging. "They're unnatural, so they deserve to be treated unnaturally. It's funny."

"I don't think you and I share the same sense of humor, sir," replied Harleen. "No matter what they look like, they're people, and they deserve to be treated with respect."

"You go look at 'em, lady," retorted the proprietor. "Whatever they are, they ain't people. And you might as well go - since I own both properties, your ticket to the wax museum gets you in half price at the freak show."

Harleen was visibly upset, and Jack spoke up. "You should stick to displaying wax figures, pal," he said, taking the tickets out of his pocket and ripping them up. "People aren't exhibits to be poked and prodded and profited off. Frankly, with your attitude, no matter how ugly those freaks are, you're even worse on the inside."

He tossed the remains of the tickets at him and then took Harleen's arm. "C'mon, toots, let's go."

"Thank you," said Harleen, managing a smile at Jack once they were outside. "For coming to my defense."

"Hey, I agree with you," he said, shrugging. "Nobody should be treated badly just because they look funny. They can't help how they look, but we can help how we act. I've never been the kinda guy whose idea of entertainment means pointing and laughing at people just because they're different. It's more playing practical jokes and pranking people, as you saw in the wax museum."

"I like it," said Harleen. "Some people do need to be shaken out of their comfortable little bubbles now and again."

"Like you, Miss Quinzel?" he asked, grinning. "By accompanying a charming rogue on an evening out on the town?"

"Precisely, Mr. Napier," she said, grinning back.

"You can call me Jack, y'know," he said. "That's what my friends call me, and I'm really hoping we can become very close friends, Miss Quinzel."

"You can call me Harley," she replied. "And I'm really hoping we can be more than very close friends, Jack."

She raised herself up and kissed his cheek tenderly. "Now come on," she said, taking his hand and dragging him off down the street. "You're going to take me dancing."