This wasn't going to be the same, no matter what Chris told her. There was no father to tell her to fold up one more button on her blouse. There was no father to make sure she was all right when she was sweaty from dancing. There was no father to patronize her, despite how she complained about it frequently. There was just her, and Chris. As she'd wanted it in the beginning, but only now did she realize how wrong she'd been.

They walked down the stairs to the disco, ignoring her protests to stay upstairs. Going down here would just bring back memories. But Chris had bombarded her with some convincing words, like could she, please, just do this for him? and would she try to have a good time? and he would be right by her side; and promise if you're feeling unwell to tell him so he could bring her upstairs? Even as she abided to these requests, she wasn't sure she was really ready for this yet.

Christian had a supportive hand on the small of Jennifer's back, leading her down the stairs to the disco. It wasn't a gesture so much as to hold her back as it was just there to tell her that he would back her up on whatever decision she made, or whatever emotions she was feeling. He, too, was overwhelmed by his situation, but he refused to let it outwardly show. Jennifer needed him throughout this entire trip; he wasn't about to fall apart. For her sake.

A very hasty, "Oh, I'm sorry," (or at least that's what Jennifer thought she heard) was given as she felt a harsh bump to her shoulder. About to turn and return a quick consolation, she was stopped, meeting eyes with a woman who looked only maybe a few years older than her. The woman smiled.

"Gosh, I apologize for staring," she said with a bashful chuckle, shaking her head. "It's just...you're Jennifer, aren't you? Jennifer Ramsey, the survivor of the Poseidon."

Taken aback, Jen clung to Chris's hand. Her fiancé quickly took notice to the woman. "Yes," she answered primly. She liked the woman's British accent.

"And your fiancé, I assume? Nice to meet you." They exchanged handshakes. "Sorry about all of this. I saw you on the news in London a few months ago--horrible accident, that was. Glad you're all right, though."

Chris chimed in. "Thank you."

"Ready, love?" Another British inflection interrupted Jennifer's trance as a man with dark hair and an arm supporting a young child, maybe only a year old. She smiled at the baby, who smiled back, hiding her face coyly in her father's shoulder. Noticing that his wife had company, the Brit turned to the engaged couple. "Ello. Who might you be?"

"Kent," she addressed her husband, "this is Christian and Jennifer. They were on the Poseidon last year. Remember, we heard about it on our holiday to London?"

Coming to his own realization, Kent sent his chin upward, shaking hands with Chris and Jen. "Oh, yeah. Bloody hell, must've been quite a scare."

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Jennifer nodded curtly.

Again, as if she was still flustered for coming up to them so bluntly, Kent's wife shook her head, a blush stretching to her ears. "Look at me. Forgetting my manners. I'm Jane, this is Kent, my husband. The shy little one is Liadan." She nipped the baby's chin with two fingers. "But we call her Danny."

Chris grinned, staring at the little girl's cinnamon curls. He waved at her and saw her try to tug back a grin. He chuckled, grabbing Jen's attention.

"Wondering--and I'm just having a thought, here," Jane piped up once more, "do you think you could help us find our way to the dining hall? We seem to have..."

"...Lost our way some time ago, trying to read the maps," Kent cut in with a scoff.

Using this as an excuse to not go into the disco (the thought made Jennifer shiver; so many memories...), she nodded eagerly, already ushering the family up the stairs again.

"Yes, of course. We'd be happy to."

"Jen?" Chris called from behind her, trailing her steps closely.

Giving him a look, she hurriedly planted a kiss on his lips. "Maybe later, okay?"

---

The nap had definitely rejuvenated her, but she wasn't quite sure this was the best idea. At least she was with Dylan, and Connor had let her know that he was just as nervous as she was, despite his bright and cheery disposition back in the suite. Maggie had a feeling no one was really comfortable with this trip--no one who had seen the horrid realities of what could go wrong, anyway.

No, she continuously had to remind herself. That will not happen again. It was an extremely rare occurrence. Never happen again. Never again. Connor is safe, you're safe, that's a girl. Dylan's here, too. Just relax.

Taking in even, deep inhale-exhales, her eyes scanned the dining room. The threesome was perched at the top of one of the staircases overlooking the scene. People eating, drinking, playing poker, the musicians on the stage. Why did it all look so familiar...?

The haunting thought was that the ship--Poseidon, the ship that her feet had once treaded upon; the ship that she had once struggled to escape as it slowly sunk to its doom; the ship that her boy had barely made it out of alive--was right beneath her, sunk to the depths, forgotten, abandoned, a graveyard. Bodies, so many of them, still here. Decaying. Rotting. Even Robert Ramsey, Jennifer's father. She shuddered, and her stomach turned. She felt Dylan's eyes immediately on her as she pitched over, a hand on her midsection.

"Maggie?"

"Mommy?"

Shaking her head, she stood upright once more, taking a deep breath, letting the sudden rush of heat leave her face. She felt herself choke on her bile for a minute before she swallowed, allowing herself to recollect.

"I'm fine," she assured them with a sigh.

Still holding her hand, Connor kept his eyes steadily on his mother. Dylan glanced back to the dining floor, seemingly distracted. He didn't look like he was really thinking about anything. Like his brain was absent; in a different place. Maybe he was doing that on purpose, so he wouldn't have to remember?

Drawing a hand over her son's hair, Maggie gave a reassuring smile down to him. This night was about making Connor happy; making Connor forget. He'd live the rest of his life, remembering that torment, that horror. She didn't want that for him.