"Where is Harley?" asked Dent, looking around the bustling foyer that evening.

"She told me she was just getting changed," replied Ivy. "She's been out on deck all day and came back to her cabin looking very flushed. I don't think the sun can be good for her – it ruins her naturally pale complexion."

"I imagine she'll stay inside a great deal once we're married," said Dent. "She'll have a whole household to manager – servants, staff, social calls. I'm sure she won't have time for sunbathing."

"I'm glad – tanned skin is so unbecoming on a lady," sighed Ivy. "It makes one look common."

"Speaking of common," growled Dent, nodding at the staircase. Ivy turned to see Jack Napier strolling down it, whistling happily. He noticed Dent and Ivy and waved cheerfully.

"Well, how do I clean up?" he asked, heading over to them and smiling.

"Is that my suit?" asked Dent, staring at him.

"Yeah, Harley let me borrow it," he said. "Hope you don't mind. I thought she'd have asked your permission."

"No, she…she didn't," stammered Dent, making a mental note to burn the suit when it was returned, if indeed it ever was, which he doubted. "Because I certainly wouldn't have given it."

"Oh well," said Jack, shrugging. "I'll give it back to you in good condition. Try not to spill the soup at dinner!" he chuckled, slapping Dent on the back, which made his lip twitch in barely-concealed rage.

"And you, Pammie, are looking foxy tonight!" Jack exclaimed, beaming at Ivy. "Can I call you Pammie? Or do you prefer Pamela?"

"I'd prefer it if you didn't address me, if at all possible," retorted Ivy, fanning herself angrily. "I do wish Harley would hurry up so we could take our seats at the dinner table – mine is the opposite end from you, Mr. Napier."

"O…K," he said, slowly. He cleared his throat. "I think I'll just…wait by the stairs, if no one minds."

Neither of them even acknowledged that he had spoken, so he wandered back towards the stairs, reaching for a cigarette. "Boring pair of snobs, the both of 'em," he muttered, striking his match against the wooden bannister and lighting his cigarette.

He looked up suddenly and the cigarette fell from his mouth as his jaw dropped. Harley stood on the staircase, dressed in a beautiful red and black evening gown, and the Heart of the Ocean hanging from her neck. She saw him and smiled, a slight blush passing over her cheeks.

"Wow…toots…you look…wow!" he stammered. "I mean…uh…how's it done? What am I supposed to say?"

She grinned. "You're supposed to say I'm looking very beautiful this evening," she murmured.

"Understatement of the century," he retorted, taking her hand and kissing it gently.

"Harley, there you are!" exclaimed Ivy, coming over and ruining the moment. "Finally! Let's go in!"

"Harley, may I…" began Dent, offering her his arm, but Jack had already threaded her arm through his, and the two walked into the dining room together, gazing at each other.

"Or…not…" stammered Dent, staring after them in surprise.

"Who the hell does he think he is?" hissed Ivy.

"I don't know," murmured Dent, his lip twitching in rage again. "But I'm going to find out. I just need to send a quick telegram - excuse me for a moment," he said, heading back up the stairs.

Jack pulled out Harley's chair for her, and then took the seat next to her. "Excuse me, but I do believe that's reserved for Miss Quinzel's fiance," said a familiar voice.

Jack turned to smile at Crane, who was seated on his other side. "Well, I don't see him here. And he didn't say save my seat, so finder's keepers."

Crane stared at him in horror. "You!" he gasped. "Whatever are you doing at the Captain's table?"

"Harley invited me," he retorted, nodding at her. "I saved her from falling overboard."

"And he's spent today teaching me some useful life skills," said Harley, beaming at Jack.

"Oh yes?" said Crane. "I'm sure I can't even begin to imagine what things a man like this could teach you that could possibly be even the slightest bit useful."

"Well, then you ain't got much of an imagination, Craney!" chuckled Jack. Harley giggled, gazing at Jack adoringly. Crane glanced at Ivy, who was glaring at Jack in loathing.

"Sorry I'm late," said Captain Jervis Tetch, taking his seat at the head of the table. "There have been some ice warnings on our present course."

Crane snorted. "Ice? Ice cannot penetrate Titanic's hull. She is completely unsinkable."

"Well, I generally prefer to be safe than sorry," replied Tetch.

"A philosophy I normally admire, but not in this case," retorted Crane. "In fact, Captain, I was wondering if I couldn't request increasing our speed a little, and possibly arriving at our destination early. It would make quite an impression on the papers."

"I think the safety of my passengers is a little more important than impressing the media," replied Tetch.

"The passengers are perfectly safe," snapped Crane. "This ship cannot sink."

"I dunno, Craney – whatever floats can also sink," said Jack, reaching across the table for the bottle of wine.

"Indeed? And what esteemed scientific degree do you have to support this theory?" asked Crane, sarcastically. "Are you actually some expert in naval engineering?"

"Nope," retorted Jack. "But I've seen a body in the water. They stay afloat for a little while unless you weigh 'em down, but even if you don't, they're gonna sink eventually. And then rise again eventually, but hopefully it's far enough downstream at that point that the cops can't pin it on ya," he chuckled.

Everyone stared at him in confusion and horror. Dent returned at that moment, looking around the table in puzzlement. "Is everyone all right?" he asked.

"Mr. Napier was just detailing…his experience in disposing of dead bodies," stammered Ivy, horrified.

"Really?" said Dent, his eyes narrowing. "Well, perhaps he'd be so good as to get out of my seat. Yours is at the far end of the table," he said, pointing to a single chair away from everyone.

Jack shrugged, winking at Harley and heading over to the seat. Dent sat down, taking Harley's hand firmly. The conversation changed to a boring, mundane subject, and Harley looked over at Jack, who was attempting to balance a spoon on the end of his nose. She giggled suddenly, which drew the attention of the others to Jack's antics.

"Anybody seen this trick?" he asked, indicating the spoon. "Now look, I can make this spoon disappear! Watch closely, watch closely, and…it's gone!" he exclaimed.

"I told you he'd be trying to steal the silver!" exclaimed Dent. "Bring it back at once!"

"Geez, calm down!" retorted Jack. "It's just gone up my sleeve. Here," he said, throwing it back onto the table.

"And what is it that you do, Mr. Napier?" asked Ivy, dryly. "Aside from making spoons and bodies disappear. What is your profession?"

"Oh, I'm kinda a Jack-of-all-trades!" chuckled Jack. "I do any kinda dirty work people can't do themselves for one reason or another."

"You're a tradesman?" Ivy asked.

"Er…kinda," he said, slowly. "If other people make messes, I clean 'em up."

"You're a maid?" snorted Crane.

"Not in the way you obviously are, Craney!" chuckled Jack. "This whole ship is just one massive form of compensation for you, ain't it?"

While Crane sputtered to respond, Captain Tetch stood up. "I think you need to leave, Mr. Napier, if you're going to be rude," he said, gently. "I will not tolerate rudeness at my table."

Jack shrugged. "Fine by me. The food probably would've made me sick anyway. I dunno how you rich people eat fish eggs and snails and all that crap. I mean, you have all the money in the world, and you choose to eat garbage! Just crazy if you ask me!" he chuckled, standing up and heading out of the dining room.

Harley watched him leave, picked at her food for a few minutes, and then put down her fork. "I've just got a headache, Mother," she said. "I'm going to go lie down in my cabin, if that's all right."

"Let me escort you," said Dent, as the whole table stood up for her departure.

"No, that's fine, Harvey," said Harley. "I wouldn't want to trouble you. You stay here and finish your meal."

She left the room, with Dent glaring after her. Several minutes later, a member of the crew came up to Dent. "Excuse me, sir, there's a telegram for you," he said, handing Dent a piece of paper.

Dent opened it and read it. Then he stood up suddenly. "Captain, I'm going to need the ship's police to help me find and arrest Mr. Napier," he said.

"Oh…yes, of course, Mr. Dent," said Captain Tetch, beckoning a member of the crew over. "May I ask why?"

Dent held up the telegram. "Jack Napier is wanted in Gotham City," he muttered. "For murder."