Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Slowly, your eyes slid open, welcoming the warm sunshine shining on your face through your bedroom window. You lay there for a few moments, waiting for your mind to focus and fully awaken. You hated getting up straight away and stumbling around like you were intoxicated. The sunshine felt pleasant on your face, though the relaxing sensation made it harder to wake up.

Turning your head to the side, you swept a few locks of your hair from your forehead, and stared at your clock through sleepy eyes. Five in the morning. You didn't have to be at your job until seven, but it never hurt to be ready, and tardiness was something you hated, especially when it came from yourself.

Swinging your body to the left so that your legs dangled over the edge, you stretched your back and arms and yawned, staring out of the window of your bedroom. Columbia was certainly a beautiful city, you mused, though not without its flaws. One such flaw was how abhorrently the colored citizens of the city were treated. Although you had been raised to believe that they were below your people, you could never fully accept this fact. Why should someone be marked as less valuable and disposable just because of their skin colour? Although you had internally questioned these rules since you could remember, you never dared speak them aloud. Those who publicly displayed affection or sympathy for the colored people were often ridiculed and tormented by the public.

You stood up from your large bed, and walked over to your wardrobe. Flinging open the doors, you sighed as you stared at the contents. The same clothes for every day, always the white, long sleeved shirt, the same dark red, ankle length dress, and the same brown leather, knee high boots. It wasn't that you considered clothes a central part of your life, but you would always see the women of Columbia in the most beautiful dresses, and it was an oddity to see any of them wear the same thing twice. You often feared that people would talk about you behind your back as you walked down the street, snickering to one another about the girl who never changes her clothes. Dealing with people had never been your strong suit, and it didn't make things easier when you believed that all of them were constantly judging you.

Pulling out a set of clothes, you walked into the bathroom, and set them on a stand you kept your soaps in, taking out a few. You walked over to the bath and set the water running, throwing a little bit of these soaps in to give it that pleasing lavender fragrance you loved. Leaving it to run, you left the bathroom, and made your way to the kitchen. You absently wondered if you had time to prepare something small before your bath, but ultimately decided against it, instead deciding to head over to the parlor, and plopping yourself onto the sofa. Turning your head around, you stared out of the wide window, observing the city below.

Your apartment building lay just at the end of Columbia's busiest shopping street, though thankfully, the action and the noise remained down where the stores were. It would be rather unpleasant to have to listen to hundreds of people go about their daily business every day when you were just trying to relax at home. Leaning against the back of the sofa, you watched the people below running in and out of stores, early risers trying to beat the crowd, and children desperately trying to pull away from mothers who led them towards clothing shops. You didn't even remember either of your parents, let alone your mother. Father Comstock had always told you that they were murdered by the Vox Populi, and it had only been because of his own quick thinking that he had been able to save you. You were thankful to be alive, of course, and eternally grateful to Father Comstock, if, what he said was true. But there was something about the whole story that just didn't seem right to you. Why would the Vox Populi murder a banker and his wife, and how did they not manage to kill a one year old child before Comstock's intervention? Twenty two years later these questions still bugged you. You were desperate to know the answers, but you knew better than to question what Father Comstock told you. You lay staring out of the window, wondering what your parents had looked like, when suddenly you remember the bath you had left running.

Cursing softly, you ran back to the bathroom, and let out a pained groan when your bare feet touched water. At this rate, you would probably start running late. Turning the taps to a stop, you stared worriedly at the floor. Thank goodness it was tiled. A wooden floor would have been absolutely destroyed, even by this small layer of water that covered it. There was simply no time to dry it the way you normally would, so you had to settle for throwing a few towels down and sliding into the bath, after letting the water go down the drain a bit and stripping your sleepwear.

The water was the perfect temperature, and as you slid down into it, you involuntarily released a low moan. The strong scent of lavender filled your nostrils, and you found yourself never wanting to leave this bliss. Unfortunately, you had a job to go to, so after around forty five minutes you despondently lifted yourself out. As you dried yourself off and dressed into the clothes you had set out earlier, you sighed profusely at the heap of towels that had collected on your floor. It was going to take a long time for them to dry out. Throwing the towels into a corner, you left the bathroom and set for the kitchen again to fix yourself up something to eat.

Once you arrived at the kitchen, you glanced up at the clock to see it was five past six. Just a little later than you would normally start making food at. To make up for the difference, you settled yourself with just a cup of tea and a few sandwiches. You weren't going to allow yourself to be late for the first time because you wanted fancier food. It was no one's fault but your own for not paying attention to the bath, and you had no right to be late for your job because of your mistakes, you reasoned. Finishing your breakfast, you threw your plate in the sink to wash it later, and headed back to the bathroom to finish getting ready. After brushing your teeth and tying your (h/c) hair up in a pony tail, you threw on some of your favourite perfume. The name of it was in another language, probably French, so you couldn't read it, but you loved its sweet smell. It reminded you of summer.

The perfume was actually a gift from Father Comstock. Ever since he hired you as a maid for his mansion, he liked to give you one gift a year, although he didn't treat any of the other employees this way. For the past seven years, it had always been some exotic perfume. It was curious, why Father Comstock treated you so kindly. You often wondered why someone so important to the city would even take notice of a regular girl like yourself, even if he did save you. Not that you were complaining. Most maids were forced to work two or three extra jobs just to make the rent, never mind food or luxuries. They could never afford a large apartment like yours. Fortunately, working for the most important man in all of Columbia meant a large pay, more than you would ever actually need to spend.

After finishing getting ready, you left the bathroom and headed for the front door, taking up your key chain from the table. Looking outside again, you decided that the weather was pleasant enough to not need a jacket, and walked out, closing the door behind you. Two men stood outside the neighbouring apartment's door with their backs to you, talking.

"Have you seen the warnings of the Chaos Herald that Father Comstock has sent around the city?" asked one of the men. He was tall, with a deep voice, and well built, dressed quite smartly, like most of Columbia's men.

"Yeah, that's some scary stuff right there. What I don't get is why anyone would want to come and destroy such a perfect city. KIlling off the damn negros, yeah, I'm all for it, but leave us pure white folk alone! Know what I mean?" answered the other man. Compared to his acquaintance, he was quite short, but definitley not weak, and dressed just as smartly.

"Amen brother." was the answer.

Sticking your key into the lock, it made a loud clicking noise as you turned it, which caused the men to turn their heads to you and smile.

"Hey now, what's a pretty little thing like you doing living in that apartment all by your lonesome?" cooed the larger man. He slowly moved towards you, like he was a lion, and you were a piece of meat waiting to be snatched up.

"Yeah," joined the other man. "Ain't you got a fella to bring you 'round? It'd be a shame to see someone so pretty get all scared in the big city." He remained where he was, but the way he stared at you made you feel as though he was going to leap at you at any moment.

Sliding your key out, you grasped it tightly, and kept your eyes to the ground. You struggled to find words to say. Men never flirted with you, even in such a condescending manner, and relationships were not something you even thought about. For the moment, all you were concerned about was keeping your job and making sure you kept up to date with your daily affairs, like the bills, and fixing that slight leak at your parlor's window. Inwardly you cursed yourself for forgetting about that leak again, better to do it now than before it became a serious problem.

You were so buried in your thoughts that you completely forgot about the men, and stood there silently, something they did not take to kindly.

"Hey!" the larger man hissed. He slapped the wall beside you, causing you to jump and stare at him. "I asked you a question, so answer me." He smelled like he had taken a bath in cologne, and there was definitely a touch of alcohol on his breath. The scent was strong enough to burn the inside of your nostrils a bit.

His eyes had gone from caring to aggressive in such a short amount of time that you were certain he was used to losing his temper, and the alchohol would not help, so you decided politely declining was the best way to go. Still you struggled for words, completely clueless as to how you should respond. You felt your face heat up at the embarrassment, and turned on your heel, shuffling down the steps before the men could react.

"Hey!"the larger man called out, before giving up and turning back to his smaller friend. "What an ungrateful little bitch." you heard him say. "Yeah," answered his partner. "Some women just don't know when to settle down and let a man take over for them."

Walking through the lobby, your head snapped to the side when the building owner, Mr. Jameson, called out goodbye to you, and you shyly waved back. Mr. Jameson was a kind man, though he was strict when it came to the management of his building. It would probably disappoint him to find out you still hadn't fixed the leak in your apartment, so you resolved to fix it was quickly as possible. You didn't like to disappoint anybody, especially not those who were kind hearted.

As you stared over at him, thinking of the leak, you forgot to watch where you were going, and collided with somebody. They were quite large compared to you, so while they hardly moved at all, you fell back on your behind, sending wires of pain shooting around your lower back. Although the pain was fierce and sharp, it didn't compare to the sheer embarrassment you felt at causing a scene, and you felt your cheeks go numb with heat as people diverted their attention to you. Being the center of attention was something you always hated.

To your eternal gratitude, there was not even a chuckle at your state. People simply returned to whatever it was they were doing beforehand, acting as if nothing at all had happened. As you started to look up and open your mouth to apologise profusely, you were caught off guard by the hand floating above your face, which you promptly latched onto.

"Sorry about that." the man chuckled. "I wasn't watching where I was going." He didnt seem to exert himself at all as he lifted you to your feet, although to be fair, you weren't exactly heavy.

"No, it was entirely my own fault." you apologized. "I'm slightly out of sorts this morning." As you spoke, you took a moment to glance over his features. He wasn't hard to look at. His dark green eyes complimented his brown hair, which was swept over to the side, and his stubble helped define his strong jawline. He was well built too, but not overly muscular, a limit which many men passed in their quest for attractiveness. He flashed a quick smile at your apology, before dropping your hand.

"Thank you for helping me back to my feet." you mumbled slightly, fiddling with the hem of your shirt and looking at the floor.

"No problem, it was the polite thing to do." he responded. His voice was unique. Where many men of Columbia sounded quite similar, this man had a slightly more rugged voice, but it was welcoming, and kind.

A tension slowly grew, so much that you could no longer stand it. The awkward silences in conversations were the worst parts.

"Well," you said a little too enthusiastically for your liking. "I've got to get to work, sorry!"

You briskly walked around him before he could respond, and out into the open air, before sighing to yourself. You hoped you hadn't been rude, though you simply did not have time to waste talking to strangers, or you might end up late for work.

Fixing your hair, as it had become quite disoriented after the fall, you set out towards Comstock mansion.

Chapter Text

After leaving the apartments, you headed down through the shopping street, walking at a brisk pace to try ensure you weren't late. As you passed by the cobbler's shop, you gave a quick glance up at the metal clock that stuck out above the doorway. It read half past six, and you prayed that the clock was correct. The owner of the shoe shop was a grouchy old man, and known for forgetting things often, much to the ire of his customers. It wasn't unreasonable to think he might not keep it in top condition. If the clock was in fact correct, then you had nothing to worry about. The walk from your apartment to Comstock Mansion only took twenty minutes, and, assuming everything went as planned, that would leave you with ten minutes to ensure you were fully prepared for a day's work. Better too early than too late.

After passing the cobbler's shop, you found yourself staring at a group of people setting up a large stage. Scanning through your brain, you tried to remember what events were planned to come up in the near future, and suddenly remembered the annual raffle. Each year, a raffle was held, where people hoped to have the honor of being first throw, meaning that they would be the first one to throw a baseball at a pair of people that were tied up on the stage. The majority of the time, the couple were colored. After the first throw, the rest of the crowd would join in, stoning the people on the stage to death. It was quite astounding, how these people could have such little sympathy for people of their own species. Yes, it was true that most Columbians saw colored people as less than dirt, but was it really necessary to have an annual raffle just to murder them? Each year you would just go back up to your apartment and try to forget the savage act that took place only a few minutes from your home. Thank goodness attendance wasn't mandatory. You didn't think you'd have the stomach to watch it happen.

Another minute or two past the raffle stage, you found yourself on another busy street, lined along the sides with vigor vendors. The first station you passed had a man lifting up his partner from a distance, without even touching him. You had overheard people discuss this vigor before, while going about your daily business. It was called the 'Bucking Donkey', or something along those lines. It really didn't capture your interest enough to earn another glance at the name. As you walked on, another stand to your left held many people gathered around two men. In your peripheral vision, you saw one of the men snap his fingers. A ghostly figure appeared, soaring towards the other man before disappearing entirely, leading to a myriad of gasps and sounds of admiration. It must have been absorbed by the man, as his eyes mutated from a handsome blue to an unnatural green. The ghostly figure then reappeared, circling around the man and laughing seductively, causing him to completely lose interest for anything around him except this ghostly woman. As you walked on, you couldn't help but think how ridiculous it was that they would sell things like that to the public. Wasn't it a bit dangerous to let every average Joe and Jane run around controlling people? Then again, not many people bought the vigors. The inventor of them, Jeremiah Fink, claimed that there were still some kinks to be worked out, which didn't really appeal to people who didn't want to become live test subjects.

Another few minutes of walking and you found yourself facing the doors of Comstock Mansion. The massive doors looked much harder to open than they actually were, but nonetheless you grunted slightly as you pushed one open. It slowly swung shut behind you, and the silence of the mansion invaded your ears.

Walking into the reception room, the sheer size of the room, along with the exquisite furniture and priceless paintings, made you feel quite small. You had been working here for seven years, but still, every time you entered the mansion, a sense of foreboding came over you. Shaking it off, you shuffled downstairs and to the basement of the mansion, which held all of the equipment for the maids and butlers. Grabbing your outfit, you changed into the plain green under-dress and the white apron, slipping on the simple flat, black shoes. A benefit to arriving early was not having to worry about getting changed in front of the other maids, which was always quite embarrassing.

As you sat down on one of the chairs provided to the basement, you went over today's plans in your head. Yesterday, you had heard Ms. Dean, the head house-maid, complaining to one of the other parlor maids about the reception room not being clean enough for Father Comstock's presence, so you made a mental note to give that room an extra clean today. Father Comstock had also said that he would be having a special guest over this evening, and maids could never be present when company was over, so that meant you got to leave early today, but it also meant you'd have to work double time to get all of your chores done. It wasn't often you had extra time to yourself, so you resolved to head down to that diner you liked on the way home. Then right after, it was time to get someone to look at that leak in your apartment window before it became a serious problem. Thank god it hadn't rained yet. The storms up in the sky were harsh and violent, so there was no doubt in your mind that rain would be pouring through the leak and destroying your parlor.

While you sat there planning the day, you heard the door at the top of the basement stairs you had come from click open, and the rush of feet as the rest of the staff jostled down the stairs, with Ms. Dean giving orders from the back. It was really quite amusing, how Ms. Dean had them marching like soldiers to the front. She wasn't a mean or unpleasant woman, but she had a stern atmosphere and a tone in her voice that suggested you should follow her direction. She had worked there before you had, and must have been some time in her mid forties, but she was just as lively and hard working as any twenty year old woman.

Looking at you sitting on the chair, she paced over and began talking with you.

"Early again I see, (name). This mansion could use more dedicated workers like you." she said formally, showing one of her rare smiles down to you.

"Yes, Ms.Dean." you answered sheepishly. You didn't want to draw attention to yourself and have the other maids think you were trying to flatter your way up the ranks, but it was nice to be praised every now and then for your flawless punctuality.

"(Name), if I've told you once I've told you a thousand times," she sighed exasperatedly. "We've known each other long enough now for you to refer me by my first name in a private conversation."

Your cheeks blushed as you looked down to the ground. It wasn't that you had forgotten, but it felt so peculiar referring to her by her first name.

"Of course. Sorry, Ellen." you answered, much to her satisfaction.

"Right!" she shouted suddenly. At first you thought it was directed at you and you jumped slightly, but she quickly spun on her heel and addressed all of the other maids simultaneously. "As I'm sure you are all aware, Father Comstock is having over a special guest this evening, and that means that EVERY last maid is to be out of the house before he arrives!"

The maids stood staring at Ms. Dean, expecting her to follow up with something else, but she had already given her orders, and did not enjoy having to spell out things to people.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" she barked. "Get moving!"

Suddenly, the room transformed from one of quiet chatter and fabric rustling to a scene of frantic motion. The maids all dashed around each other, heading up the different stairways that led to the sections of the Mansion they were assigned to. Not one for bumping off other people and being pushed around, you sat in your chair fiddling with your apron until there was only a handful of people left, then promptly got up and jogged up the stairs towards the reception room, your first task for today.

~~~~~~~

As you finished wiping down the mirrors and windows of the Mansion's parlor, your final task for today, you chatted with one of your fellow parlor maids, Josephine, about your own lives. The maids weren't really supposed to talk to each other as you worked, but there were no supervisors to be seen, and you were making good time with your chores.

"He's as charming as he is handsome" she swooned. Josephine had been talking about her latest lover for the past hour, but you didn't mind. It was cute, listening to her describe how charming he was and how nicely he treated her.

"He told me that after work today he's gonna bring me to the carnival, and kiss me right on top of the ferris wheel!" You could hear in her voice how excited she was about the whole ordeal. You simply smiled and kept quiet, rubbing the cloth in your hands in circular motions around a mirror.

"How about you, (name)? You got any special men chasing you round? With a pretty face like yours, it'd be an injustice if you said no!" How kind of her to say that. She was always such a sweet heart. It was hard to remember if she ever said anything bad about anyone. Still, the question caused you to blush a bit. You never really thought about anyone in that way. Yes, there were men you considered handsome, but getting into a relationship really wasn't high up on your list of priorities, even though every girl you knew seemed to act as if it was all they were born to do.

"No, not yet." you answered quietly. Through the reflection of the mirror you were cleaning, you could see Josephine crank her head towards you in shock from her own task. As she opened her mouth to begin one of her speeches about how you deserved a man, you took the opportunity to cut her off.

"It's okay though." you said quickly. "I'm really not looking for any committed relationships at the moment."

Josephine sighed, knowing that no amount of lecturing would change your mind once you've said you don't want a relationship right now.

After a few moments, she spoke up again. "Well, (name), I should get going now." she stated, excitement creeping back into her voice. "Father Comstock's guest will be here soon, and I don't want to be late for my date!" She walked out of the parlor, a spring in her step, and you heard her happy footsteps cross the reception room down to the basement.

After you finished working on the mirror, you gave a quick glance to the fireplace and saw that it was quite dusty. It was Josephine's job to clean it, but she was so caught up in her story that she must have forgotten. 'May as well clean it myself' you thought. 'I wouldn't want Josephine getting in trouble, especially when she's in such a good mood.'

Giving the cloth a quick clean, you started on the fireplace, wiping the dust off and cleaning the cloth intermittently. As you worked, you kept thinking about Josephine describing her lover. Surely being in a relationship isn't that good. The way she talked about him made it seem as though she found no greater joy in her life. You liked your life the way it was. Being alone never bothered you, and you were managing your life just fine without any other influences. Still, maybe it was time to start thinking about your options. You weren't even sure if anyone found you all that attractive.

Halfway through the cleaning of the fireplace, you heard footsteps enter the room. Assuming it was Josephine coming back to apologize for forgetting her chore, you ignored it, and waited for her to start talking.

Your eyes widened in surprise when a male voice called out your name, and you turned to face them. Father Comstock stood in the doorway, his hands behind his back. He was dressed in a fine suit, and his snowy white hair was combed backwards. His long white beard was groomed professionally, likely in anticipation for his guest. As he stepped forward into the room, your mind instantly switched to panic mode.

"Father Comstock." you said nervously, curtseying as you said his name. "Have I stayed here too long? I'm extremely sorry. I got caught up in the cleaning."

You tried to manage a small laugh, but your nerves caused it to get caught in your throat. Something about Comstock's presence just put you off, even though he'd been nothing but kind to you as long as you could remember.

Seeing your panicked state, Comstock gave a low chuckle, and stepped towards you.

"It's quite alright, child." he said calmly. "My guest is not due for another half hour. I simply wished to speak with you once you were alone."

"What is it you wish to discuss, Father Comstock?" you asked tentatively. How peculiar of him to come down instead of summoning you. As you asked this, he took an object from behind his back into his left hand, and presented to you a brown leather satchel with a long shoulder strap. One could tell just by looking at it that it was quite expensive, definitely from a high class leather worker.

"Take it." he said gently. "A small gift from me to you, my favourite maid."

Taking the satchel from his hands, you slipped the strap around your shoulder. The pouch rested comfortably at your hip. it didn't look very good with your maid outfit, but you were certain it would look quite fetching with your regular attire.

"Father Comstock..." you whispered. "It's gorgeous. Thank you very much." You curtseyed again. Had he forgotten that he already gave you your annual gift? It was probably best not to mention it. That would be rude.

Comstock smiled again, moving closer to you and adjusting the strap, which had become twisted without your notice once you donned it.

"A gorgeous satchel for a gorgeous young woman." he cooed. "But what's a container without something to contain?" he asked slyly. Upon saying this, he held out another object in his right hand, but this time, it was not a simple piece of clothing.

In his hand, Father Comstock held out a pistol to you.

Chapter Text

Staring down at the weapon in Comstock's hand, a wave of confusion and mess of questions washed over you.

You tried to choke up a few of these questions, but in your stunned state all you could manage was a splutter of vowels.

"Take it." Comstock repeated, a little more commanding this time. He did not seem to notice your frozen state, or if he did, he didn't bother acknowledging it.

Still you stared, despite his order, and so he pulled up your free hand himself and placed the weapon into it. It didn't look like any of the guns you had seen Columbian authorities wielding before.

"(Name)." he said solemnly, drawing your attention away from the pistol. This time, his voice was devoid of any of the gentleness or comfort it had had moments ago. It was an authoritative tone, like one you'd give to a soldier about to face the front lines. Your eyes met his, and you suddenly saw that they too had changed from caring and gentle to hard and serious.

"(Name), I give this to you in the hopes that you will know what to do what it when the time comes. As a true Columbian citizen, I'm sure you will have no problem fulfilling my hopes."

This single sentence answered one question, but gave way to uncountable others. What was going to happen? Did Father Comstock know what it was and when it would happen? If so, why doesn't he just tell you? These questions and more assaulted your brain relentlessly, like people shoving to be first in line at a store opening.

You opened your mouth to form a sentence, but before you could begin, Comstock placed his hand on your back and gave you a push towards the reception room.

"Run along now." he ordered. "My guest will be here soon."

Finally, you managed to break yourself out of the stunned state you had been in, and carefully slid the weapon into your satchel, closing it tightly by the two silver buckles. As you walked towards the basement stairs, you took a moment to truly appreciate how insane what had just happened was. Comstock handing you a beautiful satchel out of the blue, and then suddenly giving you a pistol, saying you'll know what to do when the time comes? You were fairly certain you weren't dreaming, but to be sure, you gave yourself a small pinch on the arm. Nothing.

Opening the door to the basement and stepping down the staircase, you felt the pistol in your satchel bang against your hip with each step. It was heavier than you thought it would be, but then you didn't really know anything about guns. Finally, you reached the empty basement, and strode over to where you had left your regular clothes. As you began untying your apron, A female voice suddenly spoke up from behind you, causing you to flinch in surprise and turn to them.

"What a situation she finds herself in." said the woman. She was dressed quite formally, wearing a white shirt which was covered with a green tie and brown vest. Her tan coat stopped just below her hipline, where a brown skirt fell to her ankles. Her feet bore simple high heels and white socks. She looked awfully familiar, but you couldn't quite recall who she was.

"Found, finds, will find." stated a man beside her. He was dressed almost identically to the woman, though his tan coat was buttoned, and he wore brown slacks in place of her skirt.

"How do you suppose it will play out this time?" questioned the woman.

Once again, you found yourself in a stunned silence. Were they talking about you? Why were they in the basement, and how did they even get there without being stopped and re directed by anyone else? The only conclusion you could muster was that they were here to speak to Father Comstock, and must have gotten lost somehow, although it was never mentioned that there would be more than one guest.

Before the man could respond to her question, you spoke up.

"Excuse me," you started as politely as you could. The last thing you wanted to do was offend any visitors Father Comstock had. "I believe you've gotten lost. If you would please follow me, I can lead you to Father Comstock."

"That's exactly what she said last time." said the man, quite despondently. "I fear this timeline will play out no differently to the last."

"Now, now," responded the woman. "Just because one variable remained the same does not mean the rest will."

"I suppose you're right." came the answer. The pair seemed to have completely ignored your request, and as they talked, you turned to set your satchel down on your own clothes.

After placing it down carefully, you turned to try catch their attention again, only to find they had disappeared altogether.

"What on earth?" you mumbled to yourself. How could they have left so quickly? You could hear no feet on any of the staircases, and even after waiting for a few moments, no sound of an opening or closing door. Normally, you would travel around the mansion seeking the pair, but there was just so many things on your mind today that you decided to leave it up to themselves. If they did end up finding Comstock, you could get in a lot of trouble for walking in on them, especially after being told to leave before they arrived.

Untying your apron and slipping out of the maid's outfit, you neatly folded them and set them in one of the wooden presses on the walls, before throwing on your regular attire. As you ducked under the satchel's strap, you tried to forget about the weapon you now held on your person. If whatever was coming up was truly dangerous to you, Father Comstock surely would have given you a more specific warning, right? Maybe it wasn't even going to be you in danger, the possibilities were endless.

Walking back up to the reception room, those two people from the basement suddenly came back onto your mind. If they were indeed here for Father Comstock, then they'd probably already found him, and that meant you were supposed to be gone. Closing the door behind you quietly, you tiptoed across the reception room as quietly as you could, quite a challenge on the tiled floor. Thankfully, no one stopped you, and, with another grunt, you pulled open one of the huge doors and slipped outside. It was still bright outside, which was a strange occurrence, as you normally didn't get off work until it had already become quite dark. Going over your plans for today again in your head, you decided the next stop was to the diner on the way home. All of today's bizarre events, as well as the working twice as hard to get your jobs done, had left you famished.

As you headed for the diner, you kept an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. The whole situation with Father Comstock and the firearm had put you on edge, much to your dismay. You wanted to forget about the whole thing and just enjoy your day off, but you knew your curiosity would keep gnawing at you until you found out what it was all about. Nothing stood out too much. There were a few people running about excitedly, but that was just down to the carnival. Walking past the raffle stage, you were temporarily confused as to why nobody was present, until remembering that you had been let off early today. Normally on your way home they would be just beginning the number calling, but as of that moment it was completely desolate.

At last, you found yourself outside the diner. As you opened the door to step inside, the delicious smells left your mouth watering. You could already taste the food you wanted. Taking a seat in a booth by the window, you relaxed onto the cushioned back and listened to the sighing as the air leaked out. When you were little, you had always believed that the upholstery was so soft it would have to have been filled with clouds. You took a casual glance outside the window, and saw two familiar people walking towards the diner. The two men from outside your apartment earlier. Groaning, you pulled the menu up to your face and tried to hide behind it. With all that had happened today, the last thing you needed was these guys 'flirting' with you, if that's even what that could have been called.

Unfortunately, luck was not on your side. As soon as the two men entered the diner, they sauntered right up to you, and smiled down towards you.

"Well, well." drawled the larger man. "If it isn't Little Miss Run Away." You groaned frustratedly as he began speaking to you.

"Hey now, no need for the attitude." chided the smaller man. "Don'cha know love always finds a way?"

"I can assure you that I haven't the slightest interest in either of you, love or otherwise." you retorted. These two were really putting you out of your good mood.

By now, the people closest to you had taken notice of your situation, and some of them began shifting around or clearing their throats awkwardly.

"Why not, sweetheart? I'll have you know I've been told many times that I'm quite handsome." bragged the larger man. As he said this, he took the opportunity to flex his left arm. He seemed to love himself more than anyone else ever could.

"By whom? Your mother?" you asked innocently. This gained a few snickers from those who could hear you at the diner, much to the anger of the man. You knew it was wrong to aggravate him in this way, but it felt so good.

"Listen here, you little whore!" he hissed, gripping onto your arm like a vice. There goes that temper again. His grip on your arm hurt quite a bit, but you were determined to look him in the eye defiantly and not let it show.

Before he could continue, the owner of the diner came up behind him, and took a grip of his own on the man's shoulder. The owner himself was twice the size of the arrogant man, but everyone knew he wouldn't hurt a fly. Still, it came in handy for scaring off undesirables.

"We don't tolerate that kind of behavior here." he boomed. "So leave now, before this has to get ugly." The fear in the men's eyes was quite an amusing sight to behold, and he shakily nodded his head.

Both of the men walked out sheepishly while the owner stared on as if he was ready to take chase at any moment. As soon as they were out of eyesight, he turned to you, and his eyes became gentle and caring. He asked if you were alright, and offered to take a look at your arm.

"Really, I'm fine." you answered calmly. "Thank you for getting rid of them for me." You were grateful for his assistance and kindness, but you really just wanted everyone to stop looking at you. Putting on a smile and picking back up your menu so you looked as fine as you claimed to be, you grimaced in pain as soon as everyone had turned their attention back away. Your arm did hurt quite a bit, but you were sure it would wear off after a while. Hopefully it wouldn't bruise, but you couldn't be sure until you checked it.

Inspecting your menu again, you decided what you wanted and waited calmly until the waitress came over to you. It was quite busy today, with people wanting to come down and fill up before the carnival started. Many couples sat around, obviously on some sort of dates. Many of them sat hand in hand, or fed each other food. You wondered if Josephine and her partner were here, but didn't go to look, as the diner was getting quite full and you didn't want to lose your seat. To your dismay, you noticed that in comparison to the lovers and groups of friends that littered the diner, you stood out quite clearly as the only one sitting by them self. You felt your cheeks heat up at this fact, and looked down, fiddling at your skirt to avoid making eye contact with any pitiful diners. Your satchel caught your eye as you were looking down, and suddenly a thought dawned on you.

Surely Father Comstock hadn't meant for you to use the gun on those two men? Yes, they were annoying, but that seemed like a bit of a drastic measure. Thinking back to what he said, you remembered him mentioning that you would know when to use it, as a "True Columbian citizen". What did that even mean? Honestly, you didn't consider yourself a 'true' Columbian citizen. Yes, you had been raised here your entire life, and yes, you did admire the city, for the most part. But you were not like everyone else. Where they saw amusement in dehumanizing and murdering the colored people, you saw cruelty and injustice. Where they followed Comstock as an infallible religious figure, you felt at unease around him, and disagreed with many of the choices he made. It was all so very off putting and confusing, but, for the most part, you were certain that those two men were not who he had in mind.

With your eyes fixed on the satchel and your thoughts elsewhere, you didn't even notice him walking up to you until he was less than an arm's reach away.

"Excuse me," he started. You jumped slightly as you were abruptly pulled from your thoughts. Looking up at the speaker, you were surprised to see that it was the same man from your apartment building, the one you had bumped into on the way out this morning.

He smiled apologetically and looked you in the eye. "Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. Would you mind if I sat in here? All of the other booths are full."

"No, no, of course I don't- no, you can, it's-....Go ahead." you stammered quickly. Once again, you felt your cheeks flare with heat from your embarrassment. Something about this man made you feel weak all over. You put it down to your nerves from carrying the pistol around with you, and your former embarrassment at being the only lone diner in the building. Hopefully he wouldn't think you were weird or out of your mind.

Giving you a gracious smile, he slid into the booth let out an exhausted sigh. "Thanks." he sighed. "I hope you weren't expecting anyone."

"No really, it's fine." you responded. "There's no one coming."

Nodding, he held out a hand across the table to you, the same hand he had used to pull you up earlier.

"Name's Booker DeWitt. Call me Booker." he said.

After hesitating a moment, you locked your own hand in his and gave it a shake. His hand was strong and firm, but gentle at the same time. As he took a hold of your own to shake it, he looked you in the eye and gave you a genuine smile.

"(Firstname) (Lastname)" you replied, returning the smile.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. (Lastname)."

"Likewise, but please, call me (First name)."

"You got it."

After the brief introduction, a silence began to form. It was hard to strike up a conversation with somebody when you didn't know anything about them, you reflected. Booker picked up a menu while you tried to think of something to say.

"So, what were you doing in the apartment building earlier?" you asked casually. Then, not wanting to be rude, you added "If you don't mind me asking."

"Oh yeah, that." he said, a troubled look crossing his face. "I've been try'na find a place to stay for now. I'm here on a.." he hesitated for a moment. "Business trip."

"Oh? How did it go?" you questioned. Why did he hesitate before saying that? You tried to think of a list of businesses that would actually require someone to go up into a floating city for a while. He wasn't dressed in a suit, so it probably wasn't too official, but then he couldn't be expected to go around everywhere in a suit, could he?

"Not too well. Who'da thought living in the sky would cost so damn much?" he joked, giving you a wry smile.

Although you laughed lightly, you couldn't help but feel concerned for him. The Columbian authorities did not look kindly on those who were homeless, and you hated to think of someone so amiable being bothered by the police. Before you could ask if he had anywhere else to go, the waitress came up to your table and politely requested your orders. After giving yours to her, you waited for Booker to do the same before talking to him again. In the half hour you talked, you learned quite a bit about him. He came from New York, and he was 38 years old. He had worked for some security force on the ground called 'Pinkerton's', though you had never heard of it. He also spoke of his part in the Wounded Knee Massacre of 1890. As he described his actions, you were truly horrified at all of the actions he described. More than once, he had to stop for a moment and calm himself to continue. You considered abandoning him as soon as this was over, not wanting anyone so violent in your life, but you could see in his face how regretful he was for his actions. He even branded his hand with the initials 'W.K' so that he would never forget what he had done. Or at least that's why he said the marks were there. Once he was finished, he asked for your own life story.

Thinking over your life, you decided it was best to go from the start. When you came to the part about your parent's murder, you appreciated the pity you could see in Booker's eyes. He genuinely seemed to care about you. Finishing up your story, you came to realize that this was the first time you had ever fully described your life to anyone. It felt nice to have someone so close to you that you were comfortable discussing such things with them. You had other friends, of course, but the ones from your childhood had been provided through Comstock, and your current ones, although you did admire them dearly, were only introduced to you through your job. Booker was the first friend you had truly earned all by yourself, and it felt amazing to acknowledge that.

"Hold on." Booker mumbled after you had finished. "So you're really that close to Comstock?" There was a sense of disbelief in his voice.

"Yeah, I guess." you responded, confused. You really didn't see it as that big of a deal. "You should call him Father Comstock, though. He's quite revered around here, and some people might see it as rude if you didn't refer to him correctly." You considered adding that although you were close to Comstock, you were never really comfortable being around him. Eventually you decided against it. Speaking ill of The Prophet was sure to gain a few nasty looks from some of the diners.

Booker froze for a moment, seemingly deep in thought, but eventually looked back up to you, giving another smile.

"Sorry, (Firstname), but I should get going now, gotta find a place to stay before it gets dark."

You could swear you felt your heart shrivel. You didn't want him to leave. You didn't know when you might see him again, it could be never. Frantically searching your brain for excuses to make him stay, you could only watch as he got up from his seat and dropped some silver eagles on the table for the meal.

"I'll see you later, (Firstname)." he said. God, you hoped so.

Still rummaging for excuses, all you could manage was a quiet "Bye." as he walked out. Once the door clicked shut behind him, you fell back on your chair and sighed. It would have been nice to leave with him, but it would probably come across as a bit too convenient if you had to leave exactly when he did. The waitress from earlier waltzed up to your table and smiled knowingly down at you, picking up the silver eagles Booker had left. You were so busy looking for something to say to Booker that you had forgotten to leave out some money. Rummaging through your satchel, you body froze when you remembered that you hadn't even brought your purse today. You hadn't planned to come to the diner before you left your apartment, so you had just left it on your nightstand. Cursing under your breath, you looked up to the woman and started trying to convince her that you'd go to your apartment and come straight back with the money. Your voice shook as you talked. What was the consequence for not paying your bills? You had no idea. A night in the cells? A week? A public humiliation?

The entire time you were giving your excuse the waitress looked down at you confused, and when you finished, she spoke up herself.

"Honey, I have no idea what you're so flustered about. Your bills been paid for. The handsome gentleman that sat across from you paid all of it." After finishing her sentence, she turned and walked off, busy with other customers.

As immense relief washed over you, you mentally thanked Booker for paying the whole bill. You also couldn't understand why he would do it. Yes, you were friends now, but you had only known each other for a day, and if he was struggling so much to find somewhere to stay why would he squander his money even further? You resolved to go out and find Booker, and offer to let him stay in your apartment. You hated owing debts to people, and it was the least you could do for him for potentially saving you from time in the cells. Sliding out of the booth and fixing your satchel around your shoulder once more, you headed for the door and stepped out into the warm air. 'Now, where to look first?' you wondered. From here, you could go left or right, and when Booker left you were too absorbed in your own thoughts to check which direction he took.

Looking around, you heard a noise like the scuffle of feet from a small alley to your right. It led to the side door of the diner where they took out the garbage so that customers wouldn't be put off their food. Hoping it wasn't Booker being reduced to sleeping in an alley, you cautiously stepped over and called his name down. When you didn't receive an answer, you stepped further in. A large dumpster blocked some of your vision, so you went to step around it for a better view, but suddenly rough hands grabbed you and forced you against the wall behind the dumpster.

"Hold still, bitch." snarled a male voice. Your entire body shot into panic mode, and you frantically began pushing at the aggressor, but to little avail. He was much larger than you. Through your constant struggling, his fingers managed to find their way to your shirt, and tear off 2 of the buttons around your breast area. A sick laugh of triumph escaped his lips, and you could smell the alcohol on his breath. Those fingers dived in again, aiming to tear off more buttons, but you managed to get a hand free and slash his face with your nails, drawing blood and causing him to lurch back in pain. While he drew back in anguish, you managed to get a good look at his face. It was the larger of the two from the diner that had harassed you earlier. The pure fury that showed on his face gave you chills.

Despite having a few seconds to do something, you found yourself glued to the spot. Never in your life had you been in a fight, and you were certainly not prepared to cope with it. You begged your body to move, to do anything, but still you didn't move. Then, through the mixture of panic and confusion that invaded your brain, one rational thought finally managed to break through. The pistol. Snapping your hands to the satchel, you tried to undo the latches, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins left your fingers hopelessly missing and slipping from the leather. By the time you had one of them undone, it was too late. The man barreled into you, slamming you against the wall and causing you to cry out when your head smacked concrete. Again, his fingers assaulted you, but this time they slid passed your shirt and into your skirt, trying to undo the hooks that held it together. Looking into his wild eyes and smelling copper from the blood on his face, you wanted to scream. The only thing left to do was try to alert anyone who might happen to be walking nearby. He was far too strong for you to push off, and he wouldn't let you get another free shot at his face any time soon. As you opened your mouth to cry out, he stopped you before you could make a sound, cracking your head against the wall again, which caused the breath to hitch in your throat. This was it. You had no more options left, but you were determined not to make it easy for him. Thrashing about as much as you could, you felt one of your skirt's hooks release its grip, and you shut your eyes.

Then suddenly the weight shifted from your body. You briefly wondered if you had died, and opened an eye to check, but this was no afterlife. Blinking rapidly, you realized you had been crying, and quickly wiped a hand across your eyes to clear your vision. The man lay on the ground. He wasn't moving, and he wouldn't be any time soon with whoever stood over him repeatedly bashing something against his head. When you finally came back to your senses, you realized who your guardian angel was.

You watched as Booker repeatedly smashed the man's head. Blood was covering the ground and the man had already stopped moving, but still he didn't stop.

"Booker!" you cried hoarsely. "Booker, that's enough! Stop!" Upon hearing your voice, Booker snapped his head towards you and ran up, placing one hand on each of your shoulders and staring into your eyes.

"(Firstname).." he started. But instead of finishing his sentence, he pulled you close into a hug. You wanted to question why he was here, how he knew where to look for you, but before either of you could say another word, a voice called out from the alley's entrance.

"What the fuck is going on here?!" bellowed a police officer. He stood with a pistol in his hand, and his partner beside him followed suit.

Running up to the lifeless corpse on the floor, the officers didn't have to check his pulse to pronounce him dead. The officer who had spoken whipped around and aimed his pistol at Booker, while his partner aimed at you.

"You have five seconds to explain to me what is going on before you both find yourselves in the same position he is in!" he barked, jerking his head in reference to the corpse. From where you stood you could see the name on his badge. Officer Carson.

Booker started to explain what was going on, but Carson's partner interrupted by moving over to the policeman and nudging his arm, staring pointedly at you. At first, Officer Carson did not understand, but examining you more closely, a look of comprehension dawned his face, and he holstered his pistol, as did his partner.

"Yeah. Yeah, I remember." stated Carson to his partner, who had been whispering to him.

While they holstered their weaponry, the diner's side door opened to reveal the owner, who was curious about all the commotion. He only looked momentarily shocked until he realized who the body was.

"In the end, people always get what they deserve." he muttered. He seemed impossibly calm for someone who had just opened a door to the scene he did.

"Look, you two." boomed Officer Carson, returning your attention to him. "Get out of my sight. I don't want to see either of your faces again for the rest of the week."

You couldn't understand what was going on. Why were you being let off the hook? What had they been whispering about? You gave a glance up to Booker, who still held you close protectively, but he looked just as bewildered as you were.

The diner's owner called out to both of you, and beckoned you to come inside, which you both accepted graciously.

"Let's get you both cleaned up." he said gently.

~~~~~~

After a while, you were as clean as an employee's bathroom sink could get you, but Booker insisted that he was fine. You had spent the last half hour telling the same story to shocked waitresses over and over again. You were still a bit shaken from the events, but the adrenaline had worn off a long time ago. You thanked your lucky stars that things hadn't gone further than they did. Another minute with that man and the whole night might have played out a lot differently, with the difference being you as the one lying dead on the ground of an alley.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Booker asked for the hundredth time as you left the diner.

"Yes, Booker, I'm sure." you groaned exasperatedly. "If I wasn't you would know." It was nice to see him care for your well being, but it was getting tiresome answering him over and over. You suddenly remembered your intention to give Booker a place to stay. With all that had happened it completely slipped your mind. Now that he had saved your life, you owed Booker a debt you know you could never fully repay, but you were determined to try.

"Look.." you started, causing Booker to turn his attention to you.

"If you still don't have a place to stay.." you fiddled with the hairpin one of the waitresses had given you to hold your shirt together again, looking down at the ground. Booker's eyebrows raised in question as you talked.

"You could come to my apartment. I don't have a guest room, but I have a pretty comfortable sofa that you could rest on." Your nerves gripped at you again. What if he said no? Would he think you were being desperate for company?

Booker smiled appreciatively.

"Yeah, that'd be perfect, (Firstname). Thanks."

A smile you couldn't stop spread across your lips.

It began to grow dark as you headed towards your apartment building. Few people remained at the carnival, all that were left were those out on afternoon dates. As you walked through the street which held all of the vigor vendors, a man walked up to the two of you and held out a small flier.

"Beware the Chaos Herald!" he bellowed. "You will know him by his mark!"

Not wanting him to ruin your happiness, you quickly grabbed the flier from him and crumpled it into your satchel, dismissively thanking him. He ran off to annoy other people trying to enjoy their afternoon strolls.

"Chaos Herald?" Booker questioned suspiciously. "What's that?"

"Oh, it's nothing really." you replied, waving a hand in the air to show your disinterest.

"Well, I'll take your word for it." He sounded like he had already lost interest.

Coming to the end of the street, you saw the carnival's ferris wheel through a gap in two buildings, and remembered what Josephine had been talking about earlier that day. You smiled to yourself as you imagined her reaction tomorrow once she heard your news.

A few minutes later, you finally reached your apartment building, and walked inside with Booker. Mr. Jameson immediately walked up and started talking to Booker, an angry look on his face.

"Look, I have already told you that we don't have any rooms for the amount of silver eagles you are offering." he lectured. "Now please leave before I am forced to call the authorities on the matter!"

"Oh no, Mr. Jameson. It's alright. He's with me." you said nervously. What was with the sudden anger? Mr. Jameson never acted like this.

Mr. Jameson hummed angrily, and walked back behind the reception desk. You and Booker walked on, heading for the staircase.

"What was that all about?" you asked.

"We had a bit of a... disagreement after you left earlier." Booker responded. You could hear slight amusement in his voice.

Taking your key out of your skirt pocket, you unlocked the door and opened it, walking inside and closing it again once Booker had entered. You placed the key and your satchel on the small wooden table in your parlor before turning back to Booker as he spoke.

"Nice place you got here." he said, standing awkwardly in the middle of the parlor and scratching the back of his neck. Nobody had ever complimented your apartment before. But then, you had never had company over before.

"Thanks." you responded shyly. "Here." you said quickly, not wanting another awkward silence to form. You walked over to the sofa and patted your hand on the armrest. "This is where you'll sleep. You can stay here as long as you need to. My job provides enough money for two people to live off of anyway. If you want to get washed up, there's a bath and a shower in the bathroom down the hall. You can use whichever you prefer. Towels are in the room next to it."

Booker looked you in the eye once you finished speaking. Every time he looked you straight in the eye, this feeling kept growing inside your chest that died as soon as he looked away. It felt like a mass of butterflies were fluttering about inside you, but in a good way. You put it down to Booker being the first person you had ever felt so close to.

"Thank you, (Firstname). Really, I appreciate it."

He acted like he wanted to say more, but decided against it, instead, he turned and headed down the hallway. You heard him take a few towels and walk into the bathroom.

Once Booker was out of your presence, your exhaustion hit you like a bag of bricks. You just wanted to get some rest as soon as possible, so you walked down the hallway and called out towards the bathroom.

"Booker, I'm going to catch some sleep now, but feel free to stay up as long as you need."

"Alright." he called back over the noise of the shower. You considered saying goodnight, but perhaps that was a little over the top.

You walked down to your bedroom and threw your satchel on the bed, changing into your nightclothes before throwing the ones you had worn all day to the side. You simply didn't have the energy to store them away neatly. Before you tried to fall asleep though, you opened the satchel, and carefully took out the pistol Comstock had given you. Did he truly mean for you to shoot that man in the alley? If he knew it was going to happen, why couldn't he have told you? Either way, it was all over now. You closed your eyes, silently thanking Booker again for arriving when he did. You were never going to get that pistol out of your satchel with the state you were in. Carefully sliding the pistol back in, you noticed the crumpled up flier that the man had given you earlier at the carnival. You didn't really believe any single man, even if he was a 'Chaos Herald', could stand against all of Columbia's authorities and come out on top, and then destroy the rest of the city to boot. Nevertheless, curiosity got the best of you and you re-opened the flier, giving it a quick glance over. Going to stuff it back into your satchel, your entire body froze with fear as you brain caught up with what you just saw. You must be mistaken, must have just looked at it too quickly.

Reading over the flier again, more carefully, you realized you had read it right. On the flier, it read in large print, 'BEWARE THE CHAOS HERALD. HE SEEKS ONLY TO DESTROY OUR CITY AND MURDER OUR PEOPLE. YOU WILL KNOW HIM BY HIS MARK.'

Below it, a drawing of a blackened, clawed hand with the initials 'W.K' carved into it stared up at you.

Chapter Text

'No. No, this isn't right. It can't be right.' you thought desperately to yourself. The world outside your field of vision seemed to darken, and a high pitched ringing noise invaded your ears. You stared at the flier for what felt like days, and you tried to convince yourself that this wasn't real. Maybe you fell asleep and only dreamed about opening your satchel. Pinching your arms until your skin felt raw, you clasped a hand over your mouth to stop yourself crying out in sorrow. You threw the paper onto the bed and tossed your satchel along with it, starting for the bathroom to splash water on your face. Then, over the ringing in your ears, the sound of the shower suddenly reminded you weren't alone. In case you weren't dreaming, you didn't want to walk straight in on him showering, so you quickly spun on your heel and headed towards the kitchen instead.

Letting the cold water run, you splashed it against your face, begging to wake up and release yourself from this nightmare. Again and again you let the cold water chill you to the bone, determined to wake up, but after many tries, it was time to accept it. You were awake, and this was real. You leaned against the counter and took up a towel to wipe it carelessly around your face. With all the cold water from the taps soaking your face, you hadn't noticed that you began crying again. The warm tears felt peculiar in contrast to your chilled skin. You sat there trying to make sense of it all, when suddenly his voice called out to you. You hadn't even heard the shower stop over the sound of water splashing against your face.

"Oh. Hey, (Firstname). I thought you had gone to bed." said Booker. You could hear a tinge of concern in his voice.

You kept the towel up against your face to hide your tears, and remained silent towards his statement. You didn't trust your voice not to give away your state, and if he noticed you were upset he'd try to make you explain what was wrong. How could you explain a situation to him you barely understood yourself?

"Is everything alright?" he questioned cautiously. He obviously knew something was up, because you heard his footsteps approaching you.

Before he could reach you, you nodded quickly and turned away, facing the wall again. You could try to disguise your voice, but your face would be a dead giveaway.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine Booker." you answered. Your voice did shake a bit, but for the most part it sounded pretty normal. "I just needed to clean my face up a bit, and you were in the bathroom so.."

"Oh, I see." mumbled Booker. "Sorry if I was taking a while."

You heard his footsteps move to your left, and you wondered why he would be headed for the parlor, but then you remembered that he was sleeping on the couch. Why was the universe trying so hard to make today difficult for you?

You wiped your face with the towel again, slowly turning so as to try make it less obvious that you were desperate to leave. Finishing this, you quickly moved towards the hallway, but his voice stopped you dead in your tracks.

"(Firstname).." he called after you. You could tell by the tone of his voice that he wanted to follow it with something serious, but he relented with a sigh and simply said "Good night."

Releasing the tension you had built up when you heard your name, you let out an exhausted sigh of your own.

"You too, Booker."

You headed for your room and sat back down on your bed, utterly clueless as to what you should do next. You went through today's series of events in your head, and tried to form some sort of comprehension of them.

First, those two men harassed you when you left your apartment. You shuddered as you remembered the larger one's lifeless body, and briefly wondered where his companion was.

Later on, Comstock gave you the pistol and told you that you'd know when to use it. Then you headed to the diner, and ended up meeting Booker. After that, the man assaulted you in the alley. On the way back, you were handed this flier that was causing you so much grief. Finally, you reached your home, and now you found yourself in this situation. You tried to convince yourself that you didn't know what the pistol was for, but it was so painfully obvious. Comstock wanted you to shoot Booker, the so called 'Chaos Herald', and save the city from ruin. But how could you kill a man who had saved your life that very same day? And even if you did want to kill him, there's no way you could pull it off. He was twice your size, and you had never even shot a gun before. You would probably miss if you had it pressed against his head. The part of this situation that was hardest to understand was how Booker could possibly be this 'Chaos Herald' Comstock had prophesied. Even if he hadn't saved your life, he didn't come across as someone capable of such a merciless feat. Yes, he seemed a bit rough around the edges, and his past was nothing to celebrate, but you just couldn't imagine him destroying an entire city for absolutely no reason. The only time you had even seen him be violent was in the alley, and that was for a just cause. The rest of the time, he was quite charming.

In the end, you decided the best thing to do was go to sleep and think back over it in the morning when you had a clear head.

~~~~

That night, your sleep was plagued with nightmares. One by one they came at you, like wild animals, trying to tear you apart, to break you.

In one of your dreams, you stood alone amongst the ruins of Columbia. The sky was dyed an unnatural red, and dark clouds roared with thunder. All of the buildings that surrounded you were reduced to rubble. The ashes on the ground were disturbed by the howling wind, causing them to fly up in the air before setting around you again. In the distance, there were sounds of gunfire and yelling, the sounds of a war. You walked through the city, searching for any signs of life you could find, but there was nothing. No matter how close you moved to the sounds of the battle, they always seemed to be just around the next corner. Various pieces of paper flitted by in the wind, and you snagged a charred newspaper from mid air, scanning over its contents. 'Chaos Herald begins his reign of terror, 70+ found dead in killing spree.' the title read. This paper was from 3 days ago. Desperate for answers, you read through the rest of the page, which contained various interviews with the families of the dead. 'If only someone could have put an end this before it even began..' read one source. The rest of it was too burned to read, so you let it go again, and continued your search for life. You passed through an alley, and noticed someone had written on the walls. The strong smell of copper and the dripping letters could only mean that it was written in blood. Leaning against the opposite wall to get a better look, you scanned over the words. One of them read 'Bitch', while the other read 'Traitor'. Even though you had no clue what was going on, it didn't take much to figure who they spoke about. An ice cold hand latched onto your arm, and you tried to step back, but you could feel the cold seeping into your own body, and rendering your limbs stiff. Looking down at the hand's owner, you saw Comstock staring up at you from where he lay on the ground. His clothes were tattered and filthy, and he looked like he hadn't eaten in years. His mouth opened, and undecipherable words spilled out. As you tried to understand, the piercing cold seeped into your head, and your vision slowly darkened until there was nothing.

Another nightmare placed you back in the alley outside the diner from earlier. You stood at the entrance, looking for Booker again. Although you knew he was not there, you couldn't stop your body as it moved itself towards the dumpster, going to check behind it. Again those rough hands grabbed you and forced you against the wall. Everything played out the exact same way it did last time. You slashed his face, and fumbled with your satchel trying to retrieve your pistol. He forced you up against the wall again, and got one of your skirt hooks undone. But this time, there was no guardian angel to save you. As the man continued trying to open your skirt, you snapped your head towards the alley's entrance. He stood there, but he didn't move, he just stared at you indifferently.

"Booker!" you screamed. "Booker, help me!"

"Why?" came the response. As he talked, he looked at you dead in the eye, and you could see no emotion on his face. "So you can shoot me later?"

You begged until your voice was hoarse, but still he just watched. After a while, he started repeating your name over and over, louder with each repetition. Still he didn't make a move to help, so you decided that the only one that was going to save you right now was yourself. You set to work at prying the man off you, but no matter what you did, he did not stop his assault. Finally, those two last hooks came loose, and you felt your skirt slip off of your waist, much to the delight of your attacker. When the skirt hit the ground, a deafening roar of glass smashing met your ears, and you clamped your eyes shut, not wanting to see what came next.

You woke up screaming. Cold sweat drenched every last inch of your body, and your breathing was shallow and quick. After a few moments, you turned to see Booker hunkered beside your bed. He looked extremely worried. It took every last bit of your willpower not to scream in his face and push him away.

"(Firstname), are you okay?!" his voice was frantic. "I've been try'na wake you up for ten goddamn minutes!"

You just stared at him with wide eyes. The adrenaline in your system quickly wore off, and you began to shiver with the sweat that still clung to you. You wanted to say something, but the images from your dreams kept flashing up and cutting you off. You gave up trying to answer him and quickly got up off your bed, grabbing a set of clothes and heading straight for the bathroom, taking a quick glance at the clock on your nightstand. 4:30 AM. He called out your name again, quieter this time, but you couldn't find it in you to face him. Not yet.

Quickly closing the door behind you, you threw your clothes on the soap stand and turned to the mirror. The nightmares had really taken a toll on you. You looked withered and beaten. Your (eyecolour) eyes still shone red from tears, and your (haircolour) hair stuck out at strange angles. Turning back to the other side of the room, you rummaged through the soap stand and pulled about some more scented liquids. They would help to calm you down, and make your life feel a little more normal again.

You set the taps to full blast, and sat on the bath's edge. Only once your breathing returned to normal did you let yourself think over the situation again. You only had two choices here. One, you could not try to kill Booker. You would just leave him be and see what happens. What if he didn't do anything? He might just live out the rest of his 'Business Trip' as a normal person and go on home, no harm done. You still couldn't imagine him doing those horrible things Comstock foretold, despite those awful dreams. After all, they were only a product of your own subconscious. And Comstock, how would he react to all this? He had put his trust in you to deal with this 'Chaos Herald'. What would he do when he found out you didn't kill Booker? A small part of you didn't want to let him down. He had saved you as a child, or at least that's what he said, but he had definitely raised you and provided you with a job to live off of. Even though you disagreed with a lot of the choices he made and still weren't quite sure what to think of him, you couldn't deny that he was basically your foster father.

Your other choice was to shoot Booker, if you could actually manage to pull it off. If you did kill him, then it would definitely prevent the chaos he would bring, if he did turn out to be this 'Chaos Herald'. But what if he didn't? Not only would you be shooting an innocent man, you'd be shooting the man who saved your life. You'd be shooting your first true friend, the first one you had ever really earned for yourself. Last night's nightmare came back to mind. If you did shoot him, he would have been better off just leaving you to die in that alley. But he didn't. You couldn't kill Booker. You just couldn't. There had to be a way to please both parties. Maybe you could convince Comstock that Booker was a good person. His religious fanaticism meant it would be difficult, but you were determined to give it a try. Yes, you would convince Comstock that Booker wasn't evil. It was the right thing to do.

Satisfied with your decision, you turned to the bath, which had just finished. You turned off the taps and threw off your nightclothes, sinking into the warm water. Your muscles, which were tense from your nightmares, relaxed considerably, and you could feel the sweat disappearing as it met the bath water. The calming fragrance of the soaps did wonders for your nerves, and you sighed, sinking further into the bliss. Getting up earlier than usual, even if it was not your intention, meant you had much more time to allow yourself to relax. With all the bad things plaguing you that morning, it was nice to find something positive to focus on.

Booker came back onto your mind, and you sat up worriedly. Was he still sitting in your bedroom? He might knock on the door any moment and ask if you were alright. You cast an apprehensive glance towards the door, but banished the thought from your mind. That would be a bit over the top. He probably just went back to the parlor and sat down. The concerned expression you saw on his face when you first woke up only solidified the fact that he was a good person. He didn't have to try wake you up from your nightmare, but he did. Your face twisted into one of concentration when you considered what you were going to say to him once you were out. How were you going to explain to him what he just saw, or how you acted? 'Hey Booker.' you thought. 'Sorry about waking you up with my screaming. I'm just gonna go tell the most powerful man in Columbia that you're a good person so he won't have you killed. See you later.' Smiling wryly, you leaned against the back of the bath with a huff. If only things were that easy.

Another few minutes passed, and you forced yourself to get out and go do what needed to be done. After dressing yourself and letting out the water, you walked back to your bedroom to find it empty. You walked in, making the bed before folding your nightclothes neatly into a drawer, and picking up your satchel. Feeling its weight, you remembered the weapon within and steeled yourself. If you were lucky, you wouldn't even have to touch it again, let alone fire it. You walked into the kitchen calmly, and stole a quick glance over at Booker. He was sitting with his elbows on his knees, staring fixedly at the small wooden table you kept in the parlor. He seemed buried in his thoughts, but looked over when he heard your footsteps. His expression softened considerably when he saw that you were okay. He walked over to the kitchen and opened his mouth to speak, but you cut across him.

"I'm fine Booker, really. Thank you. Just some bad dreams was all." you said calmly.

Booker nodded understandingly, but still he remained where he was.

"What about?" he asked nonchalantly. He would ask that wouldn't he?

"Oh, nothing really." you stammered quickly. You could see in his face he wouldn't accept that as an answer, so you quickly thought up a lie to avoid explaining yourself.

"It was just a bad dream about.. you know.. yesterday.." you finished. Mentally, you praised yourself for thinking up a convincing lie.

"Oh." was the only answer that came.

Looking up at the clock, which read a quarter to five, you briefly thought about whipping up some breakfast, but decided against it. If you made some breakfast for the both of you, you'd have to sit right across from Booker while you ate, and you couldn't even begin to imagine how awkward it would be. Instead, you looped your satchel around your shoulder and went back to your bedroom, picking up a spare key for your apartment from your wardrobe. You were going to be at work all day, and you had no idea what Booker did in his spare time, so it only made sense to give him his own key, or he'd have to wait around until you came back. You came back to the kitchen, and noticed that Booker had resumed his seat on the couch, going back into his concentrated state. You walked over to him, but still he remained focused on whatever he was thinking about, so you simply placed the key down in front of him.

"Here. You can keep this until you've finished your business up here." you said.

Booker took the key from the table and slid it into the pocket of his slacks, but other than that he didn't really shift his position at all.

"Thanks, (firstname)." was all he said.

You walked to the front door and exited, closing it behind you but not bothering to lock it. You wondered what Booker had been so focused on briefly, but let it go, considering you had much more pressing matters to attend to. You walked down the stairs and headed straight outside. Mr. Jameson wasn't at the counter to call out to you today, but then, you were down earlier than usual. Walking outside, you noticed that there were more people outside than usual. At first you thought it might just be down to early shoppers, but they seemed to be setting up for something. You walked over to a man who was handing out fliers to people and asked him what was going on. Instead of answering you, he just pushed a flier into your hands and kept moving. You held the flier up and read it quietly to yourself.

'A once in a lifetime opportunity!' it read in large font at the top. At the bottom it read 'Come see The Prophet in all his glory!'. Between the two sentences, a head-shot of Comstock stared up. You turned the flier over and found more details on the back. In five days, a parade was going to take place. A number of floats would pass through the city depicting Comstock's life, and the very last float would hold Comstock himself. How peculiar for Comstock to hold an event like that, especially when he knew that the 'Chaos Herald' was running around town. Nothing like it had ever been done before, at least, not as long as you could remember.

Dismissing it, you slid the flier into your satchel and walked on. It was something to think about later, not now. You had to use this extra time you had to think up something to say to Comstock about Booker. It would have to be a really strong argument to even have a hope of convincing him that he was wrong about Booker. You walked on slowly, deep in your thoughts, worried about how the situation would play out. Would Comstock be mad at you for not fulfilling his hope? Would he see your reasoning or be blinded by his religious fervor? As you passed the street which yesterday held the vigor vendors, but for the moment only held empty stalls, you stared at the spot where you had received the flier yesterday. That one trivial interaction had caused you so much pain and grief since last night. If you had been walking a few feet to the right or left, would it all have been avoided? Could you be relaxing in your apartment right now, enjoying your breakfast while talking with Booker? You could never know the answer to these questions.

Another few minutes of walking, and once again you found yourself at those heavy doors to Comstock Mansion. You stood staring at the door handle, steeling your nerves for what was to come. You couldn't let your voice shake, or allow yourself to come across as nervous. You had to sound completely sure that what you were going to convince Comstock of was true. Booker was not evil. He wasn't some field hell bent on destroying the whole of Columbia and its people. You knew this was true, and you forced yourself to believe that you were going to make Comstock believe it too. You pushed open one of the doors, and jumped in surprise as you found Comstock waiting for you right there. With his back straight and his arms behind his back, he smiled down at you. He wasted little time in small talk.

"Good morning, my child." he said. You could hear the anticipation in his voice as he readied to ask about your choice. How he even knew that you had met Booker was beyond you. "I trust with that anxious look on your face that you have dealt with matters accordingly. I knew I could put my faith in you."

He turned to walk away, and despite all your previous self re-assurance, your voice came out quietly, and you could feel your skin crawl with nerves.

"A-Actually sir.." you whispered, causing him to stop dead in his tracks and whip around to you. You dug your nails into your skin with fear. "I didn't have the occasion to use your.. gift yesterday." You took a breath to start explaining yourself, when his sudden shout made you jump.

"What?!" he boomed. There were no signs of gentleness left in his voice now. He sounded livid. You had never seen him lose his temper before, but he certainly was now. He stomped closer to you, until he was less than an arm’s reach away. The back of your eyes tingled as tears threatened to spill out.

"Do not lie to me child!" he cried out. "Do you take me for a fool?!"

You wanted to respond, but you knew as soon as your opened your mouth that you would start sobbing, so you kept it clamped shut. When you didn't respond, Comstock moved closer to you and seized your arm violently. The image from your nightmare resurfaced, and you couldn't decide if you were more scared then or now.

"Lying little traitor!" he screamed, and forced you towards the door. He was deceptively strong for someone of his age, and you had no hope of escaping his grip. Pulling the door open, he pushed you outside where you fell to your knees.

"Leave this place immediately, and do not return until you have shown some gratitude for the one who raised you!" he screamed. His face had gone red with fury.

As the door slammed behind you, you remained on your hands and knees in shock. You hadn't even had the chance to explain yourself. Why was Comstock acting so mercilessly violent? You had never seen him so furious in any situation before. Eventually, you managed to lift yourself back up and pat the dirt off your skirt with your hands. You were too stunned to even cry.

Leaving Comstock Mansion behind you, you headed back for your apartment, sighing shaky breaths. You reached the busy street that your apartment building lay at the end of, and sighed frustratedly as you saw that the main crowd had found their way down. Usually, you'd be in the Mansion working by now, not having to worry about such things, but clearly today was an exception. You managed to find your way through the crowd, despite the throngs of people that  seemed to have the spatial awareness of a dead cow bumping into you as you walked. After much sidestepping and swerving you emerged relatively unscathed, and continued into your apartment building. As soon as you walked in, Mrs. Kenner, a resident from your floor, approached you.

"Well, Ms.(Lastname). I didn't know you were hiring negros to work for you! Wherever did you find them?" she questioned.

You stared at her, bewildered. Mrs. Kenner was quite old, but you didn't think she had become senile just yet.

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about, ma'am." you answered.

"Good thing you have a man there to keep an eye on them!" she stated, ignoring what you said completely. "Or I'm sure they'd be stealing everything they can get their filthy hands on!"

A man called her from the other side of the lobby, presumably Mr. Kenner, and she waltzed off without saying another word.

Baffled, you jogged up the stairs and paused when you came to your apartment door. Why were there people in your apartment, and why did Booker let them in? You tensed as you slid the key into the lock. Were they attacking him? Would they attack you? As quietly as you could, you turned the key and opened the door, allowing it to slowly swing open.

Booker stood in your parlor, looking over a large sheet of paper as two colored people stood by his side. They didn't notice you for a few moments, but as soon as you stepped in, Booker's head snapped up in shock. He looked like he had just been caught committing a murder, and by the guns that pointed at you from the two people at his side, it looked like someone was about to.

Chapter Text

There goes that ringing sound in your ears again. You looked on, a silent observer, watching the events unfold in front of you. Booker turned to the man on his left, and placed a hand on the arm holding the gun at you. By the angry look on his face and his tense demeanor, he appeared to be barking an order, but the piercing noise in your ears made it impossible to hear the words. As he interacted with the man at his left, the person who was formerly on his right, a middle aged woman, moved towards you. Something in the back of your mind told you she might be dangerous, and your body tensed slightly, but upon reaching where you stood the woman simply walked around you and slammed the door shut. She remained at the door afterwards, looking back to the man holding the gun for orders.

Booker spoke a few more words, and after a few moments the gun hesitantly lowered, but the man did not take his eyes from yours. As the gun was lowered, your body began to relax, and the sound in your ears slowly dimmed to a nothingness. You could make out the words they said now, but were still left staring.

"She's fine, you can trust her!" growled Booker. Although the man had lowered his gun, he still held it tightly in his hand, and Booker kept his own hand on the arm to keep it from rising again.

"Right. How I know she ain't one o' Comstock's lackeys? For all I know she holdin' a radio in that thing!" he retorted, pointing an accusatory finger at your satchel, and tossing a nod to his female companion.

The woman moved closer to you and took hold of the strap of your satchel, slowly raising it off of your shoulder without your resistance. She seemed much more calm and kind than her counterpart, who you were sure would not hesitate to rip the satchel from your person. Once it was off, she moved to the small table in your parlor and opened it, taking out the contents one by one. First came the fliers, which she payed little attention to. Then, out came the pistol. You screamed inwardly. How could you be so stupid? You had completely forgotten about the pistol.

Turning to the men, who both tensed visibly, the woman held up the pistol. She unloaded the clip and gave it a quick glance over, confirming aloud that it was in fact fully loaded and ready to fire. As she finished, you noticed Booker had shifted his eyes to yours. There was some emotion you couldn't quite identify them. Even in your frozen state, that butterfly feeling still invaded your body when he looked into your eyes. Unfortunately, his attention was pulled away from you when the man began speaking again.

"You see!" he cried triumphantly. "She's an assassin!"

His arm struggled against Booker's to raise his gun again, but before anything serious came out of it, the woman spoke from behind you.

"You don't know that. It is suspicious for a civilian to be carrying a weapon, but it could be for any number of reasons." she stated. Her voice was smooth and even, like she was discussing the weather instead of a possible threat.

The man stopped struggling with Booker, and stared up at the woman in disbelief.

"What the hell's gotten in'a you? You working for Comstock now?" he asked gruffly.

"No," replied the woman. Her voice remained even, but you could hear the anger biting at the back of it. "I'm just trying to minimize the amount of unnecessary casualties."

"Well, why the hell else would you have a gun, huh?" asked the man, directing the question to you.

You stood staring at him blankly, trying to formulate an excuse in your head. Your confusion with the entire situation as well as the fear of the two armed people muddled your thoughts. You opened your mouth and tried to force out words, but no sounds left your dry throat.

Seeing your panicked state, the man narrowed his eyes accusingly, and you could see his fingers curl more tightly around the handle of his weapon. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Booker cut him off.

"I gave it to her." he said sharply. "No point in keeping her as an ally if she can't defend herself."

You knew Booker was just trying to protect you, but it hurt you inside to hear him refer to you like that. Like you were a tool for his mission rather than his friend. He was good at making up lies, that was for sure, but you weren't certain that was something you liked.

The man clearly wanted to respond harshly, but caught himself, instead letting out a dramatic sigh.

He lifted the bottom of his shirt and slid the pistol to the inside of his trousers, concealing it entirely.

"Fine, We don' have time for this." he stated. "We need to go over these plans again. Dawn, take her somewhere else. 'Til we know who she really is, we can't trust 'er with this here information.

The woman nodded, grabbing your arm and gently pulled you to the farthest part of the parlor, where the hushed voices of the two men lowered further to a hum. For a few moments, there was an awkward silence, but Dawn, to your gratitude, finally broke it by starting up a conversation.

"So, you mind if I ask you your name?" she inquired. You found it remarkable how she could act like she was having a normal conversation with someone she had pointed a gun at less than ten minutes ago.

Ultimately, you decided there was no harm to be done in just telling her your name. She seemed nice enough, and under different circumstances, you wondered if you could have been friends.

"I-It's (Firstname)." you said. You were still a little frazzled from what had just happened, and your brain raced to catch up to where you were at this moment.

"(Firstname) (Lastname)."

Upon stating your last name, Dawn looked surprised momentarily, but she settled into a wry smile.

"Your parents were (Fathersname), and (Mothersname)?"

You frowned as Dawn said this to you. How did she know their names? Surely she wasn't one of the Vox that murdered them? The very thought brought a chill to your bones. One of the Vox Populi that murdered your parents in your own home, and here you were thinking how nice of a person she was. You nodded in response to her question, and she scoffed lightly.

"Well then I s'pose it's appropriate that you'd get caught in a situation like this."

This simple sentence filled you with so much anger that it frightened you. You didn't want to let her see that what she said got to you, but you couldn't stop your hands balling into fists. How dare she say that to you? How dare she come into your home and treat you this way? You felt your face heat up, and Dawn continued, her voice softer and more serious.

"I knew your parents. They were good to the Vox. They were good people."

You swore you felt your brain dissolve into a puddle. Today was just a minefield of information and events. In the past hour, you had been fired by Comstock, thrown out of his mansion, come home to find Booker working with the Vox, had weapons pointed at you, and were now being told that your parents had helped the Vox. Your face contorted to one of confusion as all of these events raced past your mind.

Dawn must have noticed, because she donned a surprised expression of her own.

"Did you not know that?" she asked, disbelief tinging her tone. "Don't you know what your parents died for?"

You managed to pull yourself out of your confusion long enough to reply with a quiet "No.." You couldn't tell her Comstock's version, or she'd eventually realize how close you had been to him for so many years. 

With a hefty sigh, Dawn looked you in the eyes carefully, like she was considering if what she was about to tell you was what you should hear. After what felt like an eternity of waiting she finally spoke up again.

"(Firstname)...Comstock had your parents killed for workin' with the Vox."

You stared at those lips, the ones that had just delivered the biggest lie you had ever heard in your life. They were a dark pink, and had many little scars close to the inside. They must have been marks from biting her lip when she got nervous. Maybe she made a new scar every time she lied, which would need to be often to be able to do it so well.

You turned and started heading for the bathroom. A good splash to the face was just what you needed to wake you up from this nightmare. You heard her call your name again from behind you, but you ignored it, and kept walking until your legs gave up. The last thing you remembered before blacking out was the floor coming up to meet you and Booker calling out your name.

~~~~~~~~

You awoke some hours later on the couch in your parlor. It was getting quite dark, and none of the lights were on, so it was difficult to look around from where you lay. You tried hoisting yourself up onto your elbows to get a look around, but you found yourself completely drained of energy, and your muscles screamed when you tried to force them to move. You tried holding your breath instead to listen for noises, but it quickly left you light-headed.

"Try not to move too much, (Firstname)." said Booker quietly. His sudden intrusion of the silence startled you. You couldn't see where he was, but judging by where his voice originated from, he was seated in the armchair at the end of the sofa. Had he been watching over you? You wanted to tell him that he could go to your bed because you were in his.

You tried to open your mouth to speak, but you were so drained that you just gave up, and the claws of sleep eventually pulled you back under. 

~~~~

Again you broke out of sleep on the couch, but this time it was early morning light that met you. You gave your toes a test wiggle, and realised that on this wakening, you had much more energy than last time. Slowly swivelling, you turned until your feet met the floor of the parlor, and sat up, stretching out your back. A sudden noise in the kitchen drew your attention, and you looked to see Booker standing over your kitchen counter, fiddling with something. Judging by the smell, he was cooking eggs, albeit unsuccessfully.

You stood up, hissing as your body creaked in protest. Slowly, you made your way towards the bathroom, and your tired, clunky footsteps drew Booker's attention away from the oven.

"You shouldn't be up, (Firstname), you need to rest for a while." he warned, making his way towards you and gently taking hold of your forearm in case you fell over again. Fireworks blossomed under the skin where he made contact with you. You didn't look at him even as he touched you, as you feared that butterfly feeling would be enough to send your fragile body back to sleep.

"I..I'm fine Booker..really.." you said weakly. You really just wanted to get to the bathroom and wash up a bit. You tried to pull your arm from his grip, but you weren't even sure you could do that when you were perfectly healthy, never mind being on the brink of unconsciousness. 

Seeing you resist, Booker reluctantly released your arm, and let you shuffle onwards out of the kitchen. He waited tensely to see if you would fall again, but once you safely made it out of the kitchen, he went back to his eggs, which were now starting to smell rather burned.

With each step towards the bathroom, your mind became clearer, and your body slowly came back to life. Once you reached the door, you finally allowed yourself to think about yesterday. Was Dawn telling the truth about your parents? You desperately hoped not, but what reason would she have to lie to you? You weren't some incredibly powerful force that she had to get on her side. In fact, you were entirely irrelevant to her cause. She would have no reason to make up such a terrible lie. You stood still, letting the truth sink into you. Comstock had murdered your parents, and raised you as his own. But why? And what of Booker? Why was he so close to the Vox Populi? At first, you were annoyed at the thought of Booker lying to you, but had he really? He did say he was in Columbia for 'Business', but he didn't really specify what type of business. You made a mental note to demand the truth as soon as you returned to the kitchen.

Stepping into the bathroom, a strong heat enveloped your body. Booker must have had a shower earlier. You left the door open slightly to let the heat out, and began washing your face over the sink. It felt good to let the water wash away the sleep. You looked over to the bath, and considered running one, but decided to get the whole business with Booker out of the way beforehand. After drying off your face, your hand automatically grasped the perfume at the side of the sink, and you lifted it to your face before pausing. You pulled it away sharply, like it was trying to attack you, and stared at it vacantly. That perfume was a gift from Comstock. The man who raised you. Employed you. Cared for you. Murdered your parents. Your hand slowly clenched the bottle tighter and tighter until your whole arm shook with tension. You wanted this thing gone. You wanted Comstock gone. When you acknowledged that you weren't strong enough to break it by squeezing, you cranked up your arm and hurled it against the wall in a rage. It shattered loudly, slices of glass shooting out in every direction. The scent which you had once thought so wonderful now seemed toxic and disgusting. It didn't smell of summer anymore. It smelled like deceit and treachery.

You stood, shaking with adrenaline, and stared at the splash of liquid on the wall where the bottle had connected, and the shards of glass it left behind on the floor. The bathroom door swung open, and Booker stepped in, a troubled look on his face.

"What the hell was that?" he asked. When you remained silent, he gave you a quick look over and sighed. "Look what you did to yourself, (Firstname)." he said, looking towards your torso. "Come out to the kitchen and I'll see what I can do."

He lingered for a moment, possibly waiting for a response. When he didn't get one, he quietly sighed again and moved back to the kitchen. You inspected yourself curiously, and noticed that a piece of glass had embedded itself just above your left elbow. A neat stream of blood cascaded down your arm and onto the floor. You couldn't feel any pain from it, probably down to the adrenaline that coursed through your veins. After a moment of contemplation, you decided that the best option was to let Booker fix up your arm. When he was right up beside you bandaging it, you would demand to know why he was truly in Columbia.

Leaving the mess behind you, and thankfully not stepping on any glass on the way out, you left the bathroom, and bee lined to the kitchen with a new resolve.

After a lifetime of lies, it was time for some answers, and nobody was going to stop you.

Chapter Text

You sat at your kitchen table, contemplating the best way to ask Booker about why he was truly in Columbia. The burned eggs and half done toast lay untouched in front of you, your intense curiosity overpowering your appetite.

When he realized that you weren't going to touch your food, Booker pulled his chair up to you and placed a first aid kit on the table. His close proximity brought that butterfly feeling to you, but you forced yourself to ignore it. You might not get another chance this good to talk to him, and it was no time to waste.

He pulled your arm closer to him, inspecting the wound carefully before deciding how to take the glass out. His breath tickled your skin lightly, and although you tried your hardest to force down those feelings, they would not be silenced. You distracted yourself by imagining the upcoming conversation again and again, imagining all of the things he would say, and how you would respond to these things. When you felt satisfied that you were ready, you turned to Booker, waiting for him to finish.

After a moment, he looked up to you with an apologetic look on his face.

"Sorry, (Firstname). This is gonna hurt a little."

You scrunched your face in anticipation, and hissed when Booker plucked the glass from your skin. Blood trickled steadily from the wound until he wrapped a bandage around it. He did it so expertly and quickly that it was obvious it was something he was used to. Once the bandage was fully secured, Booker got up for a moment and walked over to the sink, returning with a wet cloth after a moment. He retook his seat and carefully began wiping the blood stains from your arm. As he cleaned you up, you swore you could hear his breathing becoming more intense and quick. The silence was almost more than you could bear, and once he finally finished wiping away the last of the blood, you decided it was time to speak up.

"Booker.." you started carefully, causing him to look up curiously into your eyes. It wasn't like you to demand anything of anyone, but it had to be done, and you pondered the best way to go about it. 

 "I want to know why you're really in Columbia, and no more lies." you continued.

Booker sighed knowingly. He had probably guessed you were going to ask him this. He sat staring at his knuckles for a moment, thinking about the best way to deliver the truth to you. After a moment of consideration, he looked back up into your eyes and answered you flatly.

"(Firstname), I'm here to kill Comstock."

Instead of surprise, you felt an intense anger bubbling inside of you. Everything that had happened to you over the past few days was influenced by this fact. You had been fired from your only job, disconnected from your friends at work, banished from Comstock Mansion, and had almost been shot by the Vox Populi, all because of the man that sat beside you. You thought about yesterday, when you had been desperately trying to think of a way to convince Comstock that Booker was not the 'Chaos Herald', and was a good person.  You had been so scared of what would happen, but you had believed that you were right in what you were trying to say. You weren't so sure of that any more. No, Booker had not lied to you, but he hadn't exactly told the truth either, and for the moment, you considered that just as bad. Booker obviously saw the anger in your eyes, because he took a gentle grip on your hand and looked you deep in your eyes.

"(Firstname), I'm sorry I didn't tell you the truth, it's just -" he tried, but you didn't care what he had to say.

"I don't care for your apologies, Mr.DeWitt." you said curtly. You never spoke to anyone in this manner, and although you felt you might be over reacting, your anger forced you into a no mercy state.

"Do you know what you've caused? I've lost my job, my friends, I've almost been killed because of you!" you cried. You got up abruptly, shaking your arm from his grip, and marched over to the table in your parlor, where your satchel still lay from last night. You tore out the 'Chaos Herald' flier, and returned to the table, slamming it down beside Booker. "So this is you?" you interrogated. "This is why you're here?"

Booker picked up the flier and glanced over it, a pained expression dawning his face once he finished. he placed it back down on the table and looked at you.

"(Firstname), I'm only here to kill Comstock. Do you really think I'm the kinda person to do all this?" he asked, gesturing to the flier.

You knew you shouldn't say it, but your anger got the better of you and you couldn't help it.

"Gee, I don't know Booker. Why don't we ask the natives of Wounded Knee?" you growled, never breaking eye contact with him.

You jumped when his hand came crashing onto the table loudly. He stared at you with such malice that you were afraid he might strike you, but you kept eye contact with him, determined not to back down. Your mind wandered to the pistol that lay on the parlor table.

But instead of carrying out any other violent actions, Booker simply stood up and moved towards the door without another word. You watched him leave, and your anger faded the further he got from you. Only once he closed the door did the regret smack you like a pile of bricks. You fell into a chair and sank your head into your hands, tears of frustration burning your eyelids and splashing onto the table. You cursed yourself for letting your anger win over. The sadness amplified when you fully came to realize what you had just done. You had taken your anger out on the wrong person, and forced your only true friend to leave in the process. Thinking over it, you understood that you weren't mad at Booker at all. None of this was his fault. It was Comstock's. Comstock had murdered your parents, stolen you, raised you in lies, and tried to force you to murder your only friend in cold blood. As you considered this, a thought came to you. You wondered how Comstock could have possibly known you would meet Booker. Yes, he was 'The Prophet', but if he knew where and when you would meet Booker, why couldn't he just have had someone else kill him?

"Well, it would seem they're quite at odds for the moment." the sudden voice made you jump, and you turned to see the pair from Comstock Mansion staring at you. They stood in the door frame to your hallway, the same indifferent look on them that existed when they had appeared the Mansion. That woman still seemed so familiar, but you couldn't quite put your finger on who she was.

You stood up quickly, face still wet from the tears, and clenched your fists.

"Excuse me," you started. You tried to sound assertive, but your voice still wavered with sadness. "Who are you, and why are you in my home?"

As last time, the pair seemed to ignore you entirely, preferring to converse with one another.

"It would appear so." said the man. "I do hope they reconcile before it's too late."

"Quite." answered the woman.

While they spoke, you lifted your hands to your face, wiping away the tears. You hoped to get some answers of them sooner or later, but when you withdrew your hands, they had vanished. Perplexed, you ran down your hallway and inspected all of the rooms, grimacing at the overpowering scent of perfume as you passed the bathroom. Again, the two had disappeared without a trace. You temporarily feared for your sanity, and returned to the kitchen, double checking every corner along the way. Before retaking your seat, you quickly grabbed the pistol from the parlor table and laid it on your lap. You didn't care for all this vanishing business. Remembering yesterday, you figured out how to release the pistol's clip after a few false starts, and managed to find out that it was still full on ammo. As you slid the clip back into place, it suddenly dawned on you who that woman was. Her name was Rosalind Lutece. She was a famous scientist in Columbia who apparently gave the city the power to remain in the sky with some sort of special device she had invented. You weren't entirely sure on the details of her work, but you did know that she and her brother, whose name escaped you, had died in a malfunction with one of their machines years ago. Although you were glad you remembered who they were, it wasn't very pleasing to realize you were seeing ghosts everywhere.

Thinking over the two, you decided that the most reasonable explanation was that they were a product of your imagination. The fact that they only seemed to appear when you were a large amount of stress solidified this theory to you. The first time they had appeared, you had been worried and confused by Comstock's handing of the weapon to you. You considered the dialogue that took place at the time. The two had described you as "in a situation". Your mind could have easily made that up. It was true, after all. Though this didn't quite explain the other things they had said. They had mentioned "variables", and were talking as if they had seen it all happen before. Perhaps you were so stressed that your mind just made up any old jibber-jabber to keep you occupied? You compared it to the dialogue of this encounter. Everything they had said was something you already knew. Obviously when the man had said he hoped you made amends with Booker, that was just your brain telling you what was the right thing to do. Despite all this evidence, it didn't quite explain why your mind conjured as two different people, and those two people, no less. You had never been close enough to Ms. Lutece to remember her in such detail, and you hadn't even seen her brother a single time.

Your thoughts were interrupted by accidentally dropping the gun onto the floor, and after watching it in panic for a few seconds to make sure it wouldn't suddenly go off, you carefully picked it up and placed it on the table. Setting it down, you took another look at the 'Chaos Herald' poster, and decided to go after Booker to apologize. You knew you had hit him pretty deep with what you said, but you hoped he would understand your stress and forgive you.

You picked up the flier and pistol and walked over to the parlor, slinging the satchel over your shoulder and sliding the items in. Securing the satchel tightly, you headed out to the hall and locked the door behind you, dropping the key into your satchel. You quickly shuffled down the stairs and skimmed across the lobby. Before you were able to pass the doorway, Mr. Jameson approached you.

"Say, Ms.(Lastname), shouldn't you be at work? I don't believe I've ever seen you leave so late."

Your chest burned when you thought of yesterday. You decided it was better to make up an excuse than tell him the truth and have him delay you from reaching Booker.

"O-oh yeah, I just.. need to.. collect something for Com-, uh, Father Comstock." you stammered messily. If there was an award for telling the most unconvincing lie of all time...

Mr. Jameson stared at you strangely, but eventually stepped to the side a tad, a signal for you to move ahead. You quickly shuffled onward, concealing your embarrassment by feigning interest in something across the lobby.

Once outside, you swept your head from side to side, trying to determine which direction Booker would have taken. He hadn't appeared to be in the mood to push through the throngs of people out for shopping, no thanks to you, so you took the right path instead, away from the din. You didn't recall ever going this way before. Comstock Mansion could only be reached by taking the left path, and you really hadn't any reason to go elsewhere, as all the stores you needed were on the left path too. It was considerably quieter there, with only a few people mulling about in the more secluded stores and occasional restaurant. To your dismay, you realized that the only way to effectively search for Booker was to search every building on the way, as you hadn't the slightest notion of where he would have headed off to. It wasn't that you minded having to check all of the stores, but anyone looking at you would think you were out of your mind, running in and out of every store without buying anything. Casting an anxious glance around, you began to move for the nearest building, a cute little confectionery store with candy colored walls and a shelf full of different types of sweets. You knew Booker wouldn't be there before you peeked through the window, but it was no harm to make sure.

Thankfully, most of the stores had fairly large windows for you to have a peek through, instead of having to actually walk in and back out. A few of them had almost no windows at all, or they were too high up for you to look in, requiring you to actually enter. One such building smelled strongly of rotten fruit and dust, and you just barely managed to hold your breath long enough to make sure Booker wasn't there, which he was not.

The fourth building from the end of the street looked in considerable disrepair to the other buildings. The building's name, formerly painted in cursive in a beautiful golden paint, was now withered and indecipherable in its ruin. Although it looked abandoned, you decided to have a look inside just to be sure. You moved toward the window, and though you got close enough that your breath fogged the glass, the combination of the dirt caked onto the glass and the dim lighting of the room made it impossible to see in. You moved to the wooden door, and after a few tugs, it gave in and came open with surprising silence. Straining your eyes, you managed to make out a figure sitting alone at a bar, slumped over with their elbows leaning on the counter.

The ambiance of the building gave you chills, but you were determined to find Booker, so your forced yourself to swallow your fear and approach the figure, albeit with caution. You eventually stopped a few feet away, and clutched at the strap of your satchel nervously.

"Excuse me." you said, sounding more confident than you were. The figure didn't move at all, and something at the back of your mind worried if the person was capable of it. You stepped closer, taking in a slight scent of alcohol. You repeated yourself, but still they did not respond, so you worked up the courage to move to their side. You kept your right hand tightly on your satchel, just in case.

Now that you were at their side, you could see the detail on their face. Those dark green eyes, that complimented his brown hair so well, focused only on the dirty shot glass that his hand coveted on the counter. Beside him stood an almost empty bottle, the label of which was faded, but it wasn't hard to guess what it contained. Even though you now stood beside him, Booker didn't steal a single glance in your direction. Seeing him treat you so coldly brought a pain to your heart, but you believed you deserved it for what you had said. You cleared your throat and tried to come up with an acceptable apology.

"Um, Booker?" you began, taking a deep sigh to calm your nerves and alleviate the pain in your chest. His eyebrow twitched at the call of his name, but still he didn't seem to acknowledge you, instead knocking back the drink in his glass and resuming his former position.

You cleared your throat again and shifted nervously before continuing.

"I'm-, I'm sorry. For what I said. Really, I am."

You became slightly irritated that he wouldn't look at you even though you had come all this way to apologize, but you brushed it off and kept going.

"I know it wasn't fair of me to say. I was just so stressed at the whole thing, and I let it get to me. Can you forgive me?" you asked, voice wavering. The frustration came back stronger when still he would not turn to you. Your face heated up with anger. Although you wanted Booker to forgive you, you weren't going to let him treat you like this. You weren't the only one at fault here.

"Fine." you muttered, glowering. "Fine! If you want to be that way Booker, then there's nothing I can do about that. I am truly sorry for what I said to you, but if you won't even acknowledge my effort to make amends, then I won't bother."

Booker frowned slightly, but still he didn't say a word or even look in your direction. This silence was worse than anything else he could do to you, and it made the pain in your heart quickly grow unbearable.

"Say something, Booker." you pleaded. "Please, just say something. Anything." You clutched his forearm in desperation.

"Booker!"

Before you could react, the hand that held the glass shot up to your collar, and Booker pulled you into him, planting a deep kiss on your lips.

The world seemed to grind to a halt, and all of your previous feelings dissipated entirely, instead being replaced by total elation. You had never kissed anyone before, not like this. His stubble scratched your skin lightly, but it felt good. As your surprise lifted, you eased into the kiss, relaxing so much that you found your body lifeless, supported only by Booker's strong hold on your collar. When he finally let go, you had to lean against the counter to stop yourself from falling over. You found yourself craving more, but Booker returned to staring at his glass, his face slightly tinged with red.

You became speechless. You had never thought about Booker in that way before, but maybe that butterfly feeling wasn't just something you got for friends. You wondered if he had always though if you in that way. You remained leaning against the counter until your legs regained their energy, and carefully shifted back to your feet. Although an infinite number of questions burned in in your head, you decided to leave without saying another word. Obviously Booker wasn't going to just ignore you after what happened, so you figured that he would talk to you when he was ready. Comfortable with your choice, you turned and headed for the door, and this time your unchecked footsteps kicked up a cloud of dust around you as you walked, but you took no notice of it, too wrapped up in repeating the kiss in your head over and over again. Several times you considered turning around and trying for another kiss, but the more rational side of your brain forced you to keep walking. You tugged the old door open again, and took one last glance at Booker before stepping out into the evening light.

Chapter Text

Swiggity schwapter go read dat next chapter

Chapter Text

You stepped outside, stuck in thought as you replayed that moment over and over. You looked back hopefully at the door, wishing it would open and Booker would come running through to you, but it did not open. Disappointed, but still madly elated, you looked on ahead again, and began the walk back to your apartment. Booker raced through your mind time and time again. You wondered if he had always felt that way about you. You thought back to the diner, where he had asked to sit beside you, and even payed for your meal. You smiled warmly. What a great guy. You were a little scared about heading into a relationship, especially when there was so much going in your life, but you decided it was time for you to start considering it. You weren't getting any younger. Then, another thought suddenly dawned you. What Booker had told you about being in Columbia, was he trying to protect you? He had only planned the meeting with the Vox when he thought you would be gone. Perhaps he wanted to keep you out of it all. You convinced yourself that Booker had only had your safety in mind and smiled again, staring at the ground so nothing distracted you from your thoughts of him.

After a few more moments of walking, you stopped. Something didn't feel right. You slowly raised your head, sweeping your eyes from side to side. One or two people walked by, going about their own business, but none of them threw a glance your way. You were beginning to think it was just a fleeting feeling, until your eyes latched on to someone glaring at you from the doorway of a restaurant. He was very familiar, but you couldn't quite place your finger on who he was. Not wanting to be rude, you flashed him a quick smile, which was not returned, and averted your gaze again, continuing your walk. The feeling of being watched rose within in you, and you began to get more and more nervous until finally you stopped again, snapping your head back to the restaurant. The man still stood there, his eyes still trained on you. Questions raced through your mind, but you didn't want to make a scene of confronting him so you looked away once more. This time, you decided to try to find another way back to your apartment. That man gave you a bad feeling and you didn't want him finding out where you lived.

You veered to the left, hoping to do a simple circle around one of the stores and still come out beside your apartment building. You briskly walked through the alley, grimacing at the smell of rubbish that wafted from the garbage cans. Your curiosity begged you to turn your head around and check if the man was following you, but you resisted, determined to get back home as quickly as possible.

You came out around the corner of the street you had seen the man on, and took a quick glance around, finding him nowhere in sight. You released a sigh of relief and moved on, still keeping a wary eye out. Eventually, your apartment came back into view, and your nerves calmed considerably at the thought of laying in your parlor with some nice tea. You entered the lobby and glanced over at Mr. Jameson, expecting him to comment on your peculiar behavior earlier. He was too preoccupied with trying to simultaneously speak on the phone and deal with a disgruntled looking woman at the counter. Obviously the secretary was on her break. Your smiled at his predicament, and in your distracted state, you managed to walk into someone, but retained your balance.

Instantly, the memory of the first time you had ever seen Booker came racing to your mind. It was a situation almost identical to this. The thought brought a smile to your face, and you gave out a small laugh at your mistake.

"Excuse me." you said cheerfully, detaching yourself from them. "I wasn't loo-"

Your sentence was cut short when you looked up and saw him standing there. The man from the restaurant.

Your mouth was stuck mid sentence, open, but no sound came out. Your focus flickered from one of his eyes to the other, as he stared at you blankly. Instinctively, you jerked back, looking the man up and down. He was dressed just like most other Columbian men, a nice suit hugged his features. More likely that not, it was an attempt to blend in with the other common crowds of Columbia. He obviously was no regular citizen, or he wouldn't have been tailing you and keeping his eyes glued on you. You wondered if he was part of the Vox Populi. It did not seem out of the question that they would send someone to keep an eye on you, especially if they suspected of you of being close with Comstock. Deciding on that as the most reasonable answer, you moved away from the man. It angered you that the Vox wouldn't trust you, but at the same time, you could understand.

"Not a problem darlin'." answered the man, ignoring your faltering entirely. He gave you a fake smile, probably trying to gain your trust, but you just continued staring until he cleared his throat awkwardly and moved on.

You watched him leaving the building and wondered what purpose he could have had there. It was clear that he was following you, but he was leaving now, so where was he off to? Something in your mind told you to follow him, but you decided against it. If he did work for the Vox, ending up on their doorstep by following him would not be a very favorable outcome. Instead, you turned back around and jogged to the stairs, taking one final glance back at the lobby before moving upstairs.

You got inside the apartment and locked it, throwing the satchel onto the parlor table and collapsing into the couch with an exhaustive sigh. You thought back to Booker, and what had happened between you. Now that the surprise and joy had faded, you could think around the whole situation more clearly. Doubt began to creep up on you. Had Booker really meant anything by that kiss? He had been drinking before you got there, and you had thought he would be annoyed with you after what you said. He hadn't done it just to get you to be quiet, had he? You rubbed your hands together in contemplation. Booker wouldn't do that to you, would he? Thinking on it, you decided the best thing to do was wait until the next time you met and see if he said something about it. If he acted like it never happened, then it was all for show. But if he said something...

You banished the thoughts from your mind, getting up abruptly and walking to the kitchen. You weren't going to be one of those girls who sits at home worrying that her man doesn't love her enough. You put on the kettle and leaned against the counter, trying to distract yourself from thinking about Booker, but he kept finding his way into your thoughts. You turned around and sighed frustratedly, leaning your elbows on the counter. You tapped your foot impatiently, waiting for the kettle to boil, and drummed your fingers on the counter. The instant the finishing click sounded you lifted the kettle from the holder and poured it into the cup. You finished making the tea and sat at the kitchen table, waiting for it to cool, and constantly thinking about Booker. You started replaying the kiss in your head again, securing every last detail, and staring at the wall. You didn't realize how long you had been thinking until you reached for your tea and found it cold. Sighing, you poured the cup into the sink, not bothering to wash it, and walked into the parlor. It was quite dark outside, and you worried for Booker. Hopefully he hadn't drank himself into any trouble. The man that had been tailing you came to mind. You froze. Had he gone for Booker? There's no way he could defend himself he was drunk. You moved into a frenzy, snatching your satchel from the table. If someone was trying to hurt Booker, you'd have no problem putting that weapon to use.

You zoomed to the door and opened it quickly, letting out a small yelp when you found a figure behind the door.

Booker stood there, looking just as startled as you did, his arm frozen halfway to the door handle. You quickly regained your composure.

"Booker." you said. "I was just going to-". You caught yourself. You didn't know why, but you didn't want to tell him that you were panicking at the thought of him being in danger.

"Oh, hey (firstname)." he slurred. You sighed mentally as you realized how drunk he was, but decided you had brought it on yourself for what you had said.

"I was jus' comin' up here to.." he stopped suddenly and put his fist to his mouth, heaving slightly. You silently prayed that he wouldn't get sick all over your apartment.

"Yeah, okay Booker." you said gently. You took his arm and placed a hand on his back, lightly guiding him towards the parlor. You slowly lowered him onto the couch, whispering "Easy now, easy..."

Despite your best efforts, he still flopped gracelessly onto the couch.

"Thanks (firstname)..." he mumbled, letting out a loud yawn.

You were ready to bring him a cover and send him off to sleep, but you paused. You didn't feel very comfortable leaving him on the couch. He would probably roll off and whack his head in this state, and if he seriously hurt himself you would never be able to deal with the guilt. You thought on it, and sighed heavily. You would have to let him stay in your bed. It was big enough that he wouldn't roll out and injure himself, and it was closer to the bathroom in case he did end up getting sick. You could deal with sleeping on the couch for a night.

You leaned down and grabbed his arm gently.

"Come on Booker.. you can stay in my bed for tonight." you whispered.

He grumbled tiredly, looking up at you through half closed eyes. Apparently he had managed to fall asleep in the two seconds you had left him. You struggled to lift him, but eventually managed to get him leaning against you. He was heavier then he looked, and the fact that he was half asleep and dead weighting on you didn't help. You took slow, even steps towards your bedroom, looking down at his legs to make sure he didn't trip and send you both to the ground. You finally reached the bedroom and gently set him down. He was still in his clothes, but helping a drunk man get naked was not something you were in the mood for today, so you left him as he was, and hoped he'd stay awake long enough to pull the covers over himself.

You turned to leave, but as soon as you started walking his hand grabbed your arm. You turned to face him curiously.

"Don' go (firstname)..." he begged. His eyes were still closed, and he looked as if he was talking in his sleep. Maybe he was.

"Stay wi' me.. please.."

You wanted to. You wanted to so badly, but you couldn't. Not until you were sure that this was real and not just drunken nonsense. It almost hurt you to do so, but you took a firm grip of his arm and managed to pry it off you. It fell limp over the side of the bed, its owner already in a deep sleep. You grabbed some clothes on the way out of the room and quickly changed in the bathroom, leaving your clothes in a pile in the corner.

You made your way into the parlor and lay on the couch, struggling to get comfortable but eventually finding a good enough position to catch some sleep in. You reviewed the day in your head, with particular interest on the interactions with Booker. A sudden realization came to you, and you shot up, stifling a gasp with your hand.

The man that had been following you earlier. You knew you recognized his face, and now you knew who he was.

One of Comstock's personal guards.

Chapter Text

You thought over your options. You could wait until morning to tell Booker, but he might not be able to handle it with his inevitable hangover. You could also tell him now, but in his current state, you didn't really trust him to make a sensible decision, or even hear what you said properly. You considered going to investigate by yourself in the morning, but you just couldn't see yourself running around spying on people. You would probably end up dead in a gutter somewhere. In the end, you decided the best thing to do was help Booker to feel better in the morning, and ease the news to him around afternoon. You lay back onto the couch, thinking over the man that had been watching you, trying to remember every last detail about him. You lay staring at the ceiling until you felt comfortable with the image in your mind, and let your eyes flutter shut.

--

You awoke later than usual. The sun did not rise to meet you through your window, but instead shone on the empty floor of your parlor. You sat up and wiped your eyes, worried for the task ahead of caring for Booker. You had never had to nurse a hangover for yourself, never mind on someone else. You knew it involved strong headaches and grumpiness, but past that it was an unfamiliar experience. You stood up and stretched out your back, wincing as it creaked in retaliation to sleeping on the couch. You pushed back your hair into a semi respectable state and took a breath, beginning your walk to your bedroom. Once at the door, you waited and considered your action. You'd die of embarrassment if you walked in on Booker naked, but at the same time if he needed your help, you couldn't just ignore him. You steeled yourself, temporarily pushing your shame aside and slowly opening the door.

Your nose wrinkled at the stench of alcohol rushing through the only opening in the room. You edged in slowly, ready to turn your head at the first notice of indecency, but the mound of sheets on the bed remained still, the only sound being the heavy snoring of the man within. You quietly stepped towards the bed and at last found Booker buried within the covers. He lay on his back, his hair in a sad state by way of a rough night's sleep, and a thin line of drool dried on his cheek. Despite the distasteful state he lay in, you felt like laughing at how he looked, as if he was homeless, or a child. You spent a short moment staring at him, but decided to try get him up. The earlier you had him feeling better, the earlier you could tell him about Comstock's guard. You cleared your throat, and stood awkwardly beside the bed.

"Uh..Booker?" you whispered, trying to coax him out of his sleep gently. His features did not flicker in the slightest.

"Booker." you repeated, much louder. You clicked your tongue when again he did not stir. Working up the courage, you crept closer to the bed and leaned over him slightly.

"Booker..hey...get up.." you tried, giving the covers over his chest a prod to wake him. Frustration grew inside you with still no movement. You moved your hand towards his face, but stopped centimeters away, not sure what to do. You could go ahead and poke him a little, but would he be mad? Worry filled you as you thought about yesterday. Would you throw all that away by pulling him from his sleep so abruptly? Someone with a history like Booker's probably wouldn't react very well to being ripped out of sleep. You looked down at his face again, with your hand hovering so close that you could feel the heat from his breath on your hand, and dispelled these thoughts from your mind. Surely Booker wasn't going to have a start hating you for trying to help him. You finally allowed your fingers to connect with his face, and you let out a short breath as your heart beat picked up. This time, Booker's face twitched in discomfort, and he groaned as he struggled to open his eyes. Your heart beat almost came to a stop when those green eyes connecting with yours.

"(Firstname)?" he croaked, still remaining motionless. Even though maintaining eye contact with him took almost all of your concentration, you managed a small nod in response. You were lost on what to say next, if you could even form words in your state. You thought of yesterday, when you had gone to apologize to Booker. Had he even listened to you, or was he drunk? You decided to repeat it, just in case he didn't remember from last night. Having him be mad at you for what you said rubbed you the wrong way.

"Booker," you started, finally managing to pry your eyes from his and looked away in shame. "I'm sorry for what I said yesterday, it wasn't fair and-"

"It's okay, (firstname)." Booker interrupted. "You don't have to apologize. I should be. I should have told you the truth."

The backs of your eyes stung, but you refused to let tears spill over. If it was going to become you and Booker against Comstock, you would have to grow up and stop crying every ten seconds. You drew a sharp breath and held it, still not able to look back into his eyes. You realized that you had never taken your hand off of his face, and you went to withdraw it, but as if reading your mind Booker placed his on top of it. This was enough to break you, and the tears slid down your face as you returned your gaze to Booker. After a moment, you involuntarily coughed out a small laugh and smiled through your tears, due to his unkempt appearance drastically clashing with the sincerity in his eyes. Seeing you smile, Booker did the same and let out a relaxed sigh.

"Come on," you managed, turning your hand around to grab his, and giving it a small tug. "It's time to get up."

"Yeah, alright." Booker responded, rising to a sitting position. He then groaned loudly and clutched his head, scaring you a little.

"Are you alright?" you asked worriedly. He looked in such pain that it almost hurt you too.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine." he grumbled, rubbing his temples. "Just got a damn headache."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" you asked eagerly. You hated to see people in pain, especially when they were so close to you.

"Yeah, can you grab me some water?" Booker requested, rubbing his temples and leaning against the bed's headrest.

"Of course." you answered. You ran off to the kitchen and returned with a glass of cold water. You carefully handed it to Booker, who accepted it graciously and took a sip. Booker seemed in too much discomfort to talk, so you sat awkwardly on the side of the bed, not knowing what else to do, but not wanting to leave him. The awkward silence was slowly eating away at you, but you held your tongue. After taking a few more sips, Booker seemed a little bit more at ease, and sighed again.

"(Firstname)..." he began suddenly, causing you to turn your head to him. "Last night, at the bar.." He stopped, unsure how to continue.

Your eyes widened and chills ran through your body. He did remember. You looked at him expectantly, desperate to hear what he wanted to say next. An unwelcome thought entered your mind. What if he was going to tell you it wasn't real? Maybe he was going to tell you that he was just drunk, and it didn't mean anything. Your heart began caving inward as you subconsciously convinced yourself that this was the truth.

"I'm sorry. I know it was outta nowhere, but-"

"I get it Booker. You were drunk, it's okay." you said. You tried to sound nonchalant, but your voice wavered at the end. Booker looked up like a deer caught in headlights and shook his head frantically.

"No! No, 's not like that. It's just.. I'm sorry for not saying anything." he looked away and clutched his glass so hard his knuckles turned white. This time, it was your turn to place your hand on his. He seemed to have trouble breaking the news to you, that none of it was real.

"Booker. Really. It's okay. People make mistakes." you assured, patting his hand lightly.

"No, (firstname). 's not like that. It wasn't a mistake. I just wanted to... tell you differently is all." he insisted.

Your heartbeat started up again, and pounded so loudly you feared Booker might hear it. What was Booker trying to tell you? Was it all real? You began developing a headache of your own with so many thoughts buzzing through your mind at once. Talk about an emotional roller coaster. You were sick of all this uncertainty, and the waiting was unbearable, so you resolved to just ask him what it was he wanted to say. At least that way he might feel less cruel about it.

"What do you mean Booker? What did you want to tell me? Come on, we're friends. You can tell me anything." The way he winced when you said "friends" was all the proof you needed. He wanted to be more. You did too.

He remained silent for a few more moments, rubbing his thumb up and down the side of the glass. At last he turned to you, and opened his mouth. You could see him struggling to find the right words, and eventually he looked away again.

"Come on (firstname), don' make me say it..." he grumbled.

You sighed happily and gave his hand a small stroke.

"Alright, Booker." you wanted to let him know that you felt the same way, but now that you tried, it was difficult to say anything without sounding too desperate. "But I won't say it either." you finished. You could see Booker's shoulders slump in relief, making your smile grow even wider. Booker cleared his throat loudly, clearly wanting to be done with all this mushy stuff. He stood up suddenly and placed the glass on your nightstand, sliding off his vest coat. Judging by the state of his clothes, he had made an attempt at removing them during the night, but must have fallen back asleep at some point.

"I need a shower." he stated, and quickly walked to the bathroom, leaving you alone in the bedroom. With Booker gone, you finally let yourself relax, and sighed heavily. You thought about what you and Booker had said, and what it meant. Were the two of you a couple now? It sounded like it. If you were, what were you supposed to do? You started to regret tuning out Josephine from time to time when she spoke about her relationships. Suddenly you remembered the man that had been following you, and that you needed to tell Booker about him before it was too late. You considered telling him after his shower, but you didn't want to upset him, so you decided to tell him later. No harm in waiting a little longer. You got up and made the bed before opening the window, and left for the kitchen. You stared at the bathroom door, listening to the shower roaring to life. Hopefully, Booker wasn't hurting as much now.

You entered the kitchen and wondered about what to make for breakfast. You thought you remembered hearing that bread was good for you when you drank, although you weren't sure if you were supposed to have it before or after. Either way, it was better than nothing, so you settled on making some toast and eggs for the both of you. It wasn't very fancy, but perhaps later on you could both go out for a nice meal together, like a date. Couples did that, right? You weren't getting paid any more, but you had always earned more than you would ever need, and you had enough money set aside the last the both of you at least a year. You had a feeling you wouldn't be in Columbia that long.

You put on the food and took a seat in the kitchen. It suddenly hit you what kind of trouble you would be facing soon. Zachary Hale Comstock, the most important and revered man in all of Columbia, hated you. He knew, somehow, that Booker was coming for him. He didn't know that you would be helping him, but you couldn't really see that making much of a difference. And as if Comstock wasn't enough, you were going to be in close co-operation with the Vox Populi too, whom you would have to hide your history from as long as possible. If they found out you were in any way connected to Comstock, you didn't doubt they would kill you on sight. Even sitting in the safety of your own apartment, thinking over all of this made you tense up. There was no question you would have to fight, but you had never hit anyone in your life. Maybe Booker could give you a tip or two.

You were too buried in your thoughts to hear the bathroom door opening, and moments later, Booker stepped into the kitchen, reasonably more clean than when you had first seen him this morning. He greeted you with a quick smile, and stood awkwardly in the doorway.

"Sit down." you ordered, returning to the counter to check on the food. "I'm making us some breakfast."

"Oh, you don' need to do that." Booker answered, moving to the table and taking a seat. "Really, 'm not hungry."

"Don't be silly." you said, waving a dismissive hand in the air. "You need to eat after all that drinking." You laid the food out on two plates and slid one in front of him, placing the other on your side. You poured both of you glasses of water and placed them appropriately, taking your seat opposite Booker.

"Thanks, (firstname)." said Booker, picking up the cutlery and digging into an egg. He sighed contentedly. "I haven't had eggs this good in a long time." he managed to say between mouthfuls. You felt embarrassed for blushing a little over such a trivial comment, but it felt nice to have someone compliment you. You worked on your own plate, stopping for a drink every now and then. After a few silent moments, you decided to mention the dinner you had in mind. Hopefully, it wouldn't come across as desperate.

"So, uh, I know the breakfast is a bit small, but I was thinking that maybe we could, you know, maybe go out later for some real food." your voice shook more in that single sentence that ever before in your life. You didn't know why, but you felt like crying once you had finished it. Booker looked up from his food and into your eyes, giving you a small smile that made your heart melt.

"Yeah, sounds good (firstname). Maybe 'round eight?" he asked.

You struggled to contain your excitement. You didn't want to look pathetic by jumping with joy over a simple dinner date.

"That sounds perfect."

Chapter Text

You sat in the hair salon, letting the woman fiddle with your hair. She pulled it this way and that, brushing it smooth and trying to decide on a hairstyle that suited your look. She had asked you what you wanted, but you weren't sure. You hadn't had your hair done up in a very long time, and you usually just threw it into a pony tail. There were other women here too, but while they chatted away with one another, you sat quietly in your chair. You hardly knew any of the other women in Columbia, and you hadn't the slightest clue what they liked to talk about, so you turned to staring out of the window and wondering what Booker was up to.

This morning, after you had agreed to go out to dinner together, you had started discussing all of the details. Neither of you had ever been anywhere very fancy, so Booker took it upon himself to go looking for somewhere suitable for the both of you. Like you, he had wanted to get fancied up for your date, but he had no money, so you gave him a hefty amount and told him to go nuts. At first he had refused, but after much insistence he accepted. You two would meet back at your apartment for seven, and be there for eight. It was half five now.

"How about this?" asked the woman tending your hair. She lifted your hair up into a small bun. A lot of women liked to wear their hair up like that, but you didn't want to look like them. You wanted to look special for Booker. However, this was the third style the woman had showed you, and you didn't want to be rude.

"Yes, that looks quite nice." you said, failing completely at sounding enthusiastic.

"Very good." said the woman. She gently pulled your head back onto the hair sink, and began running water through it while massaging your scalp. She lifted up a bottle of strange liquid you didn't recognize and dropped a bit into your hair, massaging it in thoroughly before washing it out. It felt a bit unnerving to have someone have so much control over you. If this woman wanted to, she could pretty easily kill you. You scolded yourself inwardly for being so paranoid and let yourself relax into the treatment. Just for today, you'd try to forget about Comstock, and just focus on your relationship with Booker.

The woman finished cleaning the mysterious liquid through your hair, and rinsed it one last time. After this, she got you to get up and walk over to another chair further into the salon. Behind the chair was a large machine with a dome attached to it, which hung limply over the chair. You knew it was a hair dryer, but you had never used one before, and it looked quite intimidating. The woman placed you on the chair and fitted the dome over your head. She must have noticed your discomfort and gave you a small, reassuring smile before assuring you she'd be back in a minute. You jumped when the machine loudly came to life and the top of your head heated up, but you forced yourself to remain calm, and actually started to enjoy the sensation after a minute.

The woman returned a few minutes later and switched off the machine, lifting it off of you, and set to work on your hair. She brushed it smooth and let it fall down your shoulders before starting to pull it up, but you found yourself loving it the way it was.

"Perhaps we could keep it like this?" you offered quickly, causing the woman to stop and stare at you as if you had three heads. Clearly, she wasn't used to being told what she recommended was no good.

"If that is what you want.." she said uncertainly, letting your hair fall around your shoulders again. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you were certain it was. You didn't remember ever seeing women with their hair this way, but that was what made it special. Just this once, you would ignore the snide looks, and focus on what you wanted, not what some random stranger thought was best.

"Would you like some powder too, ma'am? It's free with the hair treatment." asked the woman, holding up a small pot of dust. You had never used anything like it before, but you had heard Josephine talking about it. It didn't sound too bad.

"Yes, please." you answered.

The woman picked up a large, fluffy circle and dabbed it in the powder before smacking it around your face. You instinctively closed your eyes at the rising dust and tried not to cough. When the woman announced that she had finished, you opened up your eyes again, and stared into the mirror, your smile returning wider than ever. Whatever the dust was, it made your skin tone much more balanced, and hid whatever blemishes you had had before.

"My goodness, that really works, doesn't it? Thank you." you said, admiring your face in the mirror as you stood up from the chair.

"Not a problem, ma'am. It looks good on you." she complimented. "Now, about the cost.."

You dug your purse from your satchel and handed the woman some silver eagles, with an extra tip for a job well done. She smiled graciously and bid you goodbye as she moved to the cash register. You looked in the mirror one last time before heading outside, your updated features giving you a smidgen of confidence. Next on your list was finding a nice dress for dinner. You took a cursory glance up and down the street for a dress shop but did not see one, sighing as you realized you'd have to go looking. Hopefully, you wouldn't run late. You re adjusted your satchel's strap and took a few steps, only to be stopped by someone calling you. You turned to see a familiar face running towards you.

"(Firstname)!" Josephine called, running up to you excitedly. You hadn't expected to ever hear from her again, so this was a pleasant surprise.

"Hey, Josephine." you greeted. She looked so excited to see you that you couldn't help smile, but you wondered why she wasn't in work herself.

"Where have you been?!" she asked worriedly, gripping your hands and holding them between you. "I didn't see you at work yesterday, and it certainly isn't like you to miss a day!" She took a look at your face before settling into a sly, understanding smile. "And what are you all done up for, hm?"

You were glad Josephine had noticed your state, or you would have to explain why you were out of work. Being Josephine, she wouldn't stop asking until she knew every last detail, and she was the last person you'd want mixed up in all of this business.

"I'm...meeting someone." you answered slyly, inspecting your nails as if it were no big deal. If you baited her hard enough, she might just forget about your absence.

"Aw, come on (firstname), don't be like that!" she begged, stomping her foot in mock childishness. "Who is it?"

"It's no one, really..." you answered indifferently. You commended yourself for acting so well.

Josephine straightened up and looked you straight in the eye. "(Firstname) (Lastname), you tell me who you're meeting with this instant or so help me..."

"Okay, okay." you began, laughing at her commanding demeanor. "His name's Booker."

Josephine stared at you in disbelief. "That's it? I need details! How old is he? What's his height?" Josephine bombarded you with a series of questions that made your head spin.

"Look Josephine," you interrupted, silencing her. "I need to find a dress. If you bring me to a good store, I promise I'll tell you everything while we're picking okay?" Josephine probably knew every dress store in Columbia like the back of her hand. Without another word, she gripped your hand and pulled you around the corner at the end of the street to a small shop with beautiful dresses on display in the window. She walked so fast that you were surprised you hadn't tripped over your feet.

"The shop here doesn't get a lot of business, but they're really one of the best in Columbia. I get my best dresses here." she stated, ushering you inside.

You looked around, dismayed at the small selection of dresses that lay on mannequins around the store. On the bright side, less to pick from meant faster picking.

"Let me just get the tailor." Josephine said, as she walked off towards the counter. You weren't sure why you needed a tailor to help you pick a dress, but Josephine knew better than you did. She came back quickly, with an older man by her side.

"Alright, Ms.(Lastname), if you'll follow me, we can start working on a design for your dress."

You cursed inwardly. It had been so long since you had needed new clothes, you had forgotten it was custom to have them made specifically for you. You blushed slightly at your foolishness.

"Could I maybe just pick one of these?" you asked, gesturing to the few dresses that dotted the store floor. "I really don't have the time to have a whole new dress made."

The man looked confused for a moment, but nodded eventually and began walking towards the back of the store. "I might have a few things for you, but they won't be as comfortable as a custom fit."

Josephine turned to you. "Okay, we're here now. Start talking, missy." she ordered playfully.

You began talking about Booker to her, carefully avoiding giving away too much, but saying enough to keep it interesting, while the tailor walked in and out with different dresses for you. Josephine was mesmerized with every detail, and was about to speak up when the tailor came over to you both, and ushered you towards the dresses he had picked.

He gave you the one on top first, an emerald green dress with puffy shoulders and beautiful embroidery around the chest. You worked your way into it in a private room, but found it much too constricting to be at all comfortable. You switched back to your old clothes and repeated this process with multiple dresses. As you tested each dress, you managed to find out from Josephine that all of the maids had been given a few days off while Comstock was preparing for the upcoming parade. He had insisted it be a surprise for everyone in the town. It was curious behaviour, but you had told yourself that you would forget about all that for a day, and kept your mind on yourself. You were beginning to lose hope of finding suitable attire in time, when the tailor showed you one more dress from the pile. It was a simple, (favouritecolour) dress that was just low enough not to touch the ground. It was quite plain except for the laced back and a silk waistband, and hugged your body impossibly well. You stepped out of the changing room proudly, and heard an excited squeal from Josephine.

"You're gorgeous, (firstname)!" she cried, clapping her hands together.

You blushed and gave a little twirl. "Thank you, Josephine."

"It does look quite well indeed." chimed the tailor. "If that's the one you want, we can work out a reasonable price, it being pre-made and whatnot."

You confirmed that you wanted this dress, and the tailor suggested a price to you. It was quite large for a piece of clothing, but you wanted to spare no expense in looking good for Booker. You began walking back to the changing room, intending to switch back to your regular clothes then change at your apartment. Josephine spoke up again as you walked.

"Hey (firstname), what time is your date at anyway?" she asked.

"Well, I need to be at my apartment for seven, and we're getting to the restaurant at eight." you answered, just at the door of the room.

"(Firstname)!" she whined, causing you to turn your head in surprise. "It's half six now!"

At first you thought she was joking and you smiled, but when her expression didn't change you followed her eyes to a clock, which indeed read half six. You began panicking, and your heartbeat started going like the clappers. If you were late, Booker might think you had changed your mind and didn't like him any more. He might start hating you and go somewhere else, and you'd never see him again. You couldn't let that happen. Maybe if you walked fast enough you could just make it back on time. You ran into the changing room and stuffed your regular clothes into a bag unceremoniously, running back out and leaving the shop. Josephine just barely managed to keep on your heels.

"Don't go too fast or you'll sweat and ruin the powder!" she cried, beginning to lose steam, and slowing down.

You wanted to save all your breath for speed walking back, so you nodded and kept moving. You lifted the hem of your dress slightly, terrified of falling over. Many people on the street stared at you incredulously as you half ran down the street, but you did your best to ignore them and kept going. Finally, your apartment building came into view. You quickly glanced up at the clock above the cobbler's shop  and saw that it read quarter to seven. At this rate, you'd be lucky if you didn't pass out from exhaustion before you got there.

You entered the lobby and quickly crossed the floor, earning a few confused looks from the people scattered around. If Mr. Jameson had said something to say to you today, you didn't hear him as you rushed up the stairs. You reached the door of your apartment and stopped outside, regaining your composure. If Booker was inside, you didn't want to burst in looking like a crazy person. When you had caught your breath, you casually opened the door and stepped in, looking around. No one seemed to be inside, so you quickly walked to your room and threw the bag of clothes onto the floor. You returned to the kitchen and had a glass of water, careful not to let the water touch your face and ruin the powder. Now that you were on time yourself, your thoughts turned to Booker. What would he use the money for? A quick shave, maybe. Some new clothes? Now that you had money on your mind, you remembered that you had spent the last of yours on the dress, and you returned to your room to get a bit more. While you took the money out, you admired yourself in the mirror for a moment. You had to admit, the dress did look extremely fetching on you, and you loved your hair down this way. You had kept your regular boots on, but one could hardly see them, so it didn't really matter.

As you stood admiring yourself, you heard the front door open, and excited nervousness wracked your body. It was time for you to see what Booker thought of your new look. You leaned in closer to ensure that none of the powder had wiped off, and, finding it untouched, you left your bedroom. Every step towards the parlor made you more and more excited until you felt like singing with joy. You reached the doorway, and took one final calming breath. You walked slowly in, and your face exploded into an unstoppable smile when you lay your eyes on Booker. He stood freshly groomed in a sharp, black suit that outlined his strong body. He had obviously needed to pick a pre made suit too, but you couldn't tell just by looking at him. His eyes widened when he saw you, but eventually he settled into a smile, and straightened up his back in an effort to seem more gentlemanly. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"You look...amazing." he said, running his eyes up and down the length of your body.

You blushed, although it was hard to see under the powder. "Thank you." you said quietly. "You're not so bad yourself."

Booker smiled again before stepping to the side, and sweeping an arm towards the open door. "Shall we?" he requested.

You took one last look at the clock, which read a quarter past seven, before stepping outside.

"Let's."

Chapter Text

You stepped outside of your apartment, trying to force yourself to stop trembling with excitement, but it was no easy task. This was the first date you had ever been on in your life, and you wanted it to be perfect. As you stood out in the hallway battling your nerves, Booker closed the door behind the both of you and locked it with they key you gave him. It was reassuring to see he hadn't lost it in a drunken stupor. You felt the weight of the satchel against your waist, but you forced yourself to think of anything other than the weapon inside. If it was up to you, you would have gotten rid of the pistol as soon as possible, but your better judgement told you to hold on to it.

Booker gave you another smile and gestured for you to move ahead of him on the stairs, but you shook your head politely. The dress you wore was just short enough to not touch the ground, but you still weren't used to it, and one wrong step would catapult you down the staircase. Not wanting to awkwardly refuse his chivalry, you voiced your concern to Booker.

"Would-" your voice cracked with excitement, and you cleared your throat, embarrassed, but it only made Booker smile. "Would you mind leading, please? I'm not so comfortable going down stairs in this dress." you asked, motioning to the hem.

"Oh, so if you fall, you need me as a cushion, huh?" Booker joked, smiling at you. You blushed slightly, which caused him to chuckle. You didn't want to say it, but that is what you had meant.

"You're cute when you're embarrassed." smiled Booker, which only caused you to blush more. At this point, the powder on your face was probably redundant.

Booker moved to the top of the staircase and turned to you, extending a hand. You stared at it for a moment before gently grabbing it. You had never saw the appeal of holding hands with a loved one, but now that you were doing it, it was an indescribably pleasant feeling that traveled the length of your arm and throughout your body. Resting your soft hand in Booker's strong one gave an immediate sense of security and comfort.

"Right this way, madam." he said, gently pulling you beside him. There was hardly enough space for the two of you, but being so close to Booker was not something you wanted to object. You just hoped nobody else would try to come up, or things would get very awkward very quickly.

You slowly moved downstairs, taking one step at a time. At the last stair, your luck ran out, and the toe of your boot became snagged in the dress. You heaved forward, only to be stopped by Booker's arm across your chest. You took a moment to realize what had happened and recollected yourself, nodding a thank you to the smiling Booker. He just seemed to love watching you make a show of yourself. You stepped out into the lobby, gaining a few interested looks, but for once you didn't care that people were staring at you. Being with Booker gave you such a sense of comfort, the whole city could stare you down and you wouldn't care.

You noticed you hadn't let go of Booker's hand and loosened it, thinking he might be a bit embarrassed to walk around holding hands, but he squeezed your hand playfully until you readjusted your grip. You smiled up at him, and although he had his eyes ahead, he smiled too. You didn't know what people actually talked about on dates, but you tried to strike up a conversation with him regardless, starting with the simple stuff.

"So, where are we eating tonight?" you asked as you both began leaving the lobby.

"Well, that's for me to know, and you to find out." he answered slyly, still looking ahead as he walked. Cute.

You both turned left and began walking down the street. You were grateful for having chosen a later time to have your date. By now, there were few people out and about, some with their partners, like yourself, and some who had just gotten off work and were getting their shopping done. At first, you were content to simply follow Booker's lead and wait to get there, thinking about how the evening would go, but after a few minutes the path you were taking started to feel awfully familiar. You were walking down the same path you used to take to work.

Fear started growing inside of you. The closer you got to Comstock's mansion, the more dangerous things would start getting. You still hadn't even told Booker about the man that had been watching you yesterday. You gave a paranoid glance around the area, afraid that someone would jump the both of you at any moment. Booker must have noticed your unrest, as he looked down to you and squeezed your hand to get your attention.

"Is everything alright (Firstname)?" he asked, looking at you with concerned eyes before taking his own look around.

You debated with yourself whether to tell him now, or wait until later. If you told him now, both of you would be on the lookout for the entire night, and there's no way you would be able to enjoy yourselves. If you waited a bit longer, then you could have a nice, relaxing night, and you could worry about Comstock later on, or even tomorrow. You really didn't want to ruin your first date by choice, so you decided to wait until later. You forced a smile onto your lips and looked up at Booker.

"Yes, of course. I'm just curious as to where we're going is all!" you said excitedly, then gave a small laugh to seal the deal. Booker's expression relaxed considerably and he nodded understandingly. Lying to him put your stomach in knots, but you ignored it and forced yourself to relax more.

After another minute of walking, you had actually been able to relax a little more, convincing yourself that nothing was going to happen today. The two of you turned a corner, and you saw a familiar building at the end of the street. The diner where you two had first gotten to know each other. Although it was certainly a surprise, you were more shocked than anything. Booker might have thought he was being romantic, and it would have been, if it had not been for what happened in the alley of that same diner. Despite your intentions, your smile dropped instantly.

The whole way down the street, you were trying to think of the words to convince Booker to go somewhere else without being rude or mean. You knew he meant well, but this just wasn't okay. You were a few feet from the diner and you opened your mouth, but Booker caught you off guard by suddenly turning to the right. He led you down a different street, away from the diner, and cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Sorry I had to bring you past there, (firstname). I know it brings back bad memories, but I don't know another way to get here." he said.

You sighed in relief, happy that Booker had thought of you when looking for somewhere to eat. You didn't give him enough credit.

"It's alright Booker. It's not so bad. It's where I met you after all." you smiled. The last part might have been a tad overkill, but you didn't feel like you were showing Booker that you really liked him as much as you did. Booker smiled and let go of your hand, turning it into a warm side hug. He looked down at you with proud eyes.

"How'd I get someone like you, huh?" he asked, tightening the hug and rubbing your arm. You blushed and looked away, slightly embarrassed. Booker really did like you, and he made no cover of it.

Booker stopped and turned the both of you to face a building. Two windows lay parallel to one another, and in between them as a large ornate wooden door. You couldn't see the name of the building for the rain covers that hung over the door, but looking through the windows, it looked incredibly high class. Booker stepped forward and opened the door, offering you first entrance which you graciously accepted. You stepped into a wallpapered room, which held another set of double doors at the other end. Beside the double doors stood a finely dressed man with thin round glasses at a wooden podium. The man raised his head and peered over his glasses when he heard the door open. He gave a curious look to you, but when he switched his gaze to Booker, he smirked and looked back down to his book, writing in it.

"Reservation for Dewitt." Booker said staunchly, stopping a few feet from the podium.

"Of course." the man replied. He seemed to cross something out in his book before dropping his pen and stepping down from the podium. Now that his full body was in view, you could see that he was actually quite small. He walked past the two of you, heading for the double doors.

"Right this way, Sir." he requested. Booker dropped his hug and grasped your hand again. He didn't seem to want to let go of you for more than a second.

You followed the man as he opened one of the large double doors. Inside was a dimly lit room with an alluring smell of finely cooked food. The building was much larger than it had looked from outside, with a large chandelier dangling from the ceiling above the many couples that sat together. There were no tables with more than two people; this was clearly a hideaway for intimate couples. Each table was illuminated by a single candle that shone between the two diners, though many had moved to the candle to the side to better look at their partner. The entire room just emanated with romance, and you found yourself speechless at the whole situation. Never in your life had you been somewhere so fancy. Even Comstock's mansion felt like a regular apartment in comparison.

The man led you both to a table far away from the double doors. The room was almost eerily quiet as he seated you both, the only noise being the quiet conversations of the diners. As you took your seat, you marveled at how much you felt like royalty. The chair was impossibly plush and comfortable, and the red table cover could only have been silk, it was so soft. You took off your satchel and lopped it onto the back of the chair. You hadn't noticed from far away, but now that you were sitting at a table, you noticed a few rose petals strewn around. Not enough to be annoying, but enough to be romantic. You thanked your chaperone and he nodded before speaking up again.

"Now, Sir and Madam. If that's all you require, a waiter will be out shortly to receive your orders."

Booker looked to you to see if you needed anything, but you nodded politely in refusal.

"That's all we'll be needing. Thank you." he said to the man, who nodded again and returned to his podium outside.

Booker looked you in the eyes, smiling and trying to gauge your reaction. You were so surprised to have gotten into a place like this that all you could do was stare at him. How had he managed to get you both in here? These kinds of places always needed a reservation, and even then it was somewhat difficult for common folk to get priority.

"So? Whadd'ya think?" asked Booker, his smile growing even wider and showing his teeth when he noticed your shocked state.

"Booker..." you managed, shaking your head lightly to try clear your thoughts. "How on earth did you manage to get us in here? Don't these places only take reservations?"

Booker chuckled lowly, lifting his elbows onto the table and resting his head on his knuckles. "Yeah," he responded. "But I can be very... persuasive when I wanna be."

You weren't entirely sure what that meant, but for now you didn't care. All that mattered was that you and Booker were together in here. You hoped no one else had had to miss out on their own dinners because of you, but you didn't think Booker would be that heartless. A silence formed as neither of you were sure what to talk about, and you took the opportunity to inspect some of the other diners. None of them seemed particularly familiar, but you didn't want to stare at them for too long and risk disturbing them from their private time with their partners. You did a double take and locked on to one person that you did recognize. Ms. Dean, the head maid from your old job, sat across from a man who's face you couldn't see. She looked quite fetching in a dress of her own, and was smiling, laughing at something the man had said while gesturing his arms. She seemed to be absolutely smitten with him. You smiled to yourself and looked away. If you made eye contact, things would become rather awkward. You wondered how a maid had gotten in to somewhere like this, but put it down to her partner. Maybe he was well known? You couldn't know until you saw him.

Booker must have taken your curiosity for disinterest, because he cleared his throat awkwardly and attempted to make conversation with you.

"So, you look nice." he said, eyeing your hair and what he could see of your dress. "Where'd ya manage to find all that?"

You smiled at his compliment and described your morning to him. He looked much too interested for listening to someone getting ready for a date, but you appreciated it none the less. You avoided talking about Josephine, and instead just said you had managed to find the dress shop by yourself. If you could keep her as far away from all this trouble as possible, you'd be happy.

"How about you?" you inquired, once finished your story. "How did your morning go?"

Booker began describing his own morning. After he left your apartment, he had gone looking for somewhere to eat right away. He said that he had visited so many different places that he had lost count, because they either wouldn't accept on such short notice or he didn't think it was good enough. Once he had found this place, he had managed to "persuade" the receptionist to let him get a table, although he still didn't go into detail. After that, he had gone to the barbers to get a clean up. After the barbers, he had spent a long time trying to find a store that could provide him with a suit on such short notice. When he described the street he found the right store on, you both laughed as you realized you had been panicking to get ready not so far from each other.

A sharply dressed waiter came up to your table, and lay two menus out for the both of you to look through. He stood back and waited patiently while you perused the choices. It felt quite pressurizing, having the waiter standing there, but you eventually picked (suitable favourite dish). The waiter nodded, and turned to Booker, who ordered his own food.

"I'll take a whiskey, and uh, a wine for the lady?" asked Booker, looking over at you.

You didn't know what to say. You had only had wine once before, and you didn't particularly care for it, though this was a special occasion, and you didn't want to embarrass Booker, so you nodded. Surely it wouldn't be so bad.

----

You and Booker were halfway through your main course. You were absolutely trapped in bliss with your food. Everything about it was perfect, and more than once you had to breathe for a moment and stop yourself shoveling it. The wine also you had you a little bit flustered, but it was nothing you couldn't handle. It had been a while since you or Booker had said anything, and you began to feel a bit worried that you weren't being engaging enough. Although you didn't know what to say, you could tell you both enjoyed being in physical contact, so you decided to try for that. You couldn't exactly hold his hand while he was eating though, so you scooted a little lower in your chair and tentatively lifted a leg to his. To your gratitude, the table's cover draped down to the floor, so none of the other diners could see what you were doing. Half of them were probably doing the same thing. You managed to touch your leg to his, causing him to raise his eyebrows in surprise and smile up at you. It felt a bit strange, and it wasn't your style to be the initiator, but Booker seemed to like it and that was good enough for you. You took it a step further by slowly rubbing your leg up and down against his, a smile spreading across your face at how silly you felt. Booker chuckled under his breath and put down his cutlery, shaking his head slightly.

You yelped slightly when strong hands grabbed your leg, holding it in place. Other diners frowned and turned their heads in irritation, causing a deep blush to cover your face. You looked down in shame, but kept smiling at Booker's actions.

"Now how am I s'pose to enjoy my meal with you distracting me like that?" he questioned slyly, sliding a warm hand under your dress and rubbing it against the bottom of your leg.

"Sorry..." you grinned. Truly, you weren't sorry at all. This was a lot different to a hug or holding hands. It felt much better.

Booker released your leg and you pulled it back quickly, slightly disheartened that you had broken contact with him. He kept looking at you for a few more moments while he picked back up his cutlery and continued his meal. You sat quietly, unsure what to do. You were full, and you didn't want to annoy Booker by constantly prodding at him. After another minute of picking at your food you were suddenly struck by the urge to use the bathroom. It took you a moment, but after enough looking around you found the door for the women's restroom. The doors had been colored to look the same as the walls. It helped to prevent them taking away from the atmosphere, but it wasn't very practical.

"Can you excuse me?" you requested, quietly sliding back your chair and standing up. Booker raised an eyebrow, but nodded and went back to his food. You made your way to the restroom and tried to avoid eye contact with anyone who had been put off by your ruckus.

Once you had finished your business, you washed your hands thoroughly and thanked the washroom attendant as he held out a towel for you. You stepped back outside, and averted your gaze when multiple people looked at you, the sudden light from the bathroom disturbing them. As you walked back to your table, you took a glance at Booker, who had finished his food and was now watching you come back with a smile on his face, as if someone had just told him a joke.

"What's so funny?" you asked, smiling as you sat down.

"The way you look down when you walk." answered Booker. " 's cute."

You huffed good naturedly and crossed your arms. "Well, I'm glad my shyness pleases you."

Booker chuckled, then nodded at your plate. "If you're done with that, you wanna get the bill?"

"Yeah, let's." you responded, unhooking your satchel from the back of your chair while Booker raised his hand.

You undid the hooks of the satchel and opened it, looking for your purse. The room was too dimly light to see well, so you thrust your hand into the satchel and tried to find it. The first thing your hand collided with was the hard metal of the pistol, and you shuddered. You had managed to forget about it while you enjoyed your time with Booker, but now the weapon itself, as the well the memories it brought, hit you full force. You pushed the gun out of the way and closed your hand around your purse, pulling it out and handing it to Booker. It was unusual for the women to pay the bill, and you didn't want to show him up. You left the satchel undone and returned it to the back of the chair. No point in closing it if you'd have to open it again in another two seconds.

Booker paid the bill once the waiter returned to your table, and gave you back your purse, which you slid into your satchel, closing it tight again. The waiter thanked you both, and returned to his position. You moved out of your chair and Booker did the same, instantly extending his hand for you. You took it, smiling, and Booker winked at you before leading you out of the room. Once the door closed behind you, the receptionist looked up from his book.

"Hope you enjoyed your meal, take care." he said, although he didn't seem particularly interested.

You both nodded and stepped outside. You looked around curiously at the empty street. You were used to getting off work when it was dark, but this was something different. Usually when you were heading home, there were still a few people mulling about, but now there was nobody to be seen. It made you feel a little uncomfortable, buy thankfully you had Booker at your side. Maybe there would be more around your apartment building. As Booker led you back to your apartment, your mind came to the man that had been following you again. You swore to yourself that you would tell him back at the apartment. You knew it would be worse the longer you held on to it, but you couldn't bring yourself to risk ruining your date with it. Upon reaching the diner, you noticed that it had closed by now. It looked quite eerie, between the darkness and the lack of signs of life. Looking at it made you shiver. Booker noticed this and looked down at you.

"You cold?" he asked.

"No, I'm fine, really." you answered. Nice of him to ask.

Booker stopped suddenly and let go of your hand, unbuttoning his suit jacket.

"Turn for a sec." he ordered, but you shook your head.

"Booker, I'm not cold, really! Thank you." you repeated.

Booker raised the jacket slightly and raised an eyebrow expectantly at you. It became clear that he wouldn't move until you accepted, and you didn't want to stand outside in the dark like this for long, so you turned and let him drape the jacket over your shoulders.

"Thank you." you said. "But aren't you cold now?"

Booker smirked. "A little." He wrapped a strong arm around you and pulled you close to his side, resuming the walk. "I guess you'll need to keep close to warm me up."

You laughed at his behavior and shook your head. He did know how to get what he wanted.

Eventually, you reached your apartment building and entered the lobby. The normally busy lobby was dead silent, and the sounds of your shoes reverberated in the dark room as you walked. You became so absorbed in the emptiness of the room that you hadn't noticed Booker had stopped following you. You turned to around to ask him what the matter was, but found the space behind you empty. Your eyes widened and your heart beat picked up. Your hands jumped to your satchel, and you began opening it, intending to get the pistol. Before you could open it, strong hands clamped on to your shoulders from behind, and you shrieked, turning quickly and sending a sharp slap across the attacker's face instinctively.

You stood appalled as a hysterical Booker backed up and clamped a hand to his face, laughing. Apparently the pain wasn't as strong as the amusement he found in scaring the life out of you. You pouted and crossed your arms, your cheeks flaring red as Booker's deep laugh echoed in the lobby.

"That is not funny, Mr. DeWitt." you scolded, though you felt a smile creeping across your face despite your best efforts to look angry.

"Aw, come on (firstname)." laughed Booker, wiping a tear from his eye. He lifted his hand towards you, but you turned your nose up playfully, closing your eyes and shaking your head.

"You don't deserve to hold the hand of a decent person." you sneered. You expected him to beg you, but after a moment of silence you suddenly felt Booker wrap his arms around your waist and hoist you over his shoulder. You squealed involuntarily as he began marching towards the staircase.

"Booker, put me down!" you cried, lightly thumping your fists against his back and flailing your legs. Despite your protesting, Booker remained resolute in his journey.

"Watch it, (firstname)." he warned slyly. "You're messin' up your dress, and I ain't puttin' ya down till we get upstairs."

You instantly began pushing back down your dress, which had become slightly dislodged with your frantic movement. The last thing you needed was to show your undergarments to everyone who might be passing. You weren't even sure if Booker should see them just yet. You accepted your situation, hanging limply and waiting for Booker to finish going upstairs. He didn't seem to struggle at all as he carried you up, although with his strong body, it wasn't very surprising. You weren't a heavy girl.

Booker reached your apartment door and you prepared yourself to be let down, but instead of releasing you he began fishing in his pocket.

"Hey, you said you'd put me down now!" you whined, thumping his back again.

Booker ignored you and finally retrieved his key, opening the door and walking in. He closed the door behind you and locked it again before moving through the kitchen. You were utterly confused as to what was going on before he stepped into your bedroom. When you realized what he was up to, you quickly slid your satchel off and threw it onto the floor. Booker messily dropped you onto the bed and let out a loud breath, rotating his arms and neck. 

"Maybe next time, just hold my hand." grinned Booker, folding his arms and looking down at you.

You shook your head and laughed. Things quickly became silent, and, staring up at Booker, this strange tension like nothing you had felt before began enveloping your body. Your smile dropped as you became trapped in staring at Booker. His hair and his shirt were all ruffled from carrying you, but he had never seemed more handsome to you. His own smile dropped as he stared down at you, and although neither of you said a thing, you could sense that he felt the same tension you did.

Booker cleared his throat suddenly and broke eye contact, looking to the side and scratching the back of his neck. It felt like having someone punch you in the gut, but at the same time, you didn't want to rush in to something you weren't sure about. You looked away too, sitting up straight in your bed and hugging your knees to your chin.

"Well," began Booker, still rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I guess I should be goin' ta bed now. Busy day tomorrow."

You were curious as to what he meant by a busy day, but you let it pass. What you really wanted was to stay with Booker. You tried to think of how to ask him to stay without sounding too pleading or desperate, but there really wasn't very many ways to do it. Although, if you were a couple now, then it wasn't unreasonable for the two of you to stay in the same bed. It was certainly big enough for the both of you.

"Wait." you said, a little quieter than you had hoped. Booker stopped moving and turned his head to you.

"You can, uh... you can sleep in my bed." It was a reasonable request, but that didn't stop it from making you feel all kinds of embarrassed and awkward. You didn't want to be too pushy either, so you added a little more.

"But!... but that's only if you want to. You don't have to or anything."

Booker smiled and let out a short laugh, returning fully into the room.

"Sounds good. Thanks, (firstname)." he responded.

A smile spread across your face faster than you could blink, and you stood up from the bed. You moved over to your wardrobe and took out some sleepwear before moving towards the bathroom.

"I'm going to get ready for bed. Feel free to just jump in when you're ready." you stated, entering the bathroom and closing the door. Booker said something in response, but you couldn't hear with the door closing.

Dismissing it, you placed your night clothes on your soap stand. You could still get an extremely faint scent of the perfume you had destroyed, but you couldn't find any shards of glass on the floor. You hadn't cleaned them up, so Booker must have. You pulled at your dress, which had become quite disoriented with all of Booker's behaviour, and after a few stressful moments, finally managed to slide it off. Instead of throwing it carelessly onto the floor, you folded it lovingly and swapped it with your nightclothes on the stand. It had cost you quite a bit of money, and you weren't about to ruin it by crumpling it on the floor.

You slid into your night clothes and brushed your teeth while checking yourself in the mirror. When finished with your teeth, you fixed your hair, and tried to make sure you didn't look a mess for Booker. It felt weird trying to make yourself look good going to bed, but you assumed most girls in relationships did that. You were about to step outside when you remembered the powder on your face. Better to wash it off, just in case. You carefully scrubbed the makeup from your face and watched it swirl down the drain. You suddenly felt nervous. Would Booker think you were ugly without the powder? You stared worriedly at yourself in the mirror for a few seconds, but eventually dismissed the thought entirely. Tonight was the first time you had used powder, and Booker had been attracted to you before that. You cursed yourself for being so paranoid, and took one final breath before opening the door to your bedroom.

Booker sat upright in your bed, turning his head to you once you opened the door. He had the covers just up to his chest, and you could see that he had no shirt on. The suit hanging in the wardrobe on one of your spare clothes hangers told you that he must have had no slacks on either, but you trusted him to have at least kept his underwear on. The thought of things being otherwise made you blush slightly, and you scolded yourself for thinking so inappropriately for a lady.

"Hope you don't mind me using your wardrobe for my suit." said Booker suddenly, snapping you out of your thought.

"Oh, don't be silly." you responded, shaking your head as you slipped under the covers. "Be my guest."

You were both under the covers now, inches from one another. You didn't know if you should say or do anything special, and, by his silence, it seemed Booker wasn't too sure either. You decided to break the silence by simply bidding him good night.

"Well, good night Booker." you said, sliding onto your back and pulling the covers up to you. Now that you had actually done it, you felt slightly embarrassed. It might have been a very good opportunity to say something much more personal, but you had just wasted it entirely.

"Night, (firstname)." answered Booker. Thankfully, he didn't sound disappointed, and you felt him lie down and relax himself.

 You tried to relax and let your eyes flutter shut. It took a few minutes to get adjusted to having someone sleep in the same bed as you, after countless years of lonely slumbers. The most difficult part was learning to tune out the sound of Booker's breathing so that you could focus on your own and relax, but you eventually adjusted to it, and sighed deeply. After a few restless minutes, you felt Booker shift a little, and you assumed he was just getting comfortable, but his strong arm tentatively slid around your body until it encased you entirely. At first, it felt awkward and uncomfortable, but you let yourself sink into his chest, and it suddenly became extremely pleasurable. Being wrapped in his embrace made you feel so safe and warm that you found yourself never wanting to leave it. You could feel Booker's warm breath on the back of your head, and it stopped momentarily when he planted a quick kiss on the back of your neck. Not wanting to ruin the moment, you remained silent, and closed your eyes, allowing yourself to fall into sleep.

Chapter Text

Your eyes opened slowly, taking in the dim sunlight, and you blinked multiple times, trying to focus your eyesight. You lay still for a few moments, waiting for your head to clear up before you rose. Once you were satisfied that you were of a clear mind, you started shifting towards the edge of the bed, but a pressure around your stomach stopped you. You blinked in surprise and lifted the covers, peeking down. A strong arm confined you to the space of the bed, and you suddenly remembered Booker. Getting used to sleeping beside someone was going to take some work.

You lay staring at the arm for a few moments, trying to decide which path of action to take. You could try to wake Booker up, but you feared that might be a little mean or unfair. Despite protesting pains in your neck, you craned your head around to look at him. He was snoring lightly, but he looked so peaceful and calm that you couldn't bring yourself to intentionally disrupt it for your own needs. You stared at his face for a few moments before turning your head back around. If you were careful enough, you might just be able to dislodge his arm without waking him up, and that way you could both be happy.

You gently pulled the covers back and placed your hands on his arm, moving as slowly as you could to avoid disturbing him. You hooked a few fingers under his forearm and began tugging at it, huffing with effort when you realized how tightly it was wrapped around you. You took another look at Booker's face before giving his arm a hearty tug, finally dislodging it from you. Sighing in relief, you carefully placed it on the bed beside him and sat up, taking a look at your clock. Six in the morning. A little later than usual, but you weren't complaining. You twisted your back, stretching it, and began to shuffle off of the bed, but Booker's arm suddenly caught your waist again, pulling you back with a yelp.

"Now where do you think you're going?" Booker whispered into your ear, smiling as he pulled you back alongside him.

"Booker!" you whined, pushing his arm lightly and squirming under his grip. "Let me go, I'm getting up!"

Booker's arm only tightened on your waist more, and he chuckled lowly.

"Why so early? You got somewhere to be?"

You stopped squirming and raised your eyebrows in thought. You actually didn't have anywhere to be. You were just used to getting up early after doing it for so many years that it was a second nature to you. Now that you had been fired from Comstock's, you had absolutely no reason to get up so early.

"Well, no but..." you tried, not knowing how to finish.

"Exactly." Booker whispered again, easing up with his arm when he realized he had you. "So stay wi' me for a while."

You sighed, thinking over your options, but eventually a smile found its way onto your face, and you relaxed back into Booker's chest. He was right. You had nowhere to be, no one to meet, so you may as well spend as much time as possible savoring his company. Besides, it wasn't as if being so close to him was something you wanted to avoid. You pulled the covers back over you and settled into your pillow, relaxed.

Despite your comfort, you found it difficult to fall back asleep. You had always gotten up and gone to work right when you woke up, and your body wasn't used to being given extra time to sleep. You shifted around while waiting for sleep, and eventually found yourself turning entirely, now facing Booker. You couldn't help the blush that spread across your cheeks at his proximity. You considered turning around, but something about laying this way made you feel excited and warm inside. You stared up at Booker's face, glad for the opportunity to soak in his handsome features without having to worry about him staring back. You swept your eyes along his strong jawline, continuing up his face until you met his eyes. You found yourself wanting to look into those dark green eyes again, wanting to feel them connect with your own, but you relented, instead settling into your pillow. With no room to lay your arm in front of you, you instead rested your hands against Booker's chest. Although it felt quite warm and comforting, you looked up to Booker, hoping he wouldn't be put off by it. He lazily opened an eye and looked down to you, smiling and hugging you closer to him. You close your eyes again, and at last, your body allowed you to fall back to sleep.

----

Your eyes opened again, this time to a much brighter light streaming from the window. Finding yourself alone in the bed, your heart sank a little and you raised your head, looking around the room. You couldn't see Booker anywhere, but you you could see his suit still hanging in your wardrobe. You looked at the clock, and found it to be one in the afternoon. You blinked and rubbed your eyes, making sure you were seeing right. You had never woken up so late in your life. But then, you had done a lot of things in the past few days that you never would have before, so it wasn't as big a surprise as it might have been.

While you contemplated your situation, the bathroom door opened and Booker stepped out. At first, he didn't notice you were awake, and he crept across the room quietly, making way for his suit. Although it warmed you to know he cared enough to try avoid waking you, you also felt a little suspicious of his behavior. What was so important that he got up without you, especially after what he had said earlier this morning? You considered continuing your act and letting him play it out until he felt ready to wake you himself, but you decided to take action yourself. You had had your good times together, and soon it would be time to face Comstock. If you were going to help Booker, then you would need to start developing a more aggressive stance on matters and not always let yourself sit by passively. You took a breath to steel yourself.

Booker flinched slightly and looked over to you when you sat up, staring him in the eyes. Although this was a serious situation, you didn't want to have any bad feelings between the two of you, so you plastered a smile onto your face as you spoke.

"Going somewhere?" you asked calmly, adjusting your position so that you leaned against the bed's backboard. You felt like you were interrogating him, and it felt a bit cruel, but you had to learn to act this way if you were going to be any use to him later.

"Oh, (firstname), I uh... I thought you were asleep." he answered. He cleared his throat, looking away and scratching his stubble, seemingly thinking. You didn't answer, instead waiting patiently for him to answer your question. When he realized you were waiting, he spoke up again.

"No, 'm not goin' anywhere." he said, a little more confidently. "I had my clothes cleaned yesterday, and I'm expecting someone to deliver 'em soon."

You kept silent, staring at Booker and evaluating his excuse. It made sense. Thinking back on it, he hadn't had a bag of clothes with him yesterday as you had, so it was a reasonable answer to your question. You began to feel a little ashamed of yourself for considering any foul play was going on, but took a breath, determined not to let it show on your face.

"Well, alright then." you said, shuffling to the side of the bed and standing up. You stretched out your limbs and smoothed your hair into a respectable state, and turned to Booker, who stared at you with what you could only interpret as worry. Only once you were fully up and awake yourself did you realize that Booker was still only in his underwear. You did your best to just focus on his face and not blush.

"What?" you finally asked, after another few moments of strange staring.

"So, you're uh- getting up now? Sure you don't wanna sleep some more?" Booker asked.

You stared at him, and let out a short laugh, shaking your head. If you were going to sleep for another minute, you may as well go live with some sloths.

"Yes, of course I'm sure Booker. I need to have a bath before my clothes stick to me." you replied. "Is there a problem?"

Booker shook his head quickly and collected himself, walking towards the wardrobe and taking his suit.

"No, 'course not. Just wanted to make sure is all. Go have your bath."

You frowned at Booker's back. Now, you were sure there was something going on. Booker was acting so strangely and asking these weird questions. Obviously, you had been right the first time. Maybe your gut instinct was more trustworthy than you gave it credit for. Determined to stick to your decision, you weren't going to sit by and let whatever this was just play out without your knowledge. One way or another, you would find out what was going on, but for now, you wanted to take the path with the least confrontation.

You moved to your wardrobe, standing beside Booker as you took out your regular clothes. You could feel him look at you from the corner of his eye, but you acted oblivious while you removed the hanger from the wardrobe. To try seal the act, you looked to him as you turned to the bathroom, flashing a smile which was returned. You stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. You threw the hanger onto your soap stand and sighed, thinking about what you were doing. Was it unfair of you to be doing this to Booker? You were sure that he would trust you no matter what you said, but you just couldn't bring yourself to let this go. You knew that you should be trusting him to make the right decisions, but you thought about how you had felt when he finally confessed why he was truly in Columbia. Perhaps if you found out the truth yourself than you wouldn't feel so upset. You strengthened your resolve, pushing aside your feelings of guilt for the moment.

You sat on the edge of your bath, waiting to listen to movement. Moments with no noise passed and you were confused until you realized that Booker was probably doing the same thing. You turned on the taps to your bath, leaving the drain unplugged and letting the water flow. Almost instantly, you heard footsteps outside over the rush of water. There was no way he would hear you over the crashing water, but still you tiptoed to the door and sat on the floor, holding your ear close to the wall. You heard his feet continuing to move around your room for a minute until they finally disappeared. You slowly raised your hand to the door handle and cranked it open, peeking your head around the opening. You found your room empty and pushed it open wider, stepping out. Sneaking wasn't something you did often, but you hoped it would be as easy as it looked.

After making sure it was clear, you crept into the hallway. You could hear no noise anywhere in the apartment, and you began to grow worried that Booker had lied to you and left, but upon peering out of the hallway you found him sitting on the couch in the parlor. He looked troubled, with his elbows resting on his knees and his head  pressed into his knuckles. The look of worry on his face inspired this strange feeling inside you, and you felt like going to comfort him, but you held yourself and kept watching. There was no doubt something was up, and you were going to find out what.

You both jumped slightly when a loud knock pierced the silence. Booker let out a tense breath as he stood up and moved to the door. He opened it and began talking with someone, but they spoke so quietly that you had to hold your breath to even hear them.

"It all here?" asked Booker over the sound of a rustling bag.

"Yeah, 's all there." replied a male voice. You frowned in concentration as you recognized the voice, trying to remember who it belonged to.

"By the way, 'bout the girl..." the voice continued.

"I told you." interrupted Booker, undisguised anger coating his words. "You can trust her. Now stop asking."

Were they talking about you? You racked your brain for the owner of the voice when it suddenly dawned on you. The Vox that had visited your apartment two days ago. It was the man that had pointed he gun at you. You wanted to be surprised, angry even, but you couldn't convince yourself that you didn't expect this. Whether he had interest in you or not, Booker had come here to do one thing, and he had to follow through, especially now that Comstock was aware of his presence. Instead of anger, you found confidence growing inside of you. Obviously, Booker's clothes weren't the only things being delivered here. You had already decided that you were going to help him, and now you would have the tools to do so. Still, you remained at your place until Booker closed the door. You watched him fish through the bag before turning and walking straight towards the hallway. As he walked, you tried to consider the best way to make him let you help. Obviously, he was going to tell you to stay away from him and stay safe, but you weren't going to let that happen. he crossed the door frame and jumped upon seeing you.

"God damnit, (firstname), don't do that." he gasped, holding a hand to his chest. He stared at you for a moment before his face dropped, and he raised a hand to rub his neck nervously.

"So I guess you heard all that, huh?" he asked.

You nodded and crossed your arms, looking him hard in the eyes.

"Booker, I want to help." you stated.

Booker stared at you again for a moment. "You mean with..." he began.

"Yeah." you interrupted. "I want to help you kill Comstock."

You had been thinking about it for a while, but now that you had actually said it you realized how strange and evil it sounded.

"No." Booker responded flatly. He didn't seem to feel the need to explain further, but you weren't going to accept that as an answer.

"Booker, you have to let me help." you insisted. Booker shook his head again.

"(Firstname), I can't let you do that. If anything happened to you..." he stopped. "(Firstname), don't you realize you'll be throwing away your life if you help me?"

You shook your head. Booker still didn't seem to understand that you had already given up everything by being with him. Your argument flowed out of your mouth so easily that you would think you had rehearsed it for weeks.

"What life, Booker? I don't have a life here any more. Can't you see that?" Booker's face flickered, but you didn't want to leave any room for persuasion, so you continued.

"I've already lost my life Booker. My job, my friends. I don't have any family to turn back to." At this point, your face grew hot and you could feel the tears threatening to make an appearance. You hated yourself for crying again, but you weren't finished just yet.

"You're all that I have left now Booker. And if you think that I'm just going to let you walk off and face this by yourself, then you are sadly mistaken."

Admitting that Booker was the only highlight of your life came as much a surprise to you as it did to him. You had never thought about it that way before, but you instantly knew it was true. The only thing left in this city that mattered to you was him. Yes, there was Josephine, and some of the other maids to a lesser extent, but they weren't in any direct danger from Comstock, and you didn't love them either. You managed to hold back your tears, but you couldn't stop your eyes growing red or your breath becoming shaky, and as you looked into Booker's eyes you could see the pain behind them at hearing you admit this.

You heard the bag drop to the ground, and Booker stepped towards you, wrapping his arms around you. He held you tightly against him, and you took the opportunity to breathe deeply, calming yourself. You thought over what you had said multiple times in your head, but it was as true as can be. Booker was your last anchor that kept you holding on, the last reason for you to even want to continue.

"Okay, (firstname)." he said finally. "You can come with me."

You pulled back and smiled up to him through blurry vision, but Booker kept a tight hold on your body with his arms.

"But." he began, assuming an authoritative tone. "This isn't a game, (firstname). I need you to understand the risks here."

"Booker, I know it's not a game. I know it will be dangerous, but I'm ready for it." you declared.

"No, not yet you aren't." Booker responded, shaking his head. "You've got no idea how'da use a gun, do ya?"

You looked down and shook your head, slightly embarrassed. Maybe you had been a bit too excited at his statement. You were far from ready, but you were willing to learn whatever you needed to. Booker chuckled lowly and released you, crossing his arms.

"Didn't think so." he said. "So how's about gettin' cleaned up, and I'll show you how to work that gun in your satchel?"

You nodded, cursing yourself for letting a smile cross your face. You hoped Booker wouldn't think that you weren't serious about the whole thing. You turned around and jogged to the bathroom, taking some towels on the way and closing the door behind you. You blocked the bath's drain with the plug and allowed it to fill while you turned to the mirror. You stared at yourself, nodding in affirmation. This was it. No turning back. You were going to help Booker fight his way to Comstock and end all of this. It was a scary to think about what lay ahead of you, but you convinced yourself that with Booker by your side you would be fine. Once the bath had finished, you undressed and jumped in. The water was hotter than you liked it, but you settled into it, groaning with pleasure. To calm yourself, you imagined the water burning away all of your worries and troubles.

Finishing off washing yourself, you climbed out of the bath and let the water go, and set to work on drying yourself. Upon finishing, you dressed yourself in your regular attire and started brushing your hair. Instead of pulling it up into a ponytail like you usually would, you left it down and poked at it until it somewhat resembled the way you had had it last night. Now that there was something between you and Booker, you felt like you would need to pay a little more attention to how you looked. You looked at yourself in the mirror one last time and released a large breath, trying to prepare yourself.

You opened the bathroom door and found Booker sitting on the edge of the bed, the bag between his legs. He had dressed himself back into his regular clothes while you washed, and now looked at you expectantly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped between them. Unsure what else to do, you quickly shuffled over and sat beside him on the bed, waiting for him to say something. Booker looked at the ground for a moment, thinking about something, before straightening his back again and switching his gaze to you.

"Alright, (firstname). If you're gonna help me, then you needa know how to handle a gun." he said, dropping his hand into the bag for a moment and retrieving a pistol. It looked completely different from the one that Comstock had given you. You weren't sure if that would make a difference in how they worked, but it would certainly make it more difficult for you.

"That looks nothing like my pistol." you said in dismay, leaning closer to inspect it.

"Doesn't matter." answered Booker. "I can show you how to work your one." he stated. He looked down at your hands before pursing his lips. "But ya might wanna go get it first."

You cleared your throat, embarrassed, and stood up, sweeping your head around for your satchel. After a brief search, you found it in the same corner you had thrown it last night, and walked over to it, picking it up and undoing the latches. You dug through the few contents within, but even after mixing your hand around, all you could find was the two fliers and your purse. You groaned in frustration and moved over to the bed, turning the satchel upside down and shaking it empty while Booker raised a brow at you. You were stunned to find no pistol on the bed, and shook the satchel again, but it was much too light to be containing a weapon. You groaned again covered your face with your hands, trying to think if you had taken it out any time recently.

"Everything okay, (firstname)?" Booker asked. "Where's the pistol?"

"I don't know." you responded, shaking your head. Booker sat silent for a moment, eyebrow still raised.

"Whaddya mean you don't know? It's gotta be here somewhere." he assured, rifling through the items that spilled out of your purse.

"What's this?" he asked, holding up a small, folded square of paper.

You looked through your fingers at the note and frowned in confusion. You hadn't ever seen this piece of paper before. Had it been there when the satchel was first given to you? You had never really searched through it that thoroughly before. You took the paper from Booker's fingers and eyed it suspiciously, looking to him before pulling it open.

'Enjoy your time with The Chaos Herald, my child. It will not last.'

Chapter Text

You stared at the note with such intensity that all else seemed to fade to a stillness. There was only you and the note.  You read it over and over, desperately wishing for the words to change, but they remained no matter how many times you checked them. In your mind, there was no sound, but you must have made a noise of some sort, because Booker shot up instantly, laying a hand on your arm.

"(Firstname), what's wrong?" he asked, concern lacing his eyes.

You wanted to answer, but you were unsure about how to do it. You feared that as soon as you told him he'd become paranoid and distant from you. He might even want to leave and go somewhere else, since being with you was clearly a threat to him. Your heart writhed at the thought of it, and you clutched the note tighter to you. Different lies and excuses coursed through your mind, but you couldn't bring yourself to lie to Booker, especially since you had asked him not to do it himself.

He called your name again, and finally you managed to unlock your mouth. The best thing to do was to give him truth, and hope that it worked out for you. You didn't know what you would do if it didn't. You opened your mouth and took a breath, but couldn't find the right words to use. You were afraid that you would phrase it in a way which would either upset him, or make him feel like he should leave. After a few false starts, you gave up trying and reluctantly held out the note. Booker took it in his hand and read over it, frowning in confusion.

You stared at Booker as he read the note, trying to anticipate his reaction. His hand remained on your arm, and although his facial expression did not alter much, you felt his grip tighten slightly. He did not comment on it, and you began to fear for the worst. The old you would have eyes brimming with tears at this point, and you could feel an older part of brain trying to suggest it to you, but you remained tearless and commended yourself for your change. Crying was not going to change anything. The note wouldn't magically fade away, and it wouldn't convince Booker to stay with you. Instead, you tried to think of ways to make Booker stay with words. Mind buzzing, your heart cracked when you drew a blank. There was no reason for him to stay here. If he stayed, Comstock would easily find him and kill him. You considered leaving with him, but if Comstock was able to watch you like this, then it was likely that he could follow you anywhere. With no other options, you stood still and waited for Booker to break the news to you.

"God damnit.." he eventually growled, releasing your arm. He scrunched the note between his hands and threw it at the wall before running a hand through his hair and sighing. He dropped onto your bed heavily, resting his elbows on his knees and balancing his head against his knuckles.

You took place beside him, intertwining your hands on your lap and waiting for him to say something. It saddened you to see Booker look so troubled, and you wished there were something you could do to alleviate his anger. You considered trying to kiss him. Maybe it would take his mind off of it for a minute or two, but then what? No, kissing wasn't going to solve anything. Unsure what else to do but wait, you looked down at your hands and twiddled your thumbs. You hoped Booker would start talking soon. Even if he was going to curse and shout and leave you behind, at least you would know and not be left stranded in this heavy silence. At last, he broke the silence with a question.

"How did this happen?" he asked, still staring at the floor.

You weren't sure if the question was directed at you or if Booker just needed to say it out loud for himself. You  considered speaking but decided it was the latter and kept silent, still toying with your thumbs. You thought about what Booker her said and frowned in thought. How had this happened? How on earth did Comstock manage to get the note into your bag? Your mind became a flurry of thoughts as you tried to imagine when it had happened. The gun had been in your satchel when you had left with Booker last night, which meant that it had been replaced while you were on your date. The very thought sent shivers racing down your spine. There was no way someone could have touched your satchel while you walked with Booker, so that left only one place for the act to have been committed. The restaurant. You thought your way through the evening when suddenly it came to you. You had left your satchel open after retrieving your purse and put it behind you on your chair.  You had left it behind when going to the bathroom too, but Booker had been right beside it the entire time. If someone had even tried to touch it then, you were sure you would know about it. Paying the bill was the only time that neither of you had been paying any attention to it. But who had done it? You hadn't seen anyone but the waiters near your table, and you doubted Comstock would do it personally.

While you thought, an overwhelming sense of regret started to envelop you. You began thinking less about who put the note there, and more about who had let them. You left your satchel wide open and ignored it while Booker paid the bill. You had practically invited the whole restaurant to start picking at your belongings. Now Booker and you were under threat, and it was all your fault. You dug your nails into your hands in anger at yourself and sighed a shaky breath. You had to tell Booker. If you didn't, he might get the complete wrong idea.

"I know.." you said quietly.

Booker raised an eyebrow and looked over to you.

"What? Whadd'ya know (firstname)? How Comstock got the note in?" he asked.

You nodded and dig your nails in further as you began explaining.

"Yeah. Do you remember the restaurant last night?"

Booker kept staring at you but did not respond, and you took his silence as a yes.

"Well.." you sighed, apprehensively clearing your throat. You tried to prepare yourself for his response, but you honestly didn't know what he was going to say. Only one way to find out.

"I left my satchel on the back of my chair." you continued. You tried to look away, but your eyes would not leave his intense gaze.

"I think he must have put it in then. I wasn't paying attention."

"Oh." Booker responded. He looked back to the floor, seemingly unsure what to say next. What does one say to a partner who's put their life in danger?

You had expected Booker to fly into some type of rage after you confessed your idiocy, but he kept his gaze on the floor and remained seemingly calm. Nevertheless, you shifted your legs so that you could stand up so quickly. You didn't think that Booker would physically hurt you no matter how mad he was, but better safe than sorry.

You grew slightly more anxious with each passing second. What if Booker was just building it all up before he truly went all out?

"But do you know how he found you?" he asked, still looking at the floor. He voice was still calm and even, definitely not being used to disguise anger.

Sighing in relief, you scolded yourself mentally for not trusting Booker to be calm about this. You began shaking your head in response to him, but froze as a realization came to you. The man that had been following you the other day. You had completely forgotten about him with all that went on last night. He must have followed you both, but how? You had seen him leave the apartments earlier. You considered the possibilities for a moment, but cleared your head quickly. For now, it didn't matter how he followed you, but rather that he had. And you still hadn't even mentioned him to Booker. It was time for that to change, but you felt much more relaxed after seeing how Booker reacted the first time.

"Actually.." you began. Booker had returned to staring at the floor when you shook your head, and you waited for him to look up before continuing.

"The day we met in the bar...There was a man on the way home. He was watching me and-" you tried.

"What?" Booker interrupted, sitting up straighter and frowning at you.

You blinked in surprise at his sudden intrusion, and looked at him. He seemed a little upset, and you weren't sure if you should continue, but you didn't need to.

"(Firstname), why didn' you tell me this sooner?" he demanded.

You put on a frown of your own in confusion. Why was Booker acting so aggressive about this? Yes, you probably should have told him sooner, but it was no cause to start being unpleasant. This feeling began rising inside you, like a need to insist you weren't wrong. You wanted to argue with him, but you didn't know why, and you had no reason to. He was right. You decided to tell him the truth.

"Well, I, uh..." you cleared your throat again as your voice shook with nerves. The backs of your eyes burned but you resisted.

"I was going to tell you, but, I, um, I forgot..." you said meekly, looking away from Booker and down at your hands. Your heart beat picked up slightly as you began feeling you had let Booker down.

Booker stared at you, eyes wide in disbelief once you finished. You squeezed your hands together in nerves and waited for his response.

"You what? How could you forget to tell me something like that?!" he asked. A slight anger laced his voice, and you found an anger of your own rising inside, but it was more down to being berated than righteous.

"Booker, you're being a bit aggressive." you stated.

Booker scoffed and shook his head in disbelief. He looked back to you with an eyebrow raised, as if to see were you joking, than scoffed again when he met your serious face. The anger inside you intensified as you glared at Booker and crossed your arms. You knew that you had messed up, but you didn't feel that this kind of treatment was at all necessary.

"I'm being 'aggressive'?" Booker repeated.

"Yes, Booker, you are." you insisted. "I know I made a mistake, but you don't have to be so harsh."

"Jesus Christ..." he muttered, looking down and shaking his head. "If you're getting offended by this, I don't know if you can handle a war."

You inhaled sharply at this comment, and bit your tongue in an attempt to not shout at Booker. You really didn't want to start fighting with him just yet. You from a few days ago might have just let this pass, laughed and agreed with him. You weren't that person anymore, or at least you tried not to be. You had to learn to stand up for yourself and hold your place, even against Booker. You weren't going to let people walk over you any more. Especially not if you were going to "handle" this war.

"I can handle this war, Booker." you said quietly, fighting to not raise your voice.

"How?" he retorted, lifting his head and looking you dead in the eye. He no longer held the smile, but now looked serious.

"How can I trust you to handle a war if you can't even tell me things like this?" he continued.

You stared Booker hard in the eyes, biting your tongue even harder. He was infuriating you. This passion was rising up your chest, and it threatened to release soon if he didn't ease up. It hurt you to know he might not trust you, but it only fed to the passion. The only time you remembered feeling so angered is when you thought Dawn was insulting your parents.

"So?" Booker requested, staring at you like he was waiting for a child to answer a question. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because, Booker!" you surprised both of you by shouting suddenly and standing up from the bed. Booker's expression changed to one of slight confusion as he saw you in this foreign state. It felt peculiar to be shouting at someone, especially Booker, but it was too late to stop now.

"I didn't tell you because I wanted our date to be perfect!"

Booker's face flickered slightly, but you could see him trying to maintain his position.

"Did you know that was my first date?" you asked. Your voice had quietened considerably, mostly due to the fact that your eyes had begun to sting with tears and you didn't trust yourself not to start bawling anymore.

"I wanted it to be perfect. I didn't want to have to keep checking over my shoulder for someone trying to stop me. I wanted to be happy."

With that last sentence, you felt a tear fight its way out of your eyelashes, and you quickly turned to wipe it away, as well as any other strays. You thought about what you said as you left Booker to do the same, but you couldn't decide if you should have said it or not. It wasn't really an excuse, but at the same time, it felt justified to you. After wiping your face dry and taking a few shaky breaths, you reinforced yourself. You prepared to face Booker again when his arms snaked around your waist and connected at your front.

"I'm sorry." he said quietly, moving his head to your shoulder. You weren't sure if this was the way for him to apologize, but it felt good.

"Do you really not trust me?" you asked, looking at the floor. His head was too far behind to look him in the eyes.

"Naw, 'course I do (firstname)." he answered. He moved a few locks of hair from your neck and moved his head closer, inhaling through his nose as if to take in your scent.

" 's just... You gotta tell me things sooner, alright?"

You nodded and placed your hands on his arms, caressing them. You may have overreacted just a tad.

"I know. I'm sorry, Booker." you whispered. Your eyes began to burn again, but you held your breath, determined not to break. After a moment of silence, Booker spoke up again.

"You can cry, (firstname). You don' have to hide it." he stated.

You wiped your eyes harshly and sniffed.

"I'm not crying." you protested. People who cry can't handle wars.

"(Firstname)." Booker said sternly, forcibly turning you by your hips to face him. He stared dead into your eyes as he spoke.

"I fell in love with you because you're you. Not some robot."

"But Booker..." you began. By now, tears were beginning to spill, and you raised a hand to clear them, but Booker gently held your hand down.

"You need me to be strong. I can't help you if I cry every time something upsets me." you said hoarsely, sobs creeping into your voice.

"Yes, you can." Booker insisted. "That's who you are, (firstname), and I don't want you to change. You're my emotional, shy little crybaby." he joked, grinning at you.

You managed to laugh through your hitching breath, and Booker pulled you into a warm hug.

"Gee, thanks." you laughed.

"No problem." he answered.

You let out the tears you had been holding back for the past few days, somewhat grateful to not have to fight it anymore, with Booker rubbing your back while he waited. When you felt finished, you took a calming breath.

"So, what now?" you wondered aloud. Now that Comstock knew you were together, you wondered what was coming next.

"Well.." began Booker, tightening his embrace on you.

"I wasn't gonna tell you this before you wanted to help...but... I-we got a meeting with the Vox today."

Chapter Text

Well guys, here we are once again. I'm putting this story on hiatus.

I'm really, truly sorry to let you all down like this. I know some of you are fed up waiting for continuation, but I just don't have a sliver of interest in this any more, and it's so damn hard to write on something you don't find interesting.

I wish that I could say I'll pick it up again, but I really can't guarantee that at all. Please don't hate me :'c.