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The beach he was standing in was blindingly bright, but what else did you expect when this city was practically kissing the sun. Booker, as always, surveyed the area closely, keeping an eye on every SkyLine and freight hook in case he and Elizabeth needed a quick getaway. She was off exploring somewhere and in the meantime, he tried to blend in. Although dark, pinstriped pants, a denim shirt, a heavy vest and a gun holster isn’t exactly what you would call proper bathing attire. He cautiously leaned against a rail. It was a painfully thin fence that was supposed to prevent people from plummeting through the deceptively soft clouds to their deaths but he was skeptical.
He supposed it didn't hurt for her to have fun for a while. She would come back to where he leaned and show him a trinket she found, or hand him a cotton candy, or have him hold the coins she discovered in the sand. But every time he looked into Elizabeth’s smiling face his heart would break a little more. The heart he grew when she first looked at him with an expression of trust. She was practically skipping to the First Lady Airship that would fly her to Paris, or so she thought. Every hopeful made her seem to glow and it twisted the knife inside of him even more, making him look away, combing anxious fingers through his graying hair. After seeing her gilded cage of a prison he wanted nothing more than to give her a normal life, one she had been telling him about nonstop for hours. Forget Paris, he would show her New York, take a walk with her arm through his all along Central Park in the fall when the leaves turned into fiery reds and oranges and yellows. They would take a taxi and just drive all over the city, watching the new skyscrapers being built, reaching up as if to snatch Columbia herself from the sky. Booker never tired of seeing her face light up when Anna saw something new that she just had to learn more about - wait. Elizabeth. Her name’s Elizabeth. Her name is…
“Mr. DeWitt!”
His head snapped up at the sound of urgency in her voice. He scanned the beach, sifting through all the people, spinning at the flash of every blue skirt or dark-haired head.
“Mr. DeWitt! Booker! Come here, look!”
He spotted her finally, across the artificial sandy shore on a small wooden platform. She was waving her arms like a madwoman, capturing his attention and getting more than a few shocked looks from passersby Booker cracked a smile and shook his head as he jogged over to where she was watching people dancing to lively music. The grin that split her face was so wide. It almost hurt to see such innocent delight at something as simple as dancing. She turned that radiant smile to him and grabbed his hand, saying, “Dance with me, Mr. DeWitt”!
“I don’t dance,” he said gruffly, brushing her hands away
He had a girl to deliver and a whole city that wasn’t too keen on that plan. He didn’t have time to indulge in - fuck - what the hell was she doing now. She gave him a smirk and a challenging look before walking away from him. He could only stand there as she started gyrating and moving around the platform to what seemed to be her own beat, because her “dancing” sure as hell didn’t match the tune of the music playing. Booker pressed a hand to his mouth, quietly snorting with laughter as she wiggled her hips, raised her hands to the sky and shook her head from side to side. The last straw was when she pinched her nose, took a breath, and sank to the floor as if she had just gone underwater.
After many disapproving grunts and a growl at a bystander who got too close, he grabbed Elizabeth’s arm and marched her away from the growing crowd.
“Would you care to explain what it was you were doing back there?” he asked, “Cause all it seemed to be doing was gaining us unneeded attention.”
“I was dancing,” she said matter-of-factly, shaking off his hand, “and maybe if you joined me when I first asked, I wouldn’t have tried so hard to convince you.”
“Where the hell’d you learn to dance like that?”
“The tears transcend space and time, Booker. People move a lot differently 60 years from now. Would you like me to show you more? Or will you swallow your pride and have a little fun for once.”
She grabbed his hand and pulled him back into the fray, her expression threatened more shenanigans if he refused again, so he gave a much put upon sigh and set the cumbersome SkyHook down on a bench.
“Fine, but we are in 1912 so no more of that future nonsense. And I gotta warn you,” Booker said, “my technique is a little rusty. I haven’t done this in a while.”
“I bet that’s not the only thing that’s rusty, old man,” Elizabeth replied with a wink. Before he could muster up a retort, the musicians with their accordions and fiddles, struck up a lively tune and she started spinning him around with a surprising amount of force for such a petite young woman. The next 10 minutes or so was somewhat controlled chaos, and he felt as though he was in one of those slapstick moving picture comedies. Being alone for her entire life, she couldn’t coordinate her movements worth a damn, but she had a look of such elation on her face that he forgave her for stepping on his toes, elbowing him in stomach and gripping his hands so tight he lost some feeling in the tips of his fingers. Finally the song ended and she collapsed against his chest, laughing and trying to catch her breath.
Booker cautiously wrapped his arms around her slim shoulders and they stood there, breathing, holding each other close and for a while, Booker forgot about the job he had to do. It felt nice, after so long being alone and utterly untrustworthy, to be with someone like this. If only they had met under different circumstances. He wondered what cruel god had dealt her this hand of life that included someone like him as her only protector. He wanted to find that son of a bitch and shoot him right in the face. But he had to push those thoughts out of his head. They had an airship to catch.