The lamb got her way. The lamb always got her way. How could he say no?
They danced on the sidewalk, and met with the approval of another DeWitt, living under another false name, as he mounted the steps to one of the city's most famous brownstones.
They danced in the Champ de Mars, and where they could feel themselves all around.
They danced after the fall, in one of the less ruined apartments. A man saw them, but he said nothing.
They danced on the beach where she had said her first goodbye to Songbird. This newly-remade world had strange powers too, and other creatures that seemed to be seamless meldings of machine and flesh. He might even be happy here someday.
They slept inside the Event Horizon, the endless blue and purple sky above a silent witness to their respite.
And then, many journeys later...
The bartender was just reaching under the counter for a glass to polish when he heard a faint pop and another hand reached for the glass. He jumped nearly out of his skin, straightened up, banged his head on the countertop, cursed, rubbed it, managed to stand all the way up this time, and noticed someone standing beside him. Someone who most assuredly hadn't been there five seconds earlier. "I don't see why you can't let them go. You did with the others." It was a woman, a slender redhead with vivid blue eyes that seemed perpetually bored. She wore an old-fashioned dress, but wore it in a strangely masculine manner.
"Yes, but the others didn't manage to shake off their bonds in quite the same manner." Suddenly, there was a man, somewhat taller than the woman, with her hair and eyes, and a suit instead of a dress.
He stumbled for words. He was QUITE certain he'd relocked the door after he came in and the keys were still in his pocket, though he felt them to be sure. There was something about their manner that was entirely too calm, as if they'd done this many times before. Just as the first words cleared the checking station and were headed for departure, he heard another sound. Try as he might, he never could do it justice later on. All he could comment on was the great rushing of wind, sending the napkins scattering in every direction, and the noise of a million words all spoken at once. He squinted against the sudden onslaught, but just as quickly it died away, leaving a man and a young woman seated at the booth across from him. The young woman lowered her hand towards his laptop and that was all he saw before he fainted dead away.
"Lucky we didn't end up inside him. It's a horrible mess."
"One must clean oneself for hours on end before the smell goes away. DeWitt, do something about the witness, would you?" Rosalind tossed Booker a pistol which she procured from seemingly nowhere. He caught it easily, looked at her coldly. "All this time, all those worlds, and you don't know thing ONE about me." He tucked the gun into his waistband and glared at her some more. "I'm done murderin' people."
"And yet you kept the gun." Robert commented. He offered a length of rope to DeWitt, who took it.
"I may be an idiot, but I ain't a fool." Booker said. He came around the bar, ducked past the Luteces, grabbed the bartender by the scruff of his shirt and dragged him out. As he sat the unconscious man (more of a boy, really) on a chair and began binding him, he happened to glance at Elizabeth, who was typing away on that infernal contraption she'd found on the table. "And what d'you think you're doin', miss?" he asked in mock-rebuke.
"This 'Internet' is amazing!" she said gleefully.
"Careful what you look for, Miss DeWitt. You might find it." Robert said as he took up an old rag from the counter behind him and began wiping the bar down.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, with a curious glance in his direction.
"The Internet, or so I am led to believe, is for porn." he replied.
Booker nearly knocked the chair and the bartender over in his surprise. "It's for WHAT?" he bellowed. Rosalind, meanwhile, looked at Robert with something close to disappointment. "You didn't-" she began.
"I most certainly did." he finished smugly. "I stayed up half the night on the last one."
"Were you doing research?" Rosalind asked in desperation.
"Yes. For a while. You were right: E IS equivalent to mc^2. But more importantly-" He was interrupted by the sight of Booker DeWitt trying, for the first time in his life, to take a toy from his daughter. "Give me that...!"
"No!"
"Elizabeth!"
"It's mine!"
"It ain't yours, you stole it!"
"Well I'm gonna give it back!" She yanked it away from him and cradled it protectively to her chest. Her father sighed.
"Fine. You keep it." She beamed radiantly up at him. "BUT...you gotta promise you'll be careful with it. I don't want you to go lookin' for...what he said." He jerked a thumb sheepishly at Robert.
"That was the LAST thing I was going to use it for!" she said. Booker continued to frown at her until she sighed. "Fine..."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
He nodded his approval, but stood by her for a little while until he saw what she had been doing. Luckily for her, it was nothing untoward; he wasn't sure he was capable of teaching her about all that just yet. He went back to the chair in the corner to finish securing the bartender.