The room was cold and lonely without her in it. Booker sat at the kitchen table, his hands wrapped sternly around his cup of coffee. Early in the morning, he often forgot just where he was or what he had done, and he found it hard to believe he was holding onto a coffee in a place he called his very own home and not a flask in the fields. The sounds of Paris drowned in the sounds of the screams of his memories.
They had been in Paris for a week now. Neither of them had dared step out of their small ground-level flat to partake in any touristry other than when Elizabeth couldn't bear the clicking of the radiator heater anymore. She would leave to wander the streets at night, buy food for them, steal Booker's cigarettes and sit outside on the steps, gazing at the stars and just wonder in awe. Booker didn't know what- he would never tell him- but he could guess. He knew she was bumming his smokes and it hurt him to watch the packs grow lighter in his pockets, but he couldn't bear to stop her. He, too, rose in the night sweating and shaking; wondering if the reason why he was drenched was because his dreams of drowning were real, or if the Lord had come to show him truly the blood on his hands. Booker knew the shakes on a first name basis and couldn't dare blame her for desperately wanting to rid them. Soon enough, she would buy her own; his chastisements would do nothing.
Booker had his own ways, sitting at the table in quiet contemplation and mourning. One hand clutching a picture; the other a drink. He had his little girl back but… At what price? Did she still even love him? ...Did she ever? He had spent his nights this way since twenty years old and now he had no cases to interfere with the intimate relationship he shared with bottles temporarily bearing his wife's name. Elizabeth told him he should start an agency again but with every knock on the door, he froze like a man possessed. He knew he couldn't take that everyday- not yet- and he couldn't bear to ask her for help; he hadn't earned it yet.
He was up at night until his body wouldn't let him and was up again at sunrise. Occasionally, Elizabeth would tell him to sleep in, in a bed this time, but it felt so wrong to him to let his daughter take care of him more than he did her.
When Elizabeth came to the table, she pocketed a quick fist diligently and sat down across from her tired father.
"You don't have to hide it from me," Booker claimed before she could utter any small talk to cover her trail. "I get them too."
Elizabeth paused, looking down at the table in shame before placing her hand back on the table. Nothing was in it. "Did you sleep?"
"I dunno…"
"You missed New Year's."
His heavy eyelids opened and gently eyes pinned hers. She was just as tired as him- disappointment and a let-down reflected sharply back to him on the blue tinted glass surface. "I didn't-…"
"I know."
"Did you want to…?"
"I went." Her hands reached into her pocket and pulled out two small bundles wrapped in news tabloids. "I'm going to run some errands."
As she stood, Booker could feel her yank the last string on his heart. "Elizabeth, wait-" She was already out the door before he could even force his sore body out of his chair and all that was left of her was the clicking of her lighter outside.
He gently reached for the packages. The first wasn't properly sealed and could easily be pulled open to reveal a fresh loaf of bread. The second he took to unraveling gently, saving the ribbon and the newspaper to read when he was done. It presented a small silver dollar with the Loúve stamped on it. When he took it up, a note fell out saying, "Maybe when you're feeling better, we could see it sometime…" Booker smiled at how similar her handwriting had gotten to her mother's and flipped the coin in admiration. When it landed on the table with a small click, Booker paused. The other side still had the markings of Columbia on it.
At the reminder of their adventures, he felt his breath hitch and his chest tighten. He felt hot to the brim and desperately looked around for a glass of water to soothe the boiling of emotions; anger, guilt, distrust, rebellion… What had happened in Columbia changed them both for the worst, although it brought them together in the end. He wanted to look at it in a positive light- she was here now with him. But when he looked at Elizabeth he could tell her face was worn, he shoulders stayed hunched and he could only see reflections in her eyes- no brewing sparkles of wonder, no gentle awe at the world around her. It was only what was there at face value.
His hand tightly gripped the coin in a fist and he brought it up to his chin, reaching to give it a gentle kiss. She had his back… It was time for him to learn to have hers.