I thought I'd do a collection of snippets based on Booker and his wife (because there is literally no story behind her, she's just the person who created Anna then died). Don't worry I'm still working on the Nanny (or do worry, I guess that depends on what you think of the story so far). Chapters will range from everything, so I am keeping this on a high rating because well in order to make a baby… Never mind. You'll get the idea. So without further ado I give you the newest installment of my Bioshock addiction. MOVING ON…

Disclaimer- I do not own anything of the Bioshock variety. All characters, themes, or concepts are the property of their respectful owners. I just play with the ideas far more than is probably healthy. No money was made off this story and all other disclaimer like thingies.

Annabelle…

Booker DeWitt stumbled out of the bar with a grin on his face. The seventeen-year-old had gone in to forget the horrors of Wounded Knee, and had left forgetting just about everything. The cards were hot that night, as he counted happily counted the bills, and if it hadn't been for the all-out brawl that had taken over, he probably would have tried to win a little more. Or a lot more. Or lose it all, it didn't really matter to Booker. He was far too slap-happy to tell the difference. He turned down the familiar streets of New York (which, luckily did not require much thinking), to his home on Bowery Street.

He could not have been more than two blocks away from his home when the high pitched screeching of a woman sobered him almost instantly. The sound was cut off abruptly and the screaming turned to loud sobs. "Someone help me please," cried the woman before her voice was strangled off.

"Shut up bitch," shouted another voice. "You've been giving us quite a tease, now me and my boys here are going to see what we've been missing!"

Normally, Booker would have just minded his own business and went onwards to his home. However, as he was still pretty wound up from the brawl back in the bar, Booker figured it was as good an excuse as any to let off the rest of his steam. He followed the sounds of men cajoling, catcalling, and laughing to a nearby alley. He found them, three men all around the age of thirty and a young woman who could not have been much younger than Booker. The woman was thrashing, trying to pry the large hand around her neck, fat tears ran down her cheeks. The men had her surrounded, one of them taking a knife out of his pocket and handing it over to the ringleader who was holding the poor girl down. He used the knife to snap off the buttons on her blouse revealing her corset. When he finished he rested the blade against her jaw, threatening to slice her throat if she screamed.

"Is there a problem here fellas," Booker's voice interrupted the laughter. They glared at Booker while the woman looked up to him as a savior.

"No problem at all," grinned the ringleader. "We were just helping her home. Nothing for you to worry about, so why don't you just turn around and go back the way you came." Booker glanced down at the woman on her back, she hiccupped a few times, but still pleaded to Booker with her eyes. Even in the dark of night, he could see the piercing blue orbs looking up desperately at him.

"I'm probably going that way anyways," smirked Booker much to the annoyance of the other men. "How about I walk her home." He took three long strides forward.

"Not necessary sir," said another man kneeling down by the woman's head. His belt buckle had already been loosened for whatever they had planned for her. "Now how about you be so kind as to turn around and go?"

Booker paused, once again unsure why he was making any of this his business, until he saw her eyes again. They were entrancing to stare into and Booker couldn't think of anything else. What if those men, waving around their knives damage her eyes? Booker couldn't allow it, he wouldn't allow it.

"I'm not leaving without her," he said calmly though his rigid body language gave him away. His hand curled into a tight ball, ready to start swinging away if he needed to. All three men began to size up Booker, while he was no small man, three against one would be a pretty easy fight.

"Peter," the ringleader nudged his friend on the right. "Take care of this asshole will you?"

"Sure thing," snarled Peter. He was about Booker's height, maybe even an inch taller stalking towards the younger man. He cocked his fist back ready to swing, but Booker was faster. With great speed, he brought his own fist into Peter's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Peter doubled over in pain, gasping for breath as Booker stepped past him coolly.

The right side of Booker's lip shot upwards, this was just what he needed to let out that steam. No one was around to interrupt them, and it wasn't like he could get thrown out of outside. Arrested maybe, but that was nothing he wasn't already used to with his violent temper.

The ringleader snarled at Booker as he sent the man on his left to get rid of the condescending younger man. "Useless moron," he mumbled. "Louis, kill that son of a bitch!" He handed the knife he was waving over the young girl to Louis. Unaware that the girl saw this as a moment to take her only chance to get away safely and pray that her savior would be alright. Her knee shot up, before she was aware of what she was doing, and connected with the ringleader's groin.

He cupped between his legs and howled painfully. Even Booker flinched with the forced she delivered as she scrambled to her feet. Peter, who was finally recovering, began to chase after her. Booker tackled him, not thinking about Louis with his knife, but instead of the woman getting away safely. He delivered blow after blow to Peter's face, it would not be the first or last time he ever beat a man nearly to death.

Louis took his opportunity, bringing the knife down almost before Booker had time to notice. However, Booker was unable to avoid the blade altogether as it pierced the lower left side of his stomach. It didn't go nearly far enough to be considered a mortal wound, but it was enough for Booker to cry out in pain. He kicked Louis back and forced himself back to his feet before he felt something familiar he hadn't felt since Wounded Knee. This was no longer a want for violence to burn off some steam. This was a want for carnage and Booker would not be satisfied until he claimed all of their lives.

The knife that had caused him injury laid on the ground as Louis had dropped as he had been sent back. Both men seemed to have noticed this. They took one look at each other before they scrambled after it. The ringleader had managed to get a hold of it first, however, and Louis instead opted to hold Booker in place before his leader made the killing blow.

"I gotta admit," panted the ringleader. "You're a lot stronger than you looked when you first came in here."

Booker said nothing, just stared through him with his icy glare. Louis tightened his grip as his friend stalked towards Booker. Booker counted the steps until the leader was just in front of Booker. Still counting as the leader brought his arm back, Booker waited until three that he used Louis' tighten grip to his advantage as he bucked once before swinging their weight around. The leader, before he could stop himself had buried the blade deep into Louis' spine. Louis, naturally, lost his grip immediately. The leader whistled impressed with Booker's improvisation, but not the least it mournful of his friend. He didn't seem worried at all that he was Booker's only moving target. With the others neutralized, he had a clear shot on the leader. "A hell of a lot stronger than I thought. Don't suppose you're going to go easy on me?"

"Like you three went easy on that young woman?" Condescended Booker, he shook his head. "No, not at all."

"I suppose you have a point," shrugged the ringleader ruefully. "Well then, let's make it quick. I suppose you'll want to claim your spoils before she gets too far."

"This aint for the girl," replied Booker. It was half-truth, the itch to slaughter would not let go of Booker until his enemies laid dead, though he couldn't get the image of her desperate eyes looking up at him. He tried to shake the thoughts, even in the heat of the fighting, but she was still there in his mind. He shot his fist across the ringleader's jaw, knocking him to the ground. With the knife just out of his reach, Booker settled on killing the man with his bare hands, choking the life out of him as he tried to with the girl.

The sound of wheezing alarmed Booker, he was still breathing, he finally pressed down with his full weight, until the man's eyes bulged wide. When the grip on his wrist fell lifelessly to the cold ground, Booker finally stood up. To make sure he had, in fact killed the trio of men, he sliced their throats – though he would never admit the satisfaction he got just from doing it – before continuing down the alley. It was a short cut to his office/room and now he was dog tired.

It wasn't until he heard whimpering that he stopped in his tracks and looked around. Though she was crouched down and covering her face, Booker didn't need to guess that it was his damsel in distress. She was huddled over, her petite hands clasping her blouse closed. He approached her, though a little voice in his head kept telling him that he needed to just keep walking and let her sort out the rest for herself. "Um… Hey," he reached out to touch her shoulder when she responded similarly to her reaction to her assailant.

"NO!" She stood up and her foot instantly connected to his most sensitive region. Booker yelped in pain before dropping to his knees. A second too late the girl realized this was not her attacker, but rather the man who had risked his life to save her. And how did she thank him, she kicked him in the crotch. "Oh my-! Are you alright?"

Booker hitched a few times before holding back from vomiting, she certainly had one hell of a kick. "I've had worse," he said tightly. He was more than a little surprised at his response, if it were anyone else he'd be threatening them to run as far away as they could before he stood up again. But he didn't threaten her, he didn't feel angry, and he wasn't so sure he'd be back on his feet in any hurry. Booker considered just lying on the ground and sleeping in the alley, he'd had much worse places to sleep.

"Here let me help you," she helped him to steady himself on his feet. She took the time to observe her rescuer before she noticed the blood on his once white shirt. "You're bleeding," she cried in alarm. "We have to get you to a doctor."

But Booker shook his head, "I'll be fine." She was clearly displeased by his answer but didn't press him. If he had the power to take down three men, it was no question of what he could do to her. But that didn't sway her from wanting to help him. He was clearly in pain, and probably from more than his wound but that one he'd have to take care of himself. The hem of her skirt had already been ripped from her running and tripping, so she ripped it further and began to press it into his side. As she bent forward, Booker tried to be a gentleman and not look down the opening of her blouse.

He tried. But he couldn't help but notice her breast pressing oh so tightly against her corset. As he began to come to his senses and look away he felt a tight pressure on his wound. He hissed from the pain, "That's kind of you but you really don't have to-."

"You saved my life," she reasoned gently. "Let me do this at least." Booker tried to tell her no, but she simply repeated her request sternly. He was too tired to argue with her, and relaxed against her touch as she wrapped her shreds of skirt around his waist. It was a shoddy job, but seeing as she didn't have any medical training, it would do for the time being.

"Thank you Miss…," Booker trailed off, he found it a bit strange that he had risked so much for the blue-eyed beauty but he didn't even know her name.

"Parker," she introduced herself. "I'm Annabelle Parker. And please let me thank you. I don't think they would have left me alive after that whole ordeal."

"Booker DeWitt," he offered his name. "And I doubt they would have the way they were waving that knife around." Booker mentally kicked himself for being so blunt with her. She shuddered noticeably as her arms wrapped around herself. "Come on, let's get out of here. Alleys like these hold more than a few men like that bunch."

"Yes Mr. DeWitt," she waited expectantly for his arm. But when he didn't offer it, she found herself falling into step closely behind him.

"What exactly is a young lady like you doing out this late anyway," asked Booker when he stopped and she bumped into him. She led the way, checking back often to make sure Booker was following.

"I came from a party," she explained. "My fiancé and I parted ways on no friendly terms and so I was left to escort myself home. I've seen that group of ruffians before, though now I only imagine I've angered them more."

Booker's heart sank, she was engaged to another man. Still, trying not to show his emotions he blankly told her of their fate. With a gasp she looked up to the large man in terror, he had killed all three of them. Granted, he didn't walk away unscathed, but it was more than she thought he was going to do. "What happened with your intended?"

"Formerly intended I suppose I should say," she answered irritably. This perked up Booker's night considerably. Though he didn't have much of a chance with a girl like her, it was better than the chance he had before. "I found his affections wandering to all of the women at the party. Including my cousins, all three of them." Booker fought the urge to snort at what a fool her fiancé must have been.

When they arrived at her home, Booker felt his chances sink even lower than before. Her parents were certainly well off, and Booker certainly was not. There was no way they'd allow him to see her again, they would want someone who was either in the same financial condition that they lived, or better. He cursed under his breath, and was stunned when Annabelle looked back at him. "Is something wrong?"

Booker quickly lied about the pain in his side. Annabelle concernedly stepped closer to him and pressed her wrappings a little tighter. Booker tried not to watch her, trying to push his attraction to her aside. But as close as she was, it was hard to look away. Her raven locks brushing against his jaw, her soft hands trying to work his makeshift bandage more comfortably, he could feel her body heat and that nearly undid him. He did not want to treat her like the thugs in the alley, but when his cock twitched painfully (as he still felt the dull throbbing from her kick), he found himself looking for anything to keep his mind occupied aside from the woman's body pressed against his. When she finished she did not back away so quickly, instead she watched his reaction to the various pressures she applied.

"Mr. DeWitt," she nudged. "Maybe you should see a doctor." Her full lips pulled tightly together into a concerned line. Booker wondered how they would feel against his own, would she to fight him if he tried to find out. He was about to lean forward when her front door swung open. An older, plump looking woman, who Booker could only guess was her mother, stomped after the young woman.

"Where have you been?!" Shrieked her mother. "Do you have any idea what time it is? Look at you, you're a mess! What happened to your blouse? And who is this? Where is Samuel?" Booker could only watch with amusement as her arms swung around wildly. He could never be sure, but he could have sworn he saw Annabelle duck a few times to avoid connecting with her mother's arms.

"Beverly is it her," said a white-haired man as he stormed out right behind her. "I gonna give that girl such a whipping when she gets home." Annabelle's eyes widened in horror as her father approached the two. "That's not Samuel is it? I'll give him one just for good measure for keeping her out so late."

"Looks like you've invited a whole world of trouble," Booker mumbled to Annabelle.

She thought about her father's punishment after the night she had just endured. Granted she met a kind stranger who had saved her by chance, but what if he hadn't come along. She would be dead, after the three men tired of her. She began to tremble noticeably, Booker and Beverly suddenly stopped. Even her father seemed to notice her terrified behavior. Her breathing hitched and finally she threw herself into her mother's embrace. "Oh mother it was terrible!" She finally let the weight of the night crash down on her. "F-first Sam proved to be untrue to me so I had made my way home. But I was alone and then – and then these men attacked me!" She hid her face in her hands and sobbed.

Beverly's angry expression quickly turned to shock and sorrow for her daughter. Her father's anger turned to rage as he listened to Annabelle recall the story of the men who attacked her. His little girl was violated and that would not do. "Where's my revolver? I'll find these men!"

"They've been dealt with sir," said Booker matter-of-factly. Both parents glanced at him with bewilderment, though her father still raged. He demanded to know who the boy was and why he had followed her home.

Annabelle sniffled and added, "If it wasn't for Mr. DeWitt, I fear I would not be home tonight, or ever again. He risked his life to save me even after he was injured." She indicated the wrappings around his waist, which were tinted red with blood. Her father seemed to calm at this, and stepped closer to catch a better glance at the young man.

Annabelle's father gave Booker a hard look. It was nothing he wasn't used to, but all the same, Booker wasn't sure if he was supposed to run or stand in place. He settled for the latter, and finally after being sized up by her father a good three times, her father extended his right hand. He gave Booker an approving nod before Booker returned his own hand in a firm grip. "DeWitt was it?" His tone had changed to one of gratitude. "It would seem we owe you a great deal for tonight. You've done right by our family and it only seems fair that we do the same. My wife – Beverly – and I would be happy to pay you back in any way we can-."

"But that is something we can discuss over dinner tomorrow," interjected Beverly disapprovingly. She seemed less than impressed with the young man as she studied him. "Now John, if you are quite finished, the boy would probably like to rest for tonight, and so would our daughter. Mr. DeWitt, my husband is correct when he says you've done us a great favor. But Annabelle needs out of this cold air and I would suggest that you see the doctor as soon as you're able. We will expect you at eight tomorrow." Booker found himself nodding along like an obedient puppy. They bid him goodnight and led the still shaking Annabelle into their home.

When he saw them take her inside to safety, he began his trek back home. By the time he had gotten to his room and crawled into his bed, his mind kept wandering to the young woman. Her name rang in his ears, the image of her pressed tightly against him kept popping into his head every time he closed his eyes, the thought of her hands pressing on his stomach made his skin feel hot. But it was still her eyes that had won him over so easily, those large blue eyes that had looked to him in fear, in desperation, in relief, in concern, in tears, now all he wanted was to see them in happiness.

Booker lay in bed staring at the ceiling for a long time wondering if he should go to dinner as they had offered. He didn't want to be rude, but if it only took such a short amount of time with the lady to make him think about her this much, he could only wonder what prolonged exposure would do to him.

As he finally drifted to sleep, his final thought was that Annabelle Parker was going to be his undoing.

(A/N: Tada, chapter one. I'm not sure if I want to do this in snippets or just a multi-chapter story on the two. Oh and for the 'that's not like Booker.' I'm trying to keep it as close to him as I can, while also remembering that he's a hormonal teenager. So his testosterone is probably up to his eyeballs. So that's it for now. You all know how we do it here. Read, review, and remember: I love you!)