First installment of a Bioshock Fanfic I have been working on. I have roughly eleven chapters done (although 8-11 needs a lot more work) and I plan on quite a few more. With such a backlog, I should be able to consistently post weekly updates, even if I see something shiny and get distracted for a while.
This will get 18+, and I don't buy into the 'they're not related' AU's, so if crazy, incesty sex isn't your thing, I apologize in advance. If it is your thing, I hope I don't disappoint!
xxoo
Chapter 01 - Back in the Cage.
It felt like he hadn't been back here in years. How long had it really been? A week or so? Maybe a little less, or a little more? Booker wasn't sure how time worked when your crossed realities. Maybe it made it seem like you had been on a much longer journey than you actually had. He would have to ask the Lutece's if he ever saw them again. He let out a small, amused grunt when he imagined their answer. Sure, they might even tell him the truth, but they were not likely to explain it in a way he was able to understand. For all their help back in Columbia, Booker found the "twins" completely unhelpful.
'If they truly wanted to help me, they would have been waiting with an airship of their own.' He mused. But he knew it wasn't true…they had given him this one, small chance. A chance he was beginning to feel the weight of as his daughter roamed his bleak little apartment, eyeing the cracked wallpaper and peering over the mess that cluttered his desk.
He supposed he could ask Elizabeth about how long they had truly lost in Columbia, going in and out of her tears, but he knew the girl was slowly losing the memory of her brief encounter with omnipotence. When the Twins rowed them towards the final lighthouse, they had explained it all in their insane banter with each other. Booker had gotten lost in the conversation, his brain finally shutting out any new information while it desperately tried to deal with all it had already learnt. But Elizabeth understood every word. He got the gist of it, of course. She could keep her powers, her tears and her doors. Or she could go back to the reality they had dragged both father and daughter from, and she would be whole again.
The Bird or the Cage?
She chose him and the Luteces planted them right back in his apartment. She chose mortality and family. She chose Booker. As he watched her slowly circle his dingy little habitat, he could not imagine her not coming to regret this decision. There was nothing he could do to soften this blow for her. This is where your father lives, Elizabeth. This is what you have gotten yourself into. In the time he spent in Columbia he felt himself getting…cleaner. Little by little, some of his sins were washed away as he ran around with this strange young woman by his side, the gentle click of her heels fast becoming his favorite sound. He might have even managed to convince himself that he was a better man afterwards. Elizabeth looked up to him as her savior. Her knight. Her guardian. The fool that he was actually started to believe that he could be that type of man for her. But coming back to his apartment was like waking up from a dream. The stark reality of who he really was was strewn across the floor and crackling down the walls. He would have to tidy this place up. This was no fit place to share with his daughter.
Holy shit. His daughter. The thought still managed to punch him in the face every time. A few days ago, he had no one. Now he had her. And he had a lifetime to make up for.
He awkwardly shuffled into the room, his eyes watching the bright little figure roaming around his otherwise dark and depressing office, ready to pounce into action if she uncovered anything too incriminating. He was lost for words, instead letting her explore on her own, ready to field any questions that must be forming in her pretty little head. He could hardly give her any type of tour. See, Elizabeth, this is the pile I make with empty liquor bottles. That pile over there is where I throw all my clothes. I might take them down to get washed once a month, when Ruth is working. She lets me drink whisky while I'm waiting and I like to watch the way her breasts bounce when she's washing a month's worth of my dirty laundry. You'll meet Ruth, she's a great lady. Works part time down at the cathouse when times are tough. She knows a lot of jokes you are probably too sweet to understand, but you'll get on great. This here is my desk. I would say that I work here, but I can see you looking at all those racing forms and ticket stubs, and we both know that isn't true. Oh and see that clear patch on the floor here? This is where I wake up sometimes, even though I never remember going to sleep there. Also, I can't remember which of these basins I pissed in when I was too drunk to go down stairs because this place has no plumbing, so try not to use either of them to wash with. Gee, I bet you're glad you gave up godlike powers for all this, huh?
But she did, didn't she? She gave it all up, right when she could see exactly what she was getting herself into. He didn't understand it, but the very thought of it made him want to march her down the stairs and not let her back into the apartment until he had scrubbed every square inch. He was painfully reminded of her tower. As sick as it was to keep a girl locked away in there, she certainly was cared for. It was clean, she was well fed and educated. She had books, instruments and a room full of art supplies. He might have been able to find some old newspapers and a small book of naked women in lewd poses under all the clutter. There might be a stale loaf of bread in a cupboard somewhere, if the rats hadn't claimed it. He struggled to remember if there was a library close by that he could take her to. She needed clothes, too. Clothes, books and food. He made a mental note of everything he would have to acquire for her alongside a running tally of what little cash he had to his name. He doubted Columbia's currency was any good in America back in Comstock's reality, let alone this universe that had never even heard of it. Maybe he could pawn the coins or pass them off as some type of foreign currency and get them exchanged.
Or you could get a decent job and support your daughter like an honest man, you jerk.
His thoughts stopped dead in their tracks when Elizabeth's eyes fell on the last place he wanted to talk about. The door to the only other room in the apartment, locked and boarded up. She ran her hands over the splintered wood and unsuccessfully tried to turn the knob.
"What's in here?" She asked casually, like everyone had that one room in their house they had hastily nailed wooden planks over.
Does she really not remember? Has she lost the memory so soon? Wasn't it only minutes ago that they were in that room together? Was it a few minutes or a few years?
"That's…" He started, unaware of how to handle this situation. "That's not a room we need to go in."
She looked at him with her big blue eyes, and to his disbelief she accepted his comment without question. We just don't go in there. That's all. Just stay in this room, even with the filth it's still a more pleasant sight than what you'll find in there. She turned away and walked back to his desk, running her finger along the edge and coming up with a finger covered in dust.
"So…" He started again, walking further into his old life and hating every moment of it. "What do you think?" The question was immediately regretted. What else would she think? You're a pig, Booker. How can you live like this? I am so glad you sold me to Comstock right now, I would have been the dirtiest kid on the block. Everyone would have made fun of me.
But the look on her face, that bright expressive face that couldn't tell a lie, was one of happiness. He had seen it before on her, and he sure as hell was seeing it again.
"I love it!" She collapsed back and perched on the edge of his desk, crossing her legs in front of her like a proper lady. "Of course, it needs a bit of a clean, but it's ours. Can we really just come and go as we please?"
"We sure can." He replied, feeling his spirits lift at her unexpected optimism. "Well, Bill Bob can get a bit antsy if you keep weird hours, but yeah. As we please."
"Oh, who's Bill Bob?!" Elizabeth asked, as if she was about to meet a new best friend. That bright young girl who ran out of the tower with him was coming back, it seemed. After all she had been through - all that he had put her through - she still had her spirit.
"He lives downstairs. Owns the whole building. I guess I should introduce you, I can see him pitching a fit when a strange face comes down to fetch some water from the lobby."
Last time Booker saw Bill it hadn't ended well. Booker had gone down drunk to try and get an extension on his rent. Nothing out of the ordinary, but things were said and a few punches were thrown. But he had known the man well over twenty years, and he knew that it was mostly water under the bridge by now. Cold, sour water.
No more drunken fistfights with your landlord anymore, Booker. You have a daughter to take care of.
He led Elizabeth out of the apartment, across the narrow hallway and down the wide, wooden staircase.
No big deal. Just walking out of my apartment after I was sucked into another reality for a few days, with a girl who wasn't there when I walked in.
The stairs opened up into a larger hallway. Left would take you back out onto the street, and right took you into a larger room with an administration desk and a small lounging area. Bill's apartment was on the ground floor, but he chose to spend his time in the lobby, listening to his radio and barking complaints at his tenants as they came and went from the building. Bill Bob was a short, rough beachball of a man of about sixty with small wire rimmed glasses who's right arm seemed to be permanently clutching a newspaper. He sat exactly where Booker last saw him. His ass in an oversized leather chair next to his radio, in the perfect spot to keep an eye on the comings and goings of the building. He gave Booker the usual disdainful look over the top of his glasses, but the looked turned into something so much more hateful when his eyes fell on Elizabeth.
"Son, I have told you before, I am not running some cheap bordello here."
Booker held his hand up. Let me explain.
"And good god, Dewitt, how old is this one? " The older man continued, slapping his thigh with his paper in exasperation.
'Here goes.' Booker thought.
"Easy up there, big fella. Bill, this is Elizabeth. She's…She's my-"
"I'm his daughter!" Elizabeth piped up happily. "Hello!" She finished, giving a small wave. Bill sat dumbfounded for a few moments, before the realization set in.
"ETHEL!" He suddenly roared at the top of his lungs. "ETHEL! GIT OUT HERE! DEWITT"S KID IS BACK!"
"-and Elizabeth, this is Bill Bob. Our landlord." Booker finished half heartedly.
"It's nice to meet you!" Elizabeth walked forward with her hand extended. "This is a nice building you have here! How long have you known my father?"
"Well, I'll be." Bill continued, struggling up from his chair to get closer to Elizabeth. "My word, Dewitt, how does a fella like you make somethin so sweet? Let me have a look at you girl. ETHEL!"
"William Robert!" A voice called out from behind the administration area. "Your hollerin is gonna scare off the rats. What's got you so worked up?"
A large, similar shaped woman hobbled out from behind the desks, clutching a dirty dish towel in her hands. Her eyes fell on Booker and Elizabeth and her face almost turned to one of scorn before Bill spoke again.
"It's the girl, Dewitt's girl! The little babe, remember?"
A moment passed before the same look of recognition washed over the woman's face and she cooed in a high pitched, almost nasal voice.
"Oh, the sweet little baby! Have you come back from out west to see your Papa?"
Elizabeth briefly gave Booker a searching glance and he discreetly, if not shamefully, nodded to her. She turned back to answer, but the woman had closed the gap between them and embraced Elizabeth in a bone crushing hug.
"My lord in heaven, what a pretty girl! How are your grandparents? Have they been treating you good over there on the ranch?"
"It's been…" Elizabeth started, before turning back to give Booker another searching look. "Educational."
"Oh! She's smart too." Ethel said, releasing the young woman from the hug. "Didn't get that from her Daddy, that's for sure."
"Thank you, Mrs Robert." Booker chuckled. He could be offended, but he had given the woman plenty of reasons to doubt his intelligence over the years. "Look, Elizabeth is gonna be staying with me for a while, I thought I might let you know. Save giving the old man a heart attack."
"I'll outlive you, son." Bill gruffly stated as he sat back into his chair. "Ethel, show the girl to the washroom. And get her some food."
Ethel grabbed Elizabeth's wrist and all but dragged her behind the desks and out of sight of the two men. Before she went, Elizabeth gave Booker a look that could only be a silent plea.
What should I say? Her eyes asked.
Just make it up as you go along, his look said back as he shrugged. I believe in you, Baby.
When the women were out of sight, Bill's demeanour returned to the hard, no bullshit man Booker was used to. A look that often preceded words that he did not want to hear.
"What are you doing here, son?" Bill asked.
"Bill, trust me when I say you will not believe what I have gone through these last few days." He started, knowing nothing could truly explain what had happened in Columbia. "We…reconnected. I'm gonna take care of her now. You're a father, aint you? You understand?"
"Mhhm, I'm a Father and a man who's had a steady income for over forty years. I've never had no fancy fella's in motor cars and shiny suits come lookin for me. I know they're not offerin you no honest day's work, son, so I'm gonna ask you again. What are you doin getting a sweet girl like that into the situation you're in?"
Booker hated the man sometimes. He had a gruff, blunt honesty that earned him nothing but scorn from polite society. Booker always appreciated that about him. He knew damn well how much he needed it sometimes, as much as he hated the man for it. He was right, Booker knew was not in a good situation for this. But he had to try. He had to be the man Elizabeth seemed to think he was. He had to be the man she needed.
"Look, Bill, those men aint the worst trouble I've ever had. You know that. I'm gonna take care of them and I'm gonna take care of my daughter. I didn't expect this. Honest, I didn't. But I have her back, and I wanna…do it right, this time."
The older man gave Booker one of his trademark looks of scornful disbelief. I'll believe it when I see it. But he relaxed back into his chair, a sign that he was prepared to drop the argument. A Father could got begrudge another for wanting to take care of his child.
'Now comes the hard part.' Booker thought.
"Listen, Bill…" He started. The man gave him his undivided and slightly mocking attention. "About that rent money…"
"You cannot be serious, son."
"If I wasn't desperate…come on. For the girl?"
He sighed and reached into his back pocket. He all but threw the money back at Booker after counting it.
"Mark my words, she's gonna be longing for that ranch soon enough."
"Yeah, we'll see about that."
"Double next month. No exceptions."
Booker pocketed the cash as the women came back from the washroom, Elizabeth carrying a bucket of water and a tray full of baked goods.
"Appreciate it." He nodded to the old man, receiving nothing but a grunt for his efforts.
The apartment seemed to take on a colder, harsher atmosphere when they returned. Bill had given him more of a reality check than Booker was prepared to deal with, with the remnants of other realities already weighing heavily on him. The sun was setting behind the buildings and Booker went about turning on the meagre lighting. Elizabeth looked about for somewhere to put her gifts, but couldn't find somewhere that looked suitable enough. Booker gestured to the corner to his makeshift kitchen. Really just the corner that happened to have a stove in it. He dusted off the bench so Elizabeth at least had somewhere clean to put her food.
'That's where food goes now,' He told himself. 'Keep it clean.'
"What did you tell them?" Elizabeth suddenly asked. "Ethel and Bill. About me, I mean."
Booker sighed a long and drawn out sigh. Half calming himself and half buying time before he had to explain it to her. "After you were born…they knew I was having…problems. I said you were sent to a ranch out west to live with your grandparents."
"A Ranch?" She asked. "Booker I have never seen a cow. How am I supposed to convince them I grew up on a ranch?"
"Well, I didn't think it through, did I?" Habit drew him over to his bed, and he shrugged out of his holsters and vest. "I sure as hell wasn't going to tell them the truth."
"What should I tell them if they ask questions?"
"Just…you know…bullshit them."
Elizabeth leaned against the bench and idly picked at a roll, nibbling a small piece.
"Bullshit them?" She asked, testing out her Father's language.
"Yeah. You're a smart girl. It'll be nothin for you to outsmart most people." He lay back on his bed, surprised at how much he missed it. His muscles had started to sing out to him in pain. Remember us, asshole? What have you been doing these last few days? How young do you think we are?
He hadn't slept since Columbia. Although it couldn't really be called sleeping if someone forces you into that state with a wrench. God, he was exhausted. His body and his brain had been tested and all he wanted to do was slip into that comfortable abyss and let the pain and the confusion all float away for a little while. He started to count the realities he had visited since he last slept, and felt himself slowly drifting off.
"Booker."
His eyes snapped open. He looked over to see Elizabeth finishing off her roll.
"Where can I sleep?"
He groaned. Great job so far, Booker. Your daughter is just as exhausted as you are, and you go straight to sleep without taking care of her. Did he even have somewhere for her to sleep?
"Can I just climb in with you?" She asked. The question opened a part of his brain that he immediately snapped close. No. Not now. Not ever. He sprung up, maybe a little too hastily, and planted his feet on the floor.
"You take the bed. I've slept on this floor enough times. A few more can't hurt." He rummaged through the bottom of the dresser and retrieved the thick woollen blanket he usually reserved for winter.
"Are you sure?" She asked. She sounded concerned for him. Concerned for him sleeping on the floor? Yes. That's it. Nothing else.
"Yeah." He replied curtly, not meeting her insistent gaze. "I'm sure."
He spread the blanket generously over the floor. He had slept on the floor behind a bar, in a soggy trench and even once in the boot of a Motorcar. The floor was perfectly acceptable for him. He covered his bed in a second sheet, the cleanest he could find, but he couldn't tell if he did it for Elizabeth's sake or his own, wanting to keep her away from his filth. He could hear her undressing behind him, yawning with a sweet little gasp. The poor girl had been through more than he had.
'And she handled it like a pro.' he thought with a small, prideful grin.
He circled the room, turning off the lights as he went, while Elizabeth climbed into his bed. The springs creaked softly under her tiny frame. When he turned around she was under the sheet, but he could see her lying on her stomach, stretching her neck so she could look out the window to the city below. Booker took off his shirt and all but collapsed into his makeshift bed. He had barely kicked his shoes off before sleep started to overtake him.
"Booker?"
"Hmmm?"
"Can I ask you something?"
"Hmmm."
"After…Daisy….back on the First Lady…"
Booker's eyes snapped open and he sat up. No. Not this. He had allowed himself to let it slide, but he had been doing everything he could to block the memory from surfacing. She had better learn to do the same if this was going to work out.
"Elizabeth." He looked her in the eye as best as he could in the dark. The city outside afforded him some light to see her face where she lay on his bed. He spoke with calmness, authority and just a little bit of anger. "Listen to me. What happened back on there, wasn't right. Ok?"
"I know, but…"
"It was barely right then, it sure as hell ain't right now. I didn't know, and neither did you." He could see her face, her sweet expressive face. He thought he could see her holding back the hurt he was putting her through. But she had to hear it. That's what his job was now. He needed to show her love, but for that to happen she had to shut that memory away somewhere she couldn't let it surface again. But the look on her face broke his heart and made him feel like a failure.
"So…let's just forget about it." He slouched a bit, letting some of the authority slip away, but the anger lingered. He hoped she could see that it wasn't directed at her. "You understand."
"I understand."