A/N

This is just a short one-shot set right after the encounter in Fink's theater. I wrote it so I could get a feel for two of the best characters of all time, especially before I begin this big story I've got planned.

Always the Thug

The smoke cleared and Booker poked his head up, breathing heavily and scanning the ground floor below. The plush furniture on the stage floor had been ripped to shreds by his patented spray and pray technique, and air slowly whistled in and out of a line of bullet holes in the top of a black piano underneath the balcony he hid behind. A smirk touched his lips. Probably was a good-quality piano. Expensive most likely.

Wiping his brow, his eyes flitted down to check the condition of his revolver, catching a glimpse of the spent shell casings littering the carpet under his feet. He made a low whistle under his breath, quietly impressed at how well the sturdy frame had held up since getting it as a 'gift' from that man Fink. For what seemed closer to a ceremonial piece than an actual weapon, it didn't handle that badly at all. A constant concern crossed his mind. Where'd the girl-

"Booker! You're hurt? I found some bandages under the bar!" A twinge of pain decided to hit his shoulder at that moment, and as the adrenaline rush wore off he began to register a familiar deep throb originating from his shoulder. He gritted his teeth and quickly shoved the revolver back into its holster, and clamped a hand over his shoulder, immediately feeling a slick sheen of what was probably his blood.

That was bullet wound #6 by his count. Never been good with numbers though.

He looked over to his right at the far corner of the second floor, seeing Elizabeth frantically waving a handful of white bandages at him from behind the bar counter.

Booker nodded wearily as he continued to catch his breath. He lifted his arm into the air and gave her a thumbs up, knowing how panicky she'd get if he didn't show he was okay. "Just a sec', Elizabeth. All that lead's weighin' me down."

The girl slowly stopped waving the bandages, and with a unimpressed scoff at his little joke turned around, crouching out of view to rummage through the innards of the bar. "Fine enough to joke about your health, Mr Dewitt." he barely heard her mutter.

The former Pinkerton heaved a sigh. He hobbled over, really feeling the fall he took from the balcony down to the stage. Tackling that Lincoln-Hating hooded weirdo with the crows was not one of his most thought-out plans. He spotted the line of fine leather stools against the front of the bar, finding it hard to pick out the most intact of the narrow pile of wooden splinters.

He arched a eyebrow, seeing that only one stood intact. Pristine even. Elizabeth popped up from behind the counter, a white cloth in one hand and a bottle of clear rubbing alcohol in the other. With the cloth-covered hand she indicated the pristine stool. "Here, have a seat." she said, showing none of that irritation from before.

"My thanks." he gave her a small nod, silently amused at how flighty she was. One moment she would be nothing but anger and contempt, the next would be concern and thanks. Honestly, sometimes he didn't get her at all. It was almost like there was more than one person there.

"Alright. Which part hurts the most?" she said, nearly on the verge of adding a tut.

With a pained grunt he sat on the stool, leaning forwards over the bartop with his elbows resting on the edge. He lifted a finger and touched several points on his forearms and shoulders. "Looks like they favored my joints." Booker said with a little smirk.

Elizabeth gave him a twisted smile as she suddenly poked him on those points. He let out a pained yelp and grunt. "Hey! Watch it!"

"Sorry. You can be such a big baby, Booker."

"Har-" He grunted as she began dabbing at a series of scratches on his left forearm. "-har." he finished, watching as the girl's expert hand guided the alcohol-soaked cloth over his scratches and cuts, leaving a trail of stinging sensations that he was very used to.

"Shoulder."

Booker nodded and rolled up his sleeve as far as it could go, exposing a deep ragged gash over where his shoulder met his arm, not bleeding as badly as it was but still requiring immediate attention. "Feels a little stiff to me."

"Hold still." Elizabeth gripped the leading edge of the roll of gauze in her other hand, winding out a length and leaning forwards over the counter, even having to stand on her tiptoes in order to begin wrapping over the wound. "And nearly..." she slowly said, trailing off until she tied the gauze off in a neat little bow sitting on top of his shoulder. "There we go." she finished with a satisfied nod, cutting off the excess and re-rolling it. "That should keep you together through the danger and daring that keeps finding us."

He rolled his shoulder, wincing a little but satisfied at the low throb instead of the stinging sensation. "Eh, thanks for the patch-job." He watched the girl nod, and start wringing her hands together as she straightened. For a brief moment her eyes locked with his, and the girl looked away a split-second later.

Booker suppressed a sigh, having a feeling her curiosity was going to get the better of her any moment now...

To his surprise she didn't say anything. Not a beep. She just stood there, hugging herself after having taken to staring wordlessly at the wrecked state of the once elaborately gaudy theater. Elizabeth's eyes flitted to his again. And again they flitted away.

And again he sighed. "Don't worry, Elizabeth we'll find Chen Lin soon enough. I just need a breather."

The girl gave a short nod. Curt. But still unsure. "Are you still taking me to New York?"

He was not expecting that to come up again. Booker realized he had been staring at the girl for at least a few seconds. He shut his trap and glanced away, rubbing the stubble on his chin. "Geez..." He closed his eyes and loosed a small sigh, before glancing at his shoulder where she had bandaged his latest wound. Of many. "...I don't know. I just need to get you out of here first. That ship is the ticket."

Elizabeth's nod was more certain this time, although her brilliant blue eyes still held the edge of mistrust to them. "Let's go find us a Chinaman, Booker."