Elizabeth greeted Columbia with a lot of energy. She went from one thing to the next, which was fine with Booker… if the entire police force wasn't on high alert for them.

Booker surveyed the area, trying to get the upper hand on everyone. Strike first or don't strike at all. He hated escort missions. But it was a small job. And easy enough. After this he was free of his debt. He just had to stay vigilant. Years of experience made sure his guard was up no matter what. It kept things from getting too close, and his demons safely locked away.

He didn't like surprises. But so long as they kept their heads down, they could avoid complications.

Walking deeper into Battleship Bay, Booker finally took Elizabeth aside, making her pause in her explorations.

"Look, Elizabeth," he tried. "We need to be careful while we're out here…"

The girl turned away from the railings, a view of the clouds beyond it, and faced him.

"Oh, I know, Mr. DeWitt," she replied, pulling back her whimsical mood. "I'll be sure not to cause you any more trouble. And I'll keep an eye out for anything that might help you."

The idea of this girl being any kind of help wasn't as comforting as she must have meant it to be.
Despite her sincerity, her excitement could be felt radiating off her, barely being contained. Booker could feel a headache coming. "Elizabeth—"

"Oh, Mr. DeWitt, look!" Booker followed her gaze to a poster covering the brick wall of a trinket shop. "The air parade is starting soon! Wouldn't it be nice to see it up close?"

She turned around to beam at him. It would be easier if she wasn't so easily distracted. Though so far, it hadn't proved to be a problem. He didn't want to keep her on a leash. It wasn't his job to control her. Someone else had already done that. DeWitt decided to just let it be.

"Just… stay put," he told her, the his effects from the fall reminding him of its existence.

"Okay…"

Booker gave her a sideway glance, trying to catch her. Already she was making her way towards one of the shop windows.

He watched her for a second. The transfixed expression on her face reminded him of when he'd woken on the shore. Even after her initial concern, her focus went straight to the sound of music. Her whimsical nature was so different from him or from anybody really. Back in New York people stuck to their own business. Eager to look away from something they weren't supposed to see. He knew it all too well. It made his job with the Pinkertons that much easier.

There was a flash of dark blue as Elizabeth rushed across the boardwalk, and Booker caught the girl standing by a side cart. The cart sold freshly made treats, like popcorn and caramels, which fascinated Elizabeth as though it was a light show. He forgot. Everything out here was like a first experience for her. His brows pushed together. The idea of her living alone in that tower…

He shook his head. She was enigma. One he couldn't get his head around. But it didn't matter. None of this, nothing in this city, had to do with him.

Her eyes finally met his, offering a kind smile as she did. He moved his head, indicating the direction they were heading to. Elizabeth nodded and left the cart. They returned to maneuvering through the boardwalk, Booker in the lead.

He peered behind a bench, finding a rounded blue bottle hiding under it. "This is handy," he commented to himself. Booker gulped it down, feeling the vigor thrive in his veins.

Now that he had these… vigors it was crucial to keep himself supplied. Though salts seemed plentiful around the city, the more he had the better. Elizabeth would occasionally prove to be resourceful, pointing out a bottle to him. So far Booker had enough salts to get them to the air docks, if things went well. But with his history, things normally didn't. If they kept up their pace they'd be out of here soon enough. As long as she kept by his side—

Booker glanced around. Where the hell did she go?

His eyes had given a quick sweep around the boardwalk when he heard her.

"Mr. DeWitt! Mr. DeWitt!"

His entire demeanor switched. Following her call, he rushed through the throng to the other side of the area, narrowing her voice from the crowd. Already he could feel the adrenaline lining his blood stream, reacting to the urgency in her tone.

She was looking for him as well. Her hand was raised, reaching out for his attention.

He reached her, barely out of breath. "What is it?"

"Come here!" She took hold of his hand and he let her guide him.

When he seemed to have reached a certain spot, Elizabeth let go. "Okay, now just… stay there!" she said, with her palms up as if to still him.

Booker stood awkwardly, knowing that if he moved, Elizabeth would probably just drag him back. She had turned her back to him, working a few buttons on a brass machine facing them both. Fink Industries was pressed into the metal. It was a goddamn monopoly— everything was made by Fink.

"Elizabeth, we don't have time for this—" Booker started. Whatever she had called him over for, it wasn't for a threat.

"No, just trust me," she persisted, her hands moving over the machine a few more times.

"What are you doing?"

Suddenly Elizabeth rushed over, coming up behind him. Using a bench, she lifted herself up so that she was half a head taller than him. In the same instant, her right arm went around his shoulder. The movement was so swift, Booker could only stand there.

"Smile, Mr. DeWitt!" Elizabeth told him cheerfully, her voice beside his ear.

A flash exploded from the machine, temporarily blinding him. Elizabeth bounced up and made her way to the source.

Booker blinked twice, letting his retinas heal. "What," he asked, tensely, "was that?"

She turned to her side, partially facing him when she spoke. "It's a self-photography stand," she told him. "I always loved these. How people could just walk by and take a picture, several different ones if they wanted to."

A printing shot out of a slot in the brass with a pleasant ding. Elizabeth took it by the edges and held it up for her to gaze at. Booker saw how her eyes flittered over the image, taking in the details. Her mouth lifted in an uneasy smile as her eyes flickered to his. She held out the photo for him to take. "Well, at least you didn't blink," she said, timidly, trying for a joke.

He took it from her, giving it a glance over himself. Elizabeth was smiling widely in the photo, her other hand had been raised in a wave. His brows came together as he took notice of himself. He didn't look at his reflection too often, so it was odd to see his face so clearly. He realized the reason behind Elizabeth's attempt at a joke. He didn't blink, but he also didn't smile. Honestly, how could he? A split-second warning would hardly prepare him. Besides that, the light from the sky behind them was overexposed; the effect only making the two of them appear sharper. He handed it back to her, uninterested.

Elizabeth held it a little higher, her eyes glancing between the print and him.

"You don't smile much, Mr. DeWitt," she stated, regarding his current expression.

Booker kept his face straight. There it was again— his formal name. "It's Booker." The repetition of the request making it sound dull.

"Are you always so laconic?"

"Hmm," Booker replied. Her curiosity was only encouraging his exasperation.

"Right," Elizabeth muttered awkwardly.

He turned away, trying to find their way to the airship docks. "We should get moving."

"All right." Elizabeth shrugged. Then suddenly one of her brows quirked up. "You don't mind if I hang on to this, do you?" she asked him, indicating to the photo.

Booker turned around to face her. "Be my guest," he told her. He couldn't care less about the photograph, but something about her wanting to keep it perplexed him.

Elizabeth smiled, tucking the photo into her skirt pocket as she followed close behind him.

He took the lead again, as they cut through the boardwalk. There was so much to see. She could only assume that this city was as new to him as it was to her. Yet he seemed solely focused on their destination.

Mr. DeWitt wasn't much of a companion, but he was interesting. She hoped, once they parted ways, the photo would represent a memory. The man who freed her from her gilded cage. The beginning of her new life.

Elizabeth watched him from an angle— his eyes moved quickly, taking in the environment. The golden sunlight illuminated the green of his eyes into something she had never seen before. His entire movement was swift, durable. There was so much more to him than he showed. That seemed to be why Elizabeth was so drawn to the photo. It captured a moment of him he couldn't hide. It was real.

There was something about his unsmiling expression that made the photo much more likable. Or maybe it was because she had never been with another human being before. It could've been anybody in the photo and she still would've been grinning the way she was. She knew that wasn't it though. Mr. DeWitt had something about him, and his lack of smile only added to that persona. She knew he must have smiled sometime. But maybe that time was years ago, years before he met her. When his life was simpler. But that wasn't who he was now. And yet, despite all that, there was something oddly comforting about him.

He didn't seem to enjoy this task he was handed, but he was here, with her.

Suddenly his eyes flashed to hers. Elizabeth glanced down quickly, mentally chastising herself for staring. Booked didn't seem to dwell on their brief eye contact, as he didn't pause in his steps.

She couldn't deny that he fascinated her. He was taking her to Paris! Knowing that alone elated her. The incredulity of the past few hours made her giddy, creating impulses to explore everything that was once out of reach to her. To finally embrace the freedom she was denied for so long.

She was out. And she owed it to this… stranger.

Who was this man? The False Shepard? Elizabeth nearly scoffed aloud. She would follow him anywhere, especially if he led to Paris. From within her library, she had read about him. That he was dangerous. An omen among the people of Colombia. That he meant to steal her away. But…

Why? What did he get in return? Why did he seem to push her away and yet, simultaneously stand by her? The way he acted on the shore, when he was waking from drowning... She had hoped he would be in much better mood afterward. And he kind of was, but that reserved stature was still up.

Something wasn't right with him. He had done so much for her. He probably didn't even know how much it meant. But he was hiding something. The roguishness of his character reflected a dark past. He Elizabeth could only guess, by the tension along his shoulders, that he carried it with him everywhere, unable to let it go, because he wasn't ready to face it.

Not for the first time, Elizabeth noted the small mark on his right hand. The same hand that hovered just above the trigger of his shotgun. She thought they were just scars, a result of a bar fight or maybe a war wound. But when she had found him on the beach, his hand lay in perfect view, letting her see the carefully inflicted lines burnt into the flesh. AD. Whatever it meant, it made him this False Sheppard. A threat in the eyes of Columbia. None of her books ever explained that. But what she knew was enough. They were being hunted, and those hunters were the only obstacle keeping her from her dream.

Again Elizabeth wondered what it could have possibly been that convinced a man like Mr. DeWitt to take those risks.

No matter why he saved her, he still had. Even if that meant both of them becoming fugitives. And if she was being honest with herself…

The False Shepard was leading her nowhere she didn't want to go.

In fact, there was no where she wanted to go unless he was with her. They were in this together now. She wasn't sure what lied ahead of them, they had already run into a bit of trouble. But she wasn't afraid. DeWitt looked like he could handle anything. He protected her. With him, she knew she was safe.

She pressed her hand against the outside of her skirt, feeling the edges of the photograph through the fabric. She recalled it with a slight smile. It was interesting— DeWitt in the photo. There was surprise, initially. His discomfort. The strain lining his entire body said as much. Even… a sadness. In his eyes. He was walking beside her now, eyes focused on multiple things at once. Hiding her eyes behind her lashes, she tried to peek up at him again. Hm. The sadness was still there. It seemed to have always been.

It was like catching him— off guard and open. Even though he may have not wanted it, Elizabeth thought of the photo as something real from this world for her to keep. Printing a moment so she could treasure it.

Elizabeth felt herself twist her thimble and bit her lip. There was a distant thrum of music from somewhere along the beach. Oh, the air parade! Elizabeth thought. Despite her excitement, she knew she couldn't go. Soon she'd be leaving this life behind. A heavy sigh left her, from restrained anticipation and a bit of nostalgia.

All they had to do was get to the Lady Airship. She frowned wishing that she had mastered the ability to get them there instantly. But she had Mr. DeWitt, who appeared to be prepared for any danger. If they managed to get off Monument Island, getting to the air docks couldn't be that complicated.

Booker kept a sharp eye for any threats. But every time his eyes swept the area, he found his eyes wandering back to the girl. He told himself he was just keeping an eye on her. But it was more than that. He was watching her, studying her. She approached everything with interest. And every now and then he'd catch her smiling to herself, enjoying a private thought.

He stopped himself and looked away. He wasn't here to make friends. He had to bring them the girl, and then his debt would be gone. So long as he kept his focus on that. The girl was nothing but a part of the deal. Booker sighed. She was so eager to get to Paris. It was almost too easy to convince her to go with him.

A light reflected out of the corner of his eye. Not for the first time, he noticed the small thimble she kept over her small finger. She'd play with it often, a nervous habit, he came to realize.

Elizabeth seemed fond of that photograph. Booker, himself wasn't the kind for sentimental items. They weren't good for much. But to her, it was a memory. His wife was dead. He had no one. No one to remember him. With that realization, he suddenly thought about what would happen after he completed the job. If Elizabeth would hate him for not taking her to Paris or eventually forget about him entirely when they'll have long parted ways. All that would be left would be that photograph. Elizabeth looked back at him, as if detecting his thoughts. She was smiling pleasantly, her innocence so clear in the way the smile formed her face.

That was the difference between them. She had no idea what the real world was like. While Booker knew every dark and twisted corner. She spent her while life locked up in her safe statue. Booker was exposed to the harsh reality much too young, without an ounce of innocence left. The war had stolen all of that out of them. Yet here she was, Elizabeth enjoying everything she came across.

"Hey!" Booker turned to the girl's sudden call. She flipped something silver toward him. "Found some money."

He caught it and began striding past a few vending machines.

"So," Elizabeth began awkwardly. "I don't suppose you'd share why you rescued me?"

"A person hired me," he responded. "It's a job."

"And you're the kind that people hire for jobs like this?" she asked curiously.

"Something like that," he said without elaboration. He really wished she'd stop asking questions. But a part of him couldn't really blame her. For all he knew, he was probably the first person she ever talked to. If she chose to ask about his life then that was her choice. He didn't have to share anything. And he certainly didn't want to know a lot about hers. He saw enough with that science crap in the tower. It still didn't make sense why she was locked up in the first place—

Get to the Lady Airship, his conscience cut in. That's all he needed to do.

He heard her sigh from behind him, seeming to give up on conversation. Up ahead, as if on cue, Booker eyed the entrance sign for the Airship Docks.

"Mr. DeWitt! I- I mean, Booker!" Elizabeth interjected.

Booker glanced at her, following the outstretch of her arm. She must've seen the sign too and was announcing it. But instead in her direction, he saw a bronze machine set up outside the Duke and Dimwit arcade.

"Another photography stand," Elizabeth grinned, her eyes hinting to his.

Booker stopped suddenly and turned to her. "Please," he asked, voice tense, "No more pictures."

*Okay, so let me start off my saying that this idea has been on my computer unedited and scrappy for MONTHS now. But finally, somehow I reopened it and decided I was going to clean it up and finally publish it! This fic was hugely inspired by Khaylia who did such an amazing Manip of these two beautiful characters from the Bioshock: Infinite game. Thank you so much for letting my use the photo for my inspiration, be sure to check out their work on deviantart. Link: .com

So, as for the story, I know it was a lot more detail writing than dialogue. But I figured the picture said most of it, and I wanted this fic to focus more on what wasn't said, or what wasn't shown/discussed between the two, especially as they were just first meeting, unaware of the endless and complex cycle they were participating in.

But nonetheless, I'm so glad this is finally out of my desktop and on to fanfic. I hope you enjoyed it! I still got some Bioshock ideas on my computer, which yes I will get to… eventually…

Until then, PLEASE REVIEW and tell me what you thought!

Muse On.