A/N: I get that the timeline can be confusing, so I'll explain it to those who do not understand it. Comstock was created by Booker's choice to take the baptism. He would have taken the name Zachary Hale Comstock, and then bought Anna back from his past self with the help of the Luteeces. But because Booker was killed before he could make that choice, there was no Comstock to buy Anna from him, so that is where the timeline continues from.

. -.-. .-.. .. .-. ... . -...- ... - .-..

A Normal Life

Chapter Two

Booker sat and read the paper, searching desperately for a new job. Preferably one that Anna would be proud of him for. So far, there were only two jobs that fit his skill set, working for the Pinkertons again, or providing security to a seedy bar three blocks over. He didn't want to be gone so long, so he immediately disregarded the protection job, and he outright refused to work for the Pinkertons, he wanted to start a new life, not re-live his old one. He was beginning to think that the world was conspiring against him as he pushed the paper down on to the desk, now clear of any bottles. A few gambling tickets remained though, much to his hatred. He looked towards the cupboards. "Maybe a drink to take the edge off." He thought to himself, before vigorously shaking his head. "No, I'm doing this for Anna, I can't fall back into the bottle." He glanced towards the closed nursery door. A soft snoring emanating behind it.

. -.-. .-.. .. .-. ... . -...- ... - .-..

A cry roused booker from his stupor. His head was against the desk, the newspaper acting as a pillow. He clenched his eyes shut firmly, trying to ward off the headache he was being subject to.

Another cry brought his eyes to open, seeing an empty bottle of cheap beer standing next to his limp hand. His headache reached new heights as he began to get up from his slumped position.

"Dammit, I gotta get rid of this stuff!" Booker was angry and disappointed with himself as he gazed upon the four bottles strewn across the floor. Another cry brought his attention back into the real world. This cry was shorter and softer than the others he had heard previously, but he did not worry.

He went into her little room, kicking a few of the bottles out of his way, much to his disdain. He reached into the crib, gently cradling his daughter in his arms as he brought her to his chest.

"Hush, hush, don't worry, daddies right here." He spoke softly, slowly rocking the small, beautiful person back into a fitful sleep. For many minutes, he simply sat in the small chair in the corner of the room, holding his small child, staring intently at her face, eyes filled with adoration.

. -.-. .-.. .. .-. ... . -...- ... - .-..

Elizabeth stood in a field of nothing. Not even colour. She stood alone, scared at the lack of any tangible entities. She could no longer see the doors, nor what lay behind them.

"She seems troubled." A feminine voice said behind her, disturbingly loud in the oppressing silence.

"That she does. Perhaps we should help her." A male counterpart sounded.

"That we shall." She turned around, and was beyond belief at the twins standing before her.

"But how can we be here? The universe ended, no time. The accidents that caused us to stand in the possibility space never happened. Why are we here?" Elizabeth asked, worried at the possible answer. She had figured them gone when she collapsed the worlds.

"Ah, but there lies the conundrum." Rosalind began.

"We are both in possibility space." Robert continued.

"And do not. We exist in a quantum superposition. We are, in essence, mistakes in the universe, that cannot be resolved."

"As such, we still exist, yet we don't." Robert clarified.

"So I can still open doors? Even if I don't know what lies behind them?"

"My dear girl, it is quantum. It is both there and not there, one simply has to look." Rosalind said.

Elizabeth blinked, and the twins were no longer there. "Well, that was a fun conversation." She said to the empty air. Elizabeth sat on the 'floor' and began to think about what the twins had said.

. -.-. .-.. .. .-. ... . -...- ... - .-..

It had been a week since Booker's last alcoholic drink, and he was proud. He was finally able to be there for his daughter. She was a quiet child, barely making a peep most nights, however, on some, nightmares would keep her awake for most, if not all, of the night. On these nights, Booker would sit in the rocking chair, Anna in his arms, rocking and singing a soft lullaby. It is here that Booker currently was. In the rocking chair, singing to his daughter softly. She had been on the receiving end of a nosebleed not a few minutes ago, and the sudden crimson liquid had frightened her. He had been rocking her for a hour and a half before she had fallen asleep again. It had taken only a minute for the nosebleed to pass. The shortest nosebleed he had ever seen, but he wasn't going to argue, and another minute for her to allow him to clean her up.

After putting new sheets into her crib, and laying her down, he allowed himself a proud smile. He was a daddy, and hopefully, a good one at that.

. -.-. .-.. .. .-. ... . -...- ... - .-..

Elizabeth had been opening doors for what could have been years, maybe only a few hours, possibility space had no concept of time. The first seventeen possible worlds were like a forgotten memory, blurred and obscured. She assumed that since she had collapsed most of the alternate possibilities, that these were either memories of the doors she had seen, or something was blocking her from fully merging with the world. The eighteenth however, was clear and as bright as day. She stumbled to the ground, blood running down her nose.

"This never happened in the other worlds. Why here?" The distracting thoughts and feelings stopped her from seeing the world, absorbed in her own thoughts as she were. "Maybe this is the universe I came from? Do I have a counterpart here?" She thought more on the subject. It was possible. She decided to seek out Booker. She would know her father when she sees him.

She hoped.

She finally looked around at her surroundings. Large brick buildings on either side of her, an empty street in front, poorly lit by several lamps, behind her was a brick wall. Several trash cans littered the alleyway, newspapers fluttered in the delicate wind.

Elizabeth had no idea where she was, but it seemed familiar, like an echo of a long forgotten song.

She decided to figure out the familiar feeling later, after she had found this world's Booker. So she left the alley, and began walking down the road, keeping an eye out for any signs, and forgetting about the nosebleed.

. -.-. .-.. .. .-. ... . -...- ... - .-..

To Noah and Columbus77: Thank you for your comments, it warms my heart to see your support. I've checked out the suggested story, and found it to my liking. Thank you for that suggestion. To everyone, I'm sorry this took so long, I did not realise that this would receive such nice reviews, and thus had not truly planned a plotline. I've tried to accommodate as many ideas given to my by the reviewers as possible, though sadly, some could just not fit into my desired plotline. To those who were not selected into the plot, I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. I apologise that this took so long, and I want to thank you all for waiting. I promise that one day these chapters will get longer.