A:N/ I think it's interesting that Lady Comstock was supposed to have a bigger part, but it was cut since they wanted to focus on Elizabeth and Booker's father/daughter relationship. Guys, I lie awake thinking about how good of a mother and how protective Annabelle would've been of her daughter. It kills me.


Upstate New York, Late 1890.

Annabelle never went to church on Sundays since, and darling Martha never questioned why. She would just wish Annabelle a good morning and informed her that she would be back later in the day.

Annabelle would spend her Sundays simply gazing off as she sat on the porch with a cup of coffee in hand. She smiled and waved when she noticed some kids play outside while the service was going on, and they would smile and wave back, shyly.

Annabelle did feel a heavy burden when it came to skipping Sundays, but the heavy burden was also joined with the sins of her past. There were days where Annabelle would get up and fidget with her dress as she stared at that small white church in the distance, but she always ended up sitting back down in that same chair on that same porch.

Yet, Annabelle felt a bit better knowing that she wasn't alone when it came to not attending service. She knew that odd and mysterious man was either drinking or smoking somewhere. It had been three weeks since that emotional encounter she had with him when he turned back and stared at her blue eyes with his green ones.

She didn't know where they stood when it came to each other. They had been friendly acquaintances before she left him on that ship. Then, they had been bitter foes in the brothel until they acknowledged each other's apologies. Now, he had saved her once again and Annabelle didn't know whether she was grateful for it or wary of it.

She didn't know the man. When all is said, and done, Booker DeWitt had a temper and a bipolar attitude that she can't seem to understand. Most of the townsfolk would say it was the war that had changed him, and Annabelle would understand that. She was surrounded by army men back in London and even in the brothel by the docks. But, Booker didn't seem to show any sign of the men she had known back then. It was either they turned into monsters that feasted on the darkest sins or it was either they converted into religion and prayed that God won't send them to Hell.

Booker was…none of those. He was… struggling, and Annabelle found comfort in that. Maybe that's why she found herself always being drawn to him. It was as if they had a silent agreement between each other, yet they can't figure out what agreement it was that made them still linked to each other.

Annabelle sighed and she gathered her bearings and thoughts before she got up and picked up the sack of clothing she needed to clean before the sun went down.

Martha had told her about the river next to the church and had suggested that Annabelle should was her laundry down there if need be. Annabelle was more than happy to oblige since it would also be helping Martha, who was still a saint in her eyes.

Annabelle managed to walk towards the river, carefully and slowly, but she couldn't help but hear some singing before she reached her destination. Afar, behind the church, she paused at the sight of the preacher in the water, surrounded by a handful of people. She spotted the others standing on land as they sang and lifted their arms up.

She could hear the familiar tune of a hymnal, but she couldn't make out the words they were saying. She bent down and rolled her sleeves up as she got ready to wash, but she still couldn't help but stare at what was going on. As she continued to wash, she noticed that the preacher asked one of the people in the water to come forward.

"Do you want your sins to be washed away? Do you want to be forgiven?" She could hear the words of the preacher bellow in the wind.

She could barely make out the person's nod and before she knew it, she watched as the preacher dunked the person into the river for two seconds and letting the person come up for air. She gasped as she noticed that everyone began to cheer and sing even louder.

What exactly was going on?

"It's called a baptism." A voice informed from behind her.

Annabelle gasped and dropped the clothes she had been holding and turned around. She was greeted by the sight of one of the pregnant woman, Laura, she got to meet just two days ago.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Anna. I didn't mean to scare you." Laura apologized with a small smile and laugh. Annabelle smiled, embarrassed, "No, it's fine. I didn't expect to see people here besides, well, over there." Annabelle pointed towards the church, and Laura nodded, understandingly.

"Well, I'm about to pop, so my husband wanted me to stay home for today." Laura explained, with a light giggle.

Annabelle nodded, and she shuffled her feet a bit as she turned to face the…baptism again.

"What is this baptism supposed to do?" Annabelle asked, finally, after a moment of watching the preacher dunk another person in the water and pulling them back out.

"It's supposed to cleanse our sins, like how Jesus was baptized by John the Baptist." Laura pointed out, slowly walking towards Annabelle so she could stand next to her and watch as well.

Annabelle didn't say anything as she kept on watching. She could see the light and acceptance in people's faces as they came out of the water, but instead of feeling happy for them, she felt…uneasy.

She looked down at the dirty clothes she was washing and she picked up the handkerchief that Booker had always given her, reminding her of every time she had cried.

Was it really that simple? You get soaked in water and you're…okay?

It was too…

"Booker DeWitt, would you like for your sins to be cleansed?"

Annabelle whipped her head towards the baptism once more, and she couldn't believe her eyes as she made out the tall man that she had been thinking about lately. He seemed hesitant as he made his way towards the preacher in the water.

"Well, I'll be. Booker might find peace." Laura whispered and that made Annabelle's heart pound even more.

Would he find peace? If he came out of the water, looking peaceful and forgiven, would that mean she would find peace as well?

Annabelle watched as Booker accepted the preacher's hand, and when she expected for the preacher to finally dunk the man in, she froze.

"No, no, no!" Booker's all-too-familiar gruff voice bellowed, and everyone seemed to stand there in shock as they watched the young man push the preacher away as he tried to get out of the water.

"Oh!" Laura gasped. Annabelle watched as Booker finally reached land, and he panted as he stood there, his day-old clothes dripping and his bearded face angry and distraught.

Annabelle could make out the figure of Martha running up to him and grabbing his arm, trying to soothe him or talk some sense to him, Annabelle didn't know. She watched as Booker pulled away from Martha and made his way through the crowd as they stared at him.

Annabelle could feel Laura's eyes staring at Booker, but Annabelle wanted to look back at the man he had rejected.

Annabelle paused and she turned right back to washing the clothes, hurriedly, wanting to get away from there.

Preacher Witting was staring straight at her.


Annabelle noticed that Martha was eerily quiet during dinner that night. It was odd. Martha would usually try and make conversation, but Annabelle knew that now wasn't the right time.

"I managed to wash the clothes. They should be drying right now." Annabelle offered, trying to act as if everything was okay.

Martha nodded, absently. She played with the food in her plate, and she sighed before finally looking up at Annabelle.

"His father had been a soldier as well. A good and respected one around here. He kept this town proud, yet his father had one day came around here with Booker in tow and everyone wanted to know who his mother was. I was hired by his father to be the boy's nanny and nursemaid, so I did. Loved him the moment I set my eyes on him. He was a dear boy, energetic and eager to learn. I wonder what his father would say now, seeing his son like this." Martha mused, her tone sad and far-off.

Annabelle couldn't help but be curious at what she had just heard as she stared at Martha, questioningly.

"What of his mother…? I thought she had designed everything in that room. Didn't she live here as well?" Annabelle asked, confused.

Martha seemed to ponder at Annabelle's questions and she almost seemed like she was going to answer them, but she hesitated.

"I think…Booker should be answering those questions. I said too much already. I'm sorry, dear, I'm getting old and well, I just…I just wanted someone to know that I love him. That…" Martha trailed off, and Annabelle was taken aback as the woman broke out into a sob.

Immediately, Annabelle got up and soothed the woman as she wrapped her arms around Martha and slightly rocked back and forth.

"You're a good woman, Anna." Martha whispered against Annabelle's shoulder.

Annabelle didn't answer as her heart clenched at the sincerity behind Martha's voice.

If Martha only knew.


Upstate New York, 1891.

Annabelle pushed open the wooden doors as she walked inside, looking everywhere.

"Well, hello there, darlin'. What are you doing in a place like this?" A man asked, sauntering to where she stood as she looked around.

"I'm looking for someone." Annabelle replied, easily, trying to read the man's behavior. If the man was extremely drunk, she knew she would be dealing with a hands-y one. If he was just the right amount of drunk, she could charm her way out of this situation.

"Is it me?" The man asked, smiling down at her, and Annabelle fought the urge to roll her eyes. Ah, he was the right amount for her to flirt just a bit.

"Would you be a dear and get me a drink while I use the powder room?" Annabelle asked, her voice warm and soft. She pouted just a bit, and she could tell that her victim was tricked.

He nodded, quickly, and he wobbled towards the barkeep, slurring and all. Annabelle used that chance to escape and walk away, still looking around.

She walked up to a bartender, determined, "Hey, is there a brunet, about six-foot man around here? He's wearing month-old clothes and he has a bit of stubble on his chin. He also looks mean and angry if that helps."

The bartender nodded and scoffed as he looked at her, up and down, before pointing towards a corner booth.

"Are you his wife?" The bartender asked, a little surprised and saddened.

Annabelle was too impatient to think about what to say as she tried to peer into the corner booth, and she let out a sigh when she noticed a slumped figure.

"I say, Miss, you're a little too sweet-looking for a man like him. He also doesn't seem to be content, too. I suggest you just leave him and find yourself a more respectable man." The bartender stated after a moment.

Annabelle looked at the bartender, indecorously. "I suggest you keep your mind to yourself, Sir. You're a little too judgmental for a woman like me."

The bartender seemed to pause at that which made Annabelle smile to herself as she made her way to the corner booth he pointed towards.

Annabelle could hear a woman's giggle as she approached the booth. She fought a sigh as she stood in front of the booth and watched as Booker laughed obnoxiously as he drowned another glass of whatever alcohol he decided to drink. The woman was lounging herself all over him, and Annabelle knew very well that women always seemed to like doing that when it came to Mr. Booker DeWitt.

"Booker." Annabelle called out. Booker froze mid-drink as he looked up.

He still had those green eyes that crinkled and the ever-growing stubble on his chin and jaw. His brunet hair had grown a bit, but it just made him even more roguishly handsome which would explain why women were still attracted to him even though he reeked of alcohol and smoke.

Annabelle sighed. She had ridden on a horse all the way here, and here he was, safe and sound. Martha was worrying about nothing when it came to Booker being alive.

"Anna, what brings you all the way out here?" Booker slurred, his eyes drowsy and his smile sluggish.

Annabelle raised an eyebrow at that and she crossed her arms as she looked down at him, "You mean, what brings me here from the town over? Well, I came here to pick you up and bring you home. Martha's worried about you. It's been months since you've been gone."

Booker scoffed, and he slammed his drink down. He turned to the woman to his side and he smiled, "Darlin', this is Anna, that woman I saved back in London and the one who up and left and became a whore."

Annabelle gritted her teeth and she grabbed onto Booker's neckerchief and pulled him up, tightly.

"Listen here, Booker. I didn't come here to introduce me to your lady friend. I'm here to bring you back to Martha, the woman who actually loves a sorry man like you." Annabelle hissed, impatiently.

Booker pushed her hands away, and he got up, slowly. He grabbed his empty glass and walked towards the bar, and Annabelle begrudgingly followed. He set his glass down in front of the bartender, and the bartender looked at Annabelle, pointedly.

Annabelle shook her head and the bartender obeyed. Booker seemed to notice this and he turned to face Annabelle annoyed.

"What the fuck? Why you listen' to her?" Booker asked the bartender, angrily, turning his head back to the bartender, glaring.

"Sir, your wife came to take you—"

Booker cut him off with a laugh, "You think she's my wife? Oh God, she's not my fucking wife. You know how I know her? I somehow keep saving her, and she somehow keeps coming back into my life like a damn plague."

Annabelle heard enough. She grabbed Booker's head and slammed it against the countertop, knocking him out cold. The bartender's eyes were wide as he stared at her. She stared back, nonchalantly.

Then, she smiled and pulled out her coin purse.

"Anyways, how much do I owe you?"


Annabelle grabbed the reins of her horse, gently, and she made sure that Booker wasn't going to fall off. She looked down at the person who helped her carry Booker and put him onto the horse.

"Thanks for tying him in." Annabelle thanked the bartender as he backed away.

"No problem, ma'am." The bartender said with a smile.

Annabelle petted her horse as she sighed, "Ready to go home, Paris?" The horse whinnied in reply and Annabelle smiled. She was about to set off until she heard the bartender's cough.

She looked back down, an eyebrow raised.

The bartender was flushed as he looked at her, "I wanted to apologize about what I said earlier…You seem to be the type of a woman who has a good head on her shoulders."

Annabelle blinked, once, before she laughed, loudly. She sighed, and she looked down at the bartender and winked.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm just as messed up as he is."

With that said, Annabelle made a sound and Paris began to gallop away, leaving a smitten bartender behind.


Annabelle smiled and greeted the townsfolk as Paris trotted. They smiled at her, but they looked warily at Booker and sighed when they noticed him.

One of the men noticed the knocked-out Booker who was slumped and tied onto the horse.

"Where was he this time?" He called out to Annabelle, and she pointed towards the direction of the town over.

"Found him at the town right over." Annabelle answered back with a bellow.

The man sighed and shook his head. The other townsfolk also muttered and mumbled as they watched Annabelle return to Martha's house with Booker in tow. Annabelle ignored it as she climbed down from Paris and began to untie Booker from the horse. She didn't even bother to wince when Booker fell onto the ground with a loud thud.

Martha opened the door and she ran down the stairs as she saw Annabelle slugging one of Booker's arms around her shoulders. Martha helped on the other side and both women walked up the stairs as they struggled to heave the heavyset, bulky man onto one of the couches in the living room.

Once they managed to do that, Annabelle let out a moan of relaxation as she settled down onto one of the chairs. She closed her eyes to relax a bit, but she heard the soft whimpers of Martha and she immediately got up to soothe the woman.

"Hey, he's okay. He's here now." Annabelle stated, rubbing Martha's back.

Martha seemed to relax at that, yet her milky blue eyes were still on the unconscious man that was groaning on the couch.

A moment passed, and Annabelle was about to sit back on the chair and relax before taking a bath, but there was an urgent knock at the door and Annabelle sighed and got up.

Martha made a move to open the door, but Annabelle placed a hand on her arm before she could. Martha nodded, and she walked back to Booker and sat down by his side, placing her withered hand on his scowling face.

Annabelle opened the door and she was greeted by a panting young boy, "Miss Anna! My mom's giving birth! Mama said to come and get you!"

Annabelle immediately nodded and she looked at Martha to make sure she was okay. Martha waved her hand, urging Annabelle to go.

"Go, the town needs you." Martha stated, and Annabelle seemed to puff up a bit at the look of pride in Martha's eyes.

Annabelle grabbed the boy's hand and he was more than willing to lead the way.


The sound of a woman's cries was the sound that made Annabelle push her way through. Laura's, the designated midwife, eyes lit up as soon as he saw her, and he immediately grabbed her shoulders.

"The umbilical cord is wrapped around the baby's neck. I need your help." Laura whispered, desperately.

Annabelle nodded, and she smiled at the woman in labor who looked at her in relief.

"Thank the Lord that you're here Anna." Esther stated as she panted, clinging onto her husbands' hand who seemed to be wrought in worry.

"Of course, I'm here. Okay, I want you to take deep breaths, okay? This baby is going to be just as healthy and beautiful as you are." Annabelle assured her as she knelt to examine what was going on.

She focused on the cord and she gently worked on it as she remembered watching the nuns do this when young mothers-to-be had come to them, not having the money to pay for doctors or any sort of medical help.

Annabelle began to sweat, but she concentrated until she knew that the baby was unwrapped and free of the umbilical cord.

The sound of the baby's cries filled the room and everyone seemed to sigh in relief and Esther and her husband began to cry with their baby. Annabelle looked at the baby in her hands in wonderment, and she smiled widely as she gave Laura the baby.

"It's a beautiful girl." Annabelle stated, happily, as she patted Esther's leg, gently.

"Thank you, Anna." Esther whispered in return.

"You're amazing, Miss Anna!" Esther's son stated, holding onto Annabelle as she stood up.

And, for once in her life, Annabelle did feel amazing.


Annabelle couldn't help but smile as she walked inside the house. She had saved a life and brought a new life into this world. It was a feeling that she couldn't shake off.

"There she is. My gorgeous wife." The sarcastic voice filled the living room, and Annabelle's happiness was short-lived as she turned to face the man who was glaring at her from the couch.

"How are you feeling, sweetie?" Annabelle shot back, sweetly. Her smile just as sarcastic as her tone.

She smiled even wider as she noticed that Booker cradled an ice pack on the top of his head.

"Peachy." Booker replied in distaste. Annabelle didn't bother to respond as she made her way to the staircase, but she paused at the bottom of it, looking at him.

His eyes were already trained on hers and she bit her lip before she began to talk.

"I don't know why you keep on leaving and going on drinking, gambling, and smoking binges, Booker, but…Martha really worries about you. I think the town does, too." Annabelle stated, crossing her arms.

Booker snorted at that, but his eyes had already softened when she mentioned Martha's name.

"Well, if we're spilling our feelings here, I guess it's my turn," Booker replied, and his gaze turned cold as he stared at her, "I don't know why you're still even here. I offered you a place to escape to, not stay. Unless you forgot, you have a brother who is still trying to hunt you down, Annabelle. So, get off your high horse and don't you dare try to talk to me like you know half the shit I'm going through."

Annabelle didn't even have a chance to reply as Booker got up and brushed past her as he walked up the stairs.


Annabelle lied awake that night, and she kept repeating the words that Booker shot back at her. He had been right. She had forgotten all about her brother and she had thought she had made a place for herself here.

It had been months since she managed to safely run away from the brothel. She had made friends with the townsfolk. They had taught her to ride a horse and they opened their doors to her when it came to pregnancies and labor. They had started calling her, "Martha's girl", and Annabelle had remembered how proud Martha was to hear that.

She could have had a home here, but the looming issue of Booker was always floating around. Martha was always worried. The townsfolk were worried.

Hell, Annabelle found herself wondering if he was even alive half the time he was away.

He had come and gone, like he was the stranger and she had made a place for herself. It was as if she was replacing the Booker DeWitt that the town had known, and she had felt guilty for assuming that role.

She turned over in her bed and she stared at the clothes that had once belonged to Booker's mother. She had been wearing those clothes because Booker had offered them to her a long time ago, and she had been grateful to blend in. They were simple and elegant, and you could tell Booker's mother had beautiful taste, judging by her own crafts.

Damn, she didn't even know about his mother.

Martha had mentioned his mother in passing, but Booker was a ghost in this house and Annabelle wanted answers so maybe, just maybe, she could help him.

Booker. Fuck.

Annabelle got up, and she began to pace the room. All her thoughts were of him, and she blamed him for it. If only she hadn't met him in that party back in London, maybe she wouldn't be in this mess.

It was cause of Booker that she started cussing and even drinking. She didn't even bother to adopt this sensible lady-ness that she used to have because there was no point anymore. Months of dragging his ass back home from bars and brothels was more than enough to make her bitter and resentful.

God, she hated him.

But, it wasn't because he was an annoying mess or the fact that Martha fretted over him. It wasn't because he was angry all the time or he drank all the time.

It was because he had helped her so many times before, and she couldn't even…

Annabelle sat down on the bed and let out a frustrated sigh.

"I can't even save you, Booker DeWitt."


A:N/ I imagine Booker and Annabelle's relationship to be a lot more complicated than any other theory out there. I just feel like they were both broken souls before finding each other in love, you know? Because for Booker to be so emotionally and mentally damaged after losing that one hope, which was Annabelle, and gaining another hope when he had his daughter, yet to still be so damaged that he sells the only thing left of his wife? Damn. It's just crazy to think that Annabelle was such an important person to him and she didn't really get that much of a story. I mean, technically, she did, but I want Annabelle Watson DeWitt, not Lady Comstock.