Salutations once more dear readers. Well here we are… Chapter 14, I can honestly say I'm a little impressed with myself. This is the quickest I've ever reached chapter 14 ever. I know I haven't been posting so quickly lately, but hear me out. First, that last chapter was a bear! If it literally was, it would have just whooped my butt. Second, my schedule took a turn for the AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! And third, I just moved out of the nest (yay me!) so see my second problem. So without further ado I'll get the lead out MOVING ON…
Five Years Later…
Years passed, Anna had grown from a baby to a little girl. Booker's career had proved a lucrative one between the jobs he did for Thomas and the private contracts he received from the general public, all who were willing to pay handsomely for his services. He had moved them out of his office and into a modest size home a year after his business had taken off. Anna had plenty of room to run and play, and the park was close by so she could play with other children.
Dorothy kept her employment with Booker, remaining a loyal nanny, and a loyal friend to Booker – though he never mentioned it. She had a nice room to herself rather than sleeping in the same room as Booker (which her mother would later admit she thought was a scandal) and a bed to herself that was not the lumpy mattress Booker kept in his own room. She hadn't heard from her sister, only about her in passing with her mother who lived only a short distance.
Maria was doing well, save for her heartache that she was not yet a mother. Sam was still treating her fine, but his job kept him away so often that conceiving a child looked less and less likely. Often she had asked about Dorothy and Anna, and sneered whenever Mr. DeWitt was so much as mentioned. Lily knew there was some sort of hostility between her daughters and it saddened her greatly, especially when no one would tell her what was going on.
When Lily had finally been introduced to Dorothy's employer, she did not fail to notice how the two had become closer over the years. Booker treated her less and less like an employee and more and more like a trusted friend. She had asked her daughter a few times, what exactly her intentions were with Booker, but Dorothy always laughed it off, telling her mother that he was only a friend and someone she just so happened to work for.
"Someone who is also young, and handsome," Lily had noted. Dorothy's face turned a most delightful color of pink. "And someone who seems to think a great deal about your opinion."
Dorothy noticed it more and more how in passing he'd ask her advice, if he didn't like it he wouldn't argue, just make a troubled face and try a different approach. If he didn't like when she had to take a paddle to his daughter's rear-end, he would bite the inside of his bottom lip and step away before he became violent. He tried to keep his temper in line most of the time, occasionally when he had too much to drink his words would become harsh, but she was somewhat used to it. The only problem she had with Booker was there were always bits and pieces of himself that he refused to let anyone else know about him. He never talked about his childhood, he avoided the topic of his wife, and he always left out large bits of information about when he was in the army as if he were hiding something.
He mostly spoke about his mad adventures with Thomas and his men, though Dorothy did not like the sound of it. She always worried on the nights he would return late, that he would not come home to his daughter ever again, when he finally did show up she would scold him. She'd wag her finger at him until he told her what sort of hunt he had been on.
"Booker," sighed Dorothy. "You have to understand. It is not I that I worry about. It's that little girl sleeping in the next room worried to death that you will not be returning."
"I'm not going anywhere," he said in his usual tired voice. "She's got nothing to worry about."
Three weeks later, she did.
It was early December, snow littered the ground and the once slight nip of autumn air had quickly turned quickly into a frigid bite threatening winter around the corner. Work was becoming harder to come by, especially for the workers who didn't want to complain with the holidays right around the corner. But Thomas had managed to coax some of the men into joining the cause. Booker, for his part, found and silenced anyone who needed it. The men in the Union, the one who remembered his actions most vividly were weary of his presence, though happy to have him on their side. He didn't speak much, and when he did, it was about where he would next be needed.
That night, it was chasing down a rat that had been selling secrets to men like Fink. Giovanni Camponelli, an Italian who was mixed up with his own debts was offered to be paid for any secrets he would sell to Jerimiah Fink who was running into trouble with the Unions. Booker seemed to be particularly interested in slowing down any efforts on Fink's part, though he never said why. Giovanni had gotten word that Booker was looking for him, and like any rat he scurried away at the sight of the man.
Now Booker was stuck chasing the man down when he would have settled very much for just shooting him and being done with it, but Thomas insisted to keep Camponelli alive. Why, Booker had no idea. He figured it may have been to make an example out of the traitor.
He knew it was the middle of December and any other day, Booker would have paid better attention to where they were going. It wasn't until he caught the sight of a familiar woman in a blue dress that Booker felt the ground give way under both men. With a startled cry the icy waters of the river greeted him, he nearly gasped as the water enveloped him with the sensation of a thousand prickly needles in his skin. He quickly swam towards the surface, forgetting about Camponelli until something grabbed for his ankle. Booker cursed inwardly and kicked repeatedly at the hand but Giovanni was desperate and willing to do anything to ensure his survival and so he kept reaching and climbing despite the multiple attempts to get rid of him.
Both men heard the muffled cries above them, someone had come to their aid offering multiple pairs of arms for each to reach for. Booker stopped focusing on his target and turned instead to the arms giving the Italian man the opening he needed to climb to safety while getting rid of his attacker. He made quick progress with the slender man and soon they found themselves face to face. Booker squirmed to get out of the man's grip, his lungs on fire by this point. True to his method, Giovanni had reached the grabbing hands before Booker, as he was being pulled to safety, he made sure to deliver a swift kick to the exPinkerton's face sending him into darkness.
When Booker reawakened, two thoughts crossed his mind. One was that there was a possibility that he was still in Columbia and this was attempt one hundred twenty four. The second was that if he never saw another body of water, it would be too soon. The water in his lungs came out with a violent force as he coughed and sputtered. "Thomas," a voice called loudly much to Booker's dismay. His head was pounding harder than any hangover he'd ever had before. "Come quick, he's back."
Soon enough Thomas was standing over him. "He's alive?"
"Yes sir," As Booker's vision was able to focus more, he noticed James.
It didn't take him long to like he older man over the years. He was the only who didn't treat Booker like a Pinkerton and more like he belonged. He had told Booker that his now deceased Luke would have been about the younger man's age. He treated Booker like he was his lost son, and for that Booker was grateful.
"How do you feel," Thomas offered his hand to the still prostrate Booker. He took the offer and groaned to his feet. Thomas chuckled, "yes I'd imagine so. Come we should get you to a doctor, can you walk?"
"I'm fine," Booker lied. It was apparent the moment he tried to take a step and nearly collapsed had James not caught him. Booker sighed heavily before returning to his feet. "What happened to Camponelli?"
"You see why we hired you? You've got spirit."
"Though you nearly lost it boy," chided James. "You're in no condition to worry about Giovanni, he's gone that's all you need to know. Now, as Thomas said, you need to see a doctor let's go."
"No," Booker barked forcefully. At the surprised expression from both men, Booker continued. "I just gotta get home. Just need some sleep is all, I'll be fine by morning."
"Booker," Thomas pushed. "You not only nearly drown, you nearly froze to death. This isn't something you just take a nap and wake up feeling better."
"I said I'm fine," Booker countered dangerously low. "I don't need no doctor, I just need to get home."
Thomas and James exchanged a look between them. It was well known between the two of them just how stubborn Booker was and they knew there would be no convincing him of otherwise. "Fine," Thomas relented with a sigh. "But if you take ill, that's your own fault."
"Fine by me."
Thomas and James surrounded the younger man, and helped him home noticing with each step that Booker was having more and more difficulty staying awake.
Dorothy had finally managed to get Anna to bed. Something she realized would never change with the young girl. If anything she had learned that though there were few qualities she had inherited from him, Anna was as stubborn and could be as grumpy as her father. Now as the five-year-old girl slept peacefully, Dorothy tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for Booker to come home. He was late again, and while she was no wife of his, Anna was beginning to worry. Feeling the freezing December air, Dorothy built a small fire and cozied up as she continued waiting.
"Where on earth is that man?"
She was answered by the front door being thrown open by Thomas who was carrying a barely conscious Booker with another man on the right that Dorothy did not know. Booker's head hung forward, like it had simply weighed too much to keep up, his hair and clothes looked wet from where she was standing, and his skin looked deathly pale.
"Good Lord," she exclaimed quietly. This was certainly not the time to wake Anna, there was no telling what the girl would do to see Booker in such a state. "What happened?"
"F-f-fell," shivered Booker though he didn't look up. "Through the g-goddamn ice." Dorothy gasped loudly and assisted in bringing Booker closer to the fire. His hands were almost painfully cold to touch but she ignored the feeling. It was a wonder Booker was still alive, let alone awake.
"How did this happen?" It was directed at Thomas with no hidden hostility. She knew that man was going to cost Booker his life, and now the reality of how close he had brought the younger man set in.
"Chasing a man," Thomas answered shortly. He didn't think much of Dorothy, especially when she narrowed her grey eyes at him like he was an impertinent child, and spoke harshly to him. "We needed Booker to track down a man for us, and he did."
"And he nearly died!"
"And h-he's still r-right h-here," Booker added annoyed that they were talking about him like he wasn't around.
"Never mind that," Dorothy waved. "What has the doctor said about his condition? Is there any tonics or medicine he is to take?"
"We're going to send for the doctor to come tomorrow morning," answered Thomas.
"WHAT!?" Boomed Dorothy and Booker at the same time.
"I said no doctors!"
"He could be dead by tomorrow morning!"
Booker finally picked up his head to glare at Dorothy, but she didn't seem fazed by it. Rather, she met his glare head on and returned one of her own, not failing to notice how exhausted he looked. "Why on earth will you not see a doctor? What are you going to tell your daughter when she sees you like this?"
He said nothing, just continued glaring. Dorothy nodded her head, pleased by his lack of answers. Thomas found the two amusing but shifted his hold on Booker. "Tomorrow morning it is then. With that being said, let's get Booker up to his room, no doubt he's eager to retire for the night." They escorted him up, with Dorothy closely following, not quite done chiding for the night.
Thomas and James did little more than drop Booker off in his room. They bid the man goodnight, not surprised when he told the two of them to go to hell, and quickly left. He fell back on his bed with his eyes closed, finding it was harder and harder to stay awake. Dorothy cleared her throat to remind him she was still with him. "What," he murmured.
"You could have been killed," she said suddenly losing her will to be angry at him. Instead she sat beside him on his bed. "What possessed you to chase that man onto the ice?"
"Didn't pay attention to where I was going."
Dorothy harrumphed, "You shouldn't sleep in those wet clothes or you'll catch cold. I'll set something out for you to wear."
But Booker was breathing deeply with his eyes closed. Dorothy quirked an eyebrow in surprise, how did he fall asleep so quickly? Better yet, how did he fall asleep while he was still half soaking wet? She glanced from the door to the sleeping man on the bed, debating whether or not to just leave him there. As she stood to leave, a little voice in her head nagged at her.
Oh don't just leave him there; he'll freeze to death by the morning.
Dorothy ignored it, it'd certainly serve him right to get sick for this. 'Didn't pay attention to wear I was going,' he'd told her. She half wanted to shake him until he rattled for the state he had left Anna in before she had gone to bed, and the state she'd be in tomorrow when she found out her father was ill.
He wouldn't be ill if you'd simply wake him.
Or, he'd just be grumpy with her and tell her to leave him alone. Besides, what if he was a very heavy sleeper?
Are a few buttons really that difficult to undo?
No, but lifting a man who was twice her size would be. And what would her mother think if she'd ever heard about this? Though Dorothy guessed that she'd be tickled pink at the idea that their relationship was slightly less than professional, she could also imagine her mother crying out a scandal and speaking to half of New York about it. Not especially pleased when the word got around to her sister.
The sister who will probably be adopting Anna after Booker dies from the cold that you could prevent by helping him change? What would your mother know about this if no one ever speaks of it again?
Dorothy sighed, there was going to be no avoiding this would there? With a silent prayer that he'd simply wake up, she tried gently shaking Booker. When he didn't budge, she let out a long breath. "Booker come on you can't sleep in this state." But he didn't respond or show any indication that he had heard her. She made multiple attempts to wake him, but Booker did not seem to notice her in his slumber. Dorothy tapped her foot and bit her bottom lip, there was no other choice, she was going to have to undress him. As if to add insult to injury, she found she was slightly excited by the idea, and it did not seem too difficult a task, couldn't be any worse than changing a wiggling child. Except he was completely still and if his former Pinkerton contract was accurate, at nineteen he was pushing two hundred pounds there was no telling how much he had gained since she began feeding him.
"Enough stalling," she convinced herself. She started with his vest, which would have been easier if she did not fumble so much with the buttons in anxiety. Once that was done, she moved on to his shirt, starting from the bottom and working her way up every so slowly. "What will you think if you catch me?"
Booker didn't reply he didn't so much as twitch which told Dorothy that he was out like a light. It worried her though, as she had always remembered her friend to be a light sleeper. If he a soft bump in the night he was up for the rest of the day. Grumpy, but awake. She opened his shirt, trying to untuck the fabric from his trousers. She pulled forcefully, wondering why she didn't just think to start with his pants instead. Finally after the extreme efforts on her part to remove his undershirt, Booker's upper half was bare. Try as she might not to, Dorothy caught her eye wandering more than a few times to the exposed skin.
His skin was pale and raised with gooseflesh. Hard muscles line with scars from events Booker would never speak about, though she had a vague idea. His chest rose and fell evenly with each breath he took, though every now and again it was interrupted with a harsh cough. Since Booker was asleep, she supposed it would be alright for her to feel some sympathy for him. He was only doing what he thought was best, so he could provide for his daughter better than he had started with. His pants came off without much effort but her cheeks were on fire as she realized how close her hands were to his most private organ.
When she finished, she wasted no time to throw his blanket over his naked form and bolt out of the room like she was on fire. Dorothy crossed the hall to her room staring at the ceiling trying not to think of Booker waking up tomorrow without clothes on and realizing that the only person who could have undressed him was her. She wondered if he'd blush like she did, or if he'd just shrug it off and continue like nothing happened. Though the more she thought about it, nothing did happen, she was simply helping a friend in need. A male friend, remove all his clothing while he was sleeping.
Dorothy groaned and rolled over in her bed, it was going to be a long night.
(A/N: -Dragging myself out of funk panting and wheezing- Okay… I made it. Sorry again about the delay guys, it's been a rough couple of months but I think I'm back in the swing. So you all know the drill! Read, review, and remember; I love you!)