Warning: This chapter contains attempted rape. I say attempted rape, because only one party believes it's nonconsensual. The other one just likes roleplaying.
Now that the cream she found in a first aid kit has had time to sink in, Elizabeth decides it's time to administer a little self-discipline. She finds a full-length mirror, but no suitable implement. With a sigh, she decides to use her hand.
She situates herself in front of the mirror, watching her reflection closely. She bends over and spanks herself as hard as she can with the flat of her hand. "That one's for swearing." she tells herself sternly, trying not to squeeze her legs together at the feeling. "And this one's for walking around naked." She slaps herself with the other hand now. It feels even better. She's run out of things to punish herself for, but she keeps going anyway, alternating hand and cheek and loving the way it looks when the blows come raining down. "God, I'm messed up." she says, standing up to admire her handiwork. Nice vibrant handmarks on each side. "Why do I like it?"
Her heart nearly stops as the radio crackles to life. "Are you really doin' what I think you're doin'?" Atlas asks incredulously. "You've got the whatchamacallit. What are you standin' around, chastisin' yerself for?"
Elizabeth grabs the radio hastily. "Give me a break. I've been sneaking around your goons for the better part of an evening. You wouldn't deny a girl a little downtime would you?"
Atlas sighs. "Look, the boys and I are gettin' impatient. Take the particle up to the top floor or I'll come after you meself. An' I'm warning ya, I'm not afraid to strike a woman. Not when she's askin' for it."
She scowls. "And here I thought we might be getting along."
"I didn't say where I was gonna hit ya." he says, a trace of his old levity back. "Now move it, sister."
Elizabeth resists the urge to snap an ironic but pointless salute, grabs her things and leaves.
The whole building shakes. "You've done it! Lord have mercy, you've actually done it!" Atlas crows in delight.
Elizabeth scrambles down off the desk. "I may be many things, but a liar's not one of them."
"An' neither am I." Atlas tells her. "You wait right there, I'm comin' up to thank you in person. Alone. I'll have some of my best lads take the girl down t' the nearest bathysphere. It can take you as far as the surface. After that, you're on yer own."
"If they hurt a single hair on her head..." Elizabeth warns him.
"They won't. I'll see to it." he assures her. "Stay put. I won't be long."
Atlas seems almost surprised when he emerges from the elevator to find Elizabeth actually wearing something. Granted, it's nothing special, just a long fur coat, but she'll be damned if she was going to stand around naked all day.
"I guess this is it then." he says, stepping forward and offering his hand. "Won't be seein' hide or tail of you after all this, will I?"
She looks critically at his hand. "I make it a point not to shake hands with murderers." she says coolly.
Atlas frowns. "I'm not a murderer, love. I'm a killer. There is a difference."
She shakes her head dismissively. "Semantics don't interest me. All I care about is the girl."
"You really gonna go see her like that?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "You're not her mother, are ya?"
"Hardly. Just a concerned citizen." she tells him. Only a partial lie.
"Ah, well now. You sure you won't stick around? They'll give ya a heroes' welcome, once you put some clothes on. Unless you fancy the Godiva look..." She shakes her head again. "No?" Atlas walks over to her. If she didn't know better, she'd say he almost looked romantic in this lighting. "Are ya sure I can't persuade you to stay?" he asks huskily.
"And do what? Rule alongside you?"
"If you like..." he murmurs. "Or we could do it on the desk every night. Up to you."
Elizabeth smiles sadly. "I don't want to rule. I don't want a heroes' welcome. I just want a normal life."
"Normal?" Atlas shakes his head in wonderment. "There ain't no such thing as normal." He walks over to stand by the window. "Every Tom Dick an' Harry out there's got their own tale t' tell. Some things change, some things stay the same. But you..." He turns his head to look at her. "You've done things an ordinary man could never dream of doin'."
"Flattery will get you nowhere." she drawls.
"I ain't flatterin'. I'm bein' sincere." Atlas leaves the window and walks slowly around her. Like a shark, she thinks. "I've seen what you do. Plasmids don't cover it. You open holes, these...gaps in thin air, you bring things in that weren't there before..." He stops, and whispers in her ear. "I'd count myself lucky if I had a woman like you by my side."
Suddenly she's tired. Tired of running, tired of hiding, tired of fighting, tired of flirting, tired of crying, tired of wondering why, why, why her?
"You seem to know an awful lot about me." she says over her shoulder. "I should've known you'd hacked the cameras." Then she turns to face him. "But I know a lot about you as well. I know you're not who you say you are."
Atlas takes it well. "Who is?" he laughs with a shrug.
"I know who you are. I know your name. Your real name. And I know who you sent topside."
He laughs again, with the vaguest hint of menace. "I think you've been pushin' too many needles luv."
"You want me to prove it?" Elizabeth asks.
"Elizabeth, what are you doing?" the voice asks.
I'm getting what I want. she tells it.
She leans in closer. "Frrrrrrrrank..." she purrs. "...Fontaiiiiiiiiine."
"If all that were true..." Atlas's face is a mask as he pulls a gun from his back pocket. He points it at her. His voice changes. "He'd be takin' an awful big risk lettin' you walk around."
She gulps visibly. "Yes he would..."
"An' Frank Fontaine doesn't like takin' risks. So what would he do then?"
"He'd kill them." Her voice is small.
"Atta girl." His voice is thick with oil and scorn. "Unless of course, he got somethin' else outta the deal."
"What else would he want?" She sounds lost. Scared. Confused. In over her head.
"I guess that'd depend on what you've got."
"I-I've got money..." He smirks. "I've got weapons..." His smirk broadens. She looks at him desperately. "That's it..."
He pretends to think for a moment. "That's a nice coat you've got there." She turns red. "Hand it over." She blushes furiously, but takes it off and throws it to him. He catches it, rakes his eyes across her body, lingering at the spots she's chosen to cover with her hands. "Oh no..." she whispers.
He grins. "Bend over the desk, sweetheart."
"Please..." she whispers, making her voice quaver.
"Spread 'em." He waves her over to the desk with his gun. She backs away, holding her hands up pleadingly. "Now." Fontaine orders her.
Elizabeth feigns reluctance, feigns her knees trembling as she walks, feigns uncertainty once she gets there. "Bend over." he tells her again. She pretends not to know what he means and bends forward awkwardly. "Not like that." he growls. He marches over, pushes her head down until her nose touches the wood. "Like that."
"Please, you don't-you don't have to do this, I won't tell anyone-" she whimpers pitifully.
"Damn right you won't. Now you wait right there. Don't move a muscle." He spanks her roughly for emphasis.
She closes her eyes and listens to the sound of him undressing.
"This was your big plan?" the voice asks. "Making him mad enough to try and kill you?"
Not kill. Rape. she thinks. I needed relief somehow, and I think...I think maybe I like being on the bottom.
"You haven't had a chance to try being on top yet." the voice says.
Not yet, she thinks. Maybe once I'm out of here...
When the voice speaks again, it sounds thoughtful. "So you figured it out, huh?"
It took longer than it should've, she admits. I have a lot to thank you for.
"Maybe once you get out, you can stop by and thank me properly." the voice says.
A little masturbation never hurt anybody. she thinks.
"Are you sure this is what you want?" The voice is still Booker's, the words are hers.
Yes. I'll be fine. she tells it.
"You did a good job with the plasmids. You should have just enough energy left for one big outburst."
Enough to get to Sally? she asks.
"Enough to get to Sally, and then to me." it assures her. "I'll see you soon."
The whole exchange took less than thirty seconds, by which time Fontaine had gotten undressed and was looming behind her, ogling her. "I wish I'd been the one who took your skirt off." he rumbles throatily. "I hated t' see you go, but I loved watching you walk away." His hands are on her ass now, rubbing, squeezing, pinching, feeling. Elizabeth has to fight hard not to let her excitement show and stay the virtuous unsullied soul he thinks she is. "Please don't." she 'begs'.
"Trust me, doll." He rubs her clitoris vigorously. "When this is over, you'll be saying 'please do'." He lines himself up at her entrance. "I've never been one for child support." he says slowly. "But if all this goes accordin' t' plan, you'll be long gone by the time any, uh...'complications' show up."
"No...no..." she 'begs'. She can almost hear the satisfied grin on his face as he shoves his way in. "No! No! No! Oh...god...oh god..." She hopes she sounded sufficiently weepy, and she did feel like crying, but for a different reason.
"Damn." Fontaine hisses. "Now that IS my luck. I get to deflower a girl and take over Rapture in one fuckin' night!"
In another ocean, Elizabeth saves herself for marriage. In another ocean, she saves herself for someone special. But here, in this ocean, she just wants it too badly to wait. There will be time for love later, if she's lucky. Now, though, now it's time for sex. Fucking, she corrects herself as he starts to move inside her. Fucking. Fuck. Fuck me.
She throws in a few more whimpers and cries for mercy, but when he picks up the pace, they almost become genuine. "I can't-I can't take it any more!" she wails and he laughs darkly.
"And you say...?"
"Wh-what do I say?"
He stops and her heart almost stops as well. "You say 'thank you mister Fontaine, may I have another?'"
"Thank...thank you mister Fontaine, may I have another?" she repeats.
"'May I have another, SIR?'" he says.
"May I have another, sir?"
"Another what?" he asks cruelly.
"Another...fucking, sir?" She's this close to breaking the illusion... He still isn't moving. "Please fuck me sir." she begs.
"That's more like it!" He pounds her, harder and harder and harder and harder. Her nails tear into the fine oak carpentry. Her eyes roll back in her head. Yet somehow, through all the noise and the pleasure and the oh god I believe in magic, she manages to keep crying and struggling like she doesn't want it. She can feel it coming, like she's opening a tear inside her very body. It just keeps building and building until she feels like she's going to explode...
And in a way, she does.
She doesn't remember what happens next. She must've passed out. She has a dim recollection of Fontaine putting on Atlas's clothes and his face and his voice, and then it all goes dark.
