Chapter 2: Here Without You

Author's note: Sooo, this story was meant to be a one-shot, but I had gotten really amazing reviews and I wanted to write a little more for you all. I had gotten requests to show Booker reciprocating the love and pleasure to Elizabeth, so here it is! I suppose we can call this story a smut, but this chapter doesn't have much sex in it. It's just kind of a filler. And when the sexual stuff comes in, I'll do my best to make it tasteful. This chapter is showing where Booker is after the events of Infinite, with slight embellishing. This is still AU, because…well I don't think I need to explain!

Thank you all for your amazing reviews and comments, it means a lot. And thanks for favoriting and encouraging me to write more!

sotrajan: IG had to know the chemistry these two felt and decided to screw us over with the relation… But that's why there's FF, right? So we can still choose to believe they're not related and fantasize about them. :P
edboy4926: Thank you very much, hope you like it!
xxRequiemxx: BI was really great. I've never played any other Bioshock game, but playing Infinite makes me want to play the earlier ones. I was so confused and let down by that little curveball of their relation. :P Thank you!
Anonymous: Thank you! I hope the interaction was written better, or that this is a good replacer for those stories that don't have enough. I will write Booker introducing Elizabeth to these new feelings next. Hope you enjoy. :)
DragonRyuuji: Aw, thank you so much! I will always ship them no matter what the game says... :P I'm really glad that you liked it and I hope you like the continuation. :)
Lone Reaper-068: Thanks, it's hard not to ship these two. :P I hope the continuation will suffice!

-Sarai

The only sound the filled the small hotel room was breathing and sleepy sighs. Booker lay on his queen sized bed, partially resting against the bed frame, with a small woman resting on him. He ran his fingers through her dark hair and he couldn't hold back the heavy sigh that followed. Her face was hidden under the mass of dark brown curls; her naked body was mostly bare except for from her hips down, they were covered by the cream colored sheets.

"I'm not much of one for silence, Mr. Dewitt," the woman laying on him spoke with a thick French accent.

"I'm not much of one for talking," he retorted with an irritated voice.

The burnet woman sat up, brushed her curly hair over her shoulder and gave him an annoyed look. She arched her back to stretch, but really it was just to push her chest forward and try to turn him on. She crawled on to him and straddled his hips. She leaned in and kissed his lips lustfully, but Booker just pushed her back after a second.

"Oh, I see," she grumbled, "When I want something, you don't want to give. Is that it?"

"I'm not in the mood, Gabrielle," he said as he brought the sheets to cover her up.

Gabrielle grasped his jaw and forced him to look at her, "Well, I am." She kissed him again, and when he tried to push her away, she wrapped her arms around his neck and locked him in place. He made a frustrated scoff sound and let his hands fall limp by her sides. She let out a growl of aggravation, "What will get you in the mood then, huh?"

He ignored her question and tried to push her off, but she kept swatting his hands away and tightening her grip around his neck. "You can call me Elizabeth again," she said.

He stopped with the pushing and fighting, and gave her a sad look mixed with bothersome. "I told you I'm not in the mood."

She brought her lips to his neck and kissed him softly, "Please, Mr. Dewitt. Ravage me," she whispered with an imitated American accent. She slipped a hand down his abdomen and to his manhood, "Please."

Booker wanted to push her off, but when she did the stupid accent and touched him there, memories would flood back to him and it was difficult to say no. He closed his eyes and let her kiss his lips. He did his best to imagine it was someone else's lips pressing against his, some one else's hand playing with him, someone else's center welcoming him in. But when he tried to imagine that someone else, it made him want jump off a cliff and pray that he'll meet her in the afterlife.

Gabrielle moved her hips atop his and moaned into his ear. She hated when she had to pull the 'Elizabeth' card to get him in the mood, but relentlessly, it always worked. She shouted his name as she hit her climax and took in his orgasm, and she liked to think he was thinking about her. But deep down, she knew he was thinking of the one girl that always occupied his mind.

As she rode out her and his orgasm, she felt the empty feeling she always got after sex with Booker. He never offered love or affection, just sex. She got off his lap and reached for the pack of cigarettes on the night stand next to the bed they lay on. She lit one when she brought it to her lips with a swipe of a match and a hot flame.

"If you keep going on the way do, you'll never get over her," she muttered as she breathed out a lungful of smoke.

Booker growled under his breath as he stood and retrieved his trousers, "I don't want to get over her."

The air filled with cigarette smoke as Gabrielle pulled long drags from the cigarette and blew it out in small clouds. She watched him button his pants and reach for his shirt, "Are you ever going to tell me about her?"

He glared at her with a high level of anger. She knew he never wanted to talk about her. All he ever told her was that she was a young woman and that she was gone now. When they had first made love, or rather just had sex, he shouted her name as he came. At first, she thought that it was slightly kinky, but the more nights they spent together, she realized the sorrow he was in. It grew to be sad and more times than not, she felt guilty when she pretended to be this young girl who was so important to him.

Booker had come to Paris two months ago, and when Gabrielle first laid eyes on him, she knew he was a man of secrets and also one filled with torment. She was looking for a new plaything at the time, because the one she had before had just gone back to Spain, and she needed one to pleasure her in ways that her deadbeat husband didn't. She could have just dropped Booker when she realized he was still hung up over this Elizabeth, but she felt the need to fill his sorrow, even if it was just with sex. But now that wasn't doing anything for him, and what was left was a man of crudeness and grief.

"Oh, come on, Booker," she said as pulled the cigarette out of her mouth, "Tell us about this little Elizabeth. Was she your little fuck toy that got away or did she actually mean something to you? Hmm?"

"Don't talk about her like that," he hissed at her, "She was more than you can ever imagine of being."

A harsh laugh came from her, "And now she's gone, isn't she? Not coming back to the ever swooning Booker Dewitt."

He had the sudden urge to throw her out of the hotel room and maybe even slap her around, but he controlled his anger to a certain degree, "Get out."

She rolled her eyes and put out the cigarette in the ash tray, "My pleasure." She rose from the bed and grabbed all her clothing. After dressing, she fixed her hair to a neat bun and strode over to Booker. "I pity you, Mr. Dewitt. You're stuck on a girl that is never coming back to you. She's probably living her life like every young girl should, and not with some middle aged man obsessing over her. You're here without her and she probably couldn't be happier."

As she was about to turn away, Booker spoke aloud, "Quite the hypocrite you are, Gabrielle. You hunt down men to fill that part of you that your husband never wants to go near. I only noticed you because of your dark hair and pale skin, nothing else. I may not have what I want, but you do and yet you'll never be happy. Now go off and find your next prey."

Her only retort was a glare dripping with hatred. She left then and Booker was left alone in the silence of his hotel room. He slipped on his vest and dug his hand into the breast pocket. After grasping what he was looking for, he pulled out the blue ribbon and ran it through his fingers and held onto it tightly. He sat down on the bed and sighed sadly. "Elizabeth," he whispered as he brought the ribbon to his cheek.

When he was separated from Elizabeth, he felt empty and alone. He thought maybe if he went to Paris, he could feel some sort of solitude, but it only made him sink deeper into the pit of desolation and made him realize how alone and unwanted he was. He tried thinking where she was. Hoping that she was happy and in peace. But all he could think about was that she was gone and he was left here without her.

He wanted her back so bad. To kiss her again, to feel her hands on him, laughing sweetly. He missed her occasional yawning, how she'd always help him when in need. Whether it was finding salts, money, medical kits, or when she touched him that one time that was only meant for lovers. He supposed they were sort of lovers, except that he never got the chance to reciprocate his affection for her. He felt selfish to let her pleasure him, but never doing the same for her. How he wished he could have shown the gratitude and attraction he felt for her. If only he could have her back.

He folded the silk ribbon carefully and slipped it back in this left breast pocket. He could see from the lone window outside that it was the early evening, maybe around 6 pm. He slipped his jacket on and headed for the door. The setting sunset hit his face with its exiting rays, and slowly left over the horizon. He headed for the bar across the cobble stone street and once inside, he ordered a gin and tonic.

He took a gulp of the alcohol and grimaced at the burning sensation it gave his throat. It was a feeling he had grown to know well and even appreciated. He continued to drink slowly for two hours, and when the bar started to really fill up, he took his refilled drink and left to go to the veranda outside. It overlooked the shining lights of Paris and gave it a look of beauty that you would think could only be captured in words or paintings. It was beautiful, and he knew Elizabeth would have loved it.

He took a big gulp when his brooding thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice. He rolled his eyes and thought how a woman can be so persistent. He turned and sure enough, Gabrielle stood in front of him with a predator-like grin.

"Good evening, Mr. Dewitt," she greeted him.

He shifted his gaze back to the view of Paris, "What do you want?"

"Oooh, touchy," she declared with a satisfied smile, "I wanted to see how the ole American was. So how are you? Drinking away the sorrows filling your soul, Booker?"

"I was actually drinking away the regret I felt for you, Gabrielle."

She rolled her eyes and tugged him along to a table in the corner of the veranda. He followed but she could feel the glare he was giving to the back of her head. She pushed him into one of the chairs and took a seat across from him, "Your words do not hurt me."

"No, they just piss you off," he muttered into the glass he was drinking out of.

To that she let out an amused chuckle, "You are correct. So tell me, what are you drinking away besides the regret?"

He set his glass down on the table between them, leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, "A man can't just drink when he wants to?"

"Not the kind of man that you are," she said with a shake of her head, "Why don't you just talk about her, huh? I don't care much for your feelings, but I can see that you think of her all the time. Maybe if you speak of her, you will feel better."

Booker shook his head with a tired expression and looked off into the city, "Talking about her will only put me in worse moods."

"I don't think that's possible," she muttered, "Come now, tell me about her. Was she pretty?"

"Beautiful," he whispered.

"What did she talk about? Was she funny? "

He sat up and grabbed his glass again, "She was funny, but she didn't realize she was. She was so young and she didn't know what certain things meant, or how things worked. She was so curious about everything and she always looked for the good things. She always wanted to help too."

Gabrielle listened as he spoke, and she noted how he emphasized on the past tense. "She's sounds wonderful. What happened to her?"

He went silent and suddenly, his glass was empty and offered no sense of escape. He looked off into the distance, but when she asked again, he finally answered, "I don't know…she could be alive, lost…or dead."

"I'd like to think she's out looking for you, Mr. Dewitt," she said softly as she patted his hand.

He rubbed his forehead in frustration, "She won't be. There's no way."

Gabrielle chose not to question what he meant; she could tell from the thoughtful look in his eye that he wouldn't be able to really explain his reasoning. She may have yelled at him earlier and said spiteful words to him, but she didn't like the sad expression he had on. "Do you have anything left of her?"

He said nothing for a minute, but after some thought, he reached into his vest pocket and pulled out the blue ribbon that once belonged to her. He held it in his palm for her to see, "All I have is this. It was part of her dress, but she used it to bandage a wound of mine."

She asked with her eyes if she could pick it up and after he nodded, she carefully plucked it out of his hand and studied the small ribbon. She could see on his face that this meant a lot to him and he truly treasured this small piece of fabric. Gabrielle set the ribbon on the table and stood, "Come now Mr. Dewitt."

He looked at the hand she held out and hesitantly took it in his, "Where are we going?"

"I'll be Elizabeth for you tonight," she announced when he stood.

Booker felt a wave of guilt wash over him, "I'm sorry I do that to you. You shouldn't have to be someone else to make me happy."

She shrugged lazily, "It matters not. It's quite exciting actually. Let's have some fun and take your mind off the sorrow you feel right now, yes?"

After a moment, he nodded and followed her to the hotel. As they were about to cross the street, he stopped suddenly, remembering he left the ribbon on the table, "Hold on, Gabrielle, I left the ribbon."

She watched as he strode to the veranda in a hurry and she felt that maybe she shouldn't be doing this to him. By pretending to be the girl he loved, it kept the thought of her alive and prolonged the sorrow he felt. She decided then, even if it hurt him, that she couldn't go to bed with him any longer. It was for his own good.

Booker made it to the table and he nearly threw the outdoor furniture when he found the ribbon missing. He searched frantically for the blue silk fabric, but he didn't see one trace of it. He pretty much ran for the inside of the bar and called for the bartender.

"Do you need a refill?" the older man asked in the French accent everyone else had here.

"There was a ribbon on one of the tables out there, did you see anyone take it?" he asked rapidly.

The bartender's brows furrowed, "A ribbon? What is so important about a ribbon?"

"I need it!" he shouted. He lowered his voice when the people in the bar looked at him in surprise and caution, "I need that ribbon. It's very important to me."

"Calm down man," the older man said with his hands in the air as in defense, "I didn't see anyone take off with a ribbon."

Booker ran a hand through his hair in desperation, "I have to find it."

"Excusez-moi, are you Booker Dewitt?" a man on a barstool asked abruptly.

"Yeah, why?"

The man pointed with a thumb to the door way of the veranda, "Someone was looking for you. I couldn't get a look at their face. They had a beret on and they were as small as a kid or teen. They went to the veranda."

Booker felt his heart stop. Who would be looking for him here? He had no family, no friends. There was one person who might go to the extent to find him in this type of docile way. Elizabeth. He ran for the veranda and sure enough, there was a small figure overlooking Paris with their back to him. He took a few deep breaths and slowly stepped over to the figure. His heart stopped just a moment before and now it was thumping in his ribcage like it was trying to break out. He swore he could hear it pumping when he noticed this figure had dark hair, wearing a white dress with blue strips, and the dark blue beret on their head.

After one large inward deep breath, Booker placed a hand on their shoulder. He nearly fainted when the small woman with the blue ribbon in her hands turned around to look at him.

"Booker!" Elizabeth shouted in cheer. She quickly wrapped her arms around his body and held him tightly, "Oh, Booker, I found you."

Finally realizing what was happening; Booker clutched her to him and bowed over her to hold her closer. His nose burned and his eyes watered, "Elizabeth."

Author's note: Well, they are reunited. I hope this was a good read and that it was believable for the characters and their actions. That's the hardest thing about writing fanfiction; because you want to make it still seem like the character, but still put your twist on them.

I don't know when the next chapter will be up, but I'll try to type it up soon. I have my other stories I need to focus on as well. Also, this won't have a climax really, mainly lemons and a resolution. Please comment and tell me how these two should end up together, please! Thanks for everything.

-Sarai