Bioshock Infinite: What Could Have Been

I owe everybody who has been following this story a sincere apology. Before you click out of here and forget this whole story, please allow me to explain. I was recently in a very bad car accident, where me and three other people were in very bad shape. I've spent months in the hospital, buried in pain and guilt over what I'd done. I've been facing mountainous hospital bills and attorney fees for my day in court. I've also been dealing with back pain from my wreck. Upon all of this, I've completely forgotten about the story that so many of you have fallen in love with. Just so you know, I'm not one for abruptly ending a story. It's not over until I one day put "THE END" at the bottom of the final chapter. It's not over, until I say it is. Anyway, I'm so sorry for keeping you guys waiting so long, and I promise from now on to start updating this story more often. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 4

They hit almost every shop they could lay their eyes on. They had all the money they could ask for. They did the smart thing by buying new clothes for them. Elizabeth, of course, had more clothes than Booker. Booker's only job was carrying the bags and paying for whatever. Normally, he would be concerned about how much everything was going to cost him. This time he didn't even give a crap-and-a-half how much money he blew, he could blow as much as he wanted.

They ate a very satisfying lunch where they laughed, talked, and devoured everything. Booker tipped their waiter a big tip, and they ran off to the next store, where Elizabeth bought a beret that went with most of her new outfits. She only wore it when she was trying it on in the store, and she guarded those bags with her life, even though Booker was carrying everything. He wasn't cranky at all. He didn't slouch, he didn't groan in frustration. He was constantly smiling from ear-to-ear, for he had discovered a new kind of high; a high where nothing could spoil his good mood.

They stopped along the street to hear the street-side bands play their songs and medley tunes, and like the waiter, Booker tipped them big. Elizabeth had even hummed to some of the songs that they were playing.

They passed one photography store. The name struck Booker as familiar. He took the card out of his back pocket, and the names matched. They decided to walk in and visit their friends from earlier that day. The doorbell rang as Booker opened it.

"Entrez," a man called from behind the counter. Sal turned to face them and saw that it was his earlier acquaintances. "My friends! Welcome, welcome! I am so glad you decided to stop by!"

"We were just thinking of you," broke in Elizabeth. They shook hands again. "Where's your son?"

"Oh, he had to go home. His wife will be delivering in a few weeks and he wants to be there for her every second of the day. But if you ask me, he's kind of smothering her." Sal told them a brief history about himself, even though there wasn't much to tell. He told them about his store, his family, his divorce, and that he was planning to sell the place and travel, maybe to Africa.

Africa? Why of all places would you go to Africa, Booker questioned in his mind. He kept it to himself because he knew Sal had his own reasons.

"Are you two in here for portraits?"

"I wouldn't mind getting my picture made," spoke Elizabeth. A little yippee rang in Booker's head. He'd get to see her pretty face in a photo.

"Well, let's get you suited. Please follow me," Sal took her hand and led her behind the counter into the back room. The back room was a very thin, long room with a white sheet hanging on the wall, and on the other side were dresses and suits on a clothes rack. There were only two windows that provided just the right shade of light in the room for photographs. The camera was in the center of the room, ready to take a masterpiece photo.

"I'll leave you to change." He left the room, leaving Elizabeth alone with the clothes rack. They were all very beautiful dresses, but one caught her eye: a white dress that resembled an angel's dress. Maybe she could make herself appear like an angel in Booker's eyes. A little thank you for bringing her to her dream.

She wasted no time in changing; in fact it only took her two minutes. "I'm ready!"

Sal started to go back there when he stopped and turned to Booker. "Do you wish to accompany us?"

Wouldn't hurt to peek, he thought. "Why not?"

Booker looked at Elizabeth and his heart nearly stopped. She was… oh my god. She looked like she'd fallen straight from heaven. Even the prettiest pin-up girls could suck it.

She looked a little shy, which made it way cuter and way worse for him. Again, his dick inflated to diamond-hard status, and he had to try really hard to keep it concealed without it looking like he was playing "pocket pool." Sal told Elizabeth to stand on the small platform in front of the camera. She obeyed, and Sal started to get behind the lens, until he stopped.

"Let your hair down," he said, addressing her ponytail. She did as she was told, grabbed the ribbon by one end, and pulled. Her brown hair came falling down like a waterfall of beauty. Booker had never seen her long hair down before. Suddenly everything went slow-motion. Elizabeth started waving her hair, and time slowed down at a dangerous rate. Booker's high sky-rocketed through the roof. Not just any high, a scary kind of high. The kind of high where he was up in space, looking down on Earth and thinking "Jesus, I don't want to be this high!" But instead his high kept climbing at a million miles an hour as Elizabeth waved her hair back and forth, and side to side.

Booker wanted to scream. HOW HIGH ARE YOU TRYING TO MAKE ME? Elizabeth stopped waving her hair, and time returned to its normal rate. Booker's high remained the exact same. He was paralyzed. Frozen in place.

Because one girl could change him.

Sal threw her a rose, and she caught it. "Give me a pose," he continued.

Goddammit, here we go, Booker thought.

Elizabeth took the rose, turned her "good side" towards the camera, while still facing it, placed one hand on the slit of the dress, showing a tiny bit of leg, and put the rose next to her face. She relaxed her eyelids, and as Sal pushed the button, she gave the camera an air-kiss. Priceless.

Oh. Fuck. Booker didn't think his high could get any more intense. Holy hell, was he wrong. He was out of the galaxy, and exploring a high somewhere in the Nebula. This was an unreachable kind of high that everyone thought was impossible. Today, Booker proved them wrong. He felt his legs almost give out as he caught himself with the wall, and supported his body against it to regain his composure.

How is she doing this?!

Sal took only one photo, because he instantly fell in love with his new creation. "I'll have this developed right away." He told Elizabeth she was good, that it was never going to be any better than that, and that she could change back into her original outfit. She scurried behind the dressing curtain again. Booker went back out into the main room, readjusted his pants and sat on a bench, trying to figure out what the hell just happened to him. He was out of this world and back again feeling a kind of feeling that he knew he had never felt before.

He took one of the newspapers off of the table. He may as well read. He opened the front page, and found not one word of English. All he could do was look at the pictures until Elizabeth came back.

"Hey, can you translate this for me?" He pointed to the article he wanted to hear, and Elizabeth went to it.

"John Marcus deLavienne, a respective gynecologist, was found deceased and without clothes on in his apartment earlier this morning by one of the complex's housekeeping staff. She claims she found a half-empty bottle of imported scotch, and prescribed sleep medication on his nightstand. She also stated that she oddly found vaginal lubricant in his hand." She gagged, while Booker looked like a retarded doped-up seal, clapping his hands, and silently laughing hysterically. She cautiously continued, hoping she wouldn't find any more repulsive material in the article. "His apartment is being auctioned off today at the square late this afternoon. It is a two bedroom, two bathroom apartment with a study, and private balcony. The furniture is included with the apartment."

"Stop right there," he interrupted her with a hand gesture. She stopped immediately and looked at him with a grin breaking across her face, and Booker had the exact same look. They had that "Are you thinking what I'm thinking" look, and they didn't even need to argue.

"Let's go," he said. She dropped the paper, they grabbed the bags, and started out the door when Sal came running out of the dark room. "Your portrait will take a few hours to-"

"I'll pick it up tomorrow," said Booker.

"No need," Sal said. "I overheard the article. I'll mail it to that address."

"Thanks!" they yelled simultaneously out the door. They rushed through the crowd, desperately looking for signs of an auction. It didn't take them long; they found a platform in front of a 10-story building, an auctioneer, and a separate crowd of people yelling out numbers. The amount had gotten up to 340 francs, and out of nowhere, Booker shouted his offer at the top of his lungs.

"ONE THOUSAND FRANCS!"

The noise stopped, as everybody turned and looked at Booker like he had lobsters crawling out of his ears.

"One thousand francs. Do we have a match?"

No one could speak. "Anyone?" the auctioneer questioned. "No match?"

Still, not a voice.

"Sold to the man in the back! Congratulations, sir! You are the owner of this residence!" Everybody applauded him, and Booker met the man at the platform, paid his amount, and shook his hand. The man handed him the keys.

Booker and Elizabeth took a good look at the complex. It was a brownish-red brick building, ten stories high, and with the outside ubiquitous with mini balconies, some larger than others. They looked at the room number on the key, went inside and found their suite.

When they walked through the door, it started as a small hallway with a coat closet on the right, and a guest room on the left. The hallway ended, and led into the great room. This place looked like Pottery Barn blew up in here. The wall opposite of the hallway was a large glass window, with double glass doors that led out onto the balcony, and gave you the perfect view of the city, and the Eiffel Tower. There was a brown apothecary table in the center of the room with a rug that looked like the previous owner had bought it from an eastern bazaar. The brown leather couch was big enough to seat four. There were also brown leather lounge chairs pointed to a little television on top of a mantle. The mantle was made of stone, and the fireplace had a little rod to place a pot on it to cook for convenience. Taking a left out of the hallway took you to a tiny study with a work desk, a typewriter, and a library. Perfect for Elizabeth, but Booker would have to get a job eventually so he would use the desk. Taking a right out of the hallway took you to the master bedroom with a master bathroom. For someone who died that morning, their housekeepers could really clean up fast.

"Well," Booker started, "not bad." Elizabeth flopped down on the couch and sighed.

"This couch is so comfortable!" Booker dropped the bags and fell back on the couch next to her. It was like a marshmallow. He was going to be taking some serious naps here in the future.

"Did you have fun?" He asked even though he already knew the answer to his question.

"Absolutely."

"Good, I'm glad."

"You've really got to learn French."

When did that get to her head? He answered the only way he knew how: "I know." He thought about what the benefits of him learning French would be. If he was going to get a job, he needed to know how to respond to the interviewer's questions.

Suddenly, a light bulb went off in his head.

"I'll make you a deal," he said looking at her. She sat up on the couch and listened. "If you teach me French, I'll teach you how to swim." You could tell that the gears in Elizabeth's head were turning. She did like the idea. "Deal," she finally said.

"Good," Booker said. He laid back down on the couch and wondered what they could do. The sun was starting to set, and they'd had a full day. But something was missing. He thought about what they could do. He looked out the large window, and behind Elizabeth's head, he could see what drew their attention to Paris in the first place.

"Still up for one more 'adventure'"?

Elizabeth looked at the grandfather clock, and saw that it wasn't exactly late. "Well," she sat up with a sly look on her face. "What did you have in mind?" she asked playfully.

"Come with me," he said. They got their coats that they'd bought earlier today out of the bags and hurriedly put them on. Booker had a brown trench coat that most of the popular detectives or private eyes wear. Elizabeth had a black suede overcoat that every woman in Paris wore. They walked out as all of the city's lights were coming on. The city of Paris looked even more beautiful at night. As they became closer to their destination, Elizabeth became jittery. Booker approached the man at the elevator, handed him money, and whispered something in his ear barely audible. Then Booker opened the elevator door for Elizabeth, as they both fitted themselves in. As the elevator of the Eiffel Tower rose higher and higher, Elizabeth got more and more skittish.

"You okay?" Booker asked. Elizabeth couldn't contain her excitement. She grabbed his hand and laced her fingers through his, squeezing his hand as she did so. Yeah, she was excited.

They reached the top floor, where you could see everything. When the doors opened, Elizabeth ran straight out and went to the railing. Booker followed slowly behind her. When they both got out to the railing, they saw pure mystique and beauty. The city was completely lit now, and they weren't exactly sure, but they thought they could see people gathering around the tower from a distance, laying down blankets, having little picnics, and sitting there as if waiting for something to happen.

Booker now regretted not taking her here in the first place. How could anybody hate this place? He suddenly felt someone's hand – Elizabeth's hand – slide on top of his. He looked down and followed her arm up to her face. She was looking at him directly.

"I'm sorry," was all that came out.

"For what?"

"For what I said earlier today… I just thought you had tricked me like last time, and I was just scared. Now, I'm not scared anymore. You know what I'm saying?"

Booker pressed his lips to hers before she even had a chance to react. Elizabeth's first reaction was fright, then she felt Booker place his hand on top of hers and gently squeeze it. Her reaction went from fear to acceptance, and she finally closed her eyes and let it happen. Booker pulled away, but Elizabeth was still confused. "I'm starting to," was all he said. She grinned from ear to ear.

Then something extraordinary happened.

Some mechanisms started working on the tower, and then people started cheering from below.

"What are they cheer-"

A yellow streak of fire shot up in front of them and into the air. Elizabeth shrieked and grabbed Booker. The yellow fireball got a few more feet into the air, and then exploded creating a loud BANG. It soon became clear that it was fireworks. Many others followed after. Elizabeth's face lit up with joy as Booker looked at her seeing the delight on her face, and her delight became his delight. Numerous fireworks shot out of all sides of the tower, and Booker and Elizabeth kept running around to different sides of the tower so they could see all of them. The show lasted about a half-hour, and then they were panting.

They took the elevator back down to the bottom and went back to their apartment. Elizabeth gave him a goodnight kiss on the cheek and went into the guest room. Booker hung his coat and went to the radio and turned it onto the first channel. "Tainted Love" started playing through the speakers quietly. He turned it up and started dancing and lip-syncing into a pretend microphone like he was at a concert. He did this for about 5 straight minutes until he felt someone watching him. His eyes caught someone's figure in the hallway and Elizabeth was there, leaned against a wall with her arms folded and a smug look on her face. Booker froze in his position: mouth open, one arm in the air, legs apart. He slowly moved his body back to an idle standing position, his eyes fixed on her. A sly smile stretched across her face. She was about to burst out in laughter. She didn't though.

Booker tried to think of something to play-off with. He moved his eyes to the right and found a broom. Not losing his gaze with Elizabeth, he slowly grabbed the broom and started to sweep the floor at a snail's pace, like he looked guilty for something. His cheeks were as red as lobsters. Elizabeth couldn't hold it anymore. This was too funny to not laugh. This time she actually did burst out in laughter. She put one hand over her mouth and doubled over.

He stopped and froze again. "Please don't…"

She stopped and waved one hand in front of her. "I… That's just–" she was trying to talk and regain her breath at one time, but it wasn't doing much good. "I cannot believe I just saw that!" She really was having the best day of her life. "I had no idea you were this fun!"

She turned around and walked back to her room, giggling. Booker stood there and watched her close the door. He felt different now. He'd never felt this way before. This was proof that she was definitely doing something to him. She had been from the start. The funny thing was that she didn't even know it.

Maybe she was planning something… He was just letting things happen until that kiss. Now he had put some initiative into it, but not a lot of it. Maybe that was best, to take things slow. He didn't want to jump into anything. Best to play things cool.

He turned the radio off and headed back to "his" room. It was very spacious, with a large window leading out onto a smaller balcony with a breakfast table set out. The room had its own private bathroom, a king size bed, and a walk-in closet. Not bad for a gynecologist.

The sheets on the bed were brown Egyptian cotton, and the patterns were a mix of brown, red and gold. On the opposite wall of his bed, there was a large desk. The floor was white carpet, and the whole place just looked neat. He examined the sheets first before getting in. After reading the description of the Dr….. Lavender, or whatever his name was, he wanted to make sure he didn't get any…moist surprises before he got in it.

"BOOKER!" He heard Elizabeth calling his name. He knew that cry too well… He turned his body towards her voice and his hand caught fire, as if he were expecting a sudden strike. He almost forgot that he had all those vigors still coursing through his body.

He ran outside into the kitchen, and burst through the door, flames engulfing his hands up to his forearms. She was staring at the closet, standing there, frozen, her expression with nothing but surprise and horror.

"Elizabeth?" He moved towards her, but she didn't move. He looked at what she was looking at, and he understood why she was so startled. There were dead bodies piled up in her closet. Women, prostitutes based on their clothing. They were fresh corpses, and some of them had been there for a while. The smell was just now starting to hit them. They both drew back and waved their hands in front of their faces.

"What the – " Booker started trying to draw conclusions to what dead women were doing in their closet. The janitors didn't do a good job cleaning the closet? He drug one of the bodies out and spread the victim's body out on the floor. Elizabeth started to gag, and she ran into her bathroom and threw up. Booker continued to examine the body. He picked out one of the freshest corpses in the closet. He studied her head, no external injuries. There were blood streaks coming out of her ear. Internal head injuries, Booker thought to himself. He felt for a knot on the back of her head. There was. Booker started to imagine the crime scene being played out in his head.

He saw a man holding a woman by her throat, and banging her head multiple times against a wall in a rage. He looked at her neck. Marks where a man was strangling her. This killer was ruthless, and showed no mercy. He started to examine her body. Multiple stab wounds on her body. The length of the cuts were big. This culprit used a pretty big blade. Maybe a cooking knife. The blood streamed in all directions. Then a vision of a man stabbing the woman many times with a kitchen knife, then taking her to the wall and banging her head against it until she finally died. This killer was a no-mercy kind of guy.

Then he developed a motive. The woman refused to have sex with the killer, so he kills her in a rage. Either that, or he kills them after they screw. Elizabeth came back into the room.

"Well…" was all she had to say. She knew that Booker was usually the one who took care of this stuff.

"I've got a motive, but no calling card," he said matter-of-factly. He looked at the other bodies in the closet. There were seven others, with the same marks, some of them different. "All the bodies suggest the same M.O., but there's something missing." He took a closer look at the stab punctures made on the victim. Suddenly an idea popped into his head. He went into the kitchen.

"Where you going?"

"Kitchen. Perhaps the killer used one of the knives in here…"

He brought back the largest knife he could find. He reinserted the knife into one of the wounds. Perfect fit. Perhaps deLavienne was the killer? Seemed plausible, but Booker didn't know this man. He could've been hired, he could've been pathologically insane…

"Let's just put the bodies back in the closet. I'll deal with it in the morning. Are you good to sleep in here?"

Elizabeth looked at him like his eyeballs just fell out of their sockets. "Are you nuts?! I'm not sleeping in here!"

"Fine, take the master bed and I'll sleep on the couch." He started to walk out of the room.

Now she felt bad for him. He'd gone completely out of his way to do all this stuff for her, and he was about to sleep on the couch. After what he'd done for her, there was no way she was going to let him sleep on the couch. She wanted to think of a better solution, but he was walking out of the room.

What came out of her mouth surprised both of them utterly; "Why don't we both take the master?" Booker stopped dead in his tracks. Elizabeth couldn't tell if she'd screwed up ultimately, or if she had started something that she probably didn't want to explore. She said it, and it was now the elephant in the small room.

Shit, was all she could think. Why? Why of all things in the world did I have to say that?

Booker still stayed motionless. What… In Hell's fire… Just happened?

Elizabeth was just waiting for him to turn around. Yep, she'd screwed up. He slowly and finally turned around.

"Well… Uh…" He was speechless. He didn't know what to say, but if he was going to get his way, he'd have to jump at the chance.

"I'm sorry, that was uncalled for," she said.

"Oh no no no no, you're fine. We could take the master. That's actually not a bad idea!" He said plain-as-day. Elizabeth's expression turned from nervous to half-confusion, half-astonishment.

That's right, not fun when it's happening to you, isn't it, thought Booker. On the inside, he was smiling so wide, the Grinch would have been jealous. But on the outside he kept a very neutral expression. He'd started playing his own games with Elizabeth, and holy crap was he loving it.

"Well, um… I…" Then she got it, she didn't show it, but she figured it out pretty quickly. He was fucking with her. You… sneaky… bastard.

She threw her arms out in exasperation. "Okay, you're right. Let's get the master." Booker's expression turned to absolute horror. He felt like he wanted to shoot himself in the foot. Shit.

Elizabeth grabbed one of her new nightgowns and followed Booker into the master. Booker started to take off his shirt but stopped, because he realized who was in the room with him. He looked at Elizabeth, blushing.

She chuckled. "It's fine, lose the shirt," she said.

"Really?"

"Yes! I've tended enough of your wounds to know what your chest looks like, silly."

"Uh, okay." He threw it off and into the floor. Beautiful six-pack abs exposed once again. Elizabeth felt a little rush of breath leave her. Then she realized she was staring at him. Thankfully he didn't notice. "Alright, the pants I'm gonna have to lose, too."

"And I'm pretty sure you don't want me here. That's fine, I'll go to the bathroom and change into my… burlap sack," she said as she waved her nightgown playfully in front of him. He laughed as she went to the bathroom. He pulled his pants down, and threw them in the same corner as his shirt. He unmade the bed and climbed in. Pulling the covers over his boxers. This bed was comfy as shit! Almost like a marshmallow. He laid his head back on the headboard with some pillows as a backrest. He looked around the room with some admiration. He was sitting on the side of the bed closest to the bathroom. When he looked to his left he was facing the window looking out onto the moonlit city of Paris. The moonlight poured in through the window, giving the room plenty of light. He looked down at his hand and studied the AD that he carved. He started questioning himself, like what compelled him to carve AD in his hand? He knew what it was there for, but still, what psycho would do that? Back when he was a Pinkerton he brought in a guy who would carve tally marks on his forearm to mark how many people he'd killed. Quite a disturbing man too.

Then Elizabeth emerged from the bathroom in a pink silk nightgown. He saw the moon in her eyes. He started getting a boner once again. Oh, no you will NOT, you little bastard, he thought to himself. He started thinking of anything to turn him off. Grandma, my father's anus, spiders. Literally, anything that could turn him off, he thought of it. A beautiful girl was about to get in his bed, he didn't want to have a mountain showing under the sheets when she got in. His little tricks sadly didn't work.

"I know what you're thinking," she spoke up. Booker looked at her like he'd been caught stealing out of the cookie jar again. She shook her head side-to-side with eyes closed. "You're fine," she said quietly.

Booker wasn't sure if she was kidding or not. "Really?"

"Yeah, sure." She climbed on top of the bed. "So you get a boner sometimes. We're living together now, I may as well get used to it."

Booker looked at her. "You're awesome," he said chuckling.

She shrugged. "I try." She put her legs to the side and sat up beside Booker. "Now," she started. "Tell me something."

"Something?"

"Yeah. Something you've never told anybody before."

Booker like where this was going. He didn't really have any secrets to spill. He didn't know a lot of people, except for his war buddies at Wounded Knee, and they all had to spill their secrets to each other. Booker really didn't have much to tell.

"There's not really a lot I haven't told anybody."

Elizabeth nodded. "Okay, then I'll ask."

Booker swallowed. "Cool."

"There's something I gotta know… I have to know."

"Well, what is it?"

"How often do you jerk off?"

"I - " Booker stopped dead. "WHAT?!"

"Shh… We might wake up somebody," she said, gesturing her hands to lower his voice.

"Why would you ask me something like that?"

Elizabeth sighed a little. "Cause I feel left out." Booker cocked his head to the side. "Everybody has had conversations like this. I've been in a tower my whole life. I wanna at least try it…" Booker realized that he, too, had this conversation with certain people.

He sighed, and held his first two fingers up in the air. Elizabeth raised her eyebrows a little. "A day?"

He nodded. "Yep."

"Huh."

"Okay, since you asked me that question, I get to ask you now."

"Oh, c'mon," she whined. "I don't - "

"A little something I call getting even. Now how many times do you do it?"

She sighed. "Once. Every day, at least once, maybe twice or three times on a special occasion."

"Really? What would qualify as a special occasion?"

"Let's just say only on holidays. Especially on my birthday."

"I'm guessing three times is reserved for your birthday?"

"Yep," she said sheepishly.

"Huh. I got another question."

"Shoot."

"How do women figure out men?"

Should she really tell him that? Would he use it against her in the future? Would society change because she spilled every secret of women to him? She raised an eyebrow at him.

"How do y'all do it? Seriously?"

"When you become fluent in French…" She started. Booker leaned in to hear everything. "I'll tell you then." Clever way to dodge a bullet.

"You sneaky little b - " He paused and cut his sentence short. His eyes widened to the size of pizzas.

She raised both eyebrows, grinned a little, and looked him dead in the eye. She knew what he was about to call her. "What were gonna call me?"

"Nothing," he said faster than greased lightning.

"Really?" She held his gaze.

"Yeah," he said uneasy. She grabbed the ribbon in her hair and pulled it. Her majestic brown hair came flowing down as if it fell from heaven. Booker's erection started growing again at an alarmingly fast rate. This time he could physically feel the blood leaving his brain. Her hair glistened. She looked down and noticed Booker's own Eiffel Tower growing under the sheets. She couldn't help but get turned on.

"Don't lie to me," she said seductively. "Did this get you off today?" Booker couldn't think straight; his train of thought was going here, there, and everywhere. He started to speak but Elizabeth cut him off. "Shhh." She put a finger over his mouth. "I did notice you looking at me and playing a little game in your pocket at the photo place."

"Um… I'm sorry?"

"You don't need to apologize."

"Really?"

"Nu-uh. You've got a lotta nerve lookin' at a girl my age like that." She started to trace her index finger around his chest, making little shapes while she stared into his eyes. Booker could do nothing but look at her.

"So… you liked it," he asked.

"Hmm, maybe I did," she said playfully.

"Ooohhhhhhh shit," he said. "You're gonna make me do some bad things one day, aren't you?"

She shook her head, eyes closed with a grin on her face. She'd had enough teasing for the night. "Goodnight, stupid," she said playfully. She gave him a small peck on the lips and got herself situated in the bed, back towards him. Booker looked at her laying there peacefully. He smiled to himself.

"Goodnight," he told her. He turned out the lamp next to him on the nightstand, and lay looking out the window at the moon. One thought ran through his head before he finally closed his eyes:

Don't fart.

Chapter 5 coming soon!