Got a lot more followers now, thanks guys :)

This chapter actually contains one of the first scenarios (the first part of this chapter, but more specifically Booker's first line) I thought of when I tried to imagine how their relationship would actually work out, so it almost feels like a bit of a milestone for me. Sort of.

I'm gonna reply to some comments down at the end of the chapter, too.

I would also like to apologise for my woefully inconsistent updating schedule; I read every chapter before I upload it, which leads to more writing, which leads to working on more chapters, which leads me back to earlier chapters that I haven't uploaded yet to retconn some stuff, which leads me back to the internet for some inspiration, which inevitably leads to me watching cats on youtube which all ends in me completely forgetting to upload the chapter anyway.

xxoo

Booker stumbled into the building, acutely aware of how drunk he was. He had not been this intoxicated in so long. What bar did he start at? What was the last one he got kicked out of? He had a fairly dependable memory of the first bar he went to, and the curious look the barmaid gave him as he ordered several drinks in quick succession. He remembered her saying something angry to him as a large man grabbed him by the collar and threw him out on the street. He vaguely remembered a second bar, several more drinks and the pavement coming up to meet him again. He remembered a drunken, one sided conversation with a very uncomfortable looking man at a diner. He wasn't sure where he got this last bottle of whiskey, but he thought he had been nursing it for a while, slowly sobering up as he walked around in the rain. He needed somewhere to dry off, in both senses of the phrase, but that's not all that brought him here.

As he stumbled into the dimly lit building, it occurred to him that he hadn't done this in a very, very long time. The last time felt forced and shameful. He might have even been this drunk, if he remembered correctly. It was the type of thing he wouldn't think about while sober. The type of thing he would scoff at.

Being so late, the building was empty. Was he an intruder now? Did they have closing hours? Shit. He needed to sit down. He was drunk, confused, soaking wet and so very tired. Clutching his bottle of whiskey, he found the right room and sat down heavily on the seat that was provided. He couldn't hear another soul, and it was pointless without another person. He took a deep swig of his drink and figured that at the very least, he had a dry place to drink and pass out. He rested his head against the hard, wooden wall and sat in silence. Waiting for either sleep or company.

Sure enough, just before sleep took him, he heard the rustle of another human being behind the partition. Eventually he heard a voice.

"Are you troubled, my son?"

Booker couldn't help but chuckle darkly.

"Do you wish to confess?" The voice asked again.

"Well, father, I hope you have some backup in there," Booker began. "Because you're about to hear some shit."

"I'm all ears, my son." The priest sounded kind. A nice man. Too nice to hear what Booker had to say. Too nice to hear the crude and sinful thoughts Booker planned to unleash.

"There's a woman, and I can't get her off my mind."

He heard the priest chuckle. "The fairer sex often plague our though-"

"She's got these eyes," Booker interrupted. He came here for a reason, and it wasn't to listen. "Big, blue eyes. I can almost see my reflection in them, sometimes. Her whole face is like a fuckin angel got lost down here. I tell you, father, those statues and pictures and shit ain't got nothin on the real thing. She's not just a looker, though. She's smart. She's funny, but funny in a way she doesn't know about. She's kind. She's sweet. She's...fuckin perfect, Father."

He stopped and took another swig of his whiskey. The priest continued to listen in silence, letting the crazy drunk man talk his problems though.

"I've done a lot of things to this woman. Terrible things. Some she knows about and some she doesn't. She's forgiven some...trying to forgive the rest. But I keep fuckin it up. I think I'm gonna keep doin it too...I look at this girl and I feel things. Things I haven't felt in years. Things I had almost forgotten about. I was a dead man and she brought me back to life, and all I can do in return is ruin hers."

"It seems you are smitten by this woma-"

"Smitten? Is that the word we're gonna use? I'm her fuckin slave, father. I haven't been in a damn church, well, a real one like this in years...I mean, I spent some time in a floating city that was full of fuckin churches, but that's...a whole other story. I haven't been a godly man, in...well, ever, I guess. I know I'm going to hell, father. I came to terms with that a long time ago. But I look at her sometimes and I think...maybe that's where heaven is for me. Is some sick god teasing me like this? What would you do to get into heaven, Father? What if god made you commit a sin to get into heaven?"

"Son, a woman's body is-"

"Yeah, I ain't done yet. This angel, father," Booker took a drink. A big one. He was gonna say it out loud, and he wasn't sure what it was going to sound like. "She's my daughter."

Booker heard the priest sigh, but he was too drunk to care what it meant. Too drunk and too tired.

"I want to fuck my own daughter. My own god damned daughter. That's the type of man I am. Now, I want to get a few things clear, she ain't no child. It's not like that. She's a woman and I had no real hand in raising her. When I met her she was a grown woman. We met and I didn't keep my hands off her-"

Booker closed his eyes as hard as he could and hit his head on the wall behind him when he felt the onslaught of guilt induced tears stinging the back of his eyes. The unacceptable memory had a way of making itself seem so innocuous in his head. But when he said it out loud, it gave a certain life to the act that he had been desperately trying to stifle.

"I didn't know she was my daughter. I didn't know. She didn't know. I've been trying. I want to be a father. But I can't stop...thinking of her as a lover. And the worst part? The fucking worst part of this god damned mess? I think she wants it too, father. I think she wants this too."

"What makes you think this?"

"Well, she tried mounting me today, a few feet away from her old crib, no less. She kissed me. I kissed her back. I pushed her off and ran straight for the nearest bar. Now I'm here."

"Perhaps the girl is simply confused? If you met her recently, then she must want to form a bond with you. She could be confusing her desire for a fatherly relationship with you for this...unnatural attraction?"

"Shit, you're probably right." He continued to down his drink as he confessed. "But she's stubborn like me. If she makes another move on me...I ain't that strong. I won't be able to stop myself."

"You mustn't think like that. You can be strong for her. Where is the girl's mother?"

"Dead."

"Can you dishonour her memory like this?"

"I think I did that when I gave the child to a stranger in the first place. The woman died hating me. There's nothing I can do to ruin her memory any more, even if I fuck our daughter."

"Son, you must stop sayin-"

"That I want to fuck her? I do, father, I do. The dirty truth is, I want to keep her all to myself. I want to be everything she needs. I want to keep her locked away from the rest of the world because the rest of the world isn't good enough for her. No man is good enough for her, not even me. But I can take care of her. I can. Sometimes I wonder...would it really be so wrong? If I have already bought my ticket to hell...what reason is there to stop now?"

The priest remained silent. Whether or not he was giving Booker more time to vent or simply in stunned silence, Booker had no idea and he didn't care.

"A man once told me that with me, it always ends in blood. I can't stop myself, Father. I never could."

He went to take another large swig, but only half a mouthful was left. He swore in frustration and tossed the bottle in the corner of the booth.

"That's my cue to leave, Father. Pray for me, will ya?"

Booker barely heard the man as he stumbled out into the empty church.

"I will, my son."

Booker briefly saw the clock as he staggered back into his building, soaking the floor as he went, but he forgot what the time was as soon as he looked away. It was too late for him to have to worry about specifics. Even Bill Bob snoozed in his chair. You're getting old, Bill. Ten years ago you woulda caught me in a state like this.

He made his way upstairs and saw that the lights were still on in the room. He tentatively opened the door, but stumbled when it had opened too far and he lost his balance. Sure enough, Elizabeth was still up. Sitting on the bed, reading a book. The loveliest sight he could imagine. She closed the book and shifted until she was awkwardly perched on her knees.

"Booker...I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done any of that...I don't know what I was thinking...Please. I just...please don't send me away again."

Booker closed and latched the door, he put his hand up to gesture her to stop speaking.

"It's ok, baby. You're not goin anywhere. I didn't mean it."

"I was so angry at you for making me stay up here..."

"I know, I know...we can talk about it..." He half stumbled over to the bed, collapsing down onto it and barely missing Elizabeth in the process. She moved over to him and rested his tired, rain soaked head on her warm lap, running her fingers in his hair. He turned so he could look up at her. It was like looking up at her on the beach in battleship bay, a whole other lifetime ago. "Baby, you haven't done a damn thing wrong. Not ever, ok?"

She smiled down at him.

"You're fuckin perfect." He finished.

"Then why are you doing this to me?" She whispered, her eyes growing large and wet. He felt her fingers slide up against his own and he stroked her newly formed pinky. "You're pulling away from me and it hurts, Booker."

"Because..." He slurred. "You can't know how...imperfect...this life I've given you is."

"Booker, that doesn't make any sense..."

"I've fucked it all up again, Elizabeth. I really have."

"No you haven't..."

"I have. You don't even know it, but I have."

Just tell her, you old fool. She needs to know. She can handle it. Admit it. She has a right to know what she's gotten herself into. With a surge of drunken bravery or idiocy, he finally told her the truth.

"Liz'beth...you can't leave the apartment because there are men watching the house."

"What...what men?" She asked, her grip on his hand tightening. "Are they...from Columbia?"

"No...not like that." He wasn't prepared for how scared she was when she mentioned Columbia. It's in a whole other reality and she was still so frightened. "These are different men. They're gonna stop, eventually. They're from before I went to Columbia. I've been working for them at night."

"What type of work, Booker?"

"The bad kind, Elizabeth. The real bad kind. This man...pays me to get information out of people. I'm working off a debt...it's almost over. I'll be square with them and then I can leave."

"Why are they watching the house?"

"They're watching me. But they want to know about anyone close to me. I can't let them know about you, so I kept you up here...They don't know who you are they just think you're some girl...but I couldn't let them see you."

"Booker...why didn't you tell me?" She asked and he was taken aback by her concern. Where was the anger? She was still warmly stroking his fingers with her own. I fucked it all up again, Elizabeth...why aren't you mad?

"I'd let you down again...I guess I just couldn't admit that. Not after...everything..."

"Booker, you could have told me..." She smiled down at him. Was he going mad? He thought he heard her chuckle when she spoke. "You don't have to keep things like this from me, you silly old man."

And just like that, a dramatic weight had been lifted off his shoulders. She knew about Quincy, the mobsters and the lies and yet she didn't hate him for it. But then again, people had been watching her her whole life. The guilt hit him a bit harder when he recalled the two way mirrors that surrounded her home, and her reaction to finding them. The mobsters were kind enough to leave her be in her own home. They didn't set up filming equipment or peep through the windows. To a woman who had been watched and studied all her life, that must be almost a courtesy.

She helped him shrug out of his soaking jacket while he kicked off his shoes. He told her again how the men won't be there for long, then he promised they can go out together again. She can go out with Ruth, too. She can even go out on her own. He would help her get a job or enrol her in some school. He would take her to the library and to the museums and art galleries and all of those places he didn't see the point in, but he wanted to go with her.
His shirt was soaked underneath his jacket, and he pulled it off, throwing it into the corner of the room with the rest of the laundry. He hesitated briefly when he unbuckled his trousers, what little remaining sense of propriety telling him that it might not be right. But she helped him out of them before going across the room to fetch a towel. Elizabeth sat back on the bed and he rested his head on her lap while she dried his hair. The feel of her fingers gently massaging his scalp was so blissful he wanted to drift off to sleep, but he forced himself to stay awake. He didn't want to let go of this moment. A great deal of weight had been lifted from him, and he comfortably basked in the affection he had been denying himself. He wasn't familiar with the feeling of unburdening himself of his troubles. He usually kept hold of them and drowned them in liquor. But he told Elizabeth of his sins, and she had taken them away for him. We can do this together, don't hide from me. I'm your partner. She was humming to herself as she gently dried off his hair. What a strange girl...she seemed to revel in his entropy. Whenever she learnt a new sin he had committed, she got stronger. She comforted him, said the right thing. Her first instinct was always to tell him he was still a good man. She took his weight from him and let him breathe.

Can she handle more? Can you lift some more weight off your shoulders? Can she handle the rest of your bullshit tonight?

"Elizabeth..." He started, his voice dropping to a slurred whisper. He met her eyes, drunkenly gazing up at her face.

"Hmmm?"

"I didn't hate it either...back on the First Lady. I think about it...a lot." The small, seemingly innocent phrase was loaded with so much meaning for them both. There it is, Elizabeth. I have these sick thoughts. It's no big deal for us, is it?

"Me too." She had stopped massaging his head and was running the fingers on her left hand through his hair.

"It ain't right..." He protested weakly, but he felt his fingers intertwining with hers.

"I know..." She agreed as his hand came to rest on her knee. He couldn't stop himself from gently caressing her thigh. A small signal that things were about to change – had already changed - and there was nothing either of them could do about it. Her fingers came to a halt in his hair as his hand gripped her thigh. Yes, feel me when I do this. You know why I am doing this, don't you? Can you feel it? Are you ok with this?

Her hand slid down to caress his face, sliding over the rough beard. She leant down and planted a kiss on his lips. He couldn't help but shudder. It wasn't lustful but it wasn't chaste, either. Something between kissing a lover hello and kissing a father goodbye. It was the opposite of the desperate, fearful kiss she had tried to give him only a few hours ago . Whatever it was, he felt the tension sink from his body, only to be replaced by a deep feeling of fear. Fear of what they were going to be to each other and the fear of all the ways he could ruin it for them. When she pulled back and he saw her sweet face again, and she was still smiling.

"It's ok, Booker...we can get through this." She promised. All he could do was smile back up at her. The range of conflicting emotions must have been heavily present on his face...there was no way he could hide them all. Not right now, and certainly not from her. "We should go to sleep...you'll feel better tomorrow."

"Yeah," He agreed, failing at an attempt to sit up.

"Stay here..." She said, helping him manoeuvre around the bed until his head rested on the pillow. Elizabeth reached up and turned the light off, but climbed down from the bed and headed for her trunk. She fished out a nightgown and started undressing at the foot of the bed. Booker didn't even try to hide that he was watching her. He watched her gracefully step out of her dress. She wasn't wearing much underneath, just a slip and panties and he watched as she stripped out of them too. He had briefly glanced at her body before, back in Columbia, and he thought she had something wonderful going on under those clothes. However, what he imagined back then was nothing compared to what he saw right now in the faint light of the city outside. It was enough to make him dizzy. He shamelessly watched his naked daughter smooth out her nightgown and throw it over her head. He watched as her tiny, pointed breasts were covered by the thin white fabric. He watched it flow down her hips, covering her perfect curves. She smiled a knowing smile to him. I know you saw. I wanted you to see. He smiled back. I did.

Elizabeth crawled in the bed and laid down facing him. Her hand found his and she pulled it over to her, intertwining their fingers. He pulled her closer to him and she rested her head on his shoulder and nuzzled into his chest. He let his hands wander in ways that he had to avoid every time she had joined him on the floor. He stopped short of feeling her up like he was getting ready to fuck her. He knew that wasn't going to happen tonight. They weren't quite there yet. But his hands rubbed her naked arms and once or twice he brought his lips down to touch her shoulder or her forehead. He just wanted to feel her. He just wanted to get to know her body, to hold it close to him. Just the two of them, alone in their bed with the rain belting down against the window. Shutting out the rest of the world. Shutting out the judgement. Moments like this didn't last, and he knew that things were not going to get easier for them. Not now, not after this. He wasn't sure if she knew what she had gotten herself into. If only there was someone in her life who could guide her to do the right thing.

He felt Elizabeth's hands over his vast torso, tracing his scars with her slender fingers. He felt her run her hands up and down his arms, squeezing the muscle she found, getting to know the physical geography of him. He couldn't remember falling asleep, but he woke up with her still in his arms. She had turned around and pushed her back into his front like she always did when she slept on the floor with him. In his sleepy state he thought that's exactly where they were. His first instinct when he felt his erection grinding into her rear was that he had to stop and pull away. But then the previous night came back to him. How she cried and kissed him in the other room...the drunken confession to the priest, then the sober confession to her. Her fingers in his hair. His hand on her leg. The kiss that made it all ok.

Elizabeth stirred, as if his thinking woke her up. As she rubbed her eyes and stretched, Booker wondered if she was second guessing this. He wasn't sure what expression he should expect to see across her pretty face as she slowly and sleepily rolled over to see him.

"G'morning." She greeted him, sleepily. Not a hint of regret or embarrassment on her face. "Did you sleep ok?"

Seeing her face set him at ease, and he pulled her closer to him, letting her head rest on his shoulder.

"I had a weird dream." He confessed.

"Oh?"

"Yeah." The core of the dream was lost to him, as it so often was when he woke. But he remembered some of it. He remembered enough. "I was flying."

"Like on the skylines?" She asked. Her voice was low and croaky. She didn't sound quite awake just yet.

"No. Like a bird."

"Hmmm. That sounds fun."

Booker cleared his throat, desperate for a drink of water. His hangover hadn't quite set in yet, but he felt as seedy as hell. In fact, he was sure he was still a little drunk.

"It wasn't so great...I had lost you."

"Lost me?"

"Yeah." He said, tightening his grip on her. "You had run away. I was trying like hell to get you back. I flew all over the city to find you, tearing out whole buildings to see if you were under em, but you just didn't want to be found."

As he spoke her arm crossed over his torso and came to rest on his heart, playing with a patch of hair that had stubbornly grown around the scars.

"I had a weird dream too." She said, sounding a bit more awake. "I was sitting by a river, crying my eyes out."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure. I wanted to look in the river, but every time I tried I would just start crying again. I've never cried so hard in my life."

Booker let his fingers gently stroke her arm. He supposed he was too deep in a semi blackout state to notice if Elizabeth had been crying in her sleep. He liked to think he would instantly wake up if she was in any kind of distress. The thought of her in pain while he lay drunkenly and uselessly beside her made him hate himself in a whole new way. He kissed her head in a vain attempt to make up for it. For everything.

"But you're here. So it's ok now." She finished.

vicchavez007 - Thanks for the comments :) I'm glad you're enjoying it. To date Booker and Liz have really only had one day to be normal together before it all fell back apart. Booker would love to be the one to acclimatize Elizabeth back into society, but it's not looking good.

3501BlackDemon - I really appreciate your comments :) Poor Booker and Liz, no, nothing is really going right for them, is it? I don't want to keep throwing inexplicable obstacles in front of them for effect, but I think Booker has so many damn skeletons in both of their closets (even Liz's) that it's going to be a struggle.I'm glad you like Ruth, Booker doesn't have a lot of friends (or any, really) so I kind of went with someone who would 'hang on' to him for the one kind thing he did ages ago.

anon (01) - Thank you :) I try to keep the characters true to the game, I really appreciate that you guys notice that.

Anon (02) - Much appreciated! There's a lot of good Bioshock fanfics out there, so I'm glad I'm so high on the list :)

Anon (03) - Hehehe :) I finished well over a year ago and I am STILL trying to work out my feelings. Hence the fanfic. Your lovely comments are much appreciated and I hope you're still hanging around :)

Cheese-kun - Thank you :) As much as Liz getting her own place might be a step in the right direction for her, I don't think she would be ready to hear that for a long time. The poor girl is just stuck in a place where she desperately wants to have some sort of love or family in her life, and it's one of the only feelings that overrides her otherwise good sense.

anon (04) - Appreciated :) Definitely plan to keep this happening for a while.

firefkrhammerthorn - Thank you :) I really want to focus more on the emotional toll this will have on them and how far they will have to go to exist in this new paradigm they accidentally created for themselves instead of just a series of one shot smut scenes (which I will in no way condemn).

For your second point, firstly criticize away :) I don't count myself as an author I just write weird stories about fictional characters as a hobby. Secondly, I'm not too sure if I made it clear, but Booker and Liz never had sex on the first lady. It never occurred to me that I had given off that impression, but re reading those first few chapters I can see that I never clarified that they didn't. Lets just chalk that up to amateur writing :)

Now, I do plan on revisiting that incident later, because Booker views it much differently than Elizabeth and there's a good reason why.

HeyiyaIf - Thank you :) Your comments always get me thinking !

First off, Cringy bits! I'm using the whole father/daughter terminology less and less because I think even unconsciously they would be using it less and less for the very reasons you stated. It just doesn't fit. As far as the smut goes, I did just write the first physical scene about a week ago, and I have to say it feels like the least sexiest thing I have ever written. I think that's how it might have to be at first =/

I do get why Booker did what he did. He was going to be a terrible father at that point and it might have been for the best if Anna went to another family. It is all well and good to say that he should have tried harder, but like you said there was NO social support back then. He was truly on his own and in the worst case scenario that could have cost his baby's life. However, there's something about how Robert seemed hell bent on getting HIS daughter that should have been a great big red flag for Booker. It's one thing to give your child up for adoption, but I am under the impression that Robert came to Booker to secure the deal. I guess I just don't know enough about how it all went down (did Robert just buy Booker a few drinks at a bar and wait for him to mention his problems which Robert just happened to have the answer to? Did he just straight up knock on Booker's door and ask if he was interested in selling his kid?) to really form a concrete opinion. In saying that, Elizabeth has every right to be pissed, confused and a little in love with him.

Speaking of Robert! Guess who has a cameo later?!