A/N: I would like to briefly explain how this story came about. When I first played Burial at Sea, there was one twist in the plot that I saw coming from the start of Episode 2. It was a perfect twist that would tie in all THREE games (including Bioshock 2) and make full sense of everything and maybe give even a chance of a happy ending. I was excited to see this plot point unfold and wrap everything up nicely. But then it didn't happen. Nothing really happened to contradict it, but that one last key part of the plot was never put in and so there were all these lose ends. This story is my attempt to fix that. I did not want to write this story - I want someone else to - but no one else volunteered, so it was left to me to botch it up. I hope you like the problem-solving aspect of this story, even if you don't like the dialogue and other parts. I don't like them either. I am sorry if parts of this feel OOC, I'm not really used to writing Booker yet. IF you would be willing to re-write this story, keeping the basic plot but fixing the rest, I would love to hear it. Thanks!

Also thanks to my Beta for this story, insanityisthekeytosucess :)

Chapter 1: On This Side of the Abyss

"Hold on." The words echoed and slurred in her failing mind. "I've got you, just hold on."

The light had faded now. The music was gone. She could feel nothing as she was picked up, carried, and laid back down. She could not feel the blood running down her forehead or the gauze now pressed to the wound. But she could hear him.

"Don't die on me, Elizabeth, don't you dare die!" Obedience to the command was as involuntary as it was necessary. She barely knew who she was in that moment, but she knew that she must not die, not matter the cost. She must not die if only to satisfy that desperate command.

"Come on, wake up." He pleaded. "Open your eyes."

Blinding light and piercing pain met her as she struggled to obey.

"She's conscious." The voice reported as shapes struggled to form themselves into faces and sounds struggled to form themselves into words.

"She will live." She heard a steady female voice state plainly.

"The debt has been paid in full." And equally solid male voice continued.

"We will return when she recovers enough for the procedure." She knew these voices, but they were not like his. Not like the man she now realized was holding her, pressing a cloth to her head.

"Until then we will leave you two alone." The conversation, if it was a conversation, was completely lost on her shattered mind as it fought to realize her surroundings.

"Take care, Mr. DeWitt." The other voices stopped as suddenly as they had started, and as her vision finally cleared she found herself alone with the man she least expected and most hoped to see. Her father.

"Booker." The name somehow found its way coherently past her lips, which trembled in pain.

"Sshh, you're gonna be alright." Booker smiled above her.

"S-Sally…" Elizabeth tried to glance around. Even moving her eyes shot pain like daggers through her skull, and moving her neck was practically out of the question. Her memory came back in bits and pieces. She hardly remembered what had happened, only that Sally was in danger and that this worried her deeply.

"She'll be alright," Booker said softly, "Jack is on his way."

Elizabeth's brow knotted. Of all the confusing things, this was a step too far. How did he know? "Booker…" She winced as the pressure on her head shifted. "Am…Am I dead?"

Booker tried to laugh but the concern was evidence in his voice. "Not quite. The Luteces came through, like you said they would. We're back in New York." He took a damp cloth and began to wipe the blood from her face. "And as soon as you're better, I'm taking you to Paris."

"No, but…" Elizabeth was still putting pieces together. "You were dead. You weren't real. It was all… all in my head. Have I… gone insane?"

Booker chuckled again at the pitifully confused expression on his daughter's face. "No. I'm real, and so are you. And this is a real room and…" he removed the gauze and quickly pressed a fresh piece to her brow. "A real head wound. Can you hold this?"

Motor function was easier asked for than granted. Elizabeth gasped with lightheadedness when she tried to move her arm and Booker had to hold the gauze a while longer before she could put proper pressure there. She now saw that he had a first aid kit and was preparing to affix a proper bandage to her head. She did not want to know how bad she looked or how much blood she had lost over the last few hours – or was it days? - In Rapture.

"No, don't fall asleep." Booker's voice came to her again. She had not even noticed that her eyes were closed until they were open again. "I've no doubt you have a concussion. I know you're tired but I need you to stay awake a little bit longer."

Elizabeth sighed. She probably knew more about the biology of concussions than Booker did, but he knew far more than she did when it came to the experience. This was a lot more tiring than it sounded in her books. There was no helping the pain or the drowsiness, but the confusion was a different story. Setting her mind on staying awake, "What happened?" she asked. The gravity had returned to her voice by the time Booker was wrapping her skull in long white bandages.

"What do you remember?" Booker continued his work, trying to brush her hair out of the wound without hurting her.

"I… I had died." Elizabeth blinked. "I couldn't… I still can't see behind the doors." Some amount of panic came to her tone. She looked down and saw, still a bit to her surprise, ten healthy fingers on her own hands and not a thimble in sight. "I was in Rapture, trying to get Sally back from Atlas. And you… you were in my head." She looked back up for answers and Booker had to force her to stop moving her head.

"Don't worry about that just yet" he pressed the back of his hand to his brow to think, careful not to touch anything with his red-stained fingers. "Just know that I'm really here, and we'll talk about the voice in your head later." He said, far too comfortable with the idea of voices in her head. "What else do you remember?" Booker secured the bandage and stood up, turning to the sink to wipe off his hands.

"Atlas attacked me. I thought I would die for sure."

"But you didn't." Booker turned to several bottles in the first aid kit, searching out a strong painkiller and handing it to Elizabeth with a glass of water.

"I was trying to remember what I had seen through the doors." She took the medicine without question. "What you said, about Jack… I think I remember something about that. But I can't quite see. But how did you know? And how did you find me?"

"You showed me before you left." Booker sat back down, watching her intently as if she might pass out again any moment. "I know you don't remember, but you and I planned this whole thing through. I just can't believe it actually worked." He looked at her like she was a miracle.

"Wait," She told him, pressing a hand to her brow and praying that the medication would kick in soon. All of this talking and keeping her eyes open was becoming unbearable. "Start over. I remember… I remember killing Comstock. Then I woke up on the ground. But you… you were dead. I..." Her voice dropped to a whisper again. "I killed you." Thinking was far harder than it should have been. "Are you sure I'm not dead?"

"If you were dead, do you really think we'd be in my dingy old office in New York?" Booker asked dryly. "If you don't remember anything in between killing Comstock and waking up dead then I suppose I've got a lot of explaining to do." He ran his hand through his hair. "Well, maybe by the time I'm done you'll be ready to get some sleep." Booker settled in to tell what Elizabeth already knew would be a very long story.