Just One Dance, Pt 4

He had been able to make his way through the foyer waiting room and slip past the receptionists and nurses of Steinman's practice into the maze of examining and surgery rooms without attracting any unwanted attention. Unfortunately, once back there he was forced to dispose of a few of Steinman's followers. Other, almost equally delusional doctors and surgeons. Finally, he found himself in the empty viewing room in front of Steinman's surgery theatre. Booker's blood ran cold at the sight of her.
They were separated by a thick pane of glass. She was naked, strapped down onto the operating table. He watched the rapid rise and fall of her chest. She was breathing hard. Her eyes were shut tight and she winced and moaned in pain, trying in vain to move. Her arms and legs were held down in multiple places with leather straps, and they were bruised in a few places. One of her cheeks was red and there was dried blood at the corner of her mouth, as if she'd been slapped. She had tried to put up a good fight, at least. The large room was covered floor to ceiling in sterile white tile, and she was illuminated by multiple bright operating lights. Two small cabinets with drawers stood  near the head and foot of the table. Those were then adorned with mental trays carrying multiple stainless steel surgical instruments: Scalpels, forceps, scissors, picks, and bone saws among many assortments of other cutting and grasping tools he recognized. The thought of them being used on her made him shake with anger. Steinman had her locked in a modern day torture chamber.
“Elizabeth!” He called out and swiftly made his way to the glass door closest to him on his right, one of two flanking the main glass window that looked upon the large surgery room. It was locked. “Goddammit! Hang on, Elizabeth. I'll find a w-”
“Have you come for her? My Aphrodite?”
Booker's head shot up. Steinman was standing behind her. He was wearing his signature red surgeon's coat and mask with large black rubber gloves covering his hands.
“LET HER GO, STEINMAN!!” Booker roared.
“Let her go? Oh no, no, no. That I just cannot do, DeWitt.” He said slyly, as he plucked a scalpel up off one of the trays. Elizabeth's eye's widened as she watched him.
“I... Could.. NEVER.. Let go.. Of my.. Aphrodite.” Steinman said with inflection, leaning down close to Elizabeth's face. He stroked the side of the scalpel across her cheek.
“B-BOOKER!!” She screamed. “PLEASE!”
“ELIZABETH!” Booker slammed his fists against the glass. He ran to the far right door. Locked, yet again. 'Time to find another way in.'
“GODDAMMIT, STEINMAN, IT'S ME YOU WANT! LEAVE THE GIRL OUT OF THIS!!”
“She... Is not yours... to have.” Steinman replied slowly, as if he was stating a fact. He reached out a hand and stroked her cheek. She shut her eyes tight and pulled her head away. He clenched the scalpel in his fist. “Why.. Do.. They.. NEVER. SIT. STILL.” Steinman thundered and slammed his fists on the table, inches from her head. Elizabeth recoiled and whimpered, her whole body shaking.
“Aphrodite.. Dear sweet, Aphrodite.. Why do you not obey me?” He grasped her jaw in his free hand.
“STEINMAN!” Booker gritted his teeth and began to repeatedly ram the glass door with his shoulder. “Hang on, Elizabeth!”
“She will NEVER be yours to have. You... Are.. Unworthy.” Steinman said, letting her go. “Now...”
He took the scalpel and pressed it into her skin, starting at top of her sternum. Elizabeth shrieked in pain and shock. Blood began to ooze from incision and it ran down her chest as she struggled against the leather bonds.
“No! Please!” She cried, shaking. Steinman slapped her hard across the face.
“YOU WILL OBEY ME! YOU WILL BE MY APHRODITE!” He screamed and pushed the scalpel back into the incision, pulling the blade lengthwise along her chest and down her stomach not stopping until it was right above her navel.
“NO!! STOP! PLEASE!! I-I'll be your Aphrodite! I'll be your Aphrodite!!” Elizabeth screamed.
CRASH
Booker fell through the door, shoulder first, and hit the marble floor hard. Shards of glass rained down over her and Steinman. She shut her eyes and turned her head away.
“NO! She is MY Goddess!” Steinman shrieked and dived at Booker with the scalpel, still red with Elizabeth's blood, raised high in his fist.
Booker's fist connected with Steinman's face in a sickening crunch. He grabbed him by the front of his coat and slammed his fist into the side of the crazed man's face again. The scalpel fell from Steinman's hand with a clatter, and a thick glob of blood oozed out of the corner of his mouth.
“You.. are not.. w-” Steinman tried, his jaw obviously broken.
Booker smashed his fist into the side of his head.
“She's your daughter you son of a bitch! And you abandoned her! Was it worth it? Huh? Did you get what you wanted?”
“Booker!”
“Tell me! Tell me!”
He was seeing red. He couldn't stop.
“Booker!
“It.. is.. finished.” Steinman gasped with his last breath.
“Nothing is finished!” He slammed his fist into the side of Steinman's head again and again.
“Booker!”
“You lock her up for her whole life!” Booker lifted Steinman's head and slammed it against the hard tiled floor. The face mask had come undone and flapped uselessly against his broken face.
“BOOKER!”
“You cut off her finger, and you put it on me!”
“Booker, stop it!”
Booker stood back, breathing heavily. He let go of Steinman, letting the mans limp body fall to the floor in a pool of his own blood. His head was a bloody broken mess, nearly caved in. Elizabeth gasped and shivered on the table.
“You killed him.” She managed, feeling like she was going to throw up. 'Constants.. and variables... Oh God.. What have I done?'
Booker stood there in a trance, his nose bleeding heavily. It ran down his chin and onto his shirt, mixing with the splatters of Steimans blood. Everything seemed to be going grey. Grey and red.
“Booker? Come back to me... Please.” She pleaded, her voice cracking. 'My presence, my being here.. I have set things into motion that I can't even control! Oh God, Booker, please come back to me.'
“Wha-? Anna?” He turned to her voice, realizing she was still strapped down to the table. His head was pounding in time with his heart. “Shit! Here.. Let me help you.” He undid the buckles at her feet, and then moved to the ones at her wrists. She was bleeding and bruised where the leather straps had cut into her skin. Elizabeth forced her self to sit up and look down at the long cut that ran down her chest between her breasts. She ran her index finger along it. It was deeper than she thought. Her bright red blood was such a contrast to her pale skin. She suddenly lost a lot of colour in her face. Her eyes began to flutter as she fell forward, but Booker caught her and gently lied her back down on the table. He felt her neck for a pulse. It was slow, but steady. She was cool to the touch, so he took off his trench coat and draped it over her like a blanket. He tenderly brushed a few strands of hair from her face and kissed her forehead.
“You're gonna be alright, I promise. I'm gonna get you out of here.”

After some scavenging and rummaging through the little cabinet drawers he was able to find some medical supplies and cleaned her up, stemming the bleeding and bandage her wounds. It felt like they had been there for ages and it was only a matter of time before the police found them. Luckily, he'd had the foresight to barricade a few doorways back on his way through the catacombs of Steinman's surgery, but now he could hear loud banging and shouting. They were getting close.
“Shit..” Booker said. He began to pace in front of the large window, his back to her. “What the fuck are we going to do? I barely have enough bullets.. There's no way they'd arrest her.. Unless they... Goddammit, Elizabeth, I'm so sorry I got you into this-”
She was standing up with her back to him and had put on his heavily bloodstained coat.
“Hngh! Unh! Huhnn.. Unh!” She gasped. It looked like she was trying to pull something open in front of her with all of her strength. The lights in the operating room had begun to flicker.
“Elizabeth? W-what are you-” Before he could finish there was a sudden reverberation of sound and a blast of light seemed to explode before her. “Whoa- Shit!” A large circle appeared out of thin air, and through it he could see what looked to be his apartment in Rapture, gradually coming into light. “What... Is that..?”
“Booker, comon! We have to go through!” She gasped and reached for his hand, falling over weakly. It was as if what she had done sapped what little energy she had left. Booker lunged forward and caught her before she could hit the floor.
“Elizabeth- What is that?” He looked into it suspiciously. “That looks like my apartment.. But..” 'But it's not.' “...How?”
“I-it's a tear.” She panted.
“What's a tear?”
“I-I'll explain later - There isn't enough time! We have to go through now! Please!” She took his hand and pulled away from him, trying to stand again, a desperate look in her eyes. “Booker, please, you have to... you have to trust me.”
A loud crash rang out behind them. Booker's head whipped around towards the sound. It came from
the viewing room. He could hear a muffled whirring sound. They were sending in the Security Bots, just as he'd suspected. In one swift motion he picked her up, putting one arm under both her legs and the other around her back and carried her over the threshold of the aforementioned tear.
Booker gasped and stumbled forward, his head pounding again. His nose began to bleed and his shoulder ached in protest, but he did not drop her. Glancing backward, he noticed it had closed behind them. Whatever 'it' was. He regained his footing and carried her to the far right corner of the room where a single bed was pushed against the wall. The floor around it was littered with empty bottles of liquor and clothes. A deck of cards lay scattered on the floor, neglectfully left there by the previous owner. '52 Pick up.' Booker thought sarcastically. He laid her down on the bed and then turned around and took a quick look around. It was a mess. The deplorable conditions and haze of cigarette smoke in the room sent a pang of guilt through him. It was like a mirror into his past. It was as if he was looking at his apartment back in New York, back when he was overcome by debt, and overcome by the drink. In front of him stood a desk, eerily similar to his own. It was adorned with empty liquor bottles and race track cards, and something he oddly recognized: a Pinkerton detective badge. He never dealt with them, per say, but they did hold quite a prominent position back in New York. He could remember the strikes. The brutality. 'Stop it. You're depressing yourself. Think about the task at hand. Think about the girl.'
He looked back at the table and noticed a lone cigarette smouldering in the ash tray. Whoever called this place home hadn't been gone for long. As if to read his mind, she spoke.
“Don't worry. He won't be coming back here, I can promise you that.” She said bluntly, but then her tone changed and she stammered. “I-I'm sorry. I had no other choice. I... I couldn't just let you die there.” Booker turned around at the sound of her voice. She had silently gotten out of the bed without him noticing and was now standing in front of the window. The shadows from its slatted blinds fell across her. His trench coat hung large and awkward on her small frame.
“Well, we're both alive, and that’s what counts, I guess.” He said, wiping the blood from his nose on to the back of his hand. “Now... Can you explain to me.. Just what, exactly, is a tear?”
She sighed heavily and turned away from him, looking out the window. Finally, it was time to tell him. And yet for some reason she found herself hesitant to start, even after all those times where she could hardly contain herself from telling him. 'I just want everything to go back.. Back to the way it was before.'
“It's a window to another world. My gift.. and my curse.”
“So, you can control it?”
“Yes.. and no.” Elizabeth replied hesitantly. 'I can control it better, now that the siphon is gone...' She thought, nervously playing with the thimble on her hand. 'How much should I tell him?' She got up from the bed and walked towards the window, crossing her arms. The blinds cast parallel strips of shadow and light over her. “I.. I don't know where I'd begin.”
“Long story?” Booker mused, cocking an eyebrow.
“It's just-” She sighed, turning around and facing him, yet avoiding his gaze.
“Talk to me, Elizabeth..”
“It's too hard to explain right now.” A single tear rolled down her cheek.
Booker smiled and wrapped his arms around her in a strong, but gentle, hug. 'She has been through so much today.. Best not to pressure her.' “Alright. Well, lets just focus on getting you cleaned up.. Get you some new clothes.”

- - - - -

Booker turned around and gazed about the room, taking it all in. Elizabeth had found the bathroom and went in to clean up. He intended to let her have her privacy. He strode towards a cluster of filing cabinets beside the door to the bathroom. Above them hung a frame that boasted patches and medals from the 7th Cavalry Regiment of the United States Army. He frowned at it, remembering his own time serving the army as a field surgeon. He opened the duffel bag in front of him that was sitting atop one of the shorter filing cabinets and came up with a bit of money. He crossed the doorway of the bathroom, pausing to look at Elizabeth. He heard the familiar rush of running water as she turned on the tap and started to run the bath. He walked over to the table on the opposite side of the washroom doorway to search for anything he could use to redress her wounds. Upon it sat a little table fan, lazily blowing air about the room, and a few bottles but nothing else of use. As he cross the room, heading towards another set of filing cabinets, the front door caught his eye. The light through its frosted glass made it glow in the otherwise dark and dingy room. As he got closer he was able to make out the words “Booker DeWitt Private Investigator”. Reading it sent a chill down his spine. This wasn't just some poor schmucks home they were encroaching upon, it belonged to another person with his name. Another him. Another Booker.
Luckily, she caught his hand as he moved to open the door and reminded him that the citizens of Rapture might not take kindly to the sight of a dishevelled man covered nearly head to toe in blood. He'd been so quick to help her that he'd forgotten about himself. He followed her back to the bathroom, now unsure as to what to do with himself, and began to unbutton his shirt but stopped.
“I understand if you'd prefer to be.. alone.” He turned and said to her, hesitating on the last word.
“No, it's quite alright, Booker.” She frowned. 'Had he forgotten our night this soon? What have I done to him?' She let the coat fall from her shoulders, revealing her bruised and scratch covered back. The circular bruise and scar were still there.
“You still haven't told me about what happened to you.” He said, furrowing his brows.
“What do you mean?” She said, confused, turning around. He walked up to her and gently touched the scar in between her shoulder blades.
“This.. How did you get this? How did it happen?” He felt her tense underneath his touch, so he pulled his hand away.
“That... That is an even longer story.” She closed her eyes and hugged herself as the memories came rolling back in waves. Comstock house. The experiments. The siphon. The torture. The isolation. And the waiting. Always waiting. Waiting... For him. But she didn't cry. Instead she felt hollow inside. 'All of this time, all these doors. All of these Booker's. And for what? It would never be the same. They would never be the same.'
She opened her eyes to him enveloping her in a loving embrace. With her head pressed to his chest all she could hear in the stillness was the beat of his steady heart and the occasional drip of water from the tap. Eventually he released her and kissed her forehead. She smiled weakly in response.
“Here, let me help you with those.” He noticed the bandages he'd administered earlier were stained through with blood. “I don't think he got you too deep, so you should be fine. But I will redress them after your bath, alright? We can't risk an infection.”
“I... Thank you. Yes, you're right.” Elizabeth gave a small smile.
“Alright.. this is probably gonna hurt.”
“I.. I'm ready.” She braced herself and shut her eyes as he began to peel off the bandages on her chest and torso. “Ah! Ow!”
“Sorry.. Do you want me to stop?”
“No.. It's.. It's probably best that they come off now..” She looked up at him and smiled softly. “I don't want bloody dressings in my bath, now, do I?”
“I suppose not.. Here, just hold my arm and squeeze when it hurts.” He started again, more gingerly this time. She gasped, her eyes shut tight, as he peeled the last one off. “You're a strong girl... You know that right?” She opened her eyes and looked up into his. He still couldn't get over how striking they were. Booker let the final bandage drop to the ground and lifted his free hand to stroke her bruised and bloody cheek. Her hair was tangled and damp, sticky with blood.
'I may have a long and troubled past, Mr. DeWitt..' She thought to herself, reciprocating his loving gaze. 'But I'm better for it.' “But I have you to thank.. If you hadn't come.. I don't know what he would have done to me.” She shuddered at the thought. Booker wrapped his arms around her again and hugged her tight.
“I won't abandon you.”
“You wouldn't.. Would you?”