Elizabeth wondered if she could ever love a man like Booker.

Nothing seemed to hold him down; not armies, no machines, no man. No, nothing kept Booker where he didn't want to be. He ran with the wind, and she was grateful that the currents had swept them to together. She scoffed at the idea of a woman being able to accomplish what all others could not.

Yet she toyed with the idea, let it roll around her thoughts until it built itself a sustainable thread of possibilities – ones which Elizabeth could not help but long to explore.

But she knew she shouldn't. Love was an abstract concept she knew only in books. There was so much else going on that required her attention. Other matters which could not be put aside.

The feelings weren't new, but they burned brighter then they ever had before.

There was so much anger. So much hurt and loss. So many emotions, swirling in turmoil inside of her, she felt as if she could burst. She had no direction, no place to vent such frustrations. Her mind was a mess, a tangled web of mixed temperaments layering atop one another.

Because of this, she mostly believed her feelings towards him could be some coping mechanism. She feared she was only latching onto the closest thing she could find that was not her father; and at the same time the furthest thing from him. Did she only feel such attachment to him because he was the only person who cared?

Or, acted like he cared at least. She couldn't tell, things in this city were never as they seemed.

Booker.

He had wanted to sell her off; He lied to her, left her in the hands of the prophet for months.

But he also saved her. He came back for her. He risked everything to take her away from Comstock. Twice.

They hadn't known each other long, but they had been through a lot. Elizabeth still couldn't grasp her feelings towards her savoir. Maybe he was only paying off a debt; maybe it was for selfish reasons. She had learned to not trust so easily.

In the end, she wasn't sure she cared anymore. Columbia had changed Elizabeth, for better or worse, there was no undoing what they had done - what she had done.

She still wondered how he could handle it all.

There was an innate sense of self-preservation in Booker that worried Elizabeth. He constantly pushed himself, forced his way through all that thick black gun smoke, just to make it to the other side alive – just to do it all again. She didn't know how to feel about him, but she knew she didn't want to lose him.

She didn't want him to leave her. She didn't want to be without him.

He was not an admirable man, not even a good man. But then again, Elizabeth knew she wasn't either, The blood Was the only thing she could wash away. Memories were trickier.

She pushed them down, as deep as she could. Morality would fall second to the wrath she would show Comstock.

She had to, she needed to end it. She needed to end his lies, end his iron grip on her. She needed to end him.

Of all people, she thought booker would understand. He had seen what she had, been through the tower and the lab; seen all the gruesome things done to her, and the people beneath the prophet's fiery fist.

But he seemed to want to do what all others did.

To stop her.

She needed him, but if she had to, she would do what she needed alone. Comstock needed to die.

Booker would understand – she would make him understand – that he was not the only one who could not be stopped.

Booker.

Feelings mixed and mingled as the name stopped short on her tongue. Emotions sparked, and fires rose. Nothing was so simple.

As he continued to try and convince her to fly to Paris, a hot flash of anger rolled over Elizabeth. She was not some little girl, and he was not her father. This had to be finished, she had to get to that damned air ship.

"Just drop me off if you want to. This isn't your problem booker." She seethed – briefly wondering how she'd manage to make it by herself.

Silence lingered for only a moment.

"I won't abandon you." His growled lowly

I won't abandon you

Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt a warm swelling in her chest.

Those words; spoken in almost a whisper, yet an absolute one. They struck at something deep inside Elizabeth, and she felt her stomach flutter at the thought of him actually meaning them. She knew In that moment, she trusted him again; she would trust him with everything she had.

All at once she felt her psyche shift, putting itself back into place, allowing her thoughts to clear. The features on his face weren't the hard lines they usually were – he looked so open, so concerned for what she thought of him.

She trembled slightly, when she finally met his gaze with her own.

"You wouldn't… Would you?" It was not a question.

No, Elizabeth could never love someone like Booker –

Because there would never be anyone like Booker.

He was many things, not all of them good; But for now… he was hers.

She liked that thought.

She liked it a lot.

But they could deal with… them, after they dealt with Comstock.

They'd have plenty of time after he was gone.