A/N: This story is AU. I wasn't too happy with the relationship between Booker and Elizabeth in the end, so I decided to change the ending to fit it. In this story, they are NOT father/ daughter. Please read and review with that in mind

The Deal

Chapter One: When in France

Elizabeth!

Help me Booker!

You have come to take my lamb, but thy crook his bent and thy path is twisted!

Bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt! That was the deal Dewitt!

I'm not letting you take her, you hear me!

Booker… are you afraid of God?

Booker bolted up from his restless sleep covered in sweat and shaking terribly. This was the fifth week in a row after Colombia that he hadn't gotten sleep. With a grumble and a sigh, he stood up shakily from his bed and out his hotel room. Booker made his way down the spiraling stairs towards the main floor, where there was a mini-bar he was all too familiar with. The bartender noticed him sitting at the counter and began preparing his usual drink with a smile. Mr. Dewitt was his most frequent and favorite American costumer. Booker nodded a thank you to the French man as he slid the drink over to the grizzled veteran.

Before drinking, he held up the glass and gave himself cheers. The cold alcohol washed down his throat as he drank, bringing all the horrors of the fallen paradise along with it. The terrible things he had done, the people he had killed, it all felt a little easier to deal with.

After an hour or so, he was on his third drink. Booker didn't even feel lightheaded, much to his frustration. He didn't know if it was the vigors he took or the medicine he had used, but getting drunk was now unusually difficult. Finishing off his third drink, Booker waved for another. The one thing he walked away from the experience with was fortune. He had enough money to support him and his habits for the rest of his natural life, which he did not predict to be very long.

The truth hurt; the blood was never going to wash off. That amount of blood could drown a city. It was never washing off. Booker downed his fourth drink quickly and wiped off his mouth. Finally, he felt his thoughts grow weaker and his vision become obscured.

"You're down here a lot American," the French bartender chuckled as he cleaned off some of his glasses, "you must have quite the story friend."

"You don't want to here my stories. They're the kind that break you, the kind that make you see humanity for what it really is," Booker answered as he laid his chin on his arm.

The bartender leaned on the counter in front of him and asked, "Tell me, are you having problems with le cheri?"

"You could say that…"

"Come now Mr. Dewitt, don't spend your time here wallowing in your sorrows. Go and speak with her!"

Booker cringed at the sound of his last name; it was what she had always called him by. "Please, just call me Booker."

"As you wish, but I think you've had enough," the bartender told him, pulling away his soon to be fifth glass.

Booker glared down at his four empty cups, as if he anticipated them to simply fill up again. It would never be the same, never be the same.

He pulled out his wallet to pay for the drinks, but the bartender denied, said that he wouldn't pray off a lost soul. Booker smiled to himself, it was good to know there were still good men out there, though they were far and few between.

It was a little difficult to make it back up to his hotel room. The stairs seemed to twist and change directions as he stumbled up what seemed to be a mountain. When he finally reached his room, he was exhausted. Booker flopped down on his bed and looked up at the lone light that seemed to hover over him. This was his life now; a string of drinking and one night stands in Paris, never moving on from what happened. He knew this wasn't what she would of wanted, but frankly, he didn't give a damn.

This city could have been their dream, together. Now all it was only a prison of memories and tears. A couple times he had thought of moving back to New York, getting back his old office. Each time though, he couldn't bring himself to leave, as if he expected her to appear out of the blue and join him one day. But he had been in France for over a month now, and he knew the truth. She was never coming back.

Quietly, he sang to himself, "will the circle be unbroken? By and by, lord, by and by. Is a better home awaiting? In the sky, in the sky…"

He continued to murmur these words as he moved to his window. Booker opened up the blinds and looked outwards to the great city. The lights of cars lit the street as he gazed out into the horizon.

She would have loved this, he would tell himself. Here, she would have been happy. Regrets filled his mind; the great what if's clouded his head. Booker couldn't think clearly through all the booze, but one thing was for sure. The man he once was died with that city and disappeared with her.

Bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt

Looking back on it, the details eluded him. In the end, though; he decided the details didn't mean a God damned thing. What had happened happened, and there was no going back. There was no moving on. There was only trying to live with himself and the decisions he had made. Living with it was near impossible though.

Booker closed the window, as the light hurt his eyes. He lay back down on his queen-sized mattress and stared up at the ceiling.

Again, he sang to himself, "will the circle be unbroken? By and by, lord, by and by. Is a better home awaiting? In the sky, in the sky…"

Booker wished he had someone to console in, someone to help him bear the burden. He knew that no one would believe him; that his mad ravings would send him to an asylum for sure. So he did all he could do, went to sleep with his only thought being how much longer he had.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Please leave a review, I really appreciate feedback.