AN: This is going to be a weird story, where many liberties are taken vis-a-vis the rules of reality and the extent of the powers granted by plasmids and/or being in two universes at once. Thanks for reading in any case.

In the final moment Elizabeth closes her eyes and waits for oblivion to come. Not even oblivion; this is an unmaking, the erasure of her entire experience, of her very existence after Booker Dewitt sold her to Zachary Comstock, one father handing her over to the other. The memories are painful. Of course they would be; she never really had a life until she was twenty, and after that…well, it was an adventure; excitement, fear, agony, and love all rolled up into the span of a few days.

And death, too much death.

That must be why she feels so peaceful during her unmaking. So much death will be undone, that is its own forgiveness. Booker, her father, her real father, seems peaceful as well, sinking rapturously into the water, his eyes closed as if in prayer.

Elizabeth smiles. He wouldn't have liked that comparison.

Perhaps in this, he can find redemption; or as close to redemption as anyone is allowed. Maybe Elizabeth can even glean a little for herself.

The Elizabeths to her right disappear, and then so too do the Elizabeths to her left. What happened in their realities? It probably doesn't matter. Everything has led up to this moment; the inevitable focal point of her many destinies, the destinies of the many Columbias, and the destinies of her many Fathers.

She closes her eyes, and feels reality unfurl like drying paint.

When a surgeon anesthetizes the patient, they tell them to count backwards from 20. The patient goes unconscious before they ever get to 1.

Elizabeth counts backwards from 20.

19…18…17…16…15…

Her emotions well up in her chest. Tears trail down her cheeks and drip into the pool. How fitting that her father's final baptism should be in her tears.

And of course she never gets all the way down to 1; doesn't even get to 14. Before she can say it, something as sharp and heavy as an icepick careens into her skull.

She gasps, floundering into the water, pain wracking her body as every string and molecule of her physical make-up is erased from existence. Atom by atom she is undone, only for more atoms to fill in the empty space, two for every one, then three, then one hundred, millions. Matter in all shapes and forms shoves its way into her being; meat, calcium, nerves, synapses, electric impulses, memories…oh so many memories. The experience of every Elizabeth Comstock and every Anna Dewitt plays in her mind like a seizure-inducing horoscope.

Her lives flash before her eyes, each vision a stab of agony.

And then they stop.

Darkness. Sweet oblivion. And in the vast expanse, light. She lays on the floor, or what must be some close approximation of a floor, struggling to breathe what cannot possibly be actual air.

She regains herself, but does not move, too tired to even think about moving.

"You aren't going to spend the whole day on the ground are you?"

""Day" being a relative term in this place"

"Because time doesn't quite apply"

"Unless you let it"

"Which we haven't"

Elizabeth has never been one for rudeness, but as she pushes herself to her elbows, she can't help but level a baleful sigh at the two figures standing above her. She even summons the gall to perform half an eye-roll. Even that much is tiring.

"You two," She says.

Robert and Rosalind Lutece are as impassive as ever.

"Indeed, us two"

"Or really all of us"

"Because we are in fact an infinite number of people manifested in two"

"Such is the fate of anyone who spreads themselves across the multiverse"

"Either intentionally so, or not"

"In our case, so"

"In your case, not"

Elizabeth's headache comes back, whether either from the aftershocks of the previous ordeal, of from the twins' ridiculous speech pattern, she can't be sure. At least Rosalind has the decency to make up for it by helping her up.

"What is this?" she croaks, "How am I still alive?"

"You aren't. Not really"

"You're dead. Or rather you never had the chance to die because you never existed in the first place"

"But reality doesn't simply undo itself. Not by our understanding"

"Rather it sweeps any discrepancies under the rug"

"And pretends that they never existed in the first place"

"Even though they did"

"And do"

"Hence the three of us," Says Robert, moving to dust off nonexistent dust from Elizabeth's suddenly immaculate dress. "By all accounts none of us should exist, and yet we do"

"I don't understand," says Elizabeth, treating Rosalind with an irritated look when the woman begins fussing over the symmetry of her collar, "when I drowned Booker we should have all ceased to exist"

The twins are silent, looking to each other for a time, before returning to the baffling task of fixing up Elizabeth's clothes.

"And yet here we are, existing"

"What was that pain earlier?" asks Elizabeth

"Likely the coalescence of your many experiences into the vessel you are now"

"The sum of all your possible selves crammed into one omniscient vehicle"

"But it's just a theory, really"

"We can't be sure"

Elizabeth furrows her brow. "All I remember is the life I lived, no-one else's"

The Luteces both step back, and looking down, Elizabeth finds herself in her original clothes, as pristine as they were when she met Booker. Reaching back, she discovers that her hair is uncut. There is even her old broach; a bird in a cage.

"So right now we're…nowhere"

"Unless we wish to be anywhere else"

"Which, if you're like us, you can"

"But where am I supposed to go? Who am I supposed to even be? My whole life…my world has been erased! I have no-one! Not even…" Booker. "What am I supposed to do now?"

Both twins lay questionably reassuring hands on her shoulders, "You can be, quite literally, whatever you want to be"

"Wherever you want to be"

"So long as you take care to choose a universe where you aren't exactly you"

"And you won't be dead"

"Because no matter how bad things may get for you"

"At least you still have us"

Elizabeth isn't sure if that's supposed to be reassuring.

In an absolute vacuum, in a place bereft of matter, space, or time; reality pushes on its boundaries like water pressing against a submarine. The weight of infinite universes presses against this improbable microcosm, pushing against each other like pigs scampering for the trough. They fight and rush, and eventually they stampede at the erstwhile trio. The Luteces look on in faint interest, but Elizabeth panics, screaming as a tidal wave of reality crashes into her.

But the feeling is light. A crash is actually a faint ebb, a pull into warm waters, deeper, deeper into a place that isn't here. In the distance she can see Rosalind and Robert, floating in the abyss, as calm and composed as usual. Their hair waves comically in the water.

And just as quickly as the world was pulling, it now starts pushing. The water becomes cold; it assumes a salinity that is both comforting in its familiarity, and disconcerting in the sudden wash of senses. And what is that? That feeling of being pulled from all directions? A multitude of whirlpools spiraling around each other? Ah yes, time. That's what time feels like. As she is pulled further into reality it acquiesces into a more comfortable form; linear time. Ah, refreshing.

The tide pushes them, ever onward, further and further until Elizabeth can see the ground rushing to meet them from below, and sunlight descending from above, until finally they are regurgitated onto a beach, sputtering for air.

Until Elizabeth realizes she doesn't really need air anymore. She pauses, then shrugs. She may not need it, but air certainly is nice. Comforting. She takes a gulp-full, savoring the flavor of sea-breeze rushing down her esophagus. And in that instant of refreshment she looks up, hopeful.

She looks up, and for the second time in recent memory groans at the sight looming over her.

A lighthouse.

"Well," says Robert, wringing the water out of one of his socks.

"Déjà vu if I've ever seen it," says Rosalind, slicking back her hair, her jacket folded over her arm.

Thankfully it wasn't one of those lighthouses, just a regular one by the beach. And near the beach is a town. Not a fantastical town. A small, mundane, regular town. After getting over the novelty of walking on solid earth (and not structures suspended in mid-air by atoms in quantum-lock), Elizabeth comes to appreciate the regularity of it all.

The locals look at her strangely, if not because of her sopping appearance, then probably because of her somewhat outdated clothes. The Luteces on either side of her receive similar looks, but they don't seem to mind very much. Elizabeth is grateful when the looks finally pass. Perhaps they are not so out-of-place after all.

The walk is both long and short. Objectively they walk several miles, but Elizabeth knows the manipulation of space when she feels it, and the Luteces seem to be doing it seamlessly, at once hurrying their journey and making it seem natural at the same time. As a result, they travel several miles in only thirty minutes, enjoying a pleasant stroll along the scenic route, finally arriving at a pleasant little bed-and-breakfast on the outskirts of town. The sun is setting and their clothes have already dried.

Elizabeth follows the Luteces in, and doesn't say anything as they secure lodging for the night. She isn't sure where they got the strange money they use to pay. The little old lady that runs the place is hardly nonplussed, but smiles and accepts her strange houseguests anyway.

"If you don't care to go into town, you can relax in the parlor. Or in your rooms. We'll have a nice mincemeat pie for dinner"

And with that the old lady takes her leave. Robert and Rosalind settle into armchairs that are symmetrically arranged on either side of the fireplace. They sip their tea, chatting about the culinary inadequacies of mincemeat pie; Rosalind is against it, and Robert is for. Elizabeth sits and then lies on the couch, too weary to care about decorum. It has hardly been three hours since she drowned Booker Dewitt.

"How come…how come I feel normal? Before I was…powerful. Like I knew everything. I could do anything"

"Are you talking about the omnipresence?"

"Or the omniscience?"

Elizabeth sighs. "Both, I guess"

Rosalind nods curtly, "Ah. We turned that off for you"

"Though you can turn it back on if you wish"

"Tough I can't imagine why you would want to"

"Does strange things to your head, knowing everything"

"And being everywhere"

Elizabeth nods. "Good point. Hey, what's the plan here? Why aren't we talking about…I don't know, what we're supposed to do now that everything's…over"

"Well everything is clearly not over, but we see what you mean"

Robert puts down his tea. "We had hypothesized that upon the completion of Mr. Dewitt's ordeal that we,"

"And you"

"Would cease to exist"

"Thus making up for our mistake of stealing you from your father in the first place"

"And yet we still exist," says Elizabeth, "So where are we even supposed to go from here?"

An uncertain silence falls across the room; a dizzying vertigo worse that Columbia's greatest heights. The Luteces offer no answer, and somewhat awkwardly return to their original chat, but Elizabeth can tell that they are as uncertain as her. Is it because they truly have no idea? Or because they still, even now, feel responsible for what they did to her?

In the morning Elizabeth isn't even surprised to wake up to the sight of Rosalind and Robert on either side of her bed, looking down at her. She has no doubt that they timed this perfectly, and she doesn't complain as they rouse her from bed, laying out some clothes for her to wear; clothes similar to the stuff the townspeople were wearing.

As soon as she's showered and dressed, they adjourn to the breakfast table, whereupon Rosalind proposes that they might go to London. Why London? Elizabeth asks, to which Robert asks her where she would rather be going.

"Does it matter?" she asks.

The Luteces answer at once.

"Of course it matters"

"Your opinion is integral to the decision-making process"

"We can go wherever you would like"

"Though an English-speaking country would certainly be easier"

"Paris," she wants to say. It's at the tip of her tongue. But the impulse to say it is quashed by the heavy weight of its connotations. Booker had so wanted to just go to Paris; to forget about everything that had happened so that she could be happy. She doubts the city could ever make her feel happy now.

"London sounds nice"

London, as it turns out, is nice, despite its tendency for winding streets and confusing architecture. The Luteces certainly seem to like it. They bought a large (for London anyway) two-floor flat in a particularly rich part of an already rich borough. Per Elizabeth's request, it is the flat closest to the ground.

She isn't sure where the twins keep getting their money because it seems at this point that they have an unlimited supply. They buy her anything she requests, not that she requests much. A violin here, some art supplies there. She spends her time cooped up in her bedroom working on projects and brooding. The Luteces do not bother her, and bring her meals when she doesn't come down to the dinner table, which is often. They seem determined to give her space, which is fine because she's determined to have it.

After a week or two she decides that enough is enough and she it's about time she came out of her shell. She realizes that it's been days since she left her room. She probably smells bad.

Upon descending the stairs she is met not by two Luteces, but one. It is a little jarring. Both scientists are so often in each other's company that seeing one without the other is like waking up to discover than not only is your roommate suddenly without legs, they are also bafflingly nonchalant about it.

Robert Lutece is dressed in his typical tweed, though the elegance of the ensemble is ruined by a frilly pink apron worn over it, as well as some kind of kerchief. He appears to be dusting things, primly and properly running a feather-duster over the large collection of doodads that have already accumulated in the flat. He hums a jaunty little tune.

"Oh, hello," Says Robert alerted to her presence by the sound of her shoes on the wooden stairs. "So glad to see you out of your room." He does not stop dusting.

"Where's Rosalind?"

"She decided to secure herself employment at a local university. I advised her that further scientific inquiry might only land us in more trouble but," He makes a noise approximate to, but not quite, a sigh, "she is headstrong"

"Aren't you going to join her?"

"Perhaps. Eventually. I think for now I would like to focus on more domestic pursuits"

The intention isn't very subtle. "You mean like babysitting me"

"I wouldn't have put it so bluntly, but yes"

"I don't need a caretaker"

"Oh? Excellent. I take it then that you no longer need me to cook your food for you, or bring it to your room since you can't be bothered to come down to eat." He pauses in the middle of dusting. "I'm sorry, that was inappropriate"

"I'm not made of glass you know. After all you put me through I would think that you knew that"

His shoulders slouch, slightly. It's a miniscule difference but it makes him seem frail beyond his years. He doesn't look at her. "That doesn't make me feel any less responsible for you"

Elizabeth feels like a heel. She awkwardly climbs down the rest of the stairs. How to approach this?

"I've never cooked anything before"

"A surprisingly rewarding pursuit, I would say"

"I don't suppose…you could show me?"

Robert turns, facing her. Elizabeth meets his inscrutable gaze, only somewhat uncomfortable. His expression, at first stoic, changes to reflect slight approval. He begins to undo his apron.

"I suppose it couldn't hurt. You can't be worse at it than my sister." He hands her the apron. "Put this on"

Elizabeth follows him into the kitchen, negotiating the garment over her arms. The kitchen is spacious, allowing for all manner of cooking implements to be fit in. It is much neater than the living room and studies. "Rosalind can't cook?"

"Absolutely not. Doesn't have the patience for it"

"That's so strange"

"How so?"

"Well I always figured you two were kind of the same"

Robert thumbs through a notebook filled with what Elizabeth takes to be recipes. "Just because we are alternate reality versions of one another doesn't mean we don't have our differences"

"Still, you two are like, crazily similar"

"Yes, perhaps; our mannerisms, modes of thinking and fashion sense are, as you so drolly put it, crazily similar. But we are distinct individuals. For instance my sister is obstinate to the point of near obsessiveness." He stops at a particular page, nodding in satisfaction and passing Elizabeth the flipbook. The page reads BEEF CASSEROLE. "Me, on the other hand: I enjoy cooking"

Elizabeth has the grace not to point out the fastidious micro-notes scrawled over every empty margin of the page.

Rosalind Lutece returns home to the eyebrow-raising sight of her brother and Elizabeth greeting her at the door with a tray and drinks.

"This is very…domestic, of you," she says, taking a glass of what seems to be Champaign. "Look at us challenging conventional gender roles." She takes a sip. Not Champaign, ginger ale. Telling.

Elizabeth moves to take Rosalind's coat. "Robert has been teaching me how to cook"

"Has he? How…maternal. Oh," She shrugs out of her coat, "thank you."

They adjourn to the table where a valiant attempt at beef casserole sits in ceramic bowl. The table is set, and someone even lit a candle.

"So, how was work?"

"Dull. Despite the time that has passed, the scientists of this universe aren't as advanced as I would like them to be, and the funding for research isn't nearly enough for the hardware I need. Which reminds me," She looks to Robert, "when are you going to join me at the university? You've spoiled me for brainstorming on my own"

"I already told you, someone needs to take care of the flat. Besides, I'd like to take a rest from science for now if it's all the same to you, considering what happened the last time someone threw funding at us willy-nilly"

"Well we now know not to create a machine that creates portals into alternate universes. Lesson learned. We can pursue other matters. And besides, we can hire a housekeeper to clean things"

"Yes, but that's leaving out the matter of-"

"I want to go to university"

Elizabeth's interruption jars the conversation.

"You want to what now?"

Elizabeth sighs. "You don't have to pretend. I've been a sad case for the last couple weeks. I mean… my dress hasn't even been cleaned in a while. Clearly this is a cry for help"

"I wasn't going to say…"

"Rosalind!"

"What? She's twenty years old for goodness sake; she's smart enough to figure out when we're tip-toeing around a pink elephant"

"No, it's okay," assures Elizabeth, looking to Robert's frown, "I've been thinking about it a lot and I think I've gotten over everything that happened. I'll…never be completely okay. I mean I killed my own father for god's sake. I…I was cooped up in a tower for twenty years. That kind of thing doesn't leave you, you know?

"But I don't want it to define me anymore. I still resent you a little bit for what happened. But I'm not stupid. I know Booker was as much at fault, and Comstock most of all….but I can't keep blaming people for problems that don't even really exist anymore.

"That's why I want to go to college or…something. Try to make a life for myself, a fresh start. I don't know. Does that make sense to you?"

The Luteces stare at her. Then they look at each other. Rosalind, if she were predisposed to smiling, might have smiled.

"I can have you enrolled within the week"

Robert sighs. "Which means I probably have to get a job. Fantastic"

"Buck up. There's probably an opening at the local KFC"

"Very funny"

If she sees Robert's scathing glare, Rosalind gives no sign.

Elizabeth relaxes, unwinding a bit more than she has in quite some time. It isn't much of a plan, but now she has something to work towards. She thinks about Booker Dewitt. Would he be happy for her, now that she is taking steps to move on? She likes to think so.

University life is something of an adjustment, as is natural, but before too long Elizabeth begins to thrive. The environment is unlike any she had found herself in before. There are no religious fanatics (or at least none impolite enough to behave as such), no floating buildings, and best of all she is around people her own age! How delightful!

And so many different kinds of people too! Some dress in all black, some in all manner of colors. Some wear their hair short, some wear their hair long. Some dress conservatively, some dress in outfits that would have caused heart attacks on Columbia. It is enough to make Elizabeth flush at the very sight of a miniskirt.

And how approachable they are! Having limited interactions with boys, she can't be 100% certain, but she suspects that she has been hit on a number of times. And by a few girls too! What a strange place the world below is. Perhaps she will consult the television later to make sure; modern entertainment has taught her much about modern social morays.

As for the classes, much of it is old hat. Science and mathematics do not interest her much, having seen the potential for their misuse (not to mention that she has already mastered highly advances concepts and theories from both). She opts instead for an artistic curriculum. She loads her coursework with painting, music, sculpture, theatre, and in a pique of whimsy, digital imaging software. It is all very fascinating, and she is sad when she must drop a few classes not two weeks into the semester when someone finally figures out that she is several dozen credits over the semester cap.

The Luteces seemed disappointed at her class choices. Like many scientists they become snooty when confronted with the liberal arts. But they are supportive, going so far as to hold their tongues when Elizabeth brings her new friends over to the flat and they remark on how retro the place is (though they are always confused as to why Elizabeth lives with the Luteces in the first place. Are they relatives? Friends? Elizabeth has adopted the Lutece name, but she keeps their exact relationship to her ambiguous).

And as far as friends go, the group she spends time with are a nice lot. At first friend-making was a little hit-and-miss; people were not accustomed to her unbridled forwardness, or else were not receptive to her sunny personality. A few first attempts at friendship landed her in situations she did not enjoy (nightclubs, recreational drug-use, an upperclassman who got a little too handsy for his own good). But she eventually found a few friends in the art departments that genuinely liked her for who she was and didn't try to change her into something she wasn't; the true mark of friendship Elizabeth would say.

The days fade to weeks, and then to months, and before too long Columbia seems all but a distant dream. But Elizabeth isn't a fool. She never forgets. The Luteces are a constant reminder, and some of the more esoteric experiments they leave lying around the house are reminiscent of Columbian machinery.

Sometimes Elizabeth loses herself in thoughts of the flying city. Her concentration lapses just a smidge. In these moments of dwindled lucidity Elizabeth forgets to suppress her nature, and she starts remembering the future. It is a rare occurrence, and before she can see too much she always catches herself and, as if reminding herself to breathe, she forces closed her window into infinity.

Life can be quite ruined, after all, when you know what's coming.

"Will you stop fussing over me? No one can tell if I have wrinkles in my shirt or not"

"Well they can't know if you cover your blazer just so…and there. Isn't that nice?"

"This isn't the early 1940s you know. People have all sorts of different styles now"

"Is that some sort of jab at my fashion sense? I'll have you know that I get a lot of compliments on my ensemble"

"Really? The same clothes you've been wearing since…well forever. Seriously, I saw you wearing the exact same thing in a kinetoscope once"

"You don't like my clothes. Noted. I shan't give you fashion advice any longer"

Elizabeth sighs. She never would have guessed that Rosalind Lutece could be this…childish. "No, I- come on. That's not what I meant"

"No, no. I see how it is. It's only natural that you would rebel at your age. I did it myself after all"

"You are not my mother figure Rosalind. You are my friend. I have no psychological urge to contradict you for contradiction's sake"

"Well why not? Am I not matronly enough? Here," Rosalind demands, holding open her arms, "Rest your your head upon my bosom"

Elizabeth sighs again. "Really? You don't have to play at being my Mom," She says, not even caring that the people at the adjacent table can hear everything they're saying; a captive audience that can't help but hear all the awkward things that Rosalind says. There's no point in being embarrassed about the Luteces; they are an odd pair and nothing is liable to change that. Besides, there is something endearing about their dogged need for Elizabeth's approval, even if half that desire stems from guilt.

It is in the spirit of Elizabeth's own affection for Rosalind that she stands up and, rolling her eyes, walks around the table and bends down to give her a hug. Rosalind's embrace is much as she would have expected: a little rigid; clinical, as if she has looked up instructions for how to hug on the internet (Elizabeth would not put that past her). It is, however, a warm feeling, and she doesn't even mind when the hug lasts a little longer than is usually comfortable.

"Okay," she says finally, tapping Rosalind's back to let her know that the hug is nearing its end, "that's probably good enough for now"

"Oh good. I was worried that I would be late for my next lecture"

Elizabeth rolls her eyes. It's just like her to gloss over a touching moment with glibness. "I'm sure your students would have been lost without you"

"Indubitably. Sometimes I'm surprised they can summon the intelligence to navigate the building." Rosalind stands, gathering her materials in a great sturdy folder bag. She looks every bit the genteel bag-lady of yesteryear. "I'll be off then. It really is so nice having lunch with you, we should do it more often"

"Yeah, sure"

And with that Rosalind is off, leaving Elizabeth at her table. She plays with her food a little, no longer very hungry. Her appetite had left with Rosalind's departure.

Elizabeth doesn't like being alone. It reminds her too much of those first twenty years of isolation. She begins to remember her darker moments; lives that she lived, and yet didn't live. Gods don't have the luxury of forgetting after all. She startles herself at the thought. When had she started thinking of herself as a God? She shuts off her abilities in alarm. Time spent reflecting on nothing eventually becomes time spent reflecting on too much.

Besides, eating lunch alone has never been one of Elizabeth's favorite activities. Before she can leave however, she notices a figure approaching from the corner of her eye. Thinking nothing of this, Elizabeth makes as if to gather her things, but before too long the figure has gotten close enough that its intention is obvious.

"May I sit?" the figure asks. A woman. British accent. To be expected in the UK.

"Sure," Elizabeth replies.

She turns, and upon laying eyes on the new arrival tries very hard not look amused. The woman is dressed in a professorial tweed blazer that drapes loosely over a crumpled blouse. Tight jeans cling to long legs, and they might have been stylish if there weren't so many black stains of indiscernible origin smudged all over them. The woman's face is pleasant enough, though her dark hair is gathered in a disheveled bun that does little to restrain streams of hair from falling in front of her face. Hefted over each of her shoulders is a large tote bag full of books.

She looks tired, and carries an air of general fatigue. Still, she smiles when Elizabeth regards her, and puts down her bags as if they weigh nothing at all, though judging by the table's sudden creaking they must weigh quite a lot indeed. She stretches her arms over her head, wincing a bit when a few joints crack, but sighing in relief when she's done. She takes off her jacket and puts it on the back of the chair opposite Elizabeth, and then leaves to get herself some food.

What an odd person.

Elizabeth considers leaving before she can get back, but that would be rude, and she doesn't want to give the woman the wrong impression. Lamenting the misfortune of the situation, Elizabeth does not move from her place, instead opting to slowly, languorously, go about finishing the food on her plate. After sitting with the woman for ten minutes, she can politely excuse herself.

Simple.

The woman returns with a heap of food; an indiscriminate selection of meat, vegetables, fruit, and desserts tower on top of her plastic plate. She places it in between her bags expertly, without so much as shifting the balance of the food tower. Then she brings her bags to the floor and pushes her food to the side. In front of her she lays a hefty notebook, opens it to a certain page, and starts making notes. Beside the notebook is a tablet, and the woman glances at it every now and then, making gentle adjustments with her other hand.

Almost absentmindedly, she occasionally reaches over to her food pile, plucks some random articles with her spoon, and places a large portion of it into her mouth. She chews, swallows, and then reaches over for more food.

Elizabeth is not a stickler for proper dining etiquette (far from it in fact) but she cannot help being slightly unnerved by the woman's voracious eating habits. Still, she can't look away, mesmerized by the bizarreness of it. In her concentration the woman does not look up, and Elizabeth feels comfortable staring.

That is until the woman glances up at her, eyes curious. She smiles.

Elizabeth freezes and looks away, guilty at having been caught. "Sorry," she mutters, hurriedly turning her attention to her food.

"Nothing to be sorry about," says the woman, smiling good-naturedly, "I am making a spectacle of myself after all"

Elizabeth smiles. "I wasn't going to say, but…yeah"

The woman's eyes widen with amusement. "An American accent. No wonder you have no sense of propriety"

"Big words for someone who treats their spoon like a shovel"

The woman smiles. "Fair enough. I hope you don't take too much offense though, I've found that I can't concentrate on my work unless I eat like this"

It isn't difficult to let pass. "No problem"

Elizabeth leans forward to try to read the contents of the notebook. Spotting this, the woman obliges her by flipping it over. The page is filled with equations. The notes are so small that they ignore the lines and margins of the paper completely, filling the empty space so that they seem like millions of ants crawling over the page.

"You write so small"

The woman laughs, "Everyone tells me that, but I can't seem to change my ways." She makes as if to take back her notebook but Elizabeth stops her.

"Hold on." She scrutinizes the mess, turning over to previous pages, all of them similarly filled. A pattern begins to develop.

"This is quantum mechanics"

The woman looks impressed. "You're right"

Elizabeth furiously turns through the pages, the pattern assuming a distressingly familiar shape. "Are you working on quantum levitation?"

The woman's expression sharpens and she snatches back her notebook. "How did you know that?"

"Who are you?"

Elizabeth's reciprocal intensity takes her by surprise. "My name is Professor Eleanor Lamb. Who are you?"

"Do you know who she is?"

The Luteces have a tendency to communicate without saying anything at all; which is odd, considering their habit of talking to each other all the time. They talk incessantly, jabbing at one another with wordplay that is less planned and more choreographed. Elizabeth has a theory: their conversations are a performance, word games that they use like a hobby to tease third parties and flies on the wall.

But when they really need to talk, to convey information from one Lutece to the other, all they need to do is glance into each other's eyes.

Like they're doing now. Data transferal at the speed of light.

"Oh, you mean Professor Lamb?"

"So you do know her"

The Luteces carry on their activities, unconcerned now that they've heard what it was Elizabeth had been so agitated about when she rushed into the flat's front door. Rosalind returns to his notes, and Robert returns to the diligent task of making tea. There are three cups.

"A brilliant woman." Says Rosalind, writing as he talks, "we've met a few times, though she always seems to forget"

"We've no right to complain," says Robert, patiently waiting for the teabags to steep, "we always forgot people's names when we were younger"

Elizabeth crosses into the center of the room, shooting incredulous looks from one Lutece to the other like a swiveling auto-turret. "Then you know she's working on quantum levitation!"

"It's called the Lutece principle"

"Only hacks who didn't understand it called it quantum levitation"

"And that was most of the scientific community"

"Or really the entire scientific community except for me"

"Us"

"Of course. That's what I meant"

They exchange mild looks that might have been called glares.

Elizabeth sits on the lime-green fainting couch, a decorative choice that she didn't agree with, but nevertheless allowed because lime-green seemed to be the twins' favorite color. She ponders the implications of her meeting that day. Could a scientist researching quantum levitation be a repeat of history? Or something harmless?

As she settles into the deft padding, struggling, as she always does with this couch, to find comfort on the puffed up cylinder of a pillow, Rosalind sets down a teacup on the adjacent coffee table.

"Is that tea?" Asks Elizabeth, "I don't like-"

"It's coffee, dear, look closer. Milk, two sugars, as per your preference"

Elizabeth sits up. Upon inspection the liquid in the cup is indeed coffee, and prepared exactly the way she likes it too. Rather than question how Rosalind knew she was coming, or how she had timed the creation of the beverage so masterfully, Elizabeth takes a sip. Hot relief burns its way down her throat. Coffee always has that effect on her disposition.

Robert, a sucker for the chance to have a tea party, brings a tray to the table laden with little cakes and sandwiches. He takes a seat on the sofa and beckons for Elizabeth to try some. Rosalind, not to be left out, joins them, primly taking a seat on the far end of the fainting couch.

It is these impromptu family moments that makes staying with the Luteces at once maddening and heart-warming.

"We understand your worry dear"

"Truly we do"

"But just because one woman is on track to create a floating atom"

"Doesn't mean that she's out to create a floating city"

"Much less Columbia"

"Besides, she's still years away from cracking the formula"

"It's rather endearing to watch, actually"

"Like watching someone discover your favorite movie for the first time"

Both of them sip their tea at the same time.

"How can you be so laissez faire about this? We don't know the first thing about her. She could be a dictator in the making, or even one of you all over again"

If they take offense they don't show it.

"We know everything about her that we'll ever need to know"

"You, on the other hand, are the one who is scared"

"If you're so concerned why don't you just watch her yourself?"

"Don't worry. As far as we've seen she doesn't bite"

Another synchronized sip.

"Okay you guys have to be doing that on purpose"

Eleanor Lamb, as it turns out, is head of the physics department. She used to be head of the mathematics department, and before that she was head of biology. Before that, she was a prominent anthropologist, but opted to settle in London to provide her family with a stable environment. All of this Elizabeth is able to find out easily enough with the dedicated use of Google (she can never get enough of the internet's capabilities).

Everything else about the woman is shrouded in mystery; where she came from, how she is able to master so many fields in such little time, what her family is like (the woman is an extremely private person). Eleanor Lamb is an enigma, wrapped in a riddle, wrapped in rumpled fashion sense.

Elizabeth spots her easily enough, rushing from her office to a classroom to the cafeteria, always with several books stuffed into her bags. For the most part she dresses conservatively, having an aversion to the cold that warrants the liberal use of blazers, sweaters, long pants and skirts. She is an attractive woman, but her clothes leave a lot to the imagination. The student body is enamored with her though, and people clamor to get into her classes, and after sitting in on a basic lecture on quantum mechanics, Elizabeth can see why.

The woman is very engaging, and her smile is infectious. She explains the most complex concepts in way that pervades even the simplest mind. Many a student walks out of her class brimming with newly-acquired knowledge, only for that knowledge to unravel hours later as Professor Lamb's words fade from memory. An excellent teacher she may be, but she doesn't require her students to take notes nearly as often as she should.

In a word, Eleanor Lamb is brilliant, and Elizabeth finds this very disturbing. Rosalind tells her not to worry, but Rosalind is hardly impartial.

Rosalind Lutece, having climbed the professorial ladder rather quickly, had caught Eleanor's eye, and was chosen to teach many of her classes so as to free up her time. Students dreaded her classes, as Rosalind Lutece was absolutely brutal in her teaching methods. Many students dropped out, but the ones that stayed were guaranteed to go far. Eleanor, grateful for the favor she believes Rosalind had paid her, had proclaimed them to be friends, and often intrudes on the Lady Lutece's office with tea and a tin of cookies. Rosalind never minds this, and with every cookie she is offered, allows Eleanor Lamb to sink further into her good graces. She never let on, however, that she knows exactly where Eleanor's research is going, and how far away she was from discovering a true scientific marvel.

Because if you can suspend a particle in space, who's to say you can't also tap a particle in another dimension?

"If you're going to stare at me, you may as well join me too"

Elizabeth jumps from her place behind the bushes. She hadn't been hiding exactly, but after she had spotted Eleanor Lamb sitting on a bench without her books for once (and without her jacket! She's wearing a tight T-shirt with a cat on it), she couldn't help stopping to watch her.

"I wasn't staring," She says, rounding the bush and making her way to the bench as if nothing had happened, "I just thought it was strange seeing you without your books"

"Strange? My, my, have you been watching me?"

She had. But that doesn't mean she has to give the older woman the satisfaction of knowing that. "Don't flatter yourself"

Eleanor laughs. "You shouldn't exhaust yourself coming up with lies, it's unbecoming"

"I wasn't lying"

"Uh-huh," Eleanor relaxes against the back of the bench, throwing her arm over the top. "You know," she begins languidly, "I've been watching you too"

"I told you I wasn't-"

Eleanor ignores her. "I keep thinking to myself, how is it that an art student is so familiar with quantum mechanics? Much less a theory as ambiguous as quantum levitation"

"It isn't that hard"

"Actually it is. Incredibly hard. But not for someone like you. You're Rosalind's girl aren't you?"

"She's a relative. How do you know that?"

"Okay maybe "watching" was a poor choice of words. I've just been asking around about you. Imagine my surprise when I found out Rosalind was housing an art student. I wasn't aware that woman was capable of warmth"

"Don't make baseless assumptions"

"Hey," Eleanor raises her hands in supplication, "don't look at me like that, I was just joking"

They sit in silence for a time. It isn't awkward, but it isn't comfortable either.

"Actually," begins Eleanor, a tad tentatively, "I'm glad that you're so close. It explains how you were able to grasp my notes so quickly. Which brings me to a proposition I actually have for you…"Eleanor's demeanor falters as Elizabeth continues to look at her sharply. "Er…why do I get the feeling that you don't like me?"

Never one to be called out on negative emotions, Elizabeth backpedals. "I don't dislike you," she assures, "I'm just wary of you"

"Wary? Whatever for?"

"Never you mind"

"Well if a pretty girl says she's wary of me then of course I'm going to mind." Elizabeth doesn't reply. "…Okay." Eleanor clears her throat, unused to being regarded so suspiciously by a student. "Well, that aside, I was hoping that you could come work for me. As an assistant"

"You want me to work for you? You don't even know me"

"Like I said. I've been asking around about you and I think you would be a good fit"

"Like as a TA?"

"No. More in a personal capacity, with the research I don't share with the university"

"Like quantum levitation"

"Exactly. As well as a few side projects. See? You get it. This can work out"

"Don't presume things. I haven't told you if I want to do it or not"

"Well why not? You can get some experience working with an eminent scientist, aaaaand I would pay you"

"I'm not interested in science. I'm already in the art track"

"And I can respect that. I wouldn't demand too much of your time. But I really do think having someone like you to bounce ideas off of would be good for me. I may not look it but I have trouble balancing out all the thoughts in my head." She laughs in self-derision, "I'm not really all that reliable actually"

Elizabeth remembers the tiny muddled notes, the shabby clothing; she has no trouble believing that this woman is scatter-brained. It makes her a little more human. But that doesn't make the offer any less strange or sudden.

"I don't think so. Look I don't know you very well and…just, no. Sorry. Excuse me"

"Robert?" calls out Elizabeth upon entering the door, "Rosalind? Are either of you home?"

"In here"

Elizabeth follows the voice into the living room whereupon she freezes at the sight of several overwhelming oddities. The room is much tidier than it usually is. No papers and knick-knacks haphazardly tossed onto the coffee table, no books out of place or piled on the ground in incongruent towers. There are decorative pillows on the couch and an artfully-folded blanket draped across the sofa. Tastefully arranged on the console table are even a few pictures of the Luteces and Elizabeth, displayed like family photos. A quick peak at the stairway reveals a clichéd trio of similar hanging pictures, the one in the middle depicting Elizabeth and the ones on either side of her Robert and Rosalind.

And amidst all this, as if she had always been there, is Eleanor Lamb is chatting with the Luteces. She is plainly amused as she looks down at the smiling faces in the photos (smiling, here, is a relative term, as neither Lutece is very good at smiling. In most of the pictures Elizabeth is the only one who looks even remotely happy).

"Hello Elizabeth," Says Rosalind, walking over and taking her jacket, "I forgot to mention at lunch today that we would have company"

"Yes, we thought it was about time we entertained," Says Robert.

"And how lucky for me," Says Eleanor, placing an easy hand on the man's shoulder. "I had no idea you had such an accomplished twin brother, Rose"

Rosalind makes a kind of shrugging motion as she hangs up Elizabeth's jacket. "He refuses to re-enter science. I don't know what's wrong with him"

"There's nothing wrong with me. I just wanted to seek out other options, expand my horizons. I'm sure that's something our guest can understand"

"That's true," Agrees Eleanor, gracing Elizabeth with an affable smile, "it's important to try out as many things as you can"

Without warning Elizabeth marches right up to the professor and tugs her to the side, dragging her into the hallway.

"What are you doing here?" She hisses.

Eleanor is unperturbed, "Rose invited me. How are you two related again? I don't see much of a resemblance"

"This is almost harassment. You really are following me aren't you?"

"What? No." Eleanor places her hand on her heart, "I am honestly here because Rose asked me to be. It has nothing to do with the offer you rejected earlier"

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely"

Elizabeth scrutinizes her for a few seconds before backing down. "I'm not sure I believe you. But….fine. Sorry about…pulling you out here"

Eleanor laughs. "It's no problem. You are a refreshing change of pace from my usual students"

"I'm not one of your students"

"So you aren't"

The two of them rejoin the Luteces in the living room; Eleanor a little smug, and Elizabeth a little awkward. They don't talk to each other very much as the Luteces have engulfed Eleanor in an impromptu discussion about research. They would never tell her as much, but Elizabeth can tell that they appreciate the company of a like-minded individual.

Eventually Eleanor is ushered into the dining room with Elizabeth trailing along. She finds it amusing how much effort the twins are putting into being good hosts, and she smiles when Robert reveals the spread he has prepared for the evening. The conversation during dinner does not falter, much to Elizabeth's surprise, and she has fun interjecting every now and then when she feels the Luteces' clinical manner is overwhelming their guest.

"Sorry about them," Elizabeth says, handing Eleanor her jacket as she is about to leave. Rosalind, having drunk too much wine, has passed out in the living room, while Robert is putting everything away and washing dishes.

"They are a delightful pair, just…a bit difficult to keep up with"

"Yes. But they're family so I love them anyway"

Eleanor hums in approval. "I know exactly what you mean." She slips on her shoes, and bids Elizabeth goodbye, but she hesitates at the door. "It was…" she turns, expression sheepish"…wrong of me to be so pushy earlier today. I'm not really one for tact, if you hadn't noticed. It's one of my few character flaws"

"You mean along with humility?" Elizabeth smiles at the self-depreciating humor. "That's not an apology"

Eleanor smiles in return, her cheer restored. "You're not going to let up on me are you?"

"I don't think I will"

Eleanor laughs. "Cheeky girl." She looks into Elizabeth's eyes for a moment. "I really would like it if you worked with me though"

"Weren't you just now apologizing for being too pushy?"

"I'm hoping you won't hold that against me"

Elizabeth sighs. "You really are unbelievable," she says, even as she finds the professor's cheekiness endearing. "I'll think about it alright?"

"Excellent! Truly excellent!" Eleanor says, shuffling in place as if to look through her pockets to make sure everything is there, though it's obvious she's waiting for Elizabeth to say something else. "But you know…"

Elizabeth rolls her eyes. "You won't get any more from me. I said I'll think about it and I will." She pushes Eleanor toward the door, though she smiles as she does so. "Now get going"

Spotting the smile, Eleanor leaves the flat in a good mood.

A few days later Elizabeth takes the job.

There are certain professors at University that stand out in one's experience; people under whose wings students are made to thrive. They are mentors; the launchers of careers; the ones who write letters of recommendation. Indeed, it is a mentor-mentee relationship that can come to define a person in their post-collegiate years.

Eleanor and Elizabeth's relationship is not exactly like this.

Eleanor Lamb is unequivocally brilliant, but her methods are insane. She insists on changing her environment every hour, moving from one place to another so that her mind isn't, as she puts it, "lulled into a false sense of security." And she always insists on carting around all of her notes and books. All of them. That means a laptop, a tablet, a collapsible chair, and about two duffel bags full of books and hand-written notes. The woman is both deceptively and scarily strong.

And she works all the time! It's a wonder she ever gets around to making lesson plans, if she does at all. Elizabeth is seriously beginning to believe that she just wings it every class.

"Is it true?" A boy asks her; some physics student with whom she shares a mandatory economics class, "are you Professor Lamb's assistant?"

"…Yeah?"

"How'd you land that? I would KILL to work with her. KILL"

"Whoa, calm down man, it's really not that great. I just fetch her tea and carry her stuff"

He stares at her, green with envy, and out of sheer discomfort she leaves, though not before shooting him the evil eye.

She wasn't being entirely truthful with him. Yes, tea-fetching is a large part of the job, but every now and then Eleanor will present Elizabeth with a sheet-full of equations and ask Elizabeth to proof-read. Elizabeth is merciless, and points out even the slightest inconsistency, making suggestions and sharing her thoughts for how to make the study better.

Eleanor will smile, nodding to Elizabeth's explanation with the enthusiasm of a child rediscovering an old toy.

"This is great Beth, I never would have spotted that"

"Thanks," Eleanor will say, and mean it. Eleanor listens and talks to her like a peer, and Elizabeth finds herself enjoying every frustrating minute of it. Not being treated like a kid is a refreshing change; refreshing enough that she even overlooks being called "Beth" (lesser people have tried and failed to give her nicknames. The only people to succeed so far have been the Luteces, who manage to get away with "darling," "sweet child," and the unfortunate but mercifully hardly-ever-used "sweetums")

All in all it is a good job; a fulfilling job.

On Eleanor's busier days Elizabeth likes to sit in the woman's office and draw in her sketchpad. The room is more peaceful than the typically packed art studio, and she can help herself to her employer's supply of snacks.

"What are you drawing?"

Elizabeth looks up from her sketchpad, a chocolate bar from Eleanor's supply still in her mouth. An older woman stands over her, clearly getting on in years but with an intensity in her eyes that makes her seem less than docile. She wears a long skirt and a blazer, much like Rosalind does, and her hair is gathered up into a tight, professional bun. A pair of no-nonsense glasses is perched on the bridge of her nose.

Rather than ask why she has intruded into Eleanor's office (or how she even got in without Elizabeth noticing), Elizabeth answers the question. "It's an abstract piece"

"I can see that. But what is it supposed to represent? What is the meaning?"

"Nothing really. I'm just trying out techniques"

"I see." The woman holds out her hand. "May I?"

"Uh, sure"

She hands the woman her sketchpad. The woman flips through the pages, pausing every now and then to scrutinize a particular piece. Though typically confident in her work, Elizabeth can't help but feel a little uneasy. She gets the strange feeling that the woman is judging her rather than the artwork.

"What is this one?" Asks the woman, pulling out a loose sheet.

Eleanor looks at it. "That's a city in the sky. It shouldn't be in there"

"Why not?"

"I did it with photoshop. That's a printout." Elizabeth moves to take it.

The woman pulls it out of her grasp. "It is very beautiful. The details are so well-done that it almost feels like a real place." The woman's expression turns soft. "The angel statue in the distance is especially telling. It seems like such a hopeful image, but the mood is foreboding; eerie"

The spot-on critique catches Elizabeth's attention. "I'm glad you caught that. I haven't shown this to anyone else yet"

"So the effect was intentional?"

"Yes. I meant for it to convey the danger inherent in all lofty ideas." It was also an image straight from memory, but the woman doesn't have to know that.

"So very true." The woman touches the page as if to grasp the city itself, "But even if the idea is dangerous, that doesn't make it any less beautiful."

"Who are you anyway?" Elizabeth wants to ask, but is stopped by the sound of someone bustling into the room.

Both of them turn to see Eleanor enter, burdened, as she always is, with her many bags. The professor drops everything at once at the sight of them. "What are you doing here?" she asks, genuinely surprised.

"I came to see where you worked. You keep it much tidier than I thought you might"

Eleanor looks worried as she crosses over. "You just decided to come here? Alone?"

"I'm not so fragile that I can't use public transportation by myself," Says the woman indignantly.

"We don't know when you're going to have another attack. Of course you can't be out of the house alone! Where's Sasha?"

"That psychopath who makes me take my pills? I gave her the slip hours ago. She has the mental acuity of a goat"

Eleanor sighs as she places her hand on the woman's shoulders. "That is my sister you are talking about. She must be worried sick wondering where you are"

"It serves her right for hiding my cigarettes"

Eleanor notices Elizabeth listening to them. "I see you've been distracting my assistant," She says the the old woman. "Elizabeth this is my mother, the previously eminent Dr. Sophia Lamb. In case you hadn't guessed, she is a nightmare." She says this last part looking pointedly at her mother, placing special emphasis on "Nightmare."

"This is the thanks I get for coming to visit you?"

"You know I'm busy today! What did you think you would be doing while I taught classes?"

Sophia smiles an evil little smile, "I thought I could sit in"

"No way. Not going to happen. I can't do my job if you're sitting there, judging me, asking questions you know I can't answer"

"You don't know that I was going to do that"

"Yes, I do actually. You did it before. You just don't remember because you're off your pills. Bollocks, what am I going to do with you?"

"I could take her back." Eleanor and Sophia round on Elizabeth. "I mean, I'm already done with classes today so I could take her wherever"

"You're sure?" Eleanor asks, though it's obvious she's relieved. "You don't mind?"

Eleanor puts her sketchpad back into her bag. "Sure. It's no trouble Professor. I know what it's like to have to take care of family." Besides, she thinks to herself, how hard can it be to figure out public transportation?

Very hard, as it turns out.

Being omnipresent means that Eleanor never has to take public transportation, or really any kind of transportation for that matter. She can will herself just about anywhere; it was the same ability the Luteces were able to use in Columbia to appear and disappear seemingly at random. For this reason, she is generally unfamiliar with the use of the London tube, which means she is less than useless in finding her way around it.

Fortunately, an amused Sophia Lamb helps her through it.

"And you won't tell her that I didn't actually know what I was doing right?"

"Dear, if a young person like you can't find her way through the most prolifically-used mode of transportation in London, I imagine you don't have very much going for you"

"Yes, but I'm American, and these maps are confusing"

"Eleanor is the same way. Never takes the tube anywhere"

"Then how does she get around?"

Sophia doesn't answer her. After finally arriving at Clapham Junction, the two of them board a train to the countryside. Eventually they arrive at the platform of a quaint little town that Elizabeth quickly forgets the name of.

Sophia leads her out the station and down a road that becomes something of a country lane which, after about twenty minutes of walking, becomes a giant house with several cars parked behind its gates.

"This is where you live!? Why didn't you take any of the cars?"

"Oh the girls always get upset when I drive them. They think I can't handle myself. Honestly, I'm not that old"

"The girls?"

"Nana!"

The loud creak of metal grinding on metal sounds as a young woman pushes open the gate. She rushes to the duo.

"Nana!" she says, placing both hands on the old woman's shoulders, "We've been worried sick!" She turns to Elizabeth, "Thank you! Thank you for bringing her back"

"Er, actually-"

Sophia nudges her painfully in the side. Looks like Eleanor isn't the only deceptively strong one in her family. "Nadia, this is Elizabeth Lutece, Eleanor's assistant. She escorted me here"

The young woman looks to be a little younger than Elizabeth. She has brown skin and dark hair. She puts her hand son her hips and regards Elizabeth appraisingly. "So you're the Elizabeth my big sister is always going on about? Please, come in"

Walking through the gates is like stepping into the foyer to an amusement park. The house is much larger than Elizabeth would have guessed, and fancier too. If the professor has enough money to keep a place like this then she definitely has enough money to be comfortably unemployed. And why wouldn't she want to spend all her time here? She's certainly eccentric enough.

Artwork, cleanliness, deco finishes and an adorable little kitten running around; the house is splendid. Eleanor Lamb is much more than she appears to be.

Finally Nadia takes them to a sitting room, and excuses herself while she gets some beverages.

Elizabeth immediately busies herself looking around. "I had no idea Eleanor was so…"

"Wealthy?"

"Well that, but also that she had a little sister, or that she lived so far in the countryside. How does she get to work on time?"

"Eleanor actually has seven little sisters"

"You have eight daughters?"

Sophia laughs. "Heavens no. I can't even imagine trying that. Eleanor is my only biological child. The others were adopted by Eleanor herself. She is their guardian, not me. That's why they call me Nana"

Elizabeth lifts a picture from the mantle with Eleanor surrounded by her sisters, all of them smiling at the camera. It's easy to tell that they aren't related; the varying ethnicities and skin tones betray as much.

"Where did she find them all? Traveling all over the world, or…?"

"That is a personal matter, Ms. Lutece"

"Oh, yes, of course. I apologize"

"That's quite alright dear"

She continues to walk around the room, not paying attention to anything in particular. Sophia watches her with interest.

"I see my daughter's peripatetic tendencies are rubbing off on you"

"Ha. I suppose so. It almost feels like I get restless if I stay still for too long"

Sophia laughs at that. "She was like that even as a child"

"I'll bet she got into all kinds of trouble"

"Oh absolutely she did. Not that I was around to notice very often." She looks into Elizabeth's eyes. "I was a terrible mother, you see"

"Err…"

"I've made you uncomfortable haven't I?"

"Just a bit"

"Ha! I appreciate honesty in young people"

Elizabeth takes a seat nearby. Sophia's glib attitude has, strangely, made her more comfortable. Which makes her feel better about asking the following question: "You really don't seem like the kind of person to have attacks of dementia"

Sophia laughs outright. "People are never what they seem, girl. I used to be insane, now I'm just senile"

"I honestly have no idea how to respond to that"

"Good. Rendering young people speechless is something of a hobby"

Before too long Sasha returns bearing drinks and snacks. With her is another sister, Daisy.

Daisy looks exactly like Daisy Fitzroy. But there is no hint of the revolutionary in this girl; none of the fanatic. Her smile is earnest; innocent. Elizabeth supposes she ought to be alarmed, but isn't. All of that happened long ago, and this is an alternate universe.

"You have to tell us about what she's like at work," says Daisy, referring to Eleanor, "she never talks about it at home"

"She's…interesting. The student's love her to death. She's a great teacher"

"And? What do you think of her?"

"Me? She's…okay, well she can be frustrating at times, but we get along well. She's kind of mysterious actually. I wonder where she gets the strength to cart around all that stuff she's always carrying. God, I didn't even know you all existed before today"

"What about her friends?"

The conversation is slowly beginning to feel like an interrogation. Apparently Eleanor is a private person even at home. "Friends? I…don't know any of them. I guess she's pretty tight with my aunt, but other than that I wouldn't know." And then she notices Daisy and Nadia's eyes shifting from her face to the space behind her. "She's right behind me isn't she?"

"You forgot to mention yourself," says Eleanor, jumping over the back of the couch to land right next to her, "We're friends aren't we?"

She's wearing jeans and a blouse. It makes her look playful, suiting the arm suddenly flung casually over Elizabeth's shoulders. Elizabeth rolls her eyes, but the acknowledgment makes her happy.

"Right. We are"

Moments later she and Eleanor have adjourned to Eleanor's office. Sophia and the girls have allowed them their privacy.

"So," says Eleanor, pouring herself a glass of whisky, "You've met my family"

Elizabeth raises her eyebrow at the beverage but doesn't comment. She refuses a glass when Eleanor offers her one. "It's only fair. You met mine"

"I did, didn't I? And now we're closer because of it"

Elizabeth laughs. "How was class?"

"*Sigh* It was fine. I couldn't stop worrying about my blasted mother though. I swear she does this stuff to spite me"

"I'm sure she only does it because she loves you"

Eleanor snorts. "D'you know I wasn't kidding when I said she showed up to my classes once and started asking unanswerable questions. Like, "what is the morality of Rydberg's constant?""

"Ha!"

"It didn't make the least bit of sense, and the students started laughing. Hey! It's not funny!"

"It's a little bit funny," Says Elizabeth, trying not to laugh so hard.

"You are an impudent little assistant aren't you?"

"I try." Eleanor is miffed, but Elizabeth's good humor has her smiling in no time. "It's clear that she loves you though"

"Trust me; it took a long while for us to get to this point. Our relationship used to be very…strained"

"That's how it was with my mother." Elizabeth can't believe how easily she admitted that.

"Oh? Were things difficult with her?"

"In a way. Well, a lot of ways. She wasn't around growing up. Neither was my father. I had a…guardian, who watched out for me, but he was overprotective. Really overprotective. I grew up pretty sheltered. Meanwhile there was this…" Elizabeth shrugs, "Anyway, my family situation is complicated"

Eleanor nods soberly. "I get that"

"Thank you. Sorry, didn't mean to tell you my whole life's story…"

"Oh don't worry about that. I did already say we were friends didn't I? Plus my mother likes you, which is rare because she doesn't really like anybody"

"Do you really mean that?"

"What?"

"That we're friends?"

Eleanor smiles, lifting a questioning eyebrow. "Of course. Why? Am I wrong?"

"No! Not wrong. I'm just surprised is all"

"You shouldn't be. There's-"

Suddenly the door to the study opens. Nadia walks in, wearing a contrite expression. "Sorry if I'm interrupting." She looks to Eleanor, "Just wanted to let you know that Sasha's back. She's been looking for Nana for hours and she's kinda pissed. She wants to talk to you"

Eleanor smiles helplessly before excusing herself. "Sorry, I have to go take care of this"

"It's fine, go"

And so Eleanor goes, leaving Elizabeth alone in the study.

The study is very ordered, which instantly lets Elizabeth know that someone must be cleaning it regularly, and it's not Eleanor. Left to her own desires Eleanor tends to make messes more often than not. Elizabeth wanders the room, inspecting the doodads and scrutinizing the whatchamacallits. Eleanor has a lot of interesting things.

One in particular catches her eye: a metallic disk attached by several cables to a brass box that looks like a marriage between modern and Victorian technologies. Two metal studs are on top, and to the side is a diode that is obviously meant to connect them. Hm. Elizabeth connects them.

Instantly the disk lifts off the table and….floats. It just floats in the air like a rubber ducky on water.

Elizabeth already knows what it is, but she checks anyway, detaching the cables from the disk and checking for magnets. There are none. Sometime between their first meeting and now, Eleanor had figured out how to make a Lutece field, and then she had made one. Much more brilliant than Elizabeth or the Luteces had anticipated.

"Well I'll be darned" She reaches to touch it. "Ow!"

It shocks her on contact, stinging her finger. She recoils. The pain is familiar, and she realizes it reminds her of the drain induced by the Siphon. Eleanor's technology is remarkably similar.

Elizabeth checks her powers, flexing her mastery over time and space. She can feel the ripples of the universe react to her will, but the feeling is faint. Frowning, she flexes harder. Nothing. A touch of panic sets in, and she overwhelms her surroundings with her will, turning off the inhibitors in her mind tha keep her powers in check.

A tear rends open right in front of her. It engulfs her senses, rendering the world dark.

That's new.

Elizabeth blinks. She blinks again. When her eyes open she sees not Eleanor's study, but a different place entirely; a tear that she can see, but hasn't stepped through.

This is…a room she doesn't recognize. The walls are all white, with pictures hanging spaced sporadically apart. A gallery.

Elizabeth starts when she sees herself, seated on a stool, looking morosely at a half-finished piece of art, but the art is blurred and Elizabeth can't quite make it out. Alternate Elizabeth is wearing a sleeveless dress of a style current Elizabeth doesn't recognize. It certainly isn't to her tastes. She tries to walk over, but realizes she cannot. She tries to speak but the alternate version of herself cannot hear her.

After twenty minutes of watching herself stare listlessly at a painting, Elizabeth begins to doubt her abilities. Alternate Elizabeth is just…sitting there, doing nothing.

"Hey, do something"

But of course her future self can't hear her.

The door opens. Alternate Elizabeth snaps out of her reverie. She stands up, turning to address the newcomer. It's Eleanor. Strange, thinks Elizabeth, but surely not so strange that her alternate self is reacting so viscerally. The girl's body language tells of vulnerability, but also calm confidence. Eleanor steps into the room. She's wearing a tank-top and slacks. She wears a confused expression.

"Beth?" she says, hesitant, "are you alright?" Her voice is distant and echo-y. Alternate Elizabeth says nothing, taking a few slow steps forward, closer and closer. "Elizabeth?"

Alternate Elizabeth steps even closer, casually invading Eleanor's personal space. But the older woman doesn't back away. She swallows, clearly nervous. Alternate Elizabeth looks up at her with her full, blue eyes, tilts her head back, stands on her tip-toes, and…

"What are you doing?"

"Gah!"

Elizabeth falls backwards onto the hard surface of Eleanor's study, once again in the present. Standing above her are Rosalind and Robert Lutece.

"Huh?"

"We were asking you…"

"What you were doing?"

"What were you looking at?

"Did you see anything interesting?"

"Grah!" Frustrated, Elizabeth lifts herself to her feet. "What are you doing here?!"

"We sensed you opening a tear"

"Or rather we felt you opening a tear"

"No, we sensed her"

"Felt"

"Sensed"

"Guys!" Elizabeth interrupts, killing the argument before it can escalate. "Not the issue!"

"Right. Well, we felt you opening up a tear and came to see what the hubbub was about"

"It certainly has been a while. What did you see?"

Elizabeth blusters. "No. You don't get to bust out of nowhere and start asking me questions! You guys are being very disrespectful of my privacy!"

"Oh dear"

"We apologize for that"

"Sincerely"

"But you might want to keep your voice down"

"Huh?" asks Elizabeth, "Why? Didn't you stop time?"

The Luteces look at one another, then at her. "No," They say, and then disappear, just Eleanor enters the room.

"Elizabeth? Are you okay?"

"Er…"

"I heard shouting. What happened? Are you alirght?"

She cups Elizabeth's cheek, and Elizabeth instantly reddens, pulling away hastily. "Uuuum, yeah, no, I fell, and, uh….started cursing a bit. Yeah"

"Oh…" Eleanor doesn't look like she entirely believes her. "That's strange. Why did you fall?"

"Uh," She spots the floating disk out the corner of her eye, "that!"

Eleanor turns, walking to it. "Oh, you got it working"

Elizabeth follows her, hesitantly. "Uh-huh!"

She's standing up on her tip-toe, head tilted back. She presses her palms against Eleanor's chest. Elizabeth backs up until the back of her thighs hit the edge of the table. She falls back, but Eleanor catches her. They look into one another's eyes, breath heavy, and Elizabeth pushes herself up and onto the table, laying down and closing her eyes as Eleanor plants kisses along the curve of her neck. The wood of the table is cool against her thighs, but everything is so indescribably hot.

"Gah!"

"Okay, are you absolutely sure you're alright?" The professor walks up to her, placing her palm on Elizabeth's forehead to check for fever.

"Yeah!" Elizabeth ducks away from the contact. "Um. I hope it was okay for me to turn on your experiment"

"Huh? Oh actually I would have preferred if you waited for me," She turns to the disc, "though it seems you go everything running smoothly. You must have an aptitude for this. Though it requires a special power source…huh. It's not connected." She scratches her head. "That's weird"

The device must have drained a bit of her power. Elizabeth lets out a nervous laugh, "Yeah I guess." She clears her throat, "still startled me enough to make me fall though"

"You'll just have to be more careful next time." She takes the disk in her hand, bringing it higher in the air where it just suspends in space. "Remarkable isn't it?"

"Yes, it is"

"But we'll leave that for another time won't we? Here, let me get a look at your head"

"No it's fine-"

"Come on, I was in medical school for a while, I know what I'm doing"

"You went to medical school?"

Eleanor leans over her as she checks the wound, her chest in Elizabeth's face. Elizabeth gulps. She hadn't noticed Eleanor's particular…fullness before.

"Oh yes. I'm a genius remember?" She laughs, "Oh, that looks like it stings. You're getting a nice little bump there"

"Nothing time won't heal, I'm sure"

"Hold on, I think I have something for this"

"No, it's fine, Eleanor-"

"Be still, Beth"

Eleanor leans forward just a bit, her breasts brushing Elizabeth's cheek through the fabric of her shirt. Elizabeth shifts with discomfort, but relaxes as a cool sensation quite suddenly spreads over her scalp.

"Better?"

"What'd you do?"

Eleanor chuckles. "I guess you could say it's something of a home remedy I learned from my father"

As both of them are sensitive to the topic of fathers, they go silent. They suffer five awkward seconds of this and then, confident that neither of them will make a comment, they continue as if nothing has been said.

"Hey, I think I better go…"

"O- oh…so soon? I thought we could-"

"I'm just a little dizzy." It's a terrible excuse, but it's the first thing that comes to mind. "I should probably get going"

"Can I call you a cab or something? I-"

"Eleanor," Elizabeth grasps her boss's shoulder, "I'll be…I just have to go. I'll see you on Monday"

Eleanor insists that she accompany her to the train, and Elizabeth insists in equal measure that she is old enough to make it back on her own. Neither of them wants to see the other fail at navigating the train system, so Eleanor reluctantly agrees to let Elizabeth go out on her own.

As soon as she is out of sight of the house she teleports away to the emotional security of her room in the Lutece flat, where she can process her startling premonition. Eleanor, having followed her unseen to make sure she got home okay, witnesses the teleportation, and quickly teleports herself back to her office and shakily pours herself another glass of whisky. The Lutece twins, having witnessed the whole thing from atop a windmill half a mile away, look to one another, raise a single eyebrow, and then teleport back to their flat and commence an engaging game of jenga.