"Elizab..." Booker was interrupted by a fit of coughing. As Elizabeth hurried to his side, he hauled himself up and spat a glob of blood over the side before falling back down with a groan. She told herself to breathe, that it was just like all the other times she'd pulled him back together, but when she lifted his shirt up to get a look at the wound, she knew it was over. His stomach had been punctured: if the blood loss didn't kill him, the acid would do it slowly and more painfully. "No...no. It's not going to end like this." she said, her voice cracking in desperation. "It can't end like this!"

He almost smiled. "I'm sorry I can't make it to Paris with you," he muttered, leaning his head back against the railing, his breathing already shallow. "Won't even get to find out what the old bastard was yammerin' on about..." Elizabeth sniffed. Don't you dare cry, she told herself furiously. "Can you...can you do me one last thing?" he said with a cough. She looked at him. Her vision blurred for a moment; she cursed under her breath. "Can you hold my hand til it's over? Always been afraid I'd end up dyin' alone." Booker held up his right hand weakly and she clasped it with one of hers. She stroked his cheek with the other, unable to hold back the tears but unwilling to let them fall. "I never got a chance-" Another sniff. "-to thank you." she whispered.

"Don't mention it." he said faintly. "Promise me you'll try 'n' be happy, okay kid? I'd hate f'r a smile like yours to go to waste." She nodded; that was all she trusted herself to do. "That's that then." he sighed. "G'bye, Elizabeth." He loosened his grip, and left. A drop of water splashed upon his face as she bowed her head.

After a time, she stood up and gazed at the remains of her tower. Her face darkened, then she remembered the Whistler. She knelt down to retrieve it from where Booker had dropped it before he collapsed. As she picked it up and made to get to her feet, her heart skipped a beat as her eyes met Booker's empty ones. She reached out and closed them in a final gesture of farewell.

She stood at the bow of the zeppelin, took a deep breath and played four final notes for Songbird.

Elizabeth passed by several of herself as she wandered through the sea of doors. Each with their own Booker. Each one cut her like a knife, cut her deeper as she discovered what the man she had barely known either forgot or chose not to tell her. When she reached his office, she broke down and wept beside her own crib. She didn't know if she was crying for him, for Anna or for herself, but it felt good, even if no one was there to judge or comfort her. She was alone.

Finally, she dried her eyes on the bedsheets that she wasn't even sure were there, looked around the tiny room for something that might trigger a recollection of having seen it before, and, finding nothing, opened the door to his prison. She wasn't surprised to find a hole in the wall, nor was she surprised to find the Luteces waiting on both sides. She didn't say anything to either of them, but her hopes of a silent boat ride were dashed by Rosalind.

"Everything in its place."

"Everything, except for one man."

"The wrong place at the right time."

"Right for who?"

"Shut up." Elizabeth said.

They docked in silence. She climbed the ladder and turned around, only to find them still there.

"I do apologize." Robert said self-consciously.

"Are you planning to apologize to every one we meet?"

"Do you think I should?"

"It'd be a waste of time."

"Then I shall."

She had no patience for their banter. She stormed off, wondering darkly as the clouds above if she could somehow punish the Luteces for their role in all this. She nearly slipped upon the stone steps and sat there, close to boiling in her own rage. The door above her was open ever so slightly though, and she heard voices. Her voice. And his. Another knife cut through her heart, but she had to see. Would she let her hug him? To hold him in her arms and forgive him, like she could never forgive her own father?

Elizabeth scrambled to her feet, anger forgotten. She rushed up the stairs, this time careful not to trip and land flat on her face. She didn't wait, couldn't wait to try and compose herself. She charged through the door and found herself knee-deep in a pool of water. There were six others there, all herself in different clothes. There she was in the dress she'd worn when he'd quite literally fallen into her life. There she was, covered in Daisy Fitzroy's blood. There she was, in a darker blue outfit than she'd ever seen, and far more revealing than she'd ever considered. There she was without her jacket, although thankfully also without the hole in her back for the...no, no more thinking about that. There she was in the dress she'd used to wear when she was younger: so clean and white and innocent.

The first, the last and her doppelganger in the middle of the crowd were all bent over something, holding it underwater, firmly but sadly. The Booker she'd heard was nowhere in sight. Elizabeth's heart thumped painfully. Smother, she'd heard herself say. Heard him say.

She couldn't be there any longer. As the three murderesses let go, she pushed past them in a blind panic. She didn't know if the door on the hill would lead anywhere or leave her in an endless void. She didn't care.

She fumbled madly with the handle.

Nearly screamed when someone put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Shoved the door open.

Tumbled through.

Fell down on alien soil. Too tired, too terrified to look up.

A sonorous ominous bell tolls in the distance. Then, footsteps and a voice. A young voice. "I...but...how did you...What?"