ataraxion | seventh tear ♫ video;

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seventh tear ♫ video;

Hello? I hope this is working... I'm never really sure.

[ Elizabeth, looking much more cheerful than during her last broadcast, smiles brightly for the camera. ]

Well! I've been having some strange headaches lately, so I thought it might help to focus my attentions on something. I was given a few things from home in my locker after the last Jump and put them to good use.

[ Voilà! She reveals a painting. Elizabeth beams at it as she turns from the camera, then chews thoughtfully on her lip as if looking to fault it. ]

I only had red, so it isn't as... vivid as I might have liked, but I'm hoping that the next Jump will have a few more colors. [ She huffs shortly, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. ] If anyone else has any art supplies and wouldn't mind sharing, please let me know! It seems a little morbid, almost, just using black and red.

And... I can do some sketches or paintings for anyone, if there are any requests. I'm far from any kind of proficiency, but it does help to take my mind off of things.

[ private to Booker DeWitt ]

Where are you? You are on this floor and I wanted to show you something!

[ private to Murphy Pendleton ]

I wanted to apologize for-- well, everything. You know. [ She flushes, clearly fretting. ] I can't tell you how... mortified I am.

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[ Not for the first time, Elizabeth feels like a child. More than that, she feels more strongly than ever that she belongs to a world completely different than the one everyone else lives in. She's been alone for her entire life and things had not evened out since then. Their travels through Columbia had been explosive at best and her time on the Tranquility both with and without Booker hadn't seem to teach her anything about maturity. She'd traversed the halls alone once and suffered for it, almost did it twice, had gotten others involved and in danger on a whim.

Her cheeks burn and she continues to stare stubbornly downward, finding the hem of her skirt extremely interesting.

He has to know how important he is, she thinks; she's told him so dozens of times. My only friend. If it isn't that, then there has to be another reason that he's hesitant to spend time with her, that he politely reminds her not to get carried away time and time again.

He's politely telling you to let it go. She's heard more than once that it's a little strange for her to be spending so much time with a man his age, to be so fond of a near-stranger, and she's had no problem brushing off the notion of it being inappropriate. But, what if it isn't that? What if it's that they really have nothing in common, that only circumstances had brought them together and they were acquaintances at most? After all, could people really be considered friends if they shared no interests, nothing much at all?

The thought stings at her heart and wells up in her throat, but she forces it all down, tries to keep her voice even. ]

I'm sorry. [ Has she been doing this to other people, too? Mr. Pendleton, Miss Fortescue; had they been too kind to ask her to give them some space? ] I know that I don't always... um, know how to act... in certain situations. You know better than anyone that I'm still new to having so many people to spend time with, and I...

[ She's struck with the urge to flee, to go to her room or the Gardens and just be alone. To think about her life. But she has to stand her ground and finish this, doesn't want to leave on an awkward or, God forbid, melodramatic note. ]

I'll be more careful. Thoughtful about... everything.

[ This isn't helping. He pushes back the urge to yell, to break something, because she's still blaming herself and it's just that frustrating. She doesn't understand. He doesn't want this. He's making her miserable just talking to her.

Likewise, he doesn't reach out like a part of him wants to, take her hand or maybe even hold her close until that look on her face disappears and she's happy again. At one time, maybe...but no. What had he been thinking? They don't have anything in common except for a few horrible days together, and he'd proven again and again that she's better off without him, that even when he is there, he can'd protect her the way he'd like. All they do is confuse each other. Make each other unhappy, even if it's not on purpose. ]

You should be.

[ His voice is rough, the words dragged out as if against his own will. But Pendleton had told him how Elizabeth had run into the halls on her own and what had happened to her there. Had she learned that recklessness from him? Had he encouraged it by watching her back and rescuing her whenever she got into trouble? Maybe he'd instilled in her a false sense of immortality. But he can't always be there for her.

He straightens up slowly, heart heavy. Even now he has to resist the urge to apologize, to tell her that everything's all right and nothing has to change. But it wouldn't do her any favors, in the end. This is for the best. ]

You should be more careful. About where you go...and who you spend time with. [ He glares down at her, face a thunderous mask. ] I've told you before, the less you know about me, the better. Don't go thinking it's your responsibility to save me, Elizabeth. It can't be done.

[ Booker unhappy, Booker angry, Booker frustrated and peeved and grumpy... none of them are new. He's been a rain cloud ever since they first met; she had once thought she'd been able to see through it, that she knew what kind of person he really was at his core, but right now... it's hard to shake a growing fear. What she hears in his voice is chastisement, a tone exclusively used by one Zachary Comstock until this point.

"He will abandon you, my sweet Elizabeth. Once he has what he wants--"

Was this really it? They'd escaped Columbia; she has her freedom and he's clear of whatever debt tied them together. Could the Prophet really have gotten this one, crucial thing right? ]

I never considered it a responsibility; I tried to help you because you were-- because I thought we were friends. [ She doesn't--can't--tell him that he sounds like Comstock, disturbing as it is. The way he's looking at her, though... Elizabeth gets to her feet, pushing away from the counter, standing stiffly and watching him with a deep frown, one barely masking a growing sadness and distress. ] I realize we barely know each other; I was the first to say it, if I remember correctly.

[ She would never have said it in any other situation. Without a soul, whatever feelings of morality and tact she has now hadn't existed. ]

... But you did save my life, job or no, and that meant-- it still means a lot to me. That's why.

[ It may not be much in the ways of a foundation, but it isn't nothing. Even Elizabeth, whose memories are outstripped by Booker's, doesn't know the extent of their time together. ]

[ He doesn't know what she's thinking, or how frightened he's making her. How could he? But he would have objected to the suggestion that he's abandoning her. He's helping her. Saving her from himself.

Making her decisions for her, just as Comstock had - but that doesn't occur to him, either. ]

You have other friends now.

[ He watches as she gets to her feet, backing away. She's upset, clearly, but that's to be expected. She'll get over it, he tells himself. She'll go and cry to her friends (her real friends, the sort of people equipped to have friends) and they'll tell her how awful he is, how she's better off without him, and they'll be right.

She'll get over it. She'll be fine.

He shakes her head. He'd saved her, yes, many times...but lately, it seems like all he's done is let her down. And it is important, how it had started. When he'd first crashed into her tower, the only thing he'd been interested in had been escorting her from one cage to another. She'd been right to attack him then, and wrong to put her trust in him so quickly. ]

Anyone would have done the same, Elizabeth. It doesn't - [ His voice cracks. Even Booker doesn't believe this part. ] It doesn't mean anything.

Just because I have other friends doesn't mean we can't be friends! [ She's frustrated now, beginning to pace, throwing her hands up in the air with a loud huff. ] Being close with people isn't some kind of limited club. You can add more without taking others out; it just doesn't work that way.

[ He should know better than her, she thinks! ... Then again, maybe not. Maybe they're two people cut off from the rest of the world for differing reasons, but isolated unto themselves nonetheless.

She looks to him again, frowning slightly. ]

Didn't you have friends when you were a child? Before the war, or after it?

[ It isn't snappy or cruel, as Elizabeth without her soul might have asked. It's almost pleading, in a way: please tell me that you've had a friend before, Booker. ]

[ Booker is silent. The question isn't as easy as it seems, and he can't give her the answer he knows she's looking for: of course I had friends.

He had, of course, when he was a very young child. When they had all been too young to know better. But things had changed when he'd gotten older. When he - and the other boys - had realized that he was...different.

It had been a lonely childhood, and he hadn't been any better at fitting in once he'd joined the Army. Loneliness had given way to defensiveness, rage...and, once he'd joined the Pinkertons, outright hostility to nearly everyone he'd met, no matter what side they were on. It was easier to keep everyone at arm's length, to be the big scary man and tell himself he wanted it that way, than to take a chance on letting someone in.

Elizabeth had been a rare exception. She'd been naive and innocent enough not to be any kind of a threat, and through circumstances alone, they'd become close - friends, even - almost before Booker realized what was happening.

The other exception, of course, had been Annabelle. And look what happened to her.

He looks away, his expression hard. ]

You don't need me anymore, Elizabeth. You said I was...your only friend, the first one you'd had. But you have other choices now.

[ Better choices. ]

You were my only friend and you still are the first I had. Making friends, getting close to others; it isn't a matter of choices. It isn't... picking out an outfit, deciding on something to use for yourself. This is about people, Booker. Not objects. You can have more than one and you're meant to look out for them, to keep them close. Not to find newer ones and abandon the old.

[ She looks at him now with a subtle sadness; there's clearly a lot going on behind that ambiguous mask that he's trying to keep from her. From himself, even. ]

Don't make this into something painful. No matter what you said, or I said; it doesn't need to be like that.

It's already like that.

[ He leans in close, maybe trying to scare her just a little. Why can't she see what he really is? She knows more about him than anyone else here. She of all people should understand. ]

I didn't even know what those men in New York planned to do with you, did you know that? I didn't ask questions. I just agreed to the deal. I didn't care what happened to you after that.

Does that really sound like the kind of person you want to be friends with?

[ He doesn't scare her. He had when they'd first met out of pure shock, he had when he'd begun his display of... proficiency in killing. But since then, he'd been the protector, not a threat. She doesn't believe for a second that he'll hurt her.

Not physically, anyway.

It isn't news that surprises her; Elizabeth hadn't gotten the impression that her "partner" had known much about the job aside from "bring us the girl and wipe away the debt." He'd been open about his lack of knowledge, hadn't seemed bothered by that, but... more than that, she'd never gotten a nefarious vibe from him. Hard-headed, persistent, violent, but not scheming. ]

You did those things, Booker, that was ages ago. I know what you meant for me originally, but things have changed! I know you would never trade me away now.

[ Another person, someone with less faith in people, might have added a tentative "right?" at the end. Elizabeth doesn't. He pushes her away and she pulls back, calm and confident in her assertions. ]

[ Ages ago? He barks out a laugh, sharp and bitter. ]

It hasn't been that long.

[ A few months, even considering their time on the ship - and even with Elizabeth's unflagging efforts to drag him out of his room and show him around, they haven't been spending nearly the same amount of time together here as they had during their short time in Columbia. Is that what she's basing this on? Those few short days?

She's right, of course. He'd never hand her over to anyone now; he'd fight to keep her out of the grasp of those who might hurt her. He had done just that.

Fought...and failed. There are things she doesn't know, because they had never happened to her. He looks down, staring at nothing. ]

None of that changes anything.

[ It hadn't erased what he'd done, all the lives that he'd took. Nothing can erase that. ]

You should be running away from me as fast as you can go.

But I'm not! [ It's louder, more frustrated, and she curls her hands into fists at her sides. ] I'm not running, I'm obviously doing the opposite. I'm not afraid of you and you won't be able to convince me that you're more of a bad influence than you are good. Yes, you've acted with questionable judgment more than once and I can recognize that, but you've also taught me to be more careful. You taught me that sometimes you have to make hard choices.

[ The extent of which she still doesn't realize; for now, she's still never taken a life. ]

I know so much more now because of you. And if you hadn't been there after that monster attacked me, I would be dead.

[ It's true, isn't it? She'd put them in danger and he'd gotten them out of it. She'll admit to it freely if it'll get him to concede with her point. ]

If I hadn't been with you, I would have died. Isn't that enough?

You shouldn't have been out there at all!

[ His voice is rising, too - not quite yelling, but threatening it. ]

I've taught you to be careful? Really? The only reason I was there to save you at all was because you threatened to go alone if I didn't. And look at what happened anyway!

[ This whole conversation is more than he's said in a long time, and he falls silent for a moment, seething. When he speaks again, his voice is low. ]

Pendleton told me what you did, Elizabeth. He told me that you went out into the hallways alone.

Don't tell me you've learned to be careful when we both know it's not true.

I couldn't just sit idly by and watch as those people were left there; they could have been killed, or worse--

[ And one of them was, she thinks, trying to recall the details of what had happened to the one member of the shuttle party, the one who'd been shut behind some mysterious door.

He knows. She worries at her lip, guard brought down momentarily. ]

... He tricked me. [ She said quietly. ] I thought he--that thing--might know something about... about this place, or...

[ Why had she followed Smiley into the corridors? It seems so silly now. Her stomach knots up and she finds she can't quite meet his gaze. ]

It was reckless, I know that. I made a mistake, but... well, that's living, isn't it? You do stupid things and you... you hurt people that you care about, and then you learn from it and you grow.

[ She looks to him, subdued. Sad. ]

I'm trying, Booker. I really am.

It's not your job to save everyone.

[ Or anyone - Elizabeth has a big heart, he knows that, but she just doesn't have the skills or experience to put herself out there that way. Feelings like enough to get her killed. Is it any wonder he worries?

But even he isn't immune to the sorrowful, chagrined look on her face, and he sighs, his anger evaporating. ]

I know...I know you are.

[ And he isn't going to convince her, he realizes. Booker scrubs a hand over his face, feeling old and tired. ]

Your heart's in the right place, I ain't arguing that. You just don't know what you're getting into sometimes.

I wasn't trying to save everyone; I just... I couldn't live with myself if I stood by while other people worked to help. If I did nothing.

[ She thinks of Finkton, of Shantytown, and seems even more crestfallen. ]

... Teach me to fight. [ Elizabeth speaks up suddenly as if she says it without any consideration, as if the second the thought emerged, she voiced it. ] Or else, to defend myself.

[ Booker recoils, staring in something like vague horror. All he can think of is Elizabeth standing over Daisy Fitzroy's body, blood on her clothes and scissors clutched in her hand. ]

No.

[ He shakes his head with a jerky motion, taking a step back. ]

No, I ain't - I ain't gonna help you become that.

"Become that?" [ Now she flushes in an angry fluster. ] Do you mean, you won't help me to fulfill my violent destiny, is that it?

[ Elizabeth knows that it isn't, but misuse of words or no, it still stings. She shakes her head firmly. ]

You won't help me to protect myself, but I need to be more careful, and at the same time, I can't be around you; short of hiring a personal bodyguard, the only other option is to lock myself away.

[ That is, there are no real options, as she sees them. Elizabeth's frustration is hot and tangible, unlike the cool disdain of her soulless counterpart. ]

What, Booker? What do you want me to do?

[ That's not exactly it - not in the way she means - but in all honesty, it's close enough. He frowns deeply, frustrated and maybe a little hurt at her reference to locking herself away. She doesn't have to spell out the parallel for him. ]

That's not what I'm saying.

There's plenty of other people on board this ship who manage not to get themselves nearly killed on a regular basis, without knowing how to fight or asking someone else to do their fighting for them. Kids, even.

[ The message is clear, if unspoken. Why can't you be more like them? ]

I'm not a child! [ She drops her arms, exasperated. ] And you know how dangerous it can be whether you look for trouble or not.

[ "On a regular basis," really? It's another sting; as far as she's concerned, her good intentions made up for whatever had befallen her... or, at least cancelled it out. ]

I could at least learn some kind of self-defense.

[ He just looks at her, his face drawn. He's feeling ten years older than he is.

Rationally, what she's saying makes sense. She's not a child, much as he'd like to preserve the innocence of the girl he'd found in the tower. It's unfair to expect her to hide herself away forever, and it would be better for both of them, in the long run, if she had some understanding of how to take care of herself without needing him to rush to her aid.

But the thought of teaching Elizabeth how to throw a punch - or, worse, fire a gun - makes his blood run cold. He half-turns away, muttering a barely audible excuse. ]

That ain't the kind of thing for women to learn.

[ It's a weak argument - one that even he doesn't really believe - and he knows Elizabeth won't swallow it for a second, but it's all he has. ]

[ She considers hitting him. Not seriously, of course, but an irritated pounding of his fist against his chest and arms (or wherever she can reach, assuming he tries to fend her off).

She doesn't, though. ]

Are you really not going to help me?

[ It's a little hurt, but mostly tired and resigned. It also isn't defeated; he should know better than anyone that, if met with resistance, she'll simply find another way. ]

This is important to me. Please, at least consider it.

[ Booker closes his eyes, feeling his headache return. This isn't how he had wanted the day to go at all. I shouldn't have said anything. Maybe if he'd just withdrawn gradually, slowly slipped out of her life without her realizing what was going on...

But she's probably too sharp even for that. And now...she won't give this up, he knows. If he tells her no, she'll probably just go to someone else. ]

Are you sure you want to do this, Elizabeth?

[ He opens his eyes and looks at her. His vision is swimming a little; it's hard to focus, and he knows it's stress as much as...well, whatever else is going on. ]

Defending yourself means hurting people. Sometimes badly. Are you sure you're ready for that?

[ After the way she'd run from him after the first time he'd shot someone in front of her...but it's not even that, not entirely. He knows she's capable of killing when she has to, or she will be, and the thought of bringing her even one step closer to the girl who'd stabbed Daisy Fitzroy in the back forms a sick, guilty knot in his stomach. ]

[ Truthfully? She isn't sure. Elizabeth reaches again for the thimble, relying on old methods of dealing with her anxieties. She doesn't know if she could bring herself to hurt people when it came down to it, let alone kill them, even if her own life were on the line.

But, for others? Her expression falls a little, and then... hardens, somehow. Maybe she couldn't do it for herself, but if protecting her friends on the ship meant losing sleep at night, she could let her own innocence take the hit.

Or so she thinks. ]

... Yes. [ It's the kind of conviction of someone asked the question "any last words?" There really isn't a choice, Elizabeth realizes suddenly. This is something she has to do sooner or later, whether she likes it or not. ]

You don't have to... teach me. [ She adds quietly, lifting her gaze to meet his. ] I know this must be strange for you, and I wouldn't-- I don't want to impose.

[ The way she's been imposing all day. All throughout their time together since they met. ]

[ That look of determination, of whatever it takes - Booker sees it, and he doesn't care for it. He reaches a hand out, as if to stop her, perhaps, but draws back before he can get close. ]

Damn it, Elizabeth.

[ But the words are soft, and more resigned than angry. How had she done that? This had started out with him telling her she shouldn't see him anymore, and now he's all but agreeing to teach her how to fight?

He sinks into a chair, resting his head in his hands. Fleetingly, he wonders if she's right about the food, if eating something would ease the pain in his head, but even the thought of heating up more soup seems too much effort right now. ]

You aren't imposing.

[ That's not it at all. The reason he'd tried to pull away...it had had nothing to do with feeling imposed upon, or not enjoying her company. There are very few bright spots in Booker DeWitt's life, and Elizabeth is by far the brightest.

Not that he'd ever say as much. He wrinkles his nose, smelling copper, and fishes his handkerchief out just in time to keep from dripping blood onto his clothes. ]

[ He sits down and, as if this had been her plan all along, she pushes the bowl of her own soup back toward him before moving to the stove to make more, herself. ]

I just think it would be best, in the long run. [ Maybe if she's known a thing or two, had been able to take care of herself, at least, she might not have lost her soul. Elizabeth sighs, wrinkling her nose as it itches briefly. Slowly, she raises the back of her hand, drawing it away with a few dots of red. Calmly, so as not to draw his attention, she reaches for a paper towel and wipes the blood away. ]

... What is it that you're so afraid of?

[ She still remembers when he'd first arrive, drunk and calling for her, talking about her hair... What do you know, Booker? What is it that you won't tell me? ]

seventh tear ♫ video;

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