#fledgelinglamb

[drownsindebt]

Uh--Booker, do you have a minute? I need to talk to you.

Yeah, I have a minute.  Something wrong?

[drownsindebt]

Something Next to Normal || Booker & Elizabeth

Booker was no stranger to nightmares.  

In fact, he had become so accustomed to having them, he could almost greet them like an old friend.  An old friend he was sick to death of spending time with, sure, but an old friend none the less.  So when the daze died down and hazy settled back into clear enough,  it felt a lot like he'd just woken from one of those classic nightmares, but for the life of him he couldn't remember what it was about.  Or who.  Or why.  Or even if it mattered.  But he found himself staring at a familiar door.  

A quick bell went off in his head, reminding him that alcohol was an ever-present necessity of his daily routine.  Counter-acted the nightmares.  Created some, but mostly served to help him forget the others.  And some of the days leading up to them.

But the door, no, the door he definitely remembered.  And he remembered what was behind it.  Standing here seemed to be evidence enough that he'd had some kind of goal in mind when he approached it.

Maybe she'd been crying.  

Yeah.

That had to be it.

The gap in his memory suddenly filled itself with the utmost important information:

The gin was in the second drawer of his desk.  

Right-hand side.  

Toward the back.

His steps were slow as he made his way to the center of the room.  The silence was louder than he remembered.  Or maybe it was his footfalls that seemed louder.  He remembered how many times he swore he would get rid of her crib.  He remembered how many nights he spent sitting up in the corner of her room instead, wondering how hard he had to wish before she'd be laying in it again.  He remembered how happy she always looked.  He remembered asking her how she could smile like she did, and telling her she would have to teach him someday.

He stood in the center of the room, staring blankly into the little wooden rails as his mind put itself back together.  It wasn't until the door closed that his hand snapped to his hip and his head turned to see what, or who, had caused the disturbance.  Booker didn't have many friends.  

That is to say, Booker DeWitt didn't have any friends.  

What Booker DeWitt did have was business associates.  

The kind of business associates Booker DeWitt never wanted to see again after Booker DeWitt was done doing what Booker DeWitt did.

He felt the grip of his pistol and stalked quickly toward the door.  When he swung it open, brandishing the weapon, there was a girl standing in the room as if she belonged there.

Different memory gaps filled very quickly.  Booker felt his head get lighter and heavier in the same instance, and he took a look around his office again.  He was here, right?  They were both here for absolute certain, weren't they?

"Elizabeth,"

Anna?

"What's--Is it over?  I remember..."

No, he didn't.

"I...You were there, but you-- I was.."

He put a hand to his forehead, fingers sliding just enough into his hair to make him fight the urge to pull it out.  After a moment, and a breath, Booker gave her a face that would almost suggest he was outdoors on a far-too-sunny day and pointed to his desk before following his own direction.

"I'm gonna need to get into that drawer for a minute."

[drownsindebt]

fledgelinglamb replied to your post

aren’t you too old for the Internet booker

aren't you too young for the sass elizabeth