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Elizabeth wished she could enjoy the Enterprise the way Booker did. He behaved like none of it was real and she was so jealous of his light-hearted nature. Everything about the ship reminded her of some past tragedy. The ship itself was too much like Rapture with its enclosed spaces and lack of proper breezes. That, she thought, was why she was having nightmares again. There wasn't much difference between the bottom of the ocean and the middle of space, when it came down to it.

Despite being made of her memories the dreams were never quite the same each time. Sometimes her dream was of Columbia and her 'father's hands laying on her shoulders in prayer after a spinal tap before it merged and flowed into Rapture and Atlas. Sometimes it was just that moment in her life replayed in perfect clarity. It always ended the same way. One final tap of the hammer and she would be lobotomized. She was one little motion away from not caring, from laying down her burdens.

The terror came from how seductive that still was to her. The depression was easing, but it ebbed and flowed, coming and going. Right now she couldn't push her demons away. Her life was objectively good and it terrified her to think of losing it all again. Despite herself she saw Killian's appearance as a bad omen. The thought of losing Anne or Booker was enough to keep her up at night without her bad memories interfering.

She sat in the bar in her pajamas and bathrobe. A glass of wine sat on the table in front of her, next to a sketchpad and charcoals. Both were untouched. She apparently preferred to stare at them and brood. She looked as upset as she felt: her jaw was slack, her eyes unfocused, brow furrowed somewhat at her thoughts and memories.

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Elizabeth was crying again. The smells and everything were the same, she couldn't block it out. "That's all I painted in Neptune. Just images of Rapture and Atlas. I can't sleep because of what I did and what was done to me. I know that in some universes it was worth it, but I know in some universes I led the city and its inhabitants to the slaughter."

Booker pulled her in and held her close. "I'm sorry." He thought for a moment, then spoke louder. "Computer; Paris, 1905." And around them, a merry Parisian view faded into view, different from what they had known, but still, Paris.

"Maybe, but you can't claim responsibility for the acts of all of your alternate selves. They were, demonstrably, different people."

"It wasn't me. There was only one of me doing that, as far as I know. It was Jack. He had the chance to be a savior or a monster. If there are choices, then there are different universes. Sometimes he was the little sisters' salvation and sometimes he murdered them in cold blood." She shivered, looking around blearily at Paris. "I made a fake Paris. It was okay. I still haven't seen the real thing."

"This one is, apparently, as close to real as photos and real people could make it. Care to wander some?" He had only been to the holodeck a few times, but he had, reasonably curious, punched up Paris and New York, and asked the computer about both.

Elizabeth shook her head. "Not right now. I feel tired and heavy." She grabbed Booker's hand, leaning her shoulder on him. "Thanks for coming to keep me company."

He encircled her shoulders with one arm, gladly supporting her some. He was glad to have chances to help her and be there for her, always.

"Any time. You can call on me anytime." Maybe he had not been a good father, but he could at least be a good friend. Maybe.

"Perhaps we should wander to eat a bite back in the rooms?"

"That sounds nice," Elizabeth said, wrapping her arm around his waist. "Maybe some coffee too. Anne is going to be a terror tomorrow if she doesn't sleep for Thor."

"Well, we can go, check in on them, and maybe relax. See what sort of evening is coming at us." And then, once they were abed, he would likely prowl around, as was his want.

It could get pretty darned boring around the ship.