Some post-event care.

[amonglions]

Who: Booker DeWitt, Elizabeth, and Robert Lutece
What: A very strange, very quiet dinner.
When: The 14th - a few days after the event.
Where: The kitchen of Building 7, Room 6
Summary: Booker tries his hand at dinner since everyone else is feeling like crap. It's not bad.
Rating: F for Feels

Booker has been the only one in the house not curled up in bed most hours these last few days. Elizabeth really took it out of herself in that fight, doing way more than she could. Booker didn't quite understand why her powers were shorted out so much, but thoughts of the siphon kept running through his mind.

Robert, well, Robert had gone through a week of hell and Booker didn't even want to think of how personal it was. He listened to the voxaphones in Columbia, he knew how Robert and Rosalind had died. A malfunction in their machine....he wondered if Robert had felt anything before he came back as a ghost or if it had just been completely painless.

Booker knew he couldn't stand to go near even the fountain in the middle of the town much less a river or lake after the way he'd died. So there was sympathy for Robert that was not completely alien to him - like the familial affection he'd had for Robert when that Count bastard scrambled their brains up.

He missed how everything had been though, in the memories of before Robert was sent to the asylum. They'd been a family and laughed and cried together and lived together and ate together and... Booker didn't know how much he'd missed having that until now. Most of his life before Columbia was spent alone, either working or finding ways to make himself forget what he'd done. After...well he was just happy to see Elizabeth, he didn't care what she was to him.

Now? Now it was like he'd been teased. Taunted with what he could have had if he hadn't been such a desperate piece of shit and gave into his moment of weakness. He didn't imagine that this possibility of a life could have been better or worse for Elizabeth but there was a learned protectiveness for the young woman now and Booker could tell himself easily that the relationship between those two people, that father and that daughter - it wouldn't have been much different from what he imagined would have been.

The Booker and Elizabeth that had existed this last week or so...they were different people. And they were gone now. But Booker still held all those false memories as if they were his own...just with the knowledge that they were, in fact, nothing more than a dream.

His thoughts motivated possibly the most ridiculous thing he'd attempted in a fair amount of time:

cooking dinner.

He was no chef, not by any means, but he knew Elizabeth wasn't going to be doing anything and he wouldn't trust Robert in the kitchen with the finest cooks in the world. All he'd been able to give them for food before today was just...crap soup and the leftovers from Elizabeth's meals. He figured he could do something with a little more effort put into it.

Booker found a skillet, a whole chicken in the icebox, a can of white beans and some tiny tomatoes. That was...healthy, right? He knew Elizabeth would - normally - be happy with that. As of now? Debatable.

Still, it was easy to make. He just chopped the chicken up into sections (took three pieces and put the rest back in the ice box) threw them and the beans and tomatoes into the skillet until the chicken browned - a little black but...it gave the chicken character. Then he stuck it in the oven and waited until the rest of it looked edible.

He was only now wondering if he should just...give them plates in their rooms or wait for them to come out.

Comments

[tearmeanewone]

Booker didn't have to wonder about food delivery for long. When Elizabeth awoke to the smell of a cooked meal, she was curious as to where the cooking had come from. Still a little unsteady, Elizabeth pulled on a dressing gown over her nightgown and wandered out of her room.

It was Booker... Even more surprising was the fact that it looked as though he had cooked the meal himself. Granted, Booker had to have survived somehow in New York, but perhaps it was simply that Elizabeth didn't peg Booker as the 'domestic' type at all.

"It smells good," she said, hovering in the living room with her arms crossed, still smiling even though she was still pale.

[ablankpage]

Robert appeared at his door, leaning against the frame. For his own part, he was only just presentable. Decent trousers, a shirt... and that was it. Barefoot, no tie, no waistcoat, ruffled hair -- not quite the polished gentleman scientist who'd haunted Columbia even after his death.

He said nothing, though, just watched Elizabeth and DeWitt. This, as far as he thought, was for her. A meal for the two of them. They needed it -- deserved it -- after everything they'd gone from.

Well, good on DeWitt. Sometimes the man managed, after al.

[amonglions]

Booker looked up from the oven he was busy giving the evil eye, trying to will it into cooking faster when Elizabeth spoke quietly.

He hated how wan and tired she looked, he knew she was still attempting to get back her strength so his first instinct was to tell her to go back to her bed and lie down but...seeing her standing was the best he had seen her in days. Maybe it would be better (for the both of them) if he just left it alone until she wanted to.

"You wanna sit down?" It's a weak offering, full of something wanting to please and do it without offending. Which was hard enough for Booker DeWitt.

He makes himself busy by looking for plates and forks, ignoring the thoughts that run through his mind telling him that being this domestic didn't suit him.

It's only when he turns back to the table to set it that he sees Robert looming in the darker parts of the apartment. "Gonna stand there the whole night or have some dinner?"

He'd very begrudgingly give Robert a plate to take back to his room, if the physicist so wished.

[tearmeanewone]

Elizabeth smiled, completely not offended by Booker's offer. Sitting and eating dinner with Booker and Robert sounded much better than spending another day alone in her room with no company. She moved into the kitchen and opened the cupboard with the plates, then the drawer with the utensils. But that's the extent that she was going to go--this was Booker's project. Once he had a handle on where Elizabeth keeps things, she sat down. "Thank you for making dinner, Booker."

She takes a seat at the table and watches Booker set it, noticing Robert lurking at his door once Booker sets her plate down. It was a relief to see Booker attempting to get along with Robert though, one less thing for her to be worried about. "We both need to eat, Robert."

[ablankpage]

"I guess I could use a meal."

It's said in the same tone that Booker addressed him with, and there's even a faint hint of a smile on his features. Tired, battered, but there. He steps over to the table, half slumping into the chair. His body still feels heavy, his mind disrupted, but... But there's something to be said for this. For sitting at a table with people he knows, eating a meal. It's closer to 'normal' than any of them are used to since long enough ago.

He looks at Booker, the waiting food, and then. After a moment. "Thank you, DeWitt."

[amonglions]

Booker only grunts his acknowledgement of their thanks and went about following Elizabeth's path of drawers and collecting three of plates, glasses and forks and knives - whatever he could think of went on the table save spoons. At least...he didn't think you needed spoons to eat this. Did you?

Whatever, they'd cross that bridge when they came to it - it wasn't a damn warzone. It was dinner.

He busies himself by filling the glasses all with cold water and ignores the cruel voice in his mind that tells him he isn't this domestic so why pretend?

It's just dinner.

By the time he turns around from the finished table to glare at the oven - the meal looks ready enough to serve. So he blankets his hand in a towel and brings out the very overcooked meal.

"...It's not supposed to look like that," was all he could offer staring at it. The chicken's outside was blackened in some places while the meat looked dry and tight, the tomatoes shriveled and golden while the beans appeared almost untouched until you turned them over and saw the underside had been blackened like the chicken.

Food was food though.

[tearmeanewone]

Elizabeth smelled the telltale scent of burned something and shot Robert a pleading look. Booker was trying, and in Elizabeth's opinion that was all that mattered to her. Robert, on the other hand, would probably see it differently but the last thing they all needed was a fight. The last thing she needed was having to pull them apart again.

"It looks fine to me from here," she said, craning her neck trying to see. "At least you knew not to turn the oven all the way up so it would 'cook faster'."

Now that had been charcoal, plain and simple.

[ablankpage]

"It's food." The smell was obvious, and one look at it spoke volumes about how under-par it was going to be, but Robert didn't care. He wouldn't provide platitudes, but he wouldn't insult it either. After all, thinking about it, it... had probably been two or three days since he'd last eaten. Between his nightmares, hallucinations, and rediscovered difficulty in keeping track of time, he hadn't been great about feeding himself.

Once DeWitt set the food on the table, Robert focused on cutting himself off some of the chicken, taking a bit of tomato, and scooping some beans onto his plate. For him? Right now? It was good enough by far.

[amonglions]

Booker doesn't say anything to dispute their platitudes, but he certainly doesn't appear to agree with them about it. He was making the food, the least he could have done was keep it from burning. He clenches his jaw and just sits after serving himself and Elizabeth a portion.

They're all exhausted, all haunted by the resurgence of memories they didn't know they had and the remainders of the lives he and Elizabeth had cultivated. It was terrible, how accurately this "Shift" had cast them. He was only thankful that Elizabeth only blamed it on the course of events instead of the truth of the matter. He didn't want to be put in that role, not because it was any sort of burden on him, but because this was supposed to be Elizabeth's fresh start - not his. Booker felt that any kind of forced attachment to him was only going to either make Elizabeth feel guilty (or just more guilty), it was better if he just let the status quo be.

Despite all this inhibiting the general mood, this was probably the most peaceful he'd felt in years.

[tearmeanewone]

Elizabeth smiled and thanked Booker quietly when he served her portion. It looked worse up close, but it wasn't enough to deter her--not Elizabeth.

She started in on her food, finding that the chicken wasn't quite so dry if she ate it with a little tomato. And even if the beans were a little black they had more flavor. Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully as she chewed.

"So you're going to be making dinner every other night from now on, right?" she asked, grinning softly. Well, technically the only way Booker was going to learn was from repetition, right?

[ablankpage]

For his part, Robert picks at his food. Not so much because of the quality, no. That didn't help, true, but it was more out a simple lack of will to eat. Left to himself, he probably would't have thought to touch the food after the initial bite, but the presence of DeWitt and Elizabeth made him continue eating.

It would only be a few more days. He promised himself that, even though he had no way of knowing when his mind would be at ease again. He swore that before the week was out, he'd be at work on his project. He'd be able to start work on finding the Lutece Field again, recreating the Tear, and searching for Rosalind.

But right now... All he could do was eat a little, bit by bit, and try to ignore the exhaustion still coursing through him.

[amonglions]

Booker eyes Elizabeth with a bit of hesitation; completely unsure if she actually meant that before seeing her grin and smirking around a fork.

It's probably the most varied expression he can manage after their lives were topsy turvy'd and he was smiling a lot more because of it. His cheeks still hurt.

"If you're looking to put more charcoal in your diet I can do that."

He could still make jokes though, so perhaps it wasn't all bad.

[tearmeanewone]

Elizabeth laughed, not her usually enthusiastic and bright laugh, but it was a start. Mostly she was glad Booker was in a mood to joke, it meant things weren't completely awkward between the former-family-members. Though Robert looked like he had been pulled through a keyhole three times.

She watched Robert eat for a little bit, letting her own plate alone for a while and smiling encouragingly at him. It was good to see him eat at least, and the next few moments passed with only the sound of cutlery on plates.

"It seemed like a lot of the relationships people had with one another last week were all rooted in something true," she said, cutting into her chicken. "I'm glad I have you both, even as we are now."

[ablankpage]

"Well, we've been through a lot together, this little... collection of ours." Easier to say that than to actually deal with the underlying truth of... everything.

He glanced up then, as if hearing something and turned his head before shaking it a little. No. No, that wasn't Rosalind. He sighed softly and went back to eating.

ignore this if you wanna

[amonglions]

Booker feels a flash of ... fear? panic? hope? He doesn't know nor can he say, when Elizabeth speaks her mind. It takes some control not to just say anything. She's so close to the truth of things and it feels wrong to let her think otherwise - it feels like lying and he told her he'd never do that to her.

Not on purpose at least...

He takes his damn sweet time eating just then - if only to keep his mouth shut.

Robert's movement grabs his attention though; anything to avoid Elizabeth's line of thinking despite the fact that he knows he should tell her the same, that he should at least reassure her of that but with what had happened to Robert. With the evidence of his time in the asylum still so very strong - Booker has been paying a little extra attention to the man.

He'd ask if Robert was feeling alright but he knows the response as surely as if it were being asked of him.

"Yeah, well we're just fine now." He says stubbornly. Booker doesn't like when things are anything but just fine. Things haven't been for a long time though, so he's gotten better at telling himself that they were. Conviction was key.