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Elizabeth rested her hand on Jack’s shoulder, but all she could think of was getting him home. “You’re right, Jack. No one can own you, and we’ll keep it that way.”
Booker stepped up to join them. “Well, that’s the point, Elizabeth,” he teased.
“So you’ll do anything to make it work? Oh, that’s perfect!” Taking her hand off Jack’s shoulder, Elizabeth turned to smirk at Booker. She hadn’t even explained her plan and he already had a grimace creeping onto his face. “You know Cohen will fixate on us if we dance to the music.”
“Dammit, Elizabeth,” Booker groaned.
Jack chuckled, hiding the lower half of his face behind his hand and his eyes lit up behind the bunny mask.
“Well, it will work,” she answered, smiling and moving towards the storage room door leading back to the main area of Cohen’s apartment. Grumbling, Booker followed her out.
Jack waited to give them the head start, and Cohen greeted them with a broad, sweeping wave and bow when they returned. “Sweet Songbird, you return! Have you changed your mind from the guitar?”
“Oh yes, it’s all this glorious music!” She exclaimed, taking Booker’s hand and leading him past the piano deeper into the apartment… Leading Cohen and Fitzpatrick to turn away from the exit. “You’ve inspired my muse to dance, we simply must! You do understand, don’t you?”
He erupted into cascading laughter, tapping Fitzpatrick on the shoulder. His words washed over her as they danced, Booker almost relaxing as he guided her through the steps.
In the front of the apartment, she saw Jack’s white ears vanish into the hallway as the door whispered shut behind him.
• • • • •
• • • • •
Tenenbaum struggled to buy clothes for Jack out in Rapture, since she could not take him along. This button down shirt, those slacks, a sweater, something to sleep in, so many aspects to consider… He would grow like a weed anyway.
But imagine her surprise when she got back to the Sanctuary, and the little ones reported that Jack had gone after the grumpy man and pretty lady.
They went off to play and Tenenbaum settled into a chair where she could see Jack the moment he returned. A bottle of Red Ribbon brandy kept her company in her watch.
A little one let him in. Her footsteps echoed and his arrival was barely audible in her reminders to hurry. Jack was at the top of the stairs, fingers deftly undoing his vest buttons when he finally saw her there and froze.
“Oh, uh. Tenenbaum, I…” He bit his lip for only a moment before he gathered himself to stand firmly before her. “I’m sorry.”
What do you want to do, Tenenbaum?
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