week 8 | monday morning (super early)

[baptizer]

[ Elizabeth doesn't think Jason needs to know why she left his room. It was... PG 13, okay. Nothing happened, but she definitely requested to stay in his room after a few nightmares plagued her. He was one of the few people she could trust and after his last adventure? She's keeping an eye on him when he can't.

HA.

Anyway.

Elizabeth had foregone her pajamas, dressed more for the rest of the day. She's stealthy, waiting for anyone who passes her to go on. She's by Jack's room, a sturdy knock without announcing herself.

It had to still be odd. She looked older - tormented by her own guilt with her hair cut short and skin more exposed. This wasn't the little girl he had saw so much "potential" in. ]

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[baptizer]

[ The infinite possibilities Elizabeth had inside of her, bottled like lightning ready to crack the glass, is what made her a target. She's not sure why - was she like Angel? Harmful to the general populace? Was she a subject to be studied? Was she ... did Comstock ever love her? These questions will never be answered and if she's to die on this ship, she will at least have one: to stop Jack if need be.

She thinks of the way he looked at her when they programmed - how those chocolate strands of hair tucked out of her face as she was so focused on learning more about him. Their moments were shared with both care, frustration, interest and ... she's never had that before.

The thought of it was complex. The feeling of her frustrations for not... being able to help him with Angel sooner - before this entire alien mess - Elizabeth cared about Jack. She put faith and trust into him in the same way she put it in Booker. Elizabeth was sickeningly aware what that meant, what putting herself out there can do. She could make friends who could use that against her. It's life or death - concepts that Elizabeth never had to face. 18 years and it was freedom or the cage. So, the youthful trust she put in Jack once was obvious.

Elizabeth's breath is heavy, a few moments of intensity and she was winded. Her fingers reach up, lightly tapping above her lip to feel the trickle of blood. It was nothing compared, she hears, to the explosion that occurred when she transformed. When that creature moved her around like a puppet.

With the tear gone, Elizabeth sits still - prim and proper like a lady. Like a girl who was in trouble. Truthfully? She is. This course of action - confronting him and conspiring so transparently in front of him. ]

At least I'm not stabbing you in the back if the time comes.