#biofluff 2022

Delta glances toward him, then stands up from his work and starts making his way over to the bag of topsoil. He stoops to pick it up and carries it back to Sinclair, cradles it in one arm to free up a hand and points to a logo on the bag, presumably belonging to the company or store; it’s of three roses bunched up together from a birdseye view, encircled by their own conjoined stems. Delta then points down at the lawn.

“Hm?” Sinclair peers at the logo. “Oh.” He shrugs with a smile. “Well, I don’t see why not. They’re not the kind o’ flower that used to grow back here, but they’ll do jus’ fine in prettyin’ up the place. It’s your call this time, chief - as I said before,” he gestures to himself, “mi casa,” he gestures to Delta, “es tu casa. Ain’t just my yard anymore, is it? Our yard now.”

Delta lets out a delighted warble, his shoulders lifting to form body language that just screams excitement, and he must be slightly overwhelmed by his own emotions because he suddenly reaches out and wraps an arm around Sinclair, pulling him into a hug.

Sinclair is moved so quickly that he loses his footing, and the only reason he doesn’t fall face-first to the recently-cleaned yard is due to being pressed up against the brick wall that is Delta’s torso.

He lets out a choked “Oof!” as he hits it, the side of his face all squished up against Delta’s sternum, and then he chuckles and slips a hand between them.

“As always, I’m happy that you’re happy, chief, but, uh, let’s hold off on squeezin’ the stuffin’ outta me, huh?”

Delta jolts and reminds himself of his own strength, then eases up the hug, staring down at Augustus with a no doubt worried gaze, but his worries are relieved when Sinclair just smiles and leans his head against Delta’s chest more comfortably, patting it twice to tell him it’s okay.

From where she sits, Eleanor smiles.

She hadn’t been sure about Augustus when Tenenbaum had first mentioned she would get him to escort Delta down to Persephone - she’d heard about him from Aunt Grace, Stanley and Mother, and knew he wasn’t the trustworthy sort, more of the selfish kind - but watching him through Father’s eyes started to change her mind, and seeing them interact outside of Rapture does so even more. He makes Father happy and safe at least, and that’s all she can really ask of him.

She gives a soft chortle, then looks to the radio as the song that had been playing finally slows to an end, and she listens for what the announcer pair have to say next - which turns out to be the weather, something that Eleanor finds an apparently-odd amount of joy in listening to. But she does find it so interesting, how people just…find out what weather there will be tomorrow, when they tell her there will be rain - and then there is!

“And here’s something important, folks,” the man says, “we’re gettin’ reports of a tornado watch being put out, for the following counties to take note of -”

Eleanor turns her head to look at her pair of guardians. “Augustus! Father!”

Sinclair pulls away from Delta like he’d forgotten she was there, looking over at her wide-eyed, and Delta lets out a soft hum of curiosity to let her know she has his attention.

She ushers them over and they join her just as she hears the man say “Morgan County,” - which is the very county their dear Madison is head of.

“What was that about?” Sinclair asks, frowning at the radio.

Eleanor looks up at him, her turn to stare wide-eyed. “They…said that there’s to be a tornado watch.”

“Oh.” Sinclair’s frown lets up and he lifts his eyebrows. “Well, then.”

“What does that mean?” Eleanor asks, feeling her stomach flip.

Sinclair nods to the radio. “What that means, sweetie pie, is that that nice man there is informin’ us that a tornado could be on the way.”

Eleanor swears, she can feel her face pale.

She recalls seeing them in Amir’s book about the surface: the giant, swirling tubes of wind and clouds that people are supposed to seek shelter from because tornadoes do nothing but destroy everything around them.

Wind has been something Eleanor’s become completely fascinated with since they’d gotten out of Rapture; she’d happily stood outside on a windy day, laughing as her hair and the collar of her blouse had been blown about and her skirt had been flung around her knees, despite the chill the wind had brought with it. She remembers being little, down in Rapture, thinking about what wind must have felt like, but despite her urge to feel it, she’d had no such wishes with natural disasters. She’d understood as soon as she’d seen the image in Amir’s book that they weren’t safe, they weren’t something she should look forward to - in fact, they were something she should fear.

And by God, she does.

“If that’s the case, then…then we should evacuate, shouldn’t we?” Eleanor asks, already rearing to stand and run to wherever Augustus directs her.

“No, no,” Sinclair nonchalantly scratches his chin, looking up at the sky, “not yet. It’s still a bright day out,” he holds out a hand, “and I ain’t feelin’ a single drop comin’ from the sky. Mm - watches are only called out for when the weather’s right for a tornado to form.” He waves a hand casually. “But we’ve had watches in the past where nothin’ happened at all, so I wouldn’t go frettin’ about anythin’ just yet.”

“Yet…” Eleanor mutters, staring into space.

He must miss her tone because he hums, still nonchalant, then casts his gaze elsewhere.

“That bein’ said - might not be a bad idea to go an’ check the shelter’s still standin’ tall an’ strong. Reckon it’d be best to go and do that right now.”

He starts making his way to the other side of the house, where the cellar doors are.

Delta stoops to place the bag of topsoil down on the porch beside Eleanor, then calls out a note of whalesong to let Sinclair know he’ll come with him to help, and Sinclair thanks him as they walk together.

Eleanor watches them go, then turns to look at the pile of weeds and blades of dead grass in the wheelbarrow as a gust of wind blows through the air, making her hair tickle her chin and the short sleeves of her blouse shuffle about on her arms, her skirt brushing the side of her leg. It captures a few strands of grass and weeds and sends them floating back onto the lawn her father had ripped them from.

Such a thing would usually make her smile, but now - she brings her knees to her chest and hugs them as she hides her chin against them, staring worriedly as the wind continues to blow.

…

The morning has faded into the afternoon and the afternoon into evening, and the entire time, Eleanor has kept glancing at the sky and watching the wind, even after Augustus and Father had decided they were finished with their work for today; she didn’t watch them put down that topsoil, since her nerves had gotten to her when another soft gust of wind had blown some of the dead grass from the wheelbarrow, and she’d nervously asked Sinclair if they were finished now - ‘just curious’, of course, and not at all because she didn’t want them or herself to be out here anymore, where it wasn’t safe.

When Sinclair had oh-so casually said no, they’d be layering the soil on now, and he’d purchase for Delta the needed supplies to grow roses tomorrow, Eleanor had caved and gone inside, leaving the radio outside so Sinclair and Delta could hear when the radio people told them a tornado was coming and they could die.

She’d situated herself with a book to try and get her mind off things, but she’d found herself easily looking up, toward the windows, every few minutes, watching nervously as one of the trees just outside their fence swayed in the wind - and her blood had turned to ice when she noticed the drops of rain hitting the window.

Sinclair and Delta had apparently gotten to finish their yardwork before the rain got heavier and the sky started to darken (and is it dark because it’s the evening, or is it dark because of a tornado? She’s still learning these things), and now they’re here with her. Sinclair is doing a crossword in the newspaper on the couch beside her and Delta is seated on the floor (he can’t sit with them on the couch; his suit’s too heavy for Sinclair’s furniture…as they’ve already discovered with one of the poor beds upstairs), doing a jigsaw puzzle that is technically for children (it’d been the only kind that had pieces big enough for his hands).

Eleanor is white-knuckling the book in her hands as she watches the rain outside. She feels sick to her stomach - isn’t rain something that happens during tornadoes? Sinclair had said that, hadn’t he? That it wasn’t raining earlier so they didn’t have to worry about tornadoes?

Well, it’s raining now, so why isn’t he worried? He’s just sitting there, tapping a pen against his cheek as he ponders a crossword puzzle. Why isn’t he concerned about this?

Eleanor looks back down at her book and realises she has no idea what’s happening in the story or where she even left off, so it’s no longer a worthy attempt at a distraction. She shuts it without even marking her page and instead hurriedly turns the television on and finds something that will distract her.

There’s an episode of a show Eleanor enjoys - Doctor Who, it’s called - and she settles on that; she missed the beginning, but she finds she doesn’t mind all that much.

As she fixes her gaze on it, Eleanor squeezes fistfuls of the leather of Sinclair’s couch, slick beneath her sweaty palms. She tries desperately to keep her attention on the TV, like Delta is now doing (he’s found television as fascinating as she has, and even Sinclair had been surprised to find people on the surface had figured out how to make televisions broadcast in colour), but the television is unfortunately situated right in front of one of the tall windows in the living room, so her eyes keep sliding to check the skies for plumes of wind.

Stop looking, she tells herself as she looks at the TV, with the TARDIS and the Doctor and everything she likes about this show, stop looking, Augustus will tell you when it isn’t safe.

They’re a good fifteen minutes or so into the episode when the audio cuts out, the Doctor’s talking replaced by a monotone beep, and then he disappears from the screen and instead, the television projects a blue background, with text that makes her blood go cold all over again.

TORNADO WARNING is the first thing she sees.

“What’s happening to the screen?” Eleanor asks, even though it’s a silly question when the answer is right in front of her, when she knows what this means.

“Yer better off askin’ somebody else,” Sinclair says, with an almost sarcastic chortle, not looking up from his newspaper as he writes an answer into his crossword. “Now, I know you’re taken with this particular program, honey, but I just find it crazier than a box o’ frogs.”

Delta grunts to say no and he reaches over, tapping at Sinclair’s leg.

“Hm?” Sinclair looks at him, then to the screen. When he sees it, he removes his glasses and frowns.

“The National Weather Service,” says a man’s voice, as monotone as the beep, “has issued a tornado warning for the following counties -”

“Huh,” Sinclair says, and he waits until they hear Morgan County before he bobs his head, eyebrows raised. “Well…that’s not good, is it?”

“Why? Why isn’t it good?” Eleanor asks; again, she doesn’t need to, but Sinclair is the expert here. Neither she nor Father have experienced storms (if Father has - before he was a Big Daddy - then he doesn’t remember them).

Sinclair nods slowly to himself, robotically setting his folded newspaper down beside him and placing the pen on top.

“That, honey, that’s a sign that we should start considerin’ the idea of movin’ down into the shelter.”

“Then…Then there is a tornado coming?” Eleanor continues with the obvious questions.

“Most probably. Lettin’ out a warnin’ means they’ve spotted one.” He scratches his chin and looks curiously at the TV. “Only hope is that this is the first one they’ve let out, and they haven’t jus’ been throwin’ their concerns into the wind, as it were.”

Eleanor eyes widen as a shot of guilt hurts her heart; why had she bothered with the book to distract her? Why hadn’t she gone straight for the television? She would’ve known sooner that something was -

A siren blares from outside, echoing through town, and she doesn’t need to ask anymore silly questions to know what it means, especially not when Sinclair and Delta whip around to look outside, and Sinclair’s eyes have widened.

“And that right there,” Sinclair says quickly, standing up from the couch, “that’s our ticket to move. C’mon, c’mon! Everybody, up!”

Eleanor’s breath immediately picks up, her heart pounding against her ribs; the last time she felt panic this quickly was when she’d realised Mother was going to try and drown them with Persephone’s explosives, and she finds herself rooted to the spot as Sinclair and Delta move around her, momentarily blocking her view of the TV with its blue screen and TORNADO WARNING still splayed out -

There comes a shout of whalesong and her arm is captured in Delta’s hand, and Eleanor gasps and looks up at him as he tugs as gently but as urgently as he can to coax her into getting up.

“Eleanor! C’mon, now!” Sinclair calls from the dining room behind them, stopped on his way to the basement.

Eleanor does as she’s told and quickly gets up, looking back at their belongings - Sinclair’s newspaper and pen, Delta’s puzzle, and the television remote she’d tossed aside - and she lets Delta lead her into following Sinclair to the back of the house, near the glass doors to the garden, to the door leading to the basement.

Sinclair reaches it first and opens it and he and Delta usher for Eleanor to go first; she again does as she’s told and passes by them.

When Delta approaches, he freezes, looks at the size of the doorway, then motions to Sinclair to go ahead; when Sinclair looks afraid, he hastily rectifies it with hand gestures that he’s going to go around, to the other doors outside, where he’ll fit better, and not to worry because he’ll be quick.

Sinclair nods and Delta rushes to carry out his plan.

From where she stands midway down the stairs, Eleanor sees Delta go and immediately calls out, panicked, “Father! Father, what’re you doing?!”

“Ah - he’s just goin’ around to the other side,” Sinclair replies as he slips in and slams the door shut, fingers shaking slightly as he hurries to lock the door - latch, key and all. “It’d take longer for him to try an’ squeeze through this doorway, he fits better goin’ through the other entrance.”

Right on cue, the metal doors that point to the sky are flung open, and Eleanor hurries down the stairs in time to turn the corner and see Delta come barreling down his own short set of stairs and turning to slam the doors shut behind him.

Though it does barely anything to lift the weight from her chest, Eleanor breathes a sigh of relief, and Sinclair runs by her to help Delta pull the latches across the doors to lock them tight. With the closing of those doors, the basement goes dark, and Delta’s helmet lights up.

The two step back from their work, Sinclair panting lightly and Delta observing the doors with a locked-up, nervous air about him, as the rain pelts against the metal, making Eleanor’s brow furrow worriedly.

“Well,” Sinclair says in the silence, “drama’s over with - it looks like we’re gonna be spendin’ a minute down here. Go ahead an’ point your lamp this way, chief - I’ll get the lights. There’s a switch somewhere around here…”

Wiping rain droplets from his porthole, Delta does as he’s told and turns to face Sinclair, who moves over to the opposite wall to locate the switch.

There comes a click and the lights come on, and it’s only a minor comfort for Eleanor, who’s fixated on the sounds of the storm outside, still standing in the middle of the room and staring at the locked cellar doors.

“There, now. That’s better,” Sinclair says.

He turns to go over to the cupboard on the far side of the room, passing by the cleaned-out wheelbarrow he and Delta had been using earlier and kneeling to open one of the cupboard’s doors.

“Alrighty - I packed up some things down here that’ll help pass the time until that storm blows over.” He stands back up to show them the small pile of flat boxes he’s got. “We got board games, some word puzzles - collected a couple of your jigsaw puzzles, kid. Anyone got a…preference?”

Eleanor barely hears Sinclair talk; she’s looking up at the ceiling, listening as the rain pelts down outside, and another shot of ice goes through her veins when she hears the rumble of thunder.

She’s already experienced one thunderstorm since coming to the surface, and ironically, she’d anxiously asked Sinclair if that meant a tornado was coming because the two examples of bad weather had fused together in her mind and she hadn’t known they’d get a warning about the latter. She remembers Sinclair chuckling like she was silly and assuring her no, it just meant they were gonna be having some bad weather.

Well - this is certainly ‘bad weather’. The storm has gotten worse, she can hear it; the rain hits harder against the doors, the wind gets louder, the thunder draws closer.

(And that means the tornado’s getting nearer to them, doesn’t it? That means…That means it’s going to hit them, and the house will be destroyed, and they could end up -)

“Eleanor?”

She feels a poke to her arm.

“Hm?” She looks at Sinclair, then at Delta, whose finger still hovers over where he’d poked her bicep.

Delta lets out a curious little noise as Sinclair motions to the pile of boxes in his hands.

“You got anythin’ in mind you wanna do?” Sinclair asks.

Not be in the middle of a tornado.

“Oh. Um.” Eleanor blinks once, she hadn’t even been listening to any of the options. “Anything is…fine - Um. Did you…say you have Trouble?”

Sinclair bobs his head once in approval and slides the chosen game from the middle of the pile, carefully balancing the rest on his arm as he turns to kneel back down.

“Trouble, then,” he says.

He puts the rest of the games back, then shuts the cupboard and brings the Trouble board game over to the opposite side of the room, where he motions for them to join him.

With another worried glance at the ceiling, Eleanor follows them over to the wall, where they sit, Eleanor with her back to the brick and her knees drawn up, Sinclair to her left and Delta to her right, with one leg stretched out and the other bent to avoid Eleanor’s personal bubble.

(Are they safest here? Is that why Sinclair had them move here? Is this safe?)

Crossing his legs to get comfortable, Sinclair slides the box’s lid off and brings out the board, setting it down in the middle of them.

“Got a preference for colour?” Sinclair asks.

“Huh? Oh.” Eleanor looks down at the board, then directs her gaze to the metal doors as she replies, “Yellow is fine.”

“Mm-hm. And what about you, chief?”

Delta points out the blue pegs, so Sinclair nods and turns the board so the yellow pieces are in front of Eleanor, the blue are in front of Delta, and the green are in front of himself.

“I’ll go on ahead an’ be green, then,” he says, then gestures to Eleanor. “Ladies first - we go ‘round clockwise, so that’ll mean I’ll be next, then you, pumpkin pie.”

Delta grunts in the affirmative and Eleanor gives a half-hearted, tiny hum of agreement.

(She can just picture it now: the giant tower of wind invading the town, ripping apart everything in its wake, tearing roofs off buildings and sending glass flying…All the people she’s met since they arrived, the workers in the shops they’ve gone to…In the grocery store, with all the new food Eleanor had wanted to try and bring home for Father to try, and the boutique, where that kind lady had helped her find nice clothes because Augustus had had no idea what he was doing in the women’s section…the gardening store where the patient man had answered Eleanor’s questions about sunlight and bumblebees -)

“Eleanor?”

Eleanor looks to Sinclair.

“You’re goin’ first,” he says, raising an eyebrow with a small, awkward chuckle. “Can’t leave the startin’ line until you do. You alright, honey?”

Delta lets out another curious noise as he sets a hand on Eleanor’s shoulder, leaning forward to question her.

Eleanor forces a smile as she nods; a part of her wants to tell them - especially Father - how frightened she is, but there’re memories creeping in the back of her mind, memories of being small and scared of the dark, of asking Mother to check under her bed, of Mother telling her she was better than this. She’d been worried about the dark when living with Aunt Grace as well, but by then, she’d learned not to tell adults she was afraid.

And obviously, there’s nothing to be scared of here because Augustus isn’t scared - he’s happily sitting there, playing a goddamn board game like there isn’t a death spiral on its way, and he knows about these things. So, if Augustus isn’t scared, then she has no reason to be either.

“Of course,” she says. “I’m perfectly fine.”

She leans forward to press down on the plastic popper in the middle of the board, making the die inside jump and roll to a new number. She gets a six, and Sinclair gives a long, impressed whistle.

“Lady Luck appears to be on your side already, so it seems,” he says as Eleanor picks up one of her pegs and places it on the left side of the first two open places in front of her home base. “Probably get that from your daddy, he’s always unfathomably lucky the first few turns, so says our card games back on the train.”

Delta shrugs.

Eleanor goes to hit the popper again, only to jump and suck in a breath when a shot of thunder cuts through the sounds of pelting rain. She swallows back the jolt of panic going through her, taking a moment to try and calm the pounding of her heart, then she hits the popper and gets a three.

She moves her piece accordingly, then looks to the metal doors and places her hands down on the floor either side of her as Sinclair takes his turn and fails to get a six and then looks up to ask Delta if he’d like Sinclair to handle his turns for him, to avoid damaging the popper or the pegs by accident.

Her fingers curl against the wooden floor, dragging her nails across the boards, as she watches the metal doors, and she swears she sees them shake -

(There’s no way the tornado hasn’t hit Madison by now, just listen to the weather howl out there. Any time now, she knows it, they’re going to hear the crashing of buildings being destroyed, of cars being flung - Augustus left his car outside, should they have moved it? He loves that car, shouldn’t they have tried to protect it or something? She doesn’t know. He keeps a sheet tied over it to protect it from damages, but that won’t do anything if the tornado picks it up and flings it - shouldn’t they have done something else? And if it’s flung, then…then will it hit the house? Hell, if the tornado’s close enough to throw Sinclair’s car, it’s close enough to hit the house itself, and they might be -)

It’s her turn again, and she has to take her eyes off the doors to hit the popper and roll a one, and she moves her piece before Sinclair tries for a six and fails again.

He rolls for Delta and sighs as he moves one of Delta’s pegs out of home base for him.

“Well,” Sinclair says, all fake-grumpy as he hits the popper. “Seems like I’m the only one around here who Lady Luck’s decided not to lean upon.”

Delta gets a four, and Sinclair moves his piece for him, and Delta leans over and pats Sinclair’s knee.

“Oh, now, don’t you play the sympathetic silver medal, chief,” Sinclair says. “‘Nother thing I recall from our games o’ War and Old Maid is that you, sir, enjoy the art of winnin’ a little too much.”

Betraying his own smugness, Delta’s shoulders lift happily, and Sinclair scoffs.

“Well. Young Eleanor’s still on the board with ya, so you go ahead an’ put those shoulders down.”

Eleanor looks at him when she hears her name and forces a wide smile and a hum of amusement -

(The car will come flying any minute now, soaring through the rain -)

She takes her turn, gets a four, and moves her piece to one over from Sinclair’s home base.

Sinclair gives a snide chuckle. “Better keep your eye on that piece o’ yours, honey, cause I might be just about to snatch it up.”

He hits the popper.

“Or not,” he says lamely, frowning at the three that comes up.

Delta chortles, and Sinclair directs that frown his way, making a show of narrowing his eyes at him for the sake of the joke.

“Oh, hush, now. Your turn.”

(If the tornado hits the house, it will be destroyed, won’t it? This beautiful house Augustus has owned for years, wrecked in seconds. And if it hits the house, will they be safe here? They can’t be, surely; if the tornado’s strong enough to destroy the house, to destroy the town - the boutique, the crafts store, the grocery store -)

The pop of plastic under Sinclair’s hand makes Eleanor give a small jump and look down at the board to find him moving Delta’s piece five places.

Eleanor robotically takes her turn and gets a two, which takes her further away from the danger of getting caught by Sinclair’s piece leaving home base. She goes back to staring at the doors, hugging her knees again and digging her fingers into her own leg.

Sinclair leans over and hits the popper for his own turn, then lets out a triumphant laugh as he finally gets that six. He moves one of his green pegs out of home base, then takes his second roll and gets a one, to which he shrugs and casually moves his peg.

And then comes Delta’s turn, which turns up another six, and Delta and Sinclair exchange a look as they realise where that first peg will land.

“Now - Now, pumpkin pie, darlin’, sugarplum,” Sinclair says, holding out a calming hand, “let’s think about who you’re gonna hurt if you move that first piece o’ yours. You can always fetch another one o’ your soldiers from the barracks.”

Delta makes a show of rubbing the bottom of his porthole with a curled finger, where his chin should be, as he thinks about it, then he relents, shrugs and gestures for Sinclair to get another one of his pieces out.

To continue the joke, Sinclair wipes his hand across his forehead and gets one of Delta’s pegs out of home base for him, and then he hits the popper for Delta’s second roll - and comes up with another six.

Delta immediately belts out a laugh and Sinclair’s face falls; Eleanor looks away from the doors at the sound of her father’s delight and looks down at the board.

“Uh - well, the…obvious move now is, ah, you’re gonna wanna move your, uh, new soldier on his way, so let’s just, uh…” Sinclair says, reaching for the peg that had just escaped Delta’s home base.

Delta holds up a finger to stop him, lets out a few rhythmic hums in a mimicry of the classic “Ah, ah, ahh,” then wags that finger and gestures to the other blue peg.

“You wanna move that one?” Sinclair ask, incredulous, then perks up a little as he plucks Delta’s first peg from the board. “Oh, well, look at that, sport - turns out, you actually went an’ rolled a five this turn, so - accordin’ to some basic math and the rules of the game - you move right here.”

He moves it to the spot next to his lone green peg.

Delta lets out a long groan, defiant, and holds up six fingers.

“Uh, no, see, pumpkin - much as I hate to say these words - that’s where you’re wrong.” Sinclair puts his glasses on and peers at the die. “That’s definitely a five right there. Eleanor, you see a five, don’tcha?”

For even a moment, Eleanor’s mind is taken from the storm outside and she looks at him with a sheepish smile, refusing to answer, with an apology in her stare and her furrowed brow.

Delta lets out a growl and points down at the board to tell Sinclair to play it properly.

“Ahh, fine. You got me,” Sinclair says grumpily as he pulls off his glasses, picks up Delta’s piece, then snatches up his own piece and puts it back in his home base. He places Delta’s peg down where his had been.

Delta gives a satisfied grunt.

“Personally, I can’t believe you’d go an’ treat your sweetheart in such a fashion,” Sinclair mutters, tilting his head away to point his nose in the air, all fake-offended. “Where’s that kindness that won me over in the first place, huh?”

Delta gives a dragged-out rumble and reaches over to give Sinclair’s leg a little push to tell him not to be silly.

“It’s fine, I guess.” Sinclair looks to Eleanor. “Eleanor can avenge me.”

Eleanor gives a soft laugh, genuinely amused - and then crash goes the thunder, the rain keeps pelting down on the doors, and Eleanor is back out of her comfort zone -

(- then a couple of metal doors won’t be a match for it. It’ll…get in here and they’ll be…sucked up into it…And she remembers Amir’s book, telling her…how many people die to these things a year…)

Another nudge to her arm.

“Your turn, honey,” Sinclair says with a smile.

She forces a smile back and hits the popper, then moves her piece three spaces.

Sinclair rolls for his own turn -

(Nobody survives a tornado, right? What had the book said? She doesn’t remember. Is it possible to survive? No. No, she doesn’t think so. She doesn’t remember what the book had said, but she doesn’t think so. How can someone survive one of those things? They can’t -)

Crash goes the thunder, the rain pelts down, the wind howls -

“Well…I’m just gonna go ahead an’ come out an’ say it,” Sinclair says bluntly.

Eleanor looks at him wide-eyed, expecting him to announce they aren’t safe here anymore, the storm is going to come and they’re going to be whisked away -

“But I’m startin’ to theorise that you’re cheatin’, sport.” He stares down at the six on the die, then jabs a finger Delta’s way, barely hiding his smirk as he amuses himself. “I know I recognised your tendency ta be lucky in these games, but that luck’s gotta run out. I reckon that you’ve been sneakin’ a use of Telekinesis on this board, now, haven’t you?”

Delta waves a hand to bat away Sinclair’s accusations, then holds up his hands to show he’s not doing anything.

“Hmmmm - if you say so.” Sinclair relents, hand hovering over the board as he awaits Delta’s choice in which piece to move. “But I’ve got an eye on you, chief.”

Eleanor stares hard at Sinclair. Why isn’t he afraid? Isn’t he listening to what’s going on out there? It’s been at least twenty years since he moved to Rapture - in that time, hasn’t he…forgotten anything about living on the surface? Acquired any fears about things that should be normal up here?

(If the tornado is strong enough to pick up houses and cars, then…it can pick up Father, can’t it? He’s heavy enough to break a bed, but…but the tornado’s stronger than that, so it could pick him up. So if those doors don’t hold, if they fly open, then Father could be dragged out. And if he can get sucked up, then no doubt Augustus can too. And she weighs less than both of them, so she’ll go right with them. How long do these things take to go by? How long do they need to survive down here? When can she officially say they’re in the clear? Where is the time limit? She just wants this to end -)

“Eleanor?” Sinclair says, raising an eyebrow as he notices her staring at him. He checks over his shoulder in case she’s actually looking at something over there, then turns back. “You alright?”

Eleanor looks at him, sucks in a breath through her nose as she replies shortly, “Yes,” and then pushes the popper, then reaches out to move her peg the one space she earned -

A crash of lightning, the room goes black - Eleanor and Delta let out a gasp each, and Eleanor pushes her fingertips into the floor on either side of her as if she assumed the floor would disappear along with the light, her heart leaping into her throat.

Delta’s helmet lights come on and Sinclair gets up from the floor.

“I thought this might happen. Luckily, I packed some flashlights down here. Chief, gimme a hand, would ya?”

Delta gets up to position his lights where Sinclair needs them, while Eleanor desperately tries to keep herself from hyperventilating, feeling the backs of her eyes start to sting.

(This is it, isn’t it? This is it. The tornado’s close enough to cut the power, the house will be next -)

Her fingertips hurt from how hard she pushes them into the floorboards, trying to find some stability, to help her stay calm, as her lip quivers and tears blur her vision -

(- and then them, and she doesn’t want Father to die, she doesn’t want Augustus to die, she doesn’t want to die -)

“There we are,” Sinclair says, wandering back over, shining a torch over Eleanor’s head to avoid blinding her.

It’s still dark enough that Delta’s helmet lights remain on (and those lights are momentarily pointed toward the cellar doors as Delta takes a moment to watch them), even as he and Sinclair set about switching on the four torches they return with; Eleanor’s fingers curl into fists, palms wet with sweat as she breathes deep through her nose, and her tears begin to spill.

(She swears, she sees the door shake, so they’re about to burst open, this is it, this is it -)

They position the torches down so they can still see the game board, then Sinclair’s saying it’s still her -

(This is it, this is it, this is it, this is it -)

“Eleanor?”

(This is it, this is it, this is it, this is it -)

“Eleanor. Honey, what’s wrong?”

(This is it, this is it, this is it, this is it -)

There comes quick movement from her right as Delta shifts forward, towards her, and his large hand cups the back of her head as he rumbles to her, trying to ask what’s wrong, and Sinclair is staring at her, brow furrowed, and the dam finally bursts -

(This is it -)

Eleanor shakes her head fervently.

“No, no - I’m not okay! I want this to be over…!” Eleanor exclaims, then slaps her hands over her ears and ducks down against her knees. “I-I-I lied - I-I…I’m scared!”

Immediately, Delta’s arms are flung around her; he moves her as gently but as quickly as he can, sliding her across the floor to bring her to him, to situate her between his legs so he can hold her against his chest in a protective embrace.

She turns her head to hide her face in his chest, squeezing her eyes shut and holding onto him for dear life as one of his hands passes over her hair, stroking it as he warbles quietly to soothe her.

“Oh,” Sinclair says, unsure of what to say or do in this situation; he looks from Delta to her and back again, then awkwardly gets to his knees as he moves a little closer. “Oh - Uh - N-Now, it’s okay, honey, it’s alright. You’re gonna be just fine, you’ll see.”

Eleanor’s face scrunches up as she resists the urge to cry anymore, desperately hiding her face in Delta’s chest.

“That storm outside, it’s nothin’ compared to others we’ve had in the past! Just a little one, I swear it,” Sinclair adds.

Eleanor adamantly shakes her head; there are no little ones, all tornadoes are dangerous, she knows that, she knows that (she thinks), he’s just saying that so she’ll stop being silly.

As if it heard him, the weather decides to throw more at them - literally, as the wind howls and there comes clattering against the metal doors, close enough to their safe haven that Eleanor gasps and tucks her face against the curved front of Delta’s helmet, feeling the cool metal against her forehead as she tries to stop listening to the sounds outside, and Delta apparently tries to help her as he lets out another soft note of whalesong.

“Now, that wasn’t anythin’ to panic over,” Sinclair says quickly as he moves closer on his knees, hovering a hand close to his lap as he hesitates to touch her and invade she and Delta’s hug.

The weather must really hate him, because it proceeds to fight back against his claims once again.

Lightning strikes somewhere outside and there comes a crash of something falling down nearby, and in a moment of panic, Eleanor throws her arm back, out of Delta’s embrace -

“Honey -” Sinclair says, only to pause and look down.

Because Eleanor has grabbed his hand.

She’s wrapped her fingers around three of his and he can feel her hand shaking, but even as it quakes, she refuses to loosen her tight hold on him.

Sinclair stares for a moment, then looks to Eleanor’s face; she’s peeking at him from behind her hair, over her shoulder. He can see the fear in her eyes, the worry and concern; she’s not just scared for herself. He should’ve known - her grasp on his hand tightens, as though she thinks he’ll leave or that…something will happen to him. As though…it’s not just Delta’s reassurance that she wants.

He’s given pause; God knows, he does sometimes feel like a third wheel under his own roof, what with Delta and Eleanor’s bond, and how close they already were. Sure, he and Delta have their own unique bond - Delta is the best thing to ever happen to him, and he knows Delta feels similarly - but he and Eleanor…Well, he knows he wasn’t part of her plan for life after Rapture, and he’s got to be honest and say she wasn’t part of his, so he hadn’t been of the impression that she thought much of him.

Sinclair looks back down at the way she holds his hand…and he shifts his hand and closes his fingers around hers, holds her hand in return. As he looks to her face again, he feels an odd, protective feeling surge through him that he hasn’t felt in…well, he doesn’t know. It’s different than the protectiveness he’d felt when Delta had ventured into Persephone, but he feels like he’d gotten a taste of it before, when they’d been escaping Lamb’s army, when Eleanor had fought back Splicers to help protect him and Delta. Girl her age shouldn’t have been doing all that, and she shouldn’t be sitting here now, thinking they’re all going to die, when he’s sitting here, doing nothing.

Protectiveness over others is a thing he’d never felt before these two came into his life. What he’s feeling now, it’s not the kind of protectiveness he feels toward Delta, that’s for sure…but he has a frightening suspicion that this is similar to how Tenenbaum felt toward her girls, when she stopped seeing them as just hosts for those slugs.

As he looks back to her face, Sinclair’s expression hardens, letting go of the awkward uncertainty, and he reaches under his own arm to move aside the Trouble board, to avoid stabbing his knee with their game pieces. With it out of the way, he better moves over to the pair, and he reaches out with his other hand to gently touch Eleanor’s shoulder.

“Ah…sweet pea,” he says softly, “it’s alright. We’re gonna be just fine, I promise. Now, I’ve lived through tons o’ these kinds o’ storms, and I know it sounds nasty out there, but this is all just a normal occurrence whenever one o’ these mean suckers comes to town. Jus’ the kind o’ bad weather you can expect up here on the surface, and even then, it ain’t horribly often. But we’re perfectly safe down here, don’t you worry. It’s what this basement sits around waiting for.” He gives her a little smile. “Well, other than a wheelbarrow an’ some board games.”

Eleanor sniffles and asks shakily, “Is it…Is it going to hit us?”

“No, no, no. It’ll just pass us on by - we’re gettin’ the edge o’ the storm right now. I’d tell ya if we were in any danger, and I haven’t said a word of the sort, now, have I? Besides,” he releases her shoulder and gives Delta a little nudge on the arm, “we got your daddy here, and he wouldn’t let anything get at us, now, would he?”

Delta grunts to confirm this, then releases Eleanor with one arm and uses it to pull Sinclair in, to have him join the hug, to show he’s protecting Augustus too; Eleanor ends up almost sandwiched between them as Sinclair hugs Delta in return with his free arm, his other hand still clutched tightly in Eleanor’s grasp.

“There, now. See? Big guy’s holdin’ on to us, so now we’re bound to be fine. Everybody’s safe an’ sound,” Sinclair says to her. “Don’t worry, honey. Everything’s just fine.”

…

Eventually, the sounds of thunder and wind and debris flying about quietens down; it’d been easier to ignore when she’d been wrapped up in Delta’s embrace, with Sinclair’s hand in hers, getting the comfort she needed from the people who matter most to her, but now there’s no denying it - the noises out there have stopped.

Sinclair is the first to straighten up, looking toward the cellar doors.

“I think…the storm mighta subsided, at last,” he says.

He starts to edge out of the hug, obviously intending to go and check, only for Delta to make a small noise and release Sinclair, motioning with a hand wave for him to stay put. He gently coaxes Eleanor into moving closer to Sinclair, to tell her to stay with him, then he moves back to get to his feet.

“Be careful, Father!” Eleanor calls, holding Sinclair’s hand in one of hers and his shoulder in her other, as Delta walks toward the stairs leading up to the cellar doors.

Delta ascends them slowly, still listening out for anything outside, then he undoes the latches on the doors and pushes them open. There’s a shuffle of something falling off of the doors once they get to a certain angle; Delta peeks out at first, then steps up, out of the basement properly.

A moment goes by as Eleanor and Sinclair watch in case he comes back, then they hear him give out a note of whalesong, as he does when he wants their attention.

They look at each other, then Sinclair rises from the floor and motions for her to stay behind him as she gets up as well. Sinclair ascends the stairs, peeking out as well, then nods, satisfied, and gestures for Eleanor to follow their lead out of the basement.

The sky is still clouded with grey, but the rain and wind have stopped; the three look around themselves, at the sight of the leaves and bits and pieces of branches and abandoned trash scattered over their garden. A pile of them had gradually covered the entrance to the cellar, the culprit of that shuffling when Delta had pushed the doors open.

Eleanor turns to look out at the town; it’s hard to see properly because of the high fence around the property, but everything looks…okay. She then looks up at the house - there might be some debris up on the roof too, and she sees some clumped up on the windowsills, but besides that…no. Nothing looks destroyed, nothing looks…tarnished.

She hears Sinclair give a hum of disdain and turns to him, only to see him looking over at that tree just outside their fence, the very one she’d been observing earlier; one of the branches has been torn from the tree and has fallen to the ground, and the tree has been damaged to the point that its heartwood is showing, its bark splayed and torn.

Eleanor furrows her brow as she asks herself if the tree got hit by lightning or if the wind did that damage, but nonetheless breathes a sigh of relief - that must’ve been the crash they’d heard earlier. It’s close enough for them to have heard it inside the basement, and fortunately, it hasn’t hit their fence.

She follows Delta as he goes into the back garden to check on the damage done to his earlier work, as Sinclair leaves them to check on his car out front.

The leaves, branches and odd bits and pieces of rubbish have all littered their garden, covering the soaked topsoil Delta and Sinclair had put down earlier; Delta stares out at it, then sighs, a long puff of air projected into his helmet.

“I’m sorry about your garden, Father,” Eleanor says sympathetically, smiling at him. She falters then, at something else laid out over their yard. “What…is that? Over there, on the grass.”

Delta hums, curious, and walks over, just as Sinclair returns.

“Good news is,” he says, “my car is doin’ fine. Protective sheet did its job, an’ nothin’ scratched up my paint.” He looks over at what Delta’s doing. “What’s that, pumpkin?”

Delta stoops down to pick up one end of the long strip of…something - paper? They can’t quite tell, but it’s shimmering slightly; he holds it up for them to see, turning it over so they can see the other side. With the way he holds it and the way the strip is partly folded over, they can only see the colourful writing partway: HAPPY BIR -

Sinclair barks out a laugh. “Looks like someone was havin’ a birthday celebration before the storm hit! What a way to ruin a good bash.”

Delta spots something else on the grass and bends low, plucking it up and showing it to them - it’s a deflated, purple balloon, dangling uselessly from Delta’s finger and thumb.

Sinclair titters again, then cocks his head with a frown. “Though it looks like the storm equally wrecked our work on your potential rose garden, chief. We’ll hafta pick up where we left off after we clean up out here.”

Delta gives an exasperated groan as he observes the area around him, then carries the balloon and the banner back over to the porch, dragging the wet banner through the debris.

Eleanor smiles, then rubs her arms as she looks around.

Everything’s okay. Nobody got hurt, nobody got killed. The tornado hadn’t hit them, just got close enough to throw some branches from the trees and litter their clean gardens. Nothing that can’t be cleaned up.

“You alright, sweetie pie?” Sinclair asks as Delta dumps the balloon and banner down.

Eleanor’s smile turns awkward as she shrugs. “I…I feel a little bit embarrassed…I must’ve seemed so ridiculous, getting as scared as I did. You must’ve found it funny.”

“Ohhh. C’mon now.” Sinclair waves a hand as Delta joins them. “You weren’t anythin’ of the sort, and I didn’t let out even a chuckle in your direction. Tons o’ folks are scared of tornadoes like that - I’ve seen grown men cry like babies when a twister’s come by. Hell, if I was born in Rapture an’ you went an’ told me that the surface sometimes lets loose these giant, destructive tubes o’ clouds - well, I’d probably be scared just the same. Shook me up alright, first time I ever laid eyes on one, comin’ over the horizon.” He shrugs a shoulder with a smile. “I’m jus’ an old man, y’see. Had the time to get used to ‘em.”

Eleanor gives a soft chortle, and her smile stretches more genuinely as Delta gently pats her head, then rests his hand there as he warbles softly to her reassuringly.

He pats at his chest to tell her he was afraid too, and Eleanor’s smile pinches at one end; she’s not sure she believes him on that one, but she appreciates the attempt.

“And I guess,” Sinclair adds to that notion, smiling at Delta, “that either you’ve got some muscle memory in regards to how you handle storms, chief, or you’re braver than I thought, watchin’ you traverse Rapture, cause I didn’t see you shake even the once.”

Delta shrugs.

Believe him or not, he had been scared, but if they want an explanation for his lack of more intense fear, then it seems obvious to him: not only had he too been of the belief that if the situation was truly that bad, Augustus would have said something - Sinclair’s calmness allowed Delta to remain calm too - but he’d also simply been more concerned for his daughter and his partner than himself. Per the usual. Besides, he and Sinclair’s antics over the Trouble board just proved entertaining enough to distract him, just as the pair’s card games on the train down in Rapture had distracted him from his predicament (perhaps a little too entertaining this time - he feels awful that he hadn’t realised how frightened Eleanor had been sooner).

If his past self has ever dealt with storms like that, he doesn’t remember it.

For her part, Eleanor feels she should’ve given them more credit than she had; they aren’t like Mother, who practically scolded her for her childish fears. Even when he’d been a brainwashed slave, Father had supported her fears and her interests - he isn’t like Mother, she’s always known that. And Augustus…well, she doesn’t know him as well, obviously, but…maybe she should work a little harder to get to know him.

She looks at them both, back and forth, and says sincerely, “Thank you…”

Sinclair gives her a little smile. “Think nothin’ of it.”

Delta pats her head again and Eleanor beams up at him.

Sinclair nods toward the house. “Now, c’mon. Better go check on the inside, in case anything’s fallen over or broken.”

“And afterwards,” Eleanor says, “perhaps we can finish that game of Trouble we started?”

Sinclair titters. “Sure we can, sweetheart.” He puts on a mock frown as he leads the way back into the house, looking over his shoulder at Delta. “So long as your daddy quits his cheatin’ ways.”

Delta lets out a defiant growl to deny such accusations.

“Not to worry, Augustus,” Eleanor says, more confident than she’s felt all day, “I’ll have you both beaten.”

Eleanor starts to lead him through this area of Rapture, hopping down the three steps behind him, onto the grass.

This place is so green and so lively compared to all the other places they’ve been. He has no idea where he is - he recognises areas of the city, but never remembers names - but he’s fairly certain they’ve never been here before.

Eleanor seems fascinated too; as she walks, she looks left and right, at the trees, the shrubs, the vines and the clumps of long grass, letting out a fascinated “Ooooh…” as she goes. She even stops to lift her foot and run her fingers through the blades of grass that had been beneath her, to observe how they try to stand again after she’s just stepped on them, turning back to Delta to point down and exclaim, “Look!”

He’s looking, sweetheart. Fascinating, isn’t it?

“Mama! Mama!”

Delta whips around at the sound of a child shouting; she’s obviously not Eleanor and she’s obviously not calling for him - he is ‘Daddy’ - but something about the fear in the child’s voice makes him look.

There’s a little girl standing in front of the Securis door that has RAPTURE METRO above it, holding the hand of a woman that looks a lot like her and trying to hide behind her skirt. She’s pointing up at the trees.

“What is that?! What is that?!”

Delta watches them as the woman tries to settle the girl; clearly, not everybody finds this place as pretty and fascinating as he and Eleanor do. Accordingly, he turns back to where Eleanor is standing, and watches as she approaches a tree without fear and taps at it with one of her tiny hands, letting out a little awed coo at the feeling of its bark.

That’s his girl - Eleanor’s not afraid of anything, besides when strangers approach her. Heights? Nope. Trees? Nope. Just strangers. His girl is brave like that.

A surge of affection goes through him, and he watches as Eleanor sniffs at the air, then gasps and stops to excitedly gesture to him.

“This way, this way! Hurry!”

She goes scarpering off, Delta watches her go, then he continues to follow, as he’s supposed to.

(“She is yours…to protect, Delta,” the man had said to him, the one that’s been there since he first woke up as he is now. Delta sees him whenever he has to go back to the place where they’d let him meet Eleanor; he has a moustache and he speaks much like Eleanor does. “That is your one, true purpose now: protect her. Keep her safe from…the dangers out there.” He’d smiled. “I’m sure you can…manage that, can’t you? You are, after all…the best we have to offer.”)

Protect her. Keep her safe. He knows his job - and he’s good at it.

Eleanor leads him up some stairs and into another grassy, tree-dotted area, and though Eleanor is less distracted now that she’s finally sniffed out an angel, Delta is still observing the area around him.

There’re people everywhere, usually paired up, chatting and smiling. They get out of Eleanor’s way as soon as they spot her, and they especially scramble to get away when he walks by; he looks at a couple as he passes them, turns at the waist to stare as they watch him with frightened eyes, holding each other like he’ll snatch them if they don’t.

They’re dressed in nice clothes - the man in a blue, pinstriped suit, with a white hat that has a blue band, and the lady in a long pink dress that’s all poofy at the short sleeves, her blonde hair tied back in a low ponytail - and he looks them up and down, wonders if he might be allowed to dress in a suit like the man has. He’s never worn anything that isn’t this thing he has on now, which might as well be his skin.

His attention goes back to Eleanor and he makes sure he is close behind the entire time that Eleanor goes on her merry way, leading him uphill to a door that’s labelled ARCADIA GLENS.

They pass through the flower-patterned screen doors and walk - and then, up ahead, on a wooden walkway, comes the sight of a fresh corpse. Bludgeoned, by the looks of it, but Delta’s never really paid much mind to where the ‘angels’ come from.

Eleanor runs over and points down at it, looking back at Delta with a wide smile.

“Look, Daddy! It’s the angel!”

Eleanor kneels and there comes the squelching sounds of a needle stabbing into flesh, as Delta walks over and stands behind her, keeping guard, on the lookout for any danger to Eleanor’s safety.

Fortunately for everybody involved, nobody comes by, so Eleanor is left unbothered as she collects and drinks down the ADAM.

“Mmm!” She giggles as she rubs her tummy, bouncing on the balls of her feet happily. She takes another sniff at the air, only to look disappointed. “Don’t any angels want to come and play with us?” She sighs sadly, then reaches up to tug on his finger. “Let’s look over this way, Daddy! The angel might be hiding from us after all!”

Sounds good to him; he follows, as he should.

Eleanor escorts him down the walkway, back onto grass as they pass a Gatherer’s Garden; they walk by another clump of people that Delta observes - a group of friends, they seem like, judging by the animated conversation and the laughter and the booze - and only two of them nervously watch Delta as he passes, while the rest ignore him.

The daddy-daughter pair ascend a small flight of stairs onto another wooden walkway, where Eleanor stops to sniff the air. She must not detect another angel because she frowns sadly, looks at the options in which way to go, then chooses to go right, leading Delta down another small flight of stairs and through the doors marked TEA GARDEN.

There’s more lush greenery around them, and Delta becomes distracted by noise coming from his right; he turns at the waist to investigate.

There’re people nearby - in the area with a low ceiling, where there’s no grass and no stone, just dirt, and people are milling around with bags of soil and wheelbarrows and pots. They must work here because unlike the people before, they’re not happily chatting and sharing kisses, but talking animatedly about this going there and that going here, and none of them are wearing nice clothes, just white lab coats over basic shirts and trousers. Uniforms.

Delta watches a blonde-haired woman in a white and green dress appear from around the corner, her voice carrying over the others’s as she barks an order at one of the coat-wearing people about how much a flower needs to grow before they can take it to be planted over in the Rolling Hills, so it doesn’t get trampled on when it’s still just a seedling. She must be in charge around here, because they do as she says without question.

“I shouldn’t have to explain this…” she mutters, pinching the bridge of her nose, then she lifts her head and does a double-take as she spots Delta watching her. She huffs and adds, “Ugh, what is one of those things doing down here? Nobody’s keeping its Little Sister from it, are they? That’d be just what I need right now…”

(They’d better not be.)

She really must be in charge around here, then. Beneath the work-oriented part of his brain - buried deep, deep down, so far that it’s a blip on Delta’s radar - Delta would like to ask her some questions about this place, about the plants.

“Strangers!!”

Delta whips around, then goes charging across the grass, through the archway and under the wooden, bridged walkway, sights set on the screen doors on his right; the doors don’t open quickly enough for his liking and Delta crosses an arm across his chest as he barrels through them.

Pieces of the doors go flying - he hears water splashing, a woman screams nearby, and behind him, the lady in charge shouts an expletive and there’re thuds of footsteps as she and her team come out of their workplace and check what he’s done. The lady starts angrily lamenting that she now has to call Mr. Ryan to send someone to come and fix the doors, but Delta doesn’t pay the damages nor her meaning any mind as he immediately turns to where Eleanor is.

She’s scrambling back as soon as Delta’s made his entrance, away from the couple, who in turn are hurrying to their feet from the pink blanket laid out on the grass, jostling the tea set and the tray of biscuits and scrunching up the fabric. They’re so quick to stumble away from him, they nearly lose their footing, dangerously close to falling down the hill they’re situated on, and instead end up knocking into the table and pair of chairs behind them, and the woman nearly crushes the man’s fedora, which lays on the blanket beside the teapot.

Eleanor hurries behind him to hide as Delta stares down the couple; the man throws his hands up in the air and the lady grasps the man’s bicep as she cowers behind him.

Both look terrified, and the man works through a dry mouth to shout, “We weren’t touchin’ her! She came over to us, okay?! We swear!”

Delta keeps staring; he’s not sure he believes them, but it doesn’t matter. They were near Eleanor, and that simply won’t do.

He holds out a hand, showing them his palm, in a clear message: Stay back. Keep away from her.

The couple are sweating, and the woman shakes her head.

“Forget it, Eddie!” she exclaims. “I don’t wanna stick around with one of those things marching around here!”

She releases the man’s arm and holds up the skirt of her yellow, flower-dotted dress as she runs for it, crossing over the river via the wooden bridge.

“Wha - Cathy, baby, where ya goin’?! Come back!” the man calls as she runs.

They watch as the woman doesn’t even reply or look back, just continues racing along the offered path leading to a pair of more metallic doors that take her away from this scene she finds so terrifying.

The man splutters nonsense, flabbergasted at being abandoned, then he turns back to Delta with a scowl as he says, “Why you -”

Delta steadies his shoulders, sensing that the man might try to start a fight, and the scowl on the man’s face falters, betraying his fear.

“Oh - Just -” His confidence gone, the man turns and runs in the direction his lady love left in. “Cathy, wait! He’ll go away in a sec, just wait!”

The doors at the other end of the room shut behind the man, and the situation has been dealt with.

With that, Delta leans down to Eleanor, setting a hand on her head gently.

Safe now.

Eleanor peeks out at where the pair had been standing, checking for anymore danger, then grins up at Delta.

“You rescued me, Daddy!” she exclaims excitedly, then she hugs his leg, nuzzling her head against his knee.

Delta gives a couple of gentle pats to her head, then straightens up as Eleanor leaves his side.

He expects her to sniff at the air again or tell him they’re going to look for more angels, but instead, she looks toward the abandoned tea set the couple had left behind.

“Oooh!” Eleanor exclaims, padding toward the ceramic cups and saucers and teapot. “Look, Daddy, look!” She laughs happily. “It’s teatime!”

Delta feels a little puzzled. So what? This isn’t what they’re supposed to be doing.

Eleanor kneels down on the blanket, setting aside her syringe. She picks up one of the fallen cups, which drips tea as it’s lifted; evidently, it’d been full when one of the people knocked it over, as its contents has stained the blanket.

Eleanor holds the cup, turning it over to observe the delicately-painted picture of a purple flower. She holds it up to the light, letting out another soft, “Ooooh…” as she continues rotating it to get a good look. She turns around, then places the cup carefully down on its matching saucer, gently, as if the cup will shatter into thousands of pieces. She tilts her head, brushes her hand over the tray of biscuits, then grins and looks up at him.

“Let’s have a tea party, Daddy!” Eleanor says, and Delta is taken aback.

This isn’t what they did in training, back when the man and the other people in lab coats would send them out and speak to him through the radio in his helmet and review the footage they get from the camera on his head. They would just get the ADAM, and any time Eleanor would complain that she was tired or cold, Delta was encouraged to get her back on track.

Eleanor stands up and goes to him, taking hold of his finger and continuing to give him a toothy little grin.

“Will you be a guest at my tea party, Daddy?” she asks innocently. “Please?”

Delta stares down at her.

He’s supposed to say no. He’s supposed to tell her they’re on a job. She has to get ADAM for the man and the others, back at the place they first met in. They said he’s not supposed to allow her to play or to stop until she’s ready to return to her vent, when her belly is full of ADAM-infused blood. It’d been one thing to let her observe the nature around her, but to abandon her syringe entirely? He’s not supposed to allow that.

But even back then, during training, he’d wondered…why? Why isn’t she allowed to do all that? She’s a child, she’s…supposed to play. She’s supposed to take part in this…tea party. Why shouldn’t she?

(“That is your one, true purpose now: protect her. Keep her safe from…the dangers out there.”)

The work-oriented part of his mind fights back against the part of him that just wants Eleanor to smile, and he points toward the doors on the other side of the room, where the couple had left through.

“Nooo!” Eleanor whines, pulling at his finger as if she could drag him over to the tea set. “Daddy, please, I want to play here!”

Delta’s not sure what to do. The man would want him to pull Eleanor away from the tea cups, hand her her syringe and make her walk.

But…he doesn’t want to do that. That would upset her. She might…cry. And the thought of her crying, that hurts more than anything a Splicer has thrown at him. He doesn’t want her to cry, or be sad. And what is the harm in letting her play? He doesn’t get it, nobody would tell him why that was bad. They’d just made him pick her up or pull her away from what was distracting her, told him “Well done,” when he’d managed to get her to focus, but they’d never said…why that was good…

“Please, Daddy…?” Eleanor says.

Delta stares into her glowing eyes -

(“That is your one, true purpose now: protect her. Keep her safe from…the dangers out there.”)

- and he starts to walk toward the tea set, hearing her gasp happily as he lets her tug at his finger.

Because as far as he’s concerned, he is keeping her safe. Maybe not from Splicers, but from sadness, and that sounds like a pretty damn good job to him.

If the man or any of his colleagues are watching through his camera and have an issue with it, they can take it up with Delta when he gets back.

Eleanor releases him and goes running over to the blanket, bouncing excitedly as she watches him come over. She sits down on one corner, tilted slightly due to sitting on the curve of the hill, and crosses her tiny legs, and she’s so small compared to the slightly-crumpled square of pink fabric, he just knows how silly it’s going to look when she inevitably wants him - big as he is - to sit with her.

As if on cue, Eleanor pats the spot across from her. “Sit down with me, Daddy.”

Delta steps over obediently, then gets to one knee and gradually sits himself down, legs spread out before himself, one foot beside Eleanor and the other dangerously close to knocking over the teacup Eleanor had just placed on its saucer.

Eleanor grins so happily, another surge of affection rushes through Delta’s system.

She goes to pick up the teapot when she stops as she looks back to Delta, like she forgot something. She looks around, then spots the man’s abandoned hat - a blue fedora with a purple band - and she gasps and snatches it up from the ground. She stands up and holds it out to him.

“Here you are, Daddy! You have to dress pretty for the tea party!”

Delta takes the hat from her, looks it over, then reaches up and pops it on top of his helmet. It’s probably covering his camera, which will displease the man, but he doesn’t care.

Eleanor giggles, then looks around for something for her to wear. The lady had left nothing behind when she’d fled, so Eleanor is without pearls or any expensive makeup, and neither of them think those pieces of the demolished screen doors floating in the river will cut it as any sort of nice outfit, even if the material and pattern are pretty. Over Delta’s shoulder, however, she spots a vine-like plant growing on the wall and gives a small gasp at the sight of its flowers.

She runs over to snatch one from the vine, takes a moment to run a finger over its wide, pink petals, staring into the face of the flower where the petals become white and lead down to pale-coloured stamen. Once she’s satisfied, she tucks the flower into the collar of her dress and shows off to Delta.

“There,” she says, smiling, “now I look pretty too!”

She rejoins him on the blanket, going to her knees, and uses both hands to pick up the teapot.

She purses her lips and puts on a serious face as she asks, purposely thickening her accent, “Would you like some tea, Mr. Daddy?”

Delta looks down at the teacup near his foot; it’s tiny compared to his boot, and to his hands, and it’s delicate. But he’s got to do his best here, for Eleanor.

He reaches down and carefully takes hold of the cup, using one finger and his thumb to hold the cup around its edges rather than trying to take it by its handle. He lets out a whale-like sound as he holds the cup out to her.

Eleanor leans over and there comes a little clink as the spout of the teapot touches the edge of Delta’s teacup; she tips it and pours a small amount of tea into his cup.

“There you are, Mr. Daddy,” she says in her play-voice. “Enjoy.”

Eleanor pours herself some tea, then sets aside the pot before she picks up her cup - by its handle, since her hands are much better-suited for these little cups.

Delta watches her, then starts to bring his cup closer, enough that he can catch a peek of the hat’s reflection in the tea.

“No, Daddy…!” comes the urgent whisper from beside him.

Delta flinches and looks at her.

“You have to hold the cup like this.”

She thrusts her own cup at him, and he sees the way she holds it with two fingers and her thumb, with her littlest finger sticking up.

“It’s polite this way,” Eleanor says insistently, taking her cup back.

Delta doesn’t get it, but nevertheless he looks back down at his own cup. He’s not sure he can manage that pose, but he’ll try.

He sets the cup back on its saucer, then uses his finger and thumb to carefully take it by its handle. As per Eleanor’s instruction, he extends his pinky finger.

Eleanor giggles.

“Now, we put them together, so they go ‘clink’!” she says excitedly, thrusting her cup back out at him.

Delta carefully brings his cup closer to hers, offering it to her; he doesn’t trust himself to do the clinking, he’s too strong. He’ll probably end up breaking both cups.

Fortunately, Eleanor’s happy either way; she taps her cup against his, and despite the fact the ceramic makes the desired noise all on its own, Eleanor lets out a little “Clink!”

“Drink up now, Daddy,” Eleanor says happily as she brings her own cup closer. She takes a long sip from the cup, then makes a face as she pulls it back from her lips. She forces herself to swallow down the tea, then sticks out her tongue in disgust. “Yuck…”

Delta looks back down at his tea. Without his hand in the way, he now sees the reflection of his whole head, his own porthole staring back at him. He brings his cup closer and tries to sip from it.

The tea splashes down the bottom of his porthole, down the curved front of his helmet; he feels a wet patch develop between his pectorals as his suit absorbs the droplets. He holds the cup away from himself, giving a rumbling hum as though he’s giving an opinion on the drink.

Eleanor giggles again.

“Silly Daddy,” she says, then reaches for the tray of biscuits the couple had left behind. “Ooh, look at these! Mmmm - chocolate chip!” She plucks a cookie from the tray and holds it out for him. “Are you hungry, Daddy? Try it, they’re sooo good!”

He is not hungry (he never is), but nevertheless Delta takes that from her too - as carefully as he can, it’s even more fragile than the cup - and holds it up to look at it…and then he slams it against the bottom of his porthole, where his mouth should be, smushing the cookie against his helmet and reducing it to crumbs and the odd chunk of biscuit and chocolate.

The remains go falling down the front of his suit, pooling in the creases and plummeting to the blanket below.

Eleanor laughs, then fixes him with a loving smile.

“Silly Daddy…!”

…

Silly Daddy…!

The radio in his helmet whirrs to life.

“Kid?” Sinclair says in his ear. “You alright there?”

Delta flinches, coming out of his own memories.

The teacup - cracked, with a chip missing from it - remains laying on its side on the murky floor of the Fishbowl Diner, probably knocked down there from his fight with the Splicers that had arrived as soon as he’d picked up that shotgun.

He lets out a wistful little sigh.

“There you are.” Sinclair lets out a soft titter. “Thought I’d gone an’ lost you to your own private musings. Shake it off, kid - like I said, Gracie doesn’t know what she’s talkin’ about.”

That’s right - Grace had just been accusing him again of turning Eleanor into a Little Sister, and Augustus had been telling him she was wrong. He appreciates Augustus taking the time to reassure him, even if he’s wrong in thinking that was what had given Delta pause.

Delta returns fully to reality then; he’s still got to get to Grace’s place. Get the key, get out of here, get to Eleanor.

Not a little girl anymore, but still his girl - and his girl needs him.

(“That is your one, true purpose now: protect her. Keep her safe from…the dangers out there.”)

Stooping down, Delta gently plucks the cup from the floor by its handle, pinky finger extended, then carefully sets it down on the nearest table, rightside up, as it should be. Then he turns and starts making his way out.

“That’s it,” Sinclair says, even when he can’t possibly understand what’s just been on Delta’s mind, “back on the ol’ dusty trail. No time to stop an’ smell the roses when we’ve got young Eleanor ta get to, huh?”

That’s right. No time at all - he’s got to get to his girl, so he can protect her and keep her safe.

Of course, she gets the sympathetic smile and the awkward “Of course he is,” before the older woman leaves, and Eleanor almost wants to laugh because it’s just a funny thought, the idea of trying to explain to her new family what she really means when she tells them her father is always with her.

She looks in the mirror and smiles at her reflection, no longer seeing a freak, and there’s a swelling in her heart, an intense emotion washes over her that isn’t really hers, until her smile isn’t really hers either.

Pride.

“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you, Father,” she says, staring at the tiny sparkle in the eyes of her reflection. “You should be proud of yourself as well.”

She feels a wash of humility go through her - Father has always been a modest man.

Mr. Porter and Dr. Tenenbaum meet her outside and escort her to her place, where she’ll begin the walk to her new husband, and they tell her good luck before they leave her with her bridesmaids, Mr. Wynand’s daughters.

She stands in front of them as they wait to follow her - and she’s alone in her spotlight, but not really.

Someone gives the cue to the organ player and the music starts and everybody stands, and Eleanor feels a shot of nerves go through her as she peers out at the crowd - most of them belong to her soon-to-be spouse, but she sees Mr. Wynand, her friends, her past ‘sisters’, Mr. Porter and Dr. Tenenbaum, and the empty seats in the front row that she requested. She finds herself rooted to the spot, sweaty hands holding her bouquet.

“Eleanor,” Susie - one of Mr. Wynand’s daughters - whispers to her, as if she’s forgotten to move, while the rest hold the train of her gown.

Then warmth spreads through her, comforting, soothing, and she swallows thickly and turns her head to look up, to her left.

She imagines Father’s stare from behind his porthole, his soft note of whalesong, and then her left hand releases her bouquet and goes to her side and she turns it just slightly, as if she’s taking hold of somebody else’s offered hand - a hand that’s huge and made of leather and metal.

Eleanor grips the invisible hand tightly, and then she walks.

As she moves down the aisle, she feels the stares of her fiancé and his family, the sympathetic furrows of brows at the sight of the bride all alone without a parental escort, but they don’t faze her. They can’t hear it, but she can: the sounds of diving boots thumping against the carpeted hall with each step, heavy enough that they could even drown out the music, and Eleanor suppresses a smile.

Her bridesmaids go to stand behind her; Felicia takes her bouquet from her before she goes, and the rest of the guests in the church sit down.

Father is with her as she stands in place at the alter, opposite the one she’s pledging her life to, and that swell of emotion goes through her again, even more intense than before, until she finds a tear rolling down her cheek.

“Father,” she whispers with an amused smile, as quietly as she possibly can. “Please, Father - wait until I’ve said my vows.”

She feels her father’s embarrassment, but doesn’t bother wiping away the proud tear he’d shed through her eye.

As the priest talks, telling the crowd why they’re here, who they’re here for, and starting the vows, Eleanor peeks over her shoulder, at the pews reserved for her guests.

Mr. Wynand is in the second row, looking back and forth between her and his girls, smiling proudly all the same. There are some of her friends that she’d made when she attended university, the people who had thought her a little strange but wanted to be her friend anyway, the ones who’d made her feel welcome. Alongside their parents, some of the Little Sisters are here too, the ones she and Father had rescued; older now, and some unrecognisable since they got their identities back and changed them as they’ve grown, but they’d still greeted Eleanor with hugs when they’d first seen her. Mr. Porter and Dr. Tenenbaum are seated in the front row since they’re practically family, she’s been with them since leaving Rapture.

And beside Dr. Tenenbaum, in the front row, are the five spaces she requested to remain empty. In the blink of an eye, she imagines them filled.

Mother is seated next to Dr. Tenenbaum, for despite how things were left the last time they’d seen each other, despite how Eleanor really feels about her, there’s a part of Eleanor that wishes she were here to see her get married, to see who she has become since escaping Mother’s reign, since escaping the so-called Utopia. It’s perhaps a bit petty to think that way, but she’d always hoped Mother would change her views, if she saw Eleanor now.

Amir sits next to Mother. In her mind, his image constantly shifts between the child she knew and the adult she tries to picture him as. When she’d been little, if she imagined her wedding day, she’d innocently think of Amir standing opposite her, as her first crush and the one she’d planned to escape Rapture with. A part of her hurts when she thinks of it, how - if the stars had aligned for her, back when she was little - Amir would’ve been the one she’d be standing opposite, but if this were a world where she was marrying Amir, she thinks it would mean she’d have to sacrifice knowing Father, and she just can’t do that.

Aunt Grace is seated next to Amir. She used to talk about Eleanor’s wedding day sometimes, while she did her hair. Told her she’d be there, she’d do Eleanor’s hair on that day too, perhaps her makeup. Talked about what a beautiful bride Eleanor will make, since she was already such a beautiful little girl. When Eleanor had been choosing her dress, when she’d been getting it fitted, she imagined Aunt Grace’s opinions, her happy tears when Eleanor found the right one, her kneeling at Eleanor’s ankle as she adjusted Eleanor’s gown herself, since Aunt Grace had been good at sewing and Eleanor had always hoped Aunt Grace would have a hand in making it perfect. She thinks Aunt Grace would be crying too, just like Father.

Dr. Alexander is next to Aunt Grace - not the monster that Mother had turned him into, but himself, the way Eleanor vaguely remembers him, the way he’d been in the photographs she saw. His place in her wedding is her extending of an olive branch, to show that she forgives him for what he’d once done to her; she knows he’d felt guilty. His placement in seating, however, is to act as a barrier, to stop Aunt Grace sitting next to somebody she dislikes -

- as next to Dr. Alexander is Augustus Sinclair, smiling at her like he used to smile at Father. As she remembers word that he and Dr. Alexander had worked together in the past, she imagines this as a reunion for the pair of them. Of course, Augustus is invited, and of course, he gets to sit in the front row - he’s one of the reasons she’s here. When Eleanor had been sitting in her dressing room, watching the clock countdown to Wedding Time and feeling herself get nervous, she imagined Augustus giving her a pep talk. She imagined him telling her what a picture she looked. If Father could leave her side, he would walk back to Augustus and they would sit together, and when Father cries, Augustus would give him his handkerchief and reach over to hold his hand supportively, uncaring if anybody saw.

(And as she stares where Augustus sits, she feels a stinging in her heart - grief, grief, longing, guilt - and feels another tear rolls down her cheek. Father never had truly recovered from what he’d been forced to do back in Persephone. For Father, she will visit Augustus’s grave before she leaves with her new husband, so he can have a moment to reflect.)

To everybody else, Eleanor barely has any guests at all.

To Eleanor, everybody she needs is here, even if her new family members aren’t aware of it.

Comforted by the thought, she turns her head to look back at her waiting spouse, just as she hears her name spoken by the priest, asking her if she’ll have and hold, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, if she will love and honour for the rest of her days.