weathertop | darling it's better down where it's wetter

darling it's better down where it's wetter

It's been a day, it's been a day, it's been a whole damn day -- as near as it's possible to tell in this soggy excuse for a city. It's been a day since he killed Fontaine. And Jack is no closer to getting out. He's still down here. He did everything he was supposed to do and he's still down here.

All he's found is locked-down bathyspheres. Broken submarines. Even the goddamn boats are out of service. Where's Tenenbaum? Where's his fucking rescue?

Jack stares about into the greenish gloom, checks the ammo in his pistol, and then kicks and yanks off the rusting panel of a vending machine. His hands are soon full of little wires and pipes. A few seconds later, he straightens up with a grunt, and the machine gives him a tidy discount on a couple glowing hypos of EVE.

With his visit extended indefinitely, he's begun to wonder how many of them are left.

Now arbitrarily divided into chapters!
Part One: A Scene at the Rapture Adoption Agency ~or~ You Found [Pot of Ham]!
Part Two: Come On-A My House, I'm Gonna Give-A You Candy ~or~ Sinclair? More Like Sin Pantalones!
Part Three: Dream Sequences are a Fresh New Concept in Fiction ~or~ It's My Existential Trauma and I'll Cry if I Want To
Part Four: Southern Education Jokes ~or~ Engineer, Engifar, Engiwherever You Are ~or~ The Grave Escape
Part Five: Golfing Accident Memoirs ~or~ Mom... Dad... I'm Immortal ~or~ How To Make Friends And Immolate People
Part Six: Is It A Pie? Is It A Plane?? ~or~ Two's Company, Three's a Row
Part Seven: Escort Missions! In Rapture! Council's In An Uproar ~or~ Bioshock: Cheesecake Edition
Part Eight: Bread, Milk, BATTLE! ~or~ Pleasant Conversations, How They Bore Me
Part Nine: Choices, Schmoices ~or~ Baby's First Moral Philosophy ~or~ Go Away I Want To Take A Damn Bath
Part Ten: A Man Snoozes; A Slave Delays ~or~ The Four Second Rule Applies To Drugs
Part Eleven: A Hearty Meal ~or~ Skeletons In The-- That's Not A Closet
Part Twelve: We All Live in a Secret Submarine ~or~ Plasmids: Not Even Once
Part Thirteen: Paging Dr Tenenbaum To Surgery ~or~ Bribery And Deduction
Part Fourteen: The Prodigal Son Returns

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...And that, friends, is why you don't let on any of your weaknesses to a businessman.

If Tenenbaum's mouth thins any further her lips are just plain going to fuse together, but still, she manages to look even colder as Sinclair's proposition comes out. It feels like bribery, rather than a bargain. It's Jack's history as much as hers, and she's pretty sure he should have a say in when and where it gets discussed. Now that he's ~~god willing~~ no longer actively working against her girls, it seems extra important to regard his wishes.

But, at the same time.

Food is a problem. Some people might be able to survive on cake bars from trash cans, but the girls need better than that, and in greater quantities than she's been able to provide. Some of the older ones don't say it, but they're all hungry. She's hungry. Her last square meal was before she went into hiding.

The coldness in her face is uncertain. Her eyes go to the side -- she's thinking it over.

It's the girls against Jack, in a way.

But not really. It's the girls' health, against information that Sinclair has proven he already knows. The girls' health and her own -- her face is a lot gaunter than it was a year ago. Her girls will have no-one if she starves to death. And also, y'know, there's kind of an inherent appeal in not starving, let's not get all Gandhi about this.

Is this another devil's deal or is it an opportunity? She's definitely leaning towards the latter.

In the end, the biggest question is really whether Sinclair intends to deliver.

At last she asks, slowly: "And how do I know you will remember your side of the bargain?"

Sinclair nods. It's a fair question, if he were in her shoes he would ask the same thing.

"When you leave here today, you're welcome to anything I've got. I know it doesn't mean anything in the long run, but I hope you'll trust that I will pass along whatever I can."

The likelihood of Tenenbaum passing this offer up is extremely slim. Sinclair can see it all over her face that she knows this is something she probably needs. The fact that it's a matter of trust is something of a shame. It's not very often he finds himself asking someone to trust him and hoping they actually do.

She really doesn't trust him as far as she could throw him, but the potential gain if he's willing to come through on his end of the bargain is enough to make her put that aside. Mostly.

"Very well," she says. Her voice is still a bit reluctant; it's her past as well, and not a glowing era of it, even though she doesn't much care what Sinclair ends up thinking of her. "And if you are true to your promise, I will consider this an unexpected windfall."

Asking Sinclair not to mention this to Jack would just give him more leverage over her. But she takes comfort that he doesn't seem to want to do so. Not if he needs Jack on his side.

He smiles at her, relieved. "You won't be disappointed, Doctor. I'm not eager to see your girls starve. Please, have a seat. Would you like more coffee?"

"I would rather something to eat," she says. You know, while they're here and she has a feeling he can't say no. "We will call it an advance. And a little fresh water, if you have it."

No, she's not milking their deal at all, why do you ask?

No of course not, that would be a ridiculous assumption. But his smile widens just a little, half glad she's taking him up on it and half amused.

"Certainly," he says. "If you'll give me just one minute, I can bring you a sandwich?" Unless she's got something else in mind. He knows if it were him, he wouldn't be above asking something to be cooked. But if that's what she wants then of course he won't turn her down.

"That will do very well." Hey, sandwiches are faster to prepare than a cooked meal, and it's not like she's accustomed to three-course roast dinners.

She sits primly back down, swallowing her doubt and pretending to be better at this negotiation stuff than she actually is. Sinclair's not above scrounging a hot pie, and Tenenbaum's not above employing what she's learned from watching cold-as-ice businessmen. Wouldn't be the worst thing either of them has done.

On the other hand, Sinclair actually is a businessman and a very good one. So her discomfort is probably still visible in her hands, laid together on the tabletop, and in the stiffness of her shoulders.

Sinclair returns shortly with Tenenbaum's requests and sets them down on the table before her.

"It's funny, I only just went to the market and I'm already approaching a low water mark. Kid eats like a horse, I swear."

"I am afraid yes," she says, picking up the glass of water with what she's sure is an heroic effort of restraint. Which is to say she just sips it and does not guzzle the whole thing down in one. She's not dying of thirst per se but she never has quite enough to feel comfortable, not with a couple dozen thirsty girls.

"There was a chance his metabolism, it would become stable after the growth, but this was never certain."

There, she's holding up her side of the bargain. With a certain note in her voice that suggests she wishes nothing were the way it was -- but when does she ever not sound like that, really?

After the growth? The growth of what? Of something in Jack? Or...

Sinclair drowns his questions in his coffee cup, not setting it down again until he's got a better plan of action than to just word vomit whatever comes into his head.

"How long did the growth take?"

"Three years." More water, as if it can wash away the taste of the words. Her voice takes on a scornful tone: "It was quite the long con."

It's not the hardest thing he could ask, at least. The actual timespan of what they did is just peanuts next to the horror of the details he already has.

He nods as if he understands.

"That's a good bit of dedication," he says. "How did you manage it? I can't say I've seen anything like it before."

An incredulous laugh here, to add to the effect. Because he totally knows what she's talking about.

Yeah, laugh it up, asshole. They all get a wrench to the face sooner or later.

"Of course you have not. I doubt it would be possible without ADAM, and without Rapture's disregard for ethics."

But, fine, he asked a question and she's agreed to answer.

"It was done with many plasmids, designed for this purpose. Suchong, every day he would be coming to me with his ideas for new ways to customise the child. How we might strengthen his muscle, or give him habits." She says it all in a dull monotone, a tone of faint disgust. "And Fontaine, of course, had suggestions always."

"Of course," Sinclair says, shaking his head. "He always did."

Meanwhile behind Sinclair's easy pokerface, Jack is...literally the science experiment he said he was. In WAY more ways than Sinclair ever even began to think. He'd seen Fontaine's picture on the board, but from the sounds of it, he funded all of this. Which means if he wasn't Ryan's project, he was Fontaine's.

Three years though. Jack must be...god, how old does that make him then?

"Which parts were his ideas?"

The sandwich is right there in front of her, but Tenenbaum is no longer sure how much of an appetite she can manage while they're talking about this stuff.

"The child's memories, some of his triggers."

--Which, shit, does he know about the triggers beyond the WYK? That was one thing, a pretty identifiable phrase that Fontaine must have used a good few times, but she'd be impressed if Ryan had figured out any of the others. And she somehow doubts Jack opened up about Code Yellow.

"The would-you-kindly, it was not the only one, but I do not think you need a list."

"I shouldn't think so," he agrees, although the curiosity is certainly there. If none of the triggers work anymore, then knowing them would prove pretty useless. On the other hand, if any of them still work...he agrees it would probably be best if he didn't know.

Still, he figures this is a safe question--

"If I may, what'd the other triggers do?" It might at least answer a few things about what Fontaine wanted Jack for.

"Prompted behaviours," she says, which is about as close to deliberately unhelpful as she will get while they're doing this bargain. "One was to kill him."

And how Code Yellow would've reacted with the Vita Chambers is an interesting thought experiment, if not something she would inflict on a test subject at this point.

Sinclair frowns. It's not quite the answer he was hoping for, but it's enough. And he supposes every good war machine needs a self destruct button. Something about that pinches a nerve somewhere, and it may or may not reflect itself in an extra line somewhere on Sinclair's forehead, but he keeps moving along.

Or tries to, anyway. There's a lot to process here. If they sped up Jack's growth over the course of three years, they must have gotten a hold of him when he was very young. And then just...sent him away when they were done? Bided their time until they needed him again. They must have used a trigger to bring him back.

He pulls a cigarette out to buy himself time and leaves the pack on the table in case Tenenbaum decides she wants one.

Why would they need to bring him back, though? It looks as if the only person who might have benefited would have been Fontaine, but he's supposed to have been long dead. Unless...

"How long was Jack away before Fontaine brought him back?"

Tenenbaum claims a cigarette without hesitation. And she actually uses her own lighter this time, unless Sinclair is set to offer his.

"It was a year." In fact they sent him up not long before Fontaine died -- or 'died', as it turned out. "I had him travel."

There's something fuller in her voice when she says that, behind the chilly efficiency. She likes to think it was a good year for him, on the surface. She likes to hope it was.

Something in her voice tells Sinclair that Tenenbaum wishes at least to some degree that Jack hadn't needed to come back. It was a good thing for several people that he did, but Jack himself is definitely not one of them.

But that answers that. Fontaine didn't die when everyone thought he did. Sinclair assumes he is now, though. It doesn't seem like Jack would be content to wander around Rapture knowing the man who made him what he is is still going about his business like nothing ever happened.

"It's a damn shame," Sinclair shakes his head, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth. "Almost makes you wish he never found out about any of it. All those years of memories, then to find out none of it ever happened. Poor kid."

That in itself is another feat altogether. Implanting memories of an entire lifetime up until where he is, a family, a home, experiences, a personality, hopes, fears, etc. And none of it is his own, none of it's real. The ultimate identity crisis.

But it's over for him now, Ryan's dead, Fontaine is dead, legitimately this time. He's starting over, rebuilding. And it's slow going, but Sinclair can already see where it's begun. And once they get to the surface, then he'll be able to make some actual progress. Things will get better for him, so at least there's that much.

"And to find out from Ryan and Fontaine," she says bitterly. "There must have been a way easier for him. Perhaps if I had..."

No. She stops; Sinclair's not the kind of sympathetic ear you say these things to.

"Never mind. You do not care."

Wow, that's a little presumptive don't you think?

"I wouldn't say that," he tells her. "What were you going to say?"

Oh c'mon, it's not like he's doing his best to radiate 'good Samaritan' vibes.

"My own regrets are not what we agreed to talk about."

"Alright, fair enough." Sinclair flicks his cigarette against the edge of the ash tray. "I know what you must think of me, Doctor, but for the record I care a great deal. This whole matter concerns me now, I've got to care about it."

And he doesn't know precisely what she was about to say, but he thinks he at least understands where she was coming from.

"I don't know that it would have mattered where he heard it first, it all adds up to the same total. If you'd told him as kindly as you could've, it just would have been a slower burn. One way or another he'll have to learn how to get around it, and nobody can do that for him. It's gotta be him."

Well that's... an odd sentiment to hear from someone who's done such a good job of projecting that trademark Rapture heartlessness. She frowns at him -- not angrily for once, but in the manner of someone who's been surprised.

"It would be best, of course, if there was nothing to tell," she says after a moment, because nobody has ever accused Tenenbottom of not dwelling on the past. But.

"But to say 'what if' is not useful."

Which Sinclair probably knows. It's more a reminder for herself.

"Has-- he said much of it?"

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