A/N: Here is the epilogue to my story. I hope you all enjoyed it!
edboy: Thanks, I worked really hard on it!
SwordoftheAzureRain: The whole mismatch in the timeline is me taking creative AU liberties. Sorry if that upset anyone, but I needed it to fit.
beastslayer: Hopefully this chapter makes you feel a little better
BigBoss: Thanks, that means a lot man! I'm glad you liked it!
TheBigDewitt: Wow, I don't know about that. Either way, I'm flattered.
Fanfiction: Just keep reading
laengruk: Epilogue coming up
bobsickle: As I said before, since this is fanfiction, I took some creative liberties. Also, I'm no history buff so I don't know the process in which one would inlist in the army back then. Sorry!
Arthur: No, Booker did shoot himself. Just read the epilogue though, and it should alleviate some of that bitter ending
baltz: This epilogue isn't too open ended
SamTrox: All good things must come to an end, but hope you enjoy the epilogue
CJ: Thanks for your support!
In passing, new life can begin. What is death if not a new beginning?
Manhattan, New York
December 16, 1912
Booker frantically searched through his office. He couldn't find it, why couldn't he find it? He had searched high, and low, but still could not find it. Booker began even checking in his filing cabinets, seeing if somehow, it had fallen in there. Of course, he had no such luck. Out of all the nights to lose it, why did it have to be tonight? Booker knew he couldn't be late. He was on a tight schedule and was expected to be on time. After a couple more minutes of searching, he spotted it on top of his desk. Booker sighed in relief and grabbed his tie off the stacks of papers and put it on.
"Jesus, I'm late," he told himself as he checked his clock. Booker grabbed his hat of the rack and ran out the door, making sure to lock it on his way out. He didn't have any time to waste. As a private detective, Booker had to take the first initiative and throw himself out there to get business, even if it did mean going to the police department's fundraising party.
When he got to the sidewalks, he immediately held his arm out, trying to hail a taxi. Instinctively, he checked his watch again. He had two minutes, more then enough time depending on how much he paid.
A yellow cab rolled up in front of him, screeching to a halt as the door opened for him and the cab driver asked in a gruff, New York accent, "Where to?"
"I need to be in front of Webster Hall as fast as possible," Booker quickly answered, sliding into one of the seats.
The man nodded and flicked his cigarette out of the window, "Webster it is."
The taxicab took off at speeds Booker knew were illegal, dodging through traffic and honking its horn loudly the whole way through. He hated taking taxis, but it definitely beat the bus and the metro at that hour. Booker checked his watch again as the taxi swerved tightly around a corner, gunning it as fast as possible. He was still on time, and this man was reckless enough to make good time.
Booker examined himself one last time, making sure everything was in order. He was glad that he knew Lt. Roland of the NYPD, or else he could have never gotten invited to something like this. Being a small time detective was a difficult living, but Booker found it rewarding. Growing up in an orphanage, he had seen the dark side of things. His father worked his hardest to earn an honest living, and some of the girls that had been with him before the Little Sister Orphanage helped financially, so they got by.
The cab suddenly jerked to a stop, almost sending Booker flying through the windshield. Begrudgingly, he paid the overpriced fare and stepped out of the yellow car, which sped off as soon as he exited. Booker hurried his steps as he walked up to the huge front door of Webster Hall, straightening his tie as he walked.
He knocked on the door and waited patiently outside, checking his watch occasionally. Finally, a colored man opened the door and smiled widely. Lt. James Roland was a man Booker had the upmost respect for. Despite all the disadvantages due to discrimination, Lt. Roland had managed to rise above the ranks of his fellow men and become leader of the Manhattan police sector. It was something Booker couldn't have even dreamed to achieve.
"Mr. Dewitt," James greeted, taking Bookers hand and shaking it firmly, "I'm so glad you could make it!"
Booker Dewitt, that was the name he took in his line of work. In New York City, a different brand of criminals was bred, vicious ones that would go so low as to extort you through your family. So, Booker had taken on the last name Dewitt, to protect his father's identity. While he was proud to have the last name Ryan, Booker still felt it was a necessary evil.
Booker stepped inside, continuing, "I'm glad I could make it. How's the family going?"
James chuckled and answered, "Well Cameron has just started school. Helen, of course, is worried to death. I'm sure she'll calm down soon enough though."
"I'm glad things are going well for you," Booker told him genuinely, grabbing one of the cocktails from a passing water.
He never did like these parties. They were slow and dull. But, he knew that Lt. Roland felt the exact same way, so at least there was someone he could relate to.
"So Booker, are you planning on finding a Mrs. Dewitt any time soon?' James asked him as he took a sip from his drink, looking out onto the crowds of the wealthy and politicians.
Booker shook his head, "I've been busy with some of those cases you've been sending me. Plus, I'm not really the sociable type."
"Well tonight you may be in luck. I heard they have a new fundraising coordinator down at the mayor's office. I heard she's real sweet, and quite the looker as well."
Booker laughed, the thought of getting together with a politician made him sick. Politicians were a dirty, money-grubbing lot. He could only imagine what the men and women who came up with how to make money and be a publicity whore were like.
"I don't know James. I can't see myself with someone from the trust fund brigade."
James took anther sip, finishing off his drink, and responded, "Just give her a chance. Who knows, you might hit it off."
"I'll keep that in mind as I beg for their money," Booker joked, walking towards the crowds of people.
This would be easy; he thought to himself, all he had to do was find someone able to give him a job that had a large payout. Certainly, one of these rich fat cats would have some sort of problem.
Booker shifted through the groups as he listened in on their conversations. A couple women were discussing some fine wine they were drinking. Three men were discussing some investments they had made. A group of four was debating two sports teams, arguing which one was the better of the two. Booker grew more and more frustrated as he listened in. Did anyone have any sort of work for him?
Suddenly, Booker felt himself bump into someone as he was eavesdropping. He quickly turned around and saw a pretty brunette woman holding a drink carefully, making sure it didn't spill. When she turned around, Booker was taken aback by how good-looking she was. Her brown hair was short, but luscious, and her eyes were sparkling blue. Something hit him as he saw her, something he couldn't quite put his finger on.
"Oh, I'm sorry Miss," Booker told her apologetically, blushing a bit in embarrassment
The woman chuckled lightly and responded, "It's quite alright. I should have been paying attention. Say, I haven't seen you around at these things. What's your name?"
"Booker, Booker Dewitt," he answered coolly, giving her a confident smile
The woman smiled and gave him a polite curtsy, "I'm Elizabeth Anne Longworth, the new philanthropy coordinator for the Mayor. I just moved here from Iowa."
James was right; this one was a looker. Booker put his distaste for politicians behind him and asked, "So Elizabeth, how are you liking the big city?"
"Everything is so big, and it all moves so fast. I don't know how you people manage to keep up with things," she answered with a smile, taking a sip from her drink.
"Well don't worry," Booker told her welcomingly, "It just takes some getting used to."
The two continued to converse as the night went on, finding each other's company pleasant and intriguing. From a distant, two people watched them, a red haired man and a red haired woman. The man smiled as he watched Booker and Elizabeth converse and laugh together.
"I must say sister, it's times like these that makes me think there really is a God," the man told the woman next to him.
The woman nodded, "Yes, it seems that Dewitt's plan fixed things after all."
"It won't be too long until we fade off to our original worlds as well," the brother sighed, "but I suppose it was fun while it lasted."
"It is for the best, Robert. Without Comstock or Daniel ever existing, all of reality can finally rest in peace," she assured her twin
Robert nodded, "I assume that I will be just a normal scientist in about a day or so, without any recollection of past events."
"As will I," Rosalind said dejectedly, " but this may not be the last time we see each other. I am not sure, for my vision of the future has now left me."
"I have missed the uncertainly of life. Who knows, maybe things will be more interesting figuring things out as we go along," Robert told her in a somewhat brighter tone.
Rosalind smiled, "Yes, and at least our hero can rest easy now. I do hope those two are able to enjoy a life together, they deserve it."
"And who knows, we may meet again," Robert told her, "You know as well as I, nothing truly ends."
Robert and Rosalind smiled as they went back to watching Booker and Elizabeth talk, and talk, and talk. It was a beautiful thing really. Even across realities, there was one constant, the two of them. Neither of the twins could explain why, or how it happened. In the end, they just figured that it was that one in a million chance that no matter what choice those two made, no matter what path they took, they always ended up right back in each other's arms.
A/N: and thus is the end of The Deal. I hope you all enjoyed, and who knows? I may be up for writing a sequel with Booker in this world (Probably like a detective story or something, but who knows?)