Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's been a little over a month since the fall happened. Atlas and his men began to siege over Rapture, battling against Ryan's army. For awhile she was considered to be dead by the citizens of Rapture. Well emphasis on the was considered. Now that she, Brigid Tenenbaum was apprehended by a crew of Atlas's while she was scrounging around for supplies that she needed for herself and the sisters, dead would be a blessing. She stood between two large men that had tight grips on their weapons, as if she posed a threat. That or this Atlas strikes fear into these men's hearts, as if the friendly face to the fellow men was more dangerous than made up to be. Her body tensed to the sound of the door behind her opening and a pair of heavy shoes entering. 

"Ah so seems our sources were correct." The thick Irish accent made Tenenbaum's focus turn to Atlas. She began to study him; his dark slick hair, his build, and the blue eyes. Something about those eyes seemed abnormal to her, like she knew them but they weren't quite right. 

"Ay- Doctor? We aren't one of your experiments. Least you can offer is alil' respect." 

Tenenbaum let out a faint scoff,"Respect? Perhaps you should reconsider you're statement. Your men are unfamiliar with the concept."

Atlas laughed, waving his men out of the room. "Now how, after all this time, did you get caught? I was beginnin' to believe the rumors-" He began to pull up a chair for Tenenbaum. 

"-that I was dead? No, it takes more than your little war to kill me." Taking her seat, she crossed her legs. 

"Course not." Atlas would offer her a cigarette, which Tenenbaum took. "So? What made this time different?" He'd light her cigarette. 

"Wouldn't you know? I figured you were the one to tell them to camp my home." She knew he was grinning to himself. Taking a drag she watched Atlas motion to his own seat. 

"Well not exactly. We were lookin' to find some hint for us to enter Suchong's clinic, but turns out instead we got larger bait. One of the boys said they saw you tryin' to grab this little dingy." He pulled out a silver necklace that had a small Star of David attached to it. "Didn't take you for the religious type Doctor." Atlas watched Tenenbaum's body language change, the tenseness increasing as he dangled the charm.

"I'm not..."

"Then why was this so important you'd risk your life for it?" Undoing the clasp, he rose from his chair motioning towards Tenenbaum. Her body remaining tense as he came around behind her and put the necklace on. "Well?"

The moment she felt him back off the slightest she shifted forward, taking another long hit from her cigarette before exhaling it out. "What do you and your men want from me?" 

"Avoidin' the question?"

"What it means to me doesn't really matter to you." Her eyes reflected a cold unamused look, which focused on the lit end of her cigarette. Gently she touched the charm, before looking towards the direction of Atlas,"I would like to skip the pleasantries, and get to why I was important to find."

Atlas couldn't help but grin,"Now Tenenbaum, I'm not here to be your enemy. Though usin' you as a bargainin' chip would be handy, I feel like there's more benefit for havin' you around." With a firm but gentle grip he cupped her face with one hand, his thumb resting on her cheek. 

Tenenbaum wanted to pull away, she didn't want to be in his grasps yet the feeling was intoxicating. The last time she felt like this was with Fontaine; his want of her undivided attention, but the hold saying he was safe to trust, that she was going to be protected. "And why should I help you?"

"Well. I know you won't tell us where the sisters are, but they'll eventually come out lookin' for their mother goose. I think if you don't want my men grabbin' them, you'll be willin' to cooperate." 

Her eyes soften. Those girls have weakened her, but if anything happened to them she would feel the burden and responsibility. "If you promise... That I may continue my job of protecting and caring for those little ones, then I will cooperate..." She felt weak. Able to surrender on her own terms like she was able to back in Germany, but now she had other lives to worry about. 

"That's what I like to hear, love. My men won't lay a finger on those girls-"

"-You promise?"

"I swear on my life." Atlas loosened his grip on Tenenbaum, feeling her linger for his touch before fully pulling away. With a grin, he lit a cigarette for himself. "And if there's anything I could do to make your stay more... Comfortable-"

"-That won't be necessary..." Tenenbaum arose from her seat arms crossed. She made her way to the door to be greeted by two large men. "Really? Two?" 

"Word spreads 'bout how you escape Ryan's men. Won't be makin' that mistake, love. Lonnie make sure our house guest is comfortable. She'll be stayin' awhile." 

As Atlas's men grabbed her arms, her glare turned back to the Irishman. She'll need to be smarter when it comes to escaping Atlas, but until the opportunity arises she knows the part she needs to play. 

Chapter Text

It must've been a month since she was captured. Tenenbaum was mainly put to use with helping the injured men. Once a week she was trusted with supervised check ups on the little sisters; drop supplies, provide food, care for any sick. It was her job, her duty to care for them since she put them through this mess to begin with. Yet everytime she went to tend for the sisters, she felt as if more eyes were upon her. Striking it difficult to find a way to escape once more with the little sisters. 

One week she found herself needing to speak with Atlas. She avoided every possible encounter with him since being captured, but this couldn't be avoided. She needed medical supplies for one of the sisters, and although she has been nothing but loyal and compliant she found that Atlas's men still believe they have power over her. 

"Atlas... Your men are insufferable-" As she made her way into Atlas's office she realized that it was empty. She began to think, as she motioned into the room. Maybe there was something she could use to plan her escape. Some sort of blackmail or dirt she could use against Atlas or one of his men. Tenenbaum swayed over to the desk, gently shifting some of the papers. Her fingers grazing along the sheets, gently pinching some of the edges to pull them to her line of sight. The notes mentioning this 'Ace in the Hole', something she had heard Suchong speak of a couple times. She also noted the one addressing her as the 'foreign bitch'. Very mature. She slipped up some more pages, this one showing what seemed to be a combination. Her focus of keeping watch of the enterence decreased, her attention now to the letter. 'Atlas, the heat is on Ryan knows something's up and sending men to investigate the department store suggest you lay in supplies at the Manta Ray Lounge and prepare for a seige.' What could be hiding in there?

"Y'know it's rude to be going through other people's mail Doctor." The thick Irish accent shook her back. 

With a slick flick of her wrist she slipped the paper behind her back, crinkling it in one hand and attempting to slip it up her sleeve. "Atlas-" The tenseness in her body began to grow as he moved closer to her. "I was waiting for you... Speak about your men."

"Aye what of them?" Atlas shifted the papers back into a pile,"Not causin' you trouble I hope."

Tenenbaum shifted slightly away from Atlas and the desk to the wall while adjusting her sleeve. "Well yes... I was attempting to aquired extra medicine for one of the little ones. Seems to have caught an illness." As her eyes peeked from the grown, they were nearly locked with the ocean blue ones. "I would appreciate if you could... Supply them to me." 

She could smell him. The thick musky smell, which caused her to surrender back against the wall. The smell was sickening, but yet in a way arousing. She couldn't stand being around Atlas especially since the first day when he touched her face. Tenenbaum knew how touch starved she was, ever since her fall out with Fontaine and his death she hadn't seeked male companionship. But the way Atlas holds himself over her, the cornering and holding of her face. It was as if he knew her, knew what she needed and how she needed it. 

"Was that all, Tenenbaum? Har'ly something you had to come up all this way for." Atlas began to look her down, his body leading her closer into the wall. He could see the small red tint on her face, her heart racing in her chest small perky chest.  

Tenenbaum was running out of things to say. He was so close to her, but she wasn't sure what to do. The hand behand her back gripped harder on the sleeve attempting to keep the paper safe. "I feel as if I handle my manners better in person." A faint gasp escaped her lips as his rough warm hands moved from her cheek to her neck. 

Atlas shifted closer to her. His lips grazing over her ear,"Oh love. I'm aware of how well ya're at handlin' matters." Following that statement came the hot sting of being slapped across the face. He moved away from Tenenbaum pressing his hand where he was just strike. 

With tiny frustration tears she glared Atlas down,"I don't know what you have heard, but I suggest you reconsider your word choice." Using her sleeve she wiped her face. "I am more than just what you hear of me." She adjusted her outfit before leaving towards the door. "I would appreciate if you could send the medical supplies."

"Tenenbaum wait-"

"-Thank you... And I would suggest you find a nice splicer who's willing to give you her time. Fix your... Problem." Tenenbaum hug the corner before walking with haste back to her 'home'. 

As she shut the door, she found herself pressed against it holding her own neck. She hated how aroused the situation had made her, but even more so how much he knew where to lead her. As she pondered this situation, the crumpled paper slipped from her sleeve. She looked at it,"The Manta Ray Lounge..." Something important must be hidden away that would cause Atlas to keep this paper. She knew she couldn't leave now, she knew he might be looking to speak with her or having his men keep an extra eye out. 

Once a few hours had gone by and the noise seemed to soften outside her 'home', she slipped out using the walls as a form of protection. As she approached the lounge she noted how unguarded and unpatrolled it was, as if it was intended to be left unsupervised. Entering, she followed the stairs up to the dining area, remember the few times she had visited this place with Fontaine. As she took her trip down memory lane she keep her eye out for the bottles drawn on the note. She loved Rapture; through the good and bad memories. Remember the last argument she had with Fontaine, to just take Ryan's plead deal so they could continue enjoying life in Rapture. Suppose that was never his plan though, it was never going to end with a happy ending. Now she's here, living everyday in the sins she cannot escape from. 

"Ah-" Tenenbaum continued forth towards three bottles that day lonesomely on a bar table. "For secrets, you'd think they'd try harder to hide them." She turned the bottles to face the exact direction as on the paper, which trigger the bar to sink into the ground and wall open up to reveal a secret room. "Son of a bitch..." Motioning into the room, her heart began to race. 

She looked around the room, the many disguises. "So Atlas... Is a sham..." Her focus turned to the audio diary on the dresser, as she took a final look in the room she allowed her finger to press play.

And as the voice of Fontaine began to play out, she could feel herself weaken and nearly drop to her knees .

Chapter Text

Tenenbaum found herself gripping onto the desk that resided in the small room as the audio diary played on. Her mind was racing a million marathons, trying to make sense of what she just heard. But, at the same time, things started to come together. Why did Atlas know how to carry himself around her? Why was there this uncomfortable familiarity any time she was around him? It genuinely made her angry—the normal life she strived for after Fontaine "died." Raptures eyes on her, everyone knowing her relationship with him and struggling to accept her again. Ryan even tried to have her join the Rapture Council and promoted positive propaganda in her favor. All of that for Fontaine... No, for Frank to still be alive and still trying to complete whatever task he started as Fontaine

That made her mind wander as to who died as Fontaine. Who did she really mourn for? It sickened her that she even mourned for him; the last time she mourned for anyone was her mother. She couldn't even mourn for her father when they were separated during the war. Tenenbaum sat quitely with herself, fiddling with the necklace around her neck. Then it hit her. The one person she didn't see after Ryan and his men held those of them that worked for Fontaine. Reggie.   The quiet bodyguard that you'd forget was there sometimes. On the surface, he seemed like a close friend of Frank's, an unfortunate soul willing to do anything for him.

Her eyes trailed back to the audio diary. She felt a tightness in her chest—a bitter cocktail of anger mixed with a splash of illness. This secret could either be the piece she was looking for to escape, but she also knew Frank, and she knew this could also get her killed. With a staggered breath, she grabbed the device and tucked it under her lab coat. She was working on borrowed time at this point, and it would be more so if they went looking for her and she wasn't there. Tenenbaum held the device tight as she slinked her way back to her post, her mind still flooding with emotions and ways to make this work in her favor. All she knew was that she needed to make sure that the little sisters were safe, no matter what the outcome may be. She almost made it to her room, but was grabbed by one of Atlas's large men meant to keep a watch out.

"Whatcha doin' out here, Doc? I think it's past your curfew."

Tenenbaum tucked her arm tighter into her body, trying to disguise the audio diary she was smuggling in. "I had to use the washroom. I'm sure I'm allowed that much." She snapped dryly at the larger man. "You think that for the time I have given you men, I could at least go without your supervision." She tugged herself away from him, her eyes glaring down at the ground.

"I don't care if you've helped. The sooner we get rid of you, the sooner we can have all the Adam we need for this war, thanks to those lil brats." The goon attempted to grab her again but was quickly cut short by a sharp whistle that caught both their attention. It was Atlas. Tenenbaum could feel her stomach begin to twist again, her heart pounding as she gripped tightly to her coat.

"What seems to be the problem?" Atlas' face is still slightly imprinted from their altercation earlier in the day. Tenenbaum returned her gaze to the ground, biting the inside of her cheek. 

"The doctor was out past her curfew."

"Ay, give it a rest, will ya? I feel like the lass has put in her share. Trust she's smart enough than to just run off."   He was right, and she hated that he was right. She had to be more careful, more calculated, and more planned. 

As the goon attempted to protest, Atlas nudged himself between the two. Placing a hand on her shoulder caused a shiver to travel down her spine. It was relaxed, ushering her away from the situation. "I'll handle it from here." 

Atlas began to motion Tenenbaum back to her room. Their walk was silent, but Tenenbaum didn't notice. She knew she had to act as if nothing were wrong, as if she thought of him as nothing more than someone upholding their end of a bargain. Just like the Germans and her life. Unconsciously, she began to fiddle again with the necklace using her free hand. Her subconscious pulling her into the deep end, flooding her mind, and trying to drown her with fear. Yet it wasn't her life she feared for; it was the girls'. 

"Got y'self a nervous tic, huh, doc?" Atlas's voice brought her back to reality, realizing the two were in front of her flat. Tenenbaum blinked, her eyes meeting his for a moment before shifting to the door. 

"Thank you...   I think I can take care of myself from here." She reached for the door, but froze as Atlas interrupted.

"I wanted to 'pologize earlier." He was clearly trying to empathize with her. "I realize that's no way to treat a well-respected woman like yerself." 

Stop it.   She wanted badly to call him out on his bluff. This false narrative he's woven for himself—some poor sap working every waking moment of his life—a gentleman, someone who knows how to show people the correct respect. That may have been Atlas, but it wasn't Frank. 

Tenenbaum swallowed hard, her eyes never leaving the door. "I accept your apology... I must retire for the night." She began to enter her room, and as the door began to close, their eyes met one last time as Atlas muttered, "Good night, doctor." She pressed her head against the door before the rest of her body followed for support. She was shaking, and she didn't know how to feel about any of it. He knows she's at a weak point, like a wolf hunting for its prey. 

Tenenbaum motioned herself to her bed, her body sinking into the mattress as if being swallowed by quicksand, as she slipped the audio diary from under her coat onto her chest. Her fingers ran across the button, the metal roughly creasing her skin. With a deep breath, she played the clip again, her eyes closing as she listened to the voice that had brought her comfort once before. She lay weak, thinking of his touch, his voice, and the way that he always made her think she was safe even though she knew the opposite. She hated him for everything, but some part of her still loved him. That is truly what made her feel so ill; she wasn't sure why she kept relistening to the audio diary, but she did. Over and over and over. Until she was finally able to drift into a light slumber. 

Chapter Text

The next morning, Tenenbaum woke up feeling dreadful. She slowly shifted up, blinking a few times to allow her eyes to focus. She hoped that her discovery yesterday was just a dream, but as she peered at the audio diary beside her, she began to frown. Of course, it wasn't a dream. She let out a faint groan as she stretched her sore muscles. Although she had a place to sleep, it wasn't the most comfortable. She brought her knees to her chest, her arms wrapping around her legs so as to hold them closer. Her eyes grazed back to the audio diary as she rested her head against her knees. Sighing deeply to herself, she grumbled in frustration at herself. Why did she get herself into this situation, her curiosity once again putting her in a tough spot?

She pressed her forehead against her knees, hiding her face as she had to think of a plan before confronting Frank. Tenenbaum knew she needed the audio diary for proof, but she also needed to protect it. It could be the ticket out for the little sisters that she had rescued. As she pondered in the silence, an idea clicked in her head. There was an empty audio diary back in the hideout. She could rerecord this message on the new device and take that one to confront him.

Tenenbaum had begun to get up, but the sound of a knock on the door caused her to freeze. Quickly, she used her lab coat to cover the audio diary as she exclaimed, "One moment." Fixing her skirt and sleeves, she found herself cleaning up quickly before motioning to the door. A sharp breath escaped while she cracked open the door. 

"Sorry if I woke you, love." Atlas stood relaxed, holding some rations along with some water. "Men and I hadn't seen you slickin' around like you usually do, and were worried something might have snatched you up." His tone was playful as he offered her the food. "I thought I'd check on you. Brought your food as well. We can't have you dyin' on us, doc." 

Tenenbaum blinked, looking at the food being handed to her. She must've slept longer than she realized. Her nose crinkled at the thought that she may have slept better after hearing his voice. She was pulled back when she heard Atlas laugh, which caused her to frown. "What is funny?"

"Ah.  You don't seem to be thrilled with your meal. For someone so detached like yourself, you surprisingly have a range of emotions." 

She cursed her minute microexpressions and cursed him for reading them. "It was not the food giving me such disgust."

"May I ask wot's troublin' you then?"

"It was that I have slept longer than anticipated. So much of the day is now gone." She lied. Though the rations were not great either. "Thank you.   I will be out soon. I do need to make a trip today for my little ones." Attempting to close the door, it was stopped by the toe of his shoe. 

"Mind if I come in? I feel like we need to chat about yesterday."

Tenenbaum's eyes darted to the lab coat, which she noted barely covered the audio diary. "There is not much to speak about. Things were said. You apologized, and I accepted." 

"Ay, and actions left undone, don't you think?" 

Softly she bit the inside of her lip, her green eyes never once meeting his face as they softly focused on the ground. "Won't your men start spreading rumors? Entering the sleeping chambers of Fontaine's mistress?" She struck a nerve with both of them as she stood her ground at the doorway. She knew she was more than that, but she also isn't dull to what others whisper about when she passes by. 

There was tension between them now. Atlas seemed to scan the area before exhaling, "Y'know, yer more than those rumors, right love?" 

Tenenbaum scoffed, "Yes, I know that... But this is why you make that remark." She found herself setting the rations down beside the door, slipping out from the open crack, and now pressing close to Atlas. She still refused to make eye contact with him; instead, she peered in one more time before closing the door. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears, but she remained calm and collected. She wanted to keep him out; she refused to let him make her weak again.

Atlas towered over her; he shifted his weight to one side and now used his arm to prop himself against the door frame. "So... you don't forgive me?" 

Tenenbaum gave him a glare, and they were close again. A few inches apart, but now she was in control. She knew his moves. It would be a lie if she said she didn't want him; that's been obvious the few times they've had intensely close interactions. She had needs, and for some sickly reason, she would be more willing to bend to those needs knowing who Atlas really is. "What is it you want, Atlas?" Her stare softened when he cupped her face. 

"Something I think we started but never quite got to." Atlas leaned closer, his lips grazing right against hers. "Unless this wasn't what you were lookin' for, love, Perhaps you were lookin' for something-"

His talk was cut short by a hard kiss. Tenenbaum felt again the rush of helplessness, the sinking yielding that she attempted to separate from with him. Yet she knew this is what she had to do, even if he suspected foul play from her for a moment. She needed to keep the ball in her court, she had to be one step ahead of him. The kiss was wet and rough as Atlas pressed her against the door. The intensity of the kiss made her cling to him, her hands gripping tightly at his shoulders, her bitten nails digging into his shirt and leaving indents on his skin. His insistent mouth parted her lips hungerly, which sent tremors along her nerves, evoking sensations that she had not felt in a long time. God, she felt weak for even craving an ounce of this. 

The two separated from the exchange of bitten lips and swirling tongues when air became a much needed resource. Their faces were both colored with a faint tint of red as the two panted for air. No words were exchanged; Atlas had just proceeded downward to her neck. A faint, pleasant sound escaped her as his lips pressed rough kisses against her skin. One of her hands traveled from his shoulder up to the back of his head, her fingers twirling tightly a hand full of hair as she held him in place. The two nearly forgot that they were not in the privacy of a home or behind walls that would protect their secret. It wasn't until what sounded like a stampede grew closer that the two finally separated, Tenenbaum quickly shoving Atlas off of her as they attempted to brush themselves off. 

It was a few of his goons, quickly gathering Atlas as they had caught wind of a siege that Ryan was planning. This may have been a blessing in disguise; things were progressing farther than she had anticipated, and she still needed to proceed with her plan. 

Before leaving, Atlas turned to Tenenbaum and said, "Get to the little ones and stay hunkered there. Will come callin' once the coast is clear."

Tenenbaum nodded and watched as Atlas and his men left. Quickly she motioned back into her room, slipping on her lab coat, and grabbing the audio diary. She nearly raced out of her room to the sanctuary, where all the little sisters waited for her. Once she was in, she was quickly crowded and surrounded by the little girls. They were all happy to see their "mother" still alive and in one piece. 

After a few minutes, which honestly felt like a few hours to her, she was able to get all the little sisters to settle down and return to their normal activities. She went to care for the few that seemed weaker than the others and comforted the ones that were scared. When she finally felt like she could have a moment by herself, she slowly made her way to her separate office, where she had left the audio diary until she had a moment. Melting into her seat, she looked once again at the device, running a hand through her messy hair. 

Tenenbaum pulled out a cigarette and rested it against her lips. Reaching for a lighter, she also collected the blank audio diary and set it aside with the prerecorded one. She lit the end of her cigarette, took a deep inhale, and held in the intoxicating fumes. She could feel that her cheeks were still warm. A cloud of smoke formed from her sigh as she began to rerecord the audio diary. After the transfer had finished, she took another hit, placing the original diary in the mattress of the cot in the room, "Oh Frank, why couldn't you just leave well enough alone?" 

Chapter Text

The duplicated audio diary sat against her coat like a ticking bomb.

Tenenbaum moved through the sanctuary quietly, her hand brushing the heads of the Little Sisters as she passed. They’d stopped asking questions. They could sense the shift in her—no longer just worried, but watchful, like an animal pacing the bars of its cage. They didn’t understand what she had found in the lounge. She wasn’t sure she understood it either.

Fontaine was alive.

No. Not Fontaine. Frank.

She whispered the name in her mind the way a soldier might whisper the name of the man who shot them. There was no romance in it anymore. Not after that recording. Not after learning Reggie had died in his place.

Reggie.

The name caught her like glass in the throat. She barely remembered the man beyond his shape, the way he hovered just behind Frank like a shadow with hands. Always silent. Always watching. She had never spoken more than a few words to him, never wasted sympathy on someone so completely loyal to a tyrant.

But he had died for him. Died so Fontaine could become Atlas. And she—fool that she was—had mourned Fontaine. Lit candles in her home. Said his name aloud like it mattered. Cursed herself for feeling so weak.

She hadn't mourned Reggie.

And that was the part that made her feel ill.

She lit another cigarette. Her fingers shook slightly as she held it to her lips. It wasn’t from the nicotine or the nerves. It was rage. Cold and tight in her chest like a fist that wouldn’t unclench.

She had to play the game now. Keep the original hidden. Keep the girls safe. She would not let him steal her again—her mind, her loyalty, her body.

He still thought he had her wrapped around his finger.

Let him.

Let him believe she could still be swayed by a hand on her cheek or a whisper in her ear. She would play along until the perfect moment presented itself.

A door creaked somewhere nearby. She stiffened, hand instinctively reaching for the pistol she kept tucked in the drawer of her desk. But it was just one of the girls—a quiet one, one who always clung to her coat.

“Momma?” she whispered, a hand rubbing her eye. “Are we leaving soon?”

Tenenbaum crouched beside her, brushing a curl from the girl’s face.

“Not yet, little one.” she said softly. “But soon. I promise.”

The little sister nodded, turned and slipped back toward the others. Tenenbaum stayed by her desk, taking another drag of her cigarette. Letting the burning feelings linger in the back of her throat. 

The next day Tenenbaum was returned back to her 'holding cell', and Atlas didn’t visit her.

Instead, one of his men—a jittery, jumpy brute—came to check on her with too many questions and too little subtlety. She knew they were growing suspicious. Her behavior had changed. She was more calm now, and that unnerved them.

They liked her better when she was scared.

Fine.

Let them squirm.

Chapter Text

Tension had soaked into the walls like mold. For days, the silence pressed heavy, interrupted only by the murmur of guards and the distant echo of Rapture tearing itself apart. Tenenbaum had expected him sooner, if only to prove that he still held the upper hand.

But Atlas had stayed away.

She hated how that made her feel: unsure, unsteady, like prey left waiting in the dark. He was letting the silence build, letting her stew in it until the pressure became unbearable.

So when his footsteps finally came—unhurried, deliberate, deceptively warm—her body reacted before her mind could steel itself. She rose, spine stiffening, heartbeat ticking up in quiet warning.

There was a pause.

Then came the soft, courteous knock. A formality. A practiced piece of theater.

She paused at the knock, jaw tight, heart spiking. It was gentle, too gentle—a politeness that reeked of theater. She already knew who it would be.

With steady hands, she had the door open.

Atlas stood there like a man meant to be elsewhere. He looked, for all the world, like someone who still believed he could sell decency door to door.

"Evenin'," he said smoothly, voice molasses and flint.

Tenenbaum didn’t return the greeting. She stepped back in silence, leaving the door open for him to follow.

He entered without hesitation, the sway of his shoulders slow and relaxed, every motion intentional.

The door slid shut behind him on its own, the quiet hiss of Rapture's hydraulics ending in a mechanical click that echoed louder than it should have.

She met his gaze. Familiar. Too familiar.

And beneath it all, unmistakably dangerous.

"Been avoidin' me, have ya, love?" His voice was low, almost a murmur, but it held a sharpness that made her skin prickle.

"You flatter yourself," Tenenbaum replied, calmly holding his gaze. She noted the faint bruising along his jaw—marks of the ongoing battle in Rapture. "You seem to forget I'm your prisoner."

Atlas moved slowly, almost lazily, around the room. "Funny. You've a way of makin' it feel quite the opposite."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, tracing the measured steps he took closer to her. "What is it you want, Atlas? I'm sure you have better places to be."

"Nothin' wrong with checkin' in on my favorite guest," he drawled, settling into a chair opposite her. His blue eyes glowed in the dimness, watching her closely, searching for weakness. "I wanted to apologize again—for our little...moment."

Tenenbaum's gaze hardened. "Apologies mean nothing without sincerity."

Atlas leaned forward, elbows on knees, fingers interlocked loosely. "Aye, sincerity's a tricky business, isn't it, Brigid?" He paused, eyes glittering strangely. "After all, sincerity didn't seem to matter much when you kept Frank's personal lighter, did it?"

The slip was subtle, but unmistakable. Tenenbaum felt the room still, her pulse quickening. "Frank?" she asked coolly, forcing her voice steady.

Atlas hesitated briefly, a shadow passing over his expression. He tried to recover quickly. "Fontaine, of course. Everyone knew you two were thick as thieves."

She watched him carefully, weighing her words with precision. "That’s quite a specific detail for someone who isn’t supposed to know I kept his lighter."

He stood abruptly, a flicker of irritation crossing his face before he smoothly masked it again. "I hear things, love. Men talk—"

"Men talk, yes," she interrupted, standing up as well, stepping closer until mere inches separated them. "But no one else knew I kept that lighter. Just Frank and I."

Atlas held her gaze, his breath warm on her face, his eyes narrow with a dangerous calculation. "Careful now, Doctor. Sounds like you're accusin' me of somethin'."

Her voice dropped to a whisper, edged with both anger and reluctant intrigue. "If you wish to play games, Atlas, make sure you remember the rules."

His expression shifted again, softer now, a slow smirk pulling at his lips. "And if I don’t?"

She felt the pull again—the dangerous familiarity, the seductive undertow that threatened to drag her beneath the surface. Her voice came as a quiet hiss, barely audible. "Then I might remind you."

Atlas tilted his head slightly, his thumb brushing lightly against her jawline. "I might like that."

Tenenbaum drew in a sharp breath as his thumb lingered just a moment too long along her jaw. She hated how it made her stomach twist, how her body reacted faster than her mind could shut it down. The moment burned with tension—desperate, magnetic, dangerous.

Atlas leaned in, his breath ghosting across her lips like a broken promise. She didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not as his mouth hovered there, barely an inch from hers, daring her to cross the line she’d already toed too many times.

Then he pulled back, slow and deliberate, eyes raking over her like a threat and a promise all at once. "Think on it, Brigid," he said, voice thick with implication. "We've plenty of time."

The door hissing shut as Atlas left, leaving her to cool from the heated moment.

She exhaled hard, only then realizing how tightly she’d clenched her fists, nails half-mooned into her palms. He had made a mistake tonight—a slip that cracked the mask. But hers had been deeper.

She’d let herself remember how he used to touch her. How Frank made her feel like she belonged to someone. It was a ghost she couldn’t afford to mourn. And yet, here she was, burning for a man she knew she had to destroy.

Frank had come back from the grave, yes. But it was Atlas who needed burying.

Chapter Text

Tenenbaum moved like a ghost through the old access tunnels beneath Apollo Square, the dim green glow of aged emergency lights guiding her path. The copy of the audio diary was back in the Manta Ray Lounge, back in Atlas's private hideaway. She’d slipped it into its new home—nestled back into Atlas's desk where his wig and makeup sat, cluttered with powder tins, lipstick-stained cloth, and mirrored trays no one else knew existed. The copied audio diary looked convincingly aged, just another voice lost in the static. She placed it as if she’d never been there at all. It would be enough to plant the seed, to raise suspicion when the time came—without tipping her hand that she already knew the truth. But the original? That never left her. Hidden inside the mattress seam of one of the Little Sisters' beds, tucked deep where no one would think to look.

Atlas's men were getting restless—she could feel it in the change of patrols, in how they spoke more often in mutters and less in orders. She’d heard two of them arguing in hushed voices about "that crazy kraut doctor" and how she "had the boss wound tight."

Good.

Her plan was nearly complete. The guards were patrolling by habit now, not precision. All she needed was a new safe haven.

And she knew just the place.

The sewers beneath Olympus Heights were never elegant, but they were hers as of recent weeks.  Fewer enemies dared journey down this far. Splicers avoided it. Ryan’s men didn’t patrol here. Even the machines stuttered and failed where the steam warped their delicate insides.

Tenenbaum stepped over a rotted pipeline, her breath fogging in the cold, damp air. She pressed deeper into the maze of rust and mold and silence, tracing the familiar turns by memory.

Here, she would make a new sanctuary.

She paused in a junction chamber, glancing up at the faint stream of artificial light filtering through a storm drain far above. The memories came creeping in uninvited.

The rusted scent of damp metal gave way to the sterile chill of memory.

--

She was back in the bathysphere bay—fluorescent lights humming above, the low churn of water below. Fontaine stood by, a cigar between his fingers.

“We cannot keep him down here, Frank...”

He glanced up, one brow arched. “What, our little stray finally gettin’ to you?”

Tenenbaum folded her arms tightly. “He’s just a child...”

“He’s a lab rat, Brigid.  Just like those Little Sisters.” The words were sharp, casual. Fontaine's tongue clicked against his teeth as he gestured toward the bathysphere. “We send him up, and he stays up. But don’t act like that makes you clean.”

She turned her back to him, jaw clenched. She said nothing more.

But she made the call, a call she thought was hers.

And she remembered helping the boy into the bathysphere herself, his lashes fluttering as he drifted off beneath the effects of a mild sedative. Jack had looked so small curled up on the padded bench, and though he was nearly two years old, Jack looked like a grown man—his body engineered beyond its years. That contrast had chilled her. A child's mind trapped in a body meant for violence. Her chest tightened then, in a way it never had with the others—never had with the Little Sisters, not until that moment.

Watching the bathysphere descend, she had felt something break. That boy wasn’t a lab rat. He was proof. Proof that she’d built monsters, that she’d drawn blueprints for innocence and burned the paper. That single act—sending him away—had been the first time she chose to save something rather than unmake it.

A breath escaped her lips now, shaken loose from the weight of it. Not regret.

Just the ache of knowing she'd tried to do one good thing in a city built to drown them all.

That boy… Jack.

She hadn’t known what he would become. Not then.  She’d known enough to want him as far from Rapture as possible. But later—months later; after Fontaine's 'death', after Ryan had taken Suchong and herself in as his employees—is when she discovered what Suchong had done to Jack, the 'Would You Kindly' phrase etched like a key into the boy’s mind, she felt a sickness that no confession could ever cure. She remembered scrawling the letter to Suchong in anger: Suchong, of all the things I know—I know this. It is in your power to be a different man. What can Ryan take from us that we have not already sacrificed at the altar of discovery? They are children, Little Sisters, and yes, they will forget. But you and I won't... The memories of what we have done fade only with the dimming of all lights.

• Tenenbaum

She left it with the audio diary on his desk, the one labeled "Mind Control Test"  with a note underneath that read: Send to Ryan.

She never knew if he sent it.

But she never stopped hearing it.

--

Tenenbaum shook the memory away, the bitter taste of it still clinging to her tongue. Now was not the time. She had girls to protect. And a city to carve open, pipe by pipe, if it meant getting them all out alive.

She placed her hand on the cold wall, feeling the steady pulse of the city through the rusted metal.

Yes. This would do.

This would be home—for now.

Chapter Text

A cigarette smoldered forgotten between her fingers, a thin tendril of smoke curling lazily through the dim air as Tenenbaum stared at the lighter resting heavily in her palm. Her sanctuary beneath Olympus Heights was ready. The girls were hidden safely, the audio diary tucked away as leverage to ensure Atlas would leave her and the Little Sisters alone, once and for all.

All she had left was this confrontation. One she couldn't avoid any longer.

She didn't wait for Atlas to come to her. No more passive games. Tenenbaum rose with determination, her footsteps heavy yet resolute against the corroded metal floor, each echoing step carrying her closer to him.

She didn’t knock. Instead, she threw open his door, her breath quickening as the room closed around them like a trap.

Atlas sat at his desk, sleeves rolled up, papers scattered chaotically around him. His gaze lifted slowly, surprise briefly flashing through those cold, calculating eyes before smoothing into careful neutrality.

"Brigid," he said evenly, leaning back in his chair, eyes narrowed in cautious appraisal. "Didn' expect you t'night."

"I wasn't waiting for an invitation," she said, her voice a blade, hard-edged and trembling slightly. She strode forward, tossing the lighter onto his desk. It skittered loudly across the polished wood before resting, damningly still, between them.

His gaze dropped to it. A slow realization twisted across his features.

"You left this behind," she spat. "Your mask slipped, Frank."

Atlas rose slowly, the casual mask sliding away, replaced by something rawer, fiercer. He rounded the desk, eyes gleaming dangerously. The air between them thickened, pulsing with barely-contained violence.

"Careful, love," he murmured, stepping closer until she felt the heat of him through her clothes. "T'at's a name you shouldn’ be tossin' 'round so carelessly."

"Or what?" she whispered, stepping into him until their breaths mingled hotly. "You'll kill me? Drop the act, Frank."

His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist hard enough to bruise, pulling her roughly against him. "You really think I'm the only one playin' games here, Brigid? You came back. You stayed. Why?"

Her breath caught, anger surging alongside a shameful heat that pooled low in her stomach. "To finally understand why you never did it—why you didn’t kill me when I stopped being useful, even when I started doubting the work. Why you let me live. And then when I came back—when you caught me again, red-handed, stealing from my own home—why didn’t you end it then? Why let me keep breathing when you had every reason to bury me like the rest?" she hissed.

For a moment, he said nothing. Then his grip shifted, just enough for his thumb to stroke the inside of her wrist—a deceptively tender motion.

"Because I couldn’t," he said, and there was something cracked in his voice. "Because I needed you alive. Not for sentiment, Brigid. You knew too much—about the girls, about the boy, about me. Killing you would've been easy, but keeping you close meant I could keep control. And maybe... maybe part of me wanted to see if you'd still fight. If you'd still stand there, after everything, and look me in the eye like you are now."

Tenenbaum's breath hitched, disbelief slicing through her. "You let me mourn you. You let me believe I was grieving a man I loved."

He leaned in, voice stripped of performance, quiet and steady. "Because it would've been too easy. Killin' you would've been neat, final. And I don't do clean endings, Brigid. Not with you. You were the one line I couldn't cross. You dyin' by my hand? That would've made everything we ever built into nothing but ash."

She stared at him, fury and ache rising. "You never gave me a choice."

"No," he murmured, almost brokenly. "I never did."

His mouth crashed onto hers with brutal force, stealing her breath, erasing thought. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't kind. It was teeth and rage and years of betrayal twisted into one searing moment. Tenenbaum didn't resist; instead, she sank into him, fingernails scraping down his neck, leaving angry red trails behind.

Atlas groaned low against her lips, a feral, guttural sound filled with raw hunger. His hands roamed her body possessively, tugging at her coat, ripping buttons free, desperate to claim what he considered his right. She shivered, hatred mingling with fierce, intoxicating desire.

Her nails tore at his shirt, wrenching it open to expose the bare skin beneath. She bit hard into his shoulder, tasting salt and copper, feeling him shudder beneath her teeth.

"You want to ruin me?" he growled into her ear, his voice thick with fury and lust.

"No," she snarled, pressing into him until he collided hard with the desk behind him. Papers scattered violently around them, tumbling to the ground like leaves in a storm. "I want you broken.  I want you to know how it feels to lose everything."

His hands were under her skirt now, rough fingers digging bruisingly into her thighs, dragging her closer. She gasped sharply, arching involuntarily as he ground against her, heat flaring treacherously between her legs.

"Then break me," he challenged, voice thick with defiance, lips swollen and bloody from her teeth. "Or are you still too weak?"

She clawed at him, her hips grinding against him with frantic, angry need. His mouth found her neck, sucking hard, marking her like a brand. She knew she'd wear the bruise for days—a vivid reminder of this weakness, of this violent, furious surrender.

She tore at his belt, fingers trembling with urgency, needing him now—not because she loved him, not because she forgave him, but because she wanted to punish him with her body, wanted to leave him as scarred and broken as he'd left her.

He spun her, slamming her roughly against the desk, forcing her forward. The cold wood pressed painfully into her hips, but she welcomed the discomfort, matching the aching, brutal rhythm he set, each movement harsh, unyielding.

She bit back cries of pain and pleasure, pride refusing to grant him that satisfaction. He tangled his fingers roughly into her hair, forcing her head back, his voice a harsh whisper in her ear.

"Say my name, Brigid."

"Never," she spat defiantly, gripping the desk hard enough to splinter the wood beneath her nails.

He thrust harder, angrier, every movement designed to break her defiance, to make her surrender completely. Her body trembled, muscles tense, each nerve alight with sensation—pain and pleasure entwined so completely she couldn't distinguish one from the other.

"Say it," he demanded again, voice raw and ragged.

"Fuck you," she hissed instead, and he laughed harshly, the sound cruel and triumphant.

"You already are."

She felt her control slipping, the burn of sensation cresting with violent intensity as her climax seized her—a full-body tremor that started in her spine and spilled out in waves, shaking her breath loose in ragged gasps. Her legs trembled beneath her, toes curling in her heels as her hands scrambled for purchase on the edge of the desk, desperate to anchor herself through the storm of release. A cry tore from her lips—bitten, stifled, half fury, half surrender.

Atlas wasn’t far behind. The guttural sound he made was primal, broken, the kind of noise torn from someone at their edge. He drove into her one last time with bruising force before collapsing against her back, forehead buried between her shoulder blades, his breath hot and erratic as it washed over her skin. His hands, once clawing, now trembled against her hips, the aftermath of fury cooling into silence.

They stayed that way—locked, spent, exposed—until the sound of their breathing was all that filled the room, the weight of what they had done sinking in like ash after fire.

After a long silence, she finally spoke, her voice hoarse with anger and shameful satisfaction.

"I hate you," she said, breath still shaking. Then, before he could reply, she let her hand rest lightly on her coat and met his gaze with calm, deliberate precision. "I found your little shrine, Frank... The truth you tried to bury at the Manta Ray Lounge. The mask you used to build this lie. And tucked beneath it... your voice. Your name. Your plans."

Atlas stilled.

"Don't bother searching me. I didn’t bring it. I’m not that stupid," she said coldly. "But I hid it somewhere you’ll never find. Somewhere deep, and safe. And if you or any of your dogs so much as breathe the wrong way in our direction, I’ll make sure Ryan gets it."

Her voice dropped, every word a scalpel. "The moment you send them sniffing for us, I bury your revolution in truth. Do you understand me, Frank?"

Atlas stilled.

She held it up, her green eyes locked on his, daring him to test her.

"You're going to let me go. Me, and the girls. We're going to vanish into the pipes of this city, and you are not going to send your dogs after us. Not ever."

Atlas stared, still panting, sweat-damp curls clinging to his forehead.

"Because if you do," she continued, stepping close enough that their bodies nearly touched again, voice like steel wrapped in silk, "if even one of your filthy men lays a hand on one of them— I will make sure the entire city hears exactly who you are."

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Tenenbaum leaned in, lips just beside his ear. "You're not a god, Frank. You're not even a good liar anymore. You're just a man who keeps losing control."

And with that, she fixed herself, slid on her coat and stepped past him, out into the corridor—leaving him with nothing but the echo of her footsteps, and the taste of fear.

Chapter Text

Rapture did not sleep, but the sewers beneath Olympus Heights came close.

It had been weeks since the confrontation—since Brigid Tenenbaum walked away from the only man who had ever made her feel anything like love, hatred, and ruin all at once. She hadn't looked back. There was no time for sentiment now. Not when the Little Sisters still clung to her coat hems, called her "Momma," and looked to her like she could still fix what the world had broken.

Their new sanctuary was hidden beyond layers of rusted pipe and collapsed stone, buried deep enough that even the city’s madness seemed to forget them. Tenenbaum had reinforced the entrances, sealed weak spots, and mapped every exit by hand. She made a home here—not with warmth, but with certainty. The children needed that more than comfort. They needed to believe there was still such a thing as safety.

Atlas—Frank—kept his distance. His men did too. Whether out of fear or respect, she didn’t know. She didn’t care. The silence between them was its own kind of truce, held in place by one unspoken law: the audio diary remained hidden, and the girls remained untouched.

She never told the Little Sisters what happened. She didn’t have to. They were perceptive in ways no adult ever understood. They knew something had changed in her. Her eyes stayed harder now. Her voice quieter, colder. But her hands—those still healed, still mended, still held.

Some nights she listened to the audio diary again, not out of sentiment, but strategy—though sometimes, when the city grew too quiet, and the weight of survival lightened just enough, she allowed herself to think of Frank. Not Atlas. Not the revolutionary or the liar. But the man who had once touched her with a familiarity that felt almost like home, even if it was built on a faultline. To remind herself who he was. What he was capable of. And to remind herself what would happen if she ever dropped her guard.

But even in the stillness, she knew this peace could not last. The city was shifting. Splicers grew more desperate. Whispers of rebellion were no longer whispers. The name Atlas rang louder in the streets. And somewhere, far above the ocean floor, something stirred.

A boy.

A bathysphere.

A trigger phrase.

Would you kindly.

Tenenbaum stood by the metal doorway of the sanctuary, arms crossed, cigarette glowing faintly in the shadows. The Little Sisters slept behind her—safe for now, bundled beneath threadbare blankets, their dreams quiet.

She didn’t know what would happen next. But she knew the moment Jack returned to Rapture, this fragile peace would shatter.

And when it did, Brigid Tenenbaum would be ready.