It had been a long, long time. Booker hadn't seen any form of Jack anywhere. Not in Rapture, much less did he expect the male in Columbia. The man frowned as he found Jack, huddled in the bar, and Booker roughly yanked Jack to his feet. The Pinkerton rolled his eyes. How long had Jack been here for? That didn't matter, Booker supposed. He began dragging Jack out of the bar and onto the street, "Jack, enough. It's me, Booker DeWitt. Don't you remember? Now, first let's get you to a safe place. The last thing I need is Comstock's men on your ass." He murmured, attaching himself while hanging onto Jack on the Sky Rails.
Booker, as always, traveled through the sky with a fierce determination. Once the two found shelter, the male lifted Jack into a chair, before Booker took a seat himself, "Stop crying, pal. I ain't ever leaving you, ya got me?" Booker crossed his legs, green eyes steady on Jack. It had been far too long since he had seen his old friend, "So, tell me, how are things? Is Rapture as messed up as it was last time I was there?" He asked in a dry fashion, pouring vodka for them both. This was going to be a long night.