The next day, I spent a long time in bed, awake. The fucker remembers, clearly. Probably thinks I'm a useless thief as well. That was why I took three consecutive jobs over the next two days. Two were fishing jobs, but the third was a bedlam job in Whiterun. I picked two locks successfully, but ended up climbing through a window instead at one point. It was a bit messy, but I didn't get caught that day.

I returned in the late afternoon, and after visiting the Flagon briefly, my pockets were full of coin. I even stashed some in my chest. Combined with the money I earned selling stolen goods to Tonilia the fence, I had a comfortable savings.

I was still avoiding Mercer. I barely dipped into the Flagon before going back up to town, but as I wandered around the last hours of the market, I knew I'd have to spend some more time in the Cistern. I needed to keep training. I had bought myself a bow with intentions to learn to use it. My wardrobe got s bit of an upgrade as well. I now owned a couple of dresses and pant outfits, as well as bracers to use with the bow. I wanted to start using my Guild armor.

After picking up some bread and cheese, I returned to the cistern with my snack. As I stepped off the ladder, I glanced over to check if Mercer was at his desk. I nearly jumped because when I looked over, our eyes met. He must've been noticing the movement as I entered. I quickly lowered my eyes and proceeded over to the table to set down my bag. I took a small strongbox out of the training room to practice on while I was able to sit down and snack. It was a harder difficulty of lock, but I intended to take my time with it.

I sat there, snacking on bread and cheese intermittently as I worked at the lock. It was slow going, and I had to restart a few times. It was still early, so a few people were still going about their business in the Cistern. I think somebody was in the kitchen proper. Mercer was like… Well, it was like the feeling of being watched. I was sure he had other business to attend to and wasn't actually watching me, but I was still too afraid to look since I was angled away from him.

As the night grew later, I successfully picked the lock and relocked it to continue practice. I noticed people trickling into the Flagon or to their beds. Those that were in Riften at the moment, anyway.

"Felicity!" I turned around to see Vipir holding a deck of card. "Do you want to come play?"

I paused for a second, considering. "Oh. No thanks, I'm tired after Whiterun. Another time?"

"Of course. You're always welcome."

He made his way out to the tavern. I liked Vipir, he was a genuine person, and I was always fond of cards. I just didn't feel up to that much socializing at the moment. I was immersed in my practice, nothing left of my bread but crumbs.

About half an hour later, still working on picking that same lock in the nearly empty cistern, I was growing a bit frustrated with it. I had glanced behind myself to check if Mercer was there not long ago, and he was, but that was forgotten now. The pick snapped in the lock.

"Fuck!" I swore, and tossed the half of the lockpick still in my hand off to my side. It landed in the water with a light splash. I tilted the lockbox up, grumbling under my breath, and started trying to get the other part of the pick out. I grumbled under my breath until I was cut off by somebody behind me.

"You know, Delvin told me you were doing well, but I can't say I'm impressed."

I jumped in surprise. My blood ran cold. No, it heated up. I couldn't tell. I hadn't heard him approach. It was those damn Guild boots. Though, I had them as well, and I still wasn't nearly as quiet as he was. Before turning around, I gently put the lockbox and my picks down on the table. I took my time in tossing my leg over the bench and turning to look at him. The jab made me feel defiant, but it stung more than I thought it should have. Why did I want to impress him so much? I fixed my eyes on his. He was standing only a few feet behind me.

"I quite hope you don't do that on the job," he continued snidely. His face was impassive. I glared.

"Do you think I'm fucking stupid?" I moved to stand. He didn't say anything, nor move. "I'm not. I might be completely useless with a damn weapon, but I can assure you, I'm not dumb."

He was silent while I basically stared him down. I didn't know what was getting into me, but I was pissed. Probably the lockpicking failure. I clenched my jaw. Eventually, he snorted.

"Break picks like that out there and a guard's going to find you quick."

"Why do you think I'm doing it in here?" I snapped. I was standing and trying to make myself feel a bit taller, but he still had quite a few inches on me, and somehow, he had approached even closer to where I was standing with my back to the table. I tried to reflexively step back a little, my hands finding the edge of the table as I remembered who I was speaking to, and why I had been previously avoiding him. Finding him so close, I started blushing as I gained my head. My mouth opened to say something, but I wasn't sure what it was and nothing came out. I looked down at my feet.

Mercer's hand suddenly clutched my chin and made me look back up at him. The grip was hard, and my mouth opened slightly. I felt my skin pinch together. My face must have been beet red at this point, because he seemed to notice. His mouth didn't move, but he raised his eyebrows.

"Why so embarrassed?" he mocked. I looked away, just with my eyes, but they only got so far as looking down at his chest. I was backed up as far as I could be against the table. His grip suddenly loosened, and he took a few steps past me. I slumped over where I stood, somewhat relieved and somewhat disappointed, until he called to me again. "Well, come on, then." I sucked in a sudden breath, nerves clutching at my stomach.

He brought me to the training room and handed me a sword. I was completely surprised, but at this point I was beyond really thinking about what was going on. It felt like these events were just happening. I raised the sword, though I was barely able to keep my wrist strong with it held out straight.

All I knew was what Brynjolf had shown me that other day, and that had been more with the dagger. The sword? I was fucked. He took out his own and nodded at me.

"Well, you said you were useless with a weapon. Let's see." I swallowed hard and clenched the sword in my fist. I tried not to grip it harder than I should, but it was hard to avoid when Mercer finally swung at me. It wasn't light, but these were metal-filled iron sword. Bruises, not major injuries. Unless somebody took it to the head, maybe. I rushed to try and block with the sword, but I wasn't strong enough nor fast enough. My sword crashed into his, and since he hadn't really held much back in the swing, it just caused my own sword to be knocked backwards into my left shoulder, his propelling it forwards. The only thing I really had the reflex for was to cushion the blow and move with it. It hurt, and I could feel just where I had been hit, but I straightened myself up.

I stretched my wrist, rolling the sword in circles. My wrist didn't feel very strong and I was concerned about not being able to do this very long. I would almost fare better with just my fists.

He swung at me again, from the other side, and I jumped back instead of trying to block it, my legs at the ready, knees bent. He could've killed me countless times over, of course. I was lucky he didn't want to at the moment. He swung at me a few times after that, not really holding back. I was just glad he had a practice sword as well.

Mercer clipped me with the sword multiple time. I didn't even dare try to swing back for a little bit, until he basically just hit me in the stomach with the sword. I was only trying to defend myself, and he wasn't letting up. I didn't have a moment to breathe. Finally, in frustration, I swung at him from the right while he swung at my other side. In a real fight, I would've been cut open, but regardless, he changed the direction of the swing to block my incoming strike.

He looked at least a little bit satisfied, and he let up a bit. The next time I tried to swing at him, he let me get in close before hooking one of my feet out from under me. I crumpled onto the ground and dropped my sword. I rolled over to look up at him, to find the sword pointed at my neck.

"Dead," he said.

"Cheat," I muttered. He pulled the sword away from me and crossed his arms, waiting for me to get up.

"That's how you win."

He didn't help me up, for which I was grateful. I kept my dignity. Fine, win like that? Sure.

I tried to fight back with the sword for a few more minutes, but eventually, I dropped the heavy thing out of frustration. I wasn't any good with it. I dodged the next swing and threw a punch at Mercer's stomach. In response, he dropped the sword and sidestepped. He was clearly far superior to me at fighting, as he caught my arm while it swung past him, and he pulled me around. One of his hands flew up to my jaw while the other kept a grip on my arm. I whimpered quietly.

"Better," he acknowledged, "but I wouldn't recommend giving up your weapon in a fight."

I remained in his grip, my mind blank. His fingers were digging into my neck and cheeks, not to mention the grip on my arm. He appeared to be considering something for a moment. There was a dark look in his eye as he started walking me backwards further until I felt my back hit the stone wall of the room.

Fuck.