Author's Note: Sorry about delays, folks! I can't promise this story will happen quickly, since I'm in my last year of High School. =P However, *ahem* REVIEWS MOTIVATE MEH. XD Awkward hint is awkward. Enjoy!

"I ask that you treat this as you would any researching endeavor or lesson; cooly and practically. As I have discussed in previous lectures, death is merely a part of life, and I expect you to examine this corpse as precisely you would a living man or mer."

My eyes were fixed upon the man laid before us on a cold stone slab, Bolor's voice distant and strange to my ears as he lectured. The basement was awkwardly still - usually during lectures or experiments there would be hushed whisper, or the shuffling of parchment and scratch of quills. In the silence, I dared to think I could hear the dead mer breathe.

"I will give you one final chance - if you feel that examining the effects of poison after death immoral or are squeamish to the subject, leave now. After this warning, I expect all who remain to work diligently and without hesitation." I glanced up as Bolor gazed over us, the few students curious or brave enough to work at his side. He hemmed at the silence, lip curling. "Very well. Come, then - gather round."

A bitter chemical scent rose as I approached, as my gaze moved over the corpse - the subject. Bolor insisted we call them subjects, to distance ourselves. A Dunmer, sickly green skinned with a sunken chest, lines of fatigue carved into his brow and dark bruises down his stomach. A woman beside me made a face as Bolor lifted the subject's head, tilting open its mouth and rolling it side to side as though it were a not-quite ripe fruit.

"Can anyone tell me a sign of how the subject was poisoned?"

I bit my lip, a niggling thought in the back of my head as the an Imperial man coughed. "Ah, the bruising. Much like hemophilia, it is a sign of internal bleeding. Likely it was a rat poison."

"Good." Bolor smiled - how can he smile? - and turned to me, carefully laying the subject's head down. "And what effects would rat poison have?"

"I, um." I blushed, knowing he was expecting me to answer and tumbling between the macabre subject and the feel of his lips on mine. "Rat poison would thin the blood to a lethal point, causing internal bleeding that would eventually lead to death. It seems like he - I mean, the subject - " I stumbled, words caught in my throat. "Seems like he - it, ah..."

"It wasn't accidental unless it was an idiot." The woman at my side finished, glancing at me coolly. "So the subject was murdered, obviously."

"Quite right. Had to pull strings to get the body here, I tell you. The Imperial Guard only let it go because the subject was a prisoner, and apparently not popular with his hosts." Bolor smirked, reaching into his robe to pull out a thin, curved knife with a flick of his wrist. I barely managed to bite back a gulp before the niggling thought became whole.

Poison.

Pappa's face came to mind for an instant, blurred and vague. I swallowed the lump in my throat, pursing my lips. I can't remember his face.

"Now, then. Move aside, you." Bolor nudged a student out of his way, moving to the prisone - the subject's body, turning it onto its back and pointing to a sickly wound in its back. "As you can see, the poison was administered through a weapon - an arrow. The entry wound should still - ah, hah." Bolor moved his gloved finger around the wound, a cringe shuddering through the room as it gave puss. "It has thickened slightly over time, but some of the poison remains around the wound. And if I'm right..." Bolor slid the curved blade under the subject's flesh in the wound, tugging gently and prodding around it. "Yes, the arrowhead is still lodged in there. Guards couldn't be bothered to get rid of it, I suppose. Surprised they even ripped off the shaft." The Imperial jerked back as Bolor stood, raising a brow. "Now, what could have saved this subject from his death? What restorative techniques should be administered in this case?"

The class moved slowly, our answers precise but hesitant, Bolor treating the body as I had the apple he gave me on my first day at the university. As time passed, I began to slip into his mindset - seeing this as a lesson, a subject, a simple form of teaching so I could better learn the exact nuances of Alchemy and Restoration. I became absorbed in identifying the poison we extracted, the scent that wrenched at my gut seeming to fade into nothing as my world focused on my tools, my work.

It was then I began to understand what Bolor did - how he did it. And somehow, without the painful tug I'd felt before, I thought of papa. Of the times I sat by his side and watched him work, there-not-there and wanting him to myself as he eased the suffering of those around him, smiling. Bolor is the same way. Same hide-stitch, Falrung used to say. Yet, they were so different. I paused, pursing my lips and staring into the dark vat of oil and poison, the elements separating, spiraling.

"Dust?"

I caught my breath as Bolor's hand landed on my shoulder, relaxing as he gave me a gentle squeeze. He met my eye with a frown. "Are you alright?"

"Y-yes. Just thinking."

"About what?" Bolor slid beside me, watching my extraction boil and swirl. "You did well, by the way. Very diligent, my dear."

"...Thank you." I barely heard him, staring into the vat, trying to concentrate without the painful process of thinking, because whenever I delved into my memory of Alchemy -

"So. What's wrong?"

"Nothing." The word fled my lips before I could stop it, an instinctive response from the days when Toltette wanted to care for me - when he thought he could be a father to me. I didn't shift as Bolor sidled closer, as he cleared his throat and hemmed.

"You're a terrible liar. Work on your Illusion." I could hear the gentle smirk in his voice. "Usually, when I call you 'dear' you flush red a tomato. You hardly flinched. Come, now." I sighed as his arm snaked around me, as he caught my eye at last with a frown. "Was it the subject? The bastard deserved what he got, I tell you. And you can look around." He chuckled, his thumb tracing a gentle circle around my ear. "It's all cleaned up."

"I did look." I snapped without meaning to, jerking up, turning on my heel. "Didn't you see my notes, my work? I'm not some goddamn delicate princ - "I stopped short, wrapping my arms around myself and squeezing tight, wincing at Bolor's sharp words.

"My apologies, Apprentice. Shall I leave you alone?"

"No. I-I'm sorry." I sighed, collapsing back onto the chair, still unable to look on the now clean slab. "Bolor, please. I didn't - "

"I know." He murmured, squeezing beside my, sliding his palm across my cheek so our gazes would meet. "The first is always the hardest. And you did work well. The subject was a murderer, you know." Another pause, long and thoughtful. "You needn't worry yourself over him."

I pursed my lips, letting myself relax onto his shoulder, blinking away the sting of tears. "It - it wasn't..."

It wasn't the subject. But I didn't dare tell him. I left High Rock to leave it all behind. I worried at my lip, breath held. I left because...

Magicka?

I gasped, pulling from Bolor as I felt the sweet, alluring whisper of a charm spell sinking into me. "What the hell are you doing!?"

"Eh. A spell?" Bolor grinned sheepishly, letting the spell fade from his hands. "I think you should talk about it, Dust. No sense in keeping it all bottled up."

"No sense in using a damn charm spell on me, either." I frowned, staring hard at him. The taste of the spell's energy lingered in my throat, sweet and beguiling and why, exactly, was I angry? Bolor has such lovely eyes. Why did - I cursed, turning to dispel his charm and rounding on him again. "Damn, that was strong. I thought you were Necromancer, not an Illusionist."

"A bit of both." Bolor smirked, waggling his fingers at me. "And that's a post-humous restorer to you, Apprentice. Now, then." He stood, slipping an arm around my waist, charming me again with just his smile. "As your superior, I order you to tell me what is on your mind. Let's go for a walk."

The moons were shadowed, leaving trails of dim silver light across the silent grounds. I took a deep, slow breath of fresh air, cool and sweet and moist from spring night chill. Bolor glanced up, eyes dark and strange as he took me by the hand and lead me to the alchemical gardens.

"Here. Sit."He grinned as I winced at the feel of cold stone, and I couldn't resist smiling back as I felt his gentle spell of warmth cloak my shoulders. "And tell me everything."

"What if..." I trailed away, stalling, but his smile was near as potent as his spell. "What if someone sees us?"

Bolor waved his hand, brushing off my concern. "At this time of night? All sleeping. Trust me. I always roam the grounds in the evening." A slow, soft chuckle. "No more dodging. Talk."

Slowly, I did. My story came out in shards, little pieces of memory like when Maman found me playing with wormwood, or when Falrung soothed away the pain of cutting my knee. Like waking up in his lap, like leaving my father behind. The sheep's cries, the smell of hide and wool, the tall, whispering trees of Mournoth waving goodbye.

I swore I wouldn't cry.

I did anyway.

I was quiet, when I did, and I wiped my tears away before Bolor could see them. Still, he pulled my against him, stroking my hair, whispering a calming spell that I welcomed. As I began to drift to sleep, he told me his life - of his days in Morrowind, his father. I don't remember when I fell asleep.

Only that I woke up, warm and exhausted, with him at my side.