Tivan ran his fingers up his slave's arm softly while she slept next to him, her arm draped across his bare chest comfortably and one of her legs tossed over his. Her stomach rose and fell against his side with her slow breathing – she was fast asleep, and he was wide awake.

Three months, he thought. I've owned her for three months. And look where it's gotten me.

His business had finally recovered enough that it was almost back to normal (save a few irreplaceable exhibits he still sorely missed) and others' respect for him was even higher than it had been before. Which wasn't particularly saying much, considering the term "Slum Lord" still got thrown around by the more careless of beings in Knowhere, but Tivan rested peacefully knowing the majority of the city relied on him. Well... he usually rested peacefully... He took another look at Hanni, doubt filling him and closing like a frozen hand in his chest.

What will you do, old man? his thoughts leered. Marry her?

I could.

And have her die in a heartbeat when her mortal lifespan has run its course?

We could have another few decades...

And then?

Maybe we'd have children. I'd get to see limitless generations play out before me.

If they survive. What happened to your first daughter again?

Tivan suddenly lashed out at the darkness, growling angrily and panting.

"You ok?" Hanni muttered sleepily beside him.

"Stop worrying about me," he snapped, not meaning to, but not really regretting it, either.

"It's my job," she tried to laugh, tickling his side slightly with her fingers. He pulled away.

"Isn't your job to do what I say?" he said coldly.

"Yes," she answered, hesitating.

"Then mind it. Leave me."

With a sad breath, Hanni rose and left quietly, Tivan sitting alone in his room, in the dark.

Bravo, his mind teased.

Oh shut up.

Hanni walked slowly back to her room, which had been in slight disuse for the past month. She laid down on the lumpy old mattress on the floor, pulling the dusty, frayed blanket over herself and shifting restlessly in misery. It wasn't the lack of silk sheets that kept her up, the exquisite mattress or luxurious accommodations – it was her master. Or lover? What was he anymore?

I still clean, cook, entertain his guests, keep his things organized and tidy... but then at night I lay next to him, kiss his lips, feel his body against or inside mine – am I a hostage or a housewife?

Hanni bit her lip as she always did when unsure or deep in thought, worrying it between her teeth until suddenly she tasted blood. She stopped immediately, but it did not end her tossing and fretting.

Tivan lay back against his sheets, sweating profusely and drifting between nightmares and daydreams. His eyes flew open as his thoughts came back to yell at him again.

You're doing an incredible job with your little pet, aren't you?

Go away.

I've been here since you lost your wife.

Too long.

You must need me.

Tivan had no comeback for that, so his subconscious spoke in his head again in its usual snide, teasing tone.

You're crazy. Does your lover know?

She knows what she needs to know.

Now you sound like me. How much do you know?

Enough.

It's never enough.

"What do you want from me?" he suddenly cried angrily.

He swore he heard a chuckling response.

Why, I'm here to protect you, Tivan. And your pet.

Go away.

The voice finally did and Tivan rested his eyes again, drifting off to sleep, but was suddenly awoken again by a nightmare in which Hanni was drowning in one of the containers of his museum, but he merely stood and watched as she did.

This must end.