A/N: So I'm not sure if I like how this chapter turned out, but I'm hoping it helps develop her relationship with Raistlin a bit. I also hope it doesn't seem too unnatural or odd. It's supposed to be a bit surreal. Urrrrghhhhhh writing after midnight is hard.

b - l - a - d - e' - s - - e - d - g - e

- - : - - 10 - - : - -

Sikeen stared after him, noticing that he hadn't locked the door. She crept closer, not sure what to do. Dalamar wouldn't come up here, would he? She drew close to the surface, listening. There was nothing but silence. Gingerly, she pulled the door open slightly and peered onto the landing. A candle was lit in one of the sconces mounted on the wall. Someone had to have lit it. Raistlin had just gotten out of bed, so it could only be Dalamar. She shuddered – he'd been this close to her recently.

From the steps, she could hear muffled voices. So they were both downstairs. With the trained silence of a killer, she crept toward the staircase and listened. Their words were still distorted with the echo, so she made her way halfway down the stairs and stopped when it became clear.

"You need to re-alphabetize the books in the library."

"I did that last week, Shalafi."

"Do it again." Sizzling from the frying pan was the only thing she heard for a few moments. "Funny how you thought I'd force myself on her." There was another moment of silence. Downstairs, Dalamar bristled, frozen. Raistlin took a sip, staring at his apprentice's back.

"I didn't mean to." There was another pause. Sikeen had a feeling Raistlin didn't plan on giving him a reply. Her heart dropped a little at this feeble attempt at an explanation – she'd seen the iciness in his eyes as he clapped his hand over her mouth. He'd meant to. There was absolutely no doubt about that. "I haven't seen her all day; where is she?"

"Haven't the faintest clue. Maybe she escaped." There was an obvious sarcastic edge to his tone. She heard the scraping of a chair on the floor as he got up.

"Shalafi—"

"When you're done with the books, clean the balcony room. It's dusty." Dalamar's jaw tensed. Raistlin was treating him like a maid. Obviously, he was annoyed. But was it because he'd accused him of the very thing he'd nearly done or was it because he was disappointed in him? Or both? All he could do was mutter acknowledgement of his master's command and watch as he swept out the door. He never had to clean the balcony room. Raistlin was sending him there for a reason. Meanwhile, his omelet burned in its skillet.

As he started to come back up the stairs, Sikeen decided not to move. As long as Dalamar was in the kitchen, there was no harm in staying and letting Raistlin know she'd heard them.

"So are you being horrible to him because of his hypocrisy or because he almost raped me?" she whispered, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed as he approached. He sighed, rolling his eyes.

"I'm generally horrible to him," he said with a sneer. From behind him, Sikeen heard the kitchen door open. Immediately, she whipped around and hurried back up the stairs and into Raistlin's quarters. It wasn't until she was safely halfway to his closet that she realized she was truly running and hiding from her attacker. It felt pathetic, but there was no other option. She stopped herself from actually entering the closet and turned around, watching Raistlin pull the curtains back slightly. The light made her squint and she took a step back, annoyed.

"You didn't answer my question."

"You can't stay here, Sikeen," said Raistlin, letting the curtain fall back again as he turned around.

"You still didn't answer my question."

"I don't intend to. Dalamar will be upstairs all day; you can return to your quarters then." She blinked at him, knowing she needed to stall a bit. She wasn't going to creep back downstairs until both of them were asleep, and that was only to gather her things before leaving.

"Can I just…" She put on her best woeful maiden expression and glanced to the side, running a hand through her hair. "Can I just stay here the rest of the day, at least? I'll leave at night; I promise." Raistlin was shuffling the papers on his desk, looking for something. He found a thin, leather-bound journal and was already making his way to the door before answering.

"Just for the day. I won't be here."

"Lock the door," she blurted out before he had his hand on the knob.

"Shalafi," he said coldly before exiting. Sure enough, he locked the door behind him, confining her. Perfect. She was safe now, at least for the time being. She waited until his footsteps faded away and collapsed into the armchair she'd found him in the other day, gazing into the empty fireplace. She needed to kill some time.

Suddenly, the bathroom seemed inviting. She could use a long bath. She stripped off Dalamar's clothes, shuddering as she remembered who they belonged to, and tossed them to the tiles. Leaving the door open, she sank into the warm water and closed her eyes, her hair floating around her. If she tried really hard, she could almost forget about what had happened.

She had just pulled Dalamar's tunic back on and wrung out her hair when the door opened abruptly. Raistlin's fingers tightened around the doorknob when he saw her, sitting on the edge of the empty tub with dripping wet hair and wearing nothing but the oversized green shirt. She glanced up suddenly and stood, horrified. If he'd come in a moment earlier…

"You said you wouldn't be here," she said quickly.

"I forgot—"

"Sorry—"

"You didn't—" They interrupted each other until suddenly falling silent. Raistlin ripped his eyes away and approached his desk as casually as possible, pulling a drawer open. "You didn't tell me you were going to take a bath."

"I didn't think you'd be back!"

"Shalafi! Stop forgetting!" He slammed the door behind him. Sikeen glared at where he'd been standing, annoyed. She was leaving tonight anyway. What was the point of going to the effort of remembering the title? She drew in an angry breath and paced, braiding her wet hair.

It was difficult to tell when, exactly, but she soon found herself falling asleep. It occurred to her that she was in the wrong place – on his bed, maybe – but it was too hard to move. After her tumultuous night, her body just wanted more rest. It wasn't long before she was completely unconscious.

Raistlin returned once more to pick up another journal, but didn't notice her at first. It wasn't until he was about to leave that he realized she was sleeping in his bed, on his side. And her hair was getting the pillow all wet. Glaring, his eyes once again traveled over her body. She was really drowning in his bedspread – he hadn't seen her at first because she barely made a dent in its plush surface. Slowly, his gaze softened. Her face was barely peeking out from under the covers. It was… endearing. If he looked past the fact that she was drenching his pillow and being ridiculously inconsiderate.

He disappeared once more. When he returned for the night, she was back to sleeping in the closet, or at least it seemed so. His pillow had dried, but it smelled unusual. Like his shampoo, but somehow different. She was supposed to go back to her quarters at the end of the day. He'd send her out first thing in the morning. Right now, he was exhausted. There was a time when he'd been used to brewing his own tea and having to keep up with Tanis and his brother, but he'd grown spoiled, having not one but two elves at his service in the Tower. Today, however, Dalamar had been preoccupied scrubbing the balcony room clean and Sikeen was hiding out in his bedroom. He'd made his way down to the kitchen from the laboratory several times for tea and it was truly tiring.

Sikeen waited an hour after he'd gotten in bed and crept out from under the robes, sneaking toward the bedroom door. He hadn't awoken. Dalamar had said he was a light sleeper. He must have been even more tired than usual tonight, however, since when she turned the doorknob he didn't stir. She peered out into the dark landing, wondering if Dalamar was asleep.

It was then that she realized how insane this plan was. No one could get through the Grove, especially not her. Not without Raistlin. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the rush of pain that knowledge of her confinement brought. Praying he would stay asleep, she stepped silently back into the room and shut the door, sinking to her knees. This was where she'd stay, forever. Locked up with a psychotic mage and his apprentice, who now made her cower in fear. She stared hollowly at the darkness in front of her, a deep sadness welling up in her chest. What was the point now? Why live? Why do anything? What did it matter? She'd began her life locked in a cell and now her life would end in the same way. A hot tear was about to escape her eye when a voice spoke from behind her.

"I had a feeling you were awake." He was standing behind her, suddenly. She whipped around, glad that he couldn't see the look on her face, which she was sure revealed just how pitiful she felt.

"I…" She trailed off, realizing she had nothing to say in the first place. She began to brush past him to get back to the closet but his hand was suddenly around her wrist. She winced, jerking it back. Immediately, he let go, noticing her response.

"Where were you going? I thought you were afraid to leave," he challenged, completely unable to see the misery on her face. She swallowed, staring at the floor.

"Where do you think I was going, Shalafi?" she asked bitterly, glaring at him through the darkness.

"That's not an answer."

"You don't answer my questions; I don't answer yours." She tried with all her might to throw her usual defiance at him, but her voice shook just enough for him to hear. The tear of frustration she'd been holding back finally broke loose and she refused to wipe at it, because that would acknowledge it was there. She was about to slink back into the closet to enjoy her misery when Raistlin spoke again.

"I haven't dismissed you." This struck a chord with her. She whipped around, glaring at him.

"You can't dismiss me! I'll never get away from you and this godforsaken Tower!" Her voice had broken into a scream, and a sob escaped her lips. She swallowed back the next one and ran a hand through her hair, breathing heavily. "I hate you and Dalamar both." She paused, freezing up slightly. There was no time for a breath, even, before the words escaped her lips: "I wish to die."

Her words were stunningly heavy. Raistlin immediately wished she hadn't said anything, not only because it made him uncomfortable to know, but because her desire to end her own life hit him like a hammer to the chest. She truly wanted to just… end it all. There was no hesitation, no overblown drama, no exaggeration or whining cry for help in the way she'd said it.

What he did next could only be blamed on some deeply-rooted human instinct. Through the darkness, he reached forward to tentatively brush the tears from her face. But as soon as his skin touched hers, she recoiled. There was a moment during which she glanced up at him through her lashes, and suddenly, everything became a blur. She'd shoved him onto his back before he could respond and he resisted the urge to immediately cast a defensive spell – the whole situation felt off. Dreamlike, maybe. Like everything had been real until she snapped.

Sikeen drew the letter-opener from her waistband and pressed its blade against his neck, positioning it flawlessly over where his heartbeat pulsed against the skin. The metal was still hot from her body heat. It occurred to Raistlin that she must have stolen it again, and he hadn't noticed. "I could just kill you now. I could kill both of you, and myself." The way her voice came out – cold, robotic, nearly – only made it all the more surreal. His heart raced. Suddenly, she was unrecognizable. He knew he should push her off, or fight back. Instead, he spoke.

"This isn't you." It was a quiet observation, but she didn't miss the slight tremor in his tone. That wild curiosity was back in his eyes, lighting up his fear with the marked naiveté of someone who only wanted to know it all. But it was self-induced fear. She didn't truly have any power over him; he was only restraining himself.

"You don't know me," she hissed back, a tiny smirk playing on her lips. She pressed the blade closer to his throat, delighting in his terror, regardless of who was causing it. It would only take a moment. Just a tiny bit more pressure, a change of angle…

"I know you better than anyone." The shake in his voice was gone. She hadn't heard him speak with such conviction before – it was in the way he met her eyes, in the way his fear dissolved. Her hand shook.

He was right.

"I see how you do it," he continued, staring at her icily with the blade between them. "You turn into someone else. You can't be honest with yourself. You're not a killer. You're just… voluntarily dissociative." She glared at him, taking slow, deep breaths.

"Are you asking for proof of what I am?" she growled, hating her trembling hand.

"I just saw it." He felt a slight release of pressure as she perhaps contemplated pulling the blade away, and took that opportunity to finally act. With one hand wrapped tightly around her wrist, her grip loosened just enough for him to grab the makeshift weapon with his other hand. It was just another moment before she was pushed off of him onto her own back. He stood up, brushing himself off. It wasn't until then that she noticed he wasn't wearing a shirt. He stared down at her as she gaped up at him, lost in a head rush. If there were ever a time to kick her out, it would be now – she'd just made an honest attempt on his life. But she'd also expressed a strong desire to end her own life. He couldn't keep her here on suicide watch, but it felt wrong to push her away while she was so miserable. Silently, he condemned his conscience and ran a hand through his hair, turning away from her.

"Get off the floor," he said, annoyed at the way she was glaring up at him with her jaw tensed, as if he'd done something wrong. He was doing her a favor, letting her stay here. She should be downstairs. Surprisingly, she obeyed, trying to ignore the headache that came with standing up. The adrenaline ebbed out of her bloodstream and she only glanced momentarily at his bare shoulders before he turned around. He was all lean muscle, not sickly like she'd pictured. Not that she'd pictured it. "I should send you downstairs now, in the dark, at night," he hissed. She took a deep breath and crossed her arms over her chest.

"I could have killed you. What you should do is take me through the Grove and send me miles away," she said, still irritated at the whole situation. The anger between them was palpable, as if aflame.

"You say that as if you wouldn't be held accountable. You have been held accountable for what you did; that is why you're here." He took a step toward her, crossing his arms himself, mirroring her. "And," he started, leaning down slightly. His proximity forced her to look up at him instinctively. "You and I both know you can't kill me." She shook with rage, resisting the urge to attack him again.

It occurred to Raistlin that Sikeen wasn't a natural killer. She didn't crave the control that came with having someone's life in her hands. But she'd known that control, and it was a reflex to attempt to regain an upper hand by threatening her enemies' lives.

"And what kept me 'safe', just now?" he continued, the familiar taunting tone creeping back into his voice. "I do know you better than anyone. I understand your secret." She could hear the smirk in his words as she tore his eyes away from his, lips pressed tightly together. His use of the word 'understand' was peculiar, she thought absently, but accurate. Lots of people knew. But did anyone understand?

"I hate you," she said, trying to sound as toxic as possible. It only came out sounding pathetic. To make matters worse, her eyes wandered again to his bare collarbones, pressed against his skin. In the moonlight, the gold tint had caught her eye. It looked silver. He frowned, trying to figure out what she was looking at. When he realized it was him, he backed away immediately.

"Stop that," he hissed, gaping at her. She glared even more, realizing she'd been caught.

"Maybe if you wore clothes once in a while—" She drew in a sharp breath, stopping herself. Raistlin usually wore a bloody cloak. She rolled her eyes, feeling the tension lessen. As the anger lifted from them both, it felt like the air became lighter. Like maybe nothing had ever gone wrong, anywhere. And here they both were, caught up in how utterly casual it suddenly felt. It was intoxicating.

He couldn't resist as his lips twisted into a bemused grin. Sikeen couldn't tell who started laughing first – Raistlin or her. Perhaps they were both clinging to how lighthearted everything suddenly was, but it wasn't long before they were both doubled over, Sikeen leaning one hand on his desk. "Sorry," she said, wiping at her eyes. "Sorry!"

Raistlin recovered his composure first and leaned on his bed, a small grin still on his face. He hadn't laughed in a long time. At something so ridiculous, too – it felt surreal again, watching her as she attempted to stop regain herself. Somehow, her assassination attempt felt like years ago. Like maybe she hadn't just tried to slaughter him with a letter opener. He glanced at it, tossed on the floor where he'd left it. His face fell again. It wasn't years ago. As usual, something felt horribly off about it all. Suddenly, her laughter sounded delirious. And just as quickly, it came to a close as she noticed his expression. "What?" she asked, calming down. He shook his head, looking away.

"Nothing," he said, coughing slightly. She blinked at him.

"You're looking at me like—"

"Like you just tried to kill me?" he interrupted coldly, raising a brow at her. She let out a dry laugh.

"Like you care. You could have set me on fire if you wanted," she said nonchalantly. Just like that, they were back to normal. The frosty, bitter Sikeen was back. He shook his head, scoffing.

"Perhaps I should have. If you don't mind, I'd like to get at least a moment of rest tonight."

"Are you sending me back into your closet?" she asked, absently examining her nails. They'd gotten long, and she hated them that way.

"Shalafi," he reminded, cocking his head at her and smirking slightly. She opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it.

"Are you sending me back into your closet, Shalafi?" she asked, glaring.

"Yes; unless you'd prefer to sleep elsewhere," he replied, content that she'd actually used the title for once. She was in his service, and using the title put a wall between them that he felt had to be there.

Her mind wandered to her nap from earlier, though she knew he was probably referring to her own quarters when he said 'elsewhere'. She realized then how tired she was, being awake for so long. She'd already gotten used to having a full night of rest with the potion he'd given her, after just three nights. She flashed him a weary, wry smile and silently made her way to the other side of his bed. "What are you doing?" he asked quickly, frowning. There was no way, absolutely no way he could let her…

She didn't say a thing as she disappeared into his blanket again, curled into a tiny ball. She may as well have not even been there. "Sikeen. You can't sleep here." He coughed again. "Sikeen!" Her reply came only as her body burrowing further into the duvet. He let out a deep sigh and ran another hand through his hair. Gods, she was just over half his age! Could he possibly…?

Contemplating getting in his own bed with her right now felt like breaking some sort of unspoken, unwritten rule. She was in his service, but also under his care. If he got in bed, he'd be putting her in a compromising position, despite not wanting to do anything with her. And that felt… wrong.

But no, that wasn't exactly correct. It wasn't that he didn't want to – his thoughts became disjointed. Wasn't it only normal, for his mind to jump to that conclusion? Wasn't it only normal, to… want… to? That was what he felt was violation – the desire. She wouldn't be truly compromised; not with him. But she was violated, if he thought of it. His mind wandered to earlier, in the stairwell, when he'd so shamelessly provoked her. Somehow, that felt different. But how? What was different about that, really? He stared gravely across the bed, unsure."What if I were like Dalamar?" he whispered urgently, knowing she couldn't possibly be asleep already. Her reply came as a low, groggy mumble, muffled by the sheets and hovering over his bed.

"You wouldn't dare."

He gave up. It was useless. Why, why was she hell-bent on trusting him? He didn't say another word as he curled up opposite her. The truth was she was right – he wouldn't dare. But – over a decade her senior and responsible for her well-being – he would contemplate it. He didn't know if he had it in him - to actually hurt her - but he definitely had the ability to pretend, as he had earlier, with his arms wrapped around her and her lips on his skin. And wasn't that heinous enough?

His mind jumped to Dalamar. She'd already felt true violation. She knew Raistlin wouldn't make her go through it again. So, to her… his desire was nothing. It paled in comparison to the breach of trust she'd felt the night before.

A familiar feeling welled up in his chest – something akin to pity. But no, this time it was full-fledged sadness. She'd been through enough not to care anymore.

She fell asleep, her breathing slow and even. And he stayed awake as long as he could, absently listening to her swim in the only peace she knew.