Title: Growing Upside Down
Rating: Very light PG for suggestions of romance and snogging.
Pairings: Susan/Imp, barely-there Susan/Teatime
Summary: Teenage romance and hormones can be hell, especially when your education has been exceptional in all matters but those of the heart. And when you're Death's granddaughter, it's extra special.
Acknowledgement: Big tip o' the hat to innocentsmith, who hatched the original idea of young Susan and young Teatime meeting at a cotillion, and for being an excellent beta-reader.
Note: Takes place between Soul Music and Hogfather, contains light spoiler-ish material for the former.
Disclaimer: No affiliation with Terry Pratchett or Harper Collins. No money is being made from this.


...there had been the annual Assassins' Ball and, because the young assassins were trained to move freely in society and were expected to dance well, and because well-cut black silk and long legs attracted a certain type of older woman, they'd whirled the night away with baubons, galliards, and slow-stepping pavonines, until the air thickened with musk and hunger.

--Terry Pratchett, Pyramids

That Miss Butts was entirely opposed to the idea was no surprise; indeed, there was not a one of the teachers to be found who openly advocated it. And yet somehow, even with no obvious official support, the machinery was set in motion, and before long the halls and dormitories of the Quirm College for Young Ladies were abuzz with the news: the senior girls would be going to Ankh-Morpork for the Assassins' Ball.

Susan Sto Helit regarded the chatter with amusement and not a little disdain. As a senior girl herself, she would of course be going, but she simply couldn't work up the enthusiasm that gripped her classmates. She saw the purpose of the matter quite clearly and thoroughly stripped of any romantic daydreams that the Interchangeable Emmas of the world may have had; whatever else this trip may have been, it was little more than a marriage-market in the end, a means by which certain noble families of the Sto Plains were engineering alliances by way of their children's hormones. It helped, of course, that Susan was for all intents and purposes her own woman now, just a few months shy of her majority and her parents dead. And it helped as well that she knew she was no particular catch; Sto Helit, currently under the competent management of a regent, a friend of her father's, was not much more than a castle surrounded by a lot of cabbage fields. The knowledge, far from depressing her, made her feel pleasantly safe.

And then there was Imp.

She'd been walking out with the chip-shop boy for some months now, ever since that business. He bought her little gifts and held her hand and kissed her, nervously, only when they were sure no one was watching. And sometimes he'd bring his precious harp down from his tiny, cramped bedsit and play and sing, and Susan would remember other songs that the chip-shop boy only dreamed of, and she'd shiver a little.

She liked him. She'd always liked him. Love was another matter entirely, and while there'd been a while there when she thought she might have loved him, she saw with the persistent clarity that was her gift and her curse that it probably wouldn't last past her graduation from the Quirm College. Still, she'd worked for this, she told herself; she and her grandfather had bloody well saved the universe practically for his sake, and she might as well at least enjoy it while it lasted.

"I won't be able to see you next weekend," she said when she met him at the chip-shop.

He glanced up and down the street and kissed her on the cheek quickly. "I know," he said, sounding morose. "It's the Assassins' Ball, isn't it?" Living in Quirm had filed down his Llamedos accent somewhat, although it had a way of returning in force when he was flustered.

"I suppose you heard it from the girls."

"They don't talk about anything else." He took her hand in his and they started down the street, past the floral clock towards the park. "I'm surprised that you're going. It doesn't seem like something you'd enjoy."

"It's not," she said. "But it's expected." She walked in silence for a little while, trying to frame what she was going to say next. "And I ... I need to meet people there. Not like that," she added quickly, seeing his expression change. "I mean, I'm -- I want to go to Ankh-Morpork after I finish school. Perhaps I'll teach. Or be a governess. It's better than sitting in that draughty old castle waiting for someone to ... to ... you know."

"But why can't you stay here?" Imp exclaimed, stopping in his tracks and dropping her hand. She turned to face him and he took hold of her shoulders. "You can be a governess here. You coulld teach at the Quirm Collllege. You don't have to lleave."

Susan looked at him in frank amazement; she'd not expected him to be so upset. "But I don't want to stay here," she said, "it's too sodding d--" She broke off. Imp regarded her with a wounded look in his eyes.

"Too sodding dull," he said bitterly. "That's what you were going to say, isn't it?"

"Well," she said. "It ... it is."

He nodded. "I know that. D'you think I llike it either? But I can't -- I tried to llive in Ankh-Morpork. I coulldn't afford it. It's different for you."

"Imp --"

"You're a duchess. You've got revenues to fallll back on --"

"Cabbage isn't good for that much --"

"And I'm just a kid in a chip-shop. And a failled bard."

"Why don't you come with me then?"

He was quiet for a long moment, and Susan studied his face. Some cold, pragmatic thing deep in her core folded its arms and nodded sagely. Here it comes. You knew how this would end, of course. And at the same time, she found herself digging her nails into her palms, feeling wretched for having hurt him, and desperately, irrationally hoping that he might say yes.

"You know I can't," he said, and his voice was surprisingly gentle. "It's not really what you want anyway, is it?"

"I --"

"Susan." They stood there on the path, awkwardly, not wanting to stay, nor to go, nor to leave without saying something. Finally he bent and kissed her, really kissed her, regardless of who might have been looking, and then he took a step back. "Have a good time in Ankh-Morpork next week," he said. "Don't forget to write."

"I'm coming back."

"Of course you are." He smiled at her and gave her hand a gentle squeeze before he turned to go.

That evening after dinner, Lady Sara Grateful said something sniffy about girls who kiss chip-shop boys in the middle of the park in broad daylight. Ordinarily, Susan might have snarled at her, or merely fixed her with a ferocious glare that brooked no further argument or sarcasm. This time, Susan merely made a note to spill something red and sticky on her at the ball, as early in the evening as possible. When she finally fell asleep that night, her pillow was only a little damp, and when she thought about it, she wasn't even completely sure why.