Author's Notes: I can't believe Literally is actually over. But it's true; this is it, the last and longest chapter in my fanfiction. That doesn't mean the adventure will end, though—I plan on writing a sequel, and have already started on the first chapter, so it will be up soon.

Originally, I wasn't going to post this chapter until I had five reviews on my last one, but the three I got (duchess-susan—I would PM you if you weren't anonymous, so I'll just say it here: thank you, so much, for your wonderful, thoughtful reviews. They really brighten my world) were so nice I just had to. So if I don't get a bunch of reviews on this chapter I'm going to cry, and it'll take me longer to write the sequel because I'll be disheartened. So THERE.

Thank you, all of you, for sticking with my story, reviewing, and reading. I appreciate it beyond words, and it means the world to me.

Death gets grouchy, Domain's get colorful, and Susan takes matter into her own hands—ENJOY!

Chapter Thirteen

A Gaping Whole

The weekend was over, and Susan went back to school (to teach, that is). As the children poured in, they all complained at how quicklyFriday evening, Saturday and Sunday had passed. Their teacher found this odd, as she had never had a longer two and a half days in her life. Had it really only been one weekend?

Death visited, school days passed, Persephone kept trying to get an interview and Lobsang wrote letters to her. Susan was grateful for that—he was so wonderful to converse with, as they both were created from two separate worlds and he understood that about her like no one else could. She was glad to have such a good friend.

Twoflower had come and thanked her for a bit of an adventure before he'd returned home, with a picture of Death's Granddaughter to show for it. A picture—it was a very odd thing, and the device that created these 'pictures' was even odder. Susan hadn't thought that Teatime would have been thoroughly fascinated by it, then cried herself to sleep thinking about him. She really hadn't.

Things were (save conversing with the Lord of Time, a journalist hot on her trail, and her grandfather's Thursday visits), all in all, terribly normal.

Susan threw herself into her work—planning lessons, taking her students all throughout time, and grading schoolwork with a vigor unknown to teacher-dom. And she dreaded summer. She dreaded it with a passion that could burn your soul. She dreaded the nothingness, the emptiness, the lack of work to distract herself from the black-hole where her heart should be.

But summer was fast approaching—now only three days away until the end of school. Her students were bouncing in their seats (not that they didn't thoroughly love Susan's version of 'school'—no, it was just what was expected of them by their friends from other schools as well as their parents; children looked forwards to the end of school, and that was the end of it), as Susan grew more and more tense. She couldn't take this.

The class ended and her children poured out, skipping merrily. She watched them go, slightly envious of their joy.

Her hair began to grow nervous, making itself a mess. Susan sighed in frustration, walking over to the in-school bathroom. She glanced at the mirror as she attempted to coax her hair into some semblance of decency.

And then she saw it.

Susan tried to ignore it, to glance away, but she couldn't keep her eyes from wandering there, her head from leaning forwards, or her fingers from gliding over the tiny, evenly spaced, white, spidery scars of Jonathon Teatime's writing laced on her neck.

teh-ah-tim-eh

She closed her eyes tight, not letting the tears that threatened to flow fall. No, she was better than this. But she still couldn't stop the memories.

"I did say teh-ah-tim-eh. Please don't try to break my concentration by annoying me."

"Nobility. I'd bow—but I'm afraid you'd do something... dreadful..."

"We do have rules, Susan. I've been good enough not to break them. Why don't you?"

"You aren't like a fairytale princess, Susan. You are Susan Sto-Helit, you are brave, and strong, and smart, and silly, and stubborn, and proud, and cynical, and a pain in the neck. That makes you wonderful."

"Susan Sto-Helit... the moment I saw you I knew you'd be special... I don't normally underestimate things."

"You always did deny what you couldn't control. Maybe you should try believing in something for a change."

"Don't you remember Susan? I want to be with you every day of every year for the rest of eternity. I'll find a way back—you look for me."

Her eyes snapped open.

"No more do-nothing-let-things-happen-Susan," she said, her voice like iron.

Twenty minutes later, she was in Death's Domain—taking matters into her own hands.

*

Death found color very hard to imitate, and because of this his whole land—house, grass, flowers... everything—was entirely black and white. Or at least it had been.

You see, one woman named Persephone Pearle could be very persuasive when she wanted to be, and had convinced Death to let her interview him. He had invited her to his domain, and she had been thoroughly appalled at the lack of color. Therefore, she had come again and again, each time bringing something (as she said) "bright and cheery". She brought flower patterned curtains with yellow, red, green and blue. She brought pots of roses, tulips and sunflowers. She brought tablecloths, patterned plates—heck, she even brought bowls of fruit. It looked so odd to see all that black and white, now and then bursting with a bit of color.

Death rather liked it, though. It reminded him of those masquerades he liked to visit now and then, with all those bright costumes. So he didn't mind the journalist adding to his domain with her cheery colors. And eventually, he learned that her company was rather pleasant, even if she did ask a lot of questions. She was most definitely the nicest, most honorable, most thoughtful journalist he'd ever heard of. Who would've thought?

So when a knock came on his door, Death assumed it was Persephone bearing her bright gifts. He came through his large house, crossing the floor in a similar manner to Mr. Teatime, as the floor between door and entry wasn't quite as large as it seemed. Death had never really mastered scale, shape, or physical attributes of any sort.

He swung the door open and was surprised to see Susan. Susan, his dear, dear Granddaughter who had been acting oh so strangely ever since the incident of the unseen Unseen University.

HELLO, SUSAN! ARE YOU FEELING WELL?

Of course she pretended nothing was wrong. She was strong, and spunky, and smart. Her normal, grouchy self. But he knew she'd spent nights up late. He knew that her every movement was somehow... shallow, empty. That saddened him, especially since whenever he asked her about it she would glare and say:

"I don't know what you're talking about, Granddad."

He sighed at her response. DO COME IN, SUSAN.

She glanced around curiously.

"What's with the... color?" she asked in confusion.

WELL, PERSEPHONE HAD BEEN VISITING AND—

"The journalist?!"

SHE REALLY IS VERY PLEASANT.

"I'm not denying that. But who willingly knocks on Death's door? Isn't that just asking for trouble?" Besides relatives, of course. "How does she even get here?"

WELL, I'VE LOANED HER BINKY'S FOAL.

"Binky had a child and you didn't tell me?!"

Death shifted uncomfortably.

I WAS GOING TO GET AROUND TO IT... ANYHOW, SINCE SHE IS STILL TOO YOUNG TO BE RIDDEN SHE ONLY LEADS PERSEPHONE HERE.

"Ah," Susan said, a little skeptically.

WHY ARE YOU VISITING, GRANDDAUGHTER?

He brightened (if a skeleton could).

HAVE YOU JUST COME TO VISIT? FOR THE SAKE OF JUST VISITING? TO SIMPLY SEE ONE ANOTHER AND HAVE FAMILY DISCUS—

"Um..." Susan started, actually feeling a little guilty.

OH. YOU DIDN'T, DID YOU? he asked sadly.

"No," she answered plainly. Death dimmed (which a skeleton most definitely can). Susan pursed her lips. "But... um... look, Granddad, when I'm done with what I need to do, I'll be glad to come by and join you and Persephone for some..." she started searching through her repertoire for something you did with friends/family; "um, some... some..." oh, that's it—she was written in Britain! "...tea?" she tried, her face contorting slightly as she waited for a reply.

AND I COULD HAVE ALBERT FRY SOME PLUM PUDDING!

Susan, if it was possible, paled.

NO! she called, pure fear showing on her face. "Um, I mean, how about the journalist and I take care of the substance? You can make the tea."

WONDERFUL! Death said happily, practically beaming (well, it's up to you to decide whether or not a skeleton can do that). BUT SUSAN, WHY ARE YOU HERE?

She took a deep breath.

"I'm here to locate an anthropomorphic personification, and then argue the structure of the universe with her."

Death blinked, his little eyelights bleeping on and off.

WHAT DO YOU NEED ME FOR?

"Nothing, really. I just need to get to the library and look up a certain biography."

OH... WELL, I GUESS I'LL JUST... WANDER MY HOURGLASSES, THEN?

Susan noticed the sad shuffle to his posture.

"We'll have that tea soon, alright, Granddad?"

He nodded slowly, still looking glum.

I WILL LOOK FORWARDS TO IT WITH GREAT ANTICIPATION.

The first genuine even half-smile she'd had in a long time graced her lips.

"So will I."

Death wandered off, and Susan, with a determined air, marched up to the library.

*

He'd been here before, but he had sworn to never be here again. He swore he would never come to this dark, empty place. He'd promised himself he would never, ever allow himself to come back.

Teatime hadn't told Susan about this land of darkness so she wouldn't worry. But that wasn't exactly the right word. You see, it wasn't dark. It was nothing, emptiness. No light, and no darkness at the same time. It was so empty and horrible.

If there was one thing Jonathon Teatime was afraid of, it was boredom. And that was in abundance here. Last time he had died, he had faded into this existence, the black nothingness taking his sight and morphing around him.

Of one thing he was most definitely sure: this was his hell. His own, personal little hell that he could rot in. But he wouldn't rot here.

He had to get out. He had to get out of this nothingness—he'd done it once, he could do it again. It'd been so hard, though. He'd had to justify it in his mind, he'd had to think and think, and believe and believe, but eventually he had breached the borders and returned to the light, or the darkness... he'd returned to something, though, no longer in the emptiness.

But he'd spent a lot of time thinking before then. A lot of time thinking about his life, and how nothing had come out of it. He had been near perfect in his work, he had been brilliant, but he had never made the Wall, and as he looked back on it, he saw his many days were as empty as the rest of the Disc. Even as empty as the nothingness that surrounded him.

That had touched him, deep down, and twisted his heart. It had started him in thinking things he'd never thought before. Started him in contemplating things he never would have contemplated before.

Yet before he had escaped, while he had thought about his life, he had searched. He had wandered the nothingness blindly, searching for Marly, his sister, the joy in his day and the peace in his night. But he had found no one—most definitely not Marly.

It had felt like years, eternities, forevers that he had spent here. But he had escaped, and now he had to even more. He'd promised Susan he'd come back, so he must find a way there. He would.

He could do anything.

*

Searching for Ruth's biography wasn't particularly hard. Not so many gods/anthropomorphic personifications names began with 'R's, surprisingly. Even better, Ruth's biography wasn't very long at all (relatively speaking), as she was a fairly new being, only coming into existence when they'd first met.

Susan flipped through the pages until she reached the very end.

"Strange..." she said thoughtfully, "I wouldn't have expected to find her there."

So Susan slapped the covers together, placed the book in its place, told her grandfather she was borrowing Binky, and rode out into the sky.

*

Teatime was thinking hard, but he could tell something was different. His mind was restrained with something that felt like a mental chain. Every time he tried to focus on how to get out, his thoughts wrenched backwards and he started thinking about flowers. It was getting rather frustrating, as, though he had nothing against flowers, he very much didn't like to have his mind controlled. He was incredibly proud of his brilliance, and having that limited or under the control of outside forces in any way agitated him.

The assassin kept trying to focus, he worked so hard at it, but the chains kept wrenching him back. The ropes kept pulling his thoughts away. It wasn't fair.

Then he felt it. He knew what nothingness felt like—oh, he knew that well. But the prickly feeling on the back of his neck was not nothingness. No, that feeling was the feeling you got when someone was walking up behind you.

"Who are you?" he asked softly.

"Bon—" a sweet, female voice started.

The moment the 'B' sound left her lips, he recognized her voice. He knew what she was going to say. He knew who she was and was holding her so tightly against him before she had time to finish the words.

Bonny Johnny, she'd always called him. She had teased him so much for his thick, bright curls and dancing talents. She'd thought he was pretty, and called him 'bonny' because of that.

"Marly," he whispered.

He had seen her as he whirled around in the split second before he'd wrapped her in his arms. She was so much larger than she had been the last time he'd seen her. Her thick, straight, blond hair was passed her shoulder blades. Her dark blue eyes were vibrant and sweet. She looked just his age, and she was so beautiful. His dear, sweet, gentle, witty Marly, precisely three seconds younger than he.

"Marly, Marly, Marly..."

She hugged him back, crying into his shoulder.

"You're holding me so tightly," she whispered, "I can barely breathe."

"I'm afraid if I don't I'll lose you again."
"You will, though, Johnny. I can't stay for very long."

He held her tighter, and she let out a sound somewhere between a giggle and a shriek.

"Johnny, you're starting to hurt!"

"No. Don't you dare leave me again."

"Cherub..."

He sighed and released her, taking one of her hands. It was larger than when they were little (though that wasn't saying much, as Marly had always been very, very small, even compared to him), yet her hand was exactly the same scale against his own as it had been so many years ago. They had been children only eight years old, wandering the streets of Ankh Morpork hand in hand.

"Why couldn't I find you? Where were you? I tried so hard—"

"They thought you didn't deserve the good place."

"I don't... understand."

"There's a good place, and a bad place. They thought you didn't deserve the good place." She touched his cheek. "They don't understand you like I do, Johnny. I told you no one else would."

"You did."

"Now they're arguing. Some people think you've gotten better, some people think you could never make up for the things you've done, some people think you're exactly the same, and some couldn't care less. I've fought so hard to get to you, Johnny. The only way I could convince them to let me here you was by saying any place where I couldn't see you was a hell to me. This is going to be the last time we see each other until you die again."

"Again?"

"I don't doubt you, Johnny. You're going to get out of here, and then you are going to work to get to the good place. I'd come with you, but if I leave here... if I leave here I'd never be able to come back, and then when I died we'd be separated forever. No, you go down, and I'll wait for you here." She hesitated, "I've met our mother."

"What is she like?" he asked quietly.

"She... she loves us so much. She's so kind. But there is something you want to tell me. And I want to hear it all! Tell me everything—tell me who you are and what has happened since I died."

He grinned.

"I fell in love, Mini Marly."

She grinned back, her eyes widening.

"Tell me all about her! She'd better be amazing and deserve you, or I'll go down and pull her hair out from jealousy."

"She is amazing, Marly. She's so smart, and silly, and bold, and brave, and proud, and practical..." he hesitated. "Perhaps it is a good thing you died and I'm visiting now, because if you told me you were in love I'd probably catch and kill him."

"I don't doubt it. You always were very jealous. But go on, I want to hear it all! Tell me—tell me everything about her!"

He smiled. She was so perfect, so beautiful—his sister, his dear sweet sister. His, and no one else's. His other half and light. His Marly.

My Marly.

But then he noticed. She was fading.

"Marly, what's going on?" he said, the worry showing in his usually cheerful voice.

"Don't stop talking, Johnny—please, don't stop. I want to hear your voice. I want to hear everything."

"You're going, aren't you?"

She was growing fainter.

"Yes, but please... please, go on..."

"Marly, don't leave me again," he said darkly.

She shook her head and hugged him, burying her nose in his shoulder.

"I love you so much," she said softly.

He held her so tight as she faded.

"I love you, too, Marly."

Then she was gone.

But she was somewhere, and he would find her. He would see his Marly again—there was no doubt of that now. He would find her, and they would be together again, and she could meet Susan. How wonderful would that be! The two people he loved—Susan and Marly, with him forever when they died.

Silly chains; he'd break them. How could anything stand in his way now that he had his two loves so close to his grasp?

*

Ruth was sitting on the rolling, grassy hills outside Ankh-Morpork, holding her little parasol over her shoulder to block the terrible heat the sun cast down.

Susan didn't much care for heat. It made her lethargic—the cold invigorated her. But she wasn't thinking about that; she was staring at the anthropomorphic personification before her who was snapping her fingers furiously.

"Are your powers not working properly?" Susan asked a she approached, sitting beside the Rules.

What kind of powers does she have, anyway?

"No, they are working perfectly," she said coolly, snapping her fingers again.

"Then why are you snapping so much?" the schoolteacher asked, her brow furrowing.

"I'm using my powers."

"I don't understand."

"It's all those stupid Auditor's faults!" she screeched, obviously in a terrible mood. She really needed to vent. "They keep breaking and breaking the Rules, and trying to make it look like they aren't, and stirring up thoughts of rebellion in everyone's heads! Do you know how many Rule breakages there have been in the passed week? The past WEEK?"

"Um, no..." Susan said, wondering if she even wanted to, then realizing she really didn't have a choice.

"FIFTY-SIX! Did you hear that? FIFTY-SIX! Fifty-six Rules have been broken in the passed week. Not year, not month, not even week-and-a-half—no, a WEEK! FIFTY-SIX BREAKAGES!"

Ruth took a deep breath, stretched out her jaw, and started twiddling her parasol idly. When she spoke, it was calm and cool.

"I'm fixing them now. My powers include fixing Rule breakages with the snap of a finger."

"Ah."

There was a short silence. Ruth was still snapping her fingers, which were all red and raw from the constant stress.

"Do you have time to talk?" Susan asked.

"No, I do not. I am exceedingly busy with my work," the Rules answered stiffly.

Well, I tried to be polite.

"I need to speak to you about a certain instance with the Auditors."

"I'm afraid that will have to wait until I'm done."

"And how long will that take?"

Ruth thought a few seconds.

"Two months, three days, four hours, two minutes, thirty-six seconds."

NO, Susan said. Ruth jumped, but wasn't particularly frightened. NO, RUTH. WE HAVE TO TALK.

The Rules took in a deep breath.

"You may be Death's granddaughter, Miss Sto-Helit, but you have no right to boss me around. If you don't mind, I'm busy."

I DO MIND.

"If we talk, will you leave?"

The slightest half smile crossed the schoolteacher's lips.

*

The hour glass... where is his hourglass?

She journeyed the hall of the dead—the place where no longer flowing hourglasses were kept. The problem was that there were so darn many. It was taking her forever for her to reach the 'T' section, especially since it was at the end of the alphabet.

"If only you were here, Teatime," she said thoughtfully, "we could cross this hall in two steps."

Then again, if he were here she wouldn't need to cross the hall in the first place. The whole Disc was just one, big mess. There really was no denying that, but somehow it was a mess worth fighting for.

Right now, though, Susan wasn't fighting for the Discworld like she usually was. No, she was fighting for herself and her own happiness (maybe a bit for Teatime's, too. Maybe) as she made her way down the long hall. It took what felt like hours to reach the one, lone hourglass, labeled with clean, neat letters:

Jonathon Teatime

She took the hourglass and held it to herself, a small smile playing at her lips. Everything was going to be okay.

Finding a table in the long, winding halls was harder than one might expect, and if she hadn't used to live here she never would have found one. But Susan understood (for the most part) how Death thought, and how he created his home. When she reached a long table covered with a brightly colored tablecloth against the black and white she raised a brow, but otherwise ignored it. For now, she really only had one thing on her mind.

She set the hourglass on the table, staring at in intently.

"Alright," she said softly, "alright, Teatime. I've talked with her."

She flipped the glass, and, as expected, the sand didn't budge. A terrible feeling of dizziness filled her as she held it, and Susan set it on the table as quickly as possible to keep her head from splitting like a watermelon.

"Now I wait."

*

He was getting closer—so much closer. He could actually stay focused on his task for (what felt like, at least. Time didn't really work here) ten seconds before flowers filled his head. In a while, he would be able to get out. A while, yes, but he could do it. He knew it—he had to.

Again, he felt a presence behind him, and whirled around hopefully. He was terribly disappointed to see Death, of all people, before him.

"Oh. It's you," he said dismally.

WHO WERE YOU EXPECTING?

"I was hoping..." he shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Why are you here?"

Death crossed his arms, glaring at Teatime.

FOR REASONS I WILL GET INTO SHORTLY.

The assassin had spent many nights up late, thinking of ways to kill Death. He'd hated him, ever since he was a little boy and had watched the anthropomorphic personification take away his little sister's soul. But he was Susan's grandfather, so they had to keep some semblance of peace it seemed. Such a shame.

They glared at one another for a few seconds.

IT APPEARS, he said, THAT SUSAN HAD FLIPPED YOUR HOURGLASS.

"She really has? How sweet of her."

I'D TEND TO THINK THE REST OF THE WORLD WOULD DISAGREE, Death mumbled. Then he continued; IT SEEMS THAT SINCE YOUR DEATH WAS INDIRECTLY CAUSED BY THE AUDITORS BREAKING THE RULES, AND THAT EVERYTHING THAT OCCURRED BECAUSE OF THEIR RULE BREAKAGE SHOULD BE REVERSED, YOU SHOULD BE REVIVED. SUSAN FOUND THAT LOOPHOLE, AND PERSUED IT.

"You mean if I told you that so long ago you would have brought me back to life?!" Teatime called in disbelief, mentally kicking himself for not doing so.

I SINCERELY DOUBT IT.

"Oh," the assassin said, feeling a bit better about his actions.

Death had spent many happy nights thinking how wonderful it was that Mr. Teatime had finally died. The assassin had killed so many people, really cluttering up his work schedule, not to mention taking lives. Knowing that this bloodthirsty madman no longer cursed the Disc had helped him sleep at night (metaphorically speaking, of course). He'd be more than glad to refuse this new theory and fight it to the bitter end, but Susan was behind it, and, it seemed she cared about this assassin for unknown reasons. It appeared, then, that he and Teatime had to keep some semblance of peace. Such an inconvenience.

I DO NOT SEE WHY SHE HAS DONE THIS. I DON'T UNDERSTAND HER IN SO MANY WAYS. BUT A CONFERENCE WITH CERTAIN POWERFUL PERSONAGES, AS WELL AS THE THOUGHTS OF THE RULES, HAS DECIDED THAT YOU SHOULD BE RETURNED THE PHYSICAL STATE YOU WERE IN BEFORE SUSAN IMPALED YOU WITH A POKER.

The image of Teatime with a poker straight through him would have made Death smirk, if he had lips.

The assassin nodded.

"Will you take me back, then?"

I SUPPOSE I SHALL... Death took a step closer, looking terribly intimidating. BUT IF I START SEEING A MASS OF BODIES FOLLOWING YOUR TRAIL, YOU WILL WISH YOU NEVER LEFT HERE. AND IF I FIND SUSAN HAS BEEN HURT IN ANY WAY, YOU WILL WISH YOU'D NEVER BEEN BORN AT ALL.

Teatime, strangely enough, could relate to the last thing Death said, and nodded.

"You don't have to worry about that, sir. Susan will not be harmed if I have anything to do with it—least of all by me," he said as seriously as he could in his high, off voice.

I WILL HOLD YOU TO THAT, the skeleton answered darkly.

*

Maybe you should try believing in something for a change, he'd said. Well she was. She was believing in him. He would come back. He would be here. She would see him again. He would be here.

But she had been waiting here, staring at the sand in his hourglass, willing it to move, for over an hour. She'd been waiting so long, but she wouldn't give up. She wouldn't leave, she wouldn't move until she saw him again. She wouldn't.

The sand started to fall.

"Hi," said a soft voice in her ear.

Susan clutched the table until her knuckles turned white, her eyes clamping shut. She was too afraid to look and see no one there.

"Jonathon?" she whispered.

"Hi," he repeated.

She smiled slowly, turning around and opening her eyes. Slowly, she reached up a hand and touched his cheek.

"I have this terrible urge to hit you," she said softly, her sight growing blurry.

"I have this terrible urge to kiss you. But from my memory, you're supposed to—"

He never quite had a chance to finish the sentence before she leaned up and kissed him. He was here—Jonathon Teatime.

The black hole in her heart filled to the brim with the most wonderful feeling—a feeling of love—, and she had never felt so whole.

*

The two days left of teaching dragged out, as now Susan couldn't wait for them to end. She was a duchess after all, and had a pretty sum tucked away. It turned out to be the same for Teatime, as he had hardly spent any of the money he'd earned from his... er, career on anything. She couldn't even remember who had suggested it, but sometime, one of them had said something along the lines of—

"Let's go somewhere cold! Let's travel, just you and I, somewhere spectacular until school starts again."

—and both of them had loved the idea. So Susan had packed, and Teatime had found some more of his assassin's attire (even though he really wasn't quite working for them anymore... he still considered himself an assassin, and was terribly proud of the clothing), and they were ready to go the moment school let out.

Susan, Persephone, and Death had all shared some tea as she had promised, but most of the time when she wasn't teaching, she and Teatime were talking. It was amazing how much he had to say, how brilliant he was. They'd talked nights away by arguing, laughing, learning and debating with one another.

At last, they bought a cart to carry their supplies and a horse to draw it and started off together across the rolling hills of Ankh-Morpork. Teatime was as hyper as after they had first kissed, beaming terribly and seeming so childish. Susan loved that about him—how childlike he was, but she'd never let him know that.

"Me oh my," he said softly, "the sun is setting."

"How could that be? We just set off..."

"It feels like so little time, doesn't it? But look at how far we've come. I can barely see the Unseen University anymore."

Susan glanced behind her. He was most definitely right. She shrugged.

"I guess you're right."

He took her hand, grinning broadly.

"This is so much fun!"

"Jonathon, you are so... so..."

"Happy?"

"That wasn't quite the word I was looking for."

"Glowing?"

"Um, not that either. How about—"

"Lovesick?"

"That works," she said with a nod, "but I was thinking of juvenile."

"Hmm..." he said thoughtfully.

Teatime noticed a shadow off to the side.

"Oh, Susan, I think someone is trying to rob us," he said quietly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm most definitely sure. Their actually leaving our cart right now."

"Oh."

"Permission?"

"Just get him in the leg, if you can," she sighed.

Teatime leaned forwards and kissed her cheek, simultaneously throwing his knife. A small cry of pain came out of seemingly no where.

"I do love you, Susan," he said softly.

She rolled her eyes.

"My traveling companion is lovesick, juvenile, and just threw a knife while he was kissing me. What was I thinking?"

He nuzzled her neck.

"I'm glad you were thinking it, whatever it was."

She sighed, and then said (albeit reluctantly):

"Me too."

Teatime grinned.

"Good," he said softly.

*

THREE YEARS EARLIER

The blade slid away from her, air slicing as the sword passed through it. Susan whirled around, surprised to see a boyishly handsome young man, only in his early twenties. Or at least he would have been handsome, if it weren't for those mismatched eyes. One black and dark, the other off white, almost blueish, with a pinprick of a pupil. His every step was like a dance, he moved with such grace.

"Hello," he said cheerfully, smiling up at her. He sent chills down her spine with that frightening gaze of his as he stepped towards her. Her stomach was fluttering with nerves, and she touched the wall for support. Why was he so terrifying?

Susan could tell right away that he was an assassin. She was also certain that she would have to defeat him—and even more certain that that would be terribly hard to do. But she couldn't help but be terribly curious about him, as well. There was some sort of an... aura about him that chilled her, and intrigued her like nothing else ever had. It also frightened her, and it took a lot to frighten Susan. It must be the way his eyes bore into her so intensely that unnerved her so... but no, she would not let her fear show. She would shove it a side.

What was she talking about—she wasn't afraid at all. She was furious. How dare he take her Grandfather's sword?! Susan raised her chin in defiance and anger.

This was a man that would be hard to deal with, but she would. She would take care of him, and never had to worry about this assassin again in her life—literally.

Yeah, right.

Author's Notes—CONTINUED!: Did you really think I'd leave a story with a sad ending? Nope, I'm a stickler for happy ones, and since Teatime has made it back from the dead once it'd just be lame if he couldn't again (for those of you who have read Marly Had a Brother, I was trying to show how Teatime became Teatime, and it had to be sad. Not to mention this chapter bring a bit of happiness to the end of that tale). This was the best happily-ever-after I could muster, and I hope you enjoyed it. Please review, and keep an eye out for my sequel—it's coming up!