Disclaimer: Fanmade by fans for fans. Please don't sue.
Summary: They stood under the starlit night sky, black sand as far as the eye could see. Death was not there to greet them.
A/N: When I heard the news of Sir Terry Pratchett's death, I went and read my favorite Discworld book, Soul Music. After that, I read Mort and Small Gods and hastily typed this drabble. Little more than a year later, I've found this drabble again and although it's nowhere near anything Sir Terry would have written, I think I'm okay with sharing it now.
One Last Job
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They stood under the starlit night sky, black sand as far as the eye could see.
Death was not there to greet them.
"I thought he'd be here," Ysabell said, her voice small and brittle, as her eyes searched through the numerous people wandering the vast desert before them. "I know we haven't had the best relationship, but it would have been nice to see him one last time."
Silent and still, Mort nodded.
"I mean," Ysabell continued, "it's not like Father to shirk The Duty. He's Death. He should be here."
Mort reached down to hold her hand, giving a gentle squeeze of support.
"I hope Susan will be okay."
"I'm sure Keli will keep an eye on her," Mort replied.
Ysabell nodded, knowing their daughter was in capable hands. She ran her thumb over Mort's knuckles, his strength easing her worries.
"It would have been nice to say goodbye," she murmured wistfully.
Mort turned to face his wife. "Maybe he doesn't want to say goodbye. Maybe this is him saying he doesn't want to let us go."
A soft smile appeared on Ysabell's face as she raised her hand to cup her husband's cheek. "Or maybe this is his way of giving you one last job to do."
Gazing into her eyes, Mort pressed his forehead to Ysabell's, then gave her a chaste kiss before leading her to the edge of the desert.
Unbeknownst to them both, Death watched them go, raising his hand in farewell.
A/N2: GNUTerryPratchett