Extra Author's Notes: Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! I completely forgot to write this. I need you all to review and mention your favorite Teatime to Susan quotes (e.g. "I did say teh-ah-tim-eh. Please don't try to break my concentration by annoying me") from book, movie, or my story (preferably my story) so I can use them in subsequent chapters (not necessarily the next, but one close to it). Thanks!--okay, now go on to the actual author's notes...

Author's Notes: Literally is coming close to an end, just to let you know, so there probably won't be more than four chapters after this, if even that. Thank you, all of you, for your wonderful reviews, kind thoughts, wishing me well when I was sick, and for your devoted reading. I've written a prequel of sorts for this story called Marly Had a Brother, (slap this on to the end of '': /s/5712548/1/Marly_Had_a_Brother), if you're interested in reading it.

Peacocks are peacocks, wizards faint, and Susan feels happy (can you guess why...?). Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Susan, or Teatime, or Death, or the Discword, or most the things in this story. Thank you, Terry Pratchett, for creating them!

Chapter Ten

A first time for everything...

Asleep, Susan didn't look half as stern as she did awake, Teatime thought. She looked soft, even (if 'Susan' and 'soft' could be used in the same sentence). Thankfully, she had rolled off the bulk of his coat during the night, so as he slid it out from underneath her she didn't even stir. He pulled his arms through the sleeves, feeling the slight burst of pride he always felt when he wore an assassin's attire. He had worked long and hard to wear this outfit, and it never ceased to please him.

Teatime pulled out his knife and scrawled a message on the inside of the door for Susan. He glanced once more at her (fast asleep and soft-looking) and smiled before he pushed the door open silently. It was an art, opening doors without letting them creak—an art he had mastered many (many) years ago. The warm colors of sunrise seeped into the wizard's office through the window. The room was pleasantly cool, with crisp, fresh air swirling throughout the chamber.

The assassin made his way to the window, placing his feet on the rim and hands on the roofing outside. It didn't take much effort to slide up onto the keep's crenulations. He sat in the sunrise, feeling the morning air fly over him and took in deep breath.

It must have rained while I slept, he deduced, noting the wet rooftop and sweet smell of rain.

It was pleasant, the quiet and silence of morning, the wind in his hair.

It won't be long before the wizard comes to his office, Teatime thought.

And he would be ready.

*

Justifying willingly agreeing to travel with Teatime was harder than Susan had expected. He was crazy. He was a murderer. He was childish... Somehow, though, she liked that one thing about him—he was so like Gawain, or the other boys in her class. And that smile of his... she almost laughed. It was so crooked and happy. Not to mention that since he had traveled with her he hadn't killed a single person. If she could keep him from taking lives, that was reason enough to deal with him, wasn't it?

Besides, she wouldn't mind seeing more of that smile.

She sighed peacefully in her half-sleep, glad she had finally succeeded in justifying her actions. It was terribly uncomfortable, feeling uneasy about a decision you made; even more uncomfortable than sleeping on this hard stone. It was cold underneath her, and the individual rocks scratched her cheeks like sandpaper.

Susan's eyes flew open. Where was Teatime's coat?

And more importantly, she realized, where was Teatime?

Susan quickly surveyed the room. The peacock was asleep, curled up in a ball of sorts in a corner, but the assassin was nowhere to be seen. Then she noticed the door. The wood had been engraved with tiny letters, slightly stiff and evenly spaced. Susan crawled closer to it and examined the writing.

S-

Good morning. Knock when he comes and you're ready. Out window. Hope you slept well.

-T

She shook her head, a slight smile threatening to show on her lips. The peacock yawned softly, sitting up slowly.

"Good morning, Susan. Where's your friend?"

"I'm not sure if I'd call him that..." she answered thoughtfully.

"What would you call him, then?"

"That's a very good question," Susan said dryly. "He left a message on the door; he's out the window."

"Why?"

"He didn't say. I'm guessing to have the wizard surrounded."

"Reasonable enough, I suppose. Do we know if the wizard is out there yet?"

About then they heard the loud creek of a door accompanied by the sound of someone tripping.

"Yes," Susan answered as she stood and dusted off her skirt, "I think we do. Are you ready?"

"For what?" Persephone asked as she stood.

"I really don't know. For once in my life," she coughed nervously, not quite realizing how hard it would be to say the words she planned to, "I'm trusting Teatime."

Susan marched up to the door and knocked briskly. Outside the door and out of sight, a wizard turned in confusion towards the sound, and an assassin, ears perked after hours of waiting, started to slide down towards a window.

Susan knocked again. Timothy Ortan, more than a little unnerved, walked towards the door and reached for the knob. Then he felt a knife at his side.

"Hello," a cheerful voice called. "My name's Teatime. I think I already know yours."

Another knock.

"Do answer that, please, Mr. Ortan" Teatime said.

The shaking wizard grabbed the knob and turned it, surprised to see a woman with white hair and a black streak standing behind it.

"Nicely done, Teatime," she said. "Did you have to terrify him so much, though? He's trembling."

"I've only been polite," he replied. "I just seem to have that affect on people..."

The peacock squeezed passed Susan and flashed a friendly smile towards the wizard.

"Hello, Mr. Ortan. I am Persephone Pearle, and I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Um..." Timothy Ortan squeaked.

"And please do so... honestly," Teatime purred.

Quite promptly, the wizard fell to the flour and fainted. The assassin's brow furrowed.

"Was it something I said?" he wondered innocently.

Susan wondered if he was pretending, or honestly didn't realize how creepy he was. It was hard to tell with him, sometimes.

Probably lying, she decided. He knows what he can do.

The peacock kneeled beside the unconscious wizard and looked him over quickly.

"He hit his head pretty bad," she said, "he'll probably wake up within the hour, though."

"And we'll do what until then?"

"You forgot the magical object, Susan," Teatime said cheerfully. "Shall we search for it in the other room?"

Susan sighed in resignation.

"Actually," the peacock said, "I think there's a bucket of water in one of the cabinets by his desk. Could you grab that for me so I can wake up the wizard, Susan?"

"I'll get started in the other room," Teatime said with a pleasant smile as he headed that way.

"I'll get it," Death's granddaughter sighed as she made her way around the desk. She bent down and opened one of the cabinets. Sure enough, there was a bucket full of water. "What is a bucket doing here anyway?" she mumbled. Susan was about to grab it...

"Susan...?" a slightly weak voice called out. "I think I might need your help."

"Hold for a few seconds, Teatime!" she called grumpily, lifting the bucket and letting it slosh as she walked towards the peacock.

"Susan, please—"

"Just a minute, Teatime!"

"Alright," he sighed airily.

"Here, Persephone," Susan said, setting the bucket beside her.

"I'll try to wake him up, then," the journalist said. "You help the assassin, alright?"

Susan rolled her eyes as she made her way into the adjoining room. She was surprised to find him sitting on the ground, his legs outstretched in front of him.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her brow furrowing.

"It's some kind of a body bind," he said dismally, glancing up at an open drawer.

"Are you alright?"

"I don't seem to be harmed physically. I can't move anything but my head." He glanced down at his chest. "Oh no."

"What?!"

Red blood started to seep through his black clothing in a horizontal line across his chest, starting at her left and slowly moving right. He glanced up at her.

"Please close the drawer, Susan," he said.

A slight feeling of panic welled up in her as she swerved to the drawer in the wall and shoved it in. Teatime let out a long breath as she sat beside him, opening and closing his hands.

"That hurt," he said, staring at his fingers as he moved them in fascination.

"The cutting?"

"The pressure," he corrected.

"What pressure?"

"Keeping me from moving," Teatime paused as he examined his chest once more. "I'm still losing blood. Do you have any bandages?"

"No..." Susan stood, glancing out the door for the peacock.

Well, she did see a peacock.

And it's all She Who Shine's fault, too. Poor Persephone Pearle. Now she's a peacock, since the silly author of this story enjoys calling her 'the peacock' so much.

"Oh bollocks," she cursed softly. Teatime was standing beside her in a quarter of a second.

"I guess she doesn't have any bandages either, then. Maybe there are some in the cabinets. Let's hurry—I'm beginning to feel… light headed."

So Susan searched the wizard's desk for bandages, and Teatime searched the wizard's unconscious body for reasons unknown to her. She realized the logic of his actions when he stood with a key and locked the door to Ortan's office.

Then she found the bandages.

"Found some!" she called.

Teatime slid off his coat, vest, and finally shirt (so many layers; it was surprising he didn't boil over. Then again, this keep was very cold) to show the nasty gash beneath it all. And it was bleeding terribly. Susan would have been shocked by it if she hadn't been preoccupied with all the other marks over his torso. Not a two-square inch of skin was free of a scar of some sort. Her eyes widened and brow furrowed as she stared at him in shock.

"Where did these come from?" she asked, staring at the slashes and gashes, the pale white veins and red bands, the raised and twisted skin covering his chest.

"Various situations," he shrugged as he took the bandages and wrapped them around himself quickly. How he managed that she would never know. It looked so natural as he did it, but when she tried to do similar things later she realized how impossible it was. Then again, nothing was really impossible for Jonathon Teatime.

At the moment, however, she was still staring at his scars.

"Various situations?"

She traced one of the long, white veins with her index finger, her face a mixture of horror and awe. It was an odd expression, Teatime thought, but in a good way. He took her hand and lowered it slowly, looking into her brown eyes with his mismatched ones, a half smile forming on his mouth.

"You look so worried, Susan," he teased.

She glared and ripped her hand away, slightly surprised that he had let her go as she turned towards the window angrily.

"I'm shocked. Not worried," she corrected, not bothering to look at him.

"I suppose we'd better start the spell..." Teatime said thoughtfully as he pulled his shirt, vest, and finally trenchcoat over his arms.

"What spell? We don't have a magical—"

The assassin sighed. He really had hoped he wouldn't have to do this.

"We do, Susan," he said, slowly lifting a finger to his glass eye. Susan's flesh and blood ones widened.

"Your eye?"

He nodded.

"It's even magical?" she stopped and thought for a few seconds, "So that's how you're able to—"

Teatime actually looked somewhat close to grumpy as he crossed his arms in agitation.

"No, Susan. Everything I do, I do on my own. The eye only lets me see things that are really there—Death, a toothfairy, gnomes, fairies... et cetera."

Teatime worked very hard to be able to do such amazing things effortlessly. People saying his speed, grace, agility, foresight and brilliance were all due to his 'magic eye' was his second worst pet-peeve (the first being someone mispronouncing his name, of course).

"You are going to let me burn your eye?"

"It shouldn't melt if we pull it out quickly."

Susan made a face.

"If you insist..."

"We'd better wake the wizard soon. My cut will scab shortly, and I'd rather we used the blood from that than make you or I bleed again."

'Cut' was a severe understatement, Susan thought.

"Right. I'd forgotten about the blood."

"That's the second time you've done that..." he said thoughtfully.

Susan grabbed the bucket and dumped it on the wizard's head. He sat up straight screaming.

"THE WOLVES ARE ON MY BACK!" he yelled, then glanced around quickly. "Um, where am I?" Then he saw Teatime. "Oh dear..." the wizard moaned quietly as he laid back on the floor slowly.

"Excuse me," Susan said politely, "excuse me, Mr. Ortan."

"What?" he sighed.

"My name is Susan Sto-Helit."

Timothy sat up straight, his face wide and alert.

"You mean...? You mean Death—"

"Yes, yes—the white horse, the cape, the scythe, the granddaughter. Right now I need you to do me a favor."

"I would love to help, Miss Sto-Helit, I really would, but you see, Mordred has me terribly busy quickening the installation of a fireplace in his throne room and—"

"I think you should hear her out," Teatime suggested cheerfully, a broad, friendly smile crossing his face.

Timothy Ortan shut up.

"Do you know about the Unseen University?"

"Yes..." he said slowly. "That it has disappeared, you mean?"

Susan nodded.

"We're trying to bring it back."

"I don't know why it's gone, or what happened to it, or anything abou—"

Teatime started fingering his knife idly, his gaze sliding over the blade.

Timothy Ortan shut up.

"All we need you to do is say some words we have written down and wave your wand... counter-clockwise...?" she asked, glancing at the assassin, who nodded.

"That's it?" the wizard asked, disbelief showing on his face.

"Yes, that's it," Susan answered.

The wizard let out a long, deep breath.

"Oh, thank goodness! I was worried that you had some big, grand adventure in store for me. You see, us wizards very much like—"

"Do you have anything... important to say?" Teatime asked.

Timothy Ortan shut up.

"Here's the spell," Susan said, passing some of her notes on Riddly's notes over to the wizard. He looked them over quickly.

"Yes, this should be easy. Let me get my fire kindling..." he said as he stood and made his way to the other room. He walked through the door, stopped in his tracks, and swerved towards them.

"Someone has been here and searched through my drawers!" he called worriedly. "And they escaped... this could be a problem; he might be anywhere with anything. There were some highly confidential spells in there—"

"That was me, Mr. Ortan," Teatime said idly.

"Oh. That explains the bloody gash then," he laughed nervously, gesturing to the stains on his black coat. Teatime grinned back.

"It certainly was... unpleasant."

The wizard, rather shocked that anyone could go through his body bind and think clearly (Teatime had never really thought 'clearly'; perhaps that explains how he bounced back so easily and handled it so well) afterwards, began to shuffle through his drawers to find some paper and a few matches. The peacock squawked and waddled about the room, exploring every nook and cranny. Teatime attempted to remove his glass eye, which was a lot more difficult than he had expected. Susan kept finding herself glancing his way, and then wishing she hadn't.

In approximately six minutes they had a fire going, a glass eye available, a bit of blood ready, and one unsettled Susan. Teatime looked so odd without his eye, and even odder holding it in his left hand. It just wasn't right.

"You're eye is the magical object?!" the wizard asked in shock.

"Yes," Teatime said.

"You put a magical object into your own eye socket?"

"Yes."

"Oh, alright then." Timothy smiled nervously. "Go ahead and put... put your eye in the fire," he said.

Teatime (rather reluctantly) dropped the glass orb into the flames, and watched in awe as the fire danced about and licked it.

"Do hurry," he said softly, cocking his head at the flames, "I don't want it to... melt."

Ortan glanced at the assassin and shakily began to read from the pages in his hands, waving his wand counter-clockwise.

"," he mumbled quickly, jumbling them all together in an effort to get it over with.

The blood fell into the flame... and the eye began to glow. It didn't burn red; no, it emanated blue. It shown brighter and brighter, and then with a terrible flash and a sound akin to canon fire, it stopped. The peacock vanished, and half a second later they heard things falling on the roof above them. Teatime's head shot up, as well as Susan's and the wizard's in surprise. The schoolteacher immediately ran for the window, but the assassin was there long before her. He slid through and started to climb upwards.

"What are you doing, Teatime?!" Susan asked in surprise, sticking her head out after him.

"It seems," his voice called down, "that we've succeeded."

"How so?" she asked.

Teatime slid passed her and through the window, grinning broadly.

"They're all up there. The journalist, a tourist, your grandfather..."

"Lobsang?" Susan asked hopefully.

The assassin made a sour face, feeling for his knife.

"Yes, I suppose he's there too."

"Um...?" the wizard asked.

"Funny," Teatime said thoughtfully, "you remind me of another wizard I knew..."

"Could I have my key, please?" he asked politely (if more than a little shakily).

If you had been there, you never would have seen the assassin reach into his coat. Somehow, the key simply went flying across the room and landed in the wizard's hand. Teatime considered killing him for half a second, but decided that Susan would be terribly annoying if he did.

"You won't mention us, will you?" he asked as he looked under the desk for another bucket.

Timothy shook his head adamantly. Teatime doused the fire.

"No, no, don't worry about that. Good day, Miss Susan. Give my regards to your grandfather, won't you?"

"You know him?" she asked curiously.

"Um... I will," the wizard said before he slid out the door in a blur. Susan raised an amused eyebrow.

"Poor man. You really did frighten him," she said, turning to Teatime.

"Don't forget the terms," he reminded her.

"Yes, yes—you 'reserve the right to frighten and intimidate'," she huffed, crossing her arms. "Why don't we get up to the roof, already?"

"That isn't the best of ideas, Susan. Your grandfather is up there; I'm in the middle of cheating Death—I don't think it's wise to do it under his nose."

"Or his granddaughter's," the schoolteacher countered.

"She's worth it," he grinned, and the smallest trace of a smile touched Susan's face.

"I'm going up, though," she said. "I have to make sure Granddad is alright. Not to mention, I haven't seen Lobsang in a long time."

Teatime crossed his arms in agitation, leaning up against the stone walls.

" 'Lobsang' again. You certainly think well of him," he said levelly. His voice was almost a monotone, but he... he looked rather peeved.

"We've been through a lot together," Susan replied.

Teatime sighed, walked up to the embers of the fire that had survived the water and lifted his now cool (or rather, lukewarm) eye from the ash.

"So have we," he commented nonchalantly, staring at the black orb with his good eye.

"He's not a psychokiller."

"I haven't killed a single person in this life, Susan," he argued.

"But you have killed countless people."

"But then I was... born again, so to speak. Therefore you can't call me a killer if I haven't killed... yet."

"Arguing details isn't going to get you anywhere, Jonathon. I don't even see where you're trying to go."

He turned away from her for a second or two, and when he looked back (a crooked half-smile on his face) his glass eye was firmly in place.

"I've never understood fairytales," he said.

"What?" Susan called in surprise. "What does that have to do with any—"

"A princess is captured, a knight rescues her," he interrupted thoughtfully, "they fall in love and get married. But can you imagine them staying up all night, talking, arguing, and laughing? Can you imagine them fighting monsters side by side, or playing chess? Can you imagine them sharing secrets, or just exchanging their day's story over dinner? 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 stared at him blankly for a few seconds, not quite sure if she had just heard what she'd thought she'd heard. Her stomach felt so light, and she wasn't sure if she was going to throw up or start flying. She considered considering everything, but then shortly after realized she should try to focus on breathing.

"I can imagine staying up all night talking to you. I can imagine fighting by your side... both with, and against. I can imagine playing chess with you, or sharing secrets with you. I can imagine being with you every day of every year for the rest of eternity."

When he'd stepped closer she wasn't sure, but Susan was distinctly aware of the fact that he was now under a foot away. He cocked his head curiously and slid the fingers of his left hand into her right, lacing them together. Her hand was distinctly cold, and very, very soft in his. It felt comforting, and… somehow completing.

"You'll die before eternity," she said coolly, attempting to ignore his warm, callused hand and the strange heat shooting up that arm.

"I'll find a way back to you. I can do anything."

She raised a single brow, but decided not to follow that line of conversation.

"I'll die before eternity."

He leaned forwards, barely whispering the words.

"I won't let you go."

Susan felt as if she were choking on her own heart as it beat faster and faster. The air was thick, and the Disc itself seemed to be slowing. She felt so dizzy, and was very frustrated that she couldn't stop her hand from tingling where he touched her. If you looked at her, you wouldn't be able to tell. She would only appear a little stiff. But Teatime was an expert at reading people (if not understanding what he read).

"I feel broken," she managed, and it was true. Her heart felt so empty all the sudden, so empty, yet swelling and filling and boiling and bubbling over.

He could feel her—literally. Her presence before him sent out an aura that he could sense, an aura that sent shivers down his spine. Teatime enjoyed power over others, he enjoyed the weakness people felt before him, but Susan was melting, and somewhere deep, deep, down, he realized, he was growing... stronger. He wanted her to grow strong as well, not melt, but couldn't explain why. It contradicted everything he had ever felt before... but he felt it. And Susan was the one to deny what she felt, not he, he knew.

He raised his right hand to her pale cheek.

"I'll make you whole," he replied confidently.

For a sixteenth of a second, he was afraid. It was an odd feeling, an unpleasant one, so he discarded it immediately. No, he wouldn't be afraid. Instead, he bridged the gap between them and kissed her.

Fire, was the first word that flew through her mind as his lips seared into hers. Soft... was the second, as she felt how... gentle he was. Cold, cruel, crazy, cheerful, brilliant... all those words described Jonathon Teatime, but gentle? There was no denying it, though, as his thumb ghosted across her cheek and his lips fell back, their foreheads meeting in the middle. He grinned.

"You smell good," he whispered happily, then buried his nose into her neck as he pulled her close. Her hair tickled.

"Still jealous of Lobsang?" she asked quietly into his bright curls.

Jealous, Teatime thought, yes, that must be the word. I hadn't known I was capable of such an emotion. It's terribly… unpleasant.

"Jealous?" he said in mock astonishment as he pushed her near an arm's length away, keeping a firm grip on her shoulders. He immediately regretted it, but knew it'd be good for affect, "Me, jealous of the Lord of Time? I think not; Susan just let me kiss her—didn't you hear? I expect kings to be begging for my place."

Susan couldn't help but laugh here, and Teatime couldn't help but think how pretty it sounded.

"I hear she ran a poker through you as well," Susan said through her smile.

"Details, details," Teatime said as he pressed his forehead again to hers. He liked doing that, he realized. Susan reached up hesitantly and brushed his cheek, her left arm wrapped around his neck.

"I feel so happy and dizzy," she whispered.

"Am I doing that?" he asked curiously, suddenly very interested in one of her curling curls. Her hair was very float-ee and light at the moment.

"I think so."

"Does anyone else do that?"

"No."

"Good," he grinned, then breathed in deeply and stepped back.

"You can go now."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Just like that...?"

"Oh, I'll be waiting for you down here."

"You aren't worrying about Lobsang?"

"No," he said simply. "You're all mine now."

"And what if I'm not?" she asked, slightly agitated by his choice of words (Susan was her own, for goodness sake!).

His knife was by his cheek as he grinned.

"Then I'll become a 'psychokiller' again."

"Jonathon..." she said in a low, warning voice.

"I'm only teasing, Susan." He leaned forwards and slowly kissed her cheek. "Come back soon," he whispered into her ear.

She smiled the tiniest of smiles, shaking her head.

"What is the quickest way there?"

"As far as I know," he answered, "there should be some stairs to the roof at the far left of the hall."

"Then I'll be back soon."

"Good."

Susan smiled one last time, and left through the door the wizard had exited by.

Teatime grinned.

He felt so happy.