Author's Notes: Well, a rather short chapter all things considered, but the next one is very, very long so that should make up for it. Of course, the next one is also a retelling of an already written scene, so maybe it doesn't quite count. Oh well, just read and review, because I'm not updating until you do!

Crescendo

***

She was entwined with him as they kissed, his hand warm and rough on her neck. Some part of her seemed to think there was a reason she shouldn't be doing this, but Susan couldn't remember why (and even if she could, she had the sinking suspicion that she would go on doing it anyway).

"I missed you," she breathed.

"Good."

His other hand slid up to her throat as he kissed her again. It was gentle at first, before his touch tightened to a grip, and from there his fingers bore into her flesh. Susan's hands flew up to his as he shoved her forwards into the wall and her back slammed against it. Her head felt light as she gasped for the air that wouldn't come.

"Let – go," Susan choked. The past came flooding back then, instead of the air she wanted – the dog, the servants, the headless form of the lord…

She tried so hard to pull air into her lungs, but was failing terribly. Panic filled her as she scratched at his tightening fingers, but they were unbreakable, and he was merciless as she sank to the ground. Lying flat she writhed underneath him as Teatime cheerfully strangled her. "Please – stop – this."

"But I don't want to stop, Susan – it's such a fun game," he explained with a pleasant smile as the world went black.

*

Susan sat bolt upright, eyes wide as she clutched the blankets above her. She felt like screaming, but refrained. She was Susan; it didn't become her.

"I can't go on like this," she said instead.

This was the seventh nightmare on the seventh day since she'd erased Teatime from her life. This was the seventh day that she couldn't stop thinking about him. This was the seventh day that she had spent feeling lonely with no one but Twyla and Gawain to keep her company.

"I hate him," she cursed. "I hate his perfect curls. I hate his maniacal, twisted smile. I hate his eyes, and his shrill laugh. I hate his odd voice, and the way he stares at me. I hate the way he loves games. I hate how childish he is and how he can't stay focused on something – unless we're counting murders, here – for more than five minutes. I hate him!"

How many times Susan had listed all that off in the past several days, she didn't know. But what she would never admit was that for every thing the governess hated about him, there was one that she missed.

She missed how he listened to her go on about her life. She missed how he'd attempt to cheer her up with his twisted logic. She missed how they would duel one another with pokers, and how he never could quite grasp the way of the world. She missed how he (attempted to) play chess and was always making cocoa. She missed how they would spend their holidays together, and how her next one she would be alone. She even missed the things she hated – she missed his perfect curls, his crazed grin, and his short attention span. She missed him, and the fact that she hated him more than any other person on the disc at the same time practically ripped her apart inside with the mixed emotions.

"I can't go on like this," Susan repeated, shaking her head.

The governess cursed that day, the stupid ball when she'd been stupid enough to notice a stupid Black Blur which had intrigued that stupid apprentice Assassin enough to get him to be curious about stupid her. She wished that she could erase him from her life and from her heart, because as much as she hated him, she needed him. She needed him to keep her company and listen to her attempt to correct his skewed version of life. She needed him to poke through the windows and surprise the heck out of her. She needed him to make her laugh like only he could.

"That's it," she said, anger and spite coming through in her voice as she shoved off the covers and marched over to the window. She ripped open the curtains and took in a deep breath of the night air. "That's it. I'm not letting some crazed not-even-full-fledged-Assassin ruin my life. I'm not going to live like this anymore. I'm not going to give in and be weak and meek. I'm Susan, I'm a governess, I'm normal. I don't have Death for a grandfather, and I most certainly haven't ever met a Jonathan Teatime at a dull masquerade. I haven't, and I never will."

She nodded in affirmation. Today was day one; she was starting anew, wiping off the slate. She would have Twyla and Gawain, and work on getting Mrs. Gaiter to stop curtsying to her, and she would move on.

Susan nodded again, finding the repetition comforting as she allowed herself the smallest trace of a smile before sliding back under the sheets. That night she slept peacefully for the first time in almost a week.

*

"I miss you," he sounded pitiful, leaning through her kitchen window. Susan didn't look up. She knew what the expression would be – the curls haphazardly framing his slightly nervous, almost pouting face. He'd look abject, dejected, fidgety, nervous, curious, and sad all at once. She wondered if he had looked like that when he'd taken off George Arbitiore's head.

Nah, Susan thought, he was probably grinning. The sad thing was that in all probability that was actually true.

Susan didn't look up. She didn't give him the satisfaction. He didn't exist. She didn't know him.

"I want you."

She continued scrubbing the dishes stiffly.

"Susan, you've spoiled me." She could hear the nervous grin on his words. "I was so oblivious and found nothing better than going about my work."

Yes, nailing dogs to ceilings and mutilating helpless maids is quite 'entertaining', isn't it? The poor woman couldn't have been much older than I am. You don't even admit how sick what you do is. You don't even see how sick it is. You just don't, Susan thought darkly. But she didn't look up.

"I didn't know what it was like to spend my holiday with you, to talk with you and play chess with you and duel with you. Now I'm all alone, and I don't want to go back to that. Please don't make me, Susan."

She couldn't help sniffing. She missed Teatime, she truly did. But Susan couldn't be with someone capable of such... horrible things. She simply couldn't, and she couldn't forgive him either. He'd given her a taste of love, of companionship, had been her only frien-emy and made her feel that being different was okay if only they were together. Then he had pulled the rug out from under her feet and reminded her that accepting being different led to disaster, loneliness, and brutal murders. She could never forgive him for that.

"I know you can hear me," he said, leaning into the window. She could hear the traces of anger edging his voice. He hated being ignored; she knew that well.

But no one is here, she assured herself. I'm alone. I don't know any Assassins.

"Please acknowledge me, Susan. I'm not good at this. I haven't had much practice. Please don't do this. Please."

No one here. No one here. No one here, she chanted mentally over and over again.

Teatime clutched the sill of the window angrily. He had the greatest urge to slide inside and twist her twisting hair in his fingers. He wanted to make her squirm and shiver, to whisper to her and make her tremble. Maybe slice something – or someone – up. Even if Susan did attack him with the poker, at least she'd acknowledge him. But he didn't have the time. He was going to be graduating soon; he shouldn't even have come here now.

"I'll be back, Susan," he said softly. "Please let me in, when I am."

And he didn't mean literally. Honestly, he couldn't care less whether or not he had to break into her house so long as Susan let him back into her again. As long as she breathed him and he breathed her, as long as he could make her shiver and listen to her rant on and on about silly things. He wanted her to let him into her, and he would pull her into himself.

But he could wait. He could be patient when he wanted to.

I just need time, she'd said. So she needed time. He could give Susan time. Teatime could be very patient when he had to – he just hated it like heck. But that was okay; he could handle it. He could wait.

GET OUT, she'd said. So Susan hated him now. She could feel that way if she wanted to. Teatime was used to being hated – yet somehow he had never hated it so much. But that was just fine; Susan had hated him before, but then had grown to care for him. He could let her fury burn and broil until it cooled into something softer.

Everything that had happened, Teatime was sure he could handle. It would take time, but he would get Susan back. She was his, and he never lost something of his own for very long.

Assassins are tidy! Clean! They don't leave bloodbaths behind them!, she hadn't said that. She'd screamed it, screeched it, yelled it, and burned it. That was the one thing that Teatime couldn't quite get passed. He was terribly proud of the fact that he was about to become an Assassin, and he had been very careful to do it right. And he had been tidy. The house was perfectly clean, bodies aside. The target was dead, and he had tested his breathing with a mirror as asked. There most certainly had been blood – that was to be expected, wasn't it? – but it hadn't been a bath. Had it?

Teatime glared at nothingness, and Nothingness, once more, truly wished it had been assigned a different occupation. As these longings were felt, the apprentice Assassin causing said wish was feeling very alone. He missed Susan, and he truly didn't understand why she was so upset with him. In fact, for only the second time, he was actually almost angry with her. He wanted her back, to try to explain the world to him, to glare at him and raise a brow. But she didn't want to be back.

Nothingness trembled as the power of said glare doubled.

*

"This isn't working out well at all!" Astoria, the goddess of love, whined between mouthfuls of popcorn. "I want uncontrollable love! Insatiable passion! Verging on dirty ROMANCE! Not all of this 'you don't even exist' or 'I'm just going to wait' nonsense. It's so dull. They were such an epic romance before, too."

Blind Io's eyes blinked back tiny tears.

"It never could have worked, really," he whispered hoarsely. "He was a crazed Assassin and she was too logical to go with someone like him. Does anyone have a tissue?"

"The Game isn't over yet," Fate said, with a dangerous glint in his empty eyes. "There's more to this tale."

"Passion! I want passion!" Astoria called, raising her fists and tilting her pretty head back dramatically.

"I'll consider it," Fate offered slyly.

The Lady rolled her eyes and finished chewing her popcorn before she spoke.

"Just make it interesting, won't you?" she asked. "All I want is a bit of entertainment."

"Oh, don't worry about that," he said, a sly smirk crossing his face. "It will be nothing less than epic."