Author's Notes: I'm not near as satisfied with this chapter as I am the last, but here you are anyway. I guess this is it, the end of One Dangerous Game. Hard to believe that this was originally a oneshot I wrote when I couldn't fall asleep and was awake delirious one night. I hope you've enjoyed it, and please leave a review, even if this is ten years after I've posted it up. Seriously, I'll still be checking, and nothing makes my day quite like someone's comment ;-) Thank you so much for reading my fanfiction, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Disclaimer: I don't own the dialogue; Terry Pratchett does. I'm sorry if I've upset anyone by using it, but I had to for this story to WORK. I didn't mean to make any copyright infringements or anything at all like that... I just really wanted to write this.

Round Seven

***

Teatime made his way down the familiar streets. He knew the path to the Gaiters' house so well now; he'd traveled it so many times. Here was the park where Susan had dueled him. There was the window he'd scaled so often. It was a familiar place, a good place – a place Susan would return to.

With a decisive nod, he slid into the kitchen window and sliced air with the sword while he waited. The time before she arrived would be dull, but at least he had this spoil of war, this prize, this new, most definitely unordinary toy. What exactly could it cut? Was there anything that it couldn't?

The Assassin searched for some silverware, watching curiously as he chopped it up to bits. So yes, it sliced solid metal easily enough. What about teacups and mugs?

What about eyelashes?

*

Susan sighed in relief as she spoke with her grandfather outside the Gaiters' house. The usual awkwardness presided strongly, and for once she was glad of it. It was something familiar that she could latch onto. Something to remind her that the turmoil of today was over and that she could forget it in a sea of attempted conversation that would most definitely end in sad failure.

She slid off her gloves, she slid off her coat. She breathed in the normality and safety of the Gaiters' warm house. She thrived in the fact that she was safe and she was done, and that her trials and tribulations were over. All she had to do was make some cocoa.

"There are some biscuits," the governess mentioned as she walked into the kitchen and grabbed the kettle.

Cocoa.

Susan shoved the word out of her mind as she attempted to make it simultaneously. She didn't want to remember the person so strongly attached to the warm, sweet, chocolate-y substance.

This proved more difficult than she had first imagined.

"I'm afraid I've ruined many of your mugs, but I would very much appreciate it if you were to make me a cup anyway."

Susan literally froze. She didn't turn. She didn't jump. She didn't screech or flinch. She simply froze, unmoving, even unbreathing. She clutched the kettle like a lifeline, and it was half a second before she realized that she was trembling.

Fingers wrapped around hers, sliding the kettle from her grasp and placing it on the counter.

"On the other hand, hot chocolate can wait. We have much to talk about, don't we, Susan? We have quite a score to settle, don't we?"

Her eyes fluttered shut.

"You're dead," she managed. It came out low and raspy, as her throat had barely managed to open.

"Do I feel dead, Susan?"

Warm, rough fingers slid into hers. Entwining, softening, eternity, ending, and beginning all meeting.

"I missed you." They left involuntarily. She had not thought the words before they had slid from her lips. They had escaped from her very heart, skipping her brain entirely.

His soft touch tightened gently as he squeezed her hand.

"I missed you, too," he replied. She could hear the crooked, childish grin in his voice. She could see his face perfectly painted in her mind, his expression down to the glint in his eyes. She knew him too well.

Susan didn't dare open her eyes. If she did the illusion would shatter, and reality would come crashing down with a terrible coldness. She would remember why it could never work. Sense would fall onto her shoulders and she would remember why they could never be. But at this moment, all she wanted was not to be alone anymore. All she wanted was to spend eternity with someone who would want to spend eternity with her, someone who knew her, someone she could spill her soul to and spend all her days with. She forgot any obstacle, and only knew the sweetness of the two of them, the sweetness of the moment.

It hurts. You hurt, and we can never work, she realized, sense catching up with her. The warm feeling growing inside her turned bitter, but stayed just as sweet. A bittersweet burn, an amazing ache, a dark longing, and a sad truth. But it was so, and there was no way around it.

A single tear slid down her cheek as her free hand whipped to the kettle and she whirled around, eyes snapping open as she swung it at his head. Teatime ducked, leaping back and stretching out the sword. He looked surprised, disappointed. He looked as close to hurt as she had ever seen him.

Susan glanced at the glowing, glinting blade apprehensively, still clutching the kettle. Teatime shook his head.

"Oh, Susan. Must you ruin it? Must you? We could have so much fun. Don't rob yourself. I know you want it just as much as I do."

Susan stared at him silently, unable to speak. She felt like crying, and her throat felt raw and weak. She shook her head slowly, and the Assassin's face changed, emptying and darkening. He jerked his head towards the archway into the living room.

"March," he said coldly. But Teatime was never cold. He was bright, he was cheerful, he was dark, he was sleek – but he was only cold when he was angry. And he was beyond angry. He was hurt.

Susan nodded and turned towards the arch.

SUSAN? Death's voice echoed. It sounded slightly worried.

Teatime cocked his head, a terrible grin spreading across his face as he pushed her forwards with the tip of the blade, somehow managing to keep from slicing her back open.

"Well, well," he said brightly as Death came into view. "This is… unexpected. A family affair."

Susan had a sinking suspicion that he had never been so dangerous.

Susan's sinking suspicion was terribly correct.

Her grandfather stared dumbly as Teatime circled the governess, gliding across the room with an inhuman grace.

"I wonder, is it possible to kill… Death?"

Susan had never been so afraid. She knew too well that no one could hurt her grandfather, but if one believed, if one truly believed he could kill Death, then there probably was a chance that he could. But only someone completely and totally bonkers could possibly believe such a thing. Unfortunately, completely and totally bonkers had 'Teatime' written all over it.

You're crazy, she thought. Why do you have to be so crazy?

The sad thing was that she loved how off he was. She loved watching his confusion at simple things. She loved laughing at his cluelessness, until it came to taking lives.

"This must be a very special sword," he speculated, gazing at the glistening blade idly.

Susan noted how he hadn't glanced at her once throughout this. He was always looking at Death or his sword. Teatime noticed she noticed out of the corner of his eye, and was glad that she did. Hopefully she felt dejected, or at the very least angry for being ignored. He wanted her to be angry. He wanted her to be upset. He wanted her to feel lost and helpless, because he could take care of Susan. He could keep her company and make her laugh. He could fight with her and talk with her and he was her match; they were equals. Yet here she was, turning him away, and he had opened up to her like he had no one else. He had apologized sincerely to her. He'd actually cared about her and wanted to make her happy.

Now he felt so dry and empty thinking about her, and with the thought came a terrible stabbing pain somewhere in his torso that he didn't like it one bit. He wanted Susan to hurt just as badly as he did. He'd find a way to make her hurt just as much as he did, starting with Death. Then he'd find some other way to make her feel as horribly as he possibly could. Then, maybe then she'd realize ignoring him would get her nowhere. Maybe then she'd give him the light of day.

Teatime was really getting rather desperate.

He beheaded a doll with the sword like a knife through butter. It was fun to watch, and wonderful to hear the air slice as he pulled the blade up to his face again.

"And it certainly works here." He had to make sure Susan knew he knew. "And of course, it might well not be regarded as murder," the Assassin added as he started across the room. He almost danced with each step as he slid through the air, ever elegant. "Possibly it is… a civic act," he pondered brightly. Susan could only watch silently. "It would be, as they say… the big one."

What would it be like to be able to boast of killing Death? Just imagine what the Assassins' Guild would have to say about that. Of course, an Assassin wasn't supposed to kill without being paid to do so, but there had to be exceptions when such a golden opportunity presented itself. Not that he'd listen to them anyway. Besides, making Susan miserable was worth breaking a few rules for.

"You may have some personal knowledge about your vulnerability," Teatime explained to the skeleton sitting silently and eating a biscuit, before turning to the governess with an odd glint in his eyes. "But I'm pretty certain," his voice was loud at this part of the sentence, but it softened as he continued and met her eyes, "that Susan here will quite definitely die." The word 'die' somehow drew out and echoed. Death's granddaughter hid a shiver. "So I'd rather you didn't try any… last minute stuff."

I AM LAST MINUTE STUFF, Death sounded slightly dangerous as he stood to his skeletal feet and glared at the Assassin before Susan.

Teatime was momentarily nonplussed. So Death was as witty as his granddaughter was. He probably should have expected that.

And then he heard the noises.

Susan stiffened with worry.

"I don't remember them asking for anything that made a noise," she observed somewhere between nervously, quietly, and frustratedly, glancing at her grandfather.

OH, THERE HAS TO BE SOMETHING IN THE STOCKING THAT MAKES A NOISE, he explained. OTHERWISE WHAT IS FOUR THIRTY AM FOR?

Susan almost cursed.

"There are children?" Teatime blinked, remembering Susan's occupation. He'd been so wrapped up in all this he'd almost forgotten. He met the governess's eyes. "Oh yes. Of course." He could barely hold back the grin that threatened to show as he thought of how much Susan cared for those tiny things. "Call them."

She'd seen it coming. She knew that glint in his eyes.

It was not, and I repeat not, a good sign.

"Certainly not," Susan said as decisively, as boldly and as certainly as she could possibly say it. The words were much softer than she would have liked, but the message carried in her tone. She would have used her Voice if it had been anyone else, but she had the sinking suspicion that it wouldn't have made the slightest difference on him.

"It will be instructional," he argued gently. "Educational." He looked slightly thoughtful. "And when your adversary is Death, you can't help but be... the good guy." Teatime had always wondered what that would be like, but it was such an elusive, no-fun role that he always ended up playing what any novelist would call the 'villain'. It would be such a thrill to try something new for a while, before slipping back into himself. He could frighten the heck out of Susan while he did it, too. "Call them."

Susan glanced desperately at Death as Teatime looked down hall towards the noises.

What can I do? she mentally called.

And like a god sent, like an angel, Death winked. Susan almost sighed in relief. She didn't have to think. She wouldn't have to worry. Her grandfather had a plan.

"Gawain!" she called. "Twyla!"

The children looked a little sullen, being called away from their Hogswatch-morning revelry. Not to mention that Susan hadn't even beaten up a bogey yet. It was all highly disappointing.

"Come in, come in, curly-haired-tots," the Assassin said. It really didn't come out right. "Look at this bogeyman." Death glanced up from the chocolate chip cookie. The children looked under-impressed. "What should we do with him?"

Teatime seemed to be fairly occupied with the children, and Death most certainly wasn't doing anything. The Assassin was far too close to her charges for comfort.

"It's only a skeleton," Gawain pointed out.

Susan shook her head desperately. They had to stay on his good side.

Teatime must have sensed her movement as only he could, because he whirled around to check on her. The governess stood still as he cast his eyes over her quickly, checking to make sure she wasn't doing any 'last minute stuff', before he turned back to the children.

"Yes, a nasty, creepy, horrible skeleton," he tried. It didn't seem to be invoking the right emotional response, though. At least Susan seemed unnerved enough, and that was all that mattered. He'd seen the look on her face. "Scary, huh?"

"He's eating a biscuit," Twyla pointed out dryly. Teatime knew that tone of voice far too well.

"A creepy bony man in a black robe." It was funny, how nothing about Death seemed to unnerve them in the slightest. Probably all those bogeys they'd run into. Not to mention Susan's influence.

Aw, these children are far too like their governess for their own good, he thought. Fearless, dry, bold, blunt – brave. She's trained them up well, hasn't she? Susan must be so proud of them. She must care for them so much. Just perfect. And speaking of which –

"You're fidgeting with that kettle," Teatime called as he whirled around, pointing Death's blade at the governess. "With which I expect you're thinking of doing something... creative. Put it down. Please." Susan didn't glare back at him as he'd expected. No, she merely met his eyes and ever so slightly nodded. She probably should have known he would catch her, but she had to try. Her grandfather hadn't done anything in all this time, and Teatime was far too close to her charges for comfort. "Slowly," he added, stretching out the word far more than necessary.

Susan complied most uncharacteristically obediently as she placed the kettle down on the nearest flat surface, never breaking eye contact. He almost cocked his head at her, realizing that there really was something she was trying to say – something she wanted to convey.

Please. Please, just don't hurt them, he read so clearly on her face, now that he knew something was there.

He remembered asking her 'please'. Only a couple weeks ago he'd come to her window. 'Please acknowledge me, Susan. I'm not good at this. I haven't had much practice. Please don't do this. Please,' he'd said. She hadn't obliged then. Why should he now?

"Huh, that's not very creepy!" Gawain called, almost sounding a little disappointed. "It's just bones. It's just standing there. It's not even making woo-woo noises. And anyway, you're 'creepy'. You're eye's weird!"

Susan paled.

No, she thought. No, Gawain, you didn't just –

"Really?" Teatime asked ever so softly. His voice was hardly above a whisper, his posture as sleek as it always was when he had power over someone. He leaned down, face to face with the little boy.

Susan panicked. She knew the look on his face, the way his stance had changed. By god, what was Death doing? Gawain couldn't have been more was just standing there, and he had winked at her. He'd winked! There had to be something – anything – that Susan could do to stop this insane Assassin before he did something... insane. Or worse. She reached behind her for the poker, feeling for its familiar, rusty surface that carried with it safety and power.

"Well let's see how creepy..." Teatime's voice didn't even constitute as a whisper. It was a mere murmur,barely audible but most definitely there. "...I can be." He blinked, like he had at Medium Dave, ever so softly, ever so slowly, before he stood in a blur and raised Death's sword.

Susan raised the poker, praying to whatever god was listening that Teatime wouldn't notice.

Well, Astoria, Fate, Blind Io, and the Lady were all listening and watching very intently. But none of them wanted to interfere, so Susan's pleas went on deaf ears. Or at least ears that couldn't care less what happened, so long as they got a good show out of it. The main point being that Teatime did notice, and stepped back behind Death with the glowing sword high above his head.

Susan didn't think. She just threw.

At least not at first. The moment the metallic firearm left her hand, she did think. The moment the poker left her fingers and started sailing through the air, Susan allowed herself to remember him. She thought about the time he'd faked a proposal to get her out of a ball. She thought about how she probably would have said yes if he had really asked a week or so after the fact. She thought about how he'd gotten her drunk and they'd step danced. She thought about the time he'd sprained her wrist. She thought about how he had kissed her when her head had been pounding. She thought about the way he held her so close.

She wanted to take it back, but it was too late. She wanted to pull back the poker, to unthrow it, but it was too late. She wanted to go back in time to the kitchen three minutes ago, scream yes, fly away on Binky to the Counterweight Continent, and live happily ever after with his charmingly insane smile. But it was too late.

We never would have worked, anyway, she thought. We never could have.

Susan just knew that even now he wanted to cause her great psychological pain, because the eyes gazing back at her clearly said:

I would have worked for you, Susan. I would have made us work for you, if you'd only given me the chance. Anything for you.

...and nothing could hurt her more.

Teatime dropped the sword (which Death quite elegantly caught) as he smiled at Susan, but his eyes were confused. A black tear and a clear one were sliding slowly down his cheeks, one from each eye. Black and White as always.

He felt so empty and odd, and the poker hurt so terribly, but he didn't mind because of what he saw. The shattered look of pain that crossed Susan's face as he dropped the sword was enough. Now he knew that Susan did hurt just as badly as he did. Perhaps she had all along, only for one of those strange reasons he could never grasp no matter how hard she tried to explain she couldn't let him know. At least he could die contented, knowing that one dear fact: Susan did care enough to hurt.

"Oh no," Teatime said, his voice filled with befuddlement and tinges of pain. "It couldn't have gone through you." He was talking so lightly, even as he was crying. He was talking so lightly, even as Susan was shattering before him.

He'd miss her. He'd miss Susan. His Susan.

"So many ribs... and things."

With that, the Assassin promptly fell backwards, dead, to the ground.

"It only kills monsters," Twyla explained matter-of-factly.

"Stop time now!" Susan called, almost angrily.

Yes, he was a monster. Yes. But he was something else, too. He was something special, something different. She didn't want to hear him called so, even if he more than deserved it.

Death snapped, and with a swooshing sound as reality bent to his will, time came to a halt.

Susan was horrified. Susan was lonely. Susan was grief stricken. Susan's heart had just crumbled into ten-thousand tiny pieces, and she, quite frankly, didn't know what to do. So Susan did the only thing she could do to keep her whole self from shattering then and there. Susan got angry.

"You winked at me! I thought you had a plan!" she growled.

INDEED, OH YES, Death agreed. I PLANNED TO SEE WHAT YOU WOULD DO.

"What?!"

I DID ADD THE SPARKLY STARS AND THE NOISE, THOUGH, her grandfather put in hopefully. I THOUGHT THEY WOULD BE APPROPRIATE.

"And if I hadn't done anything?"

Teatime wouldn't be dead.

Twyla and Gawain would. Or at least Gawain – she wouldn't put it passed the Assassin. Or perhaps the child would only be missing an arm.

Susan shuddered.

No, she couldn't regret what she had done. It couldn't have ended any differently, no matter what Teatime had thought. But that didn't make it hurt any less.

I DARE SAY I WOULD HAVE THOUGHT OF SOMETHING... AT THE LAST MINUTE.

"That was the last minute!"

THERE IS ALWAYS TIME FOR ANOTHER LAST MINUTE, Death explained. Susan glowered. The skeleton turned around towards the Assassin's still body, poker protruding rather eerily from his chest. STOP PLAYING DEAD, MR. TEH-AH-TIM-MEH, he said.

Susan watched as his soul lifted from his corpse, barely able to keep her eyes on him, but equally challenged to keep them away. He looked mildly surprised.

"You got it... right," the Assassin said in shock.

OF COURSE, Death replied.

Susan felt slightly warm inside despite herself. Perhaps that would be enough for him, hearing his name uttered correctly.

Teatime glanced at her as he began to fade, grinning sadly at her before he left.

No, Susan, he seemed to say. Nothing's enough without you anymore. But oh well. I'll be there on the other side when you come. And I can be patient when I have to.

You just hate it like hell, she replied.

That's right, he conveyed back, his grin widening a notch as he faded into nothingness.

It was odd how they could communicate so well. It was odd how from his mismatched eyes she could draw such distinct, detailed conclusions. But she could, there was no doubt about that.

Strangely enough, that night, as the gods passed out tissue, cleaned up spilled popcorn, and balled respectively, as Susan lied in bed holding back tears, and as Teatime lied idle in the afterlife, at the exact same moment they both thought of one another.

She won, Teatime pondered. She won the Game and killed me.

I won that battle, thought Susan. I've killed him, but he won the Game. He's scarred me. I won't ever forget him. I'll never get over that crazed Assassin, gods help me. And it's not bloody fair.

Life never is.