AN: I can't believe it's the last chapter! *sniffle* Thanks to everyone who's been reading along for the more than two years it's taken me to finish this dang thing, and especially those who've sent me such encouraging reviews and PMs. And as for these two crazy kids, it's going to be hard to let them go.

October

"A watched pot doesn't boil, love."

Sybil glanced up from her mobile with a rueful grin. "I'm sorry. I'll put it away." But she refreshed her inbox one more time before she set the phone down. She'd got back from a visit to England only the day before, but since they'd woken up Tom felt like she'd spent more time checking her email than talking to him.

"I think you need to get outdoors," he said, casting a look out the half-moon window, the sky a bright hard blue beyond a conflagration of maple leaves. "Shall we go for a walk? Fancy a coffee?"

"I suppose, as long as the admissions office is going to keep us waiting all night." She swung her feet off his lap and onto the floor. "Can we go to Starbucks this time? I'm all for supporting the local and everything, but I really want a Frappuccino."

"If you call that coffee," Tom said in an undertone as he went for his hoodie. His tastes had evolved considerably during his years in the States, and he opted for coffee at least as often as tea when he went out for a hot drink (mostly because the majority of American coffee shops couldn't seem to manage a decent cup of the latter).

"I heard that."

The afternoon was as crisp and fragrant as it had looked from indoors. As they walked Tom plied Sybil with questions about her trip, which produced the expected gushing over her nephew and niece (as well as distracting her from the fact that her—their—entire future was about to be decided). "They're such a handful!" she said with a laugh, at the close of a story that involved an heirloom Turkey carpet, Edith's beloved Louboutins and an entire jar of Matthew's hair pomade. "But so adorable in small doses." With Sybil starting medical school, Tom knew it would be a long while before she was ready for a bigger dose. But that was fine. He could wait.

In the queue at Starbucks she dug her mobile out of her handbag, but Tom plucked it from her hand before she had a chance to wake it up. "You're not allowed to check your email until we've finished our coffees." He parried her scowl with a grin. "That should give us enough time to have an actual conversation. Besides, you've already heard from MSU, so we're grand either way."

"MSU isn't ranked," she said, and smirked when he rolled his eyes. "I know that doesn't mean anything to you, but it will matter when it comes to getting a good residency. Besides, we both know that once I get into the thick of things, East Lansing might as well be Siberia."

Or Africa. "Nah, I'd be taking the Megabus over every weekend to sleep at your feet while you revise."

"As if you've got time for that." She made a grab for the phone, but he held it out of reach. "Come on, Tom, I'm only going to glance at it—"

The people in front of them moved to one side, leaving the counter open and the guy behind the till staring them down. Tom leaned over and slipped Sybil's mobile back into her bag. "It's our go, love."

-ooo-

As much as he'd been able, Tom had hidden the full impact of his and Sybil's breakup on him from most of his family (distance was helpful that way; with Edna they'd all known every miserable detail). Ma had worried when he'd begged off the weekly Skype sessions, but a couple of phone calls and emails a month had held her off until he was through the worst of it. Once he'd got his head back above water, there didn't seem to be any point in revisiting the past. He'd had a talk with Kit as well, told her he didn't want them all worrying (or gossiping) about him, and she'd kept his little meltdown to herself. All this had been done more out of pride than anything else (certainly he'd had little desire to protect Sybil's reputation in the months after she'd finished with him), but the result was that when they had made a week's trip to Dublin in August, the welcome was not as cool as it might have been.

Sybil's strategy was to allude early and often to her commitment to staying as near to Tom as possible. It worked: after some slight initial reserve, his mother resumed calling her "dear" and was optimistic enough about their chances to talk blithely about their next visit. Apart from some generally good-natured ribbing ("Gonna make a go of it this time, eh?" after a few pints was a representative example), everyone else simply behaved as though the breakup had never happened.

Everyone except Katie. She and Nigel came over from Liverpool and at first she barely acknowledged Sybil's presence, leaving poor Nigel to fill in the gaps. At the first opportunity, Tom pulled her aside to tell her what was what.

"I appreciate the solidarity," he said, "but I'd appreciate it even more if you'd be civil to Sybil."

Katie gave him one of her wide-eyed looks. "Oh, am I not?"

"Don't give me that shite. You're making everyone uncomfortable."

She had the grace to look abashed. Still, she snorted and muttered, "Yeah, well, I'm not quite so forgiving as you."

"I'm not asking you to forgive her. Though I have, and it'd make things a hell of a lot easier on all of us if you would too. But if you're going to keep on being a cow, I'd rather you just went home."

Katie stared him down, her jaw set in a way that Tom recognized from his mother when she was in a mood. He had an uncomfortable moment of wondering whether he'd just wrecked his relationship with his sister for good; but he wouldn't take back what he'd said. Finally she sighed, gave her head a little shake, and said, "Fine." Then she went back into the other room and asked Sybil with exaggerated politeness what sort of medicine she meant to go into. The four of them—Tom, Sybil, Katie, and Nigel—went out for drinks the next night and things loosened up a bit by the end, but that relationship was probably going to be touchy for a long while yet.

Sybil saw it too. In the middle of the plane ride home she said out of nowhere, "I suppose it was too much to expect everybody to love me again straight away."

Tom marked his place in his book and closed it. "Kit, you mean."

"Mostly. But the rest of them as well. They were very kind, but none of them trust me. She was just more obvious about it." Sybil sighed, Tom realizing with a shock that she was on the verge of tears. "I don't deserve their trust. I certainly violated yours."

It wasn't easy, in airplane seats, for him to take her in his arms, but he did his best. "Sybil, love, that's all in the past." He meant it. He'd made the choice to accept Sybil back in his life in a matter of seconds, but in the weeks afterward he'd thought long and hard about what it meant. He would never be the sort of person who could love by halves, holding part of himself back in safety. With him it was all or nothing. Which was not to say that he wouldn't expect the same thing of Sybil, but he'd never hold her mistakes over her head.

"They'll come round," he said. "And until they do, know that the only thing that really matters to me is that I trust you, and I love you."

She sniffled, her breath hot through his T-shirt. "Thank you for saying that."

"I mean it."

She raised her head and gave him a rather damp, slightly ironical smile. "Then I shall strive to be worthy of it."

-ooo-

Starbucks was crowded (pumpkin spice latte season being in full swing) and the staff was loaded down with orders, so Tom and Sybil had a while to wait. They stood in the awkward clump of customers, making desultory conversation and shifting aside for people to go by. Tom still wouldn't let Sybil look at her phone. Finally they were summoned: "I got an Americano for Tom and a vanilla Frappuccino for Sybil!"

The first sign of trouble was the fact that, in the middle of a rush, the barista stopped moving. Tom hadn't looked at her very closely, but when she failed to hand him his drink he made eye contact and gave her a bemused half-smile.

She didn't smile back. She squinted at him, her head cocked to one side as though she was trying to place him, which jogged something in his memory. She was petite, pretty, with long curly hair piled on her head in a topknot. Where did he know her from? Had she been in his class?

Her eyes went wide in recognition just as he realized where he'd seen her before.

Oh no. No no no.

She swore. "I don't believe it." She looked at the ceiling and spoke to it as if addressing the universe at large: "I do not need this today!" She was still holding their cups. If he'd been able to move, Tom would have abandoned their coffees altogether, but all he seemed capable of was standing in front of the counter with his mouth half open.

Sybil shot a puzzled look between Tom and the barista, who just then seemed to notice her. The barista glanced at the name on Sybil's cup, then at Sybil, then back at the cup, and sighed noisily. "Oh, gawd. You do look just like me." She rolled her eyes. "Or I guess I look just like you."

"What," said Sybil evenly, "Is going on?"

The girl gave a sarcastic chuckle. "Your boyfriend's a dick, sweetie. Sorry to be the one to tell you."

Sybil's eyes narrowed. "What?"

"You know what?" The barista thrust the cups into Sybil's hands. "Just get out. Get out of my shop."

"Look…" Sybil glanced at the girl's name tag. "...Jen, I don't know what your problem is, but this is completely uncalled for."

Tom's paralysis finally broke. "It's not. It's really not. Sybil, I promise I'll explain everything—"

Jen folded her arms, smirking. "Oh, I can't wait to see that."

"I'm sorry," he said to her. "I'm really really sorry for everything. We're leaving, OK?"

Still smirking, Jen lifted one hand to open and close her fingers twice. Bye-bye. Then she turned her hand round and raised her middle finger.

-o-

"You called her by the wrong name in bed?"

"Ah, but it was your name…"

"That's meant to make it better?" Sybil took a sip of her Frappuccino, then looked as though she wanted to spit it out. "I hope she didn't recognize you before she made these. God, Tom, I don't blame her for being pissed off."

"Yeah, I know." He slumped against the backrest of the bench they'd sat on, not far from the coffee shop but well out of sight of its windows.

"I mean, I knew you'd been with other people, but that's really..." she shook her head.

"It wasn't my finest hour." He looked away, sighing. "Or my finest year." It wasn't so much that Sybil was annoyed with him. They'd get over that. He just hated thinking about that time.

To his surprise her arms went around him, and she rested her head on his shoulder. "Oh, Tom. I know, and I'm sorry."

He hmphed. "You don't have to apologize for me being an arsehole."

"I feel as though I do, a little. I did have a part in it."

"Look, a broken heart is no excuse for…" he felt her cringe a little against him, and he kissed the top of her head comfortingly. "If I had it to do over—not that I'd want to—I'd behave very differently."

"So would I." She squeezed him tightly around the waist. "Maybe this makes me a bad person, but now I'm not quite as jealous about you having gone to bed with other women."

"Believe me, Sybil, there is absolutely no reason for you to be jealous."

"And I've no right to be anyway."

But he was a tiny bit glad that she was, if only because it made her more human. She hadn't slept with anyone while they'd been broken up. Too busy, she'd said, but there'd been a shadow in her voice of the things she wasn't saying. Too busy fighting death, hand to hand.

"Besides," she went on, "I should hate you to think you'd missed out on anything, since I'll be monopolizing you for the rest of your natural life."

He laughed. They said these kinds of things easily now, without extra weight; they hadn't specifically talked marriage yet, but it felt like a given that they'd be together for the long haul. "You don't have to fish, love. No one else could come close to you."

The smile that unfurled across her face was almost shy. "Have I said how lucky I am to have you?"

"Not today, but thanks." He kissed her and then settled back with his arm round her shoulders.

"OK," she said after a minute, "It's been at least half an hour. I'm checking again."

"If you like."

He was almost sure there'd be nothing yet, but she gasped as soon as she saw her email. "Ohmygod. It's here." She clutched his hand, then tried to thrust her mobile into it. "You look at it, I can't."

"You sure?"

"No." She snatched it back and squeezed her eyes shut, then took a deep breath, opened them, and stabbed at the screen with her finger. Tom watched her eyes flick back and forth over it, no indication of either joy or disappointment on her face.

"Well?"

"I got in." For several moments she seemed almost stunned. Then, as if happiness had snuck up on her from behind, she let out a giggle and raised her eyes to his. "I got in!" They were on their feet, her arms tight around his neck, kisses punctuating their delighted laughter. A singing in his head: she's staying, she's staying, she's staying.

When they came up for air, he grinned and said, "This calls for a celebration. Fleetwood?" A diner was about all his grad student instructor wage would cover.

But she shook her head, smiling slowly. "Let's go home. We can order takeaway later." As if he had any doubt as to what she had in mind, she pulled him close and kissed him until he was dizzy.

As they walked away, she chucked her nearly full Frappuccino into the bin.

-o-

Tom sometimes made fun of Sybil because no matter what the time of day, if they lay in bed for any time at all after making love, she'd go to sleep like someone had switched her off. But this afternoon she seemed unwontedly restless. She wriggled around from being little spoon to burrowing her face in his chest, then flopped onto her back. He slitted his eyes open to see her staring into space, a thoughtful line between her eyebrows.

She said, "So you'll take your degree a year from next spring."

"If everything goes right." Which it had done, so far, more or less. He was finishing up the research for his dissertation (working title: Elder Statesmen and Up-and-Comers: The Role of Traditional vs. New Media in Furthering Social Change) and would spend the next several months analyzing the results and writing chapters. He hoped to submit his initial draft to the committee in May. He'd rewrite over the following year, publish and defend next May, and finally be bloody done.

"And then you'll find a job somewhere," she went on.

He could see where this was heading. She would still have three years of medical school left. Then she'd do at least three more years of residency God knew where—she had to go wherever she was matched. And he'd have to go where he could get a faculty position. The same old problem.

Yet somehow it seemed easier to deal with now. "It won't be Africa, though," he said lightly. "And distance will be a factor when I'm looking at posts."

She rolled over so she was facing him. "But it shouldn't be. I know how difficult it is to get ahead, and I don't want you to compromise your career to be near me."

"Sybil…" He traced her cheekbone with his thumb. "I won't say my career doesn't matter to me, because it does. But it wouldn't mean much without you."

She pursed her lips, displeased. "If you're offered a job that's further away but better, I want you to promise me you'll take it."

"Sybil—"

"I'm serious. We'll deal with being long distance while I'm in school, and through my residency if we have to. But there'll be an end in sight. And when I'm finished, I'll move to wherever you are."

"But what about your career?"

"I can practice medicine anywhere. It's not as if I need to earn loads of money. The main thing is that we're together." Her eyes were wide and earnest. "I'm never going to put our relationship second place to my work again, Tom."

"Well, good," he said, "because I feel exactly the same way. I'm not going to risk—" He cut himself off at the flicker of pain across her face. "Don't misunderstand me. It's not that I think we wouldn't be able to see it through."

"I wouldn't blame you if you did think that."

"Sybil. We would. For one thing..." he tipped her chin toward him with his fingertips until she had to look him in the eye again. "...You promised." That got a tiny smile out of her. "But mainly I feel as though I've only just got you back, and I don't want to miss a single minute with you, let alone years. Life's too short, love. What's a job against that?"

She gazed at him for a long moment, then burrowed into his chest, her arms going tight around him. "Oh, Tom, I'm so glad I came back." Her voice was muffled. "I almost didn't, you know. I must have walked every street in this neighborhood a dozen times before I got the courage to come up here."

"I'm glad you did too. Though it's better that you just turned up, because if you'd rung me I'd probably have thrown the phone out the window."

She pulled back to look at him again, her solemn face belying his light tone. Finally she said, "I will always support you. In whatever you want to do, just as you did for me."

He snorted. "Fine job I did of that."

"Because I hadn't given you much reason to be optimistic, had I? I took you for granted."

"And I pretty much expected you to read my mind over Skype and know that things weren't working for me. You don't have the monopoly on being awful, you know."

She smiled, but quickly grew serious again. "All right. But no matter what, you will always come first for me."

By now he didn't need to hear it to know it was true, but it was nice all the same. He kissed her. "And you will for me."

"I mean it. If I had to chuck it all, medical school, being a doctor, everything, I would."

That gave him pause. Would he do the same? Would he give up the career he'd been working for, walk away from a PhD, if she asked him to? But she'd never think of asking him; that was the whole point. She

didn't just tolerate his ambition, she loved him for it. And he felt the same about her.

"I wouldn't want you to do that," he said. "We just have to be sure we always talk to each other. No making any big decisions without letting me know. No letting things build up until..." he made an exploding noise with his lips.

She grinned. "Agreed." Then she leaned in and kissed him, her mouth opening for his tongue, her breasts pressing against his chest. It didn't take long before Tom was ready for another go.

"Talking of things building up," he murmured, thrusting his hips into hers.

Her mouth curved against his. "Mm, quite," she said, and swung herself on top of him.

Afterward, her conscience clear for the moment, Sybil slept. As he was wont to do at these times, Tom let his mind drift. He had spent most of the day on the future, but now he cast his thoughts backward three years and more, to the person he'd been then: a man in body, though not in spirit or experience. It wasn't just sex he'd been ignorant of. Sybil had taught him how to fit another person into your life, how to let someone into the secret places in your mind and trust them not to laugh. Losing that had been one of the most painful things he'd ever gone through, but she'd taught him how to forgive, too. Without her, his life might have been easier, more peaceful. But he'd always have known he was missing something.

No regrets, he'd told her. It had been true. The past—all of it, even the darkest bits—had value to him. And for the future, he felt nothing but anticipation.