AN: *Sings in Jim Morrison voice* This is the end…

I'm already missing these versions of Tom and Sybil a little bit, but I'm happy to have finished something! Thanks for all your reviews and support and angst that helped motivate me to get through it, and to cassiemortmain for her ideas and encouragement.

Darling Downs, South East QLD, Australia: late April, nine years later

Sybil drives fast. With no other cars around and a road that looks as though it could stretch across the continent, there's no reason not to. It's just gone noon and the sky is a hard bright blue, not a cloud in it. They've been in Australia almost three weeks now and every day has been virtually the same: plenty of sunshine and mid-autumn temperatures that couldn't be more perfect if they'd ordered them. Sybil is hardly a pessimist—how could she be, when life has given her so much?—but she can't help but feel that the other shoe (or perhaps torrential rain) has to drop sometime, probably when they're in the mountains with nothing but a tent between them and the elements.

Tom comes awake in the passenger seat, blinking at their surroundings. She can tell he recognizes them instantly even before he says, rusty-voiced, "Couldn't go round by Dalby, could ye?"

"Full circle, darling."

He hmphs and goes eloquently silent. Sybil doesn't try to draw him out: his sulks don't usually last long. Still, when he stiffens as soon as she goes around a curve that looks to her much like all the other curves, she wonders whether this was really such a good idea.

But Tom, as ever, is full of surprises. "Slow down a bit," he murmurs, sitting up straight to catch the first glimpse of the rusted metal roof.

She slows to a crawl as they approach the house. Tom stares at it like he's hypnotized, though there's not much to see through the waist-high grass and overgrown shrubbery. "You want me to stop?" Sybil asks. She gets no answer, but Tom looks so intrigued that she pulls into the drive.

It's immediately apparent that the place is abandoned. The front porch finally gave up the ghost, years ago by the look of it, and is a pile of splintered boards in front of the door. The windows gape curtainless, dark and empty; the ones facing Sybil have rock-shaped holes in their panes. Who'd come all the way out here just to vandalize an old house?

Tom chuckles softly. "I can't believe I used to live here."

"I've some fond memories of this place," Sybil says lightly.

He looks at her. "Tell me the truth. What did you think the first time you saw it?" He smirks when she hesitates. "It's OK, you can say it. You thought it was a hole, didn't you?"

"Our home was a hole when we found it."

He laughs. "It was that."

She smiles, thinking of their cottage in Wicklow. It had been empty for years when they bought it, abandoned during Ireland's long economic slump. There were birds nesting in the eaves, but nine-months-pregnant Sybil took one look and fell irretrievably in love. Tom spent every weekend of the next six months making it habitable while Sybil nursed their daughter in his childhood bedroom.

"We're not buying this place," Tom warns, only half joking.

"I never said we should."

"Ah, but I see that gleam in your eye. You and your need to give everyone and everything a second chance." His voice is soft with affection.

Sybil grins. "Or a third." It's true she's developed a thirst for brightening the dark corners of the world, as her patients—recovering addicts, single mothers, people society has pushed to one side—can attest. She never did get back into the operating theatre, but since she found that serving conscious patients can be just as satisfying she's hardly missed it. "I may enjoy a challenge, but even I know when something's a lost cause." Her mind turns to the grandfather her children know mainly through lavish Christmas parcels, which Sybil passes on only with misgivings. Last year, Will asked why there were always presents in the box for him and Audrey and Mummy, but never for Da.

To distract herself Sybil says, "We could always pull the house down and start over. It is a lovely piece of land."

"We'd have to keep the outdoor shower, of course," says Tom, smiling.

There's a rustle from the back seat. "Are we there?" comes a sleepy voice.

Tom and Sybil both jump a little, roused from a shared daydream. "Not yet, sweetheart," says Sybil, twisting around. "We've got about two hours more."

"Shall we let them stretch their legs a bit?"

"Yeah, yeah!" yells Audrey, bouncing in her seat. "I want to get out!"

"Shh, don't wake your brother." Sybil cocks an eyebrow at her husband. "You do remember the snake, don't you?"

"We'll be grand, we'll stick close to the house."

"Will's still asleep," she counters, but as soon as the words leave her lips her son wriggles into consciousness, rubbing his still-chubby cheeks.

"Mummy?" he mumbles. "I have to make a wee."

He's four and a half, but Sybil's escape reflex is still lightning fast from toilet training. Less than a minute later she's standing next to Will, facing off into the overgrown garden, while Tom and Audrey laugh and kick at stones on the other side of the car. Will smiles up at her proudly, nothing like her daughter, who'd be hissing at her to "Turn around, Mum! Privacy, please."

"Spider-man can climb up buildings," says Will. "And he shoots webs out of his hands—like dis—" he demonstrates, foiling Sybil's efforts to re-button his little trousers.

"Mm hmm." Sybil finally manages to get him situated. "And what does he do with the webs?"

"He doesn't need a ladder or nuffing. Just climbs right up the wall."

"He doesn't need a ladder or anything, lovey."

"Dat's what I said, Mummy. Where's Audee?" He brushes off Sybil's hands and sprints around the car as fast as his small sturdy legs will carry him. "Aaauuuudeeeeee!" Will loves his parents, but he worships his older sister with single-minded devotion. He'll stay relatively quiet for minutes at a time if it means she'll allow him to remain in her orbit.

Audrey is being boosted up by her father so she can peek into one of the side windows of the derelict house. She grins as Sybil and Will approach. "Look at this place, Mum! It's so cool!" Audrey's what her astrology-loving babysitter calls an old soul. She reads whatever she can get her hands on—which has made for some interesting, if awkward, conversations—and goes mad for anything with the patina of age on it.

Sybil watches her daughter's fingers grip the outer windowsill, inches away from a jagged fringe of broken glass, and swallows a caution with difficulty. "Is there anything left inside?"

"Just like, really old broken furniture. And a couple boxes… books!" Audrey's voice shoots up an octave on the last word in her excitement. "There's books in there!" She jumps to the ground. "Can we go in, Da, please? Please please please?"

"No," Tom and Sybil say in unison. Tom follows up in a gentler tone. "It's not safe, sweetheart. The floor might be rotted… I don't want you to fall through and hurt yourself."

"Awwwww." Audrey pulls a disappointed face, but brightens when she catches sight of the garage a few meters away. "Oooh, Will, let's go see what's in there!" Without asking permission she takes her brother's hand and they run toward it together.

Their parents follow more slowly. "Don't touch anything," Sybil calls after them, but it's unlikely there's much more than rubble left inside; the door was torn off sometime in the last nine years. Her hunch is confirmed when Audrey and Will emerge before she and Tom have even caught up.

"It smells like pee in there. Can we play outside?"

"Sure," says Tom, earning a look from his wife that prompts him to add, "only don't go into the tall grass. I mean it." The children find the turquoise garden chairs, somehow still there though now rusted almost completely brown, and begin a game of The Ground is Hot Lava.

Sybil pokes her head into the cool darkness. The place has indeed been cleared out: even the shelving units and the metal desk have been carried off, and splinters are all that's left of the cabinets that once lined the side wall.

"Just like locals to take the tools and storage and leave the books," says Tom. "Shame about the desk." His hand curls around her waist and never mind the stench of urine, even after nearly a decade of marriage she can still feel that thrill shoot through her every time. "I liked that desk." His lips press the back of her shoulder through her T-shirt.

"Mm, so did I. Much sturdier than the kitchen table." She feels Tom's chuckle in her back.

His hand creeps upward, squeezing her breast gently through her clothes. Sybil squirms flirtatiously but says, "Save it for later, darling. Even if there was something to lie on, we could hardly stage a re-enactment with the children right outside."

He makes a little groan of disappointment and moves away, standing in the doorway where he can check on the kids. "I think that tent's going to feel awfully small tonight."

Sybil joins him, slipping an arm round his waist. "Ah, but that's why we take them to the top of Mount Kiangarow, so they'll be good and worn out."

"We'll wear ourselves out first," pouts Tom. They watch Audrey and Will chase each other in widening circles around the chairs, shrieking with laughter. Any second one of them's going to skin a knee or push the boundaries Tom has set, but for now they're happy on their own.

Tom smiles a little. "You remember those people we ran into the last time? The Swedes?"

"Yeah… Maria? Marie. And…"

"Niklas."

"Right." Sybil sputters a giggle. "I thought that woman was going to kill us. We kept them up all night… I'd almost forgot about that."

"So had I." Thinking about Marie and Niklas reminds Sybil of what else happened during that trip and the story she'll forever associate, at least a little, with the Bunya mountains. Tom too, apparently: his face has lost its smile and taken on that look, the one he gets when he's thinking about his brother. For the second time today Sybil wonders whether coming to this part of the country was a good idea. While they were planning the trip Tom seemed fine with it, even eager. In the back of her mind, Sybil had thought it might be beneficial, force the old demons to show themselves as nothing more than shadows.

Sybil usually attempts to lead Tom down happier paths when he starts to brood about Declan—he won't talk about what happened, so what's the use of dwelling on it? But today she doesn't. Maybe it's because they're in the very place where it all started; or maybe it's just time. "Have you thought any more about writing about it?"

Tom's mouth tightens. "Sybil…"

"It might help. With the dreams, at least. To get it out."

His head jerks toward her; she hasn't told him he still wakes her up at least once a week, mumbling and occasionally shouting in his sleep. "It's not something I feel like I should profit from."

"You don't need to profit from it. We could retire tomorrow if we wanted to. That's not the point." Sybil rarely brings up their financial situation, as she's been raised not to talk about money and for some reason Tom views the success of his debut novel as a fluke. But suffice it to say they can now afford to spend a month-long holiday in Australia without stretching their budget.

"I don't… shite, where'd they go? Audrey!" Sybil hadn't even noticed the sudden quiet. "Will!" Tom breaks away and strides across the grass in search of their children.

They find them on the far side of the house, Will giggling in the half-rotted hammock as Audrey scoops up handfuls of decomposing leaves and dumps them on him. "Audrey Martha Branson, stop that this minute!" Sybil's voice comes out sharper than she intended and Audrey starts, her mouth making a round O of dismay. For a second she looks like she's going to cry; a year ago she would have. Instantly remorse washes over Sybil. They were just playing. But her heart won't slow down. When did she get so fearful?

"It's all right, sweetheart, we just didn't know where you were." Tom steps forward, opening his arms, and Audrey runs into them.

"Mummy!" Will clambers off the hammock and barrels toward Sybil; she picks him up and after a moment's hesitation joins the other half of their family in a group hug. To Sybil's relief, Audrey throws her arms around her unreservedly. Will there come a time when she won't forgive so easily? Sybil wants so much to preserve their easy, nonjudgmental closeness; she doesn't want to have to sidle around land mines with Audrey the way her own mother does with her.

"Can we go to the mountains now?" asks Audrey.

"I think that's a lovely idea, sweetheart." For a second Sybil considers telling them.Your dad and I met here. We lived here together. But she doesn't. What would be the point? Far more picturesque to point out the relevant landmarks in the Bunya Mountains. And she can always say, much later: Remember that falling-down old house we saw in Australia?

Will and Audrey sprint back toward the car with the boundless energy of childhood, leaving their parents in their wake once again. As they walk behind Tom takes Sybil's hand.

"I've tried, you know."

Sybil stays quiet.

"Writing about it. It didn't work, in any sense. I think I'm too close to it, you know? It's too raw. I can't really do a memoir, I'm better off sticking to political thrillers."

"OK." Sybil swallows her disappointment. There's no easy fix, she knows that. Some things must stay unresolved, and she and Tom just have to find a way to live through them. "I just want you to be all right. I want you to be better than all right."

"I am, love." He gives her hand a little squeeze. "Believe me, I am. You've made me so happy." She looks at him and he's smiling that guileless smile.

Sybil glances toward the wagon; for a wonder, Audrey and Will have actually climbed into their seats rather than vanishing into the bush or buzzing around screeching for their parents to hurry up. She slows her steps a little, and Tom follows suit. "You've made me happy as well. There's not a day goes by I don't thank my lucky stars I bought such a crap car."

"Maybe," Tom says, "I could write about a girl whose car breaks down and the guy who fixes it for her."

"You'd have to dream up some kind of adventure for them. It can't just be flirting among the engines."

His smile widens and he slings his arm round her shoulders, drawing her close for a quick kiss that stretches into a longer one, his mouth warming Sybil's in a way that makes her stomach drop pleasantly. He pulls back but only a little, resting his forehead on hers, and murmurs, "How about I start off with flirting… and then see how we go."

Sybil smiles and thinks, It worked for us. Then she leans in and kisses him again.