A/N:

So, this story sprang out of my head almost fully formed while I was washing dishes one day and then I spent about nine months writing it. It's not a sequel to, or even in the same universe as, my other, sort of epic fic (The Door in the Tree, which is over in the VA section). I still haven't read The Golden Lily or any of the stuff that's been released from The Indigo Spell – I want to finish my own story first – but I've been spoilered a bit here and there and I know more or less how things stand between Sydney and Adrian.

This story takes place about ten years in the future, as you'll see. I think it's basically consistent with what happened in TGL, though not necessarily after TIS or any of the later books. Which means that The Thing has no place here. Hurray! So I guess you could say it's a more or less in-character AU.

Fair warning: This starts off pretty sad. It's hard not to see sad things in the future for Sydney and Adrian, sometimes. But give it a chance. To me, at least, the story feels satisfying realistic and joyful, especially by the end. There are tons of sweet scenes to come. I hope you like it!

As for the story itself, I guess I should mention that some trigger warnings apply. Feel free to PM me if you want to know specifics. Nothing too graphic or gorey but a little sad/upsetting.

Endgame

Chapter 1: Between Sleep and Wakefulness

A small, insistent voice dragged me from sleep.

For a fraction of a second, I found myself angry at the little voice. I had been having the most wonderful dream and I didn't want to wake up. It was the only reason I had napped in the first place – I was trying to get back to that wonderful dream I'd been having a lot lately. But the voice spoke again, and the beginnings of my anger melted away.

"Mommy?" the voice said. "I'm sorry to wake you up. I know you like to sleep sometimes. But Dad asked me to."

I sat up and opened my eyes. Violet was staring at me, her amber brown eyes calm and unblinking. She had begun to sound so put-together, so much older than her six years. I reached out to smooth her blonde mop of hair.

"No need to say sorry, honey," I told her, forcing myself to smile. "It's ok. What does your father want?"

"Dinner," she said simply. "Amy offered to try to make something, but Dad said she's still too young to cook."

"Nine years old is too young to make a whole dinner," I agreed. "Maybe in two or three years." I stood up and stretched, then bent over to give Violet a hug. "I love you," I said, and she smiled. "Do you want to help me make dinner?" She nodded and smiled more broadly.

We made our way downstairs and to the kitchen, Violet holding my hand tightly. As usual, the enormous house was immaculate, and our footsteps echoed a little in the grand hallways. I had fallen asleep right after my post-work shower, and from the looks of it, Violet and Amy had taken care of their after-school snack dishes themselves. I had the best two daughters in the world, and I told them that every chance I got. I did everything in my power to raise a shield of love and protection around them.

I began preparing the dinner, inventing small tasks that Violet could do to help. She was very bright, and followed directions well, but couldn't exactly be trusted with knives yet. As we worked, Amy came in from the playroom and offered to help, too. Well, she claimed to be helping; what she really was doing was filling me in on her day as I chopped and measured, which was fine with me. Her voice was a chipper monolog that rose over the sound of the television coming from the living room.

"... And we did harmonicas in music class," Amy said. "And I played 'Ode to Joy', sort of. Oh, and I got 90% on my math quiz, and we had a race in gym class and I won, I even beat the boys, and Nick Henson said it was only because I'm the oldest and tallest girl in third grade, because of the age cut-off thing, I just laughed at him, 'cause he's so dumb, and Rachel Myer says he likes me, and ewwww!"

"Ewww, indeed," I said, adding spices to the marinade. I had no idea who Nick Henson was, but I couldn't blame him if he had a crush on Amy. Maybe I was biased, but I thought she was gorgeous. She was tall and strong for her age, with bright green eyes and thick blonde hair. And to top it off, she was smart as a whip - not that boys usually cared about things like that.

"I know, right?" she said. "I hate boys. And oh, also, I handed in my diorama about the solar system today, and I think it's the best in the class, 'cuz Mrs. Hoovey says I can bring Yertle home for the weekend if you say it's ok..."

"I'm so proud of you, honey," I said. "But you'll have to ask your father if it's ok with him before you bring home a turtle for a visit."

"Oh," Amy said, sadly, and fell silent. She knew, as well as I did, that her father wasn't likely to say yes to the idea of having the classroom turtle visiting for the weekend. It broke my heart that she had so little hope in her heart, even about something so small, and it angered me that I couldn't stand up for her. But there was no arguing with my husband. Rick had his own ideas about the world, and one of them was that man was head of the household, just as God is the head of the church. I had known that about him when I married him, of course. I just didn't know that it would turn out like this.

I looked away from Amy and caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window. The delicate tattoo of a golden lily on my cheek hadn't been touched up in years, and it was now almost completely invisible. I traced a finger over where it had been, thinking about what it had once meant to me, and then turned my attention back to the potatoes I was chopping. Whatever else I might be, I was still a wife and mother, and there were potatoes to be chopped.

The rest of the meal was prepared in relative quiet, now that the air had gone out of Amy's balloon. We put together the meal in companionable silence, just a simple roast with potatoes and carrots, the kind of thing that Rick liked so we all ate. When dinner was on the table, I called Rick into the kitchen. I heard the TV switch off and then he appeared in the doorway, a good looking man, over six feet tall, slender but muscular, with pale green eyes and sandy brown hair. "Smells great, Sydney," he said.

He pulled my chair out for me and I sat down. Then he picked Violet up and swung her around affectionately and with ease. He was strong, physically at least. I had liked that when we first got married. He had seemed like someone you could trust to take care of you. He brought Violet over to the tall shelf where we kept the soda so that she could grab two cans of diet cola for "the grownups," while Amy poured two glasses of milk, one for herself and one for her little sister. Once the beverages were all on the table, they sat down and Rick said grace.

"How was school, sweetheart?" Rick asked Amy, as I began dishing out the food.

"Good," she said, choosing her words with care. "I got a good grade on my math test."

"A hundred?" he prompted.

"A 90."

"Why not a hundred?"

"There were only ten questions," she said. "I missed one."

"Next time, I want to hear that you got a hundred," Rick said.

"I was tied for the best grade in the class," Amy said, quietly, but with a slight whine to her voice. I couldn't blame her.

"Just because the rest of your class is a group of dunces doesn't excuse you from putting the work in," Rick said. "You should measure your work against what you're capable of and what you want to achieve, not against the mediocrity of others."

"Yes, Dad," Amy said. "Um, Dad? You know how we have a turtle in class?"

"Sure," Rick said. I doubt he did know, but he was never going to admit that.

"Her name is Yertle and she's real cute and she's greenish brown and she eats lettuce and stuff. She's really cool."

"That's nice," Rick said.

"Well," Amy said, and took a deep breath. "Mrs. Hoovey says I can take her home for the weekend. Can I?"

"It's a big honor, Rick," I said. "Mrs. Hoovey lets the best student of the week take Yertle home and it would mean a lot to Amy." I crossed my fingers under the table.

Amy said, "I'd take care of her and give her lettuce and she'd stay in her cage and wouldn't bother anyone. And I want to be a veterinarian when I grow up so this will be good practice..."

"Turtles carry disease," Rick said. "Salmonella, E. coli, who knows what else. Besides, reptiles can't feel or display love, Amy. There's no reason to have one in the house."

Violet muttered something and Amy giggled very quietly. This was their favorite game. Violet had a quirky sense of humor, and Amy's young ears could pick up on Violet's muttered jokes when no one else could. In this case, I suspected that Violet was making a comparison between reptiles and her father that wouldn't be particularly flattering to Rick. Luckily, Rick didn't hear the comment, or even notice that other people weren't hanging on his every word.

"Tell your teacher that you're very flattered that she chose you for the job," he continued. "But tell her that you'll have to decline for health and safety reasons."

Amy rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to say that, Dad. I'll just say that you won't let me."

"Do not roll your eyes at me, young lady," Rick said, his voice suddenly dangerously soft. "Just because you're upset that you can't bring that little disease machine home is no reason to lose respect for your parents. You will finish your dinner quickly and then go up to your room for the rest of the night."

"Should I help with the dishes first?" Amy asked. There was no insolence to her tone, thank God.

"Your mother and sister can take care of them," Rick said. "And I'll expect you to write a hundred words on the meaning of respect and give it to me in the morning."

"Yes, sir," Amy said. I saw her withdraw into herself. Moments before, she'd been a happy girl who had had a great day at school and been offered a reward. Now she was a sad little girl being punished. And all she had wanted was the respect and love of a father. I tried to catch her eye, but her gaze was fixed at a point in the middle distance. I knew that look. I had worn it a lot of my own life.

"And you, Violet?" Rick asked, his voice almost affectionate. "Did you have a good day?"

"Yes, sir," Violet said, quietly, and offered no details. She was probably afraid of accidentally stepping on a verbal landmine.

"Good," Rick said. "Working hard?"

"Yes, sir," she said. She looked at me. I gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Don't elaborate. "I am working hard," she added.

"Good, good," Rick said.

"And you?" I asked. "How was your day?"

"Excellent," Rick said. "We're getting custody for sure. Wear 'em down, just like I always say. Wear 'em down."

Rick was a high-powered divorce attorney who specialized in representing fathers who wanted custody of their children. All over the country, children were being denied even occasional visitation with their mothers, because of Rick. I knew that we lived well because of his work and the fat paychecks he took home, but it turned my stomach nonetheless.

At least he was on a roll now. Once he started talking about his cases, he didn't stop. He babbled about his day for most of the rest of the meal, leaving the rest of us to nod and agree while we ate. Naturally, the subject of my day never came up. We sort of pretended that I didn't really work at the garage. Rick didn't want me working outside the home – though he'd been glad enough to have the money my translating work brought in, when he was in law school – but I managed to talk him into letting me get a part-time position as a mechanic at a local garage. It was within walking distance from our house, so I saved wear and tear on our brand new SUV. I brought in extra income for the family, and I "got my ya-yas out," as Rick put it. We just never discussed it. I wore gloves while I worked and showered thoroughly to make sure there were no visible or olfactory clues to remind him of my job. And Rick no longer gave me any money from his (much more substantial) paycheck to pay for groceries. Still, it was worth it. Working at the garage was about all I had now. That, and church, of course. And my girls. Always, and forever, my girls.

When the meal was over, Rick went into the living room to watch TV, while Amy trudged sadly upstairs to write her essay, leaving Violet and me to clean up, which we did, singing a little song together as we worked. When Violet and I were finished, she surprised me by putting the kettle on. "For Aim-Aim," she whispered, very quietly.

"Good idea," I whispered back, and gave her a squeeze. "Go on and watch TV with your dad, ok?"

She nodded and disappeared into the living room. I found the cookies where I'd hidden them behind the rice crackers, and pulled the cocoa mix out from behind the spices. I mixed up the cocoa, then tiptoed up the stairs with the treats.

"Amy," I whispered, in a tiny voice from outside her door. She opened the door very quietly – she was light on her feet – and smiled when she saw the mug of cocoa. I tiptoed inside and she closed the door behind me.

"How is the paper going?" I asked, in a very low voice.

"The one for Dad? I'm halfway done." She handed me a piece of loose-leaf paper and I read what she'd written so far.

Respetc is something that dotters should have for fathers. I didnt' show respetc when I said that I wooldnt' tell my teecher that Yertle was full of diseez even thouh I thawght I wouldn't show respetc to the teecher if I said her tertle was full of diseez.

I smiled. Spelling was not Amy's strong suit, and she still hadn't learned how to grovel to Rick – something I couldn't help but be glad about. "That's good," I said quietly. "But we'll have to take out that last part. And we'll fix the spelling."

"When I grow up, I'm going to be president and ban spelling," Amy said.

"We need good spelling to tell words apart," I said, still smiling. "Otherwise we can't tell the kind of 'bare' that means 'naked' from the kind of 'bear' you have to run away from. But if you run for president, I'll vote for you for sure, and cheer the loudest when you win."

I helped her look up the words in a spell checker, and dictated a few sentences to help fill the word requirement. After the essay for Rick was done, I checked over Amy's other homework for school while she sipped the cocoa and ate the cookie. I helped her make a few corrections, then made sure she understood the concepts with a few quick side examples. I always enjoyed helping Amy with her homework, because she was so bright and interested in almost everything. I knew I could probably home-school her with ease, but I wanted her, and Violet, to attend regular school. I wanted them to have the most normal life they could have.

When we were done and Amy's books were all packed up for school in the morning, she thanked me, then whispered, "Mom?" She paused for a long moment before she asked me, "Does Dad... hate me?"

I didn't want her to see the tears that threatened in my eyes, so I pulled her close to me in a tight hug. I didn't know what to say. Rick had been crazy about Amy when she was born, and every day, he had found a feature in her face or body that reminded him of a family member or himself. But as she'd grown up and shown more independence every day, he'd become tired of her, and all that affection had seemed to sour. I tried to think of an answer for her that wouldn't be a lie but would still make her feel better. Finally, I just whispered, "Don't be sad. He hates almost everyone."

"Even Violet?" she asked, pulling away from me so she could watch my face as I answered.

"Maybe not Violet," I said. "But Violet is better at hiding her feelings from him. She sort of tricks him, you know?"

"Yeah," Amy said. "She does." She paused to consider that, then asked me a question that I hadn't been expecting. "Does he... hate you?"

I couldn't lie to Amy, not after everything. "I think so," I whispered.

"I don't hate you," Amy said. "You're kind of cool, for like, a mom." She said it as if that settled matters. In a lot of ways, it did.

"I don't hate you, either," I said, making sure not to let tears rise up to choke my voice. "I better go."

Unexpectedly, Amy threw her arms around me. "Don't go downstairs," she said. "Stay here with me."

"I can't," I whispered. "He'll notice if I'm here too long. But I love you, honey, and I'll be upstairs again soon to get you ready for bed."

She gave me an injured look and went to sit down at her desk. "Ok," she said, opening a book. "Bye, then."

I felt awful, but there was nothing I could do. I gave her a kiss on the top of her head, and then went back downstairs. In the living room, Rick was watching another cop show, as usual. Violet was sitting on the floor near his feet, reading a book. I could tell from where I stood that it was a Harry Potter book, but it was wrapped in a dust jacket from a different book. Rick thought the Harry Potter series encouraged devil worship and wouldn't let the girls read it, but they had both found ways around that. The brazen act of reading the book just inches from Rick amazed me. Her eyes sparkled when she looked up and saw me. We both knew what she was doing, and we both loved it.

"Have you finished your homework?" I asked Violet, knowing she had.

"Yes, Mommy," she said. "Can you check it for me?"

"I'd love to," I said.

Violet picked up her school bag and followed me into the kitchen, Rick barely noticing our exit. Once we'd checked over Violet's homework in the cozy warm room – I had insisted on painting it yellow, and Rick hadn't bothered to fight me on it – she and I played a few games of cat's cradle before it was time for bed.

Over the next hour or so, I sat with each of my daughters – first Violet, then Amy – reading to them, tucking them in, and hearing their prayers. Amy was getting too old to be read to, so we took turns reading out loud from her library book. I think she just liked spending the time with me. I hoped she wouldn't outgrow it any time soon.

When the girls were both in bed, I lay down in my own bed with a book. For a short while, I was pulled into another world, a different one, where love lasted forever and all sacrifices were worth it. Then the door opened and my husband walked in, and I put the book back in the bedside table drawer.

I knew what was coming as soon as he went into the master bathroom to brush his teeth. It was going to be a sex night, of course. Exercising control over someone else, even a powerless 9-year-old, seemed to turn Rick on. Or maybe it'd been a really violent episode of CSI: Tacoma or whatever it was he had been watching. Either way... lucky me. When Rick came back in, I let him climb on top of me and begin fumbling with my clothes. It was better not to fight him on it. He would argue marital needs and quote scripture and in the end, I'd have to give in, or face weeks of nastiness. And if I just pretended hard enough, it even felt sort of nice, sometimes.

Tonight wasn't one of those nights, though. It seemed somehow worse to have him huffing and puffing on me when I'd experienced such lightness and joy in my dream that afternoon.

When Rick let out a sort of snort and rolled back onto his own side, I got up to go to the bathroom. I started the water running and very quietly opened the medicine cabinet. There, hidden in a box of tampons, was a small bottle of white powder, an alchemist concoction that prevented conception. I put a small spoonful in a Dixie cup and mixed it with water, then drank it down. I loved my daughters, but I would be damned if I brought another child into this family.

When I was done, I went back out into the room. Rick was already asleep and snoring. I lay down on my side and closed my eyes, thinking of the dream again. I had been so happy for a moment. What was it I had been dreaming of? It had felt familiar. It had felt like... Like...

It felt like this.

The dream came back to me before I quite knew I was asleep. It wasn't one of those cinematic dreams, those ones in which a story unfolds in front of you, complete with characters and plots. This was one of those tie-dye swirl dreams – just a blur of feelings and images. The only thing clear to me was the sense of being loved, and held, and adored. Someone was with me, someone warm to the touch, someone who seemed to delight in me as much as I delighted in him. I found his lips, I was kissing him, he was kissing me, his hands were warm and strong, his scent was familiar, his touch was gentle... This was the dream I had been dreaming for months, but I was hardly aware of that. I just relaxed into complete happiness. I murmured a name, and heard my name in return. This was bliss. I knew, at some level, that this was a dream, and I hoped I would never wake up. It'd be worth it, to stay here with the man I loved.

I pulled one of his hands upwards and placed it on my breast. I put my hands on his waist, then moved them lower. If this was a dream, I had nothing to lose. As the tone of the dream shifted, became steadily more erotic, I felt his touch grow more intense, more focused. But then suddenly, he pulled away from me. The swirling feeling began to resolve into clarity. I reached out for him, trying to stay in the dream, and found myself looking into the wonderful, familiar green eyes of Adrian Ivashkov.