Disclaimer: I make absolutely no claim to Desperate Housewives.

A/n: I'm feeling a bit melancholy tonight, and this story just kind of poured out of me. Number 100; I'm amazed I ever got here. Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed my work. I wouldn't have made it to this point without you.

Story Summary: The time will come to say goodbye. Future fic. Takes place about March 2036.

Violet Goodbye

A story by Ryeloza

Wisteria Lane doesn't look the same any more, and it's not just because dusk has fallen in a violet hue that paints the world in a foreign light. Soon it will be dark and easier to pretend: pretend that the couple who moved into Bree's house last year didn't ruin her lawn; pretend that Mrs. McCluskey's house hasn't been painted an awful brick red; pretend that Mary Alice's home hasn't been remodeled beyond recognition. Lynette has lived here nearly forty years now, and it feels naïve, but she never thought this place would change so much.

A wind cuts through the March evening just as Tom steps out of the house; he shivers audibly, but she has the suspicion that it's only to warn her of his presence. So much of their life is silence now that noise almost seems like an echo of the past. She likes when he reminds her that there is still life in the house, even if it's just the two of them now. Wordlessly, she holds up the end of the quilt she's snuggled under so Tom can join her. The blanket is an anniversary present from Jamie and Parker—sewn by her; the old baby clothes that make up the sum of its whole stolen by him. Lynette loves it; it's like having a piece of her children with her always. Tom sits down and pulls the blanket over his lap, and she curls into him like a cat.

"Paige just called," he tells her as he wraps an arm around her. She has the oddest moment of wondering if she feels frail to him; less substantial than she was when she was thirty or forty or fifty; a person that can fade away. "She got back to school."

"Good."

Tom's fingers dance beneath her sweater to touch her skin. He's still as strong and sure as he's always been. "You okay?"

She nods and turns her head to press her nose against his chest. His shirt smells like laundry detergent and soap, clean and comforting; like home. It makes her feel safe and that's probably why the words spill from her before she's even thought them. "I think we should move."

"Yeah?"

Not surprised or concerned or bewildered. She wonders if he's thought this before her and simply didn't want to be the first to say it. In some way it makes it difficult because she hasn't thought this through; she's simply tired of riding a perpetual wave of nostalgic melancholy. "Well," she says hesitantly, but she doesn't know where to go from there.

"Paige is in college now," Tom supplies. "The other kids are grown. This house is kind of big for just the two of us."

"How long have you been thinking this?"

Tom shrugs. "A few months. It's been too quiet since Paige left."

Lynette presses her lips together for a second. The streetlights are on now; she can hardly see the street. "You have other reasons?"

"Our friends have all moved on," he says quietly, and she doesn't bother to point out that Susan still lives next door and probably won't leave that house until she dies. Gaby moved in with Juanita years ago after Carlos died quite suddenly, and Bree left last year to be closer to her grandchildren. They still talk on the phone and email; it isn't the same. Tom clears his throat, drawing her back. "And this could be our chance to finally get that house we always dreamed of."

"A little house on the lake."

"Not surrounded by nosy neighbors and screaming kids."

"Peace and quiet."

"We'd be closer to Preston and Becca."

"Penny and Peter are thinking about moving too."

They're almost in sync now, thinking out loud, and Tom squeezes her reassuringly. She can feel his excitement even though she hasn't agreed to anything yet, but it's a stubborn protest. Mostly she's picturing the two of them on a porch where the view won't be a world that throbs with memories, but instead a lake and stars and the future. "I'm tired of looking everywhere and thinking about the past," she murmurs.

"I know. You've been sad lately."

Lynette sighs because it's true, and it's crazy. There are so many wonderful moments that she and Tom share every day now. They're a couple again in a way they haven't been in years, and she wants to cherish that. She thinks that maybe she'll be able to if they go somewhere that she doesn't see their past everywhere she turns.

Quietly, she says, "It's just hard for me to believe that thirty-nine years are gone already."

Tom bends and presses his lips to the top of her head. His kiss is as comforting as it has always been. "We still have the rest of our lives to look forward to, you know."

"I know."

She wraps an arm around his chest like she can't get close enough. Night has fallen completely now; she can't see the nuances of difference any more. They could be thirty again, newlyweds and expecting their first babies, glowing with the knowledge that they have the whole world at their fingertips. But Tom is right; just because they're not at the beginning, doesn't mean they've reached the end yet. She needs to remember that.

"Maybe it is time for us to say goodbye."