Much thanks to the faithful readers of this story--it wouldn't have been finished without you! Love you all! :):):)

Epilogue:

Imhotep knew they were somewhere down south, but their letters came through a complicated ferrying system of trusted associates, and he could never be sure of their origin. He imagined them living in a tiny little apartment with blue walls and a tiled kitchen. A balcony, maybe, wrought-iron, that looked out across a square filled with oblivious people. Evelyn would have fresh flowers whenever they could afford them, and potted plants would grace every corner. She would take in a stray cat or two, entice them with bowls of milk and then beg Rick to let her keep them. Rick would give in, eventually. He would get a job at the grocery store down the street, bring her home fresh produce that she would attempt to prepare in edible fashion. Evelyn could not cook, Imhotep knew that.

He missed them most when he was alone. Whenever someone entered his office, his first thought would be that it was Rick, dropping by to discuss whatever trouble- or romance-of-the-week he'd gotten himself into and needed help out of. It was only with Rick gone that Imhotep realized how much they'd talked, how much he'd depended on the younger man in the course of everyday life. Jonathan seemed to be finding more reasons to speak with the priest these days, usually on the pretext of political matters, but mostly he would just sit and talk about nothing in particular. Imhotep didn't mind. Jonathan missed Rick, too.

Imhotep knew what it was to miss a child, even one you'd never really known as such. He'd always considered himself somewhat of a bystander in Evelyn's life. Pain had become less acute over the years, dulling with time and lost memories. It had not bothered him anymore when she spoke of Seti. He'd loved to watch Evelyn and Anck together, and somehow imagining that he was part of the picture made him happy enough.

Imhotep tucked the morning paper into the file, taking a moment to rifle through the articles he'd already collected. 'Death,' 'suicide,' 'tragedy'... Then the words began to change. 'Compromise' showed up. Every once in a while, 'alliance.' A few mentions of 'friendship.' And finally, the beautiful words the priest had so longed to hear... "PEACE COMES TO NEW VERONA."

Imhotep would make sure that the city never lost it again.

It was indeed a very small apartment, but the walls were yellow and Evelyn could not keep a plant alive to save the world. They filled the space instead with random collections of flea market finds and cheap furniture, imbuing the rooms with the cozy, cluttered feeling of a home. Rick did not work at the grocery store, instead managing a flower shop that was only two doors down from their building. Evelyn got a job, too, at the library--where she promptly caused enough destruction to get relegated to the basement. She spent her days discovering beautiful antique books in forgotten closets and reading fairy tales to the visiting children on the lunch hour, and she loved it.

On Fridays the couple allocated a weekly five coins toward the weekend, taking turns in the spending of it. Evelyn prepared a grand feast consisting of finger-foods that she didn't actually have to cook. Rick bought a cut-rate record player from a co-worker, and he and his wife taught themselves to dance in the tiled kitchen. They shoved the tables up against the walls and stepped on each other's feet and laughed far into the night. Another time Evelyn splurged on candles and various sorts of bubble bath, an experiment that flooded the bathroom and probably would never be repeated. The next weekend they caught a bus up to the lookout point and watched shooting stars flash across the sky, dozens of them, one after the other. They were quite happy between their yellow walls.

On one particular Friday Evelyn was sitting on the balcony, staring forlornly at her failed attempts at growing violets, waiting for Rick to come home. She wrestled with a secret that was, she supposed, far less serious and not nearly so devastating as many they had kept and revealed in the past. If she thought about it too much, she rather liked the idea, but was determined not to be happy until Rick knew, too.

"Evy?" she heard from inside, but she didn't get up from the chair. "Evy?" she heard again, this time whispered in her ear. She turned and looked at her husband, who presented her with a little bouquet of sunflowers. "Hello, sunshine," he said, strong arms displacing her from the chair and pulling her into his lap. "How are the violets doing?"

"They're dead," she replied, snuggling into him. "I'm hopeless."

"They're not..." He tilted his head, studying the pot that contained the shriveled little flowers. "Yeah, okay, they're dead. Maybe you should try cacti."

Evelyn took a deep breath, launching into her strategy. "We got a letter from Imhotep from today."

"What'd he say?"

"Oh, the usual. He put in some newspaper clippings, actually. I was going to write him back tonight. Loads to tell him."

"Like what? Not much has been happening around here lately."

"Oh, you know..." Evelyn slid off Rick's lap and retreated to the kitchen, pretending to be going to put the sunflowers in some water. "About work. I checked out the most magnificent history about the capitol building today. We're getting a new supervisor next week, too, Ellen quit. And..." Evelyn took a deep breath, stepping out onto the balcony again. "I suppose he'd be interested to know...that he's going to be a grandfather."

Evelyn leapt back inside, and she was all the way to the other end of the tiny apartment before Rick registered what she'd said. "I hope she's better with kids than she is with plants," he said to the violets, and went back inside to tell his wife he loved her.

~*~*~*~

le fin