Yes, she was angry. But this time . . .this time, I wasn't afraid.

"Ice, the only prison I'd be going back to is the one you'd put me in by refusing to let me make my own decisions over what I want my life to be. There wouldn't be any bars except for the ones around my heart. That's a place I don't ever want to go to. It would be a thousand times worse than the Bog could ever be." I grasped her hand and held it tightly, bringing our joined hands upward so she could plainly see them. "My life is with you, Morgan Steele. It has been since the first day I saw you. That won't ever change, whether you let me stay with you or not."

For the first time since I'd known her, Ice looked frightened. It wasn't a panic fright, to be sure, but she was scared. "I . . .can't . . ."

I put my fingers over her lips. "Maybe not," I whispered. "But I can."

Leaning forward, I replaced my fingers with my lips, claiming her with all the love in my soul. After a moment, she responded, sinking her fingers into my hair and drawing me closer against her, to be engulfed by the scent of spices and leather. I was intoxicated.

Reaching behind me, I tossed my sack and Ice's duffel from the bed, then, wrapping my arms around her shoulders, pulled her down to lay beside me, never breaking contact with her lips, which had opened under my tender probing, allowing me to explore to my heart's content.

My hands worked with a sure dexterity on the unfamiliar zippers and buttons and buckles of her leather protection, needing beyond anything to feel the solid, living warmth of her.

She moaned at the first touch of my fingers on her skin and I let the full strength of my love and passion for this remarkable woman take me over. I went willingly into the light of my newfound freedom.

And so here I sit, writing while my lover sleeps bare feet away, her hair shining in the feeble light of the lamp above me. Her head is turned away from me, but I know without seeing that there is a smile on her lips. A smile I put there. That thought fills me with joy.

And in a moment, I'll go back to lay beside her, and nestle up against the long length of her strong body and fall asleep to the music of her heart beneath my ear.

In just a moment.

We've decided to head out for Canada in the morning. To attempt to make a life on the land that gave me so much joy as a child. Getting over the boarder might prove difficult, but Ice is confident that we'll make it.

The chance to share this dream place with her is all I could want in this world.

Some of you may be asking yourself why I would risk everything to live my life with a fugitive, always wondering when the other shoe is going to drop.

And to those questions, I can only give the answer my heart tells me is true. That if, by chance, that other shoe does drop, tomorrow or fifty years from now, I'll know that I lived my life the way I wanted to. I made my own choices in this world and was happy with them. I loved, and was loved by, the other half of my soul. I wanted for nothing.

And truly, what else can you ask of the hand life deals you?

END.

Well, folks, that concludes REDEMPTION. I thank everyone who has read this far for following along with me on this sometimes rocky journey. Thanks to the many people to took time out from their busy lives to drop me a line and let me know how the story was going for them. I was touched, gratified and overwhelmed by your responses. And thanks once again (a bard can really never say this enough) to my betas, particularly Mike and Candace, for all their help, support, loyalty, and love . Final thanks goes out, once again, to Mary D, whose unwavering support, as well as threats when I said I wasn't going to bring Ice back will always be well and happily remembered.

So...who wants to see how Ice and Angel are doing up Canada way, huh? ;).

Sue.

9/6/99.

RETRIBUTION.

Disclaimers.

The characters in this novel are of my own creation. That's right, this is an 'uber' story. It's also a sequel to my novel, Redemption. You really will want to read that first before tackling this one. Some may bear a resemblance to characters we know and love who are owned by PacRen and Universal Studios.

Violence and Naughty Language Disclaimer: Yup, both. Not as much of either as in Redemption (I'm saving that up for "Restitution"), but there is some of each here.

Subtext Disclaimer: Yup, there's that too. This piece deals with the love and physical expression of that love between two adult females. There are some graphic scenes located within this piece, but I have tried to make them as tasteful as possible so as to not offend anyone's sensibilities. Let me know if I've succeeded.

Dedication: There are so many people to thank for this effort. First is Candace, who once again was there to read this novel in its entirety all in little AIM blocks of 50 characters or less. Her nightly feedback was sorely needed and gratefully received. Thanks also to MaryD and Lunacy for providing much needed and invaluable beta assistance. And, finally, a huge debt thanks to the self-proclaimed "Quillies" for reading the beta version of this and giving insightful feedback as well as putting up with and calming a bard's emotional roller-coaster of emotions. Thanks, guys!!

Feedback: As always, is most welcome. It not only makes this 'job' of writing (which is really a love) much easier, it also makes me better at it. And that is my goal. To become the best writer I can be. If the spirit moves you, you may reach me at SwordnQuil@aol.com with any questions, concerns or comments.

Final Thought: Retribution is the second in what will eventually become a trilogy. Redemption, obviously, was first. Then Retribution, and finally Restitution. Thanks to everyone who gives up a little of their time to come along on this journey with me. I can only hope that I'll never let you down.

Final Disclaimer: As with Redemption, this story will be posted in blocks of thirty or so pages per night. It is fully completed, down to the last punctuation mark, so I won't leave you hanging. Promise.

RETRIBUTION.

PART 1.

IT WAS COLD. So cold.

And dark, like the bottom of a newly dug grave.

My whole body was numb; my heart, encased in a block of ice which promised never to thaw.

I could feel the rain around me, pelting down in almost horizontal sheets of stinging fire, driven on by the frenzy of an unholy wind.

A wooden shutter, torn askew by the power of the storm, slammed repeatedly against the weathered wooden siding, sounding a death-knell which rose even over the howling of the wind and the wailing of sirens. Sirens which, like the fog, crept closer and closer, not on cat's feet, but on dragon's bloody claws.

Lightening drew its spiky graph onto the sky, imprinting itself on my retinas.

Thunder cracked and rolled, pulling an inane thought to the forefront of my brain. God's bowling with the angels again, my father's voice said from somewhere beyond the grave.

And still I waited, blind and frozen like some immortal statue. Waited for the wind to cease its unending fury. Waited for the rain to part its opaque curtain.

Waited for a vision my eyes could not see. A vision my soul could not forget.

As if drawn into the clearing by the force of my unvoiced plea, still more cars came, their churning tires flinging muddy fans into the air. Their powerful headlights broke through the cloak of mist, illuminating the scene I wished so desperately to see from my frozen perch on the porch of the home I'd helped to build.

A home, a dream, that I would willingly leave, never stopping once to look back upon it, if only someone would take these scales from my eyes.

If only.

She stood there straight and tall, backlit by the artificial lighting; my lover, my heart, my soul. Proud back unbowed, head held high, eyes blazing fire.

Proud, yes. But helpless.

Not against the arms which held her, nor the cuffs which bound her strong arms, nor even the guns that pointed at every vulnerable spot in an otherwise invulnerable body.

No, not that. Never that.

Helpless, instead, against the weight of a past which had, once again, come home to roost.

Helpless against the weight of a love she had sold her very soul to nurture and cherish.

The look in her eyes is something I'll take with me to the grave. A grave that, God willing, will not be long in coming.

Anger at her past for intruding. Rage at the arms which held her, at the guns which nudged her with their hollow silver noses. Sorrow, that the chance we had had ended much too soon.

And love.

Always love.

Her full lips parted, and I strained to hear her words over the storm's redoubled fury. But even they were taken from me, just as surely as she would be, drawn away into the mist from which only endings came.

But still, I watched as those lips formed words only my heart could hear.

I love you.

And then a word came which shattered my soul.

Goodbye.

"No!" I screamed , bolting up and grabbing at my chest as the breath gusted from my lungs. My heart beat rapidly against fingers which trembled from the intensity of emotion welling up in me.

I blinked my eyes once, and then again, my pupils dilating to accept the feeble light from the window. Managing to relax the panic-induced lock of my muscles, I turned my head slightly, taking in the warm familiarity of the room around me. Oh, thank god. It's just a dream. Just a dream.

Nestled, sleep-warm, beside me, the object of my terrified thoughts mumbled, yawned, and stretched slightly, pale eyes blinking fuzzily open. "Are you ok?"

A smile rose unbidden to my face as I lowered my hand to stroke sleep-tousled hair. "Yes," I whispered. "It was just a dream."

Burrowing closer, she lifted a hand and lay it against my thigh, resting her forehead against my hip. She cleared her throat. "Wanna talk about it?"

I reveled in the warmth of the simple contact and slowly shook my head. "No. I'm fine." I didn't have the heart to tell her that this same dream, which had haunted my sleep for the last year or more, had become nearly a nightly occurrence, tearing at my soul bit by merciless bit and leaving me drained and aching every morning. "Just go back to sleep, love. I know how tired you are."

Blue eyes narrowed, their gaze sharpening as she inspected my expression.

Consciously softening my face, I reached out and gently grasped her hand, my thumb tenderly rubbing against the harshly chapped flesh so stained with oil from her labors that it seemed it would never be clean again. Blinking back fresh tears, I somehow managed to keep my expression unguarded and relaxed.

She saw right through my attempt, and pulled her hand away from mine, reaching up to capture a tear on her finger. "Why are you crying?"

The answer to that was easy. "Because I love you."

She looked as if she were about to argue the point, but the weight of many nights of little or no sleep caught up to her and she yawned once again. "Love you too," she mumbled, her heavy eyelids already drifting down over her stunning eyes. "My angel."

I caught her hand once again as it drifted down from my face and brought it to my lips as I gave my tears permission to fall. "I love you, Morgan," I whispered around her warm flesh. "More than you will ever know."

Placing her hand back into my lap, I turned my gaze to the rain-speckled window, watching with idle interest as fat raindrops heralded yet another mid-summer storm. My vision trebled with my tears as I thought back over the rapidly fleeing remnants of my nightmare, wondering for perhaps the thousandth time if it was just a subconscious reaction to stress, as my dreams often were, or if it served to portend something infinitely more ominous.

Pushing the thoughts as down deep as possible, I leaned my head back against the wall and gazed out at the winter landscape, allowing my mind to go where it would. It chose a simpler time, where the scope of our world was narrowed down to just one word.

Survival.