"I kept the faith, Ice," I whispered. "And you didn't let me down."

And still, even after being shot in the back like a rabid animal, still she didn't go after him.

No, it wasn't until the final straw had been placed. A straw which had Morrison pay her a visit in the hospital and warn her that if anyone ever found out the identity of the person who'd shot her, my life would have been made a living hell, and any chance I'd ever see freedom again would have been flushed, like so much raw sewage, right down the proverbial toilet and, likely, my soul right along with it.

"I knew right then that I could never go back. I needed to . . .take care of things so that his threat would never become a reality."

It was only after that last straw had finally been laid upon a back overburdened did she finally lash out, not to protect herself, but to protect me.

Because she loved me.

And when she finally had the chance to take out all the pain, hurt, anguish and rage upon the very man who'd caused her this grief, what did she do?

I closed my eyes, remembering.

"I wanted to kill him so badly I could taste it. My finger was on the trigger-just a hair's worth of pressure and it would have gone off, ending everything."

She tilted her head up toward the ceiling, her jaw working as she dragged her hands through her hair. "I couldn't do it," she whispered, harshly. "I wanted to, God, so badly. I wanted to end his miserable, stinking little life." She sighed, shaking her head. "But I couldn't."

Why? I could remember asking her.

"As I was standing there, watching him sleep, I thought about you." And here, her eyes came to rest, for the first time, on my face. She smiled slightly. "About that time when I had Cassandra's life in my hands. I remembered you telling me not to give up on my dreams, how she wasn't worth it. And I realized that if I went back to that person I used to be, the one who killed to get rid of my problems, that's exactly what I would have done." Tears sparkled in her eyes. "My dreams might not be much, but they were all I had. And I couldn't give them up. Not for him. Not for anyone."

"Oh, Ice," I whispered, much as I did then.

So many things made so much more sense to me now, when looked at through the distance of time. Ice's unswerving dedication to the changes she'd begun to make in her own life long before we ever fell in love. Her refusal to be baited into doing something that was becoming wrong for her until she was placed in a position where choices were non-existent.

I was finally beginning to see two very different sides to the part of Ice who was a killer. One killed in the heat of passion, to protect herself or those she loved. The other, diametrically opposed to the first, killed with the cool, remote disinterest of an assassin, which she had been for a very long time.

The first was an inherent part of her nature, a nature that had been shaped by the life she'd been forced to live when an innocent young ten-year-old woke up one morning to find everything she loved gone.

The second, I was beginning to see, was quite unnatural to her, though since she'd developed somewhat of a skill for it, and she used it as a tool much as the tools she used to fix cars.

Ice is, if nothing else, a woman of incredible passions. She has an immense, almost bottomless capacity for love. And an equally immense capacity for rage. Where love had always been reined in like a skittish and vulnerable colt, rage had been allowed to flourish.

And then, for some reason known only to her, Ice had decided to take a chance on revealing her heart and allowing love to sublimate the rage in her soul.

That decision came with a very large price, however. It was a price she was now paying. And it was a price that I, in my selfishness, never thought existed.

Until now.

Like Paul on his Damascus road, the scales finally fell from my eyes and I truly saw Ice's action of leaving Cavallo alive for what it really was.

A blind leap off a towering cliff with trust the only net she possessed.

Trust in herself, in her heart, that she was making the right decision. Trust in a justice system that had failed miserably to finally do the right thing. Trust in a merciful god or a kind fate to see her act of restitution and be pleased.

While a wise man once said, I think, that two out of three isn't bad, I'm sure he'd agree that one out of three is nothing short of abysmal.

Like a row of dominoes or a house of cards tipped over by a child's careless hand, that one merciful act set in motion a series of unstoppable events which led us to this place, where everything that could have gone wrong did and the proud, sure woman who'd made that leap now lay broken and bleeding in restitution for one act of kindness which turned against her with a vengeance.

I thought back to the night she'd received the phone call telling her that Cavallo had been set free and was after his pound of flesh. She'd wanted to keep the information to herself, but I'd poked and prodded, cajoled and whined until she opened up and laid her worries bare before me.

And what had I given her as payment?

Ridicule. Sarcasm. Moral high-handedness. I'd even had the gall to call her a coward. Accused her of using Cavallo as an excuse to run away from people who loved her. Threatened to attach myself like an unwanted parasite to her every thought, her every move.

When had I stopped trusting her instincts?

When had I started thinking that mine were somehow better?

I could feel my face flush hot with shame. The tender flesh of my palms protested as my nails dug themselves a new home beneath the skin.

All she'd ever wanted to do was to help in creating a safe space for me. A place where I would be happy, where I would be safe, where I would be loved, and where I would never want for a single thing. A natural leader, she'd sublimated that and instead walked by my side, lending her aid, her warmth, her strength, and her love to make sure that my dream was fulfilled to the best of her considerable abilities and far beyond my wildest hopes.

And what had I done with that freedom she'd given me? Taken it and run with it, effectively trapping her, placing her with my words into a cage whose bars were formed and shaped by the bond of love we shared.

A gilded cage, perhaps, but more of a prison, in some ways, than the Bog ever was.

"She's an adult," I told myself. "More than capable of making her own decisions. Don't take this away from her too, believing that you somehow trapped her against her will. That didn't happen, and you know it."

"Maybe," I answered. "But did you ask? Did you even take a second to ask her if this was what she wanted instead of projecting your dreams and your needs onto her and calling it good?"

Did I?

I thought back to the conversation we'd had in that tiny hotel room Ice had taken me to right after our reunion. I remembered the musty smell of the heater as the air it feebly expelled ruffled the heavy curtains shielding the window from prying eyes. I remembered the stiff, shiny texture of the bed-spread. Most of all, I remembered the expression on my lover's face, the look in her eyes, the tone of her voice.

"Damn it, Angel! If you stay with me, you'll only be putting yourself into yet another prison! Can't you see that?"

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."

And so I did.

And in so doing, I effectively, efficiently turned the tables on her. Cleaving myself to her despite her very valid and heartfelt objections, I took the decision out of her hands and brought it into my own.

She tried to warn me-god, how many times?-that it would one day come to this.

And when it did, I gave her everything but what she needed the most.

My support.

She had done what she had done. Her actions, rather than stemming from within the murky depths of a blackened heart, were, quite simply, the only things she could do. No exceptions, no excuses.

She'd been pushed into a corner and had come out fighting.

If it had been me, I would have died in that clearing. So would anyone else I've ever known.

She lived.

And in the end, after the votes were cast and the results tallied, that was all that really mattered.

She lived.

And, just like that, all my doubts, my worries, my insecurities crumbled to dust and blew away. My shame still lingered and it would be something I would deal with for a very long time to come.

Right then, though, it didn't matter.

What mattered was that the woman I loved with all my soul needed me, perhaps more than she'd ever needed anyone before.

And come hell, high water, or a certain elderly librarian with an affinity for poisons, pokers and teakettles, I would try my damndest to be for Ice what she was for me.

Everything.

A woman on a mission, I rose to my feet, barely conscious of the stiffness of my muscles and the throbbing of my leg. With determined steps, I walked off the dock, up the hill and into the house, ignoring the questioning glances thrown my way by the men and women who'd come to lend their support to a friend hurt and in need.

My face set in a stony mask borrowed temporarily from Ice, I ascended the stairs and entered the battlefield, giving Corinne a look that said, in no uncertain terms, that if she wanted war, she'd get it. I wouldn't back off until I'd won.

She read it well in those first silent seconds, her own eyes widening slightly before she relaxed back against the chair she'd pulled up beside the bed. She gave me a little smile of acknowledgement, tilting her head slightly in the direction of Ice, who was still in a deep sleep.

"Did she wake up at all?" I asked, fighting to keep the flush from coloring my face yet again.

"No. She's been resting quietly."

I nodded. Then I consciously softened my gaze. "I love her, Corinne. All of her. You can believe me or not, that's up to you. But I do love her, and I won't ever give her up." I swallowed, hard. "Unless she asks me to."

"And if she does?"

I took in a deep breath, let it out, and spoke the words written on my heart. "If she does, I'll let her go. Without question."

After a moment, Corinne nodded. Then she grinned crookedly. "Was there ever any doubt?"

"No. Questions, yes. Fears, yes. Doubt? No."

Her eyes twinkled. "Didn't think so."

I could feel my own eyes widen. "You didn't think . . . . Then why . . . ?"

"Because you needed to sit down and examine things for yourself, Angel. Part of you was living in a dreamland for a very long time. And unless you gave yourself time to discover the reality of your true feelings, things would have continued to snowball until we were all buried in it. Ice doesn't deserve that. And neither do you." She laughed softly. "Ya done good, Angel."

I couldn't help but laugh in relief. "Remind me to hurt you later."

"Oooooh. Promise?"

Resisting the urge to smack her silly, I instead crawled up on the bed and curled up tight against the one person in the world who held my heart in the palm of her hand, and fell immediately into a deep and dreamless sleep, not noticing when her arm wrapped itself around my shoulders in an unconscious gesture of acceptance and love.

When consciousness once again claimed me for its own, Bull's concerned face was the first thing I saw.

As his expression filtered its way through my slowly awakening mind, I sat bolt upright, grabbing his arm. "Is something wrong? What happened? Is Ice alright?" I demanded, too afraid to turn and view the object of my frantic questioning myself until I had a better idea about what I might find.

"She's fine," Bull replied quickly, making calming gestures with his hands, much as someone might who was trying to calm a frightened animal or child. "Just a little restless." Then he smiled, and I relaxed. "She woke up briefly, saw you, smiled, and fell right back to sleep. Didn't even have to give her a shot." Chuckling, he affectionately cuffed my arm. "Wonder if she'd mind if I stole you away for hunting trips. You seem to work miracles and it'd save me a mint in narcotics."

I couldn't help but grin at him. "Me? Alone with a bunch of sweaty men in an unheated cabin watching you pick ammunition out of someone's behind by candlelight? No thanks. Think I'll pass on that one, charming as the offer is."

Turning my back on his mock pout, I finally gathered the courage to look at my lover. Her face looked peaceful, smooth in a way it never did, even when she was sleeping. Her skin showed neither the high color of fever nor the waxen pallor I'd seen just prior to falling asleep. Reaching over, I laid a hand on her brow and found it cool and dry. "Her fever broke!"

"Yes," Bull replied, "a couple hours ago."

"That's good, right?" I asked, not taking my eyes off her.

"Well, we're not out of the woods yet, but yes, it's a good sign."

"It's a great sign," I replied, bending over and placing a kiss on her cheek. "She's tough."

"I won't argue with you there, Angel. She's about the toughest person I've ever known, and I've been around some real winners, lemme tell you."

I yawned and stretched, resisting the urge just to snuggled back down next to the woman I'd been away from for far too long. Looking at the clock, I realized that twelve hours had passed since I'd fallen asleep.

Bull must have read the question on my face, because he grinned in response. "You needed it," he said simply. Then he chuckled. "Besides, even if you were awake, there's not much you could have done anyway. Ice didn't seem very inclined to let you go for awhile there."

I turned to him. "What do you mean?"

"Just what I said. She was holding on to you like you were her Teddy Bear." He blushed. "Not that I was implying that Ice ever owned a teddy bear, mind you . . . . She . . .uh . . . . Aww crap."

I laughed. "I won't tell anyone if you don't."

He nodded, relieved. "Deal."

I heard the downstairs door open, followed by the sound of male voices speaking quietly as the men they were attached to entered the cabin. Bull glanced over the railing, then back at me, both eyebrows raised in silent question. "Sure. Have 'em come up."

He gestured, and I heard the men ascend the stairs, coming into the room and revealing themselves as Tom and John. Both were muddy and looked tired, but they also seemed very much pleased with themselves, sporting as they did identical smug grins.

"What have you two been up to?"