The Green Hills of Home

SURRENDER

Part 5 – Endgame

This story is rated R due to graphic violence and non-consensual sex. This is not in every chapter or even found frequently, but it is there. Be forewarned.

Book Bibliography:

The following book is described/quoted in this chapter:

Childhood's End, by Sir Arthur C. Clarke

Books which might exist some day:

No Sanctuary - A Personal Memoir by Dannielle Watson

This story is Rated R due to graphic violence and non-conceentual sex. This is not in every chapter or even found frequently, but it is there. Be forwarned.

Chapter 25

Decon took up most of the morning today. They were punishing the Bajorans for some act of rebellion and didn't feed them much for a month, and now some epidemic is sweeping their population. One of Jaro's grandchildren was ill, and every single one of us got a complete examination. I assume that humans and Trills are immune to it, since nobody was detained. But Kira and the Tarlan family were moved to quarantine this morning. We were told that once the epidemic is gone they'll be back. At the rate it's hitting the Bajorans it might not be long.

I want Jaro and his wife back. I want Kira's company. They are friends, family. Someone else will replace the ones that die in their own area, but this is different.

I don't like eating alone. Lately, I've been very unsociable and Ezri takes the children to a friend's matts to eat. Jaro comes and sits with me. I'll miss him tonight.

If he dies I will find some way of getting revenge for him, someday.

And then, late afternoon, just off work, everything changed.

I saw him, the Thing that saved Ezri's life, the Thing that wants her. I was just finished, wet and cold from snow clearance, and wanted to get inside and be dry and warm. But as he walked by I could no longer feel the cold.

With him was another Special, this one shorter and darker with a shadow of a beard in the late afternoon. He had two women, very young, who looked much like each other. I didn't recognize them, probably from one of the other groups. But I didn't dwell on them, nervous and resigned, and didn't show the relief inside me that neither of them was Ezri.

The Thing ignored them. Someday I hope the dark-haired Special has to pay for what he was doing, but the Thing is mine. I wonder if he knows. I'm quite certain that he paused, and looked at me momentarily as we passed.

Inside, I changed from the wet clothes to dry, and wrapped myself in a couple of blankets. Tessie found me and lavished kisses on my beard, and Yoshi babbled his own version of a greeting. The older children arrived cold and exhausted from the warehouse they are working just ahead of their mother.

Dinner went quickly, the hot food disappearing before it had a chance to cool. But as I was dropping our bowls in the bin, Carl put himself in my way.

"You were lucky today," he taunts.

The office caltie hasn't been around the last few days. Carl has a little more confidence than usual.

I should leave it but I can't. The presence of the Thing has made me too suspicions. "How is that?" I ask.

"You saw them. You know which one I mean. He likes Ezri. He wants her. Maybe next time he'll decide to pick her."

The fury is rising inside. Carl is just in the way. I have a firm grip on his arm before he can escape. The arrogance has disappeared. He starts to crumple before my eyes. I shake him to make sure he's paying attention. "Did he touch her?" I demand.

"Yes," he whispers, holding still, only wanting me to let go.

I don't. "How bad?" I ask.

He's scared. He doesn't know if I'll turn on him. He knows about that kind of thing. "The spots, he likes the spots. He likes to touch them." He looks at me, eyes pleading for release. "But he wouldn't pick her. Too old, he said."

I let go abruptly and he almost falls. People notice, but nobody gets in my way. I watch as he scurries away to his wife and blankets.

Ezri is sitting with Nancy, talking quietly, getting a feel for how she's doing. She does this every night when we get in. Nancy is still not well, and I admit to being worried. But I can't think of Nancy now. All I can see is Ezri, and the Thing that dared to touch her. I can see his fingers trace down her face, her neck, into her clothes. I can see him go further, all the way down to her toes, and Ezri lets him. I start to glare at her, anger building.

She looks up, noticing my look, and quickly looks away.

I go to our blankets, the children already snuggled inside their own nest. Ezri hugs Nancy, makes sure she's covered up. Luther is with the late crew tonight and not back yet. Slowly, as if she'd rather not, Ezri makes her way home. She drops into the blankets much more quiet and preoccupied than usual.

"She's not improving at all with rest," she says.

It worries me, but I can't think of anything I can do. Not yet at least. "Teala mentioned something local, folk medicine but I'd be willing to try anything. Who knows?"

Ezri shares a moment of concern for Nancy, but won't ask unnecessary questions. "If it helps . . . " she says.

She rubs her face, tracing her finger down her spots. It infuriates me, reminds me too closely of what I know. We fall silent. I keep staring at her spots, can see his hand as it slides down her neck, inside her uniform, and how she doesn't resist.

I keep waiting for her to say something. "Mine was wet and miserable. How was your day?" There is no hint of the anger inside in my voice, as cold as Carl's.

She hesitates, looks away. "Nothing unusual. One of the official slime came by but otherwise we stayed pretty warm."

She's not going to tell me. She's getting ready to go to sleep. I stare at her, unable to break the image of the filthy hands tracing down her spots, all of them. Most of all I can't stand the thought that she *let* him do it.

Abruptly, I push myself up. "I'm thirsty," I mumble, not looking at her. Realand had things he used, and had hidden from Jeffrey. I know where they are. She's loosening her blankets, making herself a nest to sleep in. We don't share our blankets now, just the space between them. But tonight will be different.

She isn't quite done when I return, her clothes opened and loose as she's preparing for bed, and slide inside our sleeping area without haste. Removing shoes and coat, my clothes are open too, as if I plan to remove them. She looks up, surprised, but keeps arraigning blankets.

Then, without any warning, I break her nest, scattering the blankets. While she's distracted, I shove her head down, pull back the collar of her clothes and yank hard. She fights me, but the blankets are trapping her legs. The top of her uniform clears her shoulders, and I pull her arms free while she squirms. The loop of rope slips around her wrists and I tighten it into place.

She glares at me, unprepared by the surprise attack. I push her down, flat on her back, running my hands over her spots. I can feel the filth he left on my wife. "Let me loose or you'll be sorry," she snarls at me.

But her hands are pinned under her back. Her legs are tangled in the blankets. She squirms, but it isn't getting her anywhere. Pushing against her shoulders, I pin her to the matts. Looking her in the eyes, I glare back. "You weren't going to tell me what the slime did, how he touched you." I slide my hand down her body, trying to pull her clothes off but unable to without letting her loose. I decide it is enough. I know Ezri. I know she is as capable as I am of defending herself.

But she has stopped resisting. "He didn't want me," she says, coldly, staring at me.

"He touched you. That's all that matters." I lower my face just above hers, staring into her eyes, climbing over her body so she can't move.

She's seething with anger, but knows that she's trapped. The cold look returns to her eyes. "He touched a lot of us. You going to hurt all of them?" she dares.

"They aren't my wife." I pull back, and she pushes herself up a little. I shove her down with my hand. "We're going to play pretend again. We're going to pretend I'm him, and then we'll see how much you want him."

We don't play pretend anymore. We don't go to the beach either, with all the blood. But tonight she'll understand why she doesn't really want him.

"I don't want him," she says through teeth clenched together. "And I don't want you either."

"But he wants you," I say, slipping my hand around her throat. I slip the little cord around her neck, tie it. It isn't tight, but I could easily pull the loose end to make it worse. For the first time I can see she is afraid of me. I don't want the beach, not tonight. I want a bed in the caltie's room and his face staring at her. She doesn't make a sound. "If this was him it would be tighter. He isn't interested in what you want, just him." I pick up the cord, pull on it lightly. It slips in just a little, not enough to matter, but she gets the point.

She's quiet, her breathing rapid and on the edge of panic. Holding the cord in my hand, not pulling at all, I move back and she stays on the matt. My hand starts exploring her body, pushing roughly against her spots, pinching tender skin as my nails drag against her. I rake my nails down her body, rubbing here and there, touching without permission. She closes her eyes, her body tense but under control, but always aware that I have the cord in my hand. She's in no danger. I do not intend to harm her. I just want her to understand what he is, what he wants to do to her.

She's afraid, my Ezri is afraid of me. I can't stand the thought of her letting him touch her, knowing she would have let him take her. Carl was afraid too, that I'd snap, that I'd hurt him. I don't care about Carl. But I don't want to hurt her, just make her understand.

Then it's different. I'm on the beach. The water is swirling around me. My body is lying, half-numb but able to feel all the pain of the prod, and the hands that follow. Ezri is staring down, a mean glare in her eyes, her hands everywhere, hurting me, that leer in her eyes. I can't move, can't fight her. Why is she hurting me? What have they done to her?

Abruptly, the water disappears, the course sand fades. Ezri is squirming under me, the cord tighter, and there is blood, my fingers pinching, bruising her. She's breathing slowly, carefully as the collar restricts her breathing. I stop, astonished. Why am I hurting her? Who am I punishing, tormenting, Ezri or Slimy?

Backing away, I pull off the cord, and she collapses against the matts. Opening her eyes, I see fury. But she's careful, worried. I snapped, and even if I pull my hands back, I do not let her go.

"Bastard," she mutters, but quietly, watching.

I say nothing, further retreating but keeping her hands tied, the blankets pinning her legs. Inside me, there is pain and turmoil and hurt so deep I can't describe it. But I collapse next to her under the blankets, pulling them over both of us.

"I thought you were her," I say, softly, hesitantly. "She hurt me. She had a prod and, and, . . ." I can't tell Ezri what she did. I don't want to remember. "But I saw *you*, on our beach. I couldn't stand the thought of that Thing touching you like he did today."

I stare at the blanket, avoiding looking at Ezri.

"When you were with Weyoun?" she asks. I'm almost surprised. It's been such a long time since I've heard that tone, the one she used to use with her patients.

"She was a guard."

"Did she rape you?" she asks softly, not moving.

"No. She tried. She tried twice. The second time I killed her."

She lets out a long breath. I realize that if I'd not left the beach when I did today I could have killed her again. I don't want Ezri to know how scared I am. But as I pull away she rolls towards me. "Would you rather I kill your Thing than let him paw me a little? Would you rather he get to take me on his own, because he'd own me if he could, if I made trouble?" There is sudden silence between us. "He didn't really do the looking anyway. It was the other one. He picked the twins."

I would have killed Slimy whatever the result. I don't know how to answer her question. "What happens when he does pick you?"

She tenses. Her voice loses its professional tone. "I don't know. But he didn't, Julian. He didn't hurt me. You did. Now, untie me."

I should. I know I have to eventually. But despite the calm voice I know she's still angry. If she tries to take her revenge I am afraid the anger will spill out and I would kill her.

"Not now. Not if you might hurt me." But I back off, trying to pull away from her.

"Fair's fair, isn't it?" She says, annoyed. But she's calmer now. She was afraid of me, but now she can't miss that I am afraid of her too, scared enough to strike back if she gets too close. I am more afraid of myself, of the anger inside that might explode without any control.

"I'd probably kill you if you tried. I don't know if I could stop myself." I roll as far away from her as I can.

She's silent for a moment. "When your Thing took me from the deportation group, he saved my life. And he saved all the children's lives too. I don't know why he did it, since all he had to do when he didn't have time to finish what he wanted was send me back to the cell. But he didn't. He sent me home. Not even as me, just a Trill with adopted children."

There is a voice in my head, one I haven't heard in a long time, not since I . . . woke.

It's Miles. There is no hint of understanding anymore. 'Look, Julian, this Thing of yours saved their lives, not you. You condemned them to hell, your wife, your-no, *our* children and Tessie and Kara. How *dare* you condemn her for wanting them alive.'

I try to deny him, push him out of my head. 'He was buying her.'

'But she'd still be alive. Doesn't that matter to you anymore?'

Then he's gone. I don't know if I want him to come back or not.

Ezri is looking at me, and I think of what happened to her people, how she would be dead now without the new identity.

I've never told her about the joined Trills. The rebellion is known here, but none of the details. But it will all come out eventually. If she knew I had kept it from her how would she feel? She owes the Thing her life.

I never answered Miles question. I thought she was dead. I remember the moment I discovered they were alive, how I didn't know if it was real. Nothing else would matter if she was gone.

Still, she betrayed us, would betray us again. Just as I did to save them before.

I roll over, moving towards her. "I need to get to your hands." She rolls on her side as I untie her, waiting for her to retaliate.

But she doesn't. She pulls her hands in front of her, rubbing her wrists. "Don't worry, I won't hurt you." She's tired, hurting. I leave her alone.

"I won't touch you again," I say, not knowing if I should be relieved or saddened.

But she rolls over, lying close to me. I keep thinking of her dragged away, executed because she is joined. I keep thinking of waking to this place with her gone.

"He saved your life in another way," I add. I roll over, turn to face her. Hesitantly, I put my arms around her, gently, holding her lightly.

"Because of what happened on Trill," she says.

"Yes." I pause, and she pushes against me, closer. The rumor has just reached us that the Trills revolted, that there were mass deportations of the survivors. But I know more. "The joined started and led the revolt. All of them were executed. And the caverns below the ground were burned." I don't have to say that she, and any other joined Trills who have managed to stay hidden are the only ones left alive.

She is silent, moving my hand to her belly and the space where the worm lies. When she dies he dies too, now. The desolation inside her is immense, like the emptiness inside me when we had the fate of Earth confirmed.

But she says nothing about it. Perhaps she'd already guessed.

"Maybe your Thing knew, too," she says, finally, changing the subject. "Today, the second one thought I was interesting. But your Thing said I was too old, wouldn't be of any interest to their friend. Maybe he protected me."

I'm still furious at him for touching her, but the anger is dulled by the memories of Slimy and her hands and the lump of dripping flesh I made of her, the scene I could have replayed today. "He just wants you for himself," I say, tired, spent.

She slides her hands inside my uniform, pulling it back, and I let her. I like the warmth of her body against me, the joy of her being alive to hold. I slide her clothes down her hips and she guides mine off as well.

Our bodies entwined, she says quietly, "If he keeps me hidden here for himself we have to live with it." She moves away, just a little. Weyoun did the same to me, but now he thinks they are gone. Now he holds no hostages. She moves back, turning to face me. "I know you can't accept that, but it's my life. Remember, Julian, you don't own me either."

Is that what she thinks, that I want her like he does? But I was the one who hurt her today.

The children are stirring, and I hope we've not kept them awake. "I don't want to own you," I say, "just . . . need you."

"Jules needed me too." She hasn't spoken the name before.

Next to me is Kukalaka, the little rag doll Nancy had given me, the one I took for my lost bear. Little Jules had been so lost, but Mummy was there for him, even here. The caltie and his lust saved Jules too.

"I'd kill him if he took you," I tell her.

"I know. But he hasn't. Maybe he won't," she adds, sleepy, wrapping her body around mine.

I pull back. "No beach. There's too much blood."

"Too late, anyway," she mumbles.

Later, tangled together in quiet comfort, Ezri is still awake. She whispers, "I remember when he was done with the pictures, when he started touching me, I didn't . . . I couldn't stand his hands on me. But the children were so near, and I wanted to live. I hated myself for it, but I knew I'd let him."

I remember the way Burly dragged Ezri-no, Slimy, away, made her stop. What if he hadn't? I couldn't move, couldn't stop her. What if she'd done it, all she wanted, would there have been an Avenger, would Weyoun have found what was left so useless he'd have simply found someone else, let Slimy have the broken remains to use until there wasn't anything left?

That's why I killed her. I didn't want to know. I still don't. Unlike Ezri, I'll always wonder, and like her, I'll never know what would have been.

But she's holding me now. Her body is warm, soft, cuddled close against me. She's real, neither dream nor nightmare. Carl can allow his wife to hold him, touch him. Luther seeks the safety of Nancy's arms. I wish they could tell me how. But maybe this is how it begins, going to this warm safe place where you aren't alone.

She's fallen asleep, and I close my eyes. I'll dream of red weed and tripods tonight, of blue/green

dust and red lightening. The Avenger got home, but at least I still have his dreams.

The bell is loud after the late night, and I lie in bed half-asleep listening. The dream had been so good, of the Princess and her lover, of the battles with the pirate that I'd been visiting at the time. It would have been better to end the dream properly, to go home to the red weed and Mum, to wake here with my family. Now it's all a jumble in my head and I need to sort it out.

But Ezri pulls in her clothes and starts dressing, and retrieves mine as a hint. I pull them on while sorting out my dream, and she drops some things on my chest.

"Your toys." She gives me a look that makes it obvious she never wants to see them again. I already know that if I tried that again she'd kill me.

Rising, I gather them carefully so they aren't visible. I wash off the dried blood the best I can, but can't contaminate our water. Then I drop them into Realand's hiding place, catching him watching. I hope he'll move them later, since now Jeffrey could find them. So could I.

I don't want to imagine what Jeffrey would do with them. The little stick with the sharp point has a stain on it. I wonder if it did before, or that was her blood.

But I notice, returning, that our nearest neighbors regard us with looks, especially me, and the older children give me a quick look of disapproval. Ezri is already up and dressed in her coat, taking care of Tessie and Yoshi.

I'm given space by the rest. I guess we weren't as quiet as I thought. Luther gives me a curious look, watching as Ezri takes my hand. I know they don't approve, even if they won't say anything. But they also wonder when I'll go off again, fix the anger on one of them. I'm sure the little scene with Carl has been noted. He doesn't matter, but they know I could snap at any of them.

I don't say a word to anyone all morning. I'm stuck on road clearance, and by the time the long, miserable day is over I'm not in the mood to talk.

They've noticed that the clean bin of uniforms is emptying too fast. A new policy is in effect. If our clothes are wet, we put them in a bin by the door when we return. They'll be back, dirty and dry, in the morning, the servers the only ones who get clean uniforms. I eat, then taking a blanket, strip and wrap the blanket tight to stay a little warmer.

I don't serve anymore, even in the slush and muck. But I hear about the changes. The higher caste prisoners have been moved, and most of the groups now are sarki. Some are human, but they are a scattering of species. There is even a group of half-starved, broken Trills. Ezri has seen them and said nothing.

She's making a nest for us when I return. I wait while she finishes, dropping my blanket and crawling inside. She crawls inside, pulling off her clothes, lying close and wrapping her arms around me.

Lost in the warmth and comfort, I'm almost asleep when she wraps her legs suggestively around me. "No hurting," she whispers. "It's been awhile."

I keep thinking of the beach and the blood. I remember the way she worked her hands, the slow progress of her prod across my body. I can't go there.

I hold back, Ezri watching. "No," I tell her. "Not tonight."

"It's cold. I'll warm you up," she says.

But she doesn't understand. The Thing never had time to hurt her. When I turned on my wife, I let out all the memories of that day, of the prod, of Slimy and her hands and the leer in her eyes. When she holds me, I can be little Jules tucked away in his mothers arms. But not now, not with her legs pressing against me that way.

"No," I insist. "Her blood's all over the beach."

Ezri pauses. "Then we'll go to a forest. The trees are tall. The brook babbles by us. The leaves are soft and the moss is spongy underneath them."

But I hold back. I don't see Ezri anymore, but as she pulls me closer, I can't keep the memories away now. I can remember Slimy too well, all the things she did, all the places she shoved her prod. I remember the bloody mess she was when she was dead.

I could have done the same to Ezri. Now she's pulling me closer, being careful, gentle, but not stopping when I pull back.

But then, I didn't stop the night before. I didn't even know what I was doing to her.

She's touching now, but softly, caresses rather than hurt, and I let her. I don't want to, but she didn't either. I guess for her there is a forest. But for me, there are blankets and matts and a sea of people around me who probably heard me hurting my wife and likely wonder when I might hurt them too-and not even know. But she is gentle, even if there is no pretend or no beach. Now we're even.

She reaches out to hold me and it hits, the feeling of desperation as Slimy is done playing, has put the prod away. I keep waiting for the boat, for Burly and rescue. But there is no boat. Her hands wrap around me, touching, threatening. I'm not here in our nest but on the beach with waves churning and the cold spray spilling all over me.

I can't allow Ezri to touch me. How dare she think that just because I let her use me-albeit gently-that all of the pain is done. She wasn't touched, not really. But I can't forget, and every touch makes the memories more real. Except now, Burly and the boat won't come.

After we came home from Internment Camp 371, I was haunted by nightmares of that last night, with Garak in the wall and the disruptor pointed at my head. Except in my nightmares the Jem'Hadar found Garak, killed him, destroyed his work. We didn't go anywhere. For weeks I'd wake up in a heavy sweat, if I could sleep at all, with the close confines of an isolation cell I knew I'd die in around me.

It didn't help that I knew it wasn't real. It doesn't help when Slimy slides the knife down my side, tearing the fabric that shielded me from her hands before.

She didn't have the time in that cell. But if she had, would I have been sent back at all? Would the distraction of needing to discipline Slimy have delayed the special from Ezri, and if I came back at all would she and the rest have been long gone, slowly dying in that mine?

It's the unanswerable questions you can't escape.

Ezri pulls me closer. All I want is to get away from her. I can't stand to have her touch me. I must get away from the beach before it is too late, before Slimy gets what she wants. I pull away from her, jerking back. "No. Just give me my blankets."

Ezri pulls away, reluctantly. "It was a beautiful forest," she says as she sorts the blankets between us.

A while later, settled against each other, she's touching my back. I can't pull far enough away to not be touched. I can't sleep. If I do Slimy will be there.

Maybe the dead get revenge too.

"Are you cold?" she asks.

"No. Just don't touch me."

"But?" she asks.

"I didn't have any forest," I tell her. "I'll leave you alone. Just keep away."

"If that's what you want." She rolls towards the children, and I pull back. I don't know if I want that. I know I can't allow her to touch me.

I'm exhausted, and fall asleep. The beach is all around me, the water churning, the sky flashing with a storm. But the water is red with blood, splashing all over me, soaking her uniform.

Slimy draws her hand down me, teasing with her prod here and there, tearing off the torn clothes. Burly will not come this night.

She puts away the prod. She smiles, pulls away the soaked uniform.

I know it's not real but it doesn't matter. The water is blood, the trees shadows in the storm, and the sky flashes of light followed by darkness.

I belong to her. She begins what Burly had stopped, and the only thing that matters is the night end and I can wake up and escape.

The road was icy today. We had to work late. I slip inside last, icy cold, and fall asleep immediately as soon as I have the blankets wrapped securely around me. Slimy will still be there, but I don't care as long as I'm warm.

She's got a knife. She has shed her uniform, tossing it into the bloody water. She takes her knife and slices off my clothes this time, nicking me here and there, the only sound the material ripping under the pull of the blade.

She starts, and I can move a little, try to squirm away from her, dig into the sand. The blood is slippery, all over us, and she has her arms around me as I try to move away.

Then a voice, arms holding me firmly, "Julian, wake up."

She holds me tight, shakes me a little, and the storm fades to black, the trees darken, the sea of blood calms. Then the beach itself goes away.

Ezri is holding me, lying beside me, and I lie still, trying to sort out all the images in my head. Slimy is gone, but I can still feel her work, my body on the edge of another betrayal. I don't fight Ezri this time. This time she saved me.

"Nightmare," I mumble. "It's gone now." Not really true. But there is distance instead of the beach.

"Of her?" she asks. I wonder if she ever dreams about the Thing, especially after I attacked her. I realize she doesn't show any desire for the beach either.

"Go back to sleep. I'll keep her away." She holds me tight, through the blankets, and I relax a little. I remember Carl's warning about Ezri, about a side I've still not seen. Maybe it will keep Slimy at bay.

There is no beach. But there is no knife, no blood either. All we have is each other, the closeness of our bodies with the blankets keeping away the nightmares.

She's still awake. I ask, softly, "Does he just touch you in your dreams?"

She holds me tighter, then relaxes long enough for me to turn towards her, release my arms so we may hold each other. "No, more than that."

"I'll keep him away."

For the first time in ages I sleep in some semblance of peace.

I don't see much of Luther, especially not alone. He's been given the better work of late, myself getting the kind of grimy jobs he owned before, but then most people don't want to work with me now-too nervous around me-and I get the all day jobs. But today someone slipped and assigned us together. We can't talk in front of the guards, but it was obvious he didn't like the idea.

I don't much either. I remember bits and pieces of the last few months, and I must have been sent with him a lot. From what's been said, I doubt I was much help. Not that I intend to work all that hard today; Luther can hurry if he wants to, but I'll do only what I must for dinner.

Most of the loading we've done has been off transports into warehouses, heavy crates that are sealed with official Dominion script on them. We can't stall with those; we're watched too closely and it's too cold to be outside the whole day. But this time we're loading crates of parts in transit for shipment with the usual rules. By dinner it must be done. But that's plenty of time, and I am in no rush.

Luther is. I keep wondering if he just wants to finish and get away from me. Nobody bothers us if we talk on jobs like this, and yet neither of us has said a word. We fill a crate and carry it to the loader together. We've carried twice as many of his crates as mine. He keeps looking at the load of parts, something small but heavy, and then me.

It's not hard to see what he's thinking. He wants to get done and be with Nancy. Mostly, he probably just wants to be done and away from me.

He's standing there, counting crates to be filled, obviously annoyed. I don't care. We'll get dinner without his paranoia.

"Would you hurry it up?" he finally says. "We've haven't got a quarter of this loaded."

He's wary, as he should be. He knows I remember. He knows I'm only under tentative control. I smile at him, "Why? We have plenty of time." I'm calm and unperturbed, knowing it will make him more annoyed.

He owes me after all. "The sooner it's done we go home." He's trying to keep the worry out of his voice. But it isn't working all that well.

"And they'll find something else for us to do. No, I'd rather stay in this warm, dry building all day." I smile at him again, but not so friendly this time. "You probably won't have to be around me tomorrow." I've been working, but deliberately stop. "Anyway, what do we owe *them* that we should bother rushing?" Something is biting my cheek and I remove it. It reminds me again. "What do we owe them that we should be working so cooperatively at all?"

"Our lives," he says, standing quite still, nervous at the anger in my voice.

"This isn't life," I murmur, finishing off a crate.

Nobody says anything while we haul it outside. Inside, nobody cares if we break the rules. Outside, we stay quiet.

But as soon as we are both inside, as soon as the door is shut, Luther stops in front of me. "I had to do everything when you were *little*. You couldn't even keep the floor clean half the time. So right now I'd say you *owe* me."

I remember waking up in what I thought to be my bed, kept awake and hungry for days while he and his people "tested" me. I remember being manipulated into betraying someone with no ulterior motives so 31's man could take hold his power. All of them are either dead or slaves now, but the bitterness remains. I wish I could remember the Federation as the shining jewel I'd always believed it to be. Sloan ruined that too.

But that is in the past, all turned to ash. I shut out the memories.

"I don't owe you anything," I inform him. Neither of us are working. I'm surprised Luther doesn't rush over to fill crates so there is noise, but instead he just stares. "Are you worried we'll be late and you'll have to try trespassing again?"

Staring, he freezes in place. "I saved your life that day," he says quietly, almost whispering.

"But you should never have *been* there, especially not with someone who you could not know would understand. Go yourself. Risk your wife and child. But I couldn't have made the decision then. You almost cost my life too."

"No," he says. "If we'd been late, we'd have been punished. Before that we'd have been questioned about where we were. Considering how sick you were, I seriously doubt you'd have made it back."

"Look at you," I say calmly, staring. "You're so scared of them, you work so hard so they won't notice. But then, then you sneak into places they'd kill you if they found you. If we'd been late I would have been a perfect excuse. But you didn't think of that. Even *now*, I wouldn't take that chance." I glare at him, daring him to argue.

"I'm not convinced," says Luther, daring me back. "I know them. All too well. So do you. We both understand what they consider punishment."

"So, today, lets say we end up late. What do you do? I'll take my chances. You can trespass if you want."

For a moment we stare at each other. My cheek burns in memory of the way he slapped me that time, so hard it hurt all night. Even Ezri didn't stop him. But then she's come to her own sort of compromises of late, too.

I haven't. I won't forgive him, not for any of it. Neither of us are working, the place silent. Guards could come in at any moment. But I don't care right now. I just want Luther to know that I remember what he did.

I step up to him. He backs off, just a little, before he says, carefully, "We should get back to work before they encourage us to hurry."

I keep moving on him, and he keeps backing away. I don't know why I'm so extra infuriated with him. All I know is that somehow, someway, I have to let it out.

Just like I did on Ezri that night she told me about the special and his pictures and his hands. Luther is now cornered, trapped, and I expect him to try to get away. But he becomes very quiet, very still.

"Please," he says, almost begging, an edge of panic in his voice. "Don't touch me. Please don't hurt me."

The panic feeds my anger, barely under any control. The tricks and the torture were from before and I can't deal with them. The slap wasn't.

I hit him so hard he falls, my hand stinging with the blow. He's on the floor, my foot hovering near his stomach. I'm ready to use it, to smash it inside him when I'm stopped by the whimper.

It's coming from Luther. He's huddled on the floor, looking up in little, furtive glances but not looking at me. When I move he shrinks away.

"I'll do whatever you want, just don't touch me."

I hadn't asked him to *do* anything. And my foot hadn't touched him. But somebody had. I've seen the shaking, the stumbling uncertainty, the lost hours. But I've never seen him this terrified before.

I keep thinking of Elaine, the creature she was turned into when she was condemned to her own living death. Maybe Luther met the same man, or his best friend.

Maybe he knew some of the people that turned Carl into a monster.

I take a step near him and he melts further away, his breathing ragged, his body trembling. I can't take my eyes off of him, this small terrified animal so badly abused by someone that it has lost all dignity.

It is hardly the Luther Sloan I remember. I move closer, watching as he retreats as far as he can, smashed against a crate. I put my hand on his lower back and his whole body jerks.

"I'll do it, whatever you want. Don't hurt me this time. Just get it over."

I stare at him, the position he's taken, the way he's shaking in terrified anticipation. I wonder if he'd ever encountered Slimy, or if it was somebody else who hadn't been so stupid. The longer I wait the more still he becomes, the more ragged and taxed his breathing, waiting for the rape.

All the anger vanishes. I collapse next to Luther on the floor, Slimy wearing Ezri's face, leering down at me, the intention quite plain. The hands start exploring my body, the places she'd sent her torture device before. Burly called it off, and I killed Slimy the next time she tried it. I still have the nightmares, when Burly doesn't come, when she does what she intended. But for Luther it had been real.

I let Ezri hold me now, but nothing else. The beach is still covered with blood, and she's waiting for me to fall into sleep.

Everything spent, I murmur. "I killed the one that tried it on me. She was stupid. I smashed her to a bloody pulp before I was done."

Luther stares at me, still trying to retreat. "Please," he whispers, still lost in blind terror.

I take my hand, touch him gently, hating the way he jerks then freezes. "It's all right now. It's long over. You're just remembering it."

I keep my hand there, repeating my words until they get through. In my mind's eye, the beach is there, with all the blood. But as Luther collapses, sobbing, it fades a little.

He moves towards me, hesitantly allowing me to hold him. "It wasn't human, I don't know what it was. They thought I could put the computer system back together, but even if they made me I couldn't manage that. But he said he'd give me to this thing if I didn't. I didn't know . . . "

His voice fades. He just cries. I hold him like a child that needs comfort, knowing that there is no comfort for Luther's memories, or mine.

Finally, he whispers, "I begged it to kill me, over and over, but it wouldn't. It just hurt me worse when I did and . . . " He stops again, eyes closed, voice flat. "And I decided to do whatever it wanted, pretend whatever it wanted. I was its whore."

Luther slumps down as I pull away. I keep thinking of Slimy and the *hands* and the prod and the way she had the knife, what she could have done with that, what she does in my dreams. I sit in the silent warehouse, not here, but in another dreary room, beaten and unconscious on the floor with the guard ready to pounce. What if she'd been smart enough to tie me up before I woke? What if she'd gotten the knife out before I stopped her? What if her kick had knocked me off balance, if she'd gotten the control, gotten her revenge like Ezri did the night Ezri told me about the Special?

How far had she gone the time before, when my memory had these blank moments I can't remember?

I keep thinking how near I came to being this whimpering wraith on the floor.

He moves, sitting up. He looks at me with a face stained in tears and made deathly pale by memories. "How bloody was it when you were done?"

"Sort of a big puddle," I say, not sure I want to see it again. "I accidently strangled her first. She had a probe and I was going to play with it."

Luther blanches, but he's doing better. "For both of us, and who knows how many others."

We share the silence for a few moments. Then Luther says, quietly, "I really shouldn't have taken you there. I knew you weren't responsible enough. I didn't expect you to turn into some kind of avenger."

I lean my head back, shaking my head. "But if we were late and they'd questioned us, I just don't know if either of us could have taken it. Who knows what was the best thing?"

Luther starts picking himself off the floor, and I help him up. "If we don't get this stuff loaded we'll have to figure that out all over again."

I look at the daunting amount of crates to be filled and wonder how long we've wasted. I slide the next crate into place, starting to fill it. "Let's just make sure we don't have to do that."

We are finished. It took a long time, and it's not past curfew but we may miss dinner. Before pushing open the door, Luther looks at me. "Someday you'll have to tell me about this Avenger."

"He went home," I tell him, almost allowing a smile. I hope he's banished his pirates, that the red weed is faded and the hills of Earth have gone back to being green. But his world will never be the same as the one before the Martians came.

Luther gives me one of those looks, and I remember his face framed by a window from a lifetime ago. "Maybe he left a little of himself behind."

I'm very tired tonight. It's partly the exhausting day-we both worked very hard and much faster than either of us would normally have been inclined. We weren't late, but dinner was cold and lumpy. But we didn't have to think about the dilemma of that night.

And the rest. Ezri holds me close, but somehow the barrier between us is different, smaller. I think about what could have been. It didn't happen. Even if I have to live with nightmares I don't have to live with the sort of things Luther does.

Ezri would have given herself to the Thing if it saved our children. I still can't understand. But she didn't have to. Even if he came to her in nightmares, she doesn't have to live with memories like Luther's either.

We hold each other, closer now, but still no beach. It's still too bloody. Maybe it will always be that way. I'm afraid of seeing her leer at me, hurt me, and maybe she doesn't know who will share the sandbar with her anymore. She doesn't try now. I've given up most of the illusions by choice. This one I didn't want to lose.

But Luther is huddled close to Nancy. She's holding him, I imagine, and I wonder at how hard it must have been to allow her so near, to let her touch him, to learn to trust that she would not hurt him if he allowed her inside. But he loves Nancy and somehow I will keep her alive for both of us, for the way she saved him and the way she believed in Jules.

If Luther can find a way to trust her, maybe Ezri and I can find the beach again sometime.

I'm not alone anymore. It's just Luther, and we're both outcasts. But all the old angers are forgiven, and I didn't know I could do that before.

Realand is sleeping in his blankets, holding Jeffrey, the boy he has turned into a controlled weapon by who knows what kinds of terror.

Jackson and his family are all curled up together in the cold night, all of the family he'll admit to. I wonder what he'd do to Jeffrey if he could, or what Realand would do to him if he tried.

We don't forgive anymore. We tolerate, we extract revenge, but we remember too. Jeffrey still watches Carl, and Carl still glares back at him. Each time I hold Tessie I wonder if her Grandmother is dead yet, if she blames me like Miles for condemning the child.

I haven't' forgotten Realand. I look forward to my foot in his stomach, and just hope Jeffrey doesn't mind too much.

But I know things they don't. I know the Founders are gone, that Weyoun is passing his power to collaborators who lack the constraints he does. Is it any wonder that life has turned more vicious since they came to power?

But it won't last. And that day, when it all comes crashing down, I'll tell them. I'll expect them to make up for everything they've done. Maybe then I'll allow them to forgive me.

The days have become quiet, predictable. I get assigned unloading almost every day, along with most of the stronger men. There are always more crates to unload, more and more with Dominion script that are worse to store since we are always under the glare of special guards.

I guess they don't trust the local ones enough. But today we got help, if that is what you call it.

It's almost dinner time, and the doors open. But it isn't food. It's twelve men, rough and angry, eyeing us with suspicion. None of them have any personal things. There are no families, not even unrelated like with Dorothy's group.

It was obvious Dorothy and the others had been together for a time. They moved together. It is just as obvious that all of these men are strangers, and trouble as well.

They stare at us, suspicion and warning in their eyes. Each carried his own matt and bedding, newly issued, but aside from the grimy coveralls, they have nothing else. They have no central leader, no one willing to even assume the role.

But Dorothy stands. She is a woman of iron now, no trace of the grandmother who cares for Jaro's granddaughter and takes care of his daughter-in-law when she's lost. Like Dorothy Gale confronting the Nome King, she makes her way to the front, backed up by the visible presence of most of the men, even me.

They stare back, daring her to talk first. She looks them over, her look as cold as Carl when he was questioning me. But she doesn't need any discussion with them.

"We have rules. You need to understand them because we do enforce our rules. Now, there's space against the back wall. Go there."

Just as Dorothy liked Teala and her family, and we have come to as well, we don't want these men here. They each hoist their bedding and ignore the others. They glare at Dorothy, starting off across the corner of established matts.

"Follow the open areas only. You wouldn't have walked into someone's home and that's what you're doing. If you don't learn the rules, you'll only be allowed to walk along the side."

He's tall, rough and angry. "You don't tell me what to do, woman."

Three men, the nearest to his choice of places to trespass, surround him. They don't touch him, but it's plain they'll enforce her word. He backs away, the others starting towards the back wall already, taking the side route.

"We'll see about this, later," he growls at Dorothy as he follows them.

We have been invaded. Once, I'm sure these men were different, but whatever has been done to them has changed them. Even as they try to set up their matts, they are arguing with each other.

At least they can help unload crates. We might finish a little sooner. That is probably why they are here.

But Dorothy nods to several of the men. There is a small meeting on her matts. I'm not invited, but come anyway. We'll have to keep an eye on them. Nobody puts in words the other worry, that they'll get in trouble with a guard, even if it would get rid of them. We'd still have to pay for it.

I notice Jeffrey is watching them, Realand's matts near the back. For once, should Jeffrey choose to carry out his threat, nobody would mind, not even the ones he didn't bother, I suspect.

We go back to our blankets. Dorothy tells a story about the invasion of a medieval town, how the citizenry stopped it and killed all the invaders. She looks back at the wall while she tells it. It's not like her usual stories, and I wonder if she made it up but don't particularly care. The point was taken.

We finally go to sleep, but uneasily. For once everyone, Luther and Carl and I included, all belong and are all willing to let the invaders know.

I don't like them. I don't like that they are watching, getting in the way. But somehow it's better too. I don't know how this community came to be. I was a little boy then. But when I came back, I had more than a room full of people to return to. I had family.

End Part 5 Chapter 25 of Surrender