Dark. Very, very dark. And then suddenly very bright.

Men rushing forward -- lots of them. All clad in black, all carrying guns. Guns aimed at her.

...Shouting -- shouting at her to get down. On her knees. To put her hands where they could see them.

The air felt heavy; too thick for her to move. Not too thick for her to fall to the ground when the bullet tore through her leg.

More bullets started flying. One grazed her shoulder; another hit her hand. She could feel the blood trickle down her wrist. It joined with the blood still seeping out of her gut. Too much blood. Except, maybe, not enough.

Over the roar of the guns there was more shouting: 'Hold your fire! Hold your fucking fire! What the hell are you...?!?'

As the guns fell silent, the void was filled by another voice: 'I have orders. You do, too. You know what we have to do.'

They're wasting time. There isn't enough time. Roll over; on hands and knees.

Um, o.k. Not on that hand, not on that knee.

'It's his blood,' the other man snapped. 'She's carrying his-'

Bad soldier: 'Finn said to kill her if we had to.'

Good soldier: 'We kill her, we kill his kid. You want that on your hands?' Good, nice, soldier man.  

So do what nice soldier man says: On your hands. Get up; on your-

The unmistakable butt of a very large gun hit the back of her head. More shouting. The two angry voices became one as they each came closer, meeting head to head: 'Stand down!' 'I have orders. She dies.' 'You have new orders -- they're to stand the fuck down!' 'We're the last line of defense. She doesn't get past-'

Good soldier's voice won out. 'Last time I checked, I was in charge of this op. If the colonel has a problem, he can take it up with me. Understood?' A moment of silence. Then the man was suddenly kneeling next to her, his hand going to her wrist. Then to her waist. 'Damn it.' He started to apply pressure; tried to stop the bleeding.

'Don't...' Please don't. 'Not until...'

He ignored her words; pushed her hand away, shouting, 'Get me a medic! I need a Goddamned medic!' Turning back to her, he murmured, 'Ma'am, you're going to be o.k. The kid, too. We'll get you-'

* * * * * * * * *

Buffy sat up straight in the bed, breathless as she clutched her side. She let it go when she realized she wasn't actually hurt.

'She's carrying his-'

Carrying his what? What exactly was she carrying?

Riley's arm fell across her waist, making her jump. Making her wake him up.

'Finn said to kill her if we had to.'

'We kill her, we kill his kid.'

That was bad upon bad. No, make that, bad upon badder. The kind of thing she should be picking up the phone and calling Giles about. Except that it was three in the morning. So, maybe committing it to memory so that she could tell him later.

Riley rolled over, his eyes opening slowly as he asked, "You o.k.?"

Easing back under the covers, she made herself respond to the concern in his eyes; tried to keep the uneasiness from appearing in hers. "Yeah."

She hadn't fooled him -- the look on his face made that clear enough. He didn't say anything, though; just pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around; pushed her hair aside as his lips grazed her shoulder.

Riley put his collar up as he turned his back to the wind. Of course today had to be the day he was stuck wandering around outside -- today as in the day that was setting records for being the coldest in state history. They were saying the wind chill was thirty below. He believed it. He remembered days like this back in Iowa. They sucked. They also did nothing at all to help whittle down that Christmas shopping list. Not that he actually had a Christmas shopping list. In fact, he had no clue of what to get. Or, to be more exact, he had no clue of what to get Buffy, even after a full six months of dating. The kids, the folks -- no problem at all. Graham and Sarah and their kids -- done. Hell, he'd even managed to find stuff for Dawn and Eddie. Buffy though? Nada.

Actually, that wasn't entirely true. Coming from a family that believed in large quantities, he'd gotten her a bunch of things already. It was just that they were a little too, well, rote. Some DVDs (more for him, he had to admit; her movie collection was a little too weighted towards the ice skating kind), a knife, and a bracelet. A charm bracelet, actually, complete with a heart and a stake and a tiny little diamond-and-sapphire-studded cross. It was almost enough. Almost. There was still something lacking; something...intimate. And not in a lingerie kind of way, although, yeah, he'd gotten that, too. Not that there was any pressure or anything; it wasn't like these were the first Christmas gifts he'd ever given her.

Right.

They hadn't ever had a Christmas together in Sunnydale -- they hadn't really started dating until a week or two after one Christmas and, of course, his departure from Sunnydale had occurred rather abruptly right before they had a chance at the next one.

Same thing with birthdays -- he'd had no clue it was her birthday until Willow and Xander threw her the surprise party in her dorm. (To be honest, he still didn't know which day it was, exactly. After all this time, though, it seemed kind of ridiculous to ask.) He'd taken her out to dinner and bought her a bunch of CDs that he wasn't sure she'd even like given how well he'd known her at that point. Although, come to think of it, he had scored with the taser -- a last minute thing he'd felt kind of guilty about, considering he wasn't exactly authorized to hand it over to her; not without Walsh's permission at least. Given that Walsh tried to have Buffy killed not too much later, the guilt didn't last that long.

By contrast, for his birthday that year Buffy had given him a trip to Mexico.

She was getting paid back for that, however. Bermuda. The tickets were already bought, the hotel already booked; Dawn had been enlisted to make sure Buffy's schedule stayed clear and the kids were getting a bonus trip to Florida with Sam's parents. Her birthday present had been easy. It was Christmas that was hard. Made no sense whatsoever and yet that was the way it was.

But with the way the wind was blowing right now, he wasn't exactly in the mood to window shop; nor was he in the mood to think about either Mexico or Bermuda. That was just a painful slap in the almost frostbitten face. He refused to think about anything warm, in fact, until he was back inside with the temperature above zero. Which, unfortunately, didn't promise to be any time soon.

'It'll be obvious,' Buffy had said. 'It's in the bank behind the Dunkin Donuts. Besides, it isn't possible for you to get lost; it's not like there are a billion dress shops in Watertown, Massachusetts.'

Actually, as far as Riley could tell, there were none. Certainly not any in plain view. Sure, there was a bank -- four of them, if you wanted to get technical, in the main square. None, however, behind any doughnut shop, which he knew without a doubt because he was standing there right now. In the parking lot -- no bank -- that was behind the Dunkin Donuts.

There was one building -- or, rather, the back of one building -- that could theoretically hold a dress shop. Theoretically. When Riley had walked around to the front, he hadn't seen anything dress-shop-like in the windows. An accountant, a travel agency, and a juice bar -- Lucy's Juicy, to be precise. And no one who worked in any of those places knew anything. Still, it was kind of tempting to just head in through the back door. At the very least, he could warm up his blood. Because, really -- this was ridiculous, standing here in this arctic wind tunnel.

Normally he would have just called Buffy; would have just had her talk him in. Couldn't do that, though -- the phone was frozen shut. So... Options.

He could get back in the car and head home -- except that it meant Buffy would be supremely pissed. Under ordinary circumstances that wouldn't be ideal; however, given the fact that she was currently unhappy with him about something, it was pretty good odds that pushing it could get him killed. Plus, Dawn and Eddie had made a big deal about having him and Buffy and Graham and Sarah see the band they were getting for their reception. Plus they were treating everyone to dinner before that. It wouldn't be polite to just opt out. Actually, it wouldn't be a good idea on any account -- Dawn and Eddie had damn good taste in restaurants. Add that to watching Buffy dance? That was enough to warm anyone up. Temporarily at least.

Another possibility would be to just head on over to Dawn and Eddie's -- hang out with Eddie until Buffy and Dawn were all set. Maybe even see if Eddie had any idea what Buffy was annoyed about -- Eddie, who had proven to be a good study of the Summers' sisters' psyches. These days Riley was feeling he could use all the help he could get. Of course, abandoning her for Eddie would do nothing for the Buffy being pissed situation.

Or, he could just go through the back door of the big building, as he'd been thinking about in the first place. Kind of like what a newly-arrived-on-scene old man was doing at the moment, leaving the door ajar to boot. Not completely intentionally -- the wind had taken hold of the door before it could slam shut. It was practically begging for someone to put their hand out and stop it from swinging. And now that Riley had done that it seemed quite logical -- and important for survival -- to just walk on in. Yep, right like that.

Riley pulled the door closed behind him; it sounded like a gunshot, right down to the sudden silence in its wake.

His ears ringing, Riley took a minute to breathe in warm, albeit somewhat stale, air. This entrance clearly wasn't used too often despite the fact that it opened right out onto the parking lot. Three of the lights were burned out, the fourth was flickering. There were boxes crowding the hallway, making it almost too narrow to pass through. Obviously not an encouraged mode of entry.

Actually, it was pretty clear this wasn't a mode of entry at all. Nor was it the way to the dress shop. On the other hand, it was a lot warmer in here than it was outside. Riley walked down the hall, taking his time as the feeling came back to his hands and feet. Reaching for his phone, he saw that it was still frozen shut.

Damn. Should have just gone to the Dunkin Donuts. At least there he could have had a cup of coffee while he thawed out. That time was past, however. There was no way in hell he was going out into that cold again. Not until he knew where, exactly, he was supposed to be going. Although it might be nice to get out of this hallway. The flickering light was driving him crazy.

Here, at least, there wasn't any question as to where to go; there was only one door that Riley could see, at the far end of the passage, outlined by a soft light. He was halfway to it when the flickering light went dead; a few seconds later, the light on the other side of the door went out, leaving Riley in total darkness. That was no good -- in a heart stopping, senses on alert kind of way. It was less good when something ran past him, screaming. A bloodcurdling scream, the kind that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up straight. And the 'something'? The only thing Riley could tell was that it wasn't human. If it hadn't been for the scream, he might not have even thought twice -- it could be as harmless as a rat. With that scream, however...

Whatever it was, it was still in this hallway with him -- not a pleasant thought. Riley could hear it bouncing off the boxes; could hear the boxes as it knocked them to the floor. It was breathing heavily, wheezing and panting as it darted around where Riley stood. He grabbed his taser, just to be safe.

Taking a step back, he nearly tripped over a box, one that hadn't been there a few seconds before. Great. He put his hand out for balance; kept edging towards the door. The howling thing was advancing, and Riley had no interest in fighting it in the dark. It, apparently, had other ideas; it also seemed to have friends.

There was a flash of blinding light, gone as soon as it came. Then the sudden rush of air that Riley knew could only signal an imminent attack, one that in this case came from behind -- a sharp rap at the back of Riley's knees, followed by a jab into his ribs.

Conditions for defense were not at all optimal. Between the screaming that hadn't stopped, the boxes that seemed to be crowding in even further, and the pitch blackness of it all, Riley wasn't doing so well. The fact that most of him was still frozen certainly wasn't helping with the reflexes.

No. There was more to it than that. Though his instinct was to defend himself, something was telling him to hold back. Hold back to the point where he switched off the taser.

Hold back; not, however, allow yourself to be beaten to death.

Feeling very much the Jedi, Riley's hand went to where he thought the next blow was headed. Luckily, he guessed right. Or maybe not so luckily -- the weapon his opponent had was pretty solid. It certainly made an impression when it whacked Riley's wrist.

Ignoring the sharp pain, Riley wrapped his hands around the weapon and yanked it. There was a moment of resistance and then Riley was stumbling backwards, falling against the boxes. More boxes tumbled to the floor and the screaming actually got louder. He could only barely make out the sounds of his assailant scrambling back towards the door he -- it? -- had just come from.

Riley had no doubt that that door was about to be closed off from him, something he was determined to stop from happening -- it might have been warmer than thirty below in this hallway, but it still wasn't what anyone would call comfortable. Plus, the only other way out was past that screaming thing and Riley had no intention of trying that unless he absolutely had to. He scrambled over the boxes, thrusting the weapon -- he still wasn't sure what exactly it was -- forward so that the door couldn't slam shut.

Whoever was on the other side was obviously determined not to let him in. Riley pushed his weight against the door, not entirely surprised when it flew open and he went flying to the floor. The moment he hit the ground, he thought he'd fallen -- literally -- into a trap. There was a sudden convergence of bodies over him and they all began hitting him with very large, very heavy objects.

Just as he raised his arm and was about to fight back, the lights went back on, illuminating his attackers and their weapons. "You're kidding," he muttered. He almost started laughing. Might have, actually, if they had given any signals that they saw this as even slightly humorous.

They didn't, though. Each one of them wore the look of his seventh-grade English teacher -- stern and severe. Each one of them held a volume of the Encyclopedia Americana in her hands. Each one of them was a sixty-something lady with bluish hair.

Each one of them, at least, except for the eighty-something man who was standing a few feet away holding a cat. The cat let out a bloodcurdling scream. Then it nudged its chin against the man's hand, prompting him to pet it. After another scream, it began purring loudly.

Unbelievable.

Nice, Finn. Scare a bunch of old ladies.

As Riley started to get up, the group of women shrank back, looking fearful. They might have been that way in the dark, too; it was just that the force of the encyclopedias had masked their concern.

He realized they were warily eyeing the taser he still held in his hand. He tucked it back into his jacket. He also dropped the other weapon -- a cane as it turned out -- hoping that by letting it fall to the floor, they'd realize that he had no intention of hurting them.

They started murmuring, whispering to each other. Muttering something about calling the police. In Armenian.

Well, there was one good thing about stepping on toes in the course of almost every op -- in almost every country -- he'd ever been on. He knew how to apologize in seventy-nine languages. Maybe the use of their language would get them to listen long enough to realize this had been a misunderstanding. "Neroghoutun."

At the very least he'd surprised them -- they probably didn't expect their trespasser to apologize, certainly not in the mother tongue. He was kind of surprised himself -- his Armenian had never been very strong. Passable, maybe; enough to get him through three months in Yerevan, tracking a dealer whose M.O. was passing off the highly toxic deteriorating bones of an Ovrrec demon as wood from Noah's Ark.

One of the women stepped forward, putting her volume -- Egypt to Falsetto -- on the table next to her. "That is not our preferred entrance."

"So I gathered," Riley answered. It finally seemed safe to get to his feet. He brushed the dust off of his jacket and reached down for the cane he had dropped. Handing it back to the old man, he said, "That's some cat you have there." Some freaky cat, to be specific.

The man smiled and nodded. He shrugged his shoulders. "She likes to play in the dark. The other tenants -- they complain."

That was playing?

There was an uneasy silence as everyone stared at him with obvious distrust. Riley asked the most non-threatening question he could think of, one that was weighing heavily on his mind: "Does anyone happen to know if there's a dress shop in this building?"

The women looked at each other, their encyclopedias lowering. "Dress shop?" asked the woman who had spoken before.

"Yes," Riley snapped, although he hadn't meant to. He was glad for the instinct that had held him from striking back; it seemed, however, he was still looking for a fight. Actually, he felt like he'd been looking for a fight for the last few weeks now; starting right around the time Buffy mentioned Angel's flight number.

Angel was actually coming for Christmas.

Fuck.

A thought suddenly occurred to Riley: did he have to get Angel a Christmas present? Double fuck. Double freakin' fuck.

Riley forced himself to take a deep breath; forced himself not to dwell on the Angel situation. He looked around the room instead. If the encyclopedias hadn't been enough of a hint, it appeared he had stumbled -- literally -- into a library. The Armenian Library and Cultural Center to be exact, as the sign across the room said. The sign that also said, 'Ladies' Book Group Tonight!!!' So that's what he had interrupted. "A dress shop," he repeated.

Another woman put her volume down -- Corot to Desdemona -- and came closer. "A dress shop? Like the one behind the Dunkin Donuts?"

"Yes," Riley answered, almost hugging her. Didn't, though. After all, she had just been trying to kill him. He rubbed his neck -- someone had gotten in a pretty nasty blow.

Another conversation took place among the women, one too hushed and too hurried for Riley to be able to understand. They seemed to come to an agreement about something because they suddenly all put their encyclopedias down and their demeanors relaxed. Several broke away from the circle heading into the stacks of the library and emerging with coffeepots and various accoutrements. A few others surged towards him, a whirlwind of hospitality as they took his coat from him and pulled him towards a circle of chairs. All of this was punctuated by occasional screams from the otherwise purring cat.

Within moments he found himself sitting in a plush chair with a hot cup in his hands and a plate of pastries on the table by his side. "Really," he protested. "If I could just use your phone, then I can get going..."

His words were briskly waved aside by the woman who seemed to be in charge -- Takouri, if he had caught the name right. She actually clucked her tongue. "First you will drink."

Um, o.k., he thought, taking a sip of the coffee they had given him. It was scalding hot, Turkish strong -- and, man, did it hit the spot. He drank some more, welcoming the burn as the liquid traveled down his throat and not at all caring that every set of eyes was glued to him.

Takouri cared, however. "Drink," she ordered the others before muttering something about not making their guest uncomfortable. Everyone -- including the old man, who was apparently her uncle -- complied meekly. She was that kind of woman.

And Riley was more than happy to now be considered a guest. For a bunch of senior citizens, they hit pretty hard. "You've heard of this dress shop?"

After drinking from her own cup, she answered, "Of course. It is Marina's."

Of course. Marina's. Sure -- that explained everything. Or not. "Marina's?"

"Yes." Takouri nodded. "She is famous. You should be honored to have her dress your bride."

Riley choked on his coffee. "My...?" Sputtering in a way he was sure was not at all becoming, he said, "Uh, no." He dabbed at his shirt with the napkin one of the women handed him. "Not my bride. My bride's sister." Feeling his cheeks flush, Riley wasn't sure why he was quite so flustered. "I mean my, uh, girlfriend's sister."

"Ha!" The old man slapped Riley on the shoulder and let out a loud belly laugh. "Girlfriend." He added an extra "Ha!" for emphasis. The cat's shrieking was starting to make sense.

The women were all suddenly whispering, smiles on their faces. Takouri was shaking her head. "Girlfriend," she murmured, her tongue very close to clucking again. "A man your age should have a wife."

Um, hello? Had he just happened upon an alternate universe in which his business was suddenly everyone else's? An alternate universe called 'Moms, Inc.'? Had someone paid these people? Not Buffy, of course -- she hadn't expressed one bit of interest in a ring. It was just everyone else in the world who seemed to think they should be engaged by now. Well, everyone except Kate. But that was a whole other story. And he wasn't even going to get into the part where he had already had a wife once, or that it hadn't ended well. "Marina's dress shop?" he prodded.

Takouri delicately sipped her coffee. "It is in the bank. Behind the doughnut shop."

Resisting the urge to sigh heavily, Riley put his cup on the table. "I've been behind the doughnut shop. All that's there is a parking lot."

Shaking her head, Takouri said, "In the bank. The door is next to the vault. It leads to behind the doughnut shop." She reached for the coffeepot and held it up, offering him another cup.

In the bank. In the friggin' bank. "No thank you," he said, putting his cup down on the table in front of him,

Takouri reached forward. "There is a custom with Turkish coffee that we read the grounds." Before Riley had the chance to say, 'I deal with prophecies on a regular basis and therefore tend to avoid anything that even hints of fortune telling so no fucking way,' she'd taken the cup.   A shadow came over her face as she looked up at him, murmuring, "So unsettled. So unhappy."

Unhappy? Hell, yes. Wandering around in Arctic winds for the better part of an hour tended to do that to a guy. And unsettled? Well, o.k. That one he would concede. There were about a billion reasons for that lately -- it hadn't been the best few weeks. Right now, though, the only thing he found to be bothering him was the directions he'd been given.

He stood. "Next to the vault." Because of course that's where you would think to look for a store that sold wedding dresses. Although, come to think of it, from what this dress was apparently costing Dawn, that was a good place for it.

Takouri shrugged as if to say, famous dressmakers named Marina will be found if people need to find them. Standing up, she reached for the plate of pastries that had been as yet untouched. Wrapping several of them in napkins, she said, "For Marina and the sister and your bride."

"She's not my bride," Riley muttered, even though it was clear from the smile on Takouri's face that she'd intentionally misspoken.

Taking his coat from the hook on which it had been hung, Takouri handed it to him. "I suggest you knock first." She glanced pointedly in the direction of the encyclopedias with which they'd pummeled him. "Marina's tool of trade is scissors."