This is something that's been an idea in my head for quite a while.

Oh, and I guess I should put in the standard disclaimer before I forget.

In the winter twilight, Iffat hurried home from her day at the university, her thoughts on the

warmth of home -it was bitterly cold out, but then, that was December in Toronto-and the

evening meal that awaited her after fasting for the day, the first in the month of Ramadan. She

thought about the evening after that. She had readings to do, for her Political Science class,

meeting the next day. Then her mother would ask for help with the household work. Her four

year old niece Yasmin-the child of her older brother Said and his wife Faridah, who lived with

their parents as well- would ask for her attention, which she would be pleased to give, for a little while at least. She loved the little girl dearly, and loved spending time with her, but the child was very energetic, and thus completely exhausting.

She turned onto her street, not five minutes away from her house, and it was then they set upon her.

Three of them, silent, menacing figures clad in black cloaks and cowls.

Iffat's mouth went dry, her heart pounded, but her mind was all at once on another level,

fight or flight instinct. She ran, and the men followed. Iffat tried not to imagine what they would

do to her, tried not to look back. She cursed her long skirt. Soon, her breath was coming in gasps, her lungs burning with the cold air, but she forced herself to keep going. And she prayed, her mouth forming the familiar words of comfort and of faith.

Suddenly, she slipped on a patch of ice, and fell hard. She rose, and ran again, but almost at

once, an iron grip had her in its clutches. She looked into his face and shuddered at what she saw, at the ruin of what once had been eyes, a mouth. Then he turned her around and she felt the knife against her neck. She prepared for the end. Then, the grip loosened. There was a thud, and she was shoved aside, into the snow. She saw a fourth person in the darkness. She held her breath, very aware of the glint of metal and of the sounds as her rescuer and her pursuers fought.

A few endless minutes later he approached her, extended a hand to her and ask gently,

"Are you hurt?" The voice was cultivated, precise, British.

"I.. think I'm all right. T-thank you for what you did." Shw was shaking. So cold..

"I'm very glad I was in the right place at the right time.".

She noticed that he carried an axe, slick now with blood. It made her stomach roil so she looked away. Incongruously, his hazel eyes, behind the glasses, were friendly. His presence was soothing, as if he could drain away her terror. As if he could answer; why had she been attacked, and by whom..or what?

"I know you have many questions, and I promise to answer them when we have a chance. It isn't safe here. Right now, I need you to trust me, and come with me."

She nodded her agreement, slowly, the tears beginning to wet her cheeks with the sinking realisation of what this would mean. Her family..

"Good. It's nice to meet you Ms. Kahn, Iffat, - am I correct?"

"Y-yes, but how.."

"And my name's Rupert Giles."