When Meryl woke, Milly was already dressed and moving around the room with a purpose. No matter how hard she tried, Meryl could never rise before the younger woman. It all came from her upbringing, Meryl figured, from all Milly's years working on a farm.

"Up with the suns," Milly had always told her. "And that dratted rooster," she would add, with a scowl.

These days the women had no rooster, though occasionally the cat, Kuroneko, would sneak into their room—no matter how hard Meryl tried to keep it out!—and yowl an ear-splitting greeting to the sunrise. Milly had forbidden Meryl to throw anything at the cat, after one particularly disastrous morning when the bedside clock Meryl hurled at the source of the yowling had smashed though their second-story window and hit an innocent passer-by across the street.

Now Meryl sat up in bed, yawning so broadly it made her jaw hurt as she threw off the covers. The tattered throw rug on the floor did little to protect Meryl's feet from the cold and she hurried to dress, pulling on deep violet leggings and shoving her feet into low-heeled white boots. Shrugging out of the long shirt she wore to sleep, Meryl pulled on bra and light blouse before covering it all with the long-sleeved fitted white tunic that tapered at the waist before flaring out to fall over her hips. She fastened the clasps the front of the tunic and stood before the mirror, wincing as she saw the tangled black mess of her hair.

Milly's reflection appeared in the mirror as well and she stood behind Meryl, attacking the unruly hair with a wet comb. After a few moments (and only a few painful yanks on her scalp), Meryl's short hair lay tamed.

"Thank you, Milly," Meryl said, gratefully. Milly stowed the comb in her bag again and straightened her red tie before pulling on her cloak. She settled the green epaulettes on her shoulders and turned to Meryl.

"Where are you going?" Meryl asked, puzzled.

"We're running out of cash," Milly said, fingers rifling through the billfold she always kept tucked in her trouser pocket. Her lips silently mouthed numbers as she counted. "Someone last night said there was a bank delivery coming this morning, I was going to see if we could withdraw some funds from our account."

"Good thinking, Milly," Meryl agreed. "Do you want me to come?"

"Oh, no, Ma'am," Milly said, smiling. "It's alright, you should take the last of the money and have some breakfast at the café." The younger woman pressed a few double-dollar bills into Meryl's hands before folding up the wallet and returning it to her pocket.

"But—"

"Don't worry, I've already eaten," Milly assured her. She nodded at the bills in Meryl's hand and said, "That's enough for toast and eggs, and coffee."

"Excellent," said Meryl, mouth already watering at the promise of coffee. Blessed, blessed caffeine... "I'll meet up with you here later, then?"

"Yes, Ma'am!"

Meryl nodded and Milly left. Sighing, Meryl did a quick-and-dirty job of remaking her bed (she wouldn't bother at all except for Milly's protestations at the mess) and threw her cloak around her shoulders as she made her way down the stairs.

The café was on the same side of the street as the inn, only a few minutes away, and Meryl spent the brief walk blinking away the last of her fatigue in the bright morning sunlight. When she reached the open-air café, the young waiter recognized her and seated her on the patio again. Smiling, he offered to bring Meryl another banana sundae, but she declined with a small grin of her own. Just a few minutes later the young man reappeared with a plate of scrambled eggs and toast so slathered in butter it made her mouth water just to see it.

And coffee. Strong, black coffee.

"Ohhh, bless you," Meryl said, accepting the cup from the waiter's hands.

"I'll just leave the carafe, then, shall I?" he asked, grinning. Meryl nodded and took her first sip with a little too much enthusiasm, burning her tongue.

Belatedly, she realized the man might have been flirting with her. But the café was starting to fill up now and the waiter's attention was divided between too many people for Meryl to catch his eye again. Alas.

The eggs were almost cold in her mouth compared to the scalding coffee, but it was good to have a proper meal. The toast was as delicious as it looked. Meryl made short work of her breakfast and poured herself another cup of coffee, leaning back in her chair with a contented sigh.

"The bank!" someone shrieked. "Vash the Stampede is robbing the bank!"

Meryl inhaled a little of her coffee in surprise and the bitter liquid burned in her throat and lungs as someone came running past the café, shouting frantically. The man tripped in his hurry to scramble up the stairs of the town hall, still hollering at the top of his lungs.

All around her, people in the café were beginning to murmur and look worried as more shouting carried from the streets. There were sudden gunshots and Meryl leapt to her feet.

The bank—Milly!

Meryl vaulted the railing at the edge of the raised patio but didn't quite catch her feet under her on the street-level. Stumbling, she turned the fall into a roll and was back on her feet and sprinting smoothly in an instant. She followed the sounds of the commotion, running as fast as her legs could carry her.

All the action seemed to be taking place about a hundred yarz away, outside the building Meryl recognized now as the bank. An old brown convertible was parked across from the entrance, a green folding chair sitting nearby under a yellow umbrella with orange lace trim.

The lanky man in the folding chair, moments ago looking completely at ease while stroking a gigantic gun resting across his lap, now leapt to his feet and his shout of alarm reached Meryl's ears a moment before the doors to the bank burst open outward.

Meryl watched as two men came crashing out into the street, practically stumbling over each other in their hurry, shouting wordlessly. A third man came flying out after them, propelled unmistakably by one of the massive claws shot from Milly's stun-gun. The man trapped in its steel jaws collided with one of the other men and the two of them tumbled across the street, knocking over umbrella and folding chair alike before crashing through the plate glass window of a storefront. One of them was on his feet again some moments later, staggering resolutely back toward his fellows.

Two of the men still standing—a blond with long hair and a man in a tall, brimmed hat—flattened themselves against the building, flanking the entrance to the bank. Milly appeared only moments later, the barrel of her giant stun-gun visible before she herself was. She caught sight of one or both men in her peripheral vision and tried to duck back through the door, turning the stun-gun on the blond man to her left. The jaws of the metal trap snapped closed on his legs, sending him sprawling, but the second man stepped in and brought the butt of his gun down hard across the back of Milly's head.

No, no, no!

Meryl drew two derringers as she ran.

Milly had been knocked sideways but she hit the ground rolling and was up on hands and knees again in an instant. Her dropped stun-gun was rolling out of her reach, toward the man who had struck her. She lunged for it, but the man got there first and stepped over the massive barrel, backhanding Milly across the face. This time she cried out and landed hard on her back. The man stepped forward to stand over her, pointing his revolver down at her chest.

Meryl pulled each trigger once.

The first bullet kicked up a plume of dust half an ich from the toes of his tight foot, and the second ripped a hole through the tall black hat he wore, knocking it off his head.

"Drop it!" she shouted. She stood solidly but was breathing hard from the panicked sprint moments earlier. All three men left standing were staring at her in bewilderment. As the initial shock passed, two men turned their guns on her, though the man who'd been in the folding chair still held the giant gun casually with the barrel propped up on his shoulder, pointed up toward the sky. The man standing over Milly had to draw a second weapon—dividing his attention. Good. "Let her go!"

"Who the hell are you?" asked the man with no hat.

"I'm with her," said Meryl, nodding at Milly.

There was a small, tiny, almost inaudible scratching noise from behind her, but Meryl heard it—the scratching of dirt beneath someone's boot. In an instant she swung her left hand around backwards, out low.

"Erk!"

Meryl glanced briefly over her shoulder, glaring. The long-haired blond man had managed to free himself from Milly's stun-gun claw and was trying to sneak up behind her. Now he stood frozen, white-faced, with Meryl's small pistol in his crotch.

"Don't even think about it," Meryl said, pulling back the hammer with a fairly ominous click. The man immediately dropped the revolver he held. "Back off," she ordered. "Slowly."

The man glanced over her head and Meryl turned to watch the exchange as the man with the gun on his shoulder, evidently the man in charge—supposedly Vash—nodded curtly. The blond man backed away. Meryl kept the gun on him as he moved to join the others and then stood solidly with one shot left in each derringer, pointing one at the man holding Milly and aiming the other vaguely at the clump of men still surrounding Supposed-Vash. Jerking her chin in Milly's direction, Meryl demanded again, "Let her go."

"You gonna try and stop us, too?" sneered the bald mountain of muscle.

"I just want her," Meryl said. Which was mostly true. Once she had Milly, then she could start worrying about stopping them. "One more time: let her go."

Supposed-Vash bared his teeth at her. His small eyes, far too close together, were hidden behind red glasses and Meryl could see his thick eyebrows come together over the tiny round frames as he scowled.

"You're outnumbered," he commented.

"I said, I'm not trying to stop you," Meryl said. She didn't want this to escalate, but she knew there was no way in hell she would back down before they would. "But if it comes to it, I will take you all on. And you will regret it."

"With those two pea-shooters?" said the man standing over Milly, laughing.

Meryl wished, just once, for a good gust of wind to pick up and open her cloak, exposing all her derringers to view, the way it happens in the movies. At best, a tiny breeze was making the hem flutter. She settled for giving them all her fiercest glare.

"Try me," she growled.

For a moment there was silence.

"I'd do what she says."

One of Meryl's pistols swung automatically toward the new voice.

"That little one's a firecracker, I'll tell you," said the Idiot, shaking his head ruefully. He flashed them all a winning smile from below—a trash can lid?

Meryl's jaw dropped open at the sheer gall of it. Her partner is laying on the ground at gunpoint, she's facing off with four armed men—where was the fifth now? Ah, still stuck in the other stun-gun claw—and this lunatic pops up with a trash can lid on his head? She gritted her teeth in anger.

"Who are you?" demanded Supposed-Vash, staring at this new stranger.

The Idiot stood in his full glory: bright red jacket, heavy black boots, flashing green eyes… No, Meryl couldn't see his eyes from under the rim of the trash can lid.

"I said, who are you?" repeated Supposed-Vash, bristling. Meryl watched his index finger twitching over the trigger guard of the gun he still held at ease, still resting on his shoulder. Each of Supposed-Vash's cronies drew a second gun and aimed it at the Idiot, save for the hatless man standing over Milly, who looked a little unsure where either of his weapons should be pointed now.

Meryl kept one eye on the guns trained on her, only two now, and the other eye watched the Idiot. A glint of something shining briefly near his boot, and then—

"Oops!" called the Idiot, looking down at the convertible. Meryl watched the vehicle sag sadly to one side and heard the faint hiss of escaping air. "Flat tire. You won't get away in this…"

"You—you!" sputtered Supposed-Vash.

Meryl's jaw had dropped again. How…?

"Do you know what you're doing?" the muscled man asked the Idiot. "This gent—" (he gestured at Supposed-Vash) "is the much-feared Humanoid Typhoon, Vash the Stampede!" Meryl definitely had serious doubts about this, but this was hardly the time.

"Oh, really?" said the Idiot, sounding surprised. "Sorry, I just heard he was more…er…" Finally he looked up, the trash can lid tilting back to reveal the whole of his face. Meryl could see that though he was affecting a puzzled expression, his green eyes were sparkling mischievously. "Handsome," he finished, only the barest hint of a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

If Meryl's jaw could have dropped any further, it would have.

Supposed-Vash finally let the barrel of giant gun fall heavily into his palm, aiming it directly at the Idiot's chest. Meryl could see the man's teeth gritted together in his anger, holding the gun so tightly his knuckles went white.

"Are you implyin' I'm not Vash?" snarled Supposed-Vash. Meryl could tell the man was trying to sound intimidating, even threatening, but his voice was too high-pitched to pull off the growl he was aiming for.

"Want to find out?"

Meryl's insides went suddenly to ice. The Idiot's voice had done what Supposed-Vash's could not, rumbling low in his chest and making everyone from bank-robbers to onlookers take in a sudden breath, raising the degree of tension in the air tenfold. His eyes had gone dangerously sharp as he stared down the other man.

Then Meryl realized what he was doing. The man in red was pointing a gun, hidden in his jacket pocket, at Supposed-Vash. Meryl blinked.

There's no gun.

She didn't even have time to marvel at the stupidity of such a gambit before another new voice called out.

"Don't. Move." The order came from someone out of Meryl's line of sight, somewhere behind Supposed-Vash. The voice was surprisingly soft but still loud enough to carry across the whole scene, and there was so much anger in just those two syllables that it made the hair on the back of Meryl's neck stand up a little. Something felt very, very wrong.

Meryl took a step backward and let out a strangled noise of alarm as Delia came into her view, standing behind Supposed-Vash in a solid shooting stance, a weathered old Colt Peacemaker making a strange contrast to the delicate white hands gripping it.