Author's Note: Like most others, I still remember exactly where I was this fateful morning. I was a college freshman, and living in my college dormitory. Upon hearing the two boys next door scream at their television set, my roommate closest to that shared wall, banged on the wall, screaming for them to be quiet -we had thought they had taped the previous night's football game, and were watching that. Barely ten minutes later, my third roommate barged into the room (having left to shower, coming back still unshowered), and asked if we had heard the news. We shook our heads no, and she told us that she had heard that the Twin Towers had been hit. We proceeded to turn on the radio, and two hours later, my first roommate and I were on a train to her parent's house. Once there, I called my parents for the second time, to let them know I was ok, and I was out of the city.

This chapter deals with those events of September Eleventh, 2001. (You have been warned).

(Please note also, the set-up of this chapter differs slightly from that of my normal format. Also, the time difference between Seacouver and New York has been accounted for. I am sorry if this is confusing in any way. Next chapter will return to normal format.)

---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------

September 11, 2001

752 AM, Manhattan, New York

Isabella 'Bella' Sangrini frowned at the city traffic, cursing herself for the fifth time for not taking the subway. Quickly, she pulled her car to the side of the street and parked. She looked once, twice, thrice, before she exited the car, hopping quickly onto the sidewalk. It was a typical early autumn morning, and she decided to walk the rest of the way to meet her husband.

She met him every Tuesday morning for breakfast.

She paused briefly at a store window, and she admired the display there. Her sister's birthday was still two months away, but she had vowed she would find the perfect present. After all, Reenie turned forty this year.

She finally came to the final crosswalk, and she quickly crossed the street, and she paused to smile at the doorman. "Good morning, Ms. Sangrini," he greeted. "Meeting the husband?"

"That I am," she responded, and she walked inside the South Tower.

455 AM, Seacouver, Washington

Upon leaving work last night, head bartender Michael Ross, or Mike as he was commonly called, had asked head waitress Darcy Gallagher if she wanted to go somewhere to see the sunrise. He had thought it would be a nice end to their week vacation, before returning to be in the bar again for the Tuesday night rush. They had both stopped in separately yesterday to verify the time they would need to be in.

Darcy had said yes, and Mike had told her that he would be at her apartment at four-thirty, and that he expected her to be ready.

Now, twenty-five minutes later, he sat on her couch, flipping through a back issue of Time magazine, with the morning news playing softly on the background. Having knocked on the door at four thirty-two, Darcy had answered still in her bathrobe, with a towel wrapped around her head. He had frowned, reminding her he had said four-thirty. She had laughed, "I know what you said, hun. But I didn't expect you to be here right then. I'll only be a minute. Make yourself comfortable."

He had read the first paragraph sixteen times, but still did not know what it said. Although, in hindsight, he knew he should have expected this. They had officially been dating for five months now, and never once had she been ready on time for anything.

He sighed, and he looked to the bedroom. He shook his head, closed the magazine, and tossed it onto the cushion. He leaned his head against the back of the couch.

"Ready?" asked Darcy, stepping out of the bedroom. A clock read five-o- two.

"I was born ready," he responded, standing. "You didn't expect to be stopping for coffee or anything anywhere, did you?"

She only smiled mischievously, switching the television off on their way out.

517 AM, Seacouver, Washington

At the blare of his alarm, Marius moaned, and dragged one eye open. Seeing the too-early time on the clock, he shut the eye again in attempt to block the sound out. He failed, and in a clumsy attempt, he moved his hand, shifting his touch for several seconds before the alarm finally stopped.

He moaned again, and he dragged himself from bed, stumbling to the kitchen and to the coffee.

He made a mental note to ask his private secretary to never schedule six- thirty morning meetings again. The free breakfasts were not worth the three hours lost sleep.

822 AM, Brooklyn, New York

Amanda stirred at the presence of another Immortal entering the apartment. Groping across the half-empty king-sized bed, she found her sword under the pillow, and she pulled a silken robe over her otherwise naked body. She pressed against the walkway of the Brooklyn brownstone, moving silently -very cat-like- to the front door. "Nick?" she whispered. "Nick?"

"In the flesh," he yawned, and she dropped her sword. He eyed the weapon, turning his tired gaze to her face, and he dropped a light kiss on her mouth. "Expecting company?"

"Oh, you know, Connor had said he would be by today."

Nick Wolfe smirked, pulling off his jacket, and tossing it over the couch back. He held up a white bag. "I stopped at the corner bakery on my way home." He yawned, again, moving a hand to cover his mouth. "Man, was that a looong night." He moved to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee, and Amanda followed, propping her sword between the gas stove and the pantry. "About two-thirty, we have this guy come in to report a burglary at this store he owns in Queens. Antique, apparently. In his attempt to make it to his own police, he somehow ended up in Brooklyn, to us. Except, then we have to tell him, we're not police officers. Obviously, he doesn't care, and we file an official report, promising to pass it along to the real police."

"Did he leave then?"

"Oh, he left, all right. Bert and I had one of our rookies follow him. The rookie returns just before five. There was no burglary. The man faked the whole thing."

Amanda's eyes widened. "Do you think. . .?"

"I don't know what to think," he admitted. The coffee maker beeped ready, and he poured himself and Amanda each a mug, setting the two on the table, sitting himself, and swallowing the desperately needed caffeine. "Thankfully, Bert didn't say anything to me."

"Should he have?"

Nick shrugged, again. He opened the white bag, and he pulled out a blueberry muffin, taking a large bite, following it down with more coffee. "I wouldn't have been surprised. I am thoroughly convinced he knows. I mean, most private investigators carry around guns or weapons, but very few these days carry around swords as well."

Amanda allowed herself a tiny grin, and she reached into the bag too, pulling out a raspberry danish. She bit into it daintily. "So, what are you going to do with the fake burglar?"

"I don't know yet." He shook his head, and he thoughtfully chewed more of the muffin.

533 AM, Seacouver, Washington

Having returned from her morning run, and showered, Fiona now turned the shower knob, as the hot water was gone. She wrapped herself in a towel. The coffee would be done now, and she wandered into the kitchen to pour herself a mug. She paused for a few minutes to check the weather in the newspaper, and nodded to see the regular seasonal temperatures.

Coffee still in her hands, she stopped to switch on the morning news station, turning the volume louder, so she could hear in the bedroom. She paused in front of her closet. She had shaved her legs while in the shower, and remembered the time when women didn't need to shave their legs, when women would never have even thought of shaving their legs.

She sipped more of the coffee. Maybe she wouldn't wear stockings today.

842 AM, Brooklyn, New York

Rachel Eisenstein paused briefly on the street corner, before she crossed, holding a smaller boy's hand in her hand.

"Where are we going, Savta?" he asked, his voice excited at the prospect of a trip. He was only five years old.

"To visit my friend, Connor."

"Is he nice?"

"Very much so," she smiled.

Digging in her purse, she found the key, and she let herself into the townhouse, motioning the boy up the stairs. "Will he like me?" he asked.

Rachel noticed the smile had suddenly been placed with a frown. "Of course, he'll like you! How he could not like you?"

"Can I knock then?" he asked, as they had climbed the one flight of stairs, and stood at the second front door. He turned a hopeful, wide-eyed expression to her.

She nodded, hiding the bemused expression on her face. She never knocked. Connor would be surprised.

844 AM, Manhattan, New York

Bella and her husband, James, crossed the corridor to the elevator. "Did you call the plumber?" he asked, leaning his head against the elevator wall.

"Yes. They said they could come tomorrow between three-thirty and five- thirty." She paused, noticing the elevator was not moving. "Could you come home a little early?"

"I'll try," he frowned, and he pushed the button again. Still nothing happened. The elevator had stopped. He searched his pockets, in hoping he might find his cell phone, only to realize nanoseconds later, he did not have it, and that he had left it in his office. "Bella?" he asked.

"Here," she said, handing him hers

"Thanks." He hesitated only briefly, trying to think of who would be at their desk to answer the phone, when the elevator lurched into movement, then stopped again, opening at the floor they had started at. "We didn't move at all?" He looked quizzically to his wife, handing her back the phone, and stepping from the elevator, noticing she followed closely behind.

They both noticed the crowds of people hovering near the windows. "Tom, hey, Tom?" He caught a tall, balding man hurrying by. "What's going on? Something wrong?"

"Plane just flew into the north tower. Don't know if it was a mistake or not. We're trying to figure out what exactly just happened."

"Oh, god," he mumbled. He felt Bella reach for his hand. He squeezed hers tightly in his.

848 AM, Brooklyn, New York

Rachel Einsenstein thought it to be strange when Connor came to the door. "Savta," the young boy pulled on her shirt, "is he ok? Did he fall in?"

"No, no he didn't," she assured him, somehow knowing he meant falling into the sink. Idly, placing a hand on the top of his light brown hair, Rachel pulled the keys again from her pockets, letting themselves in. "Connor?" she called. "Connor?"

No answer. Rachel frowned.

"He fell in, didn't he?" the boy asked again.

"He did not fall in, Noah." She bent to his eye level. "I promise you." He nodded shakily, looking to her with wide eyes. She smiled distractedly, and she stood again. "He probably ran out for some breakfast. He knew you were coming, you know?"

"He did?"

"Uh-huh," she smiled. "Come on. Let's get you some milk."

"Ok," he grinned.

Three minutes later, he sat at the kitchen table, drinking a glass of milk and eating some toast, while Rachel poured herself a coffee Connor had left on in hurry to go somewhere, or anywhere. She frowned when the phone rang, shushing Noah, as she answered it. "Hello?. . . Connor, where are you? Uh- huh. . . uh-huh. . . are you sure?. . . uh-huh. . . right. . . yes. . . No, I understand, of course, and I'll stay here. . . bye."

She frowned harder having hung up the phone. "Is he fall in?"

"No, of course not," she answered Noah. "He just ran out. He'll be back soon. Finish your breakfast."

Rachel turned away, biting her lip. A plane had flown into the south tower or the World Trade Center.

552 AM, Seacouver, Washington

Fiona pulled on a pair of khaki pants, having decided she did not want to bother with a skirt today. Brown boots, white tee with a white blouse over it. She looked like she was still in college herself, not like she was readying to leave to teach it. She sighed, checking the time again. She was ahead of schedule, but if she still needed to finish planning the quizzes for her introductory class. She turned the television volume down; she poured herself another mug of coffee, and a bowl of cereal.

Twelve minutes later, she finished the quizzes, and checking her watch, she turned to the television hoping to catch the weather report. Instead, she saw the terrifying images of a plane crashing into the Twin Towers. She screamed silently, fiddling with the remote to turn the sound higher again.

"I repeat," blared the newscaster, "a second plane just crashed into the North Tower. This following an earlier similar crash into the South Tower, we know now this is no accident or lost flight."

Shaking, she found her cell phone, and she dialed Marius. "Hi. Did you see the news?"

617 AM, Seacouver, Washington

Adam Pierson had been on the phone ten minutes now with Joe Dawson.

"Damn it, Methos! We had men and women in there! Those towers held our top office for the Unites States and Canada!" The older man paused. "Have you heard from anyone else?"

"Amanda called just before you did. She says both she and Nick are fine, shaken, but fine."

"And Connor?"

"Connor's fine?"

"You spoke to him?"

"He is fine, Dawson."

But, it seemed to Joe that Adam was not entirely convinced in those convictions. He sighed, not knowing what else to say.

624 AM, Seacouver, Washington

Having watched the sunrise, with his arms around Darcy's shoulders, Mike thought the world to be perfect. It was only now, as they pulled into a breakfast-specialty diner and caught the morning news as they ordered their eggs, sausages and pancakes, that he knew the world was not.

Over the wooden table knots, he held Darcy's hand. For once, ordering her breakfast, she had no sauce in her voice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AN-- This chapter is turning longer than I expected. So, I will be dividing this into several smaller chapters. Please note also, it is in this story arc that we discover just how Richard Kramer's past ties into the Highlander universe. . . .

'Savta' is the Hebrew word for 'Grandmother'.