AN: Tru angst and Davis, eh? I think I can oblige.

Saturday 3:12 pm

Delayed only a few minutes by changing back into street clothes and assuring Harrison that he would still be able to father children, Tru headed for the First Street bank. Rather, she tried to. Some six blocks away, she began to hit so many police barricades that she found it more practical to walk the rest of the way.

It was then, when she stepped out of her parked car, that she noticed the thick black plume of smoke that was swirling into the sky from a point suspiciously near her destination. Many, many bad signs.

She walked briskly down the snowy sidewalks, always with her ID ready to brandish to whichever beat cop wanted to tell her she couldn't go on. The closer she got, the more news vans and cop cars she passed, and the more field reporters hustled past her with their camera men and their spike heels making ridiculous clicks on the concrete. By the time she made it to the last corner, Tru felt like a lemming headed for the cliff.

When she rounded the corner, the scene before her hit her like an acme brand piano. The bank building, or rather what was left of it, was a smoking ruin. Three fire trucks surrounded the foundation, their hoses shooting misty water into the flaming rubble. Police tried to keep gawkers at bay around the perimeter. Ambulances crowded the parking lot, paramedics swarming in and out of them. Two by two, they carried bleeding people away: A dazed fellow with a torn scalp, a young woman with half an arm missing who was crying out about her son, a body so burned she couldn't tell the age or sex. Dozens of bodies with black triage tags had been left about the tarmac in the rush. Tru knelt by one of them, fighting her rising gorge. It was an old lady with a long purple coat and half her skull missing. Kids. Old people. Bloodied, burned, broken...

"My God..." Tru breathed, holding her sleeve over her nose to block the stench of smoke and sulfur.

"Davies?"

Tru looked up at the prompt and found a familiar face in the chaos.

"Kiff?"

Kathleen Frink lurched away from the rubble of the building where she had been digging for survivors when she had happened to spy Tru in the lot. She came to a stop before Tru and stood there panting. Scratches marred her sooty face, which was bathed in sweat despite the chill in the air. Her medic uniform was covered in tears and blood.

"Kiff, what the hell happened??"

"The... The bank... A-All these people..."

"Kiff, calm down. You're all right. You need to tell me what happened, okay?"

Kiff took a deep breath.

"There... There was a hold-up at the bank. It was on the news all day. Three guys went in and started waving guns around with about forty hostages inside. They didn't say anything about a bomb!"

"A bomb? Who robs a bank with a bomb?"

"You'd have to ask them, but they were killed in the explosion. So were m-most of..."

Kiff looked like she was about to vomit.

Tru grabbed Kiff by the arm, pulled her over to the curb, and made her sit with her head between her knees. Kiff's fingers knotted into her short brown hair as if she were trying to claw the horrible images from her brain.

"Tru, tell me you can stop this. Please tell me you can stop this!"

That was when it began. A mangled hand from the body closest to Tru latched onto her ankle and the dead eyes snapped open.

"HELP ME."

Then the old woman.

"SAVE ME."

Then the next one and the next.

"HELP US."

"PLEASE SAVE ME."

"HELP ME PLEASE."

One by one they piped up until it was a chorus of cryptic whispers all around her, like a jackhammer in her head, broken only by Kiff's sobbing and finally, mercifully, the burst of light as the day rewound.

Saturday 9:16 am

Davis was startled out of the best dream of his life by the shrill scream of his bedside phone. Still with his shaggy head under the covers, he groped until he found the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Davis, it's me."

"Tru? What time is it?"

"It's after nine. Are you still asleep?"

Of course I'm still asleep. I worked the night shift. You know that because you were there. And by the way, I'm probably never going to dream about an hour on the holodeck with Seven of Nine again. Even in my wildest fantasies, I'm sure she'd reject me.

But naturally, he didn't say that.

"No! No, been up for hours. I was just finishing my t'ai chi exercises. What's up? Do you need a ride to PT? Help with PT?"

Tru's exasperated noise was audible over the line.

"Davis, I finished PT weeks ago."

"Oh, right. What can I do for you, then? Can I get you breakfast somewhere? Pick up your dry cleaning?"

Carry you up the stairs? Tuck you in bed and read you Dickens? Sit by you and watch you sleep by the light of the moon?

But of course, he didn't say that either.

"Stop dithering, Davis, and listen to me. Something terrible is about to happen."

Davis pulled the blanket off his head and sat up.

"What kind of terrible?"

Tru quickly filled him in on the rough draft of Saturday.

"Oh..." Davis said when she was finished. "THAT kind of terrible."

"I'm going to the police station as soon as I hang up."

"I'll come with you!"

"No, I need you to get down to the bank and start staking it out."

Davis frowned. "You mean you want me to sit in my car across the street and watch people go in and out all day?"

"Not across the street. If anything goes wrong, I want you out of the path of the blast."

"But what if Jack tries to intercept you on the way to the station?"

"Then you'll find out about it and go to the cops yourself."

"But what if he hires some girl pretend she's you and call me to say everything's okay?"

"For God's sakes, Davis. Have I ever once given you an everything's-okay-call?"

"But what if –"

"What if I slip on a banana peel and fall down a storm drain? I'll find a way out, just like I always do."

The clipped edge to Tru's words hurt a little, but Davis had to admit it might be justified.

"I just don't want anything else to happen to you. Jack's been laying low for a long time, and I just know he's been planning something big. Blowing up a bank? That's pretty big."

"I know you worry," said Tru, trying to sound more patient. "But you can't protect me every second, especially when I need you somewhere else."

"... Okay. Just please keep you cell on."

"Deal. Oh, and could you call Harrison and tell him to get his butt to the Saturn dealership if he ever wants me to speak to him again?"

"Threaten Harrison with devastating loneliness. Got it."

Saturday 10:01 am

Lou Evers surveyed the contents of his trunk: Ski masks, voice masks, unmarked leather sack, three semiautomatic rifles...

"Got everything?"

Lou jumped and let the trunk slam shut. Standing with his elbow resting on the hood of the beaten Chevy was a man in a long coat, a half-smile plastered on his face.

"Jack! You scared me, man."

"Lou, my man, how many times do I have to tell you to relax? This isn't rocket science; it's armed robbery."

Jack led him in a complicated handshake that he made up as they went. Lou smiled. Since Jack had found him at the halfway house a month ago and subsequently offered him this job, Lou had known this would turn out well. Jack would provide the plan, the cover, and the equipment. All Lou had to do was put in a couple other guys and five minutes of leg work and he'd be on easy street for the rest of his life. The prospect was a lot better than what Lou had come up with (knocking over 7-11's until he found a winning lotto ticket). All he was worried about now was skipping town before Jack came by to collect his share afterwards.

"I'm relaxed. Everything's fine."

"Great. I came by to make sure you had everything you needed."

"Oh, yes sir. I'm sure of it."

"Guns?"

"Yep. All three, plus ammo."

"Masks?"

"Yep, black ones."

"Directions to the Fifth Street bank?"

"Yep, across the bridge and... Fifth Street?"

Jack frowned. "Yes. Fifth Street. Across the bridge? Lou, you weren't thinking First Street when I've been distinctly saying Fifth Street for four consecutive weeks, were you? That will throw a huge monkey wrench into things."

"No, no. I got it. Fifth Street bank: That's on Fifth and... And Nicollet! Fifth and Nicollet."

"That's right," Jack said, patting Lou on his acne-scarred cheek. "I knew I could count on you. Now get cracking. You don't want to be late for the security guard change. Oh, and one more thing."

Jack dug in a pocket and pulled out a 3x5 photo, which he passed to Lou. Lou examined it and his smile turned feral.

"Whoa... Who is that?"

"An old friend."

"What's this for?"

"Luck," said Jack. "It's always lucky to have a pretty girl in your pocket."

With that, Jack winked at Lou and walked briskly away. He had one more car to visit before the day got going.

Saturday 11:20 am

That had been entirely too easy, Tru mused as she crossed the street from the police station to the firehouse. Tru had barely even had to come up with a decent story. At the mention of the word 'BOMB', the entire precinct jumped into action. The First Street bank was now surrounded by cop cars, armored cars, SWAT cars, and many, many cops. She supposed she should have expected as much; since recent tragic events, the police were under a great deal of pressure to take seriously every threat, no matter how vague.

She supposed also that she should be thanking God for small favors. With her friends' meddling, her mother's haunting, and not to mention forty dead people counting on her to change the timeline, she ought to take an easy save as a gift. Still, it felt wrong. Where was the skepticism? Where was the searching of classified files? Where was the running for her life?

Where was Jack?

Jack. He'd kept himself hidden for three months and she knew she wasn't going to find him now. Short of that, there was only one other thing she could think of to assure herself she had done everything she could to avert the catastrophe.

Tru knocked on the firehouse door. When it opened, there stood a round, rather short fellow with white hair and whiskers. With the January wind kicking up the color in his cheeks and nose, he made Tru think very much of Santa Clause. Definitely a stark contrast to Tamzarian.

"May I help you?"

"I hope so. I'm looking for paramedic Frink."

"Oh! You mean Kiff. Come on in."

Like a gentleman, he held the door for her and then led the way, practically skipping. Yep – Definitely not Tamzarian.

Santa led her to the station kitchen, where about a dozen emergency workers sat on stools and chairs, their eyes fixed on the small, slender woman who perched on the countertop, regaling her audience.

"... So then Quinn says 'How can you be such a friggin' liberal in this day and age?' And then I said 'What do you mean? I like Bush – Just the other kind.'" The men laughed uproariously. Kiff put up her hands. "Wait, wait. It gets better. So then Rickles says he doesn't get it. And –"

The loud emergency tones over the P.A. system interrupted her.

"TRUCK 3, ENGINE11: COMMERCIAL FIRE ALARM AT TWO-TWO-OH FIRESIDE ROAD."

A groan rose up from the kitchen and the fire fighters hustled out of the room, some of them giving Kiff a friendly nudge as they passed her. Within ten seconds, Kiff was the only one left in the room. Tru smiled from the doorframe as Kiff hopped down from the counter and went for the coffee maker. The last time she'd seen Kiff, the animosity between her and her co-workers had been as thick as peanut butter.

"Looks like progress," Tru observed.

Kiff looked up and beamed.

"Davies," she said brightly. "Come on in. One of the Mikes just made coffee."

Tru settled on a stool at the counter, where Kiff joined her with coffee that looked and smelled kind of like tar. Kiff looked different: Still thin, but not so much that one would question her nutrition. The circles under her eyes were fading, giving way to the brightness there. She even had better posture, as if she'd dropped something heavy from her shoulders. Indeed, the only outward sign that she'd been through any sort of ordeal was the pale vertical scar that bisected her left eyebrow – A gift from the pinky ring of her erstwhile partner, Andy.

"Drink it slow. I think I saw Peterson using the dregs to seal the cracks in the sidewalk," said Kiff.

"Thanks for the tip. You look good, Kiff."

"Progress, like you said. Making peace with your co-workers does wonders for your skin. What about you? How's the leg?"

"It's getting there. Seems to be cramping up lately, though."

"When the weather turned? That's normal at first. Stretch it out when you get up in the morning and you'll be fine."

Tru smiled. Kiff at least wasn't telling her to wear bubble wrap for the rest of her life.

"So what brings you here? Looking to change jobs?"

"As much as I like hanging around kitchenettes and listening to sordid anecdotes, I kind of came here to ask you for a favor."

"A favor?" Kiff said, her uneven eyebrows up. "Okay, but if you want it kept quiet, that's where we enter a gray area."

Tru laughed. "Why? Is your new partner the town crier or something?"

"Funny you should ask."

At that moment, the fire pole bore a figure down from the upper floor. He practically bounced off the linoleum and came to stand over Kiff like a personal footman. Tru looked him over: A tall, red-haired, freckle-faced boy who looked too young to shave.

"Kiff, I looked all over. I can't find the henway."

"Rickles," Kiff said with strained patience, "you weren't supposed to go looking for it. You're supposed to ask me what it is."

"Oh. Is it some Jewish thing?"

Tru half expected Kiff to start pounding her head against the counter.

"Tru, this is Pat Rickles, my new partner. Say hello and then good-bye, Rickles."

"Hello and then good-bye, Rickles!" he said, laughing hard at his own joke.

"Yeah, that's funny, dear. We've got girl stuff to talk about, so would you mind?"

"Oh no, I don't mind."

Rickles plunked himself down on the stool next to Kiff and began drinking her coffee. Kiff gave Tru a please-make-this-end look. Tru returned a sympathetic one.

"So," Kiff sighed. "What's this favor you need? Do you need a ride someplace really really fast?"

"Not exactly." Tru cleared her throat. "You know that... thing that I do?"

The color disappeared from Kiff's face.

"Not really. And I like it that way, remember?"

"I know. I'm sorry to bring it up, but in this case, I think you'd want me to."

Kiff swallowed hard. "I-I didn't..?"

"No, no. It's not you," Tru assured her.

"Then why -?"

"Because you asked me to."

"Aw, jeez."

"The good news is everything points to the situation already being resolved," said Tru. "It's just that the last time we heard from Jack was when... you know."

"Me," Kiff supplied.

"Right. And this'll be the first time I saw you since then, and I just have this feeling that Jack might still... I just want you to look after yourself today, okay?"

"Who's Jack?" asked Rickles.

"He's, um, one of those creepy guys at the park who tries to give candy to little kids he doesn't know." To Tru, she said "Okay! Consider it done."

"And if you get any weird calls today –"

"Like what?" asked Rickles.

"Rickles, if you can't keep up with the conversation, it's better not to join in."

"I'd just like you to keep an eye out, particularly around First Street. Speaking of which, I should get down there and make sure the buildings are still standing."

"This wouldn't have to do with that huge bomb scare the guys at the house across the street are trying to keep quiet, would it?"

Damn.

"It might."

Some people just take up a hobby."

"I collect stamps."

"That's great, Rickles," said Kiff. "Say, could you go find me the assfore?"

"The heck is an ass-for?"

"For sitting, stupid."

Frowning, Rickles slid out of the room. Kiff threw up her hands.

"I've been telling him variations of that joke for three months. How do you work in EMS and not know that joke?"

Tru noticed Kiff's voice was shaking, and so was her hand when she sipped her coffee.

"Are you all right, Kiff?"

Kiff forced a nervous giggle. "Not if I keep drinking this. Tastes like it was brewed in celebration of the Magna Carta."

Tru was stopped from pressing the question by the emergency tones.

"RESCUE FIVE, RESCUE FIVE: FIFTH AND NICOLLET, CONFIRMED GUNSHOTS. OFFICER DOWN."

Saturday 12:06pm

"Five minutes, Evers," the bailiff droned.

Lou stabbed the keys of the ancient phone in the county lock-up for his one call. It rang five times before the other end picked up.

"Hello."

"Jack! Thank God."

"Lou, is that you? You sound flustered."

"You're goddam right I'm flustered, Jack!"

"Lou, there's no need for profanity. Now calm down."

"Don't fucking tell me to calm down, Jack! You said this was going to be easy!"

"There's no talking to you if that's how you're going to be."

"No, wait! Don't hang up, please!"

"Then calm down and tell me what happened."

Lou looked around the crowded jail to the bailiff hovering behind him and lowered his voice to a frantic whisper.

"We got made. The security guy hit the alarm before we could do anything. Then this cop comes in and starts shooting at us! Ricky and Joey are both dead!"

"Uh-huh," Jack said in his maddening calm. "Anybody else?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"We shot the security guard. And the cop. I don't know if they're dead. I mean we had to, right? That's self-defense."

"No, Lou. Not if you're already waving guns around in a bank."

"Fuck! What are we going to do?"

"Two minutes, Evers," drawled the bailiff.

"All right," said Jack. "Do you still have that photo I gave you?"

"Yeah."

"Good. No listen very carefully, because you need to get this exactly right..."

Saturday 12:18pm

Tru caught up with Kiff at County General ER, vigorously scrubbing her hands and forearms at one of the sinks.

"Kiff!" she said, jogging to a stop at her side.

Kiff looked up with eyes that were blood-shot and red-rimmed from crying. When the call came through, she'd run out of the firehouse so fast that Tru was halfway relieved just to see that she hadn't gotten into an accident in the ambulance. Now she looked somewhat better than she had this afternoon in its original form. Somewhat, but not much.

"It's Fielding," she said before Tru could ask.

Tru's heart froze. Fielding was a friend of Kiff's, and the only one who had come close to looking out for her during the drug-trafficking conspiracy that had briefly seen her end up dead. Now she was washing his blood off her hands.

"There was a hold-up at the Fifth Street bank and it went bad. With everyone else tied up at First Street, Fielding was responding by himself and... It's bad, Davies. The bullet went up under his vest. There's blood all over the rig."

Tru's head was spinning. No, this was wrong. This wasn't supposed to happen. This HADN'T happened. She couldn't have altered the timeline so much in three stupid hours.

Unless... Jack?

She was about to begin questioning Kiff about the possible presence of a man bearing an eerie resemblance to Jason Priestly at the scene when a shadow fell over her. Looking up, she found two hulking policemen who were standing over her like ogres who wanted to eat her.

"Tru Davies?" said one of them.

"Yeah?"

"Place your hands behind your back, please."

Tru blinked. "What?"

That minute hesitation was enough for the cop. He clamped a huge paw on Tru's shoulder, whirled her around, and slammed her into the wall with bruising force. Stars danced across Tru's vision as she felt her feet kicked apart and cold metal snap shut around her wrists. She vaguely registered her rights being read over Kiff's voice.

"Hey, take it easy, Lawrence! What the hell is going on?"

"What's going on, Kiff, is your FRIEND is under arrest for accessory to armed robbery and attempted murder of a peace officer."

TBC...

I know this one is taking off a little slow. Thanks for bearing with me (and not to mention the encouragement), and I'll see you at the next chapter.