You never can be too sure these days

Disclaimer: The 4400 characters aren't mine.

A/n: Since I've only watched up to the beginning part of season 2, that's when it's set.

Diana Skouris and Tom Baldwin stepped into what was by now, familiar territory. A team of the best and brightest theorists that NTAC had to offer had made this preverbal hole-in-the-wall, theirs. Copies of files and scraps of papers leant haphazardly here and there, lacking any system of organisation. The two, tiny trash cans that stood close to the grouped desks overflowed with candy bar wrappers and day old scraps of food. The white board and pin boards had been covered in red, blue and green marker; and map print outs as well as photographs and sketches respectively. The only thing that had been kept more or less pristine, was the flat screen mounted on the wall. To the untrained eye, this was a mess, pure and simple. But then again, the untrained eye wouldn't be working at NTAC, now would they.

"Judging by the amount of M&M and Snickers wrappers, I'd say you boys have been hard at work." Tom said, closing the door behind him.

"Tell us you've got something." Sighed Diana; both she and Tom had been anxious to get going on the case

Marco grinned naughtily. "I've always got something for you, Diana." Tom rolled his eyes, the action going unnoticed by either of the two. "Okay, we got the results from the samples taken at the bank. They're pretty weird, but then again, what isn't in our line of work, right?" He got up and ruffled through a couple of files before finding the results he was looking for. He handed it over to Diana as he continued to explain. "The door was made of steel, right? Steels all undergo a considerable amount of industrial treatment; depending on what it's going to be used for, so the processes differ. We pulled up the specs on the processing of the model of the vault door, and matched the chemical analysis of our sample, with that of the treated steel."

"And?" Asked Tom.

"And... they're different. You see, the after having been melted and molded, the steel sets and is treated with chemicals for various reasons, like Teflon coating for instance. The sample contains trace amounts of the chemicals and the constituents separated, meaning that they evaporated. The steel was melted."

Diana handed the file over to Tom. "But what could melt such a large area, in such a short space of time?"

"The equipment needed for that kind of operation... well, let's just say you'd definitely see it coming into a bank. And, it gets even stranger." He handed her another file. "The concrete around the vault, was also melted down. The sample was made up of the constituents of concrete, you know, cement, gravel, sand and water, but they'd reformed incorrectly; kinda like someone throwing a whole lot of ingredients into a boiling pot but not stirring them together."

"And the only way this melting pot affect could occur is if the steel and concrete had been melted?" Tom asked. Marco dug his hand into his pockets and nodded. "Do you have any theories on what might've done the job?"

"Yeah. A 4400."

Tom and Diana left the Theory Room, navigating the twists and turns of the bureau's corridors in unison. "There's over eleven million dollars missing from that vault. If word got out that the 4400 have branched out into bank robbery, the press will have a field day." Diana said, shaking her head

"We were lucky that there weren't too many customers. The bank employees said they got taken into the bank manager's office, so they didn't see anything that could give the press ammunition." Tom stopped, Diana taking a moment to notice that he did. She turned back. "Who would need that kind of money?"

"Who wouldn't?"

"I think this might have something to do with Jordan Collier."

Diana laughed. "Are you serious? Tom, the guy's a billionaire! Eleven million dollars would barely cover the cost of one of his paintings."

"It's just money, Diana, and money can always run out." He continued to walk. "I want to take a look at his financial records."

"Tom, there's no way Jarvis is going to give us the go-ahead on that."

"Well, let's find out, shall we?"

888

"No." Nina Jarvis said simply and coolly. "There's no way you're touching Jordan Collier, do you understand me?" Tom stood, hands on hips, in front of her desk. Diana had her back against the door frame; she hadn't really seen a point in making her way to the desk since she knew they were going to get kicked out for even proposing the idea. Tom was about to speak when Nina cut him off with a gesture of her hand. "He's the public face of the 4400, fast becoming a cult icon, and a billionaire with countless ties in the business world. We are not asking for his financial statements based on the hunch of an agent. If you're wrong, this operation will be nothing more than a distant memory and I'm not quite ready for that yet."

"It's just that..."

"Agent Baldwin, if I need a good joke, I'll go online and download a few facts about Chuck Norris. Now get back to the job that you're paid to do, and next time you come into this office, bring me something that isn't laughable."

888

"Pardon, could I speak with Mr. Ferrell?" Anäis asked the receptionist. The usual exchange took place; the secretary asked her name and what her business was; Anäis answered the first truthfully, the second, not so much. She was asked to take a seat while she waited, and offered a cup of coffee, which she declined. It seemed odd to her, that such a young man already had people working under him, his own office, and it would seem, a great amount of respect from his colleagues. Anäis continued to wait, finally noticing activity from the office and greeting the gentleman that had just left Shawn's company. The secretary motioned for her to go in; her eyes traveled the length of Anäis disheveled appearance and her expression seemed less than approving.

Anäis stepped into Shawn's office, waving smugly to the secretary before closing the door. "I could be wrong, but your secretary doesn't think much of me." She said.

Shawn sat on the edge of his desk. Seeing him for the first time, clad in his tailored suite, gave her some insight to his business persona: it suited him well. "Might have something to do with the fact that your clothing is a couple of sizes too big for you. It makes you look a little..." He couldn't find the suitable words.

"Scruffy." She ended for him. She'd found the jeans and sweatshirt on the edge of his bed; he'd left them there knowing that her clothing wouldn't hang dry quickly enough. "Thank you, for giving me your bed for the night, and your clothing for the day... however scruffy it makes me look." She smiled, pulling at the large sweatshirt. "I don't deserve it after everything I've caused for you."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

He hadn't found a way to ask her the night before. "What exactly did you do to those guys?"

There was a moment where she felt the urge to turn and leave; questioning whether she could trust him. But then: he was the prime suspect for a crime she'd committed, and she hadn't woken to the sounds of police sirens outside of his house. She owed him an explanation. "It didn't used to happen so often. But lately... I can't control it very well." Pause. "I don't know exactly how it works, all I can say is, it's energy." Shawn frowned, not understanding. "I can sense it; where it is, what kind it is and change it." She realised she wasn't doing a good job of explaining. "The smaller the concentration of energy, the bigger the concentration of mind. That's what I keep telling myself."

There was a knock at the door. "Mr. Farrell, your two o' clock is running ten minutes late."

"Thanks, Amy."

"I'd better get going." Anäis said, discarding the conversation and moving to leave. "I wanted to thank you, for everything."

His expression turned; she hated that look. Pity. "Anäis, what you told me... I can't imagine..."

"Forget about it. I've never been a victim in my life, and I don't intend to start playing one now." She said quickly. "I just came to thank you, and tell you that after I sort myself out, I'm going to the police this afternoon to confess."

"You don't have to do that."

"Yes, I do. I won't let my problems become yours." She was adamant.

"That's great, except they weren't your problems in the first place." Shawn motioned her to sit at the couch at the far wall of the room, and sat on his haunches in front of her once she did. "There were witnesses at the café who heard the three brothers planning to come after me. If I hadn't spoken to you, they never would've had a reason to... I drove, you walked; they found you first. It's my fault they did this to you. If they'd found me first... they wouldn't have touched you."

She shook her head. "No, Shawn, that's not logical. You don't know that they wouldn't have done the same thing, even without me meeting you. Most rape cases aren't one of the 4400. I've avoided this long enough; I'm going to the police."

"If they believe I'm the prime suspect, they won't find anything to convict me other than a couple of witnesses that say those were coming after me. I didn't commit a crime, so they won't find any evidence." He didn't tell her about his sneaking suspicion that if they didn't find evidence, they'd plant it. "The police don't want justice, they want a 4400 convicted of murder. What you did was self-defense, but they won't see it that way. They don't understand our gifts. How difficult it can be to control them. they'll think you did it on purpose."

"Not every police officer is out to get us. They just want to find out who hurt those three men."

"Anäis, you can't confess. If you're convicted of murder, every one of the 4400 will be a target; a potential murderer. People fear what they don't understand." He took her hand. "I can get the best lawyers money can buy, I'll be fine. Just let me do this." He wasn't sure what he was asking for, wasn't sure whether he could handle it, but it was the one thing he'd felt he could take control of. He didn't know her very long, but he felt something in her; pride, strength, both; and admired it. Her eyes were penetrating, questioning, and perhaps she was just as unsure as he was. "Just let me do this." He repeated; a whisper. With a thoughtful bite of her lower lip, she squeezed his hand.

"Shawn, I need to..." Jordan had strode in, suddenly caught by the scene in front of him. "Am I interrupting something?"

Shawn moved away from her and let her stand. She squeezed his hand once more and walked to Jordan, and the door. "Jordan Collier, and you are?" He extended a hand.

"Anäis, and on my way out." She shook his hand and smiled. "I'm sorry to have disturbed you." With one last look at Shawn, she left.

"I've got a meeting in five minutes." He wanted to avoid hearing what Jordan had to say. Aside from the fact that he probably misread what he had just seen, his plan to help Anäis probably made more sense to him than it was ever going to make to his mentor.

"Don't worry Shawn, I'm not going to ask you what she's doing here, or what she's doing in your clothing. I'm not going to ask when, between now and two o' clock last night, she got here and how she managed to escape detection by the compound cameras and guards who would've reported and documented the entry of an unknown woman at such a time. I'm not going to ask you any of those questions... yet." Jordan handed Shawn a piece of paper protected behind sealed plastic. "It's a ransom note."

"For the compound?" He asked as he read. "Twenty million dollars?"

"Mercantile bank was robbed early yesterday morning." Jordan said, walking over to pour himself a glass of water. "Ten million dollars was taken."

"Mercantile?" The question was more to himself than Jordan. "They had ten million dollars?"

Jordan took a few much needed sips and shook his head. "Mercantile is just a name. It's a standard savings and loan, they could easily carry that amount. Problem is, the same people who robbed that bank, are now blackmailing us. They're 4400s. If I don't give them the twenty million; nothing that we've worked so hard for, will be safe. They've threatened to expose themselves as a group of the 4400, following my orders. If they do..."

"Yeah." Shawn said simply. "But we can't pay them."

"I know." Jordan moved to the window, and watched as the yellow cab Anäis had stepped into, drove off.

Shawn had to set aside his previous thoughts, and focus on what all of it meant. It seemed that fate had it in for the 4400. "My Uncle Tom." He said finally.

"We are not getting NTAC involved."

"Think about it Jordan: NTAC will figure out that they're one of us sooner or later, and they'll investigate. If they can find, them and stop them, we'll all get what we want."

"NTAC just want lab rats to experiment on." said Jordan.

"So you're gonna do nothing? They're blackmailing us, and if they're violent, they could hurt people."

Jordan lifted a brow. "You don't seem to have a problem with the violent aspects of certain 4400s." He said ambiguously.

"Say what you want, but working with NTAC to weed out a group that is clearly not just trying to survive, seems like a better option than having the 4400 center exposed as a cover for criminal activity."

Jordan ran a hand through his lengthy dark hair. He had changed from his usual charismatic character, to a man weighed heavily with decisions that needed making. He was angry; he'd never been played into a corner, he always did the playing. There was a way out, there had to be, but he didn't have enough time to find it. The letter had said to have the money ready by the next day. He couldn't take the chance that they would follow through on their threat. The press would lavish the chance to stir controversy and create chaos; any man of success, was a man to be robbed of it. "Call him."

Continued...