Heeey all! Sorry it took so long! I could give you a list of excuses, but I doubt you'd want to hear any of them. :P

I'd also like to thank mazeygrace18, who pointed out that this fic has parallels to the Psych episode "Gus Walks Into a Bank"—which I totally didn't mean to do but might've done subliminally, since I love that episode. xD

Enjoy!

…

James knew a lot about standing. He had been practicing his model pose since he was eight—he could hold it for forty-five minutes if he had to. But this was a little ridiculous.

He'd been placed at the end, with the woman who worked at the bank on his right. James longed to sit down and give his legs a rest, but he didn't dare to. He also couldn't move his head to see how the others were faring. The last time he tried it, Max had given him a rap on the head hard enough to make him see stars, but not hard enough to let him sit down. Life just sucked sometimes. His feet hurt, his legs were numb, and he was bored out of his mind—not to mention he was stuck right under the air vent, and it was all he could do to keep from bringing his hands up to rub at his arms to try to erase the goose bumps that came with the cold.

There was another problem, too. He really had to go to the bathroom.

James estimated that they had been standing there for a good fifteen minutes—although it felt more like an hour—when the phone started to ring. He nearly jumped out of his skin, attention riveted to the sleek black telephone on the counter in front of him.

"Rick," Max called lazily.

Rick was back in an instant, obviously hearing the ringing from the back room. He started to reach for it, before looking up at James.

"Kid," he called, jerking his head in a gesture for James to come over. "C'mere."

James really didn't want to go anywhere near Rick. But Max prodded his shoulder with the gun, and he realized he didn't have much of a choice. He walked until he was a couple of steps from Rick, standing stiffly.

Rick grabbed his forearm hard and pulled him closer. "Say one word and the little girl dies first."

James jerked back at the threat, disbelief that he would go so far as to shoot an eight-year-old girl just if James decided to speak up shooting through him like an arrow. He looked over his shoulder at her—she and Carlos were allowed to stick together, since Carlos had glared so ferociously at the man who'd tried to split them up that Rick told him to let them be. She had her wide blue eyes fixed on him, as did Carlos. James couldn't risk finding out if Rick was lying or not.

He turned back to Rick and nodded slowly.

Apparently satisfied, Rick picked up the phone and said, "Yo."

He leaned against the counter, looking unconcerned as he listened to the person on the other line. "Nice to meet you, Henry O'Connell," he said out loud. "I'm afraid I can't tell you my real name, but you can call me Rick."

James frowned. He shouldn't have expected the names they had given to be real, but he felt a little betrayed knowing that Rick's real name wasn't known to him. And who was Henry O'Connell? Was he a cop?

Rick cast his gaze over at the line. "Carlos Garcia?" he called.

Carlos' head shot up, a terrified expression coming onto his face.

Rick laughed. "Oh, yeah. The Mexican kid who looks like he's twelve."

James felt a surge of anger at the man's words. Carlos was Latino, not Mexican. He opened his mouth to say so, but then remembered the threat on Becky's life. He swallowed the words and felt physically ill, hating how he had to let his friend take that. Looking over his shoulder he saw Carlos squeezing Becky's shoulders reassuringly, not even looking bothered at Rick's insult.

"My demands," Rick drawled, drawing James' attention back to him. He looked up at the ceiling as if he had to think about it. "Well, I'll let you know when I think of them." He started to hang up when something Henry O'Connell said made him pause and look over at James.

"Fine," he said, raising an eyebrow. "One minute."

He motioned James to step closer and he did, accepting the phone that was thrust into his hand. Licking his suddenly dry lips, he whispered, "Hello?" like he was afraid if he spoke any louder, Rick would take it from him.

"Hello?" the man on the other line said. "Hello, son, my name is Henry O'Connell with the LAPD. What's your name, son?"

"James." It came out quieter than he wanted it to. He raised his voice. "James Diamond."

"James Diamond?" Henry sounded surprised. "You mean—"

"Yeah," James said quickly, not wanting Rick to overhear what the man was confirming—that he was a member of Big Time Rush. If there was ever a moment he wished that their band wasn't as popular as it is now…

Henry sighed heavily into the phone. "Are you all okay? Anyone injured?"

"Rick shot a man," James said, but then the phone was yanked from his grasp. He looked up into Rick's face.

The gunman's expression was murderous even though James could only see his chilling blue eyes. His grip on James' wrist tightened and it hurt, but James didn't say anything, frozen in terror that he'd said something wrong. He wracked his brain for his mistake, replaying the conversation in his head. Was it the last line? Probably.

Rick didn't tear his glare away from James, but he lifted the phone to his ear and said calmly, "Time's up." He replaced the phone back in its cradle and never took his eyes off of James. The boy shifted uncomfortably, not sure what to do.

"I have to go to the bathroom," he blurted.

Instead of laughing and mocking him, like he expected him to do, Rick tugged on his arm and half threw him across the room at one of the men.

"Take the kid to the can, David," he growled, sounding disgusted.

David helped James up and led him to the back rooms, past the counters and through the office-like workspaces. He stopped him at the men's bathroom and waited expectantly.

James hesitated. "You're not coming in?"

"Do you want me to?"

The boy flushed. "Um, no."

David nodded, and through his mask his eyes glittered with amusement. It wasn't the cruel kind that Rick always seemed filled with, but more understanding, which made James feel a little better.

He was out within a minute, feeling a little better. David tilted his head, acknowledging that he was finished, and led him back to the others. As they walked James turned his head and saw the other man—the one they barely saw when he first came in—sifting through a pile of boxes in a giant room full of other boxes. He frowned, trying to remember the name of them. Safe Deposit Boxes—right? He made a mental note to ask Kendall or Logan as soon as he got back.

Rick looked up impatiently. "Get back in line," he grumbled, obviously done with him.

James gratefully skirted back to the end of the line, and as he turned to face the robbers again he caught a glimpse of the cops outside. They were lined up behind yellow fences, either pointing a gun at the building of keeping the gathering crowd at the perimeter around them. James caught the gaze of one of them: A man who was freakishly tall and looked like he was built more like a football player than a cop, with a smooth, shaved head and broad shoulders. He had a phone gripped in his hand, and as he and James exchanged glances he nodded grimly.

Henry O'Connell. James was sure of it. He nodded back before turning around slowly, heart pounding loudly.

Rick stood and stretched casually before coming around to stand in front of the line of people. "I thank you for your patience, ladies and gentlemen," he started off. "Sorry it's taking so long. But don't worry, we'll be out of here as soon as we can."

"What are you looking for?" James wanted to know. The words just slipped out—he didn't even realize he'd said anything until Rick's head snapped to him, eyes flashing angrily.

"None of your business," he snarled.

But James' question merely released the gate.

"Why did you lock the doors?" the woman next to him demanded.

"You're stalling," Kendall accused him.

Other voices rose and blended into noise, leaving James frozen and scared that he'd started something that would push Rick so far he would shoot somebody. He watched as the man calmly surveyed the people rising up against him, unconcerned. Rick lifted the hand with the gun and shot straight up into the air, three shots that shuddered the ceiling and silenced the crowd so quickly that James had time to hear the gunshots echo into the air.

"We can do this the easy way," Rick stated, "or the hard way. I'm up for either option, guys. The question is: are you all ready to die?"

"You won't kill us," Kendall said confidently.

"No, Kendall," James breathed under his breath.

Rick swiveled, striding up to Kendall and looking him up and down. "Really?" he sneered. "And why's that?"

Kendall didn't even flinch, staring Rick down. "Because," he said slowly. "The moment you kill one of us, it's over. You already made your first mistake, flying off the handle and shooting that man." He gestured to the twins' father, still lying on the floor in front of them, limp and unconscious. "And if he dies, you'll never get out of here alive. You can't risk shooting anyone else."

Rick didn't move. His voice was so low James had to strain to hear it. "How do you know I'm not planning on surviving this in the first place?" he said softly.

Kendall's eyes widened. Carlos flinched violently and held Becky tighter. Logan paled even more than he already was, and James felt his heart skip a beat. A low murmur of unease rippled through the line at Rick's words, staring at the crazy man holding them hostage.

"Hey, Rick," Max said, popping his head through the door and breaking the tension. His voice sounded on edge, and when James looked at him as Rick jogged towards him, he noticed a remote clutched in his hand. "You're gonna wanna see this," he said grimly.

He turned and pointed the remote at the TV, and as he flipped the channel to the local news, James already knew what they were going to see.

The reporter was standing outside of the bank they were in, face set solemnly. "We go live now to the scene of the robbery, where police are engrossed in a tense stand-off with the hostage-taking robbers. This just confirmed: among the hostages are the four boys that make up the teenage boy band Big Time Rush: Kendall Knight, Logan Mitchell, James Diamond, and Carlos Garcia."