Alan and John Walk into a Bank

by Criminally Charmed

Disclaimer - Sigh. No, no Tracy ownership. Very sad.


Chapter Eight

Alan Tracy was never the most patient of Jeff Tracy's sons. Actually, John barely qualified as patient. The Tracys prided themselves on being men of action. The fact that Alan was little more than a boy was a point the teenager chose to ignore.

It hadn't taken Alan long to remove the lid from the locking mechanism on the inside of the door. At least not long after finding the metal utensils in the back of the closet. Looking at the wiring, Alan put aside the metal tools – he wouldn't do anyone any good if he was unconscious.

"OK," the teenager muttered. "I need to convince the electronic locking mechanism that the acceptable coding has been entered, without triggering the alarm. Alarm does not go to the outside, so it would not be a silent alarm. And bad guys do not need to know I am here. Me surprised – bad. Them surprised – good. Me talking to myself – also bad. Note to self – never let Dad plan vacations again."

Alan knew he was being mildly irrational. But it seemed as if someone really had something against them. First there was the Hood, then getting run down by his idiot ex-classmate, and now this. What else could happen to him?


Carl Patrick pulled his boss into a small private office that security kept just off of the main lobby. Grabbing a mug, he made Jeff a cup of coffee, making sure it was extra sweet. Seeing the sugar that was being poured into the mug – and knowing Jeff took his coffee black – Ann-Marie raised an eyebrow.

"Shock," Carl said calmly.

Ann-Marie nodded and sat down next to Jeff, taking his hand. "Jeff, we don't know the boys are in there. You can't let yourself assume the worst."

"Sure I can," Jeff said numbly. Looking over at the FBI agent who had followed them in, he asked with false calmness, "How much danger are my sons in?"

"If your sons are among the hostages," Agent Delgado said in an even tone, "at this time, their risk factors may be higher or lower depending on their own actions. What can you tell me about your sons?

Jeff held the mug in a death grip as he considered the question before answering. "John is very even tempered. It takes a great deal to get him angry. However, he is incredibly protective of Alan."

"That's your youngest son, right?" When Jeff nodded the agent continued. "He was the one that was hit by a drunk driver earlier this year, right?"

Nodding again, Jeff began to speak again. "Alan can be very impulsive. He's learned to rein that in recently. But he doesn't always consider consequences. Especially not where his own safety is concerned. Probably comes from his fraternal safety net."

"Fraternal safety net?" Delgado asked in confusion.

Ann-Marie answered. "Alan grew up the baby of his family. He's more than five years younger than the next oldest brother. His brothers have done everything they could over the years to protect Alan and let him have as normal a life as possible. So has Jeff. There hasn't been a picture of Alan published since he was three."

"Why did you release that one and no others?" Delgado asked.

"Released?" Carl scoffed. "Some bastard snuck into Lucy Tracy's funeral and took a picture of a grieving family, including a three year old boy freshly released from the hospital."

"I suppose we were a little extra protective of Alan," Jeff recalled. "There had been a kidnapping attempt when Alan was eighteen months old and another when he was older. Alan – I'm not sure if Alan knows about either one. The first one was in my hometown of Bailey, Kansas. The second one occurred when my fourth son, Gordon, was in critical condition in a naval hospital. I ended up sending Alan back to the Island ahead of the rest of the family, for his own protection. He wasn't pleased," Jeff said sardonically.

"Why not just tell Alan why you sent him home?" Delgado queried.

"Alan was eleven – no, wait," Jeff paused. "He had turned twelve three days before the attempt. You have no sense of how fragile your life is at that point of your life. He would have never gone reasonably. So I had Scott pick him up and fly him home."

"Didn't a fussing twelve-year-old draw attention at the airport?"

"One," Jeff ticked off on his fingers, "it was a private airport. And two – I may have had Alan sedated before Scott tried to haul him back."

"So Alan is at risk because of his impulsiveness, while John may be in danger if he is trying to protect Alan," the agent summed up correctly. She looked at the two concerned employees and asked, "How are you dealing with this?"

Ann-Marie shrugged. "Jeff's boys are more like my nephews than my boss's sons. But I'll cope."

"I'm not as close to the Tracys as Ann-Marie," Carl said before looking at the others. "But Jeff – do you remember my daughter, Casey?"

Jeff nodded. Carl had married his high school sweetheart when he joined the Army. He was away on a mission for Special Forces when he was extracted and informed that his wife had died in a car accident. Resigning from the military, Carl had taken a job with Jeff Tracy just as the man was beginning to build Tracy Towers. Carl had since remarried a very nice woman and they had two young sons – all of whom were close to Casey, even now that she was going to college in California. The young woman had baby-sat Alan several times when the Tracys lived in New York and she now attended Cal-Sci on a scholarship from the Tracy Charitable Trust. Jeff had been pleased at how well the younger woman was doing and was considering offering Casey a job when she graduated and he had his computer-security division up and running.

"Casey is working a summer internship with a computer consulting firm running security programs and testing firewalls. The contract she is working on is for Metro-Union Banks. She can work from any of the locations, but she chose the one closest to Tracy Towers so we could commute together, even have lunch together. I, um, well – I mentioned during Spring Break, when she was going to Mexico with some friends, that I missed her and hoped she would be where I could see her more often. Jeff, your boys may be there. Casey definitely is. I walked her to the door myself this morning."

"OK," Delgado said calmly, realizing that she now had two frantic fathers worried about their children.

"Agent Delgado," Ann-Marie said calmly. "Go set up your Command Post. I'll deal with this. The sooner you sort out this mess, the sooner we can go home."

Walking to the door, Daria Delgado looked back over her shoulder with a smile. She didn't realize she had spoken aloud until Ann-Marie snorted in amusement.

"I don't know what Tracy pays that woman, but I wish the government had the funds to match. We could use someone like that to kick the politicians in the ass."


John sat quietly, keeping his hands visible and trying to remain as still and silent as possible. Casey and the other hostages were doing their best to emulate him. He could only hope he was doing the right thing and that it would get them all out of there alive.

His fellow hostages were hoping the same thing.

In the meantime, Kevin was stomping around, trying to look menacing. Sherry kept playing with her gun, periodically raising her weapon slightly as if judging who to shoot next. Mac was simply praying that they all got out of there alive.

Again, what everyone else was praying for.


Emily Haas hated staff meetings. She firmly believed that staff meetings were first created in the seventh level of Hell and forced attendance of one was clearly listed as a form of torture under the Geneva Convention.

She had not busted her buns, becoming a practicing physician who could write a prescription before she could legally drink, so she could listen to jerks like Dr. Richard "Rico Suave" Sommers promote his personal agenda and demand that everyone pay homage to him. For the love of God, the man was a plastic surgeon. If he had been one who gave of himself, helping others at least a small portion of the time, it could be different.

Mentally shrugging, Emily wondered if part of her dislike of Sommers was the fact that she could still hear her mother's voice saying how humiliating it was that her daughter was a doctor and that women in "their circles" were not doctors, they married doctors. Susan Haas even knew a Fifth Avenue plastic surgeon – "good people, excellent pedigree" – who would be a son-in-law the socialite would approve of.

The fact that the woman had said that in front of the man Emily had been dating at the time – cardiac surgeon, Edward Eppes – and his cousin, Kate, had added to the humiliation the young doctor was feeling at the time. Susan Haas had succeeded in breaking up the couple, but had not gotten the results she had desired. Instead of Emily returning with her mother to New York from Los Angeles, she had fled in the opposite direction, moving to New Zealand to accept the position as head of Emergency Medicine for Mercy General.

Zoning out when the self-centered jackass that was Dr. Sommers continued to ramble on – and on, and on…Emily found herself trying to picture more pleasant things. The first real day of Spring in New York…The woods behind her grandfather's cabin in New Hampshire on a crisp Autumn afternoon…The first time she met John Tracy…

Emily Haas sighed as she pushed aside another data pad. Paperwork – even if it wasn't on actual paper these days - was an annoyance on a good day and interfered with patient care on the worse. Of course, she frowned, as she highlighted an allergy on a patient chart, some things could be useful. OK, maybe paperwork could at least be considered a necessary evil.

"Excuse me," a male voice broke Emily's rambling. Looking up, she could only hope her mouth wasn't hanging open.

And that she wasn't drooling.

John Tracy stood in front of her, one of the nicest – and hottest – smiles Emily had ever seen in her life gracing his face. As she did a quick inventory of his features, Emily couldn't decide what she liked best – his hair, his eyes, his – ah, hell. God was just having a really good day when he designed John Tracy.

Holding out a hand, John continued to smile. "I'm John Tracy. Shana Pierce told me to look you up. She did contact you, didn't she?"

"Oh, yes," Emily said quietly. She felt disappointment rise through her body even as she kept her most professional face on. "Yes, of course. Shana said that the family of one of her patient's lived in this area and that you were interested in getting the help of an emergency medical specialist." Frowning, she leaned slightly against the desk as she asked, "Why on Earth do you need an EMS?"

"Well," John said with his most disarming grin. "My family tends to push the envelope a bit. Having a go-to person for medical emergencies might not be a bad call in our book."

"OK," Emily conceded, "you may be right. When would you like to get together?"

"When do you get off work?" John asked.

Emily looked at her watch before sighing. "Technically, thirty minutes ago; once this paperwork is done, in about an hour."

John chuckled. "Well, how about I pick you up in about two hours at your condo? I'll get reservations for Trenia's."

Laughing, Emily nodded in agreement. "Sounds good. But I hope you have a back-up plan. Reservations for Trenia's is made weeks, if not months, in advance. And is this a business meeting or a date?"

"Depends," John grinned.

"On what?"

"On whether or not you let me kiss you when I bring you home," John said with a grin as he headed out the door.

It was only as Emily was getting dressed that she realized she hadn't given John her home address or a phone number – nor had he given her a cell. So it was a great relief to her when the astronomer showed up at her condo.

Letting John in, she smiled briefly. "I just have to leave some food for the neighbor's cat. Shannon is visiting family back in Georgia and she made me promise to take care of Mr. Waddles."

John watched as Emily went out to the patio with a bowl of food, calling for the cat – a chubby furball who certainly fit his name. As she pet and cooed to the cat, John looked around the room. Spotting one of his books on a table next to a comfortable rocker-recliner, he picked it up with a smile.

"Trying to impress me?" he teased as Emily came back in and locked the French doors.

"One book would be to impress you," Emily shrugged. "All of your books mean I like your work."

John followed to where her hand had gestured, his sky blue eyes widening at the sight of all of his books in her bookshelves, the titles eclectic and neatly arranged alphabetically by author.

Picking up a framed photo on the same table as the book, Emily handed it to John. He had observed it was one of the few portrait photographs in her home, most pictures instead being landscapes from a variety of environments.

"My maternal grandfather was the one who taught me to love the stars. He was a doctor in rural New Hampshire. He died two years ago. Poppy was the only member of my family who ever approved of me or encouraged me to become a doctor. I know from all accounts I have heard about the Tracys, your family is very close. Mine isn't. I failed to fill the role my family felt society had in mind for me. I am too smart, too independent and too uninterested in what society thinks of me to please my family. I'm sure you investigated me? At least the basics?"

When John nodded Emily continued. "It was bad enough in my mother's eyes that I was a girl. I could have at least been a debutant. So after my grandfather died, I moved to Los Angeles. My mother still interfered in my life. I'm just hoping an ocean will stop her. Or at least a lack of gossip about me."

"I think," John said carefully, "if you were a member of the Tracy family, we would be very proud of you and happy to claim you as one of our own."

"Well," Emily sighed as they left the condo, "I'm not a Tracy."

"Not yet," John muttered before smiling at Emily's surprised look, making her wonder if she had imagined the statement.

It had been a wonderful first date and led to Emily seeing John frequently. Emily even flew over to Tracy Island several times and came to love the entire family. Glancing at her phone again ,she tried to push a panicky feeling away. Somehow, however, Emily knew – something was wrong with John.

Feeling a shiver run up her spine, Emily stiffened her back with what John called her "Yankee Resolve". Seeking comfort, Emily recalled the first time John had ever kissed her, after dinner and dancing at Trenia's. But even now, Emily was confused by something John said just before he kissed her.

What the heck did "dibs" mean?


Sherri continued to pace back and forth, unnerving both hostages and her cohorts at the same time. She was frustrated to realize that what seemed like a brilliant idea – blocking the phones via the computer system and planting a cell phone jammer just outside of the bank – was coming back to bite her in the ass. With no way to communicate with the world beyond the glass doors, she was as trapped as the hostages in there.

Casey looked at the lead gunman – Gunwoman? Gun-person? "Damn," she thought. "Being politically correct sucks."

"What do you think has her so agitated?" Casey whispered to John.

"Beyond the fact her plans have hit the proverbial brick wall and splattered her with feces?"

"John," Casey sighed. "You are way too polite sometimes and -"

Her next words were cut off by the cop-shooter - a.k.a. Kevin - moving swiftly towards them and swinging the butt of his gun at Casey's head. Ducking instinctively, she winced in sympathy when the weapon instead struck John on the side of the face.

Cupping his now stinging right cheek in his hand, John bit his lip in pain. He soon came to regret that as soon as his teeth touched the already abused lip, forcing the healing wound to split back open. Glaring at the creep using his head for batting practice, John snapped, "And what was that for?"

"No talking," Kevin screamed, clearly seconds away from snapping completely.

Mac grabbed at his old friend's arm. "Kev, watch it. We need them alive. Just cool it so we can get out of this with all of our body parts."

Glancing over at Sherri, Mac sighed in relief when she merely nodded before she gestured for her co-conspirators to join her.

"OK," Sherri asked, not even trying to keep her voice low. "We need to contact the cops long enough to get a satellite phone in here. If it worked for that stupid bitch to call them, one should work for us."

"Why not just use hers?" Kevin asked.

Gesturing at Casey – while totally ignoring the death glares the other woman was aiming at her – Sherri shrugged. "Can't. She locked it somehow. I really don't see her giving us the codes to unlock it. She's got that look – you know? Name, rank and serial number would be all she'd give us."

Casey's smirk seemed to confirm Sherri's theory. Of course, the fact that she actually didn't know Alan's codes to unlock his phone was far more significant.

"I know how to get them," Kevin snapped, stalking over to the hostages. Grabbing Lisa, he yanked the secretary up by her processed hair and screamed, "Give us the codes or your friend loses her looks!"

"One," Casey said calmly, "she isn't my friend. Technically, as she has reminded me repeatedly, she isn't even my co-worked. I'm a summer intern for a sub-contractor for Metro-Union. Second, her looks are already screwed up. Not to mention her recent injuries. And yes, Lisa, that was an insult."

Looking at the hostages, Sherri let out a bark of laughter. "I think you managed to grab the one person no one wants to save," she snickered.

Wildly looking around, Lisa gulped when she saw patent indifference on the faces of her co-workers, active dislike on John's and only mild concern by the customers.

Most people knew her too well to be too worried about her.

"Marie," Lisa screeched. "You talk to Lacy -"

"Casey," Marie interrupted. "And of course I do. She's a nice person. It's nice to talk to her."

Turning – at least as much as Kevin's grip would let her – Lisa looked at John. "C'mon, mister. I see that you are protecting Stacy -"

"Casey," John sighed in exasperation. "And give me a break – I've known her for years. Our dads, um, work together."

"Can't you find someone else to make an example of," Lisa whined. "What about that kid?"

Straightening up, Sherri moved closer. "What kid?" Casey, at twenty, was the youngest hostage; she was young, but not a kid.

"The one who came in with that blonde guy," Lisa screeched, pointing at John.

John and Casey froze. Sherri moved towards them. "What kid?" she repeated, pointing the gun and Casey before moving it towards John.

Glaring up at Sherri, John locked his jaw and refused to answer. The longer the gunmen didn't know about Alan, the better the chances nothing would happen to his little brother. Alan had been through enough lately. John was determined to protect the Sprout this time.

"Answer my question," Sherri snarled, pressing the muzzle up against John's forehead. "Or you won't be alive long enough to regret your stubbornness."


A/N - Well, there you go. The fathers know their kids are in danger, Ann-Marie is kicking tushy and I ticked off Sam1 by giving Emily a big scene.

Alan - You can't leave it there! You have a gun pointed right at my brother!

CC- Which brother?

Alan (splutters) - Which brother? How can you say -

John - Alan, I think CC is joking. (frowns) You are joking, right?

CC - Yes, I am joking. I know which Tracy I am physically abusing and which one I am mentally abusing.

Alan (sarcastically) Well, so glad you can keep that straight.

CC - Well, I also gave a sweet start to John and Emily's romance.

John (snorts) Yeah, I bet Sam1 liked that.

CC - She accused me of picking on her and said she was going to tell Mom.

Alan (confused) - You two aren't sisters.

CC - Well, my older sister drives me nuts, and her younger sister does the same to her, so we decided to trade in our old models for ones we prefer. And my mom is wicked cool.

John - Alan, no getting any ideas from that.

Alan - Dude, I am of the belief better the devil you know than the devil you don't.

John - Not sure if I should be pleased or not. The devil you know?

Alan - I have just one word for you: Gordon.

CC and John - AHHH

John - Well, not to change the subject, but how much are you going to traumatize us with the new story I noticed you posted.

CC - Not to worry, that is more of a fluff, some drama and lots of filling in the blanks. See, Jean - the one who drools after Scott? - was always saying I should flesh out comments or convos about incidents in your family. So, this is a take on that. Kinda Alan centric. I have been warned it needs a diabetic warning.

Alan (scoffs) - Like that's new for you.

CC - I can go back to stuffing you in trunks, Alan.

John - Alan, I would quit while I was ahead. So - any cake, CC? (At Alan's wide-eyed look, he shrugs) Hey, she makes good cake.

CC - Yep, cake and coffee with mochalita creamer. And lemonaid for you, Alan. More soon...