Ezra, still reeling, clutched at the radio in his hands. He was officially in over his head. Watching the monitor without seeing, his mind cycled through the faces of the young men he'd sent into the building. Men filled with vitality and youth. All now probably lying in growing pools of their own blood.

His heartbeat thudded in his ears drowning out all other sounds until the persistent voice of Martin finally broke through his reverie.

"Chief? Sir? EZRA!"

"What?" he'd mumbled back. Still entirely in shock over what had just occurred.

"Sir I need you to look at this."

Ezra's eyes finally focused on the monitor before him and his heart sank, if possible, even lower. The largest of the group was pulling one of the hostages out of the crowd and brandishing his gun to her face. She squirmed and wriggled in his grasp. The men watched, flinching as the gun was fired without preamble at a doctor who'd stood up to intervene.

Already in his boots, his heart could go no lower but it just about stopped when the figure of Joe Hardy leapt from the venting at the top of the room and landed before the leader.

"Oh no, no Joe what are you doing," said Ezra. Realising all the gun toting and posturing had been put on for the Hardy's benefit. He knew in the same situation he'd have reacted in the same way but he almost choked on the feeling of dread which welled up from the pit of his stomach. They watched unmoving as Joe was hammered to the ground, wincing in sympathy as the gun struck his flesh. At the very least he hadn't been shot on the spot.

Lance motioned to his the two remaining unharmed and undead male members of his group to take Joe and put him into one of the offices making it clear he was to be restrained.

Ezra turned from the monitor a moment pulling at his lip in thought.

"Sir?" Martin asked almost fearfully. He too was beginning to feel entirely hopeless.

"I need a negotiations officer down here immediately," the Chief said suddenly spinning to face him.

"But..the phones are down," Martin said, confusion obviously etched into his face.

"Yes they are, but we know for a fact Hardy has one sitting front and centre in his pocket."

The implication of his words finally struck home with the tech officer in front of him and he turned to his desk, a look of steel crossing his features as he barked instructions into one of the many mics littered in front of him.

Joe awoke with a buzzing in his ears. He lifted his head groggily, the force of the headache rocketing through his brain made him actually recoil. A wave of nausea followed hot on its heels and he leaned over to the side of the chair he was propped up on and spat the mouthful of vomit which had risen up with it onto the ground. Blinking slowly, he squinted in the white of the emergency lighting. Light which had seemed so dim all day but which was suddenly blinding. He was unsurprised to find his hands tied together behind him when he tentatively tried to move them. Looking around the room he realised he'd been left with his very own armed guard to play with.

"Hey...Tony," he said, battling through another wave of nausea. "I see you've been left with baby sitting detail. What, they don't trust you out there where the real action is?"

Joe watched in slight amusement as confusion clouded the man's eyes whilst he tried to figure out how the young punk before him knew his name. Joe knew he shouldn't exasperate the situation but an entire day of sitting watching things out of his hands had left him with a vat of adrenaline running through his veins, and the headache was doing nothing to alleviate his reckless mood.

"Piss off," Tony eventually replied, evidently deciding to just ignore Joe's words.

"Real clever response there Tony, did you burn up the last of your brain cells coming up with that one?" Joe said sneering as a bolt of pain shot through his skull.

Tony said nothing but looked down, considering the man before him, before stepping forward and clocking him on the jaw with his fist, snapping Joe's already aching head to the side.

Joe hissed as the blow pushed the inside of his mouth against his teeth, ripping the tender flesh. He turned and spat a globule of blood on the floor by Tony's feet as he shook his head to clear the blackness tickling the edges of his vision. He did not need to pass out again. Lesson learned, for now. Joe leant his head against the back of the chair and took a deep breath, half listening for the erratic footfalls of Lance heading towards the room. He was sure when he got there that the fun would really begin.

Apparently though, Lance had other ideas. He was clearly going to make an example of the young man who in his mind had gotten his flesh and blood killed. Calling from the waiting room, he ordered Tony to bring him back in front of the crowd of whimpering hostages. Tony roughly poked Joe to his feet before frog marching him through the office door. Joe concentrated on not staggering through the wave of dizziness which hit him as he stood.

Swaying slightly as he was placed before Lance's burning eyes once again, he took a moment to glance at the fearful faces below him. Including the wild eyes of Doctor Edwards lying propped against one of the chairs quite obviously in agony. Joe knew that a gut shot could take hours to kill you and the attending nurses were trying to keep him alive with what little they had access to. Hang in there Doc.

At the very least Joe figured he could now use the current situation to keep the attention on himself so no one else got injured.

Lance stalked before him, eyeing him up like a caged predator before lashing out with a vicious backhand slap which knocked Joe to his knees. A trickle of blood flowed down his chin as his already ruined mouth was abused once again. He laughed slightly to himself as he swayed a little from his position near the ground.

"Something funny to you punk?"

"It tickles," Joe said looking back at Lance with eyes full of challenge before shooting bloodied grin at him.

There were gasps from the onlookers as Lance froze before rushing to Joe and grasping him tightly around the throat. Panic blossomed in Joe's chest as his brain registered that he couldn't draw a breath, the ham like hands crushing his wind pipe and cutting off access to his lungs. His eyes began to roll back into his head as he weakly struggled against his bonds.

"Stop, you're killing him!" a voice, husky with age, cut through the terrible noise of Joe's choking grunts.

The trance Lance was in was broken by Mary's words and he released the pressure on the young man's neck dropping him to the ground where he curled into a foetal position hacking and coughing.

"You're right..." Lance said turning to her, some of Dante's lethal vocal power becoming apparent in his voice. "Wouldn't want to ruin the fun this soon would we?"

He turned and aimed a kick to Joe's midsection, all the while keeping eye contact with the old receptionist before him, making Joe curl in on himself even tighter and eliciting a groan of pain.

Mary raised her chin in defiance but settled back to the ground. She couldn't take the sight of the life being squeezed out of Joe before her but she was worried any more of her words might result in causing him more pain.

Joe drew in ragged breaths through his aching throat, wincing as they brought on another coughing fit that aggravated the pain in his head and now also his stomach where no doubt a bruise was already forming. Maybe he hadn't learned the 'don't annoy the bad guys' lesson as well as he first thought.

"So, Hardy, who have you been contacting?" Lance said taking a step away and visibly slowing his breathing to calm himself down.

"I mean, so far it's just been you beautiful," Joe bit out without thinking. Nope, definitely hadn't learned that lesson.

Lance twitched slightly at his words before turning and fixing him with another of his trademark crazy stares.

"Who. Have. You. Been. Contacting?" He spat out, the strain to not beat the man before him to a pulp evident in his every movement.

"I tried the Pope but the sonuvabitch only works Sundays."

Lance smiled. This more than anything sent a bolt of warning to the pit of Joe's stomach.

"I've been talking to Abigail," he began. The change in pace throwing Joe somewhat. The younger Hardy glanced to where the petite Marchetti was standing, eyes dead ahead refusing to look at the situation she had created. Lance nodded to Tony who had materialised behind Joe. Tony leant forward and bodily pulled him to his knees again by his arm. "Dear, sweet Abigail tells me you've been having treatment for a gun shot wound."

Alarm bells started ringing in his head quietly...picking up volume as Lance walked towards him still smiling.

"She seems to think it left you in quite...a lot...of pain."

On his final word he leant forward and clutched Joe's left shoulder, forcibly shoving his thumb into the point where the bullet had entered his flesh.

He couldn't help it. He cried out in pure, animal pain when Lance's thumb drove home into his still healing scar sending lines of agony rocketing through his body. Lance was pushing so hard his hand shook with the pressure, and the sound of Joe yelling only served to make him press that much harder. He applied the force for half a minute without blinking, until the muscles in his arms seized up and he was forced to let go.

He eyed the man before him as Joe slumped forward until his forehead touched the ground, still kneeling, shuddering rhythmically as pain pulsed through him. Lance shook the cramp out of his arm and nodded to Tony once more, who pulled Joe's head back up from the ground.

Sweat had plastered his hair to his forehead and lines of pain etched around his eyes were made all the more obvious by the grey now tingeing his skin.

"Oh sorry..." Joe panted out at the madman before him, blinking as his eyes watered, "did..I hurt your..arm?"

Danger flashed into Lance's eyes and he grasped Joe's shoulder once again, anger driving his movement. Joe writhed against the pressure, fighting Lance with every broken fibre of his being, the entire shoulder muscles across his back seizing with the pure, white hot agony and his voice cracking as he cried out.

Despite his anger, Lance could only keep that kind of pressure up for so long and his already aching arm muscles protested once again. This time when he let go Joe slumped fully and bonelessly to the ground, heaving great racking lungfuls of air and whimpering slightly. Through the haze of pain he could hear the other hostages muttering amongst themselves at what they were witnessing, too scared to step in incase they too ended up with a bullet. Good, the last thing he wanted was someone getting hurt playing the hero because of him. He needed to temper his smart mouth and Frank's voice echoed in his head.

No shit Sherlock.

His inner monologue was so perfectly Frank he snorted in amusement despite himself before groaning and attempting to push himself back to a kneeling position without the use of his hands. Steeling his muscles with a deep breath he lurched backwards onto his heels, gasping slightly as his vision suddenly tunnelled. Blowing out his cheeks he forced himself to concentrate on the room before looking up into the eyes of the devil himself. The dead, glittering stare reminded him suddenly of the shark like eyes of Stan and his body shuddered in response as a sneer broke out over his face.

Lance considered the stubborn man before him. Breaking him might take longer than he was used to. No matter, Marchettis were brought up on a breakfast of torture and his skills were yet to let him down.

"So I'll ask you again Hardy, who were you contacting."

Joe allowed the pure, burning hatred he felt for Lance to fill his eyes before replying. It was a look which almost made the lunatic flinch. Joe sagged in defeat and dropped his gaze as he realised he would have to play along to make sure no one got hurt on his behalf.

"I didn't call in the strike team if that's what you're getting at. I don't work with the police. Hell the Chief gets annoyed just by looking at me."

The words were true but they fell on deaf ears. Lance was still on fire with the death of his cousin and he wanted someone to burn.

"Who..did..you..call?" he bit out, spit freely running out of his mouth.

"I didn't call anyone you crazy bastard!" Joe yelled back, the force of his shout rasping through his aching throat.

The last strip of reason flew out of Lance at his words and a wildness rushed into his mind blanketing out all thoughts. He launched himself at a snarling Joe who grit his teeth and braced for the oncoming attack.

He never had a chance. The full force of Lance's body propelled him backwards expelling all the air from his body. Lance straddled his bucking waist as Joe desperately tried to free his arms from behind his back whilst Lance fumbled to get a good grip on his shoulder. Lance smiled when he saw the panic flashing in his eyes as Joe's body protested against the coming pain. All thoughts were obliterated as Lance pressed the thumbs from both his hands into Joe's already screaming shoulder. The resulting wave of excruciating pain literally blinded him for a moment and after a full minute of wordless agony Joe's brain finally tapped out and his body slumped back to the ground unconscious once again.

Lance continued pressing even though his quarry was obviously defeated for now, a little red spotting showing through Joe's shirt where his ministrations had drawn blood. As the rage leaked away and his senses began returning to him, he became suddenly aware of the muffled sound of music coming from the front pocket of Joe's jeans. Somehow instinctively knowing the call was for him he leant back on his heels, rooting for the cell before pressing the answer button and bringing it to his ear.

"Joe can't come to the phone right now, would you like to leave a message?"

I'm quite enjoying writing Lance, not going to lie.

As always, all comments and critiques welcome. Thanks goes out to guest reviewers too, I can't respond to you personally.