This in response to the Dunnes Darlin's Challenge List. From a long, long time ago. I had to tweak the scene a little, because I apparently can't read so good and missed a few vital details...

It's not beta'd, heck, it's barely proof-read. So there you go.

Title: Great News
Auther: Not claiming this one and you can't make me.
Disclaimer: Any thoughts I ever entertained of owning the boys were immediately killed by the realization that I could never afford to feed, clothe, and bandage all seven of them. Plus, where would I keep them? And then there's the cost of repairing the bullet holes in the walls... ... I'll settle for taking them out to play once in a while. Also, apologies to Carl Douglas and GEICO.

Summary: A bank robbery goes as well as a bank robbery can be expected to go when one JD Dunne is among the hostages.

JD knew he had to do something. . . anything to distract the men in the other room; he knew that Buck and the others were just outside, waiting for the right moment. Looking around the room, he realized that he didn't have many options. So, he used the two weapons that he had available - his intelligence and his voice.

A little more of the latter than the former.

The wail that echoed through the bank lobby was louder than he expected. The cold marble caught the sound and reflected it. Until suddenly his big production number was very big. Several of his fellow hostages jumped, as well he noted with satisfaction as the two bank robbers he could see through the open doorway of the safe.

"Shut him up," the ring-leader hollered to the man on guard duty.

"Wooah-haa-hooo," JD repeated, warming to the song.

"Everybody was kung-fu fighting"

Speaking of kung fu fighting, the guard by the door was heading his way. JD didn't know if the man could kick box, but there was no doubt he could box. A squared off bulldog of a man with ginger hair and a face that had been rearranged a number of times. Judging by the shape -- or lack thereof -- of his nose, JD could hope he wasn't all that good.

"Those cats were fast as lightning."

The right cross that smashed JD's cheek wasn't fast as lightning, but it did light a few stars for him.

"Shaddup," the gunman growled. He sent JD what should have been a withering glare. But JD had withstood the very best of Chris Larabee's very worst. He resisted the urge to smile.

There was a sane, normal person buried somewhere inside JD Dunne's psyche. A version of JD that had never come to Denver and had never joined the Bureau or the police department. That JD had written software and was probably a millionaire by now. Or at the very least he was safe and sane at home in his safe and sane life.

That JD shut up when told.

Unfortunately, while that JD was going about life in his mild-mannered way, this JD gave into his worst instinct and grinned -- lopsided, swelling lip and all.

"In fact it was a little bit frightning. But they fought with expert timing."

JD got two lines out before the gunman shoved the 9 mm into the waistband of his jeans and dove into JD with both fists.

He was fast, but JD was expecting him. JD had read the man correctly; a lifetime of answering a challenge with fists can't be undone by a half hour with a gun in hand.

Dancing backward, JD tried to remember the next line of the song. It wasn't there, so he settled for starting over with the chorus. He was nearly through it when the bank robber caught the collar of his shirt in one hand, and bounced his head off the marble column with the other. The reverb was deafening; though JD suspected it might be limited to his skull.

Dazed, JD tried to spin away from the next punch. The blow burned past his cheekbone and plowed into the stone at JD's back. The gunman howled, but his grip on JD's shirt tightened.

JD snapped his knee up hard and his assailant proved JD wasn't the only one in this standoff with musical talent.

The man went down, and JD came up with the gun just as the other two charged back into the room.

For a moment they blinked at each other across the barrels of various firearms. As they all worked through various sentiments of 'oh shit' -- the situation spun again. JD's sparring partner had been guarding a door.

The front door. A smooth concoction of ornate metal and glass. A door that was currently bursting inward and spewing riot geared officers onto the cool marble floor.

Orderly chaos descended. JD obeyed the barked orders to drop his gun and get on the ground. The real robbers did likewise -- once they'd made it through the mental gymnastics of comparing their two guns to the fifteen that had poured in.

He even allowed himself to be cuffed and searched. The officer who'd thoughtfully knelt on the small of his back to place the handcuffs on him, hauled JD to his feet and led him out the front door. He retrieved JD's ID from his back pocket and promised to return it upon verification.

By the time Buck and Chris picked him out in the mess outside, he was well into his statement. The cuffs were gone, and he was just relaying -- to the amusement of the officer -- his impromptu concert. They listened silently as he finished the narrative.

Officer Junior thanked him, and abandoned him to the care of the older men. A stolen glimpse of Chris' expression, and JD seriously contemplated confessing to masterminding the whole thing. He'd probably be safe in jail.

Well...

Safer.

"In the future," Chris started, clearly annoyed.

JD cringed inside. "Yeah?"

Chris' mouth twitched. "Don't lift your escape plan from a car insurance commercial."