Thank you for your patience throughout this entire fic! I hope you enjoy the final chapter!

Someone was calling his name.

Johnny did his best to ignore the voice, trying to roll onto his side to get away from the sound, but something hard pressed against his left shoulder, keeping him from moving.

"The police want to talk to you, Johnny."

That was Sue's voice. His eyes shot open and he searched the room anxiously for his sister. "You came back!" he exclaimed when he saw her leaning over his bed.

"Of course, I came back," she replied warmly, brushing his bangs out of his face.

Johnny immediately lifted his head and spied the hand he had accidentally burned. He exhaled in relief when he saw it was bandaged. "I never meant to hurt you, Sue," he blurted out. "Are you going to be alright?"

"Yes. It's nothing a little aloe won't take care of."

"Thank god," Johnny leaned back into the pile of pillows, visibly relieved his sister hadn't sustained a permanent injury.

Someone cleared their throat and Johnny realized there were two more people in the room.

"Chief Hicks," he acknowledged the man he recognized. Then he turned to the second man, who was wearing a gold shield on his belt. "Dark-haired stranger."

"We're sorry to have woken you, Mr. Storm," the stranger said.

"And you are…"

"Agent Tom Jones, FBI Hostage Rescue Team."

Storm stared at the man appraisingly. "All things considered, I guess you did an okay job," Johnny replied after a moment, shooting the man a quick glare to let him know he wasn't entirely off the hook. "I assume you're here for my official statement."

He tried to sit up but Reed quickly punched a button in the railing and the bed's headrest began to rise into a reclining position. Johnny nodded his thanks and turned back to the officers.

"Yes we are, Mr. Storm," Chief Hicks confirmed while he opened a recording app on his cell phone. Jones leaned against the far wall, apparently content with just listening. "If you could, please identify yourself for the record, then just go through what happened while you were in the bank," the Chief instructed as he began the recording.

It took Johnny about thirty minutes to recount everything from the moment Danny and his crew walked into the bank until he had woken alone in the warehouse. Judging by the twin expressions of disappointment the officers were trying so hard to hide, they had obviously been hoping he had more information about where the men were heading.

"Is there anything else you can recall? Do you remember any of their names? Did you see any tattoos or scars?" Agent Jones finally spoke up.

Johnny shook his head. "They wore the masks and gloves even when we switched cars. The leader was named Danny. His second-in-command was named Rusty. The real skinny one was called Linus. The one with the anger management issues was called Frank…" he trailed off, his brow furrowed in concentration. He watched his hands unconsciously wring then smooth out a section of sheet before looking up and admitting, "I can't remember the name of the last one. He hardly said anything. He mostly stood in the corner and made sure things ran smoothly."

He saw Hicks motion to Jones who pulled a small notepad from his jacket pocket and flipped to a page filled with illegible scribbles.

"The fifth one," the FBI Agent began, scanning the page, "was it 'Raymond', 'Renny', 'Ryan', 'Robert', 'Reuben', 'Russ—'"

"Reuben!" Johnny leaned forward excitedly, making a face as he forgot about his shoulder. "It was Reuben," he repeated, slightly out of breath.

Hicks nodded. "That's what Ms. Applefeld thought too but she wasn't 100% sure."

"Danny, Rusty, Linus, Frank and Reuben…Those names sound really familiar," Ben mused.

"They're characters from the Ocean's movies," Jones reported.

"So they're aliases," Johnny stated with a frown. He had been hoping that, after a day, the police were at least a little closer to catching the criminals.

"Unfortunately yes." Hicks clicked off the recording, slid his glasses onto his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I suppose you want an update?"

"Do ya really have to ask?" Ben retorted.

Chief Hicks smiled lopsidedly. "Call it common courtesy. Since this is all new to you, Johnny, we'll give you the 10-cent summary."

He proceeded to tell them how the NYPD forensics unit was examining the rotating security feed at the parking garage for any additional footage of the criminals. CSRU was also taking apart the remains of the van, which was badly burned and wasn't looking like it still held anything valuable.

They were having more luck with the sedan, which was registered to one Kenneth Avery, chief engineer at Danborn Avionics, one of the many businesses surrounding the Donaldson Parking Garage. CSRU had found some hairs and skin cells which were currently being run through CODIS. Avery had been brought in for questioning—a formality since the video footage from Danborn confirmed he worked a full day and hadn't left the building until the LEOs escorted him to the precinct—and for a set of elimination fingerprints and DNA matches.

"It was most likely a crime of opportunity," Hicks concluded and Jones nodded his head in agreement.

A sharp shrilling interrupted his report and the Chief glanced down at the phone clipped his belt. "I have to take this. Jones will keep filling you in."

As he stepped into the hallway, Jones cleared his throat then repeated what Hicks had told him on the drive over: There weren't many cameras in the loading district so the NYPD was canvassing the area, looking for anyone who might have seen the men leave. There was also a FBI dive team dredging the water around the dock. They'd found quite a few articles of clothing and other miscellaneous items that the crime lab was thoroughly examining. Unfortunately, there were still no signs of any weapons.

Jones' team was also going over the bank, especially the vault, the foyer and the manager's office, with a fine-tooth comb. They were distributing lists of the serial numbers on the bills from evidence lock-up and working their local contacts to see if anyone was looking to invest or wash a significant amount of money. They were also working with the witnesses on rough sketches of the men for news broadcasts and having a few of them listen to the recordings Jones had isolated.

Jones was in the process of telling the Four about the anonymous 911 caller from the loading district, one Roy Jamison, who they had identified through the DNA on the jacket he'd wrapped around Johnny's shoulder, when Hicks burst back into the room. He tapped his phone screen and muffled expletives and shouts erupted over the speakerphone.

"Whose voice is that?" Hicks asked gruffly, shoving the phone in Johnny's direction.

"Danny," Johnny said instantly. "That's Danny!" he repeated more confidently after listening for a moment. "You found him?"

"He was tied to a support pole in an abandoned restaurant on the same block as the bank, a few doors down. Two of my team wanted to focus on the perps' original escape route," Hicks offered by way of explanation.

"What are we waiting for?" Ben asked, rising to his feet.

"We'll handle this Mr. Grimm. You stay here with Johnny, just in case. We'll keep you updated," he said hurriedly as he and Jones sprinted out the door.

"Danny" turned out to be Jordan Montgomery, a middle-class insurance salesman who lived in Harrison. He had no criminal record sans a few parking tickets and was neither wealthy nor poor: he had just enough to comfortably support his bachelor lifestyle. He'd lost his job a year ago but had managed to be rehired a few months back. He had never married and had no dependents, not even a pet.

Montgomery had not voluntarily given up any of this information, choosing to sit silently in the precinct interrogation room and glare daggers into the one-way glass. The NYPD only knew this information from running his fingerprints. They'd also obtained his cell phone and email records and had run profiles on everyone he'd spoken to in the last six months. Most ended up being work contacts, as corroborated by his boss, with few personal correspondences; unfortunately, none of these people fit any of the descriptions of Montgomery's teammates.

Hicks' team let him sit for about an hour, before sending in the department's best, one Katherine Beckett from Homicide. She played on Rusty's betrayal, having seen Montgomery's eyes flash angrily and his hands curl into fists at the mention of his second-in-command's alias, and eventually, he cut a deal for a reduced sentence. In return, he named Harold Mason as "Rusty", Randolph West as "Frank", Larry Bates as "Linus" and Sylvester Knight as "Reuben".

APBs were immediately drawn up and their passports and identification were distributed to all airports, rental car establishments, and train and bus stations. Their faces were splashed over the news and the phone lines in reception were ringing off the hook with informants who thought they had seen one of these men.

While a lot of the tips were blatantly false positives, a few had great promise. In these instances, Chief Hicks allowed one or two of the healthy superheroes to ride along with him, just in case a situation arose that his men couldn't handle. While he didn't foresee that happening, bringing members of the Four along was bolstering the department's public opinion ratings, which was a win in his book.

Five hours later, the first tip panned out. Sylvester Knight had been spotted at the bus depot, trying to buy a one-way ticket with a fake passport. He hadn't fought the TSA agents who had taken him into custody, loudly asserting that he was cooperating to get a lighter sentence. Regardless, he was being charged with armed bank robbery and would be lucky to see less than twenty years.

Around nine o'clock Sunday morning, Larry Bates had also been identified. He had colored his hair and was staying at a childhood friend's house until the heat died down. One of the neighbors had called the tip line after seeing Bates pick up the morning paper at the end of the driveway. He was booked within the hour.

It was only a matter of time, Hicks assured Mayor Watson during a conference call, before the others slipped up as well.

"Your last set of X-rays and MRIs looked good," Dr. Kline reported late Sunday afternoon, after examining Johnny's shoulder once again. "We see no lasting damage from the bullet deformation or from the fire foam. Barring any craziness tonight, you should be able to go home tomorrow morning."

Johnny raised his left first into the air triumphantly. "Yes!"

Dr. Kline smiled softly. "Just like most of my patients—so happy to get out of here." He sighed overdramatically. "Oh well, comes with the job," he added with a grin as he dropped Johnny's file into the foot of his bed. "Kristina will be in first thing tomorrow morning to help you with the discharge process."

"It's about time," Johnny commented after Dr. Kline had left. He was ready to put all this behind him and he knew the others were too. They had barely left his bedside over the last day, only to eat or follow a lead. Even when they ordered food, they brought it back to his room, slipping Johnny some when the staff wasn't around to supplement the single-colored mush that was provided. Though they did their best to hide it, he could tell Reed, Sue and Ben were worn out. It was obvious they were ready for their lives to return to their skewed definition of normal.

Later that evening, Chief Hicks stopped by with an update. Randolph West, "Frank", had been spotted trying to sneak across the border into Canada. He'd resisted arrest and taken out three cops before one finally managed to bring him down with a Taser. He was currently being brought back to the precinct but had stated that he would not be speaking to any law enforcement officer until he had consulted a lawyer.

Chief Hicks also reported that Larry Bates had revealed the link between the five men: they had met at a support group a year ago when they all had either lost jobs or houses. Robbing a bank had started out as a joke, but when Knight was no longer able to make ends meet for his family, he'd begun to seriously contemplate it. It wasn't long before the other four men were interested as well. The guns were merely for show, Bates, Knight and Montgomery had all agreed: they never intended for anyone to get hurt.

Before he left, Hicks suggested that the Four might consider holding a press conference after Johnny's release tomorrow, to assure the city that their superhero was really on the mend. Johnny instantly agreed. He was tired of watching reporters badmouth his family on television for not releasing more information; also, the reporters had been calling Reed, Ben and Sue non-stop for the last day, to the point where they had been forced to turn off their phones.

If he made a public statement, they might finally get some peace.

Ben was dozing in a hard plastic chair when he heard something vibrate. He opened his eyes and saw Sue's phone buzzing on the rolling plastic table next to the second hospital bed Reed and Sue were sharing. He quickly clamped his hand over it, so as not to wake Johnny, Reed or Sue and hurried from the room. He flipped on the hallway light and seeing that was Chief Hicks, figured it was alright for him to answer it.

"Ben Grimm," he reported after thumbing the accept button.

"We got a lead on Harold Mason," the Chief announced. "Very credible. We're on our way to pick up him now. Wanted to know if you want in."

"Definitely," Ben tucked the phone against his ear and uncapped the marker that dangled from the whiteboard outside Johnny's door. He scribbled down the address, then programmed it into his navigation app. Before he left, he texted Sue, telling her where he was in case she woke, then put her phone back on the table.

Twenty minutes later, he pulled up in front of a seedy motel, the police nowhere in sight. He waited casually in the back parking lot, suspecting that, if Mason saw the cops arriving, he try to escape out the back. His hunch was spot on. As soon as the dark Crown Vics pulled off the main road, a third-floor window opened on the far corner of the motel and a man climbed onto the fire escape. In the pale street light, Ben was able to positively identify the man as Harold Mason.

"Mason's in back!" Ben shouted at the top of his lungs as he sprinted across the parking lot. He snatched Mason off the ladder and threw him into the motel wall with just a fraction of his overall strength. The man yelped as he smacked into the brick but he didn't stay down for long. He rose to his feet, pulling a gun from his pocket and pointing it at Ben.

"Just let me go and no one gets hurt," Mason promised.

"Can't do that," Ben growled, shifting to make himself as small a target as possible. Reed was pretty sure he was bulletproof, but he didn't feel like testing that theory today.

"Give me the gun, Mason, and I'll tell the police you surrendered willingly."

"Can't do that," the other man mimicked with a snarl.

"Okay then." Ben lurched forward and wrapped one hand around the gun, squeezing until the barrel caved in. Ben jerked his other elbow backwards at half-strength, hitting Mason square in the jaw. The other men's head snapped around and he fell limply to the ground when Ben released him.

He was standing over the unconscious man, red tingeing his vision, when he heard footsteps approaching. He forced himself to calm down, before he did anything he would later regret, and turned to face the oncoming officers.

"He's all yours," he spat, motioning to the prostrate criminal.

"Nice takedown." Chief Hicks strode up to Ben as his men quickly swarmed around Mason, cuffing him then hauling him to his feet. Hicks holstered his weapon and glanced at his watch. "I'd ask for your statement now but I hear Johnny is getting released tomorrow. After the press conference and everything, stop by the station?"

Ben promised he would before returning to the hospital and arranging himself in the reinforced plastic chair for a few more hours rest.

"You don't have to do this Johnny," Sue repeated for the umpteenth time as she straightened his collar. He had been released from the hospital only half an hour ago, which, in typically city traffic, was barely enough time for them to drive back to the Baxter Building.

"Stop that," Johnny jerked out her gasp before she could smooth down his hair. "You're making me more nervous that I already am!"

There was a huge difference between a celebratory press conference when the Fantastic Four successfully completed an assignment and this one. For starters, Johnny was expected to be serious, given the circumstances, but more importantly, he was unhappy giving the press exactly what they wanted. They knew that if they pressed hard enough, he would eventually have to hold a conference, just so the media hounds would heel. Though it seemed like his life was an open book, Johnny usually only shared very superficial information with the media, mostly to keep the spotlight off the others, who valued their privacy above all else. Now though, he was expected to talk about a very personal experience, one he would much rather just forget about entirely.

"You're going to do fine," Sue handed him a series of notecards. "Roberta wrote these for you, if you want. It doesn't have to be a big speech, but everyone just wants to know you're alright."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." He took a deep breath and straightened up. "Let's get this over with."

He walked out of the Baxter Building and was met with hundreds of camera flashes that left residual frames of color in his field of vision. He blinked hard and focused on not tripping over the numerous electrical cables as he walked over to the podium that had been artfully staged so that the F4 logo was just off to his right.

The crowd quieted down as Johnny adjusted the microphone.

"If you don't know who I am, you should really turn on the TV more often," Johnny deadpanned with his trademark grin. He was relieved to hear the crowd laugh and he could feel some of the tension the ominous silence had brought dissipate. "But just in case you don't, I'm Johnny Storm, member of the Fantastic Four.

"On Friday, I was in the State Credit Union when it was held-up by five men. When they realized the vault had closed and that I was in the bank, they decided ask for a ransom. It is because of your kind generosity that most of us are alive," Johnny bit his lip and reached for the cards. He scanned them and, seeing nothing useful, put them back down again. "At one point, I was shot in the shoulder," he tilted his head toward the sling. "The details aren't important but I'm expected to make a full recovery, as is Officer Brandt who was knocked unconscious when the men first entered. Everyone else, to my knowledge, was uninjured. All five men have now been taken into custody, as I'm sure you've seen on the news, so we're all anxious to put this behind us.

"I would like to thank Chief Peter Hicks of the NYPD, Agent Tom Jones of the FBI and their teams for working tirelessly to ensure everyone's safety. I'm sure I speak for all of us who were held in the bank when I say that I am immensely grateful for all their hard work over the last few days." He paused for a moment, deciding if he wanted to say anything else.

A dark-haired reporter in the second row took this opportunity to stand and hold out a recorder. "What do you think about Agent Jones' performance, Johnny? I mean, he wasn't willing to pay the ransom in the first place and you were shot because of it."

Johnny hadn't wanted to take questions for this very reason: the reporters were searching for a reaction from him. He cleared his throat, fixed on his most winning smile and responded, "Honestly, it could have been much worse. I believe Agent Jones did the best he could with the hand he was dealt."

"So you think he could have done better?" the man clarified.

"I don't believe there was another situation that could have turned out as well as this one," Johnny replied evenly. "Eleven people walked out of that bank, most of them unharmed. All of the men have been taken into custody and the money was recovered. I think that's a win in anyone's book."

The surrounding area burst into sound as each of the reporters tried to drown out the rest with their questions and camera flashed at a frenzied rate.

"That's it for today." Johnny raised his voice to be heard over the clamor. "Any further questions you may have can be directed toward Roberta Jenkins, our publicist. Thank you all for coming. I hope you have a fantastic day."

With that, Johnny walked away from the podium and into the Baxter Building, alongside Reed, Ben and Sue. Building security stepped in front of the doors, keeping reporters from following the Four.

"So what now?" Johnny asked as they stepped into the elevator.

The other three exchanged glances before Ben stated, "It's too late to go back to the cabin so I have no other plans."

Johnny cringed. "Your big weekend! I'm so—"

"You better not be about to say, 'I'm sorry'," Ben interrupted. "We already talked to the owner and he said we could exchange for next weekend. Besides, both Alicia and I agreed we'd better come back on the off-chance we could help."

Before Johnny could try to apologize again, Reed cut in. "It's the 4th of July so Sue and I would have had the day off anyway."

The elevator slowed to a stop and the doors opened on the penthouse.

"This place has never looked so great," Johnny said appreciatively as they stepped out of the elevator.

He was heading for his room to hopefully wash away the antiseptic smell that permeated the air around him when Reed spoke up. "I forgot to mention that I've been recording the X Games for the last few days. I know how much you like the Moto X Finals."

Truth be told, Reed was feeling guilty for what his brother-in-law had been through on his account. Even though he'd told Sue not to worry about the "what-ifs", he was having a hard time not seeing the many ways he could have avoided someone being in the bank to deposit his stipend at that very time. He figured recording the very event he'd used as blackmail material was a fairly good beginning for an apology.

Johnny spun around, a wide grin on his face. "You're the best brother-in-law a guy could ever have!" he exclaimed, his desire for a shower quickly forgotten. He headed into the living room, lowered himself onto the couch and queued up the DVR recording.

When he realized he was alone on the couch, he paused the introduction and looked over the seatback, seeing Reed, Sue and Ben walking in the other direction.

"We could watch something else…if you wanted," he suggested. Honestly, he could watch the finals alone another day. Besides, he had kinda ruined all their weekends so he figured he owed them that much.

"No way," Ben said, returning with a bag of popcorn and a box of candy. He handed the popcorn to Johnny, who instinctively raised the temperature in his left hand and began popping the kernels.

"Johnny!" Sue scolded, walking back into the room with a package of licorice. "You're not supposed to be flaming on yet!"

"It's only one hand," he replied, not looking the least bit apologetic. A few seconds later, he tossed the bag back to Ben, who pulled open the top and inhaled deeply. "Perfectly done. Thanks Matchstick."

Sue just rolled her eyes and sat on the couch next to her brother.

"You hate the X Games," Johnny stated, looking over at his sister in confusion. "So do you," he said to Reed, who had just sat down in the reclining chair next to the couch.

"No, I hate when I don't know you're in them until I see it on the news," Sue clarified. She reached over and punched the play button on the remote.

"Really, we can watch something else," Johnny tried one last time, but his attempt was halfhearted as one of his favorite competitors came on screen.

The other three superheroes just grinned and settled in to watch the races.

After a few heats, Johnny looked over to see Sue staring at him, instead of the television.

"I'm fine, Sue, really," he said softly, meeting her gaze.

Sue blinked and quickly looked away. "I'm just glad to have you back."

Johnny reached over and took her hand. "If it makes you feel better, I solemnly swear never to take Reed's stipend to the bank again."

"You know what?" she said, leaning against her brother's uninjured shoulder, a genuine smile crossing her face for the first time that weekend. "For some strange reason, it does."

And that's the end of Change of Plans: I hope you had as much fun reading it as I had writing it!

If you can spare a second, I'd love to know what you thought on your way out!

Until next time,

usa123