The Sentinel and all related characters are the property of Pet Fly Productions and UPN. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made from the use of the aforementioned concept and characters. This story and all original characters are the property of the author. Blessed Protector or not, Jim's not always going to manage to be there when something happens to Blair, right? So every now and then Blair's going to have to get out of a few scrapes on his own. And of course, not all of them have to be life and death struggles for survival (although those are a lot more fun and provide great opportunities for angst:) ). So just allow me to warn you that this is strange, short and ultimately completely pointless. I don't even know why I wrote it. ________ All in a Day's Work for the Modern American Guide Blair sighed and tilted his head back against the brick wall. Any day that started off with a shouting match between him and his best friend about something so trivial Blair had never been able to figure out just what it was they were fighting about, then followed by his car dying in the University parking lot, a lecture from his advisor, losing his notes to one of his most important classes, a class where no one seemed to be paying any attention and was finished by his managing to walk right into the middle of an armed robbery was just not the sort of day that spelled good things for his future. Blair supposed he really shouldn't have been surprised when the robber decided he needed a safeguard in case the cops showed up, and that Blair Sandburg would make an excellent hostage. Blair would have told him not to bother - the day he was having, Simon would give the order to shoot regardless of whether or not Blair was in the line of fire. But for once a gun at his head didn't inspire any smart mouth comments and Blair shut up. But the cops hadn't shown up in time to cause the guy any trouble. Not until they were about half a mile away. Apparently Mr. Armed Robbery hadn't bothered to cover the license plates on his car and the store owner had told the police what to look for. Brilliant. Amazing how many dense criminals there were in this city. Blair's first mistake would have been sharing that observation with the fleeing criminal. His second would have been not ducking when the desperate man brought the gun down against the side of his head. And now here he was. According to his watch, which his abductor had been kind enough - maybe thoughtless enough judging by the way he'd been operating so far - to leave him, it was nightfall by the time he'd finally awakened and he was tied hand and foot in a small room. Windowless brick walls surrounded him on all sides, the floor beneath him was rough with splinters, dirt and broken glass. He'd awakened with several cuts on his hands and face from the shattered glass. With his luck the glass had probably been contaminated with something. It did provide a good method of escape though. With a little maneuvering Blair had managed to located a shard long enough and sharp enough to cut away at the duct tape binding his hands together; but his hands were becoming slick with blood from the times the glass had cut flesh instead of tape and it was taking him a while. The glass cut through the last of the tape and into the palm of his hand. Blair stifled a curse as he dropped the glass and removed the tape from his hands. He shook his hands, as much to lessen the sting of the cuts as to restore scirculation. The tape at his feet was easily torn off and thrown aside. Well, that much was accomplished. He paced a bit until he was certain that the feeling had completely returned and turned his attention toward the door. It was locked - Blair was perversely relieved that his abductor wasn't *that* stupid. He'd never have managed to live it down if word got out at the station that he'd been taken hostage and held prisoner by some guy so stupid that he forgot to lock the door. Of course, now he needed a way out. Scanning the room didn't help any. The room was dark and cluttered, the only light seeping in around the edges of the door. Blair examined the lock itself. It was a simple one, like one that could be found on any bedroom or bathroom door. The type a twelve year old could pick if they had something to work with. Blair pursed his lips thoughtfully and absently puched his hair back away from his face, wincing as the curly strands brushed over the cuts on the back of his hand. It gave him an idea. There was an awful lot of junk in this room, he could feel the glass and God knew what else littering the floor every time he took a step. There had to be something here he could use. A quick search, conducted mostly by feel, resulted in a long thin piece of metal. Blair was willing to bet it had once been a paper clip or some sort of thick wire. Right now it was a lock pick. Stooping a bit in front of the door, Blair carefully worked the metal into the locking mechanism. Not for the first time he wondered just how one of Naomi's boyfriends had come to learn such a skill. The lock clicked and he turned the knob slowly, bracing the door slightly in case the hinges squeaked. The hallway was almost as bad as the room he'd been locked in, and devoid of anything more intelligent than the average cockroach. Exasperation turned to pure anger as Blair carefully made his way down the hall. Who was this idiot anyway? Where did he get off, robbing stores and kidnapping innocent grad students? Like his life wasn't difficult enough already? "I so really don't need this," he muttered. "And I just know Jim's gonna rag me about this when I get home. Assuming he's even noticed I'm gone yet." That was unfair. Angry or not, Jim would have noticed something was wrong. I wasn't going to help his bad mood any though, that was for sure. Movement ahead of him cut through his thoughts and he froze, listening for the cause. He may not have Jim's enhanced senses, but the lessons he gave Jim worked pretty well on conventional hearing and sight as well, albeit on a much lesser scale, and Blair was able to focus on the shadow ahead of him. It was no great feat to recognize the man who had taken him hostage. Almost as tall as Jim and almost comically skinny with a mop of pale blond hair falling over his eyes, the guy was about the least likely criminal Blair had ever seen. He was also the living epitome of the 98-pound weakling. Without the gun in his hands he wasn't a threat to so much as a six year old. Blair tensed as the shadow turned toward him, maybe he would be seen, maybe he wouldn't, but Blair was in no hurry to find out if the guy still had the gun. For a long moment neither of them moved. Then a voice split the silence. "Who's there?" Blair rolled his eyes. "Who's there? A-Answer m-me!" Blair gave the ceiling a disgusted glare before rising in one swift movement and striding toward the other man. His captor didn't move so much as an inch as Blair aproached. "puh-please, don't hurt me!" Blair grimaced. One punch and the guy dropped like glass. *** There hadn't been a phone in the abandoned apartment building he'd been held in, but there was a pay phone just down the block. After making sure his captor was secured, using the same roll of duct tape that had no doubt produced his own bonds, Blair had set foot out into the street searching for the pay phone. It figures, Blair noticed with a distinct lack of surprise, that this is one of the worst neighborhoods in Cascade. The phone booth was in working order miraculously enough. Blair dug through his pockets and came up with a couple of quarters. Geez, hadn't the guy even bothered to search him? This was pathetic. He dropped the coins into the phone and was about to punch in Jim's cell phone number when he paused. Jim had definitely not been in a good mood that morning and finding out that his partner had managed to get himself abducted wasn't going to improve anything. Blair punched in the number for Simon's office instead, knowing Simon would still be there doing paperwork. The phone picked up on the second ring. "Banks." "Simon?" "Sandburg?" Blair could almost hear Simon clamping down on that cigar. "Where are you? That partner of yours has been driving me crazy!" "There was a robbery at a gorcery store down by the University this afternoon," Blair said. He sighed and leaned against the wall of the phone booth. "You know, Simon, just *once* I'd like to be on the *outside* of a hostage situation." "Sandburg where are you? Is the guy still there?" Blair answered, reading the address from a street sign. "We'll be right there," Simon promised. "You need paramedics?" "I didn't hit him that hard." "I meant you." "Not until Jim finds out." Simon chuckled and then told him to get off the street. Blair returned to the building where he had left his former captor. True to his word, Simon was only minutes in arriving, followed by a squad car and Jim's familiar blue Ford. Blair pointed Simon in the right direction and moved to meet Jim halfway as his partner strode toward him. Blair ignored the worried look on his face and kept walking past him toward the Ford. "Can we get out of here?" he demanded. "This is just way too humiliating. Of all the ridiculous things I've done in my life, getting caught by this idiot must rate at *least* a ten." He pulled the door of the Ford open with a particularly violent yank and all but threw himself into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut behind him. He saw Jim stare at him, then Simon, then back to him before shrugging and returning to the Ford. Blair sighed and stared at the ceiling. He knew Jim would drag him to the hospital to have the cuts on his hands treated, then down to the station to issue a statement before they went home. At this rate by the time he got a chance to relax and wind down from the events of the day, it would be tomorrow. ________ end