Disclaimer: The Sentinel and its characters belong to Pet Fly.  This story was written for entertainment purposes only and no money whatsoever has exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended.

The lights went out, and five thousand people were plunged into darkness.

Daryl and Blair stopped dead in the middle of an aisle, still bearing their hot dogs and sodas, when the stadium went dark.  They froze as their eyes adjusting to the darkness; the only light came from high-powered flashlights scanning over the surprised faces of the crowd.

Blair's stomach clenched as he looked up and noticed the overhead monitor.  What was the Sunrise Patriot's logo doing up there?  Was there some connection between Garrett Kincaid and the Jags?  Hearing gunfire and shouting, Blair knew that, whatever was going on, standing in the middle of an aisle was definitely not the place to preserve any kind of anonymity.  As a man armed with a flashlight and some kind of nasty-looking rifle walked towards them, he pushed Daryl into a nearby row, apologizing as they crawled over shocked spectators.

Then Kincaid himself walked out on to the parquet, and one of Blair's worst nightmares--and, he suspected, Daryl's too--came true.  Both young men sat in stunned silence with the rest of the crowd, watching as several young men, under Kincaid's direction, pulled Jag team owner Preston Crawford to the floor.  Blair saw Daryl shut his eyes as Kincaid started shouting at the man about freedom and patriotism.  And sports teams.  The over-the-top performance would have been laughable, if the feeling behind it wasn't so frightening.

"Oh my God," Blair whispered, shocked as he got the point of the man's diatribe.  "He's holding the whole stadium hostage."

Daryl's whole body went rigid, then he tried to jump up.  Blair didn't know if he was planning to run or to try to get to his father, but he pushed the teen back down into his seat.

"Would you sit down!" he hissed, looking around to make sure none of the Sunrise Patriots had noticed.

"We have to do something!" Daryl protested.

Blair knew that Daryl was worried about his father...he was too.  If one of them could only catch Simon's eye...  But trying to identify one head where they had been sitting minutes before was impossible; it was simply too dark.  Not for the first time, he wished Jim were with them.  Right now, his senses would certainly be useful.  But the Sentinel wasn't, and for now, all he and Daryl could do was wait and see what would happen. Simon was probably laying low, waiting and watching just as they were.  Blair pulled his attention back to Kincaid, who was on the floor, jerking around in a very badly-timed imitation of the cheerleaders.  "Like what, get out there and dance?"

That was when a tall figure ran from the seats and aimed a gun at Garrett Kincaid's head.  Both young men gasped as they recognized Simon.  Beside Blair, Daryl's grip tightened so hard that the older man knew he would have bruises on his forearm by morning.  Despairingly, they watched as Simon sacrificed himself. Blair inhaled sharply as another remembered face--MacBride--raced by them and down the aisle to Kincaid's side.

"Ah, man, what was he thinking?"

Blair and Daryl watched in silence as guards circled Simon and Garrett Kincaid plucked the gun from his hand.  They were too far away to hear what was said, but both men looked ready to kill.  Problem was, Kincaid probably would do it.  Wincing as Kincaid placed two hands in the center of Simon's chest and shoved the bigger man, Blair bit his lip and tried to figure out what the Captain had been planning.

He had to have had a plan, right?  Single-handedly confronting the sizable force that had just taken control of an entire stadium filled with spectators--it was crazy!  The grip on Blair's arm tightened, and Blair looked sideways into Daryl's stricken face...and he knew exactly what Simon had been thinking.

Their unexpected windfall tickets had placed them in the sixth row, right behind the Jag players.  They had been just a few seats over from the VIP section.  There was absolutely no way that Kincaid or any of the men who had participated in the siege at the police station could have missed seeing them. The tall black captain, his teenage son, and the longhaired police observer were all, in their own ways, rather distinctive.  Kincaid's men would have eventually recognized them, if not from the actual siege at the station, then from the news coverage and the trial.

By making his insane move before Blair and Daryl returned from their snack run, Simon had assured that his son--and incidentally, one observer/anthropologist--were kept safe, away from Kincaid's grasp.

Maybe.

Blair's mind replayed the last few minutes, frantically searching for a way to get all of them out of this dangerous situation.

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Ducking their heads, trying to blend into the crowd, Blair and Daryl watched as Simon lost the confrontation and was pushed up the steps toward where they sat.  Behind him came a procession that included four Sunrise Patriots, MacBride and Kincaid himself.

"Daddy," Daryl whispered, his hand gripping Blair's forearm so tightly he could feel the indentations of the teenager's fingernails.  He moved as if to stand up again.

Blair grabbed him.  "No, Daryl," he replied, his voice low.  "Simon wants you safe."

"I'm not gonna just sit here.  They'll kill him!"

"Shhh..." Blair hushed the frantic teen, glaring at the people staring at them.  "We'll do something.  Just...I don't know....look inconspicuous or something."

They hid their faces, looking anywhere but directly at the small party passing by.  The group disappeared into a doorway; there were no Patriots in the immediate vicinity. Blair tugged on Daryl's arm.  "Let's go, man."

There was a muttered, "You guys are nuts," from the man in the aisle seat as they crawled over him, but both young men ignored him and the disapproving, shocked and just plain frightened gazes that they saw as they passed by the rows of silent spectators.

Blair wondered at the lack of movement.  Sure, there were gunmen visible all over the arena, but he would have thought that some daredevil sports fan would have attempted to escape by now.  Then they reached the back row and spotted the guards holding semi-automatics, stationed at the doors.  Looking back over his shoulder, Blair realized that the overhead monitor had changed from the Sunrise Patriot's logo to a rotating display of the sealed and guarded exits.  People were not stupid, after all.

Well, with two notable exceptions.

Silently thanking Orvelle for spending a day showing him around the stadium, including semi-secret entrances to private team areas, Blair evaded the guards and guided Daryl to a well-disguised door.  Awkwardly crouched over, they opened the door a crack, then, seeing it was clear on the other side, scuttled through the small opening.  Now, to find Simon.

"Where do you think they're taking him?" Daryl whispered

"I think I heard something about the locker room," Blair returned, his mouth close to the boy's ear.  "This way."  Silently, they slipped down a hallway, freezing as several flashlight beams were aimed their way.  They must be close.

When they heard Kincaid shouts coming from an office near the team area, they ducked into an alcove, which seemed to have no purpose other than to hide a small janitor's closet behind them.  Daryl squeezed Blair's shoulder as they heard the deep rumble of Simon's voice.  "He's okay!"

Blair nodded in what he hoped was a reassuring manner and strained to make out the words.  It was impossible.  Just the tones came through...Kincaid sounding crazed, Simon obviously trying to placate him.  Blair wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead, wondering if Jim was outside the building, and if he could hear clearly the conversation.

Daryl grinned.  "My Dad's giving them hell, isn't he?"  Blair glanced over at the teen, who seemed to have regained his faith in the infallibility of the adults around him.  Blair wished he were than confident.  Instead, his heart was pounding and his breath was coming in short pants.  He tried to hide it from Daryl.

"How long have they been in there?" Daryl asked, plucking at Blair's sleeve.

"I...I..don't know," Blair answered.  Time seemed to have lost all meaning.  "Five...five or ten minutes?"

"Seems longer," Daryl observed.  He looked at Blair.  "Your hands are shaking.  Man, I'd a thought you'd be used to this by now."

Blair licked his lips, surprised the kid hadn't heard the frantic pounding of his heart. "Of all the cops I know, I don't think any of them get used to it," he admitted.  Even though he'd personally been kidnapped by psychos, shot, and held hostage, Blair knew that HE would never get 'used to it.'

"Wait a minute, you think cops are always...you know...scared when they go into action?"  Daryl looked disillusioned and hopeful at the same time.  Remembering the conversation he had interrupted between the teen and his father about Daryl's choice of careers a couple days earlier, Blair nodded.

"The smart ones are."  He could see Daryl taking that in, mulling it over. He knew that Simon had protected his son as best he could from the more dangerous aspects of his job.  He hoped that Daryl wasn't one of those people who wanted to become a cop because of the adrenaline rush.  Hoping he wasn't treading on his friend's toes, he asked, "You sure this is what you really want Daryl?"

Daryl nodded slowly.  "It works for my dad."  He hesitated, and then tried to put into words something he obviously hadn't ever tried to articulate...at least to Blair's knowledge.  "It's not just a job, it's his way of making the world a better place.  He cares a lot for people.  I think that's tight."  His pride in his father, and his desire to be like him came through clearly.

Blair's throat was tight as he thought about what a fine son his friend had raised, and how a silly miscommunication might separate them.  "I think you should tell him that."

Daryl grimaced.  "I think he should listen."

"Shhh...they're moving!"  They ducked into the janitor's closet and pulled the door closed behind them.

Kincaid stayed behind in the office as MacBride pushed Simon down a hallway towards the locker room.  Using a different route, Blair and Daryl followed them.

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It seemed like hours before Kincaid sent for the team.  From what they had overheard Reggie telling Simon, it was clear that the Patriots intended to take the entire team and the police captain with them as hostages.  Frantically, Blair and Daryl looked around the cramped closet where they had hidden for some kind of weapon, but it was empty of anything useful.  A tarp covered something in the back...Blair kept watch while Daryl pulled the covering off to reveal--a wheeled hot dog.

"What the hell is that thing?" Blair blurted out.

Daryl shrugged, quickly and quietly opening the various compartments.  All were empty.

Blair eyed the wiener-mobile.  It was big, it was heavy, and it was on wheels.  "Okay, we can use this..."  Blair held up a hand as he tried to think.

Daryl stared from his friend to the oddly shaped cart.

"What if we push it at them?" Blair finally said.  "It's so bulky it should knock at least a few of Kincaid's men off their feet, if we aim it properly.  If we yell, Simon is quick enough to use the distraction to escape."

"What if he doesn't?"

"He will."

Daryl shook his head stubbornly.  "We can't take a chance that it could go wrong.  We're taking about my dad's life!"  The teen's voice broke; Blair patted him on the back.

"Simon…your dad…is a cop.  You said it earlier -- he takes care of the world.  He knew what he was doing when he confronted Kincaid."

"Yeah, he was trying to protect me," Daryl mumbled, staring at the ground.  He took a couple deep breaths, then raised his eyes to meet Blair's.  "And that's why I have to help.  I need to show him that I'm not a little kid anymore…  That I can rescue him sometime!"

Blair knew that Daryl was almost an adult, but it was hard to stop thinking of him as the fourteen-year-old child he had tried to protect they had both first run into Kincaid.  If it was difficult for him, it would be impossible for Simon.  He hesitated, "Daryl, your father will personally kill me if anything happens to you..."

"I need to do this, Blair!"  Daryl's voice was full of passion and conviction.  "I know it might be dangerous, but you said that being...scared...is okay."

Blair shook his head.  "That's not what I said.  Daryl, I don't want to take a chance with your life."

"Man, if I want to be a cop, I have to prove to my dad that I can handle it."  His eyes lit on the largest storage compartment.  "I can fit in there.  What if we do a double surprise?  You push it at them, and once it hits them, I'll jump out and grab my dad."

"Daryl..."

"Blair..."

Blair studied the teen. Daryl met his eyes squarely, his jaw clenched.  Blair wondered where the boy had picked up that particular mannerism.  "I can do it," Daryl said quietly.  Reluctantly, Blair nodded.

"Okay.  I'll yell when the first guys are down, you roll and grab Simon.  Get him as far away as you can."

Daryl nodded.  Working silently, they maneuvered the giant hot dog to the door and got ready.

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Blair could never really remember the fight exactly; just a whirling confusion of yells, flying fists, and Jag warm up suits.  He did remember seeing Daryl hit one of the Patriots with a steel tray to save Simon from being shot.  He also remembered taking out at least one guy, maybe two, himself before ending up on the floor with one of the Sunrise Patriots straddling him.  He thought that was it, until the injured team manager kicked his attacker's gun away.  Blair was trying to squirm out from under the man pinning him to the floor as two of the players pulled the man off him.

And then Kincaid was running down the hall, waving a gun and followed by at least a dozen of his men, most of them shouting, Kincaid the loudest.

"Freeze! Drop your weapon! Drop your weapon!"

They had failed.  Wearily, Blair put his hands in the air and climbed to his feet.

Kincaid grimaced as he skidded to a halt and looked from his men, most of them down and out, to the prisoners.  Spotting Blair, his eyes took on a steely glint.  Blair inhaled sharply as the crazed paramilitary commander looked away.

"Soldier, get up!" Kincaid ordered, pointing his weapon at one of his own men.  As quickly as a snake striking, he turned and grabbed the front of Blair's shirt, pulling the younger man towards him.  "Mr. Natural," he sneered. Blair kept his eyes down, trying to look unthreatening.  Kincaid pointed the gun at Daryl, continuing, "...and boy Banks.  What a wondrous surprise."  He shoved Blair away from him, turning his gaze to Simon, who had stepped protectively in front of his son.  "What is this, a family reunion?"

It was obviously a rhetorical question.  No one answered.

"Back up Banks, or I'll put a bullet right through your skull."  Simon took a small step backwards, still keeping himself between Kincaid and Daryl.  Kincaid looked pleased.  He shouted a few orders at his men in a cold, deadly voice, then turned his attention back to his prize captives.  "Move out," he ordered, motioning them down the corridor.

Simon kept one arm around Daryl as they followed the Jags down the twisting passageways.  Blair heard them whispering as they reassured each other they were fine.  He sighed, wishing once again that he were with Jim.  Being outside the stadium would be preferable, but if Jim were with them, he'd know that escape was possible.

"I'm so pleased that my friends from the Cascade PD will be my...guests.  I have special plans for you."  Blair froze as the barrel of Kincaid's gun touched his temple and moved downwards, over his cheek.  Kincaid's hot breath passed over his ear as he leaned in to whisper.  "We didn't have enough...time...to become aquainted on our last meeting."

"Yeah?" Blair choked out, managing to keep his emotions under control.  "I don't suppose you'd take a raincheck on that?"

"Don't push me, Mr. Natural," Kincaid growled,  "or I'll leave you behind.  If you're not useful, you're dead.  Got it?"

Blair gulped.  "Got it."   Kincaid pulled the gun away and shoved the younger man ahead of him.  Blair stumbled, staggering into Simon.

"Careful, Kincaid," Simon said as he caught Blair.  One large, warm hand gripped his shoulder, squeezing with reassuring strength.   Blair leaned into the caring grip, ignoring Kincaid's sneer.

"Yes, you will be an interesting challenge," Kincaid mused as they reached the loading dock.  A nondescript rental truck was there, the back gate open.  "Get in.  We'll see each other again at the end of your journey."  His hot gaze was both a threat and a promise.

As Blair climbed into the truck, he scanned the stadium.  "Jim, I know you're around here somewhere," he whispered. "If you can hear me, man, I know you're doing your best.  I don't know where we're going, but Kincaid's got me and Daryl with Simon, and he's putting us and the Jag players in the back of one of those yellow rental trucks."  Blair didn't know if his whisper was heard, but his heart was lighter.  Jim would rescue them.  Jim always rescued them.

Blair settled down on a bench beside Daryl, watching as Simon spoke with Kincaid.  The teen heaved a sigh, and Blair patted him on the knee.  "It's not the end," he said, firmly convinced that they would come out of the situation intact.  "We'll get out of this somehow."

Daryl looked at him soberly.  "I hope you're right, man."

Simon climbed into the truck and sat beside his son.   Blair watched as the door came down with a clatter, and he was once again plunged into darkness.  Shouts sounded from outside as the truck drove away.

An odd thump sounded on the roof above them.  Blair traded hopeful glances with Simon.  Maybe it wasn't...

The end.  : )