Blair walked into Major Crimes and wearily dropped into the chair behind Jim’s desk. Looking around at the nearly deserted bullpen, it appeared that most of the detectives were out to lunch or out working cases. It was kinda nice that it was this quiet for a change. Reaching into his backpack, he pulled out his yoghurt and fruit for lunch, deciding to eat here in the quiet of the bullpen instead of in the break room.

Jim had decided that he couldn’t go another day without a Wonderburger special and had gone to hit the drive-through, so Blair was glad that he had thrown something healthy into his backpack this morning just in case. Grabbing a journal from the backpack, he had just started to read when a booming voice broke the calm.

"Sandburg. Where’s Ellison?" Simon was standing in the open doorway to his office.

"Hi, Simon. Jim’s gone to pick up something for lunch."

Simon looked around the room, and lowered his voice to something less than a dull roar. "Good. Blair, would you mind coming into my office for a moment?"

He looked wide-eyed at the captain. When was the last time he called him Blair? For Simon to call him by his first name, something must be up. Something serious. He set his lunch down on the desk top, forgotten.

"Sure, Simon, be right there."

Walking across the bullpen and into the captain’s office, Blair was surprised when Simon closed the door behind him, offered him a seat, and poured him a cup of coffee before sitting down across from him at the conference table.

"Blair, has Jim ever talked with you about his mother?"

"Not much, Simon. I know that she left when he was young, and he never saw her again or knew what had happened to her. Why? What’s up?"

Simon sighed and picked up a file that had been lying on the table. "We got a request for information from the Spokane Police Department, regarding a former resident of Cascade. Her name is Grace Collins, AKA Grace Ellison." He dropped the file and looked directly at Blair. "From the age and other information, I think it’s Jim’s mom."

Blair was stunned. "Jim’s mom? Simon, that’s...that’s great..." He stopped himself when he noticed the expression on Simon’s face. It was deadly serious. "Simon? What’s wrong? What aren’t you telling me? Or better yet, why are you telling me instead of waiting for Jim?"

"Blair, this is going to be difficult. You’re Jim’s partner, and I think he’s going to need your help dealing with this. It would be enough of a shock for anyone to deal with, to hear that your long-lost mother is alive and well and living on the other side of the state. But this..."

"Tell me, Simon. What is it?"

"Grace Collins’ charges are related to prostitution and organized crime. She’s in the Spokane County Jail pending her arraignment tomorrow morning."

He stared at Simon, speechless, barely believing what he had heard. Blair was just about to launch into a million questions when they both jumped at a quick rap at the door. It swung open and Jim walked into the room, a greasy carry-out bag in his hand.

"Hey, Simon, I brought you a special, too." He walked over to the table and pulled out a sandwich, handing it to the captain, just then noticing his partner sitting at the other side. "Hey, Chief, what’s going on? What did you do now, lose Simon’s tax files again?"

Blair looked at his partner, unsure of how to respond. He looked at Simon, and was certain that the worried expression there was reflected on his own face. Jim looked from one to the other, and his grin gradually faded.

"Uh, Jim, Simon has something he needs to tell you..."

---------------

Jim glanced at the two men sitting at the table, first at one, then the other. Simon wore a worried expression, his brow furrowed as he looked up, then looked down at a file lying on the table. Blair wore an expression of...it was hard to define at first glance. Concern? Compassion? Something had to be wrong.

"Jim, why don't you close the door and have a seat." The soft tone of the captain's voice also raised a red flag. Normally, whether it was a command or a request, his authoritative voice echoed throughout the bullpen and carried halfway down the hall. He closed the door and pulled up a chair at the conference table next to Blair.

"Simon, what's going on?"

Simon glanced at Blair, then back at him. "Jim, this came in a little while ago. Rhonda happened to see it on top of a pile of information requests, it must have just come down the wire. She brought it in to me right away. No one else knows about it. I...I thought you would want to handle it personally." He slowly slid the file across the table, and Jim picked it up and opened it.

Reading down the page, his eyes caught and stopped at a familiar name. AKA Grace Ellison. His eyes quickly flew back to the top of the page to read it again, uncertain that he had been paying sufficient attention the first time. As he scanned the page more slowly, and he read the name again, it suddenly seemed as if time stood still.

The room around him seemed to vanish, and all he could see was the page in front of him. The white of the page seemed to become brighter, to almost glow, and the contrast of the black letters floating on that surface was almost painful to his eyes. His ears were filled with a rushing sound and an increasingly loud and fast thumping that he recognized as the sound of his own heart. The room seemed to grow warm, and he could actually feel sweat begin to break out onto his forehead as an adrenaline surge flowed through his veins. He realized that his senses were spiking out of his control, and he knew that he had to get a grip. If this police report was for real...

He closed his eyes and tried to take some deep breaths. If ever he needed to control his senses, to not let them get in the way, now was the time. He needed to turn down his senses, turn down his emotions, and deal with this in a logical and organized fashion.

A heavy weight fell on one shoulder, and he jumped involuntarily and opened his eyes. It was just Blair's hand, and he could barely make out his words through the roaring in his ears.

"Jim, are you okay? Jim?"

As usual, somehow Blair's touch and the calm and concerned tone of his voice seemed to help him tune down the sensory spike. The brightness of the room and the volume of the din in his ears gradually lowered, and with a few more deep breaths he could feel his heart begin to slow somewhat. He turned his attention back to the printed page, finishing it quickly, and as he did so he forced his emotions down and let cold logic and years of police experience take over. He would handle this like any other case...he had to. A cool wave of calm enveloped him, and he was pleased at the even tone of his voice when he finally found it.

"I'm fine." He turned away from Blair, pulling away from his warm and comforting touch, and addressed his captain. "Simon..."

"Jim, go ahead and go to Spokane. Take all the time you need. I'll try to make sure that any further inquiries come straight to me. If there's anything you need..."

"Thank you, sir." He stood, taking the file with him, and turned and headed out of the office without another word.

---------------

Blair stood quickly, looking after his rapidly departing partner. He glanced back at Simon and saw him waving at him to follow.

"Go on, Blair. Go with him. And Blair...let me know how things are going. All right?"

"You got it, Simon. I'll be in touch." He left Simon's office, looking for Jim. He found him calmly and carefully putting papers back into several files that were on his desk. As he approached Jim walked over and handed the files to Rhonda, then turned and pulled his jacket off of the coat rack. Putting his jacket on in one fluid motion, he kept moving, right out of Major Crimes and into the hallway.

Blair hurried his pace to follow, slowing only long enough to sweep his never-to-be-eaten lunch into the wastebasket and grab his journal and backpack. Almost jogging into the hallway, he was just in time to see Jim opening the door to the stairwell. Apparently waiting for the elevator wasn't fast enough right now. He took a deep breath and followed, knowing that he would have to practically run down the stairs to the garage seven stories down to keep up with his partner's determined strides.

Reaching the garage level, Blair was panting heavily but only a few strides behind. He followed him to the truck and climbed in quickly, not even getting the door closed before it was in motion. Snapping the seat belt into place, he slumped back tiredly and worked on getting his breath back. He looked across the seat at Jim as they exited the garage and pulled out into traffic.

"Jim, are you all right, man? Talk to me."

Jim remained focused on his driving and didn't answer. Looking at Jim's face, the expression that he saw there, or perhaps the lack of expression, was not unfamiliar to him. He was seeing the not-unexpected "Ellison Survival Mode," as he had come to think of it. Whether Jim had gotten it from growing up in the Ellison family, from the military, or from years of experience as a police officer, Blair had come to recognize it in the last few years.

It seemed to be Jim's way of handling dangerous or highly emotional situations, by shutting off his emotions and putting his police and survival skills and instincts into overdrive. The hard set of his jaw, the stiff posture, the icy glare in his eyes, and his silence were all familiar tell-tale signs. Blair knew that Jim's ability to get into that mindset gave him an incredible edge as a detective, at times. But he also knew that not dealing with his emotions would take its toll, eventually.

He could only imagine the thoughts and feelings coursing through his friend, and could understand that he needed to find his own way to deal with it. Anticipation, fear, love, anxiety, anger...he could only guess at Jim's feelings about his mother, even without the stunning revelation of the nature of the charges pending against her. He feared what they might discover in Spokane and the impact it would have on his friend, even if Jim couldn't or wouldn't think about that right now because he was solely focused on getting there. No matter what it would take, though, he was determined that he wouldn't let Jim deal with it alone.

They silently drove through the streets of Cascade, a steady drizzle and low-hanging gray skies the perfect accompaniment to Blair's swirling thoughts. Pulling up at their building, Jim wasted no time in climbing out almost before the truck had rolled to a stop. Entering the building, he again passed up the elevator and used the stairs instead. Blair struggled to keep up with his taller and more muscular roommate, his backpack growing heavier with each step, and managed to reach the third floor just as Jim walked through the loft door.

Entering the apartment, he saw that Jim had continued right across the living room and was on his way up the stairs to his bedroom, probably to pack a duffel for the trip to Spokane. Knowing that Jim was unlikely to wait for him, he dashed into his room and dumped the contents of his backpack on the bed. Running down the hall and into the bathroom, he threw the essentials into his toilet kit and trotted back to his room. He grabbed some clothes from his dresser and stuffed them and the kit into his pack and zipped it as he headed back out of his bedroom door.

As he had suspected, Jim was already back downstairs and coming out of the bathroom, stuffing his own toilet kit into his duffel bag. He was on his way to the door when Blair stepped in front of him. Jim stopped just short of running into him, seeming to take a moment to even notice his presence. He placed a hand tentatively on Jim's chest.

"Jim, I wanna come with you to Spokane. I know this is personal, it's family, but...well, you're like family to me. I want to help. I promise that I won't get in your face, I won't get in the way, but let me be there for you. Please."

He held his breath as he looked up into his best friend's face. Despite the seemingly cold facade, he could see a depth of emotion in the rich blue eyes that he knew that others frequently missed. He watched as those familiar eyes scanned his face and took in the clothes spilling out of his backpack and the coat that he hadn't even taken off. A welcome twitch barely raised the corners of Jim's mouth and a ghost of a smile passed across his face, and he nodded briefly, reaching out to grasp Blair's shoulder lightly before pushing him gently towards the door. Blair finally remembered to breathe as he gratefully followed Jim out of the door.

---------------

The drive to Spokane was painfully long. Blair had never been so glad to see the city spread before him as they approached on Interstate 90. He had initially made efforts at small talk, but Jim simply kept his eyes on the road, never responding. After the first half hour he finally gave up and dug a journal and his glasses out of his backpack and tried to read. The combination of the truck's movement and his concern over his friend eventually gave him a headache and made him queasy, though, so he had to put it away. An hour later he could no longer keep his eyes open, so he laid his head back and closed his eyes.

Some undetermined time later he slowly awoke, realizing as he did so that the truck was no longer moving. Gradually straightening up in the seat and forcing his bleary eyes to focus, he saw that he was the only one in the truck and that they were at a service station. As he became more fully awake, his body began to tell him that it was indeed a good time to get out of the truck. Climbing out, he saw Jim standing beside the truck, filling up the gas tank, and he called to him that he was going to the restroom.

Returning to the truck a few minutes later, feeling better and more awake, he found Jim already behind the wheel, fastening his seat belt. He hurried around the truck and climbed in, murmuring an apology. Looking over, he saw a small carryout carton on the seat between them, a soda and a bag of chips on the far side, a fruit tea and an apple closest to him. He was glad to see that Jim had made an effort to get them both something to snack on, as both had left without eating their lunches. Blair was willing to forgo a few unimportant things like food and sleep in times like this, but he knew that Jim didn't need hunger or exhaustion to add to his level of stress. He hungrily tore into the apple and settled in for another five or six hours on the road.

"Thanks, Jim." Again, no response as they pulled back onto the highway.

After finishing the snack, he worked on finding a mutually agreeable station on the truck's radio and tried again to engage Jim in small talk. Other than a few one-word replies, he was no more successful than he had been earlier. Even though he knew that Jim tended to be more close-mouthed when under stress, he was usually able to engage him in conversation about the Jags, classic versus late-model cars, the newest female employee of Cascade PD, or any of a number of safe and entertaining topics. Nothing worked today. By the frequent clenching of Jim's jaw and his ramrod stiff posture behind the wheel, he knew that he had a lot on his mind. Or was putting a lot of effort into keeping a lot off of his mind.

Now heading into downtown Spokane on I-90, he wondered what Jim had planned. He knew that Jim had not taken the time to contact the Spokane PD or even to make a motel reservation. Having seen him in survival mode before, he knew that Jim tended to focus intently and completely on one thing at a time, to the exclusion of all else. Now that they had arrived, they needed to attend to other details.

Glancing around as they approached the downtown area, he saw a familiar restaurant sign. From previous visits to the city, he knew that it was a reasonably good restaurant that was often frequented by the local police. It should be a good place to get Jim to stop for supper, and he also was pretty sure that it had a pay phone. They could get something to eat and make lodging arrangements in one stop.

"Hey, Jim, what do you say we get something to eat? Why don't you take the next exit and we'll get some supper?"

Looking up from the highway, Jim appeared to notice the same sign and nodded slightly as he changed lanes to prepare to exit the road. Minutes later they were escorted to a booth by a smiling waitress. Almost before she had walked away, Jim was up and out of his seat.

"Blair, go ahead and order. I'll be back in a few minutes."

He left the table and turned back towards the door. Blair started to rise to follow him, concerned about where he might be going, before he remembered the pay phone near the door. Maybe Jim was going to make some calls and get them a motel room. He settled back into his seat sheepishly. Just what he needed, he thought, to make Jim crazy by hovering over him. He checked out the menu absentmindedly. When Jim hadn't returned fifteen minutes later and the waitress was on her third trip to take their orders, he went ahead and ordered for both of them. He ordered a full meal for Jim, hoping that at least some of it would be eaten.

Ten minutes later, Jim returned and dropped into the seat across from him. Taking a long drink from the iced tea that Blair had ordered, he set it down with a sigh.

"Thanks, Chief," was all he said before digging into his deluxe burger basket with the works.

Both men ravenously polished off their meals. Pushing his empty plate away, Blair broke the silence.

"So, Jim, what's the plan for tonight?"

"I called the Spokane PD. Simon had called earlier, so they knew that we'd be coming. The lead detective on the case won't be back in until tomorrow, and they're not willing to give me his home number. I guess we'll just have to see him in the morning."

"Well, maybe that's for the best, Jim. It's late and we're both tired. What about seeing your…seeing Grace Collins?"

Jim ran his hand over his face and looked away, out the window of the restaurant. "I wanna know the facts first, Chief. I need to know what's going on before I…" His voice trailed off, and Blair could see myriad emotions flash quickly across his face before his stony countenance returned. Blair jumped in quickly.

"That sounds like a good idea. So where do you want to stay tonight?"

"Already got that taken care of. We're staying in Steven's apartment on the South Hill. He's not in town this week, so his assistant is going to meet us with the key. We should probably get moving, she should be there any time now."

Blair was glad that they wouldn't have to stay in some noisy and impersonal motel room. As they drove up the South Hill, a thought suddenly struck him.

"Jim…have you talked to Steven or your father about this?" He knew that none of the Ellisons were close, but he thought that this would have been sufficient reason for them to talk.

"No, not yet."

"Don't you think they'd want to know?"

"I don't know what they'd think. Just drop it, Chief."

Their arrival at the apartment building precluded any further conversation for the moment. Jim climbed out of the truck and went to stand by the front entrance to the old building. Fortunately they didn’t have long to wait before his brother's assistant arrived, a middle-aged woman in a conservative navy suit. She shook Jim's hand, having obviously met him before, then turned and introduced herself to Blair as he came around the truck to the door.

"Hi, I'm Beverly. You must be Mr. Sandburg."

"Blair, please. It's nice to meet you Beverly. Thanks for coming over so late."

"It's no problem at all, Blair. Steven is always pleased when he can put up his family and friends when they are in town. Well, why don't we go in. Can I help you with anything?"

He declined her assistance, and she opened the front door with her key and gestured them in. Walking across the lobby to the elevator, Blair looked around with interest. Only slightly shabby with age, the lobby gave a clue to the building's past. He knew that it was one of several old hotel buildings in the area that had been converted to apartments, and he thought them much more interesting than most modern cookie-cutter apartment complexes. He had visited a friend in a similar building in town the previous year, and thought that the old converted buildings had a lot of character.

Once in the elevator, Beverly used a second key in a lock above the keypad and pushed the "P" button. Apparently they were going to the penthouse suite. He was duly impressed, and grinned over at his partner. Jim didn't notice, however, seeming to be simply staring at his similarly grim-faced reflection in the polished brass doors of the elevator. Moments later, the elevator arrived at a private foyer. Approaching the door, Beverly turned and handed them each a set of keys.

"Here are your keys. The large keys are for the building and the apartment, and the small keys are for the elevator and the underground parking. The entrance to the underground garage is around the side of the building. There are two reserved parking spaces, you'll see them marked with a "P."

She continued talking as she opened the door to the apartment and held it open for them. After the men walked in, she showed Blair around. He was impressed and even more thrilled that they had not gone to a motel. Finishing the tour with a view of the well-stocked pantry and bar, she excused herself and left them alone, giving them her cell phone number on the way out the door and offering them her assistance 24 hours a day while they were in town. Blair thanked her effusively as he closed the door behind her, then turned back into the living room where Jim was standing and looking out the window.

"Man, this is great, Jim. What an incredible apartment. Aren't these old buildings great?"

Not waiting for a reply, he dropped his backpack on the floor by the door and took his own tour, checking out the amenities in detail. Jim's brother Steven obviously kept it well stocked and completely furnished, even though he only used it when he was in town for business. Returning to the living room, he saw Jim still staring out the window. The still posture and stony expression that he could see reflected in the window told him that he was still in full Ellison mode.

"Uh, Jim, I'll take the blue bedroom and leave you the master bedroom, all right? I'll just go ahead and drop my stuff in there." He went in and dropped his backpack and jacket on the bed, then returned. He walked over to the entertainment center and grabbed the remote, turning on the large screen TV and satellite receiver. He decided to keep trying with Jim. "Hey, man, he gets all of the good movie channels. Wanna grab a beer and watch a movie? There's probably some popcorn in the pantry."

Jim stood silently at the window for a few moments, then abruptly turned and picked up his duffel bag. "I'm going to bed. Good night."

Blair watched him stride down the hall and into the master suite and then close the door behind him. He slumped disappointedly back into the sofa. He had badly wanted to try to get Jim to relax with a little TV and small talk, with the hopes of getting him to open up and talk to him. Even the hard-as-nails, stiff-upper-lipped James Ellison had to have some pretty intense emotions flying around inside of him, and Blair had hoped that, even if Jim couldn't breach the distance between he and his father and brother, he could at least open up to Blair.

He wasn't sure what he hoped that Jim would find out the next day, whether it would be better for Jim to discover that it was not his mother after all, or to find that it was her and she was involved in prostitution and racketeering. It sounded like a no-win situation to him. His concern intensified but he told himself to be patient. He knew that Jim was a strong person, capable of coping, eventually, with whatever might happen. Whatever happened, he would be there for his best friend. He selected a movie and turned the sound down a bit, hoping that it wasn't too loud for Jim's sensitive hearing, but also figuring that Jim would be unlikely to sleep much tonight, regardless.

---------------

For the fourth or fifth time that morning, Jim stared at his reflection in the mirror. He brushed his fingers through his hair, then combed it again. He checked again to see that he hadn't missed any spots while shaving. The collar of his shirt looked just slightly crooked, and he straightened it. Glancing up again to look his reflection in the eye, he groaned and let his chin slump to his chest. This is ridiculous, he thought. I'm acting like a teenager getting ready for his first date, for crying out loud. Or like a man who might be just about to see his mother for the first time in over 20 years. He sighed and walked out of the bathroom.

It had been a long night. He had been unable to sleep, tossing and turning, then eventually getting up to stand and stare out of the windows. At another time the view of the lights of the city stretching out before him may have attracted him, but his churning thoughts kept him from really noticing the vista. The muted sound of the TV playing in the other room had reminded him that Blair was there, watching movies on Steven's state-of-the-art entertainment system, but he couldn't bring himself to join him. He heard Blair literally tip-toeing around to keep from disturbing him, and eventually going to bed after the end of the second movie.

Jim really was glad that Blair had come, even though he wasn't ready to talk about his mother with him yet. Of all the friends that he had, Blair probably had the best idea of how he felt, growing up with only one parent himself. At least Jim knew his mother and grew up with her for part of his childhood, although he didn’t know whether that made it easier or harder. They had never talked about it at length, but he knew that Blair's compassion and concern were genuine. Sometime, when he got his head on straight, he would thank Blair and have that discussion.

Right now, he wouldn't have the foggiest idea of what to say. He didn't know himself how he felt. Part of him still felt like the boy who had hidden in the woods to cry, so that his father couldn't see him, not understanding why his mother went away. Part of him was the man who had locked that painful part of his family history away in a dark corner of his mind and refused to think about it. Parts of him battled within him now, trying to make a choice between staying and finding out, no matter what the outcome, or turning and running back to Cascade and letting it go. But he was here, now, and he steeled himself to move forward.

The sunlight streaming through the living room windows told him that it was time to get into motion. He strolled across the living room and listened at the door to Blair's room. All he heard was a steady, resting heartbeat and a soft snoring sound. Knocking firmly on the door, he opened it and stuck his head in.

"Hey, Chief, rise and shine." Seeing and hearing no response from the form buried beneath the twisted blankets, he knocked even louder. Hearing a muffled groan and seeing a slight movement on the bed, he called to him again. "Blair, time to get up. If you're going with me, you better haul it, mister."

The blankets moved again and were pulled down to reveal a mass of brown curls and one bloodshot blue eye. The rest of Blair's face slowly followed.

"Yeah, I'm up, I'm up, man. With you in just a minute."

He closed the door behind him as he wandered into the kitchen to get some coffee started. Since they hadn't stopped anywhere the night before, they would have to go out for breakfast and pick up some fresh food at a grocery store later. Coffee, though, was in the freezer. He busied himself with grinding the beans and brewing a pot. Anything to keep from thinking about the day ahead.

Fifteen minutes later, Blair came wandering out to join him. Jim wordlessly poured him a cup of coffee and handed it to him. Blair sat at the breakfast bar and sipped silently, a look of appreciation on his face. He had dressed conservatively today, his best black jeans and a dress shirt, his hair pulled back and no earrings. After a few sips, Blair looked up to meet his eyes but Jim turned away, unable to deal with Blair's concern right then. They finished their coffee in an uncomfortable silence. A few minutes later, they headed off to the Spokane Police Department and what they might discover there.

Arriving at the Spokane PD, he wasted no time asking for Detective Meyers. They were directed to the third floor, where Meyers met them at the elevator.

"Detective Ellison? Sonny Meyers, nice to meet you. Why don't we go down to the conference room where we can hear ourselves think? It's always pretty loud in the bullpen this time of the day."

Jim introduced Blair as his partner as they walked down the hall to the conference room. Entering the room and taking seats at one end of the long table, they quickly got down to business.

"Detective Meyers…"

"Sonny, please."

"Thanks, Sonny, and it's Jim and Blair. I appreciate your taking the time to meet with us on this case."

"Well, I have to tell you, I was a bit surprised to hear from my captain that someone was coming all the way from Cascade on this one. We didn't find any Cascade warrants pending when we checked."

"There aren't any. I thought that I recognized the name, and it looked like an important case, so it seemed like a good reason to get out of town for a couple of days."

"I hear that, Jim. Spokane is really nice this time of year. So you know Gracie, do you?" As he spoke, Meyers handed him the case file.

He could feel his heart speed up at the mention of her name, and told himself to focus on the case. Focus on the case. He opened the file and took a long hard look at the booking photo. Even as unflattering as those file photos were, he thought that there was something that he recognized there. She didn't look the same as the woman he remembered, but there certainly were similarities. It had been more than twenty years, after all. But he wasn't sure. He forced himself to pay attention to the discussion.

"I don't know if it is the same woman. What can you tell us about her?"

"Oh, I've known Gracie for years. I used to see her quite a bit when I was in uniform, like we do with a lot of street people. You know, she'd get picked up on a sweep when the politicians decided to do a "clean up the streets" effort, or we'd see her when she got mugged for her welfare check…"

Jim barely heard the rest of Meyers ongoing monologue about homeless, "street people" in Spokane. This woman who could be his mother, living on the streets? Homeless? On welfare? Mugged? What he remembered of his mother was a woman of intelligence, grace and elegance. He couldn't imagine her being on the streets or surviving there. His stomach churned and he could feel his entire body tense as he tried to grasp Meyers' comments. Jim struggled to focus his hearing back on the detective, even as he fought his rising irritation at the too-familiar tone and slightly disdainful manner with which he spoke about her. No one would have dared to call his mother "Gracie." When he was able to tune back in, Meyers was still talking.

"…but we hadn't picked her up for a couple of years until this came through. I guess she got married and off of the streets. Gracie was arrested this week as part of a major prostitution and gambling bust that we'd been working on for over six months. The racket was run by her husband, Tommy Collins. As far as we can tell, she worked as his secretary and bookkeeper. Quite a step up from the streets, but she's back in a jail cell nevertheless."

He took a moment to steady himself by pretending to read the file, before finding what he hoped was a steady and professional voice.

"Can we see her?"

"Sure, I don't see why not. Let me call down to lockup and see where she is." Meyers picked up the phone and spoke a few sentences, shaking his head as he replaced the receiver a few minutes later. "I'm sorry, Detective. Apparently she was bailed out first thing this morning. You just missed her. You can get her home address from the file, though. She also had her own attorney show up at the arraignment, separate from her husband's attorney, you may want to try him. It was Jack Thomas, you can find him in the phone book under Brown, Davis and Thomas. Anyway, did you have anything that might help us with this case?"

"No, I don't think so. And I'm not sure that it is the same woman yet. We'll have to look her up and see."

"Well, let me know if you discover anything that would be helpful. This is a major bust and we'd really like to make this one stick, you know? We believe that Collins has had the major portion of the prostitution and gambling business here in Spokane for the last ten years. He has big money, power, and connections, though, and even though we're sure we've got a clean case, you never know what he'll pull out of his hat. I've gotta go, but you can stay and use the phone if you'd like. Stay in touch."

Meyers shook their hands and walked out of the room, shaking his head slightly, undoubtedly wondering what their interest in this woman was. He would just have to keep wondering, Jim thought. After using the phone book and making a call to the attorney's office, securing an appointment, he stood up and quickly left the room. Blair jumped to his feet and hurried along to catch up.

---------------

Blair looked over worriedly at Jim as he put the last of the groceries away. Jim was standing at the windows of the living room again, his arms crossed tightly across his chest, staring out silently. He had been that way ever since they had arrived back at the apartment.

Having time to kill before the appointment with the attorney, Blair had suggested that they stop at a grocery store and pick up a few things. Although he hadn't responded verbally, Jim had pulled into the parking lot of the first grocery store that they found. Both men had gone into the store, although Jim's entire contribution to the shopping had been pulling out his wallet and paying the bill.

Blair had done all of the actual shopping, asking Jim what he wanted a few times without getting any reply. Jim had merely walked alongside him and the shopping cart almost robotically, a withdrawn expression on his face. Blair had picked out the essentials, being sure to throw in some beer and some of his roommate's favorite junk food that he normally avoided like the plague. He had decided that "comfort" food was a definite necessity right now.

He wanted desperately to know what was going through Jim's mind. His own was still reeling from the discussion with Detective Meyers. The thought of Jim's mother, if it was Jim's mother, living on the streets of Spokane, brought a lump to his throat and made his stomach churn. He didn't know much about Jim's family, but he knew that it was an incredible distance from upper-middle-class Cascade society to the street life of Spokane. He could only imagine how difficult her existence must have been, and couldn't imagine how she could have gotten there. As stunned as he was, he knew that the impact on Jim must have been overwhelming.

When he had asked Jim if he thought it was his mother, after they left the Police Department, the strained tone of Jim's reply tore at him.

"I don't know, Chief. I just don't know," he said softly. He had turned to him just for a moment, a look of sorrow and longing in his eyes that was heartbreaking to see. Blair had placed a supportive hand on his arm, looking at him with what he hoped was his most warm and compassionate expression. Jim had replied with a soft, clumsy pat on his shoulder before quickly turning away to walk around and get into the truck. By the time they were both in and the engine started, Jim's stony façade had fallen back into place and remained there.

Just imagining how he would feel if it was his own mother, Naomi, in a similar situation brought dampness to his eyes. Quickly putting that image out of his mind, he promised himself that he would call her as soon as they got home. Knowing Jim, he would be taking it personally and feeling guilty for not somehow knowing that she was there and needed help. Looking at his silent and seemingly stoic friend staring out of the window, he knew that his outward appearance bore no relationship to the heavy torrent of emotion within.

He walked over to Jim and stood beside him at the window.

"Hey, Jim, you want to eat some lunch? We could share one of the salads I made up at the grocery store's salad bar. It looked really fresh." Waiting for a reply, he watched Jim's face closely, hoping for some expression of what he had to be feeling. All he received was a shake of the head.

Sighing, he turned back into the kitchen and helped himself to some salad. He had little appetite himself, but he decided that he needed to stay functional in order to be there for Jim. After picking at the salad for a while, he finally gave up and just sat in silence until it was time to go and meet the attorney. Following Jim out of the apartment door, he prayed that Jim would get some resolution soon. One way or the other.

---------------

Sitting in the waiting room, Jim held a magazine in his hands and pretended to read it. Glancing covertly over at Blair, he wasn't surprised to see that he was doing much the same. Neither could probably have told the other what was beyond the photo on the cover. Jim finally set the magazine down on the coffee table and sat back in the chair, closing his eyes. The soft music playing in the background, rather than soothing him as it was undoubtedly intended to do, grated on his sensitive ears and he strove to dial his hearing down to shut it out.

A series of mental images assaulted him, images of his mother wearing cast-off clothing, being assaulted on the streets of Spokane, of searching in dumpsters for food, of sleeping in a cardboard box…he opened his eyes. Ever since they had spoken with the Spokane detective that morning, he couldn't get the disturbing images out of his mind. If only he could have looked at the police mug shots of her and known for certain that it was not his mother. But the photos just weren't conclusive. They looked like her, but again they didn't look like her. The butterflies in his stomach were growing to the size of 747s by the time the inner door opened and someone spoke.

"Detective Ellison? Please come in."

He practically leapt to his feet, visibly startling the silver-haired man in the doorway. Blair remained seated but looked hopefully in his direction, obviously waiting for a sign that Jim wanted him to join him in the attorney's office. With a slight smile, he nodded his head in the direction of the office, and Blair stood with a grin. They followed the lawyer into his office, where he gestured them into a pair of thickly-padded leather seats in front of the desk. He walked over and introduced himself with a handshake.

"I'm Jack Thomas, and you're Detective Ellison from Cascade PD?" He gave a quick but firm shake at Jim's nod, then turned to Blair. "And you are?"

"Blair Sandburg. I'm a consultant with the department."

"I see. Well, would you gentlemen like some coffee? I was just going to ask my assistant to make a fresh pot." They both nodded assent and Thomas called his assistant on the intercom as he sat, requesting coffee for three. Finishing his call, he pulled a file from a tray on his desk and opened it, scanning it for a moment before laying it down on the desk.

"Now, Detective, you said that you wanted to meet with me regarding Grace Collins. May I ask what your interest in her case is? I don't see any indication that Cascade has any charges or warrants pending for Mrs. Collins."

Jim hesitated for a moment, thoughts swirling while he decided on which course to take. He finally chose the truth.

"Mr. Thomas, I didn't mean to deceive your assistant when I called for an appointment. My interest in your client is personal. I…I think she may be my mother, whom I haven't seen for some time. The mug shots weren't very good…" He felt his breath catch in his throat as he finished.

"Your mother…" Thomas picked up the file again and thumbed through a few pages. "What is your first name?"

"James. My parents are William and Grace Ellison."

"Do you have any siblings?"

"I have one brother. Steven."

"I see. Can I see your driver's license or other ID?"

He pulled out his wallet and removed the driver's license, handing it across the desk. Thomas scrutinized it closely, looking back and forth between his face and the license, then handed it back.

"Thank you. Well, this is a pleasant surprise. Yes, I believe that Mrs. Collins, previously Mrs. Ellison, is probably your mother. It's a pleasure to meet you, Jim. I've heard Grace speak of her son Jimmy quite fondly."

Jim was taken by surprise by the surge of feeling welling up in his chest, the air in the room suddenly thick and difficult to inhale. He struggled to contain his emotions and his senses, even as he could feel his face flush and his heart begin to race. The room seemed to waver for a moment, then suddenly come into crystal clarity. He noticed distantly that he could sense an increase in Blair's breathing and heartbeat at the same time. Thankfully he could hear Thomas' assistant coming down the hallway with the coffee, a welcome diversion to give him time to get a grip on himself.

"Thank you," he breathed as she handed cups around and then excused herself from the room. He tried to breathe slowly and deeply, using one of Blair's breathing exercises, suddenly wishing that he had practiced it more often. He could barely focus enough to hear Thomas when he spoke.

"Well, you said that you had talked with the Police Department, so you know what the charges are. You probably want to know about her defense. I plan, of course, to use the same type of diminished capacity defense…" He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence.

"What? What do you mean, diminished capacity?"

"Why, just like we used for her previous charges…" Thomas' voice trailed off as he looked at him with a puzzled expression on his face. The look persisted as Thomas leaned back in his chair and looked at him curiously. "You do know about her previous legal history here in Spokane?"

"Only what I heard this morning from Detective Meyers."

Thomas leaned forward again, his expression unreadable but his voice suddenly gentle. "When was the last time you saw your mother, Detective?"

"I haven't seen or heard from my mother since I was a boy. Since she left us and divorced my father."

Thomas looked at him, then looked down at the file in front of him. He seemed to be deep in thought for a moment, then cleared his throat as he rose from his chair. Walking around the desk and perching himself on the edge nearest to Jim, he looked at him with a kind expression on his face.

"Jim…I hope it's okay to call you Jim...Jim, I don't know if I'm the one who should be telling you this, but it looks like it falls to me. I think, that if you are Grace's son, that it's in my client's best interest for you to know, and for you to see her."

"Know what, Mr. Thomas? What is it that you're being so mysterious about?" Jim was rapidly losing what little patience he had been able to muster.

"Jim, the woman that I know as Grace Collins was in an accident about ten years ago. I'm not a doctor, obviously, and I don't know all of the details, but she was struck by a car and seriously injured. Including a severe head injury. She had a skull fracture and had to have brain surgery, and was in a coma for some time. Thankfully she eventually recovered completely from all of her injuries, but…" He seemed to struggle for the right words. "Grace did have some permanent brain damage."

He could hear the words, but it seemed that his mind was having a hard time grasping the meaning of what Thomas was saying. With great difficulty he forced his mouth to form the words.

"Brain damage?"

"Yes. I can direct you to the rehabilitation center where she recovered, if Grace gives her permission, they can tell you the medical details. I didn't know Grace before the accident, so I can only guess at some of the consequences. Some of the results of her head injuries are that she has memory problems, she can be very emotional, and she has some balance and coordination problems. The thing that gets her into trouble is that she has poor judgment and problems with decision-making. She tends to be too trusting and can be easily taken advantage of, in ways that seem very naïve.

That is how I met her. She had been taken advantage of by a man who had gotten control of her disability checks. Grace ended up in a shelter and occasionally on the streets, penniless. She was picked up in a sweep, probably because the officers thought she was drunk or on drugs because of her coordination problems. I was the public defender assigned to her case, and I got her off pretty easily.

Unfortunately she would occasionally get in with the wrong type, being too trusting, and would end up getting picked up for one thing or another just by association. I liked your mother, she was not the usual type of client that I would usually get assigned to, so I did some extra digging and found out about her medical history. Even when I left the Public Defender office, she remembered my name and I would continue to defend her when necessary. I truly believe that this case is a similar situation, that Grace just didn't know or understand what she was involved in.

Please don't get me wrong, Jim. Your mother is still a lovely, bright, charming woman. But I want you to know that, well, she just may not be exactly the woman you remember."

The sounds of Thomas's words echoed around in his head as he sought to make sense of them. It was incomprehensible, that he might have found his long-lost mother only to find that…that…the woman he once knew and loved might now be a stranger. Dozens of questions raced through his mind, but he was unable to grab onto any one to ask it. He felt his control slipping away, the rush of thoughts and emotions sending his mind and his senses reeling.

Desperate to regain control, he struggled to focus again on his breathing. He closed his eyes and breathed in and out, in and out. The tide of air in and out of his nose, the expansion and contraction of his lungs, the rush of the blood to his capillaries to pick up oxygen…the room around him disappeared as zoned in on his respiration to the exclusion of everything else, even conscious thought.

---------------

Blair looked over at Jim, knowing that his own shock at the attorney's information had to be showing on his face. Jim had closed his eyes and his mouth fell open slightly, and Blair noticed that his breathing seemed to be slowing. He must be using our breathing exercises, he thought, and hoped that it was helping Jim center himself after the onslaught of the stunning revelation.

Thomas looked at Jim with compassion.

"I'm sorry, Jim, that you had to find out this way. I'm sure that it must be quite a shock for you…" He stood up and walked back around his desk, looking out of a window for a moment before turning to look back at his visitors again. "Is there anything I can do?"

Blair waited a few moments for Jim to answer, and became concerned when there was no response. Leaning over and putting a hand on his forearm, he squeezed gently.

"Jim, are you all right?"

No response forthcoming, he squeezed harder. Looking more closely at his partner, he noticed that his breathing was really slow and shallow. Jim sat rigidly, his hands in his lap, a figure frozen in place. He dug his fingers hard into Jim's forearm, as hard as he could, but still received no sign of response or movement. Oh, no, he thought, this is not the time or the place for a zone-out. He knew that Jim's senses tended to get out of control in highly emotional situations, but he had hoped to be able to forestall any zone-outs by staying at Jim's side.

"Jim?"

Thomas looked at Jim worriedly. "Is he all right? Is he having a seizure or something?'

"No, no," Blair reassured him. "This is just his way of centering himself under stress. You know, like meditation? He has this incredible ability to enter a deep meditative state almost at the drop of a hat, it's a really useful coping technique." He could use a little meditation himself right about now, he thought.

"Uh, is there something I can do?" Thomas hovered nervously near the edge of his desk, staring at the nonresponsive Jim.

"Yeah, maybe get him a glass of water. Do you have any bottled water around?"

"Yes, we do, down in the break room. I'll just go and get some."

Thomas didn't even bother calling for his assistant, he just rushed out of the office, pulling the door closed behind him. Blair pulled his chair right next to Jim's and spoke urgently into his ear.

"OK, Jim. I know that your emotions and senses have got to be on overload, man, but you've gotta come back now. You're freaking Thomas out here. Come on, focus on my voice and follow it back. Come on, Jim."

There was no response. It seemed to Blair that Jim's breathing was getting too shallow, and he began worrying in earnest.

"All right, Jim, we'll handle this. You've got to be focusing on your breathing, that's touch. So how can I use your other senses to pull you out of this?'

He looked around the room wildly, trying to think of anything that could stimulate Jim's other senses. Spotting the coffee server and tray, an idea came to mind.

"OK, that could work. Hold on, Jim, I'll be right back."

Blair jumped up and went over to the credenza. Picking up the coffee server, he was pleased to see that it still had some hot coffee in it. Grabbing an empty cup, he filled it halfway with steaming coffee. Next he opened three or four colored packets of artificial sweetener and dumped them into the cup, quickly stirring them in with a grimace. Taking the cup back over to his chair and sitting down besides Jim, he held the cup under his nose.

Watching closely, he thought that he saw Jim's nostrils flare slightly. It was a good sign, that he seemed to be sensing the coffee odor. If Jim's other senses were still somewhat on line, that meant that he should be able to use them to pull Jim out of his zone-out. Holding the cup to Jim's lips and placing his other hand gently at the back of Jim's head, he got ready for his next try.

"Jim, I'm sorry about this, but I don't know what else to do right now."

Tipping the cup, he carefully poured the hot and overly-sweetened coffee into Jim's mouth. He swallowed reflexively once, twice, then Blair quickly pulled the cup away as Jim began to cough and pull his head away. Sputtering and hacking, Jim's hands flew up to brush Blair's hands away and his eyes fluttered open.

"What the…" he gasped. Blair was relieved to see his eyes focusing normally and his breathing speeding up to normal and beyond.

"It's all right, it's all right," Blair said quickly, picking up his own unsweetened cup of coffee and handing it to Jim, patting him on the back as he coughed a few more times. "Here, drink this, it's okay."

Jim quickly downed a couple of swallows, blinking rapidly.

"What the hell was that?"

"Sorry, man, but I didn't know what else to do. You were all zoned out, Jim! I couldn't get you back, so I had to find something to stimulate your other senses to pull you out. I put a bunch of sweetener in some coffee and gave it to you. Hey, it worked, that's what counts. You were seriously freaking Thomas out for a minute there, I told him you were just centering yourself. He went down the hall to get you some water. Are you all right now? How are your senses?"

Jim looked around the room and flexed his hands and arms. "I'm fine. But I may never be able to taste anything again." He held a hand to his head. "I've got a heck of a headache, though."

Blair took his coffee cup back and set it on the desk, then moved his chair back into place. "I'm not surprised." He took a deep breath and slumped back in his chair in relief. "You really had me worried for a moment there, man."

Settling back into his own chair, Jim glanced at him with a rueful smile.

"Thanks, Chief."

Thomas bustled back into the room, carrying a couple of bottles of water. A look of relief washed over his face as he walked in and handed one to Jim.

"Detective Ellison, you had me worried there for a moment. Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I just needed a minute to, uh, process everything. Thanks for the water." He proceeded to open the bottle and quickly guzzle about half of its contents.

Thomas moved back around the desk and sat gratefully.

"Well, I know this has been a shock to you. I was going to suggest that I take you to see Grace this afternoon, but maybe tomorrow would be a better idea…" He was quickly cut off in mid-sentence.

"No, I'd like to see her. Today," Jim said in a no-nonsense voice.

"Jim, maybe Mr. Thomas is right. This has been a rough day for you, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to get some rest before seeing her." Blair was concerned with Jim's already exhausted look, and worried about whether Jim could handle much more. He wasn't sure that he could.

"I'm fine, Blair. Mr. Thomas, I would like to see Mrs. Collins as soon as possible."

Thomas looked briefly at the two men, then turned to the phone. "All right, then, I'll call and see if she is available." They watched anxiously as he made a call and talked to someone for a few moments. Hanging up, he met their nervous glances. "Mrs. Collins is home and would be willing to meet with us in about 45 minutes. If you don't mind, I would feel more comfortable if the two of you came with me in my car. I'll bring you back here to pick up your car when we're done."

"That's fine. Thank you." Jim rose quickly to his feet, and Blair followed suit. Thomas stood and pushed his chair under the desk, then paused for a moment and looked directly into Jim's eyes.

"Just one more thing. I don't know how Grace will react. As I said, because of her brain injury, she has memory problems. She may recognize you as her son, or she may not. Whenever I have heard her talk about her son Jimmy, she talks about a son that is still just a boy. I just want you to be prepared, as much as you can be, to accept her as she is. That means that she may or may not accept you. I guess I'm just saying that I'm very fond of Grace, and I don't want her to be hurt any more than she already has been."

Jim nodded, and returned Thomas' concerned look.

"I understand. And…I'm glad that she has had someone like you caring about her. Thank you." He turned and walked out of the office quietly, Blair and Thomas following on his heels.