Unanswered Questions

He wondered if there was an increase in crime, or if he was just feeling the hours more. The thought caused him to shake his head in amusement, 'that's what I get for listening to Sandburg. He's even got me convinced I'm getting old! Just because a guy has seen 40 doesn't mean he's ready for the old folks' home yet, at least I hope not.' With a half smile on his face, he filled his "Anthropologists do it in the Dirt" coffee mug, and headed back to his desk and a pile of reports.

He entered the Major Crimes bullpen immersed in his thoughts – jerked back to reality abruptly when he realized someone was sitting at his desk. The head came up, and the blue eyes frosted over. Nobody sat at Jim Ellison's desk with the exception of himself and his Guide. 'Sandburg said it was a territorial thing, and it may well be, but it's my territory.'

"May I help you?" The words came out like a blast of cold air off Lake Michigan in January. Megan was sure the recipient was going to get frostbite.

"Jimmy, is that anyway to greet your mother," the elegantly dressed woman responded rising from the chair.

"My what?" he sputtered, reeling back as though he'd been clubbed.

"Come now Jimmy, there's no need to cause a scene," the woman cleared the desk, and the normally imposing detective took a step back. Every eye in the bullpen was now on the two. No one had ever seen Ellison retreat, so the scene had their full attention.

"I don't know who the hell you are, but this is not funny. Get out before I have you thrown out," his words were hoarse; the growl in them backing up the tense body.

"Darling, you know it's me, come now."

"I wouldn't know my mother if I ran her over. Now get out." He finished in a hiss, before retreating to his Captain's empty office, and closed the door.

"I think you should do as he says," Joel Taggart said, placing himself between the intruder and the door, "Inspector Connor will show you out."

Jim slumped against the closed door, eyes closed tightly against the pain coursing through his head. He didn't move until he heard the woman get into a car.

"Jim," Taggart called out as he entered the office to find his colleague staring out the windows, "you alright?" He reached out a hand to comfort the younger man, but stopped as he sensed that Jim had a slim hold on his emotions that his touch could shatter it.

"Don't know," was the pained response.

Simon Banks walked into his office at that moment, annoyed it was not vacant. "Get the hell out of my office – you both have desks, I suggest you use them."

"Captain," Joel barked, but Jim was already headed for the door.

"Joel, what's going on?" Banks' had gotten a glimpse of his top detective's face, and gone from miffed to worried in an instant. He had never seen Jim Ellison look fragile before.

"Don't know," he said repeating Jim's words. "Some woman showed up, said she was Jim's mom and he went…"

"His mother," Simon interrupted, "Oh my god. Call the garage - they have to stop him!" He ran for the elevator as he yelled. He was too late, and Ellison's truck was gone. He did not answer his cell or respond to repeated radio calls.

"What's going on Simon?" Joel asked when Banks returned to his office.

"Jim's mother left when he was 7 or 8. He hasn't seen or heard from her since. It's a real difficult issue for him, and I can't being to imagine…" he stopped and grabbed the phone. "Sandburg, its Simon. Look Jim's in trouble…no not the hospital…some woman showed up at the station claiming to be his mother," he paused. "Breathe, Sandburg, breathe. Look he ran out of here like the demons from hell were on his tail, and he's not answering his phone or the radio. I've sent a car over to the loft…okay…if you need anything…yeah…right."

Blair sat in stunned silence for several minutes trying to process the information he'd just been given. He slammed a fist on the desk, and rocketed out of the chair. "Hang on Jim, I'm coming," he whispered as he negotiated the steps at a run.

The Sentinel of the Great City stood at parade rest on a silent stretch of beach as the October sun settled below the far end of the ocean. His thoughts was going 300 miles an hour 'My mother? She couldn't be my mother! But why would she say she was? Why would she show up now?'

His memory took him back to the afternoon he and Stephen had arrived home from school to an empty house. No mother, no note, no phone call, no explanation and nothing but a terse, "you're mother is gone, she will not be mentioned in this house again," from his father. He had held his little brother that night, and for many nights to come, as he cried himself to sleep. He couldn't remember if he had cried over his mother, and that bothered him immensely.

"Jim, Jim come on, man. Don't do this, Jim, not now." Blair pleaded. He'd found his friend at the second place he'd looked. He couldn't say he was shocked to find him zoned, but he was worried about bringing him back. Emotional turmoil tended to send his Sentinel over the edge, but this – this was the mother load of all emotional events, no pun intended. "Jim, you're really scaring me here. Come back, please. I'm here, and I promise I won't let anyone hurt you. You have my word."

"Blair?"

"Right here, big guy. Welcome back. Let's sit down." He helped his friend onto the sand and settled him between his legs, offering his body as shelter. Jim leaned into the protection offered, and the two sat in silence. Jim listening to the reassuring heart beat of his Guide, and Blair running gentle hands over his shoulders and arms as an offer of tangible reassurance.

"She says she's my mother," Jim whispered finally.

Blair wrapped his arms around the muscular chest, "What do you think?" He asked calmly.

"How the hell would I know?" Jim answered, the soft tone taking any sting from the words.

"Did she say what she wanted?"

"Didn't give her a chance."

Later that evening, the two stood on the loft's balcony, beers in hand. "Let's think this through," Blair said as he gently bumped shoulder's with Jim. "Why would someone show up out of the blue more than 30 years later and…"

"Oh my God, Stevie," Jim jerked upright, interrupting. "Blair," Jim's body was so tense, it was humming, "I can't let her hurt him, not again."

"Okay, we'll call him. Is he in town?"

"I…no, I think…East Coast, damn it! Umm, New York or DC." Jim was ripping the paper off his beer bottle at a rapid pace, his entire body shaking from the agitation.

"Okay, we'll try his cell." Blair got the phone, and dialed the number before handing the phone to his partner. He snatching away the beer bottle before it was crushed by the slender fingers.

"Stevie? It's Jim."

"Jimmy, what's wrong?"

"Look…I'm not sure…a woman showed up at the station today claiming to be, to be our mother."

"Jimmy?" The fear and hope in that voice floated clearly across the miles.

"I don't know. Honest to God, Stevie, I don't. I need to find out what's going on. Call your office and the condo. See if she's called or stopped by. Until we figure this out, tell your security Chief and the condo staff that no one is to be allowed in, no one. I'll drop off a photo to your security people tomorrow."

"Okay, I'll make the call and let you know. What about Dad?"

I don't know, Stevie, I'll talk to him."

He slept poorly that night, memories kept crashing through his head leaving him scared and empty. Blair stayed with him after the 3rd nightmare brought him awake screaming.

They picked up pictures of the woman from the Station's security tapes early the next morning, and dropped them off at Ellison Corp and Stephen's condo. When they pulled up in front of William Ellison's house, Jim let his head fall to the steering wheel.

"Want me to come with you?" Blair offered gently, a hand on the back of thick neck kneading the tense muscles.

"Please."

Sally met them at the door with hugs, and then scurried to get coffee. They found William in the dinning room finishing his coffee and the morning paper. "Jimmy? What are you doing here?" The voice was cold and business-like. "You really should call before..." He stopped to look at the photo his son thrust at him. "Who's this?"

"She came to the station yesterday, said she was my mother." Jim's tense body language was reflected in his clipped tone.

"That's ridiculous!" Ellison Senior punctuated this thought by slamming a fist on the table.

"Is it? Is it my mother?"

William looked at the tortured face of his eldest for a long moment, but dropped his eyes to the table when he finally spoke. "It's been 30 years, how would I know?"

"Don't you fuck with me!" Jim roared getting in his father's face. "You were married to the woman for ten years, made love to her at least twice, tell me if it's her."

His father had pulled back at his intensity. "It could be Jimmy, but I can't tell you for sure. I'd have to see her, hear her voice. What does she want?"

"I don't know, I…I told her to leave."

"That's the best way to handle this." William responded, his voice back to business.

"Sure, shove it into the closet, refuse to face it; that will make it go away – just like my senses, right Dad? Thing is, I'm all grown up now, and you don't get to tell me how to deal with it this time."

"Jimmy, please."

"Please what, Dad? What if this woman is who she says she is?" The blue eyes were a mixture of need and helplessness.

"Son, I…if it is your mother, she'll only bring you pain."

A chocked laugh escaped the detective. "News flash, Dad, I have a freaking Ph.D. in pain."

He was halfway down the driveway before Blair caught up with him. "Jim, Jim, please, stop," he begged as he latched onto an arm. "Come on, let me help you." He pulled him into a hug and held him tight as after shocks ran through his body.

At the station, they ran the picture though the national files and came up blank. Jim took a file from his inbox, and began making calls on a robbery case he was working. Understanding his need to regain some control, Blair picked up another file and started an address search. They worked through the day in quiet, companionable silence.

Jim was visited by nightmares again – his mother yelling that she left because she didn't want a freak for a son; that she had wanted Stephen, but not Jim. He managed to wake himself up each time before he cried out. Blair dozed uneasily on the couch, aware of the unrest upstairs, but unwilling to interfere unless it got out of hand.