Jim looked up from his reverie as the car slowed to make a left turn into the driveway. The thirty-minute trip from the attorney's office had been made in silence, with even Blair unable to find small talk appropriate to the situation. His thoughts had turned the information regarding Grace Collins over and over in his head, mental images forming and dissipating quickly one after the other. He kept finding and clinging to images of his mother from his childhood, even as he knew that they were probably somewhat idealized over the years.

Images of a concerned face hovering over him as she bandaged a scraped knee, followed by a kiss to make it better. A lovely, refined woman in evening clothes as she left the house on the arm of his father to attend some charity event. The fragrance of Chanel No. 5 that seemed to permeate the air around her. Images of her kneeling in her flower garden, lovingly caring for each plant and bloom. Uncertain silences at the dinner table shortly before she was there no more.

He mentally returned to the present as the car made the turn and cruised slowly up the circular drive. The house was in a fairly exclusive neighborhood, made of handsome stone and brick, flowers surrounding the traditional porch giving way to a lush and well-tended lawn. It was a fine old house, not quite a mansion or estate, but certainly in the upper class category. He was glad that her standard of living had improved from her street existence to one that a woman of her quality deserved.

The car pulled up in front of the entrance and stopped. Slowly climbing out of the passenger side, taking a few deep breaths, he felt a hand on his arm and turned. Blair had stepped up to his side and grasped his arm supportively.

"Are you ready for this, Jim?" he said in a concerned tone.

"No," Jim sighed, admitting the truth to both Blair and himself. "No, I'm not. But I need to do this, Blair. It's not going to get any easier if I wait." He turned away and faced Thomas, who was waiting politely out of earshot. "I'm ready when you are."

The three men walked up the steps and onto the porch. Thomas stepped up, rang the doorbell, and stepped back. A moment later, the door was opened by a tall, muscular young man in an Italian suit. Jim couldn't help but notice the lump under his arm that the expensive tailoring couldn't hide, definitely a shoulder holster for a gun. It was a sudden and unwelcome reminder that Grace's current husband was a crime boss. He tried to remind himself that he wasn't here as a cop, he was here as a man looking to find his mother. The man stiffened as he looked over the group, holding his gaze on Jim, seeming to recognize a cop on sight. Thomas quickly intervened.

"Jamieson, these men are with me. Mrs. Collins knows that we are coming. Could you let her know that we're here, please?"

With another quick glare at Jim, Jamieson left them and walked out of the room. Jim looked nervously around the room, his heart pounding in his ears, and missed the sound of approaching footsteps. A warm voice from across the room riveted his attention.

"Jack, how nice to see you again. And how sweet of you to bring some friends with you."

He turned slowly, the timbre of the woman's voice both familiar and strange at the same time. Standing next to Jamieson, a hand on his arm, was a tall distinguished-looking woman with silvered hair. She was dressed in a soft blue-gray sweater and slacks that complemented her bright blue eyes, a simple pearl necklace gracing her neckline. Her face had lines that he didn't recognize, character lines that took nothing away from her beauty, but lines that he should expect after more than 20 years. An old and well-healed scar started on her forehead and disappeared into her hairline, the only visible sign of the accident that Thomas had discussed with him.

Without a doubt, Grace Collins was his mother.

A wave of emotion swept over him, all of his mental preparations of the day gone to waste in a single moment. He suddenly felt weak and wavered slightly on his feet, Blair's hand quickly coming to his back to support him. Thomas looked at him, then held out his hand as they approached.

"Grace, it's lovely to see you. Thank you for making the time to meet with me." Shaking her hand, he pulled her gently closer. "Let me introduce two friends of mine from Cascade. This is Blair Sandburg…"

Jim watched as she held out her hand to Blair and he took it, smiling broadly and shaking the proffered hand gently. She turned to face him as Thomas continued.

"…and this is James Ellison."

Grace extended her hand and smiled up into his face. Taking her hand gently and looking into her eyes, Jim searched for signs of recognition. Although her eyes looked unnaturally bright, her smile seemed natural and unforced, and he could detect no unusual physiological responses in her as she glanced over his face. She didn't recognize him. Grace withdrew her hand as she spoke.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Blair, James. Welcome to my home. Jack, why don't you and your friends join me in the sunroom for some tea? Jamieson, would you have Martha bring tea to the sunroom?"

"Yes, Mrs. Collins." With a last glare at Jim, Jamieson left the room. Thomas took Grace's arm and they began walking towards the back of the house. He barely took notice of the expensive and tasteful décor as he walked, barely feeling the floor beneath his feet. Jim felt Blair's hand on his back gently propel him forward, as it seemed that his body didn't want to respond to his mental commands. He was still stunned at the reality of seeing his mother again, and wanted to take in everything about her and how she had changed over the years.

As she walked alongside Thomas, a hand on his arm, Jim noticed an unevenness and sway in her walk. Probably the coordination problems that Thomas had mentioned. Well, it wasn't that bad, he thought. Following silently in their wake, his attention was drawn to a bright repeated flash of color. Looking down, he saw that, peeking out from under Grace's soft wool slacks were a pair of garishly multicolored socks and purple tennis shoes. The contrast between her footwear and the rest of her clothing was startling, to say the least, and strikingly odd on a woman of her age and demeanor. He hadn't noticed that he was staring until Blair's voice broke through his concentration.

"Uh, Jim, you still with us man?"

He looked up, noticing that they had fallen several steps behind Thomas and Grace. Blair's concerned face looked up into his.

"Yeah, Chief, let's go."

They walked through an arched doorway into the sunroom. The many plants, the trickling fountain, and the late afternoon sun gently filtering into the room created a warm and cozy atmosphere. They took seats around a table as Thomas chatted briefly with Grace about her case.

"We need to set a time to meet to talk about these charges. Could you come to my office Monday afternoon?"

"Of course, Jack, but I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding. Tommy would never do those things that they talked about, they probably mixed him up with some other man." She seemed to be pleasantly befuddled about her legal situation.

"Well, that's what we need to talk about, and how we can get all of this cleared up."

"All right. Remind me to tell Martha that I'll need the driver Monday afternoon, then."

"Of course, Grace."

Just then Martha arrived with the tea, and she flirted politely with Thomas and Blair as she set the table and served them. Jim took advantage of the activity to covertly observe Grace as she was occupied. He noticed even more than before the unusual brightness of her eyes, a slight crookedness of her smile, the overly loud and girlish tone of her voice, the way she repeatedly put her hand on Thomas' arm or shoulder. These were unfamiliar mannerisms to him. He also noticed, like the colorful socks and shoes, that there were other aspects of her appearance that were notably unusual.

In striking contrast to the obviously expensive string of pearls at her neck, Grace's other jewelry was, well, eclectic. Her earrings were multicolored and enameled, and looked like they might have been picked up at any dime store. He was certain that he recognized a Mickey Mouse watch on her wrist with a worn leather band. These oddities differed sharply from his memories of his mother, a woman who had meticulously coordinated her wardrobe down to the last detail of jewelry and makeup. He began to realize, despite himself, that there were differences in his mother that went far beyond her new married name. Thomas' words began to echo again in his mind.

"Tea, sir?" Martha's voice interrupted him.

"Yes, please," he automatically responded. Watching as Martha poured, he noticed Grace out of the corner of his eye dipping a spoon into the sugar bowl. She proceeded to spoon three spoons of sugar into her cup of tea and was going after a fourth before Martha gently moved the sugar bowl out of reach, a movement that looked well-rehearsed. Grace seemed not to notice, instead focusing on noisily stirring the sugar into her tea, slopping some over the side of the cup before setting her spoon down.

Picking up the cup she quickly drained it before setting it back down on the saucer. The whole process quickly repeated itself, with Martha removing the sugar bowl from the table after the others were finished with it this time. He watched, fascinated, as Grace also gulped down several cookies nonstop, seemingly without taking a breath in between, until Martha moved them out of her reach as well.

Both Martha and Thomas seemed undisturbed by Grace's odd and seemingly childish behavior, and Jim forced himself to keep a smile pasted on his face. After Martha left the room, Thomas gave him a meaningful look before breaking the silence.

"Grace, the main reason that I wanted to come over this afternoon was so you could meet my two friends here. Do either of them look familiar to you?"

Grace looked back and forth between them, a curious smile on her face. "Now, Jack, you know my memory isn't what it used to be. No, I don't think that I recognize either Blair or James. Should I?"

"Grace, doesn't the name James Ellison sound familiar to you?"

"Well, yes, my first husband's name was Ellison…" She looked again at Jim, her expression becoming more puzzled.

Thomas took her hand gently in his. "Grace, this is your son, Jim Ellison."

The silence around the table was painful as Jim sat, rooted in his chair and barely remembering to breathe, waiting for her response. He could see Blair, out of the corner of his eye, gripping the arms of his chair tightly and leaning forward. Grace looked at him intently for several moments, and he desperately prayed for recognition to bloom in her eyes.

It did not. Instead a smile spread across her face as she began to laugh.

"Oh, Jack, you are such a kidder. Why, he's old enough to be Jimmy's father!" She rose suddenly and left the room, still laughing, leaving all three men openmouthed in her wake. Returning a few moments later, she sat breathlessly and handed Thomas a well-worn photo. "That's my Jimmy, the one on the left."

Thomas studied the photo for a moment, then handed it to Jim. Taking it, he felt a sudden lump in his throat as he recognized it and a memory pressed forward into his consciousness.

The photo was of a woman and two young boys. The boys were in suits and ties, and had deadly serious expressions on their faces. It was he and his brother Steven. His mother sat in a chair behind them in the photo, a proud smile on her face. His father was nowhere to be seen. Jim remembered the day of the photo, how disappointed his mother had been that their father had not shown up for the photo session, how stiff the suit and tie had felt. He felt a touch of vertigo as he left the memory to come back to the present. If there had been any question that Grace was his mother, the photo erased it completely.

The photo was creased and worn, the corners dog-eared or missing altogether. After holding it, practically caressing it for a moment, he handed it to Blair. He could see Blair studying the photo, looking at him and then Grace in wonderment, before returning the photo to her.

Grace took the photo, smiling at it warmly.

"He's such a good boy, that Jimmy. I had a devil of a time getting him into that suit, you know. He just loves to wear that beat up football jersey all the time…" She rambled on to Thomas, who sat listening with an interested expression. Jim didn't follow the conversation completely, still in shock, but enough to recognize that, in Grace's mind, her son Jimmy was still the young boy in the photograph. Somehow that portion of her life seemed to exist in a time warp, in which she was still that young mother and her two sons would always be the little boys in the photo.

Jim felt his heart sink as he began to fully realize that Thomas' words had been all too true. He was sure that her oddities of dress, behavior and memory that he had seen were just the most obvious signs of the changes in her. Yes, he had found and met his mother, yet she was not exactly the mother he remembered. She never would be again. The brain damage caused by her accident had, in some ways, irrevocably taken away the essence of the mother that he had known, leaving another woman in her place. He was overwhelmed with sadness, both for himself and for her, and at the same time was filled with a warmth and compassion for the woman sitting across the table from him.

When he began listening to the conversation again, they were chatting about the plants and her garden. He looked up to see Thomas watching him. When their eyes met, Thomas spoke up.

"Well, Grace, we don't want to take up any more of your time. We can see ourselves out. I'll plan on seeing you Monday at my office."

All four of them stood, Jim slowly standing with a gentle tug from Blair helping to urge him to his feet.

"I'll see you to the door, then."

They slowly made their way through the house back to the entrance, pacing themselves to match Grace's unsteady gait. Thomas opened the door and said goodbye, giving her a soft peck on the cheek that brought a laugh and a slight blush to her cheeks. Blair shook her hand and thanked her for her hospitality then walked out of the door, glancing back momentarily.

Jim took her hand and shook it gently.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Collins. I hope we meet again soon."

She smiled up at him warmly, a smile with warmth but no recognition, a look that broke his heart.

"I do too, James. I hope that you and Blair come and visit again."

It took all of his strength to disengage his hand, to turn and walk away. He climbed into the passenger seat of the car and didn't look back as Thomas started it up and they drove away.

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

Blair climbed out of the car first, eager to leave the oppressive silence within. It had been a long drive back from the Collins residence to the attorney's office, each man silent and immersed in his own thoughts. He had thought about speaking up a dozen times, each time silenced when he realized that he had no idea what to say. Words could not express the sorrow and compassion that he felt for his best friend.

Jim and Thomas each climbed out, Thomas walking around the car to stand beside them and the truck.

"I'm sorry, Detective. I know how hard that must have been for you. I want to thank you for not pushing it, for not trying to make her remember. It wouldn't have done any good, you know."

"Yes," Jim said simply, his eyes never leaving the ground.

"Well, gentlemen…do you want me to keep you apprised of the progress of her legal case? Or do you want to check in with me? Is there anything I can do for you?"

Jim roused himself to finally look up.

"Yes, I'll keep in touch. And…thank you for taking me to see her. Thank you for helping her." He held out his hand, and Thomas shook it warmly.

"You're welcome, Jim. Please call me anytime." Shaking Blair's hand as well, and handing them each one of his business cards, he climbed back into his car and drove off.

Blair stood uncertainly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, watching Jim. He could only imagine the shock that Jim must be feeling, and worried about how he was taking it. Just as he was about to ask if Jim wanted him to drive, Jim turned and got into the driver's seat of the truck. He ran around to the passenger side and climbed in. Once they were on their way, he turned to his friend.

"Jim, I'm so sorry, man. I…"

He cut himself off as Jim shook his head and held up a hand to stop him. OK, he thought, he doesn't want to talk right now, he wants to focus on his driving. We can do that. He reached over and turned on the radio, finding a classic rock station that he thought Jim would like to listen to. Settling back into his seat, he soberly watched the world go by his window as they drove across town, back to the apartment.

Pulling up at the old building, Blair was surprised when Jim pulled up and parked in front instead of entering the underground garage to park the truck. He climbed out onto the sidewalk, curious, and waited for Jim to come around the truck and join him. Instead, after climbing out of the truck and slamming the door, Jim angled away from him towards the sidewalk and kept going. Blair called after him.

"Jim?"

"I need some air."

"Good idea, Jim. I'll…"

"Alone."

Blair stood openmouthed and watched as Jim stalked down the street, all but running, his head down again the stiff wind. As much as he wanted to go after him, to walk with him even if not a single word was exchanged, he had promised that he wouldn't get in Jim's face. He would keep his promise, he decided. There was little enough that he could do for him right now. With a final glance at Jim's rapidly retreating back, he pulled out the keys and let himself into the building.

Hours later, he looked for the hundredth time at the antique clock on the mantel. Darkness had fallen, and the brisk winds had become a raging thunderstorm. He walked back to the window, peering out into the darkness, reflexively pulling back when a sudden gust threw a heavy wave of water and sleet against the glass. Jim had been out walking for almost three hours now, and Blair was getting progressively more worried as the time crept by. He hoped that Jim had found shelter somewhere from the storm, but he doubted it. In his mental and emotional state, he could be oblivious to what was going on around him. Blair feared that Jim was still out there on the streets in what he thought of as essentially a walking zone-out, and worried seriously for his health and safety.

He had thought of going out to search the streets, but he had no idea where Jim could be by now. Calling the local police had occurred to him as well, but he knew that they would do nothing and it would just embarrass Jim. Cursing quietly, he returned to pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, occasionally staring at the phone on the end table as if he could make Jim call him simply by an act of will.

An unknown time later, he was stopped in his tracks by a slight jingling sound at the door, then the sound of a key in the lock. Thank heavens, he thought, Jim's back. A grin split his face as he ran to the door and turned the handle. Pulling the door open, his smile died on his face.

"Oh my God…Jim…"

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

He gasped and took a step back reflexively at the sight before him. Ashen-faced and completely soaked, Jim stood wavering on his feet in the doorway. Blood oozed gently from several deep scrapes on the bruised left side of his face and jaw, running down his wet face and over his blue-tinged lips. His whole left side was muddy, his jacket and the knee of his slacks torn, and Blair could see bloody scrapes on his hands and on the elbow peeking out through the torn material. His body was wracked by violent shivers, threatening his already precarious balance.

Recovering quickly from his shock over Jim's appearance, Blair quickly stepped forward. Jim raised his head momentarily, meeting Blair's eyes with a hollow, haunted gaze before stumbling forward into Blair's arms.

Blair struggled to maintain his balance as Jim fell onto him, head landing on his shoulder, a dead weight against his chest. Sliding sideways and shifting his weight, he was able to slide Jim over more to the side and got his shoulder under one of Jim's arms, pulling his arm up and across his own shoulders firmly. He tried shuffling the two of them in the general direction of the sofa, fairly certain that there was no way that he could get Jim all the way into a bedroom.

"Come on, Jim, work with me here," he urged, desperately trying to keep from overbalancing the weight of the taller and heavier man. "Don’t pass out on me just yet."

He was rewarded with a slow shuffling of Jim's feet, just enough to help him keep moving in the right direction. Together, they lurched unsteadily into the living room and over to the sofa. Turning, Blair tried to lower Jim gently down onto the sofa but lost his grip on Jim's wet and muddy sleeve. Jim slumped down onto the sofa, his head falling against the back with a solid thump. His eyes closed with a moan.

"Oh, God, Jim, I'm sorry," Blair cried. He reached over and grabbed a small sofa pillow, carefully placing it on the back of the sofa as he carefully cradled Jim's head with the other hand. Gently letting Jim's head rest back against the pillow, he stood up in a near-panic, trying to decide what to do. "Jim, you're hurt. I'm going to call an ambulance…"

One hand raised from the sofa and brushed against his arm clumsily before falling limply back down.

"No…" Jim whispered.

"Jim, you're hurt, you're bleeding, man. I don't…" He was cut off by Jim's hoarse voice.

"No hospital."

"Oh, man…" He brushed his hair back from his face in frustration. As much as he would have preferred that Jim get checked out by a doctor, he was just relieved to have him back. "OK, Jim. Let me grab a few things and I'll be right back."

First walking over to the gas fireplace, he turned it up on high. Stopping next in the kitchen, he put a kettle of water on to boil. Glancing over at his partner, still draped limp and motionless on the sofa, he practically ran into the master suite.

Looking through Jim's clothes, he grabbed a t-shirt, boxers, socks and his toilet kit. He couldn't find anything dry for him to change into that wouldn't require a wrestling act to get on him, so he looked into the closets for something of Steven's that would do. He found a thick black robe hanging on the back of the closet door and grabbed it hurriedly. Jogging over to the master bathroom, he snagged a couple of the extra-large bath towels and washcloths before returning to the living room.

Dropping everything onto the coffee table, he took off his outer flannel shirt before sitting down beside Jim on the couch. The roaring fireplace was doing its trick, warming the room nicely. He started to remove Jim's dripping clothing.

"We've got to get these wet things off of you, man," he murmured, talking as much to reassure himself as he was to Jim. Jim opened his red-rimmed and bleary eyes for a moment, and Blair thought that he could see a trace of a smile as Jim mouthed the word "thanks" before closing his eyes again.

Blair got an arm behind Jim's back and carefully pulled him forward with one hand while he worked on getting Jim's arms out of his torn jacket. Once Jim was moving forward his momentum carried him right into Blair, who shifted slightly so that Jim's unbruised cheek lolled against his shoulder. Slumped against him, Blair could feel how icy his pale skin was and the vigorous shivering throughout Jim's body. He was certain that Jim had some degree of hypothermia, and hoped that he could get him warmed up in time before it became more serious.

Finally getting the jacket and shirt off, Blair reached over and grabbed one of the towels. He gently dried Jim's head, shoulders and back before dropping the towel and easing Jim back onto the sofa with both hands. Picking up the towel again, he dried Jim's chest and arms, towelling extra carefully the areas around his scraped and raw skin. Grimacing at the mud and blood on the towel, he stood and went into the kitchen. He found a large bowl and filled it with warm water, then went searching for first aid items in the pantry and medicine cabinets. He returned and set the bowl and supplies on the coffee table.

"You doing all right, Jim?" He was unnerved at how limp, silent and pale his partner was, although reassured by his even breathing.

"Hmmm…" was all he got in reply, along with a slight nod

"Good. I've gotta clean up these scrapes, Jim. This is probably going to hurt. Try to turn down your sense of touch for a little while, all right?"

He didn't receive a reply, but he went ahead anyway. Getting Jim's soap from his toilet kit, he proceeded to soap up a washcloth and wash the scraped areas on Jim's face, arm and hand. None of the cuts were deep, and some looked like the bleeding was already slowing or stopping. Jim flinched occasionally, that and a catch in his breath the only signs that he was even conscious. The worst ones were on his hand and elbow, so he carefully bandaged them from the first aid kit. The scrapes on his face seemed to be covering a fairly large bruise that was growing darker by the minute, and he did feel a wince or two from Jim as he cleaned there.

"Sorry about that, man. It doesn't look too bad, though," he lied. Finished with the bandages, he slid the t-shirt over Jim's arms and head and pulled it down into place. Now for the hard part.

"Okay, Jim, we've gotta get these wet pants off, too. I could use some cooperation here."

Untying Jim's shoes and removing them and the muddy socks, he tossed them onto the pile of Jim's wet and dirty clothing. Reaching up, he unfastened Jim's waistband and unzipped his pants, feeling more than a little foolish at undressing a grown man. He grabbed the clean towel and draped it across Jim's lap.

"Okay, here we go. Jim, I could really use your help here. I need you to raise your hips so I can get these off of you. Any time now, man." Slowly Jim pressed his back into the sofa and raised his hips slightly, and Blair yanked his soggy pants down, boxers and all. Throwing them to the side, he sheepishly did the best he could drying Jim off, leaving the towel in place when done. He grabbed the clean boxers and levered them up Jim's legs, and was grateful when Jim raised shaky arms and pulled them into place, slumping back into the sofa with a sigh and a hoarse cough.

"Great, great. Almost done, Jim." He proceeded to clean up Jim's scraped knee, then slide a pair of white socks into place. As he finished he was glad to see that a hint of color was returning to Jim's pale face, his lips becoming less blue, and the violent shivers had subsided to more subtle tremors. Pulling the robe from the coffee table, he placed it around Jim's shoulders and body as best he could. "There you go, that's better. I'll be right back." He returned to the master suite, grabbing a blanket from the linen closet, and brought it out and spread it across Jim's lap and legs.

"All right, that's done. Now I'm gonna get you something hot to drink." He rose and went into the kitchen, pulling the kettle off of the burner as it hissed loudly. Searching through the pantry, he located some hot chocolate mix and made a cup, testing it with his hand to make sure that it wasn't hot enough to burn Jim's cold lips. Returning to the living room, he was surprised and pleased to see that Jim's eyes were open and watching him as he came to his side and sat down.

"Hey, glad you're back, man. Here, drink some of this. It'll warm you up." He held the cup up. Jim slowly raised a hand, placing it over Blair's and giving a gentle squeeze, before taking the cup away from him and using both trembling hands to raise it to his lips. He sipped carefully at first, then slowly drank the entire cup in a few swallows. Setting the empty cup down on the coffee table, he slumped tiredly back into the sofa with a yawn.

Blair quickly took the hint. "Jim, I really want to know what happened to you, but right now you need to rest. You still look like hell. Why don't you stretch out on the sofa for a little while?"

Jim nodded and slowly began to slide down towards the end of the sofa. Blair moved a couple of pillows to that end, easing them under Jim's head, then grabbed Jim's legs and helped swing them up onto the seat at the other end. He spread the blanket over him and stepped back. Jim's eyes were already closed and Blair thought that he could hear his breathing slow as he quickly succumbed to sleep. Smiling in relief, Blair tucked the blanket securely around his exhausted friend.

"We are still going to talk, man, you can count on it." He grabbed the pile of damp and filthy clothing and carried it back into the laundry room, leaving it on the floor, then returned to the living room. Jim was snoring gently on the sofa. Blair was sweating, so he turned down the fireplace before getting a book from his room and settling into one of the overstuffed chairs to watch over his friend as he slept.

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

A familiar sound gradually seeped into his consciousness and he opened his eyes. It took a moment to remember where he was, the room unfamiliar around him. Sitting up, the book on his chest sliding to his lap with the movement, he suddenly remembered where he was. Steven's apartment, in Spokane, with Jim…

He looked over to the sofa to check on his partner, and was startled to find only a blanket lying there. Wondering how long he had slept, he glanced at the mantel clock. Only an hour and a half had passed. He stood up stiffly and looked around. Glancing into the kitchen, he saw Jim leaving the room slowly with a bottle of beer in his hand, walking towards the other end of the living room. Blair was pleased to see Jim up and about, seemingly recovered from the cold.

Jim walked over to the far sofa and sat down, an old black and white movie showing on the TV in front of him. Blair stretched stiff muscles, then went over and sat on the arm of the sofa by him.

"Hey, man, how are you doing? How are you feeling?" He reached over to lay his hand on Jim's forehead to check for a fever. His hand was swatted away.

"I'm fine," was the terse reply.

"Good, good. What happened to you, Jim? You looked like you'd been run over by a truck or something."

"Nothing. I fell. I'm fine." Jim stared at the TV screen and drank his beer.

Blair watched Jim and the movie for a few minutes, then rubbed his forehead in frustration. "Come on, Jim. You were gone for hours, you come back in half drowned and bleeding, and I'm supposed to think you're fine?"

Jim downed the rest of his beer and stood up, heading towards the kitchen. "Think what you want, Chief." He set the bottle down on the counter, joining another empty bottle sitting there. He walked over and opened the refrigerator door, grabbing another bottle.

Blair followed him into the kitchen, noting the empties on the counter. "Hey, Jim, you're recovering from hypothermia. I don't think that alcohol is such a good idea right now…"

Jim swung around in anger, throwing his arms up. "Leave it alone, Sandburg!" He turned to stalk out of the kitchen.

Blair was stunned by Jim's outburst, even as he saw Jim's outstretched hand strike one of the empty bottles and send it flying. Without thinking, he reached out to try to catch the bottle before it struck the side of the sink. Unfortunately, he caught the bottle just after it struck and shattered.

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

Jim was halfway out of the kitchen when he registered the crash of the glass breaking and Blair's gasp. Automatically slowing his stride, he came to a halt when his sensitive nose picked up the scent of blood mixed with alcohol. He turned to see what had happened.

Blair was standing in front of the sink, his back to him. He walked over to his side to find him staring down at his hands, his face bloodless. Blair was holding his left hand over the sink, his right hand gripping his left forearm tightly. Blood was dripping from several cuts in his left palm and fingers, several of which had slivers or chunks of brown glass imbedded in them.

"Oh Blair…" Jim gasped. Blair didn't respond, staring at his blood flowing down the drain through the remnants of the broken bottle. The sight of Blair's blood shocked Jim into action. He grabbed a kitchen towel and held it under Blair's hand then pulled him over to the table and pressed him down into a chair, carefully resting his hand on the table. "Oh God, I'm sorry…I'll be right back."

Jim ran over to pick up the first aid supplies that were still sitting on the coffee table and brought them back into the kitchen. Digging through the kit, he found the tweezers.

"Hold on, Blair. Before I can clean these up, I've gotta get the glass out. Try to hold still." Blair nodded and closed his eyes, gripping his forearm even more tightly. Jim pulled a chair up beside him and then grasped his hand carefully, proceeding to pick the pieces of glass out of the cuts one by one. He glanced occasionally up at Blair's pale face, noting the perspiration breaking out on his forehead from the pain. Hearing the occasional gasp and the increasingly rapid pace of Blair's breathing and heartbeat, he stopped and put a hand on Blair's shaking shoulder. "Blair, are you all right?"

Blair took a couple of deep breaths and opened watery eyes, looking up to meet Jim's. "Are you done?" he said hopefully.

"Almost, Chief, almost."

"Just finish, man," he groaned and closed his eyes once again.

Jim went back to his task, pulling out the last fine slivers of glass, using his heightened eyesight to be certain that none remained in Blair's skin. Finally finished, he set the tweezers down and grasped Blair's arm.

"OK, I think that's it. Come on, Blair, I need you to come over to the sink so we can wash those off." Picking up the now blood-soaked towel from the table and holding it under Blair's hands, he grasped his upper arm firmly and helped him up from the chair. Walking over to the sink, he turned the faucets on and adjusted the temperature. Grasping Blair's forearm, he prepared to push it under the flow of the water. "This is gonna hurt like hell, Chief, but we've gotta wash those cuts out. Ready?"

Blair groaned. "No. Just do it, man." He grabbed on to the edge of the sink with his uninjured hand and braced himself for the onslaught.

Taking a deep breath and placing his free hand on Blair's back, Jim pushed the bloody hand under the flow of the water. Immediately Blair's body became rigid and he gasped once before taking in a deep breath and holding it. He wavered on his feet for a moment, and Jim moved close behind him, wrapping his arm around his back. Holding Blair's hand under the water for just another moment, he scanned it carefully to be sure that all of the wounds were clean before pulling it back out of the flow.

"All done, Chief. You can breathe now." The rigidity of Blair's body slowly subsided as he resumed breathing, and Jim grasped him firmly around his back as he started to slump. "Whoa, hang on. Let's sit you down."

He guided Blair back over to the table and slid him onto a chair. Blair slumped in the chair, his eyes closed once again, his breathing gradually becoming more regular. Jim looked him over quickly before jogging into the other room and grabbing some towels and bringing them back to the table. He began drying and bandaging the wounds with exquisite care.

Almost thirty minutes and a pile of gauze later he frowned as he worked on the last of the cuts on Blair's palm. "This one's pretty big. Maybe we should get you to the emergency room, you may need stitches here."

"Forget it, man. No emergency room. It doesn't look that bad, just put a couple of butterflies on it, it'll be fine."

"I don't know, Chief, it's still bleeding. Why don't I throw some clothes on and we'll…"

"No way. Just wrap it up, Jim."

"But Blair…"

"Jim, if you're not going to, I will." Blair began to reach for the kit with his good hand, and Jim gave in.

"All right, all right. Hold still." He put two butterfly bandages over the cut, covered it with a gauze pad, and then carefully taped it into place. Looking over Blair's hand to make sure that he hadn't missed anything, he winced at the patchwork of bandages and scrapes. Picking up a final roll of gauze, he carefully wrapped Blair's entire hand from fingertips to wrist, taping the end gently in place. He released the hand with a sigh.

Blair groaned in relief that it was over, gently flexing his injured hand and checking out Jim's handiwork.

"Looks great, Jim. Thanks." He looked up gratefully.

Jim started cleaning up the bloody mess from the table, avoiding Blair's look.

"I'm so sorry, Chief. I didn't mean to hurt you." He swept up the towels and gauze and dumped the load into a trash can.

"Jim, that's all right. It was an accident."

He closed up the first aid kit and returned it to the pantry, then hurried back to the kitchen and began picking the pieces of the broken bottle out of the sink. Finishing there, he started briskly wiping off the table.

"I still think you should have a doctor look at that. And you should probably get a tetanus shot, when was your last tetanus shot? Oh, and let me get you some aspirin." He rushed into the master suite and got a bottle of aspirin from the medicine cabinet before returning to the kitchen. Searching through the cabinets, he found a glass and filled it with water, turning and setting it down before Blair. He shook a couple of tablets out of the bottle and dropped them into Blair's hand. "Are you sure that you're warm enough? Let me grab you a sweater…"

His frenetic activity was stopped by Blair's hand on his arm. He froze at the contact.

"Jim, I'm all right. It was an accident, man."

"I'm sorry, Blair. I'm so sorry."

"Jim, I know you didn't do it on purpose. I'm fine. Forget about it."

"I'm sorry…"

"Jim…" Blair stood directly in Jim's line of vision. "Jim, I'm fine. Come on, let's go and get warm in front of that fire."

They walked over and sat on the sofa, Blair grabbing the flannel shirt that he had earlier discarded. Jim winced at the involuntary gasp Blair made as he eased his injured hand through the sleeve.

"God, Blair…I'm sorry." Blair knew that Jim was not just apologizing to him for a few cuts on his hand.

"Jim, stop it. Don't beat yourself up over it. I know you're sorry. I’m good. We’re good." He sat down beside him and put his good hand on his arm. Jim looked up ruefully into his eyes, and saw none of the expected recrimination there. All he saw was friendship and compassion. "And…Jim…I'm sorry, too. About your mom and everything."

The warm and caring tone in Blair's voice, added to his emotional and physical exhaustion, finally pierced the cracks in the emotional wall that Jim had thrown up. Jim leaned forward and covered his face with his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. He could feel his eyes becoming moist and his breathing becoming ragged as he struggled to contain the emotions surging up within him. All of the stress and tension, the anticipation and the disappointment, the hope and the grief of the last two days overtook him as he began shaking with the effort of keeping it dammed up within.

He didn't have a chance when Blair scooted over to sit beside him, lightly rubbing his back in a soothing rhythm.

"Let it go, man. Let it go." Despite his best efforts to resist, Blair's supportive presence was too much.

The dam burst with a sob.

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

Blair pulled the blankets up and over Jim and turned to leave the room. Pausing at the door for a last look, he smiled and turned off the bedroom light, then closed the door softly behind him as he left.

It had been a very long night. Once Jim's emotional floodgates had burst, they had spent hours sitting and talking. Jim shared more than he ever had about his childhood and his family, and how the loss of his mother had affected him. He told Blair, with both laughter and tears, stories of his mother and his youth. He told of his grief and confusion when she left, and his undiminished hope that he would see her again. Blair had no difficulty picturing the young Jim, desperately missing his mother, unable to understand why she left and never contacted them again. He could see the love and longing that had never left him, and how difficult it had been for him to grow up without his mom.

Blair had mostly listened, occasionally chiming in with a short story about his own childhood when Jim seemed to need it, sharing the laughter and tears, pizza and beer. He ached at the pain in Jim's voice as he related the fantasies that he had built up around her and when he would see her again someday, fantasies that had been shattered upon meeting Grace Collins. He saw in the grieving Jim echoes of that sad and lonely little boy and the death of those dreams, and Blair grieved with him for his losses. They ate, drank and talked until the early hours of the morning, until Jim grew hoarse and exhausted from the much-needed release of his pent-up emotions.

Barely able to stay awake, Jim had eventually allowed Blair to help him up and steer him towards the master bedroom. Jim had been stiff and limping slightly, and Blair finally got him to tell how he had been injured. He had been practically blinded and deafened by a nearby lightning strike as he had been crossing a street, out of control of his senses at the time, and had stumbled into the path of an oncoming car. The car had only sideswiped him, but it had knocked him into a culvert alongside the road where he had received most of his bruises and scrapes. Blair sent a quick prayer to the heavens for the driver of that car, whoever it was, that had managed to avoid a more serious collision with his partner.

Jim now safely in bed and finally resting, Blair shuffled tiredly through the apartment, turning off lights on his way. Passing through the living room, he ignored the mess that they had left on the coffee table, promising himself that he would clean it up in the morning before Jim got up. He was fairly certain that he would be up first, since Jim had taken care of the lion's share of the beer and hadn’t slept in two days. Finally reaching the guest bedroom, he left a trail of clothing on the floor leading to the bed. Reaching to turn out the light as he fell into the bed, he barely had time to pull up the covers before he succumbed to sleep himself.

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

The irresistible combination of bright sunlight streaming through the window and the tantalizing fragrance of coffee teased him from his sleep. He rolled over and dug out from under the covers to squint at the alarm clock on the bedside stand, and was surprised to see that it was midmorning. So much for being the first out of bed. He groaned and levered himself to a sitting position, wincing when he put too much pressure on his bandaged hand. The nagging discomfort reminded him of the previous evening's events, and he wasted no time in tugging his sweatpants on and heading for the kitchen.

Rubbing his bleary eyes, he was surprised to see Jim in the kitchen, finishing up the dishes from the previous night. Jim had obviously been up for some time, as the coffee table had been cleared and there was a bakery box with fresh croissants on the table. He turned as he heard Blair coming from the bedroom.

"Morning, Chief. Are eggs okay? I just started a fresh pot of coffee, it'll be done in a few minutes."

Far from being hung over, as Blair had expected, Jim looked more bright-eyed and energetic than he had for a couple of days. Only a trace of dark circles under his eyes told of the stress of the last few days. Blair was glad to see that the usual glint of good humor had returned to his eyes, and relieved that the catharsis of the previous night had obviously done him a world of good.

"Yeah, eggs are good, Jim. But first, lead me to the coffee." He walked over and pulled up a chair at the table, rubbing his bleary eyes.

Jim chuckled and poured him a cup, carefully managing the cup and pot with his bandaged hand, and brought the cup over and sat it on the table. Blair grasped it carefully with both hands and sipped gratefully, setting it down with a sigh after a few sips. Jim walked over and picked up his bandaged hand and examined it carefully.

"How’s the hand this morning?"

"It’s fine. Just a little stiff. How are you this morning?"

Jim put Blair’s hand down, then rested a hand on his shoulder for a moment.

"I’m good. Thanks." A quick smile of understanding was shared between them before Jim broke it off and returned to the kitchen.

Blair polished off the rest of his coffee, then looked at some papers and Jim’s notebook open on the nearby desk as Jim started the eggs. "It looks like you’ve been busy. What’s up?"

Jim scraped the eggs onto two plates and brought them to the table. He refilled both of their cups before sitting down.

"I was looking at the copy of the police report from the Spokane PD. I decided to call and make an appointment with Thomas to discuss the details of the case and his plans for the defense. He also arranged for us to meet with a social worker at the rehabilitation center where she recovered after the accident, to get more information about her condition. We’ve got an appointment there in an hour."

Blair grabbed a croissant and they dug into the breakfast, hurrying to be sure to get to the cross-town appointment on time. After a fifteen minute wait in the utilitarian waiting room, they were met by the smiling social worker.

An hour later, both men were practically reeling from an overload of information, trying to grasp the medical details as best they could. The bottom line seemed to be that the doctors had considered Grace to have made a remarkable recovery, considering the severity of her head injury. Other than a seizure disorder caused by the injury, which was well-controlled by medication, they had felt that she was in good overall health at all of her followup visits.

The social worker also made it clear, with obvious efforts to soften the impact of the information, that the other consequences of the head injury were permanent. Her memory problems, her personality changes, her problems with judgment and decision-making, her ataxic gait were all permanent, the result of losing pieces of her brain to necessary surgery and damage to some of the remaining brain tissue. She had undergone extensive treatment and therapy, but she had achieved as much improvement as she was likely to long ago.

Jim accepted the news soberly, asking questions when he could. The social worker finished by giving them a pile of references and literature, and information on programs and support groups for families of persons with traumatic brain injuries, or TBI's as she called them. She finally explained that she had another appointment and escorted them to the door, offering to meet with them again if she could be of any further assistance. They walked back to the truck, both lost in thought, and headed for the next appointment. As they drove, Blair asked the question that had been on his mind.

"So what are you going to do, Jim?"

Looking out of the window for a moment and rubbing the bridge of his nose, Jim sighed.

"Well, after we meet with Thomas to get a better grip on her legal standing, I’m gonna call Steven and my father and tell them."

"That's gonna be tough."

"Yeah, it is..." Jim stared through the windshield, a faraway look in his eyes. Blair didn't envy him the task of informing his family about Grace's condition and legal situation.

"And after that?"

"I don’t know, Chief, I don't know."

The appointment with Grace's attorney went well. There was definite evidence that Grace had done some bookkeeping and clerical work for her husband, but proving that she was aware of and involved in the prostitution and gambling business itself would be a tough task for the prosecution. The fact that she also had legal protection against testifying against her husband helped her as well. Thomas believed that the lack of evidence, along with the evidence of her mental limitations due to the accident, would likely get her off with a period of probation. That was his legal goal for the case.

They also talked about Thomas' ongoing relationship with Grace. Jim discovered that he had a legal Power of Attorney that enabled him to act for her in certain legal situations, and that in fact he had helped her numerous times over the years since he had first been assigned her case as a Public Defender. Thomas helped fill in some of the time that had passed since then, and Jim and Blair found themselves growing to like the attorney. He had clearly gone above and beyond the call of duty to look out for her best interests more than once over the years.

Before leaving, they planned for another meeting with Grace at her home. Thomas seemed pleased that Jim wanted to see his mother again, even after the shock of discovering that she did not recognize him as her son. They talked about their visit to the rehabilitation center, and Thomas encouraged them to read the materials they had received before meeting with Grace again. As difficult as it all had been, Jim seemed to leave with a lighter heart, pleased that there had been someone looking out for his mother.

Returning to the apartment, Blair fixed them a late lunch and they both read the TBI materials as they ate. After finishing lunch and clearing up the kitchen, Jim walked over and picked up the desk phone with a sigh.

"Well, now's as good a time as any." He started to dial his brother's office.

"Oh...uh, look, if you’d like some privacy..." Blair stood and prepared to leave.

Jim waved him back down. "No, stay. I could use the moral support."

He was unable to reach his brother Steven, discovering from his assistant that he was traveling on the East Coast and could not be reached until he checked in to his hotel later in the evening. Taking a deep breath, he dialed his father in Cascade. His father picked up after a couple of rings, and Blair pointedly studied the rehabilitation center's materials between concerned glances as he tried to look like he was not listening to Jim's conversation with his father.

"Dad, it's Jim……I'm fine. Dad, I didn't call just to chat. I need to tell you something……Yes, it's important. I'm over in Spokane, and…Dad…I've found Mom. She's remarried and living here, and…"

Blair looked up in concern as Jim suddenly stopped his pacing and turned to face him, a stunned expression on his suddenly pale face. His voice was high and tight with tension when he spoke into the receiver.

"You…you knew?"

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

"When……and you didn't bother to tell me? What……?"

He resumed pacing, now striding quickly back and forth across the room. Blair could see that Jim's eyes were slitted in anger and his fist clenched and unclenched as he listened to his father over the phone.

"…and you just never saw her again? How could you……No, you're right, I don't understand……oh, you decided. YOU decided for ME……No, I don't understand, I'll never understand you……Well, as you've undoubtedly noticed, I'm not you. I can't just walk away, I won't……Fine. Goodbye."

Jim slammed the phone down in its cradle. He continued pacing for a moment, then paused to stare out of the window, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. Taking a few moments to let his breathing and pulse slow down, he finally walked into the kitchen and leaned against the counter.

"I don't believe it. He knew! He knew, and didn't bother to tell me."

"When did he find out?"

"Soon after her accident, the hospital tracked him down as next of kin. He found out how seriously she was injured, and decided not to tell us because they didn't know if she would survive. At least that's what he said."

"And when she did survive…?"

"He said that, when he found out that she was permanently brain damaged, that he wanted to protect us from seeing her like that. Protect us…" He shook his head in disgust. "…and it was too hard for him to see her like that, so once she was placed in a group home for people with disabilities and had a Social Security disability check coming to her, he walked away and never looked back. How could he…"

Blair shook his head as well, also finding it hard to understand how William Ellison could have abandoned his ex-wife, and not told his sons about their mother. He knew that Jim was not close to his father, but even at that…

"Sorry, man," he said sympathetically.

"All this time, if I would have known…" Jim resumed pacing, rubbing his hand over his head. "Maybe things would have been different for her, maybe I could have brought her to Cascade, I could have saved her…"

"Saved her? Jim, you don't know that. You don't know how things would have turned out, even if you did know. Maybe you could have saved her from being on the streets, maybe not. She's still an adult, still makes her own choices, even if those choices aren't necessarily good ones." He stood and walked over to Jim's side. "Jim, I know you're angry, but you know now. Now you have the chance to make a choice about this."

Jim stopped his pacing and turned to him. "A choice? What choice?"

"Whether you want to stay in touch with your mom. Whether you want to remake a relationship with her, even if she doesn't recognize you as her son."

"You're wrong, Chief. There's no choice to be made." Blair could see the anguish in his eyes and heard the wistful sadness in his voice as Jim walked over and sat heavily at the table. "She's my mom…"

Blair rested a supportive hand briefly on Jim's shoulder as he walked by and then joined him at the table. They returned to reading through the pile of literature, learning everything they could about traumatic brain injuries.

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

Jim grinned despite himself at watching Blair in action, never able to resist sharing a totally irrelevant piece of information at the drop of a hat. He watched him walk off with Grace through the garden, leaving him and Thomas sitting at the table sipping tea and enjoying the sunshine.

They had come to see Grace again, and had been chatting over tea when Grace decided that she wanted to show them her garden. Thomas had begged off, saying that he thought her flowers were beautiful but that he wanted to talk with Jim for a moment. Blair had taken the hint and had gallantly taken Grace's arm and begged for a tour. He had also spotted some interesting statuary and proceeded to regale her with a story about the origins of a particular mythological figure represented there. Thomas was smiling as well.

"Your friend Blair is quite a charmer. Grace seems quite taken with him, with both of you, as a matter of fact. I'm glad."

"Me, too, Jack. What did you want to talk about?"

Thomas' expression became more serious. "Please excuse me if this is too personal, but I'd like to know what your intentions are regarding Grace."

"My intentions?" Thomas sounded as if he was grilling a potential suitor for his daughter.

"What I mean is, are you planning on staying in touch with her? Being a part of her life?" He cleared his throat. "It may not be my place, but as I said before, I'm fond of Grace. As both her friend and her attorney, I just don't want her to be hurt anymore, if there is anything I can do about it."

Jim sat thoughtfully for a moment as he considered his response.

"I know that she can't remember me or her old life, and I'm trying to accept that. I know that she has a different life now, and she seems happy here. I guess what I mean to say is yes, I want to be a part of her life. If not as her son, then I hope as her friend. On whatever terms are best for her."

Thomas seemed deeply relieved. "I can't tell you how happy I am to hear that, Jim. Grace is already fond of you and your young friend, and she can certainly use some stable friends right now, with her trial and the trial of her husband coming up. And to be honest, I was hoping to find a relative or someone who would be willing to help out with some of her, uh, special needs."

"What do you mean by "special needs"?"

"Well, I've had her Power of Attorney for some time, to help her out with some financial and legal matters that she isn't capable of handling successfully on her own. I've been surprised that her husband hasn't wanted to change that, but whatever else he is, he has a soft spot when it comes to Grace. I would like her to have another person designated as well, and I can't imagine a better person to help look out for her interests than her son, who also happens to be a cop. It wouldn't mean a lot of time or effort on your part, but it would help me out and of course, would help Grace a great deal."

"Say no more, I'd be happy to. Just let me know what I need to do."

"Well, we'll have to see what Grace thinks about it, but I don't think she'll object. We'll schedule some time to meet in my office and go over the details. There's no hurry, but I did want to broach the subject with you so you could think about it."

"There's nothing to think about. Just let me know when you'd like to meet."

They were interrupted by the return of Grace and Blair. Grace seemed even more unsteady on her feet than usual, and Blair had noticed her becoming tired and managed to steer them back towards the table. He helped her into her seat and took his own next to Jim.

"Jim, you'll have to take a better look at Grace's garden. It's beautiful. I was getting thirsty, though," he said diplomatically, "so I thought we'd rejoin you two for some more tea."

Grace chuckled and patted Blair's arm softly. "You're such a nice young man, Blair. I just don't have the energy I used to, I'm afraid. Maybe I can show you my garden another time, James."

"I'd like that very much."

They sipped tea and chatted for another half an hour. Grace was curious about Blair and Jim, and they told her something about themselves and found out more about her life and interests as well. Finally, they all could see that Grace was becoming tired. They stood and told her that they had to go, with promises to visit again, and she insisted on walking them to the door. Thomas excused himself and left, and Blair and Jim each took her hand as they said their goodbyes. Jim impulsively kissed her softly on one cheek as she released his hand, and she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"James, I hope you'll come again soon. I've so enjoyed having you and Blair come to visit. You're such a nice young man, a police officer at that. Your mother must be so proud."

He felt a lump growing in his throat, and he had to swallow before he could reply.

"I like to think that she would be." He gently disengaged himself. "Thank you, Grace. I'll see you again soon." He walked out of the door and pulled it closed behind him, joining Blair and heading for the truck.

Before they made it to the truck, a black Mercedes swept up the drive and pulled up to park in front of the door. They started to walk around it to get to the truck but were interrupted by the car's driver.

"Hold on a minute."

The driver climbed out and walked over to meet them. He was a tall, stocky man, blond hair graying at the temples, and a no-nonsense expression that suggested that this was a man used to getting his own way. He stopped in front of them and looked them up and down, a disdainful expression growing as their casual attire obviously didn't measure up to the standard of his beautifully tailored Italian suit.

"And you are..?" he demanded.

Jim replied in a deceptively casual tone, his immediate reaction to the man one that set off red flags in the back of his mind.

"James Ellison and Blair Sandburg. And you are?"

The man looked at him in disbelief. "I'm Tommy Collins. Ellison, Ellison…ah, you're the son that Thomas told me about. The cop."

"That's right. I came to visit my mother. We were just leaving." Jim began to turn away when Collins grabbed his arm. He turned slowly to face him. "Yes?"

"Look, Ellison, I don't want you to come trying to pry information out of her to use against me. Believe me, she's innocent. She doesn't know anything. Leave her alone."

Jim carefully picked Collins' hand off of his arm and responded in an icy voice. "I'm not involved in your case, or her case, as a matter of fact. I just came to spend time with my mother."

"Look, Ellison, I don't give a damn what you think of me, but I love your mother. I don't want you coming here and upsetting her."

"I don't think I've upset her. She asked me to visit again, and I plan to. That's between me and my mother, it's got nothing to do with you. So if you'll excuse me…" He turned and walked to the truck, Blair quickly following suit. Collins stood glaring at them as they drove away.

He focused on the road as he heard Blair draw in and release a deep breath.

"Wow. So that's Collins. I don't know why, but he made my skin crawl. Like he'd have no problem leaving a horse's head in your bed, you know?"

"Yeah, he had all of my alarms going off, too. He may have treated my mother well, but he smells like bad news to me. I think I'll plan to visit Grace when he's not around from now on."

"Sounds like a plan. Hey, Jim…what do you think will happen with her if he is convicted and sent to prison?"

Blair had just voiced one of his nagging concerns. "I don't know, Chief. We'll just have to see what happens. I know that Thomas will be doing everything he can, though, to protect her. And so will I."

They were both deep in thought as they made their way across town and back to the apartment.

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

Epilogue -- Three months later

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

"Well, I think that just about takes care of it." Thomas slid the papers back across his desk and into the thick folder. He handed it to his assistant, who picked up a couple more folders and left the room. "She'll notarize them, then we'll be all set. She make a set of copies for you before you go."

Jim sat back with a sigh. He hated all of this legal stuff, and was very glad to have it over with. Now he was listed as Grace's next of kin and as her Power of Attorney, along with Thomas.

It had been a hard few months for Grace, and he had done the best he could to support her through it. Tommy Collins had made a huge deal with the federal prosecutor to avoid trial, agreeing to testify and provide records against a number of important figures in organized crime in the Northwest, in exchange for the Witness Protection Program. With his deal, the prosecution against Grace had been dropped. Tommy had also made another deal before filing divorce papers, arranging that the half of his wealth that would go to Grace with the divorce wouldn't be touched by the government. The rest would be appropriated under the RICO statutes.

Grace hadn't seemed to understand the divorce proceedings, but did understand that Tommy had to go away for a long time. She seemed to be sad but not devastated, for which Jim was grateful. He had talked with her about the possibility of moving to Cascade, but she was definite that she wanted to stay in her house and for things to stay the way they were. So he and Thomas had set out to make it happen.

They had hired an accountant for her to oversee her routine expenses, and a financial advisor to manage her investments. The housekeeper, Martha, had agreed to move in so that there would be someone there all of the time. They had arranged, through the local TBI support group, for someone to check in with her a couple of times a week to see how she was doing and if she needed any assistance. Jim had met some of her friends since her husband had gone into hiding, friends that she had met through her husband, and was pleased to hear from several of them that they intended to stay in touch with and watch out for her. He wasn't surprised that many of her husband's friends had become fond of her, she had a way of quickly winning people over.

He had visited her about every other weekend. Although she never was able to make the connection that he was her son, she welcomed him into her life as a friend. They were beginning to develop a close relationship, and Jim was learning to accept and appreciate her as she was now. Despite occasional twinges of regret at the time he had lost with her, he was grateful at this second chance for their relationship. He had talked with his brother, Steven, who had visited Grace once, but she had not recognized him as her son, either. Steven had decided that he didn't want to be involved with her on an ongoing basis. Much like his father, Jim didn't understand his brother very well, either.

A knock interrupted his musings, and Blair stuck his head in.

"Hi, guys. Am I interrupting anything?"

"No, you're just in time, Chief. We're just finishing up here."

"Good, I'm starved. What's up for lunch?"

"Well, I have a date with a beautiful woman. I was just planning to pick up some flowers for her on the way."

"Ah," Blair grinned. "Lunch with mom again, huh?"

"You got it. You're invited, of course."

"Great. Maybe the cook's daughter will be there this afternoon."

"Hey, you behave yourself when you're at my mom's house, you got that?"

"Jim, I would never do anything to embarrass you in front of your mom. Other than share a few, um, personal stories now and again."

"Watch it, Junior. It's a long walk back to Cascade, you know."

He stood up, shaking Thomas' hand and turning towards the door, shoving Blair playfully through the doorway and into the hall. He stopped as Thomas called out to him.

"Jim…thanks for everything. Your mother's a lucky woman to have a son like you."

Jim smiled but shook his head.

"No, I'm the lucky one."