New
Arrivals
Author-Ice Bear
Titles
Grace's Child
by Ice Bear
Summary: Jim learns something about his mother while attending an FBI seminar.
Disclaimer: All things Sentinel belong to Pet Fly and Paramount.
Chris Michaels, the FBI Special Agent in Charge of the West Coast regional office, couldn’t stop watching as the mismatched pair talked about David Lash, a notorious serial killer they’d brought down in Cascade, WA. His green eyes focused on the older of the two. Detective James Ellison, a former covert ops Army Ranger was, according to his record, a hell of a cop. And he looked the part - tall at just over 6 feet, stone wall face, iron jaw, a lean, muscular body, and ice blue eyes. Yeah, Ellison was the kind of man you wanted watching your back when things went to hell. And he was about the right age, Michaels mused, I wonder if he knows…
The session ended, and Michaels’ caught the younger member of the duo, Sandburg, a civilian observer, flashing a brilliant smile upwards and was surprised to see it returned – transforming Ellison’s face for that single moment. He shook his head and headed over. “Ellison, Michaels, FBI.” He watched with some satisfaction as the other man tensed.
“My partner, Blair Sandburg,” he introduced, a hand resting lightly on the smaller man’s shoulder.
Michaels nodded and got straight to his point. “Were you born in Cascade, Ellison?”
The question put him off balance, but he nodded. “Born and raised,” he responded, his hand tightening slightly on his partner. “That a problem?” He challenged, blue eyes intent on the SAC.
“Nope,” Michaels responded before walking off.
“What the hell was that all about?” Blair asked; confusion written across his face.
“No clue, Chief,” his partner responded, following the agent’s progress across the room. “But then again, he is a fed, and when was the last time one of them made sense?”
“Good point, man. Hey, think there’s time to grab a bite before the next session?”
^^^^^
Later that afternoon, they took the last two seats at the end of one of the long tables set up for the seminar. Blair immediately engaged the officer next to him, while Jim checked the room out of habit. His gaze focused on Michaels, who turned away when he realized he’d been caught observing the Cascade detective. A sense of unease prickled through Jim as he continued his visual sweep. Why the fed was interested in him, bothered him – a lot.
The lecture began and the room settled. Twenty minutes into the session, one of the profilers from Quantico started discussing the 11 victims of the Slasher, a serial killer from the late 60s-early 70s who had never been caught. Blair turned to ask his partner a question, but Jim was staring - unseeing - at the faces on the screen behind the profiler. Blair cast a quick glance at the screen, saw nothing warranting the reaction, and returned his full attention to the man beside him.
“Jim?” He whispered, afraid his partner might have zoned. His question was accompanied by a warm hand between the tense shoulder blades.
“No!” Jim’s tortured whisper barely reached his Guide’s ears, “God, no.” Then he bolted.
Blair followed him, entering the men’s room in time to hear him lose his lunch. “Jim?” Sounds of retching continued. “Jim, what’s going on, man?” He asked softly when the older man finally exited the stall. He scanned the face that was as familiar to him as his own. “Jim, are you okay?”
“She’s dead, Blair, oh my god, she’s dead.” He choked out.
“Who, Jim? Who’s dead?”
“My mother…”
“Jim, what the hell are you talking about?” He was in the older man’s personal space, hands on either side of his pale face.
“The Slasher’s ninth victim.”
The two men stared at each other. “Jesus,” Blair finally blurted out. Jim’s mother had left the family when his partner was only eight. His father had not allowed his two sons to talk about her; going so far as to forbid her name from being mentioned. Blair clamped down on his rampaging thoughts as Jim shook loose from his hold and moved to the sink.
The detective splashed water on his face with shaky hands before rinsing out his mouth. In the time this took, Blair made a decision. “We’re going home. I’ll go get our stuff and you wait for me in the hall, okay?” Jim was still leaning heavily over the sink. “Come on, Big Guy, let’s get out of here.”
They proceeded with their plan and were almost to the truck when Agent Michaels called out. “Ellison!”
Jim turned slowly, his entire body shaking; fists clenched tightly. “You knew didn’t you?” He accused. “You son of a bitch, you knew,” he hissed before pivoting and walking away.
“You knew?” Blair demanded, torn between going to his partner and getting a better handle on the situation.
“I knew the victims profiles. I didn’t realize he didn’t know.”
“So what? You thought it’d be fun to ambush him in front of 130 cops?” Blair’s rage was growing.
“No! Look, Sandburg, I don’t know what the hell’s going on.” He didn’t get to finish.
“Grace Ellison left her family when Jim was eight. He still doesn’t know why. And,” he paused to look at his watch, “Jim found out 12 minutes ago she was the victim of a serial killer three years after she left. Now he has to go tell his family.”
“His father already knows.”
Blair shot a look at the truck and could see, from the stiffened spine, that his Sentinel had heard the statement. He could almost feel the pain flowing off him. “William Ellison ID’d the body because her husband, Bingham, was out of state.”
“Shit, shit, shit,” Blair swore, softly. “I need to take my partner home.”
“Sandburg, I am sorry, I really didn’t know.” Blair shrugged and headed for the truck. The fed’s apology wouldn’t undo any of the damage inflicted on his friend.
Jim was already seated on the passenger side, so Blair slid in behind the wheel. He reached a hand out and grabbed his partner’s. “I’m so sorry, man.” A tight squeeze told him his message had been received.
Jim’s mind was like a twister – thoughts and emotions colliding as they whirled around in a destructive pattern - making it difficult to breathe. The rational, controlled cop argued that it really didn’t matter; he hadn’t seen the woman in 31 years, so the fact she was dead didn’t actually change anything. The distraught eight-year old, however, screamed in pain at the loss. Neither force fighting for control, however, could begin to touch the seething rage coiling in his stomach at his father’s betrayal.
He let himself be led from the truck to the loft, and bolted for the toilet as soon as he was inside. An undetermined amount of time later, a wet cloth slipped gently across the back of his neck, returning him to the present. He was puddled on the floor, his upper body resting on his partner’s lap.
“Hey, Big Guy,” Blair cooed, letting out a huff of suppressed air in relief at the sight of the wounded blue eyes. “Just rest here for a minute.”
An hour later, Jim was on the couch, covered with two blankets; a cup of peppermint tea cooling nearby. “Chief.” He called out.
“Right here, Jim,” Blair responded, stepping out of his room. “How do you feel?”
“No clue.”
“It’s pretty heavy stuff,” Blair agreed, sitting on the coffee table so he could be close. “You heard what Michaels said?”
“About my father, yeah.” Blue eyes clenched shut for a moment. “It…god, Chief, it hurts. It shouldn’t, but it does.” He turned to face the back of the couch, arms clenched tightly around his chest.
“Ssh, don’t fight it, Jim, just let it out.” A hand tenderly rubbed circles on his back as the tense body shook.
Blair took his cell and moved into the hallway an hour later, while his charge dozed. He called Simon Banks; Jim’s Captain, gave him the short version of the disastrous afternoon, and asked for the Slasher file.
He managed to get Jim upstairs several hours later, knowing the bed would be kinder then the couch on his back. And the Guide dozed on top of the covers throughout the long night, bearing witness to the nightmares that tormented his partner.
At one point, about 4 a.m., after listening to the latest bout of tortured whispers as his friend apologized for being a freak - begging his mother to come back, promising to be a good boy, a normal boy - Blair raised his eyes to the stars above the sky light. “Please, he doesn’t deserve this. He’s a good man. I don’t know how much more pain he can take before he breaks. Please, help him.” He wasn’t sure if it was a plea or a prayer but he sent it out to any and all deities that might be willing to help a wayward anthropologist and an aging cop.
Jim came downstairs to find his captain and his partner immersed in a file late the next morning. He ran a hand self-consciously through his bed hair and ducked into the bathroom. Banks was ready to go beat the living daylights out of William Ellison after hearing what happened. Damn that man! Why the good Lord had seen fit to give him a son as fine as Jim was truly one of life’s mysteries.
Jim reappeared, a bit damp, dressed in sweats and a t-shirt. He smiled awkwardly, getting a cup of coffee before joining them. “I asked Simon to bring the file over so we could get the whole story. Seems the FBI included the Slasher case at the seminar because two cases with similar MOs have occurred in the last six weeks.”
“Appreciate it, sir,” Jim said hoarsely as he reached for the first section of the large file.
“Is it really possible all this is the work of one person?” Jim asked forty five minutes later as he finished the file. The cop was firmly back in control for now.
“Hard to believe there could be such a gap,” Simon agreed, sipping his coffee.
“Maybe the guy was in prison or overseas or something?” Blair asked.
“Prison’s a good bet, Chief, or maybe a mental institution. It would explain the time lag. Any way to check the records, Simon?”
“I’ll run it by the FBI. Agent Michaels called last night. He wanted to apologize.” When that news was met with silence, Banks moved on. “They’re setting up an interagency task force, and they want you two.”
“No!” Blair yelled and almost overturned the table as he leapt from his seat. “No way!”
“Chief,” Jim’s voice was calm, “I need to do this, and we both know I can’t without you.”
“You’re too close – I never pictured you as a masochist, man, but this is like rubbing salt on an open wound. It would be kinder to…to beat you myself. I won’t let you do it, Jim. It’s not safe.” The challenge had left the voice by the time he finished.
“The Mayor already told the feds they could have you,” Bank inserted, uncomfortably, squirming under the angry glare of the observer.
They spent the afternoon in the bullpen finishing paperwork and briefing the teams who would take over their open cases. Jim entered the Captain’s office when he was ready to leave. “Thank you, sir, for letting me do this.”
“To be honest, I’m not sure I’m doing the right thing, Jim…but if it were me, I guess I’d need to do it, too. Just promise me you’ll listen to Sandburg, and take care of yourself.” Jim nodded. Simon watched his friend leave with a sense of misgiving, not sure it was right to force him to face his past in this manner.
^^^^^
“What about your dad?” Blair finally broached the painful subject during dinner that night after they’d finished packing.
“What about him?”
“Aren’t you going to talk to him?”
“No. There’s nothing he has to say that I want to hear,” he finished, a hand up to stop the interruption.
“Jim…”
I…Jesus, Blair, if I see him right now, I’m afraid I’ll hurt him. I’m so angry,” he was on his feet, pacing furiously. “Why didn’t he just tell me? What did he have to gain by keeping it a secret?” Blue eyes implored his guide for answers he didn’t have.
^^^^^
There were sixteen law enforcement officers, forensic specialists, a couple of profilers and a press aide in the large conference room in the federal building in Portland the next afternoon. Jim shied away from Agent Michaels; his partner stepping forward to warn off the fed when he approached.
A review of recent prison releases gave them some good leads, and those were split between two teams. The remaining teams were each given one victim’s file. Blair started to stand up when he saw they received the file for Jim’s mother, but a quick hand on his shoulder kept him in his seat. “It’s okay. Really, Blair, I’ll be fine.”
^^^^^
They pulled up in front of a large house facing the ocean the next morning. “Are you sure about this, Jim?” He held firmly to his partner’s bicep, waiting.
“I’ll be alright, Chief,” he said, his hand patting his partner’s cheek gently.
They were shown to a comfortable sitting room to wait, and Blair prowled, looking at the assortment of photos. His gasp brought his partner to his side, “Blair?” Jim followed his gaze and saw his mother with a man standing proudly behind her.
“Man, Jim, she was beautiful…and you look just like her.”
“Detectives?” They swung around to see an older version of the man in the photo.
“Mr. Bingham, I’m Detective Ellison, my partner, Blair Sandburg. We’re detailed to a federal task force on the Slasher.”
The man motioned them to sit. “You really think you can find the man who killed my Gracie?”
Jim flinched at the love he heard in that voice. They spoke for 40 minutes, and as they were leaving, Bingham reached for Jim’s shoulder. “You know, Detective, you have your mother’s eyes.”
The noble face dipped. “Thank you, sir,” he said stiffly - his pain mirrored in the older man’s eyes.
They were 20 miles from the house when Jim pulled the truck over, and buried his face in his arms on the steering wheel. His guide kept a silent watch while he grieved; a grounding hand on his back.
^^^^^
The next two days found the task force rehashing each victim and all the information the teams had gathered. Two profilers used the new information to try and narrow down the scope of potential victims, while another updated the killer’s profile.
The phone rang in their motel room at 3:15 a.m. on day 5. The killer had struck in Cascade. Blair and Ellison met Michaels at the airport for a quick flight up to their city. The crime scene was cleared, and Jim and Blair began to work it. When Michael’s tried to intercede, Banks stopped him. “This is what they do best. If there’s anything here, Jim will find it.”
He found two hairs, some odd mud and a partial print. CPD’s forensics swarmed in, leaving Michaels with his mouth open. “How’d they do that?”
Banks shrugged, “Does it matter as long as it works?”
Five days later; days with little to no sleep and minimal food for the Sentinel who was on the hunt – or that’s how the Guide explained it to their Captain - they closed in on a suspect. He had taken a woman and a beat cop had seem him force her into the car. Jim heard her crying and signaled the SWAT team to follow his lead. Michaels saw the movement and redirected the other teams.
The take down was anticlimactic. The man they arrested was in his mid-30s, clearly not the original Slasher, and he gave up without a fight. They would later learn that he was the son of the Slasher and had, upon reading his late father’s diaries - unearthed when his mother moved to a nursing home - decided to take over the family business.
Blair quickly inserted himself at his partner’s side and slipped an arm around his waist, helping him back to the truck. He knew Jim’s reserves were depleted, and all he wanted to do was get him home. Jim listened to, but ignored, the six messages on the answering machine from his father demanding to talk to him immediately, before slipping up to his room.
They were both asleep when William Ellison pounded on the loft door late that night. Blair stepped back, shocked to see him. “Where’s Jimmy?” He demanded, barging past the still sleepy guide.
“He’s asleep. Please go home; I’ll have him call you later.”
“No! I am going to talk to him now!”
“Don’t you touch him,” Jim growled appearing at the top of the stairs just in time to stop his father from grabbing Blair by the shoulders.
“We need to talk.”
“There’s nothing you have to say that I want to hear.”
“Jimmy, look...”
“The Slasher killed my mother. And for some reason you felt it wasn’t important to tell me - wasn’t something I needed to know. Regardless of how you felt about her, I loved her. She was my mother. You had no right to keep her death from me.”
“Damn it, Dad, I’ve wondered for 31 years where she was, if she was happy; if she ever thought about Stevie and me. And I had to learn she was dead from the FBI in front of 130 other cops.” Jim was yelling now.
“Jimmy, you never asked about her.”
“I wasn’t allowed to! You spanked me when I did, locked me in my room.”
“You’re exaggerating.” Bill responded, yelling.
“Am I? Stevie cried himself to sleep every night for three weeks when she left. He did it in my room, because you told us you’d punish us if you caught us crying. When exactly was I supposed to ask if my mother – whose name I was not allowed to utter in your house, Dad - was dead? Why in god’s name would an 11 year old think to even ask such a question?”
“Look, don’t make me the bad guy here – at least I stayed.”
“Yeah Dad, you stayed.” Jim’s shoulders drooped, as the words left his mouth.
“We’ll talk about this when you can be rational about it.”
“Oh no, no, we won’t. I don’t have anything left to say to you. God, Dad, my mother died. If I hadn’t gone to that seminar would you ever have told me?”
“What does it matter? She left me; she left us.”
“It matters to me. It mattered to the 8 year old she left behind, and it matters to the man he became,” Jim said, his voice hoarse with pain. “All these years, I kept thinking that someday, somewhere in an airport, or on a street corner or…I’d see her.” He was speaking more to himself then to the others, as his voice softened. “I thought after all the press when I came back from Peru she might even try and find me, and I was hurt when she didn’t. I kept hoping…”
“God damn it, Dad – what did I ever do to make you treat me this way? I know you don’t – can’t – love me. But to keep this from me – like it wasn’t a big deal, like it wouldn’t matter - I can’t forgive that. I’m sorry, I just can’t.” He turned his back to the room and stared out over his city.
^^^^^
Three days later, Jim stopped the truck in front of a small graveyard. He moved up the gravel path, his eyes reading each marker. An almost audible sigh escaped him when he found the one he wanted. He veered off the path and knelt beside it.
Grace Mathews Ellison Bingham
Beloved wife of Ben
Mother of James and Steven
His sensitive fingers reverently caressed each carefully etched letter.
“She loved you. I hope you know that.”
Jim startled at the voice, but didn’t raise his head. “She left me,” he responded hesitantly.
“Doesn’t matter. She loved you and your brother very much. We had lawyers trying to work out joint custody. Your father wasn’t happy about it.”
“I never knew why she left,” he said sadly, giving Bingham a vision of the lost 8 year old. “And I always thought...” he stopped, trying to regain some control.
“Jim, she and your father couldn’t make it work. He thought he could punish her by keeping you boys. She wanted you, believe me, she did. We both did.”
The head bowed further, and the broad shoulders trembled. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“You’re welcome, son. When you’re ready, come visit and I’ll tell you about her. She told me she figured you’d be a fireman or a cop – said you were a born protector. She’d be so proud of you, Jimmy, so very proud.” Ben clasped the shaking shoulders tightly before turning and heading for the parking lot.
Blair headed up the path as soon as Ben Bingham was in his car. He’d promised his partner he’d wait in the truck, but he was starting to worry. He found him, kneeling in front of the stone, talking softly. He smiled when he caught the words Sentinel, Guide, and partner.
“Jim?”
“She told Mr. Bingham I was a born protector,” the shy pleasure behind the statement made the smaller man beam.
“She was right on the money, man. Wonder if she knew you’d be a Blessed Protector?” His grin was contagious, and he saw the first real smile on his friend’s face since the seminar. “You ready to head home?”
“In a minute, Chief.” He turned and ran a hand tenderly over the cold stone. “I’m so glad you were happy, momma. It took me a long time, but I am, too.” He glanced back at his partner, still smiling. “I love you, momma, I never stopped.” He leaned over and kissed the stone before rising. He slipped an arm around his best friend, pulling him close, as they walked slowly down the path toward the truck.
~end~