Warning – Please read.

This series covers the subject of child abuse - both physical and sexual. While a lot of it is 'off screen' and depicted as part of the past storyline, as this series continues there will be sections which do describe it more graphically.

~oOo~

Shit, there it was again. It was soft, barely audible, but it was relentless and as annoying as hell. Whoever it was knocking on the door at this ungodly hour of the morning was about to feel the ire of the Ellison temper. After spending the last thirty-six hours on his feet, Ellison was tired. No, rephrase that; he was dead tired, and the idiot on the other side of the door was about to bear the brunt of his exhaustion.

Heaving himself out of bed, Jim pounded down the stairs, his fists tight with the frustration and anger that came hand in hand with sheer fatigue. He didn't look through the peephole; an army buddy who had lost an eye and left most of his brain decorating a motel wall had rid him of that habit long ago. Instead, he flung open the door. As it moved left, he moved right – another habit learned long ago. He spoke abruptly, his words mindless and not considerate of his audience. "Do you have any fucking idea what time it is?"

The young boy, small and insignificant – even more so against Ellison's large frame – didn't move an inch as the sharp words echoed down the corridor.

"Crap," Ellison swore, when he realised his mistake. He took a slight step back, wondering what to do next. He wasn't good with children.

"Hey kid, where's your mom?" he finally asked.

The child didn't answer. He just stood there, staring up with big blue eyes that were brimming with tears.

"Crap," Ellison swore again. The poor little guy couldn't have been more than three, and he'd just let rip with an anger that would have had your average man backing away. But to his credit, the kid held his ground.

Jim Ellison didn't often feel guilt, but he figured that kids and animals had a way of dragging out the most fallible of emotions. He squatted on his haunches, bringing himself down the to the kid's eye level. "I'm sorry I shouted," he mumbled uncomfortably, giving into regret – another wasteful emotion. "Are you lost, buddy?"

The boy shook his head, the movement causing a well of tears to slide freely down his grubby cheeks.

"Hey, hey, don't cry," he attempted to comfort, awkwardly. "My name's Jim, what's yours?"

"Blaiuh." The name was barely decipherable as a string of choking sobs that strangled the child's voice.

"Where's your mother Blair?" Reaching out, Jim brushed away some of the tears that were now falling freely to the floor. "Do you live in this building?"

"Mama said to give you this." The child's arm came up to wipe at his nose before presenting a piece of paper that was scrunched up tightly in his little hand.

Taking the note that was thrust in front of his face, Jim smoothed out the paper and began to read.

Jim, this is Blair. He's your son. I know that was probably the last thing in the world you expected to hear, but I need your help. I can't look after him at the moment. It's just too much, he's too much. I've had him for three years, and now it's your turn. I need some time to get myself together. I need time to concentrate on just me for a while, and get my own life in order. I'm in a relationship with a man who I depend on, and to be honest, he and Blair don't see eye to eye. I need this time to make it work. I need you to step forward and shoulder some of the responsibility for your son. Please don't try and find me. I'll be in touch when I feel the time is right.

Naomi Sandburg.

Ellison stared at the child in disbelief. "No way. No possible way."

~o0o~

"Banks!" A voice just as tired and exhausted as Ellison's snapped across the phone line.

"Simon, it's Jim."

"For Christ sakes, Ellison. Do you have any idea what time it is, or when l last slept, for that matter?"

"I know Simon, and I'm sorry that I woke you, but I need you to get over here."

"Why, you need a goodnight kiss?" Banks snapped. "I'm sure if you give the blonde you were hanging around with last week a call, she'd be more than happy to come over and tuck you in."

"Simon, a kid's just appeared at my door. He had a letter in his hand. It says he's my kid."

"Ellison, why do I have to keep reminding you that you're a detective?" There was tired sigh. "You don't have a kid, so send the prankster on his way, go back upstairs, down some sleeping pills and don't call me again."

"Simon, this is no joke. I answered the door not five minutes ago, and there's this kid standing there." Jim glanced a look toward Blair who was now sitting on the sofa, clutching a small backpack like his life depended on it. "And anyway, he's got this note from a woman I once knew. A Naomi Sandburg."

"Sandburg? Don't ever recall you telling me about a Naomi Sandburg."

"That's because she was never more than a single blip on my radar. I met her about four years ago in a bar in Las Vegas."

"Ah, city of one night stands."

"Exactly. And between that and the scotch, I wasn't exactly thinking with my upstairs brain, if you know what I mean."

"Jim, just because you had a quick liaison with a strange women in a strange town doesn't automatically get your name listed on this kid's birth certificate. The kid could be anyone's."

"I know, but the date fits, and while I'm pretty sure he's not, there is a possibility he could be mine."

"Yeah," Simon agreed tiredly. "Look, give me a minute to make a few calls to see if there's been any reports of any recent missing kids and then I'll drop over. Do you want me to call Family Services to arrange for someone to pick him up?"

"No!" Jim said, a little too forcefully. "Not just yet. I need some time to get my head around this, and besides, the poor little guy's frightened enough as it is."

"Alright, I'll see you soon."

Placing the phone back on the cradle, Jim cautiously approached Blair. He took a seat on the sofa. "Hey there, Chief, are you hungry?" Kids and food; pretty basic combination, he surmised.

The kid wiped his snotty nose on his sleeve and shook his head, before answering with a broken, 'no'.

Grabbing a tissue from the box on the coffee table, Jim cleaned the child's sleeve, and attempted to do the same to his nose before the boy buried his face in the backpack he was clutching.

"I want my Mama."

Jim lightly touched the kid's back, uncertain how to give comfort. In his world, children were pretty much akin to dealing with hazardous material. Keep a safe distance and leave it to the hands of the experts. But as the kid's distress level increased, he found himself breaking his rule of leaving to those in the know and tentatively lifted Blair onto his lap. He wrapped his arms awkwardly around the child's body, drawing the kid in toward his chest. "It's gonna be alright, Chief. We'll find her. I promise."

~o0o~

Jim adjusted Blair's head to stop it rolling off his shoulder as he eased himself off the sofa to answer the door. Having literally cried himself to sleep, the kid was now resting fitfully in his arms. "It's about time!" he snapped, swinging open the door.

Banks didn't bother responding. He knew Jim well enough to know that the man was well and truly out of his depth. Put Ellison in room full of outlaw bikers and he'd practically be in heaven, but put him in a room with a child and the guy was about as useless as a eunuch in a whorehouse. Instead Simon studied the boy. "Have you been able to get any information out of him?"

"He's three, Simon. Exactly how much information do you expect me to get?"

"Three-year-olds can be very informative, my friend. In fact sometimes too informative," he muttered, remembering some of the embarrassing information his own son had divulged when he was three. Simon picked up the tattered, well-used backpack that was on the sofa. "Is this his?"

"Yeah." Jim unconsciously patted Blair's back.

Dumping the contents onto the sofa, Banks began to sort through the pile. "There doesn't appear to be anything here that'll shed any light on where he came from." He picked up a few of the items. "Just a few drawings, an old book, a bear – well-loved, by the looks of it – and a few threadbare clothes which could do with a run through the washing machine." He stuffed the items back into the backpack. "Actually, the kid's not exactly all that clean either," he added, touching one of Blair's filthy hands.

"I know. By the smell of things I don't think he's had a bath in a while, and I also think he's coming down with a cold."

"Well, Jim, what do you want to do? Missing Persons don't have any reports of three-year-olds, and given the note he had, I'd say this is a case of the kid being dumped. Chances are that you're not his father. Until you know one way or another, despite the note, he's not your responsibility."

"What, so I let him become a statistic of Child Services based on chance?" Jim replied, angrily. "You know just as well as I do that if this kid gets sucked up into the system he could be lost in there until he's dribbling pudding down his whiskered chin." Jim tightened his grip on Blair. "Look, even if we take the note at face value, then his mother has left him in my care and technically I have her permission, so I intend to keep him with me until we can get to the bottom of this."

"Alright, alright, don't bite my head off. I just never figured you for Mary Poppins."

"He stays with me, Simon. No negotiation."

"Fine," Simon conceded. "I'll play along for the moment, but if you intend keeping him with you until we find his mother, you'll need to be more prepared than you are now."

"Prepared how?"

"Cleaning the kid up would be my first suggestion and then when he's not a walking germ factory, he could probably do with a decent meal." Simon headed into the bathroom and a few moments later, Jim heard the squeaking of faucets. "After he's clean, I'll run down to the mall and pick him up a few things to wear." Banks poked his head out of the door. "And then you can make me breakfast."

"Sounds like the start of a plan, I guess." Jim's voice held steady against the uncertainty that was beginning to settle in his gut. Moving his hand from Blair's back, he ran it lightly over the top of the youngster's head. "Hey Chief, time to wake up."

It took a few attempts but finally Blair's tired eyes willed themselves to stay open.

"Remember me, kiddo?" Jim asked.

Blair stared at him, not saying a word.

"I know you must be hungry, but I thought it might be a good idea to have a bit of a cleanup before breakfast." Jim kept talking as he carried Blair toward the bathroom. "Do you like pancakes, squirt?"

"He looks like a pancake man to me." Simon slung the towel he was carrying over his shoulder. "Chocolate pancakes if I had to make a guess."

The moment Blair heard the stranger's voice, he swiveled around and locked eyes with Simon.

"Hey, Chief, it's okay," Jim assured, feeling the muscle in Blair's back tense beneath his fingertips. "This is my friend Simon. He's a police captain, and he's going to help us find your mom."

Simon moved closer to Blair and extended his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Blair."

With one hand wound tightly around the fabric of Ellison's robe, Blair scanned Jim's face for reassurance.

"It's okay, kiddo. Simon won't hurt you." In an attempt to keep up the momentum, Jim pushed past Simon and into the bathroom. "Okay Chief, how about that bath?" Bending down, he placed Blair on the floor beside the tub. "You need some help with your duds?"

With Jim's hands no longer restraining him, Blair made his move. He backed into the corner, as far away from the two men as he could manage in the small room.

"Why do I get the impression we've just broken a cardinal rule?" Jim muttered quietly.

"'Why' is the golden question, detective," Simon muttered back. He crouched down in an attempt to bring himself closer to Blair's eye level. "It's okay, Blair. We're not going to hurt you or make you do anything you don't want to do. Hey, I tell you what," he said. "You look like you're a big boy. How about Jim and I leave the room while you undress yourself and hop into the tub? How does that sound?"

Letting his guard down for just a moment, Blair quickly glanced at the bath full of bubbles. "No looking," he said firmly, once again staring at them both intently.

"No looking, we promise." Jim tapped Simon on the shoulder as stood up. "How about you yell out as soon as you're in the tub and I'll come back in just to make sure you're okay."

With a slight nod of his head, Blair moved closer to the bath but made no attempt to remove any of his clothes.

Once outside the door, Jim leaned heavily against the wall. "You know, I know absolutely nothing about kids, but that reaction wasn't normal, was it?"

Simon mirrored Jim's action. "Not completely, at least in my experience anyway. I definitely think you should give him a few minutes to get settled before you go back in."

"And then what?"

"Then just try and be natural. Talk to him and make him feel as comfortable as possible, but whatever you do, don't touch him and if he wants you to leave the room, then you leave."

"So you think he's old enough to clean himself up without help?"

"Unfortunately Jim, I think this kid's plenty old enough."

"You think he's been abused, don't you?"

Simon paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. "That's a question I can't answer. His reaction could be purely based on the situation he's been placed in, or it could also be something both you and I are not trained to handle." He slapped Jim gently on the shoulder. "Look, I'm going to see if I can find a store open and buy him some clothes. You think you can handle the bath by yourself?"

"Yeah," Jim answered with some reluctance.

"Just keep talking to him, Jim, and keep reassuring him that nothing's going to happen to him." Pushing himself off the wall, Simon dug his hand into his trouser pocket in search of his keys. "I'll be as quick as I can."

The front door click closed, leaving Jim alone to handle a kid and a situation that was completely out of his depth. He stuffed his hands deep into the pockets of his robe, suddenly realising that a robe was the only clothing he was wearing. "Hey Chief," he called out. "You gonna be okay in there if I go up stairs for a few minutes to get myself dressed?"

The answer was quiet, but very concise. "I big enough to be left alone by myself."

"Yeah, I bet you are, kiddo," Jim replied, taking the stairs to his bedroom two at a time.

Stripping out of his robe, Jim dressed quickly. Not wasting any time with socks or shoes, he bounded back down the stairs and stood at the bathroom door, drumming his fingers lightly against the partially opened door. "You okay with me coming in, Chief?"

Blair's quick answer of "ah-ha" surprised Jim but, as soon as he entered the room, he saw the reason why.

"I not never have a bath with bubbles, 'afouh," Blair said, for the first time showing Jim a smile. He squashed the bubbles in his hands, making a small fist and laughing when they squeezed out between his fingers.

Jim moved to kneel down beside the tub. "Not even once?" he asked.

"Nope, not once, not neveuh," Blair replied, shaking his head.

"So I'm guessing you like bubbles then?" Keeping his movement easy and well within Blair's line of sight, Jim plucked a washcloth off the faucet and handed it to Blair. "I thought all little kids have bubble baths." While the words coming out of Jim's mouth may have been trivial and aimed at keeping Blair comfortable with the situation, his mind was straying toward deeper, darker thoughts as he pondered the child's life.

Blair shrugged his shoulders. "Tom sayed that bubbles not let you see."

See what, and who's Tom? The two questions balanced precariously on the tip of Jim's tongue before he swallowed them. The first already had a speculative answer, and the second would be answered as soon as the investigation into Naomi Sandburg began. He didn't even want to think about a third question that crossed his mind but, as soon as it did, he had a clear-cut answer the moment Blair clambered to his feet to retrieve the rubber duck that had floated to the other end of the bath. Marring the child's buttocks and upper legs were a trail of faded bruises and marks.

The name 'Tom' had just become etched in Ellison's psyche, and question number three had become not only a crime to solve, but also an unsettling personal hurt that needed to be avenged.

~o0o~

Squeaky clean and wrapped in an oversized bath towel, Blair was sitting on the kitchen countertop, so totally immersed in stirring a batch of pancake batter he barely even noticed Simon's return.

"So, how'd it go?" Simon asked, offloading an armful of parcels onto the coffee table.

"Good." Jim smiled and ruffled Blair's wet curls before swinging him into his arms. "Why don't we go and see what Simon's bought, Shorty?"

Swiping one of the parcels from the table, Simon torn it open and held up a pair of jeans and a t-shirt for Blair to see.

"They new!" Blair responded, reaching out to brush his fingers against the motif on the shirt. He studied it for a moment before pushing it back toward Simon. "Mama said I not need new clothes. I gwows too quick. Just like a weed."

"Well I'll tell you what, little weed," Jim said, lowering Blair to the floor, and following suit. "Why don't we just try these on for the moment while I wash your other clothes? Simon went all the way to the store to buy these especially for you, and we wouldn't want to hurt his feelings, would we?" Pulling open another parcel, Jim held out the underwear Simon had bought.

Blair looked up at the shirt again and then at the underwear, intrigued a little by the funny blue monster staring back at him. "Okay," he relented. "But just till the othuhs be clean'd." With a hand on Jim's shoulder to steady himself, Blair stepped into the underwear, making sure they were pulled up before he dropped the towel. Without complaint, he then let Jim pull the shirt over his head and, once fully dressed, his fingers made their way to the motif on the shirt.

"Now, how about some breakfast, Munchkin?" Grabbing ahold of Blair's shirt, Jim playfully threw the child over his shoulder and pulled himself to his feet. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm as hungry as a bear."

Blair grinned a toothy smile as he was set back down on the countertop. "Me too," he said. "I as hungwy as a beauh as well."

Jim tickled Blair's sock-clad feet that were dangling over the countertop. "You're too little to be a bear."

"No I not." Blair pulled his feet away and let out a small giggle, before his expression reverted back to one of a boy with an announcement to make. "I big enough to be 'sponsible. I can get my own bweakfast," he said with a measure of pride.

"Wow, that is responsible." Jim threw a look in Simon's direction. "I bet not many three-year-olds can do that?"

"Nope," Blair agreed, shaking his head from side to side in a dramatic fashion. "I can get my own dinnuh too."

"Do you get your own dinner a lot Blair?" Simon asked, coming into the kitchen.

"Ah-ha," Blair answered as though it was nothing special. "Sometimes Mama gets weal tired and goes to sleep. I don't tell Tom I hungwy 'cause he gets mad if he gets 'sturbed."

Before Simon could ask another question, Jim changed the subject. "Who wants the first pancake?" He lifted Blair off the counter and threw him back over his shoulder. "I think this hungry bear should go first," he said, giving Blair one last quick tickle before sitting him down on a chair at the table.

It didn't take long for Blair to start feeling more at ease around the two men, and soon the room was filled with idle chatter about whatever was on the youngster's mind. Talk about his mother and the man Jim assumed was Naomi's boyfriend was conspicuously glossed over in the conversation, and both Jim and Simon were astute enough to pick up on the signals that Blair was giving out.

For the moment, off-limit subjects would remain off limits – at least until Jim was able to gain more of the child's trust, or until the department turned up some usable information on Naomi Sandburg and her allegedly abusive boyfriend.

~o0o~

With breakfast over and Blair quite happily sitting on the sofa watching television, Jim stacked the dishes into the dishwasher. His thoughts didn't drift far from Blair, and the bruises he'd witnessed on his body. "Did you see how hungry the kid was?" he asked, practically throwing the frying pan into the bottom rack.

"Yeah, I noticed. It doesn't appear that he's had a decent meal in a while, but what's got me more concerned is how easily he seems to be adapting to his new situation. My guess is that's being left with strangers is not a foreign concept to the rug-rat."

Jim's gaze slid toward Blair, who was completely engrossed in whatever he was watching on the children's channel. Apart from his initial distress at being separated from his mother, the kid certainly didn't appear to be pining for her now.

"How'd it go after I left?" Simon asked, drawing Jim's immediate attention away from Blair.

"Not too bad, I think." Jim shrugged. "I went back into the bathroom and let him be the boss. We talked for a while, and once he felt a little more comfortable with me, he let me help him wash his hair."

"Did he let you towel him dry?"

"No, he said he could do that by himself, and wouldn't get out of the bath until I left the room."

"Why did you stop me from asking him questions before? The more information we have about his mother, the easier it'll be to find her."

"Because I'm pretty sure he's been abused, and if that's the case, it's like you said. It's a situation neither of us are equipped to handle."

"Did he say something to you to suggest abuse?"

"No, it was what I saw. When he was in the tub, the duck floated down to the other end and he stood up to go get it. He had bruises all over his backside, Simon. Fingertip-size bruises."

"Did you ask him about them?" Simon pressed.

Jim shook his head. "No. I held out my hand to steady him, and as soon as he realised I was looking at him he sat down right away and he shut up like a clam. It wasn't the time or the place."

"In the note he gave you, didn't this Sandburg woman say that her new boyfriend and Blair weren't seeing eye to eye?"

"Yeah, and I tell you what. If this Tom guy is responsible for those bruises, that bastard and I won't exactly be seeing eye to eye."

"While I agree wholeheartedly with your thoughts, Jim, not being able to beat the crap out of scum like this guy unfortunately comes with the cop territory."

"What about the father territory, Simon? If he were your kid, what would you do?"

"Father territory?" Simon asked.

"I had sex with his mother, Simon. You need a biology lesson?" Ellison snapped.

"Then I'd beat the shit out of the guy," Simon replied, studying Jim intently.

"My point proven." Jim slammed shut the dishwasher door with enough force to make the shelves rattle. Sighing heavily, he pressed his fingertips into his temples and closed his eyes for a brief moment.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine. Just beat."

"Look, I don't think there is anything more either of us can do until we hear some news. I'm going to drop by the station and light a fire under them about finding the whereabouts of the kid's mom, and then I'm going home to get some sleep." Simon patted Jim lightly on the back, deciding to test the waters. "Are you sure you don't want me to arrange foster care for Blair? He might be better off in experienced hands."

"No, he stays with me. If Blair is my kid, then there is no way in hell I'm putting him in foster care."

"And if he isn't?"

Then I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. But either way, he stays here with me until we find out exactly what's been going on."

"Okay, subject's closed," Simon conceded. "Why don't you try and get some rest if you can, because I'm still going to need you to come into the station this afternoon and finish up those reports. I'm sorry my friend, but that can't be postponed."

"I know, and I'll be there."

Making his way into the living room, Simon picked up his jacket and keys, taking a moment to lean over the back of the sofa and tap Blair lightly on the head. "I'll see you later, Blair," he said.

Blair's eyes remained fixed on the television and an 'ah-ha' was the only response Simon received.

"Hey, Jim?" Simon asked, yanking open the front door. "Just one question. What the hell are you doing with a rubber duck?"

Ellison's response was simple. "It goes nicely with the aromatherapy lantern and bath salts."

"Now why didn't I know that?" Banks muttered, pulling the door closed behind him.

The slight smile in Jim's eyes never reached his face. If Blair was his son, his life had just been thrown into chaos. He wasn't equipped to care for a child. Hell, he didn't even know how to care for a child.

Leaning briefly against the door, he flipped the lock and wandered over to the sofa. Sitting down with a weary sigh, he took a few minutes to study Blair in an effort to try and determine whether or not a resemblance existed. Big blue eyes, framed by long, black eyelashes, complemented a clear, fair complexion and round rosy cheeks. Add to that one button nose and a mop of curly hair, and you had the recipe for only one thing – a pretty cute kid. A cute kid that looked like him? He wasn't so certain, but if memory served correctly, an aunt a few lines back on his father's side had the same features. Giving up his analysis on the child, he couldn't help but smile when Blair burst into a round of giggles at Big Bird and his antics. "This a good show, Chief?" he asked, breaking the silence.

He was somewhat pleasantly surprised when Blair moved closer and lazily lounged across his lap before answering. "It's funny ... that buhd is silly ... how come he's so big?" Blair's hand reached up, pulling slightly at his ear.

"I guess he eats all his pancakes," Jim replied, lightly ruffling Blair's hair.

"Buhds don't eat pancakes." Blair's face became serious with concentration.

"Well, what do they eat?" Leaning forward Jim grabbed another tissue to wipe Blair's nose.

"They eat seeds and fwuit. I 'membuh seeing the birds in the pahk eat fwuit."

"Do you go to the park a lot, Chief?"

"Ah-ha." Blair tugged on his ear again. "Mama takes me when I being noisy. I have to be quiet when Tom comes home, but sometime I fohget. I and Mama go out when I fohget, 'cause if we don't, Tom gets mad at both of us."

"Does Tom ever get so mad that he sometimes hits you?" Jim asked, praying he wasn't making a huge mistake.

Blair avoided the question completely. "My name's Blaiuh, silly, not Chief. I 'membuh you name. It's Jim!" he announced, confidently.

"That's right." Jim leaned back on the cushion, taking Blair with him. "And your name's Blair, but do you mind if I call you Chief sometimes?"

"I not think so," Blair shrugged, before turning his attention back toward the television as Big Bird once again caught his eye.

Jim closed his eyes and listened to the quiet breathing of the boy on his lap. The near silent and steady breaths soon washed over his senses and it wasn't long before he felt himself drifting off to sleep. He vaguely felt Blair snuggle closer into his chest and, without consciously doing so, his arms come up and wrapped around the child's body.

Hell, I don't even like kids, was his last thought before he fell asleep.

~o0o~