Thanks Becky and JJ for beta reading for me. I appreciate you both so very much.

Disclaimer: Jim, Steven and William Ellison, Naomi and Blair Sandburg, and all things relating to The Sentinel do not belong to me. They are the property of Pet Fly Productions, UPN, and Paramount. No copyright infringement is intended. This story is simply for the enjoyment of the fans.

Notes: This is my second Sentinel story. It's set a couple of years before the Remembrance episode and Jim is eight years old.

********

Destiny
-- by Jackie Lang

'There's no such thing as chance;
And what to us seems merest accident
Springs from the deepest source of destiny.'
--Johan Christoph Friedrich von Schiller

********

June, 1969

There--there it was again. That sound. A buzzing--no, a cry of some sort. The young boy canted his head slightly, mouth dropping open in concentration, and reached; searching for the source of the voice calling out to him so urgently.

He studied the people around him, but no one seemed to notice the noise that he could hear so clearly.

Oh, it's one of those times, he thought, wondering, not for the first time, why he had been born with superhero ears. It was kind of cool--but a little scary too.

The boy turned his attention back to the noise. He opened up further, trying to sense from what direction the cry came. A dull throb formed behind his eyes and he winced when the low wail rose to a shriek in his mind.

It hurt him sometimes--it hurt and he didn't know how to stop the pain that accompanied the sound. He didn't understand, and couldn't stop the pounding in his head and chest. It frightened him, or it would, if Ellisons were allowed to show fear.

"Jimmy?"

The howl slowly faded, replaced by other sounds. Closer. A sniff of tears, a soft whimper. Steven.

"Jimmy!"

He jumped, startled by the sharp bark in his ear. A hand closed tightly upon his arm, and he looked up into his father's face, wincing at the thunderous expression he found there. "Uh...yeah, Dad?"

"Boy, where is your head?" William Ellison demanded, a scowl twisting his handsome features. "You get that look on your face and you drift off to Never-Never Land. Wake--Up!" A shake emphasized each word. "The doctor asked you a question about your brother." With a final shake, he released his grip on the boy's arm.

Jim felt heat rise in his face. He nervously brushed damp palms against dirt covered jeans, and backed away from his irate father.

"I...I'm sorry," he muttered, eyes downcast, hoping the apology would placate both father and doctor.

"It's all right, child," a compassionate voice replied. Jim looked up from the floor and saw the look of sympathy in the doctor's green eyes. He knew then that she had forgiven his lapse--now if only his father--

"Can you tell me how the accident happened?" the doctor asked, her voice pitched in a calm soothing tone.

Jim glanced over at the table where Steven sat hunched in pain, his leg poking out at an awkward angle in front of him. His brother's face was pinched, white with pain and fear. A nurse spoke soothingly, smoothing the hair back from Steven's forehead. He looked back at the doctor who nodded encouragingly.

"We were playing football. I...I threw the ball at Stevie. He caught it--but he fell and his leg sorta did this weird twisty thing and it cracked," Jim shuddered at the memory of snapping bone and his brother's scream. "He yelled really loud," he added helpfully.

"Yes--I can imagine," the doctor commented. She turned to the shivering boy on the table. "Okay, young man, let's have a look here." Reaching for a pair of scissors, she cut open Steven's pant leg, and studied the swollen, discolored flesh. "Uh-huh. Nurse, we'll need some x-rays here." She ran her hand gently over the swollen area. "I'll check them, but it feels like a standard fracture. I should be able to set it with no difficulty."

The color leached from Steven's face. He looked past the doctor's shoulder making eye contact with his brother. "It hurts, Jimmy," he moaned. "Ow! Make her stop." The child turned a pleading glance toward his father. "Daddy, it hurts!" A tear freed itself from shimmering eyes and rolled down the little boy's cheek.

"Enough, Steven," the father's stern tone held little sympathy. "You're an Ellison. Act like one. Crying is for babies and girls. Be tough. Grit your teeth and deal with the pain like a man."

He's not a man yet, dad, Jim thought. He's just a little kid. Why is it so bad to cry when you hurt?

Jim watched his brother struggle to follow their father's instructions. Steven's teeth bit into his lower lip, turning it white. The boy managed to stay silent until the doctor set his leg. A choked cry of pain escaped from the tightly closed lips and more tears escaped to run freely down his cheeks.

"It's okay, Stevie," Jim's voice soothed. He closed his fingers around Steven's hand.

"Jimmy, wait outside," his father admonished.

Jim's head snapped up. "But--"

"Now, James!" Ellison sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. "You're just like your mother. I won't have you coddling Steven and turning him into a whiny crybaby."

The boy winced at the reference to his mother. "Dad, his leg's broken. I don't think...."

"Did I ask for your opinion?" Ellison countered. "All I require from you is respect and obedience. Now wait outside!"

Jim fought the urge to stubbornly cross his arms; but fighting with their father would only cause his brother more pain. He retreated, as he always did.

"Yes, sir," he said through clenched teeth. His hands balled into fists and he expelled a deep breath, forcing his hands to relax and his face to smooth into the required blank expression. Jim glanced sideways at Steven, flashing him a quick thumbs up sign, before turning to leave. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the doctor glare at his father, her lips pressed together in a firm line of disapproval.

Jim ducked outside, unable to listen further to his brother's moans and his father's seeming lack of concern.

'Respect and obedience, James!'

Those were the only things that mattered in the Ellison family. Not love. Love never seemed to enter the picture. Did being tough mean that there was no room in your life for love?

Why can't Dad love us? Jim wondered. Why did Mom leave? Are we so bad?

There never seemed to be an answer to those questions, and he repressed the pain such thoughts brought with them. At eight years old, Jim Ellison had learned well the lessons his father taught; the lessons his brother had yet to master. Hold your feelings inside, be tough, don't cry, don't trust anyone but yourself, don't--love. Trust, love, his father said those things always led to disappointment and betrayal.

His mother had loved him; he was sure she had. And he had loved her. Jim could still hear her voice, soft in the darkness, singing to Steven about a baby and cradle that fell a long way. Mama had clutched them to her in a tight hug, brushing their faces with kisses, her voice shaken as she begged them not to forget her. Then she left, left them alone in the darkness; and he had fallen further that day than any cradle ever did. Maybe his father was right--about love anyway. It could hurt. It could hurt a lot.

Jim turned away from those thoughts and wandered down the hall to the waiting room. He nodded at a woman sitting in a corner chair, but she ignored him, her attention focused on the television. Jim looked up at the screen wondering what was so interesting, but saw only a soap opera. Ick, all that mushy stuff, booorring.

No comic books lay among the numerous magazine titles scattered on the table. Jim glanced around the room, but saw nothing to keep him occupied. Sighing heavily, he slouched back into a chair and prepared to be bored.

The chair moved. It swiveled back and forth, and to his delight, spun around in circles. A mischievous smile formed, and he held out his arms like helicopter blades, pumping his feet to get the chair spinning as fast as possible. "We're going down! Crashing!" he shouted to an imaginary co-pilot. "Whoop, whoop, whoosh, whoosh errrrrkkkkkkkkbooooosssshhhhhhh!" He flung himself to the floor dramatically, and looked up to see one very unimpressed soap opera lady glaring down at him.

"Will you please sit down and be quiet! Reginald and Felicia are finally declaring their love and I don't want to miss it!"

Jim rolled his eyes, but returned quietly to the chair. He picked up a magazine and studied the headlines. Lose weight! Bake a sinfully delicious chocolate cake. How do you lose weight if you're eating chocolate cake? he wondered. His eye caught the next headline, Mend a broken relationship.

Since his mother left, the only person Jim had a relationship with, besides his brother, was his dad, and he didn't think a magazine would help there. A twinge of sadness passed through him and for a moment he wished--he wished--no, it didn't matter what he wished, this was the way of things, and wishes were a waste of time, or so his father said.

Something tickled his ear and he reached a hand up to scratch it. The tickle turned into an itch, the itch a buzz, the buzz a sound of crying.

It's happening again.

The sounds, things no one else could hear--except him. For as long as he could remember he had had this ability, and others. His dad didn't want to hear about it, in fact had gotten really angry the one time Jim had mentioned it.

"It's all in your head, Jimmy. Don't ever tell that to anyone else or they'll think you're some kind of freak."

End of discussion, but not the end of the sounds, or the smells or the sights that only seemed to affect him. He couldn't help it, didn't try to do it. It just happened. It was a part of him. Why did that make him a freak? His head hurt just thinking about it.

The voice still called to him, demanding his full attention. Yeah--definitely crying, he mused, tuning in once more with his 'inner' ear. Someone was very unhappy, a baby, or a little kid perhaps. Didn't they know that crying got you nowhere?

Jim picked up another magazine, flipping through it half-heartedly. Restless, he got up and prowled the room, pacing back and forth. Something urged him to go--go where? And do what?

He listened once again. The cry had grown ragged, nearly a whimper now. The voice sounded so lonely. A feeling of sympathy swept through him. He knew how that felt, the loneliness. Maybe he could help the poor little thing. Jim left the room; he stopped, head slightly turned, listening. With unerring surety, he took the elevator to the third floor. The door opened and he stepped out. A large sign greeted him.

MATERNITY WING

Jim didn't know what Ma-ter-nity meant, but it must have something to do with babies because he heard several of them crying. He snuck by the nurse at the desk and walked down the hall, 'listening', sifting through the many different baby cries, searching for the one who called to him. He stopped before a room--yes, this was the one.

Poking his head around the half open door, Jim saw a young woman pacing the room, a tiny infant cradled in her arms. The woman's long red-gold hair spilled over her shoulder as she leaned forward to place a tender kiss on the baby's forehead.

"Shhhh....little one. Let it go...let it go."

Jim watched as the baby's features turned blotchy red; its tiny body seeming to expand momentarily as lungs filled with oxygen.

Uh, oh.

Another shriek rent the air. Jim's hands moved up to cover sensitive ears, and he shook his head in wonderment of how such a puny little thing could possibly make so loud a noise.

"I hear that, Sweetie," the women crooned softly. "Mama certainly does hear that." Her smile never wavered, but her eyes reflected a new mother's exhaustion. "I feel the negative vibes, yes, I do...shhhh...now," she shifted the baby to her other arm. "I wanted to burn sage to cleanse the room of negative energy, but these people...their minds are closed to the workings of harmonic convergence." She moved over to the bed and sat down on the edge. "No sage, baby-love, I guess a lullaby will have to do."

The woman began to sing, her clear voice filling the room. Jim stilled as memories fought to the surface of his mind. He knew those words

"Rockabye, don't you cry, go to sleepy little baby--Rockabye baby in the treetop--when the wind blows the cradle will rock...."

Steven barely remembered their mother, but Jim did. He closed his eyes, hearing her voice in this woman's song; feeling the tickle as Mama's long hair touched his face when she leaned over to tuck him in for the night; her hand, warm upon his cheek, arms encircling him, the love--

Mama, I miss you so much.

Emotion clouded his eyes and he blinked away the tears. A sharp voice cut across memory, shattering his mother's image. "Tears show weakness, Jimmy. You're weak, just like your mother!" His father's voice, allowing no weakness, no memory, no tears for--Mama.

"Hello."

Startled, Jim looked up to find the woman's kind blue eyes studying him. He stumbled into the room, blushing furiously, unsure of what to do now that he was there.

"I...I heard the baby cry."

She chuckled tiredly. "I expect everyone in the building has heard him." She looked down at the infant. "He's sounding more and more like my dear friend, Jimi H." She nuzzled the baby's face. "Are you going to be a singer too, Sweetie? I've got Jimi's guitar. I'll save it for you and maybe someday you'll work the same magic with it as he does."

As if on cue, the baby started to shriek once more.

"Shh....little one. Shhh...Mama's here." She looked over at Jim, the uncertainty of new motherhood showing in her slightly panicked expression. "I don't understand. He was fine an hour ago, and all of a sudden he just started crying like his heart is broken."

Jim moved closer, yearning to comfort this tiny bundle of tears. He reached out a hand, then drew it back.

"Would you like to hold him?" the young mother asked. "He's not too happy with me at the moment."

Something urged Jim to hold the child, touch him, but he hesitated. "I've never held a baby before," he mumbled.

"I'm pretty new at it myself," she smiled encouragingly. "There's nothing to it really."

Jim held out his arms; the woman placed the baby in them, showing him the proper way to support the child's head. He grinned up at her. Holding a baby really wasn't that hard. He began to rock, slowly, rhythmically, back and forth. The child moved restlessly for a moment, sensing the change in who held him. Jim cooed and continued rocking. His fingers stroked the fine, downy curls and traced the miniature features.

He laughed out loud when toothless gums chomped down on his finger. "You can't eat my finger, baby, you don't even have teeth yet."

Hearing this new voice, the child stilled in his arms. Its eyes opened wide and Jim found himself drawn into the smoky blue pathways to another soul. As the baby calmed, so too did he, the turbulent emotions and headaches that plagued him fading. His breathing began a different rhythm, matching that of the infant. He stopped rocking, his voice faded and he stared. Deeper...deeper. Connection.

Something stirred deep within him as he fell into those blue pools, something familiar. Deeper. A recognition. Longing...joy...love. This one he could love. This one he could trust. He rested his brow on the baby's for a moment--

Deeper...a soul far older than the infant he held...friend...Guide...soulbrother. With him again. Deeper. He felt his breathing slow...slower...Light, sound, sensation; all faded--

A shriek brought him back with a start. He blinked, his mind suddenly blank. "Wha--?"

The infant spit up, sputtered happily and waved its arms at him. Jim grinned at the comical sight, then turned his smile toward the mother.

The young woman stared at him in amazement. "How did you...? He's not crying. I was beside myself trying to calm him down. Thank you...Oh, I'm sorry, I don't even know your name."

"Jimmy--Jim Ellison. I'm eight years old now, almost a grown-up," he replied earnestly. Jim started the smooth rocking motion once more. The baby yawned and blinked, eyelids fighting to stay open before drifting closed covering those brilliant sapphire eyes.

"Almost," she agreed, smiling wryly at the seriousness of his declaration. "An old soul in a young body. But don't grow up too fast, young Jim, life goes by so quickly as it is. By the way, my name is Naomi...."

******

Naomi lived a very interesting life, Jim decided, as he heard yet another tale of her travels to an exotic place with people so different from himself.

"...I came back to the States when I found out I was going to have a baby. My brother and his family live nearby and I can stay with them for awhile, until the baby is old enough to hit the road." She glanced down at the infant. "I can't keep calling him 'the baby,' now, can I?"

"Didn't you give him a name?" Jim asked.

"No. I needed to see his face, and feel his spirit before giving him a name. Names have powerful meanings and define who we are. I wanted him to help me choose the name. The name we have chosen is a Gaelic name meaning meadow child and place. My son will be a child of light, free as the butterfly in the meadow, a wanderer, like me, a man of many places. Our place, our home, will be wherever we are as long as we are together."

"James Joseph Ellison!"

Jim stiffened and turned slowly to face his very angry looking father.

"I've been looking everywhere for you. Steven is ready to go home. I told you to stay in the waiting room. What are you doing down here and who is this person?"

"Dad, I...."

Naomi jumped in quickly. "Your son has done me a great service, Mr. Ellison. Jim heard my son's cries and somehow managed to disperse the negative energy, and calm him down. I'm grateful for his help and I apologize for any inconvenience it caused you." She smiled sweetly.

"Yes...well," William Ellison stammered, disconcerted by the beautiful smile. "Come along now, Jimmy. We need to get home. Good day...er...miss." He turned and left the room, muttering softly about hippies and their strange ways.

"Okay, dad, I'll just say goodbye," Jim called after him. He glanced down at the sleeping infant in his arms, strangely reluctant to give him up. A hand rested on his shoulder and he looked up to see Naomi Sandburg's lips curve in an understanding smile.

"His name is Blair. Blair Jonathan Sandburg. He's one day old and today he has met his first friend. I hope that he will find many more in his life as caring as you, Jim Ellison. If he does, my son will be blessed indeed. Thank you."

Jim smiled up at her and carefully laid the baby in her arms. "Take good care of Blair, Mrs. Sandburg."

"Naomi, please, and I will, Sweetie," she laughed brightly. "I'm a mother now, but I don't think being a Mrs. will ever be part of my karma."

Jim nodded and walked over to the door.

"Jim?"

He paused in the doorway, turning to look back at her.

"We all have a destiny, a reason for being here." She stared off into space for a moment. "Mine is to wander the earth learning, discovering, living free and finding those out of the way places where I can be of most use." She looked back at the boy in the doorway. "I think you were born to help people, Jim. I'm not sure how, but I believe it's your destiny. I can't see where your road will lead you, but wherever it goes, believe in yourself, and listen to your heart. It won't lie to you." She nodded to reinforce her words, and laughed when little Blair woke up and gurgled his agreement.

Jim smiled and nodded back. "I'll, try, Mrs...er...Naomi." He took one last look at baby Blair, murmured a quick goodbye and left the room.

His father and brother waited for him by the elevator. Steven sat in a wheelchair, his leg sporting a fresh white cast. Jim gave his brother a little push on the arm in greeting.

"Jimmy, look!" Steven pointed at the cast. "Isn't it cool? I'm gonna have all my friends sign it."

Jim grinned at Steven's newfound enthusiasm for casts. His hand snaked out to tousle his brother's hair. "I get to be first, deal?"

"Jimmy, stop," Steven giggled, smoothing his hair down. "Deal," he replied, shaking Jim's hand to seal the bargain.

"Boys, it's time to go."

Their father's voice cut through their high spirits, sobering them immediately. Jim pushed Steven's wheelchair into the elevator, and pressed the down button. As the door closed, he heard a faint wisp of sound, a baby's cry. No, he reminded himself, the baby had a name now, Blair. Blair was crying again. Jim felt guilty, as if he were abandoning something precious, breaking a trust.

I'msorrysorryBlairsorrygoodbye.

Thoughts moved rapidly through his mind, and he blinked back the hint of wetness in his eyes.

A strange sense of loss overwhelmed him, choking him, and he fought to control his runaway feelings before his father noticed. The crying grew faint, fading altogether as they left the hospital, got into the car and started the drive for home.

Jim turned in the back seat, watching the hospital until it finally disappeared into the dusk of the approaching night. Pain tightened his chest, making breathing difficult and he felt that his heart might break. He wrapped his arms tightly around himself, trying to hold the emotion inside.

Young one. Sentinel who is to be.

Jim's head snapped up. Another voice demanded his attention.

Young one, do not grieve, for today's loss will be tomorrow's gain. The time will come when you are ready to accept your destiny, and he is ready to guide you through it. That time is in the future, not the present. You are not yet ready to take on the responsibilities you will need to shoulder, and neither is your Guide. Take comfort. When the time is right you will meet again and be given the choice to bind your souls together once more, for life.

The words washed over Jim, calming him, easing the intense sadness he felt. I'll see Blair again someday.

Sleep now, Young Sentinel. Sleep and forget. It is not yet time for you to know who and what you are.

A haze descended, claiming memory and consciousness. Goodbye, Blair, Jim thought. Memory shifted, changed. He had helped a woman with her crying baby. What were their names? Did it really matter--he should be thinking about football and the third grade team tryouts next week. He would make the team, and make his father proud--

Jim Ellison--football star. He felt his lips curve into a satisfied smile just before the darkness claimed him.

THE END