A/N: Thanks to my beta, Punky.

Disclaimer: It's mother's day, and though it would have been a fantastic mother's day present, alas, no one actually gave me the rights to anything related to Sentinel. So, drats, I still don't own them.

Misplaced

It had been over a year since I finally found Jimmy. In that time, the staff had seen a tremendous change in the boy's communication and social skills, of course, but also a huge leap in his academic skills. He had been taking in everything in his environment, all along…all of the lessons in class, information on TV, everything anybody said. But, because he was fighting so hard to control his senses all by himself, no one really saw how much he had learned and how much more – so very much more – he was ready to learn.

His teacher was delighted at first to see his rapid progress, but then was dismayed to realize how much more "in there" the boy had been than anyone had ever given him credit for. He was a bright boy…very bright. He had needed every ounce of that intelligence to try to figure out ways to deal with his run-away senses all alone and not completely lose himself in the process. It was partially because of that intelligence that his personality survived until someone got there to help him with his senses. All the staff here had done their best and knew he was intelligent in his own way, but they had honestly never been given any reason to think he was ready for higher academics.

Once his teacher realized he had been capable of learning more all this time, she was heart-broken. Being the loving person she was, she had a very hard time with the idea that she hadn't truly been meeting this student's needs.

Of course, as I told her, she had met the needs he had at the time. He probably would have taken in more if he had been offered more, but he had been in no position then to do anything with the information. All of his focus had gone into dealing with his sensory spikes. His greatest need at the time was to have as controlled an environment as possible which kept to a minimum any unexpected or extreme sensory changes. That's exactly what all of the staff at the Center had provided. Now that he could do that for himself, he was finally ready for more.

His reading level had always been higher than anyone expected, but in the last ten months or so it had shot forward at an incredible rate. It was now part of his routine to pick up anything with writing on it and read it obsessively from front to back. Old newspapers, magazines, recipe books, cereal boxes and soup can labels…nothing was safe. And, of course, he usually had to share with me what he had learned from the reading material – often word for word with the shorter items. I now knew, in intimate detail, how to ensure the health of my cuticles, how to make 101 different crock pot recipes, how to find the perfect mate, and so much more than I ever wanted to know about exactly what went into the food I ate. But, when Jimmy had wandered into the staff's private stash of magazines and then proceeded to tell me the top seven ways to enrich my sex life, Dottie and Anna went on a "smut-hunt" and eliminated anything with the potential to contain inappropriate reading material or just anything that we didn't want repeated numerous times in a large variety of, and often very public, environments. That pretty much reduced Jimmy's choices to newspapers and the TV Guide…as well as the dreaded recipe books and food labels.

So, one day, Jimmy picked up an old newspaper to read…unfortunately, it was one written during the whole trial fiasco. One thing I've noticed about Jimmy is that he doesn't yet have an age-appropriate concept of past vs. present vs. future, or true vs. not true. So, when he read that I had been arrested, he ran through the halls screaming for me. Thanks god I was working that day and that he found me quickly. I would have hated for him to have time to get even more upset. As it was, he clung to me for the rest of the day. We had made so many strides forward, it was always heartbreaking to witness the backslides.

When we finally found a copy of the newspaper that carried Mr. Ellison's apology and included the statement that I was back with Jimmy and was once again working at the Center, and he actually read that, in print, he settled down a little. But, that whole incident was still fresh in Jimmy's mind when the news came on TV later that evening. Mr. Ellison was the current frontrunner in the gubernatorial race which was finally coming to a vote the next month – it felt like the campaign had already gone on forever – and it seemed that he was always on the TV now. But, that evening, when Jimmy saw him, he became very upset and started to cling to me once more. He was so afraid that Ellison would take me away again that he refused to let me out of his sight. In the end, I just took him home with me. We both could get some sleep that way. Thank goodness that sleeping in institutional lounge chairs was a thing of the past.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The next morning at breakfast, Jimmy started drawing people I had never seen before…a woman about my age with long blond hair, and a baby. I asked him about them, but he seemed uncertain about who they were and that seemed to make him uncomfortable, so I let it drop. He didn't give those to me like he usually did now when he finished a drawing. He just tucked them in the back of his sketchbook and took them with him.

I found out later that he drew quite a few more in his various classes that day. He had stopped doing that – drawing instead of participating – but he seemed to be obsessing on these particular people right now. He had still listened to the teacher that day, as he always had, even before I got there; he just didn't actively participate. By evening, I noticed he was drawing a man… but he was never pleased with his work…he kept ripping it up and starting over. I had never seen him destroy his drawings before…not even those distorted pictures he had drawn of me, just before I got here. I wasn't sure if he was throwing away these pictures because he couldn't really remember what the man looked like or because it was someone he didn't like, or both. I had a theory about who it might be, but I never got a good enough look to conform or deny my suspicions.

Over the next several days Jimmy started stashing his final masterpieces in a dresser drawer in his bedroom on the hall. He still had several in the back of his sketchbook at any one time, but he wouldn't let anyone see any of them so there was no way to tell if those he carried around were the most precious to him or just the most recent.

Either way, the boy was so obsessed with these people and these drawings that he brought his own cloud of tension with him wherever he went. Many of the children reacted to it, being emotional barometers. Jimmy had all but shut Ryan out- something he almost never did – and the younger boy was reacting badly. This normally quiet child was starting to act out, yelling and throwing things. Ryan took about three days of Jimmy's distant behavior and then he finally entered his friend's room in a huff, grabbed Jimmy's sketchbook and started shredding picture after picture. Jimmy was livid and for the first time since I met him – the first time ever, the staff told me – our compassionate, loving young man got violent toward another child. He tore the sketchbook from Ryan's hands and shoved his smaller friend away, forcefully enough that Ryan hit the floor. The younger boy, still angry, launched into Jimmy with fists flying. Jimmy responded in kind. They had both landed several blows before we got them separated. It was all I could do to hold Jimmy back, while Hank carried away a kicking, screaming Ryan. Dottie pulled the bedroom door shut behind Hank, in case Jimmy broke free and tried to follow. He didn't. As soon as the door closed, he dropped to the floor, breaking my grip (since I was in the process of loosening it) and scrambled toward the pieces of the destroyed pictures. He was careful to gather every one, even the tiniest of scrapes, and proceeded to try to put them back together.

"Wouldn't it be easier to just draw them again, buddy?" He just continued piecing together his treasures. Whoever these people were, they (or at least their pictures) were important to him. I was starting to get worried about this. He seemed to be slipping away little by little, getting more and more caught up with this obsession and less and less in touch with everything else, and I had no clue how to stop it. As far as I could tell, this whole thing had nothing to do with his senses, but seemed to be about his memories.

After several other attempts to talk him out of saving the remnants of the ruined drawings, I gave up and called to Dottie from the doorway to bring some glue. Once she brought it, I opened Jimmy's sketchpad to a clean page and suggested that we glue the pieces onto that, in the right order. Some of the pieces were so small, even the idea of trying to tape the masterpieces together made me wince.

Jimmy unerringly picked up the pieces of just one drawing and placed them on the blank page in almost exactly the position they would be in the final product. He continued that process for picture after picture until he had four completed pictures again. Two of mother and baby in different poses, one of the woman alone and one of the baby from an odd angle (as if the viewer was holding the infant) that included hands of an older child – maybe a preschooler- clutching at the blankets, trying desperately to hold on to the no doubt wiggling bundle. I was pretty sure I knew who these people were now, and by extension, probably the man as well, though apparently Jimmy still had not come up with a picture of him with which he was satisfied.

Once Jimmy had tucked his newly restored treasures into the back of the sketchbook, along with the two that had escaped hurricane Ryan, he stood up and exited the room. I was close on his heels. He didn't look like he was still angry, but I didn't want to take any chances. Jimmy had changed so much in the last several days (after becoming obsessed with these people) that I wasn't at all sure I could predict his behavior this time.

As it turned out, I needn't have worried. He did make a bee line for Ryan, like I was afraid that he would do, and when he reached out and grabbed Ryan's arm, three adults went on high alert, and Ryan cringed. Jimmy didn't seem to notice any of this, however, and proceeded to partially lead/mostly drag Ryan to the table in the living room area. He more or less insisted that Ryan sit down in the chair next to Jimmy's usual one, and the older boy plopped down in his own chair. Ryan was clearly still expecting Jimmy to hit him, but the younger child didn't seem to be in so much distress that it warranted adult intervention…yet. Jimmy still didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary as he grabbed the large box of crayons from the nearby shelf, tore out a clean page of his own sketchbook and gave them both to Ryan. Then, side by side, they both began to draw. I guess all was forgiven, and the fact that he was able to include Ryan somehow, even though Jim was every bit as obsessed, reassured me that maybe he hadn't slipped away as far as I had feared.

TBC