Fic: Eternity in an Hour (QL/SG-1, Beckett/Janet)

“Dr. Fraiser? There’s a phone call for you. A Dr. Gushman…”

Janet’s head shot up from where she’d been organizing medical supplies. If SG-1 managed to arrest Amaunet’s invasion of Abydos, and possibly retrieve Sha’re, they would be desperately needed. It took a moment for the other woman’s words to sink in–Dr. Gushman? Why would Gushie be calling her? And at work no less?

“He says it’s urgent…” the nurse continued apologetically.

A cold knot of fear tying itself in her intestines, Dr. Fraiser dropped the chart she’d been reading and nodded curtly. “All right. I’ll take it in my office.”

She was trembling by the time the door closed behind her, openly shaking as she picked up the phone. “Gushie?”

Gushie didn’t give her a chance to ask what was wrong. “Dr. Fraiser…you might want to come out here as soon as you can.”

Janet sat down hard. “Oh God…what’s happened? Is he…?” She didn’t finish the sentence because there were too many ways to end it. Home? Dead? Had the Project been shut down?

Or…suddenly she remembered the last call she’d gotten from Al and the knot in her gut tightened even more. Sam had Leaped into a patient at a mental hospital…been administered shock treatment and become lost in a DID-like maze of past Leaps…Al had warned her grimly that if they couldn’t figure out how to restore Sam’s ego, they might lose contact forever…

“We don’t know,” Gushie answered apologetically. “Something happened…just as Dr. Beckett Leaped. There was a huge power surge…Ziggy’s reading it as a catastrophic collapse of the radium Accelerator ring. She’s sealed off both the Accelerator and the Imaging Chamber–”

The Accelerator ring…a catastrophic collapse…sealed the Imaging Chamber…oh God. That was why Gushie was calling her, not Al. Because Al…the one thing, aside from leaving Project Quantum Leap, that had kept her sane through all of this…was sealed inside the Imaging Chamber.

Oh God, no…she couldn’t lose them both. If there was any mercy, any justice left in the world…somehow one or both men had to live.

Janet ruthlessly silenced the voice in the back of her mind that pointed out that even if Al had survived the collapse…the radiation would probably kill him. And she wouldn’t be able to do anything, because once the Imaging Chamber was sealed…

“We’re trying to figure out what happened, but so far…” the little programmer trailed off lamely.

…you’re having about as much luck as you did retrieving Sam after the first Leap, she added silently. “I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

Closing her eyes, she dropped her head into her hands, then picked up the phone again to call Margaret Horan, mother of one of Cassie’s school friends. Hopefully they would be willing to give her a place to stay and a ride to school for a few days, and Cassie would be delighted to get to sleep over at Dierdre’s house.


SG-1 came through the ‘Gate at a limping run; first Sam and Jack, supporting an unsteady, obviously wounded Daniel between them, then Teal’c, carrying…

Oh no.

Hammond couldn’t quite hide the look of dismay that crossed his face at the sight of the limp, lifeless form in the Jaffa’s arms. It was Sha’re…or Amaunet rather, based on the attire. And he didn’t have to be a doctor to know that she was dead.

Dead…like he’d just been informed that Dr. Fraiser’s husband might be. It hadn’t even been a day since he’d granted her an emergency leave to return to New Mexico, and already another search had ended badly. Fate, he decided with a sigh as he ordered a medical team to the Gate Room and hurried down himself, had a cruel sense of humor.

“I’ve sent for a medical team…what the hell happened?” he demanded, not quite successfully masking his irritation.

Three of the four members of SG-1 looked at each other hesitantly. Dr. Jackson’s eyes remained numbly fixed on the floor. He carefully avoided looking at Teal’c…or the body in Teal’c’s arms that had once been his wife.

Jack finally spoke. “I take full responsibility, Sir–”

To Hammond’s surprise, Teal’c interrupted him. “It is not your fault, O’Neill. It is mine.” Reluctantly handing over Sha’re to the medics who arrived, he lifted his chin and looked the General straight in the eyes as if he were expecting a court martial. “Amaunet was attempting to kill DanielJackson with a ribbon device. I saw no choice but to fire upon her.”

The General’s heart sank. Teal’c had killed Amaunet? No wonder Dr. Jackson couldn’t bring himself to look at the Jaffa, even if there had been no other choice.

A brief scuffle distracted him for a moment from the reassurance he’d been about to offer, that Teal’c had done the right thing. Daniel was fighting with the doctors and nurses who were trying to get him onto a gurney. “Please…I have to be with her.”

Jack raised an eyebrow at Hammond. “Where’s Fraiser?”

The commander of the SGC sighed, suddenly feeling very tired. “New Mexico. Possibly for her husband’s funeral.”

He heard Major Carter murmur a soft, “Oh God…” as he walked away.


No one met her at the airport; she’d firmly instructed them all not to. She wanted every available hand and mind to focus on what had happened to Sam…she could find her way to the Project without help, and she’d kept her ID current just in case this day ever came. Until she knew with absolute certainty that Sam was dead…she would always be part of Project Quantum Leap, no matter how far away from it she was.

The surface guards waved her through with a sympathetic smile–even though she’d been gone for two years, most of them still recognized her, and even if they didn’t know what was going on below them…they knew what it meant that she was here.

Janet closed her eyes as the elevator descended into the Earth under the New Mexico desert, fighting dizziness, hope and deja vu all at once. She’d jokingly told Al once that black projects seemed to be unusually fond of operating miles underground, but fortunately for her PQL had cured any claustrophobia she might’ve otherwise experienced at her new assignment.

The corridor she finally emerged into, though, was silver-blue and gleaming with light, not gunmetal gray, which dispelled the momentary flash of hope that she’d just imagined the phone call, the journey, and she was really still at the SGC. That Sam was still missing…but she knew where he was, knew that Al was still in contact with him, and knew he was still alive.

This new waking nightmare gave her no such reassurances.

She passed the Waiting Room–also sealed until they knew what had happened–and fought a lump in her throat. Whatever happened, at least she’d never have to go into that room again and see a stranger looking back at her through her husband’s eyes. That had been the hardest part, and a very big reason why she’d left.

The sound of heels clicking rapidly on the hard floor arrested her attention when she’d almost reached the control room, and a moment later she was almost bowled over by Tina Martinez-O’Farrell, Al’s on-and-off girlfriend. “Janet!” she exclaimed eagerly in that bubbly, empty-headed soprano voice that led so many to underestimate how brilliant the woman actually was. “Sweetie, you’re just in time! We got a letter–they’re all right!”

They’re all right–Janet’s mind immediately locked on those precious three words, hope surging through her like electricity. They were alive! It took a moment for the rest of Tina’s statement to register.

“What do you mean, a letter?” she asked, confused. “How–?”

The taller woman grabbed her hand and pulled her the last few feet to the Control Room, bursting in as soon as the door slid open to let them. Gushie was waiting for them, his own face so alive with excitement that Janet just held her breath and gave in to the hug he pulled her into. When Gushie released her enough to let her inhale without suffering his halitosis, she took a deep breath and accepted the envelope he was holding out to her with an eager grin.

It only took her an instant to recognize the significance of the familiar scribble and the yellowed paper. “This is Al’s handwriting!”

The little programmer nodded eagerly. “The power surge we experienced? Apparently there was a lightning strike just as Dr. Beckett was receiving a second shock treatment to restore his ego. The electrical overload hyperaccelerated the Leap already in progress, causing him and Admiral Calavicci to Leap together…Dr. Fraiser…Sam is in the Imaging Chamber, and this letter contains the back-door code to reopen it in case it’s sealed in error.”

For a split second, Janet felt almost certain she was going to faint or have a heart attack. In a few short minutes, she’d gone from terrified to cautiously hopeful to ecstatic–Sam was in the Imaging Chamber! He was home!

Shaking with anticipation, she shoved the letter back into Gushie’s hands. “Then what the hell are you waiting for??”

“You,” he answered with a dizzy grin before hurrying back to the multicolored control console and beginning to enter the code. “I thought you’d want to be here.”

Janet felt a sudden surge of gratitude for the friends she’d left behind, and blinked back tears as she nodded. She did want to be here–she wanted to be the first thing Sam saw when he walked through that door…the first thing he remembered.

The few seconds it took to input the code felt like an eternity, but finally the door opened. And Sam didn’t walk out…he ran. Five steps down the ramp…then he suddenly paused and turned back, a heartsick look in his eyes for the moment before the door closed.

“Sam…” The word slipped out before she could help it. Oh God…it was him. It was really him, not just a stranger wearing his face.

Sam turned back to her, and the brilliant green eyes she’d loved for almost fifteen years lit up with recognition. Her name, when he spoke it, sounded like a prayer and a sob and plea all at once: “Janet…”

That was all the encouragement she needed–dignity and military protocol went out the window as she threw herself into his arms. And even after four years apart…she still fit there perfectly. Sam kissed her hair, her forehead, her cheek, then finally let go enough to wrap her in a real kiss, a kiss filled with four years of separation, longing and regret. A kiss she eagerly returned.

His hands started to roam too, which sent a whole different kind of thrill through her, even though it was a little uncharacteristic. Sam had never been fond of overly public displays of affection–a kiss, yes, but he’d never groped her in public. That was more like something Al would do.

But after all, they’d been separated for four years…they had a right to show a little lack of self-control.

When they finally came up for air, both were breathing heavily. Sam took Janet’s face between his hands and just stared into her eyes, making her melt like no other man had ever been able to, only him. “How could I have forgotten you?” he whispered.

She hugged him fiercely. “That’s not important anymore. You’re home. We’re together now…everything else is in the past.”

Okay, so that wasn’t the whole truth. It was in the past, in more ways than one, but the other women had still hurt her, swiss-cheesed memory or no. Still…she’d be damned if she was going to open that can of worms when she’d just gotten him back. They had the rest of their lives to deal with indiscretions that would never have happened if he’d known she was waiting for him.


“You remember your stars?”

They were lying wrapped in a blanket on the flat roof of the house that had once been their home. It was mostly empty now, Janet having taken all but the bare bones and Sam’s possessions with her to Colorado. But that–like Sam’s Leaping–was a subject they had tacitly agreed to ignore for the time being.

Janet propped herself up on one elbow, letting the blanket slide down her back a little. Her breasts were exposed, but she didn’t care. Sam was her husband, and no one else could see them out here in the middle of the New Mexico desert. Even the currently quiescent wrist-links to Ziggy that they both wore were for auditory communication only.

“I had a good teacher,” she smiled softly. “Any star in particular?”

Sam’s hand ghosted along her vertebrae, making her shiver with pleasure. “Magrez.”

Janet turned over, staring up at the sky even as she snuggled once again into his chest. Her eyes were drawn immediately to the Big Dipper. “Magrez…it’s part of the Big Dipper. Ursa Major. The faintest one in the bowl.”

What she didn’t add was that she knew the natives’ name for at least one planet that circled it. That she knew people who had walked on that world, seen that star as a sun in a blue sky. Someday she would tell him…maybe the same time that she would be able to tell her friends at the SGC that she’d known time travel with possible long before SG-1 had gotten sent back to 1969.

When he smiled, she traced the pattern of the constellation on his chest. “What brought that on?”

He sighed. “It’s 54 light years from Earth. That little sparkle was born in 1945.”

Al. He was thinking about Al.

Janet felt a twinge of guilt–almost from the moment she’d found out that Sam was home, Al had flown almost completely out of her mind. Of all the sacrifices he’d made for Sam…now he’d taken his friend’s place as fate’s reluctant instrument for “fixing” history. And not by choice, although knowing Al, if he could have made that choice, he very well might have.

“He’ll be fine,” she promised quietly. “If some higher power out there really is guiding your Leaps…it wouldn’t have sent him there if he couldn’t do what was needed of him.”

“Yeah maybe,” Sam agreed, but he didn’t sound convinced. “Observing isn’t the same as Leaping though. This may be more than Al can handle.”

Janet shook her head, a tiny smile touching her lips. “More than watching his best friend risk his life every day? More than holding this Project together by sheer force of will so it would still be here when you came home?”

Not just the Project either…he’d held her together by sheer force of will, too. So that she would be here when Sam came home, like Beth hadn’t been for him. Sending a grateful thought in the Admiral’s direction, she kissed her husband on the collarbone. “Sam…you know I love you, but there isn’t much that Al can’t handle.”

He laughed. “Okay, okay, you’re right. God, I wish he was here…”

“I know,” Janet agreed. “I do too.”

“…so I could kick his butt.”

That made her sit up and stare at him. “What?”

“How could he not tell me about you after all these years?” he demanded. “The woman I love–the woman I married.”

Janet sighed. For the first time since they’d decided to come up on the roof, she shivered in the suddenly cold desert night. “Sam…by the time we even realized that Leaping had affected your memory, you were half in love with Peg Stratton. And if you hadn’t been, she would never have believed you were her husband. Believe me, Verbena and I had a long, long talk about it…and we finally decided that you couldn’t act freely if you knew you were married.”

Sam sobered. “Everything that’s happened the last four years is fast becoming a blur…it’s kind of like a reverse swiss cheese effect. I don’t remember…” He sat up too, taking her shoulders in his hands and meeting her eyes evenly. “Was there anything that I did that hurt you?”

She couldn’t lie to him. As much as she wanted to keep this reunion untainted by the past, at least until she’d held him for one night, the reason he’d fallen in love with her in the first place was because she was honest with him. It would be wrong to betray that.

“Yes,” she admitted in a voice barely above a whisper.

Sam fell onto the blanket, his face stricken.

“But it hurt the way it would if I’d loved you all these years and you never saw me at all…” she explained, lowering herself to him and cupping his strong jaw in one hand. “I never felt betrayed, Sam. Never.”

When their lips met, Sam’s arms came around her back again, pulling her close to him so it would’ve been impossible not to feel his arousal. The kiss deepened, and Sam rolled them both over, pressing her into the blanket so she could feel almost every thread. Janet’s own excitement was climbing–they’d been apart for so long, and even before he Leaped she’d never been able to get enough of him. The separation had only enhanced what was already there.

“Dr Beckett…” Janet almost screamed as Ziggy’s melodious voice broke the silence; the computer had the worst timing she’d ever seen! “Dr Beckett…”

Sam ignored her, instead continuing to test how long he could kiss his wife without needing to breathe.

“Dr Beckett.” Now Ziggy sounded annoyed.

He groaned, rolling away and pressing a button to activate the wrist-link. “Yeah?”

“Sorry to interrupt your first night of matrimonial bliss in four years, but I thought you might like to know that I can now project with 81% accuracy the reason Admiral Calavicci leaped into Crown Point, Indiana.” Despite her words, the computer didn’t sound a bit apologetic. In fact, she sounded almost smug.

Janet grimaced wryly. Part of her had always suspected that Ziggy was a little jealous of anyone who took her father’s attention away from her–sort of the AI equivalent of an Electra complex. She wondered briefly what Sam Carter would make of that.

Her husband was waiting impatiently for the computer to continue. When she didn’t, he finally asked, “Well?”

“It appears that Captain Tom Jarrett and Suzanne Elsinga committed suicide on June 15, 1945,” Ziggy replied glibly, as if she hadn’t just pronounced a death sentence.

By the time she’d finished the sentence, Janet was already gathering up the clothes that had gotten scattered across the roof. She handed Sam his pants as he turned to her, before he had a chance to ask for them.

Matrimonial bliss would have to wait–both of them owed Al far too much to take chances with his life.


Janet recognized the look in Sam’s eyes the minute he came running out of the Imaging Chamber, a blend of desperation and determination that she’d last seen when he’d told her he would find a way to stop the Committee from cutting funding to the Project. Then he Leaped, and she’d lost him for four years. And this time there was more than the Project at stake…Al’s life was on the line.

When he hollered for Tina to get him a Fermisuit and started to strip, her heart sank. “You’re going to try to save him, aren’t you?”

Sam stopped and turned to her, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders. “I have to try. My first Leap was random, targetless. But since then, I think my subconscious has been working on the problem, because I now know how to hit the bullseye.”

But do you know how to bring yourself home? “You can’t Leap outside your own lifetime,” she reminded him.

He shook his head, accepting the suit from Tina and beginning to pull it on. “When we simo-leaped, some of our neurons and mesons obviously merged. Part of me is Al.”

If her life hadn’t been unraveling in front of her eyes all over again, Janet probably would have laughed. She’d attributed Sam’s slightly-healthier-than-usual sexual appetite exclusively to their separation, but she should have known better. It was one more thing she owed Al…

But damn it, why did Sam have to be the price of repaying that debt?

All around them, Ziggy’s voice continued calmly counting down the minutes until Al would die if someone didn’t intervene. Until his life ended…or hers did.

But no…she’d survived losing Sam once. She would survive again. She would go back to Colorado, back to the life she’d established there, and just keep hoping that he would find a way home for good. And if that failed…well, she didn’t think even Al would blame her for moving on.

Sam was watching her, his face twisted in an agony of indecision while he waited for her blessing.

Janet granted it by standing on tiptoe to kiss him again. When he’d left before, he hadn’t told her what he was planning to do, so she hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye. She wasn’t going to make the mistake of not taking it now. “Just come home to me. Whatever you have to do to find a way…”

He embraced her fiercely. “I’ve updated the Retrieval Program. If it still doesn’t work…”

“Just find a way,” she repeated. “No matter how long it takes.”

Sam nodded. “I will. I swear to God, I’ll be back someday.”

Janet echoed his nod, then forced herself to pull away while she still could. “Then go. And tell Al he owes me one.”

“I love you,” he whispered, head bowed close to hers. “Don’t ever doubt that.”

“I love you too.” She touched his lips with her finger, clinging to every memory she had of the smell, taste, and feel of him. “So don’t be gone long, okay?”

With one last smile, her husband turned and disappeared into the Accelerator.


It took three rings before Samantha Carter finally picked up her phone, the breathlessness in her voice suggesting that she hadn’t been in the office on the first ring. “Daniel?”

“Not last time I checked,” Janet replied wryly, appreciating the irony of her own words far more than Sam ever could. Jack, Daniel and Teal’c might be able to, but Sam…

For a brief moment, she had the insane notion of trying to find a way to get her husband, the Visitor, and Machello’s machine into the same room, but discarded it. It wouldn’t have worked anyway–Sam’s body and soul were still his, no matter when or where he was, he just assumed the aura of whoever’s life he was borrowing.

“Janet?” Carter sounded surprised, then sympathetic. “Sorry, I was expecting…how are you? General Hammond told us you might be going back for…a funeral.”

The petite CMO sighed. No, not a funeral…just a revisitation to the worst day of her life. “We thought we might have found him…it turned out we were wrong. But at least he’s still alive.”

It was a gross oversimplification, but she’d gotten used to dealing in those after two classified assignments.

“I’m sorry,” the blonde Major sympathized quietly.

Janet smiled again, half-heartedly. “I guess I just needed to hear a familiar voice that didn’t remind me of him.” Though if that was the case, why she’d picked the one friend who had the same nickname as her husband, she didn’t know. “I hope things are better out there?”

There was a long pause before the other woman answered. “Not really. We lost Sha’re.”

The doctor grimaced. “Amaunet got away again?”

Carter took a deep, shaky breath. “She was trying to kill Daniel with a ribbon device. Teal’c…Teal’c shot her to save his life.”

Just like Sam had Leaped to save Al’s life–a faint sound of empathy escaped Janet’s lips. “Oh God…”

“Daniel’s doing better than we expected,” the Major continued in a subdued voice. “General Hammond sent him home for a few days…honestly, I half expected him to pick up and leave, or at the very least give Teal’c a wide berth for a few days…”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t blame him,” Janet agreed. She’d had a hard time being around Al since he’d returned, but was determined to speak to him before she left, so he would know she didn’t blame him for Sam’s leaving. Eventually. She was just still a little too raw to face him.

“Well, apparently Sha’re managed to get a message to him through the ribbon device before she died, asking him to find her baby and take care of him, so at least he has a reason to go on,” the taller woman sighed. “But he’s hurting, and there’s nothing we can do to help him.”

There might be something she could do, though, Janet realized. She’d never talked much about Sam to her friends at the SGC…Major Carter didn’t even know that her best friend was married to one of the most brilliant physicists of the age, one of her heroes. But Daniel…Daniel might need someone right now who could really understand what he was going through. Maybe it was time she trusted somebody with the whole story.

“I picked Cassie up at school today,” the Major shared then. “She misses you.”

The CMO’s smile softened, thinking about her adopted daughter. A daughter Sam would never know unless he kept his promise and came home again, because she hadn’t gotten around to telling him. “I miss her too. I should be home tomorrow, if all goes well.”

“Want me to meet you at the airport?”

“No,” Janet shook her head even though she knew her friend couldn’t see it. “I left my car in the long term lot…I might stop by Daniel’s on the way home, though. Just offer to listen, if he needs it…”

She could almost hear the Major smile, her voice rueful: “He just might let you.”


“Al?”

Al looked up guiltily from whatever he’d been reading. He immediately stubbed out his cigar in they ashtray on his desk, as if she’d come to scold him about his smoking.

Janet saw no reason to disappoint. “Those things are going to kill you one day, you know,” she chastized lightly with a little smile.

He just snorted. “I’ll be surprised if they get a chance.” For a long moment, an uncomfortable silence hung between them, then Al cleared his throat. “Look, Janet–”

She knew what he was going to say, and held up a hand to forestall it. “It’s not your fault, Al. Sam wouldn’t be the man I love if he’d let you die when he could save you. And he would never have forgiven me if I’d tried to make him. Besides, I’m a doctor–even if you weren’t one of my best friends, letting you die would be a violation of my Hypocratic Oath.”

She tried to smile at her own flat joke, but only half succeeded.

Al grimaced too. “So what now?” he asked quietly.

Janet straightened her shoulders. “I’m going home. I have a daughter who needs me, and friends…”

The Admiral nodded. “Do you want me to tell him anything?”

Her gut seizing for a moment in remembered pain, she slowly shook her head. “If he doesn’t remember on his own…no. Leaping is Sam’s life now…and the SGC is mine. No reason for both of us to have to know what we lost. Besides…” A small smile touched her lips again. “…he promised he’d find a way home again. That’s enough, at least for now.”

Al smiled sadly at her. “You’re an amazing woman, Janet.”

Janet ducked her head, looking away for a long moment before finally turning back to him. “One of my friends…lost his wife the day I came out here. I just wanted you to know…I’m going to tell him everything. I don’t know if it will help, but it’s worth a try. And considering he’s on our flagship team, he has the right level of clearance anyway.”

Al inclined his head in understanding, eyeing her shrewdly. “This friend wouldn’t happen to be the Dr. Jackson you’ve told me about, would it?”

She nodded.

The Admiral nodded too. “Then give him my sympathies.”

Impulsively, Janet stepped all the way into the office and gave him a tight hug. “Thank you, Al. For being here for Sam…for me. I’ll never forget that, never be able to repay it.”

“I don’t want you to repay me. I just want the same thing you want–Sam home safe, and for good.” He returned the hug. “Anything else is just icing on the cake.”

She smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Goodbye, Al.”

“Take care, Kid.”


For a full minute after opening the door, Daniel just blinked at her as if he was trying to process that there was someone on his doorstep, let alone Janet Fraiser. “Janet…hi…” he finally spoke, the words slow and still a little uncertain. “I thought you were–”

“In New Mexico?” Janet smiled sadly. “I was. But things didn’t work out quite the way I was hoping they would. Do you mind if I come in?”

The archaeologist shook his head and stepped aside to let her enter. He followed her into the living room, where she stopped to give him a brief, sympathetic hug. “Sam told me about Sha’re, Daniel…I’m so sorry. If you need to talk to someone–”

He looked embarrassed, but looked away. “I don’t mean to be rude, but–”

“I couldn’t possibly understand?” she asked gently, folding her arms over her chest. “You might be surprised, Daniel. What would you say if I told you I lost my husband this week too?”

Daniel really looked at her for the first time since she’d appeared at his door.

Janet’s smile turned wry. “I suppose you’ve heard of Dr. Sam Beckett?”

He nodded, seeming unsure of where she was going with this. “TIME called him the next Einstein…one of the greatest minds of his generation….six doctorates, ranging from quantum physics to medicine to ancient languages to music–Jack would probably say he could make Sam and I combined look like dunces. He dropped out of sight about the time…” An abashed smile crept onto Daniel’s face. “About a year before I did.”

She nodded too, her voice still soft. “He’s my husband. Four years ago, when he ‘dropped out of sight,’ he was taken from me by circumstances beyond our control. Two days ago, I saw him again for the first time since he disappeared…and barring a miracle, probably the last time too.”

The archaeologist’s eyes met hers with the recognition of one kindred spirit for another. “You’re right…” he admitted quietly. “I guess you do understand.”

Another empathetic smile passed between the two, then Daniel made a motion towards the couch. “Please…sit down.”

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Fic: The Great Divide (QL/SG-1, Beckett/Janet)

Janet Fraiser closed the front door behind her and just fell against it for a long moment. She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the light that was only increasing the pounding in her skull. Strange, but she didn’t even know how long it had been since SG-1 and SG-3 had returned from that fateful mission to P3X-797, only that it had felt like an eternity.

Eternity in a hell where she was surrounded by people in need and helpless to heal them. Thank God for Mr. Teal’c…Teal’c…if he hadn’t succeeded in bringing back the blood sample, she might still be trapped in that nightmare.

Feeling more drained than she probably had since the night she lost her husband, Janet opened her eyes, dropped her keys on the first flat surface she came to and half strode, half stumbled into the house.

She found the message light on the answering machine blinking urgently and seriously contemplated ignoring it. But she reminded herself that it might be something urgent, so she hit the button with a sigh.

The voice on the other end of the line almost made her cry with relief.

“Heya, Kid, it’s Al. Wish I could say I had news for you, but so far no change. At least he’s still out there–hasn’t gotten himself killed yet. Still…wanted to check in with you and see how you were settling in to the new place. Give me a call; that’s an order.”

Janet smiled fondly at the gruff voice. It was just like him to check up on her, and to “order” her to call him back. She wondered idly what the Marines back at the base would think if they knew that one of her best friends was a Navy Admiral, who cheerfully gave her orders but refused to let her stand on ceremony or address him by rank because her husband, the civilian, never did.

Her husband…

The CMO of the SGC closed her eyes again, weariness returning with the memory of the other part of Al’s message: “Wish I could say I had news for you…”

But there was no news…which meant that Sam was still Leaping, and the Project was no closer to finding a way to retrieve him. For all practical intents and purposes…she was still a widow. Worse than a widow. The man she loved more than anything had abandoned her, and didn’t even remember that she existed, let alone had ever been part of his life.

No…that was the bitterness talking and she knew it. Sam loved her…and he hadn’t known that he wouldn’t be able to get home, or that he wouldn’t remember her when he was gone. But damn him, he should have known. He should have been sure he could come home before he left, instead of panicking that the private funding they relied so heavily on was going to be pulled.

Janet laughed at herself. Right–ask a dreamer to look before he Leaps? To not take the only chance remaining that could save that dream? She knew him better than that. Knew that for all his brilliance, Dr. Sam Beckett was still naive…hopeful to a fault. And she wouldn’t want him any other way.

Except home. Selfish as she knew it was, there were times when she would gladly let her husband’s dream be destroyed forever just to have him home again.

There were three more messages from Al on the machine, each one sounding a little more urgent, a little more worried. Poor Al–he was so determined to take care of her, even a whole state away. He’d even been the one who encouraged her to accept this new posting in Colorado–told her Sam wouldn’t want her to put her life on hold forever, and the Air Force wouldn’t let her anyway, so she might as well take it now, while moving on was still her choice.

He didn’t encourage her to file for divorce or have Sam declared dead, like some would have–after what he’d been through in his own life, she knew he couldn’t have done that even if he’d thought that was what she wanted or needed–but he’d given her permission on Sam’s behalf to walk away for a time from the endless search. To rest her heart so it would be strong enough to survive the separation.

Al had been her lifeline, in some ways, just as much as he’d been Sam’s. It wasn’t hard to decide to follow “orders” and call him back.

“Calavicci,” a grumpy, sleep-roughened voice answered the phone. “Gushie, if that’s you, I’m gonna kill you with your own damned bad breath–”

For the first time since she’d arrived home, Janet looked–really looked–at the clock. 4AM–she hadn’t even noticed the weak pre-dawn light on the way over, or if she had, she’d probably dismissed it as sunset rather than sunrise. “Oh God, Al, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how early it was.”

She heard the bedsprings creak softly as he sat up. “Wait–Janet, is that you? Don’t hang up; I just thought Gushie was calling to tell me Sam had Leaped in already…”

Janet smiled ruefully. “When did you finally get home after the last Leap?”

“Don’t ask,” the Admiral groaned. “Let’s just say for once I’m glad he disappears into the ether for days at a time and leave it at that.”

She laughed softly. It was strange to be able to joke about Sam’s Leaps without feeling the raw burn of his loss. Of course it still hurt, but not as much. Hope faded, but so did the pain. And that hope wasn’t gone, just…shelved for the time being. Until she had reason to pull it out again.

“So what took you so long?” was Al’s next dry question. “I called…” There was a long pause before he finally concluded, “…days ago.”

So she wasn’t the only one for whom the days had blurred.

“That’s probably because I haven’t been home in days,” Janet admitted with a tired sigh. “We had a bit of a crisis–what sleep I got, I snatched on an empty bed in the infirmary when there was an empty bed.”

“Baptism by fire, huh?” the Admiral sympathized. She could almost hear the apologetic grimace in his voice.

“To say the least…but honestly, Al?” She sighed, collapsing on the couch and running her free hand over her forehead. “Now I really know what I’m dealing with. No more surprises…or at least, now I know to expect the unexpected.”

“I’d say that sounds unusual for Colorado, but then I know the sort of unconventional things we deal with here in New Mexico,” he answered dryly.

Janet smiled. “I’d tell you more if I could…God knows, you probably have the clearance–”

Al made a little “pfft” noise. “Don’t worry about it. Tell me a little bit about the folks you’re working with instead–they got half as eclectic a group there as we do here?” he teased.

That made her laugh. “Oh, you have no idea. Honestly, Al? If Sam is the greatest mind of his generation, then the second, third, fourth and all the way down to hundredth greatest must be here. Well…” A sly smile crossed her face. “With the exception of you and Gushie and Verbena–”

“I wouldn’t exactly call myself one of the greatest minds of anything,” Al snorted self-deprecatingly. “Real genius mecca you’ve got there, huh? Are we talking the greatest minds the Air Force has to offer?” there was a mild, playful note of derision in the way he said the words ‘Air Force.’ The Admiral cheerfully kept all the inter-branch rivalries alive, but with enough good-hearted humor so as not to burn his friends who belonged to some of those other branches.

“No, pretty much every branch is represented, although most of the upper echelons of the chain of command are Air Force,” Janet corrected. “We have a few civilians too,” she added, thinking of Dr. Jackson and Teal’c. “What I can tell you is that this is one of those projects like Sam’s, that everyone wants a bite of.”

Al sighed. “Until it goes ca-ca, you mean? And the nozzles out in Washington start to worry about getting their hands dirty?”

“Well, if you’ll forgive me for being cryptic, I think if this particular project went ‘ca-ca,’ the whole world would be in trouble,” she echoed his sigh.

“That big, huh?” the Admiral asked rhetorically. She heard him fight a yawn.

“I should call you back when it’s a more decent hour–”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he admonished. “I’ve always got time for my best friend’s girl. Besides, it sounds like you could use somebody to talk to. You may not be able to tell me the whole story, but tell me about a couple of these second-greatest minds of their generation.”

Janet chuckled again. “Well, the only one I really got a chance to meet properly was Dr. Jackson. Captain Carter–she’s the other brilliant mind on our flagship team–was one of my patients, and not really very coherent at the time we were introduced.”

“Dr. Jackson would be one of the civilians you were talking about?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “From what I understand he has doctorates in archaeology and linguistics, with a particular interest in Egyptology.”

Al grunted. “I’d ask what the Air Force wants with an archaeologist, but I have a feeling your superiors would react to that about the way the Committee would if I tried to send Sam a coded message in hieroglyphics.”

She covered her mouth with her hand to keep a giggle from escaping. One thing Al had always been able to do was make her laugh, even at the worst of times.

“He reminds me of Sam, a little,” she admitted once the laughter had subsided. “He has that same wide-eyed innocent quality, even after all he’s been through–” She stopped herself there, stopped herself from passing on the story she’d only just recently heard. The story that made her feel a pang of sympathy for him. If anyone knew what it was like to be torn apart by circumstances beyond your control, to spend every waking moment searching for the lost love that part of your heart feared you would never find…it was her. “–and he reminds me of me a little too. His wife went missing about the time this project got started up again.”

Janet knew that particular understatement didn’t begin to express the magnitude of the loss, or what Dr. Jackson had already gone through to try to find Sha’re, but it was enough to make the Admiral understand.

He did. “So how are you holding up? Really?”

“Better than I was. Considering the first crisis hit almost the minute I reported for duty, I haven’t had time to even think about Sam, let alone dwell on his absence–”

“Whereas here you had nothing to do but dwell on it, since your only patients were the Visitors,” Al finished her thought in a tone of quiet approval. “That’s good…I mean, not that the place went to hell in a handbasket as soon as you got there, but that you’ve got something to focus on. Something to take your mind off things.”

“Have you ever considered taking your own advice?” she asked. “Maybe getting away for a little while yourself?”

Al laughed coarsely. “Janet, honey, I’m the one person who can’t,” he sighed. “Look what happened the last time I went to Washington to talk to the Committee…”

Janet nodded. She’d known that was the answer she would get, but part of her had to ask: the part of her that still felt guilty that it was Al, not her, who had sacrificed everything to keep the Project afloat long enough for them to solve the problem of the retrieval program, to see Sam through each Leap so that he would survive long enough to be retrieved.

But she was only a Captain, not an Admiral or a General. She didn’t have the rank or the connections to have any real clout with Congress or the President. And she couldn’t have acted as Observer even if she wanted to; too often the success of Sam’s Leaps depended on that hole in his memory that was the shape of their marriage.

“It’s not fair,” she stated quietly but firmly. “Not to you, not to me…Sam couldn’t let go, so instead he dragged us all along on this wild ride of his. And we can’t get off it without the risk of losing him forever.”

“I know,” the Admiral agreed, his voice soft and sympathetic. “But that’s the chance you take, Kiddo, when you love a dreamer.”

A long silence stretched between them as both quietly acknowledged the truth of those words. Finally, Al sighed. “You gonna be okay?” he asked.

“I’ll survive,” she replied simply.

As long as time and space divided them, it was all she could do: keep surviving, keep waiting and hoping for the day when Sam would come home, and keep praying for the strength not to give up on him.

“Good. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

Janet smiled faintly. “At Sam’s side, where you’ve been ever since Star Bright. Take care of him for me, Al.”

“Damned straight I will,” Al agreed firmly with a mild snort. “You take care of yourself, okay? And get some sleep.”

“I will. I promise.” She hung up, still wearing that same half-hearted smile, and took a long hard look around her at the house, with its bare walls and forlorn stacks of boxes lining them. She’d put off unpacking, still hoping in a small corner of her heart that Al would call her to tell her to come back, that the separation was over. But now…she knew without a doubt that this was where she belonged. At least until Sam came to retrieve her himself, this was home.

First thing tomorrow, she’d open a few of those boxes and make the place look like it.

Posted in Crossovers, Het, Quantum Leap, Quantum Leap/Stargate SG-1, Stargate SG-1 | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Fic: Rest or Go On (QL/XF, gen)


He wasn’t afraid. Maybe that, more than anything, was what affirmed his conviction that they’d made the right choice. No matter how often they’d willingly risked their lives for their cause, there had always been that kernel of fear. This time…from the moment Frohike looked at him with that unspoken question in his eyes, he’d felt nothing but a calm resolve. Even now, as the fire spread through him, filling every nerve cell with agony, there was still no fear. Only acceptance, and something almost like thankfulness that it would all be over soon. That the pain wouldn’t last.

Feeling himself weaken, John Byers closed his eyes…

The pain stopped.

Blinking in surprise, he opened his eyes again, and stared in bewilderment at his surroundings. A quick look around revealed Langly and Frohike still standing beside him, looking equally puzzled.

The airtight corridor and John Gilnitz had vanished. Instead, they were standing just inside the door of an unfamiliar, deserted bar. Warm, golden brown sunlight filtered through the wide picture windows, seeming like early morning, midday, and dusk all at once.

“Frohike?” Byers almost croaked.

“I see it,” his older friend responded, amazed. “I don’t know what I’m seein’, but I see it.”

Still confused, the bearded Gunman glanced at his other friend.

Langly raised disclaiming hands. “Hey, man, don’t look at me, I didn’t do anything.”

At that moment, a door closed across the room and a pleasant-faced middle-aged man with a brown moustache appeared behind the bar, wiping his hands on a dishtowel.

“What can I get for you boys?”

“J&B, straight up,” Frohike responded immediately, still shaken.

“Actually…I’m not quite sure how we got…here,” Byers amended, “but it might not be a good idea to be in the same room with us right now.”

Right. The virus. Brought back to reality, both Frohike and Langly took an involuntary step back away from the bar.

The bartender smiled. “I brought you here. And don’t worry–you’re now as healthy as a team of thoroughbreds before a race.”

The three men exchanged a wondering glance, then once more surveyed their surroundings with confusion. The bar seemed almost as if it had been snatched out of time, antique but from no discernible point in the past. But it was no cybercafe, which quite frankly was the only kind of restaurant the trio would have expected or wanted to find in…the afterlife.

“Is this…heaven?” Langly choked out.

The bartender laughed. “No, it’s Cokesburg.”

“Cokesburg?” Frohike asked suspiciously.

“Cokesburg, Pennsylvania. Good to finally meet you boys. I’m Fox.”

The trio blinked. “You’re kidding.”

‘Fox’ shook his head, still amused. “‘Fraid not.”

“Poor bastard–you mean there’s two people in the world with that moniker?” Frohike sympathized.

The bartender smiled. “What were some parents thinking, hey Melvin?”

The older man snapped. “Okay, that’s it. What the hell is going on here??”

“If this was some big set-up to silence us–” Langly added, equal anger in his voice.

“–or to punish Yves–” Byers added.

Fox raised both hands in a gesture of innocence. “Settle down, boys. No one’s making light of your grand sacrifice.”

They still regarded him warily.

“It’s not a trick. It’s a second chance. Now, have a seat…” he nodded towards the bar. “…have a drink. You could use the rest.”

“We could use an explanation,” Langly snapped.

“And you’ll get one,” the stranger smiled. “When the time is right.” He set Frohike’s drink down on the bar and looked expectantly at the other two.

After another hesitant look passed between the three, as one unit they moved slowly forward and claimed three bar stools together at the counter. Frohike picked up his glass and stared at it suspiciously, while ‘Fox’ continued to look askance at Byers and Langly.

“I’ll have a glass of water, thanks,” the bearded man finally conceded.

Oh hell. They were already dead anyway, it wasn’t as if it could kill them, Langly reasoned. “Heinekin. Preferably from the bottle.”

The bartender busied himself filling their drink orders, and the three men just looked at each other again. Relax…rest…they’d almost lost the meaning of those words. They couldn’t remember the last time they’d felt free to take a moment just for themselves and not think about the rest of the world. Even as their resources had dwindled and the paper–their life’s work–dried up, there had always been the search for Yves. To find her, save her if need be, or at least apologize for being so quick to assume the worst about her.

“Weird,” Frohike finally voiced the sentiment in his usual concise way.

“Yeah,” Byers agreed softly.

They nursed their drinks for almost an hour, the bartender watching them closely but not speaking. He didn’t approach again until the last drop of Langly’s Heinekin had been tipped down the hacker’s throat.

“So. You want to know why you’re here, do you?”

“It would be appreciated,” the bearded gunman agreed with his usual politeness.

Fox smiled. “John, do me a favor. Take a look at that calendar over there and tell me today’s date.”

Byers looked puzzled, but complied. “It’s November 22, 1963…my birthday.” He looked back at the bartender in confusion.

Frohike snorted. “Byers, buddy, hate to tell you this, but I think you finally need glasses like the rest of us.”

The man behind the counter gave him a knowing look. “So what date do you see, Melvin?”

The shorter man winced at the use of his first name. “If you have to know, it’s my birthday up there, not his.”

Fox looked at Langly. “What about you, Ringo?”

“Same thing. I mean…I see my birthday.”

Frohike looked at the bartender. “How’d you do that, man?”

“Well, as I’ve said, this isn’t heaven,” the man reiterated. “It is, however, something of a way station, so time doesn’t really operate here the way you’re used to.”

“Way station…you mean we are dead?” Byers asked.

“No, John, you’re not,” Fox reassured him. “You might say you’re in limbo. You three are here to make a choice.”

“What kind of choice?”

“Whether you want to rest or go on.”

“You mean live or die.”

He nodded. “In a sense, yes, although you won’t be able to return to your old lives.”

“What is this, some sort of divine witness relocation program?” Langly asked.

The bartender just smiled. “Let’s just say that since the beginning of human history, people who devoted their lives–as you have–to the welfare of others have been given a choice. At the point of their death, if they are willing to die as they lived, they’re brought here.”

“Here? To a bar in Pennsylvania?”

“For this century and the last one, yes. The place is irrelevant, and as I’ve said, time as you understand it doesn’t exist here.”

“You said we were here to make a choice, to rest or go on–go on how?” the bearded Gunman asked.

“To continue changing the world, one life at a time, only not the world as you knew it yesterday, and not always as the people you see in the mirror right now.”

“I…I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“You’re being offered a chance to go back in time, to change history for the better.”

All three perked up. “You mean…” Byers asked breathlessly. “…we could go back and save JFK?”

The bartender shook his head. “Nope. That one’s already been taken care of–fellow by the name of Sam Beckett…” He chuckled. “Although that’s an interesting story. Only man I ever met who figured out how to get started on this path before his time.”

“You mean…somewhere out there Kennedy’s alive?” Frohike asked, confused.

“No, he died. That was a necessary turning point in history, sad to say. But Jackie’s alive.”

The three men stared at him blankly. Fox smiled. “You don’t remember that. You were still in the normal time stream when it was changed.”

“No,” he continued, “I’m not talking about conspiracies and cover-ups here, gentlemen. At least, not many. I’m talking about individual lives. Going back in time to a moment where one life went wrong and setting it right. Think you three can work on that small a scale?”

“But what about the Truth?” Byers almost lamented.

The bartender just kept smiling. “You’ve left that quest in good hands. Your friends–Jimmy and Yves, Fox and Dana, John and Monica and Walter–they’ll carry on for you. But it was never just about the conspiracies, was it?”

“No,” the unofficial leader of the trio admitted. “It was about justice.”

“Saving lives, making the world a better place,” Frohike added with a slow nod.

“Making our lives count for something,” Langly rounded out.

The man behind the counter nodded. “There’s no quest more noble than that. But there’s also nothing wrong with being ready to lay your arms down and accept the rest you’ve earned. It’s your choice.”

The three men looked at each other again, conversing without words just as they had before Frohike pulled that fatal alarm.

“Will we be able to stay together?”

Fox nodded, the smile broadening. “I think I can arrange a special dispensation.”

“Dispensation?” Frohike frowned.

“Normally, the travelers we send out from here can only move back and forth within their own lifetimes. But rather than limit you all to Ringo’s lifetime here…” He nodded at the blonde man. “…I think we’ll set Melvin’s birthday as the starting point.”

The three men nodded, then Byers asked, “How will we know what to do?”

The bartender smiled. “Follow your hearts, like you always have. You’ll find your way.”

Circling around the bar, he came to stand behind them, placing one hand on Frohike’s shoulder, one hand on Langly’s, and looking Byers straight in the eyes when they turned to face him. “Just remember, whenever you get tired, you can come back here to rest for as long as you need. And when you’re ready to move on, you’ll know. Now…ready to go?”

Looking at his two friends, Byers reached out and laid one hand on the bar. Frohike and Langly covered it with their own, like they had on the window of the fire door. Whatever lay ahead, they would face it together just as they always had.

“Yes.”

The bartender smiled. “God bless, boys.”

Then with a ripple of electricity and a bright flash of blue light, they vanished.


End Note: Just for the record, I always hated the final episode of Quantum Leap. But it was more for the final sentence–“Dr. Sam Beckett never returned home”–and the uncharacteristic surreality of the plot, rather than for the content of the episode in and of itself. I actually found the notion that people who had “died” heroically had gone on to become Leapers rather an appealing one, and I was drawn back to it when I was looking for a way to resurrect Byers, Frohike and Langly without cheapening the sacrifice they had made. I also played around a bit with the mythology of that final episode and not all of it is explained in the story. For example, the reason the bartender’s name is “Fox” and not Al is because I imagine he always appears to someone using the name of a friend they had to leave behind. In Sam’s case, Al. In the Gunmen’s…well, it was either Mulder or Jimmy and since Mulder wasn’t able to be there for the funeral, I felt it should be him. Feel free to e-mail me or comment with any questions–I’d be happy to clarify anything that needs it.

Posted in Crossovers, Gen, Quantum Leap, Quantum Leap/The X-Files, Stories by Genre, The Lone Gunmen, The X-Files | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Fic: Remember Me This Way (QL/SG-1, Jack/Sara)

Author’s Note: Written For elektra_lyte for the QL/SG-1 crossover ficathon. She requested–“Jack needs to make a decision; save his broken marriage, or re-commission for one last, possibly suicidal, classified mission? Can Sam help him make the right choice? Does Sam even know what the right choice is?” I have always considered the movie to be a slightly-alternate universe to the series due to several small inconsistencies between the two, so where they conflicted, movie canon was sometimes ignored in favor of series canon and/or dramatic license. *g* Series canon was followed to the best of my ability.


“–ry, but I’m cutting you off, Colonel.”

Dr. Sam Beckett blinked as the light of the Leap faded and his new surroundings came into focus. He was sitting at a bar, facing a grey-haired bartender who had both palms flat on the counter, studying him with a look that was both firm and sympathetic. For a second, he thought he was back at Al’s Place, but no…this bar was more–for lack of better word–terrestrial. It was dark, murky, and based on the CD-based juke box, a lot closer to his own present than 1952. Although what was his own present anymore? He’d been Leaping for so long, he wasn’t even sure if he could justify laying claim to whatever was the present day for his colleagues back at the Project.

“Wh-what?” the time traveler stammered, still disoriented.

The bartender sighed. “Don’t argue with me, Jack. I know this hasn’t been an easy time for you, and I understand why, but…” He paused, glancing towards the door as if expecting someone.

Jack. Okay, so apparently that was his name this time around. “I wasn’t arguing, I just…” Sam trailed off, not quite sure how to finish that sentence. The first few minutes of a Leap, before Al showed up, were always a bit confusing; at least this time he had the excuse of being–apparently–drunk. “I…how many have I had?”

The other man chuckled. “I rest my case. Look, Sara should be here in a few minutes–“

“Sara?” Sam interrupted.

“I called her,” the bartender offered defensively, straightening up and taking a step back as if anticipating a violent response. “Look, Jack, I won’t pretend I know what you’re going through. I can’t even imagine losing one of my kids. But if you’re not careful, you’re going to lose her too.”

So now he had four pieces of information: his name was Jack. He was a Colonel in some branch of the military–probably the American military, judging by the accents of those around him. He’d recently lost a child and had apparently been trying to drown the memory in alcohol, and he had someone in his life named Sara–either a wife or girlfriend, probably the child’s mother–whom he was also in danger of losing.

If only most Leaps were this informative in the first few minutes, he thought wryly.

The bartender apparently took his silence as reproach, because he leaned across the counter and placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You had no damned way of knowing he’d figured out how to take the safety off. Hell, you weren’t even in the room. It wasn’t your fault.”

More pieces fell into place. Oh God…

“No,” a tired female voice came from behind him–a voice that sounded drained of all emotion. “You only failed to lock it up like I’ve been asking you to do for years.”

Sam turned his head sharply to see a woman with short blonde hair and dead eyes standing behind him. “Sara,” he guessed.

She let out a resigned sigh, that unnerving flatness still in her voice. “Who else cleans up all your messes, Jack? The Air Force certainly won’t do it anymore.”

The bartender snatched the empty glass out from in front of Sam, setting it down behind the bar almost hard enough to shatter. “Hell, Sara, he beats himself up enough over this. He doesn’t need it from you too.”

Sam glanced from one to the other, taking in the anger in the bartender’s eyes and the persistent lack of emotion in Sara’s as they stared at each other over his head. The time traveler took a deep breath and let it out slowly:

“Ohhhhhhh boy.”


The drive from the bar to what was presumably Colonel Jack’s home was a silent one, which was making Sam antsy. Of course, it didn’t help–it never did–that Al still hadn’t shown up.

He had enough information to start to piece together why he was here, but it was always nice to get confirmation, or at least input, from Ziggy. Besides which, Al taking this long to appear was usually a sign either of technical difficulties back at the Project, or worse, trouble with the Visitor in the Waiting Room. He suspected the latter: at best, the man whose life he’d Leaped into was grieving a son who’d apparently shot himself with his father’s gun. At worst (since Sam had no idea if Leaping had any effect on intoxication–he’d never been drunk when he Leaped, at least not that he could remember), he was also dangerously drunk.

If he was right about what he was here to do–try to save Jack and Sara’s failing marriage–it wasn’t going to be easy. Not with both of them blaming Jack for their son’s death. He needed more information if he was going to have any hope of succeeding: at the very least, the son’s name.

By the time Sara pulled into the driveway, parked the car and let them both into the house, still without speaking a word to him, Sam was rapidly approaching a state of panic. What was he supposed to do when he walked through that door? Follow her up to bed, or head for the couch? Try to apologize, or persist with this cold silence? He might have a genius IQ and a formerly-eidetic memory, but that was pretty much useless in this situation; he didn’t have the information he needed and it couldn’t be pulled out of thin air or just deduced. Where the hell was Al?

As if on cue, a familiar, gravelly voice spoke out of thin air behind him. “Nice place.”

Long habit prevented Sam from letting out a wordless cry of relief. He just turned to the hologram, poised to greet him with the usual “what took you so long?” but Al didn’t give him a chance.

He grimaced, gesturing towards Sara. “They had it all, Sam–the house, the kid, and still wild about each other after ten years of marriage. Jack and Sara O’Neill were living the dream, until their son, Charlie, accidentally put a bullet through his head. They haven’t been the same since.”

Sam just nodded, trying not to smile lest Sara notice it while he searched for an excuse to get Al alone and find out what else Ziggy knew. “I’ll, uh…be just a moment, I just have to–“

“Don’t bother,” Sara stated in that same dead tone as she’d used in the bar. “I’ve stopped expecting it.”

“He’s been sleeping in Charlie’s room ever since the kid died,” Al supplied without being asked, also without a single lewd remark about Sara. It would have seemed out of character if Sam didn’t know how much genuine compassion and empathy his friend hid behind that cocksure exterior. “If you can call it sleeping. Probably more like going over that day again and again in his mind, trying to figure out what he could have done differently.”

“Ah…right,” Sam conceded the point with a rueful smile. “I guess I’ll…see you in the morning.”

Sara didn’t even answer, just closed the bedroom door behind her with a soft snick.

As soon as she’d gone, Sam sank into the first chair he could find. “Oh, God, Al…”

“I know.” The hologram grimaced, gripping the handlink like a lifeline. Sam knew him well enough to know what was probably going through his mind: he was seeing himself in O’Neill’s shoes. Al might still remember a time before he’d had a successful marriage and four grown daughters, but that didn’t mean he loved them any less fiercely than any other father. More so, in fact, since the double set of memories meant he knew exactly what he’d be without. “Sorry it took me so long getting here, but between Colonel O’Neill’s mental state and his black ops background, we had a hell of a time getting any information out of him.”

“What else did you find out?”

That made the older man scowl. “Not enough, but we’re still working on it. I’m telling you, Sam: half this guy’s life is classified, and even with the clearance we’ve got, the Air Force is still pitching a fit about sharing information.”

Sam interrupted before Al could go off on an inter-branch rivalry tangent. “What about his personal life?”

“Aside from what you already know?” Al gestured towards the stairs with his ever-present cigar. “No surviving family and he hasn’t spoken to most of his friends since Charlie died. Most of them don’t even know he ever had a kid.”

Too restless to stay seated, Sam rose and started to pace the room. “I don’t understand–why didn’t I Leap in earlier? I could have saved Charlie’s life, stopped all of this from happening.”

“Hell if I know,” Al shot back. “I’m not the one Leaping you around.”

No, that was a different Al…if Al really was his name. Sam sighed. “All right, so I’m here to try to save their marriage.”

“Ah…actually, that’s one of the things Ziggy doesn’t know.”

That stopped him mid-pace. “What else could it be?”

Al hit a few buttons on the handlink. “Jack O’Neill is going to get a visit from the Air Force tomorrow night. He’s going to be reactivated and offered a top.” He smacked the side. “Secret mission. In the original history, he turned it down, moved to Minnesota and effectively disappeared, only resurfacing long enough to sign the divorce papers.”

“What was the mission?”

“That’s the part we don’t know.” The Observer scowled. “Ziggy can’t find any information on the mission, it’s buried so deep in the Pentagon’s files. All we could find out is that none of the men involved returned from it.”

“And you think O’Neill’s presence might make a difference.”

“It’s possible,” Al agreed with a shrug. “The only problem is, Verbena says our Visitor is borderline suicidal. He’s too good of a commander not to try to save his men–“

“–but he might get sloppy and let himself get killed in the process.”

“Bingo.”

Sam ran a worried hand through his hair. “I need to know more. Tell Ziggy to pull every string we’ve got. I need to know…”

I need to know if I’d be sending Jack to his death, as well as handing down a death sentence to his marriage. He didn’t add that, but he didn’t need to. Al knew.

“I’ll do what I can, but no promises: the Air Force is turning out to be a surprisingly tough nut to crack on this one.” The hologram scowled and Sam smiled. “What are you going to do?” Al asked.

“I’m going to go to bed.”

“In the kid’s room?” Al wrinkled his nose on that one.

“No. In Jack’s.” Sam glanced over at the silent staircase, frowning. “If she’ll let me.”


Sam woke up the next morning with a headache. As usual, the first night after a Leap, it took a moment for him to orient himself to his surroundings, but the cramped position he’d fallen asleep in helped speed up that process.

Groaning, he sat up on the couch, stretching and grimacing as joints popped loudly and his memory of last night came back in a rush.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to watch you self-destruct? Jesus, Jack, you won’t even say his name! I’m terrified I’m going to come home someday and find you’ve put a bullet through your head too.”

“And here I thought that was what you wanted.”

Sara had slapped him and then kicked him out after that, and Sam didn’t blame her. Just thinking about it made him want to beat his head against the wall–what the hell had come over him?

Judging by Sara’s reaction? Probably Jack O’Neill.

Sam sighed and buried his face in his hands. Okay, so it wasn’t as bad as having Lee Harvey Oswald in his brain, but never knowing when some inappropriate smart remark might come out of his mouth–thanks to whatever fragment of Jack O’Neill was still lingering in his magnafluxed brain–was not making his job easier.

If this is your job.

Well, he was going to operate under that assumption until Ziggy told him otherwise, anyway. Who knew? If he was lucky, maybe he might even be able to save both–the O’Neills’ marriage and the men on that mission.

Now he just had to figure out how to achieve the former after last night’s debacle.


There was a heaping stack of pancakes on the table, with sausage sizzling in a frying pan on the stove and coffee percolating by the time Sam finally saw Sara. She came down the stairs cautiously, dressed in a pair of khakis and a button-up denim shirt over a white tank, looking only slightly rumpled.

“Hey,” Sam greeted her with an apologetic smile. “Pancakes and syrup are on the table. Help yourself.”

She stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. “You made breakfast?”

“Ah…yeah. Consider it an apology for last night.”

Sara frowned. “Okay, who are you and what have you done with my husband.”

Sam almost dropped the frying pan. “W-what?”

She stepped all the way into the room and folded her arms defensively across her chest. “The Jack O’Neill I know doesn’t apologize. And he can’t cook anything that doesn’t involve meat and a grill.”

“I’d wait until you taste them before changing that assessment,” Sam cautioned, carefully tipping the finished sausage onto a plate already waiting with a paper towel to absorb the worst of the grease. He couldn’t very well tell her he’d learned a few things about cooking the last few times he was a mother, after all.

“So that’s it,” she stated flatly. “You make me a breakfast that may or may not be edible, and I’m just supposed to forgive you for everything?”

“Is it working?” Sam asked with a half smile.

Sara covered her face for a moment before letting out a long sigh. “It’s a start. A small one.”

He felt the tension in his shoulders uncoil a little as she sat down at the table and helped herself to the top pancake on the stack. It was a start, and a start was all he needed. Hopefully.

“So what happens after breakfast?”

Sam paused in the act of setting the plate of sausage on the table. “Ah…I thought we’d sort of figure that out as we go.”

For the first time since he’d met her, Sara O’Neill laughed, really laughed. “Now that’s the Jack O’Neill I know.”

It was a start.

He poured coffee while Sara helped herself to sausage, then brought both cups over to the table where cream and sugar were already set out for her to help herself. “Orange juice?”

She nodded, looking a little dazed. “Yeah…yeah, that’d be nice.”

A silence descended then that couldn’t really be described as comfortable or uncomfortable, but rather fell somewhere in between. While Sam loaded up his plate, Sara poured syrup and sweetened her coffee before digging in with only a half-second’s hesitation.

“Oh my God.”

He looked up, suddenly worried. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Sara shook her head in amazement. “Jack, these are fantastic. When did you learn to cook?”

Sam shrugged modestly. “Beginner’s luck, I guess.”

She set her fork down on the table and folded her arms again. “I thought you didn’t believe in luck.”

“Ah…” Sam’s mind raced. “I don’t. Except for cooking.”

Sara made a noise low in her throat that sounded like a chuckle, her lips curving upwards just the slightest bit.

“Aha! That was a smile, don’t try to deny it.”

She looked at him. “It was. Thank you.”

The rest of the meal passed quietly, interspersed with bits of inane small talk, but mostly the only sound involved dishes and silverware.

The one thing that never came up was Charlie. Sam knew in the long run that wasn’t healthy, but for now…for now he just wanted to remind Sara how to feel something other than loss. If he was lucky, when he Leaped out, that memory would stay with Jack to provide a similar reminder for him.

All in all, it was…quiet. Almost peaceful.

“Sam, we need to talk.”

One of these days he was going to have to have a talk with Al about his impeccable timing.


“How’s Jack?” Sam asked, as soon as he’d managed to excuse himself and find a spot in the house where he and Al could talk privately–someplace that wasn’t Charlie’s room, because that would undo everything he’d hoped to achieve with the breakfast.

“Aside from making Verbena look like she’s about ready to start seeing a shrink herself?” Al snorted. “Stubborn, sarcastic, angry at himself and angry at the world…honestly, Sam, even if you were supposed to save their marriage, I’m not sure it would stay saved once he got back.”

That was what he’d been afraid of. “The mission?”

The hologram nodded grimly. “We finally got those nozzles at the Air Force to cough up some information, but it took some fancy footwork. You wouldn’t believe how many Marines I had to get the Joint Chiefs to agree to commit to their pet project if we make the first mission a success. I had to pull so many strings it’s a wonder my fingers aren’t falling off.” He wiggled them as if in demonstration.

“All right, but what’s the mission?” Sam asked again.

Al took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “First contact.”

Sam stared. “First contact. As in–?”

“With aliens,” he confirmed. “Little green men, or whatever they look like. Turns out in 1928, some archaeologist dug something up on the Giza Plateau that looked like a giant metal hula-hoop. They played with it for a few years, and finally figured out–get this–it’s not just decorative. Damn thing sucks up electricity like the entire sponge species. There was an accident and it got tucked back into mothballs…but then about a year ago, the archaeologist’s daughter managed to talk the Air Force, of all branches, into giving it another go. They’ve figured out it’s apparently some sort of portal, but they couldn’t make it work until they brought in some washed-up archaeologist named Daniel Jackson. Lucky for Jackson, the mission commander–not O’Neill–refused to take him along. Otherwise he’d be dead instead of just disgraced.” He paused and frowned. “Then again, being reduced to teaching ESL when you speak 32 languages with varying degrees of fluency and have three doctorates might be close to hell.”

“I’ve done worse,” Sam pointed out.

“Yeah, but not full time,” Al countered.

“Is he my mission? This Daniel Jackson–am I supposed to get him on the team too?”

“Huh? Oh.” The hologram frowned, then shrugged. “No idea. Guess he just reminded me of a certain other genius I know.”

“Al…” Sam stated with a warning note in his voice.

The Observer waved him off and went back to pushing buttons on the handlink. “Actually, Ziggy thinks you’re here because of the nuke.”

Sam froze. “The what?”

Al hesitated a moment before elaborating. “Sam…the reason Jack O’Neill was being considered for this mission was because it’s essentially a suicide mission. They were supposed to go through the ring, recon for any hostile life forms, and if they found any…blow whatever was on the other side to hell. Considering none of the men on that mission ever came back, and the ring has supposedly been useless ever since…chances are the guy they got to replace O’Neill used the bomb.”

Sam suddenly felt an overwhelming compulsion to sit down. “And you think Jack wouldn’t.”

His friend sighed. “Ziggy says there’s an 87.9 percent chance that at the very least, he would send the rest of the team home before he did. Sam…none of the men except the mission commander were briefed on the nuke.”

God. “How many men?”

“Even one who doesn’t know he’s on a suicide mission is too many,” Al answered vehemently.

“Then I don’t have any choice,” Sam stated, resigned. “I have to get Jack on that mission.”

Al nodded. “All you have to do is accept it: from that point, once he’s reactivated, he’s pretty much locked in, even if he changes his mind after you Leap out.”

Sam glanced towards the kitchen with a heavy sigh. “So I’m not here to save their marriage.”

Al followed his eyes and grimaced in sympathy. “No, but hell, Sam, it never hurts to try.”


“Jack?” Sara asked softly as Sam sat back down at the breakfast table and stared at his plate. He didn’t answer her for a moment, so she reached out to lay one hand over his own. “It’s okay, Jack. The only one who ever thought it wasn’t okay for you to hurt was you.”

A bitter laugh bubbled up in his throat, but he swallowed it before it could escape. He met her eyes with a sober smile. “I’ll tell you what…let’s make this day one to remember. Let’s do something we always planned to do…but never got around to.”

She drew back a little. “You can’t keep pretending Charlie never existed, Jack.”

“No…and I’m not trying to,” Sam reassured her. “I just…I just want to remember who *we* were, before all this happened. Just for a day.”

When she hesitated, he reclaimed the hand that she’d withdrawn from his own, entwining their fingers. “I don’t want to lose you too, Sara.”

He could see in her eyes the moment that she relented. “Well, we haven’t been ice skating in years–“

“Great. We’ll go ice skating. What else?”

“But the closest rink is–!”

“So?” Sam interrupted with a smile. “What else?” he repeated.

“Uh…” Sara looked flustered. “There’s that new steak house, O’Malley’s, that we’d talked about trying someday–“

“Dinner at O’Malley’s, check. What else?”

“Jack!” She was laughing now, hard, and Sam felt a momentary surge of hope that he might be able to pull this off after all. Leaning in across the table, Sara kissed him softly. “I thought we’d sort of figure that out as we go.”


The next few hours flew by in something of a blur–driving into town to the ice rink, then spending almost an hour just laughing and playing on the ice. Sam taught Sara several new steps that he’d learned in previous Leaps, dodging questions about where he’d learned them until she declared that she felt like they were at the Olympics.

Afterwards they’d gotten coffee to warm them back up and just walked around downtown Colorado Springs, mostly window shopping, but also stopping at one point at a bakery for cookies.

Finally, they headed home to change before going to O’Malley’s. Sara had pointed out that it wasn’t a fancy establishment, but Sam insisted, and when she came downstairs in a copper-colored dress that brought out the gold in her hair and her hazel eyes, he had to remind himself that Sara was another man’s wife, and that it was that marriage he was trying to save.

At the restaurant, they threw money concerns out the window for the duration, with Sara ordering the filet mignon and Sam the prime rib, along with a bottle of wine.

They’d been eating quietly–but comfortably so–for about twenty minutes when Sara asked, “What did he say?”

Sam had been cutting a bite of his steak, but the knife stilled at her question. “What did who say?”

Sara set down her fork and picked up her wine glass, running a finger thoughtfully around the rim. “Bill at the bar last night. What did he say that…that got through to you?”

He sighed, setting down his silverware. “That it wasn’t my fault. And that if I wasn’t careful, I was going to lose you.”

“Did you believe him?” she asked quietly.

Sam looked down, knowing that Jack would probably never stop blaming himself for his son’s death. The question was, would he live long enough to learn to live with it? “That I was losing you, yes.”

She didn’t answer. The logical response to that would’ve been to reassure him that Bill was right, that it wasn’t his fault, but Sam wasn’t sure Sara was quite there herself.

Maybe neither of them ever would be, and maybe the reason he hadn’t Leaped in here to save their marriage was that it couldn’t be saved. But despite all the tragedy in his own life–only some of which he’d been able to change with his Leaping–Sam Beckett was still an optimist at heart.

Finally, Sara sighed. “When you were missing in Iraq…I prayed every day that you were all right, but I knew you were alive. I knew because I could feel it. It was like you were still there with me, like I could feel your spirit telling me to hold on.”

Well, that was a part of Jack’s background Al had failed to mention. Maybe because it wasn’t relevant to what he had to do, or because it hit too close to home for the Observer.

She looked him straight in the eyes. “Since Charlie died…it’s been just the opposite. You’ve been there every day, physically, but in some ways you might as well have been dead because it’s as if your soul died with him. Until today.”

Silence fell for a long moment, then she continued. “I needed you, Jack. We needed each other. But you weren’t there for me, and you wouldn’t let me be there for you. I want to believe that’s changed…but you’ll forgive me if it’ll take a little more time.”

And ironically, time was the one thing he didn’t have. Glancing up at the clock, Sam sighed in rueful acknowledgment. “Let’s go home.”


Sara was still standing at the kitchen sink when the two Air Force officers left. Sam shut the front door behind them quietly, then moved hesitantly to approach her. She flinched when she heard his footsteps behind her, but didn’t move.

“Sara…”

“What did they want?” she asked crisply, all the warmth that had crept into her voice over the course of the day gone again.

Sam took another step into the kitchen. “I’ve been reactivated. There’s a…a mission they want me to command.”

“What mission?”

“You know I can’t answer that,” he reminded her quietly.

She turned to face him for the first time since they’d walked through the front door. “You knew this was coming, didn’t you? That’s what today was about. God, Jack, what is so horrible about this mission that you felt the need to butter me up before–“

Sam reacted without thinking, dropping his eyes, and all the color drained from Sara’s face. “Oh God. That’s why they came to you, isn’t it? They wanted someone who wouldn’t care if he ever came back from wherever they’re sending you. It’s a goddamned suicide mission.”

Sam closed the distance between them, taking her shoulders in his hands. She tried to pull away, but he held firm. “Sara, listen to me. I *will* come back. I promise. But I need you to be here when I do. That’s what today was about–you were right, I needed you. I still need you, and what I need right now is for you to believe in me, remember this day and let it keep you from leaving while I’m gone.”

Sara twisted away, finally breaking his grip. Tears filled her eyes. “I’m not the one leaving.”

Sam watched her flee the room with a sinking heart.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Al’s sympathetic voice came from behind him. “You changed history. A couple of men are still lost on the mission, but most of them–including Jack O’Neill–come back in one piece. Daniel Jackson disappears for a while, but a year later he resurfaces working–get this–for the US Air Force out of Cheyenne Mountain.”

“What about Jack and Sara?” he asked in a quiet voice.

The hologram sighed. “When he comes back, she’s gone. They don’t speak for about a year, then something happens that…well, I couldn’t really find much, but they’re friendly with each other again after that, even if they never do get back together. It works out for the best, though, Sam. Sara remarries a few years after that, and now has two kids with her second husband. The oldest has Jack O’Neill for a godfather, so that’s something.”

Sam looked at him. “So what about the mission? The first contact? How does that go?”

Al groaned. “No idea. Now that you’ve changed history, the Air Force seems to have conveniently forgotten our deal, so they’re back to being–“

Whatever the Air Force was back to being got lost in the light and sound of a brand new Leap.

Posted in Crossovers, Het, Quantum Leap/Stargate SG-1 | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Poem: One Touch (QL, Al/Beth)

I touched you.
I don’t know how, but I know
I touched you.
I expected that if I leaned against you,
Like I’d done so often when we were together,
I’d fall.
And you’d never even know,
Like when you walked through me
A moment before.
But for one moment, I was there,
Without even Leaping,
I reached across time
And touched you.
I just wish I knew how.

Did you feel it, Beth?
Or am I just imagining
That my lips really touched your brow?
He Leaped before I had the chance to find out.

You must have known I was there.
You laughed when I told a joke,
You put on our song,
And when you danced,
You held your arms just the same way
As you did when we danced together.
Did you know I was dancing with you again?
Did you know you weren’t dancing alone?
Did you hear me ask you to wait?

Was that my second chance?
Did He give me the power to touch you
So I could tell you myself
That I was coming home?
I tried.
Oh, God, I tried.
But you didn’t hear.
If you had, I wouldn’t be standing here alone,
Wondering why I spent my life
Looking for you
When I knew you were lost to me forever.

I guess Sam was right.
It was never meant to be, you and I.
But how could a love as strong as ours be wrong?
And why couldn’t he do for me
What he’d done for himself?
I’ll never understand
And I can’t tell him how selfish he’s been
And I wouldn’t even if I could
Because he’s already helped me more than I deserve.

I hope you know I understand.
For me, all I had was you,
You had life all around you
Calling to you to move on.
But if you sensed me there that night
Why did you still give up?
Did you know I was saying goodbye?
Did I lose you by trying to hold on?

All I know is that you’re still gone
And I still can’t let you go.

But our time together,
The years we shared
And that one last moment I had with you alone,
I will cherish the rest of my life.

One chance,
One dance,
One moment,
One kiss,
One touch.

I love you, Beth.

Posted in Al/Beth, Het, Quantum Leap | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Fic: If Only in My Dreams (QL, gen)

Author’s Note: Written for Birene for Yuletide 2009. Thanks SO much to mari4212 for the very prompt beta, and Medie for the much needed cheerleading/butt-kicking without which this probably would never have gotten finished in time. To my recipient, I’m extremely sorry I wasn’t able to write slash for you (it’s one of the few fandoms where my muses absolutely refuse to consider it) but I hope it didn’t hurt your enjoyment of the story too much! Happy holidays! 🙂


If it hadn’t been nearly deserted, one would never know to look at Project Quantum Leap that it was only two days before Christmas. No decorations hung from the sleek silver walls: there was no way to hang them even if the Project’s status as a military-funded operation hadn’t precluded it. There’d been a tree in the cafeteria too, one year, but that had been before Sam leaped. No Christmas carols rang down the empty hallways this year either, although there was a time when the place had often been filled with music. Right now the only sound was the click of Verbena’s heels, underscored as always by the comforting, ever-present hum of Ziggy running in the background.

A lot of things had changed since Sam’s first Leap, Verbena reflected ruefully. For one thing, her final errand tonight before heading home herself would have been unnecessary. The Al she’d first known would never have passed up a reason to celebrate, but that was before he’d become Sam’s only lifeline.

The Admiral’s office was, like all of them, unmarked, but Verbena had visited it often enough that she would’ve been able to find it easily even if it weren’t just down the hall from her own. Since Al consistently refused to come to her, even when she could tell the toll a leap was taking on him, the mountain had been forced to come to Mohammed more than once.

Not that she minded. The people at Project Quantum Leap were more than patients to her; she considered them friends as well. And while that might be unprofessional by the standards of the outside world, here in this place, miles under the New Mexico desert, it was the only way they’d survived. If they hadn’t been such a close knit family, more than likely the Project would’ve fallen apart in the days after Sam first disappeared into the past. And considering it was Al who’d held them all together…well, holding him together by hook or by crook felt like the least she could do.

Although Verbena hadn’t voiced that thought, Ziggy seemed to share it: the door to Al’s office slid open as soon as she reached it, instead of requiring her to announce her presence first as usual.

She wasn’t surprised to find Al still at his desk, poring over a mountain of paperwork that they both knew didn’t have to be done until after the New Year. The grim, almost haunted expression on his face contrasted starkly with the bright red suit he’d worn for this last day of Sam’s leap.

Verbena sighed. “Go home, Al.”

The Admiral didn’t respond immediately: it took a minute for her words to sink in and draw him back from whatever mental edge he’d been walking this time. “Huh? Oh, hey, Verbena.”

“Contrary to what I know you generally believe, I’m not just saying this to hear myself talk.” Verbena took a few steps further into the office. “I mean it, Al. Go home. Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve: you can at least take two days off.”

She saw Al take in her outfit–the festive red sweater, green skirt and dangling snowflake earrings–probably seeing it for the first time. Not that Verbena could blame him on that count: Al’s own rather unique sense of style had bled over to the rest of them over the years, so except for the earrings the ensemble wasn’t really that unusual.

Nevertheless, Al still shook his head. “Not when Sam could leap in any time.”

Verbena sighed. He’d used those words as an excuse so many times that the truth in them had almost ceased to matter to her. “And if he does, then Ziggy will call you, just like she’ll call the rest of us.”

Al opened his mouth to offer yet another familiar excuse, but Verbena cut him off, the tone of her voice shifting just enough to let him know she wasn’t going to dance these steps with him. Not this time. “I can make it Doctor’s Orders if I have to.”

He scowled, but there was also a rare honesty in his expression. “What difference is it gonna make? So I worry about Sam at home instead of here: big deal.”

Verbena’s face softened. “Do you really think Sam would be happy to know you’re using him as an excuse to shut yourself away from life? Especially this time of year?”

Al looked at her. He opened his mouth once or twice in helpless agreement, before finally sagging in defeat. His gaze remained sharp and perceptive as ever, though. “You know, I didn’t think it was possible, but you play dirtier than my fourth wife.”

Verbena suppressed a smile. “Come on. I’ll walk you out.”

“What, you don’t trust me?”

“Not as far as Sam can throw you.”

Al relented with a sigh. Retrieving his hat and overcoat from beside the door, he tipped the red fedora onto his head and shrugged into the coat before gesturing to the door. “After you.”

-8-

Verbena’s intentions were good. They always were, but shrink or no shrink, she still just didn’t get it. Hell, Al sometimes thought it was because she was a shrink that she so often managed to miss the point so completely. Whether it was her training or just her nature, Verbena seemed to like to put things in boxes. Boxes labeled ‘guilt’ or ‘depression’ or ‘duty’ or ‘obligation,’ or whatever the hell she thought was motivating him this week.

Usually the truth was a lot simpler and a lot more complicated at the same time.

Christmas just wasn’t Christmas without Sam. Not anymore. Hell, he was the closest thing to family Al had left, and what was the point of celebrating a holiday for families all by yourself? Or putting up decorations no one else was going to see?

Staying at the Project, at least he’d’ve been as close to Sam as it was possible to be between leaps. He thought more than once about turning around and going back, but knowing his luck Ziggy would probably decide Verbena was right and lock him out.

Two days. What the hell was he supposed to do with himself for two days?

You might wanna start by stocking the fridge, Al reflected wryly. As much time as he did spend at the Project, most of what food he’d had at home had probably gone stale or sour in his absence. There was a reason Project Quantum Leap was pretty far from civilization: for the most part, it kept civilians from asking too many questions about strange blue lights in the sky or, for that matter, strange blue lights on the ground. But as a result, the Project was also more or less entirely self-sufficient. At least if you didn’t mind the cafeteria food.

Driving into Alamogordo just to go to the grocery store was going to be a pain in the ass, especially this late at night. But it was going to be a necessary one unless by some miracle Sam Leaped into his next mission a lot faster than usual.

Much as Al might want that for himself, for Sam’s sake he still couldn’t bring himself to wish for it. Besides, he saved wishing for the really impossible things. Like Sam coming home for good.

By the time he’d reached the grocery store and stocked up on enough TV dinners and junk food to get him through three days without the Project cafeteria, the winter thunderstorm that had been threatening all day was pounding down full force. Al swore under his breath. He’d never cared much for rain, but since coming back from ‘Nam, he hated it. Not that this rain was anything like southern Asia’s idea of a tropical downpour, but hot or cold, it didn’t matter. These days, though, he spent so much damned time underground (or in the Imaging Chamber, where any rain that did fall couldn’t touch him) that it hadn’t even occurred to him to stick an umbrella in the car.

“Spare some change, man?” a voice slurred beside him. Al glanced over to see a homeless man slumped up against a pillar. He had a battered cardboard sign in his hands, with a few words printed shakily on it. The writing would’ve been hard enough to read when it was dry, but the moisture in the air had made the sign so limp he could barely make out one word.

That word was chilling enough, though: it was “veteran.”

Al shivered, but not from the cold or the rain. He wondered if this was what Sam must feel like, looking in the mirror and seeing another face even though he knew it was still him inside there. The scraggly beard, the blood-shot eyes, shaking hands and alcohol-slurred speech: Al knew all too well how easily that could’ve been him. Hell, if not for Sam, it might have been him. God knew if he’d washed out of the Navy and out of Star Bright, there would’ve been no one else to pick him up out of the gutter. Even Maxine had given up on him by that point.

The rain suddenly forgotten, Al shoved a hand into his pocket, scrabbling for a bill. His hand clenched around a twenty. “Just do me one favor.”

The guy looked up at him with a guarded, wary expression as if waiting for the lecture, or at least an admonition not to waste the money on booze. “Spend it on any damned thing you want,” Al told him instead, tossing the bill into the astonished man’s lap. “God knows I sure as hell have no right to moralize.”

The guy just stared for a long moment at the crumpled Andrew Jackson in his hands. Then, just as Al was turning away to brave the storm, he looked up again and said in a tone of bewildered disbelief: “Al?”

Al’s world tilted. His vision shifted as if he’d just stepped into the Imaging Chamber – the beard vanishing, the face lengthening and becoming impossibly familiar. When he finally found his voice, it was as ragged as his breathing, “Sam?”

-8-

Leaping into a new time and place was in a way very much like waking up from a deep, dreamless sleep. The difference was that the first moment of disorientation never completely went away, because he almost never found himself safely in familiar surroundings. And even when they were familiar…they were the wrong familiar. Leaping into his sixteen-year-old self on the last Thanksgiving before Tom went away had felt like a dream at the time, but it had quickly become a nightmare as every attempt to save his family from the grief in their future unraveled.

Like now. There was Al, standing right in front of him. From the outfit he was wearing, this was the Al of Sam’s present too – or at least awfully close to it. And he’d just tossed Sam a twenty, which meant he was really here, corporeal, not just a hologram. But in spite of that, Sam only had to look at the stunned, almost aghast look on Al’s face to know that this didn’t mean he was home. To be so close…

“Sam?” Al repeated, his voice resembling sandpaper even more than usual. “Jesus, Sam, don’t just sit there.”

“As opposed to what?” Sam asked dryly. He tried to clamber to his feet, but discovered quickly that various body parts were as stiff as if he had been sitting in the same spot for hours.

Al reacted immediately, reaching out a hand to clasp Sam’s. An electric thrill shot through Sam at the affirmation the contact provided. He was right, Al was really here. Once he was unsteadily on his feet, Sam’s first instinct was to reach out and hug the lifeline he hadn’t been able to touch in years, but a brief glance down at himself quickly ruled out that idea. The clothes he was wearing were filthy: hadn’t-been-washed-in-forever, could-probably-stand-up-by-themselves filthy.

Al didn’t seem to care. Sam found himself pulled into an embrace so tight he could barely breathe. “Jesus, Sam, what the hell are you doing here?”

Sam coughed. “Funny, I was just about to ask you the same thing. Where am I?”

The look in his friend’s eyes was dark and unreadable. “Close to home. Damned close.”

“But not close enough,” Sam confirmed aloud what he’d both known and dreaded before. “Why am I here, then?”

Al grunted. “How the hell should I know? The Project’s shut down for the holidays. Skeleton crew only. Verbena kicked me out.” He scowled and muttered under his breath, “Though that self-righteous explosion of Legos you call a computer helped.”

Shut down for the holidays? That must mean – “Christmas?”

“Two days from now.” Al cracked a rueful smile and looked Sam straight in the eyes. “I’ll give you three guesses what was on my wish list, and the last two would be redundant.”

Sam’s ribs seemed to contract painfully. Much as he might wish otherwise, it couldn’t be that simple. They weren’t allowed to interfere with their own lives. That rule didn’t change, no matter how often they tried to break it. “I need to find out why I’m here,” he said reluctantly.

Al’s eyes flashed dangerously. “It can wait two damned days.”

“And if it can’t?” Sam challenged him.

Al flinched a little in acknowledgment, but remained firm. “Then it can at least wait long enough for us to get you home, cleaned up, and something to eat. Don’t believe me?” He gestured to the sky, in the direction of the cloudburst that had mysteriously stopped while they were talking. “How’s that for proof?”

Sam laughed. “All right. You win. I do have to admit…” He glanced down again at what he’d leaped into. Oooooh boy. He had a feeling he had his work cut out for him with this one. “A shower sounds really good right about now.”

-8-

“I thought you said it was two days before Christmas?”

Al dumped the last of his rather meager groceries carelessly on the counter then followed the sound of Sam’s voice into the very bare living room. “Yeah. Didn’t all the ridiculous light displays we drove past give it away?”

Sam paused in the corner where, in past years, Al’s Christmas tree had stood. Funny how Al hadn’t felt the absence of it until that moment.

Sam looked at him. “It’s just that I have this vague memory of you putting up some pretty ridiculous light displays yourself. Both inside and out.”

Hell, he’d done more than that back when it had mattered. Once upon a time Al had decorated with the same aesthetic abandon he now mostly reserved for his wardrobe, and they both knew it. He looked away. “Who was going to see it: Ziggy?”

“Tina?” Sam guessed with a shrewd look.

“Since when have Tina and I ever had a ‘spend Christmas together cozied up by the fire’ kind of relationship?” Damn, that came out sounding a lot more defensive than he’d intended.

“Right. I keep forgetting you two have been having a casual fling for the past five years.”

Al snorted. “If it’d been serious, we would’ve probably married by now. And divorced, come to think of it. Which means casual is saving me a hell of a lot of money.”

“Is that what this is about?” Sam gestured around him to the bare walls and absent tree. “Saving money?”

Al just looked at him. He didn’t say that he hadn’t really felt much like celebrating until Sam showed up. That went without saying, didn’t it?

Sam’s expression softened, and for a moment it was almost as if they carried on an entire conversation about how rough the past few years had been on both of them without exchanging a word. What the hell had Ziggy put in those neural chips that let them see each other, anyway?

A little rattled, Al gestured vaguely down the hallway. “You know where the bathroom is. Towels are in the cupboard under the sink. Might wanna think about shaving that bush off too, while you’re at it.”

Sam’s expression strongly suggested he wasn’t ready to let this go, not really, but for the moment he grudgingly accepted the change in subject. “Bush?” he asked, one hand going to his smooth chin.

Right, Sam hadn’t looked in the mirror yet. Al waved a dismissive hand. “You’ll see what I mean.”

-8-

By mid-morning on Christmas Eve, they’d pretty much figured out that whatever Sam’s mission was, it wasn’t urgent. No future version of Al had appeared in the past eight hours and there’d been no call from Ziggy to say there was a new Visitor in the Waiting Room. Even though he knew better, a part of Al couldn’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, all Sam was here to do was fulfill his Christmas wish. That he’d leaped into someone else and not himself…well, maybe that was just God or Time or Fate or Whoever’s way of reminding them both that it wasn’t permanent.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t care, but if there was one thing Al had learned over a lifetime of disappointments, it was not to take for granted the time you had with people. It could slip away so easily without you even noticing.

They’d spent the morning getting a tree, at Sam’s insistence. Al had put up only a token protest. His reason for not getting into the holiday spirit no longer existed, after all. And even if pickings were more than a little slim, he was glad he’d waited. If he’d decorated weeks in advance, he wouldn’t have gotten to share this moment with Sam. Christmas aside, the experience of trying to figure out how to transport a six-foot fir tree in a two-seat sports car was too ridiculous not to share. By the time even Sam’s once-in-a-generation mind accepted that it couldn’t be done and they arranged to have the tree delivered, both of them were laughing harder than they probably had in years.

Probably not since Sam had first Leaped.

“Do you remember the first time we did this?” Sam asked as they were climbing back in the car. “You commandeered a truck from the Project, complete with Marine driver, and told him if anyone gave him any trouble about it to say he was acting under orders. Then you bought the tallest tree the lot had and had it hauled back to put up in the middle of the cafeteria.”

Sam’s eyes sparkled with the memory, and for the first time in a long time Al found that it didn’t hurt to remember the same. He chuckled. “Of course I remember. I’m not the one with the brain like Swiss cheese.” Al looked over at his friend and smiled. “We really had the kid going, didn’t we? He probably thought we were going to run off to Area 51 to steal parts for Ziggy or something.”

“You did ‘forget’ to mention we were after a Christmas tree,” Sam pointed out.

Not just a tree, the way Al remembered it. They’d also hauled about six or seven dozen ornaments in boxes back to the Project and what had felt like a mile of lights and tinsel. Not to mention the menorah, kinara and assorted other non-Christmas related decorations that Sam had insisted on buying so that no one who worked for Project Quantum Leap would feel overlooked. (Not that Al had minded. He remembered all too well what an obnoxious time of year December had been for Ruthie. That didn’t make it any less extraordinary, though, that Sam had thought of it.)

Al had long had a tradition of buying new decorations every year, then after New Year donating what he’d bought to an orphanage or hospital or other children’s charity. There was nothing left of the Christmas of his childhood: when his father died, Al had been too young to dictate how Vernon Calavicci’s belongings were disposed of. He’d started building those memories again with Beth, or had tried to the one Christmas they’d actually spent together. But even if she’d saved any of his possessions after marrying Dirk, he’d been far too proud to ask for them.

Hell, even the one possession he’d ever really treasured in recent years – the handlink that connected him to Sam – had a tendency to break and need replacing. He couldn’t afford to get attached to things, even if he’d wanted to.

People kept leaving him too, but in spite of himself Al still couldn’t help getting attached to those. And hell, at least he saw Sam every day, even if in some ways that just made it harder.

With Sam here and tangible, he could ignore the fact that everyone around them saw someone else. As long as they stayed away from mirrors, anyway.

The rest of the day passed in a warm, vivid haze of activity. They hit up the local Coach House Gifts for decorations, which miraculously still had some left on Christmas Eve. After that, it was back to the grocery store for something a little more seasonal than the half a dozen random TV dinners he’d thrown in the cart last night. If they went a little overboard with both, well, it was a special occasion (and Al didn’t mean the holiday).

The subject of gifts never came up, though Al knew Sam was thinking it. But what was the point of giving Sam a gift he’d just have to leave behind? The last thing he needed was another reminder that his friend was still out there.

By the time they finally returned to the house, the stars were already beginning to rise in a clear desert sky already recovered from last night’s rain storm. Sam closed the passenger door and stared upwards with a smile that was both wistful and nostalgic. “Al, look at this!”

Al shut his own door and glanced up, trying to follow the line of Sam’s finger. He circled around the car to stand beside his friend, still not seeing whatever it was he was supposed to see. “Look at what?”

Sam looked at him. “You know where to find Orion, right?”

Al raised an eyebrow. “After almost a decade with you around? I’d better.”

Sam pointed again, and this time Al could tell he was indicating the constellation Orion. “You see how the constellation seems to be lying on its side? How the belt is just about vertical instead of horizontal?”

Al squinted, but finally saw what Sam was looking at. “Yeah?” he asked expectantly.

“Follow the diagonal line of Orion’s ‘shoulders’ and ‘knees’ up from there. Do you see how they seem to slope up to a point way at the top? That faint star over there?”

“Okay…”

Sam turned back to him again with a smile warmer than every wool coat Al had ever owned. “Doesn’t it look like a Christmas tree? Dad used to point that out to Tom and Katie and me when we were little…it’s one of the things that got me interested in astronomy.”

Now that Al looked at the lopsided constellation with Sam’s eyes, it kinda did look like the outline of a stick-figure Christmas tree. But there had to be more to it than that. He knew Sam too well to think anything his friend saw in the night sky had so little significance.

“You telling me I didn’t need to spend a hundred bucks on that one after all?” Al joked to cover his embarrassment that he couldn’t figure out what Sam was saying. He waved one hand to the still-bundled tree that stood on the porch, leaning heavily against the house.

Sam gave Al the look he usually reserved for when he was leering invisibly over some woman or other in the Imaging Chamber. “No. I’m telling you that maybe there’s a way we can share Christmas even when I’m not here.” His voice softened as he gestured upwards. “By sharing that.”

Al swallowed hard and looked up at the sky again, the pattern of stars above him now burning indelibly into his mind. To his embarrassment, he found himself blinking back tears. “Thanks, Sam.”

-8-

It was over too quickly. Christmas Even and Christmas Day blurred together into a haze of light and music and color. A blur that Sam knew could all too quickly fade once this leap ended. He’d mentioned that fact only once to Al; Al’s face had clouded over for a moment and he’d said, “Don’t worry, kid. I can remember for both of us.”

There had been no point in mentioning that Al already had to remember too much for both of them. Better to just enjoy the unexpected respite while it lasted and not worry about the future. Or in his case, the past.

There had been no brightly wrapped packages under the tree once they got it up on Christmas Eve, but that didn’t matter to Sam. The gift of time shared was more priceless to either of them than any physical present would’ve been under the circumstances. Sam sometimes thought that he and Al grasped just how fragile and precious a thing time was in a way that most people couldn’t. Just as they both knew from experience how easy it was not to treasure that most invaluable gift until too late.

So this time they’d clung to every minute, singing Christmas carols together and swapping stories late into the night. Sam thought they’d both sensed instinctively that when Christmas was over, the spell would break.

Sam opened his eyes slowly the morning of the 26th. Something in the air had changed, and he’d been doing this long enough that he knew what it was: the thing that he and Al had been anticipating and dreading ever since he’d first looked up into his friend’s face outside that grocery store in Alamogordo.

“Hey, Sam.” It didn’t surprise Sam to look up and see Al standing at the foot of the bed. Nor did he need to see the handlink in Al’s left hand or fail to smell the cigar in his right to know this wasn’t the Al he’d spent the last two days with. Not any more.

Sam sat up. “It’s time, isn’t it?”

“Almost, yeah.” Al nodded. “Would’ve been here sooner, but we had to get Prescott sobered up before we could get anything out of him, and by that time I already had new memories of spending Christmas with you.” Their eyes met for a moment and Al smiled ruefully. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“There’s a first,” Sam quipped, falling back on the wry banter that had helped both of them cope with the reality of Leaping.

Instead of bantering back, though, Al’s expression turned even more serious. “Honestly, Sam, I don’t know if you have any idea what that meant to me -”

“Yeah,” Sam interrupted softly. “I think I do.” A long silence fell between them, nearly long enough for this Al’s corporeal past counterpart to wake up. “Is that why I was here? For you and me, I mean?”

“Partly, yeah. And for Tim.”

“Tim?” Sam asked, although he suspected he already knew the answer.

“Timothy Prescott, the guy you leaped into.”

Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Much as a part of him still hated the idea, it was time to let go of the illusion he’d been living for the past two days and get back to business. “So what do I need to do?”

“Nothing,” Al said with a shrug. When Sam shot him a disbelieving look, he explained: “You already did it. The rest, well…that’s up to him.” He gestured in the direction of his bedroom. “I mean me. The past me.”

Sam frowned, confused. “I don’t understand.”

“Never stopped to wonder why I threw you that twenty before I knew it was you?” Al asked.

Sam felt his face heat. Honestly, no, he hadn’t. But then, all he knew about the man whose name he’d just learned was Timothy Prescott was that the man had been homeless. There were a lot of questions he’d failed to ask in the rush of being able to spend Christmas with Al.

“It was because he reminded me of me,” Al explained in a rough voice. “Only more what I could’ve been than what I am. But if you hadn’t leaped in, it would’ve stopped with that twenty. I would’ve gone on with my life and never given him another thought, never known just how much we had in common.”

Sam swallowed. “How much?”

“He joined the Navy at eighteen, after his parents and younger brother were killed in a car crash. Six months out of boot camp, they sent him to Saigon. Came home for good five years later to find no one waiting for him.”

Sam shivered. Al was right: he and Prescott did have an awful lot in common. The details were different but the emotional impact would’ve been the same.

“And it doesn’t stop there,” Al continued with a somber nod and a frown. “None of us who came back from ‘Nam came back completely right in the head, especially those of us who didn’t have someone to come home to. Prescott went through a string of increasingly destructive relationships, all the while digging himself deeper and deeper into the bottle. He finally washed out about ten years ago, used up what was left of his savings a couple years after that and has been on the street ever since.”

He looked Sam straight in the eyes then. “You want to know the real difference between me and Prescott? This crazy kid I hired sight unseen to work on Star Bright because he had a reputation Einstein would kill for. Didn’t know me from Adam, but that didn’t stop him from taking the time to pull a total stranger out of a tailspin and help him get his life back on track. Prescott never had someone take a chance on him like that.”

“Until now,” Sam said softly.

“Until now,” Al confirmed.

Sam took a deep breath and looked deliberately at the face in the mirror, the face he’d mostly ignored when he wasn’t shaving it. “What happens to him?”

“He gets his life back under control. Hooks up with AA – I’m his sponsor – and one of those long-term shelters that provide job training for residents who are really serious about getting off the street.”

“So he’s going to make it?” Sam asked.

Al looked at him again, and in that look was everything Sam needed to hear before he could let go and move on. “We both are,” he promised.

With that knowledge burning securely in his gut, Sam closed his eyes and leaped.

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Fic: Hold On (QL, Al/Beth)

Author’s Note: This was written a *very* long time ago, so I’ll openly admit neither the writing nor the research is up to the standards of my more recent work. However, I still love the pairing and the concept and there are still parts of it I’m very proud of, so here it is. Hope someone out there enjoys it in spite of itself. 🙂

All of the dialogue in the first scene comes from the series finale of Quantum Leap, “Mirror Image.” Other episodes referenced are “MIA” and “The Leap Home”/”The Leap Home Part II: Vietnam”. The nurses in the last section were all named after people on the C-Leapers mailing list.


April 2, 1969

Hold on.

That was what Mom had told her when she called to tearfully announce that Al was MIA. Her mother had been surprised at how vehemently Beth felt the loss, since only a week before she had talked of filing for divorce when Al came home. But by the end of the night, Beth had admitted that she was still in love with the daredevil pilot. So Mom told her to hold on. Hold on to that hope, that love, and it will bring him home.

“But it didn’t bring Dan Merril home,” Beth accused the empty silence around her in their bungalow. “Anne loved him more than anything, and he still died out there. How could you do this to me, Al? If you loved me as much as you said you did, how could you leave me?”

Naturally, her absent husband did not respond, but still, to Beth it felt like another betrayal–one of a long list. Already the memories that kept her holding on had begun to seem insignificant.

“I can’t hold on any longer!”

There was still no reply. Both the lawyer and the cop who had seemed to be courting her the past few days had left long ago. Dirk chased away by the over-persistent Jake, who had then mysteriously departed with muttered apologies. Now, the solitude closed in around her.

Then, there was a change in the room. Nothing looked different, but the feeling of loneliness had vanished, as if Al had just walked through that door.

If he does come back, she wondered, what will he be like? Will he still be my Al?

He would advance in rank, no doubt. She smiled, thinking of how he had once told her that anyone with a rank above lieutenant was a horse’s ass!

Beth laughed softly, and the room seemed to hold its breath at the sound. On impulse, she stood and walked to the record player, for some reason putting on their song–“Georgia On My Mind.” She closed her eyes and Al’s presence suddenly seemed almost tangible.

Slowly she began to dance the same familiar steps they had danced together so many times before–even the first dance at their wedding. With her eyes closed, she was dancing with him again. She could feel him close to her, their hands almost touching, but for some strange reason, not quite.

And she heard his voice–that rich, rough voice that could still make her shiver. He was asking her to hold on, but in the moments of silence between his words, he was also saying goodbye.

I want you to wait for me, Beth. Don’t give up, honey. ‘Cause I’m alive out there. And the only reason I’m alive is because of our love. And someday…Oh, Beth…someday, I’m gonna come back home to you.

He kissed her, and the sensation was more real than anything else that had happened that night. She felt his lips press against her forehead, and then he was gone. Beth opened her eyes once again to the empty house.

“Al…”

Her hopes faded with that whisper, the echo of his goodbye still ringing in her thoughts.

“Beth?”

Startled, she turned. There was a man standing in her house, a man she had never seen before. Amazingly, she was not afraid. Wary, but not afraid.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?”

“I’m not going to harm you,” he promised, honesty and something else she couldn’t quite identify gleaming in his green-gold eyes. “I’m here to help you. Help you, and help Al.”

“Al?” She stared at him, this strange man who looked so young but old, naive but also wise, all at the same time. A streak of silver in the front of his hair caught the light, and as his eyes met hers once again, she realized her lack of fear was because she…recognized…him. She tried to shake the thought out of her mind because she KNEW she had never seen this person before in her life, but the evening had been so full of strange impressions that defied her senses that she couldn’t shake the sense of familiarity. He had said he was here to help her and Al…maybe he knew Al, and she was sensing that mutuality. She had always been able to understand her husband on some level she couldn’t explain.

The stranger nodded.

“You’re a friend of Al’s?” she continued.

“Yeah, I’m a friend of Al’s.” There was a deep sense of loss, of separation in his voice, causing it to break as he pronounced her husband’s name. He sounds like he thinks he’ll never see him again. She fought to hold back tears. I know that feeling all too well. Oh, God, please don’t let that be what he has to say!

“Do you think we could sit?” he asked hesitantly.

Beth nodded, noticing for the first time how tired her visitor looked–as if he’d been carrying the world on his shoulders for years, without any chance to set it down and rest. They sank into the couch, facing each other. She tried not to let him see in her face the fear that was executing a victory dance right that moment in her heart.

“I’m gonna tell you a story, Beth. A story with a happy ending, but only if you believe me.”

Beth blinked, startled by the unexpected beginning. “And if I don’t?” she asked curiously.

“You will. I swear you will,” he promised. “But instead of starting with ‘Once Upon a Time,’ let’s start with the happy ending.” He hesitated, and Beth realized that she was holding her breath.

“Al’s alive. And he’s coming home.”

Tears welled up in her eyes at the unexpected news and a wave of astonishment swept over her. I believe him!

She didn’t question how he knew, just believed. And in that moment the power to keep hoping, to keep holding on, returned. Her visitor turned to look over his shoulder at something behind him, as if he had heard a sound. Just as she had earlier that evening, Beth could have sworn Al was in the room, though there was no way he could be.

Suddenly, the stranger’s form seemed to explode into a brilliant flare of blue-white light, and he disappeared. Stunned, Beth just stared through the thin film of tears at the place where he had been, wondering if it had been a dream or a vision.

Her mother’s words came back to her–“Hold on”–and with them the words she had prayed earlier that day: “Give me a reason to hold on. Give me some reason to believe he’s still alive out there.”

-8-

May 10, 1970

“You’re living in a dream, Beth. It’s been almost four years! Just because you had a dream a year ago about an angel telling you Al’s alive doesn’t mean it’s true.”

Beth sighed. It had been a long year, and she had often wondered herself if it had been a dream. Maybe Cheryl was right.

“Then what do you suggest I do?”

“Go on with your life! This guy, Dirk, who’s been such a help to you–go out with him sometime or something!”

“I don’t know…Cheryl, I’m still married.”

“To a dead man!”

There was an uneasy silence.

“I’m sorry, Beth. I didn’t mean to be so blunt. Look, I wish Al were still alive too. I know how much you loved him. But don’t you think we would have heard something by now?”

Beth nodded mutely. Her sister’s logic was not only blunt but difficult to dispute.

“I don’t want you to give up hope, but I don’t want you to be miserable holding on to false hopes either.”

Hold on. How many times had she heard that since Al disappeared? But a person could only hold on for so long. Maybe it was time to let go.

“All right. I’ll call Dirk and see if he wants to join us for dinner tonight. Will that be all right with Jim?”

“Sure.”

The phone rang just as Beth reached for it. With an amused smile in Cheryl’s direction, she picked up the receiver.

“Beth?” a familiar voice asked.

“Captain Chase! How are you?”

“I’m all right. Listen, can you come down to the base? There’s something here I think you should see.”

A cold chill wrapped itself around Beth’s heart. “What is it?”

“I can’t tell you until you get here, I’m afraid. How soon can you come?”

“I’ll leave right away.”

-8-

“Beth, this is Lieutenant Tom Beckett. Lieutenant, Beth Calavicci.”

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” the young man responded politely. Beth took the offered hand, trying to shake the feeling of familiarity. The lieutenant looked like someone she had met before, but who?

“Beth, Lieutenant Beckett is the leader of a SEAL team that was on a mission in the same area where Al’s plane was shot down. About two weeks ago, they got this.”

Chase handed her a manilla envelope, which Beth took and opened with trembling fingers. A photograph fell into her hands and her breath caught in her throat.

“Oh my God…” she whispered.

It was Al. The man at the end of what looked like a chain gang was Al. He was the only one looking back.

“He’s alive! He is coming back!”

The captain and lieutenant exchanged an uneasy glance. “He WAS alive as of two weeks ago, ma’am. We don’t have any more recent information. Much as we’d like to see him come home, we can’t make any guarantees.”

Beth didn’t need their guarantees. Al’s eyes in that photo were guarantee enough. Somehow, he must have known that picture would one day be in her hands. He was looking at her, his eyes saying the same thing she had heard him say the night the angel appeared–I’m alive out there. And I’m only alive because of our love. And someday…Oh, Beth…someday, I’m gonna come back home to you.

Hold on.

-8-

July 25, 1973

“Mrs. Calavicci.”

Beth spun, startled at the sound of her name. A young man with Lieutenant-Commander rank insignia waved at her. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t quite remember why.

“Remember me? Tom Beckett.”

Her face brightened. “Oh, of course! It’s good to see you again, Lieutenant. Or I guess I should say, Commander. How have you been?”

“Pretty well. I banged up my arm a little bit, so they’re sending me home on leave for a while.” He indicated his cast. “This is kind of a halfway point.”

“What happened to your arm?”

“Multiple fractures, I think they said. Nothing permanent, but it puts me out of service for a few months. If you want to know the full diagnosis, you’ll have to ask my little brother. He’s in med school.”

“Your LITTLE brother?”

The young officer’s face was shining with pride. “Yeah. He’s nineteen. Graduated MIT in two years with a double major in Physics and pre-med. He was the youngest person ever to graduate summa cum laude from that school.”

“Wait a minute…” Beth shook her head in amazement. “Your brother graduated MIT in two years, at age nineteen?”

“No, eighteen actually. He graduated from High School at sixteen, and he’s been in Med school for a year now and is also polishing off Masters’ in Theoretical Physics and Archaeology.”

“Well, either your brother is a genius or he never does anything except schoolwork, not even eating or sleeping!” She smiled.

Tom beamed. “He’s got a once-in-a-generation mind, we’ve been told.”

“He must. Sounds like someone I’d have to see to believe.”

“Well, you might get a chance, if you work here. He’s flying out here for a few days, and we’re going home together. He should arrive tomorrow.”

“Actually, I’m going to Mississippi tomorrow. A friend of mine, Anne Merril, lost her husband in ‘Nam a few years ago, and it’s always been hard for her to be alone on the anniversary of the day he died.”

He nodded sympathetically. “I can imagine. What about your husband? Have you heard anything else?”

Beth shook her head, her eyes sad. “Not since you gave me that photograph.” Her fingers drifted automatically to the bracelet on her wrist that she had worn night and day for six years now.

“I know how hard on you this must be, Ma’am.”

“I keep wondering if I could have stopped him. I was so mad at him when he left for his second tour–I almost told him if he left I wouldn’t be here when he got back. I thought it might make him stay. But I couldn’t. I told myself at the time that it was because it wasn’t proper to divorce a man just as he’s going off to a war, but I realized later it was because I could never leave him, not as long as I have any reason to believe he’s alive. But I still sometimes wish I’d tried harder to get him to stay.”

The l-c nodded. “That sounds familiar. When I was getting ready to leave for my first tour, my brother about had a heart attack.” He smiled fondly. “He got this crazy idea into his head that I was going to die on April eighth, 1970. Said he had come from the future to save my life. He tried everything he could think of to keep me from going. When that didn’t work, he got me to promise him I’d crawl into a hole on April 8th and stay there all day.”

“That’s unusual,” Beth commented. “Especially the coming from the future part.”

“Actually, Sam’s always been interested in time travel. His favorite show when he was little was Captain Galaxy. He’s said for years he was going to travel in time someday. The strange thing about it was that he was so SURE…” his voice trailed off thoughtfully. But soon he shook himself out of it and laughed.

“It’s a good thing I didn’t listen to him, though, because if we hadn’t gone on that mission, we wouldn’t have gotten that picture of your husband.” Tom’s eyes saddened. “We were supposed to free the men in that camp. I only wish we’d found out sooner that it was a trap, then maybe Lieutenant Calavicci would be home now. I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“It’s all right. Al wouldn’t have wanted you to walk into a trap he was the bait for. I’m sure if he were here he’d be telling you to be thankful you got out of there alive, and not worry about him.”

“But if he doesn’t get out of there alive, Mrs. Calavicci–”

Beth stopped him with her hand. “He will. Don’t ask me how, but I know he’s coming back.” Her voice was calm and confident, though the pain of separation still came through clearly.

“You sound as sure as my little brother did that I’d be killed,” he replied softly. “It scared me, you know, how certain he was. I argued with him about it a lot because I was trying to convince myself that he was wrong. Sometimes I still find myself wondering if maybe he WAS telling the truth. What if he had come from the future somehow to warn me? And what if he somehow found a way to save my life? It sounds crazy, doesn’t it?”

“Not really. You never know, after all. Miracles happen every day.”

Tom smiled. “My mom says that sometimes. I don’t know…” he shook his head, his eyes haunted with invisible images. “It’s hard to believe in miracles after you’ve seen what I have. What the Viet-Cong’s done to those people, and even worse, what we’ve done to them.”

Beth was silent, watching the young officer. He reminded her of Al, or rather, of what Al might be when he came back. This disillusionment was something she’d seen so many times. It made her begin to understand a little bit the drive behind the anti-war protests and draft dodgers. She’d been so condescending towards them at first, before the first of the wounded started coming in… She hoped Al would keep his sense of self and humor as well as this man seemed to.

“You know…there’s something I think I should tell you. When we first got the roll of film that photo was on printed, it was brought back to our team so we could be the first to see them. One of the guys, ‘Magic’ we called him, went straight to that picture, as if he knew it was in there. And when he saw it, he looked up, as if he was looking at someone, and said ‘You could have been free.’ I don’t know why, but I feel sure he was talking to the picture–to your husband. And the scary thing about it is, we could have succeeded on that mission, but I probably would have gotten killed, like Sam said.” He shook his head slowly. “It always makes me wonder–‘You could have been free.'”

-8-

June 15-16, 1975

June fifteenth, 1975. Al’s forty-first birthday. Beth bit her lip to hold back the tears. Eight excruciating years had passed since he disappeared from the skies over South Vietnam, six since an angel had promised her he was coming home, and five since she had seen the photograph that confirmed he was alive, giving her the strength to believe the heavenly promise.

She wondered where he was spending his birthday. Was he still in that POW camp? Had he somehow managed to escape?

As if in answer to her questions, the phone rang.

“Beth? It’s Ryan Chase.”

“Captain, good to hear from you again.”

“I thought you might want to know, Al arrived on Oahu yesterday from Saigon. He should be getting on a plane out of Honolulu right about now. He’s coming home.”

Beth almost dropped the receiver. Tears filled her eyes as the news she had been waiting so long to hear sank in. He’s coming home! He’s really coming home!

“When will he be here?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Sometime tonight, if all goes well. They wanted to bring him in through Bethesda, but I convinced them to send him to Balboa instead, since you guys live here.”

“Thank you.” There was more she wanted to say, to thank him not just for this call but for risking his career to show her that classified photograph five years ago. For doing everything he could to help her hang on to the hope that Al would return. But she knew if she said any more she would break into tears.

“I’m just glad I could help. But I hope you don’t mind if I ask you to break the news to him about his promotion. He might take the news that he’s become a horse’s ass better from you.”

Beth laughed. She had forgotten how widely known Al’s comment was in San Diego’s Naval community. It was a good thing Captain Chase knew him well enough to not take it seriously.

“I don’t know, Captain. After all this time, he might take the news well from anyone. He probably thinks it’s about time.”

“Maybe you’re right. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow. Take care of yourself, Beth.”

“You too.”

She set down the receiver with trembling hands, tears of joy streaming down her face. He was finally coming home. That promise she’d been given so long ago was coming true.

Beth shivered as she realized for the first time how close she’d come to abandoning Al. If that angel hadn’t appeared in her living room, she probably would have given up hope of ever seeing him alive again. But he was alive, and would have been even if she had given up. But he might have come home to an empty house.

“Thank you,” she whispered, a tearful prayer of gratitude. “Thank you for not letting me give up.”

Then she glanced at Al’s picture on the mantel, the young, vibrant, carefree sailor who had left her so long ago to fight for people they’d never even met. They’d waited eight years for the chance to be together. Now, at last, the waiting was almost over for both of them. He was finally coming home.

“Happy Birthday, Al.”

-8-

Beth arrived at the hospital before her shift began the next morning. She had wanted to meet him at the airport last night, but had forgotten to ask where he was coming in. For all she knew, he could have been flown into Miramar, North Island, or even Lindbergh Field. But she knew he was coming to Balboa Naval Hospital–Captain Chase had made that very clear.

“You’re here early,” Jennie commented as Beth stepped out of the elevator. “Any reason in particular?”

Beth just smiled, and the other nurse studied her, curiously. “Okay, what’s going on? I haven’t seen you glow like this since…” she paused, a connection falling into place. “Oh, my word…Beth, they found him didn’t they?”

She nodded vigorously, trying to keep in check the happy tears that threatened to overwhelm her. “He’s here!”

“What?!?! Here at Balboa?”

She nodded. “Captain Chase said they were bringing him in last night. Now all I have to do is find his room and who’s assigned to him. ”

“Oh, Beth, I’m so happy for you!” Jennie threw her arms around her friend. “I don’t know how you waited so long, hon, but I guess it was worth it.”

“What was worth it?” Susan asked.

Jennie released her at the sound of the other nurse’s voice. “Al’s home!” Beth managed to gasp out. “Captain Chase convinced them to repatriate him through San Diego, since we live here, so he was supposed to arrive here sometime last night!”

Susan’s delighted shriek attracted the attention of every other nurse on duty it seemed. Within moments, they were all clustered around Beth, who repeated the news to her eager audience. The subsequent cheers caught the curious stares of passing doctors and orderlies, but those stares changed to knowing looks upon seeing who was at the center of the hubub.

“Wait a second…” Nancy put her fingers to her forehead. “I think I remember hearing something about a POW being brought in under security last night. If you’d called me and told me he was coming home, I would have paid better attention and then I could have told you where he was.” She smiled.

“Wait, I’ll check the schedule,” Bronwen interjected. She reached behind the nurses’ station and flipped through the papers on a clipboard. “Room 234. That’s one of Jennie’s rooms this shift.”

Jennie blushed. “I wish I’d checked that one first. I haven’t even gotten up there yet.” She glanced at her friend. “Do you want to trade, Beth?”

Beth shook her head. “No. I’ll just get some time off. If I was assigned to Al, I’d be with him all the time and neglect my other patients.”

Nodding, Jennie flipped through the papers on her clipboard until she came to Al’s file. When she found it, she tugged on her friends elbow, a mischievous smile dominating her face. “C’mon. I’m going to go check on my new patient and I INSIST you come with me for consultation purposes.”

-8-

Jennie squeezed Beth’s hand as they approached the room. “You go in first,” she whispered. “I’ll come in after you two have had a little time to get reacquainted.”

She grinned. “Don’t give us THAT much time! You know how Al would define ‘reacquainted’ where the two of us are concerned.”

The other nurse giggled softly. “All right, but I’m waiting at LEAST ten minutes.”

Beth nodded and took a deep breath before peering into the room. Her heart leaped at the sight of that face, framed by dark, curly hair that had grown too long during his imprisonment. His eyes were closed, as if sleeping, but she could tell by the tortured look on his face that he was anything but rested.

She was startled to note that he was curled up on the floor, instead of the bed. Dragging a glucose IV with him, he had somehow stumbled out of the bed and into a corner on the room, where he now lay, curled into a tight ball with the blanket half-pulled over him. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut against a scene that she was sure was only in his mind, and therefore invulnerable to the physical darkness he was subjecting himself to.

He’s so thin, she thought, her eyes sweeping over his frail frame that was frightfully visible through the inadequate coverage of the hospital gown. She knew he was suffering from malnourishment. That, and the fact that he had picked up several nasty parasites had been in his file, which she and Jennie had reviewed together before coming down here.

He stirred slightly, his sleep light and fitful. Beth hesitated, almost afraid to go in, because it might wake him. A shudder went through his body, followed by a low moan of pain, and one word.

“Beth.”

That was all she needed. She had waited too long to hear his voice say her name again. There was no way she could walk away after hearing it, even to let him rest. Quietly, she entered the room and knelt at his side.

“Come on, we need to get you back in the bed,” she told him quietly, the nurse taking over because she could think of no words to capture how she felt. “And I’ll need to check that IV too.”

Al was awake now, but not looking at her. His eyes were on the floor, seeing no more of her than her shoes. He tried to pull away from her hold on his arm, making Beth realize that he did not yet recognize her. A pang of fear went through her, followed by the realization that his mind was probably still in the cage she was told he had been kept in for much of his time as a POW. He was on the floor because things like beds had become too foreign to him.

Gently she eased him to his feet. He resisted, but was too weak to put up much of a fight. “Al, please.”

It was as if the sound of his name pierced through the clouds in his mind like a ray of sunlight. He straightened a little, and for the first time, looked at her. As their eyes met, she saw lucidity return to him. Maybe it was only there for a little while, but it was there.

He was staring at her, drinking her in with his eyes as if he couldn’t believe she was there. But she was, and to assure him of it, she took his left hand in hers, entwining their fingers as they had done so often before he left. Al reached up one shaky hand to touch her face. As he brushed a strand of hair away from her ear, Beth caught her breath. Every nerve in her body reached for the place he had touched, the longing of the past eight years pinnacled in this moment of closeness.

Then, unexpectedly, her husband wrapped her in tight embrace, more powerful than he seemed capable of. Her arms went around him in return, and years of pent-up tears broke free from her eyes.

They were still holding each other and crying when Jennie returned a half-hour later to check on him. Smiling, she quietly hung his chart outside the door and left. Neither Beth nor Al even noticed she had ever been there at all.

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Fic: For I Would See the Sun Rise Upon the Glad New Year (QL, gen)

Author’s Note: First off, I have to say a *huge* thank you to Medie, without whose encouragement and occasional butt-kicking I’m pretty sure this story would not’ve gotten written. Big thanks also to my betas, Josie and Juniper, for looking it over and getting it back to me on such a tight schedule, but still managing to do a proper beta job! I don’t even want to think about what it would’ve looked like without your insightful comments. Oh, and last but certainly not least, the title is taken from the poem “The May Queen,” by Alfred Lord Tennyson. The rest of the poem has nothing to do with the story, but this line fit. 😉 Written for gray for Yuletide 2008.


1996

People who had never been to New Mexico sometimes made the mistake of thinking it was one of those places, like Southern California, where the sun shone all the time and it never got cold. Of course, Al had spent enough time in San Diego to know that even California didn’t always live up to its Hollywood reputation.

New Mexico, though, was inland and at points, also a hell of a lot further above sea level than most of California. At higher elevations, sometimes they get snow. But even down in the desert, especially in the middle of winter, when the sun went down, it got cold. Damned cold.

At midnight on New Year’s Eve…hell, he’d spent warmer nights in space.

This time, though, it wasn’t the lack of humidity leeching heat from the air as soon as the sun went down that had him shivering like a wet dog. This chill went deeper than his bones, straight into his soul.

The others didn’t feel it. Not yet. They were still riding too high on the success the year had brought them; Sam’s theories were right, he’d proved it. The dread of what might happen if they couldn’t retrieve him this year, or next year, or the year after that, hadn’t sunk in yet. Except for Al. Maybe because he’d seen Sam; seen the look in his friend’s eyes that he remembered feeling himself almost thirty years ago, in a jungle whose heat had been as stifling as the desert cold was piercing.

It was the look of a man who didn’t know if he’d ever see home again.

The alcoholic in Al wanted a drink so badly he could almost taste it on the night air. A strong drink–whiskey might burn hot enough to drown out this creeping cold–but he couldn’t. Not just for his own sake, not because of any stupid twelve-step program he’d never been sure he believed in, but for the sake of a promise. If he lost himself, if he gave the Committee any reason to take him off this project, he wouldn’t be able to keep that promise, and that knowledge was stronger than the addiction. It was the only thing that was, anymore. It was all he had left.

“Admiral?”

He recognized Gooshie not just by the voice, but by the hint of halitosis on the wind that followed the little programmer around like an inconvenient curse.

“Admiral?” Gooshie repeated, stepping out away from the building, his usual costume of solid white making him look like some sort of spirit against the desert. “What are you doing out here? Everyone else is still down in the control room, celebrating.” He hesitated a second before adding, “Even Dr. Alessi.”

Dr. Alessi. Donna: who wasn’t even here a year ago because her faith wasn’t strong enough to ever make it this far. Al wondered, privately, if Sam had any idea what he’d done to her, the disappointment he’d set her up for, by restoring it.

Of course, Gooshie didn’t know that. He didn’t remember the way things were before Sam leaped into Lawrence College in 1972. To him it was as simple as: if Sam’s wife could enjoy the holiday and believe he’d come home in the New Year, why couldn’t Al?

Aw, hell. Maybe he was overthinking this. Maybe it was just the POW in him who took six long years to find his way home from the jungles of Vietnam that figured a man lost in time had to have even longer odds. Maybe it was the man who had lived for his wife, only to discover she’d given him up for dead, who couldn’t quite look at Donna without picturing the long, hard road ahead of her. They had the most brilliant minds in the country hidden deep under that mountain. Surely no team on Earth was better qualified to find one man and bring him home than the one they’d assembled.

Still…he couldn’t ignore the nagging certainty that the brilliant mind they really needed was the one that’d been perforated like a paper target and scattered across fifty years of history. Was it any wonder he didn’t feel much like celebrating?

“I’m going to check on Sam,” Al announced abruptly. “Gooshie, for God’s sake, go back to the party. Stink up someone else’s air for a while.”

The words were as sour as his mood, but good-tempered Gooshie–damn the little bastard–didn’t bat an eye. “Sorry, Admiral. If you want the Imaging Chamber to actually work, you’ll have to put up with me for a little while longer.”

Al grunted, irritated but hardly able to argue the point. Together they headed back inside the innocuous white building that hid two of the biggest scientific breakthroughs in human history, into the elevator that would take them deep inside the heart of the mountain, into that bright underground that only made the shadows seem longer and darker by contrast.

-8-

2001

Someone had spiked the punch. Al could feel the effects of it as he stepped out of the elevator at the surface. It was ironic that as recently as his birthday, six short months ago, they all would’ve known better. But things changed, especially around here.

If there’s one thing Al got from AA that he absolutely believed in, it was the idea that alcoholism is a disease that is never really cured. Not even, apparently, by erasing the past where that long, downhill journey was started. He still remembered the compulsion; ergo, it still had a hold on him.

That was just one of many things Beth had to get used to about the “new him.”

“New” him: what a laugh, considering it was really just the opposite. He was old–Beth and everything else around him, that’s what was new. But how could he explain that to a woman who watched her husband go off to work like he did every other day, but come home with a whole other lifetime’s worth of baggage?

Some days he thought she understood without him even trying to explain. After all, his Beth was too smart not to know that the description of the mysterious stranger who had given her hope matched Sam to a T. Or what that simple fact meant to the Project as a whole. He hated himself for how easy it would be to resent her silence on that matter for so many years, even though he knew what the consequences could’ve been had she broken that silence.

If Sam was leaping with his own face now…well, Al’d be damned if he knew how or why, but it would certainly explain why there’d been no one in the Waiting Room for the past several months since he disappeared.

“Which just makes more work for everyone else and gives me nothing to do,” Al joked weakly to the silent, empty desert. He fell silent for a long moment before quietly, bitterly adding, “Thanks a lot, Sam.”

Okay, so that wasn’t entirely true. Or really true at all. He’d been working as hard as any of them, spending so much time in the Imaging Chamber just looking for Sam, any sign of him, that he was a little afraid his family was going to forget what he looked like. And wouldn’t that just be the perfect irony? Sam going to all the trouble to get Beth back for him, only for him to lose her again by spending all his time looking for Sam.

It wasn’t fair that fate seemed determined to make him choose between the two most important people in his life. Like he couldn’t have one without losing the other; the memories of having both just a mocking falsehood he’d never really lived through.

And God, what kind of an ass did he have to be to feel that way? As if having Beth back–only the thing he’d dreamed about for nearly half his life–wasn’t good enough.

“Al?”

Speaking of Beth…he turned to see her walking towards him, steam rising off whatever was in the mugs she carried in each hand. She handed him one. “Coffee. I thought you could use it if you’re going to be up all night staring at the mountain.”

Al stared at her. “How did you…?”

Beth gave him the same impish smile that was one of the first things he’d fallen in love with. “You’ve done it every year for the past five years–did you really expect me not to notice?”

He looked away, embarrassed, and she sighed. “I know you probably don’t want the company, but–”

“No,” he interrupted quickly, turning back to her and taking her free hand in his own. “No, it’s not that. I’m an ungrateful bastard, I know. I should be inside with you and the girls, not moping around out here. I just can’t stop thinking about where Sam might be, what he’s doing, if he’s in danger…”

“It’s not your fault, you know, that we lost him,” Beth said quietly. “It was the people in the Waiting Room who told us where and when he is.”

“I know.” The lie fell easily from his lips. He didn’t want to worry her more than she already was. Isn’t it? I found him the first time. It was my idea to search his birthdays. I should’ve known the minute I saw you where he was, and caught up with him in time to *tell* him we couldn’t track him this way, so he could find some way to keep track of us. “I just don’t like…not knowing. It wasn’t like I was ever really able to do anything anyway, but at least I knew the odds.”

Beth set down her cup of coffee on the wall where he always sat to watch the sun rise. “Are you still mad at me?” she asked frankly.

Al looked at her, startled. “For what?”

She met his eyes. “I knew, all along, that someday Sam would start leaping with his own face. I knew it before the Project even started, before we even met Sam, even though I didn’t understand what I knew until after. So maybe it’s my fault we lost track of him, because I didn’t warn you, warn Ziggy.”

She always had known him a little too well. Al tightened his grip on her hand. “You did what you had to do to prevent a paradox,” he admitted gruffly. “If you’d told us…Sam might never have been able to get past us to get into the Accelerator, and all the good he’d done would’ve been undone. And considering he started telling us about his theories the first time he ever met you, it would’ve been damned hard for you to miss what was at stake. I know that.”

“Intellectually, yes, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” she pointed out shrewdly.

Al looked at her, and this time he was honest, if not entirely so. “I don’t blame you, Beth.” If I’d never asked Sam to win you back for me, you would never have been put in that position in the first place.

Beth shook her head with a sad smile, as if she could see the words he wasn’t saying in his face. “He’ll be back, Al. Someday. If Sam has any say in the matter, he’ll be back. He cares too much about you and Donna not to.”

Al turned to stare out over the empty desert again. “God, I hope so.”

-8-

2006

Damn them, Al thought angrily as he rolled over on the narrow cot. Damn them all: I don’t care if they’re Republicans, Democrats or Santa’s little helpers. They have no right to shut us down.

He’d said as much in the hearing, which was why he was here, spending New Year’s Eve in a federal prison instead of flying back to the Project to keep his traditional vigil. Then again…not like they would’ve let him keep it, anyway. Those damned MPs had orders to throw him out if he got so much as two hundred feet from the building where they were tearing Sam’s dream–and his only chance of ever coming home–apart.

Contempt of Congress. He’d show them contempt all right. Even if it meant spending the rest of his life in this cell.

I’m sorry, Sam. I’m sorry I failed you.

Down the hall somewhere, a door clanked open. Al ignored it, just kept staring at the wall. Some poor sap was getting a visitor: he wondered what they were in for.

The jangling of keys outside his own cell a moment later got his attention, though. He rolled over, eyes widening in surprise when he saw who was standing behind the guard. “Donna?”

Dr. Donna Alessi, Sam’s wife–Sam’s widow, more like it–smiled ruefully at him. “You just don’t know when to quit, do you, Al?”

“Not when it involves our only chance of ever finding Sam, no, I don’t,” he agreed vehemently.

Donna let out a deep sigh that he didn’t like the sound of before turning to look at the guard. “Can I have a minute?”

He nodded and opened the door to let her in before locking them both in and moving a little ways off down the hall: close enough that he could still see Donna when she wanted to leave, but far enough to give them at least an illusion of privacy.

Donna crossed the small cell and seated herself beside Al on the narrow cot. “I’ve spoken with the Committee…they’ve agreed to let you out, on the condition that you leave Washington, return to New Mexico, and make no further attempts to block the dismantling of the Project.”

Al shook his head. “Not a chance in hell. I’m fighting this as long as there’s a breath in my body to fight with.”

He didn’t know how he expected her to respond to that. Maybe with a rueful but secretly pleased smile; maybe by telling him she’d expect nothing less. He sure didn’t expect her to get angry. “Damn it, Al, Sam’s not coming back. It’s not just the Committee, everyone’s figured that out…except you.”

Al looked at her, hopes sinking. His voice was quiet and almost despairing: “Oh hell, Donna…not you too?”

Donna stared at her hands, which she was twisting in her lap as if not quite sure what to do with them. “I know he promised me…but it’s been ten years, Al. Five since we lost him for good.” She looked up and her eyes were dead: any hope in them had faded years ago. “You can’t keep a promise to a woman you don’t remember. No matter who you swear it to.”

“Donna, I…” He didn’t finish that sentence. What the hell would he finish it with? An apology? And if so, what for? For letting Sam arrange that reunion with her father and overcome–temporarily, at least–her abandonment issues? For screwing up that leap back in 1945 so that Sam had to leap out again to save his life? For failing to find Sam and bring him home? He could spend a lifetime trying to make up for all the ways he’d let this woman down.

She looked him straight in the eyes. “I lost my husband to this damned Project. I won’t lose the only connection I have left to him trying to keep it alive. Let it go, Al. For my sake…for your family’s, if nothing else.”

Al buried his face in his hands, thinking of Beth waiting for him back home in New Mexico. Of his girls, who one by one were starting families of their own. Whatever had happened to Sam after that fateful night, as far as Al knew his last act had been to give him back the life he’d always wanted, and here he was letting it slip through his fingers again, fighting a losing battle. The Project would be shut down and Ziggy dismantled, no matter how hard he fought: was it really fair to the people who were left to go down with the ship?

Besides…the Project hadn’t been in control of Sam’s leaps pretty much from the beginning. Maybe…just maybe…he didn’t need it to find his way home. Al could only hope that by the time that day came, there would be something left for him to come home to.

His shoulders sagging, Al nodded slowly and admitted in a low, defeated voice, “All right. Tell them…tell them I’m done.”

-8-

2016

The complex was empty now. Ten years ago, the place had been crawling with guards, there to keep everyone out (and him in particular) while they dismantled the Accelerator and dissected Ziggy like a billion-dollar fetal pig, trying to figure out what–aside from Sam’s genius–had made her work. It didn’t matter that he’d argued until he was blue in the face that not only was she their only chance to ever find Sam, but she was also sentient, self-aware. All that had won him was a short stay in jail for Contempt of Congress.

Al couldn’t yet see headlights bumping slowly along the lonely, flat desert road that he had once traveled every day instead of once a year, but he knew he would eventually. They always sent a keeper after him these days, and really he couldn’t blame them. He was pushing ninety, after all, and going to be pushing it pretty hard in only a few short years. Legally he wasn’t even allowed to drive anymore–his once pilot-sharp vision had deteriorated fast after he passed seventy-five–but the road from home to here was one he could navigate a lot blinder than this.

He wondered who they would send this year. Usually it was one of his girls, but since Beth died they didn’t come around as often as they used to. He’d have thought it would be just the opposite–that with one parent gone, they would want to spend more time with the one they had left while there was still time–but they all had busy lives, spread out across the country, and he couldn’t begrudge them that. He was proud of his girls, and despite the distance and the time between them, he never doubted that they still loved him. He saw Trudi and her family every day, at least–as the surviving nurse of the family, she was the logical choice to relocate to New Mexico to take care of him in his waning years.

Waning years: it was an appropriate figure of speech, Al decided, for someone who had once set foot on the moon, even if the timeline where that happened had been erased a long time ago. He still remembered it, even if it was harder these days to keep straight which timeline was which. Still, it had to say something that, while in most men his age confusion was a sign of senility, with him it just meant he’d lived too many lives in one lifetime. Considering he’d spent five years of his life slogging through temporal quicksand, it could’ve been a lot worse.

Twenty years had gone by since his best friend had stepped into the Accelerator and disappeared into the past–almost twenty-one. It’d been fifteen since he vanished completely, leaving Al behind. He might not’ve seen Sam in fifteen years, but he still thought about him every day. He still wished, if nothing else, for the chance to apologize for not keeping his promise to bring Sam home.

He shivered, but not because of the desert night. No, it was the same bone-deep cold that had crept into his bones and taken up residence the night Sam leaped. Hardly a night had gone by in the past twenty years that he hadn’t felt it, more piercing than ever now that he once again didn’t have Beth to keep him warm.

Funny how after all these years, if Sam finally came back, he still wouldn’t know whether to thank him or curse him for restoring Beth to him. He loved her now as much as he had before he lost her the first time, and he wouldn’t trade a day he’d been able to spend with his girls (or a day he hadn’t even though he remembered doing so). But the one thing he hadn’t counted on was that getting Beth back would mean he’d have to one day lose her again–irreversibly this time, since old age and cancer were things all the time travelers in the world couldn’t prevent.

He’d also never counted that gaining Beth would mean losing Sam. Okay, so he would never know for sure that there was a connection, but when he’d stepped out of the Imaging Chamber to find her there and Sam gone for good, what was he supposed to think?

Damn you, Sam, he cursed silently with an old grief that had fermented and turned bitter over the years. You gave up your chance to come home for me when I screwed up in 1945, and then left me no way to do the same for you. Because even if Beth would’ve understood me leaving her like that for the second time, I could never have passed up the chance to build real memories with my girls.

A bottle of champagne sat at his feet. Lightweight as it was in terms of actual alcohol content, he knew he shouldn’t. Even if he had nothing left to live for, it would’ve be a bad idea, and he still had his girls. But the temptation was still stronger than it’d been in over a decade.

A ripple of blue light flared in the corner of his eye, but he ignored it. He’d been tricked by one too many flashes of lightning, or St. Elmo’s Fire, or distant headlights. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me once a year for damn near twenty years…shame the hell on me.

Al wondered, almost idly, when he’d stopped waiting for Sam to return. When he gave up.

-8-

The one thing about leaping that hadn’t changed since Sam had started keeping his own face was the disorientation he felt now as the desert materialized around him. Sure, he was less likely to leap into the middle of something anymore–because who would trust a man who just appeared out of nowhere?–but that initial moment of not knowing where he was, or when, was just as disconcerting as it had ever been. Worse, in a way, because now he didn’t have Al or Ziggy to supply him with the answers he needed: he had to figure it out for himself.

Sometimes, in those first few dizzying moments, he would give anything to have them back.

No, Sam scolded himself fiercely. Al has a wife and a family to go home to, now. It’s not fair to him or to them to ask him to keep following you around the continuum.

He looked around, trying to orient himself in the darkness and frowning when he realized the scenery was somehow naggingly familiar. The lingering effect of the leap combined with his Swiss-cheesed memory made it difficult to place, but somehow he had the feeling he’d been here before. Or at least he’d been somewhere very much like it.

There was a low building off to the left, bathed a dark shade of blue-gray in the starlight but probably white by day. On either side of it rose enormous rock shapes like the sort you would expect to see in Monument Valley: then again, maybe that’s where he was. Maybe that was why it looked familiar.

The building was entirely dark and looked deserted, but there was a single car parked in the abandoned parking lot, and when Sam looked closely, a stooped, gray-haired figure of a man standing by it, staring up at the mountain that rose above him as if he expected it to impart to him all the secrets of the universe. In the other direction, far away across the endless flat stretch of desert, the headlights of a car were slowly moving towards them, but they were at least a good fifteen minutes away, if not more.

Aside from that, there didn’t seem to be another soul in the world except him and the old man in the parking lot. Which, unless the car was headed this way–which seemed unlikely considering how lonely the place was–meant the old man had to be why he was here.

It wasn’t until well after he’d left desert sand for asphalt and was crossing the parking lot himself that Sam realized with a sudden shock that he recognized the set of those shoulders beneath the nearly-white hair. Worse, surely there could only be one man in the world who would wear a purple overcoat with a gold lamé scarf in the middle of an empty desert.

It was Al.

But then…it couldn’t be. Could Al have really aged that much in the five years since he’d last seen him? Or…had it not been a year? This wasn’t the first time he’d leaped into the future.

A shiver of premonition running through him, Sam quickened his steps towards his friend. What on Earth could have happened to call him here?

“Al?” he spoke when he was close enough that his footsteps should’ve gotten Al’s attention. The solitary figure turned, and Sam almost fell back a step, stunned by how haggard his old friend looked. It wasn’t just age, either. He had no idea how old Al actually was, since he didn’t know when he’d arrived, but he looked like he was well over a hundred.

He was knocked off balance too that there was no look of surprise or welcome or even recognition in Al’s eyes. Just resignation, as if he’d been expecting this but not really looking forward to it. Have I been gone that long that he forgot me? Or by convincing Beth to wait, did I change history so we never even met? Sam thought desperately. “Al, it’s me.”

“Of course it is,” Al answered dryly. “Who else would I hallucinate if I was starting to go senile? Elvis?”

Sam felt a sudden cold that had nothing to do with the sunless desert. “No, Al…” He closed the distance between them, taking both Al’s shoulders in his hands. “It’s really me.”

Disbelief flickered across Al’s face, followed by shock and finally joy. “It’s…you’re real?”

Sam smiled. “I’m real,” he promised, relief flooding over him.

It turned out to be a flash flood, though, because almost immediately Al’s face clouded over again. “You think this is funny? Fifteen years without a peep, then you just show up like none of it ever happened? Where the hell have you been?”

Fifteen years? No wonder Al looked so much older: he was older. But…why now? Why was he here now?

Well, only one way to find out: answer the man’s questions and then ask a few of his own. “I’ve been leaping.”

Al grunted, turning away with a sour twist of the mouth that might’ve been a smile if it weren’t so bitter. “Let me guess: on your own and as yourself.”

Well, that eliminated one possibility for why he was here: “Beth.”

“Died six months ago,” was the clipped, cold answer. “Cancer. Damned government insurance wouldn’t waste money treating a woman who was likely to die of old age soon anyway.”

Oh, God. Al, I’m sorry. “That must be why I’m here,” Sam murmured quietly, unthinkingly, to himself, but Al heard it anyway.

His head snapped up. “Why you’re here? Fifteen goddamned years and time or fate or who-the-fuck-ever is up there still isn’t ready to let you just come home?”

Sam shook his head. “It’s not God, Al. It’s me; it always has been. I just didn’t know it. I’ll come home someday, I just…there’s still a lot of people out there who need me.”

Al’s eyes widened, his face darkening and almost purpling with rage. “You goddamned selfish, self-righteous son of a bitch!”

Sam fell back a step, reeling from the vehemence of the anger Al directed at him, so intense it almost felt like hatred. But surely Al of all people could never hate him. “What?”

“Didn’t it ever occur to you for a moment that there were people here who needed you?” Al fumed, and for a moment he stopped looking frail as the temper burned through him and made him shine again like the passionate old soldier Sam used to know. “Like maybe your wife or your daughter? Maybe the brother you cared so much about saving, or the sister you wanted to save? The Project you put your life into or your goddamn best friend? Hell, Sam, they murdered Ziggy! They took her apart piece by piece to try to figure out how to build another one, which would never have happened if you were here, and you know it!”

“I didn’t know–!” he started to protest, startled into defensiveness.

“You never tried! You seriously mean to tell me you could’ve come home any time you wanted and instead you left us all here to worry for fifteen goddamned years?!” Al’s voice was rising now, echoing around them in the empty desert like the voice of God Himself. “So what was Beth supposed to be, some sort of consolation prize? Make me stop caring about you because I had her? My God, Sam, I beat myself up for twenty years, wondering what I did wrong, what I should’ve done differently to bring you home to your wife, or to find you after you vanished on us, and all this time it was your fucking choice? What happened to the man who asked me–no, demanded–why he was allowed to save strangers, but not the people he loved?”

“I didn’t…” Sam struggled to find the words, speechless at the venom he’d inspired. “I guess I just always thought there would be time–”

Al turned away, the line of his back stiff and unyielding. “Your time ran out a long time ago. I thought I knew you, Sam, but this…I guess my best friend died fifteen years ago after all.”

“I’ll stay,” Sam tried one last desperate bid. “If it means that much to you, I’ll stay.”

Al looked at him over his shoulder, but this time his eyes seemed to have died. There was no emotion in them at all, or in his voice. “It’s too late. You already made your choice. Go away, Sam. Go back to the strangers who need you, because we sure as hell don’t anymore.”

With that parting shot, he climbed into the car and slammed the door, gunning the engine.

Sam could only watch in disbelief and dismay as the one person he’d always counted on to be there deliberately drove away. The worst of it was the chill that ran through him with the realization that he couldn’t fix this.

But no…he couldn’t fix it now. There was always…there was always time. Time to go back and set things right…put right what once went wrong, just like he always had. Only this time…the stakes were so much higher than they’d ever been. Trembling as if he had a violent cold, Sam closed his eyes and surrendered himself to the leap.

-8-

2001

Someone had spiked the punch. Al could feel the effects of it as he stepped out of the elevator at the surface. It was ironic that as recently as his birthday, six short months ago, they all would’ve known better. But things changed, especially around here.

If there’s one thing Al got from AA that he absolutely believed in, it was the idea that alcoholism is a disease that is never really cured. Not even, apparently, by erasing the past where that long, downhill journey was started. He still remembered the compulsion; ergo, it still had a hold on him.

That was just one of many things Beth had to get used to about the “new him.”

“New” him: what a laugh, considering it was really just the opposite. He was old–Beth and everything else around him, that’s what was new. But how could he explain that to a woman who watched her husband go off to work like he did every other day, but come home with a whole other lifetime’s worth of baggage?

Some days he thought she understood without him even trying to explain. After all, his Beth was too smart not to know that the description of the mysterious stranger who had given her hope matched Sam to a T. Or what that simple fact meant to the Project as a whole. He hated himself for how easy it would be to resent her silence on that matter for so many years, even though he knew what the consequences could’ve been had she broken that silence.

If Sam was leaping with his own face now…well, Al’d be damned if he knew how or why, but it would certainly explain why there’d been no one in the Waiting Room for the past several months since he disappeared.

“Which just makes more work for everyone else and gives me nothing to do,” Al joked weakly to the silent, empty desert. He fell silent for a long moment before quietly, bitterly adding, “Thanks a lot, Sam.”

“You’re welcome,” was the unexpected, cheerful reply from a voice he’d thought he’d never hear again. “Even if I don’t really know what for–I must’ve missed that part.”

Al froze, not daring to hope it was anything more than the alcohol talking. Not that alcohol had ever been a hallucinogen–especially not the barely-there buzz a little wine in the fruit punch would give his far-too-tolerant system–but there was always a first time. Or maybe it wasn’t anything chemical, maybe he’d just finally lost his grip on reality. Early-onset senility, or worse, maybe he’d just been working too goddamn hard. One thing was for sure: if he ever did lose it and start seeing things, Sam would probably be at the top of the list.

“Al?” This time Sam sounded worried, uncertain.

His whole body shaking with the incredible, irrational hope, Al turned around. Slowly.

Sam was still there.

He was wearing the same short-sleeved white shirt and tan pants that he’d been wearing in that mining town in Pennsylvania where they’d lost him and he didn’t look a day older…except the white streak in his hair had gotten a little bit wider. It was a tiny, insignificant difference, but to Al it made all the difference in the world, because it was a change his mind, no matter how crazy, would never have thought to make. Which meant…Sam was real. He was there and he was real.

“Sam?” God, Al’s voice hadn’t cracked like that since he was sixteen!

Sam smiled. “Happy New Year, Al.”

“You just reappear out of the blue after six months without a word and that’s all you have to say, ‘Happy New Year’?” Al exclaimed in disbelief. He was moving before he even made a conscious decision to, moving towards the friend he’d thought lost to them and pulling him into a bear hug. If he hung on a little longer than was strictly manly, well, hell, after five years without being able to give his friend so much as a handshake, Al figured he had a right to. “Where the hell have you been?”

Sam hesitated for a long moment before answering, “Figuring out some things I probably should’ve realized a long time ago.” There was a look in his eyes that made Al vaguely uncomfortable. They were almost haunted, but at the same time a little too eager.

“That takes six months?” Al asked dryly.

Sam laughed, sounding more carefree than Al’d heard him in years, and at the same time strangely rueful. “No. It took…a lot longer than that, actually.”

Al shivered. He didn’t have to be a genius of Sam’s level to figure out the implication. This Sam was from their future. “Then you’re not back.” He tried but failed to keep the flatness out of his voice. “You’re not home; this is just another leap for you.”

Sam shook his head so vigorously that it looked for a minute as if it might fly off. “Do you think you could ever be ‘just another leap’, Al? Any of you?” He smiled. “I’m home. I might still leap out occasionally, but not all the time. And I’ll always come back between leaps, not like before.”

Al’s eyes widened, his mind still clinging like a drowning man to those impossible words: I’m home. “How’d you work out that deal?”

Sam’s face sobered. Al knew him well enough to know the next words out of his mouth weren’t easy ones to admit to: “I didn’t work out any deal. I didn’t have to. It was me all along. That was what the bartender in Cokeburg told me.”

Something dangerous appeared in Al’s eyes. “You were leaping yourself?”

Sam hurried to cut it off at the pass. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t know it. I wasn’t staying away on purpose, I just…my work was always so theoretical here. Physics and archaeology and languages I never used…I have a medical degree, but I never practiced. Getting a chance to really help someone, to change the direction of people’s lives, or even save them…it was a little addictive. As much as I wanted to come home, I couldn’t resist just one more chance to make a difference. The problem was…there was always going to be just one more chance.”

“Hell, Sam,” Al protested. “You were making a difference long before you stepped into that Accelerator. You saved my life when I was on the verge of flushing it down the toilet, and I don’t care if that timeline got erased: none of what I’ve got now would be here if you hadn’t dried me out in the first place.”

Sam looked at him and there was something indefinable in his eyes. “I realize that…now.”

“So what did he say to make you realize?”

“He didn’t,” Sam smiled almost ruefully. “I mean…it wasn’t him.”

“Then who the hell was it?” Al demanded. “I gotta know so I can track down whoever it was and thank ’em.”

Sam just looked at him. “It was you.”

Al eyed him shrewdly. The title of Observer might be something he’d gotten only since they started Project Quantum Leap, but he’d been observing people–and Sam–a lot longer than that. He knew how to tell when something was wrong. “Do I even wanna know the reason why I don’t remember this conversation?” he asked.

Sam looked away, suddenly sheepish. He was silent for a long time before finally answering, “Would it be selfish of me to say I’d rather you didn’t?”

Al shivered a little, deducing as much from the tone of his friend’s voice as from his words just how badly his future must’ve gone. “No,” he admitted with more than a little relief. “I think I can live with that. Now what’re we doing out here, freezing our asses off instead of going inside to join the party and tell everyone the good news?”

Sam smiled. “I can’t imagine.”

-8-

2016

Al’s watch beeped. Okay, so it wasn’t really a watch, and it didn’t actually beep so much as it spoke in Ziggy’s familiar, smug voice: “Admiral Calavicci, I thought you might want to know that the time is now precisely twelve o’clock.”

Al grinned, tapping his wrist-link with one gloved hand. Most of the time, he didn’t actually need a watch with that computer around–she was more accurate too, even than the atomic clock, due to all those years spent keeping track of Sam in time. “Thanks, Ziggy.”

He reached for a green glass bottle at his feet, picking it up to set it on the wall between himself and Sam. Al eyed the bottle dubiously before setting to work on it with the corkscrew that Sam handed him. “What is this stuff, anyway?”

Sam smiled. “Sparkling white grape juice. Kinda like champagne, only without the alcohol.”

Al grunted. “Then what’s the point?”

“Says the recovering alcoholic,” Sam retorted dryly.

Al rolled his eyes and, having worked the cork free, started to pour the grape juice into two plastic tumblers. “Hey, I never said you should’ve brought the real stuff. I know my limitations.” He handed one cup to Sam and lifted the other, his voice quiet and serious. “To…well, to Beth. A better woman than I deserved to win once in a lifetime, let alone twice.”

Sam’s own expression sobered as he raised his cup to tap it lightly against Al’s. Beth’s loss had definitely been one of the low points of the past year and watching his friend have to watch her die slowly had made him wonder, at times, if he’d done the right thing all those years ago by convincing her to wait for Al to return. Neither one of them, he knew, had really considered that undoing the first loss would mean an inevitable second.

“I don’t regret it, you know,” Al broke the silence in that same quiet tone. “Losing her again…it hurt like hell, but it was worth it. Thank you. For getting her back for me. For my girls…my family.”

Sam looked away, staring off into the twinkling, clear desert night. He tried not to shiver at the memory of another time this night had come around, a time when they’d both had very little other than regrets. It wasn’t a pleasant memory, but one he treasured nonetheless because it kept him grounded. It reminded him how easy it would be to get lost in other people’s problems and miss out on moments like this.

“Did you really do this every year while I was gone?” he asked instead, changing the subject but not really wandering far from his wayward thoughts. “Sit out here all night?”

Al grunted, but nodded too. “Freezing my ass off, most of the time. I guess a part of me kept hoping one year you’d just come walking across that desert back into our lives and that would be it. No more bouncing around in time, putting right what once went wrong for everyone else.” Both men were silent for a long, almost eternal moment before Al looked at Sam and said, “You never did tell me why you finally came back. Only that it was something I said.”

Sam stared into his cup. “I spent this New Year with you once before: New Year’s, 2016. A long…long time ago.”

Startled, Al glanced around them curiously, staring first at the brightly lit but quiescent compound, then out into the starlit desert. “Does that mean I should expect to see a younger version of you wandering around here somewhere?”

Sam shook his head. “No…at least, I don’t think so. I think we erased that timeline. I hope so, anyway.” He shivered. “That night was a lot darker than this one.”

“Someone forget to leave all the lights on for the old geezers to find their way back inside?” Al prompted, glancing back again at the compound.

“Well, you could say that–the Project had been shut down–but…that’s not really what I meant.” He took a deep breath before plunging forward. “I found you here…all by yourself as if the world had forgotten you and you’d decided to return the favor. I thought you’d be happy to see me, but when I told you where I’d been all these years…you got so angry, called me a selfish bastard for leaving you all behind.” Sam stared at his drink again. “I think you hated me.”

Al snorted. “Right. As if I could ever hate you.”

Sam looked at him. “If you’d spent this night alone because I never came back, and then you found out it was my choice? That you’d worried and worked all those years to bring me home for nothing?”

“I’d be pissed as hell,” Al acknowledged. “Maybe even say something stupid, like I never wanted to see you again, and then regret it later. But I couldn’t hate you. You’re family, Sam. You and Donna both, just as much so as Beth and my girls. Who, incidentally, I wouldn’t have if not for you. All the stupid, selfish decisions in the world couldn’t make me hate you, or I would’ve ditched your ass back there in Vietnam.”

Sam tried to hide a smile at the backhanded promise. In Al’s own inimitable way, he’d given him exactly what he’d needed all these years but been afraid to ask for: absolution. “Thanks, Al.”

Al smiled. “Anytime, Sam. You’re not getting rid of me that easy.” He raised his glass again. “To family.”

“To family,” Sam echoed, and they both drained their glasses, Al making an exaggerated face at the extremely non-alcoholic taste.

“Well, I don’t know about you,” he announced, rising from the low wall as easily as his old bones would allow. “But this old bastard’s going home and going to bed. I’m not as equipped for this kind of weather as I once was.”

Sam looked at him, eyes twinkling. “I thought part of the tradition was to wait for sunrise?”

Al turned to him and smiled a small but genuine smile as he held out a hand to his friend. “Come on, Sam, you know me better than that. The sunrise was never what I was waiting for.”

Posted in Al/Beth, Gen, Het, Quantum Leap, Sam/Donna | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Fic: Ships in the Night part 17/17 (QL, Sam/Donna)

At the sound of his name, Sam’s head came up and he stared at her in partial disbelief.

“Donna…”

His wife threw herself into his arms.

“When you didn’t come back…I was so scared,” she sobbed. “I thought I might have lost you forever. I would have done anything to find you…”

Sam held her tightly, not realizing until that moment how much he had missed her. Al and Beth, standing together not far from the reunited couple, smiled at each other.

“It’s your sign, Al,” Beth said softly.

Hearing her friend’s voice, Donna turned her head towards the Observers. “Beth? Who…?”

Sam looked at Al, putting the final piece in the puzzle with Donna’s comment.

Still smiling, the Calaviccis took each other by the hand. Instantly, each became visible to both Leapers.

“It’s good to see you again, Al,” Donna told him with a smile as her memory of him returned.

“Good to be seen,” he replied gruffly. Beth conveyed the response to Donna since she still couldn’t hear the other hologram.

“You remember Beth,” Al remarked to Sam.

“Not as well as I should probably,” he confessed. “The last thing I remember is telling her you were coming home from Vietnam. I’m sure it’ll come back eventually, though.”

Donna frowned, another mystery unraveling. “You told Beth that Al was coming home?”

Sam, Al and Beth all nodded.

“That’s what we never told anyone at the Project,” Beth explained softly. “Do you remember on Sam’s last Leap before we lost him? How Al fainted when he saw me, and when he recovered, insisted that Sam was in 1969?”

Donna nodded slowly.

“Well, that’s because, for him, until that moment…I had left him before he came back from the war.” Tears filled her eyes. “I had him declared dead and remarried.”

Al put an arm around his wife’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Beth…I didn’t know,” Donna replied sincerely, glad that Al was there.

Sam’s face was thoughtful. “I’m trying to remember the rest of that Leap. I…was myself…even though it was the exact day I was born. So strange. The bartender…he told me I was controlling my own Leaps–I didn’t believe him…I’m not sure I do now either. He told me I could go wherever, whenever I wanted to from there, even home.” His face became pained. “I was going to, but I knew I had to do that for you first, Al. You’ve given up so much for me, and I’ve been so selfish. And when I saw the look on Beth’s face when I told her…”

Beth smiled softly.

“I knew there were so many more people I could help. Even if he was right and I could control the Leaps myself–especially then–I felt I was being selfish to want to go home.” He embraced Donna tightly. “If I had only known…” His eyes then fixed on Beth and Al. “Why didn’t you tell us we were both here?”

Al smiled. “You had to find out on your own.”

“What happens to Jack and Ferne?”

“Let’s see…she quits the film industry, but uses some of the money she earned to pay his way through medical school. When he gets out, they get married and move to Montana, where they live on a ranch and raise horses. He works as a doctor and she teaches drama at a local high school. She starts going by her middle name, Allison, and apparently no one ever realizes that Allison Kemp used to be Ferne Marshall. They have three kids and a dog named..” Here Al laughed. “A dog named Ziggy! I guess they remembered something after all!”

“So I was right. They do belong together.”

“Yeah, though for a while there it looked like you thought YOU belonged with her,” Al retorted with a smile.

A wave of guilt swept over Sam with the memory of other Leaps. “Donna, I am so sorry! I–I don’t even want to say it out loud! How could I hurt you like that?” His face was anguished.

She was pensive for a few moments. “I can’t lie to you, Sam. I tried to protect you from it last time because you’d only been back for a little while, but I never got the chance to tell you the truth. I won’t take that chance again.” She sighed. “Yes, it hurt. It hurt pretty badly. But I forgave you a long time ago because I love you, and knew you would never have done it if you’d known about me. Besides, if you hadn’t been Jack, I might have done the same thing.” She smiled sadly at him. “Can you forgive yourself, Sam?”

“Do you want me to?”

“With all my heart. If you don’t, will you ever be able to believe that I forgave you?”

Sam’s only answer was to hold her tighter.

Al smiled. “Ready to come home, pal?”

Sam looked down into Donna’s hopeful face. How could he have ever given her up, even for his Project? At the same time, how could he give up the chance to heal just one more hurt? Did he even have a choice?

“I…I don’t know. If I keep Leaping–”

“NO!” Donna’s voice was firm. “You’re not going anywhere–not without me!”

Al grinned. “That goes for me too. What was the big idea of giving your Observer nothing to observe?”

“Hey, don’t leave me out of the party,” Beth interceded.

“Well?” Donna asked expectantly. Three pairs of eyes focused on Sam.

Sam nodded. “I love you, Donna,” he replied earnestly. “I promise I will never leave you again.”

“Can you keep that promise, Sam?” Al asked warily.

His friend nodded. “That much I know I can control. Are you sure you want to come along, Al? I don’t want to take either of you away from your family–”

“In case you forgot, Sam,” Beth spoke up, her words passed along by Al, “You two are as much a part of our family as the girls. Don’t be surprised if they wan’t to come along too.”

“Is the Imaging Chamber big enough for that?”

Sam and Donna felt it at the same time–the sense of completion and release that signaled a coming Leap.

He took her hand. “As long as we’re touching, we’ll Leap together.”

“Well, if that’s the case…” With a mischievous smile, Donna kissed him again. Sam’s arms went around his wife and held her to him in a tight embrace. They were still kissing when they Leaped…

Together.

On the day I walked away
All the blue rolled into gray.
Now in the dark, alone I lay.
Should’ve stopped, but I could never, ever stay.

Somewhere in the night,
Inside my dreams you burn so bright
And I am with you there and everything’s all right.

Somewhere in the night,
Before the darkness turns to light,
Let me love you there,
Somewhere in the night.
from “Somewhere in the Night” by Scott Bakula

sung by Sam, “Piano Man”

Posted in Al/Beth, Het, Quantum Leap, Sam/Donna | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Fic: Ships in the Night part 16/17 (QL, Sam/Donna)

“Al! Get Sam in there, quickly!” Beth shouted to her husband as Sam pulled Jack’s car up before Ferne’s house.

Al swore. Sam glanced at him, startled.

“He’s got her cornered!” The Admiral explained quickly.

The Leaper needed no further warning. He bolted out of the car and raced to the house. The door was open.

With a nod to each other, the two Observers centered on Donna.

*****

Beth reappeared beside Donna, her breath as short as if she had just been running. “He’s coming.”

Downstairs, the front door slammed.

“Ferne!” a voice called urgently.

Allan looked up, startled. It was all Donna needed. With a skilled reflex that surprised her, she kicked the gun out of his hand and it landed on the stairs.

“Up here!” she called as loud as she could, not knowing she spoke simultaneously with Al.

“She’s up here, Sam!” Al repeated, still unheard by the combatants on the landing.

Allan lunged for Donna, but she ducked out of his path. Unfortunately, he landed instead next to his gun, which he immediately picked up. He glanced for a moment from his target to the silhouetted form making his way towards them downstairs. He waved the gun in Donna’s direction.

“I’ll be back for you!” he threatened, backing slowly and silently down the stairs. At the foot, he turned and ducked under the staircase, moments before Sam reached it.

“Ferne, are you all right?” Sam asked, hurrying towards her.

“Jack! Behind you!” Donna screamed, as Allan left his hiding place and charged toward the man on the stairs, his gun leveled at ‘Jack’s’ head.

Sam reacted instinctively. He spun, his hands flying out in a deft movement that caught Allan in the throat. In a few short, blurred moments, Allan lay on the floor at the foot of the stairs and Sam was picking up his gun.

The assassin raised his head weakly and started to get up, but Sam leveled the gun at him and cocked it back.

“Don’t move,” he said evenly. The Leaper glanced back up to the landing, where ‘Ferne’ was still standing, one hand resting lightly on her chest. “Are you all right?”

Donna nodded breathlessly. At that moment, the housekeeper burst in.

“Are you all right Miss Marshall? I heard a noise–” Her eyes drifted to where Sam was still holding the gun on Allan. “Dios Mio! What happened?”

“I’ll explain later. Is your phone working?”

The older woman nodded, mute with astonishment.

“Then could you go call the police, please? Ask them to come and pick up Allan?”

Nodding again, she turned and shuffled out.

It seemed forever before the police came and took Allan into custody. They questioned both Sam and Donna on what had happened. Sam had the hardest job–explaining what had possessed him to come to Ferne Marshall’s house in the middle of the night–but with Al’s help he provided an acceptable story. What it boiled down to was that he couldn’t sleep and went for a drive, somehow ending up on Ferne’s street, and decided to investigate when he saw the front door of her house suspiciously standing open. Donna hedged a few questions about Ferne’s relationship with Allan, with Beth supplying all the details she didn’t know. Finally, the inquiry was finished and the police departed with Gardener in custody.

“I guess I should get back to the hotel,” Sam decided reluctantly, after everyone else but Donna had either left or gone back to bed.

“Please don’t go, Jack.”

Sam turned back to Donna.

“You don’t have to stay very long,” she continued. “I just don’t want to be alone right now.”

Sam nodded. “All right.”

“How did you know, Jack?”

“Know what?”

“That Allan was the one who’d tried to kill me. That he was going to try again tonight?”

Sam started to offer the same explanation he’d given the police, but Donna held up a hand to cut him off.

“Don’t lie to me Jack, please?”

Sam was silent, not sure of what to say.

“Chief Harris called me yesterday. He told me you came in and asked them to investigate Allan. That you even knew I was planning to take him out of my will, even though I hadn’t told anyone. How did you know?”

Al and Beth exchanged a worried glance.

“I…I can’t tell you, Ferne.”

Frustrated, Donna drove her fist into one of the cushions on the couch in Ferne’s spacious living room.

“Donna, don’t–” Beth began.

“Why?” she demanded of both of them. There was no response.

With a sigh, Donna dismissed her suspicions as wishful thinking, not even knowing why it seemed so important to know. “I’m sorry, Jack.”

“Well, I for one am just glad this whole mess is over with,” Beth changed the subject.

Donna smiled sadly. “Yeah, me too.”

At the same time, Al chimed in with “You can say that again.”

Sam glanced from Donna to Al, startled. “What did you say?”

Al, realizing his mistake, was silent. Not knowing Al was even in the room, Donna assumed the question was directed at her.

“Um…that’s two. That’s two times you’ve saved my life.”

“Nice catch,” Beth commented.

Sam smiled. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

It took Donna a few surprised seconds to realize he was responding to what SHE had said.

“How can I thank you enough?”

“You don’t have to. Just getting to know you has been thanks enough.”

Is this always what it’s like? Donna wondered bitterly. Falling in love with someone who loves the person he thinks you are? Having to give him up to someone who doesn’t even know him?

I’m going to lose her too, Sam realized. Just like Diane, Tamlyn, Alia, Dana… There was someone else too, someone whose name he couldn’t quite reach… Why does it always have to be like this?

“Jack, I…” Donna began hesitantly.

Without either of them really knowing how it happened, they kissed–their eyes closed before their lips touched. A strange, electric excitement ran through both of them, reminding Sam of what it had been like the first time he touched Alia, but more intense, as if coupled with what he had always felt when he kissed–

Donna! For the first time since he had Leaped to save Al in 1945, memories of his wife flooded into Sam’s mind. Horrified, he pulled away from the kiss.

Startled, Donna’s eyes flew open, and the sight brought back everything she had been hunting for.

“Sam…” she whispered, tears of joy running down her face. “Oh my God–Sam!”

Posted in Al/Beth, Het, Quantum Leap, Sam/Donna | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment