Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine. The plot is. No explicit sex here, but if two men in love is not your cup of tea, go elsewhere.
There was a moment of disorientation, followed by excitement and tension, as Sam tried to grasp in an instant everything he needed to know. This time he was in a narrow hallway, shoved back and forth as people ran past him in both directions. He looked down at his clothes for some clue of who he was and whether he should be running too. He was wearing a white lab coat, tie-dyed tennis shoes, a brightly colored watch-thing on his wrist, and a clearance card pinned to his jacket. He turned it around so he could read it. Fuller, Samantha J. Level 3 clearance. Project Quantum Leap. There was a picture, a set of numbers, and an address. Sam swallowed hard. “Oh boy.”
She opened her eyes and found herself lying flat on her back in the Waiting Room, staring at Dr. Beeks.
“Do you know who you are?” Dr. Beeks asked.
Sammy was about to answer, when her scrambled brain made the connection. If she was here, in a forbidden room, she must have traded places with Dr. Beckett. Protect the project. If you are the leaper, no one must think you are anyone other than who you say you are. She couldn’t blow Dr. Beckett’s cover, especially if he needed secrecy. “Where am I?”
“You’re safe. If you’ll just tell me your name, or the date or year, we’ll get you home much faster.”
“Can I have some water?” Sammy avoided. When Dr. Beeks turned to exit the room and get the water, Sammy blinked three times, closed her eyes three times, then blinked again three times. If Ziggy couldn’t pick up on the SOS and help her and Dr. Beckett, there was nothing more Sammy could do.
The colorful comlink on Sam’s wrist began blinking. Sam touched a button. “Uh, hello?”
“Please turn to your left and go into the office two doors down.” Ziggy’s voice burst crisply from the receiver.
Sam waited for the hallway to empty, then made his way to the door. There was a card lock, but Ziggy overrode it and it opened at Sam’s uncertain push. The room was stark, with white walls and several sets of overflowing file cabinets. There were no windows, only a fluorescent ceiling light. “Ziggy? It’s me, Sam.”
“I know. I’m talking to Dr. Fuller right now. Until I can construct a theory, neither of you should complicate matters by telling anyone who you are. I’m scrambling the Admiral’s attempts to find you, and I’ve locked Dr. Beeks out of the Waiting Room until I’m finished briefing Sammy.” She sounded a little too pleased about her sabotage for Sam’s liking.
“Do you have any ideas yet?”
“There are two possibilities. Either you are here to change something in our present, or the retrieval program made an error and locked onto your daughter in this time instead of yourself. Since I have no knowledge of the future, I don’t know what crisis you may be here to avert. There are numerous difficulties at Project Quantum Leap, however most of them are ongoing and do not appear to have reached a crisis point.”
“For instance?” Sam pressed.
“Forty-three social, interactive or emotional problems, an array of legal, political and financial troubles, the difficulty of bringing you home; I need more time to narrow down the possibilities, Doctor. Until then, both you and Dr. Fuller should do everything you can to keep anyone from suspecting. I’m letting Dr. Beeks back into the lab now. I want you to go talk to Dr. Fuller as soon as I can get you through security. I’ve told her to avoid answering questions as much as possible, and without that, Gooshie and the Admiral don’t know where to start on a lock. It could be months before they find you.”
“Thanks, Ziggy, you’re an angel.”
“You aren’t going to punish me for being naughty and going over the Admiral’s head?”
Sam grinned. “Behave yourself, Ziggy. Between you and Sammy, I’ve got two daughters running around this base, I don’t want to have to worry about either of you more than I have to, all right?”
“You’re no fun anymore.” If the computer had a face, she would have pouted.
“Is Sammy Jo all right?”
“She is disoriented, but mostly in command of her faculties.”
“All right. I need an estimate from you on how long it will take for a mission projection, and I need you to talk me through Sammy Jo’s life and job.”
“Dr. Fuller goes by Sammy, for fear of sounding backwoods. Why do humans conceal their origins?”
“Not now, Ziggy.”
“All right. I can light the buttons on your wrist link to direct you where you need to go. Dr. Fuller has a doctorate in computer science, one in mathematics, one in physics, one in chemistry, and one in linguistics. She has two bachelor’s degrees, one in psychology and one in botany. She went to college on both academic and gymnastic scholarships, but does not know any martial arts. She is constantly taking classes to learn more. She lives on the compound in assigned housing with a dog.”
Sam thought for a minute. “And how long will a projection take?”
“It is difficult to tell, and some of it may ride on data I do not currently have. A maximum of two days.”
“Two days? Are you crazy? Sorry, I didn’t mean that. No hard feelings?”
“I forgive you. Oh, one other important piece of data you should know, Dr. Beckett. Dr. Fuller is unaware that you are her father, and until I know more, I suggest that you don’t tell her.”
Sam frowned, but said “Okay. I’ll wait. But ... when you get another chance to talk with her alone...” He took a deep breath. “Look, just tell her I’m sorry to do this to her, and I really appreciate her help.” It sounded trite to his ears, as though he had asked to stay over at her house for the night, but what was he supposed to say? Thanks for loaning me your body? I’m sorry I can’t sit down and get to know you?
“Dr. Beckett, someone is coming. You should vacate the room.” Ziggy cut in.
Sam peeked out the door to make sure no one was watching, then followed the signal lights on his wrist link to Sammy’s work station, a desk in a cubicle with clear walls. He could see other scientists at work in adjoining cubicles, and he remembered that this was the programming center, where the main work outside of the actual leaps got done.
Luckily, he found when he sat down at the black computer terminal that it was an interface with Ziggy. She called up the files Sammy had been working on, and Sam got to work. Despite his swiss-cheesed brain, the work came back to him quickly and easily, and he found himself slipping back into the comfortable routine of solving mechanical problems rather than human ones.
Several hours later, he heard a little beep like a watch alarm from the comlink. He quickly got up and followed the little flashing lights, trying to be as brisk and polite with people in the halls as possible. He found himself outside the men’s bathroom. Sounds of retching were coming from inside.
Sam opened the door and found Al throwing up in the sink with his back to the door. Sam approached slowly, unsure, and laid a shaking hand on Al’s back. The texture of solid flesh and cloth was somehow as unnerving as the sight of indomitable Al so helpless.
Gradually, Al’s reaction turned to dry heaves and sobs. Only then did he turn to see who was comforting him. Al’s eyes shifted away, embarrassed. “I thought you were Gooshie. You don’t have the clearance to be here.”
“And I probably shouldn’t be in a men’s bathroom anyway,” Sam joked weakly. He looked in the mirror, and his breath caught in his throat. Sammy was a very lovely young woman, with strong, graceful features and long, dark hair caught up in a braid. But the serious, intelligent, hazel eyes, the silky straight hair, the quirk of the mouth ... The resemblance was uncanny and disturbing.
Then he saw Al’s pasty complexion and drawn features, and he shook off his distraction. “What do you need?”
“Nothing. I’m fine. Look, why don’t you just go back to work, all right?” Al started rinsing his mouth out with water from the sink.
Memory suddenly clicked. “You’ve been trying a general scan to lock onto him, haven’t you? No wonder you’re sick.” He rubbed Al’s back. “Don’t you have anyone you can talk to? Share the burden with?”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not fine. You look awful! How long has it been since you’ve slept?”
“When did you start to care? Look, Sammy, I don’t need your pity, all right? I’m fine.”
Sam paused. He’d assumed that Sammy and Al were friends, especially since Al knew who Sammy’s real father was. Obviously that wasn’t the case. And he simply didn’t know enough of the background to hazard a guess as to what had gone on between the two of them.
He decided to plunge in and pray he wasn’t making too many mistakes. “I do care, Admiral. It’s complicated, but I do care.” He touched Al’s shoulder, trying to let his face express the honest concern he felt.
Al watched Sam through narrowed eyes, as though expecting this was a trick. But Sam thought he saw something in those eyes, the desperation of a drowning man. “I’m asking you again, Admiral. Who can you go to for help?”
“Look, I don’t need this from you, Sammy! You know things have to get done around here! Someone has to answer to the board! Someone has to do the fundraising!”
“Some of that work can be shared around. Look, I know you’re the most senior person around here, but can’t you delegate some of it? I could help ... Why don’t you talk to -- to Sam about any of this?”
“Who says I don’t?” Al tried. Then he slumped. “It’s not like it was back at Starbright any more. He needs me to be ready to play devil’s advocate or cheer him up. He couldn’t handle juggling his life, the leaps, my problems and Project Quantum Leap all at once. He’d break.”
Sam wanted to protest that it wasn’t true, that he could handle it. But Al was right. He would break, if he had to juggle all of those every moment. And yet Al had apparently done it without help for five years. But Al was hardly in a position to talk about breaking. Sam stroked Al’s back and his woolly hair, trying to soothe him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Al leaned against Sammy, needing the comfort but feeling very uncomfortable with the situation. Since his realization that Sammy was his best friend’s daughter, Al had switched his behavior towards her from patronizing to paternal, and had stopped hitting on her and staring at her as he did with most of the females around the base. Not that it had helped much; she’d accused him of harassing her and avoided him completely after that. What was he doing confiding in her like this? He didn’t know her, but he was reacting to her as though she were Sam, as though this was still Starbright. “I need to get back. I have to find Sam. He could be in trouble.”
He saw Sammy pause, as if she wanted to say something. “All right. Look, would you like to come over to my place for dinner later? You’ll need something to settle your stomach, and it’s on the compound so you can hurry back if you like.”
He paused, considering, then smiled gratefully at her. “Thanks, Sammy. I think I’ll take you up on that. Oh, and don’t call me Admiral, all right? My friends call me Al.”
“What is your name?” Dr. Beeks tried patiently.
“I don’t remember,” Sammy repeated. “Look, we’ve been over this. When can I go home?”
The door slid open, and Admiral Calavicci walked in with a greenish face and a determined march. He picked Sammy up by the collar. “I think you’re lying to us, whoever you are. You’re going to answer the question if I have to beat it out of you.”
Sammy froze, afraid. He wouldn’t beat up Sam’s body, would he?
“Al, that’s enough!” Dr. Beeks ordered. “He says he doesn’t remember. It’s common for them to be amnesiac, you know that. You’re just overreacting because Ziggy can’t lock onto the matching brainwaves. Just try to calm down.”
Al released Sammy, and she cringed away from him, rubbing her throat. Dr. Beeks ushered Al out, taking him outside to talk. Ziggy’s voice came through the PA as soon as they were gone. “I’ve figured out a way to get Dr. Beckett in to see you at two this morning. You should try and rest before then.”
Sammy nodded and sat down, drawing her body inwards tightly. She wished she was home with her beagle, Tripper. “How much longer?”
“I had almost narrowed down the possibilities when events changed some of my projections. There are currently fifteen possibilities. The lack of data available for current events is annoying. I am monitoring all conversations and actions within the base perimeter to narrow down the field further.”
“Can you just do that?” Sammy curled up into an even smaller ball. “Even in people’s houses?”
“I’m doing it through the wrist comlinks. I always do that, I need to keep track of all possible sabotage or spying. Why, don’t you like to be watched?”
“No, not particularly,” Sammy growled. It was going to be a long wait until Dr. Beckett arrived.
Sam followed Ziggy’s directions to Sammy’s house. It was a small, cheaply made place, like most base housing, but there was a garden out front which brightened up the view. Green tomatoes grew on stakes next to the house, while melon vines twined around jalapeno pepper plants.
It took him a few minutes to find the right key, and he could hear eager scampering on the other side of the door. When he got the lock open, however, the dog backed away, whimpering. “It’s okay, boy. I know I’m not your mistress, but she’s coming home soon. I promise.”
He went to check the fridge and see what there was for dinner. Milk, butter, some veggies in varied states of freshness, and some leftover grilled salmon. Pasta primavera it was. He got to work, puttering around the kitchen, and it occurred to him suddenly to make three portions; saving one for Sammy when he went to see her.
The dog continued to watch him fearfully, letting out piteous whimpers. Sam tried filling the food dish, but the poor animal wouldn’t go near him. Eventually, Sam gave up and put the water up to boil. He walked to the bedroom to change into something other than the lab coat. The house was clean and bright, with wooden furniture and one tall bookshelf filled with an eclectic mix of titles, from a worn old bible and a Norton’s anthology of English literature to a copy of The Little Prince. There were no paperbacks. But what caught Sam’s eyes were the walls. These were painted with a strange fresco which had English bridges and gardens in the foreground and beautiful Arab cities in the distance. The scene had no people in it.
He walked into the bedroom and saw that it was decorated with an India motif: detailed carpets, white veils around the bed, detailed woodwork on the furniture. It was quite in opposition to the practical, cheery beauty of the outside rooms. On the bureau there was a triptych mirror painted over into three portraits, each of a woman in her late twenties. The middle one was Sammy herself. On the left was the face that was almost identical, the face of the woman Sam had fallen in love with, Sammy’s mother, Abigail. The third was of Abigail’s own mother. The effect of the paint over the glass gave the portraits a slightly luminous quality, and an almost frightening intensity in their eyes.
There was so much in this little house, so much of a woman he didn’t understand but desperately wanted to know. He wished there was some way he could stay here, in his own body, and make up for thirty years of lost time. Though he was pretty sure that Sammy was happy, it seemed clear to him that she was alone and did her best to fill her life with everything but people. Pulling open her drawers and closet seemed to confirm it. Sammy had only one dress, a demure black one pushed to the back of the closet. She had no lingerie or nice underwear, as though she had no expectation of trying to impress anyone in the bedroom. Most of her wardrobe consisted of jeans, slacks, and various tee shirts and sweaters.
He undressed in front of the full length mirror on the inside of the closet door, trying to get a good look at himself. There were light smile lines around Sammy’s mouth, and her face had that compelling look he had seen in all three Fuller women. He heard a knock at the front door, followed by a series of barks, and snapped out of his reverie. “Just a minute!” He threw on an indigo tee shirt and a clean pair of jeans, then made his way to the door barefoot.
It was Al, as he had expected. The older man looked even more worn down than before, and he was fidgeting awkwardly. He still had on his comlink, but then, so did Sam. “Uh, I’m not early, am I?”
“You’re fine,” Sam reassured. “I was just about to throw the pasta in.” He turned to the dog, who was yapping brainlessly at Al. “Down, boy. I’m sorry, Al, he’s been jumpy all day.”
“That’s okay. What’s his name?” He checked the collar before Sam could answer. “Tripper, huh?”
“That’s what it says,” Sam confirmed. “You look awful. Why don’t you sit down? I’ll make some Irish coffee.”
“Thanks, I could use it.” Al looked around. “Nice place you’ve got. It’s not really what I would have expected.”
“Yeah, me neither,” Sam agreed, then changed the subject when Al looked at him funny. “Any luck?”
Al slumped into the couch. “We’re still looking for him. The guy in the Waiting Room can’t remember who he is, and Ziggy can’t lock onto his brainwaves.” He looked up with a weak smile. “Look, I’m sorry to do this to you. I guess I’m just not much company tonight.”
Sam bit back the words he wanted to say. It would be so easy to just tell Al who he was, that he was safe... “Maybe you’re just overdue for someone to take care of you.” He touched Al’s shoulder. “Let me get dinner.” He went to put the pasta in and start the sauce, then put up a kettle for coffee.
He returned with the whiskey-laced coffee and sat down next to Al on the couch. Al looked at him strangely. “What is it?” Sam asked.
“Uh, nothing. It’s just ... when you smile like that, you look like someone I know.”
“Like Sam, you mean.” Sam clarified, watching Al become flustered. “It must be hard on you, worrying about him like that. You don’t have anyone you can talk to?”
“Did you paint this?” Al suddenly asked.
“Yeah, I think so. You’re avoiding the question.”
“Look, Sammy, no offense, but I don’t even know you that well. I just don’t want to talk about this with you.” He squirmed a little under Sam’s patient gaze. “Will you stop that? Next you’ll have me believing you care about me.”
“I do care about you.”
Al laughed. “What was that you said the first time I actually tried to be nice to you? I think it was, ‘Thanks, but I’m a physicist, not a prostitute’. I don’t understand why you’re being so friendly all of a sudden. Pity?”
Sam winced. Not the best common ground to start a friendship on. He chose his words as carefully as possible. “I ... When you started hitting on me ... I really hate it when guys treat me like a piece of meat just because I’m a woman. Especially guys I work for.” Well, that much was certainly true. “Afterwards, when you started being nice, I thought you were just switching tactics. But when I saw you today ... I think I realized you’re just as lonely and scared as I am.”
Al mulled that over a little. “No, I don’t have anyone to talk to,” he admitted. “I mean, I talk to Verbena; everyone with level one clearance does, but it’s not really the same.”
“What about Tina?”
“Tina’s ... complicated. We can’t really talk to each other right now.”
*Cheating on each other rarely helps a relationship,* Sam thought, but kept it to himself. “Ah, I think the pasta’s ready.”
The food was good, and the Irish coffee helped them both loosen up enough to talk to each other. Somewhere after the third cup, Al started pouring out his heart, and Sam just sat and listened for hours. Nasty board meetings, trying to run around doing fund raising whenever Sam was between leaps, ready to fly back at a moment’s notice, holding off the press, working with women he’d slept with, working with Tina and Gooshie and pretending things were fine between the three of them, and a lung cancer scare the year before. Once Al finally opened his mouth, it was like a tidal wave of grief, confusion, anger and fear. And above all, exhaustion.
Finally, Sam stood up, stopping Al in mid-sentence. “You need to sleep.”
“I can’t! I have to go back and do more searching. They need me.”
“Yes, they do.” Sam agreed softly, urging Al to the bedroom. The older man looked quite confused and worried when Sam pushed him into the bed. “Now you are going to get some sleep. I’ll watch over you and wake you if you’re needed. So until I wake you, you can sleep as much as you like.”
Al looked up at him, still dazed, but managed to kick off his shoes and loosen his collar. “Thank you, Sammy.” He pulled Sam down and hugged him, then kept his arms around him as he slowly drifted off.
Sam watched his friend sleep, and fondly stroked Al’s curly hair. How had things gotten this far? Al was at the breaking point, and if something didn’t change soon, he would most likely go over the edge. The problem was that Gooshie, Tina, Verbena and the others with levels one or two clearance all had their own duties in areas which didn’t intersect with Al’s. He didn’t have an aide of any kind, because most of his duties had to be carried out by him personally.
Al’s talk of cancer scared Sam to his core. It sounded like it was fine now, but what if it hadn’t been? Al could have died, and he probably would never have told Sam what was going on until he keeled over in the Imaging Chamber. Sam didn’t even want to think about the possibility that it was his fault, that it was radiation in the Imaging Chamber that threatened Al’s health, rather than his cigars. And what if something had happened to Al? Considering how much of the Project was classified, probably no one would have told Sam what was going on. Someone would have replaced Al, avoided all Sam’s questions...
It was getting close to the time he was supposed to meet with Sammy. Sam quietly left the bedroom and got a plate of pasta primavera, and after a few minutes of coaxing managed to get the dog on a leash. Thus armed, he headed off to the main facility.
Ziggy directed him past guards and through passages until he found himself in the main lab, where Gooshie was still hard at work. Sam slipped past him and made it into the Waiting Room.
Sammy looked up as he entered, and her eyes brightened. “Tripper!” The dog squirmed free from Sam’s grip and ran to his owner. Sammy hugged him, then shivered as she looked up at Sam. “Creepy.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Sam agreed. It was weird, seeing his body under someone else’s control. “I watered your garden. Oh, and this is for you.” He offered the plate of pasta. “I don’t know what they’re feeding you in here.”
Ziggy’s voice suddenly came through. “I have a theory about what Dr. Beckett is here to change, but I wanted to wait to talk to both of you together.”
“What is it?” Sam asked.
“You’re here to help Admiral Calavicci. However, as you could easily help him while elsewhere, I conclude that you are here because Sammy Jo is female and Al is homopho--”
“What?” Sam asked at the same time as Sammy cut in: “Absolutely not! You are not going to use my body to give that sleezeball a sympathy fuck!”
“Al’s a good guy,” Sam protested fiercely. But he could see Sammy’s point. He’d been a woman before, seen how Al ogled him. Imagine working with that day after day... “Even if he is a sleezeball,” he conceded. “Look, Ziggy, there’s got to be some other reason I’m here.”
Sammy grimaced. “He’s nasty, crude, he tries to sleep with every woman on the base and doesn’t respect their work. He can only work with men, and he’s a chauvinist, womanizing pig. When he figured out that wouldn’t work with me, he started acting all nice and polite, as if I wouldn’t know what he was up to.”
Sam felt as though he’d been slapped. “That’s not why he’s nice to you, Sammy. I think he’d be pretty hurt to hear that. He cares about you.” He could see she didn’t believe him. “Look, I’ll do the leap as best I can, now that I know who I’m here to help, all right?”
“I’ll tell,” she said fiercely, hugging her dog and staring at Sam with helpless anger. “I swear to God, if you do anything in my body with that slimeball, I’ll tell everyone who you are, and who I am. I won’t let you do this to me.” It was so strange hearing those words come out of a mouth that looked like his. “You get to disappear again. Even if I don’t get pregnant, don’t get a VD, I have to live in this body, and I have to live here, with all the rumors that’ll be flying around.”
Sam winced at the pain and fear in her voice. “Sammy, I know your father left your mother before they could get married. And I know about your mother’s trial. I know you don’t trust people very much.” He had hoped he had changed her life more than this, but apparently he had made her less cynical, so that she could work to the best of her potential on the project, without changing her general distrust of people.
“Admiral Calavicci told you?”
“That’s right. That’s why he cares about you, Sammy. He had a lot of bad things happen to him when he was growing up, and he didn’t ever have a family. I think he was hoping that the two of you might help each other.” He saw hesitation in her face, and pressed his advantage. “Al can be a pain in the butt to people he doesn’t like or know, but he stands by his friends.”
He looked up at Ziggy. “Ziggy, tell me what you know and let me figure a way out of this, all right?”
“Al is exhausted, physically and mentally. The Project will most likely be shut down within a couple of months. He’s breaking himself trying to keep the Project afloat.” Ziggy related calmly.
Sam closed his eyes. “I know. And I know I have to help him with that. But what does that have to do with me being a woman? There’s got to be another way to help Al than to give him a sympathy fuck.”
“If my data is correct, the only way to help Al is to bring you home. You’ve proven before that you can consciously leap to the same place in other times and other bodies when it’s clear you’re needed. And Verbena’s files suggest that Al might be in love with you, but he’s too homophobic to admit it. Why do humans ignore love when it matches their best interests and common sense? They run after it when it complicates their lives.”
“I don’t have time for that now, Ziggy,” Sam reminded her.
“If Al is attracted to Sammy because she looks like you and has your personality, now that you’ve switched places, there’s an 86% chance he’ll realize it’s you he’s really in love with. Once he admits that to himself and to you, you’ll realize that it’s imperative you help him, and the best way to do that will be to leap into yourself. You’ll be home, and Al won’t have any reason for stress.”
Sam considered that quietly for a moment, motioning for Sammy to let him think as he paced the floor. “I think I can get this to work without doing anything that extreme,” he started slowly. He turned to Sammy. He wanted so much to tell her who he was, and that he would never do anything to hurt her, but he knew that if she knew he was her father it would just make things worse. He couldn’t stick around; there was no point in digging up her old pain. “Sammy, I’m going to ask you to do something very hard. But I promise you, it’ll turn out all right. Can you trust me?”
Sammy bit her lip and thought about it. “I trust you. Just remember that’s my body you’re using.”
Sam nodded and held out his hands for the dog. As they touched, there was a shifting of perception. He suddenly saw his daughter as she was, a bright, caring woman in her thirties with her walls ripped down. He hoped that when she saw him, she understood his nature too, and knew he would never hurt her. Judging by her eyes, she seemed to see something that made her smile bravely, hopefully. Then she shifted her position, preparing to wait as long as it took.
Al woke up slowly, still muzzy from sleep, in a strange bed. There was a woman sitting up, asleep, with her arms around him. Through bleary eyes, he thought she looked like Sam. Then he remembered. Sammy had made him dinner and put him to bed. Had she been here all night, watching over him? It had been a long time since anyone had done that.
Reluctantly, he rubbed his eyes and made his way to the bathroom, trying not to wake Sammy. It was almost time to go to work. He had just slept eleven hours. He didn’t have any spare clothes with him; he would go to work and take what Tina brought him. For the past week she and Gooshie had respectfully separated, not cheating on Al when he was down, and she had waited faithfully for Al every night. Which was half the reason he didn’t come home. He didn’t want respect, not from her. Love, yes. Sex, oh yes. But he hated respect from women, because he never knew when he was about to lose it. So he cheated on her and she cheated on him, both very much in love and neither wanting to think it was important enough to hurt them. It had taken Ruth Westheimer to make him admit that much.
He squeezed some toothpaste onto his finger and made an heroic effort of brushing his teeth. He didn’t like the thought that Tina and Gooshie were waiting for him, waiting to pay their respects. A moment of decency for the dead. Because waiting at home next to Tina was the answering machine. Tina said there was a message from the doctor about the biopsy, that Al was supposed to call and get the results privately. Al didn’t want to go home to her pity and his phone. Sam’s disappearance was partly a blessing, because it meant Al had an excuse not to go home. He was needed. He had to stay until Sam was found.
He heard stirring from the bedroom. He quickly rinsed his mouth out, splashed some water on his face, and came back out. “Did you sleep all right?”
“I’m fine.” Sammy replied, yawning. “You look better. But you’re not leaving until I fix you breakfast.” There was something so determined, so innocent and friendly about her, that Al couldn’t help but think of Sam.
“I have to get back, they need me to start work in the Imaging Chamber.”
“They can wait a half an hour, and so can you. You’re not leaving until you’ve had pancakes and fruit to settle your stomach. Besides, you need the nutrition. Doctor’s orders.”
Al chuckled. “You’re not a medical doctor, if I remember correctly.”
“Well, I can’t be perfect.” Sammy grinned and went to fix breakfast.
Al came into the kitchen uncertainly ten minutes later and found the table set and pancakes on the griddle. “Looks good,” he offered, just as Sammy flipped the pancakes off the griddle and onto his plate.
“Eat. There’s bananas and maple syrup on the table.” She grinned at him, that closemouthed grin no one but Sam did, and Al thought his heart would stop.
The pancakes were fluffy and textured, with more personality than he was used to. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for personality at this hour. Especially not this personality. “Let me guess. Cornmeal and lemon yogurt?”
“Yup. Just like mom used to make. How’d you guess?” Sammy asked as she poured batter on the griddle for her own breakfast.
“Sam used to make them this way, back before he leaped. We’d all take turns cooking meals and ordering takeout. No one else I know makes pancakes with this recipe.” Al looked at Sammy and desperately wanted to tell her who her real father was, see what she thought, make her miss Sam as much as he did so he wouldn’t feel so alone right now.
Sammy put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed encouragingly. “He’ll come back. One way or another, he’ll come back.”
Al was suddenly not hungry, but he forced himself to finish off the pancakes and take a banana for later. He didn’t want to hurt Sammy’s feelings. “I have to go now. Do you want a ride?”
“Sure, just give me two minutes.” She hurried back into the bedroom and came out with fresh clothes and brushed hair.
When they got to the main building they parted at the entrance gate. Sammy suddenly caught his arm. “Al? I’d like it if you came over again tonight. And if you need anything during the day...”
Al nodded. “I will.” He hurried off to the lab, shaking his head. For the first three years Sam had been gone, Al had seen him everywhere: in Tina, in Gooshie, once, when he was really hung over, in Ziggy. He’d forced himself to stop it, stop thinking Sam had leaped into the present and into someone at the Project, because to do otherwise was to go crazy. But no matter how hard he fought not to think Sam had leapt into Sammy, he couldn’t help wondering at her abrupt personality shift, especially when she looked so much like her father to begin with. *Don’t start, Al. You don’t want to spend another three hours in Verbena’s office.*
Tina was waiting for him at the door, with Gooshie eyeing them from across the room. “Al, sweetie, we need to talk.”
“Not now, Tina. I have to get into the Imaging Chamber before Sam gets into trouble. Gooshie, is it fired up and ready?”
“Ready, Admiral,” Gooshie affirmed with an odd expression on his face.
“Al, please.” Tina murmured quietly so no one could hear. “I called the doctor. I didn’t know when you were coming back.”
“Tina, not now. Sam needs me.”
Anger flashed in her eyes. “I need you too, Al.” she lowered her voice again. “He says it’s worse this time. He needs to do something before it gets any worse.”
“I can’t. I have to find Sam.”
“And if you run yourself into the ground, trying to help him?” Tina shouted. “That’s going to do him a lot of good, isn’t it? It’ll do everyone a lot of good. Is that what you think?” Everyone in the lab was doing their best to ignore the conversation, give the two of them some privacy. It made Al’s skin crawl.
Al tore away from Tina and started marching towards the Imaging Chamber. She ran ahead and got in his way. “You are going to go talk to him.”
“I can’t run this place from a hospital bed, Tina. I’m sorry.” And with that, he strode into the Imaging Chamber, letting the soundproof door shut off her tears.
By the end of the day, Al was in shreds. He was quite sure by now that Tina would not be waiting at home for him anymore, which somehow made things worse. So he did the only thing left to do, and went over to Sammy’s.
Dinner was grilled chicken, the recipe Al had gotten from his Hungarian wife. He couldn’t remember ever showing Sammy the recipe, though he knew he had cooked it for Sam many times. Probably when Sam leapt into Abigail Fuller’s father he had cooked both recipes for her, and she had passed them down to Sammy. That was the only possible explanation.
He should sleep. He knew that. But Sam needed him. What if he was hurt somewhere? What if he’d made a mistake and was stuck in a ruined life that wasn’t his? Al felt sick at the thousands of possibilities. The only reason he wasn’t in the Imaging Chamber was that Gooshie had called it a day, and both of them were needed to operate the damn thing. “Sammy? If I show you how to work the Imaging Chamber, will you--”
“If it was that easy to work, Gooshie wouldn’t be the only one doing it.” Sammy interrupted. “You’re going to bed, and you’re not coming out until you’ve had another ten or eleven hours of sleep. I’ll wake you if you’re needed.”
“Sam needs me now. He needed me yesterday. I have to find him.” He was so tired, too tired to fight her, but he had to find Sam.
“Yes, you do. And you’re going to bed.” She steered him in that direction.
Al shook his head. “Why don’t you ever argue with me? Everyone else does, even Sam. Especially Sam. You just agree and do it your way. It’s not fair, Sammy.” He scolded.
Sam froze at that. Al was right, they had always argued. Was his brain merging with Sammy’s? He couldn’t worry about that now. He pushed Al into bed. Something was very wrong if such minor inducements could make Al stay. If only he could get Al to say what was wrong.
The phone rang then, and Sam dashed back to the kitchen to answer it. A familiar voice called through the receiver, “Sammy? It’s Mom.”
Sam swallowed hard. “Uh, hi ... Mom,” he replied carefully.
“How are you doing, Sammy? You haven’t called in a while.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry. A lot’s been going on, Mom.” Not his Mom. A woman whom he could still remember kissing, a woman it still hurt to think of. Ziggy would probably have something to say about the Freudianism of it later.
“You can’t talk about it?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry Mom, you know how security is around here.” Hopefully, Abigail would believe him and not ask questions until the real Sammy was around to answer.
“That’s all right, I understand. How’s Tripper? Is the garden doing well out there? Are you eating all right?”
“I’m fine, Mom,” Sam replied. “Tripper’s a little out of sorts, but he should be back to normal in a few days. The garden’s growing pretty nicely, the melons really seem to like all the sun they’re getting. I’m taking care of myself, don’t worry.” He paused. “I’ll call you back tomorrow, Mom, I have to run. I love you.”
“Love you too, sweetie.”
Sam hung up and hurried back to the bedroom. Hopefully, the interruption hadn’t given Al an opportunity to think of all the places he should be and all the things he should do. The admiral was lying on the bed, staring at his hand without moving. “Al? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Sammy. Just leave it.”
Sam lay on his stomach next to Al. “I won’t leave it. Now what’s wrong?”
Al looked up. “Sammy? If anything happened to me, would you take over and be Sam’s hologram? I know you’d like each other a lot.”
“Is anything going to happen to you?” Sam asked carefully, stroking Al’s hand’s, tracing their worn lines.
Al closed his eyes. “Just promise me.”
“All right, I promise I’ll be there for Sam if anything happens to you. But I also promise I’ll be here for you, first.” Sam could see how torn and lonely Al was, and somehow all the reasons he shouldn’t do it melted away. He leaned over and kissed Al gently on the lips.
Al trembled but pulled Sam closer, sliding practiced hands around his waist and deepening the kiss. “Oh, Sam,” he murmured, stroking fingers though Sam’s long hair, fumbling to take it out of its braid.
Sam was shocked, but didn’t pull away. He had always thought Al didn’t care about him in that way, and he hadn’t wanted to lose Al as a friend by pushing the issue. Had he misheard? Or were Ziggy’s suspicions correct, and this was some long-time fantasy of Al’s, too? “I love you, Al,” he whispered.
All of a sudden he was tired of thinking about everyone else’s best interests. He didn’t want to think about what Sammy needed, or Tina, or even whether this was good for Al in the long run. Guilt clawed at him, twisted his stomach, but he couldn’t help wanting to be selfish for once.
But Al pulled away suddenly, his eyes fixed on some distant point. “This is wrong.” He sat up and straightened his collar. “I’m sorry, Sammy.”
“What’s wrong?” Sam asked.
“I can’t do this.” Al stood up. “I have to go.”
“Because of Tina?” Sam asked, “or because of Sam?”
Al stared at him, eyes wide. “What makes you think--”
“Aside from the fact that you called me Sam a minute ago? He’s the only person since Beth whom you’ve been ready to do anything for, whether it meant living or dying. You think I don’t see that? I don’t think anyone at the Project who pays attention doesn’t know. I think that’s why you never really committed to Tina. You don’t want to do to Sam what Beth did to you.”
Al clenched his hands into fists. “Don’t, Sammy.”
“But what makes it worse is that the military doesn’t allow homosexuals in its ranks. They took you in when you had nothing. But they monitor whatever you say when you’re in the Imaging Chamber. You’d have to give up the only family you have, and if Sam said no, or if he never came back, you’d have nothing. Isn’t that right?”
“Don’t do this,” Al whispered, shaking his head to deny the tears pouring down his face. “Please, just leave it.”
“I won’t leave it, Al. You can’t keep going like this. When I saw you the other day in the bathroom...” Sam put his hands on Al’s shoulders, trying to look into his eyes. “You can’t keep it up forever, not without help.”
Al swallowed hard. “I have cancer, Sammy. They don’t know yet whether or not they can operate. Even if they can, there’ll be follow-up chemo. I’ll be out of commission. I can’t do that to Sam; I can’t leave him like that. He’ll die. I have to wait until he gets home.”
Sam felt like he’d been hit in the face. Cancer. It was real. All the nightmares of the other night were real. He felt fear and anger coil in his stomach. Al needed him, and he couldn’t be there. “No, you don’t have to wait. I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I think I can help. You said yourself, if anything happens to you, you wanted me to take care of Sam, be his hologram. I can do that while you recover. And I can take over some of the budget hearings and other legal stuff. Just let me.”
Al was shaking with tears now, and Sam simply held him tight. “I worked so hard...”
“I know you did, Al.” He knew Sammy would remember this when they switched back, would remember the promises he’d made in her name, as well as this side of Al. The people he leaped into always did. When he leaped into them a second or third time, they never remembered leaping when Al questioned them, they just remembered what Sam had done in their places.
Sam knew Sammy would keep the memories, would honor the promise and become closer to Al, find in him the father Sam could never be. He took a deep breath. He had no idea if this would do more good or harm, but he had to risk it. For Al. “Al? I’ve got something important to tell you. And then, I think you have something very important to tell me. Sammy’s in the Waiting Room.”
Al’s eyes widened and he looked at Sam incredulously. “No.” Sam simply nodded, biting his lips in fear. Al tried for a moment to collect himself, to become the cheerful, indestructible man Sam was so used to. Then he gave in. “I’m so sorry, Sam.”
“For what? Not being perfect?” He was about to say he never asked Al to be, but that wasn’t true. From the moment he had stepped into the Accelerator, that unspoken demand had been between them. “I’m not asking you to be, Al. Not anymore. All I want is for you to give me something to come home to. I need you to live. I need to know someone needs me here, more than all those people out there.”
Al swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “I love you, Sam. I love you more than anything. I need you to come home. I can’t do this anymore. Please. Please, Sam.”
Sam opened his mouth to answer, and felt the white heat on the backs of his eyeballs. It spread down his spine, into his limbs, and the room shifted. He was in a studio, paintbrush in hand, a young woman on the podium before him. Slowly, deliberately, he put down the brush and fell to the ground, weeping.
He heard the whoosh of the Imaging Chamber door behind him, and turned around, so many apologies on his tongue, so many things he had to say. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. The words seemed inadequate. But when he turned, his words died in his throat.
Sammy and Al stood side by side, Sammy supporting Al. “I know,” Al replied. “We’ve brought Sammy up to level one clearance, she’s my aide. I’m going in for surgery soon, and she’ll take over for a while.”
Sam wanted to say it, but the model was already coming over to see what was wrong. *I love you,* he mouthed.
“I know. Just come home, Sam. We need you here.” With that, he left the imaging field and let Sammy take over, already checking her handlink.
“You name is Kyle Marison...” Sam let her words sink in as he pulled himself together and reassured the model. He was back on duty, with business as usual.
End.