For Love Alone

by Doreen Tracy

Sam Beckett is home and suffering from a life ending disease caused by his Leaping in Time when a young man who works at Project Quantum Leap offers to help Al take care of Sam, a young man by the name of Paul Sanderson. This is a cross-over with a failed pilot Scott Bakula did called Infiltrator. slash

For Love Alone

Doreen Tracy

((Author's note: The character, Paul Sanderson, originated in a pilot Scott Bakula did in about 1988 called "Infiltrator". I'm skating around the plot of said pilot but suffice to say, Paul was a wacky, funny and very self centered genius who, in the course of said pilot discovered how to build a transporter. That is, a contraption that disrupts one's molecules and takes them from here to there. As a result of his first test, Paul transports 'into' an experiment called "Infiltrator" sort of a cast-off "Terminator" The head of the think tank that houses both Paul and Infiltrator is John Jay Stuart, a wealthy investor. This story takes place about ten years after "Infiltrator". Paul is no longer inflicted with Infiltrator and has quit the organization that John Jay runs to find other ventures. That is sort of where this begins....DT))

Paul:

Oh man, it was the biggest, hell, the greatest, hell no! The most stupendous offer that a guy in my position could get! Here I was, an unemployed physicist/inventor being approached by the powers that be to work in a top secret program that had been headed by none other than Dr. Sam Beckett. Oh man. My hero.

Okay, I bear this striking resemblance to the guy. I'm about ten years younger, darker hair, brown eyes and not green, but I've gotten more than a double look in the past few days. Here I am, in the hallowed halls of "Project Quantum Leap". Man.

How do I begin? I quit John Jay Stuart and all that crap as soon as I could get out of the contract. Funny, but he seemed more than happy to have me quit. I hated the guy. Money corrupts. That's why I spend it as quick as I make it. Saves the middle man, keeps me incorruptible.

Anyway, before I could barely, and I do mean barely, get my apartment in San Diego cleaned out, I get an offer from New Mexico! Before they could say 'interview' I was on the first plane out! And, wonder of wonders, I got the job. Shame I couldn't put my transporter on the resume. Not that I needed the extra help and all. John Jay, that bastard, he owned it, lock stock and dematerializer. I was stuck and broke and he could have cared less.

I was interviewed by about six people, two of which were military types that I didn't like. I've got this inordinate mistrust of the military for a lot of reasons that I don't feel much like going into. Suffice to say, they don't like me and I could live without 'em.

Every single one ofthese people stared at me funny but I knew why right off the bat.

So I was born with this guy's face. Funny even more that I went into almost the

same profession that he did. These people were his friends, good people. Heck, I liked most of them the minute I was introduced.

Now, I'm a loner. I like working alone, figuring out whatever I have to get by. It seemed that a lot of the employees of this Project liked to do that. It became routine just after the first day to pick up my work assignment, get in my office or the lab and go for it. Found out from this peachy little guy, Gooshie? Yeah, Gooshie. Anyway, I figured it out from what he told me that Dr. Beckett had set this whole place up so everyone would be able to think for themselves. The weekly staff meetings and think tank sessions would implement ideas to the whole.

Oh yeah, the time travel thing was over. No more Accelerator. I wondered to myself if it was in the Smithsonian or something. Actually, the general public would never know about Project Quantum Leap or what it had entailed. Too dangerous. I'd heard about it in whispers, and only since I was entitled to a little security clearance, considering what I had to put up with.

(Trust me, friends. Your body releasing bolts and components over a few years is not what it's cracked up to be. And no, that was not a serious pun, however much I've been hanging around Gooshie.)

The real mystery seemed to be, well, a couple of things. Who was running this outfit, and where was Dr. Beckett? After about a week, I got one of my mysteries solved. Sort of.

One night, digging in my locker for some Doritos, I heard someone come up

behind me. It was a quick, sharp step, not something I'd ignore at two am. which, precisely, it was. Turning around, I gaped at the guy that was stowing gear and tugging on some shorts. Admiral Albert Calavicci.

"Knock it off," the guy growled, sitting down on a bench. "You'll gather flies." Then, his whole face went into this funny, shocky look.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I know," I stammered out, trying to sound nonchalant. "I look

just like Dr. Beckett." I jerked on my Reeboks and sat down next to him like we were best buddies or something. "Hear that all the time; pal, all the time. I'm getting used to it, but..."

"Shut up."

"I can do that," I managed, jerking on the velcro straps. I was almost afraid to look at him again. His voice sounded mad.

"Yeah, I've been meaning to get together with ya," the man said. His voice had shifted from this abruptness to tired, real fast. "Been told a few times you look like Sam. Or the way he looked ..."

My head came up and I saw his face entirely close. Great. "Uh, yeah," I managed, sticking out my hand. "I'm Paul Sanderson and I know who you are."

"Al Calavicci," he said. "Just Al." His grip was tight without cutting off the circulation. "None of that Admiral crap-I resigned a few years ago."

That was a surprise. It must've registered in my expression, but then I don't have the best poker face in the world.

"Yep, got out of the military. Lots of reasons, important ones." He caught himself and blinked his eyes. I suddenly saw how tired he really was. His dark eyes were circled in black, every line drawn. Lots more gray in his hair than in the photo I'd seen in Beek's office that time. As shrinks go, she's okay. "What are you doin' down here at this hour?"

"Stuff," I said quickly, just wanting to sound like this was a normal conversation and not me talking to someone that I thought was a God or something. "It's the only time I can bat a ball around and not think about anything but this program I've been working on."

"Yeah, that filter system," Al stated. In a moment he was telling me all about it, like he'd been looking over my shoulder as I worked or something! He knew more about the system than I really did. "It's a good idea," he concluded. "I think we can tank it and really get the team in on it."

"I was thinking exactly that," I said. "Maybe you can come down to the lab later and..."

Ducking his head, he shook his head. Damned if I could see his expression but there was a lot of pain in his voice. "I've only got a limited amount of time to be here," he said. "That is, I get on site maybe about once a week or so. mostly I workd from our...my house about a mile away."

"Great gig," I said, trying to sound light. "I used to do that and then got evicted when I blew part of the roof off."

"Of the house?"

"Naw, just my apartment. Then I went to work for Jay. Asshole."

"I don't like the guy either. Heard he stole your transporter."

"You know a lot." I felt the anger boil in me. That was the one thing that really burned my hide.

"Look, kid." He said the word lightly, and I liked the sound of it. "You wanna play a game of handball or something?"

There was something about in his voice again. Kept hearing that and seeing his face with that wistful expression like he really wanted the compay. "I'd like that," I said.

He was pretty good, even as tired as he looked. HIs body was in pretty good shape even though I figured he was pusing seventy. I mean GREAT shape. Nice chest, good legs, really strong. It took everything I had to kick his ass in the handball court. Before I knew it we were both sitting on the floor dripping sweat and breathing hard.

"You're tough," I said, wiping my face with a towel and then offering it to him. After giving it an odd look, he just took it and wiped his chin and chest. "Haven't had a game like that since I left San Diego. Usta live there," he said, sucking down a mouthful of Evian and swallowing. Falling back against the wall, he closed his eyes. "Long time ago."

"When?"

"The sixties, stationed there." He was breathing more evenly, much to my relief. Hell, there was no way I wanted to be responsible for giving the old man a heart attack. "My first wife lived there."

"First?" I snorted. "How many times have you been married?"

"Five." He lifed an eyebrow and got up from the floor. Offering me a hand I let him help me to my feet. "You look like you could use a shower, kid."

I took him up on his suggestion and came out to find him fully dressed, hair wet from his shower, lacing his shoes.

"You ever been married, kid?" he asked, giving me a look as I pulled on my running shorts.

"No way." I sat down and ran a comb through my hair quickly. "Never had time for it. Once I liked this girl but...she was just a goal, something I had to 'get' and once I did, I didn't care about her like I thought."

"Get her?"

"I didn't have sex with her, if that's what you think. Sex is vastly overrated."

"You can say that again," he said. "Damn," he said, glancing at his watch. "I've gotta get home. Nice seein' ya, kid."

"Nice meeting you, Admiral."

"Al-Geez Louise!" His glare was enough to make me freeze but good. "Don't forget that, Paul. Ever."

I watched him go, walking down the corridor with his gym bag like he was carrying the weight of the world. I had more unanswered questions than I cared to have. Maybe Gooshie could help me.

The next morning-well, afternoon, I got to the lab. I'd been without sleep for a few days and when I did crash, I'd been out for a good long time. Gooshie was glaring at me for a second, but the little guy was so good natured that his annoyance at my being late for our scheduled meeting only lasted a second or two.

"I was up late," I said.

"You're just like Dr. Beckett," he muttered, keying on his computer and grinning. "Work before sleep."

'"I was working, but working out, pal. And guess who showed up?" He glanced at me, looking mildly curious. "Al Calavicci."

"Really?" He didn't sound terribly surprised, continuing his work as he spoke. "It happens. At night he usually can get away for an hour or two."

"What's his job around here?"

"Administrative, mostly. Paperwork. You know he was the final word when you were hired." Big surprise to me! "Yep. He was the one that made Uncle Sam buy out John Jay's contract on you."

"He did?" My voice came out like a squeak. "I thought ..."

"You thought what they wanted you to." The soft tapping of keys filled the room...for a moment as I struggled for something to say."Truth be told, you're brain is much in demand."

"He seemed to know everything I've been doing and, trust me, I've never met the man before in my life!"

"Of course he does," Gooshie replied matter-of-factly. "He gets an update on everyone's work."

"Daily, weekly, what?"

"Daily." Gooshie turned offhis computer and met my eyes with his. "You look like you need a cup of coffee. I know I could sure use one."

"I'd like a Pepsi," I said, sitting down in our lounge. "The place is deserted."

"Today is third Friday," Gooshie said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Personally, I hated the stuff. "Every third Friday Al gives the staff the day off. I choose to work through and take Monday so Tina and I can spend some quality time with our youngster."

"You have a kid? You never told me."

"He's quite a card. We named him Albert after the Admiral."

"He hates being called by rank," I said, pulling a Pepsi from the fridge and popping

it open. "Plays a mean game of handball."

Gooshie's eyes narrowed as he sat down across from me. "He played handball with

you?"

"Yep." Sucked down halfthe can in one swallow and belched. "He's a nice guy."

"What did you talk about?"

"Dunno." Shrugging, I finished off the drink and went for another. "Marriage and stuff. How many time he's been maried, his first wife livin' in San Diego or something like..."

"You're kidding? Right?"

"Nope." I sat down cross-legged on the floor and opend up my new laptop. "you wanna go over the figures I came up with last night or...?"

"Al doesn't talk abotu his first wife to anyone. It was like pulling teeth for Sam to..."

"Sam." I looked up from the laptop screen and frowned. "Sam Beckett, right?"

"Yes, Dr. Beckett." Gooshie looked a trifle nervous, but that was normal. "Sam Beckett."

"Where is Sam Beckett?" I asked. "Is he working out of his house, too?"

"Is that what the Admiral told you?"

"Al told me that he worked out of his house, not Sam Beckett. Am I missing something around here?"

"You don't know?"

Sighing, I look up at the acoustic tiles and rolled my eyes. "Oh, right! Like I've been told anything! C'mon, Gooshie." I set my pop down and met te man's narrow gaze. "No one, and I mean, no one gossips around here. I haven't heard Sam Beckett's name more than four times since I was hired. The minute the name comes up everone seals up and I'm sitting there feeling like five times the fool."

"Then maybe it's time you knew," Gooshie said carefully. "Put your laptop away." For the first time, he sounded nromal-serious. "I've got a story to tell you and it doesn't leave this room. Maybe..." He smiled and I aaw what looked like tears in his eyes. "Maybe you'll understand why we protect Sam like we do now."

"Sam Beckett leaped home in 2000, five years after he'd gotten in the Quantum Accelerator. Something was wrong, terribly wrong but no one saw it at first. It came in small doses, this terrible something, eating away at Sam Beckett until there was nothing but illness left.

"Radiation perhaps or maybe he'd been in time too long. The constatnt regeneration of his molecular structure could have caused its eventual breakdown.

"Al never got over it, never stopped hoping that something could be done and Sam would be well. It never happend, not even wtih the entire facilty working on the problem full time. In six years, Sam was fully incapacitated.

"The nightmare of it all was that he could still feel, see and think. He knew what was happening to him and couldn't do a thing about it except wait to die."

"Is that where Al goes?" I asked. "To be with Sam or something?"

"They lived...live together ," Gooshie replied softly, sympathetic. "Once a day a nurse comes in-odd hours-which is why the Admiral is in here late at night or not at all. At night-Sam sleeps and the nurse watches him for an hour or so. The Admiral can get out and have a life for a while."

I fingered the edge of my soda and let this all sink in. My Christ, the greatest mind this world would ever know and his own genius had pretty much incapacitated him. "I know you must be thinking that he shouldn't live like this, a virtual prisoner ." Gooshie's eyes went down, shrugging slightly. "We didn't understand either. Thought that Sam would rather die than live like this. I think I've figured it out, though."

"You have? I know for a fact that I'd rather be dead than put anyone through that!" Sudden anger filled me, remembering the pain I'd gone through as my mother had died a lingering, painful death from cancer. "It's the shits for the family," I snapped. "Isn't his family doing anything?"

"Al is his family," Gooshie said softly. "His mother died a few years ago, before Sam got so sick and his sister can't bear it for very long but she does help."

"The euthanasia laws are clear," I snapped. "Anyone with the right can have him

put out of his misery, Gooshie. This is wrong!"

"No, you don't understand." Sighing, Gooshie dumped his coffee in the sink and

ran water in the cup. Snapping off the faucet, he shook the cup out and set it .in the drainer neatly. "I think that Sam put a proviso in his will or whatever that it can't be done."

"You're kidding."

"No. I think that he just doesn't want to put the Admiral through that. Taking care of him is something the Admiral doesn't mind and, maybe, someone will come up with. a cure. All that's left is hope, Paul. We couldn't kill Sam, not after what he's done." ·

I wondered at that, long after we stopped talking and got down to work. Frankly, I knew it would be a long weekend. No one was allowed to work on the weekends, orders handed down, to prevent burn out. Without work on my mind and this on it, I'd have nothing to keep me from being damned curious and maybe getting myself in trouble.

And I wondered what Sam had done. Maybe Ziggy, who really liked me a lot, would give me a clue.

I had nice quarters, as quarters go. It was sort of an apartment, built on the compound, big windows, lots of light and wall to wall carpeting. That is, the carpeting would be visible if it wasn't for all the stuff I'd pretty much scattered on it. I hadda unpack, right? Just this one thing-I didn't have a dresser yet to put clothes in and I hated hangers.

Good ole Joan Crawford-"No more wire hangers!"

Bouncing on my bed, I opened my laptop and got to work with my old pal Duke Ellington playing good and loud in the background. If my neighbors minded they had yet to complain. ·

I'd been offered a computer, but what do they say? Laptops are so much more...personal! It's all there, right in your hands. Great invention.

Took about one minute to interface with Zig. Good girl. "Hiya, pal," I muttered. "Tell me about Papa, baby."

Usual bio stuff. I skimmed it. Indiana, corn country, farming, chickens. His mother had passed on, his father. We had something in common there. Sister, Kate, who lived in Hawaii, a published author of kid's books, and a brother that kept the old family homestead together in the Midwest. Medal of Honor, Vietnam vet, vet of Desert Storm. Wow.

This guy had GREAT linage.

I glanced over his school records, all neat and nice. Straight A's. I'd never been that smart-not quite. Just brilliant enough to con the school board into getting me from one grade to the other and to sign the forms when I put in for a grant or two or three. Didn't get brains til I hit college and, whammo, instant brilliance. Sort of.

M.I.T. Beckett had graduated about twelve years before I had. Young, too. Really

young, like twenty years old!

Okay, enough of the bio-pic crap. "What did he do, Ziggy?"

Either the bitch heard me or she just decided to give up the ghost. Suddenly, my screen was filled with every single achievement-most of the Leaps. There were a few that were earmarked CONFIDENTIAL. Oh well, if it was possible I'd look at them later. I gaped at the information and hoped that my memory could handle the download.

Once I printed it all out and got myself a good cold glass of Nestle's Quik and some Cap'n Crunch Peanut Butter balls to eat, I could read it sanely and slowly. My bed was swimming in sheets of paper as I tossed each one aside after I read it. God, this was better'n all the Star Wars movies all rolled into one. What was even more incredible was that it was all real. I mean, if I had a time machine I'd go back in time to see all the stuff I'd missed out on, like Kennedy's assassination (he'd been there, the rat!), the Moon landing maybe, and maybe even get the chance to play with Glenn Miller. Not that I was Buddy Rich on the drums-not a chance-but I'd have given it my best.

Sam Beckett had done so much good. And was still doing good. I saw the results of experiments he'd completed on paper just this last week. Whatever was going on he was still able to work. Maybe that was the reason he didn't want to die-he still had so much to do with his mind. I felt pretty insignificant in the face of all this.

Pushing the paper off my bed, I pulled the laptop back down to me and got to work. I punched up everything about his illness, what was being done for him and anything else I could find. I knew Al would have my head on a plate for invading the privacy of Beckett's private medical records, but hell, they were there and I could bust any code. And I was concerned, damnit!

The sun was rising before I fmally dosed the computer and stretched . I hadn't seen the insides of my eyelids for some time and really wanted to sleep. Curling up on the bed, I tried. Every time I was on the verge, some of the words I'd read, or something he'd done on the Leaps would snap up and wake me. God, he'd really been a hero.

I mean a hero like no one else. Not that loose thing that everyone writes about. This was a man that had sacrificed his life, his soul, and ultimately, his body for his fellow man.

Finally, I could sleep, but my mind was on full blast. Kept dreaming about the Accelerator, Leaping. Being torn into prices and falling, falling into something blue and clear and wonderful. And smiling. It felt so good.

Slept for about four hours and then showered, grabbed a handful of Cheetos for breakfast, and hustled my butt to the Project offices.

It was Saturday and the place would be deserted. The one thing that I'd not been able to find was the address of the house that Al and Sam lived in. My next step was to visit the guy and maybe...

My first try was met with glaring security. I managed through that one, telling 'em I was lost and new and wasn't this the best place to live in the world? Anyway, got escorted to my quarters for my trouble and told to take a nap. Wonderful.

Sulking wasn't my style. Instead, I did as suggested, slept a few more hours, got up and cleaned my apartment. Something really powerful took over in me and, y'know, it sort of scared me silly. Reading about Beckett, what he'd done, and given up to help all those people, made me feel pretty silly. I was not only behaving like a kid, I wasn't using my head the way I could be. Maybe leaving John Jay's think tank and losing my invention had done me good.

Maybe I did need to mature. I suddenly couldn't look at myself in the mirror. What I wanted to do was help Beckett, in any bloody way that I could. First off, to help him, I had to clean up my own act and start behaving like an adult. Good luck.

Sitting down in a neat apartment was a novelty but it did do a great deal of good for my mind. It was fresh as a daisy, and I could work on the computer and try to read over the things I'd printed out that morning.

The medical stuff was mostly Greek to me. I'd never paid much attention in chemistry class. As I recalled, I'd taken them on Thursday afternoons, just after lunch. Worst time for a class was just after a sub sandwich with a chocolate malt to wash it down.

A lot of the information was locked in a code that not even I could decipher. Hell, for all I knew Beckett himself had put it in. Nevertheless, I couldn't bust the danm thing.

Finally, I'd had enough of a lazy Saturday afternoon. Once the cartoons were off my weekends were shot anyway. Glancing out my window I noticed some of my co workers were circled around the pool, some reading, some swimming, others just talking.

I still felt distanced from them. Maybe it was my looks, or my craziness, but most didn't

even ask me to their off-time parties or get-togethers. I had more in common with a hermit sometimes than regular people.

I didn't mind being alone. Turning from the window, I drew the curtain over the sun. It wasn't that anyone was outright nasty to me-they treated me just swell. Personally , I felt that they were protecting something-someone. And now I knew.

Keying up Ziggy, I asked for a recent photo of Beckett. Obediently, one scrolled up. Older than I remembered, more gray in his hair than a guy his age should have and those eyes. I couldn't figure if they were green or just a play of the light. His grin was killer, full of life and happy. And he did look a lot like me. Or I like him. It was hard to tell.

I stared at his photo for a long time, thinking what I could do for him, for the Project. Someone had to do something. From the little I did understand of the material available, he didn't have a lot of time. Gooshie had made that pretty clear. I just hoped that if they found out how much I knew A and Sam wouldn't mind. Like they really cared about me.

Sighing, I switched off the unit and slipped on a pair of sandals. With my jeans and Mighty Mouse t-shirt I looked my usual, grungy Saturday self.

The lab was deserted. I went into my cubicle and cleaned it up, from top to bottom. Even the fridge. Once that was done, I hauled the mess to the dumpster and returned to sit in my chair and think.

"Keeping rather late hours, Dr. Sanderson?"

Looking up, I gazed right into the eyes of Dr. Beeks. "Yeah," I gulped, trying to sit up straight and not look crazy. It probably didn't help. "Decided to clean up my act a little. Whatya think?"

"I think it's a vast improvement." Sidling up beside me she sat down on my half desk next to the computer and eyed what I was drinking suspiciously. "Coke?"

"No way. I'm a Pepsi person, feelin' free feelin' free." The look she gave me was dead blank. "You know. The old jingle?"

"That was before my time I think."

"Mine too," I grinned. "I've got this great tape of commercial jingles . Maybe sometime..." I let my voice taper off. "I had a talk with Gooshie."

"And? I'm fired, right?"

"No, but I'm glad that he told you. Dr. Beckett-he really likes you, Paul. You may not know it but I do, and Al does. I was told to tell you you're doing some really good work. They plan on tanking that project of yours next Tuesday at the staff meeting."

"You're kidding? Dr. Beckett ..."

"He loves it. Al might even make it to this one, considering it's your first time."

'Tanking' was a term used by the staff when they planned on brainstorming an idea or a project by another member. You had to be elected to be tanked, and somehow the staff had deemed my project, my little filter system, worthy of a tanking. "Tell them thank you," I said.

"You really ought to try to spend mor time with the staff," she said quietly. I should have seen it coming. "Some were asking about you last night at the bar."

"I really don't like to drink," I said. "Just Pepsi..."

"We eat and have fun and talk a little..Maybe next Friday?"

It was the opening I'd been hoping for. "Sure. If you don't mind."

"Mind? We'd miss you if you didn't."

For hours after Beeks left, I sat in my cubicle and just stared at the walls. I wanted to do something significant. Something heroic like Beckett had done. Pulling out the diagrams I'd printed off for my filter system, I looked them over and knew I could improve and perfect them if given the chance. They'd supply fresh water at twice the efficiency the old ones did. In an area where there was fresh water or just sea water they could make the difference between life and death. I still didn't think it was enough.

I worked over the schematics for a while and then printed them out again, this time in color and more detail. Before I knew it I was dozing off over the things, yawning and acting totally tired, something I never really did before, at least not when I was working. Putting my head down, I fell asleep over the printouts and went totally to la-la land.

It might have been a lot later; I knew the lights were dim and someone was helping me to my quarters. My eyes were half-shut the whole way and I really thought it might be a dream and not any form of reality.

"C'mon, kid. Y'can't work all the time y'know."

Blinking the sleep from my eyes I keyed in the code for my quarters and looked over at my companion. "Al?"

"Yeah, you were pretty crashed out," Al said, grinning at me. "You need to sack out in your own room, not the fucking desk."

For a second Ididn't recognize my quarters, then Iremembered I'd cleaned them.

He wandered into my kitchen and glanced through the cupboards and the fridge. "What the hell do ya eat? Your cupboards are bare, Sanderson!"

"I eat cereal," I replied succinctly. "And Pepsi. And Cheetos. "

"Not good."

Taking off my shirt I fell on my bed and yawned for good measure. It was late- almost three. "How'd you find me?"

"Dunno." He came in my room and sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at his hands. "Tried here, then checked around. Beeks told me you'd been in your cube. Thought I'd give that a check."

"I was working on the filter, perfecting it."

"Geez, you are just like Sam, in more ways than you think, kiddo." He smiled dimly at his words. "Sam would get a idea in his head and wouldn't let up until it was 'just so', to quote him." He patted my foot and pulled off my sandals. "Get some shut-eye, kid. See ya later."

"Al!" I sat up before he could leave and took his hand. "Why were you looking for me?"

"Dunno, just thought I'd like to talk. The filter system and that." Rubbing his face he looked older than he had the other night. Tireder. Iwasn't sure if Ishould bring up what I knew or just keep mum. Idecided to not say a word about it.

"Look, Al." His face lifted hopefully. "I just can't go to sleep without a night cap. Hot cocoa. You want some?"

"Cocoa?"

"Sure. And a peanut butter sandwich or whatever I've got. I'm hungry."

His eyes widened as I got up and went to the kitchen. Before he could say a word we were on the floor in the living room eating peanut butter from the jar and hot cups of Nestle Quik.

"I haven't done this in a while," he said, spreading peanut butter on the crackers.

"Okay, face it. Never."

"Never?" I grinned. "It's better than coffee and cigarettes."

"I used to drink a lot of coffee. Sam, he...made me quit. The caffeine is no good for ya."

"The cocoa has caffeine, but not that much and not the bad kind."

"Right." For the first time I saw life in those dark brown eyes and was glad. Clambering to his feet, he stretched and glanced at the door. "I gotta get goin'," he said. "Maybe I'll see ya Tuesday?"

"The tank? Sure. Beeks said she wasn't sure if you could make it."

"I want to. We'll see." He jingled the change in his pockets and grimaced. "I'll try," he finally said and left.

"People come and go so quickly around here," I said aloud and picked up the

dirty dishes before I went to bed.

Al:

He looked so much like Sam and was so different. Funny, I didn't remember Sam bein' that skinny, or havin' that much hair. Shaggy. Sanderson-he's brilliant, smart as a whip. I'd read his dossier, all the shit he'd gone through with Stuart. That Infiltrator thing, the toll it'd taken on him, mentally, physically. Dr. Kerry Langdon, the whole damned ball of wax.

Sam had practically begged me to grab his contract when it came on the block. I'd

grabbed.

Sam always had a soft spot for the underdog, the ones that were brilliant, being taken advantage of, and hurting. Sanderson was hurting, probably stuff he hardly remembered now. Infiltrator had messed his mind up good. They'd managed to get it out of him before it permanently damaged anything. Used his transporter to save his life and then Stuart, the bastard, stole it!

Maybe he could make another transporter. I didn't know but I'm sure he could try when this filter worked out. Hell, the government would love to beat Stuart in getting a molecular transporter.

Cold night tonight and yet it was hot today. That sun just broiled things. Couldn't keep Sam in the house at all. Had to feel it, sit in the sun and drink it in. God, I wish it'd do him more good than it does. He says it helps but ...

God, it hurts but he doesn't seem to feel the pain or worry about it. Maybe when I'm gone he does, he cries. I don't know because I never see it. Only the smile, sometimes, when he can smile.

Damn it, it's so fucking unfair! Some nights I want to take this car, load him in it and...I can't do that. He wouldn't allow it and I know I couldn't kill him. I love him so much. Why did I let that happen again? God, why?

Sanderson. His eyes are so much like Sam's. I see something new in them tonight, like he's angry about something or determined. Like Sam was when he built the Accelerator and wanted to test it. Getting into something that he shouldn't. Maybe Sanderson's into more than this filter system. Hmmm...I'll have Beeks keep an eye on the kid, to keep him out of trouble. Can't have that happening, no way, Jose.

Home again. The nurse has the lights on and I'm sure Sam is up. I'll take over for her, make sure he's fed, happy and put the two of us to bed. God, I hope we can sleep tonight. I hope he doesn't hurt too much. It's always worse at night.

Paul:

First thing Monday morning, before I was halfway through my bowl of Trix this guy walks up. "Hi!" he says, all happy, smiling. I'd seen him around but hadn't said much more than hello a couple of times. He'd seemed sullen and I figured it was best not to press. "Mind if I sit by you?"

"It's a free country." Sighing, I stared at my bowl of cereal and then ducked my head. "Sorry. I'm not the most social creature on Monday mornings."

"Understandable," he said. He was drinking a glass of juice and looking healthy. Too healthy; muscle shirt, shorts, running shoes.

"You've been to the gym?"

"I work out every morning." His gray eyes glinted at me. With his crew cut and chiseled features I thought he screamed military. "I was told you might need to be put on a program."

"Who told you that?"

"One of my former students," he said smoothly. "You eat processed sugar-all the wrong foods. You're not flabby but it could turn that way and cardiovascular disease is just around the corner if you don't watch out. How old are you?"

"Young," I snapped. "I don't need a program."

"Stop whining. Of course you do. Everyone does." He reached across the table and rested his warm hand against my arm. "You're about forty, right?"

"Thirty six," I grunted, setting my spoon down. "I was born in 1980. So?"

"It's time to start thinking about being in shape, Paul." He grinned, the expression looking strangely familiar but nothing I could pin down. Just a nice smile, friendly, open. "I'll make it worth your while, Dr. Sanderson. I have a class every morning at five."

"A.M.?"

"Early to bed, early to rise? It's the best for you." Getting up from the table, the man leaned over and grinned again. "I'll see you first thing tomorrow, okay?"

I pondered the idea for about ten seconds. "Sure," I finally replied. Working out. Getting in shape. He'd probably put me on a diet or something. Like I really wanted a diet.

Actually, working out wasn't so bad, and neither was Tom. We became pretty good friends after the first session. I liked the man. He seemed to have it all together and didn't hesitate to help me along. First off, he went through my quarters after the first session and got rid of all my food. Everything. Signed me up with a cafeteria chit and said that I had to eat three squares there and no soda pop, no sugar at all. Made me an appointment with Dr. Miller and told me to be there as soon as the 'tanking' session was over.

I kept pumping him for the name of this former student of his that had recommended me for his program. I really wanted to thank them personally for making my life a soon to be living hell. Tom only grinned, that enigmatic smile of his, and shook his head 'no'.

"Privileged information," he said. Shit.

The tanking was terrific. Once I settled in and got over my attack of nerves I pulled out my print outs and let everyone go over them. No one was out to 'take' it from me, or suggest anything negative. Overall, it was a really positive experience. Even lunch afterwards was fun. I finally felt like a member of the Project team, and I belonged.

No Al though. Didn't show. Maybe it showed on my face.

After my doctor's appointment I went to find something for lunch. Fortunately, the cafeteria was still serving. I got a tray and some sort of healthy looking salad with skim milk . Yuck.

"You look like someone ran over your dog," Gooshie said, sitting down across from me. "You want your roll?"

"No, you can have it." I tossed the bread over to him and grinned. "Nothing. They've given me the go-ahead to send the diagrams to Prototype. I just thought that Al might be there today, y'know? He said he'd try."

Gooshie stopped buttering his roll and looked up at me, his brow furrowing. "Sam

was very sick last night," Gooshie said quietly. The talking at the table stopped, everyone suddenly centering on the programmer. "Tina heard from Al this morning. They almost had to take him to the hospital but he got over the crisis early this morning so..."

Beeks was watching me throughout all this, compassion written in every line of

her very attractive face. How did she know how I was feeling about Dr. Beckett-Sam?

I still had a million questions to ask and had no idea how to ask or if anyone

would answer them. My food was sticking in my throat and, suddenly, even Gooshie had no appetite. It was like the moment that Dr. Beckett's name was mentioned everyone's emotions dimmed.

Going back to my cube, I reprinted the diagrams of my filter, adding the ideas

that everyone had suggested at the tanking. I was really pleased with the results and faxed them over to Prototype directly. Once there they'd build it and then we could test it in the lab, find the defects and improve it until it was workable. It was a really neat way to work!

Couldn't help but feel miserable after Gooshie's news at lunch. The entire afternoon I worked hard but found that my mind kept straying to thoughts about Dr. Beckett, Al and what I could do to help. Anything I could do to help.

Finally, to break the lethargy, I dug into my email. Normally, I had a few memos, nothing in particular. Today I had a message from Al. I almost lost it. No return address but it was from him.

Paul-Congrats on the filter system , kiddo. Sorry I couldn't be there but was pretty busy on the home front. Thought I'd give you even more good news-sorry I can't do this personally. Just got a fax from the funding Committee and they've given me the authority to have you begin work on a transporter . It won't be the same as the one you lost but, you know what? I think you can improve on it. I have a lot of confidence in what you can accomplish. See you soon-Al

Oh my God. I wanted to reply and couldn't. I typed thank you into the 'puter about a million times and then deleted it. As quick as I could I called up every single note I'd kept about my old transporter. Stuff that Stuart couldn't steal. Everything I had in my head and all my data. I still had it. He might own the copyrights to that particular design but now, given the time and the funding, I could do it twice as well, without errors.

Before I knew it, someone was tapping on my shoulder. Dr. Fisher, one of the gang that had tanked my idea this morning, was grinning at me. She had reddish blond hair and blue eyes. I thought she was terrific and smart from first impressions, like almost everyone here. "All work and no play?"

"My idea of play is abnormal," I replied. "I got a message from Al that I can start

working on my transporter." It felt terrific to tell someone about it.

"As good an idea for celebration as any!" She grinned and patted my shoulder. "I'm supposed to escort you to the cafeteria for a proper congratulations."

There was cake, the full staff and every type of pizza I'd ever eaten in my life. I kept away from the things that Tom had ordered me away from-couldn't resist the pizza, though. Everyone was patting me on the back, making me feel like I was one of them and I was beginning to love it.

Even when I was in the midst of conversation I'd heard a snatch of something about Dr. Beckett. Little things that made me wonder about his condition, how bad off he was, and if he'd ever recover. It seemed to anger me. What right did I have to work on a transporter when he was dying and needed a cure? God, I wished I was a chemist.

"Did you say something, Dr. Sanderson?"

Sandy was wide-eyed, looking at me strangely. "You're a chemist, right?" "Right."

"Are you working on Dr. Beckett's cure?"

Frowning, she nodded and sat down hard. "Trying very hard," she fmally said. "I can't really go into it, Paul. I'm sorry.It's just so intense down there."

"If there's anything I can do to help let me know. Please."

"Pray," she said. "Real hard."

The moment she said those words-I felt it. Humming, really, then the sound of things, the people around me, this terrible tension and...

Rudely pushing past my fellow workers, I tore from the cafeteria and ran as fast as I could for the nearest exit. Breathing hard, I made it to the outside and as much open space as possible.

I'd felt this before, only months ago. Bending down, I braced my hands on my bent knees and breathed. in slowly, trying desperately to quell the panic I felt. Oh God. Practically weeping, I sat down on the desert floor and stared at the first new stars as they appeared in the deep blue twilight sky. Not again, I prayed.

Infiltrator had been my demon, the thing that controlled my life for almost six years. I couldn't feel, couldn't allow emotions, friends, anything because if I did I might turn into that thing. Any sort of panic, joy, pain-and my body would turn into a cosmic tinker toy that killed. Yeah, killed.

"Paul? You okay?"

My head came up and I saw those gray eyes looking at me with concern and compassion. "Hiya, Tom." I kept my voice light, trying to hide the fear I was feeling. "Just had to get a breath of air, y'know. It was sorta stuffy in there."

"What happened?" He patted the ground next to him and I shifted over to his side. "Talk to me."

"Well, once upon a time there was this idiot inventor that beamed himself into this infernal machine. Trouble was this thing took over his head and turned a fairly likable guy into a paranoid, twitching hermit ."

"Infiltrator."

"Who told you?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It does. Infiltrator is top secret."

"I had the rank in the Navy to fmd out a few secrets." He grinned faintly.

"Sounds like someone we both know."

"Al?"

"He's a good man. Look." He sighed and drew a circle in the sand with his fmgers. "What happened in the cafeteria?"

"I dunno. Call it post traumatic Infiltrator syndrome. I guess." Shaking my head, I almost laughed. "You know what it's like to be in a room enjoying myself, having the first really social experience I've had in six years and to suddenly hear the frigging heartbeats of every person in the room?" My voice shook as I said the words. "They extracted all of Infiltrator out of me. I know that sanely, they did that." His hand covered my shoulder. It was warm and I didn't mind it. "I still feel it, Tom. For a second I'm afraid that I'll turn into that thing. I'll kill some innocent..."

"Hey. You won't. Paul Sanderson won't do that."

"You don't know me." I felt the tears run shamelessly down my face. "Christ, I don't even know me anymore. You know, I used to like being around people, doing things, partying, all that. Now, I'm afraid I'll be in the middle of a bunch of nice people and start firin' lasers from my fmgers and blowing everyone to kingdom come."

Everything was pouring out of me, all the pent up anger, fear. My damned isolation from the outside world, even after Infiltrator had been dissolved from my system. I hated it. Tom listened to every word I said, complete understanding in his eyes. Finally, I talked myself out, my eyes burning and wet, my throat burning from the effort.

"Paul ,I may be out of place saying this, but you need to speak to Verbena. This sounds like an echo of things you've been through-like when Iwake up at night and hear helicopter blades cuttmg through the brush."

"Helicopters?"

"Like, 'Nam. You know that Al has nightmares, has trouble in crowds because of it. Can't stand confmement. He was a P.O.W. went through hell. I had therapy, tons of it. Did me a world of good. My wife says I'm a changed man."

"You're married?"

He grinned , showing me his ring. "Twenty five years. Best thing that ever happened to me. We have a son named Jason."

I had to smile at that.

"Feel better?" I nodded. "Maybe it'd be best if we continued this inside? The desert is full of snakes and stuff this time of night. I'd rather not deal with that if it's all the same with you."

It felt good to walk with Tom, to talk to him like the big brother I had never had. When I'd talked myself out we went to the gym and worked out until Iwas too tired to think past what I wanted for dinner. Sending Tom on his way, I went to the cafeteria, grabbed a quick meal and went back to my quarters. A few of my co-workers stopped me on the way, sounding concerned. Of course, I told them it wasn't their fault, that I had a lot of problems with crowds and had simply needed air. They seemed to accept that.

Me, Paul Sanderson, afraid of crowds, afraid of the limelight. Worst of all, my biggest secret was out. I was shy. Always had been and covered it with an extroverted personality. Everyone bought that but never thought about why I never dated, why I kept to myself.

I took a long hot shower, slipped on a pair of jeans and at-shirt, canvas loafers and sat in the middle of my living room. It was quiet. Tomorrow was another work day. Another day when I would plot my transporter and dream of it working.

Somehow even my transporter seemed hollow. I didn't really care. My feelings were conflicting with everything else. I wanted to help myself-and I wanted to do something concrete for Dr. Sam Beckett.

The chemistry lab was full of life but off limits. I walked by, glancing in the sealed windows, watching Sandy work, her head bent over a microscope. They were doing something real, something that would help. I was standing there, hands in my pockets, concerned about myself when a good man was dying.

Okay, so I couldn't handle crowds. I maybe needed to see Beeks and have her work shrink magic on my head. That wouldn't make me a bad person, or any sort of person except maybe one for the better. What I wanted to do, had to do, was find Al and try to do what I could to help him and Sam Beckett. It was almost an obsession for me. It was like I needed to help Beckett and, by doing so, maybe heal a little of myself.

The offices were all dark and locked. Quietly, Iwent to the one marked "Calavicci" and tried my card in the lock. It opened instantly. Great. Maybe, if Iwas lucky, the locks were all universal.

And I'm the Energizer Bunny.

His desk, the books, everything was neat as a pin, as if the place was always empty. I stood over the desk, using a little pocket flashlight I'd gotten from a box of Lucky Charms. The rollodex opened at my touch and...

"Dr. Sanderson?"

I almost swallowed the flashlight I held in my mouth as the lights brightened around me. Shit. Turning, I confronted Verbena Beeks. Hands on hips she stared me down.

"You're not Remington Steele," she said quietly. "Admiral Calavicci wants to see

you. Now."

I thought at first, this was it. In the span of twenty-four hours I'd had my best success here and my worst failure. I'd be fired and end up working a vat at McDonalds. Dr. Paul Sanderson, standing in a drive-thru saying, "Would you like fries with that?"

"Paul, you're not in trouble." She drove the car with the same skill she exhibited with security, explaining that she and I had some things to get from the Admiral's office and unfortunately used the wrong i.d. card to get in. They bought it. "Al asked me to find you. He heard from Tom about the incident at the party."

"I have a fear of crowds," I said quickly. "It's not a crime. Tom suggested that I talk to you about it. Honest to Pete, I was gonna call you."

"I'm sure you were," she said pleasantly . "Al has really taken a personal interest in you, maybe because he knows what sort of hell you went through with Stuart's operation. He doesn't like John Jay, not a bit."

"I don't care much for him either."

"Paul, you can guarantee that no one here would ask more of you than you can give. Why were you in Al's office in the first place?"

"I wanted to find his address." Truth was always the best out. "I thought I could

call him or something. Tell him I wanted to help if he needed me."

In the light from the streetlamps that we passed I could see a softening of her

features. "How do you know that he needs help?"

"He's tired. Dr. Beckett is sick and I have this feeling..." It sounded nuts to my own ears. "I can't explain it. I looked over some records on Ziggy. Most the things he did, accomplished and I've done pretty much nothing with the same advantages."

"Sam would disagree," she said glancing at me quickly. "You haven't had the same advantages. Your childhood was pleasant then both your parents died, just a few months apart?"

"Yes." I turned my attention to the window. Everything passing was dark and lit only by streetlights. "I had a brain. Scholarships."

"And John Jay and his think tank."

"I was at M.I.T. When I got my first doctorate they recruited me, made promises. No restrictions except the one that I didn't discover until too late. Anything I created became his property, lock, stock and barrel. God." Shrugging, I felt ambivalent for the first time. Like it didn't matter. "It'll happen again."

"You think?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Paul, it won't happen here."

Why didn't I believe her? As we drove through the late night streets of a town that I hardly knew 'but had lived in for almost three months. I'd been told by John Jay that I was full of promise; a genius. He'd torn that trust away from me when I resigned, laughed, said that I'd never be wanted by anyone again. I'd thought he'd blacklist me, or worse. Instead...

"Paul? We're here."

My head came up as we turned onto a driveway that was bridged with pepper trees. The sharp scent of sagebrush and fresh desert air hit me in the face as I rolled ·do the window. It was pseudo Victorian, wrap-around porch with a second story jutting upwards from the end of the house . Funny enough it looked as if it'd been plucked from Corn County, Indiana by a tornado and plunked down here in the midst of the New Mexico desert, Security beams reflecting off the hood of Beek's car as we parked in front of the closed garage doors.

What the hell am I doing here? I have as much business here as the Man in the

Moon.

The house was dark when we entered. Beeks set her keys on the small table by "C'mon. No one will bite you, Paul."

I felt five years old, being taken before my father for punishment. Not that he spanked me or anything but I hated being yelled at. Yelling was worse than being spanked, in my opinion.

Beeks told me to stay put so I waited. All in all the decor was warm and matched the feeling of the outside. If I moved just so on the hardwood floor the unlit chandelier tinkled musically with each shift. Neato. An odd sound seemed to permeate the walls, a subtle vibration-ticking? The odd throw rugs were thick and looked handwoven, done with loving hands. The scent of roses was slight but lingering. And, damn, spaghetti sauce? I'd had an old aunt that made terrific meatballs with oregano and onions. That was warmly there, too.

There was light coming from the rooms beyond. Before too long the hall lights came on and some of the ones in front. The chandelier was small but dazzling. I wondered if they were terribly worried about their electric bill or something.

"You can go in now," Beeks said warmly. "I've gotta scram but I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"You're leaving me?"

"Al or someone will take you back to the Project . He wants to see you alone."

She gave me a sort of half hug and went towards the front door. As it closed I

turned and met the warm gaze of Al's brown eyes. "Hi there," he said. "You hungry?"

"Not really." I took a deep breath and stared down at my fingers. "I shouldn't be

here. I...broke into your office."

"Bena told me. You were curious, right?"

"I wanted to thank you. Call you or come over and..." Suddenly I was shaking, trembling from head to toe with nerves. "I'm really sorry, Al."

"Don't mention it." He looked preoccupied and a little tired. Dressed in a thick red

robe and what looked like pajamas he seemed ready for bed or just getting up. "You deserve some breaks, doncha?"

"Maybe."

"According to me and Sam-you do." His gaze softened. "You wanna meet him?"

My breath caught in my throat . "Is he...?"

"Geez." Rolling his eyes, Al leaned against the wall and glared at me . "He had a lousy time last night . Other than that, he's all there, kiddo. Every single synapse is workin', trust me. He wants to meet you."

Step by step, I followed Al into the room at the end of the hall. I had no idea what to expect. A hospital room, sterile, quiet? Instead I was in the midst of color, a thick carpet, bright wallpaper and a really incredible computer set up. And clocks, zillions of them, on every wall, ticking softly. It wasn't overpowering, just incredibly ...busy. Big Ben style, round, square, pendulums, cuckoos.

"They don't strike the hour. Al would've killed me if I allowed that." The voice was slight, almost perfect, but I recognized it almost instantly from the sound bites I'd heard on Ziggy. Turning from the computer console, I took in the man in the wheelchair. "Everyone seems to be surprised that I collect clocks. Are you?"

His lips didn't move but the voice seemed to come directly from him. "Dr. Beckett?"

"Sam." There was the slightest hesitation when he spoke, as if some device had to wait to collect the words before they were verbalized. "You'll have to excuse the way I am. This... contrivance ... something the Team cooked...up...so I could speak without assistance. Maybe it will help others, I hope."

"I'm not surprised that you collect clocks," I said, trying desperately to take this all in. I was in a room with Sam Beckett and I had no idea what I was going to say now that I'd accomplished what I set out to do. For the first time I was speechless. "It's a nice house."

"Al built it for me so..to...this damned thing." Moving quickly to Sam's side, Al bent and adjusted a small pin that was clipped to Beckett's dressing gown. Among the deep blue material the thing, believe it or not, twinkled.

Curiosity outweighed any shyness on my part. Without thinking about it, I approached the man in the wheelchair and watched as Al adjusted something with the thing and then smiled.

"That'll do it, Sam." Crouched down by the chair, Al glanced up at me. "It operates from his speech center of the brain. When he was leaping we had a internal link implanted and it's operating this thing now.

"It can talk for him?"

"Any messages I send my vocal cords are played back on the chip using my voice. Or what used to be my voice. I've had some problems lately speaking."

"Amazing," I managed. For the first time I could see Beckett's face clearly see the gentle lines and tawny hair flecked with silver. He looked like a loving, over-wise grandfather. Long fmgered hands, elegant and tapering, clung to the ends of the armrests. It was the only sign that he was in pain. The white knuckled grip wa intense, every finger indenting the soft leather.

"You need to see me," he said finally. "I needed to see you. Everyone says you resemble me. Uncany. Like I was young again."

I didn't see a spat of wisfulness in his eyes, or pain. Just warmth, a small smile crooking the end of his expressive mouth. The blue dressing gown and white pajamas he wore clung to a body that was too slender, fragile. One hand came up, straying through my hair. I hadn't realized I was kneeling by his chair until he touched me.

I know, Paul. What it's like to be trapped. Ask...Al. Ask him. He was trapped, too. You had that damned machine, I've had Time and...this."

Glancing from those hazel eyes to Al's, I saw a connection between the two men that tore at my heart. Magnetic, like the way my mother and father had looked at each other before the cancer had taken her from us. The older man wrapped his hand over one of Sam's, holding it almost tight and then releasing. "You never complain," Al said. "Hardly ever."

"Except when I wake up at night and your cold feet are on my bare legs."

"Can't be helped," Al replied, winking at me. "Got poor circulation."

The hand that Sam had laid in my hair hesitated, came down and rested against my cheek. "I know you're wondering why we wanted to see you. I hope you understand. It's not discipline, Paul. I need you."

"You need me?" I glanced at Al and saw the soft not in resonse to Sam's words.

"I...I can't tell you how long I've waited to hear someone say that, that they need me. What can I do?"

"I know you're...anxious...to start on your transporter. The fact of the matter is I was wondering ...Al and I were wondering ...if you might postpone that for a short time and help me with what I need to do."

"It can wait ," I said. "Hey, it's no biggie."

His smile was small, directed at me. "I know it's a 'biggie', Paul. Your first was stolen from you. If they'd done that with my Accelerator I would have been torn apart. My life's work."

"Sam." Al touched the man's face a moment and met the expressive eyes. "I'll get you something to drink, okay? And your meds.It's time."

"More pills." His eyes followed Al as he left the room. "He knows about this, Paul. He understands but won't accept the fact that I'm dying."

"You know they're working on a cure. Sandy and..."

"Paul." His 'voice' had no inflection-all the emotion and the chastising tone came from his eyes. And touch. His hand had moved down to my shoulder, resting there softly, squeezing once. "Al can't accept this but I have. The fact is I have so much more to do and not a lot of time to do it. You, on the other hand, I hope, have a lifetime ahead to make your dream come true. And it won't be stolen this time. In your contract is a proviso that anything you create while employed by Quantum will remain as your property forever. Understood?"

"I, uh, didn't read that part."

"The way you signed it I'm surprised you found the dotted line."

"What do you want me to do?" I asked. Adjusting my body, I leaned in as close to his chair as I could, took his hand and held it. I felt as ifl'd known him forever. "Tell me. The damned transporter can wait. It can all wait."

"Can you help me create, Paul?" There was light in his eyes, an intensity that I understood. It was genius, it was worry, anxiety. Everything. "Can you be my hands, my eyes?"

"You can't see? How bad off are you?"

A soft chuckle. It was amusement at my words. I felt like ten times unsubtle .

"Paul! You're the second person who didn't beat around the damned bush. My brother was the first-came right out and asked what the hell was wrong with me." His head rested on the back of the chair. For the fust time I noticed how comfortable it looked, thick with leather and soft padding. Expensive and built for someone that was in it a lot. "I can't see very well anymore. Glasses help and I use them when I'm on the computer but..." His lips became one thin line.

"Personally," I said softly. "I hate 'em."

"Then you understand. Never liked them when I was well. My hands have trouble

with fine motor skills, like typing. I stumble around the board and Al...poor Al...he has enough to do for me and the Project without worrying about all that. I need your hands, your eyes, your mind. Mine is quick enough but if the two of us work together I think we'll accomplish incredible things. Are you willing?

"Do you need to ask?" I squeezed his hand and smiled. It was everything I ever wanted to do. Help someone, help Beckett who had done so much. "I'm in," I said.

"When do I start?"

"Now." Al entered the room with a glass of water and a handful of what looked like difficult to swallow pills. "You can help me with this, kid. If you're willing." His eyes narrowed as he placed the glass on a small antique table. "This ain't gonna be easy and I'm not askin' you to do all this for us..."

"I know how to take care of.." I looked at Sam's soft eyes and took a shuddering

breath. "People that are sick. My mother died of cancer." Sympathetic shadows, like clouds skudding over the sun shaded Beckett's gaze. "About twelve years ago. Before Infiltrator, when I was at M.I.T." I took the pills in my hand, glancing over them. "Pain meds?"

"No. I'd refuse them!" There was outright defiance snapping in his eyes, even

though the voice chip was completely emotionless, almost flat. "The pills are ones that my doctor prescribed . Vitamins, mostly and some neural builders. Things they give stroke patients."

"You didn't have a stroke," Al said gently, helping his friend with the straw. It

was flexible, something that would be easy for the man to use. "Take a sip, Sam."

Making a face, the man drank some of the water and I carefully ground the pills to dust with a porter and pestle. Bit by bit, we gave him the powdered medication and water, a little at a time, until it was all gone. It must've tasted terrible but Sam didn't show a sign that it did. My hands were shaking. It was almost as if I was afraid of making a mistake.

"You won't break, willya, Sam?" A subtle shake of the head was Beckett's answer.

"He's a good patient, most of the time."

"You're a doctor?"

1

"Me?" Al snorted, setting the glass aside. "No way. Just learned a little here and there.It's his bedtime ."

We wheeled the patient to hls bedroo and carefully turned down the blankets as Al took off Sam's slippers and robe. Keeping my emotions in check, I tried not to put

the sight of this Beckett against what Ziggy had shown me.

"Not much to look at, am I?"

I just didn't know what to say. Al locked the brakes on the chair ·and carefully eased his friend into the bed. It was like a hospital bed but somehow more homey. The sides were made of oak as was the frame. It was carved with flowers and leaves and really a lovely piece of furniture. It was a private moment, I realized, as Al drew the blanket up to Sam's chin. Stepping back, I slipped from the room.

The house was quiet except for the somehow soothing sound of the clocks from the den. Or workroom. Whatever it was.

"He's asleep," Al said, entering the room. "Now, are you game for a little dinner ,

or am I gonna have to feed it to the disposal?"

"I could eat," I replied . Following Al from den to kitchen, I watched as he warmed the food. "He asked me to help him work."

Not losing a step, Al punched the buttons on the microwave and stepped back.

"Five minutes oughta do it."

"Al..."

"Yeah, I heard ya." His voice was dragged out and desperately tired. "You gonna do it?''

"If he needs me, I'm here." I felt a little braver than I had earlier. Maybe it was the

weariness etched in every line on Al's face, or the slumped back as he sat down. "And I think you need me, too."

"Me?"

"You. I can help with him physically, if you'll allow it. I know you're in love with him."

Al leaned his head onto one hand and closed his eyes, resting on the counter. "It

ain't hard to figure that one out," he whispered.

"It's okay. I understand." Sitting next to him on a stool I tried to meet his eyes. Finally, he lifted his head enough that I could see careful worry in them. "It's getting harder, isn't it?"

"Not really."

"Uh-huh," I disagreed, wagging my finger at him. "My mother died of cancer, Al. I was the one that took care of her, cleaned her up when she pooped and put her to bed. Father and I wouldn't have had it any other way. We loved her."

"You hardly know Sam."

"I feel right now like I've known him all my life." I held out an open hand to the man and hoped. "Let me help you, Al. You can sleep through the night-I'm a crazy night owl. Only need about three or four hours of sleep a night, never more than that. I'm a hard worker. I'll do all I can to make his life easier and yours-but only if you let me."

I couldn't believe I was saying all these things. After Mother died I didn't know if I could ever let myself care like that again. Somehow, with Sam, I had to. Care, that is. He did so much. I needed to do this!

"All right," Al sighed. "We'll go over stuff." Rubbing his eyes, Al smiled small at me. "And if you're gonna help Sam you're gonna have to move out here for a while ."

"From the Project?"

"I can have someone send your duds over here in the morning . If you don't mind."

Mind? No way did I mind. To have the chance to work with Sam Beckett-to help him-I'd have given anything to do this. Maybe by doing so I'd flush a few of my own demons out of my system. I only hoped so.

Al:

Sanderson was about as much trouble as lint. Before I could do much he had the dishes washed, the kitchen set to rights and making me a really good cup of coffee. Hell, I couldn't think of the last time I'd had a java like that. The whole time he kept talkin' a mile a minute. In that respect he was miles away from the way Sam usta be.

Showed him the stuff, linens, cleaning supplies and his room. Man, he loved that room! Went over and over about the bed, the view. Desert, scrub, the pool. He loved it. I didn't have the heart to tell him it'd been Sam's room before we were lovers. He'd slept in it exactly one single night before I got my hands on him.

We'd made love that night in the living room. Tangled in sheets, rolling around the floor, rubbing frantically against each other and wondering why the hell it'd take so damned long. Watching me with those green eyes afterwards and saying, for the first time, really, "I love you, Al."

God, I never knew what it was like to hear those words have someone really mean 'em. Really feel what love was. Not like Beth, which was longing, and wanting.

With Sam it was always loving him. Unconditional, unrelenting love. r

Anyways, after I show this Paul kid the whole house he says, "You need a good

night's sleep and I'm going to make sure you get it." Rattled off about six good reasons why I needed to sleep before I could argue and then bundled me off to the bathroom for a long bath, followed by a hot cup of something that wasn't too bad-that damned cocoa he swore by-and then he asked me flat out ifl slept with Sam or not.

"I'm not prying," he said. "I know you're lovers. It shows all over."

The last time I slept with Sam was over two months ago. He was in too much pain to have anyone that close to him now, even though he'd deny it up and down and sideways. "I sleep on the pull out sofa in the bedroom," I said. "You gonna take care of Sam?"

"If you'll let me," he stated, arms crossed over his chest. That damned pose was all Beckett! Immovable! "You need to sleep a few nights through. You can sleep in my room..."

"Sam..."

"Al." Sighing, he sat cross-legged on the floor and glared up at me. "How do you I

expect to get any sleep if you're in the room he's in all night? How often does Sam wake?"

"At least twice," I grudgingly admitted. "Sometimes more but never less. He needs to use the bathroom or he's..." I closed my eyes. It really felt pretty good. "Paul, this might be too much for you-even if you're experienced ."

"I can handle it," he snapped. "I've had sleep. I can do this. All I need is for you to tell me what to do, Al. That's all."

I instructed him, quietly showing him all the things we kept in the bedroom, keeping my voice low so Sam wouldn't wake. Even though Paul insisted I needn't be, I was pretty apprehensive. Aside from the nurse no one had taken care of him except me. "Maybe I should write this all down."

Quick as a blink, he rattled off, verbatim, every single syllable I'd spelled out to

him. In a whisper, but he did it. Where things were, what was needed and what would be considered an emergency.

Quietly shutting the bedroom door behind us and turning up the intercom we went back to the kitchen. Frankly, I'd fed Paul and Sam and not myself. And it wasn't lost on this kid.

"You're famished, right?"

"No." I yawned. "I'm too tired to be hungry."

"Al..."

"Don't whine at me. Or tell me anything I don't know already."

"Sam told me he's dying."

The words were said flatly, with a touch of worry. Fear maybe that I'd lash out at him. "He's gonna make it," I said, clenching my fists against the counter. "That's just talk.

Sometimes he gets depressed, upset . Before too long the lab's gonna come up with something and he'll be fine. You're gonna help him, right?"

"Right." He sounded sure of that but gave me an odd look.

It was harder'n hell to fall sleep that night. I kept tossing and turning on the bed in Paul's room, wondering if Sam was going to cry out again-or have a crisis like he had the other night. It'd been the first time I'd seen him cry since this had all started. The pain was so much, he said. It hurt so bad ...and then he forced himself to stop cryin', for my sake.

I heard Paul moving around, probably putting things away in the kitchen, getting in that pair of Sam's old p.j.'s that I'd loaned him. Turning off lights. The chandelier making it's music as he checked the front door, made sure the security was on. I'd shown him that, good kid.

For a moment, I could imagine it was Sam, whole and walking, checking the house and making sure all was fine before we went to bed. His step was ahnost the same, even his voice as he said good-night. So close. I could go back in time, remember those really great times we had, those first beautiful five years that were ours alone, and, by degrees, fall into the first peaceful sleep I'd had in months.

Paul:

With Al settled in, I curled up in a chair near Sam's bed and read a book I'd found that looked interesting. It was so engrossing that I didn't notice the greenish gaze watching me until he'd been at it for some time-anyway , that's what I figured.

"Where's Al?"

"Believe it or not I managed to make him sleep in my room tonight." Going to the bed, I lowered one side of the railing and checked him over carefully. "How are you feeling?"

"What time is it?" It was a little disconcerting to hear his voice coming from the dressing gown that was slung over the edge of his bed . "Is it late?"

"Very. Nearly two." I changed his sheets quickly; they were soaked with perspiration. He was so groggy from whatever he'd taken before bedtime that he didn't complain when I took him to the head or settled him back under fresh linens.

The look he gave me when I'd settled him in was total trust. When I moved to sit back down he grasped my hand and wouldn't release. "Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

"Neither. I'm bored, Paul. Bored, and tired of laying in this bed night after night

and..." His eyes clouded over and he turned to look out the window. "It's weird not having Al here, jolting every time I make a move. You said he's in the guest room?"

"Yes," I replied . "Sleeping comfortably, last time I checked." I smoothed the

blanket and sat back in my chair. "Like you should be."

"I guess you haven't been told by Al what a stubborn person I can be when it comes to going back to sleep. Some nights it takes me hours." His eyes twinkled with amusement. "Since it seems we're going to be spending some time together maybe you should tell me a little about yourself. Or I can talk about me. I've no lack of Beckett family secrets to divulge."

"There's not much to say. You've read my dossier, haven't you?" A tiny nod was his reply. "Okay, so you know a lot about me. I grew up in upper New York State. Typical kid stuff until they figured I was smart. I'm sure you know what that was like." He grinned. "My Mother died of cancer when I was at M.I.T. which is why I took a leave of absence. The rest is pretty cut and dried. My father died in a car accident a year after that and I've been with Stuart's brain trust until you signed me on three months ago."

His eyes went distant, thinking, perhaps about what he was doing three months r

ago. "I know very little about you-just what Ziggy showed me of your bio."

"You're more curious about how Al and I got together, aren't you?"

"I have to admit I am. But it's really none of my business."

"It's simple. I came home from Leaping. Al had built this house as a surprise. The first night I couldn't sleep and before I knew it I was in Al's bed. This is the first night since then that we're not together."

That was news to me. No wonder Al had been so reticent to leave his partner's

side. "I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't know."

"Somehow, it's not so bad when you're here. Are you going to try to sleep?"

"I'll sleep if you do," I said honestly. "Are you in pain?"

Sighing, his brows drew together. I was beginning to just recognize all the signs of Beckett stubbornness. "Yes, but I'd rather not have the meds if it's all the same to you. Often Al will allow me to go without them unless it gets really bad. Right now I'm fine. Can we talk or are you tired?"

"Tired? Me?" I bounced in the chair by the bed, making him grin. "I've got this

unending supply of energy."

"Everyone gets tired, Paul. You have to learn, much like I did, to conserve

yourself for times when you need the energy. You'll grow into it."

"I hope not," I said sincerely.

"When you reach the end ofthings, no matter how much you've accomplished, you'll always wish you had more time to rest, to spend with friends, to relax and allow the world to go by." His eyes were watching me very carefully, hoping I was listening. I was. "I remember an afternoon I had with Al where we laid on the grass in the backyard here and just stared at the clouds. The clouds in the desert are almost nonexistent. It's a Midwest thing but one really glorious afternoon we had these huge puffy cumulus. It took Al tugging and pulling me from the computer to get me to enjoy and savor that afternoon, What I was working on escapes me, but at the time it seemed so inuch more important than looking at clouds. For Al to do that for clouds. For Al to do that for me when he took life so seriously...it really was a revelation . What had I done to change him? Or had he changed himself?"

"I take it Al wasn't a cloud watcher."

"But he was a dreamer. He believed in me, in a time machine." The fingers of his right hand lifted, and I held them. They were cold. Wrapping my other hand around his I held. Swallowing hard, his eyes became very bright. "I have to tell you something, Paul. So you won't think I'm deceiving you in any way. What do you know about your father, your mother?"

"I dunno . Just what was there, Sam. I was born and they were great parents. My father was an actor, not very good and ended up a director of a nice summer theater in Rochester. Mother was a singer but taught piano and voice. What did you want to know?"

"I...I knew your mother. She taught me piano when I was a teenager in Indiana."

"Really? I know Gran lived in Terre Haute but..."

"I met her on one of the Leaps. I leaped into your father when they were doing Man of La Mancha." It was hard for him to get it out and I didn't release his hands although I was tempted to run screaming. "In May of 1979."

"I was born in February of 1980," I said, almost sounding calm. "This explains

why I look like you, have all the smarts. Father used to say that I got the share no one else in the family had. Mother said..." I let go of his hand and took a sip of his water, not really caring if it was warm or not. My mouth was dry as dust. "Mother told me about how they met in Syracuse after a long separation and...got married when she found out she was pregnant. Everyone said it was a match made in heaven."

"Not exactly heaven, but we always did think that God was running the Leaps."

"Damn it." I got up and went to the window. It was dark and a breeze was blowing. Strangely enough, I wasn't angry, I just felt nothing at all. How could I hate this man? "What were you there to do?"

"To keep an actor from breaking his neck. To play La Mancha with your mother and maybe so she'd fall in love with your father. That had to be part of it. So I could see her again, tell her I loved her even though she thought it was your father. "

"You did love her?"

There was a hint of laughter in his voice. "Al told me it was infatuation but I loved your mother from the moment she entered our farmhouse and taught me piano. I loved her smile and her goodness and the kind way she put up with a fifteen year old. She never made fun of me, or told me to bug off. I did love her, Paul. I never make love to anyone if l don't love them. "

"Mother considered that a prerequisite. She made me promise that I'd never have

sex without meaning." Turning from the window, I went back to the bed and stared down at the man who laid there.·

"She also said that when she met my father in Syracuse he was the same person she'd left in New York and the same person she loved til the day she died. He had your soul, Sam, just as much as you had his for a little while."

"Do you hate me?"

"I just want to know one thing." I kept my voice as even as possible so not to

wake Al. "What the hell do you think you were doing?" His eyes went wide and unfathomable. "Do you realize you put my mother's-my life-on the line? You could have any number of diseases, AlDS?" My voice was low and intense and I meant every single word. "You had no right doing that. I won't say it was a wrong thing. Hell, if you hadn't I might have never been born."

"But you don't hate me..."

"I don't hate you, Sam." I slumped in the chair and felt extremely calmer. "How can

I? You're the type of guy that no one could hate. There's this silly little voice way down deep tellin' me that I should feel betrayed or something-but I don't. I just keep thinking how absolutely foolhardy it was of you to have sex with someone, even my mother who I'm sure you couldn't help but love."

My throat closed when I thought of that. Roughly, I wiped away the wetness that filled my eyes.

"Dammit,"I muttered. "It's been a long time."

"Your mother was the type of person that I'll miss no matter how long it's been"

"Did you know she died?"

"I found out from Al-after the leaps. We went over them all, one by one and

when we got to that one...l was told. One night, when I was alone, I found out she had a ]

son named Paul who was currently working for John Jay Stuart. He was brilliant and an oddball-but he looked just like me."

"Does Al know about that part?"

"No," he said, eyes shaded. "I haven't told him. And I'd rather you didn't, Paul.

Trust me-he wouldn't take it well."

I found it odd that he'd make such a request but I shrugged.

"You said your mother had cancer. That's what I read." r

"We found out and it took her quickly," I said. "It was the worst three months of

my life. Not long after that Dad had a car accident and was gone. I was alone and I honestly didn't care all that much." r

"You should always care," he whispered. I could tell he was drifting. Eyes

closing, a tear rolling down his cheek. "My whole problem is that I've cared too much. It might be what's killing me now. I spent too much time out there, too much time helping people and coming home to find my life changed and disarranged. And now your life. Good or bad, I had no right." .

'"If you hadn't been there Mother and Father might not have met. I would have

missed out on the greatest childhood anyone could ever have, the greatest parents in the universe." I took a tissue and carefully wiped his cheek. "And I wouldn't have met you."

"Eventhough I'm an irresponsible idiot."

"Even though," I said and then, dared myself to simply lean over and wrap him carefully in my arms. A sound like grief came from his chest as I kissed in his hair. "I need to care about someone," I said directly into his ear. He smiled against my shirt. "Let's see what happens, okay?"

"I've regretted not having children," he said as I settled him back on the bed. "It was my choice and no one else's."

"Go to sleep, Sam," I said, folding his hand in mine again. "Go to sleep and we'll

talk about this all tomorrow." Sighing a little, he closed his eyes and accepted rest. This had been the longest day ofmy life.

Okay, I dozed off a couple oftimes. Finally, I gave in and crashed on the couch. It

wasn't bad-as mattresses rated this one was much better than most and hardly lumpy at all.

About four the first rumbles of a storm made the house tremble. One thing I've never been able to do was sleep through a storm, any storm. Wrapping a blanket over my shoulders I spared Sam a glance and saw his eyes were wide open, watching the lightning. Every flash lit his face in white fire. I stayed in the corner and kept my eyes on him. Al had told me Sam would say if he needed help. It seemed to me he just couldn't sleep-and he had as much on his mind as I did.

"Sam?" His head turned towards me, a surprised expression in those incredible eyes. I wondered if mine were that expressive. "You need anything?"

"No." Tiny smile. "You need your sleep."

"You sound like a father." A flinch, as ifl'd struck him. "Does that bother you?"

"It does but not where it shows," he joked. "It doesn't bother me, Paul. I only wish that I'd been fair to you, instead of.."

"Look," I said, crouching next to him . "First off, this thing about 'not telling Al'.

You have to be kidding. He's not blind and I'm sure the idea hit him about ten seconds after he either met me or saw a photo. Second, you should never lie to the person you love, no matter what. White lies, yes, but not something like, 'I have a son'. That's nonsense." I tried

to smile and found, to my surprise, that it wasn't very hard at all. "My father-he meant so much to me. I miss him."

"I miss mine, even though he's been gone more than thirty years."

"You can't replace that, Sam. But I think I'm...lucky...to have two fathers in one lifetime that care this much." He was crying, tears rolling down his emotionless face. Control of the muscles of his face was difficult, Al had said. An occasional smile, blinking. My heart flipped over knowing he wanted to show me how much he felt and probably

couldn't.

I

"Okay, enough." I took his hand tight and held it against my chest. "You need

sleep, not tears." I held a tissue to his face with my free hand. "Blow." He did as best he could.

"Great." Dropping the tissue in the small garbage can by the bed, I brought my other hand up so he could feel both of them around his. "I'll stay here until you sleep. Think you can do that? Or do you need something?"

"N...no." The word was said from his own throat, not the receiver. I gasped at the sound and held his hand tighter. "l...I'm fine."

It had taken everything for him to do that and he'd done it for me. His smile was dazzling, as wide as I'd seen it. "You are fme," I replied. Lifting his hand to my lips I kissed it carefully and laid it by his side. "Now sleep...Dad."

Sam was in no mood for breakfast that morning. I cleaned him up and put him back to bed as he requested. It was still very early, almost six, and he was tired. Sleep was probably better for Sam than anything.

"Good morning ."

"Al." For the first time Al looked well rested, eyes clear. "I have some coffee brewing. Thought you could use some."

"I smelled it," he began. "Man, it feels good. Checked in on Sam. He's sleepin' pretty sound."

"Had a long night." I yawned. "I got some sleep though. He's nothing to take care

of, Al. Gave him a quick wash up this morning and he asked to be put back to bed."

"That happens sometimes," Al said, smiling as I handed him a cup of coffee. "Damn. Thank you, kid."

"We talked some," I added, sipping at my own cup. "I could really care about that man, Al. He even said a few words on his own."

"He can when the mood strikes him." Quiet answer aside, his eyes widened at my revelation. "What did he say?"

"Not much. How's the coffee?"

"Good. You should do this for a living."

"I used to work for Chock Full 'o Nuts in Times Square. You can smell their coffee for miles."

"And cream cheese sandwiches on homemade raisin bread," Al added correctly.

"Great stuff."

"It's been years." The world was quiet around us, that early morning touch that no one could permeate with mere words. The sun was rising, brushing aside the earlier storm clouds. "This really is a beautiful place."

"Sam loves it. Had to build the house here." He poured himself a second cup. "See, we were out drivin' back from town. Bam, car gets a flat and we pull over. Sam is doing all that stuff: jacking up the car, tugging off the tire, I'm getting out the spare. I roll it up to the front and...no Sam. Gee whiz! The kid is standing about where we're sittin'-no house here, though-just starin' at the sky, the desert. I get over there, after I drop the spare and I'm about to chew him out when I see that look on his face.It's love."

"Love."

"Oh yeah. His eyes, his face." Al's eyes half closed as he envisioned the memory.

"He says, this is the place, Al. Our house."

"Like that?"

"Oh just like that." He took a sip of coffee and helped himself to toast that I'd carefully buttered. "You're all right, kid."

"What was Sam like-before?"

Dusting the crumbs from his hand, Al sat back in the chair and sighed. "He was one of the strongest people I knew. Rock climbing, spelunking, really athletic. Up til all hours, working like a nut, made love..."

"It's all right," I said quickly. "I know."

"Who couldn't figure it out? They'd have to be blind." Grinning, Al patted my

hand. It seemed to me he wasn't used to touching anyone lately. I'd been able, as Beeks had said, to break past a wall Al had erected. "The kid was a real wildcat sometimes. Just insatiable." I felt red creeping up my neck as he spoke and tried to cover it by drinking another cup of coffee. "He could talk and spin tales all night. Great at parties. Cared about folks, no matter what. If you had a problem, you went to Sam."

"And then he got sick."

"Oh it didn't happen overnight ." His hands gripped the cup, knuckles white. "We knew something was wrong about a year after he came home. He got...clumsy. Just happened. Fell off his bicycle, stumbled over a carpet when we were building this place, had to get stitches in his head. We didn't think much until his yearly physical and the doc said his eyesight was rotten-radically bad. New glasses and maybe a whole blood work up to see if the Leaping affected his eyesight."

"It's his blood?"

"It's his nervous system. Like that Lou Gehrig's disease or MS. Doc said it looked more like MS than anything. God, it's the worst thing in the world to watch a man like Sam, so...damned vigorous and full of life to gradually go downhill like he did. It wasn't overnight-like I said. Just gradual. They said it could take five years before he the worst and that's about how long we had."

Memory had drawn lines on Al's face. I saw the shadows in his eyes, pain there

from remembering what had happened to Sam. "You don't have to tell me all this."

"Hey, you deserve an update. It's all old news anyway." Tilting his head back, Al closed his eyes. "We did everything. Went everywhere. For five years Imade him quit working, put aside all the shit he thought was important. You know he was leapin' for six years, six damned years. Doncha think he did enough to help people?"

"He did," I said. "Why is he so insistent on getting things done now?"

"He got a brainstorm about the time he was confined to the wheelchair. Just a ton of stuff filled his head and he went nuts on Ziggy. Said he needed someone to help him. I wouldn't do."

"He doesn't want you to worry," Isaid quickly. "You can't think that he'd not want you around. Don't even do that, Al." .

His grin was small, but accepting . Thank God. "I found you, kid. It didn't take long and Stuart was more'n happy to unload you."

"I bet," I said with meaning. "Sam told me he couldn't type very well anymore. I have a feeling that I'm going to be his typist and secretary for a while. He just didn't want you to worry. Said his eyesight was failing him."

"Dammit!" Al ground out the word and held his head as if it ached. "Doc said to

call if he got worse."

"Then call the doctor. Have them check him over. I don't want him to die, Al." The sun was just beginning to come through the stained glass parquet windows. It put dancing red and blue lights across the table. "I need to be with him, too. Last night he told me he was my father."

"I knew that."

"I told him that you did, even when·he told me not to tell you."

"I'm not blind . You could be his twin when he was twenty. All hair and eyes. Your mother was some woman ."

"She was attractive," I replied smoothly. "Very. And I'm sure you noticed that. Your reputation on the Leaps is well documented."

"Wonderful. Ziggy put that in the records?"

"Yep."

"Well, Ican see you're a chip off the old block, as far as Sam's concerned. You stand like him, walk like him. Even hold your head like he used to." Something in either what he said, or what he was thinking made his eyes very bright. "Uh, excuse me, kid," he said hurriedly and left the kitchen.

"Shit." Ihadn't meant to upset him. The intercom blinked at that approximate moment and I knew that Sam was asking to be helped up. A new day was beginning .

Al:

I remember that first day, that damned day he fell and cracked his head wide open. Caught him after he fell, blood all over my hands, one of the carpenters calling Doc, an ambulance. I thought he'd just wake up-two days later he opened his eyes and said, "Al? I can't see..."

My heart went stone cold. I thought it was the crack on the noggin'. Doc said it

wasn't and worse, he was sick.

Every stinkin' day it got worse. His eyesight improved but Doc wouldn't let him

up from bed, not until the tests were completed. We were sittin' together playing Scrabble

when Doc came in the room. Sam and I - we could tell something was wrong.

Spelled it all out, piece by piece. Told Sam straight, me. I couldn't accept it, dammit. Not after all he'd been through on the Leaps to be told he'd be a fuckin' invalid in a few years unless...and that was the biggie. We had to find a cure.

Just had to.

I put the lab on it, pulled in every favor I had out there and got funding. Proved beyond a shadow that Sam deserved this after all he'd done. The lab was put at our disposal. Doc sent over every test, every single thing he knew and they went to work.

Sam didn't once give into despair. He allowed every lab tech to take skin samples, blood, everything. MRI's that he hated, even if it was open and less confming. Other than the fact he had to wear glasses all the time and he couldn't walk perfectly, he seemed fme. That's when I came up with the idea.

"We're gonna travel the world," I said. "We're gonna do everything you've ever

wanted to do."

"Al..."

"What do you want to do, Sam? Who do you want to see, what do you want to

see?"

"What about the tests?"

"We can ship 'em," I said. The lab had requested weekly, even daily tests. "I'll

have Doc pinpoint doctors all over the world, wherever we go. Think about it."

It took three days to con him into it, but I did. For once I was going to have my Sam to myself without a fight. No other people to bother us.

Sam made choices, So did I. We both took risks taking him from New Mexico.

Christ knew the lab might do better if we were home, but we were both willing to take that chance. The other alternative was to sit here and rot and watch him deteriorate.

Neither of us were willing to have that happen.

Spent six months with Kate in Hawaii, another six with Tom at the farm. Then two weeks of family reunion-all the relatives, that Beckett clan that clung to Sam like a second skin. He loved it and, after a while, I got used to bein' called, "Uncle Al" by the kids. Tom had one boy, Kate, two girls. It really was a close knit group.

As soon as we could we went to Europe. Sam had always wanted to see Greece. Been to Egypt, seen that stuff when he was a kid, but Greece and Pompeii and all that broken rubble was his idea of heaven. He spent a month trottin' over places that most archeologists had closed off from the public. Those guys loved Sam, thought he was the greatest. Maybe it was because he didn't put on preventions; he just knew. Spoke the language verbatim, read ancient records, had a blast.

It was hot. He had trouble walking, seeing, but it was heaven for him. I couldn't believe that he actually conned me into digging with him and those geeks-but I did and grew to like it, too. One night we saw the Moon rise over the ruins, all that quiet, the sultry air, and the clear butter yellow Moon rising and casting that glow over things that had died centuries before .

Some days were better than others. It seemed the entire time we had in Greece

was nearly perfect. He even went jet skiing once. Of course I was on shore, freaked and worried but he pretended he didn't see it. My heart pounded through my chest every time he came by, spraying water and laughing. His smile was brighter than the sun above. It was joy, pure joy, and health.

We went to Italy after that. Now this was a place I could relate to! We did Genoa,

Rome, and spent a good month in Sicily. I had a lot of distant relatives in Abbruzi, people I really didn't care to meet or know. The food was terrific! Bottles of wine, tons of pasta, incredible stuff that I hadn't tasted since my Grandma Rosie had done Sunday dinner.

"Tripe?" Sam sniffed at the meal before him. "Tripe, Al?"

"Try it, you'll like it." I took a forkful of the meat and some pasta and fed it to him. Other than grimacing he didn't make a comment. "It's fine," I said. "Wait'll you eat that chicken kidney casserole."

"Like hell," he groaned. His eyes were staring over the sea, our little outside

balcony giving us a fantastic view of the Mediterranean. "It's beautiful."

Daringly I took his hand and kissed it. No one around us seemed to care. Everyone was watching the sea or their partners. I suddenly couldn't take my eyes off of him. The sun had turned his hair gold, his skin the color of caramel and those incredible eyes that reflected the sparkling water and deep blue sky.

"Sam..." I kissed his hand again and pulled the ring I'd been keeping from my

pocket. "This is as good a time as any," I began. His eyes went wide the second he saw what I was about to do. "Let's make this good and proper?" I kept my voice low and even, meeting his brimming eyes. "Hey, I wanna marry you. You for it?"

"Yeah," he breathed as I slipped the ring over his finger. He didn't move for a moment, not takin' his eyes off that ring, or my movements until I was done. "Al..."

"Tell me when we get back to our room, Sam."

We had one of those rooms that faced the sea, the crashing waves, huge windows with no glass...it was out of a Sophia Loren movie. Before I could barely close the door he was on me, kissing, holding, and telling me how much he loved me. I held him close, savoring his warm, soft, sweet-smelling skin. He was so perfect, so incredible-how could he be sick? I just didn't believe it. Maybe that was when I started denyin' how sick he really was.

It was easy to do. His body was lean and tanned, physically fit. Made movements that an acrobat would have trouble with, but he did it and asked me to fuck him over and over. I just pressed my body against my husband and held him close. I made up for all the years I hadn't said "I love you" to him. It was so easy once I started. I'll never forget that night, the sea-kissed breeze touching our naked bodies, Sam rolling under me and holding my arms as I made love to him.

I didn't see the fear in his eyes. It was there, I just chose not to see it.

We did a little Germany , a little Switzerland...and then on to England. I figured we'd finish with that. By that time we'd spent about a year in Europe and Sam had figured that London and Christmas was the best idea inthe world. A real Dicken's Christmas. This might be the only Christmas that he and I spent alone-for a while anyway-and he wanted to do it in style.

We rented a really nice flat. I say that because it had hot and cold running water, heat, and some really comfortable furniture. No TV, no radio. Just Sam and me and London.

It was damp. Rained and cold and all the cliche's. Sam didn't seem to mind. It was

kinda nice to sleep in and hear the rain pattering on the roof, that nice tin roof just over our heads. I decided one morning to let Sam sleep in and go out and get him the stuff he loved for breakfast. Cream and scones, some lox. Good stuff. There was a good place down the street that had no problem fixing the meal for take out.

I knew something was wrong when I got to the flat. Even before I opened the

door. Setting the bag with breakfast down I called out his name a couple of times before I

realized that (a) the bed was empty, bedclothes tom off and on the floor, and (b) the phone was off the hook and his clothes that he'd left on the floor last night were gone. I mean a million things all went through my head-he'd been abducted? Kidnapped? Should I call Scotland Yard?

It was a simple matter to call the operator and have 'em ring the last number

dialed. I was half-expecting the cops to pick up and almost passed out when I heard, "Lab." It was the lab at PQL.

"Did Sam Beckett just call here?" I asked. "Who is this?"

"Dr. Jenkins," the voice said. I pictured a skinny guy with almost no hair and a

bad acne problem. "Someone called about ten minutes ago, but..."

"What did you say to him?" A cold hand gripped my heart.

"Excuse me, but who is this?"

"Dammit, this is Admiral Calavicci. What did you say to the person that called?"

"He asked for the results of the most current tests on Dr. Beckett. I certainly can't

give those over the phone but he ID.'d himself as Dr. Lewis."

"That's Sam's physician."

"Well, I gave him the information he requested. That Dr. Beckett's condition has

been downgraded to critical and that a request was being sent to London..."

My fingers gripped the receiver, almost breaking it. The stupid jerk! "Put me

through to Dr. Thorson. NOW!"

I made sure the little dink was on reprimand and got the bad news from the person that I should have gotten it from. Thorson said that I should get Sam back to New Mexico in the next two weeks. We'd been gone for over a year and the results of the latest tests, ones we'd sent from Germany over a week ago, were not good.

Sam was deteriorating. Maybe he wasn't tellin' me if he was hurtin'. I could see flinches sometimes, grimaces, but he always smoothly talked me out of worrying.

What could I do? I knew that Sam had run off. Once, a long time ago, he'd made me a promise. If he left he'd always come back to me, that I should never worry about being alone ever again, if he could help it. That and that alone kept me from calling the police.

What really pissed me off was that he'd picked probably the rainiest, sloppiest, coldest December day in London to run like he had. I was scared, and upset and spent a good eight hours sitting by a window sipping coffee and praying to whoever, God, Sam's guardian angel, whatever was listening, that he'd come home safe to me.

I cried. My throat ached with tears. Christ, if I lost him... Just when I'd really reached what they call the depths of despair, the key was working in the lock and Sam returned.

Dropping the cup I held I ran to him and wrapped that whole sodden mass in my arms and held on tight. He was shivering, trembling like mad, and it looked like he'd lost his glasses. Soaked through. Without any words, I just took him to the bedroom, stripped the heavy wet clothing from his body and just let it drop on the hardwood floor. His lips were blue, his hair soaked down to his scalp.

Grabbing those nice thick towels we'd gotten at Harrod's Iwrapped him in them, ran a hot, hot bath and, once I'd gotten him in it, made him a good cup of strong tea with hot milk and brandy laced through it. He still hadn't said a word, just shivering and, by and by, relaxing in the warmth. All the love I could pour into him I did.

"I'm sorry, Al," he whispered, as I helped him into a thick robe I was gonna save for Christmas morning. "I had to get out."

"I called the Project," I said. "Don't apologize. I had that dweeb Jenkins reprimanded. If he wasn't such a fucking good chemist I'd have his ass fired."

"We need him," Sam whispered. He took the thick white china cup and sipped at it as he sat in a chair in our living room. "Nice," he said. "Thank you."

Sinking down at his feet, I held onto his hand and kissed it about a million times. The lights from our Christmas tree twinkled in his eyes. He just stared at it. It was the first time that I realized the only light in his eyes was reflected. It was such a dark, damned day.

"They'll find something," I said. "We'll go back to New Mexico next week and..."

"I want to be in New York for New Year's," he said firmly. Setting the cup on the

coffee table, Sam leaned over and kissed me. Breaking the touch, he placed his hands on my shoulders and smiled. It was small and tremulous. "Then, Al, and only then, we'll go back to New Mexico."

Sam never told me what he'd done that day in London, where he'd been, what he'd seen. Other than the fact that we had to get him new glasses, I never heard a word from him about what he'd been through. Maybe for the last time in a long time he had control over whether or not he wanted to run and run he did.

Paul:

He was looking out the window as I entered the room, that wistful look in his eyes. "Good morning," I said brightly. "I take it you want up?"

"Where is Al?"

"I think he's showering," I said quickly, knowing full well he was somewhere in this huge house plenty upset and holding it in as best he could. "Let's get you out of this bed."

It took some maneuvering to get him from bed to chair but I managed easily. Sam

still had some of his strength and he did his best to help me. Once he was comfortable, or as comfy as one can get in a wheelchair wider restraint, I pushed him to the kitchen and prepared his breakfast as Alhad told me to.

"Al came in earlier," Sam said as Icooked his cereal. "Kissed me good morning.

That doesn't bother you, does it, Paul?''

"No." I stirred the oatmeal and sighed. "Of course not. It's nice to see two people who really care and aren't yelling at each other all the time."

"Oh we care all right." He smiled tightly. I could see the frustration in his expression. Anger, too. "Sometimes I wonder if he's tired of me."

"Trust me I think that Al is really crazy about you or he wouldn't have kissed you awake." I spooned the cereal in a blue bowl and sat down to feed it to Sam. "Do you like sugar? Al didn't tell me."

"Nothing," he replied. "Just plain. I'm not supposed to have refined sugar. It's in the guidelines. I think Al posted them on the fridge for the nurse. I don't care much for the nurse."

"I doubt there will be much of a need for her anymore," I said, feeding him the food after it cooled some. "I'll be helping Al out a lot if he'll allow it." Sam's eyes smiled at that. "It's the best way for me to get to know my father, right?"

"Right."

Sam didn't care for being fed but I doubted anyone would really. A grown man being spooned cereal and pretty much not allowed to eat anything with taste or substance. I hated doing it myself, and hated seeing the compliance in his eyes as he ate it.

"He doesn't complain much, do ya, Sam?" Al wandered in, dressed in black slacks and a black t-shirt. Sam's eyes lit up like lightning when he took in the sight. It wasn't bad. For a guy the Admiral's age he looked damned good. "You behaving for Paul?"

"Yes. Did he tell you about last night?"

"Most of it, the important parts. Do you mind, Paul?"

Ihanded Al the bowl and left the two of them alone. The best thing I could do was clean up Sam's sheets and maybe do some laundry. It was the least I could do.

Al:

I hated feeding Sam like a baby. He was so much more of that. "Remember Italy, Sam? The tripe?"

His eyes drew together, a stubborn line. He hated using the voice transceiver around me because he thought it didn't translate what he felt. Tight-lipped, Sam took the tiny gadget off his shirt and handed it to me.

"Don't wanna use it today?" He shook his head. "Still hungry?" Making a face, he told me no with his eyes.

"T...tastes... b. ."

"Good boy. Voice sorta workin', eh?"

"Yeah." His voice was a whisper and not half of what it used to be. I didn't mind.

"E...eggs and b...b. .bacon." ·.

''No way. Not on your list."

"W...what d...d...does it m...m...matter?"

Those words put ice around my heart . I set the bowl aside and held him against my chest, hugging him tight. "Yes, you idiot. It does matter. I'd never make it without you."

"A...Al. Oh, Al." He was so warm and good to hold . I felt the fear, too. "Easy does it. You wanna go for a ride or...?"

"I n...need t...t...to chec..check m...my...Zi...Ziggy."

"Sam you can't..."

"N...Now."

Stubbom "Okay, I'll stick you in front of Ziggy and get Paul to type for you. He told me, okay?"

"O...Okay."

I settled in front of Ziggy, got Paul away from the laundry and a hundred sundry things he had planned to 'help' with and set him in front of the keyboard to help Sam out. I insisted that it was the most important thing he could possibly do.

Laundry wasn't one of my favorite things to do but a necessary evil. It also kept

me from worrying about Sam, or thinking about the future.

Sam:

Paul was very patient with me and Ziggy . Thank God he didn't mind taking dictation, although I thought it was pretty demeaning for a person as smart and decent as he was. I was proud that he was my son and glad that he'd had such good parents bringing him up. I would'nt have done half as good a job. A father? I doubt I'd have made a good one.

When the pain became too much and I needed time to rest, Paul helped me into bed and closed the blinds against the beautiful sunlight. I hated that. Told him so as best I could that I'd rather be laying by the pool, watching him and Al swim or just spend time - together. It was long past the time I needed to be in bed all the time. It was depriving me of time I could be with Al.

To prove his worth, Paul hoisted me back into the wheelchair, made sure I was

perfectly comfortable on a chaise and swam while I watched . Odd that Al wasn't around. It bothered me a little. Where was Al?

I saw him in a window, upstairs watching me. My guardian angel. Oh god, I missed him. I gave him a look that translated as "I need you, I love you" and he was down in a shot.

My voice just didn't work and I really hated that transceiver. I really hoped that

Paul could 'read' me as well as Al could. Just a look could pass between the two of us and we'd know what the other was thinking. Sitting by me on the chaise, he stroked my head, told me I was beautiful and we both watched Paul swim.

I knew I was going to die. It was only a matter of time. I'd known since that day in December, in London. I'd been so happy that morning, waking, making love to Al, falling asleep and knowing he was getting my favorite breakfast from the shop down the street. Oh Boy! The call had been made to the project by chance...I'd just wanted to talk to Doc or someone about the last tests I'd sent. I didn't expect to hear a death sentence.

"I've loved you forever," I said, holding his hand. His face and eyes were lit by the

firelight. He was incredible to look at, no matter his age. I knew he'd always be my

gorgeous man. "I'm getting sicker, Al. It's not fair for me to give you this, expect you to

stick with me through this thing ..."

"That's silliness," Al snapped. "Dammit, Sam. What the hell is in your head? I'd love you if you grew a second head, or...or just plain said you hated me. What the fuck are you thinking, kid?"

Sighing, I took out the small case and opened it. "I bought you this in Zurich. I want you forever, Al. I can' t ask that of you...forever...but if you'll take this you're not obligated to..."

Before I could say another word he wrapped me in his arms and rocked me against him. It was like being held by my mother, my father. My lover. Oh God, I loved him.

He eased the case from my hand as he held me, rocked me so gently. "Let's take a look at this," he said, keeping one arm firmly around me as he opened the case.

It was a good ring. With the firelight and the Christmas Tree sparkling it was wonderful, almost magical. He turned it carefully and then handed it to me. "Put it on," he whispered. "Don't let me forget this, Sam. I will never take it off."

"It'll hamper you with the ladies," I warned. "They'll think you're married."

"I am married, my love," he said, and kissed me gently. "I want to be owned by

you, Sammy. Your arms around me forever and to look in those eyes every single night of my life. Those fucking sexy bedroom eyes, Baby. Put that thing an and make me yours, darlin'."

I slid it over his fmger carefully. I'd gotten the size by borrowing his Navy ring once and checking it quickly with a piece of paper. The ring fit perfectly, as if it were made for his finger. Sighing, I held him close and felt the tears start in my eyes. I hurt but the pain in my heart was gone. I had this wonderful moment to heal it.

Returning to New Mexico was okay. Playtime was over for us, at least for a while and I had to give myself over to Doc and the lab boys so they could fuss and fume and get every precious drop of blood from my body.

At least we had our beautiful house. Al called it our honeymoon and it was just that. His resignation had been filed with the Navy long before our trip to Europe so he didn't care who saw us kiss, or hug or hold. I got a lot of loving after treatment every day. It got me through the blood tests, the MRI's that Doc insisted on once a week.

After about six months I was sick of being sick and knew it was just the beginning. Late one night I woke and almost fell out of bed.

We'd gotten to the point where I had trouble making love. I was too tired after a long day of medical tests and working on the 'cure' to have sex or do more than give Al a good kiss, a soak in our hot tub and bed. Al didn't seem to mind , although I knew he did. I hated it. There was nothing more I wanted to do than make love to him every moment of the day and night.

I woke that night with that constant ache - gone. Just gone. I sat up, pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming and then cried out for Al. I knew he was up, probably working on the computer. When I was home, he was home but I knew he was having trouble sleeping and didn't want to wake me by getting in bed after I'd gone to sleep. I hurt so much some nights that even having his warm body next to mine was incredibly painful.

He came running, practically skidding into the room. "Oh Christ, Sam!" he yelled

and then stopped stock still. "What the hell?"

"I don't feel the pain," I said, smiling and holding my arms out for him. "Maybe it's the pills that Doc has been making me take, or the vitamins or the exercises that Tom

insists on. Al...it's gone!"

He grabbed me, held me and clung like a second skin. "Tell me I'm not

dreaming," I said. "Please Al."

"Lover, you're not dreamin!" His smile was something I'd missed,. Lately it'd been

lacking. "If you don't hurt ..."

"I'm cured. " I said the words and tried real hard to believe them, although Doc

had warmed that I might have a remission. Al didn't know that-didn't need to know that!

The techs and chemists and Doc were baflled. Remission they called it, but only when Al wasn't around. He had a serious case of denial and I knew that all the talk from Doc and me would do no good. He'd still deny I was terminal. For a bit I knew I could deny it, too. I didn't hurt, I could walk-hell, even my eyesight had improved .

I let them do their tests and for a while I played a dream I'd had that I was healthy

again, strong. I could work out, swim, play with Al...make love. Oh God, that was so good, completing that act and being with him wholly at night. In our bed, making love. God.

Both Al and I didn't want to miss a moment of this gift we'd been given. Doc kept the lab at work in case it recurred (and I hoped it didn't) and we went to Hawaii. Kate's

house, a rented beach place for ourselves so we could have some privacy. It wasn't far from Kate's and Jim's and even Tom came out with his wife for an extended visit.

My brother and I played like kids. It was such a gift having him alive. I'd never told him and Al had agreed that since I had memory of both time lines that there was no need to upset him and probably have an argument we didn't need. Tom and I could have fun on the beach while the 'old fogies' as Al and Kate called themselves stayed up at the house and fixed meals. Or talked. Al and Kate could talk for simply hours.

Tom and I-we dreamed. Tom had .this dream that he'd have a great gym someday, a place for people to get healthy to learn about their bodies. For now he had the farm.. There was little acreage left but it was enough for him and his wife, Karen, to enjoy and live the good life on his pension. SEALS made good money and it was enough that he and Karen could put some aside for their son, the gym and work the farm at the same time.

We sat on the sand for hours, watching my nieces and nephew making sand castles and talking over their dreams. I loved every second of it. I was alive again-and it didn't hurt. ·

Tom's son, Jason and I had a very special relationship. He reminded me of Dad, his wisdom beyond his eight years, his sandy brown hair and greenish eyes that were a carbon copy of mine. Although I couldn't play favorites it was hard with Jason. We snuck off a few times to go surfing. The boy was as athletic as his father. We were the best of pals and I didn't want to miss a moment of his life from here on out.

"He's a wonder," I said, leaning back on the sand. Tom just grinned. His only boy was the apple of his eye. "Brilliant, Tom. A really good kid. There isn't a lot of them around anymore."

"Jason is a special gift. Karen and I shouldn't have had him but we did. He's always been the love of your life, Sam. Since the very day he was born."

"I delivered him."

"That might be why the two of you have that special bond. The other kids tease him but they know, Sam. And they don't mind if you do a little more with Jase. It just 'is' to coin a phrase that Kate's oldest uses."

"Sindy is Kate all over," I said. Looking back I saw my Al watching me from the deck of Kate's house holding a coffee cup. That special protective look was in his eyes, something that never failed to tum me on. This just wasn't the time.

"How long do you plan on staying?" Tom asked, squinting at me in the brilliant sunlight .It practically bathed the beach with gold.

"I'd like to stay forever," I commented. "We've been here two weeks and Al says we can stay as long as I want. I could really get used to this lifestyle."

"You'd get bored, little brother," Tom said wisely. "Big time. Your mind is too quick to be sunning itself all the time in Paradise."

Jason picked that moment to dump a bucket of water over his Dad's head. Between Tom and I we tackled the boy to the ground and tickled him mercilessly until he 'gave'. Tom went up to the house and I could spend the rest of the afternoon with my nephew.

"You're something else, Uncle Sam," the boy said, running ahead of me on the beach. He stopped and ran back to me, grinning like Tom when I wrapped him in my arms. "Are you going to have any children someday?"

"Me?" I just hugged him harder. "Would you really want to have your spotlight snatched by a little baby?"

"I don't think that you and Uncle Al could have babies," he teased. My relationship was blessed by my family. I was very lucky that way. Tom taught his son tolerance and love. It was really a relief to be able to talk to my family about the man I loved and shared my life with.

"We could adopt but I don't think that Al or I really want kids. We'll have you

down to New Mexico for a vacation. That'll be enough of a kid fix for both of us. It'll last months."

I ruffled his longish hair and looked out over the ocean. It was so beautiful here, so peaceful. I realized why Kate had lived here for so long, why Jim insisted on being stationed here and nowhere else. It was some life.

"I like Uncle Al," Jason said quietly, pulling me down to sit by him on the sand. "I love you both a lot. He's teaching me to tie knots and Navy stuff. I want to join the Navy like Dad did and be a SEAL. Would you mind if I did that?"

"Jason, you can be whatever you want and your family will be so proud." I held him close against me, his warm little body hugging back tight. "Anything. You have your whole life ahead of you."

"Dad said you were sick." He looked up at me with trusting eyes. I didn't know what to say. "You don't look sick Uncle Sam. You're really healthy."

"I'm fme, for now," I said honestly . For the first time I was honest with myself I couldn't lie to the child. "I might get sick again, like I was before, but we hope that won't happen."

"I'll pray real hard," Jason whispered. "I love you, Uncle Sam."

Love from a child was a precious gift for me. I almost teared up at my nephew's words. I hoped I could stay this way, healthy and happy, if just for him. And Al.

The boy was sweet, sensitive. He had a lot of kindness in his heart. I didn't want to betray that love by getting sick again.

After two months of total health I was beginning to believe that I was going to be this way forever. No more sickness, or pain. Every morning I woke to sunlight, perfect eyesight, and no pain Al was so full of joy. I think that my illness had aged him and my remission had made him a boy again. After Tom and Karen had left they allowed Jason to spend the remainder of his summer vacation with Kate which meant that Al and I could spoil the boy rotten.

Al took us sailing. He knew the ocean so well, every wave. I sometimes forgot he'd been a sailor. Jason hung onto every word that Al said, every single thing he was

taught. Jason's mind was pliant and excited about learning anything. He reminded me so

much of myself that I couldn't fathom.

I took dozens of photos, even took up the hobby seriously. Some of my shots of

Jason and Al on the boat were incredible. Kate's kids, Jane,and Sindy, were so crazy about Al they followed him like puppies which led to some very amusing shots.

The funny thing was that I didn't care about the Project anymore. I'd been so close

to really losing everything that having life handed back to me was an opportunity for me to do things with my family that I'd always longed to. Getting to know the girls, Jason, Kate. Jim. It was wonderful. Al and I decided we'd go back to New Mexico when Jason's vacation was up-and we'd drop him off at home on our way.

I couldn't get enough of the warm water. Swimming was health to me. Incredible.

Tom made a brief trip to Kate's on his way to the Orient to do some custom training job for a wealthy Japanese b11sine.ssman and was spending the long, lazy afternoon with me and his son. Al was fooling around with Kate and we decided to take a swim. The three of us stripped·down to our trunks-that I always wore-and dived into the ocean.

It was ·one of those days that seemed to go on forever. I swore I'd never forget it.

''Catch me if you can, Beckett." Yelling out his words, Tom tore off through the surf to he sea.

No way could I let my older brother one up me. Jason not far behind, I swam after my brother and, suddenlyl felt my world ·fall out from under me.

My body became a weight instead of an arrow. Sinking in the water, I found I was powerless to do anything but let the water go over my head as I let out one cry. The sea was suddenly all around me, and I couldn't move. The pain was fresh, new and I was breathing water. Choking.

God, Al. Jason...Tom...

Something hit my head and then I felt my arm gripped in iron. Jerking my head above the water, I saw my brother's terrified face not more than an inch from my eyes. "Sam, can you hear me?"

Jason was bobbing not far away from me, looking scared out of his young mind. I

wanted to reach out for my boy, to tell him I'd be fme...but I couldn't. My body was dead

but I could see all this water around me and feel the strong touch of my brother as he drew me towards the shore.

Yelling for Jason to get Al, Tom got me on the beach and got most of the ocean

from my lungs. I could barely cough. The paralysis seemed to affect my motor functions but not my breathing, thank God. I heard running steps through the sand and then a soft touch on my face. Al's face was blurry above mine but he was there, looking afraid.

"Al..." I could manage his name, crying when he took my hand, kissed me.

"Call an ambulance," Tom said, looking over at Kate. She took off to find the cellular and I closed my eyes.

"Sam. Are you with us, little brother? What's wrong with him, Admiral?"

"Just a little setback," Al admonished, as if Tom was the cause of it. My brother's face reddened but he didn't lash back. Al bit his lip and kissed me lightly. "Sorry, Tom," he said. "I'm worried, y'know. What happened?"

"Jason saved his life. Sam just sank like a stone."

It was then I saw my nephew at his father's shoulder. With all the strength I had left in me I reached for the boy and smiled when he hugged me, laying his small body over mine. It hurt, but Jason needed comforting more than I did. My gaze locked withAl's. I saw nothing but calm peace there, a confident smile.

"You'll be fme, Sam,' he said, taking my hand. "You'll be just fme."

Paul:

Sam was in some kind of mood. I wasn't quite used to everything yet. If I had my way and I wasn't needed so badly I would've gone for a long walk and maybe tried to focus all of this. God knew it was a helluva revelation! I mean, my father, Dr. Sam Beckett. Dr. Paul Sanderson, PhD...and my father was this incredible inventor, physicist and all around good guy. It really was overwhelming to think about.

So, at first, I didn't. Just sat at pool side and tried to slather on as much SPF as I could on myself and do some laps. It was up to Al to take care of Sam and he was doing as

good a job as I had been. Sam was in a terribly introspective mood, not that I blamed him. Last night had probably been as grueling for him as it had for me. Hardly ate much of anything, stubbornly refused his lunch but drank probably a gallon of iced tea.

In the afternoon we stayed out of the pool area. It was just too hot. Instead we

tried to clean house and I tried to be helpful. Padding around the house, I went into the cool study, set the computer up and went to fetch my father.

Peering around the comer of the living room I was in for quite a sight. Dozing on the couch, Sam was quite asleep. Right next to him, one hand holding Sam's, was Al, head back and snoring in the vacated wheelchair. It was photographable but I doubted that either would be too thrilled if I snapped a shot.

Instead, I took their lead and crashed in the guest room. It was cool and ·quiet, a good time for a siesta. Considering I'd gotten hardly any sleep the night before a nap seemed very much in order. Problem was I couldn't close my eyes without thinking about the revelation-and another thing, too. How carefully that information about the Leap into my father had been out of the records I'd read initially.

Shit, Sanderson, get your chin off the floor! Maybe you missed it-there was a lot of info there. Anyways, that stuff was long gone, tossed when my quarters at PQL were cleaned out and my stuff sent here. It was in cases and boxes around the guest room. I really didn't have it in me to unpack. Just so tired.

I tried to think of what Mother would have thought if she knew that she'd gotten pregnant by an ex-student. Holy Cats, she was so frigging cautious around the kids she taught, practically acted like their mother for Pete's sake, that I knew she'd probably be horrified. Or at the very least, shocked out of her mind.

And Father. Oh man. I didn't want to think too much on those lines. He really loved me, loved Mother. He always said I was the best part of both of them. I still felt that.

Then, I could look in Sam Beckett's eyes and see this wonder and light shining out that was a mirror of my own. Intrinsically I wanted to be like him; his goodness, his self worth-I wanted that for myself. I guess I really wanted the best of both worlds.

By and by I floated down to a place where I could curl up and sleep. It was deep

and dark and so nice that when I did wake up I had a blanket over me that I didn't remember putting there and the Admiral sitting at the foot of my bed chewing on the end of an unlit cigar.

"You slept a while," he said. "Good. Looks like you needed it, kid."

"I did." The clock by the bed read four p.m. "Sam?"

"Sleeping in his room after I conned him into eatin' a bowl of ice cream. Put it away, asked for his exercises and then crashed right out." A soft grin touched his face. "Before I took him in his room he wanted to come in here and look at you. Insisted on covering you up. He did that, used his hands. It was hard but he did it."

Something soft and really nice warmed me at that. "Like my father used to," I replied. "When I'd had a really hard day in school he'd tuck me in like I was a kid."

"How do you feel about all this?"

"It's all very interesting," I said, quoting Arte Johnson from Laugh-In. "You tell me what you'd think if someone came right out and told you he was your father and he'd knocked Mom up when he was leaping in Time."

"I'd be pissed as hell at him."

"I'm not." Al's eyebrows went up slightly at that revelation. "I think he's a wonderful person, Al. It'll be an honor once I can figure out how to call him Dad comfortably. That'll take a while."

"I bet," Al replied. "He always was good with kids."

"I'm not exactly a child," I grinned. "But if I can make him happy, I'll do what I

can for him."

"Just bein' here," Al said. He plucked the cigar from his mouth and dumped the wet thing in a small metal garbage can. "It means a whole lot that you're willin' to give up your life, this time, to help him out til he gets better."

Denial. Or was it? I watched the man carefully as he got up and went to the

closet to peer into it. It was matter-of-fact, like he really believed there would be some miracle cure for what ailed his lover. Like it was the measles or something.

"You gonna hang your stuff up? I'll toss a load in the washer if you need..."

"Naw." Pulling the light blanket from my legs, I swung off the bed and stretched.

It felt good. The bed was plenty comfortable but a little on the firm side. I'd get used to it. "Stuff is clean. I'm not as picky about what I wear as most people are. Shorts, jeans, a shirt. Mostly my t-shirts." Grimacing, Al closed the doors of the huge walk-in closet.

"Are those your suits?"

"I used to wear 'em a lot," he said. "Expensive hobby, collectin' 'em." His eyes

were dark, like he'd been thinking. "Sam's really in a mood today," he finally said. "A bad one."

"I noticed. Maybe he's getting used to being a father. How old is he?"

"Sam? Fifty-two. Not that he really looked it before all this stuff happened. We usta wonder ifthat Accelerator was some sort of Fountain of Youth or something."

"Has anyone looked into that?" I slipped on my loafers and met the man's eyes. They were full of a dozen emotions, none that I could fathom. "Maybe there's something to all that radiation the thing put out. Does Sam have the schematics around?" ·

"You're kiddin'."

"I'm not." Sighing, I ran my hands through my medium length hair and met his expression with as stubborn a one as I could manage. It made him smile so I felt I'd completed part of my daily mission. "Let me take a look, Al. If just to see the possibilities."

"You wouldn't be interested in just seein' a for real time machine, would ya?" Al

teased.

"Are you kidding? Every inventor has a time machine on his 'to do' list. It's just

less of a priority on mine than it was on...Dad's."

A soft smile answered my words. "You know he loves it when you call him that. Like earlier when you tried to coax him to eat something light. Sam doesn't light up like that unless he's happy 'bout something."

"Then I'll do my best to call him that. It's within reason and, yes, he is old enough

to be my father. It might raise some eyebrows around·..."

"Give the friends we have some credit," Al said lightly, sitting down next to me. "They're a pretty loyal bunch. Most of 'em will fmd this out and not care. You're a good kid; proved as much at the Project when you allowed everyone in on that filter system."

"They all helped."

"It's that Beckett givin' nature. Good, honest. Some would have taken their invention and found a way to make some dough outta it. You didn't. Thought of the things it could do for people instead of what it could do for you."

"All right, already," I muttered. "Are things here...under control right now?"

"Sure are." Al sighed. "I was thinking ofturning on some soft music, making me a nice, tall glass of iced tea and sitting in the office with a good book."

"Then I can take a long walk." Getting up I grabbed a baseball cap that stuck out of one of the boxes that had been brought from my rooms. "I'll be back in less than an hour and maybe I'll join you with that book-Al."

I was almost out of the house when a soft hand grabbed my shoulder and handed me a bottle of sunscreen. Al's face was simply concern, waiting while I applied it and sticking it on a shelf by the door when I was done.

"Take care in that heat," he said gruffly, heading for the office. "It's damned treacherous this time'a day."

No shit. At probably a hundred and ten in the shade I didn't go far. Walked about a half mile up the private road to a small, deserted gas station. Sat in the shade of said gas station for about fifteen minutes, taking in the ambiance. The place hadn't been open for about sixty years, the pumps vintage forties with ESSO printed on them for good measure. All told, that and the ancient Coke cooler that had long given up it's last Mae West bottle, the place itself made me feel like I'd gone back in time.

I wondered if Sam had sat here, thought over the philosophy of time travel. If I closed my eyes and opened my heart I could hear the ping of a bell as a car pulled in, the quiet sound of voices talking about the heat as the midday sun beat on the awning that was half broken over my head.

As I ambled back to the house I was passed by a Jeep Wagoner. Just barely I noted the driver was my erstwhile trainer, Tom. There seemed to be another person in the front but I couldn't make him out. My walking turned to a slow run asIfollowed them to the house.

"You're running?" Tom was getting out of the truck as I made the last few feet to

the porch. Bending over, I gripped my thighs and breathed real hard through my nose. "Holy Christ, Sanderson! You'll have heat prostration at the very least." Putting a hand on my shoulder, he rubbed it gently. "Nice and slow. Jase-get Paul a glass of cold water."

"Jase?" At Tom's side was a boy, not more than about twelve years old. The boy's shocked expression (I was getting used to that-damned face o' mine anyway!) faded as he politely took my hand. "Paul Sanderson,"

"Jason Beckett," he replied carefully, as if getting used to the idea. "You look just

like Sam."

"Beckett?"

"Me." Tom had this look on his face like the cat that had ate the canary. "How y'doing, nephew?"

"Your Sam's brother, Tom?" I gulped out the words and saw the same eyes grinning at me, those damnable Beckett expressive orbs that followed me everywhere.

"You knew..."

"Sam told me just after you were hired. Like he needed to." Peering upward,

Tom grimaced briefly. "Let's get out of this sun and get something cold to drink."

The house was quiet. Al was asleep in the den, when I checked, his headphones on and snoring loudly. Sam was doing the same, soft snores instead of a sound like a B-52 landing. I stripped off my shirt and put on a fresh one before I joined the other awake members of this odd family in the kitchen.

The boy was sitting on a stool, watching every move I made as I poured myself a glass of ice cold water. Tea I didn't want. I matched him look for look.

"I never saw Sam when he was younger," the boy said softly. "Excuse me for staring."

"S'okay, kid." Tom dragged a suitcase from foyer to living room while we talked.

Then another. "You moving in for a while?"

"I hope so, if Uncle Al and Sam don't mind. You don't mind, do you?" Sighing, he rubbed his long fingers against the dewy glass. "Dad told me that you really are living here and if you don't like kids..."

"I like kids fme," I replied softly. This boy was different than most twelve year

olds I'd met. Quiet, soft spoken and polite to a fault. "You ever cut loose, kid?"

"My name is Jason or Jase, please. And I try to cut loose once in a while." Small shoulders went up and down. "Mostly I like to read and play ball with my team. We made it to State last year."

"Baseball? Basketball?" I leaned over the counter. Common ground with this boy would be a good thing. "I like sports. Had season box tix with my father when I was a kid. Yankees."

"I know about Sam and traveling in time. You mean your father, not him, right?" Yep. He's a great guy, Jase."

"Uncle Sam is terrific," he said quietly, with a touch of reverence. "Him and Uncle Al are as close to me as my own folks. Even though Mom and Dad are separated now, Mom let me leave home schooling so I could be with them. Dad said Uncle Sam needed me bad. That he wasn't feelin' happy anymore. We can't let him give up, Paul."

"You know, you're smarter than most kids your age," I said. I took his hand gently and squeezed it. He grinned small in response. "Most kids don't think that much of their family, Jason."

"Jason is the greatest kid in the world," Tom said, sliding in next to his son, wrapping one arm over the boy's shoulders. "We really made out when we had him."

"The last I read you still lived on a farm in Elk Ridge, Indiana," I said, half teasing. "You really fooled me. I never guessed you were Tom Beckett."

"You read old news. I should have said but thought it would keep questions down if I just said I was Tom and leave it at that. At first Sam and Al wanted to test the waters with you, just in case you weren't open to this...reunion."

"It's not a reunion," I said dryly, setting my glass in the sink. "More like a birth, I

guess."

We talked over odds and ends, mostly things that Al and I had talked about.

Before too long, Al himself sauntered out and took the kid in his arms almost immediately. Eyes closed, he hugged the boy close, not a word spoken between them.

"Sam needs me a lot," Jason breathed, backing away from Al. He took the older

man's hands and held them tight. "Dad told me he wasn't happy."

"Today he's downright tired, Jase." The look that Al gave Tom was grateful. "Thanks, pal. Can we borrow a cup of your kid for a month or so?"

"If you'll allow Paul and that monster computer of my brother's to continue the boy's education, sure!" Tom grinned. "I have a training program to run in Japan. Think the four of you can get along without me?"

Arms still around Jason, Al gave Tom a smile that was wider than I'd seen on his

face in eons. Well, since I'd met him anyway. "I think," he said. "You up to playin' teacher, Paul?''

"I'm not very good at that," I said, feeling just a touch uneasy at the prospect.

"Tried it once..."

"Jase is as easy as any student you'll ever teach," Al said. "Trust me on that and

I'm sure that Sam will put his two cents in when he wakes up." Beaming at the kid, Al ruffled his hair. "You're the best medicine Sam'll take today, Jase."

Tom and Al went out to talk together by the pool and I was left alone with my cous...with the boy. "You want something to drink?"

"I'll get it," he said, going to the fridge. "You want a soda?"

"Sure. You're about twelve, right?"

"Right." Sitting across from me, the kid grinned as he handed me a can of Diet Pepsi (I was still getting used to that) and popped the top on his own. "You really look like Uncle Sam."

"It happens," I said, sipping at my pop. "Like you. You look like a photo of me when I was twelve."

"Oh man. That's what Sam says." Wiping some of the condensation from the can

on his forehead; the kid sighed. "Everyone tells me that. I can bet you get sick of it, too." Our conversation stopped as Al wheeled Sam outside. Man, he did look tired- both Al and Sam. When Sam saw Jason his face lit as if from within. I backed off as the boy ran for the man in the wheelchair. This was their time.

Then...the funniest thing happened. Not funny, ha-ha, but, you know, strange. I felt this ungodly tug at my heart and then a rending, screaming blue light that literally tore me from the ground and flung me ihto orbit. The next thing I really knew was darkness, a soft cushioned black that kept me from thinking or dreaming. What the hell was happening to me?

: ·'

Sam/Leaper:

The sun was bright as I leaped into wherever I was going next. For the last few leaps I had no Observer. Since that strange bar and that even odder bartender I'd been leaping on my own, alone and unhappy. I missed Al; it was like a tearing at my heart. You never know loneliness until you've been that way for several years. No family, no friends, just the people I could fling my arms around on the Leaps. Those warm embraces never lasted long and were over the moment God, Time or Space decided it was.

Once I focused I realized it was very warm where I was, the sun sparkling on a beautiful pool. It took a minute for my eyes to focus and when I did, I nearly fell backwards onto the chaise my 'host' had been positioned to seat himself or herself in.

Al was standing next to a man in a wheelchair. I couldn't see the man-his back was to me, a small boy hugging him carefully. The child's face was buried on the man's shoulder, his voice too quiet for me to make out words. But Al...My God. I ahnost launched from the chair when I realized that maybe it wasn't a good idea.

I didn't know where I was and I had been leaping as myself-no protection of the aura as it had been on the other leaps.

Myself? Al would know me, then.

"Paul?'' Turning towards me, those brown eyes, wise eyes, glittered with tears. Al was crying, or on the verge. It didn't look like I'd leaped into a happy time. "Can you get Sam a drink, please?"

Sam? Paul? "Sure," I said carefully . "Water?"

"Fine. Thanks, kiddo."

I went around so I could see the man in the chair. I really didn't need to verify

who it was. Whatever had happened to me was terrible. My limbs were like sticks, my face wan and not responsive. Just the eyes. I was holding the boy with one arm, the other settled awkwardly on my lap.

Christ, I almost backed right into the pool. Instead, I went inside that pretty house and, after fumbling around some, found the kitchen. There was nice cold water in the fridge. I hoped that was what Al wanted for...Sam. I had to think of myself in the third person.

The date .on the calendar was a long time from when I'd started leaping. I

remembered that much. Was this what Ihad to look forward to? Living as a cripple? Oh God. Clutching the edge of the sink, I stared at the scene framed by the kitchen window and turned my face from it abruptly.

"He's looking bad," a voice said behind me. A warm hand touched my arm,

making me look up.

The glass fell to the floor, shattering in a million prices. "Tom?"

Sighing, Tom touched my arm again and then went for the broom. "Thought we - went through this before?" he said, grinning as he swept up the glass. "Grab a towel, will ya?"

My brother. Inearly cut myself on the glass, but managed to keep my shaking

hands from his eyes. He was alive. Great. Now what the hell was happening? I had to think.

"Good grief, Paul." Tom picked the last shards up in the dustpan and dumped them in the garbage can. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah. Al said he wanted me to get some water for Sam..."

"I can do it. You look kind of..I dunno." Tom poured water and gave me a

thorough look. "Whipped? Maybe the sun from that walk you took. I'll take this out and

you should sit and drink one of your own, pal."

I did drink some water and tried not to look out the window. Couldn't resist a peek. The boy was sitting next to Sam, holding his hand and talking a mile a minute. Al

was holding the water and glancing towards the house with a concerned look on his face as Tom spoke to him. Oh boy...I bet he was worried about Paul.

Paul. Paul who? There was a very small mirror on the fridge, one of those

magnets that had a little girl with her arms spread and a big grin with the words "I love you this much!" printed beneath a photo of two little ladies. They were dressed up in adult evening gowns and big hats, bad makeup. Grinning.

The mirror image was me. Okay, it was a younger me, no crow's feet, no lines.

Even the silver streak in my hair was missing. With a bump of realization I knew I looked

r

enough like myself to be my son. Maybe I was.

"Paul? You okay, kid?" Al's arm came around and over my shoulders. "You

look like a ghost. Maybe you should get a little lay down time." "Uh, I'm fme," I managed . "Just...the sun. That's it."

"You don't sound too sure." Al sat down and I joined him at the table."Drink that water and talk to me. Is it Sam?"

"No...I mean, yes, and no. It is the sun, Al." I sipped the water and tried to focus.

Al looked older, terribly tired and sad. "Look, refresh my memory. You told me about

this...illness..."

"That Sam got it after the leaps," Al replied . "He's having a really bad day today.

God." Rubbing the lines on his forehead, he leaned over the table and abruptly buried his

face in his hands. "Y'know he was doin' so good for so long I thought we'd have a damned chance. I'll never get that now-not unless he gets better."

"He will get better, right?"

Al didn't say a word. Just got up and gave me a tight grin. The only darkness and sorrow was in his eyes.. Like Sam, I thought. "Get a nap, Paul. It's going to be rough tonight ifhe's like this today."

Okay, a nap. It might give me a chance to figure out this house, this place and what had happened to myself I went towards the back of the house, passing a room full of ticking clocks. I liked that a lot...and the computer. Before I could think a second, I went to it and searched my mind for the details on how to bring up Ziggy. Strangely enough, I remembered most of the codes and had little trouble finally conversing with her.

She seemed happy that "Dad" had leaped in but was confused as to how I'd done it without this particular leap being recorded in her data banks. It was hard to explain as I - really didn't know how I did it alone, but I managed. I did it all silently. It wouldn't do for Al to come in here and listen to me talk to Ziggy. I needed information about Paul Sanderson and...about what had happened to Sam.

And I got it, both barrels.

When I shut her down, I needed to go to the room, any room and lay down. I

figured the one with the hospital bed was Sam's and mine...was down the hall. I fell on that good bed, tossed one arm over my eyes and tried to make sense of all of this.

Sam was dying. There was no hope and no cure. The physicians Sam had seen thought it was a nervous system disruption caused by the accelerator d continuous use thereof It was like MS and not. Al was in serious denial. Yes, I'd peeked at Beeks' record s. If she found out-well, I didn't care.

Paul Sanderson...was my boy. My son. I had a son. The youngster outside, according to the data I'd glanced at, that included Gifs, was Jason Beckett , my nephew. I had leaped into my own son to do what? Find a cure? Become a mental case? God.

Paul:

Limbo . That's what I called it. It wasn't unpleasant, just...dead boring, okay? Shit, Toledo, Ohio on a Saturday night was positively exciting, John Denver, compared to this. It was like a dream-one minute I'm getting ready to sit down by the pool in New Mexico and the next...I'm in bum fuck Egypt.

Some old guy is dozing in the chair next to me. It's one of those ninety degree days when it's so hot the flies can't even buzz. They drone, and fly like they're a Mac truck with wings. The old man is sputtering and grunting like a pig in heat. It's mid afternoon and it's hot and where the hell am I anyway?

Maybe I've passed out from the heat? That could be it. It's awfully...sensual...for a dream. The humidity was like a warm sponge wrapped around me. The smell was heat and honey. And beer, of all things.

"Okay," I said quietly. "Where the hell am I?"

The old man stirred and stopped snoring. One eye slowly opened and he grinned. Nice teeth for an old guy. "Why doncha go in the bar, boy? Get a drink, talk to Al. You look a little... confused."

"Confused?" I got up and did just what he told me to do. Turned out we were sitting on the porch of said bar. "I'll tell you confused," I said, walking into the humid darkness. "Confused is this mass delusion I seem to be having. Confused is being zapped from reality to a dream and wanting to go home!"

"Have a drink," the bartender said. He was round and smiling, looking sort of like a friendly uncle. Not bad. I slid down on a stool and took the beer without drinking it. "You look a little ca-ca, friend."

"Where am I?" I asked.

"Cokesburg, Pennsylvania, where else?" He fmished wiping the glass he was holding and set it neatly on a shelf. "You look familiar. Let me think a moment."

"I look a lot like my father. Sam Beckett?" The beer wasn't half bad and nice and cold. "You know him?"

"We've...met ." His smile was warm in that chubby face.

Glancing around I realized that either I'd hipped back in time or this was the best and most

realistic retro bar I'd ever been in. "How did I get here? This looks like the 70's disco thing but..."

"Disco thing? Just the lights. The clientele likes 'em."

"Your name is Al?"

"Yep."

"Seems to me I know an Al," I said. "He likes disco. At least, I've looked at his

CD collection and..."

"CD?" The bartender snorted. "You must be from Philadelphia."

"No, I'm from upper New York state." Sighing, I set the beer aside. "I really don't drink What year is this?"

"1980, February thereof" Al grimaced, stretching briefly. "Damned back. Keeps going out."

"February, 1980." My breath caught in my throat. "You know it's hotter'n blazes out there."

He didn't reply, just gave me that ...odd look. Okay.

"Look, Al." I smoothed my hand around the condensation on the bar . "Is this a

dream? I know I got a little too much sun, but..."

His eyes narrowed as he leaned across the bar. "Has your dad ever told you about

this bar?"

"No." I closed my eyes, counted ten and tried to think sanely. "My...father...is

very sick. He can barely talk and hasn't said much about the places he's been. What is this place?''

"Let's call it a waiting room?"

"That's what they called the place on Project Quantum Leap where people waited while Sam..." Slowly the light dawned. Al was nodding slowly, a grin spreading across his face. "Sam has leaped into me?"

"You could say that."

"Then why am I here and not in the waiting room?"

Sighing as if he'd had to explain this once too often, the man strolled back to the

sink and started shelving clean glasses. "Let's call this place-outside of time. When Sam r

was leaping around doing good, at first, he had the waiting room, his Admiral friend, and

that nice safety net you call Project Quantum Leap."

"Okay. This isn't..."

"This place, my bright boy, is outside of the realm of time that Sam once worked and helped people in. He's now leaping as himself and I think he leaped into you-because he was needed as you, not himself"

"Al would freak if he knew Sam was there," I said quietly. "Sam-the one that is

home now...is very sick."

"I know."

Somehow, looking into this man's too wise eyes, which were a lot like Dad's by the way, made me think he did know everything. "Do you think that the...leaping Sam can help the one that's dying? You do know that he's dying?"

"Yes, I do." Setting the last sparkling glass on the shelf, Al turned and set one beefy hand gently on mine. "And I know if anyone can help himself, it's Sam Beckett."

He smiled again and I felt something settle in' my head, like I knew all was right here for now. "Why don't you have another drink, Paul? Root beer float?"

"Oh man." I returned his smile and nodded. I was ten years old and life was good. A soft voice, which sounded a lot like my mother's was telling me to have fun. To rest and not worry. As I sipped the first of the float I knew I could manage and hoped that Dad could help and figure out what no one else could.

Sam/Leaper ·-

Resting did me no good. My mind was too active and laying on a bed and trying to figure this all out was too much for me. Getting up, I went back to the office with the incredible clocks and booted Ziggy back up.

Fortunately, my passwords were all in place, the same ones I'd used before I'd leaped. Al had always complained how I needed to change them from time to time! The annoying Swiss cheesing was...gone. I had a clear head. Maybe if I read over a page or two of my journals...

"Paul?" Al's voice behind me caught my hand in mid click on the mouse. "What the hell are you doin', kid?"

I cut the screen and tried to put a good face on what he'd seen. From the look on his face he'd known what I was trying to get into. "I can explain this."

"You have no right ." Al went over and viciously snapped on the screen. "Sam's

personal journals. How the hell did you get into them?" Turning on me, his face was livid. "You goddamn little hacker!"

"Sam...gave me the password," I lied. Sam looked bad enough that I doubted he could say much to Al. "He wanted me to see this."

Instantly, Al slumped. Sitting in a deep chair across from me, he ran a hand through his short hair. "Christ, Paul. I'm so fucking touchy right now. He's just...really bad today. I thought that the way he was with you yesterday that he was fmally comin' around."

I knelt at his feet and waited. Still, I wasn't sure about how close he was to Sam's son and refrained from holding him like I wanted to. Just a hug. I'd waited so long for that.

"Y'know, he told ya he wanted you to help him. Said that was the reason he wanted you t'move in with us." Al's voice dragged, the sound of a very weary man. "He was hopin' you'd want to be with him-so he could tell ya the truth, see if you'd allow him to care about you."

"I care about him," I said earnestly, hoping it was the truth. "And you. Are you all right, Al?"

"I'm tired. Even though I got a good night's sleep last night I could just sleep forever." His eyes closed softly at that, a shudder traveling from his chest to his shoulders, hands coming up to cover his face. "Tom went. Told me to tell ya he'd call. Had a plane to catch, I guess. It hurts for him to see Sam like this."

"Jason is still here?"

"Yeah. Sam and him are outside, just sittin'." For a while there was nothing but the sound of the clocks ticking. I bent my head, closing my eyes and taking in the sound. It was soothing, almost hypnotizing .

"He's not gonna die," Al said angrily. I felt his arms come around my shoulders and I didn't flinch from it. More or less, I absorbed his warmth, almost started crying at the touch. I'd longed for it. "We won't let him, will we, kid?"

What was I here for? To cure Sam or to help Al accept...my death? "He doesn't want to leave you," I said, returning the embrace. "You know that, Al."

"Look at the two of us." Grimacing, Al eased from the hug and wiped his face with the back of his hands. "Man. I gotta figure out dinner. Can you..."

Before he could say another word, there was a sharp, frightened cry from the pool. I was on my feet and running to Jason before I could think about it.

Sam was choking, his face expressionless but lips blue and eyes bright with fear. I didn't blame him. Jason, one arm around his uncle's shoulders, looked afraid and was crying for him to breathe.

"We have oxygen?" I questioned sharply, unbuckling the restraints on the wheelchair. Al nodded once, sharply. His face was as white as the tile we stood on. "Help me get him to the bedroom, Stat."

I barely noticed Al's narrowed expression at my words and didn't give a thought as to whether or not Paul had medical training. I figured since he had a 'Dr.' before his name he had some knowledge. Just the little I'd read had told me he had at least detailed knowledge of anatomy.

Sam was groaning, or as best as he could do. I quickly administered oxygen. In a

few moments he was breathing normally, grimacing as I fastened the mask to his face. "There," I said. "You'll be fme.''

The greenish eyes stared at me in fear and then, confusion. Dimly, I heard Al talking on the phone and the boy adding his two cents. Probably calling the 'real' doctor. "Sam." I said his name and touched his face as I did so. "I'm going to try to help Sam. Trust me."

"Okay, it was probably the heat. I think." Al's voice was quietly concerned as he came in the room. "Doc says to keep him quiet and on oxygen. And cool." He moved to Sam's side and rubbed the man's arm gently. "Paul takin' good care of you?"

Sam didn't nod or acknowledge anything except stare at me. I saw something in those eyes and it was recognition. I longed to tell him who I was and suddenly guessed he already knew. It was in his eyes; I never knew my eyes could be filled with that much expression. That moment Al left the room, allowing me the moment alone I needed.

"Sam...I've leaped here." He was clinging to every word I said with his eyes. "Do

you remember this Leap?"

He shook his head slightly and grimaced.

"I know the mask isn't fun but it'll help you breathe." I tried to make the mask a little more comfortable for him. Those things were just terrible. "I don't know what I'm here to do, understandable since I don't have Al as my Observer. This Leap was not on Ziggy's records; neither were the others when I was alone. I have to assume that what I'm doing now is outside the realm ofwhat we did with the Accelerator ."

His hand slid out of mine and he reached for the table. I saw the small, twinkling pin and frowned. Lifting it, I touched a switch. on the side and set it in Sam's hand.

"Does Al know...you're me?"

"Not yet. He thinks I'm our...son." I brushed hair from his face and smiled. "What is this thing that helps you talk?"

"You'll build it...eventually. Or maybe there won't be a necessity for it!"

There was so much hope in his eyes. I had a bad feeling that I'd let him down before I did much more. "I don't know if I'm here to cure this, Sam. I might be here to help Al..."

Just as I said the name the man came through the door carrying a tray with cold drinks on it. "Talking 'bout me again, kid?"

"Not really," I replied. "We were talking about that little thing that helps him talk."

"Oh that. We built it in an afternoon, didn't we, Sam?"

"A little more than an afternoon, love."

I moved away and stared as Al leaned over the man and kissed his forehead. "You feel cooler," Al said. "See? Paul took good care of you."

There was more here than I'd realized. Quietly, I left the two of them alone and slipped out of the room.

Jason was sitting in the kitchen. I should have realized he'd be upset-he was crying. Leaning on the counter, he had his head buried in his arms.

Oh man. I didn't know what to do, what to say. I just held him and let him cry. And thought What I had to do to get me out of this mess-both of me.

By and by the household started to even out. Jason was swimming in the pool Al was pacing by it and Sam was staring at me with wide, green eyes.

I gave him stare for stare and sat in a nice chair by the bed. His breathing had

evened out enough that I felt the oxygen could be eased off. "You feel better?" I asked.

"You must have a lot of questions...Sam."

"No more than you do," I replied, setting the mask by the bed . "I have this feeling about your ailment...but I'll have to run it by Ziggy before I implement it. You still have the neural link?"

"Of course." His gaze narrowed. "There were no nominal variations nothing to indicate it is malfunctioning. I'm using it to talk to you now."

"Maybe it's operating nominally," I said quietly. Al was pacing beyond the closed window, his arms wrapped around his torso, body bent slightly. He looked as if he was in pam. "Maybe it's something else that's causing fluctuations in your neural pattern."

"Can you fix this?"

"Fix it?" I took his hand and wrapped my own around it. "I'll do the best I can. It's my life, too, you know."

His eyes narrowed in a smile. I saw the twinkle and hope there.

"Look," I said, patting his hand . "You and Al..."

"Call it a reward for what we did on the Leaps, Sam."

"Sam?"

I turned my head and saw a very upset and frazzled Al Calavicci standing in the doorway. I didn't know what to do or say.

"I heard him call you Sam, Paul." Slowly, Al came up to me and just.. .looked. "What the hell is goin' on?"

Swallowing hard, I pressed my hand over Sam's and tried to grin at Al. "We're...just fooling," I tried. Al wasn't buying it. Arms crossed over his chest he looked pissed and more than a little angry. "Al, he didn't mean..."

"Al, honestly need some water. Could you..."

"No way, kid." Al stepped over and stood between me and myself. Those dark eyes were glittering dangerously. "You've been actin' weird since, well, since a while ago. First we think it's the heat. I'm beginnin' to think it's a case of Leaping Fever. Am I right?"

Exchanging looks with the other Sam, I sighed. I could never hide anything from my partner, be it expense accounts or those chocolate covered graham cracker cookies that he loved. Slowly, heat rose over my cheeks. It was like I was five years old and caught doing something very bad.

"And if in fact you're leaping-why don't I remember this leap, huh?"

"Al, it's a long story..."

Sitting down in a chair, Al scooted it up and steepled his fingers under his chin. "We've both got plenty 'o time. Spill it!"

"This ought to be interesting."

"You shut up," I said, not unkindly. Sam almost grinned. It was mostly in his eyes as Al rested his hand on the blanket by his legs. "Al-do you remember a bar?"

"I'm not interested in talkin' about my old habits," he groused. "I wanna know what the hell is goin' on here."

"Yes," I breathed. "I'm Sam, Al. It was all I could do to not grab you when I

leaped in."

His expression didn't change an iota. For hours Al could keep emotion from his face. He was doing that now. "Then why don't I remember this Leap?"

"It's not in Ziggy's records. As much as I can figure I'm leaping outside the other leaps, Al. In a place where I haven't had you as an Observer for more than...I don't know. Seven or eight leaps, all told." Clasping my hands in front of me, I shook my head. "I've been alone for so long I don't know how to talk to anyone anymore. I don't even know if this is for real."

"It's for real," Al responded. "But if you're Paul playing a joke ..."

"I see him as myself," Sam replied. "He's older than Paul, with my white streak in his hair. Paul doesn't have that. If you think hard enough, Al, or maybe if you just don't concentrate and try to see with your heart."

I had to admit, Al tried. He met my eyes and tried very hard to believe. Finally, he sighed and gave up. "Okay. My Sam sees you as Sam Beckett and I have to believe him." With the tips of his fingers he brushed the sick man's cheek. "Can't ever not believe you, Sam. I love you so much."

"Al, I need to ask you about the neural link. Has it ever been removed from Sam's

head? Even to be examined?"

"I can answer that," Sam replied. "It wasn't removed when I returned."

"Maybe that's the problem."

Al sat back in the chair and just shook his head ·slowly from side to side. "We checked that thing up one way and down the other. If there was something wrong with it, we'd have found it-and fixed it long ago."

"Look," I began.

"No!" Al's shoulders put it plainly I'd never seen him look this defeated. "We've done all we can and it has nothing to do with the goddamned link, okay? Okay?"

"Fine, then," I replied calmly. Sam's eyes were unfocused and I knew he was tired . "We can discuss this out in the kitchen."

\ . '·

"There's no discussion. Why did you leap in here?"

It was more of a challenge than a question. "I know I'm here to..."

\ : I • .II

"You imbecile." Al almost hissed the words. He slid between me and Sam on the bed like smoke. He was angry and maybe he had a right to be. "You stayed out in time too long. You had a choice-I know you did. You told me you did. Why did you stay out there, Sam? Why did you do this to yourself? Maybe God or whoever is doing this to show you what a total idiot you are." His head turned away from me. "Just get outta here. Get out."

I felt sick and empty and beaten. Maybe Al was right-l'd brought this on myself.

Perhaps I was here to watch myself die-as punishment.

Then the thought filled my head. It might have been prompted by something Al said, or perhaps just enough concentrated thought on my part forced the idea forward. "I am an idiot,"I muttered. "You're exactly right."

"What?" Al looked as if he could cut my throat. When he saw the light I knew was in my eyes his expression softened. "Sam-dammit-what is it?"

That peculiar tingle that touched me when Iwas about to leap nagged at the edge of my mind. I had no idea why I'd leaped in here except possibly to teach me something about Al, about myself I reached out for my friend and something told me to hold him.

"Sam..."

I hugged him hard to me and breathed in his scent, feeling the stress ease from his shoulders. "I don't know how to tell you this, Al. I'll be okay." ThenIleaped.

Al:

I clung to Sam, really hugged himtight. For a split second I saw Sam, not Paul. I felt those arms around me, savored the feeling of being held and loved like he used to be able to do and then this tirigle-a leap. Then...he was Paul again. Somehow I couldn't let go.

"Al?"

My eyes cracked open when I heard Jason's voice. He was standing not far from Paul and I, dripping water onto the linoleum, a white towel doing absolutely NO good - wrapped around his waist.

"Is Uncle Sam going to be all right?"

I let go of Paul, gave him a quick, concerned glance. He looked...damned determined.

"Yeah, for now," I said, trying to smile at the boy. He was scared-so was I. "You stay out there with him, okay? We'll join you in a minute."

He didn't look all that certain as he left and he was probably wondering why I hadn't chewed him out for dripping on the floor.

"Where were you?" I said, the moment the boy was out of earshot.

"A bar. Listen to me." Paul's hands came down solid on my shoulders. "This is going to sound totally nuts but you have to believe me. I think I've figured out what we can do for my father."

"You have to be kidding ," I said.

"No. It might work." We were having a conference, Paul, Tom, Sam and I. It was going badly.

"The risk is too great," I repeated for the upteenth time.

"The risk is all I've got," Sam said, through the voice box. He'd been using his own voice less and less in the past few days. Maybe he was worsening. Every moment counted. I felt the urgency in his words, his eyes. I turned and met that green gaze. He seemed more alive than I'd seen in months. Almost like himself again. Tom pressed his hand supportively on Sam's shoulder. "I want to do it, Al. If it works..."

"And if it doesn't?" Iglanced at Tom. "You should know better."

"I'm just his brother. This has to be Sam's decision."

I turned back to Sam. He was laying on his bed, propped up by pillows and balanced by five or six books. He'd been reading as much as he could. "I want it," he said with his own tired voice. "Please, Al. Don't deny me this."

"There's a danger. Between the time they take that thing out of my head and when we put it in Paul's..."

"Less than twenty moments. It's outpatient surgery." Paul sighed. He'd said this

r

twice already. "Extract it from your temple, inject it into mine. He picks up the waves

from the link that might correct ..."

"Theoretical,"I snapped. ,.

"Al." Sam gave me one very tired look. "Do you love me?"

"Stupid question," I muttered. Reaching out I took his hand. "Of course, dammit. I..." My throat closed . "I don't want to lose you."

"It's either we do this or I'm gone," Sam said. "I choose to try and fight. I believe in Paul." He managed a small grin. "And I believe in you and that you'll do this for me, Al. Please."

. .

It was like a reverse of what we'd done when thi project had started. It was

outpatient surgery to get the link from my head-just under the skin by my right temple-and placing it in Paul's was...odd. Ifelt somehow disconnected from Sam. ·

"It's psychological, Admiral. Purely so." .Gooshie seemed rather confident and that scared me. Gooshie was pretty scary on his own.

Paul:

I prayed it would work. The bartender hadn't really said what would happen-only

that it must be done. Ifelt kind of strange with the link in my head. The theory was that my similar DNA, the physical closeness of me and my father might straighten out some of the synapses that weren't working well with Dad. I only hoped we hadn't done this all in vain.

Dad was in the project infirmary. I didn't want to go in, thinking that this had to

be private, between Al and Sam.

"You're not getting out of this one, kiddo," Al said, gently taking my arm. We

both knew that ifthis didn't work it was Sam's last chance. His touch was ice cold. I knew he was terrified.

Sam:

They had kept me in the infirmary in case something went wrong during the transferal. No one knew how my body would react when they took the link from Al and placed it in Paul's head. Would our physical similarities really correct the problems I had?

I felt a tingling in my fingers and feet. Closing my eyes I let the tingle grow into what seemed to be one large cramp. I cried out as Beeks came to me, asking what was wrong, scared and worried and afraid. As suddenly as the pain had occurred it went away. Then...I sat up.

My legs were dead numb but I could sit up and stare in astonishment at Beeks.

She seemed pretty shocked herself.

"Sam?"

"Bena-"

I was suddenly feeling better than I had in months, breathing and taking real

breaths of air. I felt clean and alive. Before I could think another thought Al was in the room and holding me and the best thing of all was that I could hug him back.

Paul:

And no we did not live happily ever after-well, not perfectly. Dad (I felt pretty good calling him that. He is a good, loving father-I'm lucky to have him now.) See, Dad had his head back, and his life. He will live to a ripe old age, maybe outlive us all, he's fond of saying. He's in a wheelchair-lower torso paralysis they say and permanent but he's got his life. I can't tell you how happy he is about that.

As for my 'leap'. Interesting experience. I asked Dad about Al the bartender. He

says he really doesn't remember much of it-that he was under the impression that the man was something very good, someone who cared about him and Al and, really, all of his family. Maybe he was God. Al kept thinking that was so. I didn't argue with him

I need to really get off this computer-Dad and everyone is out on the beach. I've

never been to Hawaii-and I promised Jason I'd teach himh ow to surf

THE END.