If there was one thing Sam learned over his years in the leaping business, it was to always expect the unexpected. Nevertheless, he always ended up swiss-cheesing that rule somehow, and so he'd been pleasantly blindsided to find himself suddenly leaping with his best friend. And considering that he'd cut off contact with the Project and resigned himself to a life of solitary leaping, it was a stunning—but welcome—turn of events. They'd leaped together before, sure, but never on such an extended basis—partners. Al was here, with him, traveling through time to put right what once went wrong, and for the first time in a long time, the last leap had ended with Sam feeling confident that the wrong had been put right. For the first time in a long time…he felt truly, genuinely happy. Ages had gone by trapped in a nebulous, uncertain void; this time it felt pure. It was damn good to be sure. Before this, he'd begun to wander off the path.

Leave it to Al to set him back on course.

If there was one thing Al learned over his handful of days in the leaping business, it was that making rash decisions can put you in some hot water. Like stranding yourself in time with no contact to your present, for a very specific instance. You'd think he would've learned something from Sam in that department. But as they say, nothing ventured, nothing gained, and finding Sam was a big fat gain. So Mission 1: accomplished. Mission 2: …well, he'd figure out Mission 2 later. For now, he was just glad to have his best friend back. And hey, helping three runaways ain't a bad bonus. Say, that was one more thing he remembered! Out of all the side effects of leaping, swiss-cheesing was his least favorite, so he was grateful for whatever stayed in his noggin. They'd done a good deed. Maybe, possibly, by some small percentage, he could get the hang of this leaping thing.

Hey, if Sam Beckett could do it, so could Al Calavicci.

Something wriggled in Sam's hands. Curious. As he blinked away the remaining light from the leap, his vision cleared and gave him full view of the green snake between his fingers.

"AAHHH!" Sam's hands popped open faster than a cork stopper; he reeled back into a confused Al behind him.

"What? What is—AAHHH!" Al's eyes bugged out when he saw the animal slithering away, sending him a foot into the air as he jumped fearfully and came back down with a splat. He wasn't a fan of snakes either. "Oh, wh—Ahhh, look at this, Sam!" Nose crinkled with distaste, he examined the dung now covering his already-muddy boots. "Not again! Yuck!" Hadn't he stepped in enough crap the last leap?

But Sam was no longer paying attention. While the older Italian cursed his rotten luck and tried to scrape off his shoes on a tree trunk, a sparkle in the brush caught the scientist's eye. Stooping down next to it, he pulled away the greenery and his face lit up in awe.

"Al."

"Now I'm gonna stink all—what?"

"Come look at this."

Begrudgingly, Al trudged over. "Sam, did you see what I stepped in? I—" But his jaw went slack, his annoyance vanished. "Wowza…"

The glimmer, caked with spots of dried mud, but still shining brightly, was a large golden cup, engraved with an intricate design and embellished in turquoise. The two of them could only stare in amazement.

"Oh boy…" they breathed.

"What is it?" Al at last asked with interest, "Gee, that's gotta be worth a few smackeroos…"

Carefully scooping up the sublime find, Sam found the cup had surprising heft to it. It was definitely solid gold; not overlaid. Al's assessment of it being worth a few "smackeroos" was correct. "It's a cup. Maybe South American…?" Sam deduced, fingers stroking gingerly across the design. He took note of the jungle around them. Had they leaped outside of the States?

"That looks pretty old, Sam."

"A few hundred years, at least. Here, see for yourself." Handing the cup to an awestruck Al, Sam stood up to survey their surroundings. "So question is, when are we now?"

Following his lead, Al got to his feet and squinted at the trees. "For all this place tells us, we could be in the Jurassic period."

"Something tells me we didn't leap back that far."

"Well you just whistle if you see any dinosaurs runnin' around."

"Hey, there's our things," Sam told him, spotting a couple of large packs nearby, "This should give us some clues."

The unwieldy packs were full of trekking gear, supplies, mostly dateless save for a tin first aid kit that indicated the 40s or 50s by its design. And some notes. Scribbled in difficult to read writing, Sam spied a date on top: "May 12th, 19…" He pulled the paper closer. "1952." He looked up curiously. "Hey, that's before I was born. That must mean we're following your lifetime too."

"Say, that's right…" Hovering over his shoulder, Al was distracted by the horrible handwriting. "Jeez, who can read this chicken scratch? Hold on, that says somethin' about snakes there…" He shuddered. "Man, I hope this leap has nothin' to do with snakes. I hate snakes."

"Senors."

"AH!" Both men spun around with a start at the sudden third voice.

The gangly Hispanic man flashed them a strange look, but he moved on without comment. "It's getting dark," he said, nodding his head back, "We should return to camp."

"Camp. Yeah…" Sam agreed uncertainly, hoping for him to take the reigns.

"Lead the way," Al suggested to the man, gesturing ahead. Again they received an odd look, but the man moved forward. Sam exchanged a grateful glance toward Al as they picked up their heavy packs.

"I'd suggest you hurry," the man said, "You don't want to be lost at night in the Llanganates." And he continued into the trees.

Al buckled his straps faster, and Sam nearly choked.

"…dmiral Calavicci."

A slight twinge behind his eye. Al's head whipped to the right. There in the trees, sticking out like a sore thumb, was a figure in a white lab coat.

"Al!"

The urgent whisper distracted Al for a moment, and when he looked back the figure was gone. Huh. Must be his imagination acting up. He coulda swore someone was there though. But who would be out here in a lab coat?

"Al!" Sam whispered more urgently, "Did you hear what he said? The Llanganates!"

"So? That and a dime will get you a cup of coffee."

"Al…" Sam said pressingly, leaning in closer. He clamped his hand on his arm. "This is where the Incas supposedly hid their gold. That cup we found could be part of a lost treasure!"

"A lost Inca treasure?" Al's voice was laced with a heavy dose of skepticism, his eyelids half closed.

Pacing the tent with giddy excitement, Sam told the story without missing a beat. "In the 16th century, when the conquistadors invaded this region, the Inca offered them a roomful of gold artifacts in exchange for their captured emperor. But when they discovered he was killed, the legend says they hid the treasure somewhere in these mountains. A treasure that would include something like this." Barely containing his fervor, he held up the gold cup proudly.

"But you said it was a legend," Al pointed out dryly.

"Well, the details about how much gold there was vary," Sam admitted, "but the existence of the gold was documented and the consensus is that something was hidden."

"And you think that cup could be part of it?"

"Why not?"

Al's eyes slid so far to they side they were in danger of drifting away. "Because it sounds like a load. Think about it; if a giant treasure trove of gold were hidden out here, don't you think after 400 years someone would've found it?"

"Have you seen where we are? The Amazon is a huge place! Besides…" Sam shrugged nonchalantly. "…maybe that's what we leaped here for."

"Get real, Sam."

"C'mon, Al. Where's your sense of adventure?" He spread out his hands grandly, and Al waved him away. "Why're you so skeptical all of a sudden anyway? I thought you were all about legends and myths. What about the mummy's curse?" The last question accused with his own skepticism.

"A curse is one thing, but a lost treasure?" Al shook his head; this was all very silly. "It's a load of Indiana Jones baloney, Sam. We live in the real world. Besides, since when do you care about striking it rich? It's not like it'll matter when we leap out."

Sam's face scrunched up with confusion. "Who cares about getting rich? Do you realize what a significant find this would be? We'd make history!"

Of course that's what he cared about. Al should've known better. Sam had always had a fascination with archaeological discoveries; it tied into his love of history. Although...if Al thought about it purely from a monetary perspective, he supposed he could see the appeal. He couldn't fault Sam for wanting to believe. Finally loosening up, he cautioned with a soft snort, "I appreciate the enthusiasm, Sam, but I wouldn't put all your eggs in one basket with this one. What're you doing?"

Already distracted, Sam was leafing through more sheets of paper they'd found inside the tent. "Looking for more clues about who we are…" Keeping his eyes on the writing, he handed a small portion of his stack to Al, who automatically took them for his own perusal. "Whoever wrote these notes signed them Edward Cooper…"

"Yeah, and there's somethin' here about two other people on this expedition," Al added, bringing the paper closer to his face, "his brother Robert and someone named Barry Butler."

"It looks like he's cataloging the animals, he must be a zoologist," Sam concluded.

Al sighed with relief and put a hand over his stomach. "Good, it's not just snakes."

"And I'm willing to bet the one holding the snake is the zoologist, so that'd make me Edward."

"So who am I, Bobby or Barry?"

"Bobby! Eddie!" The two of them jumped at the voice outside, papers nearly flying in every direction. This was getting to be a habit. "You gonna stay in there all night?"

After exchanging a look, Sam said, "Guess that answers our question."

Outside, they were greeted by someone dressed in similar khakis, a handsome gentleman whose dimpled chin was broken up by a prominent scar, the only imperfection in his features. He had set up a tiny fold-out table near the freshly started fire and was pouring himself a drink. Crow's feet crinkled jovially around his baby blue eyes when he spotted them and raised his cup. "Nice of you to join me!"

"Hi, uh, Barry," Sam replied as they joined him by the table. They politely declined when he offered the bottle to them.

"God, this place is beautiful." Barry gazed at the plant life around them, the greenery blinking in and out of the crackling firelight. "I've spent all day mapping and it seems I've covered nothing at all. I could spend another month here and barely go over a fraction of the area." He took a healthy gulp of his drink.

Right then and there, Sam decided he liked him. Right down to a T, he had the appearance of a rogue adventurer he'd imagined in one of those novels he read as a kid. He was handsome, but he had hands that were calloused and dirty; hands that weren't afraid to do some work. His healthy appreciation of the beauty around them endeared Sam to him; he compared this to Al, who would likely much rather be in Vegas.

"How did you fare today?"

Sam and Al exchanged a look, wondering if they should divulge their discovery to the other man. Al shrugged. What did they have to lose? "Well…we found something," Sam admitted. Darting quickly back into the tent, he reemerged with the cup in tow. Upon the reveal, Barry straightened up with a look of astonishment. "What do you think?"

Near their own tent, the man who had led them back and a second guide also took notice.

"Damn!" Barry leaned in closer; his nose was inches from the gold. "Do you realize what this could be?"

"Part of a lost Inca treasure?" Al provided, only slightly sarcastic.

"You read my mind, Bobby!" Barry responded with a grin, "Gentlemen, we could be looking at a piece of history. Question is….what do we do with it?"

Sam's lip slowly curled, caught up in the thrilling possibilities. He leaned forward, making an executive-leap decision, "Tomorrow we go treasure hunting." He felt, in his heart, that's what they were there for.

Responding with an uproarious laugh, their companion raised his own cup again. "I'll drink to that!" And Sam clinked the artifact against the other man's drink in a toast. Barry clapped his arms around them in excitement. Even Al was catching their enthusiasm.

Except, not entirely. There was something pensive about him, some distracting thought that removed him a bit from the situation, but it had nothing to do with his skepticism about the gold and Sam's laser-focus on it.

Leaping was a hell of a thing to get used to already, as it was much different than simply Observing. Leaping was getting into the thick of it, stepping into someone's shoes and mucking around with their life. That was a lot of responsibility! It also meant a more emotionally and physically demanding role, something which he wasn't sure he was prepared for. But he knew it was better than just before he stepped into the accelerator. Here, he had Sam. He could see him, touch him, protect him from his own stupid self. Here, he was…well, he was happy.

But he was also remembering. More, that is. Those hazy little details from before, sharper in focus now, detailing moments previously lost from his life, but most importantly from his last days at home. Which, well, wasn't entirely unknown to him, but now he knew exactly whatSam had said and did, whyhe was feeling so lonely and confused and then hurt. The echoes of his feet in empty Project hallways, the bitter taste of a long since smoked cigar lingering on his lips. The sadness of knowing that he could've done something to stop him, if only Sam had trusted him enough to let him know.

Oh! But then…wowie, he'd found him! He'd sure had. He'd set out to do it, and he did, and that was no small feat. Yep. Those empty days were over. And now, uh…now there was this.

And, as he assured himself, he was happy now.

"Fred! Fred, stay with me! Someone call 9-1-1!"

The frail older man seemed even more fragile in Sam's arms, his pale face contorted in pain. But moments ago he'd suffered a massive heart attack; there was nothing that could be done for him now unless he—until he made it to the hospital.

"Please hold on," Sam pleaded. His pulse was weak. "You're going to be okay, just hold on."

He'd thought he'd been here for his leapee's daughter. She fit the profile: a troubled youth, combative, possibly into drugs. The most logical reason for the leap would be to set her on the right track, save her from herself. Without anyone to guide him, he made his most educated guess, a system which had so far been successful, even if just barely. He hadn't even spared a passing thought to his kind old co-worker at the convenience store, a quiet man who kept to himself. To Sam, he had seemed at the time utterly irrelevant.

And now he was dead.

What good was he now? How could he trust himself to save anyone, when he didn't have the answers? What right did he have to be there in the first place?

Sam had failed.

Breath burst into his lungs and he awoke with a start. He was back in Ecuador in 1952. The present reality coming back to him, he sighed calmly and laid back down. He hadn't thought about that leap since…well, he didn't know how long he'd been on his own, but sometime before Al had come into the picture. Some leaps he remembered it; others he didn't. Always he felt the guilt. There must've been other incidents too, if the holes in his mind allowed it. He was glad they didn't this time.

But things were different now. With Al by his side, he wouldn't make those kinds of mistakes.

A loud, exhausted sigh. Sam could see Al trailing a bit behind him and Barry, struggling with the over-large pack he was carrying. Just ahead of them, their guides (they'd learned their names were Ivan and Santiago) were leading them back to the area where the cup had been found. They were all slightly over-prepared, just in case they found something and decided to stay overnight, with some basic supplies to hold them over, but unfortunately that meant they had extra weight to carry. And though Al would never say anything and give away his age, he was in his 60s, and definitely not in the same shape as the other men. And actually, Sam was finding the territory pretty strenuous too.

"Hey," Sam called ahead, "let's take a break, huh?"

The others agreed, their guides keeping to themselves while Barry traipsed to the river up ahead. Al cast a grateful look to Sam, seating himself on a large rock with exhaustion.

"Thanks, Sam," he gasped. He took a generous gulp from his canteen and wiped his mouth before requesting, "Next time we leap, let's go somewhere with air conditioning, alright?"

"You won't hear any arguing from me," Sam grinned, sitting close by and following Al's actions. The two of them watched the river for a short time, listened to the sounds of the rainforest, and Al slightly distant and adrift. An unspoken question hung in the air as thick as the humidity, so Sam elected to just be upfront. "So what's up with you?"

Al pulled at his sticky shirt to fan himself, stating obviously, "It's hot, Sam."

"You know what I mean. Something's on your mind, so spill."

A beat. Al's eyes slid toward him hesitantly, and then he shrugged a single shoulder. "Well," he sighed, "it's, uh, it's just…" A pause for thought. "I leaped to find you, Sam, and, uh, and I did. Which took a lot less time than I thought it would, to be honest…"

"And…?"

"And, well…now what?" Sam knitted his brows. Al met his confused gaze and shrugged again. "I mean, I didn't exactly have a plan. I never really thought about what to do after I found you." He scratched at his temple introspectively. "Just…putting my brain on the rack, that's all."

Now Sam understood. He frowned at the river, considering what the answer might be himself. What WAS the next step? Without the Project, how could they even attempt to go home? Before the return of Al to his life, he'd accepted the consequences of his rash actions. He'd made his bed, he was going to lay in it. But now… "Well…I guess we just take it one step at a time."

But Al wasn't listening.

There was that voice again! It was unmistakable. Either he was losing his mind, or someone was following them. Come to think of it, he might've discovered their leap objective. Someone who…wanted to steal the Cooper's research? But hmm…someone in 1952 wasn't gonna be calling him by his real name, were they?

"Admiral Calavicci! Doctor Beckett!"

"Al? What is it?"

"Uh, it's nothing." More memories maybe? Another twinge. Jeez, get outta my head, will ya?

"Al."

Sam was giving him one of those looks again, one of those guilt trips where his mouth disappeared. Al hated those, but damn if they didn't work. "Alright," he relented, "I know this sounds bizarre, but yesterday I swear I saw—"

"Gooshie!" A stunned Sam scrambled to his feet, addressing someone behind Al.

With equal speed, Al was turned around and standing. And sure enough, there was the lab coat guy! So he wasreal! And…unimpressive.

"That's Gooshie?" Al asked. He recalled the name, but not the face. The man was weaselly, but a little pudgy; his unkempt mustache was just a little too long, and his hair a little too red. It reminded him of his first wife. Wait, was his first wife a redhead? Maybe not that one. Of two things he was certain, however, but with no evidence to back them up: Gooshie smelled worse than he looked, and Al didn't like him.

"Finally!" Gooshie sighed with relief and bent over, his fingers reaching down to his knees. "We've had a heckof a time finding you! It's wonderful to see you, Admiral! And Doctor Beckett! Oh my god!" He gazed at Sam with similar surprise, his eyes bugging out. "We thought we'd lost you!"

"What're you doing here?" gasped Sam, almost at a loss for words, as he circled the unsteadily flickering hologram, "How?! I thought the Project would be shut down by now!"

"They were," Al provided, the empty Project again on his mind, "Or close to, at least, before I leapt."

Gooshie confirmed this with a nod. "Absolutely, a-and that's what saved it, Admiral!"

"Huh?"

"Well, the Committee was none too happy to find out that you'd taken an unauthorized leap, Weitzman in particular. He was furious!" Al didn't remember who Weitzman was, but nonetheless, hearing that he'd made him angry gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest. Gooshie continued dutifully. "So, they immediately called us back to restart the program and retrieve you…" Then, nervously, "...for prosecution."

"Ha!" The loud, uncontrolled laugh burst forth from Al immediately upon hearing about this warrant.

Sam was too appalled to find the words; his face squished closer together the longer he thought about it. Suddenly heroic sacrifices and searches across time and space were reduced to uptight, bureaucratic nonsense. His life's work had become the tool of a government official with an ax to grind. "Wait a minute, you're telling me the Project was brought back…to be petty?"

"It is a government project, Doctor Beckett," Gooshie reminded him. Did that make Al's actions more serious or the Committee pettier? "But once we saw two people in the Waiting Room, getting you home became part of the equation as well!"

Sam blinked. His leapee was appearing in the Waiting Room again? Had GTFW taken it upon themselves to reverse what he had done? That is…if he'd had any say in it to begin with. He wasn't sure how he felt about this omnipotent intervention.

"It took us some time, but we were able to lock onto the admiral's brainwaves using data from past leaps. That's why we've taken so long to find you." The handlink was retrieved from Gooshie's pocket and he began to rapidly enter in information. The rainbow block blipped and bleeped in response, and he read the screen. "Oh, Ziggy says hi."

"Hi, Ziggy," Sam sighed. He did miss her. "So can you?"

"Can I what?"

"Retrieve us."

"Ummm…not as of yet, no."

Sam deflated just a little bit. Microscopically, he'd gotten his hopes up. Al had seemed prepared for this answer; he knew how quickly the government worked.

Al wiped away a happy tear from his eye; he was still tickled. "Oh, I'm sure Weitzman is happy to hear that. That'll make prosecuting me real easy."

That raised a good question for Sam, though. "Gooshie, if both Project Directors are here, who's in charge back home?"

Both men looked to the holographic programmer. Placing the handlink behind his back and gaining a little more confidence, Gooshie smiled and bounced on the balls of his feet. "Dr. Fuller was put in charge of the operations, Doctor Beckett." But both men were drawing a blank. Neither of them knew who Dr. Fuller was. "Sammy Jo?" he offered, cringing a bit at having dared use someone's first name.

"Ohhh…" both responded in unison, relieved. Evidently, she was an acceptable replacement, and one that made perfect sense. Recalling that Sammy Jo had worked on the retrieval program and was something of a genius herself, Sam grinned proudly. And for some reason he couldn't place…he trusted her completely to run the Project in his absence. Why was that?

"A-And I'm temporarily serving as your Observer," Gooshie added under his breath, almost as an aside, tipping his head low over the handlink, "until we can find a suitable replacement."

A puzzling statement to Sam. "Why aren't you suitable?"

"Me, Doctor Beckett?" Gooshie asked with surprise. He shook his head and giggled nervously. "Oh no, sir, I'm just filling in until someone more qualified comes along. I'm more of a…a behind the scenes person." His confidence had dipped again; he buried himself in key-tapping.

Sam remembered Gooshie's reluctance to leave the comfort of working on the parallel hybrid computer; half the time he was buried in one of Ziggy's panels. He wasn't unfriendly, simply…socially awkward. Although, Sam didn't know as much about him because he was usually just a name Al was shouting; and depending on the day, Al either considered him a friend or hated his guts, so any information Sam received secondhand was a tad dubious. But next to Al, Gooshie was the best—actually, he was the onlyother Observer he'd had.

Al was not particularly concerned with Gooshie's temporary position at the moment. "This is great!" he exclaimed to Sam, clapping a hand on his shoulder, "This means we have information from the future now! We won't have to wing it!"

"Hey, that's right," Sam realized happily. Thoughts of the convenience store began to surface again, but he buried them, focused on the present.

He had guidance again.

"Do you know what we leaped here for?"

"Well let's see…" The programmer was already plunking away at the handlink, pausing only to scratch at his mustache. Al noticed (a little jealously) that Ziggy didn't protest nearly as much when Gooshie operated her. "It's May 12th, 19—"

"1952," Sam provided.

"That's right. You're in the Llanganates Mountains in Ecuador, and you've leaped into—"

"Robert and Edward Cooper," Al finished.

"Gee, you two seem to know everything already," Gooshie said with wonder, his arms falling to his sides as the handlink blinked.

Sam rolled his hand impatiently. "The leap, Gooshie...?"

"Oh yeah." Plink, blip, beep. The handlink danced colors off of the hologram's face. "According to Ziggy, Edward Cooper, his brother Robert, and their friend Barry Butler started this expedition to catalog undiscovered parts of the Amazon. They arrived here 3 days ago, with the intention of returning to America two weeks later. Only…" He stopped and gulped, looked up at them with raised eyebrows. "They never came back."

"Why?" asked Sam, "What happened to them?"

Gooshie tried the handlink again. Ziggy was vocal as usual, and he shook his head. "I'm afraid there's no data on that, Doctor Beckett. A couple search parties went out, but they didn't have any luck. Their guides suspected they got lost from the campsite and couldn't find their way back." He nervously took a look at the thick trees around them, imagining being trapped in there forever. "Ziggy gives it a 98.7% chance you two are here to get the party out of the jungle safely."

"I'm sorry about what I said before, Sam," Al said, his mouth screwed up in concern, "Your treasure hunt is sounding pretty good right about now."

"This should be easy then," Sam stated plainly, confused at the simplicity, "All we have to do is cancel the expedition and have Gooshie lead us back. Right?" He looked to Gooshie for confirmation, who nodded amiably in agreement.

"That is, if nothing happens to us in the meantime…" Al pointed from under the hand rubbing over his eye.

"But…"

"I don't like 'buts,' Sam…"

Sam frowned. "If we leave now, the lost gold might never be found."

"Lost gold?" Gooshie piped up curiously, "What lost gold? Am I missing something?"

"Saaaam," groaned Al, tipping his head back, "someone else could come back for it later! You want us to end up stuck in the jungle forever?"

"Someone doesn'tcome back for it! It was never found!"

"You know what else was never found? Us!"

Ignoring Al, Sam stepped closer to Gooshie. "Gooshie, does Ziggy have some way of scanning the area? For, let's say…gold materials?"

"Errrr—no."

"I coulda told you that, Sam."

"Those artifacts are here," Sam insisted, hand on his hip, "If we leave now, we'll be abandoning one of the most significant historical finds of this century."

"I can see about configuring the handlink to scan for specific materials within a certain range…" Gooshie mused, stroking his chin. "It'd take some time, of course, and we'd need Committee approval."

"We don't havetime!" Al shouted as he stamped his foot. Why wasn't anyone listening? Boy, when Sam got an idea in his head he stuck with it.

Sam squinted. "Since when do we need Committee approval for modifications to Ziggy? I'm approving it."

"Heh, since Weitzman reinstated the Project. He's a real stickler for rules."

"Ugh, Weitzman," Al said like he'd tasted something bad, temporarily forgetting his frustration with Sam, "He's worse than Bartlett…" Hey, there was another name he remembered! He was getting pretty good at this.

"I have to say, Admiral, you're a lot less swiss cheesed than I thought you would be," Gooshie noted, scratching at his head, "As I recall, when Doctor Beckett first leaped, he didn't even know his name!"

"Well that's thanks to Sam filling in a lot of the blanks for me," Al said offhandedly, gesturing toward Sam, "Whatever he remembers in his own swiss cheesed brain anyway…"

Gooshie froze. "What was that?"

"What was what?"

"Um, heh, what exactly did Doctor Beckett tell you?"

Al looked to Sam, both confused. "Y'know, things I might've forgotten. The Project, who he was, who Iwas….I was pretty swiss cheesed last leap, but he helped jog my memory. It's still a bit rusty, but it's gettin' there."

If they'd just fused together and started speaking Latin, Gooshie's look would've made more sense. "You told him?" he asked Sam, incredulous, "B-But we're not supposed to tell a leaper anything he doesn't remember on his own!"

Sam shrugged. "I didn't think that applied to other leapers." Gooshie wasn't convinced; he was starting to sweat as much as they were, and he was in the air conditioned Imaging Chamber. "C'mon, Gooshie, it's a stupid rule anyway; it wouldn't be fair to leave him in the dark."

"If you recall, Doctor Beckett, it was yourrule." Unheard by anyone but the programmer, he lifted his head to listen to a silent command. Swallowing nervously, he said, "Er—I have to go. They're calling me back to…discuss this matter."

"You're not serious, are you?" Al's mouth was agape. "I'd probably still be in the 70s if Sam hadn't been there for me! Besides, I broke that rule all the time and nothing happened."

"Like I said, Weitzman's out for blood." Gooshie opened up the Imaging Chamber, casting the dumbstruck men a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry. It's not up to me. I'll be back as soon as I can."

The door shut. Sam and Al looked at each other, stupefied.

"Ready to get going?" They jumped. They'd forgotten about Barry and their guides. Barry was watching them curiously, but must've assumed the animated conversation was something private between the brothers. "We've still got a ways to go."