With a mighty crash, a panicked Sam Beckett kicked open the door of the bar he'd just been in and tripped his way ungracefully outside. Ignoring the disappointed female moans from within, he leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, and panted for breath. As the sound of jazz music danced through the air, he pulled at his lipsticked shirt collar in an attempt to fan himself off. It was a hot and muggy day, even in the shade of the porch, but he wasn't entirely sweating from the heat.

"Oh boy..." he exhaled.

Over his short time on this leap so far, there were a few things he'd been able to piece together on his own. From the various Mardi Gras paraphernalia all around town, it was safe to assume he was in New Orleans near the time of the festival, date to remain seen, but from the dress and the vehicles he judged it to be somewhere in the 50s. He had leaped into someone named Ben, and Ben was very popular with ladies of the disreputable sort. Great. Why couldn't he have leaped into an elderly, celibate librarian? He could be sitting in a comfy chair with a few cats right now, instead of sweating through a shirt which, swell, was now missing a few buttons at the top. He'd been yanked inside the bar by a few of his fans as he was passing by, and he'd turned very red when hands had found new places to explore.

A perfectly normal thread of embarrassment for Sam, which started when he'd leaped in while stepping off of a bus, causing him to lose his balance and fall face down onto the asphalt. The scrapes on his hands, in turn, had spurred on a fresh bout of complaining, something else which Sam was very good at. After that, with no luggage and no identification on him, he'd had no choice but to wander around town and wait for Al to show up. And speak of the devil...

"Whoever you got in a fight with, I think they won."

Sam opened his eyes and saw Al standing next to him, appearing every bit a part of the time they'd landed in. At least, it was less of an eyesore than his usual attire. He thought he looked quite dapper in a red vest over a white shirt, with pinstriped pants and a red fedora atop his head. Al leaned in closer as he took in Sam's disheveled appearance.

"Al," Sam gasped, "There were six of them!"

"Six of who?" his friend asked with concern, eyes darting toward the bar protectively.

"Six women! They were grabbing at me like I was a piece of meat!" As Sam relived the mortifying memory, he swallowed and shook his head. He couldn't get out of there fast enough!

Al rolled his eyes and blew out a breath of relief. "Ah, I see. Everyone was a loser then."

"Al!" Sam yelled admonishingly, "I'm not going to sleep with a bunch of women I don't know!"

"Why not?" his friend questioned sincerely, "I would."

A glare. "Of course you would." If Al were the leaper, Sam thought, he'd be a very irresponsible time traveler. Wait a second. Had he been a leaper before? Sam wasn't sure, but the thought gave him a sense of deja vu.

"Relax, Sam," said Al as he jovially stepped onto the street to take in the view, "You need to let loose a little. It's almost Mardi Gras! Tell me you remember Mardi Gras."

Sam wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. "Yeah, I remember Mardi Gras, Al."

"It's the best!" The admiral spread his arms out as he soaked in the atmosphere. "I took my fourth...or was it my third...? No, I remember now, my second wife, I took her to Mardi Gras in the late 70s. It was my shortest marriage, but the memories here, ho ho, those were good enough to last a lifetime." He grinned as he waxed nostalgic.

His enthusiasm was infectious, and Sam found himself smiling too. He stepped up closer to his holographic friend. "I don't think I've ever been to Mardi Gras."

"Oh, you'd love it, Sam," Al assured him, sucking his lips together excitedly. He bounced on his heels. "It's a total blast! The floats, the music, the women..." His hands told the story along with him, ending with a suggestive pantomime over his chest. "Ohhhh, the women..." He trailed off as his imagination ran away with him.

Smirking and sliding his gaze sideways, Sam decided to ignore that last part. "What am I here for, Al?"

"We don't know yet," Al threw out casually, shoving his hand into his pants pocket and rooting around for the handlink.

This wasn't a particularly surprising reveal. Sam leaned against a beam on the porch and waited to be told all about the person he'd leaped into.

"Fortunately for you, the guy in the Waiting Room has minimal swiss-cheesing, so we were able to come up with a background pretty quickly." Al finally produced Ziggy's block of candy-colored cubes, pressed a few buttons, and read the screen. "It's March 2nd, 1957. You're in-"

"New Orleans."

"-New Orleans, right, and you've leaped into Benjamin...Rrrrrichelieu." It was obvious he was having a little trouble with the name, so he tried to "fancy" it up with a slight, possibly-French accent. "You're 18, and your father may...may..." He squinted at the screen in bafflement before knocking the side of the handlink with his palm. "Oh! Mayor. Your father's the mayor. Say, that's neat. Your only other family is your younger sister, Florette."

Sam frowned. "What about their mother?"

Al consulted the handlink and tilted his head. "No mother. She died giving birth to Florette in '42."

It was as if he'd just found out about the loss of one of his own family members. Sam took a moment of respectful silence before continuing. "I leaped in here on a bus coming in from out of town. Was I on a trip?"

Al finished carefully lighting his cigar, taking a drag before answering. "Ah, well see, Ben is sort of the black sheep of the family. Y'know, drinking, gambling, that sort of thing. Once he graduated high school, he decided to take a break before college, you know, see the world? Unfortunately, he, uh, ran out of funds a couple states over, so now he's crawling back on daddy's dollar."

"Oh great," Sam sighed, his head falling back, "I've leaped into anotherjerk!"

"No no, Sam," said Al, wagging a finger at him, "I've talked to Ben a little bit, and I think mostly he's a good kid. He might have some bad habits, but he seems pretty harmless. Just needs somebody to set him on the straight and narrow."

Sam bit back a grin. He sounded a bit like someone he knew. "Do you think that's what I leaped in for? To help Ben clean up his act?"

Al shrugged. "Could be. Or maybe...you leaped in here to party." He snapped and did a little dance.

Sam laughed. "I think you'd enjoy this leap more than me, Al."

Hmmm, good point. Al was facing the street again, surveying the passerby cheerfully. "Maybe I would." His eyes flickered downward as a beautiful young woman caught his eye. Her dress bounced along with each perky step. Wowza! He leaned over to get a good eyeful of her caboose. "Especially if all of the broads looked like that. Boy, I'd love to play house with her!"

Unexpectedly, the woman gasped, pivoted around, and Al felt the sting of her hand coming into shocking contact with his face.

The stunned Italian was too flabbergasted to move. He couldn't even lift his hand to his steadily reddening cheek, instead opting to stand there motionless and slack jawed. How could that woman touch him?! She shouldn't even be able to see or hear him! He couldn't wait to hear whatever ludicrous techno babble Ziggy came up with to explain how he could be slapped across 43 years, because his brain was coming up with nothin'. A few monosyllabic nonsense sounds escaped his lips.

"Of all the nerve!" the woman huffed, "You should show women some more respect!" Al's eyes bugged out as she poked him angrily in the chest before stomping away.

At long last, he finally managed to stammer out something intelligible. Mostly. "What-I-Howza-? Sam, did you see that?!" He whirled around to face his friend.

Sam was gone.

"Sam?" Al asked in confusion, his eyes sweeping the area. Out of the faces passing by, not one of them matched the quantum physicist. Where could he have gone so quickly? Why would he leave in the middle of the conversation? Did he not see what impossible thing had just occurred? "Gooshie, center me on Sam," Al ordered. He lifted his hand to punch in the sequence on the handlink, only to find an empty palm. "What the...?"

He looked down. Gone was his favorite red vest, replaced by a short-sleeved tan shirt with missing buttons, straight out of Dull City. In vain desperation, his hands flew to his head and felt for his hat, but that, too, was missing. His new clothes were familiar, hell, they should've been, he just saw Sam wearing them seconds ago.

Oh no. Oh shit. Oh boy.

"Benjamin Humbert Richelieu, you get over here right now!"

There he was! Whew! He must have missed him. Al searched for Sam once again in the crowd.

"Don't you make me repeat myself," someone ordered sternly. Sam was still nowhere. Al turned halfway around and spotted an African American woman in a floral dress, who stood next to a car with her hands on her hips. She was giving him a look that could melt steel. He remembered his ex-wives throwing that same look in his direction.

Al glanced around him just to be sure. "Who, me?"

"No, your sosie behind you. Get your backside over here!" The woman pointed her finger sharply to the ground.

Al hadn't been ordered around like that in a long time, but he knew when someone meant business. He made a hurry-scurry dash to her side. "Yes?" She surprised him with a purse-whack across the shoulder. "Ow!"

"Don't think I didn't see that," his assailant chastised him, "You been back here for five minutes and you're already gettin' into trouble. You know your father has a reputation to uphold, and he'd be none too happy to see you gettin' up close and personal with those lady friends of yours." She softened her tone a bit near the end, but her expression made her disapproval crystal clear.

After a moment, Al found his voice again. "Uhhh...I'm sorry?"

The woman sighed and straightened her dress, evidently not holding this grudge for too long. "I don't know what I expected. You been causin' grief since I was changin' your diapers." She let out an exasperated laugh. "Where's your things?"

Al was briefly silent as he tried to wrap his head around a woman nearly his age talking about changing his diapers. Suddenly on the spot again as he realized she'd asked him something, he took another uncertain look around him. "Uh, well, I, uh...I must've forgotten them."

The woman's eyes widened. "Forgotten them? Sometimes I don't know where your head's at, child." Throwing out her hands and sighing, she opened the car door for him. "I can get 'em from the bus station tomorrow. Let's not wait around here any longer; I got dinner on the stove." Al stared at the car door, still in a daze, and she waved for him to move. "Get goin'!"

Jumping into action, Al ducked inside the back of the car. Once she'd shut the door for him, the woman got in front and began to presumably drive him home. To Benjamin's home. And, oh yeah, he was now Benjamin. This smelled of something Hinky with a capital H.

At this point, he knew what leaping felt like, and this was no normal leap. For one thing, there was no lightning. If he'd been struck by lightning, he would've noticed, and that had definitely not happened. Of course, it was possible he'd swiss-cheesed it and pulled a switcharoo with Sam again...but then wouldn't Sam be here as the Observer? This didn't seem the same. He hadn't felt all blue and tingly and lighter than air or any of that crap. He'd simply been a hologram one moment, and then next thing he knew, he was getting five across the eyes. And, to add insult to injury, he thought that had been one of his cleaner come-ons.

Where the hell was Sam?

-

The Richelieu family lived on a former plantation, but it didn't look like it had been used for that for quite some time. Not that it wasn't well-kept, because the yard was clean and the paint looked fresh. As Al stepped inside the spacious house and took in the expensive decor, he felt woefully sloppy and under-dressed.

His driver left him for the kitchen and he spotted a mirror on the wall. Benjamin looked back at him, just as hot and befuddled as he was. He stepped forward to get a closer look. Ben had a long face and a prominent chin, a superhero chin, and one of his strong brows was broken by a scar. Al bet there was an interesting story behind that. A pile of black curls set messily on top of his head, and he tried to smooth it out a little to make himself presentable.

"Ben!" Before Al could react, a teenage girl was wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. He spit a mass of curly black hair out of his mouth and awkwardly returned the hug. "I'm so glad to see you again! It hasn't been the same around here without my big brother."

Thanks for the clue, Al thought genuinely to Whoever was listening. This must be Florette. They pulled apart and he smiled. "It's, uh, it's good to be back."

Florette frowned when she saw his missing buttons and noticed the lipstick on his collar. "What happened to you? Were you at that bar?" Al fumbled for an explanation, but she cut him off. "Dad's gonna wring your neck if he finds out you've been gambling again." But then she grinned. "...you win anything?"

"Uh, no, I didn't." Al was sure Sam hadn't been gambling in there, and he was pretty certain Ben often found himself with empty pockets.

"That's too bad," Florette told him sympathetically, "Hey, you'd better clean up before dinner, so Dad doesn't know where you've been. I'm sure Louise will keep it between us three like usual." She gave a wink and pushed him toward the staircase. "Oh, and Ben?"

"Heh?"

"I really did miss you."

One look at her heartfelt smile, and Al felt an unforeseen tug on his heartstrings. A long, long time ago, he used to hear things exactly like that, and he could picture now his sister Trudy's big, toothy grin. He smiled warmly back. "I missed you too."

-

Somehow, Al had managed to find Ben's bedroom, but it had taken a search and a half to get there. How did Sam do it every leap? Even the simple things were a pain in the butt.

While he buttoned up a fresh shirt, he took a look around Ben's room. God, why did it have to be the 50s? The most conformist, oppressive decade he could think of. Yuckola! And while Ben seemed far from conformist, he was also now at the mercy of a father who was all about conformity. And that meant, so was Al. He wasn't sure how to take being a teenager again. A sixty-something-year-old man did not need to be lectured by parents, follow a curfew, or, ugh, get grounded. Then again, when he was 18, that was his plebe year at Annapolis, so this should be a breeze in comparison.

Hey, there was a thought...technically, he was 18 again, and still at the height of his sexual prowess. Not that he'd ever had a problem with the pants-off dance-off, no matter what his fifth...no, fourth wife said. This opened up some interesting possibilities. Maybe there was an upside to this leap after all! Because unlike Sam, Al had no problem doing the horizontal tango with a total stranger. Safely, of course. Let's not be irresponsible.

Al took off his trousers and opened the dresser. Hidden underneath the fresh pair of shorts he was grabbing, he found a small tin can, which he opened curiously. Bingo! Weed. Cocking his eyebrow and considering it thoughtfully, he closed the lid and shoved it back under the shorts. Maybe he'd save that for later.

Clunk-shoom! "Nice legs, Al."

The sudden interruption nearly made Al jump out of his skin, but he was relieved to hear the Imaging Chamber door. He exhaled deeply as he turned around. "You scared the bejeezus outta me! It's about time you showed-" He jarred to a halt. He wasn't sure who he was expecting to see, but it sure as shiza wasn't who he had his eyeballs on. "Alia?!"

There she was, sitting in a wheelchair and humorously observing his half-naked body. With a sudden onset of self-consciousness, Al coughed and rapidly began to struggle with a pair of pants.

"I know, I know, 'where the hell have I been?'" Alia provided for him, reaching into her lavender leather jacket and pulling out something like a handlink. Al's eyes nearly popped out of his skull as he saw the gadget in her hand, and he tripped on a pant leg and fell to the floor. Alia chuckled. "Relax, Al. It's not like I haven't seen more of you."

This was too weird. Al pulled up his pants before scrambling to his feet. "Alia, what the hell are you doin' here?" He wondered about the wheelchair too, but he had more pressing questions on his mind.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry I'm late. I got here as soon as I could, but there was some hang-up at the Project."

"The Project? Since when are you part of the Project?" Al was totally lost. He eyed the strange handlink in her palm, a sleek, thinner version of the pile of gummi bears he was used to. No, that couldn't be right. Maybe she'd leaped here too. He had to be sure. He reached out toward her, but sure enough, his hand passed through her like air. "What the hell is goin' on?!" His hand flew to his forehead. He wished someone would clue him in as to what was happening!

Alia became very disturbed when Al ran his hand through her, and she tensed up in her chair. She began to press buttons on the sleek new handlink. "I'm going to contact the Project. You seem more swiss-cheesed than usual."

"Project-" Al suddenly gasped and shot an accusatory finger at her. "Oh, you mean the other Project! You're back with them, I knew it! Aha!" He nodded knowingly. The Project ran by the evil leapers, with Zoey and Thames and god knows who else. They wouldn't get the best of him! But quickly he ran into a roadblock with his theory. "Er-How is it I can see you?"

Alia paused, blinked, and then forced herself to remain calm. Folding her hands across her lap, she leaned toward him to gently explain. "Listen up. Your name is Albert Calavicci, and you're part of a time travel experiment that, in your words, 'went a little caca.'" She wobbled her hand. "I'm a hologram tuned into your brainwaves from the future, and only you can see or hear me. Any of this sounding familiar to you?"

"Who with the what and the where?!" Al exclaimed, grasping his head again, "No no, this is all wrong! I'm supposed to be over there, not you!"

"Let me see if I understand," Alia said, her brows furrowed thoughtfully, "You remember the experiment, but you don't remember leaping?"

Al shook his head. "No, I'm the Observer, and you're-you're not part of this! And where the hell is Sam?!"

"Sam who?"

"What do you mean, Sam who? Sam Beckett!"

Alia went rigid for a moment. Just as quickly, she masked her alarm and lifted up the weird handlink again. "I have to consult Ziggy. I'll be back as soon as I can." The handlink chirped at her as she punched in a sequence and opened the Chamber door. "Don't worry, Al," she said with a promise, "We'll figure this out."

Clunk-shoom. Back into the powder room she went.

A knock on the door. Louise peeked her head in. "Dinner is ready...if you're presentable." She smirked as her eyes moved downward, and Al quickly zipped up his fly.

-

Well, this was a barrel of fun. After a two-sentence exchange with his new father, Al had sat down for the most awkward family dinner he could ever remember having. Then again, he hadn't had many family dinners as a child anyway. While the silence made for an icy meal, it gave him time to try and process everything that had just happened.

Al felt he knew even less now than he did before, but here's what he knew for sure. Somehow, he was the leaper, and now he was stuck as a teenager in 1950s New Orleans. And for some reason, Alia was his Observer. That's where things got muddled. Last time he saw Alia, it had been at that women's prison when Sam had rescued her from the evil leapers. She had leaped out to an unknown destination, but wherever she was, she was free, and that was the last Al ever thought he would see of her. And although he had been there, he was only tuned in to Sam's brainwaves, so Alia had never set eyes on him, and yet here she knew exactly who he was. So how did she end up at the Project and he end up in 1957?

Because...because he had been collecting unemployment in New Mexico after those nozzles at Star Bright had washed him out of the project. That's when Alia contacted him out of the blue to be part of something called Leap for the Future, out in Massachusetts. He had nothing to lose and alimony from six marriages to pay, so he figured why not? No one was hiring him after getting kicked out of the Navy anyway.

Carumba! Al straightened up in shock. How did he remember that? New memories were beginning to swirl around his head, which meant that somehow, something had gone majorly screwy with the timeline. Now things were starting to make a little more sense! But what in the world had Sam done to alter history so drastically? He'd barely had time to do anything on this leap! Whatever it was, things had taken a turn toward Yikesville.

Fortunately, Al's connection to Ziggy meant that he could remember all of the timelines. Did he still have that connection in this altered history though? Evidently so, since he seemed to be the only one who could remember what had happened before. The new history was a little hazier, however, maybe because of the swiss-cheese leap effect. Maybe it was still changing. Whatever the case was, he had to get things back to normal, and quick.

Right. So how the hell was he gonna do that?