Sam Beckett was being transported through a cerulean void, cell by cell, atom by atom, waiting to be deposited somewhere in the macrocosm of time. Were he anyone else this might seem like an unusual event, but to Sam this was any other Tuesday. Or Wednesday, for all he knew. He stopped keeping track of the days of the week once he became a time traveler. In any event, if it were Tuesday in his present time he would have no memory of it being Tuesday, or what that present year actually was. He could only focus on what year he was currently falling into, although he usually didn't do that quite so literally.

The ethereal blue sparks left his vision and he became solid matter again. Unfortunately, leaping through time was hell on his initial sense of balance. Before he could catch himself, he came crashing to the ground, landing ungracefully in a pile of boxes and various as-yet-unidentified items. With a quick glance upwards, he spied the ladder he was previously standing on.

"Oh boy," he groaned, and tipped his head back. Well, at least he had landed on something soft. Soft, pointy, cardboardy. As he was extricating himself from this pathetic pile he heard the sound of a door opening and a voice calling out.

"Mr. Tanaka? Is everything okay in here?" A heavyset young man with red hair stuck his head inside, his eyes growing big when he spotted Sam's situation. "Mr. Tanaka! Hey, are you okay?"

Sam had just managed to get himself to his feet when the young man rushed over. "Yeah, I'm fine, uh..." Before he could fumble too much, he spotted a name tag on the other man's coat. He tried to read it as inconspicuously as possible. "...uh, Lenny. I'm just embarrassed is all." It was the truth. Unfortunately Sam had become all too familiar with embarrassment after leaping into so many awkward and off-putting situations. Although he was ecstatic that, for once, Whoever was controlling these leaps had deigned to label whoever it was he was supposed to know. And from what Lenny had called him, he at least had half a name for himself.

Brushing himself off, Sam found he was wearing a similar jacket with a name tag of its own, supplying him with the first name Akio. Sometimes, what he needed fell right into his hands. The jacket overlaid a tacky button-down with geometrical shapes, allowing him the educated assumption that he was somewhere in the 80s. Yuck. It looked like something Al would wear.

"Well I'm glad you're okay," said Lenny with a relieved sigh, "You've got enough to worry about at home without adding a broken leg or something to the list! Sheesh, look at this mess..." He began to pick up bottles, boxes, and bags and place them back in the larger boxes or on the shelves.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "S-Sorry about that. Here, let me help."

He had made the mess after all; he should clean it up. He retrieved a bottle from the floor and, realizing he had no idea where any of this went, tried to assess where it should go without looking like he had no idea what he was doing. Lenny either didn't notice his slowness or was too polite to say anything.

Just what was he holding anyway? Sam brought up the tiny container and inspected the label, finding a name and a prescription. Pills! Indeed, Sam seemed to be in the back room of a pharmacy. At last, a profession I know a little something about! He thought with relief. As a doctor, Sam was more than comfortable handling medication. That is, when his swiss-cheesed brain allowed him access to that knowledge, and when he actually knew he was a doctor. Like now, for instance. At least, he thoughthe remembered everything he needed to, but if he swiss-cheesed it, how would he ever know?

As he began placing the bottles back where they belonged, he wondered if this leap had something to do with a customer at the pharmacy. Maybe they'd gotten a prescription mixed up, and Sam was here to prevent them from taking the wrong medication or dosage. Or...this could have nothing at all to do with the pharmacy, and instead deal with Mr. Tanaka personally. What was that Lenny had mentioned about problems at home? Sam couldn't determine his exact course of action until Al came to him with more information. And who knew exactly when he would show up?

This was not a typical Tuesday, Wednesday, Whatever-day for Admiral Al Calavicci. In fact, he no longer had any idea what a typical day of the week was for him, because he awoke in a strange bed with a swiss-cheesed memory and an ever-increasing sense of panic.

"Carumba!"

He rocketed up into a sitting position. Where the hell was he? The room was unfamiliar, slightly askew, with random old junk covering the dresser and stuffed into the corners. This was definitely not where he'd remembered going to sleep. And whoever he'd gone home with must have provided him with the oversized, pink, silk pajamas he was currently wearing, because they sure didn't belong to him.

In the past, there had been many occasions where Al had woken up in a stranger's bed with no memory of the night before, but it had been a long time since he'd gotten that schnockered and there was no stranger here. The last person he remembered doing the bingo bango bongo with was...oh, who was it? High voice, red hair, legs that won't quit? Shit, why couldn't he remember?

"Ziggy? Gooshie? What the hell is going on?" He asked the air, as if he were still in the Imaging Chamber. Imaging Chamber? What was an Imaging Chamber? And for that matter, he was having trouble figuring out just who Gooshie and Ziggy were. Damn!

Uh-oh. Swiss-cheesing. This could only mean one thing.

Al flung the lilac sheets aside in one swoop and managed to stumble out of the king sized bed in a frenzied search for the nearest mirror. A small, diamond-shaped mirror, just big enough to see head and shoulders, was almost hidden among a collage of polaroid photos. He raced toward it and found himself staring at a round-faced Japanese woman with a sharp bob and an extremely distressed expression.

"Oh boy!" He moaned between his fingers, his hand now firmly clasped over his mouth. Not again! And a woman this time? This couldn't be happening! He felt a sinking feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. No, not dread...nausea. It hit him so suddenly, he barely made it to the trash can before he was tossing his cookies. This was not a promising start.

Wiping his mouth in disgust, he tried to suss out just what had happened to get him into this predicament. He hadn't been a leaper since...since...since he'd simo-leaped with Sam! Yeah, that was it! He couldn't help but grin; he was proud of himself for remembering. Yeah, lightning must've struck, and he and Sam pulled a switcherooni again. Perfecto!

Wait, no, not perfecto. Awful! This was awful! Because if Sam wasn't the one white knighting through time, then that meant he was stranded as the Cosmic Boy Scout. And GTFW knows how well he did the last time he was appointed that job. The memory made his stomach queasy again. No, he wasn't suited to leaping at all.

If they'd switched places, that meant that Sam was back at the Project, back with...oh who was it? Diana? Right, his wife Diana. The one who Al couldn't tell him about, the lie he hated perpetuating. Sam would remember her now. Alarmed though Al was, he couldn't begrudge his friend for wanting to be with her after so many years apart. The kid deserved it, after all. He only hoped that Sam didn't spend too much time enjoying another return home before showing up to tell him what wrong needed to be put right.

Along with how in the world they're going to retrieve me, he added. But if anyone can figure out how to do it, it's Sam. Probably.

He hurled into the trash can again.

Sam could get used to this. So far, this leap was turning out to be a breeze! After a closer look at the prescription dates and addresses, he was able to place himself in New York City in the fall of 1986. New York! He hadn't been to New York since...the memory eluded him. Whether or not it was a leap or a memory from his previous life he was unsure, but he didn't let his hole-filled brain spoil what was otherwise smooth sailing. It didn't take him long to figure out the system in the pharmacy, and with only a few minor hiccups, he'd gotten the hang of service.

It turned out this pharmacy actually belonged to Akio, and Lenny was an intern working for him after classes. As they went about their day, the young man eagerly soaked up any information he could from Sam. Sam was grateful he wasn't handing out any misinformation, especially concerning something as important as medicine. In fact, he loved teaching as much as learning, and he found himself thoroughly enjoying this job.

Akio appeared to be well-liked. Every customer that came in brightened when they saw Sam, and he was happy to listen to any updates on their lives they wanted to impart his way. However, he still had a little trouble when asked questions about his ownlife.

"And how is the missus doing?" asked a friendly, freckled old woman. Aggie Cranshaw was her name, Sam noted from her prescription.

"Oh, uh...she's doing just fine," Sam assured her. He hoped it was true. He had a feeling Akio wasn't candid enough with his customers to want to reveal anything further anyway.

"I'm glad to hear," she beamed, "The baby's coming any day now, isn't it?"

So that's what Lenny meant earlier. Akio's wife was pregnant! Another stroke of luck for Sam, because not only had he leaped into a man, but he'd also avoided having to deal with a pregnancy again. Once was enough for a lifetime, thank you. Or several lifetimes, in his case.

"Yeah, could be any time," he answered.

"Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?"

Sam smiled and drew the answer from himself, unthinkingly. "A girl. I think I'd like a daughter." Where had that thought come from, he wondered? Must be a piece of Akio's mind. But for some reason, his thoughts drifted to a little girl in the south with a ribbon in her hair...he couldn't quite make out her face. But as soon as she'd appeared, she vanished into the shadows of his mind, just out of reach. He shook away the memory as Mrs. Cranshaw finished paying, wished him luck, and said goodbye.

More than a few of his customers spoke Japanese and, as it turns out, Japanese was one of the seven modern languages Sam knew. He was on a roll! Pleased with himself, he thought that outside of his initial crash into this lifetime, this was turning out to be one of his easiest leaps yet. Before he knew it, the day was over and Lenny was gathering his things to leave. With a friendly wave, he was out the door and Sam was alone again.

Now was the time to inspect Akio further without suspicious eyes to watch him. Realizing he had yet to even see what Akio looked like, he took out his wallet and studied the driver's license. His host was Japanese (as Sam had guessed), had a long face, and was in his late 30s, all-around average save for an unfortunate 80s pompadour. He had a pleasant face, although Sam had no idea what Akio was like personality-wise, but if his customers were any indication, he was a nice person.

Another thing to be grateful for; he hadn't leapt into a criminal of some sort. Sam absolutely hated leaping into unscrupulous people. That usually meant he had to do detestable things, and it wasn't in this farm boy's nature to hurt others. But Akio seemed to be a good sort, so Sam was, for once, not in any kind of danger or distress. It was an enjoyable and altogether too rare feeling.

So now he knew what he looked like, his name, his profession, the time period, and, thanks to his newly acquired driver's license, a home address. Grinning, he thought of the scowl on Al's face when he'd supply all of the information it had taken him so long to collect. He'd be steamed! The admiral intensely disliked it when Sam upstaged him. That's when his Italian side would take over and there was a significant increase in hand-speak.

What was taking Al so long anyway? He was almost never this late to a leap. Maybe it was just a hang-up with Ziggy...Or maybe, Sam thought with worry, the leapee had gone into shock and they were having trouble locating him. He hoped no one was hurt. Not the leapee, and, heaven forbid, not Al. Had anything happened to Al before where he couldn't Observe for him? If it had, it, too, had washed away into Sam's mind gutter. In any case, he was in no immediate rush for information. His primary concern was for the people at the Project. Everything in 1986 appeared to be going surprisingly well.

Now if he could only figure out how to get to his new home, that would be great. Oh well. You can't be lucky all the time.

This was no time to freak out. Al managed to get ahold of himself by tapping into his years of Naval training to assess his situation. What was the best way to go about accomplishing his mission and getting the hell out of dodge?

Think, Calavicci, think.

Well, before he could complete this leap, he'd need to find out who, when, and where he was. He scanned "his" bedroom more closely. A good chunk of the items cluttering the place seemed to be related to photography as far as he could tell, but he was no expert. Should this leap hinge on his skills as a photographer, he'd had enough second-hand experience while sitting in on old friends' photo shoots to fake it. Al had led a wildly varied life and was considered a real jack of all trades, possessing a finely honed set of skills acquired by pretending he knew exactly what he was doing at all times. In other words, he was a very good bullshitter.

This place wasn't uncleanly, but it was definitely eclectic, and not Al's style in the slightest. As outlandish as his wardrobe or personality could be, he craved neatness and order. It was too instilled in him after spending most of his life in the military. Hell, when they were trying to get the Project off the ground, he'd never have gotten anywhere with those Washington nozzles if he hadn't had an orderly filing system, meticulously crafted notes, and a slick presentation. Sam was the brain, but the pitch was his department, and suits love fastidious records.

His best friend, on the other hand, worked in controlled chaos. Sam might have a brilliant mind, but unfortunately he seemed to be the only one who understood it. His office had no filing pattern that anyone could figure out, but he always knew where everything was when he needed it. It was a sore point between the two of them and it drove Al nuts. Just because Sam could call on his photographic memory whenever he needed to, didn't mean the rest of the peons at the Project had time to decode his ancient Beckett puzzle room. On more than one occasion he'd tried to get Sam to at least alphabetize, but the quantum physicist stubbornly refused, insisting that he "knew" his "system."

Fine as this trip down memory lane was (and Al was grateful to still have those memories at all), this hadn't gotten him very far on this leap. You'd think the Grand Poobah would leave me some hints or something, Al thought with annoyance. You wanna send a clue my way, Big Guy? He wished his stomach would stop doing flip flops. Huh, must still be woozy from the leap-in. Scratching himself seemed to help, so he idly did that while he considered his game plan.

Aha! Ziggy was the chief programmer and Gooshie was the computer with Barbra Streisand's ego! Al bit his lip smugly. Sam need never know about his little swiss-cheesing problem.

Where was Sam anyway? He made a mental note to get on his friend's case about being late. As usual, it looked like it was up to him to do everything. What would that kid do without him? Probably fall to pieces without a Calavicci perched on each shoulder.

Well, no use in sitting on his thumbs waiting. He'd need to get out there and do some real Columbo stuff to figure out how to fix history, and that meant his first order of business was to get out of these stupid pink pajamas.

Al had had more fantasies about women than he could count, but in not one of those fantasies did he fancy becoming one. Still, if he was going to be a woman he hoped he'd at least have a decent-sized set of bazooms. Rifling through her underwear drawer produced an impressively large over the shoulder boulder holder, and he cheekily raised an appreciative eyebrow. Now, did he actually need to wear this? He didn't really have any yabbos, after all. Curious now, he cupped his chest to see if he could feel his host's aura. No bazongas here. Nada. Zero. Zip. Zilch. Thank god.

Before he could explore himself any further, he heard the sound of someone opening the door downstairs.

Sam's trip home had been less smooth than the previous part of his day. Akio owned a less-than-functional '82 Buick that refused to start after less than three tries. Eventually, Sam had coaxed it into running, and found the nearest gas station to pick up a map. Thankfully, it turned out he didn't live too far from the pharmacy. When he'd pulled into the driveway at dusk, he made sure to toss the map into the trash bin on the curb. If Mrs. Tanaka needed to use the car, she might find it strange that her husband needed local directions.

The Tanaka house was located on the outskirts of the city, in a suburban area. It didn't look like a bad neighborhood, but everything was just a little worn out from age. A smile grew on Sam's lips as he opened the gate and followed the path, walking past lawn ornaments of smiling animals and oversized mushrooms. The home seemed friendly and lived in, with an autumn wreath hung warmly on the front door. As he stepped up to the entrance, his feet squished onto an old welcome mat. The slightly imperfect touches made it all the more inviting, and Sam saw shades of a farm in Elk Ridge, Indiana, states and decades apart.

He raised his hand to knock and quickly stopped, mentally chastising himself. This was supposed to be his house. He cast a quick, nervous glance over his shoulder to see if anyone had been watching, but luckily no one was outside at the moment. Once he determined which key was the one to the house, he opened the door and made his way inside.

Al cautiously peered around the corner by the stairs to see who his visitor was. If it was a burglar or something, there was no way he was getting held up in girly things. Well, if it was a burglar, he had nice taste in clothing at least. To Al's relief, he saw the man had a set of keys, although he almost seemed like he'd never set eyes on the place before. Well, neither had Al. A quick sweep of the eye was in order. The rest of the house had the same hodgepodge design as the bedroom, a thrown together mixture of antiques and photography.

Good lord, he needed to pee. A cursory glance revealed no bathroom upstairs, so he decided to bite the bullet and head downwards. So who was this guy to him? How well did they know each other? In what way was he supposed to greet him? In the end, he settled for simply clearing his throat.

-

Sam was startled by the sound of someone clearing their throat obnoxiously. His body swung around to see a petite woman in pink pajamas at the top of the stairs. And extremely pregnant. This must be the missus...whatever her name was. A quick look at the large collection of photos of the two of them confirmed Sam's assumption. Time to put on his best face and play the part.

"Hi there."

-

Great. You couldn't even provide a name? Lot of use you are, bucko. Al was feeling pretty stupid not even knowing what to call himself. He tried to act natural.

"Hey, uh...you." Nailed it.

-

Hmm. She seemed nervous. Maybe she'd been worrying about him since he was late, Sam thought guiltily. He took a few steps toward the stairs and tried to engage her. "H-How was your day?"

-

How was he supposed to know? He'd only just gotten up. Hold the phone, that clock over there read 8 pm. How much sleep did this woman need? Had she slept all day, or did she just go to bed extremely early?

Jeez, he was out of shape. It wasn't a long stairway, but it seemed to take forever. By the time he was at the bottom he was winded. Winded. He was glad Sam wasn't here to see this; it must have been a sad sight. It had to be a holdover from Miss Naps-a-lot, because Al Calavicci didn't get winded walking down no set of stairs.

Oh, right, Mr. Helpful was waiting for an answer.

"Oh, it was...you, well, you know how it is," he finished lamely. Time to divert back to the other guy. "How was your day at, uh...?" He waited for the other man to finish for him and provide some actual information.

-

"Oh, you know," Sam replied with a look of awkward politeness, "it was the same old, same old at the pharmacy." At least, it had appeared to be a normal day. His "wife" leaned against the banister to catch her breath and his expression changed to concern. "Hey, why don't you sit down?"

-

By now, Al was beginning to notice the numerous pictures of his host and this man together. There was that ooky feeling again. He saw the ring on the other man's hand and cast his eyes down in horror to see another ring on his own. They were married! Yikes! His new spouse mentioned something about sitting down and reached for him, which prompted Al to instinctively pull out of his reach.

"Sit down?" he yelped, "Oh, uh, sit down! Say, that's a good idea, buddy!" He winced at the slip up and quickly shuffled out of the way toward the couch.

"Is something wrong?" The man did actually seem concerned. No wonder, his wife was acting like a crazy person. But Al couldn't help it. Touching led to affection, and affection led to smooching, and Admiral Calavicci just wasn't ready yet for that kind of relationship.

"Wrong? Nothing's wrong!" Al tried to play it off a little too loudly. "Why would anything be wrong?" To cover, he let out a natural sounding laugh.

-

That fake laugh was covering for something. It was the same laugh Al would use when Ziggy gave him bad news and he didn't want to tell him, and it was just as convincing. If this was something serious, Sam knew he had to do something to fix it right away, so he quickly followed his wife into the living room.

-

With some effort, Al managed to lower himself onto the couch. What was with him today? It felt like his body had been weighed down by a ton of bricks. He cursed himself when he realized he still desperately needed to take a leak, but he'd already made the commitment to the couch. The head might as well be a thousand miles away now. His new husband sat in the chair across from him, leaning forward. Watch your mits there, pal, Al thought as he eyed the stranger's hands with suspicion.

"Are you sure you're alright? You know you can tell me if anything's wrong."

Well for starters, I'm not really your wife; I'm a time-displacedman who's been sent here to right some major muck-up in your life. How's that? He squirmed in his seat. He hadn't needed to drain the anaconda so badly in all his life. And what happened to those chameleon skills he'd just been patting himself on the back for? Must've been eaten up by the leap. Double damn! Wait a second...that's it!

"It's nothing," Al waved dismissively, "I'm just, uh, I'm just hungry. Have you eaten yet?" He was actually starving, truth be told. Probably because he'd emptied out his lunch in the bedroom. Or his host's lunch; he'd never been sure on that one.

-

Sam was uncertain about the woman before him, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what was bothering him. Yes, she seemed jumpy, but there was something else there under the surface. If Al were here he could have Ziggy look up her history, and Sam wished he would show up already. Well, if wishes were horses...

Figuring he could get her to relax if he fixed something for them both to eat, he decided dinner was in order. And well, he hadn't eaten yet. He got to his feet again and said, "I'll fix us some dinner, huh? What are you in the mood for?"

-

Say, there was a question. Al scratched his chin in thought. "Wellllll...I could really go for some cinnamon toast...oh, uh, and some pickles!" He frowned. Where had that come from? It sounded like the greatest thing in the world right now, but even he knew that was weird.

The other man grinned knowingly. "Cinnamon toast and pickles, coming right up."

Great, now Al could go hose the porcelain. Unfortunately, getting up was easier said than done. His doting husband was, of course, ready to lend a helping hand.

"Need some help?"

"I got it, thanks," Al responded, irritated, as he tried to heave himself upward from the overstuffed couch. Who did this guy take him for? He wasn't some helpless woman. Though in his experience, women were rarely as helpless as they seemed. Most women, however, were not secretly a sixty-something-year-old admiral. And he was determined to get through this leap quickly, efficiently, and with his dignity intact.

Unfortunately, once he managed to get off the couch, he hadn't quite gotten his balance yet and ended up tripping on the coffee table. Mr. Perfect had lightning quick reflexes and was able to grab him, but that only managed to make him fall in the other direction. With an oomph! Al and his uninvited hero came crashing to the ground.

Both men felt an electric charge surge through them, and sparks crackled from their points of contact. To either of them the other seemed to warp and ripple, changing shape, morphing into another person. And suddenly they saw each other as who they really were, eyes wide and mouths agape as they realized they were tangled on the floor with their best friend.

"Al?!"

"Sam?!"

Neither of them could form a coherent sentence for a moment. And then, in unison, the inevitable, "Oh boy!