Author's Note and Disclaimer: I acknowledge that Quantum Leap and its original characters belong to Donald Bellisario.
Small Things
"Would you like me to do it now?"
Sam frowned in confusion as a man in a white coat came into focus before him. He gazed vacantly until the question was repeated.
"Would you like me to do it now?"
Do what? Sam quickly surveyed the room, struggling for an answer. "Uh ..."
"I'm sorry, would you like me to give you a couple of minutes alone?"
That seemed like a safe option. "Yes, please."
The man nodded at Sam and quietly left the room. Sam looked around again. He seemed to be in some sort of surgery. He noticed for the first time that a leash was wrapped around his hand, and on the other end of it a miserable-looking black Labrador lay slumped on his side panting. Beside him was a large examining table and Sam made the connection. I'm at the vet's. He was rather relieved. At least the man wasn't about to do something to him.
He crouched down to tickle the broad hairy head and found himself smiling empathetically as lackluster brown eyes met with his own. "What's up, buddy," he said softly. "Not feeling so good, huh?"
Very slightly, the dog wagged his tail. Sam grinned and reached towards the dog tag on his collar. He turned it over and read the dog's name aloud: "Donny." Again, the tail wagged slightly.
Sam turned, hearing movement behind him. The white-coated man had returned. Sam stood up straight as the man addressed him again.
"Would you like me to do it now?"
There was that question again. Surely, whatever the veterinarian was going to do, he would be helping the dog, Sam rationalized. He took a deep breath ...
"Say no, Sam."
Sam turned quickly to his right, where Al had suddenly appeared. Sam frowned, confused, and Al repeated his instruction.
"Say no."
"No?" Sam said questioningly to Al.
Unaware of the dual conversation, the vet looked surprised. "Sir, I would recommend euthanasia."
"So would I," Al stated quickly. "But not just yet, Sam. Trust me. Say you'll bring him back later."
Sam looked sadly at the dog, for the first time starting to understand the situation. He turned back to the vet. "Is he suffering?"
"Not much yet. But he will."
"Can I bring him back later? I, uh, I think I need some time to say goodbye."
The vet smiled compassionately and nodded. "Of course. Come at six o' clock – before evening surgery."
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"What's going on, Al?" Sam asked breathlessly as he carried the dog from the surgery.
"Hold on – get him in the car and I'll tell you. Car's here, Sam."
Sam carefully put Donny down and searched his pockets for the keys. With the dog safely settled in the trunk and himself in the driving seat, Sam waited for answers.
"It's July 1978, Sam. You're in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. "Your name's Michael Russell, you're forty and you're here to save your mom's life," Al finished matter-of-factly.
Sam glanced back towards the trunk. "And how does the dog fit in?"
"That's Donny. He's your mom's dog. Well, actually he was your dad's. Your dad died three years ago and the dog's been your mom's closest companion ever since. She's seventy-eight years old. If you have him put down before she has the chance to say goodbye, it'll kill her."
"Is that what happened?"
"Yeah, she only lasted about five months after dog went. I guess it broke her heart."
"Poor lady. You think if I take him home and she gets to say goodbye, I'll leap?"
"That's Ziggy's theory." Al grinned at Sam. "How 'bout we go find out."
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"Mom," Sam ventured as the elderly lady busied herself pouring tea at a table in her little garden. "Donny's really sick."
His 'mom' sat slowly in her garden chair and reached down to rub the head of the friend lying at her feet. The action was soothing to both her and the dog. Even so, it was some time before she could bring herself to say her next words. "It's the end, isn't it?"
Sam nodded slowly. "The vet wants me to bring him back at six tonight."
The lady looked resigned. "That's for the best. I don't want him to suffer."
"He won't, Mom." Sam sipped his tea and a somber silence settled on the pair. He was worried about her. "Would you like me to stay this afternoon? I mean, can I do anything?"
She smiled weakly at him. "You don't need to stay. But you could fetch something down from the spare bedroom for me," she suggested hopefully.
Sam was intrigued. "Of course. What do you want?"
"There's an old carpet bag in the wardrobe. Please bring it to me, Michael."
Sam crept upstairs, wondering which room was the spare bedroom. He chose the room with a single bed and a scattering of toys. The grandchildren's room, he suspected. Finding the bag, he brought it downstairs and handed it to his mother, then sat, expecting an explanation. But it wasn't forthcoming and the bag remained at her side, unopened.
"Thank you, Michael. You must have things to do, so you get going and I'll see you later."
Sam had the distinct impression she was trying to get rid of him.
In the car, Al was waiting for him. "Hi, Sam. It's going well."
Sam half-laughed. "Are you sure? She practically threw me out just now. I hope she's not going to do anything stupid."
Al shook his head. "I don't think so. She's a wise old bird. She just needs some time."
"Yeah, I guess. I'd feel better if you kept an eye on her though. Let me know if she needs me."
Sympathetic to Sam's concern, Al smiled and nodded slightly. "I will, Sam." He pressed a few buttons on the handlink and vanished abruptly.
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Shafts of warm sunlight streamed across the neat lawn, as the frail, old lady opened the dusty carpet bag and rummaged around for the desired items. A worn sketch pad and an old charcoal pencil. Finding one, and then the other, she set them carefully on the table before her and leaned over one arm of her chair to gaze intently at the tired animal at her feet. She reached down and ran two fingers gently and repeatedly over the soft fur between his eyes, before moving herself carefully to the opposite seat to get a better vantage point for her task. Undetected, the hologram watched with interest as the lady drew her tools towards her and poised her pencil above the paper. Hesitating, she watched Donny again thoughtfully before beginning something she hadn't tried for a long time.
As her friend took shape on the page, she began to think about her life with him and felt inspired to scrawl a few words in one corner. Words which caused her eyes to mist and a small tear to drop onto her page, slightly smudging her work.
She made no effort to remove the tear-blemish, considering it part of their story.
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"Will you bury him for me," she asked, when Sam returned some hours later. "I have a place for him."
"Of course, Mom. I'll bring him right back."
"Thank you."
Nearby, Al was mysteriously quiet, mesmerized by something on the table. Sam came closer and followed his gaze, towards the charcoal drawing of Donny and it's poignant inscription.
"This is beautiful, Mom. Is this what you were doing this afternoon?" Sam asked.
"It helped me," was all she would say. And she kissed Donny and whispered goodbye hoarsely to him as Sam carried him away.
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As gently as he could, considering the effort involved, Sam eased Donny – now at peace – into the trunk of Michael's car before slumping into the driver's seat. Al was waiting for him, and Sam shifted in the seat to face him.
"That was hard, Al. And he's not even my dog."
Understanding, Al nodded but took a moment before answering aloud. "I know, Sam. But that's it. You're done. Michael can take over from here."
Sam frowned, sensing emotion in his friend's voice. "What's wrong, Al?"
Al laughed softly. "Nothing, Sam. I'm just amazed – again – by what you manage to do."
"What we manage to do, Al. What did we do, anyway?"
Again Al was slow to answer. "I, uh, I'm going to tell you a little story, Sam. It's about the life of this wonderful woman ... her name's Mary."
Sam settled back against the car door and listened curiously as Al, with some reverence, began to recite Mary's story.
"She was born Mary Radley in London, England in 1900. She did some work with the St John Ambulance Brigade as a teenager and started training as a nurse during the First World War. That led her to work in a London hospital where she met an American soldier, Herbert Russell. After the war ended, she followed him back here where they married and had five children between 1922 and 1938. Then the Second World War came along and their oldest boy Kenny went off to fight. He never came back. By the time the War was over, her husband's health wasn't great, so Mary decided she should go back to work, and Bert – the husband – being the open-minded sort that he was, decided to let her. But she didn't become a nurse. She re-trained as an English teacher. Worked well into her sixties and was an inspiration to a lot of kids. In 1975, she lost Bert and thought her life was over. But Donny somehow filled the gap."
"Until today."
"Yeah. Before we turned up, Mary died of heart failure on 30th December 1978. Which was a disaster, because she still had something very important to do."
"What was that?"
"Michael Russell and his wife are about to have a baby, Sam. A little girl that they're going to call Elisabeth. She's a very special little girl, because they thought they couldn't have children, and they'll never have any more. In three years' time at a family party, Elisabeth falls into a neighbor's pond. She's found by her cousin, Josh, who pulls her out, but she's not breathing and no-one knows what to do. Except Mary." Al paused and swallowed hard. "Eighty-one years old and she hasn't practiced as a nurse since she was eighteen. But she remembers something and somehow she gets down on her knees and starts resuscitating this kid. Probably her technique's years out-of-date, but it works, Sam. First time around Elisabeth died. The family was devastated and the kid who pulled her out of the water was pretty badly traumatized by it."
"And now?"
"Elisabeth and Josh are both healthy, happy adults and Mary lived until she was eighty-five."
Sam stared at Al in disbelief. "All because we let her say goodbye to the dog?"
Al shrugged. "Sometimes it's the small things that make a difference."
Still amazed, Sam nodded thoughtfully. "I'm going to leap, Al."
"See y'soon, Sam," Al called softly as around him 1978 dissolved away.
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Eleven years you eyed me hopefully – always open;
But I kept my distance. His dog, I said.
Until one day, the tie that binds,
Unbound.
Instead of falling apart, we fell together –
You and me and a quiet new understanding.