A series of stories defining the senses as well as the friendship found between Sam and Al. Let it be noted, that each sense is shown subtly through each story. In some cases more subtle than others. Each chapter is a different leap, and thus some are lighter than others. Each chapter can be read as a stand-alone, except perhaps…the last one.
Again this is written as a friendship fic, however can be interpreted in any way the reader desires.
As a side note- I am beta-less, so please forgive my mistakes.
My Sixth Sense
"Certainly, travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living."
Miriam Beard
Green Fedoras (Sight)
Part 1/6
Each time he leaped, he found himself somewhere new. A new bathroom, with new tiles, with new decorations, new toothbrushes, they were old memories for someone else. To him, they were new, and each time his head hurt as he tried to connect the dots. The red toothbrush had to be his, because the bristles were flattened and looked as if they've gone through hell and back. While the blue one had to be…Amy's…who personalizes their bathrobe? Because it had a cleaner, smoother feel to it.
He would pick up his red one with confidence, only to have Amy come in and question just why he was using her toothbrush.
It was times like these...he just wanted to give up. Over a toothbrush? He chided himself, you've been through war, through vicious attacks, through everything imaginable, and you want to give up?
No. It was just that the little things reminded him how much he missed home. He couldn't remember his own home, but that's what he missed! He missed his bed, his clothes, his books, and even his toothbrush.
He would wallow in self pity whenever he had a chance each time during a leap. In his defense, it was just for a minute. Just the thought of I'm still not home would fly through his mind, ever so briefly, and then he would be back to saving lives.
Amy had finished brushing her teeth, and pecked him a kiss goodbye, picked up her purse, and ran out the door.
So Sam was left alone, and he began ruffling through papers. He found various sports magazines, more than a couple of bills, and a notebook, filled with newspaper clippings and small sketchy drawings.
The newspaper clippings were of various different subjects, railway crashes, charity events, and the occasional classified ad for a particular breed of dog. Surprisingly there were no sports clippings, which in all honesty, was what Sam had been expecting.
He supposed he should be used to being surprised.
He flipped through the pages, curiously glancing at what seemed random images. His eyes scanned the quick detailed hatch marks of the pen, one forming a street corner, many of the sketches formed different people. Too busy studying them that Sam jumped when he heard the all familiar voice next to his ear.
"Hey Sammie boy."
The clippings went flying, and Sam felt his face turn red as his heart accelerated.
"Al!"
"Yeees?" He drawled, already lighting a cigar, and wearing a smirk which knew exactly what had Sam all wound up.
There were a million and one things Sam wanted to shout at the man, all curses, every curse word he ever learned, in all the languages he ever learned…and yet he could only say one thing.
"Yucky." The two friends both seemed startled at the statement, Al slowly adopted a look of amusement and Sam one of puzzlement until his mind suddenly clicked all the pieces together. Al was wearing that outfit again. That green outfit, which the little girl claimed was 'yucky'…from that leap….wait a second…he remembered.
He was about to share his delight with his hologram, and was in the middle of opening his mouth to declare his joy when…
"Hey, these aren't bad drawings, you know who drew them?" So suddenly did the question come, that Sam found himself concentrating on it, and he forgot all about his brief moment of glory.
"No, I think I drew them, well, not me, but you know…my host, whatever his name is."
"Patrick Leadman. Boy, Leadman, sounds like a superhero…no, more like a bad guy's name. You know which superhero I hate? Plastic Man. Even his name was dumb! I remember-" Sam knew when to cut his friend off.
"Al…"
"Ok, ok, well let's see…it is…" a gurgled beep from the handlink and… "June eighteenth nineteen eighty seven…Eighty seven, that was a good year, that was when you…" Al trailed off, gave a slight cough and scratched his head underneath his fedora.
"When I what?"
"Sa-am, if you can't remember, you know I can't tell you…"
"Why Al?"
"Your rules Sam." Al shrugged.
"No I mean, why can you tell me stories of all your lovers, all your flings, and stuff like hating Rubber Man-"
"Plastic Man, although I think there was a Rubber Band Man, I don't know if there was much a difference"
"Plastic Man…" Sam dutifully corrected "It seems I know more about your life than I do mine!"
"You do." Al replied smugly, puffing on his cigar, and began bouncing on his toes.
Sam almost did a Charlie Brown impression, and just had the desire to wrap his hands around Al's neck and shake him until….until he didn't feel like shaking him anymore.
No Sam that pesky little inner voice piped up Al's your friend, killing him would be wrong.
Would it?
Yes, Sam. Besides, if you kill him, you won't be able to get back home.
Not like I can kill him, Sam thought glumly. He's a hologram…
If Al had caught on to Sam's half-thought up murder plot, he didn't show it and continued walking around the room, waving his arms about making a show out of the information on the handlink.
"You're married to Amy Leadman, surprised she didn't take up the name Leadwoman, heh, and you are a writ" A frown, and a mournful beep "er…writer, of children's books…Ah here it is, your wife is the illustrator, but she also works part-time as an accountant."
"So what am I here to do?" Sam averted his gaze as he saw Al fumbling with his precious handlink as always. One of these days…Al was going to break that confounded thing…and….
"There's an eighty-five percent chance that you are here to come up with Pat's next best-selling idea…"
"What??"
"Well, Ziggy says that The Leadmans have hit a rut this year as their last book was total crap-ola. And the books don't get much better…due to the lack of success Patrick gets depressed, and commits suicide. Amy follows shortly thereafter…"
"So I have to write a book?"
"A children's book Sam…we're not talking a novel here…just, maybe plant some seeds into your wife's head…doodle some funny pictures…"
"Doodle?" Sam echoed with horror.
"You know, sketch, scribble, doodle Sam…"
"I can't doodle! I don't think…Can I draw Al?"
"As well as the next person." Al blew out a puff of smoke and shrugged. "You're no Raphael, but that's the great thing about doodling! You're just jotting down ideas, the best doodles, are the messy doodles." Al trailed off, shifting his shoulders and raising his arm, hand set above the handlink ready to…
"Al, what are you doing with that handlink? Don't think about leaving me now…"
"Sa-am" Al whined pitifully, and gave a small pout. "It's Tina's birthday today, and I promised her that if you weren't in a life or death situation I would go with her and…" a sly smile, and a waggle of eyebrows "…celebrate."
"Allll…"
"Oh no Sam, not the puppy eyes! You can't give me those." Al squeezed his eyes shut, and grinned "Ha! Can't see you!" Al pressed the button, and the imaging door opened, however, the observer's eyes being closed, Al slammed, back first, against the wall of the imaging chamber, missing the door by inches.
"Ouch." Was all that Al said, and he opened his eyes quickly, turned around, and fled out the door.
"Traitor." Sam muttered sadly as he fell down onto the couch and looked around all the newspaper clippings.
"Ideas…how in the world am I going to think up an idea for a children's book?" Sam sighed sadly, and wondered what he liked when he was a kid. Well, he liked watching a certain show…what was it called? Well, that's just great. He couldn't remember.
Ok, ok, don't kids like talking animals for whatever reason? Talking dog maybe? No, it's been done. Well, then again, pretty much everything has been done. How about a chicken? A chicken who always has to wear…a tie.
Sam moaned out loud.
This was going to be tough.
-o-O-o-
Three hours and two jumbo sized bags of potato chips later, Sam had nothing. Zero. Zilch. Nada. Zip! He took Al's advice and doodled what he could. He drew the damn chicken with it's blue tie, and a couple of atoms…He thought of making the book educational a couple of hours ago, but brushed off the idea as he realized how badly shot his memory was.
The only thing he seemed to remember was Al's story of Plastic Man, and Al's shirt. Yucky, Sam chuckled as he recalled Al singing to the young girl. To see Al's compassionate side was something new, it wasn't as if he didn't know it was there. After all, Sam was friends with him for more than said reason, but for Al to show it to this young girl so willingly, that was new.
Memories were rare for Sam, and so he held on to this one as best he could. There had to be a reason why he was remembering this now.
It's funny how the simple sight of a shirt could open so many new doorways for Sam. Had he really done all that? How long has it been? Sam had forgotten how wonderful memories could be, how relaxing and how…soothing.
On another tangent, it was always Al who provided him with any sort of memories, well sure there was the occasional, I see a sled…hey remember that winter…? But without Al, Sam wondered if Sam would even exist. Well of course he would exist but would Sam exist?
Their friendship ran deep, and it was because of the acceptance of each other's differences that made it so. What if it were someone else who had kept in contact with Sam? Would his personality alter? If it were someone like him, who agreed with everything Sam said…would he be the same?
With Al, he could argue, and push his buttons, he could feel alive. He could feel as if he had his own mind beside that of his host's. Every time he saw Al in one of his outrageous suits, he would remember how he used to poke fun at his friend for buying them. Every time Al smoked a cigar, he remembered how his father had the same nasty habit of smoking and he would say nothing because he remembered how Al needed them for his own sanity.
Every time he saw Al smile, or smirk, he would get a reminder of how close of friends they truly were…and how there was a home waiting for him.
Absently Sam doodled upon the sheet of paper, and he stared at the page…his eyes widening. This feeling of inspiration, how it always comes when you least expect it…he remembered that.
Upon the sheet of paper was an image of a fedora, a cigar, and Ziggy…and another chicken, but that could just be ignored.
He set to work, and mentally cackled as he jotted down his idea. Done, done, and done.
Sam sat down and waited. Leap. Leap. Leap. Come on…well, maybe he had to wait for Amy to get home. So Sam set his head down, and closed his eyes, trying to get images to flash before him. There was Tom, Katie, Mom, and Dad…and…
Sam had drifted off to sleep before he could even begin to recall the name, the name of that woman with the sad hopeful eyes…
-o-O-o-
"Oh Pat! This is such an adorable idea! Oh! This will be a success! I just know it!" Amy hugged Sam, and gave him a long kiss, which Sam returned with an equal measure of joy.
Amy quickly let go and put her hand against her head with a smile.
"Oh! I have so many images, I better get them down before I forget. You just keep tweaking the story honey, I'll be sure to thank you tonight." A sly wink and she slid through a door, disappearing from Sam's sight.
Sam smiled as he saw Al appear beside him, and he turned as he noticed his friend was still wearing the green outfit. His grin faltered as he noticed the look upon Al's face.
"What's wrong Al?"
"Cute, Sam. Real cute." Sam's smile came back and he blinked his eyes innocently.
"Who, me?"
"I saw that you had managed to change history." Al sniffed, pulling the handlink out of his pocket.
"Yea? Why haven't I leaped?"
"They wrote the book based on your idea, kids everywhere loved it, now there's a series."
"A-Al. That's great, then why haven't I leaped?" Al narrowed his eyes, and Sam finally noticed the yellow book his hologram had under his arms. Al caught his gaze and smiled.
"Probably cause you're wondering how it turned out."
"Uh-nah." Sam smiled sheepishly "After all, it was my idea…I should know how it turned out…."
"Sit!" Al demanded, and Sam sat, chuckling nervously, as Al paced, put the handlink back into his pocket and eyed his time-traveling friend wearily. He opened the book, and cleared his voice.
"It was a nice sunny day at the farm, and everything was at peace. The cows were mooing…and the chickens were being chickens- Real cute there Sam- But a little boy was not happy…his name was Sam, and he was an adventurer, with the purest of hearts…"
Sam grinned, and put his hands against his cheeks, and his elbows on his knees as he sat cross-legged and watched Al become the storyteller he was meant to be.
"…his friend Al, who was so much more fun than his dog, Benny- Gee, Sam, nice to know I'm more fun than a dog- Only little Sammy could hear Al, and most importantly, he was the only one who could see Al. This always upset little Sammy as Al was always funny. He always had a different colored lollipop in his mouth, and always wore funny costumes…Sammy's favorite was the green one, with the yucky shirt and the funny hat."
Sam sighed as he saw his friend reach into his pocket for, before he had always assumed a cigar, but now it was a lime green lollipop, and Al began unwrapping it with one hand, not letting himself stop once during the story.
"Sometimes Al would help, but sometimes Al got him into trouble, like when he talked him into sticking his hand in the cookie jar that one time. Sammy had tried to explain to Mother that it wasn't his fault…that Al was really hungry…but for whatever reason Mother didn't listen. Moms were always like that..."
Sam half-listened to the rest of the story, snickering at the number of coincidences, and how the story had evolved from the small idea he had, and felt oddly pleased. The other half of his mind was musing upon the different grimaces and expressions Sam saw upon Al's face. An actor, and it was nice to have a leap in which no life was threatened. Now they were two friends just having fun.
Al finished the story with a smile, and then looked to Sam his eyes shining bright.
"That was great Sam. I bought you the whole series, and it's waiting for you." There was a slight embarrassing pause, as if Al wasn't sure to say… "Just like I am."
"I know." Sam whispered, his throat, closing up at his friend's faith. Al would never give up on him, never. Al nodded, pretending to be focused on the book, and gave a flickering smile.
"There's one thing I don't understand…"
"Yea?"
"Apparently, this Al, is always with a stuffed animal…"
"Yea?" Sam asked with confusion, and Al turned the book around, allowing him to see the beautiful image Amy had painted, and he saw a boyish figure with a green hat hugging… "Oh boy."
"A stuffed animal, named Ziggy, which happens to be a chicken with a tie." And Sam was laughing as he became engulfed in blue.
And he leaped.
