Chapter 1

Greg House sat at the table nursing his beer. Well, nursing wasn't exactly the right word. That implied that he'd had only that one the entire time he'd been there.

And that would be a lie.

It was actually his fourth. He knew that he'd be called on soon to go to work, so he'd probably have to stop drinking, but really for what reason? He could do this as easily drunk as sober.

Sometimes drunk was better.

When he took the time to think about it, it amazed him sometimes this feeling that his life was over. That there really was nothing much worth living for. Oh, he knew people often felt that way.

It just didn't usually happen to twenty-five year olds.

He glanced at the bar, and Andy, the bartender, gave him a grin. Any minute now, Andy would be telling him to get to work. It was okay; he had to work. He needed food to eat, beer to drink and the occasional pot or coke to help him get through this.

He looked towards the bar again, but Andy wasn't grinning. He looked strange, like something was happening to him. Could he be sick?

Greg shook that thought out of his head. THAT wasn't his life. Not anymore. Not ever. He downed the beer and wondered if he had enough time for one more before work started.

Something was happening to Andy. As he stood there watching Greg drink his beer, a strange shimmering glow enveloped him. Of course, no one else in the bar saw it. Other than Greg thinking he looked strange, no one noticed when Andy left and someone else took his place.

Because he looked exactly the same.

Sam Beckett stumbled a bit as he got his bearings and found his feet. Well, not technically HIS feet. They belonged to this – he looked down to find an apparently male body, thank God! He'd had more than enough experience being a woman. The feet and every other part of the body belonged to this guy, whoever he was. The only thing that belonged to Sam was the thoughts and feelings. He couldn't really explain it to anyone, as he didn't fully understand it himself.

Sam finally caught his breath. Leaping into someone was always a bit disconcerting. Mostly the people around him didn't notice anything unless they were in really close proximity.

Like this guy standing next to him and staring at him oddly.

"Andy? Did you hear me?" the guy asked. He was a big guy, older than Sam. Well, older than the real Sam. He had no idea at this point how old his present persona was.

"W-what?" he stuttered.

"I said, get your buddy over there to lay off the sauce and start playing some goddamned music. I ain't paying him to drink. I got plenty of people who would do that job for a lot less money."

While he spoke, the older man tilted his head towards a table across the room where a man sat drinking a beer. He was looking at Sam oddly. Had he seen the transfer? If he did, Sam doubted he'd noticed anything more than the little stumble.

"Uh, sure. I'll, um, ask him."

"You won't ask. You'll tell. Got it?"

A waitress came up to the bar at that moment and addressed the man. "Pete, Roger wants to put the drinks on his tab again. I told him I'd have to ask you, like you said."

"You tell that son of a bitch, he's not putting a damned thing on the tab until he pays what he owes."

"Right, Pete." She walked away to convey the message to the hapless customer.

Pete stared at Sam. "Andy? Get moving."

"Right. Sure…Pete."

Sam had learned to listen carefully to those around him. It was the best way to learn the names of people he was supposed to know without looking like an idiot. Although sometimes he did, no matter what he tried.

He walked to the table where the man was sitting and studied him as he approached. He was in his twenties, he estimated, slim, with a full head of reddish brown hair. He looked up when Sam approached and Sam saw his eyes were a deep, bright blue.

"Don't tell me." He said to Sam. "Pete sent you over to tell me to start working."

"That's about it."

The man nodded. "I know. Time for tickling the ivories."

He got up from the table and Sam saw that he was very tall. He walked easily to the piano in the corner and sat down. He switched on the mike and spoke into it.

"Hello, drunks and those about to be drunk. I'm Greg House and I'm going to bore you to tears on that journey."

He started playing a rock and roll song. The playing was very good. Sam breathed a sigh of relief and returned to the bar. At least he now knew the names of two people in this world. That was pretty good for only being here a few minutes.

As he stood behind the bar, something nagged at his brain. He was always missing things when he leaped. Things he should know just sort of disappeared. Something about Greg House was familiar, but he couldn't place it.

As he ruminated on that, he caught sight of a figure at the end of the bar, dancing with the music that was being played. In a bar like this, a man like him would certainly stand out. Although he was small in stature, his clothing made him seem larger than life. He was wearing a lime green suit with a bright yellow shirt and a tie in a yellow and lime green print. His shoes matched his suit. Also, no one else in the bar was dancing, so that was sure to bring attention to him.

That is, if anyone else in the bar could see him. Fortunately, only Sam could. Al was a hologram, hooked up to the neurons in Sam's head. He was Sam's best friend in the world and his only helper in his crazy life. It was Al who would explain where – and when – he was and what he was here to do. He got that information from a supercomputer nicknamed Ziggy which Sam had created.

Ziggy was very good at determining where he was and figuring what he needed to change in order to leap again. Unfortunately, Ziggy usually got that last part wrong. Despite the human qualities that Sam had integrated into her (yes, the computer was female), Ziggy was only a computer and could only compute the most logical outcomes. It took Sam's human viewpoint on the situation to determine what really needed to be done.

Whether Ziggy would be wrong or right, didn't matter at that moment. The thing that did was that Sam's only friend was there to help him. He always breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Al.

He tried to catch his friend's eye without making it too apparent. Eventually, Al looked towards him and smiled. Sam tilted his head toward the sign that said "restroom". Al nodded and continued dancing while Sam started making his way there.

"Hey, where you goin'?" Pete called out.

"Uh, men's room."

"It's not time for your break yet."

"Well, if I don't go to the john right now, there's gonna be an accident."

Pete grumbled something unintelligible, but Sam ignored him and kept going. He'd feel much better when he knew what he was up against.

In the bathroom, he looked around, but luckily it was empty. Which was good, since no one would witness him talking to himself. But it was bad, because Al wasn't there either.

Suddenly, Al appeared in front of him, causing Sam to stumble again.

"I wish you wouldn't do that!" he told him.

"Do what?" Al asked innocently.

"Appear out of thin air."

"I am thin air. At least to you."

Sam sighed and asked, "So where am I?"

"You're in a bar."

Sam stared at him.

'A bar," Al continued, "In Baltimore. It's…1984." He said, after banging the handheld device with the colored lights that he had in his left hand. His right hand balanced a cigar between two fingers.

"Okay, Baltimore, 1984. Who am I?"

"You're Andrew – Andy – Nelson. You're the bartender here."

"And why am I here?"

"Didn't you recognize the piano player?"

"His name seemed familiar, but, I don't know."

"That's your Swiss cheese brain. Come on, you didn't recognize Greg House? The G Man?"

"The G Man? It still sounds familiar, but I'm not sure."

"He was a musician, singer and piano player. He revolutionized modern music, blending rock and roll, jazz and even classical sounds together. His album, The G Man, went double platinum in '88."

"Right! I remember now. I had that album. I went to see him perform in 1990. He was amazing."

"He was."

Sam suddenly remembered something else and got serious. "Al, he died of a drug overdose in 1995."

"Yep."

Sam looked at the young man playing the piano. Greg was swaying a bit as his fingers went up and down the piano keys masterfully. He glanced up and saw Sam looking at him. He smiled wryly, then went back to concentrating on the music.

"What am I here to do, Al?"

"Well, Ziggy thinks you're here to stop him from overdosing."

"But that's eleven years from now. Any changes I make now could be gone by the time 1995 comes along."

"Ziggy says that this is a critical time in his life. If you can get him on the right path now, he won't overdose in 1995."

Sam watched him again. "I hope so, Al. Because it would really be a shame for the world to lose all that brilliance."