"You did it, Sam!" Al cheered, clutching the handlink to him like a good luck charm, "Sunny Side Retirement Home stays put, and a resident is never kicked out again. Oh, and get this-Your host Nathan? He lives to be 103! Can you believe it?" He leaned in victoriously toward Sam, who celebrated with his fellow retirees. Nearby, a royally ticked off developer angrily stomped his feet and threw down his useless contract.

"That's great, Al!" exclaimed an elated Sam, mid-hug with one of the residents.

"Who?" the old woman asked.

"Never mind."

Al nodded assuredly and clasped his hands in front of him, bouncing on his heels. "Get ready to leap, kid."

"You're some man, Nathan!" Before Sam had a chance to react, the woman before him had planted a kiss square on his lips. As he was jolted with surprise, a shower of blue light engulfed him and Sam Beckett was off to the next destination.

Which, as it turns out, smelled a whole lot like garbage.

A huge waft of something rotten collided with Sam's senses, and he had to physically recoil. Not that he had anywhere to go, because he was standing in a dumpster. Consequently, his quick action was responded to by a terrified cat, who pounced out of the trash and onto his chest.

"GAH!" Splat! Sam fell onto his backside, and the cat zipped down the alley and disappeared forever. "Ah...ahhhh!" Scrunching his face in disgust, Sam wiped something with an inexplicable texture from his hand and onto a dirty paper bag. His hand still felt slimy."Oh boy..."

There had better be a good reason why he was sitting in a dumpster, Sam thought as his patience began to wear thin. Maybe he was a garbage man. Looking down expecting to see a uniform, he instead saw a stained gray hoodie, a threadbare red shirt, and a pair of jeans torn at the knees. On his feet were a pair of worn red Converse, looking far too used for anyone to be walking on at this point. A woman popped up over the edge next to him.

"Find anything good, Danny?" she asked, licking her lips. She was maybe in her 50s, with messy gray hair, her face lined beyond her age. Her clothes were in worse shape than Sam's. But there was a friendly warmth that seemed to come from within her.

"Uh...not, um, not yet," Sam stammered, "What...what am I looking for?"

"What are you talking about? You feeling alright?" Concerned, the woman placed a hand on his forehead. "You didn't catch anything, did you?"

"I'm fine, I'm just...hungry, is all," Sam said, just realizing this. His stomach complained loudly at him, and he wondered if it was his or Danny's doing.

"Well then you'd better find something in there quick," said the woman, pointing at the dumpster, "The soup kitchen isn't open 'til tomorrow."

"I-In here?" Disgusted, Sam glanced down at the trash and considered if there was anything that seemed less appetizing to him. "Uh...I'll tell you what, why don't we go somewhere?" he tried, "This one's on me. What do you say?"

A pause. The woman's face split with a toothy grin and she cackled. "That's a good one! It's nice to see you haven't lost your sense of humor." She clapped him on the back, shook her head, and stepped away. "Hey, I'm going to check the dumpster a couple blocks over. You get anything good, you know where to find me." And with that, she was gone.

It wasn't that funny. Checking his pockets, Sam couldn't even find a wallet, much less any sort of cash, confirming his suspicion that Danny was homeless. Still, he'd hoped briefly that he was wrong, and this wouldn't be his latest meal. Ugh.

Gulping, he put his hands back into the trash and began his search. He hoped Al would show up soon.

"Va-va-voom!" admired Al with the quirk of an eyebrow. Tina shut them inside the spacious storage closet as his eyes drifted over every one of her curves. She was shapely in all the right places, hugged tightly in a black corset and a skirt slit all the way up to her hip. Curly red hair cascaded over her shoulders from underneath a pointed black hat. "So..." Al said teasingly with lowered eyes, "Are you a good witch...or a bad witch?"

Two weeks had gone by since Sam's latest venture, and tonight was Halloween. The Project had been decked out with pumpkins, skeletons, zombies, and ghouls, but Al had insisted nothing, absolutely nothing, should have a black cat on it. It was bad luck, after all. But the Project was used to it, because this was his ritual every Halloween, and so they worked around his superstitious quirks to put on their annual Halloween Bash. Rather serendipitously, the biggest storm they'd had in a long time raged outside, pelting the Project with rain and adding to the spooky atmosphere.

Al, he didn't care for Halloween. As a firm believer in creepy crawlies, he found celebrating ghosts and goblins to be too much of a tempt of fate. As far as he was concerned, the otherworldly should be left well enough alone.

He could never hate Halloween, though. He couldn't hate it for the same reason he loved every other holiday: the sex. Boy, holiday sex was the best. And Halloween couldn't come a moment too soon, because it ended his and Tina's latest "off" phase. He couldn't remember what had broken them up this time. Probably something stupid involving coding, or whatever. Tina hated when he added "or whatever" to that.

In contrast to Al, Tina loved Halloween. As the proud owner of a crocodile and several other reptiles Al had had the displeasure of meeting, she was more accepting of strange and dangerous creatures. But at the end of the day, the real truth was that she just liked having an excuse to dress up in revealing costumes. Not that she needed an excuse to wear them in the bedroom, to Al's pleasure.

"I'm a bad witch..." she cooed, twirling her skirt in her hands, "but maybe you could, like, teach me how to be good..."

Al's hands slid around her waist, and he yanked her forward, causing her to shriek in delight. "Now why would I wanna do that...?" he whispered into her neck, brushing his lips against her skin. She gave a high-pitched giggle.

"Why, Admiral Calavicci..." she playfully scolded him. God, he loved it when she called him Admiral. As their lips interlocked, his hands began to explore more intimate places.

"Admiral Calavicci," came a different sultry voice.

Uh-oh. This wasn't sexy time "Admiral." This was work "Admiral." Maybe if he ignored her she would go away. Moving their two bodies as one, Al skirted over to the light switch and flipped it off.

"Oh, Al!" Tina squealed.

"Ahem. I know you're in here, Admiral. As I'm sure you're aware, I don't require lights to see."

Damn it. He thought he and Ziggy had come to an agreement not to interrupt him when he was sticking his banana in the fruit salad. Well, he'd gotten her to stop recording it, at the very least. With a long-suffering sigh, he extricated himself from a giggly Tina and turned the light back on. "What is it, Zig? I thought we had a little talk about inappropriate conduct in the workplace?"

"Yes, Admiral," Ziggy agreed, almost entirely patronizing, "and the irony of your statement is not lost on me. However, if I remember correctly, and I do, your rule to inform you as soon as Dr. Beckett leaps supersedes all other orders. Those were your words, Admiral."

Al directed his attention toward the ceiling with renewed interest. "Sam leaped?"

"That's what I just said."

"You have impeccable timing, Sam," Al groused, then turned back to Tina apologetically. "Sorry, babe. I've got work to do."

"I'll see you in the Control Room," she replied with a wink. With one last kiss, Al was out the door and on his way to the Waiting Room to see their newest guest. With any luck, he could get his "little admiral" to stand down before he got there.

One half-eaten garbage sandwich later, Sam was feeling pretty lousy, but at least he wasn't as hungry as he was before. Although he still didn't know her name, he'd passed the time waiting for Al by chatting with the woman he'd met at the start of the leap. She had a loud, boisterous personality, which meant she carried most of the conversation, which was fine by him. She seemed like the type of person who liked people, who had a sincere interest in what was going on in their lives. By the end of their talk, Sam had learned the names of everyone on the street other than the woman herself. Apparently she'd promised to meet with a friend named Violet, so she bid Sam farewell and left him alone.

At least he didn't have to worry about finding out where he lived. He considered following his new friend; maybe she was the reason he leaped in.

"Yuck! Oh, Sam, you have to see this!"

A startled Sam whipped around to see Al inspecting the dumpster. "Al!"

"Do you have any idea how much of this stuff can be recycled?" Al grumbled in disgust, motioning toward the offending items, "Plastics here, bottles over there-all going to waste! What's this planet coming to?" He shook his head to clear his boggled mind. "Sam, those bottles are still sitting in a dump in my time!"

"Al, never mind that. I'm homeless!"

"You figured that out, huh?" Al asked nonchalantly, sparing a glance at Sam's sad wardrobe as he took the handlink out of his orange suit jacket. Ignoring Sam's resentful look, he placed a cigar to his lips and punched in some keys. "It's November 10th, 1988, and your name is Danny Price. Uh, you're 22 years old, no family, and you've been living on the street for about a year and half now. Danny ran into a bit of bad luck when he lost his job at a packing facility, and he hasn't been able to get a job since."

"He's so young..."

"Unfortunately, a lot of young people end up on the streets," Al said, all too experienced since his days running away from the orphanage, "They run away from home, or don't have a support system, and they have to take care of themselves." He tugged at the handlink, as if to rip it in half, and added, "But kids are resilient. They take whatever comes their way."

Sam nodded. "What happens to Danny?"

Al read the handlink and shook his head. "No data. The last thing we could find on him was his employment at Evergreen Packing; after that he just disappears." He scratched absentmindedly at his ear. "Ziggy's looking into it, but details about the homeless can be kind of sketchy. Sorry, Sam."

That was worrying. "So that means he never gets off the streets," Sam concluded, "Is that what I'm here to do; help Danny get a job?"

"We don't know yet."

Sam pursed his lips in frustration. Sometimes having connections in the future was an absolutely useless asset. "What am I supposed to do in the meantime? I've already had to dig my breakfast out of there," he pointed at the dumpster, "and I'd rather not have to repeat myself for lunch and dinner!"

"You ate out of the garbage? Dis-gusting!" Al yelled unhelpfully, turning away.

"Al, I'm serious. What do homeless people do?" Sam wasn't sure he had much experience with the homeless, his latest friend not included. If he did, he'd swiss-cheesed it.

"What do you mean, what do they 'do'? They're people, Sam; there's no guide to being homeless." As Al was finishing his sentence, he jumped fearfully at something, but Sam couldn't see whatever it was he was reacting to.

"What's wrong?" he asked as Al looked up at something.

"Oh, uh, nothing," Al assured him, rolling his shoulders, "Just a storm outside. Spooked me a little. Jeez, it's really pounding out there." He tilted his head to listen to the muted sounds of rain and thunder, his mouth turning downward. "You know, Sam, it's Halloween here, and it's bad luck for it to storm on Halloween..."

"You think it's bad luck for it to be fall on Halloween," Sam commented as he rolled his eyes. Al could be so unbelievable sometimes.

"Ha ha," Al huffed, jabbing his cigar at him, "Make fun of me all you want, but lots of scary, bone-rattling stuff happens on Halloween. That's when all the weirdoscome out."

Sam let out a mocking gasp. "And those weirdos made it rain! It all makes too much sense!"

Al squinted one eye at him and blew out a puff of smoke. "It's easy for you to joke; it's already November when you are! Mark my words, Sam, nothing good can come of-"

Suddenly, Sam was blinded as Al's entire figure lit up hot white. In an instant, he was gone.

"Al!"

"-tempting the devil!"

A stunned silence. Al stood, mouth agape, his finger pointed at a confused crowd of people. What the holy hell? A minute ago, he'd been talking to Sam, then there was a lightning strike, and now he was...

He looked down. He was dressed in an all-black suit, standing at a pulpit, a Bible open in front of him. Terror creeping up on him, he reached up and felt a collar around his neck. No. Oh no. Sweet lord, no.

Someone leaned in quietly behind him. "Father?"

"Holy shit!"

There was an audible gasp from the crowd. Wide-eyed, Al attempted to get his bearings. Okay, so he'd leaped. Into the worst place he could imagine. No big deal. No big, stinkin', end-of-the-world, vomit-and-then-die, deal.

"Father, are you okay?"

Al glanced behind him. Another worried priest stared at him.

"Uhhhh...what I meant to say, was, uhhh..." Al cleared his throat nervously. The microphone in front of him reverberated some feedback. "Holy...is the Lord, the big guy in the sky…like a big pizza pie. He, uh, watches over us, uh...sometimes, and, uh...that's...good. Good guy. The Lord. Amen. Church dismissed."

"But Father-"

"That'll be all. Thanks!"

A pew creaked. The crowd slowly, awkwardly began to get up and exit, and Al let his head fall onto the pulpit. The priest behind him placed a hand on his shoulder and spoke to him quietly. "Russell?"

"Huh?" Al looked up. "Oh, uh, that's me..."

"Is everything alright? What happened?"

"Well to tell you the truth, uh..." He didn't know this guy's name, so he wasn't sure why he was searching for it. He went on. "To tell you the truth, I'm not feeling entirely myself today."

"This isn't one of your episodes, is it?"

"Episodes?"

The other priest seemed a bit uncomfortable. "Because...because of the war, I mean."

Al stiffened. Vietnam. What year was it? God, this was not the time to relive that part of his life. It was never the time. That needed to remain buried where it belonged, so Al straightened himself out and forced himself to look calm. As long as his hysteric, racing mind stayed under the surface, he wouldn't blow this leap before it even started.

"No, I'm okay now," he assured the other man, "Uh, thanks for checking."

The other man nodded and smiled. "Alright. Just making sure."

Smiling like the phony he was, Al shook the hands of the churchgoers as they left the building, commenting on his "interesting" sermon today. Not to toot his own horn, but he thought he was selling it pretty damn well. Darn.

For all of his early life, up until he left the orphanage, he was raised a Catholic, but by now that was deep in his past. His relationship with the church was...complicated. Not so very long ago, he would call it hate, but Sam had helped him rekindle some sort of hope in a higher power. Something, or Someone, had decided to send Sam-and now him apparently-through time to right wrongs. But it was a cruel Someone, for there were many wrongs in Al's life that he felt needed correcting. The fact they happened in the first place was a testament to the imperfection of this system. In other words, he and God might be on speaking terms again, but that didn't mean he still didn't have a bone to pick.

So why in the world God, Time, Fate, or Whatever had deigned to leap him into a priest was anybody's guess. It was the equivalent of having a manic depressive leap into a clown.

As he was projecting to the world that everything was fine and dandy, his eye caught on a stunning woman standing in the road in front of the church. He might be a priest, but his mind was thinking far from holy thoughts. In fact...his mind was going places that surprised even himself.

The woman was in her late 20s, with long, chestnut brown hair in curls down to her shoulders. There was no way she'd come from the congregation, because that outfit was...definitely not Sunday school material. An acid wash crop top hovered just above her navel, and a black pleather mini-skirt covered a pair of pink tights, which lead down her toned legs to her spiked, silver boots. As Al fantasized about removing this outfit, something else penetrated the periphery of his senses.

Almost as if he was aware of it before it was coming, Al knew a car was heading straight toward this woman. But he was too far away to do anything, so instead he tried to shout a warning.

"Hey, look out!"

The woman didn't even try to get out of the way, and the car went straight through her.

Literally, straight through her. It phased through her body, as if she didn't exist. Al's jaw dropped.

Was she from the Project? She had to be a hologram then, and maybe Al had just swiss-cheesed her. But she sure as hell didn't look like no scientist, engineer, or Navy personnel. Then again, when he was himself, neither did he.

"Who were you talking to?" asked the woman in front of him, looking at the street in confusion.

"Uh...I thought I saw someone I knew. Excuse me."

Al parted with the crowd and made his way over to the mystery hologram.

"It's about time you showed up!" he whispered in irritation. The woman jumped and gasped, clutching her chest. She glanced around her and then back at him.

"Who, me?" she asked.

"No, the hologram behind you," Al answered sarcastically, "Let's go somewhere more private and we'll talk." Jerking his head forward, he headed for the back of the church.

Just his luck. He leaps and forgets who his hologram is. Not that he wouldn't mind getting to know her, because that body...that was worth knowing a second time.

"We need to have a serious talk about making the Imaging Chamber lightning-proof!" Al complained as he stomped around back, "I'll accept that the first time was a fluke, but this is getting ridiculous! Look at me; I'm not meant to be a leaper!" He spun around to face his attractive Observer.

The woman's mouth hung open dumbly, exposing a big, pink wad of bubblegum. "So you really can see me?"

Sharp as a tack, this one. "Of course I can see you. Nice to see they fixed those tuning issues, by the way; you're coming in nice and clear. Uh...whoever you are." He waited for her to fill in the blanks.

The woman gave an apologetic grin. "Father, forgive me, but I have no idea what the hell you're talking about." Al frowned as she squinted and began to walk in a circle to study him excitedly, "This is unreal! Who are you? Howsit you can see me?"

Now Al was very lost. If he had swiss cheesed something that would make sense of this lady, he couldn't begin to fathom what it was. "What do you mean, who am I? Who are you? Aren't you from the Project?"

The woman stopped and put a hand on her hip in annoyance. "Do I look like I'm from the projects? What does that have to do with anything?"

She couldn't be real. Al's face became lined with frustration. "What are you, an idiot? Project Quantum Leap!"

"Wazzat, some sort of after school program?"

Al was nonplussed. Either she was incredibly dense, or she really had no idea what he was talking about. She reminded him a bit of someone he knew but couldn't quite place: gorgeous, a strange, borderline annoying tone of voice, ditzy personality...only without the smarts to back it up. He was at a loss for words.

He needn't say anything, because the kooky woman's features melted in remorse. "Oh, I'm sorry, Father! I don't mean any disrespect, it's just...I haven't been able to talk to someone like you in a long time! Like, normally I'm really great with people, trust me. My name is Vanessa, Vanessa Tafani." She held out her hand, remembered her intangibility, and then giggled. "Oh, whoops!"

Eyes slit with suspicion, Al questioned, "If you aren't from PQL, then who are you with?" They'd encountered other leapers in the past, and it never ended well. If she was with them, he'd need to play his cards close to his chest. Then again...he wouldn't be able to see her if she wasn't tuned into his neurons and mesons, right?

Vanessa giggled and fanned herself. "That's a bit of a personal question, don't you think? I, um, thought you holy men were supposed to stay away from girls?"

"I mean," Al started impatiently, "who do you work for?" He didn't have time for games. Something about this woman was really rubbing him the wrong way. It didn't matter how luscious she looked.

"Well I used to work at Ruby's Hair Salon," Vanessa said, fussing with her hairdo, "It's just a few blocks down the road, actually! They don't usually do men, but if you ask for Crystal, she gives this bitchin' shampoo-"

"Whoa whoa whoa, hang on!" Al cut her off and raised his hands, "You're from here-now? What kind of hologram are you?"

Vanessa rolled her eyes and laughed. "Hologram? Whazzat, like a candy gram? I don't do that anymore, Father! Not since I was 15, but that was just, like a summer job, and..."

She began to babble on about something else, but Al tuned it out as he froze. If this was some sort of sick joke on the part of the Project, it wasn't very funny. But something...something told him she was telling the truth. And that had him quaking in his boots. Metaphorically speaking. "But...I saw that car drive right through you."

Vanessa stopped her lengthy story and blinked. "Well duh," she replied, as if it were obvious, "I'm dead!"

For a moment, Al was rooted to the spot, unable to register what he just heard. But then...he noticed Vanessa's pale complexion, her slight...offness. And then he saw, just peeking out from under her shirt, a large wound seeping with blood.

Al blinked. Vanessa blinked. Al stuck out a cautious hand, and it phased through Vanessa's arm. As soon as it went through her, he felt this unearthly chill spread through his hand and into the rest of his body, like nothing he'd ever felt before. This...was an honest to god dead woman. Speaking to him.

Well. It was time to call upon his Naval training and calmly, rationally, remove himself from the situation to reassess.

"AAAHHH!"

Apparition and dignity behind him, Al raced into the church in two seconds flat. Much like a cartoon, a cloud of dust could have been left in his wake. The church was empty to his relief, so he was able to lean against the wall and attempt to stop his heart from beating out of his chest.

Without skipping a beat, Vanessa stepped through the wall beside him. "Hey, where are you going? I need to talk to you!"

"AHH!" Al might have jumped six feet in the air at this point. He backed away down the middle of the pews, keeping his face toward his enemy. "D-Don't come any c-closer! S-Stay away!"

"Well that'saccepting of you!" Vanessa huffed, hands on her hips, "You didn't have a problem with me before!"

"Th-That was bef-fore I knew you were a...a...a gh-ghost!" Al stammered out. He had enough difficulty dealing with dead people without one trying to talk to him. Oh, he didn't mix with spooky, not one bit. Not one single, tiny bit. He wanted to mess with spirits about as much as he wanted to swallow glass.

"You're one to talk! Who's the real weirdo here, huh? You were the one bringing up telegrams! Who uses telegrams anymore?"

If there was ever a time to believe in the Holy Spirit, it was now. Al grabbed the Bible off the pulpit, clutched it to his chest, and brandished a crucifix like a weapon. "Back, evil she-spawn! Go back to the hell f-f-from whence you came!" He might have heard that in a movie once. He hoped it was convincing. Yet he couldn't prevent the stutter, because when he was dealing with things of the unnatural variety, he lost all ability to speak coherently.

"Who are you calling evil?" Vanessa gasped, offended, "Wazzat supposed to do, ward me off? I might be dead, but I'm still a person! I thought priests were supposed to be forgiving!"

"W-Well I've got news for you, lady; I'm no priest!"

"Admiral Calavicci!"

"AHH!" At this point, Al was liable to have a heart attack. He might have had one already. He flipped around to see another ghastly apparition: Gooshie, dressed in a dog suit, his entire image tinted purple. Al screamed again and held out the crucifix.

"Whoa! Admiral, it's me! Gooshie!"

Catching his breath and lowering the crucifix, Al really got a good look at him. "Gooshie? D-Do you see a girl over-" He glanced over his shoulder, but Vanessa was gone.

"A girl, Admiral?"

"Uh...never mind." He closed his eyes in relief and fell shakily onto a pew. The how and why of what he'd just witnessed could come later, because another question had shot to the top of Al's list. "Gooshie, why...why are you purple?"

"Oh, am I?" Gooshie looked down at himself curiously. A quick tinker with the handlink and most of the tint went away. He flickered for a moment. "There we are! No offense, but it's not exactly easy to tune into your brainwaves. Er, we managed to fix the problem getting a visual signal to you, but obviously we still have a few bugs to work out in the system. There might be one or two errors in the signal, but...at least you can see me!"

"You're a dog."

"Yes, Admiral," Gooshie agreed politely.

"Is there any particular reason why you're a dog?"

"Hm? Oh! It's still Halloween here! This is my costume!" Gooshie explained with a good-natured grin. Was it Halloween when he'd leaped? Damn it, of course it was. When else would it be? All Al could remember was the lightning. Speaking of which...

"Hey, why isn't Sam my Observer?" Al asked, "Didn't the lightning swap us again?"

Looking as if he'd been itching to deliver this news, Gooshie shook his head and said excitedly, "No, Admiral. Dr. Beckett's in 1988 with you!"

"Sam's here?" Almost as if Al's literal near-death experience hadn't just happened, his spirits lifted. No pun intended. He'd have an opportunity to physically see Sam...It was a pleasure he hadn't had in a very long time. His elation was palpable as he jumped to his feet. "Where? I've gotta see him!"

"Don't you want to know about who you leaped into?"

"What?" Oh yeah. He'd time-traveled. He supposed he should know what he was doing here. "Oh. Go ahead, but hurry it up."

Chipper, Gooshie lifted the handlink in one of his paws and read the relevant information. How he managed to press those tiny buttons with those huge mitts, Al wasn't sure. "You're Russell Gray, age 38, and you've been a priest for 15 years. Russell decided to turn to the priesthood after returning from Vietnam."

Yep. Vietnam. The nightmare that just wouldn't go away.

"I talked to Russell in the Waiting Room," Gooshie continued, "Really nice fellow! A-At first he was very jumpy, and then he, heh, he thought he was in Heaven! But...he smelled my breath, and I think he knew he was still alive."

"Did you have the dog suit on?"

Gooshie's mouth formed a perfect 'o' as it dawned on him. "Oh! Hmm. That must've seemed...strange."

Al smacked a palm to his forehead. If he'd told them once, he'd told them a million times: Never let Gooshie talk to any of the leapees. That's what Beeks was for when he was gone. Not that Gooshie liked to step away from his work often anyway, but he had neither the training nor the social skills for that kind of thing. Plus, he just wasn't very good at it. Luckily Russell was a man of the faith.

Al gestured with his hand and tried to keep things rolling along. "So what did Sam and I leap in for?"

"Sorry; we don't know anything yet," Gooshie replied nervously, "Ziggy's working on it. In the meantime, she says you need to keep up with Russell's duties as a priest."

"Aw, Gooshie! Do I have to?" Al whined.

"I'm afraid so, Admiral."

"But I don't wanna..." Al mumbled to himself.

Gooshie lifted a paw philosophically and cleared his throat. "Admiral, if I may. I believe it was Maya Angelou who once said-"

"Shut up, Gooshie."

"Right."

"Help me find Sam, will ya?" Al ordered more than asked. He was anxious to find his friend.

"Hey! You got some spare change?" called someone from behind.

Al sighed. "Look, I'm-" He turned around and stopped when he saw who was grinning at him. He'd seen that face in the Waiting Room. Which meant that he was... "Sam!"

He raced toward him, nearly tackling his friend in a huge hug, and Sam held him tight. When they pulled apart, it was their true faces they saw smiling back at each other. The embrace would've lasted a bit longer, but Al had some trouble with Sam's less-than-fresh garbage odor. But he didn't say anything for the time being; he was just happy to see him.

Nearby, Gooshie was grinning proudly and bouncing on his padded feet. He was getting pretty good at this Observer thing, he thought. He pushed some buttons and lifted the Imaging Chamber door. "I'll just leave you two alone. I'll let you know if Ziggy finds anything!" Al waved him off absentmindedly.

"Thanks, Gooshie!" Sam threw out as the door was shutting.

"How the hell did you find me?"

"Gooshie told me! He told me what happened, and where you-I-I can't believe you're really here!" Sam could barely contain his excitement. He hadn't seen Al in person since...he couldn't recall at the moment.

"Neither can I..." Al said with less enthusiasm, his mouth slanting. He frowned when he saw the amused grin spreading over Sam's face. His friend stroked his chin thoughtfully. "What? What's that look for?"

"You're a priest."

"Yeah, so?"

"You. Al Calavicci."

Al rolled his eyes. "I'm not really a priest, Sam."

"That must be your worst nightmare!" Sam snickered. Al glared. Prideful, he folded his arms and turned away, determined not to be baited by Sam's teasing. For Sam's part, he was just too tickled by the situation not to be cruel. He'd seen Al wear many hats, but him as a priest was just so absurd. "You can't get any more opposite than that!"

Maybe Al could be baited. "And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh come on, Al. Is there a Commandment you don't love breaking?"

"I'm thinking about breaking one right now if you don't shut your cakehole," Al warned. A fire lit in his eyes and he waved dismissively. "Following the rules is snoozeville! Not that you'd know anything about that feeling. Reading instruction manuals is probably your idea of fun." He huffed and turned away again, breathing through his nostrils.

Sam frowned. He didfind reading instruction manuals fun, but that was beside the point. If it was possible, Al seemed more irritated than usual. "Okay, so either you're actually offended by me implying you'd make a terrible priest, or something else is bothering you."

"Who's bothered?"

Sam simply gave Al a silent look. Al might be a difficult person to read to a lot of people, but not to Sam. He could tell something was on his mind that he wasn't saying. His anger turning to anxiousness, Al gave him a sideways glance, as if rehearsing what he was going to say in his head.

"Uh, Sam...something happened when I leaped in here, and you're not gonna like it."

Sam furrowed his brows. "What is it?"

Al rubbed at his earlobe, his eyes darting around the room, and he began to pace. "Well, uh, you might want to...sit down for this. It's bad news. Really bad news."

Was it something to do with someone they knew? Did someone die? Suddenly, Sam went from concern to alarm. "Al, just tell me what happened."

"I saw a ghost," Al blurted out. He gulped nervously and waited for his friend's reaction to the news.

Sam's face went deadpan. "You saw a ghost."

"Right! A ghost!" Al exclaimed.

"Al."

"She could go through things, and she was cold to the touch, and-"

"Al."

"And-Oh! Sam, she had this horrible, yucky, oozing wound where she was killed! Cripes, it was awful!"

"Al."

"What?!" Al stopped his pacing and flipped wildly to face Sam, who had yet to change his expression.

Blinking slowly, he talked to Al as if he were speaking to a child. "You know there are no such things as ghosts, don't you?"

"Like hell there isn't!" Al answered defensively, "I was just talking to one!"

"Maybe she was a member of the church?" Sam tried. Sometimes Al could be so blinded by his superstitions, he couldn't see the obvious answer staring him right in the face.

"I put my hand right through her!" Al shouted, miming the action, "She walked through walls! No one but a ghost can do that!"

"Al. You used to do that."

Al lowered his eyelids. "I'm telling you, she was the genuine article. And I don't care if you believe me or not; I'm not going to mess with the Phantom of the Leap! Not in this lifetime or any other!"

Al was impossible. Sam's eyes went heavenward. "Ghost aren't real, Al."

"Oh yeah? Then how do you explain what I saw?"

"I think you saw someone from the church, and your mind played tricks on you," Sam stated matter-of-factly, "You were probably freaked out about leaping, and you weren't thinking straight."

"I never freak out, Sam!" Al said a little too loudly, his eyes still a little too wide.

"You're freaking out now!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Okay fine!" Al conceded, spreading out his hands and taking a calming breath. "But I know what I saw. Maybe you don't believe in ghosts, but I know what's really out there."

"Alright," Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. At least Al wasn't shouting any more. When he continued, he couldn't keep the slight patronizing tone out of his voice, though it wasn't for lack of trying. "Let's say, hypothetically, that you really did see a ghost...Is she here now?"

Sheepishly, Al shifted his eyes. "Well, no."

"She's not floating through the air?" Sam mimed a hovering specter with his hands. "No ghostly wailing or rattling of chains?"

"Uh...no." Al folded his arms once more. The sarcasm wasn't appreciated and it made him feel irritated again.

"Then clearly she had better things to do than to haunt you, right?" Sam reasoned. This seemed to make sense to Al, who loosened up a little.

"I...I guess you're right."

"Good," Sam said, nodding resolutely, "Then we can put this ghost thing behind us, and focus on the leap. Deal?" He held out his hand to Al, who reluctantly shook it.

"Deal."

"Excellent. You hungry?"

"Starved."

"You can buy me lunch then."

A beat. Sam grinned. Al burst into laughter, and the tension was instantly shattered and the air cleared. "Yeah...I think I can do that. You, uh, you got someplace to stay on this leap?"

"No."

"Well you do now. You're staying with me, kid."

"Gee, thanks, Al," Sam said appreciatively.

"Yeah, yeah. Come on."

Al placed his hand on Sam's back, leading him out of the church and toward a much-needed meal.