Marjorie's reminiscing was interrupted by the sound of gravel under tires, and she straightened up. With a look of excited support, she stroked Sam's hand and said, "This is it. You ready?"
Sam nodded affirmatively. "As I'll ever be."
They got up from the kitchen table and made their way back into the living room just as the front door was opening. Quick as a flash, a little girl with a head full of red curls ran inside, squealing with delight. Just behind her came an older girl (Christina) with the same red hair, cut short, dressed in a tailored coat that read older than she looked, and a young man about the same age with a large nose and thick eyebrows. That must be Michael.
The littlest one, Ellie presumably, started a beeline toward the couch with the stuffed rabbit, but came to a halt when she saw Sam. Suddenly shy, she took her sister's hand and placed the other in her mouth as she hid slightly behind her.
Swallowing nervously, Sam gave a little wave. "Hi there."
The little girl looked to her mother. Marjorie smiled encouragingly. "It's okay, Ellie. I want you to meet someone very special." She circled behind Christina and took Ellie's hand, leading her closer to Sam. Stooping down next to her, she said happily, "Ellie...this is Daddy. He's come back home."
With those words, Sam's heart broke. He wasn't sure why it hadn't occurred to him before. Ellie didn't remember her father. She'd been a baby when he had the accident, so she'd never had a chance to know him. Growing up without a father had been all she'd ever experienced.
Uncertain but with the optimism of a child, Ellie slowly stepped closer before giving Sam a joyful hug. He crouched down to hug her back.
Christina, however, did not share the same warm welcome. She was observing Sam with hard features and mistrusting eyes. A perplexing reaction for someone who did remember her father.
Ellie's attention was spent on this stranger, and now she'd diverted her focus back to what she'd been rushing inside for. She grabbed her rabbit, sat on the couch, and turned on the TV.
Sam stood up and faced Christina. Ignoring her cold expression, he smiled. "Hi, Christina."
She said nothing. Her eyes flicked over to her mother, then to Michael. "I'm going to my room." And she started to leave before Marjorie grabbed her arm to stop her.
"Don't you want to see your father?"
"No."
Marjorie's eyes were wide with disbelief. "But, sweetie, he's-"
"I don't need to see him. We've been fine without him for seven years."
Confused by her temper, Sam thought maybe he should step in. "Maybe we can talk-"
"No!" Christina burst out, looking at him again, "I don't want to talk." But there was hurt behind her eyes, deep enough to cut through her stony veneer. She shook her head, overwhelmed. "I just got over you leaving us. Why did you have to come back now?!" And with that, she fled into her room and slammed the door.
This Ellie understood. She ducked down behind the couch fearfully and Marjorie went to console her. That left Sam with Michael, and he wasn't entirely sure how he fit into all this.
Michael was equal parts embarrassed and sympathetic, but he kept his composure. He offered his hand to Sam and said respectfully, "Mr. Horn, I'm Michael. Christina's...fiancé. It's an honor to finally meet you, sir."
So he didn't know him previously. That made it easier. He took his hand. "Nice to meet you too."
"I wish we could've met under better circumstances." Michael looked toward Christina's door. "I'm sorry. She's just having a difficult time with this. She...took it really hard when you had your accident. Or so I hear. She's not usually this angry."
"It's okay," Sam said thoughtfully, looking in the same direction, "I understand." He pursed his lips as the gears began to turn in his head. "Sometimes people lash out when they're hurt."
-
Basking in the glow of his newfound clout, Sam adjusted the luminous blue star he had pinned proudly to his shirt. The day had flown by for him, but now that the sun had long since set and the rest of the team had gone home, he was starting to feel how just how lengthy it was. But, Sam being Sam, he still had a lot of work to do. He had just begun typing when his stomach rumbled and reminded him that he hadn't eaten since lunch. The nearest snack machine was a few hallways down. Reaching into his pocket for loose change, he went over numbers in his head as he walked. But as he got closer, he was startled by a loud noise. BANG! BANG BANG! "Not you too, you son of a bitch! You're not taking another cent from me!" Instantly Sam jumped into action, racing toward the sound and skidding to a halt. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to find, but it wasn't whatever this was. A drunk middle-aged man was arguing with the vending machine, dressed in what could only be described as a shirt made of melted crayons, and wielding a hammer. Receiving no response from the machine, he spat out, "That's it! I've had enough of you!" And he lifted the hammer and smashed it several times into the front. "Hey!" Sam yelled scoldingly, trying to put a stop to this snack machine violence, "What do you think you're doing?" The man stopped and stumbled back, unphased. He glowered at Sam. "None of your business. This is between me an'...this thing." He said 'this thing' as if it left him with a bad taste. Lifting the hammer again and suddenly fired up, he began to repeatedly bring it down while cursing in Italian. This time, Sam stepped in and grabbed him. "Hey! Stop that!" "Get offa me!" the man shouted furiously, attempting to yank himself away. Sam almost backed away, he reeked so badly of booze. "It ate my dime!" But it was Sam who won this pitiful fight. It wasn't difficult to steal his weapon, since the man's inebriated hands had a tenuous grip at best. He stared at the drunk incredulously. "You can't just go around hitting things with a hammer! What're you, crazy?" It seemed the guy wasn't too dedicated to his crusade for his lost dime, as he immediately made a disgusted noise and dismissed Sam with a wave. He clunked down onto a nearby bench like a sack of potatoes. Sam blinked at the easy victory. He stood there awkwardly with the hammer. As if this strange scuffle hadn't just occurred, the man grinned lopsidedly at the floor and chuckled, suddenly lost in a memory. "Ruthie, she used to do this thing where...where she'd bake with a can of Sprite. Add it right to the mix. An' out came a cake." He shaped the imaginary cake with his hands, amazed. Halfway through, he forgot what he was pantomiming and began to outline a pair of imaginary breasts. Then he looked up at Sam, suddenly remembering his original topic of conversation, and pointed sagely. "Listen, kid. You find a woman who likes to cook for you as much as Ruthie...ya keep her." "You should go home to her then," Sam suggested. "What home?" the man chuckled, his temper beginning to resurface, "As of today, all I've got are another set of divorce papers!" "Oh. I'm...I'm sorry." "Pffft. You're sorry? Yeah, the whole thing's sorry. I'm sorry. The world's sorry." The drunk pulled himself to his feet, staggering and nearly falling over. Sam reached out to catch him, but he steadied himself. "Where are you going then?" "To the bar." This was pathetic. The guy was three sheets to the wind and he was heading to the bar? Someone could get hurt. "I don't think that's such a good idea." The man raised an eyebrow and squinted one eye curiously at him. "Oh yeah? And who're you, the hall monitor?" "Just someone's who's concerned." "A real boy scout, huh?" The man chuckled again and swayed slightly. "Just what I need, a choir boy tellin' me what to do." Sam studied him quizzically. He could sense things about people sometimes, and there was something there under the surface, something intriguing which drew him in. Beneath the anger and the booze was a spark of something indescribable. He felt as if he should know him, or did. That deep down, there was a good person who was in trouble. "Listen, um...is there someone I can call for you?" The man shook his head. "No. No one," he mumbled. "You have somewhere to go?" "Yeah." "Where?" "You always this nosy?" the guy asked with a glare. Sam pursed his lips at him as he began to stumble away. "It's close. I'll walk there." "I can drive you." "I got it! Jeez..." Before Sam could protest, he was shuffling away and into the nearest elevator. As long as he wasn't driving, Sam supposed. The door dinged shut. He looked back at the destroyed vending machine and wondered what the real story was. It couldn't just be the divorce the man had mentioned, it had to be the accumulation of many terrible things. Something told him he'd been through a lot; his face read of a long, storied experience. That's when Sam noticed a wallet on the floor. It must have fallen out of the man's pocket while he was inflicting the damage. Well...maybe Sam could find out who exactly he was. He hadn't seen him around the Project. Curiously, he picked it up and opened it. It was the man who had hired him. Albert Calavicci. - After a half-night's rest, Sam was back at Starbright and ready to keep working. He wasn't the slightest bit tired, because when he was passionate about something his mind kept him awake, and he had some things he wanted to run by the team. His bright-eyed starts to the day were both an asset and an annoyance to those who were less awake in the morning. But before he could begin to spitball ideas, he had the less exciting weekly meeting with some of the other higher-ups. A dull but otherwise necessary event. He was a little bit early and another conference was still in session, so Sam waited outside and sipped his coffee. He wasn't one to snoop. But. "I'm sure you understand, Captain Calavicci." It was Benton. The gravelly, now more sober voice of the man he'd encountered the night before responded. "Yes, Admiral. I understand." He was much quieter than he'd been before, but a certain acidity still corroded the words. "It's nothing personal. We simply can't spare the funds." "Of course, Admiral Benton,sir." The last part silently seethed. "See you Friday then. You're dismissed." Jolted as if he was about to be caught by an angry teacher, Sam swerved out of sight just as the door opened. Out came Captain Calavicci, dressed in uniform. It helped his appearance some, but he clearly hadn't slept off his drinking binge yet. Looking defeated, he nonetheless straightened himself up and walked away with as much dignity as he could muster. Sam frowned. He turned the corner again and entered the conference room. Benton was shuffling some papers alongside a few others. He looked up. "Dr. Beckett. You're early." His tone toward Sam had changed completely since they'd first met. All of a sudden he was someone equal and respected. How the tables turn when you realize the genius you hired really is a genius. Sam motioned behind him toward the door. "What was that about?" "Hm? Oh." Benton straightened up. "That was Captain Calavicci. We're cutting down his hours. We're a bit tight on funds at the moment." Ipstein, who was passing by, gave a smug grin and leaned in toward Sam conspiratorially. "Don't worry about your money being cut, doctor. It's just a nice way of saying we're phasing him out." Sam furrowed his brows. "Why?" "Let's just say we no longer need his services. He'll be gone by the end of the month." Benton shared a look with the others. They all seemed in on the same joke. It infuriated Sam. This was wrong. He didn't work his way up to become the exact kind of person who had treated him like a nut. So he did something impulsively. "Now, if we could begin-" "I'm sorry, sir, but-I don't accept that." Benton blinked, caught off guard. "What was that?" "You can't fire Captain Calavicci." Sam stepped closer and straightened up. The room was confused silence for a moment. Benton chuckled, seemingly convinced he was kidding around. "What are you on about, Beckett?" Sam swallowed nervously and hoped they wouldn't notice. He knew this was rash and even he wasn't entirely certain why he was doing this. "I mean, if you fire Calavicci...I'll walk." "You can't be serious," Ipstein said with disbelief. "I am serious. His department is integral to this project." Sam was unswayed, more confident now. And seeing as how he couldn't gamble anything else at this point, he decided to test his power. He added, "And...you'll give him his hours back." The room stared at him. He could tell Benton was livid, but he too stayed silent. Sam knew, and they knew, that he was too important to this project now to let go. If he walked, they were in trouble. The captain was back the next day. - After several long and rewarding hours, Sam dismissed his team and began to collect his things in preparation to go home. Just as he did so, someone coughed behind him. "Dr. Beckett. Can we have a moment?" It was, not unexpectedly, Captain Calavicci. Sam figured they would cross paths again sooner or later, it was just a question of when. As the young team members walked past the man in the doorway, his eyes slid over them as he tried to look respectable. Sam was looking forward to officially meeting him. He grinned and motioned him inside. "Of course." "Thank you." Calavicci stepped inside with a hint of uncertainty, glancing back to make sure everyone was gone before shutting the door. Since he opted to stand, so did Sam. The scientist extended a friendly hand. "It's nice to meet you again, sir." Remembering their previous encounter, Calavicci took his hand with some embarrassment. "Yeah, well, uh..." Finding nothing suitable to say, he loudly cleared his throat and scratched his head. Even in his uniform, he didn't look like much of a captain. "So what can I help you with, Captain?" He licked his lips and went rigid again, trying to exude some authoritative distance. "You put your job on the line for me." "I guess I did." "Why?" Sam was taken aback by the gruff, almost hostile tone. Did he do something wrong? Evidently something was bothering the man he'd just saved. He shrugged. "I guess it just seemed like the right thing to do." Calavicci's mouth became a hard line and he narrowed his eyes. He looked as if they were playing a game, and he was strategizing. "Okay," he said knowingly, "what's your angle?" "What do you mean?" "I mean, what's it gonna cost me?" the captain asked, then chuckled sardonically, "If it's money you want, you hit up the wrong guy, buddy." "I don't want anything," Sam answered with a confused frown. "Someone always wants something." "I really don't." The captain peered at him suspiciously, trying to figure him out. He waited for the other shoe to drop, but Sam just watched him with puzzlement. "Bullshit. No one's that nice of a guy." "I think the words you're looking for are 'thank you,'" Sam retorted with frustration, decidedly less nice. He wasn't ready for an attack here, when he'd saved his butt. What exactly did he want? He began to fume while Calavicci nodded as if his suspicions about him were confirmed. "So what's the price?" Sam pinched his nose and sighed. He was beginning to regret his good deed. Calavicci didn't exactly make himself easy to like, did he? It was obvious this guy didn't want saving, or was maybe too drunk to care. Then, an idea struck him. He shook off his anger. "Actually...there's one thing you could do for me." "Ah, here we go..." "I want you to stop drinking." Calavicci's face froze, deadpan and boggled. "What?" "That's my term," Sam repeated simply, leaning against the table and crossing his arms, "I want you to sober up. Take it or leave it." A long pause. Calavicci was again trying to figure him out, a single eye perpetually squinting at him. No additional charges were forthcoming. "That's it?" "That's it." "It can't be that easy." As the perplexed captain watched him, Sam unfolded his arms and returned to collecting his things. "Well I wouldn't be here if you didn't give me a chance. I'm just returning the favor." As he turned to go, he pulled out Captain Calavicci's wallet and handed it back to him. With another friendly grin, he left the man in surprised silence. -
Ellie clasped her hand over her mouth and snorted. "Dogs aren't supposed to be green!"
"Why not?"
A shrug. "Because...they aren't."
"Ohhhh..." Sam put down his crayon and leaned forward. "Well, you see, this dog is very special. There's a reason he's green." Ellie listened intently, and he picked up his drawing dramatically. "This dog...is Stinky, the smelliest dog in the world!" The little girl crinkled her nose and squealed in disgusted delight. "He rolls around in garbage all day and night, and eats garlic sandwiches for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And he never, ever takes baths."
"Maybe he wouldn't be green if he did!"
"You know, that's a good point," Sam said thoughtfully, pointing to her picture, "Maybe your kitty cat can show him how."
"Yeah!" Ellie agreed excitedly, picking up both drawings, "I'm gonna show Mommy!" And with that, she raced out of the kitchen.
Would this have been Sam's life if he'd stayed with Donna? Did she want children? He couldn't remember. Nor did he remember, actually, if they already did. He thought not, but he felt right at home taking care of Ellie. Was she the reason he leaped here? He hoped nothing happened to her.
"That was a good drawing."
To Sam's surprise, it was Christina. Arms folded uncomfortably, she hovered in the doorway, unsure of how far to come inside. Sam raised his eyebrows. "What do you think? Good enough to put on the fridge?"
"Maybe next to Ellie's," she answered, grinning despite herself. She edged a little further inside, eyeing the crayons with bittersweet fondness. "Do you...remember coloring with me, Dad?"
A pause. Sam smiled. "How could I forget?"
Christina's grin held a sadness behind it, tears brimming in her eyes. She stepped closer. "I would bring my crayons to the hospital, so when you woke up, we could..." She stopped and averted her eyes, blinked away the tears. When she looked up again, she looked apologetic. "I couldn't keep waiting for you, Daddy. I grew up. I'm sorry."
She couldn't keep back the tears now. As she began to sob, Sam quickly made his way over and held her close. She latched herself tightly around him. He just wanted her to feel safe and loved, to take away some of the burden she'd needlessly put on herself. "Oh Christina..." Suddenly, he did remember a little girl. She had a ribbon in her hair and he clutched her close to him in a hot court room. With the flood of memories, he dug his fingers into Christina's shirt and shut his eyes tightly. "You'll always be my little girl. I love you. I'm...I'm sorry I left."
Don't let go of her. Don't let go.
"I love you so much!" When she at last felt ready, Christina sniffled and pulled back, and Sam reluctantly let her go. "I'm getting married, Daddy. And I want you to walk me down the aisle."
Sam grinned, wiping away some of her tears. "Of course I will."
If he was still here. He hoped to god it wasn't an empty promise. He'd made too many already.
-
"String Theory?" "Just listen, it's simple." Sam had one of his shoes off and was taking out the shoelace with enthusiasm, unaware of how strange he must look. Which was just fine, since Al's office was empty except for the two of them. Though sometimes he was so lost in his own bubble, he'd be oblivious in a crowd. He held up the shoelace and showed it to Al importantly. "Think of this string as your life. One end is your birth, and the other is your death. And if you tie the ends together, your life becomes a loop." "Uh-huh." Al's eyebrow remained quirked, wondering where he was going with this. If that's how he wanted to spend their lunch break, alright. The kid was always entertaining, even if he didn't always quite understand him. Sam finished tying the shoelace, then crumpled the string into his fist. "But if you ball the string, all the points of your life touch each other out of sequence. Therefore, you could...leap, from one point to another within your own lifetime." He smiled widely and waited for Al's response. Al gently wiped egg salad off of his face. "And this is how one could, theoretically...time travel?" "Exactly! I came up with it with an old professor of mine." Sam began to lace up his shoe again, still buzzing with excitement. "That's how we're going to do it." "Do what?" Al asked distractedly through another bite of his sandwich. "Time travel." Al glanced up. Sam was staring at him now, Beckett grin in place. He had that look Al was all too familiar with by now, that he was going to achieve something mad and maybe some extra credit too. This was far from their first time travel talk, but it was the first time Sam had that look along with it. It made Al nervous as hell. "Al." He leaned forward. He was certain of himself. "I'm going to travel in time. I'm going to start my own project, and I want you to run it with me." This was some heavy stuff. Any other person would pause a moment after such a proposition, to make sure if Sam was joking. But Al knew he wasn't because he knew Sam. Which made him pause for a different reason. "You're really serious about this then?" "Of course I am," Sam said. He shrugged. "I mean, it's just a dream right now. The cost would be astronomical, but...I want you to be part of it whenever it happens. What do you say?" Al had put down the sandwich by now to think. He slanted his mouth and scratched his temple. "I, uh, don't know what to say, Sam. I mean...are you sure?" Sam knew he wasn't asking about the project. He didn't know why, but Al always seemed to question what Sam saw in him as a friend. Like it was too good to be true, and any minute Sam would find someone better and leave. And it was true that their friendship had been unlikely, but Sam had never met anyone he'd cared about as much as Al. He'd never had quite such an unusual and rewarding relationship. "I wouldn't tell you about it if I wasn't sure. I trust you, Al." Sam looked down and gave a lopsided grin as he fiddled with a pen. "You're one of the only people who doesn't think I'm crazy. And you're my best friend." Al paused, touched. "You really mean that, Sam?" "Yeah." Al looked down again. He nodded. "Okay. You show me the door outta this place, and I'll come work with you." He picked up his sandwich and gestured with it. "But it's gonna be a long way off, buddy." Sam frowned, slightly hurt. "You don't believe my theory?" "Oh, I believe you can travel in time," Al said with ease, waving around the sandwich, "But good luck getting that kind of funding, buddy." He shook his head, and Sam laughed into his hand. Telling someone else about his string theory was relieving. He had been holding onto it for some time, but he was reluctant to bring it up to anyone he didn't trust completely. It was one thing to take an interest in time travel, and another entirely to actually attempt it. He didn't want to let the cat out of the bag until he was certain, until he could prove he wasn't the nut some people thought he was. People didn't understand him, and that's why he found it hard to keep close friendships. That's why he liked Al. He was interested in what was in his head, even if it took him a bit to catch up. But beyond that, he liked who Sam was, and not who he pretended to be or what he could do for him. At the same time, Sam wished he could have some of his bravado and charm. Al said what he thought and took risks. So it was high time he took some risks of his own. - "Donna Eleese?That cold fish? You'd have better luck getting a date with Gooshie." Al gave Sam a hopeless look and threw open his filing cabinet. Actually, Sam had gotten her number from Gooshie, but that was beside the point. "You only think she's a cold fish because she turned you down," Sam pointed out, contemplating the paper in his hand. He had the number memorized already, he just liked looking at it. It was a good stalling tactic as well, because he was terrified. He hadn't asked a woman out in a long time, and he'd had...mixed results. There was that high school feeling again. "Exactly," Al responded, stopping his shuffling through files to lean against the filing drawer and look him in the eye, "And it's not just me, pal. I'm telling you, she's got issues with men." "She didn't seem to have issues when I talked to her." "You talked to heronce, Sam. I worked with her for two years. Trust me, this goes deep." - "For the last time, Dr. Beckett,no." Donna slammed down the phone, expelled a deep breath, and collapsed onto her couch. This had been the third call she'd fielded from the famous young scientist that week, and she was getting tired of answering. At least, that's what she told herself. Because if she was being honest, she'd say she was frightened. She admired Sam Beckett's work, and she'd found him likable during their only encounter. And yes...he was good looking. But. And there was always that 'but' in her mind, stopping her in her tracks. He was a guy. And guys, fundamentally, were a letdown. Guys left girlfriends behind. Left daughters behind. Left her behind. If she opened up that trust again, she'd be alone. Like she was now, it occurred to her. The phone rang again. The corners of her mouth turned up, but she quickly hid it from herself. She lifted the phone from its cradle and held it wordlessly to her ear. "Just one date. That's all I'm asking. If you don't like it, I'll take you home and never bother you again. Please." A scared pause. "Why do you keep pushing, Sam?" He thought for a moment. "Because...you seem like someone worth knowing," he stated as if it were obvious. Well. Hewascute. - The restaurant was...unexpected. For someone so desperate for a chance, Donna had expected to go someplace a little nicer. Much to her pleasant surprise, they'd gone to a small burger joint off the beaten path in Taos. It was quiet and cozy, but not too intimate to be uncomfortable. For her, anyway. Despite Sam's enthusiasm, he'd been shaking and nervous when he'd arrived. It wasn't long, however, before he'd loosened up and they were both laughing. They had a lot in common, it turned out. Donna was a fan of classical music, and Sam was a skilled pianist. They enjoyed a lot of the same books and admired many of the same people. They discussed the stars and what they could of their work and their favorite foods and places. Against all better judgment, Donna was finding herself drawn in to this unique soul. And Sam, blushing and occasionally tripping over his words, seemed enraptured by her. Time flew by without either of them noticing. "There's so few women in the scientific field," Donna said over their dessert, "and even fewer recognized for it. I want to break that mold, be someone, you know?" She took a bite. "That sounds like a great goal," Sam said with a dopey but sincere grin as he leaned on the table, reaching over to get his own forkful of cheesecake. "Says the child prodigy," Donna teased, "All of this always came easy to you, didn't it? The rest of us have to work a little harder." Sam looked down, shrugged humbly. "I've had my ups and downs. But I wouldn't say it was easy. I just always saw things differently." He looked up. "But what about you? What got you into science?" Donna peered at her fork, considered it, and set it down. "Well, I wanted to know why things happen to people." When she realized Sam was waiting for more, she smiled thoughtfully. "I figured if I could decipher the why, I could predict the pattern...and see the future." "But what if the pattern changed?" "Then it wouldn't be a pattern, it would be random." Sam laughed and shook his head. "Why does it have to be set in stone? The future is what we make it, right?" "I suppose," Donna agreed with a smirk. It was refreshing to meet someone with less cynicism. Now Sam was turning something over in his head, debating something. He licked his lips and crossed his arms over the table, leaning forward with excitement. "What do you think about time travel?" "Time travel?" "Yeah. It's a personal interest of mine." Donna thought over her words carefully before answering. "I think theoretically it could be possible, sure." "Time fascinates me," Sam said with a look that only came from passion about the subject matter. He began to gesture with his hands as he spoke. "Because I want to know why things happen too. Time is an unexplored frontier, and if we could harness its power, there's no end to what we could learn. Can you imagine what it would be like to leap into history? To see the very building blocks that make the present?" Donna was smiling now too. His vivacity was catching. "That sounds wonderful, Sam." Sam was really giddy now. "I have a theory. Can I borrow that?" He pointed at the ribbon in her hair. Slightly taken aback, Donna nodded and took it out for him. "Thank you." He held it up. "One end of this is your birth, and the other is your death. Now if you ball it up," he did so, "all of the points of your life touch each other out of sequence-" "-and you could go from point to point within your own lifetime." Donna's eyes lit up, and Sam's smiled widened. "I...I had a professor in college who had a theory like that. You might be onto something." "You really think so?" "I think if anyone can crack the code, it's gotta be the next Einstein." Donna was so glad she'd taken a chance on this date. Maybe, just maybe, she'd ask for a second. - "Would you relax, Sam? You're getting married, not going to the guillotine." It was a hot summer day and the Old Mission Chapel was full of friends and family. And standing by the altar, glistening with perspiration, was Sam, his best man, and the priest. Sam loosened his collar and swallowed. "I'm just nervous. How's my bowtie? Is it crooked? I don't want to look stupid." "You look great, pal." Al clapped an encouraging hand on his shoulder and lightly shook him. "Believe me, you're gonna love being married. I do; that's why I've done it four times." He looked into the crowd and gave his wife Sharon a wink. She giggled as their dog Chester fussed in her lap. "I know, Al. I know." Sam nodded, trying to seem less nervous. He peered anxiously at the doors for what seemed like the hundredth time. "She's late. What if something happened to her?" "She'll be here. Don't worry." Sam worried. She'd had her reservations about getting married, especially since she'd broken off an engagement once before. But she wouldn't have let it go this far if she didn't mean it, right? God, why was it so hot in here? Just as he was about to pass out from holding his breath, the doors opened. And there she was, looking more radiant than he ever thought possible. Her eyes fell on him and lit up with such love, like they were the only two in the room. Every ounce of worry melted away. He was going to spend the rest of his life with her.-
Except, she hadn't come, had she?
No, that wasn't right. Sam knew that she did, because he married her.
But he remembered. On a leap. He told Al she had left him at the altar. She'd had trouble trusting men because her father left her, but then...then Sam had changed that. As her English professor, he took her to see her father before he left for Vietnam. That gave her enough trust back to change her life, and Sam's in the process.
Just like he'd planned.
-
"I don't understand why this isn't working!" Sam yelled with frustration, throwing himself into a chair and pinching his nose, "I don't know what I'm doing wrong." "I told you funding would be tricky, kid," Al said as he entered, taking off his colorful scarf, "It's always like pulling teeth." "It didn't take me this long to get extra funds for the probe." "You've gotleveragehere. But asking a bunch of bureaucratic nozzles for time travel money in the real world? Nu-uh." "But the science is sound," Sam said plainly, confused. Al rolled his eyes. Sam could be a numbskull sometimes. "I know that, Sam, and you know that, but these types...they want Dick and Jane explanations. Ya gotta sell it. Have a little panache. Talk like those of us who aren't mega geniuses." Sam took a deep breath through his nostrils in annoyance. "It shouldn't be about the 'panache,' Al, it should be about the science. And I know this will work. Sometimes it feels like I'm alone here." "Hey, you got me and the missus, right?" Al pointed out, "So that makes two." Sam peered between his fingers gratefully, and Al grinned. "We believe in ya, Sam. Trust me, it'll happen." - With great gusto, Sam slammed the shovel hard into the ground and dug up the first bit of soil that would build Project Quantum Leap. The team erupted into cheers, and he, Al, and Donna hugged in celebration. Donna suggested a picture, and Sam and Al posed with their shovels as she snapped a shot to commemorate the moment. Later, it would be displayed in his office. It was all ceremonial, of course. The real building would begin with the rest of the team and larger equipment. But with that first shovelful, Sam's impossible dream was becoming closer to reality. They had the funding, and now the real work could begin. It was his Nobel Prize that had done it. That got him featured in TIME Magazine and touted as "the next Einstein," which, as it turns out, does wonders for your bankability in the scientific community. The money suddenly came pouring in after that. A lot of old faces were suddenly back and looking a lot friendlier. As Sam gazed into the endless sienna and gold desert with his wife and his best friend at his side, nothing but time ahead, he felt whole and truly happy. He was home.
