In what seemed like an instant to Sam Beckett, was actually several minutes, hours, months, and once even a full year to those at Project Quantum Leap. When Sam was in limbo—Al's own term, transition was what Gushie and the like chose to call it—the flesh and blood he left behind lay motionless on a hospital bed in the Waiting Room. All activity in the brain ceased, and for all intents and purposes, Sam was dead. Everything else needed to keep Sam's body "alive" was in just dandy working order, except for his brain. Its one hundred billion neurons lay dormant, ceasing their job of gathering and sending electrochemical signals until the moment Sam Leaped. In the beginning Al wondered where Sam went as his body rested. It soon took its toll and he found it easier to ignore those thoughts and concentrate on the day to day. But it was hard. And it probably wouldn't have been had Sam not made a mess of things around Project Quantum Leap every second he was away.
Sometimes it would just be little things; a chair moved from one side of the room to the other, a different color paint decorating the hallways, a plant where there had never been a plant before. And sometimes it could be big things. Mind you, that happened a lot less often than the little things, but it was still eerie nonetheless. The appearance of Sammie Jo Fuller. The disappearance of the Committee. And probably the most important of all the changes to occur, in Al's opinion anyway, was his relationship with Tina. Sometimes, she'd cease to exist within the confines of Project Quantum Leap. Other times, and this is what killed Al most of all, he step out of the Imaging Chamber to find her no longer with him, but with Gushie. It probably wouldn't matter so much if Al's own memories had changed each time the atmosphere around the Project did. But, that didn't happen. He could remember multiple scenarios for events clearly. He could remember Tina and their vacation to Las Vegas where neither one was clothed for the entire weekend…yet he could also remember attending her wedding to Gushie. That was on the 5th of October. It also happened during the week he and Tina were shacked up in a hotel in Vegas. Well, in his memories, anyway. And as far as he knew, he was the only one who had this set of compound memories. Well, he and Ziggy. He hadn't gathered up the courage to ask anyone else for fear they'd think him crazy.
At first, he was confused. But that quickly melted into anger, but not at the fact his alarm clock was on the left side of his bed instead of the right, or the hallways were a soft blue instead of off white, or the fact the guy who did the plumbing was named Don instead of Frank and he was enlisted in the US Navy instead of the Marine Corps. No, he was angry because of the changes that directly affected his life. What right did Sam Beckett have to go in and change things around anyway? And who the hell gave Time or Fate or God or Whoever the right to allow Sam Beckett to make those changes? That wasn't what Sam signed up for, was it? He didn't create Project Quantum Leap because he wanted to be God's cleaner, had he? No. So why did Whoever feel like he could add a rider to Sam's bill?
Al suddenly felt very alone. When he walked out of the Imaging Chamber after Sam's last Leap, the one that nearly ended with Sam Beckett's soul or whatever inside little Samuel Connor and little Samuel Connor's best friend Norman Goodman splattered by the 12:30 from Davenport to Osceola, Tina had been gone from the Project for nearly two years, transferring to some job within the Pentagon. Before he had stepped into the Chamber, Tina had been sleeping peacefully in his bed. She had been the only one he could truly talk to. He wouldn't share everything with her, of course, but she knew a little bit more about him than anyone currently. And right now he wanted to talk to her. He wanted to tell her about the little boy of about ten with a mop of black hair and a dusting of freckles across his nose. He wanted to tell her how that little boy who shared his name with their very own Dr. Sam Beckett propped himself up with three issues of the Davenport phone book, had the driver's seat pushed all the way forward and still couldn't reach the pedals without the help of a block of wood tied to his shoe. He wanted to tell her about little Sam's best friend who gripped the door handle tightly as he sat ridged in the passenger seat, his face a mix of fear and excitement. He wanted to tell her how pissed he was at Ziggy (who took place of Whoever whenever Al wanted to blame anything that went wrong only because Ziggy was at least something he sort of understood and she was here) for not telling Al where Sam was immediately. Tina could remind him Ziggy had told him in record time what Sam's job had been and that he had less than a minute to make it happen before Dr. Beckett perished. She could, but she wouldn't. She wouldn't because he didn't want that.
What he wanted to tell her, but never would, was the terror he felt as the seconds ticked by and little Sam sat bewildered, the block of wood tied to his foot still pressed firmly on the accelerator. He wouldn't tell her he was certain he would be too late and that would be Sam's last Leap, it was all over for him, good night folks, Elvis has left the building. He wanted to, but he wouldn't. Maybe he'd tell Sam all about it if he came home.
No, not if, he argued. When. When Sam came home. Whoever couldn't let him float out there forever, now could he?
Of course it can, a dark part of Al's mind insisted. You think there is a God who gives a damn about Sam Beckett? No. If there was, he wouldn't be saddled with that cruel double standard. You know the one. The one where he can't directly or indirectly affect those important in his life. Nope, only strangers. Strangers who didn't know Sam Beckett from Adam and had no idea the impact he made on their lives. And who's to say things continued on all hunky dory? Human beings are infallible and rarely changed. Maybe everything was all for nothing. Then what?
Al pushed the thoughts from his mind. He was used to them; they arrived usually after every Leap, especially if the Leap was a stressful one. And calling that last one stressful was an understatement.
He finally reached his room, a small one bedroom, just off the elevator, three floors down from the Control Room. It wasn't much, just a small living area, a bedroom and a bathroom that connected to a five by five area the Project designers called a kitchen. It was in fact nothing more than a small refrigerator that stood about waist high, a sink and a small bit of counter top that had barely enough room to house a coffee maker. Most of the eating was done in the Project mess hall, so the fridge usually remained empty, aside from a few bottles of water. The counter was clear and the sink sparkled, untouched. This morning, before he had stepped into the Imaging Chamber, the fridge held a small box of left over cheesecake (Tina's) and five cans of Diet Coke (also Tina's). A small fishbowl had been on the counter where a fat and lazy beta fish (again, Tina's) floated among the plastic seaweed and a No Fishing sign. He briefly wondered if the fish now lived atop her countertop in Washington.
He loosened the tie around his neck, a rather bright shade of orange, as he crossed the living area that was just wide enough to house a respectable sized television set, a loveseat with matching recliner and a small glass coffee table, furnishings that matched each and every room within the Project unless you were low enough on the totem pole to have the unfortunate luck of sharing your living area with another low ranking Project member, then you got two matching recliners and no loveseat. He then made a left toward the bathroom (going right would take you into the bedroom where you either got a queen sized bed, a dresser with an attached mirror, a matching table with a clock radio and a small walk-in closet, or two twin beds, two tables with clock radios, and two closets at opposite ends of the room). Once he made it into the bathroom (where every one looked identical no matter what room you were stuck in) he shed the tie and matching vest, allowing them to drop to the floor and lie undisturbed, before running a bath. He unbuttoned his shirt, this one lime colored with shiny silver buttons, and let it fall with the vest and tie. He tested the water and made sure it was warm enough before shedding the rest of his clothing and settling in. The water felt inviting and tranquil and he allowed himself a few moments to lean back and enjoy the sound of the nothingness that surrounded him. At least, until Ziggy interrupted that calm.
"Admiral Calavicci" she cooed. That was really the only way to describe it. She cooed. And she only cooed when she had news that the recipient would find annoying. Sam used to argue the supercomputer did not have the capability to recognize human emotion, thus would not be able to enjoy annoying the members of the Project. Well, Sam was wrong. That damned computer understood human emotion quite well and seemed to get a kick out of annoying the shit out of Al.
Al ignored the serene voice, wishing if he could just ignore it, it would go away; knowing if he did ignore it, she would just get louder.
"Admiral Calavicci." Ziggy repeated, his title a little more stressed this time because she was getting angry he was ignoring her. And she knew it was purposefully. Don't ask him how he knew she knew it was purposefully, but she knew.
"Admiral!" This time there was an edge to her voice and just a hint of impatience. Al heaved a sigh, more for her benefit than anything, and opened his eyes.
"What do you want, you overgrown microwave?" he asked, his voice calm and barely above a whisper. He smiled at the silence, imagining if Ziggy were in fact a real life, flesh and blood, all American gal, she's be standing with arms crossed tightly across her chest, a hip jutted out defiantly, and a scowl on her face.
"It's Dr. Beckett." Ziggy said, the scowl Al imagined evident in her voice. Sam had also said there was absolutely no way Ziggy could feel happy or sad, angry or calm, feisty or downtrodden. She was a computer, after all. Well, Sam was wrong about that, too.
"What about Sam?" Al asked, his interest piqued.
"He's Leaping."
