The characters and situations within this work are fictional and not owned by the author, with the exception of certain original characters. Quantum Leap is the property of Universal, all rights reserved. This fanfiction is written without permission from Universal Pictures. No copyright infringement intended.

Dreams of Blue and Gold
By C. S. McBain

Chapter One

And I believe this may call for a proper introduction, and well
Don't you see, I'm the narrator and this is just the prologue
Swear to shake it up, if you swear to listen
Oh, we're still so young, desperate for attention
I aim to be your eyes, trophy boys, trophy wives

The Only Difference…by Panic! At the Disco

Riding in a little blue hybrid car, Sam mildly mused over how Al would be proud. A small twitch of a smile came across his lips, sitting in the passenger seat and thinking about his buddy while he gazed out the window. The smile fell too soon, knowing that he was in a time just months away from his own. Home was so close, and his heart ached painfully enough to make Sam wince.

No sooner had Al left him in the gym that someone came looking for him. A girl - possibly a friend. Small blessings came in that Sam did not, in fact, have to wander around an unfamiliar city to find out where he lived. The girl who came for him was his ride. There had been no indication that they were related yet.

"Sorry if I cut your routine short today, Cassy," said Angie from behind the wheel of her hybrid car. Sam looked over to her, having no idea what to say to that. Working out was the least of his worries, and everyone he encountered was instantly analyzed to be the potential subject of this assignment. "I really needed to get into work early tonight, and I know you need a ride home." She seemed to notice how quiet Sam was, who'd taken to staring out the window. "You still thinking about him?"

"Him?" Sam turned and saw the concern plain on Angie's round face.

"The bastard?"

At last, Sam understood. "Cassy's - my husband," he said, pushing aside the weird feeling he got just saying it. "No, not - not really," he answered truthfully. Angie nodded, satisfied.

"Good. Slime like that doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as you after everything you did for him," she vilified, turning into a suburban neighborhood and parking the car. The engine cut off and she turned again to look at Sam. "I know it's still hard, but even you said you were glad to have that miscarriage." Sam looked instantly shocked, and Angie sympathized, "I'm sorry, Cassy. I didn't mean to bring it up like that. But - I mean I'm glad, you know? You didn't need kids added to it."

Stunned into silence, Dr. Beckett mutely nodded. Looking around the neighborhood in a daze, he figured they must be parked in front of Cassy's home. He gathered up the purse that Angie had shoved into his hands before they'd dashed out of the gym. There was already so much information, but it only brought up many more questions to barrage at Al when he came back.

"Alright, kid," said Angie, reaching forward to pull her friend into a hug, "I've gotta take off. See you tomorrow, okay? Call me at work if things get bad again." Without giving Sam enough time to determine what she could mean, he needed to get out of the car and let her go. He couldn't even tell her to have a good day at work before she drove off, leaving him standing on the front lawn of an opulent Californian home. In fact, most of these homes could easily be considered opulent. They were large two story tract housing with dollar signs all over the place, most in modest pink adobe style with unnaturally green grass.

There was no hologram around yet, and Sam wished he could just summon his friend in that instant to ask him if they were in the right neighborhood. Then again, Angie - if she were Cassy's friend - wouldn't put him in the wrong place. Right?

Feelings of unease permeated the physicist. It was always strange to be walking up to a stranger's house, even knowing that - technically - it momentarily belonged to him. But this felt as if he truly were approaching a home that was not about to welcome him. The ridiculous headband was taken off his head, and shoved into the kangaroo pocket of the sweatshirt he wore. The relief of pressure did nothing to quell the headache Sam was starting to develop.

It was 2000, Al had said. Again, Sam had to look around. The style of housing, the landscaping, the electricity - it was like no time he had remembered leaping into. It was always from the fifties to the eighties, maybe once in the nineties, but he wasn't sure. Sam remembered houses ranging from the idea of ranch tract housing being new, to wood paneling, interiors in avocado green and tangerine orange when it was popular . . . but this? This trend in pastels and adobe with decorative lighting was new. God, he was so close to home. His soul could feel it, that he was only months away from his own time, and if he let himself think about it, it felt like a vertical rush wanting to pull him from the core and into oblivion.

He had to focus on the reason he was there, though, and regrettably he pulled his mind back down to earth. The large house loomed before him, and he blustered himself up enough to trudge along the decorative limestone walkway. It occurred to him then, looking at laser-cut glass inlaid in the front door, that Cassy did not – in fact – own this house. It wasn't a guess, really; he just somehow knew. Logically, of course, there was very little possibility that a twenty-four year old divorcee would have such a house. Walking into it, Sam found he was right.

"Hola, bebe!" came an enthusiastic Spanish voice from somewhere inside the cavernous house. Sam blinked, and started to quickly leave, thinking it was the wrong address. Maybe Cassy actually lived next door. Oh, boy.

A small woman immediately came into the large living room, her smile bright and her demeanor abnormally exuberant. Sam stood frozen in the hall, but she approached him anyway, cooing and hugging him. "How was the gym, mi amor? Are you getting to be a tough guoman?"

Sam had to translate that. "A – tough woman? Woman. Oh. Yeah. Tough woman. Working out," he stammered, trying to smile. He'd been doing this crazy time-traveling into other people's lives thing long enough to know how to at least try to act natural. It didn't seem to be too hard with this little woman before him, though.

"Good. Hey! I have a pizza in the ohven," she exaggerated, making a show of being very proud of herself. Sam tried for another smile.

"Sounds great," he answered. Again, it was so simple. The woman seemed satisfied and smiled brilliantly. Sam got a good look then, and as she gave him a kiss to leave him alone again, he concluded at last . . . the woman's brown eyes could barely focus. The lingering scent from her kiss was enough of evidence that she was drunk. He glanced around and found a clock. It was barely four-thirty in the afternoon.

Well, that's likely to be a potential issue. Looking around again, he entered into the living room hesitantly. It was his house, he reminded himself, at least just for now. Rather, it wasn't his house, but the woman's. Cassy's mother . . .

How did he know that? It may have been obvious, but he couldn't explain the feeling of certainty despite the possibilities that she could easily just be a friend, or the mother of a friend who's taken her in. But no, Sam knew the woman who had staggered away was Cassy's mother. Didn't Al say Cassy's last name was Griffin. That wasn't a very Spanish name. Oh, that's right. Cassy was married. He'd forgotten about that, briefly.

Sighing, he prepared himself as well as he could for a leap that felt like it could go horribly wrong if he didn't do everything right - and if Al didn't show up soon. The living room was huge. The ceiling stretched up two stories, and it looked professionally decorated in southwestern pastels and artwork. Upper middle class, easily. Though it felt absurdly awkward, he climbed up the stairs of the house. Assuming, of course, that this was routine, and assuming again that Cassy took showers after working out, well, going up the stairs wasn't out of the ordinary. As long as he wasn't expected to do anything else, he was fine, and maybe Al would get there to finally give him more information.

Before Sam could begin to wonder which room was Cassy's of the five that were upstairs, it became clear. The first one he'd tried was filled with boxes and a half made queen-sized bed. It was a bare guest room, and the boxes made Sam assume this was the room of a girl coming to live with mom after a recent divorce. His heart sank a little in sympathy. Counting, there were five boxes, and two suitcases. For reasons he couldn't explain, he knew that this was all she had – the girl he leaped into – a whole life in five boxes and two suitcases.

"Well," Sam sighed to himself, sitting on the bed, "She is still twenty-four. Not like she's an elderly matron with fifty cats."

"Nope, just two, and one of them ran away," answered Al and startling the heck out of Sam. The physicist chided himself, thinking he should be used to it by now. The hologram came walking through the wall where Sam could finally see him, easily stepping through a stack of boxes while nonchalantly gazing at the data given to him by the handlink. "Dragon and Scooby. Cute. Dragon ran away, and Scooby's living with the ex."

Al looked casual and almost proud of himself for reporting information that made Sam glare. "That's great, Al. Dragon and Scooby," he exaggerated.

"Yeah," Al agreed. Sam glared again.

"Did you talk to the girl in the Waiting Room?" Sam asked emphatically.

"What's got you so edgy?"

Glaring was popular today. Sam stood and marched to his friend. "The fact that I'm only months away from home. The fact that I'm in a place called Stallion Springs but it's not home. And the fact that you're giving me useless information about two cats that have nothing to do with this Leap!"

"How do you know?" Al countered easily.

"How do I know what?"

The observer raised an eyebrow. "How do you know the cats don't have anything to do with this Leap?"

Sam wasn't even going to justify that with an answer. He narrowed his eyes. "Did you talk to Cassandra or not?"

"Well," Al hedged, walking around Sam and further into the room, "Sort of." He seemed more interested in looking in the boxes than he was in talking to Sam, and this only annoyed the time-traveler. Al had the timing down right, and just before Sam started a new tirade, he continued, "There's still missing data on this kid and she's not talkin'."

It was understandable to Sam, and he knew that most people had trouble dealing with being taken out of their lives by a science experiment (or whatever else they believed was the cause). Of course, that's why they had a Project psychiatrist. "Is Beeks working with her?"

"Yeah," Al answered plaintively. "Look, kid, I'm trying here, okay? I mean, I tried talking to her myself but she clammed up. Didn't look scared or anything – at least, I don't think. I'm not convinced that I'm anything to be afraid of. Even if I do have a more sophisticated taste in fashion—"

"—Al."

Al caught the warning and got back on track. "Right. Cassandra. Missing data. Those are the facts. Take 'em or leave 'em."

The sigh that came from his time-traveling friend was great, and Sam took a moment try figure out how to work through this new hurdle. Then he realized something. Looking at Al carefully, he said, "Wait a minute. How did you know she had two cats if there's missing data?"

"Eh," Al hedged, glancing at the handlink and hesitating to answer, "Well – online journal entries."

Sam's face fell. "Online journal entries? You mean you have access to this girl's journal entries and you're giving me this excuse about missing data?"

"Now, hey, wait a minute," Al defended, "The missing data is still missing, and journal entries are hardly conclusive to anything—"

"But it's something," Sam pointed out. Al sighed, nodding in agreement.

"Yeah, it's something. Not always accurate and mostly filled with emotional descriptions based on nothing more than impulse – but I guess it would actually give us a clue as to why you're here. Maybe."

"Possibly," Sam added, knowing well enough that both of them didn't have degrees in psychology. It was a hope that maybe they could finally figure out what they needed to do to get Sam out of this leap and possibly back home. Just a few months away . . .

He took a seat on the bed, his mind going in two directions. On one hand, he was preparing to have Al give him necessary information to continue with this mission. On the other, he was desperately navigating around the holes in his memory to try to figure out any possible way to get his body back into his own persona – a small jump forward into the future. Al got the handlink fired up and ready, inputting data and reading what Ziggy was giving him. Just as he was about to begin reading to Sam, the intercom in the house sounded and the tinny voice of Cassy's mom came through.

"Cassy! Dinner is ready!"

"Oh, that must be Cassy's mom," Al offered helpfully. Sam just gave him an annoyed look.

"Thanks. I figured that much out. I guess I should go downstairs and eat pizza." Sam knew he made it sound like he was whining - whining like a little kid - and the tone of reluctance made Al turn from inspecting another box filled with sundries to look at his friend in confusion.

"You okay, kid?"

Sam looked torn, tired, and dejected as he slumped down onto the disheveled queen again. "I don't want to go downstairs," he admitted to his friend, his head hanging in shame. He already knew the confused look that Al was giving him, shifting and waiting for Sam to continue. "I don't want to have to go downstairs, to deal with someone else's problems. I," he looked up at Al, his heartbreak and longing in emeralds that cut through the admiral like a knife, "I just want to go home. I want to go home and have my own problems to deal with. My own life. I . . . I'm not sure if I want to keep doing this anymore."

An awkward silence settled between the time-traveler and his observer. Al had known for longer than even Sam himself that the good doctor was reaching the limit. The new assignment being so close to their target - so close to home - wasn't helping with any kind of morale; what little of it Sam had left. There had been more than a slew of times when Al wouldn't have blamed the kid for giving up. There had been occasions when even Al tried to console him and wished privately that he would just come home where he belonged.

They had tried. God, Fate, Time, or Whatever knows that they've tried time and time again to retrieve their lost time-traveler. No amount of scientific geniuses put together in the same room had been able to figure out how to do it. The Retrieval Program was Sam's expertise, and poor Gooshie had been driven mad by a determined and angry admiral after some very close calls. Al didn't want his buddy to risk his life anymore. There were more important things beyond traveling in time and helping strangers move on in their lives. Whatever sins Sam Beckett may have been guilty of, the good little Catholic boy in the old skeptical Admiral believed that the cosmic penance had been served.

Goddamn it. Wasn't that enough?

Taking a careful breath and doing his best to think of the right words, Al bend down a little before his friend. "No one'll blame you, kid, if you want to pack it in. I sure as hell won't. But you've gotta listen to me here, now. We've got a job to do, and you need to at least get through this. Hopefully it'll be the last one. I'm going to try to get you home, Sam. Ziggy's been working on overtime after she freaked out about the date. Everyone's working hard on this one. We're so close. I can feel it. We'll do it, kid. I'll get you out of this. Then you can deal with your own problems." The grin on Al's face was small, but reassuring, "I sure as hell don't want to have to explain your crazy theories to the oversight committee."

Whatever Al had been trying to say, it worked enough to gain a huff of something resembling laughter from the depressed physicist sitting before him. "My crazy theories," Sam echoed, shaking his head. "I just want to get back to something that was mine. About me, and my life."

Al's face was unreadable, but it seemed to reflect agreement to Sam. There was even something reminiscent of an amused smile on the hologram's face. "It's all waiting for you, kid. Don't you worry about that. But listen," he started putting in the code that opened the door for the Imaging Chamber, "You go ahead and have pizza with Cassy's mom, and I'll be back with more information. I promise."

"Cassy's mom," Sam stood up, just before Al was able to leave, "Wait a minute. Tell me about Cassy's mom. Something about her didn't seem right. I could swear she was drunk when she greeted me by the door."

Blinking for a moment, Al changed his input to the handlink and discovered something of interest. He raised his eyebrows. "Elina Rimski, also known as Elina Dubois, also known as Elina Cebrero, also known as Elina Arredondo. Geez, this woman's been married almost as many times as me. Fifty-two years old and worked from home, owning her own business that seems to have recently taken a plunge." Suddenly, Al got quiet with the information the handlink was giving him, shifting uncomfortably at memories that were still a little too close to home. Sam was tired, and patience was wearing thin as it was.

"What is it?" he asked quietly, trying to read over Al's shoulder.

"She dies in a couple months, Sam," Al finally relented, his hand holding the computer dropping to his side. "Cirrhosis."

Sam took a moment to absorb the news in a respectful silence. Al had had his own battle with alcoholism, and he had been able to conquer it. Many weren't so lucky to have a friend like Sam to help. Even though intervention isn't the recommended approach for alcoholism, what Al had really needed was a friend. It's when the alcoholic begins to realize that people still care - that's when the real healing begins. Sam had been sure that Al never forgot, and the favor had later been returned. But liver disease caused by alcoholism was a different story. It wasn't a matter of saving a cat from a tree this time. Why leap into a place in time where the disease was so far advanced?

"How can I be here to stop a woman from dying from liver disease?" Sam asked at last, looking helplessly to his friend, who still stood with a somber expression.

"Who said you're here to do that?" Al shrugged, "Not everything's black and white, Sam. It's not always going to be about saving a person's life. Maybe your here to give Elina some kind of closure before she goes."

Sam didn't like that response, and his passion for life erupted in his rebuttal, "What if she's not meant to go? What if I--"

"What if she is, Sam?" Al asked quietly. "You help a lot of people, kid. Helping them doesn't mean saving their life, and you ought to know that by now." The tortured look on Sam's face wasn't making the admiral feel any more comfortable. There was little he could do in the way of comfort, and his best options were to speed things along - for the leap and for getting Sam home at last. Maybe this time . . .

"Yeah, okay," he said, reluctant to agree to anything regarding someone's impending death. It was going to be worse, having to interact with the woman now that he knew about her limited time on Earth. Sam needed to take a deep breath for this. Maybe he could help her after all. Maybe Al was wrong. Braving himself for the task at hand, without letting thoughts of home entirely cloud his thinking, he nodded to Al, who was ready to leave him again. "I'll go talk to Elina. You go talk to Cassandra. And maybe between the two of us--"

There was a kind of softness in Al's dark eyes, and he nodded. "Yeah, we'll figure something out. We always do." The door to the holographic chamber opened in brilliant white light - a rectangular door into nothing - and Al stepped through it. It closed with a resounding noise only Sam could hear.

"Cassy!" said Elina through the intercom again, the speaker on the wall reverberating slightly.

Again, Sam had to take in a deep breath. "I hope we figure this out soon," he said to himself, blustering up enough to join Cassy's mother for what promised to be an uncomfortable pizza dinner.

The handlink in Al's hand squealed one last time just before the colorful mass of cubes was switched off by the man who held it. Standing before the door, he tried to catch his breath and not let himself be overwhelmed with the amount of work he had to do. Everyone would argue with that statement, of course. It wasn't him doing the work, though he was usually the dark-haired blur barking out orders. The chrome of the Imaging Chamber door showed his distorted reflection, and he didn't want to look at it. There wasn't any time.

"Al?" Instantly, the man who was beckoned looked up from rubbing his face, surprised to see Donna in the Control Room on sublevel ten. Gooshie and Tina were both busying themselves with chrono-retrieval at Ziggy's blinking console, and doing their best to ignore the fact that Dr. Beckett's very pregnant wife was trying to be involved.

"Donna," Al approached her gently, taking her arm and helping her to the lab Sam had used while he had been home. "You shouldn't even be at the project."

Dr. Elesee took her arm back before they'd crossed the Control Room's length. "Don't tell me where I should and shouldn't be. I'm pregnant, not terminal." The extra weight of her bulging belly, causing her to arch backwards a little to compensate, did nothing to help her look convincing. Al, however, wasn't about to argue. He sighed, keeping his hands to himself if she didn't want to be helped - though he prepared himself to lunge forward if she even looked like she was ready to capsize. It was close.

"Donna," he said again, "At least sit down. I'm not trying to tell you what to do, but I just want you as comfortable as possible. You should relax. You're already a week overdue. It's called a bed."

"It's called a life. It's called a husband. I'll relax when he's back home and has his own again," she retorted, "How could you not tell me about this? Why didn't you have Ziggy alert me that Sam was out of stasis?"

Whatever Al had been about to say to that was interrupted by the super computer in question. "Admiral Calavicci had specifically instructed me to refrain from alerting you of Dr. Beckett's current assignment due to your precarious medical condition." Donna's sky blue eyes turned stormy grey, narrowed as she glared at the admiral who was anxiously rubbing at his forehead.

"'Precarious medical condition'?" There were too many weird chemicals running through her, making her moods more or less unpredictable. Al had never thought it would be like this – dealing with a pregnant woman and doing everything he could to keep her comfortable and happy. Pickles and ice cream still boggled him, though. That was a night he wasn't likely to forget any time soon.

"I just don't want anything to happen to you or that kid you've got inside you," he tried, hoping she would understand though he knew she was furious.

"I want to get my husband back," she said, not wanting to sound as if she were pleading but knowing that's how it sounded anyway. "He's so close, Al. He's . . . just a few months behind. If I can help with anything – maybe this time we can get him home." Sniffling pathetically, she brought her hand up to wipe at her eyes, bright with tears that had come from no where.

There were a lot of factors on this leap, and it all just added to the stress. There were things to do, and Al had run over them in his mind. They needed to get working on the possibilities of retrieving Sam now that they were so close in the timestream. They needed to talk to the host in the Waiting Room and get as much information from her, to hopefully end this leap and get Sam home. But first, Al needed to console his best friend's wife, pregnant with a child Sam may or may not ever get to know. Tender as big brother and a father, Al went to Donna and embraced her carefully, letting her cry on his shoulder despite the occasional glances from the two programmers at the console. He glared at them from over Donna's shoulder, and they went right back to ignoring the affection.

Affection wasn't common for the admiral, but lately it seemed that Donna had really needed someone to hold her on the occasions like this when she would cry in despair. Having Sam's best friend to help her through the pregnancy was no small blessing, and thinking about it in those terms would bring up the waterworks again. Somehow, Al managed to get her to waddle into Sam's office on sublevel 10, next to the control room. As carefully as he could, he helped her to finally sit, and when she wiped her eyes dry, she found herself in front of Sam's computer.

"You know Sam's formulas. You know the retrieval program. See what you can do here, and I'll check back with you in a little while. Alright?" It wasn't condescending the way he spoke to her. It was the admiral and project administrator, telling her that she had a job that only she could do. The flat panel display was swiveled to her level, and she nodded in confirmation, glad for something useful to do besides wait around for labor to start.

"I'm on it," she sniffed, trying to harden her resolve and be the physicist that she was, despite the belly that rested in her lap. There was plenty to be proud of, and motherhood was surely one of them. Being a successful physicist on a top secret project was another. Being able to save your husband from his own experiment was the one that would count.

Al left her then as she began to type furiously into the computer, bringing up possible formulas and already throwing out the ones that wouldn't work. He refrained from letting out a sigh of relief, thinking better of offering to get her anything she may need. She wouldn't hear him, and he knew this. With everyone satisfied, for however long that may last, he started down towards the Waiting Room, preparing to be met with evasiveness again. This time he would be ready, and he was determined to get the information he needed from the girl.

Anything to get Sam home.