This whole afternoon was a nightmare, from Tina's hysterical phone call, to seeing an unconscious Al in that bed, to seeing th

This whole afternoon was a nightmare, from Tina's hysterical phone call, to seeing an unconscious Al in that bed, to seeing the frightened look on his face when he realized there was something wrong with him. Part of me refused to believe my best friend has amnesia, but a more realistic part said that Al may have suffered some damage, and that all I can do now is try to help him regain the twenty-four years the accident had taken away.

The drive home seemed long and never-ending. Salty tears stung Sam's eyes and blurred his vision, making driving a very difficult task. Minutes hung like hours, and finally, he pulled into the driveway, paying no attention to the green garden hose lying unraveled across the concrete. Deep feelings of confusion, anger, pain, and helplessness plagued the physicist as he dragged his feet along the side walk, up the front steps, and through the front door.

Donna Elisi Beckett had just taken a package of frozen asparagus out of the freezer when she heard her husband enter the living room. She had been worried about Sam since she saw him leave the Project early that afternoon. All he had told her was that Tina called him, begging him to meet her at the hospital. She remembered a look of desperation and worry on his face when he left.

In the living room, Donna found Sam sitting in the rocker, staring blankly at the opposite wall, tears forming in his eyes.

"Sam?" Donna knelt before her husband, taking his hands in hers. "Honey, what is it?"

"It's . . . it's " Sam looked at her through flooded eyes. "Al. He fell off a step ladder, and he's in the hospital."

"Oh no. Is he all right?"

"No, he isn't. Donna -- he has partial amnesia and can't remember the last twenty-four years of his life. He got so scared when he realized there was something wrong. He doesn't remember Tina, or me, or the Project. Donna, Al didn't know that he was married again or that he's an admiral. He needed help and I didn't know what I could do for him. I never felt so helpless in all my life; I saw him just lie there and suffer and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to stop his suffering." He slapped an arm rest. "This can't be happening! My friends don't get amnesia; it only happens to people in books and world-premiere movies."

"Can they cure him -- or give him some therapy?"

"All we know is Al lost his memory due to a blow on the head. We don't know what kind of damage he suffered. He's so upset; he won't even let Doctor Streebing examine him. All he cares about is getting his memory back." He rose and started for the kitchen. With trembling hands, he swung the refrigerator door open, retrieved a soda can; and in an attempt to open it, cut his finger on the tab. "Damn it," he muttered, sticking the injured finger in his mouth.

"I'll get you a band-aid," Donna offered.

"No, Honey, it's okay," he said as he carefully examined the cut. With a quivering hand, he raised the can to his lips, only to drop it on the floor. "This isn't happening," He muttered.

"Sam, let me get that for you."

"I'm perfectly capable of cleaning up my own messes!"

"Oh, of course."

Sam crouched over the puddle of spilled Sprite and ran a damp sponge over the sticky mess. Tears blurred his vision, and his hands continued to shake. When he found that he was only spreading the puddle, he slammed his hand down on the sponge, making an even bigger mess.

"Let me clean it up," Donna repeated her offer.

Sam rose to his feet, but his knees were shaking so much he had to grab the back of a chair to steady himself. After Donna mopped up the carbonated puddle, she looked at Sam and settled a warm hand on his back.

"He was a whole different person, Donna. The man in the hospital was not the head-strong, sarcastic, girl-watching Al Calavicci I know. He . . . was so vulnerable, so afraid . . . You should have seen him. It's like I didn't know him," He paused for a moment, thinking back. "And I know what he's going through. I know how hard it is to live with a memory loss . . . always wondering who you are, who your family is, what you can do . . . . All those years leaping around with half a memory. I know what it's like; I lived it too. I know exactly what Al must be going through right now. When you have amnesia, you're afraid; you feel empty and alone; and all you want is to find out who you are, and remember something . . . It doesn't matter if the flash is good or bad. All you ever want is to remember something . . . anything without anyone's help." Sam pulled out the chair that was supporting him and slumped down. "There has to be something I can do for him. He's my best friend. I wouldn't wish a Swiss-cheese memory on my enemies."

"There isn't anything you can do right now, Sam," Donna stood behind him, rubbing his shoulders.

"There's gotta be something! There's gotta be something!" Sam pounded the kitchen table with his fist. "I can't just sit by, Donna. If I sat around and did nothing on a leap, I'd still be stuck in the past. I'd be living someone else's life forever. Helping people is in my blood now. I couldn't live with myself if I'd just stand around doing nothing, when there's something I could be doing. If I can help people I don't know, I can save the man I've known and loved for twenty-one years."

"Save him? He's already had the accident. All you can do for him now is--"

"I can save him," Sam interrupted. "I can leap into Al and keep him from falling off the step ladder. "

"What?"

"I can go to the Project tomorrow, set the Accelerator for this morning, and leap."

"No!" Donna shot back, glaring at Sam, her eyes wide and her features colored with surprise. "You can't leap; we're still working out the bugs. You shouldn't 'ave leaped the first time."

"I have to try," he protested.

"No, Sam!"

"I'm doing it for Al!"

"What about your promise to him?"

"What?"

"When we finally retrieved you last July, Al made you promise not to leap until we're ready," Donna sat next to Sam and met his eyes. "If you leap, Al would pop up in the Waiting Room and eventually find out what's going on. He wouldn't have amnesia, but he'd be very upset because you went back on your word and would be lost in time again. You can't do that to him."

"And I can't leave him like this."

"You can't leap, Sam," Donna argued.

"Donna," he snarled.

"There's no guarantee that you'll leap into Al even if you do set the date. You could wind up in someone else's life miles from here."

"That's a chance I'll have to take."

"Your mother's right. You are more stubborn than your father!"

"If it wasn't for my being stubborn, Project Quantum Leap would not exist . . .And let me tell you something, Donna. If it wasn't Al. If it was your best friend, you'd be begging me to leap back and put everything right!" Sam rose and was about to leave the room when Donna sprang from her seat and grabbed him.

"You'll stay away from that Accelerator, Sam Beckett," Donna screamed shaking him by the shoulders. "Even if I have to tie you to a chair, you will stay away from the Accelerator!"

"You'd do that!" Sam challenged, sure that it was an empty threat.

Donna fired a long, serious stare at her husband. "There's some rope in the utility room, and I know how to tie a square knot."

"You couldn't keep me like that forever," Sam continued to challenge, "Sooner or later you'd have to let me go."

"Why are we arguing about this?"

"Because you don't want me to leap back and save Al from a lot of pain."

"You don't even know if his condition is permanent. He could be over it in a few days, or a few weeks, or--"

". . . or not at all."

"You don't know that. You can't do anything about it tonight."

"I can't . . . can't stop thinking about him."

"I know," Donna said as she hugged him close; and he looked solemnly into her big, brown eyes. For a few seconds, they held each other at arms length; then Sam drew back and started for the stairs.

When Sam awoke the next morning, he noticed the neon-blue display on the alarm clock read 9:45 a m, and that the alarm was never set. After muttering several choice words to himself, he leaped out of bed, showered, and dressed quickly. As though he was consumed by a sudden burst of energy, Sam raced down the stairs, ran out the front door, and jumped into his car. The motor wailed, and the tires screamed as he tore out of the driveway and down the street.

Fast food restaurants, hotels, and stores whizzed by him, as he sped down Main Street. The whole time a queasy, squirming uneasiness settled in his stomach. Every red light was a barrier placed between him and the hospitalized man he knew was desperately in need of a friend.

Finally, Sam reached the hospital; and, after he found a parking space, he locked his car and set the alarm. As if propelled by lightning, the physicist hurried into the building. The elevator seemed to inch its way to the third floor, and when Sam arrived at Al's room, he saw a tired, red-eyed Tina emerge. She threw a terrified yet relieved look at Sam.

"How is he, Tina?"

"They . . . they ran some tests on him this morning to see . . . to see if he has -- brain damage."

"Have the results come back yet?"

"No. I wish they would, and I -- wish they wouldn't. I want to know how Al is, but, at the same time, I don't think I could bear to hear Doctor Streebing tell me that the tests show that Al has brain damage." Sadness, fear, and pain sent a monsoon of tears to her bloodshot eyes. "You know, Sam, this reminds me of a book I read about this woman who had an accident and lost her memory. She had permanent brain damage and was in the hospital for months."

"You mean STRANGER IN MY BE-- No, Tina, It's nothing like that. Al's memory loss isn't anything like what that lady in the book suffered. When she woke up, it was like she was a baby again. If I'm not mistaken, she didn't even remember her own name. When Al woke up, he did know his name; he just thought he was twenty-four years younger. I think he'll be fine once we get him home. When I saw him yesterday, outside of the intense fear, he looked all right to me. He is all right except for his memory loss."

"Damn it, Sam, how the hell can you be so calm at a time like this! Don'choo care about him?"

Tina's words echoed in Sam's head, and he felt his face burn. His heart pounded like a tom-tom, and he found it difficult to breathe normally. Once he regained his composure, he directed a penetrating stare into the nurse's half closed eyes. "How can you say that I don't care!" he shot back, trying not to cry. "This isn't easy for me either, you know. It's getting to me too. Ever since I left the hospital last night, I've been a basket-case. I've fallen apart more times than I want to admit. I was starting to drive my own wife crazy over this. As I told Donna last night, I see Al every time I close my eyes; I can't seem to shake it off. You're not the only one who's losing it, Tina! So don't you ever say I don't care about Al."

"I'm sorry, Sam, I didn't know," Tina fell into her friend's arms, "It's ju-- . . .It's just that we were only married for two weeks. Two weeks. And now he doesn't even know me. He married me because he loved me. Now he doesn't. Oh, God, he doesn't even know if he loves me, or that I love him," she burst into tears.

"Sshhhhh, it's okay," Sam hushed. "I know it'll be hard, but we've got to be there to see him through this. Al is depending on us, Tina. We can't let him down and let our anger and denial get the better of us."

The sound of footsteps echoed through the corridor, gradually growing louder. Then the sound came to an abrupt stop. Sam turned to find Doctor Streebing, a dead-pan look on his face, holding some papers.

"Those are the test results, aren't they, Doctor," Tina inquired, gesturing to the papers in his hand.

He nodded. "Yes, and you'll be happy to know the tests are all negative."

"How soon can Al go home, Doctor Streebing," Sam asked.

"Not right away," was the doctor's reply.

"Why? You just said he doesn't have brain damage. Why does he need to stay here; Outside of the memory loss, I think he's all right."

"I'm concerned about his memory loss, Doctor Beckett. I'd like to keep the admiral under observation. I don't think he's in any condition to leave. He needs to be where he can be watched closely; it's for his own good."

"Will you stop it," Sam cut Dr Streebing off. "You want to baby-sit him, not help him recover."

"Doctor Beckett, as a physician, you should know as well as I do that a patient shouldn't be released if--"

"Doctor Streebing," Sam interrupted again, directing a stare Streebing's way, " . . .You know I don't believe you! All you think about is the patient. They're more than just warm bodies lying in beds; they're people, and deserve to be treated as people. Al sure as hell won't get his memory back confined to an adult crib. He needs to be treated like the man he is if he is to go back to his old self again. Amnestics should be in their own environment, wear their own clothes, see their own friends, and handle their personal possessions. I can assure you his chances for recovery would be better if he were in a house, not in an institution."

"Are you an authority on amnesia cases, Doctor Beckett?"

"Give me a little credit. I know more about amnesia than you think. I've had experience with this sort of thing; and I have found that amnesia can be curable if given time . . . time and patience. If you keep Al here, and feed him medication all the time, I can almost guarantee he won't make any progress."

"He needs medical supervision."

"He'll get it if he goes home. Tina's a registered nurse, I'm a doctor, and we both have time off. If you release Al, we won't let him out of our sight for a second."

"I really don't think--"

I'll take full responsibility, Doctor Streebing. Trust me; he'll be much better off in a home environment surrounded by people who love him, than in an institution with people who only care about getting the job done. If it'll make you feel better, I'll make sure he takes it easy for the first few days."

"Well, we'll see," Streebing mumbled, reluctantly giving in. "But I want to keep him here for at least one more day. If all goes well, I may let him go tomorrow. But remember, Doctor Beckett, you would be assuming full responsibility for the admiral's care."

"You have my word," Sam promised as he turned to enter Al's room.

As he slowly approached Al's bed and settled in the chair next to the wounded man, his stomach turned at the sight of his older friend. Al's tear-stained face, fearful brown eyes, and lost expression were enough to bring tears to Sam's eyes. "Al . . . Al . . . It's me, Sam . . . . Feeling better today?" he asked, blinking back the salty drops that turned the room into a blur.

". . . Headache's not so bad. But I still can't -- can't remember anything. I hate this. Why can't I remember?"

"Take it easy. The tests came back and you don't have brain damage. You might be going home tomorrow --" Sam held up a warning hand, "But, that's if you can prove to that doctor that you are well enough to leave."

"Home. I . . . I'd love to go home. I don't like it here. Shots. Tests. I don't think they give a damn about what I'm going through. All I want is to remember again. And nobody gives a da--"

"I do," Sam said in earnest, tears filling his eyes. "Tina does. Once we get you home, we're gonna help you and we won't stop trying until your memory comes back."

"But how can you? You don't have my mind. You don't know what I'm supposed to remember."

"We know you. I've known you for twenty-one years. I can help you regain those years because I lived through 'em with you. I have some of the same memories, but reliving the old days won't make it happen overnight. It'll take time for your memory to come back; this is gonna take time and patience. And Tina and I want to help you, Al. You're gonna have to work at it too; you can get over this, but only if you really want to . . . and only if you believe in yourself. Fight this thing, Al. Show me you can. Show Doctor Streebing. Show everybody that Albert Calavicci isn't the type of man who lets a condition, a temporary condition like this, get him down."

"You think I'll get it all back?"

As the younger man passed a box of tissues to his friend, whose eyes were wide and full of tears, he answered softly, "I hope so, Al, I hope so."

Talking to Al, I felt about as awkward as a twelve-year-old on his first boy-girl date. Al had no memory of me, and I wasn't quite sure what to say or do. The man who once saw me as his best friend now saw me as a complete stranger. After an hour of exchanging small talk, I found we were getting nowhere fast. But I wasn't the only one feeling out of place; Al also seemed very uncomfortable. I didn't want to leave him, but I couldn't bear to see that pained expression on his face and talk to him about the weather, TV shows, or hobbies.

"Al . . . I hate to cut this visit short, but I have a lot of stuff to take care of today."

"Do you have to?" Al stared at the younger man with urgency in his eyes.

After Sam nodded, Al grabbed his arm and drew him close, clinging tightly to Sam as a frightened child clings to a protective parent.

"It's all right," Sam assured the fearful patient, "I'm gonna arrange to stay with you and Tina for a while. Until you get over this." Al released Sam from the smothering hug. "I have to tell them at work that I'll be taking time off to help you. I have to tell Donna," Sam paused realizing that Al didn't remember Donna, "my wife . . . that I'll be staying with you for a while. Then I've gotta go home and pack. I'd like to get settled at your place tonight, so I can come for you first thing in the morning." Sam took a few steps back and added, "Now all you have to do is show that uptight, know-it-all Doctor Streebing that you'll be well enough to go home."

Al smiled weakly, "Believe me, I wanna go home." His voice dropped, "I don't remember my home . . . but anything's better than staying here."

"Just hang in there, all right? Twenty-four hours from now you'll be sitting in your own living room," Sam assured his friend before leaving the room.

Sam had just stepped into the corridor when he heard argumentive voices coming from Doctor Streebing's office.

"I don't care, Doctor! Al is not only my husband; he's a patient that I'm responsible for. I'm being paid to take care of him as well as other patients. I admit I'm emotionally involved with this, but who wouldn't be? There's no way you can make me stop caring for him!" Tina came stomping out of the office, her face burning a bright red.

"Tina, what's going on?" Sam stepped in front of the angry nurse, grabbed her arms, and stared sternly into her eyes. "I heard you yelling; what happened?"

"He says," Her anger roared within her. "He says he wants to assign someone else to take care of Al -- because he thinks I'm too attached! He told me that getting involved with a patient is unprofessional and intolerable!"

"Sometimes it's true, but in Al's case, it would be criminal to leave him in the hands of strangers who don't really care." Sam noticed the dark circles under Tina's bloodshot eyes. Exhaustion crossed her face; and Sam could tell that she had gotten very little, if any, sleep. "Tina, you look like you could drop at any minute. Maybe you should take some time off--"

"Sam--"

"Wait, you didn't let me finish. You should take some time off because you're gonna wear yourself out. And what good would you be doing Al then?"

"I can't leave him. I can't leave him here with someone who doesn't love him. Who'll take care of him; who'll sit with him when he gets upset? Al needs me!"

"And he'll need you even more once we get him home. Now, I told him to do as the doctor and nurses say and he'll be released. If all goes well and Al does as he's told, he'll be home tomorrow and we'll never have to worry about Streebing again." Tina nodded, and Sam continued, "First I'm gonna stop off at the Project and my place, then I'll take you home. Just remember, it's only one day -- less than one day."

11