On a scale of 1 to 10, Al looked like a house fire. The mirror in the Richelieu foyer offered up another glimpse of his host's reflection, and he had to wince just from the sight. Ben looked back at him through the one eye that wasn't swollen shut, grimacing with a split lip and purpling jaw. Another bruise was forming over his left temple, just above the gash he'd received over his eyebrow. And this was just the damage that had been done to his face. Sorry, kid, Al apologized to him. He began to limp toward the stairs.

"Oh lord!" Louise gasped in horror, "What happened?" She'd crossed the room in two seconds flat, reaching maternally toward his face. Being as gentle as possible, he lifted his hands and ducked away.

"Trust me, it looks worse than it is. I, uh..." He chuckled hollowly. "I just need to sit my ass down for a bit." A scolding look was shot in his direction. "I mean butt! Sit my butt down."

"That's what I thought you said." Louise tutted and inspected his wounds pityingly. "I'll fetch some things to patch you up. You go on and lie down." Al silently acknowledged her and exhaled tiredly. It seemed as if this wasn't the first time Ben had come home with his face rearranged. He couldn't contemplate it too much. He hadn't really processed what had happened this time.

Sam had done this. Sam Who, he wasn't sure now. Because, let's face it, it couldn't be Sam Beckett. Not his best friend. Sam's face didn't move that way, his mouth didn't say those words, and he never hurt anyone like he'd hurt him. Flashes of drunken mishaps and motorcycle accidents and the sweat-soaked jungle visited his mind as he brokenly ascended the stairs, injuries that were far more grievous and lasting than these wounds, but he couldn't say many compared to the personal hurt this one brought.

It's not like he didn't know that Sam would be different, especially if the evil leapers were involved. He knew he must have a closet full of some pretty nasty skeletons. But he'd expected him to be happy to have an out. The proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak. Shit, he'd settle for just receiving some gratitude. But this...this was mess, was what it was. A real stinkin', awful crapshoot.

He held his aching side and tenderly lowered himself onto Ben's bed. There was a soft knock on the door and he glanced over expecting Louise, but Florette was the one who popped her head in. "May I come in?"

"Why not?" Al sucked in a breath and started to sit up.

"No, you stay there," Florette commanded, waving at him to lay back down. She made her way inside with a rag and some antiseptic.

Al started to protest. "Hey, you don't need to-"

"Shush, you. Now lay down."

It felt strange to be taking orders from a 15-year-old girl, but Al did as he was told. Sitting down softly on the bed next to him, she dipped the rag into the bottle and began to dab at his head. The sting from the contact made his face tighten, but he remained silent. It wasn't that bad. Besides, he wasn't going to whine in front of a teenage girl.

Florette. It should be him taking care of her. He looked at her, and light shone from her eyes, sunshine and flowers and all of that mushy junk. He just wanted to envelop her in his arms and protect that light from the world. She deserved better than weasels like Geoffrey. She deserved better than to be buried at 15. Buried and forgotten, like...

"Hold still, Albert."

"Ow! It hurts, Pops!" Al flinched as his father cleaned up the scrapes on his elbows. When he received a scornful stare, his face flushed red with shame.

"Then maybe you should not get in the fights, eh?" His words were wrapped up in a thick accent. He didn't always get his English perfect, but it was better than hearing him speak Italian, because then Al knew he was reallyangry.

"I had to do it. Those kids were making fun of Trudy again! They called her monkey face!"

Al's father paused and closed his eyes, but only for a moment, his face an instant mask of parental reason. "They should not have say those things,mio figlio. But your anger get you in trouble. No more fights, okay?"

"Okay." It was most certainly not the last fight. "Sorry, Pop."

"Alright."

"Someone's gotta stick up for her," Al reasoned, focusing on his feet as they swung nervously from the table he was sitting on. A large, comforting hand rested on top of his head, and he gazed up at his father smiling warmly at him.

"I know. She loves you too."

"You were at the bar again, weren't you?" Florette stated more than asked, her voice clipped with irked condolement.

"Well, uh..." Al cleared his throat abashedly and sat up. "Not for the reason you'd think..."

"One of these days, Ben, your debts are gonna get you killed."

"Hey, don't worry about me," Al rebuffed, moving her hand away from his head. If he was going to make sure she made it to 16, he'd need to address the main objective of this leap. He couldn't forget about her because of Sam. "I'm more worried about your chowderhead boyfriend."

Florette's head tipped back. "Oh Ben, please don't start-"

"No, we need to discuss this. I don't want him to-"

"Florette, go to your room." Florette fearfully looked at their father in the doorway and hung her head meekly. Without another word, she got up and left.

Martin Richelieu was a stern-looking man, which was fitting since he was a stern person. Except, of course, when he was putting on a show for the public. His hair was parted on the side and slicked down smoothly, and not a strand was out of place. Neither did a single part of his wardrobe seem unthought out or wrinkled. He was a man of appearances, and he looked spit-shined and brand new.

Al looked like a meatloaf. "Oh, uh, hey...Pops." Al's good eye shifted evasively away. There was no hiding the fact he'd gotten the snot beat out of him, so he couldn't worm his way out of this one. Why did he suddenly feel 10 years old again?

"Benjamin. You've embarrassed me again."

Well he didn't have to make that the starter. Al thought he could've at least asked how his son was. "I'm fine," he offered sarcastically, "Thanks for asking." Mr. Richelieu didn't find his comment nearly as funny as he did.

"You're breathing, aren't you?" he questioned coldly. He crossed the room and looked down at him, his hands clasped behind his back. "I don't care how it happened this time. What was the one thing I told you when you wired me to come back?"

"Uhhhh..."

"To not damage the reputation of this family. I am the mayor of this city, and I will not be made a fool of!"

"Hey, I didn't get my teeth knocked in on purpose!" Al shouted defensively. His father bolted closer with a single wide step, shoving a finger inches from his good eye.

"No more, you hear me? You are not to gamble, drink, or otherwise perform misconduct. One more incident, and you're out! I don't care if you are my son!" Without waiting for a response, he pivoted around and strode out of the room.

This day couldn't get any worse. So now Ben's future was at risk on top of everything else? No pressure then. How was he going to complete anything he'd set out to do without getting Ben into at least a little bit of trouble? Geoffrey played dirty, and Sam...he didn't know what to do with Sam. He laid his head back down, shut his eye, and groaned.

"I tried to warn you."

Alia sat beside him, her mouth pursed empathetically. But she also carried a certain air, a "you messed up" vibe, which even Al had to admit was deserved. At first, he'd been upset that she had written Sam off so easily when he was sharing her same fate, but now he fully comprehended why she was holding a grudge. Grunting, he pulled himself into a sitting position.

"He, uh, Sam...he put you in that chair, didn't he?" Alia nodded. Al lowered his head guiltily. "I'm sorry...if I forgot."

"I never told you." She twisted her fingers together contemplatively. The unspoken question hung in the air between them, but Al waited for her to tell him in her own time. Her hands dropped into her lap. "When I was at...that place, he was my closest friend. We told each other about our lives before leaping, our darkest secrets, our dreams... Half the time, I think we were only alive because we had each other." Her voice was thick for a moment, and she took a deep breath. When she spoke again, anger burned afresh beneath her words. "When I found a way out, I tried to take him with me. They told him to stop me. He took a knife, and he..." She swallowed. "He stuck it in my spinal cord. I was left there to die. I would have if someone hadn't found me."

Al was quiet. His brows were furrowed as he attempted to wrap his head around this information, trying and failing to see Sam as someone capable of such an act. But the evidence had been laid out before him. Sam had said it himself. A holographic hand hovered over his, knocking him back into Ben's room. Alia's lips thinned consolingly.

"He's not the same person you knew, Al."

"I'm sorry about what he did to you," Al said softly, "I mean it."

Alia thought again for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "Al...what if you didn't change the timeline back?"

Painfully, Al's eyebrows shot up. "What?"

"What if you left it like it is now?"

Al laughed. "That'd be ridiculous!"

"Why?"

"Because it's not how things went, that's why!"

"Is the timeline you want back how things originally went?"

A pause. "Well...no, not exactly," Al admitted reluctantly.

"Then maybe this change was supposed to happen too," Alia stated, "Maybe this...is how things are now."

Al couldn't blame her for how she felt. Hell, he'd be in the same boat if their positions were switched. What if one day, Sam had told him he'd never been part of the Project? As far as he was concerned, that was his life. And Alia's fate in his timeline wasn't exactly certain, so why would she want to go back to that?

"Come on, Alia," Al appealed to her, "Do you really wanna stay in the timeline where you're stuck in that chair and Sam's working with the bad guys?"

Alia pursed her lips. "I want to stay in the timeline where I've helped people who deserve it."

"Sam deserves it," argued Al, "And I think I was gettin' through to him, I really do. I just need more time."

"Time is something you don't have," Alia told him shortly, "Because there's a young woman who's depending on you, and once she's saved you'll leap. Sam will be gone, and that's the end of it."

Al narrowed his one eye. "Are you hypothesizing here or is that a request?"

"It's an order." Alia straightened her back and addressed him not as his friend, but as his boss. "He's too much of a liability for us. If you continue to try and contact Sam, you'll be cut off from the Project."

There it was. Alia's betrayal, laid out on the table. She was playing her final card. Al snorted darkly. "Well. It's nice to see your true colors, Alia."

Alia's rigid expression softened imploringly. The corners of her mouth twitched. "Don't make me do this, Al. Not to you."

She hadn't left him with much of a choice, had she? The line was drawn in the sand now. But things couldn't be left like this. Al knew which side he was on.

"I guess this is goodbye then," he said. It was tinged with regret, but he was final with his choice.

Alia was taken aback, at first saying nothing. She swallowed, considered saying something, then decided against it. Instead, she went with, "Goodbye, Al."

"Good-" The Imaging Chamber clunked shut. Al was jolted by the abrupt termination.

Gee, this was familiar. All he had now was he, himself, and his dick in his hand.

-

Red eddied down the drain as Sam ran the water over his split knuckles. How long he watched it, he wasn't sure, because his mind was miles away from this hotel bathroom. It was anywhere but here, where he always longed to go. The last time he'd ever been somewhere he wanted to be was when he was 16 and in Elk Ridge, Indiana. After that, everything changed. Everything. Wherever he was going to go before, he couldn't go there now.

They knew where he was going, right? They dealt in time travel. They must have known what his future was before they took him. Which meant that at some point, he had another life. Which meantthat there had to be some truth to what Al Calavicci had told him.

Right. In some other future, he was still trapped in time, only there he put right what once went wrong. How absurdly idealistic. Seems no matter what timeline he was in, fictional or not, he was someone else's errand boy. What an absolute load.

"I must say, Samuel, that was an entertaining watch." He didn't turn around, but he could hear the wry smirk in Zoey's voice. "Watching you pummel the captain's face in gave me such a rush of pleasure. I hope it was as good for you as it was for me."

As usual, Sam ignored her double entendres. He splashed some water on his face and turned the sink off. "If you were watching me, you know everything I know about him. What do you want me to do?"

"Lothos has a plan to hit two birds with one stone. It's a delicious solution to both your problems." Sam lowered the towel from his face. Handlink in one hand and cheek propped in the other, Zoey seemed as if she were remembering a funny joke.

Despite himself, a small smile crept onto the edges of Sam's mouth too. "Do I get to hurt him again?"

"Trust me," Zoey said gleefully, stepping closer, "By tomorrow afternoon, you won't have to worry about this leap or the admiral any more."

The thought of finally getting this leap over with made Sam happy. He'd gotten sick of this scenery a long time ago, and he was ready for his next assignment. But his grin faltered, and he couldn't shake this nagging feeling that was buzzing in the back of his mind. Hadn't Zoey said Al was a captain before?

-

Okay, so Al wasn't gonna be winning any beauty contests, but his appearance today was a marked improvement from yesterday. The swelling had gone away and granted him use of both eyes, leaving only an impressive shiner behind, and his cut lip and forehead seemed a lot less nasty now that they'd been cleaned up and dried. However, he had a feeling he wouldn't be receiving any more propositions from Ben's lady friends. It was just as well, because he didn't like feeling like a cradle-robbing grandpa.

Mardi Gras was tomorrow night, and early celebrations were in full swing. Jazz music filled the street as Al walked down it with a smoothened gait, bobbing his head to the tunes. Someone offered to sell him fireworks, which he politely declined, tempting as it was. He had a mission. He was going to get Ben into some trouble.

That is, if Ben's father ever found out he was going to that bar again, but with any luck he wouldn't. He'd just have to be in and out of the place without adding any new bruises to his collection. Regardless, he needed to find out where Sam was after finding that hotel room vacated, and he was willing to bet someone in that bar knew something about him. At the very least, he could get a full name for the leapee.

What was that phrase about best laid plans again?

"Hey, dip stick!" Al froze and screwed up his face in aggravation. Not this putz again! Licking his lips, he slowly shuffled to face Geoffrey. This time, however, he was flanked with two smaller-but still ugly-gargoyles on either side. "It's time for payback."

"Welly well well," Al said, mockingly impressed, "I gotta say, you're lookin' awful bulky and stupid today, Geoffrey."

Geoffrey planted a fist into his palm. "You're cruisin' for a bruisin', pal."

"What's the matter? Didn't get enough of a butt-kicking last time?" Al realized he didn't look like much with his face all sorts of new hues today, not to mention he was outnumbered, but he didn't have much of a tolerance for weasels. A voice inside his head was shouting at him to remember the threat from Ben's father, but he swatted it away.

"That's it. Get him, boys." Chunkster nodded to his flunkies, who cracked their knuckles and menaced forward.

"What's going on here?" Florette was there now, watching them worriedly.

"Nothin', babe," Geoffrey said casually, "We're just teachin' your brother here a lesson."

"You leave him alone," Florette demanded angrily. She stepped between the three of them and Al, her hands on her hips. "I've had enough of you two fighting! Now apologize, and we'll go somewhere to cool off."

Geoffrey's patience had run out. Fuming, he grabbed Florette by the arm and tossed her out of the way. "You stay out of this!"

"Ow!" Florette rubbed her arm and shot Geoffrey a royally ticked off look. She stamped her foot. "That's it! We're through this time!"

"What? You can't do that!"

"I can and I will!"

Steam could've been coming out of his ears. He stalked toward Florette, who began to shrink away in fear. "Why you-" Someone whistled loudly, and he and his goons suddenly looked a lot less confident.

Maybe Al had wanted some fireworks after all. He had a set of some very large and impressive ones aimed straight at their pocket rockets, his hand poised to light them with a match. A cocky smirk shot in their direction.

Geoffrey's mouth fell open dumbly. "You wouldn't."

"I would." The match made an impossibly loud noise as it scraped against the book, because the crowd was watching in anticipated silence. Even the music had stopped. They had already cleared a path away from the Three Stooges. The fuses began to burn.

"Are you crazy?" Geoffrey shouted in terror, "Someone could get hurt!"

"Guess you'd better run fast then."

A small firework began to spark, and Geoffrey's flunkies jumped and ran. Geoffrey wasn't far behind, and they high-tailed it just as the larger ones began to go off in their direction. A small applause began as the music swelled up again. Al grinned smugly. Not bad, he thought. Pretty soon, the three bullies had disappeared into the distance.

Florette wrapped her arms around his neck. "Oh, Ben, you were right the whole time! I'm so sorry!"

Al returned the hug. "Hey. It's what big brothers are for." He held the embrace longer than was necessary, taking pride in the feel of his sister's arms around him. It felt good to have done something right this leap. But then...if he saved Florette, he should be leaping. His heart sunk into his stomach. If he leaped, he couldn't save Sam. But, he wasn't leaping. Why wasn't he leaping?

"Hey Al, head's up!"

Something cracked into the back of his head, and the lights went out.

-

Al was dreaming peacefully about a, ahem, steamy encounter with Brenda in Coding when he was roused from his slumber by a brisk slap to the face. "Huh? Whazzat...? Ughh..." Somebody was doing the samba in his throbbing cranium, and it was very rude. His vision began to clear, and an entertained Sam came into view.

"Wakey wakey, Al!" he jeered, "You don't want to miss out on all the fun, do you?"

"Sam, what-?" When he attempted to get up, he found his movement restricted by ropes around his wrists and torso. He looked down, and his breathing stopped.

Several sticks of dynamite were strapped to his chest.

"Oh boy," Sam said with a devilish grin.