If Sam were superstitious, right about now he'd be thinking that something otherworldly was conspiring against them this leap, and it badly wanted them dead. Of course, he was more of a believer in scientific fact, so all he could chalk this up to was a case of incredibly, unbelievably bad luck.
Al, on the other hand, was extremely superstitious, and he was meaning to have a strong word with the devil if they didn't make it out of this one.
"Time for payback, you little bitch," said Smiley with his trademark grin. He pointed his gun at Al.
Emi screamed again and, as Tubby reacted instinctually, Sam swept his leg under him and the man tumbled into his co-conspirator. Unfortunately, he used his bad leg, and the painkillers weren't enough to mask the unpleasantness that brought on. If he'd been running on all cylinders, he'd have thought to use his crutch instead. With a muffled cry, he took hold of his leg, but he didn't have time to recover right now. The two men were frantically trying to pick up the guns they'd dropped.
"Agh! Come on, Al, we have to move!"
With the pain of that first contraction subsided, Al was able to pull himself out of shock and follow Sam out the door.
They didn't have any choice but to run. Neither of them were in any shape to be doing any fighting, and it was urgent they get to the hospital. Once they were there, they'd be safe from further attack until they could get ahold of the police. After that (fingers crossed), they would leap. Now it was just a race to the finish line.
"I felt it, Sam!" Al gasped out as they ran to the car, "I-I felt a contraction in there! Oh god..." He was finding it hard to believe the words that were coming out of his mouth. He was finding this whole situation hard to swallow, truthfully.
"I know, Al," Sam responded as he opened the front door, "Get in."
"What're you doin', Sam? You shouldn't be driving!"
"Neither should you, now let's argue in the car!" Sam ducked into the front seat as Al reluctantly got into the passenger side. He turned the key and, like a clockwork, the car refused to start. "Damn it, not now!"
A shot rang out and the passenger's side mirror blasted into pieces. A wide-eyed Al turned his head to see their two biggest fans closing in on them. "Uh, Sam, they're comin'!"
"Start, you piece of junk!" Sam chastised the car and smacked the dashboard. The third time was the charm, and the vehicle roared to life, followed by a triumphant laugh.
As the gunmen raised their weapons again, Al clung to the dashboard anxiously and yelled, "Floor it!"
There was no need to say it twice. Sam's good foot slammed onto the gas and the car booked it down the street.
As the Crawford house got smaller in the distance, Al was able to breathe a little easier. Well, as easy as his reduced lung capacity would allow him. Meanwhile, Sam was focused intensely on the road, blinking away the bleariness that clung to the corners of his eyes.
"How are you feeling?" he asked Al, ignoring his own handicaps.
"Okay I guess. I'll feel better when we get as far as possible from those two chuckleheads!" Al hugged his stomach uneasily and stared out the window.
"No, I mean-"
"Just drive, Sam!" Al didn't mean to snap at him, but he was too terrified for politeness. He wanted out of this situation as quickly as possible, and what he'd felt in that house was too close for comfort.
"Don't worry, the hospital's about twenty minutes away. We'll be out of here in no time."
"Well you'd better step on it, then."
They continued their drive in silence for a while. Sam didn't want to say anything to send Al into any more hysterics, but he wasn't feeling so hot himself. His stomach was queasy and he was feeling lightheaded, which could have to do with the stress, his injuries, the meds, or check all of the above. If his mind hadn't been so scrambled, he probably would have weighed the risks between his and Al's driving a little better and found he was more of a liability. But it was too late to change his mind now, and so he powered forward.
"Dio mio!" The silence was broken when Al spotted a vehicle tailing them. "They're following us!" Sure enough, their shadows were in the front seats of the other car.
"Oh give me a break!" Sam shouted in exasperation.
"You've gotta lose 'em, Sam!"
He could do that. "Hold on, Al."
Al flew into the side of the car as Sam jerked the wheel to the right and ducked into a small side street. Unfortunately, the other vehicle was able to keep up, so Sam made a left. Same result. This was incredibly difficult to do with one hand, he was finding out. He wondered where the police were, but it was getting very late.
Thinking he was feeling sick from the tumbling, Al gripped the handle above the window to stabilize himself. But the nausea grew into another wave of pain, taking him by surprise.
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" The car swerved as Sam reacted to Al's exclamation. Waving ahead of them, Al rasped out, "Don't look at me, Sam, look at the road!"
Sam snapped his attention back to his driving. Their tail unshaken, he decided he needed to take a riskier gamble. Up ahead, a section of road was closed off for repairs, a deep hole dug out of the asphalt. He aimed the vehicle toward it and sped forward.
"Uh, Sam...?" Al grimaced, tightly gripping his seat, "What're you doing? SAM!"
Sam had a plan. A dangerous, drug-addled plan. As Al was preparing for impact, the vehicle veered sharply to the right. The other car couldn't react fast enough, and it went crashing into the construction. Sam couldn't believe that had paid off! Say, he was getting pretty good at this!
"Unghhh..." Al's eyes squeezed shut as he waited for the contraction to subside.
Oh yeah. While Sam was sidetracked with Al, he was blindsided by a wave of dizziness and the car weaved uneasily. Although his fogginess made it hard to judge, he managed to correct himself fairly quickly. Good, he thought. Nothing he couldn't handle. He'd lost their would-be murderers, and soon they'd be at the hospital, and soon he would stop feeling like the world was rotating.
"Sam, look out!"
One metallic crunch later, Sam wasn't feeling much of anything anymore.
Sam was aware that something urgent was happening, but damn if he knew what it was. In addition to his disorientation, someone had rudely turned out the lights. Mentally, he tried to retrace his steps as he felt his way through the darkness. Let's see, he was at the hospital, and then he was shoving a woman through a door for some reason, and then he was in a car...driving a car...crashing a car!
He jolted awake and found himself still in the vehicle, only now it was wrapped around a telephone pole. A jackhammer was going off nearby, or maybe it was in his head, making it difficult to think. God, he must've smashed onto the dashboard. Thank goodness they were wearing their seatbelts, or he and Al would've...
"Al!" he gasped.
His attention was immediately on the seat next to him, where Al sat with his chin slumped against his chest, a small amount of blood coming from his nose. This sobered Sam up very rapidly, and he fumbled clumsily to unhook his seatbelt and free himself. Once he'd gotten loose, he grabbed Al by the arms.
"Al! Oh my god, I'm so sorry!"
"Urmmm..." A soft noise came from his friend as he slowly came back to the waking world.
"Al, can you hear me?"
"Ughhhh..." Al's head lifted, his face twisted in pain.
Scared he'd been injured in the crash, Sam asked more urgently, "Are you hurt? Talk to me!"
"Aghhhh..." Al moaned again, gripping his abdomen, "it's another...damn contraction..." He tilted his head back and blew out his breath.
"Oh thank god..." Sam sighed in relief.
"Screw you too!"
"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that." Sam apologized remorsefully, and his head fell into his hands. He felt absolutely horrible for putting them in this situation, and he hoped Al would be able to forgive him. As thankful as he was that neither of them appeared to be injured any further from the accident, he was now stuck with figuring out how to get to the hospital. He wasn't very good with cars, but he had a hunch that this one had reached the end of its life. "Payphone," he mumbled through his fingers.
"Heh?" Al gave him a quizzical look as he was wiping the blood from his nose. Sam opened the door and staggered out.
"Gotta find a payphone. I'll call 9-1-1."
"Hang on a second," said Al as he exited the car too, "I'llfind the phone. You shouldn't be walking on that." He noted Sam's swollen ankle.
"Um, Al..."
"What?"
"I don't want to alarm you, but our friends are coming this way."
Following Sam's gaze, Al saw Smiley and Tubby distantly down the road, lit yellow by streetlights. "Would they just buzz off already?!" Al's fear had been cancelled out by his headache at their persistence. "I don't think they've seen us yet..."
"Okay, uh..." Trying to ascertain their location, Sam looked to the street sign. The name was familiar. Hey, there was an idea! "Al, we're close to the pharmacy!"
"I don't think they're open, Sam," Al said, dripping with sarcasm.
"No no, there's a phone in there. We can call the police and block ourselves in until they arrive. There's security bars that should keep those two out. It's about a block that way. You up for the walk?"
"Am I up for the walk?" Al repeated dryly, eyeballing Sam's ankle and rolling his eyes. He handed Sam his forgotten crutch and motioned ahead. "Lead the way."
By the time they reached the pharmacy, Al was huffing and puffing again. As Sam locked the door behind them, Al put his hands on his thighs and tried to capture his breath. "Oh I feel awful, Sam..."
"Hang on, I'll be right back." Sam disappeared into the back, re-emerging shortly after with a fold-out chair. Al was eager to take it, although it was hardly comfortable. "Sorry, it's the best I can do. The phone's in the back." Repeating his familiar plunk-hop, Sam again retreated to the back of the pharmacy.
Eyes closed, Al only had a moment to rest when he heard Gooshie's tinny voice again. "Admiral Calavicci!"
"Gah! Would you cut that out?"
"Would you like me to ring a little bell first?" Cute. This was the moment he decided to develop a sense of humor?
"What the hell is going on, Gooshie?" Al demanded, "Where have you been?"
"Well, ahem...we've been a bit busy with Mrs. Tanaka. She's, uh...well, I'm sure you know."
"I'm aware, yes," Al responded testily, "Sam's calling the police, does that get us out of this damn leap?"
"Er...no."
"Gooshie!" If Al's energy wasn't being depleted from this damn labor, it sure as hell was being sucked away from being steamed at Gooshie.
"Well...Jack Littleton and Greg Quinn are outside."
"Who?" Al asked irately as he rubbed his stomach.
"Those are the men who tried to kill you."
Holy toledo! They couldn't get rid of these goons! "Great, now I can put a name to an ugly face. Who's who?"
"Well, Greg Quinn is the one who attempted the initial robbery, and Jack Littleton is his partner."
Al's eyes flashed. Somehow, learning their names made them more real, and less like boogeymen. And that made him want to knock them into the middle of next week even more. Or was that last week, since they were over a decade in the past? Wait... "Hey, how'd you get their names? I thought you said they were never caught."
"In the original history, they weren't," Gooshie confirmed, "But you've changed history again, and this time they get caught by the police outside this pharmacy."
"Fantastic! Then that means we should be leaping, right?"
"Errrr..."
"Damn it, Gooshie, why?!"
"Because they get caught...after murdering Akio and Kiyoko Tanaka," Gooshie informed him, hating to once again be the bearer of bad news. Why couldn't the Observer have any nice updates on the situation for once? He didn't envy Al's job. That is, if he was ever coming back to it.
"Again?!" Al shouted angrily, "Why do I feel like I'm stuck in Groundhog's Day?" He sighed and tried to peer out the window, but he was a little too far and it was a little too dark outside to make out anything. "How do they get in? There's security bars all over this place! All we have to do is wait for the police to show up, right?"
"Theoretically, that would work..." Gooshie said slowly, trying to stay upbeat, but he did have more bad news, "...i-if the phone line hadn't been-"
"The line's cut!" yelled Sam as he reentered the room, doing a double take when he saw the programmer.
"What he said." Gooshie jabbed a thumb at Sam, although Al couldn't see it anyway.
"We get murdered again, Sam." Al was going crazy having to repeat that so much this leap. Sam only needed a moment to think it over.
"We can't stay here then. Maybe we can flag someone down outside." He started toward the door, but Gooshie, alarmed, rushed in front, causing Sam to pass right through his holographic image.
"I wouldn't do that, Dr. Beckett!" he warned.
"Why?"
"Because the Wonder Twins are out there," groused Al, rubbing his eyes.
"Exactly. And Ziggy predicts that if either of you go outside, there's an 87% chance you'll be killed."
At this latest grim prediction, Sam leaned against the counter, overcome. "So the line's dead, two killers are outside, and we can't leave."
"Looks like we're trying to fit ten pounds of shit in a five pound bag." Al angrily glared at the wall and bit his lip. This was becoming a hopeless situation, and more and more he was beginning to feel like maybe this was one of those fixed points in time that couldn't be changed, and Akio and Kiyoko were fated to die. Only it wouldn't be the Tanakas who died, it would be them.
"Gooshie, what does Ziggy predict our odds are if we stay here?" Sam asked.
"What?! Stay here? Sam!" Al sat up straighter in his chair as Gooshie consulted the handlink.
"The odds go up, but Ziggy isn't sure."
"Make sure, then," Sam ordered, "Go back to the Project, have Ziggy figure out how to get us out of here."
"Right away, Dr. Beckett." Entering the familiar sequence into the handlink, the door whooshed up, and Gooshie made his leave. Sam limped behind the counter.
"Sam, are you listening to me? SAM!" Al was waving frantically to get his attention. "We can't stay here! We have to go to the hospital and-and-and stop the labor!"
"We can't leave or we die, Al," Sam reminded him as he bent down.
"I'll take my chances, thank you very much!" Determined to leave this situation immediately, Al pushed himself out of his chair, only to immediately collapse in pain as a contraction started up again. Ignoring Al's moans, Sam focused his attention on obtaining what he was looking for. Although the painkillers were starting to wear off, he only had so much brain to utilize at the moment. "What the hell are you doing over there?" came Al's gravelly voice.
"Looking for this." Sam re-emerged from below the counter and placed a large first aid bag in front of him. Al raised an eyebrow.
"First aid? For what?"
Sam didn't say anything. He gave Al an apologetic look and leaned forward on the countertop. As the realization dawned on him, Al exploded.
"Oh no no no! NO!"
"We don't have any other choice, Al," Sam tried to sound reasonable, "We can't leave, and the baby's coming, so...we'll just have to have it here."
"'Have it'?" Al echoed, "'HAVE IT'?! Are you nuts?!" Frantic for a way out, his eyes darted toward the shelves. "Look, Sam, we're in a pharmacy. I'm sure there are some antibiotics around here! You could give them to me!" He wasn't crazy about the idea of Sam giving him anything after turning their car into a scrap heap, but he was even less crazy about the possibility of actually giving birth.
"Antibiotics wouldn't work at this point, not after labor's started. We'd need something tocolytic. Terbutaline, nifedipine, uh, indomethacine..."
"Toco-what?" Al shook his head and didn't wait for a response. "Never mind, is there any of it around here?"
"Tocolytic; it suppresses contractions," Sam quickly explained, mostly out of a compulsive need to correctly inform him. He knew it was pointless anyway, because this was followed by, "But look, it doesn't matter, because...I don't think it would...actually work." He raised his eyebrows sheepishly.
"What do you mean? Why wouldn't it work?"
"Because you're not the one in labor."
"Like hell I'm not!" Al shot back defensively.
"Not really," Sam stated, "What you're feeling right now is Kiyoko's labor pain in the Waiting Room. If I gave you anything, it wouldn't affect her. They'd have to give something to Kiyoko to stop the labor, and they're not going to stop her at 41 weeks, Al. It's dangerous."
The look Al was giving him could've melted him on the spot. He couldn't believe Sam's utter betrayal. Seething, he quietly hissed through his teeth, "You mean to tell me you knew...all this time...that it wouldn't work...and you strung me along anyway?"
"I'm sorry, Al," Sam said earnestly, apologizing for what seemed like the hundredth time this leap, "I didn't know what else to tell you...I figured we'd be leaping by now."
"Well we aren't! And now we're stuck here and, and now you're telling me I've gotta deliver the baby and-and I can't, Sam! I just can't!" Al was babbling now, petrified.
"Yes you can."
"No I can't!" he shrieked, his voice rising an octave, "I don't know nothin' 'bout birthin' babies, Sam!" This wasn't what he wanted to hear. This wasn't where he wanted to be. Part of him refused to believe it. He was out of breath again, fighting to keep what little control he had left.
Sam felt like a jerk for lying to Al, even if it had been simply by omitting information, but he hadn't known what else to do. Besides, he hadn't been altogether there when this started anyway. It was difficult for him to break this news, and he knew Al wouldn't take it well, but it still hurt to see him struggling to come to grips with this. Staggering back around the counter, he kneeled next to him, placing a consoling hand on his shoulder. "Hey. I'll help get you through this."
Al met his eyes with the look of a man who had just been sentenced to the electric chair. Defeated, he slumped in his chair and stared dead-eyed at the wall. "Okay...tell me what to do."
Jack peered through the window of Akio Tanaka's pharmacy, sneering as he saw that bitch of a wife panting and wheezing. He took immense pleasure in seeing her in pain. This night had started out as a clean-up mission, but now he was in it for revenge. Shoot him in the leg? Make a fool of out him? No woman could ever get away with that. Yes, he had special place in heart for seeing this woman suffer.
As usual, Greg was jumpy. He leaned over Jack's shoulder and whispered, "Why don't we just shoot them through the window and get the hell out of here?"
"Can't get a clear shot," Jack said, his eyes glued to Mrs. Tanaka, "And the noise will bring us too much attention out in the open like this."
"So what do we do? They're going to report us, man!" Greg was holding his head and pacing. He'd already been to jail once, and it didn't suit him, not in the slightest.
Jack, on the other hand, was cool as a cucumber. He knew they had them right where they wanted them. "That bitch is dropping her baby," he said, "They're gonna have to come out sometime. All we need to do is wait." His sinister smile danced onto his lips.
"Son of a bitch!"
Al was beginning to miss his contractions from earlier, because now he felt like he was being punched in the gut by Muhammad Ali. Sharp pain stabbed at him as he writhed on the floor in agony, but no matter how he positioned himself, he couldn't get comfortable. One of his only small reliefs was that he'd broken out into a sweat, since it cooled off his face.
The pharmacy might have been barred, but they were still exposed in the front, so Sam had suggested they move to the back and out of sight. Once he'd grabbed some more items he thought they would need, they'd headed there and locked the door.
His ankle and shoulder were really starting to ache now, and he knew it was only going to get worse, so he took four ibuprofen to try and stave it off. It was the strongest non-prescription painkiller he could find, and although there was likely something stronger in the pharmacy, he wasn't going to steal someone else's prescription. They might run into an emergency and really need it, not to mention he didn't want to endanger Akio's job. Besides, stealing was wrong.
All he'd really needed from the first aid kit was the emergency blanket, pillow, and a set of sterile gloves. For such an agonizing event, birth was a surprisingly simple process. Saving the blanket for later, he'd given Al the pillow to rest on and sat against the wall next to him. And so Al was on the floor, contemplating just what awful sin he'd committed to be given this lot in life.
"How far apart are the contractions?" Sam asked, wincing as he leaned his shoulder against the wall.
"Oh I don't know, Sam!" Al groaned, "I've been, ah...too focused on not dying!" He pulled his hands over his face and muffled, "Agh, I can't believe this is happening!"
"Here, Al, try this. Do what I do." Leaning in, Sam gave an encouraging look and began demonstrating Lamaze breathing to help relieve the pain.
Peering at him through his fingers, Al looked like he wanted to die. Actually, he really did. His eyes rolled heavenward. When I leap, please don't let me remember this, he prayed. However, this really, really hurt, so dignity was out the window at this point. Following Sam's lead, he started the same breathing technique.
"That's it, you're doing great."
This stupid breathing thing could kick in any minute now, thanks. But try as Al might, the contractions weren't feeling any less unbearable. He exhaled a deep breath and pounded the ground in frustration. "It's not doing anything, Sam!" This must be one of those things only Kiyoko was in charge of. What in god's name was she doing back at the Project, taking the day off? Do something useful! He was only having her baby for her, the least she could do was breathe properly!
"Just keep trying. Like this, remember?" Eyes big and earnest, Sam again started showing Al how to breathe. This was interrupted when he was yanked forward by his scrubs.
"You do that...one more time..." Al panted, "and I'll break your windpipe..."
"Okay."
"I mean it...I'll just...murder you horribly..."
"Okay. Understood." Sam backed off and went quiet. Nodding resolutely, Al leaned onto his pillow and stared at the ceiling.
"How long...does this usually...last anyway?"
"On average? About eight hours."
"Oh fuck me!" Al went white and reached haphazardly toward the bucket Sam had grabbed earlier. Hurriedly, Sam handed it to him and he heaved into it.
"But judging from how far along you seem to be, I don't think we'll have to wait that long," Sam said as he handed him a paper towel to wipe his mouth, "If I had to make an educated guess, I'd say at mostyou'd have a few hours left."
"A few hours..." Al moaned. If he was honest with himself, he would have spewed chunks whether he'd gotten a short or long estimate. He didn't think he'd ever be ready for this, but at the same time, he wanted it over and done. "AGHHHH!"
Another excruciating wave stole his breath. It was as if he were in a giant vice, slowly squeezing him to within an inch of his life. And it just wouldn't end. Despite all his best efforts not to, he broke down into tears. He couldn't help it. It was as if his body had turned against him, a mutinous turning inside out that left him barely able to register what was happening around him. This wasn't his skin, it was someone else's, holding him prisoner, draining away what was left of Al Calavicci. But he couldn't leave, not now, not before he'd made right what he'd made wrong.
Wordlessly, Sam had taken a wet-down wash cloth and started dabbing Al's forehead. He didn't want to see him like this, but he couldn't do much to help him. The best he could do was be there to make this as easy as possible...even if it was just by way of support. As he was applying the wash cloth, Al grabbed his hand to get his attention.
"Sam," he grimaced, "I want you...to promise me something...if I die here-"
"Al, you're not going to die," Sam admonished him.
"No listen, I mean it!" Al ordered sternly, trying to be as commanding as possible, even though his eyes were still wet. "If anything...happens to me...I want you to...promise me something."
Reluctantly, Sam agreed. "Okay."
Gulping, Al closed his eyes and tried to reel in his breath and his emotions simultaneously. When he looked at Sam next, he was determined. "When they fix that retrieval program...and get you back, Sam...Don't leap back to save me." Hot tears were welling up again; he pleaded, "You take home and you, you hold onto it...as hard as you can! You understand? You stay there! Because...because I'm not going to lose you a third time! You promise me!"
Sam's hand was being crushed by the force of Al's grip, but it was nothing compared to his shoulder or ankle, so he paid it no mind. The important thing right now, the thing at the forefront of his thoughts, was his grand epiphany, the moment where all of the puzzle pieces seemed to come together in his brilliant, swiss-cheesed mind. Because now he understood perfectly why his friend had joined him on this leap. This wasn't just about the Tanakas. It was about Al.
"I'm sorry. I won't make a promise I can't keep."
"Sam, please!" Al begged, but Sam was unshakeable.
"This is about the last the last time you leaped, isn't it?" he asked, staring Al straight in the eye, "This is about 1945?"
Ashamed, Al turned his head away. "I let you down, Sam..."
"Is that what you think?"
"It's what I know!" Al turned back to him, burning with internal anger, "I failed that leap! I failed so badly...you had to rescue me...and get trapped in time all over again!"
"No you listen to me," Sam demanded, "You didn't fail."
"Yes I did! If I'd just been quicker, done something different-"
"You didn't fail!" Sam yelled with conviction, forcefully cutting him off. He wasn't going to let Al perpetuate any more falsehoods in his mind, because he'd had the truth all along. "You did everything you could, and it didn't work out. But I made that choice to leap back, not you, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Because, Al, you have to understand…you're more important to me than getting home." He squeezed Al's hand, as if by the action he could make him believe what he already knew was true. "You gave up your life for me. You helped me realize my dream, and I left you there, and you kept it alive. I know you must have a mountain of paperwork, you're stuck at the Project because I could leap at any time...Sometimes, on leaps, you don't sleep because our times are never in sync, and you're so tired you can barely stand, and you think I don't notice, but I do. I notice when you're wearing the same crumpled clothes, or there's shadows under your eyes, or you make some joke to cover up for the fact that something is eating you up inside. And if I haven't said it before, I'm sorry...I love you, Al. You've given up everything for me. The least I can do is try to repay the favor. But even if I didn't owe you anything, I'd still step back into that Accelerator Chamber. And when I get back home, you're going to be there, and you'll still be the most important person in my life." Tears blurred his vision now too as he gave Al a heartfelt smile. "I've never blamed you for what happened. Please don't blame yourself."
An immense gratitude swelled in Al's chest, more than he could ever put words to. This was so very Sam, he thought. It was times like this that reminded him why he was, and always would be, his dearest friend. And as much propensity Al had for being his own worst enemy, hearing Sam relieve him of fault took such a weight off of him. As he managed a small smile in return, he thought maybe there was room to forgive himself after all.
"Thanks, Sam."
"I mean it."
Al stifled a shout and held his stomach tight, and his mind was gone again, detached and somewhere far away. So much for the Kodak moment. Mortifyingly, it felt like he had to take the biggest bowel movement of his life, and he hoped beyond hope he wouldn't soil himself and add insult to injury. His groin, thighs, and hips were gnawing at him, and somehow even his posterior hurt. How was that even possible? He couldn't be alive right now. No human being had gone through this and come out the other side, he was certain.
Experience told Sam it must be getting close to time. Well, as much experience as a medical text book had told him. He'd been in labor before, but this was the first time he could recall being a midwife. Except, of course, when he'd helped deliver a calf on the farm. In any case, he wasn't about to tell Al that, he just had to pretend he knew exactly what he was doing. Besides, for all he knew, he'd delivered dozens of babies and it had slipped through the cracks in his mind. But he couldn't deny that he lacked experience in coaching his best friend through childbirth, because that was a new one.
"I think we're getting close. You ready?"
Pursing his lips, Al managed an affirmative nod.
"Alright, let's take off your pants."
Even though he was in a crippling amount of pain, Al's hand shot out and stopped Sam. He might be a man having a baby, but he'd be damned if he let Sam take his pants off for him. "Nngh...I can do it..." But instead of continuing to ease up, the contraction shot up again like lightning through him and he was paralyzed. He started firing off Italian curses, most of which Sam couldn't understand, although he had a pretty good idea of what was being said. "Fine...you do it...just get it outta me!"
"Okay, Al, just hang on..."
Without any hint of embarrassment, Sam pulled down his pants as deftly as he could with one hand and tossed them aside. The motion sent knives through his shoulder, and he had to take a moment to collect himself. As he did so, Al began to shiver, and Sam's doctoring instincts took over again. He pulled the emergency blanket over Al's shaking legs, as much to warm him up as to try and protect his modesty for the time being. Not that it made much difference for what they were about to do, but Al appreciated it nonetheless.
"Alright...let's...get this over with..."
"Do you feel the urge to push yet?"
"I don't know..." Al gasped, exasperated, "I guess?"
"You'll know," Sam said, "For now, we just have to wait for it."
"Saaaam! Just pull it out, for god's sake!"
"It'll happen, just take it easy."
"Take it easy?! Mangia merde e morte!" Al spat out, squirming.
While he continued to find new and innovative ways to swear, Sam saw a head of red hair poke through the wall. When Gooshie spotted Sam and Al, he stepped inside. "Hello again, Dr. Beckett. Admiral Calavicci. How're you holding up?"
"I want to die!" Al hollered and curled in on himself.
Sam gave a forced smile. "Things are just great. Did you find out how to get us to leap?"
"Hm? Oh yes, we did!" Gooshie said cheerfully, "According to Ziggy, a police car is going to come by in approximately 10 minutes and 43 seconds. Actually, that's thanks to your call earlier in the day, Dr. Beckett. The car decides to do another sweep just in case, and our two culprits are caught."
Sam's grin became genuine. "So we're about to leap out of here then!" He gave Al's shoulder an encouraging shake, and he was met with a strained but hopeful look.
"Wellllll, not exactly. Unfortunately, in 6 minutes and 17 seconds, they're going to break inside and kill both of you."
"GOOSHIE!" they yelled together.
"Why does everyone always yell at me like it's my fault?" Gooshie questioned no one in particular, "I'm just telling you what Ziggy's extrapolated! But according to her calculations, if you can hold them off until the police arrive, you'll leap out."
"Hold them off?" Sam repeated, thinking.
"How the hell...are we supposed...to do that?" Al asked breathlessly. Suddenly he screamed, clamping his hand around Sam's arm. Unfortunately, he took Sam's bad arm, causing both of them to yell in unison. Al's fingers instantly let go, and Sam pushed his back against the wall in his own unendurable pain.
"Oh Sam...We're boned...we're so boned..."
"Shut up, Al, we're not boned," Sam winced.
"What're we gonna do? Between...the two of us...we've got about...half a guy's manpower..."
"Just let me think, okay?" Sam's mind went to work. He needed to set his thoughts in order, get past the pain and come up with a feasible plan for two severely handicapped men to take on two mostly able-bodied murderers.
And then came the aha moment. A lightbulb went off in his head, and he knew what to do.
"I have an idea..." He muttered, preoccupied, reaching for his crutch.
"What? What is it?"
Ignoring Al's question, Sam hobbled to the door. "I'll be right back. Gooshie, stay with him."
"You're leaving Gooshie with me?! Sam!"
Taken aback, Gooshie fumbled out, "Stay? Oh! Um, s-sure thing, Dr. Beckett!" And Sam was gone.
Well, this was awkward. Al felt no comfort in having Gooshie as his new caretaker, and he'd feel pretty much the same way had he been tangible. Out of all of the people in the world to choose to be in a life or death situation with, Gooshie would be the last kid picked in dodgeball. It was no matter. Al was too wracked with pain to pay him any attention.
Not that Gooshie didn't try. He put on a nervous smile and bounced on the balls of his feet, possibly to imitate Al's mannerisms, an invisible show put on for an audience who could care less. Maybe if he acted more like an Observer, he'd feel more like one. "Don't you worry, Admiral Calavicci," he said, chipper, "I had a cousin who had a heck of a time giving birth, lasted 13 hours, but she said it was one of the most rewarding experiences of her life!"
Oh god. This was worse than Sam's Lamaze lessons.
"Gooshie..." Al's eyes were shut as he attempted to separate himself from his body, zero in on anything other than the agony. "...do we hang out...back at the Project...?"
"Er, well-"
"Never mind...Let's never start..."
"Fair enough, Admiral."
The door opened and Sam returned, leaning against it and resting his leg. Thank god, time, fate, or whatever for small favors, Al thought.
"Dr. Beckett! We were just discussing-"
"Stick it up your ass, Gooshie!" Al shouted irritably, "What're you thinking, Sam?"
"I have a plan. A really, really bad plan."
Jack had grown impatient. It wouldn't be night much longer, and he didn't like being out in the open like this. Apparently those dead people walking had decided to hole themselves up in there, and that meant taking a more proactive approach. He didn't mind. He enjoyed the chase. And so Greg had gotten a crowbar, and they'd busted their way in. Not wanting to risk their victims escaping out the other way, Jack broke through the door in the alley while Greg came in through the front.
The broken door creaked open, and Greg edged inside, gun first. The pharmacy was dark and looked abandoned, but he knew better. They could be hiding behind the small shelves, and if they were, he was going to find them and blow their brains out. Slowly, he took a step forward and peered around a shelf of bathroom products.
"Hey, over here!"
He spun around to the call and fired, but the source of it had already disappeared. He recognized the voice as the husband. How many times was he nearly going to kill this guy, anyway? Angrily, he walked in the direction the voice had come from.
"Psst...This way."
He'd moved, and so Greg changed direction too, hurrying down the aisle to catch him. Suddenly, the ground became slick beneath him, and his feet were sliding. He lost his footing, slipping comically to the ground. "What the hell...?" Underneath him, he could see the floor was coated with Vaseline. He didn't have time to contemplate this any further, because when he looked up, a crutch was cracking into his head.
Before Jack had completely opened the door into the back room, he could hear the sounds of panting and groaning. His lip curling up, he made his way inside. The woman was on the floor under a blanket, damp and ragged, and in torment.
"Well well well...nice to see you again, darlin'." He chuckled and twirled his gun playfully. There was no need to rush this. She couldn't go anywhere, and that meant he had time to enjoy this. "Looks like you're in a spot of trouble."
"I'm doing alright..." She gasped, eyes slit. Oh, she was still spunky. That meant he could still break her.
"Let me ask you a question there, sweetness," Jack said slowly, caressing the shelves as he brokenly sauntered closer, "Did I do that?" He waved the gun toward her stomach. "Because that would just be the icing on the cake for me...to know I put you in such a torturous state."
The bitch didn't answer. Instead, she gave a tired, but defiant, grin. "How's the leg...?"
His smirk turning sour, Jack slowly lifted the gun. "Maybe I'll let you know how it feels...What do you think, should I start with the kneecaps?"
"I think...you shouldn't whip out your piece...unless you're ready to use it."
Al took his hands out from under his blanket, producing a fire extinguisher and liberally spraying his assailant. As the pressure hit the unsuspecting man in face, he staggered back into one of the shelves. Once he'd hit the right spot, Al yanked hard on a line of dental floss next to him. The line lead to the bucket, propped up on top of the shelf, which CLANGED into the other man's head. He crumpled to the floor, out cold, covered in a mixture of foam and vomit.
"That was for Kiyoko...asshole..."
This seemingly Herculean task completed, Al sunk onto his sore back again just as Sam was coming back in. Frankly, he was astounded this had worked. After everything that had almost killed them tonight, the winning plan was Home Alone-ing it? After grabbing the gun, Sam moved over to Al and used his crutch to lower himself down.
"Hey, are you okay?"
"I got him..."
"You sure did." Sam smiled proudly. Al returned the sentiment before glaring at the unconscious monster on the floor.
"He's not...going to...hurt anyone else...ever again..."
"You did it!" Gooshie, now having reappeared, exclaimed ecstatically, "Emi Oshiro was sentenced to 20 years for aggravated kidnapping and assault, and Greg Quinn and Jack Littleton are charged with attempted robbery and attempted murder. Quinn is still in jail, and Littleton...Oof!" He recoiled at the screen in front of him. "He's...stabbed to death in a prison fight in 1989." He shook it off in favor of the happier outcome, clasping his hands behind his back. "But the good news is, Akio and Kiyoko Tanaka live! And they have a healthy baby girl named Megumi."
Sam cracked a slight grin at the name. "Megumi. It means 'blessing,'" he told Al.
From the front of the pharmacy, they could hear a muffled voice calling out. "NYPD! Is anyone here?"
"In here!" Sam shouted. He grabbed Al's hand and his smile grew wider. "Al. You did it. You completed a leap!"
Exhausted, Al gave a small chuckle. "We did, Sam. We did. Nghh!" His grip tightened and his head sunk into the pillow again. "Hey, Sam..."
"Yeah?"
"You know...that urge to push...?"
"Yeah."
"Well I'm feelin' it..."
"Oh!" Sam had been so focused on finishing the leap, he'd nearly forgotten Al's predicament, but he quickly snapped back into control. "I'll get you through this, just like I promised, okay?" Al nodded. Sam positioned himself in front of him as he prepared to bear down. "On the count of three. You ready?"
"Ready!"
"Three, two, one..."
Al felt a violent flash of pain, which became a literal flash, a blinding blue, and he suddenly found himself standing in the Imaging Chamber. Gasping in surprise, he looked down to find himself in one of his favorite purple suits. He'd leaped back! And he felt like he could run a marathon! Oh, the joys of being a non-psychosynergized man! All of his agony had disappeared, and he felt like his old self again. He was so ecstatic, he gave a whoop of joy and punched the air.
"Admiral Calavicci?"
Twisting around, he found a very confused looking Gooshie standing on the disk, handlink still wrapped in his fingers. The leap must have just concluded.
"Gooshie! It's great to see ya, buddy!" Al swooped him up in his arms, lifting him slightly from the ground. It wasn't an easy task, but after everything that he had gone through the last few days, it was a piece of cake. Gooshie's breath, however, would be difficult for anyone to stand, so the embrace was short-lived. Dropping the befuddled programmer to the ground, Al circled around to search the Chamber. "Where's Sam...?"
His heart sunk as he realized where he was. Although he knew his leaping was an unusual circumstance, there was a part of him, deep inside, that believed Sam would leap back with him. But the only people in this room were him and Gooshie, and he knew this had been a single leaper trip. "He didn't leap with me...did he?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Figures," Al said, disappointed. Then, playing it off, he smirked. "He's still Mr. Boy Scout. He won't come back until he's fixed everyone's problems."
Although he was saddened to not see Sam, to know he could no longer touch him, give him a huge hug or an encouraging pat on the back, he took comfort knowing he was still out there somewhere, doing the right thing. And thanks to him, Al had made it back to the Project to live another day. That was so very Sam, he thought once again.
There was, however, a friend he could reach out to.
"Gooshie," Al said, putting a hand on his shoulder, "Do you want to get a cup of coffee?"
"I have some work to finish..."
"You can finish it later. C'mon." Ignoring his excuse, Al led him toward the Imaging Chamber door, which slid open as if on cue.
"Welcome back, Admiral," came Ziggy's sultry tones.
"I love to hear your voice, Ziggy!"
"You sure do know how to flatter a girl..." It was unusual for these two to get along so well, but Al was telling the truth. He'd missed that bucket of bolts, ego and all. It's amazing what almost dying will do for your perspective.
"Here, take this." Al said, handing Gooshie one of his cigars, and he pulled another one out of his pocket for himself.
"I don't really smoke, Admiral," Gooshie tried to politely decline.
"Oh. Good, that means more for me." Al took the cigar back as if it had never been offered. "You seem tense, Gooshie. Trust me, you need this cup of joe. I know I do. Now get going." He pushed Gooshie toward the door. "Oh, and, uh, sorry about telling you to stick it up your ass and all that."
"No offense taken," Gooshie said, genuinely, then, "Oh, and Admiral?"
"Yeah?"
The programmer gave a big, enthusiastic grin. "It's good to have you back."
Al dismissed him playfully with the wave of a hand. "Don't get mushy about it."
Used to this by now, Gooshie accepted that as thanks and exited the Chamber. As Al started to follow, he stopped and turned around, facing the empty blue walls. A bittersweet smile played on his lips, a new confidence in his heart and an old weight off his shoulders.
"Thanks, Sam. For everything."
He made his exit, and the door whooshed closed.