PART SEVEN

Verbena paused Tom before the observation window before she allowed him to enter Sam's room. She watched his intense gaze and saw emotions flicker across his face, replaced by anger at the sight of Al near his brother.

"I want to be alone with him."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Beckett. Technically, Sam is my boss and his orders are law. He specifically requested the Admiral's presence and I can't deny him that. Let's go in, shall we?"

Rising from the chair as Tom and Verbena entered, Al moved around to the back of the bed, putting his hand securely on Sam's shoulder. He could feel tremors pass over his friend's body as Tom neared them. "It's okay, Sam," he said softly.

Tom seated himself, gazing at his brother in shock and dismay. Was this the same vital, intensely alive man he'd seen only three years before? The signs of stroke had altered Sam's strong face; he looked older than his age.

"Little brother?" Tom's voice cracked as he reached for Sam's hand.

Releasing his breath, Sam let himself look at the apparition sitting next to him. His brother, his own flesh and blood that he'd last seen in a bar somewhere in Asia. This brother was older, he noted with confusion, suddenly realizing it had been more than twenty-five years ago. He couldn't force words from his throat, closed with emotion.

Tom pulled his brother into a hug, squeezing with every bit of strength he possessed. "I'm here." After a few moments he pulled from Sam's grasp, keeping his hands on his shoulders. "Dr. Beeks says you can understand what I say to you. I'm taking you home, Sam. You need a real hospital, with your family around you."

"Tom..." Al's voice was a warning.

He ignored the Admiral entirely. "We want you back, Sam. With your family. Once we get you well, you can come back to the farm for a while. Mom, Jackie, and the kids, fresh air, just being in your old room again. God, Mom's made it a living landmark to you. Just like you left it. What do you think?"

Jackie? Kids? Sam looked to Al for guidance, his eyes frightened and confused.

"Don't look at him, Sam!" Tom reached over and turned his brothers' face towards his own. "You can make decisions. Your family has been deprived for three years, and we want you home."

Al touched Sam's shoulder, gently drawing him back against the pillows. "Take it easy, Tom," he said, his voice low and careful. "Don't do this."

"He's my brother and I'll decide for him from now on." He clenched Sam's hand tightly as if by his touch he could make him understand. "We miss you, Sam. Mom... She hasn't been the same since you've been gone."

It was the hardest thing that Sam had been forced to think about since his return. His heart was breaking with the effort. Sam twisted out of Tom's grip, his eyes wide and suddenly angry. He struggled to get the words out. "Not leaving," he managed, finally.

"That's real good, Sam." Tom froze, his gaze pure ice. "You know about Mom."

"Yes." Sam's jaw tightened, knowing what would come next. Beeks had told him his mother was ill.

"She's got a bad heart, Sam. I know you aren't ready to hear these things but it has to be said. She might not live longer. She's been with Jackie and me since her first attack. God, Sam, all she wants is to see you again." His voice became firm and angry. "You can't stay in this place. You've made it your tomb, with people who only care about your mind and what you can do with it. Your family loves you for yourself."

"Stop it now!" Al braced Sam's shoulders, alarmed at the look entering Sam's eyes. It was panic, and tears. "All you're doing is hurting him."

"Stay out of this, Admiral!" Tom turned his attention back to his brother. "One way or another, I'm taking you home. You'll see it's for the best."

"Who do you think..."

Before Tom could get the words completely out, Verbena silenced him with a look. "I warned you..." She gripped Tom's arm, easily levering the surprised man away from the bed and her agitated patient. "This is no way to start a reunion. I think we should go to the cafeteria and talk."

Tom practically tore out of her grasp. "I don't need a psychiatrist!" He gripped the handrail of the bed, meeting Sam's gaze sternly. "I need my brother to listen to reason."

"Reason?" Sam gritted the word out, glancing from Al's protect-mode expression to his brother. He was torn between accepting the guilt, going to his family or doing what he wanted, namely, staying here. Control, Verbena had told him. He had to be the one in command, not Tom.

Seemingly, Al was the only one who noticed the subtle change in Sam's expression. It was that stubborn look, Al thought, not moved by dynamite, Beckett's eyes twin slits of stony green, ready for a fight.

It was no mean feat to sit up in bed, and Sam managed. He locked gazes with his brother, squaring his jaw. There was a twinkle in Al's eyes belying his stern expression. The firm grip on his shoulder made things easier.

Tom Beckett was a stranger to him, now. He'd gone through hell to keep him alive, almost like a dream. Here, standing in front of him, was proof that what had occurred was all too real. Somehow, he comfortingly felt both time-lines merge into one. Tom had been dead in one, alive in the other. After Vietnam, Tom had been...different. Cold, devious, and not at all the buddy, best friend, mentor he'd been before. That, too, would be a weight he would have to carry.

"You've been home a month, or so I'm told. I was upset that you didn't call, but considering your condition, I can understand." Tom pressed his lips together, glancing coldly at Al. The Admiral was keeping his eyes on Sam, ignoring Tom. "It took the press nearly breaking into this place to get your so-called friend there to let me in. Did you know he wasn't allowing your family access to you, or was that done behind your back?"

"Now one damned second!" Al was about to add a few more expletives to what he wanted to say when Sam's right hand came up and gently grasped his wrist. The look the younger man gave him was silencing, and begging for peace. Al straightened, mentally biting his tongue against the flood of words he wanted to direct at Tom.

"What is it, Admiral?" Tom was infuriated by the communion he couldn't help but notice between his brother and Al. "Just because..."

"Tom - shut up!" The words were said haltingly, barely above a whisper, effectively stopping his brother's comment in a second. "I...am...staying here. Not leaving. Mom...I can call. Explain."

The iron seemed to slip out of Tom's eye at Sam's words. There was one more thing he could use that might change things. "I could get power of attorney over you and there'd be no choice, Sam. In your condition I could have you declared incompetent. It's a drastic measure, but..." Tom sighed, looking towards the stricken face in front of him. "I want you home. It's for your own good."

"Do you...really want to do that to me?" Betrayal was evident in Sam's expressive greenish eyes. "I don't think..."

Sighing, he squared his shoulder. "I could do this, little brother."

Sam made a decision, as difficult as it was for him to do. He had to be alone with Tom, to prove he could fight on his own. "Al?"

The man at his shoulder could see the struggle in his friend's eyes, an effort to force out each word. "What, Sam?"

"I'll be okay."

"I know that," Al said firmly, directing a hard look at Tom.

"I want to talk to my...brother. Alone."

"Sam, I don't think that..."

"Please." Sam tilted his head back to meet Al's concern. His eyes pleaded for understanding.

Al tightened his lips, glancing at the triumphant expression on Tom's face. You think you won, you jerk! "You need us, call, kid. Got that? We'll be right outside the door."

"Yes," Sam replied, his gaze redirecting back to meet his brother's gaze.

Al edged out of the room with Verbena.

"He wants to tell him he traveled in time."

Al glanced at the psychiatrist, shrugging. "It's Sam's decision. I'll stand by whatever he does." Lighting a cigar was a relief. "It won't make a difference. Tom will still think both Sam and I are nuts or deluded. I don't think he could believe anything either of us tell him now." He kept his steady gaze on the window, watching like a hawk for any change in Sam's position or expression. He seemed calm, listening impassively as Tom spoke, probably pleading his case. Sam's lips moved, but his voice was still quiet and Al couldn't hear the words.

"I had a talk with Dr. Matthews after our patient started speaking this afternoon. He thinks that Sam's right brain is compensating for what his left can't do. Whatever is happening, he's recuperating at an amazing rate. Greg wants him up on canes as soon as possible. Sam hates the wheelchair.

"He told you that, I take it."

"Certainly did. Said, and I quote, 'I want to walk'."

"That's great," Al said softly. Soon Sam would be back to his old self, active, puttering around with Gooshie, working with him on Ziggy.

"Al, I think you'd better get over here."

Verbena's voice held an underlying tension, her eyes gazing into Sam's room through the window. "It's Tom. He's..."

Al skidded into Sam's room, ready to take on just about any situation Tom could dish out. The elder Beckett was standing over the bed, his body bristling with fury, fists clenched at his side.

"No!" The cords on Sam's neck stood out as he shouted. He was sitting straight up in bed, bracing himself on the mattress with his right hand.

"I'm taking you home. Now. I see you've really gone off the deep end, Sam. You can't stay here with these people, in this place. It's only making you crazier than you already are."

In one swift motion Al grabbed Tom by the back of his jacket and pulled. He might be smaller in stature but he was strong enough to easily steer Tom from the room and into the corridor.

"What the hell do you think you're..."

Al blocked Tom from re-entering Sam's room. "It's in the best interest for Sam's health to keep him from becoming agitated. He doesn't need this crap from you, of all people. I won't allow it."

"You'll have no choice, Admiral!" Tom's voice and manner became quietly dangerous. His eyes were icy, his thin mouth determined and stubborn. "My God, he's gone over the deep end. You people are indulging it! Time travel!" He shook his head abruptly, as if to clear his mind. "He needs a proper hospital, so he can receive the care he needs to make him whole again."

"He told you something. What?" Al's gaze narrowed.

"Some crazy stuff, about Thanksgiving, 1969. Can't be, no way. Said he was home with us. Well, of course, he was, but he was only a kid. Not traveling in time, like he said, switching places with..."

"I was there, too."

"Stop it!" Tom snapped the words out, trying to keep himself from total explosion. "Do you think for one moment I believe this?" You are trying like hell to convince the government, and the public that he actually built a time machine? It didn't' work, did it, Admiral? It left him broken and bleeding and you've been hiding him here til he recovered enough for visitors. Or, maybe, he went insane and you've kept that hidden. It's gone past eccentricity this time."

"Not only did he travel in time, but I was with him. You can call me crazy, and take it right up to the Pentagon, but it won't shake. I was the Project Observer, and kept his tail out of more than one frying pan. There's not a damn thing you can do to change things. I don't know exactly what Sam told you, but it stands to reason that whatever he said was the truth. That man does not lie, and I'll stake my life on that."

Tom slumped against the window, his face still determined. "You're both insane. I'm taking Dr. Beckett home, Admiral. He's my brother and I've got certain legal rights."

"And I have an irrevocable power of attorney." Al rocked back and forth on his heels, trying not to smirk. "Verbena?"

Sighing, the woman came forward. She'd much rather have just observed the conversation than to be drawn into it. "Sam had the custodial rights, in case something like this should happen, put into the Admiral's hands. You could try to revoke it, but you'll be in court for months. By then, Sam will have sufficiently recovered to live on his own, and deal with you himself."

Tom glanced from one face to the other and stalked off. Al motioned the security man to follow, to keep Tom in line and out of places that he had no business going into.

"I'm going to check on Sam," Al said to Verbena. "You keep an eye on Papa Bear there."

"Thank you very much." She crossed her arms over her chest. "You owe me one."

"Several, but never mind. If he wants my attorney's number, give it to him. Westin will give him an earful." Jamie Westin, best legal mind in the world, would handle any obstacles Tom Beckett tried to throw in front of them. He gave the woman a quick grin, entering Sam's room.

Sam had his good arm curled over his stomach, huddled in a lump on the bed.

Easing onto the side of the mattress, Al looked at his friend's face anxiously. "You okay?"

Sam nodded, his mouth tightly shut. Tears of frustration curled down his cheeks, dripping onto his nightshirt. His right hand was a fist, pressing into his side, squeezed tight. He felt so powerless, and frustrated, at his brother, at the Leaps that had separated them and made them strangers. Fate had turned the corner on him once again.

"I saved him, Al." There was the slightest of hesitations between Sam's words, as synapses connected like a faulty phone line between phrases.

"You didn't tell him that, did you?"

"No." Al's hand gently rubbing his back made him relax, releasing some of the stress. He allowed his friend to ease him back on the pillows and settle him in comfortably. "I...told him I used the Accel..." Struggling for the longer words took more effort than he had left. "You know..."

"Tom patronized you when you said this?"

"Yes. He wants to take me away, Al. I don't know him."

"It isn't going to happen, Sam. I'm your legal guardian, and if he tries to revoke that, I'll kick his butt in court."

"Why can't it be like it was?" Sam barely whispered the words.

"I tried to tell you what he was like, Sam." Al fingered a cigar but didn't dare light it. "I thought maybe he'd mellow out once you came back." Al didn't like the tortured look that crossed Sam's face. "Don't regret saving him. You actually gave the guy a great gift. He has a wife, a family. Jackie and the kids, remember?" He smiled at the short nod of the head. "God, your parents' farm is still in the family because Tom chose to take it over after your Dad died. You love that place."

"I ... love him, Al."

"If he wasn't so stiff-necked he'd tell you the same. I'm not going to let him take you away from us. Take it slow, right now, just let him play out his line. He's trying to adjust to this new stuff, too, I guess."

"Al." The greenish eyes questioned, a tiny glint of fear in them. "What else did I change?"

"There's not much to say, Sam. Yeah, you changed a lot of things, and Ziggy is still trying to assimilate all that information. We're doing updates on everyone, from your first leap to the last. When we get that data it goes into your lap."

"Thank you, Al."

"For what?"

"Honesty?"

Al tilted his head to one side, a very Sam-like gesture that he'd subconsciously picked up from the other man. "Don't mention it, kid." He shrugged. "I'll send 'Bena in with you and go catch up with your brother and try to calm him down."

"Good luck." Worried eyes watched as Al left. He couldn't help but think how much of his best friend's life he'd taken up in the last weeks, not to mention while he was leaping. At this moment it didn't sound bad to think of Al taking him away from all this. Just the two of them, far away. Being out in the sun earlier had stirred another longing in him. Fresh air, hours baking in that desert furnace. His gaze fell on the canes that Greg had brought in that day, leaning against a far wall. They were his key to activity and movement, a normal life again. He slammed his good right fist against the bars of his cage, the guardrail of the bed. With all of his heart he wanted to be in his control room, the mind center of the Project, dissecting the information as fast as Ziggy could spew it out.

Before Verbena went into Sam's room she watched Al. He was leaning against the wall outside of the office. A look of pain had briefly passed over his face, just before he'd rested against the wall. He wasn't doing well, physically. The strain of the press and one Tom Beckett could push his elevated blood pressure right over the top. She debated briefly if she should go to Greg and ask his advice, then tossed that idea away. Later, after she'd been with Sam, there would be time for that.

Hayley came out of her cubicle and handed her boss a sheaf of computer printouts. Al smiled at her as she left and glanced over the papers. All in order. Good.

Tom glanced up from his phone call, his eyes narrowing. "I'll call you back," he said into the receiver. Turning off the cellular, he gave the Admiral a questioning glance. "I've got my lawyer on it," he told the older man sharply.

"I have the papers here, that Sam drew up before he...did what he did." Al handed them over to Tom, keeping his face carefully neutral. "All very legal. We don't have to do this."

After reading over them carefully, Tom placed the sheets of paper in front of himself in a neat stack, his shoulders sagging. He had a limited knowledge of the legal terms, but it all seemed in order. His eyes shifted to meet Al's dark ones.

Taking a seat opposite the younger man, Al tried to speak his mind as carefully as he could without starting a fight. "You have your mother to be caring for, Tom. What are you going to do with her and Sam? He needs specialized therapy - we have the best here. You can speak to Dr. Matthews. He's been performing miracles in Sam's room. I can give you and your family unlimited access to your brother. I know your mother, Tom. She'll be overjoyed just to know he's alive and will be with her in another month or so."

Tom took in the man in front of him. His face was gray, eyes weary from lack of sleep. It seemed everything Al was doing was geared to taking the best care possible of his brother. "You won't let him be a prisoner here?"

An odd question, Al thought. "For Christ's sake!" Al pulled the cigar from his mouth and shoved it in the ashtray. "I'm his best friend! He has me twisted around that little finger so tight I can't squeak, although I'd never admit that to his face. We all care about him here, like, I guess, a sort of odd family. They tell me he'll be able to travel in a couple of weeks, and he can call your mother tonight, before you leave.

"Please have a good visit with him." Slowly, Al pulled the cigar from his lips, his expression a warning. "He's carrying a lot of guilt right now. You planted some stuff on him he might not forget for a while. Call your mother, let him talk to her. That will do him more good than you can imagine."

"If we mean so much to him, why did he make you his guardian?"

Al's eyes rose to meet the other man's through a haze of cigar smoke. "I don't call him the Wacky Professor or eccentric, or any of the terms you use to describe his personality. Not to mention, I think I understand him. His whys and wherefores. He's not some little kid blowing up his Dad's Studebaker."

"C'mon, Admiral! It's a tease. We've been calling him stuff like that since he was a kid! Just a family joke, that's all. We'd never hurt Sam on purpose."

"One of Sam's esteemed colleagues called him a name like that and I had to keep the kid from hitting the guy. Words hurt when you're different. Around his family, Sam is carefully polite, smiles at the little digs. I've seen it. You have to watch that, and the things you say to him. He has a disability - and it's called Genius, and he doesn't want to be treated oddly because of it."

Tom looked stricken. "I...I didn't realize we were doing that to him. We've been such a close family, and Sam...well, he's been the odd man out all these years."

"He's your brother. Why don't you go down the hall and get to know him better? It'll be good for both of you. Listen to what he says and believe him."

"Even the time travel stuff?"

"It happened. He did it. You'll be with him in Sweden when he gets his next Nobel for it." The startled look in Tom's eyes betrayed his real thoughts. "You believe, don't you?"

"I think so." Tom glanced at the doorway. "I want to talk to him some more about Thanksgiving. About me, what was said. What wasn't."

"Take it easy on him, Tom." Al remained seated as the other man hurried from the room. Those two would sort the painful things out and become better friends for it. In theory, it had to work.