Chapter 4

The next morning, Sam didn't bother to wait for Al. Somehow, the words said the night before were still steaming in his mind. To even accuse him of the slightest infidelity infuriated him to his toes. The pavement tearing drive to the Project site seemed to quell some of his anger towards his lover, but not all of it.

Eyes widening in surprise, Sam pulled in next to Greg who seemed to be loading several boxes into his already brimming over Jag. Stepping from his Jeep, the physicist watched as Greg lowered the last of it into the small car. "What the hell is this?" he questioned.

"I'm leaving." The quiet voice held no malice, just stating the facts. "It's not you, and it's not Al."

"That's a lie," Sam replied, just as softly. "Don't tell me otherwise. I had a talk with him last night and..."

"Sam, it's not much. Just a vacation. A...prolonged vacation." His eyes and face held a wistfulness that the other man couldn't quite surmise. "I'm going to California, see some old friends and maybe settle down for a month or two. It's been a while." His shoulders straightened as he turned to face Sam. "Look, it's not like I'm leaving for good. Al said a few days ago that he was taking you to Canada or something. I think you can use the break, and, believe me, after being on call for three and a half years, I can, too."

"I don't want you to go."

"Swann knows your case and he'll be ready the moment you call him. If it's a real emergency, I've left some numbers with Bena. Just in case." Greg swallowed hard, suddenly realizing this was becoming more difficult with every passing minute. Sam's expression was the same as a deserted puppy's. "I promise," Greg said, resting his hands gently on the other man's shoulders. "I'll be here if you need me. "

Reaching out, Sam grasped and held Greg close, gripping him in a hug. Greg had become more than his physician - bit by bit the Swiss Cheesing was wearing away, and he recalled many times that this man had been there for him before the Leap. He'd always been an encouragement, almost as much as Al had and still was. Inevitably, Sam realized, the rest of the staff would be leaving, too. "I'll miss you," he managed, pulling away.

"Take care, Sam." Quickly, Greg jumped into his car and, biting his lip over the emotion, tore out of the parking spot and out of PQL.

To Al's reckoning, Sam had disappeared. Not that he hadn't made a habit of it in the last few days. Ever since his first day back at work, and Greg's leave taking, Sam had been keeping his distance from most everyone at the Project. With the exception of three or four times, Al couldn't recall when he'd managed to bring his lover home in the last week. What worried him most was Sam's recuperating body was frail; the suggestion of food and rest made him angry and rebellious. At the mere mention of the Canadian trip Al had suggested, Sam had heartily vetoed it. As far as 'Dr. Beckett' was concerned, the Committee and Congress wanted the information from Ziggy first, and foremost, and that was A number one on Sam's agenda for now.

On the sly, when he'd not been preoccupied with paperwork and ordering people around, Al had watched Sam force himself to move and work. With every day, he could see him force his uncooperative body to walk, the tiny dark circles under his eyes becoming huge, the fought-for weight gain dissipating, thinning out and straining his health. The thought of going to Swann, who was on call for medical, or Verbena filled the Admiral with a sense of betrayal. One glaring look from Sam made him hesitate, even the suggestion of rest or vacation made the younger man turn and stiffen in anger. Nagging wouldn't work, nor mother henning. That seemed to make Sam even more furious.

The first day back at work, Al had come into the Project nearly raging. Sam had slipped away earlier than they had agreed, and when the Admiral entered the Project's grounds, he found Greg had taken a leave of absence, and Sam Beckett becoming persona non grata.

It was coming to a head, and a major league fight would ensue any day now. Al's first instinct was to bodily wrestle Sam away from the computer, drag him kicking and screaming out of the Project, and screw the scene they'd cause. A knock on his office door made his thoughts fade. "Come in," he said, pretending to work on the papers he'd been distracted from.

Gooshie? Al frowned, noting the worried look on the little programmer's face. It was a rare sight indeed to see the man outside of Control. He spent most of his time there, or scurrying through the halls of the Project, trailing reams of computer paper and mumbling to himself.

Wringing his hands in consternation, Gooshie hopped from foot to foot until Al's steel-eyed look forced him to voice his thoughts. "Admiral, Dr. Beckett is going crazy."

The pen Al held dropped to the desk, rolling to fall on the floor. "Where is he?" he questioned, eyes narrowing.

"Control. I had to see you and made excuses but he's... well, not crazy, I guess, but acting strange. Like falling asleep over the panel, or asking me for information we correlated a week ago. I don't usually complain, but he's acting just like he did before he..."

"Before he Leaped?" Al stood up shoving the chair back.

Gooshie took a step backwards, knowing the look on Al's face was only a prelude to outright fury. He'd seen it enough when the Admiral had left the I.C. during Leaps, when things had not proceeded to his satisfaction. They hadn't exactly come to blows, but the way the older man had of chewing him out was enough to make him cower for days. "I... I'd say so, Al. He's not himself, and since you and he had that last argument..."

Al pushed past Gooshie, his dark, expressive eyes flashing brilliant sparks and fire. Cajoling, nagging, even ordering hadn't helped, he thought, striding through the halls towards Control, heedless of the faces scattering out of his way. Drastic measures had to be taken or Sam would end back up in the Waiting Room.

As the doors of Control opened, Sam glanced up, not noticing the man in starched white. "Gooshie, where are those readings? I asked for them fifteen minutes ago, and..."

"Gooshie is occupied." Al leaned over the console the younger man was working at and neatly switched off the monitor. "You are going to listen to reason if it takes the rest of your life."

Sam grimaced at the sharp words, then turned an expression of pure annoyance on Al. "What do you think you're doing?"

"It's gone past talking anymore, Sam. You're planning on getting back into that... that thing." He practically spat the words out, his face red with anger and betrayal.

"Says who?"

"I can figure things out, Sam. Don't think I can't. You are reading over particular leaps, analyzing. Christ, the correlation was done days ago, wasn't it? Don't lie to me, or I'm walking out of this Project and gone, kiddo."

"Then, go." Sam gripped the edge of the console, his face masking his deeper emotions. "Just take off like everyone else." His voice was soft, weakened by lack of food and rest.

"Just because Greg..."

"You sent him away," Sam accused, barely lifting his head as he spoke. "I can do what I want. It's still my Project."

"Whatever Greg decided he did on his own. As for leaping again, you can't change shit. You can't, Sam. I won't let you get back into or rebuild that Accelerator and, sure as shooting, the Committee will post guards to keep you from going, so forget it."

"I thought you were leaving," Sam said, his voice cold and hard. "So leave."

"C'mon, Sam. I'm not leaving until you attempt to be reasonable. Have you looked at yourself lately? Christ, you're skin and bones, a real mess. What say we go home and..."

"No!" Sam shoved out of the chair and grabbed his cane, somehow attempting to escape the reasoning words. "I have a lot to do. Just don't..."

"I'll call Swann, Sam. So help me."

It was Al's trump card, something that would make Sam stop and listen, and no bluff. Greenish eyes, red rimmed and tired stared back at the Admiral in wide betrayal. "You wouldn't."

"Try me. I'm stronger than you are right now, and twice as stubborn. You look like shit, Sam. Don't forget who's in command around here. Me. If I have to drag you down the hall, I will. Do you want a panel to declare you incompetent? I don't want that, Sam. Right now you're not acting sanely."

"So take me to Swann and what happens? He blows up in my face, and ties me down to a bed for the rest of my life." The effort of fighting with his lover taking what strength was left from his body. Leaning heavily against a far panel, he made it plain he was doing his best to keep his distance from the other man.

"I did some checking and damn it, Sam you can go away for a while. What's left is for Gooshie to do, methodically, thoroughly. You can forget about Leaping again, though. As for Swann, I have this feeling he'll want you Co go off with me for a while. And Verbena has been wanting me to drag you out of here for ages. Time away from this place might do you some good, Sam. Help you get over this stage."

"Stage? I don't like that. I'm not three years old and I don't need you harping on the same old tune again. I am perfectly capable of..."

"Not now, Sam. You never even had time to grieve over your Mom. You've been so caught up in this new idea, to Leap again, and change it all, that you don't even think about the other stuff. Christ, 'Bena told me that you haven't even worked out some of the problems you had with Leaping, let alone what happened when you came home."

"I'm just fine, damn it." Sam knew the words were a lie the moment he spoke. Certainly he'd spent most of the last days buried in work, but it seemed to keep the pain from his stomach, that relentless ache in his chest subsided when he was mired in his Project. And, yes, the idea of Leaping again, to repair some of the damage he'd caused had entered his mind, on more than a subconscious level. If Gooshie could see it, and tell Al about it, then he wasn't aware of how far he'd go to gain access to the Accelerator.

"Fine, my ass. Look at yourself. Concentration camp victims looked better. Now, either we go call the doc, or I drag you to his office in town. I'm certain Bena already called him and he's waiting. She's usually more into jumping the gun on things like this than I am."

Distracted from his work, fighting with Al, and generally getting up from the chair had made Sam realize something was peculiar. His ears were humming, dark spots were darting in front of his eyes, and his equilibrium was shot to hell. Al was at his side in a moment, strong hands gripping his shoulders, concern and fear replacing the anger formerly creasing his face.

"That's it, kid." Al glanced behind him, seeing Gooshie enter the room with a worried look on his face. "We're going to see Swann and then a little trip."

"Al..."

"I'm not arguing, no way, Sam. You're out of the computer game for a while. At least a week, or two, if Swann demands it. Can you make it there or should I get some help?"

"I can walk, Al." Sam's head lifted, disappointment in himself making his eyes seem more hollow and empty.

"Is he going to be all right, Admiral?"

"I'll let you know, Gooshie," Al said gently, extracting Sam from the chair and assisting him from the room. He half-smiled as Sam gripped his forearm for support. "C'mon, kiddo, let's go see Swann. The doctor's prognosis was that Sam had a severe case of exhaustion, and a slight upper respiratory infection. The patient kept a long line of gripes going during the examination, not pleased to be taken from his work.

"Work?" Al's eyes widened. "You'll kill yourself, Sam. I'll buy you a gun and let you do yourself in cleaner and quicker, if that's your plan."

"I don't want to commit suicide, Al. " He pulled his shirt on after the examination, his mouth pulled down in a quivering pout. "I don't have time to be sick."

"Sounds familiar, Sam." Swann pocketed his stethoscope. "Same old complaints, the work being more important than your life. You forget, you're not in the same shape you were before you Leaped. In the reports that he gave me, Greg told me you haven't kept up on therapy, at least for the past couple of weeks, and not to mention what condition you arrived her in not more than two months ago. That's no time for recuperation. I'm making a recommendation that you take a rest and that the powers that be wait for their results for another two weeks. Admiral Calavicci has made the suggestion that the two of you go on vacation. I thoroughly agree and envy you. I've been trying to convince the Admiral for years to take a break, with no result except inherent stubbornness."

Al watched Sam's face for any kind of reaction. The tired lines straightened to obstinant ones, but other than that, not a word. The man was near collapse and probably unable to make more than his eyes react to anything at this point.

"I'm sorry about your mother. Dr. Beckett," Swann added, true sympathy in his eyes. "You need time to recover from that, also. The Admiral will take you home, and I advise that you stay away from the Project. If you push yourself much further you could set back your recovery. I don't think you want to be in a wheelchair again, and you're not far from that now." He frowned at the obstinate face the physicist was making and the way the Admiral's face paled. "Before you go, Dr. Beeks wants to visit with you both briefly before you step one foot out the door, to quote her. "

Sam's look had turned sullen. Al watched him like a hawk, an explosion imminent. Verbena was standing outside of Swann's door, looking worried, arms crossed over her chest as if she were cold.

With a tentative smile she faced Sam. "You look like hell, Dr. Beckett."

"Go ahead, make it worse," Sam muttered, leaning against the wall. His eyes shifted, seeing Al's worn face, bathed in concern and just a little anger.

"I'm not worsening what you're feeling right now." Verbena glanced from one man to the other. "You both need a rest. It took you nearly falling apart to make you realize that."

"I don't need a rest," Sam replied stubbornly. "I have so much to do here."

"Gooshie will manage nicely, thank you."

"Listen to Verbena, Sam," Al offered. "She's right."

"Thank you," Sam replied, his weakened voice a low growl. "You've been a real help through all this."

"Damn it, I'm going to kick your butt from here to..."

"Before this turns into a brawl, let me tell you both. Sam, would you please be honest with me? It's important."

"If you want me to leave..." Al stated reluctantly.

"No, you need to hear this so it's all out in the open." She turned back to Sam who was still slumped against the wall, gazing at her blearily. "Did you have any intention of using the Accelerator?"

Sam glanced from Verbena's face to Al's. He saw great pain there, the older man glancing at the floor to escape his penetrating gaze. "Yes," he whispered.

"Damn it, Sam." Al turned away, his back stiffening. "I guess there was nothing holding you here, then."

"That's not true, Al. You know that. I don't forget what it was like, being alone, Leaping from life to life. I thought I could change..."

The psychiatrist glanced from one man to the other, sensing something deeper here than just the fact that Sam had considered traveling in time again. Al was shaking in fury, keeping his anger in check. Sam looked ashamed and stubborn, hurt vibrating from every bone in his body. "I think it's good if you two get away together to sort things out. A vacation, if you will."

"Both you, Swann, and Al are bent to get me out of here." Suspicion reared it's ugly head, Sam's weary eyes narrowing. "What will I return to? Is this place going under the wrecking ball? Are they taking Ziggy away?"

"Of course not, Sam." Verbena sighed, exasperated. "If they were, we'd let you know, and fight along with you, every step of the way. Wouldn't we, Admiral?"

The dark eyes were uncertain, angry with Sam, hurting that the younger man had even considered leaving him. "I don't know."

"What does that mean, Al?" Sam turned, bracing heavily on his cane as he faced the older man. "You'd see this place torn down? Do you think that would change things?"

"I think you two should go home and sort this out there." Verbena could see Gooshie's curious face peeking from one of the doors down the hall. "Then take a trip and don't worry about the Project. We'll still be here when you return."

"Right," Sam said tightly, quickly turning and hobbling down the hall and away from Al and Verbena.

The psychiatrist quickly grasped Al's arm as he moved to follow. "Take care of him, Admiral," she said quickly, her eyes locking with his. "He's unstable, and upset. He's going through the grief process, and mourning more than the death of his mother. I don't know what's happened between you two, but I know you're the only one he cares about, and the only one he'll listen to."

"I'll take him away," Al said, gently easing out of her light grasp. "We'll see what happens when he gets back. If things don't change, 'Bena..." Al couldn't finish the sentence, his emotions clotting his throat. He couldn't tell this woman what was really on his mind, that if Sam's mind set didn't change, that he'd have to leave. He couldn't love someone that was on the edge like this; a man that wanted to travel in time, commit suicide for his Project and leave him alone again. He just couldn't take that again, not physically, not mentally.

Sam was standing by the Control room door, arguing with the security panel.

"I'M SORRY, DR. BECKETT."

"What the hell is this, Al?" Sam turned, intense fury reddening his cheeks. "I can't get in. Security has this place locked against my code."

"I'm sorry, Sam. My orders. While you were in with Swann."

"What gave you the right..."

"Can we just go home, Sam?" Al was tired, and he knew Sam wasn't thinking straight, wavering in near collapse. "I don't want to fight here. I had a feeling you'd make a beeline to this place and..."

"I'm taking my data with me," Sam said, teeth clenched against the headache and the unreasonable anger he was feeling. "I'm not letting the government, or anyone else take it away."

"Goddamnit, Sam!" Al was bristling in fury. "No one's going to take it away. I made sure of that, long ago. Do you think for one second I'd let them do that to you?"

Their eyes locked for a moment, then, Sam sagged. He was nearly weeping from exhaustion. "I don't know what I'm saying, Al. My head is so screwed up, and it hurts so bad. I..." He crumpled, Al catching the weakened bundle of flesh and bone before he fell completely to the floor.

"All right, kid." Al glanced anxiously down the hall, not wanting Swann to see the scene and put Sam in the infirmary again. "I'm taking you home."