PART TEN

Without realizing it, Al kept his foot light on the gas, his eyes wide open and cautious.

"I'm not pregnant, Al," Sam grinned, every ounce of him glowing with joy. "Well, at least not now."

"What are you talking about?" the other man asked sharply, his eyes on the road.

"You're driving like my grandma used to. A regular hazard on the road." Sam lowered the window. He let the hot desert breeze hit him full in the face.

"Y'know, Sam, I have the air conditioning on for a reason." One look at his friends' expression cut Al short. The wind was whipping back the brown hair, green eyes crinkled shut.

"Enjoying yourself, are you?"

"You don't know how much. It's like . . . being released from prison." He glanced over at his companion. "Is this what it was like for you?"

"I guess, in your way, you became a prisoner." Al shrugged, his eyes full of dark compassion. "Just remember, Sam. You were always free up there the whole time, too."

Sam accepted his friend's words, a small shiver passing through him as he remembered Vietnam and the look on Al's face in the bar his last moments there. In the P.O.W. camp, Al had no control over his circumstances, and no one there, that he knew of, who cared. At least, Sam thought, in the prison he'd imposed courtesy of his Accelerator he'd had Al with him, and someone who knew him before he'd put himself into the cage of time.

Al kept one eye on the road and the other on his precious cargo. In the heat of the day, the interior of the car was like a furnace because of the open window, but Sam was shivering, his eyes riveted on the passing scenery. Al recognized the look almost immediately; the same expression when Sam Swiss-cheesed something on a Leap.

"You're remembering the house, kid. Hell, I had trouble even thinking about what it looked like for a while there. You okay?"

"Fine, Al. I ..." He pressed his right hand to his eyes, trying to clarify the image that was behind them. "We built it, didn't we? It's just off the base...God, Al! I was scared because I couldn't remember it, but now..."

"Oh, we didn't spend much time there, but it's home, kid. Nothing's changed, same old dump." He touched the control that opened the garage doors as they entered the driveway.

Al switched the engine off, smiling at the funny look Sam was giving him. "What?"

"Just that you opened the doors, and we're not parking in there."

"Uh, well, there's no room. Okay, that's it. We're home!"

He got out of the drivers side and assisted Sam with his canes as he made his way out of the car. So cautious, Al noted, each step a trial. Sam's eyes were taking in every bit of area; the tiny yard, the house that needed paint, but was still gracious-looking, and the open garage.

"What the hell..." Moving as quickly as the canes would allow him, Sam frowned, peering into the garage. "What...I don't remember..."

"Ah, well, the pool table. We'll discuss that later."

Hobbling over, Sam took a good look at the unfamiliar object. "When did you get it?"

"Take a look at your Jeep, here. Got all the plugs cleaned, oil changed, even..."

"You got it after I was Magic Walters..." His eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"I guess that leap brought back memories." Al walked over to stand by Sam's side. "I thought, maybe, once you were home, I could teach you the finer points, for real. You had a pretty good eye, kid, once I pointed you in the right direction.

"One of the few things I did right." Sam's expression darkened, turning away from the table to go toward the door.

"Now what is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, Al." Sam braced himself on the canes, adjusting his position. "Let's go inside. I'm tired."

God, Al thought, unlocking the door. If I had known the table would produce that kind of reaction I would have gotten rid of it long ago. "I bought a bunch of groceries," Al said, in an attempt to lighten the mood. "Stuff you asked for, and those things I know you wanted." He opened the door wide so Sam could enter easily. His face had lightened as he noticed the interior of the house. "Microwave popcorn, Diet Coke - no caffeine." Al kept up the steady patter as he entered the kitchen. "Frozen pizza, kiwi fruit, bananas..."

"Ugh." The sound of disgust was audible from Sam in the living room.

"Oh yeah, the chimp thing." Al walked to where Sam was. "Well I didn't get you any caterpillars...Von's doesn't stock 'em." Placing his arm across Sam's shoulder he met the other man's grave expression. "Welcome home!"

It even smelled the same, Sam thought. All those long nights, lying awake in someone else's body, thinking, sometimes remembering every nuance of what 'home' was, just to keep himself sane. A mixture of cigar smoke and Murphy's Oil Soap. He took in the sight of the living room. That ancient couch that was so out of place here, but comfortable after a long day at the Project. Spending the night on it, or until Al could make him go to bed. He'd have his headphones on, listening to CD's until he was deeply asleep and perfectly happy. Wrapped in Mom's afghan, still in place over the back of the couch.

Watching from the sidelines, Al enjoyed the sight of Sam touching the books on the shelves, his old records, and even the fireplace, greeting them like old friends.

"Is everything here?"

"No, I didn't trash your comic book collection. Sam?"

He ran across the room just in time to keep his friend from sliding to the floor. Grasping Sam's arm, he maneuvered the shaking man over to the small recliner and sat him down, watching the pale face. Eyes clenched tight, Sam was trembling again. "Talk to me, Sam. Are you okay?"

"Fine." The shakes were back, and the dizziness. "It's just so much. All here...and real."

"Is it just that? You're not in pain...?"

"I'm fine, really." Sam tried to laugh off the concern in his friends voice. "It's being home, and maybe getting out of the Waiting Room..."

Al caught a glimpse of pain that crossed Sam's face. "That's it, Sam. I'm calling Greg..."

Sam tried to get up from the chair and, with a sigh of disgust he fell back. Dizziness, double vision, headache, the works. Why now? "Al...?"

"Sorry, Sam. Doctor's orders. Greg said that if anything unusual happened I was to call him on the double." The phone was in the Admiral's hand and he was punching in the number. "I'm not taking any chances, so sit back and wait and see, okay?"

The doctor didn't seem alarmed and suggested that Al give Sam his prescribed meds and put the younger man to bed. He should settle in slowly, and take it easy the next day.

Sam realized it was great to be in his warm waterbed, with his television tuned to an old movie and the promised microwave popcorn. All he needed was Al's presence, but the man was keeping himself busy, rushing from bedroom to kitchen, kitchen to bath, and back again, his mouth going a mile a minute.

"Al!" Sam's shout brought the other man running, practically out of breath.

"God, Sam, what is it? Headache again? I'll get..."

"No. I want you. Here." Sam gestured at his side, the part of the bed that was empty. "Watch the movie with me? Citizen Kane. You told me it was one of your favorites. Isn't it?"

"Well, I'm more partial to The Third Man. This one's kind of weird, Sam."

"Orson Welles was a genius, too. He lost everything because of it."

"Now what's that supposed to mean?" Al flopped down on the bed next to Sam. "Are you going to start that old song again? You aren't losing everything, Sam. The Project is safe, and you'll be back on your feet before you know it!"

Sam fingered the sweatshirt Al wore with affection. "I remember this, too. You used to call this your slob clothes."

"Well you know I'm the snappiest dresser west of St. Louis and any other place I could mention. The ladies love me; gotta keep up appearances."

"I think I like you better dressed like this. It's real. You have to stop worrying about me, and running around like a nut. Everything is fine. If I need something I can get it, or ask for help. I'm not turning you away, Al. All I want from you, well, mostly, is just to be close. I want you near me, relaxed and enjoying home as much as I am. Can you do that?"

"I can try, Sam," Al said, sighing. "God, I worry about you. I've spent weeks just scared to death something might happen. You'd relapse, or, well, any number of things."

Sam laid his head on his friend's shoulder, not being able to pull him close with his left arm. He was rewarded by Al's arm around his waist, just a gentle tug, then release.

"You're pretty skinny, Sam. I'll have to take care of that, among other things. Maybe some Chinese food you like, or Italian. Put some meat on your bones."

"Are you okay, Al?" The big question he'd wanted to ask for days. Something Verbena had said prompted it, something about Al's condition.

"I'll live forever, kid. Don't worry. Got a little stomach trouble, nothing serious. I'm taking that junk that coats your stomach - how can a little pill do that? Feels better, though."

"When I'm back on my feet, I'll give you a check-up." It was a promise, Sam thought. I'm Al's doctor and he needs me.

A wide yawn was his answer. "You guys are all the same. Swann on one side, you the other. What a pain." God, he was tired. If he closed his eyes for a moment, he'd be out, on Sam's waterbed. Well, at least his back wouldn't feel like it had that night he'd crashed with him in the Waiting Room.

Sam used the remote and lowered the volume of the TV. Somehow it was more entertaining to watch his friend's face as he slept. There had been a lot going on, mostly concerning his return. Al had been the focal point everyone had centered on, the man who held the Project and its people together while he'd been in Time. Since his return it hadn't escaped his notice that Al was being hit by the press on one side, and the powers-that-be on the other. Not once in the last month had Al asked him to make a press statement, as much as the "Nozzles" had tried to con him into it. He'd guessed at a lot of the things Al had done to make his life private and easy right now, and heard some when he could manage to wedge information from Verbena.

He wanted so much to trace the worn lines on Al's face and take away the pain he saw there. More and more, his mind drifted to more than just friendship love between them. In a way, it frightened him, knowing Al would never go for it. His friend was not a prude, far from it, but he and Al... Sam swallowed hard. He remembered when he was Samantha, and what Al had been scared of then - loving him past the point of friendship. Even as a woman, the aversion had been there.

Another point; when he'd been in the military academy. Tommy. Al's words, his anger at what he considered deviant behavior. His ignorant remarks had faded at the end of that Leap. You were right, Sam, and I... I was wrong. Something had changed him. I changed him, my being Tommy without caring made him realize it might be okay.

Still, he wondered what kissing him would be like. Touching his mouth with his, being that close. Was it the touch he longed for or just being that close to Al?

I love Al. I want him in a way I can probably never have. Nell, in my current physical state... He lay back against the pillows, his right arm crossed over his face. I've changed so much. More than anyone really knows. Even Al. Before I leaped, I was so sure of who I was, what I wanted out of life. Now, I realize sometimes I was cold, concentrating on the Project and sometimes not really paying attention to what was going around me. God, I really missed the things I ignored. That night Al tried to make me go home and he was like a dim echo behind me, my mind so into what I was doing with Ziggy. After a while he realized I was blocking him out and he went away. When I think about that now, I know I hurt him badly. Did he know, did E know, I wasn't going to be here long?

Al knew. He practically did everything but beg for me to spend time with him. I took him for granted, thinking he'd always be there, and then, I did it. I Leaped.

Al moved in his sleep, shifting, a small frown appearing between his eyes. Is he dreaming? Does he worry in his dreams? Am I worth it? He seems to think so.

The medication he'd taken earlier was achieving the desired effect. Maybe he could talk to Al about how he was feeling, later, when he was feeling better and not so dependent on his friend's presence. Maybe his longing for a closer relationship would change when his condition improved and he could think more clearly.