PART ELEVEN
Al awoke, at first thinking he was still in the Waiting Room with Sam, and noticing, with relief, that the object of his concern was asleep and very much at home.
You couldn't just get up off of this bed. It sloshed and swayed as Al eased his way off the mattress. Sam slept through it all, only snuggling in tighter into a ball, pulling the blanket up over his chin.
Rearranging the bedclothes so Sam was more securely covered, he smiled at the peaceful look on the kid's face. The temperature of the bed seemed fine, but he checked the thermostat regardless. A little warmer wouldn't hurt, and Sam could probably use the heat on his therapy-sore muscles. With a pat, he said, "Good night, Sam," and left the room, shutting off the TV and lowering the lights.
He hesitated before locking the doors. Some niggling thing in his mind was telling him that he and Sam were not alone. Heart beating wildly, he went to the seldom-used front door and switched on the lights, taking one good peek out the window.
Damn. Just as he had feared, two of the more obnoxious and persistent reporters were lurking outside. One had a video camera and the other was the one Weitzman had said couldn't ask enough probing questions. Ferret face; sharp, bright eyes. The intruders seemed to be discussing a plan of action, and Al was fully prepared to take them on to protect Sam from a media onslaught.
Wearily rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he phoned the Project and ordered security backup. Sam was not about to be made a prisoner in his own home, and the press wasn't going to be within miles of the place if he had anything to say about it.
Informed that his requested guards would be there in five minutes, Al went back to the window to keep an eye on the reporter and his cameraman. They were standing directly in front of the door, ready to ring the bell. Before they could, Al opened the door a crack, firmly barring their entrance.
"Admiral Calavicci!" Ferret Face grinned widely, putting out a hand. "My name is Robert Weeks, CNN. We've been trying for days to..."
"This is private property." The Admiral had his fright mask on; the expression of stone that had frightened many a man. "If your buddy there turns on that camera I'll break his arm. An escort will be arriving to take you back to your hotel - or wherever. I want you and any other members of the press corps to keep your butts off this place. You got that straight or do I have to make it clearer for you?"
The grin faded on Weeks' face. His voice turned more persuasive, almost threatening. "Listen, Admiral, this is big news. I just have one question, just one, and I'll leave you alone."
"Fat chance." Al shook his head. "I answer your one..." Despite his threat, the camera was taping their conversation, audio and video. It was an indiscernible sound, but one that the Admiral's well-trained ears picked up immediately. "I said shut that off, or I'll shove the damn thing up your ass."
With a sheepish look, the cameraman lowered it as if it were a weapon.
With relief, Al noted Project security was roaring up the driveway. Weeks looked back anxiously as the men poured out of the vehicles. He turned back to Al quickly, desperate to achieve his quest. "Please, Admiral. Did Dr. Beckett travel in time?"
"What's goin' on, Al?"
Sam's sleepy voice behind him made Al turn, pushing the door shut to block out the other man's sight of reporters and Security. "House pests - " he hissed. "Get back in your room. I'll be there in a minute."
Damn it, they'd unsettled the kid and it would be hell getting him back to sleep. He waited until Sam was safely back in his room before opening the door. The sight did his heart good. Weeks was being escorted into one of the military vehicles, looking thoroughly disgruntled and angry.
"Any further orders, Admiral?"
"Keep those bastards away from here. I don't want one of them within five miles of this house - make it ten. Dr. Beckett must have privacy. He's been through an ordeal and a half. Understood?"
"Perfectly, Sir." The lieutenant waved the other guards over and they moved out. Al shut the door and made sure the dead-bolt was in place before he went back to check on Sam.
He was huddled into a lump on the bed, his body curled around one of the larger pillows, face buried in the folds of the blankets.
"They're gone, Sam." Al slumped on the edge of the bed, his hand steadying the other man's shaking shoulder. "I made sure they'll never bother us again. At least at home." He squeezed gently, making Sam relax a bit. "You going to be all right?"
"They'll return, maybe even worse than ever," Sam said, rolling onto his back, his face taking on the lost look Al feared. "You know that. We have to do something. Maybe answer questions."
"Can't do that, kid." Al brushed back some of the hair that had fallen over Sam's forehead. "Not until you're debriefed. D.C. says we're still classified as TOP SECRET. That means the public doesn't have a right to know, yet."
"How are we going to keep them away, Al?"
The hazel eyes were round, unhappy. "We could station guys on the roof, machine gun turrets, y'know. You could do targeting from here in the house. I'll call Rent-A-Tank and mow them down while they run screaming down the driveway. Whaddya think?"
A snort of laughter escaped, easing the tension.
"Seriously," Al continued. "They won't get near the house now. I made sure security was particularly clear on that point. We got the best men, Sam. Good guys that care about your welfare. Just hope some bozo doesn't try to get in the Project. That'll make a great lead-in on the CBS News. That's one of the reasons we have to keep the place on the secret file. The moment you announce you can travel in time someone who isn't quite as Boy Scout-ish as you might try to get into the Project and do some serious damage."
"We'll have to dismantle Ziggy," Sam said, fear making his blood run cold. "Maybe we can just delete his programming. I think..." He looked uncertain and afraid. "Is it all still in my head? I don't know anymore."
"It's all in Ziggy and she's fine, Sam. The Accelerator is in pieces right now, bits and parts."
"You mean bytes and..."
"Very funny, smart ass."
"Are you going there tomorrow?"
The lost sound in Sam's voice punched Al in the heart. "I was, but..." His lips pinched together tightly. "Not with those Nozzles running around. I trust security, but I won't be satisfied until I see how it goes. We'll sleep in, maybe get some work done here by phone. Most of my stuff is in the files and I can fax Hayley what she needs it push comes to shove."
The plan had been for Sam to spend some time alone the next day, but that sounded like a bad idea right now. "Greg said he'd be over in the morning for your session, and after that you got the day to do what you want. Hell, we didn't put that pool in for nothing, or the Jacuzzi. It hasn't been getting much use since Tina left."
"Where is she?" Sam had almost forgotten about Al's girlfriend. She hadn't been mentioned since his return home - maybe longer than that.
"Uh, she got sick of the crap, I guess." Al pulled a cigar out of his pocket and played with it. "She said I was too busy to maintain a relationship. Went to her mother's, for good, and more power to her."
"You have to stop worrying about me, Al." He reached out and grasped Al's elbow. "I'm sorry about Tina. You need to talk about what's eating you, your aches and pains. I'm not the only one around here who needs to talk, you know."
"You got your own secrets you're not telling me." Al sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Something inside, Sam. You'll tell me when you're good and ready, I know." He turned and rested one hand against Sam's startled face. "I'll see you in the morning, kid." Al's voice had turned wistful, quiet and sad. "You're safe with me."
As Al left his room he wanted to call him back. Yet, that little voice that he often heard was telling him it still wasn't time.
He rolled over onto his side and gripped the extra pillow tight in his arms. For a fleeting moment he wished it was Al, and the sensation startled him with it's intensity. Would he object, he wondered again, or be disgusted if he knew the thoughts that drifted through his mind? What would it be like to give him every bit of love and possession that Al deserved?
All those years I Leaped, and all I ever wanted was Al's touch. If I could have him just one minute and hug him close when something went right, or cry on him when it all went terribly wrong...
The noises that assailed Sam's waking ears were unfamiliar. The sheets felt different, smelled of fabric softener... In a moment he realized he was home, not in the Waiting Room. It was a little later than he was used to waking, and in a flood of memory, he remembered what had caused him to sleep longer. The reporters, disturbing the house and the privacy that he and Al were trying to maintain.
A fluffy velour robe was lying across the end of the bed and he pulled it on; a little difficulty with his left side, but he managed. The canes were set within arm's reach and he eased himself out of the bed carefully, curious to see what was causing the swearing from the general direction of the kitchen.
Al was trying to cook, which immediately brought a smile to Sam's face. There was a skillet on the stove, butter melting in a browning puddle, and his friend was slumped over the butcher block, blearily staring at a cup of either coffee or melted tar.
"Do you think it might come alive?"
Jumping out of his house slippers, Al glared at his friend. "You're good," he managed, trying to still the violent beating of his heart. "How'd you manage getting all that way without me hearing you?"
"Practice." A grin slid across his face. "Revenge for all the times you snuck up on me."
"I never..." He shrugged at the wry look Sam was giving him. "Well, maybe a few times I had Gooshie center me a little close, but just to keep you on your toes."
"Your butter is burning."
In one startled movement, Al turned and pulled the pan from the heat, swearing furiously as he scorched his hand. He stuck the reddened digit in his mouth, keeping up a steady line of expletives as he did so.
"Let me see that." Sam gently pulled the hand from Al's mouth and checked over the superficial injury. "It's not too bad. Maybe some baking soda, or just cold water." His face was grave as Al yanked his paw from Sam's examination. Gravely, the younger man said, "I'd stay off it for a while."
Running water from the faucet over the burn, Al grimaced. "You haven't lost your bedside manner. It still stinks."
"I never said I was a good doctor. I know the basics, though. Maybe," he added as an afterthought, "I'll go into surgery, get a degree in that, and Law."
"Christ, kid, you've got enough degrees, okay?" He was grumbling in a good-natured way, enjoying having Sam here to argue with for a change. He'd spent enough mornings pretending the kid was here to yell at, especially after a particularly nasty Leap. That mess with Seymour - he'd freaked out Tina, yelling at himself that day. Sam wasn't the only one who spoke to imaginary friends during those times.
"So school is out, eh?" Sam leaned on the counter, watching as Al pulled breakfast from the refrigerator and attempted to start from scratch. His voice became teasing, suggestive. "Maybe I can teach you a few things?"
Startled, Al almost dropped the dozen eggs he had in his hands. "Uh, Sam... " he began.
"I can cook this stuff, and maybe you'll learn a thing or two." He staggered over and took the eggs from Al's numb hands, setting them on the counter. "Could you get me a bowl? I'll make omelets, and maybe some veggies; onions, peppers." His eyes crinkled as he grinned at Al. "If you'll help me I think we'll have edible food in just a few minutes."
As he held the vegetables so Sam could chop them he wondered at the look that had passed over the kid's face a moment ago. It was almost seductive, more than friendliness. Not unpleasant, and Sam seemed content now, actually doing something that was normal and everyday.
It was intriguing to note that Sam unconsciously braced himself on his left side, using the cane to compensate for what wouldn't or couldn't work.
With great concentration, Sam avoided chopping Al's fingers and kept his own emotions in check. The gentle tease had just come out and he could tell that his friend was startled by it. Not displeased, by any means. There was a new feeling between them, almost like electricity, but it seemed to be waiting... for what, he didn't quite know.
"Mushrooms?" he questioned.
Al shook his head abruptly, trying hard to follow the line of thought behind the question. "Excuse me?"
"Where is your mind at, Al? I wondered if we had mushrooms for this work of art?" He wondered for a moment at Al's dazed expression. No answer forthcoming, he continued. "Well, if we don't, that's fine. You cut the onion, though. I can't wipe my eyes when they run." Sam turned abruptly, going over to the stove and reheating the pan, adding more margarine and hoping Al hadn't noticed the catch in his voice.
"Sam?"
"Hmm?" He kept his eyes on the melting gold in the pan.
"We don't have mushrooms. Marshmallows, yes. And Jujubes. No fungi."
"We have candy?" Sam turned from the stove, his eyes dancing with light. "Where?"
"Now, Sam..."
He turned on Al, grinning tightly. "Where, Al? Where's the candy?"
"Not for breakfast:"
"I can have whatever I want, when I want. You're not a dietitian." His eyes lit on the cupboard Al had just come from and he hurried over pulling the door open. Boxes and bags of junk food practically fell out.
Al shook his head, his expression indulgent and affectionate. If Greg should show up and see his patient diving into a bag of Gummi Bears he might have other thoughts.
"Doritos, Al! There's Doritos in here!" He gave the older man a scathing look. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Sighing, Al turned and gently shut the cupboard. "You can eat that shit to your heart's content once you've had a balanced breakfast."
Face falling, Sam allowed himself to turn away from the Paradise he'd beheld. Most of the time, on Leaps, be couldn't indulge the two things that meant a lot to him - going home, of course, and junk food. Before he'd taken the step and traveled here, there, and everywhere, he'd constantly avoided the fatty stuff, and sugar because it was such a trial to keep his shape up. Now that he was home, and horribly underweight, he could eat and drink pretty much anything he wanted, within reason, anyway. Doritos hadn't been around until the mid-seventies and he'd had fewer leaps after '75, so the flavored chips were high on his list of had-to-haves.
"Don't leak a word of what's in that cupboard to Greg. Speaking of which, he'll be here soon." He gestured at the ingredients in front of him on the counter. "You started this mess, so finish it. I cut up your onion. Did a little extra, just because you like 'em. You'll never catch a woman with bad breath."
As he whisked the eggs into the bowl, followed by the veggies, and poured the entire thing into the skillet, he thought about what Al had said. A girl. His automatic response was "I don't want any," but he kept his mouth shut tight. He had not succeeded in bringing Donna back, despite what he'd tried in 1972. Had he really wanted her that badly, or was it longing for a more innocent time and not the person he'd shared 'then' with?
He stirred the eggs idly. He'd never been that sexually active; could count, with the exception of his time with Donna, only a few rare times he'd had sex. Mostly on Leaps; Nicole, and what he'd had with Maggie, if you could call a blow job a real encounter. It had been unbelievable though, worth the moments they spent together because be had been attracted to her. It had been a release for him, then.
"You've got a silly grin wiped across your mug, Sam." Al was leaning on the counter, his eyes twinkling with glee. "Thinking hard?"
Sam had to stifle the snort of laughter that threatened to explode from within and take the kitchen out with both of them. "Just, I guess, glad to be home and cooking for you."
From the look in Sam's eyes, that hot, passionate, and very distracted brightness, there was more on Sam's mind than preparing a meal. It was apparent, by his words and the embarrassed blush that was creeping up his cheeks, that he'd rather not talk about his real thoughts. "Well, kid, I'm pretty glad about it myself. It's nice to not have to worry about taking that long elevator ride every morning down to the I.C. Five miles, down, Sam. No fun."
"Couldn't be helped." He lifted his head, a frown crossing his face as he tried to remember. "The radium ring had to be shielded somehow. Maybe on the next run I can find some kind of solution to the problem."
"Not to mention the environmental factor." Al cupped his head in his hands, his eyes on Sam. "That stuff is nasty to living things, isn't it?"
"It would be, but with the way it's..." He tilted his head to one side, staring into space. "Can't hurt a thing, especially the people in there. Al, I'm remembering!" A broad smile lit up his face. "All of it, how I built the I.C. - I was worried about a leak, and how that would affect you from day-to-day exposure. When I figured that into the equation we made up the shielding and all the precautions..."
"Great, Sam. Well, if you can figure out some way to shorten that damn elevator ride I'll be entirely in your debt. I'm gettin' old, too over-the-hill to do that every day. Not that I'm likely to do it again, however," he added, with a meaningful look in his friend's direction.
"You know, Al, I think I'm through with time traveling. There's so much more I can do. I've got plans for other things. Once we've wrapped up the Project, I want to do something about that idea we had. The ozone layer, the artificial atmosphere idea we were fooling around with. I've been watching the news reports about the greenhouse effect, and how bad the weather's been of late."
"Scares the hell out of me."
Sam turned the heat off under the pan and turned to face Al, a new enthusiasm touching his words. "We can create that, Al. There's not a lot of time, but we can do it! A couple of years; maybe even get the government to let us use the Project site for it. When I get back to Ziggy I can..."
"Slow down, Sam," Al chuckled. He was pleased as punch to see Sam back to his old self, excited, creative, his mind and mouth going a mile a minute. "I'll talk to the big boys about it, later, when we've wrapped up QL. We need to tie that off nice and neat before getting into something as ambitious as this."
"In a year then," Sam said reluctantly. It would take at least that long before he could finish the Project to his satisfaction, and the Government's.
"You need time off, Sam, and don't forget that. You still have to go to Indiana and spend time with Mom. And Kate - God, I almost forgot."
Sam closed his eyes, thinking over his mother's condition. It hurt to think he hadn't been there to prevent that. Had his extended absence put a strain on her, too?
"She wants you to call her. She's in Hawaii, of course, and maybe you can do that today. God, she's on your side, Sam. Read Tom the riot act over the phone, or so she told me. I think you really convinced her that you were from the future when you went home that time. She's not saying that, but she's making definite inroads in that direction."
"Good." He glanced at the phone and felt that creeping fear attack him. "Why don't we set the table and..."
"Well, it's pretty early, but we could call her now. What do you think?"
Sam went white, and leaned against the counter for support.
In a second, Al was at his elbow, concerned and upset. "Sam..."
He waved him off, grinning. "I'm just hungry, I guess. Let's eat, okay?" The hazel eyes were guarded, trying to shade the emotion in them that Al could read so well. He knew Al was anxious and wanting to ask questions. Giving him as encouraging a grin as he could muster, he straightened. "Maybe Greg would like to go for a swim. I know I do."
Al dished out the plates and set the meal, with Sam's help. It didn't pass his notice that the kid had lost that sparkle. It wasn't Katie. The damn phone . He sighed, taking his place at the table.
"Al?" Sam's anxious gaze touched his friend from across the table. "You were right last night. I do have things bothering me that I haven't told you." His words were soft, almost as if he were learning to speak again. "When I'm ready, you'll be the first to know."
"I hope it's soon, kid." Al picked up his fork, grinning to lighten the mood. "Let's dig into this stuff and see if it's edible."
After Greg arrived, Al stayed indoors working on some catch-up work that Hayley faxed him from the Project, and made a few phone calls. He was glad that Sam was outside and he could have a few minutes to speak in private to Verbena about Sam's problem. She seemed concerned, but said that it was one of many stumbling blocks he'd encounter on the road to recovery and that eventually it would iron out.
She suggested Al assist him in calling Katie, as much as that's what they'd had to do when they'd called his mother. Verbena was also spending the day at home, cleaning and reminding her animals that she was their owner. Al thanked her graciously for her advice, and 'Bena reminded him that she was always available. Still, Al felt unsettled when he hung up the phone.
His gaze drifted out the window to Sam and Greg. Both men seemed engrossed in a conversation, Sam floating in the pool, apparently without effort, just looking a bit tired. His right hand was gripping the edge, but he looked wet and happy. Greg was crouched near him, his blond hair shining in the sun.
The sight made Al uncomfortable. Jealousy? He almost wanted to laugh at the thought, except it was true. It was fine for the kid to have other friends, damn it, and he should be glad that he was able to communicate with people and show off that natural charisma. It was just Greg looked like he was enjoying himself far too much and... Al shook the feeling off. Christ, it made it sound like he and Sam were, well, lovers or something.
And yet, he thought, walking over to get a better look. Sam looked damned good. The sun was brushing his shoulders with a bit of pink, but he was already glowing with a tan, after only a couple of hours of exposure. His handsome, open face was split with a grin, probably laughing at something Greg had said. Maybe just enjoying the sun and outdoors like he used to.
Sam had never used the pool much, and he was a sight when he did. Tina had practically fallen out of the lounge the first time she'd seen him in that skimpy bikini thing. He'd swim from one end of the pool to the other, skimming across the water effortlessly - hours, it seemed, on end. Unfailingly polite, he served the impressed woman a drink and dripped into the house, undaunted, completely unaware of the stir he'd caused. It had been great for Al - Tina had been especially wanton that time. He'd wondered if she'd made love that afternoon to him - or Sam, the man she'd fantasized about.
Al shook his head, trying his best to return to the work that was being neglected. Anyway, remembering Tina made him want something he couldn't have for now. Sam was his priority, and everything else came second.