Chapter Ten - To Follow That Star

Project: Quantum Leap
Monday July 5, 1999

Dr. Beeks entered Al's office without knocking, knowing he wouldn't have heard her anyway. She studied him for a moment, noting he'd exchanged his pajamas for the spare outfit he kept in his office closet. She also noticed the tired lines around his eyes, and the fierce concentration he gave his work. Lightly, she cleared her throat. "When did you last eat, Admiral?"

"What?" Al didn't look up from the computer screen, where dozens of numbers scrolled by in a seemingly random order. He tried to make sense of them, and the knowledge that only a genius like Sam or Elizabeth or Ziggy could understand the equations didn't dissuade him.

Verbeena tapped her finger against the desk, trying to get Al's attention. "You need to eat. As in: take in sustenance. Imbibe nutrients which your body desperately needs in order to function properly." She sighed, and tried a different approach. Affecting an Italian accent, she gestured with her hands. "Manga, manga, Al!"

He looked up at her with surprise. "You want me to eat? Is it lunchtime already?" He glanced at the digital clock sitting on the edge of his desk, then back at the psychiatrist. "'Beena, it's only ten-thirteen. I had breakfast at eight."

"Notice the little dot beside the numbers," she pointed out. "That indicates PM, as in 'post meridian' or 'after noon'. You missed lunch. You missed dinner. You need to eat."

He waved his hand dismissively. "I'm fine. And I've got work to do. I'll eat later."

"And when will you sleep? I have it on good authority you haven't left this office since Elizabeth leaped, not even to go to bed. You've only eaten once, and that was when I brought you breakfast. This isn't healthy."

"Look! I don't care about sleeping. I don't care about eating." He glared at her with all of his 'admiral-in-charge' persona. "All I care about is finding my niece. Everything else, can wait. Capisca?"

—

Paso Robles, California
May 19, 1958

As they pulled up to a simple one-story house on the edge of town, Elizabeth shook her head with amazement. "I have never seen so many classic cars in one day in all my life!"

Sam noticed the vintage cars parked nearby, and laughed. "You've never been to an old car show?"

"I don't know. I don't think so." She certainly didn't think she'd seen so many large, brightly colored cars before. Her hands moved automatically to unbuckle her seatbelt, but it wasn't there. She sighed with frustration.

Every time she turned around there was something else she wasn't used to, things so out of date they astonished her. Not only the physical aspects, but people's attitudes as well. All day, not a single African American customer had come into the store where she'd worked. Compared to the Project, where minorities held equal standing with everyone else, this place and time seemed so backward. In the future, so many people wanted to rewrite the past, and had made many attempts to do so, that not everyone knew the extent prejudice had reached prior to the height of the civil rights movement. She wondered which held more truth, movies which softened the truth and minimized racial conflicts, or history books with political slants and a tendency to overdramatize everything. Perhaps she'd find out.

"Try not to stare so much," Sam cautioned her again, as he climbed out of the car. "Remember, to Sara Jane, all of this is normal."

Elizabeth nodded with an exasperation Sam sympathized with. She stood on the sidewalk and brushed her hands over her skirt nervously. She'd never studied the history of fashion , so she had no idea if her clothes were appropriate, even if they did come from Sara Jane's closet. After all, some people kept clothes long after they'd gone out of stye. "Are you sure I look right?"

With a critical eye, Sam studied the full skirt, starched white blouse, and flat shoes that Elizabeth wore. After a moment, he walked over to her and adjusted the scarf in her hair, then stood back and smiled. "I'm no expert on 1950's fashion, but you look fine to me."

"Thanks... I think."

"Relax, 'my' family will love you. In fact, they already do, so all you need to do is act as if you know them and you'll do fine." He smiled convincingly as he guided her to the door, and punched the doorbell. He knew all too well the apprehension of meeting a family who thought they knew him, and though he'd been leaping for several years now, his stomach still twisted at the thought.

The door opened, startling them both. A woman who appeared in her mid-twenties grinned at them and squealed a greeting. "It's about time you got here! Oh, just look at you. Don't you make a cute couple! Walter, don't they make the cutest couple?" She opened the door all the way, and looked up at the tall man who stood beside her.

"Yeah, whatever," he replied, gesturing for them to come inside. Then he looked at them both with an apologetic expression and held up rough, calloused hands. "I'm sorry, Sara Jane, Johnny. You know I didn't mean it like that."

"No problem," Sam said easily, wondering if Walter just had a rough day, or if he'd once had something against Johnny and Sara Jane's dating. He reminded himself to ask Al – if the hologram ever showed up again. Meanwhile, he found himself being ushered into another room, while the woman led Elizabeth away. He managed a parting smile of reassurance, which he knew the other leaper appreciated.

The woman led Elizabeth to a worn couch, whose green and yellow striped cushions were overstuffed and bulging. The rest of the living room was decorated in shades of light brown, green, and dark yellow, with no discernible motif that Elizabeth could recognize. Although she couldn't be certain, the style seemed to be slightly out of date for the time period. Everything seemed to be clean and polished, no matter how faded with time it might be. She found herself wanting to meet the woman who took such loving care of her belongings, tending them with love, perhaps even desperation as they began to age. As she surveyed the room again, her gaze fastened on the odd looking television sitting one corner. The wooden case around it looked the size of a modern TV, but the actual screen was rounded, and appeared only about ten or twelve inches across.

"So, has my brother popped the question yet?"

Elizabeth quickly looked away from the old-fashioned TV and focused back on the young woman who leaned toward her in a conspiring fashion. She had bleached blonde hair which flipped out at her shoulders, and wore a tailored suit in a dark peach fabric which looked like raw silk. A brooch pinned at her shoulder sparkled with diamonds. On her left hand she wore a wedding ring which nearly out-glittered the brooch. From all of this, Elizabeth quickly surmised that she had been married for a while, most likely to someone wealthy. She must be Johnny's sister, though whether older or younger, Elizabeth couldn't tell. She also had no way of knowing whether Johnny had asked Sara Jane to marry him yet, so she pretended to not understand. Her eyebrows scrunched in false confusion. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oops! I guess I shouldn't say anything, but I know he's been thinking about it. You'd better call me the minute he does." The woman grinned. "Which reminds me, did you hear about Jenny and Christopher?"

Elizabeth blinked, not sure how to respond, but thankfully, someone intervened.

"Mary, will you please stop gossiping and help me set the table? Supper's almost ready." An older woman wiped her hands on a faded dishtowel as she stood next to the couch. "It's good to see you, Sara Jane. Is everything all right? You look tired."

Elizabeth smiled and rose. From the resemblance to the younger woman, she knew this must be Johnny's mother, and thankfully, she had provided the name of Johnny's sister. "Everything's just fine. Can I help with anything, Mrs. Bircham?"

"You can help by calling me by my given name, Rebecca," she scolded lightly. Walking back into the kitchen, she mumbled, "Make an old woman feel positively ancient..."

Mary rolled her eyes and stood. "Pay her no mind. She's always going off about how old she's getting. Come on, you can help me set out the silver."

Elizabeth followed Mary into the dining room, letting her take the lead in setting the silverware and dishes on the table. The utensils were heavy silver, obviously family heirlooms, and the dishes looked like expensive china. Such nice place-settings contrasted with the look of the rest of the house, so Elizabeth assumed the family had once been well-off but since then hit hard times. If the daughter's husband was as wealthy as he seemed, though, why didn't he help out his aging mother-in-law?

Once the table stood ready, Rebecca brought the platters of food out, and everyone came into the room. Sam waited until everyone else sat, then seated himself in the empty chair next to Johnny's brother; Elizabeth quickly took the last seat, to the right of Sam.

Dinner proved sumptuous beyond belief – roasted chicken and potatoes, fresh peas and slightly cooked carrots, warm bread with honey butter, and French apple pie for desert. Elizabeth sighed happily, finishing everything on her plate. "I haven't eaten food this good since –" She noticed Sam's warning glance, and quickly altered what she'd planned to say. "– the last time I ate here. Everything was delicious Rebecca. Thank you."

Mrs. Bircham lifted a hand to her chest in faint surprise. "My! Well, thank you, Sara Jane. I'm glad you enjoyed it so much."

Sam nodded heartily. "Dinner was excellent, Mama. Don't you think?" He looked pointedly at the others around the table, who quickly chorused agreement.

"Well, I'd love to stay, Mama, but I've got to get home and clean the house before Chuck gets off work. He's been working so late at the hospital these days." Mary gave her mother a perfunctory kiss on the cheek, then excused herself.

"I've gotta go, too," stated Walter, wadding his napkin up. "Tomorrow's a big day at the shop, so I need to turn in early."

Elizabeth frowned, wondering if the family always excused themselves so quickly. When she was a child, she remembered her family lingering around the table for a long time, talking and enjoying each others company. From the slight frown on Sam's face, she suspected he felt the same way. "I'll help you clean up," she offered, to make up for the others' lack of appreciation.

Wearily, Rebecca nodded. The lines in her face seemed more pronounced as she stared after her leaving children.

Sam stood also. "You go on and relax, Mama. You made this wonderful dinner, so Sara Jane and I will take care of the dishes."

"Johnny, not once in your life have you volunteered to clear the table! Is something going on?" She looked at him doubtfully, her shrewd eyes narrowing.

"Nothing's going on, Mama. I just thought since you cooked us such a nice meal, you deserved to be off your feet for a while."

Sniffing with suspicion, Rebecca moved toward the living room, then stopped and turned back to them. "Is something wrong with you two? Did you have a fight?"

"What do you mean?" Sam quickly glanced at Elizabeth, then back to Mrs. Bircham.

"You know exactly what I mean. I'm not as senile as all that, not yet. Usually the two of you are inseparable – can't keep your hands off each other, always holding hands, and exchanging wistful glances, and kissing whenever my back is turned, until I think I'm going to have to take the garden hose to you both. Tonight," she paused thoughtfully. "Well, it's as if you just met or something."

Elizabeth laughed nervously, realizing the older woman was right. Indeed, they had only met recently, and neither she nor Sam had thought to act like a dating couple. To anyone familiar with Johnny and his girlfriend, the difference would be obvious. She hesitantly looked at Sam, and wondered which of them should do something to rectify the situation.

"We, uh, we had a little quarrel," Sam explained quickly, before she could think of anything to say. "But it's okay now. Right, sweetpea?" He draped his arm around Elizabeth's waist nonchalantly, hoping she wouldn't object. Under normal conditions, he would be prepared to act with casual intimacy toward the leapee's significant other, whether girlfriend or wife, but in this case, he felt uncertain. Elizabeth was a colleague, presumably a fellow physicist, already a friend, and definitely a fellow leaper.

"Of course... darling." She tried not to blush as she balanced the dishes in her hands, smiled convincingly at Johnny's mother, then started walking toward the kitchen.

Sam followed along, his hand still attached to her waist. "You wash, I'll dry?"

"Anything you want, honey." Elizabeth grinned mischievously, and had to duck the towel Sam flicked toward her. While she filled the sink with soapy water, Sam scraped the food remnants into the trash can. He brought the dishes over to her, and she let them slide into the hot water.

After waiting a moment to be sure they truly were alone, Sam said, "I hope I didn't embarrass you, back there."

"Of course not. She was right, we've been acting like strangers, and that just won't do." She turned off the tap and started randomly scrubbing. "It's funny, even though we've only just met, I feel as if we've been friends for a very long time. Is that because of Sara Jane's feelings for Johnny, do you think?"

"It could be." Sam nodded slowly. "Sometimes memories leak through from the leapee, and it can be hard to figure out what's real and what's not."

"Hmm. Well, either way, don't worry about having to act like we're dating. I don't mind." As she said that, Elizabeth felt another blush creep onto her face. She hoped Sam would attribute it to the hot water her hands were dunked in.

If Sam noticed, he didn't say. He rinsed the first set of glasses and began rubbing one with a towel. "You know, what I've really been wondering is how you managed to leap here, to the same time and place as me. When I first leaped, the targeting program hadn't been completed, and Al never said anything about finishing it."

Even though they'd stayed up late the night before trying to discuss the Project and the circumstances which brought Elizabeth into the past, she hadn't been able to provide much useful information. The name "Al" felt familiar to her, but she still couldn't place his identity. With a sigh, she deliberately relaxed her mind and tried to remember more details. Slowly, she said, "We did finish the targeting system, but I don't think I used it. Ziggy linked us."

"Linked us? How?" Sam furrowed his brow as he held a plate under running water. As soon as it was rinsed, he turned to face Elizabeth. "Al and I have our optic and auditory mesons and neurons aligned, which is how we're able to maintain contact. Does any of that sound familiar?"

Elizabeth nodded, recalling vague technical details of the fact that Al appeared as a hologram to Sam. "But different somehow. I have an implant...!" Her fingers reached to the back of her neck with surprise, and felt the tiny scar.

"Al and I both do, too." Sam remembered the secrecy surrounding that phase of the Project, and Al's loud objections to having a computer chip put in his brain. Chuckling softly at the memory, he added, "The neural implant makes the connection possible. Without it, Ziggy wouldn't be able to find me, and I wouldn't be able see Al."

"Exactly!" Excited at having a small piece of the puzzle solved, Elizabeth nearly dropped the handful of silverware as she passed it to Sam. "But mine links our neural signals without altering my brainwave pattern. Ziggy intended to make it identical to yours, but we ran out of time."

Sam mused thoughtfully, rinsing off the utensils. "So if Al were here, you wouldn't be able to see him?"

"I don't think so. Unless our brainwaves are naturally similar, which I doubt." She started scrubbing a pot. "By the way, what's your plan for saving Rebecca?"

"Stop her from killing herself, obviously."

"Obviously, but what about long-term? The psychological pain must be well-established for her to be considering suicide. She's probably suffering from severe depression. What's to stop her from trying again after you leave?"

"I usually leave that up to Him." Sam gestured towards the ceiling.

"Oh." Elizabeth frowned, using an elbow to move a damp curl out of her face. "Do you know the exact reason for the attempt?"

Sam wiped his hands dry, then moved behind Elizabeth and gathered her hair into a loose ponytail, tying it with the scarf that had loosened from the steam. "Last time I saw Al, he hadn't found out yet."

She nodded to his comment, momentarily surprised at his thoughtfulness, and grateful to have the hair out of her face. "From what I've seen so far, I'd say she has a history of clinical depression. If there's a chemical imbalance involved, things which might seem insignificant or tolerable to most people can swell out of proportion. Lack of appreciation from family members, advancing age – it could all add up to more than she feels she can handle."

"Now you sound like Verbeena." Sam laughed, going back to rinsing the soap off the freshly washed dishes.

"Who?" The name sounded tantalizingly familiar, but Elizabeth couldn't quite place it.

Recognizing the Swiss-cheese effect of leaping, Sam shook his head. "Never mind. And there we go – all done."