Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Sam practically jumped up at his sentence.

"What??"

Al punched the handlink, reading out the information as it came. "You changed history, Sam. Christine doesn't disappear. All Ziggy can tell you is that tomorrow afternoon at 4:34 p.m. you're pronounced dead, from a gunshot wound to the chest. Inflicted by a Cara Stevens."

"What??" Sam said again, trying to take in the new information. "I get shot? How? Why?"

"Ziggy doesn't know. All she can say is that getting Linda to watch Christine prevents her disappearance. Looks like it doesn't stop Cara's appearance in town, though. She's gotta be mad, Sam."

"About what? From all the pictures I can find, Scott and Cara had a storybook marriage. They were happy, had a family. Al, I'm having a hard time following this."

Al shrugged. "No picture can tell the whole story, Sam. No every marriage works out. Something _had_ to happen."

Sam sighed. "Does it really?"

Neither of them had an answer to the question.

*****************

Christine was right on schedule that night, her first cries coming only an hour after Sam had put her to bed. He walked upstairs and flipped on the light, and was surprised to find Christine, up in bed, scared still, yet looking calmer. As soon as he flipped on the light she looked right at him.

"She's gonna come back, you know," the little girl said. "Daddy said she never would. Grandma said that, too. But she'll be back."

He knew who she was talking about but asked the girl anyway. "Who's going to come back?"

She just shook her head. "Promise me you'll change things. I like the way it is. I don't want Mommy to come back." Her eyes were filled with tears. Sam swallowed the lump in his throat and sat down next to her.

"Why don't you want her to come back?"

Christine's tears just grew worse. " 'Cause," she answered and then buried her face in her blankets.

Even after he had calmed her down, Sam wondered what exactly what she meant. He walked out of her room, and came back into it twice more to calm her cries that night, but couldn't get the girl to tell him anything else. It seemed as if something had happened between mother and daughter. He was going to find out what.

*********************

Morning came too quickly for Sam, who had stayed up, not able to fall asleep because of Christine and the questions behind her nightmares. He was running around the house looking for Christine's favorite hair bow when Linda walked in.

"Scott?" Sam looked up from his position on the floor at her. "What are you doing?"

"Hair bow," he said simply. "Pink one."

Linda smiled and nodded. "You mean that one right under the coffee table?"

Sure enough when he looked there, he found it. "Thanks," he mumbled as he picked it up off the floor.

Linda shook her head. "You look terrible," she said as he straightened up. "You know, you could call into work sick today, and while you sleep, I'll take care of Christine."

As tempting as the offer sounded, Sam knew he couldn't take it. "I'll be okay."

Linda just eyed him. "Are you feeling okay?" she asked, her voice serious and concerned. "You have been looking worse than usual these last couple of days."

Sam sighed. "I'm fine," he protested as she shoved him down onto the couch and placed her hand across his forehead. She frowned.

"You feel warm," she muttered.

"Do I really?" He didn't have time for this. It was 7:30 and he had to get to work and stop his -Scott's- death. He had to find Cara before she found him.

"Stay put," Linda told him as she scurried off into the other room, past Christine.

"Linda's going to watch me today?" Christine said with a delighted squeal.

"Yes, I am," Linda answered as she reentered the room, holding something in her

hand.

"I'm running late," he started and began to get up, but Linda shoved him back down.

"I told you to stay put," she said and he saw the item in her hand was a thermometer.

"Linda," he started, trying to plead with the woman he barely knew, but she only took the opportunity to shove the instrument into his mouth.

Christine looked at him, her little face frowning. "Is Sam sick?" she asked.

Linda gave Sam a warning glance as she turned to Christine. "Who's Sam, honey?"

Christine looked confused, but then remembered. "Pretend," she said to herself. "I mean Daddy. Is Daddy sick?"

"Maybe," Linda told her as she took the thermometer out. "101.1, Scott."

"What? No." He couldn't be sick. He was just tired. Linda handed him the thermometer to see for himself. Sure enough it read 101.1. {Great, just great} he thought.

"I'll call work if you'd like," she offered and took the hair bow out of Sam's hands and handed it to Christine.

"No, that's okay," he said, pushing himself up. "I'll just go into work."

Linda sighed. "You are sick, Scott. Fevers don't just show up just because they want to. God, why do you have to be so stubborn?"

He just ignored her as he walked into the kitchen. Truth was he would love to stay home from work. He had a headache and would give anything for another hour of sleep. He probably shouldn't be surprised that he had a fever. He sighed and poured himself a cup of coffee. He almost jumped when he saw a hand place a couple of pills on the counter beside his cup.

"If you are going to go into work, which I know you are, at least take these." He heard Linda's tone and swallowed the pills with a gulp of coffee.

"I'm going to be late," he said when he placed the cup back down.

He heard Linda just sigh behind him. "Then you better get going. Here's your keys." She placed the keys on the counter as well. "Just try to get home early, Scott. I'd hate to see you at the hospital as a patient instead of a doctor."

Sam just simply nodded, gulped down the rest of his coffee, and headed out to the car.

********************

{Stubborn, stubborn man} Linda though as she heard the car pull out of the driveway. Her mother had told her that some people could be stubborn, but Scott was the extreme. She got Christine to help clear the breakfast dishes and pulled the pink hair bow into her brown curls. One thing that always melted her heart was Christine. Since the first time she had met Scott, she discovered he was a daddy to a beautiful 1 year-old. He was also married.

{Oh well,} she thought {Not all things work out.} They were good friends, nothing more. For the rest of the morning she watched videos with Christine. Then came lunch and Sesame Street. Not a bad day off, it was relaxing. Christine was energetic, but Linda didn't mind. She enjoyed it; it reminded her of how she used to play with her little sister when she, too, was younger.

She was in the kitchen cleaning up after lunch when she heard something fall. Loudly. She rushed to the living room, where the sound had come from and found Christine standing in the middle of the room, shaking. The coffee table was tipped over; it seemed almost as if Christine had tripped and taken it with her.

"Christine?" The girl didn't answer, she just stared. Linda followed the little girl's gaze and caught it, barely out of the corner of her eye. A black-haired woman was ducking out of sight before Linda could even give her a second glance.

She didn't know why the women gave her a chill, but she did. As if on autopilot, Linda grabbed Christine and stuck her into her car, driving them both down to the hospital.

********************

Sam was no closer to finding anything. If it was possible he had actually taken a step back. Work was piled upon him. By eleven he'd been thrown so many patients he'd lost count somewhere in the middle. In between charts, he spent his time on the phone, calling hotels, describing Cara to the last detail, in hopes of finding at least where she had came from. He had found nothing there, either.

To make matters worse, his headache had gotten worse, and he had to blink to see things in front of him clearly. He needed sleep, but that came a close second to a piece of mind. Christine was safe; Scott wasn't. In just a few hours, Cara Stevens would shot her own husband. And he had no clue why.

"Nothing, Sam. Cara pleaded guilty. Broke down really. The papers tell no story of why she did it. She just shut herself off. Christine moved in with Scott's parents where she still is in my time." Al's words did nothing.

"No reason. She didn't give a motive?" He looked down at the coffee in the bottom of his cup.

"None. Guilty, Sam. You plead that, and they don't care if voices in your head told you to do it. Ziggy did discover that her attorney wanted her to plead insane. There are some medical records from early '89 that prove she wasn't quite 'all there.'"

Sam sighed, but then looked up, realizing something from Al's words. "'89? She was still married to Scott at that point." The wheels in his head were turning. "The pictures, Al, they were always happy. Maybe those medical records are the key. Maybe they are part of the reason she walked out."

"Maybe," Al agreed. "But right now, Linda is on her way to this hospital bringing Christine with her. And that means that Cara isn't far behind."

"Right," he said, getting up out of his chair. One glance at his watch told him it was 1:34 p.m. "Al, at what time was Scott shot?"

Al punched a button on the handlink. "3:29 p.m."

"I need to know why she's mad at me or I'm never going to get through to her. How's Scott?"

"Better. But I don't how much he's gonna remember."

"Well, we just have to hope he'll remember what I need. Or at least something I can work with."

****************

"Cara? What went wrong between Cara and I? Nothing, Admiral. We were happy." His brow furrowed. "I think." His last words sounded unsure.

"It's important," Al stressed, hoping to get something from this man. He was lucky he was even to get in to speak to Scott, Verbena had been against it. Scott was still ill, and he didn't need to be interrogated. "What about 1989? Medical records?"

Suddenly Scott's eyes turned a little angry. "Where did you hear about those records? They're private." He shot up in the bed, pulling on the IV line. Al knew he was going to have to try a new approach.

"Cara's coming back, Scott," he tried and it seemed to work.

"Cara? Coming back?" He shook his head. "You -someone-, I can't remember, told me that Dr. Beckett was," he strained to remember, "taking my place to correct something that went wrong. What does it have to do with Cara? She's gone. She picked and left. I may not remember my social security number, but I remember what happened with Cara."

"What did happen?"

"Nothing," Scott insisted, though this time his words weren't as strong. "I didn't do anything. I loved her. I still love her. Cara, well, I know she felt the same, but it was different." He paused and for a second Al was afraid that he wouldn't. "She had a hard time getting over anything. She got angry a lot. She was . . . bitter. Is she going to try something?" Al didn't answer. "It wouldn't surprise me. She was a housewife. She didn't work. She told me it didn't bother her, but I always felt like she hid it. Like she hated me for going to school and for going to work." He shook his head. "I can't remember anything else." He looked up at Al. "I loved her, but it seemed no matter what, we weren't what some would call 'meant to be.' Like every time we tried to look past her problem, it didn't get anywhere. Love wasn't strong enough." He paused again. "Are you married?"

"Yeah," Al replied. "Thirty-nine years."

He saw Scott smile. "Well, then maybe you don't know about trying to achieve the 'meant to be' status."

"Maybe not," Al answered, Scott's words ringing in his head. Somehow he did know how it felt, but he didn't know how.

*********************

"She was shaking. I don't know what happened. It just felt creepy."

Linda was talking, but Sam was barely listening. She'd seen Cara. He didn't know why he found himself fearing facing such a woman, but regardless he was. It was 2:45 p.m. and Sam was just thinking about how if he hid now, maybe things would turn out okay. Somehow he knew it wouldn't though.

"Christine wouldn't tell me who it was though and she disappeared too quickly for me to get a good look at her. Like I said, it was just creepy, Scott. It was almost like she was stalking the house."

"She is," Sam mumbled, mostly to himself. He saw Linda look at him strangely. "I know who she is, Linda. It's my ex." He tried to sound nonchalant, but it didn't seem to work.

"Your ex? Cara? Why would she be here?" Linda's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"I don't know," Sam answered, honestly. He thought he knew the answer, but now he was unsure. Cara was as much a mystery as the rest of the universe was at this point.

Linda sighed. "Maybe you should talk to the police."

"That's last thing you want to do, Sam."

Sam looked in Al's direction. "No police, Linda. She's probably just here to settle some things."

"She's there to settle some things all right. Ziggy got some more on those records, Sam. Cara was seeing someone about repressed anger. And it seemed that she never got over the fact that Scott went to school and had a job. She was a housewife. So if you don't do anything she's going to take out her 'repressed anger' on you in less than an hour."

"Settle some things? I don't know if I like the sound of that." She sighed again. "I know it was hard for you, the fact that she just got up one day and left. But you never told me what happened. I just remember the limited temper she had."

"Limited is being nice, Sam. Ziggy also found hospital records on Christine as well. Admitted for a broken arm when she was two and a half. Classified as 'accident.' There was an investigation, though, into _Scott_. Nothing turned up on his end. If you ask me, they were barking up the wrong tree."

"Yes, she had a limited temper, but I'm sure she's just here to settle some records or something. She left." Sam was beginning to see why the marriage hasn't worked out. Scott deserved better. Maybe better was right in front of his eyes.

"Well, it seems that she's back, Scott."

"Yes, but-" Sam stopped when he realized Christine, who had been at Linda's heels since she came in, wasn't in sight. "Where's Christine?" he asked, his eyes scanning the ER as he spoke.

"She's right-," Linda started, but then realized the girl was no longer next to her. "Well, she _was_ right here."

Al was punching away at the handlink. "Ziggy's going nuts, Sam. You're changing history and I don't know if it's for the better."

"I need to find Christine," he said, directing the comment more toward Al then Linda.

"I'm working on it, Sam."

"She can't have gone far, Scott. I'm sure she's right around here."

Sam ignored both voices as he walked quickly through the corridor, looking in every place he could. "Christine!" he called. He turned as a flash of brown hair caught his eye.

"Sam!" he heard and it wasn't Al calling. He turned toward the voice and saw Christine in a corner. He started to walk toward her. It was when he was about halfway to her that he felt something slam into the back of his head. Hard. He fell to the ground, fighting the darkness that was threatening to close in on him.

"Sam! She's early! Get up!" That was Al's voice, though to Sam it sounded as if it was coming through a long tunnel. Sam struggled to get his bearings and managed to gather himself enough to stand up, though he was swaying.

"Scott!" He heard Linda's voice, yet he doubted that Cara would care if she had an audience or not.

"Cara," he started, wincing at the sound of his voice. Spots were dancing in front of his eyes, but he could see the black-haired women standing three feet in front of him. {Oh boy} Sam thought as he shook his head to clear it, and just succeeded in making himself more dizzy.

Cara just looked at him. "Scott," she said. "We have some things to discuss." Her voice was calm, yet not in control at the same time. She was waving a gun, and Sam knew that was probably what she had just hit him over the head with. It was getting harder for him to maintain his balance. He leaned against the wall heavily.

"Sam! You have to do something! Ziggy still says you die!" At least Al's voice was getting clearer.

"Cara, what are you doing?" Maybe he could reason with her.

Cara just stared at him. "What am I doing? What _am I_ doing?" Sam could hear the whispers of the people around them, rushing about. He heard a few murmurs of 'call security' and 'no, call the cops' among them. The voices still sounded far away, however.

"Yes, Cara, why?" he tried again, not sure of what she was going to do. Cara lowered her gun a little.

"That's it, Sam! You have to stall! Ziggy says if you can stall for five more minutes security will get here," Al instructed, standing close to Sam. Christine still sat in the corner and Sam could hear her softly crying. He put his hand to his head. {Got to get through this} he thought and willed himself to stand up straighter, ignoring the pain that shot up through his head.

"Why? Why? Why did I leave, Scott? Why?" She was in control, strangely, though Sam knew that in her head she was quite the opposite. "Four words Scott. Mrs. Dr. Scott Stevens."

The spots were back in front of Sam's eyes. "What?"

"That's all I was going to be. You graduated. I'm nothing more than a housewife who watched you go through school. I was never going to be anything more. At least as long as I was with you. Well, as long as you were still around. It doesn't go away, Scott. I'm still remembered as your wife with friends." She smiled and seemed somewhat serene for a moment. "Now I'll be known for something else." She adjusted her gun and Sam knew he wouldn't be able to move out of the way quickly enough if she fired. He had to keep stalling.

"You are something else, Cara. You can go back to school. I wasn't stopping you. You said you were happy." He didn't know where he got the last sentence, but for a split second he had an image of a wedding and laughing. A memory of Scott's mixed in perhaps.

She cocked her head at him. "Happy?" She paused for a second, the gun lowering.

"I think you hit something, Sam," Al said, his gaze steady on Cara.

"We had a pretty wedding," she continued. "It was happy." Her voice sounded childlike and soft for a moment, but then she repositioned her gun again. "Happiness is a load of crap," she declared, her hands on the trigger.

"Thirty more seconds, Sam! You need thirty more seconds!"

Sam heard Al's words, but they sounded even further away than before. Every sound did. He knew he was pretty close to passing out, but he blinked, trying to shake the cotton out of his head.

"No it's not," he said.

Cara smiled. "Maybe you're right, Scott. After this, I think I just may be happy after all."

Her fingers closed on the trigger and Sam closed his eyes, knowing he couldn't possibly get out of the way. He heard a shot but didn't feel any pain. Confused, he blinked his eyes open and found himself still leaning against the wall. It was when he saw Cara holding her arm as security charted her off that he realized she hadn't fired.

"Scott? Can you hear me?" Linda's face came into his view and he could hear her calling off to someone. He was pretty sure he had a concussion at this point, and he grew even surer as waves of nausea hit. He could still hear Christine sobbing off in the distance.

"Al," he mumbled.

"Who's Al?" Linda asked as she looked into his eyes.

"I'm right here, Sam."

"Christine," he mumbled, not finding himself able to string together the sentence he wanted to. But Al understood and soon he could hear him talking to the little girl in the corner.

"Christine's fine, Scott. It's you we have to worry about," Linda said with a smile. "Pupils uneven and dilated," she said to someone at her side. Sam blinked his eyes again, finding it harder to stay awake. The fact that he hadn't had any decent amount of sleep since he leaped in wasn't helping. He felt Linda shaking his shoulder.

"As much as you are going to hate me, Scott, you _have_ to stay wake. You hear me?" Linda's voice was serious.

Sam swallowed and nodded, wincing at the shooting pain. "Yeah."

She studied him for a second. "Can you walk?"

Sam looked down and was surprised to find himself still standing. His head protested however at moving. The spots in front of his vision were increasing and before he could open his mouth to stay no, he felt them close in on him. He had a vague sensation of falling, then nothing.

*******************

"Scott? Scott?"

The voice was annoying and he wanted nothing more then for it to go away.

"Sam?"

{Huh?} he found himself thinking at the conflict of names. For a moment he was unsure which was his. It was when he pushed his eyes open and blinked that he remembered. And groaned.

"How are you feeling?" two voices asked at the same time as soon as he was awake enough and he looked up to find both Linda and Al at his bedside.

He swallowed. "Headache," he mumbled.

Linda smiled. "You should have one after what happened. You have a concussion. You scared me, passing out all of a sudden. You've been out for the last eight hours."

"Yeah, Sam. It's eleven p.m. where you are. But you did it. Scott's fine."

"Eight hours?"

Both Linda and Al nodded. "The CAT scan showed that she hit you pretty badly. But with a couple days rest you should be fine." She smiled again. "Oh, and you're still running that fever from this morning, by the way."

"Figures," Sam answered and went to put his hand to his head, groaning when he found it was stopped short by an IV line.

"Precaution," Linda said. "But you know that." She sat down on the edge of his hospital bed. "I guess the question isn't about your physical health anymore. Are you going to be okay?"

Sam looked at Al for the answer.

"Oh, Scott's fine, Sam. In fact, in a year and half he and Linda get married. They have two more kids. And get this, they name their son Sam," he told him with a laugh.

"I'll be fine," Sam answered. "How is Christine?" The question was directed to both Linda and Al.

"She's asleep on the couch in the lounge. She was a little freaked out there, Scott, but then….it was weird actually."

"What was weird?"

"It seemed as if she was talking to someone after, but there was no one there. Whatever she was doing, it seemed to help her."

Sam just looked at Al, who shrugged. "She just wanted to know if you were going to be okay," he answered, "If you can believe that. It will still take her awhile to get over it, but Ziggy says that Scott gets her some good therapy and they go through it together."

"Then why am I still here?"

"You're going to be here for a couple of days, Scott. Like I said, you may have a hard head, but it got a good whack. Plus, you're physically exhausted, which is probably why you were out so long."

"Well, Ziggy's got a theory on that, Sam. She thinks that Scott still needs some break time and you still need time to recover, too."

"Not to mention that fever you're still running."

"Okay, I get the point, Linda," Sam said, then winced as a shooting pain hit his head.

"I can get the nurse to bring you some Tylenol, but that's all you're getting," Linda said when she saw him wince. "You know that you-"

"Can't have anything stronger because it can mask the symptoms of a serious head injury," he recited. "Having the inside track isn't all it's cracked up to be."

Linda laughed. "Well, you know what they say, doctors make the worst patients. And _you_ can be as bad as they come."

"I agreed with that," Al said and Sam just glared at him. "Well, you are, Sam. It's horrible to be around you when you're sick."

"I'm going to stay with Christine, tonight. I'll bring her by tomorrow. She was a little worried about you. Though…" She paused momentarily.

"What?"

She shook her head and smiled. "I have to ask. Do you know anybody named Sam or Al for that matter? Or does Christine have a couple of imaginary friends?"

Sam laughed, even though it hurt his head and exchanged glances with Al. "Well, you can say that she's got a couple of new friends."

Linda laughed. "Kids. They're never boring. I'll see you tomorrow. Be prepared to woken every hour. And be a good little patient," she teased as she left.

"Yes, Sam, be a 'good little patient'," Al repeated in a taunting tone. Sam threw a pillow at him, but, of course, it went right through. Al just smiled and hit the handlink, leaving Sam to himself for the rest of the night.

******************

"Dr. Stevens?"

{Not again!} Sam opened his eyes to find the night nurse waking him for about the fourth time that night. {Damn concussion} he thought, cursing it as the nurse asked him to track her finger.

"What's your name?"

Sam hesitated a little on that one. Last hour he had almost answered 'Sam Beckett', but luckily had stopped himself in time. Uttering his own name would only result in the doctor (a man who thoroughly enjoyed making him miserable, Sam had quickly learned) coming back and that was the last thing that he wanted.

"Scott Stevens," he recited. "And I'm 28, stuck in a god damned hospital for a concussion my ex-wife caused. I have a four-year-old daughter named Christine and work for this god damned hospital in the ER. Good enough or do you want my social security number too?"

The nurse gave a smile. "Doctor, you know this is all is routine. I'm only doing my job." She laughed. "No matter what they say, doctors do make the worst patients." And with that she left him be.

A glance at the clock let Sam know that it was 5 a.m. and that he'd just be woken at six, then seven, and every hour after that. Every two hours the nurse came and stuck a damned thermometer in his mouth, so at six he had that particular pleasure to look forward to.

He sighed and stared up at the ceiling. He had been given Tylenol and as he expected it hadn't done a damned thing. {What I'd do for Tylenol _with_ codeine instead of the regular stuff at this point} he thought as he closed his eyes again, waiting for the next check.

He did fall back asleep at some point, only to be woken up again four times. He vaguely remembered one of those times being breakfast, but he had just looked at it, pushed it aside and went back to sleep. It was the fifth time that someone shook him awake that he actually smiled when he opened his eyes.

Christine sat on the bed, practically on top of him, her four-year-old face lighting up when she saw his eyes open. "Sleepyhead," she said with a laugh.

He pushed himself up, ignoring the pain that was still there, and laughed in spite of himself. He turned to his right to find Linda there, and the light circles under her eyes told him that she must have been up last night, probably from Christine's nightmares.

"I hope you didn't give Linda a hard time last night," he told Christine.

"I was a good girl," she promised. "Are you gonna be okay?" Her voice sounded concerned, as concerned as four-year-old could get.

"I'll be fine," he answered, pushing back one of her curls with the hand not sporting an IV.

"Pinkie swear?" she asked, holding her hand out.

"Pinkie swear." He linked his pinkie with her smaller one and she grinned.

"Mommy's gone," she whispered. At that sentence Linda dismissed herself down the hall leaving the two together, and Sam knew he still had some things to clear out.

"Christine, what happened with you and Mommy?" he asked, not sure what kind of answer he would get from her. However, if Ziggy's prediction was correct, he still had a couple of days here, and somehow he knew that things with Christine were still a long way from being 'all right.'

"Mommy hurt you," she answered simply. "Even Daddy couldn't stop her when she gets mad."

"When she gets mad?"

Christine nodded. "She got mad a lot."

"Did she ever get mad at you?"

Christine lowered her head, as if she were ashamed. It let Sam know the answer was yes beyond a doubt. He tipped her chin up so she was looking at him. "It's not your fault, Christine. Some people, well, they get mad very easily. It's not even completely their fault either."

Christine's brown eyes just looked at him. "That's what Daddy says. That we can't be mad at her 'cause it's not her fault. But she's really gone, right?"

Sam didn't truly know the answer to that question. Al had told him that things turned out ok, the mission was accomplished as usual, but he hadn't asked about what happened to Cara. He still didn't know the whole story, Scott and Cara's marriage was still an unfinished puzzle, one that didn't even had all the edge pieces placed together yet. He didn't answer Christine, he just sat up and hugged her, as if that was the only answer he could give her. She was confused as any four-year-old would be, but on another level she seemed to understand. She seemed almost grown-up at that moment, and Sam knew she'd be okay. Nightmares would pass, but he couldn't dismiss them for her. She needed her father.

His headache was making itself known again, but he smiled at the little girl in his arms. It was then, maybe, in all his leaps, he truly found himself wondering about family. Wife. Children. Did he have them?

He was still pondering that when he leaped.