AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have changed the "present" year (AKA the Project's year) to be 2006 instead of 2004, and the date--February 29 (Leap Day)--has been changed accordingly to February 28. This change was needed for something in a later part of the screenplay. This change is minor and will not change any circumstances within the story.

SPECIAL DISCLAIMER: The next scenes are BASED on the alternate ending script for "Mirror Image". I have changed some things to put the characters more... into character, and to fit the scenes to my beliefs concerning "Mirror Image".

The original alternate ending script can be found here (again, take out the spaces): http : // www . sethargabright . com / qleap / mialtend . htm

Any dialogue used from the alternate ending script was written by Donald P. Bellisario and THUS BELONGS TO DONALD P. BELLISARIO. NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT IS INTENDED. As I am fully stating where the dialogue has come from, I do not believe this to be plagiarism. Furthermore, the only way the screenplay/story can be effective is as it has been written, including the scene in this Part.

DISCLAIMER: "The Mirror Shattered" trailer and screenplay/story written by R. Joy Helvie. "Quantum Leap", Dr. Samuel Beckett, Admiral Albert Calavicci, Al the Bartender, and all other characters which may have appeared on the show are property of Donald P. Bellisario, Belisarius Productions, and Universal Studios. All other characters are property of R. Joy Helvie, and permission must be granted by the author before the characters can be used in any other story.

Italicized Underlines are used for emphasis.

QUESTIONS OR COMMENTS: You may reach the author by e-mail at: themirrorshattered@hotmail.com

~*~*~*~*~

QUANTUM LEAP
THE MIRROR SHATTERED

PART II
Sacrifices

FEBRUARY 28, 2006
PROJECT QUANTUM LEAP
STALLION'S GATE, NEW MEXICO

The den was cool and comfortable. It was a classic den, leather and wood being the choice of style. It was warm and homey, and felt like it could exist in any timeframe. The only sign of the actual year, in fact, was the small computer terminal nestled on the large oak desk.

Admiral Albert Calavicci sat casually on an overstuff leather loveseat. He was smoking his ever-present cigar and staring at a gold-framed photo in his hands. There was an empty spot on the mantel reserved for this photo, next to a silver-framed copy of the Calavicci family Christmas photo.

Beth gently settled on the loveseat next to him, gathering her legs up under her and resting her head on his shoulder. She was older, her hair longer and streaked with silver. However, despite her age, she still radiated a youthful beauty. She looked wistfully at the photo in her husband's hand.

"Where he's Leaped," Al murmured, "he's still himself."

Beth sighed, gazing at the photo, remembering that she had been the one behind the camera. It was at Sam and Donna's wedding reception. Posing, Sam and Al, both in tuxes, raised their wineglasses high. As Beth had pushed the button, Donna--still adorned in her wedding dress--had peeked over Sam's shoulder, wrapping her arms around her newly-wed husband's waist.

Beth shook her head, momentarily shifting her gaze to her husband. "Because his body isn't in the Waiting Room?"

"There's no other explanation," came the reply with a sigh. "Ziggy's starting another nanosearch in the morning, but I still have a feeling Sam's Leaped beyond his lifetime."

"Into the past or the future?" Beth inquired, genuinely curious to hear her husband's theory.

"The future," Al replied firmly. "I dunno how I know, but I've... got a gut feeling about it."

Beth smiled, remembering how many times Al and Sam's "gut feelings" had got them out of some tough situations.

"He's definitely in the future," Al continued, glancing at her. "Way in the future. Way beyond his lifetime."

"How'd he get there?"

"I dunno."

"If Sam is in the future, Ziggy won't be able to find him."

"I know."

Beth sighed, knowing that what she was about to say would invoke her husband's wrath more than anything else she had ever said or done. Softly, she suggested, "What if you Leaped?"

Al swiftly turned his head to her. Beth lifted her head, rearing away from his fiery gaze. She gazed back at him, her eyes blazing with determination.

"What?!" Al exclaimed, shock at her words evident in his eyes.

"If you Leaped, the entity Leaping Sam may feel your desire and Leap you to him."

"And what if it doesn't? What if I get lost in time, too? What then?"

"You won't."

"And how do you know that?"

Beth smiled. "I have a gut feeling."

Al flashed a quick, unhappy smile. A look of acceptance fell over his features. "Seriously, Beth. I might never come back."

"You will. Anyone who came back from that hellhole called 'Nam can come back from anywhere."

Al shook his head gently, smiling. "Forty-five years and you still amaze me."

He pulled her into his arms, slowly bestowing a passionate kiss. Blood rushed to her ears, and her mind swam. She knew she had to be right, but what if he didn't make it back? She quickly broke contact and pushed Al to stand, trying to get him out of the room before she changed her mind.

Al was out of his chair and gone in a matter of seconds. As Beth watched the door slide shut, she said to thin air, "So do you."

~*~*~*~*~

AUGUST 8, 1953
AL'S PLACE
COKEBURG, PENNSYLVANIA

In the backroom of a small bar in Cokeburg, Pennsylvania, an old Philco radio loudly conveyed to those in range the latest words from announcer Rosey Rosewell.

"Here's the windup, and the pitch." The crack of a bat and the roar of the crowd provided the background. "It's a long fly ball to left field." Excitedly, Rosewell exclaimed, "Open the window, Aunt Minnie, here she comes!"

Ghee stood next to the Philco, leaning slightly and taking a sip of beer. The miners at the bar boisterously celebrated then turned their attention back to the radio as the sound effect for a Pirate home run--the crash of broken glass--played continuously.

"Do you believe this!" Ghee exclaimed. "They trade Kiner and now half the team's hitting home runs."

Al the Bartender--who was usually just called Bartender--smiled and slid a draft to the miner Ziggy, then picked up Mutta's glass to refill it.

"Nobody on the Pirates will ever break as many window cane as Ralph Kiner did," Ziggy stated.

Mutta rolled his eyes. "Panes, not cane. Window panes."

"I said panes."

"No, you said canes."

A blue light materialized next to Ziggy, coalesced with electricity, arced into Al and dissipated. Mutta and Ziggy continued to argue, seemingly oblivious to Al's sudden appearance. Mutta turned to Al.

"Didn't Ziggy say canes? Window canes?"

Al looked at him, confused. "I don't remember what she said."

"She?"

"Ziggy."

"You must be a friend of Sam's," said Ziggy, leaning forward. To Mutta, he explained, "Sam knows a Ziggy who's a woman, an ugly woman."

Ghee walked over, his interest in the conversation overwhelming his desire to listen to the baseball game. "He must have seen you in your dress at the Beer Barrel Reunion."

Al looked at Ziggy suspiciously. "You cross-dress?"

"Cross-dress?" asked Ziggy in confusion.

"Dress like the opposite sex."

"My Aunt Anna does that," Ghee informed them.

"Dresses like a man?" Al wondered if it could get any stranger.

"No, like a woman."

Ghee slapped the bar and, laughing at having put one over on Al, moved off with Mutta and Ziggy. Bartender wiped the counter in front of Al, who was now slightly isolated from the miners.

"What'll it be?" asked Bartender, a smile on his face.

"I... I'm not sure." Al silently cursed the Swiss-Cheese Effect. "What d'ya have?"

"Schlitz... and information." Bartender raised an eyebrow.

Al grinned at his fortune. "Information? What kind of information?"

"The kind of information you came here for."

"Which means you have info on Sam, right? Have you seen him? Those other guys seem to know him. Was he here?"

"For a short time."

"Is he still here somewhere?"

"No, he isn't here anymore. He's on the job."

"In the future, right?"

"Right."

"Without me!" Al huffed.

"We didn't think you were needed."

"What do you mean you? Who are you? And who is we?"

"I'm what you could call a... messenger. And 'we' is my Boss and I."

"A messenger? Like, from God?"

"You could say that. I'm here to steer you in the right direction."

Al crossed his arms. "And in what direction would that happen to be?"

Bartender picked up a glass and began cleaning it with his white cloth. "It depends on what you desire.

"I desire to see Sam!" Al was nearly ready to grab this man's collar and demand to be taken to Sam.

"He doesn't need you," was Bartender's cool reply.

That was the final straw. Al jumped up from the stool and leaned close to the counter, bring his face just inches from Bartender's. Bartender simply blinked.

"He doesn't need me?! What do you mean, he doesn't need me? Who flew the X-2 for him? Me! Who taught him Elvis' moves? Me! Who showed him how to box, shoot pool, draw a six-gun... kiss the girl?!"

With an amused smile, Bartender replied, "You."

"You're damn right, me!" Al winced and quickly amended his statement. "If you're a messenger from God... excuse the language."

"You're excused." Bartender smiled slyly.

Al noticed this and figured that perhaps this man was telling him he was truly a messenger from God. Al wanted to ask, but felt he should continue his defense. "Sam wouldn't have righted a single wrong if it wasn't for me."

"Well..." Bartender gave him a correctional glance.

"Okay, maybe one or two, but he needs me. And more important... I need him."

Bartender looked like he'd been waiting for the admiral to say just that. "What about Beth? Don't you need her more than Sam? Do you realize what Sam has done for you? Do you realize that what you have just said is closer to the truth than you will ever know?"

Al didn't like the look on Bartender's face. It made him feel that the man knew more than he was telling. "What did he do for me? That is, not including the times he saved my life."

"You have four daughters, correct?"

"Yeah, so?" Al didn't like the idea of his daughters being brought into this. He was angrier than he had thought he could ever be with a stranger. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It has everything to do with anything. If it weren't for Sam, you wouldn't be here right now. You--"

Not being able to stand the bartender's consistent vagueness, Al interrupted, "Where am I, anyway?"

"A place between asleep and awake."

Al sighed in disbelief at this man's unwavering urge to be metaphorical. "You sound like Tinkerbell."

Bartender chuckled. "That's what you get in a fantasy."

"Is that what this is? You mean, this isn't real?"

"From a certain point of view," Bartender stated, shrugging.

Infuriated, Al glanced heavenward and muttered, "Great. Now he's quoting Star Wars." He looked back at heavyset man and inched himself closer to him. "Look, are you gonna make sure I get sent to Sam or not?"

"You'd no longer enjoy the safety of being hologram."

Ha! Al thought. The man was desparately trying to discourage him. Well, it wasn't going to happen. "So what? I still want to join him."

Bartender sighed. "That's all it takes."

"What do you mean?" Al was tired of the beating around the bush.

"You just have to desire for it to happen, and my... Boss will take care of the rest."

Bartender smirked, and stepped aside. Al looked into the mirror; his eyes went wide with shock.

Reflected in the mirror, Al could see that everything had changed. The bar, the miners, all had Leaped far into the future and were enjoying their free time at a space station bar. The inhabitants' clothes looked lik pilot uniforms from "Star Trek."

The biggest shock of all, however, was Al himself. He had Leaped into an extremely curvaceous, knockout redhead in an outrageously designed outfit that was quite lacking in material. Al crossed his arms trying to cover himself as he spun around on the stool to get a better look at his surroundings.

He found himself face to face with Ghee, who was also sporting a space pilot uniform. Ghee grinned lecherously, and leaned in next to Al.

"I've been in a hundred rec bars from here to the Magellic Clouds," Ghee smoothly whispered near Al's ear, "and believe me, you've got the greatest set of kasabas I've ever targeted."

Al rolled his eyes in despair and cried out, "Oh, boy."