Disclaimer: even if I did own Stargate or Quantum Leap, I don't think anyone would believe me!

Reviewers: ta muchly – may you all have a packet of Minstrels for your troubles :)

P.S. I really didn't think this would turn out to be such a long story, it's taken on a life of it's own!!

And now, let the Kinsey-bashing commence!! I shall enjoy this very much and it will not stop with this one little visit to PQL, oh no... mwahahaha!!!

September 25th 1998 – Project Quantum Leap

"I don't really have to, do I?"

"No Colonel, you do not, however it might enhance the effect that we are hoping to achieve."

"Yeh, well in that case I don't actually have to do anything until he gets here, do I?"

"We have already established that you do not have to do anything, Colonel O'Neill."

Jack tried to keep the whine out of his voice, but the fact was that he had as much enthusiasm for this as he did for swimming in a frozen lake. Ziggy, on the other hand, was about as sympathetic as a chessboard that screamed 'checkmate!' from every angle. She wanted him to put that damned leotard back on, and he was going to fight it every step of the way. Or at least until the devil's representative on Earth got there.

He folded his arms and sat back on the bed, wondering if he was doing the right thing by helping these people. No one had asked any more questions about his current work since they'd hatched the plan to deal with Kinsey, but then he could see the impatience building up behind their eyes – especially Al's. It was understandable, he told himself, but then if anyone had ever tried probing this Dr Beckett guy for information about Quantum Leap he was willing to bet that the team would do anything in their power to stop the information from getting out. Then again, they weren't exactly rushing to interrogate him – unless this thing with Kinsey was a ploy. He would have to figure out a way of making sure... without giving in to the temptation to wring the good Senator's scrawny neck.

And what was he doing, opening up all those memories for a bunch of people he didn't know? Not even SG1 had heard much about his life before the Stargate, except maybe Daniel – but even then he took care to limit the information to drips and drabs. Jack O'Neill was not one for introspection, and he'd even turned away counselling – just like he had after his capture by the Iraqis. Of he had been tempted by thoughts of suicide as well, but after something like that... like the loss of a child... and a divorce. It was true what they said, no one should outlive their child – the fact that Sara had blamed him had just made it worse. Though she had been right. And what was he doing now? He was still shooting guns for a living, guns like the one that had killed Charlie!

A desperate moan escaped his lips. The floodgates were inching their way open bit by bit, after months of being ignored. Every time something reminded him of what he had lost, it became harder and harder to keep the tide of emotion from swamping him, and he was losing his grip already.

Jack sobbed out loud, covering his face with his hands. Why had he agreed to help these people? Why should he put himself through all of this again? Why should he risk his sanity for them? What was he even doing here? Maybe he did deserve death, and this was fate's way of telling him so – by reminding him over and over that his son was gone, and he was not.

He had no idea how long he laid there, tears alternately running and drying on his cheeks, harsh sobs racking his throat. It had been months since he'd last acknowledged his pain, and it felt terrible... Then, eventually, when he'd had a shower and was feeling somewhat human again, the door slid open. Al stepped into the Waiting Room in full dress uniform, and looking pretty damn uncomfortable about it. To Jack, recently traumatised and barely recovered, it was possibly the funniest sight he could imagine.

The first words out of Al's mouth were: "No sniggering, Jack – please?"

"Fine thing," Jack agreed, laughing inwardly and certain that his face was giving it away. Comic relief might get him through this after all. He was taken by the childish temptation to flick something brightly coloured at the clean, crisp whites – but there was nothing to hand, not even a coffee. Foiled. "All dressed up and nowhere to go but brown-nose alley?"

"Tell me about it," Al sighed, throwing Jack a sideways glance. Had he been watching, Jack wondered, or had Ziggy given him privacy from the prying eyes of the Control Room? "I don't know about you, but we don't have much firepower when it comes to pleading our case."

Jack grunted neutrally. So much for comic relief – more like back to business. He felt that light-headedness that came after a physically or emotionally draining experience, and he needed to find a way to return to his normal self. This was too borderline. Food would be great about now.

"Again and again I try to point out that though Sam only helps people one life at a time, the knock-on effects have to be enormous. Ziggy has some fuzzy facts to show for it, but as always it's a case of not helping anyone important enough for their liking. So much for the electorate eh?" Al continued, shaking his head. "And as soon as I mention something like the fact that Jackie Kennedy died in the original history, some idiot like Kinsey points out that they only proof of this is within Ziggy's database and therefore 'suspect'. I mean come on - where else is it meant to be? Seeing is believing as far as these guys are concerned."

Jack was silent, his leftover emotions gradually fading against the more practical, strategic thoughts that he lived by. The SGC had plenty of firepower in both weapons and justification for its existence as far as he was concerned – but that still didn't seem to help their 'case' when it came to the Appropriations Committee. He felt like assuring Al that he wasn't alone, but it would be hard to explain without the details.

"You could be right," he allowed, after a pause. "But I seem to remember Kinsey being fairly big on 'faith' once upon a time." Seeing Al's questioning expression, he continued. "As in faith in God that is – which is seeing without believing, isn't it?"

Al didn't look convinced. "Go on?"

Jack frowned as he tried to remember the discussion about whether the Goa'uld would really send an all out attack against the Earth, as Daniel had predicted after his trip through the quantum mirror. Focus O'Neill, damn it.

"One of my team was explaining something to him – something big, bad and honkin' that we were trying very hard to stop from happening – and Kinsey replied that he didn't believe that God would allow this to happen, with or without us. Now I don't believe in gods as a rule, but Kinsey really seemed to think that God would make our... erm... little problem go away," Jack coughed, remembering his original frustration and concentrating hard. Edge one bad thing from his head with another, that was the way to do it.

"Sounds about right," Al muttered after a moment, rolling his eyes. "So he probably thinks that Sam's out there tinkering with God's plan, is that what you think?"

"Maybe so, but he's not above tinkering with it himself – believe you me, this man is a regular high priest of 'do as I say' if you get my meaning." Jack thumped downwards into the mattress. "He's not keen on secret projects unless they're under his personal thumb."

Al grimaced. "You're not exactly Leaping around, changing history though, are you? We're probably about as unusual as it gets."

"You said it," Jack replied, leaving the fact that he wasn't so sure unsaid. His head was clearing now, but he still felt a little weak.

The two men stood in silence for a few moments: Al polishing his buttons with a handkerchief, and Jack twiddling his thumbs. He still wasn't sure whether to believe all this time travel malarkey, but his gut was telling him that Al was telling the truth. His gut was even worse at lying than he was, usually. That wasn't the best reason for revealing classified information though – it was best to get over this hurdle, then see how the land lay. And it was a large hurdle...

"Y'know –," Al began.

"I –," Jack started.

"You first."

"No, go ahead – you first."

Al flicked the peak of his cap, his eyes on Jack – while Jack grinned sarcastically.

"Al, you'd better start talking or I'm going to head off to sleep sometime soon."

The older man shook his head, a small smile on his face. "Well, it's nothing really. I was just thinking that we always joke that the reason why Sam hasn't come home is that God, time, fate or whatever is keeping him out there until the job is done. We haven't been able to come up with a better reason, so it just stuck. It's ironic, that's all, because now the whole program could get shut down because of some politician who has too much faith to believe this might be God working in a not-so mysterious way!"

"You're right, that is ironic," Jack snorted, thinking that his favourite out of those choices was either 'fate' or 'whatever' – and one or both had it in for him. Gods weren't his style any more, and time was just too damn confusing. Back to the point damn it, no more wallowing!

"Admiral," the disembodied voice of Ziggy announced, interrupting the conversation. "Senator Kinsey has just arrived at the lobby area. Dr Martinez-O'Farrell has agreed to bring him down to Level –10. Your presence is needed in the Control Room as soon as possible."

"Uh-huh?" Al mumbled, fiddling with his buttons again. "Just great."

Jack clenched his fists at the news that Kinsey was almost within swiping distance, smothering his anger as thoroughly as he could. If Al and his band of happy campers were right, this meeting might be wiped from the record in a few days, but they still had to get through those few days. Taking out Kinsey now might be disastrous, and if this wasn't a set-up he could not take the risk. Wincing, he felt that light-headedness returning, along with the pain. No! He had to make Kinsey believe that he was himself a couple of years ago, and remembering the agony would prove otherwise. But had it really only been two years? Two years since one single gunshot had ripped his world apart?? Since his family had...

No, it was two years. Two years since had first stepped through the Stargate and found something else to live for – maybe not as important to him personally, but certainly something else that mattered enough for him to risk life and limb day in, day out. That was what he was going to have to hold on to if he was going to get through this, and he hoped that whatever was in charge of these Leaps made this short. Short enough for him to not break down and cry. Short enough for him to not want to kill himself again. Short enough for him to not hit that crazy bastard Kinsey right where it hurt. Short enough to survive this goddamn roller coaster ride through hell.

"Al?" His eyes were shut, but he didn't think the other man had left the room yet.

"Yes, Jack?"

"If Kinsey wants to see me, can you make sure that it's short?"

Jack's eyes remained tightly closed. He didn't want Al to see him like this, and he needed some time to calm down again. This was harder than he'd originally realised.

"Of course. We can say that you've been mildly sedated if you want, because of the lockdown? That way we can tell him the rest of the story and you'll just need to smile and nod before 'falling asleep'."

Jack laughed mirthlessly. "Yeh, why not? He'd get a kick out of that, seeing me 'sedated'."

"Oh, and Jack?" Al asked over the sound of the door sliding open.

"Al?"

"I know you're not too keen on it, but I agree with Ziggy – it might help us out a bit if you put that leotard on again."

Jack shook his head in resignation and reluctantly opened his eyes. "Yeh, yeh... she said I didn't have to though, if I didn't want to," he replied. Al raised an eyebrow, a gesture so reminiscent of Teal'c that Jack groaned. "Ok! Ok... but it'll come off again as soon as he leaves..."

The door slid shut to the sound of Al chuckling, and Jack was alone again. Alone with his thoughts. He looked at his feet, dangling off the bed, and prayed that those memories of a better time wouldn't get the best of him. The leotard was beside him on the bed, waiting for him to discard the comfortable normal clothes he'd been so kindly provided with earlier. Maybe the embarrassment would keep him in check.

He knew he didn't have to, but Jack wasn't comfortable changing in the Waiting Room per se. There were cameras in there, and he knew it – but at least the shower room had a door. It might have a camera too, but the illusion of privacy was there, and as he emerged a minute later had had an idea.

"Ziggy?"

It was a guess, but if Ziggy was advanced as they all claimed she could probably divert a small portion of her energies to answer him.

"Yes, Colonel?"

Bingo. "Is there CCTV in the Control Room, Ziggy?"

"Of course Colonel, recordings are made of each major area of this complex. It is standard practice."

He hoped that wasn't a put-down. It was standard practice for the SGC to record all lab activities, the Gate room, the briefing rooms and so on, but then most of Jack's service history had been in the field – not in command centres of any variety.

"Well Ziggy, I was wondering if you would be able to show me what was going on in there at the moment, now that Senator Kinsey has arrived," Jack asked, wondering if computers responded to normal methods of persuasion. "I wouldn't want to contradict Admiral Calavicci by accident." It would also help keep his mind off... Charlie... if he could play mental darts, with Kinsey's head as the target.

"That is a reasonable request, Colonel. Visual and audio transmission will begin shortly."

A concealed panel slid away to reveal the tv he'd watched the Simpsons on the night before, and after a few moments the face of one of his least favourite people appeared – along with Al and a distinctly uncomfortable looking Gooshie. The Senator's assistant wasn't there, but a Marine was – presumably from the reception on the ground floor. Good old Bob, Jack mused, always protecting number one... and making sure there are witnesses.

"– been a while, Senator," Al was saying, shaking Kinsey's hand. The Admiral and the Marine must have already gotten over the saluting end of protocol. "Welcome back to Project Quantum Leap."

Kinsey looked the same as usual: dour and under-whelmed by the technology around him. Jack surprised himself by feeling indignant on behalf of the crew out there.

"Yes, well I was in the area when I heard about your security breach, Admiral," was the condescending reply. "I told you the last time that I didn't want to see anything like this happen again. I don't have much time, but it seemed like a good idea to... drop by. What's your excuse this time?"

Jack's first thought was: what was Kinsey doing 'in the area'? There were plenty of other military complexes throughout New Mexico, and Colorado wasn't that far away for a Senator with a government-owned jet. The bastard had probably shut someone else down for breakfast... His belly rumbled as Al replied.

"Our current Leapee turned out to be a man with considerable military experience, Senator, and who was captured during Operation Desert Storm in 1993. Though he came to us from what would otherwise be a normal day in his life, he was extremely suspicious of us to say the least, and when we pressed him for information he gave only his service number... and later he threatened me physically, hence the lockdown."

Jack could see Kinsey nodding absently as Al explained the situation, and was glad to hear the Admiral sticking to the facts. The best lie was one that was almost entirely made of the truth. Kinsey didn't seem to care though.

"What do you mean he threatened you physically?" He asked, though his expression suggested that he wasn't really interested. Jack was convinced that this display was near-identical to the one he'd seen at the SGC last year: the man had already made his mind up.

"You remember that our Leapees take on the physical appearance of Dr Beckett, Senator?" Al continued firmly yet politely, reminding Jack of General Hammond. "We often show them a mirror if they refuse to cooperate – it is a tactic supported by our psychiatrist, Dr Veeks. Unfortunately, O'Neill's reaction was somewhat different to the norm – he smashed the mirror and held a shard to my throat."

There it was. The hook, and by the flash in Kinsey's eyes he was taking the bait. He was hiding it now, but Jack was sure that he'd seen bloodlust for just a moment – the man was a politician after all, and they ruled head over heart. Kinsey's heart was too close to his self-proclaimed mission though: to close down all secret projects... or at least those that didn't conform to his ideals. That one flash of greed was also the evidence that Jack had been waiting for: Kinsey hadn't known that was here until now, and that cut down the odds that this project was just a ploy to get information from him. His gut was right.

"O'Neill? Um, that would be your Leapee, yes?" Kinsey asked, all innocence. Jack's mouth twisted – that man was the embodiment of all insincerity. After a nod from Al, the Senator continued. "So you initiated the lockdown... that's understandable Admiral, but he doesn't seem to be threatening you now? Hmm?"

"That's right," Al replied. "We... gave him a sedative. In his water. So he eventually lost his grip and I... escaped." The Admiral coughed. "He slept for a while and we removed the glass, but he's still essentially sedated now. The lockdown is still in force though, just in case. No real emergency any more, simply a precaution to safeguard the complex – I'm sure you'll agree that it's an appropriate measure."

Jack focussed on Kinsey's features. What was he thinking? He had to take the bait. Al was doing a pretty good job of leading the conversation, and Gooshie – sensibly – was just concentrating on his work. The politician, on the other hand, was unreadable... but Jack was sure he'd taken the bait.

"Indeed, Admiral, indeed... This disturbs me, however. Not only is security a problem here, it seems, but as always Project Quantum Leap appears to be failing in its mission by attracting nobodies as Leapees." What a snake! Jack clenched his fist, drowning his rising temper to hear the remainder of the Senator's reply. "Tell me more about this O'Neill, then – what is Dr Beckett's apparent mission this time?"

Ooh what a smoothie, Jack decided, screwing up his mouth in distaste. From the look on Al's face, he thought the same. The man was trying to find out what he wanted without making it too obvious... their story was going to work... if he could just pull it off.

"Well," Al began. "It's a clear-cut mission for once. The man has a son named Charlie, who dies in our history. It was a terrible accident with a handgun that was kept in the house. Sam has Leaped in only couple of days before this tragedy, and he's trying to keep the kid away from the gun and to turn him off the idea of using one as a toy."

"Good on you, Al," Jack murmured, covering up the wince of pain with support for his new friend. "Keep it up..."

"Mmm... so the mission is to save the boy's life?" Kinsey was saying.

"Yes Senator, but not just that," Al offered. "In the current timeline, the parents later divorce and the father – the man who is now in the Waiting Room – appears to be shunted into a military backwater. Up until this point he served in the field for the Air Force, black ops mainly, but it seems that shortly after his son's death his career takes a downturn. We can't tell exactly what his assignment becomes, but it's within an underground research facility and would appear to be a desk job. Ironically our sources also indicate that he has just died in the present day – not a good end for a man who appears to be a little hostile but an otherwise decent person."

Kinsey was looking curious now, but was otherwise blank as usual. Jack figured that he was probably trying to figure out how badly Charlie's death had affected him. This would be the test: showing Kinsey the extra consequences of a Leap.

"Your much-vaunted 'knock-on effects', eh Admiral?" The politician was snide now. Had he guessed what they were up to? Nah, Jack dismissed the thought. He was smart, but that sort of convoluted thinking just didn't suit the man. "So what does your computer predict?"

"Ziggy?"

"Senator Kinsey, little data is available however I am confident that had Charlie O'Neill not died he would be alive and well today. Consequences that can be directly tied to this tragedy in the current timeline include the parents' divorce. It is also unlikely that a successful field officer would be transferred as Lt. Colonel O'Neill was unless there was a diminished capacity in his ability to carry out his normal duties," the computer announced emotionlessly. "Scenarios suggest that the family would have remained together and that no career change of such gravity would have occurred, had Charlie O'Neill not died. Lt. Colonel O'Neill himself might still have died as part of the normal course of his duties however."

Wait to go Ziggy, Jack thought silently, noting that she'd ever looked up his rank two years ago. It was true that his life had changed radically back then, and it still devastated him, but the thought that he might never have learnt about the Stargate if his son hadn't died... that was a horrible concept too. It was the assignment of a lifetime after all, though he could understand why an outsider might think that Cheyenne Mountain was the back of beyond as far as a field officer was concerned. Life sure did suck.

Kinsey's thoughts appeared to be on overdrive as well – this was a man who usually had a comeback for everything!

"So Senator, what do you think?" Al broke the awkward silence, probably as desperate for a response as Jack was. "I can show you the records of other Leaps since your last visit if you'd like? Or perhaps we could visit the Accounts department on Level –6 if you'd like to see how our budget is working out?"

Jack almost chuckled. Al was good at this, very good – he'd obviously been playing with politicians for a while now. Kinsey, in contrast, was shifting his posture a little... his body language wasn't quite so aggressive any more. Still hostile, but not on the offensive.

"I don't think there's any need for that, Admiral – this was an unscheduled stop after all. I have other matters to attend to," Kinsey answered eventually. "Perhaps I should meet this O'Neill fellow though – what was his name?"

"Lt. Colonel Jonathon O'Neill, Senator," Al supplied, a small sparkle of glee in his voice. Jack hoped that Kinsey put that down to not having to review the Project's accounts. "We find that he prefers to be called 'Jack' though, and we haven't mentioned anything about the death of his son. He calls me 'Al' – we try to stick to first names, it's... friendlier."

"Jack O'Neill..." Kinsey mumbled, nodding to himself. A sly smile appeared on his lips – they had him. "In the interests of monitoring your security procedures fully, yes, I think I should meet this man O'Neill."

"As you wish," Al confirmed, looking toward the Marine by the doorway. "Would you like to enter the room first, Private Johnson?"

"Sir, yes sir!"

Jack saw the Marine snap smartly to attention, then suddenly the view screen changed to an old episode of the Simpsons – Itchy & Scratchy to be precise.

"What? Ziggy!" He yelled.

"Your visitors will arrive in a moment, Colonel," Ziggy reminded him. "Please prepare yourself for the task."

"Doh!" How could he get this engrossed and not recognise the planned outcome when it appeared? Jack hurriedly laid himself out on the bed and decided to watch the screen with a half-asleep attitude. I'm sedated, he reminded himself. And I must not lose control...

The door slid open, and in stepped a Marine. He took his station by the entrance as Jack looked up, feigning grogginess. "Al?"

"I'm here, Jack," Al answered as he entered with Kinsey, playing along. "Could you lower the volume please, Ziggy?"

The sound of Scratchy chopping Itchy into tiny pieces became muted, and Jack turned a dozy smile toward Al. "You've brought people with you," he observed absent-mindedly, focussing on the task at hand. "Are they... friendly?"

Al winked. "Yes Jack, no-one's going to hurt you. You have a visitor. Bob?"

The look on Kinsey's face said it all. He didn't like being called Bob unless he said so, and there was a thundercloud on this horizon. Keep it together O'Neill, Jack reminded himself.

"Hi Bob!" He said brightly. "I'm Jack."

Jack found it easy to grin like an idiot in Kinsey's presence. It covered up all kinds of nasty thoughts that were buzzing round his head – though it didn't make them go away.

"You said he was sedated, Admiral, not in cloud cuckoo land," the Senator muttered.

"All part of the procedure," Al murmured back. "We didn't want a repeat performance of this morning. It took a lot to calm him down to this level though, the man must have been taught tolerance against mind control drugs at some point – it's standard black ops training."

"Hmm... He looks exactly like Dr Beckett though." Kinsey sounded dubious.

Al looked surprised at the comment. "Leapees always do, Senator. They're concealed by Dr Beckett's aura, just as he is by theirs."

Kinsey stepped closer to the bed, but stopped a couple of feet away. Al came right up to the bed though, and gave Jack a pat on the shoulder.

"You're all right now, aren't you Jack?" He asked, laughter in his eyes. "You won't try to hurt anyone again will you?"

Jack shook his head, and turned towards the Simpsons again.

"Jack? Jack!"

Oh, so Al was trying to get his attention again was he?

"Yes?"

"Bob here would like to ask you a couple of questions – is that ok?"

"I guess so. Fire away, Bob!"

Kinsey cleared his throat, his expression unsure. "Hi, erm... Jack. How are you feeling?"

"Just peachy, Bob!" Playing a sedated moron was fun, he decided.

"That's erm... that's good. Very good, Jack. Why... why did you try to hurt Adm– ... sorry, Al... this morning?"

Jack paused a moment before answering. "He was a stranger, and I was in a strange place. I thought I was in a bad place. I've been to bad places before... a long time ago. They hurt me."

That's an understatement, Jack added mentally. I've been to plenty of bad places and they all hurt like nothing else. This would have been a field day by comparison.

"But A... Al isn't a bad person?"

"No. Are you?" He couldn't resist it.

Kinsey laughed weakly, but didn't answer. "What's your name, Jack?"

"Are you a bad person?!" He asked again, more aggressively. There was fun to be had here, and he could hear Al whispering 'answer him!'

"No... no, I'm... erm... I'm not a bad person, Jack. I just want to know your name."

Jack scowled like a child... like Charlie had when he'd told him that he couldn't play with a real gun. No! Stick to your mission, O'Neill!

"Jonathon O'Neill, USAF, service number 69-4-141," he recited obediently, then darted a quick look at Al, who nodded minutely. Could he see the pain he was trying so desperately to hide?

"What year is it, Jack?"

"1996." As if he could forget that year. Everything had changed... everything. He tried desperately to keep the strain out of his voice.

"And do you have a wife and child?" Kinsey pressed.

Jack was silent, staring at the Simpsons – Homer now falling down the stairs for some stupid reason – hoping that the Senator would mistake his emotion for obstinate childishness. He'd been worried about what would happen if Kinsey had asked this question directly, and now the man had and he was having trouble coping.

"Jack?" It was Al, willing him to answer as they'd discussed. Kinsey needed the confirmation if this was going to work.

"Yes?"

"Do you have a wife and child?" Al repeated the question, somehow making it easier to answer – even if he was lying.

Jack stared at the tv and willed himself to answer with a single word. One word without emotion, without tears.

"Yes."

Al sighed – with relief? "Senator, I don't think we'll get much more from him today. He really is drugged up quite severely."

Kinsey nodded, and though Jack was looking away from him he could feel those eyes boring into him. "All right, Admiral. Have it your way."

"Ok," Al replied, clapping Jack on the back once again. "Good bye Jack!"

"Bye Al. Bye Bob," Jack replied, trying his damnedest to keep contempt out of the name Bob.

"Say goodbye, Senator," he heard Al mumble to Kinsey, followed by an indiscreet snort from the man himself.

"Goodbye... Jack."

The door slid closed, and Jack sighed with released tension – then wept, no longer caring that he still wore a bright, white leotard. The pain was quieter now, but he wasn't sure whether he was crying for himself, for Charlie, or even for Sara. He just needed to let it out.