Chapter Seven By C. Selene McBain and Kat Freymuth
With Carlie suspended for three days, she had time to spend at home. Again. Something within her calmed down significantly after talking with her uncle some more. She began to almost - see - into his soul. She had dared to gaze deeply into his chocolate brown eyes.
And she managed to convince him to stay home with her. She wasn't sure what compelled her to do it. She had been so deterred by his disability in the first place. Calling him a crip, and so on. It didn't take very long for her to begin to understand something about him.
So now, instead of avoiding him, she followed him and watched him closely. He was in the kitchen - he seemed to like it in there - and she stared at how he maneuvered. She was mesmerized by how he worked swiftly.
For Al, the kitchen was the one place where he lately felt at home. At one time, it was at Project Quantum Leap working with Sam but that feeling, though Sam's recent apparent attempts to rekindle their friendship was nice. Still, the kitchen was Al's domain.
Moving about the room with the ease of practice, he pulled out the ingredients that would make the delicacy he was planning for dinner: Lasagna a la Calavicci, Killer Caesar Salad, and, last but not least, Al's Famous Hot Fudge Brownie sundaes. For only a split second did he wonder what his doctor would think of his choice of menu.
"What would you like to drink with your dinner, ma'am?" he asked with a smile. It was actually nice, he thought, that Carlie had cajoled him to stay at home while she was suspended.
For a moment, Carlie hadn't heard him. She just watched the wheels of his chair move and turn as his spun around and zoomed and eventually settled.
"Huh? Oh, drink. Um - how about a Long island - I mean . . . Maybe a coke is fine." She covered sheepishly.
Al looked at her with a slight frown. "Long Island Iced Tea?" he asked, knowing full well what she was going to say before she changed her words. Reaching into the refrigerator to get the Coke she amended her request to, he raised an eyebrow.
"So, how may times have you had a Long Island Iced Tea and who gave it to you and why?"
"Easy, hot wheels," Carlie defended, taking the coke. She didn't like where this was going. "What made you so edgy all of a sudden?"
Al exhaled slowly. "It's just hearing a sixteen year old girl ask for a Long Island Iced Tea is a little disturbing to me. Especially when you were obviously not trying to make a joke."
Carlie snapped open her coke and sat down at the table. She made a face that suggested she was annoyed by the sudden "Adult concern".
"Please. Don't tell me you didn't drink a little liquor at my age. And I'm 15. I won't be 16 until June."
A long moment of silence passed before Al spoke, his eyes looking a little haunted. "Yes, I drank at your age. I wish I hadn't now." Al shook his head at the memories that his childhood mistakes had created for him.
"Hey. I drink. That doesn't make me a drunk. When have you seen me take a drink in this dump anyway?" From the tone in her voice, it could be inferred that she did not like the way she was being judged. Or at least, how she perceived she might have been judged. Everyone her age drank a little juice back home.
"Never," Al answered her question. "And I hope it will stay that way." He took a breath, looking at his left hand, which for some reason had started to quiver slightly. "I don't need to go down that road, honey. I don't want to see that happen to you."
Carlie wasn't dumb. In fact, she had inherited the Calavicci sharpness that was the envy of every school she'd ever attended. She saw his gaze, followed it, and something drove her to stand quickly. She approached him and grabbed his wrist, turning it over to reveal what she had suspected. A scar. It was faded and old, but there.
"Like this?" She asked.
Al pulled his hand abruptly away, covering the scar with his shirtsleeve. He licked his lips for a long moment before going to the oven to take out the lasagna, which was threatening to burn, and putting it on the counter. Still, even as he tried to ignore Carlie's watching him, he couldn't. He swallowed tightly and then sighed.
"It was a long time ago. A stupid mistake."
A small smile, something deep and masked, cross Carlie's lips. She made sure to step in front of Al. She wanted him to see her. She was very close to him when she pulled up her own sleeve.
On her left arm, there was a line of parallel scars. Some of them deeper than others. One much more prominent. All of them ugly and permanent reminders of her past.
"See? We are related." she said quietly.
Seeing the scars on his niece's arm, Al felt a little something in him snap, He felt something trickling down his cheeks and he quickly wiped at them to get them out of his eyesight only to realize that they were tears.
Opening his arms slightly, he gave Carlie a weak smile. "Come 'ere," he whispered.
It wasn't a conscious reaction. It was simply reflex. She leaned down and let him envelope her in a tender embrace. There was hope. And there was something that Carlie could relate to - within her eccentric uncle. They both had a scarred past. The bond was automatic. Perhaps there was finally a relationship forming that Carlie might not yet admit to.
"Don't cry," she said, "We're both in the same boat... It might feel like a little boat, but at least we're in it together."
Al pulled her close to him, brushing her hair with his fingers. "Just don't abandon ship on me. Alcohol and Calavicci blood just don't mix well and... I don't want to lose you."
Carlie might have admitted that she actually liked the hug - eventually. But it was nonetheless an awkward position to be in, which she tried to play off with a smirk. "You don't want to lose me? We only just met last week, you know."
"It doesn't matter," Al whispered to her. "It only takes a minute for someone to imprint themselves onto your heart."
Slowly, he released her before looking in her eyes. "Will you make me a promise?" To the questioning look in her eyes, he blinked for a moment before speaking. "Promise no more drugs or alcohol or anything else that you might be into at the moment? I'm not going to ask what it all is. I just want you to stop. And I'll be here if you need help."
"Well, you're lucky I'm not a coke head," she said, her brow quirked up, "But yeah, fine. I'll stop. Not that I've done it since last year. Foster homes and stuff."
He just smiled gently at her words before turning towards the counter. "If you would be so kind as to get the lasagna for me, we'll have dinner now," he told her as he put the bowl of salad in his lap and wheeled over to the table.
The teen did as she was told. Odd, that this older and crippled man would have such a spell on her. Maybe it had to do with their familial relation, or the fact that he was the first of her family to treat her civilly. Though she wasn't sure if it was time to talk about such things, so she kept quiet as she removed the lasagna and put it on the table.
"You like to eat, don't you?" she had to ask.
"A good meal will cure just about anything in the world," Al told her with a grin. "Especially if you can share it with someone special."
Having been served the savory lasagna, Carlie wasted no time in digging in. She shoveled a heaping morsel into her mouth, dripping with cheese and sauce. It was still hot and burned, so she ended up opening her mouth and fanning her maw.
"Ho'..." she muffled.
Al grinned widely at the look on your face. "Water?" he offered, knowing that she had been a little too excited about digging in. "You know, it helps to let it cool before you start shoveling."
Carlie flashed him a look that was far too reminiscent of a Calavicci, took the water and washed down her lasagna. "Thanks," she said. After a moment, she thought again, wanting to ask more questions. They came easily. "Al? Why do you live alone anyway?"
"I don't anymore, in case you didn't notice," he told her, obviously not wanting to discuss it. She gave him a slightly dirty look before he decided that, if this relationship was going to work, it would be a good idea to be open with her. At least, as open as he could be.
"Sam reason you and I didn't get along so well when we first met. Never found anyone who would treat me as I want to be treated. People tend to judge based on what they see with their eyes, not with their hearts and minds."
Carlie thought for a long moment, relishing in the steam that touched her face from the hot plate of food in front of her. She was thoughtful, and stared at it, just formulating.
Finally, she said, "But you weren't always - this way. You're not exactly ugly, and neither am I. So . . . I don't know. There must be more to it than just people looking at us and deciding they don't like us. Don't you think?"
Al looked at her for a moment, an appreciation for her growing in his eyes. In a way, Carlie was definitely right; they are alike in so many ways. "I don't exactly think it's the way we look but rather the emotional scars we can't hide with the best attitudes we can dish out." He exhaled. "I don't think there are a lot of people out there that can handle damaged goods."
At that, Carlie mentally reeled. She grew very quiet. The delicious meal in front of her suddenly didn't seem so appetizing. She shook her head, unable to say anything.
After a long moment, the silence became unbearable to Al. "People can be pretty damned stupid, if you ask me." Seeing that she wasn't eating, Al reached over and touched her hand, giving her a smile. "Hey, if you don't eat, it'll grow cold. And you wouldn't be able to try my famous hot fudge brownie sundae."
Slowly, Carlie looked up and gave him a sardonic half-smile. She couldn't help it. "Are you trying to make me fat?"
He gave her a smile back. "Hey, the more for me to love, the better, mia bambina."
She let herself go and grinned a little wider. "You speak Italian?"
"Hey, I AM Italian," Al told her with clear pride in his voice.
She grinned. "I am too, but I don't speak it." But then she fell silent, thinking too much again and looking down at herself. "My dad - his name was Amorello. It's Italian."
Al could see the look on her face and his heart fell. "Carlie, look at me." When he gained what he wanted, he looked deep into her eyes but couldn't speak at the look in her eyes. He wasn't about to tell her that he knew what she was feeling. That would be a cruel lie. But neither did he want her to dwell on a past she couldn't change. The only thing he could do was say what he did know.
"You aren't anything like him. You're strong. No matter what name you were born with, you are a Calavicci, through and through. I can tell." He paused for a moment and then gave her a little grin. "Wanna learn how to speak Italian?"
"You would teach me?" She asked carefully, still somewhat downtrodden, "I mean, you're not too busy with work and stuff? Aren't you an engineer?"
"Something like that," he answered. "And I think I can find the time to teach you."
"Something like that," Carlie repeated, "Well, if you're not an engineer, what are you? You sure beat around the bush a lot."
"Someone's got to." He gave her a smile and then looked at his meal, barely touched, before he took a bite and grimaced slightly. "Lasagna's gone cold. Want me to heat your's up?"
"Nah, it's almost better when it's a little colder," and she proved it by nearly inhaling the entire thing in less than five minutes. After the last bite was gone, she sat back and sighed. "That was good."
"Glad you liked it," Al replied, having decided to put up with the meal being colder than he preferred. Putting the now cool casserole dish in his lap, he took it to the kitchen and covered it before putting it in the refrigerator. He was glad to see Carlie gathering the rest of the dishes and putting them in the sink. But when Carlie again asked what he did for a living, he sighed slightly. "You don't give up, do you?"
"Well, do you give up ever either?" She turned it around on him. Seeing the look on his face, she grinned. "Come on, Admiral. Report."
He raised his eyebrow at her words and then smiled with a slight huff of a laugh. "Okay... I work for the United States government on a top secret project that requires the use of both my engineering and command skills."
Carlie laughed, good natured of course. She shook her head and started filling the sink with soapy water. "You're too funny. It's okay if you just tell me you work at some computer lab in the desert or something. I know high tech industry's popular around here. So what do you do? Work for a microchip company? Intel or something like it?"
Al leaned back at her words and looked at her directly. "I wasn't joking."
Carlie stopped the water from pour out of the faucet. Slowly, she turned and looked at him, studying him. "You've got to be. A top secret government project? Who does that sort of thing? It's science fiction. Besides, if you DID work for a so called top secret project, you wouldn't have told me."
"Ah, but I didn't tell you what it was about, did I?" Al countered.
"What does it matter?" Carlie decided to play the game, indulging him or otherwise fishing for more information, "Even if you didn't tell me what it was about, you're not even supposed to acknowledge it's existence. Right? Top secret and all that."
"That's Mission Impossible stuff, darling. The Secretary isn't going to disavow me. Maybe send me to Leavenworth for the rest of my life..."
"Leavenworth?"
Al looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. Military Correctional Facility. In other words, prison."
"They'd send a crip to prison?" Carlie wasn't convinced.
Al lowered his eyelids at her choice of words. "First and foremost, for a person who beat the tar out of someone for using that word, you sure like to use it yourself. Second, they'd lock me up and throw away the key in a heartbeat if I told you or anyone else what I know."
There was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach when Carlie received that dark look from her uncle's eyes. She immediately regretted her wording. "Sorry. It's habit. I wasn't thinking."
Getting a heartfelt apology from her, Al couldn't stay upset for long. He smiled at her gently. "Apology accepted. Even I say things I don't mean. Sue me, I'm human." He looked around the kitchen for a moment. "Now... where are those ice cream dishes?"