Chapter Nine by C. Selene McBain and Kat Freymuth

Carlie was transfered to Alamogordo hospital the next morning. Given the best care in the building, the doctors treating her were able to save the severely broken leg. Al couldn't have been more relieved. The dedicated Admiral stayed with her the whole time, and she was discharged that day with a cast up to her knee and a pair of crutches.

Sam, on the other hand, had things to settle in his own home. His son and wife were not home. Al had to inform him that they had left town for a couple weeks. After being filled in on the sort of behavior Sam was seen to demonstrate, the real Sam wasn't surprised. He was at least given the promise that they would come back. It was his turn to wait, he supposed.

With an empty house and much catching up to do, Sam was able to get permission to stay with Al for a while. He figured his friend could use the help in taking care of his niece. So he packed some clothes and claimed the couch.

Al really didn't mind having the extra company. He figured Sam was going to get lonely pretty fast in that empty house of his. While Al didn't have a spare bedroom, he could attest to the comfortable rest that the couch gave. And having Sam nearby in case there was an emergency with Carlie didn't hurt in the least. Or so Al thought at the time. Even though the doctor's were able to save Carlie's leg, there was no doubt that once the cast came off, Carlie would be walking with a limp for the rest of her life. While Al's heart dropped at that thought, at least he knew his niece would be able to walk fairly unhindered. That is, after the cast was gone.

Seeing Sam claim the couch, Al wheeled around towards the hallway. "Firm pillow, right?" he questioned, remembering the times he and Sam had shared a hotel room.

It was only the first night in Al's home, and Sam was already feeling uncomfortable. Not unwanted or unwelcomed, but really out of place. Briefly distracted with looking around the spacious living room, he snapped back into reality at the sound of Al's voice.

"Oh, ah. Yes. That's fine. Thanks, Al." He nodded, then he turned and went back to looking at a few pictures on the wall. They were new.

"Thought as much," Al commented to Sam's approval of the pillow type, pulling down said pillow from the hall closet before retrieving a couple of blankets and a sheet. Rolling back into the living room, he put the blankets and pillows to the side before shaking out the sheet. "You used to sleep with two pillows in hotel rooms because they just didn't raise your head high enough, remember?"

Sam smiled slightly, nodding mostly to himself. "Yeah, I remember. But then, you'd always tease me and tell me I needed extra pillows for my huge egg head." The tense feelings were practically thick in the air, like humidity. Despite their reminiscing, Sam didn't want to turn to see his friend.

All the horrible old guilt was slowly seeping back into him now that the adrenaline didn't block it out. Hearing the wheels along the tile and not footsteps was still painful. But Sam just knew that Al would notice sooner than later. Knowing Al, it was bound to be sooner.

Al, in the meantime, laid out the sheet on the couch and tucked it into place before spreading out the two blankets and the pillow. "Well, at least my couch is more comfortable than some of those beds we slept on." Turning, he moved into the kitchen and started pulling out pots and pans. "Tea while I fix something edible? I know Carlie's stomach is probably doing a rendition of the 1812 Overture about now."

Boy Scout Beckett jumped into action. If he was trying not to wallow in guilt and misery, the best way to distract himself was to keep busy. What better way to do that than to help around the house in which he was a guest.

"I can do that," Sam said, smiling slightly and marching into the kitchen without knowing where a damn thing was. He scoured the cupboards for tea, barely aware of his Italian friend staring at him incredulously.

After a long moment of watching Sam looking in every possible cabinet for the tea, Al finally found a voice. "Am I having the Energizer Bunny as my house guest?" he questioned aloud, getting a confused look from his friend. "Because you are bouncing around worse than a rubber ball in a racketball court."

Sam ceased his search for the moment, his hands finding his pockets as he gave Al a nervous half-smile. "Well, you know, I just thought I should help. Don't feel right staying over and - not helping," his own words nearly confused him, and it showed his face for a split second. He looked around, "So . . . where's the tea again?"

"Pantry cabinet door, behind you and on the left," Al told him and then watched Sam turn and find the tea as he was instructed. Shaking his head, Al then began preparing a simple meal for dinner. He had already been told by Carlie's doctor that she should stay clear of anything that might upset her stomach - less chance of having to have to rush for the bathroom - and to focus on health foods. Al figured a simple chicken and rice casserole would do the trick.

"I can help with dinner too, so you don't need to worry," said Sam as he filled a tea kettle with water, "How's Carlie doing anyway?"

At that moment, Carlie's voice filtered into the kitchen from her bedroom, "Hey, Al?"

"Speaking of which..." Al commented and then turned to leave the kitchen. "And keep your nose out of my pots and pans. I'm making dinner, not you. Go sit and enjoy a cup of tea. Better yet, two cups of tea." Getting another call from his niece, he called out in return. "Your knight errant is coming, my lady!"

Carlie was laying in bed when her uncle came in through the door. She groaned extravagantly and reached out her hands to him, "Drugs, please! Please, much with the drugging."

Al gave her a gentle smile. "Okay, Miss Over-dramatic," he teased her slightly. Seeing, however, that she was definitely in some pain, he brushed her hair. "I'll be back with the meds and a glass of water." It didn't take him long to get the water and the prescription, tucking both of them between his legs so that he could return to Carlie's room with ease. Putting the water on the nightstand beside her bed, he opened the bottle and got out one pill, handing it to her. "Sit up," he encouraged, giving her the water to wash the pill down.

She took the pill and the water, looking at both of them with a sad expression. She looked at Al and asked, "Just one?"

"That's what the prescription says, darling. Trust me, one is all you'll need," Al told her. "Go on. Swallow it and empty that glass so I can go back and prevent Beckett from taking over my kitchen."

Carlie sniffed the air, detecting a distinct burning aroma in the air. "Al, I think you're too late." She said matter-of-fact.

Al groaned slightly at the now obvious scent of burnt chicken. "Sam," he growled under his breath. "If it's not eggs or cereal, he can't cook a damned thing." He gave Carlie a pointed look. "Pill. Water. Now. Then lay down and rest, just like Doc Larent ordered." Turning and leaving the bedroom, Al wheeled into the kitchen. "Just what in blazes are you attempting to burn at the stake?"

"Oh, god," Sam exclaimed, rushing over the pot of rice and lifting it from the heat, "The rice. Damn. Sorry. I never did know how to make it right."

Al forced himself not to yell. After all, Sam was trying to help. But even Sam knew better than to interfere in Al's kitchen. That was one rule Al had put into stone the moment they had become friends. "Sam..." He pointed towards the living room. "Out." To Sam's startled expression, Al clarified. "The kitchen is my sanctuary and you're desecrating it at this moment. So, please, just go drink your tea and let me do the cooking. You can do breakfast in the morning if you are so inclined but the culinary arts of lunch and dinner, other than the cold sandwich, isn't your forte. So, out."

"But, I," Sam began to protest, but the look Al gave him made him stop. He tried to smile, putting down the smoking pot onto a cold burner, "Right. I'll - go now. Tea."

Sam went towards the living room, but turned just before leaving the kitchen and asked, "You need any help with something else? Not cooking, obviously?"

"No, thanks. I've got everything under control," Al called back to him. "No," he muttered as he put the scorched pan in the sink to soak. Turning towards the box of rice that sat on the counter, he frowned at how light it was. Giving it a good shake, he groaned. "Brilliant, Beckett," he murmured lowly. "There goes the possibility of casserole. Sighing, he looked around the kitchen, rethinking his dinner options.

Sam hesitated in leaving, watching the flustered Admiral lean his hands on the counter in thought. A few tense moments passed before Sam found the courage to speak again, "You sure?"

Al turned his head and looked at Sam, who stood in the archway to the kitchen. "Yeah, I'm sure. Just... restrategizing." He frowned for a moment. "Is that a word?"

Sam smiled slightly, "I don't think so. But you always were creative with your vocabulary." He scratched his head, "I could help with Carlie, if you want."

Al hesitated for a moment. "That's up to her, Sam. She's resting right now and I've already given her a pill for the pain so those are pretty much taken care of."

"Right," Sam sighed, nodding. He was beginning to get discouraged. There didn't seem to be much for him to do. "Well, we could order a pizza. On me."

"Well..." Al sighed softly, feeling weary all of a sudden. It had already been a busy day with getting Carlie out of the hospital and then going by Sam's house to collect his things for the weekend. That was enough in Al's opinion. But the burnt rice... was the last chink in his weakening armor. "Sure, what the hell," he finally said, throwing the chicken back into the freezer. "I'm exhausted anyway."

"You're exhausted?" Sam asked, taking out his cell phone. He stopped and studied Al briefly, concerned. "Are you okay? I mean, every thing that's happened must be tough for you. Do you think you should rest?"

"It's just been a busy day, that's all," Al told him. "I'll be fine. The hamsters in my brain just need a rest."

Sam approached his friend cautiously and knelt, "But what about your body, Al?"

Al's eyelids lowered at his words. "What about it?"

"Al. You know you can't push yourself to the same extremes you used to when I was still leaping. You've got take care of yourself. You're not . . ." He trailed off, uncertain.

Al folded his arms and raised his chin, giving Sam a hard look. "I'm not what, Sam?"

"Uh, well, you know," Sam fumbled, standing again, "Al, you have a spinal cord injury. It's not good for you to be up in your chair so long for a lot of reasons. Your back must be killing you. And what about pressure sores? Do you check for those? Or do you even bother? Or your cath regiment? UTI's are dangerous too..."

"So that's it..." Al growled. "You don't think I'm capable of taking care of myself, even if I have been doing just fine for the last three years, or capable of taking care of a sixteen year old girl with a broken leg."

"No, that's not it. I know you're capable. Of course, I know you are. Everything you've ever gone through in life has taught you how to survive. But I know how you can ignore your own health too," Sam defended, "Even you can't deny that. I'm just worried about you, that's all. I've ignored you and avoided you for far longer than I'd care to admit. I just - I wanna make it up to you, Al."

Al exhaled slowly, his feathers smoothed slightly by Sam's words. "You can start by not mother-henning me, Sam. I appreciate that you care. And you're right. Sometimes I do ignore my own health. But I didn't say yes to you staying here because I need a doctor in the house. I want my friend, not a physician. Okay?"

Sam crumbled internally, his whole body slumping. He sat down at a dining room chair and covered his face. "I still can't handle it. I tried to ignore it but I can't, Al."

"It's been three years, Sam!" Al exclaimed, following him closer to the chair. "I'm still the same guy, aren't I? I still tell off-colored jokes that will make your hair blush, I still can MacGyver practically anything electronic..."

"That's not the point. You have no idea what I feel, and it's not about you. It's about what you remind me of, okay? I did that to you. I put you in that chair," He turned his head to look at Al. There were tears threatening to spill, "You can't walk because of me."

"Sam..." Al started, finally understanding everything that was running through his friend's mind. When Sam turned away, Al ordered, "Look at me." Sam didn't obey so Al repeated the order more firmly, getting results at last. "I am in this wheelchair because of that bastard who shot me, not because of you. And if we had to go through that whole thing again, other than getting that guy before he pulled the damned trigger, I wouldn't change a thing."

The hairs on the back of Sam's neck raised with each word his friend uttered. He looked down at the table, letting tears finally spill. "God, no. It's too painful. You saved my life, and I would've done the same for you. I want to help you, Al."

Al hesitated, getting a hinky feeling in the pit of his stomach with Sam's words. He knew his friend only too well. He knew what Sam meant by helping him. Al wasn't about to let what Sam was thinking become a reality. THAT would be too painful for Al, worse than the pain of that bullet hitting his back.

"You really want to help, Sam?" he said gently, getting Sam's attention. "Then order the pizza while I go see if I can scrounge up some beer and soda from the garage."

Sam watched Al leave and managed to pull himself together long enough to order a medium handtossed with extra cheese and pepperoni. They drank the beer and ate the pizza while watching some nonsensical reality show on television, but neither of them paid much attention to the show.

"Al. About what happened while I was - gone." Sam began carefully, "Whoever was in my place sent a lot of our work to someone or someplace."

Al was thinking mostly about how he was going to save several pieces for Carlie, so that she would have something to eat when she woke up, when Sam dropped his bombshell. "How much of our work? Did you figure out who or where it was sent?"

"I can only guess." Sam said, shaking his head, "A lot of it was transferred. Quantum Accelerator schematics, blueprints, all of your work on holography - my time travel calculations and formulas..."

"Sounds like someone's trying to start a time-travel project of their own. But that doesn't make much sense with a leaper stealing that information."

"The leaper didn't steal it. They only gained access to my personal files and sent it electronically to some unknown IP address. And I think I know who it was." Sam looked at Al very seriously, "Ever wonder where Alia and Zoe came from?"

"Technically, Sam, it's still stealing. And, to be quite honest, I never gave it a second thought. A first thought, yes. That's why I changed all the passwords and clearance codes after that first leap."

"Yen Hiroshi leaped into me, Al. I know it," Sam said quietly, "And it wasn't the first time he's leaped."

"Yen Hiroshi?" Al questioned with a frown. "And just exactly how did he leap into you without an Accelerator Chamber?" When Sam mentioned the schematics, Al shook his head. "That's a grandfather paradox, Sam. Using that thinking, Yen can't have leaped without stealing the schematics but he couldn't steal the schematics without leaping. If he is leaping, he got that Accelerator elsewhere and he's got an agenda with those schematics."

"Maybe he built a prototype that just barely worked. And maybe they didn't have an imaging chamber. Did you see him talking to himself? Ever?"

Al hesitated before he immediately replied, thinking about Sam's words. "No," he finally answered. "But he did seem... unusually focused." "Meaning?" Sam pressed gently. Al looked at his friend. "You know when you get into what I call 'genius-at-work mode'? Well, his focus was more drastic than even that."

Sam took a breath. "He might have done more damage than we think, Al."

"Oh, this gets even better!" Al said sarcastically, the idea of eating anything far removed from his mind.

Sam ignored the sarcasm. "I think he's the one that shot you."

Al was silent for a long moment at Sam's words. "I see. Well... at least we know now that Banes is innocent."

"Al!" Sam said, standing and towering over his friend, "He leaped into me using a primitive acceleration design, he stole the work of nearly the entire project, leaped into Banes, tried to kill me but shot you instead, then sent Alia and Zoe on missions to destroy our work even further! You can't honestly tell me you don't care about any of it. We've worked to hard and suffered too much."

"I didn't say I didn't care, Sam," Al countered calmly to Sam's vehemence. "I do care. But at the moment, I haven't a clue what to do about it. Don't worry. Between you and me, we'll come up with something." Seeing the look in Sam's eyes, he continued. "Something rational and not half-baked."

Sam said nothing. He bit his lip and nodded. "Alright, Al. We'll think of something. But in the morning, huh? I'm pretty tired. And you should sleep too."

"I need to check on Carlie and get the leftovers in the frig," Al said, rubbing his face before he started gathering the pizza box and the empty beer bottles.

"I'll do that." Sam took the box and bottles from Al. "You go ahead."

Al shook his head but didn't stop Sam from his actions. "I need to... ummm... do my exercises... and..." he winced slightly, unable to stop the slight groan of pain.

"What? What's wrong?" Without a second thought, Sam put down his load and went to his friend.

"Sat too long, I think," Al murmured, keeping his eyes closed. "Sometimes I'll get ghost pains where that bullet went in. They're... nothing..."

"Like hell they are. Come on." And without waiting for any kind of permission, Sam grabbed the handle-less back of Al's chair pushed him right into the Admiral's bedroom. "You are so stubborn, I wonder how you manage to get any kind of sense into your head at all."

"Same kind of sense you get into your head, Beckett," Al said through clenched teeth. He wasn't going to argue with him over the rights to his own mobility.

"You going to transfer, or do you want me to do it for you?" Sam asked condescendingly.

Al gave him a dirty look at his question but didn't comment. Instead, he started transferring from his chair to the bed.

"DAMMIT TO HELL!" he screamed before he was even on the bed, his strength lost to the agony that screamed up his spine, sending him towards the floor.

Carlie was startled by the two men bantering before. The vicodin doesn't do a very good job to inducing sleep as opposed to a dream like state. Leaving her crutches behind, she hopped unsteadily into her uncle's room. There she saw Al on the floor in a compromised position and Sam standing over him with the most surprised look on his face.

"What the hell is going on?" She asked. "What did you do to him, you bastard!"

"Nothing, Carlie. He just fell." Sam defended. Carlie hopped forward and reached the end of Al's bed.

"Like hell he did!"

Al raised his hand against Carlie's angry statement, trying hard to get his breathing - and the agony - under control. But he found myself breathing even harder as he forced himself to speak. "It's... okay, Carlie. It's... not him." He gritted his teeth tightly, a pained sound escaping his lips as he tried to get a grip on his chair to pull himself back into it. Seemed, however, that that wasn't going to happen anytime soon when his quiet pained sound became another scream of pain. "SHIT!"

"Al, let me get you into bed, okay?" Sam suggested, starting to bend down to pick Al up.

"I can do it!" Al shouted at him, taking his frustration out on Sam and his offer.

Sam began to protest, but Al continued to shoot him down. Carlie watched both of them with a sort of morbid fascination. She had never seen Al in such a predicament, and there was a twisting knot in her stomach at the sight of him being - helpless. He said he could do it . . . "Then do it," Carlie said finally, quietly.

With a hard swallow, Al tried again to get back into his chair but another wave of agony assaulted him, actually bringing tears to his eyes. Leaning his head against the side of his bed, he turned his face away from the two most important people in his life, not wanting either of them to see just how much he was in pain.

"Al," Sam said gently, kneeling next to him and touching his shoulder, "Please, let me help you."

"Leave him alone," Carlie said, "Don't you think you've hurt us enough?" She hopped over to the uncle she had quickly grown so fond of, and took his shaking hand.

Feeling his niece's hand holding his, he knew that there was one thing that he wanted more than anything in this life at this moment and, surprisingly, it wasn't for the pain to go away. It was for Carlie and Sam to get along. "No, Carlie... he's right... I can't do it... It hurts too much." He took a shaking breath. "It's not his fault I'm a stubborn bastard."

Carlie narrowed her eyes toward Sam, making the scientist shrink slightly away from them. "Maybe not, but a lot of other things are."

"Carlie, I'm sorry," Sam said, but the girl ignored him. She struggled to stand and balance on her left foot.

"I can help you, Al. You don't need rocket boy here."

Al looked up into Carlie's eyes and saw the reasoning for her own stubbornness, saw the hatred she felt for Sam and the concern she felt for her uncle. He squeezed her hand lovingly. "He didn't hurt you, baby," he whispered to her. "We're going to get the guy who did. I promise." Clearly, she didn't believe him. "Beside, you try to help me, you're going to hurt your leg even more. Hell, you shouldn't be hopping around without your crutches. Let Sam help me and I'll tell you exactly what I do for a living."

Having been given the 'ok', Sam Beckett, Boy Scout extraordinare, lifted his ailing friend onto the bed. He hoped that some relief would come to him, and quickly left the room without so much as a 'goodnight'.

Carlie stayed and watched the doctor go, but her attention was quickly averted back to Al on the bed. "Al, what happened?"

Laying flat on his back wasn't easing the pain as much as Al had hoped. While it wasn't agonizing anymore, it was still there, making him wince in reaction to it. As for Carlie's demanding question, he took a deep breath and exhaled. "Sat too long," he told her bluntly. "And ghost pains." Getting a questioning look from her, he clarified. "Occasionally, I'll get a terrible pain where I was shot. Usually, I can ride them out but... it's never hurt like this before, to where I can't hardly move."

Carlie didn't do a very good job of hiding her concern. She fingered the dark blue fabric of Al's shirt, gazing at him up and down - analyzing him. "Maybe - you should go on your side?" She sniffed.

"Maybe..." he muttered, closing his eyes for a moment before looking at her and putting on a smile. "I believe I bribed you to let Sam put me in this position. Guess I should make good on that bribe."

"You bribed me?" She asked, "Wow, these drugs are killer. I didn't even notice." Despite the smile she tried to crack for him, it didn't really work. Carefully, she sat on the bed and looked down. "I'm worried, you know? I thought things were great and then this happens. I don't understand a lot of things, but if you couldn't get up from the floor, well - a lot of things crossed my mind."

"Things like Sam was trying to hurt me instead of it being my own stupid damned pride getting in the way?" Al questioned gently.

"Well, yeah," she relented, "Just - I never met someone who was so capable in a wheelchair. And I thought you would be the one to prove to me that there was such a person . . . but now. It's a hard reality to accept."

"Yeah, well, sometimes even the most super-human of us needs a helping hand," Al told her fondly before wincing at a sharp pain. "Giving up faith on me?"

"Not really," she grinned slightly, "Just thinking about stuff. Wondering some stuff. How are you feeling now, anyway? Better?"

Al exhaled slowly. "Still hurts like hell but at least it doesn't feel as if someone's ripping out my backbone with their bare hands anymore." He smiled at her. "And I still owe you an explanation of what I do for a living. That was my bribe."

"Oh, yeah! Gosh, I forgot about that." She made herself comfortable on Al's bed, laying next to him with her head propped up. "Okay, I'm ready. What do you do?"

Here goes my pension, Al thought for a brief moment. However, he knew that if Carlie were to trust Sam, she needed to know that Sam wasn't the man who threw her into a ravine. "I'm the Executive Director for a top secret time travel project which is currently being reconstructed after the original project was sabotaged by a leaper... a time traveler." He completely understood the disbelief on her face.

If Carlie's mouth could hang open any wider, it would have to be reattached with a couple of bolts. "You're joking!" She accused. The look on his face was steady and serious. She frowned, "You're not joking?"

Al didn't answer the question directly but continued his explanation. "The project's name is Quantum Leap. We call time travelers 'leapers'. Our project went a little ca-ca when Sam tried to leap the first time and he wound up being stuck in the past, putting right what went wrong. Since then, we've found out that there is at least one other project out there and one wild card, both of which are putting wrong what went right. They have a beef with me and Sam... and I'm afraid you got in the way, honey. I'm sorry."

Carlie fell back on the pillow, letting out a huge sigh and pondering over the information. "Wow," She breathed, "You're lucky I'm still an impressionable teenager. I actually believe you. I always wanted to believe in time travel. I knew someone out there might have finally done it." She looked at Al, "Can I be a programmer for your project? Oh, that would be so cool."

Al grinned widely, the pain in his back now mostly forgotten at the sight of his niece's bright eyes. "Maybe after you get your doctorate in computer technology," he told her. The thought of Yen throwing her into that ravine took the smile from his face and he found himself shifting his weight slightly to brush her hair. "I was so scared when... when that leaper taunted me about your well-being. If I had lost you..."

Carlie let him show his affection, and even leaned into it a little. "But you didn't lose me, so it's okay now." She smiled at him before attacking him in a full-fledged snuggle-fest. "Io ti voglio bene!"

"Oh, ho!" Al exclaimed. "You mean you are actually studying?" He looked up at the ceiling. "There is a God," he exclaimed, gaining a giggle from the teenager. Turning back to her, he gently kissed her forehead. "Ti amo, mia bambina."