Chapter Eleven by C. Selene McBain and Kat Freymuth

Gooshie watched the admiral exit the chamber. Before he could zoom out of the other side of the room, he said, "There seems to be a problem in the waiting room, Admiral."

"And that would be?" Al asked, stopping to look up into Gooshie's nervous face.

"David Sheldon. He's walking around. Dr. Beeks has been trying to talk to him. I think she needs you in there, sir." replied Gooshie.

Al exhaled. "Yep, definitely eight years ago," he muttered, turning to wheel up the ramp that led to the Imaging Chamber. Fortunately for him, the door opened automatically and he entered without even having to stop.

"I knew it was a matter of time," came Sam's voice from the other side of the door. The man who looked like Sam, dressed in a fermi suit, was taking circles around the dias in the middle of the room. Verbena Beeks had given up the fight and only observed. "I told those docs I'd be walking again. Boy, this is great"

He turned to see Al roll in, in a wheelchair that looked very similar to the one he had left behind. The man's face fell into a frown. "What the hell is this? I don't need a councelor anymore. Look, see?" He jumped up and down, lifting his legs in turn.

"Oh, boy," Al murmured, lowering his head before he exhaled loudly. He rubbed his face for a moment, trying to decide how to handle the situation. When he came up with absolutely nothing, he looked at Verbina, getting a shrug in response. "Uh... David," he started. Gaining the man's attention, he took a breath. "This... You're not cured, David. This is... a dream." Getting an incredulous look from Verbina, he gestured her to leave.

Dr. Beeks, though she was reluctant, nodded and left the room. She touched the Admiral's shoulder on the way out. Once the door was closed behind her, David felt it safe to talk again. "Who are you?" he asked, "How can this be a dream? It's so real. I'm walking, don't you see? The accident never happened. Right?"

"The accident happened, David. You were paralyzed," Al told him plainly. "But I'm walking!" "Are you sure? Or are you dreaming that you're walking because you want to so badly?"

David narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the older man. Quietly he said, "What about you? Don't give me that 'adjusted' crap! You want to walk just as much as me, or any body with their ass stuck in a chair."

"That doesn't mean I'm going to spend my life wishing for something that isn't going to happen," Al told him bluntly. "When you... wake up... you're going to be back to being paralyzed and you're going to have to get used to living your life rather than wasting it on a useless dream."

David said nothing for a moment, hanging his head and thinking very hard about the circumstances. Maybe it wasn't real. Maybe it is just a dream. He was told he would dream about walking for a long time.

He sat down on the floor, folding his hands in front of him. "So - I guess I should just enjoy this dream?"

Al lowered his head, wishing that he hadn't needed to lie to David. But he knew it was for his own good. And in a way, it was a truth. Al himself still had dreams every once in a while where he'd be walking around. In one, he had actually danced with Carlie. That was a nice dream. "Yeah, enjoy every single one of them. Sometimes what ifs... can lift your spirits."

David swallowed, his face solemn. He stood up again, stretching legs he won't feel again after the dream was over. "Okay. I guess - if that's the only choice, I won't waste it." He stopped, thinking for a moment before looking at his older companion. "Do you ever wish you could dance again?"

Al tensed at David's question. Was he reading his thoughts? Probably not. But the coincidence was unnerving. "All the time," Al admitted. "I used to love to dance."

David smiled sadly. "Yeah. It was great, wasn't it? Dancing..." Then he started a slow waltz, dancing with the air. "There was a beautiful girl once, when I was in College. I almost asked her to marry me. I danced with her all night." He stopped, "Then I made love with her. That was a great night."

Al smiled gently. "With the right woman, a dance is everything in the world."

"Yeah. I'd been meaning to call her too," David said, sitting on the dais, "Her name is Bethany. She had the most beautiful blue eyes and the softest hair. But if I called her now . . .," he sighed, looking down at his feet, "I don't know what she'd think."

"If she's in love with you as much as you are obviously in love with her, she'll understand," Al assured him.

"You think so?" David asked, unsure, "I just don't see how - a woman could love a man who isn't the same anymore."

"Has your personality changed any? What about your beliefs? Your morals?" Getting a questioning look from him, Al leaned forward. "Your body doesn't make you who you are, David. It's what's up here..." He touched his temple. "... and what's in here..." He pointed to his heart. "... that makes you who you are. Nothing else."

After a while, David nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so, huh? So - So I should call her?"

"I would," Al said with a smile. He gave a little laugh. "The worst she could say is no. And you've already been through worse than that, right?"

"You bet," David said pointedly, "I hated that stryker frame. Felt like I was gonna pass out every time they moved me."

"Tell me about it! And I thought astronaut training was bad!"

David laughed, nodding again. "Yeah." He stood up again, walking around the dais once more before approaching Al. He stuck out his hand, "It's nice to meet you, Mr. . . ?"

"Call me Al." He accepted his hand and shook it.

"Al." He confirmed, gripping the man's hand. "You got a girl, Al?"

Al laughed. "In a manner of speaking." Again, the confused look came across David's face. "I have a niece whom I'm raising."

"Well, if she's anything like you, I think she'll turn out pretty good," David confided, "Thanks for talking to me."

"Hey, it's the least I can do." Al told him with a smile. "I'll see if we can scrounge you up something to eat." He turned to leave.

Verbena was waiting outside the waiting room door when Al rolled out. Once the door was safely closed again, she spoke, "How is he doing?"

"He's doing okay," he confided. "I've convinced him that it's all a dream."

"Good," Dr. Beeks let out a breath of relief, "The last thing he needed was false hope. I'm glad you were able to talk to him." She smiled at the Admiral, "And I should apologize."

"Apologize?" Al asked. "For what?"

Verbena lay a gentle hand on Al's shoulder. "I haven't been treating you like a friend for a while either," she said, "Like Sam, I had been too afraid to treat you the same as I always have. And I couldn't have been more wrong. I'm sorry."

Al took her hand off her shoulder and held it. "Hey, now. Stop that. I don't want to hear anymore moping or self-pity. Okay?"

Verbena's smile widened, and she squeezed the Admiral's hand. "Okay," she said firmly, "I promise. No more moping. But I have to ask something. How are you dealing with this? With Sam?"

"What do you mean, how am I dealing with this? I'm dealing with this as if it were another leap. Another damned leap after three years of having him home."

"Exactly," she said, "Which is why I ask. The reason why he did it was different from the first time. He can't accept the guilt he's dealing with, so he thought going back in time to help you was the best way. I know that's not an easy thing to live with, Al."

He sighed at her words, leaning back in his chair. "I keep telling him over and over and over but he just won't listen. I don't want him to have to learn this way but... maybe some time in my shoes will make him understand."

"Not a bad way to learn," She said, patting his shoulder, "Even it is hard. Now, I've got some things to do in there," she indicated the waiting room, "You go on. Sam probably still needs your help."

"Probably," he agreed. He rubbed his face. "I've got to check on Carlie..." he started but, when Verbina assured him that she'd take care of it, he nodded. "Okay. In I go, then." Rolling into the Imaging Chamber, he centered himself on Sam.

When Al found him, Sam was on the floor again. This time, in the bedroom. From the looks of it, the scientist tried to transfer into bed - without much sucess. He was wincing slightly and rubbing his back, awkwardly propping himself up on one hand.

"I thought you said you'd be back in ten minutes!" Sam scolded.

"Hey, if I spent a little more time than I promised, I'm sorry," Al retaliated. "What the hell happened to you?"

"I fell," Sam practically pouted, his ego horribly bruised - probably more than his rear, "And my back is killing me."

"Sorry to hear that. Try feeling shooting pain from the middle of your back all the way up to your neck. A little back ache is nothing." Getting a glare from Sam, Al put his hands in his lap. "Are you going to get in the bed or not?"

"I'm getting to it!" Sam protested, "Has Ziggy said anything else about why I'm here? I still don't believe that dealing with paralysis is the only reason. There's gotta be something else more significant."

"Well it is the only reason you're here, Sam. Get over it."

Sam shook his head, still not convinced. Again, with how Al instructed him previously, he lifted himself up into the chair. It took nearly all the strength he had left, as he was still wiped out from the first time. His rear barely made it into the seat.

"I've been thinking, Al," Sam confided quietly, "Trying to remember things. And why I'm here. I wish - I wish I could remember what happened to you."

"I was shot," Al told him as if it were a common occurrence. "Someone tried to kill you. I pushed you out of the way and took the bullet instead. Simple as that."

"But who?" Sam asked, "Who would try to kill me? Why? Why would . . ." And then an expression cross his features, of deep and hurtful realization. "We were angry," he said quietly, not noticing the look of worry the was slowly crossing Al's features, "I was angry at you. For something so stupid . . . the elevator doors opened. An MP had a gun."

"MP's carry guns all the time, Sam," Al excused, concerned about the look on Sam's face. When the tears started to roll down his cheeks, Al shook his head adamantly. "It wasn't your fault, Sam. It wasn't. Don't start blaming yourself again over something you had no control over."

"No," he said finally, his voice trembling, "It wasn't my fault that you were shot. What was my fault - was that I wasn't there. For you. For three years, I didn't stand by you and help you. I wasn't your friend, like I should have been. Fixing you isn't the answer. I just . . . I should have been there."

"Aww, Sam..." Al started, exhaling softly. "I forgive you. I forgave you a long time ago..."

"I'll make it up to you, Al," Sam finally said. He wiped away his tears, reaching for his friend's hand. But it passed through the holographic image. Sam swallowed, nodding. "I swear to God, I'll make it up to you."

Those were his last words before the familiar electricity filled his being - and he disappeared. The imaging chamber was blanked, showing nothing but solid blue walls.

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