Chapter 16 by C. Selene McBain and Kat Freymuth

When Sam's vision cleared and the light that surrounded him dissipated, he saw that he was in an elevator. The elevator was familiar to him, and he vaguely even remember why he was in the elevator to begin with. Not bad for a start. He was alone, which made him comfortable. And he was wearing a labcoat.

Of course he was wearing a labcoat. He was heading towards the Control Room of the project . . . wasn't he?

When the door hissed open, the Control Room of Project Quantum Leap was revealed to him a myriad of blinking colored lights and a deep humming of the hybrid computer the room housed. Stepping into the room, he knew it to be very late. Without much more thought, he automatically stepped behind Ziggy's console and began to work upon its surface.

"What are you doing down here?" a voice came from under him. Looking down, Sam noticed the pair of legs sticking out from under the console. The owner of the legs pushed himself from underneath and looked up at Sam expectantly. "Well?" Al's question was hard and unfriendly.

Sam braced himself for whatever wrath his Italian friend might unleash upon him and answered, "Working. What are you doing here? Or do you have a female technician down here for company?" It seemed hardly the right thing to say, coming from a Midwestern farm boy. He'd only leaped in seconds ago and he can't remember being more angry to see Al.

"If I did, Beckett, you'd seen her and she'd be fully clothed," Al told him with a glare. "What is with you anyway? Not everything I do is related to sex and you damn well know it!"

"Sometimes I wonder," he replied, turning away and trying to focus on the data that came onscreen upon the console, "You seem to put more effort into taking a girl home than getting our funding approved. How you managed to keep this place for the five years I was gone, I'll never know."

"I'd like to see you do it," Al muttered, standing up.

Absently and without looking up, Sam said, "You mean have sex? I have. I have a son to prove it. What do you have, Al?"

Al had had enough of Sam's attitude. This was going too far. For pete's sake, he just had a bit of fun in Washington, D.C.! What the hell was wrong in that? Grabbing Sam's shirt, he forced the physicist against the closest wall. "You know, I'm tired of hearing your holier than thou attitude. You want to run this place by yourself? Want to get your own funding without my help? Be my guest. You'd be lucky if you make it six months."

"I can and I will," Sam seethed, slightly surprised by the strength the smaller man had over Sam's bulk, "Get off of me."

Al pushed him one more time before releasing his grip. "Fine," he told him. "Have it your way." He marched towards the door. "I'll place my resignation letter on your desk before tomorrow afternoon."

But this wasn't right, was it? At that moment, every fiber of Sam's being told him that not being angry at Al was against the forces of nature. He didn't really want Al to leave. He just wanted him to understand that he couldn't just go sleeping around carelessly.

"And then what, Al?" Sam asked, "Retire? Go back to drinking?"

Hearing that accusation in Sam's voice, Al turned and glowered at him. "What the hell do you care? You've had it with my little escapades, to quote you! So, now you won't have to worry about me and my escapades ever again. It's over, Sam. You're on your own. But you always preferred it that way, didn't you?"

What the hell was happening, Sam thought to himself. This all seemed so familiar to him, and something terrible was going to come of it. He wasn't home, he realized. He was in the past. This happened before . . . and something was going to happen. Why can't he stop being angry and just forgive his friend?

Sam's insides were twisted in turmoil and confusion. He tried to get a grip on what was real and what wasn't. Everything's changed now. He approached his angry friend, trying to calm his own nerves long enough to speak clearly.

"Al," he began, swallowing and clenching his teeth against another wave of anger.

"It's over, Sam!" Al proclaimed, putting more space between them. "I've had it! We stopped being friends the moment you decided you had to fix that damned Retrieval Program. It's better this way. At least my 'gallivanting ways' won't interfere this time." He walked out of the room, determined to follow through with his promise. He was going to resign, effective immediately. Sam Beckett can go and scrounge up his own funding!

"You can't just leave!" Sam called out hopelessly, childishly, "You can't . . . have to finish this! Damn it." He turned away from the door as it shut, leaving him completely alone in the control room. "What the hell is happening? What am I doing here?" He asked himself, expecting no one to answer.

"Uh... Dr. Beckett?"

Sam spun around, startled by the sound and even more surprised to see Gooshie. Handlink in hand, the redheaded programmer flickered slightly. He was a hologram.

"Gooshie! What the hell is going on?" Sam demanded, causing the nervous man to jump at his tone.

"Well... you've just leaped into yourself," Gooshie answered. Frowning for a moment, he raised the handlink and pushed a few buttons. A moment later, his image stabilized. "I'm going to have to fix that problem," he murmured. Seeing Sam look at him with a hint of frustration, he gave a slight shrug and then consulted the handlink. It's 2000 and you've leaped into Project Quantum Leap the day before Admiral Calavicci resigned."

"I hate to say it, Gooshie, but right now I couldn't care less," Sam stated plainly. He stopped then, turning away and vaguely remembering . . ."Resigned? Al never resigned. I must have changed something. He was shot before. Oh, god - and paralyzed. Gooshie, does the Admiral still get shot?"

"Sh... Shot?" Gooshie questioned with a frown. "You don't remember what happened?"

"Apparently not," Sam gave in, giving Gooshie a look that told the programmer to get on with it.

Gooshie looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Umm... Admiral Calavicci resigned literally minutes before he was found dead in the parking lot. His throat had been cut..."

There was no stopping Sam at that point. The moment he received the news, he was like a bullet train running down the halls of the complex. Nothing would stop him from catching up to Al. "Al!" He called out, looking around and finding no sign of him. He took the elevator up to Al's office, hoping to find the Admiral.

Gooshie recentered himself on Sam, finding him in the elevator. "Dr. Beckett, this doesn't happen until tomorrow afternoon..."

"What happened in the original history?" Sam demanded, ignoring Gooshie's attempt to calm him.

"Just what I said..."

"No!" Sam demanded, looking at him with a glare. "The ORIGINAL history. The one in which Al was paralyzed."

"Paralyzed?"

"Ask Ziggy!"

Gooshie hesitated but pushed the request in the handlink, frowning at the answer. "Apparently, you changed history somehow because Ziggy's saying that Admiral Calavicci was shot and paralyzed. He became a guardian to a teenager girl, remarried his first wife and then... he died of a spinal cord infection. His niece and wife were found dead, apparently beaten to death with a golf club."

"But now that doesn't happen? Is that what you're telling me? That I changed history somehow, and Al never gets shot and paralyzed, but he never gets his niece! Or Beth - God - what have I done? I have to find him." He left the office, going towards the residential quarters of the complex, "If I can just talk to him, and keep him from resigning. I have to apologize up and down for my stupidity. He shouldn't have to die, Gooshie. If anyone is responsible, it's me. Now tell me where the hell he is!"

Gooshie again consulted the handlink, trying to find the answer to his question. "He's left the complex," he finally answered. "Ziggy doesn't know where he went but she knows that he comes back around ten o'clock tomorrow and writes his resignation. After having lunch in the cafeteria, he brings his resignation to you and just leaves. We don't have any details about his murder, only that he's found fifteen minutes after he left by an MP on patrol in the parking garage."

Sam stopped, rubbing his face in frustration. "What the hell am I supposed to do?" He practically yelled at the anxious programmer, "Just wait for him to come back tomorrow! Damn it!" He spun and kicked the wall. Panting, he leaned against it, hiding his face against his arm. "Any suggestions?"

"Well... where would you look for him if he didn't want to be found?" Gooshie questioned. After six or seven leaps, he was already getting a sense of the job. "Dr. Beckett, if there was anyone who really knew the Admiral, it's you."

"I don't know, Gooshie," He started, but then it came to him, "The stars. Ten minutes away from here. That's where he'd be if he wanted to be alone, which I imagine he would. Thanks, Gooshie." And he left the flustered observer to take his jeep out into the desert - to the place he knew the ex-astronaut liked to be.

It wasn't too hard to find. Al had taken him there once before, a turn off ten miles down the highway led to the edge of a ravine. It was a spot that was far enough of away from any manmade lights that brought the stars out to the fullest brightness. He slowly brought his jeep up behind Al's Testerosa, turning off the lights and waiting a moment before stepping out of the vehicle.

Cautiously, he slowly approached the driver's side of the red Testerosa. The sun roof was retracted and he saw Al laying back in the driver's seat with an oldies station playing softly. At first, he said nothing, knowing Al must have seen his lights.

Al had seen the lights first. Then heard the footsteps on the hard desert surface. But he didn't move, his attention focused on one particular star as he lay in his car, his feet on the steering wheel. "What do you want?" he asked in a harsh tone, not looking at the figure that stood by his open car window.

Sam had long since cooled off his anger. Knowing what he knew, he couldn't let his friend die for something so petty. In fact, he had a lot of apologizing to do. "I just want to talk," he started, stuffing his hands in his pockets and feeling rather sheepish all of a sudden, "I wouldn't have come all the way out here just to fight again. Please, Al. Hear me out?"

Al exhaled slowly at his words. "Step back," he ordered. Getting compliance, he opened the door, swung his legs out and stood up. Closing the door behind him, he walked to the front of the car and carefully laid on the hood. "If you're gonna talk, I might as well have a better view of the sky."

Sam moved around the Testerosa, on the other side and sitting on the bumper. He, too, looked up at the sky, thinking of how to start this painful conversation. Best to start with the basics, Sam figured, "I'm sorry, Al. I've been a real jerk to you. I don't even think saying I'm sorry is enough for the way I've been acting."

"I'm sorry too," Al replied after a long moment. "But this isn't the first time you've been a jerk to me. Maybe I'm just tired of accusations of being irresponsible when I have time and time again risked my career to save your dreams."

"I know," said the younger man softly, "I'm selfish. And sometimes I think I'm better than others just because I think I have higher standards. You're a good person, Al, and I don't want to lose you. Especially not because of my own stupidity. I worked too hard to earn your friendship in the first place."

"Well..." Al exhaled slowly. "You get two hard-headed intelligent people in the same room day in and day out and eventually they're going to butt heads every once in a while. I just can't believe that you would ever think that I would put hedonistic pleasures over you." He sat up slowly. "Maybe I do like the affections of women a little too much but I would never let them get in the way of my responsibilities to you, both as the Project Director and as my friend."

Smiling inwardly, he turned his gaze to his friend who joined him on the bumper. "I know that, Al. God, I feel like an idiot . . ." There was a sound not far from them, a footstep crunching on the sand. "Did you hear that?"

Al slowly stood up, quietly shushing the scientist. Looking around, he froze at the dark shadow of a man aiming a pistol at his head. He didn't say a word, however. Sometimes silence brought out more information than suddenly asking questions.

The man was dressed in a uniform, as an MP. Sam even recognized him, and didn't have the good sense to be quiet. "Al, that's the guy who shot you." He said quietly. The MP turned his aim toward the physicist, and slowly grinned.

"What the hell do you mean, 'shot me'?" Al whispered, his heart pounding. He swallowed, just watching the MP in front of him.

The MP fired a shot into the air, making both men jump. One shot gone, he had 9 more in the clip of his .45. Plenty to kill both men. "I didn't think you'd recognize me, Dr. Beckett. I suppose it makes it more interesting this way," said the MP, taking careful aim of the gun to Sam's head.

"Hold it," Al said in a calm tone, even though his mind was anything but calm. "Let's talk about what's on your mind. Okay? I'm sure that whatever is bothering you can be resolved in a peaceful manner." He hoped he was making a difference. He certainly didn't want to see Sam's brains decorating his Testarosa.

"What's on my mind?" said the MP flippantly, aiming the gun lower. He fired a shot. Sam reeled, falling to the ground and holding his bleeding leg. "That about covers it." He grinned again, aiming at Al this time.

"Sam!" Al cried out, seeing his friend fall. It was only the sound of the gun being cocked that stopped him in his tracks. He didn't say a word for a long moment, one eye on the MP and one eye on Sam. "Why?" he asked with a swallow. People didn't just shoot people without a reason!

"Why? Because I hate him. You and him both. Stealing my formulas, my work for that pathetic replica you call a computer. Those were my schematics. My ideas. The farm boy knew nothing about programming before me." The MP took aim at Sam again, while the other man struggled to catch his breath and stop the bleeding from his thigh.

"Yen?" Sam said, incredulous. He swallowed. The man had a passion for those he hated, relentless in getting revenge even back in their days at MIT, where they met.

"Very good, Dr. Beckett. You'll know the name of your murderer before you die," said Yen.

Al raised his hands, carefully stepping between Yen and Sam. "Yen... we can talk about this. You were always a really smart guy. You just want credit where credit is due. I can get that for you. I'm the one who talks to the big brass..."

"I know who you are, Admiral," said Yen defensively, threatening to fire the gun at him if he moved any closer, "The credit is mine. Or haven't you figured it out yet? I'm not really here. I'm Corporal Banes. I got what I deserved. Now it's time for both of you to get yours." He pulled the trigger. The bullet whizzed by Al's head, barely missing his ear.

Al flinched at the sound of the bullet passing his ear, forcing himself not to react to the close call. "So, you leaped into Banes," Al told him. "Who are you working for, Yen?"

"You said yourself I was smart. Now why would I be dumb enough to tell you?" He cocked the gun again, "The next shot won't miss, Admiral." Yen seemed to be concentrating on Al, who was blocking Yen's view of Sam. On the ground, Sam managed to distract himself from the pain in his leg long enough to assess the situation. Al must have a gun or something, in the glove compartment - of the passenger side of his car . . . five feet away. He inched his way, stopping every so often to see if Al could still keep the madman talking.

"Well, you're going to kill me anyway, aren't you?" Al asked carefully. "Doesn't the antagonist always tell the protagonist the whole story of why they're going to die and who they work for, et cetera?" A moment later, he felt the cold steel of the barrel on his forehead. "Guess not, huh? I'm not going to be able to talk you out of this either. So why don't you shoot me and get it over with?" His words were spoken out of a mixture of frustration and trepidation. He didn't want to die, that was for certain. But he was running out of ideas on how to get out of this one.

"Unless you have a plan to stop the bullet from entering your brain, you're all out of luck," said Yen. But just then, the door to the Testerosa opened wide. It distracted him from the Admiral, shoving the man aside and firing his gun at Sam, who was shielded by the car door.

Shoved to the side, Al took the chance given him. Reaching out his legs, he entwined them with Yen's, causing him to fall to the ground. There was a hard struggle between the two men which ended with a loud bang, the sound of Yen's gun going off.

The first to move from the struggle was Yen, exhausted and filthy from the roll on the sand. He looked at Al, satisfied. But not long before he felt the barrel of another gun at his head. He frowned. Sam had gotten the gun from Al's car. The physicist breathed heavily, trying to make the decision.

"You can't kill me," said Yen cynically, sneering. Sam thought, only for a moment. This man threatened him, and his best friend, his friend's family, and his own family. After that, it wasn't a hard decision. He pulled the trigger. Sam closed his eyes at the sound of the gunshot. He hoped that was the end of the man's reign of terror.

Letting Yen fall to the ground, he went to Al, checking over him and froze at the sight of his blood at his abdomen. "No! Al, wake up. Stay with me, please," Sam pleaded, "God, not again."

Al opened his eyes slowly, looking up at his friend. He gave a weak smile, trying to hide his pain-filled eyes. "I'm not dead yet, Sammy." He cried out slightly. "Gawd, it burns like hell!"

"Can you move your legs?" Sam asked nervously, desperately, using his labcoat to staunch the bloodflow from his friend.

"I'm bleeding and you're worried about my legs?" Al questioned, crying out at the pressure Sam placed on the wound.

"Please, Al, just tell me and stop being stubborn. Can you move your legs or not?" He relieved some the pressure, realizing he might have been too eager to stop the bleeding. For the second time in his life, he had to see his friend bleed. He didn't like it - in fact, his feelings on the situation were bordering on loathe.

"I think so," he panted painfully. "I don't know. GAWD!" He pounded the ground under him. "It's hard to breathe."

Sam swallowed, trying to help his friend up onto his feet. "Come on. We have to get to the infirmary. I can't help you out here in the desert. We'll take your car. It's faster. Okay?"

"Sure," Al gasped, grabbing Sam for support. When it became obvious that Sam was having trouble getting him off the ground, Al remembered Sam's own bullet wound. "Which leg did he hit? What happened anyway?"

Sam dropped to the ground, against his will and struggling to stand. Panting, he tried again to get Al standing and into the Testerosa. "Don't worry about me, okay? It's just a flesh wound. Hurts like hell, though. Help me out, here, Al. You're not as light as you look."

"You think I'm not trying?" Al commented back with a weak smile. It took a bit of effort but, somehow, he was able to get to his feet. It was a struggle to get to the car and into the passenger's seat but, once there, Al immediately reached into the back, ignoring the agony to scavenge the first aid kit he had there. If other people saw what Al kept in the kit, they probably would wonder if he was preparing for a war.

"Here," he told Sam as the latter struggled to get into the driver's seat. He held out a large gauze pad with ties. "Get that on your leg. I've got myself covered."

Thanks to Al, both of them were able to be somewhat patched up. They were able to avoid questions from security and managed to limp down to the infirmary. There were a couple nurses on graveyard there. Sam's wound was easier than Al's. Disinfectant and a few stitches, and the wound was dressed and ready.

Al was going to have to stay in the infirmary with an IV of fluid. While the nurses called down Dr. Bryce, Sam limped in to see him. He was laying in a hospital bed, shirtless with a makeshift dressing over his abdomen. The bullet hadn't been taken out yet.

"How are you holding up, Al?" Sam asked.

"Tired," Al told him bluntly. He gave a weak laugh. "On the way here, I honestly thought I was going to die. I couldn't help laying in that reclined seat, staring at the sky moving above us and think how beautiful it was and that I was going to touch it soon." He gave Sam a smile. "Guess that isn't going to happen for a while. If Bryce can get the bullet out and if I'm not too messed up inside."

"I think - you're gonna be okay," Sam began, thinking carefully about what he was going to say next, "Besides, you have to stay alive. For Carlie's sake."

"Carlie?" Al questioned with a frown. "Who's Carlie?"

Sam smiled with the vague memory of who the girl was, remembering what a blessing she had been to Al no matter how much trouble she gave him. Sam leaned down to his friend. "She will be the best thing to ever happen to you. She's your niece. Don't ask me to explain how. But once you find her, you'll never want to let her go. Trust me."

The moment Sam explained himself, everything became clear to Al. "Ah," he said gently. He smiled up at his friend. "Thank you."

Sam nodded. "You're welcome." He touched the Admiral's shoulder before leaving the small room. His friend would live, he knew that. And he would find happiness. Looking around the main area of the infirmary, he realized he was lifting slowly - leaping. Despite the new timeline, he would still enter the accelerator in the future. For what reason, he couldn't say.

Within seconds, Sam Beckett of the future was gone, replaced by a disoriented Sam of the present, left to sit and wonder what had happened.