A Promise of Home


This Quantum Leap™ story utilizes characters that are copyright © by Bellasarius Productions and Universal Studios. No infringement on their respective copyrights is intended by the author in any way, shape or form. This fan fiction story is written solely for the entertainment of the readers and is not for profit.All fiction, plots, and original characters are the sole creations of the author.


The Source of the Pain

The Admiral emerged from the Imaging Chamber tired and washed out. Staff psychiatrist, Verbena Beeks was there to greet him with her warm smile and gentle touch. "Come with me Admiral. You need some rest."

His eyes were flashing a light show and he couldn't cover the stabbing in his brain any longer. "I need something for this headache, Verbena. Something strong, but don't knock me out."

"You've been fighting a headache for a couple of days now, haven't you?"

The truth was it had been at least a month, but he said, "I don't know." He dropped the handlink and threw both hands to his temples. "God, it hurts."

Al started to fall forward, but Verbena caught him. "Gooshie, get over here!"

The programmer came walking over completely oblivious to the Admiral's plight. "You want something, Dr. Beeks?" He finally saw Al struggling to stay upright. "Oh, my. Is he all right?"

"Does he look all right? Call the infirmary. We need some help here stat."

The Admiral's pain was beyond belief. "Damn. This hurts too much." Gooshie grabbed a chair and with Verbena's help, Al was safe, but falling forward and losing consciousness quickly.

Verbena started to panic. "Al, can you hear me?" but there was no answer.

Though it seemed like hours, in minutes, a medical team arrived. They rushed the Admiral up to the Project Infirmary where Dr. Gary Sinclair waited for him. Al was wheeled into the trauma room. Nurse Liz Madison followed close behind. Verbena was left in the infirmary's waiting area to keep watch and worry. One of the medics approached her, "Dr. Beeks, are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Why don't you go relax a bit? Dr. Sinclair will call you as soon as he knows something."

Verbena nodded and made her way to her rooms where, like everyone else in the project, she waited for news concerning the Admiral's status.


Beth woke early the next morning. The red sun dress looked beautiful with her brunette hair. After his own sleep trials, Sam awoke and wearing Jane's uniform, walked into Beth's bedroom and found her combing her hair, "Jane, would you help me? My hair looks terrible. I want to look perfect for Al."

Fixing women's hair wasn't a skill Sam Beckett possessed. He was barely able to comb his own without making it look goofy. "You sure you want me to do this?"

"You're fabulous with hair, please?"

Sam took the comb from Beth and began to try and follow the simple style Beth wore. It wasn't as hard as he thought and when he ran his hands through her hair, he could imagine how Al felt when he did the same. He thought about all the new things he had learned about his friend. He wrote poetry, survived a physically abusive childhood, had a genius IQ, never tasted pumpkin pie until he was an adult, and in this time line, he was in horrific pain after finally being released from a Vietnamese camp. What Sam didn't know was that Admiral Calavicci was in almost as much pain as the lieutenant, but unlike the Lieutenant, the Admiral's chance of survival was not guaranteed.


Hours later, Verbena called the executive staff together to discuss the situation. She was the first to arrive in the conference room. The big chair at the end of the table was where Al usually sat when he conducted his meetings. She tried to sit there, but found she couldn't. It was Al's place and she wasn't ready for anyone, not even herself, to take his spot. The others came within the next two minutes. When all had arrived, she sat down and made eye contact with Gooshie, Dr. Sinclair, Chief of Security Bob Andrade, Chief Hardware Technician Stacey Priester, and Dr. Donna Elesee, Sam's wife and staff quantum physicist.

"You all are aware that Admiral Calavicci is ill. I'd like Dr. Sinclair to fill us in on the details of his medical status."

"He's stable now. According to Ziggy, he's had a headache for several weeks which he never told me about. We took a series of x-rays, a CT scan and some spinal fluid. With his symptoms and the test results," he stopped for a breath. His next words were going to be devastating and he hated saying them. "We're dealing with a brain tumor, probably malignant." Dr. Sinclair addressed Verbena directly. "He needs a neurosurgeon as soon as possible."

Donna wanted concrete information and she asked the question everyone wanted to ask, "Gary, is Al going to die?"

"I can't say, but my guess would be that he's in a lot of trouble. We can only do cursory tests here, but the mass has probably been there awhile."

Verbena took over after about ten seconds of stunned silence. "Okay. There is a time for dealing with our feelings and a time to deal with the administration of the Project. Right now, we have Dr. Beckett involved in a leap. Gooshie, can you create a link between him and yourself the way you did when Stiles was here?"

"I think so. It depends a lot on the woman he leaped into."

Stacey added, "If you want him to see you, we'll have to make some hardware adjustments."

Waving them out of the room, Verbena told them, "Get started now. Sam has to know what's happening here."

Gooshie started talking, but no one was sure if it was to himself or to someone in particular. "It shouldn't take too long. I can open the program we used with Stiles and modify it." He left muttering the changes he'd need to make in a computerese that only he and Stacey spoke.

Donna stood, "I'm not needed here. I'm going to stay with Al. Is that okay, Gary?" The doctor nodded. "Let me know if I can help." Donna left.

Bob Andrade looked at Dr. Sinclair. "I'll need the names of the doctors you have in mind, I'll start preliminary clearances." And one more left the table leaving only Verbena and Gary.

He said, "That didn't take long."

"Everyone knows their job. Once we're in crisis mode, we move. You're relatively new here, but this is what happens when we're in trouble. The staff here was handpicked for their specialty and their ability to work independently in a group. Does that make sense?"

"I suppose." He asked a question that he hated asking, "What happens if he dies?"

She hoped she was the only one who considered that possiblity, but obviously that wasn't the case. "There's a plan, but we're not going to have to implement it because you're going to get him through this."

"I'm not sure I can. Brain tumor at his age and with his history. I don't know how he got into the space program. In the seventies, they were very fussy about entry requirements."

"How much time have you spent with him?" A slight shrug indicated that Gary didn't know the Admiral all that well. "You have to know him to understand he gets whatever he wants or needs whenever he wants or needs it. That's his special talent."

Donna walked from the conference room to the infirmary. She pulled a chair up next to Al's bed. He was resting. She put her hand on his and quietly began to sing the song that seemed to be his favorite. "Georgia, Georgia, the whole day through. Just an old sweet song keeps Georgia on my mind." His eyes slowly opened. She smiled at him, "It's Donna, Al. You got to rest, now. You're one sick puppy."

He looked a little confused. "What are you doing here?"

"Just came to keep you company. You've got to concentrate on getting better."

He was disorientated and unable to determine what time line he was living. "No, I'll be okay. See, since I'm alive now, I have to be okay in 1975." A shooting pain in his head made him moan and gasp. "Damn it. That gun butt hurt like hell." He closed his tired eyes and tightened into a mask of deep pain. "Fuck, it hurts, but you know, for three hours I was free." A wicked grin opened up and he tried to sit up. The wave of dizziness pulled him back pretty quickly. "That was a bad idea, but kid, you got to keep trying." He started moaning, but the pain was remembered torture from Vietnam. "God, is Beckman around? My shoulder popped out."

No one knew his life in Vietnam. He never told them anything and now she was privy to his attempt to escape. As much as everyone thought they needed to know his past, now that Donna was hearing it, she felt like she was intruding on too intimate a moment in his life. She tightened her grasp. "Take it easy, Al. Deep breaths, come on, concentrate."

His body stiffened again in some recollected assault. "Shit, someone needs to break that fucking cattle prod." His back arched against the electric stabbing into his spine. The pain passed and he looked into Donna's eyes. All recognition of her had vanished. He stared and stared and nothing was there. "I should remember you, but I don't."

"I'm Donna, Sam's wife." Leaving him in Vietnam was too cruel. She wanted him to come back to New Mexico. "You're safe here. Remember Quantum Leap?" He wasn't paying attention, but she kept talking to him. "It's okay you don't remember. Just get some sleep. You'll be feeling better soon." She continued with her song. "Georgia, Georgia, no peace I find. Just an old sweet song keeps Georgia on my mind."

Donna straightened out the thin blanket covering him and sat back knowing there was nothing more she could do, but also knowing Sam would want her to stay at his side. Besides, she wanted to stay with him, to stay with her best friend. It finally clicked in for her. Al was her best friend and she couldn't bear the thought of losing him.


An impressive limousine pulled up to the bungalow. An ensign came to the door and escorted Beth and Sam to the car. Inside was another woman and a boy about three years of age. They all awkwardly looked at each other. Beth extended a hand to the woman. "Hello. I'm Beth Calavicci."

The woman took Beth's hand. "My name is Martha Robertson. This is my son James."

"Hello, James." The boy smiled at Beth. "You are a handsome young man." James started to hide behind his mother. "This is my friend, Jane O'Neill.' Everyone exchanged greetings and then they were quiet. Beth finally found the courage to ask, "Are you meeting your husband, too?"

"Yes. He's been an MIA for two and a half years now. They found him and another pilot a few days ago."

"My husband's the other pilot. His name is Al."

"Dwight." The woman stumbled for her next words. "Your husband is Navy, too? I hear that he's doing well. I'm glad for you and him."

Small talk seemed incredibly small considering the event about to unfold, but Beth sympathized, "I'm sorry Dwight has been injured. I hope he'll be okay."

The edge of the Pacific Ocean sent the scent of the sea into the limousine. "How long was your husband missing?"

Staring out at the sailboats in the distance, Beth said, "Eight years."

James wanted to look out the window too and fussed on his mother's lap. "That must have been terrible for you. I'm glad he's well. After eight years, he deserves to be."

Beth tried to give solace to her sister-in-situation. "So does Dwight. The number of years doesn't matter."

The conversation was difficult for Sam to hear. He knew the truth. Dwight would be walking off that plane, not Al. He looked at little James. "Has your husband seen his son, yet?"

"James was born seven months after Dwight was shot down. I'm not even sure he got my letter telling him I was pregnant. I hope he's happy about our baby here."

Sam smiled, "Who wouldn't be happy with a handsome young man like that?"

Martha took the boy's hand. "I've tried to tell him that his daddy is hurt and sick, but little children don't understand. They told me that Dwight was tortured. Why do people do that? There was no reason to torture him or any of the boys who went. Captain Velez told me he couldn't walk and that he weighed only 87 pounds when they found him. Dwight isn't a real big man. He's five nine, but a full grown man can't be weighing 87 pounds."

Sam knew that a man who was five six shouldn't be weighing 87 pounds either.

Beth's compassion showed in her face. She placed her hand on Martha's and James'. "He'll probably be checked into Balboa. I'm a nurse there. I'll make sure he gets extra special care. I promise you."

"You're very kind. Thank you." Martha smiled and looked at Sam. "You're a nurse too, I see."

The rest of the trip was filled with more awkward small talk. The whole point of this trip was to greet lost men and that was the focus. Everything else seemed meaningless. The limo pulled into the airport lot. Another entourage met the quartet and they were all escorted to a waiting room overlooking the runways. They would watch the plane landing. Sam sat next to Beth and together they stared at the sky. Beth's shining eyes looked about the tarmac and she wondered to Sam, "There's no honor guard. There should be some kind of honor guard for them." From the corner of his eye, Sam saw the Imaging Chamber door open. The figure emerging flickered and didn't look much like Al. Sam touched Beth's hand, "I'll be right back."

Sam walked away from the group plastered at the window. The flickering light moved with him and he heard the light call his name. "Dr. Beckett, can you see me?"

Whispering under his breath, "Gooshie, is that you? Where's Al?"

The Programmer was brilliant, but socially he was inept. In situations where he had to bring bad news, he stammered and stumbled. "Well, we have a little problem here. He can't come to see you."

"More like won't. Damn him."

Gooshie's image became clearer. "Well, it's actually more like can't. I guess the best thing to do is just tell you straight. I don't really know how to. I've never been good at this sort of thing."

Sam's patience was wearing very thin. "Gooshie, I don't have a lot of time here. Where is Al?"

His ease with conversation didn't match his ease with machines. Gooshie just didn't know what to say so he said the obvious. "Admiral Calavicci is sick."

Recalling Al's exit, Sam said, "He had a headache last time he was here."

"Well, it's more than a headache." Gooshie stopped talking.

There was no time for pulling each piece of information from his Observer. "Come on, Gooshie. What is going on?"

"Well," he was increasingly uncomfortable and just blurted out, "He has a brain tumor."

Sam wasn't prepared to hear that news. "What? A brain tumor? Malignant or benign?"

"Dr. Sinclair isn't sure, but well, he's leaning toward malignancy. I guess the Admiral has been having headaches for weeks and didn't say anything."

"Are you sure it's cancer?" The sad reflection of Gooshie answered him silently. Then reality hit Sam in the face. In this leap, he had two Al's in his life and both could die. "Okay, you go back now and you tell Al everything is going to be okay. You make sure he does everything the doctor wants him to do."

"I'll tell him, but you know the Admiral."

"Gooshie, he's got to get better. Make sure he does."

Gooshie could hear the catch in Sam's voice. "Don't worry, Dr. Beckett. We'll take care of him. He's going to be fine."

"That's not what you said."

Lying was an impossibility for Gooshie. "Well, I guess not, but I can't imagine anything happening to Admiral Calavicci, can you?"

Maybe Sam had believed that at one time, but he knew better now. He didn't want to, but he knew better. "I have to get back to Beth." Sam turned to leave, "Gooshie, tell Al not to worry. I'll take care of Beth. Everything will be fine."

"Dr. Beckett. Being here is a real power drain. I can't get back here for at least 24 hours."

"Okay. I understand. Go back to Al. Tell him everything will work out." Sam walked back to Beth and the Robertsons. They were all standing at the window. In the distance, a Navy transport plane was taxiing toward the waiting area. "Is that the plane?"

Beth took Sam's hand. "This is it, Jane. Do you think Al's looking out here at us?"

"I don't know, Beth." One last time, he had to try one last time. "Please remember, he may not be in the best of shape." He felt Beth's hand quiver and wondered if it was her body shaking or his. Al was coming home and the powers controlling Quantum Leap privileged him with participation in this most righteous moment.

The ensign driver escorted Beth, Martha and James Robertson down to the tarmac. Sam stood a few feet behind. A warm breeze blew and created a scene worthy of a Rambo movie - the returning war heroes, the wives and child waiting for them. It was all perfect except that Beth's illusion was about to shatter and that could possibly shatter her life and Al's.

Inside the plane, Commander Robertson was talking to Bingo. "What do you know. We made it. We're in San Diego, Bingo. Can you hear me?"

Bingo looked up at the Commander. "Home? We're home?"

"Yeah, San Diego. We're home in America. Hang on just a little while longer." He looked out the window next to Al. "Man I can see them. I see my Martha. She's got a little boy with her. What do you think, Bingo? You think maybe I'm a daddy? Oh, my Lord. Look at that boy." Knowing his friend couldn't see the amazing site, Robertson told Al, "I see your Beth. Hey, she is a looker, Bingo. She's wearing a red dress and, damn, is she beautiful. I used to think you were bragging, but you're right. She is really pretty." He wiped a cool cloth across Al's forehead. "They waited for us, buddy. Just a few more minutes."

A dry hollow voice asked, "Beth?"

Robertson patted Al's arm. "She's here. Remember this day, Bingo. Remember today for the rest of your life. There won't be another one like it ever."

The stairs were secured. An ensign opened up the door on the transport. Four Navy orderlies ran up the steps and into the plane. As Beth mentioned earlier, Sam noticed the absence of any welcome, no young sailors in full dress holding raised swords, no band playing music. There was nothing to formally welcome these two lost men.

On the ground, no one spoke. There was too much anticipation to make words possible. Almost a full minute passed before Commander Robertson appeared at the top of the stairs. Martha gasped so loud that she frightened James. Sam stepped forward. "I'll watch your son," and Martha ran toward the stairs as Dwight ran down. As the reunited couple hugged and kissed, Beth came to the realization that Sam's admonitions were right. "Beth, are you okay?"

"Janie, Commander Robertson, look." She pointed to him and chuckled as if a bad practical joke just went awry. "No, no please. It's not fair. Please, God, have Al walk off the plane now. Please have him walk off the plane."

The Robertsons came toward Beth. Martha took her boy from Sam's arms. "Dwight, this is your son, James. James, this is your daddy."

The little boy mumbled, "Daddy." and he too was involved in the family's rejoicing.

Dwight turned to Beth. "You're Beth?" She nodded. "I'm proud to meet you. Your husband is a real hero. Without him, I know I'd be dead. He's going to need a lot of care. They beat him up really bad, but if anyone can come through all this, Bingo can."

The shock kept her from meeting anyone's eyes. "They told me he was fine."

Dwight looked at Martha. She knew what happened. "Dwight, they said it was you that was sick. Mrs. Calavicci was expecting her husband to walk off the plane and I was expecting you to be carried. I guess they got your names mixed up."

At that moment, the orderlies began to carry a gurney down the steps. One man held IV bags. Sam saw the men first. He took Beth's arm, hoping to steady her shaking knees. "Beth, I think they're bringing Al down now.

Beth walked unsteadily toward the orderlies, Sam at her side. "Beth, Martha said Dwight weighed 87 pounds. Remember that. Al's only going to weigh 87 pounds."

The medic that flew home with Al approached Beth. "Mrs. Calavicci?" He took her arm and led her away from Al. "Why don't you come with me."

Finding the courage was hard, but she pretended it was there and told the medic, "I want to see my husband."

"We're taking him directly to Balboa. I think it's best if you wait until he's settled in a room there. He's not feeling or looking too well right now."

Beth was a zombie, unable to react. Sam intervened. "Beth wants to see Al now. She's been waiting eight years for this. Don't take him away from her again."

"No, Jane. It's all right. I can wait." Beth pulled her hand from Sam's and walked back toward the waiting room.

Sam ran after her, "Beth." He caught her arm. "Beth, Al is home. He needs to see you. You need to see him."

Beth turned to Sam. Her eyes were wide and frightened. "Not yet. I can't see him, yet. I thought he was coming home to me, not to the hospital. I need time to get used to this."

"What about Al? How do you think he's feeling now? He knows you're here. If you leave without seeing him, you're going to regret it." Beth's earlier tears of happiness were now flowing in sorrow. "Beth, he loves you and I know you love him. Go see him. I'll be with you."

The gurney carrying Al was being placed inside a waiting ambulance. Beth saw the back door start to close. Al was in there and she understood in her mind what her friend had just said even if her heart wasn't certain. She ran to the car with Sam following. "Wait. Don't leave yet. That's my husband." She stopped the ambulance by standing in its path. Barking orders as well as Al ever had, she demanded, "You let me inside now!" The orderlies opened the back door and Beth and Sam got in. Beth pushed an orderly out of their way. "We're nurses. You go sit up front. We'll take care of him here." The orderly didn't move. "Now, Ensign! I'm Lieutenant Commander Calavicci. Do you understand?"

Beth and Sam maneuvered their way onto benches on either side of the gurney. Beth moved close to Al's face and gasped at the sight. Sam had to concentrate on not throwing up despite the fact he'd seen Al's projection the night before. Leaning over in Al's line of sight, Beth put her hand on his face. "Al? Can you hear me? It's Beth, sweetheart. Can you open your eyes?"

It took effort, but his lids finally opened revealing blood red corneas making his emaciation even more pronounced. Focusing wasn't easy in the dimly lit ambulance, but eventually Al came to recognize the beautiful face of his beautiful wife. Summoning up all his strength, he whispered the first words Beth heard him say in eight years. It took three breaths for him to tell her, "I promised I'd come home, Beth." Her tears dropped onto his face. She started to wipe them off. He whispered, "No, I want to feel them."

She took his hand in hers and could actually feel the bones. Beth gazed at Sam. "Janie, look at his hand. There's no muscle left."

Sam had never seen anyone as fragile as Al. Even knowing that he was going to survive didn't make the reality of this current timeline any less difficult. Al's body was a testament to the remarkable cruelty of human beings. It was an even bigger testament to the remarkable will human beings have to survive. Sam could see oozing scar tissue around Al's wrists and above his elbows. Fractured teeth were covered by a bite plate and his lips cracked from malnutrition and dehydration. His sallow skin had blue/green/purple bruises. As a young man, Al was handsome, but even with his curly, dark hair grown too long for regs (the way Beth always liked it), this Al was frightening to see. Sam found the remnants of a bullet wound in the returning hero's upper arm. It must have passed through without hitting a bone or an artery, but the insignificant medical care he received left an ugly scar.

In a very real way, Sam was glad that Admiral Calavicci didn't have to witness any more of this leap. It must have been devastating for the Admiral to see himself the night before. Sam fought back tears, "Al, what did they do to you?"

Beth looked at Sam. "I don't know if we'll ever find out, Jane. I hope he doesn't hold all this inside him."

Sam knew Al would never tell the horror he experienced. It was a trait that would later make him dependent on alcohol and anger. Maybe if things went more smoothly now Al might be able to avoid those killing demons. It was amazing how one change affected so many things in a life. There was an awful lot riding on the success of this leap.

For the rest of the ride, Al stared up at her, his eyes rarely blinking. Sam felt that he might leap at any moment. Al had told him Beth didn't touch him at all and this Beth was holding Al's hand and running her fingers softly down his cheek. Her hand rested against his forehead, "Jane, does he have a fever?"

Sam put the back of his hand to Al's forehead. He was burning up. "Sure does."

"Let's pull this blanket back." She and Sam lifted his frail arms and moved the blanket off his body. He was wearing a hospital gown that allowed them to see more of the damage done by the VC. Al's left leg had been broken and not set. Its deformity was readily apparent. So were more scars than Sam could begin to count. Al's belly distended. The outline of his hip bones showed through the thin cloth covering. It was as gruesome a picture as Sam had ever seen.

Beth avoided looking at Al's body and just stared into his eyes. Despite everything, all the mistreatment he received, there was something in his eyes that was still Al Calavicci. She said nothing. She simply stroked his cheek, gently played with his curls and smiled at his sad face.

While Beth and Al got reacquainted, Sam decided to give Al a quick examination beginning with his feet. Scars and healing sores encircled his ankles. Thick calluses on the soles showed he hadn't worn shoes possibly for years. Two toes were missing. Sam never noticed that before. Using the lightest touch he could, Sam palpated Al's abdomen. There was a lot of tenderness over his intestines. Sam assumed that Al was battling parasites. He found a stethoscope and listened to Al's heart and lungs. The sounds weren't as strong as they should be, but they were steady and that was reassuring.

Beth leaned over close to Al's ear and whispered, "I love you."

Okay, time to leap, but no blue light phased in. Sam was still Jane. What else was going on here? He wished he had better access to Ziggy. But Gooshie couldn't be available like Al. Then Sam's thoughts went from young Al to the Admiral. How was he doing? Did they have any more information about the tumor? Maybe, it wasn't cancer. Sam said a short prayer for both incarnations of his best friend.