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.


But the Calvary Is Here! Why Am I?

Admiral Calavicci exited the Imaging Chamber and sagged into Gooshie's arms. The programmer lowered his leader gently to the floor. Al looked at the bad breath king with more annoyance than usual. "Help me up. I'm going to my quarters." He held his hand up to the Chief Programmer, but Gooshie didn't offer his in return. Al snarled as best he could, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

It wasn't Gooshie's way to argue with the Admiral, so Al was more than a little surprised when the programmer stood up, squared back his shoulders and said, "Nothing is wrong with me, but I don't want you to move until I get an orderly down here. You're going back to the infirmary."

Al stared up at the Chief Programmer and tried a little bit of silly. "I didn't know you cared."

Starting with his new favorite word, Gooshie said, "Well . . ." He was flustered now, "I do care, so stay put." He called out, "Ziggy, tell Dr Sinclair that we need help here with the Admiral." It was obvious Al was in pain. Gooshie knelt next to him, "Help is coming. Please, just hang on."

Al sat, knees to his chest, holding his head with both hands. He tried to alleviate Gooshie's fears. "Don't get your shorts in a knot. I'm fine. My head hurts and under the best of circumstances, you make it hurt anyhow." Gooshie didn't smile. "Now, come on, Goosh. I'm going to be okay. I just got a little headache."

"Admiral, don't lie to me. I know what's wrong with you and to be honest, it worries me." The little guy brushed some crumbs off his lab coat. "Actually, I'm scared."

Al looked up slowly and stared into Gooshie's soul. "Now, you hear this. You cannot be scared." It sounded almost like an order. "I depend on you too much. I'm going to need you more than ever. If I'm laid up for awhile, you'll have to get information to Dr Beckett. I know that's a lot to ask, but I think you're up to it. What do you think?"

The programmer's pride was as puffed up as big as it had ever been. Words of confidence from the Admiral were all Gooshie needed to get back in control of the situation. "I think I'm ready to take care of things for you." Then with a definite change in demeanor he added, "But, please get better, Admiral. I meant it when I said I was scared. If anything happens to you, I don't know what will happen to the rest of us."

With the intensity of a man used to leading others Al whispered, "Don't be scared, Gooshie. I'm not," but he was in pain. "Damned headache." Covering the stabbing in his skull got harder. "You know, I think you're right. I need to get some sleep before I go back to Sam. In the mean time, you work up all the scenarios you can come up with, but focus on Beth and what makes her happy. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I do. Lay back, sir. I'll get some help, okay?" Gooshie helped the Admiral lay down on the floor. He took off his lab coat, rolled it up and placed it under the Admiral's head. "We'll get you upstairs in a few minutes. Just try to relax. I'll take care of things here."

"I know you will." His eyes closed and he suddenly appeared much more vulnerable than Gooshie ever thought he could be.


Sam walked into the small bedroom he inhabited at the Calavicci bungalow and kicked off his shoes. It had been a long, hard day. His own emotions shattered into thousands of pieces. It was very hard to watch Bingo struggle to swallow a teaspoon of food. It was even harder to hear the story of his tortured existence in the camps. Al had never offered that information and Sam had always been hesitant in asking. Certain topics were not to be broached and prison camp was one. Sam sat on the edge of his bed and started taking off the pantyhose he absolutely hated. A timid knock sounded out. "Come in."

Beth entered Jane's room. She was holding a brown expanding folder. "You busy?"

Struggling as he always did with women's apparel he mumbled with more embarrassment than he thought possible, "Just taking off my pantyhose." The small afghan at the end of the bed was pulled over his lap.

"I want to thank you for today." and she sat on the bed next to Sam. "I wouldn't have made it without you."

"I'm sorry Al is so hurt, but I'm sure he's going to pull through without any physical problems." The comment was easy. The injured lieutenant was going to get better. Sam knew it for a fact.

Beth grinned. "Just like you were sure he'd be coming home and like you were sure that he'd be the one coming home hurt?"

Sam fidgeted. "I guess sometimes I get these premonitions."

"I should have listened to you. Janie, if they didn't tell me it was Al on that gurney, I don't think I would have recognized him." The image of her hero being carried from the transport plane put tears in her eyes again. "He's so small and helpless."

"Al will get better." The comment was closer to being a prayer for the Admiral than a prediction for the lieutenant. "This has been one hell of a day. You have to be beat."

But Beth didn't hear him. She was still with the frail flyboy they told her was her husband. "I didn't expect this. I thought Al and I would be sleeping together tonight. I'm afraid to even touch him, Jane. Skin and bone used to be just a phrase, but he really is just skin and bone."

"Oh, he'll fill out. In no time at all, he'll be flying again."

Her eyes snapped open in fear. "I don't want him ever to go back up. He's going to stop flying. I couldn't take anything happening to him again. No, he's done with the military. He's given enough to his country."

Sam couldn't argue with that point. "Can't say that I blame you, but Al may have other things in mind. He loves flying so much. Who knows? Maybe he can get into the space program. Wouldn't it be great to watch Al fly to the moon?"

"No!" the word was loud, adamant and immediate. She was a little shocked by her intensity, but she continued, "No, it's too dangerous. Al was a friend of Gus Grissom's. Al knows how dangerous the space program is. No, he's grounded forever." Her agitation grew fast.

Taking her hands, Sam told her, "Calm down. There is plenty of time to figure out what he's going to do with his life. Whatever it is, I know it's going to be amazing." He wished he could be there when the NASA conversation came up. Al would have to do some real dancing to convince Beth that going into space was a good idea. The thought made him smile a little

"Anything he decides to do will be amazing, just as long as it doesn't involve flying airplanes or spacecraft." The subject had to be changed. Beth gazed at the folder in her hand. "I was looking at these and thought you might like to see them. These are Al's poems. I don't know if I can find the man who wrote these inside the man they say is my husband. Maybe if you get to know his writing you can help me find him again." She gave Sam a little hug and left.

Sam didn't think Beth could keep Al from flying, but then again, maybe she could. Then his purpose became clear. It now made sense. Sam leaped because Beth was going to make Al stop flying. If Al didn't fly, then his career with NASA was over before it began and that meant Al and Sam wouldn't meet at Star Bright. No Star Bright, then no partnership on Quantum Leap. The Project would be forever changed. At least maybe that was what this leap was about, but he still didn't have any true idea what he was supposed to do in this leap. Until he had more guidance from Al or Gooshie, he was going to read more of the Admiral's writing.


Al was asleep in the infirmary. Dr Sinclair once again had an IV dripping medication into his arm. He watched the drug flow into the Admiral's arm and adjusted the speed. Verbena came in and before she had a chance to ask, Sinclair looked at her and said, "He's sleeping. Dr. Estes wants us to get him to Albuquerque as soon as possible. She's not optimistic."

The MD was getting annoying. "Can it, Gary. You don't need to keep telling me he's dying. You've made your point very well and far too frequently. He knows, I know, everyone knows." There was nothing Verbena disliked more than a person who thought he was a big fish in a small pond. There were only two big fish at Quantum Leap and Sinclair and she were not either of them. "This is a hard time for all of us. Dr Beckett's leap alone would be making us crazy, but this wrinkle is more than we ever expected. See, this is the first time that we have had to deal with the possibility of the Admiral and Sam both dying." Gary looked puzzled. "If the Admiral dies, then we have to write off Dr. Beckett, too. Think about it and you'll figure it out."

Pragmatics had their place, but in a world of imaginative minds, the "fact" oriented physician was out of his element. "The Admiral will not survive this cancer. We'll make him comfortable, but that's all we can do."

"Then why take him to Albuquerque? This is his home."

In the middle of all this, Al awoke. He turned toward the Bickersons. His voice wasn't strong, but it was definitely the Admiral. "This is a charming conversation to wake up to. So, are you planning my service yet?" The visitors blushed and turned their faces to the floor. The Admiral figured they were embarrassed beyond belief and so he continued just to watch them itch. "I want lots of music. Maybe the Blind Boys of Alabama. I always liked I'll Fly Away and this terrific rendition of Amazing Grace to the melody of House of the Rising Son." When silence met him, he kept going. "What is wrong with you people? You don't talk about a man's death like this." He started sitting up and saw the IV. "Not again. Get this shit out of me, now. I don't need to be medicated."

Verbena answered first, "Yes, you do. That medication will keep you from having seizures."

It was Gary's turn. "One of the side effects is drowsiness, but consider the alternative."

"Listen to me, both of you. I have an idea. I have to check it out with Gooshie first. Unplug me, Gary." The doctor didn't move. "Here we go again." No one moved. "Unplug me now or I'll do it myself." His hand moved toward the cloth tape on his forearm.

Gary was angry at having no control over the situation. "I'll do it, but you're trying to kill yourself and I don't know why."

"Verbena's the shrink. Leave the Freud stuff to her. You just keep me functional."

"I'm trying, but you're not letting me do my job." He peeled the tape off with a little more ferocity than needed.

The Admiral was getting pissed off, royally pissed off. "I haven't had any seizures, so I don't need seizure medication!"

"It's preventative. I think you'll need it."

"You just said it's a guessing game. Give me pills. I'll take them just like you want, but this is my call. I know the risks I'm taking. I need time to finish this leap, and then I'm yours. I promise."

Verbena looked skeptical. "You're a well-practiced liar, Admiral."

As Dr. Sinclair pulled the needle from the Admiral's vein, the leader looked at the floor and whispered, "Not that well-practiced and death isn't something I lie about, especially my death."


The bungalow was small and Beth's room right across the hall. She may have tried to hide the sound, but Sam could hear Beth weeping. Tiptoeing to peek in, he saw her on her bed, the think blanket covering her. In her hands, she held a stuffed animal, clutching it, holding it and crying into its soft belly. He was about to go in and see if he could help, but a voice inside told him to let Beth alone. Tears were a necessary indulgence and he didn't want to inhibit their cleansing.

So, he returned to Jane's room and opened the folder of poetry and began to read. There was always a depth to Al, but Sam had no clue how far inside his soul the Admiral could reach. However, a combination of the hour and the exhaustingly long day had Sam eventually falling asleep in the chair, but waking up in a chair meant a stiff neck. The crick was huge and he took a few minutes to gently stretch the muscles. He could hear Beth moving about in the kitchen. A yawn later, he was moving toward the sound of breakfast.

Beth heard Sam before she saw him. "Good morning, Jane," She finally turned to her and laughed. "Oh, no, you fell asleep in your clothes?"

"I guess so."

"I cut up some fruit. You want some?"

"Sure." Al's devoted wife spooned fruit salad into the bowl. "Beth, I heard you last night. You were crying. I thought it best to leave you alone. I hope I was right."

With a forgiving smile she said, "You were right. I had to think things through. Anyhow, Pluto kept me company."

The sleepy gunk in the corner of his eye had to be rubbed away. "Pluto?"

Beth looked sheepish. "Yeah." She confessed her childish actions. "Al bought Pluto for me at Disneyland. You know, Pluto - Mickey Mouse's dog." Once she said it, she turned crimson. "Yes, I was cuddling a stuffed animal at my advanced age."

Al had found his one true love, a woman who understood and accepted any adult responsibility, but one who could cuddle a toy dog, sing Disney tunes and use words like yuckola. They were soul mates and Sam had all the more ammunition for keeping the couple together. "You two are a pair." Smiling at her was easy. "You are going to have the best life together."

Softly she told him, "I hope so, Jane. I hope so." She placed a bowl of strawberries, blueberries and bananas in front of Sam. "My folks will be in today and maybe together we can figure out a plan for a future."

Looking at his breakfast, he said, "You need any help from me you just ask."

Sitting down Beth smiled, "I will. You've been here for me all along." Wanting to change the subject to something more positive Beth said, "My parents are flying in this morning and coming to the hospital right from the airport."

"That's good. Al likes your parents." Sam heard the words coming from his mouth, but couldn't stop them, so before Beth asked, he told her, "More feelings, premonition stuff."

"You're getting good at that. Al and my folks really get along. He calls them Mom and Dad." The appellations were more than just accepted by Ellen and Stuart Waterston. They reveled in their son's-in-law affection and returned it without a doubt. "I don't know how they'll react to seeing him. My mother hates it when any of us are hurting. Seeing Al will devastate her." Her face reflected the memory of Al's inauspicious homecoming.

Sam took a bite of a strawberry and told Beth, "I read Al's poems last night. I never knew he had this talent."

"You're only the second person who knows that he likes to write." Breaking the confidence of Al's artistic tendencies gave Beth pause, but she wanted someone to know who he was. "Al plays tough and cynical, though he says it realism, not cynicism. Toughness he has a lot of, but, honestly, he's sophomorically sentimental."

Every passing minute made Sam more deeply realize that he would not let Al sabotage his relationship to this wonderful woman. Destiny demanded someone like Beth be a part of Al's life. Once he finished chuckling, he said, "Sophomorically sentimental? Oh, I'm sure he'd love to be described like that, but his stuff isn't sentimental. It's awesome."

"Now, I know he'd love to be described as awesome." They laughed in recognition of Al's pride.

Sam took her hand. "I think I'll put in for a week of vacation time starting today. That way, I can help you out. I know it has to be hard to stay with him all day long. You'll need some break time and if you start now, before you get all tired out, it will be easier in the long run."

"I knew there was a reason I hired you. You're a smart one, Jane."

Sam knew there was so much to talk about, but things had to move slowly so everyone had a chance to absorb the enormity of the situation. It was time to end their talk. "I'm also in need of a shower. How soon do you want to go to the hospital?"

"As soon as you're ready, but take your time. I'll call into personnel and let them know about your vacation. Thanks again for that, Jane. It means a lot to me and I know Al appreciates it too."

Swallowing down the last strawberry in the bowl, Sam rose. "Give me half an hour." A nice long shower eased the ache in Sam's neck. Since he gave Jane a vacation, he dressed in casual clothes figuring Al would respond better to people not wearing anything that looked like a uniform. A pair of blue slacks and a denim blouse topped with a little knit vest seemed appropriate. The outfit also gave him a good reason to wear tennis shoes. High heels were almost the worst thing about leaping into a woman. He put a comb through his hair and went back to the kitchen. Beth was putting the dishes away. They went off together to Balboa Naval Hospital where young Al Calavicci lay hoping for health and happiness.


Balboa Naval Hospital is a fine institution, but it is an institution. It has to insure its patients are medicated, fed, bathed, etc. All these necessary things have to be done on schedule. After all, the hospital has to function efficiently. The only problem was that patients' emotional issues were relegated to secondary and even tertiary positions when a life hung in the balance. This was the case with young Al. He needed food and since it took too long to help him swallow on his own, a feeding tube was ordered. It made medical sense and the morning shift nurse shuffled in with the equipment. With a patronizing pat on Al's shoulder, she lubricated the flexible tube and began to thread it through his nose. Under the best of circumstances, it is an undignified, painful and ugly procedure. In this case, it was a reminder of past tortures. Al tried to protest. He tried to lift his arms to fight off the offending tube, but the nurse was stronger and she easily stopped the flailing arm. She called for help and another nurse came in with padded restraints to hold Al's arms down. He fought the bonds, but was in a losing battle. All he could do now was surrender to the V who tied him in the tiger cage that kept him bound and imprisoned. At least, that's where Al thought he was, back in Vietnam and the nurses didn't seem to understand his protestations.

Beth and Sam entered the room and found the two nurses securing straps around Al's wrists. He was confused and a terrified. A panicked expression showed he was back in his VC prison. Sam demanded, "What the hell are you doing?"

The first nurse innocuously said, "A feeding tube was prescribed and we're inserting it."

Beth rushed to unfasten a restraint. Her anger rose, revealed in the escalating volume of her voice. "Don't touch him. How dare you restrain him like this? Do you know where he's been for the past eight years? My God!"

Sam worked on Al's other wrist. "He spent years tied up in a cage. How could you do this to him?" He focused on the desperate patient. "Al, listen to me. You're home. They didn't know. You're not ever going to be shackled again. I promise."

The nurse looked puzzled, "Shackled? We weren't shackling him. It was for his own safety."

It was Beth's turn. She held Al's thickly scarred wrist out for them to see. "Look at this. Don't you ever think of putting any kind of restraint on him again. Do you understand? Lieutenant O'Neill and I will help Al eat. You will not intubate him. It takes time to feed him and I know you don't have time, but you will not restrain my husband simply because it makes your life easier!"

Sam was impressed with Beth's ability to command. She was as powerful in her own way as Al was in his. They were a good pair. This woman could stand up to the Admiral without any problem. Sam was further convinced he was there to keep this marriage together.

The nurses left Sam and Beth alone with Al. Beth threw the restraints at the wall. "How stupid could they get?"

"Beth, don't get all worked up over this. You haven't even said hello to Al yet."

Al's eyes were still filled with fear and unable to focus on where he was. Beth took his hand and put her face close to his. "Good morning, baby." She kissed him. "You're home and safe. You're with me again. Remember?'

He looked at her and recognition came back slowly. "Beth, I came home."

"I know, Al. I'm so proud of you."

His voice faltered. "I kept my promise. Can I die now?" His eyes closed and he began to cough. His body was too weak for the spell and he passed out.

Beth busied herself trying to forget his words. She checked his vital signs. When she found them to be satisfactory, she looked at Sam. "I was expecting today to be easier than yesterday." The specter of his request to die haunted and frightened her.

Sam noticed the fear stiffening Beth's movements. "I don't know if you can plan how each day will be. He's going to need a lot of help for some time, but I know he'll be all right."

The fear in his voice and the fear that it would never change demanded she escape this new prison her husband was in. "Yeah, listen, Jane, will you stay with him for awhile? I want to go check on something." She had already gotten to the door of his room. "I'll be back." Beth was gone. Sam was left alone to deal with this pale version of his future friend.

Sam sat at Al's side and held his hand. "Hi, Al, do you remember me?" Al lay mute and unmoving. "You're not awake, are you?" The lack of movement didn't mean anything. Al might be awake or he might not. In either case, Sam continued, "You need to know that you're going to be fine." Sam went on talking knowing full well that it was more of an inner dialog he was voicing. "You may find this hard to believe, but you're going to be better than all right. Next year, you're going to go off to MIT and get your degree in astronautics and then NASA is going to send you to the moon. You're going to be a big help to me a decade or so from now, but you don't know anything about that now, do you. This is really weird, Al. I mean I know you almost better than I know myself, but you think I'm Jane O'Neill. You have to know I never would have let this happen to you, if I'd known. Saving Tom was really important to me, but not at this cost." Sam straightened out the bed sheet. "God, I wish there was more I could do. You don't know how much you've given me." If Al didn't know, then there would be no better time to tell him. "You gave me my dream. I have to be able to put things right for you here. There's so much you have to accomplish." When there is too much to say, words seem to be harder to find. Sam thought for a moment. "Al, you got to help me again. I don't know how to make this better. You can't be alone in the future. Beth has to be there for you, the Admiral to rely on. I don't want you to go through cancer alone."

The nurse who put the restraints on Al returned with a tray holding a small container of pureed food and a teaspoon. There was apology in her words. "We were only trying to help."

"I know, but he's been through hell the past eight years. A lot of that time, he was restrained and tortured. You didn't know, but please be extra kind here. He has to learn to trust people again and without our help, he may never regain that trust." Sam was thinking about the man he found beating a vending machine with a hammer in 1986. That was a man who had no regard for humanity. That man had no regard for himself.

An understanding nod from the nurse assured Sam that Al would receive more attention to his needs. "I'll mark in his file to take extra time with him and to be gentle."

"Thanks. He's asleep now. I'll help him eat when he wakes up." The nurse left. "So, it's you and me again, Al. What do you think of all this?" The repatriated MIA stirred a bit. "You waking up?" A small sound came out. "Good. Open your eyes, buddy." Al's eyes started to flicker, but Sam could tell that he didn't recognize his surroundings. "You're at Balboa Naval Hospital in San Diego. You're home, lieutenant."

Al stuttered. "No. A trick."

"This isn't a trick. You're home and safe."

Sam wasn't sure Al heard anything he was saying. The young lieutenant's eyes stared blankly ahead focusing on nothing in particular. He whispered, "Water, water."

The pitcher on the bed stand was filled with ice water. Sam pulled a few ice chips out and slipped them in Al's mouth, but the thin body wasn't used to cold. He started to choke. Sam put his arm behind Al's back and helped him lean forward. The little bit of ice that was left spilled out. A thin ribbon of red started dripping down his chin. "I'm sorry." He helped Al back down onto the bed. "You okay?" Pulling a tissue from the bed stand, Sam wiped away the blood Al coughed up with the ice.

Al was out of breath. "Let me die."

In a voice he thought only he could hear, Sam muttered, "No wonder Beth leaves you."

From behind him, he heard Beth say, "Leave him? What are you talking about?"

This time there was no way to cover, so Sam changed the subject. "He's coughing up blood."

Beth turned into a nurse and started taking care of the medical issues at hand. It was easier than dealing with her feelings and Sam knew that. It may not have been the wisest decision he made, but it got him past the awkwardness of her unexpected arrival. The bleeding was nothing serious, but Sam needed a way out of the room, "I'll go get a staff nurse." His exit was quick.


The Admiral was pushing his limits big time. While walking down the corridor, he kept up all the appearances of a healthy man and only those who truly knew him could tell that his step was slower, his concentration just slightly off, his headache growing. Verbena wouldn't leave his side which annoyed him. "Don't you have something else to do? What about Jane O'Neill. A lot of women get really upset when they see Sam's body."

With an affect as flat as she could muster, she told him, "Jane is fine. She's asleep."

"Drug induced?"

"Yeah, so? You should be in the same state."

"If you're going to shadow me, then be quiet and let me do what I have to do." Al made his way into his office. He parked himself in front of the computer terminal and started inputting scenarios. Verbena sat in the chair across from him and simply watched. After a few minutes he looked up, "Can't you do that elsewhere? I'm doing private stuff here. That means I need privacy."

"I can be quiet." She sat like a Catholic school girl waiting for mass to begin.

The image wasn't lost on the lapsed former altar boy. "You can also be irritating. Verbena, I have some scenarios to run and I don't want you here when I run them."

"Admiral, you need an ally right now and I'm it. Please, tell me what you're planning."

He wanted her to know. He really did and there wasn't ever going to be a right time, so he plowed ahead and just prayed she'd understand. "I'm working on getting Sam back home."

"We all are."

"But I have something that might work." Al knew he needed help. "You have to promise to be objective. I've got a plan and you're not going to like it. I'll let you in on it if you promise to keep it quiet until I say otherwise." He took her silence as a yes and proceeded to tell her the plan she outlined earlier for Sam. "That way I die in his body, the person I leap into dies in my body, Sam gets home and no one is hurt." Nothing was said for a full 10 seconds. "What do you think?"

And she thought there was no such thing as a stupid question. "You're out of your mind."

He couldn't understand why people didn't see the beauty in his plan. "What happens to Sam if I die?" If she didn't hear the plea, he wasn't going to let her in on it. He continued, "You know the answer. So if I try chemo, radiation, surgery, whatever and it fails, then Sam doesn't have a chance in hell to come back. My way, only I have to die."

"You don't know your chances for survival."

Looking at the ceiling the Admiral demanded, "Ziggy, tell Dr. Beeks the odds of me surviving six months."

The sultry computer spit out the statistic, "With the current test results available, I can predict that Admiral Calavicci's chance of surviving six months are 2.35 percent."

Verbena objected, "That's without treatment. What are the odds if you begin treatment as soon as possible?"

The computer wasn't much help. "The odds of surviving increase to 6.24 percent, though they return to 2.77 percent at 12 months."

Al sat back in his chair, triumphant in the news of his impending death. "Kind of weird, isn't it." Verbena looked puzzled. "I'm actually happy that I only have a 6 chance to survive. This makes it easy obvious that my plan is the best option we've had presented to us."

"Any plan that includes your death is not an option. What about the poor schmuck you leap into? Are we supposed to sit around and watch him die?"

"Right before I leap, I take a lethal dose of something that will kill 'the schmuck' painlessly." Despite the language, there was no sign of jest on the Admiral's face. He was physically and mentally sober and it was exactly that fact that frightened Verbena. He stood and moved in front of her, sitting on his desk. "Listen, kid, I know this doesn't sit right with you doctor types, but there comes a time when you have accept your mortality. This is my time."

"I can't believe that."

"Sam leaped into a Native American kid once to help his grandfather die. The good Dr. Beckett's medical training didn't want to let go of the old man, but Sam finally saw that the right thing wasn't necessarily the easy thing. Sometimes, death is the most logical, practical, and humane way. The kicker is, it gets Sam home." She still wasn't convinced. "I've gone through too much and, actually," his heart felt a sense of peace, "I'm ready now."

Verbena was shaking her head through his entire speech. "How can you be ready?''

"There's nothing more I have to prove and the only thing I have to do is get Sam back. This is perfect. Can't you see the beautiful logic here?"

Tears were in her eyes. "Admiral, don't give up this easy."

"Give up? Sam leaped how many years ago? It's been a long, long time. Every minute of my life is centered on getting him home. This is the first time a practical solution has presented itself. Verbena, I'm dying. Right now my mind works. I don't want this to go on too far and then my brain turns to cold polenta and I can't think straight."

"Well, you're not thinking straight now."

"Yes, I am. I figured this all out maybe a year ago, but I never told anyone except Ziggy." He faced the air, "Right, Babe?"

Ziggy chimed in with her sexiest voice. "Oh, I love when you call me babe."

"I was waiting until something happened, something like this. See, I wasn't going to kill myself and if I became the leaper, we'd be in a similar fix and Beckett would kill himself just to get me back. Now there is an answer and Ziggy, tell Verbena when I came up with this plan."

"Admiral Calavicci worked through this scenario shortly after Dr. Beckett and he simo-leaped."

Al smiled at Verbena. "See, this isn't the plan of someone just diagnosed with a terminal illness. This is something I figured out a long time ago. The timing has never been better."

"No, Admiral. Don't do this. Please." She buried her head in her hands. He took her into his arms. "I don't want you to die."

"It's okay, sweetheart. You just keep on crying, so long as those are happy tears." He held her close. It comforted her and hid the immense pain was driving through his head. "It's okay, Verbena. Everything will work out fine,"

She felt his body tense up and pulled back to see his face tightened in a grimace "You're in a lot of pain."

The lightning flashing in his eyes made her statement seem silly. "And it's only going to get worse. Help me, please. Help me get Sam back."

Verbena stood up and gently eased the Admiral into the chair she was sitting in. "You can't be working like this. You're too sick."

In a typical move, he put both hands to his temples trying to stem the dizziness that started to overwhelm him. "I remember something my father told me once." Affecting an Italian accent he said, "Alberto, cancer is a shitty disease." He flashed a wicked smile and then bowed his head. "Verbena, I want to get some sleep, and if you can believe it, alone."

Still cracking jokes. She helped him up and led him slowly to the leather couch across the room. By now, his eyes were closed and he was completely under her control. "Take it easy, Al. The couch is right here." As he lay down, Verbena looked around for something to cover him, but this was the Admiral's office, not hers. There was no afghan decorating the back of the overstuffed chair. He didn't seem to mind because in a matter of seconds he was asleep.


Sam walked around the outside grounds of Balboa. A bench was parked under a tree and he sat down. The things buzzing around in his head were overwhelming. He learned too much too fast and he couldn't process it. He hated this leap. Seeing Al all beaten up and wanting to die, seeing Beth struggling to find her courage, seeing the Admiral abandoning his fight against cancer before he'd begun - it was all too much to think about, but that was his job. There had to be a solution to it all. What he needed was input from Al and Ziggy, but that wouldn't be coming.

It was only 10 o'clock and Sam was tired. Of all the leaps he had been on, he couldn't remember any of them being this disquieting. The more he thought about what was happening, the more he saw a kind of sense in Al's goofy scheme. That scared him. The thought of finally being home was tempting. If Al was terminal, why not use that as a means to an end? Then another cliché came to mind, the end justifies the means. He hated that cliché.

He gazed down the walk not really noticing anything or anybody until a cab pulled up to the entrance and an older couple stepped out. It didn't take anything more than a quick glance to see that this man and woman were Beth's parents. The family resemblance was eerie. Even though he didn't know what he could do, he thought it best to intercept them before they got to Al's room. With quick step, he caught up to the Waterston's as they entered the building "Excuse me, but you're Beth Calavicci's parents, right?"

Her father answered. "Yes. Where is Beth?"

"I'll take you to her in a minute." Sam guided the couple toward the couches in the entry. "Please, let's sit down. I think you need to know some things before you go up."

Mrs. Waterston accepted Sam's invitation. Her face looked anxious, filled with fear and yet with delight. Her son-in-law was home. "Are you Janie?'

Sam had forgotten to introduce himself. He apologized. "I'm sorry. Yes, I am. I was with Beth when she met Al's plane."

Mrs. Waterston burst into tears. "He's really home? And alive? I have to see him." A well used handkerchief wiped her eyes, apparently again.

"She's been crying for hours." Mr. Waterston smiled and put his arms around his wife. "My name is Stuart. My wife is Ellen. It's nice to meet you Janie."

"My pleasure. I'm so glad Al has family like you that cares so much, but there are some problems you may not know about."

Ellen nervously took Stuart's hand. "Beth said he was doing well. We figured he'd probably be thin and maybe a little weak."

"It's more than that, much more. The Navy got his name mixed up with the other man they rescued. Al is very sick and badly hurt."

Stuart, ordinarily a matter-of-fact kind of guy, started to get as agitated as his wife. "Beth is a nurse. He'll get better."

Sam knew that he would, but he had to respond as Janie. "He's in very bad shape. My personal feeling is that he'll come through this, but he won't be the same man you remember."

Al's in-laws stared at each other. Ellen asked, "Does he have his arms and legs?"

"Yes. All four limbs are intact. They've been broken and shot up, but they're still where they should be. I think I just want you to know that this is going to as hard on Beth as it is on Al. They both need to heal from this. Al's body has been beaten so badly, but he can overcome that. It's the emotional and psychological healing that will take time and a lot of help and understanding."

Stuart couldn't quite figure out what Sam was trying to tell them. "I think we should find Beth and Al. The boy has been waiting too long for his family."

Sam laughed. He hadn't heard any one ever refer to Al as "the boy" before and he loved the affection it indicated. The trio made their way through the hospital to Al's room. By the time they got there, a flurry of activity made it impossible to enter. Sam tried to catch the arm of a nurse going in. "What's happening?"

"He's hemorrhaging." She continued in.

Ellen and Stuart wanted to go in as well. Sam stopped them. "Let me go in first. I'll get Beth."

Sam pushed into the room and found three nurses and a doctor trying to stop Al's pathetic cough. Each noise he made brought up a mouthful of blood and his body didn't have any to spare. Beth stood with her back to the wall just watching in stunned shocked silence. The medical team was helping Al. Beth froze and Sam wanted her out of there.Blocking her view of the rescue team, he whispered in her ear, "Beth, your mom and dad are here. They're outside. Come with me. Al's in good hands."

As soon as Beth saw her mother and father, she collapsed in their arms and cried like a very little girl. They held her. Sam led the group to the waiting area at the end of the hall. Beth was still crying, her head buried deep in her mother's shoulder. With each sob she told more of Al's story. Her parents listened and couldn't believe the hell his tenacity and sheer strength of character allowed him to survive. Ellen kept muttering, "The poor boy."

Stuart simply got angry. "That damn war. Our best men come back like this. It's not right. It just isn't right, damn it."

Inwardly Sam smiled knowing that Al did indeed have a family here, not only a wife. There was no way he would purposely ruin this chance for Al. Sam would deal with the consequences of the Admiral's ire later. Right now, he had to work out a way to keep the lieutenant and his wife together, though he felt the addition of Beth's parents just might be all that was needed. He half expected to leap out at that moment, but still no blue leap light formed around his body. He was still Janie and still puzzled as to why.