"To right the unrightable wrong,
To love pure and chaste from afar,
To try when your arms are too weary,
To reach the unreachable star."
- Don Quixote, "Man of La Mancha"

Chapter 14

Don Quixote, Dulcinea, and Sancho

When Sam awakened, he lay on his stomach, his face turned to the side, on the cold metal operating table. His arms were stretched out with two sets of handcuffs holding him down. His left arm was bandaged, and the pain from Tony the Chopper's "operation" still overwhelmed him. He had to admit, it was not as bad as the operation itself. This pain, he could handle by simply not moving and reminding himself to breathe through it.

"Sam?"

That soft voice prompted him to open his eyes. Al stood beside him, and Sam could see that his friend had been crying. He wondered if Al had left his side at all. Silently, he glanced around the dark, musty room.

"They're in the other room watching TV," Al told him.

Sam faintly heard the actors from Northern Exposure speaking in a witty banter. Tina had liked that show and watched it loudly on her monitors, much to Sam's distraction.

"I'm so sorry, Sam. I really am."

Sam managed a weak smile. "You've been saying that … all day. It's getting … really annoying," he teased weakly, but it did not cheer Al up. Just hearing Sam's voice, scratchy from all the screaming, pained his heart.

"We had planned to have me Leap into you, at least get you out of here."

Sam immediately began to shake his head. "No. I can't let you do that."

Al knew from the start, Sam would protest the maneuver. "It won't work anyway. We were struggling on this all day, but Ziggy's estimation of success never went above seven percent."

Sam felt relieved. Although he desperately wanted the pain to be gone, he would never accept such a sacrifice. "Don't you ever … think up something … like that again." He struggled out a smile. "The last thing we need … is both of us … bouncing around time … like a couple of idiots." He tried to laugh, but the pain flared up sharply through him. He clenched his jaw and sucked air in through his teeth. "It hurts," he cringed, trying to be strong but feeling his resolve fading in the wake of agony.

"Oy, Tony," they heard Aldo say in the adjoining room. "Sounds like your patient is up."

"Eh, he'll pass out again."

"Maybe he's hungry," chuckled Aldo. "You saved that gross shit, right?"

"No more gross than you eating a hot dog. Now shut it. I can't hear what Maggie is saying." The television volume went up a few notches. Neither one bothered to get off the threadbare couch.

Sam tried to breathe through the pain, but his body began to shake. He felt cold. Shock from severe blood loss, a logical part of him realized. The shivering made the surgical site hurt worse. He clenched his good hand. The handcuffs on that one were loose, giving him enough movement to scratch his head or grab the edge of the table, but not enough to reach the other set of cuffs. He opted for pressing a pressure point on his shoulder that dulled the nerve impulses from his mutilated arm. It was enough relief for him to catch his breath, but he still felt like vomiting.

Al reached his hand out to Sam's head. He knew he could not touch him, and that immense separation anguished him. Even though Al saw the facade of Theodore Nyt, he knew that was Sam in there, Sam's body that had those deep bruises, burns, cuts, and now this barbaric removal of muscles.

"It's not fair," sneered Al. "I should be able to rescue my own friend. I should be able to…" His throat choked up. Another tear swelled on his pink eyelid and rolled down his weathered cheek. "Goddammit!"

"Al," sighed Sam.

He smiled gratefully. Just knowing he had someone there for him gave him strength. He began to reach to Al's face, wishing he could wipe those tears aside and reassure him. The handcuffs rattled, and his fingers went through the holographic cheek.

Still, Al knew what Sam meant and leaned into that touch he could not feel. This small gesture, comforting him in the midst of torturous agony, spoke more than any mundane words. Although Al felt guilty for his lack of caution, he saw that Sam held no blame toward him. Their friendship reached beyond Time.

Sam let his hand collapse back down and lay still. Moving like that hurt, and he had to wait a moment to overcome the waves of nausea. "Any chance I'll Leap?" he whispered. Having Al by his side was comforting, but he still wanted this pain to be gone. He knew immediately that the news would not be good by the way Al's forehead wrinkled up.

"Ziggy thought perhaps you were meant to get Araceli home and kept assuring all of us, as soon as she reached her parents' place, you'd be out of here."

"But?" There was always a but.

"But … it's night now, and no Leap. Ziggy assures us, there are no reports of a crash or anything bad. In fact, at the moment, Araceli de la Rosa has sort of vanished from history. Ziggy doesn't know what to make of it."

Sam nodded in understanding. No rescue, and the woman he had wanted to help was still in danger. "I hope she's safe."

Just then, there was a knock on the door. Sam could not turn around to look, but Al walked over to the next room to see what was going on. His eyes went wide at what he saw.

"Oh no," he cried out softly in horror. "You damn fool!"

Aldo grinned at the person on their doorstep. "Well, hello there! You lost, little lady?"

"Your boss thought you two could use a little … entertainment." Araceli stepped in wearing the same skin-tight copper outfit as that morning.

Sam heard her voice and felt an icy shiver of terror. Despite the pain, he looked around and saw her saunter in. He opened his mouth to shout at her, but someone covered his lips.

"Silencio. No diga ni pío." Silence. Don't say a peep.

Sam looked at the man who was now picking the lock of one of his handcuffs. Mocha skin, long hair pulled back, a goatee, business suit … it was the man from the Four Winds Restaurant, the one with the Yucatan accent.

"Who are you?" Sam asked, belatedly realizing that he was supposed to know this person.

He did not even look surprised at the lack of familiarity. Perhaps he figured, after such torture, Sam had amnesia as well. "Call me Sancho. Our little Dulcinea is here to seduce the enemy while I rescue our Don Quixote."

"Huh?" Sam was really confused now.

"Just keep quiet. I've almost got this." He focused on the lock. The handcuffs finally cracked apart, and Sam was able to pull one arm free.

Meanwhile, Tony and Aldo were inspecting Araceli with starving eyes. She stood firmly, her earrings sparkling in the poor lighting, smacking a wad of gum, one hand on her hip as if challenging them to find a flaw in her shapely body.

Aldo chuckled, almost salivating. "Boss is good."

"I dunno," muttered Tony. "Isn't this how they distract men in the movies?"

"You're comparin' a fine mamacita to a Hollywood whore?" scoffed Aldo. He grabbed Araceli around her hips and yanked her right against him. It startled her slightly, but she played along. "Boss is good. Wouldn't it offend him if we didn't have a little fun?"

Araceli trailed a finger slowly down his chest. "It'd be a waste, wouldn't it? I drove all the way out here just for you boys." Her finger paused over a speck of blood. For a moment, her seductive mask cracked, showing the disgust and terror she buried deep down. She hid it with a cute pout. "But your shirt is messy. I don't like blood. Why don't you go change it?"

"No need." Aldo yanked the shirt over his head and flexed his muscles for her.

Al swung his arm out in furious protest. "Oh please! That's just so stereotypical." He turned to Araceli. "Don't fall for that. He's a meat-head, that's all."

"Impressive," Araceli purred, running her hands across the taut pectorals.

Al looked anguished at her choice. "You had better be laying it on thick, lady."

"So," she said, smiling at both men, "is it both of you together, or one at a time? Either way works for me." Her head lowered, and her dark eyes flashed beneath her eye shadow. "I'm here to please you."

"Laying it on a little too thick," grumbled Al.

"I don't share." Aldo yanked her to him possessively. "Tony can have ya after I'm done … if yer not too sore from 'Aldo Junior,' that is." He cackled lasciviously. "I've been known to break little dolls like ya."

In the other room, Sam jerked in protest. Sancho put a hand on his shoulder and whispered, "She's doing it for you, señor."

Suddenly, the other handcuff came off. Sam had to move slowly, and Sancho helped him with the bandaged arm. He rolled Sam over and pulled him to sit up. Immediately, Sam realized his arm would not work anymore. He cradled it close to his body and swallowed down the nausea. The blood loss made him lightheaded, he could not recall eating anything since breakfast, and he lost track of how many times he had vomited.

Sancho found a sweater lying to the side and tied it into a sling. "It'll have to do for now. I think this is your jacket. It should help with the shivering."

Meanwhile, Araceli was turning up the charm. "Do you boys have a separate room in this place, or will the couch have to suffice?"

Aldo gallantly held out his elbow and guided her to the back of the building. Tony watched in suspicion, but also jealousy. She was certainly a fine woman, likely trained in many ways of pleasure, and it had been such a long time since…

The bedroom door slammed shut. Tony tried to watch his TV show some more, but as a commercial came on his frustration percolated. He decided to work off some steam on his prisoner. He grunted at the noises in the other room—a whip crack, he knew the sound well … kinky bastard—and turned into the operating room. Tony's eyes met Sancho's just as he was fitting the leather jacket around Sam's shoulders.

"Oh boy," Sancho muttered.

Tony shouted for Aldo, but Araceli had already handcuffed him in rough playfulness. Now she stomped away from the bed, leaving him shouting, cursing, and kicking to break free. Tony ran for a gun on a table, but Araceli pulled one out of her purse, aimed, and shot him. She looked shocked at the kick of the weapon. It did not hit him fatally, but it would certainly stop him from pursuing.

"Let's go!" yelled Sancho. He grabbed Sam and helped him out.

Al followed them, doing a little dance of happiness. "This is great! This is awesome! Sweet-cakes," he said, reaching his arms out to embrace Araceli, only to have her jog through him. "I love you! I'm gonna look you up in a phone book and tell you how much I love you. And you … whoever you are," he said to Sancho. "You're amazing. But how did you know where Sam was?"

That question bothered Sam too. "How did you know where I was?"

"Questions later," Sancho said, straining with Sam's weight.

There was a car waiting outside the desert shack. It was dark, and Sam saw that they were in the middle of nowhere with only a faint dirt path leading through the arid land. No street lights, no outside floodlights, nothing but the light shining through the windows of the building and millions of stars.

Sancho eased Sam into the back seat, then hurried around to the driver's side. Araceli jumped into the back with Sam and pulled out a medical bag. It was small, not much in it, but she began to patch up his injuries.

"I've got some Vicodin in there," Sancho told her. "He'll need some."

She pulled out the bottle of pain killers, opened a plastic water bottle, and had Sam take the medicine. The unpaved road they drove on bumped them unmercifully. Each jolt was a new agony to Sam. He began to go pale and drift toward unconsciousness.

"Can't you go any smoother?" Araceli snapped, holding Sam to keep him from falling.

"Not until we hit the highway," Sancho said, more focused on keeping to the faint path in the dark than avoiding rocks in the road.

"Sam," Al said, sitting next to him in the backseat. "Lie down before you fall down. You've lost a lot of blood. I think we can trust these two, so just rest."

Sam moaned as they hit another lump. "Lie down," he mumbled.

Araceli scooted to the side and helped him to rest his head in her lap. He lay on his side away from the arm that had been sliced up, and Araceli stroked his forehead in comfort.

Al watched them, or mostly watched Araceli's cleavage hanging right over Sam's face. He shook his head. "You lucky bastard."

"I'm so sorry I stole your bike," Araceli said miserably.

"This isn't your fault," Sam assured, hovering on the edge of unconsciousness and praying he could just drift off. "Why'd you come back?"

She chuckled softly and rubbed his hair back. "I found your money. You're bad news, señor."

Sam had to laugh. "Understatement of the year," he muttered before his prayers were answered and he finally fainted.

A/N:

"Northern Exposure" ran from 1990-95. On this day in history (February 15, 1995) the episode "Lucky People" aired. Yes, I researched what TV shows played on this day and time. I'm fanatical when it comes to details.

Don Quixote, Dulcinea, and Sancho are from Miguel de Cervantes' "The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha." Watch the QL episode "Catch a Falling Star" for more info. Although I used the lyrics in the epigraph, those lyrics were in the show sung by Sam Beckett, so it falls under the whole "I don't own Quantum Leap" clause.