"I am a poor man and of little worth, who is laboring in that art that God has given me in order to extend my life as long as possible." - Michelangelo

Chapter 22

The Poor Man at the McDonald's

Al simply stayed centered on Sam, sat back, and enjoyed the passing scenery. El Paso was finally in view, and with it the end to a tiring, emotionally-wrought Leap. He hoped Sam never leaped into New Mexico ever again. It was too weird to be in such a familiar place, especially at this time in history … too close to home.

At least they were in Texas now. Crossing the state border felt like leaving behind a nightmare. Too many close calls. Too many injuries. Too many secrets Al hated to keep.

"I'm hungry," Araceli suddenly announced. "Are you hungry?"

Sam was still recovering from the huge breakfast, but he did not want to inconvenience her. "I don't know this area well. Where's a good place?"

"Hmm. McDonald's?"

Al snorted a laugh. "Classy girl."

They pulled off near University of Texas El Paso and cruised by the campus on their search for golden arches. Sam kept looking at the buildings as random memories flashed into his mind.

"Hey!"

He jolted and slammed on his brakes at a red light.

Araceli squeezed his shoulders and looked around to try and see his face. "Are you okay? You're spacing out on me. Is it blood loss?"

"No, I … I remember this university. I lectured here."

"Lectured? Seriously? A lawyer like you?"

"It … well, it wasn't anything too interesting, I guess," he muttered, realizing he had to be more careful. The light turned green, and he kept on driving.

This was where he had given that lecture, probably not too many months ago in this time line. He clearly recalled that brave student who stood up in front of the whole forum to question the Doctor Sam Beckett on whether time travel was a middle finger in the face of Father Time. It was that student who inspired him to write the thesis Wards of Time, questioning the ethics of time travel. Because of that lone student, he and Al came up with a complex set of rules, rules which now plagued him because it meant he could not find out certain things about his own life.

That kid was probably still on the campus somewhere, sitting in some lab with a complex equation written on a board, working tirelessly on a subject that some people scoffed as pure science fiction. Time travel! Sam chuckled to himself. He hoped that kid could join Project Quantum Leap some day.

They found a McDonald's and went inside to eat. It was busy with the noon rush, mostly families with children hurrying to eat so they could have fun on the playground. Sam smiled around at them.

"Must be nice, being married, having a family," he mused.

Araceli looked up from her fries in surprise. "Were you ever married, Theodore?"

Al turned around quickly. Oh no! Not this subject!

"The Mafia killed my wife," Sam answered flatly.

Al felt a slight relief. Yes, of course, Sam had been on enough Leaps to simply let the history of the person he was in take over without worrying too much about his own personal life.

"Oh! I'm … I'm very sorry for your loss," Araceli said in confusion. She thought a widow might have a sadder expression. Plus, now she wondered what was up with that kiss last night. "Did it happen recently?"

"Not too recent," he muttered. He honestly had no idea how long ago, but it was at least before he Leaped in.

She slurped her soda. "I really don't know much about you, do I? Have you been on the run for a long time?"

"Sure feels like it," Sam sighed, stretching his sore shoulder. "There are times when months pass by in the blink of an eye, and times when a few days feel like months."

She was unsure how to take such a cryptic comment.

Sam dispelled the heavy atmosphere with a flashing smile. "I thought you were hungry."

She looked down to the half-eaten cheeseburger. "Maybe the reason I wanted to stop was your bike is killing my ass again."

"Ah, sorry about that," he laughed, scratching out some matted sweat in his hair.

She looked hard at him. Such an enigma! He could go from thinking about having a family to talking about a dead wife to laughing carefree, all so easily. "Maybe the real reason is that I'm not sure if I'm ready to let you go. When I reach home, you're taking off, and that's it."

"Aww," Al chuckled. "She's got a crush on you. How sweet!"

Sam glared over at him briefly. "Araceli…"

He exhaled and looked down to the knife-scratched messages on the table, including a heart with "S+A" etched inside. He realized it was probably some love-struck teenager who left that bit of graffiti, but it made him sigh at lost chances. All these Leaps seemed to be that way. Making friends, losing his heart, all to leave them behind without even a goodbye.

Time to chock up another one!

"You're right," he said with a determined tone. "You don't know much about me, and that's probably for the best." He pouted that he had to push her aside so heartlessly.

Her eyes turned up with a bitter flash. "Do you really think that? After all these days of traveling together, after risking my life for you, getting shot at, crashing the bike … you really just want to dump me off at home and run off? Maybe to the next girl you can kiss under the stars?"

"No! If I could…" He left it as that. What sort of future could Theodore Nyt give her, anyway? A life on the run? A life looking over their shoulders? "You deserve a good, long life," he told her honestly. "You deserve to be one of these mothers bringing kids to McDonald's and watching them slide into the ball pit. You wouldn't get that with me."

The restaurant door opened, and this time a few people looked up with disgusted faces. Curious, Sam looked around. A bedraggled man stumbled in, his clothes torn and covered in dust, his long hair unwashed and uncombed, his dark cheeks harrowed and shadowed with many days worth of stubble.

"Yes, here! This is it. This is the place. Yes, at last," he exclaimed.

Araceli also looked, but turned her head away. "Ugh, those are the worst! They come into busy fast food joints and beg for change. Some try to sell weird stuff. Parents are so scared to have them around their children, they'll give people like that a few coins just to move them along. Just watch. You see them a lot around cities like this."

"Every circumstance has a story," Sam told her. Someone had told him that once while giving a beggar some change. Who? A face struggled to come to the surface or his memories. A woman … striking eyes … brown hair…

The man was immediately at their table. "Are you … him?" he asked hesitantly. His accent was far too good for a newly arrived immigrant, almost a hint of the Northeast to it.

"Him who?" Sam asked suspiciously. Was this yet another Mafia hit man? If so, he was not a good one.

The man laughed softly and shook his head. "I was expecting … but then again, it changes, doesn't it? Appearances. Yes, I didn't think of that. It was different for you than for me."

Sam slurped down the last of his soda. "Here." He gave the man a twenty dollar bill. "Buy yourself a good meal and some shoes."

"Shoes?" He looked to his feet. "Oh, that's right. I missed my landing. I was too far off. Right time, wrong place. Had to walk a long way. But that doesn't matter. I'll fix that next time. Oh boy! Wait until I tell them. It's you! Really you! They'll stop laughing at me, stop saying I'm crazy. It is you, right? It's gotta be you!"

Circumstances be damned! Crazy was just what he imagined this man was. "Come on," he urged to Araceli. He pulled her by the hand while she tried to finish the last of her cheeseburger. He glared at the man's insane mutterings.

"Oh, please, don't go, not yet," the poor man begged. "I just got here. We just met."

Something about him … he looked familiar. Why was he meeting up with so many familiar yet unknown people this time? Sam went outside to the motorcycle and tossed Araceli's helmet to her.

The beggar followed them out. "You're heading to Mexico, right? I can help."

"Sam," Al warned sharply.

"Theodore?" Araceli asked worriedly. "He knows."

"He's Mexican, not Italian," Sam muttered to both of them as he put on his own helmet.

"That's right," the man said. "I'm not Italian. I'm not one of those Mafia men."

That clenched it. Sam straddled the bike. "Hold on," he grumbled to Araceli. Sam started the bike and gunned it away with the man still shouting at him to wait.

How could he know about the Mafia unless he was working for them? Who else knew he was heading to Mexico?

"Damn, that was weird," Al muttered, standing just behind the bike and watching the tattered man waving his arms at them.

"Do you think he was working for them, an associate?"

"What?" Araceli shouted over the roaring engine noise.

"There's no other way he'd know," Al said with a worried frown. "Still, he's not the type. And he was … I dunno."

"Familiar," Sam agreed. It disturbed him deeply. "I have a feeling I need to get out of here fast or we're going to hit more trouble."