mgowriter's note: Watching the new series has made me really miss Sam Al. Writing this story felt like I got to spend a little time with them :) This story is slightly AU, assuming Mirror Image never happened and Sam leaped home.

Chapter 1

Indiana, 2005

Al adjusted himself in the driver's seat of the rental car, trying to loosen the knots in his shoulders. A monotonous scroll of concrete highways filled the scenery around him, adding to his weariness. He had been driving for almost two hours after his flight to Indianapolis, and knew he had to retrace his steps back to Stallions Gate later that night. Exhaustion was quickly setting in.

Finally, the exit sign for "Elk Ridge" came into view. At the same time, his phone vibrated against his pocket. He flipped open the cover to reveal a missed call from Dr. John Ledger, who had called him at least half a dozen times since he left Project Quantum Leap headquarters earlier that morning, against doctor's orders.

He had at most a few more hours before he would be located. Al absently rubbed his left wrist. The wristlink that was on him twenty four hours a day was missing, leaving a pale band of skin against the bronze of his forearm. It was disorienting not to have Ziggy's commentary with him, but he needed any head start he could get.

After exiting the highway, the houses grew further apart as acres of farmland covered the horizon, black with freshly tilled soil. Large tractors and planters hummed along in mechanically straight rows, creating clouds of brown dirt in their wake. Springtime in Indiana was crop planting season.

He stopped in front of a two-story house with a maroon colored roof and wrap-around porch. A wooden swing sat underneath the shade of the front porch, sporting a fresh coat of white paint.

Al exited the car. He adjusted his suit, smoothing out some of the wrinkles, and took a deep breath as he walked up to the screen door. After a few knocks, a woman appeared from inside the house. Her light auburn hair was neatly tucked in a low bun, showing a few streaks of gray. She had green eyes that were kind, surrounded by lines created from years of laughter.

"Hi," the woman greeted him with a smile.

"You must be Audrey Beckett," said Al.

"Yes, that's right," she said. "How can I help you?"

"I'm Al Calavicci, an old friend of Sam's. Is he home?"

Audrey squinted at the sun that sat just above the horizon. "He should be home shortly. He's been out planting all day, but you can't plant in the dark, can you?"

Al smiled at her words. Audrey, with her welcoming manners, was disarming and instantly likable.

"Why don't you come in and have some lemonade. I'm just putting the last touches on supper. Would you like to stay?"

"Thank you, but no," Al replied. "I won't be staying for long."

. . .

Audrey's lemonade had the sort of simple but addictive ingredients that made you want to linger around the kitchen table—fresh lemons, lots of ice and cold water, and just a little bit too much sugar to make the perfect glass.

The opening of the screen door snapped Al out of conversation with his hostess as they both turned at the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Sam, is that you? We have a visitor," Audrey called from the kitchen.

"Is that so?" Sam answered. "It wouldn't be Wally, would it? I told him last weekend my wife's cooking is better than his, and he's been looking for a free meal ever since." His voice grew closer. "Wally if it's you, then I'm sorry buddy, but it's true. Once you try Audrey's cinnamon apple pie, you won't be able to go back home."

The smile on Sam's face vanished at the sight of Al, who stood as he entered the kitchen.

Bypassing his old friend, Sam opened the refrigerator to extract a bottle of beer.

"I don't see any visitor, Audrey."

Audrey frowned at his words. "Samuel Beckett. That's no way to welcome a guest."

"He's not welcome here," said Sam as he popped the cap off the beer and walked past both her and Al into the sitting room.

Audrey stood in stunned silence.

Al gestured toward the sitting room. "May I?"

"Please," Audrey answered. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what's gotten into him."

. . .

The sitting room of the Beckett house was exactly as Al remembered from the Thanksgiving dinner he attended more than two decades ago. It was the first holiday after Sam joined Starbright. The invitation was to meet the family, but Al knew it was really to keep an eye on him. He had given up drinking just months before, and Sam was worried about a relapse during the holidays.

The furniture in the room had been updated, but the walls were the same sunshine yellow that he remembered. Sitting in one of the two easy chairs, Sam wore a pair of faded jeans and a dusty flannel shirt. His rolled sleeves revealed strong, tanned arms from hours of work outdoors. His hair was peppered with gray, much more so than Al remembered the last time they saw each other.

"I see you bought the farm back," said Al, trying to find a way into conversation.

"I said you're not welcome here," said Sam, ignoring his words. He took a long swig from the bottle.

Al cleared his throat. "I'm here on official business."

Sam sneered at his remark. "The beauty of leaving the project is that I don't have to care about it anymore, and I don't have to listen to anyone trying to pass off any business, official or not."

Al sighed. "Look, Sam, I know we didn't part on the best terms. After Donna died—"

"Don't you dare talk about Donna," Sam lashed out. He slammed his bottle onto the table. "You don't have the right."

"I don't have the right?" Al asked, surprised to hear the same anger in his own voice. "Do you think she meant nothing to me? Do you think all those years you were leaping around—"

He didn't finish the sentence as a coughing fit caused him to lean onto the adjacent chair for support. When it ended, he struggled to steady his breathing.

Sam's features turned slowly into a frown. "How long have you had emphysema?"

"I don't have emphysema," Al replied, still struggling to catch his breath. "I just…need a minute."

The act of talking set off another round of coughs, this time lasting more than a full minute.

Sam stood from his chair. "Unbutton your shirt," he said, motioning at the top of Al's dress shirt. "It'll help with breathing."

Al complied. The coughing eventually stopped, but every wheezing breath made it clear he wasn't getting enough oxygen.

"Do you have an inhaler?" Sam asked.

Al nodded. He fished for the device from his pocket and took two puffs. After a few seconds, the wheezing finally stopped.

"I'm taking a leave of absence from the project," Al managed to finally say. "We need someone to fill in as director and observer."

Sam shook his head. "I'm done. I'm not going back."

"The new leaper is working on a threat at the 1980 Olympics in Lake Placid. It's an important assignment that could affect the lives of hundreds of people. There's no time to bring in an outsider. We need someone who knows the ropes."

Sam considered his words. They simply weren't true. Sam had stayed at the project for a month after his leap back—just enough time to put in place a system where everything was doubled up, even observers. Each future leaper would have two qualified observers. Al was lying to him, but he didn't know why.

"What do you have?" he finally asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You said you don't have emphysema. What do you have?"

Al sighed. "Non-small cell lung cancer. Stage three. The leave of absence is to undergo treatment. If it works, great. If it doesn't…we still need someone to step in at the project."

Sam unfolded his arms in shock. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

Al shrugged. "You made it pretty clear the last time we saw each other that you never wanted to see my face again. I didn't think you would care."

Although there was truth to Al's words, they still stung at Sam.

"Even if I said yes," Sam replied, sitting back down in the chair, "the subject has to leap back so we can sync our brainwaves. There's no guarantee that he'll leap again into the same time period. Unless you've come up with some way of zeroing in on the target timeframe, this isn't going to work."

"That won't be necessary," said Al. "The leaper is Sammy Jo. Your brainwaves are already synced."

Sam stared at him in disbelief. "You let her leap?"

"Let her?" Al laughed. "Try waking up in the middle of the night to Ziggy telling you someone had hacked the code to the Accelerator. I denied her petition to join the training program, and she found her own way. Life father, like daughter."

Sam sighed. "How long has she been leaping?"

"Six months," said Al. "She's got a lot of learning to do."

"Have you tried to retrieve her?"

"Yes, twice. You know how risky it is. I don't want to try again until we absolutely have to."

"She leaped before the new retrieval theory was tested? You've been her observer the whole time?"

Al nodded. "I don't trust anyone else to guide her. Except you."

"Does she…know?"

"That you're her father? No. I didn't think it was my place to tell her."

Sam sighed again. "What's the prognosis for your treatment?"

"It's touch and go. They want to do the works—chemo, radiation, surgery."

"Why haven't you started?"

"Because I have to know Sammy Jo is going to be okay. I'm not going to leave her behind." Both men knew that Al blamed himself for almost losing Sam in time.

"Does she know about any of this?" asked Sam.

Al shook his head. "I don't want to alarm her. She needs a source of stability. Worrying about me or the project should be the last thing on her mind during a leap. Sam, I know we've had our differences, and I know they may be unrepairable, but Sammy Jo's life and the project are both on the line here. If I'm unable to fulfill my duties, the higher ups in Washington will assign a new director who won't have any idea what they're doing. I'm willing to beg. Please, step in for me until I can figure out what to do for the long term."

Sam looked at the man he used to call his best friend. The desperation in his voice reminded him of an equally heroic act Al once performed to save the project, when the committee was threatening to pull funding before it was completed. When it wasn't enough, Sam took matters into his own hands and jumped into the Accelerator before it was ready.

"Okay," he said, after a long minute of silence.

"Okay?" Al asked. "You'll do it?"

Sam confirmed his answer. "Until you can find a permanent solution."

Al sighed in relief. "Thank you, Sam. You don't know how much this means to me."