Chapter Text
Two Sam Becketts stood in a clock tower in 1982, the icy November air catching their breaths as they recovered from their violent encounter. Their long, vengeful journey had culminated with this moment, the twin leapers grappling for control—Sam Beckett the angel, who wanted to save his Al Calavicci, and the Other Sam Beckett, who wanted both of them dead: the Al who had abandoned him and the Sam Beckett who had taken his place.
And after all was said and done, he realized he could never be Sam Beckett. Not truly. His Al had pleaded with him to stop and the sobering words brought him a moment of clarity. He’d forgotten what he’d been fighting for. The Sam Beckett at 16? He was no longer inside him. He was nothing.
“I can’t…change now.”
His double took a step toward him. Even as his time was running out, he still was trying to save him. His facial wounds glistened in the kaleidoscope of colors reflecting off of the clock face. “Yes you can. It just starts with doing one good thing.”
“No. That’s what Sam Beckett would do.” Beckett turned around. Raised his gun. “And Sam Beckett is dead.”
If he couldn’t be Sam Beckett, no one could.
“Sam, no!” Calavicci shouted. If he could have, he would’ve ripped straight through space and time to tear the gun from his hands.
It was a warning that came too late. Sam was just a little faster and before Beckett could pull the trigger, suddenly a roundhouse sent him flying back. His body crashed hard into the stained glass, the shattering pounding his ears as painful shards tore through his clothes and into his skin. Just barely—and he didn’t know how he did it—his fingers gripped the edge of the clock tower. The glass pieces cut into his palm as his quaking muscles tried to hold him steady.
“SAM!”
This was madness. And for what? If the angel died he died Sam Beckett, but if the Other did? He would leave nothing behind, he was after all no one. He had to believe there was some other path, some way to change his ending before it was too late. And if the man before him found it, maybe he could too. If some microscopic chance of saving his soul existed, he had to desperately plead for it.
“H-Help me…” His hands were slipping. Oh, god.
But the angel Sam just stared at him. And did nothing.
Beckett was aware of Calavicci screaming something, spitting out orders, but his voice faded into the background as he stared at his other half and came to a blood-freezing revelation: There never was an angel Sam.
Sam took off, leaving Beckett to certain death. Calavicci was shouting again, nearly tearing apart the useless contraption in his hands. Beckett locked eyes with him, knowing that these were his last moments, and having nothing and everything to say.
His grip failed. He plummeted down from the building, the winter cutting into him as he hurtled toward his death. His last thoughts were the two words he wished he had said: I’m sorry.
The unimaginable feeling of impact, the crunching of metal—he only experienced the indescribable agony for a moment before he was gone. The final chapter of a life that shouldn’t have been.
But then, impossibly, it wasn’t.
There was no sudden moment of awareness, no quick jolt awake. Just a slow, sluggish trickle. A world of darkness that occasionally cracked open the door, giving him small pieces he couldn’t make sense of. A confused jumble of thoughts, sounds, and pictures. Muffled voices. Pain. Lots of pain. His entire body, broken and motionless. Trapping him. He wanted to move, to speak, but he couldn’t leave his black prison. He wanted to scream but that, too, had been taken from him. How long would he be stuck in this endless hell? Time strung together meaninglessly as he lay there frozen.
He just wanted it to end.
Then one day, while floating in the inky abyss, he felt a prick. A needle. A lifeline.
The minuscule sensation grew and grew, stretching him, struggling to pull him to the surface. It would not be the first time he had accomplished an impossible escape—and this prison could not contain him. An invisible force fought against him and then—
The world was a blur. Migraine-inducing lights danced across his sore eyes and shapeless figures moved across his vision making sounds he couldn’t interpret. The sudden burst of activity overwhelmed his senses and he closed his eyes again. Perhaps he should return to the darkness. Yes, he wanted that. He wanted that very much.
One of his eyes opened again, but not of his own volition. Someone was holding the lid and shining a blinding light at him. He tried to turn away, only to find his body not responding. Why couldn’t he move?!
More shapes moved frantically behind them. Beckett tried to speak, but a tube obstructed his mouth. He glanced blearily around him in search of answers. Where was he? What was happening to him? Who were these people? He was in and out of consciousness, his head swimming in search of answers.
In one of his moments of lucidity, he felt someone take his hand and heard a voice that, at last, he recognized.
“I’m here, Sam.”
-------
Lifted from the depths of despair, Calavicci found himself the happiest he’d ever been in this godforsaken place. Almost finding yourself dragged into a hell of a more literal sort will do that to a person. He wasn’t sure what to make of his strange encounter with—God? The Devil? Whoever it had been, it had a profound impact on him. Had stopped him from selling his soul. Had gotten him to admit the things he had been hiding—not only from the world, but himself. In sharp contrast to Beckett, he suddenly had a clearer understanding of who he was.
He’d been miraculously blessed with a second chance, but most importantly—someone to have that second chance with. The most wonderful person he’d ever known had been resurrected from the dead, his only light returned to him. There had to be a reason for it. They had to have some hope. After all, wasn’t that what all that love crapola was about?
The road to redemption came in steps. Because, well, he was still no angel and they were still subject to the Director’s whims. It wasn’t as if he suddenly woke up a new person, birds in the air and a song in his heart—he still had a lot of rage in him to overcome—but just wanting to be better was a beginning. That old Al was still in there somewhere, the Al who leaped under the watchful eye of his Observer Alia, who righted wrongs in time.
He couldn’t just quit. But just because he was forced to do evil did not mean that he had to set out the welcome mat anymore. He was tired of being that person. He was going to find a way out of here, and Beckett was coming with him.
God, he was back. Calavicci wasn’t sure he would ever believe in miracles, but this was pretty damn close. For crying out loud, the kid should’ve been a hamburger, how else could it be explained?
Funny thing about comas. If someone is lucky enough to wake up, they don’t just open their eyes one day and suddenly go back to normal. It would take time for Beckett to relearn a lot of things. How to talk, how to get around again, even the simple stuff. It would be a grueling process to get him somewhere back around to where he was before—and even then he had a leg brace now—but Calavicci was just happy to have him again.
Except.
Well, Beckett was different after he woke up. Not that he expected him to be totally the same—brain damage can knock a few bolts loose, after all. But he was just…different. He was fragile, unkempt, quiet, far away. He barely spoke to him. His entire focus was on the work, which he did like an automaton before returning to his quarters. Not the farm boy with the heart of gold, nor the embittered survivor with a fire inside. He was just...a shell. It was like they barely knew each other now.
Why did it feel like he hadn’t come back at all?
-------
Calavicci remembered the elation he felt the first time Beckett had spoken to him after waking up, how wonderful the sound of his voice had been. He’d been visiting as much as he could, to see if Beckett had fully come around yet, and talked to him to let him know he wasn’t alone. Even if he couldn’t understand all of it. He knew in some way he did.
“They made me a leaper again, Sam.” He pressed his lips together in thought, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his black jumpsuit. “They, heh…I guess they felt I needed to get in the field again with you gone.” He grinned wickedly. “Joke’s on them though. They don’t know you like I do. I knew you’d be back.”
A small sound, and Calavicci looked down. Occasionally Beckett would make some sort of noise, but this time, he was looking directly at him. Calavicci’s heart shot into his chest.
Beckett’s chapped mouth opened and he croaked, “Back…?”
He heard him. He heard him and he understood and he—he spoke to him! Calavicci wanted to jump for joy, but he knew there was always someone watching. He bit back his excitement and stepped nearer to his closest friend. “Yeah, Sam. Yeah. You’re back. You’re alive.”
Beckett furrowed his brows and looked to the ceiling. He didn’t say anything else.
-------
That burst of excitement faded, enfolded Calavicci’s heart, bleached out into a sad confusion. The man he knew was a total stranger. He just wanted to hold him close, to breathe his scent, to tell him everything he’d locked up inside. But he’d been shut out.
Beckett didn’t visit him anymore. There were no secret meetings, no comforting moments alone. And it made Calavicci…angry, actually. Didn’t he know what he was willing to do for him? How much he’d let his heart bleed at his bedside? He should be grateful! How dare he push him away?
No, he had to put that anger aside. It wasn’t the kid’s fault. He just missed him. God, he missed him.
He caught him one night as he was hobbling back to his quarters, still struggling with his new mobility. Trying to keep a friendly tone, he called out to him, “It’s a bitch, huh? Still better than a peg leg though.”
Beckett slowed to a stop, peering back over his shoulder.
Calavicci swung his hand in his direction. “I know how you feel, kid. It took me a long time to get walking right after so long in that tiger cage. It, uh, it makes you strong though.”
Without responding, Beckett turned back around.
Letting his frustration get the better of him, Calavicci sighed and his shoulders slumped. “Damn it, Sam! Would you just talk to me? Don’t act like you can’t.”
He stopped again. He didn’t turn around.
Anger mixed with a hint of desperation. Calavicci just wanted him back. “Come on. Don’t leave me again. Just say something. Anything.”
Beckett slowly turned to face him, straining with his crutch and the pain moving caused him. Sweat had broken out over his twisted brow. “Why didn’t you let me die?”
Calavicci was taken aback by the sincere demand. “What do you mean, why didn’t I let you die? Of course I didn’t let you die. What the hell kind of question is that?”
A long pause. Beckett said nothing.
Calavicci blinked. He couldn’t be serious. “You wanna live, don’t you, Sam?” A pause. The hollow silence frightened him. “Well? Don’t you?”
Beckett swallowed and leaned heavily against his crutch. He did mean it. His spirit was completely gone.
“Sam.”
But he was done. He turned away again, disappearing into his quarters before their allotted time was up.
-------
When Beckett had recovered enough, Lothos decided he would be of better use as an Observer, given his new handicap. Beckett made no argument, did as he was told. Mostly small-time leaps—robberies, break ups, disappearances—things the Project felt they could handle. Easier, more boring—and with less reward. The smaller the leap, the less comfortable they were here. That was the trade-off. And so Calavicci continued as a leaper, with Beckett as his guide, his companion going through the motions as if ruining lives was a mundane occurrence.
It wasn’t him. Calavicci knew there was still a fighter inside him, somewhere—someone bursting to get out. Someone stronger than this meek shell of a man.
It was the fighter he’d fallen in love with.
-------
As Calavicci placed down another winning hand, Beckett groaned and threw his remaining cards down. “Damn!”
“Read ‘em and weep,” Calavicci chuckled, collecting the cigarettes laid out between them on the floor of Beckett’s quarters. Once again, he was taking in the winnings tonight.
Shaking his head but a good-natured loser, Beckett leaned back against the bed and draped his arm over his knee. “Why do I keep getting tricked into playing with you?”
“Because I’m the only mug worth lookin’ at around here.” With a cheeky grin, Calavicci lit up one of the cigarettes. Just to prove he was a humble winner, he lit up another for Beckett and handed it to him. “I ever tell ya how I learned to play like this?”
“No, tell me.”
“There was this girl in Reno,” Calavicci recalled, settling against the wall and blowing out a stream of smoke, “Darlene LaFey. And she was very good at shuffling a deck…” He waggled his eyebrows.
Beckett grinned through his cigarette. “Sounds like my kinda girl.”
At Beckett’s response, Calavicci chuckled in surprise. “Funny, you used to hate my stor—" He stopped himself, and they both went quiet. He’d done it again. Sheepishly, he ducked his head and said to the floor, “Damn memory.”
Beckett chewed on the end of his cigarette with thinly-concealed frustration.
Calavicci hated it when he got his memories mixed up. He knew it gutted the kid. Made him hard. He loathed to be reminded of the shadow he was in, but least of all here where his other self was far away. His partner was the one person he could escape with—and at the same time, could never distance from what he hated most. Calavicci was kicking himself for killing what was otherwise a good mood. The kid was quiet, but he knew that he was holding back.
“Lisa Parsons.”
“Huh?” Calavicci looked up.
Beckett was studying his cigarette between his thumb and index finger. “My first real crush. In Elk Ridge. I was 15.” He looked up with an amused reminiscence. “I’ll never forget her. It took me a week to work up the courage to even talk to her.”
Calavicci wasn’t quite sure where he was going with this, but he was gonna play along and see where it went. “What’d you say?”
“Nothing. She talked to me first.”
“And...?”
“And I ran away. Didn’t stop for three blocks.” Beckett shrugged with a humorous grin. “I think if I’d met Darlene back then, I’d just about shit a brick.”
A pause. Calavicci snickered, then his snicker turned into a suppressed laugh. He didn’t want to be too loud and get caught. Beckett leaned back again with a shit-eating grin, cigarette glowing between his lips. The smoke encircled his long face, drifted along his jumpsuit that was buttoned down low and revealed his chest as it rumbled with laughter.
He was a comfortable place.
-------
The door to the Accelerator Chamber silently menaced in front of him, lit up red by the lights around it. He looked back at the Control Panel, where Zoey waited impatiently. His gaze shifted closer to Beckett standing near the door, most of his weight on his crutch as he plunked at the triangular handlink, lost in his work.
“See you on the other side.” Calavicci gave a tight grin.
Beckett’s eyes flicked up, slightly thrown off that he’d said something. They were usually silent during this part.
“Ahem.” They turned to Zoey, who watched them under heavy lids. “Whenever you gentlemen are ready.” She gestured patronizingly toward the door.
They faced each other again. More quietly, Al muttered, “Yeah, fucking with lives has a schedule, you know…”
Beckett glared. Did he want them to get thrown into the Disciplinary Chamber? His lips thinning, his cocked his head toward the door. “Get in,” he ordered.
“Only ‘cause you asked nicely.” Calavicci grinned at him, made sure to flash the look toward Zoey, and then pressed his palm on the scanner. The door slid open, and he disappeared with a wink.
Beckett watched him go, puzzled by his flippant attitude.
He’d been acting like that ever since he woke up, come to think of it. What the hell was there to joke about? He was getting tired of seeing his stupid smile. He tried to keep away from him, block him out—to the point where maybe they thought he was a little slow now. But the reality was, he just couldn’t bear the crushing wave of happiness. He only felt the burning of his flesh as he tried to touch it.
-------
The wave of bright scarlet slowly faded away, leaving Calavicci in pitch darkness. He hated this part. No matter how much they were briefed, the rotten holes in their memory always seemed to take away everything they needed to know. So as his eyes adjusted to the minimal light, he attempted to get a bearing on his surroundings until Beckett showed up to fill in the blanks.
He was in a forest. Gee, this was gonna be fun. He couldn’t wait til he got some kid lost in the woods or something. Real valuable use of his time.
Suddenly, a LOUD noise. He jumped and spun around just as a hulking, crazy figure with a hockey mask burst out of the trees with a chainsaw. Not exactly what he’d been expecting.
“What the fuck?!”
The man screamed and lunged at him. No way was he gonna go out getting sliced in half by this bargain-bin Jason wannabe! Hell, if this guy only knew the things he’d done—it would send shivers up his spine. But, he probably wouldn’t have a clue Calavicci had any nads at all since he was currently running in the opposite direction. He knew when to bow out of a fight.
Get somewhere safe, hide, and wait—he really, really hoped this wasn’t part of his assignment. Racking up this guy’s body count? Teaming up? He didn’t want to go anywhere near him. Maybe he’d be a copycat. Calavicci had never killed anyone with a chainsaw, now that he thought about it—yuck, too messy. A machete, on the other hand…
Before he could get too far, he smacked into someone else. A woman with long, blonde hair and a low-cut top stared back at him. She looked to have more cleavage than brains. “Chad, what’s wrong?”
Popular woods, huh? With some annoyance at the unscheduled pit stop, he informed her, “Unless you wanna say goodbye to any vital body parts, I’d suggest you get moving, lady!”
The girl frowned, glancing off to the right with some confusion. What was she, an idiot? Couldn’t she hear the chainsaw coming at them? There was no time to explain to her. He grabbed her by the arms, ready to drag her away.
And then, there was a wave of electricity. It trembled through his body and hers, revealing their true faces underneath the cosmic facade. No, this was no normal woman. This was a leaper.
One of theirs? Did they not trust him to get the job done? Maybe he’d screwed around just a little too much. He knew this was bad news, but he had no idea what he was really in for.
Alia stared back at him with wide eyes.
His hands dropped to his sides, dumbstruck. This was a face he hadn’t seen in a very, very long time. Another timeline ago, in fact.
“CUT!”
Startled, Calavicci looked to the right to see a camera and a small film crew. So that’s what Leatherface Voorhees had been all about.
The director looked none too pleased. He sighed, rubbing his head with patience that had long since run out. “Okay, Kevin,” he said to Calavicci, “Take five, and look over your lines one more time…” Kevin, from the sound of it, needed to look at his lines a lot.
The hulking murderer shook his head and stomped away. In a high-pitched, nasally voice that seemed impossible to come out of someone that size, he muttered, “We’re never gonna get the shoot done at this rate…”
Calavicci’s attention could barely focus on anything but Alia, and her him. But with everyone else around, they couldn’t speak the many questions they had. Actually…the many questions she had, because Calavicci honestly had no idea what he would say to her. And Alia’s eyes held a guarded curiosity.
As the rest of the crew began to take a short break, Alia gave a silent but cautious invitation to follow her further into the woods and out of earshot.
Now that the initial shock was fading, Calavicci was filled with a nostalgic elation. It was Alia. This was someone he never thought he’d see again. He wasn’t much of a believer in anything, but obviously Whoever or Whatever was giving him a lot of second chances lately. And this was taking him back to the timeline he’d buried, the version of himself who was just now reemerging. To the woman who shaped him into the person he was and longed to be again.
He missed her. He missed her guidance, her friendship. See, because while in this timeline Sam had saved him, in his timeline, it was Alia.
She was a lot taller than he remembered, mostly because when he knew her she was in a wheelchair. She’d been paralyzed after her escape from the Project led to…Sam plunging a knife into her back. He didn’t know the entire story, just that she had tried to take him with her, and his fear had won out. The Project said to stop her, and he did as he was told.
But Calavicci didn’t know any of that when he met her. She brought him onto her time travel experiment, a jobless drunk with no prospects, and showed him how to make something of himself. She showed kindness, forgiveness, trust, more than he deserved. Hell, he didn’t know what other nut job would trust a drunk to test out their time machine, but she did. She saw something in him that even he didn’t see, something of herself. And she might have gotten him lost in time, but he’d learned, truly learned, what was special about people. He saw in them what he’d seen in her. She was truly kindhearted and wise beyond her years. No one had believed in him like she did.
In this timeline, she didn’t know him.
Well, she did and she didn’t. He vaguely had a recollection that she knew his name, but not his face. He was just Al, Sam’s invisible helper from the future. A name but nothing more.
And she currently had a switchblade pointed at him.
He raised his hands with surprise. Talk about getting caught with his pants down.
“Who are you?” she demanded. She was well-prepared to defend herself, and he had no doubt she was proficient with the weapon. One slice and he was road kill.
“Relax, it’s me—It’s Al!” He scrunched up his face. Damn it, she wouldn’t know that. She wasn’t his Alia. Think, uh...
But the space between her brows twitched with recognition. The blade lowered a few inches. “...Al.”
Calavicci’s eyes lit up with hope. She remembered him! Maybe she had some leftover memories too! After all, in his timeline she was an Observer. He was her Al. She had to remember him after everything they’d gone through. How could he think she’d forgotten?
“Sam’s Al?”
His chest deflated a little. She thought he was the other guy. Well of course she did, ya moron.
He had to answer quickly, not give away who he truly was. “Yeah,” he said with a small grin, “Sam’s Al.” Not a total lie, in all fairness.
The desire in Alia’s eyes was evident, but she raised the switchblade again warily. Hope did not make his claim fact. Atta girl. He was proud of her survival instincts. Never trust anyone at their word. “How do I know you’re telling the truth? That you weren’t sent by the other Project?”
“Uhhh…” Shit, what did the other Al know that the Project wouldn’t? He pulled at his hazy memory for some of those leftovers he usually hated. He had to dig deep. “Let’s see, uh…” Alia’s expression hardened and she tightened her grip on the blade. “Okay okay okay! Calm down. Uh— Rumpelstiltskin.”
“Huh?”
“That was the password, right? When you were hypnotized in that women’s prison. Sam said the magic word and bingo!” He snapped his fingers. “You were back.” He couldn’t be remembering that correctly. Hypnotism in a women’s prison? It sounded like a bad movie he saw on Skinemax once.
A tense pause. Calavicci just had to bank on that being accurate, because he didn’t think his other half was privy to that much exclusive information on Alia in the first place. But Alia’s face broke into a happy shock as she lowered the blade.
“You really are him.”
Calavicci sighed with relief. “I said so, didn’t I?”
She let out an overwhelmed giggle, a sound which surprised him. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw her like that. Long before the timeline changed, that was for sure. She was always very put together, careful of what she outwardly showed. And that meant she rarely cried, but he could see her eyes start to get misty now. Her hand covered her mouth as she smiled through her tears. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I only saw—Sam!” Her eyes widened with sudden excitement. “Where is he? Did he leap into someone else on set? I have to see him!” She was already starting to trudge back so she could search for him.
“No, he—Uh, he’s not, um…he didn’t leap here.” Calavicci fumbled to explain, trying to keep his story consistent with what she would expect. Might as well go with as much of the truth as he could reveal. The best lies often were intertwined with reality. “He’s my Observer now.”
Once this information sunk in, Alia’s face fell. Aw jeez, he hated to hurt her like that. No, that wasn’t it. It was…a bittersweet expression. A wave of relief. She sighed deeply and looked up, the moon reflecting in her glistening eyes. Like a prayer, she breathed, “He leaped home.”
A pause. Calavicci grinned tightly through the pain of the reality. “Yeah. Yeah, he leaped home.” It was a lie he wished he could believe. He looked off into the distance uneasily. “That’s, uh…that’s why I’m here instead,” he finished lamely. He hoped she didn’t press further for the moment, since he didn’t have a full story cooked up.
Alia was excited now. She eyed the space around him and began to walk around, as if hoping to see through time itself. “Where is he? Can he hear me?”
“No—No, he’s not here right now,” Calavicci explained, and she tried to hide her disappointment, “But he should be soon.”
“God…it’s been so long. I have so much to tell him.” It was evident she’d been looking forward to this moment since she last saw the other Sam, held onto the dream that someday they would cross paths in time once more. Her eyes met Calavicci’s again, and her expression filled with apologetic gratitude. “To tell you both, I mean. I never got a chance to say thank you.”
Calavicci frowned. “For what?”
There was an intensity in Alia’s eyes. She wanted to be sure he knew she meant every syllable. “For saving me. Both of you.”
A stab of guilt gutted like the switchblade for the unearned credit. Much as he would’ve liked to be the person responsible for saving her, he was working for the very people who held her captive. But he had to play along now, because how could she ever understand who he really was?
“Blair! Kevin!” A shrimpy production assistant made his way through the trees, huffing and puffing from just the short trek. He was not an outdoors person. “Jack...wants us…to start filming again.”
“Oh, um—We’re coming,” Alia said, slightly off-guard, “Give us a minute.” She gave him a reassuring look and he nodded and disappeared. With some regret, she turned back to Calavicci. The last thing either of them wanted to do right now was film a shitty horror flick, but the leap must go on as they say. Well, someone must have said it at some point. “Meet me at my hotel room after the shoot. We’ll talk more then, okay?”
“Okay.”
With a toothy smile, she followed the PA back toward the shoot, but Calavicci had to hold back for a moment. He was still recovering from the shock. He had to admit, as thrilled as he was to see his old friend again, he suddenly found himself stuck.
He couldn’t tell Alia the whole truth, obviously. But what did he tell her? Eventually she’d find out he wasn’t here with the best intentions, whatever they were. Probably the exact thing she was here to stop, if he was honest with his guess. Somehow, he had to hide the Project from her while still completing his mission.
Oh god. The Project. Alia was numero uno on Lothos’s hit list after what she’d pulled. They’d tried to blast her with a shotgun last time they saw her, only for her to leap off the radar never to be seen again…until now. He didn’t need any leftovers to remember this one—Zoey would bitterly discuss what she would do to Alia for betraying her, how she hoped her wounds were fatal. But he noticed the hurt in her voice as she said it—he didn’t truly believe she wanted her dead. Theirs was a long and complicated history. Zoey had truly cared about her and she might be the only person she could say that about. Which is probably why she hated her so much now. And hell could Calavicci relate.
If they knew she was here, she was a dead woman. Which meant he couldn’t tell Beckett about her and oh, by the way, she was expecting to hear from Sam. A Sam who would be showing up pretty damn close to now. He didn’t even want to think about how Beckett would react to the news.
Well, now what?
The rainbow shimmer of the Imaging Chamber briefly lit up the forest as Beckett made his scheduled appearance. Calavicci kept his back to the door, still unsure of how to handle this. His Observer said nothing, but he felt his eyes on him. Finding no more time to waste without seeming suspicious, he turned around.
Beckett was standing still, his stern expression glowing eerily in the light of the triangular handlink. “You keep making smart-ass remarks in the open like that, you’re gonna get us thrown into the Disciplinary Chamber.”
Feigning being unconcerned, Calavicci gave a devil may care shrug. “Just tryin’ to lighten the mood. Somebody around there has to have a sense of humor.”
“Just keep me out of it.” Considering that the end of that line of discussion, Beckett lifted the handlink and began to press in keys.
Nodding and stuffing his hands into his pockets, Calavicci tried to stay casual. “Right to business as usual, I see.”
Beckett frowned as the triangle made an unusual noise. He reentered the previous sequence.
“Everything aces?”
“Lothos is getting some unusual readings...” He kept his head low over the handlink, completely focused on the problem as he scratched absentmindedly at his stubble.
Now Calavicci was sweating. They must be picking up on a second leaper. But if they didn’t know Alia was involved, they might not gather exactly what the readings meant. “Probably just some interference,” he suggested, “You know how that computer is, piece of shit doesn’t even work half the time. Er—don’t tell her I said that though.”
Beckett nodded. That must be it.
They needed to switch gears from this particular “computer error.” “So, uh,” Calavicci continued with his casual facade, “what does Lothos have in mind for me now? Car theft? Ignore a sign telling me to keep off the grass?” Maybe he was here to tank this movie; he might actually enjoy that.
“You’re here because of a murder.”
This sobered up Calavicci quick. He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. “Oh. I, uh, I didn’t know we were back up to murders yet.”
His worried tone was not lost on Beckett. He could sense his trepidation. “You don’t have to do it yourself. You’re just here to cover it up.”
Still, the mission didn’t seem any less ghoulish. But then again, that was their life. “Who?” Calavicci asked darkly. As if it mattered.
Beckett consulted the handlink, scratching at his stubble. “An actress by the name of…Blair Bixby.”
Alia. The breath caught in Calavicci’s chest and stayed there as he heard the dreadful words.
“Tomorrow night, she’s killed by the director of her latest film...Jack McNeil. Lothos wants you to destroy the evidence he leaves behind.”
Calavicci didn’t know what to say. What to do. Alia was going to die tomorrow night, and he was to be responsible for her murderer getting off scot free. No, worse than that. Now that he knew, he was going to be responsible for her death.
“It’ll be quick.” His head snapped up at the reassuring tone of Beckett’s voice. Strange, but it almost sounded like sympathy. It was rare to get anything from Beckett these days, much less something so soft. Could he read the lines around his eyes that gave away that there was more to this assignment than he knew? The handlink blinked and shifted the colors illuminating his face.
Calavicci couldn’t stew in it too long or he might as well put a big sign over his head reading SUSPICIOUS. He cleared his throat and pretended to chuckle. “Quick. Yeah. Like my sixth marriage.”
He wasn’t sure, but Beckett might’ve actually humored him with a ghostly half-smile. It was gone as soon as he blinked, and his Observer was back to retrieving the information he would need to complete the abhorrent task.
Yet again, he found himself stepping into a mountain of shit with no shovel.