Chapter Text
The crack of thunder was so loud, it rattled the windows. The door blasted open as a soaking-wet Sam and Al came rushing in from the storm. It took only a moment of searching before they heard footsteps and spotted who they were looking for running up the spiraled steps of the old radio station.
“There he is, Sam!”
Instantly, Sam was darting toward the staircase. “Make sure the record’s on!”
Sam went up, Al went forward. This leap had been…bizarre. Things had seemed so simple, but they knew by now that meant it was probably very complicated. The objective: save a relationship between a shy kid named Simon and his on-and-off girlfriend Felicia. In the original history, this was their last breakup and they never found love again. It was beautiful really, that they just needed a reminder of why they loved each other in the first place. Still, nothing seemed to add up. Everything they affected appeared to change at random and they couldn’t puzzle out why. Finally, Ziggy calculated that they could save the leap if Simon and Felicia heard the song they first danced to. Odds were 82.7% that they would fall in love again and stick together for good.
And then they realized someone wasn’t following the script at all. Everywhere they’d turned, Simon’s best friend Jake had been mucking things up. Getting in their heads, planting the seeds of doubt. It took them the whole leap, but they finally saw that he was the element that didn’t match history.
And that could only mean one thing. They needed to pull off Jake’s mask.
Sam found him on the roof, bat ready to bash in the satellite. “Stop!” Jake glanced over his shoulder. Sam frowned. “Why’re you doing this?”
“Nothing personal, kid.”
Jake raised the bat. Sam lunged at him and they came sliding to the ground in the rain, grappling for the weapon. Al made it to the roof in time to see sparks fly and Jake transform into his exact double.
Oh no.
“Sam!”
If Al's doppelganger was involved, so were the evil leapers. And they hadn’t necessarily ended their last leap together on the best of terms. Sam and Calavicci stared at each other in shock. “You!” they said together.
Calavicci shoved him off and scrambled to his feet. Sam got into a fighting stance, ready to defend himself. This other Al was volatile, unpredictable, and, this time, had more personal reasons to want to kill him. Sam could only surmise that their presence had been as much of a surprise to him, because if he’d known it was Sam and Al on this leap, things would have gotten bloody. Maybe they still would.
And truthfully…Sam wasn’t sure it was undeserved.
Calavicci tossed the bat aside. Sam furrowed his brows and waited, but the man made no other move. “Get me outta here,” he ordered someone unseen.
Why wasn’t he attacking? Was he simply going to give the leap to them? That seemed entirely out of character for someone who had tried to murder them more than once. Sam was uncertain what to do.
Al felt like he was going nuts. Why was Sam just standing there?! He was gonna get himself killed. Pushing his wet hair out of his face and wiping his eyes, Al saw the bat roll nearby and gauged how quickly he could get to it before being noticed.
A red glow started to permeate around the evil leaper, who simply watched Sam with disdain. Sam was keenly aware of both the Al behind him and in front of him, but he didn’t want to take the offensive. He lowered his fists. The other Al was going to be gone and, in a moment, so would they. As the song began to broadcast, a blue glow surrounded Sam and Al.
Suddenly, there was a loud BOOM and a bolt of lightning came down from the heavens, enveloping Sam and the other leaper.
“SAM!”
The light was so blinding, Al had to close his eyes.
-------
When he opened them, he was standing next to a truck in the daytime, completely dry. With confusion, he looked down at the stack of blankets in his hands.
Someone fell to the ground behind him. He whipped around, seeing Sam flat on his butt and halfway in the street.
Al expelled a sigh of relief. He thought for sure something had happened to him. “Oh thank god,” he breathed, setting the blankets in the truck bed and making his way over, “I was worried for a second there! You alright, Sam?”
He reached out to help him up, but Sam scrambled back. He was panting heavily, eyes darting everywhere in panic. “What the hell happened?!”
Al withdrew in surprise, lifting his palms. “It’s okay, Sam. We leaped. I think you just got a bit of a shock.”
For the first time, Sam focused on Al and a look of realization dawned on him. His pupils slit as he grabbed the back of the truck, dragging himself to his feet. He seemed to have trouble standing. “You’re the other one. And I’m…” He gazed around the small town that surrounded them and knit his brows. “…I’m out.”
Now Al saw who it really was, but that was impossible. He stared in disbelief. “You died.”
“…almost.”
No. No, no, no. Not this Sam, not again! Al wasn’t sure he could take another leap with him, could handle the constant grief and misery he brought. He didn’t know how he survived that fall, but right now he didn’t care. He and his Sam had to…
His chest tightened as what happened hit him like Muhammad Ali. The lightning strike. It had switched them. He took a staggered step forward.
“Wait a minute. If you’re here…where the hell is Sam?”
-------
Hot white faded into cold black, and Sam found himself standing in complete darkness. The room was silent. Felt empty. The only sound was his breathing.
Something was in his hand. He lifted it up, the sole light here. A glowing, blinking triangle. He furrowed his brows as he tried to figure out what it was.
Humming machinery. A runway of red light suddenly appeared, leading the way to a single red door with a familiar shape. It slid up, and a velvety voice filled the room with a terrifying, dulcet tone.
“We’re waiting, Samuel.”
-------
Al stood frozen. Beckett leaned against the truck, equally immobile.
Then, without warning, Al lunged forward and grabbed the other man aggressively by his shirt. “What the hell did you do?!” he demanded as he shook him. This was some sort of plan, he knew it. Some revenge for the previous leap they had together.
This woke up the stunned leaper, who slapped away his hands. “Back off! I didn’t do anything!” Brushing down the front of his shirt, he stared at the town as the reality of his situation started to sink in. “I didn’t…I didn’t…” His mouth hung slack. His eyes grew wide. Words left him.
Al watched with a stony expression, a shadow of distrust cast over him. The last time he’d encountered this Sam, the man had scrambled his brains and nearly gotten him to take a dive off a building. Oh yeah, and the jerk ended up taking that leap himself, but apparently the reports of his death were greatly exaggerated. Al wasn’t sure what the evil leapers were up to, but if they were here, that meant Trouble with a capital T. He couldn’t let his guard down for one second.
Maybe in the past he could’ve given Beckett the benefit of the doubt, but this imposter had since proven he was nothing like Sam. Peel back the layers and he was evil at the core, and Al had seen evil in its purest form, so he knew. He wouldn’t be deceived by outward appearances again. That wasn’t Sam Beckett anymore.
Al could still picture his boots teetering off the edge of the roof, feel his heart racing as he convinced himself he had to jump. Could sense Beckett’s gaze on him as he soothingly told him he was doing the right thing. Dynamite against his chest, clock counting down, Beckett’s eyes crinkling with amusement. Fists beating into his face. Screaming. A gunshot. Flames everywhere. And the laughter. He enjoyed it. Al’s fists shook at his sides. The double did all of that, but he'd be damned if he let him take Sam away.
Beckett pushed himself off of the truck and stumbled into the street. Al noticed how he dragged his leg behind him as he struggled to walk properly; he was injured. Good. That meant he wasn’t getting far. As quietly as possible, Al was going to take him to a nice, secluded spot for an interrogation. This bastard was his.
Then out of nowhere, a ’62 Ford Falcon came squealing to a halt with Beckett bent over the hood.
The driver, a panicked young man with blonde hair and a farmer’s tan, had barely begun to exit the car when Beckett pulled himself along the vehicle to the passenger window.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t see y--!”
“Give me a ride.”
The young man blinked. “Uh—sure.”
Beckett was already sliding inside. He cast a glance back at Al, who was hurrying to catch him.
“Hold it! Don’t you dare--!”
“Drive. Now!”
The gas was pressed and the car peeled out, leaving Al in the dust. He slowed to a stop and coughed, frantically searching his pockets for keys to the truck. No such luck. Damn it! Maybe he could hot-wire it; once again his years spent as a troubled youth were going to pay off. But as he hopped into the driver's seat, he realized he'd already lost track of the station wagon. Letting out a yell of frustration, he slammed his hand into the steering wheel.
This leap just went to hell in a handbasket.
Great! Now this guy was loose out here and taking with him the chances of getting the real Sam back! Every instance where Al came across this nozzle, he spent half his time nearly getting murdered and the other half searching for him. He began to hot-wire the truck and hoped that when he got it going, he picked the right direction.
Whether it was planned or not, the two Sams had switched. So if this Sam was here, his Sam was in the other place.
“Well, shit…”
-------
The open red door loomed at the end of the runway, shrinking further into the distance as Sam stood there paralyzed.
He knew this place. He couldn’t explain it. Logic told him he’d never been here before, but somehow he knew it. He knew it, but his mind refused to acknowledge the familiarity. Because when it began to touch on the fringes of his memory, it filled him with dread.
“Samuel,” the voice insisted. The same sweet tone remained, but for some reason he felt a sense of panic at being called twice. He shouldn’t keep them waiting.
Nervously, he took a step forward and realized for the first time that there was a brace on his leg. In the scarlet luminescence from the runway, he could see the crutch that had been dropped as he leaped in. Hurriedly, he slipped the glowing triangle into his pants pocket, picked up the crutch, and made his way toward the door.
Sam couldn’t remember ever starting a leap feeling this uneasy. Just who had he leaped into? Someone named Samuel, Samuel who? And where the hell was Al? Was he also in this place? Wherever this place was.
Taking in one last deep breath, he entered the light and found himself in a crimson hallway leading to a second door. It seemed much longer than it probably was. He pressed on, the cumbersome brace causing him to lurch. A blessing in disguise, he supposed, since it would help him pretend to be Samuel. As he got closer to the end of the hallway, his sense of déjà vu grew stronger and stronger. Now he was certain he’d been somewhere like this. The triangle he’d been holding. The voice. It was all so familiar. But it couldn’t be.
He stopped at the door and his blood ran ice cold. No. This was impossible.
Reflected in the metal surface was Sam Beckett.
Once again, Sam’s feet were nailed to the spot. His muscles had turned to stone. He couldn’t go in there. Not in this place. Not as this man.
He was dead. He’d killed him.
This door too slid open and his reflection disappeared. Having no other option, he slowly teetered inside.
He was met with a place he recognized, but wasn’t his. The Project Control Room sat before him, but it had been transformed into something else. The bright blue and rainbow and gold had bled into the same menacing crimson, and at the Control Panel stood another ghost from his past.
“You’ve made Lothos very impatient, Samuel,” Zoey said evenly. She placed her hands on the panel and leaned forward. “Why did you ask to be pulled out early?”
Silence. Sam could only stare in shock. A shotgun in his hands. He pulled the trigger. Zoey crumpled to the ground.
“Why, you look positively wretched,” Zoey commented with half of an amused smirk, “Perhaps I should call the doctor to examine you.”
“He asked me to be pulled because the retrieval window was closing.” Sam and Zoey’s attention went toward the door leading to the Accelerator. Out of it stepped Al, who strolled casually over.
Sam immediately lit up upon seeing him. Al had leaped here! Thank god.
Al narrowed a single challenging eye at Zoey. There was something different about him, something harder. “Or did you want to explain to the Director why you stranded one of his leapers?”
Instantly, Sam’s hope sunk from his stomach down to his toes. This wasn’t his Al.
He was alone here.
Zoey was irritated at Calavicci’s cocky response, but evidently he’d made a point she understood. Folding her hands together on the panel, she lifted an eyebrow and pretended she was still in charge. “I don’t see any reason to get the Director involved. I suppose it was…a concerted effort.”
Calavicci stayed deferentially silent. He’d gotten his meaning across and he wasn’t going to push it further. Zoey’s penetrating gaze swooped over the both of them, determining whether or not they were hiding something. The decision must have been up in the air, because she didn’t pursue it.
“Fine then. You’re dismissed.”
Sam could feel Calavicci’s subtle breath of relief next to him. He hadn’t noticed before that underneath his brave approach, he'd been subtly trembling. Keeping his face carefully neutral and masking his nerves, Calavicci started toward the exit. Sam followed his lead. He didn’t want to be around either of them, but he had to obey orders until he could figure out what to do. If…if there was anything he could do.
Where was Gooshie? Where was Al?
“Oh, Samuel.”
Both men froze. Sam craned his head back and saw Zoey’s hand gesture toward the cradle on the Control Panel. After a split second of confusion, he suddenly remembered the triangle handlink in his pocket. Fumbling for it, he used his crutch as quickly as he could to stumble over and place the handlink in the charger. Zoey observed him under hooded eyes as he avoided looking at her directly and kept his head low, hoping he didn't give himself away.
She said nothing. He pivoted back toward the door where Calavicci was waiting for him.
But Zoey had one more thing to add before they parted ways. Her malicious grin had returned. “Don’t forget that you still failed this leap, boys. I won’t.”
The door slid open. Sam anxiously exited after the other leaper.
-------
Leaving that room made Sam feel like he could breathe just a little easier, but the walls here seemed to close in oppressingly from all angles. He couldn’t shake this sense that he was being watched, and he knew he had to be exceedingly careful. Something told him the stories he'd heard about this place had barely scratched the surface of what was hidden here.
He had no idea where to go, but his companion did. As much as the other Al made his skin crawl, he had saved his neck back there. He cared about the other Sam, and that’s who he was right now. So Sam followed him apprehensively through the hallways, passing the occasional guard armed with a taser and club. Absurd as it was, Calavicci was currently his only ally.
Sam didn’t trust him. He’d made that mistake briefly in 1982, before Calavicci had helped the other Sam try to kill Al. He wasn’t sure why they’d decided to leave the last leap at the radio station, but he couldn’t assume it was for good intentions. He had to find out more. And he couldn’t let him know who he really was, or he would try to kill him too.
Well, why shouldn’t he?
Sam had let Calavicci’s partner fall. His double should have been dead. He had to question why Calavicci should trust him after that.
Calavicci stopped at a door, but didn’t go in. He faced Sam, glancing warily at the guards. “That was close,” he whispered.
“Yeah. I—”
A light flashed above the door and it opened. Calavicci looked up, suddenly rushed. This flashing was a warning. Get inside. His attention returned to Sam and he leaned in slightly. “I’ll see you tonight.”
There was an intensity behind his expression, a promise. He was going to be there. And with that, he was gone.
That must mean this was Sam’s quarters. A cautious eye on the guards himself, he hobbled inside.
A spartan room. A bed. A drawer. A light.
The door slammed shut like a jail cell.
-------
“Merda!” When the next corner revealed no sign of the Ford or the wayward leaper, Al cursed to himself and jerked the wheel to the right. Beckett was a slippery son of a bitch, that was for sure. But Al was gonna find him and get his friend back.
That is, as soon as he changed his pants after a hologram in a lab coat appeared in the middle of the road. He slammed on the brakes, but not before Gooshie slid through the hood and ended up embedded in the seat next to him.
Both of their screams petered out and a pissed-off Al snapped his head toward him. A terrified Gooshie peeked from behind his fingers. Looking down at his cut off torso, he blew out a breath as he remembered he was safe in the future. 'Oh wow. You nearly hit me.”
“Gooshie!”
“Sorry, Admiral. I didn’t realize you were driving.” Gooshie gave a weak smile.
Al glared and hurriedly revved up the truck again. “I don’t have time for this. I gotta find an imposter.”
Realizing he was being left behind, Gooshie punched some buttons on the pile of gummy bears and synced himself to the truck’s movements. As he did so, he spoke distractedly. “Normally I wouldn’t rush in like this, but there were some unusual readings at the end of last—hm? An imposter?” After his delayed reaction, he lifted his head and gazed out onto the road.
“There was a lightning strike. I ended up with Bizarro Sam.” Al couldn’t talk much. He had to focus on the task at hand.
Gooshie furrowed his brows and squinted. “Bizarro—oh. Ohhh!" His beady little eyes were instantly very wide. “B-But, I-I thought he was dead!”
“So did I, but evidently evil leapers are made out of some pretty tough material.”
The process was slow, but eventually Gooshie began to piece things together. “But if he’s here, doesn’t that mean Dr. Beckett is…?”
“Bingo.”
“…bango bongo.” Gooshie’s shocked mouth made a perfect ‘o.’
Miffed at yet another imposter of his own, Al slit his eyes at him askance. “Look, Goosh. I don’t know how we’re gonna do it, but we need to swap them back.”
Gooshie scratched his head in confusion. The Admiral was asking for a tall order. “Gee, that’s a tough one. Last time something like that happened, Dr. Beckett had to leap into you to get you back to the Project.”
“Obviously we don’t have that option this time. Any other ideas?”
“Well…we’d need to know where he is, first of all, and I have no clue how I’m going to get that information.”
“I can think of one person who has the answer.”
Gooshie stared at Al, perplexed. A pause, then he stiffened as he realized who he meant and what he was getting at. “….you want me to center in on him, don’t you?”
Al’s teeth flashed in an annoyed grimace. “If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Ummm…w-well, here’s the thing about, um...” Gooshie fiddled nervously with the handlink, pretending to press buttons. He gasped with sudden inspiration. “Oh! If you give me a few minutes, I think I can get some coordinates a-and, um, send you to…”
“Oh for god’s sake, Gooshie, you’re a hologram! He can’t hurt you. Just ask him some questions and see what you can get."
“Yes, but—”
“Besides, you’re not the one he tried to kill,” Al pointed out with irritation, “Grow a little backbone. Until he tries to throw you off a roof, blow you up, burn you to death—”
“Yes, I remember the fire,” Gooshie said quietly.
That shut Al up very quickly.
His anger or his swiss cheesing, or maybe just foot-in-mouth disease, had made him forget that Gooshie was there when the other Sam tried to burn Project Quantum Leap to the ground. Closing his eyes at his own insensitive stupidity, he took a moment before speaking up again. “I know. I’m sorry.” He looked away from the road briefly at his friend. “He hurt all of us. And I hate asking you to do it, but I need you, buddy. Sam needs you.”
Gooshie smooshed up his mouth. He knew he was being silly, that he was in no actual danger, but Dr. Beckett and Admiral Calavicci were. It was up to him, and he really didn’t want that responsibility. Why couldn’t he just be a programmer again? He couldn’t even stand to look at Dr. Beeks in the infirmary after she’d been attacked by their Co-Directors' evil doubles. He’d felt lousy about it, but he didn’t like to see blood.
“Please. Ask him what you can. Whatever you can’t find out, I’ll get out of him one way or another.” Al gave him a tight, reassuring grin. He wasn’t in this alone. But right now, Dr. Beckett was.
Gooshie nodded bravely and swallowed. “You got it, Admiral.” With another punch of a button, he blinked out of sight.
-------
Beckett was terrified, more terrified than he’d been in ages.
He wasn’t sure why, perhaps because he’d been numb for so long. But he should be ecstatic. After all, he had the one thing he’d wanted for thirty years. Right? He was free. Honestly and truly, no baggage to drag him down. No fight for control, no Project on his tail…he could get out of this truck and simply keep walking, walk until his feet bled, til the soles peeled off and his strength left him, and still he would be his own man. He thought back to the countless nights spent dreaming of what he would do the second he was away from that Place: find a decent meal, a drink, a touch. Count the stars. Just rest. Sleep quietly for the first time.
But it was empty without the one soul he wanted to be with.
When he plummeted to what he thought was certain death, he felt he'd been stripped of everything that had ever given him a shred of hope. If Saint Beckett really wasn’t the man he said he was, then what possibility was there for him? But worse still was the realization that even after his soul was torn apart…life went on. He wasn’t dead, but why? It was the same place, the same rules, the same endless grind. It would be better if he had never woken up. He wanted that. Maybe then he would have something like peace. It would be finished.
But damn him. Damn Calavicci. He wanted him alive, he wanted him to be a godforsaken hero just like he'd failed to be time and time again. He reached inside him and found the last piece that was holding onto life, onto his sixteen year old self, and told him to hang on a little while longer. Evidently Calavicci had had an epiphany of sorts during Beckett's coma, because now he was ready to fight his own way back too. Funny, but suddenly Beckett was seeing a side of him he’d only imagined in the other Al, the one who believed in him and fought for a better future somehow, someway. Beckett saw a light in him he thought had been snuffed out within himself. And for a brief moment, they shined even more brightly together.
He went rigid and grabbed tightly onto the door. “Stop the truck.”
“But, Mr. Walsh—”
“I said stop the damn truck!”
They'd barely braked before Beckett was fumbling for the handle and forcing his way out. His uneven gait sent him veering into a tree for balance.
“Mr. Walsh?”
Beckett ignored him. Instead, he picked up an old branch, steadied himself with it, and forced himself up the hilltop into the sunset. Leaving the confused young man behind, the adrenaline surging through his body allowed him to push through the shooting pain in his leg. The higher he got, the more the pangs of excitement threatened to tear him down. But he’d been here before. He thought. It had to be. What if it was?
Sweat was beading on his brow by the time he reached the top, and then, gasping for air, the rest of his breath left him. And he felt…something. Something he thought he’d lost. Almost imperceptibly, he was smiling.
Bathed in the beautiful hues of the sinking sun, he could see the entire town laid out before him. And just beyond it, a couple miles out, was Elk Ridge.
He was nearly home.
It was like a damn movie. The golden fingers of light crawling past the tree line, music swelling in the air--
No. He scolded himself and beat back his optimism before it undid him. Be careful. He couldn’t rule out the possibility that this was all a trick. The Project still had him. He’d been knocked out on the street when that car hit him and he was trapped in his dream world again. The Boogieman waited in the shadows, like he always did, to swallow him up when he allowed himself a moment of happiness.
But the music was real.
It was coming from the side of the hill, to his left. With another glance toward Elk Ridge, he cautiously made his way closer to the sound.
To dream the impossible dream, to fight the unbeatable foe, to bear with unbearable sorrow, to go where the brave dare not go…
It was a play. A rickety wooden stage was lit up before a modest audience. An old man with a wiry beard and a dented suit of armor filled the stage with his presence. A squat man and a woman in rags listened intently as he sang, his sword lifted courageously.
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…
Beckett’s eyes slit as he watched, his face wrinkled with deep concentration. A disconcerting familiarity ran its fingers up his spine and signed to him an incomplete story. He tried reaching further, peeking through the slits in the floorboards, but the full picture was just out of view.
Wait a minute. He inched forward and squinted. He could have sworn the man under the armor…looked a lot like him.
He blinked and he was gone. The lionhearted old man from before grandly spread out his arms and bellowed about his quest.
“Excuse me…D-Dr. Beckett?”
He jumped and pivoted around. Upon seeing the funny little man in the futuristic lab coat, he sighed at the inconvenience. “Oh. It’s one of you.”
He was a hologram. Safe to say there was nothing to worry about. Having returned to his senses, Beckett started to trek back across the hill. Yes, Elk Ridge was waiting.
The short man with the gunky mustache hesitated at the brush-off before tripping after him. “Yes, I…I—I suppose you could say that,” he replied nervously. It seemed as if the last thing he wanted to do was follow him, and yet here he was trailing like a lost dog. “C—Could I talk to you, Dr. Beckett?”
"You see a doctor around here?”
“Oh, um…Mr. Beckett. Sir.”
He couldn’t help it. This elicited a small chuckle and a glance back. “No one’s ever called me either of those things before.”
The other man did a lot of huffing and puffing for someone in a cushy, air-conditioned Imaging Chamber in the future. The dismissal threw him, but nonetheless, he stayed resilient. “Mr. Beckett. I—I’m authorized to speak to you on behalf of, um, Project Quantum Leap, and—”
“And who’re you, their jester?”
The hologram moved slow, but with Beckett's leg they were about even. Now that they were somewhat closer, the little man caught his breath and straightened his coat with thinly bluffed assertiveness. “I’m the head programmer and Observer. You can call me Gooshie.”
Feet stopping in the grass. This could take the entire night, what with his shadow being a hologram and all. Beckett had to try and get rid of him somehow. He turned around to face him. Ugh. The programmer was opting for the friendly approach, but his tight smile couldn’t disguise the anxious quaking.
Beckett’s lip curled up sarcastically. “Is that Doctor or Mr. Gooshie?”
Gooshie blinked with confusion. “Uh, no. Just Gooshie.”
Pathetic. Was this the best Project Quantum Leap was going to throw at him? He didn't remember them being quite this sad. “I know you, don’t I? We met before.”
“Yes. Once.” Gooshie’s eyes evaded him. Ah, that was right. They’d crossed paths when Beckett had infiltrated their project, posed as their Director. He hadn’t given the programmer much thought then. He was too busy stealing their files and sending everything up in smoke. Truthfully, he was barely giving him much thought now.
A sigh. Beckett put a hand to his hip. “Is this really your plan? You’re gonna what, negotiate with me?”
Gooshie was scared, but he was giving this a good effort. Shame he didn’t get him in the fire, Beckett thought. “W-We just want what you want,” he squeaked, “Honest. Maybe if we work together, we can—”
“What I want?” Beckett repeated incredulously, taking a step forward, “What I want. How the hell do you know what I want?”
With more logic on his side, Gooshie became a little braver. “Think about it! With you and Dr. Beckett switched, you’re tied to our leap. When this leap ends, you leap out too. You don’t want to be stuck with us, do you?”
“And you think I’d rather go back to that hellhole?”
Er, he had a point. Gooshie took out his handlink and pressed buttons to try and produce a number or a fact to back him up. “Uh, no, I-I guess not, but—” He jumped. Beckett was a foot away now.
Boy, he’d love to punch his face in. Yet another cruel joke the universe played on him, making this weasel intangible. “How about this solution? What if I just finish the job I started the last time I was on a leap with you? I’m sure there’s a blunt instrument that’d fit Al’s skull nicely..." Beckett chuckled and walked away again. Think on that awhile, you yellow creep.
“And then what?” Gooshie called out to him more steadily, “Even if you fail, you might still leap out! And if you don’t, Dr. Beckett’s family won’t ever know it’s you!”
Beckett stopped. But this time, fear and uncertainty kept him rooted there.
“You’re not Sam Beckett here.”
That was it. Those were the words that twisted the knife in. The town over the hill seemed to shrink and vanish, leaving him in a lifeless void.
And the world will be better for this, that one man scorned and covered with scars, still strove with his last ounce of courage, to reach the unreachable star…
As the song began its crescendo, Beckett wandered back toward the stage. The doddering old man was a brave knight and indeed it was Sam Beckett, and next to him the squat man was Al Calavicci. But his attention didn’t stay with the men in front; it instead focused on the woman in rags, shriveling away even compared to the battered old man in armor. And she was him, it was Beckett covered in dirt and threadbare clothes, watching the Hero Sam from afar.
He felt the hologram’s presence behind him.
“Why do I know this?”
Gooshie stepped closer, less afraid. Was he seeing what he saw--what he really was? “This is, um, Man of la Mancha. You—I mean, Dr. Beckett—” He closed his eyes and shook his head, confused at the doubles he was presented with. “He loved the play. Maybe you’re remembering it.”
Ah yes. Now Beckett recalled--in bits and pieces from his other life--playing "The Impossible Dream" while the Imaging Chamber was being built. How Dr. Beckett saw himself as Don Quixote, but for all the wrong reasons. Yes, he was Don Quixote, a man with delusions of grandeur, naïve thoughts of chivalry, an utter laughingstock. But everyone at his project saw him as the knight. Al had told Beckett as much, when he thought he was him. And now…now Calavicci had the same childish idea, that they could somehow become Don Quixote and Sancho if they just willed it. But this was reality. As much as Beckett wanted to be the hero in armor others tried to convince him he was, all he could see was the frail old man in the mirror. He couldn’t live in a world that wasn’t real. He couldn’t be what didn’t exist.
He didn’t exist.
He didn’t want to be Don Quixote. More than anything, he wanted to be Sam Beckett again.
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Grumbling to himself, Al squinted at his leapee’s wallet and tried to read the license in the dim light of the storefront. Mickey…something? He held it close to his face. Yeesh, maybe he needed reading glasses.
He sure wasn’t making much progress on this leap, but he had to do something while he waited or he’d drive himself crazy thinking about Sam. He didn’t like feeling so helpless. They had absolutely nada, zip, zero, zilch information as to Sam’s whereabouts, and even if Gooshie managed to get something out of that nozzle who looked like his friend, there was no guarantee they could do anything about it. And the idea that there was no solution at all…well, that wasn’t a possibility, so Al wouldn’t entertain it. They'd tracked Sam down through time before, and they’d do it again. He wasn’t going to give up now just because a minor leap had gone awry. Wasn’t that business as usual with Quantum Leaping anyway? Something always went wrong, and they always solved it in the eleventh hour.
But still. What if they couldn’t find him?
What if Sam was alone with those scumbags forever? What if Al had to leap without him, never knowing his fate? He could be anywhere in time, in space, hidden between years. Fighting as they tried to mold him into the monster Al currently found himself hunting down. What kind of friend would he be if he left Sam in the battle by himself?
A pair of legs in his peripheral vision. He slowly lowered the wallet and looked up. An incensed tension filled the air and hung heavy like suffocating clouds.
Beckett leaned on his stick just down the sidewalk, his left half illuminated by the window next to him. Both men repressed their initial instincts, tried to ignore the flashes of their near-death experiences and urges to take revenge. Al wasn’t sure what to do now that he had him, honestly.
It was Beckett who spoke first, a reluctant conviction. “We both have someone waiting for us. So let’s get them back.”