Work Text:
I don't think I'll ever get used to seeing Al interact with same people that I'm interacting with. He shakes hands and clasps shoulders and holds conversations as if he does it all the time. Which I suppose he does--and did--while I was busy leaping.
I was in the cafeteria the other day, picking out a sandwich. For some reason, my heart was pounding. I couldn't remember whether I liked turkey or ham, and while it might seem trivial, the fact that I was struggling to feed myself was pretty disconcerting and frustrating. So when I see Al walk by, I was instantly relieved.
"Al, I don't remember which kind I like," I say, holding up the two subs.
He shrugs.
"You like both."
"I do?"
"Yeah," says a new voice. It's a woman in a lab coat, but I can't remember her name. "You and Al used to hole up in the lab with provisions for weeks because neither of you ever wanted to leave! Remember that, Al?"
My brows furrow in confusion, and my heart starts pounding again.
"You-you can see Al?"
The woman frowns.
"Well sure! He's standing right here, isn't he?"
"Ah, Charlotte, maybe I could talk to Sam alone?" Al butts in.
She looks at me with concern, like I'm crazy or something. But after a second or two, she nods at Al and walks off. I turn to Al and swallow hard as it finally hits me...again.
"I'm me," I say. "I-I'm home."
Al sighs.
"Yeah, kid. You're home."
I put both the sandwiches back. I suddenly don't have any appetite. This isn't the first time I've forgotten something simple and made a fool of myself. It's so hard to keep everything straight. I have memories that aren't mine mixed up inside my head and nothing feels real except for Al. And even then I worry that even he thinks I'm crazy.
"Let's get you back to your quarters," Al says.
I swear it's as if he could read my mind. Al's been with me on leaps for years, locked onto my brainwaves, so I guess it makes sense that he knows what I need before I do.
He takes me by the arm, and I tense in surprise. I'm not sure I'll ever get used to being able to feel Al. His touch is gentle, and I'm sure he means well, but the last time Al touched me, it was the devil in disguise. For some reason that's one leap my brain won't let me forget.
"Please don't. Not here and now," I say to myself.
I hear people walk by with worried expressions as they see me flinch and mutter to myself. It must seem pretty out of character.
"Sam, I'm not gonna hurt you. I want to help you."
"Do you promise that you're the real you? That you're really my friend?"
"I promise."
"And you'll help me figure things out?"
"Anything, Sam," Al says softly. "Anything you need. You're safe with me."
I feel like my skin is too tight, like I can't think properly, and that only works me up even more.
"Come on," Al urges. "Come with me, Sam."
He holds out his hand for me to take of my own accord this time. I guess he doesn't want to risk grabbing at me again.
"Al," I say, voice cracking.
My eyes fill with tears, but I reach my hand out anyway. I know I can trust him.
"That's right, kid. I'm here. I'm really here with you."
"You'll take me home?"
"That's right."
I step a little bit closer, reach my hand out the tiniest bit more, and then Al's holding my hand as he carefully leads me out of the cafeteria and to the elevators that lead to the scientists' quarters. We walk in, and Al pushes the button that leads to my floor. He holds my hand through it all, even down the empty corridor that leads to my apartment.
"Do you have your key, Sam?"
"Key?"
Last thing I can remember, I was Terrance Welsh, and I was staying in a hotel with a plastic card to swipe in.
The look on Al's face just about nearly breaks my heart.
"You're not Terrence Welsh anymore. You're Sam Beckett. It's 1999, and you have a metal key to your apartment."
I frantically pat my pant's pockets, and I'm grateful when Al steps in.
"May I?" he asks, reaching for my jacket pocket.
I nod. I don't trust my voice. I might say something else that's completely off the mark. And I certainly don't want Al to keep looking at me like I'm broken or dying. So when he reaches into an inner pocket that I didn't even know this jacket had, I stay still and let him get the key. I don't remember putting it there, even though I must have done so this morning.
The less I remember, the more I freak out, and the more I freak out, the less I remember. It's a vicious cycle, and I feel my stomach churn. Al ushers me through my front door. When it closes behind us, I actually breathe a sigh of relief. It finally feels as though the word has gone quiet.
I move to sit on the couch, hoping Al will follow. He does.
"Are you...okay, Sam?"
I shake my head. No, I'm definitely not okay. I mean, there's nothing physically wrong with me, but I feel wrecked.
"Tell me what you need from me."
Need? I need to feel grounded, safe, loved, cared for. Although I'm not sure how to express any of that to Al.
Instead I settle for, "Need you."
He makes his way over to me and gingerly sits down, kicking off his shoes. I curl up against his side before I give myself time to worry about this too. He holds me close, but not too tight. It brings me great comfort. Just feeling his presence was good. We sit like that, nice and quiet, for long time before I find enough words to ask what's on my mind.
"Al, when you, ah, finally got home. How did--how did you cope?"
"Oh, Sam."
He squeezes me so, so tightly. I don't mind it this time.
"You don't want to go down the same road that I took," Al says.
I frown. I know Al smokes cigars, but that's not what I'd call the worst way. But then a light bulb goes off in my brain.
"You mean women, don't you?"
"And drink," Al says though a lump in his throat.
"There's no women that would have me. Not like this. I'm a mess."
Al smiles sadly.
"Sam, if you have as pretty a face as yours and twenty bucks, you can get a woman. Not that you need to worry about that when you've got a girl like Donna."
"Oh."
I guess I had forgotten again...
Al maneuvers us into a more comfortable position on the couch. I move with him until we're both stretched out with my feet dangling over the other arm of the couch while my head rests against Al's chest. He gently strokes my shoulders, neck, and hair.
"Kid, I'd do anything for you."
"I know. I know you would."
He presses a kiss to the top of my head, and his hands never cease their gentle caresses.
"Mmm, that feels nice, Al."
"Good."
I bury my face in his chest, and he wraps his arms around my back. He smells like cigars and cologne and maybe a hint of someone else's perfume. I smile. This is definitely Al.
Sleeping with Al like that is the best rest I've gotten since coming home. Home no longer meant just Indiana or New Mexico or 1999. It meant Al too.
I was finally home.