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October 1954
Havenwell, PA
The lightning and thunder of Havenwell raged about them and Al looked up at Sam, standing on the bed, watching the storm. It was the calmest he’d been, perhaps even the most coherent, but Al scarcely noticed: he was listening to Gooshie read off the reality of their failing power, of the link with Sam that was wavering as he jumped personalities yet again.
“Oh, no, not again…” Al murmured.
Sam turned to face him, an unfamiliar look in his eyes. When he spoke, his accent was stilted, heavy. “What happened to the X2? Did I do it?”
Al felt desperate. “Sam, it doesn’t matter what you did – I just saved Tibby. He’s gonna learn how to read and-” The image faltered and, stupidly, Al looked down at his own sleeve, as if afraid he would disappear, too. “-And he’s gonna get a good job when he gets out.”
The leaper’s brow furrowed. “You feeling all right?” he asked.
Al talked over him, his words becoming frantic. “-And Tibby’s gonna be okay, so get ready to leap.” He forced a smile, trying to will his words to be true.
Sam’s southern accent thickened. “Look, all I wanna know is – did I break Mach 3?”
“Come on, Sam, you gotta leap. We’re running out of time, you gotta leap!”
Sam’s world sputtered one last time and died around him. Al felt a warmth spread over his skin that he felt certain had nothing to do with failure of Ziggy’s central air conditioning unit. The room spun sickeningly around him as he began to register what had just happened. Then instinct took over.
He turned on his heel and strode down the ramp out of the Imaging Chamber, the hurried clicking of his heels against metal sounding distant and hollow. Gooshie stood behind the console. If he looked closely, Al imagined he could almost see him trembling. In retrospect, perhaps it was his own body, shivering uncontrollably. To his right, he saw Verbena entering from the Waiting Room.
The admiral planted himself across from the little programmer.
Verbena’s footsteps stopped several feet away from him; he could see her standing tensely in his peripheral vision. “Al, what happened?” she began.
Al didn’t even hear, his eyes as black as coal drilling into Gooshie’s. “Get. Him. Back.”
Gooshie blinked, slowly, and his face took on the expression of apprehension it usually did when the observer went on one of his tirades. He opened his mouth and for two long seconds, nothing emerged. Al was barely breathing, caught between paralysis and the frantic need to do something. The room was just shades of gray to him, the brilliant and colorful lights muted into nothing.
Finally, Gooshie managed to stammer, “A-admiral, we c-can’t – the power level required to maintain is inversely proportional to the-”
Al turned suddenly to his right and flung the handlink with overwhelming force. It hit the wall and shattered. One blue and green shard, still winking piteously, skittered across the smooth floor and connected with his polished shoe. “Dammit, don’t give me that techno crap! You get him back right now or else I’ll make you wish you’d never heard of Sam Beckett!”
“Al!” Verbena grabbed his arm as he rounded the console, afraid he was actually going to hit the programmer.
He yanked free, never registering her hold in the process, his voice dropping from vocal rage to a low growl. “You better not give me excuses. I want that Imaging Chamber back up in five minutes or you’ll be sorry, do you hear me?” The apprehension had turned to fear in Gooshie’s eyes, but Al could not be deterred. “Get moving! We are not losing-”
The fire abruptly went out of him and a hand closed off his throat as he choked on the word.
“Al!” Verbena hollered again but he couldn’t tell if she was angry or concerned.
Then it all happened, so amazingly fast. He collapsed against the console, gasping for air. His fingers clawed at the thin red tie, tearing it loose, but he still couldn’t get enough oxygen in his lungs. He fumbled with the top button on the white dress shirt, but his hands were shaking too severely. He slid to the floor, his chest heaving desperately, and Verbena dropped down beside him.
“Gooshie, get the med kit and a blanket.” Her voice was calm but brooked no room for argument. Al hadn’t even realized until she’d said it just how cold he was. The earlier warmth had fled his body, and he felt an all encompassing chill compounded by a cold sweat that left him feeling slimy inside his clothes.
After the scientist had scampered off, the psychiatrist returned her attention to him. “Al,” she said, her voice soft and unhurried, “breathe. In and out, slowly, it’s okay.”
She locked eyes with him and slowly the overwhelming panic began to fade. “’Bena,” he gasped out. His voice was rough, but the air was starting to come a little easier.
She put her hands on his shoulders. “Listen to me, Al. We are not going to lose Sam. We’re not, okay?”
“’Bena,” he rasped again, and turned away. This was it, this was the one: they were going to lose him for good.
“Admiral,” she snapped. He looked back up in time to see Gooshie hand her a med kit and a standard issue woolen blanket. He left before Al could even consider how to apologize. She wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and he suddenly realized he was shivering.
The psychiatrist pressed her fingertips to his wrist and stared at her watch, her lips moving slightly as she counted. “It’ll be all right,” she said finally, shining a light in his eyes and frowning at what she saw. Al was sure she didn’t believe her own words.
Al shook his head slowly. “You didn’t see him, Verbena.”
“Sam’s been through tough spots before, Al,” she reminded him gently, chafing his hands between hers to warm them. She kept using his name and he wondered if it was because she had determined that he was in shock.
He shook his head dumbly. “Not like this. You should have heard him.” He paused and all the leadership classes he’d ever had in the Navy came back to haunt him. Act confident, even if you’re not. Don’t let your people see despair, doubt, or indecision. Always make them believe the situation can be fixed – if not by you, then by them. Because you’re the one in charge and if you’re hopeless, why should they believe hope will help them? Al shook his head again. “We’re going to lose him,” he stated, his throat raw. He choked a little on the word again.
She stopped rubbing his hands and just held them. “We’re not. We can’t.” Finally, she released him and sat back, wiping her hands over her face. “I should slap you for scaring Gooshie like that.”
He shrugged. “I’ll apologize later.”
“He and Tina have performed miracles before. I’m sure he’s digging around in Ziggy’s guts right now.”
He didn’t respond.
She sighed loudly. “We’ve been through worse, Al.”
He stood slowly, laying the blanket on the console and running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair; the fear and panic were gone and now he just felt numb. He turned to go – he needed to lie down, to sleep for a while, but then he looked down at Verbena, meeting her eyes evenly. “No,” he said softly, “we haven’t.”
March 1998
Stallions Gate, NM
Al tried lying in bed, tried going to sleep, but he was so far away from peaceful that he felt his brain was in overdrive. He moved to the couch, still in his clothes except for the red jacket slung carelessly over the chair, hoping a change in venue would settle him. He could have sworn he didn’t sleep at all except for the jolt into wakefulness when the door chime disturbed him. It had only been a couple hours since he started this useless exercise, and Al snapped into full awareness easily.
Verbena’s passive expression greeted him when he opened the door and he moved aside to let her in, too exhausted to speak. He shut the door behind them but, instead of taking a seat, Verbena leaned forward and embraced Sam’s friend. He closed his eyes, surprised both at how good it felt and how quickly it brought his fears back to the surface, all at the same time.
“We need to talk,” Verbena said as she pulled away and suddenly Al felt his blood run cold. Something bad was coming. He felt his breathing start to quicken and he calmed it with an effort, recalling his earlier episode. He had no desire for a repeat.
“I need to sit,” he stated, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat.
“I have a theory on how to get Sam back,” she said, sinking into his couch, but still sitting straight. Tense. He looked at her, unable to find words to encourage her to continue. “I think the electroshock treatment he underwent was the cause.”
Al nodded. “You think it caused the amnesia.”
“Not exactly. I think his personality was displaced. I think the essence of who Sam is no longer available to his psyche. It’s been traumatized, for lack of a better word.”
Despite how shaky he felt, Al had the urge to stand, an anxious energy running through him. His heart sank, if possible, lower. He stopped in front of his bookshelf, eye level with a picture of him and Sam from a camping trip. Sam’s idea, not his. Al considered a fun weekend to be a Vegas getaway, not sitting in a tent with bugs and cooking a tin of spam over the fire.
Sam looked so happy in the picture. It was shortly after Project Quantum Leap had been approved and he was full of hope and excitement. Innocent farm boy.
“How do we get him back?”
Verbena’s voice was soft behind him and Al wondered if she fought back tears. “The space left behind by Sam’s ego is being supplemented with the fragments he’s retained of all the people he’s leaped into. Each of them left a little piece behind, a little bit of themselves that merged with Sam when he was in their lives.”
Al closed his eyes against the picture. “And?”
“And we have to knock them back out so Sam’s personality can take its place back.”
He blew out air between his lips. “How do we do that?” The sliding feeling in his gut told him he already knew the answer.
“He’ll have to get another electroshock treatment.”
Al spun around on his heel. “No!”
She lowered her eyes to focus on the carpet. “Most likely at the same voltage, to ensure we can get him back.”
“Verbena, no!” he pleaded. “I can’t ask him to go through that again – it could kill him! What good will it do to put him through that if he winds up dead?”
She stood and faced him, eye to eye, inches away from him. “Al, I know this is going to be hard for you. I know it hurts you to see Sam in such pain, but it’s our only choice. If we do nothing, we lose him forever anyway.”
“I won’t be able to force him to do anything – he won’t do it,” Al protested desperately.
“He will. You can get him to,” she pressed gently.
“He doesn’t know me – he doesn’t know anybody!” The admiral turned back to the bookshelf, grabbing the wood with both hands in a tight grip, staring at the picture. “He would be willing to do anything but that. I can’t make him.”
“Al…” She put her hands on his shoulders, but he shrugged them off, focusing from the picture to the whites of his knuckles. “The small part of Sam that remains knows you – he knows you’re on his side. He knows he can trust you.”
“And this is what I do with that trust? I ask him to willingly-” He broke off, shaking his head. “Verbena, I can’t!”
He heard her breathing behind him, and then she said, almost too softly to hear, “Then he’ll die.” Al stiffened, frozen in place. “He’ll never leap out and pretty soon he’ll be far beyond our reach, even assuming Ziggy can regain contact. He’ll keep switching until everything left of Sam Beckett is gone.”
He passed a hand over his face. “’Bena…”
“Is that what you want, Al?” Her tone was combative, but barely so.
“Of course not! I just want him home. I just want my friend to come home!” He whirled around again. “Dammit!” he yelled, but it didn’t make him feel any better. Nothing could make him feel better.
Her dark eyes lowered and she clasped her hands tightly. “You need to do this. You need to be strong for him.”
He scuffed his shoe against the carpet. “I always am,” he stated quietly.
“Admiral,” Ziggy interrupted. Even she sounded a little subdued.
“What?” he demanded between ragged breaths.
“We have reestablished contact with Dr. Beckett.”
“Thank God.” Al grabbed his jacket and slid it on.
“I want to come in the Imaging Chamber with you, Al,” Verbena said mildly, putting her hand on his arm to stop his exit from the room. “I want to see him myself, see how he is.”
“Beeks, the power situation…”
“Just for a moment,” she argued, noting his switch to her last name. He was blaming her, she knew – blaming her for making Sam do this. He wouldn’t always, she was sure, or even for long, but he needed to now, to do what he knew he had to do. To ask his best friend to risk his own life to save it.
He met her eyes briefly, but it pained him to keep the connection. “For a moment,” he agreed.
~~~~~
Dr. Verbena Beeks watched Al talk to midair. His voice was calm, gentle, reassuring, but she heard the note of panic in his tone, the anxiety that only a handful of people would have picked up on. Ordinarily, Sam would have been the first to perceive his friend’s distress. Al bent forward slightly, as if hovering over someone. “Sam? Sam, it’s okay, you’re just dreaming. I’m right here, now. Sam? Stay calm.”
She knew he was seeing Sam, or at least the man that used to be Sam. The tension in his shoulders spoke of the stress he was feeling. She stood silently off to the side and waited, observing the admiral’s body language and listening to the tone in his voice.
Then Al started talking about her, telling Sam she was there. To her surprise, she started to feel a little nervous: she hadn’t seen Sam Beckett in over three years, just his image every time she spoke to a visitor.
“Would you like to see her?” Al asked suddenly. He must have gotten a reply to the affirmative because he lowered his hand to his side, palm facing her. He kept his eyes locked straight ahead, but she knew this was her cue. She stepped forward and slid her hand into Al’s. It was dry, but cold, and she could tell it was shaking slightly.
She fought not to react to the sight of Sam standing on the standard issue hospital bed. Not like the persona inhabiting him, but like a pale, unbalanced version. She wondered if it had to do with the parts of the people Sam had leaped into that had stayed with him. She turned to the observer. “He’s not doing well,” she stated unnecessarily. That much was obvious at a glance.
Al turned as if to respond, but then got sidetracked by Sam’s questions. It was eerily silent, watching the leaper’s lips move. Sam must have felt the same way about her because she heard Al reply, patiently, “Well you can’t hear her because touching her just brings in the image.” He raised his hand and hers with it, trying to make his point. It broke her heart to hear Al use his “Dick and Jane” explanations to the genius behind Project Quantum Leap. It saddened her even more to see that, even now, Sam wasn’t really grasping it. “Yeah,” he continued, “this whole leap is weird, Sam.”
Verbena tore her gaze away from Sam to glance at Al. He wiped his face with the hand that held the handlink, his form slightly bent. As much as she was here for the scientist, she knew she had a responsibility to his friend as well. Sam would need Al to get through this and, though he would never admit it, Al would need her.
Sam began looking around himself, drawing her attention back. “Okay,” Al continued, “we don’t have time to argue about that right now.” He was straining to be patient, but he was so on edge that she was worried he would start snapping at Sam. She continued to watch the leaper, trying to divine his side of the conversation. “If you wanna get out of here, you gotta trust me, Sam.” The admiral started to seep into his tone, the commanding voice that would be necessary to force Sam into doing the one thing he wouldn’t want to do. He launched into the start of his explanation, only to interrupt, exclaiming in despair, “No, you’re not Kid Cody! And you’re not Samantha Stormer-”
Verbena tightened her grip on his hand, drawing his attention. “Al, relax. You have to keep calm with him,” she said gently. She kept a steady voice for Al’s sake, but she found herself fighting panic of her own. They were all on this sinking ship and it was up to Al to save them all: his determination and his ability to win Sam’s trust. He had to keep it together.
Al resumed his explanation. Verbena nodded encouragingly to Sam, offering the only support she could, trying to back up Al the only way she knew how.
Al’s expression softened and, for an instant, Verbena thought he might cry. “Oh! Oh, yeah, you’re a damned good guy.” She squeezed his hand gently. When the admiral mentioned his electroshock session, Sam recoiled against the wall, moving as if trying to absorb his body into it where nobody could ever find him again. Al pressed on without pause for reassurance.
“Now, the treatment kicked out your ego and left a valley. And it’s a valley that’s being filled by the memories of all these people you leaped into.” Sam started shadow boxing and Verbena began to worry if the personalities that inhabited him were capable of doing what needed to be done.
“Yeah, well, that’s a good definition of it,” Al said in response to another unheard statement.
“You have to tell him,” she prodded. He couldn’t keep stalling: Ziggy was on emergency power as it was. As if to prove her point, the image stuttered, and Sam raised an arm in protest.
“Sam, I’m gonna have to let Dr. Beeks go because it’s draining too much power.” He nodded. “Say goodbye.”
The scientist lifted a hand in farewell, and she responded, even though she knew she couldn’t be heard. “Bye, Sam. See you soon.” She released Al.
Once Al let her go, he seemed instantly to forget she was in the room. He stepped forward. “Sam, I think you can see we’re in danger of losing contact with you.” Another pause for response. “Yeah, well then, you have to do exactly what I tell you. Dr. Beeks says the only way that you’re gonna get your ego back is if you take another one of those electroshock treatments.” Al mumbled the last, looking down, as if hoping he could slip in the suggestion and it would go unnoticed. When he looked back up, fire sparked in his eyes, dark and commanding. “Yes!” he argued. “Yes, Sam! It’s the only chance of getting outta here! Sam, yes!”
Ziggy’s emergency power gave out then and Al’s entire frame sagged. The light went out of his eyes, the courage he had mustered spent. Verbena stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder, but he pushed it off without looking at her. “Leave me the hell alone,” he said flatly and left the Imaging Chamber without another word.
~~~~~
Al pushed his way through the Control Room, not meeting any eyes, barely pausing for breath. He felt held together by spit and baling wire and any contact would shatter the fragile hold he had on his emotions. He entered the elevator and exhaled heavily, but kept the steely grip on himself, especially as he felt the panic from earlier resurfacing, forcing bile into his throat and narrowing his vision. He just had to make it a little farther, hold the tidal wave at bay just a few more steps.
He went directly to his quarters, his pace just short of a jog, and let himself in. The door had scarcely closed behind him when he fell onto the couch, tugging again at the oppressive tie and trying to control his breathing. His mind flashed back to how Sam looked on that bed and he knew his friend was almost gone. He’d seen a small sliver of Dr. Sam Beckett in his hazel eyes, but the rest was a stranger to him.
And the worst was yet to come.
As soon as Ziggy could gather enough power, he would have to go back in and find some way to force Sam into convincing those nozzles to give him another session. He would have to stand by and watch as his friend was tortured yet again, at his very own bidding.
He was unable to remain still an instant longer and shot to his feet on shaky legs, pulling off his clothing which was once again drenched in a cold sweat. He stepped into the shower, praying that the pounding water would drive away the images drenching him, but knowing they wouldn’t.
As his anxiety grew, auto-pilot started to kick in. He knew he wouldn’t sleep, so he pulled out a clean shirt and slacks, dressing without pause, eyes locked on some point far into the distance. The detachment worked for him until he looked at his reflection in the mirror to comb his hair. The deep sadness in his own eyes startled him and he turned away when they started to fill and then overflow. He made it to the couch before the torrent took over, overwhelming him.
For his lost friend, for fear they would never meet again, Al Calavicci wept.
~~~~~
Dr. Verbena Beeks stood in the corner watching Al pace. He was so distraught, so focused on what was to come that he didn’t even notice the clinical gaze leveled in his direction. She felt a little guilty taking advantage of his distraction, but it was also her duty to ensure the fitness of all personnel, particularly the one man who had contact with Dr. Beckett.
Ziggy had said it would take almost twelve hours before she had enough power to attempt contact again. In the meantime, Sam appeared to have switched personalities at least once or twice more because nearly fifteen had elapsed. Al had been in the Control Room for at least four of those hours, but had been too immersed in his own pain to cause any trouble. Even so, Gooshie stood nervously at his station, eyeing the admiral with each pace he tracked around the blue room.
Verbena was about to suggest the programmer take five, if only to prevent a nervous breakdown, when he suddenly announced, “We have a lock, admiral!”
Al turned quickly, relief flooding over his expression. Dread followed an instant later, however, and he scooped up the handlink and started to walk to the Imaging Chamber. He paused and turned to look towards Verbena. A dozen things crossed her mind to say, but they all seemed trite and inadequate. Instead, she nodded and hoped he understood.
He turned from her and entered the Chamber, squaring his shoulders and marching in to do as he had always done: using whatever he had at his disposal to take care of Sam. The Door closed behind him and Verbena sat in a nearby chair. “Gooshie, we need to listen in on this one.”
Gooshie manipulated the controls and nodded tightly. “The admiral has established contact.”
Al’s voice rattled through the speakers. “It’s time, Sam.”
He was tired. He was scared. But she heard it now in his tone, the determination that had been missing the day before.
They were not going to lose Sam.