Chapter Text

Chapter 1

August 1988
Marion, ME

Sam heard screaming. He jolted into awareness, recalling times he had leaped in too late to save a life, and immediately focused on a bed. As the rest of the images shimmered and then solidified around him, he realized the cause of the sounds of agony.

“Push,” came a stern but kindly female voice. “Angie, I need you to push.”

“Something’s wrong,” the woman, presumably Angie, gasped out between pants.

Sam Beckett was in a delivery room. From the scrubs he wore and his position in the room, he determined quickly he was neither the father, nor the doctor, nor (thank goodness!) the pregnant woman. The woman’s position left little to the imagination as to what stage of delivery she was in: her heels were planted firmly in stirrups, her face flushed and moist from sweat, one hand clutching the bed rail and the other pressing slightly on the rise of her stomach, as if trying to force the baby out with her palm. A man stood beside the suffering woman, holding her wrist tightly and whispering encouragement to her. His eyes flicked to the woman positioned to receive the baby into the world, questioning the truth of his wife’s proclamation. The woman, apparently the doctor, refused to meet his eyes.

“Just keep pushing. It’s almost over, I promise.” She did, however, shoot Sam a swift glance and what he saw in them was not good.

“No!” Angie wailed. “I’ve had two others, I know – something’s wrong!”

“You’re doing fine,” the doctor coaxed, trying to keep her voice gentle.

Sam sighed, a barely audible, “Oh, boy,” escaping with his breath.

April 2001
Stallions Gate, NM

Admiral Al Calavicci faced down Gooshie. Behind him, Tina worked quietly at the console in the Control Room of Project Quantum Leap. It had been a quick, easy week and his temper was not in danger of flaring, for once, which was probably why she kept her peace. Gooshie, on the other hand, looked like he was going to throw up. He always was a little too easy to intimidate.

“Well how did she get in?” Al demanded in short, clipped tones, feigning more anger than he felt. “I mean, this is the desert, not the neighborhood in the suburbs. Someone had to have brought her in and I want to know who. It’s a breach to have her wandering around unsupervised.”

Gooshie shrugged and fingered the clipboard he held tightly against his chest - a nervous habit. He would be nervous talking to a mirror, Al mused. “I’m not sure. I haven’t even seen her.”

Al crossed his arms over the green silk shirt and the cool patches of cloth settled against his skin. He hadn’t seen her either, but another staff member had. He didn’t need to see her to know she existed; the demolished armchair was proof enough. It had been his favorite chair in his quarters - comfortable, conditioned to his shape after years of ownership, and it was now ruined. She was destructive and inconsiderate, and Al refused to tolerate such unruly behavior from anyone at Project Quantum Leap.

And she was going to pay, oh yes. The kitten was going to pay!

What had probably happened was someone had been hiding her and she snuck away through a cracked door. The infamous kitten sightings had been enough to keep the rumor mill at a gentle hum for the past week while Sam was between leaps. At first, Al had let it pass, figuring the owner would soon reclaim the four-legged terror and could go on breaking a minor regulation behind Al’s carefully turned back. He’d broken enough rules in his day to allow the transgression. But when the furball began destroying his things, it was another matter.

Absently, he wondered if Ziggy had been opening doors for the animal, aiding in the chaos. If Al ever proved she was, he’d sell her for spare parts and use the money to replace his damaged chair.

The admiral remained motionless, studying Gooshie with a narrowed eye, relying on silence to drive out information, but the timid man began to perspire a little and still said nothing, proving he had nothing to tell. Al opened his mouth to let him off the hook, but Ziggy came to Gooshie’s rescue instead. “Dr. Beckett has landed.”

It always seemed absurd to Al the way that sounded, like she was reviving the famous quote, “The Eagle has landed.” Maybe it was just a credit to her ego. “Get me a lock and have Dr. Beeks start a profile on the visitor.” He paused on the way out of the Control Room. “Ziggy?”

“Ye-es...?”

“You know where each member of the project is when they’re in the complex, right?” he asked, speaking slowly, laying his trap.

“Yes, Admiral,” she cooed. “Often outside, too.”

“And how do you know that?” It was plain by the tone of the question that he knew the answer.

“I constantly monitor all areas of the project except personal quarters.”

“I need a location on someone.” He paused and grinned. “Where’s Fluffy?”

Only another computer would have noticed the hesitation. “I am unable to locate her at this time.”

The grin turned into a smirk and he eyed the main console. “Uh-huh. I’ll bring my wire clippers when I come back,” he stated, no real anger in the words, and entered the corridor, the gentle hiss of the doors closing barely perceptible. Sam had always been so patient with Ziggy, revealing constant pride in his creation, but after years of working with her, Al found instant threats to be the fastest and most effective way of gathering information.

Verbena had beat him to the Waiting Room and was already talking with the visitor. Al peered through the 2-way mirror. Long ago, Ziggy had rigged their link so he could see Sam as Sam and the leapee as whoever they really were. Al was much more at ease that way, especially after Samantha Stormer. The person in the room was a man, maybe mid-forties, with jet black hair and a solid build. Hazel eyes peered out from a haircut that was far from military standards, but somehow not unruly, and framed a strong, handsome face. A hint of Asian features played about his face and darkened his skin. Al moved into one of the two seats that furnished the small observation room, designed mostly for the purpose of the leapee’s own well-being, and turned on the speaker that would allow him to eavesdrop on the conversation.

“What year is it?” Verbena was asking in her steady, even tones. She always exuded a calm presence that made her the best candidate for the job she occupied.

The visitor’s brow furrowed and he shifted on the odd table he was seated on. Al watched as the man scrolled through his memories to locate a piece of information he knew he should know. That was something Sam had in common with pretty much all of the people he leapt into, he reflected: they all bore the same expression when the Swiss-Cheese Effect took control.

“Don’t worry about that,” Verbena swept on smoothly. Years of this and she, too, had learned to recognize the look. Experience had taught her waiting too long for an answer would just frustrate people. She made a small tick mark on the clipboard she carried in her arms. “Do you remember where you live?”

“Marion,” he stated with certainty. “In Marion. It’s a small town, but I’ve lived there all my life and could never consider moving.”

She made another notation. “Marion… Virginia?”

His expression moved inward upon itself again. “That doesn’t sound right… Why can’t I remember? I’ve lived there forever!”

“It’s okay, this is normal.” She smiled gently, utilizing everything she had at her disposal to be a comforting presence. “What do you do there?”

“I’m...” The pause lingered, but, just as Verbena was about to continue, the light of recollection shone in his eyes. “I’m a nurse at the hospital.”

“Really?” Verbena’s interest was genuine, as it usually was when learning about others. It was part of what made her so good at her job. “Do you have friends there?”

Al pulled out a cigar and rolled it between his fingers, watching every gesture of the visitor. He seemed, so far, to be honest and honorable, but looks could be deceiving – they had been many, many leaps in the past.

“Admiral?” Ziggy queried, interrupting his train of thought.

“Got a lock?” Al guessed, tucking the cigar in the corner of his mouth and pulling out the colorful handlink. He pressed a button and it lit up, flashing like a Christmas Tree.

“That is correct,” she stated, talking over Verbena’s continuing probes.

“Got a name and bio?” he asked as he left the booth and began to retrace his steps to the Control Room.

“Kevin Cowell. He lives in Marion, Maine, not Marion, Virginia, and is in the medical profession,” she stated sourly, as she always did when Al got any information before she did. “He is a widower and has two children, both away at college: Nancy and Ellen, ages 19 and 21 in that order. He was born in Marion and has a twin who died at three months. His parents divorced fifteen years ago and have both moved out of the area.”

By this point, Al was crossing the threshold into the Control Room to find Tina and Gooshie already at their stations, pressing keys and entering codes that Al didn’t even understand. He nodded to them and Tina looked a little pouty for an instant that he didn’t even shoot her a suggestive look. But this was business and he never could be playful until he was assured Sam was safe, and he would never be assured of that until he saw him with his own eyes. Then he could relax.

“I don’t suppose we have a reason he’s there, yet?” Al said, not really expecting good news.

It was Gooshie who answered. “Not yet, Admiral, but we have determined it most likely is not Kevin’s life he’s there to fix. We don’t see any indications that he was ever in need of help.”

Al nodded, always grateful when Sam’s life was not the one in peril and strolled into the Imaging Chamber.

August 1988
Marion, ME

Al found Sam in the corner of the hospital cafeteria having lunch. His face was long and he picked at his food without really eating it, oblivious to the crowd of people around him. Al studied his friend for a moment, deciding to put on a jovial air and then discarding it just as quickly.

“Hi, Sam,” Al said mildly, trying to gauge his friend’s state of mind. Sam hadn’t even heard the Imaging Chamber Door open, indicating he was preoccupied, at the least. “Anything wrong?” The question was merely a courtesy; obviously there was.

“We had a delivery today,” Sam muttered absently, “and we lost the baby.” He paused and sighed heavily, still not meeting Al’s eyes. “I never heard a woman so brokenhearted as that mother...” Now he looked up. “Tell me I wasn’t here to save that baby, because I couldn’t. I tried, Al, I assisted the doctor, but there was nothing we could do.”

Al hadn’t the first clue what Sam was there for, but he hadn’t leaped out yet and so that couldn’t have been the whole of his mission. It could have been a part, but he said none of this to the leaper. “No, Sam, you weren’t here for the baby.”

Sam speared another piece of meat, lifted it a few inches, then set it back down, dropping the fork entirely with a muted clatter as it hit the plastic tray. “Are you sure?”

“Ziggy gives it a 4.1%”

Now Sam leaned back, visibly trying to shake the residual regret. This is why he could never be a medical doctor full time, because he took everything to heart. The one skill he had never been able to develop was that professional detachment that was crucial to dealing with success and failure. “So what am I here for?”

“We don’t know yet, but let’s start at the beginning.”

“I know my name, I know where I work, I know the names of a couple of co-workers, but that’s pretty much it.” He was trying to recover, but it was going to take a little bit before Sam would be completely himself again.

“Okay, then, Kevin... It’s August 21, 1988 and you’re in Marion, Maine which is a small town in the less populated northern side of the state. You were born here and have lived in the area all your life. You live alone: your wife is dead and your two daughters are away at college. You’ve been working here as a nurse (oh, isn’t that just cute!) at Clear Springs Hospital. It seems a year ago you started working towards your M.D.” He paused, waiting for more information from Ziggy. After a couple of seconds, there was none forthcoming, and he shrugged. “And we don’t know why you’re here, as I said, and – geez, Sam, you need to perk up a little.”

Sam slouched back in his seat. “Sorry, Al, I just don’t feel up to it. It’s always hard when I leap in like...”

“I know, kid,” Al said gently and tucked the handlink away, rocking back on his heels and digging around for a lighter for the unlit cigar he still held loosely in his left hand. Sometimes it was just the reassuring familiarity that led him to carry it around. Before he could say anything more, a woman in a doctor’s white coat walked through him and sat across from Sam. She was beautiful: dirty blonde hair tied loosely at the nape of her neck framed a delicate face with high cheekbones and the deepest blue eyes that Al had ever seen. “Oh, Sam,” he breathed, “go for it!”

Sam frowned in a familiar manner that told Al he was going to be okay. Then he glared, which meant he wanted Al to stop leering and start pulling a bio on this woman.

“Hell of a morning, huh, Kevin?” she asked, leaning forward on her elbows and folding her hands in front of her.

Al paused in the act of punching buttons on the handlink. “Sam, have you met her?”

Sam’s nod was barely perceptible. “There was nothing you could have done,” he told her in soft tones, reassuring her as Al had just been doing for him.

“I don’t know...” She lowered her gaze to the speckled tabletop.

“Sam, this is Danielle Monroe. She’s an obstetrician here at the hospital.” He paused thoughtfully. “I thought those were the guys who tested your eyes...”

Danielle continued talking, preventing Al from providing further information. “This is the third patient I’ve lost this month – the third! I’ve never lost so many people in so short a time. The little baby boy today and then the mother and baby girl two weeks ago. I don’t know how much more of this I can take – I mean...”

Sam leaned forward minutely. “What?”

She picked at an invisible speck on the table and shrugged. “I don’t think I belong in this business anymore. I don’t have the stomach for it.”

The scientist smiled slightly. “You bring life into the world. That’s your job. How wonderful is that? Things happen sometimes and they always will. Please don’t give up on your life’s work.”

Al’s expression softened. Sam always had a knack for picking up on exactly where and how hard to push. “She’s brilliant, Sam,” he provided into the momentary silence. “She’s been doing this for seven years. She’s one of the best.”

“Michael and I never had any kids, you know? He was always too busy with his work and neither of us wanted to give up our careers to take care of them. He was satisfied, but I had some longing. The babies I’ve delivered always became my children, too, in a way. Some of them come to visit me.”

Sam’s small smile widened, though it was starting to look a little strained. “Such is the way of small towns,” he whispered longingly.

The handlink chirped and Al fished it out of his jacket pocket. “Uh-oh.” He looked at the screen in the palm of his hand, then he met Sam’s eyes. “We need to talk.”

Danielle shook her head suddenly as if to clear it. “Well,” she began, “are we still on for tonight?”

The inability to cover convincingly that had plagued Sam since the first leap showed its colors. “Uh...tonight?” he stuttered.

“Yes. It’s Friday – we have dinner together on Fridays.” The prospect seemed to brighten her somewhat. “Or do you finally have a date?”

“Okay...” Sam’s words were coming out slowly as he sorted out how to get information. “And we’re going to meet at...”

She laughed. “Oh, no. It’s your turn to pick and last time I took your turn, I never heard the end of it. Just call me when you decide, okay?”

“O-okay.”

She stood and released a little sigh. “Thanks, Kevin. Talking to you always makes me feel better.”

“Any time,” Sam said sincerely and watched her depart. “So, Al, what happens to her?” he asked, still staring at her back as she walked through the doorway.

Al pulled the cigar from his mouth and wiped his thumb over his brow. He didn’t question how Sam knew it was her; the scientist had developed a sixth sense for those he was sent to help. “Danielle’s husband, Michael, committed suicide two months ago. They had, as she said, no children. The psychiatrists said it was that combined with her recent failures in the delivery room that led her to depression that then leads her to take her own life in four days.”