Work Text:
August 2000
Stallions Gate, NM
It’s never truly dark. When you turn off the lights at night, illumination from 100 different sources can penetrate the black. Moonlight, starlight, ambient city light… Even something as simple as the glow in the dark hands on a watch.
When you live ten stories underground, it’s a different story. The black used to leave Al feeling claustrophobic and uneasy. He remembered reading once that if you existed in total darkness, eventually you would begin to hallucinate and then your eyes would stop functioning altogether.
Now, four years after he moved into the complex and claimed the small suite as his permanent residence, he felt differently. There was a comfort to absolute darkness. He’d eliminated any small source of light in his quarters long ago. Usually, he left a light on in the modest living room, but when he was angry or scared or sad he would turn off every light.
This was one of those moments.
He was exhausted. Verbena had sent him to bed, citing the fact that he’d been awake for over 50 hours. He was existing on pure adrenaline and the food she’d shoved into his hands every few hours, which she supervised him eating.
He needed to get up, to get back to work, but his body and his brain refused to cooperate. Everyone had their breaking point and he was at his. The complex could have caught on fire, filling his room with acrid smoke, and he would have burned to death. He simply couldn’t move.
He kept his mind partitioned: slices of information kept segregated from others. In those moments when you couldn’t stop, when you didn’t have time to think or mourn, you had to protect the parts of you that allowed you to function.
Fatigue was breaking down those walls, the information he didn’t want to know seeping through his consciousness like the smoke from his hypothetical fire.
He was finally starting to drift off when light made him alert again.
Tina.
He heard her enter, though she was being uncharacteristically quiet. She pulled off her shoes and her dress. He knew this by sound only as he was pretending he was already asleep.
“Al?” she asked in hushed tones, obviously afraid to wake him if he was already out.
He felt the bed dip as she got into it, probably just in her slip and panties. She moved her body against his, spooning him tenderly, and he felt her palm brush his cheek and then his hair. He kept his breathing deep and steady. He knew she meant well, that she wanted to comfort him, but he couldn’t have a conversation with her – he just couldn’t.
“Poor guy,” she whispered and kissed the back of his head. “We’ll try again tomorrow. We’ll find Sam.”
She put her head down on her pillow and slid an arm around his waist. Tina wasn’t usually one for subtleties, but the contact felt good, comforting.
Tomorrow, she said. So she hadn’t given up. He wasn’t the only one fighting. When Verbena had sent him away, it felt like the staff was telling him that they were done, but now he saw it was just fatigue assigning the worst possible interpretation of their actions.
He blinked and one tear slid down his cheek, moistening the pillowcase. Then he closed his eyes and let sleep claim him.
~~~~~
When Al awoke, he had no idea how much time had passed. He was still foggy: it would likely take more than a handful of hours to catch up on the sleep deficit. Tina was still in bed – he could hear her breathing – but she had rolled away from him, leaving him with a strangely empty feeling.
He knew he should get up, but realizations of the last couple days were coming back to him with painful speed and he laid there, taking several steadying breaths, trying to will the walls to rise again, to protect him long enough to do what needed to be done.
I can’t fail.
He reached out for Tina, seeking something tangible to hold onto. His hand found her hip and he shifted against her, sliding his palm towards her stomach and burying his face in her hair. She moved slightly but didn’t awaken.
He breathed in the scent of her shampoo, a subtle floral scent that must have been new – usually she used something that smelled of berries. It was a welcome change; it made him feel grounded. He rested his palm on her belly and as he became increasingly more awake, he was aware of something else, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
Tina had an amazing figure, but she was remarkably thin, almost to a fault. The body he embraced now was soft and curvy, with a slight hint of a paunch.
He drew away from the woman in bed with him and reached out until his hand made contact with the nightstand and the small lamp there. He fumbled for the switch unsuccessfully for a moment. It was as if everything in his quarters was just slightly off.
His hand finally hit a chain and he pulled it, flooding the room with a warm glow. He turned back to his companion and felt the breath knocked from his lungs.
She was facing away from him, but he knew this woman. He’d dreamed of her a thousand times. He’d loved her with all his soul.
His brain, already clouded with exhaustion, was now fighting another sensation he was all too familiar with: a shift in the timeline. He looked down at his left hand, mesmerized to see a wedding band on his ring finger. Not shiny and new but worn and battered. He’d been wearing it a long time.
"Sam," he whispered, "what did you do?"
He’d already touched her once, of course, but now he was scared to do so again, scared she would evaporate in this dream he was surely having. Being with her, even in slumber, was better than not being with her at all.
The hair had streaks of gray in it and was longer than it had been when they had danced together in 1969. He sat in the dim lighting and stared at her back, at the silk nightgown that clung to her form. He hadn’t realized he was breathing faster, fighting some mixture of panic and disbelief, but then she stirred and turned towards him, opening her eyes slowly and blinking away sleep. Time had left more lines on her face, but he didn’t even see them. He only saw the young woman he’d fallen in love with.
“Hi.” Her voice was soft, gentle, and everything he remembered. “Are you okay?”
He must have looked terrible because she was instantly concerned; he could read the worry rooted deep in her eyes. Eyes he couldn’t stop staring at.
“Oh, Al…” She looked sorrowful now and it was only then that he realized he was crying. Tears skipped down his cheeks. She scooted up so her head was resting against the headboard. “Honey … it’s okay.” She reached out a hand to him. “Come here.”
He tore his eyes from hers, gazing at the outstretched hand. He couldn’t bring himself to touch her. He was too afraid to accept what his senses were telling him. She had appeared from nowhere: what if she vanished just as easily?
She squinted at him, perplexed. “Al… Sam will be okay. You’ll find him.”
She leaned forward and took his arm, tugging gently. The contact overwhelmed him and from deep inside, from places he’d long ago buried, fierce sobs arose and wracked his body.
“Albert,” she whispered, pulling him close and folding him in her arms, “it’s okay, honey. Shh.” She held him tightly, kissing him on his forehead, soothing with her voice and her hands. He heard her sigh deeply. He could feel her sharing his pain, even if she didn’t understand the extent of it.
His arms were wrapped tightly around her torso, fingertips pressed into the flesh of her shoulder blades, but she didn’t try to extricate herself. She let him cling to her, whispering gentle reassurances in his ear, just as she had always done with their children when they were hurt or scared.
The shock of that thought caused his sobs to slow. Children … more than one. He blinked and relaxed his death grip, sifting through memory fragments. Surviving a timeline shift was a bit like watching a home being constructed from the roof down. You got glimpses of the final product before the foundation was securely under your feet.
He drew back just far enough to look at her in the face and finally felt the strength to speak her name. “Beth,” he breathed, stroking her hair.
Beth caught his hand in hers, squeezing it gently. She reached for a tissue from a box on her nightstand and handed it to him. “That’s better. You needed to get it out, Al.”
He shook his head. He didn’t disagree, but there was so much more. He whispered her name again, touching her face, trailing fingers across her cheek.
Her brows came together. “What’s wrong? You’re so…” She stopped her soothing motions and looked into his eyes, saw things in him nobody else had ever seen, and then it was as if the final piece of a puzzle clicked into place for her. “Oh, God. It’s today, isn’t it?” she said, dread in the words.
Now that he had made contact, he couldn’t break it. He stroked her shoulder, her arm, the back of her hand, taking in every sensation. “What’s today?” His voice was rough from crying.
She took a trembling breath. “Today is the day Sam changed it.”
He shook his head again. He wasn’t following; he was too engrossed in her presence and the rising recollections of daughters.
She moved her hands to his shoulders, gripping him almost as hard as he had her. “Today is the day he told me. That you were alive. You don’t … you don’t remember, do you?”
“No, I don’t…” He moved in close, his face touching hers, feeling her breath on his cheek. “I don’t remember,” he said huskily, breathing in her perfume.
“Al,” she started but he stopped her with a kiss.
The kiss was slow, gentle, searching. He felt the world dim around him. All the problems of the project: the fact that Sam was still missing, funding concerns, maintenance needs… It all faded away in that kiss. Then something welled inside of him. Once it grew and spread, he identified what it was: peace.
Her hands relaxed on his shoulders and then he felt her pressing the nape of his neck, pulling him close. When they parted he embraced her. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”
She hugged him back; she was shaking slightly. “The day we met Sam, when we learned it was his dream to travel in time, we knew what had happened. I … I remembered him. And when he started Quantum Leap and you noticed changes in the timeline when nobody else did, we knew this day would come. It’s been so many years, I just thought…” She inhaled unsteadily. “I thought maybe we were wrong and it would never happen.”
He rubbed her back slowly. “I’ll remember. I’ll adjust.”
“That’s what you told me.”
They laid down together, still locked in the embrace. He held onto her like a drowning man. Every loving touch brought forth memories of their life together and he strolled through them in wonder. For every moment of hardship there were hundreds of recollections of love and happiness and joy.
He pulled back, reluctantly. “Can I ask you a question?”
She nodded and managed a small smile. This had to be hard for her.
“How many daughters do we have?”
She blushed and laughed, exactly as he hoped. “Four.”
“Four?!” He put a hand to her cheek. “You’re still so beautiful.” Her blush deepened. “My bride,” he murmured and kissed her again.
Thank you, Sam.
She was his again. This time, he was never going to let her go.