Chapter Text

Prologue

Blue skies. Not just blue, but those deep oceans of light and darkness that gave you the feeling of being very small but still part of something huge and important. Blue skies and green grass. And the breeze, sweet and pure, floating over, cleansing and comforting. Dancing in the morning air.

He stood alone. But not alone. There was a presence all around him, kind and gentle, and he embraced it, brought it to himself until they were one.

He had been here a long time. Too long, he feared, for it only made sense that there was somewhere else he was supposed to be, some other life he was supposed to be living. But he wasn’t sure.

How much time?

He stopped, glancing around without moving, trying to determine the source of the voice. He waited, anticipating a response. When none came, he wondered if he was the one who was supposed to provide it. He had no desire to - the silence was too perfect to shatter.

It was still again for what may have been a long time or may have only been an instant. Then another voice came, or maybe it was the same one.

What could possibly be wrong?

Wrong? What was wrong? Everything looked-

Perfect.

He shouldn’t have spoken. He shouldn’t have incurred the wrath of whoever owned this place because surely the opposite of this would be just as terrible as this was wonderful. But, then, he’d already been to hell and back.

The fever is out of control. We’ve got to tackle that first.

He felt a sharp tug and resisted it with every fiber of his being.

It started just on the edge of his vision - he wasn’t certain what it was at first. Then, it spread. Death and destruction as a billion tiny black dots, eating up the calm, the peace, and leaving something terrible in its wake.

The closer they drew, the faster they came, as a relentless army, a wave ready to break over him. He threw up his arms reflexively as it approached him. There was terrible pain and then everything went black for an instant. When awareness returned to him, he immediately regretted it.

Agony ate at every nerve, a searing pain that encompassed his entire universe.

Is it the link?

The land around him was a wasteland - grays and muted yellows in the sky, the ground, the water, the fire that burned into his retinas.

I don’t know. If it is, we’ve got to sever it.

No! he cried, reaching out. Please, no! But the environment swallowed up the sound; nobody could hear him. Maybe nobody could help him.

His vision was washed in red, then faded to the tedious gray again.

He was sobbing now, curled into a ball, trying to hide from the misery and the pain. Whatever was controlling him pushed past his feeble defenses as a knife through soft flesh.

He collapsed back into darkness.

Book 1

Chapter 1

January 2001
Stallions Gate, NM

The phrase “the middle of the night” didn’t mean much to the staff at Project Quantum Leap. In a facility that had to continually adjust to a new leap time, the only period of calm was the space between Dr. Sam Beckett’s leaps. It had been just past midnight when Ziggy announced that Sam had departed one life and was wherever he went when he was en route to another.

Given the current norm, they had anywhere between two to five days of peace before he inhabited the life of another unsuspecting individual.

Beth Calavicci had been awake when the notice of the leap ending came through, which was unusual in itself. Although her husband, Al, had to alter his days based on Sam’s time, she had no such need, and so she kept to a consistent 9-5 when possible. As head of the small medical team of three, she was on call to tend to the Visitor’s physical needs, but that hardly required around the clock care. She often let her staff, who were more than capable, handle the medical in-processing of visitors and spent most of her time conducting research on the effects of leaping at the cellular level.

When this crazy journey had begun, she tried to shift along with the rest of the complex, but Al told her he liked that she maintained a constant in a world of change. This leap, however, had been hard and she decided to wait up for him, even though she knew it might be a couple more hours before she could see him. Once a leap was over, he liked to file his reports while it was all still fresh. With his usual military efficiency and attention to details, he would compose two reports: one that went to the committee, and one that stayed at the project.

Anyone who knew Al knew which version would be the truest to reality.

He’d finally come home around two and, when she saw his eyes, she was glad she’d stayed awake. The last time he’d looked this miserable was when Sam leaped into Havenwell.

It was now twelve hours past that, and Beth wandered slowly around her quarters, alone. Her stride was too slow and aimless to call it pacing, but the restlessness she felt was evident in the way her eyes took in her surroundings as if she didn’t recognize them. The room was warm, but she wrapped her arms tightly about herself, her hands moving up and down her powder blue cotton peasant shirt.

Her route was blocked by the dark gray sectional and she diverted to the right, moving like a stream flowing around obstacles. Her actions were automatic, all her thoughts engaged in replaying the moments from that morning.

The break afforded by the days following a leap was usually a blessing, a chance for everyone to take a beat and catch up on sleep and paperwork and maintenance. The days after a leap fraught with mortal danger were the opposite, at least for those in the staff who were close to Sam, and especially for Al. Al took time to work the adrenaline out of his system. Sometimes he would take it out on her, railing about inconsequential happenings and finding fault with every circumstance that came his way. She would hold her own with him as she waited his anger out. She used to feel offended and hurt by his habit, but she’d learned the truth behind it after the pattern started to repeat itself.

He would be consumed with an inexplicable rage and then she would find that right moment to touch his back or whisper a compassionate word, and the bottom would fall out. The ire was his cover for fear, a cover for whatever terror he’d dealt with through the course of the leap.

Those were the moments he needed her the most: to be there with him and to listen, and to not hold his earlier fury against him.

In those hours, she saw so much of who Al was as a person. Sam was important to them both: he’d been there for them when Vietnam was clawing at their happiness, one bottle at a time. Al felt that was a debt he could never repay and she saw how deeply it cut him to not be able to help his friend, to not have anything to offer but words. It was all so unfair.

This last leap was no exception.

It was bad. They hadn’t even reached the anger stage yet: Al was still in shock when he stumbled back to their room after hours in the Imaging Chamber, existing solely on coffee and cigars, complaining of a stabbing headache. He hadn’t been ready to unload on her yet. He was too exhausted to do more than put one foot in front of the other. Thank God Sam had finally leaped.

Beth led him to the bedroom, tugging off his blazer and then, once he was seated on the edge of the bed, untying his shoes. By the time her prompting had led to the sienna shirt and gray slacks piled at the end of the bed, his eyes were half closed. He was dead to the world before his head hit the pillow.

Beth realized she had stopped moving and was standing at the end of their bed, shaking. She moved to the closet and pulled out Al’s metallic burnt orange jacket, shrugging her arms into the puffy sleeves and breathing in the smell of his cologne that lingered on the fabric. The diamond of her wedding ring caught on the elastic cuff and she tugged it free, watching as it snagged a thread and yanked it loose.

She sat on the end of the bed, running a hand slowly over the comforter. The bed was unmade, a product of the frantic moments that had transpired that morning.

For just a moment, Beth was transported to June of 1967. Traumatic memories captured her, and she closed her eyes, remembering sitting on the bed in the small bungalow, waiting and waiting and waiting for the phone to ring. Waiting for news.

God, she hated waiting.

A sob tried to claw its way free and she lurched back to 2001 with a jolt, swallowed it back forcefully. She lay back on the disheveled bed, burrowing deeper into Al’s jacket. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, slowly, keeping the emotions at bay. They didn’t know anything yet. She shouldn’t jump to conclusions.

She woke up that morning to find his side of the bed empty. This surprised her – she thought with how drained he had been that he would sleep at least until noon and it was only – she glanced at the clock – 8:30.

She was fatigued, too, and so she opted not to get out of bed right away. She drifted in and out of a light sleep for a half hour, listening for the door that would signal Al’s return to the room.

After a yawn and a blissfully long stretch, Beth finally got up and went to the bathroom to complete her daily morning rituals. She washed her face, allowing the cool water to remove any remnants of sleep and then took her time applying makeup, dreaming of an espresso from the project cafeteria. Satisfied with her appearance, she returned to the bedroom and then it felt like she’d been punched in the stomach.

Al was crumpled on the floor beside the bed, unconscious, his right arm pinned awkwardly beneath his body. While she’d lounged in bed, taken her time in the bathroom, he’d been right here, just out of sight. In trouble.

She shrieked and stumbled to his side, coming down hard on her left knee. Panic rose like a living thing inside of her and she was unable to fight it for several long seconds. He was so still.

“Al? Al!” She cried his name, reaching for him, blinking back tears that would make it harder for her to evaluate his medical condition. She grasped for the calm that she’d always had as a doctor, the ability to function in a crisis. “Al, honey, wake up!” Her knee throbbed painfully, but she scarcely noticed. She put her fingers to his neck and took note of two things: his pulse was thready and his skin was on fire. The heat, though alarming, told her he was still alive. She checked for breathing next and found it labored, though a quick inspection revealed nothing obvious blocking his airway.

The possibilities flashed through her mind. Stroke? Heart attack? The fever spoke of infection.

Her medical training kicked in and she recalled the best tool at her disposal. “Ziggy?”

“Yes?” Ziggy had the uncanny ability to draw out one syllable into several.

Beth didn’t give her the chance to continue. “Get a medical team up here, now!”

“They are already en route with Dr. Beeks,” she returned, not a trace of sympathy in the tone.

Of course. Beth’s frantic cries would have spurred the supercomputer into action. She continued to check for injury. No blood, no breaks, pupils responsive. She let the professional experience she had take over while she seemed to pull out of her own body, observing from a great distance down a long, echoing tunnel.

The med team arrived and Beth tried to assist, but Dr. Verbena Beeks rushed in behind the group and pulled her away with firm hands. She fought her friend for a moment, but the psychiatrist was not letting her go, trapping her in an embrace.

Then it was as if she’d blinked and found herself outside the medical bay, pacing. Waiting, waiting, waiting…

Quantum Leap was, by design, isolated deep in the nothing, far away from prying eyes. Only the desert wildlife ventured into their corner of the world. Dr. Sam Beckett couldn’t anticipate all the needs of the facility and its inhabitants, but as a medical doctor he recognized that, should an emergency occur, he would need a fully stocked facility at his disposal. To that end, he built a medical bay that had the basics, plus a plethora of … not basics.

While items such as an MRI were considered too much of a luxury both in cost and space, Quantum Leap did have a full operating suite. They hadn’t availed themselves of it yet though it had nearly received a workout when Billie Jean went into labor. Now Al was the recipient of Sam’s foresight.

Last time Beth had received any updates, they’d had no more success determining what was wrong than she had. She was starting to wish Sam had won the fight for the MRI.

She’d followed the team down three levels to the ward and parked herself outside in the small hallway that couldn’t even be considered a waiting area. She remained there for an hour, maybe two, watching as the swinging door opened continually, making way for nurses, assistants, and new instrumentation.

After nearly stumbling over Beth’s feet for the tenth time, Verbena had told her to go back to her quarters. She had protested until her friend informed her she was just in the way and they needed room and time to give Al the best care possible.

So she’d left and returned to the residence floor, prowling around the small glorified hotel room, unable to remain still for long. She hated their rooms so much. They had a small home just on the outskirts of Albuquerque, just big enough for the two of them with one small guest room for when one of the girls came to visit. Al had wanted to sell, but Beth told him, in no uncertain terms, that they were keeping it. A bedroom where you couldn’t wake up to warm sunlight on your face was not a home. He’d argued it was a waste of money, but she wouldn’t budge. They eventually lapsed into an uneasy truce: he wouldn’t complain about keeping the house and she wouldn’t complain about the number of nights he was forced to spend at the project.

Besides, he did it for Sam and how could she be mad at that?

Beth was contemplating making herself a cup of tea, just to give her hands something to do, when the door chime sounded. She sat up quickly, hearing the door open as she crossed into the living space. Verbena wasn’t even waiting for her to get the door: surely that couldn’t be good?

Verbena met her eyes across the room. The woman’s usually immaculate appearance was marred with wrinkles in her dress and a weight that caused her shoulders to sag. She smiled dimly when she saw Al’s jacket wrapped about Beth’s torso, but it faded quickly. The woman paused, evaluating Beth’s own posture, took a deep breath, and advanced into the room.

“Beth,” she greeted.

“How is he?”

Verbena studied Beth for a moment, then took her arm to lead her to the sofa. “Let’s sit down-”

“No!” Beth cried, jerking free. An irrational anger bubbled up inside of her. She was not going to be “handled”. She was going to get answers. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“Please, Beth. Can we sit?”

Beth was about to protest again, but saw that the suggestion may not have been solely for her benefit. It had only been five hours, but Verbena looked as if she’d been up for an entire day. Even through her dark complexion, Beth could see circles under her eyes and a struggle to hold herself together.

The problem with a small staff, Beth reflected, was that there was no detachment possible. They all knew each other. The other problem was that she was the doctor on staff, which meant… “Who is handling his care?” she demanded.

“Dr. Spenard,” Verbena responded.

“Who?” Beth asked, upset and frazzled. There was nobody at Quantum Leap by that name, but she mentally searched the roster anyway.

“The doctor. His name is Spenard. Benjamin Spenard. He’s from the … I don’t know, some prestigious hospital in Albuquerque. He was on our call list – he’s cleared.” She pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. “He got here two hours ago.”

“I…” Beth started, then trailed off. She was trying to order her thoughts, to triage her own feelings. In her mind, she heard Al ask, Which alligator is closest to the boat, sweetheart?

“How is he?” she asked again. In an effort to avoid Verbena’s gaze, she fixed her eyes on the loose thread on the jacket, twisting it around her index finger, pulling it tightly to cut off the circulation.

The psychiatrist exhaled heavily. “Blood pressure is down, temperature is up. 104.4° last time we checked. We have him on broad spectrum IV antibiotics and cooling blankets.”

Verbena stopped and Beth looked up sharply. “And?” she demanded.

“And… That’s it.” Verbena shook her head slightly, tossing her hands up in an “I don’t know” gesture that made Beth’s blood boil.

“Don’t lie to me, Verbena! And don’t keep things from me.”

“I’m not.”

“So talk.” Beth shot to her feet and started her aimless wandering again. Where was she going to go? Her eyes darted around the room in frustration. Why couldn’t she be in a room with a damned window?!

“There is … nothing wrong with him,” Verbena said quietly. “That’s all we have to work with. We’ve done an electrocardiogram and his heart’s fine and no clots, so probably not a stroke. X-rays don’t show any obstructions. Blood work has come back normal across the board. Electroencephalogram is normal. Beth, there shouldn’t be anything wrong with him.”

“So theorize! You’re a scientist!” She had to stay angry; once she lost that, she’d break down.

“We don’t know.”

Beth waited for more, but Verbena wasn’t offering yet. “He had a headache last night when he went to bed, ‘Bena. A headache!”

Verbena swallowed. “He didn’t complain of anything else? Just a headache?”

“You’re not going to tell me your theories, are you?”

The psychiatrist hesitated.

“Verbena...” Beth warned. Al was the admiral, not her. She never wanted to be in charge; she was happy to operate in the background. Recognition made her uncomfortable and she didn’t enjoy fighting against impossible odds. Al relished every victory, but to her it just seemed exhausting.

But Al wasn’t here now. It was up to her to be aggressive, to make sure they weren’t hiding things from her in the name of keeping her calm.

“I think it would be best to wait,” Verbena replied, picking her words carefully.

She’d been in Verbena’s shoes before – brainstorming ideas and theories. It served no purpose to notify the family of each possibility at this stage. Speculation was healthy in the diagnosing process, but dangerous when speaking to loved ones. “Can I see him?” Beth asked, sacrificing the battle in hopes of winning the war.

“In a minute. Can you tell me exactly what happened?”

“I told you already!” Beth paced the room like a caged animal.

“Tell me again,” the psychiatrist said evenly. Beth wondered if she knew how annoying that tone really was.

“Sam leaped out late last night and when Al came back, he had a pretty bad headache. He could barely function – it’s been a long time since Sam had a leap this bad and he was completely spent.”

Verbena nodded. “Was he upset?”

“A little, I guess, because of the leap. Then when I woke up this morning he was-” she choked “-on the floor a few feet from the bed. And his face was so hot ... it was the only thing that-” She broke off again and cleared her throat. “I want to see him,” she demanded after a moment. “When can I see him?”

Verbena rose and folded her arms in a gesture that seemed commanding until Beth noticed the woman’s hands trembling slightly. “You can see him now.”

Beth resisted the urge to rush ahead to the elevator for a minute. “He’s - he’s not going to die, is he?”

Again, the woman hesitated.

“Please...” Beth whispered. “Please tell me the truth.”

Verbena was obviously torn, but she bit her lip, then said, “I don’t know, Beth, but I think it’s a little soon to jump to that conclusion. He’s stable right now. Let’s give the antibiotics time to do their work.” She reached up to cover Beth’s shoulder, but she stepped out of range.

“Please don’t - touch me.”

Verbena nodded. “Come on,” she said softly, holding the door open.

They rode down the elevator in silence but, after a few seconds, Beth felt Verbena reach out and clasp her hand. The two women were fast friends, had been ever since Verbena had joined the team six months prior to Sam’s first leap. Their professional paths crossed regularly, caring for the displaced visitors, and they both had a love and passion for their work that shone through in the way they cared for others. Beth felt a moment of gratitude that Verbena didn’t hold her earlier frustrations against her.

When the elevator dinged, Verbena squeezed her hand once and then released her.

They walked in silence to the medical ward, Beth trailing a few paces behind. When they reached the swinging door Beth had been denied entry to earlier, she sucked in a shaky breath.

“Dr. Spenard,” Verbena called into the room, “let’s give Dr. Calavicci at least a few minutes, okay?”

A stout, balding man with thin wire glasses and a cautious expression emerged. He wore one of the spare lab coats, emblazoned with the Quantum Leap logo, but it didn’t quite fit and pulled tight at the chest and arms. He glanced at Beth but, seeing her expression, refrained from greetings.

“Beth,” Verbena said, “you have five minutes, okay?”

Beth nodded and stepped into the room. The lighting was far too dim to work in - obviously, Doctor Spenard had lowered them before leaving. It was just a waiting game at this point. Pick a place to start, treat, and see what happens. A standard hospital bed was in the middle of the room, flanked by two rows of instrumentation monitoring heartrate, breathing, and blood oxygen.

The door swung shut with a soft whump and Beth entered the room cautiously. She gathered her courage and stepped up beside the bed.

He looked dead.

Her breath started coming fast and hard, just at that thought. She pushed it back with an effort and reached for his hand, careful to avoid the IV there.

“Al?” she whispered. An icy hand clenched at her heart. “Wake up, honey.” With her free hand, she brushed the damp curls off his forehead and found his face drenched in sweat and still very hot to the touch. A quick survey around the room revealed a small basin with some cold water and a washcloth. She soaked the already moist cloth and wiped his face.

She knew she should talk to him, but she couldn’t seem to make the words come. Instead, she just clung to his hand and stroked his face. He shifted slightly and she tried to control the flash of hope within her. His movement stilled, but it had been a sign of life, a sign that he was still in there somewhere.

“Al?” she called again. “Oh, Al, I wish you had woken me up if you were feeling this bad. Don’t you know by now how much I-” She took a trembling breath, waiting for the pressure within her to die down. “How much I love you?” she finished with only one small tremor. She pressed his knuckles against her cheek, trying to gather strength. “I’m gonna find out what happened, Al,” she said, determination saturating her voice. “I’m gonna get you through this, okay? I just need you to stay strong and not give up.”

She wasn’t certain how much longer she had stood there with her eyes closed, gripping Al’s hand as if it was the only thing keeping him alive, when Verbena came up from behind her.

“Beth? We need to get back to work.”

“Okay,” she whispered, releasing Al slowly, but inside she thought, Work? What is there to do other than watch him lie there? What hope is there?

“Do you want to talk to Dr. Spenard?”

She wiped her face dry and shook her head. “What can he tell me that you haven’t already?”

“Why don’t you try and get some rest?”

She shook her head again. “You just worry about him. I can take care of myself.” She kissed Al’s forehead. “Take care of him. As if he was your world.” She met Verbena’s eyes. “As if he was your whole world, okay?”

“If you want to talk...”

Beth sighed. “Thanks, Verbena. I just need to...” She paused, then tried again. “I need-”

“It’s okay, Beth,” Verbena soothed. “The offer stands. We’ll call you if – when he wakes up.”

“Thank you.”

“Just try not to imagine the worst.”

She blinked. “I’ll try.”

Dr. Spenard entered the room and looked at her, but made no move to engage her in conversation. Beth felt she should say something, but pleasantries stuck in her throat and she pushed past, needing to be alone.