From: eah4@po.CWRU.Edu (Elizabeth A. Hlabse)
Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
Subject: BOOKENDS, part 3
Date: 2 Jan 1995 23:04:26 GMT
Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, OH (USA)
Message-Id: <3ea0pq$dnb@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu>



BOOKENDS, part 3
by Terri Librande
 
 
      Sam faced his friend with a resigned expression, his eyes dark. "I'm 
going home, " he stated, keeping his voice quiet.  "Back to Cambridge.  You
can call me when you crawl out of the bottle you've dived into.  We don't 
have anything to discuss right now, and I won't talk to you."  Taking a 
fighting stance, Al swung at Sam's head, missing, seemingly, on purpose.  
Then, spinning on his heel, none to steadily, he stormed out of the hotel.
 
     Sam had a brief conversation with Eva's mother before going out to
find Al.  What she told him confirmed his fear.  He made his way through the 
maze of gamblers and wedding guests.  Spotting Al by the main entrance, 
he managed to make it to him before the older man could run.
 
     The look Al gave him was loathing, and desperate at the same time.  He
tore out of the grip Sam had on his arm, and ran out into the bright Vegas 
sunlight.
 
     Sam was at his heels.  He forced the other man to face him, fairly 
snarling, "What the hell has gotten into you, Al?" 
 
     Al attempted to go around the taller man, but Sam managed to step in 
front of him when they reached the sidewalk, preventing him from moving 
farther.  "This is crazy," Sam shouted.  The sun was setting, but the heat 
was intense, even for December.  "You are going to listen to me, even if I 
have to sit on you."
 
     "I'm listening." The words were spoken with the same flat cadence he'd
used the night he'd lost Beth, but with an underlying darkness.
 
     "You're drinking too much.  You don't love Eva, and I can see that  -
and I think she can, too.  She's left her wedding alone, and is up in your room
crying."
 
     "Sounds like you checked that out."
 
     "If you're trying to accuse me of some kind of impropriety, forget it.
 
Her mother told me, and she's completely confused, too. Al, I have to leave
for Cambridge, and I damn well won't if you need me here."
 
     "There's nothing wrong!"  Al lit a cigar and chomped down on it. 
"And, if there was, it's nothing to keep you from leaving." 
 
     Sam's tone softened.  "You forget, Al.  We're in this together.  As of
late, I've been busy, you have, too.  We should never be too busy to neglect 
each other.  You never mentioned Eva, by letter or phone, until you called 
me with the wedding plans. You may be impulsive, but not this impulsive!   
If you loved her . . ."
 
     "This isn't about love."  Al's tone was cold as ice, cutting the hot air 
that swirled around them.  "And, as I said before, it's none of your business!" 
 
 
     "What is it, then?" Sam snapped back. "Good sex?  You've been in and 
out of relationships more than I've been in class.  My God, Al, you don't
go to bed with a woman -- or marry them --- unless you love them.  Right?"
 
      "What would you know about it?"  Al was weaving, his eyes narrowing 
into slits.  "Listen buddy, you get some experience under your belt, pardon
the expression, and I'll listen to you.  Until then, you can kindly butt
out." 

      "I know what's hurting you, Al, and you know it, too.  You can't use
Eva as a substitute for something you'll never have again.  It isn't fair, not
to you, or her.  You'll only hurt each other and end up in divorce court."
 
     "Sam . . ." Al warned.
 
     "You haven't been sober one moment since I've been down here. You 
were drunk when you called me two nights ago.  You've got this prolonged 
leave from NASA, so you could get married, and you're willing to blow it 
all on the bottle.  God, Al, what's happened to you?"
 
     "Go."
 
     Sam felt pain cut him like a knife.  "Can't we just . . .?" "Get out
of here, Sam."  Al turned on his heel and walked away, towards the other 
surrounding hotels.
 
*****
 
     Sam left the next morning, never seeing Al again while he was there, 
and not knowing how the story turned out.  Two weeks later, he received a 
short, tersely worded note from Al informing him that he and Eva were in 
the process of going on a prolonged Niagara Falls honeymoon and were 
very happy.  The 'very' was emphasized, as if in defiance of the words Sam 
had said to him.  Opening one of his books, Sam slipped the note inside. 
It proved to be the only communication from Al that he received for months.
 
     After the Las Vegas fiasco, Sam didn't see or hear from Al for six 
months.  Once in a while Captain Calavicci would come up on some press 
release NASA sent out to the UPI wires, but little else. Calling, writing,
and even sending a telegram, gave him no response.  It saddened the younger 
man to know his friend was not speaking to him and there really was no 
reason for it except . . . he'd been right.  There were many nights, after
a particularly hard day, that he longed for just a word, and would try
dialing the number again.  Al's service would pick up the line, he'd leave a 
message, and that, would be that.   June arrived.  Graduation time, and
still no word from Al.  Sam Beckett was the youngest student to ever graduate 
from MIT, and, not only that made it an extraordinary event, but he had 
perfect grades and three degrees under his belt to boot.
 
     In a last ditch effort to communicate, Sam called Florida, where Al was 
now stationed, one more time.  He left the message, "I'm graduating!!" and 
hoped, that this time, there would be an answer.
 
     Kate had just delivered her second child and she and his mother were 
unable to attend, except to send good wishes.  It seemed that again, he'd 
stand alone to receive a degree.
 
     Graduation day arrived, clear and warm.  Sam rolled out of the bed,
his face one great frown.  Sleep had been long in coming, and now, he'd had 
this dream, about the smell of coffee, and some kind of . . ."
 
     "You like it black, or what?"
 
     The voice coming from his kitchen made Sam fall from the bed. He 
glanced up from the mound of blankets and sheets to see Al's tight smile 
greeting him.
 
     "What the hell are you doing on the floor?"
 
     "And, what the hell are you doing here?"  Sam pushed himself up to a 
more dignified perch on the bed, trying to straighten out his pajamas that 
had, too, become twisted.
 
     "I'm here, okay?"  Al's voice was gruff.  "You think I'd miss this??"
 
     "I don't know."  Sam kept his gaze averted, biting his lower lip.  "I 
didn't think it meant anything to you, not anymore."  His head came up, 
chin tilted defiantly.  "I've called.  Where have you been?"
 
     "If you had really needed me around I'd'a been here."  Al kept his
voice and mannerisms cool.  "I was. . . busy."
 
     "Right."
 
     "Listen, kid."  Al leaned against the doorway, sighing.  "I got a
divorce, went to space again, and spent a lot of time at NASA developing some 
wonderful stuff I can't talk in my sleep about."
 
     "Divorced."
 
     Al crossed his arms over his chest.  "Yes, Eva.  And I don't want to
go into the whys or wherefores.  She's gone, Sam.  I did her an injustice, as 
they say in hero books.  You were right, I was wrong."
 
     "That doesn't matter."  Sam grinned.  He knew what coming here had 
cost Al.  He was actually apologizing by his presence and the younger man 
accepted it.  "You're here, right?  I missed you."
 
     "Yeah, well . . ."  Al shrugged.  "Same here." he added, his voice
rough.    

      "Al . . ."
 
     "You'd better get your ass in the shower and dress.  You've got to 
graduate in a couple of hours."  He reached over and affectionately fluffed
Sam's thick hair.  "I've got breakfast going, if you can stand my cooking,"
he said, leaving the room. "Hurry it up, or it gets dumped."
 
     A few hours later, Sam Beckett walked across the stage to accept not 
only a diploma, but honors, the acceptance of his peers. Red-faced, he 
managed to stammer through his prepared speech.  The only thing that 
kept him from falling completely apart from nervousness was Al's eyes on 
him from the 'family' seats.  It was the same look his father had given him
during his graduation from high school; partially pride, and a deep
interest in what he had to say, absorbing every word.
 
     The years were a carpet in front of him, that Al and he would walk on.
As the ceremony broke up,students running to parents, relatives, Sam 
found himself alone.  For just a moment, he wished his mother could've 
been there, to see him hold that piece of paper that had cost so much.  The
thought fled from his mind when he saw Al walking towards him, gliding 
effortlessly through happy families and screaming students.
 
     Suddenly, they were inches apart, and the sound around them seemed 
to fade.  Without words, Sam pulled his friend close, hugging him tightly 
for all he was worth.  The return embrace nearly crushed the air out of 
Sam's chest.
 
     "You did good, kid."  Keeping his hands on the broad shoulders, Al was
hard pressed to keep the emotion out of his voice.
 
     "Don't push me away again, Al," Sam said, his voice pleading. "You're
the only person who understands me."
 
     "Yeah, right, I'm a fucking Mother Cabrini."
 
     "You're not a saint, Al."  Sam grinned at him affectionately. "You
just have to realize that I won't leave you either."
 
     "Why do you pick these strange places to have emotional 
conversations?"  There were dozens of people around them, total chaos.  Al 
eased out of the hug and lit one of his ever present cigars.  "I know you 
aren't going anywhere, okay?  It looks like you're stuck with me for the 
long run, too.  I thought you'd kick my butt out of your house this morning
after that shit in Vegas."
 
     "Let's say you and I had a temporary separation and drop it." Sam 
threw his right arm over Al's shoulders, still grinning.  "We can start on
the Project now. I've got my degree."
 
     "I've got my contacts."  Al gazed at the blue sky overhead. It was a 
perfect day for beginnings.  "Let's get started, kid."
 
     Al returned to Florida to mop up certain objectives at NASA and Sam 
used his summer working an archeological dig in Egypt.  By fall, both men 
had time to sit down and spend the winter working on what they could 
present to the government to obtain funding.
 
     Several theories were thrown about between them, mostly of them out 
of reality reach now.  There was a common thread between their ideas, a 
theory on creating perfect holography.  It involved viable implementations 
for defense, and practical, civilian usage. That would be their start, they
decided, what they would sell to those in charge to obtain funding.  A 
beginning.
 
*****
 
     The next ten years were spent in various labs and offices in and around 
Washington D.C.  They spent most of their time alternately working on the 
Project of the moment, and trying to wheedle more money from the men 
who kept it tightly clenched between reluctant fingers.  Al did most of the
work on the government men, he having more experience than Sam in 
dealing with officiousness.
 
     Sam met with more failure than success in the early stages. Holography
was something Al had been working with NASA on, but Sam found he 
could easily adapt to the newness of it.  Every small breakthrough was a 
reason to celebrate.  Unfortunately, there were more failures than results.
The government reps were becoming antsy, demanding only success, no 
explanations of failure.   As the months turned into years, Al found himself 
worrying about the younger man.  Sam spent every available waking 
moment in the lab the Pentagon had given them.  Everything there was 
state of the art, but it was still a badly lit, musty, damp basement.  Al 
would return to his government issue apartment and arrive back at work 
in the morning to find Sam hunched over the table, working on the same 
problem he'd promised to drop the night before.
 
      It was one of those morning in 1985, Al arriving at the 'Star Bright'
Project -- Sam's euphemistic name for what was becoming a nightmare.  
He entered the basement to find his partner dead asleep, the remnants of 
another all night experiment scattered over the table and surrounding 
floor.
 
     It was pouring rain out, June colder than it should be, and wetter. 
Al shook the water from his coat and hung it up.  Coffee was first on the 
agenda, and secondly, to get Sam up.
 
     His partner was dead asleep on the old Government issue couch. Fully 
clothed, down to shoes, Sam looked deathly uncomfortable, curled onto his 
side, snoring loudly.  For the millionth time Al noticed that Sam had lost 
more weight, and his closed eyes had deep rings under them.  This project 
was taking a toll on the younger man.  Between school, internship, and 
more school, not to mention Star Bright, Sam had been working straight 
through the last eight years.  His only outside interest wasn't exactly
rest or recreation -- this tae kwon do stuff, the karate, the ninja exercises
... Al couldn't exactly see how that could be relaxing, but the kid thought it
was. 

     Wandering over to one of the tables, Al picked up one of the sheets of
paper that littered it.  The top page of the scribbled pages read like a 
textbook, with the exceptions of 'forget it', 'no way', and other negative 
comments scrawled  over it in red pen. "Damn it," Al growled softly.
 
     He knew what the problem was.  With anything, too much was 
overwhelming.  Sam had been at this pace, working every day, twelve 
hours, or in the scientist's case, twenty-four, for nearly eighteen months.
Every step forward was a step back, to check figures, and why it had 
worked.  Even Al couldn't seem to break the workaholics cycle, or force 
Sam to take a night off.  Dragging him home didn't work, nor yelling.
 
     The coffee was ready and Al sipped at his cup.  Sam was still fast 
asleep, dreaming of electric sheep, or whatever men with a mind like his 
dreamt of.  "You need a girl, Sam."  Al whispered the words.  All his 
partner did, in answer, was turn over onto his back, one hand thrown over 
his eyes.  Al slammed the cup on the counter and launched himself at the 
couch.  Grabbing Sam by the collar, he forcibly pulled him upright.  The 
green eyes snapped open, frightened and startled out of deep sleep.
 
     Al was nose to nose with Sam.  "You're going to burn yourself out," he
said, shouting the words.  "You need a night off.  A day, a week."
 
      "What brought this on?"  Sam tried to pull away from Al's grasp and 
found it was a futile gesture.  He decided not to fight it.  "I was
asleep." 

      "I'm going to give you a little dose of reality, partner." Al released 
Sam from his hold and turned away to pace the room. "You missed Christmas 
last year.  And the year before that.  Your mother is calling me to get you
to call her.  You don't return _my_ messages, let alone hers.  The project
is all, and it's taken over every ounce of everything you've got.  Just
because some buttheads in charge of funding this thing say you've got a deadline 
doesn't mean they'll hold to that.  It's not the way the government works. 
You give a _little_, Sam, then they give a little."
 
     Sam rubbed his eyes and tried to light his mental pilot light. By the 
time on the clock he'd only gotten something like one hour of sleep. 
"Could I have a cup of coffee?"
 
     "When was the last time you ate?" Al asked, making no move toward 
the coffee machine.
 
     "Since when did you become my mother??" Sam snapped.  Frayed 
nerves were on edge, and he was getting pissed off at Al.
 
     "Since we started this whole thing."  Al lit a cigar, in outright defiance
of Sam's rules.  "And don't forget those times you 'mom' me.  I haven't had a 
woman since . . ."
 
     "That's not my problem, Al."
 
     "Bullshit.  And that's another thing.  You've been getting calls from
this beautiful brunette the last two weeks.  Every time I get home she's taped 
another message on the door, or waiting in the parking lot.  Nice girl,
about your age.  She's after you, could care less about me, wants on the Project.
That's purely up to you, but she's got smarts, Sam.  You've got to stop 
working so hard, hire some people like her, and some techs.  I'll get the 
money out of those nozzles if I have to shake it out of them.  This is too 
big.  You'll kill yourself before you accept help, won't you?"
 
     "I'm not interested in suicide."  Sam crossed his arms over his chest.
The basement wasn't exactly warm and he'd gotten a chill sleeping in his t-
shirt and slacks.  "It's just that, well, it's our Project.  If we hire
techs, it will . . ."
 
     "Don't talk me out of this, kid.  You need the help.  There's plenty of 
people willing to set up shop here and think of the time you'll have to do 
paperwork, the math, the million little things you bitch about not having 
time to do now."  He frowned.  Sam was shivering, cold.  Grabbing a 
sweater from where it had fallen the night before, Al tossed it at the man 
on the couch.  "Put that on and I'll get you a cup of coffee.  Then, we'll
talk.  You'll listen, because we've got a bunch of things to discuss."
 
     After the coffee pot had been drained, Al managed to convince Sam 
that hiring assistants would be a great idea.  With a great deal of iron
man maneuvering, he pulled Sam from the basement and called a halt to work, 
for now.
 
     Once Sam was comfortably settled in his own bed, Al ventured out into 
the D.C. monsoon to confront their financiers with this new curve.  Worry 
accompanied him, because Sam was ill.  Not that the kid couldn't handle a 
cold, he was a big boy.  What bothered him was that Sam's physical, 
rundown condition might make matters worse if the 'cold' should turn for 
the worse and become the flu. 
 
******
 
     After a good dose of cough medicine, Sam was blissfully asleep in a
cozy tunnel of blankets Al had piled over him.  It was the persistent knocking 
at the door that woke him up.
 
     Jerking on his robe, he pattered over the hardwood floors to the door.
He'd get rid of whoever it was, and back to lullaby land.  No problem.
 
      Opening the door, he stared wordlessly at what was on the other side.
She was lovely, dark brown hair cascading over her shoulders.  Her cheeks 
were pink from the chill outside, her smile hesitant but nice.  Very nice.
 
     "My name is Donna Elesee," she said.  "Are you Doctor Beckett?"
 
     Al returned later to find his roommate under his blankets, Donna Elesee 
sitting on the edge of the bed scribbling some figures on a pad.  Pages
from the notebook were strewn over the bed and on the floor, Sam scribbling 
things down as fast as she was.
 
     "Can't leave you alone for a minute."
 
     Sam glanced up at his friend and smiled.  "Did we get it?"
 
     "Have I let you down before?"  He looked over to Donna, who seemed as 
glad to see him as Sam was.  "I see you've found Dr. Beckett."
 
     "He's not feeling well," she said, her voice a touch concerned.  "I
couldn't find anything resembling real food in your kitchen, so I ordered 
him some soup from a Chinese delivery place."
 
     "It was great, Al.'  Sam's voice had taken on that excited tone. 
"There's some left, if . . ."
 
     "Naw."  Al picked up one of the papers at Sam's knee and frowned.  
"She figured out the stabilizing problem?"
 
     "You were right, Al."  Sam leaned against the pillows.  "We need some 
fresh blood.  I had it all wrong and wasn't paying attention to simplifying.  
With Donna, and two or three other people we can get our holography 
program on the road in a few months."
 
     "Great, kid, just great."  Al glanced over at the girl.  "You want to
ride this white elephant along with us?"
 
     "I wouldn't call Dr. Beckett's work a white elephant, Dr. Calavicci."
 
      "Can't you take a joke?"
 
     "She's interested in time travel, Al.  We could bring her on the
Project when we reach that point."
 
     Al started to say something else and stopped.  He could see the 
enthusiasm on Sam's face and the look on Donna's.  Something had 
happened here, like it had between him and Beth.  He had to allow it to 
happen, not deflect it.  "Are you feeling okay?" the older man asked, 
sounding like a concerned parent.
 
      "Lousy," Sam grinned, looking at Donna.  "I think I'll manage,
though." 

     "Well . . .I think I'll go to the grocery store and get a few things,
make a little dinner for the three of us when I get home." Al backed
towards the bedroom doorway as he spoke.
 
     "Thanks, Al."  Sam was preoccupied, but he gave his friend a grateful 
look.  Donna glanced up from the paper she was working on and looked 
back at Al.  "Will you work with us when you come home, Dr. Calavicci?"
 
     "Oh, I wouldn't miss it, Donna."  He turned to leave, hesitated, and 
turned back.  "The kid is Sam, I'm Al, okay?"
 
     She smiled, making her whole face light up.  A nice girl, Al thought, 
heading back into the storm.
 
     Sam didn't notice the passage of time while he worked over the 
problems with Donna.  She was so excited about everything he did, the 
time travel project, the holograms . . .  The phone rang four times before 
either one of them noticed it.
 
     "Al?"  Sam asked, frowning.  Something was wrong.
 
     "I just got fired.  Star Bright is over."
 
     Sam felt the world crumble around him.  "What the hell happened?  I 
thought you were going to the store.  Just the store, Al."
 
     "I ran into Wright's secretary.  Little number named Jackie, pretty as
a picture.  I've been trying to pick her up for . . ."
 
     "_Al_."  Sam glanced at Donna for a moment.  She looked curious and 
concerned.  "She gave you some inside information, am I right?"
 
     "You could say that."  The rain was pouring down again, filling his
shoes with ice water.  "After I left that nozzle's office, he went behind
my back and fired me.  According to Jackie, he didn't like my attitude. They
want you, but Star Bright is over -- and me with it."
 
     "Where are you?" Sam asked anxiously, thinking back to another night 
not so many years before.
 
     "I'm down here at the Seven Eleven and I'm coming home soon. Don't 
worry.  I just . . . want to be alone for a while, okay?"
 
     The phone went dead.  For a second, Sam allowed it to all sink in. 
First of all, he certainly wouldn't work on any project without Al, and he 
intended to make that perfectly clear to the Pentagon.  Secondly, they'd 
know he was quitting and to hell with any future plans they'd made for his 
mind.
 
     Reaching for his seldom used address book, he looked up the number 
he'd been given to call if there was a problem.  Marvin Wright was going to
get an earful tonight.
 
     By the time Sam got off the phone, Al was not only rehired, but Star 
Bright was saved -- not in the same form or location, but as a project that
would eventually work into something else.  It was obvious, that with 
Donna's help, he could mop up the hologram experiments in a few more 
months -- but he needed Al.  He'd made that abundantly clear to Wright, 
and anyone else who would listen. 
 
     For the two hours Sam had been on the phone, Donna had watched him.  
She never paid much attention to men, or people in general. To her, life 
was science, and study.  And her mother.  Dr. Beckett had spoken to the 
man at the Pentagon with compassion and feeling when he'd begged for 
Al's position.  She could tell there was a closeness between the two men,
as if they were blood kin. 
 
     "You really love him, don't you?"
 
     Sam glanced up at her, almost forgetting that she'd been there the 
whole time. "I guess I do."  He glanced at the alarm clock next to the bed 
and frowned.  "He's been gone too long.  I've got to go find him."
 
      "You're sick."  She gestured at the window, sheeted with rain.  "It's
awful out there.  I'll go with you and . . ."
 
     "No!"  Sam winced.  The word had come out the wrong way.  "I'm sorry. 
You need to stay here.  I know where he hangs out when he's like this.  If 
he comes home and finds an empty apartment he'll be real upset."
 
     "He'll be more upset if you die of pneumonia."  She bit her lip as Sam
got up from the bed and went to the bathroom to change clothes.
 
******
 
     Dulles International Airport -- a good place to lose yourself, Al thought 
to himself.  He glanced through the series of flight departures on the big 
screen.  There was one place he could go -- to think this through, that the
kid wouldn't follow him to.  God, he couldn't drag him down with him.
 
     He approached the ticket desk, giving the blond woman behind it a 
characteristic leer.  "Las Vegas -- next flight."  He thought for moment, 
then added, "One way, babe."
 
*****
 
     Hours passed.  Donna was beginning to get worried about Sam. He'd 
been gone for ages, no phone call, nothing to let her know he was alive, or
if he'd found Al.  At the sound of the front door opening, she launched 
herself off the couch and turned to meet him. 
 
     Sam was blowing his nose with a handkerchief and looking 
resoundingly miserable.  The cold and wet, with the wind gusting at about 
fifty miles per hour had done nothing to improve his health.
 
     "Did you find him?"
 
     "He's vanished."  He slumped into a chair, wishing he could breathe 
properly, or think.  "I checked every dive he's usually in, the 7-11, even 
the arcades.  Nothing.  It's as if he left town."
 
     "It's almost midnight.  Where could he be?"  Donna went over and 
helped Sam out of his wet coat.  "You look terrible."
 
     "I feel awful."  His tone was kind, smiling at her concern. "It's nice
of you to stick around like this, first night meeting me and with all this 
happening."
 
     "You're nice yourself."  Her eyes widened at the blush that spread
over the physicist's face.  He seemed so modest, and old fashioned that she 
wanted to hug him.
 
     "Uh, Donna . . ."  Sam shook his head as he got up and walked to the 
kitchen to make some tea.  "We have to think.  You've met Al, you might 
know.  My head is so full of cotton that I can barely move.  Give me some 
clues, what you think he might have done."
 
     "Does he have a family?"
 
     Sam turned the flame on under the kettle.  "No," he said after a 
moment.  "Just me."
 
     "Where does he usually go when he wants to run away -- outside of 
D.C.?"
 
     "He said he wasn't doing that this time.  That he'd come home, soon."
 
     Scooting on a stool by the kitchen bar, she cupped her chin in her 
hands, facing Sam.  "I have a degree in Psych, also.  I did my research 
before asking to join your project.  Al was a POW.  Now, that he's free, he's 
going to run away from bad situations, to think them out.  He does that 
because he can leave -- he's not confined anymore."
 
     That makes sense, Sam thought.  "Well, he runs to . . . Vegas."
 
      "Call the airport."  She pushed the phone within Sam's reach.
 
      It didn't take long to trace down Al.  He'd used his Master Charge for 
the flight, almost as if he'd wanted to be found.  Sam made arrangements 
to take the next flight, and, at her insistence, Donna was to accompany
him. 

        The cab arrived and they hurried on their way with a quick stop at 
Donna's to pick up a few things.  She was efficient as well as smart.  It
took her five minutes to hurtle down her stairs and reenter the cab, bag packed.
"Thanks for coming, Donna."  Sam blew his nose for the umpteenth time.  
"You didn't have to."
 
     "I insisted."  She pulled a box of cold pills out of her bag and
handed it to him.  "Someone has to take care of you, until we find Al."
 
     "He's a lot like a father, or a real eccentric uncle, you know, the 
embarrassment of the family, wears a lamp shade at parties, that sort of 
thing."  The cab started up and sped off to the airport.  "I couldn't do 
anything without him.  He scares me when he acts this way."   Donna's face 
became suddenly distant.  "I once knew someone like him."
 
     "Who?"
 
     "It doesn't matter.  What about your family?  Someone like you must 
have a really firm foundation."
 
     "Well, Mom and my sister Kate are living pretty far away, so Al is it
as far as family goes.  I need him, he's there.  Sometimes I take him for 
granted, and he does the same to me.  Tonight, well, you don't understand 
why he ran like he did.  He can't take rejection, of any kind.  It hurts
him, Donna.  He's had a pretty . . . rough life.  People have walked all over
him for years, taking him for granted.  I'm going to find him in Vegas because 
he has to realize I care for him, and that he doesn't have to run away 
again. He places too much stock in me, damn it."
 
     "You're intuitive and generous."  Donna's eyes were on the car window,
watching the rain blow down.  It was hard to look at Sam Beckett's eyes, so
full of emotion.  She didn't want to fall in love with that look, or with
the man.  "You care."
 
     "What's wrong?"  Touching her arm made her face turn to his. 
Frowning, he reached up to touch her cheek.  "You're crying."
 
     She clenched her teeth against her emotions.  "My father ran away, and
I never saw him again."  She pulled away from Sam's touch.
 
     "I'm sorry."  She looked vulnerable, but fighting against being near
him.  "Would it help to talk about it?"
 
     "I was six.  My mother tells me all men leave you, never come back.  I
believe it."  Her voice had calmed, the tears drying.
 
     "You never saw him again?"
 
     "No."
 
     "And now, you're going to Vegas with me, to find a man who's running 
from his life.  Why?"
 
     A surprised look flashed across her face at the question. "You're sick
-- and I know Vegas -- I grew up there."
 
      "That's not an answer -- at least, not the answer I wanted." Sam 
reached over and gripped one of the hands she held in her lap. "We jus 
met.  I feel like I've known you for years."
 
      She knew instinctively it wasn't a line, that this man was falling in
love with her.  How could she tell him she felt the same, that he was what she'd
dreamed of in someone to share her life and career with?
 
     The silence hung over them the remainder of the cab ride.  Sam found 
himself deep in thought, worried about Al, wondering where they could 
start looking when they reached the City of Sin.  As they turned into 
Dulles, he glanced over at Donna.  She was staring at him, concerned about 
the too serious look on his face.  Without thinking, he took her hand and 
held it.  She didn't pull away, and gave him a squeeze in return.
 
     Sam insisted on paying for Donna's ticket, even though she said she
had money of her own.  It was the least he could do, flying to Las Vegas in the
dead of night.  He'd only been there the one time and Donna knew the lay 
of the land.  Somehow they would find one lost Calavicci and bring him 
home.
 
      As the plane took off, Sam felt as though his head would burst. 
Nausea gripped his stomach as they climbed through the turbulent air.  The 
touch of Donna's hand on his calmed his nerves somewhat.  "I hope to God he 
isn't getting married again," he muttered.
 
     Donna gave him a confused look and touched his forehead. "You're 
burning up."  Reaching with her free hand, she rang for the stewardess and 
ordered a glass of ice water and aspirin.  When it arrived, she made Sam 
take it and lean his seat back so he could rest.
 
     "I. .don't . . sleep . . well . . on airplanes. . .," he said, his
eyes beginning to close.
 
     Watching him as he fell asleep, Donna felt a tug of compassion.  Sam 
looked so vulnerable.  His insistence on going to find Al, taking this trip
when he was so sick.  Maybe he wasn't like other men.  She leaned back in 
her seat, still keeping her grip on his hand.  Moving to a more comfortable
position, Sam rested his head on her shoulder.  For a moment, she felt like
retreating from his touch, but it felt so natural, having him that close, that 
she allowed the contact.  The lights dimmed in the aircraft as she, too,
fell asleep.
 
     It was daylight when they arrived in Vegas.  Renting a car, they headed 
towards the Strip, Donna doing the driving.  Sam was still feverish, and 
becoming more ill every moment.
 
     "I really think we should check in to a hotel so you can rest."  
Anxiously, she glanced at his pale, but determined face, realizing she 
couldn't argue with him.  "At least see a doctor."
 
     "I am a doctor."  Sam's voice was hoarse, his throat raw and sore. "I've 
probably got an upper respiratory infection, on top of the cold and flu. 
If I'm lucky I'll make it without contracting pneumonia."
 
     She could see his eyes were fire bright with fever.  "I don't know... "  
she began uncertainly.
 
     "I've got to find Al."  Everything physical seemed to be shutting down, 
including his breathing.  His chest was so tight it hurt.  "His favorite
hotel is something tacky -- he told me once -- the Flamingo."
 
      "It's not so bad.  Maybe we'll be lucky the first try."  The casinos
were on the street ahead of them, their flashing signs strange in the early 
morning air.
 
     "If he isn't there, we'll try the Sahara."  Focusing on the road and
the buildings around them seemed to keep his head from spinning.  He felt 
awful, but it couldn't be helped, not right now. When he found Al Calavicci
he'd kill him, then take a whole bottle of NyQuil and go to bed for a
week."
 
      They had no luck at the Flamingo, so it was on to the Sahara. The 
casino wasn't very big, and it didn't take Sam very long to see the small, 
dark figure hunched over the slot machine.
 
     He could smell the alcohol before he was within three steps of Al. 
>From the way he was weaving on the stool he'd been at the bottle for a few 
hours now.  Probably from the moment he'd arrived here.  Vegas was the 
older man's playground; a place to be bad, without anyone finding out.
 
     "I want to talk to him alone."  Sam gave Donna a quick hug, smiling at
her concern.  "Why don't you go to the bar and order me a hot tea, maybe 
get a room for . . . us."  He reddened at the words.  "God, I'm sorry -- I 
didn't mean . . ."
 
     "I'll get _us_ a room.  All three of us."  Donna turned back and walked 
towards registration.  It was going to be the three of them, and she had to
remember that, and not become a wedge between Sam and Al.  That was 
important, she thought.  It would be 'we three' from her on out, and that 
was the way it was.
 
     Al was seemingly unaware of Sam's presence.  Standing directly behind 
him, Sam cleared his throat.  When that didn't draw a reaction from the 
older man, he leaned over and said, "Having any luck?"
 
 
 
to be continued.....


-- 
      Beth Hlabse         eah4@po.CWRU.Edu           Assistant Sysop
              The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig (GO SCIFI)
__________________________________________________________________________
               Al's Place: Where Leapers can be themselves!