Message-ID: <19980104233119.23708.qmail@hotmail.com> From: "Carol Belyea" Subject: Chances - Chapter Four Date: Sun, 04 Jan 1998 15:31:19 PST Chapter Four Rain, thunder and lightening definitely did not lift the mood Al had buried deep within his heart. Roaming the streets aimlessly as rain pelted against him did not improve his health, but he couldn't care less. He passed a bar during his meandering but thought better of it. It truly wouldn't be right. Ambling on, he stopped in front of a small cafe. He went inside for shelter from the rain. Anywhere was better than with Sam right now. He looked around the place and noticed no one else was there but the waitress cleaning the top of the serving counter. The dining area was very small, only able to fit a few tables and booths lining the wall under the windows. Oldies played in the background and he remembered when most of the songs they played actually originated. He sighed. Old memories, he thought. The waitress at the counter glanced at him and smiled. "Mornin'." she acknowledged. "Morning." he replied sadly. "Can I getcha somthin'? Coffee? Tea?" "Coffee's fine. Thanks." Al sat down at the counter, fingers intertwined and hunched over while the waitress went about the coffee. She brought him a simple white cup and saucer and poured in the coffee. "How much do I owe you?" He asked, ready to pull out his wallet. She waved it off and smiled. "On the house. You look like you could a good cupa coffee. Enjoy it while it's still hot." "Thanks." he said, bringing out a forced smile. She nodded and went into the kitchen. He slowly sipped the coffee, enjoying its bitter taste, and carefully set the cup down. Though he was grateful for the awakening drink he felt he didn't want it. Instead, he contemplated the Annapolis ring on his right ring finger for no apparent reason. Then the thoughts, the memories finally came. The memory of the night Sam Leaped. **"Where the hell have you been?" Sam asked impatiently, sitting behind his desk. He looked at his watch and noted that it was 9:00 in the morning. "Heck of a greeting you got there, kid." Al responded. "I've been out." "No shit, Sherlock. Where?" Sam asked again, "Out gallivanting around the city with some prostitute? Drinking?" "Excuse me? I am way over 21 here, Sam. It's my life and I do what I want to." "And that's it, huh?" Sam scrutinized, coming around from behind his desk. "Throw everything we've accomplished out the window? When are you finally going to grow up?"** Al tried to push the memory of the fight away but it kept eating through the surface of his subconscious. It was almost replayed in the hotel room. He remembered how that fight on May 12,1995 started. He was out most of the day before and slept with a woman he just met that very night. It was common in Al's book and he knew Sam hated it. But he didn't think Sam would make such a big deal out of it. The argument ended with a punch to the jaw and a French leave. Both provided by Al himself. That night he regretted leaving on such bad terms. **"Control!" Gooshie hollered through the intercom. "Yeah, what's happening, Gooshie?" Al asked, trying to drive without accidentally steering the car off the road. "He's Leaping!! Ziggy said, 'no.' but Sam's Leaping!!" Al couldn't believe what he just heard. The gorgeous woman beside him was confused at the given information. It was too late to take her back now. He'd have to take her into the Project unauthorized. He returned his attention to the intercom in his car. Angry and concerned at the same time, he said, "He can't Leap! We're not ready!" "Tell Sam that!" Gooshie replied. "Put him on!" As frustrated as he was, he did not want to mess with any computer programmer. "I can't! He's in the Accelerator!" Silence came over the Admiral. It couldn't end like this. Both he and Sam knew the Accelerator wasn't ready for firing and after hearing what he just heard . . . he was sure Sam was dead. "Al! Al! What do I do?!" "Nothing!" he said, denying his own accusation. "Any interference could kill him! I'll be there in two minutes." He looked at the woman next to him. "Hang on, Beautiful." And off he went down the desert highway at 120 miles per hour. He got there in two minutes all right. But by then it was too late. He had left the woman with security and bolted down the stairs. With each step, he lost a little bit of hope. By the time he got to the last step on the last level underground, he had lost all hope. That's it. No more Dr. Beckett. Sam was dead and it was all Al's fault.** That's how it happened but it's not how it ended. It was the regret, concern, and guilt that Al felt on that day that Sam didn't remember. He didn't remember any of it. Not even the fight. Maybe it was better that way. ****************************** Sam was motionless as he sat on the edge of the hotel bed trying to figure things out. Many unwanted emotions and thoughts swam adamantly through his head. He wanted to yell, shout, anything in order to get Al's attention and let him forgive his friend. After all, it wasn't Sam's business what Al did in his spare time for fun. He felt like there was a phantom flying around in his head telling him that this whole ordeal had happened before. He crinkled his brow as another thought came to mind. What if he just apologized to Al? After all, he was the one that blew a fuse. That's it! That's what he'll do! He'll apologize to Al and the whole damn thing will be over with. See?, he asked himself, Nothing to it. ******************************* "You want to what?" Al asked half-heartedly. Sam got Al's attention the minute he came through the door of the hotel room. The way Al looked at him almost made him stutter out his next words. "I want to apologize. I'm sorry for everything that I said. I shouldn't have said them and . . ." Al looked at him with a poker face making Sam even more timid. "And?" "That's it." Sam concluded finally. "Okay." without changing his expression, "Great." "Great." Being the naive farm boy, Sam thought that solved everything. *********************************** With no argument and little conversation, the duo managed to pack and make it back to the airport. On the return trip to New Mexico, it was as if they played mime games. Whatever action they did was stupid and in silence. Either they tried very hard not to look at each other or they completely avoided each other's presence. When one was in the men's room the other was in his seat. When one came back to his seat the other would go to the men's room. When the plane finally landed, Al and Sam met up with a corporal ready to whisk them back to PQL. They tossed their luggage in the back of the jeep and under the corporal's scrutiny, both almost argued over the front seat. "Oh, uh, please." Al said to Sam, pointing to the seat. "No. After you." Sam responded. "No, please. I insist." "I strongly insist you take it." "Look, I said it was fine. You take it." "I don't need it. You can have it." "Well, I never said I wanted it." "I never said I wanted it either." "Fine!" "Fine!" Considering how intelligent they both were, it just proved how dumb they could be. The corporal watched and asked, "Will the two of you be taking separate jeeps?" They both looked at him and Al grinned. Sam saw it and knew what it meant but he didn't want to say anything. There was mischief behind that grin and almost looked evil. Sam grumpily climbed into the back of the jeep, keeping stray thoughts to himself. Al told the corporal, "You can ride shotgun. I'll drive." The next thing they knew, they were driving down the familiar desert highway at 85 miles per hour. The corporal riding in the passenger seat looked plastered into the vinyl. His hands were sweating and clasped onto his shoulder strap for dear life. Sam sat in the back seat almost tempted to put his arms up as if he were on a roller coaster. Al was just enjoying it. Sam managed to sit forward against the wind and yelled, "You trying to prove time travel's possible with a jeep, Al?" Al answered, "Sit down, shut up and enjoy the view." The corporal finally piped up. "Uh, sir? Perhaps it would be wise to decrease our . . ." he swallowed the lump that formed in his throat and said with uncertainty, "current speed?" "Who asked you?" Al asked. That shut the corporal up. The rest of the ride home was uninterrupted and even though it gave Al the chance to blow off some steam, his subconscious still wasn't satisfied. ******************************* "Hi, Honey!" Sam said as he came through the door of his quarters. Donna was in the kitchen trying to feed little John lunch. "Hi, Sweetheart." Sam smiled. Dropping his bag next to the door, he headed for the kitchen and gave his wife and good long passionate kiss. He kissed his son's little bald head and let all his problems brush past him for that moment. After a long and stressful trip home, being with his family finally made him feel satisfied. "Hey, Johnny!" Sam greeted. Donna gave him a hug. "I missed you. How was the meeting?" "Okay." Sam replied, returning the embrace, "Really, not as bad as I thought it would be." "Then why the long face?" She questioned. "Oh, uh, long flight." he responded, forcing out a smile. Skeptical, Donna pressed, "You've been through long flights before. What was so different about this trip?" "Nothing. I think it was the food or something." He looked into her eyes to reassure her. She couldn't help but melt away. She always loved his eyes and felt powerless when they bore into hers. She believed him and pressed no longer. ***************************** The next morning, Sam woke up bright and early. There was a full day of work ahead of him and Al. They were still having uncomfortable moments being together but Sam thought it was one of those "Al phases". It's happened before. Why would it stop now? Even though they were hard to figure out, they always passed. But somehow, somewhere deep inside, Sam felt . . . strange. As if that day was one of those days when something was going to happen. A bad something. But there was work to be done that could not be averted by a mere feeling. It was probably just his fear intimidating him for no reason. Casually strolling the hallways as if all was well, Sam Beckett entered Al's office ready to look at some files that may be useful for proof. He froze just as he went through the doorway when he saw Al sitting at his desk with his feet propped up. Al looked up briefly before returning his gaze towards the floor. Sam stuttered out in embarrassment, "Oh, hi, Al. I didn't expect . . ." "Haven't you ever heard of knocking?" Al asked bitterly "It's . . . it's eight in the morning and . . . you're usually not up until at least nine. I just thought . . ." "You just thought you'd go through my files to get started on your own. I know already. That's why I'm here." "Oh. Okay. I guess we should get started then." "Yeah, I guess." Putting himself into his "work mode", Sam sat in one of Al's spare chairs and began, "Now about proving our theory." Al didn't move from his position. He sighed out of exhaustion. It was too early in the morning for him to be thinking right now but he had no choice. "Uh-huh. Our theory. Right." Proving our theory, Al thought to himself, Our friendship means absolutely nothing right now. Sure, Sam. Let's prove our theory. When Sam used his noggin, he became antsy and unable to sit still. He stood back onto his feet and started pacing around the room, rubbing his chin. Then, nonchalantly he said, "We need some kind of program that would prove this thing once and for all." Al was still sarcastic and out of whack. "Gee, really? And what would you do if I told you that I already have one?" "What?" Sam asked, turning to face him. "I already have one." Marching over to the fatigued Admiral, Sam asked, "And when were you planning to tell me?" "When it was time." Getting up from his seat, Al went over to his file cabinet, pulled out a folder marked "Proof Program" and tossed on the desk for Sam to see. Sam picked it up and read the label. "Proof Program? That's original." "I didn't exactly have time for creativity, Beckett. Give me a break." "Okay. Okay. Geez. I was only teasing." Closing the cabinet's drawer, Al retorted, "Yeah, well, save it." Sam said nothing more. Not during one of Al's moods. He flipped through the file and saw calculations for a new program using a blood sample which would enable anyone with the matching DNA to observe the past in the Imaging Chamber. "This is great but . . . where's the rest." "Well, that's why I was saving it. It's not finished. But I know it'll work. I just needed an extra brain around. Particularly the founding brain of this outfit." "Me?" "No, Mickey Mouse. Of course you, Beckett. Did you think that . . ." He shook his head, not wanting to get into anymore arguments over stupid things. "Forget it, Sam. Let's get crackin' before the end of the day. I want this thing over with as much as you do." ******************************* Sam had to resist saying the coincidences were because of their friendship. It wasn't a comfortable subject and besides, they both knew it anyway. So practically the rest of the day, they worked without letting sentimental feelings get in the way. Not stopping for breakfast, lunch, or dinner, Al and Sam both worked as hard as they could despite the tension between them. Everybody who saw the way they acted thought it was a miracle they hadn't killed each other yet. These guys working together? Yeah, right. But they did a pretty good job of hiding their anger. Pretty damn good job indeed. At least until ten thirty seven p.m. "I thought we were agreed!" Al stated angrily, tossing papers all over the floor. Sam retorted with more nervousness than confidence. "We never agreed on anything!!" "What about the parameter margins for the radium ring in the damned Imaging Chamber!? Weren't you the one who said you would set them?" "I thought you said you would set them!" "I said I would be happy to let you set them! Have you been going deaf all those years of Leaping through time? Even after you came back, it turns out that I'm still the one running this place with some kind of organization!" Feeling as if he'd just been punched in the jaw, Sam lurched forward to grab the smaller man's collar. As Al tried to break free of his hold, Sam asked, "You want it?" He thrusted the Admiral hard against the wall causing him to fall to the floor, gasping for air. Sam finally finished with bitter cold words, "You can have it!" Then he stomped out of the room. Seconds passed but they seemed like hours. Al regained his breath and stood. Standing close to a file cabinet, he punched it hard enough to make an indent on the side. He quickly thought things over and decided to track down the flaming physicist he called his friend. Roaring through the halls of PQL, he finally found Sam standing in front of the elevator. Al stomped over to him and forced Sam to face him. "Listen to me, you crazy son of a bitch! It was your idea to drag me into this, not mine! I never said I wanted the fucking project!" Sam's eyes narrowed. "But it was your choice to stay with this project. You had the chance to retire." "And you know why I didn't? Because there was no one else to watch over you after pulling that crazy stunt back when this whole thing started!" "You're so damn full of yourself, you know that?" As Sam rambled on about who was wrong and who was right, the elevator doors opened. Out of the corner of his eye, Al saw a glint of the 45. that a very drunk technician held in his hand. Instinct took over and Al pushed Sam to the ground just as two shots rang out. Both men lay on the floor stained with fresh hot blood.