Message-ID: <372134CC.CB6F5C8E@netzero.net> Date: Fri, 23 Apr 1999 23:05:07 -0400 From: Ann Marie Tajuddin Subject: Causes 13 Ann Marie K. Tajuddin Lost Causes 13 ------ "Lost Causes" Part XIII February, 2003 Stallions Gate, NM Al was reading a book Verbena had dropped by earlier when Sam moved, sighing slightly as the anesthesia wore off. Al's feet, which had been propped up on an open drawer, hit the floor abruptly, and he leaned forward, laying the book on the small table by the bed. "Sam?" Al put his hand on Sam's as he had earlier, and watched his friend's face, waiting for him to push the rest of the way through. Finally, the scientist's eyes opened slightly and he blinked several times, trying to bring the room into focus. "Hey," Al said quietly with a small relieved smile. "Nice of you to join the land of the living." Sam locked eyes with him and the corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smile. "Al..." Then he made a face. "Tastes like I've swallowed a cat..." Al chuckled and reached for his thermos. "I'm not sure I want to know how you're familiar with that sensation already. Need some ice water?" "I would be forever in your debt," Sam replied, still weakly, but with growing solidity to his words. Al poured some water in a cup for him. "How are you feeling? You look pretty good for someone whose body was as swiss-cheesed as his brain." Sam accepted the cup, grateful that Al kept hold on it to steady the liquid. "All right, I guess. Kinda...still half-out of it." "So what's new?" Sam intentionally knocked the cup over onto Al's sleeve without a second's pause and the admiral jumped and transferred the cup back to the table to shake the droplets off his hand. "Man, you play dirty." Sam just grinned. "That's cold water, too!" "I've been shot and you're sitting there complaining that I dumped some water on your arm." Sam shook his head. "For someone who's been through all that you've been through, you're an awfully big baby." Al wiped his hand on Sam's sheet. "I've been sitting here feeling all bad that you got shot, but not anymore, buddy boy." Sam folded his hands over his stomach and relaxed. "Good." "Ah, so you're not even going to give me that satisfaction, are you?" "Nope." Sam shifted slightly, then winced at the stiffness and pain the action brought. Al shook his head and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the mattress. "Are you okay, Sam? I mean, really." Sam raised one eyebrow. "I was about to ask you the same thing." He touched Al's wrist lightly. "I know it was hard for you that I was there, but I'm glad I was." His words were still sluggish and slurred, but his eyes were clear and bright. Al shrugged slightly. "You sure confused the hell outta me in 1992, I'll give you that much. Things kept changing until I didn't know which way was up anymore." "Payback for the grief you put me through all those years after that." He smiled reluctantly. "You're a good teacher, Sam. And, I know, before you get to say it, I'm a crappy student." "Yeah, well, you know what they say about old dogs and new tricks." "You sure don't _act_ sick!" Al cried, throwing up his hands. "That does it - that whole thermos is going on your head." Sam adopted his best sick-puppy look, just to assure that Al wouldn't make good on his threat. "You're such a great friend..." Al patted his arm. "I'd better let you get some rest, Sam, or they'll be in here to scold me for bothering you." "You're not bothering me," Sam insisted, a little quickly, and Al hesitated. "Maybe not, but you still need some rest," Al stated firmly, all teasing aside. "When did you get your M.D.?" Sam grumbled, but settled back to go to sleep. "And, anyhow, I need a shave and a shower. I'll stop by later, okay?" "Okay." Sam dutifully closed his eyes and Al stood in the doorway, watching as he fell quickly back into sleep, no doubt due in part to the drugs still circulating through his system as well as the exertion of talking with him. Al smiled faintly, and left the room, pulling the door shut quietly behind him. ~~~~~~ April, 1992 Santa Fe, NM Sam moved restlessly in his sleep. This was their second night home, but the first night anyone had really been able to get a full night's sleep. They'd flown in late a couple days earlier, and then there'd been the incident at the project. It took Sam another ten or fifteen minutes to calm Al down and then he and Donna had taken him back to his home. Sam tried to stay, tried to talk to him and reassure him, but Al would have none of it. Donna left them as they lived within walking distance and Sam remained in Al's home, continually trying to put Al's mind at ease. When he finally did leave, exhausted and frustrated, he did so doubting Al would sleep at all that night, no matter how much his body needed it. Suddenly, Sam jolted awake, sweating and fearful. Beside him, Donna moved slightly, and then he heard her call his name softly. "Sam? You okay?" He swallowed loudly and sat up, leaning back on his palms. "Yeah. I think so..." She turned and looked up at him. "What's wrong?" she asked in weary tones as she tried to wake up. Even half asleep, she wasn't buying that one. He shifted uncomfortably, rolling his shoulders to try and erase the tension in his neck. "I don't know. I just... I feel like something's wrong." She put a hand on his arm, trying to reassure him. "Sam, you know everything's being taken care of." They'd spent the whole day on the phone with the committee, McBride in particular. Charges were already coming to bear against the other project and there was even talk of relocating Project Quantum Leap so it couldn't be exposed after there was something concrete to expose. There had been only a few arrests thus far, but at least things were set in motion, pulling the truth slowly out into the light like a piece of thread through fabric. "I know." "Then? What is it?" He shifted again. "I'm worried about Al," he confessed. "I'm worried something's wrong." "You're still thinking of the other night," she supplied. "Yeah. Maybe I should call him..." Now she sat up, slightly, propping herself up on the pillow at her back. "Sam, it's 3 A.M. He needs a good night's sleep - maybe you should just let this rest until the morning." He nodded slowly before even realizing he was doing it. She was right, of course, it made perfect sense. But... "I'd just feel better if I called." She bit her bottom lip, but handed over the phone. He dialed Al's number and let it ring. After the third ring, the machine picked up. He waited as Al's message played, and then spoke loudly into the receiver: "Al, are you there? Al, it's me, pick up!" The seconds ticked by and no-one answered. He hung up and dialed again, but this time it picked up after 2. He tried yet again, but with the same results. Finally, frustrated and worried, he hung up the phone and handed it back off. "He's not answering. I hope he's not out getting smashed." "He hasn't touched alcohol since he got back, has he?" she questioned in genuine curiosity. She hadn't seen it, anyhow. "Not that I know of, but it's hard to tell with Al." He hesitated another few seconds, then came to a decision. "I'm going over." She glanced at the clock, as if to confirm her earlier prognosis. "Now?" "Yeah. Now." He got up and fished around for a shirt and slacks. She laid back down. "Do you need me to do anything?" He bent over her and kissed her briefly. "No, you just go back to sleep - I'll take care of this." She nodded and pulled the covers up and he scooped up the spare keys to Al's house, picking them off the hook in the kitchen, and headed out the door. All the lights in Al's house were out and his car was in the driveway. When he saw that, Sam almost turned back; everything seemed to be in order. Either Al had turned off the ringer, or he was sleeping too soundly to hear the phone, which was entirely possible - he certainly was overdue for some solid rest. Still, something prompted him to press on and he moved up the front walkway. He knocked on the front door, hesitant to ring the bell, and peered in the front windows, straining to see what was going on. He was turning to go back home to his own bed when a sharp cry, muffled by the door, was audible. Frantically, Sam fumbled with the keys and pushed the door open, hardly pausing to shut it behind him, reminded only by the distinct chill that followed him in. Sam followed the sounds of distress into Al's bedroom and saw him fast asleep, caught up in horrid memories and fighting against an unseen foe. He was drenched in sweat, the sheets tangled around him, only seeming to add to his panic. Sam didn't pause to further evaluate the situation, but moved hastily to Al's side, shaking him sternly. "Al, wake up!" Over the past couple years, Sam had wakened Al from any number of nightmares. They usually came back a day or so after being convinced to give up the bottle, and he usually returned to the bottle after just a few of them. At least, that had been the pattern at Starbright, and Sam had thought they'd broken him of it for good, up until a couple weeks ago. But this one was different. Sam would be hard pressed to explain how, but he knew Al and this just _felt_ different. "Al!" Sam winced as his friend whimpered and then opened his eyes. Sam pulled back, expecting the normally violent reactions that followed Al's return to reality, but this time there were none. Sam remembered the first time he'd woken Al up - the admiral had been crying out the name of a woman Sam didn't learn about until much later, and his first instictive reaction upon awakening was to hit Sam - _hard_. Sam had learned to expect confusion and sometimes a terrible need for Al to defend himself and was expecting the same this time, but, instead, Al rolled onto his side and put his hands to his face. The atmosphere was desperate and his whole body trembled. Although there were no tears, Sam could think of no other word to explain what was going on except to say that Al was crying. He put a hand cautiously on Al's back, relieved when there was no negative reaction. "Al?" "I can't do this - I can't, I can't..." Al broke off, shaking harder. Sam moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He rubbed Al's back slowly, thinking he just hadn't completely come back into his surroundings yet. "Al, it's okay, it was just a dream. You're safe, everything's fine." "No," Al gasped out, gripping his blanket in a tight fist. Sam could feel the sweat through his shirt and he swallowed. "Listen to me - it is. Everything's in the past, do you understand? Vietnam's in the past, that project's in the past - none of these things can keep hurting you unless you let them. It's all been fixed, it's all been taken care of. It's all fine." "You're wrong," Al stated in a trembling voice. "It'll never be fine again. _I'll_ never be fine again." Sam exhaled heavily. "Al, can't you see that...all these people who've done wrong by you, can't you see you're one of them?" Al's breathing slowed, but he didn't respond. "Just once, why can't you give yourself a chance?" The admiral shuddered and Sam squeezed his shoulder lightly. "Al, it's okay..." "No..." He sat up, but didn't move away from Sam's touch. "No, it's really not..." In the dim lighting, Sam could see a few stray tears escape down the side of his face. He wiped them away before they could travel far. "Al," Sam whispered, "you can't imagine how much it hurts to watch you destroy yourself. If you won't do it for you, then do it for me." Al hesitated. "Or do it for us - we're partners, right? Just promise me you'll try. Please?" "Sam, I can't..." "All you have to do is try," Sam pressed gently. "And if you need help, if there's something you can't do yourself, you just have to ask. It's just that simple." Al looked him in the eyes and held the gaze, as if looking for something, searching for some answer. "Sam, I..." Sam held his breath, waiting. "I don't think I can be alone tonight." He let out the breath, relaxing in relief, and smiled at Al. On impulse, he hugged him tightly and, this time, Al responded. "I'm glad you're home, Al." Al didn't reply verbally, but when he pulled back and curled up under the covers, when Sam pulled down a sleeping bag out of Al's closet and stretched it out on the floor beside the bed, and when Al finally fell asleep again, Sam knew what his answer was. He also knew that, in a week or two, Al would be craving a drink, or he would have another nightmare, or he would push Sam away again. But each time Sam got through to him, it was a little easier. Sam Beckett was holding out for someday. [And that's it! Hope you enjoyed it...the next one is going up fast: I hope to start posting on Monday. It's called "Hidden Agenda" (title courtesy of Pat Chachich) and is somewhere in between Sink or Swim and Lost Causes in terms of how heavy it is.... My 3rd one, "Strangers By Choice", isn't going to make it out before I leave town, it looks like so it won't be out for at least 4 months or so... (sorry). -amkt]