Date: Tue, 16 Jul 1996 16:13:13 -0600 (MDT) From: "Katherine R. Freymuth" Subject: Theresa - Part 1 Message-ID: First a little note. For those of you who like the idea that everything that Sam does ends on a happy note, this story might not be for you but I hope you will read it anyway. This is a definite AL-coholic story but there is still plenty of Sam to satisfy any fan. The usual disclaimers for all fanfic Quantum Leap stories apply here as anywhere. This is my second Quantum Leap story I've put on the Archive, even though I wrote this one first. I thought it best to post this now, especially since Elizabeth Storm will be having "Angels Unaware" published soon. Also, I've used some poetic license concerning Al's middle name, since the series doesn't give it. Also, I put Al's house in Stallion Springs based on Sam's driver's license in "Mirror Image", which stated that Sam lives in Stallion Springs. I figured Al would live there too since it's close to PQL. It's best if you've seen "Another Mother" before reading this story but it's not extremely necessary. There is also a very brief reference to "Pool Hall Blues" but you don't need to see the episode to understand the reference. Any questions, don't hesitate to email me at the above address. Meanwhile, enjoy the story. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Quantum Leap Theresa October 16, 1999 Chapter 1: Theresa Brookner She had walked that street before. There was nothing here that she wasn't used to and she wasn't the first to be in her profession. But being a prostitute was a dangerous job. It wasn't being arrested that bothered her. Hell, on slow nights, she prayed to be arrested; it was better than spending the night on the street. That was her sole purpose in hooking: to have a place to sleep and food to eat. The little cash that she did have she kept well-hidden on her. All she owned was the clothes on her back. She had painted her face in a way so that she wouldn't have to worry about anything rubbing off of her face. The paint could last over two months, a great convenience on such a low budget. Her face was such thatshe could be a very attractive woman if she had the means. Her long brown hair was done up so as to attract men to her. Her face still looked as if it were the face of a little girl, even with the paint on. Yet, at the came time, working the streets made her seem older than she really was. She had just turned twenty-one. *You should have stayed in Flagstaff*, she told herself every night. And ever night, she ignored the chiding she gave herself. What did she really have in Flagstaff? A brother and a sister who really didn't care about her, especially after their mother had died in a car accident when she (the prostitute) was seventeen. Her mother's death was devastating to her. She packed all of her belongings and boarded a bus. She didn't care where she was going at the time. The bus took her to Albuquerque where, after several attempts to get a decent job, she found herself as a prostitute. Her eyes widened when she saw a prospective customer coming towards her in a red Ferrari. *The man has money*, she thought as she watched it stop across the street from her. She hurried across the street before someone else could take her claim. She walked up to the car, assumed her attitude and bent over to look into the car, allowing much of her breasts to be seen by the car's occupant. "Looking for a good time?" she asked the man, who seemed uncertain as whether or not to enter the bar he had parked close to. The man turned to look at the speaker and, as she intended, his eyes instantly focused on the cleavage of her breasts. He reluctantly pulled his eyes away from the cleavage to look at her face. "Actually, I'm looking for a friend," the man answered politely. "Well, I can make a very good friend," she told him, leaning closer to the car's window. The man cleared his throat. "I'm sure you can but I really need to find this man..." Her heart sank. "You're gay," she stated. She nodded her head as if saying to herself that she should have known it all along. The man's eyes widened as he shhok his head. "Oh, no! Believe me, it's very tempting." He looked back at her breasts. "But you have to find your friend. In that case, let me help." The man's eyelids lowered slightly. "What's the price?" "The use of your couch for one night?" she suggested. The man hesitated for a moment. "You don't have a place to sleep?" "Your couch for my help," she told him, side-stepping the question. "What do you say?" The man nodded his head. "Okay. But only if you find him." He stepped out of the car and offered his hand. "My name's Al." The prostitute shook his hand. "Theresa. So, who are you looking for?" "A man about five feet six. One hundred seventy-three pounds. Blondish-red hair. Brown eyes. Name's Richard Asten." "Why are you looking for him?" "I'm afraid he might make a terrible mistake." "Such as get drunk, find himself a hooker, and go into there?" she motioned towards a building two buildings from them. "He went in there?" Al asked her. "Are you sure?" "I have a good memory for faces, especially since Lisa beat me to him," Theresa finished with a sigh. "You know who he went with? Do you know which room he's in?" "You're not gonna bust in on them!" Theresa exclaimed. "Lisa'd think you were the police! Or worse, a gay lover! And once that gets around, business'll plummet!" Al waited patiently for her to finish. "Then, what do you suggest?" "Let me handle it," Theresa told him. "It won't allow your friend to come here again but neither will it hurt our business and it'll get your friend out here." Before Al could say a word, Theresa turned and left him. Al shrugged in slight frustration, returned to the Ferrari, and waited. Less then ten minutes later, Theresa came out, dragging Richard Asten by the hand. "Here he is," she told Al as she presented Richard to him. Al shook his head. Richard was definitely drunk. "Al?" Richard questioned with a strong slur. "Is that you?" Al frowned. "If you weren't drunk, you'd know it was me." "Al! Hey, buddy!" He looked around. "There's a great party upstairs," he whispered conspiratorily. "Let's go up and check it out. No, wait! The little bitch spoiled everything! Gaddamit!" Al glared at him. "Richard, get in the car." "Aww, come on, Al! The fun's just started!" "In the car! Now!" Al ordered. "Okay! Okay!" Richard slurred loudly. "Where we going?" "I'm taking you home," Al told him. "I think you need a couple of days house arrest. I'd thought we'd settled this, Rich. No booze. Not a drop. Take it from someone who knows." Richard looked pathetic. "I'm sorry, Al. I won't do it again. I pormise." "Thanks for the promise but you're still under house arrest." He looked at Theresa. "Could you help me get him in the back seat?" They got Richard in the car. Theresa got into the passenger's seat and Al drove to a house in the better part of Albuquerque. Theresa helped Al get Richard out of the car and, at Al's request, waited in the car while alm took Richard in and handed him over to the care of his son with instructions. Then, making sure that all was well, Al returned to the car and drove towards the city limits of Albuquerque. "You're friend has a drinking problem?" Theresa asked as Al drove. "He gets depressed occassionally," Al answered briefly. "Oh," Theresa said. It was obvious that Al didn't want to talk about it. "So," she started, changing the subject, "what's your full name, Al?" Al smiled. "Why are you so suddenly interested to know?" "I like to know who's house I'm sleeping in, that's all. Especially if I'm not giving my services to him." Al's smile grew. "Admiral Albert Calavicci at your service." "You have a middle name, Admiral?" "That's not fair. You haven't told me _your_ last name." "Theresa Elizabeth Brookner," she told him with a smile. "My middle name's Franklin." "Nice name," Theresa told him. "Thanks," Al replied, thinking of Theresa's last name. There was something familiar about it. Theresa looked about the car and noticed that they were leaving Albuquerque. "Where do you live?" she asked. "A little town close to Alamagordo called Stallion Springs," Al told her. "We should be there in about an hour or so." "Oh." There was a few minutes of silence as Theresa looked at Al carefully. "What is it?" Al asked when she didn't stop her gaze. "I could swear I've met you before. Like I said, I have a good memory for faces." She shrugged. "Maybe it's your name." "My name?" Al wondered. Theresa didn't answer. Some time later, Al finally pulled into his driveway, stopped the car, and got out of the car. He came around, opened the door for her, and escorted her into his house, turning on the lights. "I have a spare bedroom you can use if you want. Feel free to use the bathroom. I can have your clothes washed and ready for you tomorrow," he said courteously as he showed her the spare bedroom. "You definitely remind me of him," Theresa said with a smile. "Who?" She took a breath. "Promise me you won't think I'm crazy?" "Why would I think you're crazy?" "Because everyone has since I was four years old. But I'm not crazy! I know what I saw!" She started to draw away from Al. "Take it easy! I won't think you're crazy. I've seen a lot of crazy stuff in my life so how can I not believe you?" Theresa was uncertain. "I promise," Al told her. She sighed and took a breath. "When I was four, I had a guardian angel. He had a friend with him and the two of them watched over me for a couple of days. My angel's name was Al. His friend took my mother's place while he was there. When he had to leave, he promised that he would return but he never did. No one ever believed me when I told them about him or about his friend who dressed in my mother's clothes." She laughed. "Even as I tell it, I know I sound completely insane!" Al's eyes widened as she told the story. "I guess you remind me of my angel. You look like him." A small smile came to Al's face. He raised his finger as an indication for Theresa to wait while he went into the living room. When he returned, he had a frame in his hand. "Your angel's friend, did he look like him?" He showed her a picture of Sam Beckett. "Yes!" she exclaimed. "How did you...." She stopped and looked at Al. "No! That can't be! That was over eighteen years ago!" "It's true, Theresa," Al told her, putting the frame on a nearby dresser. "I can't tell you how or why, but it's true." Theresa shook her head. "I don't understand. I must be dreaming." Al looked at her for a moment. Could this poor soul actually be the little girl he had sang to sleep? "I understand your confusion. I'm confused myself." He looked at her again. She was dirty and smelled heavily of cheap perfume. "When's the last time you had a decent bath?" "It's been a while," she muttered in response. Al left the room for a moment and returned with a robe and a pair of pajamas. "Here," he told her gently. "Take off your clothes and slip into the robe while I prepare your bath. By the time you've finished your bath, I'll have dinner ready." "Oh! you don't need to do that! Just the bed's fine. That's the agreement," she pointed out. "Have you ever had homemade linguini with fresh tomato sauce?" Al asked her. "I'm not sure." "You will now," he told her with a smile and turned to leave the room. "Why are you doing this for me?" Theresa stopped him with her voice. Al turned to face her. "I know what it's like to be alone on the street with nowhere to go and surrounded by people who really don't give a damn about whether you live or you die. One man's kindness saved and changed my life. I want you to have the same opportunities that I had." Theresa hesitated. "Would it have mattered if I weren't who you think I am? If I were someone else?" Al gently held her by her shoulders. "Theresa, you were more interested in finding shelter than in making money. That tells a lot about you. Most prostitutes only want money. So, yes, it would have matteres because you wouldn't be here if you weren't who I think you are. Who I know you are. Now, why don't you change your clothes and I'll have your bath ready." He left, not allowing Theresa to say a word of protest. Theresa obeyed Al, changing into the robe he had provided for her. She tookd her bath while Al prepared dinner, her taking over an hour, enjoying her first bath in weeks. After she had finished her bath, she changed into the pajama top, which was plenty large for her small frame, and wore the robe over it. Although she had washed thoroughly all over, the paint on her face had merely faded slightly. She entered the living room, looking carefully around it. The room was rather Spartan, with very little decoration. She had brought Sam's picture with her and had placed it on the coffee table. She sat on the couch and stared at the picture. Was it all a dream? "Angel Sam and Angel Al," she muttered to herself, remembering. "Any luck with trying to figure it all out?" Al asked from behind her. Theresa jumped at the sound of his voice. "Sorry," he told her. "I guess I have a bad habit of appearing out of nowhere." He laughed to himself. "Who is he?" Theresa asked. "Who? Him?" Al asked, indicating the picture. "That's Sam Beckett. He's a very good friend of mine. I miss him very much," Al finished to himself. "Is he dead?" Theresa asked, wondering about the mutter. "No, he's alive. I see him almost every day," he told her, taking the picture from the coffee table and replacing it on the fireplace mantle. "Then why do you miss him?" Al laughed. "You sure sound like the little girl I sang to sleep." Theresa's eyes widened. "You really are Angel Al!" Al nodded. "What did you sing?" Theres asked as a test. "'Inchworm'. You were asleep before I finished the song." Theresa squinted her eyes. "But you're no angel." Al laughed. "That I definitely am not." He remembered why he came in. "Dinner's ready. Would you care to join me?" Theresa smiled, stood up, and followed Al into the kitchen. -------------------------------- Chapter 2 coming next week. I'm going to try to post once or twice a week.