Date: Fri, 16 Apr 1999 16:52:33 -0600 (MDT) From: "Katherine R. Freymuth" Subject: Whale ch 31 Message-ID: Chapter 31 "Gawd, no!" Sam exclaimed in horror. "Please, no!" He immediately rolled the limp Admiral onto his back and began to perform CPR on him. "Come on, Al. Breathe," he ordered breathlessly as he pumped the man's chest. He repeated the order after each time he breathed into his mouth, his frustration growing after he said the order a fifth time. "Gawd, Al! Don't die! I need you!" he pleaded before blowing another breath into the older man's mouth. And another. And another. Finally, a small, quiet breath could be heard in the entire men's room. It was followed by a weak cough and a much deeper inhalation. Al opened his eyes weakly and looked up at the man kneeling over him. The Corporal seemed extraordinarily relieved. He saw the Corporal look up towards the ceiling and whisper "Thank you." Sam helped him into a seated position as Al's breathing regulated and his heart rate became steady. "What the hell happened?" Al questioned as Sam quickly gathered Al's collector's piece and subtly put it in his pocket. "Where am I?" Sam took a breath, formulating an answer for his friend. "I found you on the floor, unconscious, sir." Al looked at Sam with curiosity, having noticed his surroundings as Sam spoke. His eyes widened slightly upon looking at Sam, confusion on his face. Sam looked at Al with concern, afraid for his friend. "Are you all right? Sir?" "Since when did you call me 'sir', Sam? And what's with the corporal's uniform?" Sam looked at Al with total shock. "You can see me?" Al huffed. "Of course, I can see you. I'm not blind." He looked at him with concern. "Sam, is everything firing in that genius brain of yours?" Sam lowered his head. "Oh, boy!" "Oh boy what?" Al questioned. Sam took a deep breath and looked at Al. Al looked back expectantly. "Al, what do you remember of the last three days?" Al frowned at Sam's question, a hint of fear in his eyes that only Sam would be able to see. "What do you mean? And what does this have to do with us sitting on the floor of a head and you dressed in Corporal..." He checked the nametag. "...Steinman's uniform?" Sam didn't say anything for a moment, looking into his friend's suspicious yet anguished eyes. "You remember, don't you?" Sam stated more than asked. Al's look of suspicion grew stronger and Sam could see Al retreating emotionally into himself. Sam exhaled painfully. "Gawd, you do remember. You remember being in..." He couldn't finish the sentence. "In hell?" Al finished the sentence in his own words, his eyes dropping with genuine sorrow. He lowered his head. "I'm sorry, Sam. I...." "Betrayed me?" Sam finished softly. Al closed his eyes in shame. Sam touched his shoulder gently. "You didn't betray me, Al. You could never do that." "But I did," Al said in a near whisper. "I told him everything. I just... I couldn't fight him." Sam took a breath. In his mind, he could see the new timeline he had created with his confronting Zoe. The man before him would turn back to alcohol to drown this guilt he was feeling, guilt that Sam Beckett would not be able to heal in 1990. But he could now. "Al," he said firmly, gaining his friend's attention. "You didn't tell them anything they didn't already know. They were trying to break you. If you give up now, they'll get what they want - for Project Quantum Leap to be a failure. Now, you have a hearing to go to so you need to stand up, straighten yourself up, and get into that conference hall before you worry my younger self." Al started standing but stopped, staring at Sam with surprise and wonder. "You mean... it works?" Sam smiled and nodded. Al continued to stare at him. "You're...." "From the future," Sam finished the sentence. "A future that could be very different if you don't get to that hearing." He helped his older friend into his feet. Al looked at himself in the mirror to straighten his uniform and saw the large bruise that adorned his right cheek and the cuts on his lip and eyebrow. He exhaled, washed his face with cold water, and found that the washing did little to improve his appearance. "Sam, who did this to me?" Sam took a deep breath, looking at the reflection of his friend. He could see that he was angry and he knew that what he had to say wouldn't calm Al's temper. But he couldn't lie to him. "I can't tell you that, Al, and I think you know why." Al glared at Sam's image in the mirror. "Those damn rules we talked about last week," he muttered. Sam nodded slowly. Al punched the towel dispenser angrily, causing the sound of vibrating metal to fill the men's room. He then turned to Sam, causing the latter to take a step back from the angry veteran. "Damn the rules! I was tortured, Sam! In ways you can't possibly understand! And now you're telling me that not only was it all for nothing but also that there isn't a damn thing I can do about it?!" "Al...." Sam started. "Save it, Sam! I don't want to hear anymore about protecting our futures! This is your project! You're the one who wants to change history! Me? I should've stayed here in D.C. and not have gotten myself mixed up in this crazy scheme of yours!" There were tears in Al's eyes now but he refused to let them fall. "If I had, then maybe those bastards would have never... never...." He collapsed to his knees unable to keep his emotions under control. "Oh, gawd! Why?" Sam knelt beside his friend, anguished to see him so weak when he was normally so strong. "I'm sorry," was all he could say to the man. Al closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths, calming himself. "I'm okay," he lied. Sam hesitated, not wanting to doubt him but knowing the truth. "Al, I want you to do me a favor." Al looked at him with question. Sam took a breath. "I want you to promise me that you'll see Verbina Beeks." Al frowned. "Verbina Beeks?" Sam nodded. Al exhaled slowly. "The psychiatrist you want on the project, right?" "Yes," Sam told him. "She'll help you with this. I know she will." Al hesitated before finally nodding in agreement. "Okay," he said quietly. Sam was a little surprised at how easily Al gave into the request, being very anti-psychiatrist. It only proved, however, that he knew his state of mind wasn't very clear. Sam helped Al to his feet once again. "In the meantime, there's the meeting." Al laughed cynically. "Weitzman's probably pulling hairs by now waiting for me, huh?" Sam nodded. Al turned back to the mirror and straightened himself once again. "What about this?" he questioned, nodding to his reflection somberly. "I certainly can't tell them about... whatever really happened." Sam shook his head. "Bar fight," he suggested. Al turned to him in shock. "What?" "Tell... Sam... that it's from a bar fight." Al frowned at him. "Trust me," Sam assured. Al exhaled. "And my tardiness?" Sam smiled at him. "I'm sure you'll think of something."