Theorizing that one could time-travel within his own lifetime, Dr. Sam Beckett led an elite group of scientists into the desert to develop a top-secret project known as Quantum Leap.  Pressured to prove his theories or lose funding, Dr. Beckett prematurely stepped into the Project Accelerator…and vanished.

 

He awoke to find himself in the past, suffering from partial amnesia and facing a mirror image that was not his own.  Fortunately, contact with his own time was maintained through brainwave transmissions with Al, the Project Observer, who appeared in the form of a hologram that only Dr. Beckett can see and hear.

 

As evil and neutral forces alike do their best to stop Dr. Beckett’s journey, his children, Dr. Samantha Josephine Fulton and Stephen Beckett, continuously strive to retrieve their time-lost father and bring him home permanently.  Despite returning home several times over the last decade, Dr. Beckett has remained lost in the time stream…his final fate no longer certain.

 

Trapped in the past and driven by an unknown force, Dr. Beckett struggles to accept his destiny as he continues to find himself leaping from life to life, putting things right that once went wrong with the hopes that his next leap…will be the final leap home.

PROLOGUE

As the tingling, pulling, thrilling sensation swept him away from the abyss, in which he seemed to hang in like a puppeteer waiting for its creator to play with him, Dr. Sam Beckett felt himself soaring through the air.  The sensation before he was planted back into Time always exhilarated him – even if he didn’t know where he was going to land.  He just hoped he was out of harms way wherever in time that God/Time/Fate/Whatever put him.

Even as he ‘flew’ through the space/time continuum, he knew that he’d be playing his own version of charades when he got to wherever he was going so that he could figure out who he was, as well as find out what he needed to put right in their life - if he could. He just hoped, this time, that it would be a bit easier than in the past.

The last couple of leaps had been tedious and overwhelming.  It seemed as though there wasn’t any hope of changing past events even in the slightest.  So many deaths and they all could have been stopped… couldn’t they?  Sam thought of the few past leaps and lingeringly bit at the inside of his cheek - the racecar driver, the female CIA astronaut – both could have survived if he had just tried harder – right? So many of the leaps had been successful failures and Sam couldn’t understand why the ever-powerful entity that fielded his assignments would set him up for failure. 

Sam knew that leaping wasn’t set on the successfulness of his assignment. But every time he failed, the true blue Boy Scout could feel another badge of honor fall from the shirt that he so carefully sewed it on. He wanted to ask why, to demand a reason from the all-knowing source, but deep in the niches of his mind he knew that he wouldn’t get an answer – at least not a straightforward one.  The vague, eluding response he would get to the ever-present question in his mind was always:  ‘Soon.’

As he felt the pull slowing, meticulously pausing, then stopping, he felt the way the puppeteer released him to be on his own – as Geppetto had done with Pinocchio.  Even before his senses were even thinking of recalibrating themselves, a hand slapped his face so hard and so suddenly that Sam slightly stumbled backward from the force of the blow.  Opening his mouth to stretch his jaw and balling his hand into a fist, he straightened up to his full height of six feet then took a look at his opponent.

Standing in front of him was a stunning brunette, her face hot with anger.  He wasn’t sure why he had been slapped, but as he released his grip, he knew he wouldn’t hit her back.  He knew if he did, his father, John Beckett, would come back to haunt him for quite some time until he had atoned for his sins. 

Lightly licking his lips, he faced off with the woman with the iciest pair of pale blue eyes he had ever seen.  Whatever his host had done was something that made this brunette obviously wish that he were already burning in the depths of hell and her harsh words were only emphasized by what he read in her eyes.

“Don’t blame this on me!  You caused this to happen, you egotistical sorry son of a …”

“What did I do?” Sam interrupted calmly before she could call him another word that would have insulted his mother.  The question threw his adversary for a brief loop.  Her mouth dropped opened and she gasped as she gaped at him.  Slightly moving his head forward and opening his arms slightly, he questioned, “Well?”

The motion made the woman blink and vividly come alive as she threw up her arms in a massive display and let them fall as she turned on her heel and stomped through the nearest doorway, muttering profanities as she walked away from him.  Her heels clicked smartly on the tile floor then softened as she hit carpet, but her footfalls on the stairs told Sam he hadn’t leaped into the Beaver’s household. 

As a door was slammed upstairs, Sam winced at the force then shook his head.  Raising his hand to his still smarting cheek, Sam rubbed his cheek and let out a soft, “Oh boy.”

PART ONE

Stallions Gate, New Mexico

September 28, 2006

11:47 PM

Dr. Verbena Beeks heavily sighed as she leaned her head on her hand as she continued writing on the file that was before her.  She was writing up the summations that Al needed for the Leap-files.  The paperwork had grown over the past few months in her ‘In’ box and she had finally had enough of it and had tried to tackle a bit of the ever-growing mountain.  She had been at it for the past five hours.  She had managed to get through several files by placing a ‘Do Not Disturb Unless Necessary’ sign up on her door as well as putting a call to Ziggy to please not interrupt her unless it was an emergency. 

She put the final touches on the file in front of her, slapped it shut, dropped her pen then put her other hand to her head.  She had a dandy of a headache brewing behind her dark brown eyes and it was nestled so deeply that the acetaminophen she had taken earlier hadn’t helped to alleviate her pain. 

Her brow wrinkled in angst as she slightly straightened before she grabbed another file.  Opening it up, she looked at the name and Verbena couldn’t help but frown.  Marilyn Hicks – the suicidal young woman whose emotions caused extreme mind merging with Sam.  It was in that leap that Sam experienced what it was like to be in a deep depression and eventually aided her in committing suicide.

Verbena sighed once more and began to shuffle through the file to look for her notes as her eyes fell on the small clock that was on her desk.  She closed her eyes briefly for a moment and shook her head.  She wasn’t exactly sure why she couldn’t sleep for the last couple of nights, but these seventeen-hour days were starting to grind on her patience as well as her sanity.

Finding her notes, she began to transpose the sloppy, sketchy notes into a recognizable summation for the file when the ringing chime that announced that Dr. Beckett had leaped rang throughout the complex.  Verbena’s head slowly dipped forward and she heaved another sigh as she said to no one in particular, “Oh yes, let’s lengthen the workday even more.”

Glancing at the five files she had finished and the one that was open before her, Verbena slowly stood.  She wasn’t sure if she wanted to go back into the Waiting Room.  After having Sam leaping again into the rather hostile Leon Stiles, who after a few choice words put her into a stranglehold, Verbena was more than a little on edge about going back into the Waiting Room.  Just the thought of Sam’s arms around her neck again caused a cold chill to run through her body and she shook her head to rid herself of that feeling.  She knew she had to put it out of her mind.  She had to get information for Al and she wasn’t going to be getting it standing in her office looking down at a file.

Rolling her eyes, Verbena shook her head, grabbed a pencil and a pad, turned on her heel, then headed for the Waiting Room, her footfalls echoing in the hallway causing her headache to grow in leaps and bounds.

By the time she got within twenty feet from the Waiting Room, she wasn’t surprised when she heard a gravelly voice calling her name.  Turning her head toward the direction of the Control Room, Verbena saw Ex-Rear Admiral Albert Calavicci.  Her eyebrows slightly arched as she looked at him, wondering exactly what the Italian was going to say.

“I’m about to go talk to Sam.  Have you…” Al asked as he approached.

Without waiting for him to finish, Verbena snapped, as she entered her code into the new security system, “No, I haven’t.  When I know something, you’ll know.”

Al stopped in mid stride and opened his mouth to respond, but Verbena was already entering the room, leaving him out in the hall with the security guard.  Al blinked, pursed his lips, pivoted, and headed back toward the Control Room.  After a few steps, however, he cast a glance over his shoulder back to the spot where Verbena had been standing wonderingly then continued on his way.

As the Waiting Room door shut behind her, Verbena blinked as she opened the small spiral steno-pad and started into the white room.  Spying the leapee pacing before the bed, Verbena started over toward the figure.  Putting the unnerving thought out of her mind that Leon Stiles might be back in their presence, Verbena began her normal routine to try to calm their newest visitor.  “Hello.  My name’s…” she began.

The leapee twirled toward her, his arms wide in exasperation, the look in his eyes caused Verbena to pause and take a step back.  “I don’t care who you are,” the leapee snapped sharply at her.  “Where is…” the leapee stumbled on the name, seemingly not recalling it, then said, “she?  Where’s my… my wife?”  Seeing the somewhat blank, surprised look on the woman's face before him, he took a step toward her.  "Well?!"

One thing Verbena Beeks had learned when confronting an angry and disoriented Visitor was never to allow herself to be drawn into the person’s anger; it never solved anything.  Fixing her dark eyes on the tall man with anger pouring off him, she counted to five then said in a reasonably calm voice, “Your wife is safe.”  She barely paused long enough for him to get another word in edgewise.  “I also want to assure you that you’re safe and will be protected while you are here.”

The Visitor blew air through his lips that sounded more like the hiss from an angry snake about to strike.  “And frogs have wings so that their butts don’t hit the ground when they jump.  Why don’t you just get off your high horse and get my wife so that I can get the hell out of here?”

The Visitor’s snotty response rubbed up against Verbena Beeks’ already thinning patience, but she quietly ground her back teeth together to keep a professional expression in place.  When he finally paused waiting for her to answer, she got back into the fray as politely as she could, considering the situation.  “I need to ask you some questions,” she told him.  “Some of them may seem… unusual, but I assure you what you tell me will aid us in getting you back safely to your wife.”  It was then that she smiled at him; however, she could have saved it for someone else.

“So until I answer your stupid, unusual questions, you’re not going to get her?  Not going to let me out?  That’ll at least save my ears from ringing from her gripes,” he said as he thought about his situation then turned back to the lovely black lady before him.  “Wait.  Who says that I want to answer you, huh?  What do you think I am, insane?!” the Visitor asked as he raised his voice as his anger grew.

Verbena took a slow breath and let it out slowly while the Visitor, whose name she still didn't know, vented for all he was worth. ‘Probably fighting with his wife when Sam leaped in.... poor Sam,’ she thought.  It was the sight of the Visitor taking a few steps toward her that pulled her back quickly to the moment.  "No, I do not think you're insane," she stated reasonably.

"Then open that damn door and let me out of here," the man growled, snapping his head from side to side, looking around the Waiting Room, obviously not liking it’s bland, white, hospital like nature.

"I'm sorry, but that's not possible," Verbena said. Glancing at the pad and pen in her hands, she decided she'd better jump in.  "First of all, what is your name?"

"What's yours?" he bounced the question back at her.

"My name is Dr. Beeks," she replied. "And yours is...." she prompted him, her pen poised to jot it down.

"None of your damn business.  You already know my name, obviously or I wouldn't friggin' be here!" he yelled at her as one of his arms motioned to the room they were standing in.  "Where the hell am I anyway?"

Verbena's tongue licked at the inside of her molars for a moment as she began to count again instead of responding to the man standing before her.  Licking her lips, she slightly nodded at his words.  They were normal questions that the Visitor would ask, she knew, she just wasn't ready for the anger behind the words.  "I... I understand how you might be concerned about where you are, however, you aren't in any danger, and you’re..."

"Of course, I'm not in any danger!  Obviously, my wife's not here," he answered her just as hotly.  "Why won't you answer my questions?  They aren't that hard to answer, are they?" he taunted her.

It was a sight rarely witnessed in the complex; the few who had seen it before wouldn't have traded places with the Visitor for anything as Verbena Beeks' frayed thin patience wore through.  Though Sam Beckett’s frame was several inches taller than her, it didn't faze her at all as her head snapped back a bit and she met his angry stare in equal degrees of frost.  Slapping the steno pad on the mirror-topped table to her left, Verbena marched up to the man and got so in his face that he fell back a step, clearly startled by her reaction.

"No," she started, biting the words off. "They're not hard questions to answer at all. Any reasonable person would answer them in a heartbeat."

"Then why don't you?" the Visitor asked, even as he kept backing up.  He glanced around the room, more than a little nonplussed at the woman's display, but even that notion was lost when suddenly he felt his back collide with a wall, and she just kept coming at him until she was literally in his face.  He had never seen such eyes flashing like her dark eyes were shooting daggers at him.

"Because, Mr. ... whoever you are," Verbena snapped.  "It is my job to get information from you, as I told you, to assist us in getting you back to wherever it was you were before."

"What if I don't want to get back to where I was before?" he said hotly as his eyes flashed back as he met her gaze.  "All that's there is the hot angry words of a woman who doesn't give a damn that I work my ass off for her and ... uhm... my son... so that they can do what they want!  And you want to know my name?  If that's all you want to know, then, damn, woman, why didn't you just ask it politely?!"  Seeing the expression on her face change dramatically, he brought his hand up to try to pacify her.  "Fine.  It's... Charles.  Happy?"

In all the years of interviewing Visitors in the Waiting Room, Verbena had encountered all sorts of reactions, even anger, but the man in front her was also packing a full load of rude and "don't give a damn".  Well, so was she.

"And all it took was a temper tantrum and some teeth-pulling to get you to spit it out," she snapped.  Not moving even an inch to allow the man to get away from the wall, she said, her tone a clear warning of what was waiting if he didn't cooperate.  "Let's try another easy one... like your last name?"  She saw the way his eyes darkened and waded into the middle of that look.  "Look, Charles," she warned him. "You can answer the questions now and I'll leave you alone.  Or you can have at another tantrum and try using me for a stand in for your wife, but trust me... you don't want to go down that path."  She noticed how a corner of his lip started to curl. "The last one who tried wore a black eye for two weeks and," she raked a gaze from his eyes to his feet and up again, "he was just about your size."  When he swallowed then swallowed again, Verbena just stared at him, not blinking.  "So... Charlie... are we going to do this the easy, civilized way... or my way?"

Charles looked at her for a long moment, snuffed a laugh then shook his head.  "How about my way?" he said plainly.  Putting his hands on her shoulders, his fingers extended, his palms out, he moved her away from him then moved away from the obviously insane one.  "Don't know why in the hell you'd need it, but it's Al..." Charles blinked and turned his head down and searched the floor as if he would find his name there.  "Al..." he tried again then turned to the woman.  "What in the hell did you give me, Beeks?  I can't remember a damn thing!  What is this place?  What are you trying to do?  Pick my brain for my account number for my meager wages?  Let me save you the trouble... I don't have any...."

Verbena Beeks' eyes narrowed when the Visitor gingerly but carefully pushed her away before sidling away from her reach.  The only action she made was to turn slightly to keep him in full view. The fact that he tried to tell her his last name though failing due to the inevitable Swiss-cheesing of his memory because of the leap, told her that some of his bluff had dissipated but not nearly enough to suit her, and she kept her attitude at full charge.  She did, however, rein in that attitude a bit, willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, considering the situation Sam had bounced him out of.

"We don't want any account numbers or such unless it would help us identify you," she responded crisply, making clear that it would be a very unwise move to try intimidating her again.  "All right, since you seem to be having a problem with your memory... oh, and for the record," she added, her tone matching the edge to her attitude. "You have not been given anything since your arrival here.  Now, do you remember your address, or perhaps your Social Security number?"  Seeing the way he stopped and cocked his head warily to one side, she warned, "Choose your words carefully, Charlie."

Charles eyes narrowed.  "My Social Security number?  You want my Social Security number?  Well, even if I could remember the damn thing, you wouldn't be getting that number from me.  That is one thing that I know that if someone has it that they can friggin' screw with everything in your life and I'm not about to give you that!  You do obviously think that I'm nuts, don't you?!" he hollered at her.  "Just... go on and do your other doctorly things, Beeks.  You’re not getting shit from me!"  Charles said hotly as he walked away from her as he went toward one of the sides of the room and began walking along the edge. 

Verbena didn't interrupt the Visitor as he spouted off, though the yen to do just that was nudging her.  Instead, she ignored it, enticing as it was to think about, and just watched his irritated pacing along the wall directly opposite of her.  She allowed him a couple of minutes then moved halfway across the Waiting Room, stopped and asked in a calm voice, "Do you know what the date is today?"  Her only reaction when Charles stopped pacing to eye her suspiciously was to remain silent and watchful.

After a minute, the Visitor, after searching his thoughts, finally decided that telling this Dr. Beeks what the date was couldn't possibly harm him, so he said, "It's May 10th."

"What year?"

Charles' gaze narrowed even a bit more at the odd question but opened his mouth then as quickly closed it, a slight frown furrowing his forehead.  "It's..." He closed his eyes and concentrated then blurted out, "1979."  His gaze flew around the room then back to the doctor.  Her next question was equally as odd and again for a moment he toyed with not answering her.  He need not have been concerned.

"When is your birthday?"

"It's... December..." Charles frowned as he closed his eyes and turned his head slightly, the frown again wrinkling his forehead as he tried to recall his date of birth, but his mental searching ended with a muffled curse and a glare at the woman watching him.  "December," he repeated, his tone daring her to ask him to name the day or year.

Verbena saw the look, the tone of Charles voice telling her that he was just wanting her to question him -- to add fuel to the already burning flame that was underneath the surface yet again.  Taking a deep breath and letting it out just as slowly, Verbena blinked at him and tried to think of another tactic to get something that would help Sam.  She knew that if she didn't that Al would be knocking on her door wanting to know what she knew and why she wasn't in there getting the information that Sam needed so that he could leap.  Just that thought of Al coming to the door with the same speech about needing that information for Sam made Verbena bite down on her molars. 

"Charles, I need to know this information so that we can help you.  Do you understand that?  You honestly need to try to..."

"I can't remember!  You... you did give me something, trying to make me look like I'm an ignorant son of a ..."

"No, I did not," Verbena said a she moved toward him.  "You..."

"Oh, so I gave it to myself, huh?" Charles blew out a puff of air as he waved her off.  "Go away, Doctor.  You aren't going to get anything from me!"

Verbena forced herself to take a deep breath and blow it out slowly, enabling her to maintain an even tone of voice when she spoke.  "That's all right, Mr. …"

It was knee-jerk reaction to the familiar leading question when Charles snapped, "Allamore!  Charles Allamore." He raked the handsome (he conceded the fact) African-American woman with a sharp look.  "You really should do something about your memory if you can't remember my name," he said, not trying to hide the sarcasm. "Or did you accidentally give yourself some of whatever it was you gave me before I woke up here... wherever 'here', is?"

The Project's chief psychiatrist/psychologist refused to rise to the baiting question, instead, turning to walk briskly out of the Waiting Room.  The door had barely sealed behind Verbena when she stopped a few feet in front of the two Marine guards and snatched the small spiral notebook from her pocket and flung it as far down the hall as she could throw it then stood glaring at it where it lay several feet away.  Sparing a look at the guards, she went to retrieve the notebook and stalked on down the hall, heading for her office, muttering, "Your wife, Mister Allamore, has my total sympathy... and admiration.  How she puts up with you is beyond me!"

PART TWO

May 10, 1979

The quantum physicist was still rubbing his cheek from the slap he had received when he leaped in.  He glanced at the furnishings that were in the living room or den he was standing in and saw that this family was seemingly well off.  Delicate trinkets were lined across the top of the fireplace.  Above them was a beautiful portrait of the smiling family that he had leaped into.  He approached the portrait and frowned.  Even as he put his hand up onto the mantle, he was startled when two things seemingly happened at once.

As the Imaging Chamber door opened somewhere in the room, Dr. Sam Beckett was pummeled with a pillow that had been flung at him.  He stepped back just as he heard Al's chuckle.  "Ohhh!  Pillow fight!"

Before Sam could say anything to either one, a blanket was flung at him as well.  It was then that the words came.  "Now, wait a minute!" he called out.

"Oh no, you don't, Charles!  I'll not have you in my bed!  You're the one insinuating that it's my fault, and it's not!"

"Sam, what did you do?  You didn't insult this... wow... vivacious woman, did you?"  Al said as he finally took in the view of the woman standing with her arms crossed across her bosom.

"Not yet," Sam said lightly under his breath.

"Not yet!?" she yelled at him.  "You're the one who started this... and I'm not going to take the blame for something that you did!  I won't!  Dammit, Charles, you put enough blame on me for this or that, but I won't be taking this!"  The daggers that seemed to be coming from her light blue eyes would have ended this argument some time ago.  "I'll not be..."

The silent footfalls of a little boy coming down the stairs hadn't been heard from any of the adults in the living room, but the loud voices he heard had awoke him.  Even as he stopped just outside of the living room, he rubbed lightly at his right eye with his fist.  "Momma?" he questioned sleepily.

"What a cute kid," Al said as he looked at the auburn headed child with blue eyes, who couldn't have possibly been more than eight or nine years old. 

"What!?" his mother turned to face him and her anger seemed to turn toward her child.  "Why in the hell are you out of bed!?"

"Hey!  Don't yell at him!" Al raised his voice as he took several steps toward the child.  Having children of his own, Albert Calavicci had learned that you could raise your voice to men in ranks below you, but never-ever had he once yelled at his children unless it was imperative to keep them from harm.

"Don't start taking things out on the him," Sam said plainly as he stepped over the pillow and blanket that were now at his feet.  "Leave him out of this."

"I don't... I... I don't feel good, Momma.  My..."

"Go to bed, Stevie!" his mother tersely.  "I'll be up there in a minute."  When he didn't move to suit her demand, a delicate eyebrow rose as she directed her anger more onto the child.  "Steven Michael Allamore, I said go to bed!"

"But, Momma... I..."

"Sam, you have to stop her from yelling at the kid," Al said as he turned to look at his partner as he came to stand beside the child's mother.

Sam grabbed at her arm and yanked to get her attention then turned to the child still standing in the doorway.  "Go to bed, Stevie.  I'll be up in a minute to check on you and tuck you in.  OK?" he asked the child in a calm, patient tone.

"OK, Daddy."  Al and Sam watched as little Steven Allamore dropped his head forward, then turned and started away from the living room. 

When Sam felt sure that the boy was at least out of earshot, he turned to the woman who was struggling to get him to remove his grip from her arm.  Releasing her, Sam said plainly, "Yell at me all you want, hit me, whatever you want to do, fine, but don't yell at Steven.  He didn't do anything.  This is not his fault."

Jessica Allamore's temper was seething as she had struggled to get free of her husband's grip and, when he at last released her arm, she barely allowed him time to speak before she landed a second stinging slap across his face.  "How dare you grab me like that?" she spat the words at him.

Sam, his cheek smarting even more from the second slap, fixed the furious woman with a look that clearly stated that he wasn't backing down.  "I did what I had to do to keep you from yelling at our son," he told her.

"He knows better than to be out of bed this late on a school night," Jessica snapped, giving the place on her arm where Sam had grabbed her a light rub.

Thinking of his own children at that age and adding it to the expression on the sleepy little boy's face when he'd come into the living room, Al added his own two cents.  "You're his mother, for crying out loud!  You don't yell at your kid when they come to you in the middle of the night... for any reason!"

Hearing the Observer's comment, Sam looked at his host's wife and put the comment in his own words.  "Did it ever occur to you that maybe he wasn't feeling well?" he asked, forcing himself to keep his voice level.

Jessica aimed a cold stare at her husband then turned and marched out of the living room and stomped up the stairs again.  The sound of a door slamming made Leaper and Observer both jump.  Al glanced toward Sam just as his friend made his own trip up the stairs.  "Re-center me on Sam," he said aloud; an instant later, he reappeared in the upper hall of the house just in time to see Sam reach a closed door and try the doorknob.  He shook his head when it was clear that the woman had locked the door.  As Sam knocked lightly on the door and the woman yelled at him through the door, he walked over to stand a couple of feet behind his friend.

"Did you check on Stevie?" Sam called out to her as he leaned close to the door, pitching his voice, hopefully, only for her to hear.  He moved back quickly a moment later when the door was unlocked and jerked open, putting him face to face with the still clearly furious woman.  He didn't offer any resistance when she brushed past him, muttering, "Get out of my way," and went to a door about ten feet down the hall on the right.

"Follow her, Sam," Al urged.

Sam hurried to the door the woman had entered then just stood in the doorway, watching as she peered at the child in the bed.  She turned off the bedside light again and brushed past him like a whirlwind. 

"Is he okay?"

Jessica Allamore paused in the open doorway of her bedroom and glared back at the man she thought was her husband.  "He's asleep and he looks fine," she snapped then continued into the bedroom and slammed the door again.  The sound of the lock being reset was unmistakable.

“Maybe you do need that pillow down on the living room floor, Sam,” Al said simply as he rocked up on the balls of his feet. 

Sam’s eyes slid sideways without turning his head, giving a small glare before he turned fully to look at Al.  “What am I doing here?” he asked quietly.

“You mean besides getting into a doozy of a fight with your wife…”

“Not my wife,” Sam shot back under his breath as he turned and went into the bedroom of his host’s young son and went to the bed.  In the light from the open doorway, Sam quietly leaned down to get a better look at the little boy.  After a moment of watching, he gently brushed the dark hair from Stevie’s forehead, but the child didn’t wake, only stirring slightly.  Satisfied that Stevie was okay, Sam tucked the covers a bit closer around the boy then retreated from the room, closing the door gently.  “Downstairs,” he whispered to Al then headed for the stairs.

Once downstairs, and carrying the blanket and pillow that had been flung at him by his host... Charles Allamore’s wife, Sam entered the living room and dumped the articles on the couch.  A second later, Al popped in behind him and Sam turned around and said, “So which round of the divorce is this pair at?” he asked, not a little snidely.

Al’s head popped up at Sam’s question.  He was more than a bit surprised to hear not only the word ‘divorce’ come out of Sam’s mouth, but also the tone that Sam used.  True, he had just seen Sam hit in the face by a beautiful hot head; however, Al wasn’t used to the manner in which his friend spoke.  Pursing his lips, Al slid his right shoulder up as he motioned to the handlink.  “Wish I could tell you more.  Seems that all we could really get are the names of the family at the moment.”

“All you could get?”

“What’s with you, Sam?  You seem… out of sorts.  You….”

“I’ve just been used as a punching bag, Al, and you’re filling me up with cockamamie hot air telling me that that’s all you got?” Sam asked a bit more hotly than he meant to.  “Come on, Al.  I need some information and you aren’t helping me any here.”

“Hey, we’re doing the best we can at the moment,” Al responded.  “According to Ziggy, Verbena’s initial interview with the guy you bounced out... Charles Allamore of Reading, Pennsylvania, and one of the senior company accountants at Whidmore & Levenston... didn’t go well.”

Sam fixed the Observer with a narrow gaze.  “Define ‘not well’.”

Al, still not certain of the reason behind his friend’s unusual testiness, said simply, “Ziggy said that it appeared that Verbena was ready to give Mr. Allamore just what you got from Mrs. Allamore.”

Sam rolled his eyes then closed them as he dropped his chin to his chest and sighed.  Putting a hand on one hip, he rubbed the other across his forehead a moment before sighing and straightening up again before meeting the hologram’s steady gaze.  “Okay,” he said at last. “While things are quiet here...”

“For now,” Al kibitzed then shrugged one shoulder lightly at the glare it earned.

“Go back and talk to Mr. Allamore and find out what’s got these two so hot.  Especially her,” he added, sweeping a glance at the ceiling then back to the Observer.  “No kid should ever be treated that way, Al,” he said emphatically.  “And as long as I’m here, she... Mrs. Allamore isn’t going to get away with it.”

Al nodded then summoned the Imaging Chamber door, pausing to watch as Sam made short work of spreading out the blanket on the couch and getting comfortable.  Hearing his friend sigh, he quipped lightly, “Sleep tight and don’t let the bedbugs bite.”  He couldn’t not chuckle when Sam muttered just before the Imaging Chamber door closed, “They’d be less dangerous, that’s for sure.”

Lying on his back, Sam stared up at the ceiling as he thought about what little Al had told him.  Rolling his head slightly on the pillow, he heaved a sigh and pursed his lips wondering what had happened to this family that had put this husband and wife at each other’s throats.  Knowing that the ceiling didn’t have the answers that he was hoping for, he closed his eyes and after awhile fell asleep hoping that when he woke up, his “wife’s” temper would have cooled to a more reasonable temperature.

PART THREE

Stallions Gate, New Mexico

September 28, 2006

10:45 PM

As Al exited the Imaging Chamber, he knew that he had to get Ziggy on track with this leap.  Sam needed information and he wasn’t going to let his buddy down.  Even as he stepped into the main Control Room, Al licked his lips and opened his mouth.  He was more than surprised when Ziggy began to talk to him without prompting.

“Admiral Calavicci, there are two matters that need your immediate attention,” Ziggy purred down from above.

“Only two?” Al paused as he set the handlink on the mainframe of Ziggy’s motherboard and gave a small wry grin to Dominic.

“Yes, Admiral,” Ziggy responded dryly.  “Dr. Beeks left word that, upon your return, you need to go to her office immediately.”

“And the other?”

“The Visitor is in a rather agitated state and has been pacing relentlessly looking for a way out of the Waiting Room.”

An exasperated expression replaced the grin from one moment to the next.  Although he was extremely tired and needing to get some rest, Albert Calavicci straightened his shoulders and headed out of the Control Room, calling back over his shoulder, “I’m going to the Waiting Room.  Advise Dr. Beeks that I’ll be in her office shortly.”

“You want me to do what, Admiral?” Ziggy purred back then added softly, “I think not.  My father did not create a fool.”

Charles Allamore continued to pace relentlessly, looking at every nook and cranny that he could find in hopes of finding a way out of the solid white room.  The stark white walls, however, revealed nothing and it only continued to add to his aggravation.  His exasperation mounted when another pass around the room proved to him yet again that escape was unattainable.  “Why did she do this to me?” he queried to himself.

It was in that moment that the Waiting Room door opened and Charles twirled around to see a man dressed in a teal suit with a brilliant red shirt underneath with a silver belt and a matching silver string tie.  Charles’ head tilted slightly to the side as he took in the look that the man was trying to attain, blinked, took in a deep breath, and shook his head.  “Who in the hell are you?” he demanded aggravatedly.  “On second thought, forget that.  Just tell me where I am and what the hell I’m doing here.”

Al didn’t miss a step as he advanced further into the Waiting Room toward the Visitor.  Dealing with the attitudes of the many Visitors to the Waiting Room over the years had given Al Calavicci a PhD in dealing with whoever arrived in the Waiting Room. Now he met the current Visitor’s plainly aggravated attitude with a level expression and answered all of the man’s questions in a single breath.  “My name is Al and I’m in charge, and you are safe.”

Charles Allamore shifted to face Al, crossing his arms over his chest.  “And the reason I’m here?”  He clearly didn’t like the answer he got.

“I’m afraid that’s classified, Mr. ….” Al let the question trail off.

“Didn’t you talk to that woman, that... Dr. Beeks that was in here earlier?”

“I wanted to meet with you first,” Al said, not allowing the Visitor’s attitude to get to him.  He was aware that, more often than not, anger displayed by a Visitor masked the anxiety brought on by suddenly finding himself or herself in the all white Waiting Room.

“Are you the one who’s going to tell me when I can get out of... wherever and whatever this place is,” Charles demanded.  Advancing to meet the Observer, he added, “Until I get some answers, Al, I’m not answering any more questions.”

It would have been easy to snap back at the Visitor, yet the skill of reading people, honed by his years in the military, had been further sharpened through his years of interviewing the several hundred Visitors who had appeared in the Waiting Room since Sam’s first fateful leap.  Now Al looked more closely beneath the annoyed and aggressive attitude, and saw anxiety and a tinge of fear and not a little uncertainty.  He thought about the situation in which he’d found Sam, letting that be his guide to getting this man to talk more freely.

“Well?” Charles Allamore demanded when Al didn’t answer quick enough to suit him.  He took one more advancing step toward the Italian trying to intimate him, but the only reaction he got was a slightly raised eyebrow.

“I am the person in charge of this,” Al waved his hand lightly around the room, “establishment. However, how long you stay here is not up to me.”

“Who determines that?” Charles asked hotly.  “Is it your boss?”

A sly smirk fell across Al’s face.  “You could say that.”

“Look, dammit, I just want outta here.  I’ll pay you double what she’s paying you to keep me here.  This… you’re keeping me from my son!” Charles’ voice rose another octave as he spoke to Al.  “I want out of this—place.”

Al took a deep breath understanding totally what the man must have been feeling.  “Listen, I understand your hostility, not only toward your wife but also being kept away from your son.  Your wife didn’t put you here and, to tell you the truth, as soon as things are set right, you’ll go home.”

“Yeah – to what’s left of it when she’s done with it.  I swear, she wants to yank everything out from under me all because…” Charles’ words faltered for a moment.

“Because…” Al prompted.

“Nothing.  All because of nothing.  I work and work and work so she can be a social butterfly – a stay at home mom for Stevie… and… hell… why am I telling you this?  You don’t care.”

“Course I do,” Al responded as he stuck his hands in his pockets.

“No, you don’t.  Look, go pull your rank on someone who gives a damn.”

Al’s eyes shot up as he blinked at the man’s turning agitated attitude.  “It’s no wonder your wife is hot.”

Charles pivoted to look at Al, his anger mounting a new high.  His fists were balled at his side and he looked ready to take on the older man before him.

Al could see the bowed features and cringed.  He hadn’t meant to turn the man’s temper up at notch.  Al tilted his head slightly as he watched his best friend’s face screwed up in anger.  “It just seems to me that you are taking things a bit too literally.  Seems to me that you need some time.”

“Time!?” Charles yelled at the older man.  “Seems to me that that is the only thing that I do have!”

Al nodded his head at what the man before him was ranting and raving about.  “You know,” he said calmly, not letting the man’s agitation get to him in the slightest, “you’re right.”  Giving him a slight nod, Al turned around and left the Waiting Room knowing that he had a rather irritated psychiatrist on his hands to deal with as well.  He wasn’t looking forward to what was awaiting him in her office.

As the door of the Waiting Room slid down behind him, Al heard a snarling roar and a clatter as the man in the Waiting Room grabbed a chair and sent it skidding to the other side of the room.  Blowing out the air from his lungs as he turned the corner to head toward Verbena Beek’s office, Admiral Albert Calavicci knew that he had an interesting conversation in store for him.

Stopping in front of her closed door, Al raised his hand to knock when he heard a crash from inside the room.  Al didn’t hesitate as he grabbed the doorknob and rushed inside.  What he saw shocked him to the core.  Verbena was standing with her back to the door, her body heaving, and she picked up the last remaining object on her desk, a coffee mug, and flung it at the wall.  Al lightly cringed as it shattered against the wall and he licked his lips as he let his eyes go back to Verbena to see her turning around to lean against her desk.

“Al.  It’s nice to see you,” Verbena said uncharacteristically calm for what had just occurred.  “Care to have a seat?”

Al pursed his lips, not quite sure if he wanted to have a seat after what he had just seen.  Was he about to get the brunt of whatever was eating on her?  He wasn’t sure what to expect.  Even if Verbena was hot under the collar, she never had shown it before, that he could remember.  Looking carefully into her face, Al decided to take a few steps into the room and stood behind the chair.  “What’s wrong, Bena?” he asked carefully.

“Wrong?” Verbena asked the question back to her boss as she went to one of the two chairs to have a seat.  “Just a little stress… and I had to let it out.  It’s nothing, Al.”

“Nothing?” Al queried back as he raised his eyebrows at her words as he took a few more steps to stand before her.  Seeing her tilting her head up toward him, he could see the exhaustion in her face and he wondered when the last time was that she actually had a decent night’s sleep. 

Holding out his hand to her, Al watched her as she looked at his hand then back up at him.  “Come on, Verbena,” he called to her, “come with me.”

“Where?” Verbena asked warily as she put her hand in his.

“You’ll see,” he said simply. 

Leading her from her office, Al walked Verbena away from the Waiting Room and the Control Room and took her directly to her quarters.  Al smiled as he saw her expression.  “Listen, Bena,” he told her.  “Get a good eight hours sleep and we’ll talk more in the morning.”

Before Verbena opened the door, she leaned forward and placed a kiss on Al’s cheek.  “Goodnight, Al,” she said simply. 

“Night,” Al responded then turned and headed for his own bed.

PART FOUR

Reading, Pennsylvania

Allamore Residence

May 11, 1979

7:20 AM

The noise being made in the kitchen of the Allamore household caused the time-traveling quantum physicist to open his eyes.  The sound of pots and pans on the stove was enough to stir him out of his slumber.  As he sat up, Sam realized he had a catch in his neck and lower back from how he’d been sleeping on the uncomfortable sofa.  Sitting up as straight as he could, Sam Beckett moaned lightly.  Knowing he needed to stretch, he stood and continued to massage at the aching ligaments as he started toward the kitchen.

Following the sound of clattering cookware, Sam entered the kitchen and stopped.  It was a beautiful kitchen, every surface sparkling clean, even a glance at the curtains framing the wide window above the kitchen sink looked like they could have just been ironed.  But the morning sunshine and bright blue sky he saw through the window was the warmest thing about the room.  The frosty look that Jessica Allamore gave him told him that she had no intention of forgetting the fight from last night.  Still, Sam was determined not to be drawn into a new fight or a continuation of the previous one.

"Good morning," he said clearly.  He smiled when Stevie, sitting at one end of the table looked up from his bowl of oatmeal and greeted him. "Morning, Daddy."

"Steven, finish your breakfast," Jessica ordered plainly as she placed a plate of eggs and toast on the table.  Grabbing the chair out, she sat down and picked up her fork and began to eat. Glancing at her son who was still looking up at his father, she reminded him again. "Finish, Steven," she told him sharply.  "We've got to leave in ten minutes, and you've still got to brush your teeth."  Only when the child sighed and focused on the oatmeal again did she spare another glare at Sam.

"I'm not really hungry," Stevie Allamore murmured softly, poking his spoon half-heartedly in his oatmeal. 

In the next moment, he jumped visibly, his blue eyes wide when Jessica snapped, "I said eat it!"

Sam couldn't believe that she had snapped at him about his breakfast.  Taking a step up toward the table, knowing that he was about to get hip deep into a new fight with the woman who was already giving him a glare, Sam said, "Steven, you may not be hungry, but you know that your health is important to us.  Please go ahead and eat at least half of what you have left there, then go and brush your teeth.  All right?"

"Yes, Daddy," Steven answered then reluctantly dug into the oatmeal that was sitting before him.

"Half of it?" Jessica questioned him as he passed her to go to the refrigerator.  "There are children in..."

"Yes, there are, and he's not there," Sam said quite plainly.  "We'll discuss it, later, if you don't mind," Sam said as he cast a glance at Stevie where he sat at the table. 

"Stevie, eat the food that I set before you," Jessica stated as she saw her son putting down his spoon as if he was finished with the half that he had quickly eaten. 

"Mom, I..."

"Dammit, Steven, if I have to tell you again..."

"That's it," Sam said as he shut the door of the refrigerator and turned back to woman who was pointing at her son.  "Don't yell at him.  If you're mad at me, then so be it.  Yell all you want at me.  Stevie didn't have anything to do with this and you're taking it out on him!" Sam went up to the chair where Stevie sat and placed his hands on his son's shoulders.  "Stevie, go get your stuff and go brush your teeth.  You are finished eating."

"Don't you go anywhere, young man," Jessica warned, "I told you..."

Sam cut his eyes to the woman beside him and with a glare that he had never used before on a woman, shut her up. Lightly patting Steven Allamore's shoulder once more, he pulled out the chair for his host's son and motioned him out of the kitchen.  "Go ahead son.  You have my permission."

It was only after Steven Allamore was out of the room that Sam turned to the over-heating vessel that could have easily exploded several short moments ago. 

"If you've got a beef with me," Sam repeated, still standing behind the chair Stevie had occupied, "then take it out on me.  Not on our son."

Jumping up from the table, her own breakfast forgotten, Jessica shoved her chair roughly as she faced Sam.  "Don't you ever undermine my authority with my son..."

"Our son," Sam corrected.

Jessica ignored the correction.  "He's just playing you," she snapped.  "But then, you're not here during the day either."

"That's got nothing to do with this," Sam came back, forgetting about pouring himself a glass of orange juice.  "So what if he doesn't eat every bit of the oatmeal? Half is better than none at all."

Jessica was about to boil over.  "How would you know?  You spend most of your days at the office.  Hell, you don't get home until dinner's half over...."  Her fury with her husband was causing her body to shake, so badly did she want to lay into him.  But she thought of something and took a step back, putting space between herself and her husband then turned and stomped out of the kitchen.

Sam's response was more reactive than considered. "I get home as soon as I can," he said sharply.  "In case you hadn't noticed, it takes money to pay for this house, for the food..."

"That you let Steven get away with only eating half of because ‘he isn't hungry’," Jessica shot back from where she had stopped in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room.

"What do you want me to do?" Sam demanded, not realizing that a lot of what he was feeling as well as saying was filtering through to him from the frustrated man in the Waiting Room.

For Jessica Allamore, it was an opening too good not to seize.  "What do I want from you, Charles David Allamore?" she came close to screaming at him. "Alright, I'll tell you what I want.  I...." The words she intended to skewer him with, however, never left her mouth.  Instead she clamped her teeth together a moment and slowly shook her head.

"What is it that you want?" Sam demanded, moving toward the incensed woman glaring balefully at him.  "What?"

Jessica shook her head, lifting her chin.  "I'll let Darryl tell you," she said, her tone and attitude unmistakably frosty.

"Whose Darryl?" Sam asked. It didn't matter that Jessica chose not to answer him, as another thought reached him from his host; it was enough to send him after her as she headed up the stairs again.  "Our attorney?  What's he going to tell me, huh?"

Pausing at the top of the stairs, Jessica looked down at the man she saw as her husband and said bluntly, "Just be at his office in an hour, Charles." She started to turn away then fired another nasty dart at him. "Oh, you 'do' remember where his office is, don't you...dear?" She paused a second then added snidely, "It's that large office building directly across the street from 'your' office?"  Seeing how Charles' face darkened slightly at the dig, she smirked and continued to their bedroom to put her shoes on. 

Stevie had tried not to listen to his parents yelling downstairs but he couldn't help it.  Neither could he help it when, as he started to put toothpaste on his toothbrush, he felt his stomach roll. He turned to the toilet and threw up his breakfast.  Flushing the toilet, he grabbed some tissues from the box on the counter by the sink and wiped the seat then flushed them.  He kept glancing at the bathroom door as he squeezed a dab of toothpaste on his toothbrush and began vigorously brushing his teeth.  A minute later, he heard his mother's voice closer and hesitated just as she looked in at him.

"Hurry up," she said sharply.

"Yes, ma'am," he whispered around his toothbrush and turned back to the sink to spit the foam out. Rinsing his mouth and his toothbrush, the little boy put it down, then wiped his mouth on the corner of a towel and ran to his room to get his reading book.  Hurrying into the hall again, Stevie stopped at the sight of his mother, all dressed up and purse in hand as she came out of her bedroom.  He didn't say a word when she ordered him downstairs.  As he reached the bottom step, Stevie looked up at his father then hurried to the front door where he waited. He didn't turn around when his mother spoke meanly to his father.  He didn't feel good, but not so bad that he wanted to get yelled at again, or worse, a lecture from his mother on the way to school.

"Don't forget, Charles, you do have a 'meeting' with Darryl Worley in an hour," Jessica said tersely at him.  "You might want to do something... you know... shower and shave?"  Sneering at her husband, she turned on her heel and started toward the door where she gave her son a slight push to get him going toward the car.

Sam stood where he was, his teeth clamped together until he heard the door close.  Taking in a deep breath, he slowly let it out with a low moan of, "Gawwww..."

Stallions Gate, New Mexico

September 29, 2006

8:00 AM

When Al woke with Beth in his arms, he felt more like himself than he had in weeks.  Taking in a deep breath, he knew that he needed to get up, but instead, he drew Beth closer to him and nuzzled her sweet smelling hair.

"Alright, Flyboy, you know that you can't stay," Beth said simply.

Al groaned lightly.  "But it's so nice, spooned up against you."

Beth smiled.  "I know, honey.  Come on.  You go get your shower and I'll make you some coffee.  You slept in this morning."

Hearing her words, Al frowned then looked at his watch.  "Gees!" he remarked then quickly got out of bed and grabbed at his robe.  "I don't have time for a shower.  I wanted to talk with Bena this morning before I went to go check in with Sam."  Tying the belt around his waist, he walked around to where Beth was sitting up on the bed and he leaned down and placed a kiss on her forehead.  "I'll be back in a bit."

Smiling up at him, Beth shook her head then watched as her husband left the quarters in his robe, slippers and pajamas.

As Al walked down the hallways of the project heading toward Verbena's offices, he couldn't help but feel as if the project was empty.  With Donna and Steven gone to the Wojohowitz family reunion and Sammy Jo on maternity leave, the project seemed less active.  He was used to the hustle and bustle of the young Beckett around and it seemed almost eerie without the young man around.

Taking a deep breath, Al raised his hand this time to knock hoping that Verbena wasn't inside her office raking more stuff off her desk.  Actually, he hoped to find her putting stuff back onto her desk.  After a quick rap on the door, he heard a voice from within beckoning.

Opening the door, he found Verbena leaning back in her chair, the mess still on the floor by her desk, her feet up on her desk.  He blinked at the sight that she was portraying, but he smiled a warm hello to her.  "Morning."

"Good morning, Admiral," Verbena said softly.  "Don't worry, I'll pick up later.  It's just so nice to see the desk clean that I couldn't help but leave it alone for a bit longer."

Al chuckled.  "I totally understand.  Are... are things a bit more settled with you?" he asked somewhat guardedly.

"Most definitely.  True, I didn't get as much sleep as I wanted to, but I got enough to get me through today.  There are just some days that a girl needs to just let the stress out."

Al nodded again then sat down in the chair before her.  "Listen, Verbena, I need to ask you something about our visitor."  Just at the mention of the man in the Waiting Room, Al could see the way that Verbena tensed up. "I was wondering..."

"Admiral Calavicci?" the parallel hybrid computer purred down from the ceiling.

"Yes, Ziggy?" Al said as he quirked an eyebrow up as he looked up at the ceiling.

"I have found out some more information about Jessica and Charles Allamore."

When the computer didn't come forth with the information that she had found, Al motioned to the ceiling with his hand as he gave an exasperated look at Verbena.  "That would be?" he prompted.

"It seems that they get a divorce in December of 1979 and never speak to each other again."

Al nodded at the news.  "I can see why," he said simply as he shifted in the chair.  "It must have been hard on their little boy," Al said as he thought back to the image of the little boy sleeping peacefully in his bed.

"No, Admiral.  It wasn't hard on Steven Allamore at all."

Al's tentative, puzzled expression grew as he looked up at the ceiling.  Licking his lips, he said, "Oh? How so?  Which parent got him?"

"Neither."

Al's quizzical expression deepened.  "What?  One of them had to get him.  Did he run away from home?"

"No, Admiral," Ziggy answered him plainly.

"Then what happened to him?"

"Steven Michael Allamore, age seven, died at St. Joseph’s Medical Center on May 11, 1979 at 11:13 AM from complications due to severe pneumonia."

"Pneumonia?  How is that possible?  He seemed…"

"Things aren't always as they seem, Admiral Calavicci," Ziggy intoned philosophically. 

"Would you care to elaborate on that?" Verbena asked as she finally got in on the conversation. 

"I am still researching that information," Ziggy replied.  Noting and interpreting both of their expressions as she had observed countless times, she said, "I will advise you when I have ascertained and verified the facts that I've just given you."

"Great," Al said disdainfully.  "At least, get Dominic to get the Imaging Chamber up and ready.  I'll want to see Sam ASAP."

"Yes, Admiral."

PART FIVE

May 11, 1979

Reading, Pennsylvania

10:00 A.M.

Sam had fought down the urge to hit something following Jessica and Stevie's departure from the house.  Instead, he had moved into the living room and watched from one of the windows as Jessica backed her silver Mazda down the driveway and drove away.  For several moments, he remained at the window, staring out at the well-kept lawn as well as the house across the street.  It was only seeing a man emerge from that house and carry a briefcase to the dark blue Buick sedan in his driveway that got the time traveler moving toward the stairs.

Usually a hot shower helped Sam to calm down but not this morning.  So clear was the looping replay of the scene in the kitchen a short time before that he found himself muttering to himself as he bathed.  Even while shaving, he paused to stare at his host's reflection in the mirror and question him about the rocky situation between him and his wife.  All that did, without Sam realizing it, was maintain a strong mind merging with the real Charles Allamore.  Remembering that Al had said that Charles was a senior accountant at some firm, Sam grabbed a dress shirt and a blue suit from the walk-in closet in the Allamore's bedroom and put them on. Stepping into a pair of polished black shoes, Sam went to the dresser to pick up Charles' wallet and shove it into his back pocket. After taking the few pieces of change from a small silver tray on the dresser, Sam grabbed the square-faced Bulova men's watch and fastened it on his left wrist as he headed downstairs.

He paused in the kitchen to pick up the phone and call his office, letting his secretary know that he had a meeting over with Darryl Worley.  After hearing her say that she would call if she needed him, he hung up and headed toward the door.

Making sure the front door was locked behind him, Sam dug the keys from his pocket and unlocked the door of the red Chevrolet.  Getting in, he slipped behind the wheel and quickly headed off down the street.  So strongly was the mind merging with his host maintained, that it didn't occur to Sam that he didn't know where he was going as he blended with the mid morning traffic streaming toward downtown Reading, Pennsylvania.  Charles’ habits led him to make all the proper turns bringing him to the front of the impressive office building Worley, Garson & Hanrattie called home. Grimacing as the face of a man he'd never met popped into his mind, namely that of attorney Darryl Worley, the Allamores' attorney, Sam, guided by Charles Allamore's habits, headed for the garage the office building boasted and quickly found a parking space.

"Just what I don't need," he muttered, not realizing how his host's thoughts were slipping so easily into his mind as he got out, locked the car and headed for the elevator situated at the far end of this level of the garage, "is to pay Darryl Worley two hundred and fifty dollars for an hour of listening to him telling us we need to see a marriage counselor."  Glad that he was, for the moment, the only person near the elevator, Sam pressed the call button then forced himself to just be still and clear his mind of the emotional bleed-through from Charles Allamore.  It was enough to get his own thoughts in order as well as to glance around, not a little surprised to realize that he had no idea how he had traveled from the Allamore house to this place, much less without remembering anything about the drive. 

A soft chime sounded and Sam focused on getting into the elevator and pressed the button for the main floor of the office building.  As the car moved downward, he murmured under his breath, "Al, where are you?"

Less than five minutes later, Sam stepped off the elevator onto the fifteenth floor, which housed the law firm of Worley, Garson & Hanrattie, a Professional Law Corporation.  At the end of the hall left of the elevators was a set of highly polished dark wood doors; at the opposite end was the receptionist desk, and several comfortable chairs of dark wood were spaced along the walls.

Sam was surprised that Jessica wasn't already there and waiting for him.  Going to the reception desk, he assumed she might be caught in traffic.  He smiled when the receptionist greeted him, "Good morning, Mr. Allamore," silently wondering if it was or wasn't a good sign to be recognized on sight by the receptionist at a law firm.

"Good morning," Sam said, keeping his tone equable. "I, uh, have an appointment with Mr. Worley at ten o'clock."

The neatly dressed middle-aged woman behind the desk nodded.  "Yes, Mr. Allamore. If you'll have a seat, I'll let Mr. Worley know that you're here."

Thanking her, Sam went to one of the chairs and sat down.  Within a few minutes, he looked over at the receptionist when he heard a buzzer sound.  Hearing her say, "Yes, sir," he rose to his feet as the woman looked toward him, saying, "You may go inside, Mr. Allamore.  Mr. Worley will see you now."

Nodding to the receptionist, Sam smiled slightly at her then moved to the double wooden doors and went into the inner office areas of the firm.  Wishing Al were there to point out the office of attorney, Darryl Worley, Sam was grateful when a door opened at the end of the hall he'd stepped into and a secretary emerged with several files in hand, saw him and called to him, smiling, "Good morning, Mr. Allamore.  How are you this morning?"  Stepping back a pace from the door from which she had emerged, she said, "Mr. Worley is expecting you. Please come in."

"Thank you," Sam said to the attractive African-American woman as he reached her and turned to enter Darryl Worley's office.  He was barely through the door when he froze in his steps at the sight of his... Charles' wife already sitting in one of the comfortable leather chairs placed before the large mahogany desk the office boasted.  The tightening in his stomach only became tenser as he flicked a glance at the man sitting behind the desk then shifted his gaze to Jessica.

Darryl Worley, a somewhat heavyset man of average height with an owlish look about him that was only enhanced by heavy, dark-rim glasses, stood up and came around the desk to greet Sam.  "Hello, Charles," he said warmly, waving Sam to the chair beside Jessica. Please sit down."

Slowly Sam moved to sink down on the chair, his gaze shifting between the attorney and Jessica.  "I don't understand," he began carefully. "What's going on here?"

Darryl Worley had a small smile on as he glanced down at the paperwork before him.  "Well, let's see..."

It was at that moment that a rather abrupt knock sounded on the door and Darryl turned to look at it.  "Just a moment," he said then headed back over to the door.  Opening the door wide, he saw an officer who was tall, dark haired with green eyes.  "May I help you?" he asked.

"Is there a Charles David Allamore present?"

Frowning with a glance at Worley as well as Charles' wife, Sam stood up.  Swallowing, he said, "That would be me."

The deputy nodded, entered the office, approached the time-traveler then handed him an envelope.  Looking the quantum physicist in the eye, the deputy said rather plainly, "You've been served, sir."

Sam glanced down at the papers in his hand before he looked back up at the officer before him.  "Uh... th-thank you," Sam replied apprehensively then watched as the officer nodded and left the room.

Opening up the manila envelope in his hand, Sam blinked as he saw the title of the document before he turned back to look at the woman sitting beside him.  "This is what you were talking about this morning, huh?  You want a... a divorce?" Sam questioned.

The clunk-zoom of the Imaging Chamber door as well as the ringing of Darryl Worley’s phone happened simultaneously.  Sam was still staring at his host’s wife incredulously when he heard Darryl calling his name.  “The phone is for you.”

Moving to the Darryl’s desk, Sam reached out and grabbed the phone and held it up to his ear.  "Hello?"

"Sam, we have news," Al said as he stepped through the door, still wearing the polka-dotted robe. 

"Mr. Allamore, this is Mrs. Gershwin, the principal at Addison Elementary School—I got this number from your secretary.  We’ve rushed Steven to the St. Joseph Medical Center. Steven had been complaining to his teacher about how he wasn't feeling well.  She sent him to the nurse, but he never got there.  They found him in the bathroom.  He had thrown up and we couldn't wake him."

Sam couldn't believe how he was being punched not just by the divorce of this couple, but also how his... Charles' son was now in the hospital.  "Th-thank you," he responded, hung up the phone, and then started toward the door.

"Where are you going!?" Jessica Allamore said hotly as she stood up.  "If you walk out that door, Charles David, it's only going to get worse.  You are always walking out on me and I won't stand for it!"

"Sam, I just found out from Ziggy that..." Al began as he heard what Jessica was saying.

Sam cut his holographic partner off as he shot a finger out to point to Charles' wife.  "The school just called.  They rushed Steven to the hospital.  I'm going to check on my son.  If you want to throw the book at me because I care about my son's welfare, go ahead, Jessica.  At this point in time, I couldn’t really give a damn what you think."  Turning on his heel, Sam walked through the doors of Darryl Worley's office with only one destination in mind.

Sam had exited the attorney's office so quickly that it took Al a moment to have Ziggy re-center him on the time traveler.  It was, however, enough time for him to get a good look at Jessica Allamore's stunned, pale expression as she turned to look at her equally surprised attorney before rushing out the door.

"Ziggy, re-center me on Sam, now," Al ordered and within seconds found himself in the parking garage, watching Sam getting into the Chevy, swiftly putting it in gear and backing out.  Pressing buttons on the handlink, he quickly reappeared inside the car, situating himself so it appeared he was sitting in the seat beside his friend.  Al was about to tell Sam more but Sam cut him off.

"They said they took Stevie to St. Joseph's Medical Center, Al.  How do I get there?"

Entering the question on the handlink, Al responded within seconds, "Uh, there are two hospitals by that name in Reading."  Without missing a beat he said, "Ziggy, check Stevie Allamore's medical records. Which hospital was he taken to?" He nodded when Ziggy spoke into the Imaging Chamber, repeating to Sam, "It's the one at 12th Street and Constitution Boulevard." He entered another question then recited that response to Sam who, by this time, had emerged from the parking garage and entered the flow of traffic, making a left turn.  "You need to go about twelve blocks then turn left again and go another three blocks."

Though it wasn't that far to the hospital, to Sam it seemed that traffic seemed to deliberately slow and snarl before him.  As the minutes crept by, matching the flow of the traffic, he couldn't help venting a bit to Al. He couldn't know that Al had already heard much of the same from the man pacing the confines of the Waiting Room.

"How could Jessica do that?" he demanded frustratedly. Muttering a curse under his breath, Sam slammed on his brakes to avoid hitting a cab that swooped in ahead of him.  "Doesn't she know that this guy... Charles is working his butt off just so she and their son can have what they have?  He just wants them to have the best.  And she bitches about him having to work late?"

Al looked at his friend. "That's what he said, too."

"Who?" Sam said sharply before he uttered a sharp, "Finally!" as he reached the parking lot next to the hospital.

"Charles," Al said simply as Sam turned into a parking space and jumped out of the car and started running toward the double doors above which "Emergency Room" was printed in large letters.  It was plain that Sam was focused on getting into the hospital and getting to a sick little boy caught between battling parents to, hopefully, let him know that the fighting wasn't his fault.

Rushing into the busy Emergency Room, Sam scanned the area and hurried to what appeared to be a registration desk and waited a moment for the woman behind the desk to finish speaking on the phone.

"I'm Charles Allamore," Sam blurted out. "I received a phone call that my son was brought here a little while ago."

"What's your son's name?" the woman asked.

"Steven Allamore." Sam watched as the woman typed in the name on the computer before her.

"Yes, Mr. Allamore. Your son has been taken upstairs to the Pediatric ICU," she said.  Reading the notations on the screen, she added, "Dr. Gregory is the physician taking care of him." Glancing at Sam, she asked, "Who is your pediatrician?"

Sam cut his gaze to the hologram beside him, fumbling for a moment until Al provided him with a name.  "Dr. Archie Everside," Sam called then turned to go in search of an elevator.

As Sam got into the elevator, Al turned to look at the door as Jessica Allamore came in through the door, looking frantic.  She rushed up to the counter, demanding to know where her child was being held, her voice quivering as Darryl Worley stood beside her.  Re-centering himself on Sam, who was getting off the elevator, Al said, "Jessica just got here."

"I don't care.  Where do they have Steven?" he asked as he peered down the corridor. 

Al blinked at Sam's response, and then pointed to the left.  “Pediatric ICU is this way." 

"Thanks, Al," Sam said as he sprinted down the hallway.  As soon as he got to the nurse's station, Sam said who he was supposed to be once more and was redirected to the room where Steven Allamore was located.

Sam stopped as soon as he saw the little boy he had been defending just this morning.  "Steven," he whispered and went to the boy's side.  Looking down at the little figure, it was then that Sam saw how little and fragile he appeared with the IV's in his arm and the monitor leads that were attached to his chest.  Reaching out, Sam slightly moved Steven's hair from his forehead and felt the fever from his brow.  "Stevie," he said softly as the little boy opened his eyes to look up at his father.

"Daddy, I--I'm... sorry," Stevie whispered.

"Shhh," Sam said.  "There's nothing for you to be sorry about.  Just relax and let the medicine that they are giving you work.  Okay?"

"But... it... it's my... fault."

The door of the room opened and Jessica came rushing into the room and went immediately to her son's side, catching the last little bit of Steven's words.  "What's that honey?  What's your fault?" she asked him softly, her words totally loving and heartfelt for her child. 

Steven looked at his mother and father for a moment, his eyes tearing up, as he felt pinned by their gazes for a long moment.  "It's... my fault.  The... divorce," he whispered.  "My... fault."

Jessica's eyes widened at his words and she spun to her husband, hot heated anger toward him.  "You told him that?!" she hissed at him as she confirmed Steven's thoughts.

Sam shook his head.  "No, I didn't tell him.  I couldn't... I wouldn't... not like... this," he said, looking at her like she had lost her mind.

"Because... of me.  You fight... over me," Steven said over his parent's words, making them look at him once again.  "I... I'm sorry."

Jessica Allamore shook her head and tears spilled down the side of his face as she looked at her son.  She couldn't believe what her son was saying and it cut her directly to the core that he would even think it.

Sam took a hold of Steven's hand and lightly shook it to get the boy's attention.  "Stevie," he said as he leaned down a little to look into Stevie's blue eyes intently, "what your mom and I argue about isn't about you at all, son.  You get tossed into the middle, but it's not your fault.  We shouldn't have ever added you into the mix and for that we are sorry, Stevie.  Please, don't think that you are the reason.  You aren't.  Okay?"

Stevie nodded then smiled up at his parents.  As they held onto Stevie's hands, talking to him gently about how things were going to be when he was better, trying to put the divorce out of his mind, Doctor Gregory, an older man with white hair and silver-rimmed glasses entered the room. 

As Dr. Gregory came in, his gaze went immediately to the child’s parents, sizing them up.  Normally, he didn’t have a problem talking in front of the patient, but with it being a small child, he didn’t want to upset them as he questioned his parents.  “Excuse me, Mr. and Mrs. Allamore, may I see you outside?”

Sam nodded at the doctor’s discretion as he gave Stevie’s hand a slight squeeze and a smile.  “We’ll be right outside, Stevie.”

“That’s right, baby,” Jessica reiterated.  “I’ll… we’ll be back as soon as the doctor’s finished talking with us.”

Stevie smiled weakly at his mother’s words and closed his eyes as his mother and father started out of the room.  It was in that moment that Sam looked at Al and slightly motioned to the bed, asking Al if he wouldn’t mind staying with the little boy.

“It’s okay, Sam.  You don’t have to ask.  I’ll stay with him.”

Sam smiled at his friend, looked at Stevie in the bed one last time, and then stepped outside.  As he looked at the way Dr. Gregory was standing, he knew that the prognosis wasn’t favorable.  That in and of itself worried Sam far more than Charles and Jessica’s impending divorce.

Dr. Gregory looked over the notes that he had made on Steven Michael Allamore’s chart then flipped it closed and looked at the child’s parents coolly.  “Tell me anything that you know about your child’s health at this moment.”

Jessica frowned as she brought her hand up to tug lightly at her lip.  “He complained last night about not feeling well, but he seemed fine this morning,” she said her voice now truly perplexed and full of concern for her son.  “Now this… I… I don’t understand.  You’re the professional here.  What’s wrong with our son?” she asked more than a bit frankly.

“We’ve done a thorough examination as well as x-rays.  It seems that your son has a case of walking pneumonia that has progressed rather nicely in his lungs.  It’s gotten much worse than what is normally found in that situation.  Has he…” Dr. Gregory stopped then asked with his eyebrows arched high, “has he had a cold recently?”

Sam frowned, not quite sure how to take the questions that Dr. Gregory was asking.  He had no idea if Stevie had recently had a cold or not, but as he put his hand on the small of Jessica’s back, she perked up to the small prodding from him.

Jessica frowned as she looked at her husband before she responded, “He had a cold when he got back from the camping trip three weeks ago, but he got over it.”

Dr. Gregory perked at the news, hoping that his prognosis wasn’t as extreme as he had once thought.  If the child had professional care—it wouldn’t have progressed as far as it could have.  “You took him to the doctor?”

Jessica shook her had slowly as she looked into the doctor’s face seeing immediate disappointment in his eyes.  “I put him in bed for a couple of days and gave him some cold medicine and he bounced back.”

“But you didn’t take him to the family doctor?”

“N—no.  Not for a mild cold,” Jessica said almost fearfully at hearing the question being asked again, and she instinctively leaned back into her husband’s embrace.

It was then that Sam understood where Dr. Gregory was heading—hoping for an easier time with his prognosis.  He lightly rubbed Jessica’s back as he looked down at the chart in the doctor’s hands, wanting to snatch it from him and help Stevie the best that he could.

Dr. Gregory sighed heavily, his hopes dashed by the knowledge that the boy in his care hadn’t had any medical treatment.  Running his teeth over his bottom lip, Dr. Gregory looked even more hopefully at the parents for a negative answer to his next question.  “Does Steven have a problem with asthma?”

Even as Jessica began to nod an affirmative answer to the doctor’s question, a rather loud, abrupt alarm sounded from within the room and Sam heard Al calling his name frantically from within.

Sam quickly let go of Jessica Allamore and rushed into the room, his main concern to help the little boy lying on the bed.  Even as he began giving chest compressions to keep him out of death’s charge, a team of nurses and doctors rushed in the room, pushing and shoving Sam out of the way.

“Stop it,” Sam called out to several of them as he continued to help Steven, but two burly orderlies entered the room, saw what was happening and rushed to get the civilian out of the room so that the team could do what was necessary to save the little boy.

Sam cursed as he was pushed out of the door by the orderlies and he looked in from the window to see the team taking even more immediate measures to save the boy’s life.  Not knowing what else to do, Sam began to pace outside the room, pausing only long enough to get another glance inside the room. 

“Charles, what happened in there?” Jessica asked as she looked into the room as well. 

“He coded… crashed.  They’re resuscitating him,” he answered softly.  He looked up to see Jessica gasp then rush down the hallway toward the restroom, her hand clasped over her mouth.  Taking a deep breath and wishing that he was inside Stevie’s room to know what was going on, Sam looked at Al who had re-centered to his position outside the room.  “What happened, Al?”

Albert Calavicci, who had already pulled up the information from Ziggy, sighed, hating to give his partner the news.  “You don’t want to…”

“Dammit, Al, tell me what happened!  There might be something that I can do!” Sam raised his voice to a hiss as he approached the hologram.  “Tell me!”

Al’s voice caught in his throat as he thought of Christa.  After one of the many heart surgeries, she suffered from a massive infection that had almost killed her.  Seeing the little Allamore child in the bed connected to monitoring and supporting machinery, it was like looking into a mirror and seeing his family in the same situation.  “He—he dies, Sam.”  It was then that he brought the handlink up to read the information that Ziggy had on the screen.  He didn’t editorialize or stray from the facts provided.  “During the autopsy that his parents demanded, it was discovered, as Dr. Gregory said, that Steven Michael Allamore had a severe undiagnosed case of walking pneumonia which, it was determined, that he had likely acquired through contact with another child during a camp-out a couple of weeks prior to his death.  Because Steven also had a mild form of asthma, and due to his weakened condition, it led to acute respiratory distress which ultimately resulted in his untimely death.”

Sam shook his head at the news as tears came to his eyes but didn’t fall.  If he had known earlier, he could have done something to help save the little boy.  “If I had just leaped in sooner, Al, he…”

Jessica Allamore approached the concerned scientist moving back and forth in front of her child’s room.  “Charles?” she asked softly as she touched her tumbling stomach.  “Is… has Dr. Gregory come out, yet?”

Almost on cue, the door opened and the team that had rushed into the room exited, followed by Dr. Gregory.  All of them were out of breath, but they were all smiling somewhat and it brought up both Jessica and Sam’s attitude some. 

“How is he?” Jessica asked softly as she stepped up toward him.

Dr. Gregory blinked then looked down at the floor, hating himself for what he was about to tell the little boy’s parents.  “I’m not going to pull any punches with you, Mr. and Mrs. Allamore.  I can’t make any promises that he’ll pull through this.  He’s… on a ventilator at the moment and if his system shuts down again,… well, the only thing that will be keeping your son alive will be that ventilator, I’m afraid. We have Steven also hooked up to an electro-encephalo-graph, an EEG, to monitor his brainwaves.  If he crashes again, it’ll let us know if he has any electrical activity in the brain.”

“So, you’re saying if he crashes again, there’s a possibly of him being brain dead?” Sam questioned, knowing that Jessica needed to hear the words plainly stated.

“Charles!” she exclaimed as she looked at him then back to Dr. Gregory.  “Is that right?” she whispered.

“Unfortunately.”

Jessica’s tears fell silently at the doctor’s words as she stood against Sam—the only thing that was keeping her up.  She turned in Sam’s embrace and clung to him for a long moment, needing her husband’s support—something she thought she’d been lacking for so long.  “Oh Charles,” she whispered. “What are we going to do?”  The question was rhetorical.

“Wait and see,” Sam responded softly as he helped her over to a chair and sat down.  He looked up at Al who stood by the door of Stevie’s room looking in and shaking his head.  “We wait and see.”

PART SIX

Reading, Pennsylvania

St. Joseph’s Medical Center

May 11, 1979

11:45 AM

A few hours had passed uneventfully for the Allamore family, but Dr. Sam Beckett kept a keen eye and ear on the child in the bed.  Although he knew the outcome, it didn’t stop him from praying for a miracle.  God, Time, Fate, Whatever had given him a miracle before—a rain storm when one hadn’t been in the records for months when he was in Beaumont, Texas.  If anyone needed a miracle, Steven Michael Allamore needed one.

Hearing Jessica say she needed to powder her nose, Sam pressed his lips together firmly and nodded before she left the room.  Hearing the door close, Sam stood and began to pace relentlessly as he massaged his temples and tried to think of something – anything  -- to help Steven Allamore.

Al watched the leaper helplessly.  “Sam, you pacing back and forth isn’t going to help him.”

“Dammit, Al, I can’t just stand here and watch Stevie die.  I… I’ve got to think and I think best when I pace.”  As Sam continued to pace, Al continued to watch him for a moment longer before Sam snapped his fingers as if an epiphany had occurred.  “Ask Ziggy if there’s a new medication out there.  You know, like what I did with Peg Stratton with the beta-sympathomimetics.”

"Sam..."

Sam stopped in mid stride and turned to his holographic partner.  "I said ask her!" The look alone wouldn’t have made Al ask the parallel-hybrid computer, but the words along with it made him close his mouth and do exactly what the leaper wanted him to.  Al pulled up the handlink and programmed in the question, then closed his eyes when Ziggy responded negatively.  Al shaking his head at Sam's hopeful expression caused another curse to slip through the scientist's lips. 

"Sam, what..." Al paused, not liking the way his thoughts were going.  "What if you aren't here for Stevie?"

Sam had been on his outward pace away from Al and he came to an abrupt halt.  Slowly, turning on one heel to Al, he faced the project observer and questioned in a whispered hiss, "What!?"

"What if... you're here to keep Charles and Jessica's marriage together and the one thing that helps seal it is Stevie's death?" Al asked even as tears burned the inside of his eyes.  He met Sam's incredulous stare, the Leaper’s unwillingness to even think about that scenario in every set of his six-foot frame.  "No, Sam.  Life's not fair, but sometimes it takes the death of a child to either heal a marriage or tear it apart.  Verbena has talked more with Charles since she got up this morning and she found out that Charles loves his wife.  According to Ziggy's records, Charles Allamore is currently a sad, pathetic drunk who consistently talks about his ex-wife and his child from dawn to dusk.  Seems to me that you're here for them—not for Stevie."

"Al... you're..." Sam began to say but the alarm went off again, sending Sam into a complete spin to see the child on the bed coding as the team of doctors and nurses rushed back into the room, pushing Jessica out of the way.

By the time the team had stabilized Steven Allamore a second time, Dr. Gregory looked at the monitors that had been recording the brain activity of his patient. He was more than surprised to see continued, however, minimal brain activity being recorded.  Turning, he looked at Steven’s parents as his team left, his expression one of mild shock.

“What is it?” Sam asked noticing the doctor’s expression first.

“I’m more than a bit surprised.  Steven’s brain patterns are still active. It’s minimal, but I honestly don’t think that with another crash of the same magnitude that he’ll survive the shock to his system.”

Hearing the news, Jessica rushed to her child’s side.  “You were wrong before.  What makes you so sure this time?  He could surprise you and bounce back to normal just like that.”

Al, who had been researching Steven’s medical history through the handlink, shook his head.  “According to Ziggy, Sam, the timeline of Steven’s death changed only by a few hours; he still dies.”

Sam blinked at the data given to him and disregarded the doctor’s words for a moment as he walked over to Jessica Allamore, who was looking at her son ever so lovingly.  “If that was the case, Jessica,” Sam said tenderly as he took her by the hand, “we wouldn’t be in ICU and Stevie would be in better condition.”

Jessica turned to her husband as Dr. Gregory turned and left the room to leave them alone with their son and their thoughts.  “Charles, you can’t give up on him.”

“I’m not, Jessica.  I’m being realistic.”

“Well, be as realistic and pessimistic as you want.  I’m going to be optimistic that Stevie will make it through this,” Jessica stated rather stiffly.

“Optimistic?” Sam questioned as he slowly turned his head to look at the young man in the bed.  “You mean like how you’re destroying our marriage?” he asked as he turned back to look at his host’s wife.

The distinct, sharp smack of her hand against his face was enough for Sam to just take a step back from her, realizing how close he was to hitting home with her.  “How dare you?  You are as much to blame on that as I am.”

Sam brought his hand up to massage his cheek.  “I’m not going to get into a debate with you about who started what, but we do need to talk about this.”  Sam watched as Jessica turned away from him —dismissing him almost completely.

Sam wasn’t sure exactly why he was feeling what he was, nor could he tell why he seemed to be closer to the matter at hand, but the words he was about to say were tearing his heart apart.  “I’m… I’m afraid I’m going to lose my boy and I can’t lose—,” Sam paused as she turned to him, her eyes wide in surprise.  “Jessica, I need to know what you want.”

Jessica pointed to Stevie and immediately tears built up, threatening to spill over.  "I want Stevie..."

"I want him too,” Sam said as he took a step back toward her.  “I’m asking you about me, honey,” the endearment slipped off his tongue so easily.  “What do you want of me?”

Jessica stared at the man before her for a long moment wonderingly.  "I don't know," she finally said.  "I don't know, Charles.  I just don't know."

Sam glanced at Al and saw the observer looking at the handlink for a moment before he raised it so Sam could look at the screen.  "It's what Charles said that he wanted to Verbena this morning," Al remarked.

Reading the handlink, Sam looked back at his wife and took her by the hand then said, "I know what I want for both of us.  How about some honesty, sincerity, tenderness, and trust?"  Seeing the way the tears slowly began to slide down her cheeks, Sam knew that he was hitting the nail on the head.  "Will you let me kiss you again in the morning…”

Jessica turned away from Sam as she hiccupped from the emotions that were bubbling up over the anger she had had at him for oh so many little things. 

Sam walked around to where she was facing, reached out and touched her chin, making her look up into his face.  “Will you let me tell you that I love you every night?”

More tears cascaded down Jessica’s face as her eyes met his.  “Charles…” she began again, then stopped as she looked back down at her feet. 

Sam once more lifted her chin to force her to look into his eyes.  “We could have more time for each other instead of the rest of the world… we could put it on hold—the whole world—for our… our family.”

Not knowing exactly how to react to the man standing before her, baring his soul, Jessica swallowed and wiped at her face.  “I… wish that…”

Sam stopped her by placing his finger on her lips.  He knew deep in his heart that the words that flowed from his mouth were honest and true.  He could feel Charles Allamore coming through as his mind merged again with the man in the not too distant future.  “Jessica Marie Tennethson Allamore, I love you with everything that is within me, and I have a wish too,” Sam said softly as a tear slipped down his own cheek. 

Taking a risk, Jessica asked, “What’s your wish?”

“I wish…” Sam began as he reached up and gingerly began to wipe away at the tears on her face, his touch ever so soft and loving as he searched her eyes.  “I wish it was like it used to be.  Don’t you remember?”  Seeing the questioning look that crossed her face, Sam smiled lightly as another tear slipped down his cheek.  “Don’t you remember—when you fell in love with me?” he whispered softly to her.

Jessica’s eyes blurred as tears continued to roll down her cheeks as she looked in his eyes and saw the love her husband had just boasted to her.  She took in a shuddering breath then said, “I—I don’t know where to start…”

Sam wiped at her cheeks tenderly, giving her a soft smile.  “Everything that I’ve just told you is somewhere in your heart.  I know that most of the fights are over me not being home because I’m at work—I thought so that I could provide you and Stevie with anything your heart desires.  I was stupid enough not to realize that what you really wanted wasn’t money or the stuff you received from me.  Oh baby, why didn’t you just tell me what you really wanted?  Tell me—now that you know what I want—what do you want?”

A sob wracked through Jessica Allamore’s body as she looked at the man before her.  She couldn’t believe how he seemed to change, but whatever had come over him, she hoped that she wasn’t making the wrong decision.  “I want…” she began, gasped a sob then finished her answer, “I want us to be a family.”

A shuddering half sigh—half laugh emerged from the time-traveler as he drew her tightly into his arms.  Turning his head toward her, he planted a kiss against her hair and continued to hold her close.  Finally, getting a hold of his emotions, he told her softly, “Whatever happens, we’ll make it through.”  He moved her back from the embrace to look into her eyes and clarify what he had just told her.  “Do you understand, sweetheart?”

Tears immediately came back to the surface as Jessica pressed her lips firmly together to try to stop the emotions that wanted to scream out at her husband at just the thought of their son dying.  Slowly, however, she nodded.

Still in her husband’s embrace, Jessica turned her head back to her little boy, blinking back the new assault on her already worn emotions.

“Did you hear that Stevie?” she asked softly as she leaned her head onto her husband’s broad shoulder.  “No matter what happens, we’re going to be a family,” she said with the hopes that it would bring her child back to her.

Al stood back, his hand clasped against his cheek mesmerized by how Sam had yet again pulled a crumbling marriage back from the brink.  He couldn’t help but smile softly at her words to her son.  It seemed that they both had wanted the same thing—they just didn’t want to stop fighting long enough to set things right.  Hearing the handlink in his pocket chirping and at the same time glancing up at Sam to see that he had the Leaper’s attention, he pulled the handlink out to see what Ziggy had for him.  He had barely looked at the handlink when the alarm in the room sounded.  “Oh no,” he murmured softly.

"Stevie?" Jessica called out to her child as Sam held her tightly, his body tensing at the sounds of the alarms.  It took some effort on his part, but Sam physically turned Jessica away from the dying child on the bed.  “Charles… oh God, Charles,” she whimpered against his shoulder.

After stabilizing the child once more, Dr. Gregory looked at the electro-encephalo-graph monitor that had been recording what little brain activity Steven had been having.  Cursing under his breath, he turned back to Steven’s parents now standing at the foot of the bed.  “I’m sorry,” he said softly, but with finality.  “Steven is… brain dead.  The only thing that is keeping your child essentially alive is the ventilator.”  Seeing the look on their faces, he said softly, “I’ll… leave so you can decide what you are going to do.  I—I wish there was something that we could do, but it’s out of our hands.  I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

Tears were now flowing freely from Jessica's eyes.  She struggled to get out of her husband’s embrace and raced to the right side of the bed and grabbed her son's hand, giving it a slight shake.  "No!" she cried out.  "It can't be... he can't be gone!  Charles!  God—Charles, do something!"

"I wish I could," Sam earnestly said, and tears slipped down his cheeks as he went to her side.

"Stevie!" Jessica called to her son as she dropped her head forward onto her son's lap.  "Stevie, please, come back.  Come back to me… to us," she whispered.

Sam gently put his hands on the woman half-laying on her son, wishing and wanting him back, and gently straightened her up.  Looking into her eyes, seeing the too-fresh pain in her tear-filled red eyes, he pulled her into his embrace and clung tightly to her as tears spilled down his cheeks.  He wanted to tell her so many things—how sorry he was for not saving her child; how he could have if he had only leaped into her husband sooner; but the Time-traveler knew that he couldn’t do it.  He couldn’t and the ever-powerful guilt of the situation began creeping into the center of his being.

***You should feel guilty.  You failed—again.***

**No, you didn’t.**

Sam sobbed against the thoughts that were battling within him and he felt Jessica’s arms tighten around him and he couldn’t help himself.  The words just slipped out.  He gasped as he turned slightly to whisper what he wanted to say into her ear.  “I—I’m sorry.”

It was those simple words that pulled both Jessica Allamore and Sam Beckett to sit on the floor clinging to the other as they shed tears—one shedding tears of regret and the other tears of despair.

PART SEVEN

Reading, Pennsylvania

St. Joseph’s Medical Center

September 11, 1979

1:24 PM

It was almost an hour later, after some intense consideration, when Jessica Allamore relented to what her husband was saying.  “I don’t want to let go anymore than you do, Jessica, I’m just saying that we can’t delay the inevitable. It’s…”

***It’s your fault, Sam Beckett!***

Sam paused, not wanting to listen to the haunting inner voice that was beginning to lay an astonishing guilt trip on him.  After swallowing down the new onslaught of condemnation, Sam said, “It’s not right to drag it out.”

Jessica nodded at his words, her chin trembling at the thought of unplugging the ventilator and letting her child go.  “Before we d—do this, Charles, I….” Jessica cleared her throat then placed her fingertips on her lips in a vain attempt to contain her emotions.  “I’ve got to say my… my g—goodbye’s.”

Sam immediately nodded at her words, swallowing as he did so.  “We both will.”

***What are you going to tell him, Beckett?***

‘Leave it alone,’ Sam thought to himself as he tried to push off the voice that seemed to haunt him.

***Are you going to admit that you screwed up?  Admit it, Beckett.  You screwed up and he died.***

Quickly standing up from the floor where he had been sitting, his eyes flew to his observer who had ever faithfully stayed behind, grieving himself.  “I’ll be back… excuse me,” he told Jessica then breezed out of the room.

Al re-centered himself to where Sam had gone—the men’s room—and looked at his friend with concern.  “Sam?”

It was then that the blame that Dr. Beckett had been hearing from within his own thoughts came pouring out for his holographic observer to hear.  “It’s all my fault, Al.  Stevie’s life is lost for what?  For what!?  I screwed up.  If I had known… I could have done something… but I didn’t.  It’s my fault that h—he’s,” Sam sputtered as a sob caught in his throat.  Sam didn’t finish his sentence; however, he did spin on his heel and wield his hand directly into the stall door, sending it flying inward to bang against the stall.

Al watched in silence, knowing that the kid had to get it out of his system one way or another.  “You’re right.”

Sam turned to Al, his eyes wide and unbelieving at his friend’s words.

“It’s your fault that Jessica and Charles Allamore repaired their marriage.” 

“But is that enough?” Sam asked as he looked down at his shoes, taking Al’s point into consideration.

***Are you kidding, Beckett?  The death of a child for a marriage that could still fail?  Don’t make me laugh!***

Sam cringed at the thought that came and shook his head before he looked up at Al. 

“It’s gotta be, Sam.”  Al paused to look down at the handlink in his hand.  “You better get back.  Dr. Gregory just went into the room and he’s talking with Jessica about their decision.”  Without waiting for an answer, Al re-centered himself back into the hospital room.

“Al…” Sam tried to catch his friend, but Al’s words were finally sinking in.  He took in a shaky breath, shook his head then headed back toward the room.  He entered just in time to see Dr. Gregory nodding to Jessica’s words.  Sam went up to her side and heard the last little bit of what she was saying.

“Charles and I both think that it’s the best thing to do,” she said as she brought up her hand to wipe at her face.  “We can’t delay the inevitable… no matter how much we want to.”

Sam reached out and gently squeezed her shoulder.

Dr. Gregory gave them a weak smile.  “Let me retrieve the documents for the DNR, then when you are ready we’ll take Steven off the ventilator.”

Jessica Allamore nodded, her tear-stained face slowly dropping to look down at her feet. Although her brain had taken in what the doctor had said, shock was steadily taking its toll on her and the tears for the moment weren’t available to her.

“Jessica?” Sam questioned softly as he turned her to face him. 

“Yes?” she queried, her voice small in his ears as she looked up into his eyes.  He saw her shiver slightly and she wrapped her arms slightly around her midriff.

Even as he watched her, he began to shift out of his suit jacket.  “Here, put this on,” he said simply as he draped the jacket onto her back. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. Another shiver made itself known as she put her arms through the sleeves then looked back over at her son in the bed. 

She closed her eyes tightly as she righted herself then opened them as she reached out and tenderly touched his cheek and remembered the words from the book that her neighbor had asked her to read to her son before he published it.  Stevie had loved it so much that she had to read it over and over again.  The tears slowly appeared and fell down onto the bed as she said the words to her son once more.  For a long moment, she opened her mouth to say the words, her mouth not wanting to form the words that had meant so much to him, but eventually, they came.  “I’ll love you forever,” she began her voice breaking even as she said them.

Tears immediately gathered in Al’s eyes and spilled over as he recognized the words.  He hung his head as he wiped at his face, wishing she wouldn’t finish.

“I’ll like you for always…” she said her voice still breaking, not wanting to say goodbye to her son.  “And as l—long as I’m living…”

Sam, who had gone to the other side of the bed, listened on.  He heard it two-fold as Al began to recite the last words with her.

“My baby you’ll be,” she and Al finished together.  Jessica then leaned down once more and gently kissed Stevie’s forehead one final time, then whispered into his ear, “Until we meet again, baby… I’ll keep you here in my heart—if love was enough, baby, w—we’d still be together.”

***Look at what you’re making her do.  It isn’t right, Beckett.  He shouldn’t have died.***

‘You’re wrong,’ Sam argued back with the voice that hounded him as the doctor came back into the room holding the documents that they needed to sign to enforce the ‘Do Not Resuscitate’. 

As Jessica turned away from her son to sign the papers, Sam looked down at the little boy before him.  He reached out and tenderly touched the boy’s warm cheek with the back of his fingers then closed his eyes as the voice came back with a vengeance. 

***She’s not here.  Tell him.***

Sam took a deep breath then sighed shakily.  “I’m sorry, Stevie,” he whispered.  “I wish that there was more that I could do.  Forgive me.”  It was then that he turned to go to the table to sign the DNR papers as Charles David Allamore.

After watching them sign the paperwork, Dr. Gregory nodded then looked at them, not exactly knowing how to approach the discussion with them.  The option wasn’t up to him, but to the boy’s parents.  Jessica Allamore, however, took the option away from him and wielded it on her own.

Wiping her hands over her face once more, she looked the doctor squarely in the eyes.  “We’ve said our goodbyes,” she told him, her voice seemingly a bit stronger than before as she looked at her husband and saw his nod.

Without uttering a response, Dr. Gregory went to the machinery that had been humming lightly in the background and then turned to Steven Allamore’s parents as they came together by his side. 

The handlink squealed from inside Al’s pocket.  He quickly dug in his pocket, pulling out the handlink to read the information that Ziggy wanted him to have as he watched the doctor flip the switches to the off position, the machines’ hum slowly disappeared—the silence that filled the room was foreboding.  Stevie’s breathing persisted, but without the assistance of the machines, that wouldn’t continue for long.

***You failed again!***

Even as Sam pulled Jessica into his embrace, their eyes locked on the little boy in the bed, he wondered why God / Time / Fate / Whatever had put such an amazingly high amount of stress on him.  ‘Why had the leaps become so much harder?’ he wondered.  ‘Why have I been chosen to leap around in time?  Why?’

As he felt the tingling of the impending leap begin to tug at his extremities, his eyes filled with tears once again as he looked at his best friend.  Swallowing and closing his eyes, the tears slipped down his cheeks and he leaped.