From: Sean Smith X-From: rkwong@engin.umich.edu (Roberta Chi-Woon Kwong) Newsgroups: alt.tv.quantum-leap.creative,alt.ql.creative Subject: "Quanta" part 9/17 Date: 18 Apr 1995 05:19:34 GMT This is being posted for Sean Smith , who is having some difficulty posting from his account. Please direct all comments to him. Apologies if any line noise remains in these posts. A bit of re-formatting has been done to make the line length acceptable to my news system, but the actual text remains untouched. -------------------------------------------------- "Make that two of those." Dana smiled blandly at the waiter as he wrote down the order. She waited patiently for him to leave before she turned back to talk to Sam. Once again, Sam found himself sitting across the table from Dana Scully. This time, however, they were sitting in the very back of a poorly lit little restraunt . It was probably kept afloat by the volume of traffic along the highway, and from the scars on the naugahyde seats, they didn't make enough money for rennovations. Certainly it appeared as though the whole town had seen better days. Of course, the two federal agents looked the worse for wear themselves. When Sam had seen Fox's tired visage staring back at him from the mirror behind the bar, he'd almost laughed. Now, with the silence at the table stretching out, he didn't feel like laughing. Instaed, he struggled to think of how to talk to Scully as he watched her idly spinning her glass of ice water. "Dana, just go ahead and ask me. I don't bite." Sam tried to smile kindly. "Don't or won't?" They shared a weary laugh. "Don't, I think. You really can ask, though. It's okay to talk." Sam sipped his water. Scully looked up startled. She hadn't expected for Mulder to be that...empathic. "Okay, I guess I will. How did you know about Holland's research? Hell, how did you _understand_ Holland's research?" Her gaze alternated from one of his eyes to the other. Sam looked down briefly. In his rush to get Dana out the door, he'd simply told Holland what he'd seen of the man's thesis when it had been published. He hadn't stopped to think about when that had been. Of course, all he could remember was leafing through a stack of clippings under a tree in the middle of a desert. He couldn't think of how he was to have known what year it had been. Or what day, even. Sam started speaking with his face down, turning a spotted spoon over in his hands. "I knew it from before I even got here, Dana. I'm sorry I didn't tell you." He looked up, a beaten and dejected man. "That's why you didn't really want to look for Holland. You didn't have to." She looked back down at the water patterns her glass made on the formica table. "You know, I'd have really appreciated being let in on your little gag here, Mulder." "It wasn't a gag, Scully." Sam spoke softly, sympathetically. "No? What exactlly do you call it when your partner tricks you into a damn silly investigation that's already _over_! What do you call it when your partner thinks you're _worthless_?" The intensity of her voice increased, even as she dropped into a vehement whisper. "You know I'd never think of you as worthless, Dana." "Then why all this, why play around?" "It's a much needed vacation." Sam looked past Dana, into the bleak grey clouds of the storm. He'd finally seen in her eyes something more than outrage, more than anger. He'd seen fear. "Damnit, Mulder. Why can't you just say what you're feeling? Why do I have to go through all this with you?" She was hurt, and lashing out at him blindly. Sam caught her gaze with his own, and held it for a moment before he spoke. "Fine. I feel that my partner, my _friend_ is hurt. I want to stop it, because _I_ hurt too. For you." He softened it with a smile. "And you have to go through this with me, because it's better than seeing a psychiatrist." Dana grinned. "Cute thing to hear from a psychologist, don't you think?" At a loss for words, Sam stared at Dana, who laughed at the look on his face. "A little professional rivalry? Guess you want an M.D. now." "No, I don't care about that. I want my best friend, you, to be alright." Sam tried to take her hand, but she pulled away from him. Scully sat back, the old bench seat creaking under her. "I am alright. Okay?" Now she held his gaze as she took a drink from her glass. "No, you're not alright, and it isn't okay, Dana. I'm just worried about you." He spoke softly, quietly. Scully still glanced about the room to see if he'd been overheard. "Mulder, I really don't want your concern." "Tough. You're going to get it, because I'm you're partner. We're look out for one another. And that's how it's supposed to be." "But-" Dana started another arguement, only to be cut short by Sam. "Are you arguing because you honestly think you've been acting okay lately, or because you just don't want somebody trying to help you?" Sam kept his head down as he asked, trying not to challenge her in any way. Before Scully could properly formulate a reply, the waiter was back at the table. He set Sam's ice tea down with his left hand before lifting the turkey BLT from his forearm and depositing it in front of Dana. It's mate soon followed, set in front of S am. The genial young man serving them pulled a bottle of ketchup from his apron, and set it in the middle of the table. Sam followed the man's hands as he moved, the fluid motion seemingly inherent in the dance of waiters everywhere. Scully kept hre eyes fixed upon the condensation on her glass. After what felt like a short eternity, the waiter departed with a perfunctory enjoinder to enjoy their meals. Sam waited patiently for Dana's reply. she busied herself pouring the ketchup on her french fries, and licking a sticky spot off her hand. She bit deeply into her sandwich, intently watching the rolling clouds out the window. Sam sat back, and crossed his arms, waiting. Scully took another bite, and dinished chewing. She touched the corner of her mouth with a napkin, and glanced up at Beckett innocently. "Something wrong with your sandwich, Mulder?" Sam was debating whether or not this was the time and place to fight this battle, when his decision was made for him. To Dana's right, a glowing doorway opened, and Al stepped through. Gone was the stiff, dark suit, replaced by brighter attire. He wore a loose green silk button-down shirt with black cuffs and collars, tucked in to a pair of cuffed black slacks. The black and green spats he wore shone in the dim lighting, and the smoke from his cigar disappeared into the darkness above. Tapping the handlink briefly, Al closed the doorway, and leaned over Dana. "Sam, lets talk. Somewhere more...private." Calavicci stuck his cigar back in his mouth, and becoked to Sam with one hand. Sam mentally shifted gears, and tried to answer Dana. "Um, I think I'll get back to this sandwich in a moment." He slid out of the booth, and set his napkin down next to his plate. "Save some ketchup for me, Scully." "Hurry up. I don't want to wait here too long." Dana glanced at Sam's retreating form, and then about the restaurant. Sam hurried into the bathroom, a grubby little place with two stalls, and a dirty mirror over a plugged up basin. The lighting was little better than in the main dining room, but the smell was worse. Sam was pushing open the stall doors, checking the room for other people when Al appeared behind him. Sam turned, and found himself nose to nose with Al. "Argh! Al! You've got to stop appearing out of nowhere like that. You're gonna kill me sometime." "Sam, I think the guys with the guns have a better chance of killing you than I do." He held his handlink in front of himself and bounced on his toes innocently. "So do you have any more information for me? I just found out Fox is a psychologist." "Good for you, Sam. We spent the evening pumping Mulder for information. Oh," Al looked up from his handlink, "You don't like being called Fox. Just Mulder, Okay? And you call your partner Scully, not Dana." "Cute personality quirk. Why?" Beckett was looking for a clean place to lean against, and not having much luck. "Well, he's sort of all-around defensive, you know what I mean Sam?" He scratched an eyebrow. "Even when he's being helpful, he's not real helpful. He's not too thrilled with the idea of a 'government project' altering his life, and it's a little difficult getting him to talk." Sam decided not to try leaning against anything in the room, and settled for crossing his arms. "Okay, Al. So what did you get? I solved their case, so that can't be the reason I'm here." "You know that you and Scully are G-men, right? Well, a couple of days ago, the two of you were tracking a serial..." Al paused, watching the screen on his handlink. He smacked it open-handed, and it let out en electronic squawk. "Killer. Serial killer. Anyway, you'd had him pretty much dead to rights, no pun intended Sam. But, he found...Oh." Al's face fell, and he looked up at Sam. "What?" "He found Agent Scully before you could find him. Drove her car off the road, and carried her back to his place to...well, you get the picture. Tied up and soaking wet, with a concussion, that kid out there held one... Donald Pfaster... off until the cavalry arrived." "No wonder she's been acting rattled. She mentioned Pfaster this morning." Sam rubbed the side of his jaw. "It gets worse. She'd only just been released a few months ago from the hospital. She'd been missing for months, according to Fox, I mean Mulder." "What? How?" "Mulder won't say. All he says is that he tried negotiating with a madman, and screwed up. So this lunatic kiddnapped Dana, and dragged her with him cross-country. Apparently, Mulder was too late, and he lost her somehow. She didn't turn up for months. You can imagine how she must be doing right now." Sam shook his head. "Can you imagine how Mulder must have felt. I get the idea this whole trip out to California is an excuse to get Dana, I mean Scully, out of the job for a while." "Yeah, makes sense. Ziggy gives it a ninety-three percent probability he blames himself in both incidents. But because there's no record of what happened afterward-" "-There's no telling what I need to fix." Sam finished Al's sentance. "Precisely. But Ziggy figures you're here to get Dana through all this. All you have to do is make sure she and Mulder can get along okay, and you can Leap outta here." "What about the people following me?" "Keep moving, and you can leave them behind you. It'll be..." Al tapped the handlink. "Three hours before they get this far after you." "What about Mulder and Scully?" Sam was intent upon this point. "The suits're after you, right? Well, there's a ninety percent chance that they'll leave Scully and Mulder alone once you leap. Just keep going, and keep trying to work everything through with your partner, and you should be out of here in no time." "What does Mulder know about Scully's past." "He-" Al was interrupted by a series of squawks from his handlink. "Uh, Sam, I gotta go. Ziggy's throwing a fit out there." Al opened a glowing portal nearby, and backed through. His image was nearly obscured by the bright light about him. "See you soon, Sam. Be careful." Then the door came down, and Al was gone. "Great, just fix something, and see how it works. I build the biggest computer in the world, and that's what I get?" Sam threw his hands up. "Huh. Garbage in, garbage out, I guess." Beckett straightened his suit, and checked Mulder's image in the mirror. He splashed water in his face, and used a paper towel to dry off. Then he drew a deep breath, and stepped through the door, and into the dining room. * * * "No, dammit, I can't let you do that!" The anger in Al's voice lashed out across Mulder and Ziggy like a palpable thing. But his dark eyes showed only concern. He could see that Fox hadn't slept all night, and he looked downright sick. And he couldn't believe that the Project's part-time oracle was sanctioning an ailing man's useless crusade. "You can and you will. Sam and Dana need me. They need the information I can find in Washington." Fox was leaning against Ziggy's Control Table, more heavily than he was willing to admit to himself. "Admiral, there is a good chance that Agent Mulder may find information we need to predict the outcomes of Doctor Beckett's actions. As it now stands, the best alternatives are randomly playing with history, or destroying the other Project, something Dr . Beckett and a Medical Doctor aren't well equipped to do." Ziggy sounded like a mother lecturing a little boy. Al really hated that. "Any information he can provide will help incredibly." "Oh, so it'll help?' What, no odds on this cockamamy scheme succeeding?" Al seemed oblivious to the unlit cigar he'd left in his hand. Fox however, couldn't look away from it. "I cannot calculate the odds of success without a frame of reference. There is none." She interrupted Al as he began to speak. "And I can send Doctor Alisee with him, if his health is such a concern for you, Admiral. But, the chances for sucess improve the sooner he leaves. Admiral, could you please arrange a flight to Washington DC, quickly?" "Great, I get stars on my shoulder, just so a desktop with an overgrown ego can order me around. Ziggy, why should Fox go risk his health like this?" "Because it is the only way to answer the questions we have. And he is getting worse, regardless of where he is, Admiral." She sounded almost sad as she said this. Al spun to face Mulder, shock written in the lines of his face. He had not expected to hear this, and he wanted to know what Fox thought. The unstable, hot-headed agent reminded the Admiral of himself in his younger years. Now this struck home, and he wished his cigar was lit so he could puff it. Instead he kept watching Fox's averted face, until the younger man finally turned to face him. Mulder seemed, in that moment, aged beyond his years. "Admiral...Al...none of us have much time." * * * Dana slid the cruiser back into the fast lane, and accelerated quickly to make up for lost time. The wind bounced the big car ever so slightly on its suspension, and made steering difficult. But her thoughts were interrupted by the ebb and flow of traffic and wind. Scully remained lost in thought for several minutes, while Sam tried to sort out what he'd learned, and what he could guess about Fox and Dana. He still knew next to nothing, and he had no time to learn. These two also seemed a little too volatile to guess about, either. He didn't want to start a conversation, for fear she'd ask about the men chasing them. But he had to keep her talking, so he could fix whatever was wrong with their relationship. Sam felt it was just his good fortune she hadn't asked about the killers yet. "Mulder," Scully started, "do you want to tell me about the killers, or is that something you still don't want to talk about either." Her tone was loaded, and so was the question. "Well, ah, actually, I don't really know much about them, either." Sam looked worried and not without reason. He really _didn't_ know much about them. "You just know when and where they're going to strike, every time." She cast him a sidelong glance as the car crested a hill. ''There's really a very good reason for that..." Beckett said queasily. "So why don't you tell me?" "I can't think of it right now?" He smiled sickly. Scully smiled at that, "Somehow I have a hard time believing that, Mulder." Dana glanced over at Sam obliquely. "You do realize they're shooting at us. Both of us. So there's nothing to protect me from, now." "Maybe, maybe not." Sam muttered under his breath. Then aloud, "Okay, I can't tell you how I know when they're coming, but I think they're government. Does that make you feel any better?" "Not really, no. But I'm glad you're talking to me about it. You've been quiet ever since last night. When you weren't spouting plant biology or shouting 'Run!'" They both smiled at this. For a moment, he looked as though he'd make one of his usual wisecrack remarks, and they'd be back to normal again. Instead he went back to looking out the window. There was a long, uncomfortable moment of silence. Both people noticed it settle about the car. Then Sam started talking. He knew, instinctively, that he had to. Something wasn't right yet, and it needed to be made right. "I haven't said much lately because I haven't really known what to say. You know I don't really talk much. I just don't know how to say what I want. How I feel." This was a guess on his part. It fit what he'd heard from Al. "Do you know what I mean?" "Yes, Mulder, I know." "You have a difficult time letting somebody look after you, Scully. I know you almost never need it, but its okay for you to have help. Once in a while, right." "Look, Mulder, I know that. I do. I'm here for you, and vice versa. It's just like Sam, though. It's something I don't really want to talk about it. Sam jolted upright. For a brief moment, he thought she was speaking about him. Then he realized she meant Fox's sister, Samantha. But he was still alarmed, wondering what had happened to the little girl he had leapt into. A thought occurred to him. Maybe he could find out about the little Mulder girl, and get through to his partner all at once. "Okay, fair enough. You tell me why you think I don't want to talk anout Sam, and I'll tell you why Donald Pfaster bothers you so much." He bit his lip, and waited. She thought of her experience with Pfaster, and without warning her light eyes brimmed with tears. They matched the rain-washed sky outside as she fought to keep from crying. Beckett instantly regretted pushing Scully, and his feelings were written on his face. Sam started to say something sympathetic and banal, but rethought it. Instead, he reached over, and put a hand on her forearm, lightly. He thought she'd rather have that support. He was only a little surprised when she moved her arm slowly away from his. Blinking furiously, she looked out the side window briefly, before turning toward him. She smiled at him, her embarrassment showing as a blush on her pale cheeks. "I'm okay, really. I don't know what came over me there for a moment." Her breathing slowed quickly. Sam didn't really know what to do. Somewhere, somewhere, he thought, I goofed, and brought all this down on me. Thanks to my Leap in, he thought, they're in danger, and I can't do anything. She's hurting, and I don't know how to help. Ever since I started leaping, I've worked my way out of problems, and left people and places better off than when I came. But here, I feel totally useless. Helpless. Sam Beckett bit his thumb and stared out the car window as the rain began to once again pelt the roadway. * * *