From: bewalton17@aol.com (BEWalton17)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.quantum-leap.creative
Subject: QL: The Enemy (Chapter 2)
Date: 2 Dec 1998 04:31:34 GMT




                           CHAPTER TWO

     Al gave directions to the restaurant from the back seat, where
he was sitting with Nate.  Sam followed them easily -- he was quite
accustomed to Al's style of giving directions -- and focused his
attention on Nate.
     The boy was five years old, but obviously bright for his age. 
He spoke freely and clearly, and seemed to genuinely enjoy his
parents' company as much as they enjoyed his.  Sam had been
surprised to notice that his eyes were not brown, but a dark,
cobalt blue, startling within their rings of black lashes.
     "Pop took me to see Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom,"
Nate said. 
     Ruthie was sitting sideways in the passenger seat, one leg
tucked under her, and one arm hooked around the back of the seat. 
"That's a little intense, don't you think, Albert?"
     Al rolled his eyes.
     "It was cool," Nate said.  "There was this kid driving the
car, and a guy pulled some guy's heart out."
     "Yeah, I've seen it.  Didn't it scare you?"  Ruthie shivered
theatrically.  "It sure scared me."
     Nate leaned forward confidentially.  "It's just a movie, you
know.  Nobody really got hurt or anything.  So you don't have to be
scared, Mama."
     Ruthie smiled and mussed his hair, then turned to Al.  "So
what've you been up to lately, Albert?"
     He shrugged.  "The Navy wants to transfer me out of San
Diego."
     "Where to?"
     "New Mexico."
     They were close, then, very close.  He had met Al in New
Mexico.  But when?  He couldn't remember.  But the man in the back
seat wasn't the man he'd met.  Something had happened to him in the
meantime -- and Sam thought it was more than losing his dog.
     "Oh," Ruthie said wisely.  "I bet they've got a huge fleet
there."
     "It's the Labs.  They want me on a project."
     "What kind of project?"
     "Star Bright Project," Sam said aloud, before he could stop
himself.  Star Bright had been as highly classified as Project
Quantum Leap, and under no circumstances would Sid Weiss know of
its existence, let alone know its name.  He could almost see the
reports being filed.
     Al looked up, only a vague interest visible on his face. 
"What?"
     "I, uh... I just thought, well... "  Sam took a deep breath,
and searched for any rationalization that would get by.  "Well, I
know you're an astronaut, so I figured it would be something about
space.  And I thought about that old rhyme... you know, 'Star
light, star bright'?"
     "'First star I see tonight,'" Nate chanted.  "'Wish I may,
wish I might -- '"
     "'-- have this wish I wish tonight!'"  Al finished with him. 
     "Yeah, that one," Sam said.  "I thought it would be a good
name for a space project.  You know."
     Al laughed.  "You watch too much T.V., Sid.  The government
names things with numbers, not nursery rhymes."
     Good catch, Al, Sam thought.  Too bad I can't tell you I know
you're lying through your teeth.
     There was no way to assess how much damage he might have done;
Al wouldn't give any hints by showing suspicion.  The only thing to
do was let it go, and hope for the best.
     Ruthie smiled.  "Seriously, Albert, what kind of project is
it?"
     "I can't tell you that."
     "Ooh.  Big time."
     Al twisted his face and gave her a disbelieving look.  "Oh,
come on, Ru.  You were married to me for three years.  Do you
really think they'd tap me for something big time?"
     "I wouldn't doubt it for a second."
     Sam smiled.  No wonder Al remembered Ruthie fondly; the tone
of her voice said that she wouldn't doubt it for a second if they
appointed him emperor.  Not many people in his life had believed in
him, and he valued those who did as rare treasures.
     So why's she gone?
     Never mind.  Al -- the real Al -- would tell him soon.  Sam
was sure of that.
     "Pop's got models all over his apartment," Nate said.
     "Models?" Ruthie repeated.
     "Yeah.  Raquel Welch.  Bo Derek."
     "Spaceships," Nate corrected, returning to a more interesting
subject.  "Just like my Star Wars spaceships.  Only he wouldn't let
me play with them."
     Ruthie raised an eyebrow.  "Now how are we going to teach
Nathan to share his toys if you won't share yours?"
     "I share all my toys," Nate said.  "Pop broke my airplane."
     "Oh, that's reassuring."
     "I'm going to fix it," Al promised.
     "Are you going to fix my Merlin, too?"
     "You still haven't fixed that thing, Albert?"
     "I've been working on it.  Honest.  I don't know what's wrong
with it yet."
     "Do you want a new one, honey?" Ruthie asked Nate.
     "No.  Pop can fix it."
     Sam noted Al's broad smile at Nate's serene confidence.  He
was happier than Sam ever remembered seeing him.  He'd always been
good with kids, never had the hang-ups about them that other men
often had.  He admitted readily and to anyone that he simply loved
them.  Sam had often wondered why he had never had a family -- or
how, exactly, he'd avoided it, given his lifestyle.
     Apparently, he hadn't, although the circumstances were not
what Sam would have suspected.
     Quantum Leaping had put a lot of holes in Sam's memory -- Al
had christened this the Swiss-cheese effect -- and he supposed it
was possible that he could have forgotten that Al had a son.  He
had forgotten his own family at first, his own name, and Nate
Calavicci could easily have slipped into one of those memory gaps.
     It made a lot of sense, as far as it went.
     What didn't make sense was that in five years of Leaping, of
being in almost constant contact with Al, Al hadn't mentioned Nate
once, not even in passing.  Sam had once asked him directly if he
had a son; they had been with... who?  
     It was hard to remember.  Things were so fuzzy most of the
time.
     A magician.
     Sam had been a magician, and the magician had a daughter
named...
     But it wouldn't come.  It didn't matter.  
     The magician's ex-wife --
     -- no, his wife, the divorce wasn't final --
     -- wanted custody of the girl, and Sam and Al had had to fight
her in -- and out of -- court for it.  Custody hearings are the
worst, Al had said.  My fourth wife, Sharon, and I fought for over
eight months over Chester.
     You have a son?
     A dog.  A great dog.  And she got him.  I tell you, women have
all the power in family court.
     Sam had taken this (quite logically, he still thought) as a
"no," and considered the subject closed.
     Then there had been the Little Girl.
     There had been other children over the years, Sam was sure,
other times when Al's way with kids combined with their ability to
see him, but it was the Little Girl his mind focused on, the way Al
had taken to her with no hesitation.
     Sam didn't remember the circumstances around the Little Girl,
let alone her name -- his memory played odd tricks on him, bringing
up whole conversations intact but not the frameworks they fit into
-- but he remembered that she'd been able to see them.  She and Al
had taken an instant liking to each other.  Al had known a lullaby,
and sung it to her in that odd, tuneless voice of his.  If Sam had
thought to question this -- lullabies, after all, were hardly
required knowledge for a career military man with no family -- he
wondered if Nate's name might not have come up.  But Sam hadn't
questioned it, and he wondered how many other questions he may have
neglected to ask over the years.  It hadn't occurred to him that Al
would just neglect a detail like his own son, and brush it off so
lightly.
     Just like he brushed off Star Bright Project right now. 
Because it was something you weren't supposed to know.
     He knew there were things that Ziggy had determined he was not
to know, but he could think of no scenario in which knowledge of
Al's son would interfere with the creation of the Project, his
ability to repair whatever he was sent to repair, or anything else
that Ziggy would be concerned with.  Moreover, every time Sam had
stumbled across a memory, it had come back full-blown almost at
once, with a force almost like a gunshot.  When he had first
realized who Ruthie was, his memory of Al reminiscing about their
marriage had returned in its entirety; but when he had realized
that Nate was their son, no such memories had accompanied the
realization, which left Sam with the disquieting conclusion that
he'd never known about Nate, that Nate was a secret Al had always
kept.
     But why?
     "Turn left up at the next light," Al said.
     "Where are we going?"
     "A surf and turf place up on the Lake.  Nothing fancy, but
it's my treat, not Mama Warbucks' here."  He nodded at Ruthie.
     She looked away, embarrassed.  "I move to the suburbs, and all
the sudden he thinks I'm a Rothschild."
     "Honey, if you saw you thirty years ago, what would you
think?"
     "Thirty years?" Sam repeated.  No one appeared to hear him.
     "I'd think, 'There goes a woman who's really worked her way to
the top.'"
     "Yeah, sure you would."
     "What's a Rothschild, Mama?"
     "A very rich person, honey."
     "You're a very rich person."
     "No, I'm not."
     "Come on, Ru.  It's nothing to be ashamed of."
     "I'm not rich!"  She uttered a brief, self-conscious laugh. 
"What are you trying to do, find an excuse to cut down on child
support?"
     There was an odd pause, then Al said, "No."  He shifted
uncomfortably.  "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you."
     "Don't be an ass, Albert," she said.  "Haven't you heard?  
Divorce means never having to say you're sorry."
     "So that's why I keep doing it!"
     "Probably."
     They both laughed, and seemed surprised at the sound of it. 
Nate smiled brightly.
     "So," Ruthie said, "you saw Indy and your father broke your
toys.  What else did you do this week?"
                               ***
     Nate was still talking when they were seated.
     So far, he'd recapped Indy twice (with enough exact "he said"s
and "then she said"s to make Sam wonder if Nate might not have a
photographic memory himself), described what could have been every
boat in the San Diego marina, and expounded on a trip to the
planetarium.  Now, he was talking about an "advance scouting
mission" that they'd taken to New Mexico, to check out the town of
Stallion Springs.
     I live in Stallion Springs.
     Well, that was nice to know.  Useless -- he had no idea where
Stallion Springs was (except that it was in New Mexico), who he
lived there with, or what his phone number was, not to mention that
such knowledge was unusable anyway (he could imagine calling
himself up, but he didn't know what he would say) -- but nice.
     "... and then we went out in the desert, and we camped there,"
Nate said.  "We saw these rocks -- " he held his hands out to show
the size of the rocks in question, then began to wave them wildly
for no particular purpose as he went on.  "They had like, glass
inside of them when we broke them -- "
     "Crystals," Al corrected him with a smile.  "Do you remember
what those rocks are called?"  
     Nate shook his head, looking eagerly at his father for the
information. 
     "Geodes," Al said.
     "Oh, yeah.  Geodes," Nate glanced at Al for confirmation of
the word, got it, and went on with his narrative.  "We came back
from the desert on Saturday, and Pop watched cartoons with me, and
then we went to the horse races, and my horse won -- "
     "You let him bet?" Ruthie cut in.
     Al rolled his eyes.  "It was just a quarter between us guys."
     "Yeah," Nate agreed, nodding emphatically.
     Ruthie sighed.  "Wonderful."
     "Oh, come on, Ruthie," Al said impatiently.  "You're not above
a little wager now and then yourself."
     "Not with a five-year-old."
     "I'm five-and-a-half," Nate insisted.
     "Can't forget the half," Al said.  Sam thought he heard
something beneath the jibe that was almost bitter, but he couldn't
imagine what it was.
     The tension Ruthie had been showing on the way to the airport
was starting to surface again -- it had been building since the
conflict about her finances in the car -- and if a waitress hadn't
appeared with a basket of warm bread, Sam thought there might have
been a fight.  The waitress took their order, then faded away as
quickly as she had come.  Nate reached eagerly for the bread
basket.  Ruthie grabbed his wrist and looked at him severely. 
"What do we say before we eat bread, Nate?"
     Nate rolled his eyes, just as Al had a minute before. 
"Motzi," he answered.
     Ruthie was not swayed by his nonchalance.  "Will you please
say motzi, Nate?"
     Nate shook his head, trying unsuccessfully to imitate his
father's world-weary attitude.  He picked up a piece of bread and
prayed in a sing-songy voice: "Baruch atah Adonai, eloheynu melech
ha-olam, ha-motzi lechem min ha-aretz."
     "Amen," Ruthie said.  "Thank you."
     From across the table, Sam saw Al catch Nate's eye and wink,
seeming to say, You've got to humor her sometimes, but just between
us guys...  Nate caught the gist of it and giggled.  Ruthie did her
best not to notice.
     Sam found the whole scene disturbing.  First, Ruthie had used
the prayer as a way to establish control over the situation, and
over her son, who would grow to resent intrusions like that
someday.  Misusing religion was a dangerous game, and Sam had known
more than one person who had been the victim of it.  Al himself had
been taught to use prayer as magic, and when it didn't prove
effective, he'd turned his back on God and the Church for good --
well, almost for good.  Ruthie was making a different mistake, but
the results were just as potentially harmful.
     And it wasn't just Ruthie.  Al had purposely undermined her
authority in Nate's eyes, compromised her half of his identity.  It
was like a tug of war, with Nate as the rope and prize.  Fun was
Al's weapon of choice, and Ruthie was clearly losing ground.  No
wonder she was nervous.
     There was nothing to be done about it here and now.  He'd talk
to Al about it later, probably, but for now, he just let it go by.
     "We ate cool stuff, too," Nate said around a mouthful of
bread.  "We had pizza four times in a week."
     "Marvelous, Albert.  I see you're teaching him to appreciate
the finer things in life."
     Al turned to her with a pleasant smile.  "Ruthie, there is
only one thing finer than good junk food, and he's not old enough
for it."
     Nate looked up from his bread curiously.  "Old enough for
what?"
     Al smirked.  "When you're old enough, I'll tell you.  If you
haven't already figured it out by then."
     Nate laughed, obviously mystified.
     One thing was clear: Despite whatever problems had broken the
family apart, Nate worshipped the ground Al walked on, and Al
adored him.
     So where is he?
     "Is it better than tacos?" Nate asked.
     Al choked on his ice water (Ruthie whacked him on the back),
and snorted back a laugh.  "Yeah."
     "Wow."
     Ruthie sighed.  "You at least had turkey for Thanksgiving,
didn't you?"
     "Of course we did," Al said.  "We had a great turkey.  And
squash, and potatoes, and pumpkin pie... "
     Nate was nodding, and buttering another piece of bread even
though he hadn't finished the first.  "Yeah.  Mitzi cooked it."
     Ruthie looked at Al.  "Mitzi?"
     "My neighbor."
     "If you say so."
     "Honest, she is."
     "Mitzi's really pretty," Nate piped up.  "And she's a really
good cook, too.  She made French pancakes for breakfast the day
after Thanksgiving."
     Ruthie smiled tensely.  "Albert, I would really prefer it if
you would refrain from inviting 'breakfast guests' while Nate is
visiting with you."
     "Are you trying to tell me that you and Sid here never had
pre-marital pancakes?"
     "I'm telling you that I would prefer -- "
     The waitress arrived at the table with their meals, and Sam
blessed her timing for the second time in twenty minutes.  As she
tarried over setting down plates -- Sam suspected that she was
doing it on purpose -- Al and Ruthie both had a chance to cool
down.  When she left, the question of "breakfast guests" was not
re-opened.
     No other topic of conversation presented itself immediately,
and Sam was not familiar enough with his role to take the
initiative.  The four of them sat, not speaking, staring at their
food, not really hungry, but not wanting to admit it.  Sam thought,
Was it like this all the time?  Then he remembered the smile on
Ruthie's face when she'd first seen Al in the airport, and the
affectionate tone Al always used when he spoke of her, and he knew
there must be something between them beyond what he was seeing
here.
     Nate picked up his knife and fork first, and the adults took
it as a cue to do the same.  Ruthie noticed that Nate was having
some trouble cutting his steak, and put down her own utensils.  "Do
you need me to cut that for you, Nate?" she asked, already reaching
over.
     He pulled away.  "I can do it."
     Ruthie backed off.  Nate took another half-hearted stab at the
meat, then pushed his plate over to Al.  Ruthie looked down at the
tablecloth and said nothing.
     Al had taken Nate's plate without comment, and he was cutting
the steak into bite size pieces.  "You know, Ruthie," he said after
awhile, "Nate and I have been doing some thinking."
     Ruthie looked up suspiciously.  "Really?"
     Al took a deep breath.  "Yeah.  They're building a new school
at the base in New Mexico."
     Sam could see what was coming easily enough, but he didn't
understand it.  Al had not come to New Mexico with a son, that much
Sam was sure of, and he hadn't talked about losing a custody fight.

     Maybe that's why you're here.  To give Al his son back.
     But something about that didn't feel right.  He supposed it
might have just been the rules of the Project speaking to him,
voicing their cool objections, but he didn't think that was all of
it.  Something about the situation seemed sinister.
     Ruthie was leery of it as well.  "And?"
     "And, well -- it's supposed to be a very good school."
     Ruthie cut him off.  "We have a lot of good schools here.  In
Chicago."
     "Yeah, I know," Al said.  "But... "
     "Nate's doing very well at Beth Israel."
     "Of course he is, but -- "
     Nate looked at his mother.  "I want to go live with Pop."
     Ruthie turned to Al for a moment, not as his ex-wife or his
current rival, but as a child would turn to an adult for
confirmation of some terrible truth.  Al said nothing.
     Sam could see her body grow tense.  She stood, and
acknowledged his presence for the first time since they'd left the
airport by pulling him up with her.  "We're leaving," she
announced.
     "Oh, Ruthie -- " Al started.
     "We'll discuss this at home."  She was starting to leave, and
Sam tried to hold her back.
     "But mama-leh... "
     "I said, we'll discuss this at home."  
     "Ruthie, sit down."
     "No, I'm not going to sit down."
     "Please."
     "I want to go home.  Now."  She took the car keys from Sam's
coat pocket and stormed out the door.  Sam followed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Barbara