From: bewalton17@aol.com (BEWalton17)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.quantum-leap.creative
Subject: QL: The Enemy (Chapter 19)
Date: 2 Dec 1998 05:17:49 GMT
Message-ID: <19981202001749.27332.00000957@ng-fc2.aol.com>









                        CHAPTER NINETEEN
     Beeks hadn't originally intended to let Tina into the Imaging
Chamber -- she was a smart kid, not a therapist -- but she was
glad, in the end, that she had.  Al never would have let Beeks lead
him out by herself.
     Ziggy had been monitoring Al's vital signs carefully since he
had stepped into the Chamber an hour before.  They had remained
unremarkable until the last few minutes, when his blood pressure
and body temperature had dropped suddenly, the unmistakable onset
of shock.  Verbeena had witnessed it many times in the Waiting
Room, and she was prepared to react swiftly.
     Unfortunately, Al hadn't been.  She had run into the Imaging
Chamber, Tina at her heels, and said, "Enough, you're getting out."
     Al didn't argue, but he didn't budge either.  He was
transfixed by the hologram that only he could see.
     Beeks saw Tina reach out to put a jacket around his shoulders
-- a black one, with floating road signs, one of his favorites. 
She started to warn Tina about the disorienting effect of seeing
another world suddenly snap into place, but it was too late.  Tina
jumped back, shaken.  The jacket fell to the floor.  Beeks was
about to pick it up when she saw Tina gather herself and try again. 
This time, she didn't flinch.  Verbeena respected her for that,
more than she ever had before.  She reached across for Al's wrist,
and started to monitor his pulse physically, less for the actual
physical data than to observe his reaction to being touched.
     "I'm okay," Al said, taking note of them for the first time.
     "Your temp is down to ninety-four-eight.  Your blood pressure
is a hundred over sixty.  You're outta here."
     Al had started to argue, but Tina had said, "Please, honey." 
He'd looked at her for a moment, then nodded, and Verbeena had led
them out.
     Now they were in his quarters, and Donna Eleyse had joined
them (after her usual long and wistful glance into the Imaging
Chamber -- she never gave up hope that she would be able to see
through the fog into the other world, even for a second).  After
some prodding, Verbeena had gotten Al to lie down and put his feet
up.
     "How do you feel?"
     "I'm cold," he said.
     Tina pulled a blanket up around him; he managed a weak smile,
and drifted off to sleep.
     "He's in shock," Beeks explained.  "I never should've let him
stay in there.  It was too much."
     Tina shook her head.  "It's not that."
     "Not what?"
     "It's not, like, emotional or anything.  That's not the way
he's put together."  
     "There can be some surprising effects to emotional overload,"
Verbeena said.
     Donna shook her head.  "I think Tina's right.  Whatever this
is, it isn't just in his mind."
     "Then what?"
     "I think... "  Tina bit her full lower lip.  "I think it's,
like, working, right now.  The Leap, I mean.  I think that's why
he's like this."  She tapped her forehead.  "I think it's starting
to, like, double up."
     "No, the Leaps are instantaneous... "
     "How do you know?  Most of the time, we don't get to see what
happens.  Maybe all of them know that something weird is going on
just before everything changes."
     Beeks looked suspiciously at Al.  It didn't matter, really,
whether Tina was right; the results were the same.  "Keep him
warm," she said, and left, gesturing for Donna to follow.  "What do
you think of her theory?" she asked when the door slid shut.
     Donna shrugged.  "I'm not a medical doctor."
     "But you know a lot more about quantum strings than I do.  Is
what Tina's saying possible?"
     She took a deep breath.  "I suppose, theoretically anyway,
that the string could resonate, like a violin string.  That could
explain phenomena like precognition and deja vu, if you think about
it.  It's all just quantum resonance."  She frowned, apparently
seeing a hole in her reason.  "I'm not sure, though.  Not to draw
the analogy too far, but the string would have to be wound up
pretty tight for that to happen.  I don't know if it's possible for
a quantum string to be that tight."
     "So this might be happening to everyone?"
     "Maybe.  We haven't exactly been doing good follow-up work."
     "But you don't think so."  It wasn't a question.
     "Not every time, no."  Donna started walking down the hall, a
pensive look on her face.  Verbeena followed.  "This is maybe more
philosophical than scientific," she said.  "But I think that some
people have a job to do.  Something specific.  And maybe that winds
the string tighter, makes it more sensitive to whatever Sam is
doing back there."
     "You're talking about destiny, aren't you?"
     "I warned you that it was philosophical.  The only thing that
keeps me from going crazy, Verbeena, is the idea that what happened
to Sam was *supposed* to happen."
     Verbeena kept her tongue in check, wondering what Donna would
say if she were told that she herself had not been part of the
"destiny" she saw for her husband.
     "And maybe," Donna went on, "people like that, people who have
a destiny, if that's what you want to call it, can really get
thrown for a loop when Sam touches them.  We really should find a
way to follow up on this.  Has there been anyone else whose life
Sam wasn't supposed to change?  Maybe the beauty queen who needed
the college money to become a doctor?"  She shook her head.  "No,
it wouldn't work.  We'd have had to observe her while Sam was back
there.  Not the girl in the Waiting Room, the real woman.  She
wouldn't remember anymore."
     "How do you know?"
     "I just know," Donna said curtly, and went on down the hall at
a pace Verbeena knew she wasn't meant to match.
     She turned, and went back into Al's quarters.  Whatever was
causing the shock, she was more comfortable being there to see him
through it herself.
                               ***
     Tina endured it as best she could.
                               ***
     On November 27, 1984, shortly before midnight, Albert
Calavicci decided to abandon his son.
     He didn't think of it in those terms, precisely; he certainly
didn't intend to walk out on Nate's life completely.  He didn't
plan to walk out on it at all, just to...
     Well, to give him some space.  That was all.  He certainly
wasn't thinking about getting the kid out of the poison shadows of
his fate, as Sid Weiss had no doubt intended.  Al didn't believe in
fate, let alone its shadows, and he knew that he was not
responsible for any of the things Sid had accused him of.
     *Accused* him?
     Okay, that was his interpretation of it, and not exactly the
real interpretation.  All Sid had really done was bring up
questions.
     Questions that were none of his damned business to ask.
     And the only -- repeat *only* -- question Al wanted an answer
to was why the hell he'd done it.
     It was possible that Sid knew about what had happened
yesterday, with Ruthie, and it was some kind of retaliatory strike. 
It would make sense, but it somehow didn't seem Sid's style.  Then
again, Al didn't really know the man very well.
     But come on... a retaliatory strike from a kindergarten
teacher?  He might be angry (and he had a right to be, Al
supposed), but mind games like the one he'd played downstairs fit
him badly even in rage, and Al didn't think it would be his weapon
of choice.
     Or maybe it was just his way of asserting control over his
house.  He'd never done it before, although he probably should
have, and that could account for the clumsiness in the way he
handled it.
     Or maybe he was looking out for Nate's best interests the only
way he could think of.
     Al tried to reject the last possibility, but he couldn't do it
completely.  Sid had known -- must have known -- that he was
risking his relationship with Ruthie by challenging him, and Al
didn't think he would do it for something as petty as revenge. 
Everything he had said was about responsibility, the kind of
responsibility Al was about to take for Nate.
     As Ruthie's house grew dark and quiet, Al began to hear the
nervous workings of his mind.
     Do you trust him, Ruthie?... Didn't he promise he'd take care
of you?
     He'd gotten to her as quickly as he could after she'd called
him in tears from the hospital where she'd been taken after her
foster father beat her.  He'd promised to come back.  But there
were things he had to take care of first.  School work.  Red tape. 
A dozen things.  By the time he'd gotten back to Chi, she was
already with the Burkholtzes, and the bruises had healed.  She'd
been glad to see him, and maybe he'd even helped her a little, but
he hadn't been there to stop it from happening in the first place,
and he hadn't been there to hold her when she needed him most.
     I know that if you had it in you to keep a family together,
there wouldn't have been a second or a third or a fourth.
     That was easy to ignore in the light.  It hadn't been his
fault that Beth had left him.  Yeah, he'd volunteered for a second
tour, but he'd never volunteered to get captured, and he certainly
hadn't volunteered to have his wife leave him behind like a lost
piece of jewelry.
     But here in the dark, it wasn't so easy.  In the dark there
were other things he knew, things Sid didn't know because he'd
never told anyone, even Ruthie.  Oh, Sid might know that he and
Ruthie had been a little too close under Beth's roof, but he didn't
know that his little flings -- and, except for Ruthie, that's all
they'd ever been -- were the least of Beth's troubles.  She had a
good idea what went on during liberties, and she kept her mouth
shut.  What she had almost divorced him for, more than once, was
his penchant for running away from home every time he heard of
someplace he'd rather be.  He always told himself that it was
because he was needed someplace else, and it was even true from
time to time, but that had never made it easier on Beth.  "Do you
know what it's like for me?" she'd wept on the night he told her
that he'd volunteered for the second 'Nam tour.  "Do you have the
slightest idea what I go through when you're gone?"
     He'd gone anyway, and when he returned, he found that she'd
left him a pretty good idea what she went through.
     And then there was Trudy.
     She had trusted him with everything she was.  He was her Big
Brother, invincible, and he would get them through anything.  He'd
let her think it because it made him feel good and strong, and when
they'd taken her away, he'd promised to get her back.  But there
had been so many things to do, so many places to run away to -- and
not one of them had been to the institution where they were keeping
Trudy.  He'd never so much as *tried* to make it right for her.
     Did he really think he could make it right for Nate?
     Maybe.  Maybe not.
     In the end, the real question was the one he had answered
wrong for all the others:  Was there room in his life to give Nate
the kind of attention he needed?  When he'd been a kid, surviving
had been too urgent a concern to help Trudy on time, and when he'd
been at Annapolis, there had simply been no way for him to be back
here looking after Ruthie.  Maybe, with Beth, there'd been a
chance.  Maybe she could've met him halfway.  But he wasn't even
sure of that.
     Was there room for Nate?
     He wanted there to be.  He wanted it more than anything.  And
he knew that if he waited around and talked about it to Ruthie and
Nate, they'd convince him that it was so.
     He didn't think he should be convinced of that.
     Twenty years ago, when Beth had first told him that she wanted
to have children, he'd thought long and hard about the subject
(there was something about being with Beth, he thought, that made
him want to make all his decisions right), and he'd realized that
if he were going to be a father, he wanted to do it right, to be
the father he'd wished for all those years in the orphanage.  When
Ruthie had told him about Nate, there had been no such thought
process; she'd needed help, and he'd acted on it.  Maybe, if they
hadn't screwed up their marriage, there would have been a chance.
     But now?
     Al thought about his life.  About how many times over the last
two years he'd asked people to just wait a few days, until his son
went home.  Or how many late night dates had just wound up
*over*night dates, because there was no one waiting for him at
home, anyway.  Or how often he forgot to call Nate on holidays
because he'd worked too late.  He always called the next day, and
Nate was always happy to hear from him, but was that good enough if
he was going to be the primary caretaker?
     It wasn't.
     How long would it be before the regular habits set back in,
regardless of Nate's presence?  How soon before work would start to
seem more important than getting home to have dinner together, or
catch a game on T.V. or at the park?
     Al appraised himself honestly, and decided that it wouldn't be
long at all.
     So he decided to leave.
     It could wait until morning, he supposed.  He could go to
Nate, and say, "Look, kid, I'm sorry, but your Pop doesn't have a
real good history when it comes to looking after people, and you
might do better to stay with your Mama."  That would hurt less, for
both of them, but Al knew himself, his ex-wife, and their son too
well to try it.  Nate would beg, Ruthie would reassure, and he
would acquiesce.  He could see it as clearly as if it had already
happened.  It would have to be tonight, and they couldn't know
about it until it was a fact.
     This is your *family* you're abandoning, he thought as he
pulled his duffel out from under the bed.  Like mother, like son,
is it?  Do you realize what you're doing?
     He stopped.  He wanted to listen to this thought; it made more
sense than anything else that had gone through his head.  It seemed
more humane, more just.
     And yet.
     There was something else, some inkling that he couldn't ignore
-- he supposed the hippies would have said he was picking up a vibe
or some damn thing -- and it told him that he couldn't afford to
listen to the voice of self pity, or self *anything*.  It was the
vibe that had begun when Sid had made him start thinking about his
life, the vibe that was
     (resonating)
     telling him that he was doing what he had to do, whatever the
end result would be for him.  Nate wouldn't understand.  He might
even hate Al for doing this, but that was part of the vibe, too. 
Al was going to lose his son for this.  Ruthie might understand,
but she would never forgive him, not completely.
     He opened his duffel, and a cardboard tube rolled across his
hand.
     Of course.  That was the last piece of business, the thing he
should have done two years ago.  He picked it up, and walked
quietly to Ruthie's door.  He didn't knock.
     The door slid open silently against her plush carpet.  She was
curled up at the edge of the bed, one hand clenched beside her
face; Nate was nestled into the crook of her arm.  They were both
sleeping soundly.  He crossed the room, and stood beside them, just
watching them for awhile.
     It was time.  He took the plastic top from the tube (his eyes
darting down to Ruthie involuntarily at the soft, popping sound of
release air), and slid a small scroll out of it.
     He touched Ruthie's hand gently, and she stirred in her sleep. 
Her fingers opened, and he placed the scroll in her hand.  Her eyes
opened halfway, and she gave him a sleepy, confused look.  He
kissed her forehead, and smoothed her hair back until she drifted
off again.  "I set you free from being my wife," he whispered.  It
wasn't quite right, but he had a feeling that anyone who would care
about such a specific thing wouldn't care if Al Calavicci said
anything at all.
     He knelt beside the bed, and let his hand hover just above
Nate's face, close enough to feel the warmth of his skin, but not
enough to cross that invisible barrier beyond which Nate would feel
his hand.  (Ruthie was a deep sleeper, and he could risk bringing
her toward the surface, but Nate slept lightly, which was probably
why he woke up tired; Al couldn't risk actually touching him).  I
love you more than anything, kid, he thought.  You probably won't
ever believe me when I say that again, but it's true.
     It was time to go.
     He went back to the guest room and changed into a uniform,
then finished packing his things.  When he was done, he took a
piece of paper from the desk, and wrote a short note to Nate.  He
left it propped against the lamp, and went downstairs to call a
cab.  He could catch a military flight by two o'clock.  He made a
quick stop in the studio, and was watching for the cab from the
living room window when Sid Weiss appeared at the archway into the
entrance hall.
     "Al?"
     Al turned and looked at him.  "What do you want?"
     "Are you okay?"
     "If I weren't, you'd be about the last person I'd tell about
it."
     "I'm sorry.  About earlier.  I was -- "
     "I don't care what you thought you were doing, Weiss."
     The other man hovered in the arch, and, as much as Al hated to
admit it, the concern in his voice and his face was genuine. 
"Where are you going?" he asked.
     "I'm just going home."
     "In the middle of the night?"
     "Isn't that what I was supposed to do?"  Al looked out the
window again.  At the far end of the street, he saw a pair of
headlights come around the corner.  "Or did I miss the point of
that little show?"
     Weiss didn't say anything.  He looked miserable.
     Al didn't care.
     The headlights slowed, and Al saw that it was his cab.  "I'm
gone," he said, and picked up his duffel.  
     As he went through the arch, Weiss reached out and put a hand
on his shoulder.  "This isn't right," he said.  "It just isn't."
     Al shook his hand off.  "I'm going to tell you something,
Weiss," he said.  "If you let anything -- *anything* -- happen to
my family, I'll come back here and kill you.  Don't think I won't."
     "I don't think that."
     Al pushed past him, and went out into the night.
     He didn't look back.




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