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 ones 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

Hilldale, California

May 1985

        The air felt heavier than normal as twenty-nine year old Jack Anderson looked through the glass that blocked the Hilldale Federal Credit Union from the hallway in which Jack now stood. While Jack hadn’t been a member of the Hostage Negotiation Team of the San Diego Police Department for long, this wasn’t his first assignment either. He knew the situation could get ugly quickly if there was one wrong move and he was determined to have this situation come out for the best, especially for the eight people who were sitting on the floor, handcuffed to each other in a circle.

In small towns such as Hilldale everyone knew everyone else.  That meant that, having been born and raised in this little town, Jack knew every single one of the hostages in there. Some he had even graduated high school with. Two of the hostages he was especially close to – Daniel Shanks and Samantha Tapping. They were brother and sister, Samantha having married shortly after graduating with Jack. If Jack had known that Daniel and Samantha were two of the hostages in the Federal Credit Union, he might have insisted that his superiors send someone else to Hilldale to negotiate the situation. But they sent him anyway and he took the job, thinking that his already knowing the layout of the building would help bring the situation under control.

He looked at the man pacing on the other side of the glass wall. They’d been at this for hours and Jack thought he was getting to the man. Hopefully, he could end this standoff before the top of the hour.

“Harry, I know you,” Jack told him. “You don’t really want to hurt all these people. You just want justice. Let them go and I promise I’ll do everything that I can to make sure you get that justice.”

Forty-seven year old Harry Macklin, a third generation Hilldale , California resident, continued pacing restlessly along the space dividing the frightened hostages on the floor and the one glass door that led into the credit union.  He didn’t have to look at the five women and three men huddled together to see their fear; he could smell it.  Somewhere on the fringes of his anger and frustration that had driven him into this situation, it occurred to him that the smell of the hostages’ fear reminded him of the stench of the cancer that had taken his beloved Sarah from him two weeks ago, leaving him alone; their only child, a son named for him, had died four years ago in a motorcycle accident. The painful, bitter memory of his wife’s death had been made even more bitter when the credit union with whom the Macklins had done their banking for over twenty years, and which held the mortgage on their home, had refused to work with him to catch up on the arrearages.  Being served with a lawsuit of foreclosure yesterday morning at six o’clock in the morning by one of deputies of the local sheriff’s office had been the proverbial last straw that had broken the camel’s back.

“Harry...”

        The sound of Jack Anderson’s voice jerked Harry Macklin back to the moment and he stopped in front of the locked glass door and glared at the younger man.  “Justice?” he spat the word, gripping the nine millimeter Glock tighter.  “How? These bastards are taking my house!  They didn’t even have the decency to talk to me when I tried to get them to give me a little more time.”  His anger burned hotly as he flung bitterly at the negotiator, “My wife just died two weeks ago! Jake Harmon knew that…” Turning slightly, Harry aimed an accusing glare at the bank manager cowering beside one of the women then turned back to face Jack Anderson through the glass. “Hell, he was at the funeral!  But what did he do before my Sarah was even cold in the ground?  This!” Furiously, Harry snatched the crumpled lawsuit papers from inside his jacket and shook them. “And when I came in to see him yesterday about it, all Jake Harmon said was for me to get an attorney, that he couldn’t talk to me.”  Shoving the papers back into his jacket pocket, Harry stated darkly, “He’s listening now but that’s only ‘cause he’s scared shitless that I’m gonna blow his brains out.”

Jack listened to Harry carefully, looking at him with genuine sympathy. "I'm sorry, Harry. I remember Sarah. She was a good woman. But let me ask you something. Would Sarah want you to do this? Would she want you to risk innocent people's lives like this? Or would she rather you and me and Mr. Harmon to sit down and come to an agreement?" He tilted his head to try to get a look at Harry's face, wanting to gauge what was going on in his head. "I think she'd rather we talk this through in a calm and rational manner without any lives being in danger."

It seemed to Jack that he was getting through to Harry with his words. He just needed a little more of a nudge. Goodness knows that after five hours of talking to Harry, Jack was certainly ready for the end of this and he had a feeling that Harry was ready for the end of it too. The question was how it was going to end - with Harry giving himself up or with nine or more people dead.

        "Honor her memory, Harry. Sarah wouldn’t want you or anyone else to die and neither do I. Let's end this, Harry. I give you my word that I'll do whatever I can to help you but you have to let them go."

        As he listened to Jack Anderson talking, inside, Harry could almost hear his late wife saying the same thing.  His lips pressed harder together and he squeezed his eyes shut, as he always did when Sarah had him “dead to rights” about something and he was about to agree with her.  It’s not fair, Sarah, Harry argued silently to the precious memory but the argument was over as soon as it started.  Still, as he opened his eyes, his gaze fixing on the negotiator watching him, Harry really felt the weight of the weariness of the five-hour stand-off pressing in on him.  It was in that moment that he made his decision.

“These are my terms,” he began, pausing only to swing his head around to glare at the sound of soft sobs and gasps from the hostages. When they were quiet again, Harry turned back to face Jack Anderson.

“First, they go out one at time, hands on their head.  I’m gonna watch every one of ‘em till they get to the end of the hall,” Harry glanced down the empty hallway stretching behind Jack for a moment. “When the last one’s out of building, you can come in, but if I see even one cop, Jack.”  Harry paused and stared long and hard into the other man’s eyes.  “I’m gonna start shooting.” He took a breath then added almost as an afterthought, “I almost hope one shows up when Harmon goes out.” Watching Jack Anderson nod even as he voiced his understanding of the few terms, Harry stood a bit straighter. Though weary and ready to end the stand off he said, “One last thing, Jack.  I know I’m going to jail for this. I’m not stupid enough to think otherwise, so know now…I’m not afraid to die.” 

For a moment again Harry turned back to the hostages, his gaze fixing instantly on Jacob Harmon’s pale, sweating face.  “Five minutes of basic human decency from you, Jake, could’ve avoided all this.”  Harry shook his head slowly at the way the credit union manager just licked his lips nervously, his brown eyes big as marbles behind his glasses.

“Get up,” Harry said. He watched as the cluster of men and women got on their feet then motioned them to come towards him. For emphasis to them that he wasn’t bluffing about shooting, he took the safety off the Glock and chambered a round.  When the handcuffed group was within arm’s reach of him, Harry looked each person in the eye as he said, “Anybody gets the notion to be a hero when I unlock the cuff to free you and it’ll be the last notion any of you get.  Everybody got that?”  He watched them nod carefully, a couple of them even whispering, “Yes.”

Turning again to face the negotiator on the other side of the glass door, Harry said, “That goes for you, too, Jack.  Not until the last person’s down the hall and around the corner or the deal’s off.”

“You have my word, Harry,” Jack Anderson replied, speaking clearly.  To prove his intention to honor his promise, he moved several steps to one side of the door, keeping his hands in plain view.

A minute passed before Harry Macklin turned back to the hostages, eyed them a second and then reached into his left pants pocket and pulled out the master key that would unlock all the handcuffs.  Holding the Glock in his right hand, he approached two of the three women in the group.

“Hold your hands out,” he told them, then unlocked the cuff linking them, then moved around to unlock the one on Carolyn Carstairs’ other arm.  “Move over here,” he told her, directing her with a wave of the gun’s muzzle toward the door.  When she was in front of the door, he said, “Put your hands on top of your head, fingers laced.  When I open the door, you walk, not run, straight down the hall and don’t stop or take your hands down for any reason until you turn the corner at the end of the hall.  You do anything other than what I say and nobody else gets outta here.”

“I understand,” Carolyn Carstairs’ voice was barely a quaver as she responded.

When Carolyn’s hands were in the required position atop her head, and after a warning glance at the others, Harry twisted the deadbolt lock on the door and pulled it open just far enough for her to slip out.  Quickly he relocked the door then watched his late wife’s best friend walk down the hall and around the corner.

Time seemed to drag by as one by one the hostages were released and allowed to slip through the door to freedom.  The credit union manager appeared to be ready to faint when it was his turn but, to his credit, Jacob Harmon forced himself to walk quietly the length of the hall and around the corner.  Finally, only two hostages were left.

Jack felt like he was holding his breath forever as, one by one, the hostages were released and disappeared around the corner. Why Harry let Harmon go before Samantha and Daniel, he didn't know. Perhaps Harry felt that they were more valuable as hostages, especially due to Jack's relationship with them and due to Samantha being four months pregnant with her first child.

Eighteen year old Daniel Shanks had just graduated from high school earlier that month and was anxious to attend the graduation ceremony when he and his sister had been taken as hostages at the credit union. What was supposed to be a day of fun with his sister had quickly turned into a nightmare that he was glad would soon be over. He watched as the other hostages were released, waiting for Mr. Macklin to let his sister go.

"You next, Danny," Harry told him plainly as he watched the previous hostage vanish around the corner.

"My sister first," Daniel protested but was quickly silenced by Samantha.

"It's okay, Danny," Samantha told him.

"But, Sam..."

"Go on," she insisted. "I'll be right behind you."

The annoyed look on Mr. Macklin's face finalized the argument and Daniel slowly exited through the door, his hands on his head. But as he approached the end of the hallway, his concern for his older sister nagged at him and he hesitated at the end. Carefully, he turned his head, wanting to see if Samantha was following him. What he did see made his eyes widen.

There, just beyond the sight of Jack Anderson and Harry Macklin was an armed police officer. He gestured Daniel to him. "Come on," he whispered. "Let's go."

        The sight of the officer confused the young man. Didn't Jack just promise no police?

“Come on, kid,” the police officer hissed insistently, continuing to gesture with his hand.

Daniel continued to hesitate, blinking almost as if in a stupor as he looked at the man’s intense expression.

“But,” he mumbled softly, his brows knitting in confusion. “Harry said …”

The stand-off had started almost as soon as the credit union had opened that morning so Deputy Tyler Wilson, a recent addition to the local sheriff’s office, like everyone else, had been heartened when, thanks to the earpiece Jack Anderson was wearing, he’d heard that Harry Macklin was willing to let the hostages go.  Everything about the release had been going like clockwork.  It was when the credit union manager had gabbled nervously that there were only two people left inside that Deputy Wilson moved to the corner where the hall turned toward the credit union.  It was a good plan and now, with only one hostage left after the boy, the deputy wasn’t about to let the teenager mess it up.  It was with that flawed thought foremost in his thoughts that the deputy, his back against the wall, edged even closer over to the corner and glared at the boy and hissed, “Dammit, get over here!”

It was a nightmare coming to life in the middle of the day, as Daniel Shanks intuitively knew what was about to happen but was unable to wake up from it.  As he felt his heart leap up into his throat, in some corner of his mind it seemed like it was happening in slow motion.  The fact that it wasn’t was etched into his memory even as he turned to face the officer, shaking his head and shouting, “No! You’re gonna ruin it!”

Cursing under his breath, Deputy Wilson clamped his teeth together.  Before another thought crossed his mind, he took a half step into the hallway, into the direct line of sight of the credit union, and grabbed Daniel by the front of his shirt to yank the boy to safety. But it was too late.  He’d been seen.

"You lying son of a bitch!" Harry cried out the moment he caught sight of the deputy pulling Daniel out of sight. He grabbed Samantha's hair and pressed the Glock to her temple, pushing her towards the door. "I said no cops! This is your fault, Jack! We had a deal and you blew it!"  With his last hostage in the doorway, he let go of her hair and pulled the trigger.

From the instant he'd heard Daniel Shanks shout, "No..." Jack Anderson, a seasoned negotiator felt his instincts about the almost completed surrender go sour, but he held his cool, keeping his gaze focused on Harry Macklin's face.  A moment later it was the look of angry betrayal on the older man's face as his gaze flicked away from Jack's, focusing on what was going on at the opposite end of the hall that told him all bets were off.  Even as Harry shrieked his accusations, Jack was reaching for the gun nestled in his holster in the small of his back.  Whipping it around, he shouted, "Harry!"  He was met by the roar of the Glock discharging and the sight of Samantha Tappings' lifeless body dropping to the floor. For a split second Jack's gaze dropped to the woman's body before his training and experience jerked him back to the moment. Without hesitation, Jack shifted his stance, his own weapon trained on Harry Macklin.  At this moment, there was no friendship, no kinship of having lived in the same small town all their lives between them. Right now there was only a hostage taker who had become a killer that had to be dealt with.

"DROP THE WEAPON, HARRY!" Jack shouted, moving carefully toward the glass door, now wedged open by the body on the floor.

Inside the little credit union, with the percussion of the shot from the Glock still ringing in his ears, Harry Macklin took in the magnitude of what he'd done and felt what was left of his rage and grief rooted in Sarah's death and the lawsuit fizzle out replaced with shame and regret for what he'd done.  He was ready to put the gun down but then he heard the sharp-edged tone in Jack Anderson's voice and it fanned the last ember of his anger to life again.

"Harry, don't make this worse that it is already!" Jack shouted.  "Put your weapon down."  He scanned the other man's face as he continued to move forward.  He was halted just at the partially open door, the position of Samantha Tappings’ body making it impossible to get inside the credit union without dropping his guard.

Watching Jack's quick, careful movements, Harry Macklin read the law officer's expression easily. It was what he saw on the law officer's face that caused him to track Jack's movements as he came closer toward him, though still outside the credit union. Oddly enough, it was hearing Jack address him formally, "Drop your weapon, Mr. Macklin," that was the finish for him.  Keeping his eyes fixed on the face of the man who had been the boy who had cut his grass in years past, Harry Macklin sighted down the barrel of the Glock and started to squeeze the trigger.

Jack Anderson read Harry Macklin’s expression clearly.  His training and experience were of no comfort to him as he realized he had no other option and squeezed the trigger, watching as if in slow motion as the bullet struck Harry Macklin, felling him where he stood, the Glock sliding away from him on the linoleum flooring.

Jack took several steps, carefully going around the body of his former classmate to check on the condition of the downed man.  Harry's eyes were unfocused for a moment before he caught sight of Jack’s face as the younger man’s fingers found the pulse in the side of his neck.

"Tell Danny... I'm sorry," Harry begged. "Gawd, what have I done?" Almost as if it were a scene from a movie, Harry Macklin's head dropped to the side and he was suddenly and completely motionless.

Jack sighed as he slowly stood up. There was no sense of justice having been served, knowing that the man who killed Samantha Tapping was dead as well. There was only a sense of deep loss. Slowly, he returned outside as members of the SWAT team and local law enforcement swarmed into the little credit union, went back along the hallway and started down the stairs that would take him outside. His job was done. He just wished that he felt fulfilled inside instead of hollow from the two lives lost.

Walking out into the street, he saw Daniel staring at the building. Shock had plainly taken over him, not that Jack could blame him. He knew as well as everyone that, with his sister dead, Daniel Shanks had no family.

"I'm sorry, Danny," Jack whispered to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

The hubbub and buzz of the swat team personnel and local law enforcement swarming into the building and the medical personnel from an emergency response vehicle, it all faded into the background for Jack as the fear-numbed boy came out of his shock with a vengeance.

"What do you mean you're sorry?" he demanded, searching Jack's face, reading Jack's face in an instant.  "No!" he shouted, his mind denying what those two words meant. "Samantha! Where is she?"

There was no easy way to say it but Jack spoke the words as gently as he could. "She's dead, Daniel.  Mr. Macklin shot her when....."

"It's all your fault!" Daniel screamed as planted his hands on Jack's chest and shoved him hard. "I saw that asshole standing there at the end of the hall!" he continued to shriek, unaware of the tears beginning to run down his face, their appearance a mixture of his grief and anger. "You promised him no cops, but you LIED! And now my sister's dead because you lied!"

Jack reached out to the boy, but when Daniel slapped his hands away, snarling, "Don't touch me, you bastard," he didn't press the issue. There would be lots to talk about before this was all settled and sorted out. Knowing that, however, didn't begin to alleviate the hollowness inside him at how the situation had ended with the untimely deaths of two friends from his youth.

PART ONE

May 14, 1995

Hilldale, California

        Daniel Shanks walked into the Hilldale Federal Credit Union and waved genially to the tellers. Ever since he had opened his tackle shop in town, after finishing his time in the Army, he'd made a point of doing his business with HFCU. The town hadn't changed much in the last ten years; it still was small enough to where everyone knew everyone else. He smiled slightly at the thought. In all likelihood, that wouldn’t ever change.

Walking to the other side of the small credit union, he gave the manager a nod and a smile and then looked to see if anyone was really paying attention to him. Seeing that no one was, he surreptiously lowered the Venetian blinds and angled the blades so that the sun would shine in but you couldn't see the parking lot below. He did the same with the other set of blinds on the wall on the far left before going back to the door, blocking it with his body. A moment later, he reached his hand into his Army jacket and pulled out the nine millimeter Glock.

"EVERYONE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROOM NOW!" he shouted loudly, firing a single shot into the light hanging over the middle of the credit union, sending sparks into the air. "I SAID NOW!"

"Daniel, have you lost your mind?" Teal Judge, manager of the credit union, demanded as she rushed out of her office and started toward Daniel. However when he fired a second shot into the air, she skidded to a stop in her tracks.  "Daniel?" she asked her tone and manner now cautiously apprehensive.

His years in the Army had taught Daniel many things, one of them being how to control prisoners in a confined space.  Waggling his gun like a pointer at the now stunned and silent patrons, he verbally nudged them toward the center of the room.  "Just do what I tell you and nobody has to get hurt," he stated flatly.  He watched the handful of people move quickly to comply but a movement near the tellers' window caught his eye. Turning his gaze in that direction he frowned at the woman. "Get over here, Sharon ," he snapped, watching the attractive brunette scuttle toward the others.  Turning his gaze on Teal Judge again, he demanded, "Is there anyone else in here that I can't see?"  He just nodded when she shook her head and murmured quietly, "No. Saturday is always short staffed."

"Okay," he continued. "Now everybody sit down in a circle on the floor."

When the small group of people hesitated, looking confused at his demand, he glared at them. "What? None of you ever told ghost stories in the woods? MOVE IT!"

The shout hurried everyone to sit. One of the patrons gasped as she attempted not to cry from fear from the sound of the suitcase that dropped in the middle of the circle.

"Open it," Daniel ordered Teal. "Pass them out. Everyone, handcuff yourself to the person on your right." It took a bit of work but somehow they managed to do just that without causing much of a ruckus. Daniel nodded slightly at the sight.

"Good," he told them as he opened his jacket, revealing a bomb strapped to his chest. He tucked the Glock back into his jacket and pulled out a small round cylindrical item - a trigger to the bomb on his chest. "Now... we wait."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Project Quantum Leap

November 29, 2007

         Admiral Al Calavicci's brain felt as if it were about to explode. Or at least, that was his opinion. The last leap had been exhausting and he wanted nothing more than to slip through the complex unnoticed until he got to his quarters. He longed to strip out of the two-day old clothing on his back, get into a hot shower, and then slip into bed with his wife of forty-six years.

As he stepped out of the Imaging Chamber, he took a breath and sighed, rubbing his face, before looking around the room. Dominic had apparently called it a night and Julianna had taken over for the night shift. Al smiled gently at the sight of his oldest daughter dressed in a pair of blue jeans, her favorite "Go Navy" t-shirt, and tennis shoes, her thick hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail. He wondered what Tuyen thought of her working at all times of the day, and then pushed the thought out as he walked down towards the control console.

"Up late again, I see," he told her with a little grin. "Who's watching the munchkin?"

Julianna kept her eyes on the main control console a moment longer, watching as the various lights winked then reset to monitoring mode, the last activity performed after Sam leaped out of a situation.  When those specific lights were an unblinking yellow, Julianna sighed lightly and looked up, a grin appearing on her face.  "In answer to your question, Tuyen and Jude, when I left them about three hours ago, were in the living room with a bowl of popcorn and a stack of Star Trek DVDs on the end table."  Her grin grew wider as her father chuckled when she added, "Right about now, if Jude's not asleep on the couch, they’re just about finished with the first part of their marathon."

" Marathon ?" Al questioned lightly as he handed over the handlink, watching as she placed in the recharging cradle.

"Yep," Julianna replied. "The two of them have been hatching this since Tuyen got back from Washington three days ago. Frankly," she said, her eyes twinkling. "I'm betting that when I get off duty in another....six hours," she said, glancing at her watch, "that both of them will be asleep in front the TV."

Al enjoyed seeing his eldest daughter so relaxed and happy.  He was even more happy that GTFW's had allowed Sam to play a part in her life to bring that happiness about with a man whom, from what he witnessed each time he was around his son-in-law, seemed to fall a little more in love with Julianna.

"You know something?" Al said softly, his tone drawing her attention to him.

"What's that?" Julianna asked, folding her arms on the edge of the console and leaning casually on them, meeting her father's gaze.

Whatever he had been about to say was erased as the easy quiet of the Control Room was rent with the too familiar claxon blaring, announcing that Sam Beckett had leaped.  Both Al and Julianna were clearly startled.

"Damn," Julianna commented as she grabbed another charged handlink and handed it over to her father. "That was quick. What'd he do? Go through a revolving door?"

Al sighed as he accepted the handlink from his daughter. "Maybe," he commented as he started for the Imaging Chamber. "Maybe someone should lock down that revolving door and give some of us a break."

Julianna could easily hear the fatigue in her father's voice. After years of being his daughter, Executive Administrative Assistant, Security Systems Analyst and part-time programmer - not to mention the special connection they had had her entire life - she could read her father's moods in an instant.

"I could take this one, Dad," she offered. "I am neurologically linked to Sam. You need your rest."

Al just shook his head. "Thanks, Jules. But that would just get Sam worried. I'll go in and see how he is. Shouldn't take long." To the look she gave him, he assured her, "I promise I'll be out in less than ten and go right to bed."

Julianna's reply was halted by Ziggy's voice filling the room.

"I have a lock on Dr. Beckett, Admiral."

Al paused at the entrance to the Imaging Chamber at Ziggy's announcement, looking up and around at the ceiling, as he often did when something the computer said, got his attention.  "That was quick," he commented then continued into the Imaging Chamber. 

Assuming his position on the central pad in the chamber, Al keyed in a number code to mark the beginning of the leap then took a deep breath and said, "Ready."  It was a tad startling when Ziggy announced, almost as soon as the tornadic tunnel of past time began to rotate around him, "Lock initiating."  Her words were still fading in the acoustically perfect chamber when the white walls faded as a holographic representation of Sam's new leap location coalesced into view.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hilldale, California

May 14, 1995

11:14:58 A.M.

The last vestiges of the leap in haze had begun fading from Sam's mind just as the Imaging Chamber door opened and his Observer appeared.  The best acknowledgement the Leaper could give Al was a quick glance then shifted his attention back to the man who had been talking to his host when he leaped in. 

"Sorry to ruin your high school reunion, Jack, but we've got a major situation here," the older man was telling Sam firmly. "We have a couple of witnesses who say they heard gunshots coming from the credit union on the third floor. Then about ten minutes later we got a phone call at the office saying that there are hostages being held up there. The caller asked for you specifically." He looked into Sam's eyes. "Apparently your reputation as a hostage negotiator is well-known to this yo-yo."

Glancing around the milling small crowd of people, several of which were law enforcement, Al spotted Sam talking with a grim-faced older man and re-centered to his friend's side.  He started to speak to the Leaper but the sharp, business-like tone of another man speaking to Sam caught his attention. Glancing up at his friend, Al easily read the question in those green eyes but didn't say anything as he heard what the man was telling Sam.

"Hostages?" Sam and Al said at the same time.

"According to the caller, eight," the older man told him. "He hasn't given any demands other than he wants to talk to you."

11:16:33 A.M.

Al quickly started punching buttons on the handlink, the thought of a shower and a night with his wife now far from his mind. Glancing at the older man, his eyes caught the nameplate on the right side of his khaki shirt. The Observer was grateful for small favors to see the name of the town the man served printed beneath his name, rapidly keying that information into the handlink. 

"Sam, this is Sheriff George Davis. He's the sheriff of the town of Hilldale , California , a little place about an hour’s drive northeast of the city limits of San Diego , California .  It's May 14th, 1995, and your name is Jack Anderson and you’re thirty-nine years old. You're a hostage negotiator working for the San Diego Police Department, and you've come home to Hilldale for your twenty-year high school reunion. Ziggy says the guy up in the credit union is a man named Daniel Shanks, twenty-eight years old. Ziggy's still digging for information."

Sam absorbed every jot of information the Observer was feeding him then hesitated a moment when what seemed an unusually rich flow of information ended abruptly.  Cutting his eyes from Sheriff Davis to the hologram, Sam looked intently at him.  Before he even realized he'd done it, Sam blurted, "Daniel Shanks?"

"Daniel Shanks?" Sheriff Davis' startled gruff voice broke Sam's concentration.  "What about Dan Shanks?"

Seeing Al's reaction to the uncharacteristic babbling he'd uttered, now coupled with the sheriff's obvious confusion, Sam fumbled, "Uh...yeah."

"Yeah, what, Jack?" George Davis demanded. His questioning expression deepened, as if someone had flipped the proverbial switch in the lawman's brain. Turning his head sharply to look up at the windows of the local credit union on the third floor of the six-story Hilldale Business Hall then back to Sam, George Davis' voice sharpened as he demanded, "Are you telling me that Daniel Shanks is one of the hostages?"

Sam swallowed and fumbled a moment then said, "Uh, well...no. He's not one of the hostages. He…"

"He's the one holding the hostages, Sam," Al told him bluntly. He hit the handlink and frowned at what he was reading. "According to the LA Times there was a major hostage situation here on May 14th, 1995. Daniel Shanks went into the Hilldale Federal Credit Union on the third floor of this building and took eight people hostage. He then..." Al froze, his eyes wide in shock. "Oh, gawd, Sam. He set off a bomb. Nine people were killed: the eight hostages and Shanks."

Pressing the buttons on the handlink rapidly, Al had the answer to Sam's question in seconds. "Ziggy says that according to that same newspaper article, that Daniel Shanks detonated the bomb at 11:47 a.m."  Looking up at his friend again, he saw Sam checking the watch on his left wrist. The way the leaper's face paled slightly told him that things had just taken a major downward turn.  Al's tone was urgent as he demanded, "What time is it, Sam?"  To Al it felt like his heart turned to stone and plummeted to his feet when Sam, his eyes still fixed on his watch, instead of speaking, shifted his stance slightly, turning his wrist in such a way to allow the hologram to see the time for himself.

"Sweet Mother of Heaven," Al whispered.

Sam's watch read: 11:19.

PART TWO

11:20:03 A.M.

        Al's hands seemed to be moving faster than they ever had before. With only twenty-seven minutes left before nine people died in a fiery blaze, they needed options and fast. Ziggy, as if a fire had been put under her motherboard, was working faster and more efficiently than Al could ever recall as he saw what could only be a godsend for them.

"Sam, Ziggy's pulled up a textbook on hostage negotiation techniques. You've got to cut power to the building and then get on the phone with Daniel and start talking to him." Seeing the look on Sam's face, one of complete befuddlement, he sighed. "I wish we could get Jack in here, Sam, but Beeks just told me that he can't even remember if the sky is blue or not so we're on our own on this. Cut the power, Sam."

Taking a deep breath, Sam mentally shouldered the tremendous burden of, he prayed, saving nine people lives.  Turning, he faced Sheriff Davis, now flanked on one side by one of his deputies and on the other by a member of the SWAT team.  Seeing the SWAT team member suited up in bulletproof gear and helmets only reinforced for Sam that time was exceedingly precious on this leap and in too short supply.

"Cut the power to the building," he stated firmly, his gaze locking with the sheriff's before shifting to the man in riot gear at his right.  Even as George Davis said, "It'll take a few minutes to get the power company on the line," Sam interrupted him with an abrupt wave of his hand.

"There's no time for a phone call," he stated flatly. "We've got to get that power cut NOW."  Turning to the SWAT team member, Sam told him, "Find the main breakers for the building and shut 'em down. Go on! We're wasting time."

As a couple of the SWAT team members went to obey the order, Al gestured Sam over to the makeshift command area. The police car's radio had already been hooked into the phone that led to the credit union three floors up.

Sam carefully sat in the front passenger's seat of the cruiser as Al crouched beside him.

"The lack of power is going to make Daniel very uncomfortable."

"And that's good?" Sam questioned with a frown, assured that no one else could hear him.

"Well, depends on your definition of good. We need to find out what Daniel wants and make him feel like he's got all the control while keeping control of the situation ourselves. The loss of power makes it more difficult for him to get away. However, you can tell him that you're... anticipating his needs by cutting power to the vault."

"Okay," Sam murmured under his breath as he looked up, scanning the tight clutch of law enforcement personnel in the area.  A vague movement caught his eye off to the left, and he turned his head to see that two deputies had cordoned off the area and were busy keeping the locals behind the yellow "crime scene" tape.  His jaw tightened slightly when a flash a bit further to the right caught his peripheral vision and he followed.  "Just what we don't need right now," he muttered under his breath. "The press." Getting out of the squad car, he added softly, "For all we know, Shanks might be looking for media attention."

        Once more the hologram entered the question into the handlink speedily. "No, Sam," he responded. "According to the records and the newspaper, no reason was ever uncovered as to what Shanks' reason was for the bombing."  Pausing he looked up at the Leaper.  The occupied expression in those green eyes told him that the synapses of Sam's brain were firing at a speed that probably came close to rivaling the computations of which Ziggy was capable of executing.  "What..."

The sharp jangle of a phone ringing behind them caused Sam and Al both to jump and turn in sync back toward the still open door of the squad car.  For a second both just stared at the handset unit set up in the front seat of the car.  A second ring jarred Sam into action but an unexpected fast blur of movement cut him off as the deputy who had flanked Sheriff Davis darted in to grab the phone.

"This is Deputy Judson," the young officer said clearly into the phone.  He listened then removed the receiver from his ear and held it against his chest as he pivoted to look at Sam then held out the phone to him, saying "You were right, Mr. Anderson. It's Daniel Shanks. Says he won't talk to nobody but you." 

Al nodded his encouragement towards Sam. "Try to convince him you're on his side, Sam. You got to get him to let those hostages go and give himself up."

Sam nodded slightly as he took the phone receiver and put it against his ear. "Jack Anderson," he said plainly, his heart pounding as he prayed that he didn't say or do anything that would make history change for the worse.

11:24:37 A.M.

Inside the large room that housed the credit union, Daniel Shanks glanced around the dimmed area.  It hadn't surprised him when the power had gone off suddenly a couple of minutes before.  After barking at the nervous hostages to be quiet, he had walked over to one of the large outside windows and carefully peered between two of the narrow slats of the blinds.  If he'd been an amateur thief after the money in the till or the vault, Daniel might have been getting nervous. That however wasn't the case, and he remained calm as he scanned the street outside the building, looking for one man in particular.  A sense of impending justification sent a mild thrill through his body as he carefully released the slats of the blinds and stepped over to the desk of the loan officer a few feet from the window.  Dialing the number for the sheriff's office, he listened to it ring twice.  When the voice of Randy Judson came on, Daniel let him talk then stated clearly, "Hi, Randy.  This is Daniel Shanks. I want to talk to Jack Anderson. Just him. I hear anybody's voice but his and I'll hang up.  This is the only chance you guys get to get it right."

Picking up the phone off the desk, the receiver cradled firmly between his ear and his shoulder, Daniel moved back to the window, pausing only to make sure the phone cord was ample to stretch that far. It was, and once more he gently lifted a couple of the blind slats, his gaze going immediately to the sheriff's car and the man standing on the opposite side of it and holding a receiver to his ear.  For a moment after he heard, "Jack Anderson," Daniel again felt a surge of anger at the man at the other end of the line, but he kept his voice calm and level.  He wasn't going to screw this up.

“Daniel…” Sam started, not hearing a response to his taking the call. He looked to Al who immediately started punching information into the handlink.

        “Sam, try to get him to talk about why he’s up there,” the Observer told him, his eyes not wavering from the handlink.

        “Daniel,” Sam started again. “Let’s talk about this. What’s on your mind?” He couldn’t help but notice how nervous Al was at the moment. He couldn’t blame him.

One corner of Daniel Shanks’ lips curled in mirthless derision upon hearing the question.  Staring hard down at the negotiator standing by the patrol car, the phone pressed to his ear, Daniel looked back at the hostages huddled in the middle of the credit union’s floor then back down at the man whose gaze was now aimed upward at the windows. “What do I want, Mr. Anderson?” he parroted the question with cold sarcasm. He paused, as if thinking about a response then said, “Justice, Mr. Anderson.  That’s all I want, and if I don't get it....”

"Still got nothing," Al told Sam, his own frustration showing slightly in his voice.  Al Calavicci had had enough experience under his belt to be able to stay calm under extreme pressure. But in a situation like this, it was impossible for his feelings not to show, despite his best efforts to control his emotions.

"Daniel," Sam continued. "Help me out here. What kind of justice are you looking for?"

Daniel smiled to himself as he answered.  “Tell you what, Mr. Anderson,” he said. “You come up here and talk to me face to face and I’ll tell you the justice I want.”  A slight frown of suspicion knitted his brow when he observed Jack Anderson give a slight nod then looked in the direction of Sheriff Davis and a couple of other members of the bullet-proof vested SWAT team.  His tone was cool and menacing at the same time as he warned, “I’m not a fool, Mr. Anderson, so let’s just cut to the chase. I know you’ve got a SWAT team surrounding this building, but know this here and now. If I so much as think I smell one of those crack shot SWAT team members on the same floor as me, I’ll blow this place and everyone around me into bits so small you’ll need a magnifying glass to find whatever’s left of ‘em.”  Daniel took a breath, his eyes narrowed as he continued to study the scene on the cordoned off street below.  “What’s it gonna be, Mister Anderson?” he demanded calmly.

11:23:12 A.M.

        Sam took only a moment to make his decision. Looking at Al, he said one word into the telephone receiver. “Deal.” Getting a favorable answer from Daniel, he hung up the phone.

Al watched with a frown as Sam hung up. “Sam, what did you agree to?” He followed him as the physicist moved away from the police car and went to talk to the Sheriff. “Sam, I’ve got a really hinky feeling about all this.”

Instead of answering the Observer directly, Sam went up to Sheriff Davis.  “Sheriff,” he began, quickly amending that when Al reminded him of Jack Anderson’s and George Davis’ mutual history as residents of Hilldale. “George,” Sam started again.

“What does he want, Jack?” George Davis asked straight out.  He shook his head slightly at his thoughts, but then dismissed them when the younger man spoke.

“He wants to talk,” Sam told the sheriff. “Face to face.”

“No, Jack,” George Davis stated strongly.  He didn’t even look around when the leader of the SWAT team agreed with him.  Neither man’s negative reaction had any impact on the leaper.

“I’ve already agreed to go up,” Sam responded, hurrying on in an effort to cut off further protests by the two men.  “And I’m going alone.”

Dale Lavvermore, the leader of the SWAT team that had responded to the emergency call from the sheriff of the small town of Hilldale about an hour’s drive northeast of the city limits of San Diego , looked closely at the seasoned negotiator.  “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Jack,” he began.  “Maybe another…”

Sam turned an intense look on Dale Lavvermore. “No!” he said sharply.  “Daniel said that if he even thinks he smells anyone else in the building besides me, he’ll detonate the bomb.”  That comment diverted the man’s focus.

“Where is the bomb?” Dale asked.

Sam spared a fleeting glance at Al before meeting Agent Lavvermore’s gaze.  “Guess I’ll find that out when I get up there.”  Shifting his gaze to Sheriff Davis, Sam

said, “There must be some stairs, an emergency exit for the upper floors of the building. Show me where they are.”  His eyes flicked from the sheriff to Dale Lavvermore when neither man moved for a moment.  Remembering what Al had said about the original time of the detonation, Sam’s voice sharpened as he told them, “Time’s wasting, and right now we don’t have any to spare.  Now where are those stairs, sheriff?”

11:26:19 A.M.

Sheriff Davis sighed, shaking his head. “This isn’t a good idea,” he muttered under his breath. However, he immediately gestured towards the building with his hand. “Guess you forgot after all these years. They’re just to the right of the elevator.”

Al nodded with approval, though he clearly showed apprehension on his face. “He’s right, though, Sam. This probably isn’t such a good idea.” He raised the handlink as if it had the answers to the meaning of life. “Ziggy’s going bonkers on this cockamamie idea of yours to actually go up there. It goes completely against the rulebook she pulled out. Make him sweat, yes. Get him to talk, yes. But go up there where you can get killed yourself, no.” He lowered his eyes at the glare Sam gave him. “But… against everything the rulebook is saying… I’m with you on this one.”

Knowing, unlike the others, exactly how little time they truly had to, hopefully, avoid a tragedy, Sam swept those around him with a brief look then headed for the building.  He was just reaching for the handle of one of the building’s double glass doors when he heard quick steps behind him. Pausing he looked around, not all that surprised to see Dale Lavvermore within arm’s reach.  Impatiently Sam began, “You’re not coming in with me.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Dale replied.  Knowing Jack Anderson as he did, he found the other man’s sharpness more than a bit odd.  In the six years he’d worked with Jack, the man had demonstrated in numerous and varied situations that the more intense the situation was, the cooler Jack became.  Still, on the other hand, he could understand the sharpness. This was, after all, Jack’s hometown, and the hostage-taker a young man he’d known since they were both kids.

Seeing the impatience on Jack’s face, Dale added, “I know he’s watching everything he can see from the window, Jack.  Except for under here.”  He spared a glance upward at the striped awning that shielded the entrance from the sun then looked at his associate again. Reaching into his pocket, the agent pulled out a tiny wireless earbud. “I just wanted to give you this,” he said, offering it to the other man. “It’s two-way, so we can hear what’s going on and we can communicate with you.”  Seeing the way Jack just looked at the tiny high-tech device laying in the palm of his hand, he began to get the idea that the negotiator wasn’t going to use it.

Al looked at the small earbud with a raised eyebrow, considering it carefully. “Take it, Sam. At the very least, if things get ugly, they can send in the cavalry for you. I’ve got more to tell you so don’t turn it on until you get to the third floor. That will give us time to talk.”

Slowly, Sam accepted the earbud, holding it in the palm of his hand for a moment.

Neither Dale nor Al said anything, both watching then sighing softly when the leaper inserted the earbud into his right ear.  As he was doing so, Sheriff Davis approached them, carrying a flashlight in one hand.

“You’ll need this,” he told Sam, offering it.

“Thanks,” Sam said, taking the proffered flashlight. Then before anyone could say anything else to distract or delay him, he opened the door and stepped inside the modest lobby of the building. A quick look right then left located the single elevator and beside it, a door marked “Stairs.”

PART THREE

11:27:43 A.M.

Taking a deep breath and blowing it out again, Sam half turned to glance out at the two law enforcement men watching him through the glass door then walked quickly to the marked door and entered the stairwell.

Al waited until Sam was in the stairwell before he spoke again. “How’re you doing, Sam?” he asked with concern. Seeing the tension in his eyes, he exhaled. “You can do this, Sam. He wouldn’t have landed you here if He didn’t think you could. Now, like I said, Ziggy dug up some info so walk while I talk.” He lifted the handlink as he walked along beside Sam, adjusting the handlink so that it appeared almost as if he were walking up the stairs with him.

“Daniel Shanks, twenty-eight years old. Ten years ago, there was a hostage situation in this very building in the very same credit union Danny is holed up in. The suspect held eight people and Jack negotiated the release of the hostages. Apparently, things went sour, though, because Daniel’s older sister, Samantha was killed. She’d raised him since he was eight and she was nineteen, so he was very close to her. He had just graduated high school when she died but, according to high school records, he didn’t attend his graduation ceremony. He enlisted a few months later into the Army and became an explosives expert. After he did his four years, he came back here and seemed to be living a quiet life running his sporting goods shop just down the street.”

Sam’s footsteps echoed softly within the confines of the pitch-black stairwell as he quickly ascended the stairs, the beam from the flashlight the only illumination.  He didn’t interrupt Al’s recitation, even when one particular point grabbed his attention.  It wasn’t until he reached the narrow landing at the door that opened onto the third floor, when Sam spoke. Angling the flashlight so that he could see the hologram’s face, there wasn’t time to couch his words in a softer manner.  “Sounds to me like what Daniel wants isn’t justice, Al, but revenge.”  His stomach twisted as he added, his tone somber, “And eight innocent people are killed over something they had nothing to do with just so he can ruin this guy Jack Anderson’s career.”

Al couldn’t help the concerned look on his face. “That makes him more dangerous than we thought before.” To the questioning look Sam gave him, Al looked directly into his eyes firmly. “He literally has nothing to lose. He has no family, no close friends… nothing to tie him to this world.” He paused to emphasize his next words. “Be careful, Sam. I wouldn’t trust this guy with the key to his own house.”

Sam nodded then started to open the door but Al reminding him to turn on the earbud stopped him.  A gentle press with the tip of his finger against the tiny gadget nestled inside his right ear was accomplished quickly. He started when he heard a man’s voice suddenly, demanding, “Jack, are you there? What’s going on? Jack!”

It took a couple of seconds for him to recognize Dale Lavvermore’s steady but concerned voice.

Shaking his head slightly, Sam put a hand up to his ear, touching it lightly as he said aloud, keeping his voice low, “I’m here and I’m fine. Just forgot to turn the thing on.”  He nodded, listening to what Dale was saying. “Okay, I got it.” Turning his gaze back to Al, Sam added for Dale’s benefit, “I’m going in now.”  He heard the other man tell him to stay alert before becoming silent.

Opening the stairwell door slowly, Sam shone the flashlight down the hallway before stepping into it.  Even though the power, and therefore the air conditioning, had only been turned off a few minutes, Sam could tell by the closeness of the air that the temperature was beginning to rise. “Which way, Al?” he asked quietly as he closed the door behind him.

“This way,” Al told him, gesturing for the leaper to follow him down the darkened hallway. “It’s just around the corner.”

The short walk to the corner at the far end of the hallway took less than a minute. Al stopped without turning, holding his hand out to stop his partner. “Turn off the flashlight for a minute and let me go scope the place out so we know what we’re getting into. I’ll be back in less than a minute. Don’t move. We don’t want this guy to think something hinky is going on.” Raising the handlink and pressing a couple of buttons, a moment later, the Observer found himself in the middle of the credit union. “Oh, boy,” he murmured as he looked around.

11:29: 26 A.M.

It was plainly obvious that Daniel had been planning this fiasco for a while. The window shades allowed just enough light to see by while still giving Daniel an advantage – he could see the police but the police couldn’t see him. Also, with the hostages in the middle of the room and handcuffed, he had them in plain sight no matter where he walked in the room.

Al looked at Daniel carefully and could see the bomb strapped to his chest and the wireless remote in one hand, a Glock in his other. As for the front door, the whole wall was glass, making it practically impossible for anyone to sneak up on the entrance without being seen.

“I don’t like this,” he murmured to himself, raising the handlink to re-center himself on Sam.

“Okay, listen up, Sam. I think you’re going to be completely on your own on this one. There’s no way he wouldn’t see police coming up on that door. The whole wall is glass. He’s actually got the bomb strapped to his body and he has a wireless remote, which means he can easily set that thing off at a moment’s notice. The hostages are in the middle of the room, handcuffed together in a circle so that eliminates the possibility of getting help from that angle. He’s also got a nine millimeter Glock and I don’t think he has any qualms about shooting someone to get what he wants.”

With every word that Al spoke, Sam felt more and more like a man lost in the middle of the ocean on a rickety raft and feeling the planks of the raft falling rapidly away beneath him.  The last bit of information left the leaper clinging to very little in the way of options to figuratively keep afloat and prevent a tragedy from being repeated. Even worse, a glance at his watch, in the focused beam of the flashlight showed that time was running fast against him, too.

11:30:16 A.M.

Taking a deep breath, and blowing it out softly, Sam looked into Al’s eyes a moment before turning on the flashlight again and starting carefully down the dark hallway.  He had only moved a few steps when he heard Dale Lavvermore’s voice in his ear.

“Jack, what’s going on in there?”

Pausing a few feet from the glass wall of the credit union, Sam reflexively reached to touch his ear lightly as he softly said, “I’m okay, just a few feet from the credit union.”  When there wasn’t a response, Sam glanced at the hologram, now a fixture at his side then continued walking.  When he reached the glass wall, he stopped and called out in a clear, calm voice, “Daniel...Danny, it’s Jack.”  He paused, waiting for some sort of response but there was none. For a moment he watched Al walk ahead of him then stop and look back at him.

“He’s standing about six feet back from the door,” Al told him as he met his friend’s gaze. “He’s got the Glock aimed at the door.” He paused then added, “Move slowly, Sam.”  As Sam started forward, Al thought of something else. “Put the flashlight in your shirt pocket. Leave it on; that way he can see your face.”

Sam acted on the suggestion then, holding his hands up so they were easily seen, palms forward, moved slowly forward.  “Danny, I’m coming to the door now,” he called out clearly then walked to Al before turning to face the locked glass door. The small amount of light seeping through the blinds on the windows inside the credit union was enough for both of them to see Daniel Shanks, his gaze fixed on the man he saw as Jack Anderson. His right arm was extended, the muzzle of the Glock aimed and ready.

“Hello, Jack,” Daniel said in a low voice. “It’s been a long time. Not exactly the most pleasant way to spend your twenty-year high school reunion, is it? But then we all have our own ups and downs, don’t we?” His eyes didn’t move from Sam’s face, studying it carefully.

“I suppose we do,” Sam said cautiously. “Danny…”

“My name is Daniel!” the younger man yelled at him. “I’m not eighteen years old anymore, Jack.” He paused, a small grin forming on his lips. “You going to try to talk me out of this situation, Jack? Don’t you want to know why I’m doing this?” Getting no immediate answer, he continued. “No? Some negotiator you are. How many people have died while you were on the job, Jack? I know of at least one.”

The derisive bitterness in Daniel Shanks’ voice was unmistakable as Sam waited for him to finish.  It also confirmed what he’d said to Al just moments before; Daniel Shanks’ only goal was revenge.

Beside him, listening to but not focusing on Daniel’s diatribe, Al had keyed in a request to Ziggy.  The information appeared on the handlink’s screen within a few seconds.  Pitching his voice to give Sam the information but not divert his attention to him, the Observer said, “Sam, Ziggy has scanned all reports of hostage situations where Jack was the lead negotiator in a case in which either the hostage-taker or a hostage died. There have been three.” He paused for a second then finished. “Samantha Tapping, his sister, was the last one.”

Sam absorbed the information and stored it before addressing the man inside the credit union, opting not to be led into a defensive argument.  “What matters right now, Daniel,” Sam said clearly, looking beyond the gun aimed at him to the other man’s eyes, “is that nobody dies today, including you.”

“Oh, you have my agreement there,” Daniel told him bluntly. “And that is precisely why you are going to get me everything that I want.”

“Oh, isn’t he the confident one,” Al commented sourly, watching him carefully. “Sam, he’s got something up his sleeve. I can see it in his eyes.”

Sam couldn’t deny Al’s comment, since he completely agreed with it. “And what exactly is it that you want, Daniel?”

Daniel was silent for a long moment but it was clear that he knew precisely what he was doing. The silence was a tactic for him to remain in control of the situation. When he did speak, his words startled both Al and Sam.

“I want to talk to Tyler Wilson,” Daniel stated. Seeing the way Jack Anderson’s brow furrowed slightly, his voice sharpened. “Don’t play dumb, Jack!” he spat angrily.  “Tyler Wilson!  The asshole cop that wasn’t supposed to be in the building the day my sister was killed.  The prick never so much as said he was sorry!  I want to him to apologize to me…to my face for what he caused,” Daniel snarled, moving to within three feet of the door, keeping the Glock trained on Jack Anderson.

11:32:51 A.M.

Al’s fingers again had flown over the handlink at the mention of Tyler Wilson’s name, and Ziggy had popped up the information faster than the SWAT team listening outside the building could respond.  He felt his guts twist as he looked up from the handlink to his friend, remaining out of Sam’s line of sight as he gave him the bad news.

Even before he heard Dale Lavvermore’s terse voice in his ear, Sam’s insides were tightening as Al said, “Sam, Tyler Wilson was a deputy with the sheriff’s office the day Shank’s sister was killed. He...was the guy that pulled Daniel to safety just before Samantha was shot.” He licked his lips then added, “Guess maybe he felt some responsibility, because after that, Wilson went on to become a hostage negotiator himself.”  Sparing a glance at the revenge-bent man glaring at Sam, he dropped the penny.  “Tyler Wilson’s been a negotiator with the Miami-Dade SWAT team in Florida for the last three and a half years.”

Though the heat in the building was steadily rising, the trickle of sweat that ran down Sam’s spine as he listened to Al was icy cold.

Sam spoke carefully, never breaking eye contact with the bitter man with a gun aimed at his heart. “Daniel, I...”

It was what Daniel had been waiting for; he played his trump card.

“Dammit all to hell, Jack!” he shouted furiously.  “You get that rat bastard up here in the next five minutes, or I swear to God, I’m gonna shoot one of them.” He indicated the terrified hostages behind him and slightly to his left.  “And right this minute, Mister Anderson, I don’t particularly give a damn who gets the first bullet.”

“Daniel, Tyler Wilson is in Florida ,” Sam said emphatically, his mind whirling at how the situation went from bad to worse in less than ten seconds. “He’s on the other side of the country. It will take a lot more than five minutes to get him here.”

Daniel glared at him. “Do you really think I’m foolish, Jack? Do you really think I believe all that bullshit you’re laying on me? You get him up here, Jack! And if you don’t start doing what I tell you in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to start shooting!”

11:34:29 A.M.

Al held his breath, looking between his partner and the furious man on the other side of the glass. “Sam… you’ve got to calm this guy down. You have less than thirteen minutes before that bomb on his chest explodes, and Ziggy’s now saying that Jack Anderson is one of the victims…”

“Daniel, I’m not lying to you,” Sam assured. “ Tyler is in Florida . He lives in Miami .” He swallowed slightly. “I’m willing to have him come here but it’s going to take time. Twenty-four hours at the least. I need time, Daniel. That’s all I’m asking for, just a little time.”

Daniel didn’t immediately respond instead continuing to glare at the negotiator, even advancing to the glass until he was close enough to see, by the flashlight’s beam, the sweat on Jack’s forehead, watching as a couple of large drops of the salty fluid trickled down the sides of the negotiator’s face and neck. For several long moments, Daniel’s furious gaze bore into the other man’s eyes, letting Jack Anderson wonder for several more moments before suddenly stepping back.  As the ugly memory of the last moments of his sister’s life looped through his mind again, a line from “The Godfather” also entered his thoughts, and Daniel knew it was time to make Jack Anderson an offer he couldn’t refuse.

Stalking over to the circle of frightened hostages, Daniel scanned the terror-stricken faces daring to look up at him and made his choice. Stepping behind Teal Judge, the credit union manager, he went down on one knee behind her and shoved the muzzle of the Glock against her right ear then shouted, “Turn that flashlight over here, Mister Anderson!”  When the beam of light fell on him and the sobbing woman now counting the rest of her life in seconds, Daniel stared into the light and made his demand.  “Since Deputy Wilson isn’t here to get on his knees and apologize to me, Mr. Anderson, then you’ll take his place.”  He stared hard at the negotiator on the other side of the glass door.  “What’s it gonna be, Jack?  You...in that rat bastard, Wilson ’s place, or does Ms. Judge, here, permanently quit the credit union?”

11:36:15 A.M.

         Sam’s eyes focused on the terrified woman sitting on the floor, handcuffed to seven other people. She wasn’t the only one who was terrified. The room and the hallway were eerily silent as everyone realized that Daniel Shanks was really going to pull the trigger and brutally murder an innocent woman just to get an apology for his sister’s death. Sam didn’t have to think twice about his decision.

        “All right,” he agreed, getting a stare from Al. “Let the others go and you can have me in Wilson ’s place.” When Daniel pushed the pistol harder against Teal’s ear, causing her to scream, Sam’s heart raced. He took a step forward up to the glass. “You have me, Daniel. Let them go.” To prove his point, he slowly lowered himself to his knees, carefully put the flashlight on the floor, and put his hands on his head.

Inside, Daniel felt a surge of righteous, angry victory as he watched Jack Anderson get down on his knees.  Still, he didn’t move immediately away from Teal Judge, letting several seconds pass as he and Jack stared, unblinking, at each other.  Then as suddenly as he’d put the gun to her head, Daniel removed the weapon from against Teal’s ear and stood up.  Glaring down at her, now sobbing even more hysterically, he nudged her hard with the toe of his boot. “Shut up!  That goes for the rest of you, too,” he snapped at the others. “If Mr. Anderson doesn’t get a sudden case of stupid, you’ll all be out of here in less than five minutes.”  That said, he moved over to the locked door and stared down at the hostage negotiator now on his knees, hands on his head and watching him.  Not for a second did Daniel let his guard down as he twisted the deadbolt lock then pulled the door inward.  It took a lot not to just point the gun and pull the trigger but he managed it all the same.

Stepping into the now open doorway, Daniel didn’t blink as he pressed the muzzle of the Glock between Jack Anderson’s eyebrows.  “One stupid move, Jack and it all ends right now – you, me, those eight people over there and the credit union will be in kingdom come before you can blink.”

Al didn’t dare say a word as he watched his best friend nod slowly and saying in a voice calmer than he would have imagined, “I understand, Daniel.”  His heart was in his mouth as he watched as Sam, when ordered, got up on his feet again and stepped into the credit union.

“You’ve got me now,” Sam dared to speak, unresisting as Daniel, now with a handful of the front of his shirt, pulled him past the hostages. “Let them go, Daniel.”

Daniel seemed to be considering his plea before he put the Glock to Sam's head and, not moving his eyes from him, dug into his pocket. Pulling out a key, he tossed it into the middle of the circle of hostages.

"Okay, Ms. Judge," he said firmly. "Unlock yourself from the others and go out the door... slowly." He then addressed the others. "Only after she is out of sight will the next person do the same. Any tricks and we all go up. Understood?"

The way that Daniel Shanks had him positioned, Sam couldn't see the hostages.  Only the collective sudden intake of breath by them gave him a mental picture of their reaction to Daniel's decision to release them.  He didn't even dare try to turn his head to look for Al. He held his tongue, listening to the sound of the key unlocking one set of handcuffs.  It wasn't until he heard the woman Daniel had spoken to get to her feet that Daniel yanked on Sam’s shirt, shifting his stance so that the Leaper got a clear look at the terrified hostages.  When Ms. Judge looked into his eyes as she timidly but quickly moved past him, Sam dared to speak to her.

"It's okay," he did his best to reassure her. "It's going to be okay."

"Shut up, Mr. Anderson!" Daniel snapped, jerking on the man's shirt to gain his attention again. "You keep *your* mouth shut or I'll change my mind."

Al didn't have to tell Sam to just shut up and do what Shanks wanted, but that didn't mean the words didn't run through his head as he watched the situation with intensity. He knew that the odds were in Sam's favor the moment the hostages were all free. But he still didn't like him trading himself for the hostages, even if he would have done the same thing in his position. Lifting the handlink, Al pressed a few buttons, wanting to see if the odds were actually getting better as he thought they were. He frowned at what he read.

"Sam, Ziggy's not making sense here. She still says that there's going to be an explosion but she isn't giving me any numbers."

Nothing more was said as, one by one, the hostages left the credit union.

11:39:54 A.M.

        Hearing Al's comment about Ziggy's odd behavior at the moment wasn't good.  Logic told him that even if the odds were hair-raisingly slim, the hybrid super computer would still have calculated the odds and fed them to Al through the handlink.  Ziggy not giving any odds at all could mean only one thing, namely that as far as her near limitless capacity for calculations could determine, he, Sam Beckett, wasn't going to survive this leap.

A soft whooshing sound attracted his attention just then and Sam turned his head toward it in time to see the last hostage, a middle-aged woman rushing down the hall. The moment he saw her disappear around the corner, he turned back to face Daniel.  It didn't help much when the muzzle of the Glock was again pressed between his eyebrows.

"Now what, Daniel?" he asked quietly.

"You tell me, Mr. Hostage Negotiator," the reply came. "It's just us two now. You got what you wanted but I still haven't gotten what I wanted."

"Sam..." Al said, his voice tense. "I don't like the sound of that."

"Lock the door," Daniel ordered, his voice overlapping Al's. He pushed Sam towards the door, shifting the Glock around his new lone hostage’s head so that it was pressed to his temple.

As Sam reached up to do as he was told, there was a loud snap of metal, and he and Al looked with wide eyes at the handcuff circling his wrist. He stared at the handcuff locked on his wrist for a moment more before lifting his eyes to look at Daniel.  "What’s this?" His answer came when Daniel Shanks jerked his free hand and Sam's shackled hand followed it, and it was then that the Leaper saw the other cuff of the set fastened on one of the revenge driven man's wrists.

Yanking his arm again, Daniel managed to pull the Leaper away from the door and back to the area where the hostages had been huddled.  Only then did he answer Sam's question.

"This, Jack," Daniel said with angry triumph in his tone, "is what I've wanted all along."

11:40:00 A.M.

Sam blinked, looked at the handcuffs binding them then back to Daniel's face.  Now it was plain for anyone to see in his face the bitter revenge that had driven him. "Why, Daniel?"  Again, he didn't get a voiced answer, as he was ordered to sit down on the floor. He hesitated a moment before complying.  As the hostage-taker mimicked his action, Sam got his first close up look at the bomb strapped to Daniel's chest.

Once seated, Daniel slowly put the Glock on the floor before retrieving a small object from his jacket pocket. Pushing the gun as far from the two of them as possible, he fingered the small object, obviously toying with certain thoughts.

Al looked at the object carefully, his eyes widening. "Sam, as long as he has that wireless remote in his hand, he can set off the bomb. You've got to get that remote from him.”

"We're just going to sit and wait here for a moment. I want to make sure that no one else gets hurt. Unlike you, Jack, I actually think about these things before I make promises. And I keep my promises."

Seeing that Al had moved around to stand behind Daniel, Sam risked making eye contact with the Observer by making a slow sweeping look at the area behind the other man. Daniel didn't object or comment but the expression on Al's face mirrored the moment - grim.  He watched Al's fingers flying over the handlink, yelling at Ziggy to, "Get your damned head outta the sand, Ziggy!  If you don't come up with something in damned short order, none of us are gonna get another chance to help Sam."

Sam swallowed carefully, blew out a soft breath and met Daniel's gaze.  The accusation and hatred he saw there told him the man hadn't the least qualm about what he was doing. Something Daniel had just said tickled his thoughts and he went with it. It was as good as anything else to begin with. He had to get the man talking about what was driving him.

"I don't understand what you mean, Daniel," Sam said evenly. "I always keep my promises."  Sam got more reaction to the statement than he had anticipated. A lot more.

"BULLSHIT!" Daniel screamed at him, yanking his cuffed wrist forward, causing Sam to follow without consent. "Don't you DARE tell me that! You lied! You promised no cops and there was one around the corner! Because of you, I lost everything!" He quickly stood up and started to kick him hard in the ribs. "It's your fault she's dead! Your fault! We trusted you to get us out of there safe and you killed her with your lies!"

"Hey, you bastard!" Al exclaimed, trying futilely to get Shanks away from Sam, to stop the abusive onslaught.

Sam didn't go with the natural reaction to fight back against the savageness of Daniel's kicking his ribs, instead hunching into himself in an attempt to protect his ribs and chest. When that didn't help, he tried twisting his body away from the vicious kicks.  All Sam succeeded in doing was exposing his back, an action that was rewarded by the toe of one of Daniel Shanks' boots hammering against his kidneys.

"Aiiee!" Sam yelped, instantly twisting back to face Daniel. The action brought the kicks to a stop.  Sam panted and winced at the pain throbbing in his ribs and lower back.  Yet it didn't keep him from repeating even more firmly what had brought the attack on.

"I...have no reason to lie to you, Daniel," he gasped. "Not now. You've got to believe me."  Hearing a squawk from the handlink, Sam's gaze flicked involuntarily toward the sound and the sight of Al working the instrument like a virtuoso with a Stradivarius.  Hoping Al would pick up on the question he was asking of Daniel, Sam said, "Tell me, Daniel.  What did I do to make you think that?"

"I already told you!" Daniel yelled at him, clearly tempted to start abusing him again. "You lied to Harry Macklin about the cops! You said there wouldn't be any cops and there were! And because of that lie, my sister was killed!"

Al raised his head at Daniel's words, looking at the angry man as if he had just given him the Holy Grail. "Sam, get him to talk about his sister. This whole thing is about her death. Maybe if you got him talking about her..."

Sam nodded his head with slow exaggeration to acknowledge Al's suggestion. Still in a semi defensive posture on the floor beside Daniel, Sam licked his lips and caught his breath before taking the plunge.

11:42:59 A.M.

"Daniel, I...what happened to your sister," he began carefully watching as the volatile, revenge-driven man shifted the remote control for the bomb to the hand cuffed to Sam before turning an accusing glare on the Leaper. Sam cringed a bit when Daniel jerked his wrist, again jerking the Leaper toward him, shouting at him.      "Say her name, dammit!  You knew her...graduated high school the same year, Jack! Don't you friggin' talk about her like you didn't know her!" Sam looked to Al but was interrupted when Daniel lunged at him, grabbing him by the throat with his free hand.

"Say her name!"

"It's Samantha, Sam!" Al shouted to his partner, seeing Daniel grabbing and squeezing Sam's throat. "She went by Sam."

"SAY IT!" Daniel screamed. "Say her name!"

Sam carefully raised his free hand to slowly pull Daniel's hand away from his throat, enough to let him get a breath before gasping out, "Sam." Getting the reaction he was hoping for at his compliance to the demand, he said the name again. "Sam. Her name was Sam."

Al nodded slightly, looking towards Daniel and then towards his partner, hoping that the physicist's words had calmed the ex-Army grunt enough to allow him to listen.

Daniel glared at the hostage negotiator a moment longer before leaning back a bit from him.  Indicating the remote in his cuffed hand, he warned, "Insult Samantha's memory again, Jack, and you won't have time to wish you hadn't."

Sam nodded then started again.  "Samantha...what happened to her, Daniel was..." He hesitated when Daniel's glare became colder, and he glanced at the remote. He couldn't tell if Daniel's thumb had increased its pressure on the button or not, but he couldn't stop now. "Samantha's death was a tragedy, Daniel," Sam said. "A senseless tragedy that I wish to God had never happened but it did."

"And it's all your fault!" Daniel screamed again. "You law enforcement bastards will say anything because when it comes down to it, you don't care if you have to sacrifice somebody..."

"No," Sam said firmly, something stung in him by the accusation. "You're wrong, Daniel. Every life is precious."

"Then why'd you kill my sister?!" Daniel Shanks' rage, simmering to that point had risen up at his perception of the hostage negotiator's response.

"He didn't, you dense piece of..." Al started, his own anger boiling from the injustice of the situation. "Harry Macklin killed your sister. He's the one at fault! Besides, you care so damned much about your sister, what do you think she'd say to what you're doing here?"

For some reason, Sam found himself repeating Al word for word, including the angry intonations of his voice. When he realized what he'd said, he closed his eyes and waited for the end to come. He was certain that Daniel was going to kill them both now.

The acidic revenge that had been born in his soul the day his beloved sister and only living relative had been killed was boiling fiercely within Daniel Shanks. He was ready to tighten his thumb on the remote and send Jack Anderson straight to hell. But then Jack's voice took on some bite and, caught fractionally off guard by it, Daniel listened grudgingly to what the man was saying.  His anger tried to return to fever pitch but the question kept looping through his mind.

Sam, when he realized that he was still alive, opened his eyes slowly, his gaze fixing immediately on Daniel's face.  What he saw in the man's expression allowed a sliver of hope to dig its hooks into his being. Moving ever so carefully, Sam slowly managed to get himself into a sitting position, all the while keeping his hands open and palms up.  He hesitated then figuratively stepped onto the thin ice again.

"Would Samantha want you to do this, Daniel?" Sam asked, keeping his voice level and non-accusatory.

Both Sam and Al looked at Daniel intensely, though Sam's eyes were kinder than Al's, waiting for Daniel to answer the question. When he did speak, it wasn't an answer but rather a statement.

11:44:12 A.M.

"She was all I had. She practically raised me since I was eight. She gave up college to make sure I had clothes and food and a roof over my head. And then... she was gone. Just like that." His voice wasn't accusatory, though his words could easily have been. "There was a cop there and you told Mr. Macklin that there wouldn't be any cops."

Another alert from the handlink attracted Al's attention and he scanned the information being fed into the small instrument. He read it quickly, nodding and feeling his own bit of hope digging for purchase within him.  Lifting his head, Al looked at Sam.

"Ziggy got access to the records, Sam," he began.  The look in his eyes told the Leaper not to question how Ziggy had gained access to sealed FBI records. "She says that in the report, it clearly states that the cop that pulled Shanks to safety that day acted on impulse when he grabbed Daniel.  You...Jack didn't know until after it was all over that the police had stationed the cop there to hustle the hostages out of the building faster once they turned that corner." He paused then repeated firmly, "It wasn't Jack's fault.  You...he didn't lie."

"Daniel," Sam said softly, slowly standing up. When he didn't get screamed at for his actions, he pressed the issue gently. "I didn't know the officer was there. There was a communications problem, but he was there to make sure that every one got out of the building safely. That officer was doing his job when he pulled you out of the way, just like I was doing my job in making sure that all of you were released. The only person at fault for your sister's death is Harry Macklin. No one else." He took a breath and let it out slowly, waiting for Daniel to look at him. "I'm sorry about Samantha, Daniel. And you’re right, I knew her, we all grew up together.”  Inwardly, Sam crossed his fingers as he added, “And I believe that she wouldn't have wanted you to do this."

As Jack Anderson talked, Daniel had hugged his need for vengeance for Samantha's death close.  He had no intention of letting the hostage negotiator smooth talk his way out of the punishment he had been planning for years.  But as he kept his gaze fixed on Jack's face, listening as much to the man's tone of voice as he was the words being said, Daniel began to feel the bitterness lessen. Then Jack said he was sorry about Samantha's death and there was nothing Daniel Shanks could do to hang onto what remained of the revenge that had been his touchstone to Samantha's memory any longer.

11:46:42 A.M.

It took a couple of tense moments before he closed his eyes and silently released the last tatters of his anger. Opening his eyes, he looked up at the man he perceived as Jack Anderson.  "You're right," he said quietly.

After a breath, he repeated himself, his eyes said. "You're right. She wouldn't want me to hurt anyone." He swallowed slightly, looking at the remote in his hand. "I know I'm going to jail for this. But..." Slowly, he offered Sam the remote. "It really doesn't matter who's responsible, does it. My sister's dead... and getting revenge isn't going to change that."

Sam let out the breath he'd been holding as Daniel spoke, a wave of relief sweeping over him. Considering Daniel's last words, the Leaper took a chance, ignoring Al's edgy, "Sam, what are you doing?" as he spoke again, because they still weren't completely out of the woods yet.

Holding out his unshackled hand to Daniel, Sam said gently, "Give me the remote, Daniel."  He paused when he saw a shadow pass over the other man's eyes. His pulse quickened again when Daniel's gaze shifted to look at the small control mechanism in his hand, his fingers curling around it again.  Sam's heart started up into his mouth when Daniel looked at him again before slowly laying the remote in the Leaper's palm.

11:47:01 A.M.

Al let out an explosive sigh. "Thank God!" he declared fervently. "Okay, handle that thing damned careful, Sam." Seeing his friend nodding, he added, "Now tell Lavvermore to get the bomb squad up here fast.  You may have the remote, but until they get that bomb off Shanks' chest, you're still not outta the woods."

Sam carefully held the remote, turning to Daniel. "We'll get the bomb squad up here to help with getting that bomb off your chest," he told him softly. He tensed when he saw Daniel shaking his head. But Daniel's words helped alleviate his fears.

"I made the damned thing. I can disarm it safely," Daniel assured him. Looking at Sam, he seemed resigned but not defeated. "I don't want to die anymore anyway."

For as much as Sam believed Daniel's profession about not wanting to die, another glance at Al's resolute expression told him that he had to play by the rules by which his host was bound in the performance of his job.

"I appreciate your expertise, Daniel," Sam said evenly, "and I believe you, but I have to call them in."  A small sympathetic smile crept across his face, the relief growing as Daniel replied quietly, "I won't give you any more trouble."

Taking a calming breath, Sam spoke aloud, "Dale...send the bomb squad up....nobody else for now." Blowing out a soft breath Sam added calmly, "I'm okay. I've got the situation under control."  He listened again to the FBI agent's voice in his ear with a simple, "Okay." Shifting his gaze to the man to whom he was handcuffed, he said, "Let's sit down. They'll be up here in a few minutes to remove the handcuffs and the bomb."

Carefully the two men lowered themselves to the floor. When they were seated on the floor, Daniel with his free hand flat on the floor beside him at Sam's quiet order, both men appeared to feel the last of the tension fading.

"What happens now?" Daniel asked quietly, looking at Sam.  Sam in turn tilted his head slightly, his gaze seemingly sweeping the area behind Daniel even as he fixed on Al's face.

Al's fingers were again working the buttons on the handlink rapidly. "Sam, Daniel Shanks is charged and convicted of attempted robbery, hostage taking, making threats with a deadly weapon and making bomb threats. He's sentenced to thirty years to life in San Quentin." He paused a second then added somberly, "He never gets out.  He gets killed in a prison brawl twelve years from now."

Sam closed his eyes at Al's words. Certainly Daniel had done wrong but Sam didn't think he deserved to die. He made a mistake but he was correcting that mistake right this moment by cooperating. Scanning Daniel's face, Sam could already see remorse on the younger man's face for what he allowed his misguided need for revenge to do.

"Jack?"

Hearing his host's name spoken, Sam came back to the moment, meeting Daniel Shanks' gaze levelly.  Swallowing then licking his lips, he told him, "You know as well as I do, Daniel, that you're looking at serious prison time.  Probably the rest of your life." He hesitated, jarred to his own core as he suggested what Al had confirmed just moments before.  Yet as the harsh words were sinking, Sam made a decision. He wasn't a hundred percent sure his host would agree but one lesson leaping had taught him was to never let any chance slip through his fingers without trying for it.

Placing his free hand on Daniel's knee nearest him, Sam said firmly, "I'll testify on your behalf, Daniel."

Daniel couldn't have been more startled if the hostage negotiator had slugged him. "Why?" he asked, clearly stunned by the magnanimous offer of help. "I really meant to kill you, Jack. Even if it meant..."

"But you didn't," Sam came back firmly and keeping his gaze fixed on the other man. "You let the others go and you surrendered.  That's got to count for something in your favor, and I'll do everything I can to make sure that the good things you chose to do in this situation have at least some bearing on your sentence."  He paused then added, "And I'll call Tyler Wilson to be a character witness for you."  Just as the words crossed his lips, Sam, Daniel and Al all looked toward the door and the hall beyond it to see a three-man bomb squad in full gear, and carrying a secure bomb disposal unit, approaching.  Sam and Al were diverted just then by a squeal from the handlink.

"Sam, you've done it!" Al said with a smile. "Anderson and Wilson testify both during the trial and at Daniel's parole hearings. Daniel gets parole in 2005. He's started a new life and now has a privately owned touring business. He takes people up into the mountains in a Jeep to do fly-fishing, camping, et cetera. Makes a good living out of it as well. Never does come back to Hilldale, though."

Again the two men and the hologram turned toward the door when the man leading the bomb squad team called out, "Agent Anderson, we're coming in."

"Come on in," Sam called out to them then turned back to Daniel Shanks.  He started to reach his unfettered hand to offer it to Daniel but felt the remote and hesitated.  Moving slowly, he put his hand behind his back, calling out clearly to the members of the bomb squad now inside the credit union with them, "Here's the remote. Somebody take it."  As he felt someone's gloved hand gently remove the triggering device from his open palm, Sam brought his hand around again, this time offering it to Daniel Shanks.  It took a moment before Daniel clasped it firmly.

As he felt the first tingling prickles that heralded the approaching leap out, Sam looked into the younger man's eyes.  "I want you to do something for me," he said.  To Daniel's questioning look, Sam said, "Remind me about my promise to help you." He smiled softly at the man. "It's been a...hectic day for both of us and I don't want to forget my promise to help you."

The last thing Sam saw before he leaped was the grateful expression on Daniel Shanks' face as he said, "I promise, Jack. And I always keep my promise."

Those were the last words Sam Beckett heard as he disappeared in a flash of blue light.

EPILOGUE

Al sighed with relief as the images disappeared, leaving him with only the white walls of the Imaging Chamber. When did this leap start anyway? A look at his watch reminded him that, although it felt as if he'd been up an additional twenty-four hours since the end of the previous leap, it had really been less than one. He wiped his face roughly and then started for the door, sending up a silent prayer. 'Oh, Lord. I'll do whatever you want later. Just don't let Sam leap in for at least ten hours.'

Walking down the ramp, he didn't even notice the feminine hands on his arms until the voice came.

"Hi, babydoll," he murmured with a yawn.

The "ten minutes" her father had blithely assured Julianna was all it would take to check on Sam had stretched into forty tense minutes, during which he never stirred out of the Imaging Chamber. Upon hearing the Imaging Chamber automatically powering down, Julianna had ran around the main control panel and up the ramp and so was waiting beside the chamber door when it opened.  She didn't say anything immediately when her father stepped out and started down the ramp. However, seeing him wobble a step, Julianna stepped up behind him and grasped him by his shoulders from behind. She let out a sigh of relief when he stopped in his steps there on the ramp, murmuring, "Hi, babydoll."

Moving around to face him, Julianna searched his face.  She didn't have all the details of the leap yet, but the drained appearance of Al Calavicci's face and the circles under his eyes that appeared to have darkened a bit more was all she cared about at the moment.

"Ziggy," she called out firmly as she walked Al down the ramp then turned toward the door into the Control Room. "I'm going to escort the Admiral to his quarters.  I'll be back in ten minutes."

"Very well," Ziggy replied.  "All systems have been reset to standby mode."  Shifting her focus to her favorite human after her 'father', the computer added, "Sleep well, Admiral Calavicci."

Al didn't answer Ziggy nor did he fight his daughter in walking him to the elevator and up to his quarters. At the door, however, he turned to her and touched her face.

"Tuyen's one lucky guy, you know," he told her with a smile. He liked the slight blush on her cheeks that she couldn't hide if she wanted to.

"Yeah, he isn't here making you go to bed," Julianna said with a hint of a tease. The look of concern, however, hadn't left. "Now, go on to bed. I'm sure Mama Beth's worried sick about you."

Al didn't argue with his daughter, merely brushed a kiss on her cheek then entered his quarters, closing the door quietly.  He hadn't moved more than three steps when he heard his beloved wife's voice calling to him as she appeared from the direction of their bedroom and tying the sash of her robe.

"Are you all right?" she demanded gently, coming up to him and giving him a quick hug. Leaning back from him again, she searched his face.

Beth's concerned questions instantly brought back to his thoughts the situation that Sam had managed to defuse.  Inside, he shuddered at the thought of how close they had come to losing Sam in a matter of minutes.

But we didn't, he reminded himself firmly and resolutely ignored all attempts by that bleak thought to get his focus again.

Blowing out a slow weary breath, Al cupped his wife's face with his hands and looked into her eyes a moment before kissing her softly.

"Al, you didn't answer me. Are you all right?"

"I’m fine. Just helped Sam with a leap," he told her as he slipped an arm around her shoulders and turned her back to the hall and went to their bedroom.  It took only minutes for Al to shed his clothes and pull on pajamas, brush his teeth then crawl into bed beside Beth.

"Night, honey," Beth whispered as she leaned over to kiss him goodnight. She was met with a soft snore.  Smiling softly, she kissed her husband's cheek then turned out the bedside lamp then snuggled against his back and followed him into slumber.