From: Liven Goo X-From: rkwong@engin.umich.edu (Roberta Chi-Woon Kwong) Newsgroups: alt.tv.quantum-leap.creative,alt.ql.creative Subject: "Leap of Faith" part 9/11 Date: 7 May 1995 21:52:04 GMT Message-Id: <3ojfe4$s1n@srvr1.engin.umich.edu> This is being posted for the author, who doesn't have access to this group. Please direct all comments to livengoo@bcvms.bc.edu. This story is also currently appearing in alt.tv.x-files.creative. No re-formatting has been done in this section. ----------------------------------------- >Subject: Leap of Faith 9/? Leap of Faith 9/? Posted 4/12 All disclaimers still apply, characters still belong to the folks who thought them up, (Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen,.Bellisarius, etc.) Story can still be blamed on livengoo@bcvms.bc.edu. I've been getting a fair number of requests, folks. Tell you what, when this is finished if I don't have requests to the negative, I'll repost the whole mess in three or four BIG chunks. Until then, most of it is still floating around various places. Let me hear back what you think, keep the comments and insults coming, I thrive on 'em! Oh, and special note here, anybody who likes this story should also thank rodent and Amperage for nurse-maiding it. I could not have done half this stuff without their help. Thanks, you two. Reminder, to those who have forgotten my last cliffhanger. Sam has Leaped into Scully, the aliens have shown up, Mulder is spooking down around who knows where, and everything just got very crazy. The real Scully and Al have lost contact and are back at Project Quantum Leap. Dana Scully and Al Calavicci stared at each other in the sterile light of the Imaging Chamber. She suddenly lunged, grabbing his loud, gold lame shirt and shaking him. "Get us back there! Get us there NOW! Why did you pull us out?" "It wasn't me! I didn't do it, let go." Scully, in Sam Beckett's tall, broad-shouldered body had almost pulled Al off his feet in her anxiety. "Let-go-and- let-me-find-out-what-happened." Al's steady, precise words were hammering through her distraction. She let him drop and headed for the door. "Ziggy?" Their voices were almost synchronous. Gooshie and Tina hovered over the surreal, colored console that let them manipulate functions. They looked almost as shaken as Al felt. The pause before Ziggy responded was no more than a few seconds. Several centuries in computer years, translated Al's stunned mind. "Admiral." The voice lacked the cocky, obnoxious tone that generally marked it. Al hadn't thought anything could scare him more than the presence that had cut his tie to Sam, but this hesitant, tentative voice sent his pulse racing with fear. He swallowed, and glanced at Dana Scully. She was standing frozen, knowing she'd hit the point where nothing was left to do but wait. "Ziggy, what happened back there? What cut the connection? What's going to happen?" "I don't know, Admiral. The data resulting from the encounter is contradictory or unavailable. no projections are possible at this time." Al shut his eyes and tried to get his lungs to take another breath. Whether he'd be here when it was time to release it was more than any of them could say. He turned back to the Imaging Chamber, if things were still here in a minute, or an hour, or a day, Sam might still need him. He looked back over at Scully. She didn't even belong in this time. She looked like she had just realized she could die here. "I guess now we just wait." She gave him a sickly smile. ************************** Sam opened his eyes to a full, cold moon shining down through the trees. The unimaginable mass that had eaten the sky and left him in darkness was gone. The night was still, except for faint stirrings of insects and leaves. Sam slowly gathered himself and sat up. His watch was blinking, repeating 8:23 p.m. Full dark and the moon gave the lie to that. He staggered to his feet, gasping at the sharp pain in his thigh. The muscle had stiffened beneath the clot, and the wound burned. He could walk, but slowly. He pulled Scully's tangled, auburn hair out of his eyes and began to pick his way down from the lip of the hollow. The view below froze him for a moment. Lights and vehicles were tossed and scattered around the basin as casually as if a flood had gathered then dropped them. The crumpled craft that had been the focal point of the hollow was gone, and the earth where it had sat was swept clean by the nightmare wind Sam remembered. No living person was visible, and no sign of Fox Mulder. Sam collected himself and kept climbing down. Halfway down he found one of the young soldiers who had guarded the craft. The man - not much more than a boy, really - lay on his side, knees drawn up, staring in shock. He was breathing but seemed unaware of his surroundings. Sam didn't think he could do anything for the young man, and chilled at the thought of Scully's partner, caught in the epicenter of whatever had left this man so shocked. He could still feel the cold, helpless fear that had knocked him senseless even at the edge of the effect. It must have been worse as you got closer to the center. Sam had to climb over tumbled light arrays as he got to the bottom. The dust in the center was swept into swirls, obliterating any tracks. Sam couldn't see anyone down here. He finally just knelt and shook, too stunned and scared to cry or scream or do more than sit. The moon had dropped and was spilling through a cleft in the trees when Sam finally heard the sound of Al's door behind him. He looked up, thankful for the first sign of life he'd seen since he found the soldier. Al stepped through, with Scully, apprehensive and hopeful in equal measures. "Hey." He sounded subdued. Even his garish outfit seemed subdued. "What happened, Sam?" "Couldn't Ziggy tell you?" "We couldn't make anything out. Zig said the electromagnetic interference and probability fluctuations were overwhelming. We still can't get clear data." Now that Sam looked at them, he realized they were transparent. Ziggy must be having one hell of a time holding the connection open, even though the alien was gone. "I can't find Mulder." Sam hadn't realized how badly he, himself was stunned until he heard the dull sound of his own voice admitting that. Scully looked expressionlessly around her. "Al and I can look." She flashed a smile at him. "Don't worry, Sam. Mulder has a gift for getting through disasters." She didn't sound as confident as she wanted to. Sam took half the circle, searching in shadows, looking under strewn tarpaulins, anywhere he thought an adult could go unseen. It was Al who found him, though. "Sam! Get over here." Al and Scully were crouched behind a tumbled Hum-V. Sam ran, limping, and dropped to his own knees behind it to find a man curled, tightly, in the shadow of the cab. Mulder had wedged himself close to the truck, eyes shut and hands held defensively knit around his head. His knees were drawn up, as the soldier's had been, to protect his chest and belly. Sam didn't think he knew anyone was near him. Scully swallowed, leaning in close by Sam to see. "Can you get the lights on in the truck, Sam? It's so dark, is he hurt?" Al watched them, keeping a hand on Scully's shoulder. "Has he done this before, Scully?" Sam spoke freely, somehow sure that Mulder wasn't tracking anything around him. It was a surprise when Al answered instead of Scully. "I don't think he's injured, Sam. I think I've seen this kind of thing before." Sam looked back and up. "You'd be shell-shocked too, after something like that. Just hold him. He'll have to deal with it on his own. All you can do is hold him, tell him you're here, that they didn't take him." Al's voice was sad, lost, coming out of a nightmare decades in his past. And it made sense. Sam turned back and pried Mulder's hands away from his head, pulling him out of his hiding place and wrapping Scully's arms around him. He was still sitting there, stiff, with pins and needles in his arms and legs when the sun rose. Al and Scully were clearer now, more concrete to his eyes. Sam's voice was hoarse from repeating the same mantra over and over. "It's alright, they're gone. You're still here. I'm here." Sometimes he thought those were the only words left in the world. Mulder had relaxed a little from the terrified clench he'd held since Sam found him. That was, if curled up with your arms wrapped over your ribs could be considered an improvement. Sam had heard sounds sometimes, probably soldiers, stunned and frightened, waking and wandering away. He had drifted off when the sky went pearl gray with dawn, drowsing over Mulder's head. Al woke him. "Sam? Sam!" He sounded worried. Sam looked up at him through grainy eyes, a few flashes still sparking against the dawn clearing. "Sam, I don't think you're out of the woods yet!" Scully was yanking on his hand, looking at the handlink readout and cursing under her breath. "Damndamndamn they must have got a call out or didn't answer one. Sam," she looked up, "you've got company! It'll be military. You and Mulder have got to get out of here, NOW!" "What? How?!" Mulder was still completely out. "What am I supposed to do? Carry him? Levitate him? What? Look, Scully, these guys work for the same people you guys do. Won't they just arrest us, maybe get us a doctor?" Sam's voice was suddenly hopeful. "Sam, they are not going to be kinder and gentler with you. They are going to make you disappear! Probably permanently!" There was no shadow of a doubt in her voice. Sam looked to Al for some kind of sanity against this sort of paranoia. Bad enough from Mulder, he hadn't thought Scully was jumping at shadows, too. "Sorry, Sam. I think she's right." He was looking toward the sun, gauging the sound of choppers in the distance. Sam heard it, too. Al punched at his handlink. "Ziggy says you're no better off if these guys catch you on the ground. Sam, listen to her, get out of here!" "How?!" He shifted, tried to lift Mulder. There was no way. Even if his leg had been fine, it would still have been a five-foot, two-inch woman trying to lift a six-one man. Sam wanted to panic, wanted to panic RIGHT NOW! Scully found his answer. "Look!" She was pointing up the hill, a hum-v was still on all fours up there. It had clearly been picked up, but by some chance had come back down right-side up. "She's right, Sam. Get it down here." Sam scrambled for the vehicle, hearing the faint whup-whup of helicoptors fading in and out as they dodged in and out of the mountains. They were playing it cautious, that would give them a little time, but not much. Sam pulled himself into the truck and . . . stared at a dashboard that didn't make any sense. "How do I start it?" Why couldn't he ever, ever have a nice, simple Leap with none of this . . Al was there. "Like this, Sam." He pointed. Sam finally got it started. "What kind of mileage does this thing get?" "You don't want to know. Now you have to get the kid in the back." Sam drove, marveling at how the unweildy thing tackled the rough stretch down to the bottom. He left the engine running, jumping back to the ground, and wincing at the pain in his leg. Mulder hadn't gotten any lighter since the last time he'd tried to move him. Sam almost wanted to cry with frustration. He might be able to drag Mulder to the back, but there was no way he'd be able to get him up into the back. He looked around, desperate and wondering how the hell Scully had ever managed to keep Mulder alive all this time. Rope. That was it. He was a physicist, why hadn't he remembered! One of the most basic lessons, distribution of force. He ran for a pile of tools and rope tangled against an overturned light. Ten, twenty feet. It was enough. Sam found a pocket knife in a buttoned pocket and sliced off the length. He was panting from anxiety more than exertion as he climbed back into the truck. It was empty, not even benches, just a couple blankets, but supports of the cab would do what he needed. Loop the rope around a stanchion in the back, yes, pull both ends out. One tied under Fox Mulder's arms, the other in Sam's hands. The younger man would have some bruises, but nothing compared to what Scully figured the military would do to him. Sam took a double twist around one wrist, and . . . pulled! Yes, it was working. Pull again, again. Halfway there, again! Three more and Mulder was in the back. Sam tossed the rope in and threw himself back in the cab. "Sorry about the rough ride, Fox," he muttered and shoved the thing into gear. It rolled over everything! Sam bounced on the seat as it tackled boulders, hillocks! God, this would be great in rush hour traffic! Al and Scully sat on the bench seat screaming directions. They might just make it yet. The thing hurtled over the lip of the basin and careened down the trail. Sam kept his foot on the pedal, wrenching the wheel to get them around trees, boulders too big to climb. The helicoptors were drumming the air over the peak now. Al drifted up, letting his head pass through the top of the cab. Sam shuddered and waited. Scully was looking out the side next to her when she wasn't telling him where to drive. "Fuck!" Sam looked at Al, surprised. He usually saved that one for when (oh no) things got really, really bad. "They're onto us, Sam!" Hammer strikes and dust announced a strafing to one side. Loud speakers were warning them to stop. "What do I do whatdoIdo!" "Get off the trail!" Scully's back seat driving. "Turn HERE!" Into deeper forest, dodging between trees. The trees thrashed in the downdraft, frustrating motion detectors. They couldn't burn this forest, even the Army wouldn't dare fire live missiles here. Bullets were something else entirely. They were firing at random now, hoping for a lucky shot. "Al, can you scout ahead, find me a hiding place?" The hologram was gone on the instant. Sam was alone, or near enough. Mulder was going to be black and blue, Sam felt a twinge of guilt. The choppers were still overhead, but circling now. Maybe they weren't locked on anymore, searching instead of finding. Al was back, shouting directions. "Left, left, between those rocks!" Thick trees at the top of the grotto met overhead, the channel was narrow, getting narrower near the top. It was perfect. Sam steered in close to the left wall and cut the engine. And prayed. The whup-whup drummed the air all around, dopplering back and forth. Sam held his breath. "They're searching, Sam." Al's voice was a whisper. Scully was watching the tiny line of light above them. A dark shape crossed it once. Again. Then the sound of pursuit faded. Sam gave a sob of relief and dropped to the ground, trying to remember how to breathe in something other than a gasp. His whole body ached from the jouncing ride of the hum-v. Oh, crap! He thought it, bit it off before it escaped his lips (Al would never let him forget that!). He winced in sympathy and peeked around the back. Surprisingly normal, considering. No blood on the floor, no werewolves, or alien face-huggers. Just Mulder, still drawn up in a tangle of blankets and ropes in a corner. The split lip and bloody nose were no more than Sam expected, but he didn't want to imagine the bruises he'd find on closer examination. Fox Mulder was probably about to redefine black and blue. Sam rubbed his eyes and sagged against the tailgate. He was tired and hungry and scared and lost. Kind of like Snow White, he thought wryly. Al, his own, personal dwarf, was fussing around in the cab while Scully hung onto his hand, managing to look disgusted, scared and worried all at once. "What are you playing with? Hurry up." Her voice was harsh with anxiety. She needed to check on Mulder and this troll was playing treasure hunt. "Sam! Look." Triumph? What had he found? "Just like I thought, they've got a medical kit and MRE's behind the seat." A slow, idiot grin lit Sam's face. He released the seat back and pulled out a big, red metal box that proved to be a wonderfully well-stocked medical kit. "But what are MRE's?" "Geez, you really are swiss-cheesed! Meals-Ready-to-Eat! Compared to what I had in 'Nam it's absolutely gourmet fare." "Oh, sure." Scully rolled her eyes. "Can we quit playing with food, Admiral?" She was dragging Al by the arm, heading for the back of the vehicle. Sam grabbed the kit and swung himself up into the back of the hummer. Scully walked into the back, hauling Al along. She hadn't bothered to pretend to climb in, and the two of them sprouted like mushrooms from the truck bed. Scully frowned. "You're a physicist, do you know what to do for those contusions? Do you know what you're looking for?" Sam sighed and flipped the kit open. "*Agent* Scully, you are not the only one with an MD. Look, I know you're worried, but unless your psych rotation was longer than mine, you can't help right now." Sam was checking Mulder's pulse (strong and even), his eyes (equal response, but very bloodshot and probably light damaged), and everything else he could think of. He glanced at his audience. "If you really want to help, get me some background." Sam wracked what memory he had, and fished up his rotation in a Veterans' Administration Hospital psychiatric ward. "He's obviously dissociative, I need to know when he learned to do this, why, and whatever other history you can get me. There must be somebody at the Project who can help . . ." he looked up. Scully nodded. "Dr. B*" Al's hand cut off the name, earning him a radioactive glare. "Good call, Sam. We'll get on it and back to you." They were gone an instant later. Sam turned back to his patient. "Okay, Fox. I need to put some stitches in that lip, I think." Mulder didn't exactly resist when Sam pulled his chin around to see more clearly. "I think this'll be easier if you sleep." He'd have to remember to ask Scully if Mulder was allergic to anything when she got back. The antibiotics would just have to wait until then. For now, yes, good. The kit had sedatives. Sam checked the label and the pamphlet (written for idiots, with illustrations, just in case some soldier was left on his own) and drew what his fractured memory assured him was the proper dose. Hold your breath and pray it's right, then empty the syringe in Mulder's hip and go to work on the cuts and bruises. Save the lip for last, when he'd be deep under (tiny stitches, careful, you don't want a scar. Did he remember doing cross-stitch to perfect this?) It was a relief to turn to his own leg, and patch himself up. He almost injected himself with antibiotics, and realized Scully might be allergic. He sighed. So hard to remember who he was, sometimes. The Meal-Ready-to-Eat was as awful as Sam had feared. He settled in the back, with Mulder's head pillowed on the unhurt leg and diligently consumed every bite. If Al had had to eat worse food it was no wonder they'd lost in Vietnam. The enemy probably heard the rumbling of upset stomachs. Sam wished he could get one of the MRE's down his charge - it would be more merciful to feed it to him while he was unconscious - but that wasn't a possibility. He shivered. It was chilly up here. The summer heat didn't seem to reach this shady place. If they were lucky the army wouldn't reach it either. Sam doubted he could have that kind of luck, but for now he'd settle for a few quiet hours. The sterilization crew would be after them, but would have to track them on foot, on the ground. That would buy them some time, and Sam couldn't run full-out any longer. He curled up next to Mulder, taking advantage of the man's warmth, and dropped like a stone into sleep. Okay, comments? Crit? Insults or death threats? Bring 'em on. livengoo@bcvms.bc.edu