From: aa811@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Terri M. Librande)
Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
Subject: Troubled Waters-Part 1
Date: 7 Feb 1993 14:40:09 GMT
Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA)
Lines: 136
Message-ID: <1l3709INN4kf@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu>
NNTP-Posting-Host: thor.ins.cwru.edu


FORWARD:
This was written with the 'soul' theory, not the body theory of Leaping.
When I first started watching Quantum Leap, I assumed that was the way
things were until I was told otherwise.  Enjoy.

This story was written with Crystal Olson.  I have her permission to reprint
it here.  She is a nurse, and helped me with some of the medical terminology
and methods.


"Troubled Waters'
by: Terri Librande and Crystal Olson


Another leap.  That sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach and over-
whelming nausea--giving into complete and total disorientation.

The room was white on white.  Brilliant white.  Sam had to blink three times
to clear his vision. He was laying in a bed--a hospital bed, and not a very
comfortable one at that.  The body he was in felt weighted and in considerable
pain.  It hurt to move.  The room swam every time he barely lifted his head.
He didn't want to even think about sitting up.  Where was he?

He was obviously in a hospital.  IV fluids flowed through clear tubing into 
a vein in his arm.  Even turning his head, he couldn't make out the label
on the bottle.  If it was something that was supposed to help with the
pain, it  wasn't working.  Looking around the room, he noticed that the
furnishings seemed relatively modern.  A Gilligan's Island episode was 
playing, annoyingly, on the television.  Given as many episodes as it had 
been in reruns, that was not much of a clue as to the date.

"Mr. Frazier?  You're awake."  A beaming nurse entered the room, her alive
brown eyes twinkling at him under neatly arranged auburn hair.  "I hope you're
comfortable.  I brought your lunch.  Broth and jello, again, I'm afraid,
but you really need to try to eat at least a little."

She placed the tray on his bedside table and assisted him to sit up in bed.
The change in position, although painful at the time, eased the twisted 
fist in his gut.

Usually, after a leap, Sam felt overwhelmingly hungry and thirsty.  The
smell of the beef broth caused nausea to almost overwhelm him.  "You've been
very kind, but I don't feel much up to eating today.  If you take the broth
away, I'll try the Jello."  A sudden thought hit him.  "Could you get me a
newspaper?"


"Well, that's a switch."  She grinned, picking up the offending soup, turning
to go.  "It's good to see you take an interest in what's going on in the
world."

A sense of melancholia struck Sam as soon as the nurse left.  Where was
Al?  As if his thoughts conjured up the hologram, he heard Al's voice.  "You
okay, Sam?"

Turning his head, he focused on his friend, and found Al's expression 
startlingly sober and dark.  "Al?" he managed, his voice hoarse with
repressed pain.  "What's going on?"

Al hesitated, starting to reach out, before recalling the gesture.  "Your
name is Stanley Frazier," he said quietly.  "You're a patient in St.
Elizabeth hospital.  In the past six months, according to Ziggy, you've
been in and out of various hospitals."

"What's wrong with me?"  Sam asked, although he wasn't sure he wanted to 
know the answer.  He knew it had to be something bad, as much as he hurt.

"Not you, Sam.  Stanley," Al corrected.

Wincing as he attempted to find a more comfortable position, Sam retorted
weakly, "It sure feels like me.  And I don't like it.  So what is it?"

"We're not sure yet.  Ziggy's working on it.  Stanley's not talking."

Sam opened up the bedside table and saw his reflection in the small
pop up mirror there.  The face staring back at him was ravaged, not with
time, but with pain and illness.  "Oh Boy."

"Stanley is thirty-six years old."  Al's voice was low and uncomfortable.
"He's been financially secure, although he's been going through his
savings to pay medical bills.  He had a few close friends and no immediate
family."  He was looking down at the handlink, refusing to meet Sam's eyes.
"Listen, Sam, I'll go work on Stanley.  You hang in there."  His eyes lifted,
a smile barely playing around his lips, almost encouragement.  "I'll be
back soon--real soon."

***************

Reading the fresh copy of the Los Angeles Times his nurse had brought him,
Sam found that the date was May 25th, 1985.  Gilligan's Island was still
playing on the TV.  The nurse had insisted that laughter was the best 
medicine, as if the predicament of seven stranded castaways and a radio
receiver was funny.  His lunch sat, untouched, after one bite of 
rubbery Jello convinced him of the foolishness of trying to eat.

An inane game show replaced Gilligan's Island, but Sam's attention
wandered.  He was scared.  What would happen if he didn't have time to figure
out why he was there?  Stanley looked bad, one step away from Death's door.
Al didn't say anything, but Sam knew from his experience working with the
terminally ill in medical school that Stanley didn't have much time left.
Would Fate, Time, or God get him out of this, if he didn't succeed in doing
what he had been leapt in for?

He felt his mouth going dry.  He didn't want to die, not here.  Maybe years
down the road, after he got home, in his own bed.

The flash of the imaging chamber door opening brought Sam out of his reverie.
"How you doing, pal?"  Al's forced cheefulness did not fool Sam.

He felt his throat tighten.  "How bad is it, Al?"

"Bad, Sam..."

At the older man's hesitation, he insisted.  "I know Stanley's dying, Al."

"Who told you?"  Al asked, surprised.

"I just know," Sam hesitated.  There were no words t tell him how he knew
so he pressed on.  "What's he dying of and what am I doing here?"

Al took a deep breath.  "Stanley has AIDS." He paused, looking for a 
reaction that didn't come immediately.

"The HIV virus," he clarified.  "Stanley is gay and was pretty promiscuous
in the late seventies, early eighties.  It'
It's May, 1985 and he was diagnosed with the full-fledged illness about a
year ago.  He's hung on--he's a fighter."

More to come....

Terri
-- 
"Unscrupulous--but effective!"  Al in "Starcrossed"
Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu  Assistant Sysop
The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI