Date: Fri, 16 Apr 1999 16:53:02 -0600 (MDT) From: "Katherine R. Freymuth" Subject: Whale ch 32 Message-ID: Chapter 32 Al took a deep breath and a quick look at his friend before striding into the conference hall, looking much more confident than he felt. He could see Sam Beckett, standing at a podium, giving his presentation on his crazy time-travel scheme which he called Quantum Leap. Al found the sight a bit eerie, given he had just seen Sam outside of the hall. Quickly, he sat at the presentation table, hoping not to interrupt Sam's presentation. "Excuse me a moment, Dr. Beckett," Senator Weitzman, who was chairing the committee, interrupted Sam. He turned towards Al. *Shit! Just what I need!* Al thought grimly. "Admiral. Welcome to the hearing," Weitzman said sarcastically. Al stood respectfully as Sam turned and looked at his friend with deep concern. Al noted that he looked as if he were not only watching Al but also listening to someone who wasn't there. "I apologize for being late, Senator," Al replied gently to the sarcastic remark. "Certain circumstances arose which were beyond my control." He looked back at Sam, into the latter's eyes. He could've sworn there was sympathy there. *Does he know?* Al wondered. "I'm sure," Weitzman muttered, looking at Al with a great frown. "Next time, try to come a little more presentable." He turned to Sam. "Continue, Dr. Beckett." Sam was still looked at Al with concern. He waited a moment before slowly turning to face the committee and continuing the presentation. Al sat down slowly and tried to watch with interest. But his mind was not on the presentation. It was on a small black room with a black man and with pain so great as to do something the Vietcong could not do: break him. Outside the hall, an older Sam Beckett waited, thinking. He knew his work was not yet done. There was still the gun he needed to deal with - the special collector's pistol which weighed heavily in his pockets. And there was something else - something he could not put his finger on. So, he waited and thought and paced, hoping the answer would come to him soon. He stopped his pacing for a moment, an odd feeling coming over him. *My younger self has leaped*, he realized before continuing his pace. "How's it going, Sam?" Sam smiled widely at the sound of smoke, age, and maturity with youthful humor. It was what he had wanted to hear, what he knew his worried mind and heart needed. "Hi, Al," he said with a large grin before turning towards the voice. "I could ask you the same question. How are you?" Al, seated in his doctor-prescribed wheelchair, crossed his legs with a huff. "I'll be better when my ribs hurry up and heal," he said with a forced smile. "This damn wheelchair is driving me nuts but, if I DON'T use it, Dan and the others give me the third degree!" Sam laughed slightly at Al's little tirade but he knew that wasn't the whole story. There was something in Al's eyes. He was hiding something - something very painful. "So, did you take my advice to see Beeks?" he questioned, hoping Al would tell him what was troubling him. Al's face became sober. He nodded. "Yeah. I went to Beeks and, seven years later, she became ex-wife number six." "What?" Sam exclaimed. Al frowned at him. "I know I told you about the divorce." He exhaled with great sadness. "The whole thing really affected Julian... poor kid." He whispered the last two words as if it were extremely difficult to say. "Julian?" Sam questioned, still trying to take in the idea of Verbina and Al being married. He didn't seem to notice the way Al said those last words. Al looked at Sam with great concern. "Our... son. Your godchild. Talked about him all the time." He frowned when Sam seemed lost by his words. "What the hell is the matter with you, Sam?" It was spoken harshly. "Oh, boy," Sam whispered with realization of what Al told him. "Oh, boy, what?" Al questioned. Sam looked at his friend but didn't say a word. What could he say? That he didn't think Al's only son was meant to be? That he had changed history so drastically with his well-meaning advice? "What?" Al pressed angrily for an answer. "Who has custody of Julian?" Sam asked quietly. "How old is he?" A drastic change came over Al's face. The anger faded away quickly as if he had just realized he had committed a grave injustice to his friend. Sam lowered carefully at that face, into the eyes of his friend, and saw it: pain worse than anything Al could have suffered at the hands of anyone working for Lothos. It hurt Sam almost physically. *Gawd! What happened?* Al was silent for several moments. When he finally spoke, he voice was low and anguished. "Sam," he said before hesitating a moment. "Julian..." He lowered his head and closed his eyes. "Gawd!" he whispered softly. He took a breath seeming to gain some small measure of strength from it. "Julian... died three days ago. That damn leukemia!" A tear slowly made its way out of the corner of his eye. "Damn it!" he whispered angrily. Sam closed his eyes sorrowfully before opening them and looking upon his wounded friend. "I'm sorry," he whispered, lowering himself to Al's eye level. Al finally opened his eyes and looked at Sam. He didn't know what to say to his younger friend. What words could possibly describe the pain in his heart? "I miss him, Sam," he whispered. "It just isn't fair. After all he fought it, after all the treatments...." "He had suffered a long time," Sam said more than asked. Pieces of a memory which didn't exist slowly faded into his mind - of Al telling him during a leap of the boy's diagnosis. "Almost three years," Al replied in a low voice. "Gawd, Sam! He was only eight years old!" Sam looked at Al gently. "What are you doing here, Al?" he asked softly. "You should be with Verbina. She lost a son too." Al shook his head. "I... I can't. I'm needed here." Sam couldn't look at the tormented father anymore. In a moment's flash, Sam had given him a son... and fate had taken him. The thought was almost too much to bear, especially given the look that Al bore. *He blames himself for his son's death. Why?* Once again, he looked at him friend and a flash of memory stung him at that moment: <"He got sick. And he got sicker and sicker until, one day, he had to go to the hospital. Turns out he had cancer."> He knew the words he remembered weren't exact but he knew the implications. *Heredity*, Sam realized. *Al blames himself because cancer runs in his family; his father died from it and it skipped a generation to his only son.* "Al..." he started. He was unable to finish his sentence when the door to the conference hall opened, the other Al and Sam walking out. "Well, you got your project finally," Al was saying gesturing the leaper to escort them, as was Steinman's duty. "But now it's security central." He didn't look well to Sam. In fact, he looked... resigned. Dr. Beckett didn't look at the Admiral as he walked towards the exit, leaper in tail while the wheelchaired hologram closed his eyes in emotional agony. Sam's heart ached for him. He wanted to help him so much but he had to act like Steinman. "Good thing I didn't tell them about the Nuclear Accelerator Ring," Dr. Beckett muttered. The Admiral stared at him in shock as his older self opened the Imaging Chamber door and left, much to Sam's sorrow. "Nuclear Acc...!" "SHHH!" the Doctor warned. Al lowered his voice slightly. "Sam, do you know what that stuff does to the ozone layer much less every living thing on the planet?" The Doctor looked at Al with reassurance. "Don't worry. It'll be under controlled conditions." Al frowned at him. "That's what they said about Chernobyl!" The Doctor frowned at him before speeding his pace slightly to pull away from him. Al too quickened his pace. "Come on, Sam! This is serious shit!" The leaper followed, remembering the conversation but not remembering what came next. But something had happened - something that caused Al and Verbina to fall in love enough to marry and have a child - his... *Godchild? Is that what Al said? Did having a child renew Al's faith and, if it did, what would losing that same child do to him?* Sam had a feeling what the answer to that question was. He just hoped he was wrong. He wasn't. Al had left the Imaging Chamber with one thing in mind and it wasn't to go comfort his ex-wife. Didn't he need to be comforted as well? Verbina had her own means of comfort; she had the whole damn Project Quantum Leap staff. Al? He had... Sam. And he certainly couldn't go to him. Sam was far too busy in Al's opinion, what with Zoe and all, to take on this amount of pain. There was only the other option and he wanted it so much it almost hurt. He rolled into his quarters and stood from the wheelchair, desperate to be free of its confines, before slowly walking to the stash he had created three days ago. Opening his desk's drawer, he pulled out the unopened bottle of scotch and practically tore it open in his desperateness to pour it into the glass on the desk. Serving himself a glassful, he downed the scotch quickly. The sting of the liquor on his throat eased the pain in his heart. For a moment. When the ease was gone, Al poured another. The next morning, Dr. Verbina Calavicci went up to her ex-husband's quarters and rang for entry. He hadn't answered any of Ziggy's calls to the quarters and that worried her immensely. He didn't answer Verbina's ring either and the staff psychiatrist found it necessary to order an override on the quarter's lock. She found her ex-husband slumped over his desk, the scent of scotch permeating every pour in his body and five empty bottles of scotch on the floor. Rear Admiral Albert Calavicci drank himself to sleep... And would never again wake up.