Anything For Love

Penelope Hill

"I would do anything for love,
I’d run right into Hell and back ..."

Monero, New Mexico
February 1999

My Leap in is even more disorientating than usual. I feel cold and nauseous. Bright light dazzles my eyes. I am lying on my back on cold ground, the sharp powder of snow beneath my outstretched hand. The air that enfolds me has a bitter bite to it. I groan. It seems appropriate somehow. A shadow moves between me and the light, a figure that comes to crouch over me. I blink and focus, cracking a wan smile as I recognise the face that swims into view.

"Hi, Al," I manage weakly. The concern written across his features relaxes a little; a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

"Just take it easy, kiddo," he advises softly. His hand reaches down and gently brushes back the hair from my eyes. I stiffen at the unexpected contact, a reaction he clearly misinterprets as pain. "Is that tender?" he asks with alarm. I shake my head cautiously, watching him with some confusion. He’s there, really there, not an intangible image, but whole and solid. "Okay," he decides, his expression settling into determination, "let’s get you out of the snow and back into the warm, huh?" His arm slides under my shoulders, helping me to sit up. The world spins and I lean into his support with grateful relief. His free hand gently cups the curve of my cheek, turning my face toward him. The look in his dark eyes is intense - concern, a little fear, and something else. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.

"You okay, Sam?" he asks. I nod, then wish I hadn’t.

"Liar," he accuses good-naturedly; then he leans a little closer, to plant a disconcerting kiss on my unsuspecting cheek. "You’ll be okay," he announces, shifting to lift me easily to my feet, "or my name isn’t Alonzo Calavicci."

Alonzo? The world tumbles away from me at an alarming rate. "Oh boy," I manage, just as I collapse into his waiting arms ...

I came round eventually, to find myself tucked onto a comfortable couch, the heavy jacket I had been wearing replaced by the soft contours of a light blanket. A log fire roared in a stoneclad hearth a few feet away, and the stranger I had thought was my friend sat in anxious vigil on a chair he’d clearly pulled over for the purpose. He was nursing a steaming mug, but he put it to one side as soon as he realised that I’d stirred.

"Hiya, Sam," he greeted me softly. "How ya feeling?"

"Lousy," I breathed. My head was throbbing and my limbs felt like lead. "What - what happened?"

His grin was a familiar grimace of recollection. "I told ya to watch your step," he said, reaching to feel my forehead with a gentle concern that belied the rasp of admonition in his voice. "Six doctorates, seven degrees, and a Nobel prize, and you’re still enough of an idiot to play the fool in the snow. Ya missed me too. You throw one lousy snowball, you know that?" His attempt at light-heartedness was meant to be reassuring, and it was, in an odd sort of a way, although it could not conceal the anxiety in his eyes. I’d scared him, somehow. "You caught your head with one hell of a crack," he added, finally giving me the answer to my original question.

"I did? Oh." Cracking my head would explain the headache and the nausea. It didn’t explain anything else though - like where I was and what he was doing there. In person. "I don’t remember." I decided to take advantage of that track. "I’m not even sure I remember where I am."

His assumed cheery manner evaporated immediately. "You don’t - Sam? You want me to call the doctor?"

"No." I put out my arm to stay his impulse to rise. He hesitated, then dropped back to his chair, wrapping my proffered hand with both of his own. "I’ll be fine," I insisted. "Really. Just - remind me of a few things, okay?"

He considered me with a wary look, his fingers caressing the curve of my palm with disturbing intimacy. "Okay," he agreed after a moment. He was Al, the timbre of his voice unmistakable, his face and features utterly familiar. Even his clothes fitted the image; he was wearing a shirt patterned with scarlet and emerald check, dark denim jeans with a silver inset stripe tucked into black leather cowboy boots, and an improbable belt, embroidered with leaping fish and buckled with a pair of silver dolphins. The resemblance was uncanny, yet I knew - somehow - that this was not the man I had first taken him to be, just as I was not the ‘Sam’ he expected. "Where do you want me to start?" he asked, then grinned, a self-deprecating grin. "I sound like you’re on a Leap," he laughed, the words astonishing in themselves. His fingers tightened about mine with affectionate pressure. "Thank god you’re home safe from that."

"I am?" My reaction was involuntary. Perhaps I hadn’t Leaped in after all. Perhaps I was home and didn’t remember it, only ... only, this was the wrong Calavicci, and nothing my Swiss-cheesed brain could recall explained why that might be. He’d given me a startled look at the exclamation.

"Sure you are ... You don’t remember that? Jeezus, Sam. Maybe I’d better get you a doctor."

"No," I repeated, a stronger insistence this time round. I didn’t need a doctor. Just an explanation. The look in his eyes softened from alarm to anxious affection.

"All right, lover," he breathed, patting my hand as he did so. "Don’t panic on me."

My heart lurched to a halt at the easy sound of his words. Lover? He said it so casually, yet so laced with comfortable certainty that I knew he wasn’t joking.

"We came up here to get you some R&R, so just relax, you hear? I don’t want to call the doc unless you really need him. Hell - no-one back at the Project even knows where we are. Except for Vega, of course. You never could keep a secret from her."

Vega? Didn’t he mean Ziggy? Maybe not. Maybe for Alonzo Calavicci the computer back at the Project was called Vega, and Sam - whoever - was his lover. But that wasn’t me. I just knew it wasn’t, and I was beginning to seriously worry about where the hell I had found myself.

"We’re in Firpeak, by the way," he was saying brightly. "The lodge, just north of Monero? Got the whole place to ourselves for once. Remember now?"

Firpeak. I frowned, odd snatches of memory tantalising me. A lodge, high in the Rockies, isolated enough for high-powered meetings and secret conferences. Project money had built it, back in the early days before Ziggy and the high security of the base was on-line. Al loved the place, I recalled, because it offered total privacy and a certain amount of luxury for a man needing to think - or pursue other aims. Usually female and receptive to pampering. I stared at the man beside me and anxiety began to churn in my stomach. My Al had never looked at me like that. Nobody that I could recall had ever looked at me like that. It was an oddly vulnerable look, too.

"Sam," he sighed. "It’s okay. You just need to rest up a little, that’s all. It’ll come back to you." His smile was tinged with old memories that I had no way of comprehending. "The way you came back to me ... Get some sleep, huh? Let the Commodore here worry about everything else."

I didn’t need to ask who the Commodore might be. I filed his peculiar drop in rank along with all the other mystifying pieces of the puzzle. "Sure," I agreed. I did need to sleep. I couldn’t think properly with this pounding headache. I found him what I hoped was a reassuring smile. He smiled back - then leaned down and kissed me. Not a gentle peck on the cheek, but a full lipped kiss, delivered with easy assurance and meant with a vengeance. I was too astonished to pull away, which was probably just as well. Even so, his eyes held vague puzzlement as he leaned back from the gesture.

"Sam?" he queried, the word sounding a little hurt and anxious. I immediately regretted the unresponsiveness of my reaction. This wasn’t my Al, who’d have had a fit at the barest suggestion there might be anything but a strictly brotherly friendship between the two of us, but, like the man I had mistaken him for, he was a sensitive soul, concerned for someone he held in great affection - and it seemed I was in danger of damaging that relationship by acting like a wet fish. I steeled myself for the required playacting - something I was improving at with practice - grinned a little playfully and reached to pull him back toward me with determined affection. Maybe it wasn’t all playacting at that. He might not be the right man, but he was close enough for me to feel a delight in his presence, in the ability to clasp his shoulder and feel the solid muscle that lay beneath.

He came to me without resistance, his lips curving in a generous smile before they once again impacted on my own. That was definitely not a kiss of simple friendship. If anything it was teasingly passionate, a hint and a promise wrapped in an expression of love. I closed my eyes and thought to summon the vision of some fantasy goddess in order to respond in kind. It was almost too easy, the kiss itself stirring my senses with sensual expertise. If Albert Calavicci kissed the way Alonzo did, it was no wonder the women went crazy over him ...

"That’s more like it," he said as we parted, his hand buffing my nose with friendly intent. "We’re not at the Project now, you know. Just you and me - "

"And a screaming headache," I interjected, trying to make it a gentle joke. He took it as one, accepting the rebuff with sympathetic grace.

"I’ll get you something for that," he promised and rose to his feet, pausing only to check that the blanket was securely tucked around me. I heard him walk away, then back again a few minutes later. I took the pills he offered me, downing them with the help of the glass of mineral water he also brought. Then I hunkered down into the couch and flashed him a weary smile; he collected his mug and left me to sleep in peace and quiet. I don’t think he actually left the room, but at least he didn’t hover over me like an anxious shadow. Eventually the crackling warmth of the fire and the haze of the pills had the required effect and I sank into a welcome sleep.

I woke much later, the leap of the fire the only light in the room. A quiet wind was moaning softly outside the windows but there was no other sound apart from the low crackle of the logs in the hearth. Even they had burned low, coccooning me in a gentle warmth. I stirred and stretched, feeling the tug of abused muscles protest at the action. I hurt all down one side, although most of the headache was gone.

I threw off the blanket carefully and eased myself up, glancing around as I did so. There was no sign of my earlier companion. The airy open-plan room was oddly familiar and totally strange, all at the same time. The stained rough-cut timbers of the ceiling and the polished wood that made up the upper balconies and the curve of the stairs, along with the scattered rugs that covered the floor, all added to the impression of a hunting lodge, although there were no stuffed heads looming at me from the walls. Instead there were framed photographs of stellar bodies, spiral galaxies and dramatic ringed worlds among them. Where there should have been rifles, or swords artistically placed, there were trophies of a different kind - a robotic arm, delicate and somehow elegant; the spiral of molecular DNA; a panel reproducing the etching of a complex micro chip; and a laser disc, shot with a rainbow of colours as the firelight played over it. I grinned wryly at the choice of decorations and padded, barefoot across to the archway I knew led to the kitchen.

"Al?" I called cautiously, but got no reply. The well-appointed facility was also empty, but there was a note - held against the door of the refrigerator by the magnetic grip of a tiny model plane.

Sam, I read in the scrawl of familiar handwriting. Weather report indicates another storm approaching. Have gone on recon for supplies, just in case we get snowed in. Back soon. Don’t do a thing. Just relax. Fruit punch in the fridge, donuts in the cupboard. Don’t eat too many - have filed flight plan for supper. Al.

I chuckled at the gentle dig. He knew I had a soft spot for doughnuts ... A cold shiver ran down my spine almost immediately afterward. First off, this wasn’t the Al I knew so well, and, secondly, who the hell was I supposed to be? I turned, seeking my reflection in the polished glass of the oven frontage - and found myself staring at an image I had almost forgotten to recognise as my own.

There went vague hope number one. I was Sam Beckett, decidedly male, and interestingly pale against the dark surface. I’d half-hoped to find a female version of myself staring out of the mirror. Even the streak of white that marked my hair was in the right place, although I looked distinctly tousled. I ran my hand through my mop to give it a more acceptable shape and stared at the result with growing misgivings.

Somewhere behind me a familiar sound registered - the low hiss of the Imaging Chamber door as it opened and shut again. I half-ran back to the main room, finding another Calavicci peering about with an almost panicked expression on his face.

"Al!" I called. He spun around in wary alarm, then stared at me with unreadable intensity.

"Sam?" He didn’t sound all that sure. I strode across and reached to punch his shoulder, relaxing a little as my hand vanished into the holographic image of his charcoal grey jacket. Not that he was dressed any more soberly than my absent company had been; beneath the dark cut of his suit he was wearing a purple and gold striped shirt, and his scarlet tie had a handful of little cartoon explosions printed on it - complete with ‘kaboom’ curving across them in gold letters ...

"Yeah," I acknowledged. "If you’re an Admiral."

"Of course I’m an Admiral," he shot back, eyeing my gesture with suspicion. "Why would that ... Oh, my god." His hand lifted to impact with his mouth, while his eyes darted around the dimly-lit room. "Is he here?"

"Who he?" I enquired, deliberately obtuse. He threw me a decided frown.

"Me. I mean - not me. Alonzo." He made the name sound like a disease, and I fought down the impulse to laugh. It wasn’t funny, and he clearly had information that was disturbing the hell out of him.

"Nope." I made my answer matter-of-fact. "He’s gone for supplies - Albert," I added making a point of being sure of his identity. He grimaced, with distinct feeling.

"Don’t be smart with me, Sam," he warned, lifting the handlink and giving it a shake. "I got Ziggy having kittens back here and - " He paused to shake himself, a shudder of disquiet that gave me cause to frown, "Samwise, sitting in the Waiting Room."

"Samwise?" I echoed in disbelief. His discomfort became positive distress.

"Yeah. His mother had a literary bent just like yours, but I guess Tolkien must’ve got published a little earlier around here."

"Samwise," I repeated softly. "That who I am?"

"No," he denied firmly, then threw his hands up in despair. "Yeah. We think. Sam - " He took a deep breath and fixed me with a hard stare. For the first time I noticed how fuzzy his image was, as if Ziggy were having trouble keeping it focused. "We thought he was you. Come home. He thought so too at first. We ..." He swallowed hard, glanced away as if unwilling to look me in the eye. "It took me a while to figure out the difference."

I gave him a considered look, remembering my own misconception earlier in the day. "What gave you the clue?" I asked, more out of mischief than anything else. I had a damned good idea, and he wouldn’t have liked it in the least.

"He’s a lot like you, you know, Sam," he observed, still not willing to meet my eyes. "And - and everything was okay until Verbeena left to get some equipment to check you - him - over with ..." Another deep breath. I was holding mine, willing myself not to laugh at him. I knew what had to be coming. "And then - dammit, Sam. I never had a man make a move on me like that. As if - hell - " He couldn’t quite formulate the words. "I didn’t know what to do. And neither did he, once he’d figured it out. I - I hit him," he admitted with a slight wince.

"And?" I tried to sound non-committal about it.

Another wince. "He hit me back." His hand strayed to stroke his jawline with abstracted recollection. "A lot harder. Then he got - apologetic about it."

"Oh, Al." I couldn’t help the note of amusement in my voice. He rounded on me angrily.

"This isn’t funny, Sam," he growled. "He’s - you. Another you, but still you, somehow. And I hurt his feelings, and then - well, when he started to explain, I came here as fast as I could. You gotta get outta here. Right now. Before - " Yet another deep breath, the words spilling out after it with undue haste, as if they left a bad taste in his mouth. Maybe they did. "Before the damn Tomcat comes home and wants to play."

He was right. It wasn’t funny. So why did I still want to laugh. "Tomcat?" I had to grin. "He calls him Tomcat?"

"Saaam," Al protested through gritted teeth. I waved my hand at him to forestall the threatened outburst.

"Just hold up a minute, will you, Al? I need to get this straight. There’s another me - called Samwise, rather than Samuel - sitting in the Waiting Room, right now, yes?"

"Uh-huh." The agreement was suspicious.

"And another you - Commodore Alonzo Calavicci, that is - on his way back here to the lodge."

Another agreement, even more suspicious than the first.

"Which means I’ve managed to Leap into an entirely alternative existence altogether. Another Project," I realised with growing excitement. "One in which their Dr Beckett came home ..."

"Sam?" he asked worriedly. "Don’t do this, Sam. Ziggy has no idea why you’ve exchanged places like this, but the best thing for you to do is get the hell out of there, right now ..."

"No way," I breathed, favouring him with a delighted grin. "Not when you’ve got an accredited genius sitting in the Waiting Room, who might just be able to help us out ..."

"Help us out?" His reaction was outrage. "Sam, you can’t be serious. We’ve no idea how close this parallel is. And you’ve no idea how he looked at me ..." He shuddered a second time, his sensibilities clearly shaken by recent experiences. If he’d been solid I would’ve hugged him - which would have been entirely the wrong thing to do right then.

"I think I do," I offered softly. The look he gave me was totally stricken.

"Sam?" he questioned, sounding pained. I took pity on him.

"Nothing happened. Just - " I wondered how best to explain this without giving him the wrong impression entirely. "I don’t think this is quite what you think this is."

"What I think this is? Sam? Are you feeling okay?"

"I feel fine," I insisted, suddenly wondering if I was going to have to repeat this conversation in a moment or two. "Al - this isn’t our timeline, okay. But here, you and I are still real close - "

"Real close!" The outrage was back. I held his eyes with mine, challenging him to stop thinking with his hormones and actually think about it, and, after a moment’s fuming, he calmed down again. "Real close," he repeated, then stared at me dubiously. "I don’t get it," he said. I nearly told him he would, but decided, just in time, that that would be too ambiguous for comfort.

"Al," I said instead, wondering if now was the best time to broach this and realising I had to. "You’re my best friend, right?"

He snorted dismissively. "Your only friend. Around here, anyway."

I held my patience with difficulty. This wasn’t easy for him. Hell, it wasn’t easy for me. "I’m being serious. You’re important to me. Really important."

"So?" He sounded embarrassed. That was a good sign.

"So - here, that - importance - just gets expressed in a different way, that’s all. Al," I hurried on as his face began to take on tight lines, "you and I aren’t like that. I know that. But - I’d do anything for you. Just anything. Lie for you. Cheat. Steal. Kill if I had to. You’ve always been there for me. That’s one thing this Swiss cheese of a brain I’ve got is absolutely sure about."

Now he looked really embarrassed. "Aw, Sam," he protested. "Don’t go mushy on me. Iloveyoutoo, okay? But that’s not the point."

"That’s precisely the point," I said, seizing on the warm feeling his words had inspired inside me. Quick, dismissive words, hurried over, but offered with sincerity just the same. "Alonzo said exactly that to me this afternoon. Not in so many words, but - Al, if I leave here now, if I walk out that door and I’m not here when he gets back, what’s he gonna think? What’s he gonna do? What would you do?"

He stared at the ground. Then he stared at the ceiling. Finally he said, in a very small voice, "Tear the mountain apart looking for you. Sam, I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all. Are you going to tell him?"

I thought about that, pacing a little to ease the ache in my side. "I don’t know. Tell him what? That I’m not his Sam? That Samwise is off Leaping somewhere with a homophobic Admiral who slugged him one because he was mistaken for someone he wasn’t?"

"Saaam ..." Maybe that was a low blow, now I thought about it.

"Go ask Samwise what he thinks. And ask him nicely." I smiled at the image this raised in my mind. "He’s gonna be confused about you. So don’t hurt him. We Becketts have fragile egos, you know."

"I know," he sighed, then looked at me with real concern. "Sam, don’t just think you can handle this. If this - Alonzo, really is like me, and he thinks you’re ... Well, I can take a slap in the face as good as the next guy - but I wouldn’t expect it, not from - not from you. Besides," he added, trying to sound nonchalantly proud about his reputation, "you ought to know - when I’ve got my mind set on someone - I’m good. I’m persistent and I’m reaaal good." He jerked his head at our surroundings with a wry grimace. "This place was put together with seduction in mind. Works damn well, too. If you have to slug him, kiddo, slug him hard and tell him why. Don’t feel sorry for him, whatever you do. You might regret it."

I threw him a cocky smile. "I know all your tricks, Calavicci," I said. "Won’t work on me."

"No," he muttered, "you don’t. I wouldn’t bet on it. And don’t say I didn’t warn ya."

He keyed up the Imaging Chamber door and vanished, leaving me to wonder what on earth I was going to do next. I knew, deep down I knew, that what I should do was tell the man I was now waiting for the truth. I wasn’t his Sam, and I didn’t think I could go on pretending to be, now I knew more about the situation. I wouldn’t tell a lie like that to Al, and his other self surely deserved the same kind of honesty. But the truth was going to hurt. Not because of who I was, but because of the look he had given me when he’d mentioned the Leaping. He’d lost Samwise to his dream, and had had to endure each and every Leap, knowing perhaps that his lover no longer remembered him as such, knowing he couldn’t touch him, or help him with anything other than words. Surely it was hard enough on my Al, who distracted me with suspect tales of his exploits and reminded me of our friendship with tantalising half-memories. How much harder would it be for him if what we shared had been so much more? And how much would it hurt to feel that loss a second time?

"Sam?" The enquiry was offered with hopeful concern. The man who made it was swept in by a bitter wind and a swirl of snow. I went into the hallway to help him, lifting one of the bags from his arms and dusting some of the blizzard off him as I did so. He looked up from under his hat and smiled, a relieved smile to see me on my feet and clearly in better health than when he had left me. "It’s blowing a real humdinger out there," he announced, shrugging out of his heavy coat and following me into the kitchen. "Forecast suggests we might be snowed in by morning." He paused to give me a suggestive grin. "Lucky us."

"Yeah," I acknowledged, suddenly uncomfortable. "Lucky us."

"You okay, Sam?" Alonzo asked, dropping his bag and his hat on the counter and moving across to lay a concerned hand to my shoulder. I looked at the hand, then up at his face, and I forced a smile.

"I’m fine." Dammit, there really was no difference between them - except that this Al was going to read a whole lot more into anything I might do. And I wanted to do something. I wanted to hug him, because this was the closest I’d been to the real thing in a long time. Succumbing to the sudden impulse I did just that, a nice tight hug with no other messages - I hoped. He hugged back, looking a little taken aback.

"Something I should know, lover?" he asked softly and I shook my head, then decided this had to be it and nodded instead.

"I have to talk to you," I said. "Seriously talk. And I don’t think you’re going to like it."

"Try me," he suggested, then grinned at what he’d said. "Well, maybe later, huh?"

"Aaal," I protested, my inevitable response when he decides to be flippant when I want to be serious. My own reaction surprised me a little. I knew this wasn’t my holographic friend, but I was behaving as if he was. The Admiral was right. I was going to have to watch myself.

"Okay," he laughed. "I’m sorry. It’s just that we have to be so careful round the Project, and here ... God," he breathed, pulling me a little closer, "you smell so good ..."

"Al. Alonzo." I sounded sharper than I intended. "I’m not who you think I am."

"M’mm?" He looked up - had to look up to meet my eyes, and what he saw there must have been much more convincing than any words. His expression drew down into tight suspicion and he let go with deliberate movements that put a good space between the two of us. "All right," he growled, a hard sound, the voice of a man used to command. "Who the hell are you? What have you done to Sam?"

"Nothing." I wondered how best to reassure him. "I am Sam. Sam Beckett - but for me, it’s Samuel not Samwise. I’m another Leaper. The same Leaper, but from a different existence. I must have Leaped in when Sam - your Sam - cracked his head this afternoon. Normally I wouldn’t have said anything, but this isn’t exactly a normal Leap. I’m sorry. I don’t have a lot of control over this."

He stared at me, his mouth half-open; then he took a step backward, trembling slightly. "You," he accused, pointing at me with an unsteady finger, "you let me think ..." His fist clenched as he fought with conflicting emotions. It was somewhat of a relief to find that he believed me. At least I wasn’t going to have him think me gone mad. His eyes narrowed down in undirected anger and he moved forward, seizing my wrist and staring into my eyes with savage intensity. "How dare you ..." he began, then broke off, his expression fighting for comprehension. "I don’t understand," he said after another moment. "Am I seeing you as Sam, or are you Sam? Another Sam? I should be able to tell when he Leaps. See who’s replaced him. Vega got us in sync, just for that."

"Yeah." I wanted to encourage this line of thought. "Al tells me much the same. Only we call her Ziggy."

"Al tells you ..." This was almost too much information at once. "Another me?"

"Hardly," my Al’s voice announced crisply, the man in question appearing somewhere to my left. The match in their tones was bewildering; I’m told I have perfect pitch, but I wouldn’t be able to distinguish between them on voice alone. Alonzo whirled in startlement at the sound, coming face to face with his counterpart, who stared back at him with distinct astonishment. "Hey, Sam," he realised. "He can see me! My god," he added in a disconcerted tone. "It’s like looking into a mirror."

The Commodore reached forward cautiously, his hand plunging into the image of the startled Admiral. Just as slowly he drew his hand back and stared at it. "You’re a neurological hologram," he said. "Just like ..." His gaze flipped from the man in front of him to me and then back again. "Is Sam safe?" he demanded with sudden force. His intangible reflection winced a little.

"Yeah," he said, then quirked a sheepish smile. "Sends his love."

Alonzo frowned at him. "What?" The question was suspicious. He glanced at me once he’d said it, the look almost accusatory. I shrugged.

"I gather that their - association isn’t exactly public knowledge," I informed the Admiral, who was groping rather distractedly in his pockets. He produced a cigar and lit it around the handlink, still watching his other self as he did so.

"Oh," he said. Then, "Ohhh," again, this time with understanding. "Well, it still isn’t." He shot me a look, as if to say ‘what do you take me for?’ "Folks back home think we’ve retrieved our Dr Beckett. And I can assure you, Commodore," he emphasised the rank with deliberation, "that I have no stain on my reputation."

"Just five ex-wives." I couldn’t resist the dig. He glowered at me. Alonzo blinked with disconcertion.

"Five?" he echoed, then grinned with sudden mischief. "How many didn’t you marry?"

"I never kept count," the hologram growled with a hint of discomfort. "How about you? The Navy ever find out about your - flexibility?"

"I didn’t find that out until Sam came along." Alonzo’s expression had become shuttered. "I want him back."

"Yeah." Albert Calavicci sighed, looking sideways at me. "Me too."

It wasn’t the answer either of us were expecting. The Commodore’s defensive anger was deflated instantly. He looked again from the image of himself to me, and then back again. "I should have realised," he offered quietly. The Admiral took a careful pull at his cigar.

"It’s their fault," he noted, waving at me as he said it. "We’ve no idea why this - exchange - has happened, but Samwise seems to think it might have something to do with the residual resonances of his return. He thinks he might be able to recalibrate the Accelerator and prime it for a retrieve. He’s not sure if he can get my Sam all the way back to the Project, but he’s fairly hopeful he can get him back into his own lifetime at least."

"How long is this going to take?" That was Alonzo, not me. I was trying to imagine what might have happened to get us cross-wired to begin with. Two universes, with a very close match, a Sam Beckett Leaping in both of them - a very worried thought crossed my mind. If this had happened while Samwise was Leaping, would any of us have noticed the difference? And what if it already had, and we hadn’t ...? Albert had shrugged.

"Couple of days. He said to say - " He found another of those crooked grins. "This might be fun. And not to worry. There’s a first time for everything and the second time round should be just as good." He shrugged uncomfortably. "I’m not entirely sure what he meant. But he seems to know what he’s talking about."

Commodore Calavicci broke into a broad grin. "Son of a bitch," he swore. "Well, if he thinks he can make the best of this situation, I don’t see why I shouldn’t." He threw me an odd look. "Guess I’m stuck with you for a couple of days." He jerked his head in his counterpart’s direction. "Or is it both of you?"

"Not me," the Admiral denied, a little worriedly. "Not for any length of time, anyway. This interface takes too much power. Ziggy can’t maintain it for long. Commodore - " He put a lot of suspicious emphasis on his next words. "Take very good care of Samuel, won’t you?"

Alonzo nodded, snapping him a mock salute. "Aye, aye, sir."

"Say that as if you mean it," I advised with a grin. "He made Admiral."

Al - my Al - grinned at me for that, no doubt relishing the look that chased over his opposite’s face. The Commodore recovered his equilibrium quickly. "Congratulations," he offered. "But you’d better make sure Sam knows, or he’ll be calling you the wrong thing in public."

"Uh-uh," I denied. "I don’t make that kind of mistake. I’ve had plenty of practice being someone else."

"Right," Alonzo acknowledged. "You," he jabbed his finger in the hologram’s direction, "keep a careful eye on my Sam, you hear?"

"I hear." The Admiral eyed him uncomfortably for a moment. "Just remember that he’s not your Sam. He’s mine. And Sam - you remember what I said."

"Get outta here, Al," I advised, watching the edges of his image fritz and shudder. "Before Ziggy blows a fuse. I’ll be okay. I got two days’ vacation." He didn’t look convinced. "Hey," I went on, taking a step in his direction. "I can look after myself. I’m a big boy now."

"That," he observed with a sigh, "is what I’m worried about. Just make sure," he added, leaning closer to make it personal, "you don’t forget he isn’t me. Think about me and a blonde chorus girl snowed into the lodge for a few days."

I did. It brought a smile to my face. Not least because of the compliment it implied. I’m nothing like the sort of blonde chorus girl he was referring to - at least, I don’t think I am, anyway. "I promise," I said, laying my hand over my heart, "not to do anything I might regret. You remember he isn’t me either. Treat him with respect."

"I always treat you with respect," he protested. "See ya later, Sam"

He keyed up the door and vanished in a flare of light, leaving me alone with a stranger who was also somehow my friend.

"Well," Alonzo said after an awkward silence. "I hope you like pasta, ‘cos I’m gonna start the supper before we both starve to death."

I had forgotten what a wonderful cook Al is. You probably haven’t lived until you’ve eaten Fettucine alla Calavicci. The Commodore matched that particular recollection with effortless skill, which gave me cause to wonder just how close the match between our parallel existences was. I suspect he was also wondering the same thing - the consideration he favoured me with while we tackled his creation was both wary and disconcerted. We ate in silence, the awkwardness between us born of desperate curiosity and what could have been embarrassed terror. I didn’t want to start asking questions just in case I got answers I didn’t like, and he was undoubtedly considering everything he might have said and done since my arrival. Eventually he pushed his half-finished plate away from himself and fixed me with a determined stare.

"Let’s start this one over," he suggested slowly. "So we know where we stand." He reached for the opened bottle of beer I’d dropped beside him while setting the table and took a careful swig, his eyes never leaving my face. "I don’t know you Samuel Beckett. And you don’t know me. Except ..."

"It’s too close for comfort, isn’t it?" I observed, lifting my own beer and wiping at the lip with my thumb. "Only - you got the advantage, Commodore. What I know about Admiral Calavicci is damned sketchy and probably half exaggeration. And all of it - most of it - from his own mouth."

He quirked a half-grin. "Sam never did get the hang of that Swiss cheese business," he recalled, eyeing me with unexpected sympathy. Perhaps it wasn’t so unexpected after all. "If it’s any help, I never really lied to him. Stretched the truth a little occasionally, held it back more often, but never lied exactly - not when it mattered."

"Not even about the Laker’s game?" I asked, spurred by devilish curiosity. He looked decidedly startled.

"You know about ... Dammit," he realised. "Do we really run that close?"

"I don’t know." I picked up my beer and then myself, waving him through to the warmer comfort of the main room. "That’s what I’m trying to figure out."

He followed my lead, his features furrowed into anxious thought. "Sam," he said worriedly, "where the hell do we start on something like this?"

I halted in my tracks, suddenly aware that I knew something about him and Samwise that he couldn’t be sure about Al and me. He bumped into my shoulder and I swear he fought down the impulse to pat my butt to get me moving again. I half-wished he had. It would have given me the opening I needed. "Al - " I began, then corrected it. "Alonzo - I think we should start by being honest with each other." I turned to face him, finding familiar features creased with equally familiar concern. "I’m not Al’s lover, okay? He’s so straight you could use him as a ruler. And that’s not hearsay or speculation, just something I know."

"Yeah," he sighed, moving past me and down the shallow steps toward the rebanked fire. "I’d already figured that one out. You know," he said, glancing back at me with an echo of guilt in his expression, "used to be I’d try and give Sam that impression. While he was Leaping. Made it - easier, somehow. For him, anyway. He never did remember. Until he came home." He came to a halt in front of the fire and lifted the bottle as if to take another drink, then lowered it again with another sigh. "Just over a month ago ..." He shivered, and a part of me echoed it. Was he trying to suggest ...? Surely not. Even allowing for Swiss cheese there are some things I’m quite sure about.

"I guess your Al finds my existence a little scary where he’s concerned." He forced his voice back to a more conversational tone. "A threat to his self-certainty, probably." He swung back to face me, a shadow outlined by firelight and the soft flare of the lamps. "How about you, Samuel? How do you feel about it?"

"I don’t know," I answered honestly. I walked past him and sank into one of the easy chairs, unable to avoid a wince as the strained muscles in my side protested at the movement. He frowned, catching the reaction, but didn’t say anything. Instead he picked the opposite chair and stared at me over the intervening space. I wasn’t prepared to pass any kind of judgement until I knew more about the situation. "How about you?"

He gaped - and then he laughed, tipping himself back into the chair with decided amusement. "You got a doctor by the name of Beeks works at the Project by any chance? I thought as much," he acknowledged at my non-committal shrug. "That’s his trick. Turn the question round and fire it straight back."

"Plus ça change ..." I quoted softly, turning the beer bottle in my hands.

"... plus c’est la même chose," he completed, the look he gave me a challenging one. "Point one," he said, dropping the bottle to the floor beside him and ticking the matter off on his fingers. "I’ve known Samwise Beckett for over twenty years. I probably fell for him way back then, except I couldn’t see it - and denying that damn near tore me apart later. I compensated with too many women, tried two more disastrous marriages, and after I chucked away my career I got myself tangled up with drink, and nearly took my own life. Sam ... gave me back my sense of purpose, my self-respect, and a reason for living. He still does - no matter how hard it seems sometimes.

"Point two. We keep our relationship low-key and private because that’s the way we like it. Not because we’re afraid, or even bothered about what others might think. I occasionally worry about what it might do to his career and reputation and he tells me to quit being a mother hen.

"Point three - I still like women. I still chase women - and Sam’s the only man I’ve ever slept with. The only man I’ve ever wanted to sleep with. Does that surprise you?"

"No," I answered, a little disconcerted to find that it didn’t. The picture he painted was uncomfortably close to the one I suspected paralleled it. I had a feeling that Al - my Al - had been on that same kind of self- destructive spiral when I’d finally managed to get through to him. Not because of me of course, but take that out of the equation and I suspected that the man opposite me had a lot more in common with his counterpart than merely looks alone. One or two tiny, minor differences - and they skewed the whole world sideways. Which gave me cause to wonder just what I might be doing every time I changed history ... "Does it him?"

"Sam?" He laughed a second time, shaking his head over experiences I had no way of empathising with. "Sam’s a law unto himself. Got more moral sense than the Pope - and puts himself completely into whatever he decides to do."

I quirked a smile at that. Not three hours before I’d told my best friend I’d kill for him if I had to. It seemed Samwise had found an easier way to express his feelings toward this man, and had been repaid with a commitment and devotion I wasn’t sure that I’d deserve. Except - Al was always there. Leap after Leap, despite the times I lost my temper, despite the arguments and the traumas, and the way I used him as a vent for my emotions ... He was always there. And, in a sense, was there with me in that firelit room, his dark eyes touched with anxiety for another me, another aspect of myself that I had not known existed. And there was one thing I could say to this man, that I could never express quite so openly to the man I would really want to hear it. "I guess," I offered softly, "that he loves you very much."

Alonzo Calavicci glanced up from his contemplation of the firelight and stared at me, his face echoing that look, the one that revealed an unexpected vulnerability, deep in his soul. "Maybe," he dismissed, reaching for the beer bottle and downing a long swallow. Al never does like to get what he terms ‘mushy’, and this wasn’t easy, this honesty of strangers. shared with such a close echo of a friend. More than a friend, for him.

"Why are you here?" he asked abruptly. I blinked, not expecting the question.

"I don’t know. Does there have to be a why about it?" Residual resonances, Al had suggested. I liked the sound of that - of me, being able to reap a small reward from Samwise’s good fortune. Time off for good behaviour perhaps.

"There’s always a why," he said. His expression held concern. "Something to put right. That’s what a Leap is all about, isn’t it?"

"Usually," I hedged. To be perfectly honest, I hadn’t given the possibility any thought at all. It’s generally the first thing I do worry about after the initial confusion of a Leap in, but meeting him had managed to drive the whole matter from my mind altogether. "But this isn’t exactly a normal Leap."

"No," he agreed slowly. He looked down at the bottle in his hand and I saw him shiver; it took him a moment to regain his equilibrium. "Sam," he asked, not really wanting to crystallise the thought that had occurred to him. "What if - " He glanced back up at me and his eyes were haunted. "What if this isn’t your Leap? What if - "

What if Samwise’s return hadn’t been as final as it seemed? He couldn’t say it. And I couldn’t answer him. Except with logic; what little I had available to me.

"If Samwise had Leaped into me," I pointed out, "then he wouldn’t have turned up in our Waiting Room, would he? He’d be busy being someone else, with a very confused Admiral trying to tell him what he had to do."

Alonzo pondered that one, but it didn’t dispel his anxiety. "Not," he breathed, "if the reason for the Leap was something at the Project ..."

I understood his apprehension, but his words fired a sudden flame of hope deep down inside me. Samwise had come home. What if this was his Leap, rather than mine? What if - what if the one thing left to be put right was my return ...?

"Like making sure I make it?" I suggested softly. His eyes went wide.

"You think ...?" I watched his face wrestle with conflicting emotions; with the possibility that the nightmare he’d thought ended might have begun again, and his comprehension of my situation and the hope his words had stirred inside me.

"I don’t know," I admitted a second time. The idea was appealing - more than appealing. Maybe too appealing ... "So," I said, deciding to change both the subject and the mood, "just how were you intending to spend this evening?"

He lowered the bottle and he eyed me with surprise. A slow grin of mischief curled onto his face and I nearly sank through the bottom of my chair in a gasp of embarrassment. If there was such a thing as a stupid question, that one had to take the prize. This was Al Calavicci I was talking to, a man snowed into a remote winter lodge with the lover he had only just had returned to him after an enforced absence - and the lover happened to be me.

"Forget I asked," I said hastily, which only made him grin a little wider.

"Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little education?" he enquired, enough like my own Al to take pleasure in seeing me squirm. I did just that, then winced with pain as abused muscles protested with greater emphasis than before. He was out of his chair and by my side in an instant, his bantering smile wiped clean away.

"Where does it hurt?" he demanded. I hesitated, then answered him honestly, seeing only concern and not connivance in his eyes.

"Left side, down my back," I explained. I must have wrenched round as I fell, straining all the muscles on that side. He frowned, reaching down to run his hand over the site of the damage, an attention I endured without protest.

"Everything’s knotted up," he said, strong fingers massaging the injury with gentle attention. I winced under the pressure and he looked at me with disquiet. "You need to relax, or you won’t be able to move in the morning." He stood up and extended his hand to me. "Come on," he ordered briskly. "Jacuzzi’s through there."

I looked at him somewhat blankly and he grimaced brief disbelief. "You’re the doctor," he pointed out. "What would you recommend?"

"Ah - application of heat and a site-specific massage ...? Oh, boy." Our eyes met, mine probably writ deep with confusion and vague suspicion, his suddenly wary and defensive. I’d have never even questioned my Al’s motives in such an offer.

"Scared, Samuel?" he growled, his hand still extended. I took a deep breath, and then took his hand, using his strength to help lift me to my feet.

"No. Just - startled, I guess. I’m used to Al - to you - bullying me with words. Practical help was the last thing I expected."

"Liar," he muttered, but didn’t sound offended. He pushed me toward the relevant archway, then went back for the opened six-pack from the kitchen table. A few short steps took me into the luxurious space that held sauna, mini-gym and the jacuzzi, the room all mirror tiles and polished wood. Alonzo strode past me to open the taps, eliciting a surge of hot water and a pluther of steam. I hesitated in the doorway, an equal surge of uncertainty pinning me there. Could I trust this man? What exactly was I afraid of, anyway? Of him, or of myself?

"You want help with your buttons?" he drawled, somehow amused at my disconcertion. I shook my head and came the rest of the way into the room, pulling the curtain across the open arch as I did so. He grinned and went over to the small fridge in the corner where he occupied himself with filling an ice bucket for the beer.

I undressed slowly, determined not to stare at him, and focused on the decor instead. My side really did ache, the movement necessary to remove first my jeans and then my shirt sending stabbing pains right down my back. I drew in a sharp breath, then glanced at my company, who was watching me with unreadable intent.

"Not joining me?" I tried to joke and he cracked a smile.

"Just enjoying the floorshow, Sam," he said. "A man can look, can’t he?"

I must have blushed bright red. He burst out laughing. "Sorry," he apologised, dropping the ice bucket by the hot tub and moving across to take my shirt from nerveless fingers. "You look - exactly the same." He leaned back to peer behind me. "Even down to the cute butt. Which you can get in that hot water, right now." The order was firm and comfortingly businesslike. I glared at him, but kicked out of my shorts and did as I was told.

The hot water felt wonderful. I sank into it with genuine relief, not realising until that moment just how tense I had become. I leaned back against the support board and closed my eyes, letting the heat soak into my body. When the subtle impact of bubbles registered I just sank a little lower, submerging all but the very tops of my shoulders. I had reached a state of quiet reverie when a hand slid across my spine and began to work its way up my protesting ribcage. I tensed, then relaxed into the gentle attention, feeling the knots working out under strong fingers that seemed to know just where they were needed most.

"Just take it easy," a familiar voice advised softly to my right. His hands kneaded away the nagging ache and I leaned forward so that he could work his way up to my shoulders. His touch was surprisingly delicate, a reflection of the skill he had once used to guide and control sophisticated technology. Once? This Calavicci had made mention of throwing away his career, whereas something told me that my Al was still firmly at the centre of his. Flying was a part of him, an integral part, the first true love of his life that he had never lost, despite the brink on which I had found him teetering.

"Do you still fly?" I found myself asking, a question which momentarily tightened the pressure of fingers and thumbs against the muscles of my neck.

"Not these days," he answered, a vague hint of disquiet in the words. "I never found the time to put in the hours for a civilian licence. Not with the Project and everything."

It would hurt too much. I heard the words even though he left them unspoken. I wondered why. What had happened to him, to deny him the one thing that had been so important in his life? Why was he ranked no higher than Commodore, when my friend had made Admiral and thrived on it?

"Been flying desks too long," he went on to say, working at one particularly stubborn knot under my right shoulder blade. "Can’t plough those into the deck, eh, Sam?"

Partial comprehension dawned. I opened my eyes and turned to stare at him, at the echo of old wounds he tried unsuccessfully to conceal. "What happened, Al?" I asked, hating myself for my curiosity but somehow needing to know.

"You don’t know?" His hands were still on my shoulders; they slid away with resigned weight. "It was - it doesn’t matter. The enquiry cleared me of any blame. Didn’t stop me feeling responsible though."

It never happened, I thought with confusion. Whatever it was, it never happened. "You quit because of it, didn’t you?"

He nodded, leaning back and studying the ceiling. "Let it go, Sam. I did. A long time ago. Too long ago." He sighed, then lifted his head and looked at me. "He made Admiral," he quoted, using the words I had made a joke earlier that day. "My god - Sam? What did you change?"

"I don’t know," I protested. He’d reached to catch my arm with anxious force. "Al never left the Navy. Not even when ..." I couldn’t remember! It wasn’t fair. I knew something had happened to this man that had never impacted on my friend’s life, but I didn’t know what, and I couldn’t explain why. He must have seen the sudden flare of panic in my expression because he released the pressure of his grip and slumped back into the water with resigned acceptance.

"I’m sorry," he said. "That wasn’t fair of me. He may have - what he has, but I have compensations." He turned away, his smile tinged with wounded bravery, and I wanted to reach out and hug him, tell him it was okay and that I understood. I didn’t, though. I allowed myself a single touch to his arm.

"Al," I said softly, and he turned at the sound of it, looking down at my hand through the bubble of the water, and he wrapped his own over it, with a tender pressure that turned my heart over.

"Yeah, kid," he breathed. "I know." It was as if, for that moment, there was no difference between my world and his. I was his Sam, and he my Al, and I forgot why I shouldn’t and gathered him up into the hug I had wanted to give him all along. He hugged back, then pushed me out to arms’ length and shook me gently. "Dangerous territory, Samuel," he warned. I grinned.

"Maybe. And it’s Sam, okay?"

He looked oddly amused. "Okay. You want I should get the rest of those knots, or are you gonna rake any more skeletons outta my closet?"

I shifted to offer him my back, and it was reassuring to hear him laugh.

We stayed in the hot tub, listening to the howl of the rising wind around the lodge and sharing ice-cold beer and inconsequential conversation. I think I drank most of the beer, although I wasn’t keeping count; it was a good feeling, relaxing with a friend without hassles or pressures, just being together without intent or purpose. Good, too, to be allowed to be myself, and not worry about having to pretend I was anyone else. Because he was my friend, just another aspect of him, and they had so much in common that it was easy to forget there might be any differences at all. We talked ball games - most of which I couldn’t remember but enjoyed recollecting anyway; and science, which was even better; and then we just sat and soaked and tossed word games between us, the way we had always done.

I wasn’t aware of exactly when things became much more than that. Al’s warning had been explicit and I’d ignored its implications. I was pleasantly tipsy and totally off my guard. Perhaps it just happened that way, or maybe it had been his intention all along. All I know is that a moment came when I was sitting with one arm draped around his shoulders and he reached out to put down his empty bottle of beer - and then he turned back and kissed me.

Not a forceful kiss, by any manner of means. A gentle statement of affection, easy to laugh off if I wanted; perhaps a manly punch to his arm and a reminder of who I wasn’t. It would have been simple to assume he had just forgotten for a moment. Simple but for one little detail that I have never quite understood.

I kissed him back.

I swear, I have never, never, been guilty of thinking of Al as anything but my friend, and my brother. Never for one moment been swayed to anything by his considerable charms. Would have been utterly embarrassed by the very idea of such a thing. And there I was, suddenly staring deep into eyes that were warm and decidedly sexy, Italian come-to-bed eyes that were doing odd things to my heart rate. It might have had something to do with the look he was giving me, the intense and determined attention that had never been brought to bear on me with that purpose in mind before. It might even have had something to do with the amount of beer I had drunk and the hot tub, and maybe even having been presented with the possibility. I’ve always been a little curious. Not curious to try this with just anyone, you understand, but the man who was with me now was one I knew would never do anything to hurt me. Who - in the best possible way - loved me. And I wanted to love him in return.

And boy, could he kiss ...

He tasted of sweet beer, and hot steam, and the barest hint of tobacco; none of them things I’d ever considered as being arousing before. It was just that, in combination with a subtlety of personal presence I could not have isolated even with a chromatograph, they were deadly. The affectionate contact became passionate expression; my arm pulled him closer almost involuntarily and his weight pinned me back against the support board as his hand slid up the water-slicked curve of my leg and hip. It was like being set on fire, but it was a flame I didn’t want to stop. And I had to. I wasn’t Samwise Beckett. I was Samuel, and I was making out with my best friend ...

"Oh boy," I managed as we parted for breath. My senses were swimming, and my body was betraying my reactions with oh-too-honest treachery. There was a grin of pleasure on his face that was an expression I had never seen before. Never thought I’d ever see.

"Just relax, kid," he breathed, dipping his head to mouth at the curve of my cheek, the line of my neck. His hands were already caressing equal waves of bliss from the more intimate parts of my anatomy, and the soft sweep of tongue and lips did absolutely nothing for my self control.

"Aaal ..." I protested weakly, melting under that assault, but by then it was too late. Far too late. I registered my surrender with barely a regret, and what turned out to be a great deal of enthusiasm ...

Continued in Part Two ...
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Disclaimer:This story has been written for love rather than profit and is not intended to violate any copyrights held by Donald P Bellasario, Bellasarius Productions, or any other holders of Quantum Leap trademarks or copyrights.
© 1994 by AAA Press. Written and reproduced by Penelope Hill. Artwork by Joan Jobson