Make Sure it's Forever - Part Three

Penelope Hill

It took three days. Three tense and discomforted days in which the violence of withdrawal was paced by confused and sleepless anxiety. Sam kept his word. He never left the man’s side, except to fetch food or water, cradling him through the worst of it, holding him against his own violence and even bearing blows delivered by delirium. At times Al lost all track of where or when he was, confusing his company with old friends, remembered lovers, or feared and hated enemies; he fought with unseen demons, or shivered under recalled abuse, and sometimes he simply huddled into the protection of Sam’s arms and cried like a lost child. Sam armoured himself for the conflict, although it was hard not to react at those times when his friend would look up - and then back away from him, fear surfacing in his eyes, the panic and the pain swallowing him into depths where simple friendship was not strong enough to follow. It was love that brought him back, a love seared by the fire of his sufferance, a love prepared to endure the impact of the man’s terror in order to reach out and bring him home; the fear would falter and be replaced by trust, while Sam wept silent tears of his own. And in between those moments of crisis, they talked; a tumble of words and a baring of souls wrung out of both men by circumstance and shared adversity.

Often Al spoke of ’Nam, of nights and days in fever heat and cramped conditions; of cruel or callous guardians, and of fighting for maggot-infested rice simply to stay alive a little longer. Sam listened with appalled horror to this catalogue of outrage; he’d known, he’d heard of what men had endured, but he’d never quite accepted it, never been entirely willing to do so. Now he sat and absorbed it, hearing it from one who’d been there, torn between tears and fury as each fact was unearthed and each wound faced afresh. Tears, because he could not still the pain that the memories stirred; and anger because these inhumanities had been forced upon his Tomcat, had savaged his soul and helped bring him to this ...

Searching for answers, for solutions, Sam countered with his dreams, with his desire to know. Speculations into theories that were way beyond accepted knowledge; his longing to travel - not in space, but in time. A chance to go back and correct the mistakes made in ignorance, to help the world heal itself from the same kind of hurts he was nursing now. Al lay and listened to him with an odd sense of wonder; not laughing at him, nor denying his right to reach for such a thing. Finding a receptive audience, Sam began to lay structure to his concepts, describing the theoretics in a defined way for the very first time ... They bounced wild ideas off one another - until the next shiver of distress silenced the words, until the fever came back and the ghosts stalked to taunt his haunted patient once again.

Ghosts that Sam could not lay, but could help relegate to the past where they belonged. On the second night Al finally spoke of that day in the sky, and of his shattered soul that it had left in the desert dust. His doctor, his Samaritan, curled a comforting arm around his shoulders and echoed the conclusions of the enquiry; that it was not his fault. That by blaming himself he only added to the grief it had caused him. "Let it go, Tomcat," Sam told him gently. "Accept it. You did everything you could. No-one can ever ask for more than that. No-one can ever expect more than that. Let it go." And Al leaned into his arms and shook, for reasons other than the poison that fought for him.

It was a long three days. Days of anxiety and of exhausting conflict; the patient grew weaker, nauseous and fevered. The doctor just grew tired and emotionally drained. Eventually they both slept, the crisis ended, the long haul to recovery just begun. Slept, one in the other’s arms, Samwise cradling Alonzo’s exhaustion against his own, knowing, as he did so, that it would probably be the last time - the very last time - that he might share that treasured intimacy with the man to whom he had given his soul.

Sam woke to pale sunlight and the start of a new day. He slid himself out from under his still-sleeping charge and tucked him in with gentle touches. Al was drawn and pale, held in a deep sleep that would heal far more effectively than any pills or potions. The scientist’s hand lingered on the warmth of the man’s throat as he reached to pace his pulse. It wasn’t over - not by a long shot - but the worst of it was past, and the road ahead would be easier to climb. Together, Samwise promised softly to himself. They would not talk of what they had shared, these days and nights past. He knew that, knowing it had given them a bond that would be hard to break and harder to define. Alonzo had given him his pain, just as he had asked, and, in return, Samwise had offered up his treasured dreams, his hopes and his heart’s desires. All bar one, of course. That lay between them, held there by the promise that wrapped his heart in sheets of iron. His love - his unstinting love - he could offer without restraint; but the fire that followed it, the stir of desire and the longing to share - that lay locked away in a part of himself he would never dare consider again. He knew its flame could make ashes of everything else, and that was a risk he had no wish to pursue. Chelsea’s ghost still hovered there also, an unspoken guilt he had not shared, but his presence was bearable and helped to remind him of just why he had made the choices he had.

He showered - alone - and then cleared up the wreckage of the kitchen, making coffee and breakfast as he did so. They had snatched nourishment over the past few days, and washing the dishes kept him busy for far longer than he’d expected. Its domesticity was oddly reassuring after recent trauma, and he found himself singing softly as he worked. He hadn’t done that for a long time, he realised. He was happy, and the comprehension of it was breathtaking.

"To dream the impossible dream ..." He began to sing in earnest, savouring the words that so clearly fitted his life and what lay ahead of him. "To reach the unreachable star ..." He waltzed through the bedroom door with a tray of hot coffee and milk toast, to find Al awake and watching him, a wry smile sliding over his features.

"You sound happy, kid," he observed with amusement.

Sam shrugged. "It’s a beautiful day. How do you feel?"

"I don’t know," his patient admitted. "First time in - I don’t know how long, that I haven’t woken up with a headache. My god, I can smell that coffee - and I think I might actually be hungry ..."

"Good sign," Sam decided. "But we take things slow here, okay? A little and often for a while. Look - I have to go out. Get a change of clothes, refill your store cupboards ... Will you be okay?"

"Sure." Al settled back against the bedhead and considered him with thoughtful intent. "Sam - "

"Yeah?" Sam turned back from his attempt to exit and found the man a bright smile.

"Thanks. For everything."

"Ah, forget it," Sam told him with nonchalant ease. "What else are friends for?"

They spent the next couple of days relaxing - that is, Alonzo spent much of the time asleep, while Sam doodled with ideas and kept an eye on both the TV and his friend with equal concentration. The few conversations they had turned to less emotional matters and they soon discovered they shared several common interests outside of the obvious ones. When Saturday evening came, it found both of them sprawled on the couch, absorbed in the scheduled football coverage.

Al made a point of admiring the cheerleaders with enthusiastic appreciation; his hands encompassed the most obvious of their charms with an extravagant gesture made more so by the addition of the inevitable cigar. Sam responded to the implications of tease by quietly remarking on what he felt were the attractions of the on-field quarterback. He had to suppress his grin at the bristled reaction this first elicited, then Al cottoned on to the joke and laughed at having laid himself open to it. It was good to hear him laugh, Sam decided, dipping a hand in the bowl of chips and taking another swig at his Coke. Good to just sit there and share this kind of mutual entertainment, yelling for a team again, after so long immersed in academic isolation. He had never, he realised with a brief moment of discomfort, had a friend with whom he could share such things - the things friends did, like going to a ball game, or the movies ... Not in his adult life, at least. Chelsea’s pleasures had been more exotic, and after the first few years in college the intensity of his work had seemed to take him away from all of that sort of thing. Even his music had become a thing of isolation, something that insulated him from the world rather than being a shared experience; lately he’d been playing heavy impressionistic pieces late at night, or working to a background of complex symphonies. He hadn’t even been to the theatre in years, his entertainment often consisting of a half-watched TV show while he worked with a book in one hand and a pen in the other.

He’d done all of those things in his youth - or many of them anyway, often with his younger brother, who’d drag his studious sibling out to act like a man for a while. His discovery of his personal preferences in some things had not invalidated his enjoyment of others, and he wondered how he had let them slip away from him. He must have let his thoughts drag him into silence; when the commercial break came and he stood up to go and refill the snack bowl, he found his companion watching him with reflective consideration.

"Pay you a dime?" Sam suggested, the going rate for unspoken thoughts in his family. Al frowned with suspicion.

"What for?"

"For what you were thinking. Kate used to offer me that. I guess I ought to allow for inflation though. A quarter, maybe?"

Al smiled, leaning back into the embrace of the couch and emptying the dregs of his can. "Cheap at the price," he said. "Keep your money, Sam. I owe you too much already. I was just - thinking, that’s all. It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything like this - with company."

"Me too," Sam grinned, sitting back beside him and offering across the chips. "Nacho?"

Al started to chuckle. "Nope. Macho," he corrected and Sam threw back his head and roared with laughter.

"I guess I deserved that," he decided, once he’d regained his equilibrium. "Feels good to laugh."

"Yeah," his friend breathed, crumpling the can with an easy squeeze of his hand. "You say that as if you don’t do it often. I’ve an excuse, kid. What’s yours?"

"Life," Samwise shrugged. "And getting stuck up my ivory tower, I guess. I don’t - connect well with people. I outthink them and they get nervous. You don’t mind that, do you." It was a statement, not a question. Alonzo eyed him with quiet sympathy.

"Used to it - doing it myself, I mean. Of course," he sighed, "there’s a lot to be said for the dumb blondes of this world ..." He paused and looked his companion up and down. "Present company excepted, of course."

Sam laughed a second time, hearing the intended humour in the remark. "I ain’t dumb," he declared, jabbing a thumb at his chest as he did so.

"Nor were you lonely at MIT," Al identified shrewdly. "I seem to recall a certain Sam Beckett being the life of the party. Everybody’s golden boy, right?"

"Right," Sam sighed, remembering. "Chelsea always said I attracted friends like flies. Keeping them was another matter."

Al pondered this, distracted by a sudden flurry of play in the game. "Chelsea," he recalled slowly. "Tall, black guy, played basketball and - coached the sports team, yeah?"

"Yeah." A sudden memory of Chelsea rose in Samwise’s mind, his broad smile and his mischief-touched eyes ... "He and I - " He shrugged. "You know."

"You and Chelsea Harrington?" The information was a revelation. "I never figured that."

Sam smiled, a little sadly. You never figured me at all, until it was too late, did you, Tomcat ...? "It was never exactly a secret," he explained, "but hardly public knowledge either. I had my career to consider, and he - well, he finally decided to come out, oh, six, seven years ago. Moved to ’Frisco, then back to the Village. We lost touch somehow. Shifted to different circles, I guess."

Al shook his head in muted disbelief. "Chelsea Harrington?" he muttered perplexedly. "He played pro for a while ... You seduce him, too?"

There was a hint of disquiet in the question, and Sam wondered if they’d picked a touchy subject to discuss. "No," he answered slowly. "Quite the opposite, in fact. Chelsea - " He hesitated, trying to decide how best to phrase this particular truth. "He was my first real relationship. Taught me not to be afraid of the way I feel."

An eyebrow rose in wary consideration. "That so?" Alonzo breathed softly. "You got more than one kind of education at college, right?"

"Right," Sam agreed with relief. The barest hint of tease in the words relaxed the growing knot in his stomach. The Commodore might be uncomfortable with Samwise’s chosen path, but he had clearly decided not to criticise it. Thank you, Tomcat. If you can’t understand it, at least you respect my right to be what I am.

"So - what became of him anyway? He wouldn’t have got back in a locker room after - what did you call it? Coming out?"

The knot tightened with a sharp jerk. "He died, Al. About a month ago." His voice whispered into near-silence as he encompassed the knowledge that had hurt so much and still did. "He died of AIDS."

Al’s expression widened into one of total horror. No, Tomcat, a part of Sam screamed. Don’t let that change what you think of me ... But it wasn’t repugnance or prejudiced rejection. It wasn’t that reaction at all.

"My god, Sam. Are you - ? I mean, is there any chance ...?" He reached his hand to catch at his companion’s arm with insistence. Concerned insistence. "Are you okay?"

His response - so anxious, so unexpected - left Sam feeling oddly dizzy. "I’m clean," he announced, taking a careful breath as he did so. "I checked - back when the data first led to the obvious conclusions. And I’ve been careful since. Real careful." As in, no lovers, Tomcat. Not for a couple of years now. Not because of that exactly. Just that the right one never came along. Until now ...

Al let go of his arm with a sigh of relief. "Mark one up for intelligence," he decided and assumed a lopsided smile. "Now me," he confided knowingly, "I’m always careful. You get to sit through too many medical orientation lectures in the Navy ..." His face froze for an instant, although Sam was never sure if it was the reminder of the service that had caught at his heart, or a disconcerting memory of the fact that, that night - that only night - they hadn’t been careful at all ... The moment passed, and the smile slid into a grin. "Women," he laughed. "You don’t know what you’re missing, Sam."

"Maybe not," Samwise agreed, watching the man with a quiet smile of his own. He didn’t make the usual comeback to that particular statement; he couldn’t say - but neither do you - because, for once, it just wasn’t true. "Want another Coke?"

His company sighed. "I’d like a Bud," he admitted with a hint of self-irony. "A ballgame isn’t the same without the beer. But," he concluded with determination, "I’ll settle for another Coke. If you’re buying."

Sam laughed, dropping the snack bowl to the table and getting back to his feet. "I certainly am. Listen," he went on to say as he reappeared from the kitchen, "are you going to feel up to work on Monday? Because if not, I could - "

"Sam," Alonzo interrupted with mild impatience, "I’m going to be okay. Okay? I don’t need you to sleep on my couch for the rest of your life, you know. I know," he went on as Sam opened his mouth to protest, "I’m not out of the woods yet, and I appreciate you keeping an eye on me, but I don’t need wrapping in cotton, and you have your own life to lead. Of course I’m gonna be in the office Monday. I’d go stir-crazy sat around here with nothing to do. We still haven’t finished Drayson’s orbital corrections, and I’ve a pile of paperwork on my desk that needs shoving somewhere. Up Walker’s ass, probably," he added, half under his breath. Sam moved back to sit beside him with an anxious look on his face.

"It’s a big mountain, Tomcat. Don’t try and climb it all at once. I can stay as long as you want me to ..." Want me to, Tomcat. At least let me keep you company ...

"I’ll tell you what," Al offered, balancing his cigar in the ashtray and popping open the can Sam had handed to him. "You stay tonight, and then - you can stand down on night duty at least. Get yourself a good night’s sleep in a decent bed. You’re only a block away, Sam. I’ll call if I need you. I promise," he added at the sceptical look that chased over Sam’s face. "Besides - you should be getting back to your real work, right? And once you get caught up in a problem back at the complex you won’t have time to spend on me. I’ll make it. I made a promise, Sam, and I intend to keep it."

Sam schooled the disappointment from his face with difficulty. "You sure that’s what you want? So long and see you around?"

Al nearly choked on his Coke. "Hell, no. That wasn’t it at all. I just meant - look, Sam, you don’t want me cramping your style. And you can do without making yourself a martyr for no reason. You’ve a perfectly good apartment - a better one than this - gathering dust for want of use, right? So live in it. At least a couple of nights a week. That doesn’t mean you can’t spend an evening with a friend - or stop him from dropping in on you if the mood takes him ... Folk are going to start talking otherwise, you know?"

"I hadn’t thought of that," the scientist admitted slowly. "But you’re right. As long as you do call me - whenever, no matter what. The shakes will come back from time to time. For a while at least. And there will be temptation ..."

The Commodore snorted. "Temptation I’m used to." He fixed Sam with a determined eye. "Willpower I’ve got - when I’ve reason to employ it. Sam - when I’m ill, I’ll call my doctor, capisci? When I need to talk to someone - I’ll call a friend. It’s kinda useful they come in one package, don’t you think?"

"Yeah," Sam acknowledged softly, accepting that this wasn’t rejection so much as simple common sense. "So - you got plans for Monday night?"

Al thought about it. "I was thinking about visiting a friend and cooking him dinner - at his place for a change. You know something, Sam? You may be a great doctor, but you’re a lousy cook."

"Dinner?" Samwise was taken aback. "You’d do that?"

"Have Neil and Buzz walked on the moon? Come on, Sam. You said it yourself. What else are friends for?"

So that was the way it turned, Samwise going back to work and his office and the prospect of sleeping in his own bed ... Alone. To dream, perhaps, of the man whose only reason for sending him away was consideration of his life and his reputation. Sam had been prepared - was still prepared - to offer more than he had already done, but Alonzo was probably right. Besides - if the need was not there, then the bond of friendship they had forged certainly was; the prospect of cultivating that friendship was one that buoyed the scientist’s heart for the days, weeks - no, years ahead. No matter that he could not express the way he truly felt; that was something he had to face and accept. The important thing was that his Tomcat trusted him and wanted to be his friend, and that was worth all the sacrifices he might have to make because of it.

Not that he’d abandoned his rôle of watchdog, not by any manner of means. He arrived at the complex early that first morning, checking out Al’s office and removing the bottles he found stashed there, and he arranged to meet the man for lunch - ostensibly to go on with their work on Drayson’s problem, but really to ensure that the pressures of a return to work had not been more than his friend could take. Alonzo - having made his point about Sam needing his own life - had accepted the necessity of being watched and checked up on with wry acquiescence. Their compromise was going to be a kind of long leash, the end of which either might pull if need arose to do so. Sam had ‘suggested’ that Al might like to restrict himself to the complex and the estate for a couple of weeks - barring the minefield of the mall - and Al had merely remarked on knowing how to follow doctor’s orders.

What Sam had not considered was just how much friendship could be a two-way street; he found that out with decided startlement.

It was the Wednesday morning. They’d had that dinner on the Monday night, Al proving to be as good a cook as he’d threatened - despite bemoaning the lack of Chianti to go with the pasta - and Sam had ‘dropped by’ on the Tuesday to hand-deliver the pizza he’d picked up. That had been just as well, since his patient had found himself eating it with shaking hands; he’d put the man to bed with a suitable dose of the pills he’d prescribed for that very thing and left him to sleep, considering the couch as he passed but - respecting Alonzo’s reasoning - had continued out and contented himself with an early call the following day.

Which explained why the two of them arrived at the complex together - saving fuel and the environment by sharing Samwise’s car to do so. If Al realised that Sam was also concerned about the ex-pilot’s ability to drive at that point in his rehabilitation, he said nothing about it. That was part of the business of being friends - accepting the other’s concern without making a song and dance over it. Commander Walker intercepted Samwise almost as soon as he’d cleared security.

"Ah, Doctor Beckett. There you are. Can you spare me a minute or two?"

Sam shrugged. "I guess. More problems, Commander?" Beside him Al half-turned to carry on walking, then paused and waited where he was instead. Walker paid him no attention whatsoever.

"In a word - yes. We’ve a senate representative dropping in on us in a couple of days, and the control programming is behind schedule, and so I wondered if you’d mind just taking a look at Epstein’s work for us? I know you’ve got that energy analysis to do, and that Drayson has you looking over his shoulder, but - really - I can’t think of anyone better suited to get us back up to speed on this. Would you mind?"

"Well - " Sam hesitated, conscious of the work already waiting on his desk. "I suppose ..."

"Epstein told you to take a running jump, Walker?" Al’s question startled both of them; the Project Chief turned to the speaker with wary alarm.

"Ah - not exactly ..." he spluttered. The Commodore grinned at him with ironic comprehension.

"You have no idea of how to handle these people, do you?" he decided cuttingly. "You load Epstein with demands for cosmetic material and don’t give him a chance to work out the bugs in the main programming; his team doesn’t have time, so you go looking for a back door and will probably end up rubbing the poor guy’s nose in it. Sam is not your magic wand, Walker. This happens to be a team, not a competition. They don’t just follow orders, they create. That’s what they’re here for. Schedule the security rosters, post orders of the day for the service personnel, but give your golden geese some room for god’s sake. Sam," he asked, "has Epstein shown you his schematics yet?"

"No," Sam answered, still startled by his sudden expression of presence. The tightly defensive man who’d kept himself to himself throughout the early days of the Project had just stepped out of the shadows with a vengeance; the Tomcat had raised his hackles and was challenging the top dog to back down. Walker was doing it, too.

"So you’d have to spend at least a couple of days studying them before you could do anything with the code, right?"

"Right."

Alonzo turned back to the chief with stern determination. "Forget it. Sam’s got more than enough on his plate without you trying to save your own bacon by piggybacking on his brains. Epstein will deliver - if you let him. I’ll speak to him if you like. For god’s sake, Commander, don’t forget the boy wonder here is only human. He’s not a performing monkey, always at your beck and call. If you scheduled the work and distributed it properly in the first place you wouldn’t get yourself into these situations, right?"

Walker’s mouth worked a couple of times before he managed to make any sound. "I - I only asked," he said defensively. "I suppose I could review the timescale on the computer team’s programme ..." He pulled himself together with an effort and resumed a military stance that did not intimidate the smaller man one inch. Alonzo had outranked this man before he left the service - still did, if you paid attention to the paperwork - and both of them knew it. "If I want your opinion, Commodore Calavicci, I will ask for it."

"Then start asking," Al growled, a hint of menace in the words. "Before you screw this whole damn project up completely."

The Commander drew in a disconcerted breath. "Maybe I will," he said. "I’m sorry I delayed you, Doctor Beckett," he apologised to Sam, and hurried away, glancing back over his shoulder at the two of them as he did so. Sam found himself staring at the man beside him with a sense of giddy disbelief.

I’ve been wanting someone to say that to Walker for months, he realised. I just didn’t expect that anyone would ...

"You know," Al was observing, throwing a friendly arm over his shoulder and guiding him down the passageway, "you need someone to look after you, kid. Men like Walker are all bully and no bite. Do ’em a favour once and they expect you to do it every time."

He cares, Sam thought with astonishment. My Tomcat really cares ...

"Buy you lunch?" his companion was asking brightly. Sam brought his thoughts back into focus with an effort.

"Sure."

Al grinned, patted him generously on the shoulder and pushed him in the direction of his office. "I’ll collect you," he announced as he walked away. "You’ll never notice the time otherwise."

"Thanks," Sam acknowledged, still a little dumbfounded. The touch of the man’s hand on his shoulder was a lingering warmth it was hard to ignore, but it was nowhere near as warm as the sweep of feeling that poured through his soul. That had been his Tomcat, the one that had stalked the halls of MIT all those years ago. The confident, almost cocky character who’d carried the presence of a Renaissance prince, the alley cat whose eyes had been lit with the fire of life. And he’d summoned up that ferocity in his defence ...

Oh, boy, Samwise breathed, sliding into his office and closing the door behind him with shaking hands. Ohh, boy ...

A week passed, then another. Life at StarBright became decidedly more interesting. For a start, Walker had asked Calavicci’s opinion - and got more of an answer than he was looking for. For another, Sam found that, while he watched over the recovering Commodore with anxious concern and quiet help when need demanded it, Alonzo was looking out for him in ways he’d never dreamed necessary, but which made all the difference. He was dragged into creative consultancy meetings, sparking all sorts of new avenues to old problems; his administrative paperwork was halved almost overnight; and his long-promised personal computer arrived - complete with all the software he’d asked for - and a second was installed in his apartment within two days of receiving the one in the office.

And Al kept his promise. Not just the one about succumbing to the temptations of the drink, but the other one - about calling when he needed help. Sam spent one entire night talking over the theoretical construction of null-space while Al paced with restless energy and fought down the cravings that sucked at him, and another half-day being screamed and raged at as the man worked out a vein of anger that had boiled over into unexpected fire. He didn’t mind these interruptions to his work; almost welcomed them, since it gave him an excuse to be with the man. Not that he needed much of an excuse; since discovering how well they worked together, Sam had made a point of involving Calavicci with some of the other research he was pursuing. Al responded with enthusiasm, sometimes spending long evenings in Samwise’s apartment poring over technical papers, or else walking with him along the riverside as they discussed far-flung theories and the ramifications of turning back the sands of time ...

Samwise himself bloomed under the encouragement. He called old friends, remade connections he had let slide, and discovered that living outside his ivory tower had a certain attraction all its own. Even his father commented on how well he sounded when he called him; he was glad that the older Beckett could not see how he blushed when asked if maybe he’d found that certain someone his family always hoped he might ... He said no, but he wasn’t sure if he was believed.

Chelsea’s ghost still hovered, amused now, not accusing. He’d wait for odd moments to surface, reminding Sam that, while the gates of heaven stood open before him, the river of Jordan remained too wide to cross. Sam would tell him to shut up. He didn’t care. All he cared about was seeing the lines of anxiety fade from his Tomcat’s face, watching as the lingering taint of the poison was washed away and the man regained his equilibrium as well as his soul. Then, occasionally, a shadow would cross his heart. Al would pause to sweet-talk a shapely secretary, or flirt with one of the female members of the team, and a surge of irrational jealousy would flare up inside him, wrestling with the amused pleasure of watching the man enjoy himself.

At the end of the third week, he decided the time had come to unhook the leash. He breezed into Al’s office and dropped the tickets he’d managed to obtain onto the desk without comment. Al put down his pen, reached across and picked them up with a frown.

"Two front row seats for the college game?" he registered, then broke into a smile. "Saturday’s game?"

"Yup." Sam grinned back. "My treat. What do you say?"

Al pretended to think about it. It was an offer of freedom, a statement of trust, and he clearly knew it as such. "How about - yes?" he offered, and Sam laughed.

"Perfect answer. I’ll pick you up at two - and we can hit town afterward. There’s a new Cajun restaurant just opened, and then this club I know for later ..."

"A club you know?" Al was vaguely suspicious, and Sam laughed a second time.

"Not that sort of club," he denied vehemently, glancing over his shoulder in case anyone was about to overhear. "Just a club. The torch singer is supposed to be really good. You never know," he added casually, "you might get lucky, eh, Tomcat?"

That was an even deeper offer of trust, and Alonzo gave him an intense look as a result of it. "Maybe," he said. "We’ll see."

The game was average, the weather poor, and the company excellent. Sam had forgotten how much fun it could be to just kick back and not worry about mesons and quarks and other particles, and he enjoyed himself immensely. And then afterward ...

They dropped back to the estate after the game to change, Al shedding a casual look to emerge in startling finery. His jacket was cut from a deep crimson, his shirt and tie were a shimmer of gold on black, and he looked like a million dollars, making Sam feel positively dowdy in his understated suit. He said as much and the Commodore looked him up and down, sighed, and remarked that, while some people had it, others hadn’t, and since Sam obviously hadn’t he’d just have to rely on his natural good looks and charm ...

The restaurant was commendable, and the club suitably discreet. If Sam was on edge whenever Al ordered a drink he managed to conceal it well, and he relaxed over the course of the evening when it became clear that the man was keeping his promise with a vengeance. He drank club soda before the meal, Perrier with it, and ordered his coffee black afterward. In the club he ordered Virgin Marys and then went on to nurse a long iced spritzer of apple juice and mineral water, only redeeming himself in the eyes of their attentive waiter by buying a very expensive cigar and smoking it with deliberated enjoyment. Sam himself was only drinking light beer; after the third such order the waiter gave them both up as a lost cause and left them to their chosen corner in search of more generous prey.

The evening progressed in smalltalk - as much as conversations concerning environmental issues, quantum mechanics and the latest shuttle flight could be called smalltalk - and mellowed out into comfortable semi-silences. Several times, Al’s eye was caught by a likely lady, but he let them all go with only a grimace of regret. Sam wondered at that, wondered at his friend’s hinted-at anxiety as time wore on. Eventually he decided that there was just too much restlessness there for safety and suggested they go home, a suggestion Al accepted without argument. They drove back to the estate, swapping old jokes and reminiscences of college days; when they got there, Sam asked him up to the penthouse for a final cup of coffee, already thinking of the week ahead.

"I’ve printed out those diagrams we discussed," he said as he opened the door to his place and waved the other man in ahead of him.

"Uh-huh," Al acknowledged, sliding out of his jacket and dropping it over the arm of a nearby chair.

"How do you want your coffee?" Sam went on to ask, vanishing into his kitchen.

"Black," was the immediate answer. "Sam?" The phrasing of his name was oddly reluctant, as if the man wanted to breach an uncomfortable subject.

"Yeah?" Sam called back, busy with the percolator.

"I - I had a good time, this evening."

"Good." Samwise reappeared in the living room, to sweep a handful of science journals off the suite. Al hovered in the middle of the room, looking vaguely uncomfortable. "I told you that torch singer was good," Sam continued happily. "Her pianist could have been better though. He was definitely out of sync somewhere in that Gershwin medley."

"Yeah? I guess you’d notice something like that." The Commodore regarded his company with unreadable eyes. "I was watching her more than him."

"M’mm?" Sam had moved over to sprinkle a pinch of ants’ eggs over the top of his fishtank. "She did have a certain something I suppose. If you like that sort of thing." He grinned as he said it, aware that the man did like that sort of thing and also knew that he didn’t.

"Saamm - !" Al sounded reproachful. "You miss out on so much, you know?"

"Oh, I have my moments." The scientist grinned to himself, moving the clutter on the coffee table to the edge of a nearby shelf. "I bet you didn’t even notice what a cute butt our waiter had."

"No," his friend agreed slowly. "I didn’t. Sam - "

"Yeah?" Sam finally turned and looked at him, finding the man had not moved and was watching him with an odd intensity. "You okay?" he questioned, concern surfacing immediately. He moved closer. "No shakes? No nausea?"

Al’s hesitant look collapsed into a lopsided grin. "Will you stop being a doctor for once?" he complained. "I’m fine. At least - " The hesitancy came back full force. "Maybe I’m not. Wanna check my pulse?" He held out his hand and Sam took it with anxious disquiet, his fingers wrapping round the extended wrist. The pulse he found there was racing, and he looked up with alarm.

"Al?" he demanded. "What’s wrong?"

Dark eyes stared back at him with shadowed depths. "Nothing - and everything," Alonzo said softly. "You, me, this crazy situation. You dry me out and suddenly I find I’m looking at things I didn’t want to see that clearly before."

Sam’s own expression moved into anxious lines. "And?" he prompted gently, wondering what this was leading to.

"And - " The man took a careful breath. "You remember that promise you made me? The one about just being a friend?"

"Yes." A tight hand clutched around Samwise’s heart. He can’t cope with it after all, he panicked. He can’t put it to one side and forget what I am. Don’t push me away, Al, please. Not now. I couldn’t bear it. "I remember."

"Well - " Al put out his other hand and captured the doctor’s palm within both of his own, pulling Sam close, close enough for there to be practically no space between them at all. "I want - I want you to break it."

His closeness, his warmth, were like putting a match to touchpaper. Fire imploded through Sam’s senses, tipping his heart into overdrive. "Oh, boy," he gasped, looking down into the eyes of his Tomcat, looking into haunted mirrors that held a reflection of his own startled face. There was need there, and anxiety, but no lie. No deception. Just wary expectation and total vulnerability.

"You don’t - " Sam swallowed hard. "Don’t have to do this just to thank me," he defended faintly, concerned that that was all this offer was, something sparked by obligation, by a desire to return what had been given freely, as a gift.

Hurt flickered over the older man’s face, hurt and shadowed rejection. The touch at his hand fell away.

"No," Al agreed, his voice bleak. "Sorry, Sam. What was I thinking of ..."

"Wait." Sam’s hands caught the shoulders that had begun to turn away from him. His whole body was trembling. "I didn’t mean - I just wanted to be sure, that you were sure ..."

Despondent eyes lifted to meet his own once again. The look in them was answer enough. Uncertain, fearful that he might yet have misinterpreted the fragile situation, Samwise Beckett leaned forward and did the one thing he thought he’d never be able to do.

Alonzo tensed briefly as the proffered lips met his own; then he relaxed and responded with a vengeance. From hesitant contact they entwined in a tight embrace, each fighting to devour the other in a statement of passion and a true expression of love. The moment went on forever. The moment was forever, and somewhere, at the back of his mind, Samwise saw Chelsea smile and finally walk away ...

Stay free, stay safe, stay clean. And next time you fall in love - make sure it’s forever ...

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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