On a Tour of One Night Stands
On a tour of one night stands, my suitcase and
guitar in hand,
And every stop is neatly planned, for a poet and a one-man band.
Homeward bound.
I wish I was homeward bound.
Home, where my thought’s escaping,
Home, where my music’s playing,
Home, where my love lies waiting
Silently for me ...
November 1955
The bus pulled away with a growl of diesel engines and a pluther of smoke; the sound of its departure sent the flimsy metal of the roof ringing and filled the cavernous building with sympathetic echoes.
And then there were none ...
Sam Beckett sighed, stretching out his legs and leaning back into the hard support of the bench. It was late - nearly nine o’clock at night - and the bus terminal was practically deserted. The gaggle of people who’d stepped off the bus on which Sam had arrived were long since departed - in search of friends and family perhaps, seeking joyous reunion with much-missed lovers, or hurrying back to the warm refuge of home.
None of which were options open to the weary traveller, who sighed a second time, glancing round the shadowed interior of the building in the hope that he might catch sight of a familiar face.
Damn it, Al. Where are you?
Sam had Leaped in just in time to get off the bus, his host apparently a young man on leave from the army. He had the stub of a ticket from Chicago in his pocket and an unused ticket back there tucked into his wallet, along with a candid photograph of a pretty teenager, a set of orders requesting his presence someplace called Fort Havering, and a pamphlet decrying American involvement in the UN police action in Korea. All of which was interesting, but had told Sam very little about why he was there and what he had to do. He’d collected Corporal Tim Coleman’s kitbag from the luggage compartment on the bus, dumped it - and himself - on a nearby bench, and waited for his faithful hologram to turn up and tell him what he should be doing.
And waited.
And waited.
For what seemed to be hours, even if it was actually a little less than three. He’d pawed through the kitbag in search of more clues - an address, a letter, some indication of where Coleman had thought he was going - and found none. He’d eyed every arrival hopefully, half expecting someone to be meeting the young soldier, and earning himself a variety of reactions from suspect hostility through to admiring smiles - but no recognition, no hey, Tim, how ya been kid? The evening business of Carlstown, Illinois swirled around him and passed him by, leaving him isolated and alone.
Utterly alone.
A situation which did little to improve his temper, or settle his thoughts.
He’d started his wait with resignation. His mood had passed through impatience into annoyance - a period in which he had paced and fretted and jumped at every shadow. But the continued absence of anybody had begun to prey on his mind, and the anger had given way to anxiety, and that to downright depression.
He’s not coming. Something’s happened. Something bad ...
The scenarios that went through his head were not encouraging ones; there had always been the possibility of the committee pulling the plug on Project Quantum Leap and he was beginning to wonder if they’d finally gone ahead and done it. Had left him, abandoned and alone, among the tangled echoes of the past.
But Al wouldn’t let them do that.
At least - not without letting me know.
He’d find some way to warn me. I know he would ...
He amused himself for several minutes picturing the possibilities: how a certain devious and determined Naval Commodore might manage to inveigle one last - and desperate - trip into the Imaging Chamber. Blackmail was the first thought that sprang to mind, followed closely by the concept of some intricately spun and thoroughly ludicrous subterfuge that would confuse everybody just long enough. And if the worst came to the worst? A midnight commando raid, planned with meticulous attention to detail. Like some old Mission Impossible plot, in which Vega would be liberated from Government hands and her creator would be given one last chance to say goodbye ...
Oh, god.
It didn’t bear thinking about. To have to pursue this interminable journey alone. To find himself Leaping from life to life without that subtle edge to help him, perhaps without any chance of ever returning home, since there might no longer be a home to return to.
Or possibly to find himself condemned to live out his life as the man he had now replaced; to be Tim Coleman, this young man poised on the brink of war.
Would that be so bad?
He made himself consider the question, contemplating the years ahead with the advantage of hindsight. For some reason the prospect seemed utterly bleak. Utterly empty. A life without family or friends to guide him ... The sense of depression flooded back, drowning him in what felt like an ocean of loneliness.
Where are you, Al?
You should be here by now.
You’ve always been here before ...
Haven’t you?
Perhaps there had been Leaps when the time between his arrival and that of his intangible companion had been longer. But, if so, then the man’s absence had been filled with event and experience, with the dizzying impact of coping with unfamiliar situations. There had never been a Leap like this. A Leap in which he had nothing else to do but stop and think ...
The bus station had become a cavernous prison, a place where he sat and waited because he had no choice. A cold waiting room on a lifetime’s journey through a vast and unforgiving world.
A world in which he didn’t exactly belong ...
Is this how they feel, all those people I become?
Displaced.
Disconnected.
Distraught ...
He hugged his arms tightly around himself, seeking comfort in his own warmth and wondering what would happen to him if it turned out that here was the place he was destined to stop.
Forever.
No more Leaping.
No more wrongs to right, no more lives to save.
Just Samwise Beckett walking in a stranger’s shoes and growing old while waiting for God to drop by. I mean - if Al has abandoned me, then no-one else will even know that I’m here ...
He didn’t believe it for a second. But he shivered, just the same.
Oh, god.
I want to go home.
He couldn’t remember where that was, exactly. Just that it would be somewhere where he would be safe. Somewhere where he could be himself.
Somewhere where he wouldn’t have to be alone ...
If only I could remember ...
There were no memories in which he could anchor his heart. No certainties to sustain him. Just anguished echoes of a personal past that had no shape to it.
No shape at all.
Mom’s gone. I know that much, right? I tried so hard to warn her, and it didn’t help. If only she’d listened ...
The way he’d wanted Kate to listen. But she hadn’t, had she? She’d still been there, on that fated Huey on that fateful day.
But we saved her ...
Didn’t we?
There was only emptiness where he wanted there to be answers. He didn’t know if Kate Beckett had made it home in her altered history. Didn’t know if the sacrifices made that day had been worth it.
She has to have made it. She has to be there when I go home ...
There had to be someone waiting for him.
Didn’t there?
If only I could remember!
But nothing answered his inner plea. No half-heard voice, no barely glimpsed face - no-one haunted him, not even in his dreams.
All I have is Al.
All I ever have is Al.
And now he’s not here either...
He was cold, and he was tired, and he didn’t know what he was doing any more. He felt misplaced. Uncentred. Alone ...
"Well," a warm, exasperated voice announced, its owner dropping to the bench beside him and fussily arranging her coat so that it didn’t wrinkle as she did so. "Here is a wet weather face and no mistake. Someone rained on your parade, mister?"
Sam looked up from his gloomy contemplation to meet a pair of bright and laughing eyes; dark eyes, set in an amiable face, one wreathed in knowing smiles and irresistible charm. Not a young woman, but one who had lived and learnt how to do so with a vengeance.
"I’m sorry?" he reacted, thrown by being addressed so directly. The woman was a character, even on first glance; the coat enfolded a Rubenesque figure that somehow managed to exude maternal authority, regal grace and devastating energy all at the same time.
This is one hell of a lady ...
"Of course you are," she answered tartly. "But that didn’t answer my question. Here - " She delved into what seemed to be a cavernous handbag and produced a foil-wrapped bar of chocolate. "You need sugar," she decided, breaking the bar in half and thrusting one piece toward him. "And a little company. Right?"
"Well - " Sam hesitated, politely accepting the chocolate since he suspected she wouldn’t take no for an answer.
"I thought so. You’ve been sitting here for a while, haven’t you? Oh - don’t look at me like that. I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation. And it just gives us a chance to get acquainted. Actually - " she confided, leaning forward a little to impart the impression of privacy, "I shouldn’t really have stopped at all, but - well, you looked like you needed to unload a little." Her hand flapped with dismissive confidence. "I don’t think anyone will mind. And you won’t tell them, will you?"
"I - uh - guess not." He straightened up a little, not entirely sure how to take all of this. She sounded as if she knew what she was talking about ...
"I thought not. It’s good chocolate," she added, delicately breaking off a piece from the half bar in her hand and popping it into her mouth. Sam found himself echoing the action, earning himself the warm smile that followed it. She was right. It was good chocolate. Really good chocolate, a taste that stirred an echo of sweet memories, none of which actually focused, but somehow made him feel warm right through. "Told you," she noted, a little triumphantly. "Now - " She brushed non-existent wrinkles from her coat and folded her hands in her lap, favouring him with an expectant look. "You tell me all about it."
"All about what?"
She grimaced impatiently. "Whatever’s bothering you, of course. Good heavens," she sighed, rolling her eyes in the appropriate direction, "you can trust me, you know. I don’t give my chocolate away to just anyone ..."
He had to smile. Despite himself. Despite everything. And she was company, which was more than he’d had before. "It’s - nothing," he denied with embarrassment, shrugging his shoulders defensively as he did so. She just looked at him. Hard. "Well - maybe it’s something," he admitted uncomfortably. "But I’m probably just overreacting ..."
"Nothing new in that," she observed knowingly. "Let me guess. You’re either homesick, or you’re lonesome. Or is it both? Both," she concluded at the look that flitted over his face.
"Yeah," he breathed, feeling the weight of the depression settled in his stomach, the churn of anxiety that he could not banish, no matter how much logic he threw at it.
He’ll be here. I know he will.
He wouldn’t let me down, no matter what the committee said.
Oh - jeez. What if something’s happened to him ...?
"I suppose you’re sitting here thinking there’s no-one you can turn to. Am I right?" The woman’s question was perceptive. Sam answered it with a sigh.
"Sometimes it feels that way," he admitted slowly. "Like I’m the only real person left in the whole world ... I travel a lot," he offered in explanation, sharing the thought with sympathetic eyes. "And I never stay in one place for very long. I don’t even have a choice in where I go next. I just - go where I have to."
"M’mm," she noted thoughtfully. "I know what that’s like. But you don’t travel alone, surely. I mean - you’re waiting for someone now, right?"
Oh, yeah. Waiting for a phantom from the future. For something I can’t touch. For someone who’ll drive me crazy when he gets here ...
He wondered what Al would say when he saw his current company. Something outrageous, he had no doubt. The man had no shame. Especially when he knew he wouldn’t be overheard ...
"I have - a friend," he allowed after a minute. "And - uh - he should be here, but he isn’t. He’s - just got held up somewhere, I guess."
I hope.
"That bothers you," the lady decided shrewdly. "Doesn’t it?"
He shrugged again, awkwardly, seeking distraction in another mouthful of chocolate. "A little," he admitted. "He should have been here by now. But - like I said, I’m probably just overreacting."
"Probably." She smiled. "But - uh - I suspect that he worries about you all the time. So it wouldn’t hurt to return the favour occasionally. Would it?"
He turned to give her a suspicious look. "He’s my friend," he protested, a little hurt that she might be implying otherwise. "Of course I worry about him. I care about him."
He’s all I have to anchor me. My lifeline. My one constant in an odyssey of perpetual change ...
"Do you?" she asked softly. "Do you really, Sam?"
He was too caught up in the tangle of his thoughts to react to the use of his name - too immersed in concern to even register it there and then. His reaction came filled with instant indignation.
"Of course I care," he snapped, then hesitated, catching the quiet shake of her head, the gentle look in her eyes. A patient I don’t think you’ve thought about this look.
But I do care.
Don’t I?
Doubt cut through his heart, a sharp wedge of uncertainty that impacted with guilt-edged pain.
What if something has happened ...?
An illness? An accident?
You have to take care of yourself, you hear me, Al?
I need you.
Oh god. I couldn’t do this without you.
The thought was followed with one of sudden revelation.
I wouldn’t want to do this without you ...
His soul was bruising itself against the conjectures his mind was spinning for him, but he could hardly tell her that.
Could he?
She was watching him with what was almost affection.
"He drives you crazy, huh? He makes stupid jokes, teases you, distracts you, makes out this - thing that you and he do - that’s no big deal, am I right? Uh-huh," she decided before the traveller could answer that. "I thought so. And sometimes you wish he’d just go away and leave you alone. Sometimes you think he’s more hindrance than help. But he’s all that you’ve got, so you tell yourself that you care about him. For selfish reasons, Sam. Because you need him to survive. Even now you’re sitting here fretting because he’s not here and you need him to be here. To help you."
"No," Sam protested faintly. "It’s not like that at all ..."
"Isn’t it?" she demanded pointedly. "Are you sure?"
Am I?
He stared at the picture she had painted, trying to reconcile it with his scattered memories, with a past he could barely remember and the traumas of the journey that he pursued. Selfish reasons?
He recalled so many little things - the sharing of triumphs, the knowing look, the quiet smile of approval, the wince of sympathy, the sense of company ...
And if it had ended, here in this deserted place between nowhere and nowhen, it wouldn’t be the help he would miss, the frantic delivery of information or the extra edge that having an invisible, intangible companion always gave him.
It would be the man who gave it.
"Maybe," he said slowly, examining the idea that spawned from a number of angles and deciding he rather liked the result, "maybe I am selfish about it. Maybe having a friend like - like he is, is something that makes me feel good about myself. But I do care about him. And not just because he cares about me. I trust him. Darn it, I like him. Sure, he’s a little crazy, and stubborn-headed, and full of himself sometimes, but - but - "
He couldn’t formulate what he wanted to express, just couldn’t find the words that belonged to the warmth of feeling that he had found wrapped around his soul. Feelings of friendship. Of partnership. Of affection, and regard, and all those other things that made up the Al shaped space in his heart that he was currently looking into. It was a big space, too; it would leave a yawning hole in his life if the man concerned wasn’t coming back to fill it ...
"Why don’t you ’fess it up, Sammy?" she advised softly, her face wrinkling up into one big, encouraging grin. "He’s not around to hear."
No, he’s not ...
Which was exactly the reason for his attack of despondency, for his anxious state of mind. Not because of what Samwise Beckett needed to know, or the reason for the Leap, or anything like that, but because - because -
"Oh, hang it," he announced with sudden fervour. "I love the guy, okay? He’s my friend, and when he’s not here I miss him, and I couldn’t do any of what I do without him, and - and - it wouldn’t matter how much I might fret, I’d still wait for him forever if I had to. I’d probably chow him the hell out when he got here, but I’d wait. Until hell freezes over and then some. And for heaven’s sake," he added, a little embarrassed at his outburst, "don’t tell him I said that, will you? He hates all that - that - what he calls that mushy stuff."
She held up her hands in mock defence. "I wouldn’t dream of it," she said. "Although it might help if you told him that from time to time. You’re a long way from home, Sam. But you’re not alone. You’ve never been alone." Her hand lingered on his arm for a moment, and then she retrieved it with determination. "And I must be going. I’ve got to catch a taxi." She stood up, and Sam followed suit, automatically reaching to help her with her bag. "Or should that be, I’ve got to let a taxi catch me?" she asked, and laughed. "Never mind. I’m sure it will all work out in the end. It usually does." She leaned across and bussed his cheek with her lips. "Ciao."
"Ciao," Sam echoed somewhat bemusedly, sinking back to the bench as she bustled away. He broke the last piece of chocolate in half and ate it absently, vaguely trying to remember what he’d been thinking about for the past half-hour or so ...
The woman paused as she reached the ticket office, turning to smile at the brightly dressed individual who was hurrying past her into the station with an anxious look on his face.
"He’s over there," she confided with a warm grin. "You really shouldn’t leave him alone for so long, you know? He worries about you. Heaven knows why," she noted with a wink. "Nice shirt," she added. "Shame it doesn’t go with the suit." And she walked away, chuckling quietly to herself. The man she’d addressed turned to stare after her with a startled expression. He was in time to see her fade gently from sight, as if she’d walked right out of the world altogether. Only the soft notes of an as yet unwritten song lingered behind her, like distant words heard on a half-tuned radio.
"What the ...?" Al Calavicci blinked and gave himself a little shake. Had he just - ? Nah. Surely not ...
"Hey, Sam," he called, tucking the handlink into his pocket and striding across the intervening distance with a jaunty step. "How ya doing, kid?"
Al?
Sam looked up. For a moment - a brief moment - the look in his eyes was one of pure delight. Then he lapsed into a totally unconvincing frown. "Where the hell have you been?" he demanded a little testily. "I’ve been here for hours."
Worrying about you ...
"Three hours, thirty seven minutes, and sixteen seconds," the Commodore confirmed matter-of-factly. His smile was smug. "Vega insisted on counting it."
"Bully for her," Sam muttered, looking away into the depths of the bus station. "You could have got here sooner."
"I wish," Al noted wryly. "I came as soon as I could. Why? Did I miss something, or did you just miss me?"
I think I always do ...
"Not - really. What happened, anyhow? Tina distract you, or something?"
The expression that chased across the older man’s face spoke volumes. Encyclopaedia volumes, starting at "C" for committee, and ending at "V" for Vega ...
"Something," the hologram admitted, without actually admitting anything at all. "Still, you’ve been doing okay without me, so - "
"Al," Sam interrupted tightly, "I’ve been doing nothing without you. I haven’t the faintest idea why I’m here, and all I’ve done so far is wait."
"Oh. Well, good. That’s just what you’re here to do."
What?
"I am?"
"Uh-huh." Al tugged the handlink free and studied it with a practised eye. "Your name is - Timothy Coleman, you’re a corporal in the Marines - and it’s November of ’55 and you’re on your way to get killed in Korea."
Oh, my god ...
"I am?" Sam looked shocked. His friend lowered the handlink and smiled at him.
"Well - no. Not now. See - Coleman took his last weekend leave to try to see his girlfriend. But she didn’t turn up to meet the bus, so he turned around and got on the next one back. He thought she wasn’t going to show. She was wrestling with a flat less than two miles away. Arrived in time to find him gone."
He didn’t wait ...
The scientist sat back against the bench and drew in a slow breath. "Al, that’s tragic. They never saw each other again?"
The Commodore shook his head. "He was declared MIA three months later. She spent years trying to find him - finally brought what was left of him home in ’73. She never gave up hope, I guess."
Sam lifted his head to meet his companion’s eyes, finding a note of quiet resignation lurking in them.
’73, huh? That was the year you came home. And Beth hadn’t had the strength to wait ...
He still felt vaguely guilty about that. He’d had a chance to change it, and he hadn’t. Somehow he’d known it would be wrong, no matter how much it might hurt.
Some things are meant to be ...
That didn’t make them any less painful, though.
"Anyhow," Al went on with forced cheerfulness, "you’ve changed all that. By not getting back on the bus you’ve given them a chance to meet, and Vega’s predicting that Coleman will apply for leave to marry her, which will mean he doesn’t ship out for another month, and - the odds on his surviving go up - um - thirty percent."
Sam frowned. "Only thirty?"
The Commodore shrugged. "Beats the big zero, Sam. In anyone’s book. Besides - at least this way the kid gets to carry his father’s name ..."
"There’s a baby?"
Al shrugged a second time. "Isn’t there always? She’s due here in five, kid. All you gotta do is be here when she arrives."
The traveller breathed a soft sigh. "I can do that," he decided wearily. "I mean - if I can wait three hours for you, I can manage another five minutes without breaking a sweat, right?"
"Right," the hologram acknowledged quietly. Sam threw him a look, wondering whether the note of sarcasm he’d heard was real or merely camouflage.
"Tim!"
The cry was filled with delighted relief; the scientist climbed to his feet as a slim teenager - the girl in the photograph - raced across the concrete to throw herself into his arms. "Hi," he offered, by way of greeting.
"You waited. I didn’t think you would. Oh, Tim, I’m sorry. I really am. I had a flat, and I just wrestled for hours, and I was so scared you wouldn’t be here ..."
"I waited," Sam assured her, lifting his head from a kiss of greeting to catch the look on his intangible company’s face. Al gave him a thumbs-up and a smile of delight. "I’d have waited forever if I had to."
"Would you?" the girl asked. "Really?"
"Yeah," he answered, his arms tight around her, but his gaze still fixed on the man she couldn’t see. "Until hell freezes over, and then some. I promise. I’ll never give up on you. Never."
And the Leap took him, just as he saw the startled light of understanding dawn in his friend’s eyes ...
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