Anything For Love - Part Three
Penelope Hill
Some things are easier said than done. I waited three hours in that gleaming kitchen, while Rivers watched me with unconcealed malice and my imagination worked overtime. Samwise never had answered my question with anything more than unspecified distress.
Eventually, Nate appeared, puffing on a fat cigar and sporting damp hair and a change of clothes. Al’s, judging by the colour scheme, and I fought down a surge of anger knowing that I couldn’t afford to antagonise anyone. He looked me up and down with cold contempt.
"You still here, pretty boy? Lock him in with his sugar daddy, Rivers. I’m getting sick of his face. Then catch yourself a shower. You need one."
Rivers grinned, unoffended by the remark. He jerked his thumb in the direction he wanted me to move and I did so, circling Nate in order to make for the doorway. He put out a hand to stop me, taking a deep pull at the cigar as he did so.
"Hey, pretty boy," he drawled. "I gotta present for ya."
His knee jerked up with savage force, catching me just where he intended to. I doubled over in instant agony, unprepared for the assault. He laughed, while I gasped for breath that would not come. "Aww," he jeered, leaning down to blow smoke in my face. "Did that hurt? Never mind. I’m sure someone will kiss it better ..."
His amusement was raucous, and it hurt more than the blow. There was nothing sordid or perverse about the relationship he had chosen to mock and defile.
"Get him outta here."
Rivers seized my shoulder and half-dragged, half-pushed me toward the stairs. Izzy was in the main room, still engrossed in his stereo. He barely looked up as we passed, tipping back another bottle of beer. There were half a dozen empty bottles already at his side.
Frog was waiting on the balcony, his squat face creasing into mildly sadistic pleasure as Rivers handed me over to him. He jabbed me down toward the far end of the lodge and the smaller guest suites that lie above the conference rooms and the office. The lodge can hold up to sixteen people at a pinch, although it is a pinch. The smaller bedrooms lack the en suite bathroom and shower, and they sit at the less sheltered end of the building.
Frog unlocked a door and then pitched me into semi-darkness, not above adding impetus to my entry with his foot. I tumbled into the room, uncertain of what to expect, but not prepared to go head first into the blizzard.
A cold wind, heavy with the weight of ice, smacked straight into my face as I picked myself up. The window at the far end of the room was open, and had been for some time, the drift of built-up snow it had admitted reaching almost to the end of the bed. I stumbled forward against the wind, intent on closing the window and shutting the weather out - and then I stumbled over an obstruction in the gathered drift, and my brief curse became a cry of pain.
Oh god - nooo ...
I’d found my missing companion - put literally ‘on ice’ as Nate had suggested all those hours ago. His hands were bound tightly behind him, the restraint also tethering him close to the open air; his clothes were soaked through and his skin was like ice. "Dammit," I cursed, reaching up to slam the window shut. The sound of the wind and its icy impact vanished as if cut by a switch, and I was kneeling in ice and cold snow, fumbling with tight knots and fighting back tears as I did so. Alonzo was a rigid bundle of tension under my hands. He was still breathing, but the pulse I found was faint and erratic and his face was almost as white as the blanket of snow that half covered him.
Anger and dismay slammed into me with white-hot pain. There was no rational way I could disassociate myself from this situation. For all intents and purposes, this man was my friend, and unless I did something - and did it soon - he was going to die.
"Bastards," I swore through my chattering teeth. "Sadistic, no-good, filthy bastards ..."
Once I’d freed his hands I was able to lift him away. It seemed to take forever. They’d used a length of lamp flex to secure him and they hadn’t been methodical with their knots. My hands were slippery and my fingers quickly went numb; I wrestled and I cursed, fighting down the panic of frustrated adrenaline until something finally gave and I could untangle the twisted length from his arms. That done, I lifted him out of the slush and onto the end of the bed. With the window closed, the central heating was beginning to reassert itself, although it would take some time to recover to thermostatic temperature. The room was one thing. Its occupant was another entirely. I silently swore as I began to strip the sodden clothing away from his clammy skin, finding a hint of ice crackling in the fabric of his shirt. When Ziggy had sent me those odds she hadn’t told me that the probable cause of death was going to be hypothermia.
The only colour on his body was the dark purple bruising that marked his shoulder, side and cheek. I didn’t even pause to examine the damage. I had to get his core temperature back up, and soon. He wasn’t shivering. That was a bad sign.
I threw back the covers of the bed, thanking fortune and the foresight of caretakers who kept the place ready at all times. He let out the barest of moans as I moved him into the middle of the mattress, a sound I ignored with gritted teeth. There was only one thing I could do for him, locked into that bitterly cold room with no medical supplies or equipment. I stripped off my own shirt, kicked out of my pants and slid into the cocoon of blankets I had padded round him, steeling myself as I embraced ice-cold flesh. He needed my warmth, and I held him close, cradling him with desperation as tender as the passion he had found for me the night before.
"Damn you, Samwise," I muttered angrily. "Why didn’t you tell me?"
I knew why. I understood the anguish he had brought to me, helpless to interfere, unable to stay and watch, reluctant to leave altogether. Had I known, had I been aware of the situation, nothing in the world would have kept me safe in that kitchen, waiting to be here now. I would have fought to save him, and lost us both in the process. I bent my head to a chilled shoulder and prayed. Prayed that I might succeed where he had not, that the power that had brought me to this place had done so for the sake of the love that I had found here.
"It’s gonna be okay," I promised, although I didn’t know how I could make it so. "This time we’re going to make it."
"Sure, Sam," an effort-filled voice whispered beside me. "If you say so ..."
My arms tightened with momentary delight, tensing the man within them in a jerk of pain. I relaxed at once, grimly reminding myself that his abused body deserved better treatment than that. He had begun to shiver, violently, and I pulled the blankets closer around us, holding in the precious warmth.
"I’m sorry," I said, apologising both for the thoughtless reaction and the reasons it had hurt.
"Not - your - fault," he managed to gasp, shifting in my grip so that he could return my embrace with one of his own.
"No," I agreed, wondering what you said at a time like this, when the reasons for intimacy were life and death, and the man was a stranger who was also your best and closest friend. "Looks like we need another evening in the hot tub." I settled for a joke, feeling the violence of his shivering slowly settle into more normal reaction. He was still ice cold, but that was only to be expected.
"Yeah?" He laughed softly. "Only if - you promise - to be good."
"You mean behave myself?" I queried puzzledly.
"No. I mean - be good. Okay?"
I smiled in the dimness. "Okay. How do you feel?"
"Like an icicle at two thousand feet," he growled. "How do you think I feel?"
"Silly question. Forget I asked it."
He chuckled again, partly a reaction to the inevitable euphoria as warmer blood began to reach his brain. "I was just thinking," he murmured, snuggling close and beginning to relax. "What you-know-who would say if he were to turn up, right now."
I cracked my own smile at that, picturing Al’s face - my Al, that is - should he choose that moment to appear. Then the smile froze, because I could also imagine a much closer and more dangerous reaction if Nate or Frog or either of the others came to check on us. I doubted they would bother now, but the morning would be a different matter.
"We have to do something about our house guests," I said, realising that the waiting game was no longer enough. I’d nearly got him killed through my inaction, and Nate’s determined hatred was going to express itself sooner or later.
"I’m open to suggestions," he said, his voice softly slurred. He was obviously very drowsy, a situation I now wanted to encourage. The last thing a victim of hypothermia should ever do is start forcing his circulation too quickly. Cold blood brought from chilled extremities to a warm heart can be deadly. I was cradling his life in my arms and I didn’t want anything else to take him from me.
"Well, you," I announced, "are staying right here, whatever happens."
"Saaam," he protested wearily, "you want me to miss all the fun?"
"I want you to stay alive. Better a live Tomcat than a dead hero, right?"
His arms tightened around me. "Better no dead heroes at all," he breathed. "You can’t face down four of them by yourself."
"I’m not going to be by myself," I told him firmly. "I’m going to wait for the cavalry."
"Oh," he said, then turned his face to look at mine with a decided frown. "Wait a minute - what cavalry? You find a way to send for the Marines while I was turning into a popsicle up here?"
"No," I answered with a small smile. "But I do happen to have a Calavicci in reserve ..."
"Oh yeah," he chuckled, tucking his head back down onto my shoulder. "I was forgetting about that ..." He fought down a yawn, and let his eyes close; I thought he’d drifted into sleep until he spoke again, a soft murmur of sound, almost too quiet to register. "Thanks, Sam," he whispered. "Thanks for everything ..."
We stayed that way for at least an hour; he didn’t so much sleep as doze in and out of wakefulness, leaving me to consider plans and hope I had the luck to carry them out. Eventually I felt secure enough in his recovery to be able to relinquish my place. The room had grown considerably warmer and was no longer threatening in itself; he wasn’t anywhere near a full recovery, but if my plans succeeded I was going to be able to make him a lot more comfortable fairly soon. I slid away from the nested warmth and out into the bite of the air, reaching to tuck the blankets closely around him. He stirred and half-protested at my absence, but then realised what I intended and huddled down into the warmth I had left behind, staring at me with dark and intense eyes that held only anxious concern.
"I’m going over the roof," I told him softly, climbing back into my clothing. "That way I can sneak in through the front door. They didn’t lock it up when they came in."
"Be careful, Sam," he warned. "They mean business."
"I know. I’ll be careful. You stay here."
The familiar hiss of the Imaging Chamber door registered behind me. I turned, not sure who to expect. I found Samwise standing behind me, his expression anxious, and I grinned and stepped aside so that he could see. He took one look and strode past me, coming to a halt beside the bed. Alonzo eyed him thoughtfully for a moment, then relaxed into a reassuring grin.
"Toldya I was okay," he drawled, the cocksure note in his voice not fooling either of us.
The relief on the hologram’s face was more tangible than he was. Samwise’s face was haunted, and I couldn’t blame him. I’d waited in ignorance; he’d known what the situation had been and had been unable to do anything about it. "I would have stayed," he said, his words full of apology and remorse. "But the power this interface demands is frightening. I - I did come back ..."
"I know, kid," Alonzo’s growled reply held affectionate impatience. "Just cut out the puppy dog eyes, willya? You know how I hate it when you go mushy on me. Just take it that I’m cold, I ache like hell, and I’m damn glad to be alive. Leave it at that, huh?"
"Okay." Samwise started to put out his hand, then drew it back again since it was merely an image intersecting with the bedclothes. "If that’s the way you want it. I just wanted you to know - "
"You never need to tell me that, lover." The Commodore’s voice sounded rougher than it should have done, either the result of chilled lungs, or something a little more immediate and personal. My mirror image quirked a smile.
"Now who’s getting mushy? Sam," he said, turning toward me with a grateful glance, "if I were there, I - I’d probably hug you."
"If you were here," I pointed out, "you wouldn’t need to. I only did what you would have done."
"Yeah, I know, " he agreed softly. "But I’d look silly hugging myself, wouldn’t I?"
"I guess so," I half-laughed. "Save it for the Tomcat. He appreciates it."
"Damn right I do." Al’s growl was meant for both of us, and we exchanged a glance which held recognition of so much more than the simple sharing of a kindred spirit. Samwise was me, and his gratitude was as unnecessary as my having to thank my heart for continuing to beat ...
"So," the hologram continued, "what happens now? Do we have a plan?"
"I have an idea or two," I answered, dropping to the end of the bed and considering the both of them. "How’s the war going?"
"War’s over," Samwise announced, cracking an involuntary grin. It had obviously been a bright spot in an otherwise harrowing day. "We won. The Committee were pretty impressed, too. They left for Washington, confident that we have our normal emergencies under their usual control ..."
"How did you manage that?" I asked, frowning at the news. His expression took on a hint of smugness.
"Oh - I just ‘Leaped’ out on them in the middle of a debriefing ..."
"What!" the Commodore and I both chorused in surprise.
"You heard me. Actually," he explained with glee, "Ziggy and I rigged a little holographic light show in the conference room. It looked pretty convincing though. Gave Al - the Admiral - the fright of his life."
"You didn’t warn him?" I stared at him aghast. Al knew damned well that I couldn’t Leap unless the person I had replaced were well within a certain radius of the Quantum Accelerator. So seeing Samwise flip out on him without warning would have probably scared the hell out of him. It would have scared the hell out of me.
"I didn’t have time," he protested, but there was an edge of guilt to the words. "Gushie said his face was an absolute picture."
"I bet," I muttered. "I hope you apologised."
"Profusely." He sounded hurt at the suggestion that he might not have done.
"I’m not sure I’d forgive you for that," Alonzo growled softly. He didn’t mean it, but Samwise looked anxiously at him anyway.
"I still haven’t," the echo of the same voice muttered from behind me. I spun in startlement, finding myself staring at a second hologram, the image somewhat fuzzy and poorly defined, but totally unmistakable. "Hi, Sam," Al said, greeting me with a wry smile.
"Al?" I mouthed in astonishment, glancing back at Samwise to reassure myself that he was still there. He was, although his visual presence had also degraded in quality.
"Don’t tell me," the Admiral remarked dryly as he walked forward to get a better view of the situation, "you didn’t recognise me out of uniform."
"I didn’t recognise you in uniform," I spluttered, still utterly astounded by both of them being there. He was dressed in true Calavicci fashion, the scarlet and black leather of his jacket thrown over a distinctive gold and grey shirt. He also looked exhausted, a tightness hovering about his eyes that spoke of anxious hours and too much expenditure of nervous energy. "How in hell did Ziggy get this to work?"
"By throwing away the rulebook and flying everything on manual," he answered, sharing a look with his fellow hologram as he did so. Samwise appeared embarrassed.
"I only said it might be possible," he said. "And you know how Ziggy likes a challenge ..."
"All I know," I interrupted firmly, "is that you’re both here. Just," I added with a small wince as interference flickered through their images. "And I’m grateful. I’m going to need all the help I can get to get out of this one."
"He has a plan," Samwise explained.
"He has a crackpot idea that’s probably going to get him killed," Alonzo corrected sharply.
"Oh?" Al queried, eyeing me suspiciously. I felt like they were ganging up on me.
"Don’t you start," I growled. "I don’t have that many options."
"I don’t call tackling four armed men an option," the Commodore insisted, hiking himself up to stare at me with determined concern. The covers slipped down, revealing his naked torso and the pattern of bruising painted across his shoulder and side, livid overlays against his older festooning of scars. His action elicited an intake of breath from Samwise, who had not yet seen the extent of the damage, a tight frown of anger from the Admiral, who’d seen most of it happen, and a glare of disapproval from me.
"Get under those covers now," I ordered firmly, moving forward to add action to words if necessary.
"Right now," Samwise reinforced sharply. Alonzo glanced between the two of us, our faces undoubtedly sharing the same expression, and subsided without protest, grimacing a shiver of pain as he did so. That was evidence that an awareness of bruised flesh and strained muscle was beginning to replace the numbing aftermath of the cold. A good sign, but not a very comfortable one.
"Sorry, kid," he muttered. It was hard to tell if he were apologising to me, for disobeying orders, or to Samwise, for scaring him. Perhaps it was both. His intangible counterpart reached down to place a reassuring hand on my counterpart’s shoulder, a gesture which earned him a surprised and grateful look from the man concerned. How many times had he wanted to offer me that simple comfort, a contact we had been denied for far too long?
I pushed the thought away and leaned forward to resettle the blankets around my patient’s shoulders; then I let my fingers settle on the curve of his throat, feeling the pattern of his pulse surge beneath the skin. It was a weird moment. To be there, in that room, with the reassurance of my friend’s life beneath my hand and yet to know that he was an immeasurable distance away, his own hand resting on my shoulder, and that all four of us were held together in that single instant of time. I looked up, to meet Samwise’s eyes, his face holding a similar realisation. We were on the wrong side of each other’s mirror, and unless I succeeded in my allotted task we would never pass back through the looking glass to the world where we really belonged. A difference that makes no difference is no difference, I thought with a shiver that ran through my soul. Just all the difference in the world ...
"Just what did you have in mind, Sam?" Al asked softly, and for a brief second I didn’t know which of them it might have been. I lifted my eyes a little further, making contact with a look that was full of anxious sympathy. My Al, then, putting us back on track, focusing on the issues in hand in preference to the implications of the impossible situation.
"I’m not entirely sure," I admitted. "It would help if I had some kind of weapon."
"There aren’t any," Samwise said with certainty. "After I - came home - I swore I would never kill again. Anything - or anybody." I saw Al’s hand tighten with reassuring empathy, reacting to the sudden hint of anguish in his - in my voice. I nodded an understanding, both to the words and the reasons for them. I have killed - in the course of too many Leaps - and whatever the righteousness of the situation it never gets any easier. Just necessary.
"I keep a gun," Alonzo admitted reluctantly, a secret he had intended to keep until he had no other option. "Under the dash in the car."
"Al?" Samwise reacted, a hurt ‘how could you and not tell me?’ note in the single word. The Commodore squirmed deeper into his cocoon, uncomfortable at the implied accusation.
"This isn’t a nice world, kid," he explained. "Sometimes you have to make choices you don’t like. Sometimes," he continued, looking, not at his lover, but at the man who shared his shadow, "you go down behind enemy lines."
The hurt on my echo’s face went back to its earlier hauntedness. "Al - " he began to say, but the Admiral interrupted him with a little shake.
"Hey," he offered. "He’s right you know. Do they make all Sam Becketts this naïve?"
"I guess so," the Commodore observed, glancing at me. "That’s why we love ‘em I suppose."
"You speak for yourself," the Admiral growled, but with laughter, not discomfort. Samwise cracked a smile.
"I did offer," he said, looking back and up as he did so. The shake was repeated - with feeling.
"Cut it out, Sam," my friend complained, looking across at me in appeal. I grinned.
"Some other time," I suggested. "Right now I want to get this over with. The gun will help. But I’ll need to know where they all are."
"Right," the Admiral agreed, releasing his hold on his companion’s shoulder to lift the handlink. "Our job?"
"Uh-uh. Yours. If Ziggy can manage it, I think Sam should stay here. You’ll only argue," I pointed out as the two of them exchanged a look. Alonzo stifled a snort. "I mean it," I went on. "I’m used to working like this, and I think Samwise should stick with Alonzo, just in case."
"In case of what?" My counterpart’s question was suspicious.
"In case this nozzle decides to act like a complete idiot and undo all my good work," I shot back. "He stays in bed, and he stays warm. He does not come looking for me, no matter what he hears. Okay?"
"Okay." Samwise had begun to climb to his feet. At that he sank back to his knees and made himself comfortable.
"Right," I announced, getting to my own feet with determination. "Take a look around, Al. Find out what they’re up to, and I’ll meet you down in the garage."
"How?" he asked. "This door is locked, isn’t it?"
"Yup. I’m going out the window and over the roof."
"The roof?" He sounded startled. "Sam - it’s cold out there."
"I had noticed." I reached the windowsill, then glanced back with impatience. He hadn’t gone anywhere. He sighed at my look, tapped a key on the handlink and vanished. I echoed the sigh and opened the window, closing it carefully behind me as I slid through.
"Be careful, Sam," I heard my own voice call after me.
Outside the wind had dropped considerably. I thanked providence and prudent architects for the narrow balcony that ran on that side of the lodge and edged along it until I reached a suitable handhold for my ascent. It was bitterly cold and the snow was powder-dry, which was to my advantage really. I didn’t have much time. Too long spent in these conditions and I was going to end up worse than the man I had left behind.
It was easy enough to get onto the shallow roof, and easier still to lope across it, pushing my way through an accumulation of snow. I hopped the ridge tiles and slid down the other side, ending with an inelegant but effective jump onto the garage roof. Fortunately the depth of the weather muffled the sounds of my progress with decided effectiveness and I was able to move straight on without fear of having been heard. At the corner I twisted over and let myself drop, ending in a deep drift close to the garage side door. I was shivering violently by then and I sought the sanctuary of the smaller building, closing the door against the wind and pausing to chafe the circulation back into my limbs.
The garage was large enough to hold several vehicles, although there were only two in its echoing depths that night. I passed the luxury pickup and walked across to the sleek sports model with confidence. I had no doubts that this was Al’s car. It had Tomcat written all over it.
He had made no offer of keys, and I soon found out why. The damned thing was secured with an electronic lock that opened to my thumbprint. I paused to admire the concept, grinned at the knowledge that I - and Samwise - was considered trustworthy enough to drive this classy lady, and slid into the driver’s seat. I didn’t need the keys, since I wasn’t going anywhere. I reached under the dash instead. A sleekly equipped dash, packed with high-tech display panels and a number of features I didn’t recognise at all - even if they did look vaguely familiar.
I found the weapon easily, an equally sleek handgun, fully automatic and already loaded. There was an extra clip of ammo too, and I dropped that into my pocket as I examined my prize under the overhead light. The loaded clip looked somewhat odd, even to my inexperienced eyes, and I slid it out to look at it more closely.
That was when I began to laugh. The ammo clip I had placed in my pocket had been bullets all right, a full load of deadly steel - at least ten shots. But the one in the gun didn’t contain bullets at all. Instead it held four neat little darts.
Trust Al, I chuckled to myself. I hoped that Alonzo had thought to enlighten his companion as to the nature of the weapon he had sent me in search of. Four shots. With a bit of luck, they would be all I needed.
"It takes about thirty seconds to take effect," Al’s voice remarked from beside me. He was standing out in the garage, eyeing the contours of the vehicle with appreciation. "That’s if it’s the same stuff I use. Which it probably is. Nice car."
/P>
"On the alimony money I shell out every month? We based my baby on a Ferrari, remember? Or maybe you don’t. Anyway, this is a Jag."
I laughed at the implication of one-upmanship. "Just goes to show what one less wife and a steady relationship can do for you," I teased. He thought about it.
"I’ll stick with the Ferrari," he decided. "Sam - are you sure you want to do this?"
"Sure I’m sure," I answered, sensing that maybe that hadn’t been the question he really wanted to ask. "Those guys weren’t playing patticake this afternoon, you know. Those bruises Alonzo’s sporting aren’t love taps."
He winced at my use of the expression. "Yeah, I noticed. And Samwise told me how they’d left him ..." That was what was bothering him, not just the casual brutality but the knowledge of what I might have had to do to save a man’s life. His life.
"Al," I asked softly, "do you have a problem with all of this?"
"No," he denied too quickly, then, "Yeah. I guess I do. I know the quickest way to combat hypothermia, Sam. I’ve been through survival training more times than I care to remember. I guess, if the situation were reversed, I’d have had to do the same thing. But - this is too close. Too crazy. I mean, it’s almost as if it had been me in there ..."
"It was," I interrupted. "It is. Al - I don’t know if I can explain this, because I’m not sure I understand it myself, but - you told me yesterday that Samwise was me, remember? Have you changed your mind since then?"
He shook his head, his eyes full of confusion. "That’s what’s so crazy about this. If I let myself, it gets too easy to forget that there’s any difference at all ..."
"Right," I agreed gently. "And when I was thrown into that room, and found my best friend in that state ... I wasn’t thinking about differences. I was thinking about you, dying in my arms, and I wasn’t going to let it happen. What Samwise and Alonzo share is important to them. And yet they are us - just a whisper away. A very quiet whisper at that. The differences just make the similarities stronger. Nothing I’ve done this weekend has been for a stranger, Al. This isn’t like any other Leap. I can’t explain it. I don’t understand. Hell, I’m not even sure what I’m saying any more ..."
He just looked at me, his dark Italian eyes staring out of a shadow in that dimly lit space, staring with an intensity that went beyond words. A haunted look, deeply impassioned, filled with an emotion for which our language has no adequate expression. "Sam," he began slowly, then cracked a smile. "Sometimes you drive me crazy, you know that?"
"Yeah." I smiled in return. He hadn’t needed to say anything. The truth of a man’s love lies in his deeds, not his words. "I know. Let’s go round up the bad guys."
Al informed me, not without indignation, that our house guests had made themselves decidedly at home. Frog was making use of the gym, Izzy had discovered the video system, Rivers was raiding the icebox, and Nate - Nate had kicked off his shoes and was busy picking his way through the Calavicci wardrobe while smoking choice cigars and drinking the smooth malt whisky he’d lifted from the drinks cabinet. All I had to do was sneak in, pick them off one by one and make sure I wasn’t caught doing it. Sound easy?
Wrong.
I started out okay. I slid in through the front door, and left my shoes beside it so I could walk that little bit more softly. Al acted as lookout, beckoning me forward as he kept a careful eye on the main room. I sneaked down the hallway, snaked around the archway into the kitchen, and put one of Alonzo’s neat little packages - phut - into Rivers’ rear end as he bent inside the fridge. He jerked up at the impact, knocking his head on the next shelf up, then slid unceremoniously to the floor in a puddled heap. Al gave me a thumbs up and flicked to his next chosen vantage point, somewhere in the middle of the main room.
I paused to drag Rivers out of view and secure him with a couple of drying cloths, then followed over the intervening distance, finding my next victim slumped by the fire, idly rewinding and rewatching a particularly gory bit in the western he had found. I didn’t have such a clear shot for this, so I had to wait until he got bored and stood up to change the tape. Phut. Two down, two to go. I was turning toward the stairs when Al let out a shout of warning. I spun, to find Frog charging across the floor straight toward me. I fired instinctively, putting a dart cleanly into his chest - and he kept coming. I fired again, without thinking, and then I threw myself out of his way as he went right on coming, just like a freight train.
"Keep the noise down, Sam," Al advised, helpless to do more than bounce around and agitate. I grunted and ducked as Frog swung a massive fist in my direction. Furniture went flying. So did I, picked up by the blow and flung breathlessly across the floor. He followed, livid with rage and I rolled away, under the nearest table, trying to catch my breath. Somewhere, I heard Nate’s voice, demanding to know what was going on. Then Al let out another warning yell and I scrambled away just as a chair splintered the table that had been my refuge.
I regained my feet, conscious that everything had gone wrong and that I needed to end this quickly. The heavy was stumbling toward me, his eyes beginning to glaze and his face contorted. I checked my balance, swung around and struck out, taking him down with a technically dubious but highly effective kick.
"Yes!" Al exclaimed in delight, and I flashed him a grin of triumph. A grin that became a look of horrified realisation as I heard the distant but unmistakable sound of a key being turned in a lock.
"Shit," I cursed, scooping up my gun and discovering it was empty. My hand fumbled in my pocket, slamming the live ammo into the deadly weapon as I took the stairs two at a time. I pounded down the upper balcony, the door at its end gaping open. Al flicked into existence in the frame and threw back a hand to halt my headlong plunge. I jerked to a stop, just as two shots thundered out of the open door - straight through the alarmed hologram.
"You there, pretty boy?" Nate’s voice followed the sound of gunfire. "I’ve got something you want. Why don’t you come in and get it?"
I pressed shaking shoulders to the wall and slid my way along to the half-open doorway; then dropped and rolled in, bringing my weapon up with determined aim. Nate was standing casually by the bedside, his gun hand resting lightly on the Commodore’s shoulder - and the deadly end of the weapon was pressed up under his chosen victim’s chin ...
"No," Samwise exclaimed, stepping in front of me. "He’ll kill him ..."
The Admiral had walked in through the wall, since I occupied most of the doorway; he took one look at the situation, caught Samwise by the waist and dragged him back, giving me a clear field of fire. "Stay out of this, Sam," he warned. "Don’t let’s confuse the issue here."
My eyes flicked in their direction, registering that, after an initial struggle, my other self stayed where he was put. It might have had something to do with the way that his company kept his arms securely around him, a protective response to a situation that neither of them could affect. I looked back to the main issue. Alonzo held himself perfectly still, his eyes locked - not on the gunman beside him, but on me. He was breathing in short shallow gulps, and sweat beaded his forehead. He was very close to death right then, and he knew it.
"Whatcha gonna do, pretty boy?" Nate taunted. "You’re gonna have to do something, ain’tya? The way I see it, you got three choices. You can kill me. You can surrender. Or you can just watch me blow his brains out."
"Nooo," Samwise moaned. I knew exactly how he felt. I had been talking about there being no differences, and there weren’t. My best friend was sitting there with the muzzle of a gun in his throat and I was the only one who could do anything about it.
"See," Nate went on conversationally, "I don’t think you got the guts to do what you really oughta. For all you know, I’m gonna take away your gun and do it anyway." He smiled, rather unpleasantly. "You know, I might at that. I ain’t scared of killing." He reached out and tangled his free hand in Al’s hair, dragging his head back so as to get a better angle of attack. I tensed, unable to avoid the intake of breath at the sight.
"Let him go, Nate," I said, trying to keep my voice low and steady. "You’re not going to gain anything by this."
"Oh, yes I am," he laughed. "Because you won’t take the risk. You’re not the killing kind, pretty boy. Not in cold blood. You’re gonna have to make it a clean shot, or I’m gonna fire anyway. You want to make it on ten? One."
My hands were trembling. He was right. I couldn’t just shoot him down, could I? And if I missed, or only wounded him ...
"Two."
He was asking me to kill him. He was twisting the situation so as to make me a killer, not him. I’d killed before, I knew that, but not like this, not right up close and coldly certain.
"Three."
I didn’t have any choice though, did I? It wasn’t just anyone he had as his hostage. It was Al for god’s sake. If I didn’t do this thing, I would have to watch him die. Was that what I was here to do? Was the price of my return home the life of a man who was everything to me?
"Four."
I glanced at the mirror images in the corner, at Samwise’s stricken expression, and the tight anger on my Al’s face. If I got this wrong then all four of us would be lost. I’d be trapped here, alone, and they would destroy each other, so close and yet tormented by knowing that there was a difference - and knowing that would tear them apart.
"Five."
"Sam ..." Al’s voice was an appeal of pain. I didn’t know what to do. Nate’s ugly smile filled my senses, my aim focused on his heart. All I had to do was put a bullet into his black soul. Calmly and deliberately put him out of his miserable existence. But I Leaped to save lives, not end them. I wasn’t a killer. Nate was right.
"Six."
Samwise had come home. Had sworn never to take another life. Because he had been made to kill. As I have been made to kill. It would have been him, crouched here, watching the seconds tick down on his lover’s life, unable to solve the dilemma that hammered at me.
Except I wasn’t Samwise.
"Seven, pretty boy. Seven."
I was Samuel Beckett. I was here to put history to right. I was going to make the right choice. Not wait to see if this sadistic thug was merely bluffing, nor blindly surrender my gun and see him take his cruel revenge in any case. The right choice. I would do anything for you, I’d told my friend, and had meant it. Lie. Cheat. Steal.
Even kill.
I pulled the trigger.
The police were very understanding about the whole matter. I called them up on the radio in the communications room and they sent a chopper almost immediately. They picked up my captives, took away Nate’s body, and explained that they’d been searching for this particular bunch ever since they’d bungled a hijack on the main road into Durango. They’d killed two deputies and an innocent truck driver. Learning that made me feel a whole lot better about the affair.
They took statements, and photographs, and asked if we wanted medical assistance - which I politely refused, explaining that I was a qualified doctor, and I’d be able to take very good care of my friend, thanks very much. Then they packed everything away and left us alone, merely expressing sympathy for our ordeal and hoping it wouldn’t put us off staying in the mountains in the future.
I waved them off with mixed feelings. The lodge was in a mess, and I felt totally exhausted. I shut the door and wandered into the kitchen, where I filled a pan with milk and set it to warm through. My arm was aching where the shotgun had carved its mark, I was black and blue from my fight with Frog, and I still hadn’t Leaped away.
Perhaps there was one last thing I had left to do. I smiled at my idea and set about the rest of my chosen task with greater enthusiasm. Shortly thereafter I was making my way across the main room with a loaded tray in my hand.
I met Al at the top of the stairs. The holographic Al, that is. He was watching me ascend the flight with a wry grin, the inevitable cigar in one hand, the handlink in the other. I grinned back, pleased to see him, although he looked more than a little haggard by now. Ziggy’s insatiable power demand had snatched my intangible company away shortly after Nate’s messy demise, which had probably been just as well. I’d felt pretty spaced out by the whole affair and I suspected that Samwise was bordering on hysteria. I know I would have been. To have been there was bad enough, but to be forced to witness that confrontation with no power to intervene ... I shuddered inwardly at the thought and wondered, as I paced up the last few risers, just how Al managed to cope with his incorporeal rôle in my seemingly endless Leaping. He was always there, but all he had ever had to help me with was his voice. And some of my experiences have been pretty scary ...
He jerked his thumb at the contents of my tray as I drew level with him. "Warm milk?" he queried, with a hint of disbelief. "Sam, are you serious?"
"Yeah," I chuckled. "Deadly serious. He’s gonna drink it, too."
He shook his head in mock despair. "I don’t think I’ve drunk warm milk since that day Angelique and I got caught in that thunderstorm, just outside Atlantic City ..."
"Aaal," I reacted with amusement. "Samwise was right all along. You are a Tomcat. Don’t your hormones ever take a day off?"
He threw me a look - a smug ‘wouldn’t you like to know?’ look - then grinned around the cigar. "As a matter of fact, Sam," he said with an attempt at wounded innocence, "Angelique only celebrated her eleventh birthday this year. She happens to be the daughter of my third wife’s brother’s son-in-law. I’m her favourite uncle - and don’t ask," he added hastily as I opened my mouth to do just that. "It’s a long story, okay?"
"Okay." I didn’t really want to get side-tracked into his convoluted family connections anyway. "Is - Samwise all right?"
He paused to consider me for a thoughtful moment. "Yah," he decided eventually. "He’s fine. Totally exhausted, but fine. I put him to bed - in the Waiting Room," he explained. "Ziggy seems to think you might Leap any time now."
I ignored the implications of that, for what I saw as the more important admission. "You put him to bed? Personally?"
"Saaam," he warned, jabbing at me with the cigar. "Don’t go jumping to conclusions here. This hasn’t been easy for any of us, and he was ... Well, I just - took care of him, that’s all. You know," he continued, eyeing me pensively as he did so, "sometimes I think that’s all I ever do. Babysit the boy wonder."
"Complaining?" I offered gently. He actually stopped to think about it.
"Nah," he declared with confidence. "But I could do without another Leap like this one."
I laughed. "I’ll second that."
There was a contemplative silence for a second, then he observed, conversationally, "Your milk is getting cold."
"And you’re going to fall over," I shot back, having recognised the signs. "Did you come here to tell me something, or are you just going to hang around and pass the time of day? Or just pass out?"
"What? Oh - well, it wasn’t anything in particular, Sam, just ..."
"I’m fine," I assured him, touched that, after what had to have been an emotionally harrowing session with Samwise, he had still wanted to reassure himself of my wellbeing. Not so surprising, if I thought about it, and probably in need of one reciprocal message - if he could stay on his feet long enough to deliver it. "We’re both fine - so get the hell outta here, will you? Tell Samwise it’s all okay, and then get yourself to bed. And that’s an order - Admiral."
He favoured me with an arch look. "I only take orders from the Pentagon - and you," he admitted with a sigh. "All right, Sam. Take care of yourself, kiddo. I’ll catch you on the flipside." He summoned up the Imaging Chamber door and it swallowed him in a flare of light. I waited until the very last of the afterimage had died away, then turned my steps along the balcony and went to join his other self instead.
"Warm milk?" The reaction was exact, right down to the suspect disbelief. "Sam, I haven’t drunk warm milk since - "
" - you and Angelique got caught in a thunderstorm outside Atlantic City." He blinked at my capper with puzzled bemusement. "Don’t worry about it," I advised. "I just left this conversation, that’s all. You’ll drink this - and like it, I promise."
He took the glass gingerly, wrapping his fingers around the warmth of it, and gave me a doubtful look. I grinned, and picked up my own glass, abandoning the tray to the floor. "Go on," I encouraged. "It won’t bite."
He wasn’t so sure, but he took a sip anyway. Then he took a second, and finally a long swallow, sliding down into the bed with a sigh of satisfaction. "That," he accused, regarding me with admiration, "is not warm milk."
"Nope." I took a pleasured mouthful of my own concoction and swirled the taste of it around in my mouth. "Milk - and honey, and a few other bits and pieces. Mom used to make it for me as a treat when I was sick. I’m surprised I remember the recipe."
"I’m glad you did." He sipped at his glass again, and looked at me over its rim. "Are you okay, Sam? I mean really okay?"
I nodded. "Yeah. I’m fine. How about you?"
He shrugged, then clearly wished he hadn’t. "I ache like hell," he said. "Feels damn good somehow."
"Bruises heal," I pointed out. "Some things don’t - unless you let them."
His look was quizzical. I got to my feet and walked to the window, looking out onto the pristine landscape with a pensive stare. I’d brought him to my room, his own still cluttered with reminders of Nate’s presence, and it seemed like a tiny refuge, untouched by recent trauma and filled with faint echoes of earlier events. The wind whispered around the lodge with a low moan and I shivered at the sound of it.
"Sam?" he questioned.
I reached out and closed the curtains, enfolding us in a private world. "You got room in there for a friend?" I asked lightly, turning back to him with a hesitant smile. He stared at me for a moment, then put out his hand and patted the space beside him.
"For you, Sam? Anytime."
I slid in beside him, reaching to wrap my arms around his silk-clad shoulders and pull him close. He still felt cold and I caressed the bruising along his arm with gentle sympathy. "Al," I said softly, "sometimes we make choices we have to live with. Sometimes that can be hard to do. But knowing that can sometimes make it easier in itself. Especially when it turns out that the choice was no choice at all."
He turned his head to study me, his eyes wary and his look defensive. "We’re not talking about Nate, are we?" he said. I shook my head.
"Wounds have to heal, Al. Even self-inflicted ones. You can’t deny something you love just because it hurt you."
He shivered under my hands, leaning into me for warmth - not of body, but of soul.
"I want you to promise me something," I asked. "But there’s something I have to do first. Last night - last night we shared something meant for mirror images. But this is from me - to you." I leaned forward and kissed him gently. He froze for only a moment - then kissed back, a taste of milk and honey, a strength in my arms, and a touch I held in my heart because I knew it might be all I had to sustain me for a long time yet to come.
"You know I’d promise you anything," he said as we parted for air. I smiled, hugging him close.
"Then promise me you’ll fly. And not regret it. Teach me. Teach me what it’s really like to have wings."
His hold on me tightened with what might have been a sob. "I promise," he said tightly. "I promise, Sam. Oh god, I love you ..."
"I love you too," I whispered - and Leaped ...
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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