Star Bright
By
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Disclaimer: Disclaimer: Quantum Leap characters belong to Universal Studios and assorted bods, most definitely not me, which is a shame because if they did then Mirror Image would have been a lot different...
Star Bright
When he opened his eyes he remembered instantly, as he always did now. In the beginning there would be those few brief seconds when he woke up and it took a while for his brain to kick into gear, for things like memory and emotions to assert themselves. That hadn't happened for a long time now. He wasn't sure that was a good thing.
His room was flooded with light so it must be mid-morning. Sam hadn't Leaped yet or they would have called him immediately. They had once made the mistake of not notifying him the second they got a lock on Doctor Beckett, thinking Admiral Calavicci needed sleep. They had not made that mistake again. Gooshie was still walking on eggshells around him and Ziggy had sulked for a month.
He dragged his aching body out of bed, his back protesting. You'd think he'd be used to the disturbed sleeping pattern and stone-hard narrow bed by now. He took a moment to stretch, working out the kinks and knots until he felt able to move more freely. He could arrange for a better, bigger bed to be delivered, for the room to look less drab, less military, but doing that would feel like admitting defeat, would be an acknowledgment that Sam's Leaps were indefinite.
He splashed water onto his face, not sure if he would have time for a shower this morning - not that the damn thing ever produced more than a trickle anyway. They had Ziggy the wonder computer, capable of a gazillion computations per second, yet they couldn't even get a shower to work properly. He considered breakfast, but his stomach rebelled. It was always the same just before Sam leaped in. Not until he had the facts, not until he knew what and when and who Sam Beckett was could he even consider food. Coffee was a different matter but he'd grab that later.
He finished shaving and brushing his teeth - couldn't let Sam down, now could he? - and raked his fingers through his hair. Was it getting a little thinner up top? He rinsed the shaving foam from his face, pausing when he caught sight of his expression.
Sadness? Despair? Frustration? What the - ! Well that wasn't allowed, was it? Get a grip, Calavicci! He stared at his face, watching as it assumed a smile. If you didn't look too closely he actually looked happy. Carefree. That smile was a damn Oscar winner. Jeez, he was wasted as an admiral.
He pulled on clean shorts then studied the suits hanging up in the wardrobe, considering the merits of each one with the same care he would an item of weaponry in the middle of a war zone. Okay, which one would raise a smile or a wise crack from Sam? The yellow suit had worked in the past, as had the orange.
Thing was, was he up to carrying off the colour in his current mood? The brighter the colour, the more carefree he would have to appear. Sounded dumb, but the fact remained. Occasionally he could put on something like the red jacket and it would actually lift him for a while, but it didn't happen often.
Still, it might work today. He took out the red jacket, teaming it with black pants. Now for that little touch. Should he go for a bolo tie or a pin? Maybe both?
The blue star caught his eye. Oh, shit.
He picked it up, smoothing his thumb across the five points. His fingers tightened and he had to make a conscious effort to relax his grip.
Starlight, Starbright.
A blue star, nothing special. Except that Sam had given it to him when he had agreed to quit drinking and stay on the Starbright project. The committee had wanted to get rid of him. Then Boy Scout Beckett had stepped in and demanded they keep him on. But he'd had to give Sam the promise. Sam had given him a role, and his friendship. And the blue pin.
I wish I may, I wish I might.
And Sam didn't remember. He'd worn it often enough and received no comment to know that. Maybe something would click in Sam's memory on this Leap? Maybe he would see it and recall how embarrassed and pleased Al had been?
Maybe. Might. Possibly. Jeez. And if wishes were horses, yadda yadda. Wish upon a frickin' star.
He pinned on the star anyway; it couldn't hurt to try. Of course it hurt to hope, but what the hell, he was used to that. The alternative was giving up and that was unthinkable.
The comm-link on his wrist began to vibrate slightly, the flashing coloured lights assuming a pattern he was familiar with. Ziggy began to feed him information while he slid on his shoes and fetched the hand-link. His breathing had quickened, as had his pulse, and he tried to slow down both, before Ziggy informed him of the change in his bio-rhythms. Though you'd think a computer as smart as Ziggy claimed to be would have figured out why he reacted this way by now.
He went to the door and switched off the timer that controlled the daylight simulator. The room was plunged into darkness - there were no windows underground. He left the temporary living quarters that had been his home for four years and headed down the short white corridor for the door at the other end. Pausing briefly to rub at his gritty eyes, he practised his smile a couple of times till it felt comfortable and natural. Then he entered the Imaging Chamber to be greeted by the man who was his friend.
"Al! Where the hell have you been!"
Al didn't have to bite his tongue any more. He was a seasoned campaigner. His smile still fixed firmly in place he went into action.
*
Al was hurting. Sam knew it even though the words spoken and the smiles said differently. The eyes were twinkling at him now as Al tried to tease him out of his depression, telling him about a trip to Vegas with Tina; but there was a pain in their depths no smile could hide.
He knew what caused it, or at least he knew what caused some of it. Himself. His inability to remember. He'd forgotten Al who must have been someone of great importance in his life in his pre-Leap days because he sure was of great importance while he was stuck here bouncing around in time. His swiss-cheese memory was full of holes he couldn't plug no matter how many restless nights he spent trying to fill them. Sometimes he'd write down names, words, that he knew were important and he would read them out loud, write them again, try to snatch at the memories dancing at the edge of his mind, tantalising him. The first thing he wrote was Al Calavicci. Sometimes it would help him remember something. Then he'd have to destroy the piece of paper because it wasn't his body or his house or his notepad or even his own damn pen.
Al was winding down his latest story, working up to the punchline. Sam looked at the pin on Al's lapel that Al had adjusted twice during the telling of the tale, knowing it held some significance. Why else would Al wear it so often?
Nothing. It was a blue star. Search as he might he could find no memory to bring into the light, to show Al, to prove that he was important enough to remember.
Of course he was important - for so many reasons. Because Al was his friend. Because Al was his lifeline and his champion and his guardian. He needed Al. And Al needed proof. Sam knew that, just as he knew Al would have told himself that he didn't need it. He didn't remember much but he remembered that. He clung on to that rock-solid memory and the warmth that certainty gave him. For now it would have to be enough.
He just hoped it was enough for Al.
-end-
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