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He sat in the nearly empty airport lounge, at a table that wasn't exactly secluded, but far enough away from the few other patrons to afford him some privacy while he contemplated his club soda. It was times like this that got to him... alone, with nothing but his thoughts and memories. Most of the time, he was far too busy to feel sorry for himself. When he was at the project there was always something to do, some details to iron out, another crisis to get on top of. During Sam's leaps he was doubly busy, adding to his usual work load the minute-by-minute crisis in which his friend was involved, struggling to get the information that Sam needed to complete his mission, sometimes even to save his life, but mostly just being there to lend support and encouragement when the younger man needed it. That was when Al Calavicci was at his best.
Then there were the between leap times, and the trips to Washington to keep the right people on the right side. The constant push/pull of the political scene, the stroking of the right egos, the contacts with the right powers, exercising every bit of his particular style of diplomacy. Sam would be appalled by some of his methods, but Al would do anything he had to if it meant just one more year of funding for Project Quantum Leap and that much more time for them to find a way to bring Sam home.
Pressure can get to you after a while, but Al could handle the stress; he was born to it. It was his way of life... living on the edge. As long as he didn't allow himself too much time for introspection, he was okay. Keep moving; don't think about it, that was his motto. When he allowed himself to contemplate all the pressures of his life and the dangers to himself and the young man who was friend/brother/son to him, he had a tendency to sink into one of those old depressions. He had spent too many years giving over to them. He had let himself sink to the bottom of his own personal hell-pit.
He rolled the club soda against the sides of the glass and remembered a time when the contents wouldn't have been so colorless. Bourbon had been his drink of preference. He'd always liked the way the lights of the bar glinted in the dark amber liquid. He could spend several minutes just looking at the way the ice cubes floated, sank and reappeared in the drink. Then came that wonderful moment when he took his first sip, and the pleasant warmth rolled down his throat, hit his stomach, then spread the feeling throughout his body. He'd always enjoyed that first drink. It was the only one he would remember afterward.
He took a sip and frowned. It just wasn't the same. He missed that first taste of a good glass of bourbon; he didn't miss what followed. He'd lost himself in that bourbon. To forget? But it never worked for long. When he'd sober up, he'd remember. So, he'd drink again. Caught in a whirlpool from which he couldn't escape. And he never would have, if someone hadn't reached in and pulled him out. That someone had been Sam Beckett. He owed the kid his life, such as it was. He still didn't care much for himself most of the time, but he couldn't... he wouldn't forget Sam. That's why he was sitting here in this stupid little bar at four in the morning, drinking a lousy glass of club soda.
"Calavicci? Is that you?"
The intruding voice pulled him back from his thoughts, but as his eyes focussed on the grinning boyish face before him, the image took him back to a whole different set of memories than the ones he'd just been considering. "Carmichael? You old son of a..."
"Hey, man! Watch it. This is a public place."
Al leaned back in his chair and a broad smile spread across his face. "What are you doing wandering around the Albuquerque airport at this hour?"
"Got a red-eye flight in. I had to finish up doing some business, but I was determined not to be late for the family reunion."
"Oh, yeah," Al nodded. "I forgot. The old family hacienda is around here somewhere." Truth was he knew very well where the ranch was.
"Not far," Skip replied, as he sank into a chair opposite his old friend. "I just have to rent a car to get there, and that's a little more difficult than I thought at this time of the morning. Guess I should have booked ahead."
"So you thought you'd pass some time in the bar?"
Skip shook his head. "No, actually, I was just walking around until the Avis booth opens. What are you doing here?" His quick, but meaningful glance at the drink in Al's hand didn't go unnoticed.
"Passing the time myself. Mechanical problem with the project jet. We had to put down a little short of our planned destination."
"Which is?"
Al smiled. "Classified, old bud." He knew Skip and a few other members of Sam's family had a pretty good idea where the project was. During the construction, Sam used to visit the ranch and his cousin Andy and his family quite a bit, although he'd never told them the exact location. It must be difficult for them. They had to suspect something was wrong when the visits suddenly stopped altogether. At least Al knew what was happening and was able to help in some way.
Skip shrugged. "Can't blame me for trying." He ducked his head sheepishly, then looked up at Al. "I don't guess there's much chance that Sam'll make it this year?"
He shook his head and offered Skip a rueful smile. "The project keeps him pretty tied up."
"Come on, Al. I'm no stranger to classified projects. And I know what Sam's obsession has always been. I know you can't tell me where he is or what he's doing, but can you at least tell me if he's alright?"
Al sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. "I was with him just before I left for D.C. yesterday. He was fine."
"Thanks, 'old bud'," he replied with a grin that was typical Skip. Al remembered that smile well. He always seemed to be able to get his way. And even when he didn't, nothing ever seemed to get Skip down for long. He was the eternal optimist. Al shook his head a laughed.
"What?" Skip asked, a little confused.
"Don't you ever change, Carmichael? I don't think you've grown up a bit since the old days at NASA."
"Yeah, I have, but I work at not lettin' it show."
Al laughed again as he waived to the bartender. "What'll you have?" he asked Skip.
"Uh, whatever your having'll be fine," Skip replied hesitantly.
Al held up two fingers to the bartender and pointed to his glass. The man nodded and turned to fill the order. "Now, catch me up on what you've been up to."
"Nothing much," Skip replied.
"Sure," Al chuckled. "Sam said you married Mel Slozar. How'd you managed to talk her into something so stupid. I always thought she had a good level head on her shoulders. Not to mention a damned good body below them. Course, she missed out on the first team," he waived his thumb at himself.
Skip laughed. "Well, it took some convincing. I had to take her to the moon to get her to take a second look at me." He ducked his head, then looked back up at Al. "But I'll tell you this. She's the best thing that ever happened to me. Then there's the kids."
"I just can't seem to imagine you as a father."
Skip shrugged. "People change."
At that moment the bartender arrived with their drinks. "Two club sodas," he said as he placed the drinks on the table before them. "Anything else, sir?"
Al handed him a bill and shook his head. "Thanks." He noticed the surprised look on Skip's face, lifted the drink and toasted. "People change," he echoed in explanation. Skip picked up his drink and returned the toast.
"Now, back to those kiddies of yours."
Skip reached into his pocket and pulled out his billfold to exhibit pictures of his pride and joy, and launched into a narrative to bring his old friend up to date about the pleasures of family life. Al let him continue until the recollections of his own failed attempts at marriage began to intrude on his thoughts. Then he turned the subject to reminiscences of their glory days in the space program and they both ended up laughing over the wild and crazy things they did back then. As the night wore on, each tried to top the other with one tall tale after another of reckless youth and high adventure.
"I'll never forget the look on old Minifield's face when he opened that box!" Al slapped the table. "Wonder what ever became of that pompous ass."
"Last I heard," Skip replied, "he practically owned some little town in Alaska."
"Maurice always did like to run things," Al remembered. A chime sounded from somewhere in the general vicinity of Al's pocket. He reached in and pulled out his handlink, ran his practiced fingers over its surface and gazed at the display, striking it once against the heel of his hand, eliciting an almost human whine from the instrument.
"What's that?" Skip asked.
"My ride's fixed and ready for takeoff," Al replied, side-stepping his friend's question. Skip didn't press it.
"Then I guess you'd better get going. It was really great to see you, Al. We shouldn't wait so long before we get together again. Maybe when Sam's finished with whatever it is he's so involved in, he'll bring you to one of our reunions. It'd do you good to meet our rather extended family."
"I don't think I'd know what to do with as many relatives as you two have," Al admitted, "but I'm willing to try anything."
Skip stood up and reached his hand across the table. "Take care, Al, and look after that cousin of mine."
"That's my job," Al replied as he rose and took his friend's hand.
They both stood there for a moment, wanting to say more, but not knowing what. At last, both seemed to decide there was nothing else necessary between them and Skip offered Al his grinning face once more, gave him a nod, then strode out of the bar toward the end of the airport where the car rental booths would soon be open.
The handlink gave a squeal to remind him he had a destination of his own. He took a last drink from the club soda, and left the bar in the opposite direction. Ships passing in the night, he thought. But sometimes a passing ship can give you just what you need. Skip reminded him that memories weren't always dark, and friendships, forged in youth can remain for a long time. He glanced over his shoulder and sent his silent thanks to the distant figure, then turned himself and his thougts ahead once more. Back into the crisis. Thank God!