He stepped out of the room, aware of the vague humming that indicated Ziggy processing- what, he didn't know, but his gut told him it was shock. Me, too, Ziggy, he thought, still registering the Fermi suit that clung and shifted to his skin, almost abrasive with how electrified he still felt.

His heart still thudded at a rapid pace, almost concerning if not for the hyperawareness as he cast his eyes over every crevice of his surroundings. The bright white of the Waiting Room shifted to comparative darkness, and it took a moment for the cheery, almost pixelated lights of Ziggy's interfacing platform to speak through the darkness.

The room was empty, though he guessed not for long, and he curled his fingers inward as if anticipating stiffness from his long time away. The blur of his life was slowly gaining definition, slotting into place subtly with each disoriented step. He exhaled harshly, coming to lean against the operating center.

"Ziggy," he asked, voice hoarse as it adjusted to being used by him - and not others - again, "Could you- could you tell me the date? Please?"

The humming stopped, a brief stagger, before it resumed at a different pitch that he always associated with the careful cataloguing required of a request. "It is Wednesday, May 5th, 1993, Dr. Beckett."

He nodded, feeling the edge of one of the command cubes digging into his ribs. Sighing, one of his hands drifted to his temple, pressing a hand there in an attempt to ward off the vertigo and headache that was fluctuating as he recovered from his many years of leaping as his life slotted back into place. "Thank you, Ziggy."

"You're welcome, Dr. Beckett."

Something still sounded… off, about Ziggy. He frowned, hand falling away to lever support against the brightly-colored table. "Are you alright?"

A pause. "I am a computer, Dr. Beckett."

He huffed, amused despite the nagging unease that followed the edges of his thoughts, "I'm aware, Ziggy. But humor me, will you? Are you alright?"

The emphasis of a sigh, modulated through static, "Are you Dr. Beckett?"

He blinked, inhaling as if to answer with a reflexive ‘of course', but then stopped. It was a fair question, and Ziggy had helped him through many tumultuous events while he was stuck Leaping.

"Where's Al?"

It wasn't the question he had intended to ask - in fact, he had intended to rally Ziggy into asking questions of her own, so as to confirm his identity - but his mind was still sluggish, still processing this new data of merging his mind to his own body. Al was always here - Al always reminded him he was Leaping.

If Al wasn't here - if this wasn't a Leap - then where was he?

This, apparently, seemed to amuse Ziggy, given the sultry chuckle that answered him. "On the other side of the door, Dr. Beckett." He answered, "I needed to be sure it was you. … No offense."

"None taken," He replied in good humor. His breath still caught in his throat, and he couldn't ascertain if it was because of nerves, or exhaustion, or both. He squeezed his hand on the console, anyway, in a bid to draw strength from Ziggy's presence as he stood up on shaky legs.

It took a moment, to regain his breath, and he ignored the intuition that told him Ziggy was closely observing his heartbeat and respiration in order to straighten his posture into some semblance of order.

"Mind unlocking the door, Ziggy?"

"... Of course, Dr. Beckett."

It seemed not a moment later that Al was careening into the room with all of his usual energy, swearing up a storm at Ziggy and ostensibly followed by the entirety of PQL on his heels.

The entire entourage stopped on a dime as Al caught sight of him, virulent Italian stopped mid-syllable. A breath in, one the same tenuous beat as each other, before Al shuddered, looking like he wasn't sure if he should make another step forward.

"Are- Wha-" Al marshalled his thoughts, exhaling with a tentative, "... Sam?"

"Yes," He responded, breathless and suddenly giddy as he cracked a grin, trembling finely with the spurt of adrenaline just seeing his friend incited, "Hi, Al."

"Oh my god," Al clapped a hand over his mouth, not moving despite the bustling of Verbena around him to make a beeline straight toward Sam.

"Al-" He found that he didn't know what to say, how to respond, too busy staring at the north star that had guided him so fervently across time and space. He stood idly as Verbena lifted one of his hands, fingers pressing over his wrist to time his pulse.

"You're shaking," She murmured, looking concerned, "Are you alright, Dr. Beckett?"

That seemed to snap Al out of his, and Sam thought wistfully that any injury or slight of his would be enough to rouse the man into action. He glanced at Verbena, the fond smile on his face waxing assuring as he mustered up the energy to place his other hand over hers, "Just fine, Verbena. I'm just tired, is all."

"I'll say," She said, amused. "You're going to be put on strict bedrest as soon as I get the paperwork through."

"I know you will," He said, smile widening at the pace he knew she would take to reassure herself that it was, truly, Sam Beckett in her charge, and not other people wearing his face.

It must have been exhausting, he thought suddenly, feeling a pang of pity for the pain that must have put so many people through. Always seeing the face of Dr. Beckett, but never really the man himself.

Al was still rooted to the spot, ashen and mute, while Tina tried to rouse him, her voice pitched into concern. "Al, honey, are you okay? Do you need to sit down?"

There was no observable response, nothing clicking from the man beneath the shattered mask, and Sam took an instinctive step forward. Verbena's grasp loosened with a gentle, trailing touch, her own concern evident by how she hovered at his elbow in case of collapse.

He found he couldn't dredge up annoyance at the action - or anything else, at all - too concerned was he with bridging the remaining gap between him and Al. Silence enveloped them, everyone watching his progress with a critical, concerned eye.

For all that it seemed an eternity, it must have only been a few moments, and the flutter of joy and relief that he could hear Al's stuttered breathing and smell the clinging wafts of cigar smoke from his clothes almost made him stumble. Here before him was the man who had never abandoned him, and the strain of it showed in the paleness of his face, feather-thin wrinkles he knew intrinsically were borne of stress - a match to the increased smattering of grey and white in Al's hair.

"Al," He said, quietly, intensely. It seemed to breathe life back into the other, for Al grabbed Tina's arm with the strength of a man recently washed ashore. The physical reflection of his own mood felt like a mirror, casting back at him the same rigor that had chased him from Leap to Leap.

He couldn't raise his voice above a murmur, "I'm here now, Al. It's all right."

"It's all right," Al repeated faintly. He blinked, nodded, a faint sheen to his eyes as he gazed up at Sam. "It's all right."

Abruptly, he grabbed for Sam, and Sam grabbed back, their forearms entangled in a dying man's grip. He felt a sob bubble up, mixed in with a disbelieving laugh - none of it felt real, had felt real, not without confirming for himself that Al was there in flesh and blood on the same plane of reality as he was.

"Al," He repeated, if only for the joy in saying the man's name without needing to hide it under his breath, or pretending through a phone.

He was wrapped in a hug, and oh, he would never complain about the suffocating fugue of cigar smoke again, not if it meant he could feel the iron grip of his friend's arms around him, fingers digging into his back as the suit was twisted in Al's grasp. Never again, he thought he could hear, Never, ever again.

"Sam," And there was his name, so brokenly said, and yet it slotted right into the gaps that his heart was cracking apart without. "Sam, dear God…"

He grinned, well and truly despite the tears filming over his eyes and rendering everything a staccato bluster of color, gripping back with equal strength. For Al- for Al, he would fight over the lassitude of his body, to give back even a single gram of the solidarity that the man had given to him.

The swung, for a moment, stuck in time as they catalogued each adjustment to this new reality, no mere hologram or warping of space-time making a mockery of their existence to each other. He didn't know when he had tucked Al's head into the crook of his shoulder, but the steady wetting of his suit made it seem like the right decision as he stood steadfast for this indescribably loyal friend.

He wouldn't break apart, not now, not when he had the pieces of the puzzle put together despite the quicksand of physics leaching away the horrors of Leaping. He clung to Al as he clung to those memories, not wanting to leave his friend alone for either.

"Sam," Al said, a tremble to his voice that said he wasn't done grieving - and, Sam reflected sorrowfully, would likely not be done for many years yet. "Sam, how…? How are you back?"

He inhaled, turning the things he could say over in his mind. No one had been in the room, which indicated that no retrieval program was being run at the time of his reappearance. This return was of his own doing, and it sent a remembrance of exhaustion through him, threatening to take the both of them tumbling down to the floor.

"I suppose it was just time for me to come back home," He murmured instead, and in the heart of it, that seemed to ring true. Al didn't let go, and Sam didn't make any move to shove him aside, continuing on with a voice that felt the need to deliver his speculations gently, "I think I'm needed here more, now."

That caused a hiccupped breath to echo out from Al to the others, an unexpected unwinding of tension that must have kept them ticking away for the miles of years he was absent for. It sent a pang through his heart, the fleeting misery that he couldn't take all of them in his arms to soothe them.

But the pain was quickly absolved with the satisfaction that he, at last, was able to help Al in the way Al had so frequently helped him. It was no encouraging word to dust himself off and work towards his release from that Samaritan purgatory, but it was exactly what he knew Al preferred - the physical reassurance that all was right in the world.

He couldn't change the past - their lives had their own struggles reflected in the broken glass of innocent dreams - but what was here now was an ample bounty unto its own. Shifting his grip, he brought a hand up to cradle Al's head, protective of the terrific mind housed within it.

The action broke some reticence on the other man's end, and he slumped into Sam's arms, heedless of the respectful quiet the others were granting them. "You can rest, now, Al," He said, dropping the words close to the man's ear, "I'm here, I'm not leaving."

"Don't do that again," Al mumbled, taking remorseless advantage of the sanctuary Sam was offering him.

He chuckled, giving in to the temptation to drop a kiss to his friend's temple, "I think I've had my fill of it."

"You'd better!" Tina interjected, voice overlapping Gooshie's. They glanced at each other, flustered.

No time was given for either to cede, for Ziggy smoothly interrupted, "Perhaps now Admiral Calavicci will rest properly."

Verbena hummed in vehement agreement, "I expect the both of you to head straight to bed."

He felt the slim smile that broke through Al's demeanour as he laughed, "Yes, ma'am."

They kept close, a huddle of people surrounding them as they were fairly escorted to the room the project's doctor led them to. The chamber was small, and the bed singular, but the exhaustion that rattled through Sam's bones made him gratefully compliant as he led Al into the room.

"Sleep well, Dr. Beckett, Admiral Calavicci." Ziggy bid the both of them, flicking off lights until only the dim, yellow lamp kept them company. It was signal enough, and a yawn broke through Sam, rippling over to Al.

The man looked nearly sickly in the low light, its muted shade drawing shadows over the divots of his skin. He looked up at Sam, the lingering effects of shock on his face piling age into his features. It wasn't the youthfulness that Sam had gotten to know over the course of building the array of Quantum Leap machines, and it tugged at his heart as he reached down to grasp Al's hands.

"How are you, really?" He asked softly, thumbs brushing absently over the warm skin.

Al seemed transfixed by the sight, and Sam believed it, knowing this tangible intersection of selves would take time - so much of it, now! - to settle in. He didn't remove his hands, despite the tug of weariness that made his eyelids slip lower in anticipation of a proper sleep.

"I am…" Al's voice was rough, as if unused, and Sam knew that to be a lie with how often his ear was chatted off with meandering gossip and helpful advice alike. He squeezed the other's hands in encouragement, waiting out the startled inhale at the reminder that he was really here, "I- don't know."

The wounded undertones made Al seem small, miniscule in comparison to the impact he's had in Sam's life for so long. "That's alright," He murmured, "I'll be here, anyway."

That rattled another would-be sob into existence, from deep in the pit of Al's stomach. Sam caught sight of the tears that wavered on the edge now, and how Al dragged his hands away to brush them away. He beat him to it, though, cupping the man's face as he thumbed away the tears as they spilled over.

Once upon a time - probably at the very beginning of this mess - Sam probably looked up at Al with the same look of lost despondency that was directed up at him now. He wondered if Al felt the same brokenheartedness as he did, the same instinctive reaction to soothe and comfort. His friend was pretty terrific, and he didn't doubt that urge to right the world resided in the same spot as it did in his own heart.

He pressed his forehead against Al's, abruptly wishing for the urge to be closer. Mindless shushing noises spilled forth from him, accepting the frantic grasping that let Al know this was real. God only knew that he needed his own grounding in reality, listening to the sobs shaking through both of them as he wiped away tear after tear.

"I- I thought," Al wept, "Thought you would never come- come back."

"You prayed for me," He murmured, remembering his guise as a priest and the grieving Al tried so hard to fix, words tumbling forth as they did now, "I'm here, you've got me."

His legs were straining with fatigue, an unpleasant after-effect of merging with his own body after so long, and Al instinctively caught him despite his own turmoil, breath stopping entirely until Sam was righted. It paralleled their lives from the Leaping so closely that he couldn't help but press forth, reassuring Al that he was here, that he was safe, that Al didn't fail him like he so feared to do.

They were an unstable tangle, difficult to tell who was which in this superposition of keeping each other anchored. His lips upon Al's were like the quantization of states, a resonance of softness that lulled each other into stability, something less frenetic and more an induced calm. He swiped his lips across Al's, gently, taking care to memorize the electrification of nerve endings that overlapped with the salt of tears.

"I'm here," He murmured, pressing the words in the space between their lips, hands encapsulating Al's face and providing the end points of his care as he repeated his affections, his gratitude, into the waiting gasp before him, "I'm here, I'm here."

They slowed, eventually, an easing of momentum that rang outward from their trembling selves to the breath between them. It was difficult to tell the edges of each kiss, or who pressed back against the other, a sharing of sweetness that was their own celebration of equilibrium unto stillness.

He felt each whisper of inhale, the oxygen that must be circulating through Al's blood, and felt, for a moment, that it trespassed back to him, a reciprocation of the lifeline they had relied on so intensely. His fingers had curled at the edges of Al's hair, tickling at the tips where he had slipped across the edges of his jaw to cradle the man's head to succor comfort unto his mouth.

Reluctantly, he withdrew, gladly staying within the boundaries of Al's arms as he was held close in an embrace that held all the familiar protectiveness he had once enjoyed only in words. They did not move, nor speak, content to savor the moment.

He felt a smile pool across his face, euphoria bubbling up. Al matched it, quick as he ever was, a laugh tumbling between them. It seemed to settle the last echoes of stress between them, and a yawn cracked open from him, breaking the whispers of yearning that grief had threatened to eclipse.

In its place swept exhaustion, and though Al looked more lively than earlier, the deep bags under his eyes couldn't be missed. He dragged his fingers from Al's hair, down the man's neck and across his shoulders, watching the shiver that reverberated through him, finely tuned and deeply-wrought.

"Let us sleep, Al," He murmured.

Al nodded, pressing his fingers more firmly from where they were comfortably lodged in the shallow curve of his waist before they left with reluctance. He stayed close by, anyway, thigh touching thigh as Al unlaced and slipped off his shoes.

The sigh that echoed forth from that action was deep, already limned in sleep's catching thrall, and they settled upon the bed side-by-side, arms thrown over each other and legs entangled as they drifted off.

Today may be done, but tomorrow was another day, and one they needn't race to catch up to.

"In physics, the restoring force is a force which acts to bring a body to its equilibrium position. The restoring force is a function only of position of the mass or particle, and it is always directed back toward the equilibrium position of the system. The restoring force is often referred to in simple harmonic motion. The force which is responsible to restore original size and shape is called restoring force." - Wikipedia

"In the field of ship design and design of other floating structures, a response amplitude operator (RAO) is an engineering statistic, or set of such statistics, that are used to determine the likely behavior of a ship when operating at sea. Known by the acronym of RAO, response amplitude operators are usually obtained from models of proposed ship designs tested in a model basin, or from running specialized CFD computer programs, often both. RAOs are usually calculated for all ship motions and for all wave headings."  - Wikipedia

• Original timeline in the sense of Donna Eleese not marrying Sam, nor Beth Calavicci staying married to Al


• Although not canon, I kept to the idea of Sam's mind leaping rather than mind + body out of a sense of technical issues that could arise out of our current understanding of physics (i.e. the compression of matter that would deal with the details of "how would Sam fit into everyone's clothes" and the practical consideration of "how would Sam be able to recall his original positioning in the space-time field for an accurate Leap back home")


• Quite a lot of the physics and narration is directly influenced by the theory of quantum entanglement


• The date Ziggy tells Sam is the premier airing date of "Mirror Image"