Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer – not mine. Quantum Leap – also not mine. Not making money though so please don't hurt me.

Author's Note on Timing (If you share my personality characteristic of anal-retentiveness or a morbid fascination with minutiae):

BtVS: post-Intervention. This fic starts on the day after the events in 'Intervention' which means the extent of the Scoobies' knowledge of Glory is that she's a god and wants the Key. I have assumed an interval of a little over a week between the end of 'Intervention' and the beginning of 'Tough Love'; during this time Glory is primarily in her Ben persona. Although they spanned a month in TV time, the final four episodes of Season 5 had an internal elapsed time of no more than two or three days. Because of this, I'm placing the date of Buffy's plunge from the tower on May 4th.

QL: Quantum Leap was set in the 'future' of the late '90s and Sam only leaped back to the past. Late Season 5 of BtVS was set in 2001. I'm resolving the time dilemma by saying that Sam Beckett has been leaping for about 2 years and he leaped for the first time in 2005 so anything before that is the past, from the perspective of the QL Project, and therefore fair game.

Leap, Plunge and Move On
A Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Quantum Leap Crossover
By Coast2Coast

Wednesday, April 25th, 2001
Apartment of Rupert Giles
Sunnydale, California

Dr. Samuel Beckett felt the tingling rush of the Leap effect slowly dissipate and he blinked and stretched to dispel the disorientation from his mind and body. He began a slow, careful perusal of his immediate surroundings with as little movement as possible, having learned from experience that the first few moments of a Leap could be hazardous in any number of ways if he wasn't sufficiently cautious.

This time, he seemed to be in a safe environment and alone. His gaze drifted over the comfortable looking furniture, fireplace and bookshelves in the casual lounge area of what appeared to be an apartment or small condominium. He rose from his seat on the couch and turned in a circle, noting the stairs leading up to a loft, the counter separating the entryway from the kitchen and a hallway that led to a blank wall with recesses on either side that suggested, based on the floor plan he could see from his position, another room and a second entrance.

Sam glanced down to see a dark gray dress shirt and conservative tie, suit trousers and a pair of black dress shoes. He breathed a sigh of relief. Two of the things he most dreaded in a Leap had been avoided: he wasn't a woman and/or scantily clad.

Since the hologram of Admiral Al Calavicci had yet to appear on the scene, Sam decided to see how much he could discover about his latest host while he awaited the arrival of his sole guide and confidant. He approached a mirror that hung on the wall over an antique wash stand and considered his reflection.

He appeared to be a man in his forties with medium brown hair shot with silver. His face was pleasant and handsome, in a subtle but assured manner, but it was somewhat lined and careworn - as though he were stressed or overworked. Sam removed the glasses that perched on his nose to get a closer look at an intriguing amber patch in the man's left eye but as soon as the lenses had cleared his face the image in the mirror became too indistinct for him to see any detail.

The sound of the Imaging Room door sliding open caused Sam to turn. The movement in the brilliantly backlit rectangle signaled the arrival of his friend. Sam hesitated a moment before restoring the eyeglasses to their previous position because the blur of chartreuse, orange and purple telegraphed the fact that Al had exceeded even his own high standards of outrageous sartorial taste.

"Hiya, Sam," sounded Al's gravelly but cheerful voice. "How's the boy?"

"I seem to be okay. How much do you know about the situation so far?" Sam inquired, squinting as his eyes readjusted to the change in light level as Al closed the portal to the Imaging Room.

"Not much in the way of facts or details but enough to make me think this one's gonna be interesting in the worst possible way," Al groused.

"What makes you say that? Did you talk to the man I Leaped into? Who is he and what did he say?" Sam wanted to know.

"I wouldn't say I talked to him, exactly. As for who he is, I've got Ziggy working on it. All I can tell you at the moment is that he's British, royally pissed off and possibly psychotic."

"Psychotic?" Sam echoed in a worried tone. He mentally measured the man's ordinary appearance and his prosaic surroundings against his faith in Al's judgment.

"Take it easy," Al recommended. "I said 'possibly'. He's definitely British. It's rare to hear an American call someone a 'bloody pillock' but I've got plenty of pals in the Royal Navy who use that term, and worse," Al said with a grin. "As far as the attitude and mental state of our new acquaintance, the minute I stepped into the Waiting Room he grabbed me by the neck, lifted me right off my feet and slammed me into a wall," Al admitted, shrugging one shoulder and glancing away.

Although Sam could see no signs of physical damage, he knew such an experience would rankle with his friend. Al's sense of self-worth and masculinity was tied to his mental and physical toughness. Before Sam could offer a comforting comment, Al went on.

"Thank God I've learned some pretty crafty moves of my own. I managed to get away from him and out of the room. I've got Dr. Beeks watching him and if he doesn't calm down soon I'll have Ziggy dose him with tranquilizer gas. I'd rather not do it," Al said, frowning and shaking his head. "It doesn't inspire trust and that makes it harder to get the information we need to figure out what you're here to change."

"So you think he's psychotic because he attacked you?" Sam asked.

"Nah, that's happened before. It was the weird stuff he said," Al replied.

"Such as?"

Al screwed up his face in concentration. "He said I was 'uglier than the average minion' and that I could tell 'that bitch-god Glorificus' that she wasn't going to get anything out of him, no matter what. He also suggested I 'scurry on back to my hell dimension' if I knew what was good for me. The guy's got a wicked growl when he's agitated and it seemed like he was perfectly serious."

Sam's eyes had opened wider and wider as Al recounted his interaction with the man whose body Sam now inhabited. "'Bitch-god'? 'Hell dimension'?" he repeated in consternation. "What the heck kind of situation have I landed in this time, Al?"

"I honestly don't know, pal," Al sighed. "But since your host isn't in a very forthcoming frame of mind I figure we'd better snoop around here while we wait for Ziggy to come up with something."

Al tailed Sam as he worked his way around the apartment. The addressee on every envelope in a stack of mail on the desk was Rupert Giles of Sunnydale, California. Sam leafed through a leather-bound book and showed it to Al. "It's a journal," Sam said, glancing at a few pages that were covered with bold, distinctive handwriting. "Maybe he's a writer. It looks like he's been writing down ideas for a horror novel," Sam guessed after seeing words like 'vampire', 'demon' and 'blood ritual'.

"Maybe," Al replied, surveying the lounge area and its heavily-laden bookcases. "He sure likes books."

They wandered upstairs and Sam went through the small closet and chest quickly.

"Well, there's no woman on the scene," Al decided. "Or another guy, either. All those clothes are the same size and the same shade of boring. You'd think a guy who could cuss and fight like that would at least have interesting underwear," he sniffed in derision.

Sam grinned. "Black silk boxers and gray stretch trunks are plenty interesting in my book. He may talk like a crazy man but at least I'll be comfortable in his wardrobe."

"You've got no sense of style, Sam," Al complained as he followed his friend downstairs and into the kitchen. "Why, if you knew the kind of action you could get if you just broadened your horizons a little..."

"Al," Sam cut in. "Can we focus here, please? If this guy is as weird as you say I'd like to find out why I'm here and fix things as quickly as possible so I can Leap."

"Okay, okay," Al replied and then nodded while pointing at several cans in the cupboard Sam had just opened which were labeled 'Batchelor's Mushy Original Cooked Dry Peas'. "Yup, definitely a subject of the Crown."

Before Sam could reply to this observation the front door swung open, without a knock or any other warning, and a petite, young blonde woman strode into the entryway.

"Hi, Giles," she said by way of greeting as she continued on into the lounge. "We thought we'd come by and catch a ride with you back to the Magic Box."

"'We'?" Sam queried nervously.

"We," came another voice.

Sam turned back toward the door to see a slim redhead with a pixyish grin and a more generously shaped young woman with a shy smile enter and close the door.

"This is more like it," Al said with sincere satisfaction. "He may have lousy taste in clothes but I can't fault his taste in women. Are you sure you're eager to Leap now, Sam?" Al asked with a lascivious grin as he relocated to get a better look at the blonde.

"Great," Sam muttered under his breath. "It's going to be at least an hour before I get anything useful out of him now."

End Part 1