Washington D.C., FBI Building May 17, 2000 9:35 AM
Dr. Sam Becket wasn't quite sure how long he had been traveling without a road. Time was no longer measured by years or months, but by hours and days. Years did not happen to him. Even if they did, he couldn't remember them anyway. The part of his brain that recalled past events had been scrambled.
Maybe this time, he'd find his way home.
But when the world solidified again, Sam found himself standing in front of a desk.
"Scully...Scully, you okay? You look like you've never seen me before."
Sam blinked through his new host's eyes to find a young man with fair skin, hazel eyes underneath fashionable glasses, and modestly styled brown hair looking up at him from his desk, apparently concerned.
Dr. Becket's theories of Time Travel had lead him to the development of a highly classified government project dubbed Quantum Leap, incorporating Einstein's Relativity theories into quantum physics. The end-result of which was a Time Machine, and the Time machine had sent him in front of this desk, into the body of someone else.
"Yeah. I'm fine." Sam answered, having no idea how fitting that response was. He looked down to see feminine hands and suppressed a groan, praying that this man wasn't going to try to steal a kiss or hit on him.
He glanced around at his new surroundings. Leaping as many times as he had gave him plenty of practice covering up disorientation that usually resulted. He had leapt in during everything to performing a piano concert at Carnegie Hall to participating in a beauty pageant to the being shot at during middle of a battle. Leaping into an office was a nice change of pace.
He was in a dark office with a low ceiling that had only one desk and no windows. The desk was piled with what must be more than to its capacity of papers. There was a wrinkled and frayed poster that had a UFO on it that affirmed "I WANT TO Believe" pinned to the wall behind the young man's head. Sam tried to hide a quizzical expression as he looked up to see twenty or so pencils suspended by their points on the ceiling. The young man popped a sunflower seed and began cracked it between his teeth, as if it turned the key to the wheels in his mind. Sam wondered what it was he wanted to believe.
"Of course you're fine." The young man answered wryly. "I wouldn't expect anything else from you, Scully. You could be hanging onto life by a thread and you'd be *fine.*" The young man snorted in frustration and went back to being engrossed in whatever was in the manila folder he was reading, thankfully missing the eye language. He gave Sam a smile with an odd mix of concern and frustration, eyes waiting for one of his partner's usual comebacks. Sam guessed from the young man's demeanor around him and the way he reacted with this woman that they spent a lot of time together. Odds are they shared a lot, in which case he was going to have to be careful with what he said, and judging from the way he was so absorbed in the contents of the folder, he loved his work.
Aggravated that the response that he was expecting never came, the young man arose and shrug into a slightly wrinkled jacket that was carelessly hung on the chair he was sitting on.
"Skinner wants us. We better get going." On the way out the door, Sam glanced at the front to see "Fox Mulder" in bold black letters against a brass nameplate. He wondered what sort of mother would curse her child with a name like that as he followed him briskly down unvarying corridors, trying to memorize the route to the office of whoever Skinner was.
Looking around, seeing the official pictures and memorabilia, he realized he was in the FBI building.
At least now he knew half of who he was, he knew where he was, but he didn't know why he was here. He needed to find out exactly why he had leapt into this Scully woman, and what he needed to do to leap. "Who knows?" He thought. "This might be the leap home." Ever since the project began, that's what he had to believe.
May 17, 2015 9:35 AM Roswell, New Mexico; Project Quantum Leap Headquarters
Al Calavici, clad in a zebra striped hat with matching pants, a royal blue shirt, and a red leopard-spotted jacket gnawed on his Cuban, mulling over the report that had just been handed to him. The Admiral was somewhat infamous around Dr. Becket's project for his outrageous wardrobe. He was a short older man, with a swanky demeanor, always smoking a Cuban, which seemed to be an appendage. He walked into the imaging chamber, holding a document in a manila folder, nodded a greeting to Goushie, Al's odd-looking underling. Al figured that whomever Sam had leapt into would be recovering from the leap by now, and would be able to give them more information to go on.
"Dr. Scully?" He barely had a chance to introduce himself before Scully-who-was-Sam clinched her jaw. With her arms folded, she let out an exasperated sigh, and shot Al an incredulous glare.
"Are you people from the NSA? Who put you up to this?"
All Al could do was freeze. Mulder—that was the guy in the file, wasn't it?
"What the *HELL* is going on here! Mulder! Langley!" She cried out into the air. "This *ISN'T* funny! A little bit *LATE* for April Fools' Day, don't you think? Whatever I did, Mulder, I'm sorry. You were right. Little green men *DO* exist. Let's go home now!" She started to march out the door.
Al raised an eyebrow and blocked her path. He noted rising anxiety in the voice, and waited for her to calm down. Anger and anxiety were not abnormal after experiencing disorientation when new Leapers went through the imaging process. He knew Sam too well to know that it wasn't his old friend speaking.
"Did Byers put you up to this?" Her jaw was clinched and her voice was low with anger.
Al, of course, had no idea who Byers was.
"Alright," Scully lunged at Al and was glaring at him, and doing everything but grabbing him by the collar. "Give me the ruby slippers so I can click my heals and we can go HOME!" anger lowered Scully's voice an octave or two. "Frohike?" She called to the air.
"Dr. Scully," He spoke with steady detachment, trying to calm her down, looking her frankly in the eyes. He sighed in frustration. If Scully wasn't going to cooperate there wasn't much chance with doing whatever it is Sam needed to do for her.
"Here are the ruby slippers. Just tell me anything you can about Agent Fox Mulder."
"Byers!" Scully was getting worried now. Al could tell he had struck a chord in her by mentioning her partner. She lunged at him again. "I'm not telling you a *thing* until you tell me where I am, where Mulder is, and what we are doing here."
Dr. Dana Scully was definitely not going to make this easy. Still, Al *had* to ask...
"What's a Frohike?"
*FBI, 2000, 5 Minutes later*
It wasn't long before Sam found himself taking the chair beside Mulder in front of a tall man with olive skin, a wreathe of peppery gray hair, and thin-rimmed glasses behind a desk. He took a deep breath, templed his hands beneath his chin.
"Mulder...how do you explain this case report? Do you genuinely expect me to believe that aliens were involved in this? It took every part of him not to glare at the young man increduliously and Sam choked down a gasp. Every ounce in his being wanted to laugh and scream all at once. *ALIENS!*
Instead, he only managed to mumble "Oh boy!"