By Kielle
NOTES & DISCLAIMER: The characters and setting of the following snippet is the property of a) Marvel Comics and b) whoever the heck owns Quantum Leap. So sue me, I'm not a huge QL fan (though I'll freely admit that it was a good show). But a few years back I idly scribbled this little idea; it's been lounging around on my hard drive ever since, and tonight I figured "What the heck, if I post this puppy it'll prove that I'm still alive out here." :)
No money is being made and no harm is meant. Do not archive without contacting me, 'kay? Ditto for anyone wanting to continue it, which I recommend. I'm just too dang lazy to do it myself. ;) Feedback is not expected but always appreciated at kielle@subreality.com... PS: If you can figure out the triple pun in the title, you'll see why it's one of my favorite story titles ever.
Sam steadied himself and tensed, as usual caught completely off-guard by the leap. These were the crucial few seconds, the ones where he knew absolutely NOTHING about where, when -- or even WHO -- he was.
His eyes were focused on his hands. He looked up quickly...straight into a dresser mirror. THAT was convenient. The face which stared back at him was that of a man about his own age, perhaps a little younger, with neat brown hair parted on the side. Tee-shirt and jeans, digital watch on the left wrist -- 80's or 90's then. Good. And wearing shades.
Something had been odd from the moment he had been tossed into this body, and only now did Sam figure it out. Everything was tinted red. EVERYTHING. An eye problem...? No. The lenses in the shades were red. They were heavy, too -- not plastic, maybe not even glass.
"...Ooooooh! Scott, have you heard a single word I've said?" a female voice asked impatiently from behind him, seeming to tune into his hearing -- he'd been too distracted to notice earlier. He glanced up into the mirror. Standing across the room, with her arms folded, was arguably one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. A redhead, with long gently curling hair like fire.
And the temperament of the same element, if he was any judge of body language.
He shrugged vaguely with a sheepish look, stalling for time to cast about for clues. On the dresser, among a collage of other pictures, was a framed photo of some distant beach. Standing in the sand was the man whose body he was occupying, with the lovely redhead in his arms.
Casually, as if simply giving his hands something to fidget with, Sam picked up the picture and flipped it over. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found a label on the back in scratchy pen: "Scott & Madelyne, Hanauma Bay, Oahu, July '81."
Thus fortified, he turned to face the woman and took the plunge, putting every ounce of charm he had into his expression and tone. "I'm sorry, Madelyne, I was just kinda caught up in thinking and..."
His voice trailed away as the woman stiffened visibly -- he could almost FEEL the chill flowing off of her. "M-MADELYNE?!? How COULD you! Scott, what the hell do you think you're..."
She broke off and looked at him sharply, and suddenly he felt as if hundreds of tiny fingers were tapping over the surface of his brain. She took a wary step back towards the door, and it was as if Sam could hear voices raised in alarm just outside the threshold of his hearing...but inside his head.
Her green eyes were locked onto him as if he were a cobra, and it seemed to him that there was a star-like glow caught in the long hair at her forehead. He tried to step back but found that he couldn't move at all. "What," she said in a low, dangerous tone, "have you done with Scott Summers?"
Dumbfounded, Sam simply stared back as both the hallway behind her and the window to his left filled up with folk who looked like they meant business. "Ohhhh boy."