![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thecrazyalaskanShe was never supposed to be this bitter after a baby-related hospital trip.
The moment the word "baby" touched her thoughts, Sam scoffed and pushed it away. Baby—what baby? God, she decided, had a sick sense of humor—or was a sadist, one of the two. Maybe even both. Quite probably both. Who else would find it amusing to take away a baby they had every plan of naming after Al's sister?
Then again, she was partly to blame for her fucked up emotional state—who else but a masochist would sit here in a nursery they would never use, trying to figure out what had gone so horribly wrong?
* * *
He hadn’t wanted kids. He hadn’t wanted them with Beth, but he had a reason—he was in the Navy then, and it wasn't fair to a kid to be moving around so much. Then he settled down (somewhat—he was staying the same place year round, at least) and met Sammy. That was a great thing, and they had been seeing each other for close to two years while they hammered out Sammy's pet project.
Then she said she was pregnant last month. He still didn’t feel ready, and gently suggested to Sam that they consider adopting the baby out. She had flatly (vehemently, in fact) denied, insisting on keeping their child and swearing to do it with or without him. It had taken another month of serious thought for Al to change his mind, to tell Sammy he was going to stick with her and the kid whatever she decided.
But then this happened—the panicked phone call at three in the morning, the bloodstains on the bedsheets, the hospital, the diagnosis—something gone wrong in the womb, hell if Al could explain it. The prognosis wasn't much good either. Something had been wrong from day one, and she if had children in the future, it was probably going to be a miracle. Sammy wasn’t in the right state to be thinking about about a mere possibility that was that far into the future, and Al suspected she'd been burned too deeply to even consider it at all anymore.
* * *
Normally, Al would have disregarded the closed bedroom and gone right in. However, given the events of the last forty-eight hours, discretion was called for. "Sammy?" He knocked lightly. "Ya in there?"
There was a faint grunt from the other side of the wood. "Yeah."
"Can I come in?" he asked.
There was a long pause, and for a moment, Al thought she was ignoring him; finally. "It's open."
Al opened the door and stepped inside, closing it quietly as he glanced over at the bed. Sam was lying on her side, curled in on herself. Not the best pose she'd ever been in. "How are you feeling, Sammy?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed next to her.
She shrugged. "Better than yesterday."
Al smiled thinly and tucked a few loose strands of her hair behind her ear, but didn't speak or build off her comment. The silence was oddly comforting, save for the thin layer of sadness over the whole thing.
"Al, what did I do wrong?" The words were very faint, and she didn't take her eyes off the far wall as she said them.
Al was taken aback, but didn't let it show. "You didn't do anything, Sammy," he said softly, running his hand down her arm in something resembling a comforting gesture. "It's not your fault."
"I didn't do anything," she repeated, looking over her shoulder at him. "Al, do you think I could have not—" She cut herself off, not willing to say the words. Saying them made it real.
What could he say to that? Saying she could have would hurt her worse; saying she couldn't have would… hurt just as bad. He had to settle for the truth—"I don't know."
Sam didn’t reply, but sat up, folding her legs Indian style and looking down at the unmade bed. After a moment, she chuckled darkly. "Guess you got what you wanted."
"What?" Al questioned, genuinely confused by the non sequiter.
"Losing a baby cuts out the hassle of the adoption papers, doesn't it?" Sam explained. The bitterness in her voice was obvious as she wiped away a few remaining tears.
Al would have preferred she punch him—it would have hurt a lot less than that statement. "Sammy, don’t even think that," he protested.
"I didn't have to—you did," she reminded.
"Sammy, I was wrong," Al said softly, turning her head toward his. His throat was stating to ache, but he pushed himself to carry on. "I just wish I could have stopped being an ass and told you sooner."
-.-.-.-
Title: ---
Author: TheCrazyAlaskan
Fandom / Setting: Quantum Leap, pre-series
Characters / Pairings: Al Calavicci x Sam Beckett
Rating: T
Genre: Hurt / Comfort, Angst
Musical Inspiration: Imagine – Scott Bakula | Imagine – John Lennon
Relevant Quote: But, Madam, let your grief be laid aside, / And let the fountain of your tears be dry'd – Phyllis Wheatley, Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral
Warnings / Notes: Sad fic. Genderswapped Sam. Bunny tweaked from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
locoexclaimer.
Prompt from locoexclaimer: A character experiences a disaster and loses something dear to them, and gets help from a very close friend.
Write a Day challenge, and more depressing QL fic.
Every so often I like to imagine Sam as a woman. My mind canon for Sam x Al in that situation is that they conceived, but Sam miscarried. (It makes imagining "8 ½ Months" with Sam as a woman kind of beautifully painful.) Al canonically didn’t want kids with Beth, and locoexclaimer suggested that he initially didn't want to keep the baby with Sam… It all converges in this.
So, heh heh… When I was writing this, I had Sam and Al sitting in the bar of my mind canon boarding house, chatting them up about this and working on it, and Al insisted on calling female Sam, "Sammy." I couldn’t get him to go with Sam and ended up finding it too cute to pass up. <3 Anything to keep him talking because I love writing for his voice. It's hard trying to write native New York and not be kicking myself, "It sounds stupid, Al would never ay that if you paid him" kind of a thing. But DATVOICE.
What is it with me and writing Al x 63!Sam fics in three parts? :/
Also, Scott Bakula's version of "Imagine" is heartbreaking.
Al, Sam, Quantum Leap © Donald Bellisario
The moment the word "baby" touched her thoughts, Sam scoffed and pushed it away. Baby—what baby? God, she decided, had a sick sense of humor—or was a sadist, one of the two. Maybe even both. Quite probably both. Who else would find it amusing to take away a baby they had every plan of naming after Al's sister?
Then again, she was partly to blame for her fucked up emotional state—who else but a masochist would sit here in a nursery they would never use, trying to figure out what had gone so horribly wrong?
* * *
He hadn’t wanted kids. He hadn’t wanted them with Beth, but he had a reason—he was in the Navy then, and it wasn't fair to a kid to be moving around so much. Then he settled down (somewhat—he was staying the same place year round, at least) and met Sammy. That was a great thing, and they had been seeing each other for close to two years while they hammered out Sammy's pet project.
Then she said she was pregnant last month. He still didn’t feel ready, and gently suggested to Sam that they consider adopting the baby out. She had flatly (vehemently, in fact) denied, insisting on keeping their child and swearing to do it with or without him. It had taken another month of serious thought for Al to change his mind, to tell Sammy he was going to stick with her and the kid whatever she decided.
But then this happened—the panicked phone call at three in the morning, the bloodstains on the bedsheets, the hospital, the diagnosis—something gone wrong in the womb, hell if Al could explain it. The prognosis wasn't much good either. Something had been wrong from day one, and she if had children in the future, it was probably going to be a miracle. Sammy wasn’t in the right state to be thinking about about a mere possibility that was that far into the future, and Al suspected she'd been burned too deeply to even consider it at all anymore.
* * *
Normally, Al would have disregarded the closed bedroom and gone right in. However, given the events of the last forty-eight hours, discretion was called for. "Sammy?" He knocked lightly. "Ya in there?"
There was a faint grunt from the other side of the wood. "Yeah."
"Can I come in?" he asked.
There was a long pause, and for a moment, Al thought she was ignoring him; finally. "It's open."
Al opened the door and stepped inside, closing it quietly as he glanced over at the bed. Sam was lying on her side, curled in on herself. Not the best pose she'd ever been in. "How are you feeling, Sammy?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed next to her.
She shrugged. "Better than yesterday."
Al smiled thinly and tucked a few loose strands of her hair behind her ear, but didn't speak or build off her comment. The silence was oddly comforting, save for the thin layer of sadness over the whole thing.
"Al, what did I do wrong?" The words were very faint, and she didn't take her eyes off the far wall as she said them.
Al was taken aback, but didn't let it show. "You didn't do anything, Sammy," he said softly, running his hand down her arm in something resembling a comforting gesture. "It's not your fault."
"I didn't do anything," she repeated, looking over her shoulder at him. "Al, do you think I could have not—" She cut herself off, not willing to say the words. Saying them made it real.
What could he say to that? Saying she could have would hurt her worse; saying she couldn't have would… hurt just as bad. He had to settle for the truth—"I don't know."
Sam didn’t reply, but sat up, folding her legs Indian style and looking down at the unmade bed. After a moment, she chuckled darkly. "Guess you got what you wanted."
"What?" Al questioned, genuinely confused by the non sequiter.
"Losing a baby cuts out the hassle of the adoption papers, doesn't it?" Sam explained. The bitterness in her voice was obvious as she wiped away a few remaining tears.
Al would have preferred she punch him—it would have hurt a lot less than that statement. "Sammy, don’t even think that," he protested.
"I didn't have to—you did," she reminded.
"Sammy, I was wrong," Al said softly, turning her head toward his. His throat was stating to ache, but he pushed himself to carry on. "I just wish I could have stopped being an ass and told you sooner."
-.-.-.-
Title: ---
Author: TheCrazyAlaskan
Fandom / Setting: Quantum Leap, pre-series
Characters / Pairings: Al Calavicci x Sam Beckett
Rating: T
Genre: Hurt / Comfort, Angst
Musical Inspiration: Imagine – Scott Bakula | Imagine – John Lennon
Relevant Quote: But, Madam, let your grief be laid aside, / And let the fountain of your tears be dry'd – Phyllis Wheatley, Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral
Warnings / Notes: Sad fic. Genderswapped Sam. Bunny tweaked from
locoexclaimer.Prompt from locoexclaimer: A character experiences a disaster and loses something dear to them, and gets help from a very close friend.
Write a Day challenge, and more depressing QL fic.
Every so often I like to imagine Sam as a woman. My mind canon for Sam x Al in that situation is that they conceived, but Sam miscarried. (It makes imagining "8 ½ Months" with Sam as a woman kind of beautifully painful.) Al canonically didn’t want kids with Beth, and locoexclaimer suggested that he initially didn't want to keep the baby with Sam… It all converges in this.
So, heh heh… When I was writing this, I had Sam and Al sitting in the bar of my mind canon boarding house, chatting them up about this and working on it, and Al insisted on calling female Sam, "Sammy." I couldn’t get him to go with Sam and ended up finding it too cute to pass up. <3 Anything to keep him talking because I love writing for his voice. It's hard trying to write native New York and not be kicking myself, "It sounds stupid, Al would never ay that if you paid him" kind of a thing. But DATVOICE.
What is it with me and writing Al x 63!Sam fics in three parts? :/
Also, Scott Bakula's version of "Imagine" is heartbreaking.
Al, Sam, Quantum Leap © Donald Bellisario
