Author's note and disclaimer: I acknowledge that Quantum Leap and its original characters belong to Donald Bellisario.

Little Life

Chapter 1

As Sam's senses began to reconnect after his latest leap, he was vaguely aware of being in that early morning state of not quite asleep, but not quite awake. He was snuggled up warmly in bed, half swallowed by the soft mattress beneath him and otherwise enveloped by a vast comforter – apart from his right foot, which was poking out and felt noticeably colder. He withdrew it lazily, not allowing the action to break the contented drift of his mind.

At the distant sound of a couple of roosters vocally vying with each other somewhere outside, for a moment Sam was home. He pressed his face deeper into his pillow and released a happy sigh.

A sudden violent chiming behind him caused an involuntarily arch to his back and he was almost frightened from the bed. Rudely awake and with his heart pumping hard he rolled over and stretched across the empty half of the bed to reach the culprit clock.

He found the lever that would silence it and brought the clock closer to his sleepy eyes to check the time: six o'clock. Now awake enough to realise that he wasn't back home in Elk Ridge, he was suddenly struck by the normal apprehensions of a new leap. Who am I? Where am I? And what do I need to do?

He made his normal first assessment. He looked around.

The bedroom seemed large, perhaps because of its lofty ceiling and limited furnishings. The décor was simple: white walls, pale brown carpet, faded green curtains not quite fully closed, old furniture – maybe oak – a wardrobe, a tall chest of drawers, a chair at a dresser. Years of leaping experience had taught him to pay attention to details; he noted the grubby overalls slung over the chair juxtaposed with a jumble of feminine items on the dresser and began to create a mental picture of his new situation. Taking the tip from the dresser, he glanced at the empty half of the bed beside him. The pillow was dented. He wasn't alone.

He was about to get up to introduce himself to his new reflection in the dresser mirror when the bedroom door opened. The woman who entered in a floral nightdress and shabby cardigan looked tired and pale. She shrugged off the cardigan, hung it on the wardrobe door knob and crawled in beside Sam, immediately resting her head on the pillow with her eyes shut.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" she whispered. Sam noticed that she had one hand on her abdomen and was rubbing it gently.

"No, the clock did that. Are you feeling OK?"

"Not too good. I think I'm getting sick."

Sam watched her quietly for several seconds and for some reason, his instincts urged him to ask a rather unsubstantiated question. "Do you think you could be pregnant?" He didn't really expect the answer he received.

She opened her eyes, turned her head and gazed at Sam, before nodding slowly. "Yes."

"I guess you should visit the doctor and find out for sure," Sam suggested.

"I did already. I am." She replied blandly.

Sam almost laughed. "Really? That's wonderful!" He frowned, noticing her eyes becoming teary. "Isn't it?"

She reached to wipe her eyes. "Yes, I suppose it is." Sam took her free hand and she must have noticed his concern. "Oh, don't worry about me", she said, pausing to wipe her eyes again. "I'm just hormonal."

But Sam was worried. He sensed there was something he didn't know. He glanced at his left hand. I've got a wedding ring. So unless I'm in the wrong bed, it's not that. Come on, Al.

"How did you guess? I suppose the morning sickness was a clue," she continued without waiting for a response. "I thought I hid it pretty well until today."

Sam felt confused. "Why hide it?"

She hesitated, apparently unable – or unwilling – to answer this question. Then she shook her head slightly, stared up at the ceiling and said softly, "I'm being silly." She turned her head back to him and smiled weakly. "I think you'll need to look after yourself this morning. Can you give Greg a shout and make sure he has breakfast before school?"

"OK. Get some rest."

"Thanks." She rolled over, shut her eyes and pulled the comforter up to her neck.

Sam considered this his cue to get up. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, still wondering where this leap could be leading. He turned and gazed thoughtfully at his new 'wife', hoping for inspiration. Led by instinct, he leaned over his side of the bed and was about to kiss her on the forehead, when she seemed to sense his presence, simultaneously opened her eyes and flinched sharply. Sam withdrew, surprised, and she began to fluster with her apologies.

"Sorry. I'm sorry. You were going to kiss me. You can kiss me." She relaxed back on the pillow and Sam noted that she seemed a little shaken. He masked his continuing confusion with a smile, as he leaned back towards her and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead.

As he withdrew again, she looked up at him and said dejectedly, "I'm sorry I spoiled the moment." Then she cast her eyes down towards the pillow and the conversation was closed.

As Sam straightened up, he heard the unmistakeable whoosh of the Imaging Chamber door opening. He looked up to see Al beckoning silently, before he appeared to step through the bedroom door and was out of sight. Sam quickly made his way out of the room and followed Al into the next room – the bathroom. He locked the door behind him, turned, and was immediately faced with a large mirror above the sink before him.

He took in the features that were reflected back at him: a pleasant but rugged-looking, stubbly face of a tall and fit man, maybe forty, with dark but graying hair.

"How are you, Sam?" Al interrupted his thoughts.

"About to be late for work, I think. Who am I, where am I going and how can I help my wife?"

"Your wife?"

"His wife," Sam said, pointing at the reflection in the mirror. "This leap's about her, isn't it?"

"Good guess. You're Will Newton, a farm laborer. You're thirty seven years old, married to Sandy, one and a bit kids. You're in Westville, Indiana ..."

Sam looked up abruptly. "Indiana?"

"I know, not so far from home, but don't get any ideas. It's May 5th 1969."

"1969 ... my dad's still alive," Sam said needlessly. Al gave him a patient, but long-suffering look and Sam knew it was hopeless to dwell on the matter. "Tell me about Will's wife ..." Her name had escaped him.

"Sandy. In December 1969, she had a baby boy, Daniel. He was born deaf and somehow the family fell apart. Will left in 1972."

"What else?"

"Uh ..." Al paused to check the handlink. "Well, there's no record that either re-married; doesn't look like they even divorced. Oh, here's a surprise for you. You might know this guy. When he left Sandy, he got a job on a farm in Elk Ridge."

Sam leaned in closer to the mirror to examine the face before him. "I don't remember him. But I guess I'd left home by 1972. Is there anything else?"

"Not much," Al continued to scan the handlink display. "Their older son Gregory is a lawyer in Chicago. His first marriage was a wreck. Uh … looks like he did OK second time around. Daniel works in retail. Still lives with his mother."

"So I'm supposed to keep the family together?" Sam guessed. He shrugged at Al. "How?"

"Sam …" Al took a deep breath as though about to speak, but no sound came forth and he took another look at the handlink as though to be absolutely sure as to what he had to say. His apparent reluctance made Sam nervous.

"What?"

Al looked up at Sam again. "Ziggy predicts that there's a ninety-seven percent probability that you're here to encourage Sandy to have an abortion."

Sam was speechless. He fleetingly hoped that he had misheard, but Al's statement repeated itself in his head, filling several seconds of silence. Sam briefly looked Al in the eyes and shook his head, before making a very quiet but sure statement.

"Al, I can't do it."

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"Ziggy's wrong, Al."

"Why do you say that?"

"I can't be here to take a life." Sam paused and sat on the edge of the bath. "I know I've had to kill people before, Al, but it's always been to save myself or others. And I still don't like it. And I know I've had to stand by and watch people die and I haven't been able to help and I don't like that either. But now you're here telling me that the purpose of my leap is to take a life ... this is not just incidental … or passive observation ... you're saying that the whole reason I'm here is to cause a death. I can't do that. It's not for me to decide whether this baby lives or dies." Consumed by disquiet, he gazed up at Al, his brow furrowed and his expression begging an alternative.

Al tried to ease his conscience. "It's not you deciding, it's whoever leaped you in here."

"Whoever leaped me in here doesn't have the right to decide that he shouldn't live," Sam retorted.

"What if it's God?"

Sam hesitated for a moment. "If it's God leaping me in here ... it's still Ziggy making the predictions and I think she's wrong."

"I understand how you feel, Sam, but it's a ninety-seven percent probability. We shouldn't just ignore it."

"She's been wrong before, Al, even with high probabilities. I can't do this. I'll talk to Sandy about the pregnancy and I can try to prepare her to have this baby, but I won't tell her to abort it. I don't have that right. There's got to be another way to keep this family together."

"All right, Sam ..."

"Think about your sister, Al, your sister Trudy. You would never say she shouldn't have been here just because she had Down's syndrome. I mean, I know your family fell apart ..." Sam trailed off, suddenly remembering that Al's childhood hadn't had a happy ending. He noticed the pained look on Al's face and knew he'd probably said too much. Al was only trying to give him the facts, not question his feelings.

Satisfied that Sam had finished, Al continued. This time, he deliberately softened his tone to avoid sounding confrontational, which had never been his intention. "Trudy gave me and my dad a lot of joy. Like I said, I understand. Do what you have to do. Just keep Ziggy's prediction in the back of your mind, because we don't know the full story."

Sam took a couple of seconds before answering. "I'll try." Trying to move past the awkward atmosphere that had developed, he stood up, plugged the sink and started to run the water. He began to wash his face and suddenly had a thought. "Wait a second, Al. It's 1969. Is abortion even legal?"

"Not in Indiana. I guess Sandy might have to travel to California."

"This is ridiculous."

"Well, there're a few other places, but they're either too far, or very restrictive on the circumstances in which it's allowed."

"And California's not too far? Come on, Al."

"Well, I don't know what to suggest. If you're sure Ziggy's wrong, you've got to figure out how else you can help."

"I'm sure." Sam dried his face, emptied the sink and changed the subject. "Al, I need to get to work, but I don't know where to go."

"That's easy. You work for Sandy's father. Go out of your front door, turn right and it's about a mile up the road. Beeches Farm. You can't miss it."

"Thanks, Al." Sam paused. "And I'm sorry. About Trudy ... what I said ..."

Al gave him a forgiving smile. "If I find out anything helpful, I'll let you know. Have fun on the farm." He tapped at the handlink, gave Sam a small wave and disappeared back into the Imaging Chamber.

After finishing in the bathroom, Sam headed to the next room off the landing and peered round the door. The mound in the bed didn't show any signs of stirring. Sam went to the window and opened the curtains. "Greg, it's time to get up. GREG!" When he received no response, Sam went and gently shook what appeared to be a shoulder beneath the comforter. The mound emitted a groan. "Come on, Greg. I've got to go to work and you need to have breakfast before I go."

"Where's Mom?" A sleepy voice responded.

"She's not feeling well."

Greg uncurled himself and rolled onto his back and Sam was surprised to see that he was much older than he had expected – maybe twelve or thirteen. Greg's face showed concern. "She gonna be OK?"

"Yeah, she'll be fine. Just get up and get ready for school, so she doesn't have anything else to worry about."

"OK. What's the time?"

Sam glanced around for a clock and noticed one on Greg's bedside table. "Uh, nearly six thirty."

"Aww, Dad, it's early! Mom wakes me up at seven." Greg pulled the comforter over his head.

"Not early for farmers. Come on, Greg, help me out."

Greg groaned again and pushed the comforter back down. "OK. But only 'cause Mom's sick."

"See you downstairs in fifteen minutes," Sam said as he left the room.

"Twenty if you want me to wash," Greg called back in negotiation.

Sam stuck his head back round the door. "Deal."

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Sam went back to Will and Sandy's room and quickly dressed in a clean-looking shirt and the old overalls that had been on the chair. As he sat on the edge of the bed to put his socks on, he felt Sandy give him a gentle kick from behind.

"Off the bed, you. Those overalls are filthy – I should have washed them last night."

Sam jumped up quickly. "Sorry. Are you feeling any better?"

"A bit. Aren't you going to shave?"

Sam ran his hand over his jaw and chin, realising he'd been so busy talking with Al, he'd forgotten about that. "Uh, I'm running late."

"Is Greg up?"

"Not sure. I'll make sure he eats before I go."

"Don't tell him, Will, OK? About the baby. It's early days."

"OK."

"Have a good day."

"Thanks. Is it safe to kiss you goodbye?"

Sandy smiled at him. "Yeah, it's safe."

Sam softly kissed her on the lips and headed out the door. He paused outside Greg's door before going downstairs.

"Hope you're out of bed, Son." No response. "Greg …?" Sam pushed the door open and wasn't particularly surprised to see Greg still curled up in bed. Sam crossed the room to the bed and pulled the comforter off the dozing boy. "Gregory Newton, get up!"

"Owwwhh," Greg groaned and rolled over. He glanced up at the slightly impatient look Sam was giving him, remembered his mom's condition and decided not to push his 'dad' any further. "OK," he mumbled begrudgingly and eased himself upright.

"Thank you. Breakfast'll be ready in a few minutes." Sam left the room and headed downstairs.

Greg got himself dressed and washed quickly and slipped across the landing to his parents' room. Pushing the door open, he gazed at his mom lying on her side in the bed. Hearing movement, Sandy opened her eyes and smiled at him. "Hi, Kiddo."

"What's wrong, Mom?"

"Nothing for you to worry about, just a little upset stomach." Sandy could see Greg still looked worried. "Come here, Honey." He came and stood beside the bed and she took him by the hand. "You get yourself downstairs for breakfast; I'm going to be fine. Do I get a kiss goodbye?"

Greg considered this for a moment. "Don't want to catch anything … if you're sick."

Sandy looked up at him, wondering if her twelve-year-old could see right through her. "Right. Good thinking. Off you go."

"Bye, Mom."

"Have a nice day." She listened to the sound of his feet scampering down the stairs and thinking about him caused a grin to spread across her face. Then she remembered the new child within her and a dark shadow seemed to fall upon her.

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