Prologue:

"Theorizing that one could travel within his own lifetime, Dr. Sam Beckett stepped into the Quantum Leap accelerator, and vanished. He awoke to find himself trapped in the past, facing mirror images that were not his own, and driven by an unknown force to change history for the better. His only guide on this journey is Al; an observer from his own time, who appears in the form of a hologram that only Sam can see and hear. And so, Dr. Beckett finds himself leaping from life to life, striving to put right what once went wrong, and hoping each time that his next leap, will be the leap home."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She did not even remember closing her eyes, but now she was waking up. She was at her desk at the Jeffersonian and the building was deserted, so she decided it would be the perfect time to work on revisions of the next installment of her Kathy-and-Andy series. And then…

A flash?

She couldn't even really say for certain there was a flash. All she knew now was that she woke up to find herself in a very cold, deep blue, barely furnished room.

"Am I in a morgue?" she asked into the air.

She reached for her cell-phone. It would be useful if she still had it. She could call…well, at least she could let someone know she was in trouble.

But her pockets were gone. She glanced down at her hands to discover that she was dressed in a white long-sleeved turtleneck. And she had pants to match.

"SOMEBODY HELP!" She yelled, banging on the walls. "BOOTH!! ANYBODY!!!!"

Finally a door slid open and a man entered. He was about her father's age with graying hair that still had sprinklings of its former black. He was dressed in a plum-colored suit with a black shirt and silver tie.

"That suit looks hideous," she said.

"You're not exactly the Queen of Tact, are you, sweetheart?"

"Sweetheart?" she blurted. out , thoroughly confused. "Hearts aren't sweet. They…"

"Taste like chicken?" he finished.

She scowled. "Cannibalism is NOT funny. Just let me out of here," she said.

"I can't do that," he replied.

"Can't or won't?" she demanded. "Who are you?"

"My name is Al Callivicci. We're not going to hurt you."

"We? Who's we?? Look. Just let me go and you will avoid charges of kidnapping a federal employee and steeling government property."

"You're on government property," he answered, shaking his head. "And I am not going to get Court Martialled conducting a government-approved research project."

"Research project?! You mean I'm your personal guinea pig? You can't just keep me here against my will! People will be looking for me soon."

"I would love to let you leave, but I promise…you don't want to go through that door," he said. "Do you know who you are?"

"I'm Dr. Temperance Brennan. And yes, I do think I want to go out that door."

"Dr. Brennan," he said, pulling a strange device out of his pocket. It looked something like the I-phone she'd seen Hodgins carry. "Tell me what you see." He held the reflective back end of it up in front of her face…

The face staring back in the reflection wasn't hers. This was the face of a man. Brown eyes replaced her own blue ones. She ran her fingers through her hair, or at least, what used to be her hair. Now it was wheat-colored, peppered with gray and a white streak on her…or was it his?

"Oh…my…God!" She mumbled, and her legs became too weak to support her.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

THE JEFFERSONIAN

June 08, 2008, 8:00 AM

Over the years, Dr. Sam Beckett learned that it was best to expect the unexpected. Leaping from life to life had landed him directly into some rather sticky situations, providing fairly harsh introductions to the life he was supposed to fix. He'd found himself both on stage in the middle of a performance at Carnegie Hall , in the middle of a rock concert, in the middle of a stand-up routine, in the cockpit of a plane on a couple of occasions, on battlegrounds in the middle of combat, and even once, quite literally, he arrived on a flying trapeze. In short, if it was bizarre, dangerous, or humiliating, that was generally when Sam arrived in his new host's life. So when he opened his eyes to find himself alone in a meticulously clean, well-lit, spacious office with only the blinking cursor on the computer screen demanding his attention, he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank you," he said to whomever was responsible for this small gift.

According to the monitor, it was Monday, June 8, 2008, 8:00 AM and according to the screen saver behind the opened document, Sam was an employee of the Jeffersonian Institution. The name tag at his desk read "Dr. Temperance Brennan."

"The crime novelist?"

Sam remembered reading on the back of the book jacket of that Dr. Brennan was a forensic anthropologist. He even met her at a book signing once.

On the plus side, he'd leaped into a doctor. Being a doctor himself, that was familiar territory. But this particular doctor was a woman. Not that Sam had anything against women. Not in the slightest. He'd leaped into women many times before. His circumstances taught him one thing--whoever composed the song 'I Enjoy Being a Girl' had no clue what he was talking about. Just ask anyone who ever had to endure high heels.

He knew where he was, when he was, and whom he'd leaped into. That was a start. Now, maybe if he could find out why he was here, fix whatever history needed fixing, and then...

Leap home?

Sam didn't have much time to dwell on that because just then, a man entered the office. He was in his thirties, tall, broad-shouldered with dark hair and brown eyes. Something about him was vaguely familiar.

"Chop, chop, Bones!" he said. "New crime scene. I know you're a music-lover, so you'll appreciate this one. Body found in a music school."

"One second," Sam said, trying to buy some extra time so he could find out more, and glanced down at his computer screen. Then he realized where he'd seen the man before. 'The FBI Agent in the series! It's him!' "I'll be right with you, Andy."

"Andy?!" the man guffawed. "Bones, are you doing that on-line dating thing again? After what happened with that one guy, I thought chat-rooms were off-limits for you. Time's a-wastin'! Tell TenInch6969 goodbye and let's rock and roll!"

"TenInch6969?" Sam asked, bewildered.

The man rolled his eyes. "Nevermind. Just come on! And then almost as an afterthought: "You wanna grab breakfast first?"

"I already ate," Sam said, hoping against hope that would be enough to avoid potential disaster.

"A granola bar?" he said, picking up an old wrapper out of the wastebasket. "Hardly what I'd call the breakfast of champions, Bones."

"What about the crime scene?"

Not that Sam was particularly interested in early-morning carnage, but avoiding lengthy conversation before Al arrived with pertinent information seemed to be less and less of a possibility.

*~*~*~*~

Santa Fe, NM

June 08, 2015

Quantum Leap Headquarters

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"This has to be a dream," Brennan said, half to herself. "It has to be a dream because nothing else about this scenario makes sense because...things just *make sense* in this world, and this...this makes absolutely no sense at all. None."

Al shook his head. "No dream."

"Then put me back! I have to get back to my job. A very important job. I happen to be the best in the world in my field, you know."

Al raised an eyebrow. "Kind of full of ourselves, aren't we?"

"I'm not bragging. It's a fact," she protested.

"Listen. If it were up to me, you could click your heels three times and say 'there's no place like home' and be on your way.'

"Clicking heels any number of times is not an adequate mode of transportation."

He shook his head. "Never mind. If it were up to me, I'd let you go. GLADLY. But it's not up to me, it's up to Him," Al said with a glance upward.

"I don't believe," she said, shaking her head.

"God, Time, whatever it is you think is in control of the universe. Look, I ain't exactly what you'd call the prayin' type, either."

"This is not the time or place for a discussion about theology. Who's in charge here?"

"That would be Yours Truly."

She folded her arms and stood up as straight as possible. "Let. Me. Go."

"I told you I..."

Just then the door slid open. A young Naval officer entered.

"At ease, Corporal Anderson. Is Goushie locked in on Sam?"

"Affirmative, Admiral. Ziggy is downloading necessary information and your presence is requested in the Imaging Chamber. And the files on Special Agent Seeley Booth are classified."

"Sam?" Brennan asked. "Who's Sam? What do you want with Booth?!"

Corporal Anderson looked at her, completely bewildered. "You are, sir."

"What do you want with Booth?" Brennan asked.

"Thank you, Corporal," Al said, rolling his eyes.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH BOOTH?!" Brennan screamed.

"I don't know!" Corporal Anderson squeaked.

"Now we've got a problem," he muttered. "You're dismissed, Corporal.

Poor Corporal Anderson couldn't leave the room fast enough.

"You're an Admiral?" Brennan asked.

Al nodded.

"So everybody else thinks I'm this Sam person?"

"Except me."

"And Sam is..."

"A buddy of mine. A physicist. This place was his idea. Everybody here thinks you're Sam because that's what they see. Everybody in your own time sees Sam as you."

"And this place is?"

"The headquarters of a government-funded experiment called Quantum Leap based in Santa Fe. This is what we call The Waiting Room."

"So I'm a lab rat?"

"Sorta. Yeah."

She grimaced at the memory of the rats that were fed laxatives in the name of science, and she didn't even want to think about how Zach figured out how to kill them before dissections.

"A lot of cruel things were done to poor innocent rats in the name of science," she said quietly, wondering what was going to happen to her.

"Nobody's here to hurt you."

"Why am I here?"

Al dug into his pocket and took out a piece of string.

"I'm here because of a piece of string?"

He gave Brennan an annoyed look. "Humor me. This," he said, holding it out from end to end, "represents the space-time continuum during a lifetime. One end is birth. The other end is death."

"Space-time?"

Al nodded. "Dr. Beckett figured out how to connect both ends," he continued, demonstrating by attaching both ends of the string. "So that each point in time connects and allows him to go back and forth within his own lifetime."

"I still don't understand. How did we switch? And for what purpose?"

"That part of Sam's plan went a little ca-ca."

"Ca-ca?"

"Just think of us as God's clean-up crew."

"I TOLD you! I don't believe..."

"You're here because something went wrong in your original history."

"What does that have to do with Booth and me?"

"That's what I need to find out, but unfortunately, I can't do that until I know something about this Booth character. Now. Help me help you. Tell me what you know about Seeley Booth."

*~*~*~*~

June 08, 2008

Royal Diner

15 Minutes later

*~*~*~*~*

Sam tried to keep the conversation at breakfast as general as possible until he could find out more about his breakfast companion.

"You okay, Bones?" the man asked with a look of concern on his face. "You seem...distant."

"I'm fine," Sam answered, glad that the man was now digging his cell phone out of his coat pocket, relieving him of any obligation to make conversation for the time being.

This would at least occupy him for awhile.

The man nodded with a doubtful expression on his face. "If you say so..." and then into the phone: "Booth," he answered.

"Oh good," Sam thought, wondering if Al was ever going to make an appearance. 'I finally have a name.'

"I see..." Booth said to whomever it was on the phone, "well, what about his mother?" Then mouthing to Sam: "Parker up-chucked" Then aloud into the phone: "Can't be reached, huh? Perfect. Yes I'm well aware of the policy, but there's nothing I can...look I can't..no, it's not that AT ALL. It's not that I'm not thrilled to have the chance to take care of my son, but I'm in the middle of an important case. Look...fine Mrs. Hennessey, just give me an hour, I'll take care of things and then get him."

Booth sighed and took a twenty out of his pocket and left it on the table. "We've gotta make this quick, Bones. At least Parker's school is five blocks from the investigation."

*****

Twenty Minutes Later

Washington Conservatory of Music

One Westmoreland Circle

Bethesda, MD

"Sign in, please," a short, stout elderly woman with bottle-red hair said, looking over the rim of her pink-framed horn-rimmed glasses.

"I'm FBI Special Agent Seeley Booth," he told her. "And this is my partner Dr. Temperance Brennan. We're here about the remains."

Behind her, a short, balding man with thick glasses wearing a plaid shirt and high-wasted pants dropped a folder on the floor just then. He let out a sigh of frustration. "One moment, sir. I'll be right with you."

"Good thing we're not the fashion police," Booth muttered with a smirk.

The man just extended a hand, dropping the folder he was holding again. "Margaret," he said to the secretary. "Get that for me, please." Margaret rolled her eyes. "I'm Walter Belcher, Dean of Students. Thank you so much for coming. We've had to cancel classes this morning because of this whole ordeal, and you can imagine how anxious everyone is to put this whole wretched ordeal behind us."

"Uh-huh," Booth said absently as they followed Belcher down a winding staircase into a hall full of small rooms.

They stopped at one of the rooms down at the end of the hall.

"This particular room has not been open for quite some time."

"And how many people have access to the whole building?"

"Well, that would be myself, Margaret, the head of the piano faculty Dr. Thomas Callahan, and the janitorial and maintenance staff," Belcher answered.

"We'll need their names and contact information," Booth replied.

"Gladly, Agent Booth," he said, and then muttered "Now where is that stupid key?"

"And you're sure that there's nobody else who might have access?" Booth asked.

"Well, if anyone did, we wouldn't have been looking for the key to be missing."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

"The instrument is virtually unplayable and the cost to repair it is worth more than the piano itself, so this particular practice room has remained locked to the best of my knowledge for my entire tenure here. That is, until early this morning."

"How was the body found?"

"We were evaluating all the pianos in the facility to qualify for funding to become an All-Steinway School when we came upon this…and one of the students mentioned something about a foul odor coming from the room after last night's performance."

He opened the door.

"The lock hasn't been tampered with," Booth said quietly, studying the knob. "Whoever did this definitely had a key."

Sam was almost knocked over by the stench of what had to be the rotting corpse.

The room itself was only big enough to fit a baby-grand piano, this particular one a dilapidated old Steinway and Sons that looked so old Sam wondered if the keys were the ivory that piano companies used long ago. If it was, in fact, real ivory, it was long-chipped off on several of the keys. Sam opened the lid. The strings and hammers were removed. Where the strings and hammers should have been, Sam saw a partially decomposed, glistening skeleton. Thin long blonde hair still remained on the top of the skeleton's head.

'If I'm here to save her,' Sam thought. 'I'm a little late.'

"What do you think, Bones?" Booth asked.

"Oh boy," was all Sam could say in response.