Sam Beckett recognized neither the voice nor the lips that kissed his forehead. Once again suffering a moment's disorientation, he slowly opened his eyes, to see a pair of dark blue eyes within a couple of inches of his own. He blinked and tried to pull his head back, but found that he was already lying on a bed, his head pressed against a satiny pillow.

The eyes backed away far enough so that Sam could see they were attached to the smiling face of a young man, who giggled at Sam's bewildered expression. Sam's smiling companion seemed to be in his early 20's. He had very large dark blue eyes, rather full lips, and long, dark brown, curly hair.

"You're pretty much out of it this morning," the young man was saying, as he gently stroked Sam's forehead. "I'm not doing that well myself, definitely should have stopped after the fourth glass, last night."

"You have a hangover?" Sam ventured.

"A bit. Not too bad. I drank a lot of water before bed.

"I hate to do this, Rose, but I really should be going -- have a class in a while and I really think I should go home, change clothes first."

"Oh! Um .. ok" And Sam slowly sat up. But as soon as he did, the young man blushed, glancing quickly away. Wondering what the problem could be, Sam looked down to see that he was wearing a rather thin nylon slip, which left little to the imagination. "Oh boy."

Finally realizing what he had awoken to, he ducked back under the covers, an act eliciting giggles from his companion.

"Come on out, nothing to be embarrassed about. Here." And he tossed Sam a large, pink terry cloth robe. "I'm the one who should be embarrassed. Last night was really my fault. Things just don't really .. work .. so well when I drink that much."

"Oh!" And Sam slowly resurfaced and took the young man's hands. "It's really all right. I'm sure."

"Sure. Maybe I can make it up to you?" And the young man ducked his head shyly.

"Um .. Maybe. Not now, ok?" Sam suggested gently.

"No, not now. Gotta get going, like I said. I so do not want to be late for this class again. Be back tonight, though!" And kissing Sam lightly on the lips, the young man, slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed out of the bedroom.

Sam waited until he could hear the click of the front door, before getting out of bed. He went straight to the bathroom to see what he could see in the mirror. He had surmised correctly that on this leap, he had become a young woman. She seemed to be in her early 20s. She was about 5'4" tall and of medium build and had long, light brown hair and brown eyes. She had average good looks, neither plain nor stunning.

Shivering, Sam decided that he should get some clothes on. He sighed, realizing that what he liked least about leaps in which he was a woman was that the clothes tended to bind or pinch. Shuffling back to the bedroom, he rummaged through the drawers and closets looking for something reasonable to wear, discovering to his relief that this woman, whoever she was, liked to dress for comfort. He found a pair of loose fitting jeans, a sports bra, a pullover sweater and some shoes that reminded him vaguely of nurse's shoes. This leap wasn't turning out so badly, after all.

Now to figure out who he was and what he was doing here.

The desk was a likely source of information, he thought. Leafing through papers on top of the desk, he found an electric bill from Cascade Gas and Electric, which seemed to indicate that he was Rose Baughn. Rose, it seemed, lived in Cascade, Washington. And if this bill was recent, it was probably sometime around September 1994. Opening the top drawer, he found an appointment book, which he took with him to the living room. Moving a pillow and throw blanket to one end of the sofa, Sam sat, preparing to look into Rose's life of the past week or so.

After paging through the book for a few minutes, Sam noticed that her last entry was on Wednesday, September 29, 1994. It simply said "Blair -- 8 pm" So that was probably Blair, Sam surmised. Probably a boyfriend. A new boyfriend?

Realizing that he was hungry, he headed into her small kitchen and opened the refrigerator to find not much there besides milk. He found some cereal in the cupboard, then sat at the counter munching quietly, thinking over his present situation.

He was abruptly startled by the sound of a sliding door and the sight of a brief flash of light, as Al appeared, handlink to the ready. Al gave Sam an appraising once-over and smirked.

"Don't say it. Yes, a woman again."

"You should be getting used to this by now, Sam. How many times does this make it that you've jumped the gender fence?"

"I don't remember, exactly, but I'm sure it's been at least twice."

"A few more than that, Sam, but the other times must have dropped through the holes in that swiss cheese brain of yours."

"Just tell me what Ziggy has to say so I can get on with this and leap out of here."

"Ooh, touchy. . . . Well, Sam, you are now--"

"Rose Baughn of Cascade, Washington -- got that much."

"Ok-ok. Rose is a 22-year-old student at Rainier University. She's an LVN who has returned to college to broaden her education, get in some extra course work in nursing. She actually showed some potential but last spring things went kind of .. caca for her, and Ziggy thinks you're here to keep Rose, there, from dropping out of school and ruining her life."

"Why does she drop out of school, Al?"

"We don't really know that, Sam, but we do have some information. It seems that last spring semester was hell for her. About two months before finals, her father died and then a couple of weeks later, her boyfriend, the nozzle, left her for another woman. Rose, here, went into a deep depression and lost much of her ability to concentrate."

"A common symptom of depression..."

"Yeah .. but it played real havoc with her studies and her job. She did miserably on half her finals and was put on probation at work."

"But things seem to be looking up for her, Al. I mean she seems to have a new boyfriend, who seems to like her. As I understand depression, she must have made some progress to get to that point."

"Boyfriend, Sam?" Al leered, "You've met? Was there any .."

"No, there wasn't any . . . But he seemed like a pretty nice guy. He's visiting her tonight, so it's more than a one night stand. In fact, I suspect there hasn't been anything .. between them, yet."

"Yet?"

"Al. Stop. Does Ziggy have anything on a 'Blair'?"

"As a matter of fact, he does. It seems as though she was desperate to bring up her grades so she went to her adviser and explained her situation. Her advisor suggested she seek tutoring during the summer, to help her learn the things she . . sort of spaced out on while she was so depressed. It seems that she had a side interest in anthropology but she completely failed the course as a result of her screwup on the final exam. She went to the professor for that course to plead with him for a second chance. The professor must have seen something in her because he agreed to give her an incomplete with the stipulation that she write a paper and re-take the final by the end of summer.

"The prof also gave her the name of a young teaching assistant by the name of Blair Sandburg as a possible tutor."

"So Blair is her tutor. Or was her tutor and is now her boyfriend?"

"Looks that way, Sam. Over the summer Sandburg tutored her in subjects related to the class and gave her advice on her paper. The paper was accepted, earning a B and she passed the make-up exam with a B-. As a result, her GPA is back up so she can stay in the BA program. The tutoring sessions ended a few weeks ago, so Sandburg must have moved on to ... "

"Dating her."

"Yeah, sure, Sam. 'Dating' her."

"But I don't get it, Al. If she's brought up her grades, passed her class, found a new boyfriend -- what do I have to fix?"

"Well, Sam, Ziggy thinks there's a 63.2% chance that you're supposed to make sure that tonight's date with Sandburg goes all right. It seems that in the original timeline, they break up tonight. And after that, Rose suffered a relapse of her depression. She ends up dropping out of school and losing her job at the medical center."

"So all I have to do is keep from breaking up with Blair. But I can't guarantee that, Al. We don't know who did the breaking up. If she did it, I can postpone that. But if he did it, there is not much I can do to stop that."

"Well, there is something you can do for him . . to keep him interested, Sam."

"No, Al. Much as you won't believe it, sex is not the universal cure-all. No. What I need to do is to find out more about both Blair and Rose to determine why they break up in the first place. If I can see what the problem is, maybe I can get them to talk it out, reconcile."

"Seems like a lot of work when my way would be much faster."

"Your way is fast; my way produces long-term results. He comes over tonight. I'll see what I can do."

"Sorry, Rose. Not much company tonight. Problems at school like you wouldn't believe." Blair was lying on the sofa, one arm across his eyes. Beside him on the coffee table sat an empty bottle of beer, his third in the past hour.

Sam was by turns worried and relieved that this young man had not been putting the moves on him. He realized he had better get him talking soon, or his chances for keeping the kids together would diminish quickly.

"What's been happening at school, Blair? Maybe I can help? After all, you've been a big help to me these past few months."

"It's my thesis. If I hear one more crack about how I believe in fairy tales or how I only read Burton because he's X-rated, I swear I'll go postal!!"

"Why would anyone make fun of your thesis subject? Burton wrote some interesting stuff, didn't he?"

"Well, in the first place, most people confuse him with the actor. In the second place, he is most famous for translating some pretty steamy stories. And if I don't find more evidence soon, that's all he'll be known for. And that really sucks."

"What evidence are you looking for?"

Blair sat up slowly, looked Sam in the eye and then slumped his shoulders slightly. He studied his hands for a few seconds, then looked up through the curtain of his hair, which hung limply in front of his face. Sighing deeply, he raised his beer bottle to his lips, took a swig, then said, "I'll tell you, but you gotta promise not to laugh."

"Promise."

Taking a deep breath, he began.

"Well, over a hundred years ago, Burton wrote about an important member of tribal cultures which he called a sentinel. Their role was that of a 'watchman,' who lived on the periphery and looked out for changes in the weather, approaches of enemies, locations of game. Tribe survival depended on him. Apparently, the sentinel was chosen because of a genetic advantage; he had a sensory awareness beyond that of normal humans. This gift was, it seems, an innate potential, which had to be developed by periods of isolation in the wild.

"And it occurred to me that since the potential for becoming a sentinel was genetic, then it just might be possible that the genes responsible for this gift have been passed down through the millennia to modern man. But since modern cultures no longer recognize this role, a person born with this potential would not have the opportunity to develop it fully and it would remain latent.

"I have some evidence that heightened sensory awareness does in fact exist. Some people have heightened senses of taste and smell and some have stumbled into occupations related to their gifts, working for coffee and perfume companies.

"And I have a stack of files in my office of hundreds and hundreds of cases of people with one or two heightened senses. But none with more than that. And definitely none with the full 5, as Burton claims to have witnessed in his travels."

"That sounds fascinating, Blair. But why are your friends ridiculing your work?"

"Well, there is a little problem. A lot of Burton's research was lost and the part that still exists has been long forgotten and even back when he first wrote it, it was in dispute. So he is considered a suspect source.

"And on top of that, most of my colleagues seriously doubt that a trait such as that one would have survived all this time, without someone somewhere noticing these people."

"But maybe we have noticed them and just not realized what we were seeing."

"Rose?"

"Well, suppose a man showed up nowadays with his senses somehow enhanced way beyond the norm. What would he experience? And how would we react to him?"

Blair suddenly sat up straight, his blue eyes shining for the first time all evening.

"That's a good question. I have no idea just how far he could see or hear or how acutely. But let's say he were out in the quad at Rainier and standing next to us. Maybe he could hear a conversation clear on the other side. If he said anything about it .... oh my god!"

And Blair was up on his feet pacing the floor in Rose's living room, alternately clutching at the front clump of his hair and letting it fall.

"You're right! If he said anything about it, most people would say he was 'hearing things,' which would be true but not the way they meant. They might decide he had some sort of mental illness."

Sam smiled, encouraged by Blair's sudden burst of enthusiasm, which contrasted so strikingly with the depression of just an hour before.

"That's what I was thinking. I've seen all sorts of people . . . . in my job at the med center who complain about how the sheets hurt their skin, or who seem to hear voices. Now it's quite possible that the usual diagnoses are correct for most of them. But what if one of your sentinel guys was simply misdiagnosed?"

"So you're saying that it really is possible that the genes are still with us -- just that we have renamed these guys as 'crazies.'"

"Exactly."

"Rose, you're a genius!" And with that, Blair was across the room in two bounding steps. He grabbed Sam, pulled him off the sofa and kissed him soundly smack on the lips. At Sam's startled and embarrassed look, he stopped and laughed joyously, then gently re-deposited him on the sofa.

"Sorry. I got carried away."

"No problem. I'm just glad to see you cheer up."

"To tell you the truth, I've been incredibly depressed for over a couple of weeks now. You must have noticed it. I've had all the typical signs . . . lost my appetite, can't sleep through the whole night, don't feel like I'm much fun . . . can't ... and other symptoms you must have noticed." And Blair ducked his head in embarrassment.

Sam nodded in understanding, "Problems with . . . so it wasn't the alcohol last night, was it?"

"No. It's really embarrassing because this is so not me. And I've been so afraid that you wouldn't want me around any more. I mean, what fun could I possibly be?"

"Blair, you're smart and considerate and gentle -- I'm sure you'll be a lot of fun again once you get past this problem with your dissertation."

"You think so? 'Cause I was beginning to think you might .. be getting ready to .. stop seeing me."

"No. No. I don't want to stop seeing you. I promise. And for what it's worth, I think your dissertation subject is definitely worth it. It's a bit unconventional, but there isn't anything wrong with that. I happen to know some other people with pretty far out ideas -- one physicist in particular that I know has this idea that you can time travel within your own life time."

"Yeah, right."

"Yeah, right. That's what everybody around him is telling him -- that he's nuts. But that's not stopping him from trying to find out if it's true. And your idea is far less out there than his; you have more concrete evidence for it, for one thing. So you shouldn't give up on this just because some people have no vision."

"You're a great friend, Rose. There aren't too many people I can talk to about this. You're the first one to hear me out without snickering"

"That's what friends are for -- right? You've helped me a lot; I'm back in school now, thanks to you. I don't have too many friends here in Cascade and gather you don't have too many . . . real friends, either. So that leaves just us, to back each other up -- right?" Blair squeezed her hand gently, then leaned in for a kiss.

Sam braced himself as he always did in these situations. He always felt he skated an ethical edge -- the line between being at one with who he himself was, expressing his feelings and beliefs from his own moral center and attempting to be believable as the person whose life he had temporarily inhabited. He was pretty sure that Rose and Blair had kissed before and that Rose probably would like this man, feel attracted to him. But although he was never socially or politically homophobic, he had never really gotten comfortable being kissed by his female leapees' men. He was relieved when Blair finished the kiss quickly, not making any attempt to slip him any tongue.

Blair backed off slightly with a worried look on his face.

"Rose? Something wrong?"

"No. No. Just . . . . It's getting late . . . "

"Ah, yes, I forgot. Exam tomorrow, right?"

"Um, yes."

"Better go, then, I guess."

"I wish . . . I mean I could talk about your stuff, anthropology, all night."

Blair waggled an eyebrow, chuckled and said, "I could think of better things to do all night." At Sam's blush, he added, "But you have that test tomorrow. We can't let you blow it after we spent all summer getting you back in school. I can't get in the way of that. Your studies are too important."

"So are yours, Blair. Please promise me you won't give up on your dissertation."

"Promise."

Exhausted, Sam turned the key in the lock and entered Rose's apartment, wondering why still had not leaped but feeling too tired to work himself up to a full-fledged worry.

Just as he plopped onto Rose's couch, he heard the familiar sound of the sliding door. And without looking up, he mumbled, "Hi, Al."

"You did it, Sam."

"What do you mean I did it? I'm still here. I did what you said -- I kept them together. But I haven't leaped. So that couldn't have been it. And now that I think of it, that makes perfect sense, because those two are not really lovers, Al. I got the impression that they really are just a couple of lonely people who try to support each other when they hit the bumpy places."

"Just good friends? No ... ?"

"No, Al. No .... I mean Blair flirts a bit but he doesn't really .. They're just friends. . . . So tell me, what was I supposed to have done?"

"Well, Rose stays in school after all. And she still has her job at the med center."

"But what did I have to do with it?"

"Well, Sam, what did you do today?"

"I looked up her class schedule, went to her classes, and took one of her exams -- that took me back a few years. Good thing it was pretty elementary stuff and in one of my fields or she'd be on probation all over again. And somehow I don't think Blair Sandburg could tutor her in this course."

Al punched a few buttons on his handlink, occasionally whapping the side of the device whenever it got stuck. Then, he smiled and looked up. "That's what you did, Sam. Originally Rose broke up with Sandburg, became despondent, and failed to show up for her exam, failing the class. But you took the test. She passes it and that makes the difference."

"But that still doesn't tell us why I'm still here. I mean I'm glad she stays in school and keeps her job but it's obvious that can't be the real reason I'm here or I would have leaped. I just know it can't be about keeping Blair and Rose together; it must be something else."

"I think you're wrong, Sam. Maybe you're supposed to help them move past the 'just friends' stage."

"What does Ziggy say?"

"Ziggy thinks that there's a 37% chance that you're supposed to keep these two together."

"That's pretty low percentages. What does he say about the other 63%?" Al pushed a few more buttons and then looked up apologetically. "Sorry, Sam, there's a problem. Gooshie's working on it right now. I'll let you know as soon as Ziggy is back on line. Meanwhile, you're on your own. You'll have to use that great intuition of yours." And with that, Al vanished, leaving Sam to nurse a killer headache.

Sam was beginning to understand and appreciate Rose's choice of wardrobe. This stint in the med center was tough on the feet and the back, so the sensible shoes especially were a godsend. Having been through med school, Sam was already aware of how hard the nurses worked but he had never, as far as he could remember, experienced the nurse's lot first hand. And in Blair's words, it really 'sucked.'

Needing a short break, he ducked into the women's restroom to splash some cool water on his face. When he emerged, head down, he bumped into a man exiting the nearby men's room. Looking up, Sam recognized him as a Dr. McCoy, a man in his mid-fifties whose hair had already gone mostly white.

"Ah, Rose, just the girl I was looking for!"

Sam cringed; he had already acquired a less than favorable impression of the good doctor, who was nothing at all like the doctor of the same name on the old Star Trek series, lacking as he was in compassion or humility.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Why, yes, I was just going on my coffee break and thought I'd ask you to join me."

As the two headed down to the cafeteria, Sam noticed that his 'break date' looked perplexed and was unusually quiet.

"Something wrong, Doctor?"

"I seem to have found a case that I don't understand."

Sam was struck by the admission, since he hadn't previously witnessed such honest puzzlement in the man in the days that he had worked at the med center.

When the two were seated, Sam's curiosity pushed him to ask, "Why don't you tell me about the case. I mean, I know I probably wouldn't be able to give advice, but maybe if you just talk about it, you can clarify it for yourself?"

The doctor took a deep breath and let it out. There was always a fine line between preserving the patient's privacy and revealing enough information during a consultation. Seeming to decide that Rose could be trusted, he spoke.

"A man came in today -- a police detective -- who claims that four of his five senses seem to be 'out of whack.' He said that while he was on a long-term stakeout, he began having what might have been sensory hallucinations. He doesn't seem to be out of touch with reality. In fact, he was so disturbed by these hallucinations that he had his department do a drug test on him, which came up clean.

"He reports hearing the bubbles in a boiling pot of water so loudly they seemed to be inside his head. He claims that he could smell a gas leak that his fellow officers couldn't smell just minutes before an explosion ignited it. He mentions seeing some strange eye-shaped image in the visor of a motorcyclist he was pursuing as part of an investigation. And the last straw seems to be that last night he was in a restaurant and when he tasted his food, he was convinced that someone had slipped something caustic into it; it seems that his tongue was seared by the paprika.

"We ran some tests today and he'll be back tomorrow afternoon for the results. But when I looked him over and listened to his story, nothing I could come up with as an explanation fit all of the facts as he presented them."

"What diagnoses have you considered, so far?"

"There might be some types of epilepsies, maybe an unusual type of schizophrenia. And Mr. Ellison seems to have spent a lot of time in the jungle under adverse circumstances as a result of his stint in the army some five or six years ago, so it could be some sort of delayed Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. It could have been triggered by prolonged stress on the job. But as I said, I've never seen anything that fit all the facts we have so far. I'm stumped."

"You say Mr. Ellison is coming back tomorrow afternoon? Do you think I could be there when you tell him about the tests? I mean, I would really like this opportunity to learn about something so new, Doctor -- it would really mean a lot to me"

And Sam cringed inwardly as he smiled sweetly and batted his eyelashes slightly at the Doctor. But somehow he was just sure that Mr. Ellison was part of the reason he'd been called to this leap.

The doctor smiled and nodded, then asked, "What are you doing Saturday night, Rose; Could I take you to dinner?"

"Um ... well, truthfully I don't know; I'll have to check my planner. Can I let you know tomorrow afternoon?"

"Sure. You just let me know." And to Sam's dismay, he smiled smugly, then continued, "But right now, we both had better get back."

"Sure."

"What took you so long, Al? I've been waiting here for hours!"

"Sorry about that, Sam, but Gooshie just now got Ziggy to cooperate enough so I could get back here. What are you so riled up about, anyway?"

"Al, I think I know why I'm here. I think it has to do with either Blair Sandburg or this police detective I heard about today -- a Detective Ellison. What does Ziggy have on them?"

Al stabbed at the buttons on his handlink for a few minutes and then looked up. "It seems Rose's .. friend Blair becomes a teacher at Cascade Community College. Not much else is known about him. Seems he leaves Rainier at the end of this year, when his fellowship grant runs out and is not renewed. He leaves ABD. Seems his studies on-- (whack! whack!) -- 'sentinels' had been the basis for his MA and were to be expanded upon in his dissertation. But after he left Rainier, his theories were disputed by his colleagues and later forgotten altogether."

"That's it! I'm supposed to make sure Blair stays in school and works on his dissertation. He told me the other night that he has found hundreds of cases of people with only one or two heightened senses. And he was beginning to despair of finding anything more than that. But today, Al, I think I found a case study for him -- a man who may have four heightened senses. He came into med center complaining that they were all 'out of whack.' He must be the guy!

"Al, what does Ziggy have on a Detective Ellison?"

Al checked his handlink for several minutes in silence, his face growing longer as the read.

"Aw, Sam. You gotta hear this. Detective Ellison is James Joseph Ellison, formerly a captain in the Army Rangers. The rangers were an elite outfit, Sam. This guy was a hero. Maybe you remember him -- his face was all over national magazines in 1989." At Sam's blank expression, Al continued, "No I guess this is one of those holes in your memory. Seems he was leading an outfit of 8 men on a mission in Peru, when the chopper crashed in the jungle. He was the sole survivor. He buried his men and proceeded to carry out the mission alone for the next couple of years. The army had left them all for dead until a satellite photo showed seven grave markers, not eight. He was rescued 5 years ago.

"He came back home and eventually joined the Cascade PD, becoming a detective about 3 - 4 years ago.

"But something goes wrong. He begins going a bit looney, has trouble handling even very low levels of sensory input, starts hallucinating and sometimes going into fugue states for long periods of time. Somebody decides it's a form of schizophrenia and he ends up in a rubber room for the rest of his life! Sam, you gotta help him! That could have been me there."

"I know you identify with him, Al, but what if I'm really here to help Blair finish his dissertation? I mean if this Ellison could have been you, Sandburg could have been me. He has to put up with ridicule on a daily basis because his ideas are almost as far-fetched as quantum-leaping. Just think of all the people who might not have been helped if I hadn't had the support to build Project Quantum Leap."

"But Sam, which is more important -- we're talking about a man's sanity, here!"

"But it's possible that Blair's studies may pave the way to learning how to help men like that. Shouldn't the knowledge come first, since it has the potential of saving more than one man?" At Al's pleading look, Sam sighed and asked, "What does Ziggy say?"

Al looked down at the handlink, pushed a few buttons, then peered up guiltily into Sam's face. "Ziggy says there's a 51% chance that you're supposed to save Captain Ellison from the rubber room."

"And the other 49%?"

Al paused a few long minutes, sighed, and admitted, "Help Sandburg publish his dissertation."

"That's what I thought. I promise, Al, if I can see a way to do both, I'll do it."

"Thanks, Sam."

Sam was beginning to feel as though he should just move into the staff lounge at the med center. It was almost midnight and he had already worked a full shift earlier that day. But he knew that he had to work quickly if he was going to help either Sandburg or Ellison. Finding an unattended computer terminal, Sam called up Mr. Ellison's records, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that this could spell the end of Rose's career if he were caught. Perusing the records, he discovered that Dr. McCoy's preliminary diagnosis was that Mr. Ellison was suffering from nothing more than job-related stress and pending the results of the tests, the good doctor was planning to suggest a vacation. Sam frowned at McCoy's veiled hints that he thought Ellison might be inventing the symptoms.

Any hope that McCoy might be of any real help vanished. Sam shook his head, realizing now that clearly Ellison wasn't going to get any answers here.

As far as Sam could see, there was no one here that could help the detective. He was left with only one option, to somehow tell Sandburg about this man. Maybe Ellison would be willing to volunteer for a study for the sake of future patients. It's been known to happen in the case of patients with other previously 'incurable' diseases. Even if Ellison himself got no help, he might feel that his suffering had meaning. Sam shook his head, knowing full well that he was just spinning rationalizations to assuage his guilt when he realized that he had chosen the scientist over the victim.

Leaning back in his chair, rubbing his eyes, and stretching, he was surprised by Al's appearance.

"Back so soon?"

"I just wanted to see how things were going; I feel as though I have a stake in this, you know."

"I know, Al, and it just doesn't look like Dr. McCoy is going to be any help at all to the detective. I don't even think he believes he's telling the truth about his symptoms."

"Why that nozzle! What are we going to do, Sam?"

"I'm thinking of letting Sandburg know about him. He probably can't help him, since he's not a doctor, but maybe if Ellison lets him study his symptoms and Sandburg writes about him ..."

"Fat lot of good that does Captain Ellison!"

"Yeah, I know. ... But, if I know Blair Sandburg, at least he'll have one thing he doesn't have now."

"What's that?"

"Someone who'll listen and not discount what he has to say. Someone with enough creativity to believe him or try to understand him. That alone could make the difference between living a functional life and ending up ..."

"In the rubber room"

"Yeah, the 'rubber room.'"

"Well then, Sam. You have to do it."

"But there's a problem, Al. The only way I can get Blair to realize what Mr. Ellison's problem is, is if I get his records to him. And a patient's records are confidential. If I get caught, Rose here will lose her job. And that's the least of it. Ellison could sue the med center and Sandburg could be investigated. It could turn out to be a real mess."

"But Sam, you can't always be the Boy Scout. You gotta look to the greater good, even if it means bending the rules a little."

"What is the greater good, Al? Is it helping one man, maybe two or is it preserving the people's right to have their private records remain confidential? I mean if they got into the wrong hands ..."

"But Sandburg's hands -- are they the wrong ones?"

"No. I can honestly say that Sandburg seems to me like the right man to see these records. But I'm not sure that Ellison would see it that way. And I still have to consider Rose."

"Wouldn't Rose want to help Sandburg out after he saved her academic career? Maybe this is what she would want you to do. Sam --" He didn't know how Al did it, but hearing Al's agonized pleas once again tipped the balance for Sam Beckett. Cringing, he picked up the phone and punched in Blair's number.

Sam listened impatiently as the phone seemed to ring forever. Then, someone picked up, but Sam heard nothing but breathy silence for a few seconds.

"Hello? Hello? Blair, are you there?"

"Who is this?" came the groggy reply.

"It's Rose. I need to talk to you."

"Wha- what?! Are you in trouble? Where are you, I'll come get you."

"No. No, that's ok. Look: you know what we were talking about the other night -- Burton and your dissertation? Well, I think I may have found someone here with 4 heightened senses. He's pretty worried and no one here seems to know what to do for him. So I thought . . . maybe you could see if he's one of those guys you were talking about. Or maybe you could use him as one of your case studies, since he has more than 2 heightened senses. I have his records right here."

"I'll be over to get them right now."

"No! Wait! You can't get them here. I'll get in a lot of trouble if anybody sees me giving them to you. Do you have a fax machine?"

"Well, I have one in my office at school -- I could pick it up there."

"Ok. But you need to pick it up as soon as possible and get over here, because Detective Ellison will be back tomorrow afternoon for a followup on all the tests they made him take."

"All right. When is his appointment, when can you and I meet at the med center?"

"I'll be here all day. His appointment is at 2, you should get here by 1:30 so we can work out a way to get you in there without anyone noticing."

"1:30 at the med center. Right."

Sam let the phone drop and let out a long sigh. He listened wearily to Al as he furiously punched the buttons on his ever- present handlink. Soon Al looked up with a strange, befuddled look on his face. "What is it, Al?"

"Well, I don't get it. Ziggy reports no changes in the lives of Sandburg or Ellison. But something happens to Rose."

"Oh, God, I knew it -- she gets fired."

"No. Actually, Sam, she doesn't get fired. It seems she breaks up with Blair--"

"That's to be expected -- they weren't really 'together' in the first place."

"Yeah, well, she starts dating Dr. McCoy for a while, poor kid. But after a while she dumps him. But listen to this, Sam. She finishes her courses and completely changes majors to go into a program in alternative medicine.

"Eventually, she winds up moving to Peru to study tribal medicine with some shaman down there in the La Montanya region. She works by his side for about a year, until the shaman is killed when he takes a trip to the US about some company that pollutes their environment. She then takes over as medic for the tribe until a new shaman is found.

"But, Al, how does my giving Sandburg Ellison's records cause all that?"

"I don't know, Sam, but as soon as you sent the fax, Ziggy started pumping out data like crazy."

"This is beginning to bother me, Al. I'm causing all these changes, but I'm not leaping. I'm starting to think that all I'm doing is meddling in these people's lives, making changes I wasn't supposed to make."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Sam. All we have are Ziggy's percentages, and they haven't always been right. You're doing the best you can here."

"Well, what does Ziggy say now?"

"He says the same thing as before. Well almost the same thing. Ziggy seems to be confused."

"Confused? How can a computer get confused?"

"Well, he keeps spitting out these percentages and changing his mind. First it's 52% that you're supposed to help Ellison and then he says no, it's Sandburg. It's almost like Ziggy is going nuts every time I ask him if it's Ellison or Sandburg."

"Maybe that's the dilemma, Al. Maybe we're asking Ziggy the wrong question."

At 1:00 the following day, Sam watched as a very nervous Blair Sandburg approached him on the floor. Sam shook his head at the young man's appearance. Although he had tied his rather wild, long hair into a low ponytail, he was still dressed in jeans that had seen better days and he wore black and white high-top tennis shoes. And despite the fact that he wore his wire-rim glasses, they did nothing to diminish the fact that he looked like some undergraduate from one of the departments, like environmental studies, which seemed to nurture hippie wannabes.

"Blair, hi."

When Blair reached over and gave him a big hug, Sam could tell that Blair was shaking all over.

"Look, you have to promise me that you won't tell anyone about the fax I sent you. That was so illegal, we'll both be in trouble, ok?"

"I promise. I am so grateful that you did this. I'll do anything to make it up to you."

"You don't have to do a thing. You've already helped me stay in school -- it's the least I can do. But now we have to make you look like a doctor. Come with me."

Sam led Blair to the staff locker room, explaining that sometimes doctors leave extra coats in there when they are on their breaks. Once inside, Blair began to pace while Sam rummaged through the coats. They all seemed a bit big for Blair's slight frame, but finally, Sam lifted one and smiled.

"Here you go. I happen to know that the owner of this coat won't be back on the floor until two."

"Two? But that's when I'm supposed to see Mr. Ellison."

"Yes. But I happen also to know that this coat is an extra, because I saw Dr. McCoy just a few minutes ago and he was wearing another one. And this one has the benefit of having his name tag. He won't even miss it; he never wears it, anyway. All you have to do is make sure that none of the staff see it. Here. Here's a file folder. You carry this and keep it close to your chest, keep the tag covered."

"Ok. Who am I, again?"

"You have to remember, you can't look down at the tag or he'll suspect -- I mean you really don't look much like a doctor so you'll just have to bluff your way through this. How good are you at that?"

Sandburg smiled, "I've been known to bluff my way through things, on occasion; I think I can do this."

"Good. Now repeat after me: McCoy, McCoy ..."

"Doctor McCoy, McCoy, McCoy. Got it."

Just then, Sam heard Al enter through the sliding doors.

"It worked Sam."

"Blair, we have a few more minutes; you want to sit, relax and have some coffee?"

"Sure, I guess."

And as the two sat, Sam nodded slightly to Al, signalling for him to make his report.

"The good news, Sam, is that Ellison doesn't end up in that rubber room, after all. He stays with the PD until retirement."

"Blair, have you given much thought to your future?" Sam hinted.

"You mean past the dissertation? Can't do that. Have to focus on one thing at a time. Well, really I never focus on just one thing, because a dissertation, well my dissertation requires that I know about a lot of different things but --"

"I get it. So how long do you think it will take you to finish?"

"I don't know. It all depends on what I get from this guy. Might take maybe another year or so."

At that moment, Al broke in, "Sorry, Sam, it doesn't happen quite that way. Sandburg there does stay in school another 3 years. But we have no record that he ever publishes his dissertation."

At that news, Sam grew sad.

"What's the matter, Rose?"

"Oh, nothing. I'm just wondering how this will go for you. You look a little nervous. Maybe you should go splash some water on your face."

After Blair left for the men's room, Sam turned to Al and said, "I don't get this Al. Ellison is saved from the rubber room. Sandburg stays in school but he never publishes his scientific findings. And I still haven't leaped. If I'm not here to help Sandburg contribute to science, what am I here for?"

Al leered.

"I know that look, Al. You're thinking that I'm here for true love, aren't you. Well if Rose breaks up with both Sandburg and McCoy, then I really don't think ... Does Blair ever find someone, at least?"

"The records are sketchy on that. We have no record of Sandburg ever marrying."

"So I guess that rules out true love as my purpose for being here, Al.

"Well, Sam, maybe it depends on how you look at it."

"Al?"

"Well, it turns out that Ellison and Sandburg become the best of friends. In fact, they become roommates. Ziggy says they still reside at the same address on Prospect even now. Well, you know, not your now, my now -- you know what I mean."

"Well, yeah, but how long is that?"

"I'm not supposed to tell you but let's just say they're together for several years."

"Together?"

"Well, I don't mean that kind of .. don't do that to me, Sam." Sam smiled a 'gotcha' smile.

A few minutes later, Sam knocked on the men's room door.

"Blair, are you ready? It's almost showtime."

Blair emerged from the room, looking embarrassed. "I was doing my Kundalini breathing in there, trying to calm myself down."

"Well, you're in luck. I just heard over the intercom that Dr. McCoy has been called to another patient for a few minutes. That gives us a little more time. Let me just go in and make sure he's there and the coast is clear, ok?"

"Sure.

"You wait here around the corner until I come back."

"Got it."

And Blair watched as Sam walked slowly but purposefully down the hallway to exam room 5, not knowing that just behind him he was being kept company by the holographic Al, who had asked Gooshie to center him on Sandburg at Sam's request.

Just then, a beautiful woman in her late 20s approached, smiling brightly at Blair, who smiled back, stunned.

(Ah, no, now's not the time to get distracted. Sam's right, you really are a flake.)

But of course, Blair couldn't hear Al's protests. In fact, for a split second Blair was focused on nothing but the vision which approached him.

"You're new here, right?"

Startled, Blair blinked and made sure to cover his name tag. "Yes, I just started this morning. Blair."

"I'm pretty new here, myself. Maybe we could get together, get to know each other?"

Blair nodded but then came to himself and realized that he needed to make his escape in a few minutes. No telling when Rose would return from Mr. Ellison's room or when the real Dr. McCoy would show up.

"Um, I can't really talk now. I have an important appointment in a couple of minutes. Was just heading there right now. Sorry. Maybe I could .. call you?"

"Sure. I'm here afternoons. I'm Sandy McKay."

And she smiled, took off down the hall, boarded an elevator and was gone.

Closing his eyes a moment, Blair chanted, "McKay, McKay, McKay. Got it. . . . . What's taking her so long?"

And Al saw the sense in asking that so he had Gooshie center him on Sam once again.

"That must be just awful for you, Mr. Ellison," Sam was saying as Al entered the room. And Ellison glanced up quickly, looking confused. "What's the matter, Mr. Ellison?"

"I don't know. I thought for a minute there I saw a bright light in the shape of a doorway. But then it was gone. Whatever is wrong with me is just driving me nuts!"

Al raised his eyebrow questioningly at Sam but Sam just shrugged briefly.

"It says here in your chart that you've been experiencing hypersensitivity in ... how many of your senses? Four? It says here sight, hearing, smell, and taste are all affected. Anything else unusual?"

And Ellison paused a moment but then shook his head.

"Hmmm." And Sam wondered at the hesitation. "You know, Mr. Ellison, I'm not a doctor, but sometimes if the eyes are sensitive, it could be a sign of an infection, possibly a fever. And when that happens, sometimes the skin can also get a bit .. crawly. Have you experienced anything like that?"

"No. No crawly skin. Sometimes my skin is a little .. sensitive, but not crawly."

Seeing where this was going, Al spoke up, "You know, Sam, skin sensitivity isn't always a negative thing."

Sam heard the leer in Al's voice and smiled. "Let's just see if your glands are swollen, shall we?"

And Sam very gently placed his fingertips right behind Ellison's jaw, but instead of pressing down to feel the glands, he stroked gently up to Ellison's ears then slowly down past his jaw, along the chords in his neck to the juncture of neck and shoulder.

"Bingo, Sam. The guy is sportin' so much wood, he could build the Ark with it."

Embarrassed, Sam turned away from Ellison and pretended to write in his chart.

While Sam waited for Ellison to recover, Al checked in with Ziggy. "There's been another change, Sam. It seems that not only do these guys become friends and roommates, but Sandburg rides along with Ellison as an observer and acts as his unofficial partner at the Cascade PD for a few years."

"Mr. Ellison, I'll go get the doctor. When he's here, I'll call you on that intercom right there."

Al following him, Sam hurried from the room, and rushed down the hall to where Sandburg was standing by the nurse's station chanting something under his breath. He could see Doctor McCoy leaving exam room 2 and knew he had to act fast, so he reached for the microphone at the desk, pushed the button for room 2, and announced, "Doctor McCoy, you're wanted in the ER." Sam waited a few seconds to make sure the doctor had headed off. When the coast was clear, he turned to Sandburg and said, "Time." He held up one finger, leaned over the microphone, pressed the button for exam room 5 and said, "The doctor is on his way. You can get dressed now, Mr. Ellison." He turned to Blair, who was taking quick deep breaths, and smiled. "You're on. Good luck."

"Tell him, Sam."

"Oh yes, Sam smiles, "By the way, Blair..."

"Hmmm?"

"Not four senses -- five."

Blair gasped, "FIVE?!"

"Trust me, five."

And as Blair smiled up into Sam's face, Al said, "Bye-bye, Sam" to the flash of blue light.

Epilogue

The blinding blue light subsided and a once-again disoriented Sam Beckett looked around himself, trying to regain his equilibrium. "Here we are lady," the taxi driver called out. "Lady?"

Bewildered, Sam looked around for clues to his new identity or whereabouts -- anything. The taxi driver's license was visible from where he sat. Taking a quick look, he read "Cascade, Washington." "What is it about this town?!"

"Lady wasn't this the place you wanted to go to?"

Sam looked up at the taxi driver and then noticed the rear view mirror. Glancing quickly at his reflection, he saw a woman with red hair. "Oh boy."

-- finis --