


Holding Out For A Hero

by Beth C



Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: Angst, Drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2002-09-22
Updated: 2002-09-22
Packaged: 2013-05-15 19:39:11
Rating: T
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,060
Publisher: www.fanfiction.net
Story URL: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/979456/1/
Author URL: http://www.fanfiction.net/u/271387/Beth-C
Summary: Sam has leaped on the plane that is heading for the White House. How can he prevent this disaster? My Tribute to the 9-11 disaster.





	Holding Out For A Hero

This is dedicated to the Heroes of Flight 93. All the men and women that gave their lives to stop the terror should be commended. This is not meant to hurt anyone, but is my way of coping with this tragedy. Sam and Al are borrowed with only good intentions. My prayers go out to the families of the loved ones lost. Their lives were not lost in vain. They will be remembered and never forgotten for their sacrifice. God Bless America.   
*************************************************************  
  
Holding out for a Hero  
-By Beth C  
  
  
Evening-  
September 30, 2001  
  
Al stepped back from the TV set that he had been viewing in his quarters. The carnage still smoked on the screen and the buildings erupted in flames. The sight still brought a tear to his eye. All those lives lost. He sighed and waited as the reporter continued.   
  
The news feed was coming from Ziggy as she fed the changed history into Al's quarters. After Sam had leaped out, he had run upstairs to view it for himself. He had to see the changes and not just believe them. This was one leap that no matter what, there wouldn't be a happy ending.   
  
Sam had leaped too close this time, almost on top of the current date. He had been only weeks behind now. It was tough having to deal with it the first time, but the second time was almost impossible. To know what was about to happen and be unable to stop it was unfathomable.   
  
The scene shifted and Al brought his attention back to the reason for being in his quarters. The reporter was pointing to a burned, scorched area of land and speaking about miracles, and tragedies. Yes, Sam had succeeded. At least this time, there wouldn't be war.  
  
Only time would tell what happened next. Finishing the update, the reporter signed off, and the screen went dark. "Will that be sufficient, Admiral?" Even the unemotional Ziggy knew when to be serious.  
  
"Yes, Ziggy. That was enough." Al had to choke back a sob. Even with the shift in history, there was just still too much death. The images burned in his brain, never to be forgotten. He felt weak, and went to sit on his bed. He rested his head in his hands and prayed for those lost. Unwillingly, the memories of this last leap filled his mind, and he began to remember....  
  
*************  
Morning-  
September 30, 2001  
  
Al was roused from his sleep by an obnoxious beeping sound that emanated from all around him. He groaned and pulled the covers over his head. He hadn't been sleeping well lately, but then he didn't think anyone in America could. Verbena had prescribed something to help him relax and get some rest, but the nightmares continued nonetheless. The beeping continued to grow in volume until he could no longer block it out. He rolled over and growled at the ceiling. "Whatda want, Ziggy?" He made no secret of the fact that he hated to be waken from his sleep.  
  
"Forgive the intrusion, Admiral." The pseudo-voice that was Ziggy responded. "However, your presence is required in the Imaging Chamber."  
  
Al sat up and ran one hand over his stubble-graced chin. How long had he been asleep? A quick glance at his bedside clock showed him that he had gotten a whole two hours this time. Any rest was better than none, he reasoned. He threw back the covers and climbed out of the bed. "Is it Sam?"  
  
"Affirmative, Admiral. However, I suggest you dress post-haste. There is no time to waste."  
  
Al grabbed for clothes from his dresser and began to throw them on as Ziggy briefed him on the current mission. His eyes widened in shock when he was told the date Sam had leapt into. Ziggy was right. There was no time to waste. He finished dressing in minutes and took off down the hallway towards the chamber at a dead run.  
  
**************  
Morning-  
September 11, 2001  
  
The fog surrounding Sam's consciousness began to fade. He looked around in confusion to find himself buckled into an airplane seat. But this wasn't an ordinary flight. His instincts were already screaming DANGER without being told anything at all. A glance across the aisle showed him a couple of the passengers huddled into their seats. Somewhere he heard crying. Something was terribly wrong.  
  
He cautiously peeked around the corner of the seat in front of him, trying to see up the aisle. Three men stood at the front of the plane, their heads were wrapped in swaths of cloth. He couldn't see them clearly, but he could hear the thick accent as one of them spoke in broken English. He tried to place it but found he couldn't.  
  
"Sit. Sit. Bomb on plane. You move, we explode!" He motioned wildly with his hands in an exploding gesture that left little doubt as to it's true meaning. Sam glimpsed a knife in one of his hands. The blade gleamed in the dim light.  
  
Sam leaned back into his seat to ponder his current situation only to be startled by the sudden appearance of Al. He yelped and quickly silenced himself, lest he bring about unwanted attention from the front of the plane. "Al!" He hissed quietly, not sure if he would have a heart attack at the unexpected arrival of his longtime pal.  
  
"Sorry, Sam." Al apologized.  
  
"What's going on? Where and when am I?" Sam had not really enjoyed flying before and this experience cinched it for him that he never would again.  
  
"You're being hijacked, Sam." He took out the handlink and began poking the colored cubes. Not that he needed to. He knew the information by heart. It was the worst tragedy to befall America in eons.  
  
"Who am I?" Sam was aghast at the idea of a hijacking. Not with so many innocent people onboard.   
  
"Your name is Todd. Todd Billings." He poked at the cubes again then slapped the link as he tried to get more data. It squealed loudly in protest, then coughed up the necessary tidbit. "You are 32 years old and on this flight for a business meeting."  
  
Sam digested this. "Okay. So what do they," he indicated the hijackers with one finger, "want?"  
  
Al sighed heavily. He didn't want to tell Sam, but knew he had to. He closed his eyes on memory of this terrible date. "Today is September 11, 2001. In a little over an hour, this plane, Flight 93, will crash into the White House in what is known as the Attack on America." He took a deep breath and Sam could hear the pain in his voice as he continued. "This is one of four planes that were hijacked. The other three, well," Al hesitated, knowing that Sam had to know but still unable to voice the words.   
  
Sam took a really good look at Al for the first time. He was unshaven, and looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. His hair was unkempt, and his clothes were wrinkled. In other words, he looked like hell. Not for the first time, he wished he could touch his friend if only to offer support. "What happened, Al?"  
  
Al tried to compose himself again and continue. It was just so hard with Sam being so close to his own time, and the pain of the attacks still fresh in his mind. He took another deep breath and tried again. "Of the other three planes that were hijacked, one went into the Pentagon." He watched Sam's face fall at this tiny sliver of information. "That one killed about 300 instantly."  
  
300 lives lost. Sam felt numb at the words. He was used to changing one life at a time. He swallowed a large lump that had crept up into his throat and gave voice to his thoughts. "And the other two planes, Al? Tell me, I need to know."  
  
Al nodded wearily, then looked into Sam's eyes as he broke the news. "The other two planes, one at a time, each slammed into the towers of the World Trade Center. The combined forces caused the towers to collapse. Around 5,000 people died. The exact numbers still aren't known. You are only a couple of weeks behind me, Sam. The New York City you knew, and I knew is gone. We are still sifting through the rubble even now." With that said, he closed his eyes, unable to stand the look in Sam's. The raw pain at so much loss of life was unreal.  
  
Sam slumped back into his chair. 5,000 innocent people lost in this tragedy. It was a few moments before he could speak. This news was worse than any he had ever been given. Yet he still sensed that Al was holding something back. "Is that all of it, Al?" He hated to make his friend relive this incident, but needed to know all the facts if he was to do his job.  
  
Al shook his head. "There is more." He ran one hand through his hair as though trying to straighten it. "When this plane impacted into the White House, all hope was lost. The President wasn't there, but the Vice-President was. This one incident was considered an act of war. It is the beginning of World War III, Sam. We are still battling as we speak. Nation is up against nation." Tears now ran freely down his face as he was unable to contain his pain any longer. "It's hell on Earth, Sam. You have to stop it at all costs. Keep this plane from reaching it's destination." He reached into his pocket for his handkerchief and began to wipe away the tears. Tears he cried for his fellow countrymen. The soldiers lost in battle, the innocent lives that kept being lost each day.  
  
Sam could feel his own tears wanting to break free, but held them in check. He had a job to do, and this time there was no room for mistakes. He wished he could be in four places at once, that he could stop all four planes, but that wasn't an option. He was placed on this plane for some reason, and he would have to deal with that. All those lives. He thought again. How could this be. How did they get the planes. His mind ran over and over the news, coming up with more and more questions each time, knowing that even if he asked, the answers would not make a difference. His only shot was to keep this plane from the White House.   
  
Sam licked his lips, trying to wet them a bit so he could speak. The weight of the world fell upon his shoulders now. Never could one leap mean so much. He looked to Al, who was now pocketing his handkerchief after composing himself some. "So what does Ziggy suggest I should do?" He needed at least a guideline to follow, even if he never followed Ziggy's instructions before.  
  
Al shrugged. "Stop the plane, Sam. Doesn't matter how. Just keep this plane from taking out the White House. Thousands of lives are depending on you." At Sam's look of astonishment he explained further. "When they took out the Capitol, Sam, the United States was devastated. Those bastards hurt us, Sam. They got the center of the nation. Morale was at an all time low. People started to feel that if the nation couldn't protect it's own capitol, how could it protect them?" He dropped his hands in defeat. "People wanted revenge and that's exactly what happened. Total chaos. It's a miracle that we've been able to keep the Project operating at all. This is the one time I was glad we were top secret and 10 stories underground."  
  
A noise at the front of the plane gathered Sam's attention. One of the flight attendants was sobbing uncontrollably. "Please." She pleaded between sobs to one of the men. "Please let me call my children." He turned toward her and looked down his nose at her. He shook his head once then turned away. The woman's sobs increased.  
  
Sam's heart went out to her. He wanted to wring the necks of the men in control of the plane. He glanced back to Al. "How much time?"  
  
"Less than an hour."  
  
Sam considered his options. With three men, knives and possibly a bomb, that left very few open to him. He looked around the plane for anyone to help him and saw nothing but scared, worried faces. Faces of people that wanted nothing more than to get off the plane, and probably never set foot on one again. One man in the back of the plane caught Sam's attention, he was a rather burly man, and he didn't look scared. He looked just plain angry.   
  
Sam unbuckled his seatbelt and slowly got up out of his chair. The kidnappers were letting people go to the back of the plane where the restrooms were, but no one was allowed any closer than the 4th row of seats. One of the hijackers stood there brandishing his knife, making it clear that no one would get past him. Sam knew that they would have to, somehow get control back of the cockpit in order to have any chance of surviving.   
  
Al watched Sam make his way to the back, then pressed the sequence of keys that would pop him in next to Sam. He vanished to reappear in the seat next to the guy. Sam sat down on the other side, and began to strike up a conversation.  
  
"Sir, you don't know me, but I believe we both feel the same way." He began carefully, judging the man's reaction.  
  
"How do you know how I feel?" The man barked at him.  
  
"I can see it in your face. Listen I hate to be blunt, but we have to do something. We can't let them get away with this. I believe that you and me are the only hope we have. Everyone else is too scared or worried."  
  
The man grunted as a response.  
  
"I've had limited experience in flying," Sam watched Al nod at this statement then continued, "and I think I can get this plane landed if we can just get me into the cockpit."  
  
"You know I'll help you, Sam." Al interrupted, "We'll land this plane. Just get in the cockpit."  
  
For the first time the man took an interest in Sam's words. "You can land the plane?"  
  
"I think so. But we will never know if we don't get in there. I'm Todd." He held out his hand in friendship.  
  
The man shook it. "I'm Gary. Have you got a plan?"  
  
Sam shook his head. "We need to overpower them. And soon." He caught a look of worry on Al's face. Every moment they sat around talking, they got closer to the Capitol.  
  
The man glanced toward the front of the plane. Only two of the hijackers were present right now. The third had entered the cockpit.   
  
Al was motioning wildly. "Go now, Sam! There's only two of them and I know you can take out at least one!"  
  
Sam nodded. "Gary, we have to do it now. You take the one nearest the cockpit door. I'll take the one guarding the aisle. It's now or never. I overheard them talking and this plane is heading for the White House. We need to stop them now." He got up and began walking down the aisle as if he was going to return to his seat.   
  
The hijacker was unprepared for when Sam, instead of sitting quietly, suddenly rushed him. Gary was right on his heels and headed for the other man. With a couple of well placed kicks and a punch, Sam had his man out cold in seconds. The other one wouldn't go down easy and Gary ended up with a long gash up his arm before he got the man subdued.   
  
Sam checked the man's arm and saw blood flowing freely. With no time to waste, he ripped his shirt sleeve off the quickly dressed the wound. It wasn't the best, but it would help staunch the flow for the moment. A couple of the other passengers, no longer completely terrified, gathered up some supplies from the back of the plane and began to tie the hijackers up. Sam reached down and took one of the knives. He might need it.  
  
Sam approached the cockpit door. Al was already waiting in front of it. "Sam, there are two men in there. One is controlling the plane, the other just got off the radio. They are unaware you have control on this side. That is your trump card." He stuck his head through the door then removed it. "He's coming, now's your chance. You can do it, kid."  
  
Sam wiped his brow. Sweat had begun to trickle down from his previous exertions. He positioned himself behind the door and waited. Gary took up a stance on the other side. The hijacker would not stand a chance.   
  
The door popped open an the man walked out, calling to his friends. It only took him a second to see that they were not where he had left them. But it was one second too late. Gary's anger at the unjustness of it all was too much. He had his hands clasped together and clubbed the man full on the head. The last thing he saw was the ceiling as he keeled over. He never got to utter a word as his eyes rolled up into his skull.  
  
Sam stepped over him, and entered the cockpit, knife at the ready. The man flying the plane was no pilot and looked about in confusion for his backup. Knowing he was outnumbered, he surrendered quietly. Gary escorted him to where his companions were to be tied up. "It's up to you now, Todd. Get this plane down."  
  
Al was eyeing the man as he passed him. He saw something in the man's eyes that caused him to suddenly shout, "LOOK OUT SAM!!"  
  
Suddenly the last man broke free and grabbed at the knife Sam held. He wrenched it from Sam's grip and sliced as he grabbed. Sam felt a warm wetness spread across his chest just before the pain hit. He fell down, surprised at the sudden turn of events. Gary reacted quickly, but not quick enough. The man lunged, and plunged the knife deep into Gary's chest, twisting it as he put all his weight behind it.. Blood poured out of the hole and Gary went down, gasping his last breath.  
  
That was it, the last straw. Sam looked down at his own chest, knowing the wound had to be pretty bad for the blood to be soaking his shirt so completely. Taking only a second to gather himself, he charged the man for all he had. The man leaped to one side and Sam smacked into a console, his head ricocheting of the steel. He actually saw stars from the impact.   
  
Al was frantic. "Sam!! Oh, God NO!! Sam, get up. Come on, Sam" He yelled hoarsely. "He's heading for the radio, Sam! Get up and get this prick!"  
  
Sam struggled to stand, his feet slipping slightly in the blood on the floor. There was so much of it, from Gary and from himself. He felt faint and knew it was a combination of a concussion and blood loss. He grabbed at a nearby console to help him stand.  
  
The man had cut the radio wires and was now coming back to Sam. Sam held up one blood soaked hand in apparent surrender. The man cautiously stepped toward Sam, knife at the ready.   
  
"Sam what the hell are you doing??" Al was screaming in his ear. "You need to stop him not surrender to him. He's a murdering bastard! Get him, Sam!"  
  
Sam began to walk out of the cockpit, letting the man think he had the upper hand. they were just about out the door when Sam turned and reached for the knife. His aim was off and ended up with a deep gash on his hand. "OWWWWW!!! Shit!! Al!!" He moaned as fresh pain hit him.  
  
Al stood by, unable to help, unwilling to leave, ready to pull his hair out at the turn of events this leap was taking. To top it off the power in the Imaging Chamber was beginning to flicker and the image of a blood soaked Sam faded out, then back in, then out again. The blue walls of the Imaging Chamber reappeared. "Gooshie, damn it!! Turn the power up to the max. Cut off the rest of the project if you have to, but keep me there!!" He swore under his breath.  
  
He rematerialized in the middle of the cockpit and Sam had finally gotten control of the situation. The hijacker now lay dead at Sam's feet, the knife stuck into his skull at an odd angle. Al had to turn quickly away or lose his lunch. He was suddenly glad for the small brownout. He wouldn't have wanted to see how Sam had managed that.   
  
Sam was leaning against a console, just barely hanging on to consciousness. One hand was clenched into a fist, blood still dripping out of it, the other was trying to stop the blood coming out of his chest. Al felt a new level of anger hit him. If that man wasn't already dead, Al would have found a way to kill him himself, hologram or no. "Sam, can you hear me? Sam?"  
  
Sam nodded slightly then winced. "Did we win yet, Al?"  
  
"Not yet, Sam." He poked at the handlink. "The autopilot is on. The plane is locked into course for the Capitol." He watched as Sam struggled to get into the pilot's chair. "You need to disengage the autopilot and get this plane down."  
  
Sam finally got his butt into the seat then looked at all the controls. "Which one, Al?"  
  
"The red switch to your left. Flip it up."  
  
Sam followed the instructions and suddenly the plane began to pitch sharply downward as the autopilot was disengaged. He reached for the controls, but had a hard time trying to keep the plane steady with his blood soaked hands.   
  
"Sam you are never going to be able to land the plane this way. You're going to have to crash it."  
  
Sam looked at Al as if he had just lost his mind. "But the people on this plane.." he began to say.  
  
"Would have died anyways, Sam. You are in no condition to attempt a landing."  
  
"Where is the real pilot, Al?" Sam's hand slipped again and he tried to hold it with the other one, but the pain was too much. The plane took a sharp dive down. He could hear people in the back screaming as the plane shook.  
  
"Dead, Sam. They killed the flight crew first. Don't argue with me on this Sam." He hated to force this on him, but there was no other option. "There is an empty field coming up. With luck you can put the plane down there, maybe you will have some survivors." He stated calmly, hoping Sam would just take his word for it.  
  
Sam knew. He looked at Al and seemed to come to a decision of his own. "Okay, Al. Just tell me what to do." His head was woozy and the cockpit seemed to spin around him. Shock, he told himself mentally. Hang on a bit longer. It will be over soon.  
  
Al's voice was filled with sorrow and pain as he spoke the words. "See the set of switches next to the altimeter? Flip those down and press the big blue button under them. That will turn off the engines and dump the gas. She will come down on her own after that. Try to keep her belly as level as you can. But you gotta do it now, Sam, or you will overshoot the field and land right in the city."  
  
Sam looked at his friend then reached for the switches. "Can I warn the passengers at least?"  
  
Al shook his head. "The radio's been cut, both external and internally."  
  
Sam sighed, then resigned himself to this situation. At least if he had to die, it would be for his country. With a last glance at Al, he flipped the switches and pressed the button. The loud sound of the engines cut out immediately. The nose dropped and Sam grabbed for the yoke, trying to level out the descent.   
  
Al had to turn away, unable to watch as his best friend struggled for control of the plane, unable to watch as the ground rushed up to meet them. The last words he heard were Sam's cry, "Oh, God, Please..." Then the Image winked out again.  
  
"DAMN IT GOOSHIE!!!" He screamed at the ceiling in full volume. "I TOLD YOU TO KEEP ME THERE!!! I CAN'T LET SAM DIE ALONE!! GET ME BACK IN THERE!!"  
  
Gooshie's voice came over the intercom. "I can't do that Admiral. He leaped."  
  
Al felt his legs turn to rubber at the words. A choked sob escaped his lips. He really had thought Sam was going to die. He managed to get the door open and get out on the ramp before he fell over. Verbena and Tina were at his side in seconds and led him to a chair to sit. He rested his hands on his knees and put his head between his legs as waves of vertigo overtook him.   
  
Verbena was rubbing his back and talking softly to him. "Deep breaths, Admiral. Slow, deep breaths. It will pass."  
  
Al closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing. He mentally counted as the waves passed over him. One, two, three, four....by the time he reached ten, he was able to raise his head and sit up.   
  
Verbena was watching him carefully. "Are you going to be all right?" Her dark eyes were filled with worry.  
  
"Yeah, I think so." The room was no longer spinning and he was able to look around. Tina handed him a cup of water. "Thanks." He took it and sipped at it. "Gooshie, what happened?" Did he do it?"  
  
Gooshie was tapping the controls. "I believe so, Admiral. Ziggy is compiling the data now. It will be ready in minutes."  
  
"Good. Have her transfer it to my quarters. I'll view it there." He stood carefully and headed out the door, pausing only for a moment to reassure Verbena he would be fine. He would view the data then rest. He tossed the empty paper cup in the trash as he left the control room.  
  
*****************  
  
Evening-  
September 30, 2001  
  
Al lifted his head. He couldn't get the image of Sam, bloody and dying out of his mind. He looked around his quarters and sighed. "Ziggy?"  
  
Her response was immediate. "Yes, Admiral?"  
  
"Have you located Sam yet?" He didn't know why, but he needed to know that Sam was safe.  
  
"Yes, Admiral. We just acquired a lock." Her voice was quiet as if she knew what he was asking. "He's in 1973 as a scientist. Would you like the specifics?"  
  
"Just tell me one thing, okay?" He hated having to probe the computer, he wished for once she could just figure out what he needed.   
  
"If it is within my capacity." She answered as if he was asking for miracles.  
  
"Is he all right? Physically that is?"  
  
"Affirmative, Admiral. In fact he has already forgotten his previous leap. He's sleeping right now. Are you going back to the Imaging Chamber?"   
  
"Not yet, let him rest. Thanks, Ziggy, that will be all."  
  
He waited a few minutes to make sure she was not going to interrupt him. Then he lay down on his bed and finally gave in to all the emotions he had been holding back. He cried for Sam, for the nation, for all his fellow men and women that had been lost. He cried until he was exhausted. He cried until he was all cried out. Then he fell into a deep sleep, the first since the first time September 11th had rolled around. As he drifted off, his mind was finally laid to rest. He knew that when he awoken, things would look brighter. The world could heal now. War was averted. He clutched his pillow and muttered quietly words that would be said over and over again. "God Bless America. We will survive." Then his dreams carried him away.  
  
  
The End 


End file.
