Coming Out
(February 1974)
by Dana Kujan

Fandom: Quantum Leap
Author's Note: This story was originally published in the fanzine Quantum Instability #6, Calavicci's Dilemma, in which writers were invited to craft a story from the introduction italicized below. (1996)

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"Are you going to do it?" Sam asked softly.

"Sam, I can't." Al stared at his feet, trying to make the anxiety go away. It wasn't helping. He knew that he was responsible for all of this, that it had been his decision. But now that the time had come, it didn't seem like such a perfect solution anymore. "I can't," he repeated quietly.

"Al, you have to."

"Can't a man change his mind?"

"Not about this," Sam whispered as he turned away.

Al forced his gaze up to the frosted pane set in the door in front of him. Stenciled on it were numbers and letters, be he couldn't make sense of them. He dragged a hand down his face, then looked around.

Sam had retreated to the other side of the hallway, his shoulder blades and the bottom of his left foot pressed hard against the wall, his arms crossed tightly against his chest. Staring at the newly-waxed floor, he muttered, "I should've known."

"Aw, Sam," Al started apologetically. But he didn't know what to say. He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced up and down the corridor. It was deserted except for him and Sam. And the nozzles behind that door.

"You said you loved me," Sam said softly, almost sadly. "You said you loved me more than anything."

"I do!" Al interjected quickly, struggling to keep his voice down. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me."

Sam brought his eyes level with Al's. "Then prove it."

Al opened his mouth, then sighed. He pressed his lips together, and when his mouth opened again, it was only to say, "I can't."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and leaned his head back until it hit the wall with a soft thud. "Can't or won't?"

Al swallowed hard. "That's not fair, Sam. You've never been in my position, you don't know where I'm coming from."

Sam's eyes flew open in surprise, and he looked at Al sharply. "What are you talking about? This affects my life as much as it does yours."

"You don't understand, Sam," Al said, shaking his head. "This is the military. And whether you like it or not, I'm expected to act a certain way. Do certain things."

"No one will think any less of you," Sam broke in. "They just have to start thinking of you," he groped for the word, "differently."

"You're damn right they'll think of me differently," Al exploded. "I'll think of me differently!"

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Sam whispered vehemently.

"No," Al agreed, seeming to have regained his composure, "it's nothing to be ashamed of. But say it's a Saturday night, and we happen to walk into the 'O' Club and I see a group of my buddies sitting at a table. I doubt they're going to ask us to join them."

"If they're really your buddies, they'll understand. And do you honestly think it's going to come as a surprise to any of them?"

Al ignored the question. "You just don't get it, Sam. It's a Navy thing."

"Well, maybe I don't want to get it."

Al began pacing nervously. "Why does it have to be all or nothing with you? Can't you think about me for a minute? How I'll be ostracized? This may even cost me the space program and a promotion!"

Sam had backed up against the wall again and become very still. His attention seemed to be focused on his hands, the palms of which he was rubbing together slowly. When he spoke again, it was with hesitancy. "So. What are you saying now, Al? That the military is more important to you than I am?"

Al went to his lover and stilled his hands with his own. "No. I'm saying, as long as you and I know, that's all that counts. I don't see why I have to admit it in front of the whole world."

Sam jerked his hands away and moved quickly, leaving Al to stare at a blank wall. "Because that's not good enough, Al! And you know it."

Al turned around to find Sam pacing back and forth in front of the door, grinding a fist into the palm of his other hand.

"I'm tired of pretending, Al. I'm tired of making excuses. I'm tired of all the lies, especially the ones I have to tell-- like the ones I told my parents when I went home for Thanksgiving alone. I'm tired of, of..."

"Are you tired of me, Sam?" Al asked quietly.

This stopped Sam in his tracks. "No! No. I'm not tired of you. But I think the only way we're going to be able to stay together is if you walk through that door. Do that, Al, and when we graduate next year, I'll follow you Texas, Florida, or Timbuktu, if that's where they send you. And if you go to the moon, I'll wait for you."

At that moment, the door slowly opened and a matronly middle-aged woman leaned out into the hallway. Her expression conveyed that she was a bit put out by the loud voices outside her door. She asked, "May I help you, gentlemen?"

Al looked up into Sam's eyes, so full of love and honesty. He squeezed his arm briefly, then walked over to the woman.

"Yes, ma'am," Al said, extending his hand. "My name is Al... and I'm an alcoholic. And I think I'm ready to come in now."

Tags: my fic, quantum leap, slash
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