Spoilers: Nothing specific.

Fanfic hiatus aside, this little snippet nagged at me to the point where it had to be written. I'm supposed to be finishing a paper, so you can imagine how persistent the idea was. I fully blame Dalton Spence for going and mentioning crossovers and getting me started on this. (Not quite the "Inspired by" credit you were hoping for, I know, but it's a start.) I don't intend to continue this into a full story, but if anyone would like to take it from here, let me know. I'd prefer Sam Leaping into Roger or the Doc, myself. :)

Not Again

by Amanda Ohlin

Maybe it was a trend.

Maybe God or whatever force that kept tossing Sam Beckett through time really did have a skewed sense of humor. Whatever the reason, for the past five Leaps in a row, Sam had consistently Leaped in seconds before the person he'd switched with got themselves in an accident.

Leap number six was no exception.

His disorientation and dizziness faded, and the world came into focus just in time for Sam see a ton of weight-lifting equipment toppling right on top of him. Panicked, he rolled to the side, trying to at least get out of the path of most of the weight. To his surprise, he almost managed to roll clear before the apparatus crashed to the floor.

He ended up lying flat on his back, with one of the metal bars about an inch above his chest. For several moments, Sam simply lay there, processing what had just happened. Something told him he was not going to like this Leap.

"Mr. Wiseman?"

A head moved into his line of vision, attached to an expensive-looking suit. The tall black man was standing over him, looking down at him expectantly. "Mr. Wiseman? It's Dr. Morris. Are you all right?"

Sam took a moment to respond. "Yeah. What just happened?"

The doctor frowned and walked over to inspect the place where the equipment had stood. "Hmmm. Looks like some of the bolts weren't fastened properly." He almost smiled. "Or perhaps you were a bit too hard on the equipment."

Sam pulled himself up to a sitting position, rubbing the back of his head. It also seemed he was getting bruised in the same spot each time. "Great," was all he could manage to say.

Morris looked at him oddly for a few seconds. "I think we should call it a day."

"That's fine with me," Sam replied, but the man was already walking away. Groaning, Sam pulled himself up, getting to his feet with ease despite his discomfort. He took a moment to take stock of his surroundings, leaning on the fallen equipment. Looking at the pool, the small gymnasium, and the bedroom above the pool, Sam frowned, confused. Just what had he Leaped into this time?

"Mr. Wiseman, your dinner's ready."

Sam shook his head and let go of the metal bar he'd been holding on to, stooping to pick up the towel nearby. When he got a good look at the bar, he stopped short. The spot he'd been holding on to now bore an imprint in the metal - unmistakably the imprint of his "own" fingers.

"Oh, boy."


"Here we go again," Al muttered under his breath, looking through the one-way glass at the unconscious form of Dr. Sam Beckett.

As usual, Sam had Leaped out of trouble at the last second, only to land in a new mess. At least, that's what Al's intuition told him. Ziggy was having a hell of a time pinpointing when, where, or who Sam was at the moment. The only excuse for the delay the computer would give was something vague about not having the proper clearances and data access. Al didn't like the sound of that one bit. Whenever Ziggy gave a vague response, it meant trouble. Which was why Al was dreading what was about to happen as the person who was not Sam Beckett slowly came back to consciousness.

Sam's eyes fluttered open, blinking a few times before they focused on the white walls of the Waiting Room. Al clenched his teeth, waiting for the inevitable scream. Almost all of them screamed and panicked.

Instead, Sam jerked upright almost immediately, letting out a convulsive cry of surprise as he looked wildly about him. Al didn't envy Dr. Verbeena Beeks her job of calming this one down. But to his utter shock, the person in Sam Beckett's body suddenly stopped panicking. He - if it was a he this time - looked around the room again, his face conveying far more confusion than fear. "Sam" stared at his hands, turning them over and examining them before standing up and getting a good look at himself in the mirror.

Around this point, if the person hadn't panicked already, most people would scream, try to break the glass, or even faint dead away. Al had seen an entire spectrum of shocked and horrified reactions, none of which he found very pleasant.

Nothing, however, could have prepared him for this one.

"Oh, God," the person in Sam's body groaned. "Not again."

The End

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