vigorli

Title: All the King's Horses 6/?: Keeping Ma Bell Busy
Author: Rainweaver13
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Summary: Being gay is not easy for two men in the small-town South of the late '80s.

Warnings: Adult language and situations. AU. Some het content, not explicit. Real-life angst.
Disclaimer: This is complete fiction. The characters in this story are being "played" by certain real actors, but that's the only connection with reality. None of the characters is meant to be a real person.

A/N: Viggo as V. Michael Delany, aka Dr. D, middle school principal and sometime junior college English teacher; Sean Bean as Sean Baker, car salesman and horseman; Orlando as James Orlando Kennedy, newspaper reporter. Feedback would really be appreciated on this one.

The middle of October: Jamie

"Jo? Jamie Kennedy from work. How you doing?"

"Oh, hi, Jamie. I'm doing okay, as long as I don't cough or sneeze or take a deep breath." Quiet laugh. "They say I can come back to work in three weeks. I'll believe it when I see it."

"Ah, you're tough. You'll be back up and terrorizing teachers before you know it."

"Brat. So what's this call about? I know you didn't just call to check up on me."

"I'm wounded. I care about you. Care about you deeply."

"Right. Have you managed to libel somebody already? You only covered my beat for a week. Jesus, Jamie, you couldn't screw up something that fast."

"Okay, now I resent that." Chuckle. "I haven't screwed up anything." Although I might like to screw something. "I just was curious about somebody I met at one of the meetings, that's all."

"Oooooh, I'm listening. Who'd your radar pick up?"

"What do you know about the Hoffman Middle School principal, Michael Delany?"

"Oh, yum. Other than that he's gorgeous and intelligent and well-mannered and always leaves me feeling kinda moist?"

"That might have strayed into Too Much Information." Laughing.

"Okay, okay... If you'll check in my left-hand file cabinet, second drawer from the bottom, you'll find all the bios, resumes and shit I have, filed by school. Just don't take it away, okay? I use those all the time."

"Okay." Making a note. "Anything beyond the official bio?"

"Mmmmm... He lives alone somewhere out in the county. Not married, never has been. Thirty-something. Has an enormous, ghastly ugly dog named Rufus that puts in appearances at football games, festivals and such. Kids love him - the dog, I mean. He looks ferocious but is a huge pussycat. Of course, most of the kids seem to love Mike Delany, too. They call him Dr. D."

"Girlfriend?"

"That I don't know."

"What's his deep dark secret? Drug dealer? White slavery? Gun runner?"

More laughter. "Ow...ow...owowowow...... Don't make me laugh, cutie. As far as I know, he's got no deep dark secrets. I've always wondered what the hell he's doing at Hoffman Middle School, but who knows? People have their reasons."

"Okay...Well, I guess I've tortured you enough for one afternoon. Thanks for the dirt, Jo."

"Sure thing. Who's got my beat next week, d'you know?"

"I think...um... Phyllis. Yeah, she's actually taking the next two weeks."

"Oh, good. Could you switch me over to her?"

"You bet. Take care of yourself, girl. Don't be running any marathons."

"Funny, funny."

-----
The resume told a straightforward story: V. Michael Delany, Bachelor of Arts, University of Mississippi, English and History; Master of Arts, University of Mississippi, American Literature and School Administration; Ph.D. Mississippi State University, 20th Century Literature (majority of Ph.D. work done at Vanderbilt University).

English teacher, Hoffman High School, six years. Assistant coach of swim team and cross-country team. Sponsor of National Honor Society. Co-sponsor of Thespians.

Principal, Hoffman Middle School, four years.

Member First Presbyterian Church, Hoffman.

Three photos were clipped to the resume: The first, a standard suit and tie school picture for use as a mug shot, the sandy hair a bit shorter, the smile restrained; the second, a candid shot at a school carnival of Michael on the spring-loaded seat of a dunking booth, dripping wet, laughing gleefully as a young girl took careful aim with a softball; the third, another candid shot, this one of Michael in jeans and an Ole Miss sweatshirt, walking in a cemetery, pointing at a tombstone, with a huge dog by his side.

Jamie looked at the three photos for perhaps a bit longer than necessary, and considered swiping the third one. Something about the way the other man's hair was blowing loose in an apparent strong breeze was very attractive. And Jo was right... That was a damned ugly dog. But eventually he left the photos in place. He'd rather get a better look at the real thing, anyway.

_____
Michael

"Hi, Miranda. Michael. Is Sean around?"

"He's out at the barn right now."

"Oh, okay. Thanks, then. You and the kids doing all right?"

"We're fine, thank you."

"Mmm. Okay. Well, have a good evening."

"Good night, Michael." Click..

Click. ... "Bitch."

-----
"Sean! Hope you weren't right in the middle of something."

"Nah. Just finished putting up my last horse for the night." Sound of squeaking leather. "What's up?"

"You said Miranda started going to a new church a while back. Remember what it is?"

"Yeah, it's that Jesus and the Apostles bunch, out on 5 past the furniture plant."

"Shit." Michael flopped backwards onto his bed and pondered the slow-moving ceiling fan.

"Somethin' specific you don't like about'em, or you just having an anti-church nut moment?" Sean sounded amused, and Michael could hear the sound of him popping the top on a cola can.

"It's specific, bro." Michael toed off his shoes and kicked them toward the closet. "Remember that Caring Women of America group that blindsided me at the last board meeting?"

"You took care of them, no problem, right?"

"That time, yeah."

"Something else come up?"

"Not yet. But that's not the problem. The problem's that the group is based at Jesus and the Apostles. And they meet at lunchtime three times a week." Michael let that info settle into the easy silence between them as he started absently unbuttoning his shirt.

"That's what Miranda's going to, you think?" Sean said finally.

"It's not much of a leap."

"Damn."

"Might help explain why she's been getting cooler and cooler toward me." He tugged his shirt loose and shrugged out of it, shifting the phone from shoulder to shoulder. "I've learned a lot about that whole outfit in the past two weeks, Sean. For one thing, they're seriously looking into starting their own school."

"What the hell for?" Sean's voice was abruptly irate, and Michael could almost see him sitting bolt upright, frowning. "We've got good schools here."

"Ah, but not Christian schools," Michael said, dry as the Sahara. "Apparently our schools are serpents' nests of promiscuity, secular humanism, evolution and lack of respect for the old ways."

"Shit."

"I tend to agree. But they're serious about it. They've apparently already been talking to somebody down at First National about a loan, and they're looking at the old Weatherwax building." Michael looked down at the shirt wadded in his hand, crushed it a little tighter and shot it toward the clothes hamper beside the closet door. Missed completely. He shoots. He doesn't score. Typical.

"That's just crazy."

"You know what I think about it." Michael switched the phone back to his left shoulder where it was most comfortable and settled onto the bed again. "The church is also in tight with that National Federation for Decency group out of Tupelo. If you know anything about them, you know they're against just about everything. Anyway, I just wanted you to know. That Caring Women group took that little potshot at me... That was their first move. They're after the high school library now, wanting some books banned. Just glad it's not me." He snorted softly. "Although they'll probably come after our library next. Want to get rid of Judy Blume. Her titles always upset people."

"Mike..."

"Mmmm?"

"What- Y'reckon I should tell Miranda to stop going there?"

"You know her better than I do, but I kinda doubt that telling her would be a good idea. Maybe ask. Or, shit, I don't know, bro. Maybe nothing. Maybe it's enough that you know. You can kinda keep an eye on things, right?" He absently studied a spiderweb dangling above the ceiling fan. "Are the kids going to church with her?"

"Nah. They go with me. All their buddies are at First Baptist. Miranda talks to them about going with her sometimes, but they haven't been interested."

"That's good," Michael muttered. "I'd sure do my damnedest to keep the kids out of that place."

"You think they'll come after you again?"

"I don't know. I hope not." A spider slid down the strand of webbing, too fast too far, and bumped into the fan. "It's hard not to-- I just hope there's nothing... personal."

"She doesn't know, Mike."

"I'm just paranoid."

"Quit being paranoid and get some rest. I gotta get inside before Miranda worries."

"She knows I'm talking to you. I called the house first."

Sean grunted. "Well, it's none of her business."

"I'm sorry about this, bro."

"It's not your doing. Go read a book. Get smart. Er. Smarter. Smartass." The grin was easy to hear.

"Later."

"Same."

Michael clicked the phone off and stared at the ceiling for a few more minutes before shoving up to scout some leftovers from the fridge and slide them into the microwave. While they heated, he made himself a big glass of iced tea, pulled his tie off and dropped it onto the tidy kitchen counter, then wandered to the back door.

“Rufus,” he called quietly. “Time to come in, big guy.”

Out of the darkness of the fenced back yard ambled Michael’s second best friend in the world, behind Sean. As big as a pony, the brindle gray and brown dog’s parentage had never been worked out. Certainly some Great Dane, Michael’s vet maintained, and quite likely some Irish Wolfhound, which would account for his overall size and the fact that his coat wasn’t quite as smooth as it should be. But maybe some Bernese Mountain Dog as well, or Great Pyrenees or Saint Bernard – something that gave him a thickness of bone and burliness of size that didn’t really go with the Great Dane or Wolfhound mold.

Michael didn’t really care. He’d found Rufus at the Blue Springs Animal Shelter one nasty gray day eight years ago, and fallen in love with the gangly pup at first sight. Pointing out the puppy’s purely enormous paws, the shelter manager had warned Michael that this was probably going to be some kind of big dog, but Michael didn’t care. He’d looked into Rufus’s deep brown eyes and known they were a good match.

Eight years later, and he’d still never doubted it for a day. Rufus thumped up onto the porch and pressed his head against Michael’s stomach in their traditional evening greeting. Michael scratched the big head, ruffling the dog’s ears and chin, and let them both back into the house, telling Rufus about his day.

Rufus padded alongside, apparently listening, while Michael filled his food bowl then snagged his own leftovers from the microwave. And then they sat together in easy companionship, tucking into their dinners, each with his own thoughts.

Two hours later, when Michael pulled on a pair of worn-thin pajama pants and climbed into bed with a book, Rufus jumped up and settled in behind him. The bed-side lamp was still on when Michael fell asleep with a book on his chest, to the sound of a dog snoring behind his back.

Last week of October; Michael

“Dr. D., call for you from Jamie Kennedy at the Leader.”

“Thanks, Bets,” Michael said casually, but he had to admit that his pulse pounded abruptly harder as he picked up the phone. “Michael Delany. How can I help you?”

“You could go to dinner with me.”

Michael stared at the empty chair on the other side of the desk and blinked, honestly taken aback.

“Hello?” The warm voice with its hint of a British accent sounded amused.

“I’m sorry, I- um…”

“Is that you’re sorry you can’t go, you’re sorry you’re not interested, or some other sorry I haven’t thought of?”

Michael mentally shook himself, took a deep breath and reminded himself that he could deal with this. “Is this for a story? I’d like to know what it’s about first, please.”

Jamie’s laugh was a warm and rich as his brown eyes had looked in the street light’s glow. “No, it’s not for a story. I’d just like to get to know you. Just two blokes out to dinner. No biggie.”

“It’s not that simple,” Michael murmured, mostly to himself. “You’re a crime reporter, right?” He’d done a little research himself in the past two weeks. “I’ve been doing some primary research for the past two years on identifying criteria in junior high children that tend to indicate high potential for delinquent behavior later on. Maybe you’re interested in that?” Jesus, Michael, he slammed himself. Sound pathetic much?

“Ummm…. Sure,” Jamie said, still mildly amused but now somewhat questioning as well. “So when can we get together to talk about this research? Friday night?”

“Football,” Michael said. “Always. Til almost Christmas, depending.”

“Saturday?”

“Not this week.”

“Sunday?”

“Church.”

“Well, hell, man. You tell me.”

“How about… tonight? Too soon?”

“Where?”

“You know Tony’s Place, in east Blue Springs?”

“Out toward the airport? Yeah.”

“I’ll meet you there at 8 tonight, if that’s okay with you.”

“Tony’s at 8. See you then. Oh… and Michael?”

“Yeah?”

“Do we really have to talk about research?”

“We’ll see.” Michael smiled as he hung up the phone. Then he sat back in his leather chair, stared out the window at kids on the playground, and rubbed the sweat from his palms onto the legs of his pants. He loosened his tie just a bit and forced himself to take long, deep breaths before he had to embarrass himself by rushing into the teachers’ lounge to puke.

He knew what this felt like. He wasn’t stupid. The reporter was maybe flirting with him. But why? Why, why, why? This sudden interest from a reporter along with the growing chill from Sean’s wife had him paranoid. At least you recognize it, Mike old buddy, he told himself. You can be careful. Play it safe. Meet with this (damn good-looking) reporter (who flirted with you, admit it) for dinner tonight (it’s a date, admit it) and find out his agenda. It can’t be what you wish it would be.

Hold that thought.

Back to work. Kids first. Personal life second, or maybe third.

Michael turned back to his desk and picked up the file on an incoming student, losing himself in the familiar rhythms of his job.

Jamie

Tony’s Place was an institution in Blue Springs, just classy enough to rule out the riff-raff but not classy enough to attract the real money. The low-slung restaurant and bar had begun life back in the Twenties as one of the area’s earliest service stations, continued as one of the few survivors of a killer tornado in the Thirties and became a restaurant in the boom times of the post-war era. Tony himself was a WWII vet who cooked a mean steak and believed in doing a few things and doing them right. His son, Tony Junior, who ran the place now and had overseen an expansion in the Seventies, swore to the same motto.

At Tony’s, you could have steak. You had a choice of about a dozen cuts of steak, but nothing else. You could have potato – baked or fried. You could have salad, with four options for dressing. Thick slabs of toasted bread. That was it. Oh, and sweet tea or coffee. Or water.

People who found the rapid expansion of choices in life to be overwhelming tended to like Tony’s. Jamie wondered, as he parked his Jeep around the side and headed for the door, if that was why Michael liked it. Or maybe he knew something Jamie didn’t know. After all, if he was gay, which Jamie strongly suspected he was, he’d been gay around here one hell of a lot longer than Jamie had, so he’d know more… survival techniques.

Damn, but Jamie hated to think of it that way.

Inside, the restaurant was dark-walled and dimly lit, with framed black-and-white prints of celebrities battling for space on the walls with battered old gas stations signs. A middle-aged hostess in a plain white blouse and black skirt met Jamie a few steps inside the door, and when he said he was meeting someone for dinner, she touched his arm lightly to turn him toward the back of the dining room and nodded in that direction.

"Is that your party?" Her voice was unexpected soft and almost sultry.

"Sure is," Jamie said, giving her a smile. "I'll just go on over."

Michael sat with his back to the room, blondish hair looser and slightly longer over a blue shirt collar. Jamie watched the older man curiously as he made his way across the room. He sat, apparently, perfectly still, staring either toward the wall in front of him or toward the opposite edge of the table. It was hard to tell. Jamie approached at an angle, to be less of a surprise.

"Michael," he said with a light easiness he didn't entirely feel as Michael stood and extended a hand and a smile.

"Jamie. Good to see you." They shook hands briefly, then Michael gestured toward the opposite side of the table and sat again as Jamie pulled out his own chair. "It didn't occur to me until after I'd suggested Tony's that you might not live in Blue Springs."

"Holcutt, actually," Jamie said, getting settled, shrugging out of his windbreaker and letting it fall on the back of the chair. "Not much of a drive."

"About like mine." Michael toyed with his water glass, long fingers turning it slowly, precisely atop its condensation ring. Blue eyes studied Jamie with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.

"Hope you haven't been waiting long. I got caught by a train. The classic Blue Springs excuse." Jamie flashed his best grin and watched the curiosity flare.

"Only a few minutes. Long enough to relax." Michael's smiles were closed, more guarded. He licked his lips unconsciously. "I admit I was surprised when you called."

"You did give me your number."

The blue gaze darted rapidfire right, left, all around, probably checking to see if anyone was in hearing range. Michael reached up to loosen a tie that he suddenly realized he wasn't wearing, and cleared his throat. "For ... business. Purposes."

Jamie wasn't sure whether to be more amused, annoyed or saddened by this level of paranoia. He was saved from deciding by the arrival of their waitress. By the time they'd sorted out their orders - which didn't take long - Michael seemed to have relaxed a bit.

"So tell me," Jamie said, before the paranoia could set in again, "how long have you lived in Hoffman?"

"Oh... Most of my life," Michael said with a chuckle. "I was born there. Only left to go to college."

"Have any brothers or sisters?"

"Four. Sisters. I'm in the middle."

"Jeez!" Jamie laughed. "That had to be an experience.."

"I learned how to lay low and fly under the radar," Michael said dryly. "How about you?"

"Mmmm... Born in Canterbury, Kent, lived there until I came to the States when I was 19 to live with my Aunt Margaret in Holcutt. Been there since. And I have one sister, older than me, back in England."

"You live with your aunt?"

"Yep." Jamie took a sip of his water just as the waitress showed up with their salads. As he dug into the salad, he asked, "Who do you live with?"

"Rufus," Michael said, and for the first time Jamie caught a flash of amusement in those blue eyes.

"Rufus is your boyfriend?" Jamie asked innocently and quietly, respecting Michael's apparent fears.

"Rufus is my dog," Michael said solemnly. "He's very large."

"Ahhh," Jamie said, spearing some lettuce. "I don't have a dog. Or a boyfriend."

"Really?" Michael's voice was barely above a whisper, and his salad was ignored. He swallowed hard. "Is that something you'd like?"

Jamie gave him a solid, direct look. "Wouldn't you?"

Michael opened his mouth to respond, flushed, closed it and dropped his attention to his salad. Moments later the waitress arrived with the rest of their food and getting everything sorted out kept them busy for a while.

"Is your steak all right?" Michael asked eventually.

"Just like I ordered it." Jamie sliced off another chunk and savored the rich, meaty flavor.

"I think they've got the best steaks in town."

"I wouldn't argue that."

"Although Bonanza does okay for a franchise place."

"Michael."

"Hmmm?"

"What do you do for fun? When you're not educating America's future?"

"Er... um... I like to ride. Work on my car. Draw a little bit. Write. Nothing special. How about you?"

"Ride as in horses?"

"Yeah. My friend Sean owns a stable and I keep my horse out there. Don't get to ride as often as I'd like sometimes, but I still enjoy it."

Jamie paused with a French fry on the way to his mouth to listen with interest. "Does he rent horses to ride, your friend?"

"Sometimes. Why? You interested in riding?"

"Oh, man! I haven't ridden since I left England. I'd love to ride again."

"I'll talk to Sean then, see if he can work something out for you."

"That'd be brilliant!" Jamie's grin this time was honest, unfettered and about a thousand watts. Michael was briefly stunned.

"I'll... mmm... give you a call when I find out, then."

"Perfect." Cheerfully, Jamie set to work polishing off his remaining fries, washing them down with water.

Michael, whose appetite had not been itself tonight, settled for nursing his tall glass of sweet tea, watching Jamie eat. The young reporter had started off the evening calm and confident and had only gotten more relaxed as time went on.

Michael, on the other hand, had spent the entire meal on a rollercoaster, unsure whether to relax and enjoy this, be afraid, or just cut and run completely. And -- Damn. Now Jamie's ankle was suddenly pressed against his under the table.

It could be an accident. He'd just wait, drink some more tea, give him time to move. But he didn't more. Instead, a steady pressure grew there and when Michael managed to rip his gaze from the middle of the table to meet Jamie's melting chocolate eyes, he could see damn well that it was no accident.

How could such a small, innocuous contact be turning him inside out?

Would you like a boyfriend? he'd asked.

It could be a joke, some elaborate hoax cooked up by the newspaper people. Hell, it could be those church nuts, somehow getting this gorgeous man to serve as bait so they could hang him in public. It could be anything. Abruptly, Michael felt sick, nauseous down to his toes, too hot and he couldn't breathe.

Digging in his hip pocket, he pulled out his wallet and laid a few bills on the table. "That should cover my half," he said hoarsely. "I'm so sorry. I've got to get some air."

Jamie simply stared at him, startled, as Michael got up abruptly and made his way out of the restaurant.

------
Michael was waiting, leaned up against Jamie's jeep, when Jamie came out of the restaurant. He stood away from the jeep and offered Jamie a wan smile, then nodded slightly toward the wooded area behind the building. Curious, Jamie caught up and walked beside him.

Enough steps into the pine forest to be out of parking lot lights, Michael stopped with a large tree trunk between them and the restaurant. Taking a deep breath, he shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at Jamie.

"I don't know what you want. If it's money..." He shook his head dejectedly. "I have a little saved, not much. Probably not enough to keep you from running a story."

"What?" Jamie blinked, honestly startled.

"Well, you know pretty much for sure now, right?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You know I'm... y'know... that I like men. You've been testing me, and like a fool I keep falling into every goddamned trap because I'm just so fucking lo... " Michael growled and turned around to bang his head against the tree.

"You think I've been testing you?"

"What else could it be?" Michael turned back to Jamie with a look of disbelief. "Am I supposed to believe that you could actually be interested in me?"

"You have got to be kidding me," Jamie said, stepping closer to Michael, who suddenly realized he couldn't get away easily because of the tree behind him. "Do you think it's so easy to find good-looking, interesting, intelligent gay men around here that I'd throw away the first one I've found in years just to get a possible story? Are you nuts?"

"I don't know... It just seems so unlikely..."

"Michael..."

"What?"

"Shut up."

Jamie leaned into Michael's space and touched their lips together. Michael's lips were cold and trembling, and Jamie kissed them gently, tenderly, not insisting on anything more than this simple, intimate meeting of lips. When he finally pulled away and stepped back, Michael's eyes were closed and his jaw was set in a classic warding off of tears.

So Jamie kissed him again, and this time Michael's lips warmed and instead of one man kissing another, two men kissed each other. When Jamie stepped away, he was smiling.

"I'm not out to get you, gorgeous," Jamie said softly. "Not the way you think. I'm out to get you another way entirely." He reached out and cupped a hand around Michael's jaw briefly. "Call me about the riding. I'll be waiting to hear from you."

Then he turned and walked away, into the light.

In the darkness, Michael touched his mouth lightly. "So that's a kiss," he whispered.