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2020-11-05
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Running for Honor - Part Two

Summary:

Archive: Ask first
Fandom: Quantum Leap
Pairing: Sam/Al
Rating: PG (language)
Author Note: For those of you not conversant with QL, there IS no "part one" of this fanfic: the first part is the QL episode "Running for Honor." In that episode, Sam leaps into a West Point cadet, ambiguously but almost certainly gay, to rescue another gay cadet. Al winds up with some homophobia issues to handle before he's able to help Sam put things right. QL slash fic-dom has wrestled with the issue of Admiral Al Calavicci's real or publicly adopted temporary homophobia in various ways. This fic mostly plays games with the episode's title.
Submitted through http://lists.squidge.org/wws/info/makebelieve

Work Text:

 

Running for Honor - Part Two
By MJ
mjr91@aol.com
http://www.geocities.com/coffeeslash/mj

 

"Hello from Baltimore, Maryland. I'm Harry Walters, evening anchor for GNC, your all-news, all-the-time network. With me is GNC weekend anchor Jessica Matthews." Harry settled back in his chair behind a hurriedly-constructed news desk of cloth draped over hammered-together plywood. He hoped to God he didn't get a splinter from the blasted thing. Global NewsCorp wasn't known for making its people comfortable on assignment.

"Thanks, Harry," the well-dressed, over-made-up young woman smiled. She was grateful for her big break on a political matter, no matter the discomfort. "We're broadcasting from the opening of the Human Rights Party's first national convention, being held here at the Baltimore Civic Center in downtown Baltimore. We'll be interviewing tonight's keynote speaker, a man whom almost everyone in America's known for over thirty years. A man who's rumored to be in the running as the Vice-Presidential nominee for this new party, even though he says he's not officially a member of it." She pursed her lips away from the camera, looking for a reflective surface and praying that her lipstick was holding.

"That's right, Jessica," Harry continued. He'd interviewed the speaker before, and he'd already won a news Pulitzer. The younger anchor's discomfiture amused him. "War hero, POW, America's favorite astronaut. Of course, we're talking about Rear Admiral Albert Calavicci. Admiral Calavicci, beyond his distinguished career in government service, also has a personal social agenda nearly to the Human Rights Party's platform. A friend of the late Dr. Martin Luther King, he marched with Dr. King at Selma, he stood on the platform with King in Washington during King's "I Have a Dream" speech, and he was an early supporter of a more active role of women in the Navy." He turned his best profile angle to the camera as he glanced offstage at a crew member.

"He's also known as an environmental crusader," Jessica followed, "with published articles on environmentally safe power supply methods and environmentally compatible structural engineering in wetlands areas. His engineering background has been most notable, however, in the area of quantum physics. The Admiral shared the Nobel Prize in physics last year with previous Nobel winner Samuel Beckett for their pioneering work in time travel experimentation. War hero, civil rights activist, Nobel winner—the Human Rights Party keynote speaker for their convention's opening night, Albert Calavicci."

While the camera had focused on Jessica's eyeliner as she sat in the stage-left anchor chair, Al, in dress whites, had been escorted to the proverbial hot seat by an eager, earnest college intern who just knew in her heart that working for Global NewsCorp as a gofer on the new third party's convention would lead her to a job just like Jessica Matthews had someday. This completely ignored the fact that Jessica Matthews had begun her journalism career as the weekend weather girl on a local station in Texas who had made it to the weekend anchor desk there by the simple expedient of sleeping with any man at the station with the word "manager" in his job title. Being seen with Willard Scott on a weather segment broadcast from a rodeo near her town had finally gotten her national exposure and a ticket to the big city. The knowledge that her background was shaky made Jessica Matthews work harder than almost any other reporter at GNC. She was terrified of anyone thinking now that she'd gotten her job on her back. The gofer, however, was still unaware of the facts of life and still imagined that a resume and demo tape held magic power.

Al smiled at the gofer with the indulgence of an older man who can appreciate the charm of total naivete in someone very young. He smiled at Harry with the indulgence of a celebrity who's bested that particular media victim before and plans another attack for dinner. He smiled at Jessica with the indulgence of an expert who could spot a body constructed almost totally out of silicone. He'd had more girls like her in his bed once upon a time than he could count, and he was serene in the knowledge that if he cared to, he could do it once again with her. He was done with stews, models, and beauty pageant winners now, however. Big tits, big hair, and low IQ scores had grown old for him a long time ago.

"Hello, Admiral," Harry said firmly. He knew from experience that waffling around Al was akin to dragging a bleeding leg in the water near a hungry shark. There were worse things that had happened to him than the day he'd interviewed Al after Quantum Leap's formal press announcement of Sam Beckett's work, but he couldn't think of them quickly. Attempting to express incredulity about Sam Beckett's work had been tantamount to inquiring if Al really thought that the sky was blue or what kind of cheese he'd found on the Moon. "Good to have you here."

"It's good to be back," Al said in a tone that Harry and Jessica both thought sounded like "Hello, shark bait." Al didn't care what they thought and, he told himself, he really didn't have to care. These TV news nozzles were a dime a dozen and all just as meshuggah as the others. It didn't strike him as odd, having been raised in New York and married to Ruthie, that in addition to all the other biographical entries the newscaster had read off the Teleprompter, he was an Italian with a command of Yiddish that put even the rudest deli waiters in their place. And he could think of some Yiddish that described this crew better than anything in English.

"Admiral Calavicci," Jessica led off, "there are rumors you're being drafted as the Vice Presidential candidate for the party favorite, Senator William Jenkins of Minnesota. Any comments?"

"Sure," Al told her easily, relaxing in the chair but still vigilant. "I understand that Senator Jenkins joined the party last year. As a Naval officer I don't discuss party politics, but will say that I'm not a Human Rights Party member. I'd also have to retire to take the position, and I certainly haven't put in my paperwork. I'm very sympathetic personally to the party's platform, however, and I'm speaking tonight on civil rights issues. I'm not endorsing any specific political agenda or legislation, though, and I'm not supporting any specific candidate."

"You're speaking on civil rights issues," Harry picked up. "You're known for your association with Dr. King. Will you be speaking about that tonight?"

"Absolutely," Al assured him. Feeling safe in his presumption that the cameras were locked on him, he set into one of his favorite anecdotes about the Selma march in 1965. If he had no one else's attention anywhere—and with Global's ratings share, that was unlikely—the gofer was entranced with his performance. He'd used this bit before; he knew it was good for holding attention. In fact, he was using it at the podium later that evening, he'd decided.

"Admiral," Jessica cooed, hoping to pick up on the phrasing of her co-anchor's last question, "Dr. King isn't the only famous man you've been associated with. Is it true that your Nobel co-winner, Sam Beckett, will be at the convention this evening?"

Al tried his most dazzling smile on Jessica, and yeah, he'd been right. Filed for future reference— the old boy still had it. That was reassuring. "He certainly will be. We flew out together from New Mexico today."

"Will he be speaking to the convention himself?" That would be news, Harry knew, and GNC would have it first. Harry Walters would scoop CNN and the networks one more time. Please, God, Harry prayed. Just one more scoop for the convention season. Then Sam Donaldson and Peter Jennings could have whatever they wanted the rest of the year.

"Sorry," Al chuckled, "but we've had so many speaking engagements since last year's Nobels that he's all spoken out. Besides, he's the one with the brains and I'm the one with the charm, so naturally they wanted me."

The little intern was clutching her hands over to the side. Where had they found that one? She wasn't planning to be the next Barbara Walters, Harry hoped. He had no idea how similar Al's thoughts were to his own. Jessica had no such thoughts. She never noticed other women if she could help it; they'd never gotten her anywhere. The set lights were glinting off the gold on Al's uniform. Jessica did catch that. And the hair. Nice, dark Italian curls just like that station manager back in Wichita Falls had. This guy talked with his hands, just like Vinnie. And what Vinnie's hands used to say to her body back in her dressing room could have filled a set of encyclopedias. She liked them older, she had to admit. It crossed her mind that doing an admiral might be good for getting the Pentagon beat. After all, Rhonda Mitchell, in DC, got so much more attention than Jessica did on that damned weekend anchor desk…

"Back to you, Jessica," Harry piped. Shit, she'd missed something while daydreaming. At least one question, maybe two. How was she going to cover?

Wait. Homework. The thing she did so people wouldn't noticed she'd earned permanent carpet burn on her knees. That business she'd noticed in that web search she'd done earlier today.

"Admiral Calavicci, your civil rights track record is longstanding and impressive. You've worked tirelessly on behalf of Black Americans, and several women's groups have complimented your work on women in the military. Yet during the debate on gays in the military during the early Clinton administration, you were vocal in your opposition to gay service members. Some of the very organizations that have honored you over the years for your civil rights work protested your public comments at the time. You'll be speaking to the delegates of the Human Rights Party tonight, a party whose platform is almost entirely based on social justice issues. How do you reconcile your position on gays in the military with your civil rights stance, and are you going to address that issue tonight in your speech?"

Harry glowered at Jessica with total venom. She was supposed to be a Barbie doll; that was why he'd asked to have her up there as his co-anchor. She was supposed to look pretty and make him look smart, not to ask a question he couldn't think of himself. And why hadn't she run her questions past him like a good co-interviewer so he could have stolen that? Hell, a good answer—or a bad one—to that question would have this interview in the Washington Post and the New York Times tomorrow, and her name was gonna be on it, not his.

"Well, Jessica," Al sighed, measuring words visibly, "I like to think that if I make a mistake I'm big enough to admit it."

"Are you saying that your position on gays in the military in the past was a mistake?" Harry interjected, crossing his fingers that their guest would put the definite—and morning paper-worthy—answer to his insertion. This was his show; he wanted that mention in the Times convention coverage.

"What I'm saying, Harry, is that I'm not always right about everything. Just most things," Al cracked, flashing an adorable grin at the camera. "And yes, I will be mentioning the topic at the convention tonight. As for what I'm gonna say—well, I gotta save something for later or you guys won't wanna broadcast it."

Harry cursed to himself. By the time the Admiral was speaking at the convention that night, Reggie Herald was going to be anchoring the desk. There went the scoop.

The set manager was signalling. Harry cursed again; why the commercial break now? Five more minutes and there might have been an exchange he could recall over salad at a National Press Club lunch.

And he was never working with Jessica Matthews again. Never.

The gofer came over to escort her charge off the set. She was practically bouncing in her shoes. Her friends back at school would never believe how many famous people she was meeting on this job. "Admiral Calavicci," she sighed on the way over to him, "Dr. Beckett's waiting for you." She didn't care if she was gushing. Her roomie, a physics major, had Sam Beckett's Newsweek cover tacked up on her bulletin board in the dorm. She'd never thought in high school that a geek could be seriously hot. "He is, like, so cute," she bubbled.

Al was indulgent again as he slid out of the set chair. "I know, honey. Tell me about it." He grinned and patted her on the shoulder as they walked off the set, Sam waving at him from behind a section of plywood construction being discussed by a couple of network set carpenters.

Jessica blinked as he walked off. There went the Pentagon beat, she'd lost out on that, she figured. And shit, the guy over there was better-looking than she was. Shit, who else were they interviewing? She hadda quit working with Harry; he walked all over her questions.

Harry sat with his jaw hanging. The front page of tomorrow's Post, and it had happened during a break when his victim was leaving. "Fucking hell."

"I know. That girl just talks way too much," Jessica sighed. She looked around for a reflective surface. She felt as if the heat were destroying her makeup. Harry couldn't decide whether to kill himself or to strangle Jessica as he watched their guest, now hopelessly out of camera range even if any of the camera operators had been ready, planting a kiss right on an even more famous human's lips. And that damned gofer was right there with them. He was interviewing that kid later if it was the last thing he did.

Al's voice could just be heard as Jessica flagged a makeup artist to come over to the set. "Y'know, Sam, we could use a press coordinator back at the Project, and Jenny here tells me she's looking for work after the summer…"

"Really? The first thing you can do, then, Jenny, is come back to the hotel with us and help me tell Al that Martin Luther King story he's using isn't as good as this other one he's got…"

Harry pounded his fists on the anchor desk in frustration. And for the first time in years, Harry Matthews began to cry.

The damned plywood had left half an inch of splinter in his fist.

 

 

END