Title: Bad Moon Rising

Author: Tinnean

Fandom: The Big Chill

Pairing: Sam/Michael, Sam/Richard

Rating: PG-13

Date: 1/2001

Series/Sequel: This is Part 5 in The Connection series, and follows It's the Same Old Song

Disclaimer: They still belong to Lawrence Kasdan, and I'm *still* just filling in all the blanks.

Archive: If I sent it to you, please feel free. Otherwise, just let me know; I'm so easy, of course I'll say yes!

Summary: Michael dips his poison pen once again

Warning: m/m innuendo, all innuendo! spoilers for the movie

Note: I'm taking literary license with Army Archerd's column. I have no clue what paper it appeared in, but the LA Times sounded good.

by Tinnean

After graduation, Sam Weber left Michigan so fast they couldn't see him for the dust. He was headed for sunny LA, land of palm trees, surfer babes, and endless sun!

And movie stars!

And he was determined that he was going to be one!

But in spite of all that sun, Hollywood was a cold, cold town. Sam got a couple of bit parts, which lead to nothing, did a little stunt work.

He ran the gamut of the usual actor-out-of-work jobs: he waited tables, parked cars, performed at conventions.

His money was running low, and he was on the verge of agreeing to perform in a soft-core porn flick, when his luck finally took a turn.

A second unit director he had worked under remembered him when a call went out for an athletic young man to double for an actor on a new, testosterone-filled TV show, full of fast cars and girls in mini skirts. And stunts. Lots and lots of stunts.

Sam got the job. And the male lead liked his looks so much, that he encouraged the writers to come up with a small part for him.

Soon Sam was working steadily, both on the set and off. And that actor taught him more about himself, and what he liked, than all of the girls he had dated in college and in high school, before.

But he was fickle and flighty, and knew that someone as young and good looking as Sam would soon become competition. So he cut him loose and went on to greener pastures.

Sam wasn't alone for long. Soon he was seen escorting any number of lovely ladies, to the Grammies, to the Emmys, to the Academy Awards.

Life was fan-fucking-tastic, and Sam was determined to enjoy it to the very last drop.

But although he had more women then he knew what to do with, he was now aware of a side of himself he had never known was there, and he started to feel the pressing need for something else.

So he went looking for it, and he found it, not in Robin, the woman who became his wife, but in someone surprisingly different, someone visiting the west coast on business, and not at all his style.

****

The show was in its third season. His character was now the star's best friend and he was on camera almost every day.

His picture was in Sixteen and Tiger Beat. There was even a mention in Army Archerd's column.

That's what started the whole thing, those two lines in the LA Times. Two days later, he got a call from an old college friend who needed a favor.

"Sam, hi. It's Michael. From Michigan."

"I know who you are, Michael." Sam also knew that Michael now worked for People Magazine. As much as he wanted to slam down the receiver, he was certain it wouldn't be beneficial to his career. "How have you been?"

"Good, good. Listen, I saw that item in Army's column. Great career op!"

"Op?"

"Opportunity! And now People wants to do a story on you!"

"That's great, Michael. Um, so...is someone coming out here to do it, or do they want me to come to New York?"

"Sam, Sam, *we* come to *you*! I'll be out on Friday. Where can I meet you?"

"I know a little place off Rodeo Drive. Let me give you the address." He waited while Michael hunted up a paper and pen, then rattled off the name and street of the trendy little spot that was promising to become the next Elaine's.

"Great, Sam. My plane comes in around four, I'll get settled at my hotel and meet you there around eight. Sound good?" He didn't give Sam a chance to answer. "Fine. Thanks, Sam. I'll see you then."

The line went dead, and Sam looked at it unhappily. What had he gotten himself into?

He got a dial tone and phoned his agent.

"Jimbo..."

"Sammy, bubballa! I was just about to call you! People wants to do an article on you. They're sending someone out for the weekend. Be *very* nice to him, bubby! Look, I'd love to chat, but I've got Robert Redford on line 2 and I have to run. Ciao, Sammy. You're such a *cute* boy!"

He let his breath out and hung up the phone. Well, at least the interview was legitimate. He'd just have to stay alert and watch what he said around Michael.

Sam remembered what the tall journalism student had done to Alex, the leader of their group of friends: Michael had taken his words and splashed them all over the front page of their college newspaper, until the other man had no choice but to renounce the Rutledge fellowship he had striven for his entire school career.

The last Sam had heard, Alex, that brilliant scientific student, was working in construction, covering pipes with deadly asbestos insulation. Before that he had worked in sales at Sears. And before that he served as chaplain's clerk for his hitch in the army, stationed in Fort Bragg.

According to Harold, who kept closest contact with their best friend, Alex was already making noises about moving on.

Sam sighed. All that talent, all that knowledge, and it was going to waste! *Damn* Michael for being a self-serving, interfering son of a bitch!

****

Michael was waiting at the bar at Ariadne's, the trendy new spot Sam had recommended, when the actor came striding in. Michael noticed how the women's eyes followed him, caressing his lean frame, and he scowled.

No one liked him. Well, Annie, his girlfriend, did, but that didn't count. She *had* to like him; they were a couple! But forming friendships wasn't as easy for him as it was for the others in their group, and he bitterly resented Sam's fame, Harold's business acumen, Nick's glib manner.

As for Alex...all he wanted from Alex was his body, but the fair-haired wonderboy was out of his reach, as always.

Michael had been there when Alex tried to impress Harold by denigrating the fellowship he was about to be awarded. But Harold was oblivious, so wrapped up in his affair with...Sarah? Michael wasn't too sure of that. All he knew was that that particular friend missed the invitation that Alex issued him.

Following Alex out of the library and into the soft spring evening, Michael grabbed his arm. "Ha doesn't care that you want him, Alex, but *I* do! I want you! Come back with me to my room! I'll love you like you've never been loved before!"

"Oh, thanks, Michael. I appreciate the offer but I've...got a headache. Some other time, maybe. All right?"

Michael had given him his usual, insouciant grin at the brush off, but when Alex turned away, the journalism student's face darkened with anger. And he went back to his room alone and sat at his typewriter, his fingers flying over the keys, as he turned out an article that was guaranteed to lose Alex the fellowship.

****

The two college friends sat in the restaurant and talked over drinks and dinner. They spoke of old times and old friends, and Sam kept careful watch on his tongue, determined to give the other man nothing to use against him.

"So," Michael finally said, shutting off his tape recorder and summoning the check. "It's been good to see you again, Sam. It's still early. Can I drop you anywhere?"

"No, that's quite all right, Michael. I need to get home and run my lines with Robin."

"Robin? Oh, yes, your ... wife."

Sam looked at him suspiciously. "Why do you say *my wife* in that tone of voice?"

"What tone of voice?" he asked innocently.

"C'mon, Michael, this is *me* you're talking to. I've known you since before college!"

Michael looked up at his friend through his eyelashes. "Oh, I just heard that she was getting a little...restless...?"

*Shit*! How had that news reached the east coast? Sam and Robin had been trying to work out their differences for the sake of their little girl. "Michael, don't you *dare*..."

Michael smiled, satisfied at having the information confirmed. "I wouldn't dream of breaching a confidence, Sam." That didn't mean he wouldn't pass on the information to someone who would. He thrust out his hand, waiting patiently until the other man took it. "Ciao, Sam the Sham!"

He turned on his heel and strode out of the restaurant, mentally rubbing his hands together. If this didn't get him his own byline, he didn't know what would.

And the fact that he would get this promotion on the body of an old friend didn't matter a tinker's dam to him.

That fucking bunch all owed him, anyway!

****

Sam chewed on his lip restlessly, looking after the tall, dark-haired man. He sensed the presence at his back.

"Problems, babe?"

"Oh, God, Richard, I hope not!"

~End~