Richard Foley--Richie to his friends and the kids--clapped his hands as his lead player captured the ball and dribbled it towards the opponent's mostly unguarded goal. The game was tied, and even though they were only about halfway through it, being ahead by even one point now could mean the difference between victory and defeat.

He hadn't thought he'd be such a good coach at soccer, but then, he never thought he'd make it through nursing school, either. Another year and he hoped to have enough to go back and train for a specialty. Though truth be told, he wasn't sure he wanted to. Each program was at least eight months, usually more, and very time consuming. He'd have to give up coaching during the training, and he wasn't really sure he wanted to.

He didn't know if he was making a difference in the kids' lives. He was trying, though, because Dakota was a tough city. In theory, getting the kids into a sport now would help them resist gang recruitment and drugs later. He'd been lucky enough to be mostly invisible to his peers as he grew that he'd avoided most of the pressure. Except in college, but what med student COULDN'T hold their liquor?

He also knew that half his "graduating class" hadn't actually graduated, and of those that did…well, a significant number were in prison or dead. He even knew Francis, one of the toughest, meanest kids from back then, was in the ICU on a drug overdose. The guy hated hospitals, but when one had a tube down one's throat, there isn't much one can do.

He also wasn't expected to survive. Yet another Dakota High classmate that wasn't even going to make it to the ten year reunion. And that's why he spent four days out of his week drilling kids in the art of soccer, that's why he got up at a God-awful hour after a long shift and short night to hopefully lead his team to victory. If he could save even one kid from a fate of failure, he felt it was worth it.

"Yeah! Way to go, Skota!" He high-fived the kid who'd made a goal just as the referee called half-time. "Alright! Get a drink, then get into formation!" The other team was tougher than he'd thought, and considering how close the game was, it was time for a change in strategy. He glanced at his clipboard, then grabbed his own water bottle as the kids briefly chatted with their parents.

"Richie?"

Richie turned at the unfamiliar voice. New seasons always brought new parents, but he didn't recognize this one at all. It was a black man, with dreadlocks curling at the back of his neck. He had a fairly muscular build, but his face was gentle, smiling. It took him a minute to place it. "Virgil?"

Virgil grinned. "Man, I thought it was you!"

Richie rubbed the back of his head. Virgil and he had been friends for a number of years, thanks to a common hobby of comic collecting. They 'broke up,' so to speak, during sophomore year, when Virgil had been invited to a new science-emphasized school. They'd kept in touch, but by senior year, all they did was send birthday and Christmas cards to one another. He didn't even know if Virgil was still in town. "Hey, long time no see."

"So you coaching now?"

"In my off hours."

"Any of them yours?" Virgil looked over Richie's shoulder to the assembling kids that made up his team.

"Nope." Hard for a gay man to have a kid, but he didn't say that out loud. He was still in the closet, and if he wanted to keep working with kids, he was going to stay that way. "You?"

"Yeah," Virgil's grin widened and he pointed his thumb across the field. "Tall kid, the one making faces with his orange slice."

Richie glanced over. Yeah, it was Virgil's kid alright. The eyes were the wrong color, but it looked almost like Virgil did when they met. The kid also appeared to have his semi-friend's sense of humor. "Congratulations."

"Yeah…" Virgil's eyes shifted away. "So, uh, good seeing you again. I'll let you get to your team."

"Ditto, catch ya around." Richie nodded politely then turned away and huddled up with the kids. It was a pity Virgil was married. He'd actually had a crush on the guy, once. In high school, when he still wasn't sure which way he swung. Again, college cured that question right up. And his mother had been afraid his shy nature would prevent him from new experiences.

Huddling with the kids, he briefly outlined the new strategy for his players. Defense was the key now. If they had a window to take a goal, he was all for it, but the main objective now was to prevent the other team from scoring. A brief team cheer and the game was on again. Things went fairly smoothly the third quarter. A few near misses, but otherwise they were still ahead.

The beginning of the fourth quarter, however, was anything but smooth. One of his halfbacks had the ball, opportunity to dribble it back to the other side of the field, and was taking it. That was fine, but number eleven on the other team was heading to intercept. "Pass! Pass!" If anything, his kids were well trained, and the halfback did just that. Unfortunately, the momentum of the kid kept him running just as number eleven realized the ball had moved.

He didn't even bother yelling out a warning. The collision was inevitable, and rather spectacular, if he did say so himself. The Ref called a time out, and Richie waited to see the situation before running out. His players remained in their positions, knowing better than to crowd a potential injured player. The other team obviously wasn't as well trained as his own kids, though, as some of them approached the felled boys.

His halfback was fine, a little bruised, a little disoriented, but nothing serious. The kid was up and waving the referee away, giving Richie the okay sign before returning to position. Number eleven--Virgil's kid, he now realized--was sitting up, but he looked miserable, and he was holding his arm to his chest. "Crap." He waved at his assistant coach, a mother with too much time on her hands, then jogged onto the field. He spotted Virgil doing the same, sporting a worried look.

Richie reached the kid first and knelt by him. "Hey, you okay?" The Ref stood and sent the gathering kids back to their positions.

"My wrist…"

He felt Virgil squat next to him, but ignored the father. "Why don't we get off the field and I'll look at it, okay?"

"O-okay." The kid looked to Virgil, who immediately helped get the player to his feet.

Richie indicated a bench on his side of the field with a nod of his head. Coaches were mandated to have first aid supplies. He just preferred to have a proper work area in case any injuries did occur. He spotted the other coach sending in a replacement player and they made brief eye contact. His nursing job was fairly well known in the league, but he still needed approval from the kid's coach. The man gave him a brief nod, and Richie waved at his assistant coach. She was capable, and would see the game through to the end.

They reached the bench just as the game started up again. He sat next to the kid and offered a gentle smile. "My name's Richie. What's yours?"

"Frank," the kid mumbled towards the ground, not really looking at Richie.

Richie nodded and reached out, carefully pulling the wrist away from where it was being held protectively against the kid's chest. "Okay, Frank, let's see how your wrist is, hm? Can you move it for me?" Frank did so, but he winced as he did. "That's a very good sign. It means it isn't broken."

"Really?" Frank seemed to brighten at that, and shot a tentative smile over Richie's shoulder. "It isn't broken, dad."

"I heard." Richie felt Virgil place a hand on his shoulder. "So it's just a sprain?"

"Looks like it. If you want to make sure, I'd take him to get some x-rays." Richie reached into his first aid back and pulled out a wrist splint. "This'll keep it still in the meantime, to help it heal."

"Can I play soccer again?"

"Not today, son," Virgil said before Richie could say anything. "But there's nothing that says we can't stay till the end and see how it turns out, right?"

"Righto." He slid the splint into place and tightened the Velcro straps. "There, too tight?"

Frank shook his head. "No, it's fine."

"Alright. You should have it checked out by a doctor, but until then, go easy on it." He patted Frank's shoulder. "You'll be back playing before you know it."

"Thanks, Richie!" Frank glanced to the field, then got up and ran down the sidelines as the game passed them.

"Yeah, thanks, Richie."

Richie glanced over his shoulder, still smiling. "All part of the job." He closed the bag and stood. "He should be fine, it's nothing major."

"I know. I trust your judgment."

There was a sparkle in Virgil's eyes that Richie couldn't identify. He shrugged it off as gratitude and nodded. "Thanks, but you still should still get a doctor's-"

"Opinion, I heard ya."

"Right, so…" He glanced over Virgil's shoulder. "I'd better get back to coaching. Give these mom's too much power…"

"Right, right." Virgil's grin never wavered. "I'll catch ya around."

"Yeah…sure." Richie stepped past the man and headed to his assistant. It was an odd moment during his day, but a few minutes catching up with the goings on had him forgetting all about it. The other team had scored once--revenge for one of their players being taken down--and the game was again tied. They ran it to the last minute, but with a few quick signs to his kids, they managed to get score the winning goal just before the final whistle blew.

A well-played game always called for a well-made lunch. That was another reason he was so popular with his players, there almost wasn't a weekend that went by where they didn't end up at Pizza Hut. The parents usually chipped in a bit, so it wasn't too much of a financial burden. By the end of the day, he had pretty much forgotten even meeting Virgil and his son.

Until three days later, when he spotted the man in the hospital cafeteria. He raised his eyebrows as the concentrating face Virgil was wearing broke into a grin the instant he was spotted. Before he could make an escape, Virgil had taken the seat across from him. "Hello again."

"Hey, Rich." Virgil glanced at the tray in front of Richie. "Uh…is that healthy?"

"Bout as healthy as what they fed us in high school."

Virgil's nose wrinkled. "Ugh. Tell ya what, I'll buy you a decent lunch."

"Actually, I'm pretty much done."

"Dessert, then."

"I'm not too fond of jello."

"Coffee?"

Richie slanted Virgil a look. "What're you up to?"

"Nothing, nothing. I just, uh, brought Frankie in because his wrist was bothering him a lot today and they're doing some tests…" Virgil shrugged. "Just wanted to spend some time with an old friend, ya know?"

"Uh huh." Richie glanced at the wall clock. "Well, the coffee machine on the fourth floor has some pretty good stuff." He stood up. "You can buy me a cup."

Virgil stood as well. "You don't drink the stuff in here?"

"If you think the food looks bad…"

"Nough said."

Richie dumped his tray's contents into the garbage on the way out and pushed the call button for the elevator. "So, when'd you get married?"

"Bout…four years ago."

Richie frowned at that. Frank was at least seven years old. "So…your son…"

"High school sweetheart. Just took us a while to make it…official." Virgil stuffed his hands in his pockets as they boarded the elevator.

"Ah." Richie pushed the button for the fourth floor. "So how'd your wife take it when she saw the wrist?"

"She's, um, no longer my wife."

"Oh. Sorry to hear that." He was, a little, but the distance between them from years of no contact meant he couldn't really empathize for his friend.

Virgil shrugged his shoulders. "It's no biggie. She happened to like sleeping with guys…and so do I." The doors opened and Virgil stepped out, glancing back at his friend. "You coming?"

Richie promptly shut his mouth and slipped between the closing doors. Well…that was certainly a surprise. "You…you, uh…"

"Bi, I think is the term you're looking for." Virgil glanced around, spotted the vending machines, and headed there, digging out a few dollars. "Frankie's cool with it."

Richie followed his friend. "Well, um…that's good." He silently accepted the cup of coffee Virgil pushed into his hand and stared at the lukewarm beverage. What exactly did one say after a bomb like that?

"You know, I did have a slight ulterior motive in bringing Frankie to this place." Virgil lifted his own cup of coffee and sipped it, making a sour face as he did. "This is the best this place has got? Ugh." The father rested his shoulder against the machine.

"Ulterior motive?" Again, Richie wasn't sure how to respond.

"Yeah." Virgil glanced around, then lowered his voice. "My gaydar's been going nuts around you. So I was wondering if you, uh…you know, wanted to go to dinner or…something."

Was he being asked out? Richie open and shut his mouth a few times, as if his brain couldn't quite process that he had, a) been hit on, and b) been asked out. By a high school crush, of all people. Finally, he uttered a fairly weak, "what?"

"You, me, dinner, movie…you know, a date." Virgil tilted his head, trying to catch Richie's eyes. "Unless…you're seeing someone."

"No, no…I'm…uh, not." He didn't date, it was his policy. Because if who he was dating got out…well, his job was safe, but his job as a coach, plus his personal safety, he just tended not to risk it. "You see, Virgil, I…don't really…"

"Hey man, I know. Discreet, right? No prob. It'll just look like two friends." Virgil smiled. "Come on. If you don't like it I promise not to bother you again."

"I…" Richie looked to the ground. He'd never been much of a social animal, but privately, when he was home alone on a Friday night, he did admit that he missed going out. And it was just one date, right? What harm could there be in one date? "Alright." He looked up and nodded. "Friday at eight?"

"How bout seven. You still living in that apartment complex?"

"Seven-thirty. And yeah."

"Done." Virgil reached out and punched Richie lightly on the shoulder. "See ya then, Rich." With that, the man dumped his coffee in the trash and walked away, humming a mindless tune.

Richie stared after him, then shook his head and sighed. A date. A real honest to goodness date. He could handle that. Besides, it wasn't like he was making a lifetime commitment. Right?