So I said to myself... "Post College AU? Or porn?"
Fall: September 4
John Sheridan stood on the balcony of the old three-story house, arms folded over the banister as he surveyed his kingdom. Campus was quiet yet this morning, as was the house; that would change soon. Today was freshman move-in, and there was no way he wasn’t getting a good seat for that spectacle. Besides, it was a good way to scope out potential recruits - and fresh meat.
Careful John, a voice in the back of his head warned. This place belongs to you now. The others will look up to you.
He nodded at that voice. Sure, sure. And his thoughts meandered, working over the things that had happened since he had come to Proxima U as a freshman.
The mental image made him laugh and shake his head.
“And you’ll call at least once a week?”
“Of course, Mom.”
His mother’s embrace was almost too tight, and at that point he’d say anything to get her to let go. Hell, he’d agree to calling once a day if that’s what it took.
When she released him, he straightened to his full height and looked his father in the eye.
The older Sheridan looked a little misty-eyed, but John wouldn’t comment on it. Instead he took the old man’s offered hand and shook it firmly - the confident handshake of a man. “You take care of yourself, son, you hear?”
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I will, Dad.”
“And call your mother like you said you would.”
“Yes Sir.”
He was surprised as he felt his father pull him forward into a Man Hug - their right hands still clasped between them, and his father’s left hand coming down in a firm slap on his back once, twice, three times before pulling away. “That’s my boy.” He was definitely choked up. John gave a furtive glance around to make sure no one was watching, but the dorm lobby was bustling with other 18-year-olds and their parents engaged in similar exchanges, and no one was paying him any mind.
“There’s an extra 50 credits on your student account for emergencies. Emergencies,” his mother repeated, suddenly all business, chin tilted downward and one eyebrow raised. “That does not include taking Anna out for a Friday night on the town.”
“I know, Mom.”
“I know you know. You’re just... you’ve grown up so fast.”
“All right, now, Lana, don’t go embarrassing the boy.” His father tugged his mother away gently by the shoulder. “Goodbye, John.”
He nodded at them, unsure he could say anything else - at the realization that they were indeed moving away, he suddenly felt alone in an unfamiliar world.
It wasn’t until they’d disappeared out the door that he realized his father had addressed him as John. Not Johnny. John.
He sighed, letting a tiny smile lift the corners of his mouth as he wandered back to his second-floor dorm room. It was empty. His bed was made, and all his books and notebooks and folders were on the single shelf above his desk. All his clothes were put away in the old wooden bureau or hung in the closet. It felt cold. Lonely.
“Hello hello!”
A too-loud voice caused him to nearly jump out of his skin. He turned to come face-to-face with a young man, slightly shorter than himself, dark hair thinning at the temples, and blue eyes shining with mischief and a large duffle bag slung over his left shoulder. “Um. Hi.”
The other man looked John up and down - twice - and then sobered. “John Sheridan?” He inquired, raising two thick eyebrows in John’s direction.
John took in a long breath; let it out slowly. Here goes nothing. “Michael Garibaldi?”
They stared at each other for a long moment. Whatever Garibaldi was looking for, he must’ve seen it, because he flung his duffle onto the bed opposite John’s and said, “If we’re going to be sharing a room, there’s a few things you ought to know, all right? First - if you’re a geek, I’m going to tease you mercilessly until the day you die or move out, or strangle me in my sleep. Second, just in case you plan to try that strangling thing, I sleep with a military-issue PPG under my pillow. Third, after a hard day I like to kick back with a six pack and watch a little 20th century television. The FX are crap, but it’s good for making fun of when you’re drunk as a skunk and finally, I don’t know you from Adam and until I do, I’m going to be suspicious about you. It’s just the way I am.” A shrug. “You got a problem with any of that?”
John took this monologue in stride. He thought on it for a hard moment before deciding on a proper response. “I won’t be here long,” he said at last, licking his lips and raising his eyebrows in confidence. “I’m a Beta Sigma legacy. I only need a dorm room until rush is over. So I feel OK with telling you that I think you’re a horse’s ass.”
For the smallest of moments, John thought for certain Michael Garibaldi was going to kill him. His expression went frighteningly blank and then - then he started to laugh. Quietly at first, and then louder and louder until he was clapping his hands and throwing his whole body into the motion. Then he slapped John on the back in a very similar motion to the one his father had used in their Man Hug and said, “Call me Mike.”
It had been the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Mike Garibaldi was one of those friends who was everyone’s friend, and if he wasn’t your friend he sure as heck at least knew who you were. His greeting had been a test of the waters, and John had clearly passed, because the icy exterior fell away in an instant and by the end of that first day, the two of them were laughing over 20th Century Duck Dodgers cartoons, and any homesickness John had felt had faded.
Two days after that, Mike had announced his intention to also pledge Beta Sigma. John had shrugged, said it sounded like an OK idea and if nothing else, a way to meet new people.
Four years later, poised on the edge of a brand-new school year, the brotherhood was firmly within their hands - president- and vice-president elect, they would hold their first official house meeting in just a few hours.
“Figures you’d beat me here. You always have been a punctual man.”
He turned at the voice, a true smile spread over his face. “Mike! How was Tijuana?”
Mike swaggered onto the balcony, slow like a cowboy, a beer bottle in his left hand. He took a swig. “It was awesome, man. You should’ve come.”
John shook his head. “I couldn’t. I had things to do, you know that.”
“I think it would’ve been good for you.” Mike joined him at the balcony at last.
“Oh?”
“Yep.” Another swig from the bottle.
“In that I wouldn’t remember most of my summer?”
“No. Well - yes, but-no. In that there were girls. Lots of girls,” he repeated with emphasis. “Which is what you need. You need lots and lots and lots of gorgeous women to fuck until you forget about that… that other bitch.”
“Anna was not a bitch.”
Mike turned a quizzical look on his brother at the defensive nature of John’s statement. “Let’s review the facts, shall we?” He cleared his throat and used his right hand to count off on his fingers while his left hand gestured about, still holding the beer bottle. “Two years ago, she stopped returning your calls without explanation. She left you high and dry at homecoming that year, not so much as an excuse for why she didn’t want to attend the game or the dance. You moved into the house here-“ a wild gesture about with his left hand. He managed not to spill a drop; John was genuinely impressed. “And started to move on. And just-just-when I thought you might be hooking up with someone else, she has the audacity to show up here and say she’s sorry. That she made a mistake. And then she ripped out your heart, threw it on the ground and danced all over it, two-timing you with that creep Morden behind your back right in front of your eyes until you came home early from class one day to find them in your bed.” Mike’s tone had been rising with each syllable, so that now as he reached the end of his judicial review, he was shouting so loud that a passerby on the sidewalk below looked up at them curiously. He cleared his throat and leveled out his tone to deliver his verdict. “Bitch.”
John heaved a sigh. “It’s in the past.”
“Right. I will believe that when I see you with a pretty little piece of jailbait on your arm. You should’ve come, man, I’m telling you. Girls. Lots and lots and lots of beautiful, sexy, deliciously dirty girls who will do anything. An-ny-thing. For a price, of course. And there was this show with a donkey. A donkey!”
John offered his friend the benefit of his most disgusted facial expression. “How do they…?”
“Don’t ask, man.”
Garibaldi appeared to have said his piece, because they settled into silence. Garibaldi continued to nurse his beer; Sheridan tried very, very hard not to think about the beautiful redhead who had been his high school sweetheart, his future, his everything, who had indeed ripped out his heart and danced all over it.
That’s in the past. You haven’t heard from her in almost a year. Besides, you’re a big man on campus. You have responsibilities. He nodded at his own reassuring mental voice.
Yeah. But I’m lonely. A sigh - loud enough to draw his companion’s attention, and Mike turned toward him, mouth open to deliver a response - but whatever he was going to say was lost as something caught his eye and he let out a hoot. “Move-in has begun, Johnny boy!” he proclaimed, throwing his arms into the air. “And so the final year begins.”
John Sheridan stood on the balcony of the old three-story house, arms folded over the banister as he surveyed his kingdom. Campus was quiet yet this morning, as was the house; that would change soon. Today was freshman move-in, and there was no way he wasn’t getting a good seat for that spectacle. Besides, it was a good way to scope out potential recruits - and fresh meat.
Careful John, a voice in the back of his head warned. This place belongs to you now. The others will look up to you.
He nodded at that voice. Sure, sure. And his thoughts meandered, working over the things that had happened since he had come to Proxima U as a freshman.
The mental image made him laugh and shake his head.
“And you’ll call at least once a week?”
“Of course, Mom.”
His mother’s embrace was almost too tight, and at that point he’d say anything to get her to let go. Hell, he’d agree to calling once a day if that’s what it took.
When she released him, he straightened to his full height and looked his father in the eye.
The older Sheridan looked a little misty-eyed, but John wouldn’t comment on it. Instead he took the old man’s offered hand and shook it firmly - the confident handshake of a man. “You take care of yourself, son, you hear?”
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I will, Dad.”
“And call your mother like you said you would.”
“Yes Sir.”
He was surprised as he felt his father pull him forward into a Man Hug - their right hands still clasped between them, and his father’s left hand coming down in a firm slap on his back once, twice, three times before pulling away. “That’s my boy.” He was definitely choked up. John gave a furtive glance around to make sure no one was watching, but the dorm lobby was bustling with other 18-year-olds and their parents engaged in similar exchanges, and no one was paying him any mind.
“There’s an extra 50 credits on your student account for emergencies. Emergencies,” his mother repeated, suddenly all business, chin tilted downward and one eyebrow raised. “That does not include taking Anna out for a Friday night on the town.”
“I know, Mom.”
“I know you know. You’re just... you’ve grown up so fast.”
“All right, now, Lana, don’t go embarrassing the boy.” His father tugged his mother away gently by the shoulder. “Goodbye, John.”
He nodded at them, unsure he could say anything else - at the realization that they were indeed moving away, he suddenly felt alone in an unfamiliar world.
It wasn’t until they’d disappeared out the door that he realized his father had addressed him as John. Not Johnny. John.
He sighed, letting a tiny smile lift the corners of his mouth as he wandered back to his second-floor dorm room. It was empty. His bed was made, and all his books and notebooks and folders were on the single shelf above his desk. All his clothes were put away in the old wooden bureau or hung in the closet. It felt cold. Lonely.
“Hello hello!”
A too-loud voice caused him to nearly jump out of his skin. He turned to come face-to-face with a young man, slightly shorter than himself, dark hair thinning at the temples, and blue eyes shining with mischief and a large duffle bag slung over his left shoulder. “Um. Hi.”
The other man looked John up and down - twice - and then sobered. “John Sheridan?” He inquired, raising two thick eyebrows in John’s direction.
John took in a long breath; let it out slowly. Here goes nothing. “Michael Garibaldi?”
They stared at each other for a long moment. Whatever Garibaldi was looking for, he must’ve seen it, because he flung his duffle onto the bed opposite John’s and said, “If we’re going to be sharing a room, there’s a few things you ought to know, all right? First - if you’re a geek, I’m going to tease you mercilessly until the day you die or move out, or strangle me in my sleep. Second, just in case you plan to try that strangling thing, I sleep with a military-issue PPG under my pillow. Third, after a hard day I like to kick back with a six pack and watch a little 20th century television. The FX are crap, but it’s good for making fun of when you’re drunk as a skunk and finally, I don’t know you from Adam and until I do, I’m going to be suspicious about you. It’s just the way I am.” A shrug. “You got a problem with any of that?”
John took this monologue in stride. He thought on it for a hard moment before deciding on a proper response. “I won’t be here long,” he said at last, licking his lips and raising his eyebrows in confidence. “I’m a Beta Sigma legacy. I only need a dorm room until rush is over. So I feel OK with telling you that I think you’re a horse’s ass.”
For the smallest of moments, John thought for certain Michael Garibaldi was going to kill him. His expression went frighteningly blank and then - then he started to laugh. Quietly at first, and then louder and louder until he was clapping his hands and throwing his whole body into the motion. Then he slapped John on the back in a very similar motion to the one his father had used in their Man Hug and said, “Call me Mike.”
It had been the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Mike Garibaldi was one of those friends who was everyone’s friend, and if he wasn’t your friend he sure as heck at least knew who you were. His greeting had been a test of the waters, and John had clearly passed, because the icy exterior fell away in an instant and by the end of that first day, the two of them were laughing over 20th Century Duck Dodgers cartoons, and any homesickness John had felt had faded.
Two days after that, Mike had announced his intention to also pledge Beta Sigma. John had shrugged, said it sounded like an OK idea and if nothing else, a way to meet new people.
Four years later, poised on the edge of a brand-new school year, the brotherhood was firmly within their hands - president- and vice-president elect, they would hold their first official house meeting in just a few hours.
“Figures you’d beat me here. You always have been a punctual man.”
He turned at the voice, a true smile spread over his face. “Mike! How was Tijuana?”
Mike swaggered onto the balcony, slow like a cowboy, a beer bottle in his left hand. He took a swig. “It was awesome, man. You should’ve come.”
John shook his head. “I couldn’t. I had things to do, you know that.”
“I think it would’ve been good for you.” Mike joined him at the balcony at last.
“Oh?”
“Yep.” Another swig from the bottle.
“In that I wouldn’t remember most of my summer?”
“No. Well - yes, but-no. In that there were girls. Lots of girls,” he repeated with emphasis. “Which is what you need. You need lots and lots and lots of gorgeous women to fuck until you forget about that… that other bitch.”
“Anna was not a bitch.”
Mike turned a quizzical look on his brother at the defensive nature of John’s statement. “Let’s review the facts, shall we?” He cleared his throat and used his right hand to count off on his fingers while his left hand gestured about, still holding the beer bottle. “Two years ago, she stopped returning your calls without explanation. She left you high and dry at homecoming that year, not so much as an excuse for why she didn’t want to attend the game or the dance. You moved into the house here-“ a wild gesture about with his left hand. He managed not to spill a drop; John was genuinely impressed. “And started to move on. And just-just-when I thought you might be hooking up with someone else, she has the audacity to show up here and say she’s sorry. That she made a mistake. And then she ripped out your heart, threw it on the ground and danced all over it, two-timing you with that creep Morden behind your back right in front of your eyes until you came home early from class one day to find them in your bed.” Mike’s tone had been rising with each syllable, so that now as he reached the end of his judicial review, he was shouting so loud that a passerby on the sidewalk below looked up at them curiously. He cleared his throat and leveled out his tone to deliver his verdict. “Bitch.”
John heaved a sigh. “It’s in the past.”
“Right. I will believe that when I see you with a pretty little piece of jailbait on your arm. You should’ve come, man, I’m telling you. Girls. Lots and lots and lots of beautiful, sexy, deliciously dirty girls who will do anything. An-ny-thing. For a price, of course. And there was this show with a donkey. A donkey!”
John offered his friend the benefit of his most disgusted facial expression. “How do they…?”
“Don’t ask, man.”
Garibaldi appeared to have said his piece, because they settled into silence. Garibaldi continued to nurse his beer; Sheridan tried very, very hard not to think about the beautiful redhead who had been his high school sweetheart, his future, his everything, who had indeed ripped out his heart and danced all over it.
That’s in the past. You haven’t heard from her in almost a year. Besides, you’re a big man on campus. You have responsibilities. He nodded at his own reassuring mental voice.
Yeah. But I’m lonely. A sigh - loud enough to draw his companion’s attention, and Mike turned toward him, mouth open to deliver a response - but whatever he was going to say was lost as something caught his eye and he let out a hoot. “Move-in has begun, Johnny boy!” he proclaimed, throwing his arms into the air. “And so the final year begins.”