(A/N: This is a notion I've had for a while... anyway, for those of you who have never watched LOST, in the show, there's an AU where they all remember what happened in the original timeline in their new purgatory timeline. Yeah, it's confusing. Anywho, in this AU, the most of the Bohos are strangers, act different, have different names, are in different relationships, etc. Hopefully that makes this less confusing...?)
Roger Davis fumbled with the key to his apartment. Partially because he could barely see the set of keys in his hands in the dark hallway. And partially because his girlfriend April Ericsson was kissing his neck and running her hands up his shirt and across his skin. His eyes fluttered shut and he stiffled a groan, almost forgetting about trying to get to their bedroom. If it were up to him, he'd choose to have screwed April right in their dressing room at the bar his band, The Well-Hungarians, performs at every night in Santa Fe. However, there was a larger amount of groupies tonight, meaning that the lead singer and guitarist had to escape them before they tackled him- it had happened to him more than once- and tried to get him to sign nearly every body part imaginable. Although he was considerably famous, he was very committed to April. He left it up to the other guys in his band to take control of the desperate fans that wore skimpy clothing and most likely carried fake IDs on them.
"April," he moaned. "I gotta get the door open..."
"Why not do it right here?" the eccentric redhead asked as she wove her fingers through his chopped bleach blonde hair.
"Because I don't want someone else to come along and get jealous of you," he answered as he finally found the right key. He unlocked the door and burst through.
Once it was shut and locked (people have tried breaking down his door on a few occasions as well) he picked up April and their lips crashed together. Their tongues tangoed together as Roger carried his girlfriend off to their bedroom. April stripped Roger of his plaid pants and black shirt and stripped off her black dress, teasing Roger. He lied her down and they went right back to where they left off. Chest to chest. Skin to skin. Tongue on tongue. The passion they felt was immense. They were in love. She wasn't just another fan. He was more than some rockstar.
"I love you," April whispered huskily as she nibbled on Roger's ear.
"I love you more," Roger groaned as he played with the waistband of her black thong. "Forever and always."
April pulled away from him and said, "No day but today," before kissing him again.
Meanwhile, across the country in New York City on Avenue B in a dirty apartment building, an AZT beeper went off and rang throughout the building. The inhabitants of the building were used to the sound of it daily, but whenever it went off at two in the morning, they would all become agitated because of it. On the third story, Benjamin Coffin III flipped onto his stomach and covered his ears with a pillow. It didn't block out the sound. He hated the fact that the owners of the annoying sound happened to be heavy sleepers. Next to him in bed, his girlfriend, Mikayla Marquez, groaned at the familiar noise.
"¡Dios mío!" she hissed.
"Every goddamn night," Benny sighed. "I swear, it does this on purpose."
"¡Alguien convertir ese maldito ruido de descuento!" Angelo Dumott Schunard snapped from the couch. (Someone turn that damn noise off!)
"No me importa si se está muriendo," Mikayla said, "Voy a agarrar ese maldito zumbido y metérsela por el culo."
"Something tells me that I should be glad I don't speak Spanish right now," Benny remarked.
"Trust me, it wasn't the prettiest choice of words you'd think of," Angelo laughed. He reached over and grabbed his glasses from the coffee table so he could see Benny and Mikayla, who was now shouting more obscenities out the window at the people who lived above them.
"Maybe she can learn enough English to really make them feel threatened," Benny said, smiling at his Spanish girlfriend.
"If they taught any classes about learning English at NYU I would take her to school with me," Angelo said. "I tried teaching her some words earlier today, but then we got distracted, and I ended up teaching her one thing."
"What's that?"
"Dile a Benny lo que has aprendido Mikayla," Angelo told his best friend. (Tell Benny what you learned Mikayla.)
The Latina nodded and climbed back into the apartment. She left the window, praying that a nice late summer breeze would come through the humid apartment. She licked her lips and struggled a bit to figure out the words again.
"I... love... you," she said slowly. Angelo smiled and nodded. Benny turned and mouthed thank you to his roommate.
"Te amo," he replied. Mikayla gasped and hugged Benny. He hugged her back and pressed his lips to her forehead. Angelo took off his glasses and tried to go back to sleep as the annoying sound finally ceased.
Upstairs, Maureen Johnson trudged her feet across the dirty floor. She heard the familiar shouts of her neighbor underneath of her, cursing in Spanish. It happened every day at least three times. She had grown accustomed to the snappy Latina after dealing with her for at least a year. But it was something that Maureen lived with. She finally found the AZT beeper on the metal table and shut it off. She opened a little orange bottle and took out a pill. She set it down as she looked around for a water bottle. She set it down and spent a few moments to play with the ring on her left ring finger. She loved it dearly. It was a simple gold band with a small diamond on it. Her fiancé had saved up for months to buy this ring before proposing last Valentine's Day. She didn't even hesitate to say yes.
Maureen took the medicine and water to her bedroom and set it down on the beside table before shaking her fiancé lightly.
"Pookie, wake up," she whispered. "AZT break."
"Thanks," Mark Cohen said as he sat up. He turned on the lamp on the table and swallowed the pill. Maureen sat down beside him and rubbed his leg sympathetically.
"Maybe we can time our wedding ceremony for this to go off right before we start?" she joked.
"If you want to start a time-table, go for it, sweetie," Mark responded, going along with it. "When do you want it to go off during the reception? When we cut the cake or when you through your flowers? Or how about right as I take off your garter?"
"As we drive off in a taxi that has a JUST MARRIED sign taped to the back of it!" Maureen giggled. Mark laughed with her. They stopped at the same time and took each other's hands.
"I love you," Mark said.
"I love you too, Markie," Maureen said. She leaned forward and planted one sweet kiss on his lips. "I know this sounds a bit cliché, but you're my best friend, and I'm glad that we're together."
"A match made in heaven," Mark agreed. "Now let's get to bed. You have that new job in the morning, right?"
"Don't forget that you have the news at noon." Maureen grabbed her hairbrush off of the table and held it to her mouth as if it were a microphone. "Hello, New York, you're watching Buzzline, with me, Alexi Darling!" she said, flawlessly nailing her impression of Mark's boss. "Now let's go to Mark Cohen at the lot between avenues A and B."
Mark took the hairbrush from Maureen and adjusted his glasses on his face. "As poverty hits an all time high in the Lower East Side of New York City, the Westport Greys build a CyberArts studio to go along with their Blockbuster video franchise. What will ever become of our tent city?"
Maureen fell over from laughing to hard. She always enjoyed watching Mark on-screen; he was so awkward that she found it cute and always teased him about it. Mark set aside the brush and his glasses and lied down with his fiancé.
"One day, after we graduate college, we'll be able to do more than being reporters and waiters," he said.
"Well, as future Performing Arts and Filming majors, we can do tons more!" Maureen exclaimed. She sat up and started bouncing on her knees. "You can direct films starring me!"
"I'll remember to do that for our wedding video montage," Mark agreed. "For now, I want some sleep."
Mark lied down, stretched out on his back. Maureen rested her head on his chest and listened to the sounds of his beating heart as he fell asleep. She began to cry as she did. Mark felt her tears permeating his white shirt and rubbed her arm.
"I know," he cooed. "I don't like this either. But I was born this way, Maureen."
"I don't want you to die, Pookie," Maureen sniffled. "I love you too much to let you go."
Mark smiled at that and tried not to cry. He kissed the top of her head and whispered, "I love you too."
Joanne Jefferson took another sip from her mug of coffee as she read over the same files for a fifth time. She was working on her newest case, the Murget case, and knew that she had the upper hand. It was so simple. Sexual harassment and civil rights. These cases were common for the lawyer, and with her keen reasoning, she would be able to win over a jury within a few minutes. It would be impossible for her to lose.
Her cellphone rang. She reached into her pants pocket and pulled it out to see who was calling this late at night. She sighed; it was Steve. She hesitated before answering. "Hello?"
"Hey, Jo, baby," her counselor said. "How have you been."
"Steve, how many times to I have to say this?" she asked. "We had a thing once but we need to keep this professional between us, not romantic or emotional."
"But Joanne, I want you so bad." If scents could travel through phones, she would be able to smell the alcohol she sensed he had been drinking. When he was sober, he acted humane around the lawyer. But if you handed the man a few shots, he'd call her and beg her to come back to him.
"Steve, I suggest that you hang up the phone before you end up jobless," she warned.
"But Jo, remember when we-?"
Joanne hung up on his and turned off her phone. She took another sip of coffee and continued reviewing the case, shaking her head.
"Men," she snorted. "Can't live with them or without them."
Thomas Collins smiled as he held open the door for a young blonde woman. She was barely twenty-one and he was pretty sure that she was his student last year. He was used to his students fawning over him, and if they were clever enough, they would find him at CBGB's, get him drunk, and then finally do what they wanted with their professor. He had to be careful with what he did with students though; he had to leave other universities for that very reason. He had been at places such as UCLA or UNM, and there, the girls were sleazier and looser. He was grateful that the girls in New York had somewhat more dignity. He was trying to aim to teach philosophy at MIT, but NYU was the closest he could get. Not that he complained. He just prefered students who did something other than watch television all day.
"You were great, Professor Collins," the blonde in front of him said with a hint of seduction in her tone. He was unphased by this.
"See you at graduation, Brittany," he bid her farewell.
"My name is Melissa!" she reminded him. He just ushered her out of his apartment and shut the door. He heard a little huff of disappointment from the other side as she stalked off. He made a mental note to try to pick up classier women than college students from now on.
Collins made his way to his kitchen and picked up his new class schedule. He only had one group of students this semester- for some reason, computer age philosophy wasn't considered appealing to most NYU students- but had them every weekday at two in the afternoon. At least he'd be able to sleep in, he thought to himself. There were roughly sixty students listed in the roster this year. He scanned over the names to see if there were any that would come up that he'd recognize. Some of the other professors had warned him of a few troublemakers and slackers that they've had to deal with.
Three names did stick out to him. The first was Mark Cohen. After a few minutes of analyzing it, he realized that he was a news reporter for the show Buzzline. It would play in the teachers' lounge daily. He remembered him as being a little blonde guy with glasses, a timid appearance, yet a voice full of life. The next name was Angelo Dumott Schunard. Collins remembered a waiter at a local restaurant with the name Angelo from when he went out with either a colleague or a date. The third was Maureen Johnson. He had to smile at her name; every single professor who had her as a student despised her. She was known for being loud, outgoing, and rarely would she go through a class without starting some kind of argument with her teacher. She had been kicked out of a few of her classes over the years. Collins was actually glad that he would have her as a student; most students were hard to play Devil's Advocate with. He could tell that she was made for his class.
Collins scanned over the rest of the list before checking the clock. It was nearly two thirty in the morning, making it technically Sunday. He sighed; he'd come up with the lesson plans for this upcoming week later, or, as he usually did, wing it. He made his way to bed and lied down. He took notice of two things as he did so; the bed smelled like sweat and cheap perfume, and Brittany had left behind her panties.
