Disclaimer : Nope, still not mine. (Sob)

Chapter 1 : OC

"….Johnson," Craig Patrick read out. Mark exhaled in a sigh of relief, tilting his head back and silently thanking God for him making the team. He barely heard the rest of the roster being reeled off; the next thing he knew, Herb was making his way down the steps, delivering stern words about how hard they would have to work. Mark wasn't particularly scared, he was used to working his ass off to succeed, especially in hockey.

Craig took over, showing the guys what they'd have to do that night. Then they were free to go. Mark descended the bleachers, Robbie McClanahan slapping him on the back in congratulations. They both grabbed a copy of their homework, and a quick scan of it showed it to be a psychology test.

"What do we need a psychology test for?" Mark asked, bemused. "You ever do these at the U Mac?"

"Nope, this is a new one on me," he replied with a shrug.

"Hey, Johnson, Mac, we're going down to O'Reilly's later to celebrate and get these tests done," Buzz Schneider told them as he fell into step besides them. "Want to join us?"

"Sure," Mark replied, "But I'm gonna do my test in my room. Don't want to screw it up."

"Same," Mac agreed. "How about I come over to your room when I'm done and we can head down together, meet the guys there."

"Sounds good to me…we'll see you later Buzzy." Buzz nodded and jogged off to catch up with the rest of the guys.

XX

Mark scratched his head with the end of his pen as he studied the next question. The whole test seemed pretty pointless, but he didn't want to do anything that would make Herb think he wasn't up to the job. A sharp knock on the door broke his concentration.

"Who is it?" he called.

"Mac."

"Come on in."

Mac entered the room with his customary swagger and grin. "You not done with your test yet?"

"Give me five minutes, I've only got three more."

Mac sat down on the other bed in Mark's room and grabbed a koosh ball from the table, tossing it back and forth as he waited. All the players trying out had been put in dorm rooms at the University of Minnesota for the week – now the roster had been selected the players would soon be moving into different rooms with each other, on the same corridor.

A few minutes later Mark threw the test down on the bed. "Done," he announced. "Give me a second to get ready." Uncoiling his limbs, he stood up and stretched, before dropping his sweat pants and pulling on a pair of jeans instead. He grabbed a blue plaid shirt from his closet and slipped it on over the white t-shirt he was wearing, then took his wallet from the table and stuck it in his back pocket.

Snatching up his keys he flicked the catch on the door and waited for Mac to leave and then followed him from the room, letting the door click shut behind him.

The bar was only a two-minute walk from the University, making it very popular with students. In term time it was so crowded it took about half an hour just to order a round of drinks, but as it was summer vacation the bar was relatively quiet. Mac entered the bar with his usual confidence and looked round, grinning a welcome at his friends. Mark followed quietly, glancing around, and instantly spotting a divide between the Boston boys and those from Minnesota. He felt pretty awkward being in the middle, as a Wisconsin boy.

"Hey, Rizzo," Mac greeted the Boston forward, raising a hand to him. Mark winced inwardly – that simple gesture was sure to cause friction. As Mac headed to the bar to get drinks, Mark sat down shyly at the rowdy Minnesotan table. After a few minutes he started to feel dizzy – he'd had a headache all day, and the bright lights and buzz of conversation were serving only to worsen it.

Excusing himself, Mark slipped outside into the parking lot, the cool night air instantly refreshing him. After a few seconds of peace the door to the bar slammed open, and a familiar blonde stormed out.

"Jack?" he called. Jack O'Callahan span round, searching to see who had spoken. Mark stepped out of the shadows. "You OK?

"Not if you call me Jack. Only my mother calls me that. I'm OC."

"Sorry, Ja - OC."

Jack released a sigh and rubbed his forehead. "No, I'm sorry. I'm just pissed off."

"Why?"

"'76."

"'76?"

"You never heard about it?" Mark shook his head. "McClanahan threw a cheap shot, I got thrown out…I'd always wanted to win a National Championship, but he screwed me over."

"Ah. I see why you're pissed. But it was three years ago…"

"I can only let it go once I've got revenge. I can't let it lie." He suddenly remembered that Mark had just been standing outside on his own. "What're you doing out here anyway?"

"Just getting some air. You heading home?"

"I was, but I'm not in the mood. I'm gonna go on to somewhere else, make my own fun. You coming?"

Mark was about to decline when he noticed the glint in OC's eye. He hadn't known Jack that long, but liked to think of himself as a pretty good judge of character. The judge in him was screaming out that Jack O'Callahan was a guy who could get himself in an awful lot of trouble with his brazen, devil-may-care attitude. As his team-mate, it was Mark's responsibility to make sure he came to no harm.

"Sure," Mark replied with a sigh. "Just let me tell the guys what's going on."

"What are you, twelve?" OC rolled his eyes. "I'm leaving now, if you're coming then you'll go with me." He started to walk off, true to his word.

'What'd I do to get landed with the emotional screw-up?' Mark asked himself as he dutifully followed along. OC in this mood clearly wasn't to be messed with.

They meandered in silence down the street, reaching the town in a few minutes. The town was eerily quiet, with not many nighttime revellers on the street. A few bars were open, but OC bypassed them all.

"Where are we actually headed?" Mark asked. He was tired after a day on the ice and could quite happily go home and to bed. He was already sick of the aimless wandering. OC shrugged.

"No clue," he replied with a smirk. "Somewhere we can have a few drinks, a few laughs, maybe pick up a few women…would you like that Johnson?" He shot a sideways glance at Mark.

"No."

"Are you gay, Johnson?"

"No."

"Scared of what Herb would think?"

"No."

"Going to answer my questions any better than saying no?"

"No." Eventually, Mark cracked a smile. "I'm just not into that, OC. Picking up girls in bars, shagging them, and then forgetting their name I mean."

"But Marky, that's half the fun of being a hockey player! Hell, its half the fun of life."

"Each to their own, OC," Mark replied with a roll of his eyes. "And it's Mark. Not Marky."

"You wanna try this place?" OC asked, seemingly bored with the conversation. They were standing by the entrance to a bar. Suspicious bouncers were guarding the door, whilst a neon sign above it flashed the word "Sonny's."

"I don't know, it looks kinda seedy," Mark said slowly. OC flashed him his trademark cocky grin.

"Perfect."

The two showed the bouncers their ID before heading down a dimly lit corridor in the direction of the pulsing music they could hear. Emerging into the bar, they blinked at the sudden eruption of light, and then both their jaws dropped to the floor.

Their eyes were fixated on the sight in front of them as they surveyed what they had just walked into, mouths still open in shock. OC regained control of his senses first and clapped a hand against Mark's back.

"Well, Marky my man," he said with a grin, "Looks to me like we just found Minnesota's premier strip joint."