Author's Note: My first attempt at a 21 Jump Street story. I'm not entirely sure how I got into it. Or back into it as I did see the episodes when they originally aired. In any case, a few months ago I decided to check out the stories on FanFiction and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was still fairly active. Reading and watching the show again spurred me to write my own stories.

My first story leans on the alternate universe side, which is obvious from the beginning. All main charaters from the show, including Jenko, will at some point be a part of the story and many storylines from the series will be intertwined with the story in some way. One episode in particular inspired the idea; one of the few episodes I actually remember from it's original airing.

The story, the majority of it, is told from Hanson's point of view and revolves around Hanson and Penhall's friendship. The main plot of the story is upfront. I'm not making you wait to find out or try to figure it out. No guesswork. It begins in the present time, what would be present for Hanson, goes into past events, and eventually back to the present.

If you have any questions feel free to ask. I'll try and answer them as best as I can. I hope you enjoy the story.

21 JUMP STREET

Dragonflies

Chapter One

I hate crying. I told my friends that when I die, I don't want them to cry over me. But there are times, no matter how strong you or anyone else thinks you are, or how hard you try and stop them, that the tears still come. I used to think that keeping my emotions in check, especially sadness, was my greatest strength. I now realize that it's my strongest weakness. Dennis told me there's nothing wrong with that. I've held on to what he said, even though it sounded strange to me then.

Four and a half years ago I was diagnosed with HIV. I've cried quite a bit over that time. To be truthful, my tears began to fall before I found out I was HIV positive. Most of the tears I've shed have had nothing to do with it.

My good friend and former fellow Jump Streeter, Judy Hoffs, told me I should write down all that's happened to me since that case five years ago when my world was turned upside down. What happened to me on that case I kept to myself, told no one. I held on to a secret that was tearing me up inside for three months. A terrifying journey that began the day my mother died.

The events of the morning my partner Doug Penhall walked in to Jump Street Chapel, late, would send me on a journey I never saw coming. It was three days before Jenks-that would be Captain Richard Jenko, founder of Jump Street-got the call for the op I mentioned. I was sitting at my desk, hooking Doug's paperclips together.

"Anybody know what's taking Penhall so long?" I heard Ioki, Harry Truman Ioki (another friend and fellow Jump Streeter), say. "Prob'ly stuck in traffic," Jude (Judy Hoffs, the one that told me I should right this stuff down) replied as I continued to hook Doug's paperclips together. "There's been a lot of accidents this morning. Mostly minor."

"Rough morning commute," Harry said back. "Hope Penhall wasn't in any of them."

"Nah…. He's just being slow. Perfectly normal." I had to say something to lead them to believe the paperclips were not more important than the conversation.

"Are those your paperclips, Hanson?" Judy asked.

I looked up at her. "Nope."

"Are they Penhall's?"

"Yup."

She shook her head as Harry said, "He's gonna kill you."

I grinned. "Before or after he gets 'em all unhooked?"

Harry walked over to my desk and picked up the plush black cat I had sitting on my desk next to my calendar. "Isn't this one the kittens from The Aristocats?"

I snatched it back. "Don't judge me." I went back to the paperclips. "And his name is Berlioz."

"Where did you get that?"

"Garage sale."

"Garage sale?"

"Yes," I said flatly, wanting to end the conversation. (Doug gave it to me as a gag.) Thankfully Jenks put an end to it.

"Got some bad news, kids." He stopped in front of my desk. Jenks had that look on his face that said 'something horrible has happened to somebody we know.' My mind immediately flashed to Doug. "There's been a major accident on Dakota and Fourth."

Doug's more than just my partner. He's my best friend. And although at that point we had only known each other for about seven months, he had already become a brother to me. If anything ever happened to him, I don't know if I could go on.

I stood up quickly. My eyes had to be as big as saucers to him. "Is Doug-"

"Calm down, Tom. Penhall's fine." I let out a huge sigh of relief as Jenks continued. "He got caught in a traffic jam caused by the accident. Now he's on his way here. He should be-"

Before he could finish, Doug walked in.

I couldn't stop myself from running over to him. "Doug. You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

The look on his face said otherwise. He may have been okay, but something was wrong. "Then what's…?

"We really need to talk. Now."

His voice and expression were solemn. Solemn, a word and all it's synonyms I would soon become accustomed to. "Doug, what's wrong?"

"Use my office," Jenks said.

"Thanks Jenks." To me, gesturing. "Come on."

If I wasn't already confused I would've been at that moment. I couldn't have imagined in that proverbial 'million years' that I would be sitting in Jenko's office across from my best friend and brother, hearing what he was about to tell me.

"Jenks told you why I'm late, right?"

"Yeah."

"I wasn't too far behind the wreck, so I pulled my bike around to check it out, see if I could help with anything. One of the car's involved looked like yer mom's."

"My mom's…." I felt my body tense. My dad was a cop. He had been killed in the line of duty six years earlier when I was sixteen. He was the reason I became a cop.

"So I walked up to it." He sighed. It was the kind of sigh a person gives you when they're about to tell you something they're dreading.

I heard someone say 'no'. It was me…but I didn't sound like myself.

First the words came. "It was her."

I knew the answer before I asked the question. "Is she- Is my mom okay?"

Then the look. The look that needed no words. "I'm so sorry, Tommy."

I had no idea I had been standing until I felt my knees hit the floor and heard Doug call my name. The world around me had gone surreal.

"Tommy."

I looked at Doug-who was now kneeling down next to me-trying to speak. "Doug, I…" was all I could get out and then I collapsed into his arms.

I hate to cry. The morning my mother died, I didn't cry.

Three days later, Jenko presented to us the case that would turn my world inside out. He intended to put Harry in my place, but I insisted on going. I couldn't stand just sitting at my desk and I definitely didn't want to be sitting at home by myself. I needed to be with Doug.

"You sure about this, Hanson?"

"You can't break up the McQuaid Brothers, Jenks. Heh."

I probably didn't sound all that convincing, but I meant what I said. And Jenko knew it. Doug and I hadn't been playing the McQuaid brothers for all that long; but the truth was, I enjoyed being a McQuaid brother and I didn't want that broken up for any reason. We acted like brothers when we weren't on a case. Harry noted not too long ago that "if I didn't know any better, I'd swear they really were brothers."

"Alright. You two know what ya gotta do. Get outta here."

"Thank you, Jenks."

"Not to worry, Jenks," Doug said. "We'll get this perp." He turned to face me. "Why?"

We grinned at each other. "Because…we're the McQuaid brothers!" Out of the corner of my eye I could see Jenko shaking his head at us as we did our handshake (if you can call it that). "Heh!"

"Get outta here."

"Yes, Sir."

"And quit callin' me 'sir'."

I often wondered if Jenko ever thought Doug and I had lost our minds. Sometimes I think we've lost our minds. Dennis had said so. Dennis Booker. The guy I couldn't stand when we first met. Hated him, really. But he has grown on me. When Judy gave me the notebook and told me I should write everything down, he told me not to be too serious, to make sure to add humor. The same Dennis that told me, point blankly, that it was okay to be sad, to cry.

"Every one of these parking lots looks the same," I grumbled, slumping down in the backseat of the limousine (yep, limousine) unwilling to get out of the vehicle. "I feel like I really am back in high school."

Doug looked at me with a raised eyebrow. "You went to boarding school?"

"No…."

The door on Doug's side opened. He grabbed my arm, "Come on, Whiney McQuaid," and pulled me out of the limo.

Walking up the steps to the outer courtyard, an odd thought popped into my head. "I'm surprised they haven't put 'cop-killer' in either of our jackets yet."

When someone says the exact same thing at the exact same time as I do, this small explosion goes off in my head. This is exactly what happened with my comment. Doug and me do this all the time. Yet, the explosion still occurs. We stared at each other…and then proceded to shove each other. Watch out, kiddies, Here come, the McQuaid Brothers!

It's amazing how fast word travels when you're supposed to be the bad boys. Students stared at us awkwardly, unsure of what to make of us. Clothes may make the man, but they don't change his personality. We may have been donning pressed slacks and tweed jackets, but we were still the McQuaid brothers. And for many people, that meant trouble. This was going to be interesting.

Goddard Hall. An all-boys, private boarding school. Not a rich kids school, per se, but it definitely had the air of one. The school's motto: animis opibusque parati. Translated from the Latin: prepared in mind and resources. Also the state motto of South Carolina. The school was clean. So were the students in their nice, neat uniforms. It would appear that absolutely nothing of Jump Street interest would be taking place there. That being said, one might wonder "why on earth are the McQuaid brothers being sent to-of all things-a college preparatory school?"

Simple: Daddy wanted something better for his two little boys. Not that Daddy is such a great man…at least not this time.

There were rumors that someone at the school was in the business of buying and selling firearms. Illegally, of course. It was the perfect place for the two abused McQuaid boys to seek revenge on Daddy without rousing any suspicion. Officers Doug Penhall and Tom Hanson however, were being sent in to sniff out the dealer, possibly dealers.

We didn't have much to go on other than the rumors. Whether the dealer, or dealers, would be found among the student body or the faculty was still in question. If there were multiple dealers, it could be both.

The first two weeks didn't turn up much. Neither one of us noticed anything out of the ordinary, anything related to the case. What I did notice was that three faculty members, a teacher, the nurse (the school physician's aide), and a phys ed coach, appeared to be following us around. "Us" for the first two weeks. After that, I noticed them watching me, rather intently, when Doug wasn't around. We had no classes together. At Goddard, teachers switched classes, not the students; physical education, science and electives, being the exceptions. Even with that open, me and Doug still couldn't manage a class together. Fortunately, we were able to room together.

The teacher that was watching me was my English/Literature teacher, Mr. Coleman. I didn't notice anything strange at first. Even those first few weeks where it felt like him and those other two men were watching and following me, they really weren't doing anything wrong. It was more 'little Tommy's just being paranoid.' When the fourth week rolled around, my paranoia was no longer unfounded. Mr. Coleman began saying things to me and looking at me in ways that made me uncomfortable. Those were moments that made me forget that I was a cop and not an actual student. I didn't say anything to Doug about it. It didn't seem all that important at the time. I was told by Dylan, one of the students in my class, to just ignore Coleman.

"He's like that with other students in his classes," Dylan told me.

Evidently, I wasn't the only one being harassed by this guy. "What about you?" I asked.

He looked at me. "Before you got here."

"Nice." I rolled my eyes. "Apparently, I saved you from any more grief."

Dylan also mentioned that Coleman seemed to only target juniors and sophomores. He had no freshman in any of his classes and seniors were left alone. Great for Doug.

As we entered into our fifth week at Goddard, I mentioned to Doug about the three men watching us, deliberately using 'us' and leaving out the part about Coleman and his creepy demeanor.

"It's prob'ly nothin'," he said. "Just let it go."

So I did. This is the moment when you look back and say to yourself "If I only…."

But how different would the outcome really have been if I had said anything to Doug. All it would have been was my word against Coleman's if I said anything to another teacher or the Dean. Besides, I was undercover. I had something more important to deal with. Aside from lewd comments and disturbing looks from Coleman and being followed around by the other two, they still were not doing anything more than being irritating. An irritation isn't a warrant for an arrest, though I could probably get Coleman on harassment. That is, if I could get a few of the other students to speak up. Unlikely. So dropping it, I focused back on our investigation.

Coleman had been relatively easy to ignore, as uncomfortable as I was around him. At least, I had other students around me. However, my trips to the nurse's office, which were numerous for some reason, were usually alone. I'm certain I saw the nurse's assistant, Nick, more than anyone. (I'm also certain that everyone else saw the actual nurse.) He often went out of his way to see how I was doing and it made me a little nervous.

Then there was Coach Harrison, the lacrosse coach-my lacrosse coach. I usually took a shower right after practice. I didn't have a problem with that until that turning-point fourth week. It was then I began to feel like I was being watched while showering. That was even more unnerving than any lewd comment from Coleman. I knew Harrison was watching me; for what reason I didn't want to think about.

It was difficult to stay in character when they were near me, especially when I was alone. I was Tommy McQuaid, not Tom Hanson. But even Tommy McQuaid would be unsettled by all three of them. Or more appropriate, freaked-out. I had to be careful of how much of my agitation I let show. Particularly to Doug.

We had been there for almost six weeks (far too long) and had barely put a dent in our investigation. School would be out in seven and as long as that seemed, we were running out of time. I was beginning to think this case was nothing but a wild goose chase.

"McQuaid!" My head snapped up. "Get in there!"

"Yes, Coach!" I jumped up off the bench and jogged out to the field.

"Pay attention, boy!"

"Yes, Sir!" was my external response. However, my internal response was, It would be a lot easier to pay attention if you would stop watching me take a shower, you frickin' pedophile. But I refrained from saying it aloud. Out in the field at transition my mind started to wander. I knew something was going to happen. The three of them were up to something. I just didn't know when, how or what. There was a sudden sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach and I started to feel nauseous. And then my butt was planted firmly on the ground. I had no idea what had just happened.

I felt a hand on my arm. "You okay?"

I looked up to see my team mate Emile Gatineau, a French-Canadian student, kneeling down next to me. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Man, I ain't never seen anyone take a check like that. Did you even know you had the ball?"

He helped me to my feet as Harrison yelled at me. "McQuaid! Concentrate!"

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, Coach!" It would be a lot easier if you didn't give me reason to think of other things, you sicko.

The rest of practice was uneventful. And with the rest of the team showering at the same time, I didn't have to worry about Harrison's eyes being on me. There were three sets of showers at the school. One in each of the locker rooms and one in the dorms. I felt far less violated cleaning up in the dormitory showers.

I knew I should tell Doug. But honestly, there wasn't much to tell other than the fact that I was dealing with a bunch of perverts. They hadn't done anything to me, yet, and I was praying our assignment would be over before they made the decision to do something. But I had a feeling they already had.

On Fridays school was over by one-thirty, which meant I had a little over an hour before practice. Doug wanted to meet with me in private to discuss the investigation. Apparently, something had finally come up.

Sitting in our dorm, in relative silence at first, Doug looked me over.

"You okay?"

I must have had a bemused expression on my face. But it was difficult not to think about what could possibly happen after practice. I was in no hurry to get there.

"Yeah, I'm fine." I shook it off. "So'd you find anything?"

"Might actually have a lead," Doug said, sitting down across from me.

"Really," I replied, a little more excited than I should have been. "That's great."

"Definitely more than one involved."

"Any idea if they're students or faculty?"

"Not sure. But my guess is both."

I groaned and collapsed back on my bed. This wasn't what I wanted to hear.

"Tom? Is there something you wanna tell me?"

"No," I answered a little too quickly. "You're raising your eyebrows at me, aren't you?"

"Uh…yeah."

That tone. I hate that tone. Though, it was my fault. My reactions were giving him cause to question me. Way to go, Hanson. I sat back up. Whatever look I had on my face made Doug forego what he had on the case and focus on me.

"Alright. There's something you're not telling me. What is it?" His stare was intense. I wasn't going to get away with saying "nothing." But I said it anyway.

"Nothing."

"Tom."

"It's nothing. Just let it go."

And so began an argument. That brotherly squabbling that me and Doug had become prone to. After about twenty minutes of bickering, he switched back to the investigation as if the argument had never taken place. Something both of us were becoming good at.

"From what I've been able to piece together, there's a possibility that this goes beyond the school."

I felt my eyeballs bug. "You've gotta be kidding."

"Michael Hayes approached me just before our first class, asking me if I 'needed a little help at home.' Of course, playing ignorant, I tell him I don't know what he's talking about. So he tells me he knows what's been going on with us. He's seen our records."

"Really," I said, thoroughly intrigued. "Didn't know that stuff was in our records."

"That's what I said to him. So he says to me, 'I'm more observant than you think I am'."

Now I was raising an eyebrow. We were finally getting somewhere. Maybe we would be out of there before Harrison or the other two tried anything. But then again, maybe that was just wishful thinking.

"What'd you tell him?"

"I said, 'Okay, I'll go with that'. He says he knows how he can help me and you. Says he can hook up with someone who can give me what I need."

"But he didn't tell you who."

"Not exactly. I ask him 'who', he says don't worry about it, they ain't here." He paused for a moment. "Don't wanna jump to any conclusions, but that makes me think that this is coming from the outside."

I picked up my sneakers. "The school houses post-grads, too. You think it could be any of them?"

"Possibly. I'm gonna see what I can find out. Three of them are acting as chaperones on our fieldtrip tomorrow."

I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "I'd better get to practice." I knew I sounded like I didn't want to go. Which really didn't mean anything. I was supposed to be Tommy McQuaid; a teenager. I didn't have to be eager to be at every practice. Doug showed concern, anyway.

"Look, I know you hate it when I do this. But really, Tommy. Is everything okay?"

I replied with, "I'm fine, Doug, really. Everything's fine," while in the back of my mind screaming at myself to tell him the truth.

He didn't believe me. That was obvious without the expression on his face. But he let it go.

I stood up. "Better get to practice."

"See ya at dinner."

I had the overwhelming urge to create havoc over the weekend. Although with my current streak of luck, I'd end up getting caught and wind up under the 'watchful eyes' of one of my fans. As much as I could joke about it, I was deathly afraid of being at school all day without Doug there. It was a senior fieldtrip, so there was no way I could weasel my way in. I was going to be on my own for eight hours…and I was dreading it. But that was tomorrow. I still had today's practice to deal with. I was sure Coach Pervy would find a way to watch me shower.

"Cuttin' it a little close, McQuaid?"

Josh Bielski; a senior in my shop class. We had become good friends over the past six weeks.

"If I didn't, I wouldn't be me."

He shook his head.

As I changed into my practice gear the thundering voice of Coach Harrison echoed through the locker room with my name. "McQuaid!"

"You bellowed, Coach," I said under my breath as he approached. I looked up at the looming figure now standing next to me. "Yeah, Coach?"

The man was well over six foot, probably about six-five. And being as muscular as he was, if he ever fell on me, he'd likely crush me to death.

"I need to see you after practice."

"Yes, sir." Oh, rapture. Can't wait for our little meeting, Coach Sleazeball.

Practice went as usual, though shortened, and Harrison let everyone but me go. His excuse for keeping me after was to run some shooting drills with the assistant coach. After forty minutes, he told me to hit the showers. By then, everyone else was gone and I was left alone, exhausted and scared out of my mind.

His eyes were on me once again. I could feel them violating every inch of me. If I wasn't already in the raw, he'd probably be undressing me in his sick little mind. Something he was likely doing while watching me run drills with Coach Bergquist. I felt like a piece of meat.

Taking my shower as quickly as possible, I couldn't help imagining him walking up behind me and grabbing me, doing whatever his perverted-self pleased. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to force the images out of my mind. I was afraid to turn around. But I couldn't stay there forever. Taking a deep breath I turned around. No one was there. Sighing with relief, I shut the water off and wrapped my towel around myself. The locker room was empty, but I still made quick work of drying off and getting dressed. And made even quicker work of getting the hell out of there. Harrison may have left, but that didn't mean that Coleman or, especially, Nick couldn't show up. Or maybe the three of them were having a meeting, discussing what their pedophiliac desires wanted to do withme. The very thought made me want to vomit.

When I got to my dorm, Doug was waiting for me. "What took you so long? You're team mates are already out."

"Coach kept me after to run drills," I said, dropping down onto my bed.

"You okay? You look exhausted."

"I am." And then some.

"You too exhausted for dinner?"

I sat up. "No."

"Come on. Let's go."

That inner voice of mine kept telling me I needed to tell Doug. But I had become accustomed to ignoring it. And fear was starting to take over. Fear would tell me that "Doug will just tell you you're being paranoid."

I couldn't get my mind off Saturday. Something was going to happen and there was nothing I could do about it. Doug would be on a fieldtrip. Sure, I could feign illness, but that would just open the door for Nick. I was screwed no matter what.

"Tommy. Thomas."

"Huh?"

"Are you sure yer okay? You've barely touched yer food. And you haven't said a word since we sat down."

I looked up at Doug. Apparently, I'd spaced out. "Sorry. Just having trouble focusing."

"Somethin' goin' on? With practice or something'?"

"No. Everything's fine," I said as calmly as I could. I hated lying to Doug. Especially when I felt like this. I had a feeling that this case wouldn't be over until school was out. With my luck, that meant seven weeks of hell.

xxx

I almost forgot to edit this. That would not have been good. Anyway, hope this was enough of a hook.

Until next time.

.