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Poor Tom	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 1469 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own 21JS or the characters. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. All characters and events in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is coincidental.

Chapter List
- 14
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- 16
Sitting in the administration area of the Brentwood Psychiatric Facility, Booker’s leg jiggled nervously. He checked his watch for the umpteenth time before standing up and pacing back and forth across the blue-carpeted floor. He had been waiting over forty-five minutes for the powers that be to rubber stamp Hanson’s discharge papers and he was becoming increasingly impatient at the time it was taking. Just as he was about to speak to the supervising nurse, a door opened and Tom walked out, accompanied by a burly security guard.
“Damn, that seemed to take forever,” Booker joked lightly as he took Hanson’s bag and a manila folder from the guard. “How long does it take to sign a few papers?”
Hanson smiled but his pale face wore an expression of fatigue. “They wanted to take some more blood for the follow up STD tests,” he replied quietly. “You know, just to make sure.”
Dennis nodded. “Of course, Doctor Haverland mentioned something about that. So, are you ready to go?”
Looking slightly uncertain, Tom gave a half smile. “I guess.”
As they walked out into the bright afternoon sun, Tom instinctively shielded his eyes with his arm. Booker silently wondered how long Tom would have to wear the cumbersome splints that protected his arms and hands whilst his tendons healed. Arriving at his car, Dennis tossed Tom’s bag into the trunk before unlocking the passenger door. Tom lowered his himself onto the seat and then swung his legs around so he was sitting correctly. Bending down, Booker strapped the seat belt across Hanson’s body and clicked it into place. As he closed the door, Dennis realized how many small things he was going to have to do on a daily basis for Tom. Not that he minded but now that Hanson was his responsibility, the reality of the situation became much clearer.
As they drove through the city streets, Tom stared silently out of the window. Booker did not attempt to engage him in idle chitchat, as he feared overwhelming him. Hanson had spent over six weeks in a controlled environment and Dennis knew it would take time for him to settle back into normal life. Pulling into his apartment car space, Booker switched off the engine. Tom sat patiently until Dennis unbuckled his seat belt and gently helped him out of the car. Booker grabbed Tom’s bag and they caught the lift up to the apartment.
Unlocking the door, Dennis let Tom enter first so he could lock the door behind him. Turning back around, he saw Tom standing in the middle of the living area and his heart ached at the sight. He thought Tom looked thin and vulnerable compared to the Hanson of old. Walking over, he laid a comforting hand on Tom’s shoulder. “Hey,” he murmured. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m tired,” Hanson muttered quietly. “Maybe I’ll lie down for a while.”
Booker carried Tom’s bag into the bedroom and dropped it on the floor. “Sit on the bed so I can take your boots and socks off,” he instructed. Tom did as his friend asked and Booker knelt on the floor and unlaced Hanson's Doc Martin boots and pulled them off, followed by his socks. “Do you want to undress?” Dennis asked, as he gazed into Tom’s dark eyes. He felt a physical stab in his heart when a single tear trickled down Hanson’s pale cheek. “Oh Tommy, what’s wrong?” he asked tenderly, cupping Tom’s face in his hand.
“I’m a burden,” Hanson sobbed. “You shouldn’t have to do this.”
Stroking Tom’s cheek with his thumb, Booker smiled softly. “I want to do this Tommy otherwise I wouldn’t have offered.” When Hanson did not reply, Dennis gently helped him to his feet. “C’mon, let me get you out of your jeans, you’ll be more comfortable.”
Tom stood silently as Booker unbuttoned and then unzipped his jeans, letting the fabric fall to the floor. Stepping out of the denims, Hanson stood by as Dennis pulled back the covers on the bed. Sitting down, he swung his legs up and lay down on his side facing Booker. As Dennis pulled up the covers, Tom closed his eyes and fell into an exhausted sleep.
**
The television droned quietly in the background as Dennis read through the notes Doctor Haverland had sent home with Tom. There were instructions concerning his antidepressant medication and the name of the physiotherapist who would be working with Hanson to try to achieve better movement in his fingers and hands. A piece of paper with diagrams showed exercises that Tom could do at home to help strengthen his grip. A typed list of scheduled appointments with Doctor Lewis was on a separate piece of paper. Standing up, Booker tiptoed into the bedroom and picked up Tom’s bag. After quickly checking that Hanson was still asleep, he returned to the living area and sat back down. Unzipping the bag, he pulled out a plastic Ziploc bag containing an orange vial of tablets and a written prescription. The rest of the bag contained a toothbrush, toothpaste, shower gel, shampoo and a single change of clothes. Margaret Hanson obviously did not think her son needed much whilst in Brentwood and Booker’s fists clenched in anger. According to Tom, his mother was not prepared to forgive him for sinning against God and had therefore, decided that she would not be visiting in the near future. Booker had a hard time understanding religion and he could not believe that if there were a God, he would condone a mother abandoning her son in his time of need. Sighing, he stood up and went into the kitchen. Placing Tom’s medication and prescription into a cupboard, he stuck the list of appointments and the exercise diagrams on the refrigerator. Grabbing a beer, he was about to sit down when someone knocked. Opening the door, Booker’s expression hardened when he saw Doug and Harry standing in the hallway. “What do you want?” he asked coldly.
Penhall gave his trademark lopsided smile. “C’mon Booker, don’t be like that. We want to know how Tom is.”
“He’s fine,” Dennis replied, immediately starting to shut the door but Doug stuck out his foot, preventing it from closing.
“We’d like to see him Dennis,” Penhall said in a calm voice. “You can’t keep him from us.”
Booker let out an indignant laugh. “Me keep him from you! Nice one Penhall. If I remember correctly, it was you trying to keep Tom from me! You couldn’t wait to tell him I had feelings for him could you? But I guess it backfired ‘cause Hanson still chose to trust me to take care of him and I bet that just burns you up.”
“Calm down Booker,” Ioki interceded. “We just want to see if Tom’s okay.”
Turning his attention to Harry, Dennis gave him a cold glare. “And I told you he’s fine. And if you cared so much about him, where the hell were you and Judy when Tom was spiraling out of control? You were sitting around The Chapel bitching about how Hanson could never ask anyone for help. Well guess what? He is asking for help… from me!”
When Ioki looked like he was about to punch Booker in the face, Penhall laid a calming hand on his arm. “Don’t,” he instructed before turning back to Dennis. “Okay Booker, you’ve made your point. But I think it should be up to Tommy to decide who he sees and who he doesn’t, so maybe you can tell him we dropped by, okay?’
Booker thought about it for a moment before nodding his head, when Doug stepped away, he slammed the door closed. He knew Penhall was right, it was not up to him to decide who Tom stayed in contact with but it pissed him off that no one at Jump Street had made any effort to help Hanson through the most difficult days of his life. Flopping back onto the couch, he picked up the remote and scanned through the channels until he found a hockey game. Settling back, he switched his mind off from all of Tom’s troubles and for a couple of hours he lost himself in the game.
**
As he sat watching the evening news, Dennis heard an odd banging sound behind him. Turning his head, he looked around the room in puzzlement, trying to find out where the noise was coming from. Cursing loudly, he jumped up off the couch and ran over to the bedroom door. After checking on Tom the last time, he had inadvertently closed the door. With the splints covering his hands and arms, Hanson could not turn the doorknob. “Stand back Tommy,” he called out as he carefully pushed open the door.
Hanson stood in the middle of the room, jigging from foot to foot. “I need to go to the bathroom,” he said, the urgency evident on his face.
“Do you need help?” Booker asked, stepping out of the way as Hanson ran past.
“No!” Tom called out before entering the bathroom. Booker could not help but smile when he heard a steady stream through the open door. Several moments later, the toilet flushed and Tom reemerged wearing an embarrassed grin. “That was close.”
“Sorry,” Booker laughed. “I need to remember not to shut doors.” Studying Tom’s face, he thought his friend looked more relaxed and less tired. “Um, Penhall and Harry came by earlier to see how you are.”
Tom’s expression immediately became impassive. “Oh? Okay.”
Deciding to forgive past transgressions, Booker found himself defending the two officers. “They’re worried about you.”
“Really? “ Tom snapped. “Because I get the feeling they don’t really give a damn about me.”
Booker was surprised at the venom in Hanson’s voice. He thought that Tom and Doug had repaired their friendship through the several therapy phone calls they had made over the last few weeks. “You’re wrong Tommy, they do care and I think it would be a big step in your recovery if you could find it in your heart to forgive them.”
Hanson looked slightly uncomfortable. He was holding onto the hatred he felt for his colleagues for abandoning him in Riverbend without any contact or support. Penhall had been his best friend since he joined the Jump Street program and he really could not imagine his life without him. His feelings for Harry and Judy were less extreme, but he had always valued their friendship. Exhaling loudly, he gave Booker a resigned look. “Fine. If they drop by again I’ll talk to them.”
Smiling, Booker looked at the clock. “Hungry?” he asked, when he saw the time.
Tom thought about it for a moment. “Yeah I am,” he decided.
“What do you feel like?” Booker asked, as he started rummaging through his pantry to see what he could offer.
“Pizza,” Tom suggested, holding up his arms. “I can eat that without help.”
Closing the pantry door, Dennis walked over to Hanson. “I don’t want you to be worrying about that,” he said softly, his mind casting back to Harry’s comment about Tom never asking for assistance. “If you need help with anything I want you to ask. I don’t really know what you can and can’t do and I don’t want to be hovering over you like an over protective moth—” About to say mother, Dennis immediately stopped speaking, his face flushing pink at his thoughtless blunder.
“It’s okay Dennis,” Tom assured him quietly. “My mom’s always been that way so I’m not upset by her reaction. If she wants to choose her God over me, so be it.”
“Oh,” Booker replied, unable to believe that a mother would do that. His own parents were so loving and supportive, it was forever a surprise when he witnessed the contrary. Grinning, he picked up the phone. “Do you like pepperoni?” he asked, effectively changing the subject away from Hanson’s mom.
“Whatever you like,” Tom replied with a smile. As Dennis phoned through their order, Tom wandered around the room looking at the small number of personal items that were scattered on various surfaces. When he had last been in Booker’s home, he had been too depressed to pay much notice to his surroundings. Stopping at the bookcase beside the door, he stared at a photograph of Booker standing next to a tall, handsome, fair-haired man. Dressed in ski suits, the men had their arms around each other whilst holding onto their skis. Both looked relaxed and happy and Hanson suddenly realized that he knewnothing about Dennis’ personal life. When he heard Booker hang up the phone, he nodded towards the picture. “Who’s that?” he asked.
A sad smile played over Dennis’ lips. “That’s Ben, he was my last boyfriend.”
Tom studied the photo again before turning back to Booker. “How long did you date?” he inquired curiously.
“Two years, give or take,” Booker replied, walking over to Tom and picking up the picture. He trailed a finger over the glass. “He was really special.”
“What happened?” Tom asked softly, touched by the love shining out of Booker’s dark eyes.
Placing the photo back on the shelf, Booker turned away. “He died,” he replied quietly. “Drunk driver.”
“Oh Jesus Dennis, I’m sorry,” Tom muttered, feeling terrible for asking.
Giving Hanson a small smile, Booker sighed heavily. “It’s okay, it was a year ago, I’ve learned to live with it.”
Thinking back, Tom realized that Dennis had joined the Jump Street program only six months after his lover had died. He immediately felt ashamed of the way he had tried to isolate Booker from the rest of the officers because he had not trusted him. Through experience, Tom knew how soul destroying it was to feel completely alone and he wished he had offered Dennis the hand of friendship instead of pushing him away all those months ago. Hesitating for just a moment, Tom placed his arms awkwardly around Dennis’ waist and gave him a light squeeze. “I’m sorry about Ben and I’m sorry I wasn’t nicer to you when we first met.”
Tears glistened in Booker’s eyes and he returned the hug. “The past is the past,” he murmured. “It’s the present that’s important.”
As he rested his head on Dennis’ shoulder, Tom marveled at how completely comfortable it felt to have Dennis Booker’s arms wrapped protectively around him.
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Poor Tom