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Chasing a Butterfly	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 2592 -:- 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
Thursday October 19^th 1989 (7.50 a.m.)
All that remained of the previous night’s storm were bluish-gray Altostratus clouds that blanketed the sky. Sunlight penetrated through the wispy white layer, creating dancing rainbows on the glistening sidewalks as people hurried to work. The traffic was slow at that time of the morning and for Booker, it was a frustratingly long drive to the hospital. However, the extended journey allowed him time to think about what he would say to Tom when they finally came face to face for the first time since his rape. Are you okay? was a ridiculously clichéd question to ask given the circumstances because it was blindly obvious that Tom was anything but okay and yet how are you? seemed just as offensive and inappropriate. The last thing he wanted to do was cause Tom any undue emotional stress and as he slowly drove through the peak hour traffic, he absently chewed on his lower lip, his face a mask of absolute concentration. However, despite his best efforts, by the time he arrived at the hospital, the best greeting he had come up with was a lame hey.
He parked the patrol car he had borrowed in the underground lot and walked up the stairs into the hospital’s main foyer. It was an hour before official visiting hours, so he showed his badge at reception and rode the lift up to the third floor. His heart hammered rapidly in his chest as he approached Tom’s private room and he paused a few feet from the door so he could gather his wits. Several long moments passed before he was confident he had his emotions in check and with a deep, calming breath, he strode through the door wearing a fake smile. “Hey…”
But when his eyes locked with Tom’s, the rest of his feeble greeting froze on his lips. “Oh Tommy,” he murmured, the pain and heartache evident in his voice, and moving forward, he placed a gentle hand on his friend's arm. “I’m so sorry.”
Tears welled in Tom’s dark eyes but he did not break down, instead, he forced a watery smile. “I’m okay,” he croaked. “I deserved it and it’s not like I’ve never had a man’s coc—”
“Don’t,” Booker spluttered, his eyes opening wide in horror. “You didn’t deserve it and it’s not the same thing. It’s never the same thing Tom, never.”
“Isn’t it?” Tom whispered, his haunted eyes appearing huge in his pale, drawn face. “Because it feels like the same thing to me.”
Confused by Hanson’s reasoning, Booker gave his friend a worried look. “Tommy, you do remember what happened in the cells don’t you?”
Another weak smile played over Tom’s cracked lips. “I was raped,” he stated matter-of-factly, “by some overweight piece of shit named Manning.”
“That’s right,” Booker replied slowly, “and that’s not the same as having sex for…” He paused for a moment, unsure if using the word pleasure was the right way to describe Tom’s sexual liaisons. The word money then popped into his mind but that seemed even more insulting and so he left his sentence hanging in the hope that Tom would know what he meant without him actually having to say it.
Closing his eyes, Tom let out a weary sigh. “It doesn’t matter how you try and spin it Dennis, either way, I feel like a whore. Manning fucked me just like all those other men did and the only difference is, he didn’t wear a rubber.”
The starkness of Tom’s words cut to the very core of Booker’s being and he struggled to maintain his composure. There was a very real chance Tom could have contracted an STD or worse, and a cold shiver of fear ran down his spine. But the harsh reality was too much for him to deal with at that moment and pulling up a chair, he sat down at Hanson’s bedside and gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m sure you’ll be fine,” he started but when his gaze settled on the handcuff attached to his friend’s wrist, his eyebrows shot up in surprise and he stopped mid sentence before exclaiming, “What the hell?”
Tom opened his eyes and following Booker’s line of vision, he held up his tethered wrist and jangled the cuff against the metal bedrail. “I had a visit from Ioki late last night,” he stated in a soft voice. “I guess he thinks I’m a flight risk.”
“Sonofabitch,” Booker muttered under his breath, although in his heart he knew if Tom were any other prisoner, he would have done the same thing.
Seemingly unperturbed by his confinement, Tom shrugged his shoulders. “It doesn’t matter, not anymore.”
Unsure how to respond, Booker remained quiet and an awkward silence hung in the air until Tom spoke again. “How’s your head?”
Booker’s fingers instinctively went to the wound on the back of his head and he probed the large gash that lay hidden beneath his dark hair. “I’ll live,” he replied flatly, “but it was quite a bump you gave me.”
Sensing a hint of anger in Booker’s voice, Tom gave him a quizzical look. “I’m sorry but you know I had to make it look convincing, otherwise there was no point.”
Booker returned a questioning gaze. “What the hell are you talking about?” he asked gruffly.
Tom’s eyes widened in surprise and reaching out his untethered arm, he placed a hand on Booker’s knee. “You know I only hit you so the cops would believe I kidnapped you… right?”
At Tom’s words, Booker’s expression hardened and he pushed his friend‘s hand from his knee. “Don’t bullshit me Hanson, you pistol-whipped me and knocked me out. There’s no excuse for what you did.”
Exhaling in frustration, Tom tried once again to explain his reasons. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. If anyone ever found out you willingly came on the run with me, you would have lost your job and been charged with aiding and abetting a criminal. I gave you an out.”
Doubt clouded Booker’s eyes and he shook his head slowly from side to side. “I don’t believe you,” he replied in a cold voice. “You had nothing to gain by doing that.”
Hanson lowered his eyes and his bottom lip pushed into a soft pout. “I didn’t do it for me, I did it for you.”
Although desperate to believe, Booker was not convinced. “I’m sorry Tommy but—”
Tom’s body shot forward in the bed. “YOU SAID I WAS A SELFISH PRICK AND THAT I DIDN’T KNOW THE MEANING OF LOVE!” he screamed unexpectedly, his dark eyes flashing with emotion. “I WANTED TO PROVE TO YOU THAT I COULD LOVE… DON’T YOU SEE? I DID IT FOR YOU! I DID IT ALL FOR YOU!”
A slow realization dawned on Booker and his voice trembled with emotion. “The convenience store robbery, did you plan it so you’d get caught?”
Unable to meet Booker’s incredulous look, Tom’s eyes remained focused on the blanket covering his thin body. “I needed to get arrested so I could tell the cops where you were,” he muttered moodily. “I needed to make sure you were okay.”
Getting slowly to his feet, Booker sat on the edge of the bed and gazed at Tom’s bowed head. “You could have just made a phone call,” he stated softly.
A single tear spilled from Tom’s eye and landed on the white cotton blanket. “No I couldn’t,” he whispered. “I needed…”
His voice trailed off and his eyes remained stubbornly downcast until Booker’s gentle voice cut through the silence. “Jesus Christ, I get it now, you needed absolution for Amy’s death.”
Tom lifted his head and gazed at his friend with two wide, disbelieving eyes. “H-How do you know about Amy?”
A small conspiratorial smile graced Booker’s lips. “I’m a cop, I know everything.”
Tom’s shoulders slumped and he fell back against the pillows with a sigh. “Fucking Harry.”
Booker nodded. “He told me last night and I realized there was something weird about you holding up the convenience store but I only just put two and two together… I’m right aren’t I, you wanted your road to redemption to begin in the same setting that Amy’s life ended?”
A startled look animated Tom’s pale face before his lips twitched into a small smile. “Has anyone ever told you you’re scarily insightful?”
“All the time,” Booker replied with a chuckle before his expression once again became serious. “But Tom, you can’t take the rap, you didn’t kidnap me. It’s a lie.”
“My whole life’s a lie,” Tom murmured softly, his eyes brimming with sadness. “One more isn’t going to make any difference, not now. Even if the negligent homicide charge doesn’t stick, I’m still going to prison for dealing drugs. There’s no saving me, but you have your whole life ahead of you so why ruin it? It’s the perfect plan.”
“No it’s not,” Booker stated forcefully. “I won’t have you taking the blame for something you didn’t do.”
Tom’s lip pushed into a petulant pout. “Why won’t you let me do this? I want to prove to you that I’m not a bad person and that I’m worthy of your lov—”
So caught up in the heat of the argument, Booker did not hear Tom’s near slip of the tongue. “I already know you’re not a bad person!” he exclaimed loudly. “Jesus Christ Tom, this is bullshit and I won’t be a part of it!”
When Tom continued to stare back sullenly, Booker tried a different tact. “Do you feel responsible for Amy’s death? Is that why you started taking drugs?”
Too emotionally drained and physically sore to deal with Booker’s thinly veiled attempt to psychoanalyze him, Tom quickly shut him out by closing his eyes. “I’m through talking,” he muttered moodily. “I’m tired.”
Although not willing to let the matter drop, Booker did not want to push too hard whilst Tom was still so mentally vulnerable. “Okay, I’ll come back later, but we’re not through talking about this.”
Tom’s eyes remained obstinately closed and with one final glance at his friend, Booker turned and left the room.
****
Thursday October 19^th 1989 (2.15 p.m.)
Lifting the pint glass to his lips, Booker drank a large measure of the amber fluid before he replied to Harry’s question. “Do I think he’s well enough to travel? No I don’t.”
A heavy scowl creased Ioki’s brow and he slammed his drink down on the table. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” he shot back angrily. “For fuck’s sake Booker, when are you going to stop protecting him?”
An uncomfortable silence hung between the two men but eventually, Booker spoke again. “You asked for my opinion and I gave it. He’s been through hell Harry, can’t you cut him a little slack?”
Ioki’s expression softened somewhat and he let out a sigh. “I know he has and trust me Dennis, I feel bad about what he’s going through. But we have a responsibility to get him back to L.A. and I figure the sooner we do it, the better for all of us.”
Booker glared back at his partner. “Better for everyone except Tom,” he muttered morosely. “He’s facing years in prison.”
It was not easy for Ioki to keep his temper but for Booker’s sake, he tried, and placing his trembling hands flat on the table, he withheld the exasperated sigh that threatened to expel from his pursed lips. “We’re cops, our job is to bring in the bad guys and Hanson’s a bad guy whether you want to admit it to yourself or not.”
Tom’s words echoed in Booker’s mind, “Why won’t you let me do this? I want to prove to you that I’m not a bad person,” and his stomach churned with indecision. He could give his friend the sense of atonement he was so desperately seeking but in doing so, he would add years to his prison sentence, or he could own up to his own lapse in judgment and risk losing his job. There was a third option but as soon as the thought entered his mind, he quickly pushed the idea away. He had already made one monumental transgression; there was no point in adding fuel to an already blazing fire.
Pushing his empty glass across the table, he gave Harry what he hoped was a beseeching look. “Give him another twenty-four hours, that’s all I ask.”
Harry considered Booker’s request for several moments before giving his answer. “Twenty-four hours,” he agreed quietly, “but not a minute more.”
Booker’s eyes shone with appreciation and a small smile played over his lips. “Thanks.”
- 14
- 15
- 16
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Chasing a Butterfly