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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
- 15
- 16
- 17
Even though Tom had slept for most of the afternoon, both he and Booker went to bed early. They had a disrupted sleep as Tom woke several times throughout the night. The first few times were because of the discomfort from the arm splints but the last time was from a devastating nightmare that had him screaming hysterically before waking up drenched in sweat. As Booker gently consoled him, he cast a glance at the clock and saw that it was almost 5am. Sweeping Tom’s sweaty hair back from his face, he gave him a tender smile. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Sniffing loudly, Tom nodded and tried to wipe his tear-stained face with his damaged arm. Booker gently intervened by using his thumb to lovingly brush away the salty tears that trickled down Tom’s soft skin. “Do you want to shower and freshen up? You can always go back to bed afterwards,” he asked softly.
“Yeah,” Tom replied quietly. “But um, I’m going to need some help.”
Dennis climbed out of bed and waited for Tom to stand up. Unstrapping the arm splints, he carefully unwound the two thick, white bandages. After removing the gauze, Booker bit down hard on his lower lip to contain his distress. The damage to Tom’s inner arms was extensive. A raised, angry red scar ran from elbow to wrist down both forearms. Smaller scars from cigarette burns and the self-mutilation peppered the remaining flesh. The injuries were so extensive that Booker knew the scars would never completely fade and that they would be a permanent reminder to Tom for the rest of his life.
“Pretty grim huh?” Tom murmured as he took in Booker’s shocked gaze.
In a trance, Booker trailed his finger lightly up and down the long scar on Tom’s left arm. “Does it hurt?” he asked, unable to take his eyes off the angry, red weal.
Tom’s breathing became heavy and a shiver of pleasure ran down his spine as he shook his head. It had been so long since someone had touched him so tenderly. He had received comforting touches and strokes from Booker before but not like this. The intimacy of Dennis finger gently caressing his scar was electrifying and for the first time since his attack, he felt a stirring in his groin. Confusion clouded his mind and he swiftly yanked his arm away. The movement pulled Booker out of his daze and he stared at Tom with wide eyes. “Oh jeez Tommy, I didn’t mean anything!” he exclaimed quickly, worried that he had overstepped the boundaries of their friendship.
Staring back in bewilderment, Hanson’s breathing remained rapid. “I…” was all he could manage before he hurriedly exited the bedroom. Sitting back on the edge of the bed, Booker held his head in his hands and cursed inwardly. He had not meant to unnerve Tom with the intimacy of his touch; it was just that he was mesmerized that the jagged wound could have ultimately been responsible for draining the life’s blood from Hanson’s body. It was a slap in the face wake up call as to how fragile the human existence really was and at the age of twenty-two, Dennis suddenly became aware of his own mortality.
**
Hanson sat on the couch with his knees drawn up. The TV remote lay loosely in his right hand as he attempted to press the tiny button with his thumb in an effort to switch the unit on. Since he had started spending time with Booker and seen his true nature, Tom had found his new friend was never far from his thoughts. He felt perplexed by the depths of his feelings towards his colleague and he was not sure if it was gratitude or something more. When Doctor Lewis told him he could finally have a friend to visit him in Brentwood, the first name that sprang to mind was Booker’s and not Penhall’s as he would have expected. He and Doug had been through a lot together as working partners and best friends and yet it was the man who he barely knew that was always foremost in his mind. He had considered speaking to his psychologist about it but he felt too embarrassed, given his circumstances. It seemed ludicrous to Hanson that after he had suffered prolonged, violent rapes, that he might now have feelings for another man. He had never been attracted to men before but there was something very different about Booker, something that subtly drew him in. He wondered if subconsciously, that was why he had been so distant and unfriendly when they had first met. Maybe his subliminal mind knew that he was attracted to the handsome, tough looking cop and had tried to steer him gently away from his homosexual feelings. Shaking his head slightly, Tom began to wonder if he had spent too much time in therapy.
Several minutes passed before Dennis walked into the living room. He gently took the remote out of Hanson’s hand and pushed the red button. The television flickered to life and a woman’s face appeared on the screen as she read the early morning news. Sitting down, Booker tossed the controller onto the coffee table. “I’m sorry,” he sighed sadly. “I really didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
Turning his head, Tom gazed at Booker quizzically. “When did you know you were gay?” he asked bluntly.
Dennis’ face reddened. “Um, technically I’m not,” he replied, chewing on his lower lip self-consciously. “I’m bi-sexual, I like both sexes.”
Tom sighed impatiently. “But when did you know you liked men?” he pressed, too caught up in his own thoughts to care if he was being impertinent.
Pushing back his hair, Dennis thought about Tom’s question. “I don’t know, middle school maybe. Or maybe I always knew. It’s not an easy question to answer Tom.”
Hanson dropped his eyes whilst he thought about Booker’s answer. Lifting his head, he once again meant Dennis gaze. “And you like me in that way,” he stated quietly.
“Tom…” Booker pleaded before pausing and roughly rubbing his face with his hands. “I said I was sorry, can we just drop it?”
When Hanson answered, his voice was barely audible. “I felt something… something stirred when you ran your finger across my scar.”
Booker’s heart felt like it was about to explode as his pulse rate quickened. Trying to keep his voice steady, he gave Tom what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “That doesn’t mean anything Tommy, you’ve been through a lot and it could just be because—”
“But maybe I felt something ‘cause I know you have feelings for me,” Tom persisted, unable to let the matter drop. “Maybe I wanted to feel something or maybe I do feel something.”
Booker stood up, unable to believe what he was about to say. "I’m sorry Tommy, but I’m starting to think that you living here isn’t such a good idea,” he whispered. “The last thing I want to do is cause you any more emotional upset.”
“You want me to leave?” Tom asked, wide-eyed with shock.
“No!” Booker exclaimed as he started to pace back and forth across the floor in agitation. “I don’t want you to leave but damn it Hanson, I won’t do anything to jeopardize your recovery. I couldn’t live with myself if I caused you any undue stress but I can’t help the way I feel! I think I started to fall in love with you the first time I met you. I want to take care of you but I won’t always be able to hide my feelings and I don’t want to confuse you! So maybe it would just be best if you went and lived with Penhall.”
Tom’s lower lip protruded into a soft pout. “I don’t want to live with Penhall. I want to live with you,” he sulked like a small child.
“Oh Jesus,” Dennis moaned quietly. Tom looked so gorgeous that Booker could barely contain himself. When Hanson gave him a cheeky grin, he knew he had lost the battle. “Fucking hell Hanson, I hope you know what you’re doing,” he murmured, returning Tom’s smile.
Tom shrugged his shoulders. “Not really, but I’m sure Doctor Lewis will take great delight in explaining it to me.”
Booker did not see the funny side of Hanson statement. Although Hanson had hinted that there was a chance something might develop between them, Dennis did not see how it could possibly happen. Tom’s first homosexual encounter had been violent, painful and terrifying. Booker knew that any association could trigger an unwanted memory and send Tom’s fragile state mind spiraling out of control again. He did not want to be responsible for any relapses that Hanson might have during the course of his recovery. However, he also knew that deep down, he wanted an intimate relationship with Tom and that if Hanson made advances, he would find it extremely difficult to refuse him.
Seeing the conflict in Booker’s eyes, Tom let the matter drop. “Maybe the shower can wait,” he suggested wisely.
“Good idea,” Dennis replied, the relief evident in his voice. “How about breakfast? Is oatmeal okay?”
Tom’s face flushed pink. “I have a bit of trouble holding a spoon so…”
“So I help you,” Booker replied with a smile, glad that the conversation had returned to something he could cope with. “Isn't that what I’m here for?”
A look of sadness washed over Tom’s face. “Is that why you think I need you?” he asked quietly.
Booker mentally kicked himself. He had been so relieved that the sexual tension was over that he had flippantly suggested that he was nothing more than Tom’s carer. “That’s not what I meant,” he replied quickly.
Tom’s brown eyes bore into Booker’s. “I need you because you’re my friend and without you, I wouldn’t be here. I owe you my life Dennis, I want you to know that.”
Feeling tears pricking at his eyes, Booker hurriedly pulled his emotions in check. “I know Tommy, but I want you to know that I don’t mind helping you with things you have trouble with. All you have to do is ask.”
Hanson gave a lopsided smile. “Deal. So, about the oatmeal…”
Booker laughed, grateful that the tension was once again broken. “Are you saying you need me to help you?” he asked.
Tom snorted with amusement. “Yes, I need you to help me,” he replied, all feelings of embarrassment now forgotten. He watched as Dennis warmed milk in a saucepan and stirred through the oats before pouring it into a bowl. Carrying it over to the couch, Booker sat down next to Hanson. Just as Booker started to move a spoonful towards his mouth, Hanson stopped him. “Wait. Maybe we could try you helping me hold the spoon.”
“Okay,” Dennis replied, placing the spoon in Hanson’s fingers. Tom’s grip was loose so Booker gently wrapped his own hand around Tom’s, holding the spoon in place. “Ready?” he asked. Hanson nodded his assent and together they guided the spoon into Tom’s mouth. When Tom had finished, Booker took the bowl back to the kitchen and retrieved Tom’s medication. Filling a mug with water, he carried them back to the couch and sat down. When he placed the pills in Hanson’s palm, he noticed a flicker of humiliation in his friend’s eyes. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of Tommy,” Booker reassured. “Loads of people take antidepressants.”
“I know,” Hanson mumbled. “I just feel…”
His voice trailed off and Dennis did not push. Placing the handle of the cup in Tom’s fingers, he wrapped his own hand around to hold if firm. When Tom had swallowed the pills, Booker put the mug on the table. “Do you want to take that shower?” he asked, keeping his voice composed.
Tom’s brown eyes flickered with an unreadable emotion and he nodded silently. Standing up, the two men walked into the bathroom. Trying to keep his nerves out of his voice, Booker spoke first. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
Swallowing deeply, Tom could not quite meet Dennis’ gaze. “Um, we’ll do it how they did it at Brentwood. I need you to turn on the shower and I need help getting out of my clothes,” he murmured. When Booker nodded, he continued. “If you put shower gel in my hands I can wash myself but I have trouble washing my hair so…”
When Tom did not continue, Booker said the words for him. “You need me to wash your hair. Okay, I can do that but um, Tommy, do I get in the shower with you?”
Once again, embarrassment clouded Tom’s eyes. “You don’t have to, we can do it over the sink if you want.”
“No,” Booker replied slowly. “The shower would be easier but only if you’re okay with it.”
“I’m okay with it,” Tom muttered. He began to wonder why he was having trouble breathing and he suddenly realized his palms were sweating. It had not been this difficult in Brentwood. The nurses were matter-of-fact about the whole procedure; it was just part of their job and they got on with it without any fuss. But Booker was so considerate and worried about offending him that it made the process much more intimate. He felt his legs begin to shake and he took in several deep, calming breaths to steady his nerves. He suddenly felt terrified that having Dennis’ hands touching him whilst he stood naked would cause his body to react and he would start to get aroused.
The sound of Booker turning on the faucets brought Tom back to reality. He watched as Booker pulled off his t-shirt and he marveled at the officer’s muscular chest. Immediately he felt weak and frail. He had lost so much weight since his breakdown and even though he had never been big, he knew he was now underweight. His lower lip began to tremble as he fought back tears. He screwed his eyes shut in an effort to prevent the tears from falling. He jumped slightly when he felt Dennis embrace him. “Hey,” Booker murmured in his ear. “If it’s too difficult, we can leave it ‘til later.”
Tom could hear the water cascading in the shower and the bathroom slowly began to fill with steam. Drawing back, he gave Booker a faint smile. “If I don’t do it now, when will I do it?” he asked. Taking a few moments to pull himself together, he managed a genuine grin. “It’s now or never, let’s do it.”
Raising his arms, he allowed Booker to pull his t-shirt over his head. Turning to face the shower cubicle, he felt Dennis slowly drag down his boxers. Stepping out of the cotton fabric, he stood naked as Booker squirted shower gel into his palms. He stepped into the shower and immediately ducked his head under the water to hide the red flush that had crept over his face. Rubbing his hands awkwardly together, he lathered up his body, removing the stale sweat of his nightmare. Glancing sideways, he noticed that Booker had drawn the curtain to give him some privacy. He sighed with relief and slowly began to relax and enjoy the warm water flooding over his body and easing his aches and pains. After ten minutes he knew he could not put it off any longer. “Dennis?” he called out softly.
“I’m here,” Dennis replied, pulling back the curtain. “Are you ready?”
Tom nodded and closing his eyes, he heard Booker enter the cubicle and close the curtain. After several moments, he felt gentle fingers massaging his scalp and he let out a tranquil sigh. Once again he was surprised at the tenderness of Booker’s touch. The undercover cop too often displayed an arrogant, tough exterior, which belied his true nature. Tom relaxed his shoulders and leaned back against Booker’s muscular body. The contact had his stomach doing flip-flops and once again, he felt his cock begin to stir.
But as soon as the body contact was made, it was immediately lost as Booker took a step backwards, his heart hammering in his chest as he felt his cock swelling. He could only hope that Tom had not felt the hardness pushing against him. Realizing that he needed to call a halt to their showering escapade, he rinsed off Tom’s hair and turned off the faucets. Yanking back the curtain, he stepped out and wrapped a towel around his waist. Grabbing another towel, he held it out in front of him, averting his eyes as Tom exited the shower. Draping the towel around Hanson’s waist, he tucked in the corner and stepped back, sighing with relief that the uncomfortable encounter was finally over. When he finally met Tom’s gaze, he saw amusement in the young officer’s eyes. “What?” he asked, unclear as to why Tom would find the situation funny.
“Am I just supposed to drip dry?” Tom asked, his eyes twinkling with mirth.
“Oh… shit,” Booker muttered. He raked his fingers through his steam-dampened hair. “Um Tommy, I um—”
“It’s okay Dennis,” Tom murmured. “I felt something too.”
Booker stared back with wide eyes. “You did? Jesus Tom, I really don’t think this is a good—”
“Stop saying that!” Hanson exclaimed loudly. “I’m not a fucking child Booker. Yes, I was raped. Yes, I tried to take my own life. Yes, I’m probably going to need therapy for a very long time but that does not mean I’m incapable of making my own decisions! I don’t know why I’m starting to feel these things when you touch me and I don’t know if I could ever take it further. But I do know that it’s you I want helping me through it all. Damn it Dennis, I just need you to stop worrying about it!”
Booker’s face registered the shock he felt at Tom’s declaration. Breathing deeply, he met Tom’s angry gaze. “You’re really okay with this?”
Sighing deeply, Tom softened his expression. “How many times do I have to say it? But you’ve got to understand, I’m not promising anything. I don’t know if I can have a relationship with another man, I just know that I want you in my life.”
Smiling, Booker pulled Tom into a tight embrace. “I can live with that,” he murmured. “Now let’s get you dry before you freeze to death.”
Tom stood still and let Dennis rub him down with the towel. After drying himself off, Booker led Hanson into the bedroom and helped him to dress. Taking out clean, white bandages, he lifted Tom’s left arm. “Wait,” Hanson instructed. “Before you put the splints back on can you help me with my physio?”
“Sure,” Booker replied. “Just tell me what to do.”
After explaining the exercises, Tom sat on the bed and laid both his arms on his thighs with his palms facing upwards. He watched as Dennis gently curled and uncurled his fingers. After a few minutes, Booker took turns lifting each finger and holding it for five seconds before releasing it. Hanson smiled when he saw the concentration on Dennis’ face. His world had changed dramatically over the last few months and he knew that he would never be the same Thomas Hanson who had walked into Riverbend searching for a murderer. But as he looked at Booker gently working his fingers, he felt that maybe something good was about to emerge from the debris of his shattered life.
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Poor Tom