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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
- 18
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Arriving back home sweaty and in need of a shower, Booker tossed his keys into the metal bowl and glanced at the clock. He had been gone approximately eighty minutes and Tom’s session would just be finishing up. Deciding that he had time to for a shower, Booker stripped off and walked into the bathroom. Within fifteen minutes, he was refreshed and dressed again in T-shirt and jeans. Throwing his sweaty clothes into the hamper, he walked into the living room and over to the couch. Looking down, he saw one of Tom’s splints lying on the seat. He immediately felt a sharp stabbing pain in his heart. Picking up the splint, he wished more than anything that he could take back the hurtful words he had directed at Tom. Gazing around the room, he saw the other splint lying by the wall. Tears filled his eyes as he envisioned Tom trying but failing to strap on the plastic supports. He made up his mind that as soon as Hanson walked through the door, he would immediately apologize for his behavior.
Sitting down, he flicked on the TV and stared at it mindlessly as he waiting for Tom to come home. When the clock struck twelve, Booker felt a cold tingle of concern. Tom’s therapy should have finished at eleven and even factoring in the time he would have to wait for a cab, Dennis knew it should not take an hour to get back to the apartment. In an attempt to calm himself, he persuaded himself that Hanson had need some air to clear his mind, just as he himself had. Convinced that Tom would walk through the door at any moment, Booker started to make lunch, knowing that Hanson would be hungry when he arrived home. When one o’clock came and went, Dennis started to panic. He paced the floor of the apartment wondering what he should do. As the clock struck two, Booker snatched up the phone and dialed Doctor Lewis’ office. He spoke to the receptionist who confirmed that Tom had left the office at just after eleven o’clock. Slamming down the phone, Booker snatched up his keys and ran out of the apartment. Jumping in his car, he screeched out of the car park and down the road towards Lewis’ office complex. He scrutinized every cab that passed, hoping to see Tom sitting in the passenger seat. When he arrived at the psychologist’s rooms, he parked the car and started walking the pavements, peering into cafés and diners on the off chance that Hanson had stopped to get something to eat. When his search did not find any sign of Hanson, he walked back to his car and drove home.
Pulling into his parking space, Booker checked his watch. It was now almost half past three. Stepping out of the lift, he saw Tom sitting on the floor outside their apartment. Although relief flooded through his body, he did not quicken his pace, instead he walked slowly down the hallway, clenching and unclenching his fists. When he reached Tom, his good intentions disappeared and all the fear and anxiety he had felt over the last few hours came pouring out in an angry tirade. “Where the hell have you been?” he yelled. “I’ve been out of my fucking mind!”
“I went for a walk,” Tom replied moodily, not daring to meet Booker’s enraged glare. “I didn’t know I had to get your permission.”
“Jesus Christ Tom, I thought you of all people would have had the decency to let me know! Why are you behaving like a selfish prick?” Booker spat back.
“I didn’t think you’d care,” Tom mumbled. “I just wanted a bit of independence.”
“Really?” Booker replied sarcastically. “And how is that working out for you Tom, huh? You’re sitting on the floor outside your door ‘cause you can’t get the fucking key in the lock! Why won’t you just admit that you need me?”
“Because I’m tired of needing people!” Tom cried out as he clambered to his feet. “I don’t want to be fragile, disabled Tom, I want to be how I used to be!”
Booker’s expression hardened. “Yeah? Well maybe you should have thought of that before you sliced open your arms with a razor blade.”
When Tom’s eyes filled with tears, Dennis knew he had crossed a line. He did not even know why he was fighting with Tom anymore. Just hours before he had made himself a promise that he would apologize to Hanson as soon as he found him. But now he was attacking him again, unable to keep his angry thoughts to himself. Looking at Tom’s teary face, he pulled out his key and unlocked the door. “I think you’re right,” he said quietly. “We do need some time apart. I’m going for a drink, I’ll be home later,” and turning away, he walked back down the hallway.
**
Draining his fifth glass of beer, Booker threw several bills on the bar and nodded to the barman to fill him up. It was six o’clock and he still did not feel like going home. His anger had slowly faded but the wounds were still raw and he was afraid if he went back to the apartment, the argument would reignite. His plan was to get home after Tom had gone to bed and take the couch for the night. Things would look different in the morning and then he and Tom could sit down and calmly talk about any issues they felt they needed to discuss.
Taking a large gulp of beer, Booker was glad he had decided to walk to the bar, as he knew that by the end of the night he would be too drunk to drive. He felt depressed and he knew Tom would be feeling the same. For a fraction of a second, his mind turned to Hanson’s suicide attempt but he pushed the thought away. He was confident that a silly argument would not be enough to push Tom over the edge. Hanson had come a long way since he had left Brentwood and over the last few days, there had been flickers of the Hanson of old. Dennis knew if they could get over this little hurdle, Tom would continue to flourish.
As the hours passed, Booker started to slow down his drinking. He did not want to be suffering with a hangover in the morning. It was imperative that he kept a clear head so he and Tom could air their grievances and move on. Checking his watch, he was surprised to see that it was almost ten o’clock. Emptying his glass, he thanked the bartender and walked out into the cool night air. Walking the short distance to Tom’s apartment, he wondered if Hanson had managed to eat something. There was cold pizza in the refrigerator so he hoped he had at least eaten a couple of slices. Guilt about having left Tom for so long made him quicken his pace, all he wanted now was to get home and check that Hanson was okay.
Unlocking the door, Booker switched on the light. The apartment looked the same as when he had left it. Walking into the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and checked the pizza box but none of the slices had been touched. Sighing, he walked towards the open bedroom door. Standing in the doorway, he listened carefully but he could not hear any sound of Tom breathing. Tiptoeing in, his heart leaped into his throat when he saw that the bed was empty. Switching on the light, he frantically gazed around him. Suddenly fearing that Tom had tried to shower and had slipped and fallen, he ran into the bathroom but that too was vacant. His relief at not finding Tom laying hurt on the floor was short lived when he realized that he had no idea where Hanson was. Running back into the living room, he noticed that Tom’s splints were not on the couch where he had left them. Going back into the bathroom, he saw that Hanson’s toothbrush was missing. Comprehension slowly dawned and he knew that Tom had left. Sinking to the floor, he held his head in his hands and started to sob. His grief was overwhelming as he only had himself to blame. He had lashed out at Tom so viciously when what he should have done was show love and understanding. His own insecurities had triggered his cruel words; he wanted Tom to feel the same depth of love that he felt and knowing that Hanson was reluctant to publicize their relationship was soul destroying. But it had been Booker’s possessiveness and jealousy that had ultimately been his undoing. Tom was gone and he was alone.
The loud ring of the telephone had him scrambling to his feet. Running out of the bathroom, he picked up the receiver. “TOMMY!” he yelled. There was silence on the end of the phone and then the sound of a man clearing his throat. “Um Booker, it’s Penhall.”
“Oh God Penhall, Tommy’s gone! Tommy’s gone!” Dennis cried hysterically.
Penhall’s voice sounded uncomfortable. “I know,” he replied quietly. “He asked me to come and get him. He er, he wants to stay with me.”
Doug’s words penetrated deep into Booker’s heart. “No,” he whispered, as tears trickled down his cheeks. “Please Penhall, let me speak to him, it was a misunderstanding, I—”
“He’s asleep,” Penhall answered quickly. “I think maybe it would be best if you just backed off for a while.”
Booker started to weep openly. “It was just a misunderstanding, oh God… it was just a misunderstanding! Please Doug… please! I need to talk to him!”
“I’m sorry,” Doug muttered. “But I have to think of Tom.” Booker heard the soft click of Doug hanging up and then there was only silence.
Replacing the receiver on the cradle, Booker stared with sightless eyes out of the window. His mind and body felt numb, unwilling to process the information that he had lost a second lover in the space of only eight months. Slowly, the numbness dissipated and he felt a painful pang in his heart. Crawling onto the couch, he sobbed uncontrollably into the cushion. He had given up everything and the only thing he had to show for it was a broken heart.
**
Days passed and Booker walked around in a zombie like state, unable to eat or sleep. He stared for hours at the telephone, willing Tom to ring him but it stayed obstinately silent. On the eighth day, Booker started to pull himself out of his depression. He needed to make some decisions about his life. When he had agreed to take care of Tom, he had given up his home and for a short time, his job. His savings were starting to dwindle now that he did not have access to Hanson’s income. The rent on the apartment was due and Booker did not know if Tom would pay it or if he even intended to return to his home. For the briefest of moments, Dennis considered returning to Jump Street but he quickly pushed the idea aside. He could not face Penhall, Ioki and Hoffs on a daily basis, knowing how he had let Tom down. Another idea occurred to him and picking up the phone, he placed a call to his old boss at Internal Affairs. After their conversation had ended, Booker hung up the phone. Things were slowly starting to fall into place. Snatching up the newspaper that lay on the couch, he turned to the real estate section and started perusing the rental ads.
- 18
- 19
- 20
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Poor Tom