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On the Wings of Maybe	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 1468 -:- 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
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Opening his eyes, Tom gazed around the brightly lit hospital room in confusion. Slowly, the memory of the day’s events filtered into his mind and he suddenly became aware of a dull pain in his shoulder. Looking down, he saw that a sling supported his left arm and an intravenous line pumped fluid into a vein in his right. Struggling to a sitting position, he slid his fingers inside the blue hospital gown and gently probed the bandaged wound. He grimaced as a sharp pain radiated around the area where the bullet had torn through his deltoid muscle and the surrounding connective tissue. Beads of perspiration broke out on his top lip and a wave of dizziness caused his vision to blur. Leaning forward, he concentrated on not throwing up and gradually the bilious feeling passed, leaving him feeling weak and shaky. As he wiped a trembling hand over his mouth, he tried to make sense of what had happened. Closing his eyes, he remembered Dennis screaming his name as the sound of a firing gun echoed across the school car park. His stomach lurched when he recalled strong hands grabbing him and throwing him to the ground just before a stray bullet struck his shoulder. When an image of Booker, lying bloody and motionless on the grass filled his mind, he finally lost the battle against his nausea and turning his head, he bent over the side of the bed and vomited violently onto the floor. As he retched up his last meal, tears of shame and regret filled his brown eyes. Booker’s injuries were his fault; he should never have let a petty argument impede his capabilities as a police officer. He was on assignment, he should have been vigilant but instead, he had let his guard down and allowed his emotions to interfere with his job. He had screwed up and now he had to face the real possibility that Dennis was dead because of his negligence.
Collapsing back against the flat hospital pillow, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as tears trickled down his face. His shoulder throbbed painfully but he felt no pity for himself. He deserved to be in pain because he had violated the police officers' code… he had failed his partner. It was an unforgivable sin within the force and he was prepared to take his punishment.
The sound of footsteps brought him back to the present and turning his head, he saw a young nurse enter his room. When she saw the vomit on the floor an expression of concern crossed her face and hurrying forward, she gently placed a cool hand against his flushed cheek. “Are you feeling nauseous?”
Hanson wiped a hand over his teary eyes and shook his head. “Not anymore,” he replied quietly. As the nurse turned away, he grabbed at her arm. “Please, can you tell me how my partner is?”
The nurse gave him a compassionate look, “I’m sorry, I don’t know. But there’s a police officer called Doug whose been pacing up and down outside your room for hours. Would you like to speak to him?”
Tom nodded his head. “Yeah," he muttered, “I would.”
“Okay,” the young nurse replied, “just let me clean up this mess and I’ll go and get him.”
Hanson remained silent as the nurse quickly mopped up the puddle of vomit at the side of his bed. When she was finished, she turned and faced him. “Are you in any pain?” she asked whilst holding his wrist in her hand so she could check his pulse.
“No,” Tom lied, “I’m fine. Please, I just want to see my friend.”
With a nod of her head, the nurse left the room. Several minutes later, Doug hurried through the door, his normally cheerful expression now showing signs of strain. “Jesus Hanson,” he muttered in a worried voice and pulling up a chair, he sat down at Tom’s bedside. “What the hell happened?”
Tom ignored Doug’s question. “Booker,” he spluttered, “is he okay?”
Penhall rubbed nervously at his chin. “He’s in intensive care,” he replied quietly.
The color drained from Tom’s face and he covered his mouth with his hand. “Shit,” he mumbled. “How bad is he?”
Sensing Tom’s distress, Doug leaned over and placing a comforting hand on his friend’s arm, he gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Hey,” he murmured, “you need to concentrate on getting better. I’m sure Booker will be fi—”
“It was my fault!” Tom cried out in anguish. “I was arguing with him and I didn’t even see the shooter. He pushed me out of the way and if it wasn’t for him, I’d be the one in intensive care… or worse, I could be dead! So for fuck’s sake Doug, tell me how he is!”
As fresh tears trickled down Tom’s face, Penhall stood up and gently pulled his friend into a clumsy embrace. “Shhh,” he comforted softly, “just remember, what I’m about to say sounds bad but the doctors are—”
“Doug please,” Tom sobbed wearily, “just tell me.”
“Okay,” Penhall sighed with resignation. “The bullet to Booker’s chest exited through his back and he’s had surgery to repair the damage. They also removed the bullet in his leg. Both surgeries went well but he hit his head when he fell and until he wakes up, they won’t know how bad the head injury is. That’s all I know. Fuller’s sitting with him because his parents are overseas and we haven’t been able to contact them.”
Tom struggled out of Doug’s arms and pulling back the sheet, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I need… to see him,” he panted as perspiration beaded on his forehead. “I need…”
When Tom’s eyes started to roll back, Penhall quickly intervened. Placing his hand on Tom’s uninjured shoulder, he gently pushed him back against the pillow. “You’re not going anywhere pal,” he replied in a firm voice. “You’ve had surgery and you need to take it easy for a few days.”
As Doug carefully lifted his legs back onto the bed and covered him with the thin, white hospital sheet, Tom threw an arm across his face and quietly sobbed. Never in his life had he felt so ashamed.
**
Tom stared morosely at the unappetizing meal on the plate in front of him and with a heavy sigh, he pushed the table away and sank back against his pillow. He had been in hospital for two days and although his wound was healing nicely, Booker’s prognosis was not so positive. His surgeries had been successful but the young officer remained in a coma and until he woke up, no one could predict if he would make a full recovery.
The sound of Penhall’s cheery voice calling out to the nurses pulled Tom from his thoughts. Looking up, he managed a small smile as Doug bounced into his room clutching a bouquet of limp flowers.
“For you!” Penhall exclaimed as he bowed theatrically.
“Thanks,” Tom replied quietly and taking the flowers, he placed them on the table next to his uneaten meal.
Pulling up a chair, Doug gave his friend a lopsided grin. “Why so glum chum?” he inquired merrily. “Haven’t you heard the news?”
“What news?” Tom asked dispassionately. “And just so you know Doug, I’m not really in the mood for any of your jokes.”
Doug pretended to look wounded before turning his attention to Tom’s uneaten food. “Are you done with this?”
Hanson let out a small chuckle. “Help yourself,” he replied and he watched in amusement as Doug shoveled down the cold meatloaf. “So what’s this news?”
Putting down his fork, Doug wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Booker,” he muttered through a mouthful of food, “he’s showing signs of waking up.”
Tom sat upright in bed with such force that pain shot through his injured shoulder. “Shit!” he gasped and leaning forward, he held onto his injured arm. “Fuck!”
“Whoa Hanson, take it easy!” Doug exclaimed and jumping out of his chair, he placed a comforting hand on Tom’s back. “Are you okay?”
“I’m… fine,” Tom replied through gritted teeth. “Tell me… about… Booker.”
Penhall waited until the color had returned to Tom’s face before helping him to lie back against the pillows. “He’s opened his eyes and there’s some movement in his arms,” he explained as he pulled the covers back over Tom. “If he keeps improving they’re going to move him out of ICU in the next few days.”
Tears filled Tom’s eyes. Seeing the distress on his friend’s face, Doug immediately became concerned. “Should I get the nurse?” he asked in a worried voice. “Do you need some pain medication?”
Tom shook his head as the tears slowly trickled down his face. He was too emotional to speak and too embarrassed to admit that the tears were not from pain, they were for Dennis.
**
Two days later
Tom stood at the window and silently watched as dark storm clouds rolled across the city skies. Heavy rain drummed against the glass pane and the sound had a hypnotic effect, helping him to feel calm. As he continued to gaze vacantly out at the downpour, a blinding flash of lightning split open the leaden sky and he jumped as a loud rumble of thunder followed shortly after. Shivering slightly, he turned away from the window and pulled his robe protectively around his slender body. He knew that he could not put it off any longer; his doctor was discharging him in the morning and before he left, he needed to see Booker.
Walking out into the corridor, he turned left and headed towards room 304. Penhall had informed him that Booker had left ICU the day before and that he continued to show signs of improvement. Although Tom knew that the officer would be unaware that he had visited, he needed to do it for his own peace of mind. The guilt he carried over the shooting was causing him sleepless nights and he wanted to tell Booker that he was sorry. No one could tell him for certain whether a coma patient was conscious of what went on around them but on the off chance that Dennis could hear him, he needed to say the words out loud.
As he approached Booker’s room, he felt his nervousness increase and stopping outside, he took several moments to calm himself before he walked into the room.
Dennis lay on the bed covered only by a sheet. A large drainage tube protruded from beneath the white bandage that concealed the wound on his chest and several butterfly strips held together the gash on the side of his forehead. An intravenous line pumped saline into a vein in his right arm and a blood pressure cuff was attached to his left. However, the most surprising observation for Tom was that his eyes remained closed. Penhall had explained to him in great length that when he had visited, it gave him goose bumps to see Booker staring off into space and it was that sight that Tom had been dreading the most. But now, as he looked down at Booker’s face, he felt a shiver of apprehension. He had no idea if Booker’s closed eyes was a good thing or a bad thing but he hoped with all his heart that it did not mean that he had suffered a setback.
Moving closer to the side of the bed, he hesitated for a moment before reaching out and taking Dennis’ hand in his. “Hey,” he whispered as he gently squeezed the lifeless fingers, “I just wanted you to know that—”
However, the rest of his words caught in his throat as Booker opened his eyes and gazed up at him in confusion. “Who are you?”
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On the Wings of Maybe