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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
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Sunday March 5th 1989 (11.28 p.m.)
The sound of the busy hospital echoed in Tom’s ears as he sat hunched in his chair with his head held in his hands. The trauma of the shooting had rendered him almost catatonic and he could not remember who had driven him to St. Mary’s, but he figured it must have been one of the uniformed police officers that had arrived at the scene.
However, as the hours slowly slipped by, the shock wore off and as his mind gradually registered the enormity of what had happened at the warehouse, tears filled his eyes. Two of his friends were, at that very moment, in theater having life saving surgery and he had no idea if they would live or die.
The sound of footsteps interrupted his self-flagellating thoughts and lifting his head, he saw Booker approaching him. Fear gripped his heart and standing up, he rubbed a shaky hand over his mouth. “Is there any news?” he asked in a voice that sounded too loud in his own ears.
Booker’s mouth was set in a firm, disapproving line and his dark eyes flashed with anger. “What are you doing here, Tom?” he responded in a cold voice. “Haven’t you done enough?”
Taken aback by Booker’s hostility, Tom gazed back in confusion. “What do you mean? I’m here because Doug and Harry—”
“Don’t fucking play games with me!” Booker shot back furiously and stepping forward, he shoved Tom violently in the chest, the force causing the smaller officer to stagger backward. “The only reason Doug and Harry are here is because of you! So don’t act all innocent with me, I know what I saw and that’s what’s going in my report.”
Tom’s self defense mechanism immediately kicked in and he narrowed his eyes into slits. “What the hell is your problem?” he hissed. “It was an accident. Why are you trying to make it out to be something else?”
Booker stared Tom straight in the eye and tried to keep control of his temper. "It wasn’t an accident,” he replied through clenched teeth. “I saw your dilated pupils and I’m guessing you were high on cocaine. The drug impaired your judgment and you—”
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU IMPLYING?” Tom yelled. “I’M A COP AND A FUCKING GOOD ONE AT THAT! HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE ME OF SHOOTING MY BEST FRIEND BECAUSE I WAS COKED UP!”
Booker let out a heavy sigh. Betraying the man he had such strong feelings for was not an easy decision to make, but he had to do what was right, otherwise his badge meant nothing. “I don’t want to hurt you, Hanson,” he murmured, “and if you’ve got nothing to hide you don’t have to worry, but—”
“I haven’t,” Tom replied testily, “so go ahead and write your fucking report, I don’t give a damn.” When Booker’s only response was to gaze back unwaveringly, he turned away and stormed from the hospital.
**
Monday March 6th 1989 (4.58 a.m.)
The soft light of dawn rose over the horizon, awakening the birds and within minutes, the sweet song of dozens of house sparrows filtered in through Booker’s open bedroom window, pulling him from a fitful night’s sleep. With a groan, he squinted at his alarm clock through sleepy eyes and without bothering to weigh up the alternative, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. Rising to his feet, he stretched out his tense muscles before dropping to the floor and starting his daily regimen of one hundred pushups. As his body came alive, his mind returned to the dilemma that had plagued his thoughts throughout the night… Tom.
As a police officer, he had a duty of care to his colleagues and to the citizens he served. If Tom was using drugs then he was a loose cannon and the only option would be for the department to revoke his gun and badge until such time as he could prove he was clean. If it were any other officer, Booker knew he would have no hesitation in writing up an accurate report of the night’s events at the warehouse and exposing him or her as a drug user. However, when it came to Tom, his judgment was somewhat clouded. He felt physically sick at the thought of betraying the man he had such deep feelings for and he honestly did not know if he could do it. In the cold light of day, his anger had dissipated and he feared that if he made the wrong decision, he would be responsible for sending Tom to prison.
Getting to his feet, he walked into the bathroom and closed the door. Turning on the shower’s faucets, he adjusted the temperature and stepped under the warm flow of water. As the moist beads thrummed against his naked skin, he reached down and stroked his cock. Immediately visions of Tom filled his mind and a soft moan escaped his lips. His fingers played lightly over his growing erection, savoring the feel of his body coming to life beneath his touch and a full body tremor had him gasping in delight. With each stroke, he imagined it was Tom’s long fingers caressing him to hardness and his pleasure quickly heightened. Precum leaked from his slit as his fist began to pump over his shaft and bracing his free hand against the mosaic-tiled wall, he lowered his head and began to pant. An image of Tom’s full lips wrapped around his cockhead flooded into his mind, pushing him over the edge and with a primordial yell, he ejaculated forcefully over his fingers.
A post-climactic calm washed over his body and closing his eyes, he let out a sigh as he idly played with his softening cock. There was no longer any doubt in his mind about what to do. He was going to lie.
**
Monday March 6th 1989 (7.03 a.m.)
When Booker arrived at the Chapel, the mood in the operations room was far more subdued than normal. As he walked toward his desk, he caught sight of Judy looking lost and alone and her tear-stained face tugged at his heart. Walking over to where she was standing, he placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Hey, Jude, are you okay?”
Judy sniffed loudly and shook her head. “I just can’t believe it, Booker,” she muttered, “you were there, how the hell did this happen? It was supposed to be a routine bust and now… and now…” Fresh tears spilled from her eyes and she buried her face against Booker’s chest. “What if they die? Oh God, Dennis, what it they die!”
Holding the young officer close, Booker crooned softly against her dark hair. “Shh, no one’s going to die. It was nobody’s fault, it was just an accident.”
The lie echoed loudly in his ears and he silently prayed that Judy would not lift her head and see the deception in his eyes. However, whichever God was listening did not grant his request. Judy pulled herself free from his grasp, took a step backward and gave him a disbelieving look. “Are you kidding me? Of course it was somebody’s fault… it was Hanson’s fault! I don’t know why he did what he did, but he pulled the trigger that started a chain reaction and now two of my friends are lying in the hospital! So don’t tell me he isn’t to blame because a trained police officer doesn’t fire a gun by accident!”
“Judy, Tom didn’t—” Booker began in an effort to defend the man who tortured his every thought.
But his lie remained unspoken as Fuller’s strained voice sounded from across the room. “BOOKER! I WANT YOUR REPORT ON MY DESK IN AN HOUR!”
Giving Judy a strained smile, Booker placed his palm against her smooth cheek. “Don’t blame Hanson,” he murmured softly, “he’s your friend too and he’s going through hell right now.”
Somewhat surprised by Booker’s defense of Tom, Judy faltered for a moment before narrowing her eyes. “Why are you defending him?” she asked suspiciously. “You were there, you know he fired the shot that hit Penhall.” Stepping forward, she stared distrustfully into his eyes. “What are you hiding? You hate him, you’ve always hated him and now you’re protecting him… something doesn’t add up.”
Sweat prickled under Booker’s armpits and swallowing deeply, he attempted to keep his expression neutral. “It wasn’t his fault,” he muttered and turning away, he walked towards his desk.
**
Monday March 6th 1989 (8.23 a.m.)
Hearing a knock at his door, Captain Adam Fuller motioned for Booker to enter. “Take a seat,” he instructed as he took the proffered paperwork from the young officer’s hand.
Booker wiped his sweaty palms nervously on his jeans and sat down on a hardback chair. He watched with interest as his Captain read his report, but he was unable to gauge any reaction from his superior’s face.
Several minutes passed and his leg jigged restlessly whilst he waited for the older man to speak. Finally, after an agonizing five minutes, Fuller lifted his head and laying the paperwork on his desk, he gave Booker a hard look. “Is this the version of events you want to go on permanent record?” he asked in a cool voice.
Somewhat surprised by Fuller’s coldness, Booker shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Yes, Coach,” he murmured without meeting his Captain’s penetrating gaze.
Fuller silently scrutinized Booker for several long minutes before picking up the report and after clearing his throat, he started to read, “A man with a gun stepped out from the shadows, close to where Officer Penhall was standing and pointed his weapon at him. I saw Officer Hanson draw his weapon and fire, but the man shielded himself behind Officer Penhall. The bullet hit Officer Penhall in the chest and he fell to the ground. Juan Álvarez immediately shot Officer Ioki, wounding him in the stomach. By the time I reached Officer Penhall, the unknown assailant had fled.”
When he had finished reading, Fuller lifted his head and his expression immediately revealed his suspicion. “Are you sure that’s what happened?” he asked in a low, measured voice.
A lump formed in Booker’s throat, but he quickly swallowed it down before giving Fuller an unwavering look. “Yes, Cap’n,” he replied forcefully, “that’s what happened.”
A heavy sigh escaped Fuller’s lips and he suddenly looked every one of his forty years. Placing the report on his desk, he leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers under his chin. “Well, before I lodge it I want to hear what Hanson has to say.”
Booker’s heart rate quickened, but he managed to keep an impassive expression on his face. “He hasn’t come in yet?”
Fuller shook his head. “I spoke to him on the phone last night and gave him permission to go to the hospital first.”
An idea quickly formed in Booker’s mind and he gave his Captain a beseeching look. “Yeah, about that… now that my report’s typed up, I’d really like to go there too… with your permission of course.”
After studying Booker’s tired face, Fuller let out another drawn-out sigh. “Granted,” he replied wearily, “but if you run into Hanson, tell him I want that report on my desk without delay.”
Afraid that his face might give away his intention to tell Hanson to lie on his report, Booker nodded and quickly walked from the room.
**
Monday March 6th 1989 (10.12 a.m.)
Slamming closed the door of his Cadillac, Booker tightly grasped the steering wheel and stared sightlessly out in front of him. Visiting Doug and Harry in the intensive care unit had been harrowing and he had found it extremely difficult to keep his emotions in check. Both men remained unresponsive, hooked up to various machines that beeped and flashed readings that he could make no sense of, leaving him feeling helpless and unsure how to behave. He had expected to find Hanson sitting at his best friend’s bedside, but the chair was empty, as was the one next to Ioki, their vacancy only helping to increase his sadness as it highlighted the fact that the two men were essentially alone.
When he had gazed into Harry’s pale face, he had felt a pang of guilt. If Fuller had not pulled him from the case, he would be the one lying unconscious in a hospital with a bullet wound to the stomach. It had been a sobering thought and he had wondered who would have sat at his bedside, willing him to wake up. His family? Past boyfriends? Past girlfriends? The thought had made him depressed and he found himself needing fresh air, so he had fled the hospital after only a few minutes.
Now, as he stared out at the mass of cars in the underground car park, his thoughts returned to the matter at hand. He knew what he had to do and turning the key in the ignition, he pulled out of the parking space and drove towards Hanson’s apartment.
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Chasing a Butterfly