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Bump in the Road	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 937 -:- 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
- 1-A Patch of Gray
- 2-A Certain Slant of Light
- 1
- 2
A light rain pitter-pattered against the windshield of Tom’s Mustang. Every few minutes, a burst of sunlight exploded through the clouds, creating gasoline rainbows in the opalescent puddles pitting the asphalt. Stifling a yawn, the young officer stared into the distance, his concentration waning with each passing mile. Maybe it was the hypnotic swish of the windshield wipers, or maybe, it was the knowledge he was about to face Booker for the first time since their disastrous date. Either way, his focus wasn’t on the road, and he failed to notice the red light. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a white sedan heading toward him, but it was too late for him to react. The vehicle crashed into his door, the impact spinning the car around and slamming it into a light post. With no seat belt to protect him, his body jerked forward, the force smashing his temple against the windshield. A bolt of pain exploded inside his head, and he slumped against the steering wheel, the loud blare of the horn following him into oblivion.
**
Pulling into the chapel’s parking lot, the first thing Booker noticed was the absence of Tom’s Mustang. A frown of annoyance tightened his lips into a firm line. Nothing pissed him off more than a coward, and if Tom thought he could make the last few weeks magically disappear just by avoiding him, then he was sadly mistaken. Despite his reputation, Dennis Booker was a man of principle, and he expected others to follow the same moral path. Tom needed to man up and accept his part in their amorous play, or he would spend the rest of his life, running from the truth.
Annoyed he had allowed thoughts of Tom to blacken his mood, Booker climbed out of his car and slammed the door closed with more force than usual. He’d had plenty of time to reevaluate his options since he’d kicked Tom out of his apartment, and he’d come to an important decision. He wasn’t going to give up a job he loved just because Hanson couldn’t accept his homosexual leanings. Yes, he physically ached for the touch of the man he’d loved since first laying eyes on him, but that didn’t mean he was willing to forego his own happiness. Every day, he experienced an adrenaline rush, and every day, he thanked whichever god was listening for giving him the opportunity to work in such a physically and mentally challenging job. It was his life, and he’d be damned if he’d give it up and go back to the boredom of Internal Affairs just because his fling with Tom hadn’t worked out. And while he had no doubt in his mind their working relationship would become awkward, he was stubborn enough to grit his teeth and bear it. And if Tom didn’t like it, then as far as he was concerned, the door could slam his ex-lover in the ass on the way out.
Channeling his inner James Dean, he swaggered across the parking lot and climbed the snaking metal staircase. When he walked into the main hub, the silence of the empty room had the fine hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention. Something was wrong, very, very wrong. In his experience, the chapel was a veritable hive of activity, and as his eyes scanned the uninhabited space, he wondered what had happened to cause a mass exodus. Unsettled, he turned back toward the door. But just as he was about to leave, the sound of voices reached his ears, and turning back around, he watched in silence as Judy, Harry, and Doug exited Fuller’s office, their expressions solemn.
Spotting the dark-haired officer, Fuller’s frown deepened. “You’re late,” he growled. “If you can’t get here on time, we’re going to have a real problem. Got it?”
Surprised by the level of anger in his captain’s voice, Booker quickly apologized. “Sorry, Coach.”
When Fuller’s shoulders slumped forward, a prickle of fear ran down the dark-haired officer’s spine. “What’s going on?”
A teary-eyed Judy walked over and placed a hand on his arm. “We’re heading over to the hospital. Tom’s been in an accident.”
For a fraction of a second, Booker wondered what Judy was talking about. But then, as his friend’s words took on a tangible meaning, the bottom fell out of his world. It fell slowly, like he was in an underwater dream, trapped inside a bubble of his own regret. If Tom were seriously injured, or worse, dead, he would never get the chance to heal the gaping wound that had torn them apart.
The room closed in on him, sucking the air from his lungs. But outwardly, although the color had drained from his face, he managed to maintain his calm. “Is he hurt?”
“Like you’d care,” Penhall snapped, and pushing past the dark-haired officer, he headed toward the door.
Judy’s fingers squeezed the chilled flesh of Booker’s arm. “Don’t take any notice of him. He’s upset. You know how close he is to Tom.”
Booker swallowed down the lump forming in his throat. “I know. But he didn’t answer my question, is Tom—”
“Are you coming, Jude?” Ioki called out from across the room.
“I’ve got to go,” Judy replied in answer to Booker’s question, and turning away, she ran after Harry.
“Captain?” Booker tried again, the fast and heavy beat of his heart making it difficult for him to breathe. “Is Tom—”
“Stay here, Booker,” Fuller instructed. “I’ll call you when I have some news.”
“But Coach...” Booker started to protest, his voice rising several octaves. But his plea fell on deaf ears, and in an instant, he found himself alone with only his panicked mind for company.
**
Penhall paced the floor of the waiting room, the sound of his heavy footfalls peppered with frustrated huffs. Judy and Harry sat quietly, their muscles stiff, their faces unsmiling. Two excruciatingly long hours had passed since Fuller had received the call, and they still had no news on Tom’s condition. The lack of information weighed heavily on all their spirits, and for the second time in less than twenty minutes, Fuller approached the reception area and spoke to the charge nurse.
When their captain walked back toward them, Judy nudged Harry. “I think he knows something.”
The two officers stood up and joined Penhall at their superior’s side. “He’s okay,” Fuller advised with a relieved sigh. “He has a concussion and a few fractured ribs, so they’re keeping him in for observation. He’ll be on desk duty for a while, but he’s going to be fine.”
“Can I see him?”
Penhall’s request brought an understanding smile to Fuller’s lips. “I’ve already arranged it. He’s in room 301. But you can only stay a minute. He needs his rest.”
“Thanks, Coach,” Penhall replied, his trademark crooked grin tilting his lips.
“Give him our love!” Judy called out as Doug disappeared down the long corridor.
Harry sat down on one of the chairs, the muscles in his face finally relaxing. “Well, that’s a relief. All this time I was thinking the worst.”
Judy joined her friend, and relaxing back against the hard plastic, she exhaled a weighty sigh. “Me too. It was the not knowing that was killing me.”
“Speaking of which, I’d better phone Booker,” Fuller muttered, and turning away, he went in search of a phone.
“Do you think he’ll care?” Harry asked Judy. “It’s not like he and Hanson are close.”
“I don’t know,” Judy replied in a thoughtful voice. “He seemed pretty upset when Fuller told him. He kept asking if Tom was okay.”
“Did he? I didn’t notice.”
“But I did,” Judy thought to herself. She’d seen the panic in Booker’s eyes, and she wondered what had changed to make the dark-haired officer suddenly so concerned for Tom’s welfare.
**
Tom shifted his weight ever so slightly, his aching body searching for a comfortable position. The thin hospital mattress provided little padding, and his fractured ribs throbbed painfully. Then there was the jackhammer drilling inside his head, which made focusing his eyes difficult. He felt lousy, and all he wanted to do was go home, so he could sleep in his own bed and nurse his wounds in private. But because he’d received a concussion, his doctor wanted to monitor him for a twenty-four-hour period. It was a frustrating inconvenience. When choosing a place for his convalescence, his comfortable apartment—complete with cable television—far outranked a noisy hospital. But he knew there was a reason he was fixating on where he would rather spend his recovery. If he relaxed his mind and accepted his fate without complaint, he was frightened he’d have to admit to himself how close he’d come to dying. In the blink of an inattentive eye, the lights had almost dimmed forever, and it was the slap in the face reality check he needed. And while he didn’t want to acknowledge the close call, thereby addressing his own mortality, he did want to reassess his life. He’d spent so much time worrying about what others thought, he wasn’t sure he understood what constituted real happiness. Yes, he loved his job, and yes, he loved his friends, but on a personal level, he’d never found the one person he thought he could spend the rest of his life with. Except, maybe he had. Maybe Booker really was the one, and he’d never know because he was too damned stubborn and repressed to give their relationship a chance.
With the thumping in his head steadily intensifying with each passing minute, Tom closed his eyes and attempted to sort through his emotions—while steadfastly refusing to reflect on the accident. But he found it difficult to concentrate, and his mind flitted from one random thought to another without ever forming a constructive conclusion. The exertion added another level of pain to his pounding headache, and with a hefty sigh, he focused on not throwing up.
“Hey, man. Are you awake?”
At the sound of Penhall’s worried voice, Tom opened his eyes. “Hey, Doug, c’mon in.”
Penhall stepped into the room, the concern etched on his face clouding his normal cheerful countenance. “How’re you doing, buddy?”
Tom managed a strained smile. “Pretty good, considering. How’s the other driver? Are they okay?”
Pulling up a chair, Doug sat down. “He’s fine, a bit shook up, but otherwise okay. I can’t say the same thing about the Mustang though. Harry spoke to the officer on the scene, and I hate to tell you this, Hanson, but it’s totaled.”
A physical pain stabbed through Tom’s heart. His beloved vehicle was his one connection to his deceased father, and he treasured the memories it invoked. But through his own recklessness, that association was now gone, and his beautiful blue 1968 Mustang was destined for the scrap heap. It was a hard pill to swallow, but he had no one to blame but himself. If he’d paid attention to the road, both he and his car would be in one piece.
It was then another thought crossed Tom’s mind. “Are they going to charge me?” he asked. “I was the one at fault, so—”
“I dunno, Hanson,” Penhall interrupted with a sigh. “Probably. But I don’t care about that. I wanna know how you are. You scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry,” Tom muttered. “It was a stupid thing to do. I wasn’t concentrating and… it all happened so fast, I don’t really remember anything.”
“But you’re okay?” Doug persisted with a worried frown.
“Yeah,” Tom sighed. “Except… Doug, can I ask you something?”
Penhall leaned forward in his chair, his expression attentive. “Of course, Tommy. What’s on your mind?”
Tom rubbed his fingers over his lips as he carefully chose his words. “What would you do if you discovered something about yourself… something life-changing?”
Panic animated Doug’s face, and reaching out a hand, he grabbed hold of Tom’s arm. “Are you sick? Did they find something wrong with you? Oh, God! You’re not dying are—”
“No!” Tom quickly interjected. “I’m fine, Doug, honestly. That’s not what I meant.”
Relief relaxed Penhall’s features, and flopping back into his chair, he clutched a hand to his chest. “Jesus Christ, Hanson. You almost gave me a heart attack.”
“Sorry,” Tom muttered again. He really wanted to open up to Doug about his feelings, but he honestly didn’t know where to start. He was terrified of losing his best friend, and so he stayed quiet, his fingers nervously picking at the pilled blanket covering his legs.
An awkward silence hung in the air, the pregnant pause driving a metaphorical wedge between the two friends. Eventually, it was Penhall who spoke. “What’s going on, Tom?”
Sadness softened Tom’s words into a whisper. “I can’t tell you. Not yet. Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up. I guess I’m not thinking straight.”
Concerned by his friend’s odd behavior, Penhall laid a hand on his shoulder. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”
Blowing out his cheeks, Tom gave a small nod of his head. “Yeah, I know. But until I get it sorted out in my head, I can’t really talk to you about it.”
He paused for a moment, his teeth worrying his lower lip before he spoke again. “There is something you can do for me. But you’ve gotta promise not to ask any questions. Okay?”
Curiosity widened Penhall’s eyes, and his head bobbed up and down in agreement. “Sure, man. Whatever you want.”
Tom nodded toward the metal cabinet next to his bed. “My badge is in that drawer. I want you to take it out and give it to Booker. Ask him to hold on to it, and he can drop it off at my apartment when I get home.”
A myriad of emotions passed over Penhall’s face. Hurt. Surprise. Disbelief. He longed to ask why. Why Booker? But when he saw the genuine distress in Tom’s eyes, he knew he would do anything his friend asked. “Sure, buddy,” he reassured, and taking the badge out of the drawer, he shoved it into his pocket.
“Thanks, Doug,” Tom murmured, and closing his eyes, he allowed his mind to switch off and fall into a restful slumber.

To be continued...
- 1
- 2
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Bump in the Road