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After the Storm	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 778 -:- 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-Love Ain’t a Love Song
- 2-Love is a Four Letter Word
- 1
- 2
By the time Tom returned to the condominium, the sun had already made its slow descent toward the horizon. He’d spent the day exploring Malibu’s many beaches and coves, the long, lonely walks, giving him the privacy he needed to further reflect on the previous night’s events. While he took full responsibility for his own actions, he still wasn’t sure Booker completely understood where he was coming from. He wasn’t ashamed of their relationship, he just wasn’t comfortable outing himself to his friends and family after only seven weeks. And therein lay the problem. Booker, although not always open about his bisexuality, had the luxury of time behind him, whereas he was still coming to terms with the startling knowledge he was attracted to another man. When he considered he’d lost his virginity at age sixteen, he didn’t think his request for privacy was a big ask. His life had changed monumentally, and in his mind, seven weeks wasn’t long enough to fully get his head around the adjustment. But his lover obviously did, and the more Tom thought about it, the more it pissed him off. He’d attempted to do the math, but numbers were never his strong point, and growing increasingly frustrated, he’d stopped at a funky little beachside cafe, ordered a coffee and politely asked for a pen and paper. It had still taken him several minutes to work out the equation, but after checking and double checking his algebra, he’d calculated since losing his virginity to Susan Packard, he’d spent less than 1.7 percent of his life attracted to a man. That meant he’d spent a whopping 98.3 percent of his time actively chasing women, which only reinforced his argument. He needed time, and no matter how much he loved Booker and sympathized with his standpoint, he wouldn’t allow him to emotionally bully him into coming out when he wasn’t ready.
Trudging up the condo’s steps, Tom wondered if his lover had also spent much of his day searching his soul through silent reflection. He was still waiting for Booker to give him an answer to his question, and he hoped he would finally get an honest insight into the dark-haired officer’s journey of sexual awakening. But as he opened the door, his expectations were immediately shattered. Silence met his ears, the gloomy apartment showing no signs of life. It was a blow to his confidence and turning his attention to the closed bedroom door, he exhaled a disappointed sigh. Evening had not yet chased away the last of the sun’s rays, but it appeared rather than wait for his return, Booker had taken the easy option and gone to bed. The realization hurt more than the young officer cared to admit, and his shoulders sagged ever so slightly. But surprisingly, although saddened by his partner’s apparent lack of interest in repairing their damaged relationship, he wasn’t angry. In a weird way, he’d anticipated Booker’s withdrawal. The dark-haired officer’s ego had taken a massive beating, and Tom knew him well enough to accept he needed time to lick his wounds. He also knew him well enough to know his lover would attempt to make it up to him. Maybe not by openly admitting he was wrong, but he’d find a way to let him know he regretted his actions. Which worked out well because Tom regretted using his fists instead of his words. Now he’d had time to calm down, the young officer longed for the festering animosity to fade into the background so he could press his lips against his lover’s bruised flesh and kiss away his pain. Even then, it would take time before they were back to a place where they both felt comfortable. Since waking up next to Booker all those weeks ago, he’d come to realize theirs was—and probably always would be—a volatile affair. One false move and they’d once again find themselves picking up the pieces of their broken hearts. But surprisingly, the knowledge didn’t deter Tom. He’d found himself in plenty of safe relationships, and after a period of time, he grew restless and moved on. Life with Booker was never dull, and if he were honest with himself, he actually relished the passion, even when it was misdirected. It was a refreshing change, and although he’d never been one to engage in drama, he was prepared to make an exception if it meant being with the man he loved.
A sudden desire to see his lover had Tom’s heart skipping a beat and walking across the room, he carefully pushed opened the bedroom door. Inside, Booker lay asleep on the bed, a copy of Charles Bukowski’s ‘Notes of a Dirty Old Man’ resting on his chest. The gloom of the impending night concealed his blackened eyes, but the thick animal-like snuffle of his breathing communicated the severity of his injuries, and a shiver of regret chilled Tom’s body. He longed to wake his lover so he could express his remorse, but he recognized the selfishness behind his yearning. Sleep spared Booker from both the physical and emotional pain of their fight and waking him would only serve to lessen his own guilt. And so, with a heavy heart, he took one last look at his lover and quietly closed the door.
In need of a drink, Tom picked up his backpack and pulled out a bottle of Johnny Walker Black Label. He had planned on cracking the bottle with Booker and toasting the start of their new life together, but so far, nothing about the weekend had gone the way he'd anticipated. All he'd managed to do was drive a wedge between them, and he was starting to think he sucked at the whole romance thing. Booker, on the other hand, had the art of seduction down pat, leaving Tom feeling awkward and inexperienced. He'd honestly thought his surprise would blow his lover’s mind, but it had backfired in the most spectacular fashion imaginable. It was soul-destroying, but there wasn’t anything he could do except chalk it up to experience and move on. He’d learned his lesson the hard way, and he wouldn’t make the same mistake again. By opening his heart, he’d caused both himself and his lover insurmountable pain, and he was starting to think he was better off keeping his feelings to himself. But he also knew Booker needed reassurance their relationship was more than a casual fling, which left him right back where he started, and he began to wonder if he’d ever get it right.
Placing the bottle on the kitchen counter, Tom ignored his dirty breakfast dishes and went in search of a glass. As he passed the trash can, he caught sight of a crumpled receipt lying on top of the discarded blue box. Curious, he picked it up and smoothing out the edges he stared at the piece of paper. Someone had written the number 3 in blue pen, tracing the same line over and over with such force, the nib had ripped through the paper. The writer had then scribbled out the number, the weight of the strokes communicating a level of agitation born from frustration. As Booker was the only other occupant in the condo, it was obviously his writing. But it seemed a strange thing to jot down, strikeout, then throw away, and the cryptic notation left Tom wondering what it was all about.
“Three years.”
Turning slowly around, Tom stared at the disheveled figure standing in the bedroom doorway. With his blackened eyes and sleep-mussed hair, Booker cut a sad figure, and Tom longed to take him in his arms and offer him comfort. But there was an unmistakable do not approach aura emanating from the dark-haired officer, and so he abandoned his plan and instead, asked the obvious question. “What?”
Shoving his hands deep in his pockets, Booker refused to meet his lover’s gaze. “You asked me how long it took me to come out to my family. It took three years. So, you were right, and I was wrong. Happy?”
Tom looked down at the paper in his hand, a deep sadness shining from his eyes. “Why would that make me happy?” he murmured. “If it was as confusing for you as it is for me...”
His voice trailed off, his lips unable or unwilling to articulate his feelings. Silence followed, his unspoken words hanging heavily between them, each man mentally filling in the blanks. After what seemed like a lifetime, Tom finally found his voice and lifting his gaze, he offered his lover an understanding smile. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
Shut down by two small yet highly significant words, Tom lowered his eyes. Time was his enemy, ticking slowly by as he struggled to find the right words to end the ill will that threatened to dissolve what was left of their battered relationship. But in the end, it was Booker who broke the silence, his voice barely audible as he bared his soul. “I was outed in high school by an ex-girlfriend, and that’s when the bullying started.”
Moistening his lips, Tom hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Geez, Dennis, I’m sorry. What did you do?”
Shame flickered in Booker’s eyes, the spark momentarily dancing across his irides before fading into the darkness. “I denied it.”
They were the words Tom had waited to hear, but surprisingly, he took no pleasure from the frank admission. His mind conjured up a picture of a teenage Booker struggling to come to terms with his sexuality, and the imagery caused a physical pain in his heart. There were no winners in the situation they found themselves in, just two men desperately trying to internalize all the emotion welling inside them. Neither officer’s suffering outweighed the pain of the other’s, they’d just experienced their sexual awakening at different times in their lives. And despite Booker’s cocky bravado, Tom knew the dark-haired officer’s emotional scars ran deep, he was just adept at hiding them behind a shield of sarcasm and humor. And maybe, if he’d confided in Tom his own struggles rather than burying the truth beneath a cloak of self-assurance, they wouldn’t be in the mess they were now. But he hadn’t, and that left Tom with two choices. He could tear Booker a new one for continually bullying him to come out when he’d experienced the same indecision himself, or he could offer a sympathetic ear. Surprisingly, the decision was an easy one, and stepping forward, he placed a hand on his lover’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Of course you did, it was a confusing time for you. High school’s a bitch, especially for those who are perceived as different. You did the right thing, don’t ever doubt that.”
A light blush crept up Booker’s neck, coloring his face a soft shade of pink, and lowering his head, he stared at the floor. “I’ve behaved like such an ass.”
In an attempt to lighten the mood, Tom chuckled. “Yeah? Well, join the club. I’m a card-carrying member.”
A small smile tugged at the corners of Booker’s lips. “Nice to know I’m in good company.”
With the ice broken, Tom offered up his own apology. “I’m sorry I hit you. If I could take it back, I—”
“I deserved it,” Booker interjected. “My behavior was… well, unacceptable doesn’t even cover it. It’s just…”
When he didn’t finish his sentence, Tom gently pressed for an answer. “It’s just what?”
Booker’s shoulders sagged, a dark cloud of despondency settling over his face. “The case I was on, it… Jesus, Tom, if you thought that drunk in the bar was bad, this was next level. The things I witnessed, the things these gang members did… it was brutal. And I couldn’t say or do anything because I was undercover and I had to wait until they did something that broke the law. Do you have any idea how difficult that was for me? I watched these gay men tormented in the cruelest of ways, and I couldn’t stop it. So, do you know what I did? I participated. I became the fucking bully, and the moment I became one of them, a little piece of me died.”
“Jesus,” Tom muttered, a deep sadness emanating from his eyes. “Why didn’t you—”
“Tell you?” Booker shot back. “And what if I had, Hanson, huh? Then what? The way I see it, you would have despised me more than you do now.”
Tom’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I don’t despise you, Dennis, I love you.”
A sad smile played over Booker’s lips. “No, you don’t,” he murmured. “But thanks for saying it,” and before Tom could answer back, he walked into the bedroom and closed the door.

To be continued...
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After the Storm