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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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Five days later
The occupational therapist placed her hands on her hips and gave Booker an impatient look, “Come on Dennis, you’ve got to try.”
Dennis stood clutching the walking frame tightly with his left hand, his knuckles turning white from the pressure, whilst his right hand grasped weakly at the metal frame. “I… can’t,” he slurred, his voice rising in panic. “I’ll… fall!”
Mary Donaldson stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I promise you Dennis, you won’t fall. Now, push the frame and take a step forward with your right foot.”
Grasping hold of the cold metal as securely as he could, Dennis pushed the frame forward a couple of centimeters. “That’s it,” Mary encouraged, “now lift your right foot.”
The last thing Dennis wanted to do was move away from the safety of his bed. The right side of his body felt like jello and his foot was completely numb, making it difficult to tell if it was resting on the floor. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath before opening them again. Mary was still standing in front of him, her once pleasant demeanor now showing signs of strain. “Dennis, pick up your foot,” she instructed.
A deep frown creased Dennis’ brow as he concentrated on getting his brain to do as the therapist asked. Leaning slightly forward, he dragged his useless right foot across the floor. However, when he moved, he felt his balance faltering and as the fear of falling consumed his thoughts, he lost concentration. “I… CAN’T!” he cried out and letting go of the walker, he fell back onto the mattress. Emotion and embarrassment overwhelmed him and throwing an arm over his face, he began to weep like a small child.
Mary let out a heavy sigh. When she had met Dennis for his first assessment, she had seen a dogged determination in his dark eyes and she had immediately looked forward to working with him. From her point of view, it was much easier working with clients who wanted to improve their mobility rather than those who wallowed in self-pity or enjoyed the attention of being disabled. But over the ensuing days, she had seen a decline in his mental state. Depression was common in those who found themselves suddenly incapacitated, especially in the fit and the young and she had initially hoped that once they got started, Booker would find the resolve to push himself through the fear and uncertainty. However, it was not to be. He had barely made any progress in the four days she had been working with him and she was now becoming frustrated. She knew her approach was somewhat less conventional than many of her peers and that she lacked the bedside manner that many of her colleagues employed to ease their patients’ initial trepidation. But the results spoke for themselves. She had a hundred percent success rate of getting her clients back up on their feet and mobile again and she would be damned if Dennis would sully her record.
Moving over to the bed, she stood over the distraught young officer, “Dennis, sit up.”
Booker had managed to curl into the fetal position and his right arm hid his face from view. “I-I’m… t-tired,” he sobbed.
Annoyed by Dennis' lack of motivation, Mary gave a derisive snort. “I expected more from you Officer Booker,” she scolded. “I want to see a better attitude from you tomorrow.”
Dennis murmured a soft “Fuck… you,” into the mattress and when he was certain she had gone, he clumsily pulled himself up the bed and laid his head on the pillow. Although he knew he was being a pain in the ass, he had lost all his drive. He missed Tom and the pain of his lover walking out on him during the most difficult time of his life still caused a physical pain in his heart and a slow decay of his mind. His depression was increasing and he felt no desire to get well. All he wanted to do was fall asleep and never wake up. If this was his life, he did not want to live it.
Rolling onto his side, he allowed the self-pitying tears to stream down his face. He was no longer Dennis Booker; he was now just a shadow of a man.
**
Joyce Booker strode up the airy corridor with a bunch of flowers in her hand. She wanted to brighten Dennis’ room and make it more homely. She had arranged for her husband to bring in a cassette player and some of Dennis’ tapes in the hope that music would help to lift his spirits. She had seen a gradual decline in her son’s mental health and she was becoming increasingly concerned. It was something she had dealt with before, when Dennis was struggling with his sexuality. Of course, at the time, she had no idea what was causing his melancholy mood and she had put it down to typical teenage hormones. However, years later when he finally came out about his bisexuality, she had put two and two together and she wished she had known so she could have helped him through his turmoil.
But that was the past and this was now and this time she had the chance to make things right. She knew that part of Dennis’ depression was because he thought Tom had deserted him and that was something she could fix. She had overreacted at the hospital, the shock of seeing her son weak and confused had pushed her motherly protective instincts into overdrive. To have a stranger accost her in the corridor and announce that he was her baby boy’s lover was too much to bear. If she had known Tom beforehand, she knew she would have behaved differently. However, he was just a name to her and even though she knew Dennis loved him, she could not deal with the emotion at that time. She loved her son and she supported his choices but she had never come face to face with one of his male lovers before and it had completely overwhelmed her. But mistakes could be rectified and she now hoped to make amends, for Dennis’ sake and for Tom’s. She needed to bring them back together and she hoped with all her heart that Tom could help her son overcome the tough obstacles that lay ahead of him.
**
Tom walked into his apartment and kicking off his boots, he stripped off his clothes and headed into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and stood staring at the steamy water for several moments before stepping into the cubicle and pulling the curtain around him. Tilting his head forward, he allowed the warm soothing water to cascade over his tense body. He had spent the last five nights trawling through the phone book in search of rehabilitation clinics. He had placed dozens of phone calls in the desperate search for Dennis but each time he received the same polite response; information on patients was strictly private. Sleep had become elusive and when it was too late to make any calls, he lay in bed for hours, staring up at the ceiling and wondering if his lover was thinking about him.
Feeling the need to relieve his stress, he reached down and fondled his cock. He closed his eyes and took his time, enjoying the sensation as his erection gradually sprang to life. Bracing his free hand against the tiled wall, he slowly moved his hand up and down his shaft. Thoughts of Dennis flashed into his mind and his fist pumped faster. He imagined Dennis’ mouth engulfing him; the sweet pulsation of his trademark humming vibrating his cockhead and with a strangled cry, he ejaculated over his hand.
Tears of misery and fatigue leaked from his eyes and he stifled a sob. Never in his life had he felt such an intense love for another human being and it frightened and yet exhilarated him to know that Booker was the one; he was his soul mate.
Turning off the faucets, he stepped from the shower and grabbed a towel. After drying off, he ran his fingers through his damp hair and studied his reflection in the mirror. He was shocked to see how tired he looked and pulling down one of his eyelids, he stared at his bloodshot eyes. His hand then traveled down to the pink star shaped scar on his left shoulder and when he trailed a fingertip over the puckered skin, a shiver ran down his spine. He could have died that day if it had not been for Dennis. But through all the pain and trauma, it was that incident, those three bullets fired from the barrel of a gun by a demented teenager that had brought them together. He wondered if they ever would have become romantically involved if Robbie Watkins had not tried to kill them. The thought that he might never have known such intense, passionate love from the man who he was certain was his one true love was terrifying. His soul had been set on fire and he could not imagine never feeling the spine tingling touch of Booker’s gentle fingers or seeing the tender devotion shining from his dark eyes as they lay side by side exploring each other’s bodies. It had been a revelation and if he had lived his life never experiencing it, he would have died incomplete.
With those thoughts echoing in his mind, he walked into his bedroom and pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Entering the living room, he flopped down onto the couch and picked up the phone book and pen that lay on the seat next to him. He turned to lift the phone receiver from its cradle and immediately saw the flashing light on his answering machine; he had a message.
Pressing play, he trailed the pen down the open page of the phone book in search of the next number to ring but his hand paused halfway down the page when he heard Joyce Booker’s voice through the machine’s speaker, “Officer Hanson, it’s Joyce Booker. I really need to speak… no, I need to apologize to you for my behavior at the hospital. Dennis is in a bad way, he needs you. Please call me on 555-8143 as soon as you get this message. Thank you… oh and once again, I really am very sorry, I never should have kept you from seeing him. I’ll be waiting for your call, goodbye.”
Tom’s hand snatched up the receiver and his trembling finger dialed the number that was reverberating in his head. His search was over.
**
Dennis lay on his bed with his eyes closed listening to the annoying banter of Wheel of Fortune on the television. His dinner tray remained untouched, the smell of the meatloaf making him feel nauseous. A nurse had offered to help him but he had been too embarrassed to let a stranger feed him and he had no real appetite anyway. He wished someone would come and take the plate away, it was a constant reminder of his helplessness and closing his eyes was the only way he could shut out the visual of the uneaten food.
The sound of footsteps echoed outside his room and he screwed his eyelids tighter together and prayed that it was not his parents. He did not want to listen to their constant meaningless platitudes; nothing is impossible, it takes time, everything will be okay. It was a constant barrage of encouraging bullshit that he could not cope with. To him it felt impossible, he did not want it to take time and he sure as hell did not think that everything would be okay. He was drowning in a pit of despair and nobody understood his fears for the future. He was twenty-three years old and he could no longer walk unaided or talk without sounding like a drunken old man. His life as he once knew it was over.
When a gentle hand rested on his arm, he jumped involuntarily. He had hoped to feign sleep but he had given himself away. However, he kept his eyes closed in the faint hope that his visitor would take the hint and leave. A moment passed and then he heard the voice that haunted his dreams, “Dennis it’s me.”
His eyes flew open and he gazed up into the anxious face of his lover. The emotion of seeing Tom for the first time since his stroke completely overwhelmed him and he burst into tears, “You… came, you… came.”
Sitting down on the bed, Tom gathered Booker into his arms and held him close. “I never left,” he murmured into his lover’s dark hair. “I was outside your room at the hospital every single day.”
Dennis struggled to find his voice through the flood of emotion that wracked his body, “W-Why… didn’t… you… come… and… see… me?”
More than anything, Tom wanted to tell Dennis the truth, that his mother had prevented him from having any contact. However, he did not want to drive a wedge between Dennis and his parents and so he found a way to soften the blow. “It was a misunderstanding, that’s all. But I’m here now, I’m here.”
Booker relaxed into Tom’s protective embrace and he took pleasure from the gentle hand stroking his hair. Several minutes passed before he lifted his head and tried to smile. However, the slight drooping of his mouth made it look more like a grimace and Tom struggled unsuccessfully to keep the pain he felt from showing in his eyes. Booker’s eyes once again filled with tears and he turned his head away in embarrassment but immediately a gentle hand turned his head back and soft lips pressed against his mouth. The tenderness of the kiss displayed all of Tom’s emotions, he did not care how Dennis looked, he loved him with all his heart.
When they finally broke apart, Tom smiled down at his lover, “I’ve been waiting to do that for days.”
Sighing contentedly, Dennis closed his eyes. “Stay… with me,” he mumbled.
“Always,” Tom replied softly and he silently watched as his lover drifted into a peaceful sleep.
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On the Wings of Maybe