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Over the Hills and Far Away	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 2103 -:- 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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Pushing open the door to his apartment, Booker carried in several brown bags of groceries. Dropping his keys into the metal bowl next to the door, his eyes searched the room for Tom. He kicked the door closed with his foot and called out his lover’s name but after receiving no reply, he carried the bags into the kitchen and deposited them onto the bench top. “Tommy?” he called again and this time he heard a faint voice coming from the bathroom.
Walking in, he found Tom sitting on the floor with blood pouring from his nose. The red fluid covered his fingers and dripped down onto the white tiled floor as he attempted to stem the flow. “It won’t stop,” Hanson gasped. “It’s been over ten minutes.”
Sitting down on the floor, Dennis placed a hand against the back of Tom's neck. “Just keep tilting your head forward and pinch your nose, it’ll ease soon.”
“I hate feeling like this,” Tom muttered, his voice sounding stuffy through his blocked nostrils. “When the hell will it end?”
Dennis’ fingers lightly played with the hair at the nape of Tom’s neck. “You’ve got to take one day at a time Tommy. Each day it will get a little better.”
“I’m fucking sick of one day at a time!” Tom shouted, bright dollops of blood splashing across the floor as he scrambled to his feet. “Haven’t I been through enough?”
Rising to his feet, Dennis gave Tom a sad look. “Yes you have,” he replied quietly. “But every action has a consequence and this is a symptom of your drug use. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do to help you.”
Tom shot Booker a snide look. “Well thank you Doctor Booker, you’ve been most helpful.”
Dennis remained silent, preferring to ignore Tom’s sarcastic remark rather than snap back. It was obvious that Hanson was in a bad mood and there was nothing to gain by arguing with him. Turning away, he walked back into the living area and began to unpack the groceries. Tom emerged a half hour later looking pale and drawn. “I need to clean up the bathroom,” he mumbled.
About to say that he would do it, Dennis caught himself just in time. Tom had made it clear that he did not want any special treatment and his earlier derisive remark had pissed Booker off. Nodding towards the kitchen, he continued to watch TV. “There’s a bucket and cleaning stuff under the sink.”
Hanson found the necessary supplies and returned to the bathroom. When twenty minutes passed and he did not return, Booker peered over the back of the couch and saw that the bathroom was now empty. He waited a further ten minutes before standing up and walking into the bedroom, where he found Tom curled up on the bed with his eyes closed. Sighing heavily, Dennis moved forward and sat down on the edge of the bed. Reaching out, he ran a finger lightly over the faded bruises on Tom’s face. “Are you mad at me?” he asked quietly.
Without opening his eyes, Tom shook his head. “Then what’s wrong Tommy?” Booker asked.
Several minutes passed before Hanson opened his eyes. “Where’s my mom?”
The question completely baffled Dennis. It was his understanding that during Tom's treatment in Glenfield, a therapist had advised him of his mother’s death. Now, after nearly a year, he was asking where she was. Booker felt uneasy, he was not sure he was equipped to deal with such a delicate subject. But Tom gazed at him expectantly, waiting for an answer and he knew he had no choice but to give him the news. Cupping Tom’s face in his hand, he gazed at him compassionately. “Tommy I’m so sorry, I thought you knew. Your mom passed away two and a half years ago from a massive heart attack.”
Shaking his head, Tom sighed impatiently. “No, that’s not what I mean. I know she’s dead, I want to know where she’s buried.”
“Oh,” Dennis replied. “Sorry. She’s um… she’s buried at Greenhills. It was a beautiful service, lots of people and—“
“You went?” Tom asked, his eyes widening in surprise.
Dennis ran a shaky hand through his hair. “Well, yeah. I wanted someone to represent you Tommy and I got to know your mom pretty well during the time I was searching for you. Plus, I really liked her, she was a very special lady.”
Tom closed his eyes and a single teardrop leaked from beneath his eyelids and slowly slid down his face. For Dennis, watching that single tear wind its way down Tom’s beautiful face was more heart wrenching than if he had wept openly. Crawling onto the bed, he gently pulled Hanson against his chest and held him close. “God Tommy, I’m so sorry about your mom and I’m so sorry you didn’t get to say goodbye.”
Tom listened to the steady rhythm of Booker’s heartbeat and he started to relax as light fingers played with his hair. He thought about his mom and he wondered what she had felt when he went missing. He hated the thought that she had died alone and he wished more than anything, that he had been there to hold her one last time. But secretly he was glad that she never knew the horrors he had experienced in the jungles of El Salvador. He did not think she would have coped with the knowledge of her son’s rapes and it was better that she went to her grave never knowing the full extent of his ordeal.
Reluctantly releasing himself from Dennis’ comforting embrace, Tom sat up and wiped a hand over his teary eyes. Taking hold of his lover’s hand, he managed a half smile. “I’m glad you were there, it means a lot to me and it would have meant a lot to her.”
Sitting back up, Booker squeezed Tom’s fingers, his expression becoming sober. “Do you want to go see her?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah,” Hanson replied softly. “I do.”
Booker pulled Tom into a hug and they held each other close for several minutes. Releasing his hold, Dennis kissed Tom tenderly on the lips. “Tomorrow,” he promised. “We’ll get some flowers on the way.”
Tom nodded. “Okay, thanks Dennis.”
Dennis watched as Tom climbed off the bed and exited the room. Once again, he had handled things badly. He should have taken Tom to see his mother’s grave when he first came home from Glenfield. Suddenly, another thought popped into his mind and he wondered how he could have forgotten. When Tom went missing, his mother had put all of his belongings into storage. After her death, the solicitor had placed everything in trust pending Tom’s safe return. Monetarily speaking, there was very little but there were photographs and other precious mementos that were irreplaceable. Letting out a sigh, Dennis wandered into the living room. He found Tom lying on the couch, absently flicking through the TV channels. Lifting Tom’s feet off the seat, he sat down and placed Tom’s legs across his lap before clearing his throat nervously. “Um Tommy. I guess there’s some other things we should talk about. There’s a storage container that has all of your mom’s and your belongings in it. We can go visit the solicitor who handled your mom’s estate and find out about—“
“Burn it,” Tom replied matter-of-factly, without taking his eyes off the television.
A deep frown creased Dennis’ forehead and he placed a hand on Hanson’s thigh. “Tom, I don’t think you understand,” he replied. “Your life is in that container. All your clothes, photos, mementos. Everything is there, including all your mom’s possessions.”
Tom sighed with annoyance and flicked off the television. “No you don’t understand,” he snapped. “The Tom Hanson who owned all that crap is dead. He died when that first soldier rammed his cock up his ass and raped him. He died with the smell of decaying earth in his nostrils and the sound of cicadas in his ears. I’m not him, not anymore and I’ll never be him again. Those are his memories, not mine. I don’t want them.” Standing up he walked into the bedroom and slammed the door closed with a bang.
“Jesus,” Dennis murmured, rubbing his hand over his lips. He had not expected such a negative reaction from Tom. He was once again beginning to worry about Hanson’s state of mind, his mood swings were becoming more and more erratic as each day passed. There was still another two days to go until he visited his therapist and for Booker, the time could not come soon enough. He was starting to have grave doubts about entering into a relationship with Tom when he still had so many unresolved issues in his life.
Staring at the closed bedroom door, he wondered what to do. In the end, he decided to leave Tom alone. So far, all had managed to do was cause him more heartache and he was beginning to wonder if perhaps Hanson would be better off without him.
**
Tom did not emerge for lunch and Dennis let him be, figuring that if he were hungry he would come out and make himself something to eat. When dinnertime came, Booker prepared two steaks and a bowl of vegetables. Setting the food on the table, he tapped on the bedroom door. “Food’s up,” he called through the closed door. When he did not receive an answer, he sat down at the table and proceeded to eat without Tom. Staring at the empty chair in front of him, he had to resist the urge to go and check to see if Hanson was okay. As he watched Tom’s food turn cold, his appetite slowly disappeared and he pushed his plate away with a sigh. Clearing the table, he washed and dried the dishes and made himself a coffee before stretching out on the couch with his hands behind his head. Staring at the ceiling, he wondered if he should phone Tom’s therapist and ask if he could have an earlier appointment. Ultimately though, it was not his decision. Even though the hospital had released Tom into his care, he did not have any authority over his medical treatment. If he were truly concerned about Hanson’s mental health, his only option was to seek another Involuntary Commitment Order and it would be a dark day in hell before he would go down that path again.
Finishing his coffee, he pulled a blanket out of the linen cupboard and switching off the lights, he curled up on the couch and flicked on the TV. He spent hours watching reruns of nineteen sixties sitcoms until eventually, his overwrought mind switched off and he fell into a deep sleep.
**
Dennis woke to a sharp stabbing pain in his side. Reaching underneath his body, he pulled out the television remote and threw it onto the floor. Yawning loudly, he ran his fingers through his sleep-tousled hair. Glancing at the clock, he was surprised to see that it was ten minutes past eight. He had slept longer than he would have thought possible. Peering over the back of the couch, he saw that his bedroom door remained closed. Not wanting to face Tom, he padded silently into the bathroom and relieved his bladder before taking a long, hot shower. Stepping out of the cubicle, he quickly dried off and brushed his teeth. Running a hand across his stubbled chin, he decided he was in need of a shave. He took his time, delaying the inevitable when he would have to enter the bedroom and confront an unpredictable Tom. With his mood changing from one minute to the next Booker had no idea which Tom he would find lying in his bed. It could be horny, sexy Tom or it could be angry at the world Tom. Dennis felt as though he was walking on eggshells and he was beginning to find the whole situation emotionally exhausting.
Rinsing the shaving cream from his face, he patted himself dry and applied a hint of aftershave. After wrapping a towel around his waist, he exited the steamy room and stood outside his bedroom. He lifted his hand to knock but immediately stopped. It was his bedroom and he had every right to enter it whenever he wanted. Turning the handle, he pushed open the door and entered the darkened room. He could see Tom’s outline under the covers but he could not tell whether he was asleep or not. Pulling on a pair of boxers, he started randomly picking up various t-shirts that lay strewn around the room, checking to see which were clean.
Settling on a worn Led Zeppelin shirt, he pulled it on over his head. As he turned to leave, he heard a soft voice behind him. “Sorry.”
Clenching his fists, Dennis refrained from going over to Tom’s bedside. “It’s okay Tommy,” he replied with a sigh. “Go have a shower and get dressed. I’ll make us some breakfast.”
He walked out of the bedroom and picking up his discarded jeans, he pulled them on. As he prepared coffee and pancakes, he heard the bathroom door close and the sound of the shower turning on. Fifteen minutes later, Tom emerged, his hair still damp and wearing clean clothes. Dennis silently placed the pot of coffee and a plate of pancakes on the table and sitting down, he started to eat. Tom pulled out a chair and sat down opposite Booker. Placing his elbows on the table, he rested his chin in his hands and gazed at Dennis with sad eyes. “You’re pissed,” he stated simply.
“No I’m not,” Dennis mumbled. “I’m just tired.”
“Bullshit,” Tom replied. “Just admit it, I piss you off.”
Slamming his fork down on the table, Booker gave Tom an angry glare. “Okay, I admit it, you piss me off! I know drug withdrawal causes mood swings but Jesus Christ Tom! I’m damned if I do and I’m damned if I fucking don’t! You say you don’t want me to treat you differently and then you get angry with me when I don’t help you. One minute you’re loving and affectionate and the next you’re cold and distant. Make up your fucking mind!”
Tilting his head on one side, Tom gave Dennis a slow smile. “Feel better now?”
Shoving his chair backwards, Booker stood up. “Don’t fucking patronize me Tom. I’m doing the best I know how. If it’s not good enough for you, then maybe you should find somewhere else to live.”
Tom stared back in alarm. “You’re asking me to leave?” he whispered in disbelief.
Seeing the genuine fear and distress on Tom’s face, Dennis immediately regretted uttering the hurtful words. Moving around the table, he dropped to his knees and pulled Hanson into his arms. “No baby, I don’t want you to leave,” he murmured, kissing Tom tenderly on the lips. “I’m sorry, I guess we’re both a little agitated.”
Tom ran his fingers through Dennis’ hair as he stared deep into his dark eyes. “I’m sorry too. I don’t know what’s wrong with me but I’m starting to think I might need that therapist more than I thought I did.”
Dennis felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders. He was certain that once Tom started opening up about his experiences he would begin to heal. Placing a kiss on the top of Tom’s head, he stood up. “C’mon, eat something before it goes cold.”
Looking up at his lover, Tom’s expression became sober. “And then you’ll take me to see my mom?” he asked softly.
Dennis’ eyes filled with love. “Yes baby, then we’ll go see your mom.”
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Over the Hills and Far Away