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Cries of a Shadow	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 2757 -:- 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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Outside Tom’s hospital room, Doug Penhall chatted amiably with one of the nurses. He stood with one foot on the chair, his right arm resting on his thigh, the casualness of the pose negating the seriousness of the situation. Fuller had assigned him a shift as Hanson’s personal security guard, but unlike Booker, he chose to stay in the corridor rather than sit inside with Tom. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to visit his coworker, he did...sort of. The problem was, he didn’t know what to say to him. “Hey, Hanson, how’s it going?” sounded crass and uncaring, yet “Hey, Hanson, are you okay?” opened the floodgates of actual dialogue, encouraging an anything-goes, free-for-all discussion. And while he did care, he wasn’t prepared to insert himself into the drama of the brothers’ fucked-up lives. He’d always considered Will Hanson an okay kinda guy, and he struggled with the concept he was capable of sexually assaulting his sibling. Rape was not an easy topic to discuss, especially for a man, and with Tom’s overall propensity toward depression and anxiety, he didn’t think he was the right person to offer support. Both Harry and Judy were far less likely to put their foot in their mouth when trying to offer a sympathetic ear. And Booker? Well, from what Doug had witnessed, their newest recruit appeared to have a love-hate relationship with Hanson, so whether he was the right man for the job was anyone’s guess. Then there was Fuller, the oldest, and wisest of their group. If anyone had the finesse and experience to speak openly to a victim of sexual assault, it was their no-nonsense, well-respected captain. But as Tom was known to shy away from contact, it was doubtful even he had the skills needed to break down the barriers built over a lifetime. It was a sad state of affairs, and one Penhall was glad he didn’t have to deal with. As far as he was concerned, Tom needed help, and the sooner he sought the advice of a professional, the more normal his life would become.
Inside room 314, Tom’s ears tuned into the flirtatious chatter, and a single tear ran down his cheek. The ease with which the two young people communicated highlighted his own inadequacies, leaving him feeling isolated and empty inside. He wished he were back in his apartment with Will, not tied up, of course, but living his life without interference from the outside world. Although safe from harm, he felt more vulnerable than he had during the worst forty-eight hours of his life. At least he’d known what to expect from Will. Hospital was a new and frightening experience, and one he hoped he would never have to revisit. He didn’t like people prying into his life, and he had a suspicion his doctor wouldn’t discharge him until he’d spoken to a therapist. Whether he liked it or not, he was now ‘in the system’, and unless he capitulated, the so-called professionals would continue to hound him long after he returned to the sanctuary of his closeted world.
The harsh sound of someone clearing their throat snapped Tom from his musings and turning his head, his eyes widened in surprise. “C-Coach.”
With a nod of his head, Fuller stared back at Tom through tired, red-rimmed eyes. “Hello, Hanson. Are you up for a visit?”
Tom rubbed a shaky hand over his mouth before giving his reply. “Sure, Cap’n,” he sanctioned with a sigh. “C’mon in.”
Fuller entered the room, taking the time to close the door behind him. Pulling up a chair, he sat down, and as he studied Tom’s pale face, the lines around his eyes softened. “How are you, son?”
The fatherly concern in his superior’s voice caught Tom off guard, and looking away, he fought to compose himself. During his father’s lifetime, he had known nothing but love, and for the first time in years, he wanted someone...anyone...to gather him in their arms and hug away his pain. He physically ached for contact, but he was incapable of asking for it. Emotionally stunted, he lived in a loveless vacuum, the nefarious affections of his brother distorting his outlook on relationships. And as much as he wanted to reach out to his captain, he knew he would continue to suffer in silence because Will was more important to him than his own peace of mind. It was his cross to bear, and with his fortitude withering under his captain’s steely gaze, he gave what he hoped was a nonchalant shrug. “I’m okay,” he croaked, his crooked smile failing to mask the pain etched on his face. “A few more days of rest and I’ll be good as new.”
“Is that right?”
There was a weightiness behind the question, a hint of cynicism that held a thousand messages within the innocuous statement. It said, in effect, “I’m sorry, I don’t believe you, but you keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better,” without ever actually uttering the words. A heavy silence followed, the only sound, the incessant beep of the heart monitor. Embarrassed, Tom nervously picked at his blanket. Even after his disastrous conversation with Booker, he wanted to speak out, to unburden his soul to someone, but he didn’t know where to start. Will was his friend, his brother, and his rapist, how could he even begin to explain the conflicting emotions tearing him apart? There were no words, no justification for his feelings, just an open wound he didn’t know how to heal.
“Talk to me, Hanson,” Fuller encouraged in a soft voice. “Tell me what’s been going on.”
All the emotion Tom had valiantly suppressed leaked from the corners of his eyes. “I can’t,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, Coach, I just can’t.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
It was a valid question, and one Tom didn’t have any trouble answering. “It’s not that,” he sniffed, his fingers wiping the stray tears from his face. “I just...I can’t talk about it to you, Cap’n, so please, don’t ask me again.”
A glimmer of understanding shone in Fuller’s eyes. “Would you like to speak to someone else? Hoffs, maybe? Or Harry?”
Tom managed a watery smile. “I don’t think so, Coach. I’m fine, really. And I’ve already spoken to Booker so…”
His voice trailed off before the quaver rising in his throat threatened to give him away. The memory of Dennis’ horrified face was still so raw, so hurtful, and thinking about it caused a physical pain in his heart. He’d opened up to the one person he thought would understand, only to have it backfire, leaving him once again, friendless and alone.
With the beginnings of a headache pulsing behind his eyes, Fuller lightly massaged his temple, the circular motion relieving some of the pain. He didn't know Booker well enough to judge whether he had the compassion needed to offer adequate comfort when dealing with a rape survivor, but he was glad Tom had someone on his side. “Okay,” he nodded. “But you’ll have to speak to the departmental psychologist before you can return to work, and when you’re up to it, I’ll arrange for someone impartial to take your statement. I’ve already issued a warrant for Will’s—”
“No.”
Fuller’s hand paused mid-rub before dropping to his side. “No? Tom, your brother sexually assaulted you. You have to press charges so—”
“And I said, no,” Tom reiterated, his love for his brother blinding him to reason. “So drop it, okay?”
When Fuller’s eyes narrowed, the young officer felt compelled to explain. “Will’s my only family,” he continued in a quiet voice. “I can’t and won’t be responsible for putting him in prison. Please try and understand, Coach, he’s all I’ve got. Without him, I’m nobody.”
It was a troubling statement, but rather than focus on Tom’s warped loyalty to his brother, Fuller clarified his stance on the matter. “The district attorney can still prosecute,” he reminded the young officer. “We have a solid case against Will, and with or without your help, it will go before the courts.”
A moody pout formed on Tom’s lips and turning his head, he stubbornly stared at the wall. “I’m tired.”
The apparent snub signaled the young officer’s unwillingness to continue the conversation, leaving Fuller no choice but to let the matter drop. Rising to his feet, he laid a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “Okay, Hanson. Get some rest. I’ll visit you again tomorrow.”
It was on the tip of Tom’s tongue to say, “Don’t bother,” but he respected his captain too much to treat him with such contempt. However, that didn’t mean he was prepared to roll over and concede defeat. Ratting on Will was not an option, and if the D.A. wanted to prosecute, then he could do it without his testimony.
“Okay, Cap’n,” he muttered at the wall. “But you won’t change my mind.”
“We’ll see,” Fuller murmured, and turning away, he walked out the room, leaving Tom with his thoughts.
**
After several hours sleep and a long hot shower, Booker felt ready to face the rest of the day. Walking into the chapel’s main hub, he immediately noticed the subdued atmosphere. Tom’s rape had affected everyone, even Parry, the staunchest of his bullies, appeared uncharacteristically somber. It was a reminder of the fragility of the human existence, thereby highlighting the flaw behind the, it’ll never happen to me mentality. It had happened, and in all probability, it would happen again to someone in the next second...minute...hour. Like it or not, there were no guarantees, just a vague, barely acknowledged hope it wouldn’t happen to a friend, loved one, or God forbid, yourself.
Avoiding the furtive looks and surreptitious nudging, the dark-haired officer made his way to his desk and sat down. He was in no mood for a grilling, the memories of the previous night still too painful to discuss. But he was out of luck. Within minutes of taking his seat, Fuller approached him, his captain’s expression a mask of serious contemplation. “We need to talk.”
It was a command, not a request, and pushing back his chair, Booker followed Fuller into his office, the curious stares of his fellow officers raising the color in his cheeks. Taking a seat, he sat rigidly, his arms folded protectively across his chest. The interrogation was about to begin.
“How are you, Booker?”
While silently acknowledging the concern in his captain's voice, Booker’s outward stance remained defensive. “I'm okay,” he muttered. “When can I get back to work?”
Ignoring the question, Fuller continued to study his subordinate’s moody expression. “Tom tells me he’s not willing to press charges against his brother. He also told me the two of you talked. Did he reveal anything you think I should know?”
Booker shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Disclosing his friend's secret would undoubtedly go a long way in securing a conviction against Will. But could he, in all consciousness, betray Tom’s trust? He wasn't sure he could, but not just for the obvious reasons. While he did want to protect his friend's dignity, a part of him couldn't help but cringe when he thought about the extent of Tom’s abuse. How could Hanson have allowed his brother to sexually assault him for twelve years without ever fighting back, and how could he, as Tom’s friend, ever explain it to their captain? It was embarrassing, not just for Tom, but for him, the narrator because he knew the disgust in his eyes would give away his true feelings. He genuinely liked Tom, but he would never understand his and Will’s twisted relationship, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. That he’d made a silent vow to protect the young officer from the iniquities of his brother seemed to have conveniently slipped his mind. He wanted nothing more than to quietly transform back into his Brady persona and forget all about Tom’s rape and the disturbing images that refused to leave his thoughts. But he had an uneasy feeling Fuller had other ideas, and he chose his words carefully so as not to insert himself further into the drama than absolutely necessary. “No, not really. He admitted it was Will, but he didn't say anything else.”
“But he did open up to you?”
There was an underlying edge cutting through the soft inflection of Fuller’s voice, and Booker proceeded with caution. “Um...I s’pose, if you wanna call it that.”
Fuller’s toothy smile sent a shudder down Booker’s spine. He knew what was coming before his captain even spoke the fateful words. “Good. Tom needs round the clock protection, so I’m appointing you the job of keeping him safe until Will Hanson is in custody. As of now, consider yourself on guard duty, starting tonight. Someone will relieve you every morning at seven so you can go home and catch some shuteye before you return to the hospital promptly at two. Is that understood?”
“And the Westview case?”
The smile faded from Fuller’s lips. “That’s no longer your concern. I’m sending Penhall in with Harry.”
A look of annoyance passed over Booker’s face, but he was smart enough to keep his thoughts to himself. Pushing himself out of his chair, he addressed his superior in a clipped tone. “Will that be all, Cap’n?”
Fuller’s expression softened slightly. “I know it's not an easy assignment, Booker, but I have faith you're the right man for the job. Tom’s been through a lot, and he could really use a friend.”
It was a compliment Booker didn't think he deserved, but he took it with the grace in which it was intended. “Okay, Coach,” he muttered, and with the burden of Tom’s care weighing heavily on his mind, he returned to his desk to lick his wounds.
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Cries of a Shadow