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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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When Tom’s door opened, Booker rushed to greet the intern before he could disappear on his rounds. “What happened? Is he okay?”
The young doctor emerged from the room, his expression professional. “I'm sure you're familiar with the concept of doctor-patient confidentiality. But if you’re asking me if his condition has worsened, the answer is no.”
Frustrated by the doctor’s by the book attitude, Booker turned his attention to Janet. “Can I see him?”
A sweet, understanding smile lit up the nurse’s face. “Of course, but be careful what you say. If he wants to talk to you about his condition, he will. Just don’t pressure him.”
With a nod of his head, Booker moved into the open doorway. Someone had pulled the blue curtain back around the bed, obstructing Tom from view, and for a brief moment, Booker felt like an interloper. The line between friend and paid protector was somewhat blurred, and he wondered if Tom grudgingly put up with his presence or if he genuinely wanted him by his side. Too timid to speak his mind, Tom often endured in silence because he hated hurting people’s feelings. Booker had witnessed the altruistic behavior before and he had an uneasy feeling the trigger for his friend’s latest attack wasn’t so much from his injuries, but more along the lines of something he’d said or done. Tom had snatched his hand away right before he’d started hyperventilating, so maybe it was his touch that had sparked a memory connected to his friend’s abuse. The thought added another metaphorical weight to Booker’s overburdened shoulders. Perhaps he wasn’t the right person to protect Tom after all. Maybe the young officer was better off with someone who kept their distance rather than offered comfort. It was a confusing complexity of half-baked theories entwined with the ghostly chill of intuition, the bewildering blend of uncertainty leaving him with more questions than answers. But in the end, he decided to place his trust in his captain. If Fuller thought he was the best man for the job, then he would do all he could to prove him right. However, he wasn’t going to force his presence on Tom. If his friend needed time alone, then he could keep watch over him just as effectively from outside the room. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but if it did, he’d respect Tom’s wishes and do as he asked.
Happy with his decision, Booker stepped into the room and vocalized his thoughts. “Hey, Tom. Do you want me to sit with you or do you want me to stay outside?”
“Sit with me,” came the murmured reply from behind the curtain. “But close the door first.”
Pleased his friend hadn’t relegated him to the uncomfortable chair in the corridor, Booker closed the door and approached the bed. “Can I open the curtain?”
“Yeah, okay.”
Taking hold of the blue drape, Booker pulled it across the railing, revealing Tom in a freshly made bed. Mindful of Janet’s cautious words, he pulled up a chair and sat down without saying anything. An awkward silence ensued until Tom finally spoke. “Sorry if I scared you.”
It was the opening gambit Booker had hoped for, and leaning forward, he rested his folded arms on his thighs and studied Tom’s tired face. “Don’t worry about me. As long as you’re okay, we’re cool.”
Tom’s teeth anxiously worried his lower lip. He wasn’t really sure if he was okay. When the doctor had sufficiently calmed him to the point where he could speak, embarrassment had suffocated his words, preventing him from mentioning the weird sensation snaking through his groin. And so, he’d stayed silent, his humiliation mounting with each passing minute. The intern’s face had registered annoyance, but to his credit, he’d taken a seat and gently asked Tom to tell him what was wrong. Eventually, the young officer had muttered something about feeling wetness beneath him, and the doctor had dutifully examined him. Upon finding the bloodstained sheet, he had reassured Tom there was no cause for alarm and that he was still healing. Mumbling an apology, the young officer had wanted nothing more than to be left alone. But Janet had insisted on cleaning him up and changing his gown and sheets to make him more comfortable. He’d reluctantly agreed, and although the whole ordeal had taken less than fifteen minutes, for Tom, it had felt like a lifetime. As the nurse gently wiped the blood from his trembling buttocks, another part of his soul had died. He was a joke, a pathetic joke, and for one brief, fleeting moment, he’d wondered why he wasn’t desensitized to the shame. After all, he’d spent most of his life moving from one embarrassing moment to the next, so why was he still affected by the indignity? He had no answer except he sometimes thought God was punishing him for his indiscretions. But as he was no longer sure he believed in a higher power, as far as he was concerned, it was a moot point, leaving him once again wondering.
Suddenly remembering Booker was in the room, the young officer refocused his eyes. He owed his friend an explanation, and gripping a handful of blanket, he forced the words from his mouth. “Th-there was some b-bleeding and...Well, the d-doctor says it’s n-normal so…”
A look of understanding passed over Booker’s face, but he remained silent. He could sense Tom’s embarrassment as distinctly as he could feel his own heart beating rapidly in his chest. The humiliation undulated off the young officer in waves, and he didn’t want to add to his shame by prolonging the conversation. He understood well enough what was going on, he didn’t need a blow-by-blow description. And so, he leaned back in his chair, and stretching out his legs, he offered his friend a smile. “So, how do you wanna pass the time? There’s a Dodgers’ game on, and I remember you saying you’re a fan. Do you wanna watch it?”
The casual change of conversation brought tears to Tom’s eyes. He’d expected Booker to quiz him about his meltdown, and he was grateful he didn’t have to relive his humiliation in detail. “Yeah,” he replied with a shaky smile. “They’re playing the Padres, right?”
“You’re the expert,” Booker grinned, and picking up the television remote, he hit the power button. Color filled the small screen mounted above the bed, and settling back in his chair, he flicked through the channels until he found the game. Casting a furtive glance in Tom’s direction, he saw the muscles in his friend’s face visibly relax, and he mentally licked his finger and chalked one up to success. Score one to Booker. He’d trusted his gut, and it had paid off. Watching sports together was a passive yet intimate male bonding exercise, and the beauty of it was, he and Tom didn’t actually have to say anything profound or meaningful. It was a time to sit back and unwind, without the burden of heavy conversation. What could possibly go wrong?
Feeling justifiably proud of himself, Booker turned his mind off and started enjoying the game. But his jubilation was short-lived. Six minutes into the top of the third inning, the door opened, revealing a gray-haired, middle-aged male doctor. Behind him stood Janet, her lips twitching nervously, her ill at ease stance instantly evaporating Booker’s high-spirited mood. Something was going on, and it obviously had to do with Tom’s freakout.
“Good evening, Mister Hanson,” the doctor greeted Tom in a pleasant tone. “How are you feeling?”
As Tom turned his head, the light played across his face, highlighting the ghostly pallor of his skin. “Um...okay, I guess,” he replied quietly.
The doctor dismissed the comment with a slight nod of his head. “Good. Perhaps your friend could wait outside. I’d like to do an internal exam to see how you’re healing.”
Tension rolled off Tom’s body, his muscles stiffening in response to the request. “No,” he answered in a petulant voice. “I don’t want to.”
A look of annoyance passed over the doctor’s face. “I’m sorry, Mister Hanson, but as a patient under my care, I must insist you comply with my recommendation.”
Booker rose to his feet, his face hardening into a scowl. “He...said...he...didn’t...want to,” he reiterated, making sure to carefully enunciate each word for maximum effect. “And guess what, Doc, no means no. Look it up, asshole.”
“Dennis, you’re not helping,” Janet interjected, her worried gaze flitting between the disgruntled officer and the proctologist. “If Doctor Yu feels it’s necessary to examine—”
“I want to go home.”
The softly spoken request had all eyes focusing back on Tom. Immediately, Janet stepped forward and rested a reassuring hand on the young officer’s arm. “Tom, I don’t think that’s a good—”
“I SAID, I WANT...TO GO...H-HOME!”
A racking sob tore through Tom’s sentence like a wound, and covering his face with his hands, he started to cry. For a few short minutes, he’d managed to ignore the pain throbbing inside him, the memory of his violent rape temporarily forgotten as he’d lost himself in the fast-paced action of the baseball game. But in the space of a moment, the doctor had shattered his tranquil mindset, bringing back all the emotional and physical trauma in one fell swoop. It wasn't fair, and he briefly wondered if he would ever know peace again.
“Happy?” Booker spat, and pushing past Janet, he sat on the edge of the bed and placed a comforting arm around his friend’s trembling shoulders. “Shh, Tommy. It’s okay. If you want to go home, no one can stop you.”
“Excuse me,” the specialist snapped. “Who the hell are you? This is about Tom’s wellbeing, not yours, and it’s important we monitor his recovery very carefully. A more detailed internal exam is crucial at this point because if his injury has resulted in fissures, we need to keep a close eye on how they’re healing.”
“I’m his best friend,” Booker retorted, his voice rising in anger. “And I’m pretty sure his own doctor can do that. Am I right?”
The doctor’s jaw tightened. He found the brash, argumentative young man challenging to deal with and he pondered the advantage of calling security and getting him thrown out of the hospital. But in the end, he decided to let the matter drop. The surly best friend was right about one thing, he couldn’t keep Tom at the hospital against his will, and if the young officer wanted to leave, he had no power to stop him.
After much thought, the doctor made his decision. “It’s not ideal, but if you insist, I can send my findings to Tom’s family physician.”
“We insist.”
Ignoring Booker’s statement, James Yu spoke directly to his patient. “Is that what you want, Tom?”
Tom lifted his head and wiping a shaky hand over his eyes, he brushed away his tears. “Y-Yes,” he hiccupped. “I w-wanna g-go h-home.”
“As you wish,” Yu muttered before turning to address Janet. “Prepare the discharge papers and give Mister Hanson a pamphlet about sitz baths. I’ll send a letter through to his G.P. along with a referral so he can speak to a psychologist.”
Janet nodded. “Yes, Doctor.”
Yu turned to leave, but he paused midstep and turning his body, he addressed Tom over his shoulder. “If the bleeding gets any worse, you must come directly to the E.R. Is that understood?”
Tom’s exaggerated nod reminded the doctor of a dashboard Bobble Head doll, and with a disapproving shake of his head, he left the room.
“You really shouldn’t have done that.”
Booker gave Janet a weak smile. “Yeah, you’re probably right. But if Tom wants to leave, that’s his choice.”
“Maybe,” Janet replied with a sigh. “But I don’t think it’s a smart one,” and picking up Tom’s chart, she walked out the door.
Desperate to get moving, Tom threw back the bedclothes. “So, can we go now?”
Booker raised both hands in a halting gesture. “Whoa!” he exclaimed. “If you’re going to do this, I need to take care of a few things first.”
A moody pout formed on Tom’s lips. “Like what?”
“Liiike,” Booker replied slowly, cleverly using the word as a filler until he could get his thoughts in order. As far as he knew, the Hansons’ bathroom still resembled a scene from a horror movie, and he wanted time to get it clean before Tom returned to the apartment.
“Don’t you want me to go home?” Tom asked in a soft, child-like voice.
Suppressing an exasperated sigh, Booker squeezed his friend’s shoulders. “Of course I do. But there are things I need to organize. I have to speak to Fuller, pack a bag—”
“You’re coming with me?”
Booker threw Tom a quizzical look. “Well, yeah. Why? Don’t you want me there?”
Tom’s head shook from side to side, the movement whipping his long bangs across his face. “No, it’s not that. It’s just...I didn’t think you’d want to keep babysitting me. Don’t you want to go back undercover on the Westview case?”
Cupping Tom’s face in his hand, Booker stared into his friend’s troubled eyes. He was about to make an announcement he knew his friend didn't want to hear. “It’s not babysitting, Tom,” he clarified in a soft voice. “And Fuller’s already put Penhall on the Westview Case because I told him I wanted to be the one assigned as your security, and that means wherever you go, I go. Okay? But I think you should start taking your pain medication again. I’ve got no medical training, so it’ll be easier on both of us if your pain is under control.”
Tom internally debated the request, but eventually, he gave a reluctant nod. “Okay,” he sighed.
Relief softened the lines around Booker’s eyes. He may have guilted Tom into taking his meds, but it was for his own good. And the white lie he’d told about asking Fuller to assign him the job of security guard was—as far as he was concerned—a small yet necessary one. Initially, he’d accepted his position as Tom’s protector because he had no choice, but his attitude had changed. They’d aired their grievances, and his friend had forgiven him his transgressions, meaning they could start again with a clean slate. As bizarre as it was, he found himself genuinely looking forward to spending time with the fragile officer, even though he knew it wouldn’t be easy. He had no idea how Tom planned to work through his psychological trauma now he was leaving behind the trained medical support offered by the hospital, and the not knowing scared him. Would Tom want to talk about his rape and if so, was he equipped to deal with such an emotional issue? The answer to his question remained elusive, but that didn’t discourage him. He would do his best to support his friend in whichever way he needed, and although there were bound to be a few hiccups, he was confident they could ride the storm together.
Giving Tom’s shoulders another squeeze, he stood up. “Good,” he smiled. “So, how ‘bout we schedule your release for tomorrow. That’ll give me enough time to sort everything out.”
They weren’t the words Tom wanted to hear, but he grudgingly accepted the terms of Booker’s agreement with a nod of his head. “I guess.”
Booker’s smile widened, and settling into his chair, he turned his attention back to the game. “Hey, the Dodgers are two-nil up.”
But Tom barely heard him. He had bigger things on his mind. He was finally going home, and maybe, just maybe, Will would return home too.
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Cries of a Shadow