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Cries of a Shadow	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 2758 -:- 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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For Tom, the next ten days passed in a haze of self-proclaimed inactivity. He spent most of his time sleeping, giving his body the much-needed rest it required to heal from the horrific injuries inflicted by his brother. Each hour passed in a cycle of fluctuating pain, his discomfort ranging from almost bearable to teeth-gritting intolerable, depending on how much medication was in his system. But even during his darkest times, he rarely complained, preferring to keep his suffering to himself rather than burden Booker with his troubles. Not that the dark-haired officer was backward in speaking his mind. After allowing Tom a day to settle in, he’d pestered his friend into making an appointment with his doctor. Frightened at the thought of an internal exam, Tom had initially used every excuse in the book...he was too tired, too weak, too stressed, etc. etc. etc. It was classic avoidance behavior, and while Booker understood the reasons behind the stalling tactic, he didn’t give up on his objective. Unlike Tom, he didn't have a laissez-faire attitude, and so he continued to push, gently at first before ramping up his efforts. Eventually, his endeavor paid off, and although the visit proved awkward and uncomfortable, it had given his friend some much-needed peace of mind. Despite the brutality of the assault, Doctor Goodman had announced there were no signs of any permanent injury. An immense sense of relief had shown on both men’s faces, and although neither spoke of their jubilation, each had celebrated the good news in silent contemplation. For Tom, the disclosure allayed his fear for the future, and for Booker, knowing his friend’s physical pain would soon ease was the greatest reward he could have asked for. As much as Tom tried to mask the extent of his injuries, there remained an intractable look of suffering that even the medication failed to remove. It was heartbreaking to witness, and Booker hated seeing that depth of torment shining in his friend’s eyes. Not that all of Tom’s pain came from his physical suffering. It didn’t. Feelings of guilt, shame, fear, and vulnerability all hindered a rape survivor’s emotional recovery, and when you added to that the incestuous component, Booker completely understood why Tom was a mess. And therein lay the dark-haired officer's most significant problem...convincing Tom to see a psychologist. Privacy had always played a big part in Tom’s life, and getting him to open up to a stranger would be a challenge. But Dennis knew enough about sexual assault to know if his friend didn’t seek help, in all likelihood, he would suffer in silence until the self-condemnation slowly drove him insane.
**
After checking the water temperature with his hand, Booker stepped into the tub and pulled the curtain around him. Ducking his head, he let out a contented sigh as the warm water cascading from the shower head washed away the day’s trials and tribulations. He’d found the last few days mentally exhausting, but not in the way he had expected. His vague connection with Tom had melded into something resembling real friendship, and he’d even managed to put aside his feelings of disgust whenever he thought about the Hanson brothers’ unhealthy relationship. However, that didn't mean there weren't certain issues. Spending twenty-four-hours a day with a virtual stranger was a new experience, and Tom was unlike anyone Booker had ever known. The young officer’s shy mutterings were often punctuated by long, awkward silences, making conversation difficult, and these idiosyncrasies grated heavily on his nerves. With not much to do, he had too much time to think, and at night, he found his mind constantly analyzing his housemate’s odd behavior. What bothered him most wasn’t Tom’s reticence per se, but more the strange way he looked at him whenever they spent time together. For some inexplicable reason, his friend had gone from barely making eye contact to scrutinizing his every move. The long, lingering looks had made for some uncomfortable exchanges, especially because on the odd occasion, he had helped Tom button his jeans because his motor skills still weren’t up to par. During such encounters, he had felt the invisible heat of the young officer’s gaze penetrating his flesh, stirring inside him thoughts he didn’t want to address. He’d found the physical contact so confronting, he’d recommended Tom wear sweatpants until the nerve damage in his wrist healed. But the proposition had not gone down well. Hurt by the suggestion, the young officer had moodily withdrawn, and from that moment on, he’d refused any offer of help. Although somewhat frustrated, Booker chose to ignore the petulant behavior. He was not one to bow down to emotional blackmail, and although it had taken several days, his friend’s icy demeanor had eventually thawed. It was a win of sorts, but Booker remained wary. He sensed a co-dependency in Tom, and it was a role he wasn’t willing to fulfill. With his brother on the run, Tom had the opportunity to reclaim his independence, and the dark-haired officer was determined to help him find his wings. Friendship was one thing, but he had the uncomfortable feeling he was becoming a substitute for Will, and with good reason. On their second night in the apartment, he’d checked on the young officer as he lay sleeping, and what he’d discovered had sent shockwaves of unease rippling through his body. At first, he thought he was mistaken, and switching to stealth mode, he’d crossed the room for a closer look. But as he approached the bed, his fears were soon confirmed. Peeking out from beneath Tom’s pillow were the sweatpants he’d loaned his friend a lifetime ago, the soft material clutched tightly in the sleeping officer’s hand in a display of childlike innocence. The sight and underlying message had unnerved him, and he’d quietly withdrawn to the safety of his makeshift bed. More than anything, he wished the other Jump Street officers would show an interest in supporting their comrade, thereby taking the focus off him as primary caregiver. But their only visitor was Fuller, who checked in every few days to see how they were coping. It was during one of these visits that Booker had considered pulling his captain aside and verbalizing his concerns, but something held him back. Whether it was loyalty to his friend or his own embarrassment, he wasn’t sure. All he did know for certain was he wasn’t comfortable confiding in his captain, and for the hundredth time, he wished Penhall would make an appearance so he could at least speak to someone he considered his peer.
With thoughts of Tom planted firmly in his mind, Booker abandoned the idea of a leisurely wank, and turning off the faucets, he stepped out of the tub. After drying off, he wrapped his towel around his waist and opened the bathroom door. The sound of voices immediately caught his attention, and he instinctively turned his head toward the television. When the cold, vacuous blackness of the blank screen met his eyes, a prickle of fear ran up and down his spine, and turning his head in the opposite direction, he stared at the apartment door. Since moving in with Tom, he’d made a habit of keeping the door’s security chain latched. Not that the flimsy links would stop Will Hanson from gaining access if he wanted to, but it would slow him down enough for those inside to gather their wits before facing a fully-fledged attack. What the dark-haired officer hadn’t factored into the equation, however, was the possibility Tom would willingly let his sibling into the apartment. But as he stared at the unlatched door, Booker realized he’d grossly underestimated his friend’s loyalty toward his brother. The wolf had come a-knockin’, and instead of screaming for help, the lamb, in his naivety, had opened the door and welcomed him inside with open arms.
A surge of adrenaline flooded Booker’s veins, accelerating his heart rate, and tip-toeing across the room, he picked his Smith and Wesson up off the coffee table. Holding the gun in both hands, he inched toward the partially open bedroom door, his weapon pointed downward, but ready to swing up at the slightest provocation. The voices inside the room grew steadily louder, and flattening himself against the wall, he paused to listen, his muscles braced in readiness.
“W-Will, don’t. Please! I t-told you, I d-don’t want to d-do that anymore.”
“Aw, c’mon, Tom-Tom. Just one more time, I promise I won’t hurt you. I love you.”
“I love you too, but you h-hurt me, r-really hurt me, and now everybody knows and—”
“You only care because of that Booker. Ever since you started working with him, things have changed.”
“N-No, they haven’t. I’ve always hated it. ALWAYS! It’s not normal, Will! It’s sick! Sick and perverted and I won’t let you—Stop! Don’t! Will, please! You’re hurting me, you’re HURTING ME!”
Tom’s terrified scream forced Booker into action and spinning around, he kicked open the door and trained his gun on the two men standing by the window. “Get your hands off him, motherfucker!”
Caught off guard, Will’s eyes widened in surprise. But his shock was fleeting and wrapping an arm around Tom’s throat, he pulled him into a chokehold. Using his brother’s boxer-clad body as a shield, he edged closer to the back of the room, and with the reflexes of a cat, he whipped out his own service weapon and pressed it against Tom’s temple. “Well, well,” he taunted. “I guess we have a Mexican standoff. Whatever will our hero do?”
Panic registered in Tom’s eyes. “W-Will? Wh-what are you doing?”
“Shut up, Tom-Tom,” Will growled, his maniacal gaze fixed on Booker. “Me and your knight in shining armor are gonna have a conversation about people stickin’ their noses in where they don’t belong. Isn’t that right, Lancelot?”
Beads of perspiration glistened on Booker’s naked torso, but when he spoke, his voice was clear and calm. “Will, put down the gun.”
“Why?” Will sneered, his arm tightening around Tom’s neck. “So you can take him away from me?”
Booker kept his gun trained on Will’s forehead. “That’s not what I wanna do, and you know it.”
When Will remained silent, the dark-haired officer adjusted his stance ever so slightly and tried a different tactic. “C’mon, man, put the gun down. Let’s talk about this.”
“There’s nothing left to talk about.”
“Yeah, there is,” Booker murmured. “But you have to let Tommy go so—”
“DON’T YOU SAY HIS NAME!” Will screamed, droplets of spittle flying from his lips. “HE’S NOT YOUR TOMMY, HE’S MY TOM-TOM! MINE!”
Real fear flickered in Booker’s dark eyes, the depthless pools shimmering like moonbeams dancing over the still surface of a lake. Untrained in hostage negotiations, he knew one false move could prove catastrophic. But he wasn’t about to give in to the demands of a deranged lunatic either, and so in a desperate effort to appease, he attempted to appeal to Will’s fraternal side. “C’mon, man, you’re scaring him. You and I both know you don’t want to hurt him, so why don’t you let him go, and we can keep talking. Okay?”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
Tension rippled through the room, the wrath of power electrifying the air. Sweat prickled Will’s brow, and flicking out his tongue, he swept the tip over his lips, moistening the flesh before he spoke. “Because you’ll arrest me and I’ll go to prison.”
It was a valid point, and one Booker knew he needed to address. “Yeah, okay, you’re right,” he acknowledged. “I will arrest you, but if Tommy doesn’t press charges, maybe—”
“STOP CALLING HIM THAT!” Will yelled, his eyes flashing with insane fury. “HIS NAME ISN’T TOMMY, IT’S TOM-TOM! TOM...TOM!”
“D-Dennis?” Tom croaked, his hands gripping his brother’s forearm in a vain attempt to lessen the pressure crushing his windpipe.
Booker’s gaze flitted to Tom’s frightened face before he once again locked eyes with the eldest Hanson. “It’s okay, Tom,” he reassured in a calm voice. “He’s not going to hurt you. Are you, Will?”
Will’s panicked eyes darted wildly around the room. He was trapped in a situation of his own making, and he could feel his freedom slowly slipping away along with his sanity. Life had taken an unexpected U-turn, and he was no longer in control, no longer the master of his own destiny. Which left him only one choice. To end his pain, he needed to end a life, and wrapping his arm tighter around Tom’s neck, he pressed his mouth against his brother’s ear. “Forgive me, Tom-Tom,” he whispered, and closing his eyes, he squeezed the trigger.
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Cries of a Shadow