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Ask Me No Questions and I'll Tell You No Lies	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 2448 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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.

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Captain Adam Fuller sent each of his officers home so they could shower, eat and get a few hours sleep. Tom had protested about having to go to the hospital first but his superior had asserted his command by telling him that he would not allow him back to the Chapel until he received a report that he was fit for work. Penhall had offered to take Tom to Saint Mary’s but he refused, insisting that he was fine and that he would go in a patrol car and find his own way home. Fuller instructed his charges to meet back at the Chapel at two that afternoon so they could debrief and type up their reports.
As he climbed into the waiting patrol car, Tom could feel Booker’s gaze upon him. Turning around, he stared unemotionally at the dark haired officer. He knew Dennis suspected that something else had happened besides him being bashed and having his gun stolen. However, because he was having trouble acknowledging it in his own mind, he refused to admit to himself that something else had happened. He felt numb inside, almost as though he were in a dream except it was not really a dream, it was a living nightmare.
When he saw Booker’s dark eyes gazing at him with unveiled pity, it was too much for him to bear. Getting into the car, he slammed the door shut and closing his eyes, he laid his head back against the seat. As the car headed towards the hospital, the numbness in his mind was replaced by the sound of screaming.
**
Tom stayed at the hospital for several hours under observation and the doctor eventually released him with instructions to take it easy for a few days. He caught a cab back to his apartment and as he walked down the hallway towards his door, he felt tears welling in his eyes. Stumbling into his apartment, he slammed the door shut and leaning his back against it, he started to weep. His legs began to tremble and he slowly slid to the floor, sobbing hysterically as the memories of the assault flooded his mind in vivid color. He felt completely helpless and completely alone. The thought of any of his colleagues knowing that he had become a victim, that the man had violated him in such a humiliating way was too much for him to bear.
Suddenly, he remembered Booker’s knowing expression and his body started to shake uncontrollably. Dennis was the last person in the world that he wanted knowing about the rape. As the word rape echoed in his mind, his stomach churned and he started to feel sick. Scrambling to his feet, he dashed towards the bathroom and only just managed to reach the toilet before he vomited. As he retched into the bowl, he suddenly remembered a terrifying detail of the attack; the man had not used a condom. His skin became clammy as his mind started to panic and another wave of nausea washed over him. His body shuddered and he spewed watery bile into the toilet bowl until his stomach was empty. Closing the lid, he pressed the flush button and when his legs felt steady enough, he slowly stood up. Leaning heavily on the hand basin, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. His face was deathly pale and there was still residual blood streaking his skin. Turning on the cold faucet, he cupped his hands under the cool water and rinsed out his mouth. Grabbing the soap, he lathered it up in his hands and scrubbed at his face before rinsing it off. Lifting his head, he again gazed into the mirror at his dripping reflection. The face that stared back at him was not his own, it was a ghost, a mere shadow of his former self.
Pulling a towel off the rail, he patted his face dry and slowly, he began to undress. Once naked, he turned on the shower and adjusted the faucets until a hot spray of water flowed from the shower head. Stepping under the scalding water, he gasped as it burned his skin. Bracing his hands against the white tiled wall, he let the water cascade over him. After several minutes, he picked up the soap and vigorously washed his entire body. As his fingers touched his anus, he winced in pain but it did not stop him thoroughly cleansing himself. A small voice in the back of his mind was screaming at him to stop, telling him that any evidence that was on his body was now swirling down the drain and into the sewage system. However, even though as a police officer he knew he was making a huge mistake, he did not care. In his mind, because he was not going to tell anyone about the rape, destroying the evidence was a moot point.
Forty minutes later, he stepped out of the shower. Picking up his towel, he briskly dried his hair and body. After brushing his teeth, he scooped up his discarded clothes and walking into the kitchen, he opened a drawer and took out a large black garbage bag. Tossing the clothes inside, he tied up the bag and threw it next to his front door so that he could throw them in the trash when he left the apartment. He entered his bedroom and for a moment, he stared at his bed, longing to climb under the clean sheets and sleep until the memories of his ordeal left him forever. However, he knew that sleep would probably bring on nightmares and he could not face the thought of reliving his torment in vivid detail. Sighing heavily, he grabbed some clean clothes and quickly dressed. Raking his fingers through his damp hair, he looked at the clock. The luminous numbers showed that it was only eight o’clock in the morning; he still had seven hours to kill before he was due back at the Chapel.
Wandering into the living room, he lay down on the couch and picking up the remote, he switched on the television. Flicking through the channels, he settled on a black and white Western. His eyes gazed vacantly at the screen and as the Cowboys and Indians fought out their epic battle, all Tom could hear was the haunting echoes of his screams.
**
Pulling his Mustang into a parking space, Tom turned off the ignition but did not get out of the car. Gripping hold of the steering wheel, he closed his eyes and willed the tremors that plagued his body to subside. Having not slept in over twenty-four hours, he felt disassociated from his body, almost punch drunk. His stomach growled in hunger but in reality, he had no appetite and the thought and smell of food made him feel nauseous. Once again, tears threatened to spill from his tormented brown eyes and he knew he needed to pull himself together if he was to fool his colleagues into thinking that everything was okay. The last thing he needed was to breakdown in a room full of cops.
Pressing the heels of his hands firmly against his eyes, he slowly composed himself. Although his hands still shook, he was confident that he could pull off the charade. All he had to do was get through the next few hours and then he could return home and allow himself to fall into the mind numbing depression that was threatening to consume him.
Climbing out of his car, he jumped involuntarily when he saw Booker standing beside him. Slamming the door closed, he turned to face his nemesis. “What the fuck is your problem?” he scowled. “Haven’t you got anything better to do than constantly harass me?”
Ignoring Tom’s remark, Booker gave him a penetrating stare. “We need to talk.”
Shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, Tom walked straight past the dark haired officer. “No,” he replied tersely. “We really don’t.”
Patience had never been Booker’s virtue and he grabbed hold of Hanson’s arm as he passed and held him firm. “I’m serious Tom,” he snapped. “If that man did something to you, you need to report it. You should go and speak to a department shrink and you need to go to the hospital in case there’s any evid—”
Tom’s eyes widened in outrage and he roughly pulled himself out of Dennis’ grasp. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!” he yelled. “I told you what happened; he hit me over the head and stole my gun. Why the hell are you implying something else?”
For the briefest of moments, Booker’s hard exterior melted away and his dark eyes softened. “Because your jeans were unbuttoned Tommy,” he murmured quietly. “And I can’t think of any other explanation for it.”
Hot bile rose in Hanson’s throat and he struggled to swallow it down; Booker knew. His worst nightmare had come true; the man he despised most had seen straight through his lies and had figured out exactly what had happened.
Struggling to keep his composure, Tom refused to meet Booker’s inquiring gaze and instead, he stared off into the distance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered softly. “Nothing else happened, end of story.”
Understanding that he needed to tread warily or risk pushing Hanson over the edge, Booker backed off. Nodding his head slightly, he stepped aside so Hanson could pass. “Whatever you say,” he replied quietly. “But if you need someone to talk to—”
Tom turned and gave Dennis a snide look. “You’d be the last person I’d go to,” he shot back and turning on his heel, he pushed past Booker and headed into the Chapel.
**
When Dennis finally entered the Jump Street headquarters, Hanson was in Adam Fuller’s office. As he passed by, Booker could see through the glass window that their Captain was talking animatedly at Tom, who was sitting quietly in a chair chewing on his thumbnail. Dennis paused for a moment and when Fuller caught him looking in, he got up from behind his desk and walked over to the window. He gave the dark haired officer a hard glare before deliberately closing the shutters.
Sighing softly, Booker made his way over to his desk and sat down. Penhall, Ioki and Hoffs were also at their desks, all furiously typing up their reports so they could put work behind them and relax for the rest of the day. As it was a Sunday, they would not start on any new cases until the following morning.
An hour later, Dennis had finished typing and he was resting casually against his desk with his ankles crossed, carefully reading through his report. He had omitted any mention of Tom’s disheveled appearance when he had found him crouched on the floor in the small room. Although he knew it was a breach of protocol not to report everything that had happened he did not want to put Tom in an uncomfortable position if what he surmised was in fact, incorrect. He needed to be sure of his facts before he put anything in writing.
Hanson was now sitting behind his desk, talking to Doug, Harry and Judy. Putting down his paperwork, Booker turned his attention to their conversation.
“So,” Penhall declared in a loud, cheerful voice. “How ‘bout drinks at the BoHo Bar? I reckon we’ve earned it.”
“I’m in,” Harry replied enthusiastically. “Anything to get my mind off the last week. I had to throw out my clothes they were so filthy.”
Penhall turned his attention to Hoffs. “How ‘bout it Jude?” he asked with a grin.
Judy returned Doug’s smile. “Yeah, I’ll come. I was going to go home and soak in the tub but drinks sound like fun. What about you Hanson?”
Hearing his name, Tom looked up with a startled expression. “Huh? What?” he asked, bringing his mind back to the present and staring at Judy in puzzlement.
“Drinks at the BoHo,” Judy stated with an impatient sigh. “Are you in or out?”
“Um, out,” Tom replied softly as he rubbed his fingers over his lips. “I’m kind of tired.”
Penhall began to jiggle his body. For a large man, he was surprisingly rhythmic and he danced lightly on his feet around Tom’s chair, his fingers clicking in tempo with his swaying hips. “Aw c’mon Tommy, so you didn’t collar the bad guy, it happens. Lighten up! Let’s go have some fun.”
Pushing his chair back abruptly, Tom stood up. “I said no!” he snapped, his eyes flashing angrily.
Doug stopped dancing and gave Hanson a wounded look. “Hey pal, I was only trying to cheer you up. There’s no need to take my head off.”
Raking his fingers through his hair, Tom managed a watery smile. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I guess I really need to get some sleep.”
Putting a hand on Hanson’s shoulder, Penhall gave his best friend a concerned look. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked quietly. “If you want to talk, we can—”
“I’m fine,” Tom replied curtly. Pushing past Penhall, he headed towards the door. “I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
Ioki nudged Judy and she shrugged her shoulders. They all knew that Hanson felt guilty at letting the perpetrator escape but they were surprised at the level of his misery. Not every bust went cleanly, it was all part of the job and you had to learn to put it behind you and move on.
As Tom walked past him, Booker caught Penhall’s eye and raising a questioning eyebrow, he waited for an invite to join them at the bar. “Like you’d come,” Penhall scoffed.
Pushing away from the desk, Dennis walked over to Doug and looked him directly in the eye. “Probably not,” he replied quietly. “But it would be nice to be asked.” Turning away, he sauntered out of the Chapel, his swagger portraying a careless attitude where as in truth, Doug’s rebuff stabbed him like a knife.
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Ask Me No Questions and I'll Tell You No Lies