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Two Ships	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 873 -:- 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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March 29th, 1997 (10.42 p.m.)
Five beers and one Monty Burger with the lot later, and Booker was none the wiser about Tom’s life. While admitting he had quit the force three years before, Hanson remained frustratingly vague about what he did for a living. But it wasn’t in Booker’s nature to give up. As the drinks flowed, he became more outspoken, his inner tenacity coming to the fore as he continued his questioning.
“So, do you live in Arizona?”
With a casualness that was slowly driving Booker crazy, Tom took a leisurely sip of his beer before answering. “Sometimes.”
“Sometimes? What the hell does that mean?”
Sitting back in his chair, Tom folded his arms across his chest. “Exactly as it sounds. Sometimes I live in Arizona, sometimes I don’t.”
Draining his beer, Booker signaled the barman for another. “Jesus,” he huffed, his brow furrowing into a frown of annoyance. “I’d forgotten how aggravating you can be. Why won’t you give me a straight answer? What are you hiding? Are you on the run?”
A slow, irritating smile graced Tom’s lips, and tilting his head to one side, he studied Dennis’ perplexed expression from across the table. “Do I look like I’m on the run?”
Frustrated, Booker slammed the palm of his hand down on the table. “Damn it, Hanson! Stop answering my questions with a question!”
Tom recoiled, the teasing smile fading from his lips. Surprised by the reaction, Booker wiped a shaky hand over his mouth as he watched a veil of sadness pass over Tom’s face. He had no idea what had happened to his former partner, but his intuition told him it had nothing to do with the time he’d spent in prison. His hurt was fresher, a raw, open wound that had not yet had time to heal. The torment in his eyes reflected an acute pain, a dark, personal suffering of love and loss, and for one, horrifying moment, Booker wondered if something had happened to Penhall. Immediately, a prickle of fear ran down his spine, and licking his lips, he worked some much-needed saliva into his mouth. “This...this doesn’t have anything to do with Doug, does it?”
Surprise widened Tom’s eyes. “No. Why would you ask me that?”
Tired of skirting around the issue and in need of some answers, Booker took a deep breath and came straight to the point. “You’re being evasive for a reason, Tom. Are you in trouble?”
A moody pout formed on Tom’s lower lip. “No.”
“Then why won’t you give me a straight answer?”
Nursing his beer in his hands, Tom looked down at the scratched surface of the wooden table, his mouth pulled into a tight, stubborn line. “Trust me, the less you know, the better.”
“So, you are in trouble.”
It was a statement not a question, so Tom did not feel obliged to answer. And as much as he missed the intimacy of confidentiality, he refused to drag Booker or anyone else into the nightmare that had become his life. But it wasn't as simple as just staying quiet. Once Booker latched onto something, he was like a dog with a bone, and if he didn’t deflect the line of questioning, he could end up putting not only his life at risk, but his former partner’s as well. He’d managed to keep a low profile since embarking on his mission, and he was starting to think he’d made a monumental mistake inviting himself to dinner. But he was tired, tired of moving around the country and tired of being alone. His obsession had consumed his life for three long years, and in a moment of weakness, he’d folded. It wasn’t surprising. Humans, by design, were social creatures, and living in solitude was starting to take its toll. Seeing Booker had roused in him a long-forgotten feeling, a slow, snaking awakening he hadn’t experienced in years, and he wanted to spend one night pretending he was still the Tom Hanson his friends and co-workers remembered. But he wasn’t, and he doubted he ever would be again. If he continued down his self-destructive path, he faced a lifetime of loneliness, and if he didn’t seize the moment and at least try to fulfill one dream, he might not get the opportunity again. For once, he wanted to be true to himself, to finally say the words he had never found the courage to say eight years ago. But he needed to tread warily. Booker was an astute sonofabitch, and the last thing he wanted was to put him in any danger. He carried enough guilt to last him a lifetime and adding to it would surely push him to the point of no return. But as he was the master of disguises, he figured he could convince Booker he was fine and dandy, while deep inside, he was slowly falling apart. After all, he did it every day, deception was his new vocation, and all he had to do was mimic the memory of his past self, and Booker wouldn’t suspect a thing.
Or so he hoped.
Taking a deep breath, he placed his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his clasped hands. “We all have our secrets, Dennis,” he murmured, a teasing smile tilting his lips. “But that doesn’t mean we have something to hide.”
The flesh between Booker’s eyebrows puckered into a frown. “Have you lost your mind? Nothing you're saying is making sense. When you have a secret, you’re hiding something. That's what a secret is. Look it up.”
Featherlike laugh lines creased the corners of Tom’s eyes. “Yeah, you got me there,” he chuckled. “But not all secrets are bad, right?”
While there was no disputing the fact, Booker remained unconvinced. “I guess,” he replied slowly, his voice inflected with uncertainty. “But—”
“Why don’t we go back to your hotel room for a nightcap?”
The sudden request had Booker visibly floundering, but he quickly regained his composure. For some strange reason, Tom made him nervous, but he had no idea why. “Um, sure. If you want. I have a bottle of twenty-year-old scotch. I guess we could toast our reunion.”
Tom pushed back his chair. “Perfect,” he grinned. “Let’s go.”
Still unsure how Tom had managed to manipulate him so effortlessly, Booker pulled out his wallet. “Okay but let me pay the bill first.”
“Already taken care of,” Tom replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Happy birthday.”
For the briefest of moments, Booker wondered if Tom were planning to skip out without paying. But when the barman raised his hand in a gesture of farewell, he realized he was wrong. Knowing Tom had money settled some of his unease, and he suppressed a smile. His former partner had always had a more unconventional style, and although he might look like a hobo, it was undoubtedly a ruse. And the more Booker thought about it, the more likely it seemed Tom really was working undercover, despite saying he’d left the force. It made perfect sense. The strange attire, the reluctance to talk about his life all fit his theory, and he immediately felt more relaxed. The law wasn’t after Tom, Tom was the law, and he couldn’t help but pity whomever he was after. Hanson was one of the best, almost as brilliant as himself, and if his track record were anything to go by, the perpetrator would be behind bars before he knew what hit him.
Pulling his mind back to the present, he returned Tom’s smile. “Thanks, I appreciate it. But I didn’t expect you to pay.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Tom grinned. “Now, how ‘bout that scotch?”
Feeling as though he were in a dream, Booker followed Tom out the door. When he’d come to Arizona, he never imagined he’d wind up having dinner with an old acquaintance. But life was funny that way, you never knew what was around the corner. As young men, they’d never been close, but Booker couldn't help but wonder if their serendipitous meeting might just put the past to rest, thereby paving the way toward a real friendship. He’d never hated Hanson, they just never really got along. Booker often thought it was because they were too alike. Strangely, he had felt closest to Tom during his incarceration, but his subsequent release put paid to any kind of friendship. He often wished he’d handled things differently, but he wasn't one to live in the past. Time moved forward and looking back didn't change a damn thing. But that didn't mean he didn't want to continue reminiscing with Tom. His former partner had him intrigued, and he hoped after a few more drinks, Tom would loosen up and talk about himself. What he didn’t know was that by the following morning, his life would never be the same again.
**
Taking a sip of scotch, Tom savored the warmth that flared in his throat before the alcohol ignited a pleasing flame in his belly. As the single malt worked its magic, his body started to relax and settling back against the couch cushions, his eyes scanned the luxurious hotel room, eagerly searching for any signs of the cop he used to know. But it appeared the brash, leather-jacketed Booker of the past was long gone, replaced by a refined, stylishly dressed man whose expensive tastes were evident throughout the room. But there was no jealousy in the observation. He had risen to the rank of homicide detective before leaving the force, an achievement he was extremely proud of. And while there was no doubt in his mind Booker was loaded, he sensed money hadn’t brought him happiness. There was an undeniable vulnerability reflected in the ex-cop’s dark, penetrating eyes, a glimmer of loneliness that wasn’t evident eight years ago. Tom knew all too well the drawbacks of spending too much time away from home. Relationships self-destructed, friendships faded, and one day, you woke up and realized the people you once knew no longer cared. Sometimes, it was an inevitable necessity to cut ties, other times, the solitude crept up on you, and before you knew it, life had passed you by, and you were alone. Unsure which scenario applied to Booker, Tom narrowed his eyes and watched the P.I. pour himself a drink. He had a feeling there was an inaccessible part of Booker’s personality he kept hidden, a sliver of his psyche he never exposed, thereby revealing only a shadow of his real self. It was an interesting hypothesis, and one Tom recognized in himself. Fate had dealt him a devastating blow, and he was no longer the man he once was. But for the first time in a long time, that was a part of his past he didn’t want to dwell on. He was enjoying reliving the times he’d shared with Booker, and he didn’t feel guilty putting his mission on hold for one night and living in the now. Life was short, and he knew better than anyone if you didn’t seize the day, you ran the risk of never fulfilling your heart’s desires.
With memories of his past life dominating his thoughts, Tom offered up a long overdue apology. “I never really thanked you for getting me out of prison.”
Booker’s arm froze, his muscles visibly flexing beneath his Ralph Lauren shirt. Placing the bottle of scotch on the small mahogany bar, he turned and faced his guest. “That was unexpected.”
Tom ducked his head, the tips of his fingers rubbing nervously over his lips. “Yeah, I probably should have said it a long time ago. It's my fault they demoted you, and maybe if I’d spoken up, things would have turned out differently.”
“Probably.”
Sensing an element of hostility, Tom knocked back his drink in one mouthful. By misjudging the situation, he’d ruined his one chance, and placing the empty tumbler on the coffee table, he stood up and offered Booker a weak smile. “I should go. It’s been great catching up. See you around.”
“Wait!”
The hastily delivered command stopped Tom in his tracks. But it wasn’t the force behind the plea that had him rethinking his exit. It was the hint of anxiety in Booker’s voice that gave him pause for reflection. He could not remember ever hearing it before, and it was then he realized how much the ex-cop had also changed. Time was the great leveler. They were no longer the same men who, even without provocation, had managed to get under each other’s skin. With the passing of years, their tempers had cooled, and their arrogance had lessened. In short, they’d grown up. And with maturity came wisdom. And with that wisdom came the confidence to be who they really were without fear of ridicule, thereby empowering their lives with a richer understanding. The moment of panic in Booker’s voice added validity to Tom’s observations, and so, rather than storm out the door like the Hanson of old, he remained standing while silently contemplating his next move. He quickly figured he had two options. He could thank Booker for a fun night and leave, or he could swallow his pride, stay, and face the anger he knew was coming. Surprisingly, it wasn’t a difficult choice. Booker’s resentment was justified, and maybe it was time for them to lay their cards on the table and really talk about what had happened with the Crane case. But that was only one part of his reason not to leave. There was a tiny, annoying voice in his head telling him if he walked out the door, he would end up regretting the decision forever. Fate had brought them together for a reason, and he couldn’t pass up the opportunity without at least trying to express all the thoughts and feelings their chance meeting had unleashed. A part of him knew he might end up ruing the day he ever came up with such a hairbrained idea, but if he did, at least he could bury that part of his past and move on. And if he didn’t, well, at least he would finally set free the what-ifs that kept him awake at night.
Inhaling a deep breath, he turned and offered Booker a sad smile. “You have every right to be angry with me, Dennis. Trust me, if I could turn back time and change what happened, I would.”
Touched by the heartfelt admission, the muscles in Booker’s face relaxed. “I don’t want you to turn back time, Tom. I want you to stay.”
“Really?”
The hopeful, high-pitched inflection in Tom’s voice brought a smile to Booker’s lips. “Really. What’s done is done, there’s no point dwelling on it. Now, sit down, and I’ll pour you another drink. We still have a lot of catching up to do.”
Happy to oblige, Tom resumed his place on the couch, a look of quiet satisfaction melting the years from his face. He had no idea where the night would take them, but he was happy in the knowledge neither of them would spend it alone.
To be continued…
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Two Ships