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To Chase a Feather in the Wind	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 1696 -:- 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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Twelve weeks later
In the months since Booker had walked out on him, Tom had done a lot of soul searching. His extreme guilt over what had taken place with Liam had initially prevented him from searching for his friend, but as the days slowly passed, he knew he had to put aside his cowardice and face up to what he had done. It only took a couple of phone calls to get the information he needed and he had immediately placed a call to the hospital, but he had received a cool reception from Mayberry. The doctor had given him a clear directive; keep away from Booker or risk sending him spiraling towards a complete breakdown. It had been a shock to him to realize that he had played a part in Booker’s relapse; he had always had the romantic belief that love conquered all. But after speaking to Mayberry, he came to the uncomfortable conclusion that his love for Booker had in fact awoken the unhealthy desires within his lover. Instead of giving Booker time to heal, he had initiated a sexual relationship with a man recently released from psychiatric care. Now that Mayberry had spelled it out to him in clear, concise terms, he realized how selfish and reckless he had been. Booker still had many inner demons that he had to face and what he really needed was a friend by his side, not a lover.
It had been a harsh truth to accept but now that his head was clear, Tom was determined not to get in touch with Booker. If Dennis needed his friendship, he would leave it up to him to make first contact. Therefore, he pushed aside the past and concentrated on the present by immersing himself in his work and spending quality time with family and friends.
But at night, when he lay alone in his bed, memories of Dennis' beautiful face haunted his dreams.
**
Standing at the small hand basin in his spartan room, Booker tenderly fingered his split and swollen lip. Since moving into the group home two months before, he had fought against constant sexual advances from the men that lived there. The house was a cesspool of deviants and predators but it was the best accommodation his social worker could find at short notice and therefore, he had no choice but to make the most of it. He was penniless, bereft of family and friends and if he left, his only option would be to live on the streets.
As he stared at the reddish contusion that adorned his chin, he thought back to the previous night’s events. Two men had broken into his room and tried to persuade him to have sex by offering to make it hurt. His predisposition to rough sex was no secret amongst the house’s occupants and many saw him as an easy target. But he had come a long way since readmitting himself back into St. Mary’s and he refused to submit to those who sought to dominate him. His body was a mass of bruises but his self-respect was intact. No longer would he allow men to control him, especially those who perceived him as weak. He was a fighter… he was Dennis Booker and he would be damned if he would allow another man to take advantage of him.
With a determined look, he tied a red bandanna around his head and studied his reflection in the mottled mirror. He was finally ready to face Tom and give him the explanation he deserved.
**
Standing on the sidewalk, Booker stared up at Tom’s apartment building. Now that he was actually there, he felt nervous and unsure about seeing the man who occupied his thoughts day and night. Mayberry had warned him against making contact, citing many reasons why he viewed the relationship to be unhealthy. But Booker needed closure. Tom was the only person who had been prepared to put his own life on hold to help him and he owed his friend his life. His own family had turned their backs on him, as had his colleagues, but not Tom. Tom had spent time and money searching for him when he was missing and he had stood by his side throughout his confinements. But it was more than that. Tom was his first real homosexual lover. When he had re-entered St. Mary’s psych unit for the second time, he had done so with a much clearer head than previously. After completing extensive therapy (four weeks as an inpatient and now as an outpatient attending group sessions), he clearly understood that Conan had not been his lover. Maurice Keppler had in fact been nothing more than a cruel manipulator who had plied him with drugs and played on his vulnerabilities to gain his trust. It had been a hard realization because it exposed both his weaknesses and insecurities and although it was difficult for him to accept that a psychopath had controlled him so easily, once he did acknowledge it, he had a breakthrough in his therapy and he no longer felt the desire to couple sexual pleasure with pain. Not that he had experienced any sexual pleasure except by his own hand, but he felt confident that his masochistic urges were a thing of the past.
However, there was still one matter that he knew he needed to lay to rest. Mayberry had been surprised when he had brought the subject up but after explaining his reasoning, the doctor had agreed it would help with his healing. But he was not in a position to be able to do it on his own and he hoped that once he had apologized to Tom for walking out, he could ask his friend for help.
Casting his eye towards the window of Tom’s apartment, he knew he could not remain standing on the pavement forever and taking a deep breath, he crossed the street and walked into the building. As he climbed the stairs to the second floor, he tried to block out the annoying voice inside his head that screamed at him to stop making excuses and face up to why he was really there. It was the voice of truth that had echoed constantly within his mind during his internment at St. Mary's, the one thing he had clung to as he focused on his recovery and no matter how he tried to justify it to himself, there was only one reason for his return… he wanted to rekindle his love affair with Tom.
**
As he stood outside of Tom’s apartment, Dennis felt a growing tenseness in his body and taking a deep breath, he tried to settle his nerves. Although he was concerned about the reception he would receive, he knew he had to at least try and explain to Tom why he had left without leaving so much as a note.
After taking another deep, calming breath, he raised his hand but before he even had a chance to knock, the door opened unexpectedly and standing before him was the man he loved.
Tom’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and he stared back at Booker open-mouthed. “Dennis,” he whispered, his soft brown eyes filling with emotion. “Jesus, I never thought… God, it’s so good to see you.”
Booker’s dark eyes mirrored Tom’s look of affection and his lips parted into a smile. “You too Hanson.”
Stepping back from the door, Tom ran a trembling hand across his mouth. “Do you want to come in?”
“Thanks,” Booker replied and walking into the familiar apartment, he felt himself beginning to relax. Tom had not turned him away and that was a good start. But as he began to speak, he was startled when a gentle hand caressed his bruised chin and embarrassed by the tender touch, he stayed silent and lowered his gaze to the floor.
“Who hurt you?” Tom demanded through clenched teeth.
Not wanting to explain his dire living conditions, Booker shrugged his shoulders in the hope that he would appear nonchalant. “Just some guy. I’m okay.” However, his attempt at casualness failed and he could feel Tom’s gaze boring into him. His face flushed a deep red at the scrutiny and shuffling his feet uncomfortably, he continued to avoid Tom's gaze.
Sensing that Booker was not telling him the whole truth, Tom gently pushed for an answer. “Talk to me.”
Booker was fully prepared to lie his way out of any further interrogation, but when he lifted his head and saw the look of genuine concern on Tom’s face, his façade crumbled. “They try and force me into having rough sex,” he muttered. “But I fight them off ‘cause… well… I don’t do that anymore.”
When he heard Booker’s explanation, Tom struggled to keep control of his temper. “Who tries to force you?” he asked in a strained voice.
Turning away, Booker’s lower lip pushed into a soft pout. “I didn’t come here to talk about that. I’m fine, I can take care of myself.”
Not wanting to upset his friend any further, Tom decided to let the matter drop, at least for the moment. “Okay, if you say so.”
An awkward silence hung in the air and desperate to ease the tension, he motioned towards the couch. “Take a seat, I’ll make some coffee and then we can talk.”
Booker’s shoulders relaxed and nodding his head, he managed a small smile. “Okay. Thanks.”
As Tom busied himself in the kitchen, he took a seat and cast his eye around what used to be his home. He had been gone nearly three months but very little had changed and he realized that whilst he had been away, life had continued on as normal for everyone else. Suddenly, a strange feeling of dissociation washed over him and it almost felt as though he had never been a part of Tom’s life. As the feeling intensified, sweat prickled under his armpits and he began to panic as the slow realization dawned on him; he was a stranger and he no longer belonged.

Tears filled his eyes and standing up, he stumbled blindly across the room towards the door. But before he could make his escape, he collided with Tom and hot coffee doused the front of his t-shirt, burning his chest. Staggering backwards, he knocked over a lamp and sent it crashing to the floor.
Scalding coffee splashed over Tom’s hands and crying out in pain, he let go of the two mugs and they smashed on impact, sending a spray of brown liquid over the floorboards. “FUCK!” he exclaimed loudly.
As the burning pain slowly subsided, he shook his hands out in front of him and glared angrily at Booker’s bowed head. “Why the hell did you charge into me like that?”
Lifting his gaze, Booker stared back with tortured eyes. “I made a mistake," he whispered, "I shouldn’t have come back.”
Tom’s expression softened and stepping over the mess on the floor, he took hold of Booker’s hands. “Why do you say that?” he asked gently.
The sensation of Tom’s touch sent a jolt of excitement through Booker’s body and he quickly pulled his hands away and shoved them in the pockets of his jeans. “Because you deserve better,” he mumbled.
Stubbornly taking hold of his friend’s arm, Tom steered him towards the couch and made him sit down. Perching on the coffee table, he leaned forward and once again taking hold of Booker's hands, he asked the question that was foremost on his mind. “Why did you come back?”
Booker let out a soft sigh. “I wanted to apologize to you for walking out…”
He paused for a moment and chewed anxiously on his lower lip before continuing. “… and I wanted to explain why I did it.”
Tom’s expression showed surprise. “I know why you did it. You did it for the same reason I walked out on you that night. What you said shocked us both and I think it was then that we realized that you still had a lot of healing to do and being in a sexual relationship was only making everything worse.”
“What you really mean is you saw the real me and you flipped out,” Booker muttered despondently. “Admit it, what I said repulsed you.”
As he studied Booker’s face, Tom decided that honesty was the best policy. “Yes it did,” he replied quietly. “I was upset and I admit it, I reacted badly.”
At Tom’s admission, Booker exhaled heavily. “I don’t blame you Tom, you were justified to feel the way you did. But things have changed since then. I know you’ve spoken to Doctor Mayberry and I know he thinks we shouldn’t be together but my feelings for you are so strong that I had to make contact and—”
Tom’s face paled and he held a hand up in front of him, stopping his friend mid sentence. “Please don’t say anymore,” he begged in a tortured voice.
Booker raised his eyebrows. “Why not? I’m just trying to be honest with you.”
Unable to meet Booker’s quizzical look, Tom lowered his eyes to the floor. “I know,” he muttered sadly. “But before you tell me how you feel, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“About what?” Booker asked slowly.
Tom’s eyes filled with pain. “About what happened after I walked out that night.”
"Happened?" Booker echoed in puzzlement. "I don't understand, what happened?"
"I..." Tom uttered in a barely audible voice and closing his eyes, he clenched his fists as he struggled with his inner turmoil.
Booker laughed nervously. "Okay, suspense sufficiently built, you're starting to freak me out."
Opening his eyes, Tom stared at Booker's expectant face, and so began one of the most difficult confessions of his life.
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To Chase a Feather in the Wind