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Chasing a Butterfly	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 2592 -:- 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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Saturday March 31st 1990 (9.11 a.m.)
As Tom strolled through the recreation room with Mosco by his side, a heavy hand grasped him by the shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. Spinning around with hands balled and ready for a fight, he scowled when he saw Officer Howell and shrugging out of his hold, he glared at the hack with hate-filled eyes. “Keep your fucking hands off me,” he spat.
Howell gave Tom an amused smile, but his eyes remained cold. “What’s your problem, Hanson? The way I hear it, you love the feel of another man’s hand on you.”
With an angry growl, Tom took a menacing step forward, but Mosco quickly grabbed his upper arm and restrained him. “Don’t,” he hissed, “You’ll end up back in the hole.”
Shaking his arm free, Tom continued to glare defiantly at the smug officer. “What do you want, Howell? Haven’t you got anything better to do than feel up the inmates?”
A cruel smirk curled Howell’s thin lips and his eyes flitted between Tom and Mosco. “Actually, I came to give you a message. Your boyfriend has just signed in for a visit and as you never bother to look at the visitor list, I thought I’d deliver the news personally.”
Tom cast a nervous glance at Mosco before returning his gaze to the smug officer. “You’re lying,” he replied hesitantly. “Because of you, he never wants to see me again.”
“Me?” Howell laughed. “Oh, Hanson, you have a lot to learn about prison life. It was M—”
The fear that Howell was about to reveal his secret immediately overrode Mosco’s feelings of jealousy and wrapping an arm around Tom’s shoulders, he steered him away from the man who had the power to potentially end their relationship. “C’mon, let’s go check the list ourselves.”
Unsettled by the news, Tom pulled free of Mosco’s hold. “I can do it by myself,” he snapped. “I’m not a fucking child.”
Sensing that an argument was about to erupt, Mosco held up his hands and backed away. “Sure thing, Chico,” he replied in a stilted voice, a slow-burning fuse of resentment balling his hands into tight, angry fists. “Go see your precious Dennis. Have a nice visit.”
“Mosco…” Tom appealed softly, but the older man pushed past him and striding across the room, he climbed the stairs two at a time up to their cell and disappeared from view.
As he watched the exchange unfold, Howell rubbed a hand over his dimpled chin. “Well, well. Trouble in paradise, Hanson?”
Tom longed to wipe the irritating smirk off Howell’s arrogant face, but the memory of his time in solitary refrained him from slamming his fist into the pudgy jaw and turning away, he muttered a quiet “Fuck you asshole,” under his breath, and walked away.
**
Saturday March 31st 1990 (10.09 a.m.)
For the second time in four and a half months, Tom entered the noisy visitors’ room, his eyes frantically scanning the cluttered tables for a glimpse of Booker’s face. When he caught sight of the dark haired officer, he felt a surge of excitement, but he quickly forced the feeling back down. Booker had disappointed him too many times and his heart now belonged to another. He was prepared to hear what his ex had to say, but he was in no mood for forgiveness… that boat had already sailed.
When Booker looked up and caught his eye, he quickly averted his gaze and taking a deep, calming breath, he zigzagged through the tables and pulling out a chair, he sat down opposite the man who not so long ago, he had considered his soul mate. Without bothering with pleasantries, he lifted his gaze and staring Dennis straight in the eye, he spoke in a cool voice. “What are you doing here, Booker?”
Surprised by the directness and lack of warmth in Tom’s question, Booker ran a shaky hand through his dark hair. “I, um… I wanted to see you.”
Sitting back in his chair, Tom folded his arms across his chest and gave his ex-lover a hard stare. “Really?”
With the conversation not going the way he had planned, Booker leaned forward slightly and in a gesture of friendship, he stretched his arms out across the table. “Well, yeah. I know I should have come sooner, but I needed time,” he admitted quietly before whispering, “I’ve missed you.”
Tom’s body stiffened and his dark eyes flashed with anger. “You’ve missed me? Well, in case you’ve forgotten, Booker, you’re the one who stopped visiting me. You didn’t even give me a chance to explain about the photos.”
Booker’s humble mood immediately evaporated and slamming the palm of his hand down on the table, he glared at Tom with furious eyes. “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?” he yelled. “I DIDN’T NEED TO HEAR YOUR JUSTIFICATION, TOM. SOME GUY WAS SUCKING ON YOUR DICK, IT WAS PRETTY FUCKING SELF EXPLANATORY!”
Dozens of curious eyes turned in their direction and Tom felt a fiery heat burning at his face. His hands curled into tight balls and he struggled to control the rage churning in his stomach that threatened to erupt in a bitter tirade. “Keep your fucking voice down,” he hissed, his head twisting nervously from side to side as his eyes took in the amused stares of the other inmates and their visitors.
When Tom turned his head, Booker caught sight of the love bites covering the side of his neck and his eyes grew wide with disbelief. “Jesus Christ! It wasn’t a one off! How many men in here are fucking you, you whor—”
“DON’T!” Tom yelled and jumping to his feet, he leaned over the table, his eyes blazing with anger. “DON’T YOU DARE CALL ME THAT AGAIN! WE’RE OVER BOOKER. THROUGH! FINISHED! DONE! I DON’T LOVE YOU ANYMORE, SO WHY DON’T YOU JUST FUCK OFF!”
Officer Hanley hurried over and laid a restraining hand on Tom’s arm. “Sit down, Hanson, or the visits over,” he warned.
Tom stood his ground for several seconds before sitting stiffly back in his chair. Hanley studied the two men for a moment and satisfied that the argument was over, he walked away. Neither man spoke, both refusing to meet the other’s eye until eventually, Booker backed down. “Why?” he asked simply.
“Why what?” Tom retorted sullenly, his gaze remaining fixed on the table.
Booker clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles shone white. “Why did you cheat on me?”
“Because I thought you’d left me,” Tom murmured softly, his eyes misting over with tears, “I’m sorry, but until you’ve been through what I’ve been through, you can’t really judge me.”
When Booker stared at him impassively, he continued with a heavy sigh. “Do you remember that conversation back at Harry’s apartment? You said no matter what, you’d always be by my side. Well, guess what? You keep walking away. I needed you, Booker, more than I ever needed you before and you deserted me. You didn’t visit me for over two months… I didn’t know if you were sick, dead or if you just didn’t give a damn anymore. I was lonely, Dennis, don’t you understand? I needed to feel loved.”
A long silence hung in the air before Booker spoke. “But then I did visit you,” he replied bitterly, “and you didn’t say a word. Then two days later, I receive the photos and how the hell did you expect me to react? Jesus Christ, Tom, I loved you and seeing you with that… that criminal sickened me!”
“He’s no more of a criminal than I am,” Tom replied moodily. “We’ve both made mistakes and we’re paying for them. I spent two months in solitary confinement. Do you have any idea what that’s like? I was teetering on the edge of insanity and Mosco brought me back. If it wasn’t for him, I’d be in the psych ward now, or worse… dead. So don’t blame me for falling in love with someone else, this is as much your doing as mine.”
Booker clenched his jaw and his dark eyes narrowed into angry slits. “Don’t give me that bullshit, Hanson. I’ve done the math, you cheated on me long before you went to solitary.”
“Yeah, I did,” Tom conceded quietly, “and I’ve told you my reasons why. What you do with that information is up to you.”
When Booker remained stubbornly silent, he exhaled in exasperation. “Let’s face it, Booker, I’ll never be good enough for you, ‘cause no matter how hard I try, you always think you’re better than me.”
Scraping back his chair, Booker stood up. “I came here willing to forgive you,” he replied through gritted teeth. “But screw you, Hanson. Enjoy your life of crime with your new boyfriend, I’m done, I never want to see you again.”
“Suits me,” Tom muttered sulkily. “Why don’t you go find some passive people pleaser to fuck, ‘cause you obviously can’t handle someone who tells it like it is. Have a nice fucking life.”
However, as he watched Booker turn and walk away, the sudden feeling of loss was so overwhelming that a lump of emotion formed in his throat. He desperately wanted to call him back, to beg him not to go, so they could talk about everything that was wrong with their relationship and make it right. But the words caught in his throat and when he finally found his voice and cried out that he was sorry, it was too late. The man of his dreams was already gone.
**
Saturday March 31st 1990 (10.49 a.m.)
With a heavy heart, Tom took his time returning to his cell. He knew he would be in for a grilling from Mosco and he honestly had no idea what to say. Although he had told Booker it was over, at the last moment, as he watched his friend walk away, he had professed his sorrow loud enough for the other inmates to hear and he knew the news would soon get back to his cellmate. It was then that he realized he needed to be up front with his lover because hiding the truth had so far caused him nothing but heartache. He did not want to lose Mosco in the same way he had lost Booker and therefore, honesty was the only answer.
As he climbed the metal staircase up to the cells, he could hear furtive whispers from the inmates below and he knew the news had already traveled through the prison grapevine. His heart began to hammer in his chest and he hesitated for a moment to gather his wits before taking a deep breath and entering his cell.
Mosco lay on his bunk reading a battered crime novel. He pretended not to notice his lover, but when Tom nervously cleared his throat, he threw the book down impatiently and stared down at his antagonist. “What?” he demanded angrily.
The color drained from Tom’s face and he anxiously chewed at his lower lip. “Um, can we talk?”
Picking up his book, Mosco stared sightlessly at the words on the page. “I ain’t got nothin’ to say to you, Chico. I heard what happened, so why don’t you run along and find some place quiet so you can jerk off and think about your precious Dennis.”
Tom’s lips tilted in his trademark smile and stepping forward, he gazed up at Mosco with twinkling eyes. “If I wanted to get off I’d ask you to suck my dick,” he teased seductively. But when Mosco’s expression remained unmoved by the lame joke, he let out a heavy sigh. “Look, I know you’ve heard something about my visit with Booker, but I’m guessing it’s not an accurate account. So why don’t you let me tell you what really went on and then if you’re still mad, I’ll leave. Deal?”
With a frustrated sigh, Mosco threw down his book and jumping from his bunk, he stood directly in front of Tom. “If you’re gonna lie to me, you’d better turn around and leave now,” he warned through gritted teeth.
There was no mistaking the threatening tone in Mosco’s voice and Tom swallowed fearfully. He could not lose another lover, not now, but he was terrified of Mosco’s reaction when he admitted that he had called Booker back, even though it had been too late. But he also knew that to lie was the coward’s way out. He needed to come clean and hope for the best.
Taking Mosco by the hand, he led him over to his bunk and sat down. When Mosco stubbornly remained standing, he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Please,” he implored softly. “Just hear me out.”
Pushing his lower lip into a sulky pout, Mosco sat down next to Tom, his body rigid and his face set in an angry mask. “I’m listening.”
Fully aware that his first words would set the mood of the conversation, Tom hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I admit that I was excited when I first saw him,” he confessed in a soft voice, but when Mosco started to interrupt, he quickly held up his hand. “BUT… the feeling was only there for a moment, by the time I got to the table I was really angry.”
“Really?” Mosco queried, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “And why’s that?”
Tom slowly rubbed a hand over his top lip before replying. “Because he abandoned me without letting me explain about the photos. Then, when he has a crisis of conscience, he comes back in here acting like nothing’s wrong.”
Mosco narrowed his eyes. “Did you tell him that?”
Tom tipped back his head and exhaled a heavy breath. “Of course I did. We got into a heated argument and Hanley came over and gave me a warning.”
Mosco remained silent, but his cynical eye roll spoke volumes and Tom’s temper flared. “It’s true! If you don’t believe me, go ask him!”
It was then that Mosco’s reservations about Tom began to fade. He knew Hanley was a straight up kind of guy and the officer would not lie, especially for an inmate. As the minutes ticked by, an uncomfortable silence hung between them as Mosco mulled over what Tom had told him before asking the burning question. “If you were so angry with him, why did you tell him you were sorry?”
A flicker of sadness passed over Tom’s face and turning away from Mosco’s penetrative stare, he gazed out the open cell door at the activity on the floor below. “He was a big part of my life, Mosco, even if it was only for a couple of months,” he replied quietly. “He helped me get clean and he gave me comfort. Hell, he put his job on the line for me twice. But don’t mistake my gratitude for love, ‘cause I don't feel that way about him anymore. He may have helped get me out of the gutter, but he’s also really quick to knock me back down. I’m tired of his insults and how he’s always judging me. If he really loved me, he wouldn’t do that. Since coming here, I’ve realized I don’t need that bullshit in my life anymore. So yeah, I yelled out and told him I was sorry because I am, but that doesn’t mean I want him back. You may not believe it, but you're the one I love, not him, not anymore.”
It was one of the longest speeches Tom had given since his incarceration and when he had finished, he gazed morosely at the floor. He was certain Mosco’s jealousy would prevent him from seeing the truth and he instantly felt the painful loss of losing yet another lover. But when gentle fingers lovingly tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck, he lifted his head and his eyes immediately locked with Mosco’s loving gaze. “I believe you, Chico,” the Hispanic murmured softly, his eyes crinkling at the edges as a tender smile lit up his face. “And that Booker, he’s a fucking fool to let you go without a fight.”
Choked with emotion, Tom’s mouth hungrily found Mosco’s lips and wrapping his arms around his lover’s taut body, he kissed him passionately. When they finally stopped for air, he brushed the errant strands of hair from Mosco’s eyes and grinned cheekily. “Booker who?”
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Chasing a Butterfly