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Beneath a Heart of Darkness	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 4657 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- 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
- 33
- 34
- 35
With endless reports circulating in the media, I thought I should address the Johnny Depp spousal abuse claims up front. I have received several emails from readers asking me my thoughts, and whether I will continue to write Tom/Dennis fanfics. This is what I told them.
Firstly, my stories are based on fictional characters played by actors. Tom is not Johnny, and therefore, I see no reason not to continue writing about two characters I love. That said, I am also not one to jump on the vilification bandwagon and crucify someone based solely on an allegation because at this stage that’s all it is, an allegation. I have been asked if I think he’s guilty, and my gut reaction is no, but of course, I could be proven wrong. While I write about abuse, I want it on record that I do not, in any way, shape or form, condone abuse of any kind. However, I will not form an opinion on what happened between Johnny and his wife based on what the mainstream media is telling me. Once the truth comes out, I will re-evaluate, and see how I feel, but until then, my stories will continue.
I understand many people feel very passionately about this, and I also understand I will lose readers because of my choice of pairing. But to be honest, it doesn’t bother me. I will continue to write these stories for as long as I enjoy doing so, and I hope a few of you will continue to read them.
In peace,
OpenPage x

Long after Booker stopped talking, Tom continued to stare into his friend’s troubled eyes, his expression unreadable. The dark-haired officer held his breath, waiting for the reaction he knew would eventuate; a look of disgust or a shouted insult, aimed to hurt and humiliate. But when Tom’s quietly spoken words cut through the thick, heavy silence hanging over the room, he could barely believe his ears.
“You did that for me?”
Immediately, the warmth and gratitude radiating from Tom's voice dispelled all of Booker's fears, and relaxing his shoulders, he offered his friend a wan smile. “I had no choice,” he revealed softly, his gaze focusing on the ominous VCR tapes that lay among an assortment of discarded objects on the cluttered coffee table. “I knew how important it was for you to—”
A warm mouth consumed the rest of his words, the unexpected kiss tender and comforting. Surprise rendered him immobile, and it took him a moment to react. But when Tom’s moist tongue slipped between his lips, a loud moan rumbled in his throat, and he eagerly returned the kiss. Unfortunately, the contact was fleeting, and before he had time to revel in the sweetness of Tom’s juices, the young officer withdrew, a shy smile tilting his lips. “I seem to be making a habit of that.”
Booker grinned back. “It’s a habit I could get used to.”
Although Tom knew he could no longer deny his feelings, a little voice inside his head told him to be careful. There was an obvious connection between Booker and Jorge, but just how deep that connection went was anyone’s guess. The fact Dennis had taken the young man into his home had him questioning his friend’s motives. However, rather than drive himself crazy by imagining various scenarios between the two men, he decided to confront the issue head-on. “I know you said you were under Holland’s influence, but you enjoyed having sex with Jorge, didn’t you.”
It was more a statement than a question, and the implication had Booker seeing red. “If you say so,” he responded in a cold voice.
Realizing his mistake, Tom immediately backpedaled. “That’s not what I meant,” he replied quickly. “It’s just… he’s beautiful, and vulnerable, and—”
“Jesus, Tom!” Booker exclaimed, and scrambling to his feet, he started to stomp around the room. “Even after everything I told you, you still don’t get it! In my mind, I wasn’t saving Jorge, I was saving you! It was my second chance at redemption! Every day I relive what happened in that basement, and every day I fucking hate myself for not being stronger, for not being smarter! I could have done more, I should have done more, but instead, I was outwitted by a bunch of frat boys! Do you have any idea how that feels?”
Tom stood up, a wry smile tilting his lips. “Yeah, I do. I was there too, remember? And I didn’t fight hard enough either, maybe if I had…” His voice trailed off, and an uncomfortable silence hung between them before he spoke again. “So, you never answered my original question. Do you love him?”
Weariness slumped Booker’s shoulders. “I thought I did, but now I know he was just a substitute for the man I really love.”
The declaration should have had Tom’s heart singing for joy, but his intrinsic sense of right and wrong dampened his happiness and expelling a heavy sigh, he voiced his concerns. “He loves you, you know that, right? You can’t break his heart, Dennis, he’s been used and abused too many times. It’ll crush him if you turn your back on him now.”
“I know,” Booker replied quietly, a deep sadness shining from his dark eyes. “But I can’t keep stringing him along either. I want to be with you, Tommy, not him, despite what you may think.”
Suddenly overcome with shyness, Tom’s cheeks flamed pink, and he lowered his gaze seductively. “I want to be with you too,” he muttered awkwardly.
Not wanting to waste time talking when he could be exploring the smooth, sweet-scented flesh of the man he adored, Booker stepped forward, and tilting Tom’s face upward, he tenderly kissed his cheek. The heat of the young officer’s blush radiated against his lips, and his breath melted into a moan. “Oh, baby,” he whispered. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
Embarrassed by the pet name, Tom ducked his head, a coquettish smile gracing his lips. Amused by the reaction, a spark of light returned to the dark-haired officer’s eyes, instantly transforming him into the Booker of old, and throwing back his head, he laughed loudly. “Geez, Hanson, you really are adorable.”
Tom’s smile froze, and reaching out a hand, he pulled down the collar of Booker’s jacket, revealing a ring of bluish-red bruises around his friend’s throat. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he swore softly. “He choked you?”
The dark shadow of Booker’s abuse immediately resurfaced, dousing the radiant glow from his eyes. Although he had eventually confessed the truth to Tom about Holland, he had played down the extent of the physical abuse, preferring to gloss over the details rather than admit the full extent of his exploitation. But now there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Each rainbow colored contusion told a story of abuse, every finger shaped imprint screamed in discord of his torture. His clothing concealed dozens of bite marks, the vicious impressions adorning his chest, stomach, and thighs. He was a human canvas, a madman’s sadistically crafted artwork publicly laid bare for all to witness, and with the visual truth surely came his damnation. Tom would inevitably walk away, too disgusted to want to continue their budding relationship, and it would have all been for nothing. What started out as a fight for justice had quickly escalated into a battle zone, the aftermath leaving two victims to sift through the detritus of their ruined lives; alone, unloved, and bearing the scars of an unwinnable war. It was, in the simplest sense, a tragedy.
Confident he had lost Tom forever, Booker felt the need to escape. “I should go,” he mumbled, his eyes avoiding his friend’s horrified gaze.
But before he could take a step, Tom was beside him, his fingers tugging at the collar of the worn leather, once again revealing the dark ring of bruising. Booker attempted to hide his shame by shrugging up his shoulders, but Tom was persistent, and yanking down the zipper, he pushed open the jacket. Warm breath tickled Booker’s skin, the whispery tendrils igniting his arousal, and closing his eyes, he inhaled the scent of Tom's shampoo.
Tom’s mouth did not touch Booker's flesh at first; instead, the dark-haired officer felt the moist tip of his lover’s tongue tenderly caressing the bruises circling his neck. Eventually, soft lips kissed at his damaged skin, the erotic sensation bringing goosebumps to the surface. But the thrill of a hot mouth exploring his burning flesh was only part of his arousal. The unexpected display of affection signaled Tom's acceptance, the validation effectively smothering all his fears and doubts. His dream had become a reality, he was in a relationship with Tom Hanson, and he knew in his heart that the love they shared would help to repair both their damaged souls.
“Stay,” Tom murmured, his tongue gently massaging over Booker’s contused flesh. “I want to get to know you better.”
There was no mistaking the sexual undertone cleverly hidden beneath the innocence of Tom’s words, and the message sent a rush of blood to Booker’s cock, thickening his shaft. But life was never that simple, and nuzzling into the crook of Tom’s neck, he lovingly nipped and sucked at the smooth skin. “God, Tommy,” he moaned, his hands grasping at his lover’s firm buttocks. “I want to… but I can’t.”
Tom’s body stiffened, and lifting his head, he took a step backward, his dark eyes flashing with undisguised jealousy. “Because of him?”
Not wanting to lie, Booker’s lips twitched into an awkward smile. “Well, yeah,” he admitted softly. “I can’t leave him alone all night, and anyway, you were the one who told me to let him down gently. I need to speak to him, to explain my feelings for you, and then I’ll take him to his mom’s tomorrow, and we can be together. Okay?”
Unimpressed by the answer, Tom’s mouth turned down in a sulky pout. But deep down, he knew he needed to give Booker some space, and heaving a heavy, over-dramatic sigh, he gave his assent. “Okay. But just so you know, I don’t want to be alone either.”
Not about to let himself fall into the trap of emotional blackmail, Booker made a suggestion. “Why don’t you invite Doug over?”
Tom chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. His relationship with Doug needed some TLC, and a boys’ night in seemed the best way to get their friendship back on track. Now he and Booker had resolved their differences, he felt stronger and better equipped to deal with company. Although not ready to fully divulge his secret, he was prepared to let Doug back into his life, and that in itself was a breakthrough in his recovery. It was only a small step forward, but a step nonetheless, and a turning point in his quest to heal the emotional and physical scars that had crippled him since his assault.
“Yeah, maybe I will,” he replied quietly, and stepping forward, he gave Booker a hug. “Thanks.”
Surprised by the expression of gratitude, Booker wrapped his arms around Tom’s slender frame and returned the embrace. “For what?” he murmured against the young officer’s ear.
Tom’s voice lowered to a whisper. “For coming back.”
Emotion swelled Booker’s throat. “Baby, I never left.”
**
Although not emotionally prepared, Booker knew he needed to deal with the Jorge situation posthaste or risk making matters a whole lot worse. Therefore, instead of going for a jog on the beach as he had initially planned, he drove straight home. The young Latino greeted him with a smile, but the light in his eyes faded when he noticed the officer’s dour expression. “What’s wrong?”
“We need to talk,” Booker replied quietly.
Jorge’s body stiffened, and returning his gaze to the television, he stared moodily at the screen. “It’s about him, isn’t it?”
With a heavy sigh, Booker perched on the edge of the coffee table, blocking his friend’s view. “Please, Jorge, just hear me out,” he requested softly.
“Why?” the younger man muttered. “I already know what you’re gonna say. You’re in love with him, aren’t you? And that means you’re gonna chuck me out on the street so the two of you can be together.”
Booker had the grace to look uncomfortable, and rubbing his hands over his face, he gathered his thoughts before answering. “I’m not kicking you out. It was always the plan for you to go and stay with your mom, the two of you need time to get to know each other again after spending so much time apart.”
Although true, Jorge refused to acknowledge the fact, and instead, he threw Booker a furious look, his hands balling into tight fists as he spat out his words. “You lied to me, you sonofabitch! You made me believe we would be together, and now, after one fucking day, you tell me you’re in love with a fucking WHORE!”
A sickening crack of bone hitting bone splintered the still air, the sound resembling a pistol shot. The force of Booker’s punch whipped Jorge’s head to the side, expelling a rush of air from his lips. Afraid he was about to face a full-blown assault, he fell over the arm of the chair, his body landing on the floor in a crumpled heap. Pain flared in his shoulder, but he ignored it and pushing himself to his hands and knees, he scuttled into a corner and pulling his knees to his chest, he curled into a small, protective ball.
Shocked by his violent behavior, Booker jumped to his feet. “I’m sorry!” he cried, and leaping over the back of the sofa, he dropped to his knees, his hand hovering uselessly above the cowering figure of his friend before settling on his shoulder. “I didn’t mean it, baby, I promise, I didn’t mean it.”
Jorge’s body quivered beneath Booker’s touch, and lifting his head, he gazed up at the man he adored, his dark eyes filled with hurt. “Why don’t you love me?”
Sitting back on his heels, Booker’s fingers raked through his dark hair as he struggled to articulate his feelings. “I do love you… it’s just, I don’t love you in the same way I love Tom.” When Jorge remained silent, he continued. “Look, I’m sorry I hit you, but calling the man I love a whore… I dunno, it reminded me of Holland, and I guess I overreacted.”
A memory clouded Jorge’s eyes. “Holland used to call me that too,” he whispered, his voice shaking with emotion, “and I hated it. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that about Tom, I s’pose I was just jealous. Do you forgive me?”
Relief relaxed the tension in Booker’s muscles and helping Jorge to his feet, he hugged him tight. “Of course I forgive you,” he murmured softly. “But do you forgive me?”
Jorge nodded, his body pressing against Booker’s muscular frame. He would forgive, but he wouldn’t forget, and he would do everything in his power to win Booker over, so they could be together forever... and Tom could go to hell.
**
That evening
Penhall stood in the doorway wearing his trademark lopsided grin, a six-pack of beer in one hand, a pizza box in the other, and on top of the slightly squashed cardboard container, a video of the previous night’s hockey game. While he had taken the hint and given Tom some space, he missed his friend terribly, and he had jumped at the invitation to spend some time together. He hoped an evening watching sport would alleviate some of the tension that had built up over the last few weeks. Although not always tactful, he was astute enough to know something had happened at the Pi Tau fraternity, but despite the urge to play cop and get to the bottom of the mystery, he had made a vow to himself not to pry. It was up to Fuller to decide Tom’s fate, not him, and if his friend wanted to keep him in the dark, then all he could do was be there for him in a supportive role when their captain’s patience finally ran out.
“How’s it hangin’, Hanson,” he greeted playfully.
Penhall's infectious smile had the desired effect, and Tom grinned back. “To the left,” he quipped. “You?”
“Long, loose and full of juice,” Penhall laughed.
With the ice now broken, Tom grabbed the video from the top of the pizza box before it slipped off and stepped back from the door. “You can come in if you promise to never say that again.”
Grinning broadly, Doug walked in and headed straight for the refrigerator. Tom closed the door, and tossing the video on the coffee table, he followed his friend into the kitchen. When Doug handed him a beer, they clinked bottles and drank in silent celebration. It had been a rough couple of weeks, but they were both prepared to put any bad feelings behind them and move forward. The McQuaids were back. HEH!
“Pizza’s a little cold,” Penhall remarked through a mouthful of pepperoni and cheese.
“No problem,” Tom replied. “I’ll warm it in the oven. How ‘bout you set up the VCR.”
Doug grabbed another slice out of the box and headed into the living room. After clearing a space for the pizza on the cluttered coffee table, he picked up the videotape and walked over to the entertainment unit. He continued to munch on the cold piece of pizza (blissfully unaware of the trail of crumbs he was leaving on the floor), and pushing the tape into the VCR’s slot, he switched on the television and walked back to the sofa. Making himself comfortable against the cushions, he picked up the remote and pressed play, his intention to fast forward to the start of the game. But when Tom’s terrified face filled the small screen, he sat forward in his seat, his brow creasing in bewilderment. “What the—”
“DENNIS, DON’T!” Tom’s image screamed. “Stop, Dennis! Oh, God! Please stop! Don’t! Don’t! DON’T!”
“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!” Penhall yelled, and jumping to his feet, he stood staring at the television, the remote hanging forgotten in his hand. From behind him came the sound of shattering glass, and turning around, he stared at Tom with wide, frightened eyes. “Hanson, what the hell is—”
“TURN IT OFF!” Tom shrieked hysterically. “TURN IT OFF! TURN IT OFF! TURN IT OFF!”
Stunned, Penhall remained where he was. The sound of cheering echoed throughout the apartment, and turning back toward the TV, he choked back a distressed cry when the camera panned down to an image of Booker enthusiastically sucking Tom’s cock. “Oh, my fucking—”
“AAARGH!” Tom screamed, and ignoring the shards of glass surrounding his bare feet, he tore across the room and kicked his foot through the television screen. Electrical sparks spat and fizzed from the tube, the bright flash temporarily blurring Doug’s vision. The broken glass of the CRT’s screen sliced through the soft flesh of Tom’s sole, leaving jagged, bloody wounds, but he barely flinched. His mental anguish far exceeded any physical pain. In a twist of fate, his friend had picked up the wrong tape, and after witnessing the pornographic vision, Tom knew no amount of crude, masculine banter could ever return their relationship to where it had once been. Once again, his world had imploded, fragmenting his sanity, and with a primordial yell, he blindly began to smash anything he could get his hands on. CDs flew across the room, knick-knacks smashed against walls; nothing remained impervious to his wrath, and within seconds, his belongings lay strewn across the apartment, the causal effect of a mind gone mad.
Shocked into action, Penhall lunged at his friend, wrestling him to the floor. “CALM DOWN!” he yelled.
“DON’T TOUCH ME! DON’T TOUCH ME!” Tom screamed, his face turning purple with a mixture of panic and rage. His body writhed, violently twisting and jerking as he tried to break free from Penhall’s hold. But his attempt was futile, and eventually, his body went limp, and he collapsed against his friend’s chest. “It w-wasn’t his f-fault,” he sobbed, his tears soaking through Doug’s cotton shirt. “Th-they made h-him do it! They m-made him!”
But the heart-rending confession had little impact on Doug. As he gently consoled his friend, he had one thought on his mind; find Booker and make him pay for what he had done to his beloved Tom.
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Beneath a Heart of Darkness