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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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11 months later - Monday May 13th 1991 (11.18 a.m.)
At first glance, the piece of paper in Tom’s hand appeared innocuous enough, but the words printed on a City of Los Angeles letterhead had impacted his world in a way that had his heart thumping painfully in his chest from the conflicting sensory overload he was experiencing. A combination of euphoria mixed with rampant panic sent shivers surging through his body and his hand shook uncontrollably, making it difficult for him to reexamine the letter he held between his fingers. His brain was still having difficulty comprehending what it was that he was actually reading, but eventually the words sank in… despite his time in solitary, the Board had granted his parole and he was due for release the following week.
To say that he was shocked would have been an understatement. He had met with the Board a week before and in his mind, the meeting had not gone well. Aside from the reference to his time in the hole for attacking Officer Howell, the members had quizzed him extensively about Leroy Manning’s bloody and untimely death. However, although he had his suspicions, he did not know for certain whether Mosco was responsible or not and so he had feigned any knowledge of the death. In actuality, his lover had pleaded innocence when asked outright if he was responsible for Manning’s murder, but the spark of amusement in his emerald eyes told Tom that even if he had not been the one to ram the shiv into Leroy’s neck, he had ordered the hit. It had been a difficult realization to come to and he found himself grappling with the idea that his lover could be a cold-blooded killer. However, his feelings of uncertainty and fear had quickly vanished when he recognized the risk Mosco had taken for him. If he was honest with himself, he did not mourn the death of the man who had violated him; he was in fact relieved and deep down, he knew he owed Mosco a huge debt for ridding the world of a monster. It was an awareness that often had him contemplating the shift in his moral compass. As little as a year ago, he would have expressed an abject horror at the thought of the man he loved killing another human being, but now, he did not care. He was safe in the knowledge that Manning would never cause pain to another man or woman in the way he had suffered and even though it had taken some soul-searching, he was now comfortable with that fact. Initially, he had fought against the system that was slowly swallowing him whole, but the brutality of day-to-day prison life had finally claimed the last vestiges of the Tom Hanson of old. He was a changed man, a tougher, less compassionate man and he wondered if he would ever regain the feeling of empathy that had faded from his soul.
The sound of footsteps brought his thoughts back to the present and looking up, he saw Mosco standing in the doorway of their cell, his sparkling green eyes gazing at him with interest. “Whatcha got there, Chico?” his lover asked softly.
Tom knew there was no point in lying and with a nervous smile, he held the letter out to Mosco. “It’s a letter from the Parole Board… they’re releasing me next week.”
As the meaning of Tom’s words sank in, the color drained from Mosco’s face. The time had come… the time when the plan would be set in motion and he would lose the only man he had ever loved. The hand of fate’s cold fingers squeezed at his heart and for a fraction of a second, he thought it might stop beating altogether, leaving him to die on the floor of his cell. But when strong, comforting arms pulled him close, the pressure around his still beating heart lessened and choking in a breath, he nuzzled against the warmth of Tom’s body. He was el Jefe and he needed to push aside his emotional attachments and carry out the orders handed down to him because otherwise, he would face a torturous and prolonged death at the hands of those he considered his compañeros de armas (comrades in arms).
With his thoughts now in order, he disengaged himself from the reassuring hug and gently taking the piece of paper from his lover’s hand, he stared blindly at the words and pretended to read what was, in his eyes, Tom’s death warrant. “That’s great news, Chico,” he lied with a fake smile. “This time next week, you’ll be a free man.”
Sensing Mosco’s mixed feelings about his news, Tom took back the letter and folding it carefully, he put it in his pocket. “My release doesn’t mean you and I are over,” he stated softly. “You’re up for parole in eight months and when you get out, I’ll have a place and you and I can—”
“Take up where we left off?” Mosco asked with a hint of bitterness. “What about Booker? I bet you're just itchin’ to see him.”
A deep frown creased Tom’s brow and his lower lip pushed into a moody pout. “I told you, I’m not interested in Booker anymore,” he replied irritably. “I’m gonna get a job and my own place… well, first I’ll have to live in a halfway house, which will suck, but once I get a job, I’ll find somewhere for us to live and when you’re released we can put our pasts behind us and build a life...”
Blissfully unaware that he had just handed Mosco the perfect opening to set the plan in motion, Tom continued to talk enthusiastically about his plans for the future. But Mosco barely heard a word; a cold shiver of impending doom slowly consumed him, swallowing his jealousy in its wake. He knew he should interrupt and make the offer his Jefa had instructed him to make, but the words stuck in his throat. Love had muted his voice and he found himself fighting an inner demon that was hell bent on making him say the dreaded words that had played over in his mind every night for the past fourteen months. It was a battle of wills, but he knew the ending would be inevitable. It was not the fear of death that made him choose his side; it was the fierce loyalty to those who had been his family since the age of twelve. He owed them so much and as much as it tore him up inside, he knew he had to respect their wishes.
Taking a deep breath, he laid a hand on Tom’s arm and gave him a loving smile. “That all sounds great, Chico, but you’re right, living in a halfway house won’t be easy. So how ‘bout I make a call and see if a woman I know is interested in taking you in until you get back on your feet. She’s always looking for boarders and she owes me a favor or two.”
Tom’s dark eyes shone with happiness. He had been dreading the idea of moving into a halfway house and now it appeared someone had answered his silent prayers. “Really?” he asked in a voice that sounded childlike in its high-pitched enthusiasm. “Do you think she’ll agree?”
The excitement in Tom’s voice caused Mosco’s heart to plummet, but he managed to keep his expression cheerful. “I reckon you can count on it.”
**
Monday May 20th 1991 (10.11 a.m.)
Tom’s final week in prison had dragged by with a tedium born out of a daily routine. He woke in the morning, Mosco made love to him, he showered, he ate breakfast, he played pool, he ate lunch, he exercised, he talked, he ate dinner, he returned to his cell, he and Mosco fooled around and he fell asleep. It was a monotonous cycle and he wondered how it would feel to have the freedom to do something other than eat, sleep and fuck. Not that he considered the fucking boring; Mosco was an experienced and energetic lover, but he longed for some privacy and the luxury of being able to spread out on a king-sized bed and fully appreciate his lover’s body. The realization that it would be at least eight months before he would be able to feel Mosco’s flesh beneath his touch caused a physical ache in his heart, but he understood that he needed to be patient and in time, he would finally begin to live his life with the man he loved by his side.
However, as he stood in the middle of his cell clutching a brown paper bag to his chest, he felt a deep emotional sadness welling up inside him. He would walk out of prison free from the shackles of his past, but he would do it alone. He had no one on the outside to welcome him; his mother had all but abandoned him and his friends were now just distant memories. In the final days leading up to his release, his thoughts had turned to Booker and Ioki, and he had found himself wondering what they were doing with their lives. Were they in serious relationships? Had they changed jobs? Were they still friends? The list went on and on, but he kept his reflections to himself out of respect for Mosco. He knew his lover was fiercely jealous of Booker and the relationship they had once shared, but he spoke the truth when he reassured him that it was all in the past. Although he had long ago forgiven Booker for the appalling way he had treated him, he no longer carried a torch for the dark haired officer. That ship had sailed and he now regarded him as someone who had influenced his life in an emotionally confused whirlwind of intense love, pain, and misery. Never had one person brought out both the very best and the very worst in him and when he thought about their brief relationship, he wondered how he could have loved a man he was so incompatible with. It was the sixty-four thousand dollar question many couples had been asking themselves since the dawn of time and there seemed to be no definitive answer. Many writers had attempted to define love with flowery poetry and fancy prose, but the truth was, when the intense emotion swelled within you, making your heart race and your stomach somersault, you had no control over it.
Love… just… was. Period.
Shaking his head slightly, he brought his thoughts back to the present. He wasn’t alone, he had a future with Mosco and in eight months time, they would be free to begin their lives together. But until then, he needed to get his own life in order and thanks to his lover, he had achieved his first goal; he now had a place to live. It sounded ideal; Mosco’s friend Ana would give him free room and board in exchange for taking care of her five-year-old son when she worked nights at the family business. It appeared to be the perfect arrangement; he would be free during the day to look for a job and he liked kids. When he had asked Mosco about the family business, his lover had become evasive, stating only that it had something to do with importing and exporting, but in truth, he did not really care. He no longer had to entertain the idea of living in a group home filled with other men and he could not have been happier. Things were finally looking up.
The sound of footsteps echoed in his ears and turning towards the open cell door, his dark eyes widened in surprise when Mosco walked into the cell. He thought they had said their final goodbyes early that morning in the privacy of their darkened cell during a tender yet passionate coupling and he found himself unprepared for the wash of raw emotion that began to flood through his body. Tears filled his eyes and dropping the brown paper bag to the floor, he rushed forward and wrapping his arms around his lover, he pulled him close.
Strong arms hugged him tight before releasing their hold. Mourning the loss of contact, he looked up and was shocked to see tears glistening in Mosco’s eyes. He started to speak, but his lover placed a gentle finger against his lips. “Shh, Chico,” the Hispanic whispered softly. “I want you to shut up and listen. Whatever happens, always remember that I love you and we’ll be together soon, okay?”
An unexpected shiver ran down Tom’s spine, but he quickly pushed aside the feeling of foreboding and reaching out a hand, he gently caressed Mosco’s scarred cheek. “I lo—”
“Break it up ladies,” Howell growled from the cell’s entrance.
Ignoring the hack’s insult, Tom stepped closer and pressing his lips against the soft flesh of Mosco’s pout, he kissed him tenderly. “I love you too.”
Mosco’s emerald eyes shimmered with tears, but he managed a crooked smile. “See you soon, mi chico hermoso.”
Not willing to give Howell the satisfaction of a teary goodbye, Tom smiled back. “You can bet your life on it.”
**
Monday May 20th 1991 (10.48 a.m.)
A cool breeze blew through the prison car park, chilling Tom’s skin. Squatting down, he rummaged through the brown paper bag and pulling out a bandana, he tied it around his head. Next, he took out the only coat he owned, a lightweight, army-style jacket and standing back up, he put it on and pulled up the zipper. His eyes darted anxiously up and down the road that ran adjacent to the prison, desperately searching for Ana’s green Toyota. Imaginary butterflies fluttered nervously in his stomach; it had been a long time since he had conversed with a woman and he wondered what Ana was like. Thoughts of Judy popped into his head and he grinned when he remembered how close they had once been. But his lips soon twisted into something resembling a grimace and he quickly pushed all thoughts of Judy from his mind. To remember their friendship was just too painful and he was determined to live life to the fullest and not dwell on the past. This was his second chance.
The sound of an engine backfiring startled him back to the present and turning his head, he saw a battered metallic green Corolla Tercel pulling into the car park. His anxiety levels rose and he nervously rubbed his sweaty palms against the legs of his jeans before bending down and picking up his meager possessions. When the car stopped in front of him, the window wound down and an attractive woman with long dark hair smiled at him. “Tom?”
The woman’s smile was open and friendly and Tom immediately felt at ease. Walking up to the car, he held out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Ana. I can’t thank you enough for what you’re doing for me.”
Ana hesitated for a moment before grasping his hand in a brief shake. “Don’t mention it. The pleasure’s all mine.”
Tom’s grin broadened and walking around to the passenger side of the car, he opened the door and climbed in. He was finally free to begin a new life and he could not have been happier.
Slamming the car into gear, Ana sped out of the car park. She was struggling to contain the hatred churning in her stomach, but she knew she needed to play it cool because if Tom suspected that she was Juan Álvarez’s wife, she would not get a chance to exact revenge on her husband's murderer.
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Chasing a Butterfly