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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
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This will be my last chapter for at least three weeks. I'm going on holiday, yay!
Until then...
In peace,
OpenPage x

A loud ringing penetrated through the haze of Booker’s dream, the shrill peal slowly transforming into the clang of a school bell. As excited high school students streamed into the wide, sunlit corridor, Dream Booker looked around him, his brow pulled tight with confusion. “I thought we were supposed to be pledging a fraternity.”
Dream Tom smiled serenely, but the tranquility of the vision soon became a terrifying nightmare. Blood began to pour from a wound in the young officer’s temple, and his peaceful expression slowly mutated into a ghoulish mask of black, decaying flesh. “Silly Dennis,” he grinned through bloodstained teeth. “I died at that fraternity. They killed me, remember? They killed me, and you let them do it!”
With a gasp, Booker’s eyes flew open, the erratic thump of his heart constricting his throat, making it difficult for him to breathe. Disoriented by his sleep induced stupor, his eyes frantically scanned the room before settling on the ringing phone beside his bed. It took several moments for his brain to register what was happening, but eventually the fog cleared, and he snatched up the receiver. “WHAT?” he barked.
An anxious voice sounded through the earpiece. “Dennis?”
Booker bolted upright, the phone’s handset clutched tightly in his hand. “Tommy? Oh God, Tommy, are you okay?”
A long silence drifted down the line. “Tom?” Booker whispered. “Are you still there?”
“I’m here,” Tom replied quietly. “I, um, I’m at the hospital.”
The thumping in Booker’s chest intensified, but he managed to keep his voice composed. “I know, baby. I was there last night, but they wouldn’t let me see you.”
Another long pause hung in the air, followed by a loud, distressed sob. “Th-they think I’m c-crazy.”
Pain stabbed through Booker’s heart, and although he sympathized with his friend’s plight, he knew he needed to convince him to stay calm and listen to the doctors. “No, baby, that’s not what they think. They’re just making sure you’re okay.”
Once again, his words were met with a desolate silence, and fearing he had said the wrong thing, he started to apologize, but Tom’s soft voice cut him off. “I just wanna go home.”
The sheer helplessness in Tom’s voice brought tears to Booker’s eyes, but he knew it was in his friend’s best interest to remain in the hospital and receive a full evaluation. “Tom, listen to me,” he commanded quietly. “Just let the doctors do their job, and you’ll be home before you know it.”
“Promise?”
The softly spoken question was so childlike in its innocence, the tears reflecting brightly in Booker’s dark eyes spilled freely down his cheeks, the tidal release of emotion forcing his sorrow into his throat. “I promise, baby,” he choked. “I promise.”
With nothing left to say, Tom placed the receiver back on the hook. Whether he liked it or not, he was on his own. But it was the slap in the face he needed to get his life back on track, and a spark of determination reignited the long forgotten fire that had lain dormant in his soul since his assault. Staring down at his bandaged arms and feet, he knew where he needed to start. No more self-harming, no more alcohol-fueled benders. He now recognized he needed help, and once free from the confines of the hospital, he would do everything in his power to help Booker too. Together, they would conquer their adversities and rise like phoenixes from the ashes of their shared torment; reborn and ready to experience a new life, cloaked protectively in the love radiating from within their hearts.
**
There was a distinct chill in the air, but it had nothing to do with the weather. Fuller sat at his desk, his mouth pulled into a thin, tight line, the pouchy flesh beneath his eyes adding ten years to his appearance. He was a man under duress, a man struggling with the guilt of his own incompetency. However, he proportioned some dereliction of duty squarely on the shoulders of the arrogant young cop standing in front of him. Try as he might, he was unable to understand how the Holbrook College assignment had got so out of hand. Booker was a skilled police officer, and once Tom was shackled, he should have diffused the situation before it spiraled into the danger zone. By forcing himself to watch the tape, Fuller had hoped it would reveal a satisfactory answer. But besides making him sick to the stomach, the images on the video had only managed to raise more questions. Despite Booker’s claim to the contrary, there was no sign of a gun, and while the disproportionate ratio of Pi Taus to cops was indisputable, the two young officers were trained to enforce the law and take control of potentially volatile situations. Therefore, in Fuller’s mind, nothing Booker had revealed to Penhall made sense, leaving him doubting the word of the young officer. However, as a fair and just man, he was prepared to hear Dennis’ side of the story, and there was no time like the present to get to the bottom of what appeared to be a troubling sequence of events.
“I’ve watched the tape,” the Jump Street captain advised in a cold voice. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
Fuller’s piercing glare had Booker feeling like a man condemned, and he shuffled uncomfortably. But despite the visual interrogation, he managed to maintain an expression of false bravado, and his brows drew together in an irritated scowl. “What difference does it make? You, Penhall, and Hoffs already think I’m guilty of assaulting Tom, and Harry’s too polite to weigh in. But hey, here’s a thought. Instead of jumping to conclusions, how ‘bout you ask Hanson what happened, then maybe you can get off my case and leave me alone to do my job.”
Slamming his hands down on the smooth wooden surface of his desk, Fuller leaned forward and spoke in a clipped, angry tone. “You may not have a job, Booker. So drop the tough guy act and tell me what happened.”
The memory of Tom’s terrified screams sent a ripple of shame through Booker’s tense muscles. There had been extenuating circumstances, but there was no getting around the cold, hard facts. He had performed fellatio against Tom’s will, and in many people’s eyes that made him just as guilty as Michael McCarter and the other Pi Taus, maybe more so because Tom had trusted him. They were partners, and although at the time they weren't the best of friends, there was a level of faith between them. But he had betrayed that confidence, and the more he thought about it, the more surprised he was Tom had forgiven him. However, it appeared Fuller would not be so easily swayed, and he now found himself not only fighting to keep his job but also fighting to clear his name.
But eventually, the unwanted scrutiny had the desired effect, and his stoic countenance faltered. The defiant spark in his eyes faded and terrified of revealing the extent of his emotions to his superior, he lowered his gaze to the floor. “They were gonna hurt him,” he muttered. “Why won’t you believe me?”
Fuller continued to study Booker with suspicion for several long minutes before his facial muscles relaxed, and he exhaled a long, weary sigh. “Okay, Booker, if that’s what you say happened, then I have to trust your word. But there’s something I need to know. Given your apparent interest in Tom, is working with him going to be a problem?”
The inquiry was not what Booker expected, and the audacity of the question brought forth another furious scowl. “Who says I’m interested in Tom?” he snapped. “Just because I did what I did doesn’t mean I—”
“Don’t lie to me, Booker,” Fuller interrupted. “It’s no secret you have feelings for Hanson, and to be honest, I don’t give a rat’s ass about your sexual proclivities. What I do care about is the safety of my officers, and given the amateurish way you handled this last case, I want your assurance your feelings for Tom won’t get in the way of you doing your job.”
“So, does that mean I still have a job?” Booker asked by way of deflection.
Unfazed by the smart-ass response, Fuller returned a smug smile. “That all depends on your answer. But even if I'm satisfied, you're still looking at six months’ probation, and you’d better believe it what I say, one slip up and I'll have your badge. So, I'll ask you again. Is working with Hanson going to be a problem?”
It was the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question Booker could not honestly answer. As a cop, he knew it was a bad idea to become involved with someone he worked with day in, day out. In their line of work, having a romantic preoccupation with one’s partner could become a distraction, and a distraction could well lead to death. Then there was the whole what if the relationship failed scenario. A scorned ex-lover could also prove dangerous if it prevented him from keeping his mind on the job. It seemed whichever way he looked at it, getting involved with Hanson was a bad idea. However, he’d never been a conformist, and even though he was an officer of the law, he enjoyed a certain amount of rebellion in his life. Also, as far as Fuller and the others were concerned, his affection for Tom wasn’t reciprocated, and no one knew they were now a couple. If they did, he was certain the news would not be well-received, especially by Penhall. The larger than life officer was incredibly protective of Tom, and Booker was certain it would blow his mind to think his best friend was now in a relationship with another man. Not that Dennis thought Penhall was homophobic, he just knew the officer well enough to know there would be a certain amount of jealousy attached to his resentment. But the realization was of little consequence to Booker. Foremost on his mind was convincing his captain he was not a liability, and the rest, as was so often quoted, would take care of itself.
“Well?” Fuller pressed, a slight impatience tainting his voice.
Pulling himself up to his full height, Booker looked his superior straight in the eye. “No problem at all, Coach. Hanson and I are just friends. I know it’ll never be anything more than that.”
Although not a hundred percent convinced, Fuller decided to give Booker the benefit of the doubt, and studying the young officer’s battered face, he issued his final directive. “Penhall’s having a hard time dealing with what happened to Hanson. I think it would be best if the two of you kept your distance. Understood?”
“Yes, Cap’n,” Booker muttered, resentment shining in his dark eyes. Although he still had his job, his victory was bittersweet. He could sense an underlying tone of disapproval in the older man’s voice, indicating a level of distrust, and after receiving a dismissive nod, he walked out into the Chapel’s central hub with the burden of a man condemned still weighing heavily on his shoulders.
**
As the setting sun bathed the city’s skyline in soft, amber hues, Booker poured himself another whiskey and flopping back against the couch cushions, he stared morosely at the television. Don LaFontaine’s dulcet tones filled the room, the latest America’s Most Wanted episode filling the small screen. But for the young officer, even watching his favorite true crime show did little to dampen his melancholy mood, and taking a large swallow of his drink, he thought back over the last few days. With no further communication from Tom, he had attempted to alleviate his fears by throwing himself back into his work. However, he soon found he was a social outcast among his peers. No one spoke to him, in fact, no one even acknowledged him except for Penhall, whose dark, penetrative glare followed him around the room. It made for an uncomfortable working environment, and after only one day, he had asked Fuller for a job—any job—no matter how menial that would give him the freedom to work alone. Fuller obliged without question, and so he had found himself in the basement, cataloging old case files in readiness for their transfer to the L.A.P.D.’s central records office. It was a slow, tedious job, but it gave him the opportunity to forget about his colleagues upstairs and lose himself in the banality of filing, giving him some measure of peace.
Draining the last swallow of whiskey from his glass, he flicked off the television and rose slowly from the couch. Life no longer had the same level of urgency, the same sense of adventure as it had only a month ago. Everything had changed, he’d sacrificed so much, and he found himself gravitating more and more toward the sanctuary of sleep, which he knew was a sure sign of depression. However, he tried hard to fight through the misery and stay positive, if only for Tom’s sake. With the young officer’s seventy-two-hour observation order due to expire in the morning, he now faced the agony of a long, nervous wait, hoping and praying to whichever God was listening that the doctors would not seek an extension.
It was the fear of the unknown that eventually convinced him to give in to his despondency—if only for a short while—and go to bed. To continue drinking was a bad idea, even if the alcohol did dull his senses, it didn’t blot out any of the uncertainty surrounding his and Tom's future.
So when the sharp ring of the phone cut through the silence, he almost didn’t answer it. But eventually, curiosity got the better of him, and he picked up the receiver. “Booker.”
Silence echoed down the line, and thinking it was a wrong number, he was about to hang up when the soft, hesitant voice he dreamed about every night whispered the news he'd been waiting to hear. “Dennis, I’m coming home.”
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Beneath a Heart of Darkness