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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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Sorry for the delay in posting.
In peace,
OpenPage x

The automatic doors closed behind Booker, the innocuous whoosh still managing to rattle his frazzled nerves. Although brightly decorated, the psych wing of St. Jude’s hospital radiated a distinct ambience of despondency, and with the artificial heat pumping through the vents adding to the heaviness of the air, the oppressive climate quickly dampened the dark-haired officer’s mood. Upon waking up that morning, he had felt excited knowing he was about to see Tom again. However, as he stood in the depressingly cheerful waiting area, he suddenly understood the magnitude of Hanson’s mental breakdown, and the enormity of the situation sent a shiver of foreboding down his spine. It was a sobering reminder of just how much his friend had suffered, and he wondered if the Tom Hanson he was about to lay eyes on would in any way resemble the Tom Hanson of old, or if the fun, vibrant man he had fallen in love with would only remain alive in his memories.
Lost in the black hole of his thoughts, he barely noticed the hulking figure rising from one of the red plastic chairs lining the walls until the man purposely stepped in front of him, blocking his path.
“’Scuse me,” Booker muttered with an absent smile, but his expression froze when he recognized the brown eyes glaring back at him.
“What are you doing here?” the two officers chimed in unison.
Penhall’s mouth turned down at the corners, his dour expression marring his good looks. “Tom called to say he was going home, so I thought I’d surprise him and pick him up.”
A smug smile curved Booker’s lips. “Yeah? Well, Tom called me too, except he asked me to pick him up, so…”
Doug’s eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. “You’re lying. Why the hell would he call you after what you—”
“AFTER I WHAT?” Booker yelled. “AFTER I SAVED HIS LIFE?”
A middle-aged nurse scurried out from behind the reception desk, her prominent jaw clenched in anger. “Gentlemen! If you can’t moderate your voices, then I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
The two scowling officers faced off for another few seconds before Booker took a step back. “Sorry,” he apologized softly. “I, um, I’m here to pick up Tom Hanson. Is he ready to go?”
Despite the nurse’s warning, Penhall could not contain his rising fury. “OVER MY DEAD BODY!” he exclaimed loudly. “YOU NEED TO BACK OFF AND FOCUS YOUR SICK OBSESSION ON SOMEONE ELSE!”
With the dull ache in his bruised ribs acting as a painful reminder of the thrashing he'd received at the hands of his antagonist, Booker’s temper exploded. “OBSESSION? YOU'RE THE ONE WITH THE OBSESSION! YOU TREAT TOM LIKE HE’S YOUR FUCKING—”
“Doug? Dennis?”
The familiar voice had both men spinning around, their mutual hostility momentarily forgotten. “Tommy!” they chorused, but Penhall managed to one-up Booker, and pushing rudely past the dark-haired officer, he approached Tom and pulled him into a tight bear hug. “Man, I’ve missed you,” he grinned against his friend’s ear.
Tom’s body visibly stiffened before he gently extricated himself from Penhall’s hold, and taking a step back, he wrapped his arms protectively around his chest, the corners of his lips twitching nervously. “Why are you fighting?” he asked, his eyes darting anxiously from his best friend to his prospective lover and back again.
Booker started to move forward, but when he noticed a shadow of uncertainty in Tom’s dark eyes he immediately stopped. “We weren’t,” he lied, a reassuring smile gracing his bow-shaped lips. “Doug and I were just surprised to see each other, that’s all.”
“Really?” Tom challenged, his pale face pulled tight with worry. “Because it sounded like you were tearing each other a new one.”
Not wanting to agitate his friend any further, Penhall hurriedly interjected. “It’s not a big deal. Dennis got his wires crossed ‘cause for some reason, he seems to think he’s your ride.”
“Oh,” Tom replied quietly, his gaze lowering to the floor. “Um, I guess that’s ‘cause he is.”
Penhall’s pompous expression faltered, and he stared back at Tom with wide-eyed disbelief. “What? You’re not seriously gonna let this pervert—”
“ENOUGH!” the nurse yelled, and stepping in front of Tom, she created a protective shield between him and the two disgruntled officers. “I don’t care what your differences are, I won’t be sending Officer Hanson home with either of you until you calm down and start behaving like responsible adults!”
Subdued by the nurse’s acerbic tone, Penhall lowered his gaze and shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “Yes, ma’am.”
With the volatile situation now contained, the woman turned and addressed Hanson. “You know you don’t have to go home with either of these men, Tom,” she advised, the soft folds of skin around her mouth relaxing into a kind smile. “I can arrange transport for you, or if you’d prefer to wait a while longer, I can organize a session with Doctor Ross so you can talk through your anxiety.”“Anxiety?” Penhall blurted out in surprise. “Whaddya mean anxiety? I thought he was ok—”
Booker’s sharp elbow ramming into his ribs quickly silenced him, and for the first time since arriving at the hospital, Doug took the time to study his friend’s face. Dark shadows filled the hollow sockets that had formed beneath Tom’s eyes, the contrast against the paleness of his skin giving him the appearance of a little boy lost. His typically youthful countenance bore traces of fatigue, and his stance reminded Penhall of a frightened deer skittishly poised to take flight at the slightest sign of provocation. Although still Tom, the nervous figure standing before him was not the man he knew as his friend, workmate, and confidante, he was a man who had suffered a traumatic experience, he was a man crippled with emotional pain.
Although not a Booker fan, fear and uncertainty about his friend’s future soon had Penhall reevaluating his feelings about the dark-haired officer. Tom needed a friend, any friend, to help him through what was sure to be an excruciatingly long road toward recovery. He was still wary of Booker’s motives, but he could almost understand Tom’s compulsion to keep him in his life. Dennis was the only one who completely understood the reality of Tom’s suffering because he had witnessed it. However, the fact the arrogant officer had also added to his friend’s pain was harder for Penhall to reconcile in his mind, and he still felt uncomfortable when he thought about Booker spending too much time with Tom. But as his friend, he needed to trust Hanson’s instincts, and he figured there was a valid reason Tom wanted Booker around. Therefore, he made the decision to back off and let Dennis take a leading role in Tom’s recovery. However, he planned on keeping an eye on the relationship from a distance. That way, he wouldn’t upset Tom unnecessarily, and he could be there to console his friend when Booker finally revealed himself as the self-serving sonofabitch Penhall knew him to be.
“Tom?” the nurse prompted softly. “Do you want to see Doctor Ross?”
Embarrassed by the question, Tom slowly shook his head. “No, I just want to go home... with Dennis.”
The nurse cast a sharp, critical eye over Booker and Penhall. “Which one of you is Dennis?” she barked.
Booker cleared his throat, and feeling like a naughty school boy, he slowly raised his hand. “Um, I am.”
With a reproachful glare, the nurse turned and spoke to Penhall. “Are you going to cause any trouble?”
“No, ma’am,” Penhall responded quietly, and stepping in front of Booker, he spoke directly to Tom. “If you need anything, call me, okay, pal?”
Tom nodded silently, his expression unreadable, and sighing heavily, Penhall turned away. After shooting Booker a withering look, he glanced back over his shoulder at Tom. But when he received no further reaction, he grudgingly accepted his friend’s decision and left the building.
**
The aftermath of Tom’s rage lay strewn throughout his apartment, the detritus a stark reminder of the severity of his breakdown. Broken knick-knacks and CDs littered the room, the light dancing off the scratched surfaces of the polycarbonate discs creating an animated rainbow of color, the effect adding a splash of surrealism to the chaotic scene. The television’s broken screen grinned ominously, its jagged edges a sinister reminder of the damage Tom had inflicted on his bare feet, and embarrassment prickled his skin. Doug had witnessed his meltdown, and he wondered if his best friend would ever view him in the same way again, or if the disturbing exposure of his damaged psyche would destroy their friendship forever.
In an attempt to hide his shame, he picked up his copy of Alice Cooper’s Trash and ran his fingers reverently over the scratched surface. “Well, that’s apt,” he joked lamely.
But Booker wasn’t fooled by his friend’s pretense at humor. He could see Tom was hurting, and placing an arm around his shoulders, he gave a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to. You can always come home with me.”
A sad smile curved Tom’s lips. “Thanks, but somehow I don’t think Jorge would approve, and the three of us in your apartment would be kinda awkward.”
Surprised by the response, Booker cupped Tom’s pale face in the palm of his hand. “I told you, Jorge and I aren’t together. Anyway, I took him to his mom’s the same night you…” His voice faltered, and his mouth twitched apologetically. “Well, you know.”
“Yeah,” Tom sighed, his shoulders sagging wearily, “I know.”
A gloomy silence hung in the air, the officers’ somber expressions a perfect accompaniment to the disarray surrounding them. For Booker, it was a scene straight out of a movie of the week, and he could almost hear a bow drawing lightly across the strings of a cello, the dark, pensive notes musically depicting the melancholy mood in the room. However, despite the burden of regret still weighing heavily on his heart, he was determined to forget his own mental suffering and focus on helping Tom. If he could continue to smile through his emotional pain, Tom would never know the internal struggle he fought every day as he tried to come to terms with the abuse he had willingly allowed Ingram Holland to inflict upon him. He was an expert at internalizing his problems, and when he put his mind to it, he could mask his misery as effectively as the proverbial sad clown. It was a coping mechanism he had adopted back in high school, and after years of experience, he now considered himself the master of deceit.
Forcing a smile to his lips, he nodded toward Tom’s bedroom. “Go pack a bag, then we can get something to eat.”
Although food was the last thing on Tom’s mind, he managed a polite smile. The SSRI medication his doctor had prescribed was playing havoc with his stomach, and he felt sweaty and nauseous. But he was trying hard to fight through his agitation, to present himself as whole so as not to cause Booker any undue worry. He knew he was a millstone around his new friend’s neck, and even though he sincerely believed Booker loved him, he wondered how much of that love was now based on a sense of guilt and responsibility. It was a thought that plagued him ever since his breakdown because for the first time in his life, he no longer felt equal to his peers. Instead, he was the screwball friend who freaked out and destroyed his belongings before withdrawing into the inner sanctum of his damaged mind. He was a laughingstock, a pathetic fool, and he could not help but wonder how long it would take Booker to realize he was not worth the effort, thereby leaving him to battle his demons alone.
Pushing the unsettling thought from his mind, he grabbed a bag and stuffed it full of clothing. He entered the bathroom and picking up his toothbrush, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. With its pinched face and expressionless eyes dulled by fatigue, the haunting apparition was a mocking caricature of the man it represented, and at that moment, Tom could feel the light inside him slowly fading, his life’s flame suffocating beneath the cold, shadowy hand of gloom. Immediately, a flutter of fear quickened his heart. If he allowed his depression to douse the fire completely, the darkness enveloping his soul would consume what remained of the man within, and he would become the embodiment of the ghostly figure staring back at him.
Tears welled in the young officer’s eyes, but he quickly blinked them back, refusing to give in to his emotions yet again. Although he was trying his best to push through his psychological pain, he knew he needed to try harder. If he didn’t toughen up, he would lose the only shining light left in his life, and no matter how miserable he felt inside, he was not prepared to forfeit his relationship with Booker before it had even begun. There was something unique about the man who had risked it all to bring him the tapes, and he longed to know the full extent of his friend’s love because he had a feeling Dennis was someone worth loving.
With a newfound tenacity momentarily lifting his spirit, Tom took a moment to practice smiling in the mirror. However, the result was more a strained grimace than a cheerful grin, and giving the idea up as a bad joke, he exhaled a heavy sigh of resignation and walked out of the room.
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Beneath a Heart of Darkness