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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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Tuesday March 7th 1989 (5.48 a.m.)
Waking from a fitful night’s sleep, Tom rolled over and placing an arm behind his head, he stared morosely up at the ceiling. The night before, he had spent hours cleaning his apartment because he feared that if he did not stay active, the urge to go out and score an eight ball would easily win out over his faint, halfhearted desire to stay clean. Never before had his home received such a rigorous cleansing; he had mopped, scrubbed, disinfected, dusted, polished and vacuumed, until every inch of his apartment sparkled like a show home. It had been past 3 a.m. when he had finally fallen wearily into bed, but even though his aching muscles and fatigued brain had screamed for a reprieve, he had found sleep elusive. A constant montage of images had floated through his mind; Doug dressed as a McQuaid, his lopsided grin beaming cheekily, Harry playing poker, his strong morality making it impossible for him to master the art of a poker face, nights out at the bowling alley where they unwound after a stressful case… On and on the visions rolled like a silent movie playing continuously in his head until he felt like he was slowly going mad. Tears had filled his eyes and burying his head in his pillow, he had sobbed like a child until finally, exhaustion had overwhelmed him and he had fallen into a light doze, his face mashed into the pillow as though attempting to block out the distressing images.
Stretching out his legs, he rolled onto his side and gazed at the morning light filtering in through a chink in his curtains as he listened to the birds singing their morning song of glory outside his bedroom window. He knew he needed to go to the hospital but the very idea of seeing Doug and Harry again terrified him. It was difficult for him to face a nightmare that he was the cause of and he wondered if his two friends would ever forgive him for his sins.
With a heavy sigh, he sat up and yawning loudly, he ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. As he rose to his feet, he heard a hesitant knock at his apartment door and he glanced at his bedside clock in surprise. The red luminous dial read 5.55 a.m. and he wondered who could be calling on him at such an early hour of the morning.
Getting to his feet, he padded sleepily into the main living area and stifling another yawn, he opened the door. He reacted in surprise when he saw his Captain standing outside but when he registered the devastated look on his superior’s face, his world imploded. “Please Coach, don’t say it,” he whispered and turning away, he stumbled several steps before his legs started to shake uncontrollably and he stopped in the middle of the room.
Fuller walked into the apartment and paused several feet from where Tom was standing. “I’m sorry son,” he murmured softly, “Doug died a couple of hours ago.” When Tom made no comment, he stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on his young charge’s shoulder. “His passing was peaceful, he never regained consciousness. The doctor said it was—”
Without turning around, Tom interrupted in an emotionless voice, “Thanks for coming over Cap’n, I really appreciate it, but I’d like to be alone.”
Surprised by Tom’s reaction, Fuller faltered for a moment before squeezing the young man’s shoulder. “Of course.” He paused for several seconds before speaking again. “I think it would be best if you took some time off. The Commissioner’s ordered an inquiry and—”
“I understand,” Tom muttered as though in a trance. “Thanks for coming over, I really appreciate it.”
For a fraction of a moment, Fuller wondered if he should leave Tom alone but he had a meeting with the Commissioner and he still had not notified his other officers of Penhall’s passing. Going against his better judgment, he again gently squeezed Tom’s shoulder. “Get some rest Hanson, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Tom gave a barely perceivable nod in reply. When he heard the door close, he remained standing in the middle of the room, the shock of the news rendering him immobile. But slowly, his senses returned and with an anguished cry, he fell to his knees. “NOOO!” he screamed hysterically as his fingers frantically tore at his hair. “OH MY GOD, DOUG! DOUG!”
His tormented screams echoed throughout his apartment for several minutes until a sudden, almost spiritual calm came over him. Getting slowly to his feet, he gazed around his immaculate apartment but within seconds, he was possessed with a demon-like fury. “YOU BASTARD!” he yelled and picking up a table lamp, he yanked the cord from its socket and threw it forcefully against the wall. “WHY DID YOU HAVE TO DIE?! WHY?!”
His rage became all consuming and he blindly began to smash anything he could get his hands on. He ripped cushions from the sofa and tore them to pieces, he hurled his CDs across the room and he smashed his foot through the screen of his television. During the half hour onslaught, nothing within reach remained impervious to his wrath and within minutes, his apartment resembled a war zone.
Eventually, fatigue and emotion overwhelmed him and he once again collapsed to his knees in a flood of tears. “Doug,” he sobbed and covering his face with his hands, he rocked his body back and forth as tears streamed down his face. “Oh Doug.”
The minutes slowly ticked by and he suddenly became aware of two muscular arms pulling him into a tight embrace. Lifting his tear stained face, he gazed deep into Booker’s compassionate brown eyes. “I k-killed him,” he whispered and clutching hold of Booker’s arm, he let out a distressed moan. “Oh J-Jesus Dennis, I killed him!”
“Shh,” Booker soothed softly whilst gently running his fingers through Tom’s unruly hair. “It was an accident, it was just an accident.”
Tom’s head whipped violently back and forth. “Nuh-no it wasn’t,” he hiccupped. “It wasn’t it wasn’t it wasn’t it wasn’t…”
As Tom’s voice rose hysterically, Booker pulled him into his lap and cradled him like a small child. He had no real words of comfort because the reality was, Tom had killed Doug and nothing he said would ever make it right.
****
Tuesday March 7th 1989 (7.16 a.m.)
When Tom eventually stopped crying, Booker gently lifted him to his feet and placing an arm around his waist, he helped him into the bedroom. Lowering his inert body onto the bed, he picked up his legs and positioned him so he lay ensconced within the crumpled sheets. Sitting down on the edge of the mattress, he tenderly brushed his hair from his wide, unblinking eyes. Concerned by the lack of response, he gently shook his shoulder. “Tommy?”
Tom remained motionless, his eyes locked in a fixed stare. A cold shiver of fear ran down Booker’s spine and he shook Tom a little more vigorously. “C’mon Tommy, you’re starting to freak me out. Look at me… look… at… me…”
A slow flicker of recognition registered on Tom’s face and when his eyes came into focus, he gazed up at Booker with pain-filled eyes. “I don’t want to be alone,” he whispered. “Please don’t leave me alone.”
Booker lay down on the bed and rested a comforting arm around Tom’s narrow waist. “I’m here for as long as you need me.”
A small flicker of gratitude played over Tom’s lips and closing his eyes, he fell into an exhausted sleep.
****
Tuesday March 7^th 1989 (8.51 a.m.)
As he gazed down into Tom’s face, Booker marveled at the beauty of the man who was now sleeping peacefully, his limbs wrapped around him as though seeking protection from some unseen foe. A tremor of desire ran through his body and his heart began to palpitate with longing. Never before had he fallen so hard for someone who one minute made him so angry he wanted to throw punches and the next, made him weak at the knees with a ravenous thirst that would only be quenched if he could pull him into his arms and kiss him passionately. The conflicting emotions were both confusing and exhilarating at the same time, but ultimately, he was left feeling bereft and unfulfilled. Just looking at Tom made his cock hard and now that he was finally experiencing the sensation of holding him in his arms, he could barely control his urges. Tom was so close and yet so unattainable and it caused a physical pain in his heart. He longed to feel the tender flesh of the young officer’s lips pressing against his own and the thought had him squirming with a hot desire. He could feel his erection straining against his jeans and he quickly pushed the erotic thoughts from his mind. He was not there to seduce Tom, he was there to help him and his own unfulfilled needs would have to wait until he was home alone and he could bring himself to climax with his own hand.
With a soft sigh, he extricated himself from Tom’s tangled limbs and climbed carefully from the bed so as not to wake him. He walked into the living area and stared at the chaos around him. Broken pieces of furniture lay scattered across the room, torn photographs littered the carpet, the television was on its side, its shattered screen resembling a lunatic’s abstract art and various knickknacks lay broken, their original form now completely unrecognizable. Barely an object had survived the frenzied onslaught and it tore at his heart to think of the level of grief Tom was feeling at losing his best friend.
Stepping through the debris, he began to clean up. Most of the items were unsalvageable and he stacked them neatly in a corner, ready to be dumped. The few items that had survived unscathed and those that could be repaired, he placed out of harm’s way, as he was well aware that another uncontrolled outburst was likely. Tom had killed his best friend and the grief and guilt would last a very long time, if not forever.
****
Tuesday March 7^th 1989 (10.48 a.m.)
A soft moan escaped Tom’s lips and his body began to twitch as his nightmare took hold. He could see Doug standing in front of him, his hands held up in a don’t shoot gesture. Suddenly, the sound of a gunshot echoed loudly in his ears and he watched in horror as his friend reeled backwards, clutching his chest in pain. When blood began seeping through his fingers, staining his white t-shirt, he lifted his head and gasped one word, “Why?”
Tom’s body shot forward and sitting bolt upright in bed, his best friend’s name expelled from his lips with a piercing scream, “DOUG!”
Within moments, Booker was by his side and he collapsed against the broad chest in a flood of tears. “He’s dead!” he sobbed. “He’s really dead!”
Without thinking, Booker gathered Tom in his arms and pressing his lips against his hair, he kissed him tenderly. “It’s okay baby,” he murmured softly, “It’ll be okay.”
Tom’s body stiffened and pulling away, he lifted his head and gazed up at Booker through tear-filled eyes. “B-Baby?” he hiccupped.
A deep flush reddened Booker’s cheeks and he ran a shaky hand through his dark hair. “Um, I didn’t… sorry, I don’t know why I said that.”
As the seconds ticked by, a slow realization dawned on Tom and his eyes widened in astonishment. “Dennis, are you gay?”
Booker’s heart hammered in his chest and he lowered his eyes to the floor. His secret was out and now, after finally getting close to Tom, he would once again be shunned because of his sexuality, just as he had been his whole life by those who had discovered the truth. Tears of shame filled his eyes but he quickly blinked them away. He would not show weakness, he was Dennis Booker and he would be damned if he would let Hanson ridicule him.
Lifting his head, he glared back cockily. “Why? Are you afraid it’s catching?” he shot back with a snort.
Tom wiped a hand over his eyes and sniffed loudly. “No. I was just wondering, that’s all. I don’t care either way, you’ll still be Booker to me.”
Taken aback by Tom’s reply, Booker’s face relaxed slightly and he managed a faint smile. “Meaning?”
Tom’s lip twitched at the corner. “Meaning you’re still the most annoying person I’ve ever met but…” He dropped his gaze and began nervously picking at the blanket covering his legs. “You’ve really come through for me Dennis, I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you.”
A slow smile spread over Booker’s face; Tom knew his secret and he had not pushed him away. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
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Chasing a Butterfly