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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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Sunday November 31st 1991 (1.52 p.m.)
Not wanting to appear too eager, Booker sat in his car for a full half hour listening to music in the hope that it would calm his nerves. At just after ten-to-two, he climbed out of his Mustang, crossed the street and descended the dark, narrow stairway that led to Tom’s basement apartment. Nervous tension stimulated his sweat glands, slicking his palms with unwanted perspiration, and he anxiously rubbed his hands on the seat of his jeans. He desperately wanted to prove to Tom that he was there for him, in whatever capacity he needed him, but he was also worried about smothering him in his usual overprotective way. Despite the dramatic change in his ex-lover’s personality, he still remembered how private and single-minded Tom could be. The last thing he wanted to do was overstep the boundaries of their friendship, especially knowing how volatile their relationship had been in the past. However, even though he knew he needed to tread warily, he also recognized that there was no retreat. Whether he liked it or not, he had entangled himself in what he privately thought of as the alluring web of Tom Hanson. When he had arrived home the night before, he had attempted to put his ex out of his mind, but he had been unsuccessful. He had spent a fitful night indulging in his fantasies, with visions of Tom as his lover, and he had stroked himself to orgasm several times during the long, dark hours. When the soft dawn light eventually filtered in through the chink in his curtains, he had crawled tired and unfulfilled from his bed. After brewing a pot of coffee, he had sat in his living room and stared blankly at the television, unable to concentrate on the early morning news as it unfolded on his screen. He had passed the time drinking cup after cup of the strong, sweet java, and anxiously checking the clock. The hours had ticked by at an agonizingly slow pace, but eventually, the clock struck one. It was the moment he had been waiting for and sprinting to his car, he had driven to South Central L.A. so he could finally be with the man who rocked his world.
However, as he stood on Tom’s threshold, he quickly realized the coffee had been a mistake. He was jittery and overstimulated, and he wished he had gone for a jog instead of overindulging on what was essentially a drug. But it was too late, what was done was done, and all he could do was hope that he did not make a complete jerk of himself because he felt so wired.
Taking a deep breath, he endeavored to steady his nerves, and once he was satisfied that he had his anxiety under control, he rapped his knuckles on the chipped, wooden door.
Several interminably long seconds passed before the screech of a bolt drawing back sounded in the quiet corridor. When the door finally opened, Booker exhaled the breath he had not realized he had been holding and smiled broadly. “Hey.”
A shy smile played over Tom’s lips and lowering his eyes, he stepped back from the door. “Come in,” he invited softly.
In an attempt to hide his caffeine-induced tremors, Booker shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and continued to grin like a lunatic. “Um, I was hoping you might want to go out.”
“Out?” Tom parroted quietly, his dark eyes filling with uncertainty. “Out where?”
Booker’s smile remained plastered on his face. “How ‘bout the coast? We could grab a bite to eat and, well, you know, just talk.”
Tom narrowed his eyes and tilting his head on one side, he studied Booker’s tense features. “Dennis, are you okay?”
The absurdity of Tom asking him if he was the one who was okay knocked some much-needed sense into Booker, and blowing out his cheeks, he exhaled heavily. Despite his best efforts to make Tom feel comfortable, he was behaving like an ass and doing the exact opposite. If he did not calm himself down, he risked scaring Tom away.
A smile returned to his lips, but this time, it was genuine. “Sorry,” he apologized with an embarrassed chuckle. “I’m a little over caffeinated. You know how it is.”
A familiar cheeky grin graced Tom’s beautiful features, and he held out his damaged right hand. “Tell me about it.”
It was a lame joke and Booker struggled to keep the pain out of his eyes. But he quickly recovered his wits, and he managed a sincere laugh. “Yeah, it’s a bitch.”
Tom’s shoulders visibly relaxed. The use of humor had helped them to confront the elephant in the room, and he immediately felt less anxious. Their relationship was balancing precariously on a metaphorical precipice, and any wrong move could see one or both of them plummeting to a point of no return. Since his beating, it often took him a while to analyze a situation, but he could read Dennis like a book and he was well aware that his friend was walking on eggshells to protect him. However, although grateful for his concern, he wanted a friendship based on trust and honesty. He had no one in his life; his mother had disowned him, and all his friends had fallen by the wayside. But it was early days and even though he felt self-conscious around Booker, he hoped the more time he spent with him, the easier their conversations would become. He had not gone looking for friendship, but now that it was on offer, he realized how much he missed the company of others. Life had not been easy since his attack; he had become reclusive because he no longer trusted people. But Booker was different because deep in his heart, he knew he could trust him, despite their previous problems. Dennis was a good man, even if he was somewhat hotheaded, and he would never intentionally hurt him… at least Tom hoped not.
Pleased that Booker had accepted his joke in the manner he had intended, Tom made his decision. Although he mostly shied away from crowds, he was willing to make an exception because he felt safe with Booker by his side. He felt he owed it to his ex-lover to at least make an effort and not automatically give in to the fears that kept him awake at night. It was a small step, but a step nonetheless, and a feeling of contentment warmed his heart. For the first time since leaving prison, he could honestly say that he felt happy and that in itself was a huge achievement.
Grabbing his jacket from the hook by the door, he flicked the deadlock and pocketed his keys. “So, I guess coffee is off the menu,” he grinned shyly.
Booker groaned theatrically. “I never want to see another cup again.”
“Yeah, right,” Tom shot back with a chuckle, “I remember at The Chapel, you…”
His voice faded and shoving his hands into his pockets, he lowered his eyes and hunched his shoulders protectively inward. “But I guess that was a long time ago.”
Sensing that Tom was withdrawing back into his defensive shell, Booker attempted to lighten the mood again. “Yeah, it was. But I’m still a pig when it comes to coffee. You’d think I’d learn my lesson.”
Booker had a knack for turning things around, and Tom smiled gratefully. He did not want to discuss that part of his past, not even with Dennis. A lot had happened since he was an officer at Jump Street, and he preferred not to think about the life he had thrown away. He still thought about Doug on a daily basis, but he preferred to remember their friendship, rather than their working relationship. The memories of Jump Street were just too painful, and so he had relegated them to the deepest recesses of his mind because that was the only way he could get through each day. It was a coping mechanism and without it, he was certain he would lose his mind.
Stepping out into the corridor, he slammed the door closed and gave Booker a half smile. “Let’s go.”
**
Sunday November 31st 1991 (4.52 p.m.)
As the sun began its descent towards the horizon, Tom absently scooped up a handful of sand. Gazing wistfully at the white-capped waves crashing into shore, he allowed the tiny granules to sift therapeutically through the gaps between his fingers. "I don't remember you being at the hospital," he stated quietly.
After enjoying a late lunch overlooking the Pacific Ocean, the two men had taken a walk along the beach. When the temperature dropped, they had found a secluded spot to watch the sunset and continue their often awkward, but necessary conversation. They had discussed Mosco, and Booker had shamefacedly admitted to the dozens of one-night stands that had helped fill his lonely nights and alleviate his anger. As the afternoon wore on, they found themselves relaxing and disclosing more about what they had endured, and the conversation soon turned to Tom’s rehabilitation. But when Booker inadvertently revealed he had been at St. Vincent’s Hospital, he saw Tom's startled expression and he realized his mistake. With a sigh, he wrapped his arms around his legs and resting his chin on his knees, he stared dejectedly at the ocean and exhaled heavily.
“That’s ‘cause I’m an asshole,” he responded gloomily. When Tom turned his head and raised a questioning eyebrow, he offered his feeble explanation. “I was there… at the beginning. But when you were coming to, you mumbled Mosco’s name and…”
His voice trailed off and he emitted a regretful sigh. “I was consumed with jealousy and so I left. I’m sorry.”
Squinting against the sun’s fading rays, Tom studied his friend’s face. There was something he needed to ask Booker, something that he needed to get out into the open before he invested too much energy into their friendship. Ordinarily, he would have shied away from being so outspoken; he preferred to hang in the shadows and keep his thoughts to himself. However, his interaction with Booker had emboldened him, and raking an unsteady hand through his hair, he spoke his mind. “Are you still attracted to me?”
It was not the question Booker had expected Tom to ask and his body froze in panic. But he decided to avoid further embarrassment by answering the question with another question. “Why?”
A small smile played over Tom’s lips. “Because I’ve seen you watching me, and you get this faraway look in your eyes.”
Heat radiated in Booker’s groin and his cheeks flushed a soft shade of pink. “What can I say?” he mumbled softly. “You're nice to look at.”
It was Tom’s turn to blush and ducking his head, he bit down on his lower lip before confessing in a whisper, “So are you.”
A jolt of nervous excitement awakened Booker’s desires and he started to speak, but Tom cut him off in a rush of words. “But I can’t give you what you want.”
Not one to give up at the first rejection, Booker grasped hold of Tom’s hand and tightly squeezed his trembling fingers. “I’m not saying we jump straight into bed together. It’s obvious we both have trust issues, but, Tommy, this is our chance to put the past behind us and make everything right. I never stopped loving you, even when I resented you. Can’t we start over? We can take it slow, but—”
"You know what Álvarez’s gang did to me, right?" Tom interrupted in a raspy voice, his hands balling into tight fists as he struggled to control the emotion swelling from within. “They rammed a tire iron—”
“STOP!” Booker yelled, and scrambling to his feet, he started to pace up and down in front of Tom, his hands raking through his hair in a textbook display of agitation. “I know what they did! I see it every fucking night when I close my eyes!”
Rising to his feet, Tom calmly wiped the sand from the seat of his jeans. “Then you know why I can’t be with you in the way you want.”
Booker stopped pacing and narrowing his gaze, he stared directly into Tom’s dark eyes. “No, I don’t,” he replied with a stubborn pout. “Explain it to me.”
"BECAUSE I'M FUCKING IMPOTENT!" Tom screamed into Booker’s startled face, the humiliation of his condition evident by the twisted contortion of his beautiful features. “IS THAT SELF EXPLANATORY ENOUGH FOR YOU?”
At that precise moment, when he gazed into Tom’s anguished eyes, Booker knew he had made a monumental mistake. Instead of heeding his own advice and letting their friendship progress at a slow pace, he had felt so comfortable talking to Tom, he had automatically slipped back into bad habits. He had selfishly pushed and pushed until his friend had snapped, and now he found himself witnessing the unpleasant consequences of his actions.
Reaching out, he attempted to pull Tom into his arms, but his ex-lover lurched backward and wrapped his arms protectively around his frail body. “I want to go home.”
“Tommy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“I SAID I WANT TO GO HOME!” Tom screeched, his wild, frightened eyes scouring the beach in panic.
Alarmed by Tom’s sudden shift in temperament, Booker held up his hands in a gesture of peace, and slowly backed away. “Okay, baby, okay,” he murmured in a placating tone. “I’ll take you home.”
Desperate to get back to the sanctuary of his apartment, Tom turned and shuffled up the beach, his apraxic gait making it difficult for him to walk through the soft sand. He stumbled several times, barely keeping his balance, but Booker did not intervene. Instead, he followed several steps behind with his eyes downcast, unwilling to witness the struggle before him because it only reinforced what he had so desperately tried to ignore.
Tom really was damaged.
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- 41
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Chasing a Butterfly