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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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Saturday December 7th 1991 (11.08 a.m.)
As Booker flicked through the pages of a gossip magazine, he unconsciously fell into a synchronized rhythm with the audible ticking of the wall clock. Each page turned was another second passed, and he had just about exhausted all the reading material in the waiting room of his local doctor. Tom had been in the examination room for nearly an hour and throughout the interminably long wait, the muscles in his neck and shoulders had become increasingly taut until his upper body throbbed painfully from the tension. Closing the magazine, he tossed it onto the table with a weary sigh and maneuvering his head slowly from side to side, he rubbed a hand over the back of his aching neck and attempted to massage away some of the stiffness in his muscles. The clock continued its cyclic tick, tock, tick, tock and just as he was contemplating jumping to his feet and ripping it from the wall, the exam room door opened.
“Dennis, can you step in for a moment, please,” Doctor Timothy Levine requested in a soft voice.
Rising to his feet, Booker wiped a shaky hand over his mouth and followed the doctor into the room. The first thing he noticed was Tom, who sat on the edge of the examination table, dressed in a thin, blue gown. His slim body appeared frozen in its rigid pose, and his long fingers gripped the edge of the bed, his knuckles showing white through the taut skin. Perspiration glistened on his upper lip and the muscles in his face flexed in a steady rhythm as he continuously clenched and unclenched his jaw. Every fiber of his being screamed stress, the tension accentuated by the gauntness of his features and constant twitching of his right hand. He cut a pathetic figure, sitting all alone in an oversized gown, his dark eyes suffused with unshed tears that threatened to spill at any moment, and Booker’s heart panged at the pitiful sight. His Tommy was suffering yet again and all he wanted to do was hold him protectively in his arms and shield him from whatever burden he was now bearing.
Without waiting for Doctor Levine to speak, he rushed across the room and brushed Tom’s long bangs from his sweaty face. “What is it, baby? What’s wrong?”
Tom tried to smile, but he failed miserably and lowering his gaze, his trembling lower lip betrayed his true emotion. “I…” he began, but a sob devoured the rest of his sentence and a single tear escaped from between his lashes and wound its way down his pale cheek.
Doctor Levine stepped forward and resting a hand on Tom’s shoulder, he smiled sympathetically. “It’s okay, Tom, take your time.”
Booker’s heart began to hammer painfully in his chest. “What’s going on?” he asked Levine, his agitation apparent by the rising timbre of his voice.
Although unaccustomed to dealing with trauma patients, Levine was a kind, gentle man with a compassionate bedside manner and he spoke in a relaxed, yet professional tone. “I’d like to perform an internal exam, but Tom is feeling a little uncomfortable about it, which, of course, is entirely justified. Although he presents no symptoms, it’s crucial that I check for anal fissures and fistulas that could result in serious issues later on. Perhaps you could help to reassure him and then we can get the examination over quickly and Tom can relax.”
Suppressing a sigh of relief that Tom’s torment was not due to anything more sinister, Booker sat on the exam bed and draped an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Talk to me, baby,” he murmured in a soft voice, his dark eyes shining with concern. “Tell me how you feel.”
A strained grimace contorted Tom’s features and he hunched his shoulders inwards. “I don’t want him touching me there,” he whispered, his face a mask of anxiety. “I don’t want anyone touching me there.”
It was a sensitive subject and Booker knew he needed to proceed with caution. Tom needed the examination, but he could understand his reticence. His friend had suffered a shocking ordeal at the hands of Ana and her pandilla and it was little wonder that he was now wary of strange men touching him. However, there was a complexity to his fears because he had willingly performed oral sex on McLeod and that suggested a need to gratify and a penchant for homosexual contact. It was then that Booker realized just how monumentally screwed up Tom really was. The internal exam was just the tip of the iceberg; there would be many years of psychological probing to follow if his ex had any hope of ever leading a normal life again.
He hesitated for a moment before finally responding in a relaxed voice. “How ‘bout I stay with you and if you feel uncomfortable and you want Doctor Levine to stop, he’ll stop. Okay?”
Tom looked uncertain, but after several long moments, he reluctantly nodded his head. “Okay.”
Doctor Levine flashed Booker a smile of gratitude before returning his attention to Tom. “I’ll be as quick as possible,” he reassured. “Now, lie down on your side and draw your knees up to your chest.”
The sound of latex gloves stretching and snapping into place caused Tom to flinch, but he bravely did as the doctor asked. Seconds later, Booker’s tranquil face came into view and he managed a tense smile. “Sorry,” he mumbled, his cheeks flaming with embarrassment. He felt like a fool because he knew both Booker and Levine were trying to help him, but he was struggling to control the fear that was steadily rising inside him, making it difficult for him to breathe.
When Booker grinned back, he relaxed slightly. “Don’t apologize,” the dark-haired officer murmured, and taking Tom’s cold fingers in his, he gave them a reassuring squeeze. “Just keep looking at me and it’ll be over before you know it.”
Taking an unsteady breath, Tom waited for the indignity to begin. Several long seconds passed before he felt a slick finger pressing against him.
“Just relax, Tom, and remember to breathe,” Levine instructed softly and without further pause, he gently inserted his finger.
Tom’s eyes screwed closed and his breathing became jagged. As his stomach knotted in panic, he tried to concentrate on Booker’s voice, but the deafening whoosh of blood pounding in his ears made it difficult for him to hear the soft words of comfort. However, he could still feel warm fingers entwined in his own and he squeezed them as his need for reassurance became desperate. Seconds later, soft lips pressed against his forehead and the discomfort of Doctor Levine’s probing finger became secondary as he focused on the tenderness of the kiss. It was the affection he craved but was too frightened to acknowledge. His liaison with McLeod had been different; he sucked him off and in return, he received gentle caresses and vocal praise for his skill and attention. However, with Dennis, there was a noticeable contrast… he was still in love with him. But it was more complicated than simply being in love. He could never commit to a physical relationship like the one they had once shared and anything less would be a compromise. He was dead below the waist and, therefore, he was physically incapable of giving the man he adored what he deserved; a partner who could reciprocate the passion he bestowed.
When a light hand rested on his shoulder, his eyes flew open and he realized his ordeal was finally over. “Well done, Tom,” Doctor Levine praised with a gentle smile. “Everything’s fine, so why don’t you get dressed and take a seat in the waiting room. I’d like to speak to Dennis about what we discussed earlier. Okay?”
A relieved sigh escaped from between Tom’s lips. “Okay,” he murmured and casting a glance at Booker, he climbed from the bed and exited through the door that led into the change room.
Unable to contain himself any longer, Booker grasped hold of Levine’s arm. “Is he really okay?” he asked, his eyes desperately searching the doctor’s face for clues.
Levine smiled reassuringly. “He’s extremely fortunate, given the nature of his rape. He’s healed remarkably well and I’m not foreseeing any further physical problems. However, that’s only one small facet of Tom’s overall wellbeing.”
Booker’s brow knitted together. “Meaning?”
Motioning towards a chair, Levine took a seat behind his desk and lacing his fingers together, he rested his elbows on the smooth wood. “Tom’s given me written permission to discuss his medical information with you. Are you comfortable with that?”
Somewhat surprised that Tom was willing to divulge the intimate details of his physical and psychological health, Booker nodded. “Of course. I want to help Tom any way I can.”
Lowering his hands onto the desk, Levine studied Booker’s anxious expression. “I don’t want to pry into your private life, Dennis, but I think it’s important that I know. Are you and Tom in a sexual relationship?”
It was not the question Booker had been expecting, and his expression darkened. “What exactly does that have to do with Tom’s health?” he asked in a stilted voice.
Levine leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his chest. “You’ve known me a long time, Dennis. Do you honestly believe I would ask you such a question if I didn’t think it was relevant?”
Although he had known Doctor Levine since middle school, Booker had not discussed his sexuality with him since he had first come out at the age of sixteen. Back then, he had asked various questions about STDs and safe sex, but since then, there had been no reason to bring up his sex life. He was a fit and healthy twenty-five year old, who used condoms and for added peace of mind, subjected himself to yearly blood tests. In his mind, they were there to discuss Tom, not him and he could not help but feel annoyed.
Sticking his legs out in front of him, he mirrored Levine’s posture by folding his arms defensively across his chest. “Okay, I’ll bite, Doc. You tell me why it’s relevant and I’ll decide for myself.”
Somewhat amused by Dennis’ tough guy attitude, Levine suppressed a smile. “Fair enough. Reason number one, Tom spent eighteen months in prison having unprotected sex. The hospital tested him for all the standard diseases, including HIV, and the results came back negative. However, I have taken more blood for analysis, just to be safe. It’s quite common to have a second test six months after sexual contact, and given Tom’s past, I think it’s a good idea. If you are in a sexual relationship with him, you need to be tested too.”
Booker started to speak, but Levine silenced him with a well-practiced look. “Please let me finish. Secondly, it’s my belief that Tom is suffering from a form of post-traumatic stress disorder. This would partly explain his impotence although some male rape victims suffer from a condition known as satyriasis, which is a term used to describe hyper-sexuality in a man. The last thing Tom needs is to be in a sexual relationship, especially a homosexual relationship. He needs extensive therapy so he can learn to come to terms with what has happened to him. His judgment is impaired, he’s seeking affection, but for all the wrong reasons. If you truly love him, you won’t pressure him into having sex. What he needs first and foremost is a friend; anything more could prove catastrophic.”
Every word out of the doctor’s mouth made perfect sense to Booker and his face flushed pink with embarrassment. Tom did need a friend and not a lover, and even though he gave himself the pep talk at least twice a day, his heart refused to acknowledge the truth. However, with Levine’s words now ringing in his ears, he knew he needed to try harder. He loved Tom, but loving him was not in his best interest, at least for the moment.
Unfolding his arms, he exhaled heavily. “We’re not in a sexual relationship,” he confessed quietly. “We were… before all this happened… and I want to be again. But you’re right, the most important thing is Tom’s health and so you have my word that our relationship will remain platonic until he’s ready for something more.”
Levine narrowed his eyes and studied Booker’s flushed face. “It could take years… or it may never happen. Are you prepared for that?”
A slow smile played over Booker’s lips. “Believe me, Doc, after what we’ve been through, I’m prepared for anything.”
**
Sunday December 8th 1991 (12.52 a.m.)
With Tom fast asleep on the couch, Booker sat in an armchair in his darkened apartment, drinking his sixth glass of scotch. After discussing Tom’s PTSD, Doctor Levine had explained in some detail, his other findings. It was his belief that Tom was over-medicated, and that the anti-anxiety drugs were contributing to his slow speech and short-term memory loss. It was a relief for Booker to know that some of Tom’s disabilities could possibly become less prominent just by decreasing his medication, but he also worried about his mental state. However, he trusted his doctor implicitly, and he knew Levine would monitor Tom carefully and adjust his medication accordingly.
The news about Tom’s right hand and his halting gait were not so encouraging. Levine had revealed that it was his opinion that the tremors and limp were a symptom of irreversible nerve damage, but on the off chance that he was wrong, he had given Tom a referral letter to see a neurologist.
Lastly, Levine had provided the names of several reputable psychologists who dealt with PTSD in rape victims. One had his office only a few blocks from their apartment and to Booker, it seemed like providence because Tom could walk there. However, when they had arrived home, Tom had been willing to discuss every aspect of his visit to the doctor, except for the psychologist’s referral. As soon as Booker had mentioned the convenience of the locality, he had become sullen and withdrawn, his downcast eyes refusing to make contact. It had taken all of Booker’s willpower not to push the subject, but in the end, he had tactfully let the matter drop.
But now, as he gazed through bleary, drunken eyes at Tom’s sleeping form, he hoped he would not have a battle on his hands. Tom needed psychological help and the sooner he received it, the easier his life would be.
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Chasing a Butterfly