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Cries of a Shadow	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 2757 -:- 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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Tom stood in the middle of his living room, hands on hips, his lower lip pushed into a thoughtful pout. Peering through narrowed lids, he cast a critical eye around the apartment, his gaze searching for any flaws.
It didn't take long for a dissatisfied frown to crease his brow and walking over to the couch, he took his time plumping up the throw cushions before placing them neatly back in place. He knew he was behaving like an anal-retentive ass, but he wanted everything perfect for Booker’s homecoming. Five weeks had passed since the shooting, and he was looking forward to having his friend home. Living on his own for the first time in his life wasn’t as satisfying as he had once imagined. While he didn’t mind spending time on his own—he was used to it, after all—he missed the silent companionship of another person sharing his space.
And it was the absence of the everyday sounds he missed the most. Because it was these banal, insignificant human vibrations that reminded him, in spite of the feelings of loneliness he could never fully shake, he was never actually alone. Like the soft patter of Booker’s footsteps in the middle of the night as he padded to the bathroom, or the thick animal-like snuffle vibrating through the wall of their adjoining bedrooms after he had downed one too many beers. They might be the ordinary life pulses experienced by billions of people every day as the earth silently rotated around the sun, but for Tom, they were so much more. They were the lifeblood keeping him connected to a world he longed to be a part of but rarely understood. And it was this earthly umbilical cord that had kept him alive for so long because without it, there was no doubt in his mind, he would have inhaled a lungful of bathwater and ended all his internal suffering a long time ago.
Once satisfied everything was in order, the young officer entered his friend’s bedroom. Pausing by the bed, he ran a hand over the duvet cover, his palm straightening out the imaginary wrinkles in the blue cotton fabric. The tactile sensation had his muscles relaxing, and closing his eyes, he breathed in the faint botanical scent of the freshly-washed linen and allowed his mind to wander.
Almost immediately, a faint tingle passed over his lips and tracing a finger over the plump flesh, he allowed the memory to take hold. The recollection of the dark-haired officer’s tongue dancing with his own was his new favorite flashback, a guaranteed tonic to help chase away the blues. So far, he had racked up a total of three kisses, each one more passionate than the last. But then—as was the pattern in his life—just when he’d thought he’d turned a corner, disaster had struck. He was physically incapable of receiving love, and until his damaged mind could differentiate between consensual and non-consensual sex, he was screwed.
But only in the figurative sense, of course. In the literal sense, he was no closer to bedding down with the man of his dreams than when he’d first realized he had developed his first-ever crush at the age of almost twenty-four. To say he was frustrated was an understatement, and opening his eyes, he exhaled a weighty sigh and thought back over the past few weeks.
He’d pinned all his hopes and dreams on his relationship with Booker, but it appeared the universe had other ideas. His therapist had offered some advice on how to overcome his affliction, but he was too embarrassed to try her suggestion. Plus, he had other distractions. Booker’s recovery was first and foremost on his mind, and so he’d shoved all his other problems into a metaphoric vault and slammed down the lid. It was easier that way. Out of mind, out of sight. If he didn’t have to think about his problem, then, as far as he was concerned, he could pretend it didn’t exist.
When a loud knock echoed throughout the apartment, Tom cast one final glance around Booker’s bedroom and hurried to answer the door. Without bothering to check the peephole, he yanked it open to find Penhall standing in the hallway. “Oh, h-hey, Doug,” he stammered, his lips twitching into a nervous smile. “D-Dennis isn’t home yet. I’m p-picking him up in an hour.”
Penhall rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Well, actually, it’s you I came to see. Can we talk?”
A flicker of surprise passed over Tom’s face. He hadn’t spoken to the officer since the day of the shooting, and the last thing he’d expected was to find him on his doorstep. But the months spent in Booker’s company had given him the courage to deal with unpredictable situations without the protection of his McQuaid disguise, and taking a step back, he managed a more genuine smile. “Uh, sure. Come on in. C-Can I get you anything? A b-beer, maybe?”
There was a noticeable tremor in Tom’s voice, an undeniable hint of anxiety that touched Penhall’s heart. Since the horror of the youngest Hanson’s abuse had come to light, his attitude toward the young officer had changed. He no longer viewed Tom as weird. Instead, he saw a man who, through no fault of his own, had the misfortune to fall victim to a psychopathic brother. It was a pivotal moment in Penhall’s personal development, and one he intended to learn from. Of course, he couldn’t take back all the pain he’d caused, but it wasn’t too late to extend the hand of friendship. There was no doubt in his mind Tom was a good man, and he wished he’d realized that right from the start instead of poking fun for a few cheap laughs. But he hadn't, and it was time to take the proverbial bull by the horns and attempt to right past wrongs.
Feeling the need to act sooner rather than later, Penhall placed a reassuring hand on Tom’s shoulder. “Let’s just sit and talk for a minute, okay?”
The unexpected contact had Tom’s muscles instinctively tensing and shrugging out of Penhall’s hold, he walked over to the couch and sat down. Taking the hint, Penhall ignored the seat next to Tom and instead, squeezed his ample frame into an overstuffed easy chair, thereby giving the young officer the space he so obviously craved.
Once seated, neither man seemed to know how to proceed, and an awkward silence followed. Doug’s eyes flicked nervously around the room, his gaze taking in the diverse array of knick-knacks decorating the apartment. Stalling for time, he tried to figure out which items belonged to which officer. There was no doubt in his mind the bowling trophy, and two framed photographs formed part of Tom’s treasured possessions, but a signed baseball in a small glass case had him flummoxed. Both officers took a keen interest in sports, so the owner of the memorabilia was anybody’s guess. But just as he was about to put himself out of his misery and ask, a soft voice interrupted his thoughts.
“Why are you here, Doug?”
Penhall’s head snapped around. But the look on Tom’s face had him quickly lowering his head in shame. There was a wariness in the young officer’s soft brown eyes, an obvious distrust that brought a heaviness to his heart. He wasn’t proud of his bullying, but he wasn’t there to ask for forgiveness. Tom was not only a talented cop, he was also an incredibly kind and sensitive human being, which made him the type of officer the Jump Street program desperately needed. Young offenders, when guided by a gentle yet firm hand, were often capable of turning their lives around, and Tom was just the person for the job. It was an idea that had slowly taken form during a fitful night’s sleep, and after running his thoughts past Fuller, his superior had received the nod of approval from the mayor to broach the subject with Tom.
But then, rather than Fuller taking the reins, the Jump Street captain had told Penhall if he wanted to lure Tom back into the fold, he needed to approach him himself. At first, Penhall had questioned the rationale behind Fuller's decision. But his superior had stood firm, and it didn't take long for Penhall to figure out why. Tom had suffered daily bullying at the hands of his coworkers, and who better to extend the proverbial olive branch than one of the perpetrators. Fuller understood Tom’s seemingly unattainable quest for acceptance and having one of his peers ask him to rejoin the team would carry more weight than if the suggestion came from a superior officer or even the mayor himself. It was a clever tactic, and Penhall admired his captain for his foresight. He just hoped enough time had passed for Tom to feel comfortable enough to consider returning to work. If not, his visit could end up being a disaster.
“Doug?”
Slowly raising his head, Penhall offered the young officer a crooked smile. “I came here because I have a proposition for you.”
Tom’s eyes locked onto Penhall’s. Fully expecting to see derision and ridicule, his eyes widened when he saw a genuine warmth sparkling in the officer’s brown irises. Confused, he rubbed a nervous hand over his mouth. “Wh-what sort of proposition?”
With no reason left to stall, Penhall inhaled a deep breath, and in a slow, measured voice, he outlined his plan.
When Doug finished speaking, Tom ran a hand over his jaw, his expression thoughtful. “Are you saying Fuller thinks I have what it takes to mentor young offenders?”
A shy smile played over Penhall's lips. “Actually, it was my idea, but both Fuller and the mayor have rubber-stamped the program. They think you're the best candidate.”
A short silence followed before Penhall spoke again. This time, there was a distinct note of contrition in his voice. “I know I can’t take back all the horrible things I’ve said and done to you, but...well, you’re an exceptional cop, Tom, and I know you probably don’t believe it, but we miss you down at the chapel. You’re a valuable part of the team, and if you’re thinking about a career change, you’re the perfect person to help turn these kids’ lives around. Of course, you can still return as an undercover cop if you want, I just thought it might be easier if...well, you know...there’s no pressure or anything...I just…”
Penhall’s voice trailed off. He was turning into a blithering idiot, not because he didn’t have faith in his idea, but because he felt ashamed of his past treatment of Tom. It was then he started to second guess himself while questioning the shrewdness of Fuller's plan. Why should Tom, a man continually and cruelly ridiculed, listen to anything his tormenter had to say? He’d arrogantly assumed he was valiantly offering his victim another chance at the career he loved when in reality, all he was doing was satisfying his own ego’s selfish need for redemption. Shame reddened his face, but rather than hide behind his mortification, he looked Tom square in the eye and made a second attempt to articulate his feelings. “Look, Hanson. I know you don’t trust me. Why would you? But you’ve got to believe me, I really am sorry for not picking up on the signs of your abuse. If I’d been a better person, maybe things would have—”
“I’ll do it.”
Tom’s quietly delivered announcement had Penhall’s eyes boggling. “Y-You will? Geez, man, that’s great! That’s really, really great! But you don’t have to give up the undercover work completely. You’re still a cop, and Fuller said you’re free to do both. And just so you know, anytime you want to get back out in the field, you’re always welcome to partner me on a case. I mean, unless you don’t want to, of course. ‘Cause that’s cool too, and I’d completely understand. It’s up to you what you—”
“Doug, you’re babbling.”
A large goofy grin lit up Penhall’s face. “Yeah, I am, aren’t I.”
“A little bit.”
There was a noticeable shift in the two men’s demeanor, an unmistakable calm emanating between them that had never existed before and offering his hand, Penhall’s expression became serious. “I meant what I said before. I really am sorry for the way I treated you. Do you think we can put this behind us and be friends?”
They were the words Tom had waited the whole of his working life to hear, and with his mind in a whirl, he stared down at the proffered hand. Was it that simple? Could a single handshake really erase all the pain he’d endured during the years of workplace bullying?
In the end, the answer wasn’t all that complicated. It took a brave person to recognize their faults and an even more courageous one to openly apologize for them. Also, holding a grudge really wasn’t Tom’s style. He’d once read it was like lighting oneself on fire and expecting the other person to die of smoke inhalation. Basically, all you managed to create was a self-defeating universe of your own construction. There was no benefit, only more heartache, and he liked to think despite his abuse, he had the emotional maturity to forgive those who had wronged him. And that included Will. It wouldn’t be easy, letting go of the hurt never was, but it was doable. He just needed to find the inner strength to bury the past and move forward. And with Booker’s help, he had already made inroads in his self-development, so why not add forgiveness to the list? If he started with the less significant injustices perpetrated against him, maybe, one day, he would find it in his heart to forgive his brother too. It was the dangling carrot that kept him going because he knew, once he reached that level of compassion, he would finally become the man he was always destined to be.
After a moment’s reflection, Tom made his decision. Both the mayor and Fuller had confidence in his abilities, so why not wipe the slate clean and start over? After all, there was no better time for change than the present. He was tired of being the victim. It was time to take matters into his own hands, and making friends was just one of the steps in his quest for happiness.
With a newfound belief in himself swelling inside him, a slow smile formed on Tom’s lips. “You know what, Doug?” he murmured. “I think I’d really like that,” and taking hold of Penhall’s hand, he gave it a firm shake. “To friendship.”
A huge weight lifted off Penhall's shoulders. He’d received Tom’s forgiveness, and the relief was overwhelming. Tears glistened in his eyes, but he managed to maintain his manly facade by offering the young officer a wide toothy grin. “To friendship.”
To an outsider, it was a simple gesture, but for Tom, it was another elusive piece in the confusing puzzle of life. People were finally starting to see him as a man worth knowing, and the knowledge gave him the confidence he needed to address the elephant in the room. If he were to attain the holy grail of happiness and have a sexual relationship with the man he loved, then he needed to take the next step toward achieving that dream. But before he delved into what was for him, the murky waters of the unknown, he needed some advice, and that meant, finding a way to ask Booker the most embarrassing question of his life.
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Cries of a Shadow