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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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In the end, Tom’s long-awaited shower did little to relieve the tension in his body, and stepping out of the cubicle, he wiped a hand over the steamy bathroom mirror and carefully studied his reflection. Dozens of tiny water droplets clung to his hair, the shimmering beads eventually losing their precarious hold in rhythmic drips, sending a trail of moisture down his chiseled cheeks and onto his smooth chest. Stress had etched deep lines around his eyes, the weary, pained expression becoming more familiar with each passing day as the new, disenchanted Tom Hanson fought for dominance over the old. However, just beneath the surface, a faint light was beginning to glow, stubbornly resisting the slow, rotting decay of his soul by courageously fighting through the enveloping darkness. It was proof he wasn’t ready to give up, no matter how hard the road ahead might be, and it was that distant glimmer that kept him pushing forward, one slow step at a time toward wellness. He was nervous about his upcoming boys’ night out with Doug, and while he recognized it wasn’t a huge leap forward, it was a leap forward nonetheless, and he felt immensely proud of himself for agreeing to it. Only a few days ago, he would have conjured up some lame excuse as to why he couldn’t go, but now, despite his trepidation, he was actually looking forward to spending some quality time with the young officer. Their relationship was important to him, and he was determined to get it back on track so they could once again claim the title of best friends and move forward with their lives.
Unlocking his gaze from the mirror, he tilted his head from side to side, his fingers gently massaging the painful knot of muscles in his neck. His fight with Booker had managed to destroy all traces of post-climactic calm from his mind and body. It was only mid-morning, but he already felt exhausted, and the growing anxiety gnawing at his mind slowly took hold, once again stiffening his muscles into tight bunches of apprehension. The memory of Booker’s tongue forcibly violating his mouth sent a hot flush of shame prickling over his skin, and he wondered if he was to blame for the dark-haired officer’s uncharacteristic assault. But deep inside his soul, a tiny, rebellious spark slowly flickered into a flame, the blaze rapidly taking hold, engulfing his contrition in a wildfire of self-possessed morality. He wasn’t the one at fault, Booker was, and there was no way in hell he would allow him to hinder his recovery. He’d endured too much to relinquish his self-respect, even if it was to the man he loved. If Booker couldn’t see the error of his ways, he was better off without him… even though he knew their breakup would rip a hole in his heart. But it was a price he was willing to pay to retain what was left of his dignity, and although painful, he felt confident in his decision. If he were to move forward in his life, he needed to forget about everyone else's feelings and take care of himself, otherwise, he ran the risk of a lifetime of misery, and that frightening thought was one he dared not entertain.
With a long-forgotten enthusiasm now coursing through his veins, he quickly toweled himself dry and hurried into the bedroom. After dressing in clean clothes, he stared around the room, the surge of energy pulsating throughout his body giving him a newfound determination. He wanted to keep busy, and spying a jumble of clothes lying in the bottom of his closet, he decided to clean the rest of his apartment. It wasn’t his favorite pastime, but as it would help keep his mind from thinking about Booker, it was a means to an end.
Happy he now had a plan for the day, he felt some of the tension leave his body, and picking up an armful of clothes, he went in search of some coat hangers.
**
Three hours later
Tom stood in the middle of his apartment, a satisfied smile curling the corners of his lips. He could not remember the last time he had cleaned his home from top to bottom, and the sense of achievement had a cathartic effect on his frazzled nerves. For the first time in weeks, he felt in control, and although the memory of his rape remained just beneath the surface of his consciousness, there was a faint glimmer of hope on the horizon. While he couldn’t change the past, he did have a certain amount of influence over his future, and the knowledge gave him peace of mind that he might actually weather the storm and emerge triumphantly from the shadows. It was the incentive he needed to keep going, and he clung to the belief that the feelings of guilt, hopelessness, and passive suicide ideation would gradually fade into the annals of his memory. The light at the end of the long, dark tunnel was slowly growing brighter, and with it, so was his confidence. He might never be the Tom Hanson of old, but there was an inner determination to shed the skin of the frightened, insecure man he had become and find a way to reinstate his lost dignity once and for all. At least then, the Pi Taus would not have won, and he could claim a small victory against the men who had attempted to destroy his world.
Content with his day’s work, he flopped onto the couch and picked up the remote before remembering he no longer had a television. It was only mid-afternoon; too early to get ready for his night out with Doug, and too late to start his next project—cleaning his Mustang—and exhaling a sigh, he pondered the alternatives. He needed to restock his apartment with food and beer, but that meant mixing with people, and he was still wary of crowds. He had nothing interesting to read, and he did not have the energy to go for a walk. So, with no other suitable ideas coming to mind, he decided his only option was to take a nap, and rolling onto his side, he closed his eyes and relaxed against the softness of the couch cushions.
The rhythmic tick-tock of the kitchen clock stilled the young officer’s consciousness, his breathing slowed, and the veil of awareness dissolved, inducing calmness and repose of mind. But as he drifted into the first stage of sleep, a loud knock jerked him back into wakefulness, and opening his eyes, he stared at the door. His sixth sense tingled with a higher level of intuition, raising the fine hairs on the back of his neck. It did not take a genius to figure out who was standing in the corridor, but what wasn’t clear in his mind was whether he cared. If he opened the door, an all-out confrontation was inevitable, and he would once again have to acknowledge the fucked-up state of his life. But if he ignored his visitor, he was hiding from the truth of his existence, a cowardly act that would solidify his fear and forever tarnish him as a victim. He chewed thoughtfully on his lip, weighing up the pros and cons before making his decision, and expelling a sigh of resignation, he climbed from the couch and walked over to the door. Nerves had him hesitating for several seconds, but he swallowed down his trepidation and straightening his shoulders, he pulled back the chain and opened the door.
The first thing Tom noticed was the lack of sparkle in Booker’s eyes, the second was the wretchedness etched deep in the lines of the downward curve of his mouth. But his friend’s apparent misery brought him little satisfaction, and relaxing his stance, he stepped back from the door and offered the dark-haired officer a wan smile. “I guess you’d better come in.”
Humbled by Tom’s willingness to invite him inside, Booker faltered for a moment before entering the apartment, his head hung low in shame. When the door closed, he reached out a hand, desperate to make things right with the man he loved. But Tom shied away from the contact, and visibly flinching at the rejection, an expression of anguish passed over his face. “Tommy, I—”
“Don’t,” Tom warned quietly, a deep sadness projecting from his dark eyes. “I don’t want to hear your excuses, it’ll just make things worse.”
“Worse?” Booker lamented quietly. “I assaulted you, and now you hate me, so how the fuck can it get any worse?”
The heartfelt confession had Tom’s stomach somersaulting with forgiveness, and his expression softened. “You didn’t assault me, Dennis, you—”
“I what?” Booker interjected, the hard edge in his voice wavering slightly. “Forced myself on you? Attacked you? It doesn’t matter how you say it, they all mean the same thing. I scared the shit out of you, and it isn’t the first time. You’re terrified I’m going to rape you, and I can’t blame you, Hanson, even I don’t trust my own mind anymore, not after what Holl—”
A strangled sob swallowed the remainder of the mogul’s name, the unspoken fragment left suspended in the air. But without formation, the dreaded patronymic lost its impact, leaving Booker feeling ashamed, and hunching his shoulders, he turned away so Tom could not see the tears glistening in his eyes. “I should go, you don’t need this shit.”
Tom’s gaze remained fixed on the back of his friend’s head. Once again, Booker’s nonchalant attitude had slipped, the cracks in his facade exposing a more vulnerable side, and with it, a sense of desperation. Somewhere in the last few weeks, the dark-haired officer had lost the integral part of his being that made him Dennis Booker, leaving behind a tortured soul. The carefree, loving, yet exceedingly annoying cop was slowly fading into the ether, and all that remained was a shadowy imprint of his former self. It was a crisis of character Tom understood all too well, having suffered his own loss of identity after his rape. But somehow, watching strong, dependable Dennis struggle with his moral conscience now seemed far more disconcerting than learning to live with his own personal tragedy. The eyes staring despondently at the floor were that of a stranger, a man consumed with guilt. Devoured by darkness, Booker’s sin was a perversion of the soul, and like cancer, it was ravaging him from within. It was distressing to witness and unaccustomed to the stirring display of emotional frailty, Tom made the decision to proceed carefully. “Wait,” he instructed softly. “I changed my mind. Talk to me, tell me what’s going on."
When Dennis turned back around, there was an immediate shift in his personality; the old Booker was back, and with him, his familiar, condescending sneer. “Why? So we can compare notes on who’s the most fucked up? No thanks, Tommy, I think I’ll keep my breakdown private, but thanks for your concern.”
The underlying criticism behind the statement was not lost on Tom, but it was the unexpected sarcasm that hurt the most. Anger worked its way down his arms, the force of his internal rage culminating in his hands, balling them into tight fists. But buried beneath the contemptuous remark, the young officer recognized a cleverly disguised cry for help, and curbing his mounting exasperation, he spoke in a clear, calm voice. “Bullshit. You came here because you want me to understand why you did what you did. So spill, tell me, and then we can put all this shit behind us and move on.”
Whether it was Tom’s willingness to forgive or the smoldering, emotive passion reflecting from his beautiful, dark eyes, Booker’s tough guy exterior suddenly faltered and his expression crumpled. “Oh God,” he choked, and covering his face with his hands, his breast heaved with a convulsive sob. “He did things to me, Tommy, terrible things…”
Shared pain is the social glue of all mankind, and the ring of despair in Booker’s voice distantly echoed Tom’s own distress after his rape. Sympathy brightened his eyes, and stepping forward, he rested a light hand on the dark-haired officer’s shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. “I know, and—”
“NO!” Booker yelled, his clawed hands gesticulating wildly in front of his face. “You don’t understand! I got off on it! What kind of sick, perverted freak gets off on being abused? And now there’s this emptiness inside me, a cold, dark emptiness and I’m terrified I’ll hurt you! Oh God, what if I hurt you! I don’t know what to do… I don’t... know… what... to… DO!”
When the pitch of Booker’s voice rose to an agonized scream, Tom quickly realized he wasn’t the only one who needed professional help. It was a sobering awareness, and he wondered if either of them would ever know real peace, or if they were both destined to a lifetime of therapy.
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Beneath a Heart of Darkness