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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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“I said I’m fine,” Tom snapped, his head jerking away from Booker’s tender touch. “Stop fussing.”
Sitting back on his heels, Booker studied his lover’s face. The impact of Penhall’s knuckles had left a noticeable mark on the young officer’s jaw, the purplish-red bruise a painful reminder of the accidental assault. But it wasn’t the contusion causing him concern, it was Tom’s brief loss of consciousness, and despite his lover’s moody countenance, he pushed the point. “You need to get checked over at the hospital."
With a groan, Tom hauled himself to a standing position. He teetered on his feet for several seconds before recovering his equilibrium. “What I need is to find Doug.”
“Why?” Booker asked, his lower lip pushing into a fractious pout. “He hates me, and he’ll find a way to break us up.”
With his jaw aching and his dignity once again in tatters, Tom rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Is that what’s bugging you? Jesus, Dennis, give me some credit. Penhall's my friend, not my fucking mother. Nothing he says is gonna change my mind about you.”
Booker rose to his feet. “You say that now,” he muttered. “But you and I both know you always take his advice. He’s gonna try and turn you against me, and without realizing it, you’re gonna let him.”
A bitter resentment ravaged Tom’s lips, twisting them into an angry scowl. “Well, gee, Booker, it’s nice to know what you really think of me.”
“Hey, I’m just telling it like it is,” Booker replied, his tone hostile. “If you can’t handle the truth, maybe you should—”
“Do you know what your problem is?” Tom interjected, the muscles in his jaw tightening with anger. “You're jealous. You need to back off and stop treating me like a child.”
“Then stop acting like one!” Booker snarled. “Jesus, Hanson, what’s wrong with you? How can you not see Penhall is pulling your strings? You’re his fucking puppet, and you don’t even care! Are you that insecure you need his approval to date me?”
An indignant fury flashed in Tom’s dark eyes. “Fuck you,” he spat. “I don’t need to listen to this shit. This is my life, and I’ll do whatever the hell I want.”
“Fine,” Booker shot back. “I’ll leave you in peace so you can think about what this relationship really means to you.”
It was an idle threat, but when Tom remained silent, the dark-haired officer began to question the rashness of his statement. But he'd backed himself into a corner, and although guilty of inciting an argument, his arrogance blinded him to the part he'd played. But whether he was to blame or not, the whys and wherefores had little bearing on his current situation. He needed time to reevaluate his life, and without another word, he stormed past Tom and out of the apartment.
**
Plumes of cigarette smoke wafted through the bowling alley bar, the nicotine-tinged haze lingering in the air. While the slow rotation of the ceiling fans made little difference to the smoky atmosphere, the gentle whoosh, whoosh had a cathartic effect and Tom soaked up the familiar ambience, the distant crash of toppling pins coupled with excited cheers helping to calm his frazzled nerves. He had picked the local alley as a meeting place for a reason. While bowling was the root of his current problem (after all, Penhall would not have caught him in a compromising situation if they hadn’t resumed their Friday boys’ night out tradition), Strikers Lane was also neutral ground. Over the years, it had become a favorite drinking hole for both officers, and they had spent many happy hours bowling a few frames while putting the world to rights. Therefore, it seemed the ideal location to have the difficult, ‘Oh, yeah, sorry I didn't tell you, but I’m gay,’ conversation. Not that there was ever an ideal location to have such a deep and meaningful discussion, but for Tom, the public venue also afforded him some measure of protection. It was unlikely Doug would cause a scene in front of dozens of cheerful bowlers, and he needed him to stay calm so he could at least try to explain how he had (for want of a better term), switched sides. Friendship was the great equalizer, and he hoped Doug loved him enough to accept his choice of partners, and not turn his back on him just because he was in love with another man.
A somber expression passed over Tom’s face. His argument with Booker had left him rattled, and he wasn’t sure they even had a relationship anymore. To the casual observer, their fight was nothing more than a storm in a teacup, a petty quarrel brought on by jealousy and embarrassment. But for Tom, it had far more serious connotations. He was ready to give of himself, to surrender his body in a final act so he could break free from the last emotional shackle that kept him tied to the torment of his rape. He wanted to feel Booker inside him, loving him in a way he’d never known before, the intimacy of their coupling imbuing him with the strength of character he needed to banish his demons forever. But he wasn’t prepared to bestow the ultimate gift of trust on someone who was willing to walk out after a trivial argument. He needed an unwavering commitment, a mutual bond of love and respect. Under the circumstances, he didn't think it was too much to ask, especially given the trauma they had both faced. Anything less would cheapen their whole relationship. If he wanted a vacuous connection, he’d find himself a willing male partner, lie back, spread his legs and let the faceless stranger take control of his body. But it wasn’t about the sex. It was about kinship and a belief in love. He wanted Booker, but there could be no compromise, he only wanted him if he could have him completely.
Taking a sip of his beer, he scanned the busy bar in search of his friend. While Booker was foremost on his mind, patching up his friendship with Doug took precedence. Theirs was a once-in-a-lifetime, emotionally intimate, non-sexual devotion, unlike any other relationship he had ever experienced and he couldn’t afford to lose him. After the shock of his rape, he had withdrawn from those closest to him, but he now realized, without his friend by his side, there was a gaping hole in his heart. Penhall provided the comic humor, giving him the opportunity to see the lighter side of life when he was caught in one of his deep-thinking, melancholy moods. Without him, he wasn’t even sure he would have made it through his first year at Jump Street, and he was certain he would have struggled to find the confidence to hone the skills required to be the proficient officer he had become. He was proud of his achievements, but a lot of the kudos belonged to the man who had, without complaint, partnered a nervous rookie and through gentle guidance, turned him into an outstanding cop. For the first time since his assault, he realized how much he missed being part of a team, but despite his fond retrospection, he was realistic enough to know it was doubtful he would ever return to the job that had once defined his existence. Too much had changed, he had changed, and whether he liked it or not, time rarely stood still and waited for those who had lost their way.
“Hey, Hanson.”
The soft greeting caught Tom off guard, and a tremor shook his hand, the unexpected shock sending beer splashing over the rim of his glass. Flustered, he wiped at the spillage with his sleeve. “Jesus, Penhall,” he muttered. “Wear a bell next time.”
A grin formed on Doug’s lips, but it vanished when he noticed the bruise on Tom’s chin. “Shit, man, I’m sorry.”
Tom placed a self-conscious hand over his mouth. “Forget it,” he mumbled. “I know it was an accident.”
Relief shone from Penhall’s dark eyes, and sitting down, he poured a glass of beer from the pitcher on the table. The two men sat in silence for several minutes before Doug took the plunge and broke the ice, his tone painstakingly non-judgmental. “So, you and Booker, huh? Who’d have thought?”
An almost apologetic smile twitched at Tom’s lips. “Are you freaked? I mean, I know it’s a lot to—”
“Does he make you happy?” Doug interjected, his expressive brown eyes searching Tom’s face.
Taken aback, Tom stared open-mouthed at his friend for several moments before answering. “Yeah,” he admitted in a quiet voice, his index finger rubbing at a furious pace over his upper lip. “He does.”
“Then we’re good,” Penhall replied in a rush of words.
It was not the emotionally charged conversation Tom had expected, but he understood Doug needed time to get his head around the startling news, and as long as they were still friends that was good enough for him. He knew the questions would come, and he’d prepared himself for the awkwardness they would both feel. But for the time being, he was content to let the matter drop and carry on as normal. It was one less thing for him to worry about, and without the secret of his bisexuality looming over his head, he could concentrate on getting his and Booker’s relationship back on track so once again, they could know happiness.
Picking up his glass, Tom raised it in the air. “To friendship.”
A look of gratitude passed over Penhall’s face, and clinking his glass against Tom’s, his lips tilted into a cheeky grin. “To friendship.”
**
When Tom returned home, he found a shadowy form lurking outside his apartment. Quickening his pace, the young officer approached the faceless man, but when recognition dawned, his expression darkened, and a heavy scowl wrinkled his brow. He was in no mood for a confrontation, and taking out his key, he inserted it into the lock. “You’re not welcome here.”
Jorge smiled, his expression relaxed and non-threatening. “Hey, I know I’m not your favorite person, and I’m sorry about… well, it was stupid of me to try and seduce Dennis. I know he loves you and—”
“What do you want?” Tom asked in a clipped voice as he pushed open the door. “I’m tired, and I wanna go to bed.”
“Just a few minutes of your time,” Jorge replied in a pleasant tone, “and then you’ll never have to see me again.”
The muscles in Tom’s jaw flexed as he pondered his options. But while he wanted to tell the young Latino to fuck off, he knew he would be a hypocrite to do so. While he did not trust Jorge, he was Booker’s friend, just as Doug was his, and he needed to put aside his jealousy and hear the young man out. And so, against his better judgment, he stepped back from the door. “Then I guess you’d better come in.”
Suppressing a grin, Jorge followed Tom into the apartment. He took a moment to look around, his skin prickling with annoyance at the perceived opulence of the young officer’s abode. Life wasn’t fair. Tom had everything, a nice home, loyal friends, and a man who loved him… his man. He should be the one living in a modern apartment with Booker, not Tom. He had far more sexual experience, and he could give Dennis the love and attention he deserved, whereas Tom was a novice who had no idea how to pleasure a man. But standing around bitching about the injustice of his life was counterproductive. He had a plan, and if all went well, he would be with his beloved Booker within a month.
“So, what’s all this about?” Tom asked, his tone gruff. “Dennis isn’t here, so if it’s him you’re really looking for—”
“It’s not,” Jorge replied with a smile. “Um, I don’t s’pose I could have a glass of water? I’m kinda nervous and as weird as it sounds, it helps me relax.”
The last thing Tom wanted was for the Latino to hang around any longer than he had to, but having made the decision to be civil, he returned a strained smile. “Sure. Have a seat.”
When Hanson turned away, Jorge made his move. Pulling out a vial of chloroform and a handkerchief, he opened the bottle and poured a measured amount of the liquid onto the folded cloth. In one swift movement, he placed the handkerchief over Tom’s nose and mouth and pressed down, smothering the young officer’s face in the soft, moist folds.
Tom’s eyes widened in surprise, and he instinctively fought against the persistent hand suffocating him. A sickly-sweet smell assaulted his nostrils, and he started to gag, his mind screaming in silent panic. He attempted to hold his breath, but after a minute of struggling, he gasped for air and within seconds he had inhaled enough of the compound for it to take effect. His body went numb, his vision and hearing began to fail and grabbing hold of Jorge’s wrist, he tried one last time to break free before he slipped beneath the veil of unconsciousness.
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Beneath a Heart of Darkness