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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
- 4
- 5
- 6
Wednesday March 8^th 1989 (6.48 a.m.)
Booker parked his Cadillac outside the Chapel and turned off the ignition. He remained seated, gazing out in front of him as the previous day’s events ran through his mind. After inadvertently disclosing his secret, neither he nor Tom had mentioned his sexuality again. It had been a relief to discover that Tom was not homophobic, but on the flip side, now that he was outed, he knew it would make it even more difficult to keep his true feelings hidden. Hanson was obviously not bothered that he was attracted to men but how would he feel knowing he was attracted to him? He feared revealing his desires through an innocent touch or look and now that he and Tom were on the path towards a real friendship, he was terrified of scaring him off. He could not lose him, not after enduring the pain that had brought them together and therefore, when Tom had asked if he would stay with him overnight, he had lied and said he had a date. As much as he wanted to comfort Tom in his hour of need, he knew he could not share a bed with him. If the couch had survived unscathed, he would have happily stayed, but the thought of lying next to Tom, knowing he was within reach and yet remaining untouchable would push him to breaking point. Then there was the other scenario. If Tom unintentionally pressed his body against him, would he be able to control his urges or would he gather him into his arms and rain soft kisses over his beautiful face? He honestly had no idea and therefore, he decided to err on the side of caution because his grandma always said, it was better to be safe than sorry.
A loud tapping at his window pulled him back to the present and he looked up with a start to see Judy standing outside. Steeling himself for an interrogation, he opened the car door and climbed out. “Hey Jude,” he greeted in a quiet voice.
Judy’s dark eyes filled with tears but her mouth was set in a firm line. “Fuller said you went to see him,” she stated in a cold voice. “Is he sorry?”
Booker exhaled heavily. “Jesus Judy, what do you think? The guy lost his best friend, he’s devastated.”
“Really?” Hoffs shot back, but her attitude started to falter and she choked back a sob as tears began to trickle down her cheeks. “Penhall’s dead,” she wept. “Oh God Dennis, why did this have to happen?”
Stepping forward, Booker pulled her into a hug. “It was an accid—”
Judy shoved Booker violently in the chest. “STOP SAYING THAT!” she yelled, her anger returning to full force. “HANSON DID THIS, AND WITH GOD AS MY WITNESS, I WILL MAKE SURE HE PAYS!”
Booker’s protective side immediately came to the fore and grabbing Judy forcefully by the arm, he looked her straight in the eye. “I’m tired of all your accusations,” he growled through clenched teeth. “Tom’s innocent, now BACK OFF!”
Yanking her arm away, Judy gave Booker a filthy look. “You don’t scare me,” she replied in a low voice. When Booker remained silent, she turned and walked away before calling back over her shoulder, “And tell Hanson to stay away from Doug’s funeral, he’s not welcome.”
****
Wednesday March 8^th 1989 (5.31 p.m.)
As Booker turned the key in the lock of his apartment door, his telephone let out a shrill ring. Hurrying inside, he kicked the door closed with his foot and tossing his keys onto the table, he snatched the phone from its cradle. “Booker!”
A hesitant voice sounded down the line. “Dennis?”
Booker tightened his grip on the receiver. “Hanson, is everything okay?”
A long silence hung in the air before Tom finally spoke. “No,” he whispered, “Every time I close my eyes I see…”
A strangled cry echoed in Booker’s ear, followed by loud sobbing and a physical pain stabbed at his heart. He should never have left Tom alone when he was suffering so much emotional grief and guilt and he mentally berated himself for being so foolish. He had taken his own feelings into consideration instead of Tom’s and he now realized how selfish he had been. Tom’s voice sounded slurred and he hoped that did not mean he had been using again. But he resolved not to lose his temper if he found Tom in an inebriated state. The last thing his new friend needed in his life was more guilt.
Taking a deep breath, he spoke calmly into the phone. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, just hang tight, okay?”
“H-Hurry,” Tom implored in a desperate voice and the line went dead.
Booker slammed down the phone and grabbing up his keys, he ran from his apartment. Ten minutes later, his Cadillac screeched to a halt outside Tom’s apartment building and rushing from the car, he took the stairs two at a time up to the second floor. His breathing labored in his chest from the exertion and stopping outside apartment 222, he called out in a breathless voice as he rapped his knuckles forcefully against the door. “Tom, it’s Dennis!”
When his frantic knocking remained unanswered, he tried the door and sighed gratefully when the knob turned easily in his hand. Pushing it open, he stepped inside and looked around him. The apartment was just as he had left it the night before, with broken furniture piled in one corner and what was left of Tom’s belongings stacked neatly in the other. As his eyes roamed the deserted room, he spied a lone photograph laying on the floor and walking over, he bent down and picked it up. Tom and Doug’s smiling faces beamed up at him from the glossy paper. They were dressed as the McQuaids, their goofy smiles, messy hair and tatty clothing giving them an adorable charm that few could resist. It was a special moment captured in time and knowing that it would never be repeated caused a lump to form in his throat.
Placing the photo on the kitchen counter, he walked towards Tom’s bedroom. As soon as he entered, he saw Tom sitting hunched on the edge of the bed, a half empty bottle of bourbon clutched limply in his hand. “Tommy,” he murmured softly and stepping forward, he gently took the bottle and placed it on the bedside bureau. “This isn’t helping. Doug wouldn’t want you to—”
“DOUG’S DEAD!” Tom screamed and staggering to his feet, he picked up the bottle and threw it against the wall. The glass shattered on impact, leaving a brown stain in its wake and with a yell, he looked around for something else to take his anger out on. He reached for the bedside lamp but two strong arms came from behind and wrapped him in a bear hug. With his arms trapped at his sides, he found his upper body completely immobilized and so he used his feet to kick out at his assailant as he struggled to break free. “LET ME GO! LET… ME… GO!”
Booker tightened his hold, but when Tom’s head thrashed backwards, head butting him in the face, he let go with a yell and clutched his nose. “FUCK!”
Once free, Tom spun around but a fist slamming into his chin sent him stumbling backwards and he crashed into the bureau, knocking over the lamp. Too drunk to maintain his balance, he staggered sideways and crashed to the floor in a heap. Grasping hold of his chin, he gazed up with hurt-filled eyes and to Booker’s horror, his lower lip started to tremble and a single tear trickled down his cheek.
“Oh Tommy,” Dennis whispered and forgetting his throbbing nose, he squatted down and placed a gentle hand against Tom’s flushed cheek. “You can’t keep punishing yourself like this. Drugs and alcohol are not the answer.”
“W-What am I su-supposed to d-do?” Tom sobbed, his chest heaving uncontrollably. “I k-killed Doug. I sh-should be in p-prison.”
The thought of Tom alone and vulnerable in a prison full of rapists and murderers sent a cold shiver of fear through Booker’s body. Sitting back on his heels, he let out a heavy sigh. “You’re not going to prison,” he stated flatly. “We stick to our story and everything will be fine.”
Tom wiped the back of his hand across his runny nose and gazed up at Booker with bloodshot eyes. “I d-don’t think I can l-live like this.”
Booker had the unsettling feeling that Tom was about to crack. If he did, they could both kiss their careers goodbye and Tom would likely end up with a prison sentence for involuntary manslaughter. Surprisingly, the thought of losing his job did not sicken Booker as much as he thought it would. He loved being a cop but the fact that he had put his job on the line to protect Tom proved to him that it was not the most important thing in his life. The revelation was unexpected and yet comforting. Being a police office did not define him, however, protecting those he loved did. Doug was dead and nothing he said or did would change that, and therefore, he did not see the point in ruining another life in the name of justice. Tom would have to carry the guilt inside him for the rest of his life and for Booker that was justice enough.
Getting to his feet, he held out his hand. “You’re drunk and you’re not thinking straight. C’mon, let’s get you into bed and we can talk about it in the morning.”
Tom took the proffered hand and rose unsteadily to his feet. He allowed Booker to maneuver him onto the bed and when gentle hands tucked the duvet protectively around him, his lower lip started to tremble again. “I still don’t understand why you’re being so nice to me.”
A tender smile played over Booker’s lips. “I told you, it’s my one good deed for the year. Now get some sleep.”
“You’re leaving?” Tom queried in a worried voice.
“Do you want me to stay?” Booker asked a little too quickly.
Tom closed his eyes and sighed wearily. “Yeah, I do.”
“Then I’ll stay,” Booker murmured softly and turning away, he walked from the room.
****
Wednesday March 8^th 1989 (9.08 p.m.)
Closing the book he had been reading, Booker tossed it onto the coffee table he had repaired and glancing up at the wall clock, he stretched his arms out behind his head and let out a loud yawn. He had spent a couple of hours fixing several items of furniture before rummaging through Tom’s refrigerator and throwing together a cheese and bacon omelette. He had checked on Tom several times throughout the evening but each time he had found him snuggled under the duvet, sleeping peacefully. As he had stood staring down at Tom’s sleeping face, he found it difficult to pull his eyes away from the allure of his lips, which even in sleep, formed a seductive pout. In Booker’s eyes, he was the personification of beautiful and it amazed him that he remained single. He knew Hanson dated but the relationships never lasted long and he had seemed to spend more time with Doug than in the company of women. It was a mystery and once again, he wondered about Tom’s past. He knew so little about the man he was so infatuated with, but he longed to solve the mystery and put together the tiny pieces of the puzzle that would finally reveal the full picture of Tom Hanson.
A sudden weariness overwhelmed him and standing up, he stretched out his tired limbs and switching off the overhead light, he walked silently into Tom’s bedroom. The new moon provided no light through the window and shuffling carefully forward with his arms outstretched, he tried to find the edge of the bed but instead, he collided with the bureau, banging his knee painfully against the hardwood surface. “Shit!” he cursed softly and bending over, he rubbed at the tender spot with his fingers. Suddenly, the room flooded with light and turning towards the bed, he saw Tom gazing up at him in confusion, his sleep-tousled hair giving him the appearance of someone much younger than twenty-three years. “It’s okay Tommy,” he whispered, “go back to sleep.”
Tom sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “What are you doing?”
A soft blush heated Dennis’ face. “I um, didn’t want to wake you by turning on the light and I guess I got disorientated,” he confessed. When Tom remained silent, he gave an embarrassed smile. “There’s nowhere else to sleep so I thought…”
Without waiting for Booker to finish, Tom shuffled over to the other side of the bed and lying back down, he pulled back the covers. “So, what are you waiting for, get in.”
It was then that Booker realized Tom must have undressed sometime during the evening and he was now only wearing a pair of boxer shorts. Gazing down at Tom’s smooth chest, he felt an instant hardening of his cock and his blush deepened. Lying before him was the vision from his dreams and all he could think about was exploring Tom’s naked body with his hot, eager mouth. Blood pounded in his ears as his stress levels rose and hot tears threatened to spill from his dark eyes. He felt exposed, as if all his thoughts and desires were laid out on a platter for Tom to see and unable to cope with the humiliation, he quickly turned away.
Tom’s soft voice penetrated through the pounding in his ears, his tone gentle and understanding. “Dennis, it’s okay. I told you, I don’t care if you’re gay.”
Feeling like a fool, Booker pulled himself together and turning around, he gave Tom a wan smile. “Bi… I’m bi not gay.”
Tom shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever.”
Booker bit down on his lower lip. The problem was not that he was bisexual, the problem was that he lusted after Tom like a horny teenager and he was certain the young officer would be less than impressed to be woken in the middle of the night with a six-inch cock pressing against him.
As if on cue, his cock hardened a little more, creating a noticeable bulge in his tight denims and mortified that his body was betraying him, he quickly cupped his hands over his groin.
A tiny smile twitched at the corner of Tom’s lips. He suddenly understood Dennis reluctance to get into bed and he let out a small chuckle. “It’s okay Dennis, we all get them, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
Tom’s words only increased Booker’s discomfort and he shuffled his feet awkwardly. “I don’t know why,” he tried to apologize in a rush. “it’s not because of you or anything it’s just—”
“One of those things,” Tom finished for him, completely unaware that it was him that had caused Booker’s sudden arousal. “Yeah, sometimes it’s hard to be a male… no pun intended. Our cocks have a mind of their own.”
Booker let out a small sigh of relief. Tom was oblivious to the real reason his body was stimulated and that was just fine with him. He kicked off his boots and undressed down to his boxers and t-shirt and before Tom could speak again, he quickly jumped into bed and pulled the covers around him. All he had to do was get through the night without making a fool of himself and everything would be fine.
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Chasing a Butterfly