Hanson stared blankly at the desk diagonal to his that used to belong to Dennis Booker. Dennis and Tom had a very strange relationship from the moment he had come to Jumpstreet. Hanson was undoubtedly convinced that Booker was a racist rapist with a badge. This assumption came about on one the first case Dennis had been assigned. They were made to get in with the racist crowd, and throughout the case a young woman was raped, and Hanson was certain Booker was behind it because he knew more information about the rape than the others at Jumpstreet.

Later Tom came to realise that Booker knew more because he was internal affairs. And from that day forward Tom and Dennis would always have a wall between them, an unsaid barrier. They worked together and had their laughs, the ice still sensitive when Tom tried to skate over into making a friendship.

But Booker did something that shocked every person in the Jumpstreet program, he went out of his way to prove Tom was innocent of a felony murder charge he was accused of. It costed Booker his job, even though Tom had done something of the unthinkable when the two had first met.

Now Tom was met with an unthinkable amount of guilt throbbing in his heart. Booker owed him nothing, especially after the ways he had treated him, yet he threw his job away, his future and dreams, for a fellow officer that had only apologized once or twice.

Tom walked over to the empty desk and picked Dennis's name plate out of the trash can, running his fingers over the hollow lettering. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, putting the name plate in the inside pocket of his jacket and heading out to his car.

He rode to Bookers apartment in silence, not knowing why he was going or what he was going to say or if he even should go.

He pulled into his complex and sat there, unsure of what to do. He pulled out the name plate and looked at it. He really did like Dennis, in a way he wasn't exactly sure of and couldnt explain. He had kept silent with any optimistic thought regarding Dennis, and now he realised how fucking stupid that had been of him.

Hanson took a breath and turned off his car, leaving the nameplate in the passenger seat. He kept telling himself to just go home because this was going to make everything worse. To just try and forget everything and move on, because he wasn't prepared to face whatever was behind the door that he began to knock on.

A shirtless Dennis Booker opened the door, smooth jazz playing the background, and from Tom's view he was alone.

"Hanson," Dennis said softly.

Tom's voice got caught up in his throat and he bit his lip. Dennis opened the door wider so Tom could come in. He walked in behind Dennis and closed the door.

"Booker..." Tom began, "I.. I don't know why I'm here or what to say. I mean, I know why I'm here I just-"

"Tom, don't worry about it. Beer?"

Tom shook his head in confusion, "Yea sure."

"Look Hanson, you don't need to thank me or feel guilty or anything like that. You and I both know I was going to end up getting taken off the force because I don't like how the system works."

Tom nodded, "I know I just."

Booker was looking at Tom with soft eyes. "Come on just come and sit. We can celebrate your freedom and watch some football or something." He turned around to head to the couch but Tom tugged on his hand.

"Dennis, wait." He had no conscious idea about what he was doing, and it surprised both Tom and Dennis when their lips suddenly came together for a soft split second. But what surprised the both of them even more was that Dennis hadn't moved away in disgust or pushed Hanson out of his apartment or jumped out a window.

What surprised them even more was when Dennis cupped Tom's cheek and pulled him back to his chapped lips that Tom kissed softly with a gentle kind of passion that he had never shown before. He had his hand at the small of Bookers back and nonchalantly pulled him closer. Neither men resisted at the mutual gestures. Dennis put his arms around Tom's neck and moved closer to him, Hansons hands on Booker's hips.

Booker didn't know how to feel, but he knew that he wasn't breaking away from the embrace, and he knew that for some reason he felt a sort of intimacy that he had never felt before. A kind of intimacy that wasn't purely sexual, a kind of intimacy that that was sparked from a subconscious longing that was hidden in the back of his head. Dennis had never really had a problem with Tom; Tom had always been the one whose voice cracked with subtle bitterness.

But there was nothing bitter about this, there was nothing sexual about it either, nothing but a longing form of intimacy that had been buried beneath pain and bitterness. A form of intimacy that wasn't only suppressed as a way to keep them both safe, but was suppressed because of the reputation they were meant to uphold. Suppressed because there was not one thinkable second that either men thought they'd find themselves entangled in the arms of someone with the same XY chromosomes.

But for some reason there was a mechanical rhythm with how they held each other and how they kissed and the need they seemed to fulfill that was more than suffice for both of the men, beyond adequate and outside of their initial expectations when their lips first met contact.

Tom was the first to break apart, looking at Dennis with soft, helpless eyes that begged for acceptance or at the very least a kind of mercy that would let both of the men see this as a drunken accident even though neither had more than a few particles of alcohol pulsing through their veins. Lust was a kind of alcohol in a way, not the kind that consisted of 2 carbon atoms attached with 6 Hydrogens and 1 oxygen.

No, lust was a chemical formula far too complicated than that, and for good reason, because the lust Tom and Dennis felt was equally as complicated.

Dennis opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but closed it not sure of what he was going to say. They fell out of their embrace but refused to move eyecontact.

"I'm sorry," Tom whispered. "For all of the things I had said when we first met. I never really apologised for that, and I should have." Dennis smiled cupping Toms left cheek.

"I was kind of a dick when I came to Jumpstreet. I don't blame you."

Tom held Dennises other hand and looked deep into his eyes. Tom had never looked, like really looked at Dennis like this. He had never studied him the way he was now. They way his eyebrows were shaped and the curve of his nose between sensitive black eyes.

Dennis was sensitive, and Tom could see that now. He could see it with how his lips quivered into a smile that accepted disappointment and the subtle wrinkles that some call laugh lines but Tom now understood that they were nothing of that sort. Dennis wasn't who he was on the surface.

Tom took a breath, "I... I never really took the effort to come and get to know and understand you. Not just the front you put on, but the part of you that many never saw. I really only saw it once, and it was on that case where the group of kids you were in obsessed over catching narcs. And I can never forget the pain I saw in your eyes when you told us that one kid had been killed because they thought he was a narc, and how you wished it had been you."

Dennis bit his lip unsure how to respond.

"No don't do that," Tom whispered putting his thumb gently on Dennis's lower lip. Booker stared at him with lonely eyes and kissed Tom. It was more rough than the other, it was hungry, lust laced with pain and fear. Hanson could feel the ache in Booker's heart, the pain in his kiss, the need for love and acceptance and comfort.

Dennis never shed tears before, but this time was different. He was at his most vulnerable, he felt naked because he was stripped of his protective snake skin he buried himself underneath. The tears at first were subtle, but now they were running down his face like a waterfall of pain that had been flooded inside him begging to finally leak out so he could breathe. He was tired of drowning.

Tom broke the kiss and held Dennis strong in his arms as he cried. He whimpered softly and Hanson whispered reassurance in his ear that everything was going to be okay.

Booker wouldn't let go of Tom, even after he stopped crying. The tears stopped but pain was still built inside of him.

"I think we should get you in bed and to sleep. You look exhausted."

Dennis didn't respond but was still latched on to Tom. He had to practically carry him to the bedroom.

Dennis was silent, a type of silence that radiated sadness and pain. Yet on the outside he was stoic, numb. Tom had to undress him, he was already half dressed for bed, so he stripped him of his jeans and tucked him under a blanket.

"Stay," Dennis whispered as Tom began to walk out of the room.

"I'm going to get you some water, I'll be right back."

Tom had never seen Booker this way before, and it worried him. Dennis was in so much pain and he kicked himself for letting his own selfishness get in the way of seeing his partners agony. He filled a glass halfway with water and walked back to the room, handing it to Dennis who took soft sips.

"Lay with me," Dennis whispered, "I'm tired of being alone."

Tom took of his shoes off, stripped down to his boxers and climbed in next to Dennis, holding him protectively in his arms.

Dennis hid so much under his tough exterior, and he had done what he could to make sure Tom was okay. To make sure Tom got justice, to make sure Tom was content at the end of the day. Dennis, had subtly been taking care of Tom, trying to lessen the guilt he was beginning to feel.

But today was Tom's turn to take care of Dennis, and from his view, Dennis needed him more than Tom ever did.