Hiya. First off, I want to thank everyone who reviewed my previous chapter, and I'd like to answer a question left in one of my reviews by someone without an account. I have replied to the rest of you individually, so don't feel left out! I love and appreciate you all.

The question was: have I published this elsewhere? The answer is no, I haven't. I started writing it a couple months ago and then forgot about it for a while, but it's been on my computer only, not published anywhere. I may have mentioned it to a couple people, or maybe in an author's note of my previous story, but not in great detail... I do know there's another story on this site with a somewhat similar plot. (an alternate ending to the same episode.) but I assure you my version is completely different. :)

Alright then, on with the story!

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Chapter 2

Tommy was completely out of breath and could barely even bring himself to move at all anymore. Every inch of his body throbbed in pain from having been hit repeatedly with the baton-like weapon brandished by his assailant. By this point, Hanson wasn't sure if he could stand even if his captor allowed it. It didn't feel like his limbs were broken, but just like he was so worn out and beaten down that his arms and legs likely would no longer be willing or able to function. He was quite certain his entire body was covered in the most painful bruises he'd ever experienced.

At the moment, he was lying in a curled up position on the bed as the older man stood over him and stared down at the injured officer. Hanson wasn't looking at the guy's face, but could feel the older man's eyes gazing down at him. He heard his captor place the baton on the night stand, but Tom still didn't move. He was scared to make any movement at all, afraid it might set the man off again. Even now that the older man was unarmed, Tommy knew overpowering him would be impossible. The officer's body felt so weak and broken. He felt like all he could do was just lie there and try to keep himself breathing through his tremendous pain. If just breathing was this difficult, overpowering this guy certainly wasn't going to happen.

"Let's get you out of that jacket," the man cooed. His voice sounded kind and gentle, but Tom knew better than to believe any kindness in the man's tone, and he certainly wasn't open to allowing the guy to start undressing him.

Tom curled in on himself even further as he felt the man grabbing onto his arms and trying to pull him out of the ball he'd formed out of himself. He didn't want to fight anymore. It was pretty obvious his refusal to cooperate would only result in more pain. If he did much else to make the man angry, Tom would likely end up dead. He needed to save what little energy he had left for one last attempt to save himself, and he needed to wait until an opportunity presented itself before he did that.

Even though his instincts told him to fight with all his might, to keep himself curled up and his jacket over his arms and torso, he knew it would be a waste of his depleted supply of energy. He lie quite limply, unable to find the physical strength to fight back as the older man finally untangled Tom's limbs, pulled his jacket off him, and threw it onto the floor, leaving Hanson's torso covered only in his two layers of shirts he had left half unbuttoned on purpose. Now he wished he hadn't done that... His chest was half-exposed, and his captor stared down at him as though the younger man was the most amazing thing he'd ever seen. The old man's eyes looked way too excited. It made Tom's stomach churn.

"You really are a pretty little thing," the older man smiled as he straddled the young officer and used his hand to brush a few strands of Tom's hair out of his eyes.

Tom squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on breathing. He felt so defeated. How could it be that he wasn't even restrained and yet this man had so much power over him? Tom wasn't sure he'd be able to force his body over to the door even if this man told him he was free to go. He couldn't say for sure if any of his bones were broken, but his body was certainly bruised, and he was beyond exhausted. This was probably exactly what the man's plan was. He wanted a victim who wouldn't fight back, but who was still conscious. And judging by how Tommy felt right now, it seemed the guy knew how to achieve that result. The officer could only lie still and force himself to take one pained, shaking breath at a time.

The older man ran his fingers slowly down the side of Tom's face, over his throat, and down to the part of his chest exposed by his unbuttoned shirt. At this, Tom's breath hitched in his throat and he forced his arms to start working again.

He grabbed weakly at his captor's hands and attempted to push them away, "don't," Tom gasped. Something about the man's warm, rough finger tips lightly grazing over Tom's skin was a thousand times worse than the beating he'd dished out a few moments before.

The older man just laughed, "you look like you're gonna cry," he commented as he looked into Tom's eyes, "Aren't you used to this? You let me beat the hell out of you without shedding a tear, but I touch your chest and that's what makes you lose it? You'd think a whore wouldn't mind that gesture so much..."

Tom felt his throat tightening as he tried to keep himself calm, "I don't want to do this anymore... You don't have to pay me," Tom tried to come to an agreement with the guy. Of course, Tom would arrest the man as soon as he could get his hands back on his gun, but the guy didn't have to know that. "We'll part ways and forget any of this ever happened," Hanson suggested.

Hanson's captor shook his head, "I don't think so. You can't get me all excited and then just flake out on me," he touched Tom's face again, mocking compassion. Hanson could feel the man's rough fingers slowly caressing his cheek. He was being gentle now, but Tom wanted nothing more than to get away from the guy's touch. He'd rather the man hit him again than touch him like that, with that look in his eyes, "don't be scared," the man added in a calm voice, "I won't hit you again as long as you cooperate. You seem subdued enough, so the worst part's over for you. No more pain. Just sex now. And you should be used to it. Hell, a pretty little boy like you? You've probably been used so many times you won't even feel it at this point."

Hanson shook his head. He wasn't sure what to say, "I -" he hesitated, "You can't... I don't... I'm not..." Tom couldn't find the proper words.

The older man's eyebrows rose, "what's that?" he grinned, "you can't?" he mocked in a higher pitched voice, "you're not? You're not what?," Hanson could see the man's eyes lighting up with realization, excitement, and lust, "are you saying you haven't done this before? Am I your first customer?"

Tom's breathing increased in rate. Maybe he should tell this guy he was a cop after all... But then he'd probably lose any chance he had at reclaiming his gun... It was all a gamble, "I'm not... I'm just..." he stuttered, "I was just looking for my friend... Someone saw him get into a car like yours," Tommy decided on a half-truth, "I don't work the streets... I was just looking for him and thought this was my best bet at finding him..."

"Doing a little investigating?" the man laughed, "well, I guess now's as good a time as any to teach you the lesson that you don't pretend to be a hooker and go so far as getting into people's cars... Your parents never taught you any better?"

"No," Tom shook his head again, "you don't understand..."

"Yes I do," the man looked down at him, "you changed your mind. I get it. But it's too late. I don't really care about consent, and as you said before, you're a teenager. You can't consent anyway. You could tell me to fuck you as hard as I wanted and it would be the same as if you begged me not to, right?"

Tom opened his mouth to speak again, to continue pleading, but a large hand immediately clamped down over his mouth so that all he could do was whimper.

"That's enough out of you," the man scowled. With his free hand, he trailed his fingers from Tom's chest down his stomach and to the waistband of his jeans.

Even through the man's thick, calloused fingers, a small sound could be heard coming from Hanson's mouth. He reached his hands down and grabbed at the older man's hand. But most of Tom's strength had left him. Even with both of his hands, he couldn't pull the man's one hand away from him. He could feel the rough fingers sliding into his jeans, between the elastic of his boxers and his skin.

The man's fingers stroked the skin between Tom's hip bone and his navel for a moment, slowly and gently. His hand wasn't far enough under Hanson's clothing to make the officer feel too uncomfortable, but being even as close as he was to body parts Hanson considered private frightened the young cop tremendously.

Finally, the man moved his hand off of Tommy's mouth and down toward where his other hand lingered. He unbuttoned the button on Tom's pants and smiled down at him, "you're gonna like this."

Hanson shook his head, "you can't do this," he pleaded, still grabbing at the man's hands with his own, "please..." He tried to kick out his legs but they were being pinned against the bed by his captor's larger legs. Hanson even tried to sit up, but his assailant just pushed him back down. The older man being bigger and stronger than Hanson, combined with the fact that Tom was incredibly beaten down made his struggles all but completely worthless.

The officer tried to sit up again, but the older man just laughed again as he placed his calloused hand on Tom's chest and slammed him backward onto the mattress. As Hanson weakly tried to pull together the strength to try to sit back up again, his captor pulled the zipper down on Tom's jeans and pulled the officer's pants downward. Fortunately, Tom's boxers stayed mostly in place even when his jeans were now half-way down his thighs.

Tom could feel himself beginning to panic. Of course, he was rather panicked all along, but now it was far worse, and with very good reason. The older man's hands grabbed the officer's legs, his fingers squeezing lightly over the material of Tom's boxer shorts as he ran his hands slowly up and down Hanson's thighs, completely ignoring the fact that Tom's hands continued to fight him.

Just when it seemed he was doomed, Hanson felt the familiar rush of adrenaline; the same rush he'd get all the time whenever he was in a situation that was extremely dangerous. It was his body telling him he needed to do whatever it took to get the hell out of this mess.

The adrenaline now coursing through Tom gave him the extra burst of energy he so desperately needed. As the grotesque man's rough hands moved back up toward the top of Tom's boxers, and the tips of his fingers slid under the elastic band of the shorts, the young cop balled his hands into fists and punched the older man in the face as hard as he could.

While that threw the older man off balance for a moment, Tom slammed his other fist into the other side of the man's face until he finally staggered backward enough for Tom to jump up and stumble quickly toward the place he'd dropped his gun.

Fortunately, the unexpected blow he'd landed to the man's cheek gave him the few seconds he needed. Hanson grabbed up his gun in his right hand and pulled up his pants as best as he could with just his left hand as he spun back around and pointed the weapon at his captor, "I'm a police officer," Tom breathed out tiredly, ignoring the shooting pains radiating through his protesting body. He was pumped with adrenaline right now, but that didn't change the fact that all his body wanted to do was fall into a crumpled heap to recover from the abuse inflicted upon him by the other man, "don't move..." Tom panted, "You're under arrest."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" the man wondered, "you're just a kid..."

"A kid with a badge," Tommy reached for his badge, but remembered it was in his jacket pocket, and that jacket was on the floor across the room, "and a gun," he emphasized as he inched along the wall toward a phone. He put the phone up to his ear, tilting his head and wedging it between his ear and his shoulder as he dialed the police station. While the phone rang, he kept his gun trained on the older man, "don't you move one inch," he insisted, "I'm not messing around. You move toward me at all, and I won't hesitate to shoot you."

"Captain Fuller," Tom breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the familiar sound of his captain's voice on the other end of the phone.

"I found the guy... I need backup," Tom breathed heavily into the phone, assuming his captain would know what he was talking about without him having to give much explanation. He felt the adrenaline slowly dissipating. Now that he wasn't in so much danger, his body was remembering how hurt it was, "Jefferson street..." he remembered having taken note of the address when he was in the man's vehicle, just in case he needed to call in for backup, "at Pinegrove Apartments, apartment twenty six..." he tried to keep his voice strong, but he was in a lot of pain and felt quite weak, "try to hurry," he added.

"What's going on there, Hanson?" Fuller asked, his voice laced with worry "I'm sending Penhall and Hoffs. Ioki's radioing them right now. I think they are already in the area. Is there anything they should know? Is he armed? Are you hurt? What happened? You've gotta let me know what's going on."

Hanson breathed out tiredly, "He's not armed... Just tell them to hurry. I've got my gun on him right now. I'm just not sure I can cuff him. I want to keep my gun on him..." Tom wanted to tell Fuller that he had made a huge mistake going with this guy, especially alone. He wanted to tell his captain that he felt like he could pass out at any moment... But he couldn't say those things for so many reasons. He didn't want the suspect to hear how uncertain the officer was - to see how close he was to fainting. And he didn't want Fuller to think he couldn't take care of himself.

"Are you alright, Tom?" Fuller's voice sounded even more concerned now, "you sound really out of breath."

"I'm fine," Tom insisted as he kept his gun raised up and stared at the older man before him. The young cop offered the older man a stare that said 'don't you dare move,' without his mouth having to reiterate that statement, "how long do you think they'll take to get here?" he asked, leaning his back against the wall and sliding down it slightly. Even as he did this, he kept his gun trained intently on his suspect.

"It shouldn't be long," Fuller answered, "are you sure you're okay? He didn't hurt you, did he? Do you need me to send an ambulance?"

Tom's focus wasn't on his captain's voice anymore. Instead he stared ahead at the laughing man in front of him, "shut up!" he urged as he slid down the wall the rest of the way so that he was sitting, but still had his gun trained on the older man. He raised his knee up and used it to steady his shaking arm as he continued pointing his gun ahead, "don't you dare move," he repeated his earlier threat, "I should just shoot you right now," Tom growled. He wouldn't really shoot the man without proper reason. The guy didn't exactly pose a threat right now. He was just standing there. But Tom wanted the man to think the officer just might shoot him without justified cause.

"Take it easy, officer," the man laughed again, raising his hands defensively, "I'm just standing here. Not moving. Just like you said."

Tom just glared at him. He felt so exhausted, and wasn't sure he'd be able to stay conscious until Doug and Judy got here. Already his vision was obstructed by cloudy spots and he felt very lightheaded. He knew if he stood up he'd probably pass out for sure. Maybe just sitting down would be enough to keep him awake until his backup arrived.

"Tom," he heard Fuller's voice coming from the phone. It seemed really quiet, "Tom? Hanson... Are you there? Answer me, Tom..."

It was then that he realized the phone had slipped away from him at some point. It was just hanging by its cord, dangling against the wall. He reached out and grabbed it, putting it up against his ear as he kept his eyes and gun on the older man in front of him.

"I'm still here," Tom said into the phone. He could hear the exhaustion in his own voice.

"I've called for an ambulance," Fuller told him, "I'm not sure what's going on there, because you won't tell me, but there will be an ambulance there in a few minutes. Whatever's going on, Hanson, we're going to make sure you're okay. Just stay on the line with me until Hoffs and Penhall get there, okay? And if anything happens, let me know. If he produces a weapon or anything..."

"Thanks, Coach," Hanson breathed heavily as he felt his eyelids becoming heavy.

Holding the gun up was becoming increasingly difficult. Even with his knee raised up to support his arm, his hand was trembling. His entire body still hurt.

"I've got backup coming," Hanson informed the man standing before him. He was trying so hard to keep his voice strong and certain, "They'll be here any minute. There's nothing you can do now," he threatened. He knew the man must have been able to see how hurt Tom was. The guy was the one who'd hurt him - so he had to know. But he also needed to know that he wasn't going to get away with it this time.

"You think you're going to last that long?" the old man laughed.

"Hanson. You still doing okay?" Tom heard his captain's voice.

"I'm fine," he answered into the phone, but stared at the criminal before him. He knew he was lying to both men. Hanson could feel his consciousness slipping away. His vision was growing more and more cloudy. His body was becoming more and more limp. He felt cold and warm at the same time. Or maybe the sensation was neither of those things. It was almost a numb feeling.

Tom could feel his grip on his gun loosening and his arm trembling as he struggled to keep his weapon aimed. He wanted to squeeze the gun tighter and hold it up in a strong, steady, threatening gesture, but he simply could not do so. With each passing second, he felt his body giving up. It just wanted to shut down, to heal itself. He wished he could explain to his body that staying alert was its best bet, but his brain and his body were simply not listening to each other.

More and more, he could barely focus on what was going on around him. As he stared ahead, with blurring vision at the man in front of him, he felt the phone sliding away from his ear again and clattering against the wall, but he didn't move to retrieve it this time.

He could hear Fuller's worried voice calling out to him through the phone, but he didn't have the energy to deal with that and the gun at the same time. In fact, he probably didn't have the energy for either. He just hoped Judy and Doug would get here soon...

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