-Yea, ignore this, still trying to beat ffnet. I should just give up really, is any one else having troubles when they enter the editing system?

Disclaimer: I own these boys in my dreams.

A/n: I'm really not happy with this chapter either- gee, I'm not happy with them lately- But it's only because I think I really stuffed Booker around, so criticism on his character is really much appreciated.

Thank you again to everyone, I really can't thank you enough you guys are great. I luv you Tilly and Leanne XD.

Chapter Ten
Porcelain Doll.

Booker floundered for a moment before he was able to gain a sense of bearing and order. Mouth still open from the startle and shock before him, his hand fell lifelessly from the doorknob, incoherent words tangling on his tongue. The occupants in the room seemed not to have noticed his presence, and Dennis doubted they ever would over their insistent groans and pleading yells.

His body, though, seemed to be able to work before his mind and in four large strides he was behind the two; watching a young mans fragile body be ridden cruelly, mercilessly and recklessly by his larger, once caring and trusting partner. It was this thought; of Tommy being broken so horribly, so slowly, with such a dreaded build up over weeks and with such an unwarranted reason, of Tom having to suffer for nothing, having to live with guilt and shame and everything else Dennis knew Tom would pin on himself, that triggered Dennis to move.

The fury that ignited in his voice, its essence dominating the whole room, was only a partial amount of the violence he felt. "Penhall !! What the hell do you think you're doing!" his lean, gym toned arms circled Doug, pulling him off Tom.

Doug grunted as he was forced to pull viciously out of Tom- Tom's thin scream drowned out by Booker's fury- and turned to face Dennis with a look of simple shock and a tinge of loathing. "Get off me," he snarled, "This is none of your business."

Tom was forgotten on the bed, his whimpers and nonsense muffled by the covers in which he pitifully buried his face in like a wounded dog. Booker dragged the larger body of Doug up with him and away from Tom, the nakedness forgotten, "Get away from him, Penhall." His tone was soft and deadly.

Doug struggled free of Dennis, riving himself around to stand down Dennis, "Fuck you, this has nothing to do with you." His chest heaved and unblinkingly he rammed his fallen jeans and boxers from his thighs to his waist, "we have some things to sort out, that's all." He had already done his belt up before he had finished speaking.

Dennis panted, from rage and Doug's resistance, "Get out of here Doug," his tone indicated warning; Dennis didn't know how long he could withstand the urge to slam Doug.

Doug pushed Dennis forcibly in the chest, "Don't tell me what to fucking do, Dennis, this is my home as much as it is Tom's. And I don't want you here," he pushed again for emphasis, "It's my business how I do things, and I'm teaching Tom a lesson; I'm allowed to do that."

Dennis face contorted in rage and he stared Doug down in aggravated disbelief, "You know you can't do what you're doing, Doug. This is rape for Christ's sake!"

He laughed in disbelieved mock, "Rape?" he repeated, "I'm teaching him a lesson, that's all there is to it. God, you're acting like the whiny brat, maybe that's where he gets it from."

The laughter that concluded Doug's sentence ignited Dennis' fury of wrath, and without a sound, a gesture or an expression change, Dennis had rocked back a little on his heel, swung his right arm back and, tension building, let it slam heartedly into Doug's face. He watched in satisfaction as the dumbbell before him blinked a little, vision unfocused, before falling like timber to the floor. A smirk graced its way upon his face as he shook his right hand from the tenderness; the hit alone was not enough to keep a man his build down for more than a few minutes, but with the help of the alcohol Dennis had smelt overpoweringly on Doug's breath, it would keep him down for a good hour.

A strangled, chocked sob brought Dennis back to the reason why he was here; almost forgetting the vulnerable, broken man on the bed over his pounding heart and ringing ears. He turned from Doug, checking the unmoving body, and faced the slight bulge on the bed, half hidden by a duvet.

"Tom," nothing in his voice, in the compassionate sympathy, would help Tom, and Dennis knew that.

He hesitantly dragged his feet along the carpet, movements slow and soft, dramatic and emphasised; he did not want to risk scaring the frightened animal that Tom had become. He gingerly sat on the corner of the bed, a small way from Tom and felt the nausea and pity twinge as Tom whimpered and mumbled, curling further into himself.

Dennis knew the damage would take a forever to be undone.

"Hey, Tom?" he hung the question in air, unsure of where to go. He had dealt with abuse cases before, domestic, physical, sexual, and emotional; but they had all been female. He had never dealt with a male as the victim, and he had never dealt with a friend being involved, two friends for that matter, and Dennis had definitely never had a man he loved subject to the cruelty. It was a completely knew situation for him, and an even newer one for Tom he imagined.

He slowly reached a hand forward, limb shaking from the stilled slowness, "T-Tom?" his arm fell feather light on Tom's shoulder. The gentle, caring touch jolted the hushed man and Dennis withdrew his hand fiercely as if he had been burnt as Tom smothered a cry in his throat and curled further away, back hunched and facing Dennis.

Dennis sighed, running a hand through his hair; another habit he guessed he had picked up from Tom, he really did watch that man too much. Dennis tapped lightly on his jeans, unsure of where to go, where he was at. He had been thrown into this whirlwind of drama and hate and he couldn't find an opening to escape, there was no Kansas to wish for, no dog Toto and somewhere along the line Dennis had dropped the manual on how to fix broken hearts and souls.

He stared at the back of Tom, transfixed by the rise and fall of his slender, fragile body and the struggle it had to breathe amongst the pain and silent sobs. His dark, chestnut hair, long and unruly, fell lightly around his features. His exposed skin was soft and smooth in the dim light, a pale complexion from lack of sun that emphasised the porcelain doll Booker had often seen Tom as. Dennis yearned to see his face; to see that tear streaks that shimmered his skin, to see the forever pouting rose lips, the arched, blushed cheekbones and thick Bambi lashes that cast a Sleeping Beauty grace on him. He again reached a hand to touch the shoulder, needing the touch to hush his yearns, to sooth the ache in his heart and refused to remove it as Tom flinched under the touch, chocked in the back of his throat, tensed into himself.

Dennis would have to start his own manual; he just wished he knew how to.

"Tom," he tired again in hushed soothing tones, a lullaby that was never sung, "Please, Tom…it's Booker." He paused, the words sounding wrong, "It's Dennis, Tom, I need you to talk to me…please."

The movement beneath his hand was small, but it was enough and Dennis continued, feeling his heart lift a little, "Won't you talk to Dennis, Tommy, please?" he hated the patronizing voice he had, but he knew normal tones wouldn't work for Tom; Tom Hanson didn't reside here anymore, only Tommy. "Please Tom, I'm here to help."

Tom could hear Dennis, but the logic in his mind refused him to turn around, to speak or move; he was stilled with fear, reminded painfully of disobedience and love and he feared what could happen if he allowed himself to turn around. He tried to shrug the hand away, tried to ignore the comforting, warm tones but found he couldn't. Right now, vulnerable in his nakedness, only slightly hidden by covers, he wanted nothing more to die, to fall in a dark hole, to sleep an endless sleep.

"Tommy," Dennis' voice broke, "Please…"

The only other thing Tom wanted more, was love.

He heaved his body in a sigh, letting tears roll down his face as he nodded in agreement to the voice in his head. His voice was cold and tired, lifeless from emotion, soft and raspy from his thin screams and begs, "Dennis," the word alone seemed to drain him of energy.

Dennis closed his eyes in blessed relief, and rubbed his stilled hand across Tom's shoulder in soothing comfort. "Tom…" he trailed, unsure of where to go. He took in Tom's naked back, the darkness surrounding them, engulfing them, taking away the extent of Tom's pain; looking around, Dennis knew that right now all Tom would want were clothes, a comfort in the warm material, a place to hide.

"Do you, ah, do you want some," he felt nervous saying a word that had caused him to lose so much security, so much comfort; lose so much dignity by failing to cover; "clothes?" He swallowed, "You know, just a jumper…or shirt, pants…"

Tom nodded, falling further into the beds embrace, "They're in the draws."

Dennis nodded and slowly stood, moving loud as to alert Tom of his surroundings and motives. A shiver coursed Dennis' body; Tom's voice was so lifeless, so dejected and disdainful, void of any emotion the usual passionate, excited, life-loving man possessed.

He stumbled through the dark- once tripping over the leg of unconscious Doug and snarling spitefully- and found his way to the door, hand running the wall for a light switch. The room ignited in a bright glow and Dennis winced from the colour change, feeling guilty at Tom's groan. He pulled draws open, grabbing briefs, jeans and a jumper. He glanced at the jeans, knowing how they accentuated Tom's arse and legs and dropped them to the floor, searching the draws again for track suit pants.

"Here," he spoke gently, still soft and in a parent's manner to a child. He sat on the bed, this time closer to Tom, and fiddled with the clothing; he was still yet to look at Tom. "Do you, do you want to get dressed?"

Tom nodded, slowly and gingerly picking his body up from the bed, the cool air biting him, covers slipping, exposing him in all his inflicted brutality.

Dennis gasped, staring hypnotized at the assortment of colours that covered Tom, the blood that ran down him, some still bleeding, and the movements of pain and hisses that Tom made. "Jesus…"

Tom snapped his head up in alarm at Dennis, then, realising he wasn't going to strike, followed the larger mans gaze. He blushed shamefully as he conjured what Dennis was looking, at what Dennis was thinking; how pathetic Tom was, how degrading and disgusting.

"Itwasanaccident"

Dennis blinked, straining to catch the muffled words of Tom, "What?" he was still very much in shook at Tom's bruised and battered body and he couldn't make himself move his transfixed eyes to Tom's face, petrified of what he would find.

"It-It was an accident." He folded his arms around himself, hugging his shaking limbs, "Just an accident…"

"Oh Jesus…" he trailed; Tom was blaming himself and Dennis felt physically sick at the horrible realization- it would take months to strip the damage that had been done.

"I'm sorry." It was weak and child like, Tom's gaze intrigued with the floor.

"Wha?-" he fumbled blindly for words, "No, Jesus, no… no Tom. It's not your fault, do you understand?" he finished with idle hopefully.

Tom didn't move, just fiddle with the lose ends of the sheet that covered from his pelvis and below.

"Tom," he pushed, "It wasn't your fault. It wasn't you who did this." It was eerie to see such a strong character reduced to nothing, and again Dennis found himself thinking of how he, and everyone else, would have to handle this new fragile Tom. Then he wondered how long Tom had really been fragile for, that maybe it wasn't such a new thing.

Tom wasn't persuaded and in a voice so unlike his own but a child version of himself, he stumbled, "But…But I lead him to this." It was obvious he couldn't find logic in his words, only a false fact that had been drilled into him.

"No, Tom, it wasn't," Dennis felt awkward in this situation, it was so far from the hatred he had once felt for him, "Tommy…" he needed confirmation of Tom's understanding, "Tommy…" he sighed relentlessly, and made a slow, cautious movement for his slender jaw, turning his head to face his own, "Listen to me Tom, it wasn't your fault, okay? It wasn't your fault; you didn't do any of this at all. It was Doug, Tommy, not you. Okay?"

Tom nodded slowly, his eyes linked with Dennis as salty tears ran slowly down his face, "Okay…"

Dennis felt his own tears fall down his face and he ran his thumb over Tom's lips like he had only a few days ago; a lifetime ago now it seemed.

Tom shuddered from the touch and closed his eyes, "I'm sorry."

Dennis hushed him, "It wasn't your fault," he silenced Tom's protest by parting the two lips, "You're going to be okay Tom," he wasn't sure if it was more for reassurance of himself or Tom.

"Why does he hate me?"

Dennis shook his head, letting his tears flow down his dry face, "I don't know Tommy, I don't know."

Tom's voice caught, "I loved him so much…"

Dennis nodded and let his hand fall, pulling Tom into a fierce hug as Tom's voice reached hysteria.

"I loved him so fucking much…. I loved him…why did he hate me, why'd he have to be like this? I wanna-I wanna know what I did…I want him to love me…What did I do, Dennis, what the hell did I do wrong?" his salty tears mingled in Dennis' hair, his sobs muffled by the nape of his neck and Dennis clenched him fiercer, tighter, ignoring both their tears and sobs.

"You did nothing Tom," he breathed unsteadily out, "It wasn't because of Doug's hate…it was because he loved you too much. You did nothing Tom, nothing but love him."

"I love him, still."

Dennis nodded over Tom's confused voice, "I know and he…he doesn't understand okay? He's fucked up Tom, he's sick in the head, he doesn't understand what he's doing to you, how he's hurting you. Forget him Tom."

"I can't," he pulled from Dennis, suddenly uncomfortable at the proximity of their closeness. "I can't sop loving him."

Dennis nodded, looking away from Tom as he mutely handed him his clothes. There was so much fucked up with this situation, the entire thing was wrong; everything about it was wrong, what the hell was he doing here, what was he thinking, how the hell had this happened?

He felt Tom awkwardly move against him as he tried to get dressed and Dennis stood, "Do you want me to go?"

Tom didn't answer, slipping his head through the jumper.

"Tom?" He watched as Tom stilled, looking at the fabric of his track pants. "Tommy…"

"It hurts."

Those two single words revibrated around the room, echoed in the silence, imprinted themselves in Dennis' mind, It hurts… He again felt sick. "I know Tom, do…do you want…do you want me to help?"

Tom shook his head, standing hunched over and shaky, "I'm okay."

"Yea…"

Tom slowly pulled the fallen jeans off from his knees, ignoring the blood that had collected on them, the semen that was caught in fabric cracks. He seemed determined to ignore the blood between his legs; the semen mingled amongst it as he pulled briefs over, then pants over, purposely ignoring the mess he knew was there. He had no energy, felt too weak and the only thing he wanted to do was have a shower, wash away his disgust, his burns, his pain; yet he had no desire, no energy, he was too weak, too pathetic to drag his body around. Instead, he flopped on the bed, letting the mattress embrace his hurts. Unaware of Dennis watching his every moment, eyes widened at the horrid the rape had left.

"Where's your phone Tom?"

His eyelids were half closed, his voice almost inaudible. "I don't know…"

Booker nodded, tears staining his cheek. Tom was so different now to how he was a few moments ago when his voice had reached hysteria and tears had covered his face. It was, though, how things would be for a long time. Mood swings and seclusiveness.

"I'm gonna go find your phone, Tom, and call the Chapel, alright?" he received no answer from the form on the bed; now curled and hunched, body trembling the sheets. "Tommy?" there was a small whimper and Dennis accepted that, knowing much more was almost impossible. He glanced at the face, the bruised and bleeding face and wondered just how the porcelain doll would heal its scars and wounds.

Dennis felt guilty of leaving Tom in the room, and even nervous that the fallen Doug would wake unexpectedly and attack Tom, but he needed help down here, a lot of it, he couldn't do this by himself. He circled the rooms for a while, growing heated as each minute brought him still nothing. Coming to the lounge, he upturned tables and cushions, searching for the phone and in anger stood and cursed under his breath, fist slamming on the table behind the couch. An object rattled and fell and he flew around, fearful that he had broken something. He smiled as he saw the white phone screeching out a beeping noise and quickly picked it up, dialling the Chapel's number.

"Jump Street speaking"

He didn't waste a second, "Get me Captain Adam Fuller." He waited a moment, foot tapping impatiently on the floor.

"Yes?"

"Captain, you need to get here now, there's no time to explain, just get here, bring someone, Judy maybe, Harry should know too, I think-"

"Dennis? Slow down, calm yourself for a minute. I can't understand you."

He breathed in shakily, his breath robotic on Fuller's end, "It's Tom, sir…"

Adam paused, letting the words flow around him, he struggled for words and looked at the door, watching through the window Judy and Harry, "What happened, Dennis?"

Dennis didn't know how to explain and instead turned to face the direction of Tom's room, listening intently for any noise, "Doug…" he didn't know what else to say, "You…You were right sir."

Adam's breath hitched and his grip loosened on the phone, he found the back of his chair and used it to stabilize himself, "Dennis….Dennis are you sure?"

Dennis' emotions had been played with ever since he had gotten off his motorbike. From fear and anger, pain and sympathy, anger again, confusion, love, hate, sorrow, helplessness and Fuller's words-though unmeant to harm- had enraged him and brought out his suppressed feelings, "Of course I'm fucking sure! You think I'm as dumb to call up and say you're right about domestic fucking abuse if there's no evidence. How fucking dumb do you think I am?" he breathed heavily, feeling deflated, "Just get down here okay?"

Adam closed his eyes, a sick twinge on his heart strings, "What happened Dennis?" a strong part of him didn't want to know.

Hesitant, Dennis struggled for an answer. It seemed wrong to scream out what Tom had been through, but they all eventually had to know… "He's real bad Captain." His voice shaky, "Just…he's a mess, blood, bruises… something's gotta be broken amongst all of this, physically and emotionally."

Adam nodded to himself, "He beat him."

Dennis licked his lips, closing his eyes as his straining ears picked up the soft cries of a fallen man, "and…raped." He wasn't surprised by the shocked gasped.

"No…"

"I…" he wanted to say sorry, but he didn't know what for, didn't find it right to say, "he was raped," he repeated.

Adam lent off the chair and paced a few steps, "I'll be there Dennis, and I'll bring Harry and Judy along."

"Thanks," Dennis didn't realise until now how much tears and endless sobs could slice your heart.

"Look after him Dennis, keep him awake, console him. He's going to need a lot of help from now on."

Dennis nodded, suddenly exhausted, "I know, and I will." He wanted to get off, he couldn't bear one more scream from the fallen porcelain doll, "I have to go, thanks sir."

Adam ran a hand through his head, heart pounding crazily. "I'll be there soon." He placed the receiver down and collapsed into his chair; he couldn't forgive himself for not paying more attention to Tom.

Dennis hung up after the screech of a dial tone had numbed him. He turned surreal back into Tom's room and watched quietly as the boy on the bed cried painfully, pawing at the bed sheets, smearing his wet face on the covers.

"I-I've called Fuller, Tom, he'll be here soon. And Harry and Judy."

Tom pulled his head up and looked at Dennis in stunned shock before letting his head fall harshly down again, "No…" he cried, "No, No!"

Dennis paled against the hysteria of his pleads, of the begs.

"No, no, no!"

"I'm-I'm sorry Tommy!" he was shocked and confused.

"Nooo!"

"Tom!" Dennis was close to hysteria himself. He couldn't stand Tom's consistent pleads of No's, continuous cries of humiliation, "They need to know."

"No-No," he sniffed loudly, "No one does…no one needs- needs to. Please, Dennis…"

Dennis was quick to the bed, quick to engulf Tom in a hug, pulling the resistant body closer to him until it became limp with defeat. "They have to know, Tommy. Doug needs to pay for what he's done."

Against the stronger chest, Tom mumbled, "It was an accident."

Dennis sighed, "No it wasn't Tom," subconsciously he began a slow rhythm of rocking.

"It was my fault…not his"

"No, it wasn't." Tom again pulled from Dennis, but was trapped in the stronger arms. "You didn't do anything Tommy; no matter what you think, or what Penhall's told you. All you did was love him."

Tom nodded against his words and finally relaxed into the soothing rock. He would never admit to himself, but he found Dennis' rocking, his voice and hold, comforting, and in a strange way he needed this. He needed to be held and rocked and loved. His eyes drifted and he became aware that he was relaxing deeper into Dennis, finding a form of trust that he had never bothered to uncover, to explore. He decided then, for logic he couldn't reason, that he wanted to explore Dennis Booker; just maybe, not now.

Dennis kept rocking until he saw Tom's eyes close. He continued still, long after Tom's breathing became even and consistent and ran a hand through his unruly hair, stroking the soft, moist cheeks of a fallen doll. He heaved Tom a little, positioning him better and careful not to wake him. He wrapped his limbs further around Tom and as the breathing battered body of Tom's pressed into Dennis', he understood just how fragile and vulnerable Tom was. Just how much of a porcelain doll Tom resembled. From his colouring and nature, to his broken and shattered life. He pulled Tom closer to him, listening to the faint heartbeat and ignoring Adam's words of keeping Tom awake. Tom deserved to be lost in a world of dreams than face his reality of nightmares.

Tom stirred a little, his head falling back. Dennis lightly pushed it up again into his chest, comforting Tom like he knew he never once would have dared to. He brushed the bangs out of Tom's face and took in the ugly discolour of bruises, the dried remains of blood and the gash that ran his forehead, surrounded by mauve colours. He placed a gentle kiss on Tom's forehead before returning his gaze to the limp body of Doug's.

Nothing made sense between the two. From a distance, they seemed perfectly content, deeply in love and, well, just perfect for each other like well lined jigsaw pieces. But close and up front, inside the fence the two had built, nothing was quiet like what it seemed and Dennis wished he had noticed it more, not taken it so lightly when Tom had arrived scared and afraid at his doorstep. He wished he could have been able to prevent the monster from mauling its prey.

"I'm sorry, Tom."
/
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Ah…sorry if it's a little mushy and slushy. Hope you enjoyed that, and please let me know what you thought of Dennis. I think I stuffed him a little, so criticism on that is really appreciated.

--Ignore this too.