Title: Over the Rainbow

Author: Gin

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Penhall/Hanson

Summary: There were probably better ways to ask your partner if he was queer, but Doug couldn't think of one.

Notes: This is set in season two after episode 24, "Fear and Loathing with Russell Buckins." I'm waiting for Blockbuster to send me the next DVD, so I have no idea what happens with the storyline. I just thought it was an interesting place in terms of Tom's character to write a fic. Also, I'm insane. Thanks to Luna for help with the name of Over the Rainbow.

There were a scant few things Tom Hanson could do that would send Doug's brain into orbit. After his stupid jaunt up to what's-her-face's wedding with that schmoe, he was keeping a somewhat leery eye on Tom, just in case. He didn't like to be surprised. And 'surprised' just about covered it when by the book, Mr Another Slammerino skipped out on duty and nearly lost himself a job.

Man, that friend of Hanson's, Russell Buckins. It was all his fault. Doug liked him at first. And that was the pain of it. How Hanson had some old friend, who astonishingly didn't look as though he'd stepped into the world wearing loafers and a cardigan, tucked away like a secret. But then he'd somehow pushed his reliable partner into running away, leaving Doug to cover his ass and take the fall. Then Buckins ceased to be cool and turned into a dickhead. If Doug ever saw him again… Well, he'd end up even uglier than he was to begin with, that's all Doug had to say about that.

So now here they were, Hanson on rocky ground and with a brand-new tattoo, and Doug with serious trust issues. Fuller just gave him an icy glare and barked at him to stay in line, managing to be intimidating in a pastel wool sweater, and Hoffs acted like nothing even happened.

Doug tried to be patient, he really did, but when he didn't get so much as a "hey man, sorry for making you do all those pushups and listen to those lectures and get treated like a walking piece of shit in my place," the chip of ice on his shoulder wasn't exactly melted. Hanson only proceeded to sulk through his efforts of patching things up with the head honchos downtown. They hardly spoke and color Doug relieved when Hanson had to stay behind on desk duty while Doug went undercover with Ioki on a bust.

He was drinking a beer (or five), waiting for one of the queer punks he was supposed to be scoring poppers with at a local gay haunt, Over the Rainbow. His eyes were hurting from all the rainbow décor and he was pretty sure they'd have to surgically pry him from the fake leather pants, but all in all it could have been worse. For starters, those two guys with the Mark Spitz mustaches could be trying to pick him up. The things he went through in the name of the law. Ioki wasn't invited, maybe he wasn't their type, you couldn't really tell with queers, so Doug was all alone.

Or so he thought.

He was just about ready to give up and catch a cab home when something in his peripheral vision made him double-take. That guy over by the jukebox (which was playing Erasure, but that was neither here nor there) looked awfully familiar. Doug turned and squinted, taking a few hesitant and wobbly steps toward the jukebox.

Yeah, he really did look familiar. Really like… Hanson. He was a little bemused and a little freaked out, mostly disbelieving, but what really sealed it was the jeans tucked into sneakers. Definitely a classic Hanson move. Sometimes the guy just had no idea.

"Hanson?" Both Hanson and the guy who was obviously scoping him looked up at Doug. Hanson turned an impressive shade of puce.

No one said anything. Doug watched Hanson's adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed, evidently not in the mood for a chat. "I--I---don't tell anyone," he said in a rush, grabbing his studded denim jacket (hey, that was Doug's jacket, come to think of it) and hauling ass out of there.

Well. That was interesting.

---

He came up with quite a few good reasons for his wayward partner to be hanging out in a gay bar getting cruised by guys. A few of them even made sense. By the time he pulled into the chapel parking lot the next morning, he'd pretty much talked himself into it being a silly misunderstanding.

When he walked into the chapel, fake smile plastered onto his face, he was ready to just laugh it off and get back to be annoyed at Hanson for totally legitimate reasons. He didn't like being confused, even less than he liked being surprised.

"Hey, Penhall," Hoffs chimed, handing him a cup of coffee. What a gal.

"Yo, my fellow officers of the law. How's business?"

"I got a possible lead on that," Ioki paused delicately, eyeing Hoffs, "homosexually inclined gentleman selling the laced poppers."

"Did your guy show up?" Fuller asked in a tone most people usually reserved for bad food service people.

"He was a no-show." He found himself unable to look away from Hanson's dark head, bent over as it was over a backlog of files.

Hoffs chuckled, leaning forward over the desk to nudge Hanson conspiratorially. "Penhall went deep undercover at Over the Rainbow. Ioki and I are taking bets on his wild night."

"Funny," Doug muttered, noting Hanson's tense shoulders. "I just stood around drinking and listening to bad music."

"You do that every night," Hoffs laughed. "We want details, Doug. Did anyone ask you to dance?"

"Better yet, did anyone ask you to--"

"Yeah yeah, a couple of comedians," he cut in sharply, before Hanson decided to spontaneously combust. Ioki and Hoffs laughed at his retreating back and chattered on, no doubt besmirching Doug's good name.

He was going through his locker, not like he had anything better to do, when he felt someone creeping up beside him. He didn't turn, just kept rifling through his shit, and let Hanson take his sweet time saying whatever it was he wanted.

"Thanks for not saying anything." A scratchy whisper of a thank you.

"Yeah, what's a partner for. Keeping secrets. Although I have to wonder why somethin' like this is a secret at all, not like you were doing anything wrong." He leaned back and peered at Hanson past the locker door. "I mean, compared to the stuff you've been up to lately, hanging around in a gay bar--"

"Jesus, Doug!" Hanson snapped, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone was around. "Are you stupid or something?"

"Or something," he said flatly, slamming the locker shut. He was about to leave Hanson behind him to sulk and be secretive in peace, but the niggling curious and freaked-out feeling he'd been dodging since the night before reared up. "Answer me one thing," he started.

"What?"

"Were you there… Like. Where you there for a reason, fun or whatever, or to get picked up?" There were probably better ways to ask your partner if he was queer, but Doug couldn't think of one.

There was no answer. He managed to look at Hanson, who was biting his lip and looking at the floor.

Jeeze, and you think you know a guy. Tom Hanson was just full of surprises.

"Well, whatever. I'm going back to work."

---

Once he came back, Hanson studiously avoided him for the rest of the day, which wasn't that difficult as they weren't working a case together. He stuck to his paperwork and Doug stuck to ignoring Hoff and Ioki's little jokes. Fuller had him calling a few of the gay guys from the school, coyly asking about being hooked up with beer or "whatever." Most didn't give him anything to work with, but one or two suggested they might be able to get him something if he wanted to have a good time. With them. He hung up, feeling slightly dirty.

Blowfish came up from the basement to sweep and cackled at something Hoffs said. "Hey, guys," he said, obviously meaning Doug and Hanson. "How was your little adventure in the boy bar? Meet anyone special, Hanson? I bet they loved you."

The man in question turned desperate, stricken eyes to Doug. "You promised you wouldn't fucking tell anyone!"

Everything seemed to stop as Hanson tore out of there. Even the phones seemed to stop ringing.

"Doug?" Hoffs asked, hesitant. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, Jude. I'll be back later."

---

The car lurched to a stop in front of Hanson's place. He tried to act cool and collected, but his hands shook taking the keys out of the ignition. This was just not familiar territory. He was chasing his partner in an attempt to straighten (bad word, he winced) things out. It really wasn't his fault. Really. He hadn't said a damn thing. What the hell did Hanson think of him, anyway. Not everyone betrayed their partners at the drop of a hat.

Doug took a deep breath and walked up the door, trying to think of what the hell he was going to say. Thoughts raced dizzily through his brain. He was still a bit hung over and hadn't slept all that well, not the best fuel to be running on. His finger managed to hit the doorbell a stuttering two times. He waited.

Hanson didn't answer. Which was such bullshit, because his car was out front. Sighing, Doug crouched and checked beneath the mat for a spare, and then when it yielded nothing, he swept his hand across the top of the door frame. Bingo. Good old Tom Hanson.

The door swung open with a creak. It was dark inside, incidentally foreboding. Hanson wasn't to be found in the living room or kitchen, so he walked through the hall toward the bedroom.

Hanson sat on the floor at the foot of his unmade bed, a still full beer bottle lying forgotten by his feet. His knees were pulled up to his chest, his head sorrowfully lying against them. Doug could see his tattoo. It looked weird. His window was open and curtains his mother probably picked out fluttered limply.

"You're really giving yourself a reputation, my man," he said, for wont of something better.

Hanson's head jerked up. He might have been crying, it was hard to tell without the lights on. "You! Fuck you, get out of my house."

Doug put his palms up defensively, even though he could totally take him. "Whoa, why the hostility? I'm over here to offer you some manly" (another bad word choice, he winced inwardly) "comfort, and you're cursing me out."

"Yeah, you're a real pal," he said sarcastically, legs sliding out to lie flat on the floor. Hanson rubbed at his eyes and heaved a dramatic sigh, and Doug didn't even feel the slightest twinge of pity. Really. Honestly. He didn't. "Outing me to the entire fucking squad when I begged you not to. You know what they say, when I got friends like that…"

"First off, I am the best pal you've got, and secondly, I didn't say nothing to nobody. What kind of a… heartless schmuck do you think I am?" Hanson leveled a look that could have melted ice. Ouch. "I really didn't say anything, I dunno what the hell Blowfish was talking about."

"Yeah. I'm sure."

Doug bit his lip, completely at a loss. "I'm… gonna get a beer, you want another one?"

Hanson didn't answer. He wandered off in search of beer to soothe his jumped up nerves and slightly dizzy head. The fridge rattled, ketchup and milk bottles protesting at his force in opening the door, and he pulled out a Bud Light. Pussy. Popping off the lid, he took a long swig, and was contemplating heading back into the bedroom when Hanson staggered into the kitchen.

"You can go now." Rude little shit.

"I don't think so. You've had a stick up your ass--" what the fuck was wrong with his inner phrase-book lately? "--since I wrote that letter, and I am not letting you pin more fault on me, man."

"You had no right," he snarled, no doubt gearing up for an explosive accusation, but Doug headed him off.

"Yeah, I had no right, I would have had no right to say something, but I didn't say anything. I don't know what you want me to do to prove it. Bleed?"

"You're a fucking riot, man. Did you think it was funny, square Officer Hanson likes boys? I bet you laughed it up." He was coming close, mouth set in a dangerous line. His hair was all askew and now Doug could see that he had been crying, which really sucked. This whole thing was a mess.

"No! I didn't think it was funny, I didn't laugh, man, and I really didn't say anything."

Hanson didn't deflate, but something happened. Some of the fight went out of him. He looked miserable. Doug looked around desperately for something to do, something to prove that he was a good guy who wouldn't torture his partner like that, no matter if his partner skipped off and came back with an attitude problem and a tattoo and secretly liked men.

Goddamn Buckins, he thought. Somehow, all of this was his fault.

"Can we talk about this? I mean…" He floundered.

"Whatever." He slunk off to the couch and sat down -- more like collapsed into a sitting position, semantics.

Doug followed and sat at the opposite end, staring down at the label on his beer. "So. I didn't know you liked guys." Oh, way to go Douggie. His brilliant conversational skills were sure to impress. "Uh."

"No shit."

He tried again. "How long?"

Both Hanson's eyebrows went up. He itched distractedly at his tattoo, the gesture deceptively casual, but his whole body was wound up like a wire. "Since I was old enough to figure it out? Since forever? I don't know, jeeze."

"But…" Hanson huffed a tiny sigh of exasperation. "Amy? And… That chick, the wedding, and… girls?"

"You can like both, for Christ's sake."

"So, why didn't you say anything?" His voice was much softer than it was normally. It was a bit like trying to calm a bear or some sort of rabid animal, probably. A thought stuck him. "Does your mom know?"

"No."

"… Does anyone know?"

"Well, now everyone knows, thanks to you." He seemed to be getting some of the earlier fire back. Doug inched back into the arm of the sofa as discreetly as possible.

"So no one knew. I'm… really sorry, man. Uh. Sorry…" How the hell are you supposed to comfort someone in this situation? How are you supposed to think when everything from before started clicking into place, dominos falling one after another. Those military kids, those gay bashings, how much must that have sucked? All those times Hanson never talked about his love life. It was possible that Hanson was as sexualized as an amoeba like he thought before, but somehow, with the news that Hanson batted for both teams, Doug doubted it. "I really didn't tell anyone," he tried again.

Hanson scooted closer to Doug. Alarmed, he went to get up or say something, but Hanson only reached over and stole Doug's open beer. He sipped, went to set it down, apparently thought better and brought it back up for several long swallows. Doug felt somewhat robbed, not knowing what to do with hands now that they were empty. "Okay, you didn't tell anyone. So maybe Blowfish is just psychic."

"I'm sure there's a reason he said that. It's just that the reason has nothing whatsoever to do with me, see."

Hanson snorted.

"Seriously, Tom," and it was the unexpected use of Hanson's first name that brought Hanson's gaze boring directly into his, "I wouldn't do that. You're my partner, man."

"All right," he said eventually, quiet.

"Glad we got that settled."

They sat together in comfortable enough silence, Hanson sipping at his beer, Doug bereft of it. Outside a car honked furiously and brakes squealed. There was no sound of impact, and Doug relaxed just a little more.

"So, are you all weirded out?" His tone was an attempt at levity, and it wasn't really working, but Doug knew an olive branch when presented with one.

"Nah. Just surprised, I guess. After all the shit lately, I'm kind of…" He thought for a moment. "Processing."

"Well, when you finish processing, do you think you'll start to get weirded out?" He tilted the beer in Doug's direction. Expectantly, "beer?"

Doug took it and drained the rest. The mouth of the bottle was a little warm and slick from Hanson's mouth. It tasted… Like nothing in particular he could think of, maybe like Hanson and shitty beer. "No. But I will stop teasing you about your love life."

"Generous of you." The corners of Hanson's mouth lifted in a tired attempt at a smile. "So, this whole… gay thing won't get in the way of our relationship? Uhhh." He coughed. "Working relationship."

"Nah."

"Good." He took the empty beer back, long fingers curling momentarily around Doug's own. His hand was surprisingly warm and dry.

This was getting a little weird. Not that Doug was going to say anything, but he was sitting on the couch with his gay partner and noticing the temperature of his hands and it was all dark. But it was cool, they were friends. Just because Hanson was gay didn't mean he was going to try something with Doug. That was just -- and he laughed a little inside -- stupid.

"You're my partner," he said, offering it up as it was the only words that could explain it. Explain everything.

"Good," Hanson said again, and he leaned across and kissed Doug's cheek. "That's good."

"Uh. Should I be getting the wrong idea, here, or…" He choked on a laugh when Hanson exhaled, breath flitting over his face. He smelled good, a little like beer.

"You're not that stupid, Penhall." He kissed him, mouth closed, a little bit of spit and beer flavor on his lips, and Doug let him. It wasn't… that weird. It was okay. He tasted good.

"Maybe I am," he whispered, staring at Hanson like he'd possibly never met him before.

He just smiled and kissed the side of his face, hardly brushing the corner of his lips. Goddamn, but he was just full of surprises.