Warning: Slash (homosexual content),child abuse, domestic violence – and whatever other angst I can manage to work in. If you don't like this, don't read it, for flames only serve as a source of amusement for me.

Rating: T

Disclaimer: As much as I would kill to own Tom Hanson and Dennis Booker, I don't. And I don't own the rest of Jump Street, either. Too bad for me.

A/N: I'm not real fond of how this chapter ends, but I reached a block so I said to hell with it. Hope you like anyway.

godspeedandleather - Well, here's more for you :-D

Fanfic Fish - See, I think Dennis really is a softie deep down, so :-P As for Hanson being taken off the case, well, yeah, he should, but... >evil grin>

daizia - Well, you'll see about Joanne when all is said and done, I promise. And you're right about him staying on if he wants to ;-) There'll be more scenes between the two of them similar to that.

Sphinx - Joanne's probably too far out there to notice ;-) Hope you're feeling better

Nina - Poor Hanson, naughty Joanne, and hypocrite Booker. Yep, that just about covers it ;-) Yep, there'll be problems with Penhall - sometimes, though, his concerns may be founded. I promise Hanson will have a big role, and I'm consciously looking for plot ideas to center just around him, so... if you have ideas, let me know :-D

Caerulea - I love you:-P I love Booker; he rocks. You got his character to a tee, there. Glad to see someone else who likes him as much as me. And I'm glad you like the story!

redrose2310 - Thanks! Here's more

island-of-corfu - Well, there's plenty more where this came from, I promise. As for more Tom/Booker scenes - that can be arranged :-D

Chapter 17

"Officer Hanson, I'm going to clear you for release on the condition that you see your doctor immediately if the dizziness continues after tonight." Doctor Neill wore a stern expression and Tom actually flinched a little. "And I want you to avoid taking any medications for the next forty-eight hours. You reacted very strongly to the drug, and I'd rather not see you back here because Tylenol interacted with what little is still tracing through your bloodstream."

Unable to resist, Hanson snapped off a salute. "Yes, sir."

"I'll be glad to see you leave," Neill replied wryly. "Miserable patient."

"I do my best."

"Just do your best not to come back in here."

"He will," Dennis interrupted, and, under his glare, Tom didn't say another word until the man had departed. Even then, Booker spoke first. "You will."

"I'm fine."

"Shut up."

"No."

"Yes."

Tom shut his mouth for all of thirty seconds, before asking, "How long do you think it'll take for him to sign the paperwork to get me out of here?"

"Longer than I can stand to be in this room with you," his boyfriend answered. "You're driving me insane, and you've only been awake three hours."

"I'm bored."

"I'll go get Penhall and the two of you can play with blocks or something."

It took Tom a minute to grasp that Dennis was essentially lambasting him for being childish, but when it clicked in his brain, he glared at him. "I hate hospitals."

"I noticed," Dennis remarked dryly. "Even before you told me the first, tenth, and thirtieth times."

There was a knock at the door about half a second before it opened. "Everybody decent?" Judy called.

"No, but come in anyway," Booker responded, only to have Judy throw something at him as she came fully into the room. It turned out to be a canvas backpack.

"Give your boyfriend his clothes."

For a moment Hanson wondered if his mind wasn't still a little foggy. "Why do you have my clothes, Jude?"

"Because the ones you came into the hospital with reeked of beer. You probably knocked over a bottle when you fell. I didn't figure you'd want to wear them home, so I pick pocketed Dennis for your keys and stopped at your place. I figured Booker would want to stay here. Hope you don't mind."

He grinned. "Just so long as you didn't go digging through my underwear drawer."

Hoffs made a face. "No thanks. Just grabbed the pair on top. And about anything that was on your bathroom sink. I wasn't sure how long they'd be keeping you here, so you've got your toothbrush and stuff too."

"Thanks, Jude." As she came over, he straightened a bit and gave her a quick hug.

"No problem." She tilted her head to the side and looked him over. "When are they letting you out of here, anyway?"

"Tonight. Thank God." Hanson shot his boyfriend an annoyed look, and heightened the glare as he went on. "Hoffs, I swear, the next time you need to get someone to talk, just hit lock them in a hospital room with him for an hour or two. The guy'll sing like a canary." At the cliché, Tom broke his gaze and laughed out loud.

"Sing like a canary?" he quoted back. "Did we walk into a 1920's mob movie and I missed the entrance?"

"Let's try something," Dennis said, suddenly sounding weary. "You stop talking for a while and we'll see if my head stops pounding." To Judy he went on, "I'm starting to wish I was the one who was drugged."

"I'll trade places. Gladly." Tom scowled at him, but when Dennis didn't even smile, he quieted. "You okay?"

"Just a bad headache." His boyfriend gave him a pointed look. "Probably stress." There was something else in his eyes, though, that bothered Tom. He didn't have a chance to pursue the issue, though, as Neill came back in.

"You're a free man, Officer Hanson. As long as you get some rest."

"He will," Dennis answered before Tom could.

"Yes, mother."

"Boys, boys, boys." Hoffs moved to stand between them. "Behave yourselves." To the doctor she said, "I think your patient has gotten a little stir-crazy. So it's okay to take him home?"

"By all means."

At that, Judy took the bag that Dennis was still holding and threw it to Tom. "Get dressed."

-------------------------

"Let's go to your place."

Dennis automatically took the turn toward his apartment and away from Tom's before asking, "Why?"

"Because if we go to mine, you're going to glare at me until I go to bed. You won't do that at yours."

Booker cast a sidelong glance at him. "Want to bet?"

"Sure. But you know I'm right."

He was. "You're annoying."

"I know. I'm also tired and hungry."

Drawing the car to a stop at a red light, Dennis glanced over at him. "Drug wear off?"

"Mostly." Tom shrugged. "Get a bit dizzy here and there is all." Booker watched him out of the corner of his eye as he started driving again. "How you feeling? How's your head?"

"Be better when I get home and have a beer," he answered shortly.

"What's up?"

"Just not looking forward to tomorrow."

"What—shit."

Dennis pulled to a stop on the street in front of his apartment and turned off the car. "Yeah." He got out, grabbing Tom's bag before the other man could, and closed the door. "And I'm tired. I didn't even really sleep last night." Meeting Tom on the sidewalk, he ran a hand over his boyfriend's back before preceding him up to the door and opening it. "I just want to eat, and go to bed."

In his loft, Dennis left the backpack on the floor by the door and switched on the light. "You care what we eat?"

"As long as it doesn't come on a hospital tray, I'm happy."

Booker gave a short laugh, then headed for the kitchen as Hanson dropped onto the couch. His foot had just hit the linoleum when there was a knock at the door. He stopped mid-stride and turned around, rolling his eyes. "Coming!"

His boyfriend eyed him, amused. "I could have gotten that."

"And, look, you didn't even move," he replied pointedly, unlocking and opening the door. His eyes went wide as he saw who was standing in the hall. "Mom."

"Hello, Dennis. I, ah, was on my way home and I thought I'd stop in and see if you were home."

"Well, I am." He paused and stepped back. "Come on in." As she came in, he closed the door behind her.

"I think I'll, ah, go lie down or something," Tom said, standing slowly.

"No, Tom." At her words, Hanson sank back down. "I won't be long. I just wanted to say what I didn't get a chance to the other night." She glanced pointedly back toward Dennis, but he didn't give her the satisfaction of reacting at all.

Instead, he asked simply, "What was that?"

"That I don't care." She shook her head. "What I started to say – what upset you so much – was that your father and I had always wanted to have more children, and when we didn't, your dad became determined that you'd have a son to carry on his name. I'm not sure how, exactly, he thought he'd have any control over that, but…" she trailed off and shook her head once more. "Dennis, I don't care. You're my son, and all I really want is for you to be happy. If being with Tom is what you want, I'm happy for you."

For a moment, Booker couldn't do much more than blink, giving time for her words to register with his tired mind. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced at Tom for help, but the other man just shrugged, so he returned his attention to his mother. "Thanks. I, uh, I'm sorry I snapped at you the other night. A lot going on and…" He gave up. "Thanks. About dad…"

"Dennis, if he were here, he'd be happy for you too."

"Yeah, well, I'm not so sure about that."

"Dennis—"

"Forget it." With everything that had happened in the last few days, and his meeting with Greene tomorrow, he wasn't in the mood to talk about his father. "Doesn't matter anyway, right?"

She was quiet for a second. "I suppose not." The apartment fell into an awkward silence until she spoke again. "I should be going. I just wanted to tell you…"

"Yeah, we need to eat and get some sleep." He appreciated his mother coming and all, but really didn't feel up to dealing with the whole situation – no matter how nice and understanding she was being. Though it might be preferable to the conversation he knew he and Tom would be having once she left…

"Yes, you look like you need it." Hesitantly, she raised a hand and rested it on his shoulder for just a second, before moving it to the doorknob. "Good night Tom, Dennis."

"Night."

"Night, mom."

As she left, Dennis started to head back to the kitchen, only to have Tom grab his arm and pull him down onto the couch. "You all right?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Oh, I don't know," Hanson replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Would you like me to make a list?"

"Tom—"

"Dennis—"

Booker glared at him briefly, then sighed. "Fine. What?"

Tom was quiet for a moment before he answered. "Tell me why you acted like that about your dad?"

"Acted like what? I didn't do anything!"

"Not tonight. Thursday, at your mom's place."

"Oh. That."

"Yeah, that." Hanson slid sideways a bit, clearing more space for Dennis between him and the arm of the couch. "What upset you that much?"

"Just… I know what he'd say. I tried to tell him, back…" he trailed off. "Well, I tried to talk to him about it, not so much tell him."

"When?"

"After… after everything… everything with Schenck. Even before that happened, I was starting to realize that I, uh…" He stopped and took a deep breath. "I mean, I was only thirteen, but I was starting to figure things out. And then Schenck… and I think he started to figure it out too… some of the things he said to me…. After it was all over, I tried to talk to my dad about it. With everything that happened, I was pretty screwed up, and I was really confused. But every time I brought anything up, he'd go off about how gays were disgusting fags and perverts and… pretty much didn't deserve to live." He sighed. "When I finally figured everything out for myself… junior year of high school or so, I was glad dad wasn't around."

"You really think he'd feel that way about you being gay?"

"Yeah, I do." Unconsciously, he hugged his arms to his chest. "You don't know my dad, Tom."

"Tell me about him."

"He never said things he didn't mean. He was the most… controlled, I guess, person I've ever met, except with me. With me, sometimes with mom but not as much, he'd lose his temper a lot, over nothing."

"So you said." Dennis shot his boyfriend a questioning look, but Tom just shrugged it off. "Never mind."

"No, what?"

"Friday… when you told me the whole story, you mentioned a little about your dad."

"Oh." He had a vague recollection of what little he'd said during their conversation, and realized he'd probably given Tom a less-than-accurate image of his father. "He wasn't usually like that. I mean, he'd yell and all, but didn't usually get… physical unless I really deserved it. I don't know what his problem was then; I figure it probably had to do with whatever made him leave."

"Sure."

"I mean it, Tom. He was a good guy… more or less. He just – he had to let go somewhere, and it ended up being with us. Couldn't really be anywhere else."

"How do you mean?"

Dennis took a long time in answering; for the first time that he could remember, he was really uncertain about telling his boyfriend something. "Tom, promise me you won't say anything."

"Do you really have to ask?"

"Yes."

Hanson was clearly taken aback by his response, but nodded. "Of course I promise." He shook his head. "Babe—"

"My dad was in the mob, Tom."

His lover's reaction was more or less what he'd expected – dead silence, wide eyes, slightly stunned expression. "Wow," he finally managed. "I can safely say that that never occurred to me."

"I didn't figure it would've." He picked up the television remote off the table and toyed with it. "He was a good guy, Tommy. I miss him, y'know? I'm pissed as fuck at him sometimes, but…"

"It's understandable."

Dennis pulled the battery cover off the back of the remote, then replaced it, and repeated the movement, not stopping until Tom reached over, covering his hand with his own.

"Babe?"

"Nobody's heard from him in ten years." His voice sounded so soft to his own ears that he wondered for a second if Tom could even hear him. "I remember going with my mom to city hall the day he was declared legally dead."

His boyfriend's eyes went wide. "I didn't realize—"

"When he left, he didn't take anything with him. He just… disappeared. No trace. The investigation was closed after a couple weeks. Nobody gave a shit about a two-bit mobster who was probably at the bottom of the river. Seven years go by…" he trailed off and shrugged.

Tom didn't seem to have a reply to that, so they sat quietly for what felt like hours, but it ended up being him who broke the silence. "That part of why you think your dad killed Schenck?"

"Yeah." Booker leaned back against the couch and glanced toward the ceiling. "What's it say about me that I don't care?"

"That you're human. Dennis, you were a kid. The guy'd been molesting you for months. Do you really think anyone would expect you to cry over him dying?"

"Difference between not caring that he's dead and not caring that my dad killed him."

Tom really didn't have a reply to that, and in the end Dennis brought the conversation to a close when he headed to the kitchen, less for food and more to escape – and for a drink to calm his nerves about tomorrow.