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.

RedRose - Here you go :) Sorry it took so long. Got busy with real life :(

Fanfic Fish - Glad you liked it. I always enjoy writing powerful scenes... I love the intensity - I feel it even when I write, y'know? And Dennis will find his mother's feelings on the stituation to be very important rather soon...

Nina - Strained, definitely. And I see Booker as getting sort of hostile when he's upset, especially about something so personal. Caught the drinking thing, did you? >whistles innocently> And you're right, it's all very, very intertwined...

Daizia - Well, Dennis will need his mother's support soon. I won't tell you why :-P As for his dad, well, that will all come into play at a much later time >whistles> I love to toss in little details here and there, and it's nice to see people notice them :) As for Tom needing to be there for Dennis, yeah, definitely >evil grin>

island-of-corfu - It's fun to write the guys together, both in serious situations like the end of the chapter and the more lighthearted moments like the beginning. There was so much humor in the show, it needs to be present in any story written about these guys.

head in the cloud - Thanks! I'm really glad you like it, especially considering your preconceived thoughts about the whole thing. :) Their friends' attitudes will continue to play a major role for a while, too. :)

Chapter 18

"I'm fine. Really." Hanson sat down in one of the chairs in front of Fuller's desk. "No lasting effects of the drug – except not remembering anything from while I was on it. I'm fine. Even the doctor said so."

"The doctor wanted you the hell out of the hospital," the Captain retorted.

"Well… yeah," Tom admitted. "But he wouldn't have said I was okay if I wasn't. Coach, I'm fine, and I want to finish this case."

"I don't know how good an idea that is, Hanson. Having you in is looking like a risk I don't know we should be taking."

"I can handle it."

"Hanson, we had five officers at that house, and it still ended up with you being taken to the hospital in an ambulance. Just when are you going to start handling it?" The words were harsh, but the tone of the older man's voice kept them from being the rebuke they otherwise might have been.

"Coach, I'm sure Joanne knows why her sister is dead, and if you pull me out now, we're never going to find out. And—" Tom broke off, trying to sort his thoughts out in his head before giving voice to them.

"And what?" Fuller crossed his arms and looked him in the eye.

"And… I think Joanne's got some serious problems, and if you pull me out now and we don't find out who killed Leslie, she's not going to get help."

"Serious problems how?"

Tom drummed his fingers on the desk, thinking over his words. "I think she's unbalanced. I don't want to sound like a jerk, but she developed this weird sort of obsession with me over the course of a couple hours. I don't know, it just seems like she'll do whatever to get her way, and she doesn't quite get that what she does is wrong."

Fuller frowned. "Hanson, if you're right, this case goes down the drain with an insanity plea."

"Does that matter?" Tom met his eyes. "I really think she needs help, Coach, and if that means she goes to a hospital instead of jail, then… well, good."

The older officer looked thoughtful. "You feel that strongly about it?"

"Yeah." Hanson gave a short nod. "I don't know what her problem is, really – what's going on in her head – but I think she needs help." He couldn't help but think about Diane, and Christine. He and Dennis had a habit of running into these kind of headcases.

"All right. I'm going to keep you in for now, on one condition – whether she's crazy or not, she's dangerous, and I'm not sure which one is worse. Be careful. Keeping your cover intact isn't worth getting yourself killed. This case isn't worth getting yourself killed."

Tom rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. "Got it, coach."

As he stood up, Fuller gave him a searching glance. "Everything all right, Hanson?"

"Just got a bad feeling about this afternoon, with Greene." He hesitated, thinking that Dennis might kill him for this. "Booker's armed."

"So Penhall said." The Captain folded his arms across his chest. "He tell you why?"

"Just that he had a—"

"Bad feeling," Fuller finished for him. "Yeah. That's all anybody ever has around here lately."

Hanson shrugged. "A couple of tough cases, coach." That was putting it mildly. "We can't be bouncing around here throwing paper airplanes at each other all the time."

"Thank God for small favors," he replied. "Get out of here, Hanson, and get some rest. Something tells me you're going to need it this week."

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Completely absorbed in methodically picking apart one of the slices of bread in his sandwich, Dennis didn't bother to look up as Penhall sat down across from him. "You, uh, you holding up okay?"

"Fine." He tore the crust off and popped it into his mouth, then opened his milk carton, taking a long drink. The last thing he wanted was to deal with Penhall.

Actually, the last thing he wanted was for Penhall to know. But there wasn't much he could do about that now.

"You know, Fuller… he wants me outside, listening. He seems kinda worried, you know, about…"

"About what?" Dennis finally raised his eyes. When Doug didn't answer, he asked again. "About what?"

"Well, um, I guess…" He hesitated. "I think Fuller's maybe… a little worried you'll… you know, let it go too far… or something."

Booker blinked, surprised that Penhall had had the guts to say it – though his surprise wasn't enough to outweigh the aggravation. "Right, because I want to spend my afternoon getting pawed by that creep. No thanks."

"Booker—"

"Last I knew, Penhall, I was still a cop. I think I can handle Greene."

"Yeah, I mean, of course you can handle it. I guess they're just worried, y'know, considering…"

Dennis's eyes narrowed. "They're worried? Who's worried, Penhall?" He suspected, however, that he already knew the answer.

"Well, everybody. I mean, you kinda surprised us all when—"

"Who, Penhall?"

While it was still clear Doug didn't want to tell him, it was equally clear he was going to. "Fuller… and Hanson."

It was the answer he'd expected, but bothered him even more than he'd thought. "Tom told you that?"

Doug shrugged. "No. He didn't have to, though. When he came back into Fuller's office after he talked to you, it was pretty obvious."

Booker scowled, then pushed back his chair and stood. He was halfway to the cafeteria exit before he stopped and turned around. "I can handle, it Penhall. Don't interfere."

As he walked out, he momentarily slipped his hand into his jacket, resting it on the butt of his revolver. He could handle it – and he would.

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Today, Greene's class was last period, and Booker was glad. He wasn't sure he could face the man, then have to leave and come back. He wasn't sure he'd come back if that were the case.

But it wasn't, and he was sitting in a chair in the third row of Greene's class, staring at the clock and wishing it would skip right to 3:30 and he could be out of here and home, on the couch, with a beer in his hand – and a few under his belt – watching Monday night football.

"And that brings us to your next essay assignment." The announcement was met with groans – including one from Dennis. As Greene walked through the rows handing out printed sheets with the instructions, he elaborated. "You're to write a five-page paper addressing one major impact that the atmosphere and events of the 1960s had on the long-term political atmosphere and direction of the United States. You should have three sources, no more than two quotations per page, and should utilize notes from our class discussions. You have three weeks."

Dennis spent the rest of the class period folding the sheet into smaller and smaller squares, then unfolding it all the way, and repeating. Right before the bell rang, he shoved it into his notebook, and as the students packed up, leaving their desks and muttering to each other about the horrible assignment and how they didn't have any idea when they'd get it done, he stayed right where he was.

It was several minutes between when the room had finally emptied and when Greene spoke to him. "Dennis, why don't you move up here?"

Slowly, he gathered his things up and relocated, dropping them onto a desk right in front of Greene's. He sat down, and when Greene told him to turn to the first chapter, did so wordlessly. It was another minute or two before the teacher spoke again.

He got out of his chair, headed for the door and locked it, then returned and knelt down next to Dennis. "Now, tell me honestly, how much of the book you've actually read."

Dennis glared at the text, feigning frustration with it. "All of it – to where we are now, anyway."

"So what's the problem? What are you having the most trouble with?"

"All of it. I can memorize the dates but it's… it's stuff like the paper you just gave us, y'know?"

"So, actually understanding how everything fits together is where the difficulty is." He frowned. "Let's start with the paper topic. The sixties – the era of sex, drugs, and rock and roll. The protests against the Vietnam War, and free love. What do the two have in common?"

"Make love not war?" Dennis asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well… yes, that's one way of looking at it, and that's more or less what I was getting at. But there's something more, less social and more political, if you will."

Booker just gave him a blank look, and the man sighed. "It… the sixties were about throwing off authority and rules, in a way. If the government hadn't gotten involved in Vietnam, there probably would have been protests against their inaction."

It was an interesting point, though Dennis doubted the validity of it. "I don't know…"

"Dennis, how well do you normally do in school?"

"I get by."

At that, Greene made his first move. He rested a hand on Dennis's knee. "Tests and papers and classes are just naturally difficult for some people. And, sometimes, those people just struggle through. Others… find different ways." He stood slowly and moved behind Booker, and when his hands rested on his shoulders, Dennis was no longer twenty-three and a cop. He was thirteen again, and scared to death.

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When the final bell rang, Doug positioned himself just outside the door, moving away slightly when he heard the door close. After a moment, he moved back – and stayed there for all of forty-five seconds.

A student – one of the boys who'd accused Greene of propositioning him – came tearing down the hall, yelling for anyone who would listen. Doug stepped away from the wall and caught his arm, shaking the boy and asking him what had happened. After two or three tries, he managed to grasp that someone had been hit by a car in the parking lot.

Glancing at the closed classroom door, unable to see Booker or Greene, he sighed and made a quick decision. Uttering a silently apology, he followed the boy outside.

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Booker stared at the chapter title, fighting to keep his mind focused on the present, instead of the images that overwhelmed his mind. "What… what… different… ways?" He prayed his voice sounded more steady to Greene than it did to him, unlikely though that was.

"Other, non-academic ways, Dennis." With those words, Greene mimicked almost to the letter what Schenck had done to him years before. His hands slid down Dennis's chest, down inside his shirt. "You're a good-looking boy, Dennis. I like good-looking boys."

His heart pounding up into his throat, Booker struggled to maintain his breathing. "What… what do you…"

Greene's answer was to move from behind Dennis to beside him, and to relocate his hands to rest on his thigh, and that movement was enough. Booker was on his feet so quickly the chair fell back, hitting the floor with a crash that should have brought Penhall running. He grabbed the man's wrist, shoving him backward and up against the wall, pinning him, his forearm across the man's throat. With his left hand, he yanked his badge from his pocket. "You're under arrest, pal."

Before he could say another word, he heard the door open and shut behind him. "About damn time, Pen—"

He broke off when he glanced over his shoulder and saw Adler standing on the opposite side of the room, gun extended, held by a shaky hand.

Greene took advantage of his momentary surprise to shove him back and move away, but he halted a moment later when Booker managed to draw. "Freeze!"

They stood in silence for a moment, Greene not daring to move with two guns trained on him, one held by a desperate boy and the other by a trained, and angry, adult man. Dennis finally spoke, when Adler started to advance on Greene. "Kyle, I'm a cop. I was sent here, because of what he did to you." He shook his head, keeping the gun steady. "It's over. He's going to go jail."

Adler shook his head. "Not good enough." There were tears in his eyes, and as he stopped in front of Greene, a few slipped down his cheeks.

In a split second, Dennis decided to take a chance with the kid. "I know."

"No, you don't!" Kyle was crying now, his shoulders shaking even as he miraculously managed to keep his weapon aimed.

"Yes, I do." He kept his voice flat. "I had the same thing happen to me. I know what you're thinking right now, and this guy deserves whatever you want to do to him." He paused as Adler's grip on the gun actually tightened. "But if you kill him, you let him completely ruin your life – and you can't get that back." Where the hell is Penhall?

"He already ruined it! I can't get it back!"

"Yes, you can. I know. It'll take a long time, but you can. I did."

"No. No. I can't." Adler's finger tightened on the trigger, and as it did, Dennis saw Greene move toward Kyle. "Hold it!" When the teacher froze once more, Booker returned his attention to the boy. "Kyle, I'm gonna arrest him. He's gonna go to jail; he's not gonna get away with this. If you kill him, all you'll be doing is letting him screw your life up even more. Don't do it."

His words seemed to finally penetrate Adler's mind, and he started to lower the gun. Before Dennis had a chance to move, though, Greene had lunged forward, grabbing for the weapon.

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Reaching the parking lot and the car stopped half on the pavement, half on the grass, Doug knelt beside the boy who was sitting, leaning against a tire. "What happened?"

"I, um… the car…" he glanced up at the other boys, then back at Penhall. "I jumped… out of the way, before it hit me."

Doug frowned, looking the kid over. He didn't seem to have a scratch. "You want we should call an ambulance, or something?"

His eyes went wide. "No! I mean, I'm okay… nothing broke or anything, y'know? And I don't… I don't want Greg to get in trouble. I think he's already got scared enough."

Something strange was going on here, but he couldn't put his finger on it. "Okay, then." Still frowning, he stood up, and started back toward the school, tossing glances over his shoulder and unable to shake the bad feeling he had.

He was almost to the entrance when a loud crack split the air. His step faltered for a second before he broke into a run, spurred on by a second gunshot.