Warning: Slash (homosexual content), rape, depression, suicidal thoughts, 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

Chapter 20

Booker didn't have the chance to listen to messages, even if he'd wanted to. Hanson was already there, sitting on the couch inside his apartment waiting for him, when he got home. "Hey."

"How was your day?" Dennis asked, not that he had any interest whatsoever in talking about his own.

"Well, most of the day my head felt like it was gonna explode, compounded by Joanne yelling at me – yelling at me! – for drinking too much." He shook his head. "All in all, not as exciting as yours." There was no smile in his eyes or humor in his voice. "Doug told me what happened."

Dennis shrugged and crossed the floor, making his way toward the kitchen. He took out the same bottle of Jack that Tom had wrestled away from him the other night. Not bothering with a glass, he took a long swig straight from the bottle. "Shit."

Behind him, Hanson sighed. "Not this again."

Locking his jaw, Dennis kept his back to his lover. "Lay off, Tom."

"No. You have your way and you'd keep drinking and keep shutting me out and, sorry man, but that's not gonna fly with me." Tom took a couple steps forward and reached a hand out, resting it on the bottle. "Let go."

"No." Booker yanked it away and half-stumbled backward, taking another long drink. This time Tom made no move to stop him, and he took a third sip. "I should have known he was going to do that."

"Why?" Hanson had apparently given up on the drinking thing – for the moment anyway – and was glad just to have him talking. "Why should you have known?"

"I just should have. And… even if I didn't, when he came in, I shouldn't have lost control of the situation like that."

"Yeah, and Penhall shouldn't have been taken in by those kids, either, but he was and you did – not that you could have kept control of it anyhow. Dennis, what happened isn't your fault. It's not your fault what Greene did to Adler, and it's not your fault Adler brought a gun to school, and it's not your fault Greene went for it."

Tom reached out and took Booker's free hand. "Look, babe, Adler is going to be fine, and some good will probably come of this. Greene's going down – there's no question about that – and Adler's parents will get him some help, which he obviously needs."

Dennis sighed and took another long drink, deliberately avoiding his boyfriend's eyes. He never replied and, after one last sip, clanked the bottle down on the counter and walked out of the kitchen.

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Dennis sighed and shifted in his chair, fully aware of the additional attention his black eye had gotten him from a couple of the girls in his class. More than that, though, he was aware of the additional attention it had gotten from Schenck – not for the first time and, with his luck, not for the last.

He spent the last half hour of class doodling on his notebook, scribbles and geometric shapes that served to do little more than distract him from the thoughts running through his mind. Then the bell rang, and he was up and out of his chair, not bothering even to shove his books into his bag; he was determined to be the first one out of class and not get trapped into another awkward conversation – if you could call it that – with Schenck.

The effort was entirely in vain. He wasn't able to lose himself in the flow of students before his instructor saw him, despite actually making it into the hall and thinking he was home free. "Dennis, could I speak with you for a moment?"

No, he replied mentally, though he stopped in the middle of the corridor. He ignored the instinct to run as he walked slowly back toward the classroom. "What?"

"Your manners are underwhelming," Schenck replied dryly.

"So they tell me." Dennis had long ago given up all pretense of ignoring the tension between them.

The older man, resting a hand on his shoulder, guided him back into the classroom and shut the door, and Dennis suddenly started to feel a little claustrophobic. "Sit down," he said gently, sounding almost kind. The claustrophobia dissipated, replaced by nausea.

He sat, clutching both sides of the desktop so hard his knuckles went white, and Schenck knelt down in front of him. A hand appeared on his knee, then moved toward his thigh. "Your father – he hit you again, didn't he?"

Dennis shrugged it off, but nodded when Schenck persisted. "Don't matter."

"Yes it does." His teacher reached out with his other hand, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "He shouldn't do that."

"Pot. Kettle." Booker glared, and Schenck raised an eyebrow.

"It's not hardly the same thing, Dennis."

He choked back what he really wanted to say and shrugged instead. "Whatever."

"Was it because of your test?" the instructor asked slowly, and after a long silence, Dennis nodded.

"Like usual." He kicked himself the moment the words crossed his lips.

"We can change that." The hand on Dennis' thigh moved inward, a light caress over his jeans, before slipping between his legs. Tears welled in the young man's eyes, but he didn't pull away. "Let me help you, Dennis."

He wanted to say no; he should say no. He should kick the guy in the jaw and take off. But he didn't move when Schenck's hand grew heavier, the touching more insistent; he didn't turn his head when the man leaned up to kiss him; he didn't make a sound as Schenck unfastened his jeans…

Dennis jolted up in bed, struggling for air that couldn't quite reach his lungs past the lump in his throat. Beside him, he felt Tom shift and slowly sit up. He jerked away from the hand that found its way to his back and climbed out of bed, still breathing heavily and fighting down panic.

He crossed the floor to reach the window and stared out, ignoring the cold breeze coming through the screen.

It was a minute or two before he heard the faint creak of the floor that signaled his lover's approach. He felt a hesitant hand on his back, and when he didn't pull away, Tom's arms circled his torso, coming to rest on his stomach. His boyfriend lightly rested his chin on his shoulder. "You okay?"

Dennis thought about lying, but Tom wouldn't believe him regardless. "No." His voice was hoarse, and the single word came out as barely even a whisper. To his dismay, he felt tears fill his eyes, and swiped at them with the back of his hand.

"Schenck?" Hanson asked gently, the softness of his voice taking away some of the pain he normally associated with the name.

"Yeah."

Tom moved a bit closer, his arms tightening just a bit. "Want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Okay." He felt his boyfriend's lips brush lightly against his bare shoulder. "Come back to bed, Dennis."

Instead of moving or in any way even acknowledging the request, Dennis whispered instead, "I let him."

"Babe—"

"I could have fought him, or something. I didn't even say no, Tommy."

"You were thirteen, Dennis. You cannot blame yourself for this. He was your teacher. He took advantage of what he knew about you, and he molested and raped you." Tom was speaking clinically, as a police officer first and his lover second, but on the last words, Dennis heard his voice break. "What he did to you was not your fault. The guy was slime, and whatever happened to him – whoever did it – he deserved what he got, and there's not a person alive who would say any different."

"Part of me… just wanted to let Adler kill Greene."

"That's understandable," Tom replied. He released Dennis, raising his hands to Booker's shoulders, and Dennis leaned back into his touch. "Remember the girl I told you about – the one who asked me to kill her father?"

"Yeah." He didn't move, just stared harder out the window.

"Doug was on my case about not going to him and Fuller right after she asked me. When he found out why she wanted him dead, he said, 'Maybe you should kill him. Maybe I'll do it for you.'" Tom kneaded his back gently. "Despite how badly everything went down, Doug and the Captain and me – we didn't shed any tears over it. And if there wasn't a part of you that wanted to see Greene get what he deserved, I'd be worried about you."

"Cops aren't supposed to wish people dead."

"Bullshit. If you can show me one person in the department who hasn't, I'll…"

"You'll what?" Dennis finally turned to face him.

"I'll think of something when it's not three a.m."

"That a hint?"

"Come back to bed, babe. You gotta deal with Fuller in the morning."

Booker eyed him, frowning. "Are you trying to give me nightmares?" But he followed Tom back to bed and felt slightly comforted as his boyfriend slipped an arm around his shoulders once they were back under the sheets.

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"As I said yesterday," Dennis didn't miss the pointed glance the Captain sent in his direction, "you two are warming the bench for a few days. Wrap up your paperwork and make yourselves available for any questions they have downtown – and there will be questions. Lots of 'em." His expression softened slightly, looking a little sad, before he turned his attention to Hanson. "Where do we stand with your case?"

"I have a date with Joanne tomorrow night." Tom hesitated. "There's something weird about it; she's being really insistent and secretive."

"Any way you can take backup?"

"Only with a tracer. She's driving and I have no idea where we're going."

The Captain heaved a sigh. "I don't like it, Hanson."

"Well, me either. Waking up in the hospital this weekend wasn't exactly my idea of a good time. But I think this is it, and I don't have any other idea of how to end it." Tom glanced around the table. "Now I know what to look for, and I'll be ready for her to try something."

"Being ready might not be enough, Hanson," Judy interrupted. "We were all pretty ready for her to do something this weekend, but it still happened."

Hanson pushed back his chair and threw up his hands as he stood. "Look, if you don't want to let me do my job, what's the point of keeping me on the case? Why don't we just close the case and file it away, and let someone downtown go over to the Crisals and tell them no one's ever going to find out why one of their daughters is dead?"

As much as he didn't want to admit it, Dennis knew Tom was right. If they ever wanted to find out what had happened in the parking lot that night, Hanson had to do this. Just like he'd had to face Greene on Monday, no matter how difficult it was – and how badly it had turned out. "He's right," he said. "Either Hanson does it or we may as well close the book on the whole damn thing."

The nagging feeling that had appeared when he started to speak now felt like a lead weight in his gut. Something was going to go wrong. He glanced first toward Penhall, then Jude and Harry, studiously avoiding his boyfriend. They wore identical expressions, neither trying to hide their discomfort with the plans for tomorrow, and for the first time he didn't have the urge to disagree with Doug just to disagree.

After a long silence, Fuller finally nodded. "All right. I don't like it, but all right. You're wired and Hoffs and Ioki are following you all night."

"No wire." Dennis looked up, surprised at Judy's interruption.

Apparently, Fuller was surprised too. "What?"

"You haven't seen this girl, Captain. She's all over him like white on rice. If he's wired, she'll find it."

"He can't go in cold," Booker protested. This sounded too much like his night with Christine.

"I don't have a choice," Hanson argued, and Dennis had to look away, knowing his relationship was clouding his judgment. "If I don't, then our case is history. Besides, if Jude and Iokage tail me, it'll be fine."

Dennis looked to Fuller, hoping their captain would put an end to the idea once and for all, but the man just nodded, looking a mix of tired and resigned. "All right. But if you even think that something might go wrong, you get out and don't worry about blowing your cover."

"Got it, Coach." Hanson nodded, and Booker couldn't help but notice how intently Tom didn't look his way.