Disclaimer: Blah. I own only that not mentioned, introduced, or known in Jump Street.
Summary: A phone call is all it takes for something good to go wrong and the truth to be revealed. M/M.
A/n: I feel like a right bitch, not being able to respond to any of your comments, so I'd like to thank every one. You guys do seriously rock! Finally, just before I was about to post this, ffnet allowed me to receive alerts and reviews and stuff. Made my day, it did. Heh. So now I can respond XD.
- - -
To be Used
Chapter Three.
Booker
Tom stared into his bathroom mirror; six a.m. sunlight streaming in from the window, creeping over his furniture to Tom's naked chest. Melting into his honey complexion, accentuating his fine features, rounding his sharp edges, pooling in the dents of his spine and ribs.
His face stared tiredly back at him, water dripping off the end of his nose and chin. Steam rising from him, smothering him in wispy clouds. Droplets of water rolled down his back, falling down his legs to pool at his feet. The tied towel around his pelvis slipped slightly, rich brown matching his eyes.
He rubbed lazily at the fogged mirror, emitting a harsh squeak. His hand fell to the still slightly swollen area of his right sided jaw. He ran a thumb over the patchwork of browns and blues and a tinge of green on the bone of his jaw. It was still raw and angry. He shifted his hand slightly, so his index finger rested on the plump, swollen bottom lip. Dark circles stained from where the blood had dried and was trying to heal. It looked like a shammed Collagen job.
He turned from his reflection, leaving hollow, sunken, black eyes. He had spent all of last night and the better part of the morning thinking about what had happened last night; to him, to Doug. To them.
He shuffled from the bathroom to his bedroom. He had spent a lot of it recalling any other times he had sensed Doug wanting to hit him, and could only recount two or three that had genuinely, almost spitefully, been evoked on Tom's behalf. Then he had gone over everything he had said and done in the last week, trying to think of what he had done wrong. All he could remember was the coffee he had spilt on Doug, and been forgiven for, and mentioning Cynthia. But was there something else he had skimmed, over looked, not thought much of?
He ran a hand through his hair, not bothering to close his bedroom door. He had then spent the early hours of the morning trying to come up with a legitimate excuse, a reason for the blemish on his face. He had thought of covering it with make up, but it was flawed by two things; he didn't have any make up, and had no idea what color, brand or how to apply it.
He pulled on a pair of ripped jeans, especially ripped he mused. He had done them, to fit in at the high school, but had grown attached to them and fell in love with the look, the attitude. Truth be known, he didn't mind playing Tommy McQuaid. He often found himself wishing to be him, wanting to act like him and maybe it wouldn't hurt if he did. He could use a new attitude, one that didn't get hit so easily, and didn't take it so lightly either. However, Tom Hanson seemed destined for the vulnerable, docile boy he was underneath it all.
His heart ached as he pulled on a red tank top with mini sleeves, damp hair falling in his eyes. He still didn't know why Doug had done that too him, after all the promises of never hurting him, after knowing what Tom's past had been like. He supposed it was something he had done, and would just have to work hard at fixing. He didn't know not to blame himself.
He pulled on a much loved leather jacket, tucking a white bandana in the inside pocket. Normally, he would have worn it out, hair falling over the top, but he couldn't remember if he was going to 'school' today. He couldn't remember what day it was to begin with. In fact, he couldn't remember much of last night, not even how he had made it home and to his bed. All he remembered was Doug. Doug's attitude, Doug's words, Doug's backhand.
Tom gave his hair a ruffle, grabbing the towel and getting the worse of wetness off. Grabbing his keys and heading out, he closed and locked his apartment door. He waved to a neighbor a few doors down, keeping his face in the shadows. Pulling the collar of his jacket up around his neck, he gave the building door a kick, harsh wind whipping in his face, wet hair chilling his neck.
He jogged to the car as a light drizzle of rain fell. Tom fumbled for the keys, jogging on the spot; chilled. He sniffed heavily; it would be only his luck to get a cold right now, in the middle of this mess. He squinted into the sky, twisting the key. It seemed to always rain when things got low, when loves fire burned out.
Reversing and pulling into a wide left, Tom left his apartment, nervously tapping his steering wheel. He had no idea what today would bring him, what Doug would.
- - -
"Hanson?"
"Hanson!"
"Hey Tomm-" Ioki's voice faltered as he, Judy and Booker stared into the bruised face of their partner. Tom at this moment felt like falling into a swallowing dark hole and was almost tempted to search for one.
"Nice day today." The rain outside was forming into hail stones.
Judy's eyes softened, features relaxing, mouth turned in an apologetic smile, "What happened Tom?" He fought the urge to look down, ashamed and guilty.
A menacing smile crept onto Booker's lips, "Yea Tommy boy, what happened? Get on the wrong side of the law?"
"Shut it Booker!" Judy's sudden reproachful, scornful voice beat Tom's. She softened again, turning to him with worried eyes, "Everything okay?"
"Yea," he forced a smile, "'Course it is. Just had an accident."
"Yea with someone's fist," Booker's murmur was silenced by both Ioki's and Judy's glares.
"No," Tom made a glare of his own, "I just learnt that you never keep high cupboard doors open. Very dangerous. Especially if one happens to be the height of the cupboard door and if they also happen to be tearing around the corner."
Ioki nodded, shaking his head in mock disapproval, "You're a worry Tom."
He smiled sheepishly, "Someone's gotta be."
Judy was not entirely convinced, "You sure Tom? That doesn't look much like a doors mark. You didn't get into a fight did ya?" she narrowed her Bambi eyes, "You know you can tell us if you did right? We wouldn't mind, we'd help you out and-"
Tom's eyes widened and narrowed, uncomfortable at her overbearing ways and accusing tone. He glanced feebly at Ioki, needing some form of help. His lips turned up in an apologizing, "get-rid-of-her," smile, right side of his mouth aching.
"C'mon Judes, give it a rest. The guy obviously can't maneuver his way around his own apartment. Leave the clown to his juggling." Tom beamed in thanks.
Judy, however, eyed him suspiciously, "Yea, yea I guess so…But if you need something, or if you're in trouble…"
He nodded, "Thanks Judy, I'll remember." He took a seat at his desk, sitting restlessly. Fingers drumming on the desk, lips vibrating at his odd sounds, head turning in boredom. "Hey," he queried, "Where's Doug?"
"Talking to Fuller about something, don't know what, but he seemed distressed." Judy had already buried herself back in the paperwork.
"Don't worry Tom; your lover boy is coming back. You'll be able to touch him soon." Booker's sneer caused Tom to smirk back nastily, eyes squinted.
"Oh, but I'd much rather be touching you Dennis," Tom had learnt that the best way to deal with Booker's homosexual references, was to dish it back to him, always emitting an embarrassed blush or, on the better days, silence.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you Hanson." It was complimented by a furious blush.
"Much so," Tom took a seat at his own desk, searchingthrough the papers, new and old, on his desk, "but I don't think now's the right time, y'know?"
"Bloody fag," Booker uttered.
"You know Book, those who make fun of others sexuality are usually trying to hide there own." Ioki's casual comment and wide grin only made Dennis see red and Tom laugh, even getting a small one from Judy.
"Don't psycho-bullshit me." Booker turned back to the form on his desk, end of conversation.
"But Captain!"
Three heads turned curiously to Fuller's door, wanting to hear more of the private discussion. They were returned with more silence, a few bangs, but otherwise silence.
Hanson was the first to turn back around, deep in thought. There were many things to be distressed about, but what had riled Doug? What had upset him to go and talk to Fuller? It could possibly be last night, Tom was almost sure it was, but then he had been the one on the receiving end of the 'domestic fight,' not Doug. He should be the one talking to Fuller, not him; but Tom never would; after all, Doug hadn't meant anything by it and he had led Doug to hit him. It wasn't Doug's fault. He chewed on the end of a biro, accidentally brushing against his bruise. He flinched back with a sigh- this would take some getting used to. He still couldn't believe Doug had lashed out at him, and had it not been for the bruise, he still wouldn't have. Tom shook his head, enough dwelling, that got people no where. It was time for work.
He picked up the sheet to his left, a request to fill in the questions about his descriptions of two weeks ago, April 18th, a day after the case of the missing girl, Caitlyn.
Your name?
Where were you at the time?
What were you doing at the time?
Why you were doing the above?
How are you situated with this victim (or other), day, date and time?
Tom sighed, writing his name in slow, printed letters. He really couldn't be bothered with trivial paper work, especially one that he and Doug had been working alongside with, still were trying to. A young girl, quiet enough to go unnoticed at the high school they were attending, had recently 'gone missing,' though most thought it to be a kidnap or murder. Doug and he had been working with a drug group that had flimsy connections with Caitlyn. One of the older boys had a locker near hers and a little bargaining had started. She would supply answers and a few distractions if they kept everyone off her back. It had been mutual, friendly and basic enough that Tom and Doug had no suspicions of anyone in the group, contrary to others opinions. Tom knew personally that Jake, one of the four other boys (not including Tom or Doug) had been very distressed over the whole incident.
What were you doing at the time?
Tom thought back. The bell had gone and they had all emerged from their different classes, Doug and Tom clearing a path as the younger students cowered back in fear. Getting nothing from their lockers, they had headed towards Jake Pepper, the oldest boy who had formed a type of friendship with Caitlyn. Then came Steven Lang and Michael 'Salty' Salthouse; brothers by everything but blood. They were the younger of the group but a good head taller than Tom, not that that was hard, he was the shortest, but only by a little as he so often defended. And then Luke Brawl, who lived up to his last name. Jeering and tormenting, they had left the grounds; without a second thought as to why Caitlyn hadn't been at school the last three days.
Tom threw his pen down; he should've seen it coming. Should've known something was wrong when Caitlyn, lover of school, hadn't shown up. This girl was so hungry for information she showed up when she was sick. He should've checked into this more, should've known.
"Hanson! Get in here!"
Tom was thrown from his musings by Fuller's voice. Wearily he heaved himself up, heading to the beckoning voice. He passed Doug and managed a weak smile, wishing the conflict between them over; but Doug didn't even glance at him, simply walked out of the office all together. Narrowing his eyes, he glanced a last time over his shoulder before closing the door to Fuller's office.
"Sit down Tom."
He quirked an eyebrow. So it was strictly business then, no cup of tea or scone. He did as he was asked, sitting down and trying not to fidget.
"That's some bruise you got there," there was a tone in his voice that Tom did not like.
"I only go for the best," he forced a side smile.
A tense moment passed where Fuller shuffled through some papers, finally letting them fall into a sloppy pile. Hands folded he stared at Tom. "Doug wants off the case. Doesn't want to work with you."
Each word was like a bullet through his heart. He was sure there was a more eloquent way to put it. He stumbled a bit over his words, unable to form a sentence. Doug didn't want to work with him? But why? What had he done, other than last night? And that had been such an accident, a stupid accident on his behalf. Couldn't Doug forgive him for that?
"W-Why?"
Fuller sighed, "I don't know Tom. He said for personal reasons he'd like to be pulled off the case, something about consequences of his actions-"
A flutter ran through his heart, hope soaring. Doug was scared he would hurt Tom again.
Fuller sighed again, "-that would occur if he wasn't, ah…separated from certain people…." He wrung his hands, knowing that the implement behind Doug's words was more than clear.
Tom's hope fell, shattering into a thousand invisible pieces. Doug wanted to be away from him, because he couldn't stand him. Had what he'd done been that bad? Had it been so inexcusable and unforgivable that Doug couldn't stand the sight of him? Had Doug Penhall finally had enough of him, stopped loving him and instead Cynthia?
"Oh, yea, a-, sure, yea, cool…whatever. You know, that's…fine." He let limp hands fall on his knees, "Sure, I mean, if that's what he wants he'd know best and hey, you know, a break could be good."
The older man sighed, able to see the pain in Tom's eyes, "May I ask you something Tom?" he received a nod and continued, "What exactly is your relationship with Officer Penhall?"
Tom swallowed, taking a moment to reply, "Just friends…at least I was pretty sure we were." Tom looked up into a skeptical look, quirked brow, "Honest Captain."
"Hanson."
He sighed, his thoughts muddled together. It was one thing to be hit by someone you loved, but then to have them break of a connection you both shared and loved, and so soon after yesterday's perfect morning. A morning where Tom had thought life couldn't get any better. And he was right, it only got worse.
"Would it matter?" he hated the defeated tone in his voice.
"No, not really," he stood, walking towards Tom, sitting on the end of his table, "It's just that he seemed pretty heated this morning, pretty determined not to be involved in this case, purely because of you it would seem. And you come in this morning with a shiner in a fairly unusual spot." He raised a lip slightly, "Especially for a door to hit."
Tom turned his head, trying to hide the fault on his face. "You heard?"
"How's Booker dealing? He does consider himself a ladies man."
"Fine," he turned to smile sheepishly, then it changed, "Really, sir, we're okay. It's probably just nothing. He's a little sick of me, I can be annoying, you know?"
"I do," he smiled his own, "I'm just concerned for my Officers, I can be considerate sometimes. I'm not always a yelling man." "Thank you," he was sincere.
"So what is your relationship?"
Tom cast his eyes down, "I don't know," he whispered, "I really wouldn't know right now." He wanted to cry then and there, cry for so many things over so many months. The trouble he had gotten into, the loneliness he had felt even with Doug or friends, then the disappearance of a beautiful, innocent, sweet girl, Doug's love, Doug's hate, the fight, the punch and now today. It felt like too much for him.
"It's alright Tom," he patted the officer's shoulder in concern, "Don't worry about it. Just about what's in front of you."
Tom nodded, pushing back the empty feeling, "So what happens now?"
"You work with Booker."
"…Oh…"
- - -
"No! No! Forget it! Just freakin' forget it!"
Tom sighed, shifting impatiently at the side of Bookers desk, "C'mon. I'm not exactly the cow jumping over the moon right now, this isn't my idea. If I had my choice you wouldn't even be here, but for god's sake, get up and get a move on." He knew his voice sounded hollow, shy of all the usual emotions he crammed into it, but he found himself uncaring. He only cared about Doug and what had happened to them.
Booker stood, rage filling his eyes, "Damn you Hanson. You screw everything up! I was perfectly content here."
The words hurt Hanson more than he showed; perhaps this was why Doug hated him so. He screwed everything up. "Yea, yea," he spoke tiredly, "Just move your arse. We're going door knocking."
"Oh, what fun," he replied icily, pulling on a jacket, "Haven't done that since I was a kid."
Tom pushed open the door, holding it for Booker, "I don't want your life story, just get a move on."
"Patience Tommy," he replied snidely.
Tom ground his teeth, resisting the urge to let the door fall back and smack Booker's face. He paced down the steps, a few in front of Booker and headed outside. Booker followed shortly, breath coming out in wispy clouds of fog, making for the car.
"No."
"What?" he stopped short, annoyed.
"We take the bus. If anyone recognizes me, or you, they'll know the car. And on the off chance they follow us…" he moved on, steps crunching on the ground, "We take the bus."
Booker's hand clenched, eyelids closed shut, "Serenity now," he murmured. Louder, "You better know what the hell you're doing. I don't wanna end up in the middle of New Mexico."
Tom brushed him off with a wave of his hand, a few meters ahead. Booker jogged to fall into his step, "Seriously. If I find myself where I ain't meant to be…"
Tom ran a hand through his hand, uncaring. His thoughts were still of Doug. He couldn't let this go, not this. He had to figure this out, make it work. He needed to piece together the black and white pieces of a love shaped jigsaw.
"Hello??"
"Hi." Hanson replied automatically. He stopped his steps, staring confusingly into Booker's amused eyes, "What?"
"Welcome back to the land of the living. See Alice and the white bunny? Or perhaps you paid a visit to the Mad-hatter; after all, you two share something in common."
Tom stared into demonic eyes, "Shut it." He restarted his footsteps, too tired to deal with insolence.
"Ooo, someone's cranky." He laughed bitterly, "Don't worry, I know how you feel." He smiled at Tom's risen eyebrows, "Yea, 'course I do. Been down that path before. You get into a brawl and the next day you feel like shit, can't believe it happened, don't know, or can't remember, why it happened and you're not sure who won. All you know, is you went down with some bruises, a bit of tenderness and you just hope you did double to the other guy."
Tom managed a smile, "Yea…" Booker wasn't far off.
"What's happening with you and Penhall?" he was pushing into unfamiliar, but curious, territory.
Tom shrugged, unfazed by the sudden topic change, "I don't know. I think I've just been real annoying lately. I can be like that."
There was not the tone of laughter like Tom had expected, but seriousness in Booker's voice, "Hanson, don't flatter yourself. You can't have been the cause of Penhall's distress, anger, loathing and solitude all in one morning."
"Yes I can." He forced the ache in his heart away.
"No wonder they hang shit on you behind your back," wild orbs flashed into Booker's, "Yea, they do. And can you blame 'em? You're so soft, subdued, and meek. You let people boss you 'round, even if you say you don't. Sure, you go against Fuller, you're a bastard to me and a whole bunch of junk that we're arresting kids for, but if you love someone, if you care for people, you let yourself be walked all over."
"I'm sorry," he met Booker's questioning gaze, "for being a bastard to you. You're just…" he didn't know what.
"Find to wind? So are you. Forget about it. Just…" he didn't know why he was saying this, but he had to, by some pushing force of nature, "Just don't let Penhall bring ya down, he's a jerk."
Tom bit his tongue, he wouldn't mention that Booker had also been a jerk, bringing him down, for so had Tom to Booker.
He smiled wryly, "I know." His hands dug deep into his pockets, "I can't help being like that," he referred to Booker's previous comment, "It's just that Jump street has become so involved in my life, you know? And I really care about the people there, and they affect me in everyway and I guess I'm happy to let them walk all over me. I never really had the proper 'American family,' and so far Jump Street, all you guys, are the nearest thing I've had to it. I'll do anything not to lose it, you know?"
"I know." He slowed his pace, Tom following, "I feel that way sometimes too. That your entire life revolves around five other people plus Blowfish and that without them you're really kinda non-existent. You love to hate everyone there, love to drive them round the bend, but in the end…" he trailed off.
Tom nodded, remembering past events, "You'd rather much spend a Christmas with them, no pudding, eggnog or tree, but just them. Instead of a gossiping, overwhelming, forced Christmas dinner with relatives you only see once a year."
"Yea…"
"Yea…"
Tom stopped at a bus sign, wishing he was at the one a two hundred meters done. The one with the shelter. Booker stopped alongside him, "We're not so different Tom," he said quietly, "Stop trying to make it seem that way."
.
Toying with this idea, but…
Tom may start falling for Booker, as hinted in the last line. And Doug of course won't be too happy about that, he still does, somewhere, love Tommy. Trust me; he has a reason for all of this aggressiveness, a valid reason...kinda.
But between admitting that reason and telling Tom, what happens between Booker and Tom? It's not all good I assure you.
…Now, I'm just playing with it, but let me please know what you think of it, or any suggestions about it. I'm not sure how many people dig the whole Booker/Tom idea.
Again, thanks for your kind as words. Always appreciated and loved! XD