Almost had this up before Christmas. But one day after is good enough. This chapter deals with the episode "A Big Disease With A Little Name." The episode that spawned the idea for this story. The chapter contains an overview of the episode. The conversation between Tom and Harley is taken directly from the episode. This chapter also includes a little bit of Christmas for the gang. Hope you enjoy.

Chapter Six

It had been a week since I had gotten out of the hospital back on September eighth. They released me four days after I woke, though I was still in considerable pain. The pain finally began to subside a few days later. But then I got hit with something else. A lot of something else. Having zippo desire to be anywhere near my own place, I was boarding at Doug's. As requested while still hospitalized. And it turned out to be one of my better moves because on the sixteenth of September…I came down with the plague. Okay, it wasn't the plague. I don't think you can "come down" with it anyway, but that's beside the point. I felt like crap. When I woke up that morning I did not want to get out of bed. I felt a lot like I did when I had mono. Yeah…that's just what I needed.

Doug put me up in what was supposed to be his bedroom. I didn't realize how serious he had been about me staying with him. He had cleaned out the room and put in a complete bedroom set. I didn't ask questions. I wasn't about to look that gift-horse in the mouth. (I wonder what the etymology is on that. I should look it up.) Doug didn't have to do any of this for me.

The bed was nice and comfy. And I did not want to get out of it.

But I was going to have to. That is unless I wanted to be covered in vomit. My stomach was churning. I made a beeline for the bathroom, barely making it. How in the world did I still have something sitting in my stomach? As I walked out of the bathroom the smell of bacon hit my nostrils. This did not go over well. I was back in the bathroom in a flash. It was going to be a long day. I hardly ate a thing that day. Everything made me nauseous. Douglas hopped right into mothering me.

The next few days were filled with vomiting and nausea. I tried to go back to work the following Monday, but it didn't last. I made it through the day as well as Tuesday and Wednesday, before my coughing (which had started on Saturday) got worse and my headaches wouldn't stay away. Jenko told me to stay home for the rest of the week. I whined, he threatened me. He, of course, won out in the end.

Thursday I had a stomachache, continued coughing and a few bouts of nausea and vomiting. And it wasn't about to end. Saturday brought continued coughing, a sore throat and the beginnings of profuse night sweats. I wasn't feeling any better by Monday. So that night, Doug decided that he wasn't going to put up with my whining about 'not wanting to go to the hospital' anymore and woke me up, as I had been sleeping all day, around eight that night.

"Tommy." He shook me. "Come on, get up. I'm taking you to the hospital."

I groaned that really whiney groan in response.

"Thomas. Come on. You need ta go." He rolled me over. Apparently, his thought was that if he looked me right in the eyes, I would comply. That would've worked had my eyes been open. "Come on, Tom. Yer going if I hafta carry you to the car."

And he meant it.

I slowly opened my eyes and coughed. "Ow…." My sore throat was getting worse.

He pulled me up into a sitting position. I sighed in defeat and swung my legs over the side of the bed. Then he tossed me my slippers.

"Doug, I feel like crap." My voice was hoarse.

"I know, Tom." He had my jacket in his hands. "That's why you need ta go to the hospital." He looked at me, worried. "It's been almost two weeks. None of it's goin' away and ya keep gettin' more stuff. You sound horrible."

"Okay, okay." Cough. A real nasty one. I felt like a lung was gonna come up.

Out the apartment, down the hall to the elevator, in the elevator down to the first floor, out the elevator, down the hall to the front entrance and out to my car; all the while my forehead is plastered to his shoulder and I'm making those "I don't feel good" sounds. You know, the kind little kids make when they're sick.

He opened the passenger side door. "Get in. And put yer seatbelt on."

"Yes, Dad," I grumbled hoarsely. And then coughed.

When I was a kid, I would always lay my head against the car window when I was tired, inevitably making myself sick to my stomach from the motion of the moving car. This always happened on long trips. Now, as an adult, it was about to happen on a very short one.

"Doug…." It was the same tone I used as a kid to my dad when I was about to throw up. "Doug…pull over. I'm gonna be sick."

The car was pulled over to the side of the road in a matter of seconds. And Doug was out of the car even faster. I slowly opened the door, and everything I'd eaten made its way back into the world.

"Well, at least you got yer head outta the car." Doug was leaning against the car, looking at me.

"Yeah…. Lucky me."

"Any more gonna come up?"

"No." I sat back up in my seat. "I'm good."

Doug closed my door and then got back in himself and we headed on to the hospital.

We sat in urgent care for I don't know how long. I didn't feel like lifting my head up enough to look at the clock on the wall and I wasn't wearing my watch. Not that I would have looked at it. And I didn't bother asking Doug. I really didn't care about the time.

I fell asleep before I was called.

"Tom. Tommy. Wake up."

"What?" I really hate being woken up.

"Yer bein' called back. Come on. It's yer turn, pal."

Doug had to pull me to my feet. I was a wee bit wobbly. And like at Doug's apartment, my head was plastered to his shoulder all the way to one of those stupid rooms.

It was routine doctor violation of my person. Okay, maybe "violation" is too strong of a word. It was a routine check up for someone who was sick. And I was fine with it. Until the doc decided to check out my lymph nodes to see if they were swollen. And not just the ones in my neck. Checking my neck was fine; same with my armpits. But when he told me to lie down so he could check the lymph nodes in my groin, I got a little anxious. At least I got to keep my pants on.

When the doctor mentioned the possibility of me having mononucleosis, Doug started snickering.

"Shut up, Douglas," I grumbled hoarsely.

The doctor eyed each of us curiously.

Doug answered. "Uh, he had mono back in the spring."

And then, in a moment of total uncoolness, the doctor chuckled. What did I do to deserve this? Granted, I'm nowhere near perfect; but come on…. I suppose it could be worse. After finishing his violation of my person—I mean, check-up, he gave me some antibiotics and sent me home. Which was exactly where I wanted to be the moment I set foot on the hospital grounds. Did I mention I hate hospitals?

I fell asleep on the way home. Doug tried to wake me up, but inevitably ended up carrying me up to the apartment. No one needs to make any comments about it, thank you. I was so out of it, I had no idea he had.

I tried eating later that afternoon, but my sore throat made it difficult. But I needed to eat. So Doug made me some egg drop soup, which turned out pretty good. My nausea was finally gone. My sore throat, coughing, night sweats and fever still lingered. And now I had a very annoying rash on my abdomen. Which I kept scratching and rubbing.

"What's with you?" Doug asked.

"I got a rash."

"Okay, lemme see." He lifted my shirt up and I made a face. Then he grimaced and grabbed the phone. I ignored him and continued to eat my soup. Or is it 'drink'? I mean, you don't eat liquid. Would 'sip' be appropriate?

"I just talked to the doc. He's gonna prescribe some medicated cream for yer rash. It should be ready by four." He picked up the lap tray and my now empty soup bowl. "You need to take a bath or shower."

"Do I stink or somethin'?" I said with a hint of sarcasm.

"Or somethin'," he replied, his sarcasm equaling mine. "No. But it'll make you feel better."

"Right." Cough.

The only thing more annoying than having to constantly hear someone coughing their head off is coughing my own head off. I was coughing so hard I thought blood was going to come up. Or I was just going to throw up. I preferred neither.

"You okay, pal?" Doug asked, rubbing my back.

I nodded. "Yeah."

"Why don't you go take that shower?"

"Yeah…."

Doug was right. That shower did make me feel better. At least, a little bit.

By the first full week of October I was finally feeling better all around. On the twelfth, I finally went back to work. I had been off for nearly a month. I was having a difficult time getting back into the swing of things, so Jenko decided to send me and Dougie on a simple drug-busting case. Which turned out to be a little more than just simple. The culprit isn't always who you think it is.

When I was finally back at work I was also finally back at home. My home. Which I wasn't entirely prepared for. That first night I had my first nightmare. They were back. I knew there was no way they'd be coming after me, but that didn't diminish my fears any. My nightmares felt so real. Before I went to bed each night, I'd pack my bag and set it by my bedroom door, just in case I felt it necessary to make flight to Doug's place. And each morning I would unpack it. I would wake up in a cold sweat in the wee hours of the morning and stare at the overnight bag sitting lifeless by my door. I don't know exactly what I was waiting for it to do. Each time I was startled awake in the middle of the night I was ready to bolt out the door and run to Doug's.

One night I did.

We had made the bust that day and I was exhausted. Mainly from having to chase down the moron. (I really hate it when they run.) I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. It was around three o'clock in the morning when I woke, screaming. My heart was pounding and I was drenched with sweat. I put my shows on as fast as I could, grabbed my gun from its spot, threw it in my bag, grabbed my badge and keys and rushed out the door. I soon found myself at Doug's door, knocking frantically. I honestly don't remember getting there.

A groggy Doug answered the door. "Hanson?"

I didn't say anything, just stared at him.

"Come on in."

I walked in, dropped my bag by the kitchen and laid down on the couch. He picked up a pillow and blanket that was sitting on the floor.

"I figured you'd make yer way over here at some point. How bad was it this time?"

"Bad enough to make me drive over here in the middle of the night." He gestured for me to sit up. "At least, I think I drove."

He sat down, placed the pillow on his lap and pulled me back down. "You think you drove?" He draped the blanket over me.

"I can't remember. I was kinda in a daze."

"That dream had to've scared the hell outta you," he said, rubbing my arm. "Do you wanna tell me about it?"

"Not really," I replied with a yawn.

"Okay."

I must have fallen asleep shortly after that because I don't remember any conversation until I woke up that morning. Doug hadn't moved from his position on the couch. I lifted my head and stared at him for a moment.

"Doug?"

He snorted, opened his eyes and looked at me. "Hey, pal," he said with a yawn. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah."

"Good." He looked ahead for a moment. "Now get off me. My legs hurt."

"No thanks. I'm quite comfortable here."

Doug leaned his head back. "You are so lucky we don't hafta go inta work today. And that I'm feeling nice."

I laid my head back down, facing the television, smiling. I felt a small sense of victory for some reason. I really don't know why, but I did.

He forced me up about an hour and a half later. I was sure I heard his stomach growling. "Get up. I'm hungry."

"I can hear that."

I was pleasantly shocked to find that Doug could actually cook. Well, at least make pancakes. "Hey, if there's one thing I know how ta make," he said to me, "it's pancakes." And scrambled eggs. He could make that, too. With cheese. And bacon. As long as he didn't put a roast in the oven, we were good.

My nightmares continued for quite awhile and I made a few more middle-of-the-night trips to Doug's. Those night's I went straight to Doug's after work and stayed overnight, I was free of those nightmares. The same went for those nights he crashed at my place. I guess I just felt safer when Doug was close by.

On November fourth I was given an assignment that three months later would make me feel like an ass.

Doug was going on and on about a girl he had seen but never met; I told him "love is a wonderful thing, don't screw it up. Don't call her". Jenko called me into his office and then Doug said something about me having no romance in my pants. Whatever that means.

The case was completely unexpected. Jenks started off-the-record.

"What do you know about AIDS?" he asked.

First I cracked a joke about it, referring to a previous comment about another case.

"I'm serious, Hanson."

"AIDS…well, what everybody else knows, I guess. You get it. You die. It's pretty scary."

"Does it scare you?"

"When I think about it, yeah."

The irony of my reaction to this whole case was that at that very moment Jenko was explaining it to me, my body was waging its own war against the virus. I had HIV and had no clue that I did.

At first I balked at the idea of being the kid's babysitter. And yes, it was because he had AIDS. I felt like a jerk. But I knew no one else would want it, so I went ahead and took it.

Harley Poolish. The kid was a punk and I wanted to strangle him. And he knew it. I'm sure he enjoyed that fact, too. Getting to know him, he really wasn't that bad of a kid. I still wanted to strangle him, though.

I kept telling myself that I wasn't going to act like the other people around him. And I didn't. Or so I thought. I watched the kids disperse quickly as Harley called me over to a table full of students. To be honest, it was heart-breaking. He acted tough, but beneath that "horse's ass" exterior was a scared kid. And I wasn't coming close to helping any.

"I forgot my milk."

"Here."

He handed me his. I just stared at it.

"I don't-I don't like chocolate."

He grimaced and took it back. "Yeah, well, no one does."

I told myself I wasn't going to act like the others around him. But that was exactly what I was doing. I felt like a "horse's ass".

I can't say what exactly was the final straw for him, but the following day I found out he had quit school. After a short conversation with his mom, she told me where he had run off to. Should've guessed, really. It made sense.

The track. He was racing at top speed. He beefed it. I wondered if he had done so on purpose. From the track to the sports bar we were starting to get along. As we sat at the table talking, I learned a few new things about him. Some shocked me. He told me he was going to beat AIDS. I thought he meant he was going to fight it. It never occurred to me that suicide was a good strategic battle plan.

I promised him I wouldn't say anything or try to stop him. But that was a promise I couldn't keep.

The following morning I talked to Jenko about it. I didn't know what to do. But after we talked he gave me the look that said I did,

In the early morning of the eighth, I drove out to the canyon. When I arrived at his appointed time, he wasn't there. I knew he'd get there eventually; so taking a seat on the hood of my car, I waited for him. Harley arrived about thirty minutes later. He seemed to show indifference to seeing me there.

"I figured you'd turn cop," he said to me. "Wimp out."

"I didn't wimp out," I shot back. "But it looks like you did though."

"I mean about trying to stop me, man. You gave me yer word."

I slipped off the hood and walked over to him. "I gave you my word I wouldn't tell anybody." I leaned against the concrete wall. "And I did." He looked at me. "But if yer gonna catch me in a lie, you might as well catch in the right one." He looked away for a moment, then back to me. "We still friends?"

There was silence for a moment as he looked me over. "We were. Almost."

Almost.

He got off his bike and walked up to the falls, holding onto the fencing and staring out into the maw below.

I walked up to him, leaned against the fence, and looked at him. "Well, let's pretend we still are almost. So the next time you wanna kill yerself, don't tell me. I can't take it."

With those words, I headed back to my car.

"Hanson?"

I stopped and turned around.

He hesitated and then said, "I can't take it, either." I could see tears starting to well-up in his eyes.

I didn't know how to respond.

"I'm glad you came," he continued. "Nobody else would've."

I wanted to say 'that's not true', but it likely would've been a lie.

Now he was crying. "I don't wanna die, man."

I finally spoke. "I know."

"But I am."

"I'm sorry," I said softly, unsure if heard me.

"Would you do me a favor?"

Neither of us had moved from our spots. "Sure."

He looked around, hesitating, as if he were making sure no one else was around. "Just hold me, man."

I couldn't move at first. It sounded so strange to me. But then I thought about how nobody would touch him. What if it was me in his place? My feet started to move. I couldn't be like them. I put my arms around him as he cried.

A few nights later, Jenko, Ioki, Hoffs and myself were invited out to Doug's for dinner. His old girlfriend had come back. I think he was a little on edge. I gave Harley my number (as well as Doug's in case he couldn't reach me), telling him to call if he ever needed anything.

As we started eating, his mom called. Harley had just passed away from pneumonia. He had told her to tell me, "It's okay about the milk."

Every case after that, when I saw those cartons of chocolate milk in the school cafeteria, I'd grab one and drink it for Harley. That…and I really like chocolate milk.

Thanksgiving came up fast and we all spent it at Doug's—and Dorothy's.

Just before Thanksgiving I met Amy. I had been a complete and total dork, and yet, she still said "yes" when I asked her out. She went over to her parents for Thanksgiving. Which was good because I felt that she needed to be eased into the Jump Street family. Especially, when it came to Douglas. I was not about to throw her to the wolves.

I've finally decided that it takes an insane person to put up outdoor Christmas decorations. And Douglas is that insane person. However, living in an apartment made that a little difficult. So we invaded Jenko's place. It's his fault for living in a house—that has a lawn. Judy and Dorothy sat back and watched four idiots—okay, three. Jenks was more of a foreman—put up lights and other giant Christmas stuff.

After that, Doug decided to invade Sal's home. Jenko, the girls (including Amy) and the kids, watched four idiots put up Christmas lights and other decorations. It snowed the entire time. After everything was up, Rosa (Sal's wife) invited us all in for hot chocolate, lunch and dessert.

Christmas dinner was at Jenko's. Initially, it was going to be me, Amy, Doug (Dorothy had gone home for Christmas), Harry and Jenks. Judy had gone home for Christmas; but judging by the phone call we got from her, it didn't sound like she was having a holly jolly Christmas. She ended up coming home early and so joined us. Now the Jump Street crew was intact. (Sal wasn't so fortunate, The in-laws came.)

It was a very special and bittersweet Christmas for me. It was my first Christmas without my mom; my first without either of my parents. As much as I missed her, and my dad, because of my Jump Street family, I didn't feel that emptiness inside I otherwise would have without them. That Christmas would also turn out to be our last with Jenko. It would be his last. Before next Christmas rolled around, Jenko would be gone from our lives, from my life.

After eating dinner, playing a game, exchanging gifts, eating dessert and watching White Christmas, everyone headed home. Except for me. I really didn't have any kind of reason for staying other than I wanted to. We watched The Christmas Story and I fell asleep on the couch.

As I drifted off, I felt his hand touch my face. Giving my shoulder a soft squeeze, he said softly, "Merry Christmas, sport."

JUMPSTREET

Just a side note: This story is written as if you were reading from Tom's journal.