By My Side

By Robyn LaSalle a.k.a. TM Alexander

Fandom: 21 Jumpstreet

Pairing: Doug Penhill/Tom Hanson Tom Hanson/Dennis Booker

Rating: NC-17

DISCLAIMERS: Yeah.

ARCHIVE: The folks who asked me last time, go fer it! <G>

First printed in THE CHOIR BOYS fanzine, (c) 1991 by Bodacious Press.

Author's Note: This takes place following the episodes "The Best Years of Your Life" and "Draw the Line."

By My Side
By Robyn LaSalle a.k.a. TM Alexander

"In the dark of night
Those small hours
Uncertain and anxious
I need to call you
Rooms full of strangers
Some call me friend
But I wish you were so close to me..."
- INXS, "By My Side"

The rain and the ride across town from the playground where he had found his friend chilled Tom Hanson to his core. The last secret had been revealed: Doug Penhall, at the age of eight, had tried to commit suicide. While his attempt had not been as successful as the one his mother had made two years before, he had been a child and had seriously meant to kill himself.

Tom now huddled close to the larger man's back, shielding himself from the elements against the broad, leather-clad shoulders, his teeth chattering from more than the cold.

Doug Penhall had confessed a great deal of darkness in the last twenty-four hours, all brought on by a case that had featured the unexpected suicide of a kid they suspected of a recent string of cat burglaries. Doug had withdrawn from both the assignment and from life altogether, retreating into a shell without explanation, lashing out at those who tried to investigate out of
concern.

Finally, when his girlfriend Dorothy showed up at the Jump Street chapel with a claim that Doug was missing, Tom knew almost instinctively where to look. //Why didn't *she* know?// he wondered, as he made his way to the playground and found his partner, pale and battered by inner demons and leaning against his motorcycle.

Penhall then proceeded to tell Hanson about his horrible past. It took every ounce of Tom's will to keep from crying for the big guy, forcing himself to remain strong, to lighten the mood and to suggest counseling. Doug had shrugged off the idea, but if Tom knew him well enough, he ould
probably seek professional help on his own.

They reached Tom's apartment building and Doug toed the kickstand into place. Hanson dismounted and turned to face him. "Wanna come in for a while?" he asked, shoving his fingers into his pants pockets and glancing around.

Penhall smiled fleetingly. "Yeah, sure." He swung out of the saddle and joined his partner, climbing the steps to the door. Once inside, they looked at each other's wet hair and clothes, and laughed. "You should take a hot shower and get into somethin' dry," Doug told Tom, always the protective Mother Hen.

"What about you?"

"Me? I'll be okay."

"Sure you will." Tom grinned. "You can take a shower after me, then I'll run your clothes down to the basement and throw 'em in a dryer." He headed for the bathroom, stripping off his shirt as he went. "And since you'll be staying a while, you should call Dorothy and let her know you're all right."

Penhall grimaced. He was still a bit disgruntled by his last confrontation with his girlfriend, wherein they'd argued and she stormed out of the loft apartment they shared. She had disappeared for two days without so much as a call to reassure Doug that she was alive. It was probably for the best, however, because in his state of mind he had needed the space. The
only person he'd been willing to let into his darkness was Tom, and as yet he still could not figure out why.

He dialed home and spent the next few minutes listening to Dorothy chatter at him like an angry squirrel. She was offended that he was with Hanson - what was new? - and not with her, particularly when she had been so worried about him. That welled the frustration in Doug, and he shot back a remark about the depth of her concern being as shallow as her walking out on him for several days without so much as a note to say where she'd gone. The call ended when Dorothy hung up on him, after telling him that she didn't care how long he chose to stay with his partner - it was obvious that *Tom* could give Doug more than she could by way of reassurance, anyway.

Grumbling, he replaced the receiver and wandered towards the bathroom, where he could hear the shower. "Looks like I'll be campin' out on *your* sofa tonight, pal!" he called over the sound of the water.

Tom poked his head out from behind the curtain, frowning in puzzlement. "Didn't you call Dorothy?"

"Yeah, and if I go home it'll be a repeat performance of the other day. Round two." He made the sound of a bell being rung, and started a half-hearted shadowbox before dropping his arms to his sides and slumping against the sink. "Sometimes I wonder if this relationship ain't worth the backaches I get from sleepin' on the couch, y'know?"

Tom nodded, then regarded his friend's attire. "You still wearin' those?" he demanded, putting on a serious face. "Strip, Penhall, and get your butt in here."

Doug laughed out loud. "What, with *you*?"

Leering wickedly, Hanson suddenly lashed out, snagging one arm and yanking Doug into the tub.

Off-balance, the big man had no other choice but to stumble in, fully dressed and howling in protest, "HAN-SON!"

"Whassamatter? I said I was gonna put 'em in the dryer!"

Doug swiped his face and grabbed at the smaller fellow, who ducked and laughed, trying to evade him. He finally captured the slippery, warm flesh, crushing Tom into a bear hold. "Awright - now you're gonna get it," Penhall growled menacingly.

Tom raised his head, and found his nose a hair's breadth from the hawkish point of his partner's. All joking fled with the rising steam as some unknown reason compelled him to move closer, to touch the parted lips in a tender kiss.

Perhaps if the surrounding conflicts had not been so intense, and the emotional level not as high and raw, Doug would have reacted with surprise and disgust. But now, instead of throwing off the slighter man, he found his arms relaxing into a gentle embrace, his hands supporting instead of imprisoning, and his mouth returning the touch. Perhaps it was a need for closeness, understanding, and physical comfort that powered his response; whatever the answer, it didn't matter at this moment. All that mattered was Tom, and this new feeling.

They parted gently, gradually, and regarded each other with new awareness....and they both accepted, humbly. Tommy stepped out of his partner's embrace, smiling as he reached to help him out of his now-soaked clothes. Doug assisted, tossing his shirt over the curtain rod with a wet slap. He steadied himself as he peeled off his jeans one leg at a time, then giggled self-consciously when he straightened, facing Hanson, naked before him for the first time.

As he realized this, he also noticed Tom's state of undress, and stared at him, taking in the sight of his rivulet-traced body. Hanson was beautiful, all olive-skinned and slender but well toned. He had the grace and delicacy of a young woman, but the power of a young man. With his black hair plastered back against his skull, his finely sculpted face was completely visible, from the sharp cheekbones to the small, full mouth, and the large, dark eyes.

Doug reached for him again, mesmerized, and drew him into another deep kiss. It was oddly natural how they fit together, belly to belly, flush against each other under the hot torrent. Tommy's taste was unique in its normalcy, special only because of him, and what he meant to Penhall.

Passion began to rise when Hanson suddenly broke away. Laughing breathlessly as he held Doug at arm's length, he said, "You, ah, finish up." He located the soap and pushed it into his friend's upturned palm, then smiled fleetingly. "I'm going out to make you something to eat."

"Okay," Doug mumbled in reply. Numbly, he watched the smaller man slip out of the tub. Shrugging, he lathered up, too amazed to think of his arousal.

By the time he turned off the water, his erection had dwindled. Looking around, he found a large bathsheet and wrapped it around his waist, tucking the end securely. He could smell food, and abruptly was hit by nausea. Bile rose in his throat. "Geez!" he muttered as he staggered into the kitchen.

Tom looked up from the pot he tended at the stove. Wrapped in a knee-length plaid robe, his hair spiky and still damp, he looked pleasantly domestic in a Normal Rockwell kind of way. He smiled. "Making you some cream 'a chicken," he remarked.

"Thanks." Doug returned the grin and nodded, but found he could not concentrate on conversation. Drawn to his partner as a plant to the sun's warmth, he moved up behind him, winding his arms around his middle in a wordless hug.

Hanson chuckled, ducking his head as Doug nuzzled the back of his neck. "*Doug!*" he warned lightly. Strangely, this was something they had never done before, yet it felt *right.* He found himself leaning back into the bigger man, one hand stirring the soup while the other rested on the paws possessing his stomach. "It'll be ready in a minute."

Doug straightened and turned Tom around to face him. He pulled him up close, silently appropriating the pouting lips in a demanding kiss. He cupped the smaller face between his large, gentle hands, stroking Tom's jaw before skimming down and around to scoop up the tight little ass and hold him steady. He tore his mouth from Hanson's, gasping for air. "Oh god!" He
buried his nose against the slender throat. "God, Tom...I need...gotta have..."

"I know." Withdrawing, Tom touched Doug's forehead with his, smiling tenderly as he caressed his friend's cheek. He lifted his chin and met the troubled, honey-brown eyes. "But I want you to eat, first. You need something on your stomach - something other than beer." He indicated the bedroom with a tip of his head. "Go in there and get the blanket off my bed. Wrap yourself up and sit on the couch while I finish up, here."

Nodding, Doug released him and watched as he returned to the stove, then proceeded to carry out the order. He fetched the quilt, a warmly fuzzy comforter that smelled of Tom. Doug bundled in it gladly before flopping on the sofa. He was still in a state of review, going over his past and the last few days. All the memories had been reanimated due to this teen suicide, all the pain of his childhood, the heavy secrets he'd carried, bottled up inside, all these years. He thought about what he'd told Tommy, how he had never been able to confess those things to anyone before. He still wondered why he had been able to tell *him* and no one else.

He knew the reason, now. He did not feel he could trust anyone the way he trusted Hanson. Not only was this his partner, but he was his friend, his brother - and now, he was becoming something else. //Lover?// His stomach flipped at the idea. Was he hallucinating, dazed from the lack of sleep and nourishment, and the haunting memories? Could Tom just be humoring him,
allowing his curiosity and his need to find comfort and release his terrors?

He stopped thinking when his host appeared with a large mug, above which tendrils of steam frolicked, and a box of saltines tucked under one arm. He accepted the cup from the smiling man. "Thanks," he rasped.

"Sure." Sitting down next to Doug, tucking one foot under his butt, Tom opened the box and pulled out a plastic-wrapped column. "You know I'd do anything for you."

"Yeah, I guess so." Doug took a sip and winced. "Ooh. S'hot."

"Of course it is. I just took it off the stove." Snorting, Hanson shook his head in amusement. He carded through the package and extracted five crackers. He passed them to his friend. "Here."

"Thanks." Dipping one into the soup, Doug shoved the whole thing into his mouth and chewed. He sighed as he felt his taste buds sing with a hunger about to be satiated. Brows tilted upward, he moaned. "This is the best thing I've ever eaten," he said around his mouthful.

"I know what that's like." Tom watched him, pleased and satisfied at once. He had been very worried about Doug, but his concern had come out in angry words when he'd first confronted him. Penhall had responded by unloading the shocking story about his mother. Numbed, Hanson had returned to work but could do nothing more than sit at his desk and replay the words over and over in his head, as though trying to understand it all.

He knew that Doug needed help, knew he needed support. As his partner, he would do whatever he could to make sure they would be a functioning team again. As his friend, he would stay by his side through whatever shadows that enveloped him. He was certain that, in a reversal of roles, it would be the same.

He had been mildly surprised when Doug kissed him, and wondered why the big guy hadn't said anything about his immediate and unquestioning response. He understood that Penhall could have been reaching out to him, seeking reassurance and affection in some fashion, driven by emotion. Under normal circumstances, he probably wouldn't have been so physical. Tom hoped his buddy didn't think he was leading him on, and he hoped he really *wasn't*.... He found himself enjoying the contact, welcoming it - but he had to maintain a balance, for Doug's sake.

As if he'd been following Tom's thought process, Doug asked suddenly, "Does it...bother you?"

"What?"

"Y'know." Penhall gestured between them. "The...kissin'. We never kissed each other before."

"No," Tom agreed, setting the cracker box on the coffee table. He shrugged, shaking his head. "But it wasn't *bad.*" He looked at Doug sincerely. "Personally...I *liked* it." He hesitated. "Did you?"

"Yeah!" Penhall replied, nodding vigorously. "A lot. Liked it a lot." He trailed off, averting his gaze, hiding his sudden shyness in his mug as he took another deep swallow of soup to finish it off. "Wouldn't mind doin' it again, either..."

Tom stared at him, then burst into a grin. "You wouldn't, huh?"

"Nope." Doug looked up again. "Would *you*?"

"Like to kiss you again?" Hanson nodded slowly. His onyx eyes were bright with adoration. "Very much."

Doug studied him, smacking his lips, silently contemplating. He set the mug down, dusted the crumbs off the front of his blanket before opening it in invitation.

Tommy sighed as he pressed against the big, naked body. He angled his head, turning his face up to receive Doug's mouth. Tongues greeted again, waltzing around each other, darting out to entice. What began as casual exploration quickly escalated into wildfire lust, and they ground against each other, teeth striking teeth, breath coming from flared nostrils in delirious huffs.

Hanson grabbed Penhall's ears, hauling him over to lie on top of him. They shifted, the kiss broken as they grunted and tried to find a comfortable horizontal position.

"Okay?"

"No - there."

"Awright."

"Ow!"

"Wha?"

"Crushing my hip..."

"Oh...sorry. How's that?"

"Better. Yeah, that's good."

They looked at each other and smiled. Tom wrapped his legs around Penhall, his feet resting on the backs of the meaty thighs. His robe had come open and now just covered his arms, but Doug blanketed the rest of his body.

Doug stared down at his friend's face, studying him, taking in every detail. "I never realized," he whispered, stroking the soft hair back from the smooth forehead, "how pretty your eyes are."

Hanson colored and chuckled huskily, looking away. "Aw, c'mon..." He met Doug's gaze again. "You're not so bad, yourself."

"Yeah?" Penhall cocked an eyebrow. "Is it my Clint Eastwood chin? Or my Burt Reynolds cheekbones?"

"Burt *Reynolds*?" Tom rolled his eyes. "Gimme a break."

"What, you don't think I look like Burt?"

"No, you look more like that funny guy he hangs out with all the time."

"Huh!" Scowling, Doug could not maintain his pout for long. He laughed along with his partner, subsiding with the return of sobriety. "You're really somethin', you know that? My whole life, I never met anyone who makes me feel....I dunno...as *good* as you do." He sighed. "This make any sense to you?"

"Yeah." Tom smiled, digging his slender fingers into the thickness of Doug's hair. He combed through the damp tangle, coming out at the shoulders, which he kneaded gently. "You turn me on," he whispered. His arms dropped back onto the couch, and he searched Penhall's face with a meaningful look. "Get me going."

The come-on launched a shudder of breathless excitement that traveled up Doug's spine, and he complied with eagerness. They kissed and petted until the desire became too intense. Hanson reached down between their hips and grabbed Doug's cock for the first time. He pumped it, curled his hand around it, and Penhall began to fuck the hole he had created.

Wanting to reciprocate, the bigger man fumbled to grasp his partner's sleek organ, tugging it towards climax. He was a little embarrassed at first about touching another man's penis, but he looked for and found strength in Tom's eyes. He also located a new hunger, one he wanted to share with his lover to the absolute limits of their physical and spiritual powers.

He was stopped, however, when Tom released him and stilled his hand, dislodging his grip. Tom drew Doug's fingers to his mouth. Their gazes held one another as Hanson sucked the thick middle digit between his lips, coating it thoroughly with saliva. "This way," he rasped, and guided the hand back down. He lifted his ass off the sofa as he showed Doug where to touch him. He positioned the finger and impaled himself, groaning with joy as the firmness sank into his rectum.

"Tommy?" Amazed, Penhall wriggled his finger experimentally, stunned by the reaction.

Hanson's fingernails bit into Doug's shoulders and he opened his eyes, staring hard at the larger officer. "Fuck me, Doug," he begged, shivering with exhilaration.

"You sure?"

Tom nodded frantically. "I want you," he gasped, and swallowed firmly. He rolled his hips on the finger sheathed in his ass. "Please...please, Doug."

He reminded Doug of a junkie in need of a fix. Spellbound by the request, Penhall shook his head. "I don't know what to do," he mumbled. He became uncertain; trepidation was setting in. "I could....hurt you...if I do somethin' wrong."

"No - it's okay. Here. Get up."

Withdrawing from his partner, Doug sat back on his heels and watched as the smaller man climbed off the couch and stumbled towards the kitchen. He returned moments later with a plastic bowl. "Margarine?" Penhall identified it, then laughed. "All the way with Parkay, huh?"

Tom tossed the lid aside, digging his fingers into the creamy warmth. "Good thing I left it out this morning," he said, coming up with a glob of yellow. His gaze touched Doug's and he leaned forward. "This'll make it easier."

As Doug watched, gracefully slick fingers encircled him, coating his cock liberally, gripping him tightly as they slid along his staff from base to head. He moaned and closed his eyes, enjoying the hand job. Tom abandoned him before he could achieve the peak of pleasure, leaving him aching hard. He opened his eyes and beheld his friend, who had resumed his place on the sofa, legs spread. One foot hooked over the back of the couch, while he raised the other to his chest, spreading his ass cheeks wide to reveal the entry point. The sight was enough to push Penhall over the edge of need and straight into the pit of voracity.

With a growl, he lunged at Hanson, who grabbed him automatically and guided his cock home. Doug pushed several times, finally sheathing himself in one short, sharp thrust. The ring of tightness made him choke back a cry, and he found he had no patience for method or rhythm.

They slammed together over and over, their bodies riding the wave like mating dolphins. Doug ground his knees into the cushion as he shifted, angling himself for better trajectory, and picked up speed. He moaned out loud, warning his companion of the approaching crescendo of release, knowing it would come soon.

He made several deep plunges, to which Hanson gasped, a delighted spasm ripping through him. Inner muscles contracted along the thick cock, and with one magnificent explosion of light, sound and sensation, he felt the channel grow more slippery with Doug's seed.

Doug's skull throbbed as he finally pulled out and flopped limply against the opposite end of the sofa. "Oh my God," he panted, hairy chest heaving and dripping with sweat. "That as...¦ncredible. I don't believe it. That was amazing." Glancing down, he noticed the off-white residue clinging to his belly, the results of Tom's orgasm.

Tommy watched him touch the substance, a wry smile stretching his mouth. "Let me take care of that," he offered huskily, and rolled forward onto his elbows and knees, bowing over the scarlet cock as his hips nuzzled the stickiness.

Doug gasped again and grabbed the back of Tom's head instinctively. "Oh my GOD!" he chirped. "Hanson - where'd you learn to *do* that?" He moaned as the skilled tongue flicked expertly at the tip. "And where'd you learn to do it so *good*?" He lifted his hips in automatic response, plowing into the steamy haven of his friend's mouth, dragging over the rough edge of teeth. He inhaled brokenly at the wet stroking of active flesh as Tom's tongue wound around his shaft.

Penhall never came so hard in his life, particularly for a second orgasm in less than fifteen minutes of the first. Every atom in his physical makeup imploded. He bucked, then folded over the smaller man, clawing at him as his cock leapt and pulsed with release. He cried out Hanson's name, sobbing in litany, whispering his gratification. At last, he slumped back into
the corner, washed out to sea on the tide of ecstasy.

Tom licked his lips and smiled as he sat up. He regarded his buddy's dreamy expression, assured that he had done well in pleasing him. His own member had regained consciousness, aching for attention, but he decided he would wait for the next round to begin when Doug was ready. In the meantime, he contented himself by curling up next to his companion like a cat.

Penhall's voice broke the room's silence. "You *have* done that before," he murmured hollowly.

Tom stiffened inwardly, detecting the note of accusation - however minute - in that statement. Sitting up, he felt his heart freeze as he looked into Doug's eyes and saw the confusion, the questioning, and above all else, the hurt that filled them.

"Guess the moment of truth has arrived," Hanson muttered. He moved to perch on the edge of the couch, wrapping his long fingers around the back of his neck. "Okay. *Yes* - I know what to do, because I *have* done it before. In fact...I still do it." He looked up, meeting the other man's stare. "I'm bi, Doug. I swing both ways."

"Y'mean...I wasn't the first guy you..?"

Tom shook his head with a grimace of apology. "No. I've been sexually active with men for a while, now."

Before Tom knew it, anger changed Penhall's expression, hardening his face. "You mean to tell me...you've been fuckin' other guys - and you didn't even *warn* me?"

Hanson frowned at the rise in his friend's voice. "'Warn' you?"

"Yeah!" Doug gestured. "If you'd'a told me you've been lettin' other guys fuck you up the ass, I coulda wore a *rubber* or something, to protect myself!"

"Pro-" Tom cut himself off, enraged. "For your information, *you* are the first guy I've ever let touch me, *without* one!"

"Yeah, well, you sure knew what you were doin' when you were givin' me head, baby!" Penhall snapped. "Diseases can be spread *that* way, too!"

"Did it ever occur to you that I might have used a condom *then*, as well?" Tom stood up abruptly. "You may not be my first experience, Doug, but in a way you *are.* With you, I didn't *want* to hold back, or let anything come between us. Goddammit, Doug - I *love* you!"

By the look of shock on his face, it was clear that Tom hadn't planned on revealing that secret. Certainly he and his partner cared for each other, but never had the "L" word passed between them. And somehow Hanson knew that, should the true depth of his usage of "love" be exposed, there would be repercussions.

Penhall's voice had softened to a toneless murmur. "So." He rubbed his palms together slowly. "What happened tonight...wasn't no sympathy fuck. Somethin' to make me...feel better."

Tommy remained standing, ready to take his punishment. "No," he rasped. "I've...wanted you for a while, now." He shrugged helplessly, a short laugh escaping him. "Tonight was the realization of something I've fantasized about for the past...five months. I've wanted you to touch me for so long..but I didn't want you to hate me for it, afterwards."

Doug squirmed uncomfortably. "I don't hate ya," he blurted finally. Sighing heavily, he ran his hands over his tousled hair before rising to his feet and stepping over the coffee table. "I gotta go." He brushed past Hanson on his way to the bathroom. "Dorothy's worried about me - I gotta get home to her."

Tom's heart shattered. He wanted to scream, to snarl his frustration and jealousy, that Penhall would never find anyone to love him as much as *he* loved him - but nothing would come out. He swallowed back the hard emotion that had knotted in his throat, unable to move as he watched his partner return pulling on cold, damp clothes that Hanson had forgotten to take to the dryer. He forced himself to speak. "Please," he managed, shaking his head. "You don't have to go."

Penhall paused at the door. His gaze traveled up and down the smaller man's frame, as if to commit the sight of his beautiful nakedness to memory...for that was all tonight could ever be, from this moment forward. "See ya at work," he whispered, his own voice thick with feelings he could not express right now. With that, he left the apartment...and Tom.

*

That night went unmentioned in the months that followed until summer vacation, and the close of the Jump Street program. Whereas Judy had proposed they all stay in touch, Doug and Tom did not associate with one another over that period.

Penhall knew he had been wrong to turn on his friend. He had treated Hanson like trash, as if what he had done in his personal life made him less than human. When he had left his partner that night, he cursed himself for his own bullheadedness and petty jealousy - particularly when he contemplated his own deepest feelings.

It was too late, once he had walked out, to go back and admit his love for Hanson, to confess a mutual attraction and to propose a new aspect to the partnership. He would have been more than willing to be Tommy's lover on a regular basis, but his petty pride refused to let that happen. His fear of actually crossing the line that ran between "straight" and "gay" was a tangible wall that stretched for an eternity in all directions, refusing to let him near his friend in any way. There was too much water under that bridge...but he never stopped thinking about what could have been, whenever the memory of their sweet passion came back to tease.

He made wild, desperate stabs at crystallizing something stronger in his relationship with Dorothy, but it was futile at best to find satisfaction where he knew he could never be content. He had been willing to change his entire life, his personality, to fit into a mold that she required, but something was not right. A taunting voice inside him would chastise him at those moments, telling him that *Tom* never would have compromised *his* style. Doug's conscience continued to call him an idiot for walking out the door that night.

Over the summer, he was accepted into Intelligence and placed on various surveillance cases. It kept him busy, and kept Dorothy quiet. She was happy that he had chosen to "stop playing with the high school kids" and act like a grownup. When September rolled around and classes resumed, he tried to ignore the return of the Jump Street program and the urge to go back to his
old job.

He was surprised when, after three months of silence, Tom had come by to see him at work. They shared a nice chat over coffee and doughnuts, briefly filling each other in about their summer "vacations." While he didn't ask outright, Doug sensed that Hanson wondered when he would come back to the chapel. He couldn't reply, even if he wanted. He did, however, react with jealousy when Tom mentioned having a new partner. After their meeting, Penhall felt depressed and lonelier than ever. He really missed his buddy.

One day, Tom showed up to ask him about a new cop in Jump Street's jurisdiction. "I'm not supposed to tell you," Penhall said. "I could get into trouble and lose my job."

"I understand." And respectively, Tom pushed no further.

Driven by a faithfulness that could never die, Doug gave in. "His name's Dennis Booker. He's with IAD. He's in to check on you guys, to see if you're using entrapment to nail these high schoolers. Be careful."

Tommy flashed that adorable smile of his, one that used to give Doug every bit of confidence and assurance he needed. This time, however, Penhall found he could not shake the agitation. Something just wasn't *right*.

He found out what it was when he returned to Jump Street several weeks later. A botched case got him ejected from Intelligence with his tail between his legs. Not knowing where to go or what to do, he found himself on Captain Fuller's doorstep. He got his old job back - much to Dorothy's displeasure - but he was going back to a very different chapel.

Booker had decided to stay on with the program. His young looks provided him with the proper requirement to work the schools, and he was teamed up with Hanson more and more. Their partnership had also gone beyond that of a working relationship, made obvious by unassuming touches, looks, and casually planned get-togethers after duty. Their closeness made Doug highly uncomfortable, a feeling which quickly settled into basic jealousy and intense possessiveness.

*What have you got to be possessive about?* Penhall scolded himself. *You made it clear last year that there wasn't going to be anything but work between you an' Hanson. YOU turned HIM away - you can't dictate his life. Hell, you don't even know what YOU want, for yourself!*

He now watched the handsome demon lean over Hanson and whisper in his ear, then saw Tom respond with a laughing smile...one he used to reserve for Doug. Tom stood up, grabbed his coat, and fell into step with Dennis as they left the chapel together. Penhall felt his heart collapse upon itself with remorse and self-loathing.

He had blown his chance, and he would have to live with that for the rest of his life.

*

"I don't know what smells better: you, or what's on the stove."

Tom chuckled, trying to pull away from the arms that snaked around his waist from behind and the lips that nuzzled the nape of his neck. "I need a shower," he groaned. "I reek of sex."

"Aye, but it's a great scent!" Booker growled in a bad Irish accent, parodying the soap commercial from television. He nipped at his lover's skin, one hand sliding into Hanson's robe to caress a nipple while the other hand drifted down to seek out the well-used cock.

Hanson sighed. "Didn't you get enough?" he muttered. He turned around to face the taller man and accepted the mouth that sought his. He tasted toothpaste and smelled fresh aftershave. "You already bathed," he noted, breaking the kiss. "Hope you left me some hot water. Here -" He shoved the spatula at Dennis. "Finish the pancakes. I've gotta clean up."

Using the spatula to swat Tom on the fanny, Booker cackled when the smaller man jumped in surprise. He winked and blew a kiss at the baleful glare he received for that, before turning his attention to breakfast.

In the bathroom, Hanson closed and locked the door, shrugging out of his robe as he stood before the mirror. His reflection showed the myriad of bite marks and bruises, the remnants of last night's passion play. He grimaced and grabbed his red toothbrush, noticing the green one perched next to it on the left, and the yellow one on the right.

He touched the wet bristles of the former and thought back to the day when it came to reside there. He had been shocked by his attraction to Booker; even more stunned when the older, smooth-talking detective in the black leather jacket slipped into him with a seduction that knocked him on his ass. Tom had succumbed to the power, the charisma, and the machismo that Dennis possessed, and after the first week of heady sex, the green toothbrush materialized in the holder.

He then glanced at the yellow one, which had been gathering dust over the summer. It was Doug's, one he had brought with him one morning when he showed up before a case, brushing his teeth after Tom served up breakfast and a run-down of their plan of action. He smiled, recalling that day, remembering how Penhall had made him laugh. It was the first time he realized he felt more for Doug than just friendship.

His memory rewound and he thought about everything that happened since the night he and Doug touched each other's souls - the night Penhall had bared his, then ran away, unable to accept the love Hanson wanted to give. Tom had thought he was making the right move by confessing his deepest feelings for the big guy. Doug had given him what he considered all the right signs, from his encouragement that Tom break up with Amy, to his tender support during the hard times that followed in the wake of her death.

He had read Doug wrong and, in the end, nearly lost him forever as a friend. He gave Doug the distance he needed without question, but over the summer he neither saw nor heard from his partner. Then he found out - through Ioki - that Penhall had been accepted by Intelligence. When he dropped by the loft apartment, Tom discovered that Doug had moved. Again, he learned through a mutual acquaintance that Doug had bought a cottage and set up house with Dorothy... just like a real grownup.

Tom did not want to see the years they had spent, careful constructing trust, to get washed away like a bridge of toothpicks over a raging river. Willing to forget - at least, for Doug - that the sex never happened, he took a stab at reestablishing the relationship. If there had been any real truth in it, the friendship *would* survive.

That first reunion made his heart soar. Doug was still his buddy. At least he would allow that. Penhall was so important to Hanson. It was all that mattered.

But then...Booker came along.

He hated the Internal Affairs cop from the moment he met him. He resented him for being a spy, for being a bigot, for being so cocky and self-sure. He still could not explain what possessed him to let Dennis take him home from that strip joint. He hadn't been very drunk. He was also still seeing Jackie. It wasn't as if he was hard up.

Dennis simply knew which buttons to push...and he pushed them, right up Hanson's ass. Repeatedly. Personality-wise, he was still the most offensive man Tom had ever known - next to Russell Buckins, of course -- and Tom still did not like him. Booker knew how to screw, though - oh *yes*, he was good at *that*! - just as well as he knew how to fight. He was an
efficient officer, too.

But Tom didn't love him.

He sighed, bitterly returning to the present. Snagging the Crest and squeezing a big dollop onto his own brush, Tom paused and looked at his reflection again. These days, it was nearly impossible to see humor in anything. With Penhall, it had been more than fucking, more than
sex. With Penhall, he was willing to give himself completely - something he had been unable to do with anyone, male or female, now or ever. More than anything, he missed the closeness and camaraderie he and Doug had once shared.

He would give anything to have a chance to laugh again.

*

"Where's Booker?"

Doug's smile faltered and he turned his gaze out the passenger window. Finally, he replied, "He quit. He was busted down to basement file clerk for his...'illegal methods'...of investigating your case."

Tom did not need to hear any more. He knew enough of the ever-proud Dennis Booker to understand. He was a cop, not a clerk. He would never be happy anywhere but on the streets. And now he was there, without a badge. Hanson tightened his jaw. In the end, Booker had come through for him as a real friend...and now, because of Tom, he was off the force.

"Tom..."

"It's okay, Doug." Taking a deep breath, Hanson gripped the steering wheel of his beloved blue Mustang and released a shaky sigh. "I just...wanna get home." It then occurred to him that he no longer *had* a home; while he was in prison over the past few months, he'd lost his apartment. Doug had told him that during one of his many visits to the pen over the summer. Tom laughed shortly, choked by a lump of grief forming in his throat. "Wherever *that* is," he added.

Penhall stared at him, sympathetic. Reaching out, he lay his hand on his friend's arm. "You can stay with me, 'till you find yourself a new place," he murmured.

Tom shot him a surprised glance. When Dorothy had kicked Doug out of the cottage, Hanson had been willing to give Penhall a place for the night...but had balked against anything more. Indignant, Doug had asked if Tom doubted their friendship could survive a permanent living arrangement. Tom had replied with a very serious, "Do *you* think it could?"

In all honesty, he would have loved for Doug to move in...but Tom knew *he* would be the one to ruin their carefully reconstructed relationship. He would have been unable to control himself - and at the time, Booker and he were seeing a lot of each other. Tom would have longed for Penhall, then run to Dennis to fulfill his fantasies...and no one would be happy with the tension that would have resulted.

During his imprisonment, he had been awakened to an all-new, very different way of looking at things. Booker, who had enjoyed him purely as a piece of meat, proved that was the extent of his feelings when the conviction was made. To him, Tom had been guilty of murdering a fellow cop. No questions, no denials, just complete acceptance of the jury's conclusion. The only time he had shown up was in the last two weeks, when he suddenly had a change of heart and wanted justice. Forget that Hanson had suffered. Tom hated him more in that first moment, when he gladly knocked Dennis on his ass.

Doug, on the other hand, had come through for Hanson as a true friend and partner. He had put his own career on the line when he lied on the stand. Even though Tom had still been sent to jail, Doug remained faithful. He came for visits every weekend, bringing magazines and treats, and spending every available moment telling him about life on the outside. He had given Tom something to look forward to, some hope during the darkness of prison. If not for him, Hanson knew he would not have made it.

The big guy still showed support even now, offering Tom a place to stay, opening his home to him. Moved, Hanson swiped at the tears forming on his cheeks, and focused on the road ahead. "I don't want to put you out," he managed to say.

"Hey. You *wouldn't* be." Doug smiled, reaching over to squeeze Tom's shoulder. His touch was a lifeline to which Hanson needed to cling. Tom captured Doug's hand and Doug didn't withdraw; instead, he turned his palm over and returned the grip, allowing the contact to remain for as long as Tommy needed.

They reached Penhall's apartment, pulling into a spot alongside the motorcycle. Doug grabbed the small bag of his partner's effects, throwing his big arm around the slender body as they walked to the front door.

When they stepped inside, Tom saw his sofa - as Doug had told him - standing in the middle of the room, right across from the television. When his place had been closed, it was Penhall who made the arrangements to have his belongings packed and put into storage. Some things, such as the couch, were brought here on a temporary basis. Tom smiled. It made him feel even more
at home to see some of his own furniture.

"Uh, Judy, Blowfish an' Cap'n Fuller wanted to know if you'd be up to havin' a dinner, celebratin' your first night out an' all..." Penhall was saying, as he hung up his jacket and held out his hand for Tom's. "I told 'em...it'd have to be up to you, dependin' on how you felt, 'n stuff."

Hanson smiled. "Not tonight," he replied quietly. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Are you kiddin'?" Closing the door to the foyer closet, Doug faced him. "It'll give us a chance to talk..alone. Just the two 'a us. Y'know?"

Tom nodded, relieved that Penhall understood. Turning away, he walked around, looking at everything. Not much had changed since the night he was released into Booker's care, for what Dennis had told the warden was "to attend the funeral of a friend." It had been the only way he would get out of prison, and in the twenty-four hour period, he was able to do what Booker
originally intended: he worked to clear his own name.

Thinking back to that evening, when he saw Doug and could touch him without the prison barriers to separate them, all he wanted to do was to be next to him. In his nightmares, he had come to identify his friend as his sole salvation, the only sanity to which he could turn...his shield and sword, his protector. Just as Penhall became during his weekly visits, in dreams he was sanctuary. It was to him that Hanson retreated whenever the other inmates threatened him...and that night, when he returned to his cell, thinking of Doug had been the only thing that kept him from dying.

The strangled sound that came from him alerted Penhall. "Tom?" he called, closing the refrigerator. "You okay?" He came in from the kitchen. "Hey. What is it, what's wrong?"

Hanson stood with his back to Doug, his arms wrapped around his shoulders and his chin tucked against his chest. He trembled.

Concerned, Doug reached out and touched him, only to be abruptly captured in a choking embrace. Tom had spun on his heel and threw his arms around the larger body, crying out in
wordless agony.

"Easy!" Penhall, throat tight with fear, returned the hug gently. "It's okay." He petted the dark head as his friend clung to him miserably. "It's over, buddy...it's over."

"Doug!" Tom wailed. The dam crumbled. His teeth chattered painfully and he pressed closer. His eyes opened wide with terrors only he could see. "Ohh, *Doug*! They hurt me..they..hurt me!" Sobbing, he buried his face against Penhall's chest.

Penhall swallowed and licked his lips. "*How*...did they hurt you?" he asked softly.

Tom's slender fingers clutched at Doug's shirt, ashen and cold. "They -" he gulped, hysteric gasps making it difficult to speak. "We - always knew - what we heard - about prison - it's true. Every word - the rape - the torture. It happens. It *happens*."

Penhall grimaced, quietly cursing whatever god responsible for putting his friend through this hell. He must have feared something like this would happen, not because Tom was "pretty," but because he was a cop, and inmates were renowned for giving convicted cops more attention. Every week, he would ask if Tom were all right. Hanson had assured him that he had been able to fend them off, although he did get into a few fistfights. The admission of rape was news to him. "When?" he managed to whisper.

"Last night," Tom responded tightly. "They got me...they knew...I was getting out."

Doug winced, patting his partner's back, and hugged him again. "I'm sorry," he murmured tenderly. Pulling back, he tucked Hanson under the chin and lifted his face. Their gazes met. "We're gonna get you all the help you need. I'll be there, too, if you want me to go to the counselor with ya."

Tom reached up and slowly pushed the bigger hand away. He shook his head. "You don't have to take responsibility," he rasped, the first wave of crying now passed.

"I'm not," Penhall insisted, and entwined his fingers with Hanson's. "I'm giving you *support*. As your *partner*." He hesitated, then drew Tom back into his arms. "There's something...I've been wantin' to tell you. I've been too scared to say it, but I was plannin' on doin' it, tonight. No matter what. I'm not sayin' it because of anything you just told me, either. It may give you a little, I dunno, a little *strength* to hear it, though." He rocked the smaller man slightly, drew a deep breath, the released the words in a sigh, "I love you, Tom."

Hanson tensed - then relaxed, melting completely. He closed his eyes as new tears welled up. Returning to the embrace, he held his friend securely, as if he would die without him. And he firmly believed he would. "I love you, too," he mumbled.

"I...I know." Penhall stroked his head again. "Please, Tom. Let's..let's try this again. Okay? I was a real idiot. I thought I loved Dorothy, but I never did. It had no meaning, when I said it to *her*. I just said it, 'cause I was programmed to do it. Y'know...boy meets girl, boy and girl get house together...have kids...and live happily ever after. Only me an' Dorothy, we didn't have kids. We didn't have love, either. Not..the way *we* have it..you an' me. It just took me a little longer to realize it, I guess."

Hanson laughed weakly. "In the four years I've known you," he sniffed, "you'd think I'd have expected as much." Straightening, he looked up into Doug's eyes. "Thank you for being here for me," he murmured. "Let's not let anything come between us again. But...let's take it...one day at a time..okay? There's a lot of stuff I need to work through...things that've happened. What
happened in jail...then all that stuff I did with Booker...I know I hurt you, and I still hate myself for it."

"Don't," Doug said, brushing his fingers over Tom's mouth. He shook his head. "Whatever happened with you an' him...it doesn't matter, anymore."

"No, Doug...it does. To me. And I have to deal with it." Tom gulped deeply. "I just think I should probably get my own place again; it wouldn't be right if we just moved in together permanently... although I wouldn't mind it, someday." He offered a small smile. "If we're gonna make this work, Doug, make it last...we've got to adjust to it gradually. We've waited this long. I just...wanna make sure it *works*."

"Anything you say," Penhall told him. He wiped at the tears on Tom's face with his thumb. "So...when do you, um, wanna start?"

"Right now is fine," Tom replied softly. He wrapped his arms around Doug and pressed his cheek to the big man's heart.

It was truly the beginning of a beautiful friendship.


THE END