Title: Cleansing
Rating: R/NC-17
Pairings/Characters: Tom/Doug, Tom/OCs, Judy, Ioki, Fuller, OCs...
Disclaimer: I don't own 21 Jumpstreet, nor it's characters. All belong to Callen and peeps.
Warnings: M/M, slash, language, rape, violence, a little anachronistic, angst, torment
Summary: After having killed a teen, Doug tries to comfort his partner. Neither had any idea of the harsh consequences that were to come from Tom merely doing his job.

Chapter One

Doug glanced at the clock on the wall, wondering why anyone would be knocking on his door at one in the morning. Groggily, he got to his feet, switched on the closest lamp, and yawned as he shuffled to the door. Another few raps sounded, making him say slightly irritated, "I'm comin'. Just….shut up," he added, muttering under his breath. He was prepared to reprimand whoever it was when he reached for the doorknob, but shut his mouth after opening the entrance to find his partner, head down and looking utterly miserable.

"Tommy?" he asked quietly. "You alright, man? It's one o'clock."

Tom inhaled deeply and lifted his chin to stare at the older cop directly. His rich eyes appeared glassy, though not red or swollen as if he had been crying. A darkened shade tinted his lower eyelids, testifying to his lack of sleep. "Can I talk to you?"

"Yeah, sure. Come in."

Penhall stepped to the side to allow Hanson to enter. He shut the door and led the way to the nearest couch.

"Have a seat," he said before adding, "Can I get you anything?"

Hanson shook his head. "No thanks."

Plopping down beside his friend, Penhall inquired, "So, what's on your mind, buddy?"

"I can't...Have you ever shot anyone, Doug?"

"Well, um….Yeah. I had to. A lot of cops have."

"Ever killed anyone?"

"Hey, come on, Tommy. That kid-"

"Have you?" Tom interrupted firmly.

Doug shook his head after a pause. "No, I haven't."

Hanson put his hand over his mouth and started to run his forefinger over his lips as he usually did when thinking intently about something.

"It's still bothering you?" Doug questioned after a brief moment. "You've shot someone before-"

"But he didn't die, Doug," the younger cop cut in. "I didn't kill him."

"It's not like you meant to. You had to fire at the kid. He raised his gun and shot you, and you had to fire back. He would've killed those students; I don't doubt it."

"He wasn't a bad guy. He wasn't….Just brainwashed and pressured into it by his druggie, gang friends. Sixteen years old, and I killed him."

Tom rubbed his face and exhaled a shaky breath, his stomach clenching as images of the incident filtered through his mind. The bullet from Tanner had struck his upper arm, and the two he had fired at the boy hit Tanner's chest. His hand went to the acquired wound, and he brushed over it with his fingertips.

"Tom, you couldn't have done anything else," Doug said gently. "You have to move on." Hearing no response from the other man, he smiled kindly and held out his arms. "Hey, come here. Give me a hug."

Tom's lips quirked upward a little as he put his arms around his partner's neck. His back was massaged lightly and patted in a comforting gesture.

"You're a good cop, Hanson. Things like this happen, but you can't let it take you out of the game, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," Tom answered softly. "Hey, um-" He pulled away and asked, "Can I stay here for the night?"

"Yeah; of course. You look really tense. You should go take a shower or something, get you relaxed."

"That does sound nice. A bath sounds better."

"Whatever you want. I'll get you some towels."


They each stood up and as Doug went to the closet, Tom headed up the stairs to the tub. He turned on the water, using mostly warm and hot, and started taking off his clothes. Waiting for the tub to fill up, he sat on the edge of it wearing only his boxers. Doug came to him shortly with two towels and two washcloths. He set the towels on top of the lid of the toilet seat and draped the other linens over the side of the bathtub.

"Thanks," Hanson said with an appreciative smile.

"No problem. You'll need this too." He tossed a new bar of soap at Hanson before heading to the stairs. "Just yell if you need anything."

"Will do."

Tom watched his partner cross the main area below to the couch and flip on the television. It did not appear that Penhall was actually watching it; he stretched out on the sofa and from what Tom could see, his eyes were closed as if he were rapidly dozing off. Tom smiled and returned his attention back to the flowing water. It took a couple of more minutes before he was satisfied with the water level, which was only a small number of inches away from the rim, and he removed the last article of clothing he was wearing and eased himself down into the water. A sharp gasp escaped his open mouth due to its extremely warm temperature, but as he continued to lower himself into it, he started to feel his muscles loosen in relaxation. He tipped his head back under the surface for a second to wet his hair, ran his fingers through it once, and leaned back against the tub in order to stretch out. His arms rested on the sides, hands dangling over the edge, and his head laid against the curved end.

With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes; it was not long before he fell into a light sleep.

"Hey, Tommy. Wake up."

Hanson bolted upright, splashing water all over the floor from the sudden movement.

"Whoa, it's okay," Doug said gently. "Just me."

Hanson gazed up at the older male, who was sitting on the edge. "Sorry," he murmured as his anxiety subsided. "Was I asleep for very long?"

"Only a few minutes or so. You okay?"

Tom nodded and swallowed to relieve his slightly tightened throat. "Yeah, I'm fine. Bad dream, I guess."

"I guess. Look, I brought you a shirt to sleep in; I figured it'd be a bit more comfortable."


"Sure thing. And take your time. No rush. I'll just go get the couch ready for ya."

Tom got out of the bath five minutes after Penhall had left him alone, feeling much more at ease than when he had arrived at his partner's front door. He dried himself off, slipped his boxers on, and put on Doug's shirt. It was rather big, but comfortable, and he smirked at the image printed on it. He grabbed his clothes and as he descended to the main floor, he said amusedly, "Ziggy Stardust?"

Penhall turned to look at him and shrugged. "What's wrong with him? The guy rocks."

"He does; I just didn't expect you to have a shirt with his face on it." He placed his garments on the couch opposite from the one that was to be his bed for the night. "Thanks again for lettin' me crash here."

"Ah, no need for a 'thank you.' You know I'm here for ya, man."

The two men were standing behind the sofa, beginning to nonchalantly look around the area as an unusual, awkward silence settled between them. Hanson rubbed the back of his neck and ruffled his wet hair; Penhall, meanwhile, had his arms slack at his sides, tapping various rhythms on his legs. A strange urge was eating away at him – it had been ever since Tom had walked into his apartment – and it was something that had only crossed his mind on rare occasions.

Apparently, this was one of those occasions. He attributed it to the vulnerable, recently purified-by-water state Tom was in; plus, he had never seen his partner with so few clothes on before.

"Well, um," Tom muttered after a period. "Good night."

"Yeah," Doug answered distantly. "Good night."

Tom did not have a chance to move before Doug pulled him close and kissed him heatedly. It took the younger cop a couple of seconds to comprehend what was happening. He was utterly shocked by the action, though more surprised at how good Doug's lips felt on his. It was brief, however, and Doug was the first to break the contact. They stared at one another coyly; Penhall appeared to be more embarrassed than anything.

"I, uh…." he fumbled verbally. "I'm not quite sure what that was."

Tom exhaled a quick breath and nodded sharply. "It's okay."

"I'm sorry. I just….You're all depressed, and I guess I just thought it'd be a comforting thing, you know? I-"

He was hushed by Tom's mouth abruptly devouring his more vehemently than before. The younger man's arms went about Penhall's neck, one hand wandering through his hair. Sensing that he had permission, Penhall rested his palms flat against Tom's back and started to wander up and down the slim male's frame. Without realizing it, his right hand went to his partner's hip and slipped beneath the baggy t-shirt to rove over the smooth skin. Hanson emitted a noise of enjoyment, merely prompting Doug to be bolder. The older man inched his palm along his partner's side until his thumb brushed over Tom's nipple. The digits tangled in Doug's hair gripped harder, making Doug rub his thumb harder on the sensitive spot in a circular motion. A tremor went through Hanson's body, and he gave a small whimper that sent Penhall over the edge to arousal. He could not take it much longer; they were either going to end up on the couch or upstairs – he did not particularly care which it was.

While sliding his hand downward to grope Tom's cock through his boxers – which made the younger cop groan in tremendous pleasure – Doug breathed, "Bed? Wanna go?" He felt a bit ridiculous at being reduced to huffed fragments of only a couple of words, but the hot sensations of ecstasy coursing through him swallowed up any sort of coherent thought.

"Yes," Tom forced out. "Ohhn….Yes. Now."

Reluctantly, they broke apart and traveled rather hurriedly up the stairs to Doug's bed. Doug turned down the covers, and Hanson crawled onto the piece of furniture to sit in the middle. Penhall was right in front of him in seconds, head reeling as Hanson wrapped slender legs around his waist and kissed him hungrily. The longer they continued, the quicker the amount of control they had over the situation dissipated; there would be no stopping or turning back once they undressed each other, Doug knew. The possibility of upsetting his relationship with Tom did not enter his mind, nor did the thought of being uneasy around each other at work.

Besides, Tom showed no signs of quitting any time soon. He was entirely wrapped up in the moment as well.

Hanson lifted his arms, waiting as Doug hurriedly grasped the bottom of the large shirt; the garment was pulled over his head in a matter of seconds, and he kissed his partner ardently as it was tossed to the floor. A few seconds past before he broke away in order to remove Doug's shirt and throw it aside. Tom cupped the older male's face in his hands; Penhall wound his arms around the smaller man's torso; and without parting from one another's mouths, Penhall eased Tom to lie on his back. Slender legs were parted for Doug to settle himself between, and he gently lifted one to place delicate kisses on it from ankle to knee. Tom's eyes closed briefly, and he sighed contently. Doug rubbed his face against the side of his partner's bended knee for a moment before his lips continued upward to make contact with the inside of the other man's thigh.

"Doug," Hanson whispered, his fingers flexing on the bed sheets.

Penhall heard the wanting in Hanson's voice – a somewhat pleading tone – and he rested the younger male's leg down. Immediately, he gripped the top of Hanson's boxers and pulled them off of the slim hips, to Tom's knees, and then discarded them completely. The sight of his best friend lying naked, and very evidently aroused, under him was surprisingly and utterly breathtaking. Tom was observing Doug's countenance carefully and blushed a little from the way Doug silently inspected him up and down, not missing a detail. There was a period where nothing was said and neither of them moved. When Penhall found that his limbs could function again after having been struck motionless from the exquisite sight beneath him, he trailed his fingertip over the bullet wound on Tom's left arm.

"Does it hurt anymore?" he asked quietly, looking at Hanson thoughtfully.

"No. Not much. More of a dull, throbbing ache half of the time." Hanson turned his head away from the other man and exhaled a deep breath. "It shouldn't have happened like that," he said dejectedly.

"Tommy, buddy," Doug offered softly and stroked Tom's cheek. "You can't keep beating yourself up over it. He's dead. You did what you had to. There wasn't any other way it could've happened."

"The way his friend looked at me….I'll never forget it. So much anger and hurt. He kept yelling at me, screaming at me: 'How could you do this? You killed him. You're a murderer. You'll pay for this. We'll get you.' It plays over and over again in my head."

"You're not a murderer. You're a cop; you did your job. Don't let this affect what you do because you're good at what you do."

He made Tom gaze up at him before leaning down to kiss him tenderly. Tom relaxed from the touch, the arousing sensations starting to flow through him once more. With little time, Penhall took off his boxers and moved to the side of the bed to search through one of the drawers of the nightstand. Tom watched him, lust present in his brown eyes, and he could not stop himself from becoming infatuated with Doug's muscular body. He longed for that body to be all over his, yearning to caress it. As if knowing this, Penhall returned to hover above him with a plastic package and a small plastic bottle in his hands.

Doug ripped open the packet, though paused before removing the condom. "Have you done this before?"

Hanson swallowed and shook his head slightly. "No. Almost once, kind of. You?"

"No. I think I know how to, though."

Hanson smiled amusedly. "I think I know how it goes too."

Doug smirked and took out the protection. He put it on himself and doused it with lube before shifting to be directly above his partner. Hanson raised his legs and wrapped them around Doug's torso. He was trembling from intense nervousness and anticipation; his gaze locked with Doug's, and the softness present in his partner's eyes melted much of the apprehension he had.

Slowly, Penhall began to push himself into the slim body, eliciting a quivering groan from Hanson. He paused when he felt the muscles tense and stared at the younger man's visage to judge how it felt. Tom's eyes were shut tightly; his teeth were clenched together; his cheeks were flushed and he appeared tense. He expelled a gasp and arched upward as Doug slid into him more. It was painful; he could not deny it. Tears were forming behind his closed eyelids and started to fall from the corners of them.

"Stop," he huffed desperately. "Wait. Stop."

Penhall instantly ceased his movement. "Is it too much? Am I hurting you?" he questioned worriedly.

Tom was unable to answer for a moment as he tried to regain his breath. "Just….Give me a minute. I'll be okay."

In an attempt to help Tom become more comfortable, Penhall put his hand on the man's stomach and let it wander about Tom's torso. His lips attached themselves to Tom's neck to nip and suck greedily on the lightly perspiring skin. Hanson emitted a number of quiet, breathy whimpers as his throat was consumed by the other cop's warm mouth. The action worked in relaxing him, and without parting from the ever-growing darkening spot being formed by his mouth on the smooth neck, Doug commenced inching himself further into Hanson's body. Hanson's heels dug into Doug's back, and his fingers did the same as they gripped the older male's shoulder and arm.

"You alright?" Penhall asked, sounding winded.

Tom gave a stiff nod. "Keep going. Slow. Oh god….Slower."

After several more minutes, Penhall had successfully penetrated Tom completely. He rocked his hips forward, arousing a sharp inhale of breath from his partner, and then gently backward. The first couple of thrusts he did were small and careful, allowing Hanson a chance to get used to the foreign feeling of someone inside of him. The moment he saw the stress fade from Hanson's expression after awhile as the pain melted away, he withdrew from the slim being and drove himself into Tom once again with more power and more quickly. Tom cried out and shook uncontrollably. The next movement of Penhall's struck a spot deep within him that made his eyes roll back, and a loud, quaking moan of pleasure escaped from his open mouth. The reaction caused Doug to groan in return. As he settled on a leisurely pace of moving in and out of Hanson's body, he leant down to kiss all along the man's collarbone, to his neck, and upward until he reached Hanson's mouth. He kissed him erotically, letting his tongue slip into the warm oral cavity, muffling their sounds of ecstasy that came from them. Tom threw his arm across the back of Penhall's shoulders, and his free hand stroked his partner's face and hair. He had lost almost entire control over himself. The trembling vocals that sounded from him were filled with immense bliss and often pleaded for more; they had Doug hurrying his pace in order to make him moan louder.

"That feel good?" Doug panted and licked Tom's cheek.

"Yes," Tom forced out. "Oh god….Yes….Doug….Ohhh….More."

A yelp sounded from him when he felt strong fingers clasp around his erection. They began to rub him up and down, matching the pace of Doug's now fast propulsions. He writhed about under the larger man as if trying to escape, but in all actuality, he was attempting to move about in order to have as much contact with Penhall's body as possible.

After a time, he shouted Doug's name as he ejaculated onto his stomach and Penhall's hand. It was enough to stimulate Doug to complete orgasm, and he spilled himself inside of Hanson, though his seed was contained within the condom he wore.

Heavy breathing could be heard in the otherwise quiet area as they recovered from the exertion. Doug pulled out, removed the condom and set it on the floor, and rested down beside the younger man. They were each shaking and sweating and hesitant to break the silence. The realization of what they had done was beginning to at last slowly sink in, and Tom covered his face as if ashamed before finally speaking.



"What did we do? How could we have let this happen?" His tone revealed that he was somewhat frightened by it all.

"Tommy….It's alright. It's not that big of a deal," Doug lied. He merely wished to calm and not offend his partner. It did not work.

Tom bolted upright and stared at him wildly. "Not a big deal?!" he exclaimed, a hint of anger in his voice. Penhall sat up as he continued on. "We….did it! You and I! We're co-workers, partners, friends, men! What were we thinking?!" He bowed his head and rubbed his closed eyes with his index finger and thumb. "Shit," he whispered in disbelief. "Christ, what are we doing?"

"I'm not asking you for a relationship or anything, if that's what you're thinking," Doug stated blandly. "I won't tell anyone. One-night thing. We can just forget about it."

Tom smirked and looked at him. "You really believe that? I should've stopped before it got to this."

"I was only trying to make you feel better-"

"Comfort me? Sure, Doug," he interjected sarcastically. "You could've done that with a beer and a game of cards. You just wanted an easy fuck."

He got up from the bed and slid on his boxers. Doug stood as well and did the same, gazing at the shorter man angrily.

"That's bull shit, Tom," he said forcefully. "If you really had wanted it to end, you would've said something a long time ago. So obviously, you wanted to be fucked!"

"I'm going to sleep on the couch," Hanson mumbled as he made his way to the stairs.

"Great! Just great! I won't care whether you're here or not!"

Hanson reached the main floor in seconds and plopped himself down on the sofa. He winced from the soreness of his backside, and it took him awhile to find a good position before he was able to focus on sleep. He heard movement from above as Doug settled himself and sighed tiredly. It was all too much; everything was too much. His emotions were running rampant along with his thoughts, and he no longer knew what to make of what had transpired.

It was an hour before he quieted his thoughts and let his exhausted self fall asleep.

Clanging of dishes stirred Tom awake a few hours later. He opened his eyes to find himself lying on his stomach, left arm dangling off the couch and the other tucked beneath the pillow his head was on. The sunlight could be seen behind the blinds, making him groan in frustration. It was not a good or long sleep he had had; his body and mind were still utterly drained. Despite his urge to simply roll over and forget the morning, he sat up and glanced at the kitchen area. Doug was standing out the counter, pouring milk into a bowl filled with cereal. He was already dressed in jeans and a tattered, dirty white shirt. His hair had not been bothered to be brushed, but it did not matter; it was a McQuaid day. Normally eager and excited to don the faux personalities, Tom was neither. In fact, he dreaded spending the entire day with his partner, knowing it would be painfully awkward and tense between them after what had happened.

He looked away seconds before Doug's eyes focused on him, stood, and put on his jeans. As he was putting on his belt, the other cop treaded toward him unhurriedly. Penhall stopped at the end of the sofa and ate a spoonful of his breakfast before he ended the uncomfortable quietness.

"Thought you'd be gone already," he stated plainly.

Hanson clothed himself with his shirt and kept his gaze fixed on anything but his partner. "Disappointed are you, Dougie?" he retorted unenthusiastically.

"Don't really care, Tommy."

Hanson grabbed his coat and keys, and as he marched for the door, he grumbled, "See you at the chapel in thirty minutes."

The entrance was slammed shut before Penhall could respond. "Lovely. Looking forward to it."

"Hanson, you and Penhall having any success over at Ridgemont?"

Tom tossed his pencil onto his desk, nodded, and looked up at Fuller. "Yeah. We're set to meet him tonight at eleven for a purchase. I have to confirm it with him today, but I'm pretty sure this is the chance to bust him."

"Good. Where's Penhall?"

Tom was about to speak, though Doug beat him to it. "Here, Coach," he muttered as he trudged over to them.

"You're late. Now you two get out of here."

Doug was already heading back to the door before Tom even had the chance to stand up from his desk. The younger cop jogged to shorten the distance between them until he was right beside him. He situated his usual Tommy McQuaid bandana on his head, tied it, and shrugged on his worn denim jacket. Both were dressed for the part of the tough brothers, yet they acted as if they did not know one another at all and had already formed feelings of despise. They clambered into Hanson's Mustang, and as they drove toward the high school, neither said a word.

When they arrived at the campus, students found it quite unusual that Doug McQuaid was storming into the school before his brother; the two were always inseparable. It was also quite unusual when Tom entered a minute later and did not show any acknowledgment to the egotistical athlete that had quickly begun to harass him as if wanting to provoke him into a fight.

Unusual indeed that Tommy McQuaid was also walking with a slight limp that caused a twinge of minute pain to cross his face every few steps.

The first half of the day went by as Doug had expected it would: no interaction whatsoever between him and Tom. It was only when he sat down in the chair next to Tom at lunch that he received any sort of reaction. It was merely a look of annoyance he was given, prompting him to glare back at the younger man with distaste. He was about to speak, but was interrupted by a small, geeky-looking boy who had run to them. Neither of the cops heard what his offer was for their protection, for Tom swiftly commanded him to "buzz off." The kid left just as fast as he had come when he caught sight of his bullies.

"You could've at least let him state his case," Doug muttered under his breath.

"Then why don't you go run after him and see what it was about," Hanson retorted testily. "You know, I'm really surprised you'd actually sit by me. I thought you would've figured by now that I don't particularly want to be around you."

"Yeah, I could tell. Why are you being such an ass about the whole thing? It's not like I made you do anything. Be mad at yourself if ya have to be mad at someone."

"Why don't you just shut the hell up and leave me alone? Alright?"

"Why don't you just stop acting like a drama queen?"

Doug almost fell off of his chair as Hanson abruptly shoved him. He stood up furiously, and Tom was on his feet not a second later. Doug pushed the smaller man strongly. Hanson stumbled backward a few feet, yet quickly regained his balance and ran at his partner, tackled him to the ground, and began hitting him. Doug hurriedly recovered from the impact with the floor and flung Tom off of him before attacking the younger cop with his fists. There was raucous cheering and shouting from the students who had gathered around the two to watch the fight. It all ended soon, however, by several teachers swooping into the ring to pry them away from one another.

Roughly, they were hauled out of the cafeteria to go face whatever punishment the principal had for them. The spectators simply went back to their lunches, thinking nothing more of the scene than a brotherly dispute over what they believed was most likely drugs.

Hanson stepped out of Fuller's office and made his way up to the lockers. The deal was to happen at eleven that night as planned at an abandoned lot. There would be full back-up for him and his partner, seeing as how the dealer preferred to do business with several of his buddies present as well. It was already nine-thirty, and having such a stressful day with Doug made him want to go home to calm down a bit and be alone before having to meet up with him again.

He reached the second level of the church, cursing under his breath at discovering Penhall rummaging around in his locker. There was a brief period of hesitancy before Hanson proceeded to his locker next to the older cop's. Penhall did not even glance at him, nor did he say anything. Tom retrieved his long coat to take with him, slammed the metal door shut, yet did not make a move to leave. Instead, he stared down at the floor, trying to piece together what he wished to say, what he knew he should say.

"You heading out for a little while before we meet with him?" he asked, mentally berating himself for avoiding the matter that should be addressed.

"Maybe," Doug mumbled. "You finally putting the claws away?"

"We have to talk about it sometime. Preferably in a civil manner."

Doug smirked. "Civil. Right," he muttered sardonically.

"Look, I….You haven't told anyone about it, have you?"

Penhall shut his locker and turned to face the younger man. "Yes. I went around and blabbed to everyone how we slept together and how you were begging me to give you more." Tom's cheeks flushed red with embarrassment and anger; he was not amused at the lie. "What do you think?"

"I'm being serious, Doug. I don't want anyone to know."

"It was a mistake to you."

"Yes, it was. It shouldn't have happened."

"Fair enough," Penhall stated with a nod. "What I don't get is how this whole thing has seemed to consume your whole mind. I've let it go….mostly; how come you can't? I know you enjoyed it, so don't try denying that. So why such a big mistake?"

"I just wanted someone, needed someone. A-A friend. To talk to. I had no intention of it ending up the way it did. I wasn't thinking clearly because I've been so obsessed over this kid's death. I….Doug….I like women. I love women. I don't understand how I did enjoy it that much. I don't get why I was suddenly so attracted to you."

"I love women too. And it was a weird moment of attraction. But I get it. You were hurting; I wanted to help you. And somehow, me helping you came out as me….sleeping with you. Wasn't the best decision, but it was a weird moment, you know?" He paused for a second before saying sincerely, "I'm sorry for taking advantage of your vulnerability, Tommy."

Tom was motionless for a minute and stayed quiet. Penhall was about to speak once more, but Tom hurriedly brushed past him to descend to the main floor and soon left the chapel all together.

The television was flipped on simply for noise as Hanson gazed at the ceiling from where he lay sprawled out on the couch. He clutched a can of beer in one hand, while the other rested on the top of his head and massaged it gently. His mind was overrun with thoughts that would not shut up no matter how hard he tried to smash them apart. Some sort of better resolution between him and Doug had to be reached; he knew this, though he was not sure how to come by it. It had not even been a full day since he had laid with his partner, and yet it had bothered him immensely ever since he had woken up, making it feel as if it had been a week. He could not take much more. It was all too complicated and threatened to drive him insane.

He sighed, swallowed down a decent amount of his alcohol, and returned to staring above him. He had not entirely regretted what they had done; it was more of the fear and shock he had for feeling more than friendly feelings for the older cop now that made him on edge. It was inappropriate. It would not work if he were to confess his emotions to Penhall. It would be a disaster, ruining their relationship completely instead of hoping to fix it. He could not let the upset, tough exterior falter around Doug in order to prevent whatever consequences were to come if he were to show how he truly felt.

Having the urge to follow Doug's advice from the previous night, he headed to his bedroom, discarded his clothing, and went into the bathroom to take a hot shower to relax.

Doug looked at his watch and gritted his teeth. It was mere minutes until eleven, and Tom was nowhere to be found.

"Where the hell are you, Tom?" he said irately to himself.

He glanced around the dark, open area and saw nothing, but knew that Fuller and a squad of cops were in place and ready. A figure came into view ahead of him followed by six more. This was it, and he vowed inwardly to "beat the shit" out of Tom the next time he saw him.

"Where's your brother, McQuaid?" the seventeen year old dealer asked.

"Sick at home. Case of gonorrhea. Came out of nowhere."

"I suppose just working with you will be fine. Got the cash?"

Doug winked smugly and nodded. "Sure thing. Even got more than that, kid."

Not caring that it was late at night, eleven-thirty to be exact, Doug stormed down the hallway to his partner's apartment door and started banging on it loudly.

"Hanson! If you're in there, open up now!" he shouted madly. "Hanson!" He paused for a few seconds, thinking that he had heard a noise from within the apartment. It was too soft to make anything of it, however. "Fuller's going to kill you, but he'll have to wait in line. Right now, you're dead to me! I can't believe you'd pull this sort of shit! Hanson! Open the door!"

He waited a minute more before giving up and retreating to the stairs. A string of curse words were uttered in frustration once he was outside to his motorcycle from observing that Tom's Mustang was parked near the building.

"Unbelievable. Screw everyone over and then don't even bother answering your door to defend yourself. What the fuck is wrong with you, Tommy?"

Chapter Two

Fuller had given a window period of two hours for Hanson to show up at Jump Street before he decided that there would need to be some investigating of his whereabouts. He called Judy, Ioki, and Doug into his office, sat behind his desk, and waited for them to file in.

"Any news on where he is?" he asked dryly.

"No answer at his apartment," Harry stated with a shrug.

"His mom hasn't heard from him either," Judy added. "I called over to Ridgemont to see if maybe he went there for one more day, but they said he hasn't showed to any classes."

"There wasn't any answer when I went over to his place this morning," Doug said agitatedly.

"Ok," Fuller spoke after a pause. "Penhall, Hoffs, I want you two to go check on his apartment again. Ioki, call any place you think he'd turn up at."

As the three cops exited the office, Judy questioned quietly, "You want to go now, Doug?"

"Fine with me."

The three knocks on the door were followed by silence. Penhall flashed Judy an annoyed look before pounding on the entrance again.

"Not here," he voiced blandly.

"Do you know if he has a spare key hidden somewhere? Any way we can get in?"

"I don't know."

He fumbled with the doorknob, and he frowned from finding it unlocked.

"Weird," he muttered confusedly.

"Let's have a look around, shall we?"

The two stepped into the apartment and leisurely started to amble around the area. There were several empty beer cans scattered on the floor, adding more of a mess to the already slightly disorderly space.

"Doesn't look like he's here," Judy said as she made her way to Tom's bedroom.

There was a damp bath towel lying on the floor, as well as the clothes Tom had worn the day before. The bed was in disarray; sheets were crumpled and hung off the edges, appearing like someone had been rolling around on them wildly. She went closer, and an unpleasant feeling rose within her.

"Doug, come here," she said loud enough for him to hear her.

He entered a number of seconds later and inquired, "What is it?"

"Look at this."

She pointed to the sheets, and Doug's mouth fell open in wonderment.

"What the….?" He drifted off for a moment before speaking once more. "Is that blood?"

"I think so. What happened? Where do you think he's gone to?"

Penhall shook his head and inhaled a quick breath. "I don't know."

"Come on. Let's get back and see if they've found out anything."

Doug and Judy waited patiently while their captain discussed details about a case with another officer. The conversation lasted a couple of minutes longer before they were able to share their findings.

"Well?" Fuller inquired with interest.

"He wasn't there," Hoffs voiced with concern. "But there-"

"Coach!" Ioki interrupted as he jogged to the three huddled outside of Fuller's office. He clutched something in his hand, and as he came to stand in the group, he said, "Take a look at this."

Fuller took it and read the label on the video tape. "When did you find this?" he asked.

"Just now."


"Right outside the chapel door. There was no one in sight to guess who may have left it."

"What is it, Captain?" Penhall questioned; all anger he had directed at Tom had now vanished only to be replaced by extraordinary anxiety. "What's it say?"

"It says, 'To Jump Street – Here's Tom Hanson.' There's a piece of paper taped to the back here." He ripped it off before reading aloud. "Open after watching."

Saying nothing more, Fuller took the folded notebook paper and tape into his office; the three officers followed, and Ioki shut the door as Fuller pushed the cart with the TV on it from the corner of the room to the center. He inserted the VHS into the VCR, turned on the television and turned up the volume. The recorded material began almost immediately.

A tall, thin male held the camcorder out in front of him to film himself. His face was covered with a black ski mask, obscuring anything that would be able to identify him.

"Hello, Captain Fuller," he greeted with mockery. "And to any other Jump Street cop present for the fun. Wondering where your precious Officer Tom Hanson is yet? I'm sure you are, so let's go ahead and check on him, shall we?"

The screen was jumpy as the teenager, Danny, flipped the camera around, revealing that he was in Hanson's apartment and was now moving toward the bedroom. Upon entering, he panned from covered face to covered face of his four accomplices – Derick, Andrew, Eric, and Travis – before looking down. Tom was lying on his left side on the floor, his wrists in his own handcuffs behind his back and wearing nothing but a towel around his waist that went to just his knees. The half of his visage that was visible was swollen and had serious bruising, the majority of the discoloration encasing his closed eye. There was a trail of blood that showed from his hairline to his nose, where it dribbled onto the floor. His bottom lip was split open and bled a little; the red liquid that had leaked from the wound earlier onto his chin had already dried.

"Oh my god," Doug whispered, his eyes wide and his expression filled with fury.

Tom let out a small groan and stretched his legs; his left eye opened halfway, which appeared to cause him pain due to the struggle it took to do so.

"Looks like he's comin' around," Travis snickered.

"Get him up."

One of them crossed to the officer they had beaten to unconsciousness, grabbed a fistful of Tom's still wet hair, and pulled harshly. Tom whimpered as he was hauled to his feet, resulting in laughter from the other five in the room.

"How is it that this man can get away with murder? Is that fair?" Danny asked.

"It certainly isn't," Derick answered from where he stood beside Tom's dresser.

"So what do we do with him?"

"We should have more fun with him," Andrew suggested and finally let go of Hanson's hair. "Treat him like he would be if he was put in prison for the murder he committed, seeing as he would be one of the 'pretty' ones." The five masked men laughed at the comment that made Hanson bow his head from embarrassment and humiliation. "Show him who's in charge of him now."

"How would you feel about your pretty officer then, Captain Fuller?" Derick yelled at the camera with a smirk.

Andrew tore the towel away from Hanson's body, prompting another round of entertained laughter spawned from the mortification written on Tom's countenance.

Doug could feel his face growing hotter and hotter by the minute as he watched the abuse of his partner. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and he had to control himself from striking the wall.

"Who wants him?" Andrew asked. "Or am I first?" He traced his finger down Tom's cheek, making the young cop recoil from the contact. The four other captors sniggered and hooted at this. "I'll just take him."

He pushed Tom to the bed and shoved him to lay on it. Eric covered the officer's mouth with duct tape that stretched from Hanson's right ear to his left. It was evident that Hanson was already thoroughly exhausted, and he could not bring himself to waste his strength on trying to force Andrew off of him.

The camcorder focused on Tom's battered face, catching every flinch of pain and the utter shame present in his usually lively brown eyes. They were soon shut tightly as he arched upward and practically screamed from Andrew thrusting into him. Several clear tears fell from the corners of his eyes, and he trembled when the man withdrew from his body. A loud moan, which was muffled by the tape, sounded from him as he was penetrated again. A string of whimpers started to come from him as he was defiled, while a new wave of tears overwhelmed him.

"Turn it off," Doug growled through clenched teeth.

Tom cried out and kept his eyes closed even after Andrew was done and Travis began.

"Turn it off!" Doug shouted madly and stormed to the VCR. He pressed the stop button and then the eject button numerous times as if that would make the tape pop out faster. Before he had a chance to retrieve it – and tear it apart – Fuller removed it and set it on his desk. Judy was staring at the floor, her eyes red and wet from grief. Ioki inhaled a deep breath and put a hand over his mouth for a moment. Not able to contain it any longer, Doug unleashed his rage by kicking the metal filing cabinets and punching the wall as he cursed.

Once he was finished, he collapsed onto the couch, breathing rapidly.

"The note," Fuller started in a faint voice and picked up the folded piece of paper. "Reads, 'Like what you saw? Look again tomorrow for more'." He put it aside and shook his head. "Any ideas who this could've come from?"

"Maybe it's a friend of Tanner's out for revenge," Doug said distantly. "Or maybe his brother rounded up some friends to do it. Tom mentioned one of them threatened that he would 'pay for' killing Tanner." With a dejected sigh, he leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "I went over to his place last night. I yelled at him for not being there for the bust, and while I pounded away on the door, he was in there….being raped." The last word was spoken with hesitancy. "I….I could've helped him."

"It's not your fault, Penhall," Fuller said in an effort to ease the guilt Doug had. "We don't know if he was even there when you went over. They could've already taken him. You couldn't have stopped them. Now, do you know the kid's name that Hanson was talking about? Or his brother?"

"I know Tanner's brother for sure."

"Find him."

Officer Penhall was utterly impatient as he waited on the doorstep in front of the nice, pastel colored house. He rocked back and forth on his heels and continuously mumbled, "Come on, come on." Ioki was significantly calmer, and he knew he would most likely have to keep Doug from lashing out at the suspect.

The door was finally opened by a woman, and it was obvious that she was not happy with them standing on her porch.

"What the hell do you want?" she demanded.

"Mrs. Benton," Ioki began in a composed tone of voice. "We'd like to speak with your son for a moment."

She smirked bitterly. "The one your friend didn't kill? I don't think so. He's done with you and your fellow cops. Leave us alone."

"We have reason to believe he's a suspect in the kidnapping and rape of Officer Hanson."

"This is ridiculous. He wouldn't be involved in those sorts of heinous, disgusting crimes. He's still grieving, for god's sake. He can barely get out of the house for school, much less anything else. Now get out of here and stay away from my son."

Swiftly, she slammed the door shut. Doug turned around and worked to withhold from breaking in. A thought suddenly hit him, and he started for the car with Ioki close behind.

"I know some places he hangs out at," he said with determination in his voice.

In one quick motion, Penhall threw Tanner's brother against the wall, out of plain sight from the main part of the dingy bar. He held the teenager there and stared at him vengefully, while Ioki merely observed with little concern for the kid's well-being.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Danny asked, annoyed.

"I'm sure you have an idea," Doug hissed maliciously. "My partner? Tom Hanson? He's missing."

"So? Why would I care? He deserves whatever's coming for him."

Doug gripped Danny's shirt tighter and pressed against his throat. "I think you had somethin' to do with it. You and four of your fucking friends."

A smirk came to the teen's face. "Why would I do anything to him?"

"You know damn well why. You beat him, raped him, and then took him away. Where is he?"

"Did he enjoy it?" His blue eyes were glittering with malcontent.

"Enjoy what?"

"Being fucked like a prison bitch?"

Doug struck him forcefully before flinging him to the ground and holding him down.

"Where is he?!" Penhall growled dangerously between clenched teeth.

"I don't know. I had nothing to do with it."

"I swear to god, if he dies, I will kill you myself and you'll be no better off than your brother."

The officer stood, glared at him threateningly, and treaded out of the bar.

"I'm gonna find you, Tommy," he whispered as tears of frustration filled his eyes.

Once they had finished with using his body for their pleasure, Tom had been hit violently until he had passed out. The next time he had opened his eyes, he found himself lying in the back, windowless half of a van still handcuffed and with duct tape still covering his mouth. He had been thankful to discover that he was dressed in a pair of boxers. There was no way of telling where he was or where he was being taken to, and extreme weariness had won out several times, causing him to close his eyes and fall asleep now and then on the way to the destination.

The fourth time he awoke, he was sprawled out on the concrete floor of an unfinished basement in a house. There were a couple of windows around the space that revealed it was daylight outside. The previous night's events seemed like nothing more than a horrible nightmare, but the grotesque bruises on his body and his incredibly sore backside reminded him that it had indeed all happened. He was no longer handcuffed, though the tape remained. Very slowly, he started to pull it off. He grimaced in pain as it was unhurriedly removed. After a few minutes, he was successful, and he crumpled it and chucked it across the area.

It took a great amount of energy and effort to lift himself to a seating position against the cold, hard wall; he hated feeling entirely worn out. Nonchalantly, he gazed about his surroundings, which were surprisingly rather void of furniture. There was a double-sized bed, a couch, and a bunch of wires everywhere. On the opposite end from where he was, there was a door that went to a small bathroom and another that was shut and locked. As for lighting, there was one fluorescent light overhead and several individual spotlights hanging from the ceiling. Something that caught his attention was the presence of numerous holes in the walls. He looked into one, yet could not tell what was in it. He thought he could see a tiny red light, but it went away, making him believe he had imagined it.

Cautiously as to not cause anymore unneeded pain, he started to get to his feet and was able to after a minute or so. He ached everywhere; it was impossible to take even one step without having some part of his body hurting. Despite this, he started limping to the other side of the spacious area to investigate his new surroundings more thoroughly. He meandered over to the stairs leading up to the above floor and discovered that a door – seemingly made of some type of metal to ensure no escape – was closed, leaving him no chance of going anywhere other than around the dingy space. There was no reason to check if it was unlocked or not; he knew it was bolted securely.

After only a couple of minutes, he collapsed to the floor next to the bed. He let his eyes sweep over the room one more time before at last succumbing to the stress, degradation, and anguish. Quietly, he wept alone, bringing his knees to his chest to embrace. He suddenly felt wholly disgusting and dirty, the vast opposite of how he had felt after giving himself to Doug. The chances of Doug wanting him now, he knew, were extremely slim to none. Then again, he thought shamefully, Penhall did not have to know about him being physically and sexually maltreated. Refusing to reveal any of the details to the older cop – if he was indeed found – would be what he would do, along with ignoring and declining any advances from Penhall if he made them.

As evening rolled in, so did a strong storm. He could hear the wind and rain beating against the house and saw the world outside light up from each vein of lightening. The thunder was occasionally powerful enough to shake the walls above him and loud enough to startle him and make him quake. The lights flickered once before going out entirely, plunging him into complete darkness. The stillness within his confines and total blackness made him begin to breathe rapidly as he panicked. The solitude here was nothing like what he had gone through at the juvenile jail with Doug. He remembered how his partner had lost it due to claustrophobia, and he suddenly knew how Penhall had felt. It was stifling and crushing, and he curled up on the floor as if to escape it. He murmured desperate prayers, asking for the electricity to return incredibly soon. It was not long before he passed out from his intense anxiety.

The lights never came on for him until morning.

Doug hardly slept at all; it was an apparent fact by his disheveled hair, tired and dull eyes, and he had not changed out of the outfit he had worn the day before. There was nothing he could concentrate on except for Tom Hanson and what could possibly be happening to the younger officer. He was making himself physically sick from pondering constantly on his partner, and shortly after he arrived at the chapel, he had to run for the bathroom to vomit miserably.

It was his fault. It was his fault that Tom had been kidnapped and raped. If he had just made Tom stay and talk like he had wanted to, or had gone to Hanson's apartment at least thirty minutes before the bust, Hanson would not be missing.

It took a great deal of energy to trudge back downstairs to his desk. Various reports littered the surface – things he needed to get done – but he could not focus on any of it. Whenever his phone rang, he picked it up hurriedly, hoping to hear Tom's voice on the other end, but it never was, and his spurt of vitality was snuffed just as quickly as it had come.

The way his friend looked at me….I'll never forget it. So much anger and hurt. He kept yelling at me, screaming at me: 'How could you do this? You killed him. You're a murderer. You'll pay for this. We'll get you.'

Doug broke his pencil in half while hearing Hanson speak in his mind. There was no other main suspect that they could find at the moment, and there was not much need to; Doug knew without a doubt that Danny was heavily involved in the crime, though there was no real evidence to pin on him and put him away. And Danny was not going to spill a word of any helpful tips.


Penhall glanced up to see Judy racing in from outside to Fuller's office. She went in, and Penhall exchanged a serious look with Ioki before following her. When they entered, she was handing a piece of paper over to their boss, and Doug's heart thumped painfully, fearfully, from witnessing a tinge of horror in Fuller's eyes.

Noticing the three officers' imploring gazes, Fuller cleared his throat and read the note. "Much more on display. Many more viewers. Curious? copkiller dot com." He paused before setting the paper down and looking at the three present. "They mean serious business. This wasn't a random kidnap. I want the three of you to make a list of names of all the kids Hanson's arrested in the past two months and then find out whether they've been released or not and where they went."

"I still think we should continue going after Danny Benton," Doug said firmly.

"Fine. You can put your attention to him."

"Are you going to see what that website is?" Judy asked.

Fuller gave a stiff nod, retreated behind his desk to sit down, and in seconds had the URL typed in. The three cops huddled around to view the screen, all of them feeling exceedingly anxious and worried.

When the webpage loaded, Doug stopped breathing for a second and he felt like throwing up. At the top was the site's name and below it was a large photo of Hanson's police badge, showcasing who was to be the victim. A couple of links were on the side that led to a place to post comments and to view more video recordings. Taking up the center area was a video of live feed from a camera positioned close to a bed; it was the featured camera of the day, and the many other angles and shots to watch could be found by clicking the link on the side. The bottom of the page was what was most troubling. It was positioned in the center above a visitor count.

Days, hours, minutes, and seconds were displayed with words above it, stating: "Time until Officer Tom Hanson's Execution."

A countdown.

Doug was in shock, as were his co-workers. Had he been shot? No, he was still alive; but he was suddenly feeling as if everything was being drained out of him like blood seeping from a wound. His best friend was going to be murdered. Tom would be dead in thirteen days, nine hours, forty-five minutes, and twenty seconds if they were unable to find him before then.

"Is that him?"

Judy's voice snapped Doug away from his thoughts, and he stared at the computer screen more intensely.

"Yeah, that's him," Harry answered sadly.

Tom had moved directly into the camera's range by sitting on the floor with his back against the side of the bed. He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and extended his legs out in front of him. His skin – the smooth, unmarred, beautiful skin Penhall had tasted and caressed – was terribly discolored by an innumerable amount of bruises and cuts. Penhall swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the memory of claiming Tom's body, and finally had to look away from his maltreated partner.

"I'm putting ten more people on this case with you three," Fuller said, hiding his anger and despondency from his tone. "We will find him."

Chapter Three

The room was dark, though light soon poured inside from the door opening upstairs. Footsteps could be heard descending the stairs, and Tom held his breath in anticipation. He struggled to his feet just as the person came into view at the bottom of the steps and squinted a little to study the male's face even though the only part of the person's visage showing was the lower half; from the bridge of his nose and up, it was shrouded by what looked like a beanie to Tom, with holes cut out so the person could see.

"Hello, Officer Hanson," the seventeen year old greeted bitterly. The voice and the way he stood gave him away.

"Danny Benton," Tom half-whispered, half-croaked.

Tom stiffened as Danny moved promptly to him, knowing that he was about to be hit judging by the tight scowl on the kid's face. The blow was harder than he had expected, sending him backwards a couple of steps before being slammed against the wall roughly. A hand went to his throat in a choke hold, keeping him up against the cement surface.

"Don't fucking say my name," Danny hissed madly. "Ever."

"Then what do I call you?" Hanson gasped and winced from more pressure applied to his neck.

"Smith. And nothing else."

"Why are you doing this? I'd expect something like this from your brother, but not you; you're not like him."

"How would you know?"

"Good grades, clean record, a bit quiet – doesn't seem like the criminal type to me."

"Well, you're wrong. And if you hadn't killed him, you wouldn't be here."

"If he hadn't have taken those students hostage and put a gun to that girl's head, he wouldn't have died."

The reply garnered him a powerful slap, making him emit a small whimper from the intense sting on his throbbing cheek.

"You better watch your mouth, Hanson," Danny warned in a low-tone.

"Are you really wanting to throw your life away over him? Because that's what will happen. You'll be charged with kidnapping and…." He paused to think of a less degrading term for what else they had done to him. "Assault on an officer, and you'll be put away for a long time. You really want that? You could let me go now and have the charges against you lessened."

"You know what I really want? I want to hurt you. I want to hurt you in every way possible. I want you to suffer and pay for what you did. By the time I'm done with you, you'll be so scarred by what's happened and what you look like that you'll never want to be seen by anyone else again."

To emphasize his point, Benton slipped his hand behind the waistband of Tom's only garment and stroked the officer's limp cock forcibly. Tom tried to jerk away, but he could not get past the strong hold on him. He realized it was not only physical abuse he would have to endure, but emotional as well when he felt the sickening humiliation take over him.

"Don't do this," he voiced quietly. "Stop it."

"I think you're just beginning to enjoy it."

Tom bit his lip and closed his eyes for a fleeting moment as he debated over what to do. The instant he re-opened them, he grabbed Benton's arm and pried it away from his body, pushed him to the floor, and began racing for the stairs. His heart was beating so incredibly rapidly that he felt as if he would burst from the inside-out. A glimpse of hope went through him as he neared the metal door at the top. There were only two more steps.

He was suddenly hurled backwards, falling down the wood stairs to land on the ground face-down in a pitiful heap. Searing pain shot through his skull and seemed to travel all the way down to his feet. He let out a weak, quivering groan and remained immobile as his attacker came down slowly with a couple of new tools. Blood streamed from various spots on his head, and he had to blink several times to keep it out of his eyes. He could taste the red substance in his mouth from his jaw having crashed against the cement floor, making him surprised to discover that none of his teeth had come loose. The agony of the fall left him feeling completely paralyzed; he hoped in some ways that he was, believing if he was to become utterly incapacitated, he would no longer be as great of a plaything for his captors and be released.

Danny kicked Hanson's stomach powerfully twice, resulting in the victim vomiting wretchedly.

"You pull a stunt like that again, and you're liable to make it much worse for yourself," the teenager stated plainly.

As Tom lay helpless, Danny flipped him over to lie on his back and placed a thick block of wood between Tom's feet just above his ankles. He was up on his knees, gripping a sledgehammer and grinning devilishly.

"Ever heard of Misery, Tom?" he asked conversationally.

Hanson closed his eyes and continuously moaned in intense pain, moving his head very slowly from side to side, and he could not quite decipher what had been spoken; he was hardly aware of what Danny was about to do.

Benton drew back his weapon and with one swift motion, he slammed it against Hanson's right ankle. Tom screamed in torment and dared to glance at his foot now limply lying against the wood, the bones having been smashed apart. The sight made his stomach clench, almost causing him to throw up. Tears leaked from his eyes, sweat blanketed his worn skin, and he was panting heavily. He did not comprehend the next course of action until it happened. He wailed once more when his left ankle was shattered in the same fashion as the previous one.

"I wouldn't get too comfortable if I were you," Danny voiced amusedly. "There's still more to be done for the evening."

With a satisfied laugh, Danny made his way up the stairs, and Tom heard the metal door slam shut.

"Come on, Tommy," Doug whispered, his eyes glued to his computer monitor in his living room. "Get up. Come on."

He had been watching the live feed on the website non-stop ever since he had gotten home from the chapel at four. It was now eight o'clock. Tom's fall down the stairs had him almost in hysterics, and seeing the process of his partner's feet being broken made him unable to breathe for practically a minute and a half. The mere sight sent pain through his own bones.

"Please, get up. Please be ok."

After ten minutes of utter stillness, Doug witnessed Tom's hand move to his head for a period before he rolled onto his abdomen and did his best at crawling toward the bed. There was a puddle of blood from where Tom's head had struck the ground, and blood continued to drip on the floor from other contusions as he dragged himself across the area. He was sobbing, and it made Doug's heart ache unbearably to see. It was not until he observed the tears on his partner's face that he realized he was crying as well.

The phone rang suddenly, causing him to jump in surprise. It was at the other end of the large area, and he hesitated to leave the screen – to leave Tom. The ring sounded two more times before he got up and went to answer it.

"What do you want?" he asked curtly.

"Doug? It's Judy."

"Oh, hey, Jude. Sorry."

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm fine."

"Well I was just calling to see if you wanted to meet me, Ioki, and Booker at Oscar's bar for a drink-"

"Wait, Booker? Since when is he back?"

"He heard about the case and requested that he could work on it with us. I guess he does care at least a little for Tom even though they got under each other's skin most of the time. Anyway. We're all kind of shaken up from today and thought it may be good to go out and clear our heads."

"I can't….I can't just leave, Judy."

"What are you talking about? Why?"

"I don't want to miss anything – any sort of clue as to where Tom is. I can't leave him."

"Doug, please tell me you haven't been at that website ever since you got home. You were watching it practically the whole day at work. You need to take a break from it; it'll make you sick."

"Then who's gonna be watching, huh?!" he questioned angrily. "Just abandon him for a few hours so that I can go off and enjoy myself and take my mind off of what's happening to him and then come back later as if nothing's wrong for a little longer?!"

"I didn't mean it like that, Doug. I'm worried about you. I don't want you to start losing sleep and getting so obsessed with watching every single minute of that disgusting video feed. You'll be no good to him if you can't think clearly."
Doug sighed in defeat, knowing she was right. "Yeah, I guess. Look, you guys go have a good time alright? I think I'm gonna turn in for the night."

"Ok. We'll just see you tomorrow. And I mean it; get some rest, Doug."

A minute smile came to Doug's face. "Yes, mother," he replied jokingly.

"Ha ha, very funny, Douglas. Good night."

"Night, Judith."

He hung up the phone and despite what he had just gotten done telling Judy, he went straight to the computer to continue his surveillance. Nothing had happened in his absence, judging by the fact that Tom had not moved whatsoever from where he had passed out near the bed. Every now and then a spasm went through Tom's body and he cried out at times, but he did not regain consciousness for a lengthy period.

Doug folded his arms on the desk and rested his head on them. He did not plan on falling asleep, yet his eyes seemed to think otherwise, for they closed and he was out in minutes.

The sounds of shallow breathing, soft moans, and lowered voices that were incomprehensible awoke Doug two hours later. He bolted upright in his chair, rubbed his tired eyes, and gazed at his screen to witness what was happening at that moment. He almost threw the monitor across the spacious area in a moment of rage from what he saw.

The feed came from a camera that captured the left side view of what was occurring on the bed. The image was clear and close enough to capture facial expressions, though far enough away to have the whole bed in the shot. Tom was lying on his back, hands above his head and handcuffed to the bed posts. He was naked, and his knees were bent, almost touching his chest. One of his captors was positioned between his legs and thrusting in and out of his body vigorously, while the four others looked on in amusement.

Doug's stomach churned as he watched Hanson be gang raped brutally. The five of them took turns at violating the young officer's being; not only did they participate in complete intercourse, but they let their hands wander inappropriately over his body, making Hanson writhe under them in an attempt to get them off of him. One even shifted Tom's head to the side so that he could fornicate Tom's mouth with his once-again hard cock. Tom whimpered in shame and pain, and he hated that he had been made entirely powerless to stop any of it. He swallowed down the urge to cry in torment, not wishing to display anymore weakness.

The appalling treatment made Penhall snap. He flew out of his chair and began shouting curses as he threw anything he could get his hands on at the wall. He did not even know what he was picking up, but knew that some of them had to be glass objects due to the shattering noise they made when they collided with the bricks. His fists struck his punching bag furiously as he let his anger pour out of him.

"I'll kill them! I'll bash their freaking heads in!" he yelled to the empty room. He hit the bag one more time before he wrapped his arms around it and held it close to keep him standing. "I'm going to find you, Tom. I swear to god. You don't deserve this."

With a depressed sigh, he shuffled back to the computer a couple of minutes later and was a bit relieved to find that they were no longer fondling or ravishing Tom. His wrists had been freed from the cuffs, and Travis shoved him off the bed to hit the floor with a feeble moan.

"Looks like you could use a little clean up, eh, Tommy?" Derick said with disdain. He took a fistful of Tom's hair and began pulling him toward the bathroom. Tom yelped from the sudden pain, and he made to ease himself along with his feet, but the agony that engulfed the floppy appendages caused him to simply grasp Derick's arm and pull himself up as much as he could to alleviate the aching hurt from his hair being yanked on.

When he was hauled into the bathroom, they all went out of the shot. Doug scrambled to click on the link that led to a page that looked as if it belonged in a security surveillance room; he estimated that there were at least fifteen cameras in use. He scrolled down until he found the recording frame of the camera positioned on the wall at the opposite end from the shower head in the bath. Tom was hurled into the tub and gruffly lifted to stand. A hand was offered to him to hold onto to keep from collapsing. The weight on his freshly broken ankles was so extremely agonizing that it made him black out several times every few seconds. No longer could he refrain from letting hot tears stream down his discolored cheeks.

The faucet was turned as far as it could go to the right to be as cold as possible. When the water rained down on him, Hanson gasped loudly and struggled to move away, but he was forcefully kept in place. He could not breathe; the freezing temperature made it feel as if his lungs had been punctured, for he found it unbearably difficult to take in any air. The arm not steadying himself wrapped around the front of his torso instinctively in an effort to provide warmth. His mind went into a state of panic; he began to hyperventilate, causing him even more trouble breathing, and emitted choked sounds. He shook violently as the water cascaded over his beaten body. Dried blood was flushed away, along with a small amount of semen – from whom, he did not know. It was a cruel baptism, one that did not end after only a few seconds.

"Who do you wish was keepin' you warm right now, Tommy boy?" Danny taunted. "Some hot blonde you'd love to have between a pair of warm sheets?"

Hanson could not answer; he could not find the ability to speak at all. He gave a stiff shake of the head.

"A brunette girl? Or perhaps not a girl at all. You a faggot, Tom Hanson?" The five masked males laughed at this.

Hanson did not respond and merely continued to shiver uncontrollably.

"Ah, who is it, Tommy? Who are you wishing was keeping you warm? I wouldn't be surprised if you said your partner."

The officer opened his mouth wider as if to reply, yet there was nothing but stifled noises that came from his constricted throat.

"Come on, Hanson. Who?"

"D-D-D-Dou-Doug," he forced out between his chattering teeth.

Doug's mouth fell open and he felt his heart stop for a second. He stared at the monitor, wide-eyed, and placed his fingers to the screen on Tom's cheek.

"God, Tom," he whispered sadly. "I'd love to keep you warm. I'd love to keep you safe in my bed. I….I love you, Tom."

Danny placed his fingertips under Hanson's chin to make him lift his head. The young officer's eyes were half-way open and staring blankly ahead of him. Though they appeared void of any sort of emotion, Penhall could discern the disgrace and killed pride he tried to conceal.

"Didn't know they allowed fags onto the police force," Danny snickered. "Thought it was reserved for real men."

The comment received a good deal of laughter from his accomplices, yet it garnered a string of strongly worded sentences to fly from Doug's mouth.

The time crept along at a snail's pace, and Doug wondered how much longer they would keep Hanson under the shower head – more so, he wondered how much longer Hanson could endure it.

Twenty minutes of ceaseless frigid water pouring on him passed, and none displayed any signs of turning it off. Tom's lips had become a light shade of blue violet, and his skin had paled. He would not be surprised if icicles were forming on him, for it certainly felt as if a hoard of them was stabbing him everywhere.

"How ya doin', Officer Hanson?" Eric questioned with a smirk.

Tom uttered something, but it was so quiet that no one could hear it.

"What was that? We missed it."

"C-C-C-C-Co-Cold," he stammered. "S-S-So c-c-c-cold."

"Had enough?"

"Y-Y-Yes. P-Pl-P-Please."

Five more minutes ticked by before the faucet was turned to off. Tom gasped frantically for air, sounding as if he had been held underwater for a period of time and almost drowned. There were no towels to wrap around him, leaving Andrew to simply drag his soaked form on the ground by his wrist. They left him on the floor next to the bed before retreating up the stairs and locking him in.

Tom was shuddering fiercely and wheezing softly. Though his body protested any sort of movement, he forced himself to his knees to grab onto the mattress and after much toil, he pulled himself onto the bed. His energy was fading rapidly, making him act as fast as he could to slither underneath the two thin bed sheets. He rested his head on two of the three pillows, curled up snuggly on his side, and clutched the covers to him like they were a lifeline. They did not provide much warmth by any means, though he was beyond grateful that he had something to cocoon himself in instead of nothing at all. What little heat they did give was growing less due to his freezing body drenching the sheets with water. His thin frame was by now fairly numb, yet he felt a collective throbbing sensation all over him. The anguish of his feet had been substantially lessened because his mind merely identified the dangerously low body-temperature and demanded more heat.

Thoroughly exhausted, he let his wearied eyes close and attempted to fall asleep. It did not work; however, his body was in such a state of shock, that his mind shut down to cause unconsciousness.

Doug inhaled deeply and rubbed his face. He was worn out himself, and it was only because Tom's suffering was done for the evening and he was lost in oblivion that Doug went to lie down on the couch. He refused to use the blanket nearby even though he was chilly; it felt wrong to have it when Tom had practically nothing.

Passing one last glance at the computer for the night, he muttered a despondent "good night, Tom" before he let himself go to sleep for the night.