TERMINAL THINKING

Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live: - Norman Cousins

A/N: My first 21 JumpStreet FanFic. Not sure how it will be yet…so please give me your thoughts.

A ONESHOT to kick off with.

It was unavoidable.

We had not been privy to the full load of information available…and I know…I am sure if we had then things would have turned out differently.

But they didn't.

We messed up.

Our cover was blown and shots were fired.

So I am still standing…and I have not one scratch on me and I don't like it. I don't like it one bit. Doug is in hospital…he will be fine…Booker, Booker got messed up too…Last time I saw him he was being intubated and rushed off with blood seeping from various places.

Kids…teenagers…

I finger brush my hair and walk over to the kitchen sink.

They were kids…I was playing dressup and assuming we had all the facts…

And now they are dead. Too many dead kids…too many injured officers…and me? I run the cold water and cup my hands under the cool liquid and then splash it over my face. I feel too hot…so I pace the apartment and pull the long sleeved top off over my head and throw it to one side.

I stop and run my fingers over my torso…across the pale skin…over my nipples…and then across my ribs and down to my navel. Not one damned mark on me. How unfair is that? All that death and blood and devastation…and I come away unscathed.

The bathroom mirror is my next stop.

I stand and look at my reflection in the mirror over the bathroom washbasin. I have lost weight. I look too thin. I look sick. They should have picked on me. They should have seen me as an easy target and taken me down first. That was what I expected…but they didn't. They took out Penhall and then Dennis and followed that up but taking the lives of a dozen kids.

So I lean in closer and take a better look at my face. The face which should have at least had a bruise…or a mark…something…anything…

I tug at my belt and pull open the front of the tatty jeans I am still wearing…I unbutton the fly and start to pull them down. Maybe a shower will help me to feel better about it? I sit on the bathroom floor with my back pressed against the wall and pull off my jeans. Then I sit and look at my bare legs. Nothing…not a graze or mark on me…that shouldn't be.

"Danmit!"

Getting to my feet I walk to the shower and turn on the warm water…Then I look at it and turn up the heat a bit. I will feel something…If they are not capable of doing it…then I suppose I will have to do it myself. I push my boxers down and kick them off whilst at the same time I grab liquid soap and step under the much too hot water.

It makes me release a small sound of pain and it feels so good. I massage the soap over my flesh and tip my head back and squirt some into my hair…Then rub it in and stand still. I feel the soap dripping down my face and stinging my eyes…but that's fine I don't mind that. It gives me an excuse for the tears. I'm not sad…I'm not crying because I can smell all that blood still. I'm not crying because – well you know when you are in a room of people…no matter what the age is…it kinda stinks when they lay there and the fluids leek from the bodies. That is something you don't see on the training films…that is something you don't get on the training exercises… that special smell of death. The final humiliation. Not enough that you just got your head blown off…you have to follow it with …… that smell.

So yeah…it's that which is making my eyes water…that knowledge…I am washing that stench away because it clings to you….it sticks in your hair…and gets under your fingernails…and it is on your skin…there just laying there…then creeping slowly under the surface…so this soap…it sort of washes my eyes clean…

It makes a sort of sense to me.

I pick up the nail brush from the small shower shelf and I start to scrub…Firstly at my finger nails…then at my fingers and the back of my hands…I scrub with the brush over my arms….and then stand looking at the red raised rough skin.

The brush drops to the floor and I start the process again…only this time with my finger nails…digging in…scratching…drawing blood which is almost instantly washed away. I move my hands again to my chest and scratch and claw at it there…At least now…now I can see the damage done to me…

It was there all along…only under the surface. Lurking there waiting for me to release it…

This time it is a small laugh I hear escape from my mouth…

I don't know how long I stay under the water for…but when I open my eyes I am sitting with my back to the wall and my knees pulled up tight. My arms are wrapped around my legs and the water is running cold. When I breathe I take shuddering breaths as though I have been crying…but I don't think I have. It is more likely I am just cold. I slowly climb back to my feet and turn off the water then leave the bathroom…grabbing a white fluffy towel on the way and wrapping it tightly around my waist. I am covered now in scratches and marks…and I feel better for it…even though somewhere in my subconscious I suspect that they are self inflicted. I walk to the small kitchen and grab up a pair of scissors then walk back to the lounge. I turn on some music and then sit and inspect my nails.

They are too long. Much too long…and as I lift them to my face I can still smell the blood and muck from the scene….Even all that soap didn't get rid of it.

…………………..and so I cut my nails back…maybe a bit too far…fingers on my left hand are bleeding now…that is ok…that is fine…at least I will no longer be able to smell the vile death on my hands…on my hands…that's what this is all about isn't it?

I swap the scissors over and start on the fingers of my other hand….Cutting again down further than I should. And it bleeds…but I can't feel the pain…and this is getting annoying…why cant I feel it? With my friends…my family…the people I love…well Booker too…with Doug and Dennis in the pain they are in…where is my share? I look down at the scissors and frown at them…Damned things.

I hurl them away from me and over at the wall and they hit and fall to the floor with a small clattering sound…I can see blood on the towel I have around me and I am initially puzzled by it…then I realise it is from my hands. I blink and then raise my eyebrows at them.

"Okey dokey boys…you happy now?" I say to them…and they ooze and drip in response to me.

And it is about now that the phone starts to ring. I don't want to talk to people. I don't want to hear about how Doug has not made it….I don't want to know that Booker is fine…I just don't want to hear the pain in Fuller's voice when he delivers the message…so I lean over and with sticky bloodied fingers I pull on the phone and yank the wire out of the wall.

"Leave me alone." I mutter at it… "Just leave me."

So I lay down on my side and wrap my arms around my head to try to get rid of the sounds and images…to block out the screams…to stop myself from seeing the death around me whist I stand with my arms at my side not knowing what to do but I can see the scissors laying there and they are shouting out at me….telling me what to do…and I can hear it so clearly that it makes my heart beat faster and my nose run with the sudden knowledge and understanding…Quickly I get up and retrieve them and then lay back down on the couch.

Hesitating… Giving myself a chance that the kids never had. I feel sick…I feel so damned sick…and I can feel my stomach knotting and again my eyes are watering…and I am shaking…and slowly darkness comes and lets my head for a very short while relax.

But you know what?

It still doesn't hurt.

-o-o-o-

They tried calling Hanson…and got no reply and so Harry and Judy stand outside his apartment door and frown at each other…Harry hammers hard against the door…they can hear the dull sound of music playing…they know he is there…behind the door.

Harry turns to Judy and shrugs. "Looks like I'm going to have to use the spare key." He reaches up and lets his fingers play over the top of the door frame until they find the spare key. He blows off the dust and looks at Hoffs.

"I don't like this Harry." She bites on her bottom lip.

Harry blinks at her and tries to smile…but his own fears of what they might find are to great to allow it. He had failed to turn up for work…and now he wasn't answering his phone. The worry of what was on the other side of the door made little beads of sweat pop out onto Ioki's forehead.

"You ready Jude?"

and she shrugged. She would never be ready for this.

Harry's hands shook as the key found it's way to the lock. They just had to hope that the bolts weren't across on the inside of the door…Ioki didn't fancy kicking his way into his friends apartment….especially if he was not answering the door because he was in the tub….or shower…or had a girl….or a boy with him….One more look at Judy and the key turned.

For the shortest of times they just stood and surveyed the room…they could see something had happened. They could see blood on the floor…they could smell that horrible smell you learn to associate with death…and they could see…they could see Tom laying on the couch as though he was sleeping…

Judy ran for the phone to find it disconnected from the wall…she was quick…though her hands shook…she plugged it back in and called nine one one…

Harry ran to Tom and pulled him quickly from the sticky mess on the couch to the floor…

He sat astride him and tired…

He tried really hard…He was still trying when the EMT's arrived only a short while later.

A/N: Well, I don't write much happy stuff…so this was to be expected really. I don't write fluff….but I don't write character death either….do you want to know what happens? Or can I leave this as my introduction to PanicButton's 21 JS FF? Let me know what you think….I can only improve on it if you are honest!