AN: Well here it is. The beginning. I would like to say that I by no means ship Sharon/Jack. However, this is a story about Sharon. How the people in her life, the choices she's made, the relationships she's forged, have all converged to make her who she is. Therefore, Jack is around, at least in the beginning. And I'd like to think that at some point they were at least marginally happy. Well, for a chapter or two, at least.

Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. I promise to put them away when I'm finished playing with them

The Ties That Bind

Chapter I: The River

Is a dream a lie if it don't come true

Or is it something worse

that sends me down to the river

though I know the river is dry

That sends me down to the river tonight

Down to the river

my baby and I

Oh down to the river we ride

"Jack—No—stop it—"

A peal of laughter escaped Sharon's mouth as she scrambled away from her husband on the other end of the couch, an index card held triumphantly in a hand above her head, just out of his reach. He lunged for it again, and she launched herself off of the couch, running barefoot into the adjoining kitchen. She could hear Jack lumbering after her, his feet falling heavily on the linoleum as he, too, reached the kitchen. Before she had gotten far, Jack caught her left hand in his and pulled her back toward him, simultaneously reaching up and plucking the index card out of her right hand, still held aloft.

"I know I'm right, Shar," still holding her hand as he looked over the card. "See? Byers is liable. It says so right there." He finally dropped her hand to point triumphantly at the words on the index card, waving it in her face.

Sharon looked up at him slowly, mischief still evident on her face. "But only for wrongful death. They can't be held responsible in the personal injury suit." She snatched the card out of his hand, saying, "plus, you broke the rules. No tickling!" She ducked under his arm and hurried back out into the living room, plopping back down on the couch with the abandoned study cards. "Jack, you have to get it exactly right, or you won't pass," she called back at him, still in the kitchen. "All you really have to do is remember all the rules, and you'll do great."

Jack finally poked his head back around the corner, grinning. "But why should I remember all those rules when you do it so well for me?"

Sharon gave him a scathing look, and the grin slipped off his face immediately.

"Okay, okay," he held up his hands in surrender. "Just don't shoot, officer. I'm unarmed," he joked, coming fully into the room again.

Sharon shot him another look, clearly not finding him quite as amusing as he found himself. But before she could do more than throw him a withering glance, a wailing sound began just over their heads.

Jack and Sharon both looked up at the ceiling immediately, but Sharon didn't miss the dark expression that crossed her husband's face at the sound of their child's crying. She pushed it out of her mind for the moment however, and merely thrust the study cards at him as she got up from the couch and made her way over to the stairs.

"You keep going without me while I go take care of the baby." She pointed deliberately at the cards now in Jack's hand. "Make sure you get every part of the question right. Halfway doesn't count with the law." She turned away to go upstairs, but could practically feel him rolling his eyes at her retreating back. She smiled a little to herself. Well, he wouldn't be Jack if he didn't need a little push to remember the rules, she thought to herself ruefully. They do say opposites attract…

She climbed the stairs quickly and made her way quietly down the hall to the door on the right. As she turned the knob, the crying hit a new and more desperate pitch. She left the door open behind her and let the light from the hall illuminate the room a little. Her son's room was blue and green, with little fish climbing the walls and decorating the crib. Her steps were muffled by a dark, thick carpet as she glided over to the crib, now illuminated by the yellow glow from the hall. Sharon pushed her hair back from her face and looked down at her wailing son.

"Well hello there, honey." She swooped down into the crib and pulled Ricky up to her, lifting under his arms. At six months, he usually slept through the night. She thought guiltily of her rather loud giggle fit and Jack's clomping pursuit. They were still so new at this. Sometimes they nearly forgot.

The baby quieted a bit when she lifted him into her arms, but still let out a constant whine. Humming softly, Sharon brought him over to the changing table, away from the door, her hand flicking on a dim lamp as they slowly traversed the room, Sharon softly bouncing and humming soothingly the whole time. Finally she laid him down on the table and began to change his diaper, still humming quietly to the baby as he whined.

Just as she was reaching under the table for a fresh diaper, the phone rang downstairs. She heard the low rumble of Jack's voice as he answered, but the words were indistinguishable. She continued changing the diaper, setting aside the dirty one and securing the clean one with a few safety pins. Suddenly, little Ricky's hand reached up and took hold of a dangling strand of Sharon's hair. She looked back up at his face, her work now finished, and smiled.

"What have you got there, little man?" Sharon gently prised her hair away from his sweaty grip, still smiling down at him. He was wide awake now and had stopped crying. She watched him silently for a moment. His bright green eyes were all Sharon, but the rest of him belonged to Jack. She could tell. That nose, the round face, sometimes even an expression or two she knew too well. Jack didn't see any of this, of course. Perhaps because he was just too close to it. Or because he spent so little time with the little one. But Sharon could see it every day.

She brought a hand down to her son's face now, wiping away the tears that had finally stopped flowing. Ricky just blinked slowly up at her, watching her carefully. Finally Sharon leaned down and picked him up again, perching him on her hip, a hand still gently supporting his back. She looked over at the crib and thought briefly of just putting him straight back down, but then looked back at the small child in her arms with his wide eyes and squirming feet and knew he wouldn't go down without a fight.

"Alright," she sighed quietly. She brought her face down on the top of his head, inhaling that indescribable baby scent through the little fuzz of hair on his scalp. She smiled. "Are you hungry?" she whispered into his skin. "Let's go downstairs with Daddy and find you some food." She walked smoothly back out into the hall and downstairs. It was quiet. When she reached the landing, she peeked across the entryway back into the living room. It was deserted, the study cards abandoned on the couch. She looked around in confusion, still gently bouncing the child in her arms, until her eyes lit upon a note on the end table to her left. She leaned over the note, reading it carefully without picking it up or ceasing her bouncing and rocking motion.

Shar—

Went out with some of the guys.

Celebratory drink before the test this week.

Be back later. Don't wait up.

—J

Sharon looked up and sighed heavily. Celebratory drink before the test? Oh yes, she thought darkly, very helpful with the studying. She turned away from the stairs and walked back toward the kitchen, whispering, "Let's go see what we can find for you, little man." She pulled a bottle out of the fridge, setting it in the practically permanent saucepan on the stovetop, letting it warm up. Ricky pumped his legs impatiently against her hip and back, babbling a little with a few fingers in his mouth. Sharon pulled him away from her body now, holding him under his arms and settling him on the counter beside her, well away from the stovetop. "I know, honey," she murmured soothingly. "But we have to wait for it to warm up. You don't like it when it's cold. And Mama can't make it for you on demand anymore." She looked down at her son as they waited.

He had been unexpected, it was true. It might even be said that he had thrown a wrench in her plans. She was quite sure at this point that she was never going to law school. But looking down at him now, squirming and babbling happily before her, she couldn't think of it that way. At twenty-seven, she liked where she was. She reached over to touch the bottle on the stovetop now. It seemed plenty warm. She turned off the stove and grabbed the baby off the counter, the bottle clutched in her other hand, and went back into the living room. Indeed, Sharon continued to herself, it was a very different life than what she had imagined for herself, but it worked for her. She'd been on the force for five years now, ever since she finished college. And she got to do what she loved; work the rules, work the system. She settled on the couch now, repositioning the baby so his head lay on her arm, bringing the bottle up in her other hand to meet his lips. That unapproachable distance and professionalism that usually isolated her from her co-workers and meant she had few friends had eventually worked to her advantage. She'd learned how to work it. Indeed, she thought with a small smile, it had been that unshakable composure and somewhat mysterious quality that had brought Jack to her in the first place—he always did love a challenge. But now, as a professional in a relatively new job that left her hated and distrusted by most of the force, that same professional distance and single-minded pursuit of the right thing had made her a valuable addition to Internal Affairs.

Sharon leaned back against the pillows, Ricky still sucking noisily at the bottle. Things were working out, it seemed. She closed her eyes and listened to the baby's little sounds, the smell and feel of her son in her arms relaxing her.

She woke with a start. Ricky had burrowed his face in between her upper arm and her breast, the empty bottle lying forgotten on the floor below them. Sharon looked around with alarm, unsure of what exactly had woken her. It had been loud, whatever it was.

She smelled him before her eyes completely focused on him. Jack. Shirt mussed, hair on end, walking steadily toward her. His eyes found her quite suddenly, and he laughed.

"Shar! Hey baby."

Quickly shedding the fog of sleep, Sharon met him with a steely glare. He knew how much she hated being called "baby."

"You didn' haveta wait up," he slurred slightly. "I said I'd be fine. Didn' cha see my note?" He grinned tipsily at her, still settled on the couch.

She continued to glare at him. "Yes. I got your note." She spoke below a whisper, her voice quiet and intense. "But I must confess some dismay upon returning downstairs to an empty house, nothing but a note indicating where my husband had disappeared off to in the dead of night." Jack looked like he was going to open his mouth to speak again, but she silenced him with a gesture. "The baby," she looked meaningfully down at the child still asleep in her lap, "and I fell asleep down here, and now we are going up to bed." She stood up slowly, walking towards him, careful not to jostle the baby. "You," she continued deliberately, "may stay down here." She slowly moved her eyes purposefully over Jack, from head to foot. "We are not having this discussion tonight. You're in no state." She brushed past him to the stairs, turning back one last time. "I trust you can set up the couch on your own." She continued up the stairs, leaving Jack still in the entryway, his mouth slightly open, as if unsure of what exactly had just transpired.

Sharon continued up the stairs, keeping her face impassive for the time being. She wasn't sure exactly what was going on with Jack. But it was getting worse, whatever it was, and she had to put her foot down at some point. Maybe a night on the couch would knock some sense into him. She settled Ricky in his crib now, watching anxiously to make sure he didn't wake. But he just slept on.

She walked across the hall to her own bedroom and closed the door firmly behind her. Jack had better pull it together, and soon, she thought to herself. Or that happy little life of which she had previously been thinking so fondly might disappear forever.

"Detective? Are you in there?"

Sharon jumped. It had been three months since she'd passed her detective's exam, but she still did a double-take at the title. She looked up at Lieutenant Davies standing in front of her desk. "Yes sir? I'm sorry. What can I do for you?"

Davies was tall, with dark brown hair that was beginning to grey slightly at the temples. He had a stocky build that spoke of his years on high school and college football teams. His face had a constantly ruddy complexion, and he wore that expression he seemed to reserve only for Sharon and his young children; an insincere smile that didn't meet his eyes, completed by a condescending tone.

"Yes, little lady. Good to have you with us. Captain says some rookie discharged his weapon and they need someone out there pronto." He leered down at her in what she supposed was meant to be concern. "You think you can handle one of these on your own now? I was going to send out Rodgers, but the Captain seems to think you can handle it." He didn't sound so sure. "You be alright on your own, young lady?" He winked and tried to give her what she thought might have been a jovial smile, but it still didn't reach his eyes and just came across as disgustingly patronizing.

She smiled coldly back. "I think I can handle that, sir." She held out her hand for the file. Davies ignored it and dropped the folder on the desk in front of her, turning back on his heel without another word. Sharon sighed deeply and closed her eyes for a moment in exasperation. That man.

It wasn't that Sharon hadn't encountered such blatant misogyny before. As the "rabid angry feminist" in a family and community of moderate conservatives back East, she'd handled her fare share of sexist, completely oblivious men. She was always quite aware that she was what men like Gerald Davies referred to as "a bitch" but she preferred to think of as "a woman with principles." But she'd never had someone quite so obvious about his sexism as a commanding officer before. And it was starting to grate on her nerves. I was going to send out Rodgers, Sharon thought derisively to herself. Rodgers had been there all of three weeks, compared to her now twelve weeks in Professional Standards. But of course young Detective Rodgers clearly had some inherent quality that Sharon didn't. What was that again? Oh, right. He has a penis.

She exhaled heavily again and stood up from the desk, stuffing the file into her bag and making her way to the elevators.

It wasn't that she hadn't expected the sort of treatment she received when she had graduated from the academy. She wasn't the sort of person who made friends easily, and since she refused to allow sexist comments to pass her by unchallenged, she knew she wouldn't really endear herself to the other officers. She'd made peace with that quite early on. But about a year ago, when it had become clear that this was no longer a temporary job, she'd had to re-evaluate. Children changed everything. So she'd traded in her law school dreams for a detective badge almost as soon as she could, and volunteered for Internal Affairs in the hope that she might do some good, put her skills to use, and have a career beyond just a meter maid. The awkward silences, the dirty looks, the whispered insults and general unhelpfulness of the Force as a whole were anticipated.

She just hadn't expected them to come from within the division as well.

As the only woman in Internal Affairs, in fact as one of only five female detectives on the entire force, she was often treated as dispassionately by her co-workers as the officers in other divisions. Strangely enough, however, it didn't matter to her much. In the short time that she'd been in the division, she had somehow found a way to use that Berlin Wall that popped up between herself and most of the other officers. Her job was to ask the tough questions, to say and do whatever was necessary to follow the rules of her own division and to make sure the other officers had remained within the law. In the last few weeks, she'd found a power in not caring if people liked her or not. And it worked for her.

Sharon had reached her car now, and climbed behind the wheel. She smiled a little to herself. Davies might think her utterly incapable of anything short of taking a dinner order, but the Captain didn't share his view. They had sent her out to the scene on her own this time. And that was progress.

It was after 6pm when Sharon finally made it home, Ricky babbling away in his carseat behind her. She turned into the drive in front of the house, sighing a little both with relief and trepidation at the sight of Jack's car already parked in the garage. She pulled up right behind his car and parked, swinging her bag over her right shoulder as she turned of the car and got out. She pulled out Ricky in his carrier and walked to the back door, keys still clutched in her other hand. When she finally maneuvered through the back door and into the kitchen, a heavenly smell of garlic and something asian met her nose.

"Something smells good," she called out to the house.

Jack rounded the corner from the living room almost immediately. "Hey, Hon." He smiled broadly when he reached her and kissed her cheek. "I made us some dinner. Stir Fry." He pointed at the table on the other side of the room already set for two.

She smiled faintly back and hung her purse and keys on the hook by the door. Ricky still seemed happy enough in the carrier, so she simply hoisted it up on the counter and turned him so she could keep an eye on him from the table. "Well it smells delicious. Is it ready?"

Jack was stirring something on the stove. "Yep. Go on and sit down, I'll bring it to you. There's a glass of wine for you already on the table." He gestured vaguely at the table again. "Oh! And these," he reached under the sink and pulled out a lovely bouquet of assorted flowers with a flourish, "are for you."

Sharon was feeling slightly bemused now, but took the flowers all the same, laying them on the table between the two place-settings. Perhaps she should make him sleep on the couch more often, if this was the response she should expect.

"All set."

Sharon heard the clatter of plates behind her as Jack began to serve up the meal. "Can you check the baby and make sure he's okay before you come over, Jack?" Sharon could see Ricky from where she was now sitting with a glass of wine, but still. It made her feel better.

"He's fine, he's fine." Jack's voice was unconcerned and friendly, but he'd barely looked at the baby before he brought their plates over. They sat and ate together, relatively without incident. They traded stories about their uneventful day, just as they had done at the dinner table for years. It was almost as if the night before hadn't happened. Almost.

"So how's the studying going, Jack?" Sharon kept her voice quiet, neutral, like she always did when starting a loaded conversation.

"It's fine, Sharon. Okay?"

Sharon hummed noncommittally. "Well, you certainly seemed to have some interesting study approaches last night," she said slowly.

Jack watched her for a long moment, as if thinking hard about what to say. "Yes. I guess so. It was just a bit of fun, Shar."

Sharon raised her eyebrows, but didn't say anything.

"I studied for hours with you last night. I just needed to relax, okay? I shouldn't have snuck out of the house, I get that. But—"

"No. You shouldn't have." Sharon cut across him forcefully. "But more than that, you shouldn't be —"

Ricky let out a wail from his carrier, still perched on the counter.

Sharon saw a flash of annoyance cross Jack's face, and he cried out, "God, Sharon. Can't you shut him up?"

Sharon jumped up from her seat, glaring at Jack as she crossed the room. "Shut him up, Jack?" She spoke slowly, dangerously. "He's tired, he's hungry, and he just wants to be held. Are you going to fault him for that?" She picked him up and began to bounce with him around the room, soothingly. "Will you get him a bottle, please, Jack?"

He sighed heavily, as if she were asking him to give her a kidney, but got up and began preparing a bottle.

Ricky quieted a little in Sharon's arms, and she began to speak again. "I don't see you rushing to help with the baby, Jack." her voice rose a little in indignation. "Would it kill you to spend some time with him once in a while?"

Jack stood by the stove now, arms crossed and glaring. "He wants you, Shar. He doesn't want me."

Sharon's eyes narrowed and she whispered, "He doesn't want you? Or you don't want him?"

She heard him heave a sigh by the stove, but he remained silent for a few moments. Finally Jack looked up, his blue eyes finding her green ones. "I told you from the start that I didn't want kids. I wasn't cut out to be a father." Sharon made to interject, but he barreled on, "But you wanted them. I don't know if you really wanted them or if it was just some way to stick it to your Mom after what she said, and I don't really care. I'm just not father material. But I love you." He kept watching her steadily as he spoke. "I love you so much that sometimes it hurts when I think about it. I just can't say no to you. So I'm here. And I will stay here as long as you will have me. Because I love you, Sharon. But you can't ask me for more than I can give. I just can't do that."

Sharon stared at him in shock for a few seconds after he finished. Finally she said, "I think the bottle is ready now." Jack looked down at the stove and grabbed the bottle. Sharon turned away from him and walked into the living room, calling over her shoulder, "Come on, Jack." She stood in the middle of the room, waiting for him to follow her, then pointed at an armchair in the corner when he had joined her. He held out the bottle to her, but she shook her head. "Sit." She pointed at the armchair again. He sat, nervously. She kneeled down in front of him and settled the baby in his arms, arranging Jack's hands with her own, finally pulling up the hand holding the bottle and bringing it up to Ricky's face. Jack looked nervous and awkward, but Sharon just smiled. "I'm not asking for more than you can give, Jack. I'm just asking you to try."

She rose from her knees and settled on the couch across from her husband and son. She looked into Jack's eyes sternly. "I don't want you sneaking out of the house. I don't want you coming home drunk. And I would really like it if you could pass your exam on Friday. So you can try to do those things for me and come upstairs to bed, or you can stay down here on the couch. It's your choice." Sharon stared at him for a moment longer, then leaned down and took the baby and the bottle from him. She felt Jack sigh with relief. "Baby steps," she whispered to him with a wink. She settled the baby in the crook of her arm and brought the bottle back up to his lips as she walked across the room to the stairs. She turned back at the last moment. "Oh, and Jack?"

His eyes snapped back up to hers.

"I love you, too."

Okay, that was fun. I know this didn't have a lot of action in it, but there was a need for a lot of exposition. The next chapter will move faster and have, you know, actual evidence of a plot. It's probably still too early for you to really put this together, but there is a lyrics/music-related theme. Mega kudos if you've already figured it out.