Thank you to all my lovely reviewers, particularly the guest reviewers and SChimes and Rosabelle, who listen to my freak-outs. This one's a little heavy on the angst and Mama!Raydor toward the end just for them :D

The Ties That Bind

Chapter IV- Working on a Dream

Now the cards I've drawn's a rough hand, darling

I straighten the back and I'm working on a dream

I'm working on a dream

Come on!

I'm working on a dream

Though sometimes it feels so far away

I'm working on a dream

And I know it will be mine someday

Whispers followed Sharon and Detective Rodgers as they passed through the station. She tried to ignore them and walk deliberately past the mass of uniformed officers accumulated there. The immediate change in mood as they passed still took her by surprise; she'd never been a popular, mercurial sort of person, but the overt dislike was something she wasn't sure she'd ever get used to. Beside her, Rodgers seemed equally uncomfortable, his eyes flashing around the room, almost as if seeking out all the exits for a quick getaway.

Eventually they made it to their destination, the office of a Lieutenant Ross. The door was open, and Detective Rodgers poked his head in before Sharon.

"Lieutenant?" Sharon followed him into the office now, and they both flashed their badges. "Detectives Rodgers and Raydor, FID."

The lieutenant glanced up, annoyance flashing across his face as he took them in. Ross looked to be in his forties, with balding reddish hair and an almost comically contrasting thick mustache. He sighed heavily and got to his feet behind the desk. "Like I told your captain, detectives, there's really no reason for you two to come all the way over here. Some idiot suspect makes some bogus claim about one of my men, and you all just invite yourselves over."

Sharon stepped forward now and spoke for the first time. "We're just doing our job sir." She tried to smile agreeably over at Ross. He continued to scowl. "Well where's the officer in question? We should speak to him first."

Ross exhaled again in obvious frustration. "Officer Rodriguez is waiting for you in an interview room with his Union Rep."

Sharon's head snapped up. "Officer Eliseo Rodriguez?"

The two men both glanced at her curiously. "Yes. Officer Rodriguez made a routine traffic stop—"

Rodgers cut across the lieutenant quickly, "Thank you, sir, but we'd prefer to hear it from him directly." Still looking curiously at Sharon, he began to back out of the room.

Ross closed his mouth and Sharon could see him almost roll his eyes. "Then you two had better get to it." The lieutenant gestured back out the door.

As they walked back through the door and toward the interview room Ross had indicated, Rodgers looked at her sideways. "What was that? Do you know our guy?"

Sharon shrugged. "We were on patrol together a while back. He's a good man."

They reached the doorway to the room. "Then why don't you take the officer on your own. I'll get a statement from the complainant."

Sharon nodded and pushed open the door, entering alone. Rodriguez was sitting at the table, visibly sweating next to his Union representative, a rather uninteresting young man in a suit. Rodriguez looked up at her as she entered and sat down, pulling out a notebook and a tape recorder.

"Raydor," Rodriguez said with surprise. "You're the rat squad goon?"

She smiled indulgently. "Personally, I prefer the term 'Detective,' but yes. I'm here to take your statement." She picked up her pen and clicked it deliberately. "It's good to see you, too. Why don't we just get started, Eliseo?" She looked over at the nameless Union representative across from her, and he nodded in agreement.

"Alright." Sharon pressed the record button on the machine between them. "In your own words, please describe what happened today."

Rodriguez took a deep breath. "I was on patrol with my partner this morning downtown. Traffic stops, mostly. And we pulled over our suspect, Jerry Vine, for erratic and reckless driving. He blew through a traffic light without even tapping the breaks and nearly clipped a couple of pedestrians, going about twenty miles over the speed limit."

Sharon raised her eyebrows across from him as he spoke, taking a few notes. "And who was driving the patrol car? You or your partner?"

"I was driving. My partner, Jim Pickens, was in the passenger seat."

Nodding, Sharon noted the other officer's name carefully. "And then what happened?"

Rodriguez looked at the Union man beside him, who nodded.

"We pulled the guy over, and I got out of the car to take care of it. I asked him for his license and registration, started to ask him what the hell he was doing. And he was very agitated. He shouted profanities and got out of the car suddenly. I asked him to step back into his vehicle, but he refused. I asked him to turn around and place his hands on the car. He continued to advance upon me. So I restrained him by force."

Sharon nodded as he finished speaking, finishing her own notes. She looked back up at Rodriguez. "And your partner, officer—" She consulted her notes again. "—Pickens. He remained in the patrol car this entire time?"

The officer across from her nodded. "Well—When I was forced to restrain him, Pickens got out and helped me get the suspect into the patrol car. But before that, yes. He stayed in the car."

Taking note of this last addition, Sharon looked back down at the table. "So your statement is that the injuries Mr. Vine sustained," she flipped back through her notes from the information her captain had given her earlier, "the laceration on his left cheek, the bruise on his lower right abdomen, and the other minor abrasions on his right hand and his neck, were all the result of his resisting arrest?" She smiled lightly across at both the men sitting across from her.

Both men looked at each other. Rodriguez whispered something inaudible to his companion, who nodded stiffly and whispered back equally quietly. Then the officer looked back over at Sharon, finally replying, "yes. That is my statement."

Sharon nodded yet again, trying to maintain the easy and non confrontational mood of their conversation so far. "You don't have anything more to add?"

Another look passed between the two men. The significance in their eyes did not escape Sharon's notice.

"That's all he has to say, detective." The Union representative spoke for the first time, with a tone of finality.

Sharon nodded one final time. "Alright, then, gentlemen. We'll be in touch." She turned off the recorder between them, and gathered it, along with her notes, pen, and purse, and withdrew from the room.

Sharon blinked slowly back out in the hall, closing the door behind her. There was something bothering her about all of this. But she couldn't quite put her finger on it. She and Officer Rodriguez had never been close; Sharon wasn't the sort of person who had close relationships with her co-workers. But she had always liked him. They'd gotten along fairly well. He was a straight shooter. And yet… She inhaled deeply, and strode off in search of Rodgers and this Jerry Vine.

Her car, a well-worn Buick sedan, whined a little as Sharon pulled into the parking lot of the daycare center. It coughed in protest as she pulled to a stop in front of the building, and she nearly let her head fall on top of her hands on the steering wheel in defeat. Everything died at some point, she knew, but her car just couldn't die now, on top of everything else. It had been three days since her mother had shown up so unexpectedly after such a long absence, and she seemed to be taking most of what Sharon had said that first night to heart. But her presence was still wearing on Sharon. Her mother was still her mother, so the significant looks, sounds, and occasional comments certainly didn't escape Sharon's notice. That, combined with the fact that Ricky had finally decided to assert his independence two nights ago and begin crawling like someone was chasing him all over the house and hadn't stopped since, as well as an increasing financial strain since Jack was still unemployed and the baby was leeching away every last dollar… Sharon was about ready to throw in the towel and just sit in this nearly broken down car with her head in her hands and wait for someone or something to save her.

"Well, I'll be waiting a very long time," she muttered to herself as she pulled herself out of the car. No one was coming to save her. Of that, she was always sure.

Sharon walked across the parking lot and let herself into the daycare, her heels clicking on the tile floor as she made her way down the hall to the pick-up area. She was earlier than usual, so the small crowd of parents gathered outside the door took her by surprise. She rarely saw any of the other parents or many of the children since she seldom arrived before 5:30 or so.

Deliberately avoiding the small crowd of mothers directly in front of the door, Sharon veered right and went to lean against the wall a little farther down the hall away from everyone. She leaned over her bag for a moment, rummaging until her fingers found the spine of a book she'd been working on for several weeks now. What with her mother's arrival and the baby and everything, she hadn't read a word in about a week. Reading was one of those simple pleasures she hoped she'd never have to give up; a pleasure that had become more of a rare gift in recent weeks.

Sharon let her bag fall to the floor at her feet and leaned back against the wall, opening her book, The Haunted Mesa, to her place marked with a grocery receipt from a few weeks ago. She had read maybe ten words before she sensed someone standing nearby, watching her. She looked up. One of the mothers Sharon had noticed down the hall had wandered away from the pack and was now eyeing her curiously. Their eyes met and the woman smiled a little nervously, obviously slightly embarrassed to have been caught staring. She was short, petite, with chin-length brown hair and matching dark eyes. She wore a rather loud floral skirt and button-up shirt. Not exactly business attire, Sharon surmised.

"Sorry." The woman blushed a little. "I wasn't staring. It was just, well… I haven't seen you here before. Are you new around here?"

Marking her place with that same receipt but not closing the book yet, Sharon gave the woman her somewhat divided attention. "No. I just don't usually get here this early." She looked back down at the page, hoping the woman would take the hint.

She didn't.

"Oh? Well maybe my children know yours. What's—"

"Honestly I doubt it," Sharon interrupted. "My son is eight months old, and not very chatty." This was exactly the sort of thing she had been hoping to avoid when she'd dodged the women down the hall. She was terrible at small-talk, particularly with people she didn't know, and even worse with women like this one. She never knew what exactly to say and generally ended up insulting someone. She looked desperately down the hall and saw with relief that the crowd of mothers was beginning to thin, children waddling behind or being carried by their parents back down the hall. "Excuse me," she muttered curtly and picked up her purse, depositing the now-closed book back inside it, and hurrying down the hall. She could hear the other woman following, but didn't look behind her, hoping to escape the situation before she did any serious damage.

Sharon finally made it to the door and smiled at the attendant. "I'm a little earlier than usual today. Raydor. Ricky Raydor." She took the clipboard from the young woman as she spoke and signed out her son.

"Of course, ma'am. We'll have him right out."

She only had to wait a few moments before her son was passed through the door with his bag into her waiting arms. "Hi there, little man." She shifted him onto her hip and swung the diaper bag onto her shoulder, leaving her purse to dangle from her other arm. "Thank you," she said softly to the woman in the doorway and turned back down the hall, waving a hand vaguely behind her. "Did you miss me?" Ricky just smiled and brought a sticky hand up to her hair. Sharon chuckled a little. "Ah, I see. You just missed having my hair around to pull, right?" She pushed open the door to the parking lot with her hip. "Those other ladies don't have nice long hair like mine, huh?"

Ricky just smiled and pulled the fist still clutching her long red hair towards his open mouth. Sharon clicked her tongue in dissent, trying to discourage his action, but her hands were still otherwise occupied, so she gave in. "We've got to get home, because your grandmother is still here. And between you and me," her voice dropped to a soothing whisper, "I don't really want her at the house by herself for too long." She shifted him in her arms as she tried to fish her keys out of her purse one-handedly as she walked. "And I could use a buffer. You'll be my buffer, right, buddy?" Ricky just squirmed a little, and Sharon rolled her eyes. Using her infant as a buffer. Probably not a good idea.

"Excuse me? Mrs. Raydor?"

Sharon heard a voice calling after them. She turned toward it, calling back a little irritably, "It's Detective, actually. Can I help you?" She saw the woman from the hallway towing two small children behind her, hurrying to catch up.

"Oh. Sorry. No. It's just…You dropped this." She held out a plastic pacifier to Sharon.

Ricky squirmed a little in her arms, babbling happily and reaching for the pacifier, finally dropping the now-sticky chunk of Sharon's hair.

"Oh. Thank you." Sharon gave the woman a small smile as Ricky stuffed the pacifier into his mouth.

"Laurie." The woman smiled warmly. "Laurie Calder."

Sharon shifted Ricky slightly on her hip. "Sharon. I'm sorry, but we need to get home." She turned quickly and made her way over to her car.

Elizabeth's rental car was outside the house when Sharon arrived about twenty minutes later. Jack's car was conspicuous only in its absence.

"Mother?" Sharon shuffled through the back door into the kitchen, the baby carrier balanced over one forearm, a few folders relating to her still-open excessive force case clutched to her chest, and the diaper bag and her purse slung over one shoulder. She backed into the room, lifting Ricky to sit in his carrier on the counter and dumping the contents of her arms on the formica beside him. She looked around as she did so, but there was no sign of her mother. Something was bubbling on the stovetop, and the kitchen had the distinct air of being cooked in, but Elizabeth was not there.

The movement and noise seemed to have woken Ricky, and he began to cry. Stepping out of her work shoes and pushing them up against the wall next to the back door with her stockinged foot, Sharon turned back to the kitchen at the sound of Ricky's wailing. This was no half-hearted whine, however. Ricky's face had contorted, his eyes closed tightly against the room, mouth open wide in a sob, his brow wrinkled and furrowed. Sharon swooped down to the baby, disentangling him from the straps in the seat, and pulling him up against her breast. His sobs continued.

"Mother?" Sharon nearly had to shout over the sobbing. She started to walk towards the hall, swaying slightly as she moved, trying to calm the still-bawling Ricky.

"Oh, hello there. You're a little earlier than you said!" Elizabeth rounded the corner from the hall before Sharon and Ricky had reached it. She was wearing an apron that someone had given Sharon when she and Jack had gotten married, which Sharon was quite sure hadn't seen the light of day in the five years since. Elizabeth smiled at Ricky despite the ruckus he was making and said, "Come on, now. Calm down." She pointed a finger at him sternly as she spoke. It had no effect.

"He's worked himself up now," Sharon said to her mother over her son's screams. "It's going to take me a little while to calm him down." She looked over at the bubbling pot on the stove. "Do you need to watch that?"

Her mother followed her gaze and shook her head. "No, it will be fine for a few more minutes. Can I do something?" She held out her hands for the baby hopefully.

Sharon nodded. "Could you go upstairs, into Ricky's room? There's a yellow blanket in his bed and a basket of books next to the rocking chair." She closed her eyes briefly, trying to think over Ricky's sobs. This called for something beyond the usual. "Bring down the blanket and a book or two. Something from Dr. Seuss."

Her mother nodded and disappeared down the hall to the stairs. Sharon turned back to the kitchen and prepared a bottle. Ricky was still sobbing fit to burst. When the bottle was ready, she went into the living room and sat in an armchair next to a lamp and tried to settle the baby with the bottle, but he was still too worked up. She sighed and rocked back and forth in the chair, letting her head fall back and her eyes close as she tried to find some peace despite the wailing child in her lap.

"Here you go, dear."

Sharon opened her eyes to find her mother standing before them again, the yellow blanket and a colorful book in hand. Sharon took them from her.

"Are you sure you don't want me to try? I did raise five children of my own, you know."

Sharon smiled amicably. "Thank you. But we have a routine. Just go on back to your business in the kitchen. We'll be fine in here."

Elizabeth turned away without further protest, and Sharon laid the book down on the floor beside the chair for a moment. She lifted the baby off of her lap and held his tiny body up against her shoulder and chest, spreading the blanket across her lap. Then she laid Ricky back down on top of it, his head nestled between her knees under the blanket. She wrapped him tightly in the yellow cotton, constricting his arms and legs. His cries slowed a little, and he hiccuped, but didn't stop. Sharon pulled him into her arms again, resting his head in the crook of her arm, bringing the bottle up to his face again. This time he accepted it, his tiny hands emerging from beneath the blanket to hold the bottle on his own. He still shook with silent sobs, however, and his small face was red and blotchy. So she reached down to the floor beside the chair and brought up the book her mother had brought down.

"On the far-away Island of Sala-ma-Sond, Yertle the Turtle was king of the pond.

A nice little pond. It was clean. It was neat.

The water was warm. There was plenty to eat.

The turtles had everything turtles might need.

And they were all happy. Quite happy indeed."

Sharon turned the page slowly.

Dr. Seuss was one of those tricks her eldest sister had shown her when Sharon had called in a panic during the first weeks with the baby. Books can be magical for babies. "He doesn't really understand yet, no. But he knows your voice, and it will calm him. Trust me." So Sharon had started to read to him. Dr. Seuss was almost always a sure thing. The rhythm of the iambic pentameter nearly always calmed him. Just like magic.

"They were… until Yertle, the king of them all,

decided the kingdom he ruled was too small. '

I'm ruler,' said Yertle, 'of all that I see.

But I don't see enough That's the trouble with me.

With this stone for a throne, I look down on my pond

But I cannot look down on the places beyond.

This throne that I sit on is too, too low down.

It ought to be higher!' he said with a frown.

'If I could sit high, how much greater I'd be!

What a king! I'd be ruler of all I could see!'"

Sharon turned another page and looked down at her son. His face had calmed, and his breathing was labored now only by his pursuit of every last drop in the bottle at his face. She smiled tenderly down at him and brushed his face briefly with the tips of her fingers, reveling in the softness of his skin that still always took her by surprise.

"So Yertle, the Turtle King, lifted his hand

And Yertle, the Turtle King, gave a command.

He ordered nine turtles to swim to his stone

And, using these turtles, he built a new throne.

He made each title stand on another one's back

And he piled them all up in a nine-turtle stack.

And then Yertle climbed up. He sat down on the pile.

What a wonderful view! He could see 'most a mile!"

The bottle was empty now, so Sharon cautiously removed it from Ricky's mouth and put it on the carpet next to her chair. She rocked in time with the rhythm of her reading, and Ricky's breathing began to slow and even out as she continued to the next page.

'All mine!' Yertle cried. 'Oh the things I now rule!

I'm king of a cow! And I'm king of a mule!

I'm king of a house! And what's more, beyond that,

I'm king of a blueberry bush and a cat!

I'm Yertle the Turtle! Oh, marvelous me!

For I am the ruler of all that I see!'"

Ricky's tiny face was relaxed now, his eyes closed and a fist near his open mouth. Sharon looked down at him, considering closing the book, but his eyes fluttered back open when she stopped reading, so Sharon turned the page and continued.

"And all through that morning, he sat there up high

Saying over and over, 'A great king am I!'

Until 'long about noon. Then he heard a faint sigh.

'What's that?' snapped the king

And he looked down the stack.

And he saw at the bottom, a title named Mack.

Just a part of his throne. And this plain little turtle

Looked up and he said, 'Beg your pardon, King Yertle.

I've pains in my back and my shoulders and knees.

How long must we stand here, Your Majesty, please?'"

This time when Sharon stopped to turn the page, Ricky didn't budge. His eyes remained closed, a faint snore the only sound coming from him now. Sharon closed the book and smiled softly in relief, finally looking up from her lap. Her mother was standing in the doorway opposite her, watching Sharon and Ricky with a strange look on her face. Sharon wasn't sure how long she'd been standing there, but it seemed like she'd been there for a few minutes. Their eyes met now and that strange look—was it sadness? Or perhaps pride? Or something deeper, and not quite either— disappeared. Sharon opened her mouth to speak, but before a word had left her mouth, a door slammed.

"Helllooo?"

Jack's voice boomed down the hall from the back door in the kitchen. "I have wonderful news! Anyone here?"

Sharon got to her feet softly and walked back into the dining room and kitchen, followed by her mother. "Jack," she whispered urgently, "please try to keep it down. I just got the baby to calm down."

Jack immediately brought a hand to his lips, almost comically hunching in on himself as if to make himself smaller. "Right-o, Sharon. Not a peep." He mimed locking his lips and throwing an imaginary key over his shoulder.

Sharon's eyes narrowed. Jack started to walk over to where she stood still holding the sleeping baby. He bounced jovially across the room, not quite in a straight line, and Sharon knew it before she smelled it on his breath. He was under the influence. Quite clearly. In her mother's presence.

"I signed with McClennon and Feldt!" Jack spoke in an almost comically loud stage whisper, now standing before Sharon, Elizabeth standing a few paces behind her daughter. Sharon closed her eyes as the smell of alcohol overpowered his words.

She purposefully didn't look back at her mother, but watched him beadily and said, "That's wonderful, Jack. Why don't you go upstairs and take a shower before dinner?" She looked at him pointedly, and he at least had the decency to look ashamed.

"Right you are, Shar."

Sharon continued to stare daggers at him until he turned back into the hall and upstairs, humming as he staggered a little unsteadily to the bathroom. When he was out of sight, Sharon closed her eyes, bringing her free hand up to rub her forehead for a moment before turning back to her mother.

"Sharon."

Elizabeth looked sad again, and extended a hand to her daughter. But Sharon resolutely turned away, blinking back tears of humiliation. She leaned over the baby carrier and put her sleeping son back in it without jostling him and finally turned back to her mother.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Sharon could see genuine concern in her mother's eyes, but she looked away, busying herself with the files she'd dumped haphazardly on the counter before.

"There's nothing to tell," she said softly. "And frankly, it's none of your business." She stacked the files together and brought them vertical on the counter, lining them up.

"But it is." Elizabeth spoke quietly behind her, but Sharon still looked purposefully at the files in her hands rather than her mother. "I came here to see what your life is like. To try to understand. And I don't. You work all day, there's a gun in your purse, and you come home with your son only to put him to bed almost immediately. Your husband is clearly barely holding it together, and your closet looks like some middle-class retail shop dumped its cast-offs in there."

Sharon turned suddenly at the obvious distaste in her mother's voice, but lost her hold on the files in her hands. A few pages and a picture of their badly beaten victim fluttered to the ground between Sharon and Elizabeth. Sharon dropped to retrieve them, but her mother got there first. Elizabeth held the picture in front of her eyes for a moment, then closed them in apparent disgust.

"Are you telling me truly that you want to do this every day?" Elizabeth waved the picture of the bruised and bloody man in front of Sharon's eyes.

Sharon plucked the photo out of her mother's hand and straightened, sliding the picture and the paperwork into the appropriate file with her back to her mother again. "Mother," she whispered vehemently, "I don't know how else to say this. I chose this life. I get to go to work every day and make sure that our police are doing the right thing. That the law is being upheld. And that the officers are held to a higher standard than the criminals they police. I get to help make order out of what could be chaos. And every day, I get to save people from bad things."

Finally she turned back to Elizabeth and looked straight into her eyes as she spoke the next words, still in that quiet and intensely focused voice. "I get to come home at the end of the day and read to my son. Have dinner with my husband. Watch Ricky fall asleep in my arms more often than not, and fall asleep myself in Jack's arms most nights." Her voice suddenly became even quieter, if that was possible. "That is enough for me. And I don't understand why it isn't for you."

Elizabeth looked away as Sharon stopped speaking. There was silence for a time, and they both looked down at their feet on the kitchen tile.

Eventually, her mother spoke. "I think it's obvious that you and Jack have some things to work out. I'll take Ricky back East with me. Your father and I would love to have him for a while. And you and Jack can get on firmer footing."

Sharon's head snapped up at Elizabeth's words. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, and she nearly hurled herself protectively in front of her sleeping son on the counter. Teeth clenched, she nearly growled at her mother in front of her.

"No. You don't get to criticize my choices and my husband and insinuate that this is not a healthy environment for our son. Ricky is always the first consideration in this house. And above all, you don't get to tell me what you are going to do with my son." Sharon squared her shoulders protectively and crossed her arms. "And I think you should go. Now."

Elizabeth held her gaze for a moment, then turned away.

Minutes later, Sharon heard her shuffle down the stairs toward the front door. She held the door open for Elizabeth and watched her go without another word. When the lights from her mother's rental car had finally disappeared into darkness, Sharon closed the door and locked it. She pressed her back to the door and let her head fall back against it as well, eyes closed. She slid down the surface to land on the wood floor of the hall, knees pulled up against her chest. Sharon buried her face in her knees now, wrapping her arms around herself, and let all pretense fall away.

Curled up against the door, darkness closing in around her, Sharon sobbed.

Okay, don't hate me. I really didn't mean to leave it there, but this turned into a two-parter. The next part is nearly ready, so it won't be a long wait. A couple of little things: I imagine this story (as it is right now) to be taking place in the mid-late 1980s, about '87. I have a degree in history and aim to make it as accurate to the time as possible, but if you think I've missed something, let me know. Related to that, all the books referenced in this story, including Sharon's personal reading material, are real. I'm around the age of Sharon's children, so the children's books she reads are all taken from my own childhood. The adult literature is straight from my bookshelf. If you want to know more about any of the books or music, let me know. As always, reviews are wildly appreciated!