"Amy?"
"Yes, Mom?"
"Can you help me set the table?"
"Sure." Amy rose from her seat on the sofa and slipped into the kitchen to help her mother. Lydia Sykes and Amy's younger sister, Jordan, were busy cooking Christmas dinner. Almost everything was done, Lydia was just putting things on serving dishes, and Jordan was fixing salad. Amy hadn't done much of the cooking.
Christmas was usually Amy's favorite holiday, but this year, she had a lot on her mind. She had just finished her military service, a tour in Kabul, and was feeling somewhat lost without a distinct objective to accomplish. Her family had picked her up from the airport, brought her home, and coddled her for the past two weeks. She liked being able to sleep in on Saturdays, liked playing with her nieces and nephews, liked the security of her own home, but there was still something missing.
"How many settings?" she asked.
"Sixteen," her mother replied. "Five at the children's table and twelve at the regular table. Everyone's coming over."
Sweet Jesus, Amy thought. Her sister's kids, her brothers' three, their spouses, a great-aunt, and an assortment of aunts and uncles. "Sure."
"What's on your mind, baby?" Lydia was still stirring something over the stove, and Amy couldn't see her face. Jordan picked up a tray of crackers and cheese and ducked back out to the living room.
"Just a few things," Amy replied vaguely. "Gold or rose china?"
"Let's use the gold."
Amy took the appropriate dishes out of a cabinet and began setting the table. The sounds of Michael Bublé drifted in faintly from the other room.
"I can always tell when you're thinking about something, Bunny." The use of her old pet name startled Amy. She hadn't heard the term in ages. "Tell me what it is."
Amy considered her options for a moment. She could tell her mother she wasn't thinking of anything important, or she could just tell the truth. The truth is always the best option, and she'd figure it out anyway. She opened her mouth and let the frank words spill out. "I need something to do, Mom. I mean, it's great that you've been so good about letting me stay here and do nothing, but I can't stay here forever. I just can't figure out what I want to do. Everything seems so. . ." She trailed off, at a rare loos for words. "So mundane! I felt like I was doing important work, and everything here just seems so mundane."
Lydia turned and raised her eyebrows. "That's not the Amy Sykes I know."
Amy sighed as she slid napkins under the forks. "I don't even know where to start, honestly."
Lydia began moving steamed carrots from the pan to a serving dish. As she finished, Amy took the dish and set it on the table. They continued in that fashion until everything was on the dining table.
"I'll go get everyone." Amy moved towards the living room, but her mother pulled her back.
"Amy, I think I know just the job for you," Lydia said, eyes sparkling.
"What?" Amy looked at her curiously.
"Go call everyone in for dinner, and then ask Mickey what he wants to be when he grows up."
Mickey was Amy's youngest nephew, only four years old. He was due to start kindergarten the following year, and was looking forward to it, from what she'd heard. He and his parents had arrived late, so Amy hadn't seen the boy yet. She nodded, then walked out to the living room.
"Dinner's ready, guys!" she called over the general noise. The hubbub subsided somewhat, and everyone swirled into the dining room to take their places. Amy hung back, and side-stepped to the kids' table. "Hey, Mickey-"
"AUNT AMY!" He hugged her legs tightly, and she smiled and ruffled his hair.
"Hey, bud." She knelt down. "Gramma had a question she wanted me to ask you."
"Yeah?"
"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
"I wanna be a please offer."
She paused. "Police officer?"
"Yeah!"
She pushed him gently towards his chair. "Thanks, Mick. Go eat your dinner, I think Sammy's waiting for you." She stood and found the last open chair at the table, next to her mother. Her father blessed the meal, and they dug in.
Lydia passed a bowl of salad down the table and turned to Amy. "So? What do you think?"
"A police officer?"
"It's not mundane. It sounds like you. And God knows, the L.A.P.D. is always hiring people."
Amy looked down at her plate and took a sip of water. Lydia was right, policing was a lot like her last job. Maybe too much. She wasn't sure she wanted to be right back in that kind of field so soon. But at the same time, it was what she'd been looking for. "Maybe."
"Maybe not?" Lydia asked. She had read into Amy's pause.
"I don't know yet." She thought back to the letters from colleges that had greeted her from the mailbox when she'd first arrived home. "Maybe I'll try school again and see where that takes me."
"School?" Lydia sounded slightly surprised.
"Most jobs require some kind of college degree. And it's not like I don't have money saved up."
Lydia hummed noncommittally. "School might be nice for you. You could make some friends, have some fun."
"Yeah, maybe." College would be a good start. There would be any number of opportunities stemming from a college diploma. I could be anything I want, and it'll be exciting, without being too much at once. "I think I might look over some of those letters tomorrow."
"Alright."
Wednesday, December 25, 2013
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
"Julio! Ven adentro! Es hora de dormir!"
Julio Sanchez sat in his dusty backyard, near Osa's little grave, thinking. He had been sitting there for most of the evening. His parents had repeatedly called him to come in for bed, but he ignored them, choosing to stay out and plan his revenge.
For a brief while, he had contemplated finding a gun and hunting down the two guys in the car. He had memorized the plate number, and guns weren't hard to find. Then his little brother Oscar had come outside to help hold vigil for Osa. Shooting two gangsters wouldn't present a good example for Oscar, Julio decided.
He had thought about various other ways to get back: slash their tires, egg their houses. Every idea was discarded, though, generally because it would be traceable back to Julio. Gangsters didn't tolerate pain-in-the-ass thirteen-year-olds, so Julio knew his revenge had to be untraceable.
"Julio!"
"Un momento, Mama!"
"Julio!" This time, it was his father's deep voice calling him.
Julio cast one last look towards the flowers over Osa's grave, then scrambled to his feet and ran inside. "Lo siento, Papa."
His father merely shrugged slightly and squeezed his son's shoulder with one large hand. He knew his son had had some kind of deep connection with that cat, and had taken the loss hard. "It's alright. Listen to your mama now, though. Go to bed. It'll be better in the morning."
Julio nodded. "'Night, Papa. 'Night Mama."
"Buenas noches."
He ducked down the hall to the shared bathroom, brushed his teeth, went to the room he shared with Oscar, and changed into his pajamas. Oscar was already asleep, so Julio was quiet as he padded to his bed near the window. He knelt to pray, kept it simple, asked God to keep Osa safe in heaven, then, as an afterthought, asked God to help him catch Osa's killers. It might not have been the best thing to ask for, but it was what he wanted, wanted so deeply it made his heart ache.
He lay in his bed, unable to fall asleep. The moonlight crept slowly across the room through the window as the night wore on. Julio watched the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. No new ideas had sprung to mind, when suddenly, he heard sirens.
He sat up in bed, as the sirens screamed, coming closer. After a few moments, three cop cars shrieked down the street, their lights flashing through the room in a whirl of magenta and indigo. A moment later, they vanished around the corner.
Julio sat back on his bed. The L.A.P.D. was out in force tonight to catch some scumbag. "Thank you," he whispered. "Gracias a Dios. I will be a cop, Osa. I will find them."
Julio Sanchez sat in his dusty backyard, near Osa's little grave, thinking. He had been sitting there for most of the evening. His parents had repeatedly called him to come in for bed, but he ignored them, choosing to stay out and plan his revenge.
For a brief while, he had contemplated finding a gun and hunting down the two guys in the car. He had memorized the plate number, and guns weren't hard to find. Then his little brother Oscar had come outside to help hold vigil for Osa. Shooting two gangsters wouldn't present a good example for Oscar, Julio decided.
He had thought about various other ways to get back: slash their tires, egg their houses. Every idea was discarded, though, generally because it would be traceable back to Julio. Gangsters didn't tolerate pain-in-the-ass thirteen-year-olds, so Julio knew his revenge had to be untraceable.
"Julio!"
"Un momento, Mama!"
"Julio!" This time, it was his father's deep voice calling him.
Julio cast one last look towards the flowers over Osa's grave, then scrambled to his feet and ran inside. "Lo siento, Papa."
His father merely shrugged slightly and squeezed his son's shoulder with one large hand. He knew his son had had some kind of deep connection with that cat, and had taken the loss hard. "It's alright. Listen to your mama now, though. Go to bed. It'll be better in the morning."
Julio nodded. "'Night, Papa. 'Night Mama."
"Buenas noches."
He ducked down the hall to the shared bathroom, brushed his teeth, went to the room he shared with Oscar, and changed into his pajamas. Oscar was already asleep, so Julio was quiet as he padded to his bed near the window. He knelt to pray, kept it simple, asked God to keep Osa safe in heaven, then, as an afterthought, asked God to help him catch Osa's killers. It might not have been the best thing to ask for, but it was what he wanted, wanted so deeply it made his heart ache.
He lay in his bed, unable to fall asleep. The moonlight crept slowly across the room through the window as the night wore on. Julio watched the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. No new ideas had sprung to mind, when suddenly, he heard sirens.
He sat up in bed, as the sirens screamed, coming closer. After a few moments, three cop cars shrieked down the street, their lights flashing through the room in a whirl of magenta and indigo. A moment later, they vanished around the corner.
Julio sat back on his bed. The L.A.P.D. was out in force tonight to catch some scumbag. "Thank you," he whispered. "Gracias a Dios. I will be a cop, Osa. I will find them."
"Look at her."
"She's a beaut," Andy agreed. He and Tim, his older brother were kneeling behind the hedge in front of their house. Their cousin, Matthew, had driven over for Sunday dinner on his new Honda CB77 motorcycle. It stood near the curb, chrome and navy trim sparkling in the sunlight.
"She'd be the only girlfriend I'd ever need."
Andy snorted. He was only twelve, but even he knew you couldn't marry a bike. Tim was sixteen, had just started high school, and seemed to have something to say about every girl that walked past.
"You can't have kids with a motorcycle, dummy."
Tim rolled his eyes. "It was a joke, Andy." He stared at the bike a moment longer, then turned to Andy, eyes shining with glee. "What if we took her for a joyride?"
Andy fell back on his heels. "Really? Would Matt let us?"
"The whole point of a joyride is for it to be secret." Tim glanced back to the bike. "Matt brought Stephanie, didn't he?"
"Yeah, I saw her go in." Stephanie was Matt's girlfriend, blonde and most certainly not of Italian heritage. It had irritated Matt's dad until he realized that Steph was a phenomenal baker. The complaints had stopped rather quickly after that. "Why?"
"We're gonna need helmets. You get the helmets and I'll get the keys."
Andy paused, halfway to the front door. "Are you sure this is okay?"
"Yeah, bro. It'll be fine."
Andy darted inside and spotted the helmets on the floor near the over-large basket of shoes his mother kept by the door. Both helmets were obviously new, maybe just a little too large for a twelve-year old. One was a gleaming navy that seemed as deep as the ocean, the other was a vibrant bubblegum pink. He snatched them both and was almost back out the door, when-
"Andy, is that you?" He recognized his mother's voice from across the house. She was in the kitchen, cooking dinner.
"I'm just going back outside with Tim. We're playing dead man." He didn't particularly like lying to his parents, but he liked it better than the consequences for some of the things he and his brothers got up to. They'd locked Susan out on the roof once. One winter, it had snowed, and they'd busted someone's windshield with an ice-ball. On accident, of course.
"Alright." She sounded skeptical, and Andy winced. "Tell Tim that dinner's in thirty minutes. I expect both of you in here on time, okay? Steph, Matt, Uncle Luke, and Aunt Mary are all going to be here."
"Yep." He shut the door and ran back to Tim. "Mom said that we have to be in for dinner in half an hour. I think she really means it."
Tim waved him off. "Sure. Toss me the blue one."
Andy stared at the navy helmet wistfully for a moment, then passed it to Tim. "Did you get the keys?" he asked as he strapped on his own helmet.
"Yeah. Now let's get going." Tim helped Andy onto the bike. "Hold on to me." He fumbled for the ignition.
"Do you know how to drive this?"
"Sure. I've seen tons of movies. And it can't be that different from driving a car."
It took a few minutes of whispered swearing, praying, and general fiddling around before the Honda finally started. Tim eased it down the street, keeping the noise to a minimum, then turned the corner shakily.
"Let 'er rip!" Andy shrieked.
Tim grinned, revved the machine, and they sped down the road, maintaining an almost straight course.
"She's a beaut," Andy agreed. He and Tim, his older brother were kneeling behind the hedge in front of their house. Their cousin, Matthew, had driven over for Sunday dinner on his new Honda CB77 motorcycle. It stood near the curb, chrome and navy trim sparkling in the sunlight.
"She'd be the only girlfriend I'd ever need."
Andy snorted. He was only twelve, but even he knew you couldn't marry a bike. Tim was sixteen, had just started high school, and seemed to have something to say about every girl that walked past.
"You can't have kids with a motorcycle, dummy."
Tim rolled his eyes. "It was a joke, Andy." He stared at the bike a moment longer, then turned to Andy, eyes shining with glee. "What if we took her for a joyride?"
Andy fell back on his heels. "Really? Would Matt let us?"
"The whole point of a joyride is for it to be secret." Tim glanced back to the bike. "Matt brought Stephanie, didn't he?"
"Yeah, I saw her go in." Stephanie was Matt's girlfriend, blonde and most certainly not of Italian heritage. It had irritated Matt's dad until he realized that Steph was a phenomenal baker. The complaints had stopped rather quickly after that. "Why?"
"We're gonna need helmets. You get the helmets and I'll get the keys."
Andy paused, halfway to the front door. "Are you sure this is okay?"
"Yeah, bro. It'll be fine."
Andy darted inside and spotted the helmets on the floor near the over-large basket of shoes his mother kept by the door. Both helmets were obviously new, maybe just a little too large for a twelve-year old. One was a gleaming navy that seemed as deep as the ocean, the other was a vibrant bubblegum pink. He snatched them both and was almost back out the door, when-
"Andy, is that you?" He recognized his mother's voice from across the house. She was in the kitchen, cooking dinner.
"I'm just going back outside with Tim. We're playing dead man." He didn't particularly like lying to his parents, but he liked it better than the consequences for some of the things he and his brothers got up to. They'd locked Susan out on the roof once. One winter, it had snowed, and they'd busted someone's windshield with an ice-ball. On accident, of course.
"Alright." She sounded skeptical, and Andy winced. "Tell Tim that dinner's in thirty minutes. I expect both of you in here on time, okay? Steph, Matt, Uncle Luke, and Aunt Mary are all going to be here."
"Yep." He shut the door and ran back to Tim. "Mom said that we have to be in for dinner in half an hour. I think she really means it."
Tim waved him off. "Sure. Toss me the blue one."
Andy stared at the navy helmet wistfully for a moment, then passed it to Tim. "Did you get the keys?" he asked as he strapped on his own helmet.
"Yeah. Now let's get going." Tim helped Andy onto the bike. "Hold on to me." He fumbled for the ignition.
"Do you know how to drive this?"
"Sure. I've seen tons of movies. And it can't be that different from driving a car."
It took a few minutes of whispered swearing, praying, and general fiddling around before the Honda finally started. Tim eased it down the street, keeping the noise to a minimum, then turned the corner shakily.
"Let 'er rip!" Andy shrieked.
Tim grinned, revved the machine, and they sped down the road, maintaining an almost straight course.
"Buzz, please don't do this."
"But-"
Mrs. Watson stepped forward and hugged her son tightly. They were standing near the kitchen table, spread with letters of acceptance from several colleges and a lone application for the Los Angeles Police Academy. "Buzz, you're the only one I have left, and-" she choked and was quiet, refusing to let him go.
He held her tightly. Her wispy blonde hair tickled his nose. "You've got Casey."
"I know, Buzzy. I love her dearly, but it's not quite the same."
He was surprised by her frankness, but knew what she meant. He was the last tie to his father, his brother. "Mom, I want to prevent. . . things. . . from happening to people like us."
"I know, believe me, I know. There are other ways to do this, though, safer ways."
He sighed. He knew his mother would be opposed to his joining the L.A.P.D., but he had thought he'd be able to talk her around. It clearly wasn't going to happen. They had been talking, shouting, and even crying for the past hour. Casey and Ed, Buzz's stepfather, had quietly slipped out of the house, mumbling something about needing milk. They had been gone for almost fifty minutes, now, Buzz noted. He broke away from his mother and turned to look at the letters of acceptance.
There was one from USC, his first choice after the Academy. USC had accepted him for film school. He had spoken, at length, to the L.A.P.D. recruiter, and had been told that they accepted civilians for positions inside the force. They would take a guy with a film degree, the recruiter said. A cameraman could film crime scenes for departments like Robbery-Homicide, Vice and Narco, or Priority Homicide.
"Buzz?" his mother asked. She laid one hand tentatively on his shoulder and looked at the papers he held.
"I guess I'd better mail my acceptance to USC," he said finally. "They need to be post-marked by Friday, and USC has the best scholarships and teachers."
"Thank you, baby."
"Yeah." He'd get there eventually. Maybe it wasn't the most direct route, but he'd get there.
"But-"
Mrs. Watson stepped forward and hugged her son tightly. They were standing near the kitchen table, spread with letters of acceptance from several colleges and a lone application for the Los Angeles Police Academy. "Buzz, you're the only one I have left, and-" she choked and was quiet, refusing to let him go.
He held her tightly. Her wispy blonde hair tickled his nose. "You've got Casey."
"I know, Buzzy. I love her dearly, but it's not quite the same."
He was surprised by her frankness, but knew what she meant. He was the last tie to his father, his brother. "Mom, I want to prevent. . . things. . . from happening to people like us."
"I know, believe me, I know. There are other ways to do this, though, safer ways."
He sighed. He knew his mother would be opposed to his joining the L.A.P.D., but he had thought he'd be able to talk her around. It clearly wasn't going to happen. They had been talking, shouting, and even crying for the past hour. Casey and Ed, Buzz's stepfather, had quietly slipped out of the house, mumbling something about needing milk. They had been gone for almost fifty minutes, now, Buzz noted. He broke away from his mother and turned to look at the letters of acceptance.
There was one from USC, his first choice after the Academy. USC had accepted him for film school. He had spoken, at length, to the L.A.P.D. recruiter, and had been told that they accepted civilians for positions inside the force. They would take a guy with a film degree, the recruiter said. A cameraman could film crime scenes for departments like Robbery-Homicide, Vice and Narco, or Priority Homicide.
"Buzz?" his mother asked. She laid one hand tentatively on his shoulder and looked at the papers he held.
"I guess I'd better mail my acceptance to USC," he said finally. "They need to be post-marked by Friday, and USC has the best scholarships and teachers."
"Thank you, baby."
"Yeah." He'd get there eventually. Maybe it wasn't the most direct route, but he'd get there.
Monday, December 23, 2013
"Jack?"
"Yeah?" Jack Raydor looked up from the textbook he was reading. It lay on the coffee table of his tiny student housing apartment, with an array of notes and papers. Finals started in two days, and he wanted to make sure he was ready. There would be no second chances.
"Look at this." Sharon, his long-standing girlfriend, and (hopefully) soon-to-be fiancée, slid a newspaper across the table to him.
"What am I supposed to be looking at?"
She ran her slim fingers down the classifieds, reading upside-down. "The L.A.P.D is looking for new recruits. $46,583 per year. That'd pay for a lot of school."
He stared at the large ad. The Los Angeles Police Department is now recruiting. Applicants must have a high-school degree or equivalent. Starting salary is $46,583, DOE. Apply in person at Parker Center front desk. "Shar, what about your classes?"
She shrugged. "I'd rather have a job and take classes at night or over the summer and come out with less debt than graduate on time. Your costs are $40,000, including tuition and everything, and that job could cover that."
He looked down again, frowning. "What about your classes?"
She looked away. "I can go part-time, nine credit hours, one-twenty per hour. So that's-" She paused to calculate the answer in her head. "One thousand and eighty. We could manage that, I think, with your job to pay for groceries and gas."
Jack watched her. She fidgeted, twisting her auburn hair around one finger. Even a part-time law student had a lot of work to do. "Are you sure you can manage a full-time job with-"
She shook her head once, cutting him off. "I think so. Even if I can't do it, that job would get you through school."
"Shar, it's not just about me."
"You've got a better shot at being a lawyer. You've got better grades, and just. . . I can't wrap my head around cases like you can."
They were silent for several minutes. A bus passed outside, and the neighbors' bass rumbled through the wall.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." It came out as a breathy half-sigh. They both knew the likely outcome of such a deal. She wouldn't get her diploma for some time, maybe never.
"Okay. I'll drive downtown with you tomorrow."
"Thank you."
"Thank you, Shar."
"Yeah?" Jack Raydor looked up from the textbook he was reading. It lay on the coffee table of his tiny student housing apartment, with an array of notes and papers. Finals started in two days, and he wanted to make sure he was ready. There would be no second chances.
"Look at this." Sharon, his long-standing girlfriend, and (hopefully) soon-to-be fiancée, slid a newspaper across the table to him.
"What am I supposed to be looking at?"
She ran her slim fingers down the classifieds, reading upside-down. "The L.A.P.D is looking for new recruits. $46,583 per year. That'd pay for a lot of school."
He stared at the large ad. The Los Angeles Police Department is now recruiting. Applicants must have a high-school degree or equivalent. Starting salary is $46,583, DOE. Apply in person at Parker Center front desk. "Shar, what about your classes?"
She shrugged. "I'd rather have a job and take classes at night or over the summer and come out with less debt than graduate on time. Your costs are $40,000, including tuition and everything, and that job could cover that."
He looked down again, frowning. "What about your classes?"
She looked away. "I can go part-time, nine credit hours, one-twenty per hour. So that's-" She paused to calculate the answer in her head. "One thousand and eighty. We could manage that, I think, with your job to pay for groceries and gas."
Jack watched her. She fidgeted, twisting her auburn hair around one finger. Even a part-time law student had a lot of work to do. "Are you sure you can manage a full-time job with-"
She shook her head once, cutting him off. "I think so. Even if I can't do it, that job would get you through school."
"Shar, it's not just about me."
"You've got a better shot at being a lawyer. You've got better grades, and just. . . I can't wrap my head around cases like you can."
They were silent for several minutes. A bus passed outside, and the neighbors' bass rumbled through the wall.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." It came out as a breathy half-sigh. They both knew the likely outcome of such a deal. She wouldn't get her diploma for some time, maybe never.
"Okay. I'll drive downtown with you tomorrow."
"Thank you."
"Thank you, Shar."
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
a/n- I'm sorry. I was watching Saving Grace and this one song came on and the idea hit me.
Sharon stood before the full-length mirror in her bathroom, slowly doing the buttons on her navy dress uniform. The uniform was stiff, hardly worn, but its bars, buttons, and her brassy name-tag gleamed. She pinned the two silver captain's bars to her collar and straightened her tie.
Her belt was in the living room, resting on the back of the sofa with her uniform's plastic dry-cleaning bag. She walked out to get it, footsteps echoing in the silent condo. She stood, with one hand on the belt, when the silence suddenly became suffocating. She ran to the French doors to the balcony and threw them open. The noise of traffic far below filtered over her. She leaned over the railing, gasping, for a moment.
She stood stiffly, then. Her make-up was already done, her tears shed, and she didn't want to cry again. Maybe it was old-fashioned, but her team needed her to lead them, and she would never permit herself to show weakness before them. It sounded like something Rusty would say.
Her eyes widened slightly, and she stepped back inside, slamming the doors shut and grabbing the belt to thread it through her pants, then buckling it tightly. Her black shoes were by the door. She had shined them earlier, so she fetched them and pulled them on, doing the laces up without thinking.
In a flash of insight, she realized she didn't remember half of what she'd done in the past twenty-four hours. The day had passed in a fog, with only a few moments sticking out. Provenza offering her a cup of coffee back at the station. Pope, dismissing her and the team for the day, and saying they could all have the next forty-eight hours off, that Taylor would take their cases. Flynn's offer to pick her up and drive her to the funeral.
Flynn. He'd be here soon, she realized. She looked at her reflection in the window, smoothing her hair back, pressing the folds of her shirt, and donning her cap. The twin badges on her breast and the cap flashed white in the sun. She tilted her head slightly, to better see her face. It was vain, to spend so long before a mirror, but she wanted anything as a distraction. Her make-up was the darkest it had been in a while, thick eyeliner, dark mascara, but it suited her purposes. It concealed the redness of her eyes.
Someone knocked at the door, and she jumped. It was probably Flynn, on time, for once. She walked over and pulled the door open, revealing her lieutenant. He looked dapper, his uniform as neat as hers. His hair was neatly combed, and he had his hat tucked under one arm.
Flynn was slightly surprised to see Sharon looking so well to put together. But then, he thought, he'd never seen her any other way. She looked tired though, and more like the woman he remembered from FID: dark eyes, sharp angles, and a somber expression.
"Sharon," he said politely.
"Andy."
"Are you ready to go to-?" He broke off.
"Yes," she sighed. "Yes, I suppose so." She glanced around the condo, to make sure the electronics were off, and saw the chessboard sitting in its place on the bookshelf. She darted over to it, grabbed the white queen, and slipped it into her pocket. When she rejoined Flynn, he was looking down, pretending not to see anything. "Let's go."
When they were in his car, he looked at her as he turned the ignition. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."
She nodded. "We all are, but there's not a thing we could have done. Not a damn thing," she murmured.
"I know. It doesn't help, though, does it?"
"No. I just keep going over it, again and again, looking for something we missed, some place we dropped the ball. Maybe-" she looked up, startled, as Flynn placed his hand on her shoulder.
"Don't haunt yourself with 'maybe.' Maybe we could have done this, or that, but we didn't. We did what we thought was best. No one saw it coming the way it did. He wouldn't want you spending the rest of your life wondering what you did wrong. He'd want you to keep it from happening again, to someone else."
Sharon smiled faintly. "Yes."
Flynn leaned over, across the emergency brake, and kissed her cheek chastely. "Then let's get going, Captain. And don't you worry, we'll find the bastard who did it and make him pay."
"He'll pay dearly," she replied softly. "Quite dearly."
Sharon stood before the full-length mirror in her bathroom, slowly doing the buttons on her navy dress uniform. The uniform was stiff, hardly worn, but its bars, buttons, and her brassy name-tag gleamed. She pinned the two silver captain's bars to her collar and straightened her tie.
Her belt was in the living room, resting on the back of the sofa with her uniform's plastic dry-cleaning bag. She walked out to get it, footsteps echoing in the silent condo. She stood, with one hand on the belt, when the silence suddenly became suffocating. She ran to the French doors to the balcony and threw them open. The noise of traffic far below filtered over her. She leaned over the railing, gasping, for a moment.
She stood stiffly, then. Her make-up was already done, her tears shed, and she didn't want to cry again. Maybe it was old-fashioned, but her team needed her to lead them, and she would never permit herself to show weakness before them. It sounded like something Rusty would say.
Her eyes widened slightly, and she stepped back inside, slamming the doors shut and grabbing the belt to thread it through her pants, then buckling it tightly. Her black shoes were by the door. She had shined them earlier, so she fetched them and pulled them on, doing the laces up without thinking.
In a flash of insight, she realized she didn't remember half of what she'd done in the past twenty-four hours. The day had passed in a fog, with only a few moments sticking out. Provenza offering her a cup of coffee back at the station. Pope, dismissing her and the team for the day, and saying they could all have the next forty-eight hours off, that Taylor would take their cases. Flynn's offer to pick her up and drive her to the funeral.
Flynn. He'd be here soon, she realized. She looked at her reflection in the window, smoothing her hair back, pressing the folds of her shirt, and donning her cap. The twin badges on her breast and the cap flashed white in the sun. She tilted her head slightly, to better see her face. It was vain, to spend so long before a mirror, but she wanted anything as a distraction. Her make-up was the darkest it had been in a while, thick eyeliner, dark mascara, but it suited her purposes. It concealed the redness of her eyes.
Someone knocked at the door, and she jumped. It was probably Flynn, on time, for once. She walked over and pulled the door open, revealing her lieutenant. He looked dapper, his uniform as neat as hers. His hair was neatly combed, and he had his hat tucked under one arm.
Flynn was slightly surprised to see Sharon looking so well to put together. But then, he thought, he'd never seen her any other way. She looked tired though, and more like the woman he remembered from FID: dark eyes, sharp angles, and a somber expression.
"Sharon," he said politely.
"Andy."
"Are you ready to go to-?" He broke off.
"Yes," she sighed. "Yes, I suppose so." She glanced around the condo, to make sure the electronics were off, and saw the chessboard sitting in its place on the bookshelf. She darted over to it, grabbed the white queen, and slipped it into her pocket. When she rejoined Flynn, he was looking down, pretending not to see anything. "Let's go."
When they were in his car, he looked at her as he turned the ignition. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."
She nodded. "We all are, but there's not a thing we could have done. Not a damn thing," she murmured.
"I know. It doesn't help, though, does it?"
"No. I just keep going over it, again and again, looking for something we missed, some place we dropped the ball. Maybe-" she looked up, startled, as Flynn placed his hand on her shoulder.
"Don't haunt yourself with 'maybe.' Maybe we could have done this, or that, but we didn't. We did what we thought was best. No one saw it coming the way it did. He wouldn't want you spending the rest of your life wondering what you did wrong. He'd want you to keep it from happening again, to someone else."
Sharon smiled faintly. "Yes."
Flynn leaned over, across the emergency brake, and kissed her cheek chastely. "Then let's get going, Captain. And don't you worry, we'll find the bastard who did it and make him pay."
"He'll pay dearly," she replied softly. "Quite dearly."
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
......
Rusty had arrived home to Sharon's condo after chess club practice (The club continued to practice over winter break.) and a meeting with Dr. Joe, escorted to the doorstep by his goon platoon, as he called them. He called his cops that once, while talking to Sharon, and she had expressly told him not to call them that. Aloud, anyways. He still called them that in his head.
They left after Sharon opened the door, and he walked into the apartment to find himself nearly knocked over by the smell of lemon.
"I didn't realize you decided to start a lemon grove in here," he said, dropping his backpack near the door.
They left after Sharon opened the door, and he walked into the apartment to find himself nearly knocked over by the smell of lemon.
"I didn't realize you decided to start a lemon grove in here," he said, dropping his backpack near the door.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
LB 7
A/N- This takes place a while later, as you can probably guess (you can go by the date). I have a list of various plot points I want to hit, so I'm playing around with them. Let me know if you have any ideas!
Stand tall for the people of America. Stand tall for the man next door.
-Beast, Niko Vega
-Beast, Niko Vega
The bed bounced slightly as the covers rustled, and a cool draft fluttered under the sheets. Sharon shivered slightly and rolled over, pulling the blankets tighter. She was on the edge of wakefulness, everything seemed to happen slowly, like a dream. There was a soft creak and then a gentle thump and muffled swear.
"Jack?" she mumbled sleepily.
"It's fine, Shar. Go back to sleep." He said softly. He ducked back out of the closet, tucking a crisp striped shirt into his black pants.
"What are you doing?" The words were slurred with sleep. She rolled to her side to watch Jack.
"I have a trial this morning, remember? Thursday, June 22th."
She closed her eyes. "That wasn't until later...."
"Tony called and said he needed me in a little early. Something came up. He wasn't very specific."
"Oh," she mumbled into the pillow. "Okay. You should take a Tylenol."
"What?" he said, pulling on his jacket.
She half-opened her eyes and looked at him. "You must have a headache after last night."
"I didn't have that much to drink, Sharon. I'm not hungover." His tone was suddenly defensive and somewhat sharper.
She moaned tiredly, not wanting to argue. "That's not what I meant. You came home so late that you're going to be tired. You don't want a headache in court."
Jack's expression softened. "Oh. Thank you, Shar." He sat down next to the bed. "Next time I'm out late, don't bother staying up. I don't want you exhausting yourself." He sat down next to her and set his hand on her shoulder. "Has our little girl done anything this morning?"
"No," she mumbled. She guided his hand down to her stomach and held it there. They sat that way for a minute, before she felt a soft kick. She smiled at Jack. "That's the second one...."
He grinned back, leaned down to hug her tightly, then pressed a kiss to her cheek before getting up. He pulled the covers back up. "Get some more sleep. You still have some time before you have to get up for work."
"Okay." She watched him go and was asleep again before he even left the house.
*~*~*~*~*
Two scant hours later, she was awoken by her alarm. She shut it off, and swung her feet to the ground, stretching out before getting up and walking to the bathroom. She soaked a washcloth in cold water, soaped it, washed her face, combed her hair back into a ponytail. Her make-up was in a cat-patterned box on the the counter. She opened it, pulled out an eyeliner marker, mascara, concealer. A few minutes later, she went back to the bedroom, shed her pajamas and tossed them over the bed. She got redressed in her uniform, leaving her shirt unbuttoned when she went to get Ricky up.
She opened his door and looked in. He wasn't there, and his covers were thrown back. "Ricky?" she called. "Ricky?"
"Mama!" his clear voice rang out from down the hall.
"Ricky!" she hurried down the hall and emerged into the kitchen. Ricky was standing on a bar stool, reaching for bowls from the cabinet. She stepped to his side and grasped his waist. Reassured by her presence, he grabbed the bowls.
"Okay."
She lifted him to the ground, grunting slightly at his weight
"What were you doing?" she gasped.
"I was making breakfast," he said. "You were still sleeping so I made breakfast. " He broke away from her and stepped over to the bar counter and picked up two boxes of cereal. One was peanut butter puffs, featuring an image of pandas. The second was Sharon's cereal, an organic raisin bran that Jack picked up. He regularly shopped at the whole foods co-op.
"Thank you, sweetheart." She sat back and watched Ricky gather the jug of milk and two spoons. "Do you need any help?"
"No, I got it." He clambered up on the bar stool next to her and carefully poured out cereal and milk. "See?" He picked up his spoon and happily dove into his breakfast.
Sharon ate at a more stately pace. "When did you get up?"
"After Daddy left. I watched TV and then I made breakfast."
"What did you watch?" She caught herself sliding into her investigative mode, trying to pinpoint when Ricky had gotten up.
"The yoga lady was on, and she was boring. But then Mister Rogers was on...." he continued.
Mister Rogers came on at six, she knew. So Jack had left quite early. She filed the scrap of information away, trying to disregard it. A niggling voice kept asking her what the hell was Jack doing that early?
She finished her cereal and waited for Ricky to finish his second bowl.
"Go get dressed, okay?" She picked up the dishes and carried them to the sink. She finished as Ricky came back, dressed in khaki shorts and a faded tee. He took the dishes from her and set them in the drainer. She smiled. "Thank you, baby." She walked towards the living room, buttoning her shirt.
"Mama!" Ricky ran after her.
"What?"
"Can I say hi?"
She stopped and waited for Ricky to catch up. A while after she and Jack had told Ricky that the baby was a girl, he had decided to periodically say hello to his sister. It had been an occasional event that gradually morphed into a bi-weekly event.
"Of course." She turned towards Ricky and he set his palms against her now very obvious baby bump, before leaning in.
"Hi. Hi, Sissy. Bye." He was about to pull away when Sharon felt the baby move again. Ricky leapt back and fell on the floor. "Mama!"
"It's okay, Ricky." She knelt down to pick him up. "That's your little sister moving around."
"Ohh." His face still showed shock, but he was grinning brightly.
She helped him up and together they left the house.
*~*~*~*
Sharon dropped Ricky off at his summer school. He was enrolled in a Catholic pre-school, in preparation for kindergarten at St. Joseph's School the following fall. She continued on to Parker Center, parking in her usual spot, before grabbing her bag and heading inside. She squeezed into the elevator, the others granting her a space at the front.
"Third."
"Fifth, please."
"Eighth."
She tapped all the requested buttons, then took a moment to look over the notification board. Deputy Chief meeting on Monday. Retirement party for Assistant Chief Luke Altergott. Police Commissioner's Ball in two weeks.
The elevator dinged on her floor, and she swept out with a crowd of others.
"Commander Bancroft?"
"Sergeant Raydor, come in." Bancroft gestured to a seat and rose to sit on the front of his desk. "Have you made your decision?"
"Sir, I-"
Bancroft sighed. "I had been hoping you would say yes, but I can see that's not what you want to tell me. The Chief wants an answer by the end of the week."
"Sir, I have an answer-"
"He doesn't care if you say yes or no, but I won't take 'no' for an answer. At least not without a damned good reason."
Sharon looked at him curiously. "If you don't mind me asking, why do you want me for this job so badly?"
Bancroft looked tired. He sat down in the chair next to Sharon and leaned back, eyes closed. "No one in FID is interested in taking over the squad. To be perfectly honest, they know what it entails- damage control, armor against verbal arrows, a cool head- and they don't want it. And I don't see any other high caliber officers that can do it."
"Surely there's someone." She didn't want it. The prospect of losing all her friends and their respect wasn't appetizing, despite promotion.
"Russell Taylor. He's too high-strung. Takes everything personally. He's a weasel. Louie Provenza. Certainly experienced enough, and he doesn't give a shit what anyone thinks of him, but he's always in trouble with Flynn. And Flynn is far too hotheaded. Hotchkiss would be good, but she's planning on retirement. There's a few others, but you get the idea. We thought you'd be good. You're calm, nothing on your file, top marks in the academy. Even if you don't think it now, you're going to want a more administrative job soon. Kids are demanding and it's easier to have fewer hours and not fear for your life every day."
She looked down at her hands. "Is there any way I can delay choosing about it?"
Bancroft didn't open his eyes. "I can propose an interim head, then you'd give me your answer before you go on leave. Learn all the rules when you're out, then come back and take over. The Chief and the commissioners won't like it, but they can deal."
Sharon made her way to the desk pair she shared with Meri. He was flipping through the photos in his wallet. His wife, Jill, and their three kids: Eric, Adam, and Joyce. Jill was petite with a wild blonde mane, but their kids looked more like Meri. They were all gangly, with freckles, flaming hair, and Jill's deep brown eyes.
"What's up?" She sat heavily on the edge of her desk.
"Hmm?" He glanced up. "Oh, it's Jilly's birthday in a couple weeks and I haven't figured out what to get her."
Sharon laughed. "That's it? You're way ahead of the game, Mer. Most guys don't remember until a couple days before. Do you have any ideas?"
He shrugged. "I was thinking of sending her a bouquet at work- lilacs and things like that. If I can get a babysitter I'd take her out somewhere."
"What day is it?"
"It'd be a Thursday. Why?"
"I could take your three. Ricky's been dying to have friends over."
"Oh, Shar, no. I can't impose like that." He looked up. "Especially not-"
She rolled her eyes. "I'm not made from porcelain. It's only one night, and your kids are well-behaved. Besides, you and Jill need some time off." She smiled. "I can emphasize somewhat."
Meri looked her over, debating himself. "Alright. It's a deal then. But if you ever need anything, just let me know."
"Deal." She watched him slid his wallet back into his pocket. "What are we doing today?"
"We get to sit the rest of our shift next to the elementary school on Lamar. Check that no one's speeding through there."
"Oh, boy," she giggled. "Sounds exciting."
He snorted. "Yep."
*~*~*~*~*
"Twenty-five. . . . Twenty-six. . . . Twenty-two. . . . Twenty-five. This is awful. Twenty-four. How much longer?"
"Fifteen-minutes."
The radio crackled suddenly. "All units, we have a fatal 10-50 at Larkspur and Fifteenth has been reported. Robbery-Homicide is rolling out, but we need officers at the scene. Please respond."
Sharon slapped the radar gun down on the dash. "Let's go!"
Meri made a disgruntled choking noise. "But-"
"All we have to do is keep people out of the crime scene." She snatched the radio up. "It'll be fine, Mer. No armed perps running wild, just normal, curious people." She grinned. "This is unit 21, we'll cover the 10-50. ETA five minutes."
"Copy that, 21."
Meri rolled his eyes, but turned the ignition and flipped the flashers on, nonetheless. "I'm going first. You stay back."
Sharon wanted to argue, but she could see where he was coming from. "I suppose." They rocketed through the light traffic, arriving at the foot of a tall hotel. "This is the place?"
Meri shrugged, and picked up the radio. "This is 21; are we supposed to be responding to a. . ." he looked up at the building. "Timothy Hotel?"
"Affirmative."
"Where are we going?"
Sharon pointed out the car. "Just follow the people." There was a crowd forming at the side of the hotel, in the middle of a barely visible quadrangle. She got out of the car and walked around to Meri's side. "Come on, slowpoke." She thumped the roof of the car with one hand and began walking away.
She does exactly what she pleases exactly when she pleases, and not a moment later, Meri thought with a snort. He threw the car door open, and set off after his partner, slamming the door behind him. He caught up to her after a moment. He walked by her side until they had almost reached the edge of the crowd and then cut ahead of her.
"Hey-"
"No. I must go first."
She crossed her arms over her belly and narrowed her eyes. "Fine."
Meri waded into the crowd and began shouldering his way through. It was a mess, people were shouting and shoving each other. They shoved him back until he pulled his badge out and began flashing it at eye-level. He felt someone push past him as he tried to squeeze between a tight-knit group of girls and looked up. It was Sharon, much to his unsurprise. She moved effortlessly through the crowd, people parting for a pregnant woman when they wouldn't for him. "Lady in blue, coming through," he mumbled and fell in behind her.
They reached clear ground a few moments later. The onlookers had left a wide circle around the mangled remains of a man. A tall, young man in a green hotel uniform stood nearby, wringing his hands nervously. He spotted Meri and Sharon and practically ran over to them.
"Are you the police I called?"
"Yes." Meri lifted his badge again. "Lieutenant Meriwether Arthur and Sergeant Sharon Raydor. What happened?"
"I don't know. I was running the concession stand at the pool and all of a sudden I heard someone screaming and I came over here and there was this. . . this. . . this guy and I didn't know what to do so I called 911 and then there were all these people and-"
"Son," Meri said gently. "Just sit down for a minute and take a deep breath."
The kid nearly collapsed onto the grass.
Sharon looked at Meri. "How soon will RHD be here?"
"Not more than a few minutes, I don't think."
She nodded. "I'll talk to the kid, and you keep everyone back?"
"Sure." He stepped away.
Sharon lowered herself to the ground next to the young man- boy, really- and set one hand on his knee. "Hey, look at me, okay?"
He looked up, and she could see he was terrified.
"Everything is going to be fine. Can you tell me your name?"
"Luke Gray. I work here part time, mostly the desk and concessions."
"Okay, Luke." She chose her next question carefully, trying to steer him onto solid ground. "Do you go to school here?"
"I'm going to college in the fall. Not here, but I live here, yeah."
"That's good. College is really fun. What are you majoring in?"
"Petroleum engineering."
She gently questioned him, getting a background and general information. She had just started steering him back to the matter at hand when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up into the face of a tall, dark-haired detective. The sun was behind him, so she couldn't see his face.
"Hey, Sarge. I can take it from here."
"Robbery-Homicide?"
"Yep, Lieutenant Flynn." He offered his hand and pulled her to her feet.
"Hello again, Lieutenant." She smiled, remembering Jack's friend, the man she had met in IA several weeks before.
He smiled back. "Say hi to Jack for me?"
"Sure."
He stepped back to let her pass. "Congratulations, too."
"Thank you." She waved slightly and rejoined Meri at the periphery of the taped-off section of lawn. "What do we do now?"
"Well. . . we'll probably have to fill out incident reports for RHD, but that won't happen now, so we can just leave."
*~*~*~*~*
"Are you going to the Police Ball?" Sharon asked as they reentered Parker Center.
"Yeah, probably. Jill and I usually go. Are you?"
Sharon shrugged. "If Jack's free." She hoped he would be. They had gone in the past and she had enjoyed it. They hadn't gone the previous year, because they had been busy moving from Jack's apartment to the house they were living in presently. They'd lived in the apartment for a few years, then after saving a respectable amount, they had bought the small house on Rowena Avenue. It wasn't anything flashy, but it was tasteful, and had an elegant air to it. One story, with large windows and plenty of natural lighting. When Sharon's parents had visited, her mother had said it looked like something out of a Lands' End catalogue.
"Well, I hope you can come. It'd be nice to know there will be someone there that I can have a sober conversation with. Half the people who go just treat it as an occasion to get blitzed." He snorted. Meri was an observant Methodist, and had chosen to abstain from all alcohol.
"I'll speak with him tonight then, see if I can't talk him around."
"Please do." He sat down at his desk and riffled through the papers in their inbox. "Junk, junk, junk, letter for me, junk, letter for you...." He froze while passing it over to her, then angled the envelope so he could see the return address. "From Commander Bancroft, Force Investigations Division." He let the last word hand between them. "What's up? Everything okay?"
Sharon grabbed for the letter and pulled it away. "It's probably just about the trial for that guy I tackled a while back. I heard he made a deal, so he probably got his trial date moved up." She picked up her letter opener and sliced the top edge of the envelope. She drew out a paper on letterhead. There was a yellow sticky note on it, which she quickly palmed before flipping the letter around to show Meri. "See?" She turned it back to read it. "The trial's been moved to- oh!" She huffed angrily. "This coming Monday!"
Meri took the letter and scanned it for himself. "Have fun with that. It also says you have 'mandatory trial preparation' with 'DDA Andrea Hobbs.' The name sounds vaguely familiar. I think she's the new woman they hired."
Sharon rolled her eyes. "I'm probably her first appointment. They want to try her out on a beat cop before they sic her on Robbery-Homicide detectives." She took the letter back and read it for herself. "They want me to meet her today. Don't waste time, do they?" she grumbled.
"Time is money," Meri said cheerily as she packed her things up. "Have fun. Play nice."
She grinned and punched his shoulder as she passed him. "Since when have I not?" She walked out to the hall and decided to take the stairs to the first floor to walk down the street to the DA's office. As soon as the stairwell door clanged shut behind her, she dropped the smile. She pulled the now slightly crumpled note out of her pocket.
Sergeant Raydor- Enclosed with your trial notifications is a job description for Captain of FID. I realized I never gave you one. -Comdr. A. Bancroft
Sharon pulled out a second packet of paper and flipped through it as she walked out of the station. It was several pages long, but Bancroft had circled some sections with pink highlighter. Hours, vacation time, pay, duties, dress code. She paused at pay, and her jaw dropped. It was nearly twice what she was currently making.
That's because no one wants the job.
Meri took the letter and scanned it for himself. "Have fun with that. It also says you have 'mandatory trial preparation' with 'DDA Andrea Hobbs.' The name sounds vaguely familiar. I think she's the new woman they hired."
Sharon rolled her eyes. "I'm probably her first appointment. They want to try her out on a beat cop before they sic her on Robbery-Homicide detectives." She took the letter back and read it for herself. "They want me to meet her today. Don't waste time, do they?" she grumbled.
"Time is money," Meri said cheerily as she packed her things up. "Have fun. Play nice."
She grinned and punched his shoulder as she passed him. "Since when have I not?" She walked out to the hall and decided to take the stairs to the first floor to walk down the street to the DA's office. As soon as the stairwell door clanged shut behind her, she dropped the smile. She pulled the now slightly crumpled note out of her pocket.
Sergeant Raydor- Enclosed with your trial notifications is a job description for Captain of FID. I realized I never gave you one. -Comdr. A. Bancroft
Sharon pulled out a second packet of paper and flipped through it as she walked out of the station. It was several pages long, but Bancroft had circled some sections with pink highlighter. Hours, vacation time, pay, duties, dress code. She paused at pay, and her jaw dropped. It was nearly twice what she was currently making.
That's because no one wants the job.
She stuffed the papers back into her purse and yanked the door to the DA's office open. It was an older building, with black and white tiled floors and dark wood mixed with marbled glass. There was a small directory posted on the wall. Most of the names were a permanent part of the sign; a strip of paper at the bottom was the lone exception.
Andrea Hobbs, DDA- 325
There were no numbered offices nearby, and it took Sharon several minutes to find the right hall. It wasn't part of the main building, instead she had to find the annex and search the warren of halls for Hobbs' office. She eventually found it sandwiched between the fire exit and the men's bathroom.
"DDA Hobbs?" She knocked on the door.
A shadow moved behind the frosted glass, there was a scuffling noise, and then the door opened. "Hello!" The woman was tall, with light blonde hair pulled back in a short ponytail. She was dressed in slacks and a sleeveless blouse, and had clearly been moving into her office. "I'm sorry, I haven't unpacked my appointment book yet, so who are you?" She stepped back to allow Sharon into the small room.
"Sharon Raydor, LAPD. I'm here about the Rogers' case?"
"Oh, alright. Just take a seat. . ." the woman waved her arm across the office. "Let me just get the file," she added before disappearing behind another stack of boxes.
Sharon looked around. The office was little more than a glorified closet with a large window. A wooden desk dominated the room. There was a matching bookcase along one wall, and three mismatched chairs crammed into the remaining space. Every surface was piled with cardboard boxes and loose papers.
She picked the chair nearest her and hefted the top box onto the other chair. It wasn't heavy, nor were the other two boxes, so she stacked them all on the other chair, before taking a seat.
Andrea Hobbs reappeared a moment later, flipping through the file. She pulled her chair around from behind the desk and sat next to Sharon. "I'm truly sorry about the mess. I just moved in yesterday and. . . Well, at least I don't have to share an office." She grinned, and Sharon smiled back. "Oh! I never introduced myself. I suppose you know, but I'm Andrea Hobbs, and I was just hired by the DA's office. Not to make you nervous, but this is my first case." She smiled again and held out her hand.
Sharon shook it. "Sharon Raydor."
"Sharon. Okay. Just call me Andrea. I've read the file, but I'd like to hear you tell your version of events, if you don't mind."
"Of course." Sharon sat back, trying to recall what had happened. "My partner, Meri Arthur, and I were about to go off-duty, I think, and then the call came over the radio that there was a vehicular pursuit and that the suspect might be armed. I told Meri we should go, because we were only a block or two away. When we got there, Meri told me to wait in the car, and I did, but then the guy started coming my way, and-" Sharon stopped and bit her lip, trying not to laugh. "I opened the car door and he ran into it, and then I tackled him. And that was about it."
Andrea raised one eyebrow elegantly and shot Sharon an amused look. "They included photos from the incident in the file. It looks like you and our perp duked it out."
"I think I broke his nose," Sharon said looking down. It hadn't been a big deal. No one seemed to understand that. "Will that cause a problem?"
Andrea laughed. "No! The defense might bring it up, but I have your photos, too. I think that'll take care of any potential problems." She flipped the file around and pushed it towards Sharon. "You had one hell of a shiner."
Sharon took the file and looked at it grimacing. There was a pair of glossy photos of her face included in the typed papers. The first one was a profile, and the dirt and blood on her shoulder and cheek and shown up brightly. The second one was taken from the front and looked even worse, capturing her black eye. She passed the file back.
"It really wasn't that bad. He just gave me the black eye. The nosebleed was a coincidence."
"So modest. Don't tell the jury- they like drama. I think some of them feel like they're in some sort of crime show when they get jury duty for stuff like this."
Sharon grinned. "What is the case about anyways?"
Andrea looked down at the file. "We had a warrant out for our friend Sean Rogers after an aggravated assault and robbery at a convenience store, but he did a runner when patrol went to pick him up. We can get him for resisting arrest and assault of a police officer as well. It's pretty open and shut, but he's decided to plead not guilty for some half-assed reason, so we have to go to court." She flipped through the papers again, and they fell into a companionable silence. "Do you want to try some practice questions?"
"Sure."
Andrea pulled a yellow legal pad out of one of her precarious stacks, then picked a stray pen up from the floor. "There are four other witnesses besides you. The clerk from the store, a customer, and the two officers who went to pick Sean Rogers up from his apartment. I'm just going to start with some background information, then move on to your work and what you were doing that day, and then your interactions with Mr. Rogers."
Sharon noticed as Andrea slipped into more formal, lawyerly speech.
"Name and occupation."
"Sharon Raydor, Sergeant, Los Angeles Police Department. I've been there since '83."
Andrea looked up. "I'll probably ask you to elaborate a little, just so the jury gets a feel for you. Tell me a little about yourself."
"Hmm. . . I'm married, I have a little boy, my husband and I are expecting a girl in the fall. . ."
Andrea waved at Sharon to continue.
"I went to the University of Wyoming for my pre-law degree and Berkeley for my law degree. Long story short, I decided that policing was more exciting than being a lawyer, so I joined the force after I got out of school. Is that enough?"
"Yes, that's perfect." Andrea looked at her notes. "Juries tend to look for education, family, and trustworthiness. The more connections you have to them, the more they like you, generally. You typically work on the streets as part of the patrol, yes? What do you do?"
"My partner and I drive around and make police presence known. I, um. . . I do speed traps, pull people over, answer 911 calls, whatever jobs need to be done."
"How did you get involved with Sean Rogers?"
"Meri- Meriwether Arthur, my partner- and I were going back to Parker Center, and the call came over the radio that there was a car chase happening a block away, or so. We joined the pursuit, and the suspect was cornered. Meri got out to help the other officers, and I stayed back in the car."
"Why was that?"
Sharon rolled her eyes. "Meri doesn't think I should get involved with perps at close quarters because I'm pregnant."
Andrea smiled slightly. "And what happened next?"
"I got involved."
Andrea Hobbs, DDA- 325
There were no numbered offices nearby, and it took Sharon several minutes to find the right hall. It wasn't part of the main building, instead she had to find the annex and search the warren of halls for Hobbs' office. She eventually found it sandwiched between the fire exit and the men's bathroom.
"DDA Hobbs?" She knocked on the door.
A shadow moved behind the frosted glass, there was a scuffling noise, and then the door opened. "Hello!" The woman was tall, with light blonde hair pulled back in a short ponytail. She was dressed in slacks and a sleeveless blouse, and had clearly been moving into her office. "I'm sorry, I haven't unpacked my appointment book yet, so who are you?" She stepped back to allow Sharon into the small room.
"Sharon Raydor, LAPD. I'm here about the Rogers' case?"
"Oh, alright. Just take a seat. . ." the woman waved her arm across the office. "Let me just get the file," she added before disappearing behind another stack of boxes.
Sharon looked around. The office was little more than a glorified closet with a large window. A wooden desk dominated the room. There was a matching bookcase along one wall, and three mismatched chairs crammed into the remaining space. Every surface was piled with cardboard boxes and loose papers.
She picked the chair nearest her and hefted the top box onto the other chair. It wasn't heavy, nor were the other two boxes, so she stacked them all on the other chair, before taking a seat.
Andrea Hobbs reappeared a moment later, flipping through the file. She pulled her chair around from behind the desk and sat next to Sharon. "I'm truly sorry about the mess. I just moved in yesterday and. . . Well, at least I don't have to share an office." She grinned, and Sharon smiled back. "Oh! I never introduced myself. I suppose you know, but I'm Andrea Hobbs, and I was just hired by the DA's office. Not to make you nervous, but this is my first case." She smiled again and held out her hand.
Sharon shook it. "Sharon Raydor."
"Sharon. Okay. Just call me Andrea. I've read the file, but I'd like to hear you tell your version of events, if you don't mind."
"Of course." Sharon sat back, trying to recall what had happened. "My partner, Meri Arthur, and I were about to go off-duty, I think, and then the call came over the radio that there was a vehicular pursuit and that the suspect might be armed. I told Meri we should go, because we were only a block or two away. When we got there, Meri told me to wait in the car, and I did, but then the guy started coming my way, and-" Sharon stopped and bit her lip, trying not to laugh. "I opened the car door and he ran into it, and then I tackled him. And that was about it."
Andrea raised one eyebrow elegantly and shot Sharon an amused look. "They included photos from the incident in the file. It looks like you and our perp duked it out."
"I think I broke his nose," Sharon said looking down. It hadn't been a big deal. No one seemed to understand that. "Will that cause a problem?"
Andrea laughed. "No! The defense might bring it up, but I have your photos, too. I think that'll take care of any potential problems." She flipped the file around and pushed it towards Sharon. "You had one hell of a shiner."
Sharon took the file and looked at it grimacing. There was a pair of glossy photos of her face included in the typed papers. The first one was a profile, and the dirt and blood on her shoulder and cheek and shown up brightly. The second one was taken from the front and looked even worse, capturing her black eye. She passed the file back.
"It really wasn't that bad. He just gave me the black eye. The nosebleed was a coincidence."
"So modest. Don't tell the jury- they like drama. I think some of them feel like they're in some sort of crime show when they get jury duty for stuff like this."
Sharon grinned. "What is the case about anyways?"
Andrea looked down at the file. "We had a warrant out for our friend Sean Rogers after an aggravated assault and robbery at a convenience store, but he did a runner when patrol went to pick him up. We can get him for resisting arrest and assault of a police officer as well. It's pretty open and shut, but he's decided to plead not guilty for some half-assed reason, so we have to go to court." She flipped through the papers again, and they fell into a companionable silence. "Do you want to try some practice questions?"
"Sure."
Andrea pulled a yellow legal pad out of one of her precarious stacks, then picked a stray pen up from the floor. "There are four other witnesses besides you. The clerk from the store, a customer, and the two officers who went to pick Sean Rogers up from his apartment. I'm just going to start with some background information, then move on to your work and what you were doing that day, and then your interactions with Mr. Rogers."
Sharon noticed as Andrea slipped into more formal, lawyerly speech.
"Name and occupation."
"Sharon Raydor, Sergeant, Los Angeles Police Department. I've been there since '83."
Andrea looked up. "I'll probably ask you to elaborate a little, just so the jury gets a feel for you. Tell me a little about yourself."
"Hmm. . . I'm married, I have a little boy, my husband and I are expecting a girl in the fall. . ."
Andrea waved at Sharon to continue.
"I went to the University of Wyoming for my pre-law degree and Berkeley for my law degree. Long story short, I decided that policing was more exciting than being a lawyer, so I joined the force after I got out of school. Is that enough?"
"Yes, that's perfect." Andrea looked at her notes. "Juries tend to look for education, family, and trustworthiness. The more connections you have to them, the more they like you, generally. You typically work on the streets as part of the patrol, yes? What do you do?"
"My partner and I drive around and make police presence known. I, um. . . I do speed traps, pull people over, answer 911 calls, whatever jobs need to be done."
"How did you get involved with Sean Rogers?"
"Meri- Meriwether Arthur, my partner- and I were going back to Parker Center, and the call came over the radio that there was a car chase happening a block away, or so. We joined the pursuit, and the suspect was cornered. Meri got out to help the other officers, and I stayed back in the car."
"Why was that?"
Sharon rolled her eyes. "Meri doesn't think I should get involved with perps at close quarters because I'm pregnant."
Andrea smiled slightly. "And what happened next?"
"I got involved."
A/N- I'm sorry it took me so long to do this. Uni is an. . . . interesting experience, to say the least. Latin and Chemistry midterms are rather time-consuming. . . . Thank you so very, very much for sticking with me (; I hope you enjoyed this last one; let me know! Also, what did you think of Andrea? I feel like I don't know her very well. . . . Sī valet, valēo!
Friday, September 6, 2013
LB 6
A/N- I'm so sorry not to have updated. I realize now I left you with an incredibly short last chapter. I apologize; all those chapters I wrote while backpacking come further along in the story (I wasn't sequential.). I just got moved to uni and had my first week of classes, but we had a long weekend. Hopefully, I'll get more up soon. Thanks to everyone for sticking around, especially Taylor, Isolith, and Miss Shannon for reviewing (:
Yes, we're lovers, and that is that,
Though nothing will keep us together.
-Heroes, David Bowie
Around three, Sharon began winding down. Her infatuation with cleanliness was wearing off. She put everything away and pulled out a new set of clothes. She had called Jack and he'd said he'd take her out somewhere nice for dinner, but didn't go farther than that. She picked out a dress Jack had bought for her after his last big case. It was stormy gray with coppery sequins washing up from the bottom of the fluffy skirt. By four-thirty, Sharon had arrived at Cedars Hospital and made her way to Marcia Pierce's office. She was unsurprised when she found Jack wasn't there waiting. She decided not to bother trying to call; either he would come or he wouldn't.
There wasn't anyone else waiting, in fact, Marcia herself was lounging in the waiting room drinking pitch black coffee. She was wearing a white lab coat, half-buttoned, over her flower-patterned scrubs. Unlike many other women her age, she wasn't reading Vogue or a paperback romance. She had an oversize copy of Calvin and Hobbes in her lap.
"Marcia?"
"Sharon! I'm glad you called. I thought I'd have to make a house call." She shut her book and bounded up. "Where's Jack?"
Sharon smiled tightly. "I think he's on his way," she said trying to sound cheerful.
Marcia rolled her eyes. "Mmhmm. That's what they all say. Do you want to wait-"
"No, it's fine. Let's just get started."
~*~*~*~*~
Jack swung into his car, dropped his briefcase on the passenger seat, and glanced at the clock. 4:37.
"Oh, shit." He had promised Sharon he'd meet her at four-thirty for her doctor's appointment. Cedars was across town from the courthouse. "Shit, shit, shit." He slipped the keys into the ignition and roared away, darting between lanes when he could.
After two red lights and fifteen minutes, he finally pulled up to the hospital. He locked the car and walked in. The hallways all looked the same. He picked one at random, hoping it would lead upstairs, where he thought Sharon had said her doctor was. Or did she say the first floor? He couldn't remember. He hurried up the first flight of stairs he found, and, to his relief, he found the door for Dr. Marcia Pierce staring him in the face.
"My wife has an appointment here..." he trailed off.
The secretary looked nonplussed.
"Sharon Raydor. I was running late-"
The woman looked at him with what was clearly disdain. "Room two, on the left. She said you were welcome to join her if you showed up." There was an emphasis on "if."
"Thank you," Jack smiled, trying his best to leave a good impression. He ducked into the back hall an quickly found the room. He knocked, then let himself in. The room was brightly lit by the large window and he found Dr. Pierce already putting her equipment away.
"Sharon is getting dressed. She'll be back in a minute." Marcia didn't even look up from what she was doing.
"How did it go?" He leaned against the exam table, trying to appear casual.
"You'd know if you'd been here," Marcia said sharply.
"I was-"
"I don't care." Marcia snapped her files shut. "You're supposed to be here. I don't care if you have court, if you want to go out for a drink.... You have to be here. That's part of the job. Sharon's not going to complain about it, so I will." She scrawled something across the back of a business card. "This is her next appointment. Be here, on time, or I will kill you myself." She gathered her papers and swept out of the room. "Wait here."
Jack stood frozen. He was somewhat shocked. He had only met the woman on a few other occasions, and she had always seemed clever but reserved. He hadn't thought being- he checked his watch- just under half an hour late would be such a big deal. Appointments always start late, he thought. So, technically, he'd only been maybe fifteen minutes late.
The door swung open and Sharon walked back in. She was wearing a nice dress that he didn't recall seeing before.
"Jack."
"Hey Shar. Sorry I was late. Traffic was terrible."
She smiled faintly and turned around. One had was on her back, holding the dress together. "Would you zip me up?"
He stepped forward and took the dress. She swept her hair out of the way and he zipped it, forcing the zipper upwards at one point, and fastened the little hook at the top.
"How did it go?"
"Fine," she said. She gathered her things. "Not much I didn't already know."
He caught the connotation. "Something you didn't know."
"Yes."
He rolled his eyes when she opened the door instead of elucidating. He followed her out to the desk, where she checked out and received her own copy of the appointment card Marcia had given Jack.
They went outside together, and Jack paused, unsure of the driving arrangements.
"I took a cab. I figured we could just drive in your car."
He nodded and lead her to his parking spot. They slipped in, backed out, and turned onto the street.
"I'm sorry."
"I know." Her cool composure was almost more hurtful than anger.
He tried again. "What did the doc say?" He reached one hand over and set it on her knee.
She sighed, and with that, the façade cracked. "She said everything was fine, but I'm not to go tackling people anymore."
"That's good."
She hummed vague agreement.
Jack glanced at her. "Shar, is there something else?"
"Marcia says she's not totally sure, but she thinks it's a girl."
Jack turned to look at her, stunned. "Really? That's fantastic! Sharon-"
"Eyes on the road, please."
He dutifully looked back to the street with a wide grin. "Really? A girl?"
"Yes," Sharon replied. He could hear excitement creeping into her voice as well, and knew she was too excited to be angry with him any longer.
*~*~*~*~*
They ended up picking Ricky up early. The whole way to the restaurant he babbled excitedly about his day. The class had gone on a walk; he had petted a dog; could he have a dog; where where they going?
"We're going to Shiki."
"What's She-key?"
"It's an Asian restaurant, Ricky," Sharon said. "That means you can get fish, or noodles, or curry."
"Mac-cheese?"
"No, kiddo," Jack replied. "But I bet you can get something you like."
They pulled up to the restaurant and a valet took the car away. Ricky held tightly to his parents' hands and swung between them as they slipped inside. It was a small place, painted dark green and an olive bronze. Netting and lanterns were draped across the ceiling and tall plants divided the tables and booths.
"We have a reservation for three. Raydor?"
"This way." A young waitress led them to a booth in the back, deftly weaving between the other diners. "Here are the menus. Our special tonight is coconut curry on rice, and all house cocktails are buy one, get one half off tonight. I'll be back for your orders in just a few minutes."
They spent the time until her return looking over the menus. Sharon read selections aloud to Ricky, eventually helping him decide on California rolls, as there was no macaroni and cheese to be found. The waitress was back soon after. Jack ordered sushi, Sharon the special. She was somewhat dismayed when he looked over the wine list and ordered a glass.
"It's just a glass, Sharon," he said coolly when he caught her expression. He shook his head slightly, and turned to smile at Ricky. "Hey buddy, your mum and I have something to tell you."
"What?" Ricky looked up from the kids' menu he was coloring on. "Are we getting a dog?"
"No, sorry," Sharon said. "Not right now."
"Oh." He kicked his feet in the air, looking at them expectantly.
Sharon looked to Jack, unsure of how to phrase her thoughts. He shrugged back, and she rolled her eyes. "Ricky, remember when we told you that you were going to have a little brother or sister?"
"Yeah. Is the baby here now?"
Jack laughed, grinning. "Not yet. Not for a while yet."
Sharon smiled slightly. "I had a doctor's appointment today and she said that the baby is probably a little girl. So you'll have a sister."
"Oh. Okay. When will she get here then?" he repeated.
"Sometime in October, hopefully," Sharon said.
"Will she have her own room?"
"Yes."
"Can I hold her?"
"When she gets here you may hold her if you're careful," she answered.
"I will be."
"Okay."
"What's her name?"
Sharon looked to Jack again, somewhat surprised.
"Well, we haven't picked a name yet," Jack said slowly.
"She needs one! Can I pick it?"
Sharon smiled. "You can help us pick her name. It's something we will do together, okay?"
"Okay." Ricky nodded and went back to his coloring.
Jack reached for Sharon's hand. "That went over easily."
"Indeed."
The waitress returned with their food. The Raydors sat quietly as she set the plates down.
"Would you like another glass of the wine, sir?"
Jack didn't look at Sharon. "Sure. Thanks."
As the young woman disappeared again, Sharon looked to Jack, eyebrows raised. "I'm driving."
"Alright," he said calmly. "That's fine."
~*~*~*~*~
They arrived home maybe an hour later. Sharon helped Ricky get ready for bed again. She read him a short story about bears and slipped off his bed when she was done. He was breathing deeply, and she watched for a moment before turning off the light and shutting the door.
She walked into the master bedroom and reached behind her head to unfasten the dress and slide it off. When it puddled to the ground, she let her breath out and welcomed the freedom to breathe deeply again. She let her hair down and wrapped a towel about herself, before heading to the lone bathroom everyone shared.
Her thoughts were wandering when she pulled the shower curtain back to begin running a bath, and she yelped in surprise. Jack had already filled the tub. In fact, he was sitting there, amid clouds of bubblegum-scented bubbles.
She giggled nervously, heart still jumping.
He smiled up at her brightly. "I was just thinking that since today is kind of special, I could do something for you." He reached for a bottle and two champagne flutes that had been half-hidden on the floor. "Don't worry, it's just sparking grape juice." He poured them each a glass and Sharon sat on the edge of the bath as they sipped in comfortable silence. After a while, he set his flute on the tiled floor, and she followed suit, watching his face curiously. It looked as though he had something to say.
"What?"
"Nothing," he grinned. Suddenly, he reached up and pulled her in to the water. She shrieked loudly as foam and water splashed everywhere. He landed her gently in his lap, laughing. She threw a handful of bubbles at his face, giggling helplessly. It was times like this that she really loved him. The times when he was laughing and clear-headed and far too clever for his own good.
He scooped up a handful of foam in each hand and cupped her face. She spat bubbles out, right in Jack's face as he leaned in to kiss her. He sputtered and kissed her anyways. It was wet and somewhat bubbly, but she didn't care. Everything was perfect.
There wasn't anyone else waiting, in fact, Marcia herself was lounging in the waiting room drinking pitch black coffee. She was wearing a white lab coat, half-buttoned, over her flower-patterned scrubs. Unlike many other women her age, she wasn't reading Vogue or a paperback romance. She had an oversize copy of Calvin and Hobbes in her lap.
"Marcia?"
"Sharon! I'm glad you called. I thought I'd have to make a house call." She shut her book and bounded up. "Where's Jack?"
Sharon smiled tightly. "I think he's on his way," she said trying to sound cheerful.
Marcia rolled her eyes. "Mmhmm. That's what they all say. Do you want to wait-"
"No, it's fine. Let's just get started."
~*~*~*~*~
Jack swung into his car, dropped his briefcase on the passenger seat, and glanced at the clock. 4:37.
"Oh, shit." He had promised Sharon he'd meet her at four-thirty for her doctor's appointment. Cedars was across town from the courthouse. "Shit, shit, shit." He slipped the keys into the ignition and roared away, darting between lanes when he could.
After two red lights and fifteen minutes, he finally pulled up to the hospital. He locked the car and walked in. The hallways all looked the same. He picked one at random, hoping it would lead upstairs, where he thought Sharon had said her doctor was. Or did she say the first floor? He couldn't remember. He hurried up the first flight of stairs he found, and, to his relief, he found the door for Dr. Marcia Pierce staring him in the face.
"My wife has an appointment here..." he trailed off.
The secretary looked nonplussed.
"Sharon Raydor. I was running late-"
The woman looked at him with what was clearly disdain. "Room two, on the left. She said you were welcome to join her if you showed up." There was an emphasis on "if."
"Thank you," Jack smiled, trying his best to leave a good impression. He ducked into the back hall an quickly found the room. He knocked, then let himself in. The room was brightly lit by the large window and he found Dr. Pierce already putting her equipment away.
"Sharon is getting dressed. She'll be back in a minute." Marcia didn't even look up from what she was doing.
"How did it go?" He leaned against the exam table, trying to appear casual.
"You'd know if you'd been here," Marcia said sharply.
"I was-"
"I don't care." Marcia snapped her files shut. "You're supposed to be here. I don't care if you have court, if you want to go out for a drink.... You have to be here. That's part of the job. Sharon's not going to complain about it, so I will." She scrawled something across the back of a business card. "This is her next appointment. Be here, on time, or I will kill you myself." She gathered her papers and swept out of the room. "Wait here."
Jack stood frozen. He was somewhat shocked. He had only met the woman on a few other occasions, and she had always seemed clever but reserved. He hadn't thought being- he checked his watch- just under half an hour late would be such a big deal. Appointments always start late, he thought. So, technically, he'd only been maybe fifteen minutes late.
The door swung open and Sharon walked back in. She was wearing a nice dress that he didn't recall seeing before.
"Jack."
"Hey Shar. Sorry I was late. Traffic was terrible."
She smiled faintly and turned around. One had was on her back, holding the dress together. "Would you zip me up?"
He stepped forward and took the dress. She swept her hair out of the way and he zipped it, forcing the zipper upwards at one point, and fastened the little hook at the top.
"How did it go?"
"Fine," she said. She gathered her things. "Not much I didn't already know."
He caught the connotation. "Something you didn't know."
"Yes."
He rolled his eyes when she opened the door instead of elucidating. He followed her out to the desk, where she checked out and received her own copy of the appointment card Marcia had given Jack.
They went outside together, and Jack paused, unsure of the driving arrangements.
"I took a cab. I figured we could just drive in your car."
He nodded and lead her to his parking spot. They slipped in, backed out, and turned onto the street.
"I'm sorry."
"I know." Her cool composure was almost more hurtful than anger.
He tried again. "What did the doc say?" He reached one hand over and set it on her knee.
She sighed, and with that, the façade cracked. "She said everything was fine, but I'm not to go tackling people anymore."
"That's good."
She hummed vague agreement.
Jack glanced at her. "Shar, is there something else?"
"Marcia says she's not totally sure, but she thinks it's a girl."
Jack turned to look at her, stunned. "Really? That's fantastic! Sharon-"
"Eyes on the road, please."
He dutifully looked back to the street with a wide grin. "Really? A girl?"
"Yes," Sharon replied. He could hear excitement creeping into her voice as well, and knew she was too excited to be angry with him any longer.
*~*~*~*~*
They ended up picking Ricky up early. The whole way to the restaurant he babbled excitedly about his day. The class had gone on a walk; he had petted a dog; could he have a dog; where where they going?
"We're going to Shiki."
"What's She-key?"
"It's an Asian restaurant, Ricky," Sharon said. "That means you can get fish, or noodles, or curry."
"Mac-cheese?"
"No, kiddo," Jack replied. "But I bet you can get something you like."
They pulled up to the restaurant and a valet took the car away. Ricky held tightly to his parents' hands and swung between them as they slipped inside. It was a small place, painted dark green and an olive bronze. Netting and lanterns were draped across the ceiling and tall plants divided the tables and booths.
"We have a reservation for three. Raydor?"
"This way." A young waitress led them to a booth in the back, deftly weaving between the other diners. "Here are the menus. Our special tonight is coconut curry on rice, and all house cocktails are buy one, get one half off tonight. I'll be back for your orders in just a few minutes."
They spent the time until her return looking over the menus. Sharon read selections aloud to Ricky, eventually helping him decide on California rolls, as there was no macaroni and cheese to be found. The waitress was back soon after. Jack ordered sushi, Sharon the special. She was somewhat dismayed when he looked over the wine list and ordered a glass.
"It's just a glass, Sharon," he said coolly when he caught her expression. He shook his head slightly, and turned to smile at Ricky. "Hey buddy, your mum and I have something to tell you."
"What?" Ricky looked up from the kids' menu he was coloring on. "Are we getting a dog?"
"No, sorry," Sharon said. "Not right now."
"Oh." He kicked his feet in the air, looking at them expectantly.
Sharon looked to Jack, unsure of how to phrase her thoughts. He shrugged back, and she rolled her eyes. "Ricky, remember when we told you that you were going to have a little brother or sister?"
"Yeah. Is the baby here now?"
Jack laughed, grinning. "Not yet. Not for a while yet."
Sharon smiled slightly. "I had a doctor's appointment today and she said that the baby is probably a little girl. So you'll have a sister."
"Oh. Okay. When will she get here then?" he repeated.
"Sometime in October, hopefully," Sharon said.
"Will she have her own room?"
"Yes."
"Can I hold her?"
"When she gets here you may hold her if you're careful," she answered.
"I will be."
"Okay."
"What's her name?"
Sharon looked to Jack again, somewhat surprised.
"Well, we haven't picked a name yet," Jack said slowly.
"She needs one! Can I pick it?"
Sharon smiled. "You can help us pick her name. It's something we will do together, okay?"
"Okay." Ricky nodded and went back to his coloring.
Jack reached for Sharon's hand. "That went over easily."
"Indeed."
The waitress returned with their food. The Raydors sat quietly as she set the plates down.
"Would you like another glass of the wine, sir?"
Jack didn't look at Sharon. "Sure. Thanks."
As the young woman disappeared again, Sharon looked to Jack, eyebrows raised. "I'm driving."
"Alright," he said calmly. "That's fine."
~*~*~*~*~
They arrived home maybe an hour later. Sharon helped Ricky get ready for bed again. She read him a short story about bears and slipped off his bed when she was done. He was breathing deeply, and she watched for a moment before turning off the light and shutting the door.
She walked into the master bedroom and reached behind her head to unfasten the dress and slide it off. When it puddled to the ground, she let her breath out and welcomed the freedom to breathe deeply again. She let her hair down and wrapped a towel about herself, before heading to the lone bathroom everyone shared.
Her thoughts were wandering when she pulled the shower curtain back to begin running a bath, and she yelped in surprise. Jack had already filled the tub. In fact, he was sitting there, amid clouds of bubblegum-scented bubbles.
She giggled nervously, heart still jumping.
He smiled up at her brightly. "I was just thinking that since today is kind of special, I could do something for you." He reached for a bottle and two champagne flutes that had been half-hidden on the floor. "Don't worry, it's just sparking grape juice." He poured them each a glass and Sharon sat on the edge of the bath as they sipped in comfortable silence. After a while, he set his flute on the tiled floor, and she followed suit, watching his face curiously. It looked as though he had something to say.
"What?"
"Nothing," he grinned. Suddenly, he reached up and pulled her in to the water. She shrieked loudly as foam and water splashed everywhere. He landed her gently in his lap, laughing. She threw a handful of bubbles at his face, giggling helplessly. It was times like this that she really loved him. The times when he was laughing and clear-headed and far too clever for his own good.
He scooped up a handful of foam in each hand and cupped her face. She spat bubbles out, right in Jack's face as he leaned in to kiss her. He sputtered and kissed her anyways. It was wet and somewhat bubbly, but she didn't care. Everything was perfect.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Friday, August 16, 2013
LB 5
A/N- See, I told you. I wrote. My notebook is dirty and slightly charred, but I had fun. Also on today's agenda, Sharon learns a lesson that she will remember....
You will pay for your sins, you'll be sorry my dear.
All the lies, all the whys, will all be crystal clear.
-Blow Me One Last Kiss, P!nk
"Excuse me?" Sharon must have misheard.
"I'm planning to retire next fall, and FID will need a new head," Bancroft said calmly.
"But I don't know anything about Internal Affairs!" she sputtered. "Most of your department outranks me, and-"
Hotchkiss cut in. "We realize those things, but you must realize that transfers and promotions often come together."
"If you accept a transfer to FID following you return from maternity leave, I can make you Captain," Bancroft continued.
Sharon stared at the man, flabbergasted. According to traditional ranking, she would have to be promoted thrice more, through both lieutenant ranks, to reach Captain. She had heard of people jumping up through the ranks, but it was uncommon.
"That's a nice offer, Sarge," Hotchkiss muttered, carefully pulling rank.
Sharon finally found her voice. "I had been hoping to return to active duty."
"You would still receive call-outs in FID; it isn't all administrative."
"There's a substantial pay raise and more regular hours. Easier on the family," Hotchkiss added suggestively.
"Could I have some time to think about it?" Sharon asked.
Hotchkiss and Bancroft looked at each other, clearly somewhat dismayed.
"Two weeks sounds fair," Bancroft said, his voice betraying no emotion. "Come back with your answer by-" he paused to look at his calendar. "May sixteenth."
When Sharon left, Hotchkiss followed her out into the hall. The older woman put an arm around Sharon's shoulders and steered her behind an abandoned whiteboard.
"Sergeant, as a fellow police officer and as your superior, I truly hope you accept this transfer. You would have to take on the terrible burdens of additional pay, better hours, and promotion," she said sarcastically. "But it would do the other women of the LAPD good to see you in a position of power. At this time, you are the second-highest ranking woman in the force, myself above you. There are more lower-ranked women, and they need someone to look up to. Someone they can relate to. Besides, I won't be here forever, and when I'm gone I want someone strong and insightful to be the Women's Coordinator." She stared at Sharon pointedly, then slipped her business card into Sharon's hand, turned, and disappeared into the depths of FID.
Sharon stood there for a moment, before retreating back to the main patrol desk, five stories down, to start a late shift.
The young officer on the desk looked confused when she came in.
"Sarge, you've got the day off."
"What?"
He looked at her strangely. "Computer says you're on administrative leave today, as per FID."
"Oh," she mumbled. Bancroft seriously wanted her to consider his offer. "Thanks."
"Yeah," the man said. "Did FID not tell you they were forcing you to take off? They can be real assholes sometimes, pardon the language."
She smiled weakly and began the walk back to her car, Hotchkiss' card burning a hole in her pocket.
~*~*~*~*~
Sharon ended up just going home, wondering what to do with all the free time. She called Marcia and made an appointment for late afternoon, then changed into well-worn jeans and an old LAPD tee. She left the business card in her work pants' pocket, though. She didn't want to think about it. She had never considered a transfer, especially one to Internal Affairs. She had always just assumed she would return from maternity leave and rejoin Meriwether on patrol. Ricky and the baby could go to daycare on the days both she and Jack worked, and she would watch them on her days off. Jack was always off by seven, so he could watch them during her night shifts.
If he doesn't go out drinking, she thought. She squashed the idea immediately. Jack would be there for her.
And to be transfered to Internal Affairs! Who in their right mind would transfer there? She had heard the pay was good, but she wasn't sure that would make up for the blatant disrespect with which IA officers were generally treated. She wasn't sure about the 'administrative' aspect, either. She enjoyed sitting shotgun with Meri and being in the forefront. As far as she knew, FID officers only ventured outside their offices after the perp was dead and the running was done. They stole crime scenes and evidence, even suspects, upon occasion.
"Why the hell would I want to join them?" she asked aloud. "Maybe the dark side has cookies," she added, laughing darkly.
She spent her remaining time cleaning house. It was strange, but she found it almost pleasant to have the house to herself as she scrubbed the place with classical ballet echoing through the stereo.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
LB 4
A/N- I apologize for the time between chapters. I had been hoping to get them up much faster. I was out backpacking in the mountains, and then nothing was flowing together right. I'm out in the mountains again for a few days, but this time, I promise I'll write and you'll get new chapters when I'm back. Thanks to all the reviewers who are sticking with me! (:
"Oh, I don't wanna grow up, wish I'd never grown up. It could still be simple."
-Never Grow Up, Taylor Swift
Sharon woke in the middle of the night, with a urgent need to find a trashcan. The bathroom was past Jack's side of the bed, so she threw back the covers and clambered over him, barely pausing as he grunted and woke up. She clamped one hand over her mouth and sprinted out the door.
He joined her in the bathroom a minute later, sat on the floor, and held her hair back. He was very calm about it; he always had been, even with Ricky.
"Pity you get it in the night. It's got to be the most inconvenient thing, hmm?"
She spat into the trashcan, and sat back on her heels. "My sister was the same way."
"Yeah, I remember. We were at your parents' house for Christmas and she was in the room next door. Didn't sleep a wink that whole damn trip." He smiled and laughed softly. " That wasn't entirely her fault, though. It was partially you."
She giggled, coughed, and leaned back into the trashcan.
Jack readjusted his hold on her hair and leaned back against the wall. "I'm glad your parents' room was on the other side of the house. And your brother's room. His snoring masked everything. Do you remember that time we-" he stopped short, laughing. "I still can't say it out loud."
"Just as well," she replied. "I think I'm done."
"Okay. You go back to bed-"
"No, Jack, you have court tomorrow."
"A few minutes either way won't change anything, and that's all it'll take to clean up. Go on."
She nodded, stood, washed up, brushed her teeth again. She had just gotten into bed when he came back in.
"See? I'm all done; it was easy." He joined her and pulled her close.
"I smell awful," she mumbled into his shoulder.
He ran his hands down her back. "All I smell is mint." He gently massaged every bit of her he could reach and she hummed happily. He laughed again and traced his fingers along her legs. The last thing she remembered before falling asleep was having Jack's arms tight around her, thinking he was so much better when he was sober.
*~*~*~*
When Sharon woke up the next morning, Jack was already gone. She slipped out of bed and into the kitchen. A slip of paper was tacked to the fridge, with "Sharon" written in block letters at the top. She pulled it out from under the magnet.
SHARON- Left early to finish up a few last-minute things for court. It's just pre-lims today, so I should be done before your appointment. Think about where you want to go to dinner; let me know when we meet up and I'll get reservations. Have a good day. Love, Jack
She snorted and shoved the note into her bag. Jack was following his old, familiar pattern. It was a roller coaster of hills and valleys. He'd come home late and she'd catch him, or he wouldn't come home. After, he'd be on his best behavior, swear to be better, then start slipping away again, leaving early and returning late.
She turned the kettle on and walked back to the bathroom for a shower. She'd skip her run to stay with Ricky. She hung her pajamas over the hook on the back of the bathroom door, turned on the water. Without her morning workout, she took extra time washing her hair. When she finished, the room was filled with rosemary-minty steam. It billowed past into the bedroom when she opened the door. She collected her clean clothes uniform from the chair they were folded over and pulled them on, bemusedly realizing Jack was right, that soon she wouldn't need her belt for anything other than holding her gun, handcuffs, and other tools. She laughed quietly as she pulled her hair back, did her make-up, and left to wake Ricky.
She sat on the edge of his bed and watched him sleep. His blonde hair was strewn about like a halo and his face twitched into a smile. She reached out and shook his shoulder gently. "Ricky, honey, it's time to get up."
He rolled over and blinked up at her. "I had a dream," he said sleepily.
"Yeah?" She got up and started pulling clothes out for him like she did most mornings.
"There was a big dog," he said as he rolled out of bed. "And a ball. And I threw the ball for the dog and we had fun. Can we get a dog, Mommy?" he asked abruptly.
She smiled at him. "Not right now."
"But-"
"Ricky," she said gently. "You're going to have a baby sister or brother soon enough and it's too hard to take care of a baby and a dog." Especially if your dad keeps disappearing like this.
Ricky huffed at her. "Fine." He took his clothes and trotted off to the bathroom.
Sharon smiled as he went, knowing he'd have forgotten all about dogs by the time he came out for breakfast. She walked out to the kitchen and surveyed the shelves in the pantry before choosing a box of oatmeal. She measured out enough for herself and Ricky and cooked it over the stove, adding raisins and milk as it warmed. When Ricky joined her, she pushed his bowl over to him and spoke.
"Dad was thinking I could pick you up early and we could all go to dinner."
"At a diner?"
"Yes, at a diner. Is there anywhere you'd like to go, particularly?"
"Someplace with mac cheese."
"Macaroni and cheese?" Sharon clarified.
"Yes! Mac cheese!"
Sharon thought about it. "What if we went to an Italian restaurant?"
"Do they have mac cheese?"
"They have all sorts of pasta. You can get it with cheese, or chicken, or tomatoes-"
"Cheese," he said firmly.
"I'll tell Daddy so he can make reservations, then." Sharon began to clear the dishes. "Go get your backpack." She washed the bowls, set the pot to soak, gathered her things, and waited by the door. Ricky came rocketing past a minute later, bag in hand.
*~*~*~*~*
Sharon dropped Ricky at his daycare, and drove to the Parker Center. She parked in her usual spot and walked to the elevators. There was a large crowd of officers, as per usual, but she didn't see Flynn or Provenza. For some reason, she felt relieved not to have to speak with them. When she got in the elevator, a few minutes later, she rode up to the seventh floor, rather than the second. She stepped out, handbag over her shoulder. It was dark in Robbery-Homicide, the blinds drawn and lights off. Apparently they had received a call-out and had yet to return.
She walked through the desks, her shoes thumping softly on the tiles. There was a large office at the back that she assumed was the department head's. When she got close enough she could see the small brass placard: Deputy Chief Mark Stoddard. She opened the door, leaned in, and tossed her report on his desk. It felt wrong to be in the office alone, so she quickly shut the door and hurried back out.
She didn't pass anyone on the was to FID, and it struck her as somewhat humorous. Every other hallway would be swarming with people at this hour. She ducked into their offices, brightly lit this time, and waited for the woman at the front desk to finish her phone conversation.
"How can I help you?" she asked a moment later.
"I have my report on the-" she paused, trying to remember the name. "The Rogers case from yesterday."
The woman stood and lead Sharon through a warren of desks and portable whiteboards. "Commander Bancroft would like to speak with you."
Sharon frowned. "I thought everything was taken care of already."
The woman shrugged, not bothering to turn around. "I can't say ma'am; all I know is that he requested to speak with you." She knocked on the Commander's door and held it open for Sharon.
Sharon stepped in, report in hand. "Sir?"
"Sit down, Sergeant," Bancroft said pleasantly. "We have a proposal for you." He was seated behind his desk, neatly dressed in a dark gray suit. A tall, hawk-like woman sat across from him. She wore an elegant skirt suit and her ruffled gray hair was cropped short.
Sharon sat next to the woman and placed her report on Bancroft's desk. He picked it up, surprised.
"Quick work, Sergeant."
"I don't like to leave loose ends," she said quietly. "Sir, what-"
He set the report down and looked up. "Sergeant, you're taking leave at the end of October and coming back in December, is that correct?"
"Yes," she replied. "Why-"
The other woman interrupted. "Sergeant Raydor, I am Commander Laurie Hotchkiss, from Special Ops. I am also the Woman's Coordinator for the LAPD. Commander Bancroft asked me to speak with him after you came by his office last night. We have some ideas and thought we'd see if you were interested."
Sharon raised her eyebrows. "Interested in what, ma'am?"
"We wanted to know if you'd be interested in taking over the Professional Standards Bureau."
A/N- I know it's not much, but I wanted you to have something and I promise there will be more in four days (: Thanks for sticking around!
Friday, July 19, 2013
LB3
A/N- Thanks for the reviews. Why so anon? I don't think I ever explicitly stated, but I'm setting this about 24 years back, circa 1989, assuming Sharon is in her mid-to-late fifties at current times. I don't know if that's quite right, but idk, haha
Also. Blogger didn't save this and when I retrieved it the formatted was kinda frakked. It's right on ff, but if you're just reading it here you just get to deal. My apologies.
I come to find a refuge in the easy silence that you make for me.
-The Dixie Chicks, Easy Silence
Friday, July 12, 2013
Ladybird 2
A/N- In case anyone is into ten-codes, there's a list here if you want to look them up. I also changed the last chapter so that "Mattes" became "Ricky," as per tonight's episode.
"The easy silence that you make for me, it's okay when there's nothing more to say to me."
-The Dixie Chicks, Easy Silence
________________________
Monday, July 8, 2013
Ladybird 1
A/N- This all stays within canon, the little we know of it, haha. Also, "Mattes" is a diminutive of "Matthias."
"Step one: You say 'We need to talk." He walks; you say 'Sit down, it's just a talk."
-The Fray, How To Save A Life
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Dead On Arrival
A/N- I just wrote this after the first little DOA mini-trailer, so it's probably all wrong haha, but it was fun, so I hope you like it. Kudos if you catch the Closer reference (;
Suddenly, a hand clamped down over her mouth, and she jolted upright, drawing breath to scream when Rusty's face loomed over hers. He held a finger to his lips.
"Shh," he leaned close to her face and whispered "There's someone in the house."
Monday, April 1, 2013
Pythian Prophecy (BSG SPOILERS TO END OF SERIES)
I've been thinking that it'd be cool to piece together as much of the Pythian Prophecy as I can, primarily out of curiosity. Is it solely about how to get to Earth or is there a creation story? Are there any similarities to our religious texts?
I've been getting my info (so far) from here. It seems to be the most reliable/verified info out there :)
Time- the reference point is series date. Ex: 2,000 years ago would be ~2,000 years before the destruction of the 12 colonies, (not the year 13, our time) it would be 152,000 years ago haha
Knowns
And unto the leader they gave a vision of serpents numbering two and ten, as a sign of things to come.
Led by serpents numbering two and ten... (fragment) Though the outcome favored the few, it led to a confrontation at the home of the gods.
And the blaze pursued them, and the people of Kobol had a choice. To board the great ship, or take the high road through the rocky ridge. (continuing) And the body of each tribe's leader was offered to the gods in the tomb of Athena.
And the Arrow of Apollo will open the Tomb of Athena.
And Zeus warned the leaders of the twelve tribes that any return to Kobol would exact a price in blood.
Pythia talks about the flood ... wiped out most of humanity ... nobody blames the flood ... flood is a force of nature ... through flood, mankind is rejuvinated, born again ...
Life here began out there. (the first words)
Their enemies will divide them. Their colonies broken in the fiery chasm of space. Their shining days renounced by a multitude of dark sacrifices. Yet still they will remain always together.
The gods shall lift those who lift each other./The gods lift up those who lift each other./The gods help those who help themselves.
I've been getting my info (so far) from here. It seems to be the most reliable/verified info out there :)
Time- the reference point is series date. Ex: 2,000 years ago would be ~2,000 years before the destruction of the 12 colonies, (not the year 13, our time) it would be 152,000 years ago haha
Knowns
- Written by Pythia, ~3,600 years ago, on the exile and rebirth of the human race.
- It's a repeated cycle in human history. (However, 150,000 years after the finale [present day], Head Six and Head Baltar believe the cycle may be broken.)
- A leader dying of a wasting disease would lead the caravan of stars to a new homeland/promised land.
- The leader would not live to enter the homeland, although Laura Roslin does see Earth.
- The lower demon helped the people in a crisis.
- It is believed that the story happens over and over and the "characters" are reincarnated for each "re-edition." (At least, that's what I'm getting from the Cylon flashbacks and a couple things Roslin said.)
- At the Gates of Hera a god ("your god" Sharon speaking to humans) stood and watched Athena "throw herself" off a cliff and onto the rocks below. Her temple is up near the top of the cliff.
- Kobol points the way to Earth.
- >Roslin says "According to the scriptures, if we had the arrow of Apollo we could take it down to Kobol and we could use it to open the tomb of Athena and find our way to Earth."
- Kobol is the birthplace of man, where man and god lived together in paradise until the exodus. (Seems akin to the Garden of Eden.)
- The exodus occurred around 2,000 years ago.
- When the 13th tribe landed on Earth they "looked up and saw their brothers." (The zodiac- Capricorn, Taurus, Leo, ect.)
- The Book/Scrolls of Pythia either contain or are identical to the Pythian Prophecy.
- The Pythian Prophecy was written 1,600 years before the destruction of the 12 colonies and centers on the exodus of the 13th tribe. According to battlestarwiki "The text apparently contains a detailed narrative of the events of the Exodus, and continues to be interpreted as a source of prophecy 2,000 years after its prophecies have (apparently) already been fulfilled."
- The dying leader shall know the truth of the Opera House...
Quotes
- All of this has happened before, and all of it will happen again.
- (Sharon and Elosha add "And the great ship was the galleon that departed from here, where we're standing. And it took the founders of the thirteen colonies to their destiny. And those that didn't board the galleon took the high road, a rocky ridge that lead to the tomb. The path is supposed to be marked by gravestones.")
Known Metaphors
- The dying leader is Laura Roslin.
- The serpents numbering two and ten are the Vipers in the battle for the tylium asteroid and at another point, the snakes Laura Roslin sees on her podium.
- The Lower Demon is Athena.
- The fleet is the Caravan of Stars/ Caravan of the Heavens.
- The "price in blood" apparently means someone dies whenever a group lands on Kobol. Crashdown and Elosha were both killed on Kobol.
- The jealous god is Cavil.
- "Offering of the bodies of the leaders of the twelve tribes to the gods" is when the Final Five offered to help the Cylon Centurions make humanoid models.
- Galactica is the Opera House.
A Grand Total Of Eleven Sentences
According to some mythology, we are all half of a person. Our other half was lost to us at birth and hidden somewhere on this lonely planet. We spend our lives looking for this other half, this soulmate, so that we can finally become one whole being.
I knew she was my half the first time I saw her. She was more than beautiful. She was perfect in every way. She was everything I wanted and all I needed.
All I have left of her is a faded photo. It's creased and battered, but I can still see her face. She's smiling at me and I smile back. I'll see her quite soon.
.....I wrote this quite a while back and now have no idea where I was going, so I'm going to leave it as is and if the idea comes back I'll finish.
I knew she was my half the first time I saw her. She was more than beautiful. She was perfect in every way. She was everything I wanted and all I needed.
All I have left of her is a faded photo. It's creased and battered, but I can still see her face. She's smiling at me and I smile back. I'll see her quite soon.
.....I wrote this quite a while back and now have no idea where I was going, so I'm going to leave it as is and if the idea comes back I'll finish.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
A Novel Idea. haha punny... (updated)
Here're some ideas I was having. They've been floating around and I want to scrawl them down. Some of it's rubbish, but altogether, it might be interesting.
- You know the gangers from Doctor Who? Or the Cylons? If a person is killed, they can regenerate, download, into a new body. That's the Cylons. The gangers are similar, but they eventually become separate entities from their originals. They can morph forms. Kinda nasty.
 |
| gangers |
 |
| cylons |
- Stuff happening on crazy other planets. Like Pandora or whatever Alien and Prometheus took place on. Planets that are large, scary, and unearthly, to be totally cliché.
 |
| Pandora |
 |
| Alien |
- We had a lesson in G&T today about love. Here's a snippet. If you had a really close friend named Aleksander and suddenly an evil magician came down and killed Aleksander and almost instantly replaced him with a perfect replica of Aleksander, right down to emotions and memories, would you love the new Alek or would you mourn the old one?
- According to Plato, the new Alek is the same as old Alek, and so nothing is lost. New Alek reflects the same beauty as old Alek, has the same skills, the same memories, the same feelings. nothing is lost or added.
- But we still mourn old Alek, do we not? Most people reject Plato's idea here.
- So, the idea is replacing people without replacing people.
I don't know where else to go from here. I'll come up with it at some point. Have a lovely St. V's day. I'll tag all stuff related to this "Rayner." Don't worry about the meaning, just go with it, s'il vous plait.
Ok, new stuff
Ok, new stuff
- Political scandals. Bill and Monica. Laura and Richard. In the office late at night...
 |
| Laura and Richard |
- Places in the middle of nowhere. Wyoming. Just kidding. Places like Grace's lab from Avatar. Very concise and compact.
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