Fathers and Sons

"We sit in the mud, my friend, and reach for the stars…"

-Ivan Turgenev

Chapter 1

May, 1988

Officer Ray Holt looked in a quirked annoyance at his partner. To any observer, his face was a picture of impassivity. He was close to a promotion to detective. It had been ten years of putting up with insults, laughter, crude jokes and being constantly passed up because of his orientation and skin color. His current partner was among the worst. Officer Angelo Abruzzo didn't even have the courtesy to be uncomfortably quiet in his spurning of Holt. He was loud, rude, and constantly making jokes about Holt's partner even without knowing his name.

"Hey, Holt, we got a domestic call. Let's head out, fag," Abruzzo said, tone teasing.

The precinct got quiet, uncomfortably quiet. Abruzzo's initially rude comments had been met by laughter from most of the cops, but as the months had gone by and Holt had never reacted and had proved to be one of the most efficient and polite officers, people began to be swayed. At some point Holt had gone from the diseased gay anomaly to the misunderstood underdog. Abruzzo was just too stupid to catch on. In a twisted sort of way it all worked to Holt's advantage.

Holt gave a small nod and stood up, following his partner out of the precinct. They got into the car and headed toward the address.

"I heard you're up for a promotion, Holt," Abruzzo said, a sort of half glare being sent Holt's way.

Holt inclined his head just so as the police car made its way down a suburb street.

"Well, you're a good cop, so, you know, you deserve it," Abruzzo managed.

"I appreciate that sentiment, Officer Abruzzo," Holt returned after a pause.

It seemed he had gained the grudging respect of even his fellow officer. It brought him joy. With how hard he had fought, how many times he had kept his mouth shut against the barrage of abuse that had been thrown at him throughout his career he deserved this, had sweat blood and tears for this. To persevere for such a victory was a feat that few things could compare to. Life was near perfect.

"Uh, we're here," Abruzzo said, stepping out.

"Apparently the next door neighbors made the call, said they heard some shouting and screaming. Common occurrence actually. Danielson and Connors have gotten a few calls down here. Same old story though, the old missus Peralta throws stupid stories about tripping down the stairs, shit like that. Should be a piece of cake."

Unfortunately Abruzzo's comments which ingratiated him to Holt were usually followed by callous comments like that. How domestic abuse could ever be looked upon so lightly was beyond him. He hoped that today Mrs. Peralta would see that her future could be saved and that she didn't need to lie for her husband.

They proceeded through the white picket fence, the old style two story blue and white trimmed house wonderfully picturesque. They walked up the steps to the porch, a bench swing hanging down and swaying gently in the summer breeze. Holt stepped forward and rang the buzzer. The inside of the house was quiet. Except for,

"Wait? You hear that?" Abruzzo said, a frown creasing his face.

Holt paused, straining to listen. It was faint, but there was crying.

"We goin' in?" Abruzzo said, looking to Holt even as he pulled out his piece.

Holt gave a nod. He withdrew his gun and nodded to Abruzzo. Abruzzo tried the door. It was unlocked. Stepping in they were both relieved to see the entryway was completely normal. Turning, they cleared the front room and then moved into the kitchen. Holt froze, taking in the scene before him while Abruzzo promptly turned and began vomiting in the front room. There was blood most everywhere. A woman's body collapsed on the ground, the source of blood a multitude of superficial cuts and abrasions on her body but the obvious cause of death a gaping break of her skull.

There was a shattered bottle of vodka on the floor and the room smelled unpleasantly of blood and alcohol. It was worse though, as a trembling little boy was clinging to the woman's body.

"Abruzzo," Holt called, his voice breaking despite his attempts to sound put together.

"Abruzzo," he said a little louder, moving over to the little boy.

"Call it in, sweep the rest of the house."

There was still crying going on somewhere beyond the kitchen and Holt had no doubt that the husband was sober. Abruzzo managed a shaky nod, softly tiptoeing through the kitchen and into the laundry room. Holt watched his partner for a few moments before turning his full attention to the child. The little boy was maybe four or five. He was hugging his mother's middle and had his face planted in her stomach, once of the few places not marred by an injury.

"Excuse me," Holt spoke, voice low and soft.

The boy's trembling stopped and he tensed up. The little boy's head turned and he stared at Holt with large brown eyes that were rimmed red from crying and more than a little dazed. Anger overcame Holt as he saw the bruises on the boy's face. He could only imagine what lay under the blue jammies the boy was wearing.

"Come here, I will not hurt you," Holt said softly, drawing closer and crouching down with his arms outstretched.

The boy hesitated before flinging himself at Holt, blood stained pyjamas and all. Holt was surprised, almost knocked off balance into the gore, as the boy wrapped himself as tightly as possible around Holt. Holt slowly stood, murmuring quiet, nonsensical assurances to the child.

"I'm sorry, the child service offices, they're just not open this time of night."

Officer Ray Holt stood in front of the desk, feeling perturbed. The boy was fast asleep in his arms, wrapped in his jacket and face pressed up in the crook of his neck. The sweaty, damp of breath was uncomfortable and Ray's arms were unused to holding this position, even if the weight was negligible.

"Please, ma'am, what am I supposed to do? This boy has nowhere to go," Ray said, feeling desperate.

"Does he have any next of kin?" She asked.

The woman looked sympathetic, she really did, but the child services programs were always bursting full and always severely underfunded, it had only really come into effect a little over ten years prior.

"No," Ray responded.

They hadn't been able to find anything to indicate that Jacob Peralta had family nearby. The processing department was supposed to deal with this, not Ray.

Abruzzo, after puking his guts up, had brought a handcuffed Mr. Peralta out. The boy had pressed his face into Ray's neck upon seeing his father and hiccuping sobs had emerged from him. Several more squad cars showed up once Abruzzo called it in and everything had fallen into here and now where Ray stood in front of the processing department secretary at ten at night.

The woman was packing her bag up and stepping away. Ray had no idea what he was supposed to do. He was swept outside and into the cold by the locked doors. The child shivered and unconsciously curled closer to Ray's warmth.

Ray stood, unsure and lost as he pondered what to do. He had nowhere to put the child, he very well couldn't bring him home, but at this point, aside from dumping the boy on the police steps, there wasn't much else he could do.

Kevin Cozner found the educational niche he existed in more open to the wide cast of human characteristics, even the ones called deviant and strange, that existed in society. Literature was a study of the pulsing wound of humanity and prolific writers such as Nabokov, Mann, and de Sade touched upon the topics and manifestations of human behavior that many, even in their progressive world, refused to acknowledge. His own sexual orientation was no secret, nor the idea of such 'deviancy', as it was proclaimed by some. However, despite the greater acceptance in the literary community, this wasn't much of a margin and prejudice abounded.

Kevin stood proudly though, a muted figure willing to endure if just to see a light for some future generation. He loved his partner fiercely, and for that he paid a secondary price, for Ray Holt, despite all of his virtues, was subjected to one of the most fickle yet most damaging parts of human nature. It seemed impossible to take on racism and homophobia, yet Kevin watched his partner face it with a stalwart attitude day in and day out, a small immovable hope fueled by determination.

As such he trusted his partner, and believed in the man's judgement.

The door to their shared apartment opened and Kevin looked up from his book. Carefully he placed a soft leather bookmarker in between the pages and shut it. Setting it down on the coffee table he looked up expectantly.

Ray stepped in from the hall, a bundle in his arms and a small head of brown curls nested against him. Kevin froze, staring at the anomaly and attempting to process it. Ray waited, unable to get his voice to cooperate with his mind.

"Ray, you are home," Kevin stated.

"Yes," Ray returned.

There was an awkward beat.

Kevin stood and approached Ray, looking doubtfully at the child.

"This is Jacob Peralta," Ray said.

Kevin blinked, leaning forward to study the boy. His face pulled into a frown as he saw blood flecked on the child's face. He looked in question at his partner.

"I will explain," Ray promised.

Kevin gave a small nod. The two then stepped toward the guest room, minds working toward the same conclusion. Kevin turned the covers down on the bed and Ray gently shifted the child from his shoulder and onto the bed. Kevin's face creased further as he saw the rest of the boy, the bruises and the blood.

Ray pulled the covers over the boy, having decided against cleaning him up, no idea if the event would be more disturbing after such a traumatic event.

The two stepped away and Ray followed Kevin back out into the front room.

"There was an incident tonight, a domestic violence call, th-the mother was dead and he did not have-" Ray stopped short and his gaze became distant.

Kevin gave a small nod of understanding.

"Ray, this is," Kevin paused, trying to bring his thoughts into order, "compromising."

Ray looked over at his partner, face looking grave and serious but such that Kevin could see the plea for understanding.

"You have to think of us, our position," Kevin started.

Ray gave a small nod.

"Of course, it's only for tonight, it was late and there was no one to take him."

Kevin looked to the floor.

"Alright," Kevin conceded.

They both went to bed.

Crying woke Ray. It was still night and the moon was casting light through the slatted window frame. Kevin was still asleep and Ray slipped out of bed without disturbing him. The crying lead him to the guest room where the impromptu guest was curled up under the blankets crying. Ray felt at a loss.

Carefully he sat on the bed. The child stilled immediately. About thirty seconds passed before a corner of the blanket lifted and brown eyes peeped out.

"Who're you?" The boy whispered.

Ray tried to think on what the best answer would be that the child would actually recognize.

"You're the guy, the po'ice guy?" The boy queried, scrutinizing Ray.

Ray nodded. The boy gave a nod and the blankets were released some so a little bit of hair poked out. Apparently the boy trusted Ray enough to do so.

"Where's mama?" The boy asked.

"She is not here," Ray responded.

The boys eyes teared up.

"But who'll scare the monsters away?" He asked, lip trembling.

"If it is monsters you are afraid of, then I can assure you that none reside here," Ray assured.

The boy shook his head and the blanket slid off to reveal the rest of his curled head.

"No, they're under the bed, and-and they'll eat me and-and-" the boy was on the verge of a breakdown.

"No, I will not let them," Ray tried to say.

The boy however just began bawling, big fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

"No, no crying, there are no monsters," Ray said, he hesitated a moment before leaning forward and scooping the child into his arms.

The boy clung to him.

"There are no monsters here," Ray said again, looking down at the boy, a hand rubbing the child's back comfortingly.

The boy started to quiet and he looked up at Ray.

"P'omise?" He asked.

Ray gave a solemn nod. The boy nodded back, satisfied. A few peaceful moments passed before the boy shuffled around so he could look at Ray.

"I'm Jake, are you batman?" The boy asked this while looking up with wide, curious eyes.

Ray blinked, unsure of who batman was. He wasn't sure if it was a good thing to be asked the question. When Ray didn't answer the boy just nodded.

"Thats'kay, batman can't tell his iden'ty to anyone anyhow," the boy replied seriously.

He patted Ray's arm before leaning up against Ray further. The sound of footsteps had Jake stiffening with fear and Ray turned to see a bleary eyed Kevin looking with interest at the two.

"You are up," Kevin stated.

Neither of the two men were overly familiar with children, the AIDS epidemic and the wanton and false rumours over how it spread being only one of many reasons that even their own family was unwilling to bring their children around them.

Jake was peering fearfully at Kevin, weighing if the man was dangerous.

"Who's he?" Jake whispered to Ray.

"He is my partner," Ray responded.

Jake frowned, "Like Robin?"

Ray didn't respond, still baffled by the strange references the boy was making, it must be something colloquial to children. Jake once again drew his own conclusions and gave a nod.

"Hi," Jake said shyly.

Kevin smiled back, if a little uncomfortably.

"I'm Jake," Jake introduced himself.

Kevin nodded, "I am Kevin."

Jake nodded like there was a secret understanding between the two. 'Kevin' was obviously Robin's cover name.

"Where's mama?" Jake asked again, brow crinkling in fear again.

"She is not here," Ray reminded him.

The boy nodded, wide fearful eyes darting from Kevin to Ray before he curled up once again closer to Ray.

"Daddy was mad again," he whispered.

Ray had no response, merely allowing the child to grip his shirt and cling to him. The swing in moods was a little strange, but Ray had no idea if this was normal behavior for children in general, or a response to what had happened.

"You need to rest, Jacob," Ray said.

The boy shook his head, "I'm not tired," he confessed.

Ray fixed the child with a recriminating look and the boy squirmed.

"If I gotta, can I sleep with you?" Jake asked.

Ray was surprised yet again and had no response. Kevin swooped in.

"Of course you can, we will not leave you alone," he reassured.

Jake nodded and Ray looked curiously at his partner. Kevin was not an intimate person, he didn't share space and when he did it took time to adjust.

"You'll come too?" Jake asked hopefully.

Kevin nodded. What child didn't want to keep two heroes, if imaginary, by their side?

I am not a child psychologist, my knowledge of the 80's is limited and my representations therefore may be fictional. End all though, I hope the readers enjoy. There is a possibility that other characters might eke in, however I want to set that up.