Title: So This Is Christmas

Author: ZombieJazz

Fandom: Chicago PD

Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.

Summary: The Voights attempt to have a happy holiday season while continuing to Ethan's health challenges, the changing family dynamic with new additions to the family, and Erin's growing relationship with Jay Halstead. This is a short set of chapters set after the Interesting Dynamics story of this AU.

Hank stood gazing at the bookshelf – the rows upon rows upon rows of graphic novels and comics – not having the slightest clue where to start. This was fucking ridiculous. He let out an annoyed sigh.

"It looks like you could use a basket," he heard beside him and glanced that way.

A woman, likely about his age, and depressingly working the years leading up to her retirement at this massive conglomerate of a bookstore/toy store/comic store/music store/home décor store and everything fucking else in between store – but still not a fucking department store (if one could ever have a retirement anywhere in sight in a job like this), held a God-awful ugly and grossly feminine wicker basket at him, giving him a broad, though positively phony smile.

But he let out another repressed sigh, glancing down at the pile of crap he had teetering in his arm and accepted the fucking thing. "Thanks," he muttered, unceremoniously dropping his armload of stuff into the thing.

He hadn't intended to be buying this much on this stop. Hell, he'd already been in the place longer than he'd meant to. He should be getting home to drop this crap off and back to the hospital to sit with his son. Instead, he was out here with the fucking crowds doing Christmas shopping that he usually strived to have 90% done while before this. Not this year. Life … work … kids … Ethan's health … it'd all gotten in the way. So what had been a stop to grab a couple books and magazines to throw in the kids' stockings had somehow turned into a shopping expedition.

"Looks like you're going to be spending more than $50," the woman chirped even more cheerily.

He looked at his basket again. It was a fucking sad state of affairs when having a couple books and magazines meant you were spending more than fifty bucks anymore. On fucking stocking stuffers.

Though, he'd ended up picking up a bit more than that – since he hadn't done much in the way of any sort of shopping yet, as limited as his shopping ever was. He liked to keep his fucking Christmas shopping to about two stores max. Usually he could get away with the Duane Reade and some department store. Maybe the sports good shop for the boys.

The prices at this place were fucking retarded. But he just didn't have the time to be as fucking practical or frugal about it as he was most years. The place had a lot of fucking choice for a "book store". So he might as well get'er done while he was there. Spend the few extra bucks for convenience's sake and so he could spend the time where he was supposed to be – with Ethan – rather than dealing with the rest of the fucking dillweeds doing shopping in the week before the holidays.

So he gave the phony smiley clerk a passing grunt. Apparently that was enough of an acknowledgement for her to hold of a little card at him. He glanced at it, eyeing it suspiciously.

He hated all this crap stores tried to get you to sign up for. Give us your email. Give us your phone number. Give us your address. We'll send you a lifetime of crap that you don't want to see or read and all we'll ever really hand you is another piece of goddamn plastic to jam up your wallet while we data mine as much personal information about you as possible to sell to fucking who knows who to do God knows what.

She waved the card at him a little more. "It's scratch and win," she said in what he suspected was supposed to be an enticing voice. "You could get up to 50% off your purchase or a $1,000 shopping spree!"

He took the card and read the fine print. "Think I'm more likely to get the $5 off," he said after spotting the smallest available discount.

"Well, five dollars is five dollars," the woman smiled.

Hank grunted again. She had a point. He'd take it.

He turned back to his examination of the graphic novels. But the woman still stood there, hands clasped in front of her like some kind of 12-year-old admirer. He gave her another look – one he hoped told her to get the hell away from him but instead she just gestured at the expansive shelf.

"Can I help you find anything? It looks like you need some help finding something," she provided.

Hank went back to looking at the shelf. With his hands finally free, he snagged open of the Walking Dead books and paged through it.

"Big Walking Dead fan on your list?" the woman pressed eagerly.

"More like he thinks he should to be a fan," Hank muttered and then wagged the thing at her. "Any of these in color?"

"Umm …" the woman said and gazed at him for a moment and then glanced at the shelf before shaking her head. "No. I don't think so."

Hank grunted again and plopped the thing back into place. He picked up another one to page through just to be sure they were all black-and-white. For the fucking price and to be labeled as a fucking comic – a fucking graphic novel, whatever that was (an excuse for kids to continue reading picture books for far too long as far as he was concerned) – some of them should be in fucking color. Ethan needed color. He wasn't sure his boy would be even able to "read" this thing if there wasn't a bit of color to direct his eyes around the page. Though, as he flipped through the pages more, he wasn't sure how much he wanted his boy reading this anyhow. He smacked the cover shut and scanned the front, then flipped it over, searching for a recommended age.

"What age are these comics for?" he demanded of the woman since she was still loitering.

"Ah …", she stammered, gazing at him a little confused again. "Well, they're graphic novels. So this type of 'comic' tends to be for a bit older age range. But I'd say that ultimately it'd be left up to the child's reading ability and the parent's sensibilities."

Hank grunted and gave a nod, reaching to page through the one that looked like it was the first of the bunch. Maybe it'd be less gory and sex-filled than the pages he'd caught sight of in the other book.

"Does he watch the show?" the woman asked.

"No," Hank muttered. "But he thinks he should be allowed to watch it too."

The woman gave him a gentler smile. "How old?" she asked.

Hank gave her another glance. "Twelve," he allowed.

"Oh," the woman gave him a bit of a fake cringe. "That's not a fun age to buy for."

Hank allowed a small sound of agreement to that. Buying for Ethan at twelve was proving to be a royal pain in the ass. He didn't remember it being this hard with Justin. Though, Camille would've taken care of the bulk of the Christmas shopping. And, even if she hadn't, Justin liked hockey. He played hockey. Christmas ended up just serving as a period to stock up on his supplies or buy and upgrade the necessities he needed in the sport as he grew and improved his skills. Ethan wasn't that easy. Especially these days.

"Maybe try Star Wars," the woman suggested.

Hank shook his head immediately at that. He fucking thanked God his kid wasn't on the fucking Star Wars bandwagon. But it looked like the entire fucking planet was supposed to be buying Star Wars that Christmas season. He'd seen a fucking Star Wars toaster. What a piece of shit. But, thankfully, for whatever reason Ethan had zero interest. He never really had. Hank didn't know how or why they'd managed to miss that bullet – but he was really fucking glad they had. Ridiculous bullshit he didn't need to endure.

"Spiderman?" the woman tried. "Or Batman! A lot of the boys like Batman. Though, those ones are a little more violent and racier, if you're strict about that kind of thing."

Hank just shook his head again. "Definitely not Batman," he said flatly without explanation.

But the explanation was that the fucking brats that kids were had decided it was funny to call his boy Harvey or Two-Face or Dent. None of it was funny – even after they'd figured out it was a reference to the fucking comic. It meant that Ethan had absolutely no interest in Batman and he'd pretty much been a moratorium on all "superheroes". Another thing that Hank wasn't particularly heartbroken about. But it definitely did put a vice on easy gift-buying ideas.

"Ah … well … we do have some other graphic novels over in the young readers section that you might find more appropriate," she suggested and gestured for him to follow.

He hesitated for a moment but then decided to give it a go. He trailed a few feet behind her. He wasn't that interested in chit-chat while they walked across the store. Not that it stopped her.

"It looks like you're having better luck with the other people on your list," she offered friendly, gesturing again at the fucking retarded basket he was now toting around with him like he was fucking Little Red Riding Hood or something.

"Yeah," he grunted.

He was. But he'd picked up Erin's gift months ago. Justin and Olive were easy. Young family, new house, new baby. Wasn't rocket science to think of things they could use. Not exactly exciting stuff – but Christmas wasn't too exciting when you were a grown-up. And little Henry? Buying a gift for a fucking five-month-old marking his first Christmas wasn't exactly brain surgery either. Though, Camille still likely would've done a better job at picking something out than he did. Oh well. He'd got something for the kid and the family and he'd let Ethan pick out some ridiculous toy that the little boy likely wouldn't really appreciate until he was two. But his boy was excited to be giving it to his little nephew. That was all that mattered. Justin would likely have fun setting it up and playing with it too. Though, he'd be smarter to leave it in the box for transport. But whatever. Let him deal with that. His kid, his car, his problem.

"Almost done then?" the woman smiled at him.

"Hopefully," Hank said.

If he could just find something in this place to set out with Ethan's stocking and some gift for his youngest under the tree and a couple damn stocking stuffers that weren't the usual toiletries, socks and chocolate, he'd be done. Part of the problem was likely he had some ideas in his head about what he wanted to get Ethan and other ideas in his head about things that wouldn't be good to get his boy that year. The old standbys - sports equipment, sports tickets and Lego – didn't really fit the bill anymore with where his boy was in age, stage, and health – not just physically but mentally and emotionally. His son was still coming to grips with a whole lot of bullshit. They all were. And the only thing Ethan had asked for – not that Hank accepted lists at Christmas or birthdays or anything else – was a dog. But that just wasn't fucking going to happen either. Not right now.

They got into the brightly colored young readers section of the store – full of all sorts of things that supposedly were supposed to appeal to the preteen and teen-aged lot, but not of which looked like anything Hank could see his boy particularly having any interest in. Actually, being in the cheery section kind of made him want to puke and he was sure his son would roll his eyes about being relegated to this area of the store too. Ethan may be twelve – but he was a bit more worldly than that. He'd been through enough bullshit to not relate to the craft kits and teen-bopper novellas lining the shelves. Though, Hank acknowledged that in some ways his boy was a little mentally and emotionally delayed compared to some kids his age. He was in a fucking weird spot. A preteen who was a teenager who was a little adult who was a little kid. A pain the ass. But his pain the ass.

The woman gestured at a smaller shelf of more of these "graphic novel" things. "Here was are," she said and tapped on one. "A lot of boys like Wimpy Kid." Hank stared at the hardcover "books" with sticking drawings on the front. There was no way he was paying money for that. At least the ones in the other section looked like comics. "And these," the woman added, picking up another two. "Bone and Amulet."

Hank tentatively took them. He didn't even page through either to see what the stories might be about. He just flipped each over to see the prices. The same fucking price as over in the other section too.

"What happened to comics being a couple quarters?" he muttered at the woman. "This is supposed to be a stocking stuffer – not his present."

She stared at him. He wasn't sure if it was the suggestion that comics shouldn't be more than about fifty cents or the admission that $15 constituted his present – singular – that was shocking her. It wasn't exactly what he meant. But the reality was that he and Camille had always stuffed the kids stockings with mostly practical stuff – things they'd be buying anyways, things they needed. Sure, they'd get a couple fun things in there – especially when Justin and Ethan had been younger. Even now Magoo was still young enough that he'd get a couple things that were a little less practical. But he still didn't much like putting anything that cost more than two to five bucks into the fucking stocking. And, the kids' present under the tree rarely cost more than Ben Franklin in his fucking 22 years of buying Christmas presents. And, yeah – it was singular unless it ended up being a couple smaller things the kids wanted or needed. His kids weren't fucking spoiled brats. Him and Camille didn't have the means to go to town even if they wanted to – and they didn't anyways. But, yeah, he could see that as a shock to someone working in retail at this time of year being instructed to push buy, buy, buy on everyone who walked in the door and most of the people in their loading themselves down with crap they didn't need. Hank didn't like crap and clutter in his house. The kids weren't going to get shit that they'd hardly look at, wouldn't use, or would forget about – or break – a week after Christmas. Never had – never would.

"Umm … well … they aren't a quarter, but you might find a few comics over in the magazine section," she suggested. "But we don't carry too many and they're usually some of the more popular ones. The superheroes and Star Wars. Archie."

Hank took his turn to stare at her. She wasn't helpful – at all.

"You might have better luck at a comic shop?" she provided.

He just kept his unimpressed eyes on her. She interrupted his browsing and this was the best she could do?

"Well … maybe the toy section? Lego?" she tried. "I know my boys still like getting a small toy or little Lego set in their stocking even though they pretend they're too grown up for any of that now."

"No Lego," Hank said.

She gave him another look. He got the impression she thought he was some sort of irrational tyrant. His kids likely thought that sometimes too. But with the medication Ethan was one right now his dominant hand was tremoring so much any sort of Lego set or model was just asking for his kid to have a fit of rage, likely followed by angry frustrated tears while he hid himself in his room. Didn't sound like an ideal way to spend Christmas Day to him. He'd already tried to stress to Justin not to get Ethan a fucking Lego set. Justin had been getting Magoo Lego since about his second Christmas. Duplo all the way up to the fucking Technic sets now. It'd be a break with tradition but he really hoped his son fucking listened to him.

"Ah … well …," the woman seemed to offer in a last attempt, "let me show you were we have the stocking stuffers set up for children. Maybe you'll find an idea there."

She gestured again and he again followed. He was giving it a last ditch effort too but he'd pretty much decided he likely would've been better off continuing to give her the cold shoulder and finishing his wander around the store alone. Would've been faster than this tour too. Fucking confirmation that his kid had nothing in common with the vast majority of kids his age.

She got them in front of a display of knick-knacks. Hank eyed it. Most of it looked like the kind of junk that if he really wanted he could go and get at a fucking dollar store. He might do frugal on Christmas but he drew the line at filling up the kids' stockings with dollar store crap. That was just junk they didn't need in the long-run.

"Umm … so … he likes the Walking Dead … and zombies …," the woman provided. He got the sense she was talking more to herself than him. "What else does he like?"

Hank shrugged. "The Cubs. Baseball. Fishing. Camping. Sort of getting into cars. Some interest in science - electronics, circuit boards. Dinosaurs."

"Dinosaurs!" the woman seemed to light up at that and hurried just around the corner of the display. He went over and she gestured happily at a shelf with a bunch of dinosaur toys on it. "Hmm … " she said examining the contents. "Stocking stuffers …" she muttered and then pointed. "Does he like blind boxes?"

He looked at her blankly. "Blind box likely means something different to you than me," he provided flatly.

She stared at him even more agape at those possibilities and then grabbed a little box off the shelf. "It's a toy," she said defensively and held it at him. "They're very popular with the kids. You collect them. You don't know what you're getting inside. They have all different kinds. We have some Walking Dead ones over on another display. And Dr. Who. Does he like Dr. Who? That's popular with some boys his age too."

He gave her another look like she'd been working in that store too fucking long. What fucking twelve-year-old boy liked Dr. Who? He didn't want to meet or deal with that kid. Sometimes he really fucking wondered how people existed in this city anymore. All this fucking gentrification. People were too fucking soft and took the little bubbles they lived in way too much for fucking granted. Sometimes having to go out and interact with people like this – to see the kind of crap in this kind of "book store" was just a reminder of how different his family was. So much of the junk in this place didn't reflect his lifestyle or his family's personalities or the kind of people he wanted his kids to be out there in society. He supposed sometimes coming into these supposedly "mainstream" stores made him resent society – and people – a little bit. It made him miss the city and the neighborhood he'd grown up in. It was a different lifestyle than this.

Still, he took the little square box and turned it around in his hand. "You want me to pay five bucks and I don't even know what toy he's getting?" he put to her.

"I think that's supposed to be part of the fun," she said. He snorted with some disgust at that response but then she added, "It's kind of like baseball cards. Does he collect those?"

Hank gazed at her a bit more gently at that and gave a small nod. "Yeah, he does," he admitted. He actually did need to stop in at the sports shop and pick up a couple packs for Magoo's stocking. Maybe some of the damn dinosaur cards he was in on too.

"Then he might like these," the woman said. "If he likes collecting things. The blind bags are cheaper," she added and held out a little sealed wrapper at him instead.

Hank felt it around in the packaging in his fingers. There was clearly a little plastic dinosaur inside. Probably not unlike the hundreds Magoo had been collecting since he was a toddler. Only this one was in Jurassic World packaging. He sighed looking at the package. Not practical – but E would like it and with the way things had been doing lately – they could all use something that would make the kid smile even if it was just for a second and about opening some stupid wrapper to get a plastic dinosaur he likely already had multiple copies of.

"How much is this?" he asked.

The woman looked at the shelf. "A dollar twenty-five," she said cheerfully, like she'd finally, undoubtedly made a sale with him.

Hank let out a little sigh. He knew if he was going to lower himself to filling Ethan's stocking with dollar store crap, he could get a whole bag of fucking little plastic dinosaurs for a buck. But Ethan had been buying every dinosaur imaginable from the dollar since he started getting allowances when he was just a little boy. He likely already had every one in existence. The one in this wrapper was likely one very similar to what was already in his collection – but he dropped in the basket anyways. And then after a moment's thought, he reached and grabbed a second little bag to add to the pile.

The woman smiled brightly at that and then gestured off in another direction in that section. "There's some little science experiments he might like over there," she suggested. "And, if you do decide to get him a graphic novel – they're buy two get one free," she said.

"OK, thanks," he allowed. That was about all he could say.

But she allowed a little nod. "Good luck," she said. "We're around if you need anymore help."

The look she gave him seemed to suggest that he was likely beyond help – or at least that she hoped he didn't ask for any more … from her or anyone else in the store. But she allowed a small wave of goodbye and wandered off, handing out more scratch cards and baskets as she went – likely to customers keener to spend their money than him.

Hank turned back to the dinosaur display and scanned it some more. He couldn't see E needing or wanting much of any of this stuff. If he could find the movie section – in a fucking bookstore – he might hit a win if they had the fucking Jurassic World movie. Though, that was likely going to be a price point higher than he was willing to pay to have to endure sitting through that movie again … more than once. And even if he was willing to subject himself to having to watch that movie ad nauseam, it likely was going be more than what he constituted as a stocking stuffer and wasn't exactly what he had in mind for his boy's present.

So he started to wander away – skipping past the rest of the toy section. As much as Ethan might want a few things that acknowledged he was still a kid, his boy also didn't like being treated like a little kid. Not that Hank had ever been very good at treating him like a little kid. Not since he was all of six years old. He'd go back to the "graphic novel" section again and contemplate if he really wanted to get that bullshit for his son and then he'd see about finding the movie section. Then he'd get the hell out of the store before they really robbed him blind. Finish his shopping for stocking stuffers at the drugmart, drop the shit at home up in the closet and get his ass back to his kid's bedside for a visit so he wasn't alone all night.

But as he was about to exit the section a display caught his eye and he stopped. He just stood – like he had at the graphic novel display – staring at it for several moments. Then, though, he reached and picked up a box.