So It Goes

by ZombieJazz

Voight and his family try to cope with their struggles at home and work — and the dynamics those conflicting circumstances create for their blended family which is transitioning through a period of grief. The series focuses on what's left of Voight's family and their strained relationships. This is part of the AU started in Interesting Dynamics and is a continuation of Aftermath.

1. Fixing the Engine

Title: So It Goes

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: Hank Voight and his family try to cope with their struggles at home and work — and the dynamics those conflicting circumstances creat for their blended family in a time of transition. The series focuses on Voight, his sick and disabled son — and what's left of his family and their strained relationships, particularly that with Erin Lindsay and Jay Halstead as they work at establishing their own lives as a young couple.

This is a collection of one-shots/scenes using the characters as represented in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics. The chapters currently represent scenes happening in approximately S04 of the series or early 2017.

As I continue to update, they'll just provide one-shot snap shots into the characters' lives and likely some recasts of scenes from the show.

This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes. It is generally set so it begins around the mid-point of Season 4 (or about January/February 2017) and may occasionally draw reference to (and have SPOILERS) from the series.

A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters, if they are out of sequence. Chapters will be re-ordered semi-regularly (i.e. if you're reading this weeks or months after the chapter was originally posted, it's likely now in the right place, so just ignore the notification).

SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers in this collection from Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas, Scenes and Aftermath. This series also contains SPOILERS related to the finale of Season 3 of Chicago PD and will have occasionally spoilers from Season 4 of the show.

THIS CHAPTER IS SET IMMEDIATELY AFTER S04E11. IT SHOULD LIKELY LAND AS CHAPTER 1 OF THIS STORY OR EARLY IN JANUARY 2017. IT WILL BE RE-ORDERED EVENTUALLY.

"It's not like she's going to change at this point," Annie said. "Your mom is who she is."

"I know," she allowed glumly. Because that didn't make it any easier. It never did. Ever. It never would.

"Erin," Annie chastised – sounding too much like a mother herself. Because she was. Because somehow, it felt like she'd surpassed her in recent years. She'd become more grown-up than her. She just … adulted better. She'd figured it all out better. Made the pieces fit together and work against the odds – when Erin still felt like she hadn't been able to do that. Like as soon as she thought she'd figured out part of the puzzle, she figured out that some of the pieces were actually missing. That she'd never get to have that completely project. It'd always just be off. It'd never look quite right. It'd be broken in someway. She would.

Because you can't have so much ripped away from you. So many pieces tossed aside or dropped along the way and come out as a fully complete person. You just couldn't. No matter how much she tried, she felt like she just got reminded over and over that it just didn't work that way. And her trying to force together the pieces always just seemed to end up making it worse.

"How long have I known you?" Annie put to her. "Since we were like nine? Right?"

"Around there," she allowed, with a small smile. An involuntary one. Because it was a happy memory.

Annie was someone who'd been in her life – stayed in her life – through it all. And there'd been a lot of ups and downs with them too. Enough history to completely pull them apart. To make them enemies. Or to just leave them entirely fucked up. But instead all the bullshit had brought them together. Even though some of that was because they were irrevocably tied together. Whether they liked it or not. They needed to stay in each other's lives. To know what the other was thinking or doing – or how they were doing. Because they both still held some of the other's chips. And certain plays might still come back to haunt them. Some day. Maybe.

And maybe that wasn't that unlike her and Hank. Now. Though, they had their secrets before too. Thinks the Ivory Tower couldn't know. Things that Erin wasn't sure Camille had ever known – or at least not things she'd ever told her. And now they had this other secret too. This other burden that would tie them together forever even more than they already were. And it'd be on the list of secrets that she'd – they'd – never tell Ethan. And one that she wasn't sure she'd ever fully tell Jay. Though, she knew he already knew. That he'd come to his own conclusion. But him thinking it – and her confirming it – were two very different things.

"You can only try to fix the engine so many times," Annie said.

And it was a strange thing to hear her say – because it again just felt too maternal, too grown up. That she'd somehow managed to achieve that and Erin still felt like she was trying to find her footing to truly feel like that. That it wouldn't matter how much she tried to fix the engine if she'd ended up with a lemon of a life.

And she might've spent a lot of time – years – trying to turn that into lemonade. That she'd had people trying to help her sweeten the deal along the way. That she'd even bought into the fact that she had turned a pretty sour situation into a decent stake in life – a nice little lemonade stand that people stopped by and invested in from time to time. But it wasn't enough to make a living. It never had been. Maybe she'd been a bit too much of a lost cause from the start. Maybe it would've been better if she'd ever even run a lemonade stand as a kid. But she hadn't. Her life had been too fucked up for that. That wasn't what she sold – what she ran – to make money as a child. She sort of wished it was. But her life looked a lot more like the grand theft auto that Annie didn't realize she was describing.

"Until it's like screw it, buy a new car," Annie said.

But that was too simple. And her life – it never presented the simple options. And anyone who'd ever bought a new car new it wasn't really that simple anyways. Not in her experience. So she wasn't sure this analogy – this reality check – that Annie was trying to give her really worked. Not for her. Not in her life. Not from the life she'd come from. Or the life she was living. Or the life she could imagine she was ever going to live – no matter the bright spots it had in it.

"Like Vanessa Reader, after everything she went through, guess where she ended up?"

Erin shook her head. Because she didn't know. She couldn't imagine. Because she hadn't heard from or seen Vanessa for years. Because the last time she had, the best guess she would've had for her was that she was working as a pro, living in a flop house, and depending on the quality of her pimp, she was either snorting coke or shooting up heroin. Or a combination of both. And that was the generous guess. A more accurate one would likely be that she'd died in some alley before her twenty-fifth birthday. Cold and lonely and poor and afraid with a syringe hanging out of her arm – nodding off so she didn't have to feel any of it anymore.

And as much as Erin couldn't imagine that life anymore. As much as she didn't want that. And she was glad she'd been rescued from it. And she tried to save others from it now. There was this small part of her that still felt that everything would've been easier if Hank had just left her alone. If she'd kept on the path she was going down. Because she knew she wouldn't be here for any of this now. She wouldn't have made it through her teens. Let alone her twenties. Or the start of her thirties. Or made it to the job. Or found Jay. Or had a house.

But even with all those good things – this, life, it was fucking hard. And it hurt. And it felt like it still found ways to smack her down. It still found a way to drag up the past in a way that stung and haunt her. Or at least Bunny did. Over and over. And, now, even Hank – for as much as he was trying, as they were trying – he'd hurt her. In some ways, she thought he'd hurt her more than Bunny. Because – he wasn't supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be better that this. He was supposed to have done better by her.

And he hadn't.

"Phoenix," Annie said excitedly, and Erin let out quiet surprise. Because she hadn't expected that. She expected even less what came next. That Vanessa had gotten her teaching degree. That she was married. That she had a kid on the way. That somehow Vanessa had managed to get her shit together and move forward in life in a way that Erin still wasn't sure she had. And in a way that Annie had managed too.

And why had these girls she'd grown up with – these women – been able to find their way better than her? To reach adulthood and their thirties and seem mature and worldly. When she still felt so fucking confused so much of the time. That she knew part of her was still that broken little girl. But arguably she'd had more support than Annie or Vanessa. That she'd had Hank and Camille and Justin and Ethan. Or she thought she had. She'd lost some of them along the way. And Hank … he wasn't who she thought. And she was still learning how to adjust that to her reality.

Even with the grown up things she had – a job … a career, a partner … a fiancée, a house and mortgage – she still somehow was sitting there staring at Annie thinking about how grown-up she sounded. How grown-up she looked. And she didn't feel any of those things. The things she had somehow seemed to pale. But maybe that was just Bunny bringing up that insecurity in her. Paddling to the little girl who still wanted her mom and a relationship with her mom. Who kept hoping that it would somehow change and be better. How she kept hoping that Bunny would realize that now – these days – she needed a mom who could be her mom. She didn't need a woman in her fifties that she needed to babysit. Still. A woman she needed to hand money to still. And a woman who still feed her ballerina and bunny rabbit fantasies like that was something that could ever be in her life. Now, then or ever. Still the fucking con artist she'd always been. And she still fucking let herself fall for it. Because she kept on hoping for more. For better.

"She just couldn't get it together until she left Chicago," Annie said with such distaste. Like she hated the city. Or hated what it'd done to all of them. What it'd brought all of them. But she'd never been able to leave either. She hadn't escaped it yet even though she tried.

And Phoenix? Erin knew if she wanted to – if she really wanted to – she could go anywhere. But Phoenix? She'd seen other people run there and it hadn't worked out. Olive had only lasted in Scottsdale a few months, because you couldn't run away from your past. You couldn't run away from your problems. Or the memories. They'd follow you and haunt you wherever you went. You needed to learn how to live with them. In Chicago. Or anywhere else.

"And as much as I love you and I would kill me to have you go," Annie said with her eyes welling in a way that only caused Erin's to do the same.

Because she knew she couldn't go – as much as she may want to. That she'd never be able to bring herself to do that. That she couldn't find it in herself to justify that. To run. As much as so much of her being always seemed to be screaming at her to do just that. But she never seemed to be able to muster the strength or courage she needed to make that escape. Either she was too afraid or she couldn't – wouldn't. Because she wanted to believe she had reason – rightful – reasons to stay. She wanted to believe that at some point it was going to get better. That she'd still have a life – of her own – and that it'd be here. In this city that she'd given blood, sweat and tears to. Over and over.

"I don't know Annie …" she muttered. She looked away. Because she couldn't keep looking at her, looking at her like that. "I mean … if I could move somewhere and start over right now … I would."

And she thought that was the truth. In that moment, she really did think it was the truth. Because she wanted to believe she had that in her. That she deserved more. That she had been kicked down and betrayed by too many people here – the ones who were supposed to be protecting her – that she could justify it.

But she also knew it was a complete and utter lie. Because she couldn't and she wouldn't. Because this city was a part of her and she had reason … reasons … to stay.

"What's stopping you?" Annie put to her, gripping at her arm.

But Erin just looked away again, grabbing her shot and sloshing it back. Because she thought it was self-evident. They'd known each other long enough. Since they were nine years old. Annie shouldn't have to ask.

"Hank and Ethan …," Annie provided her own answer.

And Erin just put the glass back down and her elbow on the bar top. Her fist pressing into her cheek as she stared back at Annie, who mirrored her position and gazed at her with understanding but mild disapproval.

Erin shared the stare. Part of her wanted to stare her down. To get her to stand down. As a way of putting her in her place and proving her wrong. But she wasn't entirely wrong. It was just that it was complicated. And it wasn't entirely right either. Because it wasn't just Hank or just Ethan that kept her in the city – even though they did.

"Or my job, or my fiancée, or my mortgage," she arched her eyebrow at Annie.

Annie just raised hers too. "You just put your job as the first thing on that list," she said.

Erin gave a sigh and looked back at her empty shot glass. She sort of wished she'd saved it. Or that the bartender at this suburban watering pool that was a little sad, would come and refill it. But apparently they weren't giving off the kind of vibe that got ready service in the 'burbs that Annie had moved into in her growing up and measured escape.

"You could do your job anywhere," Annie put gently. "They'd be lucky to have you – and you don't need Hank's reference or support."

She let out a slow breath but forced her eyes back to her. She didn't want to argue the point that she wasn't Hank's girl anymore. They all knew she was. Maybe now more than ever. And she'd tried to move away from him –his unit – and do her own job before. And that hadn't worked out. It wasn't the kind of job she wanted to do. It hadn't felt right.

Maybe she hadn't given it enough of a chance. But at the same time, she couldn't imagine doing this job – or wanting to do this job – in any city but Chicago. Love it or hate it – this city was hers. It was her home. And it'd given and taken away so much in her life. Somehow trying to escape it seemed like it'd only reach back and punish her. It had Justin. It had Olive. They'd tried their new starts too. They'd tried to realign their lives. To be different people. Doing different things. And it hadn't been the happy endings that Annie was trying to throw at her with Vanessa's example. Vanessa always had some horseshoes up her ass anyway. Erin didn't think she'd ever had those. Her life was one of hard knocks. The luck she'd had was the luck she'd made. Or the luck Hank had given her – for better or worse. Bribes and debts. Holes and banana peels. But life wasn't fair. It was just a mix of good, bad and ugly. And in that equation, you needed to remember that the good – that was only made up one-third of the possible outcome. In the best case scenario.

"Jay," Erin tried again. "And the house."

"If he loves you, he can see what this city – being here, being near Bunny, near Hank – does to you. He'd go too. You can sell the house. Start over," Annie offered.

She shook her head. Because she didn't question that Jay loved her – at least most of the time and when she did, it was about her, not about him. It was her moments of insecurity. Her moments where she struggled with her self-esteem and self-worth. Where she questioned why he'd want to be with her or why he was sticking around. But she tried not to let that self-doubt rear it's head too often. Because that sort of thing – it was yet another remnant of Bunny. And the sickness and dysfunction that her so-called mother had brought to her life. About the only things she'd ever given her. And none of them good.

But it was because of the fact that Jay loved her that she knew he wouldn't just let her pick up and leave and to try to supposedly start over. Because he'd label that as running away or sticking her head in the ground – or just not getting in front of things. And she was supposed to get in front of things. They had an agreement about getting in front of things – about truthfulness, about deciding and knowing which things came and went. And even though jobs and bosses were on that list – their relationship, each other, wasn't.

Jay had his eyes set on the future. Their future. It's why they had a house – a mortgage. It was why they were putting down roots. It was why the place was fucking three bedrooms when they were only two people. It was why they were both still in Intelligence. And why he was exploring options – not for himself, but for them and the family they were working at creating. Slowly. Or at least normalizing … even more slowly. Saying she just wanted to bail out of all that – run because of crappy decisions she'd made and the choices of others she'd let impact her too much, that she'd let herself get wrapped on in – wouldn't go over well.

Jay was done running. He was sick of running. He was on the list of people she knew who'd run. And it hadn't worked out so well for him too. He was still recovering from it. What Chicago and what family had done to him. And she knew in a lot of ways he'd never fully recover from it. He'd just move on as best he could and do as best he would in the best way he could. But he'd decided he was going to do that in the city he'd grown up in. He'd decided that was were his future was. Where their future was.

And she'd have to present him with a lot stronger argument than she couldn't stand being in the same place as Bunny anymore. Because he'd present her with the logical answer – the one Hank had told her to do nearly two years ago – to cut the cancer from her life. To stop going back to her. To stop wanting things from her that she couldn't provide. To stop believing she was going to change. Because people don't change. Even though it'd been Annie who'd once argued they do – that she had.

But even if Annie had wanted to believe that, Erin knew it wasn't true in her life. She'd shifted. She'd put on a different costume. She was playing a slightly different role. But at her core? She was still that scared, confused, angry little girl still trying to find a safe place in the world. Still trying to make it in the world. Still wanting people to see her worth and value. Because she still wasn't sure she could see it herself. She talked a big talk and walked a big walk. But that was to hide how much she'd been kicked around. To hide all the scars and the continued bruising from growing up. From life.

And that's likely why she still didn't quite feel like a grown-up. Because she still couldn't quite let go of that haunting childhood. And because it proved to her if not daily, at least weekly, that things were never simple and that life just wasn't fair. And it wasn't going to be. Ever.

"You know it's not that simple," she presented to Annie – because maybe she needed a reminder. Maybe living out in Chicagoland rather than the city's core had made her forget. Maybe she'd gotten softer. Or she'd found some way to move on. But that couldn't have been simple. And it didn't make Erin finding her own way any easier either.

"I didn't say it was simple," Annie tried and reached for her dangling hand. "But it's possible. It's an option."

Erin just pressed her fist harder into her cheekbone and gazed down at her friend clutching her hand. Something about it felt nice. Beyond having things thrown at her that day – and throwing them at others – she hadn't been touched. Maybe she needed to be touched. Though, she'd done her best to avoid all Jay's efforts to reach out. Because he'd made her pull her head out of the sand in all this. And even though maybe she needed another reality check – that hadn't meant it hadn't hurt. Badly.

"What'd Jay say about all of this?" Annie asked, rubbing her thumb along the top of her hand. Erin suspected she could feel the sadness and tension radiating out of even her fingertips – if her overall body language wasn't enough.

She let out a little sigh and pulled her hand away, tucking it into her lap. "He was against it from the start," she said. "He thought I was being an ostrich—"

"Sometimes you can be," Annie nodded at her. "When it comes to Bunny."

"She's my mom …," Erin offered weakly.

Because as much as she hadn't been – she still was. And there was part of her that still wanted Bunny to step up and be the kind of mother she should be. That she was supposed to be. To somehow make up for all the hurt and trauma and fucked up chaos she'd caused. But she just couldn't. Or she wouldn't. Because Bunny was selfish. And she should've never been a mother. She didn't know how to be kind or caring or giving. She didn't know how to raise a child. How to take care of another person. She could barely take care of herself. She just used people up and spit them out. And Erin just let her keep doing that over and over again.

"Giving birth to you doesn't make her a mother," Annie said.

Erin allowed another little sigh to that. Because she knew the truth of that statement. She knew Annie did too. Both in her own life – in her own shitty parents and now having raised a child of her own. But Erin had that reality rubbed in her wounds too often. That Camille was a mother. That Olive was now being a mother. That Hank – as much as he was a man's man and a father, that since he'd lost his wife, he'd tried (with varying levels of success) to adopt that softer touch in some areas of his parenting to be both the mom and the dad to his kids. And that now, even though she was a big sister, she knew in a lot of ways her mothering of her baby brother was a crash course in how to be a mother. Of the kind of mother she might someday be. And that in a lot of other ways, when Ethan looked back on his childhood, the feminine role model he'd remember the most – the woman who'd taught him how to treat women, and what and how women were – it'd be her more so than Camille who'd given birth to him. And that was still a strange reality to truly wrap her head around and come to a real acceptance of.

"It was Jay who ran his financials," she admitted. "And his DNA. Even though I asked him not to."

Annie gave a small shrug despite the tone Erin had provided. The anger and hurt and frustration that was starting to dim – but also wasn't. Because sometimes Jay forced her in directions she didn't want to go or wasn't ready to go. To make decisions and choices she wasn't ready to face. And even though maybe she needed someone like that in her life, it'd also felt like a betrayal of trust.

"It's because he cares," Annie said. "He was trying to help."

"Maybe I wanted to enjoy the fantasy for a minute," Erin muttered and again glanced around the bar trying to find where the bartender had gone to.

Not that she should be drinking more. Not with how she was feeling that night – her mental state, the banana peel she knew she was sliding along on and just waiting to fall from. Not with having to drive back into the city from here. But she still felt like she needed another drink. Probably more than one. Not to get through the conversation. But to get through this – to get through Bunny and what she'd put her through and promised her and brought into her life again only to cause more disappointment. Again. And that was the addict talking in her. The voice that if she started saying it vocally Hank would tell her she sounded just like her mom. Like mother, like daughter apparently. More of Bunny in her than she wanted when all she wanted was Bunny in her life. For Bunny to want to be a part of her life – now – in a real way.

"And that's the ostrich talking," Annie frowned at her.

But maybe Erin had really needed to enjoy that fantasy – to explore it – for a minute. To live it. Because her reality had been so fucked up lately. The family she'd established or made or been adopted into – it felt just as fucked up as the one she'd come from. Even with the strides her and Hank had made – it still didn't change that it wasn't what they had before. They weren't who they were before and their relationship was never going to be the same.

And now – with Justin gone, with Camille gone, with that core family she'd moved in with just gone – maybe she wanted or needed something more. Maybe she needed know where she came from more. To explore that. To be reminded. To be able to move on. To look to the future. To enter it as the adult – as the woman – she wanted to be. As the big sister and daughter and fiancée and future wife … and maybe future mother.

But part of her knew she should've known that it was all a game. A con. Everything was with Bunny. And even if she hadn't been able to accept and see that – about something like this, about her father, about where she'd come from and who she was, and who had made her – she should've known when she met Jimmy. She should've felt it. Because what she did feel was nothing. She hadn't felt that connection. She hadn't felt that tinge in her being that told her the were connected in some indescribable way. He hadn't felt like family – even at some sort of intrinsic, genetic, intangible level. He'd felt like the stranger he was – and not just because he'd been absent from nearly every moment she could remember in her life.

"He hates Bunny," Erin allowed of Jay.

"He hates what she does to you," Annie corrected, giving her a little nod.

"He doesn't trust her," she said.

"Why should he?" Annie put back to her.

Erin shook her head again. Because she shouldn't have trusted her either. She never should've. Not now. Not ever. She should've trusted herself. She should've listened to herself. To her inner being.

She should've listened to Hank when he'd said that he didn't have a clue who her father was and that no matter what Bunny said, she likely didn't either. Not back then. Not with how she was and who she was. And the unspoken implication that her mother had been too drunk and too stoned and sleeping with too many men that she wouldn't be able to pinpoint with any certainty who it actually was without a DNA test. That she was some episode of Muary Povich in the making.

She should've taken Hank and Jay's reminders about where she'd really come from and who she really was. But she hadn't wanted to. Maybe she couldn't. Not then. Not now. Because, it was likely Hank had said – with the loss of Camille and the loss of Justin and the loss of the baby and the loss of the family she thought she'd had and the loss of the man she'd seen as the father, or at least the type of man she thought he was, and how that had shaken her about the kind of person she was herself – she was trying to fill a void. And that had left her open to the fantasy. To this latest con. And to getting hurt. And that's exactly what had happened. And somehow, it seemed to be stinging just as much – if not more than those hours and days and weeks and months after the Silos. And that had been a hurt – a reality – that she didn't think would ever fade. So maybe this wouldn't be either.

"He's always trying to babysit my interactions with her," Erin mumbled, tapping her shot glass against the bar top, almost hoping that the ting might garner the attention that they could use another drink. But she was starting to suspect that they were getting so little service that Annie must've said something while she'd gone to the bathroom. That she told them they'd had enough. To not drink anymore over. Not that night. Because she was trying to protect her too. Like some sort of fragile daisy. But maybe she needed that protection. Because she seemed like she wasn't so good at protecting herself a lot of the time. "To regulate them. Just like Hank."

Annie allowed an almost understanding nod. "What'd he say about all of this?"

Erin shrugged. "That I'm trying to fill a void."

"You kinda are …," Annie said. Erin gave her a look but her friend just kept it. "I thought you weren't supposed to be talking to Bunny. Or anyone from your past …" There was a tone to it. That hurt and that disapproval.

"Annie, you're my best friend. You know that. He knows that. You aren't on that list," Erin tried.

Because it was a discussion they'd had many times before. Back when they were kids and again as adults. Over and over. Because Annie wasn't just anyone from her past. And she wasn't one of those bad influences or one of those banana peels. She was one of the good people in her life. And one of the hardest people to try to cut ties with and leave behind.

That it'd felt so unfair. Because Annie had needed out just as badly as she had. And maybe more. Because Charlie had gotten her pregnant. Charlie had gotten her mixed up with Sandoval. He'd pimped her out. And let her get smacked around. And then had forced her to live with – to carry – what happened when she snapped. Forced her to carry that – and her supposed debt – to the him for the rest of her life. While she also carried his child and then raised him with a daily reminder of Charlie and Sandoval and what had happened.

It was a stark reality for Erin too. A reminder that she just kept on living her life in some sort of fucked up déjà vu. Her life on repeat. The same things happening over and over again. What she'd done for Annie. What she'd hidden all those years. What she'd been willing to go down for – for her, for Travis. Just like she had for Hank. And for Ethan. To keep them together – just like Annie and Travis.

But that was a debt she felt she needed to pay back then too. Something she owed to Annie. Because – Annie had needed out. Just as much – more than – her. But it'd been Erin who got to go. Erin who got to be rescued in some way. Who go saved from a fate that likely would've been the same as Annie's – or worse. That she could've been pregnant at fifteen and dead at sixteen if she hadn't snapped like Annie had. But it'd been Erin who got to go to a safe place and have a home and a family and a go to a fancy private school and to have something that almost resembled a normal life as a teenager. At least on the surface. To those who didn't know the costume and act and role she was playing then to just back by. To run away. Only to get pulled back into it.

So what she did matter. It counted. She owed Annie that much. Because she hadn't always been the best friend. Not the best friend that she deserved. And there'd been times where she had tried to honor Hank and Camille's orders that she cut herself off from her past. From those people and those influences. And, even now Erin acknowledged that she had needed to do that. Even as an adult, she still needed to do that. Because she had a knack for still getting mixed up in places she shouldn't. She still had those bad habits fighting to come to the surface if she didn't press them down. Because you don't change who you are – you only can change how you react to the situation. It was a battle and a constant re-education of her entire being.

And she'd fought that battle. And she had her slips. But in a lot of ways she won. But she hadn't won in cutting Annie out too. Or rather, she hadn't let Hank win. She still snuck off while living in their home to see her. She'd still taken food and clothes for the baby. She'd still forced Annie to accept weeks' worth of her allowance – because she never knew what to do with the money anyway when the Voights took care of so many of her daily, basic needs. Because Annie needed the money way more than she did. Because Annie deserved to build a life – for her and for Travis – more than her. And needed the support in that.

"Then how come we're meeting all the way out here. How come I haven't met this great guy you're engaged to," Annie put to her. "Or seen this great house you've bought."

And Erin let out another little sigh and gazed at her friend's sad stare. Because as she aged, Erin had created the illusion for herself that she didn't live under Hank's thumb anymore. But they both knew – they all knew – that was an illusion. She liked to say that he didn't get to police her personal time. Still, he did. In so many ways. He policed all her time. Idle hands. And he definitely had set her up with a life and a career and a family where she didn't have much time for idle hands and all the problems that could create. But it meant he'd owned her – and her time – long before that night at the Silos.

Still, as an adult, she tried to see more of Annie. And Travis. She tried to stay connected. To keep in touch. Because of their shared past and their shared secret. Because so much of it could bring them both – and Travis – down. And she didn't want that for any of them.

But they'd had a quiet understanding after Charlie – after the threat he'd held over them both in boxing them in – that they'd see less of each other then. That they'd both try to change. To live the lives they had. The ones they'd been saved from in different ways and made sacrifices for. Big and small. That they tried to find their own ways. And had both been running from their past and Chicago and the people they'd known and the things they'd done in different ways.

That had worked out different ways for both of them. But as much as they'd supposedly "changed" with that space and time, Erin wasn't sure she believed it. Or bought into that. Because she was still her. And Annie was still Annie. And even though they only saw each other a handful of times a year now and mostly communicated in spare text messages rather than phone calls or visits, it still felt like no time had passed. It might not feel like they were nine-year-old kids sitting on the bar stools. But this woman still felt like that friend from when she was fourteen. The girl she'd grown-up with.

"Annie, you're busy too," Erin allowed in firm meekness at the lax excuse. "Your job. Travis."

Annie just stared at her. "How come Travis and Ethan didn't get to grow up playing together," she nodded.

Erin cocked her head in some sad defeat at that. "You know I didn't have any say in that. He's not mine."

"He misses seeing you," Annie said. "You know, he still asks about you."

Erin allowed a thin smile. "Tell me about him," she said. "How he's doing …"

Annie allowed a little shrug and pressed her own hand into her cheek, gazing out her with a proud little smile. "His football team did good this fall," she said.

Erin smiled. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Annie nodded. "They made it to the championship playoffs."

She shook her head. "That's amazing."

Annie nodded. "And he can't wait for his birthday. Sixteen. His driver's license is all he wants for his birthday."

"Oh my God …," Erin said. "We're old."

Annie smiled. "I don't think I imagined getting to be this old," she said carefully, still eyeing her.

"I know …," Erin said. "Me neither."

"What about Ethan?" Annie asked. "How's he? … With everything?"

Erin let out her own slow breath and a little shrug. "Not great," she managed after trying to figure out a way to talk around it or sugar coat it. But she didn't know she needed to with Annie. Not now. Not after this many years. Not when they'd shared so much – of the good and the bad and the ugly that Hank said created life and made family. Annie was family too. "His medical trial … the chemo … it's every eight weeks now. This year. It's taking a lot out of him. And … St. Ignatius … his time there, it's making mine look like it was a walk in the park."

Annie frowned at her. "Bullying?" she asked. Erin gave a small shrug. "Because of …?" she made a small gesture at her face.

Erin exhaled and shrugged again. "I don't know. I guess. And he's just … he's Ethan. He's different. He doesn't fit in."

Still, she reached and pulled her phone from her pocket, glancing at the lock screen. For all the texts Jay had sent her that day checking on her, he hadn't replied to hers. Though, she hadn't really wanted him to. She wanted to be left alone. To have some time to … deal with this. And she didn't know she wanted to talk about any of it with him when she did go home. Not tonight.

But she flipped to the photo album and scrolled through, trying to find something worth sharing. It ended up being a Christmas photo. She handed the phone to Annie, showing off the picture of Ethan and Jay displaying the X-Wing fighter that her grown-man of a fiancée had bought her little brother and had been just as excited and enthusiastic about putting together as Ethan.

The project had taken the better part of Ethan's Christmas break to complete. The two of them working at it together a bit at a time with Eth coming over nearly every night that week wanting to add some pieces to the ship. Erin was sure it'd taken them at least six hours to finish but they'd been meticulous about it. And Jay had resisted the urge to take over from Eth's tremoring hands and just sat helping him bit by bit when asked. Still, the two of them were seeming ecstatic by the size and the quality of the ship when it was done. Compared to the usual Star Wars Lego that Jay bribed him with each month, it was huge. And proudly displayed in the photo – and now proudly displayed in Ethan's bedroom.

"Star Wars?" Annie asked with a little smile.

Erin nodded and gestured at the phone. "There's other photos there. Christmas. Hank. Henry … my nephew."

Annie gave a little nod and Erin saw her swipe her thumb across the screen. "Travis wanted to see the new movie."

"We saw it," Erin allowed. "Ethan slept through part of it. It was just a few days after his chemo. He keeps asking to go back."

Annie made a quiet amused noise and that and shot her a look. "I sort of wanted to see it. But Travis went with friends."

Erin allowed a little nod. She knew it was only a matter of time before anything Ethan wanted to do would only be with Eva and Evan too. She thought they were likely getting down to the wire. By September – high school – he wouldn't want to be seen with them anymore. It was going to be another hard adjustment.

"It was OK," she allowed. "For a Star Wars movie. You didn't miss much."

Annie gave her a wider, quiet smile at that but then looked back to the phone screen. "He's cute," she said.

"Ethan?" Erin put back to her but nodded. "Yeah, he is."

"I meant Jay," Annie said, giving her a teasing smile.

Erin gave her eyes a bit of a roll. "You've seen him before," she said.

"In photos," Annie nodded at her again but quickly went back to the phone. "Ethan's cute too, though. It's crazy how much he looks like you."

Erin gave her head a little shake at that and reached to take the phone back. "He reminds me more and more of his dad," she muttered, looking down at the photo Annie had stopped on. It must've been one Jay had taken. She couldn't remember it. But her and Eth were flopped on the couch, staring at the back of one of the records she'd received over the holidays and she didn't doubt they were listening to it too. Ethan was pointing at something on the back of the sleeve and she was looking at him like he'd just astounded her with whatever it was that he'd said about it. And in that photo they did look like … brother and sister. She could see bits and pieces of herself in him. But lately, any more, she felt like it was all Hank she saw in him. Not just creeping out in his appearance but in how he held himself and in his attitude and how he talked and his mannerisms. And his anger.

"Or maybe you're reminding yourself more and more of your dad," Annie said, causing Erin to pull her eyes away from the picture. Because there was an awful truth in that. An awful truth that summer – that fall – had revealed. That she was more like Hank in more ways than she wanted to be. Than she ever thought she was.

Erin sighed a little. "He's not my dad," she put flatly. Because that seemed like the only absolution she was able to hold on to anymore.

"He raised you," Annie provided. "He took care of you."

"And look where that's gotten me …," she muttered.

Because for as much as she'd wanted him to be her dad – her real dad – in the past. As much as she wanted Camille to be her real mom. And her family to just be her family. That seemed so much like the past now. And even though they were her family – that she was connected to them and cared about them and still loved them – it was just all so different now.

Annie frowned at her. "I thought you two were doing better …"

Erin exhaled, letting her shoulders shrug. "We are. It's just …"

She didn't know what to say about it. How to explain it. To say it was complicated just seemed too simplistic. And doing better didn't mean everything was OK. It just meant … they were both trying. That they had an understanding. That they were trying to get on with life. As best they knew how. But a lot of days, she didn't feel like either of them knew too much.

"So …," Annie sighed in her own little way, "maybe rather than trying to live in the past or find some answers in the past or even run away from the past – maybe you should just let it all … live in the past, Erin. Just … let the family you have be your family. Because … maybe they all just want what you want too? You know?"

And … yeah. She did. And … yeah … maybe Annie was right. And accepting that might be easier than trying to fix that engine over and over again. Or trying to buy a new car now – this far down the road.

AUTHOR NOTE: I added a chapter to Aftermath the other day for those who missed it.

Yes, I am likely going to do a chapter or two from around the Florida trip. I might do them sooner rather than later due to popular demand. However, I believe that there's an episode coming up related to Al and Lexi (and her getting hurt), so I might wait until after that. As, one of the chapters I have planned is on the homefront from Hank's POV and is in conversation with Al.

As for some questions and comments on Jay/Erin's relationship on the show and if I'm going to reflect that in this series — I really don't read much in terms of spoilers on the show. So I really don't have any clue at any hints they've given about what they are doing with their relationship for the remainder of the season. So, no I'm not likely to mirror how they play out their relationship on the show. If there's little tidbits that I find as interesting points of exploration, I might play with them. But that will likely be the extent of it (i.e. if they break-up or take a break by the end of the season that will not likely be reflected but that doesn't mean they won't still have a bumpy road, arguments, etc.).

And as for plans about this particular story in the series … a reminder … I don't really have an plot plan for this particular story. There is not an end-goal I'm working toward. I don't have a plot planned out to arc through. I'm really just treating it as scenes. Some of them will arc through little plots within the story. But there's not overarching plot planned. This is just meant as a way to explore some situations with the characters and to re-cast scenes in the show or explore some scenarios in the show deeper, and to generally explore stories and emotions and things within the characters.

Your readership, feedback, comments and reviews are appreciated.