Title: Little Moments

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. As have Mattie, Eli, and Henry.

Summary: This is a collection of stand-alone scenes from the past, present and future of the AU that has been established in the Interesting Dynamics series. Scenes are not chronological, nor is there an overarching plot. This collection of chapters is not likely to make much sense to readers who have not read the Interesting Dynamic series.

SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers in this collection from Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas, Scenes, Aftermath, So It Goes, The Way From Here, Hereafter, Onward Thankfully and Spring Forward (the story From the Get should be considered separately from this collection and does not influence where the characters are). There will also be occasional spoilers from (and references to) things that have happened in episodes from all seasons for the series, including S06 when it starts.

Erin watched Jay's slow trudge as he finally came up the stairs and into the main living area of the house.

She'd heard him come in. And she'd heard him – waited for him – as he took his time downstairs.

It'd become his routine when he got home from tour. Him silently coming in the door and sitting down on the entrance bench. Letting the seconds tick by before he took off his boots. More before he peeled off his coat. And more before he rose and hung it up on the rack.

Time to go into the half-bath down there. And it was rarely for a necessitated pit stop. Rarely did she hear the rush of the toilet flushing. Instead all she usually heard was the sink's faucets get twisted open and for the open water to stream heavily into the basin. And she he was just standing there – slumping against it – and staring into the mirror – at himself or beyond himself. Trying to look at himself and to see the man that she saw – and the man he needed to be, and wanted to be, at home with the babies. But some tours it took a lot of streaming water before he managed to see it. Most days she was sure it involved him throwing water at his face and trying to scrub away whatever had happened – whoever he'd had to be – on the job that day. Parts that he wanted to wash down the drain. To sterilize and sanitize himself – before he was near the twins. But it only ever worked so well – Erin only ever wanted it to work so well, because she loved – respected – all of him. And trying to wash that part of himself away at the end of the day was about as effective as pretending that time in the bathroom did anything about the never-abating five o'clock shadow that clung to his face.

And she knew he knew the time in the bathroom didn't really accomplish what he wanted – because when he finally came out of the stall, he'd pad into what would eventually likely be their family room or playroom – and no longer the private space for him to hide in for those long minutes when he got home from tour. That he'd turn on the TV down there - and quickly mute it like he didn't want them to hear him down there - and stare even more blankly at the night's scores scrolling across the bottom of the screen.

That he near always took those several more minutes to decompress before stepping into home-life and family-life. That the drive from District to the house wasn't enough for him – and it likely shouldn't be. She knew that. Barely a mile drive in a take-home vehicle wasn't exactly enough to get your head on straight some days.

But it'd been clear he needed to give himself some extra time and space to try to leave work at work after he got inside the door and he had to be something different - he thought. Sometimes Erin wasn't sure she agreed. A cop was part of who he was. It was a part of the man she loved. And it was part of the man she'd picked to father her kids. It was part of who'd – how'd – he be as a father. He didn't need to be something different. He didn't need – he shouldn't be – building that kind of wall up around him. Around them and their kids. Just hiding himself from them in a different way. Even, though, Erin understood the necessity of being different when you were home. When you were with your kids. You couldn't be "a cop". You had to be "mom" or "dad". A mother or a father. A parent. A 'spouse'. And life partner. But she wasn't sure they'd be able to truly do that if they were building up new and different walls around them in creating some sort of family fortress. An alternate reality when their reality was challenging enough. When she didn't want them to ignore their realities – or who they were or how they were.

She wanted Jay. And she wanted their kids to know Jay – as Jay. As moody and dark and distracted as he could be – because even though that was a part of him, it also was part of what made him work to bring out all those … good, better … aspects of himself. The ones that made him … a good friend, a good partner. That were making him strive to be a good dad.

Even though it demanded a different kind of presence. And even though she knew that it was a presence that could be a struggle after some tours, some cases.

At least she knew why. She understood why. Since she had done the job too. She knew what it was like. She knew that some tours you just didn't shut the Barn doors even when you left the building. She knew that some cases just never closed – and it was hard to step away from them when they were still sitting there on your desk open. But it was sometimes still a struggle for her to let him take those five … ten … fifteen … twenty … minutes when he got home to be downstairs and alone before he came up to where she and the twins were.

She'd learned – forced herself – to let him take the time. It was never too long – in the grand scheme of things. Though sometimes it felt like the minutes were ticking by at a snail's pace. Sometimes she just wanted him to come upstairs and take over with the twins so she could get her own decompression time of a different kind than what you needed after being on tour. But there were definitely days – nights – where she was ready to shove the babies at him, no matter what he was walking in from, and remove herself from the situation for her own twenty or thirty minutes. Or more.

Still, when Jay was downstairs and it got closer and closer to the 10-minute mark – if it moved passed it – she was left upstairs just waiting to see what kind of cloud was going to be hanging over him when he did come up.

And she worried about what it'd be like when the twins were mobile and talking and wanting to run to daddy as soon as he got in the door – or they were down in his decompression space when he did get home.

She'd had to train herself – restrain herself – to keep from calling out a greeting to him when he did get home. Because it hurt even he didn't reply. And sometimes he didn't. Because his head and heart and body hadn't all caught up to be in the same place yet. It wasn't that he was ignoring her – them. It often really was he just really hadn't arrived yet –so he just really hadn't heard her. And that was something she was still working at adjusting to and accepting to.

And it was something she didn't know how she'd train – or explain – to toddlers. How she'd get little kids to understand about giving their dad some space when he got home from work. She didn't know how that would work. Even though she sort of did.

Erin had seen how it'd worked – and not worked – in Hank and Camille's marriage and their family life. But Hank had approached it in a different way. He just didn't come home until he'd decompressed enough after a tour. And Erin knew it caused fights between him and Camille on both sides of it. That there wasn't any winning.

That some nights she'd get frustrated at his distraction – at him still having his head in the job – and there'd be an escalating blow up until Camille was telling him to not bother coming home until he was actually going to be home. It was the ending statement of their sparring match – like some kind of agreed on breaking point and action point. Where the verbal back-and-forth between them would stop and there'd be Hank's heavy steps out the back door and down the porch and he'd be gone for another hour or two – or longer. Back to work and where his head still was. The shorter absences he'd come back smelling like the Social Club but would be more even tempered and present when he did get home. And him and Camille would act like it was water under the bridge.

But then there were the other times where his shift should've been over and hours and hours passed before he appeared. And there'd be more arguments about that. About a different kind of presence – or lack thereof.

And you could just tell what kind of tour it'd been. If Hank was frustrated – it spilled over. The strictness – rules and regulations – spilled over nearly as soon as he got in the door. You had better have the chores done and homework well on the go. To not have your feet on the coffee table or have left any sort of sweater draped across a chair or a dirty glass in the front room or used dishes sitting on the kitchen counter. Camille – or your teachers – better not have some note or story sitting there waiting for him.

And then there were the other cases – tours – the ones that get to you and stay with you. The ones where he'd walk through the house seeking them all out – without a word – and bestow some kind of small physical affection on him. Those tugs at the air and kisses on the crown of your head and rough grips at your shoulder. Until he either ended up taking over making dinner for them – for Camille – with her sitting in the kitchen talking at him about … whatever they talked about. Erin sometimes wished she'd paid more attention to that. That she understood more about what to talk about in those moments – after shifts like that, when you couldn't talk about the case then … or ever. And, if he wasn't out with Camille, then he was sitting in the dining with her or Justin watching them do their homework. Or claiming his spot on the couch – and if you were the one having to vacate it – he wouldn't let you go too far, wrapping his arm around your shoulder to keep you close while he claimed the remote to stare at the muted Hawks scores, not so unlike what Jay did now.

And that more than some nights like that in the Voight house she was always happy that a CD player and headphones had been one of the early major luxuries she'd received as a gift in that house with paper-thin walls and a bedroom abutting Hank and Camille's master.

So Erin maybe knew how all this worked. Maybe she should've known how all this worked. But it hadn't made it any less of an adjustment. To be on this side of it. To not ask him about his day as soon as he got upstairs. To accept if he wanted to talk about it – or had something he could talk about within it at all – he'd broach it himself. Eventually. Sometimes.

But not asking – automatically – was hard. She usually had to restrain herself. Still.

Usually she wanted to talk about anything but her day – because her day was pretty boring and monotonous and repetitive. She never had much to say. You could only say so much about pooping and spit-up and laundry and staring at, and trying to play with, infants. For every little moment that was a 'wow' there were about a million others that weren't worth mentioning.

And she got the necessity of being there.

The necessity on a whole lot of levels. Financially and for their development and for their health – because they were babies and they were hers. Because they needed her. Because they deserved a babyhood where they were being loved and cared for. Because they were still so little and fragile – and there were still moments and days that she got scared and worried about all the unknowns in their future. Because she knew that all of this was time-limited – her time getting to be with them in this way and her time in having them this little. And she knew that every day and week and month and year would bring change – that'd happen to fast. And that the change could even come in an instance that they didn't see coming and would turn them on their heads – so she needed to take advantage of the now, while she was able, even if a lot of it was just necessary routine.

That's not to say there wasn't parts of it she liked. There were. She liked that she wasn't missing those little 'wow' moments. And there were definitely wow moments in watching these little humans you created discover the world around them and grow and change so much – in so little time. There was something to be said about holding and cuddling and smelling and feeling the heartbeats and the breathing and the skin-to-skin warmth of these people who were this huge piece of you. To see –and feel – the changes and calm just being together brought to both your bodies and being. And what a strange revelation that was.

But there was also a lot of ways – she hated admitting, because it made her feel like she was doing it wrong as a mother, that she wasn't actually feeling it all right or she wasn't connecting with the babies in the right way the way other mother's did – that she was just bored. That she felt cabin-fever and restless and just fucking stir-crazy. Trapped – in a situation of her own making.

And she didn't mean it 'that' way.

She just meant … with twins – infant, preemie twins – you were stuck in so many ways. More than she'd really been prepared for. You just don't understand until they're there and you're trying to do … anything.

Even doing an errand was hard when you had to tote around two babies. To deal with a stroller or a cart – or even where the hell to put the grocery items and toiletries you were trying to pick up when your babies and gear took up the entire collection basket.

And then there was the germs – made worse by all the people who wanted to get into your babies' faces and poke at them and ask you invasive and ridiculous questions like 'are they twins?', 'are they identical?', 'they're so small, are they preemies?', 'oh, how early were you?', 'how old are they?'. And assumptive statements that alluded to the fact that they 'so many people have to use IVF anymore', 'you just see twins so often these days'. And those forced – unwanted – interactions must made her want to attempt even getting out of the house even less. It just made all of it seem like that much bigger chore.

Sometimes she felt like she was counting down some imaginary timeline about getting back to work.

And there wasn't even a timeline – because it was at the point it'd be her decision on when and how she went back.

She was already off the job longer than she'd intended to be. But she hadn't planned on having her babies nearly seven weeks early and to still be dealing with on-going follow-up and medical care like she was. They were.

So now … she didn't know when she'd go back. Or in what capacity. Or to what job.

She'd told herself a year. A year to take care of them and get them on track. A year they could manage on Jay's salary and benefits. That a year was do-able – work-able – for all of them. She could do a year at home. Being a stay-at-home mom. She kept telling herself that. It was only a year.

But as much as she was counting down there was also this dread too – about going back and leaving them. And missing those 'wows' that she already had to text so many to Jay.

And what would happen then?

They'd have some daycare worker (that they hadn't found yet and she still was wrapping her head around how they'd afford – how it felt like it'd almost be like she was working just to pay for that for the first while) telling them both about their kids. Them knowing more – seeing more – than her or Jay would.

And what that would do to Eli and Mattie too – being left alone in one of those places. No matter how nice of one – with two slots that was willing to take twin, premature babies – they got them in.

And she had Hank's repeated advice about if she was going to stick with law enforcement in some capacity now. That you needed to watch for supervisors – for C.O.s – you knew valued their family at least as much as they valued the job. Find commanding officers who understood family and wanted to spend time with your family – because they'd be making sure you were getting home to yours too. And she heard him. She was feeling what he meant more and more.

And it was a hard thing to accept to. Because she also knew that work-life balance – work-family life balance – with the job was hard. You're never going to have a normal schedule. You're always going to be missing something – big and little. There isn't going to be stability. And she'd thought she could manage that – or figure out a way to manage that – because she loved the job too. She saw value in that work. But right now she was struggling to find something that might be a fit. You couldn't have it both ways. And she didn't have a lot of options to begin with.

She found herself wishing that she had more female friends – colleagues – on the job who actually were raising a family. But instead she felt like she was the one trying to blaze a trail among the women she was surrounded by in first responder careers. And she sometimes felt like she was going to flame out in some sort of spectacular mess – and stereotype. Or just reality.

The reality of women on the job. That most of the potential mentors she could try to reach out to were just going to be stories of failed relationships. And a lot of people who'd hadn't had a family because of that. Or the ones who'd framed it all as the job being more important to them than ever having a family. Or the other reality – that a lot of women left the job after having kids.

And as much as Erin had said that wouldn't be her – that she'd tried not to be judgmental while internally judging them – she understood more. There were different layers and emotions to it after you held your kids in your arms – and you knew what the work schedule of the job was and what it did to you as a person.

And those were the kinds of things she found herself thinking about and stressing about and pining for in the long and endless hours of feedings and diaper changes and spending way too fucking long just going to pick up milk and coffee.

It made her want to think about – talk about – something else that much more. Usually the moment Jay walked in the door and up the stairs. But she restrained herself.

It made her feel like she was becoming one of those law enforcement spouses. The one that 'read his moods'. And gave him time and space. And preached like she understood and respected his need for that. Like that made her some sort of dutiful wife – that she wasn't.

But she really did understand. She kept reminding herself of that. On repeat – when she felt her frustration rise at the whole situation. The situation she'd chosen. That they'd both chosen. And she'd gone into with her eyes wide open. Although, maybe not quite as wide as she thought.

And living in this opposite side and perspective of the job wasn't one that she was loving.

AUTHOR NOTE:

The previous two chapters (A BITE and WIFFLE) were posted in less than 24 hours. So there wasn't a bump on them. Reader stats suggest a lot of people missed WIFFLE. Check it out.

I have a few chapters written. But I will be posting them with at least 24 hours between them, because people seem to miss stuff if I don't.

This is a split scene. The second half will still be Erin's POV and will be more dialogue driven.

The one after that (which actually takes place before in terms of how long it'd be after the birth, but there is not sequence in this really), will be shorter and lighter (despite a serious discussion) and very dialogue heavy.

Your readership, reviews and feedback are appreciated. And motivating.