Title: Onward, Thankfully
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 holiday season begins after a year of struggle that looks like it's going to continue onward for lengths unknown. Erin comes home for Thanksgiving posed for some big conversations while her family grapples with their own struggles - illness, PTSD, shifting relationships and challenges on the job in New York and Chicago. Set in the Interesting Dynamics AU and post-S4 finale.
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 (including chapters/scenes in So It Goes that have not yet been written or posted), and Hereafter. This series also contains SPOILERS related to SEASON 5 of Chicago PD.
****** PLEASE NOTE: This chapter is a continuation of the one posted immediately before this — earlier today — Mr. Magoo. This chapter is also set during Thanksgiving weekend. It will be re-ordered later to set it prior to the Selfish Decisions chapter that's currently ahead of this. ******
Hank wanted Erin to just fucking focus on the positives that weekend. To just try to enjoy what was right there in front of her. He wanted the take away to be the happy – fucking ridiculous – moments that they needed to be thankful for. Those moments in time.
E sitting on a pile of newsprint, bundled up on the front stoop like they were in the January freeze, rather than just fucking the end of November. The fucking faded and so-fucking '90's plastic snowman taking up the space on their little square of grass in front of the house. Trying to lace the grimy light-up candy canes to metal stair railings while H tried to lick all that twenty-odd years of dirty and dust off them. Wanted her to remember that they got some time together out front. Holding the ladder. Stringing the lights.
Didn't need her to think too much about the way the Prokops had shared looks with them when they came out their front door and got into their car. Looks but no words. Because they hadn't spoken since Ethan had been home. Not about the role that little fucking Holly had played in the other half of what had happened to his boy that June. The psychological warfare that she'd contributed too and spilled over onto the internet and would haunt his son for the rest of his life. Though, Hank had said just enough to the missus that it was clear that after the divorce was settled – better be just the mister left with that house. That he wanted them off his block. Out of his neighborhood. And away from his boy. That her and her daughter better not so much as look at his son until that happened. And they didn't.
He didn't need Erin thinking about the looks they'd gotten from some of the other neighbors getting in their vehicles or answering their doors for their Thanksgiving guests either. Didn't need her to draw the conclusion he'd come to from the looks – the frowns and the false pity he'd seen in their faces: that they'd be getting more Christmas cards that year. The ones that contained some kind of advanced condolences that he didn't want or need.
And that he'd likely get another round of frozen meals from some of the Old Birds in the neighborhood. The same ones that filled their freezer when Camille had died. And the ones that, however well-meaning now, would all be full of food that Ethan couldn't eat. Not without adding to the inflammation load that his body couldn't figure out how to process and beat. And that just opened him up to infection. And infection opened his body up to another flare. And that opened them up to being back in the hospital. And more infection. To pneumonia. To moving up the timeline of the time they had with E.
So he'd have to find some sort of way to graciously decline the Old Biddies efforts. Or just take them into the bullpen. Knew that there were a lot of people on his team that weren't taking too good of care of themselves these days. Could likely start out with stocking Jay's fridge. And then move on to working on making sure that Al was ingesting something other than alcohol. And that Adam and Kim were taking care of their sisters and their nieces and nephews. That Atwater wasn't finding his own hole of loneliness to fall into. Lose weight, put on muscle. But still got to eat. Still got to sleep. All of them.
Wanted Erin to remember more – to take away – the ridiculously, silly, kids-say-the-darnedest things conversation with her brother and nephew out on those steps.
Ethan working to educate Henry on Santa Claus and all the logistics of Christmas.
"So what do you want Santa to bring you?" E had asked his nephew after his extended explanation. Fine. Magoo still liked to motor. Rambled even more now in those hours after his medications. A fucking drug-induced daze.
"Karz!" Henry had told him too firmly. Way too much in-the-know for the whole Santa thing to be his first briefing. Olive – or the daycare – must've already started priming him.
"Hot Wheels," E had corrected him hopefully.
Henry nodded but added, "Light-ting! And Madder!"
"Mmm …," Hank had interjected from up on the ladder, catching his grandson's eyes. "Know who's going to be madder if he has to watch Cars again?"
"Matter," Ethan corrected on his nephew's behalf.
But Hank just ignored it and caught his grandson's excited eyes down on the ground to answer his own question. "Popa."
Henry stirred and toddled as fast as his little legs could take him – which was pretty damn fast anymore. Hank snapped his fingers at Erin and pointed for her to grab the kid before he charged straight into the street.
"I fast! Fast as Light-ting," Henry told Erin as she gripped at his elbow and hauled him too a stop.
"You're too fast, Henry," she said. "For all of us. You're growing up too fast."
He pulled free from her and came over to stand by the ladder instead, staring up at Hank. "Papa!" Henry told him. "Tanta bring Karz. And panes!"
"Pains is right," Hank said. "In Popa's butt."
It'd gotten a small sound of amusement from Erin but a groan out of Magoo.
"Dad, you know he said Planes. The other movie. Rusty."
"Wuss-ee!" H agreed.
"Hmm …," he grunted. "If you say so."
E had looked at H. "We're gonna watch Planes, Trains and Automobiles this afternoon."
"Twains!" H had just lit up. "Taw-miss?"
"Not really," E had muttered at the toddler.
"And, you aren't really watching that while your nephew's up," Hank at provided and E gazed up at him hurt. "Wait for naptime."
"NO NAP!" H had shrieked.
"No nap," E had agreed. But that was dreaming on the kid's part. Knew with certainty that H and E's naptimes coincided pretty good. E's would just be passed out on the couch while the fucking movie played in the background.
"What are you asking Santa for for Christmas?" Erin had teased her brother.
But Ethan had stopped and considered it. "Well, we don't get to ask Santa for stuff," E said. "But Olive's taking Henry to see Santa. So he should just know what he's gonna ask for."
"Light-ting," Henry affirmed again. Pretty clear to Hank that Olive was working on getting him set on being consistent on one thing. Good luck to her on that. At any age.
"Erin," Ethan had asked though after, "when'd Santa stop bringing you presents?"
Erin had raised an eyebrow at E from handing the lights up to Hank. "Santa still fills my stocking."
Hank could feel E's eyes roll a bit at that. As much as he was able to control his eyes to get them to do that. But he was a teenager. Eye-rolling was some sort ingrained automated function in them.
"No," E put back to her. "When did you stop like getting the wrapped gift? Like from Santa's workshop or whatever."
Erin had suppressed a laugh at Ethan's awkward and careful way of putting the question to her all the while gazing at his little nephew like the kid was absorbing or understanding any of this enough to be reading between the lines and already working on becoming a non-believer at two-and-a-half.
"Ahh …," Erin finally managed and gazed up at him along the eaves trough that he was trying to get the lights to clip on to. "Hank?"
He just grunted. "Don't remember."
"Pretty sure Santa's elves had a gift for me the first two or three years?" she said.
He just shrugged, keeping his eyes on what he was doing. The clips on these fucking old lights weren't co-operating. He was either going to have to see if he had any ties in the shed or he'd be battling the crowds tomorrow to get some new strings of the fancy, overpriced LED bullshit. Or the even more ridiculous twirling spotlights. E would likely want Darth Vader in a Santa cap or something.
But he felt Erin's hands against the ladder. The weight of her thought. "He did brought one," she assured and he felt her eyes staring up at him – or the bottom of boots, his ass or the underside of his crotch, wasn't exactly an ideal position to have your daughter looking up to you. So he'd shifted what he was doing to look down at her and there was this purpose in her eyes. "I got that portable CD player the first Christmas. Sony. Teal. Waterproof. A sport one. It played MP3s."
"What are MP3s?" Ethan asked. And Erin shot him a look but he just gave her a big shit-eating grin. He was fucking with her. Trying to make her feel old.
"You remember that?" Hank put to her, though. Even though it also didn't surprise him.
She shrugged. "It could hold like 150 CDs," she directed at Ethan instead.
"So like what? A hundred songs?" he teased.
"It was … a big deal," she argued at him and then gazed up at Hank again. "I still have it. It's at the townhouse."
He gave her a thin smile at that. Wasn't sure it was worth keeping. More dated than Camille's paperweight computer sitting on the den's desk. But her still having it said a lot too.
She rocked against the ladder a bit. "Then one year it was those …," she searched her mind for the phrase more than the gift. "Yeti boots," she let out a quiet laugh and looked up at him. "You remember those? Those furry boots." She looked at Ethan. "They looked like what Luke wears when he's on Hoth."
E scrunched up his face in complete disgust at that and Hank realized what Erin was talking about.
"Camille …" he said and shook his head. Cami had tried so hard to help Erin try to fit in with the fucking prissy white rich girlie girls at Ignatius. Hadn't worked. Can only hide what and who you are to a point. No matter how good you are at undercover.
Erin made a small sound of agreement. "I think the next Christmas was those skater sneakers. With the pink trim and laces," she gave him a big smile at that. "And a Roxy backpack. My skater-punk, Avril Lavigne phase."
"You outgrow that one yet?" he tossed down at her. And she gave the ladder a bit more purposeful rock. Gave him a look. But he allowed her a little smile.
Like his rough-and-tumble, independent, not-afraid-to-get-dirty tomboy a lot better than who his girl had tried to be to fit in during that first year or so anyway. And liked the woman that tough girl had grown into too. Frogs, snails, and puppy dog tails still yielded sugar and spice and a whole lot of spice. With time. The right amount of nurture. Learned that too.
"So basically Santa still brought you a present all through high school?" Ethan asked.
Erin shrugged. "Yea," she allowed. "I guess."
It was all just an illusion for her anyway. The whole time. Just something to keep up appearances with Justin still little and than E on the scene. To try to keep some of the magic going for the littler ones. And didn't really matter who they said the gift was 'from'. Erin knew. Clearly she appreciated. And it really was just a matter of what the kids wanted or needed that particular year and how they spread the budget around to cover off those bases.
"Why?" Erin put to her brother.
He fidgeted a bit. "I don't know. I thought maybe since I got like a big Santa gift last year and now being in high school that it was the last year his workshop made something or sent something or whatever."
Hank gazed down at him from up top. "Think what likely happened last year, bud, was that the adults in your life sent off a bit of a memo that deserved a gift that you'd been wanting for a long time."
Ethan allowed a little nod and shrugged.
"I mean, Santa doesn't have to give me a gift this year or anything," E said.
Hank eyed him from above. "Think as long as you believe, you receive something."
"Thirty-one and still get a stocking," Erin teased her brother gently.
"Yea," E acknowledged. "But there's not really anything I need."
There was a whole lot of fibbing in that statement. A half-truth. There was a long list of things Ethan needed. Hank had his own list that he kept picking away at with each pay check as he could. But knew what he was saying. None of that stuff really constituted a 'gift'. Least not the kind that a kid – a teenager – would want waiting for them under the tree on Christmas morning.
"Is there something you want?" Erin put to him.
"We don't do wish lists," he responded.
Erin shrugged at him. "Not asking you for a wish list. Just asking if there's something you want."
Ethan sat there for a bit. Moving between batting at H's efforts to turn the candy canes into a fire-house pole and Bear's efforts to turn them into a fire hydrant.
"A waffle maker," E finally suggested out of nowhere – looking over at him and Erin again expectantly.
"Awful maker," Henry mimicked.
"Awful maker is about right," Hank muttered and found his boy's eyes. "Santa's workshop makes toys. Not small kitchen appliances."
E looked at him seriously. "His workshop made an Xbox last year."
"Think Santa has Amazon contracted for those deliveries," he nodded at his son. E looked disappointed. "Ethan," Hank pressed more seriously, "the batter you can have, it wouldn't work in a waffle maker. It'd just be a big dog's breakfast."
"But then we could have waffles for breakfast," E tried. "Since we can't have French toast."
Hank sighed at him. "We'll have pancakes."
"And ham?" Ethan asked hopefully. So much came back to food with him. Because there was just so much he wasn't supposed to eat. To the point that sometimes Hank felt like it was impossible to keep him nourished. And like Ethan was always begging for food. Always thinking about food. And that pulled at him now. He didn't want to think about what it'd be like as the disease progressed and other parts of E's system didn't work as well. Where eating and what he could eat would become … more complicated.
"Sure," was all Hank shrugged at him, though. Because when E requested something that he was allowed – and was reasonably feasible to pull off – it got served.
"Why do we have turkey at Thanksgiving and Christmas?" the kid shifted subjects.
Hank shrugged and looked back to the lights. "Just what we settled into."
"What's that mean?" E asked.
He sighed – pulled from his work again and looked down at the kid. "Your Nonna and Nonno used to host Christmas Eve. So they did the whole Italian thing. Seven Fish meal."
E made another way. "Fish for Christmas?"
Hank just grunted. "And your Oma – my mom –"
"Would mom have been a Nonna or an Oma?" Ethan interrupted and he felt Erin stir at the question. More than it'd even struck him. Though there'd been a pang. But it'd been a pang he'd dealt with before. The little jerk that caused his feet to rock slightly made him think it was some kind of fresh gut-punch for Erin.
He looked down at her but she was just staring straight ahead between the steps of the ladder – into the brick wall in front of her.
"Think she likely would've gone with just Grandma or Nana," Hank provided.
"Likely Grandma," Erin muttered quietly and he looked down at her again.
HeE only nodded though. "So Oma …?" he asked. Apparently he remembered that they'd been in the middle of something else. A sign he was having an okay day. There was a train of thought going on in the kid. Was multitasking.
"Oma liked doing fish on Christmas too," Hank said. "Carp. But we weren't too big on having fish back-to-back. So talked my mom into doing this traditional goose thing instead. But turned out your mom wasn't a big fan of goose. Least not goose stuffed with chestnuts and cabbage."
E made a gagging noise at that.
Hank allowed a little smile. "Yea. That's about how she felt. So evolved into us taking over Christmas Day dinner and holding your Oma off to New Year's—"
"Pork on New Year's …," E said.
"Hmm …," Hank acknowledged.
"So it's basically tradition stuff," E said. "Like why you don't like the tree up until December sixth and the mom's nativity. And Krampus. Are we going to do Krampus for Henry?"
Hank snorted at that and looked at his kid and his little grandson. "Don't think we need to keep up that one," he said. Was surprised that E even remembered that. Hadn't really done anything around that since his mom had been gone.
"But J always said you were more of a Krampus than a Santa Claus," E provided.
Hank made a different noise and leaned against the ladder. He rested for a minute. Let himself process. Felt a different little pang and felt Erin looking up at him.
"Ethan," she said carefully but with this underlying sternness to it. This little speech tone that he knew she'd picked up on from Camille. "Your brother said a lot of things that don't need repeating. And he'd likely feel pretty awful if he knew they were being repeated now."
E gazed at her and then up at him. "I didn't mean nothing by it, Dad," he whispered.
Hank nodded. "I know," he said and lifted his arms to get back to work. "Any way. Turkey just was what me and your mom settled on. Easiest with having you kids underfoot."
It was an awkward segue. And it sat there in the air while Hank fiddled more with the lights. Managed to get them clipped as far as he could reach and then came down the steps. He dragged the ladder over several feet while Erin give him a look of pity that wasn't much better than the one the neighbors gave him these days. But he didn't meet her eyes for it. Didn't want to see it. Just collected the lights she'd been working on untangling and went back up the ladder.
"It's a lot of turkey and then turkey," Ethan said quietly.
Hank grunted some acknowledgement.
"So why don't we have ham for Christmas?" he asked.
Henry lit up at that. "Aam?!"
More of J in that boy. Ham. Bacon. Hot dogs. Sausage. Pork and nitrates and sodium. Top of Henry's list of favorites. Not that Olive was a fan of feeding him any of that shit. But all the more reason for Popa to make sure some of it was getting into him when he got grandpa afternoons.
"Could do ham," Hank allowed. "If that's what you want."
"With pineapple?" Ethan asked. "And sweet potatoes?"
Erin let out a little sound and stared at him. "I brought yams for today. So you'll get lots of sweet potato and sweet potato."
E just gave her a little grin and shrugged. Didn't bother the kid one bit. E pretty much lived on sweet potatoes anymore. Sweet potatoes, pineapple smoothies and almond butter. Not exactly the best diet. But it was what he'd eat.
"Is Jay going to do his mom's sweet potato casserole thing?" E asked.
Erin had made a sound at that. A more indistinguishable one. But distinguishable enough that Hank was pretty sure that it was a no. Heard that loud and clear.
"I was thinking I'd just bake them," she'd responded flatly.
E must've heard that too. Because he stared. Long and hard. And Erin must've felt that.
"What do you really want for Christmas?" she finally asked him. Trying to change the subjects.
E gazed at her and then gazed up at Hank. "To be allowed to stay in my pyjamas all day and to binge movies."
It hung there for a minute and Hank wished he'd reacted sooner to the so-very Ethan simplicity of the request. Because if he had reacted sooner his son wouldn't have said what he said next.
That, "Cuz maybe we need like some new traditions. Since we have other traditions still from after people are gone. And stuff."
And that hung there longer. Harder. A pang again. One that from the little shake in the ladder he knew Erin had felt too. And it'd rippled through her. Even though it was a memory — a moment — in the day he didn't want her to dwell on.
Just like he didn't want her to know how frequently her baby brother presented honest simplicity about his wants and needs — not just on silly Christmas wish list requests One life and death. How to-the-point he was about his own morality and his teen-aged, brain-damaged, drug-fogged understanding of what was to come.
Erin didn't need to know the promises E had coheres out of him. Among them that he'd be okay after he was gone. And how much Hank felt like he'd outright lied to his little boy's brave face.
But that morning, Hank just smiled and gave him a little nod. "Going to guess that Santa can likely manage to wrangle up something for those requests."
Because it sounded like a decent day to him. Hank hoped it sounded like a decent day to Erin too. Because it was those kinds of days they needed. It was those kinds of days that he wanted them to have and remember.
And it was those kinds of days that he wanted her to latch on to. To remember. To accept.
To just enjoy them. The quiet time of the now. Where it wasn't quiet because Ethan wasn't there. It was quiet because they were just getting that time to be together.
And to get to be together like that – they didn't need arguments or button-pushing.
Not with him. Not with Ethan. And not with Jay and whatever was going on between the two of them. Whatever it was that she wanted to talk about or get to. Because he didn't want to begin to speculate about what that might be when he could feel the tension lapping off the both of them. When he could see Jay's vacant look that day and for months at work.
Because he'd run out of advice for the two of them. He couldn't tell them how to deal with what they were going through. Or how to fix it. Just like he didn't know how to fix the mess with Ethan – he didn't know how to fix the mess that Jay and Erin had landed themselves in. He didn't know shit about managing long distance relationships. Not physical ones. And the most he could say anymore to either of them was – if this was important to them, if the other person was part of the life they wanted, then work on it. Make it work. Do they best they could. Because sometimes the other person knowing you were doing the best you would – you showing them you were trying your best – was all the information they needed. Sometimes it was enough. And if it wasn't … at least you knew then too.
Erin came into the front room and stared at the screen.
"Mr. Magoo?" she asked rhetorically.
Hank just grunted. Because he still didn't feel like talking. He just wanted to be in the moment. And if she felt like talking there was another person in the room she should be talking to. And talking together somewhere else.
But she still stared at Magoo.
"You want us to move him upstairs for you?" she asked.
He caught her eyes and smacked at that. Was perfectly capable of hauling his son's body weight – and dead weight – around.
"No," he provided.
She stared at him but gave a little nod and looked at Jay. "You ready to head out?"
He let out a noise and got up. They shared a little nod as he disappeared to get on boots and coat.
"Thanks for dinner …," Erin offered.
Hank grunted again.
"So … I'll come back by tomorrow …?"
He heard the question in it. But just grunted and looked back to the television. Because as much as he hoped she would be back by – he hoped she wouldn't. Because it'd been a good day. A decent day. And he'd rather her hold onto that than anything else that conversations and stress and tension of the weekend or the holidays or family gave way too.
Because it was all just too fucking complicated.
And really didn't need that to be a family tradition. Even though it was. But it didn't need to be one that got established and left in Ethan's wake for them to remember him by.
He wanted — he fucking needed — to have his family, what was left of it, to have more to remember, to stand by, to stand for, than all that.
AUTHOR NOTE:
The chapter immediately before this (Mr Magoo) was posted earlier today. Please check to make sure you didn't miss it. This is a continuation of it.
Also, the chapter, Selfish Decisions, was posted less than 24 hours ago. So yo might want to make sure that you saw it too. It is set after these two chapters that were posted today.
A Jay POV is next, set after Selfish Decisions/his NYC trip.
Your readership, reviews, comments and feedback are appreciated.