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.

Erin gazed at Hank as she came back down the stairs. He was sitting with Camille's memory box on his lap – photos in hand, staring in a stalled flip.

Erin allowed a little smile. She hadn't seen him with that box out for a while. But she also wasn't around much. She knew that. But before – usually – it'd make her a little sad when she saw him with that box. Because she knew it meant he was struggling that particular day. Not that he usually told her the details of what – memory or thought, however passing – had sent him to pull out that box on a particular day when when she'd caught him with it in the past. But it being out was usually sign enough. Something had triggered him that day.

But that day – that particular day – she knew exactly what it was. And she thought she knew exactly when he'd been drawn to the box to look for while she was upstairs with her little brother. And that day, it didn't make her sad to see him with the box or the pictures. It didn't make her speculate on what his state of mind might be. She'd been with him all morning to have a pretty good idea of exactly what kind of state of mind she was. She was in a similar one, she suspected. And she kind of wanted to look at the photo she suspected he was staring at too.

Hank glanced at her as she came into the room and shuffled into his space, leaning against the arm rest of the couch to gaze at the photos too. He tilted it for her to see. And she smiled a little more. It was what she suspected. Exactly. Or as near as exactly as she could remember it. A moment in time that some twelve or more years ago had just seemed like a day – another passing moment – that maybe didn't hold too much weight then. But it did now. And she knew too that the day – for whatever reason – had held some sort of weight with Camille – some kind of memory or meaning – because that picture had ended up filled away with a collection of her favorites to look back on. A memory box that likely was more treasured now and looked at much more frequently now – however painful – than maybe it would've been in … very different circumstances.

The photo: Them – her family – what felt like forever ago. But still – way back then – once again standing in front of Sue in the Field Museum's main hall. The same as they – what was left of them – had been that morning.

They were smiling for the camera. Ethan just a toddler propped up on Hank's hip and staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the Trex – rather than at the camera. As usual. Pointing at Sue with the same enthusiasm then as he did now. The same as Erin suspected he would right up to the end. Until he was grown-up – as a grown-up – or otherwise … if that was the fate life had them … him … hurdling toward.

Camille was clearly interacting with Ethan. Likely bestowing some kind of educational moment on him. Or maybe she was just trying to get him to look at the camera rather than the dinosaur – for all of two seconds. Still an impossible task even back then.

Hank's free arm was around her shoulder. He had her pulled close – held close and tight – the family. Not letting her just linger on the outskirts. While Justin was huddled bashfully into the front-and-center of the family. Arms crossed and all eyebrows with his cockeyed smile that betrayed the pre-teen was enjoying himself.

Erin couldn't pinpoint the exact reason they'd have been there. All together. But she knew the photo had likely been taken and saved for a reason. Maybe just because they were all there and together. Something that became increasingly less frequent for those kinds of outings by the time Ethan was a toddler and preschooler. Her through high school and working and doing night school and ride-alongs and bidding her time until she could apply to the Academy. Justin trying to act the part of a full-on teenager and in high school.

Family outings where it was all of them didn't happen as frequently. Not with life getting in the way maybe more than they should've let it. At least for those kinds of moments. But she knew that happened. People get busy. When you're a teenager or in your twenties or trying to be an adult and a grown-up and independent – maybe you didn't make the time for family as much as you should. Maybe you thought there were more important things. Or maybe it was you just didn't have a real concept of time yet. And just how fleeting it really was … in the end.

Though, Erin knew that Camille took Eth to the various museums and the aquarium every chance she got. So she did at least know that the photo wasn't likely taken to capture his first time seeing Sue. It wouldn't be his first photo with Sue – or his last. Camille seemed to take one every time they were in the place. That dinosaur had become Ethan's own personal growth chart. Snaps chronicling him slowing looking bigger and bigger in front of the fossil. Though, somehow even though Hank seemed to send her off a picture near monthly – if not weekly – of her baby brother still in front of the thing and still smiling about being there, it usually felt more now like he as shrinking next to it. Not sprouting taller and bigger and stronger in front of Sue like a teenaged boy should be.

Erin suspected the real reason the had landed in Camille's memory box was really just because it was all of them. That it was likely the first time they'd all been there together to see Ethan's wide-eyed glee at the dinosaur. And for Camille to do her speciality – her little speeches and lectures. Her knack for turning everything into some sort of educational moment. The more you know …

And Erin knew that.

She tried for a little smile – but she wasn't sure she managed to pull it off. But Hank wasn't looking at her, and that was probably a good thing. Though, she still squeezed his elbow in a silent show of support. He wasn't alone in the photo. And he wasn't alone now. Not any of them.

"We all look like babies …," she commented. Because they did. They all looked like different people. Younger. Happier. Fuller somehow…

He allowed a little grunt and gave the photo another thin smile. A sad smile.

Hank reached for his phone and flashed another photo at her. The one from that day which didn't look so different from the one those twelve years ago. Only it was. Because there were differences – glaring ones – amidst the similarities.

Now it was Henry up on Hank's hip. And it was Hank's little grandson – Justin's son – now looking up at Sue with a similar wide-eyed awe as Ethan had those years ago. Ethan had taken Justin's positioning in the photo. Her baby brother standing front-and-center. And her baby brother – now almost the same age as Justin would've been in that old photo – standing with similar quiet confidence and smugness painted across his face. Taking the position – and a near mirrored stance – as his brother had those years ago too. And not as unlike Justin as her other brother might've thought. She could see so much of Justin in Ethan. And Camille and Hank. And she wanted to see herself too. She knew it was in there. The same way as she knew – she'd come to accept – that Hank and Camille were in her too. Even though their genes weren't. They bleed in a different way for her. She still had come to carry their blood, sweat and tears. That how'd they made her. And what they'd passed on to her. What she'd passed on to her brothers. To her nephew now. And what she'd make sure got passed onto her children – maybe even more than her genes.

In that day's photo Hank's free arm was still tossed around her shoulder. Still holding her close and tight. Still keeping her pulled into the family. And she hadn't put up any fight about pulling away – backing away – from it that day. About wanting to be on the outskirts. Wanting her own space or independence. Because you didn't need that when it was family. Not in the way she'd thought previously. But it'd taken … time … for her to accept that and learn it. And it'd had to be the hard way. But at least she'd come to that conclusion – acceptance – while there was still time.

They'd all still managed smiles for Olive's camera that morning even though they looked a little sadder than before. And they weren't the babies from the photo those years ago. They all looked a little older and weighed down with the weight of life and history and experience. And the lessons it'd brought.

"Flip through," Hank grunted at her, shuffling through Camille's printed photos instead, examining each one carefully. "Olive sent a bunch."

Erin nodded and moved around him, sitting next to him on the couch and pulling her knees up to herself as she flipped to the next one.

Their little family didn't look quite so sparse in that one. It wasn't' quite as noticeable that people were missing. Or at least, if it was, it was notable that others had been added. Olive and Jay in the mix. And Santa in the next. The red-suited and bearded man causing a more unsure look of contention to seep off Henry than his photo with the giant fossil with pointy, gnashing teeth.

Breakfast with Sue. A Christmas fundraiser at Field for museum members. A membership fee that Hank had decreed as one of the better investments of his life. He had Ethan over there constantly. She suspected he had Henry over nearly as much. Maybe Olive did too. It wasn't far. From the condo. She could walk over with Henry if she wanted. To most of the museums. Something that Camille would likely love to know was an option for her grandson. That it could be a part of his life. Like she'd tried to include that sort of thing in their lives.

That Hank was trying to too. Hence the museum membership. And even though he grumbled about it on occasion – the drive, the parking, the same exhibits over and over again, the tourists – she knew that he and Ethan and his grandson had definitely enjoyed some of the perks that came along with membership too. Like this big farewell to Sue.

Though Erin wasn't sure she liked that the brunch had received that label. Not when it was something that Ethan had begged to go to – and to take Henry to. Not when he lamented that Sue was being moved and modernized. Not when it'd be months and months before Sue was set up in her new spot in the Evolving Planet exhibit hall.

Because that was just time again. And time that Erin knew they'd spend the rest of Ethan's time with them fearing they didn't have. Because they weren't likely going to really know until there wasn't much time left. It'd just be this state of limbo for the coming months … or years.

And that made her fear that for Sue's farewell bash – it wasn't just the dinosaur they were saying goodbye to. Or who was really saying their goodbyes to who – or what.

But even thinking that – again – stung Erin's eyes.

Erin had told Hank that Ethan was too pissed off about Field getting a "boring, stupid, and completely redundant" herbivore for its main hall – especially when he'd pointed out to her, "It's like we're just trying to be like New York and who wants to be like New York?" – to not be around to express his complete displeasure at the unveiling of the new fossil. He was going to need – want – to be present at the welcome party for the titanosaur.

So Erin – was convincing herself – that she was pretty sure that that was argument enough to ensure in some made-up reality that Ethan was at least around for another year or two. Maybe longer so he could mount a campaign to have Sue moved back to the main hall. Let New York have its herbivore. Chicago deserved the king of the dinosaurs. Which Erin wasn't convinced either that the "king of the dinosaurs" (or queen) was a title that belonged to Sue either. Not in their family.

Field hadn't named the patagotitan mayorum that was taking the Trex's spot yet. But they were letting members put name suggestions (that Erin was pretty sure were all going to get ignored) into a box at the farewell bash. She'd gone and written 'Ethan' down – and made Jay do the same. Partially because she couldn't think of a bigger dinosaur titan than her little brother. And partially because she knew that the thing being named after him would just piss him off to no end. And that would keep him around for a while too. He'd have to resolve that catastrophe.

But, really, there was another part of her (that she didn't want to delve too far into either) that thought if they picked the name – her brother's name - and it stuck – it'd be a good memorial to her baby brother. Though, she suspected it'd make it that much harder to ever set foot in Field again – more than it already was going to be at some point in the future.

Another thing she didn't want to think about. It made her eyes sting more. So she just kept flipping through the photos that Olive had already sent through to Hank.

"She's getting really good …" Erin had commented.

And she was. Erin already knew that. More and more of Olive's photos were appearing in the house. Olive was sending her others. Little captured moments of Henry and Ethan – and often Hank with the two of them. The kind of photos that as beautiful as they were – they never seemed to make it much easier being away.

But this set … she might ask Olive to send them to her too. Or to print them out, if she was going to for Hank already. Because the day was what it was. Because they looked like a family in it. They looked ridiculously like a family in it.

She was sure that some casual onlookers at the event might've thought they'd tried to dress all matchy-matchy for the day. But really it was that none of them had kind of fashion sense. That they all just dressed like working-class people. They dressed like Chicago. The real Chicago. The city – that though it always had money and that power and influence seep into parts of it more and more, as it gentrified more and more even when it didn't or couldn't seem to figure out how – was built on the backs of the working class. And that still made it her kind of town.

So much more than New York. Where she still didn't feel comfortable in her own skin. Where she didn't feel comfortable in her surroundings. She never entirely felt like she quite blended in. That the riches – and education and culture – of the city seemed to seep out of it in a different and almost condescending way.

It always made her feel like she was still playing dress-up. That she wasn't seen as a street kid who'd somehow found her way into an office tower. But she was seen as some sort of country mouse. That it sometimes felt like she was back at Iggy's and crafting a story about who she was and why she was there. One that she hoped wasn't fiction. Because she tried to be open about her plans. She was trying to network – and put in the work – to make them reality.

But she also felt so much like she was living undercover still. Even though she wasn't. But that New York was forcing things out of her that weren't her. She couldn't be herself. She never really entirely felt like herself. And there was always a longing for home. And for family. And for all the things she acknowledged her time in that other city was doing for her – how it was helping her – it also just wasn't her. It wasn't her kind of town. And it wasn't how – or where – she wanted to live. Where she wanted to make her life. Spend her time.

She wanted her time her. She wanted moments like in Olive's photos. She wanted those to be her reality. Her daily reality. That consistent – frequent – reminders that even amidst all the sadness and stress and guilt and grief they were dealing with there were moments of laughter. And real happiness.

That they were a family. They had family moments. And they were making it work.

This photographic evidence. These shots of of her with Henry and her with Ethan and her with Hank. And her with Jay.

There was one that if her and Jay did make this work. If they got back to their engagement being real – and marriage being in the offing – that it could be an engagement photo. One they got framed. Or sent to whoever you send that sort of thing to.

They were sitting waiting for their table to get called to go up to the brunch buffet. They were huddled in some sort of tete-a-tete. Her elbows on the table and hands pulled up and clutched – perfectly showing off the engagement ring. The one even though things were so uncertain and so much of a struggle , she now got to wear every day. And she did. To reminder her again of what she was working toward – and the things she still needed to work on. To remind her of him – the him he was and who he was now. And so he knew – he could see – that she was still in his corner. That she still believed in him. She still loved him. And she was still willing to keep working on this – to work on it with him. If that's what he still wanted. If that's what he could manage. Not just because he was a good guy – but because he wanted it too. He wanted moments like in that photo to be a daily reality too. Them next to each other – surrounded by family – but alone in their private world, their private joke. Their own moment amidst the chaos.

Erin couldn't pinpoint when Olive had snapped the shutter to capture that moment. But she didn't need to. She could see that Jay had whispered some sort of sassy joke to her. And it hadn't just earned him a smile. It'd earned him a laugh, which had made him smile. The little boy grin that she had fallen in love with. The softer parts of the hardened man.

Softer still was a photo Olive had captured of Jay with Henry. Henry straddling Jay's lap and facing him. Their hands and fingers locked in a mercy war. One that Jay was letting Henry win all the while swirling their hands around to the rhythm of the holiday music they had playing over the speakers in the hall. Henry was completely oblivious to any tension that existed between Jay and Justin or Jay's previous dislike and distrust of Olive.

This was just "Un-call Day". Someone to be silly with and to play with and to by in a fit of giggles with at the table while "Un-call Day" stuck his tongue at him teasingly – almost letting him win – only to swirl his little arms around again. Again and again until Jay finally did let Henry win the wrestle war, sputtering out "mercy, mercy, mercy" that got an "I win! I win!" out of Henry. Only for him to push in some sort of toddler CPR against Jay's chest when he pretended to slump against Henry's overwhelming power. "You toe-kay," Henry had told Jay. "You a win-are too." And he'd planted a sloppy wish against Jay's face – causing him to bolt straight, suddenly revived and to tickle the little boy even more.

And it was just a quiet moment of play where Erin knew that if Jay found it in himself – he could do this. He could more than do this. Because right now she knew he was struggling and he still needed time to settle into this. To keep on working on himself. To have confident in himself. But she could tell he was trying.

She knew he was flailing a bit. That he was under stress. Both between them and on the job. That IA was coming at him again in a period of months. That he was teetering constantly on an edge of the PTSD getting the upper-hand in his daily life. But he was trying so fucking hard.

And she could hear that in his voice. And she could see it in him that weekend. That he was there and he was present even though he wasn't entirely there. But he was trying. To be there for her. And for Ethan. And for the family.

And being there – making that decision and commitment to be there – that was a huge part of it. Of love. And a relationship. And a family. And he could do that.

He could be the kind of father a child needed and deserved. That their children would need. The kind they deserved. That despite how broken and inadequate and scared he might feel – he had it in him. To be good at this. To be giving and kind and sacrificing and forgiving. To be able to make others smile and laugh despite his own pain and despite theirs too. To just be there. For the big moments and for the little moments. To make it easier.

And Jay deserved all that as much as a child did too. And he could have it. Not because it was the 'good guy' route he should take because it was what a 'man' did.. But because he was a good guy. And he was a real man. No matter his baggage or his scars and what he felt they made him.

Erin could see him for what he was. And she thought others – in their family – could too.

There was another photo her and Jay had Henry over looking at the diorama of the lions. Olive must've been watching from a distance. She'd caught them being silly and captured it. Her and Jay roaring at lions and encouraging Henry to do the same. The three of them caught in wide-mouth screams masked as laughs.

Erin wasn't sure if Olive had caught the other moment – a few minutes later – when Jay had scooped up Henry and held him like the baby Lion King. Presenting him to the pride – and her.

"Hakuna matata," he'd quipped at her. "No worries for the rest of the day."

And as soon as he'd released Henry and he'd charged back over to Olive and Hank and Ethan, the little boy had told his mom, "Kunga Mama!" Olive had given him a funny look that Erin almost wish she'd been as good – as practiced at taking photos as Olive, or as committed as Camille was those years ago – because she would't liked to capture the funnier look on Olive's face when Henry had parroted to her: "No war-are-es toe-day, Kunga Mama!"

And it was a day where maybe for a few hours they did – or at least they tried – to have no worries.

Her and Hank guiding Henry and Ethan down the buffet line, trying to manage their own plates and the boys. Hank trying to help Ethan with the tongs while he snatched up enough bacon to feed the whole table – when Erin didn't think he actually had any intention of doing that when he deposited the mound on his plate. Her trying to pick out some croissants and muffins for everyone while Henry peeks over the table's edge – eyes and chubby fingers set on the 'pinkle cookies.

Ethan holding up a slice of cantaloupe in front of his face at breakfast like a wide grin – barely hiding the one that was actually painted on his face.

Her and Ethan gazing up in some sort of dazed awe at one of the fifty towering Christmas trees set up in the massive hall. Each and every one twinkling with lights and decorations from a different cultural group or community organization from around the city – and the world. A display she wasn't sure she'd seen before and one that Ethan had been utterly transfixed by. Because Ethan and anything to do with colourful, sparkling, twinkling lights. Ethan and his love of Christmas trees and Christmas lights and fireworks – especially fireworks in winter, he'd told her. "They're way better. They go up waaay higher. It's true. It's science."

She'd made sure to not ask the science behind it – even though she kind of wondered. But she knew it would've been an extended explanation. Just like another photo of him having her and Henry trapped at one of the touch-tables that he usually got to man during his volunteer hours at Field. And where despite him being there as a guest that Saturday morning, he'd still completely taken over for the high school kid at the display – giving her, Henry and everyone else there – their own personal presentation.

Popa and Henry putting in quiet time at the craft table – letting everyone else look at the exhibit hall they were in but also Hank showing his tenderer side. Crouched down next to his grandson with a crayon gripped in his hand while Henry scribbled feverishly next to him.

Ethan with his face near pressed against the glass at the fossil prep lab getting his first look at the gastralia that was scheduled to added to Sue. The whole purpose for her move.

Her leaning against railings with Jay in conversation presumably about the Egyptian mummies they were standing in front of. But with the teasing look on Jay's face Erin knew that Olive had likely captured something a little more special than a debate about the display. Though, Jay had made some comment about ancient history of crazy cat ladies when he'd spotted the signage about the mummified cat on display. And the marketability of that as a documentary on PBS. Or at least NPR.

And Hank sitting at breakfast and cutting up sausage and pancakes. His son was on one side of him and his grandson on the other. And Erin didn't know for sure who's plate he was working on. Though she knew it wasn't his own and she suspected it was Ethan's. But there was no look on his face other than focus on the task at hand. It was just another moment of quiet patience and even dignity that he approached the whole situation. This calmness and stillness that Erin had seen set over him since the summer – in that hospital room. One that had stayed with him it seemed in all things Ethan.

It was so different than their other losses. His knee-jerk reactions and his need for revenge and justice. His way and his own rules and own code. But maybe it was different. Because this wasn't sudden loss. This was a slow burn where they were watching it in the distance come closer and closer and they couldn't judge how fast it was coming.

But Erin knew she wanted to – she wished she could – emulate that calmness and patience and dignity. That maybe it was another lesson Hank was teaching her. Maybe it was something that had taken him a while to learn too. And maybe he'd had to learn it the hard way.

Maybe they all were. But she knew it was something they could learn from.

That they could learn from these little moments. As a family – as people. And looking so exactly like that. Like that and more. Better and more functional and happy and calm than many of the others around them that morning.

And that sense of family – of normalcy for themselves and in the eyes of others - was something Erin wanted to hold on to during all of this too. Maybe it was something she wanted – or needed – hardcopies of. Not just the memories. Something to put into a box like that one of Camille's.

Hank just grunted again at her comment about Olive's developing talent, though. And, he leaned forward to put the box on the coffee table and the pictures back inside.

"He go down for a nap?" Hank rasped with a jut of his chin in the general direction of Ethan's room.

Erin shook her head, handing his phone and the digital photos back to him.

"He's avoiding a nap by trying to make it look like he's attempting some homework," she said.

Hank made a sound of mild annoyance at that. "Better get some rest if he thinks we're doing the tree tonight."

Erin gave him a thin smile. "He's resting," she assured. "He was listening to his music. Reorganizing his dinosaur collection. Again."

Hank allowed a quiet sound of amused acknowledgement. "Have to see if Santa can find a Titanosaur for his stocking," he smacked.

"Oh, he'd love that," Erin raised an eyebrow at him. But she knew the delivery would carry an entertainment value for the rest of them on Christmas morning too. Ethan would go off on another motor-mouth without a filter … if he was having an okay day on the twenty-fifth.

The comment. got another sound of amused acknowledgement. "Would more than he lets on," Hank said. And he was right. It might not be Ethan's dinosaur of choice – but a dinosaur was a dinosaur when you got down to it. You could only go so wrong when it came to Ethan and dinosaurs.

She gave him a thin smile. "Should've checked the gift shop," she suggested.

And she actually had. Or at least she'd wandered over to the Christmas kiosks they had set up. Full of novelties and ornaments that seemed to specialize in melding dinosaurs with Santa.

It'd been a ugly Christmas sweater that had drawn her over. A bad memory. A blow up that Hank and Ethan had had the previous year when Ethan had wanted an ugly sweater for school. To fit in. A purchase that Hank refused to spend his money on and one that he had outright said no to Eth spending his allowance on. Because it was a waste of money. A ludicrous one-time purchase item. Something that maybe then Hank had felt he'd outgrow by this year. But that Erin suspected with how things had gone likely would've still fit him.

She hadn't bought the sweater, though. Because, Hank was right, the price tag on it wasn't worth the novelty. Though, she had looked at some of the other items. She'd had an ornament in her hand to buy him. But had put it back. Because she'd had this sudden realization that had knocked the wind out of her over at the table.

The reality that anything they bought Ethan now was really just collecting artifacts for an exhibit in her brother's memory. That they were just adding to a museum that was already going to be hard to look at. Items that were going to be impossible to sort through and get rid of. And the displays to Camille and Justin would grow to include Ethan. And she didn't know how – she didn't want – to contribute to that.

She didn't know how Hank could continue to live in that. How he could keep adding ot it. How he could maintain it in the future. And she'd realized to in that moment that there was going to be a point that she'd have to work on convincing Hank to move. For his own sanity. For he wasn't just a curator. There was going to be a point he had to move – move on. They all would. And that twisted her insides.

But the suggestion of a gift shop – that she was actually glad he hadn't entered - got a grunt and a dismissive gesture. "Charge like you're actually getting an authentic fossil there."

And Erin settled against the back of the couch and allowed a little smile but a raised eyebrow. Because that was easier right now. Because he could be such a tight-wad when he wanted to be. And then so altruistically giving of himself, his time and his money the next moment. He spotted the amusement in her look and gave it a little smack. But it passed quickly.

"Glad you got back out here for it," he said and reached behind him to give her hand a little tap where it was laying along the back of the couch. "Appreciate it."

"Hank," she sighed at him. "It was important."

He made another dismissive sound and dropped his hand back into his lap. "Just know it's not cheap or easy to be jetting back and forth this time of year. You need some help subsidizing—"

"Hank," she interrupted him. "I wanted to be here. I want to be here."

He just gazed at her. For a long beat before he allowed a little grunt. She stared at him.

"You know you're important to me, right," she put to him. "That Ethan's important to me."

He shifted his eyes back to her and let out a smack. It was a stupid way to put it. Of course he knew that. But she also knew there'd been points in her life – including recent history – that maybe she hadn't shown that to him quite the way she should. And she'd likely never really quite said in on those terms.

"There's something I've been wanting to talk to you about," she tried.

And she watched his look shift – to soften. And to really set on her – in waiting. And Erin knew that he knew. Or he thought he knew.

That didn't really surprise her. He was a cop. A detective. The guy who raised her. Her friend. Her father. And there'd been a lot of times in her life where he knew something about her – or how she was dealing with something or would deal with something – before she did.

But whatever he thought he knew – or thought she was about to tell him – in that moment, Erin knew he was wrong. She wasn't ready to get into that with him quite yet. Maybe when she was home at Christmas. Maybe if she got home for his birthday in January.

But she wasn't ready to go there with him quite yet. To share those words yet with anyone else but Jay. For anyone else to officially be in on the secret – that from his look she knew for fact wasn't nearly as secret as she'd like. And she suspected it might not be as secret as she wanted with some of the people she worked with either – even though no one had said anything quite yet. But she had seen some knowing looks from other women when she'd gone rushing to the bathroom to hurl up her breakfast. Or maybe more when she'd suddenly started turning down any coffee run offers or raiding the kitchenette for multiple top-ups per day. Maybe Ethan – and Olive – had even started to suspect in their own ways. Because Ethan had commented on her not having coffee at the brunch.

"I don't think they'd have very good coffee here," she'd tried to dismiss him.

"Like you care," he'd told her. "You drink so much coffee, you smell like coffee. It's basically your perfume."

And she'd just let it slide. Because she didn't think Ethan would put it together. But she did see that Olive had heard – and noticed – and cast the conversation a look. But she'd let it slide too.

And Erin was going to let it slide – make Hank let it slide – now. Because it wasn't what she wanted to talk about yet. It wasn't what she was ready to talk about.

"I just know …," she tried to figure out how to say this to him. How to ask. "… that I haven't always made things easy for you."

He made a sound. He smacked. He acknowledge the comment. But he shifted to look at her more.

"You don't have to do this, Erin," he said.

"Hank …," she started.

"Erin, kids aren't easy," he said. "Knew that when I brought you home. Known that for the past seventeen years. People – family – it's not easy. That's all that's got to be said about it."

"I said a lot of things …," she shook her head. "Not just as a kid. Since Justin. Since this spring."

And Hank just shrugged at her. "Way I look at it is if you're kids are still taking the time to talk to you enough to let you know they 'hate you', you're doing something right."

She eyed him. She could feel some watering in them. The quiet knowledge within herself that she'd told him that. But that so had Justin and likely so had Ethan. And that hurt right now. It hurt her. She couldn't imagine how much that hurt him – she didn't want to with what was growing inside her – especially now.

"Hear enough 'I love yous' to more than make up for a handful of 'I hate yous, Kiddo," he said and gave her hand a little squeeze.

"I love you," she told him firmly. "I love Ethan."

"I know," Hank gravelled. "So does he."

She let out a ragged breath and pulled her hand from his to swipe at her eyes before they really did release the tears she didn't want to shed. Not today. And not in front of him.

And Erin pulled herself up and padded over to where she'd left her coat, digging in her pocket to retrieve the folded sheets of paper. She could feel him watching her the whole way and examining the paper carefully as she sat back down next to him. She kept the pages gripped in her hands.

"This spring … the summer …," she said and made herself keep his eyes. "The fall. I've had a lot of time to think."

"Mmm …," he grunted. "And I'm real proud of what you're doing for yourself."

She tried a thin smile. But she felt her eyes struggling against tears again. "I've thought a lot about family," she said. "About what makes family."

She handed him the papers and he gave her a long look before finally unfolding them and sitting reading them. He read them slowly. And she wasn't sure if it was because he didn't have his reading glasses or if it was because of all the legalese. Or because he didn't like what he was seeing at all.

An adult adoption. It was likely on the list of things that Hank thought were ridiculous.

But he finally smacked and looked at her. "Know, me and Camille were ready to sign paperwork like this sixteen years ago," he said and shook his head, "But …"

"I know," Erin said. "But that was then and this is now. And … Bunny's … not part of the equation anymore. I'm an adult. It's my decision. It's what I want."

Hank stared at her and glanced at the paper again before looking back to her. "Erin," he said, "signing this – has more implications for you than me at this point. My will, the estate. How I want things to go. You're all included in it. I don't need some court officer to sign off on telling me you're my kid."

She bit her lip. "I do," she managed to get out.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because," she said, "you're my dad. And Camille was my mom. And Justin and Ethan are my brothers. You're my family. And I want that official. I want that stability and certainty. For all of us. I need it. I think maybe we all do. For now. For the future."

He sat there looking at her for a long moment. A moment so long it felt more like a minute. But she couldn't read him. Her vision was too blurred.

But then his hand gripped at her hand – tightly. And he leaned forward to retrieve a pen. She watched – she listened – as he flipped to the last page and he scrawled his name. He signed and he stared at it. For a beat that felt long too.

And as he held it out to her she'd barely managed to lift her hand to retrieve it before she'd pulled her even more tightly into a hug. And he held her. For a long time. So long she wasn't sure if the tremble was his or hers. But she knew she'd given up on trying not to cry.

She knew that she was finally home – even if she was still stuck in New York. For now.

AUTHOR NOTE:

Well, I'd hoped to get a few more chapters out before Christmas — but this is it folks. Hope you enjoy it. And your holidays.

Do check out the previous three chapters (Mr Magoo, New Traditions and Selfish Decisions). They were all updated in a 24 hour period — so there weren't bumps and I think some of you missed them. Particularly Mr. Magoo. Seriously, only 100 of you have looked at it according to readership numbers.

Your readership, reviews, comments and feedback are appreciated.