Title: Aftermath
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: Voight and what's left with his family deal with the aftermath of Justin's death while continuing to try to cope with their own struggles, dynamics and work demands.
This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes.
A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters.
SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers from the finale of S3. Early chapters will also contain spoilers from early episodes of S4. And, the story as a whole will contain spoilers from the rest of the stories in this AU, which are Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas and Scenes.
Hank peeked back into the front room. Had gotten real quiet in there and he wasn't sure that was a good thing.
Homework efforts had come to a pretty abrupt halt when Magoo had another coughing fit. Had taken a while for it to really pass and by the time the hacking had calmed, the kid was spent. Reality was the kid was pretty spent anyway that weekend. Just fucking exhausted. Was going to be real interesting to see how E managed to bounce from this shit this time.
Sometimes it seemed whatever bug he picked up, he picked it up about 10-times worse than the rest of the population and then it set it up so the next thing he got hit him even harder. Seemed like more and more of those hits were just setting him up to flare his M.S. symptoms. A flare was bad enough, but Hank was looking at the calendar and pretty acutely aware that they were nudging toward the time of year that E had experienced his first major attack at home that had them stuck in the hospital and dealing with exasperations for weeks and fucking weeks.
Knew his boy was already under a whole lot of stress – mentally, emotionally and physically. Just really didn't want all that when layered with the fucking pneumonia to be setting them up for another attack and hospital stay. Didn't want to think about what that might do to his boy. Wasn't sure E had the same amount of stubborn in him anymore. Not in the same way. And the kid needed to keep that stubbornness to go through life carrying the burdens he was going to be carrying and to deal with the every day fight that was his health.
Hadn't put up a fuss about keeping his ass at the table until he was done his assignment. Wasn't worth it that weekend. Could tell his kid needed a lot of rest. Could also tell he was likely going to be having E home from school for at least a day or two. Choi had said to give him at least three days to get the antibiotics really kicking in and clearing this thing up. So, he'd likely at least be pulling Magoo out of class on Tuesday. Would have to figure out how he was going to manage that without taking off a day of his own in the process. Was trying to keep that to a minimum right now. Didn't want to give Crowley, IAB or the Ivory Tower any more reasons to crawl up his ass. Though, taking a day to be home with his sick kid would likely go over better than him ending up to have to take fucking days or weeks if this thing kicked his boy in the ass and they ended up in the hospital. So Crowley and the bunch might just have to go fuck themselves on that.
Kid had just ended up in the front room. Flopped out with Erin and Jay getting his promised TV time. If the kid hadn't still been running a fever, Hank might've thought he was trying to play the whole cough and pneumonia thing a bit. Milk the unlimited screentime it seemed to be opening up that weekend for all it was worth. But, it actually didn't much look like Magoo had his eyes on the screen at all.
Kid was all out flopped almost on top of his sister on the couch. She'd gotten some Tylenol down his hatch and had come into the kitchen to retrieve a cold pack while he was working on the marinade for E's … J's … wings. Now the kid was just passed out. Near looked like he was drooling in his sleep, he was so congested – his mouth just hanging right open. If he was, Erin was at least pretending not to mind in the moment. Just had her arm around him, holding the ice pack in place on his head. Still trying to bring down the fever a bit. Keep him cool. Try to avoid a fucking flare if they could. Seemed like a bit of a losing battle, in reality.
Looking at them right then, he almost thought that maybe him ending up with a fucking exacerbation and needing a round of the steroids might not be a bad thing. Kid looked so small against his sister. Could see that toddler who lived for the nights when his big sister wasn't waiting tables or over flunking out of community college. The kid who'd cuddle with her on the couch, pretending like he was asleep to try to avoid bath time and bedtime for just a few more minutes. This little kid who's arrival was some kind of lifeline in stabilizing some of the banana peels they were struggling with Erin when she was sixteen but that the baby somehow managed to help stabilize. How much Erin had stepped up to the plate from day one in the big sister role – not just for Ethan but Justin. Look out for them. How she still did.
And how when they fucking posed like that on the couch when he was just a little boy, it made any fucking qualms they might've had about having a baby in their forties fade away. How it made all the fucking debates they'd had about how much longer after her eighteenth birthday and high school graduation they should be keeping Erin under their roof versus pushing her out of the nest and if she was ready for that. How fucking happy he was – Camille was, his boys were – that their sister had stayed home until she started up at the Academy at twenty-one. How her brothers had her there a bit longer. How she'd bonded with Ethan. How it'd given him and Camille that extra time to have a young adult in their home and start to see the real fruits of their labors even though she still did her best to cause them fucking headaches and heartaches in the process. But you couldn't regret that. Not when her was your toddler passed out on top of her. Regretted even less when her pre-teen brother was in there as part of the pile. His and Camille's whole fucking world – their real world, the one of any real importance when you striped the rest of it away and really got down to it – there in a heap on the couch.
And they were still there. Parts were missing. Really missing. But they also weren't because Ethan sure didn't look like some thirteen-year-old kid. Not right then. Erin was still taller than him. Hank was starting to think that she might always be. That you couldn't go through a lifetime of trauma and damage and illness and reach his brother's six foot. Didn't even much think that his son would reach his height anymore. Could hope it'd at least be Erin's. But lately he'd been feeling like that might be being overly optimistic.
Dealing with Eth's pickiness with food and dietary restrictions was hard enough. But getting the kid to eat much of anything was a battle since they'd lost J. His boy just had no appetite. Or was doing his best to avoid having to sit with him at the dinner table by complaining he had no appetite or a stomach ache or nausea. So he'd been doing a bit less than stellar at getting healthy, wholesome meals into the boy. He'd pretty much settled on making, buying or cooking whatever E said he'd eat in a given moment – no matter what he thought about it. Just to get something down his hatch and into his belly.
It all meant, though, that his boy just looked frail. Sure didn't mean he was getting what he needed as a growing boy. What Hank would've previously argued a teenaged boy needed – the amount of food they could tuck away. Instead it meant that E likely didn't even have the resources in him to have had any kind of fighting chance when the pneumonia got a hold of him. Now they were just going to have to wait it out. Hope that antibiotics did their jobs because Hank wasn't sure that E was putting up much of a fight on his own.
Erin gave him a glance as he looked in the doorway. So did Halstead. The guy was sitting across from them. Sitting was putting it lightly. The guy was really standing guard. It'd become abundantly clear that was Halstead's role that weekend. Hell, it was pretty abundantly clear he was pulling some double-duty in that regard at work too. Supposed there was some double-duty going on that weekend too.
Hank didn't really want to feel that either of his kids need any kind of protection from him. Because they didn't. He didn't want to do anything to hurt them. But he would acknowledge that he'd made a lot of mistakes along the way. That he'd made some poor choices. That he'd done things he wasn't proud of. That he had a whole list of things he wish he'd done a bit – or maybe a lot – differently. So – yeah. His kids had been hurt along the way. He knew they were both hurting now. In different – but the same – ways. That maybe neither of them completely trusted him – or his judgment or his care – because of that. And, he'd acknowledge that with both of them he carried some fault for the hurt they were feeling. That he didn't pull the trigger that shot the bullet that killed their brother but maybe he'd contributed to the whole sequence of moments that lead his oldest son to that moment. That maybe if things had been done differently long ago, that that would've never happened. That maybe if he'd handled himself differently that day and that night, his daughter wouldn't have been dragged into these suspicions - and accusations and cover-ups and things not talked about – in quite the way she had. And maybe that'd mean she wouldn't be looking at him in quite the way she did these days.
But she did. And E did. And Hank knew that was why Halstead was there.
But he also knew that Halstead being there was probably one of the driving factors in his daughter even being in the house. That Erin likely wouldn't be there if Halstead wasn't there. That he'd read between the lines enough that he was near certain that it'd been Halstead who was driving force in him and Erin coming to some sort of reconciliation. Or at least recognition to be able to function in the same room together outside of work. To try to keep them together as some sort of family. Now. And not six months from now when it'd likely be too late.
But as much as he knew all that, he knew that if he made a misstep – that if he did anything to cause any sort of hurt to his girl or his boy – it wasn't just going to be Erin and E he was managing. He would be reckoning with Jay too.
Funny because when the kid – not kid … man – had been pulled into Intelligence by 'Tonio he likely wouldn't have too much about taking Halstead down a notch or two. Fuckin' did to make sure the kid got his head on straight. Earned his spot. Proved that he was the good cop he was. Not just potential. But he wouldn't have thought too long about knocking him to the ground physically either. Didn't worry too much about taking on people bigger or younger than him. Never really had.
Things were different now, though. Real fucking different. And if they ever got into a situation where him and Halstead had some sort of out-of-the-office standoff about Erin or his boy, he wasn't sure where he'd land. He wasn't sure the bulldog would come out. Wasn't sure he could be a dog with a bone anymore. He wanted to believe it would. Because these were his kids he was talking about. His heart and soul. His blood. People he'd die in the fucking dirt for.
But the thing was he knew that Halstead felt about the same way. So he didn't know anymore how much he could rip into Halstead. How much of a bulldog he could be with him. Not if Jay got in his face about his kids.
Because this wasn't some fucking jag-off trailing after his girl for all the wrong reasons. Wasn't Erin making shitty choices and spreading her legs because she still hadn't got in her head that if she was just in a relationship for that it wasn't a fucking relationship and it wasn't the guy for her. It wasn't a guy who deserved her.
The thing was that Voight knew Halstead had put in the work for Erin. That he wasn't just there for the wrong reasons. That he'd more than paid his dues. And that he'd seen the good, the bad and the ugly out of her. Had seen some of the illegal and rules bent too. And he'd stuck around. Stuck around Erin. Stuck around them. Stuck around him. Stuck to the family.
Hank liked this guy with his daughter. As much as he wasn't sure he wanted to like any guy with his girl, he liked Jay. He could respect Jay. And he trusted him with his daughter. This was a guy he trusted with his sick little boy. A man who'd hopefully be fathering some of his grandchildren.
So if Halstead came at him? Told him to step-off? To back off? Told him he wasn't good for Erin? Or that he was a shit father to his boy?
Hank just wasn't sure where the chips would fall if they ever came to that confrontation. He was just going to have to hope they didn't come to that confrontation. That they didn't need to have that kind of fucking conversation that would likely be a whole lot more animated than any old conversation. So, to try to avoid all of that ever happening – let Halstead sit there. Let him stand guard. And let him keep talking his daughter into being a part of their lives – their family – and not just some fucking underlying he had to manage at work.
Neither gave him any comment in that moment, though. He hadn't stepped over some line by poking his head in there. Hadn't committed some atrocity by not dragging his son back to the hospital yet. Hadn't pissed them off by not being enough of a parent or too much of a hard-ass parent.
So he just shifted his eyes to the TV briefly. See what they were watching. Apparently they'd talked Magoo out of Lost. Hank didn't mind that. Didn't much feel like staring at the screen all afternoon and had already committed enough hours to that damn show that he didn't want to miss a bunch of episodes while the three of them had some sort of marathon. Though, it looked like E would've had to be re-watching the things anyway, if they had. Sleeping through it.
Instead he was sleeping through Rookie of the Year. Maybe a small smile tug at his lips. Because there his boy was completely passed out but Erin and Jay looked pretty engrossed. Though, they were likely just staring at it because it was on. Distraction. Him and E did a lot of their own staring at a screen anymore too. Pretty much the sole neutral zone they could find. A bit of time where they weren't triggering each other some way or another – whether they meant to or not.
Rookie of the Year. Wasn't one of Magoo's favorite baseball movies. But it was a good ol'standby. And it was the Cubs. Maybe the kid was feeling some regrets about skipping out on watching the game the night before. Could take in the next one tomorrow, though. Was glad they'd at least have that distraction during the day. Unfortunately they'd have to make it through the whole day to get that distraction and that might be the trick of it all. Really wished his boy was feeling better so they could go looking for distraction. As much distraction as you could find with a thirteen-year-old kid. Not sure it was the kind of distraction Hank wanted – or at least needed to block out all the fucking noise in his head – but it was probably a lot fucking healthier than anything he'd get up to if Magoo wasn't around. So there was that. Couldn't decide if it was a blessing or fucking curse that his son's birthday fell right on Columbus Day that year. That being a supervisor, meant he didn't need to be in the bullpen. That the fucking Ivory Tower didn't really want him there. Or at least didn't want to be paying him if he was there.
Any other year he likely wouldn't have cared much. Would've still worked it. Take the up-top pay. Or wouldn't have gotten his shorts in a knot about it and worked anyway. Because he didn't do the job for the salary. Appreciated the salary – because he needed to support his family. But the job sure as fuck wasn't about that. You didn't survive the job if you were doing it for the cash. You were there for all the wrong reasons if you were just collecting a pay check. Didn't have much interest in the dog cops just putting in their time. Collecting pay and waiting for their pension. Not the kind of people Chicago needed on the job.
But even though he felt the way he felt about the work. Even though he needed the job – now more than ever. He needed the distraction. He needed the reasons. The purpose. The fucking routine of their non-routine of each fucking case. But it still didn't mean he could really leave Magoo to his own devices, though. Not this year. Especially not with how he was feeling this weekend.
Funny to stare at the stupid kids' comedy for a moment. To know that all three of his kids had gone through that one. That fucking old. Still had some charm to it. Especially these days with the Cubs' past couple seasons. His own kid playing ball. But it was just a fucking dumb kids' movie. And it's what Magoo had picked to put on that afternoon. For whatever fucking reason.
He had so many fucking arguments with Ethan anymore about what was appropriate for his media consumption. All these shows and movies that he thought he should get to watch or that he claimed kids at school got to watch. Shit that Evan and Eva got to watch. All sorts of shit Max got to watch. The fucking availability of far too fucking much on the Netflix crap and streaming and YouTube and Hulu and whatever fucking else.
Dangerous territory when it got to the point that your kid could make all that shit function better than you. And Hank knew that E was likely finding ways around the rules, no matter how closely he was monitoring it – because E knew he was monitoring it and likely knew his way around that better than Hank did too.
But he'd stayed firm on the whole PG-13 thing for now. Shows, movies, games. Had been an ass about it even though it meant him and E argued about it all the fucking time. And sometimes Hank caught himself wondering what fucking difference would it make if his kid saw some fucking zombies getting their heads splattered on the sidewalk. Or was running around in some game shooting shit up.
What fucking difference would that make with the kind of trauma that E had experienced in real life? When his mother gets shot up by a gang and mowed over by a Mack truck? When his little boy has his face spread across the pavement? When him and Erin went to work every day with guns on their hips and blaring? When they'd come home to him with bruises and scars and bullet wounds and knife wounds? When they lived in Chicago and he saw news headlines every day about death, murder, corruption and violence in their city? When his older brother had his brains fucking blown out?
But that was the fucking point, wasn't it? When that was Ethan's reality, why the fuck did he need to watch some fiction that either glorified it or normalized or made it seem like that shit was just fiction. It wasn't fiction. And it wasn't fucking normal. And it shouldn't be fucking glorified. His thirteen-year-old son didn't need to be consuming that crap to form his fantasy world. His real world was fucked up enough.
He'd become far too aware too of just how aware his little boy was aware of his fucked up reality. Family counseling had done that. Brought out a whole lot of stuff that just showing how fucking anxious Ethan was. Just this ball of anxiety. How fucking scared his boy was that him or Erin – and Jay – were going to up and die on him too.
It was hard to hear. And it wasn't something he'd really figured out how to respond to. You'd think he'd know better since his dad had died on the job. But Hank thought that loss in his own life had just reaffirmed for him that that was fucking life and it was part of the job. It could happen. And if it happened it happened. The job had greater purpose. Protecting the city and the people within it had real meaning and importance. It was something that needed to do. And something that only some people had the balls to do in the way it needed to be done in a city like Chicago.
Supposed he'd always known he could die on the job. Had known that since fifteen. Supposed he'd thought of it before that too. His pops had had his share of brushes with bullets and thugs too. Sure it'd scared him as a kid too. But also supposed that that wasn't really something you talked too much about to your father back then. Weren't supposed to get all teary about that kind of thing. Didn't go to your mother about it either. Because if something did happen to your pop, you're supposed to be the man of the house. You don't go telling your mom that you aren't ready for that and you still need your daddy.
But that was the world then. And maybe it was a worldview that was a bit easier to reflect and spout when there was still another parent in the equation. Maybe it was easier to believe when your kid didn't have a pile of other trauma on him. But with Magoo? In the 21st century? It was a harder line to walk.
He'd tried walking it after Camille was gone. Had still tried to do the job the way he'd done the job. Had still tried to parent the way he had parent. And maybe he'd failed both Erin and Justin that way. Maybe he'd really failed Magoo too.
And his boy spouting he was afraid that him or Erin were going to die too just drove it home even more. That that was a fucking reality that haunted him now. That hadn't seemed to haunt hi when they'd lost Camille. Not E. Maybe Justin but Hank hadn't dealt with that the way he should've. That was obvious now. And maybe it'd scared Erin too but it just scared her deeper into CPD. Detective's exams. Studying. Busting her ass harder. Becoming the kind of cop he'd tried to teach her to be. The kind of person who the city needed. But maybe that wasn't right either.
E. It was different. He'd say he missed his mom. And Hank knew how to respond to that. He missed her too. But there hadn't been this fear. There hadn't been this anxiety.
Now, though, it was becoming apparent that it hadn't been there because he was too little and too hurt and just didn't remember and didn't understand. Not the way he did now with what had happened to his brother. And now it was just spilling over. Thing was after a dam burst sometimes it was pretty fucking hard to get it plugged up.
Even with the counseling - this talking it through bullshit – he really didn't know what to say. How to make it better or how to calm him. Because he wasn't leaving his job. He couldn't. For so many fucking reasons. And it didn't seem like Erin had any intentions to either.
And even though Hank didn't fear death itself, his son's worries in that area stirred his own. Not so much that he'd die. They all fucking died. That he had a sick little boy who was going to need help for a real long time. Maybe always. And he didn't need to deal with more. He just needed someone to fucking take care of him. To be there for him.
He hoped Erin knew how important she was to Ethan. He thought she did. He believed she did. She made choices and had actions that showed she did. Near every day. But he hoped she knew – she understood – that she was eventually going to be all Ethan had left. At least he had to fucking hope that was how things would work. Because that was the natural order of things. Not that life had honored any sort of natural order for me before. Because your father ain't supposed to die when you're fifteen. Your wife ain't supposed to go before you. Women are supposed to outlive you. And you're sure as fucking supposed to go long before your children. So he was going to just have to hope that life was done with its fucked up upside down turnaround on him. That he wouldn't be saying goodbye to another son or his daughter – or worse, a grandchild – before he said his own goodbyes. So he had to hope that Erin was prepared for that. That she was Ethan's lifeline. Now. Always. That she could figure out how to deal with that better than he ever had. Do it better.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. Erin must've heard the buzz, because she cast him another glance. Slightly accusing. Like it was going to be work and he would be taking off. But he didn't get as many calls from work at home anymore. Still did. But Crowley had Intelligence on a tighter leash. Things they got called in for – not the same as before. Didn't have as much leeway to go after the cases he wanted to chase anymore. Didn't have as much leverage to do the job the way he wanted to do it. The way it needed to be done. Might not get that kind of leeway again. Not in the same way.
But as he dug it out and looked at the screen, it wasn't work. It was Olive. Finally returning one of his calls. Had left her three messages the day before. One already that morning. Was likely pissing her off some but really wanted to talk to her. Really wanted to get his grandson on the line. Would prefer to get him on the Skype thing but she wasn't buzzing him through that. Likely didn't want to let him have that sit down. And somehow again she'd managed to pick a time to call back where E wasn't that available to participate in the conversation. But, if she was going to let them talk to Henry, Hank would be waking up his boy. Finally get him the chance to do that.
"Hey," he rasped into the phone. Trying his best to be friendly with her. Had always done that. After their first little blip. Always tried to be welcoming. Be accommodating. Not fucking scare her off. Sometimes that was a struggle for him. Knew he didn't have the friendliest voice. Knew he just wasn't that friendly, period. Knew he could be off-putting. And knew his phone manner sucked. But you can't fucking please everyone and it ain't worth trying. But he was really fucking trying with Olive.
"Henry's sleeping," she put to him directly, as he turned on his heel and trudged back to the kitchen. Getting slightly out of his kids' earshot. Now really didn't need this waking up Eth. Only upset him more.
Hank gave his face a bit of a scrub as he got there. "That's OK," he allowed. Even though it wasn't. "Magoo's sleeping too. Got a bit of pneumonia this weekend."
Small talk. He sucked just as bad at that. Conversation, in general. Never much saw the point. Didn't see the need for chit-chat. About the only time he saw the point of talking was in the interrogation room and that wasn't meant to be a conversation. But he was trying to get better at that too. Trying a little harder.
Something else that was coming up at this fucking counseling. Talking. That was the whole point. Communication. Was sure fucking proving that him and Erin and E all had a long way to go there. The three of them were all pretty emotionally stunted or emotionally retarded. Or maybe he'd just brought that out in his kids. Hadn't nurtured it the right way. Hadn't made it OK for them to feel and express those feelings the way he should've.
So there was another thing he was trying at. Trying to form sentences a bit more. Trying to talk about random bullshit he didn't want to talk about just to there being some line of communication going. Trying to get any of them – all of them – to open up in some way. Even though it was fucking uncomfortable and sometimes just felt like a whole lot of crocodile tears.
"Sorry to hear that …," Olive allowed in his ear. It sounded sincere enough but hallow. But a lot what came out of her mouth anymore sounded that way. Erin's had a similar echo to it in the first weeks. Similar but different. Because it was different. Hers was improving. Slowly. But Voight knew that had more to do with the role Jay was playing in her life and their relationship and moving forward within that than any sort of grieving. Thing was Olive didn't have that relationship anymore to help slowly draw her out of her emptiness.
And Hank knew that feeling. He still knew that feeling. He'd been trying to figure out a way to tell her that he understood. On some level. In his own way. Even if he was a man. He knew what it was to lose a spouse. He knew what it was to lose a friend you'd had since high school. He knew what it was for them to be taken from you in a gruesome, grotesques and inhumane way. He knew what it was like to be left with pieces of them that you were now tasked with raising on your own. He knew what it was like to have the memories and to be haunted by them. To see things all around you you didn't want to see and to have these constant fucking reminders.
He fucking knew. All of that. But what he didn't know was how to talk to her about that. How to broach any of it with her. To make her feel like she could talk to him. Because she could. Even though he also knew it was a subject area that he wasn't so good at talking about. At all. But it was another area it'd fucking try at – if it meant he could have those pieces his son had left behind back in his life and his boy's life. J's wife and child.
"Maybe we could set up a time that I could give you a shout back on the webcam a bit later this afternoon," Hank tried. "When both the boys are awake."
The silence hung there. Like she didn't expect him to propose that. To broach it.
"I'll probably be starting our dinner routine after he's back up," she finally said. "He doesn't do so good when his routine is disrupted."
Hank let out a slow breath and squeezed at the bridge of his nose. "E's off school tomorrow," he tried. "I'm off work. Could do it then? Know we'd both really like a chance to see H this weekend."
Again there wasn't a response and that was more than answer enough.
"How are you coping this weekend?" he put to her instead. Trying again to keep his own emotions out of it. The anger and frustration and grief. This unreal pain that he was being kept from his grandson. That his grandson was being kept from him. This awareness of what Camille would say to him about all that. Her demands that he fucking fix it. But he couldn't seem to. Not right now.
"I'm fine," Olive said. Just as hallow and empty as before. Just as much of a lie as when Erin spouted it at him.
Hank squeezed at his temples. "Look, E told me that he'd sent you a link to a review from that concert …" he broached.
"I got it," Olive allowed. "I didn't read it."
Hank straightened a bit and walked to the fridge. Wasn't exactly surprised by that answer. But he still fingered at the flyer tacked up on the door.
"Just so he doesn't go sending you other stuff," he mumbled, "wanted to let you know he dragged home this flyer the other night. It's a Christmas breakfast and photo-op at Field. I don't know what you're thinking about the holidays—"
"I haven't decided yet," Olive put flatly.
Hank nodded, dropping his hand away from the flyer. "It's the 17th," he put just as flatly. "So if you didn't want to be here at Christmas, might be a decent alternative …"
The silence hung again. And he again scrubbed at his face, this time spinning on his heel and grabbing the lighter to go out back to the grill. To get really out of earshot.
"The boys' mom used to take them to Field all the time," Hank tried a bit more directly. "I think it's just something E really wants to get to share with his nephew."
Again silence on her end as he let the door clatter. Probably louder than he needed to. Probably at the fucking risk of waking E.
"How is Ethan this weekend?" was her response to any of that. "I mean, besides the pneumonia."
Hank started up the gas, getting the grill going. Get things warmed up for a slow cook. "Ethan's finding all of this real confusing, Olive," he said as he watched the elements ignite. "Having some behavior problems at home and school. Not sleeping well. Not eating well. Got some depression and emotional issues going on. All of it's running his body down even more. Making some of his M.S. symptoms more prominent. Dealing with flares."
Again just silence. He shut the lid of the barbecue. Let it heat. Get real hot.
"I know you know what M.S. does to the body. Know you know too what all this going on does to a kid."
He wanted to tell her that it was a blessing that Henry was only one. That even though it meant that he would grow up without a father, it still meant he was young enough to not really know what was going on. That, yea, he may sense the disruption and the emotion. He may know his routine and surroundings have changed. And all that might mean he'd be fussy. That maybe she'd see some reverted or lost development in him. But it was different when they were little. That he was learning that all to well now.
He wanted to tell her that he'd gone through fucking hell when he lost his wife. That he didn't even get the chance to properly mourn his wife in the immediacy after her death because he had a little boy hooked up to machines an in a coma. His face gone. His head crushed. Pulled into surgery after surgery. And he knew what she felt walking into that room and seeing Justin that way. That he'd felt it doubly because he'd been in that room before. He knew what it meant. That he'd had some of the same conversations she'd had to have. That he'd had to make his choices too. And that he didn't fault her for any of her decisions. That just because he pursued a different route with his child, didn't mean that he'd done any differently with Justin. That maybe there was part of him a little relieved that Justin was married and it wasn't him who had the power and authority and responsibility in making that ultimate decision. Because he knew how devastatingly hard it was to make the choice to pull that plug. To flick that switch.
But he wanted her to know that she hadn't chosen wrongly. That she'd done what she felt was best – for Justin and for her and for Henry. And what she felt was the most respectful and dignified choice for his son. That it would've been what Justin wanted. And Hank didn't question that either. Because he knew J fault him in many ways for having not pulled the plug or switched that switch on Ethan. For approving surgery after surgery and leaving him on life support through that coma and sitting there with doctors telling him that his boy might not wake up. He knew that J had issues with what those days and weeks and months in the hospital after his mother had died had meant for the family. How it'd meant that he wasn't there for Justin in the unimaginable loss of his mother and the self-blame he internalized because of that. And how it meant that even though it meant he'd brought home a living breathing little boy – it hadn't been Justin's baby brother that had come home. And it hadn't been his baby boy. It'd been a very different child.
And Hank knew as much as he loved Ethan – the Ethan he had now was not the Ethan he had before the collision. That the Ethan that was growing up now was not the Ethan at thirteen-years-old that he would've had at home if that brain injury had never happened. And he knew that there were still moments he struggled with the memory of the child that was compared against the child he had now.
There were moments he struggled with knowing if he'd made the right choices as he watched everything more his little son was being put through. All the tests and procedures and medication and hospital stays that had again become a part of their lives with the M.S. when it'd seemed like they'd barely moved past his rehabilitation. When they'd already be coping with his brain injury for life. And now Ethan would be carrying this with him too. That it would be progressively and slowly criplling him. That it'd be taking him into the hospital for the rest of his life. That he'd always be having an uphill battle.
And it made him question why he'd have decided to put a child through that. Why he'd made the decisions he had. How selfish he'd been being then. How selfish he was being now. What the motivation really was? If he just couldn't loose his wife and his son in the same moment.
And Ethan's brain injury hadn't been as severe as Justin's. Ethan had a fighting chance of having a life. Justin didn't. And he'd never fault Olive for the choice she'd made.
But he did want her to know that he'd lost a wife. He'd lost the baby son that was born to him and was raising another person entirely. That now he'd lost his oldest boy. That his relationship with his daughter was strained and he was still scared he'd lose her too. That he was walking on eggshells. And in all that he couldn't lose his grandson too. He wasn't willing to let him go that easily. But he hated that she was making him beg. But he'd been begging. He'd been trying to find the words to beg – since the moment she told him she was leaving.
But apparently he didn't know how to beg. Maybe he had to get on his knees. Maybe that would help. But that was also something he wasn't sure he knew how to do.
"Know you're looking out for Henry," is what he said instead. The words he could find. "Doing what you feel is best for your child. But, I'm really asking you to remember that E is still just a kid in all this too. He's only going to be getting more confused and more frustrated the longer this goes on, Olive. He just wants to be a part of Henry's life. We all do. Erin and Jay are over right now too. Could talk a bit to them on the Skype too, if we did it this afternoon."
"Have they moved yet?" she asked. Skirting the question but at least opening some sort of door to conversation.
"Next weekend," Hank allowed. "Get the keys on Thursday."
"Is the place nice?" Olive asked.
Hank let out a noise and looked to a racket at the door. Bear was scratching. Decided he wanted to help him grill. Hank pulled it open and the mutt ran past him and down the steps into the yard. Some fucking help. Go sniff at the same fucking places he always took a piss and shit. Check to make sure they were still a worthwhile toilet bowl.
"Haven't seen it," Hank said.
That hung there.
"She said it's in Little Italy?" Olive finally said.
"Yea," Hank allowed, scuffing his socked feet against the doormat. Should've pulled on his boots before stepping out but had wanted to get out of earshot quick.
"Where?" she asked.
Hank scrubbed at his face. Knew Olive wasn't talking much to Erin either. But apparently even less than he'd thought. It was definitely in a sad state of affairs when he was being the emissary of information between those two. Because he didn't have much intel to give. Didn't know why Olive needed much intel there at all. But at least she was almost forming sentences with him.
"It's in that townhouse development off Vernon Park," he provided. Not because he'd been told that but because he'd had to do actual intel to know it.
"That's close," she said. "That will be nice for you."
"Yea," Hank acknowledged. Because that's what it should be. That's what he wanted it to be. For Erin. And for Ethan. For Jay. For any kids that they brought into the world. But he wasn't sure it was the reality of the situation. Not right now. Wasn't the purpose. And no matter how they cut it, it wasn't meant to be nice for him – even if he could hope it'd work out nicely for everyone else. "Could be nice for you too."
But that just drew more silence. More awkwardness.
"Know you and Henry are always welcome back here if things don't work out down there," he tried. Even though it just added to the awkwardness. But it was the truth.
He had room for her and his grandson. That he'd do what he could to make it more comfortable there for them. That he understood that Olive felt the house was full of ghosts and he was also real willing to reach out to his contacts again to find something else for her. That he'd help her get on her feet and established until she got used to living within her means on her son's insurance. Until she found a job and a daycare she could afford on that job. That he'd make sure that her and Henry would be taken care of. On the months she couldn't make ends meet – they wouldn't end up on the streets or hungry. They'd be provided for.
That he'd make sure she got breaks from Henry – for her own sanity and mourning and to just be a young woman. So she didn't just have to be a mom and whatever her job ended up being. That she could still get some time to herself. And he'd make sure Henry got time with good male role models too. That he'd get to play with tools and blocks and robots and cars and go out to some ball games and fishing. That he'd get him signed up for whatever fucking sport he wanted by his fourth or fifth birthday and he'd get out to his practices and games. That for any failings he'd had with Justin – he'd do his best to make up for them as Popa. That for anything J had said to her about what he was like as a father – that every story had two sides. And he'd done the best he could and the best he knew how at the time. That he'd learned with each one of his kids and the situations they got themselves into and the challenges they brought to him as their own individuals. That sometimes he'd made mistakes. That, yeah, he knew he could be strict and he could be a tight-ass and sometimes he could be fucking stern and fucking mean. That maybe he'd handed down a whole lot of tough-love with Justin. Because that's what he thought his son had needed. That's how he thought you parented a boy. But that was then. And he was still learning and still evolving – as a man and a parent and a father. That Ethan was teaching him whole different lessons about what all those roles meant. That he was still adjusting himself and his parenting style. And that he would – that he wanted to – with Henry too. That he'd be there as much as he could. As much as she'd let him. And that Henry had an aunt and uncle-in-law and little uncle who be doing their best to do the same. That they were all showing willingness. She just needed to let them bridge that gap.
"Picked a Halloween outfit yet for H yet?" he asked when the silence got to him in a way that it didn't in interrogation rooms.
"No," she said with a twinge of noticeable sadness.
Guess he shouldn't have hit on another holiday. Not that he considered Halloween much of a holiday. But figured it was a reminder of just another thing J was missing. Hank sure knew he was missing that kind of random shit you do with little kids with his grandson gone. Had missed it that first year. But missed it even more now that he'd been promised having his grandbaby back in town for three years at least. Now that Henry was such a piece of his son and he'd been yanked a thousand miles away. And with the distance Olive was creating, it was feeling like a whole lot more than that.
"Is Ethan going out?" she attempted to change the subject.
"Ah …," Hank allowed, adjusting the temp on the grill a bit. "Not going out. There's a party thing at the Rehab Institute. Goin' over to that with some of his buddies from ball."
"Not to the Halloween Haunt?" she asked carefully.
"Nah," Hank said. But didn't say more. Didn't say that he thought that was a shit idea and one that he wished Justin had never put in his boy's head. Didn't say that E was still on about it. Didn't say that he'd just brought it up the other night. Didn't say that he'd asked about still going. And that he'd likely ask Erin and Jay to take him and that if he did it before he talked to Erin about it, the two of them would likely just automatically say yes. That even if he told them that he wasn't sure it was a hot idea, that it didn't mean they'd listen and that they might just take him anyway. Because Erin didn't seem to care too much about his judgment a lot of days. "Just the RIC thing …"
"Costume party?" she asked with negligible interest.
"Yea …," he acknowledged.
"What's he being?" He could tell she didn't care.
"Talk about Ghostbusters," Hank provided – despite her uninterested tone. "Some Star Wars and Harry Potter talk. Maybe Cubs players. I like that one. Be easy."
"He must be happy about how they're doing …" At least that was some acknowledgement of his little boy as a person. Not just some afterthought in all this.
"Oh, yeah …," Hank allowed a thin smile. "Thrilled."
"Going to any games?"
He shrugged. More to himself. Because he didn't fucking know. Not to the Divisionals. And still up in the air if they'd get any farther than that. Giants could still rally. It was baseball. Never fucking knew.
"Not this round," he allowed. "Tickets are hard come by. Expensive."
And again with the silence. She apparently wasn't that interested. Just practicing her small talk too. But supposed that was something. She was at least letting him keep her on the phone for longer than usual. Supposed that said something too. About how she was really doing that weekend. How she was feeling. Maybe what she was looking for or hoping to hear. Maybe it wasn't all ghosts she was hearing in her ear that day. Or maybe it was more the ghosts she did want to hear somewhere in the background.
"You know some people around there?" he asked. "Takin' Henry out to a few houses on the Thrity-First?"
"I'll likely be working," she put flatly.
He leaned against the railing staring at the dog. Fucking thing was working on digging up the browning autumn grass. Might as well let him. The Triple Es were doing a good job at knocking divots in it anyway with hockey sticks that fall. E would be regretting that in the spring when he put him to work in the yard with the weekend chore list.
"Hadn't mentioned you'd found a job," he put to her. Again trying to keep anything out of his tone that might give away how he felt about that.
"Yea …"
"Where's it at?" he asked.
"The hotel my sister works at. The spa."
"Oh, yea?" he tried to perk up a bit. Tried to express his own interest. Support. "They have some PT or massage or reflexology stuff in there?" Fucking Arizona. Never knew. Seemed like a lot of people went out there to crunch on their granola and pretend they were all health conscious and in-touch with their bodies for a weekend.
"No," she said mutely, though. "Pedicures."
Hank gazed down to the dying grass at that. And again he didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to tell her that she was better than washing some rich bitches feet. Filing away their toenails and calluses.
Wanted to tell her that he'd been real proud when he'd heard she was studying to up to be a physical therapist. Wanted to tell her he was even more proud when she'd said she was specializing in therapy for multiple sclerosis patients. That he appreciated her interest and her support that way – especially when Justin had seemed so scared and in fucking denial about the whole thing. To know that his son had someone who was educated about it. Who he could talk to about it. Who could help him understand what his little brother was going through. What the family was going to have to face. It meant a lot. Been even more proud when she'd said she was going to finish out the course work up at a college when they got back to the city. That she was going to apply to do her residency type thing at one of the hospitals or clinics around town. That he thought that'd be real good for her. That he was real proud that she was thinking about her own future and her future of her family and setting an example for her son – and for his son too, as a wife and mother and woman. Made him feel real good about the kind of girl Justin had picked even if the intial pick had been driven a little by his dick and his wrong fucking head. But at least it was with a girl he knew – he was friend with – and not some one-night stand in some bar. Even if that's what it actually was. At least he knew her. And she'd known Camille. She knew the family. It counted.
And with all of that – she was so much more than some girl scrubbing at some old biddy's bunions. She didn't need to look at their fucking warts. If she wanted fucking warts – come back to Chicago. The family could show her their warts and all. And they'd be happy to look at hers too. Accept them. Roll with them. Didn't need to go filing them away. They could deal with them.
Could still get her into a college program for winter term. Could still pull some strings to get her on a residency. He could chat up people at RIC. He could chat up people at Med. He could try to get Halstead on board with talking to his brother. They could figure this all out. Get her sorted. And get her on a good track. That he was willing to do that. To help her with that. But he didn't know how to say that to her at all when she recoiled at him so much as talking to his grandson. Him so much asking how either of them were doing. Him hoping for some pictures and videos of Henry. Him trying to get some FaceTime with his baby boy so his own baby boy could talk to his nephew.
"Too bad about Halloween," he said. Knew that sounded fucking empty too. But maybe it should. Maybe emptiness spoke a hell of a lot more than fucking small talk.
"Well … I can't really be asking for time off when I just started …"
"Mmm …," Hank grunted, stooping a bit to pat at the dog.
Thing had decided it had enough time outside and wanted back in. Fucking muddy paws made that a no-deal, though. Mutt would have to wait until he was off the phone and could get them wiped off before he tracked the mess all over his wife's floors.
"About the time off …" he decided to just broach. Because she was almost allowing him to have a conversation with her. Though, this would likely quickly end it. "Don't want to pressure you, but really need to get a bit of an idea of what you're thinking for Thanksgiving."
And again they returned to that silence. Like if she didn't respond for a long enough time, he had some sort of dementia and would forget he'd tossed a question out at her.
"Olive," he sighed, sliding into that swing of his wife's. Letting it rock against his weight. "Still more than willing to finance you and Henry flying up here. Not about the cost. But these flights … they book up."
He waited. Giving her a chance to process that. To say something. Or more likely for he to try to string out giving an answer even longer. They were at six weeks out. What'd she want to wait to? A month? Two weeks? When did it become a moot point? Would he fucking let it become a moot point? Probably not. Probably still ask her on the Wednesday night if she was sure of her decision. If she wanted him to pack E in the car and drive all night to get down there. If there was some fucking plane, train or automobile he could find to get her and Henry up there at the last minute. He'd do it. If it meant he'd have what was left of his family together.
"I don't think I'll be ready to come back to Chicago in November," she finally whispered.
He exhaled slowly. Letting the force of it move with his sway on the porch swing.
"You be willing to have me and E visit you down there? Don't need to put your sister out. We'll book a room at a hotel," he tried. Really it was a beg. But knew his tone didn't likely register it as that. Because he didn't beg well. He wasn't sure he had it in him.
"I'll need to think about that …," she said just as quietly as before. Didn't know there was much to think about. It was an option he'd put to her before. Wasn't like this was some brand-spanking new idea flying out of left field.
He pressed his thumb and forefinger into his scrunched shut eyes, trying to keep it together. Hated how fucking much he needed to will himself to do that anymore. How much of his manhood seemed to be wrapped up around him using those two fingers to try to push back these fucking waterworks that just seemed to keep wanting to bubble out even two fucking months later. But he fucking knew, it didn't stop at two months. That even at six years the right kick – the right smack – still brought them to the surface.
"This about me?" he managed. "Us? Or me and J?" He was beyond sure she could likely hear the change in his voice then. Sure fucking hoped she didn't, though. "Because Erin's willing to bring E down. So he can see his nephew."
"It's not about you," she said.
But the answer felt so weak, he wasn't sure he believed her. Hard to tell on the fucking phone. Hard to tell not getting to look her in the eyes. But he'd seen what was in her eyes when she was trying to sneak out of the house without telling him she was going. And he didn't know where it was coming from. Because for anything J had said about growing up – they all had war stories and scars from their childhoods. And anything his son might've said – he'd tried with Olive. He'd tried with Henry. He'd been there for them. She knew him. He'd done his best to let her know him. To let her see him as a grandpa. To know the kind of family man he could be. That he was there for his family. That he was there for her and Henry. So he didn't understand why she was doing this. Now.
He let his hand fall away, pushing his tongue around his mouth. Poking it into his cheek. Trying to find the fucking answers. His dead giveaway that he was doing just that, according to Cami. But sometimes you just didn't fucking know.
"How'd you feel about meeting somewhere else?" he tried. "Halfway? Or I'd been thinking maybe booking something out at Lake—"
"Hank, I've really got to go," she interrupted. "Henry's awake. Crying."
He nodded even though he knew she couldn't see. "OK," he allowed. "Shoot me a text about when would be a good time—"
But she was gone. Heard the line cut in his ear. Just dead air. And he pressed his fingers into his eyes again. He let that swing rock. And he could feel his wife fucking next to him. Wanted to feel her arm around his shoulder right now. Wanted a hell of a lot more than that. But instead it just felt like she was disappointed with him. Telling him to fix this. All of it. And he couldn't fucking figure out how.
He let his hand come away, though, swiping at the tears that hadn't quite fallen but were sure as fuck there as he heard a clatter at the door again and a chastise of "Ethan!" just inside.
Managed to look up - to compose himself – to see his little boy standing there staring at him. Looked about as sad and defeated as he felt in that moment. Just fucking small and washed out.
"Hey, Magoo …," he tried and tried to give his boy something that resembled his usual thin-lipped grimace. "How you feeling?"
"Were talking to Olive?" Ethan asked unsurely, Erin coming closer up behind him and gazing out at him too.
"Yea …," Hank acknowledged.
"Did you talk to Henry?" E asked him with a bit more tone to it. Some accusation that he hadn't been woken up for that.
So Hank allowed him a sadder grimace and shook his head. "No," he rasped. "Henry was down for his nap. But Olive's going to …" he stopped because he could even hear in his voice that he was lying. That he was going to give his son some fucking half-truth that was never going to be a full one. A false hope. He shook his head and looked down at the deck before meeting his boy's eyes. "Let you call and leave a message tomorrow," he said. "Maybe you'll have more luck."
His boy eyed him. Erin did too. Could see it even through the door she was holding open a crack. The crack she'd let the fucking dog barge in passed her tracking his fucking dirt all over creation. But then it was E coming over to him, sitting himself on the swing, propelling it slightly with how he flopped down.
Hank sighed at him and wrapped his arm around the boy as he settled against him. "Shouldn't be out here, Magoo," Hank muttered against the top of his head. "Don't need you catching a bigger cold."
"There's a bigger cold than pneumonia?" E asked.
He smiled slightly against the top of his head, rubbing at his bicep.
"Is she said this weekend?" E asked quietly, Erin still lurking in the doorway, listening in.
"Yea …," Hank grunted. "Think so."
"Did she get the link?" E asked again.
"Yea …," he rasped because now he was going through this interrogation and debrief that he had to do every time that he actually got Olive on the line and was so much fucking harder than even talking to her. Because now he got to pass all the fucking disappointment, and this fucking tension and conflict that even as an adult he was having trouble understanding, onto his son.
"Did she like it?"
He squeezed at Eth's shoulder. "Hadn't had a chance to look at it yet, Magoo."
E rubbed his face against his chest. And Hank held him a bit tighter, glancing up as the door pushed more fully open and Erin came out. Treading wordlessly over and sitting on the opposite side of E. The swing swaying again with the added weight.
"It's got pictures and videos and stuff," E offered a little defeatedly.
He just held on. "You'll have to send it to me," Hank said. "Like to take a look."
"Me too," Erin said and her arm came up too. She leaned into her brother but with the way he was sloped against him, that arm ended up resting loosely across the back of Hank's shoulders. He met her eyes. But she just gave him her own agonized look. A brief one before looking away. Like she always did anymore.
"Did you remember to tell her about Breakfast with Sue?" Eth asked, though Hank knew his boy and knew the tone said he knew the answer to that question and what the question was really asking too.
"Did," Hank said. "But don't think that's something that will be happening this year."
"I think Henry would like it …," E whispered.
He held at his boy. "Think you're right."
"Mom would've taken him," E said.
Hank reached up with his free hand and pressed at his eyes again even though he could feel Erin looking. But she'd seen it enough the past two months. More than she should have. And as much as he hated that, also meant there wasn't that much reason to hide it. Not that he could. Because if he wasn't pressing the fingers up there right now, what he wouldn't be hiding were tears. And he'd rather his kids not see him blubbering again.
"Think you're right on that too," he pressed out. But his voice wavered enough, his son squirmed against him to look up. He kept his fingers at his eyes. Forcing himself to let them come down. Because their family looked each other in the eyes when they talked. Even in the good, the bad and the ugly. And knew in the moment he was pretty fucking ugly.
"I guess she said no to everything else too then," E mumbled, gazing at him. "Or will."
"Likely right there again," Hank rasped. A real gravel that time.
And his kid just settled against him. Starring straight ahead without comment. Erin too. So Hank joined them. The haze of heat radiating off the barbecue. That's about all there was to look at in front of them. Some fucking real ghostly breeze. One they could actually see. Unlike the rest of the ghosts in the damn house.
But at least right then he had two of his real things – his remaining things – on that swing. Had that arm around him. Had someone – someones – to sit with. Even right then in his ugly. Weren't running away.