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 and certain 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.
THIS CHAPTER JUMPS AHEAD A COUPLE WEEKS FROM THE THANKSGIVING CHAPTERS INTO DECEMBER AND THE LEAD UP TO CHRISTMAS.
Jay crept up the next set of steps. From the texts he'd been getting from Erin, he'd almost expected to find her down in the family room – his man cave – waiting for him to come in the garage door and ready to pounce in a verbal dump of all her frustrations with Eth that night. But she hadn't been there. She hadn't been on the main level of the house either.
The whole building was actually quiet enough that he'd pulled his phone out to see if he'd missed a message and she'd really decided to cut ropes and bail. To take Eth back to Hank's and to just let him deal with the mental and emotional fallout of the kid trying to express his frustrations with the entire situation they were living in. The kid's frustrations had just seemed to be rising. They really had been since about mid-September – the couple weeks leading into his brother's birthday. And then Halloween. And then Thanksgiving. But they'd really been nearing a boiling point lately as the kid realized that things weren't working out the way he wanted. That everyone wasn't just going to be able to grin and bear it and move on with doing re-enactments of previously family traditions. The lot of them were broken and no one seemed to have the energy anymore at this point to even attempt the illusion – or delusion – that Eth seemed to so desperately want to create.
He hadn't missed anything, though. So he was starting to think that whatever arguments and back-and-forth Eth and Erin had been having that night – it'd drained her enough that she'd actually gone up to bed at a descent hour. Though, her hitting the sack before midnight was pretty rare. But he'd be pretty grateful if she did decide to get some extra rack time. Even if it would've been better if she'd realized she needed it on her own rather than an argument with Ethan taking it out of her enough that she decided to just shut her eyes and to try to forget about it for eight hours. Not that that really worked either. They both didn't sleep much anymore. If it had used to be him who'd bolt a wake in the night and disturb her while he tried to orient and level himself – now it was her who was doing it just as often, or sometimes more. Not that she'd tell him what was haunting her dreams. But he had some pretty decent guesses.
Erin wasn't up on the fourth level in the master bedroom suite, though. She was leaning outside the open door of Eth's bedroom on the narrow third floor, the nightlight in the room casting an orange-yellow light against her. She turned at his creaks up the steps and gave him an exhausted look before her eyes shifted back in the door.
Jay went over and gazed in too. He'd been momentarily concerned that something more had been going on for her to be leaning in the doorway. With Eth and his health – you never knew. Scares could happen. And if he'd been having a fit and been being defiant about taking his medication – he could've sent himself over an edge. Though, he knew if something that concerning had happened, the kid wouldn't be there in bed. He'd be back over at Voight's – or over spending the night at the hospital waiting to get checked out. So it didn't look what was going on. The kid was passed out cold anyway. Quiet and small in the big bed.
"He OK?" Jay asked at a whisper, leaning against the opposite side of the doorframe as the one Erin was slumped against.
"Yea," she allowed. "He wore himself out."
Jay just gave a little nod. He'd buy that. A school day did that to Eth anyway. A Friday? The end of a school week? Eth was pretty much always in fine form. He was just exhausted and frustrated from it all. Dreading the homework and projects that he'd be forced to work on for the weekend – and that he'd struggle with. Wanting to see his friends and participate in activities but barely being able to muster up the strength. Add in the start of the holiday hoopla and him getting invested in that and put in a dash of his own anxiety and stress about the Christmas preps and what Christmas was going to look like and it was starting to sound exhausting even from Jay's healthy standpoint. Combine it all with the kid having a shouting match with Erin and one of his pre-teen meltdowns and Eth was going to be worn out.
"How are you?" he asked Erin instead.
She shrugged. He didn't really need to ask. She'd sent enough texts that he knew how the night was going. He'd gotten the general gist of what was going on. Could hear her frustration even in the text. Could read between the lines of it. Seeing her now just confirmed it. The ongoing fatigue of dealing with a traumatized kid that wasn't there own but a lot of times felt a whole lot more like just her little brother. That they were carrying the good part of the load in trying to give Eth some stability. Trying to help him find some sort of footing to lead some sort of normal life. As much as that would be possible. Give him something that vaguely resembled a childhood. Set him up to come out of high school no more scathed than anyone else. But it was a lot of work. Took a whole lot of time and energy – especially with Eth arguging back and getting lippier. All this anger and frustration and angst of being a teenaged kid in a fucked up family that you weren't quite sure how to exist in. He'd been there.
He reached out. His hand sliding up her arm. Her bicep. Her shoulder. Her neck. Her chin. Until he V'ed his fingers – cradling her chin and her ear and tilting her head, as he stooped a few inches to find her lips. He kissed her. Lightly. Softly. She returned it and he could feel her smile gently into it. Could feel some of the tension he saw in her body melt away. And he knew that feeling too.
She didn't deepen the kiss, though. Didn't open up her lips for him. Kept it pretty innocent. Fairly chaste. Still, she pulled back from him just slightly, giving him a slightly embarrassed and nearly shy look. Her hand grabbed at his bicep, pulling his hand away from its favorite place and lacing her fingers with his. She pushed up and away from where she was leaning, giving his arm a small tug to follow her back down to the main level – not up to their bedroom.
"I don't want to wake him," she whispered in her own quiet tone.
He allowed a little nod. Part of him would rather be heading upstairs. But maybe her inferring she wanted to – or needed to – talk about whatever had gone on that night was a good thing. A lot of times she didn't want to talk enough.
She let go of his hand as they got back downstairs, trailing over to the little alcove in the living room that they'd gotten all set up with their sound system. Stereo, speakers, turntable, vinyl collection and even some CDs that neither of them had been able to let go from their teens despite having all the albums and songs digitalized and pretty much never putting in a disc.
He watched as she started to flip through the one bin of records – clearly looking for something and not just browsing. Or maybe she just wanted music on. They often had it going when they were on that floor and the TV wasn't on. Actually, for all her insistence that she wanted to keep both of their TVs and she wanted hers set up on that floor – once again above the fucking fake fireplace, which again wasn't his definition of form or function of either device – the television in that room rarely went on. For all her arguing that the room on the ground floor – technically their "basement" that half-taken up with their garage – was a "cave" and she wouldn't be joining him down there ever, she'd pretty much been proven a liar. Because the space had two fucking big windows that opened right out onto their little green-plot and patio. Lots of light. And even though it was just the space they tramped through to get upstairs after parking the car, it'd become a comfortable spot. It was hardly the kind of "man cave" that he might've established for himself if he had exclusively reign over the space. And, he'd actually venture to say that the new flat-screen had won her over. That she'd come to realize that the picture was better, the screaming options were better, and even with the sound just coming out of the crappy built in speakers right now – it was better too. So she'd more-often than not join him down there to watch a show or a flick or a game than she was to stay upstairs. Though, he also suspected that might have more to do with just spending time together than her admiration of the new TV.
Still, with her distraction, he wandered over to the gas fireplace and flicked it on. At least this fireplace was slightly more than decorative. And it actually did a nice job at heating up the place – even if it still wasn't his definition of a fireplace.
"Did you eat?" she called at him and he glanced over to see her looking at him over her shoulder. "There's leftovers in the fridge."
He just gave a little nod of acknowledgement. He'd eaten some of the usual cop shop crap on his breaks and even though he wasn't much for eating this late at night, getting something that resembled real food into him sounded like a descent plan.
He treaded into the fridge and pulled open the door, gazing inside. He quickly spotted the casserole pan and pulled it out, peeling back the tinfoil. Was hardly a dent put into the Shepherd's Pie. But he'd already been briefed on that part of the night's confrontation.
"This looks great, babe," he offered in her direction, as he turned to retrieve a plate.
"Ethan didn't think so," she muttered from her continued search.
"He was just being an ass," Jay told her, as he set the plate on the counter and grabbed a serving spoon to start piling up a heaping portion.
"Apparently I made it wrong," Erin said. "He likes it with sweet potatoes."
He glanced at her. "I like it with potatoes," he said.
She just gave a grunt. And he wasn't going to argue the point. It'd only make her feel like he was giving her lip service. Which he was and he wasn't. He saw how she prickled when Voight or Eth gave her shit about her cooking abilities. And she really wasn't that bad – when she actually cooked and she really had been trying a lot more lately with them having Eth at their place a couple nights a week. And, beyond that, he really did prefer the dish with white potatoes. Sweet potatoes were a side dish – dessert, basically. Unless they were out at Thanksgiving with marshmallows and sugar and cinnamon, he really could take them or leave them. He supposed in some ways – even if he was more health conscious about his body and the kinds of carbs he put into them – his affinity for white potatoes was the Irish in him coming out. The meat and potatoes kid he'd grown up as. Shepherd's Pie – that was meat and potatoes at its finest.
So he just popped it into the microwave without further comment and pulled open the fridge door again, gazing inside.
"Er, we got HP sauce?" he called back at her, glancing over his shoulder.
She caught his eyes with some disgust. "It's ground turkey, not beef."
"I know," Jay allowed. It wouldn't be anything else with Eth. He went back to shoving around the few condiments they had in the fridge's door around.
Supposed it'd make sense they didn't have HP sauce. Not like they'd been in the place long enough to have a full grocery store of condiments occupying their kitchen. And it wasn't exactly grilling weather anymore. Not that they'd had the surplus cash to invest in a grill yet either. That could be something they talked about in the spring or summer when the sting of the mortgage had started to settle more and more into their new normal in defining their monthly income. And when the frivolous TV purchase had faded more from their memories.
"I'll just use ketchup," he muttered. It was more to himself than anyone but she'd overheard.
"That's disgusting too," she replied.
He just raised and cocked an eyebrow at her, giving the bottle a couple good shakes. She shook her head at him and went back to flipping through the albums.
"What you looking for?" he asked.
She shrugged. "I don't know. Something that feels right for the kind of night it's been."
He allowed a quiet sound of amusement and turned to the fridge again. "You want a beer?"
"Yea …," she muttered.
He grabbed two bottles and popped off the lids, taking hers over to her, setting it on a coaster that had taken up near permanent residence next to the sound system – just further proving how much time the two of them spent standing in that little alcove. It was probably one of his favorite spots in the house. After the master bedroom. And the walk-in shower. But likely ahead of that spot on the couch in front of the flat-screen downstairs.
She offered him a small smile of thanks and he wrapped his arms around her, gazing at her slow, restless flips through the album. She knew them all by heart anyway – and they'd organized them alphabetically since the move. She didn't really need to flip through – if she knew what she was looking for. He placed a kiss against her neck just under her ear.
"That one," he told her, as she flipped again. She shifted her head up at him, giving him an arched eyebrow. "Definitely a Van Morrison kinda night."
She made an amused noise but moved to pull the record out. "If you say so," she said.
"I do," he allowed, and placed another kiss in the same spot before reluctantly letting her go and heading back over to the microwave that was beeping that it was done heating up his food.
By the time he'd retrieved his plate and grabbed his beer – Erin had gotten the record going. One from Voight and his wife's collection, not one they'd dug out of some flea market or vinyl shop. She'd gone to spread out on the couch, sipping at her bottle. He joined her on the opposite end – giving himself some space to eat in an effort to avoid her commentary about him adding ketchup to the mix. But her feet still immediately rammed under his thigh. Cold. Her feet were always so fucking cold.
He set his beer down on the end table and grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch – draping it over her and tucking it around her lower legs and the extent of her feet that he could access from where she'd hidden them. She managed to tuck some of it around herself too. But she then went to staring at the flickering flames and listening to the music as he tucked into his plate of food. He was OK with that for the moment, managing to get in several bites before she decided she was ready to say anything.
"How was it?" she asked.
He nodded and swallowed. "OK," he allowed.
She rubbed at her eyebrow, holding her beer just away from her lips. "Going to sign up for any of the training courses?"
He shrugged. "Maybe."
"Did it seem like a good fit?" she pressed.
He let out a slow breath and shrugged. "Don't know. Need to think about it some more."
She gazed at him. "Doing the training doesn't mean you have to transfer," she said.
"I know," he allowed and looked back to his plate. "I'm going to talk to Lewis about it more next week. Get a clearer picture."
"Seems like a natural fit," she said, arching her eyebrow and taking a swig of her beer.
"Maybe," he allowed again. Truth was he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about the info night he'd attended. More of a show and getting to play with the toys than an info night in a lot of ways.
SWAT. They were interested in him. Interested in his military background. His skills from the Rangers. What he'd been doing in Intelligence. Reality was he could likely easily land in the next open spot on the team, if he wanted it. If he was willing to go and sit through some of the mandatory courses and training – a lot of which was stuff he already knew. Things he'd already trained in. Close quarters combat, explosive entry, sniping, negotiation techniques, fast roping. It wasn't exactly new. A lot of it was review. But he supposed he could use a refresher.
He just wasn't sure how interested he was in the job. It seemed like it would be a gig that had some intense moments. Some rewarding moments. But that it would be a lot of waiting for those. Few and far between. Getting called in to work other people's cases – not driving your own. And the kind of jobs you did? Active shooters, hostage rescue, counter terrorism, protective services, riot control. He wasn't sure he wanted to get too wrapped up in any of that as part of his daily existence. He'd explored other units – other opportunities – in CPD that might be more suited to him. Maybe more what he wanted to do with his life. More rewarding. Less dangerous in some ways – as a husband or when he was a father. When his wife was going to be on the job too. But all that was contingent on if – when – he did request a transfer.
The talk of that – among them … among all of them really – seemed more lately. First Mouse. Now Dawson. From some overheard murmurings, was really starting to suspect that it was only going to be a matter of time before Adam bailed on them. It was starting to be less of a discussion about what it meant if you left and more about what it meant if you stayed. What it meant to the people who stayed and their allegiances to Voight? What that meant long-term for their careers? If they wanted to be among the ones still there? If it made sense for them to stay or go? If it made more sense for him to leave and Erin to stay? Which she seemed to feel was best more and more. Because that way she could keep an eye on Voight. She could have some sense about where things were at, what skeletons might be being dug up. That she'd decided her choices – decisions – had tied the rest of her career with the CPD to him. That now she truly was Voight's girl – more than ever before. But that he didn't have to stay there because of that. That he shouldn't. That one of them should escape.
It was the sort of depressing roundabout conversation that he didn't want to get into again that night. Because no matter what they decided, they were both going to be losers in some capacity.
"Tell me about tonight," he put to her instead.
She just made a sound and shoved her cold feet more fully under him. "He doesn't want us to chaperone the Christmas party tomorrow anymore."
Jay shrugged. "He'll forget he said that by morning. You know how he is. Be a new kid after he gets some sleep."
"Yea, maybe," she muttered and took another tug from her bottle.
"You tell Voight what was going on with him?" Jay asked.
She shook her head and shoved her hand under the blanket, digging into her pocket, only to retrieve Eth's phone, flapping it briefly in his direction before tossing it none too gently onto the coffee table. "Confiscated his phone too."
"Good job," Jay gave her a thin grin.
She made an exasperated noise, though, and ran her hand through her hair. "I need this month to be over," she muttered.
"Thinking that way about it is only going to make it go slower," he told her with a forkful of food hovering in front of his mouth. He nodded his appreciation at her as he did put it in. "Erin, seriously, he was being a little fuck. This is way better than the diarrhea Voight calls Shepherd's Pie."
She humored him with a little smile, putting her one arm along the back of the couch as she gazed at his eating. "He said you took him out to get a Christmas present for his dad?"
Jay cast her a look and shrugged, looking back to his plate. "Didn't really take him out. Stopped in a store after rock climbing this week. Eth picked something out there."
"What?" Erin inquired.
"Ask Eth," he told her flatly.
"I did," she retorted. "He wouldn't say."
Jay shrugged.
"What they hell kind of store would you be taking him into? Groceries? Pharmacy?"
Jay shook his head.
"Comic book store? Video game? Lego?"
He raised his eyebrow at her. "If you're really that curious, maybe you should start planning on showing up on Christmas Day to see what he picked out for Voight."
"I don't care that much," she muttered and took another long swig.
He gazed at her and leaned over to settle his plate on the coffee table, rubbing at her feet now that his hands were free. "Think you do or you wouldn't be asking about it."
Erin ran through her hair and looked at him. "He's just been at me about Christmas. Every time I see him. It's getting … frustrating. He won't take no for an answer."
"I don't think you've actually told him 'no', babe," he told her gently. "I don't think you've really told any of us what you want to do. I think that's where a lot of the frustration and anxiety is coming from. It's just making everything more stressful for everyone."
"We'll see him on Christmas," she hissed at him and pulled her feet away from his hands.
"OK," he acknowledged. "You want to place some additional context around what that actually means?"
She let out a long breath and turned her head to gaze out the window. "I don't know," she finally muttered. "I was thinking that I'd co-ordinate with Olive. So we go over around the same time as her and Henry. Probably dinner?"
Jay allowed a little nod. "OK …"
Her eyes shifted back to his. "That doesn't sound OK to you?"
"I said 'OK'," he provided.
"It didn't sound like an OK," she muttered and took another swig of her beer.
Jay sighed and reached for his own beer, taking a long mouthful. "I guess I sort of feel like if we skip out on Christmas morning with Eth and with Henry, we're missing out on kind of the fun part of the day."
"We can do our own thing here," she pressed at him.
He gestured around the Spartan room. "What are we going to do here, Erin?"
She cocked her eyebrow at him, giving him a cocked head and a coy grin. He gave his head a little shake.
"Pretty sure we can fit that in at other points during the holiday period," he said.
She made a sound and took another swig from her bottle.
"How much of this is about Voight?" he asked. "Because I thought things were going OK on the work-front and with the counseling you two have been settling into … the new normal on the home-front."
"It's not normal," Erin muttered.
"And it's not ever going to feel any more normal if we don't keep on going over," he said.
She cast him a look. "Maybe it's not the kind of thing that should feel normal," she pressed.
He shrugged. "Fine," he allowed. "Because it's not ever going to really feel normal. But it doesn't mean that we can't work at being a family. For Eth's and Henry's sake."
"It's just an optical illusion," she said. "And all these 'traditions' that Eth wants for the holidays."
He shook her foot, drawing her scornful eyes. "Erin, I know living an illusion for someone in the family. I grew up in that," he pressed back. "That's not what Ethan is asking any of us to do. And it's definitely not what Voight is asking for. They're both just asking that the people they care about all be in the same room for a few hours on Christmas."
"And we will be," Erin glared. "At dinner."
Jay made his own frustrated sound and gazed at her. She tried to ignore him, going back to looking out the window.
"Eth told me—"
"I don't like that you're having all these conversations with him and not telling me about what you're talking about," she spat back harshly, her eyes darting to his.
He raised a warning eyebrow. "And I don't like when I become the monkey in the middle between you and Ethan or you and Voight." She made a noise and went back to looking out the window. "Erin, I spend time with him. I talk to him. He talks at me. He says shit to me about all that's going on that he thinks he can't say to you and Voight."
"He has lots of opportunity to say whatever the fuck he wants in a mediated way at the counseling," she muttered.
"Well, he clearly feels like there's things he still can't say there too," Jay told her and her eyes shifted to him with some sadness. "He told me about the Christmas his dad and his brother were in jail. And how he came home from school and it was just the two of you. How you tried to make it normal and special for him. But how he hated that whole holiday. And he's afraid that this year is going to be even worse."
Erin frowned at him. "It will be fine. Hank will do breakfast and stocking and presents with him. We'll go over in the late afternoon."
"Erin," he sighed and stretched his arm out along the top of the couch to find her hand, lacing his fingers with hers even though she initially tried to pull it away. "He's old enough and he's been through enough that he knows Christmas isn't about the presents. It's about the people you care about and spending time with them. That's what he wants. It's what Voight wants too."
"I don't care what Voight wants …" she mumbled, again moving her eyes from his.
Jay shook his head, taking another drink. "That's not true," he said and her eyes snapped to his. He kept them firmly. "Erin, we don't do everything we do for Eth, we don't go to his school crap and his medical appointments, we don't keep your condo and give it to Olive, get her and Henry to come back to the city because you don't care about Voight. Everything that you've done – within this family – since July 25 has been because you care about him."
"It did it – all of it – for Ethan," she argued.
He shook his head at her. "No, you haven't. However you feel about him and what choices you made because of what he did and what happened – it all comes back to you caring about him. And you insisting that you don't care – trying to make yourself not care – is just tearing you apart. It's stressful for our relationship. It's confusing for Ethan. And it's destroying the fragile family you've got left."
Her glare stayed on him. But she finally broke it, going back to staring out the window, tipping her beer against her lips as she did in a long gulp. "You're pissing me off more than Eth did tonight," she muttered as the bottle came away from her lips.
"What else is new?" Jay tried in a small tease, as he took his own sip.
She cast him an unimpressed look. He reached and tapped his fingers against the top of her hand again but that time she did pull it away.
"I really liked Christmas morning last year," he tried after they sat there for a while. "I can see why Eth wants to try to have that as best as he can." She just made a noise – somewhere between a sigh of exasperation and sadness. "You really mean to tell me that you want to miss out on all this stocking stuff?"
"Pretty sure we've got lots of toiletries," she muttered. "We don't need anymore."
"You seemed pretty excited about your toiletries and chocolate and socks last year," he said, tapping on her hand again.
"And, if you want, we can do our own stockings HERE," she stressed, casting him a look.
He nodded, giving a little shrug, and tipping another small sip of beer to his lips. "Sure," he allowed. "But think it likely loses something when you don't have a kid in the room."
"It's like you said," she provided. "Eth's thirteen. He's not going to be that excited about toiletries, chocolate he can't eat and likely won't get, and new socks."
Jay shrugged. "Eth is actually a pretty grateful kid and I'm pretty sure he'd managed to be excited if he had the right people in the room and was sharing the opening of the stockings with them. Will be way more focused on that than what's in it."
"He'll have his dad," Erin put flatly.
Jay let out a slow breath and shifted to gaze out the window with her too. The people in the townhouse across from them had their Christmas tree up. Their blinds were open – letting the neighbors see their twinkling lights through the windows. Was likely going to be as close as they got to having decorations in their house that year.
"I think being a single dad for a guy like Voight must be hard," he finally mumbled.
"Don't …," Erin warned.
He shifted his eyes to her. "I do," he said. "I see some of the things he does for Eth and sometimes I wonder if I'd be able to do as good of job if I was in his position."
Erin caught his eyes but then shifted them back out the window. "You'd do fine," she put flatly.
Jay shrugged. "I don't know. And especially with things like the holidays – still making it special. That's not really guy territory. But it seems like he's really tried. Still give you guys a Christmas and birthdays and just holidays and time together. Memories. Traditions."
"Ethan was still little when his mom died," Erin muttered.
"Yea," Jay acknowledged. "And he's still a kid now. On his first Christmas without his mom and without his brother. He doesn't want to have it without his sister too."
"We'll go over around dinner," Erin said more firmly, giving him more warning eyes.
"Will we?" he asked. She sighed at him. He reached for her hand. "I don't think this is all about Voight, babe."
She shifted her eyes to him. "I hate all this 'tradition' stuff Ethan is pushing," she blurted at him. "How he's trying to make it normal. How he's trying to make us do these traditions that are just going to feel … even more empty than with Camille gone."
He gave a little nod. "OK. So how about we start some new traditions?"
She made a frustrated gesture. "I told him that. That we want to start traditions of our own."
He kept her eyes. "OK, and how about one of them be that we invite the four of them over here? For Christmas morning."
She stared at him in disbelief and then shook her head hard. "No," she said.
He sunk back into his spot more. "Erin, you don't want to be in that house. I think that's what a bunch of this is about. I don't think Olive wants to be in there. And, you know, I think given the choice, Hank wouldn't mind being away from there for part of the day either."
She kept shaking her head. "Ethan wouldn't agree to that. It's not 'tradition'."
"Ethan will deal with just being where everyone is – because that's what he really wants. He just wants everyone together. Full stop," he put back to her.
She quieted, looking at him, the gears processing. Interest and protest painting across her face.
"We've got space," he put to her. "Multiple floors to keep people apart if we need breaks from each other. If we let them sleep here Christmas Eve—"
"We aren't doing that," she put bluntly.
He met her eyes. "You'd be able to see Eth and Henry doing the kid Christmas stuff in the morning when they get up," he continued.
Her eyes shifted back to gazing out the window and he gripped at her hand.
"Erin, we've got to stop treading water and start swimming again. Start living. We can't keep going like this. Forget what it's doing to Eth or to Hank. You're stressing yourself out. You're stressing me out. We need to finish off this year as best we can and just go into 2017 fresh. OK?"
And he really needed her to agree that it was OK. That that was a plan. Because they couldn't keep going the way they were. Something needed to give. Soon.