Title: So It Goes
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: Hank Voight and his family try to cope with their struggles at home and work — and the dynamics those conflicting circumstances creat for their blended family in a time of transition. The series focuses on Voight, his sick and disabled son — and what's left of his family and their strained relationships, particularly that with Erin Lindsay and Jay Halstead as they work at establishing their own lives as a young couple.
This is a collection of one-shots/scenes using the characters as represented in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics. The chapters currently represent scenes happening in approximately S04 of the series or early 2017.
As I continue to update, they'll just provide one-shot snap shots into the characters' lives and likely some recasts of scenes from the show.
This is not a linear narrative with a beginning-middle-end. It's just scenes. It is generally set so it begins around the mid-point of Season 4 (or about January/February 2017) and may occasionally draw reference to (and have SPOILERS) from the series.
A notification is provided at the beginning of each chapter about where it happens in relation to the other chapters, if they are out of sequence. Chapters will be re-ordered semi-regularly (i.e. if you're reading this weeks or months after the chapter was originally posted, it's likely now in the right place, so just ignore the notification).
SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers in this collection from Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas, Scenes and Aftermath. This series also contains SPOILERS related to the finale of Season 3 of Chicago PD and will have occasionally spoilers from Season 4 of the show.
Hank glanced across the table from responding to the vibrations going on on his phone. Looked like something might be popping. Wouldn't be surprised if he ended up having to head out to a scene that night. But with the way his son was acting, probably wouldn't be too upset about that. Sometimes dealing with morons, assholes and run-of-the-mill monsters was still a nice break from having to deal with a sulking teenager.
He clattered his phone onto the table. Done it loudly and purposely to catch his boy's attention. And had accomplished that. Magoo at least startled and slightly lifted his head off where he had it flopped against crossed arms that were clearly blocking anything he could be absorbing out of that textbook he had open in front of him – but had been doing a real good job at not looking at.
Hank adjusted himself slightly. Crossing his legs. Folding his hands in his lap and giving the kid a small gesture.
"Going to let me in on why you're working on your pout-pout face over there?" he put to him.
It was a book. Kiddie book. One that Erin had gotten for Henry. That she thought was real funny. Even funnier getting him to read it to his grandson. Over and over reciting the lines about the pout-pout fish with its pout-pout face, spreading his weary-drearies all over the place.
Likely supposed to be some sort of commentary. Joke was on her, though, because his grandson loved the book. And Hank loved reading to his grandson.
Didn't have any qualms about reading to his kids. Not when they were little. Not now. Didn't much care what his girl's fucking transparent commentary was behind the gift. Thought there was a better social lesson in the text for H. Likely for Magoo too. Maybe one of the two of them would absorb that commentary eventually. Work a bit on their dispositions. Them doing that – all of them, his girl included – might actually be what helped him with his own too.
E, though, just gave him a suitably unimpressed huff and flopped his head right back to where it'd been. Hank glanced at the screen on his phone, as it vibrated again.
"Do your homework," he instructed, picking up the thing and reading the information on the phone's screen.
That one warranted a reply.
Was carrying enough of Homicide's caseload for them these days. So much for team effort. Fucking team effort. Violent Crimes shoving down his throat when he got Intelligence that he wasn't a team player. That he did things his way and that wasn't going to fly outside of Gangs. Clearly they didn't have a fucking clue about the kind of team work and trust in your team that was needed to work a job that had you on the streets like that day-in, day-out, mostly dealing with kids who'd gotten themselves born into bad situations and had managed to let themselves dig into their circumstances even deeper to the point they didn't think they had any way out. You don't work on the streets, you don't work undercover in situations like that, you don't work with teenaged kids – if you don't know how to be on a team and learn to read all the players around you. Might have his own way of running the drills – but still needed players on the field who could run them and knew the rules.
Too many dog cops sitting with their thumbs on their ass anymore when that was the exact opposite of what their city needed. Knew that Crowley had her nose in everything with them lately. Since August. Didn't get so much control in picking what cases he wanted his team to pursue. She kept funneling them crap whether it fell into their little basket of expertise or not. Turning his guys into fucking generalists rather than the specialized team they were supposed to be. That pissed him off enough. But some of the cops over in Homicide who seemed to be working on developing some calluses on their asses? That just royally pissed him off more.
If they weren't going to be team players, wasn't planning to take another one for the team right now. His guys had enough of an open caseload going on without adding this to the list.
First glance didn't make it sound like anything falling into the realm of Intelligence. Though, doubted that any of his guys would put up too much of a fuss about getting to log in a couple hours of OT to attend the scene and give him a real briefing so he could make an executive decision about what he wanted their level of involvement to be.
Though, they might.
Valentine's Day. Night. Though, he suspected the only ones out of his crew who would be getting laid that night would be Erin and Halstead.
Not that any wooing that either of them was attempting in that to achieve that end had been apparent at work. Nor had he been given any explanation of plans they had for the evening beyond being informed rather bluntly by his girl that she had no intention of being the one dealing with Ethan pick-up, taxi service and homework supervision that night. And he'd gotten that memo over a week before the fucking Hallmark holiday.
So she likely had something set up – reservation somewhere. Or maybe she was hoping that Halstead would clue in and make some plans. Not that Jay struck him as an overly romantic type. Definitely didn't seem to have grand gestures embedded in his genes. Not that Voight thought that was a bad thing. Though, maybe since it was his daughter, he sort of thought maybe sometimes she deserved some grand wooing to make her feel special. But figured Jay did a decent job at making her feel special enough as far as he could tell. So hopefully there'd be forgiveness all-round that the kid wasn't exactly a grand romantic.
Voight actually sort of thought the guy felt about the same as him about some of these fucking manufactured holidays. So hopefully his girl didn't end up too disappointed in the evening. And even more importantly - hopefully he didn't end up having to look at another fucking pout-pout face all day at work tomorrow.
Supposed he could call the Lonely Hearts Club – O and Burgess. See if they wanted to swing by the homicide scene. Doubted that O'd be too thrilled. Neither of those two particularly clamored for OT. But that meant they likely wouldn't ask for it or fill out the form, which would save him from having the Ivory Tower crawling up his ass about the OT he was approving and the unit's budget. Put a fucking price tag on the value of their work and the safety of their city. More bureaucratic bullshit that he hated about the job. All of it was just barriers to actually doing the job.
But figured neither Al or Kim should be left to their own devices that night anyway. Both were likely bound to find someway to send themselves into some sort of tailspin that involved drinking alone and having some sort of existential existence discussion in their own heads. Fucking Waiting for Godot the two of them. Might as well leave them sitting next to that tree together. Might save him from more fucking pout-pout faces in his bullpen in the morning. Hung over ones.
He'd see if he got some other fucking text about this thing first, though. Then he'd shoot off a message to Burgess. She'd be all gung-ho. Always was. Maybe too much. Let her break the news to Al too. Drag him away from the bottle. Maybe her overly cheery disposition would cheer him up some. Work on that pout-pout face of his too. Michelle would likely thank him. Get dad out of the apartment so she could work on her kiss-kiss face. Al definitely wouldn't be thanking him for that, though.
Put the phone back down and stared at Magoo again. Kid was doing his best to push his buttons that night. Just looking for trouble. Being passively defiant.
"Magoo," he put to him more sternly. "Want to get dinner started. Not going to do that until you show me, I leave you here sitting alone, you're going to be working."
E let out a slow breath. "I'm tired. I just want to go upstairs," he mumbled.
Hank bounced his phone between his fingers. Letting it touch the tabletop and then drawing it back up a fraction of an inch. Just waiting for it to buzz again and to get to make those calls. But he shook his head at his boy.
"Know the deal. Tired days – still put in thirty minutes. Don't need you getting too far behind," he told him.
A louder sigh came out of his kid. "Fine. Then I'm sick."
Hank let the phone settle and again, clasped his hands in his lap. "Not acting sick," he put flatly. "Only acting I'm seeing going on here is Chief Thunder Cloud."
Kid just huffed at him again.
"Going to make me wager a guess on why we're doing the weary-drearies tonight?" Hank rasped. The kid cast him an annoyed look. But Hank just kept his eyes. "No secret admirers at school today."
E let out a slow breath and flopped his head back down so he didn't have to look at him. "Valentine's is a stupid holiday," he mumbled.
"Can be," Hank allowed.
"It's not even a real holiday," E added.
"Not really," he conceded. And stared at the top of his boy's head.
He was pretty much in agreement with his kid. Had never really liked the holiday much either. Figured if he had to have a day assigned to him for doing something nice for Cami and showing her he loved her – telling her that he did – that he was likely doing the whole marriage, life partner thing, wrong. Sort of thing that should be part of the daily routine, it seemed to him.
Didn't really like getting the mushy-gushy cards that they put out for the holiday either. Hated dealing with the crowds and over-priced "special" menus in the restaurants with couples who were taking their once-a-year date. The so-called relationships and marriages that had reached points where the schmuck felt like had spend some exorbitant amount of money to get his monthly – or yearly – lay. And, if Valentine's Day was the only day of the year they put in any effort at showing their love and appreciation in the relationship – guy should be happy he was even managing to bed his wife once a year. Idiots.
But even in all that, Hank admitted he had usually ended up sending Cami flowers for Valentine's. Not on Valentine's. Day before … two days before … week before. Somewhere in the general vicinity. Had them sent to her office. Or brought them home with him. Because she liked that. Amazing what buying your wife flowers a handful of times a year could do for your marriage, relationship and sex life. Never got her roses, though. Because that was just fucking predictable. And Cami never liked them – or their thorns – much anyway. Funny since she managed him thorns and all. But maybe that's why she didn't much see the need to have to put up with them in flowers.
Lilies and Gerbera daisies. She liked those. Liked the mums, tulips and the sunflowers when it came time to do up the flower beds outside in the spring. Bright colors. Cami and the bright colors. Yellow. Too much fucking yellow in their house.
And spaghetti and meatballs. Some fucking Lady and the Tramp joke that Cami head that wasn't even funny and hardly relevant. But – if he wasn't working on Valentine's, it was near mandated that he make spaghetti and meatballs. Thought the kids were usually more excited about that than Cami was. But it was some joke to her. Juvenile commentary about the scrappy kids they were growing up around the Village. When Little Italy was still actually Little Italy and not just a handful of "Italian" restaurants aimed at the tourists. Though, she teased him that there were few matters of the heart that a plate of his spaghetti and meatballs couldn't fix. Actually was a nice compliment considering she'd had a real Italian grandma growing up who managed a lot better than he did. But also had proven a good spool down and comfort food to have a real grown-up conversation at the dining room table with dimmed lights and wine after the kids were in bed. After one of their blow-outs. Needless to say that the spaghetti and meatballs ended up on the table more times in a year than just Valentine's. But it usually did the trick that day … night … too.
Still, he'd never really gotten the whole Valentine's crap moving in school thing. Other than all these businesses had decided that there was an untapped market. That they needed to convince parents and teachers that they should be buying their kids cards and filling them up with sugar. Which had apparently evolved into a whole fucking retail market of tacky, ugly-ass stuffed animals and made-in-China plastic junk that would end up in your trash can about the moment your kid took it out of its packaging.
Fucking ridiculous. Not that it was exactly new. Any of it.
Him and Camille had never done the get the kids cards thing. Figured if it was a holiday – it was a holiday for couples, not kids. The kids – their kids - got told they were loved and had things done to demonstrate they were cared for – and taken care of – every day of the year. Didn't need a fucking card to remind them of that.
But even if that was their supposed joint stance on the thing, he knew that the kids might got dessert Valentine's night – even if it wasn't a weekend. But that was Camille's doing – not his.
Red. Jello. Strawberries. That cherry ice cream that the whole house had to do fucking battle with Erin to get any of it. That was about as fancy or as elaborate it got. And more than fucking enough. A nice little treat to once again show the kids – they were cared about.
Didn't need to do more anyway with the bullshit at the schools anyway. Remembered J doing the Valentine's exchanges and bake sales and "parties" even when he was a little guy in grade school. Remembered both the kids having the Valentine's dinner and dances at Ignatius. Knew Erin had gone her first year at the school when she was in with that clique of prissy missies. J had never gone. Not his thing. Or as Olive liked to say, "He did his own thing. He was like … mysterious." Pain in the ass. And not so mysterious. Just indoctrinated by his parents that Valentine's Day was also a fucking pain in the ass too.
Besides, all this Valentine's bullshit just opened kids up for exactly this kind of stupidity that was sitting across from him. The sulk. The pout-pout face. Because kids were going to get left out. Hearts would get broken. And it was going to once again highlight to some kids just how much they didn't fit in and what kind of lone wolves they were – whether they wanted to be of not.
"So what'd school do for this big day?" Hank put to his kid with suitable tone. Let Eth know he was on his side about this. Even if his patience would only last so long because he wanted the kid to be doing his homework and for them to fucking eat. Get on with the night. Like any other.
E shrugged from his slouched position. "Usual," he mumbled. "Prayer and some stupid fundraiser."
"Bake sale?" Hank put to him.
Had seen that in some bulletin from the school. Wanting families to bring in crap. E had been all about contributing to every fucking thing his first year at Ignatius. This year he just didn't give a shit. Knew that there were a lot of levels to that. Wasn't just had Ignatius – and its kids – were doing their best to break his boy. Good part of it was that E was still digging himself out of the hole he'd tumbled into with the whole grief and confusion about J being gone. Taking a while, but they were all getting back on more stable ground. Didn't change the fact that overall, though, his kid was still pretty broken. Likely always would be on a lot of levels – in some ways.
But that wasn't something that Voight felt too much like reminding his boy of. Didn't need to drag that into any of this. Not tonight. And, was more than happy to let contributing to a fucking bake sale slide. One less thing for him to find time to do – or fight with E or Erin about doing. Didn't really see the point in making or buying something for Magoo to take into the damn things when he couldn't eat any of it anyway.
"Yea …," E allowed. "But they did the stupid candy-o-grams again too."
"Hmm …," Hank grunted. They'd done that at Christmas too. Must've proven to be a decent money-maker for them to be doing it again. Not that selling candy to kids was a tough sell ever. Could almost argue that adopting it as a money-maker at the school was more of a money-grab and had some questionable morals in there. But Catholics didn't like when you started citing moral infractions at them.
"Basically everyone in home room got some. Some people got like a whole desk full. No one even sent me one," he said more than a little defeatedly.
"You send anyone one?" Hank put to him.
E sighed with some audible sadness. "Who to I have to send any to?" he said.
Hank just sat there – staring at his kid again. Weighing if he should give him some sort of pep talk about the whole friendship situation again. But anymore it felt like he was either browbeating Ethan about it – or just lying to him.
Really wanted to hope – to fucking believe – that something was going to click and his little boy wouldn't be navigating high school as a loner.
Wanted to hope that Evalyn would get accepted into Ignatius, along with some sort of scholarship so she could actually go, and that their friendship would manage to sustain itself through the four years.
Wanted to believe that other transfer kids coming to the campus for high school would bring in some fresh blood who'd find something in common with his boy and be interested in hanging out with him and being his buddy.
Wanted to think some of the older kids on the Robotics team would take him under their wing and play a bit of a mentor, role model and on-site big brother for E, so he'd at least have some teammates masquerading as friends of circumstance.
Wanted to hope that some of the Seventh Graders that had been allowed on the team this year – that Eth had paved the way for – would look up to him and he could bond with them.
Wanted to think that there'd be other clubs and teams and activities at the school that he'd join up in and pick up leads on new potential buddies. Kids he had stuff in common with. Kids who'd invite him over to hang out. Kids he could kick around with on lunch and in the quad. Between bells and in the hallways before and after school.
But a year and half into E's Ignatius experience and none of that seemed to be jiving. So there wasn't too much point in keeping lying to himself and lying to his boy. It was just going to develop the way it developed. And they'd have to deal with it all as it developed. Or didn't develop, in this case.
Just had to be thankful that at least E had his buddies at RIC. His couple close buddies in the mix of it. That he had teammates there. That there seemed to be kids who he could at least form sentences with and have conversations with.
Had to be grateful that that facility meant he had kids who didn't go running in the opposite direction when they saw him coming. Or look the other way in an effort to ignore him. Or worse – look too closely and figure out what sort of cruel things they could say or do to try to test just how thick Magoo's skin was.
Thing with the little fuckers at Ignatius was they'd figured out that his boy's skin - at least when in front of the assholes - was pretty thick. So it seemed like some of Ignatius brats just worked harder at finding ways to hurt and antagonize him. Like that was some sort of sport of his own.
Didn't seem to matter how many times he went and barked at Caruso about it. Just wasn't improving. And Hank fully expected it'd likely get worse before it got better. Freshman year. Didn't matter what school policies there were about hazing. There was going to be hazing.
Though, in some ways, Hank's experience was that high school kids could be a whole lot more self-involved and self-absorbed than these middle schoolers. So could again go back to the delusion that beyond the kids in his grade level and classrooms, most of the kids in the high school buildings wouldn't be giving E a second-glance. Let alone wasting time or energy on trying to make him feel like shit.
Not that any of the kids really seemed to try too hard. But that was just another thing they were going to have to keep working on at home and E with his shrinks. Self-worth, self-esteem, self-confidence. Could only preach it at him so much. At some point, he was going to have to buy into it himself too, if he wanted anything to get any better or any easier. He had a whole lot of people who wanted things to be better and easier for him.
"It's a dumb way to spend money any way," E muttered.
Hank grunted at that. "Is," he agreed. "Shouldn't have been eating that junk either."
"I know," E allowed quietly and flopped his chin on his hands, pressed over top of his open textbook. That was some progress. Almost getting his eyes directed to what was in there. Right now, though, they looked across the table at him. "One of the candies you could send, though, was cinnamon hearts. I kinda miss them."
Hank allowed another little grunt at that. But his phone vibrated and he reached to tilt it up, giving the latest another cursory glance. Unrelated to the current shit show. He set it back down and gestured off behind him into the kitchen.
"Olive brought over some of that cinnamon tea from her place you liked," he provided. "Thought it tasted like cinnamon hearts."
Kid just eyed him. Didn't jump at the backward offer to put the kettle on.
Not exactly surprised. Kid wasn't much of a tea drinker. Though, he seemed to ingest it when he was over at Olive and H's place. But Hank thought that was likely more the kid humoring Olive. Trying to be polite. Not rocking the boat. Because E was likely more scared than he was that one wrong move might send her running again. And dragging Henry along with her.
Though, that seemed to be settling too. Things weren't exactly easy. But Olive was getting into a routine too. And that routine included them - as a family.
So they'd just keep working on that. And apparently E felt part of his contribution to that was enduring whatever herbal crap Olive was brewing at a particular moment. Whatever. As long as it wasn't some sort of hallucinogenic tonic provided by her aunt.
"It's not just Valentine's," E said quietly. "I really want to quit Robotics, Dad."
Hank shook his head. "This family doesn't go quitting things midstream."
"Dad, I didn't even want to do Robotics this year," he whined at him.
He shrugged. "Told you I want you to have an activity each season," he said. "And part of that deal you've got with your sister for that trip you want to go on is that you're doing a school activity each term."
"I said I'd do computer club," Ethan protested.
Hank gave him another shrug. "They meet a couple times a month. You want to do the computer club, do the computer club. But want you in something that's meeting up at least once a week."
"I go to Museum Club," Magoo argued.
Hank just shrugged at him. "Not a school club," he said flatly.
Didn't mind the kid doing that. They did meet weekly. But wouldn't say E got out to it weekly. And would say it was a whole lot more of a drop-in program than any sort of club or activity.
"So I'll do Chess Club too," E pressed.
"Mmm …," Hank allowed. Because they'd had this discussion too many fucking times. And now it was the middle of February for him to be dropping in on any new clubs and activities mid-semester. It was all just talking shit at this point. Waste of both their times.
Face must've conveyed as much because E finally sat up and sunk back in his chair.
"I told you that I'd do stuff at RIC too. Rock climbing or Judo or swimming."
"Same as you going over to Field and Adler and Shedd, Magoo. Got no problem with you doing any of that list at RIC. But want you participating in at least one club or team at your school," Hank put to him flatly. Again.
"But I really hate it this year," he sulked.
"Ethan," he put to him firmly, "you've got to treat it like ball. Be a team player. Your coaches put you in a spot they feel will—"
"They put me on the Tech Team!" he protested.
"Ethan," he put to him even more firmly, "you were given the choice of driver on the Tech Team or Gear Station on the Battle Team. You picked driver."
"IT'S THE LITTLE KIDS TEAM!" E spat so hard.
"It's not," Hank nodded at him with warning eyes. "It's a division that is just as important as –"
"It's basically Second Line!" E argued. "It's like being the back-up! The fucking relief pitcher."
Hank changed his eyes to warning and his son sunk back again. "You are in Grade Eight. You are not going to be the driver on the Battle Team. You keep at this. Maybe Junior or Senior year, you'll get that position on the competition league team. Driver on the exhibition league. Pretty good training ground."
"Exactly," Ethan sulked. "I'll just get to play the exhibition matches."
"Which are important," Hank stressed at him. "You're scoring the points. You're collecting the intel for your Battle group. You're making sure your whole team goes into competition with a nice standing on the ladder."
"And then we get to sit there and watch," E said. "With thumbs up our asses."
"Two," Voight put to him and his language. "Happens again and you know what happens."
Ethan sighed and stared at the table.
"Ethan," Hank pressed. "You had the opportunity to be on the Battle Group. You picked Tech."
"Well, I don't get how they can move me from Scout to Gear Station," he lamented vehemently.
Hank knew the logic around the whole thing. Part of it was that Mouse was gone. And unfortunately, as talented as E was with some of this stuff, Greg had put extra time into handling him and managing him. It'd given him the help he needed to have a spot in the Battle Group and it had kept E from monopolizing any of the other coaches' or mentors' time. Mouse gone – there just wasn't as much ability to do the hand-holding. And, though, Hank could argue that E had learned enough and matured enough with his experience on the previous year's team, he didn't need as much hand-holding – he could also understand where the coaching staff was coming from.
Beyond that, knew that Eth hadn't had exactly stellar attendance last year. Had his treatment. Had the meningitis. And then he just had fucking M.S. and there were some afternoons and weekends he was just too tired and in too much pain to be up to participating. Had meant that sometimes the time was left in a bit of a lurch. Wasn't exactly fair to anyone. And Hank knew there had been some hard feelings among team members – and the fucking Robo-Parents, who seemed worse than fucking Hockey Dads and Soccer Moms sometimes – about what the implications of having an occasionally absentee scout had for the team. Didn't help that E picked up meningitis at States and then wasn't able to rally enough to participate in the prep for Regionals very well and was fairly side-lined for most of the Regional competition. The team not scoring well enough at Regionals to get to Nationals? Well, the shit had to trickle down somewhere and some of it had ended up in blame being placed on E's attendance record.
So kid had gotten offered a spot this year on Battle Group that wouldn't have as much impact on the team overall if he ended up sidelined for part of the season again. The driver position on Tech. Prestigious position - but lower level of the totem pole in the whole team structure.
Thing was, Hank hadn't thought E ending up on the Tech Team would be that bad. Because their schedule wasn't quite as ridiculous. Kids weren't working after-school every night for months on end. Weren't having htem in there every weekend. After the competition season started, the matches were a little more spaced out. Given that E had other things he wanted to be doing – and given he'd seen how tired the demands of the Robotics Team had left his kid the previous year – didn't exactly think that dropping down a tier was the end of the world. Even if E was taking it as a real big punch to the ego.
"I thought Driver would be better but it's not," the kid kept on with his whining. "Our playing field is so stupid. You hardly even need a driver at all. There's no where to move. It's boring."
"Ethan, this family doesn't just walk away from things because they aren't going exactly the way we wanted them to or according to our plan. Life don't work like that."
E sighed. "I hate it," he whispered under his breath again.
"So, what? You've got about a week until your coaches have to give their team and designs locked-ins? Then you're into the match and competition schedule?" His kid's head barely bobbed at the statement. "So your robot will be done?"
E let out a slow breath. "Dad, Tech's robots are barely robots. They're just prototypes. They're so small. Like two feet. And they hardly have to do anything. You basically just have to give them a drive shaft and build a cantapult with a gear mechanism so you can shoot the balls and a plow or battering ram to shove stuff around. All they have to do is move and score points." He paused. "And find heat sensors when they're in autonomous mode. But basically nothing. None of the important stuff. None of the fun stuff."
Hank smacked at him. "You're going to list off all that to me, then tell me in the same breath that your robots aren't doing anything, you aren't doing anything, and the things you're figuring out for your team ain't important?"
E just stared at him.
"Ethan, you're learning a lot of valuable skills—"
"Dad, I already told you, none of this stuff even matters for me to get an Intelligence Analyst job and I'm never going to be able to do that anyway," E spat out with hurt that was still radiating in him from yet another conversation they'd had weeks ago.
Eva had gone reading up on all the various policing requirements during the latest recruitment campaign in January. Keen kid, but she had an pretty big uphill battle of her own in that dream was ever going to come to fruition. But the kid was a firecracker, so wouldn't put it passed her getting it to work out.
Problem had been that in her nosing around, she'd managed to spot CPD's listing they had up for civilian intelligence analyst. Knew that that was what Magoo thought he wanted to do with his life – at that particular moment in his life. So she'd shared all the lurid details of the posting with him. E had gone and laboriously powered through reading the three pages of dense text only to come to him near tears and spitting accusations about how he'd been stringing him along about ever being able to do that kind of job. That he wouldn't get into college. That didn't know how to research and he took too long to read and write.
He'd calmed the kid down as best he could. Gave him assurances that what was listed on the paper had very little to do with who actually got hired. And promised him again that if he wanted to go to college and still wanted a civilian job with the CPD after all that, he'd be doing everything in his power to make sure he reached those two goals. Could tell the kid didn't believe him. But knew that anymore, E didn't believe him quite as much about a whole lot of thing. Kid had just skulked away and they hadn't said much more about it.
Hank, though, had gone and actually looked at what the fucking City had written up about what the powers-that-be thought were needed in a fucking analyst he'd have to put up with. Funny thing was that for how upset E was about it, it read like a fucking checklist of things that his educational aides and tutors and rehab therapists worked with him on. Active listening. Critical thinking. Co-ordination with others and co-operation. Problem solving. Decision. Making educated judgments. Oral comprehension. Identification of patterns. Adaptability. Dependability. Attention to detail. There was a whole lot of ticks on that list that Voight thought his son could have checked off for him right now. And the ones that were left unchecked – he was working on. They were working on. And he'd get there. All Ethan had to do was keep working his ass off. Believe in himself. Keep wanting it.
"Fine," Hank shrugged at him. "But what you're learning on this team – gonna give you a whole lot of skills to either get you into a college program you want or to have a leg up in a decent job."
His kid just shrugged back at him defiantly. Didn't want to hear it. Him getting a higher education and doing something with his life – not wallowing in self-pity and tossing aside everything his family had done for him to try to give him a decent foundation for adulthood - would be a war he'd get to argue with him for the next four years. Pick your battles. Win the war. Didn't need to get into a scrimmage on this front tonight.
"Working on the robot is helping with your dexterity, your problem solving, your spatial awareness, and your concentration. And your docs say we need to work on that. So you're going to keep working on that," he provided instead.
"Robots have to be done by next week," E put flatly.
"Meaning?" Hank pressed back.
E shrugged. "So I helped with the build. I don't want to do the competition season."
Hank smacked at him. "Realize you've been the one building that 'bot and training as its Driver?"
"Yea …" the kid shrugged dismissively.
"So you leaving the team now, Ethan, it's going to have implications on a lot more people than just you. Causes a real disruption for your whole team – right when you all should be gearing up for the season."
Ethan flopped his arm in a tight fist onto the table, gazing at it clenched there. "I hate seeing Max all the time," he hissed. "I hate that he gets to be on the Battle Team this year and I got bumped down to Tech."
"Max's in high school now," Hank provided. "They put the high school kids on the competition team."
"But I'm way better at the build stuff than him," E lamented.
"And Max ain't building this year is he?" Hank put flatly. Had heard this rant before too. Max was off doing programming or coding or some shit.
"I was on the Battle Team last year and I wasn't in high school …," E countered when he couldn't come up with a counter to yet another point they'd gone over multiple times.
"And, pretty sure you'll be back on it next year. If you stick this out. Just like you would if this was ball," he provided.
"But I hate seeing Max," he argued again.
"Ethan, if you hate seeing Max so much, don't know why you'd want to move over to the Battle group. Stay on Tech. Do your job. Keep some space between the two of you," he pushed. Because anymore those two kids were like oil and vinegar.
"But he always comes and finds me on breaks," Ethan said. "It's like he has no one over on Battle Group to talk to but he still thinks he's got all this swagger. But he has no friends. He's such a loser."
"Shouldn't say things about other people that you wouldn't like them to be saying about you," Hank provided, again tilting his phone up as it vibrated.
That was the message he'd been waiting for. He picked it up and shot off that he'd send a couple of his guys to the scene to get a briefing and lend a hand if warranted. After sending that off, keyed in Burgess and shot something off to her too. Give in a minute or two. Figured she'd get back to him quick. Young. Eager. Glued to the fucking phone.
"Dad, he says completely stupid-mean stuff to me," Ethan pressed.
Hank gave him a glance and set down the phone as he waited to hear back from the kid. "Max has Asperger's, Magoo. His social skills aren't great."
"Dad, he came up to me today, handed me an invitation to his birthday and told me he didn't want me to come."
Hank grunted at that. Thinking on it. Trying to figure out what the hell he was supposed to say to this sort of political bullshit among kids.
"Said that his mom was making him invite me and that she was sending out portal evites too and that I was supposed to make sure you didn't tell her I was coming. Because he doesn't want me there," Ethan pressed at him.
"Mmm …," Hank allowed. "Well, hate being around Max. Shouldn't get too upset he doesn't expect you there."
"I hate being around him because he says dumb stuff like that all the time," Eth argued and flopped back against his textbook.
Phone vibrated again. Burgess was quick. Picked it up and started keying in for her to grab Al to go with her. If he didn't answer his phone, let him know. Might ignore Bugress' call, wouldn't ignore his.
"You want to go to the party?" Hank asked, as he let his thumbs do the talking on the damn smartphone.
"Not really," Ethan muttered. "But it's at that gaming lounge … Ignite. So that might've been cool."
"Mmm …," he grunted and put down his phone.
Wasn't big on being distracted by the thing when he was in front of his kid. Especially after J and his kid's words ringing in his ears that he was always working. Spat at him in muttered, under-the-breath tones whenever he touched his phone. The fucking memory that the last conversation he'd gotten to have with his older boy was interrupted by a fucking vibration from work letting him know about a crime scene. And that if he hadn't looked at it until after they were done their talk. Or if he'd opted to let someone else handle the scene when he was home celebrating his grandson's first birthday – maybe things would've worked a little differently. Maybe J wouldn't have left the house after him. Maybe he'd have heard him leaving and they would've gotten into an argument about him going on that night and maybe he would've talked him into taking his ass back upstairs to his wife and son. Or maybe if they'd finished their conversation, J would've actually told him what the hell was going on and asked him for the real help he needed rather than all the fucking lies, bullshit and half-truths he'd been feeding him for months. If not since he was about fifteen years old.
So – tried – now, harder. To keep the electronic leash thing to a minimum. But between single parenting and being a supervisor on the job, there were always going to be circumstances where you had to shift your attention around. So he was working too at being better at making sure that at least his attention was in the right spot at the right moment.
"That the spot I keep saying no to you going," he put flatly.
Knew it was. Because it was on the list of battles of the wills they had on the go anymore.
Thankfully Erin and Jay hadn't gotten that place up in Roscoe or else it'd likely be an endless battle of the wills and a whole lot of grounding going on about the damn video game place.
But for now, Eth hadn't quite seemed to figure out how to navigate the L and the buses well enough that he had shown much interest into venturing off to the North Side on his own. But the fucking place was close enough to the home diamond for the RIC Cubs, though, that a lot of the kids ventured over to it after practice or a morning game on the weekends. Knew he'd eventually have to let his boy join in – and waste his allowance – on that front too.
But not until the spring – or better yet … the summer – when he was out of school and officially no longer PG-13 and a middle schooler. Maybe that bullshit could be on the list of privileges he could earn and be trusted with as a high schooler.
"It's the place that Evan's dad is taking his whole class for his birthday," Ethan muttered instead.
"Mmm …," Hank grunted again. Now they were wading into yet another realm of this multi-layered sulk-fest. "Thought Evan wasn't too excited about that."
"He's excited about Ignite," Ethan said, casting him a glance. "He's just not excited about having to hang out with people from his school. Because most of them suck too."
Hank allowed another grunt. But refrained from comment. Because really wasn't his place and he didn't want to add fuel to whatever fucking family dynamics were going on in that whole separation, child-of-divorce dynamic. Had enough interaction with Evan and Hatley to have determined it was a fucking mess. Had his own fucking messes. Didn't need to wade into theirs.
"So I thought the plan was that he was going to have a videogame night at his place with you and Eva the following weekend," he provided, tilting his phone one last time. It was O.
"Got to take this," he rasped at his boy and picked it up. "Yeah. … No. I gave her the go-ahead. … Yeah. Not looking to do their job for them. … Yeah. Just go take a look. … Yeah. … Yeah. Trust your judgment. … Yeah. Let me know."
Hung up and put the phone in his pocket that time. Because now he'd just wait to hear back from O. Wasn't going to keep looking at the rest of the bullshit that was flying around as people tried to get their shit in order. Al'd call when there was something to say about it. He'd hear it. So could focus his attention back on Magoo for the moment. The spot – the place – it needed to be.
"I don't know," Ethan sighed and rubbed at the table with his finger.
"That not the plan anymore?"
E let out a slow breath. "I don't know. We were thinking that maybe Jay would let us play on his flatscreen. Or we could come here or something."
"What's wrong with his place?" Hank put back to him. Because it wasn't too often that he – or Erin and Halstead – got a night without Ethan. And that sort of thing was the kind of thing that went into the calendar anymore.
E just shrugged. "His mom can be kind of annoying," he said. "She just like … hovers a lot."
Hank grunted. That was a pretty good short summary of Gwen.
She meant well. She'd just been through a lot. Her kid had been through a lot. And now there was the whole divorce dynamic too – competition for the kid's attention and affection. Not that Voight got the sense it was much of a competition. Evan might find his mom a little annoying – but must kids did. Truth was it sort of was part of the parental job description – especially after kids reached that age. And as annoying as his mom might be, it was still his mom that Evan had wanted to be with – live with – not his dad.
That told you a whole lot about who was winning the battle of the hearts. And even if that was an over simplification, did prove that the kid knew who had taken care of him when he'd gotten hurt and who would be able to pull him through the rest of his recovery and transition into adult life with visible scars, and not just emotional and psychological ones.
"Just wants to keep an eye on you when you're doing a co-ed sleepover," he put flatly. Knew he did a lot of checking in on the kids when they were over too. Though, he didn't just contain that to when Evalyn was spending time with the boys. Suspected Gwen didn't either.
"I don't even know if I want to sleep over," E muttered.
"Why's that?" Hank put to him – because, again, he'd already taken dates on when this fucking sleepover was happening. Hadn't penciled it in. That thing had gone down in pen. Actually had been fucking synced to whatever family calendar bullshit that Erin had set up for him her and Halstead and Olive to all be inputting crap into in some sort of attempt to co-ordinate schedules in a too fucking complicated family life. Didn't quite know he understood how to use the eyesore that this family calendar thing had become. But did know he didn't intend on deleting that sleepover from it either.
"I don't know," E muttered.
"Must be a reason," Hank said.
E fidgeted. "Evan can be sort of … depressing … I guess."
He grunted. That was a decent summary of Evan too. Kid was melancholy. More than just teen-aged moodiness. But Voight tried to weigh it against the kid getting hurt and going through the surgeries and the rehab. Add in the impact that had on his parents' marriage and the family's life. The divorce and his mom bringing him across the state to a city lifestyle that the kid didn't seem to be embracing that well. Then take into consideration that the kid was likely struggling with figuring out his sexuality some and how all that fit in this new fucking world order they were living in. Or maybe the kid really was just dour.
"Evan's got a lot on his plate these days," he managed in half-assed defence of the kid. Because, didn't much want one of Eth's two friends to fall out of the picture just because the kid wasn't coping very well.
"It's not like my life is all rainbows and lollipops either," E grumbled.
It earned thin smile, even though Hank knew Magoo wasn't trying to be funny. But it was just … it was his voice coming out of his kid. And he wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. But he knew Camille would be laughing her ass off.
"Maybe we should get him a copy of Pout-Pout Fish for his b-day," Hank offered.
"Dad …," Ethan groaned at him.
"Teach him to turn his frown upside down," he added flatly.
E rolled his eyes a little and provided instead, "There's no where to really sleep and I always hurt and am tired after sleeping over there."
Hank grunted. "Could take the air mattress," he offered.
E sighed and gazed at him. "He's just said some stuff the last few times we've hung out that have kind of pissed me off too."
"Like what?"
E fidgeted some more. "I don't know. He kind of brags a lot. Like he bragged about getting to go to the Cubs Convention."
"Mmm …," Hank grunted.
Don't know how much there was to brag about there. But knew if E had gone, he'd be bragging about it too. And, reality was he'd looked into tickets around Christmas time for his kid. But they weren't selling single days that year. Had to buy the full three-day pass, which just took it to astronautically prices when his kid was already getting an Xbox under the tree and had already floated hope that he might get a Cubs Club pack of tickets for his birthday or graduation again too.
Another pricey request and another thing that had been near impossible to get in the outfield bleacher price ranges as far as Voight had been able to tell. The smaller flex packs of tickets had disappeared too quick for him to grab them. Now he was left considering if he wanted to drop the cash – and really could guarantee that the time would be available – to get a 14 or 20 game pack. Seemed more than a little excessive. His kid was likely just going to have to settle on getting out to one or two games that season. The downside of being the championship team – now everyone was on the bandwagon and the ticket availability and prices reflected that. And they weren't even to Spring Training yet.
But even if he took the fucking ridiculous prices of the Cubs Convention weekend out of it, knew the lines and crowds at the thing would just be fucking pandemonium. E just couldn't handle that kind of activity – and standing and waiting – for hours on end anymore. Would've been a giant fucking waste of money and would've ended up with an exhausted – and possibly sick – kid out of it. So he wasn't too upset it hadn't panned out, even if E had repeatedly mentioned it in the lead up to the event.
"And there's this guy who's his pairs partner or some shi…" he stopped himself and looked cautiously at Hank. Who graced him with a look that told him he'd heard it. He heard everything. But he didn't comment. "A guy he's on the RIC rowing team with …" E tried, still looking at him cautiously. "And he went to Escape the Room with him. Even though I've been saying forever that I want to do Escape the Room."
"Maybe the other kid planned and invited him," Hank shrugged.
"Still," E huffed. "He knew I wanted to do it and now he has completely ruined it. Telling me like everything about it."
Hank grunted. Wasn't going to provide commentary because there wasn't exactly a point. E didn't want to hear it. But he was pretty sure that there were more than one of those fucking places in the city. And for as much as E said he wanted to go to the thing, hadn't worked at planning an outing with his little squad on his own and didn't seem interested enough in the things that he was willing to dig the cost of admission out of his allowance.
"And now he's going to the Auto Show and keeps talking about that too," E grumbled. "He barely knows what a car is."
Hank allowed a slightly amused noise. Because it was interesting to watch and hear little things over time as Magoo slowly picked up on the fact that Evan's interests were slightly different than his own in a whole lot of areas. He sort of wondered if and when it'd click for Ethan about why that was. And what kind of label the kids would give it. How it'd impact any of the friendships or dynamics in their little group. Or if the kids really just wouldn't care.
"It's just like he keeps taking things I want to do and doing them and completely showing off about them," E bemoaned.
"You told him you'd like to tag along on any of this stuff?" Hank smacked at him. E just gave him a look. "Maybe you'd get an invite if you spoke up. People can't read your mind, Ethan."
E just sighed out more frustration and flopped back on his textbook again. "I don't want to go to the car show with him," he mumbled.
Hank gazed at him. "Who you want to go with?" His boy's eyes flitted to him. Hank gave him a little nod. "So you want to try asking me to go or inviting me to go with you? See how that works."
E sighed even louder and moved his eyes away.
"Hadn't said anything to me about being interested in going to the show," Hank tapped on the table to get his attention. But the kid just shrugged. "Don't read minds either, Magoo."
"You look people in the eye. Same diff," the kid said with too much fucking tone.
"Getting smart ain't too smart, Ethan," he provided.
Ethan gave him another glance. "You want to go?"
Voight gave him his own shrug. "Sure."
But the kid's eyes got so hopeful at that. "Really?"
Another shrug. "You manage a good day, we'll go over for a bit a night this week. Crowds will be smaller."
E quietly glowed at him but drummed his fingers on the table. "It's not just trying to be all GOAT, though," he said, casting him another look. "He's said some stuff, that I don't know, I guess kind of upset me."
"Like what?" Hank put to him again.
"That Hitler was Austrian," E put flatly and stared at him.
Voight shrugged. "He was."
"So Austrians were all a bunch of Nazis," E said.
Hank scrubbed at his face and gazed at his son. "So what's he trying to imply there?" Didn't need to ask. But would let his son say it so they could try to talk out how idiotic that implication was.
"That we're Nazis," E said quietly with his apprehension and utter embarrassment.
Voight smacked and let his tongue rest in his cheek for a long moment as he looked at his kid. For how fucking quiet Evan could be, the kid sure seemed to run his mouth when him and E were alone. Heard all sorts of "Evan saids" after any get-together between the two that hadn't been in the front room. In their front room or the back of the Escalade, barely heard a fucking peep out of that kid.
"We're American," he nodded at his boy. "And a whole lot of the idiocy we're seeing come out of the woodwork – a whole lot of the problems we have in this country – is because of people taking other people's ancestry, ethnicity or religion and turning it into uneducated name-calling. And some justification for bigotry and hate. And that, that's the problem. Not where people came from or the color of their skin or that they're Muslim."
"But we're Austrian," Ethan said after a long beat.
"No," Hank put to him more firmly. "We're American. And the privilege of being a citizen of this country mean that allowed celebrate and remember who we are and where we came from. That we're allowed to have identities that go beyond just being American or Chicagoan. That we can just as proudly say that we're Austrian or Italian," he stressed with a firm nod, "or Catholic too. We're allowed to have come from those places. We're allowed to practice those religions. Just as much as the Syrians or the Somalis or the Chinese or the Indians or the Mexicans or the Muslims or the Hindus or the Buddhists or the Jews. This country – this city – it was built by immigrants and people from all different faiths from a whole lot of different places."
"Yeah. But that still means we were Nazis?" Ethan pressed. Clearly not hearing or processing any of it.
"No," he rasped at the kid again. "First off, Ethan, we've got a whole lot more blood in us than just Austrian. There's German—"
"They definitely were Nazis," his kid interrupted.
Hank gave a firm smack at that and it shut E up for a moment. "Your mom's side of the family came from Italy-"
"Evan says Mussolini was pretty bad too. Another fascist dictator. Like Trump and Hitler."
Hank smacked at him again and gave him a nod. "You want to listen," he put to his boy.
Ethan sank back in his chair and stared at him hesitantly.
"My family, they came here long before the war. The Nazis. You're third generation American, Ethan. You're great-grandfather might've been born in Europe – but he was raised here. We're pretty far off the boat."
Could see the kid trying to listen and process but could also tell none of it was entirely clicking. Too much was churning through that head of his. And it was too late in the day for Magoo to really actively be doing much of anything – beyond stewing and making himself sick with stress and exhaustion. Another thing they were trying to work on with the shrinks. A real process. At least the anxiety meds had seemed to help some. But that didn't stop his kid from trying to wrap his head around a whole lot of hard stuff. Enough to scramble a healthy brain, let alone a kid like his.
"Ethan, Austrians played a pretty big role in settling the Midwest. In building this city. Working our stockyards. OK? Two major waves came over. One that your great-great-grandparents and great-grandfather were a part of. And these people – some of them - they were Catholic missionaries and teachers. They rest of them. Poor immigrant laborers looking to start better life here. And they poured their hearts and souls into this country and city. The other wave – they came leading up to the war. And those people – those Austrians who settled here – they were Jews trying to escape the Nazis. They weren't Nazis. They were refugees. Just like a lot of the people trying to escape bad situations and start new lives and contribute-"
"Wait …," Ethan sputtered. "So we're Jewish? So why am I not circumcised?"
Hank smacked at him. Stared at him and smacked at him. Because there were moments where he just knew Camille was somewhere and pulling some sort of strings and laughing at him. That she was doing some little payback for all the conversations he'd outright missed or skirted around and left for her to handle with J and Erin. And now too fucking many – many of which he'd prefer not to have – were all falling right in his lap. And he just had to figure out how to deal with them. Because there were a whole lot of things he couldn't tell his boy to go ask his sister. A whole lot of conversation and moments and events he was responsible for as this kid's father. But ones that he'd never expected to have to figure out how to navigate alone.
Liked to think there weren't many comments that took him off step anymore. But more times than not, it seemed like the ones that did were ones that were coming out of his son's mouth. If Ethan threw these kinds of curve balls at him now, didn't want to think about what kind of random bullshit Henry would manage to throw into his 70-year-old face. Leave him gaping and trying to figure out what the hell he was supposed to say to the kid. And just how the fuck the teen-aged mind worked.
"You're Catholic," Hank put to him flatly. Technically. Non-practicing Catholic at a fucking elite Jesuit private school that had the church embedded right into its every day life and curriculum.
But not much point in adding that commentary to the conversation. Because clearly the kid wasn't listening to a word he was saying anyway. Or he was doing an Ethan – he really was tired – and he was just operating on one of his different planes, which really wasn't worth trying to understand. He'd come to accept he'd never quite get it, not matter how hard he tried.
"Oh …," E said, like that was some sort of startling new information that he needed to process. "Are you Jewish?"
"No," Hank graveled. Putting some real effort into not letting his annoyance come through.
"Oh …," the kid said again and squinted at him in careful consideration. "Then how come you and Justin were and I'm not?"
Hank sat there staring at his kid. Wouldn't mind his phone starting to vibrate again. And sort of wished that maybe he'd just let it slide when E had said he was tired. Let him head upstairs.
He finally scrubbed at his face. "E, help me understand how we got on this topic?" he put flatly. Because how the hell did they go from homework to Valentine's Day to Robotics to Max to birthday parties to Auto Shows to Nazis to the fucking state of the country under Trump to this.
"Because in Man in the High Castle…," Ethan started babbling and Voight let out an annoyed breath but let himself sit back in his seat a bit, crossing his arms, as he listened to this prlonged explanation.
This fucking show that E and Evan had taken to watching over at Hatley's place. Because apparently as "annoying" as she was, she didn't supervise them anywhere near as well as Voight would like. But Gwen's definitions of appropriate media consumption for thirteen year olds was vastly different than his.
He'd managed to bite his tongue about it a bit – after having some heated conversations and stand-offs with Gwen on the matter – in the hope of letting his kid have some friends. And in an effort to get everyone a night to themselves every month or so. Figured one afternoon or night of inappropriate movies, tv shows and videogames wasn't going to wreck his kid. Had been exposed to a lot more real life anyway. But it did cause some more fucking battles when E got home and thought should get to finish binge watching some TV show or downloading some game that there wasn't a fucking chance in hell that was going to be allowed in his home. And there'd be a world of hurt if they did get snuck into his home.
It wasn't even that he thought The Man in the High Castle was vastly inappropriate. It was more that he thought a lot of the content – and the implications that were being presented and discussed in the series – were flying right over the heads of thirteen-year-old boys. And the ones that were sticking were the ones that were sort of upsetting and confusing to the kids – especially in today's political hotbed. It was the kid of show that parents should be watching with their kids so they could have real conversations about the episodes and the issues – past and present, history, fiction and reality.
But he sat there and he listened to the jumbled explanation that basically consisted of some character being Jewish but hiding that he was Jewish – "so he wouldn't get gassed!" But then he was found out and "his sister and nephew and niece were gassed!".
But that some comment had been made on the show about the character not being circumcised, which likely wouldn't have even truly registered as any point of having much substance or meaning, if Evan had provided him with the explanation that Jews were circumcised and that the character was farther trying to hide he was Jewish by not getting circumcised. Though, apparently that had confused Ethan given the penile situation in his family. And apparently Evan had suggested that maybe they were trying to hide the fact they were Jewish. Only to correct himself and say that it was actually all the circumcised men in the family trying to hide the fact they were Nazis since people used to "really hate us." But that likely it was OK for people to know again by the time he was born and probably good now – because there's lots of Nazis now. But that Evan's "half-Jewish" and doesn't really think they should be friends, if they were Nazis.
Hank just smacked again after that ramble. At least he knew Evan and Magoo didn't have their dicks out making comparison notes. But would've preferred if the two of them weren't swapping notions about their dicks – or anyone else's, particularly his – in conversation.
"None of that has anything to do with you being uncircumcised," he put to his kid flatly when he finally shut up. He found his son's eyes. "You were premature. You spend time in NICU. You were little. And you were sick. Me and your mom didn't want to put you through any more than you were able going through."
"Oh …," E said. And Hank could see the gears churning again. "So why didn't you just tell them to do it later?"
"Magoo, it's not exactly a pleasant thing to watch inflicted on your newborn," he put bluntly. "I don't think it's something me or your mom ever entertained taking you back in for after we got to bring you home from the hospital."
The kid's eyes squinted more. "But you did it to J …"
Hank scrubbed at his face again and shrugged, shaking his head. "He wasn't a premie. And times were different then."
"Because you only had him?" E squinted.
Hank let out a slow breath and tapped the side of his hand on the table. "OK, this whole circumcision thing. Whether you should get your son cut or leave him intact. Every few years, it hates up. People debate about it. There's studies and reports about it. Docs say it's good or it's bad or you should do it or you shouldn't. The '90s, getting your boy circumcised, it was still was en vogue—"
"En vogue?"
"The norm. It was just what people did," Hank nodded at him. "Our insurance covered the procedure—"
"Procedure?" Ethan gaped. "I thought it was—"
"They're cutting a piece of skin off your dick, Ethan. It's a procedure."
"So like surgery?"
"No," Hank put flatly. "More like one of your lumbar punctures." His boy cringed because it was high on his list of things he couldn't stand and it was high on Voight's short list of things he really hated having to watch. "The baby is awake—"
"When they're cutting it off?" E gaped in horror.
"Yes," he put firmly. "And based on the screaming out of your brother – it wasn't pleasant while it was happening and wasn't pleasant for way too many days afterward."
Ethan stared at him. "Then why do people do it?"
"Most people - likely because it's what they think is best at the time or out of some ego and vanity issues. Having their son look like dad so they don't get stuck answering awkward questions later on."
"Is that why you let them do it to Justin?" Eth asked – way too forthright.
Hank just shrugged. "Partly. Mostly because things were different then. Didn't do much research into it. We had a boy. Your mom left the decision up to me. Doc recommended it, spouted some medical stuff at us. Decided to go with what I knew."
"So … that's what your dad did too?"
"Ethan, I have no idea. This is not the kind of conversation I ever have even entertained broaching with my father. Would assume that when I was born – it was just what was done. Likely didn't get a lot of thought or discussion around the matter then either."
E sat back in his chair more, staring at the table in deep thought. There was clear confusion painted across his face. Some hurt there.
"So was not doing it normal when I was born?" E asked quietly. "Because Evan is."
"You said Evan's Jewish. It's a religious rite thing in Judaism," he provided flatly.
"I'm pretty sure lots of guys who aren't Jewish don't have foreskins too," he said quietly.
Hank gave him a shrug. "Ethan, … parents … they make their decisions about this the best way they know how at the time."
"So you just didn't get it done because I was born little?" he asked.
Hank sighed and scrubbed at his face. "You arriving early made our decision for us. If you arrived on-time? Don't know. Do know it wasn't going to be just my decision that time around."
"What's that mean?" E squinted.
"That we talked about it. That your mom was a biologist. And a smart, opinionated lady. And it was a different decade. There was new research. And we had some discussions about which way we were going to go with it – with you."
"And you decided no?"
"We hadn't decided anything. You were early. When the doctor asked us at the hospital – while you were still in an incubator, Magoo – we said no. We brought you home – and don't remember us having any more conversations about it. And your docs never brought it up again either."
E sat there staring at him. Tired to read him. Could see there was some kind of hurt there. But didn't really know there was anything to be hurt about. If it really bothered him that much, there was something E could do about it. It'd be unpleasant – not sure E would really support that decision. Didn't even much like the multiple holes Erin had punched in her ear. So entertaining the concept that his son might decide to cut off a piece of himself was a little much to stomach. But reality was that it was his body.
Supposed the other reality was that E was going to ask questions – or have an opinion – about all of this at some point. Had come up in passing before with him sharing a bedroom with his brother. With the usual bathroom and change room stuff that happened with little kids. They weren't blind. They were curious. Had been some comment about it when he was at boarding school and summer camp but hadn't come up again. And it hadn't sounded like there'd been any commentary from other boys yet that made him feel stared at, different or strange.
Had sort of thought at that point there might not be much more comment about it. And if there was, it likely wouldn't come up again until high school when he was more full-on in the change rooms after gym and ball with other boys his age. But had sort of figured that at that point, he'd be getting his education from the other uneducated little assholes. But knew it was better to set him straight on his own rather than let the little pricks spout bullshit at him.
"Evan said girls will likely think it's weird and gross," Ethan put flatly and looked away from him.
Hank smacked louder at that and crossed his arms over his chest. "If you're with a girl and that's what she's thinking, she's not mature enough to be seeing a man naked and sure isn't mature enough to be doing anything that requires either of you to have your shorts dropped in the first place."
Ethan just gave him a pathetic glance but Hank caught his eyes and pressed more firmly. "And she sure wouldn't be special enough to be worth your while, Magoo, if she's placing any kinds of labels on you based on the aesthetics of your dick."
E rubbed at the table. "He already said that most girls will only like me … and stuff …. out of pity ever," he said quietly.
Hank smacked louder and stared at his boy. But E kept his eyes on the table.
"Look at me," Hank said. Took a long moment but his kid brought his eyes up. "You don't need pity. And if you let a girl come at you that way – you accept those advances, because you think that's all you deserve – you're going to get hurt. And you deserve a whole lot more than that, Ethan. I'm going to keep telling you that. Your sister is going to keep telling you that. And you've got to keep working on your self-esteem, self-worth, and self-confidence so you start believing it."
E just looked away as soon as he was done talking. Hank just sat there too. Staring at him. This was not an area he was good at. He didn't know how he was going to fucking navigate this through his kid's adolescence.
He finally let out a sigh and crossed his arms more tightly across his chest, resting against the back of his chair a bit. "That commentary from Evan have anything to do with you not going with Eva to the dance on the weekend?"
Ethan just shrugged. "It was the Valentine's Day dance. Why'd I go to that?"
Voight gave him a pucker at that and gestured. "Because you like the RIC parties. 'Cuz your friend was going and asked you to too."
"We aren't dating or anything," Ethan said.
"Doubt that most of the kids at the thing were there as couples," Hank said.
Another shrug.
"Evan spout off something about Evalyn pitying you?"
Another shrug.
Hank crossed his arms again. "Look at me," he told his kid again. Took him another bit to listen. "Eva doesn't pity you—"
"He said she pities me and she's using me. To get into Iggy's. And the only reason she'd every date me or do anything with me is because she's all messed up too but that she'll think it's weird and gross because you didn't get me circumcised and because I'm not black."
Hank smacked and nodded at his boy. "Eva doesn't pity you. And she's not using you. I'm pretty good at spotting both. Don't get that vibe from her on either front. And if I did – you two wouldn't be kicking around together."
E sighed and looked away. Hank caught his eyes again. "Look at me," he ordered firmly. E made a little noise but looked at him. "But, I don't think Eva sees you as much more than a friend right now—"
"She says she's not dating until at least college because she's gonna be better than her mom. But Evan says she's just stringing me along."
"OK," Hank acknowledged. "Maybe how she feels about that will change. Maybe it won't. But right now, you're both too young to date. And you're way to young to be doing anything that goes along with dating."
"You and mom were fifteen …" Ethan whispered.
"And you aren't fifteen," Hank rasped at him.
E let out a sigh and tried to look away again, but Voight again moved to catch his line of sight.
"Ethan, you two seem like good friends. It seems like you have a lot of fun together. That you have stuff in common. And you've got some life experiences you can share and support each other in. Build on that. Enjoy that. And then maybe some years down the road, you and Eva will want to be more than friends. And that's not going to come out of a place of pity. And both of you are going to respect each other and trust each other enough that you aren't going to care about scars or missing body parts or skin color. And none of it will be any weirder and grosser than anyone's first time is – which is just fucking weird and a little gross. OK? But, do all of us a favor, and stop thinking about and stewing on it until you're at least fifteen. I'd prefer if it was more like eighteen or nineteen. Because if you keep on this – you're going to miss out having a nice friendship."
E stared at him and then started rubbing at the table again nervously. "I don't even really think about her that way. Evan just is always saying that she's my girlfriend. And we act like a couple. But she's not. She just … gets stuff … you know?"
"I know," Hank allowed. "And think something you've got to keep in mind, is that your little squad. There's three of you. You guys are reaching an age where people start to feel a little left out. Think Evan sees that you and Eva are pretty tight. Knows that Eva might be with you at Ignatius in the fall, and right now, he's likely feeling a little jealous and a little left out. And that's something the three of you are going to have to learn to manage and navigate if you want to keep your crew together."
E gazed at him long. But managed a little nod. Also managed to actually look down and pretend like he was actually going to do his homework now.
Hank glanced at his watch. "You talk to Eva today?" he asked. E gave his head a little shake but didn't look up. "You want to give her a shout, see if her and her brothers have had a bite yet?"
"Why?" E asked.
"Gonna to take you kids out for a plate of Bolognese at Carmine's," he put flatly.
"But it's Valentine's," E said.
Hank shrugged. "Carm will get us a table," he said flatly.
But reality was, thought Camille might like that. She would. Because few matters of the heart that couldn't be fixed with a plate of some good pasta and a glass of red. And beyond that, knew letting thirteen-year-olds slurp up noodles was a good way to turn a pout-pout face upside down. Maybe that … and a bowl of red Jello and strawberries too …
He fucking hated Valentine's Day. He hated doing it alone. All of it — this — alone.