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.
Erin shifted against Jay's bare chest. She'd been staring out the window – into the dark, the few lights down the alleyway at the back of their house, the fewer still windows that still had some light flooding out from them from various neighbors who also hadn't gone to sleep yet. But she'd mostly been listening to his heart. His breathing. Waiting for him to calm – not just from the sex, but from the whole day. But that hadn't happened. And she could tell it likely wasn't going to.
She looked up at him. Her movement garnering enough of his attention that he glanced down at her. His face registered with vague surprise. Maybe she'd been laying still enough, and quiet enough, that he'd thought she'd drifted off. But she hadn't. She didn't intend to until he slept too. She didn't like leaving him alone when he was like this – even if that alone meant she was still physically with him, though unconscious. Besides – she knew him. She knew that he'd just lay there staring at the ceiling all night, lost in about a million thoughts he shouldn't be thinking about. Or that when he was truly confident that she was asleep, he'd get up and go and stare at one of his documentaries or infomercials. Likely with a beer that he didn't need and shouldn't be drinking. Not alone in the dark in his state of mind.
Though, these days there was about as much chance that he'd end up turning on the fucking Xbox too and burying himself in one of the games that Ethan wasn't allowed to play and he'd vowed they wouldn't have them in their house either. But had somehow gotten brought over under the guise of Will having purchased them. Will spouting ridiculous bullshit about them being good for eye-hand coordination and dexterity. Like it was some sort of business expense and career training. Even Jay's history with the violent videogames as a kid, though. And given the small glimpses she'd been given of what his life had looked like when he'd first come back state-side and tried to rebuild his life and find his feet again – given what he'd said about Mouse and those fucking games – she really wished he wouldn't have brought them home. She didn't like having the game system there much as it was. She really hated when he started in on those games. Though, he mostly seemed to sneak them in while she wasn't around. But she could still think of better things for him to be doing with his time. And on nights like this – she really didn't think turning the console on and playing shoot 'em up like he was either some angry teenager or back in Afghanistan seemed like the best choice.
But she just reached and stroked at his cheek. His stubble was at that perfect length. Where is wasn't rough and scratchy anymore. Where it was just long enough that it felt so soft and velvety. More like duckling down. But she knew he likely working at growing it longer – fuller – than that. To the point he was the bearded man. Which wasn't her favorite look on him. At all.
But under her fingers she could feel the starts of the little red bumps he got. She'd seen them too. She'd made the mistake once of calling them pimples. He'd firmly corrected her that it was razor burn. And she'd made the mistake again that night of saying that he should maybe ask his brother about them. That'd gotten some harsh backlash about opening up the door for Will to bring up his pizza-faced teen years when he already didn't want to think about Will and his teen years that night.
Erin had likely seen less photos of Jay as a little boy and as a teenager than he'd seen of her. There were pictures on display at Hank's. Ethan had bought into the egging from Jay to pull out Camille's memory box and some of the family photo albums and put her on display more. And then there was that fucking album that she didn't even want to think about that Jimmy had handed her. That fucking Bunny had handed him. But beyond a single faded photo of Jay, Will and his grandfather up at the cabin and an equally aged photo that Will had pulled out when they were helping with his move into Nina's condo, she'd seen nothing. And those photos – it was a little boy, not a teenager. A very Chicago, Canaryville, late-1980s little boy photo. A cute, dimpled little red-headed boy who was clearly dressed and smudged up in a way that depicted he was dirt poor. But cared for.
And, really, even if she ever did get to see more than that. If maybe they reached a point that they didn't have to pretend his childhood hadn't happened. Or try to erase it and forget about it – or rewrite it's reality, in a different way that his father or Will, but still in a rehashing of the pass that was being conducted by exclusion. That maybe after they did start a family, he decided there was some value to having some photos and mementos of him – and his childhood and his past – around. That their children – their family – deserved to know his story, and him, even if parts were ugly. And she knew that those photos and the mementos existed. Because when they'd packed and moved Jay's apartment there'd been a box that was clearly of his mother's things. Items packed up and saved from his childhood home. And she knew that in it there'd be items hand-picked by his mother from his childhood. And that there'd be bits-and-pieces that Jay had saved too. Items he'd clung onto – that he couldn't let go. The scattered happy memories that had gotten him through.
She'd seen the box. But she knew what boxes like that were like. Hank had enough of them. You didn't go into them without permission. And, as much as part of her wanted to sit down and go through it and see all its treasures – she didn't want to betray that trust. She wanted to be invited to see its contents. And she wanted the exploration of them to be done sitting next to Jay. She wanted to share his laughs and happiness and sadness and tears about the memories contained in there. And until he was ready to share that with her – or any of the other boxes that she suspected might be in Will's or his father's possession – she'd just respect the place Jay had found for his box in the back of one of their closets.
And she'd just have to take him at face value that in his teens he'd had a pizza-face. Not that she believed that – really. Because he had too much of a baby face to have had a real problem with acme that went beyond regular teen-aged outbreaks. His scars from his teens and childhood weren't on his face.
So she let him call it razor burn. Even though she'd been with him long enough now to know too that even if that was part of it – that the red bumps he got rose more when he was under distress than anything else. And he'd had that kind of week. And now he'd let that beard grow until they calmed and cleared up – until he calmed too. Or else he'd just tear them all up when he did shave – and have actual razor burn. And then he'd be putting on further display to the world just how much the case had affected him. What it'd done to him. Not that anyone in the bullpen had likely looked at him long enough and hard enough to realize that his outbreaks came with his level of stress. But Jay wasn't one to want to garner any extra attention – for any reason – ever.
"Babe, you've got to let yourself sleep," she told him gently, as he met her eyes.
He made a noise and rotated his head to gaze back at the ceiling. "I can't sleep," he said flatly.
She stroked his cheek a bit more. "Try," she encouraged. "Close your eyes."
He gave her a glance and gave her a mischievous grin that felt a little forced. "Maybe I'm not ready to sleep, because I'm not done yet," he told her.
She cocked her eyebrow at him. "I'm pretty sure you're done," she said.
"I'm pretty sure I'm not," he tried.
In a way she'd been surprised he wanted sex that night. But not too. She could tell he needed the closeness. She had felt that radiating off him even before they left District. But with Jay it could be a bit of a crap shoot on if he wanted that closeness and comfort to come in the form of sex when he was dealing with one of his triggers. Sometimes he did. Sometimes he didn't.
But all the time it was a little confusing. For both of them. Because sometimes he really just wanted the comfort and the closeness. That he needed for them to make love. That he needed it slow. That he needed to feel trusted and cared for and wanted – in a gentle way. Then other times he'd get into one of his "proving himself" modes, which was the best he'd managed to label it for her. Those days – he wanted to fuck. And it turned into this whole other turmoil in him because he'd feel like he was just using her or her body to prove something to himself. Or he'd be afraid that he'd be too rough or he'd touch her in a way she didn't like – that he'd toe too close to some of her boundaries or do something she disliked. And even though they'd had conversations that had confirmed that she did enjoy getting just flat-out fucked sometimes, it was hard for both of them when he was in that kind of mindset. Because, as much as she knew that he didn't just see her as some sort of vessel to meet his needs – knowing he felt that way on those nights, just changed the whole dynamic of it. It shifted her comfort level, even though she did trust him.
And then there were those other times. The ones where it was somewhere in the middle of what he wanted and needed out of the sex. And sometimes those were even harder. Because you could really see the trauma dancing in him. His boundaries and rules became that much firmer. He could be that much more closed off. And it sometimes felt like they shouldn't be doing anything at all – because she felt like anything she did was likely to trigger him further.
If she hadn't appreciated sex as complicated before Jay – she did now. That it wasn't just about being horny and getting off. That it wasn't just about love. Or meeting needs. It wasn't just this delicate dance of obligation. She was learning that there were multiple layers to the when and why people wanted sex. When and why they needed. And what they wanted and needed in that particularly moment. And that it changed from day-to-day and sometimes minute-to-minute, and sometimes right while they were in the act. And that being in a long-term relationship with someone you loved and trusted didn't necessarily make it easier. She actually thought in a lot of ways – for them – it made things a hell of a lot more complicated.
But she loved him anyways.
But that didn't mean she didn't give him a firmer look right then. "You're exhausted."
His hand came up a stroked her arm. "I think I can find some more in the reserves."
She could tell he was about to try to push her back. To take the upper hand. To create a distraction and change the subject. By literally taking control of the situation. And she was having none of it. She stabilized her hip into the mattress, pressed her hand back against his shoulder and tangled her leg with his, making it more difficult for him to try his maneuver.
"You really aren't that great in bed when you're exhausted," she nodded at him.
He cocked an eyebrow at her like he wasn't buying that. But he should. They'd made love. She held him and comfort him. And that was what he needed. It wasn't about the orgasm that night. It wasn't anywhere near being about pleasure. It was just him getting some connection in trying to ground himself. Trying to calm and him needing her touch - and physical reassurances - in that. So there'd been sex. And it'd been nice. He'd calmed a little. She could feel some of that in his body. but it certainly hadn't been "great" sex. it hadn't even really been one of their better "making love" rounds - at least not for her. And when it came down to it, he'd been physically exhausted enough - outside of how mentally and emotionally drained he'd let a lot of his weight rest on top of her, which was really only so comfortable - or enjoyable - outside of some very select positions. And even if they had navigated and angled themselves into those - which they hadn't - he'd been lazy with his rhthym and thrusting. He'd don't little more than grind against her. But that had just farther proved that he wasn't looking for the sex - he just wanted the connection. So they went slow and she'd held him and touched him and kissed him. And, as nice as that was in its own way, it did little to interest her in engaging in another round that night. Especially when he was just trying to use it as an avoidance and distraction tactic.
"But, if you sleep, I might be interested in morning sex. Possibly followed by shower sex," she told him - firmly. His favorites. And very possibly hers too.
He made a quiet amused sound at that but did let himself settle. She knew his move was just for show and distraction. She could feel the fatigue radiating off him. And if his mind wasn't churning the way it was, he'd sleep.
"I don't have to be at roll call any way," he mumbled. "Probably won't even get approved for shift."
She gripped at his shoulder and rubbed her cheek against his chest. "It's just protocol, Jay," she said.
"I didn't even fire a weapon," he grumbled.
"You were undercover for a few days. The union got involved with Tonya running off her mouth. You threw a chair …"
"A hell of a lot worse happens in the cage," he provided.
She sighed. "And that's not on video. So just … go do the debrief with the shrink."
"And she'll make me take the shift off," he muttered. "And then there will be the waiting game with the fucking paperwork."
"And if that happens ... just try to see it as a long-weekend."
"Would you?" he said with mild annoyance.
"Jay, worse case - it's paid Personal. You deserve that."
"I deserve to be sidelined?" he said with full-on tone, casting her a look. But she met his eyes firmly - warning him about barking at her. She wasn't going to be the target of his frustrations. His annoyance and anxiety.
He sighed. "I just want to do my job," he said. "To get back to my job."
"And you will," she said. "In a day or so."
He made a noise of disagreement.
"You want me to make a honey-do list for you?" she teased. "So you know what to do with yourself?"
She got another look at that. "I think I'll be OK." Clear tone.
She met his eyes. "Don't sit around on the Xbox, Jay," she said. It wasn't with tone. Or judgment. It was a request. A plea. In that moment. In his state of mind. And she really hoped he heard it that way. And he listened.
But right then, he just gave her a grunt. One that made her think they'd really been spending too much time around Hank and Ethan. And he went back to his examination of their bedroom ceiling. Lost in thoughts that she wished he wasn't thinking. Or if he had to think them - pour over and over them in his mind - she wished he'd share some of them with her.
"You want to talk about it?" she offered. Again.
She'd tried to open the door to having some sort of discussion about it multiple times that night. Both before Hank had finally come and gotten Eth – and after he was gone. But so far Jay hadn't said much. He was quiet. Like always. And he'd indicated a clear preference for physical comfort that night rather that having any sort of heart-to-heart that involved exposing his wounds more fully than they were already exposed.
He just lay there. So long and so quiet that she thought was again going to be his answer. And the only answer she got.
But then he finally said, "I grabbed her wrist so hard."
"Ellie?" Erin asked.
"Yea …," he managed. "She must have bruising."
"Because she touched you ..." Erin said. It was a question. But it wasn't. It was pretty much a given. And Jay didn't need to answer. He didn't want to either.
"How could she trust me after that?" he asked instead.
"Because she wanted out, Jay," Erin said. "Because even if you hurt her wrist in that moment – you didn't hurt her the way other men there had been hurting her. The way Tonya had. And that says a lot."
"She just thought I was afraid of getting caught," he muttered.
"Maybe at the start," Erin allowed. "But, I think you stopping her – it earned you some respect and trust too. It's what helped close the case."
"I should apologize," he mumbled.
Erin reached and tilted his eyes to hers again. "You already did," she said. "And you didn't need to – not for any of it – in the first place."
He sighed and moved his eyes away, going back to staring at the ceiling.
"Was that the biggest trigger for you?" Erin asked after letting him churn in silence for a few minutes.
He shrugged under her but she felt him gesture at his crotch under the blankets they had sprawled over them. "I just hate when …"
"I know," she acknowledged.
"I should've been prepared for that," he muttered. "I should've known that would be happening in a place like Brady. And I should've seen her making that move sooner. I should've stopped it before she got that close."
"You stopped it," Erin said. "All of it. That's all that matters."
His hand snaked out from under the covered. Its heel pressed against his forehead and then into his one eye. "I hate these cases," he muttered again. "I just … fucking hate these kinds of cases."
"I know," she allowed and gripped at his shoulder. His arm fell back down and wrapped around her, holding onto her shoulder too. She could feel that his heart rate had picked up even thinking about it. "Shh …," she soothed with pursed lips against his chest.
"The way Voight and Al were looking at me," he said flatly.
"They've both been undercover," she said. "They've both worked with kids. They know what's it like."
"They were judging," he said with tone.
"No one was judging you," she pressed into his chest firmly and looked up at him with even firmer eyes. But he was still staring at the ceiling. His free hand clutching at the sheets in tight fists.
"Voight kicked me out of the room," Jay said. "Now the shrink. My FoP rep. It's bullshit."
"He's trying to protect you," she said, lifting her head and raising up on her elbow to really catch his eyes that time – whether he wanted to or not. "He knows what it's like to get jammed up by false accusations. And, Jay, he knows what kind of man you are on the job and off it. It wasn't about anything else."
Jay sighed and ran the heel of his hand across the forehead again. "Does he know?" he asked. "About the … other stuff?"
She shrugged and shook her head. "Not from me," she allowed. "But … Jay … there's been a couple cases … where you can see it in you. He's intuitive about that kind of thing."
"Has he said anything?" he asked.
"Not to me," Erin allowed. "But he wouldn't. If he said anything, it'd be to you and it'd be because of … it affecting a case somehow."
"I felt like … people knew this time. Today … in the bullpen."
She pulled his hand away from his forehead so she could really look into his eyes. "You get anxious when you're triggered. All anyone saw in the bullpen today was a guy who'd been undercover, who was having some accusations batted around about him, who really wanted to get the case closed."
"But not you," he said, his eyes dancing with that sad emptiness.
"I know you, Jay," she said and reached to stroke his cheek again.
"I don't want you to know that part of me," he said, his eyes drifting away as quickly as they could.
"I know," she acknowledged. "But I want to know all your parts. Anything to know where you came from."
Because where he came from – it was how they'd gotten to where they were now. And no matter what that path had been – she liked the current destination. And she was happy to make the rest of the journey together. Maybe that'd make it easier for both of them.
AUTHOR NOTE: A second chapter - the one immediately following this one, Driving Sacrifices - was also added today. Please make sure you get to read it. Your readership, reviews, feedback and comments are appreciated.