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 held at the back of the seat of the mountain bike that Ethan had saddled. The kid could barely reach the ground and was hardly keeping balance on the thing while he tried to spin at the wheels and squeeze at the brakes. He felt like he was back to Magoo learning to ride his first two-wheeler. Like he was going to be expected to go sprinting down the street at any second to try to keep up with the kid until he let go and hoped he didn't wipe out.

Seemed like this was actually going to be about the third round of him having to do that with Magoo. Did it once when he was just a real little guy. Like most things with Magoo when he was still just a pre-schooler back their previous life with him, he'd been a little ahead of the game. Older brother and sister in the house he was so determined to keep up with. Just like he'd barely crawled before he went right to walking, his kid had basically jumped right from a tricycle to a two-wheeler.

Snagging that little toddler bike from Al and Meredith of Lexi's and going out and buying some training wheels for the damn thing had been a fucking waste of time and cash. He'd barely gotten the things screwed into the bike before Magoo was wanting them off. He hadn't even reached his fourth birthday and was teetering down the street that spring. Wanting Daddy to hold on. Fucking testing his 45-year-old back and knees as he stooped to keep his frenzied ride upright. Not that he had to do it too many runs down the block. Just as quick Magoo was demanding that he "LET GO!" "NO HANDS!"

Thought that would likely be his last experience getting to teach a kid to ride a bike. Really, had thought that teaching J was probably going to be his only run at that game. Had been a real different experience with J than E. J had been so fucking timid about it. There'd been a period where he thought that the kid was never going to get the training wheels off. Had finally taken them off when J was in Grade Two when spring rolled around and the kid thought he wanted to be riding his bike to school with the rest of the kids in the neighborhood.

Wasn't going to happen when their seven-year-old was still attached to his training wheels. Hank had figured he'd survived his first winter of PeeWee hockey. Should've technically had the skill and co-ordination – and fucking balance – to finally pull the damn things off. But J just hadn't been ready for it.

Never wanted him to let go. Got to the point Hank did anyways. Because you had to. That's the way they learn. But there had just so many wipe outs on the street and in the park. Scrapped up knees and elbows. Bumps and bruises. And J would just look at him with such disgust. This real mistrust.

Been weeks and weeks before he was willing to give it a try again. And then it was initially just J wobbling back and forth in the backyard. Wasn't wiping out but sure wasn't keeping his feet up either. Or holding his wheel tight and straight. But he'd finally gotten to the point that he was willing to try out front again. Willing to let the old man touch the back of his bike. And that time, Hank hadn't let go until J told him. Had him running near all the way up to Addams Park before he'd been given the go ahead. And his boy had kept his balance that time.

Been a real rush watching it. But a real strange feeling of letting go. Knowing you needed to. But knowing it was just another tick on a long checklist of moments you were going to have to do that. In giving your kids their freedom. Of making them – and letting – them grow up. Change and growth in the family and in the relationship. It's strange the sort of things that drive that point home through your life. Throughout your kids' lives.

Hadn't really expected to have the experience again. But did. And just like J and E were in so many ways – it was different. So fucking different. And had thought that would be it. Because teaching a kid to ride their bike – that was a father's job. So even if he did get grandkids hadn't expected to be there when it happened. Had thought he'd be more likely going over and having the kiddos showing off their brand name skill to Popa. And figured getting to see them that way would be its own little rush and feeling of amazement. Bittersweet in its own way.

But also hadn't worked out that way. Because he got to teach E to ride a bike again after his head got bashed in. Just like he had to help teach a seven-year-old to walk and talk and eat and use a toilet again. Teaching him how to ride a bike again had been fairly low priority in the scheme of things. But it'd happened. Though, Eth was nearly nine by the time it did and he'd only just settled back into it before the fucking shit hit the fan again and he made the decision to shelter his boy by pulling him away from all he fucking knew. And he fucking missed the signs that something was going on with his kid that would mean that he'd get a fucking third go at the bike thing.

Didn't think it'd be so bad this time. E had been tearing around on the little stunt bike that J and Olive had picked up for him a couple summers ago. Wouldn't exactly say E was balanced on it – but he did manage to stay upright. Even if he fucking webbled and wobbled down the street and ended up teetering enough that he was constantly having to drop his feet to stabilize himself. Going to be lucky if he didn't end up with a sprained ankle that summer. But the kid seemed committed to it. Wanted it real bad. Was putting in time on the stationary bike at PT after every session. Getting some feedback from his therapists.

E wasn't accepting too well, though, that there was a real difference between a stationary bike and a fucking mountain bike. Wasn't accepting either that the stationary bike he used was one of those recumbent things. Or listening to the different models or modifications that might be necessary for him to really get the most of out riding with M.S. without his body getting fucking pissed at him for even trying. And also was really trying to ignore that Hank wasn't too excited about letting him take off anywhere but up to Addams or over to Erin's place. Least with the way he was riding these days on the little BMX. Didn't want him to get any fucking ideas in his head about any stunts he could actually pull with that thing either. End up with some more fucking brain injury. Teen-agers are fucking brain-dead enough without TBI and M.S. in the mix.

Did know his concern about his son's fucking balance, co-ordination and endurance on a bike wasn't going to improve any with this fucking dual suspension mountain bike the kid had his heart set on. Definitely wasn't on the list of models or modifications that made any sense for an M.S. kid. Didn't understand how his kid thought the thing bouncing over and feeling every little bump was going to do anything to help out his teetering all over the place either. And didn't know he'd be able to teach his kid how to get over that. That he'd ever be ready to let go of the seat when Magoo wanted to ride a bike like that.

"This bike is tight, Dad," Ethan said. It was a youth bike. Apparently E wasn't even youth size yet. He could barely fucking reach the handlebars. Was bent over real far. Hank wasn't loving that.

Also really wasn't loving that word that had entered his vocabulary. One of Avery's favorites that had fucking trickled in with all the buzzing around he'd been doing with Eva and her brother. Thought the kid was likely trying to model after his older brother. Good kids. Good family. Least dad and grandma. But that neighborhood they were in – that school that Isaiah was in – you had to have some street sense. And the kids were fronting a bit. Had heard their grandma cut into them when they started on with the street act a bit too much. But could only do so much about it.

Wasn't just the block they were on anyway. Fucking kids at Ignatius were working at corrupting E's vocabulary just as much. Fucking bullshit that came out of those kids' mouths was even more moronic than all this 'tight', 'lit', 'savage' crap that Magoo had been trying on for size. All these fucking acronyms and emoji, 'Net talk that they'd turned into words. And that wasn't even getting into their spelling and writing skills. Kids couldn't differentiate a letter from a fucking numeric character anymore, let alone put together a name sentence. Thought expressing themselves could be summed up with a fucking pile of shit grinning at them. That just wiffed of the bullshit it was.

These kids E was going to school with sounded like they were the ones with the brain damage half the time. Certainly didn't sound like the came from upper crust families able to pay for them to have a fucking Ivy League college prep education. But sometimes when you came from money like that each generation just seemed to get more fucking retarded. Trust fund babies. Nearly as bad as crack babies.

Hated it. His kid was better than that. They were a good family too. Valued education too. Had put a whole lot of emphasis and time into his learning – and busted his ass too damn hard to pay even the subsidized tuition to get his three kids through Ignatius. His boy wasn't going to come out of that talking worse than he had coming out of the Brain Trauma Unit.

Hard to crack down on it too much, though. Because his kid was just trying to fit in. And he was just being a teenager. But he sounded like a moron and Hank was pretty damn sure half the time – likely more than half – E wasn't even using all this slang right. Likely just making himself a bigger mark to all the kids than he would if he kept his mouth shut.

"Don't like you talking like that," he rasped, shaking the seat a bit and E's feet immediately dropped from the pedals. And didn't touch the ground. He grunted. "Get off."

He listened but gave him a look as he did. "I didn't swear," he said. Size of the bike, it'd been real hard for E to get his leg over too. Tripped and stumbled as he did.

Hank just grunted at that too and paced down the aisle a bit to look at the boys' bikes. Or to see if the had some fucking measuring tape available so he could measure his kid and try to figure out the frame size and wheel size that would make better sense. Way fucking better sense than picking whatever looked 'tight'.

"Tight," Hank graveled, giving his kid a glance and doing some of his own mental math measurements. "Lit. Didn't sick of hearing them out of your mouth. Like too. Getting this close to taking a nickel off your allowance every time you say 'like'. Thing you'll lose a week's worth of dough before we're done breakfast."

"I don't say 'like' that much," Ethan grumbled at him and did that awkward gait thing of his over to where he was standing.

That was the other thing with this whole bike thing. E only seemed to manage the pedals too well when he was in his brace. Keeping his foot at a normal angle. Giving him support. But the kid fucking hated having that brace on for anything that wasn't some sports activity. All this talk about how he was going to wear the brace all day every day so no one knew he had any sort of mobility problem had fallen to the wayside real quick. It was uncomfortable. It was hot. And it got fucking sweaty and smelled worse than a fucking hockey locker room. Which meant that his son was pretty ripe when he had it on too. Didn't seem to matter how much they worked at cleaning it or the different methods they tried to freshen the damn thing up. About the most they'd be told was to wear the compression stockings with it and to get a fucking second one so he wasn't wearing his "daily use" one for his sports and athletics.

Because their fucking insurance company covered multiple braces and mobility devices in a year? Bullshit. All these lifetime caps on the things. And with E having to still reach his growth spurts and puberty, didn't intend to be blowing the life-time amount upfront. Might consider doing it out of pocket if E actually used the damn thing. But he didn't. Not for school or around the house or running errands. Wanted his crutches for all that. Could speed along on them when he wanted. One his good days. Ones where he wasn't hurting. Sometimes had to tell him to slow down and not get so far ahead of everyone. Or be making people on the street fucking have to dodge around him when he was propelling himself like that.

But since he'd accepted he did a whole lot better on the bike with the brace, there'd be some fucking incidents where he ended up at Erin's and he was then getting a call about bringing over E's crutches. Or he'd have Jay or Erin showing up at his house to fucking retrieve them. Still better then the time he fucking bungee corded the things to the little BMX to take with him up to the park. That'd been the only admitted wipe out he'd had. And it'd been a good one. Ripped up his elbow good. Fucking bruised his hip. And the crutches had taken some road rash too. So that wasn't going to happen again. Not on his watch.

That was the thing, though. His watch wasn't as long anymore. Jay and Erin had him a few days a week. He was starting to let E just head home now that Robotics season was over and he wasn't hanging around Ignatius until dinner. Let him have a couple hours in the house alone. Still had him on an electronic leash in that time period. But he had the place to himself – even if the time was supposed to be occupied by homework and chores. And knew that when he hit high school in the fall – when he was fourteen – was going to have to give him the normalcy, responsibility and independence … and trust – of getting some more time in the house. Would still do his best to make sure that E had activities and PT and tutoring and whatnot filling some of his after-school hours, but the kid would get to help a bit more in those decisions. And he'd get some more leeway in being at home, being alone and managing his health and his time and his responsibilities on his own too. And Hank knew from experience that making that transition came with its share of bumps. And that E wasn't going to always be doing his homework, checking off his chore chart, starting up dinner and taking the mutt out for a walk on the afternoons and evenings that he had the house to himself. Tearing around on a bike might be one of the lesser evils in terms of possibilities. But still opened the door for some bumps and bruises when you started to ease up the watch.

"Don't like you talking like you aren't getting an education," Hank said and reached up above him to guide a 20" wheel off the upper rack. Thought that might be a better choice.

But E gave him a look as he got it down. "Dad," he barked at him. "That's a kid's bike!"

Hank smacked and pointed at the seat in a silent order for him to come over and see if he could straddle it any better. "Other one's too big for you."

"I'm not riding that!" E protested.

Hank shrugged and gestured at the row-upon-row of choices in front of him. "Lots of others to choose from."

Ethan huffed and looked at the ones directly in front of him. "What about these? At least they aren't like toddler bikes."

Hank smacked but went over to his son. Reached and twisted the wheel on one. They were still youth bikes but looked like they had a few that were 24 inches. A bit smaller than what E was looking a before.

"Which one you eyeing?" Hank asked him.

Didn't think the kid even considered the bikes. Not the colors or the price or the make. Just pointed right at one of the two dual-suspensions in that section.

"That one," he said.

Hank shook his head. "No," he put flatly.

E crossed his arms and glared at him. "I'm paying for it. I can get what I want."

Hank gave him a smack, shoving his tongue into his cheek and his hands into his pocket. E's eyes flickered. Kid knew he'd pushed it.

"You going to talk to me with some respect or are we heading home?" he put to his boy.

Been getting that a lot lately out of Magoo. Just minor lip and talkback. The whole tone and attitude routine. Figured part of it was the whole Eighth Grader thing. Getting a little too big for his briefs over there. Thinking he was a bit of a hot shot.

Expected it. Erin had been a fucking pain in their ass at fourteen. She might've been a scared little girl who was fucking terrified they were going to send her back out to the street. But she also tried to push their buttons. Tried real fucking hard. More with Camille than him. Push, push, push. Always some comment about everything. Nothing could be said without her getting the last word. Some sass or comeback. And trying to make rules? After she'd grown up in a house without any? Fourteen had been fucking hell with her. And fourteen had been fucking holy hell with Justin. Really likely was some ring of purgatory.

His freshmen year? Their sweet little boy had turned into this wannabe tough guy. Real fucking chip on his shoulder. Trying to be a jock. And trying to just not give a shit all at the same time. It wasn't that J talked back. It was that J acted like he couldn't even hear a goddamn thing they said. Treated them like the invisible family. Maybe had rules about how much alone time the kids got to take as teens to go lock themselves away in their room. But being kept down on the main level sure as fuck hadn't meant that J tried to interact with them. Sit there with his headphones on an pretend like he was off in some parallel universe where they weren't around. Wouldn't play with his baby brother. Wouldn't help his mom out with so much as setting the table – let alone doing anything for dinner or making any sort of requested run to the store to pick up some meat or veg or milk to go with the meal. Always getting phone calls from Cami about if he could either pick up something to go on the table or if he could go pick up Justin because he hadn't come home from school but she figured he was at one of the fucking Bad News Bears that he found his way in with real quick. These fucking anarchists without a cause who barely understood what the word meant.

And then he was just always at Erin giving her shit about living at home and her not doing the college thing. Acting like he had any fucking role or responsibility in policing her life and making sure she stayed on track in that transition from teenager to young adult. Like he had a fucking say in how long his sister would be living at home and what the terms and conditions were around that. When that had been a fucking long and ongoing conversation that him and Cami had had together and had to check-in with Erin a whole hell of a lot until they got her head on straight and her into the Academy. Parenting didn't fucking end when the kid graduated high school. And you sure as fuck didn't get to start running point in the family when you were some high school freshman.

So he knew that the gauntlet was coming with Magoo. But also knew that it was going to be different yet again. And this time he wasn't going to have back-up. Least not the same way as you did when you had a spouse. When you're kid had two parents. A mom. Knew that high school – the teen years – with Ethan were going to be real fucking hard. High school with E wasn't going to be a transition like with the other kids. They were all different. But – he was real fucking different sometimes. As a kid and for him as a father. For him to figure out how to parent. Alone. And any attitude or anger or talkback that came out of it was going to be its own fucking pain in the ass. But Hank would just really prefer to get him through to June – officially done with Grade Eight and officially fourteen – before he fucking officially had to start dealing with this fourteen-year-old bullshit.

Kid knew that too. Because as soon as he'd said it to his boy, E had gone and darted his eyes away. Took a real interest in the ground. Because E knew when he was being an ass. Just didn't check himself on it a lot. Part of that was the age and the stage. Part of that was the fucking brain damage. But knew under the tone and attitude, his boy was a good kid. All his kids were. Even with their flaws and their problems and their fucking banana peels and the hard times and hard years, all three of them were good, good kids. Best things he'd done with his life. The most worthwhile.

So even moments like this, Hank did his best to check himself too. Remind himself that E was a nice kid. His weird little screwball of a kid so unlike and so the same as his other two. And a kid he wanted to keep a good, solid relationship with throughout the coming years. Didn't want to always having to play the bad cop or be the disciplinarian constantly. Wanted their relationship to just be built on some respect and trust so that they could have some good times and good memories together. Have a good relationship. To fucking believe that fathers and sons could come out of their teen years – going into young adulthood – still being cordial with each other. To be wanting time together. Because he knew too, he wanted every last minute he could squeeze in with Magoo. Even when he was a fucking pain in his ass.

"Until you get a job and start earning your own dough, there ain't any 'your money', Magoo," Hank nodded at him. "There's your allowance. And it's a privilege that I give you. That's why it's sitting in the kitchen. Why I determine how much you get each week. And it's why I get some say in how you budget it and how you spend it. And, I'm telling you, you aren't spending that kind of money on a bike. You even look at how much it costs?"

E cast him a look and hobbled over to the bike. Tried to reach up to where it was on the second tier rack – but couldn't reach even the top of the wheel, let alone the handlebar where the price tag was dangling. Hank reached and turned the ticket to him.

"Four-fifty," he graveled at his kid.

Ethan's face fell a bit. "So … I'll pick a cheaper one," he tried. "What about the blue one?"

Hank reached and turned that tag for his boy. "Two-fifty," he told him.

E let out a little sigh but gazed over at him. "Well, I've got enough in the savings jar for that, don't I?"

Hank scrubbed at his face and looked at his kid. "Ethan, it doesn't make a whole lot of sense to be dropping a wad of cash on a bike when you haven't hit your growth spurt yet and this time next year we might be looking to buy you a new bike."

Ethan flared his nostrils a bit. "I'm likely not going to hit my growth spurt until I'm sixteen and they start giving me the injections," he protested.

Hank shook his head. "We don't know that."

"Then why doesn't it make sense to get a bike I'll grow into?" he demanded and gestured back at the ride he was so taken with – even though his fucking toes couldn't reach the ground.

"Because it's too big for you, Magoo," Hank put to him. "You need something you can actually ride."

That got a huff and he grabbed at a tag on the red one sitting at ground level. "This one's only a buck-seventy," he provided.

Hank gave his face a small scrub and looked at his boy. "I don't want you getting a dual-suspension. It's going to be too hard for you to control."

E gave him a glare at that. "I've been doing PT and I ride the old bike already. I know how!"

"Ethan," Hank put to him more sternly. "Bike they've got you on at RIC – it's stationary and recumbent. Bike J picked up for you – no suspension on it and you're still all over the place with it."

"Because it's a BMX," he argued. "I'll do better on a mountain bike."

"Not a dual-suspension one," Hank smacked at him. "And whatever we pick here, we're going to have to take it into RIC and get some help with the resistance band, and the elastic release and the pedal guide. Just like we talked to your physical therapist about. Just like Olive has talked to you about."

Ethan's shoulders slumped. "I don't want all that stuff, Dad." That was a whine.

"You want to get to the point that I let you ride your bike to school or take off anywhere rather than the diamond at Addams?" he nodded at him.

"Well … yeah …," E stuttered.

"Then we're getting the modifications done to the bike. And we aren't paying all that for a bike that doesn't make much sense under the guidelines RIC gave us. And I'm not investing in all that hardware on a bike that has already cost nearly a year's worth of your savings, E. Because bike's get taken and stolen all the time. Especially if you're locking it up at school or just dropping it in the field at the park while you play ball or you aren't locking it up in the shed at night. Know how many times this spring you've just left your ride in the backyard? I can't count them."

"I'll take care of it, Dad," E whined. "I promise."

He grunted but nodded. "Same as most things, E. You're going to have to prove that to me. And while you're doing that, we aren't dropping more than a buck-fifty on a ride. And we're picking a model recommended by the people who know something about this stuff over at RIC. So you don't want a recumbent or a tryke. I hear you on that. I don't think you're at the point you quite need that yet. But maybe after a year or two, you or I or RIC will feel different about that. So for now, the option is a solid frame. You want it to be a mountain bike – fine. But you stop picking out the dual-suspensions, or we're heading home."

E sighed and gazed longingly at the bike that he'd gotten to sit on. "But if I get a mountain bike, we can take it camping and fishing, Dad. We can go on trails."

"Mmm …," Hank grunted. Thought that sounded a little fucking absurd on a bunch of levels. But wasn't going to get into that. Thought they should work on getting him stable on flat land first before they started looking at any kind of downhill madness. Even doing hikes with Magoo were a bit of a chore. Not that that stopped his kid from wanting to do them – to get to the best places to cast the line. But they sure as fuck weren't setting any records when they made those hikes. Went at their own pace. That was the definition of life with Magoo. "And you can get a mountain bike. Solid frame."

E's eyes met his. "But, Dad, a mountain bike is kind of lame enough. Like everyone has a BMX—"

"You've got a BMX and you want something different," Hank interrupted.

"It's too hard," E whined again. "Because it's too small."

Didn't think that it was the bike's frame size that was the challenge. Was pretty fucking sure it was balance, fatigue, foot droop and E's lack of peripheral vision. But tried not to remind the kid about his disabilities when encouraging him to be physically active. So wasn't going to argue the point. He'd let him figure that one out himself when he got another fucking bike and the problems didn't just ago away.

So he grunted. That was all.

"And if they don't have a BMX they have fat bikes," E argued harder.

Hank shook his head. "We talked about that. They're too heavy. You'll get tired out."

"But their tires are bigger. I'll balance better," E tried.

Just shook his head again.

"Then, fine, everyone that gets mountain bikes has dual-suspension, Dad. It's the coolest."

"Told you this more times than I can count too, Ethan," he put flatly. "You aren't everyone."

And his kid really wasn't. Never would be. Not to him. And not to the rest of the world. And sometimes that was a real hard pill to swallow. Harder than anything else they shoved down E's throat. And one his boy seemed to gag on a whole lot more than anything the docs gave him. But Hank supposed he did too.

But sometimes different – and his boy was different – just had to mean special. And his son was definitely that too.