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 allowed a smile to spread across her face as she entered the kitchen. A kitchen were Hank was standing at the counter working at his precision chopping of his so-called holy trinity – bell peppers, celery and onion. Apparently just about any dish could be made – or salvaged – if you just sautéed those in a skillet with some fresh garlic and olive oil. But it wasn't that that made her smile. It was that Henry was in their keeping him company.
Hank – who was all about organization in everything, but especially in his kitchen – had pulled out some pots and Tupperware and wooden spoons. Or maybe it was Henry who had and Hank just hadn't bothered to try to stop him. Because Henry was a Voight male. He was stubborn minded. And he only listened so well. So once he had his mind set on something there was really no stopping him. And if what he wanted to do wasn't harming him or anyone else – sometimes, it just wasn't worth the battle to get him to do something else. Unless you really felt like dealing with a Toddler Tantrum. And Henry had those down to a fine art too. Just like he had Popa wrapped around his little finger down to more than a fine art. It was his specialty. And Erin knew that Hank absolutely knew that. And despite all his tough guy demeanor, he wasn't so tough. Not when it came to his kids. And especially not when it came to his grandkid – apparently.
So Henry was being allowed to turn the kitchen into his own personal music studio. The pots and pans and Tupperware into a drum set. A wooden spoon and a plastic ladle into his drumsticks. And it was going pound, pound, pound nearly in time with Hank's chop, chop, chop. Though, she got the impression that Henry maybe thought Hank should be picking up the pace a bit. They clearly were both composing very different songs. Not a team effort going on at all.
Hank gave her a glance over his shoulder as she entered the room. He gave her a grunt. She just allowed a quiet 'hi'. But it was enough for Henry to look up from his efforts.
"Tant Tarin, Tant Tarin," she got as he pulled himself up from the ground and brought her the pot and wooden spoon.
"Hey, Henry," she smiled at him. "Are you helping Popa make dinner?"
"He's working at giving Popa a headache," Hank rasped – not even looking at either of them. He was back to his chopping. Work mode. Hank spent a lot of his life in work mode. If it wasn't related to the job, it was dad work mode. He took that work mode just as seriously.
"Then maybe Popa shouldn't have given you all these musical instruments," Erin put to the back of his head, as she stooped a bit – thinking that he was planning on giving her her own musical instruments. But it was pretty clear he wasn't. He had a death grip on that spoon and wasn't letting go.
"Didn't give them to him," Hank graveled again. "Pulled him out all on his own."
Erin glanced up at the open lower cupboards next to the stove. The storage place for all the extra pots and pans. She gave Henry a little smile as he held up the spoon at her and then beat it against the pot – as though he was driving home that he'd really went and got the drumset all on his own.
"Wow, you're good," she told him. He just gave her a toothy grinned and whacked at it even harder.
Hank grunted out some disagreement at that. And Erin shook her head at his turned one. He could be so fucking grumpy. And she'd say at least sixty-percent of the time it was all just a big act. He wasn't that scary and he wasn't as annoyed and angry as he wanted people to think he was either.
"And he managed to get the spoons out all on his own too?" she mildly teased.
Because she knew as much as Henry had taken to getting into everything – he couldn't reach the container that Hank always had his favorite cooking utensils arranged in by the stove like some sort of vase of flowers. But it was always pushed right back – out of the way of any of them using the counter and definitely out of the reach of a 22-month old who couldn't each grip his fingers around the countertop yet.
Hank only gave her another grunt, though. As she rose to get her face – and ears - a bit farther way from the musically efforts of Henry, which were definitely a little headache inducing if Hank had been listening to it for a while.
She wandered over to the open cupboard and shut it. Because she knew Hank and knew that the pots Henry had used as his drums would end up in the sink to be washed not just put away when the kid was done with them. But she creased her brow at the knob on the door.
"Has he figured out how to take the hairbands off?" she asked.
Hank grunted. "Your brother and the mutt have," he graveled. "Want them back, you'll have to do some stoop and scoop."
She gaped at the back of his head and then rolled her eyes, gazing at the ceiling above. Could hear that Ethan was already up there making some of his own music too. Working at giving his dad a bigger headache. And likely a grouchier mood.
"Henry," she nodded at the little boy, "you and Uncle Magoo have it all figured out. Bear too. We needed you around for tips when me and your daddy were growing up."
Hank grunted again and gave her a glance. "Pretty sure the two of you got away with more than enough too."
She shook her head at Henry. "Don't listen to Popa. Do you know what kind of trouble me and your daddy would've gotten in if we pulled apart Grandma's kitchen like this?"
Henry just smiled widely at her and beat on the pot some more.
She nodded at him and nodded at Hank. "He knows," she said. "Wrapped around his baby finger."
Hank just grunted again and examined the toddler. "He's cruisin' today," he muttered. But Henry gave him that toothy grin too and went toddling full steam back over to Popa and burying his forehead against the back of Hank's leg – barely above his knee and beat at the pot more. Pretending to be shy – or scared - when Henry was just about anything but.
She wandered over to the counter too and gazed at the chopping he had on the go. She tried to decide what it was that he was cooking. But he used that base in so many of his tossed-together weeknight dishes it could be hard to tell. It'd likely just be a stirfry or a pasta sauce. Or just something to ladle over top some chicken breasts to make it a little bit more colorful and nutritious in enticing Ethan to eat.
He saw her looking, though. "Jambalaya," he said flatly and pointed to the fridge.
It was one of those quiet orders that you likely only really knew if you knew Hank. Or maybe it you'd grown up with Hank as your parent. One that said she'd just been given a chore. But she didn't really mind.
She went to the fridge and opened the door. He had a pack of chicken breasts and a pack of andouille sausage in there. Enough food that again – as usual – told her that he wasn't just cooking for him and Ethan. That he was planning on packing up leftovers and freezer meals. For at least Olive to take home that night after her exam when she came to retrieve Henry. And likely for her and Jay, if they stuck around. If not, or any of it got refused, he'd shove it into his own freezer for some quicker meals on the late nights or rushed nights or nights when none of them were going to be home by dinner and he still wanted Ethan to eat a full meal with his evening meds. So he'd be ordered to pull some leftovers out of the freezer and "nuke it" to hold him over until someone got to the house.
"Tarin," Henry babbled at her again. Now he was following after her. She bumped right into him as she turned around from closing the door. He went sprawling – landing on his rubber butt that he never got too upset about landing on. He had himself pulled back up before she even had a chance to apologize.
"Sorry, Henry," she said, stepping around him and going to the opposite counter to retrieve a cutting board and knife of her own. Taking it to stand closer to Hank, while she unwrapped the meats. Henry just kept following after her.
"Gemma," he told her firmly, grabbing at her jeans.
She looked back at him. "Jambalaya," she agreed with a smile. "Are you excited for dinner with Popa?"
"Gemma din-din," Henry provided. "Gemma."
"I know," Erin smiled. "And I know you like your sausage almost as much as Uncle Magoo."
"Aw-isge!" Henry agreed and stuck up his hand at her, grunting in a way – and a demand – that clearly indicated he'd been getting way too much Popa time lately with Olive's end of term crunch time.
She'd been noticeably stressed out with all the final papers and assignments that were due and trying to study for her exams – and work part-time and be a single mom. And trying to decide if she could take some summer classes to catch up a bit after missing the fall term or if she should just take a bit of a "break". Whatever kind of break working likely near full-time for the few months and being a single mom was. But at least it'd give her a bit extra income padding. Maybe. Or maybe not. Daycare would likely eat up a bunch of it. She'd likely break even better if she stayed part-time. But in all the current frenzy of her wrapping up the term, Henry had been bouncing around between Hank's and her and Jay's and the crazy aunt's a lot. Likely ending up with Hank the most. And that was clear because that grunt was clearly another Voight male attribute. That was being drawn out of her little nephew.
"It's not cooked yet, Henry," she said. "You have to wait."
"Aw-isge!" he demanded and grunted at her again.
"I've got no sausage it to give you," she told him again.
"Gemma. Aw-isge!" he demanded.
"At dinner you'll get Jambalaya with sausage," she agreed.
"No din! Now! Aw-isge now!" Henry whined and shrieked at her.
Hank let out his own sound of mild annoyance. Not something he did often with Henry. So she suspected he hadn't really been enjoying his Popa babysitting duties that night. Though, with Henry his Terrible Twos had definitely come early and he was working at testing all of them. He was both reaching the point of being a lot of fun and terribly frustrating. She suspected that he'd been on the terribly frustrating side of the spectrum that evening based on the sound that had come out of Hank.
He looked over his shoulder. "Magoo," he called. He clearly was ready to pass the headache on to someone else at least until he had dinner on the table.
"He went upstairs," Erin provided and pointed. Henry really must've been leaving Popa's ears throbbing if he hadn't heard Ethan make that trek. He was never that quiet about it and you could only be so quiet at all going up and down the stairs in the Voight house. And for Hank to not have heard Ethan's "I'm sulking and angst-y and angry for no reason I'm going to tell you" music come on.
But she suspected Hank's mind might be in about a million different places. A lot was going on at work lately. She could tell some of the cases – and how shit was rolling downward and right into him – was bothering him. He'd been short with them at work too. And distracted. He'd been doing his own sulking, angst-y, angry for no reason and not telling you thing in his office with the door closed.
And she knew he was worrying about some of the grades Eth had been bringing home from school since the Spring Break – which hadn't been glowing. That he was in some arguments with Iggy's because of it. He hadn't outright said it – but she got the sense that he might've been pulled into the talk about whether it'd be smart to have Ethan repeat Grade Eight rather than send him floundering into high school.
And it was a hard choice. Erin didn't know how she felt about it no matter how many times she went over the pros and cons of that move. She thought she was against the idea but sometimes she felt like maybe it'd be best but it might just be delaying the inevitable while making the whole situation worse and harder for Ethan.
And then there was all this Olive stuff. And trying to help with Henry. Trying to figure out the daycare and money situation for her. Trying to deal with lawyers and litigators and banks and insurance companies and bureaucrats and military officials to figure out when and how and where Olive and Henry were going to see some compensation and support for what happened to Justin.
Trying to deal with the fact that Erin didn't quite want to push things but being house owners – or mortgage owners – came with a lot more expenses than her and Jay had imagined. That they were coping and dealing but that they'd definitely have a bit more leeway and padding if Olive was able to pay an amount more representative of what Erin's monthly payments and condo fees at the old place were. Or if she could get it listed.
That it'd mean that her and Jay would be living a little less hand-to-mouth and stop gazing at their credit card bills and the accruing interest with some horror each month and wondering how the hell so many municipal bills and utilities and taxes actually existed that they hadn't fully known (or maybe just hadn't wanted to acknowledge or maybe thought they were some kind of urban myth … or had just been in complete denial) about every time another one found its way into their mail box. But she didn't want to push Olive out or make the situation more stressful for anyone. Or leave Hank feeling like he had to be the one who needed to find the money to keep the family afloat. Because as the father – and father-in-law and grandfather – he would.
So Erin wasn't sure how much he was actually mindfully there as he did his meal prep. If he'd really heard her and Ethan come in. If he was really watching Henry that closely. Or if he was just going through the motions while he tried to come up with a plan in his head about what the coming weeks and months were going to look like.
Hank grunted, though, and put down his knife, wiped his hands on a tea towel and reached to pick up his grandson. Henry gave a small, unimpressed shriek at that. "Nooooooooo!" he screeched at Hank and waved the wooden spoon. Popa had to dodge it – Henry nearly hitting him in the face. Hank looked particularly unimpressed with that.
"You don't hit people with this thing," he rasped at the kid and yanked it out of his hand.
That just lead to a real wail but Hank didn't seem to hear that. The wooden got plopped on the counter. The kid got carried across the house as Erin started working on her own dicing and slicing of the meal's protein. Henry's magically hold on Popa had apparently just reached its threshold for the night.
But the wail subsided quickly and Erin knew that Hank had likely just plopped the kid in front of the steps. Stairs were a sure way to shut up Henry – and entertain him for hours. It was pretty much the ultimate indoor playground.
"E," Erin heard Hank bark up the stairs. It wasn't loud enough. "ETHAN!" got barked even louder to get heard over the music – and that would piss Hank off more.
The music got a bit quieter. "I turned it down," Erin heard her brother grumble back loudly.
Because he was in a bit of a mood that night too. Actually a lot more than a bit more than a bit.
Hank wasn't likely going to get much reprieve from tantrums and meltdowns and tempers and attitudes that night. He was likely just going to go from toddler ones to teenager ones. After Erin knew he'd been dealing with Ivory Tower and CPD ones most of the week. And she could tell his patience was wearing thin. She could actually smell it on him when she came in too. He'd clearly been working on a glass of whiskey while he worked on dinner. Trying to calm his temper and level out of demeanor and patience.
He'd been doing that more lately than she'd like. In a noticeable way. One she'd been taking note of – weighing on her own the if and when it was reaching a point of concern. And how to say anything to him about it that wouldn't either piss him off or that he'd just brush off. Because cops drank. And Hank had always drank. Some cases demanded it. Needed it. But that was work. And she was starting to feel like some of the times he was reaching for that supposed after-work drink anymore had less to do with work and more to do with what was going on in their personal and family life. And that made her uncomfortable. But Jay insisted she was just blowing it out of proportion – because they were both being more conscious of the amount they were drinking. That now it was her who was projecting on Hank. That Jay had never seen Hank have more than one. Sometimes she wondered if it was just that he never had more than one in front of them.
"H is coming up," Hank rasped. "Want you to watch him 'til dinner."
There was a long pause. "When's dinner?" Ethan demanded. There was tone in it. Bad move on Eth's part.
"About forty," Hank smacked.
"I'm taking quiet time 'til dinner," Ethan provided bluntly.
"Can take it with your nephew," Hank graveled. "Get out here. Need you to make sure he gets up the stairs OK."
"I don't like him in my room," Ethan called from up the house.
"Get out here," Hank ordered more firmly that time. Ethan was actually lucky that Hank had allowed yelling across the house and him not coming out to look him in the eyes while talking to him that long. Another series of behavior that her and Justin wouldn't have gotten away with. Not that they didn't do it and try too – just like Eth had. But just like Ethan had – it never was tolerated very long and ultimately failed.
And Erin could almost feel the groan and heavy sigh out of her brother upstairs. But heard movement and knew Ethan was listening. So at least he wasn't being that stubborn that night to test his dad too much. And that was likely smart based on what she was observing.
He must've at least poked his head down the stairs to look at Hank.
"Don't want him in your room, then come down here," Hank told him.
She did hear the groan that time and could tell from the movement that Ethan must've set himself on the top step to stare at Henry's efforts on the stairs.
"Need you to be sitting closer to him," Hank said. "And need you to keep the mutt back."
Bear must've been hovering at the top of the stairs too. He would be. Without a doubt. He was always where Ethan was when her brother was in the house. Though, he was pretty fascinated with Henry too. And endlessly patient with both of the boys and their little quirks.
"Fine," Ethan huffed. "Bring him up."
That must've been fine with Hank because there was another shriek of protest out of Henry. A "Pa! Noooooo!" wailed out again. Loudly. But Hank's heavy footsteps went up the stairs quickly. Ethan's clattered crutches followed along with the click of Bear's toenails, and Erin heard the door to Ethan's room closing and Hank's feet come back down the stairs.
The protests out of Henry at the disruption of his fun fading. Partially because near as soon as the door had closed, the music had gotten turned up again. And she could hear Hank's steps stop for a moment. She knew if he was considering going and telling Ethan to turn the damn thing down – or off. But apparently he decided to just leave it. Likely because it was pretty clear that H's wailing was subsiding. And he didn't want to deal with both of the boys wailing and whining at him.
She glanced at Hank as he came back into the kitchen. "He pushing it today?" Erin asked.
Hank grunted. "What he is, is being too much of his father today," he graveled and went back to chopping. Though he glanced at her efforts. "Diced, not strips," he commented of the chicken. She shook her head at that but resisted the urge to roll her eyes or give out an annoyed sigh. Because then she'd also be getting the label of another one of his annoying kids. She didn't really want that that night. "You and Magoo in a snit?" he asked flatly going back to his own work.
"No. What he is, is being too much like his father today," she put flatly.
That got a smack. And she turned to find his unimpressed eyes. "No Halstead?" was all he put to her, though.
She shook her head and focused on the chopping. "He's coming," she allowed. "He needed to find a place to mark and had to call his brother. It looks like Holly's up to something next door? Bunch of bikes out front. A couple cars." Hank just grunted at that. She eyed him. "Her mom home?"
"No," he graveled.
"You see who's been coming and going?" she asked.
"Mmm …," he allowed, pressing his tongue into his cheek. "Kids."
"Must be high school kids, if with the cars taking up the curb space," Erin said.
Hank made another sound of acknowledgement. But he just picked up his cutting board and trucked it over to the stove top, drizzling his oil in the skillet and crumbling in the crushed up garlic as he waited for the pan to heat up to his desired temperature – which he always seemed to be able to gauge just by looking at it. He'd tried to explain to her in the past about how the oil went and what to look for in the way it moved or the bubbles and the color of the garlic. But she apparently wasn't a good culinary student. She always just threw her stuff into a cold pan. She figured it'd all heat up eventually. But her cooking never looked as good – or tasted as good – as Hank's.
"They still in uniform or they changed out?" she asked.
"Looked like Notre Dame," Hank grumbled.
She nodded. "Christ the King for the older kids? The boys?" she asked. He shrugged. But she didn't believe that. He'd know. She looked back at her work. "Sounds like they must really be practicing some of those Catholic values next door …"
He just smacked and gave her another look. "Music was pretty loud when me and Eth were coming in," she tried instead.
Hank just made a noise. Erin knew too he'd had his share of showdowns with Bernice Prokops about Holly's behavior. Both as a neighbor and as a neighborhood kid toward Ethan. And some of Hank's concerns about what was going on in the house next door and the kind of bullshit that was bringing onto the block and exposing other kids to. And the kind of trouble Holly was likely setting herself – and her family – up for. But he'd pretty much been told to just mind his own business. Bernice wasn't interested in hearing any concern or criticism about how she was raising her little princess who was turning into quite the little Mean Girl. And the kind of little Mean Girl who was going to have quite the reputation in high school. Which was likely just going to lead to more bullshit for the family and the block and their neighbors to have to deal with.
"Called Prokops," Hank rasped. "Got told the kid's having a parental approved Star Wars party."
"Mmm …," Erin allowed. She was pretty up on the Star Wars slang but didn't think any of the lingo meant what they both knew was really going on next door. Unless maybe Bernice hadn't told Hank – or understood – any references Holly had given her to lightsabres. Or swamp water. Or Yoda and Chewbecca. Or Han and Leia.
"That sounds like a definite disturbance of the peace," was all Erin provided flatly, though.
Hank made a noise. "Trudy's sending Patrol around. Haven't come by yet."
Erin nodded. "So guess you'll have Bernice on the porch later then?"
He shrugged. About the time Holly started working at being a bully to Ethan and recruiting some of the other little turds on the street to treat them the same, Hank pretty much stopped caring about even trying to be congenial to Bernice. She'd be lucky if he opened the door for her to listen to her delusional rampage about her daughter "just having a Star Wars viewing party" and how Hank was out to get her child. Holly was lucky that she had someone looking out for her because her mother had pretty much shoved her head up her ass since Edward had walked out on them. Erin didn't know the full story there but she suspected he might've gotten sick of the bullshit out of the woman. Though, it was too bad that he hadn't taken – or fought for and got custody of – Holly. But father's didn't seem to win that in most cases and Holly likely knew she'd get away with more with her mom for now.
"How'd his Star Wars thing go?" he asked instead. Graveled. She knew he only cared so much. His question was accompanied by the sizzle of his vegetables landing in the heated skillet and he'd placed his real attention on moving those around the pan and through the oil – getting them coated and cooked evenly – with the wooden spoon that Henry had tried to whack him in the face with.
"We didn't go," Erin shrugged. She felt Hank's eyes land on her and she turned to look at him. "Drove over, found parking, paid for parking, then he decided he wasn't going to get out of the car."
Hank smacked at that. "Tremor?" he asked.
She sighed and shrugged more at that. Ethan was tremoring that day. But the reality was that Eth was always tremoring. She thought it'd gotten a bit worse since they'd been in Florida. At the time she thought it was the heat and humidity, because his tremor was worse and more visible in the summer at home too. But it hadn't really calmed at all since they'd been home. If anything, she thought it'd been more visible. Some days it was really bad. Him holding a pencil or writing anything that was eligible was proving a near impossible task. And even the weighted cluttery Hank had added to the kitchen drawers to try to help him at the dinner table was only helping so much. But even with the tremor that usually didn't deter Ethan from a trip to the Lego Store – especially on a free build day. Especially, especially on May the Fourth and a free Star Wars build. But apparently something had turned him off wanting to get out of the car at the last minute. And if that was the tremor, it must've been really bothering him.
"I don't know," she allowed. "We sat there for a bit. Tried to get him to tell us what was wrong. He just insisted he didn't feel well and wanted to come home."
"Could've told you that when you picked him up at school," Hank said.
"Yea …," she acknowledged. "Would've been nice." She sighed and picked up her cutting board. She went over and slid it onto the counter next to the stove. And then she leaned there. "So, if he goes to school tomorrow—"
"Why wouldn't he go to school tomorrow?" he rasped.
"Because he seems to think he's not feeling well and was already making noise about needing to take a sick day," she put to him.
Hank just smacked at that. "Looked fine to me," he allowed. Though, Erin also knew Hank and knew that when he went upstairs to check that Henry and Ethan weren't killing each other, he'd now be giving Eth a full once-over to gauge how he was actually doing that night. And Erin wasn't sure how well he was. She just wasn't sure how much of that was going to show up physically – anymore than it usually did.
"OK," was all she said, though. "In that case, me and Jay were still planning on taking him tomorrow night. If you want?"
That just got another grunt. She let out her own quiet noise of frustration at that. But she decided not to get into it.
"I know you usually like to have him on Saturdays," she said. But that only got another dismissive noise out of Hank – which she didn't buy. Because it'd been very clear that Saturdays – especially the morning hours – were Hank's. "But it's Free Comic Day. And the Lego build thing is going on all weekend. Star Wars and Guardians of the Galaxy. So Jay had wanted to try again with the Lego and see about standing in line to get him some of the comic freebies."
Hank just made a sound.
"Depending on how he's doing," she provided. "We … or Jay … is likely going to take him to Guardians of the Galaxy on Friday or Saturday night too. So we can basically take him for the weekend, if you want?"
He glanced at her. "Don't need you to do that," he put flatly.
She shrugged. "We don't mind," she said. Which they did and they didn't. But she thought Hank could use a couple down days. Not that he knew what to do with a down day. A day without Ethan would just turn into him spending it doing something work-related or taking on Henry for the day to give Olive a break.
He barely acknowledged she'd said it, though. So she supposed they'd just play it be ear. With how Ethan had been acting this week she wasn't even sure how much she wanted to be around him. But, really, with what was planned, she could probably just pawn Ethan off on Jay for most of it and give herself a bit of time and space to herself too. It'd been that kind of week … or couple weeks. Or more.
Still, she rubbed her hand along the top of the counter and gazed at Hank. He was focused on his cooking. He looked like his mind had gone somewhere else too. She'd likely just added more worry to him with Ethan not wanting to do the May the Fourth build that he'd been on about for weeks – actually since they saw a flyer about it at the Lego Store in Disney Springs while in Orlando. And Eth saying he wasn't feeling well. His tremor being worse. Him being up in his room with the music blaring. Him not having even said hello when he came in. Hank would be processing all that and trying to decide what to do about it or how it fit into the current state of their dysfunctional family. And she knew she was likely about to add more to the fryer now.
"Did you see that email from Ignatius earlier this week?" she asked. "That one about 13 Reasons Why?"
He made a small sound of acknowledgement.
"Are you going to sign off on him going to that session with the Lighthouse?" she asked.
He made another sound and put the spoon down to look at her. He gave her a little pucker. "Wasn't planning on it."
She allowed a little nod but kept his eyes. "You don't think maybe it'd be a good idea?"
He shook his head and picked up the cutting board with the meat, scrapping it into the skillet too. "Erin, he's on meds for his depression and anxiety. Sees his own shrink. Goes to the therapist with us. And don't need to give him – or any of the kids he's around – extra reason to be talking about that show."
She nodded. "Has he said anything about the show to you?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Asked to watch it," he allowed. "Because all of the fucking middle school is watching it. Talking about it."
She nodded again. "And you aren't letting him?"
He smacked and gave her a look. "Rated Mature," he said. "It's blocked."
"You know what it's about?" she pressed.
"Don't live under a rock," he rasped at her and went back to working at stirring the meat in. "Can you open the tomatoes," he grumbled at her. "Stock's in the fridge."
She made her own sound – somewhere between a sigh and annoyance. But opened the fridge door to retrieve the chicken stock and set it along with a measuring cup next to him and then went to find a can of crushed tomatoes in the pantry cupboard and the can opener in the drawer. She worked on getting it open.
"Jay and I have been watching it," she said and she felt him still a bit. "To see what it's about. What it's like. … It's awful. He shouldn't be watching it."
"He's not," Hank rasped at her sternly, as she went and put the open can next to him too. He gave her a glance. His eyes were a bit softer, though. But she could see the flicker in them. The concern.
She slumped back against the counter to watch him work. But he was looking at her more than working now. She let out a little sigh.
"It's triggering," she acknowledged and looked at the floor, wrapping her arms around herself.
She wanted to tell him that it was triggering for Jay too. But she didn't. Because that would reveal more than Jay would want Hank to know about him. More than he'd even wanted her to know about him. But how some fucking TV show had sent both of them spinning a bit and ended up leading to some upsetting and revealing conversations about both of their high school years. Things they already knew or suspected but hadn't really spoken. But just ultimate confirmation that they'd gone through their own kinds of hell. That it'd left scars. That they'd both been hurt and traumatized and upset and bullied – and worse – in certain ways. That high school was hell. And it could be a long one. Four years didn't go by quickly. Not when you were that age. Not when you were in the midst of that experience.
She wanted to tell Hank that certain things in the show were really upsetting them both. In their own ways. As individuals. With pasts. And traumas. But it wasn't just that. That wasn't even the most upsetting part. The most upsetting part was that now as adults they had this sweet, bright, loving teenaged boy in their lives who was about to enter the hell that was high school. And that just didn't seem fair. It was making her worry and concern for Ethan and his high school years ache that much more. To grow.
"And … I don't agree with some of how they are presenting it. Suicide," she managed to press out. Because she didn't know where to start. "This glorification of it. How to make a point or get revenge. A way to hurt people. That's … just …"
"It's bullshit," Hank put bluntly.
"Yea …" Erin allowed. "But, the bullying they're showing. Some of the teenaged bullshit and drama they have going on. Some of it … we deal with on the job. We see. But it's just driving home … even more … how fucking cruel these kids are to each other. And now with phones and phone cameras and the internet and social media."
"Keep him away from those things," Hank said. "Best I can."
"I know," Erin acknowledged. "But … how much can you … we … really keep him away from any of that? How much can we even keep him away from this show? All the kids are talking about it. The school is sending out notes to parents about it. The media is talking about it. How do you know he's not seeing parts of it on other kids devices or at Eva's or Evan's?"
He stopped what he was doing – completely – and turned to look at her. He placed his hip against the counter just next to the stove. And he reached to give her elbow a squeeze.
"There's really graphic sexual assault in it, Hank. Rape. Drug use. Alcohol use. Casual sex. And these kids are supposed to be sophomores. A year, two years older than Ethan. The girl's suicide – it's right on screen. Step by step. It's like a fucking how-to guide," she said.
"He's not watching it," he assured her firmly.
She shook her head. "But that likely doesn't matter," she pressed at him. "Because the shit they're showing as some fictionalized mystery in this show – it's not fiction. This shit happens all the time. And you know it happens at Iggy's. You know some of the shit that me, that Justin went through there. And we weren't as much of marks as Ethan is. He's in middle school, Hank, and they are already giving him such a hard time. What kind of hell are they going to put him through for the next four years? When he's already … fucked in the head …"
He moved his hand and found where she had hers clutching at her ribs. He held it tightly. "Erin, we worked through all of that with you—"
"Ethan's not me, Hank," she pressed at him. She could feel her eyes watering. "He's not—"
"He's tough," he assured her. "Hurts like the rest of us. But he's tough. And we know the signs to look for."
"Do we?" she asked. "Because something's going on with him lately and he's not telling me shit. I don't think he's telling you shit. And me … Justin … this sort of thing. We went to Camille. Who's he going to go to?"
He rubbed his thumb along her knuckles. "Erin, he talks to me. He does. Sometimes it's just him screaming at me. But if that's how he needs to do it – then fine. I check in with him all the time. Every day. I promise you that. And might not feel like it right now since you're worrying – but he does talk to you. Lots. Maybe some of it in his teens and high school you'll need to listen a bit harder, read between the lines. But you're good at that. You'll do it. And know he'll go to Jay some too. Already does. So we'll know if something is wrong."
"Something is wrong," she said and gestured at the ceiling. "He's been like this … off … all week. And he's not telling us anything."
"Erin," he said evenly, "it really might just be as simple as he's tremoring bad and that gets him agitated and upset about a whole lot of things. But I will talk to him. It will get sorted."
But there was a knock on the backdoor and then it opened. "Bunch of cars in the back alley too," Jay said as he stepped inside.
Hank gave her hand a final squeeze and stepped back to the stove. Erin gave him a weak smile at his effort reached to try to swipe away the tears that had been threatening to come out.
"Did you decide to call over to District about it?" Jay asked before he stepped into the kitchen. He stopped as he stopped her and saw her face. He frowned, concern creasing across his brow now.
"I'm OK," she assured. "Hank already called Trudy."
He gave a little nod and shifted his attention over to Hank at the stove. He was likely trying to measure if Hank had done something to upset her and what that might be.
Erin was sure Hank felt Jay's eyes on him, but he played oblivious. Looked at her. "You two staying for supper?" he asked.
Erin raised her eyebrow at Jay who was gazing at her. "What'd Will say?" she asked.
"He flaked," Jay put flatly. Because that was pretty much Will's M.O. Not entirely unexpected. But Jay always went into anything with his brother hoping for a little bit more. It reminded her of Eth and Justin in a lot of ways. And it always hurt a bit seeing Jay upset or disappointed. But he kept going back and trying to mend his relationship with Will. Even though even in adulthood it seemed a lot like one step forward and two steps back half the time.
So she nodded and made a gesture with her head at Hank. Jay gave her another examination. Clearly measuring her some more.
"I'm fine," she pressed at him again. Because she was. Because they'd said this was fine. Because she wasn't going to flake on him too.
Jay shoved his hands into the pockets of the jacket he hadn't taken off. "Sarge, I've got a couple tickets to Game 5 tonight."
Hank grunted and glanced at the clock on the stove. "Not going to be ready before you head out," he put flatly.
Erin made a face at Jay and raised her eyebrow. But he just stood there. Looking awkward. Because he'd argued that it'd be awkward enough doing anything with Hank out in public. But that he thought it would be super awkward when he knew that going to Blackhawk games was something that Hank did with Justin. And that his last game would've been the one that they took him to as a Christmas/birthday present. But Erin wasn't sure Hank would look at it through quite those lens. She actually thought he might appreciate the offer – a lot – if Jay could manage to put one out there. But Jay wasn't so great at niceties that needed to come along with anything verbal to drive them home.
"He's inviting you, Hank," Erin put to him flatly instead.
Hank glanced up at that and eyed her. "Wasn't much of an invitation," he said.
"Because you'd give a better one?" she put to him and gestured with her eyes for him to look at Jay.
He smacked. Because he knew that was true. The last invitation that Hank had given Jay was to take him out for lunch. It wasn't an invitation. It was an order. Jay just got told that he was going to ride with Hank. Where hadn't been said. And it'd been even more awkward when Hank had taken him to some restaurant that his dad had taken him to and that he'd taken all of them to as kids. And then Jay wasn't sure if it was lunch, an interrogation, a stop before they were actually going to do something job related, or a stop before the Silos. Whatever it actually turned out to be, Erin hadn't gotten much more than being told it was awkward and they'd eaten. If there'd been an actual conversation – which when it was the two of them, was questionable – she hadn't been told any of the details. Though, she'd like to know them. Especially considering the convenient timing of this little outing that Hank had decided to take Jay on.
Not long after she'd had about the first real talk with him since Justin had died. Where it'd almost felt normal. Her she could almost pretend he was just her dad again and like none of what had happened had happened. Where she'd been able to talk honestly with him about long-term relationships and marriage and communication and how the fuck any of that worked with the jobs they did and the type of man Jay was (which wasn't that unlike Hank) and the type of person she was. And how she was at a frustration point and a scared point. And he'd actually talked to her. Like a dad. About those things. And life. And marriage. And relationships. And the job. And family. And Camille. About the good, the bad, and the ugly. Of all of it. And then he had to go and do that to Jay. She didn't think Hank had told him anything she'd said that night. But she also hadn't been told by Jay what him and Hank had talked about on that long-lunch they'd taken. That Jay insisted wasn't that long because they'd gone and talked to one of Hank's contacts after while Jay stood guard.
But she didn't think Jay had had much alone time around Hank since that talk. Though, they had the Florida trip since then. And work had been insane since they got back. And add in Ethan and Henry and all the adults in the family were just tapped. She didn't think they were purposely avoiding each other. They seemed fine at work. As fine as the two of them ever were. And he hadn't put up any qualms about her suggestion he take Hank if Will flaked out on him – again.
So likely Jay just sucked at forming sentences that weren't interrogation questions. That was something she generally knew was true. And she thought Hank did too, because he gave an examination of Jay and then shifted his eyes to her.
"You don't want to go?" he smacked.
Erin shrugged. "I think I can live without seeing the Hawks get knocked out of the playoffs."
"They might rally," Jay said. She just raised her eyebrow at him. Now that he actually decided to form words and sentences. "It's May the Fourth."
She cocked her head at him. "So they are with the force?"
"No, the force is with them," Jay corrected. "If they're with the force – they're dead."
"I know …," she muttered. Hence this game with St. Louis' 3-1 lead in the series was going to be pretty much a knock-out game not worth watching. And not even worth watching at home – with either of them – because it just meant she'd have to sit and listen to them yelling and swearing at the television all night.
Hank gave her a look – after giving Jay one. Because Star Wars and Force talk was not Hank's thing. It really wouldn't be given the "Star Wars party" going on next door too. But he moved his eyes back to Jay. "What about Magoo?" he said, jutting his chin upstairs.
"Hank," Erin sighed at him. "He says he's not feeling well. At the very least, he's in a mood. And he only likes hockey so much."
Hank shrugged. "Should see a playoff game while he's a kid. Right of passage."
"I think the Cubs this fall was enough of a right of passage to last at least another hundred and eight years," she said and stood straighter, away from the counter. "I'll finish this," she told him of the food on the burner. "Go. You'll miss the start if you don't leave now."
Hank smacked. "H's here," he said.
"I noticed," she allowed. "And I'm pretty sure after the shit we've dealt with this week at work, I can handle two boys for a night."
"You sure?" Hank asked. Erin wasn't sure if he was asking her or Jay.
"Yea," Jay said, though.
He looked to her. She shrugged. "May the Fourth be with you."
Hank just shook his head at her. She got an unimpressed smack, but he moved passed Jay and out into the breezeway to grab his boots and jacket.
"Have fun …," she offered to Jay.
He allowed a little nod. But she thought he still looked a little nervous. Compared to spending a weekend with Hank in a tent, though, this should be a cake walk.
"Row Twenty-seven. Cold beer. Grown men on skates," she put back to him from his original effort to convince her that she wanted to participate in this activity. "What's not to love?"
Jay jutted his finger into the breezeway and mouthed "him."
She pointed her finger to the ceiling. "Better than him tonight," she mouthed back at him. "He's loveable …" she allowed more vocally but still at a whisper. Because she knew Hank could hear.
Jay sighed at her and moved to give her a peek on the cheek. "Thank you …" he said. Because her original declination of attendance had been to have a night at home – to herself. She just needed some time right now. To think and process a lot too. But instead she was going to be big sister and aunt – to two cranky little boys. Not exactly the night she'd been hoping for. But she supposed it'd be a distraction of its own.
"Have fun," she told him again, putting her hand against his chest.
He gave her a thin smile and moved away because it was pretty clear that Hank was already doing that thing where he hovered by the door waiting for you to hurry the fuck up because you weren't moving at the pace he wanted you to or on the schedule he felt was necessary. Just chomping at the bit. But he was right to do it. Because they were just barely going to make it to the puck drop at this rate. They were cutting it close.
"Yea …," Jay allowed as she slipped out the door and she heard the door close behind them, as they both clomped down the porch steps and the security light switched on as they moved across the backyard. Hank clearly hadn't adjusted the timer yet to deal with the longer days they were getting now. More daylight.
But they all needed a little bit more daylight anymore. Some light. Or the force. Whatever.
And hopefully the two of them would be able to enjoy it. Escape the bullshit that was swirling all around them and focus on less important, important Chicago things. Like the Blackhawks in the playoffs – or out of them. While she tried to figure out what the fuck were the important things that were dragging her baby brother down this time. And just how to deal with that – and all the other cinder blocks that she knew were likely going to be looking for his feet come September.
Maybe she needed the force to be with her that night too.