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.
Jay glanced next to him as Voight grunted at him and stepped in front of the cash.
"I've got it," the guy rasped at him, pulling a few bills out of his pocket.
"You don't have to do that," Jay told him. But he was too late. Voight only gave him that dismissive grunt and handed the woman tending the beer stall.
Not the kind of beer Jay usually drank but you could only expect so much at the United Center. Hence paying nearly ten bucks each to drink domestic piss. So he likely should be thrilled he didn't have to pay for it. But accepting any sort of money or niceties from Voight was still a little … weird. Or just plain fucking uncomfortable.
Likely knew it shouldn't be. Not at this point. But it was. He just wasn't used to that. So even Voight handing them leftovers when they went over for dinner still seemed strange. Not that he turned them down anymore. But it still sometimes felt like he was taking something he shouldn't be or wasn't entitled to. And it was only weirder knowing that he had several grand sitting in the bank waiting to give to them. Or to Erin. Something that Jay both thought they should just accept and was sort of glad Erin was still at the point she was fundamentally opposed to taking it. And then there was the whole Olive thing and condo thing and the fact they were going to have to say something to her and sort something out with her in the next few months. And no matter how her and Jay spun it in their repeated conversations about how to handle that shit, it was pretty much a given that until things got sorted with the whole life insurance crap, that any top up that got might be handed to them by Olive but would be coming from Voight and that was a whole other fucking level of uncomfortable. And even though they'd been told everything should be sorted up and cleared up with the insurance thing within hitting the one-year mark of when Olive filed the paperwork – so likely by about September, and they likely could slog along and manage the payments and the bills at both places until then – Erin was having some misgivings about basically taking Olive and Henry's money that they were getting because Justin got himself killed.
But they were going to have to do something. He got that she wanted – and needed - to get Olive and her nephew back into the city to pretty much keep the rest of her family from completely self-destructing. Even more than it already had. And he got that she wanted to give Olive time to get settled and on her feet. And he got that she didn't really want to take dead people's money that she felt belonged to someone else – which he really understood, because he'd been there with his mom and with his grandfather. But they also had to fucking acknowledge that with their jobs and their incomes they really couldn't afford to be keeping Olive afloat too much longer by giving her that steep of discount on the condo. They just really couldn't fucking afford to be two mortgage people. So he didn't know what they were fucking going to do. Likely just have to wrap their head around accepting that where Olive was getting her money from was either going to be from the dead brother Erin grew up with or from the guy who raised her and who they didn't really want to accept money from either – or to know where some of it was coming from on a widowed cop's salary with a disabled sick kid in private school.
"Sure you don't want something to eat?" Voight put to him – one last time, handing him one of the beers.
This weird fucking dad tone that he sometimes got. That was also a strange thing to wrap his head around too. Another thing he wasn't used to. But had definitely picked up on this whole checking in thing Voight did with him anymore. Sometimes at work. Sometimes if they got stuck in the same room together for any period of time. Usually only lasted a few questions. But still felt like an interrogation. Not a conversation. And sometimes Jay couldn't help but wonder what the hell the guy was thinking when he did it. Still felt like he had to keep a poker face when he gave his answers and the guy was just sitting there observing him and considering him and being some sort of chess master in planning his next move.
"I don't have much of an appetite," Jay muttered.
He got another one of those grunts of acknowledgement. But the guy still looked back to the girl at the cash. "Two of the tri-tip sandwiches," he rasped at her anyway. "And give me one of the Brown and Whites."
The girl just nodded and punched it into the cash. She went and got the giant, cellophane wrapped cookie and put it on a paper plate, handing it and a number to Voight, who nudged by him to go stand in weight for the food that Voight apparently thought they should be eating.
"Happy Birthday," he muttered at him as he handed the cookie off to him.
"Thanks …," Jay muttered back and followed after.
Voight was fucking weird about food. It was strange how much he was pretty obsessive about cooking for the family and had this list of very specific, approved restaurants they could – or should – eat at. How it was pretty much this force-feed effort to get Eth to ingest multiple meals a day at semi-regular intervals. But it was fucking rare that Jay actually saw Voight eat.
Four and a half years on Intelligence and he could probably count on one hand the number of times that he'd seen Voight put something in his mouth that actually constituted a meal. Or even a snack. Ingest vast amounts of coffee, whiskey, scotch and wine – yes. Have a sandwich? No.
And even since spending time with the guy in his home. Being invited out to meals with the family. Even fucking special functions. The guy always made himself a plate. But he was always more focused on serving everyone else and making sure everyone else was eating. Like some little Italian grandma or Austrian grandpa or whatever the fuck he was intimidating. Or actually really was. But he'd just pick at whatever he'd serve himself. It was rare Jay had observed him pack away a full plate and even rarer he'd seen him go back for seconds or thirds of anything. He could actually likely pinpoint the meals he did that – because they stood out.
It was a strange relationship with food. But he supposed everyone had sort of fucked up relationships with food. Erin sure did. And Ethan sure did. But growing up in that house likely contributed to that. But he supposed everyone's house they grew up in contributed to their fucked up relationship with food, health and nutrition. Because him and Will definitely were fucked in their own ways about food and what they put in their bodies.
But that night – Jay just really didn't have an appetite. At all. Though, a steak sandwich would likely wash down the crap beer they'd ordered. Cut out the aftertaste and settle the stomach.
"Was your birthday yesterday?" Voight put to him flatly. Wasn't even looking at him. Looked at their number. Looked at his watch. And then looked up at the monitors to gauge how long they had to get to their seats. They likely should've skipped the whole beer and food thing. Though, maybe sitting next to each other waiting to the game to start might've lead to either more forced conversation and awkward silences than even this.
"Yea …," Jay acknowledged.
Him and Erin hadn't said anything about it to her family. He didn't know why. They hadn't specifically had a conversation about it – about not saying anything. But they'd managed to get through last year without letting them know that their birthdays fell in such close proximity. They managed to get their weekend getaway. A few days to themselves – in Cleveland. The whole Indy boulder that had plowed into their lives in the way of that trip. Though, it supposed they were fucked up enough before that. But it felt like they were just starting to get over and work at moving beyond the whole miscarriage. In figuring out their relationship – and how to be a family and a couple – in the wake of that. A year. It'd taken them a year.
But birthdays were just … whatever. He didn't really have much interest in marking his birthday. It wasn't much of an event growing up. He didn't get the sense it was something the majority of his family really felt like celebrating when he was a kid. Or at least fifty percent of them. His mom had tried. She always did. But his birthday just made him think of that stuff. And really after thirty do you really want to just keep tallying the years as they fly past? He knew in a way he should. Be valuing the time he had. That he was one of the people who got to come home and meet a girl and get engaged and start a family. To have a life that was tallying up years beyond thirty. One that had tallied up years beyond twenty-one and twenty-five. And a lot of numbers in between and beyond that.
But birthdays just carried a whole weight with Erin and her baggage and her history and her family too. The Voights didn't need more birthdays to remember. Erin's birthday came with enough baggage. And now Henry's did. And in a way it seemed like Eth's did too. And Ethan just didn't need another date to put on his calendar in his little tradition keeping and day-tallying obsession he had anymore. In fact, Jay had outright pretended like he hadn't heard and had walked away when Ethan had asked him when his birthday was a while ago. He was sure that Eth had likely asked Erin or Voight too. But supposed he didn't get an answer – because the kid hadn't said anything to him that week. Not that Eth was talking a lot lately. He was doing a bit of the introvert thing.
And in the end, it didn't really matter that they hadn't said anything to Erin's family about it being his birthday. Because after that case, they really hadn't felt much like celebrating. At all. Even going out for a drink with Ruzek and Atwater hadn't felt right. And it'd felt less right – and got caught way short – when Erin had just wanted to go home. And with how she was feeling – and what had happened that case – he wasn't just going to let her go home alone. Not to get a couple free drinks out of a couple guys that he was only so close to. Because he wasn't really close to anyone. He didn't really want to be.
Just like he only wanted to be so close with Voight – even if he was technically his sort of father-in-law. Because he was still his boss. For now. And he was still – Voight. So it made him even more uncomfortable that the guy knew it had been his birthday. And he knew it wasn't Erin who'd told him. That Voight just likely would've seen it in his personnel file and internalized that information. Because that's how the guy worked. How he ticked.
"Tickets your gift?" he asked passively, but gave him a little glance. Could see some concern in the guy's brow again. He likely thought that Erin had got them for him and then bailed because of the case. Because of her kill shot.
"No," Jay allowed. "A guy at …" and he slowed.
Because he didn't know how to say it even though Voight knew he went to the things. Or at least he knew he went to therapy. Because he'd played a minor role in orchestrating that. Maybe backwardly pushing towards making that decision to get some therapy. To get some help. To try to deal with some of his issues. Even though it'd been presented as a quiet request for him to see if he could help Eth get into the rock climbing program with his vet ties.
But he supposed maybe it didn't really matter Voight knew he went to a support group now? Too. Sometimes. When he needed to. Because sometimes sitting in another room of guys … even though it was fucking harder, it was also fucking easier than sitting there talking to some shrink or counselor or whatever she fucking was and just feeling like she didn't get it even though she was a VA shrink.
At the same time, though. He didn't really want Voight to know that. Because he'd only just let Erin know before the trip that he'd made that switch … or added it to his repertoire. That sometimes those nights he took after shift … it wasn't to the gym or Will's to watch the game. It was to go sit in a circle in some church basement and to try to hold it together. To watch a bunch of grown men all try to hold it together when it looked like all of them where about to burst at the seems. Like all of them were laying atop of some grenade and refusing to fucking move because they knew it wasn't a dud and one false move and the whole fucking world – the world of all those closest to them – was going to blow up in their faces. And none of them felt like they were going to be able to survive that. Because how do you walk away form those kinds of injuries?
But feeling that way about things … that's not something you share when you're on the job. It's not something you share with your boss – even if he is your sort of father-in-law. Because even as a sort of father-in-law – what kind of father-in-law wants to know his daughter is marrying that kind of mess? That that kind of mess might be fathering his grandkids and raising them and fucking it all up for them to? Adding them to the list of people close by for when the fucking grenade exploded?
So he checked himself. "A guy I know gave them to me," he said. "They're from work. He couldn't go."
He left out that the guy was a guy from the support group. A guy who was doing a reasonable job at re-establishing his life stateside. Doing so well that he got these tickets as a fucking recognition of all the sales he'd made. In telemarketing. Because this guy could barely function in public. And he'd been too embarrassed to say he didn't want the tickets – because he wanted them – but he couldn't make himself go. Because there'd be crowds he couldn't handle. And loud, burly, drunk groups that might potentially get very angry if the Blackhawks got knockout of the playoffs. And he just didn't want to be around that. And there was something about the sound of the skates on ice that triggered him. And the buzzer when a puck made it into the net or at the end of each period. And he couldn't stand to hear that too. That he'd just be crawling out of his skin.
Just like he'd crawled out of his skin in accepting the tickets and trying to will himself to be strong enough to go and then disappointing himself when he couldn't. Or maybe in recognizing that – for his own mental health – he shouldn't. So he'd offered them to Jay. And Jay had agreed he'd go and tell him that non-triggering details about the game. He'd give him the radio commentary that the guy was likely listening to anyway. At least this way, he could pretend like he had eyes – that understood – on the ice too.
Voight gave him another cursory glance. A measurement. A judgment. That fucking microscope that Jay hated being under. Because it always felt like that with Voight. A lot more was said in what didn't get said. And it just made him feel like the guy pretty much always knew more than he said. And that he had a whole lot more thoughts and opinions but didn't fucking express them until it came as an order. Or a fucking lecture. Voight's take on the world. On life. On marriage. On family. It seemed like the handful of conversations they'd actually had – always had to be heavy shit. Not that he was on to just shoot the shit. And he didn't think Voight was either. And if he was going to shoot the shit with anyone – it likely wouldn't be Voight. They had an understanding. There were things he respected about him. And things he really didn't like about him. But they didn't have to be friends. He was pretty contend just keeping up the whole boss-subordinate with an authority issue dynamic and the father-in-law/son-in-law relative distance and distaste thing going. But sometimes that was fucking hard given the whole fucking mess that the family existed in. Given that he'd developed a relationship with Eth. And given that kid really needed some support and friends and mentors in his life – and ones that went fucking beyond Voight. But also keeping in mind the kid was sick and the kid loved and needed his dad. And somehow it was that fucking little kid that humanized Hank a lot and made him almost tolerable even in the moments Jay didn't particularly like him or wanted to sort of hate him.
But it was fucked. It was all fucked. Doing this with him was fucked. Because he didn't want to develop some father-son-like relationship with the guy. He really wasn't interested in that. At all. Voight got to do the father-son thing. Had his chance with Justin. Was having his chance with Eth. Would maybe get to be third-time lucky and figure it out with his grandkid. Because, Jay's experience was that relationships with your grandfather were a whole lot fucking easier than relationships with your dad. Or maybe that just worked if it was your maternal grandfather. And the guy wasn't a big fan of your pops either. Either way, he didn't have any intention on trying to fill whatever void it was that Justin left.
It was a fucking impossible task anyways. Even if he had liked or respected the guy – which he hadn't.
He felt bad for the family. Bad for Olive. Bad for Henry. Felt bad that Erin was having to go through it and that Voight – as a father – was going through it when he'd already lost his wife. Felt really bad for Eth because it'd just fucked him in the head real good.
But there was also this whole other part of him – that cynical part of him – that thought that in the end, all of them might end up being better off with the guy being out of the picture now. Rather than later. Rather than putting them all through years more of stress and bullshit. Bringing a whole different kind of living, breathing strain to the family.
At least in death, sometimes you could make yourself – delude yourself – into focusing on the positives and the happy. Glorify the person's memory. And make them look like better people than they were. And maybe that fucking delusion in the wake of the loss would be better than what a reality – a life – with Justin Voight still in the picture might've looked like.
Because people don't "change". Maybe new situations reveal different aspects of their character. Maybe that makes them have moments of seeming slightly better than they actually were. But it'd ultimately catch up with them. At the end of the day – Justin was still going to be the same guy, making the same kinds of decisions and mistakes as he had when he was thirteen or seventeen or twenty-one or twenty-four. No sugar-coating really changed that. You are who you are. You can't really escape it.
But that's not the kind of thing you lay out to the guy's father. It'd never be anything he'd directly say to Eth either. Though, in some ways, they'd talked around it. And maybe they'd get closer and closer to the heart of the topic as Eth grew up – if it was something he still needed to deal with and try to wrap his head around. And Jay figured it would. Because he still was trying at thirty-four years old to wrap his head around his relationship with his brother and all the fucking hurt and anger and frustration and pain there. And Will was still living. And it was still never going to change. He wouldn't. Not really. He didn't learn. He just kept putting himself in situations that proved over and over again that at his core – at his heart – he was the same person who'd make the same stupid choices and the same stupid mistakes and never quite figure it out or fix it because he was who he was.
He'd said some of it to Erin. When she wanted to talk or listen. But she'd also settled into a whole "don't want to speak ill of the dead" thing. Even though Justin had really hurt her too. Especially in that last year or so. Really, it was likely longer than that. More like since Camille Voight had died. Or at least since Justin had either gone to jail or gotten out of jail – and fucked it all up again – if you felt like being generous to the kind of person he was and the kind of mistakes he made.
And in a lot of ways she agreed with his stance – even though, she kept trying to focus on the little boy who'd been in that house when she moved in. Some eight year old kid. She talked about the kid – the one before Ethan was born – as this goofy, happy, smart, nice little boy. But Jay hadn't met that kid to even be sure if he existed. And he knew for a fact that whatever did exist in that kid, it sure seemed to fade when his baby brother was born. And outright disappeared after he either hit puberty or high school. And if you can't tell what kind of person a kid is going to grow up to be by then – you sure as fuck learn a lot about them in that period. It's when they show their true colors. As they stretch their wings and flex their muscles to become their true self. And for a whole lot of people – that self isn't that nice of person. It's not someone you want to associate with. Not even really someone you want to have to acknowledge is family. That you share blood with that creature.
And when he felt that way about Justin – he knew it was … just plain fucking weird to have to function as a part of the family now. And it was even more fucked up to be out at a hockey game with the guy's dad on the day after his birthday. When it was pretty clear that hockey or the Blackhawks was on a very short list of thing that Voight and Justin shared any sort of interest in. Or at least pretended to tolerate for the other's sake. Or for the relationship's sake.
But he hadn't really wanted to go alone – and he'd told the guy he'd go. That he'd use the tickets. That he'd watch the game. Erin didn't want to go, though. Not after the week. Not after the case. Not after the killshot. And Will flaked. He said he'd go and then did a fucking reversal and tried to play the 'good guy' card and say he needed to spend some 'quality time' with Nina. When as soon as you started designating time as 'quality time' or expressing it as something you 'needed' to include in your schedule – you knew that it wasn't that important to you. That it likely fucking never was. And that the relationship that had seemed like a bit of a farce from the get was now really charging toward complete implosion. So visibly that he'd already had Erin say to him – beg him – to not let Will move in after the evitable breakout unless he set a clearly defined move-out deadline before Will taking over "Ethan's" bedroom at the townhouse. Which would really just cause a whole other conflict. But like Erin liked to say – family's family. But sometimes dealing with her family's fucked up dynamic seemed way fucking easier than having to deal with his.
Because it wasn't like he wanted Will to end up having to move in and mooch off them. The fucking doctor? A former plastic surgeon? Wants to mooch off two cops barely making ends meet? And not just two cops – his little brother? It was so fucking Will. But Erin was right. He could see it coming too.
And he was trying to brace himself for it. And how to deal with it. And what all that'd mean. Because the reality was that Will always flaked out on him. Always ended up hurting him and pissing him off. For things as simple as showing up to use a free ticket at an NHL playoff game to. Things more complicated that should've been fucking simple … like your mom dying slowly from cancer. But Will always found a way to make it harder than it needed to be. To always have some lame excuse that covered up the truth of the whole situation. And the whole situation was always that he was still a fucking screw up. Just one that had "doctor" attached to his name. That made him the golden child or meal ticket in the neighborhood – in the family.
So Voight was the sort of option. He could've done others. He could've offered it to Eth. He could've asked Ruzek or Atwater or … maybe Choi. He'd get it. But Erin suggested Hank. And in a way, she was right to say it. But that didn't make this period of … chitchat easier. And Jay wasn't sure it'd make sitting next to him during the game any more comfortable either. Because he always felt like he had to have his guard up around him. He wasn't really sure what he was ever supposed to say or how to act or what to do.
And this wasn't like taking a lunch break or going on a fishing trip or helping out around the house or with Eth. Then there were things to do. To be done. To focus on. And sure, they'd focus on the ice. On the game. But he wasn't sure Voight was the kind of guy who'd be high-fiving about any success going on down on the rink. Or that he'd be someone to groan at the inadequacy of the plays or the atrocities that St. Louis was committing in ousting their Hawks in just the Second Round play. But he'd just have to play it by ear. Because sometimes Voight surprised him. Sometimes he was more fucking human than Jay wanted to admit. And sometimes seeing the fallibility was hard too. Because it made you acknowledge it in yourself too. And he wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.
"You and Erin do something last night?" was all he asked despite that look, though.
But Jay just shook his head. "Weren't really in the head space for that," he allowed.
Voight grunted and nodded. "Said you two want to take Magoo for the weekend. That about where her head's at or it some belated birthday thing?"
Jay kept his eyes at that rasp. "The kid was fourteen," he put bluntly.
"I know," Voight smacked.
And the truth was Erin's head wasn't exactly on straight about it. Not yet. But she was doing OK. But she'd shot and killed a fourteen year old kid. A kid just a few months older than Eth. They were sending a fifteen year old to jail. They were dealing with seventeen-year-olds blowing the brains out of two other kids to keep them from talking. And telling the kid they were sending him off to juvie and they'd protect him and set him up with something when he got out if he kept his head down – really just sounded like another fucking death sentence too. Might as well give him the needle. But maybe it was better than sending him back out into the city and leaving that poor kid on the run and just waiting for a bullet to blaze through his skull too.
But how do you fucking get your head on straight about any of that? When you've got kids that age at home? That you go home to? That you still schedule Lego outings as bribes with and take them to movies that are rated PG? When the kid's favorite topics are dinosaurs, cars, robots, the Cubs and Minecraft? When all he wants to do is tinker with his circuit boards, stare at his baseball cards and race cars and spaceships around terrain planets on his Xbox? When his idea of an amazing outing is walking over to the park to toss the ball around? Or to the hobby store to look at models and collector cards and comic books and board games and strange action figures? When all he dreams about and pines for in things to do with you is for you to sign him up for some paintball or taking him fishing? When to him a high-class meal is still spaghetti and meatballs at some friend of Dad's restaurant or a large serving or fries – and just the fries? Or a burrito bowl with none of the "gross stuff" but all the "green stuff"? When you work on middle school math homework with them? And when they do stay over on a Friday or Saturday night – what they want on a weekend morning that you're off is for you to make them fucking banana pancakes and chocolate-almond butter smoothies for breakfast – granting you fucking permission to make a strawberry one for their big sister as a way to appease her about being woken up by the fucking Ninja Blender blaring through the kitchen?
When you know that even though the kid you shot down as robbing banks and driving around motorcycles in high speed chases and shooting down people with automatic weapons. When he was mixed in with a gang lifestyle and being manipulated by a professional criminal that was just using him as a means to an end. That that kid's mom wouldn't have listed off any of that as being her son. That she likely would've listed off all sorts of little boy thing that her fourteen year old kid still did at home. When he had interests and hobbies and quirks that you expected in a young teen. Not the sort of things you expected a gangbanger to be doing. Not the way you pictured them. Even though so many of these kids were just that – kids. Who played videogames and rode bikes and watched movies and listened to music and had siblings and moms and favorite meals too.
How do you get your head on straight about that when Erin openly acknowledged that she likely would've been dead in the streets by fifteen if the Voights hadn't taken her in? That she would've run errands as bad or worse. That she would've made as deadly of mistakes. And if she hadn't – she would've died as a kid barely older than Eth with a needle hanging out of her arm?
How do you get your head on straight about that when you've just barely put in your decade on the job? But for all the shit you've seen and experienced – and for how it's fucked you up inside – you hadn't had to shoot a kid yet? Deal with dead kids. Deal with kids who'd have horrible things done to them. Or who had done horrible things themselves. Manipulative psychopaths. Or mentally ill weepy-stories who hadn't gotten help. Lots of examples of how the system didn't work and how it chewed up the youth of Chicago and just spit them back out. But actually shoot a kid dead in the street? When you didn't know it was a kid? When you had people who weren't there or weren't in the situation suggesting that they somehow knew better about what had gone down than you? Like if they were looking down the barrel of an automatic weapon that they would've waited until the first shot was fired – at them – before they pulled their own trigger?
Jay didn't know how Erin was supposed to have her head on straight about that. Even though he was all about the compartmentalization and the fucking denial. About just not dealing with any of it – or his emotions about it. When he had killed kids before. When he'd seen kids blown up. When he'd had kids in suicide vest sent in to kill him and his unit. He'd seen kids step on IEDs. He'd watched villages full of mostly civilians – women and children – get completely leveled. And he'd helped in all that. He'd aided in that … fight against terrorism. Whatever the fuck that meant anymore. Sometimes you couldn't tell who the real bad guys were anymore. What they were fighting for. What that fight was supposed to look like. Who the real winners or losers in any of it was. And it all just never ended. It went on and on.
And he didn't want to tell her to compartmentalize it. Or pretend it didn't happen. Or that that kid's face wasn't going to haunt her for the rest of her life. Or that she'd done her job the way she was supposed to and that was all she needed to know or worry about. Or that he hadn't thought about Eth too – that he didn't think of Eth every time they ended up on a case that involved teenaged kids. He didn't want to lie to her. And he didn't know how to make it better.
But he did know that being around Eth generally made things better for her. That even when he annoyed and frustrated her – he was a stabilizing force for her. One that kept her from going back to crutches or finding banana peels to slip on or holes to crawl into. So if she wanted to spend time around Eth that night. Or she wanted to have Eth around that weekend – it sounded OK to him. Because that was something that he could easily manage. Something he could help with. Something he could do that felt like more than just … being there for her. For them to talk but not talk. Because she didn't seem to know what to say about it yet beyond repeating over and over that the kid was only fourteen. And about all he could figure out to do was to hug her and hold her.
But all he provided to Voight was, "Timing of it all is just coincidence."
Voight gave him another smack like he wasn't going to just accept that answer. The slow sip out of his beer seemed to just drive the point home. Or maybe confirm that the brew was so bad you had to sip it to make it bearable.
"Been talking about taking him to Guardians for a while," Jay offered. "Just happens to release this weekend. May the Fourth – Star Wars Day – just how things landed. I figured Free Comic Book Day would just be … something worth checking out. Maybe he'd find something he actually wants to and can read. And the free Lego build thing is always the first weekend of the month. Just lines up with the other things well. Gives him a ten bucks off coupon so he can pick out a bigger set this month."
"Notes in his calendar and portal haven't been so hot lately," Voight graveled.
Jay shrugged. "Base it on him being co-operative with his homework," he muttered. "Not the mark or his teacher's take on the effort he put in."
Voight nodded. He seemed to accept that. Jay knew that in some ways Voight didn't particularly like that he and Erin had instituted some of their own responsibilities, rewards and consequences system with Eth. That they had their own ways of doing things. That they had their own rules. And that about thirty percent of the time – it was their rules that Eth was having to live up to. Their goal posts. And they weren't so different than Voight's. They wanted the same things. They just wanted to do it their own way. They needed to. For their own sanity. To make it work.
And for them having a $15 prize to work toward each month worked. It was enough to get Eth to co-operate most nights they had him. To not have to deal with extra lip and hassle about home and studying and clearing the table and picking up after himself in the house. An easy gratification each month – where he didn't have to budget and divvy up his allowance. He just had to be a decent kid (and he was) each month and then he got pick something he wanted within reason at that price tag or less and he got to have it right then and there.
Jay hadn't told him it needed to be Lego. But for now that was their thing. Go to the free build to get his few blocks in whatever tacky little model Lego was using as a gimmick that month attached to some sale that was never so great and then pick out the latest Microfighter set. The big event would probably include walking next door for Eth to get his fry fix at M Burger before going back to the townhouse and working at putting the set together. Together.
Basically – he gave the kid a couple hours out on a Friday night or Saturday morning once a month. A couple hours of his time where he wasn't brow beating him about homework or chores or trucking him back and forth to his dad's or school or District or RIC or medical appointments and tutors and therapists. Low key.
And a little tradition he'd managed to establish with the kid – to ingrain in forming a relationship with Eth - that Jay knew was likely going to change soon. Because it was only a matter of time before Eth started wanting comic books or iTunes cards or Xbox cards or Starbucks cards or some piece of vinyl or some tshirt or something that wasn't Lego. Because he was almost fourteen. And kids were cruel. And he wanted to be cool. And he wanted to fit in. And at some point their little secret that once a month they geeked out on Star Wars and Lego – at fourteen and thirty-four – was going to get out somehow soon enough and then Eth wouldn't want to do it anymore. He'd feel like he wasn't allowed. So they'd have to … find something else. Try something else. To get him through his teens. To get all of them through his teens. For him to make it through better than he had. Or Erin had. Or his brother had. Or that kid in the morgue had. Or the one headed to lock-up the other night had.
And Jay thought Hank got that too. That that – getting Eth through – they all knew they were in that together now. And they were all pretty much willing to do whatever needed to be done to achieve that.
"Erin seemed to think he's been off this week?" Hank rasped, gave him another look but let his eyes drift back up to the monitor directed at the ice. Like he didn't care to know the answer. When Jay knew with Voight – when it came to Eth – that was about as far from the truth as you could get. But he was trying to keep it casual. "Your read on that that it holds any water or she's projecting?"
Jay sighed as he processed how to respond to that. He crossed his arms and stared at the screen too. Because he kind of wished the sandwiches would come faster. Not so much so they could get down to their seats – but so they didn't have to talk about … this.
"Honestly …," he finally said, staring at the screen too. They were missing the pregame skate. But hopefully they'd get down there for the montage. The anthem. How long did it really take to pile some tri-tip on a brioche. Seriously, United Center might've improved their food a lot. But it hadn't done anything about getting that food in a timely fashion. "Likely a bit of both. He was definitely off tonight. Don't know about what. Got the sense that maybe someone said something about the Star Wars Day stuff. But who fucking knows …"
Voight grunted. And took a sip of his beer again. He seemed pretty fixed on the preskate. But Voight did seem to like his hockey. But supposed growing up in Chicago you were supposed to. And Voight? He would've grown up watching Bobby Hull on the ice. That'd be a site. If you weren't a hockey fan before that – was pretty sure that the Golden Jet would've converted you.
"Thought kids that age like Star Wars," Voight rasped.
Jay shrugged. "I'd say so. But kids that age also fucking suck."
Voight gave him another glance and brought down his beer. "Erin said you two have checked out this Thirteen Ways shit."
"Reasons," Jay corrected and Voight smacked at him. "Thirteen Reasons Why," he clarified. "And, yea, we sat through it."
"And?" Voight put to him.
Jay shrugged. "Kids that age fucking suck," he added again and took a long swig of his own drink.
Because he really didn't fucking want to get into how much kids that age sucked. How much bullshit he'd gone through in high school. How watching some of that fucking show just reminded him how fucking … blind and cruel kids and staff and administration are. How the fucking passiveness – the indirect approval and condolence of behavior – ended up hurting you just as much as the fucking outright bullies and predators. The ones who put you through the hell.
That teachers, principals, counselors, "friends", classmates, parents, siblings, girlfriends who weren't girlfriends … they all played some sort of role in letting that happen to you by simply not helping you. Or ignoring it was happening. Or being so fucking clueless that it was happening. Or thinking it wasn't a big deal. Or that you were bringing it on yourself. Or not seeing the signs that the daily life you were going through day-in and day-out was eating you alive. That it wasn't just teenaged moodiness that was turning you into an angry, anti-authority, introverted loner.
It was the fucking bystander effect. It was all of this macho, type-A society trying to perpetrate this idea that anything inappropriate that happened wasn't really inappropriate. That you were just blowing it out of proportion. That it was really just hazing or initiation. That it was some sort of male camaraderie. Or being part of the team. That you should expect that sort of shit when you were a rookie. Or a freshman. Or a scholarship student. That you had to prove yourself. And pay your dues. And just shut up about it. That you were the problem – not what was happening. Not what they were doing to you. That it wasn't a big deal.
And Jay had tried really hard to convince himself of that. For a long time. He'd tried really hard to believe that shit when people he'd tried to talk to about it told him exactly that – that it wasn't a big deal, that he was blowing it out of proportion, that he was taking it out of context, that he should just suck it up and shut up before he brought at stigma to Will's status at the school or cost himself a scholarship by rattling the sabers about what was going on too much. And eventually he'd listened. He'd shut up. He'd really shut up. And he'd shut down to. He'd closed in on himself. And he'd built up walls. And then he'd just waited for his opportunity to escape. To get far, far away from all of it. To runaway from what had happened. And to try not to ever have to deal with it. To try to ignore it. And to forget it. And it just hadn't fucking ever worked. And that made him shut up even more. For a long fucking time.
But talking about any of that – all of that – with Erin was hard enough. Talking about how it'd impacted him and affected him. How it still fucking screwed him up in a lot of ways. Dealing with his angry and hate and blame. And self-loathing. At still feeling like he'd somehow brought it on himself or that he hadn't been able to help himself or protect himself. That he still tried to convince himself that it really wasn't that big of deal and he shouldn't still be as fucked up about it all as he was.
But he could almost sort of talk to her about some of it sometimes. Because she got it. In her own way. Because she'd been through hell too. Maybe a different ring of it. But hell too. So she understood. Sometimes. Or at least she tried. At least she knew how to say things – or to not say things – that didn't just piss him off more. Or make didn't make him feel alone and misunderstood and just fucking stupid all over again.
But Voight – he didn't need to know any of that. He didn't want him to know any of that. He fucking hated that he'd been around the guy long enough – at work and in his home – and that the guy was astute enough that he'd likely picked up on some of it. That he'd caught some sort of vibe. But he sure as fuck didn't plan on laying out the details for him. Ever. They'd just go with his childhood sucked, he had a shit relationship with his father, he had a strained relationship with his so-called older brother, and that he was an Afghan vet who had PTSD. That was more than he wanted his boss – even if he was his almost father-in-law – to know as it was. More than fucking enough.
"Said it's got her worried about Magoo," Hank put flatly but gave him another one of those examinations.
Jay looked at the cookie Voight had bought him. It was a giant fucking cookie. And it should be at six bucks a pop. A Big Fat Cookie as they called it. Less of a cookie and more like a fucking scone with cookie-like texture. A Chicago foodie staple anymore. And triple chocolate chocolate chip. His favorite. He wondered if Voight had known that. Or it'd just been a random buy. Something he was supposed to pick through at the game and maybe share with him. Or something that he was supposed to save and share with Erin when he got home. Though, she would've preferred just the classic chocolate chip. So maybe it wasn't for her – even if it was to be shared with her. It was for him. Another little somehow random observation that Voight had somehow caught onto and internalized about him. That he picked triple chocolate. The dark side. Over the classic.
"I think we're all worried about him," Jay allowed. "About the future. What the next few years are going to look like."
It fucking petrified them. Him. Erin. They'd talked about it. A lot. A lot, a lot considering Eth wasn't their kid. But they both just knew … what high school could be like. What private school could be like. What Catholic school could be like. What being from a different income bracket or a scholarship kid meant. The kind of stigmas that added when high school was all about who you were and how the other kids fucking perceived you. And all these fucking kids had all these perceptions about Ethan already. He was a walking mark. He carried the stigma. And he hadn't even been cast to the sharks yet but it felt like they were circling and getting ready to eat him alive. And what that was going to do to the already fragile kid scared them shitless enough.
Watching this fucking Thirteen Reasons Why shit hadn't really helped in just reminding them how fucking fucked high school was. And how much fucking worse it'd become since they were in high school. All the fucking tools that had been handed to these kids to use are further torture devices.
And it didn't fucking help when they all knew Eth was already struggling. At school. At home. With friends. With life and society. Physically and mentally and emotionally. When he took handfuls of drugs and injections a day to manage his M.S. symptoms. More to manage some of the weird concentration issues that were almost ADD combined with OCD that came out of the fucking brain trauma. And then more to try to balance the poor kid's stress and anxiety not just about all that but that he was just thirteen years old and had already lost his mom and his older brother and had survived some pretty fucking significant injuries and now was living with life-long illness that had made him a bigger target for these jagoffs. And then he was growing up in a family where they all worked high risk jobs. So the kid lived in fucking fear that he was going to be left more alone than he already felt.
How do you not worry about a kid like that. Not have your own fucking anxiety about his future. Wonder how the fuck you get him through high school and make him believe that it all will pass and that he had a good, full life to look forward to. And Jay didn't know if he could say any of that shit to Eth with a straight face. If anything he said to the kid to try to make it seem better would all just be some sort of big lie. And he didn't want to do that to the kid either. And he didn't think Erin did either. And he didn't get the impression that Voight sugar-coated life ever but he had to be Eth's fucking cheerleader and advocate day-in, day-out too. And somehow that just felt like a fallacy too. All of it.
The next four years of Eth's life were likely going to be hell. And he wasn't exactly living in heaven right now. Jay wasn't even sure he'd say that Eth was just in purgatory. And he wasn't sure if or when it was going to get better. No matter what he wanted or hoped for the kid.
Voight grunted. "Yea …," he acknowledged and stared up at the screen.
But Jay could hear in his voice – see in the eyes – that he was still processing whatever Erin had said to him. And whatever had been said, Jay knew there'd been tears. Because he'd seen those in her eyes when he came in too. And he hadn't had a chance to weigh if those tears were more about the case, the kill shot, about Eth, about her worry, her frustrations or just her utter exhaustion. But he did know that he felt better knowing that she was at that house she'd grown up in and with Eth and with Henry and that Olive would be stopping by to get the kid in a couple hours. And she wasn't sitting at the townhouse alone while he was here – doing something he'd promised but something he wasn't entirely sure felt right in anyway.
"Glad he's got you through it," Hank finally said and gave him a little nod. His eyes on him. Not the screen anymore. "That he's got you to go to and talk to. Know that he feels able to come to you and talk to you about some things he won't with me or Erin."
"Yea …," Jay acknowledged.
Because he knew Eth did that. And sometimes it was awkward and required judgment calls about what he did and didn't pass on. And to who. And how to deal with any of the situations that did get presented to him. Ranging from fucking innocent and just Eth being sort of a clueless kid sometimes without a filter. To moments like the whole choking game thing that fucking scared him shitless. And Jay knew too that when he thought about the sort of crap that Ethan was likely going to encounter in high school it kind of scared him shitless too. Because he was afraid it was going to wreck such a nice kid. That it was finally going to find a way to break a kid that was already broken. And Ethan didn't deserve that. No kid did really.
Voight just nodded and looked back at the screen. "Glad he has that …" he muttered again. Real quiet like. Weirdly quiet for Hank. "Appreciate it."
And Jay stared at him more. Because it wasn't often that Voight used words like that. Not at work. Not at home. Not personally or professionally. That shit got earned. It didn't just get given out.
But nothing more got said then. And Jay didn't want to say anything to it anyway. He never knew what to say to the guy when he got some sort of gratitude or acknowledgement. He never knew what to say to anyone when that happened. Accepting that kind of … appreciation, honesty … it wasn't in his make-up. He wasn't used to it. And maybe he really just felt like … he shouldn't be thanked for doing something that was a given. That was part of the job. Or a responsibility. Or just something that someone … that a man, or a decent person, or family, or an older brother even if he was just an in-law one … was supposed to do.
But he didn't have to say anything. And he wasn't sure Voight expected him or wanted him to either. The awkwardness stopped, though. Because their number got called, flashing up on the screen. And Voight dodged – not very delicately - around the people who'd gathered around them also waiting. He plopped his beer into the cup holder in the one cardboard box and grabbed them both, pushing through the crowd again and holding the unclaimed box at Jay to deposit his own beer before taking it.
Jay started to push through the rest of the mass. He didn't like crowds much either. And Voight – short and stout – seemed to barge through them better than him. Bull in a China Shop and just not giving a shit. But he didn't. Not then. He let Jay take the lead.
"Should tell E that it's your birthday," Hank provide, though, as they made their way around people. "He'd feel pretty chuffed at getting to spend Saturday with you doing all that stuff. For you birthday."
"Yea …," Jay acknowledged. Because he was right. He knew his kids. He'd give the guy that.
"But shouldn't keep him overnight Saturday," Voight added. "Should give yourself and Erin some time. Should consider telling me what you want thrown on the grill."
And Jay gave him another look at that too. He'd been over at Hank's for dinner a lot. But he'd never been asked what he wanted to eat before. A meal had never been offered up as by request. But that – getting to pick your meal on your birthday - that was tradition. He knew that. He'd been around long enough to know that. You got to pick your meal. You got your favorite dessert. He glanced at the cookie in his hand. And then looked back at Hank who just gave an expectant smack.
"Ah …," he stumbled for a moment. And it was such a fucking stupid thing to stumble over. But he hadn't had anyone … besides Erin … ask what he wanted to eat in a long time. Not in a context of them making him something. Cooking. Where take out should be ordered maybe. What restaurant to meet at. But a meal? Not since his mom … "Pork ribs …" he managed.
Voight nodded. "Can do that," he allowed. "Smoked, right?"
"Yea …," Jay acknowledged.
Voight just made another sound. A mental catalogue. "It's that apple butter sauce you like on them?"
"Ah …," Jay stumbled again. "I mean … I like the rub you do."
Voight shrugged. "Magoo can have that sauce." A flat statement of fact. Because he'd picked up on the hesitation. That he didn't want to be an inconvenience. Or he didn't want to request something that Eth couldn't eat. Or something that no one else liked.
"I like that sauce …," he admitted.
"Mmm …," Voight grunted at him. "With the kick, right? The jalapeno."
"Yea …," Jay allowed. "I'd like that."
Voight just grunted and glanced around. "Sure," he said but then gestured at the various entrances. "So where we sitting?"
Jay still felt … weird. Again. Awkward. And he fucking hated that some how Voight always seemed to catch him off guard like that. By … acknowledging him. Or treating him like a fucking human being. By fucking knowing or catalogue or observing his likes and dislikes.
And he really fucking hated that he knew this had happened enough that Voight must've observed too that it took him off guard. That he struggled with it. That his fucking baggage and traumas and PTSD and … just too much of himself was showing in moments like that. And it was like Voight had seen him and now because of that he was getting glimpses of parts of him that he didn't want him to see. But he threw these fucking curve balls that just caught him sometimes. And he wasn't sure how to deal with that.
Usually he just tried to walk away. To runaway. Again. To make it so he didn't see his wounds or his vulnerabilities in that moment. But this wasn't a moment he could do that. So instead he pulled the tickets out of his pocket and gazed at them. Gazed longer then he should've needed to. Because his eyes momentarily blurred with the emotion of knowing he was being seen right then. And that wasn't something he wanted Voight to see either.
"Ah …," he managed, looking up and glancing at the entrance they were standing at. "Here," he allowed and motioned for them to go in. "Row Twenty-Seven."
Hank gave him a look and another smack. A slightly impressed one. "Not bad," he allowed.
Jay shrugged. Because he really couldn't lay claim to that. And as Will had pointed out – Row Twenty-Seven did mean they were nearing the rafters. But Jay wasn't sure he believed there was really a bad seat in the United Center. Or when the Hawks were on the ice – and in the race for the Cup. Even if their playoff run was going spectacularly badly that year.
Hank just gave him another one of those looks, though. "Appreciate this too," he said. "Never gotten to a playoff game before."
Jay looked at him, as the guy started down the steps, glancing at the row numbers. It was a ways down. At least they were in the first row of the nosebleed seats. And Jay wasn't sure that could be called a nosebleed at all.
"Thought you said it was a right of passage," Jay provided.
Voight just made a dismissive sound. "You know how it is," he allowed. "Cop pop. Schedule. Not a ton of extra cash around the house. Didn't make it out growing up. And we were in a bit of a drought while Justin was growing up."
Jay just nodded, though. Because he did know. He understood a lot of that. "Never been to a playoff game either …"
Voight just grunted at that, as he got down to the front row and gestured in question of which way they were headed.
"Five, six," Jay provided.
Voight nodded and started to wade the few seats in, stepping around the people who'd gotten to their seats long before them. To see the whole show – that they were getting there just in time for. To barely sit down before the whole history of the game and history of the team montage started its projection. Just in time.
"There you go," Voight said, as he settled his boxed dinner on his lap and pulled up his beer to stare up at the montage and then down at the ice. "Shared rite of passage."
And maybe for once – the guy saying anything didn't seem so fucking weird or strained. That it just was a fucking statement. A fact. And wasn't as awkward as Jay maybe wanted to be. Maybe it almost felt fucking normal. Or whatever way this sort of shit was supposed to feel. Human.
Or like cold beer at a Hawks game in the Cup race – with grown men watching grown men on skates. And maybe there was something in there that you had to like about that. Even if you didn't want to.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: A lot of people let me know that FF didn't send out an alert yesterday. So in case you missed it, the chapter immediately before this — THE FORCE - was posted yesterday. Please check it out.
As always, your readership, reviews and feedback are appreciated.