DISCLAIMER: I do not own Chicago Med or any of the characters.
Annnnnndddd I'm back! Hope you enjoy this new fic! Please review!
Waking up that morning, Connor Rhodes didn't exactly expect he would end the day lying in a pool of his own blood. Hell, he didn't even know what kind of coffee he was going to order, let alone call his least favorite person in the world (someone whose name started with W and ended in -ill) to help drive him home.
Worse, the day started out as badly as it finished, the Chicago summer doldrums not having any effect on the bustling ER of Gaffney Hospital. With his schedule filled to the brim with incoming patients, Rhodes couldn't wait to hit the hay that night after a hectic Monday.
Yet, what could've been better than a few cold ones to ebb away the stress of the workaholic? And with that in mind, Connor found himself at Molly's across the street during the busy 11:30PM slot, the small bar flooding with drunk characters, a row of motorcycles lined up outside.
Connor silently reviewed all his cases for the day while sipping on his half empty brew, the world around him fading away as he was dragged into his thoughts.
That intra aortic balloon patient really put up a fight, Rhodes' fried brain recuperated after such a busy day, I'll stop by the ICU first thing tomorrow and check on the device-
The plop of a bag and coat on the seat next to him snapped Connor from his mental checklist, surprised to see an amused Dr. Daniel Charles getting cozy in the chair next to him.
Rhodes smiled at his colleague, straightening out from his hunched position and waved the bartender over to treat his friend.
"You didn't even hear me call your name from across the room," Daniel commented, cheery as usual, "Almost made me doubt it was you."
Rhodes smiled in return, knowing how immersed he could get into his thoughts, especially after a long day like this one.
"Sorry," Connor apologized, trying to keep his bleary eyes open, "Just processing the day. Can't believe it's already over."
Daniel turned into Dr. Charles the vigilant psychiatrist for a moment, analyzing Rhodes' physique up and down, digesting the surgeon's exhausted and sluggish movements.
"Yeah, well I think the day can't believe how done you are," Daniel adjusted the glasses precariously resting on the bridge of his nose, "You look beat, Connor."
Rhodes raised his glass in response, sending a silent "cheers" to Daniel before downing the contents inside. He fought the urge to crash on the bar counter by bringing up some light hearted conversation with Daniel, the two chatting away the next 45 minutes.
The clock read 12:30AM by the end of the conversation, Daniel picking up his overcoat as a signal of his departure.
"Hate to run out on you," Dr. Charles chuckled, "but some of us have an early shift tomorrow. Enjoy your day off, Connor."
The two exchanged goodbyes and goodnights before Connor found himself alone at Molly's for the second time that night. What was weariness earlier transformed into full blown exhaustion, Rhodes catching himself snoozing a few times in his seat.
Almost head-smacking the wooden counter finally signaled Rhodes it was time to excuse himself for the night; he tipped the bartender before sleepily maneuvering through the crowds huddled in the place.
Yet, a late, summer night in Chicago didn't stop a few boisterous bargoers from relishing the hours away with a few pals, Rhodes making the irreversible mistake of bumping into one of them, spilling a drink, during his exit.
"So sorry, man," Connor apologized, voice heavy with tiredness. All he wanted at the moment was to curl up in his comforter and not wake up for a week.
Except, the biker gang leader Rhodes unceremoniously ran into wasn't as forgiving as Connor hoped. He seemed to grow six more inches as Connor had to tilt his head up to look the man in the eye.
"You owe me a drink, clown," the tall biker spat, standing up from his stool.
Rhodes, on the verge of collapsing onto the floor, whipped out his wallet.
"No problem, again I'm sorry about-" Connor wearily mumbled, turning towards the door after throwing down a ten on the table.
"Whoa, whoa, Richie Rick," the biker laid a meaty paw on his shoulder, Rhodes tensed as a result, "Since you were so eager to treat tonight, why don't you throw in a few more rounds for me and my friends too?"
Connor didn't have time for this right now. This big lug wanted to pick a fight for no reason other than showing off to his fellow cronies. He didn't purposely bump into the guy, maybe if the biker wasn't so rowdy in such a small space like Molly's this wouldn't have happened.
"Look, I did my civic duty. I paid for a drink that, between you and my medical opinion, you didn't need or something tells me you would've been riding home with a BAC higher than 0.8," Connor snapped, ripping the guy's sweaty hand off his shoulder, "Now, I will, once again, be on my way."
Rhodes turned again for the door, eyes flaring in rage, before another taunt was jabbed in his direction.
"Oh, so Mr. Smart and Savvy thinks he can tell Big Mike how to run the rodeo, huh? Well, let's see how you do face to face." the biker flexed for emphasis, a few of his pals in the back cooed in support.
Rhodes stopped in his tracks as a few friends of "Big Mike's" barricaded the door. Connor threw up his sleeves, knowing where this was going.
All because you wanted some much-needed sleep, Connor sighed internally; the next thing Rhodes knew he was lying face down on the ground, the metallic taste of blood pooling into his mouth.
Rhodes instinctively raised a hand to the source of the bleeding, the corner of his jaw gushed red as a result of where "Big Mike" punched him.
Knowing he was going to have to outsmart the big lot of pure muscle around him, Connor pretended he was still gathering his surroundings as he staggered back up to two feet. Before the biker could put two and two together, Rhodes landed a hard one right in Mike's gut, shrinking the six-foot giant down to four feet.
"We're even," Connor put his hands up in a draw, wanting nothing more than to let the breezy Windy City air calm him down when he walked back to his condo, "I'd say that's more than enough foul play for the night."
Mike either didn't register, but more likely didn't care, about Connor's notion, recovering from the punch like a raging bull on a war path. He charged towards Rhodes and barreled into the surgeon, dragging the two over a table and sending them crashing to the ground, along with several glasses.
Punches rained down on Connor as more of Mike's goonies jumped in for a little Monday night action.
Connor, bleeding and pinned under Mike's enormous biceps, put up quite a fight for the underdog, sending a few bikers back to their Harley's scratched and bruised. But, compared to the little damage he could manage, Connor was a human punching bag for Mike, who didn't lighten up on Rhodes the slightest. What seemed like 100 years was actually merely a 100 seconds, the time it took for the remaining customers to clear the venue and the bartender to call the police. The nearby sound of sirens sent Mike's buddies running towards the door, but the big guy seemed to be enjoying himself too much to quit.
He continued to cuss and pummel the little energy Rhodes had left, Connor slipping into a state of half-consciousness as his face was covered in scratches and his body in bruises. The boys in blue barged into Molly's and tackled Mike to the floor, similarly to how the biker did to Rhodes just minutes before.
It took the pair of first responders to subdue "Big Mike," one of the officers calling in backup, leaving Connor bloody and bruised on the floor before more help arrived.
