Connor had very wisely chosen not to say anything about Sarah's decision to go into pathology.

It wasn't his place, after all. His job was to be there for her, and to support her. Not to dictate what she should or shouldn't do, in work or in life in general. He was point-blank refusing to turn into the same overbearing, opinionated, controlling type of man that his father was. So he supported - she seemed to be happy with her decision, and at the end of the day that was all that mattered.

In the very quiet moments, when it was just the two of them all alone, he occasionally found himself tempted to voice his opinion. He knew, deep down, that she'd made the wrong decision.

But it wasn't up to him to tell her that.

He'd been having this same, whispered argument with Maggie whenever they crossed paths in the ED for days now.

"You know as well as I do, Connor. She's made the wrong decision," Maggie would mutter as she handed him a tablet.

"She's a big girl," he would mutter back. "It's her decision, we need to let her make it and respect her choice."

Even Dr Downey had thoughts: "Pathology, really?" He'd been shocked at the answer when he'd asked Connor what she'd chosen. "She sure about that? Gets dead boring down in the basement."

"It's what she wants to do."

Downey raised an eyebrow. "So you haven't said anything."

Connor shrugged. "Not my decision. She needs to choose her own path."

He'd been passing through the ED that morning when an ambulance case rolled in. They were slammed, so Maggie asked him to step in.

"I'm on it," he'd said. Knowing exactly where she was without even looking over his shoulder, he called, "Reese, come with me."

Side by side, they began their perfectly synchronised dance. He was going to intubate, but they needed to work out the cause - and now.

"Septic shock?" she asked him as they tried to both stabilise the patient and begin their exam.

"Maybe," he answered. He explained to the patient why they were incubating, then ordered every test he could think of.

They were all looking all over him to find out what was going on, until Sarah stumbled across the large blood blisters on his arm.

"Dr Rhodes?" she got his attention, just as he had intubated the patient. He looked up, then down to see what she was looking at.

Immediately, he cut the patient's t-shirt open. They were everywhere.

Just as April announced he was stable, Connor disagreed. "No. We need to get him up to the OR now. I have a feeling we're already too late."

They were running him upstairs immediately, where they passed him over to the OR team. Connor was leaving to scrub in, but she managed to pull him aside.

"Connor ..."

He smiled, and squeezed her hands tightly. "I'm going to miss this," he told her honestly.

"Yeah," she said quietly. "Me too."

As soon as she could, she headed up to the ICU, checking on the patient with necrotizing fasciitis that Connor had operated on earlier. What his husband had just told her about the regular doctor that he had seen only two days before - made her blood run cold. The GP had misdiagnosed it as an infected pimple, and now the patient was probably going to die.

She had to do something, so she sucked it up and put her big girl pants on. That was how she found herself in Ms Goodwin's office, meeting with both her and Dr Charles, reporting the medical misconduct.

She was genuinely worried. At least five patients had come into Med over the last few months with the wrong diagnosis, and now a sixth was going to die. How many others were out there that they didn't know about?

He found her on the couch when he arrived home that night. She was sitting in the dark, still in her scrubs, her head in her hands.

If he were honest, he felt exactly the same way. He had sat with his cardiac patient for hours after he'd done the surgery to remove the LVAD, which had been pumping his blood for him and keeping him alive. The patient had known what removing the device would mean, his heart just wasn't strong enough to keep him alive on its own. He'd known that by doing the surgery like the patient wanted, he would die.

He sat down gingerly beside her. Tonight, he wasn't after someone to comfort him. He wanted to be that person for her, but he wasn't sure that she wanted it.

After a long time of pure silence, he said, "You know it isn't your fault, right?"

She made a non-committal sounding noise in response.

"By the time Elias knew something was wrong, it was already too late."

She finally looked up at him.

"Not tonight, Connor," she said without emotion. "Not what I need."

"Then what do you need?"

She was still for a long moment, then she was on her feet. She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him to his feet too, and she kissed him passionately until they couldn't breathe.

They were both breathing heavily when they finally pulled apart, and he found himself with fists full of her shirt. He was so lost in the moment, he'd already started taking it off. Still catching his breath, he asked her, "Are you sure?"

She didn't respond in words - but her hands immediately undoing the string that was holding his scrubs up was all the answer he needed.

It had been hot, it had been passionate - it had been something so far out of their wheelhouse to date that he didn't really know what to do with it.

He fell backward against the pillows, still out of breath and feeling very unfit. She was laying beside him, her head resting comfortably on his chest. The covers were all over the place, the sheet still covering their lower halves but everything else had been kicked off the bed at some unknown point. It was something that would usually annoy her, but apparently it wasn't a problem tonight.

"That was, uh ... Ooh," he finally managed.

She didn't answer him, but he didn't expect her to.

Tonight had been different to any night they'd had together before. The sex was incredible, neither of them could deny it. Tonight she had taken control in a way that she never had before. It was something he was hoping to experience more often.

It was a long time before either spoke again.

"That was a rough day," he said, now gently stroking her head.

"Yeah," she agreed quietly.

She smiled now, a smile that he loved seeing adorn her features.

"You know, I had big plans for tonight," she said conversationally.

"It's date night," he suddenly remembered. "God, and I was hours late coming home - I totally blanked, I'm sorry. I should've called, or -"

"- No, it's fine," she said tiredly. "I wouldn't have answered, anyway. I'd been out there for hours when you got home."

He kissed her temple, long and sweet. "So what were these big plans?"

Her cheeks flushed, and he knew this had to be good.

"Well," she said quietly, "see that bag over there?"

"Uh-huh."

"... I may have gone shopping."

"Oh?" He didn't quite understand the significance of that, but he knew she wasn't really one for retail therapy. "What's in the bag?"

The red of her cheeks deepened. "Actually, I hid it in your nightstand."

That got his attention. He gently reached over and opened the draw, scooping out the silky black material in one smooth and gentle motion. He retrieved his other arm from where it was wrapped around her to unfold the mysterious object.

He looked from her to the lingerie and back several times before he spoke.

"So, uh ..." His voice was thick, so he cleared his throat and looked at her with an amused expression.

She giggled, she couldn't help herself.

"You know the best use of this," he said in that sexy low voice he used on the best occasions, "would definitely be on a cold Chicago night."

"Oh," she said conversationally, "you mean like tonight?"

"Uh-huh," he answered. "And then, we can do this."

He dropped it over the edge of the bed and flipped them over in one simultaneous fluid motion.

It might have been a really rough day, but it was shaping up to be a very good night.