A/N: Hello there, I'm back with one of my older fics that went unfinished for several years. Managed to wrap it up now. This is just a simple sickfic in four chapters. Unbetaed and as always, while I did do my research on the medical topic, I am in no way knowledgable about the subject, so take it with a grain of salt :D Hope you enjoy.

Connor woke up to the sound of his phone ringing angrily, as if it was doing so for a long time now. Blinking, one hand rubbed at his eyes, while the other one reached towards the bed table where his phone danced wildly. Eyes too bleary to focus yet, he punched the call button without looking at the caller, just to stop that horrible sound.

„Rhodes," he muttered, grimacing at the sound of his own voice and the feeling that something just died in his mouth.

„Connor, where are you? Dr. Latham has already asked after you twice and I very much doubt he would believe my spiel about you probably being stuck in traffic the third time." It was Maggie and while Connor was having a hard time grasping all she was saying, he still caught Latham's name and realized that the sun was already high up in the sky. This meant that he overslept. And that in turn meant that he was screwed, because while he wasn't scheduled for any surgery today, Latham wanted to go over some special cases with him. And of course he was supposed to be on call at the ED.

"Shit," he cursed, blinking some more, frowning when the world stayed blurry. "Whazza time?" he mumbled and threw his legs over the side of the bed, preparing to get up, only to freeze mid motion as the world turned upside down and he felt a lightning bolt of pain rushing up through his spine, straight into his brain.

"Connor? Are you okay?" Maggie asked, her voice filled with worry when she heard the moan on the other side of the call.

Connor had to take a second to realize that he was indeed sitting on his bed and that the world didn't decide to get on some crazy rollercoaster ride while he slept. It was also nice to realize that what he thought of as workers doing some road repairs under his window was in reality just his head playing bongos in the rhythm of his own heartbeat. Connor had to swallow down the sudden nausea and take a few deep breaths, before he put the cell phone back to his aching head and answered Maggie's concerned calls.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine," he managed then groaned pitifully.

"Sure, you sound just peachy," came the answer and the sarcasm was so heavy Connor could practically see Maggie rolling her eyes at him. "Do you need an ambulance or is this just a man flu? Or a hangover?" she joked, though there was concern palpable in her voice.

"Neither?" Connor said, not really sure what was wrong with him. To be frank, he felt like he was dying, but that didn't really mean anything. "Feels like both. I didn't drink though," he added grumpily.

Maggie sighed and Connor could hear some commotion on the other side of the phone, but she didn't hang up on him.

"You're a doctor. What's your diagnosis?" she asked suddenly and Connor chuckled.

"That I need to wake up 'fore I can work?"

"Funny. I see your sense of humor is greatly affected. Symptoms?"

Connor had several, yet his brain couldn't sort them all out and he was starting to feel less and less chatty and more like returning to the bed and just ignoring the world.

"Why do you care?" he grumbled, though he regretted it almost instantly.

"Well aren't you a ray of sunshine today?"

"Sorry," Connor apologized. "Think I just need some sleep."

"Yeah, you sound like it. But before you hang up, give me something I can tell Latham. You're not planning on coming to work, are you?"

Connor thought about it for a whole second, but the mere notion of getting dressed and going out made him want to burrow deeper into the covers. He groaned.

"Couldn't make it if I tried," he had to admit.

"Good. At least I don't have to worry you fell under a bus. So Dr. Rhodes, what are your symptoms?" Maggie repeated her earlier question and by the tone of her voice Connor recognized she wasn't asking just for his benefit.

"Is Latham standing next to you?" he asked, suspiciously.

"Hm, patient suffers from paranoid delusions," she rattled off and he chuckled.

"Not an answer," Connor ran his hand over his hair, pausing to rub at the back of his neck where some of the pain seemed to take up permanent residence.

"Sharon was also getting curious about your whereabouts. So can you tell me what's really wrong or do I have to send someone out to check on you?"

"Sorry. My head's kind of fuzzy."

"Fever? Headache?"

"Probably. Feels like I spent the last three days drinking. Pity I don't remember the party."

"The best parties are those which you don't remember. Okay, I'll have to go in a moment. Do you reckon you might've caught the flu?"

"I reckon I might've caught the plague, but don't worry, I'll just sleep if off. Should be right as rain tomorrow..."

There was a snort at the other end and Connor could hear the sound of a patient being wheeled in.

"Get some sleep Dr. Rhodes. I'll inform Sharon and Dr. Latham that you are taking a sick day. I'll call back later." Without waiting for a reply, she hung up and Connor spent the next two minutes staring numbly at the phone.

"Great," he muttered after a while, putting the phone back on the bed table and contemplating his next step. He was starting to feel a bit of a chill creeping up his skin, which was a clear sign of fever and there was a really strong urge to just crawl back into bed and sleep until the next day. But then he realized that he needed to use the bathroom and probably get himself some supplies before the chills managed to set in and he won't have the energy to crawl out of his bed. So with a heavy groan and silently feeling sorry for himself and the fact he was all alone, Connor stood up.

It took him some time, a stubbed toe and several near collisions with the wall, but he managed to traipse to the bathroom. He decidedly ignored the bathroom mirror until he finished washing his hands then grimaced at the face that was looking back at him. He looked about as good as half of his patients. His eyes were slightly red from sleep, there were dark shadows under them and his cheeks were looking flushed, as if he was a blushing twelve year old at his first dance. Rolling his eyes, he opened the cabinet and grabbed a package of pills and the thermometer.

On his way back to the bed he stopped at the fridge and took out two bottles of water and a cold pack from the freezer. His eyes paused at the counter and he contemplated making himself a toast but quickly threw that idea out the window. He wasn't hungry and it really wasn't worth the effort anyway. He could eat once he felt better.

Making his slow way to the bed he grabbed one of his old sweatshirts from the couch and put it within easy reach, in case the light sheets won't be enough to keep the chills away. He managed to crawl under the sheets and put the cold pack on his forehead, half covering his eyes from the sun streaming from the windows before sleep claimed him.

The sun was scorching his skin and Connor groaned, silently cursing his landlord for not investing in a better air conditioner. It was the middle of the summer in Riyadh, the temperature must've been well over the 'comfortable' 100°F and Connor was lying on his bed in the well furnished but sweltering apartment. Hopping off the bed, he ignored the strange feeling as if time was running in a circle and headed straight for the glass door leading to the balcony. He needed air, needed to feel some wind on his face, even if it was just dry hot air.

Stepping out onto the balcony, Connor realized that he must've been mistaken. The cold air that blew across his face definitely wasn't from Saudi Arabia, nor Mexico. He felt water in the air and he barely even thought about it when the sky rumbled and heavy raindrops started pelting his skin. Connor startled and took a step back, trying to return to the safety and warmth of his room, but the apartment was gone along with the balcony and he was now standing on the top of a snowy hill, dressed only in his shorts and a shirt.

"What the hell?" he asked, but the only answer he got was a cold swish of wind that covered him in snowflakes. His skin was automatically covered in goose bumps and his teeth started chattering so hard his jaw hurt.

"J-just a d-dream," Connor tried to say, but he could barely speak. He frantically rubbed his arms and turned around, but all he could see was white, all he could feel was cold. There was the sound of wind but nothing else, except his own ragged breathing. Connor started to feel panic creeping into his stomach. He was starting to walk in circles, trying to find anything he could focus on, but there was nothing to see, only snow.

Snow and sand and Connor thought he was going crazy, because one second he was standing knee deep in snow, the next he was sitting on a sand dune, the sun burning at his skin that was covered in sweat. Connor shook his head and closed his eyes, feeling lost and trapped. He didn't know what to do; all he could focus on was the sound of his own heart beating loudly in his ears. That and some distant ringing. Blinking, Connor held his breath and listened for the sound, waited for it to repeat. After seconds that might've been hours he heard it again. It was just a short beep but it was clearly the sound of his phone.

"Need to wake up," Connor muttered and closed his eyes, forcing the image of the sand out of his head. When the beep turned into ringing, Connor felt that the sand from beneath his fingers vanish, instead he felt the surface of a damp sheet. The ringing continued and Connor blinked his eyes open, feeling an overwhelming relief when he saw the familiar bedroom.

"Thank god," he muttered and rubbed at his eyes, his hand bumping into the now warm and useless cold pack that lay on the pillow next to his head. The ringing from the dream continued and Connor realized it was indeed his phone. Fumbling, he looked at the display and was surprised to see that it was Robin calling him. He wasn't sure if he should pick up, he didn't really trust his own voice yet, on the other hand he longed to hear a familiar voice that would definitely pull him out of his nightmare. Clearing his throat, he accepted the call.

"H'llo?" he said, grimacing at his own voice. There was a momentary silence then came the somehow uncertain "Hey."

"Hey," he answered with a bit of a smile and let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. There was a chuckle on the other side.

"I see that Maggie wasn't exaggerating," Robin said after a second and Connor rubbed absentmindedly at his forehead then grimaced at the dried up sweat. "You sound awful."

"Why, thanks. I was going for sexy, but I kinda just woke up."

"Sorry for that," Robin apologized and Connor shook his head.

"Nah. Was stuck in a nightmare. You did me a favor," he admitted.

"In that case, you're welcome," she said and he could hear the smile in her voice, which made him feel slightly better. He still wasn't sure where this whole thing between the two of them was going, they had barely started dating yet and being in a less than optimal state wasn't his idea of making a good impression on a girl he liked, but this was just a phone call and if he could manage to keep it short and sweet maybe she wouldn't think of him any less for it... and his mind was starting to ramble and Robin was still on the line.

"Uh, sorry. I zoned out a bit," he admitted when he heard her call his name and clenched his teeth in frustration. 'Great job, Connor. Just keep it up.'

"Yeah, I noticed. Are you alright, Connor? I mean, this is just the flu, right?" she asked and there was concern in her voice that at the same time made his stomach flutter with joy, while his brain was using his father's voice telling him to 'man up'.

"Yeah, probably. Don't worry. Should be good as new t'morrow," he muttered, realizing that however macho his brain wanted him to act, his body had other ideas and he was on the verge of falling back to sleep. Only the thought of falling right back into the nightmare made his heart jump a little and a surge of adrenaline made him wide awake, at least for a moment.

"Sorry. I'm okay, it's just the fever. Makes me woozy."

"How high is the fever?" she asked, her tone suddenly all professional and Connor grimaced.

"Uh, not sure?"

"You didn't check?" the reprimand was clear in her voice and Connor suddenly felt like a scolded child.

"Will do in a sec," he said, fumbling to find where he put the thermometer. "Are you still at work?"

"It's my lunch break. I thought we might grab something to eat together, but you didn't answer my text. When I saw Dr. Latham doing the rounds alone and looking even less jovial than usual, I figured something's up. Of course the best source of information here is Maggie, so..."

"So you were busy playing detective," Connor chuckled and heard the beep of the thermometer. He brought it in front of his eyes, squinting at the numbers.

"How high?" Robin asked hearing the familiar beep as well.

"Uh, about 102," Connor said lightly and put the offending instrument out of sight, sitting up in the bed and reaching for the bottle of now tepid water. Suddenly he felt parched and the sweat was making him feel chilled again.

"What does about mean?" Robin didn't let it slide and Connor thought she should've been working as a detective instead of a doctor.

"I don't like chasing after bad guys with guns," she said and Connor realized he must've spoken out loud. Darn.

"Connor? What's the number?"

"102.8."

"Which makes you bad at math, because that would round up at 103. Now seriously, did you take anything for that fever?"

"Yes, Dr. Charles," Connor said jokingly and was pretty sure he just received a warning glare through the phone. "I'll take some Tylenol when we finish talking," he added conciliatorily.

"Good. And don't forget to drink."

"Yes, mom," Connor muttered with a smirk. "I'll also eat my veggies and brush my teeth before sleep."

"Seeing how you love anything sweet, these are all valid reminders," she answered with humor. "Did you eat anything?"

Connor blinked, not sure how she could jump from banter into doctor mode within one sentence, but he let it go and thought about his answer.

"Really not hungry right now."

"Nausea or something else?"

"Nah, just the usual from fever. Don't worry about me," he said and it might've been a bit more convincing if his teeth didn't just start to chatter. Suddenly he felt as if he was back on that mountain, knee deep in snow. Grunting, he pulled the blanket up to his chin.

"Connor?"

"S-sorry, ch-chills," he stuttered and wished there was someone there who could grab another blanket from the closet and throw it over him. He looked at the sweatshirt lying on the chair by his bed, but just the thought of getting out from under the blanket to pull it on was making him shake harder.

There was a sigh at the other end of the phone and Connor could just imagine Robin's pout.

"Okay, I'll let you get back to sleep. Just don't forget to take the pills for the fever, keep hydrated and... I'll see you as soon as I finish here."

"Huh?" Connor paused at the thought that she would come here and see him in his current state. "Y-you don't h-have to c-come, Robin. Don't want y-you to catch this."

"Don't worry about me, Connor. My specialty is infectious diseases. I think I can handle a simple flu," she said with a smile and Connor didn't know how else to dissuade her from coming.

"I l-look like c-crap," he muttered, not realizing she could hear him and was startled at her laugh.

"Then it's good I'm not in it just for the looks. Get some rest and I'll see you later."

Before Connor could ask what she meant by that or simply tell her he didn't want her to come, she hung up. Grunting, he glared at the phone, having half a mind of calling Maggie and telling her off for informing Robin, but then another shiver wrecked his body and he lost focus on anything but the fact that he needed to burrow down into the blankets and don't come out until the summer. Also, as soon as he was able to reach his computer, he was buying the warmest comforter that existed. He didn't want to freeze in his own bed.