Connor ran his fingers through his dark hair. "This is insane," he muttered, pacing the length of Sharon's office. "I don't know the first thing about raising a kid. I work crazy hours, I live alone, I..." He trailed off, his voice catching on unspoken fears.
"You care about her," Sharon said softly. "We've all seen how you are with her. How you sit with her after your shifts, how you calm her down from nightmares. That matters more than a perfect schedule or an ideal situation."
The social worker leaned forward, her professional facade cracking slightly to reveal genuine interest. "The fact that you're worried about your capabilities actually works in your favor, Dr. Rhodes. It shows you understand the gravity of the responsibility." She pulled out a thick manila folder from her briefcase. "We can start the paperwork today if you're interested."
"But what about my father?" Connor's voice dropped to barely above a whisper, old wounds bleeding into his words. "What if he tries to interfere? What if—"
"Stop," Natalie interrupted, pushing herself up from her char. She crossed the room to stand in front of Connor, forcing him to meet her gaze. "You are not your father. You never were, and you never will be. That girl out there? She trusts you. She feels safe with you. Don't let your fears rob both of you of something beautiful."
Daniel nodded. "Sometimes the best families aren't the ones we're born into, but the ones we choose to create." He gestured toward the window, where the Chicago skyline stretched against the afternoon sky. "You've built a life here, Connor. A good one. Maybe it's time to share it."
Connor's face softened. For a moment, he was silent, lost in thought. Then, with the same decisiveness he showed in the OR, he turned to the social worker. "Where do I sign?"
The social worker's pen scratched against paper as she made a note. "First, we'll need to schedule a home inspection. Then there's the matter of—"
A knock at the door startled them all. April's head poked in, her expression a mix of concern and amusement. "Sorry to interrupt, but... well, Lexa isn't in her room…We can't find her."
Connor was already heading for the door, his white coat billowing behind him. "I'll sign whatever you need," he called over his shoulder. "Right now, I need to find my kid."
Natalie caught Daniel's eye, both of them grinning like conspirators who'd just pulled off the perfect plan. Even Sharon allowed herself a small fist pump when she thought no one was looking.
The hospital erupted into organized chaos as staff members spread out in search of their wayward patient. Maggie orchestrated the search from her command center at the nurses' station, her voice carrying through the walkies. "Will, take the cafeteria. April, check the chapel. Ethan, sweep the east wing." Her fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up security camera feeds on multiple screens.
"How does a kid in a hospital gown just vanish?" Will muttered into his walkie, jogging past rows of vending machines. "Cafeteria's clear, Maggie. Moving to the gift shop."
April's soft footsteps echoed through the chapel's hushed interior. "Not here either," she whispered into her walkie, her eyes lingering on the stained glass windows casting rainbow shadows across empty pews. "Though someone left drawings on the prayer request cards – they look fresh."
Connor's heart hammered against his ribs as he checked each room along the pediatric wing. The sound of children's laughter drifted from somewhere ahead, mixing with a familiar voice that made him pause mid-stride. Following the sound, he rounded the corner to find a sight that stopped him in his tracks.
There, in the pediatric oncology playroom, sat Lexa cross-legged on a colorful reading mat. A semicircle of young patients surrounded her, some attached to IV poles, others wrapped in blankets, all completely captivated. Her hospital gown was adorned with hand-drawn butterflies (courtesy of what looked like hospital markers), and she was reading "Where the Wild Things Are" with dramatic flair, complete with monster voices that had her audience giggling.
"Found her," Connor spoke softly into his walkie, unable to keep the pride from his voice. He leaned against the doorframe, not wanting to interrupt the impromptu storytime.
"Let the wild rumpus start!" I growled playfully, making the children squeal with delight. One little girl with a bright pink headscarf clutched her stuffed unicorn tighter, eyes wide with excitement.
Natalie appeared beside Connor, slightly out of breath from searching. "I should have known," she whispered, watching the scene with misty eyes. "She told me yesterday she wished she had someone to read to her like I did. Guess she decided to be that person for others."
"Maggie, tell the social worker to bring those papers here," Connor murmured into his walkie, his eyes never leaving Lexa. "I want to sign them now."
Through the walkie came the unmistakable sound of Maggie sniffling, followed by her trying to cover it with a cough. "Copy that, Dr. Rhodes. And... congratulations."
The social worker arrived minutes later, her heels clicking purposefully against the linoleum floor. She carried a leather portfolio stuffed with documents, Post-it notes marking the crucial signature lines like yellow butterflies. Behind her came Sharon, Daniel, and what seemed like half the ED staff, all trying (and failing) to look casual about gathering in the pediatric wing.
"And they all lived happily ever after," I finished reading, closing the book with a flourish. The children around her erupted in applause, some of their IV poles swaying with their enthusiasm.
"That was quite a performance," Connor said softly, making my head snap up. A blush crept across my cheeks as I noticed the audience had grown considerably. The social worker's presence made me shrink slightly.
"Am I in trouble?" I whispered.
Connor crossed the room and knelt beside me, his movements careful and deliberate. "Actually," he began, his voice rougher than usual with emotion, "I was wondering if you'd like to come live with me." He cleared his throat, suddenly aware of how many eyes were on them. "Permanently, I mean. As my daughter."
The silence that followed felt heavy enough to touch. My eyes grew wide as dinner plates, darting between Connor and the social worker as if waiting for someone to say "just kidding." When no such declaration came, I swallowed hard. "You... you want me?"
"More than anything," Connor answered, his voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. Behind him, April was openly crying, while Will pretended something had gotten in his eye.
"But... What if I have nightmares? What if I break things or mess up or—"
"Then we'll deal with it together," Connor interrupted gently. "Family means nobody gets left behind."
"Did you just quote 'Lilo & Stitch'?" Will muttered, earning an elbow in the ribs from Natalie.
The social worker stepped forward, spreading the papers on a nearby table. "Dr. Rhodes, if you'll sign here, here, and initial here..." She pointed to various marked spots.
Connor's hand trembled slightly as he signed his name, each signature bringing Lexa one step closer to being his daughter. The pen scratched against paper in the hushed room, the sound somehow both ordinary and monumentally important.
"And Lexa," the social worker turned to me with unexpected gentleness, "would you like to sign too? It's not required, but some children like to make it official."
I nodded solemnly, accepting the pen from Connor. My tongue poked out slightly as I concentrated on forming the letters of my name.
"Welcome to the family, kiddo," Connor said, pulling me into a tight hug. I buried my face in his scrubs, my small frame shaking with what might have been sobs.
"Group hug!" someone (probably Will) shouted, and suddenly they were surrounded by doctors, nurses, and even some of the pediatric patients, all joining in the celebration.
"Now then," Connor gently disentangled himself from the group hug, his doctor's instincts kicking in as he noticed the slight tremor in my legs. The adrenaline of my adventure was wearing off, leaving exhaustion in its wake. "We need to get our little escape artist back to her room. Those stitches aren't ready for impromptu story time sessions just yet."
I rolled my eyes with all the dramatic flair a teenager could muster, but couldn't hide the way my knees wobbled as he steadied me with a warm hand on my shoulder.
"If you want to go exploring," Connor said as we made our slow procession down the hallway. "I need you to ask first. No more solo adventures."
"But there was no one there to ask!" I protested. A passing nurse shot me a knowing smile – clearly, my reputation as a flight risk was spreading through the hospital gossip vine.
Connor's expression softened, but his voice remained firm. "Then you wait for someone to come. Those are the rules, kiddo. I didn't sign up to be a father just to have you disappear on me day one."
The word 'father' sent a warm flutter through my chest, even as I let out an exaggerated sigh that would have made any Broadway actor proud. By the time we reached my room, my legs felt like overcooked spaghetti, and I practically melted into the bed.
"It's just so boring in here," I complained. "The only exciting thing is counting how many times that cleaning lady gives me the evil eye for getting marker on my gown."
Connor settled into the chair beside my bed, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Well, once those stitches heal and your numbers improve, you can start exploring all you want – with supervision," he added quickly, seeing my face light up. "And I happen to know a certain pediatric nurse who'd be more than happy to show you every secret corner of this place." His voice softened as he tucked the blanket around me. "But for now, rest. Doctor's orders."
"And dad's orders?" I asked hesitantly, testing out the new word like a wobbly tooth.
Connor's breath caught for a moment, and his hand squeezed mine gently. "Yeah," he managed, his voice rough with emotion. "Those too."
The familiar antiseptic smell of Chicago Med wrapped around me as I followed Connor through the sliding doors, my backpack bouncing against my spine with each step. After weeks of paperwork and recovery, I'd finally been released from the hospital and moved into Connor's apartment. Everything still felt new, like a dream I might wake up from at any moment.
"So," Connor said, his keys jingling as he pocketed them, "what would you like for dinner today?"
"CHINESE!" I practically bounced on my toes, my voice echoing off the lobby walls. The thought of spending the entire Saturday with him tomorrow made everything seem brighter, more possible.
"Chinese sounds good," he chuckled. He guided me toward the doctors' lounge, his hand gentle on my shoulder. "Go ahead and start your homework. If you get restless, you can walk around or see if April needs help with anything." His eyes crinkled with affection before he disappeared through the door.
The moment it clicked shut behind him, everything changed.
They swept in like shadows – a group of men dressed in black, moving with deadly purpose. The leader brandished a sword that caught the fluorescent lights like lightning, his voice thundering through the suddenly silent ED. "EVERYBODY DOWN!"
Connor's eyes found mine through the chaos, fear etching deep lines around his mouth. He mouthed one word: "Hide." Before he could turn back to face the threat, the nearest attacker drove a vicious blow into his stomach. The sound of him hitting the floor turned my blood to ice.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't the perfect little doctor," the masked man's voice dripped with venom. He circled Connor like a predator. "The doctor who can't even save a life." Another kick landed with a sickening thud, drawing a pain-filled groan from Connor that made my heart stutter.
The masked man's eyes swept the room, drinking in the sight of staff and patients kneeling, their faces pale with terror. "Everyone seems so scared for our little prince." His laugh scraped against my ears like broken glass. "Yes, so, so scared."
"Le...Lexa." Connor's voice was barely a whisper, blood staining his teeth.
"SHUT UP!" The attacker's roar filled the space as his boots connected again and again with Connor's ribs. The sound of bone giving way made bile rise in my throat. "Does it hurt?" he taunted, voice thick with cruel pleasure. "Does it hurt to breathe? Pretty sure I heard your ribs snap."
Something inside me snapped too. "NO!" The scream tore from my throat as I launched myself at the swordsman. My teeth found his wrist, clamping down with desperate strength until the weapon clattered to the floor.
"Lexa." A different voice now, gentle and urgent, cutting through the chaos. "Lexa, open your eyes. Come on, Lexa, it's okay, just open your eyes." Connor's voice, warm with concern, pulled at me like a lifeline.
My eyes flew open, heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. The hospital room spun into focus . "They killed you, they killed you, they killed you," I choked out between ragged breaths.
"It's okay, you're safe now." Connor's voice cut through the panic as he perched on the edge of my bed, gathering me into his arms. Over my head, he caught sight of Will and April hovering in the doorway, their faces etched with concern. "Bad dream," he mouthed, his eyes pleading for privacy. They retreated silently, leaving only the soft squeak of their shoes against linoleum.
I buried my face in Connor's scrubs, breathing in the familiar mix of antiseptic and coffee that had become synonymous with safety. "It was horrible. These men with swords... they were hurting you. The sound of your ribs breaking..." My voice cracked.
"Hey, look at me," Connor's voice was gentle but firm as he tilted my chin up. "I'm right here. Whole and unbroken, see?" His eyes held mine, steady as a lighthouse in a storm. "It was just a nightmare."
"But it felt so real," I whispered, my fingers unconsciously twisting in the fabric of his scrubs. "Those men... I couldn't see their faces, but something about them..." A chill ran down my spine. "It's like I know them from somewhere."
Connor's arms tightened around me protectively. "Whatever happened before, whatever you're remembering – you're safe now. No one's going to hurt either of us." He rubbed soothing circles on my back. "Try to get some more sleep, okay? When you wake up, we'll grab lunch together."
Exhaustion pulled at me like a heavy tide, and I nodded against his chest. As my eyes drifted closed, I felt him carefully adjusting my blankets.
Hours later, I sat perched on the edge of my hospital bed, anxiety thrumming through my veins. The corridor outside was a blur of activity – nurses rushing past with urgent whispers about Dr. Manning being in labor, the busy hospital was in full swing.
"Ready to go?" Connor's voice made me jump. He stood in the doorway, still in his scrubs but with his white coat traded for a suit jacket. "Sorry about the delay – ED's been crazy." His phone buzzed in his pocket, and something dark flickered across his face as he checked it. Another message from Claire about their father's latest hospital donation event – I'd learned to read his expressions like a map.
"Maggie picked these up for you," he continued, holding up a Walmart bag and visibly shaking off whatever shadow his sister's text had cast. "Thought you might want something nicer than a hospital gown for court."
My throat tightened as I stared at the bag, reality crashing over me. "What if..." My voice came out barely above a whisper, "what if they don't let me stay with you? What if they send me away."
Connor dropped the Walmart bag, the soft thud lost beneath the sound of his footsteps as he crossed the room in two quick strides. His arms wrapped around me. "It's okay," he murmured, his voice vibrating against my ear. "No one is going to take you away. You don't have to worry about going anywhere." He pulled back just enough to study my face, doctor's eyes scanning for signs of distress. "Have you had any other nightmares?"
I dropped my gaze to the floor, counting the speckles in the tiles rather than meet his concerned eyes. "No sir," I muttered, the lie bitter on my tongue. "I haven't had the nightmares in a while... Well, except for this morning." Heat crept up my neck and into my cheeks, guilt making my skin prickle.
"Lexa." Connor's voice carried that unique blend of doctor's authority and parental concern that I was starting to recognize. He settled onto the edge of my bed, close enough that I could see the worry lines around his eyes but not so close that I felt trapped. "I know you don't like talking about it, but I need you to not lie to me." His fingers were gentle as he tucked a few strands of blonde hair behind my ear, the gesture so paternal it made my throat tight.
He reached for the nearby chair, the metal legs scraping softly against the floor as he pulled it closer. Settling in, he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "If you want to talk, I'm here to listen," he said softly. "I won't force you, but the social worker will probably try to get you to open up about it. Dr. Charles thought it might be easier if we talked through it first, before the meeting."
The tears came hot and fast, blurring the edges of my vision. I blinked hard, trying to hold them back, but they escaped anyway. "I'm always standing in this foggy meadow," I whispered, my voice thin as tissue paper. "The ground... it's covered in bright red blood. I think it's mine..." The words caught in my throat like thorns. Speaking them aloud made the nightmare feel more real, as if saying it might somehow summon it back. "I'm wearing this white dress, but it's soaked with blood too. Then I hear someone yelling... he... he..."
Connor's thumb brushed away a tear from my cheek, his touch impossibly gentle. Something in that simple gesture broke the last of my resistance.
"He calls me horrible names," I choked out. "Says I'm a worthless freak, that I... that I killed my mother." The last words came out in a broken whisper before I collapsed against Connor's chest, violent sobs wracking my frame. His arms came around me immediately, one hand cradling the back of my head while the other rubbed soothing circles on my back.
"It's okay," Connor's voice remained steady despite the rage I could see burning in his eyes, threatening to consume him. His hands, trained to be gentle through years of surgical precision, carefully helped me sit up. "I need you to listen to me very carefully," he continued. "Whatever happened in your past, whatever voices are haunting your dreams – they're wrong. You are not worthless. You are not a freak. And you did not kill your mother." He paused, letting each declaration land with the weight of absolute certainty.
Connor pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead, and I could hear the emotion tightening his throat. "Why don't you get changed? I'll grab some lunch from the cafeteria, and then we can head out." The clothes Maggie had bought sat waiting in their plastic bag, a reminder that life was moving forward, despite the ghosts of my past.
I watched Connor leave, his shoulders tense with worry. Through the glass walls of my room, I could see him pause in the hallway, running a hand through his dark hair – a gesture I'd learned meant he was wrestling with something heavy. I knew he was thinking about his own mother; he'd told me about her one night when my nightmares had been particularly bad. Not how she looked in those final moments, but as she had been in life, warm and vibrant. The thought of his father's latest "generous" hospital donation had made his jaw clench when Claire mentioned it yesterday. His sister's desperate attempts to bridge their family's fractures, my haunted eyes – it all seemed to weigh on him like stones.
Through the partially open door, I could hear Will's voice drift in. "How is she doing?"
"She's..." Connor seemed to search for words that could capture the complexity of our situation. "She's calmed down, but still shaken. These nightmares..." His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "I've never seen anything like them. The terror in her eyes when she wakes up – it's like she's still seeing something we can't."
Will's voice softened with understanding. "It's going to take time," he said, and I could hear the rustle of movement. "Those for you or her?"
"Breakfast for her. Thought she could eat on the way to our meeting." Connor's voice carried his worry plainly. "I'd planned to take her to the apartment first, but after this morning..."
"You're not seriously letting her go to court in a hospital gown?" Will's mock horror drew what sounded like a reluctant smile from Connor.
"Maggie took care of that," Connor replied, his voice lighter for a moment. "Got her some clothes. She's changing now."
I heard footsteps start to move away, then stop. Will's voice carried an unfamiliar weight. "Listen, I wanted to apologize for how I've treated you. And... I'm sorry about your mother."
My fingers traced the soft fabric of the teal plaid western shirt Maggie had chosen, something about the pattern making my heart skip like a scratched record. A memory flickered just out of reach – warm hands, the scent of lavender, someone humming softly – but it dissolved like morning mist when I tried to grasp it. My hands trembled slightly as I slipped the shirt on, the cotton feeling impossibly luxurious after weeks of paper-thin hospital gowns.
The Levi's were next, dark blue denim still stiff with newness. As I pulled them on, I caught my reflection in the mirror – a ghost of my former self, all sharp angles and shadows, swimming in clothes that should have fit better. But even ill-fitting real clothes felt like armor compared to the hospital gown that had marked me as a patient for so long. The white ankle socks and tennis shoes completed the transformation, grounding me in a way I hadn't felt since... since when?
"HEEEEELLLLLLLLLP!"
The scream shattered the quiet like breaking glass, sending my heart into a frenzied dance against my ribs. The sound echoed down the sterile hallway, bouncing off walls and mixing with the sudden thunder of running feet.
"GET DOWN!" Another voice roared, deep and commanding, carrying a note of terror that made my blood turn to ice.
My body reacted before my mind could catch up, muscles locking into place as if someone had flipped a switch. The fluorescent lights suddenly seemed too bright, too harsh, like searchlights seeking me out. My nightmare crashed into reality with the force of a tidal wave – the masked men, the glint of steel, Connor's blood on white tiles...
No, not again. Please, not again.
Through the glass walls of my room, shadows moved like predators, and somewhere in the distance, a code blue alarm began to wail.