𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇 // 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐬

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫

CONNOR COULD FEEL THE beads of sweat starting to form at the back of his neck, as Natalie approached him at lunch-time the following day, a wide, cheesy smile on her lips. "You know, last night was nice. Of course, Owen waking up with a nightmare twice took its toll on my chance to bond with her, though, Eila seems like a genuinly nice girl." She sat down in the chair opposite from Connor, and though she averted her gaze, focusing on the tray of food on the table in front of her, Connor kept his eyes locked on her. "What?" Natalie chuckled, upon realizing the surgeon was still looking at her. "I'm just trying to say that I've seen you do a lot worse than Eila."

"Is this when I ask for examples?" Connor rolled his eyes, though his lips broke into a smile. "I'm just kidding, I'm happy you two got along."

               "Will told me all about her little plan of getting you to like Christmas," Natalie continued, glancing over at Noah Sexton, who joined his sister, April, and Ethan Choi at their table. "How is it going so far?"

                Connor let out a sigh, leaning back in his chair. "Well, I'm currently not hating it more than when she started, so obviously she's doing something right," he chuckled softly, running a hand through his hair. "I think she wanted my help to build a gingerbread house today, and honestly, I don't know how that will be. I'm a surgeon, not a constructor."

                "You could always call Casey at the firehouse, he runs his own construction company. Maybe he could give you some solid advice," Will chuckled as he joined them at the table. "But, considering you've made a living out of putting sutures in peoples' hearts, I'm pretty sure you can build a gingerbread house without too much trouble."

                 Connor rolled his eyes at Will, grabbing one of the three water bottles the red-haired attending had brought to their table. "I'm more worried about the pressure that comes with being a cardiothoracic surgeon. Are you even aware of how steady she probably expects my hands to be?" He huffed, turning his phone to see a text from Eila, asking if they could build the gingerbread house in his kitchen ( due to hers looking like a massacre after having her nephew over for making home made gifts ). Quickly, he replied, telling her it was alright.

               "See, Nat, now he's completely ignoring us, and quite possibly texting Eila," Will sighed, resting his head in his hand, looking at Connor.

                "Kids nowadays," Natalie continued, placing her hand on Will's shoulder. "They grow up so fast."

                Connor rolled his eyes, his pager beeping at his waist. "Well, there goes lunch," he sighed, getting up. "Have a nice meal, mom and dad."

               This was how most of Connor's days passed; treating patients, in and out of surgeries, missing lunch, and then finally going home in the afternoons. The dressing room was empty as he got in that afternoon, sinking down against the wall. For the past three hours, he had been staring at the inside of a man's chest, connecting him to, and then hooking him off bypass. The patient had survived, though it had taken its toll on Connor's energy. After resting a good ten minutes, he got to his feet with a sigh, quickly getting ready to head home.

               "Doctor Rhodes, could I speak with you for a minute?" Sharon Goodwin spoke up from the nurse's station, as Connor exited the dressingroom. "It's about your work schedule this Christmas. I couldn't help but notice how you offered to work Christmas Eve; is everything as it should be? I think you might be the first surgeon I've encountered in many years who wants to work a holiday like this without being forced."

               "I'm still good with working the holidays, miss Goodwin," Connor nodded confirmingly. He remained standing still, watching as she walked away, before he moved, heading out to the parking lot. Once again, the snow was falling from the sky, and it sent a wave of nostalgia through Connor. He sighed as he leaned against one of the hospital's concrete pillars, just letting his mind wander. Memories of his childhood came to him, memories of spending hours and hours in the snow, building snowmen and castles with his sister, before coming inside for their mom's very special hot chocolate ( to this day, he was yet to discover a hot choclate that tasted the same — though the one at the ice rink wasn't too far off ).

               Minutes later, he was parking his car in the parking garage belonging to the apartment buidling. He knew Eila was waiting for him, but he felt the tiredness of his body ache as he stared deep into his own gaze in the rear-view mirror. Truth was, surgery was to Connor, what candy was to a child; something that would get him on a rush, something that got him energized and pumped. Afterwards, on the other hand, he felt as if he had been running a marathon. His heart was racing, his hands shaking. Connor was certain his medical license would be ripped away from him if they knew how shaky he could be — especially if they knew the amount of punishment he put himself through when things did not go as planned.

The elevator-ride to his floor seemed like it took forever, and when the doors opened, he was welcomed with an unfamiliar smell; a smell of Christmas. Eila ducked out of her apartment, a newspaper in hand, and Connor found himself stopping, simply observing and admiring her, as she strode across the hall, returning the newspaper ( and apparently some more mail that had been delievered to the wrong apartment ) to its rightful owner, a bright smile on her face.

Connor had felt himself being better with patients, but he aspired to be like Eila. He wanted to be kind, happy. He wanted to always be able to smile, even though life was coming crashing down around the world of a patient and the family. Connor Rhodes wanted to be better at helping the patients and the loved ones see and remember all the good times, instead of focusing on the grief to follow.

All of this, he hoped to learn, and he hoped to learn it from none other than Eila Chapman.

She noticed him standing by the elevator, almost looking as if he was in a trance, when she turned to head back into the comfort of her apartment. "Hey, you look tired," Eila chuckled, leaning against the doorframe, watching Connor as he moved closer. "You still up for building a gingerbread house?"

Connor lifted a hand, a visibly shaking hand, offering her an apologetic smile. "I'll help as best I can, but I cannot promise any surgical precision. Not tonight, at least," he sighed, shoving his hands back into his pockets.

"No worries," Eila smiled, grabbing her kit for the gingerbread house and a six-pack of beer from the grocery-store bag inside of her apartment, before turning back to Connor. "You can play me some Christmas music, tell me some stories, or jokes, or whatever you feel like, and have a beer. I'll be responsible for the building, though I'll need your help with the decorating. Deal?"

A wide smile spread on Connor's lips, and he wasn'g even hesitating as he straightened up, almost in a proud way, motioning for her to follow him to his apartment. "You've got yourself a deal, Eila."