Since Chicago Fire, Chicago P.D., and Chicago Med don’t exist in individual vacuums, we’re going to be delving into each week’s new slate with a combined ‘One Chicago’ recap series that breaks down what happened during the new episodes, why it matters, and how this series so nicely ripples and connects as we go. Hopping from House 51 to the station and onto Med (and, eventually, the courtroom for Chicago Justice) is gonna be a blast…just not the kind we need the truck squad to come out for.
Chicago P.D. Season 4, Episode 1: “The Silos”
Hank Voight talks a lot about consequences in those doom-and-gloomy interrogation scenarios — you gotta love his “bad cop” routine opposite Antonio Dawson’s classic “help me help you” bit. But the Sarge has yet to *really* face any repercussions for his own shady ways, and it looks like the streak of him getting away with it is continuing right on into season 4.
Much of it was left to the imagination, of course, but in last season’s finale, Hank got to have his way with the mouthy man who murdered his son, Justin, and it all came to an end with Hank suggestively patting the dirt with a shovel. Dude was DEAD, in other words, and we didn’t need a The Walking Dead-style gorefest to know it was probably not a pretty demise.
Before she left him to it that night, Erin Lindsay also saw enough to deduce went down — and, more importantly, where he probably buried the body. That makes her complicit by omission, but she’s still so beholden to Hank that she won’t be bullied from her loyalty post, no matter how many guilt lectures about morality and good-deeding get thrown at her by Commander Crowley or anyone else. Even when it looks like she might’ve given up her dear old adoptive dad, she pulls the classic “NOT” psych-out and brings Crowley to the site…after she’s already dug up and ditched the bodily evidence herself.
It’s bad fishing on the Commander’s part to think she could actually get a hook in Erin, and she should’ve cast a wider net and run a little recon herself. Crowley already knew the coordinates of where Erin and Hank last rendezvoused, and as we’ve seen through all of One Chicago, the city’s first responders have a buffet of fancy metal detection, heat sensing, plasmablastometer (okay, so that last one’s made up, but roll with it) options at their investigatory disposal. You can’t tell me none of those fancy machines would detect a human body hiding beneath the dirt at the site. Sloppy, sloppy.
So, here we are then. Hank’s a stone-cold killer. Erin’s got herself in deep by being an accessory after the fact, tampering with evidence, and a whole laundry list of other punishable offenses. “You saved my life. I would’ve been dead at 15 if you hadn’t taken me in. There’s no doubt in my mind about it. And I’ve always looked forward to saving yours,” she tells Hank in an effort to make her felony act seem sweet.
Justin’s family’s about to take leave of the Windy City and all its tragic reminders of their loss, including (oh, who are we kidding, especially) Hank, so now it’s just Voight and Lindsay, a pair of cops turned partners in (literal) crime. What could possibly go wrong?!
This is all weird timing, honestly, because Halstead’s totally ready to take the Linstead ship full-steam ahead by having her move in with him — he even breaks out a swoony little line about not wanting her to be one of the many things coming and going from his life, d’aww. He might not know the extent of her involvement, but his offer to shack up comes after she’s very clearly told him she’s hiding something for Hank, so the ship probably isn’t going down over these murky waters right away. He’s only seen the tip of the iceberg, though, so don’t go throwing away your life jacket just yet.
In other news, Burgess’s new partner, Julie Tay, is legit (although she may have a target on her head from a pervy former commander, who tried and failed to get frisky with her and then professionally punished her into silence). Together, the ladies manage to save a woman and then track down the rapist-slash-kidnapper-slash-all-around-scumbag who attacked her on day one, so the new partnership seems to be working out just fine so far. BUT Burgess managed to piss off Trudy with one thoughtlessly ageist insult — everyone make a mental note to take “whoa, girl’s still got it” off the list of acceptable colloquialisms — so Burgess’ little victory of a fist-pumpable partnership is the least of her worries now.
NEXT: Dr. Rhodes is in over his head
Chicago Med Season 2, Episode 1: “Soul Care”
Dr. Rhodes has a long road (ba-dum-tss!) ahead of him when it comes to his new fellowship trainer, Dr. Latham, a man who’s an absolute enigma of emotions. One minute he’s rudely suggesting Rhodes killed his former mentor, Dr. Downey, and — with no sense of irony — adds that he didn’t want him as his fellow. Ouch. The next thing you know, he’s throwing surgical instruments at the scrub nurse because he doesn’t want to hear any opinions in his O.R. How that’s not an actionable violation is beyond me, but then, whaddya know. The man’s suddenly in the corner waxing philosophical about an unusual return-to-life incident involving a doomed patient.
(Speaking of which, how about that? Was the girl’s dad technically a zombie, since they’d already called his time of death before he came back to get a glimpse of his newborn grandbaby? What’s the official med terminology for walkers? Is this another metaphor for April’s TB? This is need-to-know stuff here, guys.)
Anyway, Latham’s all over the place, and Dr. Rhodes already knows he’s gonna get a case of whiplash working for this dude. Will he bow out? Are we about to see Rhodes back in the E.R.? With Dr. Sexton MIA, there’s certainly room for an extra pair of hands down there.
Dr. Halstead didn’t have much to do this week, save for walking around tabulating his malpractice insurance premiums and criticizing the guy who’s about to get his dream girl, Jeff Clarke. He knows he’s got no shot with Manning now because he’s already been friend-zoned straight to hell, and c’mon — Jeff’s a war hero who became a badass firefighter, and now he’s a doctor-to-be with the stones to work on an HIV patient while everyone else is sitting around twiddling their thumbs. Hummina hummina. Manning’s into it, and if that wasn’t already clear enough, she decides to hit up his apartment for a nightcap after the two share a few drinks at Molly’s during mommy’s night out. Ruh roh. Dr. Manning’s obviously trying to melt away that “Ice Princess” comment she overheard at the nurse’s station, and Clarke’s all too willing to find a new lady love who isn’t a cheater, embezzler, and, ya know, murderess. Start cooking up a clever ship name now, kids.
In the meantime, April’s slowly but surely coming around to the idea that no, she doesn’t have to be a quarantined pariah of a person now that she has tuberculosis. She got to see not just one, but two cases illustrate that thought tonight — well, assuming she gave Reese’s station a glance or two at some point. Anyway, the important thing is her boyfriend, Tate, gets major points for not making her feel off-limits for even a second during all of this. TB’s one of those stigma-frenzied medical issues, much like HIV or whatever fungal craziness was going down with the psych patient, so the fact that he’s seeing her beneath the illness says a lot. Maggie might’ve (understandably) had her reservations about the guy at first, knowing the kind of crowd he sometimes runs with and all, but he’s proven his character enough to make Tapril a for-sure viable vessel.
As for Dr. Charles’ decision to take Reese under his wing, well, it was really only a matter of time. Even when she was a med student, he was the only one who truly understood her dilemma in waxing and waning between pathology and the emergency departments, and remember his cheeky “good for you” response to the news she ditched her match? The wheels were obviously turning even then. Funny how he has the power to suddenly spring her from the barista station and put a white coat back on her shoulders just like *snaps* that. A little too convenient for anyone else’s tastes? No? Just me?
She’s a good fit for the wing all the same, as she’s always had a lot of compassion and listening skills. Besides, Reese has no business pouring people coffee while Halstead gets a pass for all his misgivings. (When they first showed her at the station, I really did think that was Chili from Firehouse 51 for a second in a new post-paramedic career, so yeah.) Whether or not Joey likes the coffee smell on her after her shifts, kudos to Charles for springing her from all the bean-slinging.
Finally, what the what was going on with Dr. Choi? He came in with some supposedly bright ideas for improving patient flow, but whatever he did was an epic fail that left a room entirely empty while the waiting area jammed up with people in line for hours. He’s better than that. Must be having trouble sleeping again.
- How weird is it even still to see Lt. Matt Casey shaking hands with Hank Voight? Those two are oil and water FOREVER in my book.
- Don’t you just love how everyone says Chout’s name just a little bit funny no matter where he goes?
- Is it just me, or does Jeff Clarke only get more handsome as these series roll forward? Maybe it’s the fact that he’s no longer a suspected spy hell-bent on helping the ding-dong witch destroy 51.
Chicago MVP of the week: It’s a tough call, but we gotta give this one to newbie Tay. Thanks to her resilience (getting thrown off a moving car and then getting right up is BALLER status) and quick thinking (way to utilize the parking ticket bonanza resources), justice was duly served.
Sauciest Chicago coupling: Linstead gets points for maybe taking a step forward, and the Manning and Clarke drool factor is on full-tilt, but c’mon. April and Tate were extra adorable this week, and it’s good to see them get past this TB business once and for all.