Disclaimer: I do not own anything of As the World Turns.
Notes: This is my AU take on what might have happened after the boys were reunited at the Cyndi Lauper concert, hence, this fic takes place directly after. I seem to be very influenced by music lately, so Kelly Clarkson's "Already Gone" provided the backdrop for this. The lyrics are somewhat how I think Luke and Noah would feel if they were to break-up permanently. I tried to make the overall tone of the fic fit the overall tone of the song. Hope you enjoy! Please drop me a line. :-)
Already Gone
When I'd originally asked for a break, this was not what I had intended.
"All right, Mr. Mayer," the doctor said, patting my shoulder congenially. He smiled down at me, as if our meeting had been some kind of reward. "You're all set."
I didn't answer him, just gave him a curt but appreciative nod. Then I got up from the cot I had been sitting on and left the infirmary behind.
*
The rain sloshed into the mud six inches from my face. I could hear the drill instructor yelling overhead, and the guttural grunts from my classmates around me, but the thundering rain around us clouded our surroundings, streaking through everything so that all of it – people, voices, location, weather – had become just a blur.
My arms were shaking uncontrollably, but I'd be damned if my face was going anywhere near that mud. Six recruits had already given up and eaten sludge, but I was not going to be one of them. Instead I willed myself to hold my position, my biceps positively burning, my shoulders aching, back screaming for relief. I would not let my weaknesses get the best of me.
My face had long been overcome with heat; the blood had rushed to it in an excited frenzy as soon as I had pushed my muscles till they could take no more. My eyesight started to tingle, and images of him began to block out my vision. As the rain seared through my clothes, as the fat drops of liquid ran over my eyelids, nose, and mouth onto the soggy ground below, as my lungs began to compress from lack of oxygen, all I could see from then on was him.
I didn't blame him for treating me the way he had on our last night together. If I said that I hadn't expected it from him, I'd be lying through my teeth.
I was just glad, even if my relief had only been for a fraction of a second, that he had understood and accepted where I was coming from.
* * *
The ball slid easily through the chain link hoop, and it bounced once before he caught it again. He dribbled slowly back to the center of the court, his eyes fixed on the bright orange shade of the rubber. The hood of his sweatshirt was drawn over his head, masking his peripheral vision, which I knew made it easier for him to concentrate on his game. He stood still, switching between his left and right hand, the echo of the ball bouncing back up from the cement. I knew it had been two years, easy, since he'd been on the court alone.
He passed the ball between his legs, his sneakers crunching against the gravel that lightly coated the cement of the court. He caught the ball with his right hand and then drove it down towards the basket for a layup. The ball sailed smoothly towards the hoop, and it crashed through the chain link. He caught it again, then returned to his starting point in the middle of the court. He dribbled in place quietly, the pouncing of rubber against cement mixing with the crickets chirping in the darkness of the bushes that surrounded the perimeter of the court. The sun had gone down hours ago, and he was engulfed in the night, save for the dying yellow lights that shone weakly overhead. That was when I chose to make my entrance onto the court.
I didn't even need to say a word; he knew I was there before I even opened my mouth. He caught the ball in both hands and stood, as still as the dead, waiting for me to say something. After a moment of unbearable silence, he broke it. His back was still to my face.
"I think you should go."
His voice was steady, controlled, but I could detect the anger that seethed just below the surface. He hadn't digested a word I had said earlier, and it didn't seem like he was going to change his mind now. I had to try again anyway.
"Luke," I started quietly, "I need you to understand—"
He whipped around without waiting for me to finish my sentence. The anger that blazed through his eyes hit me with such force that I felt as though I had been lit on fire.
"No, what you need," he shouted, charging at me, "is to get out of my face! Now!" Our noses almost collided as the rubber of the ball in his hands grazed my chest, and at that moment, I realized my heart was thudding against my ribcage at his outburst.
"Luke…" I struggled to bring my voice higher than a whisper. "Please, try to understand…"
"I don't need to understand anything!" he snapped, his anger remaining dominant. The ball pressed harder into my chest. "All I need to know is that you can't be bothered to put the effort in!"
"That's not what this is about—"
"Then what is it about, Noah? You suddenly spring all of this on me and expect me to roll with it? I don't change gears that easily." He took a step back from me, drawing a full breath, an expression coming over his face that told me he did not want to be this angry, at least not in front of me.
"I'm doing this for you," I told him softly.
He scoffed in my face. "I can't believe you expect me to buy that. You haven't done anything for me since you put that damn ring on your finger."
I swallowed hard. To say that his reference to what I had done for Ameera was hurtful was the understatement of the century, because I had been trying, and knowingly failing, to do the right thing at the time. Still, I knew it was just his anger talking, and I knew he needed to say whatever was on his mind.
I didn't raise my voice at him. I spoke evenly. "I just want you to have options."
Luke squeezed his eyes shut at my words, lifting his left hand and waving it for silence. It wasn't the first time he had heard me say this, and it took him a moment till he opened his eyes again. He was completely still for a second, then looked me dead in the face and whispered roughly, "That's bullshit." His voice was shaking, and his eyes were beginning to shine.
"Luke…" I had to try again, I had to explain the reason for what I was asking one more time. "I don't want you to feel like you're attached to a ghost." I looked away from him, sighing through my nose. "I want you to be free."
Luke let out a ragged breath at my words, his voice catching in his throat as he fumbled for a retort, but nothing came. He clenched his eyes shut again, holding his basketball tightly under one arm. His knuckles were turning white.
"That's not fair," he finally rasped out, his voice strained but calm. "You're not even giving me a choice."
I took a step towards him, wanting to gather him in my arms and hold him close. "I am," I insisted gently, hoping he could finally understand. "I want you to have choices. That's why I want this."
Luke looked up at me, his eyes still glittering, though no tear had yet fallen. He shook his head, just like he had done earlier, when I'd first broken the news of my enlistment to him. His face was still scrunched with anger, scarred by pain.
"That's bullshit," he forced out under his breath. "You know it's bullshit."
I moved towards him, stretching my arms to pull him closer, but he took an unbalanced step back from me, and suddenly he slammed the basketball down full-force between us, causing me to take a step away from him as the rubber reverberated against the pavement. The ball bounced somewhere to my right and rolled into the bushes, instantly forgotten.
I moved back towards him, my mouth open to speak, but he cut me off.
"Just get out of here!" he shouted, his eyes bathing the pavement below his feet. He tore his hand through his hair under the hood of his sweatshirt, as if his actions could wipe the awful reality of our situation from his mind. "Leave, Noah!"
I didn't move immediately, and Luke used that to his advantage. He advanced on me, his right hand raised, and with more force than he'd ever directed at me at any point in our relationship, he shoved my shoulder hard, causing me to stumble backward a step. I didn't stop him as he shoved again, with both hands planted against my shoulders, as though he was trying to forcibly remove me from his presence. He dropped his hands after he felt my unintentional resistance, and he sniffed hard, his line of vision glued to the cement below our feet. He stood before me, the soft material from the hood of his sweatshirt brushing my nose, and he was visibly shaking. I had to restrain myself from reaching out to him, and slowly, I realized that he had finally come to accept the truth of my request.
There was nothing else I could say to him, now that he was beginning to understand. Me joining the Army was one thing. But asking Luke to wait for me, to continue to love me, to waste his life away for me was totally something else. I didn't want him to be hindered in my absence, not when he had that wonderful, flexible heart of his, ready to be expanded at whatever – or whoever – he deemed worthy. I wanted him to retain his happiness through whatever means he could utilize. I didn't want to be the reason behind the gradual, agonizing death of that amazing heart, so I had told him I was leaving him, for good. I wanted all of this because I loved him, and because loving him was the best thing that had ever happened to me in my entire life.
So I walked away. I left him standing on the court, his hood draped over his head, the balmy summer night air surrounding him. The ball was still lost in the bushes somewhere, and the crickets were still chirping. The yellow of the lights faded from my vision as I left the cement and crossed onto the grass, back to where my truck was parked. I didn't see the road the entire ride away from the basketball court, away from the person who had taught me more about life and love than I had been privileged to know before we had crossed paths.
* * *
I couldn't feel anything anymore.
The awareness of my legs had long since vanished, and my arms were so sore that they didn't hurt anymore. The spasms that were taking over my back were sporadic and after a time, almost enjoyable, and my shoulders had ground down in their sockets so much I couldn't even be bothered to acknowledge the pain anymore. I was so completely focused on the endurance task at hand, on making sure I applied every inch of my willpower towards it, that I hadn't even seen him coming.
I knew the drill instructor was angry. It was his job to be so. But I hadn't realized that his anger had been forced upon the classmate directly next to me, who had been struggling to keep his muscles in line with his balance. So when the instructor decided he was going to give my fellow officer candidate something else to think about – namely, a boot to his gut – I hadn't expected the recruit to completely lose control of himself.
In the instant the drill instructor's foot connected with his body, my classmate floundered, not knowing whether to buckle under the pain or fight against it, and through this odd mixture of indecision, he bowled me over with him as he flailed. The shock of no longer having so much pressure stretched throughout my body wiped every coherent thought from my brain, and I too, lost control. The next thing I knew, I was lying on my back in my gray Army-issued T-shirt and sweat pants, the mud sucking at my clothes.
As the rain poured from the sky onto my face, I vaguely made out the shape of the drill instructor above me, his mouth open, words ripping from his lips, but before I could react to him, two sets of arms on either side of me pulled my body from the ground, and I was dragged from the muddy field outside the training center, only to realize a few moments later that I had been clutching my left wrist and howling in distress the entire time.
*
The secretary behind the high counter at the reception office peered up at me over her glasses as I entered quickly and slapped the sheet down in front of her.
"What's this?" she asked, unfazed by my rude behavior. She gestured to the paper with her chin.
"What does it look like?" I responded, sighing. I reached up with my right hand and turned the sheet to face her, so she could read it.
"Hmm." She skimmed it quickly, then looked back at me, her hazel eyes intent. "You're sure you want to do this, hon?"
I didn't need her second-guessing my decision; I'd done enough of that myself in the last twenty-four hours.
"You've only got another four weeks left. It might not be so bad. Why not try to hold out for a little longer?" she suggested, a friendly smile pasted to her face.
How many times had she practiced this speech of hers? I sighed again in annoyance, then realized that she had no idea why I was doing this. I lifted my left arm up from behind the front of the counter, where she could see it. The reflection of my white cast glowed back at me from the lenses of her polished glasses.
She nodded knowingly then. "Ah. Not so much your choice, huh?"
I sighed again, drumming my fingers against the top of the counter. I dropped my left arm back to my side. "I guess it just wasn't meant to be," I replied solemnly.
She smiled warmly at me again, then took my DOR form and sat down in her chair with it. After reading it solidly for a few moments, she opened a red ink pad and stamped my form, then slid it into a folder that lay on top of her desk. The drill instructor himself had approved my request beforehand, and there was nothing else she needed to do.
She stood from her chair then, and placed her left hand over my right one, which was still resting on the countertop. "Go find it," she whispered enthusiastically, her smile radiant.
I looked at her curiously, my annoyance petering out at her sincerity. "Find what?" I asked.
She grinned even harder and squeezed my hand, her skin warm on mine. "Go find what was meant to be."
*
The one thing I'd always marveled at when it came to Luke was how open and relaxed his love was. Love from Luke meant holding hands in my truck, date nights at the movie theater, sitting across from him at a restaurant and having him smile at me for an hour and a half. Love was waking up to someone who was so eager to see me that he literally pulled me out of bed for an impromptu cooking session for breakfast. Love was experiencing the drifting of family members to the table as the aroma of warm food filled the kitchen. Love was being covered in pancake batter and dripping egg whites at nine-thirty in the morning, and love was sharing all of those experiences through laughter. Luke had brought all of those things into my life, simply by loving me.
Love in real life was a series of occurrences so small, that if I hadn't been a part of them day-to-day, they would have been completely overlooked.
Which is why, when I showed up outside his porch door, I knew from just his posture alone that our mutual affection hadn't faded, and that we were as connected as we'd ever been. He stood in the doorway, in his blue striped shirt, with a face that said nothing less than he was surprised yet somehow relieved to see me.
I stared back at him, not ashamed, but sorrowful. I had put him through a lot of unnecessary pain, and I owed him an explanation for just showing up here now. He waited for me to speak this time.
"I couldn't do it." I remained motionless before him, hoping that he would once again accept what I had to say. "I couldn't make it through." I held my left arm up for him, and the look of sympathetic concern that crossed his face as his eyes hit my cast erased anything else that I had planned to say. Suddenly, Luke was in my arms, wrapping me in his embrace, his heat pressing against every fiber of my being.
I knew there were people in the world who questioned themselves about love: about when they would know that it was love, about when they would know that it was real, and about when they would know it was meant to be.
That afternoon, standing in front of the Snyder farm porch door with Luke in my arms, I knew those questions would never enter my brain. Not even a hint of them would make their way towards me, because there was nothing more I needed to know with Luke. All I needed was him, and I had him.