Title: Dead of Night (Part One)
Pairing: Luke/Reid
Rating: PG
Summary: It's strange to think of loss as some disease that can be treated and cured, but when he tries to compare his state of mind three months after Reid to what it was like right after, all he can think is I'm better. It's getting better.
Word Count: Ridiculous. 22,391. What?
Warning: Grief, depression, sad!Luke, but bear with me, I'm going somewhere with this.
Spoilers: Through the end of the series.
Disclaimer: As The World Turns and its characters are owned by CBS, Christopher Goutman, and a whole lot of other people who aren't me.
A/N: So, this was supposed to be a short fix-it fic, and then I started writing and ended up indulging myself in all of the things I wish they would have shown us on screen, and suddenly I was 20,000+ words in and hadn't even gotten to the actual fix of this fix-it. So. This is Part One of Two, Part One being focused on Luke grieving and recovering, and separated into five pieces beginning with August. Part Two will be along as soon as I can get it finished.
There's a fog surrounding Luke from the moment he sees the stretcher being wheeled through the hallway. Luke sees Reid's bruised, bloodied face, and the world, once spinning slowly on its axis, grinds to a screeching, abrupt halt. Casey was next to him just a moment ago, Bob was right in front of his eyes, and Reid was driving off in search of a heart and another notch on his "Big Damn Hero Doctor" belt. And suddenly Reid is hurt and Luke can't see anyone else around him, can only distantly hear a rush of chattered speaking, feel someone tugging at his arms, but all he can see is Reid being pulled away from him.
The hospital room feels like chaos, like a swirling, crushing typhoon, and the fog grows thicker. He doesn't understand Bob or Tom or John Dixon, struggles to decipher the words they're all speaking and looks to Reid for answers, but finds only more chaos. Reid wants to give up his heart, but he needs it to live and Luke's so confused, his own heart banging a rapid thrum against his ribcage.
"Reid's gone," they tell him, but it doesn't make sense because he was just talking to Reid, Reid was just looking up at him and the world is suddenly moving again at an alarming speed while Luke stands befuddled, swallowed up in his fog, forgotten by the people who move around him arguing and trying to pull pieces of Reid in all different directions.
They take Reid away - "he's brain dead then?" and "we have to move quickly on this, Luke," and "there's no hope" pushing Luke to sign the papers as everyone wants, and then he watches them take Reid away. He'd spoken to Reid, words tumbling out before he could call them back, and when he sits with Katie and watches her cry, the words come again in a rush, uncontrolled with each breath he takes as tears slide down his face.
They sit for a long time, Katie's hand clasped in Luke's, quiet after a while, and Luke sees others come and go through a haze. Soon he stops registering the regretful looks on some, the barely masked hope on others. Katie leaves eventually to lie down. Margot goes with her. Casey disappears somewhere, Luke doesn't know or care where. He leans his head back against the wall behind his chair and closes his eyes, wonders if he's dreaming.
Wake up wake up wake up wake up.
At some point Kim comes to sit with him, rub the back of his hand, watch him with deep, watery eyes. She's always been one to know the right thing to say, and right now she says nothing, which Luke is grateful for. Eventually she leaves too, and Luke spends an innumerable amount of time alone.
Nurses, doctors, other random hospital employees who Luke recognizes come by every so often to bring him coffee. Gretchen brings him tea - "it's better for you," she says - and squeezes his shoulder. They ask him how he's doing. He asks how Chris is doing in reply. They all give him the same sad, pitying look when he asks and he wonders if they ever look at their patients like that.
Police officers come to speak to him, hand him a large envelope of Reid's things. Luke watches the paper fold and rustle against itself in his hands. He doesn't open it; doesn't want to see. He can hear Reid's car keys jangling around inside.
"Can you tell me…" he starts before the police officers leave, before he can stop himself. He's not sure what exactly he's asking. "Do you know what happened, why he…"
The cops glance at each other. Both look grave. Luke looks down at the envelope in his hands.
"Son - " one of the men starts, but Luke only vaguely hears him and then he's speaking again, uncontrolled and tumbling.
"It's just, he's a - a brain surgeon, and he's smart, he's so smart, how could - why would he drive over the tracks if a train was coming, why didn't he get out of the car, I just don't - "
One of the cops puts a hand on Luke's shoulder, but Luke doesn't look up. He doesn't want to cry in front of these men and his eyes begin to burn with the effort of holding the tears back.
"I know it doesn't make sense, but it's - sometimes we just don't have answers for these kinds of things."
"Did he - was he in a lot of pain?" Luke hears himself ask in a small voice. He doesn't recognize himself. "You must've seen him - did he suffer?"
"No," one of the cops says. "No, he was unconscious immediately, and the paramedics gave him pain meds as soon as they got to him. He didn't suffer."
"You're lying," Luke whispers. He folds his arms to his chest, crushes the envelope against himself.
"Look, son, you really don't want to hear about all this," he's told.
He closes his eyes and lets them leave him.
He thinks a lot about the accident, what it must have looked like, sounded like. Wonders if Reid was scared. Wonders how long he had to know what was happening. What was about to happen. Luke used to love trains. When he was a child, his father would take him every few weeks on trips riding the rails back and forth, from Oakdale to Chicago, just for fun, and Luke would sit with his chin on the windowsill and watch the tracks speed past, feel the rhythmic rumble of the cars around them.
He's pretty sure he'll never be able to ride a train again.
He wonders if he should call someone. If there's anyone to call, anyone who would care about Reid's death beyond a cursory, objective, oh that's too bad, he was supposed to operate on a patient of mine sort of way.
"So," Luke said on afternoon over coffee.
"So," Reid replied, his mouth hinting at a smile.
"Did you grow up in Boston?" Luke asked. It felt a bit awkward to ask these kinds of questions now, months into knowing each other, as if they were strangers on a first date.
"Boston?" Reid asked, his brow furrowing.
"Yeah," Luke said. He pushed his empty mug away from him and folded his arms over the table, leaning forward. "You mentioned it once - Harvard Square, chess…"
"Right." Reid's long fingers tapped absently against the table. "So I did."
"So?" Luke repeated.
"So?" Reid mimicked.
Luke rolled his eyes and huffed a laugh, tried to look angry.
"I know you don't like all the bleeding heart, feelings on your sleeve stuff - "
"I don't know if that's exactly how I put it, actually, and bleeding heart really is the wrong metaphor - "
Luke kicked him under the table.
"Mr. Snyder, are you trying to play footsie with me?"
Luke knew Reid was joking, trying to divert the conversation, but he leaned forward and tilted his head towards Reid's anyway.
"You'll know when I'm playing footsie with you, Dr. Oliver," he said, trying to make his voice sound a purr and stamping down the embarrassment at such a lame line. He watched Reid's eyes dilate, his adam's apple bob ever so slightly, and then kicked him again.
Reid laughed and leaned back in his chair.
"Yes, I grew up mostly in Boston," Reid conceded, smiling softly. "A few years in the suburbs too."
"Do your parents still live there?"
"My parents don't live anywhere."
Luke blinked and cocked his head back, confused.
"They died when I was young," Reid clarified. His fingers began drumming the table gain, and Luke refrained from asking if "young" meant when he was a child, or sometime more recent.
"Oh, Reid, I'm so - "
"Don't," Reid cut him off quickly with a casual wave of his hand. "It's okay, it was a long time ago. I hate false sympathy."
"You know it's not false," Luke said seriously. He tapped Reid's fingers with his own, inviting Reid to take his hand. He did. Reid turned his hand so that it lay on the table palm up and Luke let his own hand rest palm-to-palm against Reid's. He felt the thrum of Reid's pulse against his fingertips, resting on the inside of Reid's wrist.
"I know," Reid replied. He didn't look away.
Ali comes out eventually, tells Luke that Chris is doing well, tells him to go home and get some rest. Luke has no idea what time it is. He's not really sure what to do with himself, but knows that she's right, that it'll be a while before they can be sure that Chris is out of the woods, and Luke's hands start to shake, considering the possibility that Chris still might not make it. The fog around him thickens and he barely feels it when Ali leans forward to kiss him on the cheek.
He wanders home, unsure really how he's gotten there, but suddenly there he is, standing stiffly in front of his parents and rambling about all of the organs Reid allowed himself to donate. He wants to throw up when he mentions Reid's eyes, thinks of them staring up at him from Reid's blood-stained face, and he can't figure out what to feel.
Numbness sets in as his mother suggests looking into funeral arrangements.
"No," Luke tells her dully, leaning to rest his forehead against his hands as he sits on the couch. "He wouldn't want a big deal made - funeral, lots of people who didn't really know him or like him, he wouldn't want all that."
"Did you guys ever talk about this?" his mother asks carefully, coming to sit next to him. His father paces in front of them and doesn't say anything.
"I just know. He wouldn't want that."
So a man comes to talk to them about cremation and Luke sinks into a chair and glares at him, energy enough only to snap at him when the man dares to suggest that Luke isn't the one who can take care of this. His parents jump to agree, throw the man out, and Luke doesn't feel bad despite the logical part of him buried now deep in his gut, beneath layers of anguish and further layers of bland numbness, that says that there was nothing really out of line in what the man said.
Reid is dead, screw logic.
His parents leave him to go to the police station for help in tracking down any bit of blood relation Reid might have. On their way out the door his father squeezes his shoulder and his mother kisses his cheek, hugs him hard enough that his chest hurts.
Time passes. Luke's not sure how much. He paces. He sits on the couch and runs his hands through his hair. He listens to his own harsh intakes of breath, the only sounds in the otherwise silent house. He closes his eyes and sees Reid's bloodied face. He opens his eyes and paces some more.
After moving from the couch to the kitchen to the bed in the guestroom back to the kitchen to pour a glass a juice which he stares at for five minutes rather than drinking, Luke gives up on waiting for his parents to return and instead heads back to the hospital, half-baked plan in mind to ask around for information on Reid's family.
As soon as he walks through the doors he realizes that being here is more about being close to Reid than actually talking to anyone. There's a distinct aura of sterilization with a hint of bleach in the air that hits Luke as soon as he walks in, and he's somehow twisted up and comforted all at once. He's been in this hospital plenty of times in his life, but now that familiar feel, smell, is so bound together with Reid in his mind. He feels wrong and scared and like he never wants to leave here.
Talking to Chris is a mistake. Luke realizes it as soon as the other man opens his mouth. Chris goes on about Reid, and it's not his fault, he doesn't know, doesn't know that the world is forever changed now, doesn't know about the fog that Luke's drowning in even though Luke feels like he's screaming and someone should notice.
Stop talking stop talking, please just shut up.
But for the first time since it happened, Luke finds himself unable to speak, completely unable to say Reid can't come see you because he's dead, and now Chris is alive and Reid's dead and Chris is probably going to get the Chief of Staff job because he's going to live, because he's the last man standing, and suddenly Luke has to leave the room, has to leave now.
He almost barrels into a hospital board member, can't stand the "I'm so sorry for your loss" and needs to get away, tears the scrubs away from his body and leaves them behind as he dashes down the hall, turns a corner, and runs smack into Bob.
"Oh!" Bob says, grabbing onto Luke's arm to steady them both. Luke wrenches his arm away a little more forcefully than necessary. "Luke, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there."
Luke looks away and mumbles, "S'okay," even though he knows that it was his fault.
"I was just coming to look for you, actually," Bob tells him. He pulls a bit of paper from his pocket and holds it out to Luke. "I got the combination for Reid's locker - there's no rush, of course, but I thought you might… whenever you're ready, you're welcome to…"
He falters. It's the first time Luke's ever heard Bob falter.
Luke takes the paper, stares down at the numbers, uncomprehending. He can't bring himself to look up at Bob. Chris is awake and looks tired, pale, unwell, but surviving. Bob's son is going to make it, Kim's son and Tom's brother and Casey's uncle and later Luke will be so, so angry with himself for it, but he hates them all just a little bit in this moment, when the world seems to be turned up on its end and they're all going to survive it except him. This was the best case scenario Ali had said and now it's starting to sink in how unfair it is that the best case scenario means Reid is dead while Chris gets to live. They all have every right to be happy, they should be happy, but he just can't look at it right now, not when he's destroyed.
He nods dumbly, stiffens when Bob puts a hand on his shoulder, and pulls away before Bob can say anything else sympathetic or comforting to him. His feet carry him unconsciously to the doctors' locker room and he tries not to throw up as he thinks of the last time he was in here, watching Reid getting changed and charging out the door towards his death.
He pauses at the door, his heart hammering angrily in his chest, but he steels himself and pushes through.
The room isn't empty, though Luke wishes it was. A dark-haired man, doctor judging by the scrubs, is there, standing half-dressed in front of an open locker. One look at Luke, though, and he beats a hasty exit, loosened tie hanging limp around his unbuttoned shirt. Luke watches him leave and feels exhausted, wonders what he looks like that people are running from.
Standing in front of Reid's locker, reading his name printed on the plate displayed outside, running his fingers over DR. REID OLIVER takes up most of the energy Luke has left inside him, and his hands can only go as far as resting against the handle for several minutes. Once he finally does work up the courage to open the locker, he wishes he hadn't.
The sight of Reid's lab coat cuts off Luke's breath.
Holden snaps his cell phone shut with a sigh and turns to look at his - ex-wife. It's becoming harder and harder these days to remember the ex as comfortable as they've been around each other lately, despite how long it's been since they were really together.
She wrings her hands and paces the length of the station room, looking back at him nervously.
"Still no answer?"
"No," he tells her, and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, already feeling weary and the day is still very, very young. "That's about the tenth time I've tried. Looks like we're heading to Brooklyn."
Lily nods rapidly and tucks her hair behind her ear. Where Holden feels a sinking sort of sadness for his son, Lily appears jittery, out of sorts. He knows how much she feels for her children, how much it hurts her when one them hurts - as it does him - and sitting around the police station for the past half-hour, unable to do anything but re-dial an unanswered number again and again is making her increasingly anxious. It'll be good for her as well as for Luke to go out to New York.
"We have to stop by the hospital first," Lily says as she begins to gather things into her purse. "We need to get the forms for Angus to sign, for them to release the - the body."
Holden nods, rises to his feet. "You go to the airport, I'll go to the hospital, get the forms, and meet you there."
She nods her okay, pauses in her packing to give him a sad smile. He has the urge to reach for her, stroke her hair back, but his hands remain stubbornly at his sides and he smiles back instead and then heads for the door.
The drive to the hospital is quick, securing the appropriate forms from hospital administration even quicker, and he's almost back out the door and on his way to the airport when he runs into Bob.
"Holden." Bob doesn't sound surprised to see him.
"Hey Bob," Holden replies, patting the other man on the shoulder affably. "How's Chris doing?" It's a strange sort of internal conflict he feels - Bob's son's health is due to his own son's heartbreak, and his primary concern is Luke's happiness, but he knows what it's like as a father to watch his child suffer through an illness.
"Well, it's still too early to know for certain, but it's looking good so far. All things considered." Bob is obviously trying to keep his tone even, neutral, but the tentative hope rings through clearly.
Hold is hopeful for him as well. "That's great," he says, meaning it as much as he's able to with Luke's tearful face still on his mind. He holds up the papers in his hand and says, "I'm sorry I can't stay to talk, I just came to - "
"Oh, yes, of course," Bob interrupts hastily. "Luke's up in the locker room, I believe."
Holden's mind stumbles momentarily. "He - what? I thought he was at home."
Bob looks confused, expression darkening as he looks from Holden to the forms in Holden's hand, and then back up. "Oh - oh, I'm sorry, I just assumed you were here for him. He's been in there for quite a while, I was beginning to get concerned…"
Holden can feel the worry lines creasing his own forehead. He leaves Bob behind without saying anything and heads for the stairs, trotting up the flights with an aching sense of dread that has no real foundation - Luke has been holding up pretty well through this so far, considering, and it was Holden himself who said that his son would need some time to himself to process this - yet takes hold of him with an icy grip and pushes him to rush through the hallway, his sense of direction running on instinct.
Holden glares at the STAFF ONLY sign posted on the outside of the door as he brushes past to enter the room.
"Luke…" he says softly upon seeing his son sat on the floor, leaning back against the stack of lockers with his knees pulled up to his chest and a starch, white lab coat puddled in his lap.
Luke looks up at Holden with watery eyes and a trembling jaw, and this is where, Holden knows, his son breaks.
"Luke," Holden says again, softly, taking three long strides to cross the room and crouch down in front of his son.
Luke hiccups a breath and stares vaguely at Holden, eyes unfocused and swimming. His breath starts coming out in faster, faster, faster pants, short and airless.
"I don't - " Luke says, voice small, sad. He shakes his head as he tries again, "I don't understand. I don't - this doesn't make any sense."
"I know it doesn't, son," Holden tries in a soft, sincere tone.
"We were all worried about Chris, everyone was - was preparing for him to - and now Reid, I don't understand how this…" Luke's fumbling for his words in between quick, short breaths. Holden's chest aches. "He was just gone for an hour, he'd just left and he said - he said that he loved me and I don't understand what happened, Chris was sick, he was dying and Reid was just fine and now he's dead," and with that Luke loses his words altogether and his head pitches forward.
"I know," Holden offers again, lost on what to say. He's been a witness to more death, tragedy, grief than most, but never has it involved one of his children in this way. "These things just happen sometimes, they don't make any kind of sense."
Luke is wheezing, eyes clenched shut and anguish painted across his face. His chest is rising and falling at far too quick a clip. Holden bites the inside of his cheek and worries.
"Luke."
Luke shudders and struggles to breathe in.
"Luke," more forceful this time.
Luke wheezes.
"Luke, look at me," Holden demands. He grasps Luke's shoulders, alternately digging his fingertips in and stroking gently. "Look at me," he says again, and notices how pale Luke is getting.
Luke shakes his head. Holden wonders if his son is even really hearing what he's saying.
Holden's getting worried that Luke might work himself into a proper panic attack, and gives him a small shake.
"Luke, I need you to breathe."
"I don't want to," Luke says in a rush, miserable. His eyes clench more tightly shut.
"I know," Holden says, close to breaking himself. Sad, and angry with himself, furious that in all of these last few months of vacillating from Lily to Molly and back again, worrying about his own romantic life, he never even noticed that his son was falling in love. "I know you don't, but just trust me, I know what you're feeling, I know, I know this hurts," and it's mostly the truth - he's lost and regained Lily so many times over the decades, but while he's never actually been privy to her death, he has been to several others', and he has known loss and sorrow enough to be certain that Luke can recover from this.
"But you've gotta trust me," he continues, cupping Luke's jaw with one hand. "It hurts, it hurts like hell right now, but someday it'll hurt a little less, and then a little less with each day, and you've gotta believe me, you can make it through this."
"Dad," Luke says shakily, still wheezing and grasping for breath.
"The one thing you have to do right now is just breathe," Holden tells him. "Just keep breathing, you just have to breathe for me right now, Luke."
Luke sniffs and leans into Holden, doesn't open his eyes, but after a moment Holden can feel him loosening ever so slightly as he lets air in. Holden wraps his arms around his son and rubs a hand up and down Luke's arms, back, shoulders, pulls Luke all the way in to lean fully against him.
"Just keep breathing," he repeats, and says it again when he feels tears wet through his shirt where Luke's head is resting on his shoulder.
"I miss him," Luke struggles out.
"I know," Holden replies. He can't think of anything else to say, really.
Luke's hands are balled up into fists in Holden's shirt, and he's reminded of when Luke was a little boy and would wake from nightmares, yelping loud enough to pull his parents from sleep to rush to his side. Holden feels vaguely helpless now, as he did back then, able only to sooth his son after the fact instead of preventing the nightmares altogether.
They sit like that for a long time. Holden hears the door open and close a few times, but doesn't bother to look up. No one comes in to bother them. His phone trills from inside his pocket, probably Lily calling to see where he is, but he just holds onto Luke and lets it ring.
Eventually the wheezing, anxious breaths die down, and Holden can feel Luke's chest rising and falling a bit more normally, if a little shakily. Holden lets them remain a while longer, though, lets Luke's eyes dry and waits until Luke is able to pick his head up from Holden's shoulder and sit up unsteadily.
He brushes the hair off of Luke's forehead and tries to look his son in the eye, but Luke is still bleary, unfocused. Struggling.
"How 'bout I take you home, son?"
Luke shrugs noncommittally, loosens his fists from Holden's shirt to drop them into his lap. He fiddles with the hem of the lab coat still bunched up in his lap.
"Or to the farm?" Holden suggests, hoping for some kind of reaction from his son.
A shake of the head is what he gets, along with a mumbled, "There's too many people there right now."
"That's probably not a bad thing right now, for you to be around family," Holden says gently. "Your grandmother's babysitting Nat and Ethan, I'm sure she's love to coddle you for a while too, make you some food."
Luke doesn't reply, his mouth set into a deep frown, looking defeated. Holden nods and pats him on the shoulder. Before he can get them both up on their feet, however, Luke grips his wrist tightly and says, "Dad…"
Holden freezes and tries to catch Luke's eye. Luke's gaze remains on his lap.
"I don't know if I can…" Luke begins, and ducks his head further. Holden's suddenly struck by how old his son has looked recently; no more hair flopping into his eyes, less slouched, more confident in himself, proud. He looks a shadow of that young man now, hiding his gaze from Holden's and curling in on himself. "I don't think I can - Bob and Kim and everyone out there…"
And Holden gets it. Luke's spent the better part of twenty-four hours with a family quietly celebrating their son's health due to Luke's loss, and it's not nice gracious or understanding or really very Luke at all, but it is understandable that he'd have at least a few moments of resentment. Everything has gone right for the Hughes' but terribly, terribly wrong for Luke. And for Reid.
"Okay," he says, pushing himself up off the floor. Luke remains where he is. "Just sit tight a minute. I'll be right back."
He finds Tom and Casey meandering in the hallway outside of what he assumes is Chris's room, unfortunately located just down the hall from the locker room. They both straighten up and smile stiffly when they see him approach.
"Holden," Tom says by way of greeting, reaching out to shake Holden's hand.
"Hey Tom, Casey," Holden sighs.
"How's Luke doing?" Casey asks.
"Not good," Holden replies, unwilling to lie or coddle them. His phone starts ringing again so he jumps right to the point, reaching without looking at it to turn the ringer off. "Look, guys, I hate to ask this, but Luke's back there - " he thumbs over his shoulder " - and he's having some trouble… I think it might help him, uh, not to see you guys right now." And Holden feels like a huge asshole, especially at Casey's uncomprehending frown, but Tom, thankfully, gets it immediately and pulls his son gently by the elbow.
"Sure, sure, of course," he nods and claps Holden on the shoulder, all no hard feelings. "C'mon, Casey, lets go grab a cup of coffee."
"Sure, uh." Casey still doesn't quite grasp it, but he says to Holden anyway, "hey, tell Luke to call me… well, whenever he's ready he can call me."
Holden nods and then, coast clear, he heads back to collect Luke. Getting him up and out the door is easier than expected; Luke's pliable, unfocused, easy to maneuver with a hand on his elbow, an arm wrapped around his shoulders. People watch them from the corners of their eyes, pretend not to notice Luke struggling to keep himself together.
The car ride is silent, words obsolete at this point. Nothing much else will heal this hurt save time, so Holden stores up all of his comfort for the steady hand rested on Luke's shoulder as drives and the weight he takes on when Luke leans into him as they walk up to the house.
Noisy chatter assaults the pair as they walk in through the kitchen, though only Faith and his mother break off from what they're doing - baking with the kids, by the looks of it, and messily - when he and Luke enter.
Faith's eyes are big, instantly watery and cheerless, sympathetic, and she says, "Luke," like she's itching to run over to her brother. His mother pats Faith's hand, gives he and Luke a deep, sad look.
"Luke!" Ethan exclaims, attention momentarily pulled away from his task of, apparently, eating bits of dough from the bowl. He jumps from his chair to come dashing over, latching himself onto Luke's knees. "We made cookies!" he exclaims.
Holden feels Luke stiffen, his whole body going rigid. A glance up tells him that Natalie isn't sure what's going on, but has picked up on the tension. She fidgets in her chair, looks from her father to Luke and back again, and makes no move to come over.
Luke pulls Ethan's arms away, firmly putting some distance between himself and his brother, something Holden's never, ever seen him do. Ethan doesn't question it, though, just turns his attention to Holden and holds his arms out, asking for a lift up. Holden obliges, comforted by the small, welcoming arms wrapping around his neck and the fact that Ethan is too young to really understand what Luke's feeling.
"Luke, are you - " Faith begins, but at that Luke has apparently had enough, and he turns to head back out the door.
"Luke?" Holden calls after him, Luke's pale, breathless frame a stark image in Holden's mind.
"It's okay, Dad." It's not okay, they all know it, but Luke's mumbled reassurance at least lets Holden know that he can be left alone for a while. "I just need some air." He lets the screen door close with a bang behind him, shuffling footsteps carrying him towards the pond.
"Dad," Faith turns to Holden, imploring, sad.
He doesn't say anything, shrugs instead and shakes his head, sets Ethan down with a sigh and a kiss to his head, and starts back out to go meet Lily at the airport and try to track down this long lost Uncle Angus.
"A hero," Noah calls him, and it makes Luke unreasonably angry. The one person he'd expected to speak the truth, had expected not to coddle him or Reid's memory, falls back onto the same line of B.S. that everyone else around is spouting off.
Just say what you really think! Luke screams in his head. He's so angry, suddenly, and he wants Noah to be happy that Reid is dead just so he can yell and rage at him. At someone. He just desperately wants to blame someone for this, and he feels guilt, twisting and hot, creeping over him. It's my fault. I brought him here, I made him stay, he stayed for me, I kept Chris's secret along with him, I let him drive to Bay City alone…
They didn't have a chance for so much, but they loved each other anyway. They were in love. And now they've missed out on everything and Luke is just so angry, he can't even see Noah in front of him anymore. He just sees the train, the crossing, sees Reid gunning the gas, pushing, pushing, always pushing the limits, and Chris gets to live out his life and do all the things with Katie that Luke and Reid won't. It all gets muddled and confused in Luke's head, he can't sort out who to blame or who he's angry with, and he doesn't notice that he's babbling until Noah reaches forward to stop him. He hadn't even realized that Noah's still there.
He loves Noah, will always love Noah, but life just isn't fair.
He says goodbye, but he's not sure if he means it.
They go back to his mother's house after scattering Reid's ashes. Noah leaves with a promise to come see him before he leaves for L.A. Luke's not sure if he cares. He just wants to sleep, maybe forever. He wants not to exist for a while.
Faith, Natalie, and Ethan are there when they get home, and Luke brushes past them, still unable to deal with any of his siblings - Faith's sad eyes, Ethan's oblivious excitement, their attempts at comfort. Luke doesn't want any of it right now.
He hears Ethan call his name as he walks up to his room, hears his brother ask anyone, "Why is Luke sad?" and his mother's voice replies, carefully, "Sweetie, someone Luke loved very much died, and he's very sad about it. He's probably going to be sad for a long time…" and that's when Luke shuts his bedroom door, shuts out his family's voices, and collapses heavily onto the bed.
He doesn't sleep for a long time. He stares at the wall opposite him and thinks about Reid lying dead on an operating table. He thinks about Reid's smile. Thinks about wasted time.
Regrets burn through him.
They were making out up against the door at Luke's house, Reid tonguing Luke's lower lip as Luke vacillated between wondering if he was ready to move this to the bedroom - any bedroom, fast, and his straining erection was screaming yes! For fuck's sake, yes! - and total mindlessness. He tried to ease himself away, clear his head up, but Reid's hands were stroking his sides , flitting up under the hem of his shirt, and he just did not want to back away from the other man.
"We should probably move somewhere a little less conspicuous," Reid mumbled against Luke's throat. "Anyone could catch us here."
Luke laughed softly, "isn't that part of the fun? Out where we could get caught at any moment?" He moved to suck a deliberate hickey into the skin behind Reid's ear, loving the way Reid squirmed against him.
"Not when your mother already seems to hate me, not so much," Reid breathed. His fingers toyed with the skin at Luke's waist. "Imagine what she'd do if she caught me defiling her darling son up against her front door."
Luke pulled back at that, looked Reid in the drowsy, heavy-lidded eye. "Please don't mention my mom when we're making out."
Reid gave a shudder - not so much in the good way - and nodded, but didn't move back to Luke. Instead he continued to stare at Luke in the eye as his fingers found the scar cut into the skin under Luke's ribcage. He stroked it gently, moving across the length of it and back, and stared at Luke.
Luke would have expected curiosity, confusion, something other than look of patience written across Reid's face, but something in his eyes said, I can wait, and Luke finally said, "You can just ask, you know. I know you've noticed it before, I know you've been wanting to ask for a while."
"What happened here?" Reid spoke low, voice full.
Luke would have rather go back to where they were a few minutes before, hating this topic, but he didn't back down from Reid's stare.
"Kidney transplant," Luke replied. Reid's hand found his. Their fingers tangled together, resting against Luke's side. "When I was fifteen."
"Yeah." Reid's hand squeezed Luke's. "Read that in your medical charts."
Luke pulled back, feeling burned. "You what?"
"I told you I read up on you as soon as I got stuck in this place," Reid said, still all calm composure.
Luke felt a bit ill, as if all of his secrets were suddenly out on display for all to see. He pulled his hand from Reid's and took a few steps back.
"I didn't think that included my medical records."
Reid shrugged, and anyone else probably would have looked sheepish at that. "I was annoyed with you."
"Probably an understatement."
"A very big one, yes."
"Because I kind of hated you when you first got here." Luke's hands sat on his hips, stance challenging.
"I think I hated you as soon as I took your phone call," Reid shot back. "More so when I thought that you were trying to throw your money in my face like you would a servant. Checking up on your medical history seemed like a drop in the bucket by comparison."
"That can't be legal," Luke accused.
"It is if I feel there's need for a consult. I thought you were out of your mind." Reid shoved his hands into his pockets.
"Ethical, then."
"Right, and you blackmailing me in order to drag me out to The-Middle-of-Nowhere-Dale," Reid replied, no heat to his words. "That was entirely moral and sound." He paused and Luke chewed on his lip, unprepared to agree or deny.
"I am doctor, Luke," Reid continued, moving to sit on the couch. "I know a surgical scar when I see one. I would've figured it out anyway."
Luke shook his head, unsure whether or not to be angry. Mostly he was confused.
"What happened?" Reid asked again, softer. "How come you haven't told me about it?" He reached again for Luke's hand, but Luke dodged him, coming to sit on the coffee table.
Luke sighed. "I picked up an infection in Mexico," he said, skipping over the hows and whys that had brought him there in the first place. "It got pretty bad, or so I'm told. I don't really remember much about any of it. Nothing was working, I really needed a new kidney, but the doctors couldn't find a viable match for me."
And he related most of the story, let Reid take his hand and pull him over to the couch when his voice cracked as he talked about his downward spiral following the surgery, waking up half-drunk to his grandmother's why do you want to die?
"Well she was right," Reid mumbled into Luke's hair as he held Luke's head to his chest. "You'd better take care of that kidney, or I will be so damn pissed."
Luke smiled, but didn't feel enough to laugh.
"Don't ever do that again," he said as he stroked his thumb over Reid's knee. "Going through my medical records. Invading my privacy."
"Promise," Reid replied, pressing a kiss to Luke's hairline.
His mother comes in some time later with a softly spoken, "Luke? Honey?"
He's awake, but he lays still and silent and pretends that he's not. He can hear her sigh and approach him so he closes his eyes, wills her to go away. She's quiet, still for a moment, probably watching him "sleep" before untying and pulling his shoes off for him. She pulls a blanket up to curl around him. Tears pinprick at the back of his eyes.
She leaves him alone and after a while, when no one else comes in to bother him, Luke thinks, what the hell? and lets himself sink into sleep.
He wakes when there's sunlight filtering through his curtains, spilling across the floor around him. He remembers immediately, an aching clench in his gut, and sees no point to being awake. His eyes fall closed and he slides back to unconsciousness.
He wakes again, blinks open his eyes and lets out a sigh. He doesn't want to be awake.
Rolling over, he finds that someone - his mother, probably - has left him a sandwich on his bedside table. It brings silly, stupid tears to his eyes. He wonders how long everything around him will remind him of Reid.
He feels a bit nauseous at the thought of food, but picks at it anyway, eating one piece of the sandwich at a time - lettuce, then tomato, then turkey, then bread, surprised at how hungry he is once he actually starts eating.
Then he rolls back over and goes back to sleep.
He gets up. No idea what time it is, or even what day. Wanders downstairs to find his mother modeling a dress for herself in the living room mirror.
"Luke!" she gasps when she notices him, and whirls around to face him, a smile to mask her embarrassment. "I didn't see you there, um - new dress for Carly and Jack's wedding," she explains, a bit more sheepish than Luke usually sees his mother.
"It's nice," he says, wondering when the hell Jack and Carly got engaged yet again. He plops down on the couch, not really sure why he's up and awake, feeling exhausted, sluggish.
His mother comes to sit in front of him, holds one of his hands between both of her own.
"Sweetie, how're you feeling?" she asks him, rubbing his hand.
"M'fine," he replies, quickly enough that she tilts her head and gives him what he likes to think of as her bullshit, honey look. "Mom, I don't want to talk about it right now."
"Okay," she says, rubs his knee. He's still wearing his jeans and green shirt that he may throw away, from days ago, and feels pretty gross when he starts to think about how long he's been in these clothes, but if his mom notices, she doesn't seem to mind. "Do you want something to eat? I could make you something, or we could go out - "
He shakes his head at that. There's nothing in him that wants to go out right now or see anyone outside of his family.
"Where is everyone?" he asks, taking in the quiet of an empty house.
"Your dad took the girls dress shopping, and Ethan's taking a nap."
He nods slowly, then closes his eyes.
"Why don't we go for a walk?" his mother asks him after a moment. "Get some fresh air. You've been way too cooped up in this house."
"I'm really tired, Mom," he sighs. "I think I'm going to go back to bed, actually."
"Luke, you've been sleeping for - "
"I know," he cuts in, standing from the couch. He feels zapped, doesn't even want to move enough to trudge back up to his room. "I'm just really tired."
She lets him go. He changes into a pair of sweatpants and notices as he's changing Reid's lab coat sitting folded on his desk chair.
Luke hesitates for a moment before bunching it up overtop of one of his pillows, and rests his head there to fall back into sleep to Reid's scent.
He dreams of Reid, the first dream he remembers despite endless hours of sleep.
They're sitting leaned against a tree trunk - Reid against the tree, Luke against Reid - and Luke feels light, soft.
I don't understand why you had to leave, he says, plays with Reid's fingers and feels Reid's chuckle.
Who says I'm gone? Reid replies easily.
Luke feels relief, intense like nothing else ever, happy, happy relief, and he kisses Reid's hand.
When he wakes, it's with a burst of horrifying disappointment, the wound ripped open and fresh once more.
"God," he says to his empty room as he struggles to control his breathing and presses his wet face into Reid's lab coat, still bunched up beneath his head.
Struggling to hold onto the last wisps of the dream, Luke closes his eyes and tries to will himself back to sleep.
"Luke?" his mother's voice cuts into his sleep, destroys whatever dream he was having that he forgets as soon as his eyes open.
He tries to focus on her, standing in the doorway. Ethan is lingering behind her, peering around to get a look at his brother. Luke swallows the sleep stuck in his throat.
"Katie's called for you a few times," his mom says quietly, as if trying not to really wake him, like he might explode if she does. "She said she's tried your cell, but it's going straight to voicemail."
He blinks at her slowly a few times, tries to rouse his mind. He rubs his forehead and swallows again, struggles to focus.
"I…" his speech sounds slowed, slurred even to his own ears… "think the battery's dead. Needs to be charged."
She nods and repeats, "She's called a few times. Other people have too, want to know how you're doing."
Luke nods, doesn't know or care what the point of this is. He'll rejoin the world when he's ready and doesn't really care what it has to say to him right now.
His mother stands a minute longer at his door, waiting for something though Luke is unsure what, before she nods and goes back out, closing the door behind her.
Luke sighs, long, and sits up, fishes for his jeans lying in a heap beside the bed to find his phone.
Upon plugging it in and turning and watching the screen light up with life, he finds a dozen voicemails, twice as many missed phone calls, from a variety of people - Katie four times, Bob twice, Noah twice, Jack once, his grandmother seven times, a few hospital board members once each, his secretary at Grimaldi Shipping once, Casey and Ali once each… the list goes on. He doesn't listen to any of the messages.
He stares at his phone for a long time, mind idle and listless.
His hand shakes. He shouldn't, it'll just make it hurt worse, but he scrolls through his contacts list to Dr Jackass. He'd shown the name he kept Reid's number under to Reid weeks ago, never changed even after his feelings for the other man had. Reid had laughed and shown Luke his own phone, where Luke's number was listed under Cute Rich Brat.
He presses the call button and startles when, a moment later, Reid's ring - "Don't Stop Believing," the real version, added by Luke last week to annoy Reid and never changed, despite Reid's protests that it was about as far from professional as a world class neurosurgeon could get - sounds from the envelope given to Luke back at the hospital, lying forgotten on his desk.
The ringing lasts less than a minute. Luke is surprised that the phone survived the accident, and something about that seems disgustingly unfair. Finally it ends and Reid's voice filters through the phone and into Luke's ear, blessed and droning, sounding bored and proper, and it's as comforting and sweet as it is horrible. Horrible, horrible, it knifes at Luke, and he listens to the whole,
This is Doctor Reid Oliver. I'm unavailable at the moment, please leave your name and number and I may attempt to take time out of my busy schedule to return your call.
Luke loves that message. Ever the professional, Reid, he thinks, and chokes on his grief as he throws his phone against he wall, watches with dim satisfaction as it splinters into several pieces, and cries.
He gets himself up and into the shower when dusk is settling in, though he's still not sure what day it is. Reid died on a Tuesday, Luke will always, always remember, and now it's… Friday, maybe. Or Saturday. He's not sure. Doesn't really matter.
After he's showered and dressed in fresh clothes, finally - his skin was beginning to protest - he heads out of the safe cocoon of his room and finds his mother sitting with Carly in the living room. Their animated chatter grinds to an abrupt halt when he enters the room, and he wants to run back and hide in his room.
"Luke," Carly says, staring him in the eye soberly. "I'm so sorry for your loss."
Luke closes his eyes, resists the urge to spit out at her, you don't even care, fuck your useless sympathies. "Thank you," is what he says, polite as ever, and twists his hands as he sinks down to sit in a chair nearby.
His mother rises to come stand next to him, stroke the hair back from his forehead. "How're you feeling?"
Her concern is as stifling as ever. He bristles, perhaps a bit too much, and bites out, "I'm fine, Mom."
"Getting yourself up, showered, must be a help," she continues, though he's sure she realizes how uncomfortable he is. She's never really cared when she's pushed too much.
He shrugs, doesn't care to answer.
"Hey, Carly and I were just finishing up and I was going to order some dinner," his mother says, tone light and trying to be sincere. "Why don't you run down to Al's for me and get us some food?"
Luke releases a tense breath at the suggestion and shakes his head quickly. "I really don't - "
"It'll just be a quick trip, there and back," she pushes. He doesn't say anything. "Twenty minutes. You really need to get out for a bit, Luke. Only for a few minutes, just get some fresh air, a short change of scenery."
"Mom," he whispers on the edge of desperation. He knows that she's right, he can't stay inside sleeping forever, but he just doesn't have the energy for it.
"I'm not asking you to go sit in on a board meeting at the hospital," she tells him, firm and serious and every bit the mother he loves and can't stand sometimes. "I'm asking you to go get me a sandwich."
Closing his eyes, he sinks back into the chair for a minute and then sighs, "Yeah, okay."
When he opens his eyes, his mother is smiling her victory, and she cards her fingers through his hair. It helps, somehow.
So he drags himself from the house and forces his feat towards the diner. Along the way he runs into Parker, who gives him a flip, "Hey, Luke! I'm sorry about, uh… your boyfriend, man." Luke mumbles his thanks and keeps walking past him.
Once he reaches the diner, Luke shoves himself into the corner of the counter and rattles off his order quick, unsteady, feeling raw and vulnerable.
People chat away all around him. The noise of it beats against his head. It hurts to hear people laughing all around him, like he'll never feel that again. And it hurts him even to think that, that others don't deserve their own happiness.
The bell on the door jangles and with it comes Henry's and Barbara's voices, mingling together with their own laughter. He closes his eyes and hopes that they don't notice him.
But as Luke's luck has not changed in the last several days, Henry's voice cuts off abruptly and then he's sitting at the counter next to Luke, all sympathetic frown and concern.
"Luke," he breathes like he means it. "I was so sorry to hear about Reid."
Luke laughs, a sharp, barking thing without mirth. He shakes as he turns to Henry, the last straw.
"Why?" he asks, unashamed of the bitterness in his voice.
Henry replies, confused, "What?"
"Why are you sorry?" Luke presses, content to see a blush spread across Henry's face. "You didn't like him. You never liked him, why would you be sorry that he's dead?"
Barbara comes up behind Henry, lays a hand at his back and looks towards Luke, worried. Henry's expression changes instantly, looking like he understands Luke fully, which doesn't make any kind of sense. He shakes his head and says, "No, I didn't like him. He was a jerk."
Luke is surprised at that, narrows his eyes at Henry sharply.
"But, Luke, not liking someone, not getting along, is very different from wishing them harm," Henry continues full of warm honesty. "Even if I did often hope that he would be inflicted with some kind of irritating, itching, rash-causing bacteria. Or something.
"And I care about you," Henry goes on. He doesn't pat Luke on the shoulder, or touch him at all, and Luke is grateful. "I'd never want to see you get hurt like this."
Luke's not sure what to say, or if he can even speak at all past the tears welling up inside of him. His vision is blurry, and he nods and looks away.
When he says, "Thank you," quietly a moment later, he means it. For the sympathy and the honesty that no one else will admit.
"Maddy's asked about you a few times," Henry speaks to the side of Luke's head. He doesn't try to catch Luke's eye, allows Luke to pretend they all can't see the tears. "Said she's tried calling you. You should give her a call sometime, she'd love to hear from you."
Luke nods, hurried, and swipes at his tears. "I will," he chokes out, gets himself together. "Thanks."
His food arrives, thankfully, and he tosses the money on the table, turns to leave at first without another word to Barbara and Henry, but turns back at the door to face them, look them both in the eye, and say, "I forgot to say - congratulations on your wedding. I'm really happy for you guys."
They both smile at him, gently, and he leaves, feeling better, somehow, than when he'd left the house. At least more able now to deal with being around other people, and he walks a little calmer, breathes a little easier on his way back home.