"Luke…power-of-attorney," Reid mumbled, each word clearly causing him pain.
"Let me be clear, Dr. Oliver. You want Luke to have your durable power-of-attorney?" Tom Hughes asked the dying doctor. Reid nodded.
"No. He doesn't know what he's saying. I don't want any stupid power-of-attorney," Luke said, tears streaming down his face.
"Chris…heart," Reid grumbled.
"You want Chris to have your heart?" Tom asked.
Reid nodded and said, "Who knew I had one to give?" Reid turned his head to look at Luke and smiled slightly.
"No. Reid, please," Luke pleaded. "Please, we haven't had enough days. I love you. And you love me. You said it. So, please, Reid, you can't leave me." Luke brought his face close to his lover's and kissed him just as he flat lined.
Luke woke in his bed with a start, his face wet with tears. It had been two weeks since Reid's death and the pain was still as awful as it had been when it happened. Since returning home after sprinkling Reid's ashes in the Snyder pond, Luke had effectually locked himself in his bedroom, emerging only once in a while to go to the bathroom or to get a glass of water. His parents or his siblings would occasionally attempt to get him to eat or, at the very least, come out of his room; but all that they did was in vain.
Luke rolled over onto his back, enfolding in his arms the blue scrubs top of Reid's that he slept with, hoping every morning that he would wake up and Reid would be there instead of simply the shirt. Yet again, the disappointment of finding an empty bed was excruciating. After wiping away the tears, which every day fell silently and unceremoniously down his face, Luke realized that he was thirsty. Slowly, Luke threw the covers off of himself and sat up. As usual, it took him a good ten minutes before he let his feet touch the ground and he got up off the bed.
Zombie-like, Luke made his way down the stairs and into the living room. He looked around and realized that the house was incredibly quiet; his family had finally given up on trying to get him to do things with them and had gone out without him. Not really caring, Luke dragged his feet towards the kitchen to get a glass of water. But when he was five feet from the doorway to the kitchen, Luke stopped, staring at the wall, which was fronted with a wine and whiskey cellar.
As he stood there, staring at the incredibly enticing bottles of alcohol, words Reid had said to him shortly before his death rang through Luke's head: "If I'm going to put myself out there, fall in love with you, I'm not going to lose you."
"Yeah. Well, I guess you had nothing to worry about," Luke said, moving closer to the wall, opening the door to the cellar, taking out a bottle of whiskey, and closing the door again. Wary that his family might be back soon from wherever they had gone, Luke walked back to his bedroom, the bottle of whiskey clasped tightly in his hand.
Once upstairs, Luke closed his door and sat down on his bed, staring at the picture of Reid he kept on his nightstand. After a few minutes, Luke unceremoniously popped off the bottle top and brought the opening to his mouth. Twice, Luke brought the bottle top to his lips without drinking anything. The third time, Luke gave in to the temptation and drank a mouthful of whiskey. He felt the alcohol burn down his throat and immediately the pain started to ease. Unable to resist the feeling of the dulled pain, Luke drank and drank until the bottle was empty. The whiskey making his brain fuzzy, Luke decided that he needed more, went downstairs, grabbed another bottle of whiskey, and drank half of it on his way back to his room. Closing the door again, Luke downed the rest of the bottle. As he attempted to stand up to once again go downstairs for more alcohol, Luke suddenly felt light-headed and dizzy. A few seconds later, he collapsed on his bed and everything went black.