Outlier, Chapter 1
Genre: Drama, romance. Mostly the same universe. Mostly. (One big exception.)
Rating: Eventually NC-17 (yes, I know, that's your shocked face).
Disclaimer: Only 95 years to go till they're in the public domain!
Summary: All I’ll say is that the events of this chapter pick up after the jam-packed March 11th episode (highlights included Luke's slamming Reid against the wall of the police station). Assume every scene in this and previous episodes containing both Luke and Reid happened in this universe. Certain other scenes (in which they were not together) did not happen.
Author's Note: A warning should make itself clear by the end of this chapter. Be prepared for explicit descriptions that may either titillate or traumatize, depending on how you roll. Regardless of what happens, please know that this is very much a Luke/Reid story, with the LuRe-iest endgame imaginable.
Special thanks to my unofficial beta, Ali (aka gradgirl_07 ). Flinging poo has never been so gratifying.
Chapter 1
It’s all Mr. Snyder’s fault.
Reid laid the phone beside him on Katie’s couch. He felt the familiar numbness, felt it prepare a path for cool analysis. He would learn from this death, as he had all the others. The difference was, this wasn’t his death. And it should have been. Rather, it should have been his save - there was no doubt that, had he been the surgeon, the woman would have lived. No doubt. It was his procedure, his CyberKnife; in only two years he had made UT Southwestern a stereotactic radiosurgery powerhouse. And now - now it had all been left in the hands of halfwits and dinosaurs thanks to a spoiled brat who wouldn’t wait his turn. Thanks to Mr. Snyder.
Or should I say Mr. Grimaldi?
Reid had almost forgotten how he’d been brought to this particular circle of hell - how he’d been blackmailed and bullied as part of an entitled tantrum by an embryonic thug. How said embryo had lied to the police, how he’d harassed Reid with monomaniacal fervor, slamming him into walls, eyes filled with pain...
Reid drew a breath sharply. There it was. The squeeze. A slight pressure in his chest - a faint ache, a subtle hitch. Now, just now, Reid was finally seeing the pattern. He’d first noticed the phenomenon when Noah, pleading for treatment, had minimized his relationship with Luke. Reid had wondered why he’d cared, why he’d pressed Noah for details. The next occurrence was when Reid couldn’t keep thoughts of an irrelevant Maltese corpse from bobbing to the surface as he’d tried to focus on work. On work! Nothing broke his focus, nothing. Luke Snyder had managed to accomplish what World Series championships, terrorist attacks, and blow jobs had previously failed to do.
The symptoms returned soon after - again, while working - when Noah accused Reid of not going to the police station just because Luke was involved. Which was ridiculous, obviously - he was nothing more than a blip on Reid’s radar screen. A niggling, intermittently ear-splitting blip. Which was why Reid had immediately shut Noah down - any perceived defensiveness in his response would have been a gross misread, a fishing for phantom subtext. As for Reid’s saving the day after all - by confirming that the corpse wasn’t the embryo’s biodad - well, that was merely a calculated move to put Luke in his debt - no guilt or other soft sentiment involved.
The squeeze was back, however, when Reid had entered the police station and saw that look on Luke’s face - the surprise, the gratitude, the reevaluation…the flash of dimples Reid hadn’t known were there. At the time, he’d fleetingly wondered why the atmospheric pressure had seemed to be different in that building. Some misguided attempt to boost the Oakdale detectives’ mental processes, perhaps. (As if anything could help.) Reid would have been hard-pressed, so to speak, to come up with a similar explanation at the courthouse, however - the chest constriction hadn’t happened until Luke took the stand, increasing incrementally as Reid watched him testify on his behalf. The squeezing ratcheted, afterward, when Luke had made it clear that he’d been thinking only of guaranteeing Noah’s surgery. The snake coiling around his heart took a few extra turns when Luke had refused to shake his hand.
Mr. Snyder wouldn’t have had to testify had he not lied to the police in the first place. Reid forced the anger back to the surface. Why should he care? Why should he have been affected by the snub, by the frost in Luke’s eyes?
But he’d already seen the trend in the data; there was no use ignoring it. The common denominator was Luke. And the rate of occurrence was only increasing - there had already been multiple occasions earlier that day. At the police station, of course, against the wall. In that case the squeeze had been accompanied by an unstoppable urge to say the most inappropriate thing that had come to mind (“Lucky you have a spare”)…allowing other urges, thus diffused, to remain unexamined. Reid could almost still feel Luke’s hair tickling his chin. His eyes almost closed now, there, sitting on the couch; the squeeze intensified as he relived the moment. Luke’s hair had been as soft as it looked.
Hold the phone…
A pure tone pierced the silence. Reid rose from the couch and loped toward the microwave, all non-food-related thoughts evaporating. The empiricist in Reid was annoyed at the interruption, wanting to continue the investigation, to nail down a theory. Other, less identifiable parts were grateful for the reprieve. The overriding reaction, of course, was positive: dinner was ready. He removed the tray, peeled back the film. Mixing enriched flour and cheese product in its black plastic well, he idly wondered what Salisbury steak was supposed to look like. He noted his increased saliva production.
He recalled having seen Luke kiss Noah.
The fork stalled halfway to Reid’s mouth. By the time it completed its trip, his attention had shifted back to his chest. The milk protein concentrate in his mouth went untasted as he remembered Noah’s touching Luke’s neck earlier that day at the hospital. Reid remembered the squeeze.
Dispassionately, he examined the evidence. Chest pain, shortness of breath - if he hadn’t known better, he would have suspected a mild case of catecholamine-induced myocardial dysfunction. But there was certainly no reason for what had been trivially labeled “broken-heart syndrome.” Chewing absently, Reid sat back down on the couch. Could he be lonely? Ordinarily allergic to what he considered naval-gazing, he nevertheless followed the trail as objectively as possible. Fact was, he was being held captive away from friends and family. Contrast that with his life in Dallas and…well, no change there, really. And at least here he had Katie. Not to mention the unreasonably cute Jacob.
Was that it? Was seeing Luke with Noah, seeing his (obsessive and, frankly, not entirely understandable) devotion to Noah - was that inducing some sort of yearning for a more connected existence? Suppressing the automatic scoff, Reid forced himself to continue down this mental road - something was causing these symptoms. And he had to admit that the data fit, especially in light of the last time he’d experienced the squeeze that day - when Luke had gone on (and on) about Noah’s being the love of his life, about his being Luke’s life.
If there were even the possibility that similar words were ever to emerge from my mouth, better to shoot me now.
But he supposed there could be something to be said for having someone feel that strongly about you. Well, maybe not that strongly - to be so dangerously attached was for borderline-personality types and cuddlers. That way led to losing oneself - to compromising one’s fundamentals. OK, so perhaps his life of hermetically sealed emotional isolation could do with some tweaking. Perhaps. But no great love - assuming, for the sake of argument, such a thing could exist - would ever change his essentials. He suspected that Luke’s essentials had already taken a hit. That his light had been dimmed. He couldn’t be certain, of course, but it felt almost as if Luke’s deathless bond with Noah were draining him, like an incubus - as if his actions on Noah’s behalf weren’t always in keeping with his true self. Not that Reid thought in such terms, of course.
His mind then drifted to the rest of their conversation - to the momentary détente as Luke told him about Damian, how their sparring took an almost playful turn, how Luke gave as good as he got, how he was starting to see through Reid…through his defenses…
This time, Reid ignored the pressure in his chest. He refused to acknowledge the hitch. No. He picked up the phone, putting it back in his pocket. Never again would he forget just who Luke Snyder was. He wasn’t a sparring partner. He wasn’t in need of rescuing. He would never be a friend. He was a pathologically codependent budding mafioso who needed to stay out of Reid’s orbit until he could get as far away from this town as possible. He knew that Katie was trying to secure funding for a neuro wing to keep him in Oakdale - as fond as he was of her, part of him hoped she failed. He didn’t belong here. He had lives to save back home.
And yet…
“It’s called being in love, Dr. Oliver - you should try it some time.”
Maybe his body was telling him that Mr. Snyder had a point. Humans were gregarious primates, after all. Some might say his aggressively corrosive wit could be the equivalent of a solitary zoo monkey flinging poo. They would be idiots to say so, of course, but, as long as he kept his sense of self, maybe - just maybe - it was time to try something new.
The front door opened to reveal a flash of blonde and a blinding smile. Reid put down his food.
“You’re not going anywhere, doctor.”
Lifting a brow, Reid turned to face the door.
The smile got impossibly bigger. “Henry’s donating the money.” Pushing the carriage in front of the sofa, Katie sank down beside Reid. “I did it. I freaking did it.”
Reid’s gaze touched on Jacob before returning to Katie. A slender ribbon of smile linked eyes and lips. “Then I guess I’m here to stay.”
Katie’s smile remained even as she leaned in toward Reid. Even as she kissed him. Even as Reid returned the kiss.
Rating: Eventually NC-17 (yes, I know, that's your shocked face).
Disclaimer: Only 95 years to go till they're in the public domain!
Summary: All I’ll say is that the events of this chapter pick up after the jam-packed March 11th episode (highlights included Luke's slamming Reid against the wall of the police station). Assume every scene in this and previous episodes containing both Luke and Reid happened in this universe. Certain other scenes (in which they were not together) did not happen.
Author's Note: A warning should make itself clear by the end of this chapter. Be prepared for explicit descriptions that may either titillate or traumatize, depending on how you roll. Regardless of what happens, please know that this is very much a Luke/Reid story, with the LuRe-iest endgame imaginable.
Special thanks to my unofficial beta, Ali (aka gradgirl_07 ). Flinging poo has never been so gratifying.
Chapter 1
It’s all Mr. Snyder’s fault.
Reid laid the phone beside him on Katie’s couch. He felt the familiar numbness, felt it prepare a path for cool analysis. He would learn from this death, as he had all the others. The difference was, this wasn’t his death. And it should have been. Rather, it should have been his save - there was no doubt that, had he been the surgeon, the woman would have lived. No doubt. It was his procedure, his CyberKnife; in only two years he had made UT Southwestern a stereotactic radiosurgery powerhouse. And now - now it had all been left in the hands of halfwits and dinosaurs thanks to a spoiled brat who wouldn’t wait his turn. Thanks to Mr. Snyder.
Or should I say Mr. Grimaldi?
Reid had almost forgotten how he’d been brought to this particular circle of hell - how he’d been blackmailed and bullied as part of an entitled tantrum by an embryonic thug. How said embryo had lied to the police, how he’d harassed Reid with monomaniacal fervor, slamming him into walls, eyes filled with pain...
Reid drew a breath sharply. There it was. The squeeze. A slight pressure in his chest - a faint ache, a subtle hitch. Now, just now, Reid was finally seeing the pattern. He’d first noticed the phenomenon when Noah, pleading for treatment, had minimized his relationship with Luke. Reid had wondered why he’d cared, why he’d pressed Noah for details. The next occurrence was when Reid couldn’t keep thoughts of an irrelevant Maltese corpse from bobbing to the surface as he’d tried to focus on work. On work! Nothing broke his focus, nothing. Luke Snyder had managed to accomplish what World Series championships, terrorist attacks, and blow jobs had previously failed to do.
The symptoms returned soon after - again, while working - when Noah accused Reid of not going to the police station just because Luke was involved. Which was ridiculous, obviously - he was nothing more than a blip on Reid’s radar screen. A niggling, intermittently ear-splitting blip. Which was why Reid had immediately shut Noah down - any perceived defensiveness in his response would have been a gross misread, a fishing for phantom subtext. As for Reid’s saving the day after all - by confirming that the corpse wasn’t the embryo’s biodad - well, that was merely a calculated move to put Luke in his debt - no guilt or other soft sentiment involved.
The squeeze was back, however, when Reid had entered the police station and saw that look on Luke’s face - the surprise, the gratitude, the reevaluation…the flash of dimples Reid hadn’t known were there. At the time, he’d fleetingly wondered why the atmospheric pressure had seemed to be different in that building. Some misguided attempt to boost the Oakdale detectives’ mental processes, perhaps. (As if anything could help.) Reid would have been hard-pressed, so to speak, to come up with a similar explanation at the courthouse, however - the chest constriction hadn’t happened until Luke took the stand, increasing incrementally as Reid watched him testify on his behalf. The squeezing ratcheted, afterward, when Luke had made it clear that he’d been thinking only of guaranteeing Noah’s surgery. The snake coiling around his heart took a few extra turns when Luke had refused to shake his hand.
Mr. Snyder wouldn’t have had to testify had he not lied to the police in the first place. Reid forced the anger back to the surface. Why should he care? Why should he have been affected by the snub, by the frost in Luke’s eyes?
But he’d already seen the trend in the data; there was no use ignoring it. The common denominator was Luke. And the rate of occurrence was only increasing - there had already been multiple occasions earlier that day. At the police station, of course, against the wall. In that case the squeeze had been accompanied by an unstoppable urge to say the most inappropriate thing that had come to mind (“Lucky you have a spare”)…allowing other urges, thus diffused, to remain unexamined. Reid could almost still feel Luke’s hair tickling his chin. His eyes almost closed now, there, sitting on the couch; the squeeze intensified as he relived the moment. Luke’s hair had been as soft as it looked.
Hold the phone…
A pure tone pierced the silence. Reid rose from the couch and loped toward the microwave, all non-food-related thoughts evaporating. The empiricist in Reid was annoyed at the interruption, wanting to continue the investigation, to nail down a theory. Other, less identifiable parts were grateful for the reprieve. The overriding reaction, of course, was positive: dinner was ready. He removed the tray, peeled back the film. Mixing enriched flour and cheese product in its black plastic well, he idly wondered what Salisbury steak was supposed to look like. He noted his increased saliva production.
He recalled having seen Luke kiss Noah.
The fork stalled halfway to Reid’s mouth. By the time it completed its trip, his attention had shifted back to his chest. The milk protein concentrate in his mouth went untasted as he remembered Noah’s touching Luke’s neck earlier that day at the hospital. Reid remembered the squeeze.
Dispassionately, he examined the evidence. Chest pain, shortness of breath - if he hadn’t known better, he would have suspected a mild case of catecholamine-induced myocardial dysfunction. But there was certainly no reason for what had been trivially labeled “broken-heart syndrome.” Chewing absently, Reid sat back down on the couch. Could he be lonely? Ordinarily allergic to what he considered naval-gazing, he nevertheless followed the trail as objectively as possible. Fact was, he was being held captive away from friends and family. Contrast that with his life in Dallas and…well, no change there, really. And at least here he had Katie. Not to mention the unreasonably cute Jacob.
Was that it? Was seeing Luke with Noah, seeing his (obsessive and, frankly, not entirely understandable) devotion to Noah - was that inducing some sort of yearning for a more connected existence? Suppressing the automatic scoff, Reid forced himself to continue down this mental road - something was causing these symptoms. And he had to admit that the data fit, especially in light of the last time he’d experienced the squeeze that day - when Luke had gone on (and on) about Noah’s being the love of his life, about his being Luke’s life.
If there were even the possibility that similar words were ever to emerge from my mouth, better to shoot me now.
But he supposed there could be something to be said for having someone feel that strongly about you. Well, maybe not that strongly - to be so dangerously attached was for borderline-personality types and cuddlers. That way led to losing oneself - to compromising one’s fundamentals. OK, so perhaps his life of hermetically sealed emotional isolation could do with some tweaking. Perhaps. But no great love - assuming, for the sake of argument, such a thing could exist - would ever change his essentials. He suspected that Luke’s essentials had already taken a hit. That his light had been dimmed. He couldn’t be certain, of course, but it felt almost as if Luke’s deathless bond with Noah were draining him, like an incubus - as if his actions on Noah’s behalf weren’t always in keeping with his true self. Not that Reid thought in such terms, of course.
His mind then drifted to the rest of their conversation - to the momentary détente as Luke told him about Damian, how their sparring took an almost playful turn, how Luke gave as good as he got, how he was starting to see through Reid…through his defenses…
This time, Reid ignored the pressure in his chest. He refused to acknowledge the hitch. No. He picked up the phone, putting it back in his pocket. Never again would he forget just who Luke Snyder was. He wasn’t a sparring partner. He wasn’t in need of rescuing. He would never be a friend. He was a pathologically codependent budding mafioso who needed to stay out of Reid’s orbit until he could get as far away from this town as possible. He knew that Katie was trying to secure funding for a neuro wing to keep him in Oakdale - as fond as he was of her, part of him hoped she failed. He didn’t belong here. He had lives to save back home.
And yet…
“It’s called being in love, Dr. Oliver - you should try it some time.”
Maybe his body was telling him that Mr. Snyder had a point. Humans were gregarious primates, after all. Some might say his aggressively corrosive wit could be the equivalent of a solitary zoo monkey flinging poo. They would be idiots to say so, of course, but, as long as he kept his sense of self, maybe - just maybe - it was time to try something new.
The front door opened to reveal a flash of blonde and a blinding smile. Reid put down his food.
“You’re not going anywhere, doctor.”
Lifting a brow, Reid turned to face the door.
The smile got impossibly bigger. “Henry’s donating the money.” Pushing the carriage in front of the sofa, Katie sank down beside Reid. “I did it. I freaking did it.”
Reid’s gaze touched on Jacob before returning to Katie. A slender ribbon of smile linked eyes and lips. “Then I guess I’m here to stay.”
Katie’s smile remained even as she leaned in toward Reid. Even as she kissed him. Even as Reid returned the kiss.