Fic: Simple Gifts, Chapter 6: Just Luke (6/30+)
Title: Simple Gifts, A Luke and Reid Love Story
Author: lovelureuk
Rating: PG-13 (language and innuendo)
Word Count:: not so many in these chapters, but it just gets longer!
Disclaimer: Telenext, P&G, blah blah blah. I’m just reveling in the opportunity to live in Luke and Reid’s universe.
Warnings: romance, romance, romance. with (hopefully) a healthy dose of humor, a dollop of fluff, and a few dashes of angst here and there. No other warnings really necessary - unless you’re wary of schmoop!
Summary: Train? What train. Following their first Christmas together, Luke and Reid embark on journeys of self-discovery. Can two simple gifts lead to a happily ever after?
Notes: This is the last of the initial set of entries posted in May. Lots more to come....
***any and all feedback appreciated, but since I check FFN more frequently, and you can leave comments there as well. Extensive author's notes on chapters 1-6 including the choice of gifts and venues can be found on my blog at: http://www.lukeandreid.com/media-lovelure/fan-fiction/simple-gifts-chapter-1-6.
Read on LiveJournal: Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5
In the meantime, it's posted through chapter 30(+) at: Simple Gifts, on FanFiction.net.
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Chapter 6: Just Luke
Monday morning, Reid woke up early as usual and set a pot of coffee brewing. He was used to spending his first half-hour in the mornings gathering his thoughts while Luke slept, but usually by the time he finished shaving Luke would be awake and the two would catch a few minutes together before Reid had to leave for morning rounds.
Sunday evenings, Luke usually did the grocery shopping, and this week, the basic staples had been forgotten in the hubbub of Luke's departure. Reid returned to the kitchen to find that they had run out of milk and the orange juice was to follow close behind. "Oh, great," Reid muttered to himself. He poured his uneaten Cocoa Puffs back into the box, smeared some cream cheese onto a bagel and left for work.
Luke's first programmed activity was a meet-and-greet coffee and continental breakfast at 8:00 am. He woke early and paced nervously for 20 minutes in anticipation of opening introductions. In the shower, he ran through what he might say: "Hello, my name is Luke Snyder. My family's loaded, I'm adopted, and I'm gay. One of my dads tried to kill the other and the other one was almost sent to jail for killing dad #1."
"Yeah, right," thought Luke.
"Hello, my name is Luke Snyder. I run a multi-million dollar foundation and am helping the world's most prominent neurosurgeon (who happens to have amazing hands) build the best surgical wing in the country."
"Meh."
As Luke pondered his options, he realized he had absolutely no interest in sharing his gory personal details with a roomful of strangers. Luckily, even with Holden's trumped up murder charges earlier in the year, the Snyder name was still relatively unknown outside of Oakdale, so Luke started to believe he might actually be able to feign anonymity.
So far, Reid had already been right about at least one thing: Luke was looking forward to being "just Luke." As he warmed to the idea, he thought through how he might word his intro, and finally gave up, letting the warm water trickle down his face.
It had snowed again over the weekend. The grounds crew had cleared most of the main paths on campus but drifts up to two feet deep covered the quadrangle between Luke's cottage and the conference center. The crisp air turned Luke's cheeks a bright pink as he made the 10-minute journey by foot.
Luke smiled at the few early risers making their way to classes at the early hour. Must be pre-meds, thought Luke, recalling that only his friends with early morning chem labs at Oakdale U had classes before 9:00. The memory made him wonder what Reid had looked like as a teenage pre-med student, and he entertained himself the rest of the walk trying to picture a younger, scrawnier Reid walking or cycling to class across the snowy landscape.
After scanning the message boards in the conference center lobby, Luke learned that the retreat would be based in the Mildred Wirt Benson Room, a corner conference room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Cedar River. Luke made his way up the escalator to the conference level, and found himself mingling with his soon-to-be classmates in the reception area at the top of the landing.
There were 10 names on the participant list included in Luke's registration packet. Luke silently played a game trying to match the names he could recall with the individuals gathering breakfast and milling around. Pushing his bag higher onto his shoulder, he poured himself a cup of coffee, balanced a Danish onto a small dish and made his way into the conference room.
Luke found a seat near one of the corners of the large square table. It gave him a clear view out the windows onto the river, but still allowed good eye contact with the leader's seat. Two others had already made their way in, and they each silently nodded their greetings and then turned back to their breakfasts, having selected their seats to maximize their ability to avoid engaging others.
The rest of the students made their way in, followed by the retreat leader at 8:25. He introduced himself as Alex Martin and gave a brief overview of the program. Each day would begin with a brief warm-up exercise. Then participants would have an opportunity to share their on-the-spot works or their previous assignments. Then there would be a discussion of the week's study topics, followed by a nightly assignment. The formal program ended at lunchtime, with the rest of the day allocated to independent writing time.
As Luke feared, the morning began with introductions. Alex began by introducing himself, and then each participant gave a brief introduction to themselves and why they were there. Luke only half-listened to their words as he continued to weigh his own response.
"Hi, my name is Tessa. I'm from Ann Arbor and I want more than anything to be a travel writer..."
"Um, my name is Trevor and I'm working on a spy novel..."
"I'm Bradley. I wrote my first novel in high school and studied with Seamus Heaney and Helen Vendler at Harvard. I'm working on my third novel now which integrates the ideas of Kafka and Nietzsche..."
By the time Luke's turn came, his mouth felt dry, despite numerous gulps of coffee (which were making the intros feel like they were taking much longer than they actually were). "Hi, my name is Luke and I used to want to be a writer more than anything else. But then life got in the way. So I'm here to find my voice again."
"Thanks, Luke," said Alex, moving on to the twenty-something redhead beside him. Luke inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.
The introductions took about a half hour, after which Marty brought out the quick writing assignment: Look around the room and pick an object. Write one paragraph describing the object in full detail and a second paragraph explaining where it came from. Your response does not need to be couched in reality. Please write long hand. You have 15 minutes.
Luke looked around the room and felt like there weren't any interesting alternatives. How could anyone write two paragraphs about a whiteboard eraser? Or wastepaper basket? But then across the table, he spied one of his classmates wearing a men's watch with a wide leather strap. Luke had watched Reid fiddling with the strap on his similar watch countless times before and after surgery, so what details he couldn't see from his current vantage point, he was easily able to fill in. He picked up his pen began to write.
Fifteen minutes passed quickly, and Luke was pleased to see he had actually written two paragraphs that met the parameters of the assignment. Bradley was the first to volunteer his work to share (he wrote about his fountain pen), first reading it out loud and then sitting back to receive praise. The other participants slowly began with pleasant platitudes ("I liked the way you described the nib.") and slowly getting more analytical ("I didn't really buy that it was a thank you gift from Senator Stevenson.").
Four other samples were discussed, and Luke was relieved to hear that Tessa's piece was about his coffee cup. He had felt her staring across the table and wondered whether he had inadvertently left a jam smudge from his Danish on his face. Luke was surprised to hear his own voice joining the discussion, and was disappointed when Alex wrapped up the conversation and moved on to the week's topics.
The first week's topics were writing descriptions - both real and imagined. The first night's assignment was: Write a description of a favorite place. There is no length limit. You can write it by hand, or you may use a laptop, or the computers in the tech center. See you tomorrow.
Luke joined a few others for lunch in the cafeteria before returning to his cottage. It was easy for him to think of a favorite place - it had to be Snyder Farm. He knew every inch of the farmhouse, all of the most beautiful vantage points, and the best secret hiding places on the property. When he returned to his cottage, he plugged his laptop in at the writing desk, and the words began to flow.
Memories flooded his senses as he tried to capture every sound, smell and nuance. Emma's kitchen. His old room. The stables and the hayloft. The battered bench on the porch. The old stump Holden used to split wood. Emma's rarely-operational tractor. The back garden. The pond.
He remembered the hot summer night when Noah had come to the farm for a swim in the pond. Their playful tug-of-war had ended with Noah balanced precariously balanced on top of him, their mostly naked bodies in close contact. Luke tried to recall the new-found tingle that went through his body as lurid visions overtook the schoolboy crush he'd been harboring for the prior month, but was surprised to find he couldn't recreate the sensation.
Instead, the memory that sent a shiver up his spine was a more recent smoldering summer night this past September. Indian summer had come for a visit and the air conditioning in Katie's house had gone on the fritz, sending Luke and Reid to the farm to escape the heat. Even the arrival of darkness did nothing to mitigate the oppressive heat and humidity. Luke had pushed Reid in (fully clothed), and Reid (after removing his watch) had managed to wrestle Luke in as well in short order. The two had made love under the moonlight and remained in the cool waters, while their clothes dried on the shore. Luke nestled in Reid's lap as they exchanged stories about their favorite childhood summers until the temperature dropped enough to make the rest of the night bearable.
Luke gave up pretending to write to give himself time to let the latest set of lurid visions clear - even if he wasn't planning on including his current line of thought in his writing, he found himself too distracted to concentrate on describing the farm.
The light was already starting to fade as the winter sun made its early retreat. Luke pulled out his cell phone and wondered whether it was too soon to call home. Though Reid had joked about calling every day, Luke knew Reid didn't expect him to go the whole four weeks without calling. But somehow it still felt too soon, so he tucked the phone back into his bag and made his way to the student center for a quick dinner.